Before I go on, I must declare something important. I am not in a position to give an impartial opinion here. I write songs and play in a band, and have done for some years now. I also have aspirations to make a living from this. Plus, I am someone who would adore feeling the energy from an impassioned crowd as I plug into the P.A at Madison Square Garden
Since the ruffled dresses and splintered chairs of 1956 (more commonly known as the birth of rock and roll), music has been evolving and devolving, destroying and resurrecting itself, and endlessly re-treading its past accomplishments. This happens with varying degrees of success. Who can forget the bad bands from good genres, or the awful songs from good bands? However, despite the presence of mediocrity that purveys 99% of music, millions sat through Top of the Pops every Thursday for decades. Kids would escort the latest Vinyl/Cassette/CD home with the care usually given to premature newborns. Record artwork received enough attention as to generate outrage. Songs were played so many times, people decided to try them backwards as well. Singles and albums were undeniably magical to a certain type of listener. I believe those days are over. Does this paragraph not inspire an eye-moistening twinge of nostalgia to some of you? I rest my case.
I am obviously unable to separate myself from the natural warping of objectivity that comes with maturity. When I was 16, I would have happily tattooed the words “Rage Against the Machine” proudly upon myself. Two years later, “Oasis”. Currently, hmmm, perhaps “The Rolling Stones”. Not so much growing up, as retreating back through the generations. I’m fully expecting future obsessions with musicians who usually only enter my world when I’m skipping through a blues compilation, trying to find Howling Wolf, or Muddy Waters. We’re all philistines in somebody’s book; nobody more than me in mine. No matter how punk rock, year zero, purist, fascistic you get with your tastes, you will always have to accept changes in music. You decide you only want to hear Chicago blues? Look forward to the most eclectic journey of your life. Only like pop? Good luck sifting through 50 years of the stuff. Only like metal? Well, maybe you should be reading something else. I am just trying to contextualise just how fragile personal tastes can be. It therefore follows that populist tastes could not be far behind. It cannot be unthinkable that music can irreparably change within the public conscious.
Perhaps my most controversial opinion is that the alternative scene has poisoned itself with mediocrity. Let me say a few names: Killers, Kaiser Chiefs, Franz Ferdinand, Razorlight, Maximo Park, Hard Fi. Each tipped for greatness. Fancy seeing them now? Ten quid at Camden Barfly perchance? You’re being optimistic mate. Talent will only get you so far. Proof? Joanna Newsom is possibly the most talented musician currently working in the alternative music scene right now, she writes catchy tunes, plays harp, and is blessed with good looks. If you haven’t heard of her now, you won’t. Her peak was two years ago. I’m not down on the record business, it hasn’t changed. But you lot have!
If I could give one name to confirm my accusation: Lady GaGa. This is potentially the biggest brand name you will hear this decade. She is a true force of nature performer. She can play. She can Sing. She can appear extremely hot in videos. She is totally memorable and as far as I know she has a decent shake at writing the stuff too. She’s at least as credible as KT Tunstall; let’s put it that way to you idiots out there. However, if I was observing the last century on some kind of graph measuring impact, she isn’t beating Madonna. Now in my little gushing introduction of Ms GaGa, she destroyed Madonna. But I’m still going to bet against myself. I think the songs are better. I think the image is stronger. I think the industry is bigger. But.....I don’t think the public gets that passionate anymore. I’m there too. I listened to Noel Gallagher’s new album on Youtube. I am Satan here. I’m not alone though.
Kooky student types ironically dance to Rhianna, but they are like comedy characters in the truest sense, they forget where the irony stopped and the truth began. Ali G has become a reality, Dappy is your proof. Legions of “middle clawwwws whoite boyzzz tawking laike det”. Wake up by the way! The search for the ultimate indie kid has transformed into the search for the haircut that will most demand ridicule from the chavs. The same breed of chavs by the way that once produced Mark E Smith, and Ian Curtis, and everyone else the indies admire. The tipping point here is the descent back into normality. The chains of the gangsta evolve into a digital watch with the beloved ho’s name on it. The semen aided quiff of the Morrissey love-child settles until it finally defines the look of bank workers across the country. The tight trousers go out of fashion so that the beige-camping-Christian-dad-oversized-chinos can come in, and everyone looks normal again. You know when you’re in the middle of a bullshit fashion explosion when the only to place to find sanity is in the elite and the intelligentsia. I’ll always choose a suit over shit.
I don’t know how you all feel. I assume you haven’t noticed anything and are happily conducting yourselves in a normal way, buying music as and when it suits you. You must forgive me for these thoughts I have. I suppose I must refer to Marco Pierre White and how he speaks about food: “I wish it wasn’t an obsession, I wish it was simply a passionate hobby.” Music is my first love.
But we think what we think.
