It’s what British writer Alain de Botton termed as “status anxiety” and it stems from dissatisfaction at where we stand, or may fall, in the social and economic pecking order, or how we construct a lifestyle just to impress others. It is a futile existence where largely middle class people are constantly striving against, or to impress their contemporaries.
We have produced status anxiety on all fronts: work, family, and the rest of life – and this is particularly relevant in our taste in music.
For me, music is one of life’s great forms of individual expression. Musical taste should always be in the eye of the beholder. But, there is no accounting for taste. I have to admit that over the past 15 years or so, I have slowly morphed into a music snob, to the point that I now judge a person by their choice of music at a dinner party (another fertile ground for status anxiety influenced behaviour). I admire the person that has an eclectic mix of music and genres, and I absolutely love it when I hear a new and wonderful piece of music recommended by a friend.
I also have no problem with those brave souls who listen to meat and two veg music – you know the type – Take That, Robbie Williams (who remains my guilty pleasure), Michael Bublé and Status Quo. It is naff music, and for a person to be so openly courageous as to publicly endorse this type of music is a credit to them. It shows that they are comfortable in their own skin, and do not give a jot about what people think of them. I do draw the line with anyone liking Olly Piss-Face Murs though.
However, I do have a massive problem with those timid, status anxiety led, uncomfortable in their own skin types who like music that is simply just masquerading as pretend want-to-be alternative rock music. This type of music has infiltrated our ears at every level from music festivals like Glastonbury, to radio stations such as Absolute and even Radio 6. The baddies include Ben Howard, Goyte, Mumford & Sons, Emeli Sandé, Florence and the Machine, Lily Allen and also now sadly, Elbow, and potentially Daft Punk.
It is exactly this type of middle of the road music that status anxiety led (early middle aged) individuals will plonk on at dinner parties to pretend they know about music. I have decided to call it Jo Whiley Syndrome. Symptoms include – pretending to be youthful and cool, glamping it up at a corporate music festival by arriving in a gigantic 4×4 or helicopter, sleeping in a fucking yurt, wearing pink Hunter wellies, deck shoes, and generalised boho-chic attire, and seeking out the performances from Coldplay, Mumford & Sons, Snow Patrol and Ellie Goulding, and finishing the weekend off by going to a refreshing spa resort. The type of person who only buys two albums a year – normally some rustled up faux-folk music guff from Mumford & Sons – who, as Jake Bugg once said, “look like a bunch of posh farmers playing banjo.”
It is just a great big marketing swizz. It is people trying to show off that they are cool and individual, but unfortunately it has the opposite effect. It reminds me of those awful middle aged men in lycra (the curse of the MAMIL) who took up cycling to get fit and ‘do their bit for the environment’. Yet, they are pretending to be Bradley Wiggins whilst cycling in a King of the Mountains polka dot jersey for only 5 miles on a scenic road, after having arrived in a Chelsea tractor with the bike on top of the vehicle. It is hypocritical. It is all the gear, and no idea. It is utterly false. It is tragically ironic. It is status anxiety on two wheels. And, there are thousands of people all doing the same thing.
I am all for getting fit or listening to music, but not the low level bragging that often goes with it despite the actions of choice making the individual look like a bit of a cock. I had one such crushingly boring example of a Mamil father standing next to me at a kids sporting club recently, and without introduction, he launched himself into a story about how he was preparing for a local triathlon. I had to feign interest in his ascent towards mediocrity in lycra. If he came back conquering Everest, The South Pole, or with an Olympic medal hanging round his neck – I will be all ears. I bet the fucker is a big Mumford & Sons fan. I bet he even fancies Jo Whiley.
To try and bundle up this blog up into something coherent, rather than just a rant, I suggest that we are living in times of extremely beige behaviour. Individualism is dead. Long live the mainstream. It is the bland leading the bland. Just look at this year’s Brit Awards – it was just a corporate shindig for middle of the road, safe-as-houses bland-rock. And yes, Emeli Sandé and Mumford & Sons were the main winners.
But yes, I admit that if we all look deep within, during a long dark night of the soul – we are all probably guilty of misplaced status anxiety in some shape or form. For instance, I like The Killers. I have slept in a yurt. I am guilty as charged of hypocrisy.
But, going to a music festival to specifically see Mumford & Sons whilst drinking prosecco in a yurt? really? Jesus Pole-Vaulting Christ – has it really come to this? It is in times like these I really begin to worry about the future of the human race.
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Well, the final goal has rippled the onion bag, the final yellow card has been flourished, the fat lady has sung and the last cliche has been opined for another season. And, it has to be said that the 2012/13 Premier League Season was not one that will stick for long in the memory, except perhaps as a season that saw the end of the Fergurson era. 
Tottenham should also look forward to next season, especially if they can hang on to the phenomenon that is Gareth Bale. Anders Villas Boas will have enjoyed this season after his time in the asylum that is Chelsea and was desperately unlucky not to qualify for the Champions League. I think he will prove to be a very good manager for them.
HERO
PRAT
VILLAIN