On Pop Stars and Dog Shows

Recently a young woman of the American persuasion induced me through

blatant coquettery to listen to her favorite song in her i-pod rotation. Her
bright eyes and supple form notwithstanding, the designated sonic gem left
me underwhelmed, as I so often am by the secretions of the popular music
consortium. If memory serves, the exemplar in question was one of Justin
Timberlake's latest odes to youthful sexuality, and it sat on my eardrums
like an overly moist lump of warm... well, shall we say bread dough? Yes,
bread dough, as it had the potential for nourishment unlike other lumps of
organic matter. Simple bread dough made from a standardized flour milled
by standardized machinery fed with genetically standardized grain grown in
standardized factory farms and pumped full of standardized
petrochemicals. But bread dough nonetheless, capable once it has been
baked in the finishing ovens of life experience, of becoming if not a
nourishing loaf, then at least an appetite-abating biscuit. If one focuses all
the acuity of one's taste buds on the song/biscuit one can detect, beneath
the monotony of standardization, hints of the sunshine, rainwater, soil and
climate that feed all life on this feckless planet.
Of course I smiled blandly at the would-be muse, mustering enough
enthusiasm to mumble one of those superficially affirmative catch-phrases
that glue together American speech patterns. I watched hapless as she
popped the earbuds back in and bobbed her head emphatically to Le
Timberlake. The music plucked the strings of her vivacious soul, resulting
in sympathetic vibrations throughout her nubile frame. Were she my
protege I could show her such vistas... If a lump of uncooked or at best halfbaked dough could inspire such vibrations, it would be a wonder indeed to
see the effects of my inspiration upon her... But life is full of "ifs" and
"coulds" and so I merely sat back in my cafe chair, sipped my Americano,
and let an unheard sigh escape my lips.
If that scenario is too jaded, and leaves a stale taste in your
mouth as it were, I can add a more positive pinch of intellectual
seasoning: All artists make choices in order to survive. We
constantly negotiate between the poles of creativity and
commerce. Some artists are self-consciously uncommercial, while
others feel totally at home working within the boundaries of

commercial music. Some might say the commercial artists have

compromised their talents, while others might say the noncommercial artists lack the ability to connect with larger
audiences.
One answer to this debate is to remember that all art is part of a
historical continuum. All artists draw on the past and leave their
contributions for future artists to utilize. Artists may challenge
audiences of their time, or they may simply reflect the tastes of
their time. Some of the most enduring art (and in particular
musical art) does both. The musician who can give an audience
what it expects and at the same time transform the tastes of that
audience has an enduring place in the artistic continuum. That is
some good bread.