A Deconstruction of a God Awful Song

The song “Escape,” written and performed by Rupert Holmes, and horribly re-dubbed “The Pina Colada Song,” after it was featured on the soundtrack to “Shrek,” is by all accounts a terrible song. A guilty pleasure at best. Barely music. It’s the kind of interminable dross that lonely housewives enjoy just as much as their soap operas and boxed wine. It’s a song for people who say that they “Just don’t get the Beatles.” If you ask someone what their political beliefs are and they tell you “Oh, I don’t really follow politics…” I’d be willing to bet money that this song is on their ipod.

If you’ve been lucky enough to have never heard it in your life and you have no idea what I’m talking about, check it out here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7hf8BJVwdnY&feature=fvst

I find this homemade “music video” entertainingly childish. It matches perfectly with the simpleminded lyrics.

I’m always amazed at how many people love this song. I’m fine with those who admit that it’s a guilty pleasure, but for the most part it comes over the speakers at a Starbucks and no less than three troglodytes light up and exclaim, “Oh my God, I love this song!” This has to stop. I feel that it’s my duty to deconstruct this poor excuse for music so that people will be more aware of what an artistic abortion they’ve been happily listening to for years.

The lyrics to “Escape” are vapid, corny, and just awful. As far as inspired lyricism goes, this shit is down there with Kid Rock and Soulja Boy, right at the bottom of the talent barrel. But to the credit of the artist, (and I do use that word liberally here), these lyrics, were they used as the basis for a script, would make an excellent low rent romantic comedy. It’s perfect! A couple has grown tired of the routine and minutia of married life and they tentatively look elsewhere. She places a personal ad, and despite all misgivings he still feels compelled to respond when he sees it. He laments, there’s an extramarital rendezvous, they meet and discover that they’d always loved the hidden, uninhibited side of each other and now they can re-discover that love! What an incredibly bankable, formulaic, mass-marketable, bullshit silver screen schlock story. Richard Geere and Julia Roberts play opposite each other once more for this delightful rom-com romp this summer! I think I could option this piece to a studio, this shit is bankable!

The series of events depicted in this song are ludicrous. Allow me to dissect the lyrics line by line:

I was tired of my lady, we'd been together too long.

Like a worn-out recording, of a favorite song.

Understandable. In today’s world we’re becoming increasingly used to these sentiments. The boredoms that married couples often experience after the honeymoon wears off have been well documented, and most people are sympathetic to them. Marriage can feel like a trap. So the first lines come from a believable place and seem to be one of the only glimmers of realism that the song has to offer.

So while she lay there sleeping, I read the paper in bed.

And in the personals column, there was this letter I read:

First of all, if you’re married and bored, chances are you aren’t reading the personals in bed with your wife. You’re more likely discretely looking for excitement and danger on Craigslist, hoping for that threesome you never pulled off in college with two chicks who are most likely going to ask for money to buy drugs with. If you’re comfortable with an exchange of currency and really in the mood to spice up your sex life you might head over to the meatpacking district and go trolling for trannies. Whatever your perversion, you won’t be looking for it in the back of a newspaper, and you certainly won’t be researching your extramarital activities in front of your spouse. That’s just plain stupid. If you’re going to cheat you may as well go for the gusto and get involved in a weekly S&M fisting club. Why not? It’s not like your wife will find out.

"If you like Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain.

I’m not one for Pina Coladas, but then again I drink to forget. My umbrage with this woman’s choice in libations however is not the main concern here. She romanticizes getting caught in the rain, and I can’t see why. Getting caught in the rain sucks. It’s fun for about thirty seconds and then it’s cold and wet and shitty. Not appealing.

If you're not into yoga, if you have half-a-brain.

I agree that a potential mate should possess at least fifty percent of the required grey matter to function, that goes without saying, but why so anti-yoga? She’s clearly not into fitness or flexibility. Most likely a fat chick who’d be a cadaverous lay. Again, why is he still reading?

If you like making love at midnight, in the dunes of the cape.

I'm the lady you've looked for, write to me, and escape."

Who doesn’t like making love at midnight? Or any time of day for that matter? It’s the dunes where you lose me. I don’t know if this woman has ever been porked on a sand dune or if it’s just another childish fantasy like the bit about the rain, but I have made the sex with a lady in sand and it fucking hurts. It’s sharp, impedes any enjoyment of friction, and it hides in places that are hard to clean properly. On the whole the person writing this ad sounds very naïve and unappealing. No man in his right mind would ever reply to them, right?

Wrong! Rupert Holmes would!

I didn't think about my lady, I know that sounds kind of mean.

But me and my old lady, had fallen into the same old dull routine.

And when you decided to get married you weren’t expecting routine? If you want to live a devil may care life with constant surprises, danger, and excitement then don’t get married you moron. Become a drug-addled mercenary and travel the world working for the highest bidder. Then you can bang, snort, and kill whoever and whatever you want, whenever you want to. To be honest, I may opt for that over marriage. Sounds like a lot more fun.

So I wrote to the paper, took out a personal ad.

And though I'm nobody's poet, I thought it wasn't half-bad.

No sir, you are most definitely not a poet Rupert Holmes. That’s the one thing you got dead right in this song.

"Yes, I like Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain.

Wow, the only two people out there who like combining the joy of the world’s gayest beverage with the discomfort of being trapped outdoors during inclement weather. These assholes deserve each other.

I'm not much into health food, I am into champagne.

Again, a brief moment of realism in this farce. I can believe that this character is a real person. A real person would say something like that. Kudos, Rupert Holmes, you salvaged a believable sentence from this clusterfuck.

I've got to meet you by tomorrow noon, and cut through all this red tape.

At a bar called O'Malley's, where we'll plan our escape."

I’m pretty sure he just misused the term “red tape.” Unless of course his marriage is somehow also a bureaucracy. I’m also confused by this “escape” that both parties keep referring to. Last time I checked “escape” wasn’t some euphemism for getting some strange snatch on the side, so one can only assume that these characters live in some sort of bizarre dystopian prison state. Funny that it doesn’t feature more prominently in the lyrics.

So I waited with high hopes, then she walked in the place.

I knew her smile in an instant, I knew the curve of her face.

It was my own lovely lady, and she said, "Oh, it's you."

That’s you’re reaction? “Oh, it’s you,” ? Not, “You mother fucker! You came here to cheat on me?”

And we laughed for a moment, and I said, "I never knew"..

Really? You just laughed? “Oh, what a silly misunderstanding!” Chuckle chuckle, that’s it. For serious? Essentially, you just caught your spouse trying to bone someone else behind your back, and your reaction is amusement. Ok, I’ll suspend my disbelief, yet again.

At this point the refrain continues mercilessly ad nauseum until the song finally fades into silence, though the memory of it will surely linger well past the point of comfort.

"That you liked Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain.

And the feel of the ocean, and the taste of champagne.

If you like making love at midnight, in the dunes of the cape.

You're the love that I've looked for, come with me, and escape."

"If you like Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain.

If you're not into yoga, if you have half-a-brain.

If you like making love at midnight, in the dunes of the cape.

You're the love that I've looked for, come with me, and escape."

Ok. Time to inject a little bit of perspective. While the premise of the song has more holes in it than a copy of the Warren Report printed on Swiss cheese, I’ll just attack the more glaring errors. The song hinges entirely on a mutual love of Pina Coladas. If they both love Pina Coladas so much, then why have they never shared that information with each other? Why have they never ordered one while out to dinner together?

“Oh, no thanks, I drink martinis when I’m with my wife. I only venture into the more tropical cocktails during bouts of infidelity.” Just pure bullshit.

And of course, the most glaring error in story construction; the ending. We’re really supposed to believe that it would play out like that? This is much more than a silly misunderstanding, a simple story you can tell your kids about one day after reconciling your differences. From here you can’t just fix the boredom and spice up your marriage with a laundry list of your likes and dislikes. These people clearly have deep seated issues that can’t be laughed off. This is a betrayal on both parts, and they caught each other in the act.

Here is the transcript of the conversation that would take place had this scenario played out in reality with real people:

Rupert Holmes: What the hell are you doing here?

Lovely Lady: What the hell are YOU doing here??

Rupert Holmes: You told me you were seeing a movie with your sister tonight!

Lovely Lady: And you said you had to return some videotapes. Guess that makes you a liar!

Rupert Holmes: And I guess that means you’ve been lying to me this whole time. When were you gonna tell me how much you loved Pina Coladas? On your deathbed? How could you keep that a secret from me?!?

He angrily downs a shot that he steals from a nearby bar patron.

Lovely Lady: (Tears of rage streaming down her face) Oh yeah? Well here I am, like an idiot, after ten years of marriage, still thinking that you love that tofu salad I make every week, and all you wanna do is drink champagne with some whore you met in the paper.

Rupert Holmes: You are that whore!

Lovely Lady: Don’t talk to me like that! I will not be talked to like that, you cheating bastard!

Rupert Holmes: Me? You were the one who took out the ad! You’re the one trying to fuck strangers, all I did was answer it.

Lovely Lady: Well you didn’t know I did that, so you still had every intention of boning some tarted up slut in the bathroom of this dive bar!

Rupert Holmes: I never said any of that in the letter! See, right there, you took one wrong thing I did and turned it into some imaginary horror story where I’m an asshole and you’re the victim. No wonder I answered that ad, I can’t live with you. You’re a miserable psychotic cunt! And aside from that, you made the first move here, not me.

Lovely Lady: Well maybe I wouldn’t need a stranger’s cock in my life if you’d get off your lazy ass and fuck me once in a while!

Rupert Holmes: And maybe I’d actually feel like doing that if you weren’t always wearing sweatpants and hair curlers. If you took care of yourself I might still find you attractive enough to lay on top of occasionally!

Lovely Lady: I stopped caring a long time ago. Besides, your dick’s so tiny it wouldn’t satisfy a horny twelve year old. I’m a woman, I have needs. You’re sporting a birch shrub, I need a man who’s swinging a sequoia between his legs!

Rupert Holmes: I knew it! I knew you had a secret thing for black guys! You goddamn tramp!

Lovely Lady: It’s not a black thing, it’s the fact that your pecker is two inches long. And I could live with that if you occasionally went down on me, but you’re fucking selfish, so I have to turn elsewhere!

Rupert Holmes: I’m not selfish, I don’t do that because your twat smells like a hobo’s sweaty taint!

At this point Lovely Lady grabs a knife from a nearby table and this quickly turns into a domestic spat gone homicide.

End Scene

I believe I’ve made my point sufficiently, so I’ll conclude by saying that if you had previously enjoyed this song, and even after reading this you still consider yourself a Rupert Holmes fan, then allow me to be the first person to inform you that you’re an utter moron. You are exactly the kind of person responsible for the degradation of art and culture in our society. YOU are part of the problem. You are an imbecilic waste of sperm, and I sincerely hope that you die.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go listen to Huey Lewis and the News. Toodles.