There is something deeply, spiritually unsettling about stepping onto a Norwegian Cruise Line ship ready for ocean breezes, fruity drinks, and maybe a little illusion of luxury only to realize you’ve boarded a floating purgatory of almost-music.
Explain to me why every single song is a royalty-free doppelgänger of something you actually want to hear.
You think you’re about to vibe to a classic? Nope. It’s Legally Distinct Smooth Jazz “Don't Stop Me Now.” You hear the opening notes and your brain perks up like “oh finally, something familiar,” and then NO. The tempo is wrong, the emotion is gone, and suddenly you’re questioning your own sanity.
It’s like being haunted by songs that legally cannot identify themselves.
And it’s EVERYWHERE. Pool deck? Off-brand Bruno Mars. Elevator? A soulless acoustic version of "When Doves Cry". Buffet line? Some bizarre bossa nova remix of a pop hit that was never meant to be bossa nova. Who asked for this?? Who is curating this?? Is there a shadowy committee dedicated to removing the personality from music one track at a time??
I swear they take real songs, run them through a machine labeled “corporate vibes only,” and out comes something that sounds like it’s apologizing for existing.
And the worst part is you can’t escape it. You’re surrounded by ocean, trapped in a steel playlist prison. There is no off switch. You’re trying to relax, but your brain is stuck in this loop of “I know this song… I don’t know this song… I know this song… I don’t—WHAT IS HAPPENING??”
It’s psychological warfare.
Like just commit! Either play the real song or play elevator music and stand by it. But this uncanny valley of music? This knockoff karaoke limbo?? It’s destabilizing. It makes you feel like you’ve slipped into a parallel universe where all music licensing laws have gone horribly, horribly wrong.
Then, just when you think the sonic nightmare has reached its final form, through the relentless volley of euro-step beats echoing across the deck, something changes. You hear it. A voice. A REAL voice. Smooth. Familiar. Human. Your entire body locks in. Your soul LEAPS.
“Wait… no way… is that—?”
It is.
It’s Michael Jackson.
Your heart? Singing. Your skin? Cleared. Your crops? Watered. You’re gripping the railing like you’ve just been rescued at sea. “Finally,” you whisper. “A real artist. A real song. We’re back.”
And then your brain catches up.
The song?
"Liberian Girl".
Now listen, respect to "Liberian Girl". It’s a good song. A great song even. But this song in this moment is what we’re doing?? This is the emergency break-glass Michael Jackson selection?? Out of the entire untouchable, culture-shifting, planet-defining catalog, this is the one that made it through customs??
Nobody is out here on a cruise deck thinking, “You know what would really set the vibe right now? A deep cut from Bad that half the population couldn’t identify in a lineup.” Be serious.
And just as you’re trying to process this bizarre, niche blessing… it happens.
Something feels off.
Your joy starts to flicker like a faulty lightbulb. And then the horrifying realization crashes over you like a wave:
This is a remix of "Liberian Girl".
This is some neckbeard in a home studio who said, “Yeah, I can improve this.”
IMPROVE?? On Michael Jackson?? Sir, you can't improve the King of Pop.
Now you’re back in the void. Emotionally betrayed. Spiritually exhausted. Because they dangled real music in front of you. Let you taste freedom for half a second just to yank it away and replace it with a legally-distinct, soul-deficient imitation that sounds like it was generated by a focus group.
It’s not just bad. It’s cruel.
Places Visited:
Texas: 00:00:00
Galveston, La Marque, Houston, Humble, Bolivar Peninsula
Vermont: 00:32:37
Burlington, Williston
Illinois: 00:38:20
Chicago
New Jersey: 00:39:22
Newark
Quintana Roo, México: 00:40:58
Cozumel, Costa Maya
Islas de la Bahía, Honduras: 01:03:43
Coxen Hole, West Bay
Stann Creek, Belize: 01:16:38
Independence and Mango Creek
Toledo, Belize: 01:25:37
Monkey River Town
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