by Simon Barnett
As a Brit who has spent over half his life in the United States, I am
frequently cornered by any number of Americans who gushingly admire the
so-called genius of the British music scene. "The Beatles man, the
best! The Clash, yeah man! The Kinks, that really got me! Morrissey, a
true poet man! U2, I love that stuff!"
Right now I suppose it’s Coldplay, heirs to the most overrated band in history, U2. Aaah, Coldplay, the latest to regurgitate Sergeant Pepper's-like
overproduction (this time even wearing the old military jacket),
somehow duping Jay-Z into giving them urban street cred. And, be still
my beating heart, that lovable frontman Chris Martin, who does the
slightly nervous, tentative, unsure of himself, somewhat creatively
tortured, English intellectual thing that is so utterly affected. (I
concede it clearly works though, he did get Gwyneth Paltrow. Score one
for the lads!)
I hear it all the time: the genius of the U.K. music scene, as if I had something to do with it, and more important, as if I am expected to agree. The truth is, as much as I hate to disappoint, I don't get it—not at all. In fact, I can't stand any of it. Brits are just plain bloody bad at music. Bad at creating it, and bad at choosing it.
What is it about Brits and music that holds Americans in such awe? The accents (talking Brit, yet singing American)? The tiresomely predictable stylings of British vocalists who always choose the contrived off-note, when the correct one would so obviously do? Is it the fake angst? The skinny unhealthiness? The teeth? The woe-is-me struggles they always whine about, but don't really know, as they live in such a comfy nanny state?
Contrary to popular American fawning, I have good reason to believe that the British are quite possibly the least discerning music fans to be found on planet Earth. And I have the data and the proof to back it up. From the land that gave the world the highly dubious "genius" of Coldplay and U2, plus Depeche Mode, Pulp, The Verve, and the tantric school teacher, Mr. Sting (Noooo!), you also have the damning evidence of the consistently worrisome selection of nonsense that has topped the U.K. charts through the years—proof positive that the Brits are a tone deaf bunch, devoid of good taste.
The most recent oddity arrived last month, when 92 year-old Dame Vera Lynn (who was the Lady Gaga of the World War II set), topped the charts with the wartime classic, "We'll Meet Again." Do we have to? Back in March, those edgy hipsters Tom Jones and Robin Gibb teamed up with a couple of TV actors to take the No. 1 spot with a remake of the Dolly Parton song “Islands in the Stream,” a tune that, like H1N1, we should all have been working together to eradicate.
The history of the British charts is full of such curiosities, stuff that worked its way to the number one slot that would never be found on the outer limits of the Billboard Top 100. To be fair and balanced here, Americans occasionally pull a wannabe idiotic choice, like “Who Let The Dogs Out,” but it was even a bigger hit in the U.K.; it had the entire country woofing. What you have to admire about the Brits is the awe-inspiring consistency and workmanlike reliability of their poor musical taste. It leaves the rest of the world in the dust.
Following Eminem's first U.K. No. 1 with “Stan” in 2000, Mr. Mathers suffered the indignity of being toppled from that throne by none other than Bob the Builder with "Can We Fix It?" Then, as if the British public wanted the world to know it was no fluke, "Bob"—yes, the children’s cartoon character—did it again with his follow up “Mambo #5” a year later. And who can forget the Christmas 1980 number by St Winifred's School Choir with "No One Quite Like Grandma"? A track so moving that it could bring a tear to a glass eye.
Back in 1960 (right about the time Frank Sinatra was hitting his vocal stride), Lonnie Donegan wowed the U.K. with that timeless classic, "My Old Man's a Dustman (Ballad of a Refuse Disposal Officer).” Kojak, Telly Savalas, invaded the island in 1975, and irreparably damaged a once-great nation, when in droves, they put "If" on top of the charts. And three years prior to that, a bagpipe number—which was seared onto my then young eardrums—by The Pipes & Drums & Military Band of The Royal Scots Dragoon Guards held the No. 1 spot for 15 painful weeks with "Amazing Grace.”
"Do the Bartman" by the Simpsons was the biggest-selling single for a couple of weeks in 1991. Those cultured, well-spoken Brits also bought enough copies of a Teletubbies track around the holidays in 1997 to make that Boxing Day ride home a particularly unpleasant one. October 2002’s smash hit was “The Ketchup Song.” And perhaps, while not in the entirely bad category, but more in the why? Elvis Presley had three No. 1's in a single month—in 2005.
Of course, being such arbiters of taste, such innovators and trend setters, those Brits were early to recognize the rap movement, so it placed Vanilla Ice’s “Ice Ice Baby” at No. 1 in 1990. Manchester United, universally hailed as a pretty good soccer team, sang less well, but it was still good enough to become biggest-selling musical act for two weeks in 1994 with “Come On You Reds.” In 1993, someone, or something, called Mr. Blobby sang "Mr. Blobby" to the top.
So, the next time you have the urge to tell a Brit how you love all their genius, cutting-edge, oh-so-influential music, check yourself, because it categorically ain't true, as history continues to attest.
Give me Maxwell any time.
