In a recent column I noted that certain songs are always getting played on the radio, despite the fact that these songs have been shown, in scientific laboratory tests, to be bad. One example I cited was Neil Diamond’s ballad “I Am, I Said,” in which Nell complains repeatedly that nobody hears him, “not even the chair.” I pointed out that this does not make a ton of sense, unless Neil has unusually intelligent furniture. (“Mr. Diamond, your BarcaLounger is on line two.”)

Well, it turns out there are some major Neil Diamond fans out there in Readerland. They sent me a large pile of hostile mail with mouth froth spewing out of the envelope seams. In the interest of journalistic fairness, I will summarize their main arguments here:

Dear Pukenose: just who the hell do you think you are to blah blah a great artist like Neil blah blah more than 20 gold records blah blah how many gold records do YOU have, you scum-sucking wad of blah blah I personally have attended 1,794 of Neil’s concerts blah blah What about “Love on the Rocks” Huh? What about “Cracklin’ Rosie”? blah blah if you had ONE-TENTH of Neil’s talent blah blah so I listened to “Heart Light” 40 times in a row and the next day the cyst was GONE and the doctor said he had never seen such a rapid blah blah. What about “Play Me”? What about “Song Sung Blah”? Cancel my subscription, if I have one.

So we can clearly see that music is a matter of personal taste. Person A may hate a particular song, such as “Havin’ My Baby” by Paul Anka (who I suspect is also Neil Sedaka), and Person B might love this song. But does this mean that Person B is wrong? Of course not. It simply means that Person B is an idiot. Because some songs are just plain bad, and “Havin’ My Baby” is one of them, and another one is “Bad, Bad Leroy Brown.”

That’s not merely my opinion: That’s the opinion of many readers who took time out from whatever they do, which I hope does not involve operating machinery, to write letters containing harsh remarks about these and other songs. In fact, to judge from the reader reaction, the public is a lot more concerned about the issue of song badness than about the presidential election campaign (which by the way is over, so you can turn on your TV again).

And it’s not just the public. It’s also the media. I put a message on the Miami Herald’s computer system, asking people to nominate the worst rock song ever, and within minutes I was swamped with passionate responses. And these were from newspaper people, who are legendary for their cold-blooded noninvolvement (“I realize this is a bad time for you, Mrs. Weemer, but could you tell me how you felt when you found Mr. Weemer’s head”). Even the managing editor responded, arguing that the worst rock song ever was “whichever one led to the second one.”

Other popular choices were “A Horse with No Name,” performed by America; “Billy, Don’t Be a Hero,” by Bo Donaldson and the Heywoods; “Kung Fu Fighting,” by Carl Douglas; “Copacabana,” by Barry Manilow; “Me and You and a Dog Named Boo,” by Lobo; “Seasons in the Sun,” by Terry Jacks; “Feelings,” by various weenies; “Precious and Few” by some people who make the weenies who sang “Feelings” sound like Ray Charles; “The Pepsi Song,” by Ray Charles; “Muskrat Love,” by The Captain and Tennille; every song ever recorded by Bobby Goldsboro; and virtually every song recorded since about 1972.

“It’s worse than ever” is how my wife put it.

Anyway, since people feel so strongly about this issue, I’ve decided to conduct a nationwide survey to determine the worst rock song ever. I realize that similar surveys have been done before, but this one will be unique: This will be the first rock-song survey ever, to my knowledge, that I’ll be able to get an easy column out of.

So I’m asking you to consider two categories: Worst Overall Song and Worst lyrics. In the second category, for example, you might want to consider a song I swear I heard back in the late 1950s, which I believe was called “Girls Grow Up Faster Than Boys Do.” I’ve been unable to locate the record, but the chorus went:

Won’t you take a look at me now You’ll be surprised at what you see now I’m everything a girl should be now Thirty-six, twenty-four, thirty-Five!

I’m sure you can do worse than that.

Send your card today. Be in with the “in” crowd. We’ll have joy, we’ll have fun. So Cracklin’ Rosie, get on board, because Honey, I miss you. AND your dog named Boo.

BAD SONG SURVEY

PART ONE

Before I present the results of the Bad Song Survey, here’s an important BRAIN TAKEOVER ALERT: Be advised that this column names certain songs that you hate and have tried to suppress, but as soon as you read their names your brain will start singing “Yoouunngg girl, get out of my mind; my love for you is way out of line” ... over and over AND YOU CAN’T STOP IT AIEEEEEEE. Thank you.

First, I have NEVER written a column that got a bigger response than the one announcing the Bad Song Survey. Over 10,000 readers voted, with cards still coming in. Also, wherever I went people expressed their views to me, often gripping my shirt to emphasize their points. (“You know that song about

pina coladas? I hate that song. I HATE IT!”) Song badness is an issue that Americans care deeply about. Second, you Neil Diamond fans out there can stop writing irate unsigned letters telling me that I am not worthy to be a dandruff flake on Neil’s head, OK? (Not that I am saying Neil has dandruff.) Because you have convinced me: Neil Diamond is GOD. I no longer see anything but genius in the song where he complains that his chair can’t hear him. Unfortunately, a lot of survey voters are not so crazy about Neil’s work, especially the part of “Play Me” where he sings: ... song she sang to me, song she brang to me ...

Of course I think those lyrics are brilliant; however, they brang out a lot of hostility in the readers. But not as much as “Lovin’ You,” sung by Minnie Riperton, or “Sometimes When We Touch,” sung by Dan Hill, who sounds like he’s having his prostate examined by Captain Hook.

Many people still deeply resent these songs. Many others would not rule out capital punishment for anyone convicted of having had anything to do with Gary Puckett and the Union Gap (“Woman,” “Young Girl,” and “This Girl Is a Man Now,” which some voters argue are all the same song).

Likewise there are boiling pools of animosity out there for Barry “I Write the Songs” Manilow, Olivia “Have You Never Been Mellow” Newton-John, Gilbert “Alone Again, Naturally” O’Sullivan, The Village “YMCA” People, Tony “Knock Three Times” Orlando, and of course Yoko “Every Song I Ever Performed” Ono. And there is no love lost for the Singing Nun.

The voters are ANGRY. A typical postcard states: “The number one worst piece of pus-oozing, vomit-inducing, camel-spitting, cow-phlegm rock song EVER in the history of the solar system is ‘Dreams of the Everyday Housewife.’” (Amazingly, this song was NOT performed by Gary Puckett and the Union Gap.)

Here are some other typical statements:

* “I’d rather chew a jumbo roll of tinfoil than hear ‘Hey Paula’ by Paul and Paula.”

* “Whenever I hear the Four Seasons’ ‘Walk Like a Man,’ I want to scream,

‘Frankie, SING like a man!’”

* “I wholeheartedly believe that ‘Ballerina Girl’ is responsible for 90

percent of the violent crimes in North America today.”

* “I nominate every song ever sung by the Doobie Brothers. Future ones also.”

* “Have you noticed how the hole in the ozone layer has grown progressively larger since rap got popular?”

Sometimes the voters were so angry that they weren’t even sure of the name of the song they hated. There were votes against “These Boots Are Made for Stomping”; the Beach Boys’ classic “Carolina Girls”; “I’m Nothing But a Hound Dog”; and “Ain’t No Woman Like the One-Eyed Gott.” A lot of people voted for “The Lion Sleeps Tonight,” offering a variety of interpretations of the chorus, including: “Weem-o-wep,” “Wee-ma-wack,” “Weenawack,” “A-ween-a-wap,” and “Wingle whip.”