If it’s one thing that unites people, it’s shared hatred. It’s even more unifying than finding common ground with someone, especially when you find someone that hates Lynyrd Skynrd.
I hate Lynyrd Skynrd. Every time I hear the opening riff of “Sweet Home Alabama” on the radio, it’s like nails on a chalkboard. It’s just as nauseating as hearing the intro to “Hotel California” by the Eagles. It takes me right back to being inside bars with drunken idiots and slutty girls, chanting “woo” every time the fucking song gets blasted out of the overhead speakers. As if you hadn’t heard its boring, bloated corporate sound for the thousandth time already? It gets played 50,000 times a day on Classic Rock Radio. The catch is, it’s not a good song; it got irritating the second time I heard it. “Free Bird” sucks, too. Listening to that twangy bullshit makes me want to tear my ears off. It’s like listening to the craptastic “modern country” that pollutes popular culture.
“Oh, give them a chance; you’ve only heard what’s been played on the radio.” Wrong. I bought a “Greatest Hits” compilation back when I was 13 and didn’t know any better. Lo and behold, it was garbage. The “non-radio” songs were boring and trite. I ended up selling the CD for money.
I don’t hate them because they’re Southern. I hate them because their music is boring and generic.
There is one great thing about Skynyrd: I at least get a little bit of physical activity when I have to reach for the knob on my stereo and change the station.