I am becoming an old fart
I am beginning to dread car journeys with my children.
In the good old days, the most we had to concern ourselves with was perhaps a nappy that needed changing, perhaps the occasional redecoration of the car interior via the medium of the contents of Jess's stomach, the usual bouts of arguing and fighting or the quiet request to stop for a wee because they are absolutely bursting, approximately twenty minutes after you have left the last service station.
Fortunately, the CD player was a bastion of adult respectability. Well, I say that, my wife does have rather 'middle of the road' taste in Music. Billy Joel, Bucks Fizz, Brotherhood of Man and recently, Michael Buble. Pretty much anyone who begins with 'B' really, though even she drew the line at Bros.
However with me driving and staking my claim to manhood, my choice of CD's were often the ones littering the car, upsetting my wife and keeping us entertained on our journeys.
Not any more.
After spending the vast majority of their life without a soundtrack, both my kids are now getting heavily into music. The time when dad's CD was a must-play in the car, has long gone. Now when we travel, we enter the shallow world of modern popular music. Repleat with its charlatan cast of talentless tosspots, eccentric freaks and gangsta rappers (who can easily fit into either of the two categories previously mentioned).
At the moment Lady Gaga is all the rage for Jess. Apparently she has just won a shedload of awards at some award show or other, and that is very important. Yes, I cared that much to research it in such depth.
I see no reason to like this woman at all. Her songs are, at best, average. At worst, infantile to the point of mind-numbing banality. But what irks me all the more is the way she is attempting to liven her act up somewhat by being the lovable, quirky eccentric, desperate to be understood in this crazy world...
What utter feebleminded bullwhap. It is cynical marketing of the highest order. She doesn't seem to realise that to achieve a level of acceptance as a weird eccentric, then you actually have to have some modicum of talent in the first place and crucially, be generally likeable to the wider public.
All this wearing odd costumes, daft sunglasses and generally doing things to shock, is less a statement of the rebellion inherent in modern youth and much more a statement that she is a desperate, fame-addicted tosser with about as much sense as a haddock on stilts and about the same level of musical ability.
Worse still are these American rappers with text talk names like Utw4t or c0k3w4nk3r, or some such nonsense. 50 Cent is a particular favourite of mine. What a great name. I await the British equivalent of 50p with a mixture of fear and incredulity.
I do love the fact these "gang-banging mo'fo's" (see, I am up there with the kids) just seem to spout an endless series of violent, frequently misogynistic, foul-mouthed poetry, to the accompaniment of a few drums and suddenly, they speak for the 'lost generation'. I often wonder how many of these rappers actually know that rap is an acronym for 'rhythm and poetry'. It isn't new, it isn't cutting edge. It's shit poetry and a drum beat. It speaks no more for the alienated youth of today than Andrew Motion does, and compared to the works of the likes of Wilfred Owen or Sylvia Plath, modern rap is absolute arse-dribble of the highest order.
It couldn't have happened in the UK, where we actually understand poetry. Can you imagine an irate youth sitting down, whacking a drum beat on his keyboard and rapping in the style of Philip Larkin or Seamus Heaney? I await the Eminem version of Ogden Nash's "The Duck" with eager anticipation.
"Behold the Muther Fkn duck,
It doesn't beeyatchin cluck,
a cluck it lacks,
dumbass...
It quacks... mo'fo"
Then of course there are the manufactured bands. Those put together without the need for volume, or any discernable musical talent. These are the leeches of musical society. They eat up vast chunks of profits that talented musicians should be earning, with their pre-pubescent, carefully targetted warblings of 'true love and devotion' or 'teenage heartbreak', delivered with the emotional depth and solemn gravitas you can only normally find in an Adam Sandler movie. Throw in a few grimaces of heartfelt agony and a few nifty dance moves and it is enough to make barely pubescent girls wet themselves and scream a great deal and download the song to make it a sure fire number one.
As a marketing exercise, brilliant. As an exercise in furthering modern music, it does about as much good for music as Nick Leeson did for Barings.
At the top of the modern musical morass are those bands that can actually write, sing and play. I rate any of these bands higher than any of the others mentioned previously. Yes, even the likes of Snow Patrol, a band so dull and depressingly mundane that they make Leonard Cohen sound like Lulu. But even within these bands there is a discernable rift in ability.
Take Oasis for example. Noel Gallagher, a bit of a prat at times, but he's a fine musician (I think anyway, others may disagree) and he can write a catchy tune or six. Take his brother Liam, a singer who has, at best, an average voice that is only rendered passable by the urgent oscillating of his furry monobrow, which adds some semblance of harmony to it. Yet, it is Liam who struts around like he owns the planet and had all the talent in the group. No wonder Noel had enough of him, just seeing him on screen now makes me want to shave my hair off and do a Moby. Peter Kay wasn't just accurate, but uncannily so.
I'm not having a go at vocalists. When you hear a good one, it blows your socks off in the same way as hearing a fantastic piece of guitar, drum or piano playing does. Freddie Mercury had 100,000 people in the palm of his hand with his voice alone. Pavarotti singing 'Nessun Dorma' still sends shivers down my spine and I can still remember hearing Andrew Strong burst into the first verse of "Mustang Sally" in the film "The Commitments" and being totally mesmerised by the sheer power of his voice. I even had the fortune to listen to an old school friend singing recently and was stunned into silence at how good he was. Not in a creepy, "I'm saying this to be nice..." kind of way, but in a proper "Fuck me! He can actually do this bloody well!" kind of way.
It is the same with all talented musicians today. The best deserve to be recognised a damn sight more than they are, only they are obfusctaed by the weird and wacky, the manufactured-to-moisten and the foul-mouthed, jewellery-jangling ghetto-gangs, who speak to the generational stereotypes and advance music about as far as Gerald Ratner did his jewellery business.
And at least he understood he peddled shite for a living.
Look at Dave Grohl of Nirvana and now Foo Fighters. Yes, he needs a damn good haircut and to shave off that moustache that has him looking alarmingly like Keanu Reeves dismal portrayal of Don Juan in Branagh's "Much Ado about Nothing". But is there an instrument he cannot play and master? Moby is another who is hugely talented (though occasionally proselytising). Patrick Moore on the xylophones. Rolf on his wobbleboard. The list of those who deserve true recognition is endless.
I guess this generation is no different to any other. As we grew up, we were unfortunate enough to be hosed down all to frequently in the wake of some awful, bowel-looseningly bad music too. I know, I was a teenager when Bros were all the rage. I've got the purple heart and self-inflicted wounds to prove it.
It just seems to me that nowadays, that there is an awful lot more of it and an awful lot more of it is rather nasty too.
You hand a guitar to a member of Westlife, they won't know whether to blow it, hit it, sing into it, or invite it back to their hotel room for some post-gig fun, involving a video camera, white powder and a News of the World expose. Hand one to Mark Knopfler, Mike Rutherford, Slash, Charlie Burchill, Dave Gilmour, you would be treated to something special. Something unique.
Some may say I am viewing the past through rose tinted spectacles, that I am a fuddy duddy old fart, stuck in my ways. Perhaps this is so. I don't know, but the one thing that modern music lacks in so many ways, is the one thing crucial to making good music that will be remembered beyond the generations, for all the right reasons.
Talent.
So if you see me in my car looking glum, you'll know why. I'll be going gaga and sadly, it won't be the radio variety.
In the good old days, the most we had to concern ourselves with was perhaps a nappy that needed changing, perhaps the occasional redecoration of the car interior via the medium of the contents of Jess's stomach, the usual bouts of arguing and fighting or the quiet request to stop for a wee because they are absolutely bursting, approximately twenty minutes after you have left the last service station.
Fortunately, the CD player was a bastion of adult respectability. Well, I say that, my wife does have rather 'middle of the road' taste in Music. Billy Joel, Bucks Fizz, Brotherhood of Man and recently, Michael Buble. Pretty much anyone who begins with 'B' really, though even she drew the line at Bros.
However with me driving and staking my claim to manhood, my choice of CD's were often the ones littering the car, upsetting my wife and keeping us entertained on our journeys.
Not any more.
After spending the vast majority of their life without a soundtrack, both my kids are now getting heavily into music. The time when dad's CD was a must-play in the car, has long gone. Now when we travel, we enter the shallow world of modern popular music. Repleat with its charlatan cast of talentless tosspots, eccentric freaks and gangsta rappers (who can easily fit into either of the two categories previously mentioned).
At the moment Lady Gaga is all the rage for Jess. Apparently she has just won a shedload of awards at some award show or other, and that is very important. Yes, I cared that much to research it in such depth.
I see no reason to like this woman at all. Her songs are, at best, average. At worst, infantile to the point of mind-numbing banality. But what irks me all the more is the way she is attempting to liven her act up somewhat by being the lovable, quirky eccentric, desperate to be understood in this crazy world...
What utter feebleminded bullwhap. It is cynical marketing of the highest order. She doesn't seem to realise that to achieve a level of acceptance as a weird eccentric, then you actually have to have some modicum of talent in the first place and crucially, be generally likeable to the wider public.
All this wearing odd costumes, daft sunglasses and generally doing things to shock, is less a statement of the rebellion inherent in modern youth and much more a statement that she is a desperate, fame-addicted tosser with about as much sense as a haddock on stilts and about the same level of musical ability.
Worse still are these American rappers with text talk names like Utw4t or c0k3w4nk3r, or some such nonsense. 50 Cent is a particular favourite of mine. What a great name. I await the British equivalent of 50p with a mixture of fear and incredulity.
I do love the fact these "gang-banging mo'fo's" (see, I am up there with the kids) just seem to spout an endless series of violent, frequently misogynistic, foul-mouthed poetry, to the accompaniment of a few drums and suddenly, they speak for the 'lost generation'. I often wonder how many of these rappers actually know that rap is an acronym for 'rhythm and poetry'. It isn't new, it isn't cutting edge. It's shit poetry and a drum beat. It speaks no more for the alienated youth of today than Andrew Motion does, and compared to the works of the likes of Wilfred Owen or Sylvia Plath, modern rap is absolute arse-dribble of the highest order.
It couldn't have happened in the UK, where we actually understand poetry. Can you imagine an irate youth sitting down, whacking a drum beat on his keyboard and rapping in the style of Philip Larkin or Seamus Heaney? I await the Eminem version of Ogden Nash's "The Duck" with eager anticipation.
"Behold the Muther Fkn duck,
It doesn't beeyatchin cluck,
a cluck it lacks,
dumbass...
It quacks... mo'fo"
Then of course there are the manufactured bands. Those put together without the need for volume, or any discernable musical talent. These are the leeches of musical society. They eat up vast chunks of profits that talented musicians should be earning, with their pre-pubescent, carefully targetted warblings of 'true love and devotion' or 'teenage heartbreak', delivered with the emotional depth and solemn gravitas you can only normally find in an Adam Sandler movie. Throw in a few grimaces of heartfelt agony and a few nifty dance moves and it is enough to make barely pubescent girls wet themselves and scream a great deal and download the song to make it a sure fire number one.
As a marketing exercise, brilliant. As an exercise in furthering modern music, it does about as much good for music as Nick Leeson did for Barings.
At the top of the modern musical morass are those bands that can actually write, sing and play. I rate any of these bands higher than any of the others mentioned previously. Yes, even the likes of Snow Patrol, a band so dull and depressingly mundane that they make Leonard Cohen sound like Lulu. But even within these bands there is a discernable rift in ability.
Take Oasis for example. Noel Gallagher, a bit of a prat at times, but he's a fine musician (I think anyway, others may disagree) and he can write a catchy tune or six. Take his brother Liam, a singer who has, at best, an average voice that is only rendered passable by the urgent oscillating of his furry monobrow, which adds some semblance of harmony to it. Yet, it is Liam who struts around like he owns the planet and had all the talent in the group. No wonder Noel had enough of him, just seeing him on screen now makes me want to shave my hair off and do a Moby. Peter Kay wasn't just accurate, but uncannily so.
I'm not having a go at vocalists. When you hear a good one, it blows your socks off in the same way as hearing a fantastic piece of guitar, drum or piano playing does. Freddie Mercury had 100,000 people in the palm of his hand with his voice alone. Pavarotti singing 'Nessun Dorma' still sends shivers down my spine and I can still remember hearing Andrew Strong burst into the first verse of "Mustang Sally" in the film "The Commitments" and being totally mesmerised by the sheer power of his voice. I even had the fortune to listen to an old school friend singing recently and was stunned into silence at how good he was. Not in a creepy, "I'm saying this to be nice..." kind of way, but in a proper "Fuck me! He can actually do this bloody well!" kind of way.
It is the same with all talented musicians today. The best deserve to be recognised a damn sight more than they are, only they are obfusctaed by the weird and wacky, the manufactured-to-moisten and the foul-mouthed, jewellery-jangling ghetto-gangs, who speak to the generational stereotypes and advance music about as far as Gerald Ratner did his jewellery business.
And at least he understood he peddled shite for a living.
Look at Dave Grohl of Nirvana and now Foo Fighters. Yes, he needs a damn good haircut and to shave off that moustache that has him looking alarmingly like Keanu Reeves dismal portrayal of Don Juan in Branagh's "Much Ado about Nothing". But is there an instrument he cannot play and master? Moby is another who is hugely talented (though occasionally proselytising). Patrick Moore on the xylophones. Rolf on his wobbleboard. The list of those who deserve true recognition is endless.
I guess this generation is no different to any other. As we grew up, we were unfortunate enough to be hosed down all to frequently in the wake of some awful, bowel-looseningly bad music too. I know, I was a teenager when Bros were all the rage. I've got the purple heart and self-inflicted wounds to prove it.
It just seems to me that nowadays, that there is an awful lot more of it and an awful lot more of it is rather nasty too.
You hand a guitar to a member of Westlife, they won't know whether to blow it, hit it, sing into it, or invite it back to their hotel room for some post-gig fun, involving a video camera, white powder and a News of the World expose. Hand one to Mark Knopfler, Mike Rutherford, Slash, Charlie Burchill, Dave Gilmour, you would be treated to something special. Something unique.
Some may say I am viewing the past through rose tinted spectacles, that I am a fuddy duddy old fart, stuck in my ways. Perhaps this is so. I don't know, but the one thing that modern music lacks in so many ways, is the one thing crucial to making good music that will be remembered beyond the generations, for all the right reasons.
Talent.
So if you see me in my car looking glum, you'll know why. I'll be going gaga and sadly, it won't be the radio variety.
Nice to see mention of Mike Rutherford, there.
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