Profoundly Stupid

A Thesis on My Dishwashing Jams Playlist

The music I listen to while dishwashing must occupy an elite niche: the space between high-brow and low.

Washing dishes is an elementally spiritual chore, entirely necessary yet completely mundane, admirable in its simplicity: profoundly stupid. It’s nice just to stand there and zone out for 15-20 minutes after dinner or during some other quiet time, feeling satisfied afterward with the restoration of balance and cleanliness to your personal space. Of course, if you use a dishwasher, you’re a chump with no knowledge of this sublime treat. Notice also, that foundational to a restaurant’s success is a fast and steady supply of clean dishware, although dishwashers are (in my relative experience) the lowest-paid members of the staff. This paints dishwashing as Sisyphean by society’s standards, but at home on one’s own time, it occupies its true place as a conduit for primal thought and feeling. Working as a dishwasher also gives you moments like the one I had in 2008 where I got to listen to one of the line cooks who stood near me repeatedly sing his variation of “Love Me Like a Rock,” but with the lyrics modified to “love me like Barack,” an echo I can hear to this day.

I select each track on my “Dishwashing Jams” playlist by these merits:
1) Does the track embody the spirit of washing dishes?
2) Is it living in the space between high and low culture?
3) Does it irrefutably slap?

Let’s examine six choice cuts and determine if they’re dishwasher safe.

Prince, “I Wanna Be Your Lover”

“I ain’t got no money,” croons Prince in the opening line of this song, a creed that all working dishwashers can empathize with. He spends the rest of the song romanticizing his current beau in a supremely horny way, which begs for a closer examination of the relationship. What’s undeniable is that the narrator, let’s refer to them and the rest of our song protagonists henceforth as dishwasher, is opining from afar, perhaps from a place of unrealized ambition. Does he even have the respect of this object of his affection who “treats him just like a child,” despite his obvious (in his head?) merit? What’s clear is that our dishwasher is climbing uphill, the natural position of his kind, and that also the music itself whips ass. Whether this story is painted as the ramblings of an incel, or a declarative statement of timeless transcendental love, the listener decides.

Steely Dan, “Time Out of Mind”

A quintessential example of the thesis. The Dan is operating here at the peak of their powers; the best song on their best album, the lyrics of which constitute the ramblings of a drug addict, framed as prophetic and shamanistic mantras. We’re standing with this addict at the borders of good and evil, taboo and neutrality, where judgments are subjective. The dishwasher is perhaps listening to their own deranged coworker; one can easily see an ancient version of this scene, repeated across time, a shambling wiseman approaching the back of the kitchen and tempting them to vice. Do they stray from their task? The guitar solo sounds like a spiraling envelopment, like staring at a pile of dishes that seems to keep growing even as you work to diminish it, as the existential revelation dawns on you that the dishes are both dirty and clean for all eternity.

Todd Rundgren, “Bang the Drum All Day,”

“If you meet Buddha on the road, kill him,” as Todd Rundgren has done. This man climbed to the pinnacle of his talent and the full breadth of his abilities, reaching a level where an artist can see beyond the veneer of critical acclaim and craft something this pure and unpretentious. The dishwasher of this song has humbly submitted to their place in the cosmic order, despite a clear disdain for their mandated lifestyle of American capitalism. They will (begrudgingly) spend all day at school or work, dreaming of the wholesome pleasure of banging a stick against something, as they always have and will. Much like how the dishes will remain in eternal flux, their heart sees reality as a push and pull between “music” and “not-music,” or as the dishwasher so eloquently puts it, “I don’t want to work…I don’t want to play,” there is nothing in between. Does this song slap though? To me and fans of the Green Bay Packers, it does. Rundgren is quoted in that article, “It was kind of a throwaway song on a record of songs that I thought I had worked a lot harder on." A perfect dishwashing anthem.

MC Hammer, “Too Legit to Quit”

This is another song that some may argue does not irrefutably slap, though I would argue that all art can transcend even its creator’s intent or purpose, and find glory in alternative contexts. This song is, plainly, too long. MC Hammer’s last “verse” ends around 3:13, but the total runtime is 5:34. The back half of the song is just a meandering riff on the main hook by the background vocalists while MCH seemingly runs through every permutation of his production style handbook. Maybe because this is the titular track, MCH is hammering in his album’s statement instead of editing its runtime. This song is his version of washing the dishes, going through the motions to eventually produce what might have been considered high culture in 1991. It’s an incredibly manic track that works perfectly as a mid-wash pick-me-up. If you haven’t finished washing the dishes yet by the time this song comes on, reaching its halfway point will inspire you to pick up the pace so you can dry your hands and turn it off.

Alanis Morissette, “Thank U”

Who doesn’t enjoy “unabashedly bawling their eyes out” in 2024? The sentiment of this song feels a bit rote in our current day and age, but there’s also clearly been a cultural backslide away from mindfulness. Alanis suggesting “how 'bout not equating death with stopping,” hits a little differently when police brutality at home and state-funded genocide abroad are the top headlines. How ‘bout using your enormous public platform to speak out against imperialism and tyranny? How ‘bout dropping a million on an aid convoy? I digress. Fretting over what other people do with their money is just another “transparent dangling carrot,” and who knows, maybe Alanis is currently handing out meals in Syria. There is a pure message of selflessness and gratitude at the core of this song, if you can unwrap the toothless neoliberal wrapper surrounding it. Thank you, dishes, for bringing me back to Earth.

Crowded House, “Don’t Dream It’s Over,”

This is the last song on my playlist, so I rarely ever hear it unless shuffle is turned on, but it works best as a bookend on either side. It serves optimism in the face of adversity at the beginning of the chore, and a soft but effervescent “feeling of liberation and release” at its end. This song might feel the least like a “dishwasher jam” thematically, but that’s exactly what they want you to feel. Don’t let the world (or me) tell you what to put on in the background while you wash dishes. We know they won’t win.