I realize music ebbs and flows with whatever trends the music industry deems fit for human consumption. This, of course, usually means: pretty, plastic people who can’t sing very well.
Earlier this evening I was in the car, and in succession, James Blunt and Massari were on. Beyond that, swing a dead cat at a radio and you’ll hit falsetto-singing emo boys. Why? Is it some kind of neo-70s sensitive guy thing? Can’t you be emotionally mature and still sing like your ‘nads aren’t in a vice? I’m looking at you here, Chris Martin.
Now, I can appreciate a high note from time to time. I have no problem with Justin Hawkins’, retro-ironic operatic falsetto, or the coke-fueled shrieking of 80s metal bands. But that had a purpose. That had meaning. That was Rock.