Noise | San Francisco Bay Guardian

Hmm, bop

ALL CHILDREN EXPERIENCE the agony of having their emotions underestimated by adults, and while all of us probably swore we would never forget what it felt like, as we get older and our lives' contexts broaden, we have a hard time not looking at those a few decades behind us with the same condescending "just wait until you're older" smirk that met our own outraged tears. The problem is kids can't wait 10, 30, or even 3 years to understand why they shouldn't feel so damn sad, lonely, or helpless. To be fair, most adults don't really figure it out either – they just learn to stop crying in public.

What brings this to mind is a great turgid piece of monocultural detritus called Kidz Bop (Razor and Tie). Another disheartening gesture of corporate parenting, much along the lines of Radio Disney, Kidz Bop is a series of compilations that provide Top 40 hits sanitized for unsupervised consumption by children. Not only are these "kid-friendly"T versions missing the naughty words, but the hit songs on these albums are "sung by kids for kids."T What this means is that after various contemporary hits are sent through a karaoke-style, session-musician meat grinder, a small crew of children are sent into the studio to sing backup for various vocal impersonators. What you end up hearing is a series of mediocre renditions of our society's most recent aural wallpaper, but with the surreal addition of children's voices.

To understand how dissonant and confusing the experience of listening to Kidz Bop is, imagine children singing along to the eclectic collection found on volume seven: Modest Mouse's drug-deal-gone-bad hit "Float On"; Destiny's Child's quick cum-bad head call-out "Lose My Breath"; and even the nostalgic cheese of Bowling for Soup's "1985."

It's hard to see how children could possibly connect with most of these songs, or even how these themes are "kid-friendly."T Yet some tracks do manage a weird blurring of the ages. Simple Plan's "Welcome to My Life" could easily be the diary entry of a grounded preteen or the existential cry of a fortysomething professional with lyrics like "Do you ever feel out of place / Do you ever wanna run away? / Do you lock yourself in your room?"

In listening to Kidz Bop, I couldn't help but compare it to the Langley Schools Music Project recording, Innocence and Despair (Bar None), wherein teacher and arranger Hans Fenger gathered a group of Canadian schoolchildren in the 1970s to perform contemporary hits. While the sound of children's voices echoing off the gymnasium walls to the tune of "Sweet Caroline" and "Space Oddity" is infinitely more enjoyable to my ears, the issue of "appropriateness" is no less present. Fenger was very aware of this and has explained, "I never liked conventional 'children's music,' which is condescending and ignores the reality of children's lives, which can be dark and scary. These children hated 'cute.' They cherished songs that evoked loneliness and sadness."

Have children changed since then?

Gabriel Mindel

Hmm, bop ALL CHILDREN EXPERIENCE the agony of having their emotions underestimated by adults, and while all of us probably swore we would never forget what it felt like, as we get older and our lives' contexts broaden, we have a hard time not looking at those a few decades behind us with the same condescending "just wait until you're older" smirk that met our own outraged tears. The problem is kids can't wait 10, 30, or even 3 years to understand why they shouldn't feel so damn sad, lonely, or helpless. To be fair, most adults don't really figure it out either – they just learn to stop crying in public. What brings this to mind is a great turgid piece of monocultural detritus called Kidz Bop (Razor and Tie). Another disheartening gesture of corporate parenting, much along the lines of Radio Disney, Kidz Bop is a series of compilations that provide Top 40 hits sanitized for unsupervised consumption by children. Not only are these "kid-friendly"T versions missing the naughty words, but the hit songs on these albums are "sung by kids for kids."T What this means is that after various contemporary hits are sent through a karaoke-style, session-musician meat grinder, a small crew of children are sent into the studio to sing backup for various vocal impersonators. What you end up hearing is a series of mediocre renditions of our society's most recent aural wallpaper, but with the surreal addition of children's voices. To understand how dissonant and confusing the experience of listening to Kidz Bop is, imagine children singing along to the eclectic collection found on volume seven: Modest Mouse's drug-deal-gone-bad hit "Float On"; Destiny's Child's quick cum-bad head call-out "Lose My Breath"; and even the nostalgic cheese of Bowling for Soup's "1985." It's hard to see how children could possibly connect with most of these songs, or even how these themes are "kid-friendly."T Yet some tracks do manage a weird blurring of the ages. Simple Plan's "Welcome to My Life" could easily be the diary entry of a grounded preteen or the existential cry of a fortysomething professional with lyrics like "Do you ever feel out of place / Do you ever wanna run away? / Do you lock yourself in your room?" In listening to Kidz Bop, I couldn't help but compare it to the Langley Schools Music Project recording, Innocence and Despair (Bar None), wherein teacher and arranger Hans Fenger gathered a group of Canadian schoolchildren in the 1970s to perform contemporary hits. While the sound of children's voices echoing off the gymnasium walls to the tune of "Sweet Caroline" and "Space Oddity" is infinitely more enjoyable to my ears, the issue of "appropriateness" is no less present. Fenger was very aware of this and has explained, "I never liked conventional 'children's music,' which is condescending and ignores the reality of children's lives, which can be dark and scary. These children hated 'cute.' They cherished songs that evoked loneliness and sadness." Have children changed since then? Gabriel Mindel