In the Realm of the Overblown

or, Here Comes the Ultimate - and Beyond!

In my ongoing effort to annoy the complacent sheep of the world who are forever jumping onto the next bandwagon without ever thinking too much about it - a mangled metaphor if I ever wrote one, I bring up a phenomenon I was recently chewing my mental cud over - the Advent of the Overblown.

Now, in times past, there were huge stars, with gigantic fan reactions. Franz Liszt, Tchaikovsky, Sinatra, Martin and Lewis (yes!), Elvis, The Beatles, T Rex, Led Zep and so on to today, but there was a sharp delineation in the process that began somewhere in the 80’s. In the past, an artist grew more popular, exploded, and that was that. Fans in the seats, the artist on stage. In the 80’s, popular artists began to adopt a more iconic status, thereafter presented as such. A subtle distinction became drawn between current artists and artists of the past - new artists began mutating, believing their own iconography, acting accordingly. Humility, in other words, was no longer a desirable trait. We’re more into Roman spectacle here, Cleopatra (played by Liz Taylor) carried out by manservants on a gold chaise lounge, pyrotechnics in the background. The band onstage augmented by dancers, big screens, stage sets. Leading to some modern catastrophes, like Katy Perry’s recent tours.

Watch a Led Zeppelin video from back in the 70’s. Sure, they were playing to stadiums filled with 50,000 people, but there was just them, stacks of amps, John Bonham’s big drum set with gong, and Jimmy Page’s double neck, 6 and 12 string Gibson SG. The insignia no one knew the meaning of on Bonham’s bass drum head. That was it. So charmingly minimal. But they rocked like gods of thunder.

Fast forward to U2’s Zoo tour, with multimedia video screens broadcasting satellite feeds, pop culture commercial clips, Orwellian text, all designed to make an ironic comment about consumerism and the onslaught of the media world by showing it and embracing it. People hated the tour, but it was the product of a persistent, entrenched trend. Madonna’s Blonde Ambition (get it?) tour had a theatrical presentation with five separate acts, one with a Dick Tracy theme, because of her then recent film with Warren Beatty. Michael Jackson’s Bad tour had giant screens, massive lighting, Jennifer Batten on guitar with big platinum-blond hair, a crane to lift him over the audience, gadgets in the floor so the dancers and Michael could do the famous forward ‘lean’ on Smooth Criminal. Springsteen just had a band, but he did two and a half hour shows that had their own form of criminally overblown theatrics. Brrruuuuucccce! Clarence! On drums, the mighty Max!

It was all so… exhausting. But everything was ok, the world was being re-set with Nirvana just around the corner. Flannel shirts and dirty, ripped jeans comprised the whole show. Oh, and music.

Now, in 2026, we’re in some hazy netherland between the two extremes, what with Wet Leg and Die Spitz making maximum impact with minimum flash, and on the other side, Taylor - I don’t need to say her last name, do I? - Sabrina Carpenter, Olivia Rodrigo et al, Beyonce.

And then there’s the Sphere! The venue of the future, where overblown is the very reason you go. Soon, my friends, mark my words, just like Invasion of the Body Snatchers, there will be Spheres popping up in every available patch of unclaimed commercial acreage near you.

The overblown, it appears, is destined to be the normal of tomorrow.