From Cubist Castle 01.03.09: Touching the Untouchable

Posted by Jon Kinsey on 01.03.2009

In the debut edition of From Cubist Castle, we take a belated look at what happens when a TV talent show does the unthinkable and touches the untouchable.


I hate to do this folks, but I'm starting with a corollary. This column was originally written on the 13th December as a knee jerk reaction to something I had seen that night. For a whole host of reasons, I'm only now able to go live with it, so it has probably lost some of its topical punch. I'm going to publish and be damned and let you be the judge.

I have always believed that, for various reasons, certain songs are sacrosanct and, therefore, untouchable. These are songs that, without exceptional reasons to the contrary, should never be covered. Sometimes it is because they are so intrinsically linked to a certain artist that any other version instantly sounds like parody. For others, it is because the song is a genuine outpouring of feeling by the person writing and performing it; a cathartic exercise to corral their own demons as much as an attempt to entertain. For another artist to perform such a song would be the equivalent of reading the writer's diary over a loudhailer in a public square – it is a gross intrusion to the person concerned. Some songs are simply near perfect – the acme of their form – a piece of artistic expression so erudite that any change, even the change of performer, would serve to denigrate it.

And there are other songs. Songs that hold a special place in the soul and psyche of the listener. They might not be the greatest example of musical achievement, but they mean something. They strike a chord in our shared consciousness. They are almost tangible and have come to embody an idea larger then themselves. We can't ever imagine having to live without them. I'm sure everyone reading this can think of at least one song like that. These songs, more than any other, have earned their right to be inviolate, because to meddle with them would amount to sacrilege.

This is exactly what happened on Saturday night.

Every winter, here in the UK, the TV channel ITV airs a show called The X Factor. I'm not sure how well known the show is to the world at large, so I shall assume ignorance. It is, effectively, a Simon Cowell vehicle, similar in concept to American Idol, in which various rag tag hopefuls put themselves through the televisual equivalent of Hara Kiri in an attempt to win a record deal.

There is something distinctly cynical about the whole enterprise. The early audition rounds resemble a Victorian Freak show rather than a singing contest. Deluded auditionees, their delirium rendered all the more pronounced by the pre-production team, who wave them through the vetting process as if they have a genuine chance of success, parade in front of the cameras, while providing the audience with ample opportunity to point and gawp. Their dreams and then shattered by a judging panel possessed of as much sensitivity as Malaria.

The later rounds see a chosen few – some good, some not so good and some pointedly awful, but selected for their ability to garner public sympathy – sing in a "live" showdown, with a public vote determining which one of them is to leave the show, never to be heard of again.

It is a cynical marketing enterprise that typifies everything I hate about mainstream music. This is not a show that promotes music for music's sake, or makes a genuine attempt to broaden the horizons of its audience. It is, rather, a forum for established performers to hawk their wares upon a viewing public. The songs to be performed by the contestants are not selected because the performers have an emotional bond to them ,or because they are inherently good, but as a means of promoting their weekly "guest star". In this years cycle, we have had the shameless plugging of Take That, Mariah Carey and Britney Spears. The latter's performance on the show was compellingly and unintentionally humorous – she looked like a waxwork and danced like an automaton – which only served to contribute to the shows image as a modern day Chamber of Horrors.

This year's winner, Alexandra Burke, triumphed in the final by beating a sixteen year old whose only discernible talent was his ability to impersonate a garden gnome, and a band whose members were born thirty years too late. She is, as far as I can tell, a skilled, but generic singer, bereft of individuality, who will almost certainly be pushed down the same path as Leona Lewis, who won the show two years ago. Burke auditioned for the program in its second iteration, in 2005, but didn't make it through the selection phase. Having returned this year, she has been deemed good enough to win the whole kit and caboodle, despite showing no visible signs of improvement (though, to be fair, she was hardly atrocious to begin with).

While I have always maintained that the show, and all the others like it, does not represent a true picture of the motivations and experiences of the vast majority of recording artists, I've never really had cause to be offended by it. It may be a sterile endeavor and its product might be devoid of the soul that should permeate all good music, but it kept itself to itself. The winner would release their song, usually a limp cover version of something inoffensive – designed to appeal to the broadest possible audience and therefore maximize sale revenue – which would then, in an eventuality as predictable as the sun, become the UK's Christmas number 1 (which is, for some bizarre reason, one of the biggest accolades a chart single can achieve in this country). I would actively avoid it, which isn't difficult, since I don't listen to the radio, and the natural balance of things would be preserved.

This year, however, their choice of song has meant that they have strayed out of their homogeneous bubble, crossed the battle line and defecated on my doorstep.

Let's get to the crux of the issue, and the reason that my best laid plans have been shattered. What song could they possibly be releasing? What could have riled me so?

"Hallelujah".

You know the one – the signature tune of Jeff Buckley, written by one of the most gifted lyricists of his generation and re-imagined by one of music's few true pioneers.

Yeah, that one.

Apparently, the word has been out for a while. The show's final four contestants each recorded their version of the song some weeks ago, but because I pay no attention whatsoever to its comings and goings, I did not realize until I saw Burke perform at the close of the series on Saturday night. The performance was lumpen and over elaborate, favoring style over substance. She did not seem to be able to grasp the emotional complexity of the song - she might be able to sing it, but she clearly does not understand it. She appeared to be entirely incapable of appreciating the importance of this song.

And important it is, despite its inauspicious origins. "Hallelujah", written by Leonard Cohen in the early Eighties, appeared on the 1984 album Various Positions. It was seemingly unremarkable and almost unrecognizable by modern comparison. Cohen was starting out on his "jumble sale Synthesizer" phase and his recordings were becoming increasingly reliant on keyboards and drum machines, a form of accompaniment that never served to showcase his lyrical flair. The obvious clash meant that his words and music struggled to gel. Yes, he was still reading poetry, but now appeared to be backed by a karaoke track.

The Cohen version of "Hallelujah" suffered for its instrumentation, as did many of his songs at the time. The backing was basic, to the point of being childlike. The full song as written consists of fifteen verses, but only four were selected for the recording and the lyrical flow seemed awkward and disjointed. Reviewers would have been forgiven for thinking that the track would simply die the death of the obscure.

That it survived had nothing at all to do with Cohen, who promoted the release with all the vim and vigor of a corpse, but was down to John Cale, the creative force behind The Velvet Underground and, by this point, a respected producer and solo artist. Enamored of the song he set about reworking it and by the time he set it down for the tribute album I'm Your Fan, it bore little resemblance to Cohen's initial blueprint. The synthesizer was ditched and the music was rearranged for solo piano. Cale also reinstated some of Cohen's unused verses, tightening up the narrative flow. The result was a revelation. Cale's amendments, together with his brilliant Valleys tinged vocal, instantly transformed the song from vaguely comical to intensely moving. The original was immediately rendered obsolete.

The songs cache would rocket into the stratosphere when Jeff Buckley recorded a version of John Cale's arrangement for inclusion on his debut album Grace. With the singer's death in 1997, it came to be inextricably linked with the myth of Buckley. His take on the song was a somber one, which fitted perfectly the legend that grew up around him. As with many musicians who die young, it has, over the years, become difficult for some people to separate the myth (that he was a majestic, mournful angel, sent to Earth to articulate the plight of his followers), from the truth (that he was a brilliant performer with an ethereal voice, but, at best, an average songwriter). Buckley was beatified by his fans and "Hallelujah" became his anointing hymn.

I'm not sure who on the X Factor team selected this song. I'm not sure who gave them go ahead for it to be used. One thing I do know, is that they are meddling with something that they don't quite understand. This is a song that has meaning. People carry it around with them, in their hearts or in their minds and this is simply something that the show can't comprehend. No one would have thought of writing a column such as this about "When You Believe" a song from a cartoon, which was released by last year's winner. Nor would they wear sack cloth and ashes for "A Moment Like This", the first release by Leona Lewis, which was originally written for an American Idol winner. They are throwaway snippets, decent enough for what they are, but impossible to become attached to. They are, in a sense, microcosmic models for the show itself – reasonably entertaining, but formulaic and plastic – everything that Hallelujah is not. They have made a glaring, chasm-sized mistake and I'm not convinced that they can comprehend it. The show treats music in a way that is cynical, callous and devoid of artistic merit and they have poisoned "Hallelujah" by association. Its credibility is ruined by slack jawed, lowest common denominator television. It is the musical equivalent of putting a puffer jacket on the Venus De Milo.

The first thing I did last Saturday, after the show was over, was contact an old friend, someone who I knew would be as disturbed by the state of affairs as I was. If anything, his mortification was even greater than mine. For years, during our youth, this song was our cornucopia, our cure-all. We favoured different versions – I was a Cale supporter and he worshiped Jeff Buckley – but whenever we were upset, or annoyed, or just balls out angry, we would decamp with some cans of beer and put the song on repeat. It made difficult times easier and made good times great. It is something that is intrinsically linked to our youth. It is part of a rite of passage. I have no doubt at all that the man I have become and the music that I now listen to was, to a greater or lesser extent, influenced by that song. My friend would go even further. He will tell you how it helped ease the pain of breakups and of family trauma and how he wanted it to be the song they played at his funeral. You don't get that from cardboard pop. You don't get that from plastic pop stars and you don't get that from a song written in minutes just to sell a shedload at Christmas. They don't get it. And that is why they have allowed themselves to ruin it.

It will be ruined, incontrovertibly and irreparably. This song will be played on every radio station across the country for months. You will hear it in shopping arcades and at football matches. You will hear it on the TV and on the radio. For the vast majority of the listening public, it will be the first time that they have ever heard it. They won't hear the history, they won't hear the heritage. They won't hear the pleas of all the people to whom this song is dear. They won't hear Jeff Buckley or John Cale or Leonard Cohen. They will hear Alexandra Burke, the girl who won the X Factor. And all the while they listen to the song, they will be wondering just how long it will be until she fades back into obscurity.

The song will be forever associated, not with musical excellence or with the emotional bond that connects so many people, but with a show famous for sucking the credibility out of everyone who walks through the door, for cannibalizing its latest victim for one Christmas and then throwing away the parts they couldn't use. The show is meaningless and, by association, to all those who know "Hallelujah" simply for by its connection to it, it too becomes meaningless. I would love nothing more than the song I love so much to become genuinely popular, but popularity has to come in context. People should love it for what it is, not for what the X Factor has made it.

Quite simply, something that should have been inviolate has been forever tarnished. The X Factor has taken something that has genuine meaning and importance to a good number of people and cheapened it. It did so because the chief concern of the money makers behind it is simply to make more money. In a bizarre twist of irony, the lyrics of the song's first verse fit Simon Cowell perfectly. Much like its female subject, he clearly does not care for music. If he did, he could never have allowed this to happen.

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