Why Jack Johnson is NOT my favorite musician.
A spectre is haunting the world today. A spectre not of sight, but of sound. Most musicians at least try to distinguish themselves from the normality that permeates the world; the generic beige backdrop that everything of value deviates from.
Not Jack Johnson. You'd think that only a cruel parent would name his kid something so commonplace, and any aspiring star with that name would change it to something memorable. And his music is as generic as his name. One might suspect that he formerly worked for the Muzak Corporation. His music, if you insist on calling it that, is the tonal equivalent of Brave New World's soma. It's pleasant enough: not ecstatic, not beautiful, not passionate, but pleasant. After listening to it you're left with no emotions, no memories of powerful chord sequences or inspired melodies, just a vague feeling that this is likeable music.
"Likeable" is the word. When his insipid musical drivel comes on the radio, I frequently hear people comment, with neutral tone, volume, and timbre: "I like Jack Johnson." Not "Yeah! I love this song!", not "This is crap; I'm changing the station," not "This music makes me fall in love with the world and everything in it," not "Oh yeah! You tell it, Jimi!". "I like Jack Johnson." If I were one of those annoying people who excessively format LJ entries, those words would appear in beige.
You know the niche for this music, right? Major corporations can't play country from their speakers; that's the music of drunk rednecks, of course. They can't play hip-hop; that's the music of black gangsters. They can't play classical; that's elitist and inaccessible to the common man. They can't play punk; it's populist and incites riots. And they definitely can't play rock; that's the music of rebellious teens who refuse to be responsible consumers. Nor can they leave their speakers silent: then people would have room in their heads to think.
So what's left? They have to play something that doesn't mean anything; something without soul or emotion. Like Jack Johnson.
Not Jack Johnson. You'd think that only a cruel parent would name his kid something so commonplace, and any aspiring star with that name would change it to something memorable. And his music is as generic as his name. One might suspect that he formerly worked for the Muzak Corporation. His music, if you insist on calling it that, is the tonal equivalent of Brave New World's soma. It's pleasant enough: not ecstatic, not beautiful, not passionate, but pleasant. After listening to it you're left with no emotions, no memories of powerful chord sequences or inspired melodies, just a vague feeling that this is likeable music.
"Likeable" is the word. When his insipid musical drivel comes on the radio, I frequently hear people comment, with neutral tone, volume, and timbre: "I like Jack Johnson." Not "Yeah! I love this song!", not "This is crap; I'm changing the station," not "This music makes me fall in love with the world and everything in it," not "Oh yeah! You tell it, Jimi!". "I like Jack Johnson." If I were one of those annoying people who excessively format LJ entries, those words would appear in beige.
You know the niche for this music, right? Major corporations can't play country from their speakers; that's the music of drunk rednecks, of course. They can't play hip-hop; that's the music of black gangsters. They can't play classical; that's elitist and inaccessible to the common man. They can't play punk; it's populist and incites riots. And they definitely can't play rock; that's the music of rebellious teens who refuse to be responsible consumers. Nor can they leave their speakers silent: then people would have room in their heads to think.
So what's left? They have to play something that doesn't mean anything; something without soul or emotion. Like Jack Johnson.