Man, what happened? No, really. What. Happened? 2024 not only saw the music industry explode with some stellar albums on the underground (check my Top 24 of 2024 here), but even the mainstream had some bangers that I enjoyed! With a bar set that high, one might think that 2025 was gonna be a continuation of perpetual momentum.
Well, as the famous philosopher Mick Jagger once said: You can’t always get what you want. But turns out, you can, in fact, get what you need! And what exactly do we need again? The Worst Songs of 2025! With everything else in the world being a boiling cauldron of pee and vomit, why the heck not?
Before you get too excited about my yearly venture into masochism, that is the Worst Songs of 2025, I have to clear the air.
It’s almost 2026, so there’s no real need to be subject to bad music. When was the last time you turned on an FM radio on purpose? And accidentally hitting the radio button on your steering wheel doesn’t count. Exactly. You can avoid it with ease.
What about when I’m out in public? Well, when I find myself in a grocery store, I’m usually stressing out about how long I could probably go without eating to get more out of my budget. I’m not really listening to whatever the store is shoveling into my ears – and I can also pop in earbuds. Since I don’t have an office job, I’m not cursed with coworker music.
It sounds weird to admit, but when I hear bad music, I’ve kinda brought it on myself by actively trying to see how the other half lives. And it doesn’t help that Brian Wilson, Ozzy Osbourne, Sly Stone, David Johansen, and D’Angelo all died this year. So, since the universe decided to take out a chunk of artists who mattered, pop artists will have to pay.
Maroon 5 featuring LISA – “Priceless”
Can you believe that 2019 was the last time Maroon 5 was featured here? Well, let’s give a warm welcome to every Aunt’s favorite band as they return to the Worst Songs of 2025! That doesn’t mean they’ve gotten better; it’s just that I think they haven’t released any music since then.
Wait, I keep saying “they,” but isn’t it really just “he?” Adam Levine is the only member of this band that anyone knows. And why does he always look like he got all of his tattoos on the same day?
This time around, the sentient Chipotle bag has teamed up with Lisa. I don’t know who Lisa is, but she isn’t from the Cult Jam, so I’m not interested. Speaking of not interested, neither are these two. The guitar tries to channel Nile Rodgers, but even that is probably just a MIDI sample. Not-Cult-Jam Lisa sounds like Tommy Pickles, and there’s also this weird phase effect on Levine’s vocals. But I suppose that could mean the Speak & Spell is becoming a real boy. This Target-core duo keeps saying that each other is priceless, but this song is worthless.
Nine Inch Nails – “As Alive As You Need Me To Be”
There was a time when Trent Reznor was cool. He was all gussied up in leather pants and biker boots, yelling into a megaphone about the desire to defile someone like a quadruped. That lasted until the late 2000s when he decided to make “beedly beedly beedly BRAWMM” music exclusively for film and TV. But when I heard that NIN were back with new music, I actually got a little excited. Would it be a return to form? Or would it be more Pixar meandering?
Sadly, “As Alive As You Need Me To Be” is kind of both. Yes, it’s the lead single from the soundtrack to a Tron movie no one saw, but it’s also a return to the most boring era of NIN. “As Alive…” is so paint-by-numbers, I correctly guessed where it was gonna go the very first time I heard it. Zero edge, zero angst, and zero interest.
I know we all grow old and boring, but if this is the best Reznor can do these days, maybe a soundtrack to a Jared Leto movie is the perfect place for Nine Inch Nails in 2025.
Alex Warren – “Ordinary”
In this world, nothing is certain but death, taxes, and doofy white boys taking over the charts for a few months with a boiled chicken love song. Well, in this case, those few months were really the entire year. I guess that just spells out just how dire the state of mainstream pop really is. This year, it’s Alex Warren and his “Is this Christian music?” anthem, the appropriately titled “Ordinary.”
Musically, it’s a generic amalgamation of Hozier and Imagine Dragons. You know, reverb-laden cinematic drums underneath an indistinguishable vocal grumble. Is this supposed to be antagonistic? Sad? Romantic? I suppose if I could understand what he was saying, I’d know. After looking up the actual lyrics, it’s just generic fluff people record for either getting-engaged TikTok videos or first dances at white-people weddings. Look, mainstream music is bad enough, but Alex Warren is the reason why influencers shouldn’t have record deals.
President – “Fearless”
I hate talking about industry plants. It’s 2025. Everything’s fake, algorithms run the charts, and an A.I. hologram is probably writing a Worst Songs of 2025 article at every other publication. So, if an actual carbon-based life form manages to make a few bucks playing songs that sound vaguely human, good for them. Whether they’re a label puppet or a garage band with delusions of grandeur, who even cares anymore? The concept of a “major label” feels as outdated as a Nokia Sidekick.
Still, despite my best efforts to resist the glossy pull of the hype machine, I caved. I listened to the debut EP from President and, dear god, I wish I hadn’t. It’s bad. Like “I can hear the boardroom PowerPoint presentation behind it” bad. You can practically picture the execs brainstorming: “We need something with Sleep Token’s melodrama and Ghost’s spooky cosplay theatrics. But, like, make it TikTok-core.”
And thus, President was born. An immaculate creation of style over soul. Peel away the masks, mystery, and sleek production, and you’re left with a hollow echo of music. The vocals whine about tragic love and emotional frostbite like someone skimmed a Tumblr breakup post from 2012. The guitars are so synthetic and compressed that they might as well be a VST preset labeled “melancholy stadium Metal.”
It’s like it’s trying to be on the Worst Songs of 2025 list, much less appease any Metal fans!
“Fearless” is the kind of song that makes you question if art is still a thing. A harpy choir wails the title on loop, as if to hypnotize you into forgetting how bland everything else is. Are they industry plants? Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, President sounds like the aural equivalent of an energy drink ad, trying to have feelings and somehow failing at both. Impeach immediately.
Mariah Carey – “Type Dangerous”
I’m not usually one to waste breath dunking on legacy acts like Mariah Carey. She’s legacy incarnate. I mean, half the pop industry owes her royalties just for existing. But man, “Type Dangerous” ain’t it. Sampling Eric B. and Rakim “Eric B. Is President” should’ve been a flex, but instead, it’s like she borrowed the beat for a mall fashion show.
Where are the skyscraper vocals that could shatter glass and hearts in equal measure? Where’s that slick, honey-coated delivery that made her untouchable? Instead, we get this nasal, limp rap-talk that sounds like something Jennifer Lopez would release. Ugh. We’re living in a timeline where Mariah cops Jenny From The Block.
Lyrically, it’s all tongue-in-cheek bragging about imaginary exes, and I just don’t believe any of it for a minute. And sure, Mariah’s earned the right to mess around. She’s a legend, not an algorithm. But there’s just nothing here worth saving. It’s a museum piece without the nostalgia. Come on, Mariah. You’re so much better than this. We know it. You know it. Hell, even the ghost of Rakim probably knows it.
Simple Plan – “Nothing Changes”
I hate pop-punk. Always have. Always will. The day they drop me in the dirt, if you listen close enough, you’ll hear my ghost whisper, “Please, for the love of God, whatever my final destination is, I hope they don’t play Green Day or ska.”
And look, I get it, taste is subjective. Music is personal. Blah blah blah. But this isn’t therapy; this is the Worst Songs of 2025 list, and I’m here to exorcise my demons. Pop-punk, and every zit-faced cousin it spawned, remains the sonic equivalent of a Hot Topic clearance rack. The nasally “I’m still seventeen!” vocals, the fart jokes disguised as lyrics, juvenile sexism, and more. It’s all the stuff I hate about music concentrated into one cursed genre smoothie.
“Nothing Changes” proves its own title right. These guys are all in their 50s and still singing like middle schoolers (both figuratively and literally). The song tries to sell nostalgia, but it’s really more about denial. It doesn’t help that it’s a love letter to the “good old days” of Warped Tour, that sweaty summer carnival of predatory frontmen and complicit promoters. Now, I’m not saying Simple Plan were part of that scene’s worst behavior, though. Well, not the current lineup anyway. Either way, this song sucks.
Graham Barham & Tyler Hubbard – “Whiskey Rain”
Remember 2012? I do because it was a bad year for me. But it was bad for a lot of other people, too. Mainly because bro country was the soup de jour that year. Unfortunately, just like herpes, that genre never really goes away. It kinda just lies dormant, waiting for the most inconvenient time to reemerge. As if things couldn’t get any worse in 2025, “Whiskey Rain” happened.
Just look at this abomination. Look at it! Which one is Graham Barham, and which one is Tyler Hubbard? Are those even real names? They sound like aliases sex offenders use in NASCAR chat rooms. This one dude looks 70 and ‘country rapping’ as if he has no shame, and the other looks like his delinquent son got a DUI on his learner’s permit. The music doesn’t fare much better either. It’s just mumbling hick-hop about drankin’ and hurtin’ on the most surface level possible. Why does this exist? Who is this for? Whoever it is, you probably don’t want them around your wife or kids.
Tate McRae – “Just Keep Watching”
I don’t want to sound like the old guy yelling at clouds, but seriously, does anyone know if Tate McRae is real? Like, a real artist? I get that she exists in physical space (probably), but the music feels like it was conjured by a boardroom focus group trying to reverse-engineer Gen Z relevance. “Just Keep Watching” might be tied to some F1 movie promo, but let’s not pretend it’s any different from her usual output: AI-generated pop-breathing over a beat that sounds allergic to personality.
I don’t know if it’s the baby voice doing the cursive singing, or the eye-rolling sexual innuendos, but all of this just feels … fake. I assume the video is supposed to be sexy, but I can’t take a second of it seriously due to the awkward contortions and white-girl dancing. Maybe if this song were performed with more of a Sabrina Carpenter-esque wink, it would be easier to believe. In reality, this song’s only accomplishment is qualifying in the first round of the Worst Songs of 2025. (Alas, I couldn’t think of any more race car puns. It’s fine.)
Jessie Murph – “1965”
Man, this is just awful. I don’t know, but just turn it off. I wish I was dead.
Katy Perry – “Bandaids”
Has it really been a year since Katy Perry cannonballed into her legendary flop era? I guess it’s never too late to resurrect yourself, even if the soil is still damp. So “Bandaids” was projected to be her big emotional purge, a bloodletting of heartbreak and righteous fury. Instead, it sounds like someone yelling through a Sephora commercial.
The premise is simple enough: no cute apology or tiny fix can patch up the damage her ex did. It’s a classic trope: Ex bad, and Single good. Yawn. The glaring issue with this wad of wet cotton candy is how Perry mistakes volume for vulnerability. She thinks the higher she sings, the more sincere she’ll sound. But it’s all just a bunch of yelling.
As it stands, “Bandaids” lands squarely in Perry’s ever-growing catalogue of empty spectacle pop. You know, scream out a medium tempo power ballad and hope to whichever god she prays to that it becomes an anthem for divorced women or people who are experiencing real issues. Just like “Roar” a decade before it, “Bandaids” swells and swells until it bursts into absolutely nothing. There’s not a single jagged edge or raw nerve in sight, just a pop star trying to scream at you until you feel something. For a song about pain, “Baindaids” somehow manages to sound completely numb. Why is this a thing?
Guns N’ Roses – “Nothin'”
So let me get this straight: Guns N’ Roses implode in 1994, Axl rebuilds the band out of spare parts, then spends the next seventeen years sanding the same cursed block of wood we eventually called Chinese Democracy. It drops in 2008, the world politely shrugs, and then in 2016 the “classic” lineup sort of/somewhat/technically reforms only to spend the next decade drip-feeding refurbished demos like they’re heirlooms instead of attic junk. Wild idea, fellas: write a new song. Oh right, Axl should’ve retired from singing back when payphones still existed.
“Nothin’” (and “Atlas”) are just two more relics exhumed from a 2002 session, slapped with new Slash and Duff parts while still shackled to 2002-era Axl vocals (because of course they are.) And shocker: they sound like exactly the kind of tracks you leave on the cutting-room floor when your album is already taking longer to finish than most marriages last. If you started a record in 1994, abandoned these songs 8 years later, and still couldn’t find a home for them before the actual album limped out in 2008… what cosmic hallucination convinces you they’re suddenly vital listening in 2025?
Will Smith – “Pretty Girls”
Will Smith’s fall from grace was like watching a slow-motion car crash set to “Gettin’ Jiggy Wit It”. Once upon a time, the Fresh Prince was the perfect storm of charm, talent, and mass appeal. The sitcom goofball who conquered hip-hop (for the masses), summer blockbusters, and even the Oscars podium. He was the rare celebrity who managed to be universally likable and scandal-free, albeit a little too square to be cool. Then he walked onstage and slapped Chris Rock in front of a billion people. The world collectively gasped, meme factories went into overdrive, and suddenly Will Smith became the joke.
Sure, it wasn’t the worst thing a celebrity’s ever done, but it’s like watching your favorite teacher get into a fistfight at parent-teacher night. He apologized (repeatedly), posted videos that somehow made things weirder, and seemed to spiral into that weird public penance mode. You know, the one where the celebrity can’t shut up. Naturally, instead of quietly reflecting or taking a break, Smith decided to double down on the cringe and return to music.
Enter: “Pretty Girls,” a song that sounds like it was made by ChatGPT after bingeing old Will Smith videos and T-Mobile commercials from 2002.
Now look, there’s nothing wrong with being nearly 60 and dropping a new track. Respect the hustle. But “Pretty Girls” radiates divorced-dad energy so hard it should come with a child support reminder notification. The beat feels like it was pulled off a forgotten 2003 hard drive, the lyrics are aggressively unsexy, and the hook is basically Will saying, “I like girls!” like a middle-schooler who just learned what flirting is. The dude is 56. “Pretty Women,” maybe?
Thankfully, the video keeps things age-appropriate, though watching him dance like it’s on The Cosby Show intro isn’t exactly helping. When he raps, “I’m about to do some investing, gonna spend it on you and your bestie,” it sounds like Carlton Banks cosplaying Will and trying to pick up on girls on the set of a Hip-Hop video in 1991. “I’m Will Smith, and I’m here to say, I think girls are A-Okay!”
The problem isn’t that it’s dumb. It’s just that Will Smith seems completely oblivious to how sad and desperate it all feels. “Pretty Girls” could’ve been fun if there were even an ounce of self-awareness, but instead it plays like a cry for relevance, like a youth pastor trying to reach teenagers. Is Will’s career doomed forever? Probably not. He could still make a comeback if he just, you know, stopped talking for a bit. But if this is the new phase of his artistic “rebirth,” then someone please hand me a Neuralyzer.
Taylor Swift – “The Fate of Ophelia”
Is anyone really surprised that Taylor made it onto my Worst Songs of 2025 list? I mean, I basically have a blank space for her here each year, even before she releases anything. That would probably sound shallow if it weren’t for publications like Rolling Stone doing the same exact thing, only with a glowing review. But let’s be real here for a minute: I don’t even have to explain why the big Taylor moment of 2025 was cringe, because the rest of the internet has already done it for the past 3 months.
That’s right. As soon as clips and bits leaked to VIP fans leading up to the release of The Life Of A Showgirl, there was already a buzz saying, “Wait, these are actual lyrics to actual songs and not satire?” And that was coming from the most dedicated diehards and not dedicated haters. When the full thing dropped (like every Swift record), it sold like gangbusters, but there was still a bizarre air of buyer’s remorse.
Every Swiftie’s worst nightmare had finally become a reality: It was a bad album.
All of the microaggressions, racism, slut-shaming, misguided diss tracks, and embarrassing ode to her tight end’s tight end have been well documented in about 10,000 TikTok and YouTube videos. I really don’t need to add to the dog pile. It’s a bad album full of bad songs with bad lyrics, and you should feel bad for ever making this person the end boss of the music industry.
That’s not even including the 32 versions of the album, the alt-right dog whistles, white supremacy, and N*zi imagery in the album’s merchandise. (yeah, if I can call out Danzig for it, what makes you think I’d give everyone’s favorite Aryan Princess a pass?). It’s a perfect storm of visible cracks in the foundation. So much so that it feels like all the criticism Taylor has received over the years has been retroactively validated.
Setting the lore aside, the lead single, “The Fate of Ophelia,” is glitter-covered brain rot. Not only does it sound like 10 other (better) songs, from “Summertime Sadness” to “Give Your Heart A Break,” but there are far too many words in it to be considered anything less than self-indulgent. But that’s exactly what narcissists do: They keep talking and talking and talking until they sound smart. (What’s the word count on this piece?)
However, asking a simple question can throw them into a tailspin because a person questioning them holds the power in the conversation. Have you ever noticed how Taylor has never gone in-depth about who or what influences her as an artist? That’s because she can’t. Everything she has ever created has been derivative of someone else’s work, and to acknowledge that would mean that she’s not the self-proclaimed English teacher of a generation she claims to be.
I’m kinda wondering if she even reads. Not Worst Songs of 2025 lists but actual…books.
The biggest indicator is how Taylor clearly doesn’t know jack about Shakespeare and banks on her fandom not knowing the difference. Ophelia was a side character in Hamlet who was gaslit until she lost her mind and committed suicide. Was it because she didn’t find a football hero? No, it was because she lacked purpose.
The proverbial fate of Ophelia isn’t anything like what’s mentioned here in this song. And surrrrrreeeee, we’re supposed to believe Taylor thinks of herself as a side character who was saved by her meathead boyfriend? Girl, you conquered the world 15 years ago. You’re only shipping the trad-core aesthetic because it’s the popular thing to do with other rich white people. You were never an Ophelia, but the queen of late-stage capitalism.
It’s kind of par for the course, though, yeah? Years ago, her cute little pick-me ditty “Love Story” was famous for misunderstanding Romeo & Juliet. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Taylor Swift has always been the try-hard who bought a bunch of dusty old books from a pretentious book fair, hoping the lesser-educated townsfolk think she read them, instead of, you know, actually reading them.
When you remember how her father bought her a record deal, and she became a billionaire by exploiting everyone around her (including fans), shortcuts aren’t much of a stretch. I’m just glad the rest of the world has finally caught up with my day-one criticisms. When you think about it, Taylor has kinda followed the same trajectory as her nemesis, Kanye West. The Life of a Showgirl is essentially The Life of Pablo 2: Electric Boogaloo. It’s almost romantic.
One of the laziest, most overcooked takes in music criticism is that ‘rock is dead.’
We’ll probably never see another Led Zeppelin or Van Halen crash the mainstream again, but that doesn’t mean the amps went silent. The same goes for hip-hop. As I’m writing this, it’s the first time in over thirty years that not a single rap song is on the Billboard 200. So what? Charts have never been a compass for cultural relevance, just a thermometer for what’s lukewarm enough to sell ad space.
But pop is a different story. The genre that literally means ‘what’s popular’ has lost the plot. Looking at my Worst Songs of 2025 list, the trend is as clear as a Spotify Wrapped: Half of these hits are from legacy acts refusing to let go, and the other half are disposable one-hitters who’ll vanish as soon as the next kid pops up like a dandelion.
Pop hasn’t died because music sucks. It’s dead because there’s no longer a collective pulse.
Nobody listens to the radio. MTV’s been a corpse for decades. Tickets to shows cost a week’s paycheck (or more) and artists are barely scraping gas money for tours. What’s left? A graveyard of boomer icons desperately thirsting for Gen Z validation and influencer pop stars with strings pulled by the same crusty execs who ruined everything the first time.
If this batch of “hits” says anything, it’s that we don’t need pop anymore. We didn’t have an official “song of summer” because the new pop hits are the headlines in our 24-hour news cycle. Is Sydney Sweeney sending N*azi-coded messages in that jeans ad? Will the politicians in the Epstein files be held accountable? Will you have to choose between keeping your lights on and eating for the next 2 days? These are the new hits, and they’ve gone to number one with a hyperlinked bullet. And most of all, we can’t shut up about it, because ALL of these things have become our new pop culture.
Maybe the real irony here is that the genre built upon being loved by everyone has, in fact, suffered the fate of Ophelia. Dead, bloated, and surrounded by flowers no one bothered to pick.
For more adventures in god-awful music, check out previous installments of the Worst Songs here