The 1970s may have been a golden age for rock, soul, and pop, but not every song that hit the airwaves struck gold. For every masterpiece by Fleetwood Mac or Led Zeppelin, there were tracks that left listeners scratching their heads, wondering how they ever became hits. It was a decade of experimentation, excess, and the occasional musical misfire — and fans haven’t forgotten the ones that missed the mark.
Back in 2011, Rolling Stone decided to let readers settle the debate once and for all by voting on the worst songs of the decade. The results were brutal, hilarious, and oddly fascinating. From novelty tunes that overstayed their welcome to misguided attempts at reinvention by big-name artists, the poll captured a side of the ’70s that nostalgia often skips over.
Of course, taste is subjective — what one fan calls “the worst song ever” might be another’s guilty pleasure. Still, these picks reflect a shared groan among those who lived through the era. Whether you find them cringe-worthy or charmingly awful, here are the ten songs that listeners themselves crowned the worst of the 1970s.
10. “Loving You” – Minnie Riperton (Perfect Angel, 1974)
There’s no denying Minnie Riperton’s incredible vocal range — she soared to notes that even Mariah Carey might hesitate to chase. “Loving You,” her signature hit, became both her blessing and curse: adored by some for its sweetness, ridiculed by others for its sugar-coated excess. It’s the kind of song that divides listeners instantly — either you melt at that high whistle tone or cringe at the sheer sentimentality.
Riperton’s connection to the song was deeply personal. She wrote parts of “Loving You” for her daughter, Maya Rudolph (yes, the future SNL star), and even softly sings her name during the track’s outro. Beneath its dreamy melody lies a genuine maternal tenderness that makes the story behind it far more touching than its reputation might suggest.
Sadly, Riperton’s career was cut short when she passed away from cancer in 1979 at just 31. Whether you find “Loving You” lovely or grating, it remains an unforgettable artifact of the decade — one that still echoes with both sweetness and sorrow.
9. “Feelings” – Morris Albert (Feelings, 1975)
“Feelings” might just be the most vague love song ever written — and that’s saying something. The melody itself isn’t offensive, but the lyrics have been the butt of jokes for decades. “Feelings, nothing more than feelings,” Albert croons, and listeners ever since have wondered: feelings about what, exactly? Love? Regret? Lunch? The emotional depth of a puddle, paired with syrupy delivery, made it ripe for parody.
Morris Albert, a Brazilian singer-songwriter, had his fifteen minutes of fame with this one massive international hit. Unfortunately, the same thing that made it memorable — its utter blandness — is what doomed it to ridicule. Critics labeled it the soundtrack to every bad lounge act of the ’70s, and even comedians couldn’t resist mocking its navel-gazing vagueness.
Still, “Feelings” remains a fascinating cultural relic. It’s a perfect snapshot of an era when smooth ballads ruled the radio, even when they had nothing much to say. And for anyone who ever asked, “Why did punk need to happen?” — well, this song is Exhibit A.
8. “Billy Don’t Be a Hero” – Bo Donaldson and the Heywoods (Bo Donaldson and the Heywoods, 1974)
Few songs capture ’70s schmaltz quite like “Billy Don’t Be a Hero.” Originally written and recorded by the U.K. group Paper Lace, the song tells the story of a woman begging her soldier boyfriend not to be reckless in battle. By the time Bo Donaldson and the Heywoods released their American version, the Vietnam War had just ended — and listeners couldn’t help associating it with the decade’s collective exhaustion over sentimental war-themed pop.
Despite its seemingly noble message, “Billy Don’t Be a Hero” feels clumsy and overwrought. Its marching-band arrangement, earnest lyrics, and upbeat melody clash uncomfortably with the tragedy at its core. Instead of inspiring reflection, it became a poster child for the kind of hollow sincerity that turned listeners off soft pop entirely.
Still, the song was a commercial hit, reaching No. 1 in the U.S. before the band faded into obscurity. It’s ironic that their biggest success is now remembered less as a patriotic anthem and more as an example of the decade’s most painfully misguided songwriting.
7. “Seasons in the Sun” – Terry Jacks (Seasons in the Sun, 1974)
If “Billy Don’t Be a Hero” was overly sentimental, “Seasons in the Sun” took emotional excess to another level. Adapted from a Jacques Brel song, Terry Jacks’ version is told from the perspective of a dying man bidding farewell to everyone he loves. The original French lyrics carried a sense of irony and bitterness, but Jacks stripped all that away, replacing it with plain, tear-soaked sincerity.
Listeners in 1974 couldn’t get enough of it — the single topped charts worldwide — but over time, many found its melancholy tone more maudlin than moving. Its sing-song melody paired with lyrics about death created an uneasy mix that’s hard to take seriously today. It’s the musical equivalent of a Hallmark card trying a little too hard to make you cry.
Despite the backlash, the song made Jacks a household name, even if only briefly. He soon stepped back from the music industry, leaving behind a song that still divides fans between those who find it touching and those who can’t make it through without rolling their eyes.
6. “Escape (The Pina Colada Song)” – Rupert Holmes (Partners in Crime, 1979)
“Escape (The Pina Colada Song)” is one of those songs that feels both ridiculous and irresistibly catchy. Rupert Holmes crafted it after reading a personal ad and wondering what would happen if two lovers, bored with their relationship, unknowingly responded to each other’s posts. The resulting story of a couple rediscovering their spark through infidelity — over drinks and rainstorms — became a quirky pop phenomenon.
Holmes originally wrote the lyric “If you like Humphrey Bogart,” but switched it to “pina coladas” at the last minute, accidentally creating one of pop culture’s most persistent earworms. The song’s breezy melody hides its absurd premise — two people ready to cheat, then laughing it off over cocktails — which somehow makes it both romantic and morally questionable.
While critics have called it cheesy, the track has aged into a kind of camp classic. It’s a time capsule of late-’70s pop escapism: silly, catchy, and a little bit sleazy. And though Holmes never replicated its success, the song remains an anthem for anyone who enjoys kitschy storytelling — and, apparently, tropical drinks.
5. “Muskrat Love” – The Captain and Tennille (Song of Joy, 1976)
Of all the strange songs to come out of the 1970s, “Muskrat Love” may be the one that leaves modern listeners most bewildered. The Captain and Tennille’s version of Willis Alan Ramsey’s original track turns a bizarre premise — two muskrats falling in love — into a pop hit. It’s not a metaphor or a parable; it’s literally about rodents being romantic. The smooth arrangement and soft harmonies make it even stranger, as if the duo wanted listeners to take this furry love story seriously.
The song was already covered by America before The Captain and Tennille turned it into a charting single, but their rendition took it to new (and arguably ridiculous) heights. The most infamous performance came in 1976, when they sang it at the White House for Queen Elizabeth II. The image of British royalty politely smiling through an ode to lovesick muskrats is now the stuff of music legend.
Even with its odd charm, “Muskrat Love” has aged terribly. Yet, it’s somehow endearing in its complete sincerity — a soft-rock time capsule from an era that wasn’t afraid to mix romance, synthesizers, and wildlife into one unforgettable (and unintentionally hilarious) song.
4. “You Light Up My Life” – Debby Boone (You Light Up My Life, 1977)
Debby Boone’s “You Light Up My Life” was the unstoppable power ballad of its time. It reigned atop the Billboard charts for ten straight weeks — the longest streak of the entire decade — and became a wedding staple for years afterward. To Boone, the song was an expression of faith, a declaration of devotion to God. To most listeners, however, it was just another tear-jerking love song with an almost unbearably syrupy tone.
What makes it more difficult to revisit today is the dark history surrounding its songwriter, Joe Brooks. Once celebrated for his melodic sensibility, Brooks’ name became permanently tarnished after his 2009 arrest for multiple assaults. His suicide before trial — and the later murder case involving his son — cast a long, unsettling shadow over the song’s legacy.
For a generation, “You Light Up My Life” symbolized purity and inspiration. But hindsight has made it far more complicated. What once glowed with sentimentality now flickers uneasily between nostalgia and discomfort — a shining hit dimmed by the tragedies behind it.
3. “(You’re) Having My Baby” – Paul Anka (Anka, 1974)
Paul Anka’s “(You’re) Having My Baby” was meant to celebrate fatherhood and love, but time hasn’t been kind to its cloying sweetness. Released in 1974, it was Anka’s first Number One hit since “Lonely Boy” in 1959. Its over-the-top adoration, however, quickly turned it into one of the decade’s most mocked songs. Even some listeners in the ’70s found its possessive tone and syrupy sentiment hard to stomach.
Anka, of course, is a legend — the man who wrote “My Way” deserves respect — but this song stands as a rare misstep in his otherwise brilliant career. Its lyrics, drenched in paternal pride, come off more self-congratulatory than heartfelt. It’s less a celebration of love and life than a cringe-worthy reminder of just how awkward pop sincerity could get.
The song found a brief second life decades later when it appeared on Glee, sung by Finn to Quinn in a dinner scene that’s every bit as uncomfortable as the original record. Some songs are timeless; others are trapped in their own sentimental excess. “(You’re) Having My Baby” firmly belongs in the latter.
2. “Afternoon Delight” – Starland Vocal Band (Starland Vocal Band, 1976)
“Afternoon Delight” sounds innocent enough until you actually listen to the lyrics — then you realize it’s about mid-day hookups disguised as sunshine pop. Released in 1976, it was a shock hit, climbing to No. 1 and earning the Starland Vocal Band a Grammy for Best New Artist. The irony, of course, is that their career fizzled almost immediately afterward. Not even a short-lived variety show on CBS could keep their fleeting fame alive.
The song’s soft harmonies and cheery arrangement made it catchy, but also made its theme of daytime passion sound oddly wholesome. That tonal mismatch — adult content dressed in choirboy charm — is part of what makes “Afternoon Delight” so unintentionally funny. Decades later, its use in Anchorman turned it into a camp classic, forever cementing its place in pop culture as both ridiculous and irresistible.
Looking back, it’s clear why this tune made the list. “Afternoon Delight” is the epitome of 1970s pop fluff — catchy, shameless, and utterly unserious. It’s the kind of song that makes you laugh, cringe, and sing along anyway.
1. “Disco Duck” – Rick Dees (Rick Dees and His Cast of Idiots, 1976)
Only in the 1970s could a song like “Disco Duck” become a national phenomenon. Memphis DJ Rick Dees meant it as a harmless parody of disco culture, but the joke went too far — the song topped the Billboard Hot 100 in 1976, selling over six million copies. Featuring Dees quacking in rhythm to a full-on disco beat, it was novelty music at its most absurd.
Ironically, Dees’ own radio station refused to play the track to avoid promoting one of their employees, and yet the song exploded everywhere else. It wasn’t just a hit — it was a cultural moment, the kind of absurdity that perfectly mirrored the excess and silliness of late-’70s pop. But like all novelty records, it burned bright and faded fast.
Rick Dees moved on to a long and successful career as a radio host, eventually creating the Rick Dees Weekly Top 40 show that still runs today. “Disco Duck,” however, remains his strangest legacy — a goofy, feathered reminder that sometimes the worst songs of a decade are also the ones that define it best.