Plastic.

I saw a TV commercial recently for a Christmas album by a TV talent show winner. He was pretty enough to attract the adoration of the blue rinse brigade, but the choice of material was uninspired, his singing voice was in tune but in no way exceptional, and his projection was sickly and overly dramatic. In short, he was little more than a wind-up plastic doll. No doubt there will be a biography out soon, which people will flock to buy. He will, I’m sure, become very rich and convinced of his place among the greats.

Meanwhile, the real musicians struggle for years to attract even a small, dedicated following. They remain largely anonymous and eventually fade into relative obscurity. The occasional exception crops up but rarely.

We all know about rule by commercial interest, and we’re all aware of that latter day phenomenon: the cult of the celebrity. The real question has to be bigger, though. Why on earth does modern culture so worship the mediocre?