As so much of the media is intent on reminding us of the best, worst, tepid, lukewarm, & mediocre of the decade, indulge me for a moment and travel with me, back to the late 1980s.
Sitting on (not ‘at’, there was a chair shortage) a desk that housed the entire Weekending team at Radio Four (next to In Touch’s desk), I noticed that all staffers were heading off to a presentation, and so, with nothing better to do, I tagged along. A slightly scary lady told us all about the future of technology. Accompanied by a computer that dominated the room, yet that housed a screen that must have been about 9 inches square, she demonstrated that in future we would all work in paper-less offices.
She explained that within a couple of years, we would no longer be using paper to communicate. We would instead be copying all of our important work on to ‘floppy discs’ and posting them, via the kind services of Royal Mail. Then, the recipient would simply have to insert the disc in their own computer, to read our document. How easy it would be for them to reply, by completing the same sequence of events, and then post the disc back to us. The white heat of technology was sizzling in that room, as the lady with the determined and steely air of authority, gave us a glimpse into tomorrow’s world. The obvious point being, we can never be sure what is round the corner, and whilst we pay dutiful attention to those that believe they have tomorrow’s secrets, in reality they have as much chance of being on the money, as you, me, or Dannii Minogue.
Aren’t you supposed to be writing about music? Ok, I’m getting there. You see it’s all about change, and not knowing life has changed until the newness embeds itself into your life, and equally as important, the lives of those around you. A generation or so ago, there was an enormous cultural gap, a gulf, between parents and their children. We can examine this by picturing a family watching Top Of The Pops in the 1970s. ‘Grown-ups’ were old at forty. Father would tut, from behind his newspaper, at Free (long haired layabouts) and the Sex Pistols (short haired layabouts). “Turn that bloody noise down” would be shouted up the stairs as the rebellious teenager played ‘Love Cats’ at maximum volume.
Now, those grown-ups are old no longer. On Saturday mornings, mothers and daughters go shopping together at New Look. Fathers know as much about Lady Gaga as their teenage children. Parents update Twitter with their comments on Cheryl Cole’s dress, as their children post “OMG! CHERYL! WHAT YOU WEARING? LOL!” on Facebook. We could never have foreseen the day, when pop music was no longer considered an outpost, an outsider, of mainstream media. A day when tabloid newspapers feature the best selling artists of the day on their front pages, and when those artists are seen by all generations as part of their lives. This week, it is just as likely that a seventy year old grandmother will pop into HMV to pick up the Joe McElderry CD, as her teenage grand-daughter is downloading it from iTunes.
For some, it has become enormous fun to blame Simon Cowell for the death of music. Yet perhaps, he has brought generations together, or more likely, tuned into the social changes that have swept away the divide between ‘old and ‘young’ and found the formula that unites rather than differentiates. In fact, some twists and turns seem to have taken the ‘turn that noise down’ scenario round in a circle. When Speech Debelle won the Mercury Music Prize earlier this year, I asked a couple of 16 year olds what they thought about Speech’s album. They had heard neither of Ms Debelle nor the Mercury Prize. I played a few snippets to them and they responded with immediate negativity. “That’s terrible – turn it off!”
We don’t know what is around the corner, either in the great tapestry of life, or the loose threads of music. Maybe by this time next year, Spotify will be only a memory, as music is sent, wirelessly, direct to our brains, via new Orwellify software. Maybe we’ll vote for next year’s Susan Boyle or Stacey Solomon by tapping our temples at the right moment. Maybe... perhaps... who can say? That’s the beauty of life. We just don’t know.
Whether you are on your own, or with friends or family, I hope you have a peaceful Christmas time.
Terence Dackombe, December 2009
