PBS, RRR, and other community stations the nation over are the enemy of the bogan. While the hipster is obsessed with finding music that the rest of the world is blissfully unaware of, the bogan approaches his radio from a different perspective. They treat radio as a filter, something that can take music they already like (Bon Jovi, Nickelback, Snow Patrol et al), process it, and find new music that is identical to it in almost every way.
But for the bogan, this is not enough. It is never enough. They grow weary of hearing ‘Chasing Cars’ again and again, so someone needs to remix it. Suddenly, Starsailor’s ‘Four to the Floor’ has a bitchin’ dancefloor mix, and takes over the airwaves, and bogans are happy. For a while. Then, Eric Prydz (or Prydg, or Prizjch) decides to take an 80s camp classic…and remix it. The bogan likes this greatly, because he can imagine, while listening to Nova, that he can see the film clip, with its ample bouncing bosoms.
Commercial radio knows this. Which is why they fill the airwaves with this unadulterated tripe, so the bogan can feel like it is at the club all the time – especially as it is driving to their friend’s place to start cracking open the woodies/cruisers. Even better though, during the daylight hours, when non stop remixes or replays may seem inappropriate, they bring in ‘comedians’ to make prank phone calls. All day. With remixed music playing in the background. Bogans can then engage in one of their favourite pastimes; standing around at work/uni/TAFE attempting to recreate the entire prank phone call verbatim. With a stunning lack of success.
Conversely, if a commercial radio station cannot afford the appropriate ‘comedians’, they bring in ‘celebrities’ to abuse people, in a pale imitation of the genuine hatred of life that AM radio is possessed of. This appeals to another of the bogan’s chief loves; confected outrage. The bogan can then feel wonderful by hating the very person they tune in to listen to every day.
Moreover, what the bogan truly adores about commercial radio is its ability to inform them about edgy, new bands – like Coldplay, Green Day or Daughtry, while still being exposed to the latest ‘Idol’ winner. Wait…
But the bogan, again, remains dissatisfied. Something is missing. The love of commercial radio can only go so far in creating a unique identity for the bogan, and as we’ve discussed, the bogan has a biological imperative to colonise. Thus, they discovered JJJ, much like white people discovered Australia, then began to beat the shit out of the locals. The first warning signs came a decade ago, when ‘Pretty Fly for a White Guy’ topped the hottest 100. But the signs were ignored. These interlopers would leave if JJJ introduced Aussie hip-hop to its rotation, surely? No, because the bogan is cunning, and can adapt. ‘Nosebleed Section’ thus found itself in JJJ Hottest 100 OF ALL TIME…
All of this brings us to the natural evolutionary musical endgame:
Kings of Leon
Kings of Leon have consciously adapted themselves in to the bogan meta-band. They tick every conceivable bogan pleasure box. Kings of Leon figured out, sometime between their second and third albums, that there is a clear correlation between the number of records a band sells, and similarity of their sound to U2’s. They also sing about sex, without metaphor or innuendo, which removes the need to interpret lyrics, yet remain titillating to the bogan.
They emerged, fully-formed, from the world of indie-rock critical adoration, with songs like ‘Sex on Fire’, which gave the bogans a song that has its main hook featuring a lyric containing the words ‘Yeah!’ and ‘sex!’. Words that the bogan could then sing along to loudly as their local cover band played that now-ubiquitous paean to herpes. Bogans like rooting stuff, they like burning stuff, and they like mindless affirmation. “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAH, THIS SEX IS ON FIRE!!!” is a scientifically blended formula; a tripod of bogan trigger points. There was no conceivable way that such a song would not endear itself to the bogan.
Also, they sing repeatedly about having sex with groupies. Being ruggedly handsome southern-rock types, who regularly visit the antipodes, female bogans can positively taste the back sweat, and flock to see them, listen to them and generally think a lot about them.
Commercial radio rapidly realised this, and began looping Kings of Leon to play at least twice every half-hour, and incorporating Kings of Leon into every conceivable competition they ran. Of course, KoL could be painted coconuts playing speed calypso funk, and the bogan would love them just the same, provided the radio networks played them 10-15 times a day, their ad was on in between Rove segments, they appeared on Rove, their song was on The Footy Show, and you could win a night with them in Vegas if you bought enough cans of Mother, etc.
It was, and presently remains, a match made in bogan heaven.