State Your Case: Dubstep Sucks


I’ve been writing for this fine publication for well over a year now, and while I do enjoy writing, it’s hardly my first love. Truth be told, I only joined The Black Sheep so I could stare at Carly Kamp’s wicked huge boobs while she wasn’t looking. Anyway, first and foremost, my bread and butter is music.


As an enthusiast of all things musical, I’ve got a real issue with the latest music fad running rampant in Champaign-Urbana. By name, it is a genre of music called dubstep, and I can’t seem to avoid it. It blasts from the speakers at every bar, it plays in the rooms of fratboys who desperately want to appear hip, and even on my hungover 9a.m. walk to Philosophy 101, it haunts me from the speakers outside of Game Day Sports. I hate to appear ignorant or to drive away any of our would-be readers, but this entire genre of music can suck my magnificent balls.


Dubstep used to be fairly cool. It evolved from other forms of dance music in the UK around the turn of the millennium, and was originally a very dark, experimental form of electronic music. Largely instrumental, early dubstep releases attempted to incorporate breakbeat funk with the heavier strains of dub music and drum and bass that were popular in clubs at the time(source- Wikipedia, maybe). Like Dane Cook, dubstep was once good, and then became retardedly popular, and then decreased immensely in quality.


Also, dubstep requires a truckload of expensive equipment, but next to no musical skill to create. For something to be considered an art, as music is, creating it must require some skill. Sure, you can whip up a sick beat on Garage Band, provided you have about ten spare minutes and an ACT score higher than Snoop Dogg, but nobody sane wants to listen to it, especially not on perpetual repeat at decibel levels so obnoxiously high they melt the grey matter of your brain and force it to leak out through your eardrums like ranch dressing off a Fat Sandwich. Perhaps for this reason, it’s terrible drinking music. It does make me want to drink, yes, but that’s only because alcohol makes the excruciating pain of listening to this garbage appear somewhat bearable.


Back in my day, when I wasn’t a profane, grumbling old bastard like I am now, we as a populace listened to some pretty rad tunes. Of course, we were swept away by the occasional way-overplayed super-hit; we could ride our bikes with no handlebars, we could party in the USA, hell, we kissed a girl and we liked it, but we used to leave Joe’s at 1:58 with “Closing Time” ringing in our ears. We used to drunkenly belt our lungs out to the Presidents of the United States of America and Blink 182 and all kinds of other good old-fashioned rock n’ roll. Perhaps I’m waxing nostalgic, but have we all lost our minds? I’m really starting to miss waking up with a sore throat from singing “American Pie” to passerby from the roof of the old White Horse – true story, by the way. Nobody ever said I don’t know how to have a good time.


In summation, this is a call to you, the 40,000 students with whom I am crammed onto this seven-square-mile campus. Next time you’re at a party and everybody’s starting to get to that tipping point, kick it up a notch. Bring that party from the “A few guys playing beer pong and some people sitting on the couch sipping keg beer” level to the “Hey, let’s throw shit off the balcony!” level. Put on something awesome from your childhood, something that almost everybody knows the words to, and be the guy (or gal) that turned that lame get-together into a motherfuckin’ riot. It’s on you, kids – can the bullshit and put on some goodtunes. And when you do, hand me a beer.


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