Jonathan Harrison of the blog, On Pop Theology, has a clever post about the song that my daughter can’t stop singing:
On November 21, 1985, in the quiet town of Mission, the Norse demi-goddess known only to humanity as Carley Rae Jepson manifested herself on the bucolic plains of British Columbia. Raised by a pack of she-wolves, and rumored to have emanated from the forehead of her sire Billy Rae (sic) Cyrus (Norse God of the Mullet), Jepson soon set out to diligently study the art of music, so that one day when humanity needed her the most, she would unleash upon the world her epic creation.
Summers came and went. Jepson was not sure if humanity would ever need her, and if she had not wasted her time learning the sacred art of putting the beat on 1 and 3 and how to rhyme words such as “maybe” and “crazy”. She became despondent, downtrodden, and, dare we say, disconsolate. Would it happen? Would humanity ever cry out for her aid?
Then came the summer of Gotye. And she knew, it was time.
Fully realizing that the summer of 2012 should not, and could not, be dictated by people propagating, “an addiction to a certain kind of sadness,” Jepson unleashed upon the world, “Call Me Maybe” to erase humanity’s memory of some dude being sad because he broke up with some girl and she ignored him (which I’ve never known to actually happen in real life, but I digress).
The place was America. The time was now. “Call Me Maybe” burned across continental 48 states. Suddenly everyone had notions of finding their physical descriptions on Craigslist’s missed connections. That someone like Jepson would meet them at a church event and would wait helplessly by the phone for their communication.
The summer of Gotye had ended, the summer of Jepson had begun.
Click through to read his exegesis of the lyrics: On Pop Theology.