Episode Transcript
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Speaker 1 (00:03):
Callaroga Shark Media, September twenty twenty five. I'm Garrett Fischer.
And if you had told jess Glynn in March twenty fifteen,
as her song hold My Hand sat atop the UK
charts for three straight weeks that a decade later it
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would become globally famous because of a budget airline commercial
and people getting chased by camels, she probably would have
thought you were having a stroke. But here we are.
According to TikTok's official data, hold My Hand is the
undisputed global number one song of the summer twenty twenty five.
Not a new release, not a fresh remix, but a
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ten year old track that's been playing is bording music
on Jet two flights since late twenty fifteen, transformed into
the ultimate soundtrack for vacation disasters, relationship fails, and the
general chaos of trying to have a good time in
an increasingly unhinged world. To understand this bizarre journey, we
need to go back to twenty fourteen. Jessica Hannah Glynn,
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a North London Jewish girl whose grandfather changed the family
name from Goldstein, was working in music management networking with
producers when Clean bandit needed a vocalist for Rather Be.
That song went to number one. Then Route ninety four
needed someone for My Love, also number one. Suddenly, the
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girl who'd walked out of X Factor auditions at fifteen
was the most in demand featured artist in British pop.
For her solo debut, Glenn teamed up with Jin Jin
Jack Patterson from Clean Bandit and Norwegian songwriter Na Roldsen.
They created Hold My Hand, a perfect fifth harmony wrapped
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in glossy production, the kind of song that music theorists
call satisfying and clubgoers call a banger. When it dropped
in March twenty fifteen, it didn't just hit number one.
It stayed there for three weeks, out selling its nearest
competitor by forty thousand units in its first week alone.
The song itself is deceptively simple, that darling hold My
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Hand hook that DJ Tina Edwards correctly identifies as a
classic perfect fifth, a musical interval so harmonious it feels complete, inevitable.
It's dance music that doesn't require dancing, pop that transcends
its moment, which is probably why Jet two, a Leeds
based budget airline trying to sell package Holidays to Britz
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licensed it for their commercials starting in late twenty fifteen.
Enter Zoe Lister, a forty three year old voice actor
from Cookham, England who's been doing Jet two voiceovers for
seven years. In late twenty twenty two, she recorded what
seemed like just another commercial script. Nothing beats a Jet
two holiday and right now you can save fifty pounds
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off per person. Standard travel advertising copy forgetable except when
you play it over, hold my hand and blast it
at British consumers. For three straight years in commercials, in nightclubs,
even as bording music on actual Jet two flights, something
interesting happens. It becomes embedded in the national consciousness like
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a splinter you can't remove. The transformation started in November
twenty twenty four, someone posted a TikTok video of a
camel chasing them through the desert, set to the jet
to audio. Three point eight million views. The internet's collective
light bulb went on. This relentlessly cheerful advertisement was the
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perfect ironic counterpoint to vacation disasters. By summer twenty twenty five,
it had exploded one point five million TikTok videos, eighty
billion views. Google searches for Jet two holiday hitting all
time highs Americans who don't even use the word holiday
for vacations asking what the hell is a Jet two.
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The genius of the trend is its perfect marriage of
corporate sincerity and user subversion. Jet two promises affordable paradise.
TikTokers deliver whitewater rafting disasters, cruise ship evacuations, hotel rooms
with windows the size of postcards. Jeff Goldbloom creates Jeff
two Holidays, Mariah Carey posts it before boarding her jet.
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Even Jess Glynn herself performing hold My Hand at concerts,
has to pause while audiences sing the jet Towo jingle
back at her. Think about what this means for how
music works now. A song can have a completely successful
first life number one for three weeks, certified platinum, then
get hijacked by a budget airline for a decade, marinating
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in the British subconscious before emerging as a global phenomenon
through pure ironic displacement. The song hasn't changed, but its
meaning has been completely recontextualized. Twice, Glenn told Capital FM
that the resurgence was a massive surprise. Lister meeting Glenn
for the first time. During the media Frenzy called her
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a super cool megapop star while describing herself as this cheeseball.
But here's the thing. In twenty twenty five, the cheeseball
voiceover is arguably more famous than the original song. That's
not a judgment on quality, it's a statement about how
culture moves now. When the White House tried to appropriate
the meme for an immigration enforcement video in July, Glenn
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responded furiously. My music is about love, unity and spreading positivity,
never about division or hate. But that's the thing about
releasing art into the world. Once it's out there, you
don't control what it means anymore. A love song becomes
a travel jingle, becomes a meme about chaos, becomes a
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political flashpoint. Each iteration adds another layer of meaning, another
context that can never be fully eraised. What makes Hold
My Hand the song of Summer twenty twenty five isn't
the melody, or the lyrics, or even Jess Glynn's powerful voice.
It's that it's become a shared language for expressing the
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gap between expectation and reality, between what we're sold and
what we get. Every vacation disaster video set to this
song is really saying the same thing. We were promised paradise,
we got chaos, and somehow that's hilarious. It's the most
twenty twenty five thing imaginable, finding joy in the failure
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of joy. The irony is that musically, Hold my Hand
Genuinely is a perfect summer song, that perfect fifth harmony,
the uplifting production, Glenn's soaring vocals. It's engineered for euphoria,
but maybe that's why it works so well for disaster content.
The greater the distance between the soundtrack and the reality,
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the funnier it becomes. It's the musical equivalent of laughing
to keep from crying more in a moment. As I
record this in September twenty twenty five, Hold My Hand
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is experiencing its third distinct cultural moment, first as a
UK chart topper, then as inescapable travel advertising, now as
the ironic anthem of a generation that turns every disappointment
into content. Each version builds on the last, creating something
that's simultaneously a love song, a commercial, and a meme
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about the impossibility of happiness. That's not something you can plan,
that's not something any algorithm could predict that's just the beautiful,
chaotic way culture evolves. Now. Nothing beats a jet to holiday,
the ads promise, and in a weird way, they're right.
Nothing beats it because nothing can compete with our ability
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to transform corporate messaging into collective therapy, to turn a
budget airlines jingle into a global inside joke about the
human condition. Ten years from now, hold my Hand might
mean something else entirely. For now, it means Summer twenty
twenty five, a season when we all agreed that the
funniest thing in the world was the gap between what
we're promised and what we get. Sometimes the best songs
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are the ones that survive long enough to mean something
their creators never imagined. Hold my Hand isn't just a
hit anymore. It's a cultural artifact, a linguistic virus, a
shared reference point for eighty billion moments of recognition. Yes,
this is my vacation too, Yes this is my life too. Yes,
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nothing beats this beautiful disaster. We're all in together, darling,
hold my hand. Indeed, we're gonna need it.