35 minutes of transcendent rubbish

Earlier today, I heard a song. It made me feel good and made me want to write about it. That song was Justin Bieber’s U Smile (800% Slower) and it’s embedded below. I suppose this is a review of sorts, I’m not really sure, but the only way I could properly convert my scrambled notes was through the medium of bullet points; read on:

  • This weird, almost-miraculous thing of an audio track sounds like it ought to be a Sigur Ros concept album – with its liquid choral tones, a welcoming blanket of foreign words comforting in their sonorous meaninglessness.
  • It’s like sonic waves crashing against the jagged rocks of today’s frustrations and bitter feelings, eroding them into smooth sea shore pebbles and as the track fades, the ocean recedes it leaves behind a rock pool of calm, sheltering a skittering hermit crab of whimsy.
  • (Hey, this is my blog and I’m going to brutally torture a metaphor or simile whenever I want.)
  • Be passive as you listen, open and accepting; allow the electro violin warmth and passing distant traffic-rush to take you over on the second minute and upwards to drift on 16bit clouds of pixel-fluff. Untethered. Soaring. Free.
  • Riding high on these strange sounds; it makes me want to ingest some made-up drug that chemists haven’t invented yet and lie naked under warm summer rains, grass between my fingers, their tips making contact with the mud so there’s just enough friction to keep me from sliding off the planet (and would it really be so bad if I let go? A drifting frozen eternity,  smiling at the stars, accelerating into comet-hood).
  • Yes it’s a Justin Bieber track slowed down by 800%. It shouldn’t work, it should be horrible but somehow and some way, at the time of writing this, something so trite discovered by happenstance meant something to me.

Aaaaaanyway, you’ve read my words, now hear the tune (then come back for the final paragraph – if you’ve the stomach for any more of my semi-coherent babble)…

So now you’ve heard it, maybe you liked it. Maybe you hated it and now you’re wondering why I bothered writing any of the above and how I could ever have felt that way about a cynically motivated regurgitation of manufactured trash muzak – and you’d be missing the point, because that’s what pop is: industrial grade audio sludge, mechanically syringed into our ears by an uncaring and distant content-pump, that somehow, on some rare occasions, becomes something special to some of us, even if it’s only for a few fleeting minutes.

If you don’t like this truth, get down your local open mic night, wait for the wanker crooning a shitty acoustic cover of Babylon to his adoring, love-deaf girlfriend to finish his ‘set’ (there’s always one) and be a fucking artist.

Crikey… I really do spout some awfully pretentious guff. Apologies to everyone who made it this far. Here’s an irrelevant and amusing gif to make it all better:

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