Feeeeeed the woooooooooorld....
[I started this one a couple of weeks ago and haven't had time to finish it until now. Ignore the directly-work-related stuff and focus on the points about British pop music]
Oh dear god, make it stop.
Last Monday I got to work, and here in the UK that means it's time to start pimping the new Band Aid 20 "Do They Know It's Christmas" single. Now, I'm not THAT old, but I do distinctly remember this the first time around. So, admittedly, the first playing of the new version was...intriguing. Oh listen to Chris Martin's understated, um, understatement leading things off. Ah, and that must be Dido in the follow-up spot. And playing the role of Simon LeBon, this time we have Robbie Williams. And then, um, um, ummmmm, some female pop singers (Sugababes I'm later told. Sugababes. Who comes up with this shit? And what, were Girls Aloud busy? Thank Britain for Led Zeppelin and Radiohead. Fuck 'em for Pop Idol and everything that looks or sounds like the Spice Girls/Sugababes/fill-in-obviously-attractive-but-lacking-in-talent-girl-band-name-here). So all in all, the first listen through indicates a more subdued entity overall, with typically tasteful Nigel Godrich production. That was the first listening. Then there was the next 3 hours straight. 3. Fucking. Hours. In my past I've listened to the occasional song on repeat (usually in the interest of transcription). But 3 straight hours of an all-"star" remake of an all-star charity single, and fuck it, I'm ready to let Africa starve. It got to the point where all I had to look (listen?) forward to was Dizzee Rascal's 4 lines in the midst of Justin "I'm Better Than Bono, Oh Wait, No, I'm In The Effing Darkness" Hawkins' wailing. In contrast, we've also been playing the (UK only) DVD of Live Aid, which includes the videos for the original DTKIC as well as our (that is the American) sister song, We Are The World. Man, Quincy got his ass handed to him on a plate by the "I Don't Like Mondays" guy. Seriously, how can Stevie Wonder, Michael Jackson, Bruce Springsteen, et al. sound so much worse than Paul Young and Boy George (well, we did also have Cyndi Lauper, which docks us a few thousand points).
This all leads to my current commentary on the state of pop music (I actually mistakenly typed "poop music" here, maybe I should have kept it), particularly here in the British Isles. I was discussing today with my Malaysian coworker Jigga the differences between American and British music. He was inquiring as to which I liked better, and I responded that I don't have a preference since it's very apples and oranges. Americans seem to strive for innovation and breakthrough, while Brits honour and perfect upon musical history. I added, though, that British crap is far worse than American crap. Sure, we've got our pop crap, Britney and Beyonce and whatnot, but seriously, you Americans reading this have got to thank, well, not god, but somebody, that you have what you do. The aggressive capitalist market in the US seems to filter out the REALLY bad. I mean, sure, Ashlee Simpson made a record, but so did JC Chasez and Joey McIntyre, and neither of them is making another (Justin Timberlake can keep making albums as long as he likes so long as they maintain or improve upon the quality of Justified). Here, though, is a whole 'nother story. On the plus side, there's Robbie Williams. That's right, the entire plus side is the British predecessor to Sr. Timberlake. On the downside is every-fucking-thing else. Take, for example, the aforementioned Girls Aloud. 5 girls who sing bad lyrics (or, alternatively, Chrissy Hynde's good lyrics badly) and sound like one girl singing bad lyrics through Pro-Tools. Seriously, say what you want about Destiny's Child, but at least they sound like 3 people creating harmonious crap. Girls Aloud could just as easily be one person (maybe plus some dancers). Why why WHY must there be another attempt at the Spice Girls. We did that, it sucked then, it sucks now. And now, after further research, I've discovered that Girls Aloud is a manufactured band, meaning they were assembled through the tv show "Popstars" which is like our "Making The Band" but without Puff Daddy and all the fighting. Surely the British industrial complex deserves better.
Then there's the UK answer to Ashlee Simpson, Miss Natasha Bedingfield. Granted, she's from New Zealand, but she wouldn't be famous if it weren't for the UK. It makes me wish this island would sink (well, not really, maybe New Zealand could sink instead). Dear god, make her stop RIGHT NOW. You missed when you put her brother in a car wreck. It was Natasha you meant to get. (her brother, Daniel Bedingfield, is a similarly talentless hack who was recently in a car wreck) Natasha's M.O. seems to be yelling (yelping?), in something close to the key of her backing track, the. most. insipid lyrics since Right Said Fred (and without the cheek I might add). Try this on: "Read some Byron, Shelly and Keats, recited it over a hip-hop beat...I know I had some studio time booked, but I couldn't find the perfect hook..." All in a pained dog-having-its-tail-trod-upon yell, on top of a syncopated beat that would only be considered hip-hop should the world never have been graced by Grandmaster Flash, Dr. Dre, Kanye West, and pretty much every other respectable hip-hop beatmaker (hell, Li'l Jon would be ashamed of this). It's so wretched I can't even begin to describe it in accurate detail.
It's not all bad here though. That Franz Ferdinand tune "Michael" is groovin' in a sleazy, Stones-y sort of manner. In fact, I've grown to actually like one HMV favorite, th Scissor Sisters. Oh wait, they're from New York. And my old bandmate/roommate has been on about them for months. So I guess they don't count.
AAARRRRRRRGH!
I'm so looking forward to a job where the only music being played is dependant on me having an instrument in my hands. On every level really.
Pop pop goes the weasel, the weasel.
Oh dear god, make it stop.
Last Monday I got to work, and here in the UK that means it's time to start pimping the new Band Aid 20 "Do They Know It's Christmas" single. Now, I'm not THAT old, but I do distinctly remember this the first time around. So, admittedly, the first playing of the new version was...intriguing. Oh listen to Chris Martin's understated, um, understatement leading things off. Ah, and that must be Dido in the follow-up spot. And playing the role of Simon LeBon, this time we have Robbie Williams. And then, um, um, ummmmm, some female pop singers (Sugababes I'm later told. Sugababes. Who comes up with this shit? And what, were Girls Aloud busy? Thank Britain for Led Zeppelin and Radiohead. Fuck 'em for Pop Idol and everything that looks or sounds like the Spice Girls/Sugababes/fill-in-obviously-attractive-but-lacking-in-talent-girl-band-name-here). So all in all, the first listen through indicates a more subdued entity overall, with typically tasteful Nigel Godrich production. That was the first listening. Then there was the next 3 hours straight. 3. Fucking. Hours. In my past I've listened to the occasional song on repeat (usually in the interest of transcription). But 3 straight hours of an all-"star" remake of an all-star charity single, and fuck it, I'm ready to let Africa starve. It got to the point where all I had to look (listen?) forward to was Dizzee Rascal's 4 lines in the midst of Justin "I'm Better Than Bono, Oh Wait, No, I'm In The Effing Darkness" Hawkins' wailing. In contrast, we've also been playing the (UK only) DVD of Live Aid, which includes the videos for the original DTKIC as well as our (that is the American) sister song, We Are The World. Man, Quincy got his ass handed to him on a plate by the "I Don't Like Mondays" guy. Seriously, how can Stevie Wonder, Michael Jackson, Bruce Springsteen, et al. sound so much worse than Paul Young and Boy George (well, we did also have Cyndi Lauper, which docks us a few thousand points).
This all leads to my current commentary on the state of pop music (I actually mistakenly typed "poop music" here, maybe I should have kept it), particularly here in the British Isles. I was discussing today with my Malaysian coworker Jigga the differences between American and British music. He was inquiring as to which I liked better, and I responded that I don't have a preference since it's very apples and oranges. Americans seem to strive for innovation and breakthrough, while Brits honour and perfect upon musical history. I added, though, that British crap is far worse than American crap. Sure, we've got our pop crap, Britney and Beyonce and whatnot, but seriously, you Americans reading this have got to thank, well, not god, but somebody, that you have what you do. The aggressive capitalist market in the US seems to filter out the REALLY bad. I mean, sure, Ashlee Simpson made a record, but so did JC Chasez and Joey McIntyre, and neither of them is making another (Justin Timberlake can keep making albums as long as he likes so long as they maintain or improve upon the quality of Justified). Here, though, is a whole 'nother story. On the plus side, there's Robbie Williams. That's right, the entire plus side is the British predecessor to Sr. Timberlake. On the downside is every-fucking-thing else. Take, for example, the aforementioned Girls Aloud. 5 girls who sing bad lyrics (or, alternatively, Chrissy Hynde's good lyrics badly) and sound like one girl singing bad lyrics through Pro-Tools. Seriously, say what you want about Destiny's Child, but at least they sound like 3 people creating harmonious crap. Girls Aloud could just as easily be one person (maybe plus some dancers). Why why WHY must there be another attempt at the Spice Girls. We did that, it sucked then, it sucks now. And now, after further research, I've discovered that Girls Aloud is a manufactured band, meaning they were assembled through the tv show "Popstars" which is like our "Making The Band" but without Puff Daddy and all the fighting. Surely the British industrial complex deserves better.
Then there's the UK answer to Ashlee Simpson, Miss Natasha Bedingfield. Granted, she's from New Zealand, but she wouldn't be famous if it weren't for the UK. It makes me wish this island would sink (well, not really, maybe New Zealand could sink instead). Dear god, make her stop RIGHT NOW. You missed when you put her brother in a car wreck. It was Natasha you meant to get. (her brother, Daniel Bedingfield, is a similarly talentless hack who was recently in a car wreck) Natasha's M.O. seems to be yelling (yelping?), in something close to the key of her backing track, the. most. insipid lyrics since Right Said Fred (and without the cheek I might add). Try this on: "Read some Byron, Shelly and Keats, recited it over a hip-hop beat...I know I had some studio time booked, but I couldn't find the perfect hook..." All in a pained dog-having-its-tail-trod-upon yell, on top of a syncopated beat that would only be considered hip-hop should the world never have been graced by Grandmaster Flash, Dr. Dre, Kanye West, and pretty much every other respectable hip-hop beatmaker (hell, Li'l Jon would be ashamed of this). It's so wretched I can't even begin to describe it in accurate detail.
It's not all bad here though. That Franz Ferdinand tune "Michael" is groovin' in a sleazy, Stones-y sort of manner. In fact, I've grown to actually like one HMV favorite, th Scissor Sisters. Oh wait, they're from New York. And my old bandmate/roommate has been on about them for months. So I guess they don't count.
AAARRRRRRRGH!
I'm so looking forward to a job where the only music being played is dependant on me having an instrument in my hands. On every level really.
Pop pop goes the weasel, the weasel.
posted by YN at 2:40 pm
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