On 12 January 1980, “Still” by The Commodores was at #6. It peaked at #1 in 1979.
“Still” by The Commodores is something of a lesson in being wary of what you wish for. You may have noticed by now that I complain a lot about popular music having only two tempos: the disco 120 beats per minute dance and the much slower intimate sway. “Still” is slower still. This thing is a stripped down slow dance with every dulcet tone waiting just that extra half-beat before emerging from the piano. I can’t tell if the notes are reluctant or anxious to get into the open air, but either way the effect is curious: what should be a straight-forward smooth ballad feels like a choppy, lumbering song, almost a dirge. This is somewhat fitting, given that the song’s about a love turned sour, but by the same token, it’s awkward to listen to. Right to that last, slightly delayed, almost sickeningly moist “still” I get goose bumps, and not the oh-this-is-so-sexy kind, more like the this-falls-in-the-uncanny-valley kind. So, I’ll pass on this one; I’m not offended by it, but it feels creepy listening to it.