Anyone who’s read my blog will know that a frequent source of my rage comes from listening to Radio One. Tonight is no exception, and as usual my inspiration is borne from my technology letting me down. In this instance, it was the audio jack in my phone, denying me access to Spotify and forcing me to listen to the turgid gossip that passes for news these days.
The big story on today’s radio waves, and indeed across most UK media, is the shocking news of certain members of that squeaky clean boy band, One Direction, having a cheeky toke whilst in South America.
I’d like to point out first of all, that being in that part of the world there are far worse drugs they could have been consuming, but at present the nation seems to be taking the news well and the authorities have yet to announce a state of martial law.
But it wasn’t the news of 1D’s dabbling that got me riled, but rather the additional news that they were recorded complaining about their merchandise’s lack of credibility.
Sorry to tell you this, lads, but when you made the decision to forgo the more difficult route into the music industry by relying only on your love of, and talent for, producing beautiful music – in favour of the easy route to instant stardom afforded any good looking person who fits the Cowell-standard chart for commercial success – you waived any rights you might have to actually have an opinion.
You sold your soul to the devil for instant fame and fortune, and now you’re starting to realise that the beast owns you. Sadly, a satanic contract isn’t just for a few years, it’s for eternity. You’ll never be credible.
Even if you all split up, and one of you spent two years in Chateau Marmont taking heroin and communicating with the souls of Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin, before travelling to India to find yourself, and then under the tutelage of Clapton and Frusciante and Plant learnt to extract pure art from the strings of a Stratocaster…
You’d still be that kid who used to be in One Direction.