Well done, everybody

I'm not really sure I can be bothered to sufficiently react to the realisation that Rage Against the Machine's "Killing In The Name" is the Christmas number 1 of 2009. It's a fantastic song. It really is. It probably ought to be remembered as such. A song with lyrics embedded in political rebellion, a rallying cry against the dangers of covert modern authoritarianism. Or something. I don't really know. I'm not sure I care to find out either. I'm far too busy putting it in a playlist with Mariah Carey's "All I Want for Christmas is you" and Alexandra Burke's "Halllelujah".

It's a shame really. Joe McElderry is far from my choice of winner, really. But the song he's produced is nowhere near as offensive as other "prestigious" Christmas Number Ones as:

Bob the Builder - "Can We Fix It"
Mr Blobby - "Mr Blobby"
St Winifred's School Choir - "There's No One Quite Like Grandma"

Thank you, Rage fans. Truly, you have saved us from ourselves. A venerable national institution has forever been restored to its former glory, thanks to your prescient intervention.

Would the last one out of any kind of commercially viable UK music industry please turn out the lights?

It's moments like this which make me weep for humanity.

"Fed up of Simon Cowell's latest karaoke act being Christmas No.1? Me too... So who's up for a mass-purchase of the track 'KILLING IN THE NAME' from December 13th (DON'T BUY IT YET!) as a protest to the X-Factor monotony?"

RAGE AGAINST THE MACHINE FOR CHRISTMAS NO.1

And thus the clarion call is sounded, yet a-bloody-gain against this man.


The story goes, every late-November/early-December that "everyone" gets sick of the "tyranny" evoked by the winner of the X-Factor selling a huge number of singles with their debut release and, every year since 2005. In order to "stick it", "get one over on" and show Simon Cowell "who's boss" the Internet 'unites', picks an arbitrary piece of recorded music and tries to get everyone to buy it...

This year it's Rage Against the Machine's turn. You'll all be delighted to hear. The original release in 1993 reached the dizzying heights of number 25, and the Internet has apparently decided that it's time for this all to be rectified.

Hmmmm... right.

Competitions like the X-Factor may have their flaws (I stress the use of the subjunctive here), but these campaigns to try and 'stop' the winning act from getting the Christmas number 1 are united than more than their blind ignorance as to how the popular music industry does, and indeed, bloody well should work.

But the best thing, the genuinely brilliant thing about these ridiculous campaigns is typified best by last year's "effort". The winner of the X Factor, Alexandra Burke, covered the LEONARD COHEN classic "Hallelujah". If the caps lock confuses you, it's simply a safeguard to remind you that the original version of the song was actually his creation.

A plethora of individuals have covered this song over the past three decades. Some have done it admirably. Some have struggled. Some have been Bono. Lest we forget. But the argument proceeded that the seminal performance of "Hallelujah" belonged to Jeff Buckley. An argument, which, by the way, Simon Cowell has agreed with.

So when the Christmas number 1 race came around, a campaign was launched to try and get Jeff Buckley's version to the number 1 slot. It was perhaps more successful than most, but ultimately it failed.

But let's take just a second to consider the alternative. Let's say that Jeff Buckley did get to number 1. What precisely would that have proved?

Firstly, let's immediately dispel the idea that the Christmas number 1 wasn't brought about by Simon Cowell. The only reason Jeff Buckley has EVER had a number 2 hit in the UK is as a direct result of Simon Cowell and the X Factor. In trying to provide an 'alternative' the authors of these campaigns are a) contributing to the debate and the hype which the X Factor provides and b) being JUST as cynical and 'manufactured' in their approach to the pop charts as the big bad nasty record labels.

Secondly, and this, this is the real kicker. In the modern television landscape, in this post-Top Of The Pops world, there is no dedicated platform for popular music, the UK singles/albums charts and for studio performances of the current popular acts, or, crucially, any up and coming acts who may be looking for an opportunity to gather some momentum as they attempt to make their name in a notoriously competitive music industry. The X Factor is the only TV show in which music performances by contemporary artists can be seen on live, prime-time TV. If the cynical campaigns to 'destroy' the X-Factor were to succeed, do they REALLY imagine that the UK music industry would be a better place? Do they not rather think that the whole structure would become even more disparate and divisive and therefore even more overcrowded and difficult to achieve sufficient exposure upon which to base a successful and financially lucrative career? You may feel the X Factor isn't a perfect platform; you can't deny that it's just about the only one there is.

Thirdly, and finally, the campaign to get Jeff Buckley to the Christmas number 1 was flawed in a very key respect. Jeff Buckley's back catalogue is owned by Colombia Records which is a tributary of Sony BMG. Sony Music Entertainment also owns Simon Cowell's record label SyCo. In a campaign which effectively drove up single sales for Alexandra Burke and Jeff Buckley, all it achieved was inflated record sales, and therefore inflated revenue for Simon Cowell's parent companies. Now, if the influx of revenue from those sales went to Cowell's employers, I wonder exactly who might have gotten a bit more cash sent their way in the upcoming year.

Who indeed?

And as for this year's campaign, who owns the rights to "Killing in the Name" I hear you cry.

Why that's right, Epic Records, an offshoot of, you guessed it, Sony BMG.

So I think ultimately, we can all agree that that went well. Congratulations. Applause.

The Lynchpin

It is essential no note that at the heart of The Pop Web lies a hidden cave. Not unlike some sort of dragon's lair or potholing guild HQ. In this cave lies one of the principal keys to the structural integrity of The Pop Web. It is known to some as "The Three Headed Beast" or, "That Thing With Three Heads" but to the uninitiated, these wielders of intense and frightening power are called...

The Bee Gees.

DO NOT LOOK DIRECTLY AT THEM!

The Bee Gees are one of few interactive mediums by which the various disparate gossamer strands of the web can be connected. They are, in a real sense (i.e. in a not very real one at all) the glue which binds The Pop Web together. Observe:

Mikeinlight set the audacious challenge of transferring the rocky-indie terrain betwixt Suede:

and hard-rockin', fast-strummin', shouty-shouty Metallica.
Now hang on a minute, Spider you might (probably won't) say. Just steady on. Suede to Metallica. I might be able to buy that. But why do you have to involve those fine, upstanding, gently coiffed Australian brothers with that bloke who appears to be about to attempt to swallow the neck of that expensive-looking guitar. Just think of the many and various hygiene issues (which, anecdotal evidence suggests, Robin takes VERY seriously)!

The answer, as they say, is this.

Suede's guitarist Bernard Butler is, in a very real way responsible for this woman and, more specifically, this god-awful, mind fuckingly bad advert.



I defy you to try and watch this all the way through. The moral of the story SEEMS to be that Duffy is suffering from a tremendous bout of stage fright. The only elixir which could possibly bring her out of this crippling psychological stupor is the perfect combination of Potassium benzoate, Phosphoric acid, and Aspartame in a solvent of carbonated water (I'm sure, readers, we can all relate to this). Ever the environmentally-friendly valley girl (is she even from a valley? Perhaps she actually lives up a hill. Perhaps this has all been a contrived marketing ploy to capitalise on our weakness and affection for our brethren who live closer to sea level than we do. Bravo, everybody) Duffy hops on her push bike, finds Diet Coke, remembers she's got a RUDDY PAYING AUDIENCE to entertain, and gets her act together etc. etc.

The important thing, ladies and gentlemen, is that in bringing this epic tale of courage, perseverance, and questionable PVC/denim combinations, Duffy has forged herself irrevocably to this "R n B Icon"

You know the one, Etta James. You know, the one with, erm ONE charting UK single and all ZERO UK charting albums (oh, we know, charts are meaningless. They only reflect what people find attractive, interesting, entertaining, worthy of spending money on, thus generating the capital to allow people to keep recording music and bringing about aspirations in younger generations to create music and other such Simon Cowell-sponsored propaganda and another thing everything was better when the Beatles were still touring and nnrigsruhgsjbksgbrbrubbflabnfobobwouwrgrwgbwrniorboibg to the power of 5).

Etta James, who's "seminal" 'I Just Wanna Make Love To You' reached the dizzying heights of number 5 in the UK in 1996 after it featured in an advert for the aforementioned Diet Coke (thankfully, this time, without a pushbike in sight). Etta's life was literally immortalised on screen thanks to a performance by Beyonce in a movie called "Cadillac Records". We would provide a picture from this SCREEN CLASSIC but instead we'll grab a shot from the 'Single Ladies' video.

"Tonight, Matthew, my left hand is going to be... TOUCHED BY KING MIDAS"

As an aside, does everybody remember when she duetted with Alexandra on last year's X-Factor final and it was amazing and she was such an inspiration and how we couldn't believe that we were getting to share the stage with her? Weren't they just excellent times, now we come to think of it? If not, then delete as appropriate.

Beyonce (with or without the acute accent over the concluding 'e') has had lots and lots of chart success over the years. Not only in her own right, but as part of a band which made the whole 'lets change all our members' thing popular before Siobhan Donaghy could even CONSIDER leaving the Sugababes for her 'fashion career'. Destiny's Child are, technically, the biggest selling girl band of all time (in that they sold more records than any other girl band but I think that's at best a marginal point in the acquisition of this accolade). As part of their third studio album, Survivor, they released a song called 'Emotions'

And yes, before you ask, it's entirely valid to express one emotions through the medium of a glittery bra. It's exactly that kind of positive mentality which makes this country great etc.

Emotions was, in fact a cover version of a song originally written by

THE BEE GEES.
THE BEE GEES.
THE BEE GEES.
THE BEE GEES.
THE BEE GEES.

And here we really come to the crux of the matter, Ladies and Gentlemen. For those of you who require a moment to catch up, we've gone from 80s/90s indie act Suede to the Bee Gees. For any of you who doubt the Gibb family's sphere of influence let this consideration silence your deceitful, unbelieving minds.

The Bee Gees provide the final, and vital link in our chain. In the early 90s when they were undergoing what scholars have later termed 'a career renaissance' in the aftermath of the genuinely brilliant "You Win Again" (which, alright, was in 1987 but let's not get such petty considerations get in the way of a good story). As part of this splurge of single releasing (well... all three of them), they had a top ten hit with "For Whom The Bell Tolls". The Bee Gees, it would transpire, were not the only fans of the writing of Ernest Hemingway (or, indeed, of metaphysical poet John Donne) as later in the decade, a song of the same name would be recorded by...It's around this point that the drumbeat at the end of Eastenders would kick in as everyone is frozen in shock at the great pointy logo which has just appeared declaring itself to be the father of the owner of the cafe which has just been blown up by a stray Furbee.

Seriously, what happened to those? I literally wanted one but wasn't allowed it for Christmas. Sad times.

In any event, the web has been completed, and who is it thanks to? Yes. The Bee Gees. Take a bow, ye three, gods among interconnected pop stars.

Oh, and remember when Robin Gibb was, like, the expert judge on Fame Academy and kept banging on about how much he liked everybody's "vocal tone"? And remember when he INSISTED on wearing these sunglasses in the not-overpoweringly-lit studio?


These were truly better times, readers.

In summary:

Suede - Duffy - Etta James - Beyonce - THE BEE GEES - Metallica

THE COMPREHESIVE AND UNIFIED POWER BALLAD THEORY

Pay attention. No really. This one's important. Just like the Illluminati in the 'book' "The Da Vinci Code", pop music has, for four decades been held to ransom by an unseen, yet unspeakably powerful hidden force. That force, ladies and gentlemen, is the Law of the Power Ballad.

Like every good essay (NB: what follows is neither 'good' nor an 'essay') it is vitally important to define our terms.

1. "Power Ballad" - noun, referring to any musical performance of immense, indeed apocalyptic significance concerning any and all facets of a romantic relationship. Likely proponents of the genre include:



































































You may notice a common thread running through this. Yes. A pre-requisite of a successful power balladeer is to be North American and bat-shit crazy. It's a powerful tool, you see. Just as the power ballad when executed correctly can psychically create the desire to leap onto the nearest table and bellow "AAAAAAAAAAAND IIIIIIIIIII-IIIII--IIIII etc. etc." into the unforgiving night sky, so this powerful art form has a dark side for they who choose to wield it. There are a few exceptions to the trend towards the North American power balladeer, however. It can be summed up by the following picture:


Look at that perm. That unflinching stare. Those earrings carefully selected from the very depths of the 80s to symbolise light and dark. Clear and opaque. Life and death. Key change and middle 8. A work of art, truly.

The Power Ballad is at one and the same time ominous and exciting, powerful and sensitive, pessimistic and optimistic. You really begin to get a sense at JUST HOW WELL SELECTED Tyler's earrings are in the above exhibit. Truly stunning. Yet for all its duality it's power is contained within one singular rule. One overriding consideration. One law to rule them all, you might say (I wouldn't. I hated that film/book).

A power ballad, is, in essence, a car journey.

I hope that gives you the right idea. A song is a power ballad if and only if it can be likened to car journey. Pay attention at the back.

We are going to use the pre-eminent example to illustrate this point. "Total Eclipse of the Heart" by Bonnie Tyler. Apart from being better than anything the Beatles, Coldplay, Radiohead or anyone of that ilk have ever produced it was also single handedly responsible for ending the Cuban Missile Crisis a whole TWO DECADES before it was even recorded. Take that McCartney!

This song conforms perfectly to the aforementioned 'car journey' insofar as it progresses perfectly up the gearbox. Observe:



The song begins with ignition, the delicate yet portentous piano undercurrent. After strapping the family in, Mr. Power Ballad reverses out, and puts the car into first just in time for the vocal to begin. Indeed, he literally "Turns Around". How very fitting.

The vocal marks 1ST GEAR. You can hear Bonnie warming up, edging slowly out of the cul-de-sac so as to avoid Mr Perkins' notoriously erratic parking and little Jimmy Pallister playing with his football at the end of the seat (a very good citizen, you see, our Bonnie. Carefully and meticulously keeping to the laws of the land, at least thus far.)

When she hits the corridor with the ludicrously impractical red curtains, that's when we reach 2ND GEAR. The drums assert themselves and Bonnie walks with PURPOSE down the corridor, apparently unfazed by the rather demented class of boys she meets on her way, who have apparently been driven mad by the ludicrous detention policy in place at Tyler High School for variously half-naked boys.

Appropriately, we toast the arrival of 3RD GEAR with a bunch of charming young gentlemen who nonetheless feel the need to host their dinner party in the sports hall. Evidently they were willing to take the hit in the 'Come Dine With Me' voting afterwards. Bonnie by now, has reached the village border and ambitiously accelerates onto the roundabout at 30, taking the second exit and heading on the road towards the local Sainsbury's. At a number of points during this chorus, she thinks about sliding up the gears, the engine at a number of points revving like it was 'living in a powder keg and giving off sparks'. Sadly for Bonnie, a pair of American Footballers host a roadside exhibition of their talents, which is greatly enjoyed by the residents of Tyler Bonnington. They slow down accordingly to admire the view and

OH NO A MIRROR!

Near disaster averted, Bonnie moves up just as the gymnast proceeds to hurl himself across the dual carriageway (at precisely 2:59 into the journey) . Ladies and Gentlemen: welcome to 4TH GEAR. Bonnie nears the slip road, itching to join the motorway so as not to miss her important lunchdate with Jim Steinman (the man who kindly wrote this song for her. Lovely chap. Very fond of cheese. A real flair for the dramatic).

She hits the sliproad. The motorway's clear. The road is in sight. She pushes the pedal to the upholstered and previously carpeted metal and reaches for the stick. The demented choirboys (3:28) proclaim her mechanical, vocal, and cultural victory as she reaches 5TH GEAR! We have arrived, we are coasting along the M42, wind whistling through our hair (unless the sunroof isn't open. Tragically, there are many ways in which the power ballad can be thwarted in achieving its maximum impact) life is good.

You may be fooled into thinking that that's the end. We've reached our destination. Our lesson is complete. People at the back are putting away their pencils into their cases. One is even shouldering his bag. WAIT! STOP! Where do you think you're going? Do you want me to put you in detention? You've just seen what horrendous psychological effects that can bring about? Do you want that, punk, do you? Well sit down. The lesson is far from over.

No. Reaching 5th gear is not the be all and end all of the power ballad. The Power Ballad is a responsible motorist. It is aware that you can't tie a brick to the accelerator and leave it driving off into the sunset, running over everything and anything in its path - think of poor Jimmy Pallister and his football :-(

The Power Ballad needs to be parked, and here we see Bonnie tackle this final task with aplomb. Sweat dripping from what has been an exhausting, yet brief journey, Bonnie exits the motorway at the next available sliproad, and hunts for her parking space. The car slows down, she brings it down to second. She spots a space, right next to the trolleys, no less. Dropping into first, she lines up the manoeuvre, checks her mirror, and edges in, straightening up perfectly. As she is hugged by the angel she thoughtfully brought along for a croissant and a mocha, she puts the engine into neutral but, not caring about her carbon footprint takes a few short moments to reflect on her achievement before gently reaching forward and switching the engine off.

A job well done, I think we can all agree.

And it is this rule, ladies and gentlemen which both governs and defines this most beautiful and deadly of all the musical genres lurking in your average iTunes folder. It is my fervent hope that armed with this knowledge you will all proceed to respect and fear such classics as 'I Will Always Love You', 'Battlefield', 'My Heart Will Go On' and 'Without You' as is appropriate to their majesty.

Le Class is dismissed.