Uninspiring, underwhelming and unforgivable – no, not the appointment of Roy Hodgson, but instead it’s Chris Kamara’s significant bearing upon England’s potential Euro 2012 success that is truly criminal. His comically poor observational skills coupled with an acute proneness to become prematurely overexcited is symptomatic of everything that’s wrong with his contribution to England’s inevitable disappointment, but it’s not his punditry that I’m referring to. Instead it’s his role in producing England’s official Euro 2012 song that particularly offends, not just because it builds a paper-thin façade of bravado for England’s tournament chances, but because it’s just an awful song.

A successful tournament is always accompanied by a rousing anthem, capable of uniting the masses. Don’t believe me? Then how else does one explain away England’s lack of success at major tournaments in recent years? The ‘Golden Generation’ has been and almost gone, yet we’re no closer to the gleaming jewels of Rimet, or even Michel Platini’s silver-patterned plaything (who’s Delaunay anyway?). A paucity of talent can’t be the reason for this (or so we’re lead to believe), or at least, the squads of Italia ’90 and England ’96 don’t on the face of it seem significantly more talented than others who’ve failed to adequately step up to the mark. The England team require consistent backing and a unified spirit in order to succeed – the only consistent predictor for this appears to be the quality of theme song, be it official or unofficial. Without a novel catchy recorded chant repeatable on the terraces, any tournament campaign is surely doomed to failure.

Utilising mainstream musicians perhaps isn’t the best route to making a super-smash-soccer-hit, but England’s theme for the 1990 World Cup incorporated serious credibility into the national team’s musical machinery with New Order writing and performing ‘World In Motion’. Unlike Embrace’s 2006 contribution ‘World At Your Feet’, the employment of accomplished rapper-cum-footballer John Barnes to make a cameo appearance lightened the mood of the song in order to make it truly identifiable with for fans. Football may be a matter of life and death to some, but what’s the use in confronting mortal questions head-on without some comic relief?

The plain simplicity of New Order’s textured electronic rhythms bolstered by earworm hooks, coupled with the sheer togetherness displayed by the whole squad appearing on the record, does little but establish ‘World In Motion’ as a genuine classic. Granted, New Order could never have achieved the levels of dreariness that Embrace emphatically reached, but it’s the playful feel in combination with genuine musicality that makes ‘World In Motion’ truly special. A serious song is merely serious; it’s not a true footballing anthem. 2006 World Cup failure can be attested to the fact that Embrace took their role far too seriously.

However, a song primarily intended to be comedic is hardly a recipe for tournament success either. ‘Goldenballs’, ‘We’re On The Ball’, songs involving James Corden – all of these are clearly aiming at little more than simply ‘funny’. Even ‘Vindaloo’, the thoroughly enjoyable and genuinely humorous 1998 anthem, fails to hit the mark – the point isn’t to be funny, it’s also to rouse and to entertain. A song that truly captures the humanity and emotion of the situation that football fans find themselves in, without seriously implying mortal danger, is what’s required. There’s only one real song that pulls this off to any degree, and it does so flawlessly; Baddiel, Skinner and The Lightning Seeds’ ‘Three Lions’ (1996 version).

Football didn’t quite manage to find its way home, but its importance hit home hard, uniting all in grief. ‘Thirty years of hurt (now forty-six!) never stopped me dreaming’ succinctly captures exactly what it is to be an England football fan. Not a particularly spectacular track in terms of its sonic arrangements, but again its unbridled simplicity is key to its efficacy; the lyrics and sentiment hit hard. Easy to learn and even easier to chant, it’s the ultimate football anthem. It’s no surprise then, that only ‘Three Lions’ and ‘World In Motion’ accompanied England’s last semi-final appearances at major tournaments, the other tournaments appearances can be straightforwardly categorised as abject failure, it was only penalty shootouts against built for spot-kicks machines which prevented England from prospering in both ’90 and ’96.

So, what’s been established? To win the tournament, a good theme song isn’t sufficient; a Russian linesman is required in order to successfully overcome the Germans, but beyond that we need an anthem in order to foster a winning spirit within both squad and nation. And thus, the burden of our collective hopes and dreams fell upon the shoulders of Chris Kamara. And, not at all unbelievably, he buckled under the pressure. An insipid rhythm bolstered by lyrics more banal than Stephen Malkmus intentionally spouting nonsense does little to inspire. ‘Sing 4 England’, he asks – but who would dare sing along with such an awful song, devoid of actual humour? What does this song do to lift the nation? Nothing. It’s ‘funny’, but so is the thought of Gareth Southgate taking a penalty, and that doesn’t win us tournaments.

Pessimism is rife amongst England fans, and is entirely justified. Not because an ungodly proportion of the squad is formed by Liverpool players coming off the back of a painfully average season, nor because Rio Ferdinand, Micah Richards and Michael Carrick are nowhere to be seen, but because this song is truly terrible. A reliable predictor forecasts England failure once this year. Even if it seems like an absurd measure, I can’t help but feel that its prediction has more than a ring of believability to it.

‘Viral videos – what fun! Let’s make a video of what we just saw, but with us in it this time!’  This, or some variant of it, is how it starts. First ‘Gangnam Style’, then ‘One Pound Fish’ and now ‘Harlem Shake’. It begins on the internet, then your friends are doing it, it goes crazy for while and ultimately ends with your mother sending you a mid-Shake snapchat for you to digest whilst you’re already trying your best not to break down on the library staircase.

There are a few things that feel particularly wrong about the explosion in popularity of the aforementioned viral crazes. There’s the fact that in the cases of ‘Gangnam Style’ and ‘Harlem Shake’ there are pretty strong cultural factors that come into play which being overlooked by many viewers. What do the people of Harlem make of the ‘Harlem Shake’? Not much. How many of the billion plus viewers of ‘Gangnam Style’ are explicitly aware that the song is heavily satirising Korean society? Not many. An issue I have with these particular viral videos is the associated appropriation and distortion of cultures which originally birthed these phenomena.

Now, I’m not saying these memes aren’t entertaining. And nor am I arguing that I don’t understand why they’ve gone viral. The raw fact is, seeing a seal in captivity going wild to some trap is fun. So is watching this guy. But these entertaining versions are the exception, rather than the rule. Seriously, what is the point in a mass ‘Harlem Shake’? Who finds these videos, where hundreds of blurry indistinguishable bodies move awkwardly to a backing track, enthralling? And further, why would someone participate in one? They begin as unique expressions of creativity, but quickly become subsumed and overwhelmed by a vapid internet culture which forcibly removes any semblance of genuine expression from the nth created video.

In a week where a mass ‘Harlem Shake’ is being orchestrated at UBU, I implore you to consider the implications of your potential participation. Sure, your doing a ‘Harlem Shake’ might not hurt anyone directly, but what does it actually do for you? It’s fun? Maybe try a Baauer Boiler Room mix, a bit of K-Pop beyond Psy or even learning how to really do the ‘Harlem Shake’. What’s quite unnecessary is taking part in a dance craze that reflects upon one of the most concerning aspects of modern internet virality, the bastardisation of alien cultural phenomena whose wider meaning and significance are ultimately lost in exchange for cheap transient thrills. Though presently harmless, current attitudes to viral culture are indicative of a worrying wider trend; the masses are easily influenced and swayed solely in the name of mindless fun. Don’t be corny, guys.

With the levels of coverage given to nominees of the Mercury Prize, surely it wouldn’t be wrong to expect genuine excitement immediately ahead of the shortlist announcement? Such an expectation would be wrong. Mild cynicism and general apathy towards the Mercury Prize prevailed and was ultimately vindicated this year by the revealing of the safest shortlist yet. Not necessarily a bad collection of artists and albums, but a wholly predictable one. But does this indicate that Britain’s new music scene is dwindling and in decline?

Billed as Britain’s premier music prize, it makes little sense at all for the shortlist to be quite so predictable. The best of new music surely can’t be pigeonholed and predicted quite so easily? Ben Howard, soulful singer-songwriter, neatly fits into the slot usually occupied by folk songstress Laura Marling, with Michael Kiwanuka following him onto the shortlist on similar grounds, despite neither having produced a particularly exceptional record, but both having achieved some commercial success.

Alt-J’s An Awesome Wave and Jessie Ware’s Devotion, two of the more critically acclaimed nominations and quite possible the frontrunners for the prize itself are representative of exactly what’s wrong with this year’s shortlist. Despite both being noteworthy records individually and drawing upon different genres to craft fairly unique sounds, both could sit neatly side by side as part of a post-dinner party playlist without a single eyebrow being raised.

The descent of new music into an easily palatable collection of sounds is disturbing. However, it would only be worrying if that actually were the case. Does the Mercury Prize shortlist accurately portray the state of new British music? Is it any real coincidence that many smaller artists are routinely overlooked, when in order to be considered for a nomination for the Mercury Prize, a fairly substantial application fee is required?

The billed status of the Mercury Prize as representing the best of British music is clearly inappropriate given the barriers of entry which require less established artists to take a significant financial risk. Small artists could effectively be gambling away their entry fee in hope of a nomination, and given the increasing disillusioned reaction to the annual shortlist, why would some artists even bother?

The shortlist this year is not particularly exciting, but this does not mean that British new music is not. The connection between being willing to pay for a Mercury Prize entry and being an artist who has produced interesting music does not exist. Scaremongering over the state of new music on the basis of this particular shortlist is misguided and misleading. In order to be able to comment fully on British music at present, more is required than a swift survey of this sole sketchy shortlist.

Eliciting emotional reactions everywhere, John Lewis’ latest campaign designed to prise the pennies from your pockets in the name of Christmas has been particularly effective this year. Social networks are flooded with reports of tears streaming down the collective face of the British public in response to supposedly the sweetest surprise in advertising history. The advert, soundtracked by a cover of The Smiths’ “Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want”, has caused the band to have been the victim of a vicious backlash. The use of one of their songs in a campaign tacitly supporting materialism constitutes ‘selling out’ and panders towards a culture of superficiality, which appears contrary to The Smiths’ historic counter-cultural stance. However, is this level of scorn shown towards The Smiths justified as a result of their actions?

It’s strange to think that this is the first time a supposed misuse of a song by The Smiths has attracted such controversy from a rabid fanbase; as it’s certainly not the first time one of their songs has been used in advertising campaign. Since featuring ‘How Soon Is Now?’ in an advert for Pepe Jeans in the late 80s without plunging Morrissey and Marr into the mire of a heated ethical debate, The Smiths’ songs have featured in various places, albeit infrequently. In fact, ‘This Charming Man’ appeared in a John Lewis advert earlier this year. Crucially, none of these instances of songs appearing in adverts have attracted any controversy. It is clearly a weak line of argument that attacks the use of ‘Please, Please, Please…’ without considering previous usage of The Smiths’ songs that did little to sully their anti-establishment image. If they have ‘sold out’ in this manner, then they did it quite some time ago.

However, there appears to be something distinctively inappropriate about the use of this particular song that has riled the up-in-arms minority, rather than the mere act of The Smiths selling a song. The original sentiment of ‘Please, Please, Please…’ is disjoint from the message projected onto the song by backroom marketing bods. There’s no possible world in which the expression of the agony and loneliness inspired by unrequited love can be likened to the mild frustration of wanting to gift practical household items, courtesy of John Lewis, but having to wait until the specific day upon which it is the cultural norm to do so. This certainly wasn’t the message that the miserable tortured voice of Morrissey conveyed; allowing the meaning of ‘Please, Please, Please’ to be appropriated and bastardised in one foul move clearly signifies a betrayal of values from Morrissey and Marr.

It’s easy to see why some fans believe this, but the version of ‘Please, Please, Please’ used in the advert isn’t the original recording. A disgustingly twee-sounding cover from Slow Moving Millie, which eagerly disposed with many of the sonic characteristics which the original used in order to portray its excruciating sentiment, has instead been used. Such is the extent to which the initial aesthetic impression of the song has been changed, that the sentiment of advert and soundtrack don’t appear to violently clash in quite the way described above. The fault doesn’t lie with The Smiths then, it is clear to see that the emotional integrity of the song has been preserved, as the cover used is so far removed from the original in intent. If they are at fault, it’s for allowing covers that have a different take on the original song; it would be particularly harsh to incriminate The Smiths under these charges.

The last stand for the outraged fans consists in the claim that the lasting memories induced by listening to ‘Please, Please, Please…’ are tarnished by association with the materialistic message projected onto the song by John Lewis. It is a reasonable claim; when one is emotionally attached to a song that anything that may alter this experience for you becomes debilitating. However, if these original impressions and memories were strong enough to forge a sufficient emotional connection to be roused by the advert, they’re surely able to withstand six weeks of seasonal bombardment, with little to no lasting effect upon the listener’s continued experiences of the original song? To claim otherwise is practically admitting that the supposed emotional connection they hold is as superficial as the emotions experienced by those bawling tears over the offending advert. The lack of justified basis from which The Smiths’ critics attempt to launch an attack serves as a paradigm example of how certain musical circles’ obsessions with authenticity can be reduced to mere superficiality. The Smiths have allowed a cover of one of their songs to be used in an advert – what difference does it make?