#oneaday, Day 114: Social Peril

My good friend Mr George Kokoris had this to say about people and social media earlier. Go read it. He has some very valid concerns, especially in light of Facebook’s increasingly cavalier attitude towards personal privacy.

I used to like Facebook. I used to like it because it wasn’t like MySpace – I remember saying this to several people. I tried MySpace and didn’t really get it. It seemed to be a friend-collecting competition with some of the most hideous web design you can possibly imagine. Facebook used to be different, though. It used to limit you to people you actually know. In fact, you used to have to say how you knew the person you were adding as a friend, much like immensely boring but practical professional networking site LinkedIn still does. As a result, it became a great way for keeping in touch with family and friends. Everyone felt confident and secure in the fact that your information was yours, and that the only people you were sharing it with were people you had specifically approved. In short, it felt like a secure means of communication. I liked it for this.

As time passed, we all know the story. Groups. Applications. Pages. A dwindling sense of security. Employers using employees photographs of drunken nights out as grounds to mistreat them. Until we reach today, when a large number of people I know are seriously considering ditching their Facebook accounts altogether in favour of alternative, more secure means of communication. Or, ironically, Twitter, one of the most open and public means of communication there is.

But at least on Twitter it never claims to be anything other than public. Your profile on Twitter consists of your avatar, your username and 140 characters of “bio”. Your conversations are public (unless you specifically choose to protect your tweets, which kind of defeats one of the main objects of the service) and anyone can chip in at any time. It’s a simple, effective means of asynchronous communication which means that people speak frankly, briefly and candidly.

This gets people in trouble. Sometimes, a lot of trouble. Paul Chambers found this out the hard way.

“Robin Hood airport is closed,” he tweeted as his trip to Ireland to meet a girl he’d been talking to on Twitter looked threatened by the UK’s complete inability to deal with a bit of snow. “You’ve got a week and a bit to get your shit together, otherwise I’m blowing the airport sky high!!”

A flippant, offhand remark. But a flippant, offhand remark that recently landed him with a thousand-pound fine and a criminal record on the grounds that his message was “grossly offensive, or of indecent, obscene, or menacing character”. A flippant, offhand remark that gave him the dubious honour of being the first person ever to be convicted of a “crime” (and I use the term loosely) in connection with remarks made on a social networking site.

I mean seriously. His comments weren’t in the best taste. But by successfully prosecuting this case, it sets a dangerous precedent that has made everyone rather more conscious of what they say. In effect, it’s stifling free speech, a concept the Internet is built upon – not to mention the fact that the life of Chambers, who was training to be an accountant, has now been devastated.

See also: Gizmodo’s behaviour with regard to the new iPhone that was left in a bar. Gray Powell, the engineer who misplaced the phone, lost his job, perhaps understandably, given that he left an immensely valuable trade secret just lying around. Gizmodo reported on the new iPhone. They ripped it open and looked inside it. Perhaps not the best thing to do when Apple were already pissed off. Then they ripped open Gray Powell’s life, using information from his entire Internet presence to make him a global laughingstock. Was it not enough that the guy fucked up and lost his job because of it? Apparently not.

George points out that there are people out there who hate success and will do anything to destroy the efforts of people with ambition. It makes me sad to think that in a world where our exchange of information should be free and open that incidents like the above can happen. Just because something can be done doesn’t mean it should be done. The fact that we can communicate instantaneously with anyone in the world should be a wonderful, life-affirming thing that brings the global community closer together, builds bridges and draws us closer to a peaceful sci-fi utopia. But instead, shit like this just gets people paranoid and worried, until we’re going to find ourselves even more closed off and isolated than we were before the whole social media thing started. And that’s sad.

Is it just human nature to use things that should be positive for evil, deceitful purposes?

#oneaday, Day 107: An Open Letter to Hampshire County Council

Kalvinder Athwal
HR Assistant
Pay and Contract Support Services
Hampshire County Council
3rd Floor, Hampshire House
84-98 Southampton Road
Eastleigh SO50 5PA

Dear Mr Athwal,

Thank you for your letter of 27 April 2010, received today, which coincides beautifully with 1) my birthday, 2) [REDACTED BAD THING], 3) my unemployment and 4) my finances reaching breaking point. You are indeed correct that I left my employment with [REDACTED] on the 19th of March 2010. One would have assumed that one’s employers would be in possession of a working payroll department, however, and therefore would have had the good sense to make a note of one’s time of departure at the time one gave one’s notice.

Imagine my surprise, then, when I receive a letter today informing me that due to the incompetence of someone in your department (this was implied, you unfortunately weren’t honest enough to admit it), I have been “overpaid” to the tune of £854.65. That, as I am sure you can appreciate, is quite a lot of money, especially to someone who is not currently in full-time employment. I am sure you are “looking forward” to receiving my payment as you so politely say in your letter, rubbing your greasy hands with glee no doubt, but I am afraid to say that you will be waiting some time for your payment, whether or not you have enclosed an “official” invoice.

You see, Mr Athwal, your department’s incompetence does not only stretch to continuing to pay people after they have left their employment – with several months’ notice, I might add – but also to failing to issue them a contract of employment in the first place. I joined [REDACTED] in November 2009 and left in March 2010. By my calculations, I was working there for some five months, during which time I asked on a number of occasions when I would be issued with an “official” (there’s that word again) contract. Unfortunately, I never received one of these contracts, meaning that I am technically not bound to any of the terms and conditions associated with said non-existent contract. Considering your department is called “Pay and Contract Support Services” and that you have failed to show any degree of competence in either of those areas, I would strongly suggest that the Council saves its money and asks that you all find something else to do with your time. Perhaps they can “overpay” you after your departure too. But – oh no! – with your department closed, who will write the politely worded yet threatening letters regarding “recovering the amount overpaid”?

In the meantime, I enclose a copy of your invoice, which I invite you to take in hand, roll into a tight tube and then jam straight up your arse.

Yours sincerely,

Pete Davison

#oneaday, Day 94: Year 7, Years Later

Times change, especially when it comes to kids. As new parents inevitably say at some point or another, “they grow up so fast”. One minute they’re a mewling, puking, shitting machine that whinges and moans about everything. Then they move out of their teenage years and leave home.

I jest. Actually, no I don’t, really.

I spent today doing supply teaching work for a local school. A local secondary school, to be as specific as I’m going to get in this post. As far as days at school go, I’ve had worse. Largely because I knew I was leaving at 3pm and that I was only there for a day, which meant that even if it was a nightmarish experience, I was going to escape pretty quickly anyway. This meant I could take a fairly relaxed attitude to the whole day and not get wound up by children who obviously do their very best to drive their teachers nuts at every opportunity. Water off a duck’s back. It was a new feeling. I liked it.

What I didn’t like so much was the discovery that Year 7 are into hardcore pornography, and aren’t shy talking about it in rather loud voices in the middle of a music lesson.

Now, I may have led a somewhat sheltered existence being a rural, country village boy, but I don’t think I even knew what “hardcore pornography” meant when I was in year 7. As I recall, most of my conversations in Year 7 revolved around whether the Sega Mega Drive or the Super NES was the best, and whether it was pronounced “Rye-oo” or “Ree-oo”. Much like today, in fact. The most anything even vaguely sex-related came into conversation was if someone fancied someone else – and even then, it was never talked about in terms of sex, just in terms of an Alan Partridge-esque “ooh, I’d like to… kiss her”. Oh, and there was the one time someone put a condom over a shower head in the boys’ PE changing rooms and turned the water on. We were all delighted to discover that said prophylactic would reach all the way down to the floor if you kept filling it with water.

But no porn. At least, no-one talked about it, anyway.

Part of the reason for this shift in the, ahh, “interests” of 11-year olds is clearly due to the Internet. Most of the discussion that these kids were having (and ignoring requests to please shut up about it, I might add) revolved around the sites that they liked to visit. There was no shame in this discussion, no taking the piss out of each other that “urrgh, you’re doing that so you can have a wank!” – just pure, unadulterated filth. From 11-year olds.

Now, all right, the area that the school in is, shall we say, not the best. But I was still pretty surprised and shocked to hear these sorts of things come out of the mouths of 11-year olds.

The regular teachers at this school seemingly weren’t, however. “Miss says this class is sex-mad, sir. Sex-mad! Sex sex sex,” one helpful young man informed me. I wasn’t arguing.

The moral of this story, dear readers, is clear, then. If you’re a parent, then for God’s sake take an interest in what your kids are doing on the Internet. Talk to them about what is and isn’t appropriate for them. By all means talk to them about offensive content and what they should do if they come across it (get your mind out of the gutter) but don’t just leave them to their own devices. From that springs porn-addicted, shit-talking, ill-informed arseholes who will inevitably grow up to become /b/. And do you really want to create an entire generation of /b/?

#oneaday, Day 93: Words Are All I Have

A complete stranger insulted me today. There was no provocation and no reason for it. The only explanation I can come up with is the fact that he was with two friends and wanted to play up in front of them, so he thought he’d pick on the fat guy.

It ruined my morning. I’d gone out for a walk in the glorious sunshine, but that one hurtful comment upset me. So did the knowledge that people exist so obnoxious that they feel the need to pick on other people, like 10-year old bullies. So I went home.

Fortunately, after talking to a few friends online, many of whom say they had experienced something similar at one point or another, I felt a bit better. And I started to think that I’d rather be the person I am, however I look, than the sort of arsehole who judges another person based on their appearance and then insults them to their face. You have to wonder how fucked up that person must be in the head to want to do that.

Rhiarti wrote a touching post the other day about being “the ugly duckling” and not fitting in. I sympathise entirely since I feel exactly the same way. There are times when I feel like I just don’t belong in “normal” society. When I go out to a bar – with friends, even – and find myself unable to think of anything to say, for example. Small talk’s never been a strong point of mine. When I find myself overthinking conversations I’m potentially about to have – and sometimes end up not having them at all. That’s another good one.

It’s strange. I sort of like it and hate it at the same time. When I went to PAX, it was, like Wil Wheaton said at the time, “like coming home”. I was amongst other people who obviously felt the same way, and it was a good feeling. But that made it all the harder to leave them behind and come back to the big wide world where strangers think it’s acceptable to insult you.

I know, I know, I should grow a pair.

But words are powerful. Words are perhaps the strongest weapon that humans have. Well, that’s perhaps not true. A nuclear bomb would probably kill more people than an expectorated obscenity. But when it comes to helping or hurting another person, words are definitely one of the strongest things that there are, and definitely the thing that sets us apart from animals. A kind or unkind word can have a huge impact on how someone feels, whether or not they show it to you directly – or indeed whether or not they’re right there with you. I know I certainly appreciate the kind and supportive words my “distant” friends have for me, whether it’s something serious and heartfelt, or sharing a private joke together.

So, people of the world, next time you’re going to say something, have a quick think about what the person you’re saying it to might think. And don’t be a dick.

#oneaday, Day 92: M.C. Tinny Distortion

It’s mid-morning. You’re sitting on the waterfront, looking out over the water, the slight morning breeze wafting through your hair and sending a slight chill over your skin. Not uncomfortably so, just enough for you to feel the wind’s caresses and appreciate the sunshine when it does hit you all the more.

You can hear the water sploshing against the wall down below as it sloshes back and forth, back and forth, never still, always moving. You don’t look into it too deeply as it’s almost opaque with green crap and the filth from a million motorboats passing through the area, but right now it doesn’t matter because this is your moment. You are, for once, at peace.

Then, a sound from over yonder. You can’t quite make out what it is. It’s quite harsh, and tinny, and… sounds a bit like Dizzee Rascal.

It is Dizzee Rascal. But a version of Dizzee Rascal that appears to be completely devoid of bass, just masses and masses of treble, so much so that the sound of the whole track is lost in a wash of what sounds awfully like white noise with a babbling idiot on top of it.

You frown at the tracksuit-clad young gentleman as we wanders past you with a similarly-attired companion. The sound seems to be coming from his pocket, and the two are talking and smoking. You frown a little harder, willing a pair of psychic daggers to fly out of your eyes and embed themselves firmly in the two boys’ colons. Sadly, the sharp implements do not manifest themselves so you are reduced to making a distinctly middle-class tutting noise.

One of the boys turns around and gives you a sneer that seems to say “fahk off mush, you is such a neek init lol”. You counter with a raised eyebrow which seems to say “I’m sorry. I don’t understand your illiterate juvenilia. Kindly return from whence you came. And throw that noise-making monstrosity into the Solent while you’re about it, you bally young scamp!”

The moment passed, the two boys wander into the distance, muttering something about “fahkin’ neeks”. Your little mental haven of calm shattered, you reluctantly get up and head for the ice-cream parlour in an attempt to drown your sorrows in a wash of soft ice-cream and crumbly chocolate.

Then you go home and cry.

Oh, why do people persist in doing this? Other than to annoy people like me, of course. There is no reason on God’s green Earth for mobile phone speakers to exist. With GPS technology being what it is now, if your phone detects that you are outside, you should not be allowed to use its speakers.

I’m not just saying this to be a miserable bastard, though that is of course a big part of it. I’m saying this to encourage people to give music the respect it deserves. I hate Dizzee Rascal, shitty hip-hop and whiney R&B singers, but those artists spend a lot of time and money producing their work, so to completely remove any degree of production from the track by playing it through a 0.5 watt speaker roughly the size of one of your pubes seems rather… disrespectful, somehow.

And have you noticed that no-one is ever playing good music through their phone speakers? I’d still feel the same if I heard someone blasting some Maiden through their phone – that shit need to be loud, yo – but it’d be nice to hear something that isn’t just for pasty white tracksuit-wearers to pretend that they’re badass black gangstas from the hood to.

The cream of this, of course, is when said pasty white tracksuit-wearers decide that it’s time for them to start their own rapping career and feel that a mobile phone provides an appropriate amount of rhythmic “oomph” to put behind their sorry attempts at rocking some rhymes. Sorry, buster, but you just look like a twat babbling crap in front of your pyjama-clad friends.

#oneaday, Day 64: Act Your Age, Fanboys

Why does the phenomenon of fanboyism still exist? And more to the point, why does it exist amongst men (and it pretty much is always men) who are old enough to know better?

The simple and easy answer is, of course, that it’s always been around. I remember growing up as an Atari-based family and all of the Atari magazines at the time belittling the competition with stupid names like Spectrash (Spectrum) and Crappydore (Commodore 64). Then came the schoolyard arguments – SEGA vs Nintendo. Sonic vs Mario. “We’ve got Street Fighter II! Hah! …Oh wait, now you have, too.” It got pretty silly.

Once the Dreamcast came out, it was hard to justify fanboyism because, certainly once SEGA’s wondermachine came out, it was so far ahead of its competition – the 64-bit Nintendo 64 and the 32-bit PlayStation – that half-hearted attempts to call it things like “Dreampants” always came across as more than a little desperate.

Things then kicked off again with Sony vs Microsoft, with Nintendo kind of relegated to “background observer” by this point. The PS2 and the original Xbox both had fiercely loyal supporters when, in fact, you’d have a far better experience if you bought both systems, played the relevant exclusives on their respective platforms and played multiplatform titles on the Xbox. That’s what I did, and I never felt the need to slag off any of the systems.

And it still goes on today, despite each of the consoles arguably offering a more distinct and unique experience from each other than ever before. The Xbox 360 offers its legendary ease of online play, the PS3 is home to a variety of unusual and interesting games (like Flower, flOw, Linger in Shadows, the Pixeljunk games) and the Wii is the family-friendly bundle of fun.

Still the hating goes on, though.

But nowhere is it more apparent than in the world of smartphones, particularly between the owners of iPhones, BlackBerries (let’s pluralise it properly, please) and Android-based phones. iPhone owners are either Apple fanboys who bang on about how great Apple is all the time or jailbreakers who bang on about which ludicrously-named hack they’re installing this week – and, of course, which apps they could get for free rather than paying for them on the App Store. BlackBerry owners seem to be updating their OS every night. And Android owners seem to be particularly sore about the iPhone for some inexplicable reason.

The question is: why? When it came to the early console wars, slagging off the systems your friends had was just schoolyard banter. You didn’t really think that the systems were inferior, otherwise you wouldn’t have gone around to their houses and played those games with them. The fact that this juvenile banter has grown up with people who have been using gaming and other consumer electronics for years is utterly baffling. Even people who started gaming at the same time as me – or before – are still bitching and moaning about how much better their handset is that [x]’s handset, and blahblahblah open source, blahblahblah build quality, blahblahblah BlackBerry Messenger, blahblahblah… You get the picture.

Am I alone in thinking that all of this stuff, without exception, is seven degrees of awesome and we should appreciate the brilliant things we have? Yes, some of them have more features. Yes, some of them are objectively “better” in terms of capabilities, power and technical specifications. But is that really any reason to act like 5-year olds telling each other that their respective Mums smell of wee?

No, it’s not. So why does it still go on?

#oneaday, Day 59: Social Mobility

So social games are here to stay. So say the people in the know, particularly the outspoken Brian Reynolds from Zynga who has commented on the subject at great length. Understandable, really, given that his company are behind some of the most successful social games in history.

I have to say, though, that I don’t understand them. And it’s not through lack of trying. I’ve played Mafia Wars. I’ve played Epic Pet Wars. I’ve fired up Farmville a couple of times. But the elephant in the room seems to be that these games are dull, uninspiring and boring. People used to joke that Championship Manager on the PC looked (and played) like a spreadsheet. Mafia Wars looks like an Access database – and plays like one too. I haven’t done much with Farmville but from what I’ve seen (and heard from others) it’s not much better, just a little more “visual”.

These games market themselves on their “social” capabilities. They call themselves “MMORPGs” and they clog up the iTunes App Store RPG section something chronic with their various denominations of microtransaction space dollar bundles. But, from what I’ve seen, there is little to no socialising involved. You add people to your friends list to let them “be in your mafia” or “be your neighbour”, but besides increasing your stats or occasionally sending you an item they can’t use (not one that they don’t want, it’s always one that they can’t use because it’s set aside as a special “gift” item) there is no interaction with others. Sure, in Mafia Wars you can attack another player but there’s no strategy or interaction there, either – whoever has the best stats wins.

Brian Reynolds commented to developers at the GamesBeat summit that “shame” is a powerful motivating factor for players. “No one wants to be caught letting their crops wither and die,” he says. But does it really matter when you have four thousand people on your friends list, none of whom you’ve ever spoken to? That’s not socialising, that’s MySpace-style “friend” collecting. It doesn’t help that anything even vaguely related to these games – iTunes reviews, Facebook reviews, Facebook groups, comment threads, blog posts – always degenerates into a swarm of several hundred people all going “ADD ME! 9932569!” with absolutely no conversation going on whatsoever. I would mind it less if the “social” aspect of these games was something more of a metagame, where people actually talked to each other and then added each other. But the amount of friend-whoring that goes on by people is just ridiculous, and it strikes me as completely against the spirit of what these games are supposedly trying to achieve – bring people together to play.

Maybe I’m missing the point somewhere. Maybe these social games really are the next big thing. It’s true that some games get the whole thing absolutely right – PopCap’s wonderful Bejeweled Blitz is a fine example – but for every little gem (no pun intended) there’s a billion and one identikit Mafia Wars clones. And they’re all devoid of any gameplay whatsoever.

Games for people who don’t like games. I guess that’s something – bringing the medium to the masses and all that. But is someone reared on Mafia Wars and Farmville ever really going to graduate to games that are actually, you know, good? I’m not so sure.

#oneaday, Day 58: Bullshit Bingo

The school I work at (until this coming Friday, fact fans) recently had its updated OfSTED report published. For the uninitiated (and/or American) amongst you, this is the report on how “good” (sarcastic air quotes mine, not theirs) the school is. At the last inspection, shortly before I arrived at the school in November, the school was judged to be “inadequate” and in need of “special measures” for various reasons that I won’t bore you with now. The most recent report claimed that we were making “satisfactory” progress towards making the “required improvements” put forth in the “action plan”.

The crowning glory of the report, though, was the phrase “stem the tide of falling underachievement”, something which apparently we are doing. Now, I don’t know quite how many negatives are in that statement but I’m sure there’s the wrong number. Surely “falling underachievement” is a good thing, so you wouldn’t want to “stem the tide” of it? Perhaps they meant “stem the tide of falling achievement”, but that doesn’t sound quite right either. And I’m pretty sure it’s not “stem the tide of achievement”, since that is how the school got into this mess in the first place, albeit not intentionally.

There’s only one response to things like this: “BULLSHIT!”

It astonishes me quite how much people get away with peddling this nonsensical use of language under the pretence of it being “formal”. Those of you who follow me on Twitter may remember what I did to the company that supposedly “manages” the estate of apartment blocks that I live on. I went through their letter and corrected it in red pen, then posted it back to them. The results are here, if you missed it first time:

I think I was quite generous with a D-.

Then, of course, you get anyone who talks about social media “professionally”, or at least likes to think they do. They use words like “monetization strategy” and “leverage” to mean “how they are going to make money” and “use”. What is wrong with “how they make money” and “use”? We’ve been using language like that for years. Why does the technological age suddenly have to bring in a bunch of new and meaningless jargon? And, while we’re on, since when did the word “product” – without a trailing “s” – become a plural?

Politics are no better. Listen to our less-than-illustrious boring fart of a leader Gordon Brown speak and all you’ll hear is string after string of meaningless waffle – so utterly devoid of actual content that by the time he reaches the end of his speech you’ve completely forgotten what the question was and you’ll agree with him just to shut him up. The Tories aren’t any better. Listen to Cameron in all his shiny-headed glory and all you get is repetitive catchphrases, empty promises and a slightly larger urge to slit your wrists than when you started. If I had to pick one of them to listen to, I’d pick Cameron, but it’s a close-run thing, and with either of them I’d be chewing down on the cyanide capsules if I didn’t have other things to distract me with.

I like plain speaking. The last few jobs I’ve applied for I’ve taken this approach and communicated with the potential employers or clients as an actual human being. I’m not “passionate” about things that I’m not really passionate about. I’m not “confident and enthusiastic”. I’m not “a team player”. I’m not… you know, all the other idiotic things that people only ever write when applying for a job and eventually get found out as being a liar. I’m Pete. I’m a human. I speak English. I don’t speak jargon.

#oneaday, Day 55: Communi-what?

A while back, I wrote a post about communication online. If you’re extra-good, I’ll link to it tomorrow when I’m not typing this on my phone in bed because I forgot to earlier.

Anyway. The gist of it was that I was rather pleased with how my then-early Twitter addiction was proceeding, with the service making it particularly easy for me to keep up with my numerous buddies from around the world. Prior to this, Facebook had fulfilled a similar function.

Here’s where the paths of the two services diverge. While Twitter has remained relatively “pure”, with little in the way of gimmicky new features, Facebook has taken the opposite route, adding more and more noise to the mix until it’s almost unbearable.

Of course, there is the flipside to both services – Twitter has its spammers (bad) and Facebook has Facebook Connect (good) – but I know where I have most of my online conversations these days. Twitter may have its own noise, but it is WAY easier to avoid.

Facebook’s problem is that it wants to be everything to everyone, so it added the applications, and the fan pages, and the various redesigns… and now I find myself wishing it was back the way it was when I first started using it. Simple. Clean. To the point.

It’s certainly not that any more. Now, one’s news feed is likely to be as full of notifications from applications and announcements that Bartlebas McFartington has become a fan of “Not Being Able To Sleep Because Your [sic] Thinking About Crap” (yes, that was real, and no, no-one knows how to use “your” any more) as actual things that people have written themselves.

The ironic thing is that all this sharing is taking away from the original point of the service – communicating. When people would rather copy and paste “Bob” into your comments box so he can “travel around Facebook” than actually write a message to you, one can’t help but think that the point has been lost along the way somewhere, (While we’re on, people who just say “First” in an attempt to get the first comment – without actually commenting – can go to hell and sit on a spike, too.)

So next time you hover over that “Like” button, why not take those extra few seconds to actually write a message? The recipient will probably appreciate it, and time isn’t as precious as you think it is.

#oneaday, Day 50: Old Men Rant At The Hit Parade

Caution: YouTube frenzy ahead.

There’s a lot of shit music around at the moment. One only has to look at this week’s top 40 to see most of it. Let’s explore it, shall we? Call it a cultural exchange.

Before I go any further, I would like to add that I don’t hate black people, despite whatever you might interpret from my song choices which follow. I just hate shit music. And a lot of it happens to be by black artists. I can’t think of any awards ceremony I would like to attend less than the MOBO’s. Not that I particularly want to go to any awards ceremonies, ever. But I digress. Let’s dig into the sewers of the UK music scene, shall we?

Hanging in there at number 40, we have Sidney Samson’s Riverside. A song that starts in an atonal, idiotic place and then goes nowhere fast.

This is one of those songs that thinks that having a single hook of about four bars long is enough to build an entire song around. And to be fair, the philistines of the world don’t appear to know any better, as this song has been lurking around the charts for quite some time. But it has no depth to it. There’s no development. At all. The whole song is that irritating twangy synth line and some twat saying “Riverside, motherfucker” over the top of it. What does that even mean? Don’t answer that, because I really don’t give a shit.

Next up, number 30 sees Florence and the Machine performing You Got The Love.

Now, I have a lot of time for Florence, in that she can actually sing, has a distinctive voice and has a band with actual instruments in it. But this song? Ugh. It was already the most overplayed song in the world before she covered it, and with her and her machine being one of the most overplayed bands in the UK at the moment, you get an irritating song which is never more than five minutes away from when you turn the radio on.

One space below that, we have Iyaz and Replay, the first of many whiney black men in the charts today.

I find something profoundly irritating about this style of music. Perhaps it’s the fact that one song in this style is virtually indistinguishable from another. Perhaps it’s the gratuitous mentioning of iPods in the lyrics (I have a weird thing where I think that mentioning brand names or things/people that actually exist is somehow obnoxious. Don’t ask me to explain why, because I can’t.) Perhaps it’s just the fact it’s a shit song. Who knows?

Moving up the charts, we have Jay-Z ruining a perfectly good Alicia Keys song at number 28.

Alicia Keys can actually sing, so why she needs a douche like Jay-Z babbling his nonsense over the top of it is anyone’s guess. To her credit, the infinitely superior version of the song, with no rapping and just Alicia singing, is currently at number 6, proving it is indeed possible to polish a turd.

At 26, we have the Helping Haiti record.

I have nothing against charity records. But I fucking hate this song. And every charity song there has been in the last few years has been of this ilk – slow, boring, dirge-like and filled with “celebrities” trying to outdo each other vocally. Ignore this drivel and just donate directly to the charities if you feel that strongly about it.

At 22, we have another whining black man, this time accompanied by a shouting black man and Sean Paul, who sadly isn’t dead. It’s Jay Sean, Sean Paul and Lil Jon with Do You Remember.

This is just awful. And on a side note, compare Jay Sean’s singing with Iyaz’s. I defy you to tell them apart. The only thing which sets this record apart is Lil Jon’s incoherent shouting and Sean Paul’s incoherent burbling. At least it isn’t a full-on Sean Paul record. I thought we had got rid of him for good. Sadly, he’s still about, but at least it’s only in a “Ft.” role.

I, of course, couldn’t let Glee slide. They’re at number 20.

Golden rule: Leave Journey alone. Golden rule number two: If you must cover Journey, don’t turn it into a wet fart of a song. This song breaks both of those rules.

This next song is unforgivable purely for the fact it uses the Flintstone-based chat-up line. It’s Young Money with Bed Rock, at number 18. I am sure you can guess the line which is used.

In other news… it’s some rappers “singing” about fucking. In their video they wear lots of gold. Stereotype much?

At number 12, Gramophonedzie do their best to destroy everyone’s favourite memories of Jessica Rabbit.

This song brings back unpleasant memories of Audio Bullys [sic] molesting Nancy Sinatra’s Bang Bang a year or two back. So, to make it all better, here’s a far superior version.

Mmm… Jessica Rabbit. Err, where was I?

Oh, right. Number 5. Does this one, by any chance, sound familiar?

That’s right. The most overplayed song in the world by the most overplayed band in the UK now has the most overrated babbling twat spouting chavvy nonsense over the top of it. I don’t think anything else needs to be said.

Just time to stop off at number 3, and Jason Derulo’s In My Head, whiney black man number 3.

Pro tip for Mr Derulo: Singing your own name at the start of a song wasn’t cool when Craig David did it. It still isn’t now. Plus, your song is shit and sounds like every other whiney black man out there. Shut up.

And finally – I’ve saved the best for last – it’s the current UK number 1, the appallingly spelled Tinie Tempah and Pass Out.

I’m going to say nothing about this song… but I am going to share the lyrics with you after the jump (if you’re on the front page, click this post’s title or the “Read More” link below to read the full thing in all its… err… “glory”), and you can make your own mind up. Bear in mind this is the current number 1 in the charts. Once you’ve listened to it and read the lyrics you might understand why I mourn the UK music scene’s sorry state. So without further ado, I leave you with Tinie Tempah. The twat.

Continue reading “#oneaday, Day 50: Old Men Rant At The Hit Parade” →