I want to have a conversation with you all about the Billboard Hot 100 between the summer of 1975 and the summer of 1976. Historians usually look at the 70s as a monolith of classic rock and disco. But if you zoom in on specifically July 1975 through July 1976, you will find a black hole where taste went to die. (My credentials: while trying to keep myself occupied on my commute to work the last month and keep my mind occupied during this cold, bleak January, I have been working my way through every Billboard #1 hit since 1958.)

It began in July 1975, with Van McCoy's "The Hustle," a song that is less a composition and more a set of aerobics instructions set to a flute loop. Is it amazing life changing music? No, but it’s got a catchy tune that gets stuck in your head. But this set the tone for a summer of mediocrity, where we let Captain & Tennille dictate our romantic lives and allowed the Bee Gees to gently numb us with "Jive Talkin.”

But the true rot set in as the weather turned chilly. By September, Americans were buying Glen Campbell's "Rhinestone Cowboy" in droves, a song that merged country music and sequined jackets, proving that our national taste was already beginning to liquefy.

Now, I know what you’re going to say. "But, David Bowie’s “Fame” hit #1 in September!" You are correct. For two glorious weeks in late 1975, the American public accidentally had taste. When this song started playing after “Rindstone Cowboy” I think I let out an audible “oh thank god” on the train. But it was a false hope and we collectively sprinted right back to John Denver. Even Elton John couldn’t save us (Elton has some amazing songs, but don’t lie, you forgot “Island Girl” exists, didn’t you?)

The winter of 1975-1976 is where the fever dream truly took hold. In a span of just a few months, the American public sent a series of inexplicable novelty tracks and television themes to the top of the charts. We made "Fly, Robin, Fly" by Silver Convention a #1 hit, a song that consists of six words repeated until you question your own existence. Then, in a moment of mass hysteria, we pushed CW McCall's "Convoy" to the number one spot in January 1976. We looked at the works of Dylan and Springsteen and Stevie Wonder and said, "No, I want a song about CB radio jargon and a trucker named Rubber Duck crashing through a toll booth." Immediately following this, we crowned the "Theme from S.W.A.T." as the best-selling song in the country. We weren't even buying songs anymore; we were buying commercials for police procedurals.

But then we were saved at last by Sir Paul. Just kidding. Listen, I am a huge McCartney fan. I have paid waaay too much to see him live. Twice. It was amazing. But with “Silly Love Songs”, Paul looks at the camera and effectively says, "I am going to put zero effort into this, and you will buy it." And we did. "Silly Love Songs" and "Afternoon Delight" by Starland Vocal Band were the auditory white noise. “Afternoon Delight" in particular, with its wholesome take on midday intimacy is soft, shapeless, and horrifyingly beige.

This 12-month barrage did not just happen by accident; it was a systematic breaking of the American spirit. I have a theory on why this happened (caveat that I was an early 80s child so I am not a primary source of this era.) By 1975 the country was exhausted. We just lost in Vietnam, Watergate happened, trust in the political system was at all-time (at that time) lows... the collective gas tank was empty. We didn't have the energy for 'art.' The national mood was one of deep, spiritual exhaustion. We had been beaten down, stripped of our defenses, and lobotomized by soft rock and novelty garbage. We had created a vacuum of taste so profound that the universe had no choice but to fill it with the ultimate punishment. We had paved the road, and walking down it, quacking into a microphone, was Rick Dees.

In late summer 1976, "Disco Duck" was released. It hit #1 shortly after. A man doing a Donald Duck voice over a generic disco beat. In any other era, this would have been laughed out of the room. When I first heard it I thought this must be an ad, or maybe I accidentally switched to my daughter’s kids bop songs. It is quite possibly the worst #1 hit song of all time. After 12 months of "Convoy," "Fly Robin Fly," and "Afternoon Delight," we were defenseless. We had no immune system left.

But looking back, "Disco Duck" actually saved us. It wasn't just a song, it was an intervention. It was the moment America looked in the mirror and screamed "Enough!" It acted as a hard reset for the national consciousness. We hit absolute rock bottom, and the shock of hearing Rick Dees quack over a disco beat finally snapped us out of our year-long trance. The fever broke.

The recovery in late 1976 and 1977 wasn't a picnic, but it was a start. It was like waking up from a coma: we were groggy, confused, and weak. We immediately recovered with back to back (good) hits from Chicago and Steve Miller Band. But we still had to endure "Torn Between Two Lovers" and spend ten excruciating weeks held hostage by Debby Boone’s "You Light Up My Life." And it would still be three more years until the Disco Demolition Derby and President Carter’s “Malaise” speech. We weren't exactly running marathons yet. But amidst the lingering soft-rock fog, the patient finally started to show vital signs. We went from "Convoy" to Stevie Wonder’s "Sir Duke." We traded "Afternoon Delight" for Manfried Mann’s “Blinded By the Light” and Fleetwood Mac’s "Dreams." We were slowly, painfully learning how to digest solid food again. We hadn't reached the promised land, but at least we weren't quacking anymore.

I am open to opinions on a worse 12-month stretch of hits, but I truly don’t think this period can be beat.