You know that I'm no good

I’m a music hipster. What a dreadful fate. What in the cane-chopping hell did I do to end up in this position? How, did I become such a fan of “hip, edgy, in vogue” artists? Why does my iPod bootleg Zen Micro rattle with the sounds of the perpetually “next big thing” in rock or pop? I’m hip-hop to the core, but I have become enchanted by artists like The Good, The Bad and The Queen, The Fray and Amy Winehouse.

Amy Winehouse - “You Know That I’m No Good”

Oh, the wondrous, delightfully-tragic Amy Winehouse. She’s the best thing smokin’ (and drinkin’) right now. This has become the trendy thing to say, and though I usually despise the pretentious nature of anything trendy, I simply cannot fight my audio lust for this British export. If the digital age hadn’t taken over, my repetitive playing of her Back to Black album would have already broken a few tape decks. Within moments of “Rehab,” I’m fully-engulfed in the nostalgic, bitter sounds of a troubled Englishwoman who has reignited old-time soul better than any American singer has in quite some time. Back to Black is a celebration of everything that should be mourned – failed relationships, infidelity, substance abuse – and I almost feel guilty for enjoying it so much. The cheery undertones lifted and twisted from 60’s soul clash beautifully with Winehouse’s somber vocals and content, making the music enjoyable regardless of my mood. Her voice glides comfortably in a space bordered by Etta James-meets-Lauryn Hill and a quasi-current tenor that makes her Billie Holiday’s long-delayed successor.

As Idolator pointed out yesterday, you’ll be hearing similar testimonals ad nauseum in the coming weeks. Hell, you’re best friend is probably bombarding you with the thousandth rewind of “Tears Dry On Their Own” right now; you’re probably loving every second of it, too. It’s only a matter of time before you’re bragging about already being up on Frank, Winehouse’s jazzier debut, before the converted masses knew anything about her.

There’s no need to worry, though; everyone’s a hipster. The Internet has made music so widely-available and rapidly-disseminated, it’s almost impossible not to latch on to the latest media darling. People are so exposed to music, artists who would have been marginalized in previous industry climates are quickly becoming more than just cult-magnets. The time it takes for a singer to go from “on the verge” to full-fledged celebrity has dwindled like a fashion model on coke. That’s why Winehouse transitioned from an underground crooner (in the U.S.) to source material for “Best Week Ever” so quickly.

These days, you’re a hipster before you even get a chance to decide whether or not the music is good. Then again, one could argue that hipsters have a tendency to follow bad music simply because it’s “hip” – designated as cutting-edge and too deep for the pop masses to appreciate. At least they’re starting to reach for artists who are worth more than a snooty badge of honor earned by saying, “I used to like him/her/them before MTV came in the picture.” Early adopters are appreciating music because of its merits rather than its exclusivity. The haughty air of privilege that once defined coolness will soon evaporate.

And just incase you’re still a bit unsure of whether or not you qualify for this ghastly label, watch an episode of “Scrubs.” If any song played on the show can be found in your current rotation, put down that Arcade Fire CD and fall in line with your fellow trendwhores.

Please drink listen responsibly