He was twenty-two, a recent graduate with a degree in "Media Studies" and no job prospects. The only offer he had was from a dying blog called The Frequency . His assignment: write the definitive retrospective on the Billboard Top 100 songs of 2008. The pay was seventy-five dollars. The deadline was New Year’s Eve.
"Just scroll through the list and call it a mess," his editor, Jen, had said over a crackling Skype call. "Say it was the year the wheels fell off." top 100 songs of 2008
His phone buzzed. A text from Sam, whom he hadn't spoken to in eight months. He was twenty-two, a recent graduate with a
He stared at the screen. For all his cynicism, he couldn't write the dismissive, ironic takedown Jen wanted. He couldn't call 2008 a mess. It was a mess. The housing market had cratered. He owed forty thousand dollars. The last Bush administration was limping to a finish. But on the dance floor, for three minutes and fifty seconds, nobody cared. The pay was seventy-five dollars
"The Top 100 Songs of 2008 is not a playlist. It's a life raft. It's the sound of millions of people pressing 'shuffle' on their anxiety. It's Auto-Tuned, it's ridiculous, it's painfully earnest, and it's the only reason we didn't all go insane. This was the year pop music looked at the end of the world and said, 'Okay, but first, let me finish this dance.'"
He hit 'publish' at 11:47 PM.