How "Glee" is Slowly Becoming the Worst Thing for Music Since American Idol

Another rock band has refused to give permission to Glee creator Ryan Murphy for the cast to perform its songs. Last time, it was Kings of Leon. This time, Dave Grohl and Foo Fighters. According to The Hollywood Reporter, not only did Dave Grohl, guitarist and singer for Foo Fighters and former drummer of Nirvana, refuse to give permission, he also took umbrage with what now seems to be Murphy's M.O. in dealing with these situations: "Let me use the songs, they'll inspire kids to get into music."
And when certain musicians refuse, Murphy allegedly responds with something along the lines of: a) "Well, he's a washed-up has been trying to maintain cred" (in the case of Slash, former guitarist of hard rock bands Guns n' Roses and Velvet Revolver); or b) "They're selfish jerks" (in the case of Nathan Followill of Kings of Leon).

In the latter case, Murphy specifically said, "F--- you, Kings of Leon. They're self-centered assholes, and they missed the big picture. They missed that a 7-year-old kid can see someone close to their age singing a Kings of Leon song, which will maybe make them want to join a glee club or pick up a musical instrument. It's like, OK, hate on arts education. You can make fun of Glee all you want, but at its heart, what we really do is turn kids on to music."

While I disagree with Followill's sexist and homophobic response to Murphy via Twitter, which read "Dear Ryan Murphy, let it go. See a therapist, get a manicure, buy a new bra. Zip your lip and focus on educating 7yr olds how to say f**k.," and which Followill later recanted, I also disagree with Murphy.

First, no band should be obligated to give their permission for a song to be used. Like Murphy, they're artists. Their major assets are the songs they've created. They should have the right to decide on which platforms and in what forms those songs appear. Considering the way the show thoughtfully addresses high school bullying, you'd think Murphy wouldn't take to verbal bullying of the artists who refuse to let their songs be used.

Why Glee is bad for fans of good music
Second, Murphy's claims of "education" are somewhat dubious. I agree that the show provides a platform of visibility for people with disabilities,

Keven McHale as Artie

although the character of Artie isn't really disabled; here he is with his Boy Band, NLT (Not Like Them). He's in dancing in the back and sings lead about 1:36 into the video:

And the show is great because it highlights the struggle of self-identified gay and bisexual boys and girls dealing with coming out (or not) to family and friends, weight and body issues, school bullying, and alcohol abuse (albeit the last one in ways more humorous than not). But let's be clear, the show is problematic in many ways (see above clip).

However, what's emerging as the most problematic aspect of Glee is not the way, according to some, it ruins otherwise great songs that have aged well. I liked Glee's remake of "Don't Stop Believing." And while Kurt's rendition of "I Want to Hold Your Hand" was different from the original

I've found that most of their remakes are actually faithful to the original (Queen's "Fat Bottom Girls," for example).

No, what's more troubling to me is the way Glee is beginning to fit into the current musical landscape, which is littered with the deluded aspirations of would-be pop stars. For all Glee's talk about a choir being a "team" and how kids shouldn't fight over solos, that's just not the norm in the music realm anymore. Many of us have already witnessed this troubling trend of frightening and fascinating fixations of being a "star" on American Idol.

I argue that, far from Murphy's argument that Glee will make kids want to join show choirs and take music classes in high school, the popularity of Glee will instead feed into the already burgeoning narcissistic, social media-driven solo artist path many kids seem to want to take after watching Justin Bieber hit it big. And unlike Bieber, who is actually talented (and, for all I know, not narcissistic), I think Glee will give kids and their parents (particularly the parents) even more confidence that their kid can be the next "star."

Getting young people into music, really? Is this what we're talking about?

Because if it is, I'd like to see a show that discourages Rebecca Black and her parents (and folks with the same deluded aspirations as they have) from ever entering the music business.

So, Ryan Murphy, please don't give bands a hard time about not lending you their music. They may be doing us all a favor.

The Fab Five and the Decline of Western Civilization (or, at least, collegiate sports)

I'm watching the Fab Five documentary on ESPN with mixed feelings. Going to school in the Ann Arbor-Ypsilanti area in the late 90s, I remember the hype, the swagger of those five freshman basketball players from the University of Michigan.

Yesterday during one of the many conference-championship games, sportscaster Jim Nantz said (I'm paraphrasing here): Yeah, well, the Fab Five destroyed the program. They really did. Ultimately they did. They can talk about they changed college basketball. They certainly changed things at the University of Michigan. They ruined it for about two decades. Set them on probation, and all the sanctions. I don't know, I was there to see all that exciting times, but in the end, the aftermath, it was ugly.

And I suppose that's true. The Fab Five signaled the beginning of the one-and-done, pay-for-play, scandal-shadowed, highly-hyped college hoopster that has since become a permanent fixture in the NCAA.

But more than that, it's fascinating to hear the role race played in both alumni receptions (Steve Fisher and the players describe getting letters from alums riddled with the words "n---ger" and "coon) and the ways in which the players made sense of their own collegiate experience. For example, Jalen Rose spoke about why he hated Duke: they recruited "Uncle Tom" players from "good" (presumably stable and affluent, or at least middle class) families, like Grant Hill; their players were "accepted," players like Rose (from a family with a poor, single Mom) were "rejected." Certainly, this notion of tension within race is not new to those of us in the communication field, but hearing Rose talk like that may surprise some.

What's more surprising to me is the ways in which class is communicated in the interviews and media texts. Rose talks about the "dope house" scandal (he was found in an alleged crack house when police raided it, about which he says, "That wasn't a crack house. I know what a crack house. I've walked past a few."), and having tattoos and earrings (which, for a college player, was unheard of at that time and branded one a "thug" in the eyes of some). The viewer gets this sense that what bonded the Fab Five was as much a (self)imposed lower class status as a love for the game. Their vocal love of "underground" rap groups like NWA, Ghetto Boys, and EPMD as opposed to popular African-American musical artists at the time also speaks to this issue of class (a reporter is shown asking Rose if he listens to Lionel Richie, to which he smirks and shakes his head).

Now, I'm not arguing that poor Black men didn't before look at basketball as way out of tough economic situations. I'm pointing this out because this understanding of class is necessary in contextualizing the story of the Fab Five. Jalen Rose recounted their disgust at being commercialized by Nike with the (in)famous black socks, among other things. Mitch Albom discussed walking with Webber as they notice one of Webber's jerseys in a store window for $75, which Webber couldn't afford at the time. Shortly thereafter, Webber declared for the NBA.

All this at a time before college players attained the national hype they now have. For example, here's a commercial heavily-hyped Ohio State University, one-and-done player Greg Oden made for ESPN in 2007 shortly after he went pro:

In the Fab Five documentary, class complicates the viewer's understanding of the scandals that would emerge later, particularly with Chris Webber, with whom UM is banned from associating for 10 years for lying to a grand jury about accepting money from a booster. As the story goes:

"Big Money" Ed Martin bought inner-city Detroit kids new sneakers when they needed them and boots for the winter if they didn't have boots, which, as Albom explains "no Detroit kid is going to refuse." Some of these kids he helped out, allegedly with money from an illegal gambling ring, made it big on the college and eventually the pro level. When it got to this point, however,some say the gifts evolved from much-needed shoes to housing and clothing (Jalen Rose admits Martin gave him "pocket change" but that's it; Mitch Albom doubts a significant amount of money went to Webber until after Webber declared for the draft). For his part, Webber continues to maintain silence, doesn't apologize, and according to some, believes UM got the better of the bargain: national TV exposure, millions of dollars in UM merchandise sold, and future recruiting classes all but secured.

The banners are taken down from Chrysler Arena. The legacy of this trailblazing team is visibly erased from UM facilities, though it lives on the memories of college basketball fans. Bittersweet, complex, and twisted like a freshly-cut basketball net lying on a hardwood floor.