Call me a conspiracy theorist, but I’m pretty sure all the world’s advertising executives are getting together to cause me some sort of spiritual breakdown.
They’ve formulated a two-pronged attack:
One: Take every classic record I’ve ever loved and get some breathy, acoustic-guitar yielding, white girl to cover it. Changing intonation slightly, and rendering the whole thing a fetid pile of stinking, grey blancmange.
Two: Make sure every second advert contains one.
It started off with that Ellie Goulding, the other year. Bless her.
With a face only a mother could love, I once had the misfortune of listening to her and Dermot O’Dreary converse about music on his Radio 2 show.
She’s sort of a very thin, posh girl who did that version of Elton John’s Your Song.
‘And you can tell everybody, that this is your song..’
Err, I’ll probably just keep it to myself actually, Ellie.
If Ellie Goulding’s version of Your Song was the one musical embodiment of my love for anyone, I’d look at joining a convent.
So she started it.
But now it’s snowballed.
More recently we had that version of Please, Please, Please Let me get What I Want on the John Lewis Christmas advert. Performed by a posh, scouse actress.
The Smiths song is a painful work of poetry; a self-pitying lament. This is ruined by a synthetic, contrived, capitalist train-crash about the sanctity of giving over receiving. With some sanitised breathy singer, once again.
Thomson Holidays are the straw that’s broken the camel’s back. Pixies Where is My Mind? has been butchered. And I’m fairly confident I heard an instrumental, acoustic Stone Roses Waterfall the night before last.
I don’t think Leona Lewis doing Nine Inch Nails has helped much.
And I’m pretty sure Candi Staton is throwing her hands up in the air every time she hears Florence and her Machine ripping apart her work of art.
Some cover versions are alright. Jeff’s version of Hallelujah (ruined again by that bird from X Factor dot com), Sinead’s version of Nothing Compares 2 U, Pickett’s version of Hey Jude etc.
But the rule is, like Denise Welch, you need to be more realistic about your limits.
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