If I were forced to describe Dubstep in a nutshell, I guess I’d have to say that it’s the genre for people who like music that sounds as if they’re connecting to AOL in 1997.
Dubstep is fucking huge. Even if you haven’t heard of it, you have probably heard it. It’s best described as Techno to people who don’t know any better (me), and as a sub-genre of Electronic Dance Music to people who do.
People go nuts over it. Just like any major genre of music, it has transcended from simply being a collection of songs that sound the same, and transformed into a genuine movement, a lifestyle.
I absolutely hate the shit.
The best place to start is to cover what the music actually sounds like.
That answer’s simple. It sounds like Robocop having explosive diarrhea.
It’s computerized. Keyboard bleeps and bloops. Aggressive beats, sampled or original, beneath some sort of repetitive vocal track with a chick saying something like: Let’s Go. Or perhaps, Systems Online-Systems Online. How about, The Time is Now, The T-T-T-TIME IS N-N-N-NOW!
All manner of noises produced by an array of electronic instruments and tools. Simply put, the computer aisle at Circuit City having an orgy.
In case you’ve never heard the stuff, or are interested in self-torture, here’s a quick primer for you:
For those of you that didn’t take a flaming chainsaw to their computer after only five seconds, let’s move on.
When I listen to a Dubstep song, I can’t help but think someone dropped a box of Lightsabers onto a Casio in the middle of a laser tag arena. Hell, you could drop Kenny Loggins onto a keyboard from ten stories up and he would produce better music.
R2-D2 with a stutter. Johnny 5 with Tourette’s. A blender. Blending a blender.
C-3PO, only gayer.
These are just some of the ways this untrained, and admittedly, uninterested ear interprets Dubstep.
This is the first genre of music in my young life that has made me feel old, disconnected.
Not unlike a grandparent simply unable to understand what their child sees in those damn Beatles. Or a politician fearing that something coming out of Dee Snider’s mouth is capable of making youngsters kill each other.
I. Just. Don’t. Get it.
I like to listen to music that takes me somewhere. That transports me to a certain place. Where does Dubstep take you? To a bad neighborhood in the year 2420?
When one of those song kicks in, I panic, thinking John Connor failed and Skynet is invading. I want to connect to a song, where with Dubstep I think I might literally need a USB cable to do so.
Putting on headphones and blasting a Dubstep song is like having your eardrums gang-raped by Transformers.
Some of the top artists in the genre are guys like: Skrillex, Deadmau5, Nero, and Bassnectar. The fuck is that shit? Aren’t all of these just bad guys in The Running Man?
How am I supposed to take your music seriously when your names sound like aliases that aspiring 8th grade hackers decided were too lame.
These are the kind of names that disconnected Hollywood executives threw around in the 2000’s for fictional computer programs in direct-to-DVD movies.
I can see it now as some producer-douche frames the scene with his hands:
Producer Douche #1: Alright, get this. Right after Casper Van Dien’s character, Jake Slade, finishes just absolutely GIVING IT to Alicia Silverstone’s character, Becca Pride, he’s going to hack the mainframe.
Producer Douche #2: Oh fucking GENIUS. So realistic. But we need a name for the computer program. You know, really send it home.
Producer Douche #1: Way ahead of you. We’re gonna call it…SKRILL-X!
(The production room explodes in sea of mostly-missed old white guy high fives and cigar smoke)
I get it, you’re trying to sound techie and computerized, but it’s so heavy-handed it just makes you look like an asshole in the end.
Nirvana didn’t hit the nail on the head and name themselves Daddy Issues. Motley Crüe didn’t go with Venereal Disease, although I’m sure they were tempted. Maroon 5 isn’t Music for Guys In the Closet. Fuck, even Creed didn’t save us all the trouble and call themselves Jesus, The Cover Band. All I’m saying is, leave some mystery.
And we can’t forget the Dubstep shows themselves. By all accounts, these things aren’t unlike the rave scene in The Matrix Reloaded, except even more universally hated.
A zombie horde of ecstasy-fueled internet trolls, frat bros, and every flannel-wearing assbag in the greater Los Angeles area ages 17-32. Except, to kill these zombies you don’t aim for the brain, you just have to shut down Reddit, Barstool Sports, and Instagram.
I know drugs are a major factor of any good music scene, but ecstasy? Come on.
I thought ecstasy died out after Dateline was running pieces on it in the late 90’s, followed shortly by an exposé on how to spot a phony Beanie Baby. Actually, if you’re still taking ecstasy, could you PLEASE look after my Tamagotchi for me, I haven’t fed him in years.
Taking ecstasy is more late 90’s than Princess Diana letting the dogs out to find the Unabomber’s titanic Y2K bug at Dawson’s Creek.
But here I am. Ranting on like that same grandparent who didn’t understand their child’s demonic rock music. Calling for a mass-burning of their favorite albums.
Am I just Tipper Gore, branding any type of music with a slight edge to it necessary of Parental Advisory? Maybe I’m out of the loop. Have I hit that age where I can’t understand it, where I’m too old for Dubstep? That’s certainly possible.
Or, maybe, just maybe, this isn’t a matter of age at all. Rather, it’s simply a case of those two holes on the side of my head telling me, you know what…this shit sucks.
Now, where the hell did I put my Metamucil, Matlock’s about to start.