Setting the Tone

Before we begin to compile the musical thoughts festering in our brains and compose new pieces about them, I'd like to introduce this site by resting on some very old not-quite-laurels. A few years back, I penned a bitter "harangue on the current music industry," as one fellow put it. It's a fairly accurate indication of what to expect here, at least from my contributions. Lots of bombastic ranting, snide comments, distracting asides, and holier-than-thou condescension. I just thought I'd prepare you.


From April 2001:

A comrade passed along a post from the Lucky Town Digest listserv group (of which I was once a member, admittedly) with this preface:

"Anyone like Bruce Springsteen? Anyone fascinated with just how fanatically dorky a person can become about a musician? Here is a ridiculous story."

[. . . skipping over the 17 syrupy paragraphs detailing a trip to Jack's Music Store on the eve of the Live in New York City album release by Bruce Springsteen, and how the Boss showed up and signed his stuff . . . all written in SuperFan escalation . . . this closing is all you need to imagine the rest . . .]

"Sorry if this e-mail's dripping with melodrama or foolish hyperbole. But I have to say, there are very few things in this world that we allow ourselves to truly feel an unadulterated, pure passion for. We're always afraid or reluctant to feel certain things, to say certain things at the right time, or to do things we really want to do. For some reason, we convince ourselves that there are better things to do than to tap into what makes us feel truly alive at a given moment in time. Yet, there's so little time, we fight, scrap, and struggle to make even a faint whisper of an impact around here. But there's at least one thing I do know: I know with certainty that the few seconds Bruce Springsteen gave me last night I'll cherish and carry with me for the rest of my life."

And I replied, with my own, less flowery Springsteen bias:

Well, I myself have gone to a record store at midnight to buy a new Bruce album, but it was because the store was offering the rest of the Springsteen library for 1/2 off. (Nice sales heads -- they're now out of business.)

To answer your first question, everyone likes Bruce Springsteen, whether they know it or not. You all like the Boss. Those of you who claim you don't are either still sick of him for all the radio overplay he received in 1984-86 or are the what-have-you-done-for-me-lately types who believe that the relative mediocrity of Lucky Touch Joad could possibly cast a shadow on Springsteen's previous two decades of true genius. Inclusion in either category makes you wrong, so just admit that you're a fan.

Of course, you could contend that you just honestly never liked his music, which would mean that you're pretty much allergic to good old rock and roll. In that case, feel free to cozy up with your Yngwie Malmsteen remixes or whatever teen pop bullshit is topping Billboard's running joke they're still calling "music" charts. I don't mean to get on a Dennis Miller here but there is no bigger black eye on the music industry from a rock and roll perspective than the Billboard corporation's weekly reminder that the general album-buying public is comprised mostly of tonedeaf cretins. Album sales are the key barometer for the ebb and flow of rock outfits. Oh, rock critics would have you believe their pens are mightier than the cash registers and that a benevolent bump-up or deleterious drag-down in stars, letter grade, or numerical ranking can make or break a band, but, oddly enough, label executives aren't prone to dropping an artist because their multiplatinum release got panned in Spin. So the ultimate judge and jury on rock and roll's future are the masses. Democracy, capitalism, power to the people. I'm getting teary. Except -- look at "the people" the next time you're in the record store. Yikes. This judge and jury is reminiscent of the brain trust formerly known as the O.J. jurors. And the glut of bad judgments, mistrials, and contemptible purchases are chronicled regularly by Billboard. This type of information is unhealthy for the morale of the industry, the artists, and the general population and should be squelched like anti-establishment preachings in Communist Georgia or gay rights publications in Stone Mountain, Georgia. I don't want to know that although Wilco, Ween, and Warren Zevon all put out damn fine albums in 2000, their combined album sales were roughly one-tenth of what numbers the frigging Backstreet Boys put up. I don't want to realize that for all the massive kudos, overblown credit, and figurative fellatio awarded Kurt Cobain for allegedly changing the face of rock and roll, Kurt, Nirvana, and the entire grunge movement were merely a blip on the radar between the New Kids and N'Sync. I don't want to have to accept that the face of popular music just started shaving two years ago. I don't want to read that Aerosmith is selling more albums peddling recycled, pseudo-melodic trash with tracks entitled "Luv Lies" and "Trip Hoppin'" than they ever did with genre-defining wonders like "Toys in the Attic" and "Sweet Emotion." I don't want to swallow the fact that the state of rock and roll is worse than the state of Mississippi. Most of all, speaking of Mississippi, I don't want to have to concede that the same formula that brought us Elvis Presley in 1956 (take a young, pretty face and write songs that he'll turn into hits the public will eat up) is still working today, despite the fact that the sounds emanated have become a big hunk o' crap. Now I really am getting teary.

As I bemoan the music scene, I realize that it's not like there aren't a million great bands out there churning out their sound as I type this. But true entertainers like the Drive-By Truckers are playing for beer while Britney Spears shows her navel yet again on national television. I wish I could remember who it was (maybe one of the Blink 182 dudes), but I read a quote by some rock musician who openly quipped that the only reason to buy a Britney Spears CD would be to pleasure oneself to the cover picture -- and therefore people should buy it on vinyl for a bigger photo. But for all the slagging Britney and her glee club compatriots receive, they're getting the last laugh on all of us. And this, my friends, this is why you must all rush out there and buy the new Bruce Springsteen live album. Not simply because it will be a great addition to your collection. Not just because you probably missed the '99-'00 tour with the E Streeters, one of the best concert series of the era, and want to see what the buzz was about. Not merely because it will definitely make you cooler, will probably get you laid, and will possibly improve your current life situation tenfold. Most of all, you should march like a majorette to your local mom & pop music seller -- as long as you're supporting big business with the purchase itself, no need to line the pockets of major retailers -- because you are saving the fate of rock and roll music. Do it today, do it now. Then, when the Boss is atop these same wretched charts, perhaps "the people" will remember what it's like to hear good music and Billboard, Inc. will no longer be the purveyor of the anti-Gospel. And you will no longer have to have your ears clogged with inane sounds and fury (signifying nothing) from a tall, goofy guy who looks "just like Bruce Springsteen."