Submission by Joshua Becker, TNG reader

So this has been happening. Good ol’ Rebecca Black, one of Ark Music Factory’s upcoming singing sensations, released a music video last month extolling the virtues of Friday, Saturday, and Sunday; since late last week, however, it’s really taken off, to the tune of over 9 million views on YouTube. A quick Google search for “Rebecca Black Friday” turns up a plethora of criticism, commentary, and simple disbelief that a song this awful, this banal and bland and self-parodying, could become such a viral hit. The song even has its own Wikipedia article.

The general consensus here is that “Friday” is the nadir of modern pop music; that, between its thought-provoking lyrics (“Tomorrow is Saturday / And Sunday comes afterwards“) and truly beatific vocal performance, the song (and accompanying video) has distilled the worst aspects of today’s tween-marketed popular music into a single 4-minute train wreck. As Rolling Stone points out, “Black and Ark Music Factory have made a video that forces its audience to reckon with a particular formula for pop music.” Is this over-intellectualizing the song? Perhaps, but Rebecca’s label is certainly showing its hand with its name: Ark Music Factory, Andy Warhol connotation unintentional but present nonetheless.

And here’s the thing; for all those who dismiss “Friday” as a simple case of so-bad-it’s-funny internet nonsense, there seem to be plenty of real fans of the song as well. To paraphrase a recent movie tagline, you don’t get to 9 million views without making a few admirers. A video does not receive millions of views in a matter of days simply by being almost-too-horrible-to-believe; after all, there are plenty of equally terrible videos on YouTube, but you don’t see them getting written up in Forbes and Rolling Stone. Why Rebecca Black? Why “Friday”?

Maybe it’s the music itself, exemplary of that classic pop music chord progression: I-vi-IV-V. Maybe it’s the repetition of the lyrics: fun, fun, fun, fun, Rebecca sings, all but brainwashing the listener into agreeing with that description of the song. Or perhaps Ms. Black is just a throwback (throw-Black?) to a simpler time in pop music, before 3D movies and meat dresses, before pop stars shaved their head and all but switched careers., before we were able to tweet our way behind the curtain of our favorite starlets’ personal lives to understand why they did things that may have puzzled or annoyed us. To be honest, I’m thinking of a time I’m almost too young to remember, when we were spoon-fed our pop hits by the likes of Paul Cubby Bryant and Carson Daly, and when we couldn’t just go online, record our own bedroom covers, and share them with the world. Rather, we holed up in our bedrooms, singing into hairbrushes or shampoo bottles or whatever we had lying around like so many teen-drama movies and TV shows, daydreaming–if only for a few moments between class and soccer practice–that we too would be “discovered” by a music industry bigwig, shepherded off to LA, given a catchy new tune to sing and made into the next Tiffany. Now, it’s much easier for amateur artists and budding professionals alike to share their songs with their peers; though the playing field is infinitely more crowded, well, it’s also populated with the likes of Justin Bieber and Bo Burnham, two artists who owe their entire careers to the social power of YouTube.

What I’m trying to say is that Rebecca Black seems like a “star” unfit for these times, when we extol DIY charm and creating one’s own content. “Friday” is sweeter-than-bubblegum pop music, dumbed down but also unpretentious. And yes, “Friday” is an unequivocally bad song. But maybe, just maybe, Black and her sudden calendared fame appeal to that small part of us who once dreamed of being a star. Here’s a girl who, let’s face it, put in minimal effort and became a cultural juggernaut anyway. I can’t help but think that at least a few of those 9 million views came from not a place of mockery but rather amazement and even admiration; after all, if she can make it, why can’t I? How many Rebecca Blacks have graced their middle school’s auditorium stage, dancing their pitiable hearts out to “Genie In A Bottle” in front of their amused–yet captivated–classmates? How many Rebecca Blacks have tried to pen lyrics that reflect the romantic and existential confusion in their livers, only to come up with “That boy in math class / Got a hall pass / Two weeks detention, straight to my heart”? How many Rebecca Blacks are playing with their older siblings’ old Casio keyboards right this very second, playing with cheap pre-programmed beats and thinking up words that rhyme with “Saturday,” the inevitable sequel?

“Friday” is a stupid song and a more stupid video; I can’t imagine Rebecca doesn’t realize that. But it’s also the manifestation of a nation of kids’ daydreams, the living embodiment of Josie and the Pussycats” false promise of quick-an’-easy fame. There’s nothing wrong with putting yourself out there, no matter how talentless you may be; Rebecca Black proves the possibility of sudden fame regardless of inborn aptitude. Is this “dangerous” for pop music? I don’t think so–we have the Internet now, and don’t need to rely solely on Top 40 radio to dictate our musical tastes. But as cheesy as it sounds, it’s fun to live out your dreams, no matter how far-fetched. And that’s what Rebecca Black’s doing, updating Cyndi Lauper’s timeless credo: girls like Black just wanna have fun, fun, fun, fun. Who are we to get in their way?

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