Pop Meltdown

The last time I mentioned music, I was lamenting the fact that so much of it encouraged immoral and thoughtless behavior.  Now, granted, not much has changed, but I am addressing a far more fundamental problem with pop music today, an issue that has nothing to do with ethics, religion or cultural values.  A concern that has made me question the sanity and clear-headedness of both the music industry and its voracious public.

The lyrics are bad.  And stupid.

I am wondering what happened to us as a society that lyrics like Rihanna's snarly-sweet "hold me like a pillow" gets rave reviews.  Really?  Honey, do you want me to smother you with drool and share my morning breath with you?  Do you want me to lazily flop you back on the bed when I am done with you?  And "I wanna make your bed for ya, then make you swallow your pride?"  What?  Will your next album be about Bad-Girl Domesticity?  Please, sing to me about how your want to dirty up the sheets then wash them for me.

I am not asking for poetry.  In fact, forget the poetry.  Just because it rhymes doesn't mean it makes sense.  Corny rhymes usually only work in musical theatre.  And even then...not always. 

I said that I didn't want to use my writing to discourage or judge.  I am just concerned because the music industry has become far too much like the food industry.  No matter what kind of junk you put in a can (or on a track), it is getting gobbled up, because it is what we have trained ourselves to accept.  The same way that many people choke down what's canned and stuck on grocery store shelves simply because they are convenient, we're devouring each new release from Ke$ha, Kanye West and, yes, even sweet-faced Justin Bieber, simply because they're available.

When I began to eat more unprocessed foods than I was used to, my taste buds resisted.  I had been taught, over the years, to crave salt and resist exotic flavors.  Canned ravioli was perfectly acceptable.  As I discovered new flavors and ingredients, I began to desire things like sweet basil, whole wheat pasta, and freshly grated black pepper.  The canned stuff was fine once in a while, but it wasn't my main source of nutrition.

I guess that is what I am trying to say about pop music.  Sometimes, it is fun.  I mean, I hate to admit it, but I do have a special place in my heart for some of Katy Perry's perky pop-rock tunes (and her super-cute style).  Personally, though, I am finding that I'm not "well-fed" when my ears are snacking on fakey-forced rhymes, electro-tweaked vocals, a million different metaphors for sex, and throbbing dance beats.  Maybe I'm alone, but I like the good old stuff.

Of course, the irony is, most of the good old stuff was mocked by the older generation, too.  Scandalous, they gasped when Elvis, fully dressed, wiggled his hips.  Then, their children were floored when Madonna showed up in her underwear.  Now, their grandchildren are shaking their heads as Lady Gaga is splashed across the magazines, andryognous, the free-love proclaiming "savior" of a tainted generation.

Maybe that means I am officially among the "old folks". 

Well, dagnabbit, that's fine with me.  You can keep your lollipop brassieres and clock-necked rappers.  I'll sit down with my chamomile tea and a little nibble of Motown.  Maybe a bite of some old-school jazz.

Delicious.