You don’t have to be a “boomer” or a snobby jazz enthusiast like me to notice that good taste is now apparently whatever subpar “music” is currently being jammed down our throats by our pop-culture elitists. Take the ghetto mumbling we were supposed to accept for a halftime performance at Sunday’s Super Bowl as an example.
We were all gaslighted into accepting the new standard that asserts the more a talentless “artist” phones it, the more accolades we owe them.
Maybe it’s DEI. Maybe it’s the corporate pressure to produce as much crap within the shortest time frame. Perhaps it’s just as stupid as our cultural elitists charging everyone with being uncool and unenlightened if we reject their push to redefine the mediocre products of laziness as some deep, post-modernist artwork we common Western folk simply don’t understand.
Somewhere during our collective subway ride through the early 2000s, we’ve willingly tolerated the stench of the passenger cars and begun to reward crackheads and bums with a billion dollars music career and a global platform. Thug music, produced by thugs, gets thugs honored as the world’s most renowned composers.
Everyone is still somehow shocked when our most propped-up composers reveal themselves as women beaters and alleged sex traffickers (Looking at you, Diddy.)
It’s because for so long, we’ve blindly rewarded their soulless diarrhea, no matter how sloppy it is, as the music of the “marginalized.”
Brace your ears for this episode of “Woke of the Weak.”
