Published in Beat Magazine, November 3, 2004

As we bask in the glory that is modern pop music, we often forget the sacrifices made by those who came before. Fourteen years ago, in a less enlightened age, a young British pioneer named Betty Boo proclaimed to the world in song that she was indeed “Doin’ the Do”. She Did the Do around the globe, venturing to our fair land, and led a gathering of adolescents rivalled only by the workforce of McDonalds to the Metro in Bourke Street. Some said it was an accident, some said it was a protest, but all felt the world shake at one fateful point of the concert. Mid song, the Do was being Done with such intensity that the microphone tumbled from her hand. And yet, to the shock of the assembled throng, her voice still rang through the sound system without hesitation. The congregation became hateful, voicing their displeasure with the one they had exalted a few moments before. Eventually she was forced to flee the stage, and her star had all but burnt out within weeks.

But, as I said, this was a less enlightened age. Today, while there are still a few who rebel against the music industry process of deifying a look rather than a talent, Ashlee Simpson (not Jennifer, the MENSA candidate from “Newlyweds”, but her sister) will emerge only a little tarnished from her appearance on Saturday Night Live a couple of weeks ago. For those of you not glued to the US entertainment “news” shows, ie the chosen ones amongst you with actual lives, the Lesser-Breasted Simpson was in the beginnings of her second song of the show, when the vocals from the first fired up again. The fact that her microphone was by her side caused some consternation. Her response was a dance that made her look like one of those Elvises that you attach to your windscreen by its head, before she crept away. Ashlee’s star will not dim, however. She has been shaped as the counterbalance to her physically perfect, hope-for-her-husband’s-sake-they-made-her-anatomically-correct sibling, and so this performance will be swallowed by her designer imperfections and “spunky attitude”.

Lip synching is far from a perfect procedure, even in these days of musical science. A couple of years ago, boy band Blue journeyed here for a promotional tour, and appeared on Foxtel’s Channel V. Blue have the ideal balance; four members, two to sing, and two to look good. They found themselves a little out of step with their performance, however – as the backing track played, the two designed for physical attractiveness did their job well, their mouths in perfect time with their studio augmented voices. The two with singing voices, however, forgot that there is a time to suppress your talent and let the technology do its work. Despite their voices ringing clearly from the recording, they chose to sing live as well, tarnishing the perfect, predestined sound with their exuberance.

Elton John recently let forth a tirade about lip synching, including a lot of those four-letter words that are usually meant for punks and gangsta rappers, according to the handbook. This is merely a sign of bitterness, as Elton actually had to write music and play an instrument for his thirty-four year career, rather than having this technology to trust in. Such bitterness is understandable, as the most technologically advanced part of Elton’s performances is his hair, and frankly, modern marvels have let him down in that department.

Some of you may remember Milli Vanilli, the brothers who were forced to hand back their Best New Artist Grammy when it was discovered they had nothing to do with the noise made in their image. Just think of the calamity if we were still that intolerant! None of the pop stars we know, designed and created with such precision, would ever take to a stage again – concerts would feature nothing more than a coked-up producer and an autotuner.

Seriously, it’s quite simple. If you’re going to participate in the whole pop music thing, turn enough of your IQ off that you can have fun. Sure, it’s a fine line between shutting down enough synapses to enjoy what they’re shovelling, and keeping enough brain function to keep your heart and lungs working, but give it a go. Personally, I’ll save my suspension of disbelief for the cinema, but if you’re going to be a fan of these stitched-together “artists”, don’t get upset if you spot the occasional seam.