Is Train’s One Hit Wonder “Drops of Jupiter” a Song About Being a Willing Cuckold?

I sometimes find myself in Anglo-American churches of consumption (GloboWorldCorp restaurants, shopping centers, etc.) where normally, whiny chick music is on the sound system. It makes my ears bleed. You know? Estrogen-rich pop music that touts the virtues of being a career girl/corporate slave, encourages women to ride the cock carousel as long as possible, and to avoid getting married or having any dirty little babies.

It’s overt social engineering by any other name.

But today, there was a male voice that somehow made it into the rotation, albeit emitting from a very mangina-esque singer. Train’s one hit wonder Drops of Jupiter was being beamed into the ears of passing sheeple. This song has somehow managed to survive for nearly 20 years when other one hit wonders come and go like changing fashion.

Musically, it’s composed better than the dreck that has made up most of the American pop music scene for the last 20 years. But, that can’t be the only reason it has survived. Chicks seem to love the song.

To Red Pill ears, the lyrics are troubling. It subtly encourages eat, prey, love lifestyles and for men to willingly emasculate themselves. We all know social engineering runs deep in Anglo America. Lyrically, Drops of Jupiter promotes the ideal of a man being a willing cuckold, staying at home, masturbating alone and pining for the “one that got away” while princess has fun on the cock carousel “finding herself” somewhere “out there.”

Of course, that’s the ideal “real man” in the eyes of today’s Predatory Female. Maybe that’s why chicks have such an affinity for the song. It glamorizes the invisible man who suddenly, magically becomes visible when princess realizes he can pick up the tab for all the excesses of her youth, long after her fertility has dried to a cinder and he simps for anatomical leftovers she once so freely gave away to bad boys.

Let’s have a little fun with this song as we critique its message. We begin by learning princess is back, in much the same way Jenny came back to Forrest Gump only after she had contracted AIDS:

Now that she’s back in the atmosphere
With drops of Jupiter in her hair, hey, hey
She acts like summer and walks like rain
Reminds me that there’s time to change, hey, hey
Since the return of her stay on the moon
She listens like spring and she talks like June, hey, hey
Hey, hey

Drops of semen in her hair would be more accurate than drops of Jupiter. Notice the imagery of an Anglo-American “goddess” descending “back in the atmosphere” from her romp up in the heavens to bless this worshipful cuck with her disheveled presence. Pussy pedestalization and deification of women run very deep in this culture.

But, Beta Bucks guy wants to know if she had fun and if being a ho was everything she dreamed it would be.

But tell me did you sail across the sun
Did you make it to the Milky Way to see the lights all faded
And that heaven is overrated?

That last line sounds like an allusion to the cock carousel/YouGoGrrl lifestyle being overrated. And here comes the kicker. Beta Bucks guy is patiently waiting with a raging, unrelieved boner and now thinks he has a chance to score some worn out puss.

All for the low, low price of supporting the baggage of two or three bastard kids fathered by Alpha Fucks guy, paying her unpaid student loans, and taking on the credit card bondage created by a decade (or more) of female consumerism:

Tell me, did you fall from a shooting star
One without a permanent scar
And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there?

Really, this entire song seems like it was written to unabashedly support the Sex in the City lifestyle:

Now that she’s back from that soul vacation
Tracing her way through the constellation, hey, hey
She checks out Mozart while she does tae-bo
Reminds me that there’s room to grow, hey, hey, yeah

Oh, now she’s a sophisticated ho. But, even given her compromised status as a woman who has reached her expiration date, Beta Bucks guy is only concerned he might not be able to satisfy her since she’s been ravaged by the equivalent of several football teams:

Now that she’s back in the atmosphere
I’m afraid that she might think of me as
Plain ol’ Jane, told a story about a man who is too afraid to fly so he never did land

The next lines about Venus blowing her mind could be taken as an allusion to experimentation with lesbianism:

And tell me, did Venus blow your mind
Was it everything you wanted to find
And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there

And in true White Knight fashion, here comes the songwriter to defend her dalliances. Seems he’s a true, blue (balled) Captain Save-a-Ho:

Can you imagine no love, pride, deep-fried chicken
Your best friend always sticking up for you
Even when I know you’re wrong
Can you imagine no first dance, freeze-dried romance
Five-hour phone conversation
The best soy latte that you ever had, and me

Ah, now he’s buttering her up as she’s now “ready for a real man” and “done with one night stands” and all the other jingoistic language middle-aged women use when they need to be bailed out from the consequences of their irresponsibility. Rounding out his simping, we all know well the Anglobitch obsession with lattes and other coffee-themed milkshakes. Of course, he’ll pick up the tab at Fivebucks.

What’s more, what kind of dude has five hour phone conversations with a girl who’s taking sluttery to “astronomical” new heights? A White Knight, that’s who.

Now, he closes out his little love letter with some prose worthy of only the most dedicated, oneitis-infected cuckold:

But tell me did the wind sweep you off your feet
Did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day
And head back toward the Milky Way?

Wild oats sewn, youth wasted, Wall impact imminent.

And tell me did you sail across the sun
Did you make it to the milky way to see the lights all faded
And that heaven is overrated?

Seems this dude is willing to let someone run a Train on his chick while he patiently waits for sloppy seconds.

And tell me, did you fall from a shooting star
One without a permanent scar
And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself

“Looking for myself.” Classic line of the modern feminist.

And did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day?
And did you fall from a shooting star, fall from a shooting star?
And are you lonely looking for yourself out there?

This release seems to be a masterpiece of neuro-linguistic programming. Of course, art is always open to interpretation. But, given what we know about the matrix and its endless social engineering schemes it sprays the public with like Raid, mass marketing a song encouraging women to be wild, hell-bent for leather feminists and men to be willing cuckolds isn’t really a big surprise.

The rabbit hole runs quite deep, I’m afraid.

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  • Train has always had an ankle-grabbing feel.


  • Modern “country” is the worst (referring to the crap they disseminate from the airwaves. There’s still good country being put out today, one just has to search for it or hope to stumble upon it. See Scott H. Biram; Ugly Valley Boys). It’s mostly just pop with, as JD alluded to, pretty boys that can sing. Fake ass manufactured stars. Urban cowboys.

    And the themes of all the songs from the male artists are the same (Erik summed up that theme to a tee). While the themes of all the songs from the female singers are roughly the same. Songs about how some man did them wrong, how they hate men, how they wish you were a better man, how you need to man up/grow up, etc. Shaming lines that all of us have heard a million times.

    There’s a lot of cognitive dissonance going on with it. Which one is it? The men are all singing about how they’d bend over backwards for women (white knighting) yet the women are all singing about how horrible men are. Make up your mind Nashville.

    At my place of employment they rotate the stations everyday between pop and country. As a red-pilled man it is tough to get through the country days (the pop station is horrible as well but is easier to cope with b/c they’ll throw me a bone once in awhile). I’ve honestly thought about quitting because of the music. I know that might be seen as a bitch move but it becomes unbearable at times.


  • Train had a few more hits. Arguably Hey Soul Sister was even bigger than Drops of Jupiter!


  • The song is about the death of lead singer Pat Monahan’s mother, who died from cancer.


    • Relampago Furioso

      I know that’s what Monahan now says, but he didn’t say that when the song came out.

      “It was a few years before Monahan revealed the story behind this song, and the common interpretation is that it was about a woman who leaves her man to find out if they belong together. Monahan would give vague answers when asked about the song, at one point saying: ‘This is a woman who’s strong and has to find out who she is and a man willing to let her do that.'”

      So, it’s a song about being a willing cuckold. The “cancer” angle got added on later. Probably as a ready-made hamster rationalization for women, the target audience of that song. That way, men can’t criticize it.


      • You raise a fair and valid point, particularly with reference to the target audience. If the cancer angle was added to blunt criticism, it’s quite a brilliant (but diabolical) strategy.


      • Relampago Furioso

        Plausible deniability. A tactic I learned from my years in the media. You better believe any PR-related industry uses it.


    • So, his mother was a….

      How dare we say (or think) such things about anyone’s mother….right?

      Who makes these asstard “rules”, to be followed only by cowards?!!

      Who succumbs to such false authority?

      Who follows this perverse script, to spend life whining about following it, with such pitiful melancholy angst.

      It is a song of miserable desperation mixed with a perverse pathetic rationalization for accepting such a shitty lot in life.
      A “train” of songs for looooooosers. Idiots! Ignoble impotent derelicts!

      Millions of weaklings, bred by a rotting culture.

      The time is near for the rot to be cut out, to be burned out like fire that scorches the forest from which new life emerges.

      It is yet another song of death, a dying whine, a whimper, a preface to the death rattle.

      The human race is once again ripe for the grim (red pill) reaper!

      Exterminate the guttersnipe!!

      Yes! It is time for the true alpha to once again sharpen his blade, and prepare to clean the weeds from the garden!


  • A lot of modern country songs are like this too. Buff dudes in cowboy hats singing about eternal loyalty and heartbreak.

    Basically, situational Alphas crooning Beta love poems. Not a big difference from strippers pretending to like their rapt audience by removing their clothing for them. In the former case, women throw their underwear. In the latter, men throw their money.


    • Couldn’t agree more about country songs. Encouraging men to give everything they have to support women hitting the wall. And making it sound like masculine duty.


    • Eduardo the Magnificent

      There’s nothing wrong with loving a woman, or singing about it, but she’s got to earn it. I think the old country songs used to keep that element intact. Yeah, it’s a love song, but they gave the reasons why she deserved it. She was sweet, smiled a lot, treated him right. Here’s my love, baby. Now? You better “love” her because she’s hot, and she’ll jump ship if you’re not country-chimping and showing your status constantly. It’s sickening.


      • You bet it is. Not hearing songs like “Stand By Your Man” anymore.


      • Sorry, my first comment above regarding today’s country music was intended to be included in this string of comments but I clicked the wrong reply button. RF please feel free to move it down here if the software allows you to.


    • Kenny Chesney has a lot of that going on.


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