It is the mid-1980s. FM radio is dominated by synthesizers that sound like neon lights and drum machines that hit like a hammer. Out of this digital fog comes a track so divisive it has topped "Worst Song Ever" lists for decades. I’m talking about We Built This City by Starship. It’s a song people love to hate. Or hate to love. Honestly, it’s usually both.
You’ve heard the criticisms. People say it’s corporate rock at its shallowest. Critics at Rolling Stone and Blender have absolutely shredded it. They call it the moment the counterculture finally died and sold its soul for a Casio keyboard. But if you actually listen—I mean, really listen to what Bernie Taupin was writing—there’s a weird, biting irony beneath those glossy layers of 1985 production.
The song isn't just a catchy pop tune. It’s a protest.
The Identity Crisis of Starship
To understand We Built This City, you have to understand the mess that was Jefferson Starship in 1984. The band was a Ship of Theseus. They started as Jefferson Airplane, the psychedelic heart of the Summer of Love. Then they became Jefferson Starship. By the time this song dropped, Paul Kantner had left and sued the remaining members, forcing them to drop the "Jefferson" entirely. They were just Starship now. A band without a rudder, looking for a hit in a world that had moved on from "White Rabbit."
Enter Peter Wolf (the producer, not the J. Geils singer) and Jeremy Smith. They brought in a demo written by Bernie Taupin—yes, Elton John’s lyricist—and Martin Page. Taupin didn't write a celebration of corporate rock. He wrote a dark, cynical lyric about how live music clubs were being shut down in Los Angeles and replaced by "corporation games."
The irony is thick enough to choke on.
Grace Slick, the woman who once sang about feeding your head, was now singing about "Marconi plays the mamba." She later admitted she hated the song. She did it for the paycheck. You can almost hear the eye-roll in her vocal delivery if you look for it. It’s a song about the death of rock and roll, performed by a band that was currently participating in the funeral.
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That Infamous DJ Bridge
One of the most mocked parts of We Built This City is the spoken-word radio bridge. "Someone’s always playing corporation games / Who cares, they’re always changing corporation names."
It feels dated. It feels cheesy.
But back in '85, this was a brilliant marketing tactic. The band recorded generic versions of that bridge, but they also sent out "custom" versions to radio stations across America. If you were listening in San Francisco, the DJ mentioned the Golden Gate. If you were in New York, it was the Big Apple. It was a localized hit-making machine.
Bill Thompson, the band's manager, knew exactly what he was doing. He wanted a number one hit. He got it. On November 16, 1985, the song hit the top of the Billboard Hot 100. It stayed there for two weeks. It didn't matter that the critics were sharpening their knives. The public was hooked on that infectious, driving synth bassline.
Why the Hate is Actually Misplaced
Why do we keep calling it the worst song ever? Is it really worse than "Disco Duck"? Is it worse than "Achy Breaky Heart"?
Probably not.
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The hate stems from a sense of betrayal. Rock critics in the early 2000s, who grew up on the grit of the 70s, saw Starship as the ultimate sell-outs. They used We Built This City as a punching bag for everything they hated about the 80s: the big hair, the gated reverb, the lack of "authenticity."
But "authenticity" is a tricky word in pop music.
If you look at the technical construction, the song is a marvel. Bill Bottrell, who later worked with Michael Jackson and Sheryl Crow, handled some of the engineering. The layering of voices—Mickey Thomas’s soaring tenor against Grace Slick’s lower, grittier register—creates a wall of sound that is undeniably powerful. It’s a masterclass in arena-rock production.
And then there's the "Marconi plays the mamba" line. For years, people mocked it as nonsensical. Guglielmo Marconi invented the radio. The mamba is a dance (or a snake, or a fruit, depending on who you ask, though Taupin likely meant the mambo). It’s a metaphor for the radio playing whatever mindless dance craze is currently trending. It fits the theme perfectly. It’s not nonsense. It’s just cleverer than people give it credit for.
The Cultural Longevity of a "Bad" Song
Most bad songs disappear. They fade into the bargain bins of history. We Built This City refuses to die.
It has appeared in The Muppets movie. It was a centerpiece in Rock of Ages. It shows up in insurance commercials. It has become a cultural shorthand for 80s nostalgia. You can't have a retro party without it.
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There is a psychological phenomenon at play here. The song is a "brainworm." The hook is so relentlessly catchy that it bypasses the critical centers of the brain. You might find it annoying, but you will remember it.
Interestingly, the song has seen a bit of a critical re-evaluation recently. In an era where "Hyperpop" and 80s-inspired "Synthwave" are massive, the polished, artificial sound of Starship doesn't seem so offensive anymore. We’ve moved past the idea that music has to be "raw" to be good. We can appreciate the craft of a perfectly manufactured pop-rock anthem.
Actionable Insights for the Curious Listener
If you want to truly understand the legacy of this track, don't just take the internet's word for it. Do a little digging into the context of the era.
- Listen to the demo: Seek out the original Martin Page/Bernie Taupin demo. It’s much darker, slower, and more electronic. It sounds like something off a Pet Shop Boys record. It helps you see the original "protest" intent before the big rock guitars were added.
- Watch the music video: It is a fever dream of 80s tropes. Dice rolling, Abraham Lincoln statues coming to life, and a lot of very aggressive pointing. It helps explain why the song became such a visual icon of the MTV era.
- Compare it to Jefferson Airplane: Listen to "Volunteers" and then listen to this. The contrast is shocking. It’s the sound of a generation moving from the barricades to the boardroom. Whether that's a tragedy or just evolution is up to you.
- Check the charts: Look at what else was popular in November 1985. You’ll see "Miami Vice Theme" and "Part-Time Lover." Music was changing. Starship didn't lead the change; they just rode the wave better than anyone else.
The reality is that We Built This City is a victim of its own success. It was so ubiquitous, so perfect for its time, that it became a caricature. But beneath the neon and the hairspray, there’s a solid piece of songwriting that captured a very specific moment in the collapse of the 20th-century music industry.
To appreciate the song today, you have to lean into the camp. Accept the "mamba." Embrace the corporation games. Once you stop trying to make it "cool," you realize it’s actually a lot of fun. And in the world of pop music, fun is usually the whole point.
Next time it comes on the radio, don't change the station. Crank it up. Listen to that bridge. Think about Marconi. Then think about how, despite all the hate, this song is still playing forty years later while its critics have mostly gone silent. That’s a win in any book.