Baby Bass Beats

Bubs doesn’t talk much. A few mushy syllables and toddler-coded mumbles. When it comes to music? Man’s got a voice, a vibe. He calls the speaker baby… As in, grabs the speaker with both hands, presses it to his cheek, and sings to it- Or possibly with it… its unclear. “BABY!!”

He’s about to drop the hottest album of the year and…possibly join a cult. It’s not just music. It’s prophecy. He marches it over to me like it’s a hostage negotiation. No words, no mercy, just the full force of a 20 ish pound toddler radiating urgent sonic demand.

Toddlers don’t just listen to music, they become it. They don’t dance to impress or follow the beat. They dance because their body physically cannot NOT move. It's instinct. It's possession. It's joy as a reflex. And when you stop trying to direct it and just join them? That’s not just playtime… that’s alchemy.

“Ah ah. Ah ah. AH AH.”

It’s not a tantrum. It’s a summons. He wants his song. Not just any version of Shake It Off-THE version. The “Sing” soundtrack version. The cinematic, bass-heavy, ass-shaking remix that hits so hard your ancestors feel it. And honestly? He’s right. Taylor could never. The moment the track starts, his soul ejects. He leaves the chat. He becomes vibes incarnate. Head bangs like a baby who’s seen war. Legs flail like a ragdoll in a hurricane. Arms spin like he’s trying to summon a weather system. Eyes? Glazed over with pure, unfiltered serotonin. It’s like watching a tiny demon get exorcised through the power of sick beats.

And then? We enter phase two: "Tarrrr." Which means Sky Full of Stars. Again, from Sing, because the original apparently doesn’t hit hard enough for his celestial rage. During the drum solo, he goes absolutely feral. He starts smacking his belly, the couch, the wall, my face. Anything’s a drum if you believe in yourself.

And now? We’ve reached the Dance Mode Era. The original Bluey version is his jam. The second they scream “Dance mode!” he screams “Moe mooooe!” My tiny EDM master being summoned through a portal made of bass and unfiltered joy. No time for correct syllables. No time for breath. He drops that baby booty LOW. Then he bends forward, hands on the floor, diapered ass in the air, and starts shaking it!

I live for it. These baby dance parties are full of questionable dance moves. Sis jumps in too. Spinning and twirling, practicing her dance class moves with grace and focus. She prefers the Dance Mode Trap Remix, and honestly? So do I. It goes way too hard for a children’s jam. Some of the most violent baby beat drops I’ve ever survived.

She’s got the poise. He’s got the shake. I’m just trying to keep my drink from spilling while DJing with one hand and blocking a flying baby foot with the other. This? This is our religion. And the gospel? Is bass.