The comedian Stewart Lee is a comedian that I like the comedy of TIMING IN COMEDY IS ESSENTIAL and I think that his comedy is an interesting mix of structure and timing and bitterness but he absolutely does not tell jokes TIMING. He will repeat pieces of information and mock the implied cultural logic of other comedians and will repeat pieces of information and mock the implied cultural logic of other comedians will repeat pieces of information and mock the implied cultural logic of other comedians but do you see how when I did it (TIMING!) then it was really boring and you got annoyed? He does it and 95% of people will still get bored but the other 5% will laugh. All of that 5% are in the house tonight and repetition is another thing his comedy uses.
As a quasi-Marxist who will probably look like the collapsed remnant of several pop stars of my era I will not mention that Stewart Lee looks like Gene Vincent on crisps that is ardently political as well. Stewart Lee is subtly arguing a leftist point of view and I fully expect or even demand given a certain level of beer that his next show be called STEWART LEE'S COLLECTIVISED FARMING CO-OPERATIVE or STEWART LEE'S FIVE YEAR PLAN or perhaps even STEWART LEE WILL DEFEND THE MOTHERLAND WITH RECOURSE TO DIDACTIC AND EXPLOSIVE CINEMATIC TECHNIQUES THAT ACTUALLY MOST REGULAR CITIZENS WILL FAIL TO UNDERSTAND. The last would work best because it is truer. Reptition! Timing!
What does he hate? He says: other comedians named Russell, the dilapidation and homegeneity of the UK high street, Twitter, you, some people who insult him on the internet, the audience he has accrued in the wake of being a more famous comedian of comedy in the last 10 years where his comedic comedy-style comic parody with words as well has been on the television. In reality and according to the fundamental(ist???????) logic of the comedy stylings of the comedian Stewart Lee he does not hate anyone, even the business man in his suit and tie (a reference bordering on oblique very much in keeping with the Stewart Lee phenomenon sweeping up and down UK pubs and clubs) because he wants society to be made of carpet remnants. Hence his show title: CARPET REMNANT WORLD. Timing?
Where are the jokes asks the 95%? Stewart Lee he no Bernard Manning of the racism. Bernard was timing in human form. Stewart eats up time like a hungry clock. Bernard would say 'jokes up your mother-in-law's bum'. Stewart would say 'no jokes'. Jokes are beneath him and beyond him. He cannot tell a joke to save his life. His body, sick from operations, will not allow him to tell a joke. That is why his crowd and I love him. He loves people and loves comedy by hating people and telling no jokes with timing. Timing. Timing. And repetition. And structure. And cadence. And repetition. And hate. And timing. And love. And love. And love. And love. And love. And a man with a mind made out of those hole reinforcers you can buy for ring-binding. And repetition.
#724 Take That, 'Never Forget' 1995
The further we are away from this song, we realise that it was much less universal and more straight autobiography. 'We're still so young but we hope for more.' They would all go on to new projects: solo careers, DJing, acting in Channel 4's 'Killer Net'. 'We're not invincible', they also sing, Robbie Williams' foot half out of the door. 'Safe from the arms of disappointment for so long'. All the members would come to understand this cruel mistress in the coming decades before their reunion.
This, the penultimate #1 of Take That Mk 1, contains a chorus that is instant, uplifting, and fairly undeniable. However, around the edges it is a little rougher than memory allows for. The lyrics are mostly hubristic, anticipating a simple step between various aspects of gargantuan fame as if it were merely a matter of self-belief. Pomp-rock musical-theatre maestro Jim Steinman mans production: presumably being responsible for the alarmingly chintzy child choir intro and outro, as well as a general tenor only raised a couple of notches above 'muzak'. (5) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yoO_1FFr56k&ob
#397 Showaddywaddy, 'Under The Moon Of Love' 1976
Every April, my mother's workplace sit down and decide where they would like to spend their Xmas dinner together. In April. You did read that correctly. They used to favour the former home of the Salford City Reds rugby club (The Willows) for their dinner + star combos. Sometimes it would be an Elvis act. Sometimes it was EDWIN FUCKING STARR (!). Often it was Showaddywaddy. A high-energy and melodic septet with catchy songs, their multi-coloured outfits, jokes + music shtick continues to delight audiences even in 2012, long after The Willows was condemned to rubble.
Sadly, and crucially, they were not very good at all. At a molecular level, this song mixes soul, doo-wop, and even a feint hint of rockabilly, but with such saccharine and mono-level abandon that it sounds like a stuck record after a mere 8 bars. Second listenings, though preferable for this project, were simply not possible. (3) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N01Ki81lGew
#541 Jim Diamond, 'I Should Have Known Better' 1984
The first song that I had no prior knowledge of before this countdown. Though this is a sentiment ("I am hurt from this ill-fated relationship and possibly I am at fault") and a series of chords that we have all heard before, nothing about this song screams 'I AM A NUMBER ONE SINGLE FROM THE MID 1980s'. It is relatively understated and produced against the fads of the day. Diamond's vocals propel the song through the emotional waters, the song serene but for an occasional fretless bass flutter. Not bad. (5) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Af3G2cfYayY
#6 Guy Mitchell, 'She Wears Red Feathers' 1953
We're still pre-Elvis and rock'n'roll and Bill Haley and we're in post-war austerity, just about. A flash of underwear above the waistline can still shame a gentleman to his social disgrace. Here, Mitchell sings a quaint ditty about funny old colonialism where a London banker seduces an island girl who wears the eponymous red feathers and a 'hooly-hooly' skirt. It's pretty lame, though it manages to raise a smile by dint of its oldness and naive outlook. If you watch a lot of old films, you will have heard this a million times: I had never heard it before this project, yet it feels predictable, all camp entendres and censor-baiting eyebrows. (4) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3zqzvc7iyDg
#381 Billy Connolly, 'D.I.V.O.R.C.E.' 1975
The famous comedian parodies Tammy Wynette. This is just average Jongleur's opening act material. Is this the first comedy routine to get to #1? (3) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SzZzGxReXmo
#1068 Duffy, 'Mercy' 2008
Remember what I said about Olly Murs and The Mark Ronson Effect wherein 'soul music revival' is just shorthand for 'having classic values'? I didn't use those exact words but that is more or less what I meant. Anyway, this song is a bit like that. Duffy has a pleasant enough voice but the masochistic edge to the lyric sours things a little. (3) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y7ZEVA5dy-Y&ob
#9 Frankie Laine, 'I Believe' 1953.
A smoochy, weepy, schmaltzy number from an era that had not yet had sex beyond the missionary position and were still only getting dial-up at 48 baud. The shadow of God looms large over this song ("I believe that someone in the great somewhere hears every word") - effectively a pop idiom version of Cecil F. Alexander's 'All Things Bright & Beautiful'. It is brief, making its point before disappearing. If only it were the only time it would appear on the chart... (4) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FDMYMbj8_4A
#504 Captain Sensible, 'Happy Talk' 1982
A cover version of a song from South Pacific by a member of The Damned that didn't even sing not only doesn't sound like #1 material: it doesn't even sound terribly appealing. It would be tempting to call this song 'ironic' and 'subversive', given that Sensible was a figurehead of 'punk', in all of its perceived nihilism and depravity and that the song remains a solid place within the established canon of 'old people'.
In reality, Sensible was quite given to mass appeal and music that reached beyond the parameters of the punk sandbox, into colourful material with a wider purview: being the resident musician on ITV kids' show Top Banana and re-recording the Big Break theme tune. Backing group Dolly Mixture keep the melody strict whilst Sensible's bare-bones drum-machine and untrained vocals lend a song damaged by the seachange in youth freedom a playful, heartfelt edge. (6) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jF2ImyQjzyc
#348 ABBA, 'Waterloo' 1974
Is this the greatest entrance to the public consciousness in the history of all music? Nobody really knows what the first instance of knowing about The Beatles or The Stones was; they were written about and they were heard of by hipsters here and there and then a year later everybody knew both bands. Abba's insertion into mass-mind is definite, placeable, quantifiable. It is Brighton, 1974. The event is Eurovision. Agnetha and Anna-Frid stride forward with the ease of two girls approaching an Ibiza bar in an evening. "My my! At Waterloo Napoleon did surrender!", they sing, with easy confidence in the direction of the metaphor. The blonde one is in a sapphire-blue satin pant-suit with silver space boots. The curly brown-haired one has stolen all of the beads from the pensioners at the sea-front. They sing in unison rather than harmony, doubling the power behind the melody.
Up to this point Eurovision had been part of a British self-belief building programme that confirmed one third of a holy trifecta of national superiority: those Europeans can't do food, humour, or music like we Brits. But our stand-up comedians were inveterate racists, our food was spiceless and bland, and now our music was being shown up for the joyless plodfest it had become - and in our own backyard! Is it any coincidence that we would enter the European Economic Council that very year? For this to work, you have to assume that Sweden were also in it as well, which they were not.
The songwriting is peerless here. Has any band before or since announced themselves so strongly as being richly talented in all the marketable departments whilst seeming so natural and lovable into the bargain? I think not. 'Waterloo' is a masterpiece, and yet it is not even the best Abba song. (8)
#1062 Sean Kingston, 'Beautiful Girls' 2007
When I first heard this, I thought it was a joke. I could not take my focus from the 'suicidal, suicidal' part of the refrain. It is a serious song, sampling a butchered version of 'Stand By Me' by Ben E. King. Kingston does not believe that relationships with women can work because beautiful women make him want to kill himself. THIS WAS A NUMBER ONE SONG FOR WEEKS. And yet people consider rock 'depressing'???? (2) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MrTz5xjmso4&ob
#628 Gerry Marsden, Paul McCartney, Holly Johnson, & The Christians, 'Ferry Across The Mersey' 1989.
A charity single for the Hillsbrough disaster. I can't rate this really. It's not a great version of the song, that's all I can say, but for a good cause. (n/a) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fV-oyZP-0o8
#789 All Saints, 'Under The Bridge' / 'Lady Marmalade' 1998
By the release of this double-A single, All Saints were riding the crest of a wave that would last until their sixth single ('Pure Shores'). Established as a multi-national, multi-ethnic, and allegedly 'better at feminism' version of Spice Girls (e.g. they only exposed cleavage rather than leg as well), their debut and follow-up singles grabbed the commercial ear well. They would later marry idle rich rock stars and cough out an unbroken stream of unmitigated filth (the film Honest, the Appleton record) whilst compounding the notion that females in bands can't get along by, well, not getting along. Both sides of this single are covers, the A-side trumping the AA-side insofar as it is marginally less pointless. Some dated 'scratching' effect that cancels out half of the original guitar riff ensures 'Under The Bridge' doesn't blindly follow the Chili Peppers' version: 'Lady Marmalade' anticipates the Aguilera/Mya version to come by hamming up the hen party cacklefest elements to the highest level of the dial. (3) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_bzKO8kNUhI / http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mm_3MXb5ClI
#908 Bob The Builder, 'Mambo #5 2001
You can't really insult charity or childrens' songs without appearing like a gigantic killjoy. They're not competing in the same way. A #1 chart placing is a like a 'best trier' award. However, we can still reflect the song and its quality in the mark that we give it. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XerLpcnkVVk (2)
#919 Enrique Iglesias, 'Hero' 2002
A ubiquitous pop hit of the era of my own personal anti-pop virulence. A power-ballad laden with cliches and platitudes. As a formula exercise, it does everything machinic perfection: the first chorus rises up, gives way a moment of silence before ushering in the first snare hit. The building blocks are simple and familiar, but stitched together with such gossamer thread that we can't see the invisible manipulative hand of pop familiarity lulling us into acquiescence. Pop as anaesthetic, a theme I feel that will develop throughout this project, I expect. (2) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=koJlIGDImiU&ob
#565 Billy Ocean, 'When The Going Gets Tough, The Tough Get Going' 1986
You have disembarked the aeroplane at the Carribbean airport and you are feeling that warm Sargassan breeze kissing your neck and some employed local lady who is nonetheless doing a very good job of looking pleased to see you greets you by name and wishes you a pleasant holiday. Your partner squeezes your hand and tells you that this will be the best 3 weeks of your life. This song emerges from the airport and you smile and look forward to your first beer on the beach. (6) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l6Aj0sInq5A
Part one is only brief. Later editions will contain 10-50 reviews at a time.
#460. Don McLean, 'Crying' 1984.
The least-known of Canadian crooner McLean's 'big three' is a cover of the timeless large-spectacled one known as Roy Orbison. For half of its duration it is doggedly faithful to the original, a forlorn lament in which the song's protagonist leaks discharge from his eyes without cessation. McLean later goes off-piste a little with swelling strings and a goofily-overblown falsetto remniscent of the excellent and goofily-overblown songs of Robin Gibb, whom I always felt was held back by his be-bearded siblings in the Brothers Gibb, or 'Bee Gees'. There is simply not enough palpable vocal quivering in music. (6) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lpQmrUxwiF8
#1009. Tony Christie ft. Peter Kay, '(Is This The Way To) Amarillo?' 2005.
This is a joyful and sweet song. Christie was an excellent pop tenor of his era, which was much before the 2005 revival of this song for the UK charity Comic Relief. What it is not, however, is a comedy or 'novelty' song. This is the Peter Kay effect. His face, mugging along with various British celebrities, in accompaniment with this song has ensured an enduring legacy as novelty. Britain is now a visual culture, so the opening bars recall Kay (who does not perform on the record, only its promotional clip) and his gurning more than it does any anticipation of Christie's versatile performace. It seems churlish to quibble when this simple equation has raised money to aid domestic and internation charity projects though. (4) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yqLLDZvbG-U
#1180. Olly Murs, 'Dance With Me Tonight' 2011.
This desequencing of the chronology does not allow me to talk about The Mark Ronson Effect with adequate recourse to its creeping malignancy over prior years. Essentially it is a re-tooling of the signifiers of Motown and soul music: energetic mid-tempos, sharp suits, tight structures, & universal-sounding lyrics – but with none of the substance: the history of societal oppression and the performers who spent years paying dues. The digitisation of this music led to it becoming ersatz and reduceable to a mere pop trope that is audio shorthand 'party time'.
Mr. Murs appeared on the UK star-search format 'X Factor'. His 'thing' was that he was a local everyman with a winning smile and cheerily awful dance. His role in this song is practically incidental. (3) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F3EG4olrFjY&ob
#1154 Bruno Mars, 'Grenade' 2011.
This song is about a man with the biggest martyr complex possible. In the opening verse he establishes that the dramatic subject, an errant female companion, has left. The signs were there from the start. The first time they kissed, her eyes were open. "Why were they open?!" asks Mars, not unreasonably, though perhaps not establishing why obstructed ocular organisms equate with a more sincere kiss. From this low start, Mars establishes a lengthy list of things that he would do for this girl: e.g. catch the titular grenade, take a bullet through the brain, jump in front of a train - and in a chilling denouement to this chorus - she will NOT do the same.
Well, Bruno, I am guessing that is because she is a fairly reasonable person. It seems that she simply was not that into you in the first instance. It wouldn't be remiss to presume that from your desire to pursue high levels of risk that you were probably a bit high pressure to begin with, so she strung you along a bit, hoping that you would go on tour so she could move on with her life. Mars' piety is accompanied by a very generic formulaic hi-gloss pop gronk and his superlative proclaimations are made in a shrill and unappealing whinny. (3) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SR6iYWJxHqs&ob
#72 Vic Damone, 'On The Street Where You Live' 1958
Who among us has not had that stomach full of butterflies in the knowledge that the object of our affections is even only POSSIBLY nearby? It is a strange and abstract feeling and often its representation in art falls short. "And oh! The towering feeling / just to know somehow you are near / the overpowering feeling / that any second you may suddenly appear!" The temptation to read this as a stalker's manifesto must be resisted as Damone manages to simultaneously convey the sense of wonder and sensational overload at the THOUGHT of this love and the clumsy dry-mouthed reality of the love's appearance. This is a daffy little number that calls to mind a young Scott Walker somehow transplanted into the fantasy segment of Mary Poppins. (7) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QNwlc8F7wOQ
To date (27th April 2012) there have been 1192 songs that have reached the coveted position of #1 in the UK singles chart, a reflection of that song's success in outselling every other single available to buy in that week. The first chart to reflect the sales of physical copies of the single format was compiled in late 1952 after years of recording the keenest-selling sheet music. Over time the singles chart has evolved to include the CD format, the flexidisc, the cassette, the download, always with the overriding desire to create an accurate a picture as possible of the popular taste of the nation.
Here at AIM, we, err, seek to listen to and briefly write about every single one of these singles. There is a chronological list printed here. However, AIM shall not be reviewing the songs in chronological order lest the similarities of each pop era begin to dull the senses. Instead, using 1 and 1192 as low and high inputs, we have randomised a sequence over at random.org. The full sequence is below the cut and shall be strictly adhered to.
Partial credit and inspiration for this project must go to Jude Riley, with whom the genesis of this idea arose. Over tea, we read through a list of the singles from [years redacted] and realised that many of them were completely dreadful. Had there been a paradigm shift at some point indicative of a downward quality trend, or were we mere oldsters with our salad days long behind us? This project seeks to find out!
We estimate that this project could occupy much of the remainder of the year. People who particularly dislike popular culture would be well advised to unfollow now and delete our telephone number into the bargain.
Other addenda:
Additional number ones beyond the 1192 until today's date shall be reviewed chronologically at the end of the task.
No accounting for taste shall be made, of course, but ears shall be opened at all time to try and counterweight the pressure of prejudice and personal association.
Each review will contain: the name of the artist, the name of the song, the year of charting, the number it appears in the list, a link to the song on Youtube, a rating out of 10, and a review of the song. These reviews could be as short as a tweet but may extend to essay-length for particularly troublesome entries. A short paragraph should often suffice.
Regarding the 1-10 scale: this shall be strictly adhered to. 1 is nadir, 10 is zenith. Most shall fall somewhere between. We are willing to re-assess the marks given to any single at the end of the process to account for jading and over-emphasis.
That said, all ratings are entirely subjective and go-fuck-yourself downgradings could also occur.
The first batch of reviews will be posted next weekend.
Two brief live reviews: when I say brief I mean 'I am trying to write them both during one play of 'Marquee Moon' (the song) by Television'.
DOUG STANHOPE + Henry Phillips 6th March 2012 Albert Halls, Bolton
Doug Stanhope has been rightly resistant to playing too much in Britain. Britain treats comedy differently than the US. Britain intellectualises and demands more than mere clownishness and dick jokes. Her critics sting and barb and carp about stagecraft and insight and conceptual rigour, often without irony at their own situation. Comedy takes place as much in theatres and arenas with strict seating, where social rules about getting hammered kick in that bit harder.
Stanhope is fighting against that. He wants you sneak in your own booze: too late for this show, but if we take to Twitter we can aid his passage through the UK by generating some looser audiences. He also resists a narrative framework for his show, firing a shot across the bows of comedians who doggedly stick to a thematic concept, leaving them powerless when the news demands a comedic response and they're glued to their prepared act about being an imaginary ghost dog. Stanhope revels in playing the guttersnipe, bringing along an opening act that neatly fits the anti-concept concept.
Henry Phillips exudes an easy, erudite charm that neatly veneers a couple of decades of road-weariness. He's funny too: a musical comedian keen to the vagaries and ridiculousness of musical performers, finding joy in a hurricane of hubris. It's a craftsman's performance. The obvious 'jokes' hit home and the song structures are convincing as pastiches, but it's the subtler gestures, such as the facial expressions and altered voice to mock the mode of the 'sincere rock performer' that stay in the mind. He playfully mocks Britain to his friend, the headline act, watching in the wings.
Relatively sober and recently off the plane, Stanhope seems less animated than his years of fiery recordings would have him be. Quick to self-criticise though he is, Stanhope works almost as well when forced into roles he capably plays but never sells himself as: the raconteur, the veteran of clownish showmanship, the contrary armchair politician. Some audience members seem ruffled when Stanhope goes to bat for Republican/libertarian weirdo Ron Paul, but it's all part of the shtick: I am not your Bill Hicks, you cannot easily box me.
The show finale seemed to ruffle more (online, I checked, take my word for it) feathers than any specific political endorsement could. Easy to read as 'flag-waving for the USA' if you ignore the bit where he says 'ignore the whole government, bombs, flag-waving, foreign policy, crazy stuff' and focus on where he says 'AMERICA IS GREAT'. And he's right. Britain is still snooty about the USA. It's a great bit of comedic sleight-of-hand; he appeals to everybody's baser desire to be somewhere warmer, freer, easier, sexier in a way that skilfully insults how Britain culturally romanticises ugliness, stale morality, coldness, and visual austerity as some kind of act of ascetic brilliance. It works because in this bit, as he dreams about cocktails on Floridian sand at sun-up, he's mentally there and we've not taken that journey with him. We're in the stuffy British theatre and he's in the dunes and he is the one laughing at us.
XIU XIU + Trumpets of Death 13th March 2012 Ruby Lounge, Manchester
Running into a friend at the bar, he asks what I think of Trumpets of Death. 'A bit passive-aggressive', I say. This was an imperceptive, first-glance read. The Leeds trio variously recall Windy & Carl, The Telescopes, and late-period Talk Talk in their swooping, elegant set. At worst you could accuse them of lacking identity (and indeed shunning it altogether), but at best they're immersive and hypnotic, working up a cerebral lather with mechanical rhythm and trance-inducing saxophone runs.
There are two Xiu Xius. Alike in dignity, one follows in the mope-rock pantheon of The Smiths, Joy Division, and The Cure. The other owes more to a crossroads between Eastern modes and modern composition, and as such can be easily characterised as 'difficult music'. When Xiu Xiu begin with an abrasive number with bowed electric bass, nerve-jangling percussion, and abstract guitar scribbles, an audience braces itself and checks for the exits.
Three songs later, Jamie Stewart (singer, effectively he IS Xiu Xiu) is politely asking permission to perform a New Order cover that ushers in a full hour of the accessible side of Xiu Xiu to everybody's secret relief. New single 'Hi' is among highlights: an impressive 3-minute stab containing the coiled-up energy and pop nouse of younger bands and their initial efforts. Stewart still wants this.
A curious cove of a performer, Stewart calmly sips tea between songs to preserve his hesitant yelp of a voice, largely refuses audience engagement, and there is no encore. What really surprises to this newcomer to the Xiu Xiu live experience is that the band on record, with its array of ethnic instruments and songs led by autoharp, is reducible to the classic four-piece guitar-band line up without trading any of their signature fragility or tonal idiosyncrasy. This allows for a more direct and familiar experience, comparable to many an outsider band that have insisted upon faithful live recreation of their multi-instrumental experience in a way that induces deep tedium (naming no names).
Historically, for me at least, seeing a band live often marks the end of a spurt of a period of time spent listening to their work and sees the band steadily acclimatise into a kind of rota alongside previous likes and loves. The days since Xiu Xiu's performance have been the reverse: a binge across the nooks and crannies of their output, finding previously unheard collaborations and split albums of consistently high merit. A genuine treat.
or, WHY THE CHARTS ARE NOW COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY USELESS, EVEN MORE SO THAN THEY WERE WHEN PEOPLE ACTUALLY KNEW WHAT WAS AT #1.
Before I was even a teenager I had a school notebook in which I would write down the Top 40 Singles in the UK as counted down by Mark Goodier on BBC Radio 1 on Sunday evening. It is quite amazing to realise how many of these often transitory and seemingly inconsequential three minutes have stayed in the mind, but a cursory glance at this book in my late teens revealed that the more interesting names that would later be scattered around my record collection were usually found at the lower end of this chart.
We all know that the charts are somewhat meaningless as a gauge of quality but there's a coldness and logic about the format that automatically commands respect: it is undeniably the will of the people writ large. There was also a moment of genuine thrill in the early part of the 21st century when a local band named Moco scraped the lower echelons of the Top 100 on the back of some good reviews. For a moment the gap between the industry largesse and the dudes seen rolling around the local pub in front of 45 people was temporarily reduced. Even though Moco probably sold less than 1500 copies of their single at a time when the music industry was in one of its occasional pituitary funks. Here it is though, for posterity.
Since this occasion the rules on chart eligibility have changed to firstly include downloaded copies of the designated singles and then, before long, the ability to download any individual album track meant that any song on a downloadable album could end up at #1. This is why groups of campaigners for 'real, non-manufactured' music were able to upset the applecart by electing Rage Against The Machine to #1 over the simple pop thrills of Joe McElderry, and less wankerishly, why John Otway was able to get his 50th birthday wish of a second top ten single with 'Bunsen Burner'.
The situationist potential of the charts reduces with time as the charts retain less of a psychic grasp on the public consciousness. More simply put: the charts mean nothing and rigging the thing is a precious waste of time and energy, as amusing as it would be to have somebody like Anal Cunt forced into the nation's ears at Sunday tea-time. We could even have all of I Like It When You Die as the entire Top 40.
It's sad that this battle has been lost precisely because the opening up of chart eligibility theoretically was supposed to allow any old shit a go at the charts. Momentarily it worked: then-unsigned punk trio Koopa organised their fanbase sufficiently to become the first 'unsigned' band to reach the Top 40. However, these appeals and demands and cries to organise oneself shows the fundamental lack of unity, not existence of it, and how ultimately powerless it is for more than one week at a time when faced with the remorseless sense-battery of commercial radio.
The reduced appeal of the singles charts perhaps go some way to explaining why even the lower end of the charts resembles a major label advertorial. Where freaks once roamed on the selling out of their hastily deleted 7", ghosts of banal sentiments past loom at the window on the vicissitudes of commercial appearance: step forward 'Bring Me To Life' by Evanescence, 'Somewhere Only We Know' by Keane, and 'Bittersweet Symphony' by The Verve, appearing at #87, #86, and #59 respectively.
A quick count reveals at least 95 of the top 100 songs to be on major labels. The ones that I can identify as not being are Matt Redman at #12, a heavily campaigned-for Christian artist releasing a single for an anti-slavery charity. Arctic Monkeys are a strange anomaly at #22, being a guitar band with a new single in the charts, though they have major distribution and media on their side.
When an artist hits, they hit big, and often. Ed Sheeran has four singles in the chart. Emeli Sande is at least the featured artist on four, as is Rihanna. Adele has three. Rizzle Kicks have three. LMFAO have three. Nicki Minaj has three. David Guetta has three. Bruno Mars has three. Jessie J, Coldplay, LMFAO, Jennifer Lopez, and Pitbull all have more than one. It represents a real triumph for the grasp of commercial radio and television and the strength of the relationship that major labels maintain with them. Doubly so, considering that it is often considered that we're all supposed to be online with artists such as Harry Pussy and Whitehouse within just as close reach.
This piece isn't so much an argument for the violent overthrow of the ranking system or major label structure as it is a snapshot for anybody who was wondering what is still going on out there. The charts have always favoured those with commercial muscle because that is its function: to map that dispassionately. Besides, the independent community generally focuses upon the the longer format and live performance because it is still where prestige and the ability to make a living (just about) lies, reducing the single to a position of forced fetish product, given the relatively high costs of making such an eminently disposable format seem paradoxically worth owning forever on hard copy.
Funnily enough, when I began writing this piece, I did not begin with the intent of sniping about the charts or confirming what most of you suspected but had not bothered to check out out of the simple desire to not be depressed. Quite the opposite. My intent had been to look at the bottom end of the charts to see whether it was full of off-pop, pop that aims to match the structure and style of its more popular brethren but somehow fails, or to see whether it was full of unheard-of gems and bands like Moco that had risen beyond the position the industry could reasonably expect of them.
So, here is the countdown from #100 to #91 in the charts as compiled 4th March 2012 by the Official Chart Company.
100. Beautiful People, 'Turn Up The Music'
Not much information really exists on this song, other than to say that it is in fact a Chris Brown remix. Perhaps that's another sad-or-as-yet-unexplored consequence of open chart eligibility: remixes of songs forcing their way into the charts as a way of exposing the original to a wider audience. Imagine an anthemic synth version of 'Two Towers' by Lightning Bolt ft. Tinchy Stryder! It could work! Let's get this happening everyone!
99. Bruno Mars, 'Just The Way You Are (Amazing)'
A mere 76 weeks on the chart for Mars. Who is only just getting to this song? The kind of people who still lose their dial-up connection every time someone in the house wants to use the phone, I'll wager.
98. Bruno Mars, 'Marry You'
A mere 58 weeks on the chart for this one. Less memorable than its cousin one place below, though no less saccharine for it.
97. Beyonce, 'Halo'
A mere 97 weeks on the chart for this one. I can't bring myself to hate Beyonce but come on everybody, nearly two years? She has done stuff since!
96. LMFAO, 'Sorry For Party Rocking'
At first with LMFAO I was like 'ok, it's for kids, this is their music, let it go' but this is just BEYOND dismal. I think what annoys me the most is the way they look like they couldn't even be arsed styling themselves convincingly, as if they're saying 'oh, they'll buy any old shit as long as we work it like it's the shiz'. AND THEY WERE RIGHT!
95. Black Keys, 'Lonely Boy'
The kind of 'real rock' that pushes some ardent guitar wankers into pretending that they love 'artificial' pop music more than they really do, because to side with this is siding with white privilege and nostalgia for the unremembered in quite an overt and grotesque fashion. At first it seemed like an anomaly that this song would wind up charting at all in the UK, but it is formulaic and marketable alongside the White Stripes, so perhaps not all that surprising.
94. Monkees, 'I'm A Believer'
It would be churlish to complain about this in the wake of Davy Jones' death. Sometimes it takes a tragedy to make somebody aware of a body of work they may have been unaware of, and besides, 'I'm A Believer' is a fucking TUNE.
93. Skrillex ft. Sirah, 'Bangarang'
The saddest entry in all of the Top 100 is Skrillex and The Doors at #89. That whole 'is Skrillex dubstep' argument is hilarious. The answer was obvious when I got off the train at Wigan Wallgate and saw a 14 year old kid in nu-rock boots, a long leather jacket, and Skrillex t-shirt and realised without hearing a note that Skrillex is essentially 2012's Limp Bizkit and 'real' dubstep will always remain the preserve of people who know the names of the people who work in their local record shop back room, let alone the guy who actually owns the place. They are so far apart, it barely infringes trademark.
92. Whitney Houston, 'I Will Always Love You'
See #94, only with less enthusiasm.
91. Ed Sheeran, 'You Need Me I Don't Need You'
A pathetic 77 weeks on the chart for this one. I saw Sheeran play this live before he became astronomically popular. It was an industry showcase and in a raft of horseshit rock music, he stood out as being a bit more breezy and self-sufficient, effortlessly singing/rapping/beatboxing/playing guitar. Had I known what I know now, seeing the psychic wreckage wrought upon the daily workplace, I would have rushed the stage.
- Where have you been?
- I've been learning how to write.
- But you know how to write.
- Yes. I know that I can write. Sentences are often correct and in the right order but I've never been happy with the things that they say or the style in which they're said. Even this paragraph is disappointing me. - Then why don't you just write the right thing?
- If only it were that easy.
(almost as if to prove what I am talking about, I have deleted a long confessional paragraph because the wording was making what seemed like a deeply-felt statement into a trite whinge)
Put simply, I have been feeling like there's a disconnect with what feels like a complex and fully-formed thought in my head and the way I put this into language. Not long after writing most things do they begin to gnaw at me.
There's also the issue of over-analysis and over-thought. For nearly a decade I have been mentally composing what was meant to be an amazing piece of writing for an audience of one. More than a simple letter, it would sever mental defences erected with its clear-blue depthlessness. It turns out all I ever wanted to say was much simpler: I like you, I am sorry, you were right, I was wrong.
For all my arts writing and criticism and moaning, the most significant contribution was actually releasing a record. This has not stopped me lurking around music websites and attempting to create dissensus.
The last 12-18 months has been a very strange ride. The next three years promise to be stranger.
