This week, Pieces has been considering the really big issues. The ones whose answers will affect the way every person on the planet lives their lives, that will shake the foundations of society and instil fire in the hearts of all who hear. Is a globalised capitalist economy inevitably opposed to the happiness of its citizens? Is it possible to experience the world rationally given that as humans we live by irrationality? And when was the last time Eminem actually did something good?
It’s this last question that been particularly stumping us, especially after watching the former Mr Shady’s new video (which was given its own little pocket of Channel 4 airtime as a ‘new video exclusive’, no less) and shuddering at ‘celebrity. Amy Winehouse and Blake Whatsisname? That’s so 2 or 3 years ago. And making fun of Britney Spears? That’s just so easy. Even Michael McIntyre can do that. If you’re going to use a clearly troubled single parent to make a point about celebrity, at least do what South Park did, and take it so far that it’s not about her but the forces that push her (http://allsp.com/loading2.php?url=l.php?id=e169 - definitely not for the faint-hearted).
Anyway, even Guardian columnists have been blogging about how rubbish ‘We Made You’ is. What’s interested us is just how far Eminem has sprinted past the point where he’s at all relevant, with proper running shoes on and a sweatband. 99% of musicians who have ever been worth listening to have reached this point, where they’ve decided they don’t care what anyone thinks, they’re just going to do what they feel like. Paul McCartney holds the distinction of having a whole solo career that maps out this phenomenon. Mull of Kintyre? That’s him lacing up his trainers. The Frog Chorus? That’s him poised on the starting blocks. The spoken bit on ‘The Girl is Mine’? That’s him running full pelt, red faced and gasping for breath…
This is different to jumping the shark/nuking the fridge/watching any episode of Lost, because most of the time there’s a way back. Look at Leonard Cohen’s recent deification; not long ago he was so far off any radar that he didn’t have a section in Oxford Street HMV. (That must be like not having any friends. Poor guy.) Now he’s a husky genius with a pension pot the size of Simon Cowell’s ego.
It’s very rare to find a person or band who hasn’t reached the point where critical or commercial success doesn’t matter as much as following their heart and finally realising their dream of a patriotic singalong sung by cartoon frogs (sorry, Sir Paul, you just make it so easy). You could argue that Bob Dylan’s managed to find some kind of a vaccine; who else could ramble on in song for so long about discovering God and still have people pay attention? Somehow Pink Floyd can make as many boring records as they like, with or without Roger Waters, and teenagers in curtains-drawn bedrooms will still drool over every looooong keyboard chord. And obviously there are those who didn’t make it to the point where they picked out their Adidas: it’s hard to imagine Ian Curtis or Mama Cass running anywhere, never mind past the point of musical no-return.
Maybe some day Pieces will discover a way to avoid these musical pitfalls. In the meantime, we can all play an amusing game where you imagine alternative lyrics to Eminem’s seminal paean to the female posterior, ‘Ass Like That’: imagine you’re in a chemistry lesson, and someone produces a substance consisting of free-moving particles that is unlike any similar chemical you have ever seen. What do you say? ‘I ain’t never seen a gas like that.’ And so on.
Now we’re off to put some fish sticks in our mouths (you can too by clicking here). See you next week for more.
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