The Tragic Death of Guitar Pop Bands

The Damnable Misery of It All

I’ve got a goddamn tragedy to tell you about, and it’s not your usual bullshit headline about another politician pleading guilty. No, this is bigger and far more interesting. This is the kind of tragedy that makes the cosmos weep, the kind that makes you wonder if the whole human race is worth saving or if we should just nuke ourselves and let the cockroaches have a go. I’m talking about the slow, agonizing death of guitar pop bands. You heard me right. Those glorious, sweaty messes of human emotion, those wild-eyed maniacs who once ruled the airwaves with six strings and a chorus that could rip your heart out while you sang along gleefully. They’re dead, or working the casino circuit, which is essentially the same thing. I’m here to lay it out for you, piece by piece, like the coroner at a crime scene.

Once upon a time, the electric guitar was the big swinging dick of the music world. The Beatles and The Kinks weren’t just bands; they were gods, dragging us all kicking and screaming into a world where music was more than background noise for sad lives. Guitar pop was the voice of the youth, the soundtrack to a world that actually gave a shit about rebellion, about sticking it to the man with a riff so sharp it could slice open reality itself. It was significantly catchy, it was a little dirty, and it was beautiful. But like all good things, it couldn’t last.

The ‘90s was a spectacularly bizarre time in which A&R suits at every record label experimented as freely as college freshmen do with their sexuality. They pulled off miracles like making the harmonica cool. They got people to buy ska records and big band swing CDs by the MILLIONS. They turned these two into a Billboard-topping act:

The first signs of decay started showing up in the early 2000s when audiences were too busy jerking off to boy bands and reality TV to notice. The digital age rolled in, and with it came the rise of synthetic beats and autotuned abominations. The electric guitar, once the symbol of everything that mattered, got shoved aside like yesterday’s trash. The cultural zeitgeist shifted, and suddenly, all anyone wanted was cookie-cutter pop stars with zero substance. The guitar pop band — the real, soul-crushing, life-affirming kind — got left in the dust.

And let’s not kid ourselves about why this happened. Sure, technology played its part, but the real villain here is the music industry itself. Those corporate fucks in their shiny suits saw the writing on the wall and decided that it was easier, faster, and more profitable to churn out solo artists who could sell out stadiums with songs written by committee. Guitar pop bands were too risky, too unpredictable, too goddamn real for the money men. So they strangled them in their cribs and replaced them with plastic pop idols who could lip-sync their way to the bank.

The result? A musical landscape as sterile and lifeless as a morgue at midnight. The innovation, the creativity, the fucking guts that defined guitar pop bands have been replaced by a homogenized slurry of algorithm-approved garbage. Everything sounds the same because no one wants to take a risk anymore. The raw power of a killer riff, the ecstatic release of a perfect chorus—it’s all been smothered under a blanket of mediocrity. And we’re all complicit in this crime, every single one of us who traded in our guitars for keyboards and our soul for a playlist generated by a machine.

But here’s the kicker: the death of guitar pop bands isn’t just a musical tragedy. It’s a cultural one. These bands were the chroniclers of our lives, the poets who turned our collective joys and sorrows into something beautiful. They gave us anthems to live by, songs that were more than just sounds — they were memories, experiences, a goddamn way of life. And now, with their demise, we’re losing a piece of our own humanity, one power chord at a time.

But before you go slitting your wrists in despair, let me tell you this: there’s still hope. It’s a faint, flickering hope, like a dying star in the void, but it’s there. In the dark corners of the world, far away from the glare of the mainstream, there are still bands out there who refuse to let the flame die. They’re not on your precious Spotify playlists, and they sure as hell aren’t getting airplay on corporate radio, but they’re out there, keeping the spirit of guitar pop alive. They’re the last bastion of truth in a world of lies, the last warriors standing against the tide of mediocrity.

So, here’s my advice: seek them out. Find these bands, support them, cherish them, because they’re the only thing standing between us and the complete and utter annihilation of everything that made music worth a damn. The tragic death of guitar pop bands is real, and it’s happening right now, but it doesn’t have to be the end. As long as there are people willing to pick up a guitar and play like their life depends on it, there’s still a chance to turn this ship around.

Bonus Content!

An Entirely Incomplete List of Guitar Pop Bands and Why You Should Listen

1960s:

The Byrds - These bastards took folk music, shot it up with electric jangle, and turned it into a shimmering, strung-out soundscape of disillusionment and harmony. You could hear the acid drip through the 12-string Rickenbacker like a dirty needle sliding under the skin of America.

The Hollies - Harmonies so sweet they’d rot your teeth, wrapped around guitar hooks that sliced like a razor through your eardrums. Their polished veneer barely concealed the cynical desperation lurking in every strum, a pop confection laced with arsenic.

The Zombies - Dreamy and melancholic, they crafted psychedelic pop that crept under your skin and stayed there, haunting your subconscious like a bad trip. Their guitars twinkled like broken glass under the moonlight, just enough to make you bleed.

1970s:

Big Star - Power pop pioneers who never got the credit they deserved, turning out jaded, bittersweet anthems drenched in melody and despair. Their guitars rang out like church bells tolling for the death of innocence, leaving behind a legacy of beautiful wreckage.

Badfinger - Signed, sealed, and doomed by the corporate machine, these Welsh lads served up sugary pop with a side of existential dread. Their guitars shimmered with the false promise of fame, each chord a step closer to the edge of the abyss.

The Raspberries - Sugar-coated power pop with a fistful of grit, their guitars came on like a punch to the gut wrapped in velvet. Every riff was a desperate grab for the glory days, a slick, shiny façade hiding the rot beneath.

1980s:

The Smiths - Guitars that jangled like a sad, sardonic laugh, cutting through the gloom with a clarity that could slice through your soul. Morrissey whined, Marr chimed, and together they made misery sound like the sweetest of drugs.

Aztec Camera - A polished, crystalline guitar pop sound that shimmered with the gloss of the '80s while hinting at something darker beneath. Every riff was a finely tuned weapon, firing off hooks that lodged themselves deep in your brain.

The Housemartins - Guitars strumming out socialist anthems disguised as upbeat pop tunes, all delivered with a smile sharp enough to draw blood. They made you dance while slipping a knife between your ribs, leaving you with a catchy tune and a bleeding conscience.

1990s:

Teenage Fanclub - Layered guitars dripping with nostalgia and melody, like the summer sun through a dirty window. They churned out power pop with a melancholy edge, the sound of a generation coming to terms with its own irrelevance.

The La's - A one-hit wonder turned cult legend, they crafted perfect pop with a guitar that sparkled like sunlight off broken glass. Behind the infectious hooks was a sense of yearning, a desperate grasp at something that was already slipping away.

Blur - Britpop’s golden boys who wrapped their guitars in a sheen of irony and art-school cynicism, blending sharp wit with catchy melodies. They straddled the line between pop and art, turning out songs that sounded like the soundtrack to a generation’s collective nervous breakdown.