"Bring the hooks in, where the bass at?"

"In his notes [Steve] Lunt wrote, 'She says she can dance and she really wants to be able to entertain.' Lunt also noted that Britney told him the only thing she was afraid of was 'failing, and having to go back to Louisiana and face all the people.'"

"'But with Britney, Max [Martin] said, 'She's fifteen years old; I can make the record I really want to make, and use her qualities appropriately, without her telling me what to do.'"

"In the end, fame couldn't save little Robyn from the horror of her parents' marriage, as she had dreamed it might."

"Part of the problem was her breats. As a girl, she had prayed for big ones, and when He generously bestowed on her a splendid pair, she had briefly considered breast reduction. But eventually she decided to display them proudly onstage (after all, they were His), in tight tops that probably caused some single guys in the audience to regret their promise rings."

"Again, one imagines, [Perry] prayed. Heavenly Father, please don't make me go back to Santa Barbara. Make me a star. And again, it seemed as if He had her back."

"What can I say? Ordinary domestic life needs its bliss points, those moments of transcendence throughout the day -- that just-behind-the-eyelids sense of quivering possibility that at any moment the supermarket aisle might explode into candy-colored light. The hooks promise that pleasure. But the ecstasy is fleeting, and like snack food it leaves you feeling unsatisfied, always craving just a little more."

This book opens with an Iggy Azalea lyric. I'm not sure if this fact ultimately means anything for the quality of the product as a whole, but I feel that it's worth pointing out. And after finishing, it seems as good an indication as any of the reading experience.Let me attempt to explain that.Like an Iggy Azalea track (you might recognize the above quote from "Fancy"), John Seabrook's novel is flashy and easy to slip into, but begins to show its flaws once the initial allure of something new inevitably starts to fade. After a brief opening chapter that discusses how the hooks of pop songs work and why they are so important to contemporary artists, Seabrook devotes his remaining sections to alternating between biographies of those producers who created the modern music scene (Denniz PoP, Max Martin, Dr. Luke) and historical lessons on how our current model of Spotify and Top 40 hits came to be. There's a mix of everything here, really: a recollection of American pop's Swedish roots, the rise of artists like Britney and Rihanna, a behind-the-scenes peek at the titular "hit factory" approach to writing number ones, a comparison of Western music with K-pop, a recounting of the impact of Napster on the industry, and more. The author likes to jump around, but each chapter is more or less tied together by the larger segments that they're divided into. You sometimes wish that Seabrook would remain more consistent when he hits upon a particularly interesting concept and promptly moves on a few pages later, but that's the nature of his study: to give us a glimpse at all of music's many weird and wild parts rather than an in-depth lesson on just one of them.So, if nothing else,is entertaining. If you're like me (in that you tend to read up on musical theory and the creative/technical processes behind albums for no other reason than that you can), it's all fascinating, and perhaps a bit sad. The title's word choice isn't done for the sake of exhaggeration or an easy metaphor: what gets put on the radio is indeed the result of a formulaic (and at times purely mathematical) system that has been refined over the years to maximize profitable returns, not reward "creativity" or "originality" (whatever those terms may mean).Still, as Seabrook notes, the results are catchy. The human brain knows what it likes in the sounds we give it, and the executives and producers of our culture know how to provide them.As a result,'s greatest strength is also its greatest weakness, I think: it does not judge. And while this is refreshing in some aspects, it also feels like a wasted opportunity (not to mention grossly hypocritical approach) in others.On the one hand, it lets a book written by a middle-aged author do what not even YouTube comments cannot: avoid pretentious arguments over taste. Musical elitism (or any kind of "holier-than-thou" attitude towards cultural preferences) is one of my pet peeves, because I cannot see the reason or fairness in putting down people for listening to what makes them happy. And, let's be honest, much of it is grounded in systematic inequalities: sexism, ageism, classism, racism. Younger generations are forever being mocked because they happen to like something that their parents did not grow up with, and something as simple as your favorite artist can and will be used as amunition to "prove" why "kids these days are so ungrateful/lazy/disrespectful."Listen, does it really matter if your friend or family member prefers Justin Bieber to the Beatles? Are you somehow more cultured, more respectable as a consumer and human being in general because you "don't listen to modern music"? No, it doesn't. And no, you aren't. It drives me batty that just about every video with a song from the 80s or earlier will be brimming with smug remarks about how "this ismusic." Older listeners are constantly reminding us of how much "better" their bands and albums were/are, while also convincing their children that they've won some imaginary contest if they can proudly distance themselves from their peers and claim that they only listen to Led Zeppelin and Queen. Never mind the fact that, say, the Beatles were similarly dismissed as a frivolous boy band due to their large female fanbase during their active years.But that's how it goes, isn't it? What's new is derided because it appeals to the youth (especially if the crowds consists largely of young women) before being appropriated retroactively as "classic" once older men finally get around to admitting that they like it.Seabrook averts this by initially admitting that, no, he didn't like the music that his son listens to at first, using Flo Rida's "Right Round" as an example. Yet over time, he came to appreciate artists like Taylor Swift and the other frequenters of the Billboard Top 100. They aren't, he realized, necessarily inferior to the stars of his childhood. They're simply different, and Seabrook is willing to admit to the cyclical, hypocritical nature of nostalgia and how it impacts our likes and interests. As a result, most of his exploration of "the machine" is free of the dismissive, haughty attitude that you would expect from having someone who used to own records talk about songwriting that mostly relies upon teams of hired creators and a Macbook Pro.On the other hand, however, the book's stab at impartiality can create an unsettling sense of disinterest or apathy when it comes to addressing the less savory elements of such a romanticized business. Take a look at these passages regarding Britney Spears, for instance:This sort of casual admittance that, yes, a young girl was seen as a tool through which grown men could make money in the way that they saw fit -- even better that she's so naive and trusting! -- is incredibly disturbing. And while a neutral stance may be necessary to discussing nonfiction in a manner that won't be subject to criticism or accusations of misinformation via bias, it's frustrating that Seabrook is willing to add "flavor" in his remarks regarding some things (see below), but not to those touching upon important social issues such as this.This insensibility appears a few other times throughout the book, most notably during the portions discussing K-pop (in the way that labels' near total control over their stars' lives onstage and off is portrayed almost as a "quirk" of Eastern culture) and Dr. Luke (in that Kesha's ongoing crisis over the future of her music career and her statements regarding Luke's behavior come across as a mere footnote in the otherwise "riveting life" of the producer). And while it's good to also learn about Ester Dean's views of sexism within the songwriting industry and the complete lack of women producers, it isn't enough to correct this imbalance between claiming journalistic impartiality and implying personal advocacy.says Seabrook so casually while discussing Rihanna's rise to fame, before immediately going into a discussion on what made her abuser so talented. Sure, it's "justified" as being a buildup to the following segment about the singer's change of image with her subsequentalbum, but Brown's actions aren't contextualized in any further way -- only his victim's are.Here's why these moments are especially troubling: because while Seabrook will play at being nonpartisan in passages such as those above, he isn't consistent about it. He cherry-picks which topics to interject his own attempts at narrative interpretation. So he will not say anything in censure of Chris Brown, but will conclude the description of a singer's being beaten with this pointless, rude attempt at storytelling drama:Seriously? You choose now to wax poetic? It gets better when he talks about Katy Perry's strictly Christian upbringing and her first aspirations of fame:So he's willing to say this kind of thing when talking about a woman's breasts, but not when he's examining rape charges or sexist double standards in a hugely relevant cultural system? Not when he summarizes Britney's breakdown in a offhanded manner that isn't worth any further examination?is all we get by way of introduction, followed by a "greatest hits" recounting of her eratic behavior and a conclusion that consists of a single sentence about her being committed to a psychiatric ward? And then you can't be bothered to mention her comeback and current condition anywhere else in the book?Throw in a bit of self-promotion (Seabrook actually advertises one of his own books as further reading material on a subject that he simplifies as "complicated" here) and a tendency to use AAVE outside of direct quotes despite being white (another Azalea parallel, apparently), and you ultimately have an author who distracts enough from the subject matter to be an issue.(And how do you devote an entire book to pop music with only a handful of brief mentions of Lady Gaga and Taylor Swift? In some ways, the work is already dated, able to mention fairly recent developments such as the departure of Jessica Jung from girl group Girls' Generation but behind on the fact that Psy's popularity in the United States has already all but vanished after "Gangnam Style," which makes for an odd reading experience. How does one devote more attention to the singer of a novelty single than the women who have, for better or worse, collectively defined American pop for the last several years? Seabrook's choice of subject matter so far as singers is concerned is eclectic but not comprehensive, to say the least.)So I finishin a position that is more or less similar to the one I took regarding music at the start: like whatever artists and songs you like without shame or a need to justify them, stop making jokes about Britney Spears (who I haven't listened to much, but will defend with my dying breath), and appreciate the sounds at your fingertips. The soundtrack of our lives is omnipresent enough to go without a second thought most of the time, but that doesn't mean it should. There's a lot to discover within it.I just wish this particular attempt at providing such an appreciation could have been a tad less irritating while doing so.