“As hate and stupidity collide, even the blind shall see the truth …” But before that happens, an observation. There has been a worrying and quite bewildering rise in the number of sensitive young men finding success in the popular music industry in recent years. These fellows seem determined to monetise their insecurities and celebrate their longing in song form, often accompanied by sad piano motifs or wistful strumming on small guitars. Their self-effacing ballads, often performed in high voices and an odd mid-Atlantic accent, are sickly diary entries, or adolescent poetry of the most execrable kind addressed to ethereal fantasy figures for whom the singer is not good or worthy enough. Confession – I base this analysis on an admittedly small sample – my five-minu...
