As a musically-obsessed teenager, it is simply a duty, on
behalf of other music gourmands, to scour the charts and come to the swift
conclusion that the music of today is dreadful, nothing more than satanic
chants and nonsensical lyrics. We say that ‘this is not like the 60s, 70s, 80s
or 90s,’quietly ignoring the absolutely terrible chart-toppers back then, the
music hall numbers and acts, now seen as kitsch and innocent. We point to the
Beatles and the Who, Queen and the Sex Pistols, Dire Straits and Motorhead, and
Oasis and Blur respectively. And then we look at today’s selection. Yes, we
have good bands, such as the Arctic Monkeys and Snow Patrol, influenced by
bands past as the Rolling Stones were by blues artists in America. But the crap
has stayed firm, and so has its techniques, by which they become anthems at
weddings and kids’ birthday parties.
The method of creating one of these simple but memorable
computer-created piles of techno rubbish is simple. No, we don’t go straight to
the playing of random musical instruments. You sit down and you outline your
demographic. Music like this is comparable to designing a kids’ toy which you
think will be the bestseller come Christmas. The demographic that will
guarantee No. 1 on the charts are pre-teenagers – they don’t care about
slamming guitar solos, or beautiful melodies. The growing popularity and glamorisation
of ‘popping’ and ‘hopping’ in the ‘club’, that mysterious ersatz-Olympus of all
pop stars with plenty of ‘swag’, the new deities of today, means that such
music can create that same atmosphere in your bedroom, as their twelve
year-olds can get dressed up in swimsuits (which they call ‘dresses’) and bop
up and down to addictive beats.
Often, for the ladies, it’s a repetitive piano riff, with a
smooth synth. It’s not that fast, perfect for jogging, rather than a stroll or
a sprint. If there is anything to like about these songs, it’s these bits. Add
to that a heavily autotuned voice (not a complaint about the singer’s voice,
just the fact that they use autotune), and it really sounds like something from
heaven, to which the reaction is natural, as if it came from the sky –
suspicious at first but comforted and more at ease upon further interaction.
Of course, it can’t just be all synth. Boys like doing this
kind of thing too, with their girlfriend, covered in so much fake tan, that you
may as well be boogieing with a traffic bollard. If you want boys to enjoy this
tune as much as their female counterparts, there has to be one of two things –
a ‘donk’, where all melody is turned off for ten seconds for a crappy bass
beat. The males can prove off their manliness and ‘street’-ness by nodding their
head, wearing a baseball cap, or making a gun with their hands. Yep, teenagers
aren’t pathetic whatsoever.
Let's be frank, however, the lyrics are always crap. There is nothing to say about the
lyrics whatsoever. Does it have the same beat to the song? Does it sound nice?
Yes. Is there a vague reference to sexual intercourse? Yes. It doesn’t matter,
seeing as the Europeans, who eat this stuff up and play it 24/7 on radio
stations in France and Spain throughout the summer, don’t know what the words
mean anyway.
So, it’s been printed onto CDs, it’s been sent to the radio
stations, we’ve paid the radio stations handsomely to have it played every hour
for the next month. All the producers do is sit back and watch the money roll
in. It’s even better in reality; songwriters get paid peanuts, the singer gets
more exposure and perhaps they’ll listen to their older, better work. The DJ
will get more gigs and play in more exclusive clubs in London, Paris,
Barcelona, Berlin, New York to name a few cities regarded as meccas for this
kind of music. The men who create these music are not talentless freaks with
nothing better to do – they’re bloody boffins.
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