Fuck Your Electronic Dance Music
So 2016 has been a terrible year for music. This year we’ve witnessed the passing of David Bowie, Merle Haggard, Maurice White, and Prince, just to name a few. And it sort of begs the question: Does God realize that Chris Brown and Kanye West are still down here? God should feel free to stop taking our talented musicians and direct his attention in their direction, is all.
And these 2016 deaths highlight an important aspect of contemporary music, in particular how much it sucks in comparison to any of those above-mentioned artists whose epitaphs have already graced the Facebook pages of bandwagon music lovers everywhere whose attention spans can barely tolerate the first 90 seconds of Ziggy Stardust.
Fingers crossed that Justin Bieber epitaphs will soon make an appearance on Facebook, too …
But the indisputable stand-out of the nausea-inducing state of music today is electronic dance music. Here’s all you need to know to confirm why electronic dance music is abject bullshit: Milli of Milli Vanilli now regularly performs electronic music in Belgium.
So there you go—if 50% of the duo who lip-synced their way to stardom with “Blame It on the Rain” now makes a living by sampling other people’s music under the guise of “EDM,” then you’ve effectively hitched your wagon to the musical equivalent of Carlos Mencia. Not unlike Hillary Clinton to Elizabeth Warren, or Donald Trump to David Duke.
And while we’re on the subject, Milli Vanilli’s “Blame It on the Rain” has one of the more destructive messages for children, and it may be responsible for millennials’ refusal to accept any and all responsibility for their actions, most notably their responsibility for having made and continuing to make Jaden Smith and Miley Cyrus famous. You can’t blame that shit on either the rain or the stars that shine at night, millennials—that is entirely your own goddamn fault.
Fortunately electronic dance music’s popularity does tend to come in cycles similar to cicadas, which are almost as annoying as electronic dance music but not quite because at least you get the satisfaction of watching them die come August, which is more than we can say for the members of Daft Punk.
The world endured its most recent wave of EDM popularity in the mid-90s when gen X-ers pursued a respite from the onslaught of grunge music by way of ecstasy and glow sticks, and it later receded back into obscurity in the wake of 9/11 when it suddenly became apparent that misanthropic teens from broken homes peddling synthetic free love and handfuls of drugs would be subsumed by fear, bigotry, and the frosted-tips of metrosexuals listening to Creed, Nickelback, and Linkin Park.
And while no one would consider this latter emergence a vast improvement over the former, it at least afforded us a brief reprieve from the sort of music that could have been made by a fax machine modem.
However, as the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq dragged on, peanut allergies and social media fed a new generation of self-entitled ass-eaters to seek alternate ways of imposing their presence upon the world, and they did so by turning back to their 90s forebearers’ predilection for neon-colored pacifiers and repurposed disco music.
And so today, we’re left with the spent detritus of 90s rave culture in the form of Skrillex, Deadmau5, and every last Burning Man attendee clinging to their fading youth against the tide of an impending midlife crisis.
In Sum: Fuck your electronic dance music and every last character attribute commensurate with declaring your enthusiasm for its synthetic ersatz, including that post-MDMA depression and your parents’ ongoing disappointment with your life choices.