Weekend Tunes

It’s been a while since I have sat down to this picture:

Screenshot 2015-03-13 at 6.07.25 PM
I have shared an incredibly large amount of information about myself by posting this picture. #noregrets

So to ease myself back into the drafting groove, I’m going to start of with something light, and fun.

I am introducing a reoccurring category on my blog, that shalt be thus known as “Weekend Tunes”. I will share a song I have been digging or have long dug(?), and set it in the context of my own appreciation and understanding of it. If a Nobel Prize winning economist with an op-ed column in the New York Times can blog about music all while publishing pieces about global economies and local politics… well then I can indulge in this music business too.

Inaugural post will be Lily Allen’s The Fear:

I don’t listen to this song often, to be honest, but I’m always very pleased when it shows up when my music library is on shuffle (as it did yesterday evening).

I like Lily Allen, her songs are cheeky and bold and vulgar, and I find this type of approach to music very entertaining. But this, The Fear, is a pop song for the ages. It is a brilliant, cynical, brutally honest depiction of the entertainment industry and even the desires of us mere mortals, and I really appreciate my artist’s honesty about the career she is pursuing.

I am a weapon of massive consumption. It’s not my fault, it’s how I’m programmed to function.

The phrase: weapon of massive consumption, (and this lyric) will forever be one of my favorites. Not as poetic as others, but it sure rings true.

In general, one does not actively pursue success in their industry just for the heck of it. The goal is to reach the top echelon, not to putz around comfortably, especially in the United States (Hollywood), where success = lots of money. And as Allen demonstrates, there are a few sure ways to accelerate your process in the music industry: bare skin, pile on the bling, swear a fuckload, get skinny… At which point we reach the classic story, our protagonist succumbing to that which they dislike. Who know’s what’s right, or what’s real, but who cares, so long as they can get fast cars, diamonds, fame, and fortune.

That’s celebrity, in a nutshell. And even a story about it, set to a catchy tune, can serve Allen’s purpose, while also providing me with three minutes of entertainment. Rock on.


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