In this life, we only have so many precious days. The sand in the hourglass is slowly but surely emptying as we all barrel forward into the unknown. We should use our relatively short opportunity to live by treasuring our loved ones: families, friends, pets, the girls from the television show Girls… With the time that we have on earth, why the hell would you want to spend your time mad at a listicle?
If you somehow missed the latest discourse, congratulations! You were probably enjoying time with your family, singing a round of “Auld Lang Syne” to make sure you don’t forget old acquaintances. Or, you just have interests and hobbies. I do not, and neither does the other 98 percent of the internet that spent the last few days up in arms about Rolling Stone’s list of the 200 Greatest Singers of All Time.
The list instantly set the internet ablaze when it was published on New Year’s Day. Everyone whose internet connection didn’t go out in record-breaking winter storms made their way online to voice their opinions. Fingers tapped away in heated anger, shattering the glass of untold iPhones (I don’t have the numbers to prove that) and causing several Samsung phones to blow up (unrelated).
“The Rolling Stone list of greatest singers or whatever is already the biggest joke of 2023,” one person tweeted. That person, it should be noted for journalistic clarity, is a celebrity stan account. But people with photos of artists as their Twitter profile pictures weren’t the only ones getting up in arms. In classic fashion, nepo babies even entered the chat!
“Ok, what is the actual criteria for a ‘singer’ on this list, because I know it’s not actually about vocal capability when John Lennon is in the top 20, Taylor Swift is ahead of Barbara [sic] Streisand…and my dad isn’t even on it,” singer Bobby McFerrin’s daughter, Madison, tweeted. That might seem like a bold tweet, but it’s actually extremely relatable behavior. I would tweet something similar if my dad was left off a list of the 200 Greatest Insurance Salespeople Ever. At least Madison McFerrin has a reason to be mad! What was everyone else’s excuse?
See, the most major thing being ignored amidst all of the hullabaloo is that Rolling Stone’s list did exactly what it was designed to do: Work the public into a lather. Even with 200 slots to fill, there were bound to be snubs, and there was sure to be ordering that would make people upset. If you think there wasn’t careful consideration that went into every single pop star’s place on that list, have I got some news for you!
Rolling Stone knew damn well that people were going to wake up the morning after New Year’s Eve—or, more realistically, at 3 p.m.—grouchy and hungover, ready to fire off about the smallest thing. There’s nothing that a hungover person loves to do more than complain about something completely irrelevant as a manifestation of their anger at their current state of being. That, and sleep. But who can sleep when Céline Dion is being given the shaft?!
Yes, Miss Dion was nowhere to be found on the list, angering many gay men and their most fervent allies. “The greatest SINGERS list that didn’t include Céline Dion…okay,” one user tweeted to the tune of 16 thousand likes. Others echoed that sentiment endlessly, demanding the names of every Rolling Stone staff member that voted. Even legendary songwriter Diane Warren sounded off, saying that Dion’s snub was “one more reason why stupid ass lists don’t mean shit.”
Ding ding ding! Even the kookiest of personalities make sense sometimes. Warren is completely correct. Lists like these really don’t mean anything—they have no true impact when it comes to an artist’s legacy, and certainly no sway when it comes to the loyalty and love of their fans.
A musician’s place on a random list is not the be-all and end-all of their career standing. It certainly doesn’t affect your ability to love them, either. To call Rolling Stone’s list drivelous clickbait would be to undermine the hard work of all the writers that contributed to it and the valid criticism that they worked hard on perfecting. But at the same time, putting as much credence into the list as the internet has over the past few days is laughable.
I was raised cradled in the arms of Stefani Germanotta after hearing “Just Dance” for the first time in 2008, and you don’t see me tweeting up a storm over Lady Gaga’s place on the list. (Number 58, mind you, when vocal talent, stage presence, and artistic impact alone should secure a spot in at least the Top 30—but I digress!)
And guess what? Here’s something cool I just learned. If you like Céline Dion, you can simply hit the little “X” next to the browser tab, close the page, and go listen to “I’m Alive,” the only remaining cultural footprint of Stuart Little 2. Genuine anger over something like this is absurd and only serves to validate and promote the thing that readers are angry about in the first place.
Moreover, people seemed to misunderstand the purpose of the list’s existence. As Rolling Stone noted in the article’s first few paragraphs, before any of the ranking had begun, “This is the Greatest Singers list, not the Greatest Voices list. Talent is impressive; genius is transcendent.”
But, of course, they knew damn well that you’d skip past all of that. They were counting on it! The internet’s cancerous conglomerate of torches and pitchforks fell for it. A more correct way of quantifying a list like this would be to use the word “artist” instead of “singer” so as to not confuse ranking vocal ability with artistic prowess. But would that spark the desired outrage? Unlikely.
It’s a new year, and in 2023, I beg of the Twittersphere: Get your priorities in check. I don’t know how else to tell you that your time and energy would be more wisely invested in anything else. Make something with your hands! Paint a picture. Climb a goddamn tree while we still have trees to climb.
Spending your time plugged into the internet to be an advocate for Bruno Mars is perhaps the biggest waste of time I can think of. Life is all too short. Dance to your favorite musician; sing your heart out to your favorite songs, even if it means getting polyps worse than Adele’s. Consider criticism without thinking it has to change your own personal opinion.
I promise you, the next 12 months will be so much better if you do.
