Bad Music

(Big Danger in Little Osaka #18, 2009)

Easy-listening muzak-lite: if you are put on hold, go to the supermarket or tune in to the Breeze then you will probably hear this generally despised musical style. But, like so many things in this world, Japan takes it to the next level. Bad music seems to have pervaded almost every corner of Japanese life. Shopping malls and department stores are predictable offenders, but even up-market cafés and restaurants aren’t immune to this bizarre scourge. You can’t even escape it on the street, as PA systems blare concentrated nothing to pedestrians at all hours.

Usually you won’t hear actual songs, but rather synthesized approximations of actual songs. Why a version of ‘Creep’ consisting of a house beat and wailing synthesizers not heard since the ’80s is preferable to the original, I have no idea. Even Christmas carols aren’t safe: I once heard a stomping techno version of ‘Joy to the World’ while shopping for groceries, a tune that climaxed with a key change and (synthesized) guitar shredding. But at least this variety is funny. Sadly, the same can’t be said for the other kind of bad music, the stuff that’s all tinny electronic drums, half-hearted piano-tinkling and woozy strings. This music barely exists: it’s designed to fade into the wallpaper, but the sheer intensity of its blandness only makes it more noticeable. Even Kenny G would blush. 

This raises a number of questions. Who actually decides to play this music? There is a vaguely French-themed shopping mall in Osaka that plays nothing but an unending stream of accordion music. It’s enough to drive you insane after ten minutes; God knows how people who work there survive. My guess is that the decision to play this music was rubber-stamped by a businessman who’s never set foot in a shopping mall in his life. “Shit, the mall’s French, so let’s play some accordion music. Done. What’s next?” More distressingly, who is actually making this music? I theorise that there are three kinds of such people. The first are composers who are actually proud of their creations, who genuinely believe that their MIDI version of ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ puts a fresh and modern spin on the original. The second are those who are fully aware that they are making shit, but hey, there’s a demand for it and they’re getting paid. The third are those who once had dreams of scoring films, or writing documentary music, and now sit at their laptop in a darkened basement, eyes sunken, ashtray full of cigarette butts. Occasionally the phone rings, requesting an easy-listening version of a long-forgotten ’80s tune, and they die a little inside.

The biggest question of all, of course, is does anyone actually like this stuff? I’m sure most Japanese people don’t enjoy being bombarded with sound everywhere they go. And it’s not just music: train stations constantly broadcast unnecessary announcements, rubbish trucks play a cheery melody as they do their rounds and local city councillors stand in the street, electioneering through a loudspeaker. It’s strange that, in a country where traditional sites are famed for their peace and tranquility, there seems to be an urge to fill every available space with noise.