How the radio display in a Prius is changing pop music

I don’t know if AI is really going to lead to the extinction of homo sapiens. If it does, I certainly hope it doesn’t happen until after I’ve finished season four of Slow Horses. I think I’m safe from that. But every day, I am reminded of how much technology has changed my life, and I suppose it is a given that the scope and the pace of that change are going to increase to unforeseeable extremes.

Often, the change is for the better. Or at least for the more convenient. When I wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat because I forgot to buy dental floss, a few clicks on my phone lets me resume a peaceful sleep secure in the knowledge that a 12-pack of mint-flavored Glide is already on its way.

But other times, the impact of technology is negative. I realize many of you have dealt with its most pernicious displays  – from cyber-stalking to cyber-fraud, from falling into the pit of social media disinformation to falling into the equally destructive lure of online shopping addiction. (Like when you buy a 12-pack of dental floss at two in the morning.)

Road trip in a Prius turns some classic songs into something more demented

I’m here to talk about my personal technology-fueled crisis because I don’t think I have seen it discussed openly before. I first became aware of it many years ago, while driving in my old Prius. Simon & Garfunkel’s classic “Bridge Over Troubled Waters” came on the satellite radio. However, because the display screen on my old Prius could only accommodate 16 characters – letters, grammar, spaces, etc… – the song title appeared as “Bridge Over Trou.”

No biggie, right? Kind of funny even. One of the most beautiful love songs in all of modern pop music is now being repurposed as either 1) a song about creating a span over a presumably large pair of pants or 2) for those of you who speak French, a bridge over a hole.

I let the matter slide.

But see where this has led. My new Prius has the same display-screen limitations. I don’t know if your car is different. But more people buy Toyotas than any other car brand in the world and as far as I know, all Toyotas have that 16-character limit. This continues to change the very meaning of many of our songs – classics and rarities alike. It shows no discrimination. There is no mercy. The Foundations’ beloved “Build Me Up Buttercup,” sung joyfully at Wisconsin Badger football games, is reduced to “Build Me Up Butt.” I prefer not to dwell on what that might mean.

It's true that every so often, the altered title opens up an intriguing new way of looking at a popular song that has no lewd or silly connotations. Knowing Billie Eilish’s penchant for the TV show Killing Eve does endow her song “Happier Than Ever” with new meaning when it becomes “Happier Than Eve” on my car radio. And Demi Lovato’s salacious “Cool For the Summer” becomes a paean to math as “Cool For the Sum.”

But for the most part, the new titles go in the other direction. Consider, just as a brief example, the following song titles which are radically altered by my car’s radio display…

George Harrison’s love song for Pattie Boyd, “If I Needed Someone,” takes on a somewhat raunchier tone as “If I Needed Some.”

As does the Kurt Cobain classic “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” That offended some back in the day, but how much worse would it have been if it were “Smells Like Teen?”

Then there are the body horror rebrands. Queen’s “Another One Bites the Dust” becomes the gluttonous “Another One Bite,” while the Flamingos' lovely “I Only Have Eyes For You” turns into the stuff of late-night horror movies, “I Only Have Eyes.”

Adele’s nostalgic power ballad “When We Were Young,” becomes a creepy caution about identity theft, “When We Were You.” And Francis and the Lights’ lovely “May I Have This Dance?” is transfigured into a song about an overly courteous thief, “May I Have This.”

Some reconsidered songs are just plain frivolous. MGK’s “my ex’s best friend” is a serious song about the complications of love and friendship, while “my ex’s best fri” is just a trifle about stealing from a former amour at McDonalds. Jazmine Sullivan’s “Pick Up Your Feelings” goes from being a clear-eyed statement about moving on to the simple monetary transaction, “Pick Up Your Fee.”

Then there are the songs I really don’t want to think about. Stevie Wonder and his co-creators recorded a powerful call for self-empowerment in the face of institutional racism in “Can’t Put it in the Hands of Fate.” It just becomes vulgar as “Can’t Put it in.” And Chuck Berry’s “Sweet Little Sixteen” was problematic enough. But “Sweet Little Six?” No thanks.

For some inexplicable reason, fathers seem particularly vulnerable to this reconsideration of radio songs. To be fair, in the era of open discussion of gender identity, recasting James Brown’s classic funk “Papa’s Got a Brand New Bag” as “Papa’s Got a Bra” may barely ruffle feathers. But on my radio, Dave and Phil Alvin’s roots rock tribute to having fun “Papa’s on the House Top,” is now “Papa’s on the Ho” and that … well, I just don’t know if that’s the message we want to be sending.

Perhaps in a future bereft of homo sapiens, when young AI programs want to sample ancient history to understand the music we humans once enjoyed, they will play the Police. “Message in a Bottle” will make a lot more sense than “Message in a Bot.”

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