The echoes of the Eurovision Song Contest continue and reproaches from dissidents also creep in on social networks. I can understand part of the arguments of those who rebel, but it bothers me that many do so in Manichean terms: “bad music” against “good music.”
Well, I know what music interests me, but I have serious doubts about my favorites monopolizing aesthetic or moral values. This may seem like the height of candor today, but we believed in the commitment of the greatest artists to the sanctity of their creations. We believed until, in recent years, we witnessed the impatience of many of our heroes to sell their catalogs of songs and/or recordings. Perfectly legitimate, true, but that sudden greed goes against his eternal battle to control his art, a fight that we applauded from a distance. I wonder what the big difference is between depending on an evil record company or submitting to a mysterious investment fund like Blackstone.
It’s not like our idols have a monopoly on professional integrity either. We thought that what differentiated them was their rejection of the culture of playbackbut we began to feel doubts when, for example, it was discovered that Don Henley uses pre-recorded vocals in his last Eagles concerts (and it is better not to think about the impeccable live instrumental parts of so many classic artists).
It could be argued that such tricks are valid given that these groups, whose legitimacy lies in the fact that they have one or more members of the historical formation, compete with their imitators, specifically with the (mis)named “tribute bands.” It happens that, sometimes, clones are more convincing than the originals. They hit home with a naive public that has swallowed the biopics of Queen or the Doors as revealed truth.
And no: we live in our particular show de Truman, delimited by large entertainment and communication companies. The musical past tense has been codified by radio stations oldies that program a tiny portion of the production of the period or genre they claim to cover. In reality, you don’t even need to tune into those radios or click on them. playlists similar: the splinters of the sound past jump out at us in the songs that set the mood for movies, series, advertisements, video games, TikTok. Many documentaries collaborate in the caricatures, being secretly remote-directed by the artists or their heirs, with the ability to ration the use of their songbook.
The beautiful paradox: they immerse us in a simplified yesterday while offering us supposed panoramic visions. I think about the proliferation of record releases deluxe. Admittedly, they are an irresistible lure for completists, but one wonders if there is really a pressing need for so many remastered editions, exhaustive box sets and 180-gram vinyls. Well, yes: the pressing need to make cash.
An aside: if you want to know what is behind many of these operations, I suggest diving into the book Royalties from beyond the grave (Books), by Eamonn Forde. They will freak out.
For the rest, nothing new on the front: Eurovision is a television show where technology, chauvinism, and tacky pretensions triumph. Don’t expect emotional or musical density. And a final piece of advice: avoid these experiences if you tend toward the slightest misanthropy. The result is depressing.
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