No, they tell me that I'm just too uptight to just enjoy a fun pop song. Or that I hated Get Lucky from the second I heard it, before the mania set in. It doesn't matter if I remind them that some of my favourite songs of all time are by Fleetwood Mac, Abba and Erasure. Friends tell me that I'm just a musical snob who dislikes anything that's popular. Of course, nobody thinks I hate it for these reasons. It's an ode to joyless sex, hard-won after a war of attrition. The implication is pretty obvious: that the longer "she" parties, then the drunker she'll be and the luckier Pharell will get. I don't expect the University of Derby's student union to impose a ban (other than for it being completely rubbish).
"She's up all night 'til the sun/ I'm up all night to get some," sings Pharrell, "She's up all night for good fun/ I'm up all night to get lucky" Blurred Lines was indeed unsavoury but Get Lucky was hardly a shining example in the world of sexual politics. Robin Thicke's Blurred Lines spent most of 2013 being castigated for its lyrical content as if it was basically Exhorder's Anal Lust. What else was there to the song? Pharrell adding a half-arsed melody about hanging around looking for a shag? Instead, that riff was the only good thing about it. When Daft Punk teased Get Lucky with a loop of Nile Rodger's disco riff, it sounded like it would be a triumphant return to the band's Discovery-era peak. Most of the remixes/bootlegs are House or Indie Dance / Nu Disco (like the original) but you will find some Drum and Bass, Trap & Electro as well.
What makes it even worse is that the signs were so promising. This time its by far the hottest track of 2013 so far, you already know what it is, Daft Punk’s already legendary song Get Lucky featuring Pharrell & Nile Rodgers. It's the exact moment in Peep Show when Toploader's Dancing in the Moonlight comes on at a work Christmas party and Sophie shrieks: "I love this song!" It's a pink-Stetsoned hen party stampeding over your heart. It's a song for 12.30am in a Square Mile wine bar, stock traders with ties around their coke-sweated heads rubbing themselves up uninvited against the new girl.
Its manufactured joy comes from a cold, barren place. Musically, lyrically and spiritually – Get Lucky is just horrible. I'm also pleased to report a further fact that I've established over the last six months of listening to Get Lucky and that is this: I am definitely right, and you are definitely wrong. I'm pleased I've got this fact – that I hate Get Lucky, all of my colleagues and you – off my chest.
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