What is your summer song 2017?
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Review of "What is your summer song 2017?"
Lighter theme from the Franco archives: Les démons.
I'm under no illusion; I'm no music aficionado, partly because I treat mainstream listening like a take away container, I sniff it, flip the curved edge cardboard top off, dive in with a fork make some agreeable noises and then send the container off to recycling utopia. After that, I rarely think about it.- - -
Unfortunately, I did pay attention to the download charts in recent weeks in preparation for such a question. You may've heard of them, the chart with the most up-to-date download stats available to man - said, as if you genuinely care... ah, the wonders of download technology. As one of the pioneers of the digital age, namely getting the strong coffees and testing buffer speeds / encryptions and doing the hard digital slog. The result is the download chart machine, the collector of digital data , hence why I am kind of loyal to the media per se and respect the data processes, but the music creativity abuses my ears and intellect. Currently, top of the pile for quite a while is a song called 'Despacito' sung by Luis Fonsi and Daddy Yankee: not the names I'd choose for serious performers, but hey... you have to run with it, even though no baby should be call Daddy, or Puff come to think of it. The translation defies logic and is incoherent. "I want to breathe your neck... slowly..." no Homo Sapien does that without having a restraining order, furthermore, necks aren't Yankee Candles, Daddy Yankee! And there's more... "I want to strip you off with kisses... slowly..." --- no Homo Sapien has lips that can strip off clothes, furthermore, done slowly... and done without a great deal of animalistic snarling... unless of course snarling and gnawing really is kissing in the latin language.
That's obviously where I went wrong while in Barcelona, jeesh, I'm so moribund. My lips were seducing the Peroni genie out of the bottle, instead of giving the customary skin stripping... this isn't really my forte, suffice to say it's the wonders of youthful lip technology, if only it was invented a while back. Without getting too excited, there's more translated distinctiveness such as... "Sign the walls of your Labyrinth..." What an odious task that sounds like, errr, hardly jovial --- Y-es, labyrinths are via nature irregular irksome networks, they exist only in fiction, too meticulous to make them a reality. Furthermore, I profess, wall signing presumably is a means to find your way out again - mindfully of course; yep, worth noting that, pens are available, allegedly. I cradle myself in anguish with the "poetry" so-called creative terminology --- indeed, I can be sure, 'Despacito's' purpose is to make your whole body a manuscript; written in Latin; well we don't want to pay witness to English translation on a daily basis by looking in the mirror, staring at oneself, thinking: "I wish the manuscript made sense." --- meh, that's the last time I get 'kiss stripped' by Daddy Yankee. During those hazy days of pretending to Brazillian aupairs, I missed rhythm classes at school, and the only salsa I knew was a spicy dip, that line got me more than I bargained for. I now find the Latin vibe somewhat nostalgic; thus, I engage in a smidgen of slipper tapping under the desk; Beiber style.
Summer inspires a plethora of heart-y tunes... I recall the tender depth an office-trousered, clean living Sharkey managed to muster. A man in his physical prime informing us e-number scally-wags... "a good heart is hard to find... True love, the lasting kind." What a learning curve that was, more time for 'Commodore 64' code ... not like today's idiocies of inking whole body in illegible manuscripts and singing hip pop Lemonade foibles. Fear-gal's rock balad: 'A Good Heart' got me onto the road of healthy living from a very young age; thanks Fear-gal, aye, the tune that created the epoch of the city slicker, trousers that required thick braces and extra strength hairspray, because you're worth it. As a child I much preferred these educated types than a punk with colour by number bog-brush hair, nodding uncontrollably at me in a pram - actual words defied him and I, my vocabulary consisted of three words, his forty five - perhaps the punk co-wrote 'Despacito' slowly. Music at the core engineers communication and beauty of songwriting marries sound and communication. This is probably why popular culture is so incessant, for music's entity is innocently maximising on pleasure - our pleasure, during the Summer. Suchlike must be repeated as much as possible and done slowly - and recognise the pleasurable quality it gifts you; Brecht interprets it being art and science of noise colliding, great ideas from both subjects, because they both one day woke up and thought. "Goodness me, mankind is quiet, lets liven the place up a notch. The sun is out, lets have a good time, oh yeah, lets dance and party alnight..." And unlike 'Despacito' you don't have to take your clothes off to sign a labyrinth either. oh no!
Now, maturity has left a hardened grind - albeit, less cheese, just a strumming breeze. For I've musically diversified into realms I neither planned nor attempted. Those close to me have even announced that I've had a spiritual calling quite recently. A musician comrade who meanders with ex-frontman Simon Le Bon, sat me down and earnestly stated, after sipping a Chablis: "You know, Thomas Tallis's if ye love me switched me onto not loving music but loving silence..." I think I knew what he mean't, classical music via genre is a master of the the use of silence, during July, when the ultra-violet pinpricked my skin I listened avidly to: 'If Ye Love Me' - the string work is immense; an ideal opener for a Summer's day with a bowl of muesli, before the day descends into a phone ringing, keyboard thudding crescendo. Glorious are the compositions of Igor Stravinsky, particularly the 'Russian Dance from Petrushka' --- there's no sign of incoherent twenty-first century Daddy Yankee-ing here. Stravinsky is far too demonstrative, forthright and valiantly Russian to flick the bunny fluff of Justin Bieber - who's maturing at the snail pace as Bart Simpson and Donald Trump, ah yes, comedically 'despacito.' Now I've reached a new low, I shall turn to Marshall McLuhan and his mystical bodies shrouded in philosophy, not manuscript this time... Even though the Canadian's literature professor's portrayal of the new tribal electronic consciousness is surprisingly accurate after a generation since it was written, I conclude it's a valid insight into the near future.
McLuhan calls it an exploratory quest into media, music and technology - Yeah, it's an excuse to blame 'music technology' for silly titles... the result of having the freedom of expression and open access to audio technologies. Who can forget those electronic breath-y metallic-beats of 'Spandau Ballet' - they're a fine illustration of Debord's philosophy, subconsciously Tony Hadley's music identified the cultural ambiant concept within 'Society of the Spectacle' of the 1980s - thus, you can never underestimate the close social relationship of image, sound and media. Correctly, McLuhan and Debord pointed out that capitalistic domination inevitably will reach a zenith whereby 'mind control' via cultural and shopping commodities will infringe on human liberty --- Henceforth, purchasing / downloading music for no apparent reason; done so regardless whether the consumer likes the downloaded content after tomorrow, unfortunately there's zero interest on after-sales satisfaction which sits awkwardly on the perimeter of innate satisfaction guides and extended marketing.
This Summer I delved into the archives to unearth Bing Crosby's 'I Can't Believe That You're In Love With Me,' sung in (1926) - in a quest to see if tune and lyrics have improved since that epoch, I conclude they have by a whisker. Suddenly, I did a search of where I had heard of this song before, my results were worrying, The song was at the core of Edgar Ulmer's film called 'Detour' (1945). A film I yet can compute, but I found that every pathway online is watched by a mammoth consumer eye, building up affiliations and possible music downloads for me to purchase. I nervously found that I'm very likely to download 'Spandau Ballet' again for old-time sake, buy a 'Simply Red' poster from eBay, and weirdly, pop in a 'A Good Heart Guide' cookery book into my invisible trolley. As I grumbled on trying to engineer an explanation for all of this pre-emptive sales, my mind flicked back to McLuhan again... he defined the hybridisation of media as a 'civil war', duly for the crossings differing medias have released an immense force purposefully to be active in all our cultural levels.
How influential is this? I'm not qualified to answer, although as time warps onwards, Daddy Yankee's 'Despacito' continues to flirt with my subconsciousness, and tweaks at my nostalgia. Something is happening, and I'm feeling decidedly uncomfortable. Too much McLuhan, possibly; then again I also have a soft spot for 'Dirty Dancing' whereby the songs and movie are concomitant - to return to normal I play: 'Allegri's 'Miserere Mei, Deus;' a Summer sizzler from the mid 1630s.©1st2thebar 2017
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Listed on Ciao since: 31/07/2017