Nov. 25, 2009 - Issue #736: Poster Boys

Backlash Blues

Bridging the gap

With help from some friends, Toronto has finally revealed itself to me. In-between bouts of labour, I managed to get the elusive kicks that have dissuaded me from my lifelong western bias. For instance, I attended an art-school haunted house, where I got to see a flour-covered man sit in a room strewn with leaves (before he lost his confidence and bounced). The place can't be all bad. I was also confronted with an interesting dilemma. One night, after dismounting the tandem bike, our party arrived at a party at a place called the Boat. It literally looked like the inside of a ship, all molten wood and curvature.

DJ was playing "B.O.B." by Outkast, but pitched down by at least 7 percent. Considering I was already a little faded from a combo of typical intoxicants and the attacks of an insecure English acquaintance, the sight of the plaid army awkwardly bobbing and swaying to a garbled, stilted stew of hyperfuturistic "electric revival" music struck me as more than a little weird. The disc jockey's decision baffled me.

The logic I figured was that they thought the Outkast track at 155 BPM to be too fast to mix out of into something properly. But they just slammed in the next song ("Single Ladies" by Beyonce) with no consideration for the previous one. I did, however, have no issue with their actual selection of the song. The sense of nostalgia it creates for the bygone year 2000 is valuable almost 10 years later, but it once would've been perceived as inappropriate to play. The topic of "is it OK to bring this song back yet?" comes up frequently with my DJ friends.

This actually relates more to why they played that song and why people value certain songs at specific times. I'm of the opinion that hit songs have temporary expiration dates, meaning they fall out of favour for an amount of time and then return to the collective consciousness as a part of the canon for the rest of history. For instance, songs that were pervasive for years in the '80s experienced a cooling period in the early '90s only to have a huge impact literally and inspirationally later in that decade. This theory is primarily for use with the biggest hits during certain sections of time.

I feel like these revitalized songs have certain characteristics that are also consistent in songs that are merely palatable, such as accessible tonality and concise length. That doesn't mean every song that should be a hit is a hit or that every former hit will ever experience a revival, but it does provide a standard for which to compare. This also is not just specific to songs that are popular radio staples or best sellers. The theory can be extrapolated to independently released songs that made an impact on a smaller scale as well.

It seems possible that the length of dead air for a song in the collective consciousness is directly proportionate to its initial popularity. For instance, Nelly's "Hot In Herre" was inescapable in the summer of 2002. Not only was the song a club staple and a somewhat ironically accepted indie accessory, but the chorus and specific lyrics ("I'm just kidding like Jason / ... Unless you're gonna do it") temporarily made it into the public lexicon. It was so popular, in fact, that Nelly hasn't reached that level of media visibility since and the song has cooled out over time. Seven years later, I was surprised to be quite comfortable hearing the song in a public setting again and I don't think this feeling is isolated solely to me.

Or take "House of Jealous Lovers" by the Rapture. This song, an infectious take on Gang of Four's jagged dance punk attack, exemplified Edmonton bar Halo in 2003 and was equally popular in pubs from Williamsburg to Berlin. Due to this level of saturation, I would be repelled out of wherever I was for the next few years if I heard it. I now feel like, during a DJ set, I would be quite happy to sneak this song into the playlist during one of the drunker periods of time for the audience and I wouldn't be chastised for doing so.

It also appears that this "expiration period" has been getting shorter and shorter as a result of the way we consume music. With innovations like file sharing and online downloading communities, there is less value on music as a commodity and as a lasting resource. Like free beer at an industry party, anything you can get for free eventually loses its appeal, no matter how good it is. It seems like a hot song now will dip out and back into relevance more quickly than ever.

The gap between canonization is important because it allows us to reflect on what songs actually mean to us and when we're able to accept them for what they are and where they belong in our lives. The closing of the gap isn't necessarily a virtue of music getting better. The disposable nature of modern pop allows for a snacking approach to music consumption. Today's revived pop songs feel less meaningful and therefore require less attention and admiration. Songs aren't quite built to last in the same way they used to be, but many of them might anyway.

I'm looking forward to the next decade's slew of 2000s-themed compilation albums (if albums still exist in a physical format), covered with the disco hi-hats of 2005, the garage-rock revival of 2002 and 2003's electroclash hedonism. I just hope that we'll be able to properly identify what's worth remembering, what was merely of the time and that we give ourselves enough time to sort between the two. With help from some friends, Toronto has finally revealed itself to me. In-between bouts of labour, I managed to get the elusive kicks that have dissuaded me from my lifelong western bias. For instance, I attended an art-school haunted house, where I got to see a flour-covered man sit in a room strewn with leaves (before he lost his confidence and bounced). The place can't be all bad. I was also confronted with an interesting dilemma. One night, after dismounting the tandem bike, our party arrived at a party at a place called the Boat. It literally looked like the inside of a ship, all molten wood and curvature.

The DJ was playing "B.O.B." by Outkast, but pitched down by at least 7 percent. Considering I was already a little faded from a combo of typical intoxicants and the attacks of an insecure English acquaintance, the sight of the plaid army awkwardly bobbing and swaying to a garbled, stilted stew of hyperfuturistic "electric revival" music struck me as more than a little weird. The disc jockey's decision baffled me.

The logic I figured was that they thought the Outkast track at 155 BPM to be too fast to mix out of into something properly. But they just slammed in the next song ("Single Ladies" by Beyonce) with no consideration for the previous one. I did, however, have no issue with their actual selection of the song. The sense of nostalgia it creates for the bygone year 2000 is valuable almost 10 years later, but it once would've been perceived as inappropriate to play. The topic of "is it OK to bring this song back yet?" comes up frequently with my DJ friends.

This actually relates more to why they played that song and why people value certain songs at specific times. I'm of the opinion that hit songs have temporary expiration dates, meaning they fall out of favour for an amount of time and then return to the collective consciousness as a part of the canon for the rest of history. For instance, songs that were pervasive for years in the '80s experienced a cooling period in the early '90s only to have a huge impact literally and inspirationally later in that decade. This theory is primarily for use with the biggest hits during certain sections of time.

I feel like these revitalized songs have certain characteristics that are also consistent in songs that are merely palatable, such as accessible tonality and concise length. That doesn't mean every song that should be a hit is a hit or that every former hit will ever experience a revival, but it does provide a standard for which to compare. This also is not just specific to songs that are popular radio staples or best sellers. The theory can be extrapolated to independently released songs that made an impact on a smaller scale as well.

It seems possible that the length of dead air for a song in the collective consciousness is directly proportionate to its initial popularity. For instance, Nelly's "Hot In Herre" was inescapable in the summer of 2002. Not only was the song a club staple and a somewhat ironically accepted indie accessory, but the chorus and specific lyrics ("I'm just kidding like Jason / ... Unless you're gonna do it") temporarily made it into the public lexicon. It was so popular, in fact, that Nelly hasn't reached that level of media visibility since and the song has cooled out over time. Seven years later, I was surprised to be quite comfortable hearing the song in a public setting again and I don't think this feeling is isolated solely to me.

Or take "House of Jealous Lovers" by the Rapture. This song, an infectious take on Gang of Four's jagged dance punk attack, exemplified Edmonton bar Halo in 2003 and was equally popular in pubs from Williamsburg to Berlin. Due to this level of saturation, I would be repelled out of wherever I was for the next few years if I heard it. I now feel like, during a DJ set, I would be quite happy to sneak this song into the playlist during one of the drunker periods of time for the audience and I wouldn't be chastised for doing so.

It also appears that this "expiration period" has been getting shorter and shorter as a result of the way we consume music. With innovations like file sharing and online downloading communities, there is less value on music as a commodity and as a lasting resource. Like free beer at an industry party, anything you can get for free eventually loses its appeal, no matter how good it is. It seems like a hot song now will dip out and back into relevance more quickly than ever.

The gap between canonization is important because it allows us to reflect on what songs actually mean to us and when we're able to accept them for what they are and where they belong in our lives. The closing of the gap isn't necessarily a virtue of music getting better. The disposable nature of modern pop allows for a snacking approach to music consumption. Today's revived pop songs feel less meaningful and therefore require less attention and admiration. Songs aren't quite built to last in the same way they used to be, but many of them might anyway.

I'm looking forward to the next decade's slew of 2000s-themed compilation albums (if albums still exist in a physical format), covered with the disco hi-hats of 2005, the garage-rock revival of 2002 and 2003's electroclash hedonism. I just hope that we'll be able to properly identify what's worth remembering, what was merely of the time and that we give ourselves enough time to sort between the two. V

New comments for this entry have been turned off and any existing ones are hidden. We apologize for any inconvenience.