In Defense of Bad Music

So I was watching American Idol (don’t ask) last night (which is incredibly boring, by the way, now that the bad(der) singers are gone) and one of the guys sings one of the quintessential power ballads of the last 20 years, Hold On to the Night, by that musical guru Richard Marx (also famous for writing Vixen’s one and only hit, Edge of a Broken Heart, during the glam metal days of the 80s—ahhhh I remember them well).

As this boy built up a crescendo towards the end, the drop screen behind him projected the crashing waves of the ocean (signifying the churning emotions of true love perhaps or maybe the constant barrage of memories of a lost love that rhythmically flood the mind). As I watched this spectacle in utter disbelief I was left wondering if there were actually people around the world moved by this.

These vastly different reactions to the Power Ballad (all visceral in their own way) have led me to wonder what is it about this musical genre that draws such intense responses? We either love it or hate it. There is no in between.

My theory is this: genetics. Just as a cat carries the gene that allows him to either get incredibly baked in the afterglow of catnip hits or to momentarily pause at a catnip toy before indignantly walking on, so do humans either possess or lack the ability to be moved by the emotional surges of Celine Dion. I see no other explanation.

So then the question arises, is this trait dominant or recessive? I would like to think recessive, hoping that both the dominant, homozygous genotype, let’s call BB, and the dominant heterozygous, Bb, both result in the Michael Bolton-hating phenotype. This leaves only the homozygous recessive genotype, bb, required for shmaltz-loving. In other words, going back to the recesses of high school punnett square probability, there would be a 75% chance of a couple producing a Power Ballad hater. (We will avoid more complicated genetic possibilities such as sex-linked characteristics, mutation, etc.)

So if my theory is correct, I must have more of a tolerance for this group of people. I must show compassion for they know not what they sway to. Beyond this I must show some admiration for the leaders of this community (the Richard Marxes and Mariah Careys) who have proudly embraced the genetic minority they belong to and have rallied other members to “Say it loud, we’re lame and proud.”

So the next time you see a 16-year old girl at a stop light in the car next to you with all windows down singing her heart out to Wilson Phillips’ Release Me, don’t roll up your window as would be your natural tendency. Raise your fist in solidarity and shout, “Power to the People” as you speed off to your destination.