Remember watching those talent shows during the late 90s and early 2000s? You’d have your favourite and fully expected them to win. I mean, they were so much more talented than everyone else, they should blow them out of the water. Only, they’d never win. You’d watch in agony, seeing some schmuck get double the votes. Why? Because it’s a popularity contest. Perhaps it’s their looks, perhaps it’s the tragic backstory. Who knows.
That’s why they came up with the concept for The Voice. Take the same talent show, but turn the judges’ seats towards the audience. That way, they actually have to listen to the contestants, instead of making it a beauty contest. And so the rules are set. Judges, go and pick the best singers.
It started off great. Yet, there were some side effects. Giving singers only ninety seconds to show their abilities is sheer lunacy, of course. Because of the short time frame, singers felt pressured to go all out, all the time – even when some songs call for holding back a little. These are great singers, sure, but it gets to be a bit too much. It’s as if you’d put an exclamation mark at the end of every sentence! Imagine that!
Anyways, what happened was, contestants became obsessed by hitting every note pitch perfect. But in doing so, they neglected the meaning behind the song, and they completely ignored the creativity part of it – rarely did we hear any new songs.
You can’t blame them, can you? Their belief can be boiled down to, “If I can hit my notes better than the other guy, I’ll win.” And when they don’t win, they’ll believe it’s because they failed to hit that one note, thirty-four seconds into the song, or that they should’ve went all out a little more.
It creates something weird. We don’t hear the meaning behind the songs anymore, because that’s not where the focus lies. Contestants end up sounding like beggars, “Please pick me-e-e-e!”, while they’re supposed to sing a love song.
It seems like a catch-22 at first, yet it isn’t. I recently caught an episode of The Voice and saw a (reggae) singer take a different approach. Instead of trying to hit his notes a tiny bit better, he brought entertainment. He wasn’t nearly as good as the others, but he managed to get the jury’s vote. By everyone trying the same approach (trying to out sing each other), it became extremely difficult to compete. Everyone became blind to the reality of the situation. And (practically speaking) nobody saw a way to escape this mess.
Something similar happened in chess. Many want to turn their hobby into a living, but ask anyone and they’d tell you something like, “Not possible, unless you’re amongst the ten best players in the world.” Only, that’s not completely true. There’s a large group of chess fanatics who earn a living through selling books, coaching and teaching. “Yes,” they’d say, “but you’d have to be a GM (grandmaster) for that.” Again, not so. Jeremy Silman is one level below grandmaster, he’s an IM (international master). On top of this, let’s add the Botez sisters to this discussion, who earn a living streaming their chess bouts on YouTube.
Which brings me to the scandal surrounding Hans Niemann, the chess player who was accused of cheating recently. Is it any wonder anyone would want to cheat in chess? I don’t think so. We tell people the only way to make it, is to become better still. And implicitly, we add, “And if you’re not the best, just give up and go lead an average existence.” It’s a philosophy of despair, that ultimately leads to tunnelvision. And it wouldn’t surprise me that it lead Niemann to the belief that he simply wasn’t good enough, that he had to do whatever it took to win.
So let’s start trying our damndest to think outside of the box. Because trying to compete where it’s too crowded, well, that’s a losing game. Food for thought.
Yours truly
Vincent J. Dancet