Mother’s Day was this weekend, and if you’re not a complete monster, then you at least sent yours a few carnations or an Olive Garden gift card to show how much she truly means to you. (Or maybe you are a complete monster, sprung motherless from the depths of hell — I don’t know your life.)
If you’re still feeling inclined towards the old broad — as if that early-bird breakfast you treated her to yesterday morning wasn’t enough! — play one of these tunes in her honor today.
Where would any of us be had our mothers not continually reinforced our deep-seated insecurity and paranoia? Pink Floyd’s “Mother” may be the first record of the possible consequences of what we now call “helicopter parenting.” Thanks to Pink’s overbearing mom who’s sure no one will ever love her little boy like she does (cue Norman Bates screeches), he has to shave his eyebrows off with a disposable razor and all kinds of other crazy stuff. Are you happy, lady? Then again, without Pink’s loony mom, we’d have no Wall, so for that, we thank you.
As far I can reckon, this song’s about…tying your mother down? I’m sure she’s into that (burn), but in some roundabout way, I think Freddie’s talking about figuratively tying her down so that she can’t keep you from going out with him. I think. Who cares? This song rocks, and it’s about your mother.
We’re getting into some pretty sensitive territory with your mom here — namely, Mick Jagger’s calling her a prostitute. Isn’t he? The lyrics are a bit ambiguous, but I’m pretty sure nothing good’s being said about her. Are you going to let him talk about her like that? Your mother is a saint!
We’ll take a break from ragging on your mother to talk about Sylvia’s for a moment, and Dr. Hook’s desperate pleas for her mercy. Sylvia’s mother kind of seems like a stone-cold bitch, doesn’t she? Makes you wonder what Dr. Hook’s been up to that’s got her so worked up. I bet he’s not even a real doctor.
I hate to overrepresent the Stones, but a) your mother loves them and b) they love singing about her. The ultimate motherhood anthem, “Mother’s Little Helper” pays tribute to all the little ways mothers have of getting through their day:
I kid, but really, is there any other song that expresses what a thankless and unrewarding job your mother had? The woman took care of your ungrateful ass day in and day out, and she’s lucky if you acknowledge her tireless efforts once a year with a shitty homemade gift she had to pretend to like. No wonder women in the ’60s jumped on Valium once it was available: you’re the worst, and taking care of you made your mother want to not feel feelings anymore. But hey, that Olive Garden gift card ought to make up for it, right?