New Music Sucks (Still?)

Last December was a long time ago, especially in terms of Facebook minutes (confession: I spend way too much time on FB, as if “infinity scroll” is some sort of endurance challenge), but the science –– the science! –– still lingers.

“Instrumentational Complexity of Music Genres and Why Simplicity Sells,” a scholarly article circa Christmastime ’14, proved –– with science! –– that most of what passes for pop music today is egregiously formulaic. Generic. Disposable. Simply not worth listening to. Now I’m not just being Stereotypically Grumpy Old Man, however accurate “grumpy” and “old” may be. I’m being Scientifically Supported Grumpy Old Man! Do I monitor pop radio religiously? No. No, I do not. If I’m not listening to KXT, Classical 101, K-LUV, KNTU, or KZPS in the car –– only in the car, but I drive a lot –– I’m listening to All Pro Foundation Repair. Um, I mean, Texas Land & Cattle Steak House. Uh, I mean, The Ticket! However. I’ve listened to enough pop radio over the past few years to know that, well, pop music now is just, it’s just, gosh. It’s so bad.

Now that we all know –– through science! –– that the structures and melodies of most new songs are about the same, we can focus on the lyrics. And. Well. Let’s just say there’s this one hit by this band called Florida-Georgia Line. The song is called “Anything Goes.” The chorus is, “Lime on the rim of that Dixie silver / Smokin’ up a faded-out 4-by-4 / Girls headin’ off to the river, yeah / Victoria’s Secret ain’t a secret no more.” OK. A “Dixie silver”? No idea. A “faded-out 4-by-4.” Is it a car? A truck of some sort? All I’ve got is “Victoria’s Secret.” (And “river.”) And I understand that my lack of literacy in redneck gobbledygook may just be me being old. But I also don’t understand the words to Os Mutantes’ “Ando meio desligado,” but I love the hell outta that song.

Why is Florida-Georgia Line’s delivery so unoriginal, so non-dynamic, so … boring? Even the dumbest dumb songs from my childhood –– “Calling Dr. Love,” “You Should Be Dancing,” “Squonk,” “Love Gun” (the Rick James tune, not the KISS one, as awesome as it is), “I Dream of Wires,” and others, many others –– had originality going for them, meaning that they did not sound like any songs that had come before. Brainless booty-shakin’ songwriters today seem to be petrified of straying ever so slightly from the aforementioned Formula. And I don’t want to be near it.

Would new dumb music be worth listening to if I knew it was going to put money in a friend’s or neighbor’s pocket? Yes. Absolutely. At least I’m not helping billionaire New Yorkers or Angelenos give their children Beamers and Benzes to wreck while pill-fucked and texting. And I’d be dancing. And I’d be helping someone who may very well help me and my friends and neighbors. He or she could be a reader of this paper or a supporter of our advertisers. Now that’s a formula not worth smokin’ up.

Contact HearSay at hearsay@fwweekly.com.