The Twerk Ethic

Last night, I had the misfortune to have to hear the Miley Cyrus offering - Wrecking Ball.   I was trapped in a moving car - there was no escape.  Christ on a bike, it was bad.

I accept that I'm old and that I'm not the target Cyrus demographic and that I am obliged to complain about young people's music.  However, I tried to be subjective and simply to judge it on artistic merits. Trouble is that is has none.  There isn't even anything resembling a tune.  Over-produced, creatively-bankrupt shite, mostly.  Women wailing, men shouting, lots of whistles and clicks.   It sounded more like  two dolphins cage-fighting in front of a hostile crowd, while playing kazoos out of their blow holes.


And then there are the cover versions.  Many good songs being taken out and ritually humiliated by a new 'interpretation'.  I can only hope that the original artists has been connected to a generator - they're going to be spinning in their graves so fast, they can be used as a power source.


I also heard renowned Doner Kebab-wearer, Lady Gaga droning on that her man can "Use my body any way you want to".  This was followed by another woman shouting that she'll "Use them any way I can to get you". These seem to be pretty unambiguous - these girls are top trumping as to who can be the dirtiest.  Is that necessary?  Is it wise?  What next?  "Baby you can go in dry!"  or "Hey boy! I can stick a pineapple up my bum!"   At least if they did that, I have good reason to turn off the radio.

Far too late to close the Pandoras Box that is Psy, though.  My kids - all kids - love 'Gangnam Style' - even if my youngest insists that it is 'Gammon Style'.  They have no idea what 'sexy' is but they use it all the time.  Heyyy! Sexy Breakfast!" and "Heyyy! Sexy School Tie" etc. etc.

My kids want to listen to Capital Radio in the car.   But not the London Capital Radio - not the Capital Radio of the Clash - ooo no - they want the parochial, regional Capital Radio with inane advertisments for local car dealers and kebab shops. The DJs are the usual post-lobotomistic fucktards and all in all, I feel that I am being a good parent by refusing to allow it in my car and giving them Pere Ubu instead.  What doesn't kill them will make them stronger.

I'm not giving in and I'm certainly not getting down with the kids.  I have plenty of other ways of losing what little dignity I have left.  I don't need to pretend to like young peoples music to get them to like me.  They won't like me and I won't like their music.  It a deal.

I should be down with the kids though.  A quick look through my music collection will show that I'm pretty fond of stuff that doesn't have a tune.   But there is a difference between the joyous noise of Husker Du and the wear-out-one-note-and-then-struggle-to-the-next-one 'tune' of Wrecking Ball -  a song that owes more than it intends to Ted and Dougal's original version of My Lovely Horse.

Mmmm.  My Lovely Horse.  I feel much better now.