This year's latest musical curiosity is Rebecca Black's ubiquitous week-end jam, "Friday." The song is camp in the purest sense (typically, I've yet to see a single remotely funny parody...), and its awkward video, clunky lyrics, and homemade-quality production have met with endless laughter around the internet. Infamously, the whole thing was created by Ark Music Factory, a company that has since garnered a lot of negative press for its business model, which involves creating quick and catchy songs and videos for young girls who want to be pop stars (and whose parents are willing to pay for it). I am not one of their detractors, mostly because I wish OCR had come up with that idea years ago. Actually, the idea of a music factory is not so different from the paint-by-numbers approach Scott and I attempted with Seabird Station. Furthermore, Ark Music has unintentionally provided all of us with the benefit of a fascinating view behind the curtain of the pop music machine.
The greatest failure/triumph of "Friday" is that it doesn't manage to hide its artifice the way most Top-40 songs do. We might like to believe that everyone is an "artist," but there has been a fine tradition for many years of manufacturing popular music via a formula. Essentially, record companies work very hard to marry a potential hit song with a performer who is attractive, talented, and interesting enough to make it a smash. There's certainly no shame in it: they did it in the '80s, in the '60s, and they're still doing it today. It's definitely no secret - back in 2000, ABC even made a reality show (Making The Band) about the whole process - but most songs are designed to make us forget about it for three minutes.
However, "Friday" differs from most songs in two important ways. First of all, major labels have a lot more money available to pour into these endeavors. Rebecca Black's song was obviously made on the cheap, and to be fair, Ark Music simply cannot afford the caliber of producers who turn similarly-vacuous tunes by Ke$ha or The Black Eyed Peas into enjoyable radio anthems. The low-rent production values of both the song and video give "Friday" an amateur sheen that has us questioning from first time we see it whether it might be a (intentional) parody video. The second major distinction is that Rebecca Black chose the project, and not the other way around. Whereas the major labels hand-select the perfect person to perform a certain tune, Ark Music Factory simply creates songs for paying customers, irrespective of their charisma or star-power. Because Rebecca Black doesn't fit the look or persona of a typical pop idol, she calls our attention to the manufactured nature of the project. Thanks to these two factors, the otherwise forgettable, generic "Friday" unravels before our eyes, inadvertently highlighting the elements of its own formula, revealing the artifice normally hidden from the listening public.
One element of the song that has received particular derision is its lyrics. By now, everyone has their stanza of choice, with my personal favorite being this bizarre portion of the second verse:
"Fun, fun, think about fun
You know what it is
I got this, you got this
My friend is by my right, ay
I got this, you got this
Now you know it"
The lyrics range from obvious to bizarre, and the flat-out stupidity of the words is one of the song's primary appeals. However, the presence of strange, nonsensical lyrics in popular songs is hardly a new occurrence. The difference is, "Friday" makes us think about what we usually don't notice. In fact, many of history's greatest pop hooks are literally gibberish. I'm thinking of the na-na-nas in "Land of 1000 Dances," "Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye," and Hey Jude," but there are countless other examples. These songs are not really about anything at all. In truth, it usually doesn't matter very much what any song is about, as long as it seems to be about something. The greatest performers excel at conveying a certain feeling or message without necessarily the words to back it up. Sing the phonebook over sad music and you'll end up with a sad song. This is why foreign-language tunes can sometimes become a hit. It also explains how The Police's "Every Breath You Take" can become popular at weddings despite quite clearly being about a stalker. Lyrics hardly matter in a pop tune. It sounds like a love song, and that's what's most important. The na-na-nas in "Land of 1000 Dances" sound like fun, while those in "Hey Jude" sound epic and nostalgic. If the performers had sung words in place of the gibberish, I don't think it would have made the mood of either song any clearer.
Those who embrace this as a fact of life are ultimately the most successful pop performers and songwriters. Paul McCartney's lyrics have never made any sense, and even in his most personal songs, they tend to be simplistic at best. Check out "Here Today," McCartney's tribute song to John Lennon after his death. We know who wrote it and what it's about, so it feels very heartfelt and moving. But upon closer inspection, the lyrics, like "what about the night we cried, because there wasn't any reason left to keep it all inside," are just non-specific enough to apply to almost anyone. This generic quality of Paul's words (go back to "The Long And Winding Road," "Live And Let Die," or "Band on The Run" and tell me what any of them are about) is precisely what makes McCartney a brilliant pop songster. The open-endedness allows each listener to insert his/her own personal meaning into the general emotion of the song. Thus, "Here Today" can be about John Lennon as easily as it can be about Kurt Cobain, James Dean, or any relative or friend we miss dearly. An overly personal song might be harder to relate to, which makes it more difficult for you or me to enjoy it.
Even when generic lyrics give way to nonsensical ones, the feel of the song still succeeds in carrying the emotion. Some of the best pop songs lie somewhere in between generic and gibberish. A few personal favorites are "I Want It That Way," "Mrs. Robinson," and "Billie Jean." None of the words make any sense, but we love the songs just the same. The Backstreet Boys' tune feels like it's about heartache, Michael Jackson's sounds moody and defiant, and in the end, that's good enough. Who cares about lyrics, anyway? And in defense of "Friday," most other weekday songs don't fare much better under lyrical scrutiny. Inspiring gems like "Wish it was Sunday, 'cause that's my fun day, my 'I don't have to run' day" pop up in "Manic Monday," written by no less a genius than Prince. The Bay City Rollers chime in with the equally insipid "I-I-I-I just can't wait, I-I-I-I got a date" from their hit "Saturday Night." These songs don't earn the same criticism as "Friday" because they make us forget about the words, successfully obscuring their own formulas. In the case of the Bay City Rollers tune, the purpose is merely to convey a sense of fun normally associated with Saturday nights. This is no different than "Friday," except that Rebecca Black simply doesn't quite succeed in making us believe it.
I often think we should appraise pop performers the same way we do "auteur" film directors. Although the form and content of movies by contemporaries Howard Hawks, John Ford, and Leo McCarey are quite similar, each brings his own distinct flavor to the formula that allows for the potential of enjoying one more than another. Accordingly, we might love Frankie Avalon and Shelly Fabares but feel nothing for Fabian or Connie Francis. Therefore, it is very apt that Rebecca Black has been called "The Ed Wood of tween pop," a statement that compares her to another unlikely auteur, and one whose work also draws particular attention to the artifice of his chosen form.
The cracks that show in "Friday" give us a fascinating glimpse into the instruction manual for how to manufacture a hit song. I'm taking notes. While this one seems to put the parts together slightly incorrectly, it reminds us generally of the strange craftsmanship that goes into what we hear on the radio every day. "Friday" fits nicely into the long line of popular songs with laughable lyrics, except that it has the audacity to admit it. Perhaps Rebecca Black represents a self-aware pop star for the new generation. "Even a person who doesn't like it, it's gonna be stuck in their head. So, that's the point of it, it's a catchy song," Rebecca Black said in response to criticism of "Friday." Indeed.
Before you go, please enjoy this blurry-but-great Nessie & Her Beard performance of a song that is relevant because, although it very well might have great lyrics, I'll never know because they're in Italian. Happy Friday.
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