I’ve Been Foxed

I take some pride in being immune to viral internet phenomena and wall-to-wall coverage of slebs. Where slebs are concerned, my usual course is to ignore them and refuse to watch or read anything related to these needy people. It’s impossible not to know the names of course – that much I pick up by osmosis – but I will not inquire any further.

For example, I know there’s a tribe called Kardashian, the defining feature of which is that all its members have first names beginning with K. Apparently they even choose partners with the same initial.

The same with the recent royal rug rat. I know it exists. The name, George, has been forced on my consciousness, yet I’ve managed to avoid reading any news of it or seeing any pictures. This is due in part to a useful browser extension that claimed to remove all articles on the subject in the Guardian. I certainly haven’t seen any since, so for all I know the heir to the throne is a werewolf, as suggested in an episode of Doctor Who.

As to viral internet crazes, I’ve never yet seen more than a few seconds of the Gangnam Style bollocks, and mercifully forgotten even the name of the one before it.

But now I’ve been foxed. Tempted by a quirky spelling variant of Elvis, I clicked on Ylvis and discovered their horribly addictive vulpine friend. It’s the maniacal surrealism of the whole thing, combined with the pleasure of sound for its own sake. Almost 49 million YouTube hits so you’ve no doubt seen it before.

Nevertheless, here it is, my shame and delight.

Having dipped a toe in the water, I had a look at some of Ylvis‘ other stuff. Now I’m not only foxed but hooked. Brilliant, completely off-the-wall lyrics and a mastery of musical genres. Don’t know what’s going to come out of the singer’s mouth next, and that’s my highest accolade.

Another five songs for your delectation.