Ed Sheeran: Why Are We So Surprised?

I wasn't going to weigh in on the latest Ed Sheeran controversy. By now, every conceivable angle seems to have been covered. We know the story: Macklemore was removed from Sheeran's tour following controversy surrounding the rapper's pro-Palestinian stance. Sheeran responded by saying the decision had nothing to do with him and, for many critics, that was where his responsibility ended.

The backlash was swift and predictable. Social media filled with arguments from both sides, each convinced of its own moral certainty. No doubt the debate will continue for some time. But rather than add to the incessant noise, I'd like to approach the issue from a slightly different angle.

For years I've wondered what all the fuss is about when it comes to Ed Sheeran. Here is a man who, by all accounts, seems perfectly pleasant, who can certainly play guitar, and who has built one of the biggest careers in modern pop music. Yet as a songwriter, I've never fully understood the phenomenon.

The greatest songwriters create moments that linger for decades. They write choruses that become part of the culture, songs that are passed from one generation to the next. Whether it's Hey Jude, Fix You, Imagine or Fields of Gold, the very mention of the title conjures a melody. 

With Sheeran, I've always struggled to find that same connection. His songs have dominated radio playlists and streaming charts, yet very few have left a lasting impression on me. That may say as much about my tastes as it does about his music, but I've never been persuaded that his catalogue justifies the near-mythical status he's been awarded. And that raises a broader question. Why do some artists become cultural giants while others, equally talented, remain largely unnoticed?

Whenever I question Sheeran's popularity, the same arguments inevitably appear. He worked incredibly hard. He played countless gigs. He's a genuinely nice person. He's not handsome so he must be doing something right. All of those things may well be true. But hard work alone doesn't fill stadiums. Thousands of musicians work relentlessly without ever reaching that level. Being a decent human being is admirable, but it isn't a measure of artistic greatness. Nor should appearance have anything to do with it. Great songwriters come in every shape and form, from Sting to Elvis Costello. Talent isn't determined by looks, either good or bad. Perhaps the answer lies in something bigger than Ed Sheeran himself.

Modern culture has become extraordinarily good at manufacturing consensus. We are constantly told what to watch, what to buy, what to stream and what to admire. Success itself becomes proof of quality. If something sells millions of copies, surely it must be good. If it fills stadiums, surely it must be important. Yet history is littered with examples showing that popularity and quality are not always the same thing.

The entertainment industry, like politics, thrives on perception. We often mistake visibility for value, fame for substance and commercial success for artistic significance. And it’s not just in the music industry. 'Everything counts in large amounts', or so the saying goes. But just because Coca-Cola and McDonald's sell millions of products every day doesn't automatically make them the gold standard of quality. 

Too often, the public is conditioned to equate popularity with merit, celebrity with substance, and status with achievement. We are surrounded by carefully staged performances, from the heavily choreographed theatre of political debate to royal ceremonies that suggest an anointed monarch somehow stands closer to God than the rest of us. I've never bought into that idea, and I don't intend to start now.

I am reminded of the classic sixties film The Dirty Dozen starring Lee Marvin. In the film, Marvin is handed a ragtag collection of military prisoners and tasked with turning them into an effective fighting force. Later, his unconventional unit encounters a polished and impeccably presented army outfit. On the surface, one group appears superior. Yet when challenged, Marvin's men prove themselves more than capable, and defeat their contemptuous rivals in fine style. The lesson is simple: appearances can be deceptive. Which brings me back to Sheeran.

Throughout his career he has carefully balanced the image of an ordinary bloke with the reality of being one of the biggest celebrities on the planet. He has occasionally voiced support for political causes or public figures, but rarely in a way that risks serious personal or professional consequences. When controversy arrives, he tends to step back rather than step forward. That isn't especially surprising. He will praise Jeremy Corbyn without ever appearing with him in public. Unlike Taylor Swift, who took a direct political stance during the US election, despite potentially alienating a significant proportion of her audience. 

Sheeran has never presented himself as a political firebrand in the mould of Billy Bragg or Bob Dylan. His brand is accessibility, not confrontation. His success has been built on appealing to as many people as possible, and that generally requires avoiding positions that might alienate large sections of an audience. In an age that often mistakes visibility for value, he has become the perfect celebrity: endlessly present, impeccably marketed, and curiously difficult to remember once the spotlight fades.

Viewed through that lens, his response to the Macklemore situation feels less shocking and more entirely predictable. If people are waiting for Ed Sheeran to become a fearless political voice, they may be waiting a very long time. The more interesting question is why so many people continue to expect it. Even one of my personal heroes Roger Waters weighed in on the debate castigating Sheeran for his supine response to the billionaire class. What Waters said was true, but spare me the outrage. We're not talking about Bruce Springsteen here. 

As for the music itself, I would argue that there are countless artists creating work every bit as compelling, and always with far less recognition. Recently I reviewed music from Angie Who, and I'd happily put her songwriting above and beyond anything Ed Sheeran has come up with. The same goes for Claudia Robin Gunn, Mishy Katz and numerous other artists working outside the spotlight. They may never play stadiums, but they consistently produce thoughtful, well-crafted music.

In the end, celebrities will continue doing what celebrities do. They'll walk red carpets, attend award shows, manage their public image and release records that sell in vast numbers. They'll protect their millions, along with their carefully crafted image, and try to hog the limelight for as long as possible without ever really taking any kind of stance if it's not in their own personal interest. Ed Sheeran is hardly unique in that regard. The real surprise isn't that he responded to controversy in the way he did. The real surprise is that so many people expected anything different.

Ed Sheeran – all spotlight no substance?

Single Review: Mother Wind – Angie Who

Angie Who has just delivered what may well be her finest song to date. A striking blend of intricate acoustic guitar, evocative lyricism and deeply expressive vocals, 'Mother Wind' finds the artist operating at the height of her creative powers.

The arrangement is deceptively simple yet richly textured. Delicate acoustic guitar lines provide both momentum and space, allowing the song's emotional core to breathe, while a subtle string section drifts through the  composition, adding atmosphere and depth without ever compromising the intimacy of the performance.

Much of the song's distinctive acoustic character comes from Cameron Henderson (aka CJ Stranger), who contributes guitar and banjo while also taking responsibility for recording, mixing and production. His deft touch helps shape the rich, layered sound without allowing the production to overshadow the song's inherent intimacy. His brother, Nick Henderson, also contributes providing exquisite bass and truly elegant fiddle playing adding further colour and texture throughout.

What truly sets 'Mother Wind' apart, however, is its lyrical ambition. The song unfolds like a piece of poetry set to music, inviting repeated listens and rewarding close attention. To reveal too much would diminish the experience, but admirers of William Blake's ability to find the transcendent within the natural world will discover much to admire here. This is songwriting of rare intelligence, imagination and sensitivity.

The verses are punctuated by a brief Celtic-inspired interlude, providing a moment of reflection before the song resumes its meditation on nature, memory and human experience. Throughout, Angie Who's vocals are nothing short of captivating: technically assured yet emotionally vulnerable, she delivers every line with conviction, warmth and grace.

As the song reaches its conclusion, the repeated refrain, 'we all start somewhere', gathers quiet momentum, building towards a restrained yet deeply affecting climax before gently fading into silence.

Comparisons are often overused when reviewing music, but 'Mother Wind' evokes something of the spirit of artists such as Kate Bush and Joni Mitchell without ever sounding derivative. Instead, Angie Who has created something distinctly her own: a song of remarkable beauty, wisdom and emotional resonance.

'Mother Wind' is one of those rare recordings that lingers long after the final note has faded. It is an exceptional piece of songwriting and a compelling reminder that Angie Who remains one of the most distinctive voices in contemporary children's music.

Angie Who – wild is the wind.

AI: A Brave New World or Rock 'n' Roll Suicide?

The artist Sting wrote many fine songs in his time, but few finer than 'If I Ever Lose My Faith in You'. For those unfamiliar with it, the song is a deceptively buoyant singalong something of a melodic, radio-friendly anthem wrapped around a surprisingly bleak meditation on modern life. In it, Sting catalogues his disillusionment with religion, science, politics and a host of other institutions that once promised meaning and certainty. Yet the song's masterstroke lies in its chorus, where, amid all that doubt, he clings to faith in one cherished belief. Presumably that is the love and respect for his wife, Trudy Styler.

It's a great song, but what has always struck me is the sentiment behind it. Here is a man who, by almost any measure, appears to have won life's lottery. Fame, wealth, artistic success, global admiration. Sting has achieved more than most musicians could ever dream of. Yet beneath the polished surface lurks a persistent dissatisfaction, a nagging sense that something fundamental has gone missing. It is a feeling many listeners recognise immediately.

Sting doesn't specifically mention music, he may be referring to unconditional love, but someone who was referring to music was my old mate Steve Hillage. As he mesmerised my band with his musical expertise in the studio back in the day, he once mentioned that he felt completely discouraged by the state of the music industry. When pressed further he described what he referred to as his 'Oh no, has it come to this?' moments. He explained that the great music that had initially inspired him to pick up a guitar, had at times and in various guises gradually given way to something altogether less inspiring. Targeting his vitriol in particular towards bands such as Duran Duran who were still relatively successful at the time.

I've experienced similar moments too. When Joy Division's classic 'Love Will Tear Us Apart' failed to make the Radio One playlist, whilst Racey's insipid 'Lay Your Love On Me' achieved round the clock airplay in the UK. Or the rise of manufactured pop, reality television talent contests, and the coronation of Simon Cowell as a cultural tastemaker each felt, at the time, like another small surrender to the powers that be. Whether those concerns were justified is beside the point. What mattered was the growing suspicion that something authentic was being replaced by something artificial. 

That is why Sting's song continues to resonate. It reflects back to the listener a feeling that many of us carry but rarely articulate: the sense that too many of the things we once believed in have let us down. Over time, cherished certainties begin to fray. Institutions disappoint. Heroes fall. Ideologies reveal their contradictions, and family bonds disappear. I have felt this quite acutely in my own life, where beyond my immediate family and close friends, there have been times when there appeared to be little left to believe in.

To find an escape from the relentless noise of the modern world I've always found comfort and solace in nature. 'Brilliant Trees', in particular, have never failed to lift my spirits during a morning walk. Yet even that source of inspiration has become harder to embrace unreservedly. The relentless assault on the natural world leaves the uncomfortable impression that humanity values profit more than beauty, consumption more than stewardship. We marvel at nature's wonders while simultaneously dismantling them. So what does today's world have left, if anything, to provide hope?

For a long time, I believed education was one of society's great redeeming forces. The idea seemed noble enough, simply equip future generations with knowledge and critical thinking, and the country will gradually improve. Yet education, like every other institution, has its contradictions. Some of history's most destructive figures were highly educated. Brilliant lawyers, politicians, financiers and scientists have often used their talents not to serve humanity, but to enrich themselves or advance destructive causes.

Sport presents a similar dilemma. Few spectacles are more inspiring than a great football match or an Olympic athlete at the peak of his or her powers. Yet modern sport is littered with stories of corruption, greed and performance-enhancing drugs. Ben Johnson. Lance Armstrong, Diego Maradona and countless others. Athletes who knew they were cheating but carried on regardless because the rewards were simply too great. In many cases, the lure of money proved stronger than the pursuit of excellence. So much so that we are left with a lingering cynicism, where world records that once seemed sacred now come with a mental asterisk attached.

Up until quite recently I believed art and especially music represented the last refuge of authenticity. Politics could be corrupted. Business could be corrupted. Sport could be corrupted. But creativity seemed different. Great art emerged from a uniquely human combination of talent, inspiration, discipline and imagination. It could be imitated, certainly, but never truly replicated. No doubt over the years there were warning signs. Drum machines gradually replaced drummers. Technology increasingly blurred the line between performance and production. Every generation complained that something essential had been lost. Yet for me, my dear mother's old saying still rang true: 'The cream always comes to the top'. Genuine talent would eventually distinguish itself from imitation.

Today, however, that assumption feels less secure than ever. Even the legendary producer George Martin, finally accepted as early as the nineties that modern technology had reached a tipping point where it could compete with some of the finest creative minds in the industry. And he should know having produced the Beatles. What once seemed impossible, the actual replication of human creativity itself, no longer belongs entirely to the realm of science fiction. 

It has been said that time is money, so if you can reduce the time it takes to complete a proasiac task, it will ultimately lead to a positive outcome. However, I  believe time spent crafting a song, painting a picture, or writing a book is not wasted time. Amongst other things it's cathartic, it assists with personal growth. It is hard work, but fulfilling, where you grow as a person, as you immerse yourself in the infinite connection with the divine. Are we going to throw all that away so we can mass-produce AI music and videos for a profit? And what then? Make endless amounts of cash that we can spend on things we neither want nor need, but because of the corrosive impact of advertising we are brainwashed into believing that's what we truly want? 

Apparently thirty percent of music on Spotify is considered to have been created using AI. Well, that's all well and good, but at what point will it increase to fifty percent, or seventy percent or worse?  Bearing this in mind, about ten years ago I visited the famous house of the Bronte sisters in Yorkshire. In something approaching an epiphany I stared down at the desk where a young Charlotte Bronte was said to have crafted Jane Eyre, mesmerised by the energy that seemed to permeate the room. I can't imagine in years to come anyone is going to be similarly moved by visiting the house of an individual who pressed a few buttons, claimed artistic ownership and then went out shopping.

I was recently approached by someone who will remain nameless, but who had already created seven albums which had been released into the world all at once, just two days earlier. That is a huge body of work for a new artist. They informed me that the project was created using Suno and wanted to be considered for a review. To be fair, they were honest enough not to hide the fact that Suno had been used, and their email made it sound as though they genuinely believed an artistic process had been employed. However, after looking at their YouTube channel where the albums had been released, and listening to the tracks, I didn't agree. There was a distinct soulless, generic, mass-produced feel to both the sound and the artwork, so I decided to pass on reviewing the project. It did make me wonder where all this will lead though. The next generation may no longer be tempted to pursue artistic endeavours at all. Why would they, when they can go online and get everything they require with a simple touch of a button? Clearly, the tail is wagging the dog. 

Yes I agree, it's fast, it's convenient and it clearly saves time, but the pervasive use of it may threaten to destroy the very fabric of creativity? Artificial intelligence describes exactly what it is, that it is artificial. Furthermore, if one of the most important lessons in life is to learn to think for ourselves, are we in danger of allowing AI to displace not only our thinking, but our very imaginations? Why write lyrics when LyricStudio can write them for you? Why learn how to compose music when you can use Suno? Does AI have to be inevitable? Or if it is here to stay, should more effort be made to implement safeguards? These are all important questions that deserve our attention. Surely we need to educate ourselves on the pros and cons of this technological revolution, and be aware that the light at the end of the tunnel may well be an oncoming train.

I read somewhere recently that in ten years time there could be as many as one hundred million active robots in society. Well, all I can say is, good luck finding a job under such circumstances. While some people may regard this as a good thing. After all, oiling the wheels of the capitalist system is no great loss, if other means of production can be discovered, and where a universal basic income has been promised. There is some credence to this despite the fact that I have little confidence that the likes of Elon Musk care one jot about the welfare of ordinary people going forward. 

Furthermore, there is more to work than simply making money. People all over the world find tremendous value pursuing a job worth doing. Through self-esteem, giving back, adding value and finding a much needed purpose. I agree that not all jobs offer this, but there are jobs that do. I would certainly include my job as a teacher as one of them. I agree that this is a particularly nuanced argument, involving many competing factors. Nonetheless, the fact remains, that work provides intrinsic purpose, and also creates the type of discipline and self-reliance that enables personal growth and a genuine feeling of belonging. 

So, where do our loyalties lie, and who are we betting on? When it comes to choosing between a shared humanity and the validity of the artistic process, or alternatively the pursuit of profit for little, if any, effort. Because the danger is that if we strip away the artistic process and allow our thoughts to be controlled by technology, what is left? And that's before we begin discussing the damage to the environment, and the disastrous consequences for future generations. Seemingly destined to inhabit a world devoid of art, culture and artistic integrity, where the last refuge of a beating heart is left to perish on a dying planet. Because for me the artistic process is sacred, the planet we inhabit is sacred, human dignity is sacred and human intelligence is non-negotiable. If we fail to grasp this, we are in danger of living in the kind of dystopian society Orwell so famously articulated in 1984.

We are now experiencing in real time a David and Goliath story for the twenty-first century. With genuine artists struggling to make a buck versus the grasping tentacles of the tech giants. Will the artistic process survive, and stand up to these billionaire disruptors? Don't make me laugh, the supine response to vulture capitalism and the pursuit of profit has become no more than a race to the bottom, a zero-sum game where AI is the steamroller and music is the road. Governments will no doubt pay lip service to the problem with all their inept meddling of dubious merit, but the end result will no doubt be the 'same as it ever was', as David Byrne once famously declared in song. Bearing this in mind, I can't imagine that it will be long before a so-called AI artist approaches me for a review of their album. Oh, sorry, I stand corrected, that's already happened!

AI – Artistic Intrusion.

Album Track Review: Welcome Here – Matt Heaton

Matt Heaton's 2020 album, All of Us, remains a joyful and thoughtful collection of songs, packed with stories of childhood adventures and everyday discoveries. The album covers everything from counting and bike riding to late-night snacks, and even the unfortunate agony of stepping on Lego. While the subject matter is aimed at younger listeners, the craftsmanship on display ensures the music has much broader appeal.

At its heart, this is a country record, so anyone with a soft spot for classic Americana will find plenty to love. Heaton combines the storytelling spirit of artists such as Johnny Cash with an easy melodic accessibility that gives these songs considerable charm. The result is children's music that never talks down to its audience, delivered with genuine musicality and a keen ear for memorable hooks.

The album's opening track, 'Welcome Here', is an immediate standout. More than simply a cheerful introduction, it carries a message that feels particularly relevant in today's increasingly divided world. At a time when political discourse often seems defined by conflict and exclusion, Heaton offers something refreshingly simple by affirming that everyone belongs.

Musically, the song is every bit as inviting as its message. Shuffle-driven rhythms, jangling guitars, nimble fiddle lines and beautifully layered harmonies combine to create a sound that feels bright, uplifting and effortlessly welcoming. Every element reinforces the song's central theme, giving the track a warmth that is difficult to resist. 'America is all of us', Heaton declares, reminding listeners that 'no matter where your family is from', we're all travelling together because 'we all ride the same big bus'. It's a sentiment that could easily feel heavy-handed in lesser hands, but Heaton delivers it with sincerity, optimism and just the right amount of charm.

'Welcome Here' captures the spirit of the album beautifully. It acknowledges the complexities of the world around us while choosing hope over cynicism and kindness over judgement. In doing so, it offers a simple but powerful reminder that, regardless of our background, appearance or place of birth, there is room for everyone.

It's an uplifting opener from an album built on empathy, inclusivity and the joy of shared experience. It's an album that has survived the test of time, and perhaps never been more relevant than it is today. Perhaps most importantly, All of Us may be made with children in mind, but its message and its music belong to everyone. The next chapter arrives this fall, with a new album waiting in the wings.

Matt Heaton – there is a light that never goes out.