Baauer's dumb-dance-inducing track shot to No. 1 after Billboard changed its charts equation. But in mining success from silliness, "Harlem Shake" is as much a throwback as a sign of the times.
It was a fantastic run, wasn't it?
As a weary nation ices down previously unflailed muscles, Baauer's "Harlem Shake" enjoys a third (and most likely final) week atop the Billboard Hot 100. The infamous first beneficiary of Billboard's incorporation of YouTube streams into its chart formula, "Harlem Shake" achieved what viral curiosities "Friday," "Chocolate Rain," and "Pants on the Ground" could not: industry validation.
Though not a novelty song in execution (as detailed in a Billboard cover story, "Harlem Shake" is a legit dance tune, with pre-viral endorsements from electronic/hip-hop heavyweights), YouTube's fearsome powers will prevent anyone from ever hearing "con los terroristas" as anything other than an incitement to silliness.
But the reaction hasn't been entirely as giddy as the song. Set aside questions of appropriation: In giving consideration to videos that don't originate with the artist, is Billboard ushering in a new era of novelty songs? Some believe so, and they're not thrilled. In a Slate conversation between Jody Rosen and chart oracle Chris Molanphy, Rosen noted that "I ride hard for novelty songs—but if, suddenly, all our big hits are goofy YouTube-incubated one-offs, the novelty song will cease to be novel... I don't want to outsource all my No. 1 hits to Joe Schmo and his laptop camera. My populism only runs so deep." On Ben Ratliff's New York Times Popcast, Jon Caramanica pondered the mutable nature of that No. 1 spot: "What does Number One mean? Is it a place you land at after a lot of work, or a place you dive off of after a short time?" Pop-production titan Claude Kelly—the man who co-wrote Jessie J's "Price Tag"—waxed warily on Twitter: "just nervous it'll open the floodgates to trivial 'hits' that are driven by image and not content."
Imagining future charts topped with Stanky Leggs and Auto-Tuned News can indeed provide a sort of horror-movie thrill. (If you're a fan of silliness—or just chaos—then your thrill may be of a more traditional strain.) But is that vision credible? Can we look forward (or dread, as the case may be) to a Hot 100 comprised of the usual industry heavyweights slugging it out with 12-year-olds dancing to 17-year-olds' GarageBand one-offs?
Probably not: The Billboard formula is still weighted towards traditional metrics of pop success. A YouTube-only smash could likely push a song into the lower reaches of the Hot 100, but the top hits are still distinguished by passive consumption (streaming, radio) and purchases. This past week's chart is bereft of "Shake"-alikes, save one: Psy's "Gangnam Style," hanging on at No. 27. And "Gangnam" was a major-label release by an established South Korean star. It's a novelty because Korean-language pop is, for now.
Besides, novelty No. 1s aren't a derivation from Billboard tradition, but rather an integral part of it. Starting in the 1910s, when Billboard transitioned from a register of live entertainment (circuses, vaudeville, and the like) to tracking the music industry, it issued periodic charts of the best-selling songs on sheet music. And for every "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" or "Mood Indigo," there was a "Yes! We Have No Bananas" or "Three Little Fishies." Tin Pan Alley made its bones selling trifles like "K-K-K-Katy" and "Oh by Jingo!" by the truckload. In 1940, Billboard switched to tracking jukebox plays and record sales, but strewn amongst the sentimental big-band favorites were lighter No. 1 tunes like Count Basie's "Open the Door, Richard" and Kay Kyser's take on the Woody Woodpecker theme.
Novelty No. 1s aren't a derivation from Billboard tradition, but an integral part of it. "Throwaway" jams are a corrective, an outlet for cultural goofiness.
Novelty songs never went away, of course. People just tend to omit them when talking about the history of rock and pop. The winners write the chart retrospectives, and pretense-free cash-ins like "They're Coming to Take Me Away, Ha-Haaa" and "The Streak," no matter how much they resonated with audiences, aren't good for prestige. (In 1969, the year of Woodstock, two novelty songs were among the five best-selling singles of the year: Zager & Evans' "In the Year 2525 [Exordium & Terminus]" and the Archies' "Sugar, Sugar".) But if the charts reflect the larger makeup of the music-buying public—a premise Billboard assiduously promotes—then these "throwaway" jams are a necessary corrective, a natural outlet for cultural goofiness.