I have stood in the front row for Stars, Other Lives, and The National. I have soldiered through the endless rain at the 2011 Laneway Festival, mud all up to my knees, just for the likes of Beach House, Yeasayer, Foals, and The Temper Trap. In the past month alone, I have gone to see John Mayer, Phoenix, and The xx live in concert. But three weeks ago, One Direction happened – a rude slap across my indie wannabe face.
I blame it on the the essay I had to write on Aristotle. Procrastination can lead you to do questionable things, like spending 2 hours on youtube watching the entire X Factor journey of a certain, uh, musical group. Unfortunately, it was love at first click.
Honestly, I have always had a slight issue with describing artistes as “guilty pleasures.” If I enjoy the music that they are producing, even at a basic level, then I believe they fully deserve my respect. But oh, One Direction, you were such a struggle. Every fibre of reason in my body was prohibiting me from liking a song titled ‘Best Song Ever,’ but alas, the struggle was in vein (vain, hah).
The more videos I watched, the more I grew to like them. Granted, the catchiness of their tunes cannot always negate their dubious lyrics and contents. As a poetry-writing major, I refuse, for one, to condone rhyming ‘never’ with ‘ever.’ But it takes a real grinch to resent a great bunch of lads, who never fail to acknowledge the fans who keep them on the stage.
One Direction is by no means an easy love. All my friends think I have gone insane, but if you sit in my car, I will make you listen to More Than This. And then maybe play some Broods to redeem myself in your eyes. But hey, who DIDN’T love Backstreet Boys back in the 90s. I love One Direction, and I guess I can be proud of it.