On first listen, you might think Eurovision has come early. Over a disco-fied adaptation of exotic Eastern melodies and rhythms – played out on Iranian lutes, dafs and santoors – a pop singer wails lyrics resembling a bad AI translation. “’Til the sun is awake, be like a magnet on me,” lusts a plucky contender. “I wanna be tangled and wrapped in your cloud/ I wanna be close to your face”.
But this isn’t any random Uber-pop face-hugger, it’s the return of Ed Sheeran, back to reclaim his throne near the top of the charts with his Persian-themed new single “Azizam” (Farsi for “my dear” or “my darling”). At which point, the question becomes: how?
Almost 15 years after Sheeran’s breakthrough debut album +, the music industry has changed beyond all recognition. Streaming has decimated the sort of multi-platinum sales figures upon which Sheeran became a Brit culture behemoth; his last album Autumn Variations (2023) sold a third of -, released just four months earlier, and that in turn sold a quarter of 2021’s =. In the meantime, near-weekly waves of viral acts have swamped the singles charts and arena schedules with formulaic TikTok sewage, as if Thames Water are now in charge of the globe’s musical output.
You might expect “Azizam”, then, to be the last fightback from a slowly sinking phenomenon whose shelf-life may have finally run out; a desperate return to pop roots after an aborted attempt to embrace introspective maturity on two recent albums that no doubt drove a string of accountants to distraction. But despite diminished sales, those albums were both chart-conquering hits, and Sheeran now sweeps casually back to the top of the pop heap. He joked during this week’s Call Her Daddy podcast interview about getting a bowling alley installed into his Suffolk homestead and declared that his next album Play will be the first of a new album series, encompassing Pause, Rewind, Fast-Forward and Stop. No one’s talking seriously, though, about further albums called Eject and Flog Cheap on eBay.
Sheeran’s continued dominance certainly speaks to the very core of our changing pop landscape. His emergence as a one-man-and-his-loop-pedal stadium act wasn’t just a flash-in-the-pan pop gimmick but a new model for an industry that’s fast becoming unviable for rising acts aspiring to dazzle audiences with eye-scorching stage production, or five-person bands burdened with truckloads of gear and suffocating visa bills. In major league pop, Sheeran’s a respected, pioneering originator, and such treasured, label-nurtured artists endure. Plus, being able to tour the world’s biggest venues from the back of a Kia with no expensive bandmates angling for an extra per cent or two of the merch millions, he survives because he can.
It’s also true that he’s extremely adaptable. His adorably beta everyman demeanour has allowed him to duck and dive through styles and genres as culture trends have dictated: from his foundation in British folk pop, he’s made highly successful forays into Latin, Afrobeat, reggaeton, hip-hop, R&B and market-specific global music. His new dabbling in Persian sounds might seem opportunistic, considering the Middle East is currently the world’s fastest-growing music market. But levelling accusations of cultural appropriation against “Azizam” – as if hammering a dulcimer on a Western pop song is the equivalent of chipping a chunk from Persepolis – would be protectionism as self-defeating as any 2,000 per cent tariff against China, Narnia or wherever Pingu lives.
Ever since George Harrison’s first curious pluck of Ravi Shankar’s sitar, the “cultural appropriation” of music (or “taking influence” in old money) has benefited all global parties immensely, bridging cultural divides, promoting understanding and appreciation and helping our pop culture evolve beyond the maypole. Sheeran has framed “Azizam” as a heartfelt homage to Persian music, written in collaboration with Iranian-Swedish songwriter Ilya Salmanzadeh. Frankly, the cheeky imp can get away with anything for being so game. “I’m discovering more and more every single day that Persians are really, really proud of their culture, and it’s great to celebrate it,” he told the BBC, far more out-reaching ambassador than plundering imperialist. Persian X (Twitter) agrees: “Hearing our musical heritage woven into a global hit?” wrote @ShirazMusicLover. “It’s revolutionary.”
A unifying, relatable and inspirational figure, then. But that’s not enough to guarantee perpetual success. The thing is, it’s a mistake to look upon Sheeran’s position from a pre-streaming perspective, when the tastes and purchasing choices of a fickle public could turn on a whim, easily toppling a Whitney or a Britney. Ultimately, Sheeran’s song illuminates the new reality of the streaming establishment hegemony. Platinum sales may come and go, but he remains the artist with the seventh largest number of YouTube subscribers in the world; 55 million passive streamers who would as soon disconnect from his channel as they would object to a clause in their iPhone update T&Cs.
Sheeran and his fellow gods of this algorithmic Olympus – Blackpink, BTS, Bieber, Swift, Eminem, Grande, Eilish, Marshmello, Bad Bunny – form a new sonic oligarchy, fixed in high office by their massed hordes of followers. Until there’s some radical reform of the chart or streaming system to temper their reach and Spotify profit shares, the strength of their numbers makes them unassailable – new acts will join them, but will rarely ever beat them. The days of top-tier stars being capable of failure appear to be behind us; chances are, Sheeran will be close to your face for a good generation or so yet. Meet the new boss, more comfy than the old boss.
