Writing for us on occasion Andrew Nicholls is our new, unofficial resident blogger. With publishing credits in magazines near and far (Metal Hammer, Hevypetal, SQ, BN1, East, Source, XYZ, The Grapevine, Fan the Fire, Gorilla, MTM radio) he certainly seems to know his stuff, and isn’t afraid to get his claws out.
“I think I should have no other mortal wants, if I could always have plenty of music. It seems to infuse strength into my limbs, and ideas into my brain. Life seems to go on without effort, when I am filled with music.
George Eliot certainly had a way with words, it’s just a shame that so many today don’t share her ideal.
Obviously back then music was a little different; the populace worshipped great composers- Frédéric Chopin, Alfred Bruneau- and listened in silent wonder as conductors brought together strings, woods and brass. Nowadays standards seem to have slipped; glow-sticks have replaced batons, and great theatres have given way to nightclubs, sweat dripping from skin and walls.
It might seem elitist, and it may be a tired thought, but with brain devouring parasites like Pitbull, JLS and Lady Gaga invading the charts it’s becoming clear that music, like Marmite, is slowly becoming an acquired taste.
Talent, if you know where to find it, still exists in abundance but, as modern music gradually morphs into nothing but a sideshow act, it can be easy to lose track of what was important in the first place; the sound.
For many music is a vocalist and a band, but thanks to all the costumes, the drugs and the scandals the face of music in the new millennium is an ugly one, stained with welts and boils. Mozart didn’t become famous because he took style tips from the pages of Clowns & Clowning. Stevie Wonder didn’t claim his fame with exposed flesh as currency. What happened to passion? To heart?
Making it big in the music industry is an arduous task filled with pitfalls and dead ends, or at least it used to be. Today it seems you only have to sign up to a tired talent show, or spend your life as a tabloid wet dream. Sure, many bands still graft, and yes getting famous is still next to impossible for most, but why do so many jesters get through on novelty when even more with real God-given talent get left behind?
Money. Of course money is the answer, and sex. Sex sells. Scandal sells. Record execs don’t seem to want to gamble on a gifted rock band with a solid fan base of six when there’s a plastic faced Barbie up for grabs that sounds like she sings out of her vagina.
But with that being the case one has to wonder why the powers that be don’t just do away with music all together, and fill the radio waves with easily digestible tabloid dog food instead.
Of course it isn’t all new- artists have always loved their drugs, and scandal has always been craved- but in this digital era who’s slept with who and who’s off the wagon is seems to be becoming more important.
We live in a world damned by the Cowell virus. On the one hand the birth of recent talent shows like The X-Factor and The Voice has allowed many undeniably gifted artists to rise from obscurity when they wouldn’t otherwise of been able to, but then they all seem to care more about humiliating the misguided and capitalising on the mediocre than nurturing real talent.
And speaking of talent it’s certainly out there to be found, and comes in many shapes and forms, from husky voiced girls with guitars to big bands with big sounds and rappers with metronomes. The world just seems to be against them.
So, it has to be said, switch off your radio, throw your television in the trash, allow yourself to be lifted by the music all around you. Do that and maybe the music won’t be forgotten. Maybe, just maybe.
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