The Music of 2011

 -  in which artists catch grenades, there are rumours that Mick Jagger sold his soul and we’re advised not to buy Simon Cowell Christmas presents.

I have a theory: if Adele and Bruno Mars were to be allowed to procreate (providing Adele could get over her ex) I reckon it’d bring about the birth of a bi-polar, musical Anti-Christ. The child, in turn, would eventually start penning songs that would catapult listeners from happy to melancholy in a split second, thus giving us whip lash. Slowly but surely, we’d become a nation of emotionally handicapped, sorrow-craving junkies who all wore neck braces.  

So no-one has really dug up any musical gems this year, have they? I mean, it was indeed a good year for some genres. A lot of good electronic music has emerged - Calvin Harris has blasted out a couple of decent tracks - and there has been a few good pop and hip-hop numbers, such as Katy Perry’s Firework and Kanye West’s All of the Lights. But, let’s not lie, over all it’s been pretty bleak.

So, I’ve decided to make a list of artists and songs that made my 2011 that little-bit extra shit.

Adele –  21 (seconds in and I’m reaching for a knife.)

Adele, of course, can always be relied on to dampen your mood. By the end of her album, you’ll be edging  a knife slowly towards your wrists – though that’s not because of her lack of talent, it’s just because she shows us  how hurtful a broken heart can be...track, after track, after track.

Rebecca Black – Friday (this is what happens when rich parents cave into their daughter's whim.)

‘Friday’ is one of the worst songs to slither out of this year’s untalented musical womb. The song was viewed by more than 167 million people.  What’s more impressive is the 3 million ‘dislikes’ it received. You know when you see a horrific accident and slow down to sadistically admire it? Well, that’s the same as listening to Rebecca Black’s debut. Society has always had a fascination with the morbid, this song proves it. That said, Black did donate a hell of a lot of the proceeds to charity, which, having been forced to listen to the song an obscene amount of times, makes me feel good about myself – I suffered so a charity could prevail.  

Maroon 5 – Moves Like Jagger (is Maroon the plural of moron?)

This single is positively nauseating and, no matter how great your efforts are, it haunts you from dusk till slumber. I’ve not heard anything this arrogant since the cast of Glee beheaded Don’t Stop Believing.  I know Mick Jagger has made some mistakes in his career, but for the sake of his humanity and soul I pray he didn’t give this band of idiots his blessing. 

Rihanna  - Talk That Talk (though, I wish you’d stop.)

Rihanna should be congratulated on three things: 

1) Mastering the art of auto-tuning your way through the composition of an entire album.

2) Overcoming the temporary amnesia she suffered early this year – you know, when she kept forgetting her name?

3) Being one step away from pleasuring her marital parts on stage.

Bruno Mars – Doo-wops and Hooligans (Eh?)

After plaguing us with so many awful singles, I harbour nothing but disdain and loathing for this man. “Turn on the TV, throw my hands down my pants” - go speak to Rihanna, she’s into that sort of thing. And whilst you two are conversing about how to further ruin the music industry, I’ll launch a grenade at her – let’s see if you’re all talk, Bruno.

I was glad, however, to see that the X-Factor took its typical nonchalant approach to ‘finding the next big thing from the UK’, whilst honouring their annual tradition of ritually sacrificing a once respected song for the ‘good’ of the Pop World.

 I won’t lie; I get carried away with the X-Factor live shows every year. During said shows, my Twitter and Facebook are bombarded with running commentary on what’s happening. I forcefully thrust my opinion on unsuspecting members, telling them that if they disagree with me, I’ll hunt them down with the fury of a scorned lover, remove their ears with a blunt Stanley knife and feed them  to the contestants on next year’s ‘I’m a Celebrity...Get Me Out of Here’ – told you I get carried away.

 However, we were in for a special treat this year. The show’s producers obviously realised that the public were growing weary of Cheryl Cole’s lacrimal gland disorder, which caused her to frequently erupt into tears, and Simon’s ‘it’s not good enough; it’s never good enough. Don’t even bother getting me a Christmas present this year, I’ll likely hate it’ attitude. 

With this in mind, they decide to present us with a new “generation” of judges – though they kept Louis Walsh; I suspect partly because he’s a loose cannon that may blow at any time and that, well, he has that cute, granddad-like quality about him. The line up were: Gary Barlow, who never ceased to impress us with his perfect beard; Kelly Rowland, who whole-heartily embraced the stereotype and Tulisa, who has since been flaunting her new found wealth on Twitter. “What car should I buy, peasants?” 

The winner this year was a girl group – which, shock horror, was an X-Factor first. Little Mix, or as I like to call them Toad and the Frogettes, croaked their way to the final where, with the help of Simon’s record label, they proceeded to brutally murder Damien Rice’s 'Cannonball' in cold blood.

As I said earlier, no real musical gems have been discovered this year; we won’t be adding anything to the treasure trove of priceless songs. Don’t fret though; we get to do it all again next year. Yay.