The banality of the best
How hot takes are leaving criticism tepid
“Hey Ya!” by Outkast turned 20 years old last week. Whether booming through a portable speaker at teenage house parties, or being spoken over at the finish line of a park run, Andre 3000 and Big Boi’s earworm has been part of the cultural conscience for two decades.
“Hey Ya!”s ubiquity is such that a Twitter user claimed it is ‘quite possibly the best pop song of all time’.
The best pop song of all time. That is quite an assertion. What about “Billie Jean”? “Hey Jude”? “The Way I Are” by Timbaland (feat. Keri Hilson & D.O.E.)? There are tens of thousands – if not millions – of contenders.
Before I come across as the curmudgeon that I am, let me note I don’t mind which song this person believes to be the best or worst of anything. Taste is strange and unique, and I’m happy they want to express theirs.
To be fair to @AutoAmes, they did preface their take with a caveat: “quite possibly”. This is not a hill they appear ready to die on. And, if we – all the purveyors of taste and art – were to sit down and decide on the definitive pop single, “Hey Ya!” would be as worthy a contender as any.
However, the claim did irk me. Not due to its absurdity, but because it means absolutely nothing.
What is @AutoAmes conveying, beyond that they like the song? What about it moves them? Is it the call-and-response break down? The goofy bass effects? The James Brown-esque grunts? What criteria does “Hey Ya!” fulfil that lead the author to label it the best pop song of all time?
It may be ludicrous to dissect an offhand claim that I don’t necessarily disagree with, about a song I quite enjoy. But, this is not an isolated incident.
Proclamations of the best seem to be increasingly common in cultural discourse.
Upon news breaking that Ridley Scott has a four-and-a-half hour long cut of his awards contender Napoleon, my corner of Twitter erupted with claims regarding another of his films, Kingdom of Heaven. I haven’t seen it, but according to multiple users, the director’s cut of the 2005 sword-and-sandals epic is Scott’s best film.
Why is a film which forces us to watch Orlando Bloom for nearly three hours superior to Alien, Blade Runner, and Thelma & Louise? I couldn’t tell you. No one gave a single reason.
Similar discussions have emerged around another film bro favourite, David Fincher, following the release of the trailer for his upcoming project The Killer. (Apparently there is a surprising amount of love for Panic Room, and a disappointing amount of hate for Mank.)
Again, I don’t necessarily disagree with the content of these claims. It’s the manner they are made. Proclaiming something as the best, particularly in the case of something as subjective as art, offers no insight as to how something is moving or impressive. It’s vacuous.
Good criticism, whether it impugns or idolises the art in question, should be thought-provoking and evocative. It should synthesise the thoughts of the writer, work their subject through the cogs of their worldview, and reveal something both about the art, and about the critic.
Simply saying something is the best does none of this. It’s bad criticism.
Twitter is rarely the place for fleshing out dense concepts, but in 280 characters one should be able to convey more than flat appreciation.
Why then, do people lean so heavily on such a hollow technique?
Part of the answer may again be found in the realm of criticism, more specifically its death. The modern media landscape rarely finds the airtime or column inches for astute critiques of anything.
As noted by Jason England, the art of criticism has been “replaced by boosterism and listicles.” Leaf through a copy of Rolling Stone, once the bastion of counter-culture journalism, and you are more likely to find ‘We rank PinkPantheress’ slayest fan moments’ than anything reminiscent of their gonzo past.
We have been gradually indoctrinated into believing categorisation and ranking is a sufficient way to engage with the things we love. There is a desire for certainty, for a definitive canon of content. These are the good Kings of Leon albums, here are the top songs from 2015, etcetera. The natural end point of this binary, good-vs-bad way of thinking is to create bests and worsts.
Make no mistake, my notes app is filled with concerningly specific lists and rankings. But when this listicle obsession comes at the expense of earnest critical engagement, it becomes soulless.
Good criticism, whether it impugns or idolises the art in question, should be thought-provoking and evocative. It should synthesise the thoughts of the writer, work their subject through the cogs of their worldview, and reveal something both about the art, and about the critic.
The other contributing factor to the best trend? Simple, really. We humans like to appear smart.
When someone makes a claim about the best, there is an implication of expertise. This person must have studied the rest. They must have immersed themselves in the subject, dedicated hours to scholarly review, unpacked the micro and macro trends of their chosen field. How else could they make such a bold, public claim?
Of course, the average Twitter user or pub poet hasn’t done this. Very few people have. This doesn’t mean their – or rather our – opinions are worthless. Yet, there is still a desire to enter into the conversation, and enter as an aficionado.
So why not spit out a lazy piece of commentary, which under closer analysis is revealed as substance-less. And the beauty of vapid takes? They’re difficult to disprove.
Social media encourages this lazy expertise. And, it’s so unnecessary. Simply replace the word “best” with “favourite” and you’re already heading in a more promising direction. Or, better yet, just offer a few words of explanation.
The everyman opinion is crucial. Web 2.0 may be a myth, but social media can be a great space for the exchange of slightly under baked opinions, and for revelling in shared passions. I may have never seen a Truffaut film, but I could wax lyrical about the camp-masculinity of Gene Hackman’s performance in Crimson Tide.
Is my opinion based on anything more than vibes? No. But, I’m sure there are a few internet lurkers who feel the same.
So, no more faux-experts, or obtuse rankings. Us plebs are better than that. In fact not better. We’re the best.