Britain's longest-surviving music weekly, the New Musical Express, is marking its 50th anniversary at the moment. This week, a special edition that should be entitled "The 'New Morrissey Express' And Everything Else." Next week, a pullout supplement, "The Stone Roses Splashing Around In Paint, That 'Bowie's Back' Gag, And 23 Other Images." By Christmas, the "Oasis Were Crap, Really" special.
The NME prides itself on being the ultimate barometer of cool, a position that is both its success and its downfall. Anyone who knows anything about the British music scene will have a certain tinge of pride from an appearance on the cover of the NME. It still means that the act has made it, if only for one week.
Yet because the NME has this hipper-than-thou attitude, it often comes across as trying *too* hard. There's a feeling that what the paper is pushing this week is good, but only for this week. Just around the corner is something bigger, something better, something so wonderful it will not just knock your socks off but will blow your entire underwear collection well into next week. Sometimes this is true: the paper supported the careers of such luminaries as the Beatles, Jesus & Mary Chain, and Jimmy Eat World. It's also been responsible for such toe-curling embarrassments as Pop Will Eat Itself, Jamiroquai, and the Hives.
According to its myths, every cool act has passed through the pages of NME, with the possible exception of Abba. Yet, by concentrating on the next big cheap thrill, NME constantly misses the one that is here already. It's the Jordan Catalano of the music press, constantly seeking something better, when a perfectly acceptable thrill is there if only they would spend a few weeks and work on it.
The NME is stuffed full of lazy journalists. This has resulted in the biggest problem: the "scene." A "scene" is defined as a bunch of bands that has some tenuous link in the imagination of the lazy journalist, though this link may or may not exist in reality. Any band that flourished in Northern England circa 1990 was instantly dubbed part of the "Madchester" scene, even though the link between the Charlatans and Northside was geography only. Any act that came from the UK circa 1995 and used guitars was "Britpop", even though standard-bearers Blur always wanted to be Americans, and rivals Oasis were never more than hype.
The "scene" shorthand continues to this day; the Jimmies and Hundred Reasons are meant to be part of a "scene" called EMO that doesn't exist (though if the descriptions of EMO boys on justchelle.com is correct, I may have to revise that opinion.) Apparently, EMO is all guitars and confessional lyrics. In the 50th anniversary issue, there's a new "scene": the "No Name" scene, containing groups that may - or may not, if they don't feel like it - swear, wear dark clothes, play a vaguely punkish song, and (er) that's it. By these definitions, neither "scene" excludes Alanis Morissette.
I've read the paper on and off (but mainly off) for the past fifteen years. It's changed in that time - Andrew Collins has gone from occasional gig review to professional pontificator; Stewart Maconie from staff scribe to radio DJ; Danny Baker from star interviewer to breakfast on national radio and back again. It's never been my prime source of cool tips - Smash Hits (way back before the magazine concentrated on plastic pop) Kerrang (don't laugh) and Record Mirror (the inessential guide to modern dance tracks circa 1990) were always less earnest and more fun.
These days, word of mouth counts for far more than press hype. Eva Cassidy and Dido came up below everyone's radar last year, and I've found more quality from recommendations amongst my friends than in a month of magazines. Yet there will always be a place for the well-crafted interview with the act du jour, 2000 words extolling the virtue of Radiohead's new album, or a two inch snippet that leaves me yearning to find out more.
Any publication that can inspire such conflicting emotions must be doing *something* right. Happy birthday, NME. See you for the diamond jubilee...
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