Filed under: Indie Music, feature story | Tags: balding hipsters, fat men in tight shirts, george stroumboulopoulos
Anyone who watches MTV Canada on a regular basis can attest that the channel is driven by the charismatic interaction of the hosts. It’s a personality driven channel, each personality representing a certain part of the Canadian youth demographic. Well except Asian, Native and Hispanic minorites, but I’m splitting hairs, after all, everyone knows that there are no hispanic people in Canada. It’s too cold.
Having once been a part of the MTV engine myself, in a previous and less successful iteration that was based out of Calgary, I can say this channel has gotten it right. But it’s not like they’re breaking any new ground here in Canada. This was all done before back a few years ago on the Nations first music station Much Music.
Yes those were good times. Bradford, Rainbow, Hannah, Rick, Nam, Jen, that one blonde chick with the bunny face, and the king of cool, George Stroumbolopolous (sp?). They all brought thier own unique flavour to the channe, but it was the host of Much News that gave Much Music it’s crediblity.
Wearing his trademark black shirts and white adidas, Strombo would tell it like it is, breaking good new bands, report on world events, all the while openly critizing the mediocre pop-offerings that was so eagerly eaten up by the up-and-coming tween audience; he was the smarmy record store clerk that you wanted to be friends with.
Then that sttaion imploded and everyone left. Rick went to ET. Nam is now saving the world doing charity work. Bunny face is trying her hand at acting in Hollywood. But it was George who stayed in the spotlight. He went on to his own show on CBC. The Hour is something of a youth oriented news program where George shows the world through his own black-shirted POV. But something has gone awry with good old Georgy.
These days he seems to have boughten into his own press, and he wears his own smug self-satisfaction like a badge of honour. Now swollen to the proptions of a man whose diet consists of beer and pretzles, King George sits atop his thrown of bad jokes and self-rightous observations. From here he reigns over his kingdom of ditto-heads in the audience who laugh at every quip like it was rang from the Grouch Marx’s dead mustache.
Sure, George still has good taste and brings up meaningful topics for national discourse, but he’s just not as cool as he used to be. Or maybe he is and I’m the one whose changed.
All I know is that much like Stombos hair, his cred has worn thin.
