Some pointed comments by E-Streeter Steven Van Zandt at the SXSW musicfest have brought something to the front of my mind that has been back there among all the back issues of Spin for a while.
He’s said what many people have had on their minds for a while—contemporary pop music sucks.
You can hear it for yourself on any commercial FM station that isn’t country (don’t worry, I’ll get to country some other time)—the endless parade of rappers tossing out facile chants about partying, and dance divas bleating through synthesizers about, well, partying.
Top 40 radio never was as great as its reputation suggests (the list of great artists who have never had a Number One hit is too long to reproduce here), but it’s never been as shallow as it is now.
OK, so the Top 40 singles charts haven’t been relevant to anyone over 14 since the mid-80s. (And do they still make singles, anyhow?) You can’t use the old line that “albums are where it’s really at” anymore, either. Don’t believe me? Read this. Of the top 20 best-selling album artists, the only ones who are worth a damn are a band that broke up when I was four and a dead country singer. OK, The Dixie Chicks get points for chutzpah, and sometimes I’ll throw Metallica in there, too, but still…
So, after reading Miami Steve, I’ve been all over the web, reading articles from pundit after pundit prattling about the sorry state of pop music and/or the death of rock ‘n roll.
I have come to two conclusions.
1) Rock is dead.
2) Rock is not dead.
Let me explain.
Almost from its inception, rock has been about more than music. It was a state of mind, an attitude. In the public eye, it was more about youth and rebellion than the music itself.
If you doubt this, watch any documentary about the history of rock ‘n roll. Which are you more likely to see—a music theory professor talking about the blues scale and power chords, or naked girls dancing in the mud at Woodstock?
Rock, the attitude, has been dead for a long time, for a simple reason—old age.
Rock’s audience is older, and its fans are, more often than not, those in power in our society. Kids can’t rebel by listening to their parents’ music, so it’s no accident that many of them now prefer rap and hip-hop. But corporations have discovered that teenagers now have much more disposable income than they had in the early days of rock ‘n roll and are more than happy to give them a place to dispose of it. That’s why so much music aimed at youth today comes across (at least from my more adult perspective) as slick, false, and as menacing as a Muppet.
But then there’s the music itself. Shorn of its controversies and politics, a lot of good music has been released under the general banner of “rock,” and there will be more to come. You just won’t see it on a list in Billboard.
Rock has started to assume a place in American culture similar to jazz. Both come from a rich musical tradition and, while they have both been popular in the past, are now less accessible to the masses. But while they are not as popular, they’re both far from dead.
Rock is still around, in small clubs, on independent labels, and in the hearts and minds of all those who love it. As someone posted on Yahoo! Answers when posed with the “Is rock dead?” question: “If you’re listening to it, no.”
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Everyday I face the book
One thing I have noticed is that this blog often does not live up to the subheading.
It reads, "Politics, Culture and Whimsy from a Chipped Chopped Mind." It often seems as if there isn't enough whimsy here. I often think I would like to just babble, do a Jack Kerouac "first thought, best thought" thing. So that's what I'm doing now.
I could go back to mondegreens. Those seem to get a lot of hits, but not one-tenth as many as the Fall Out Boy video. Everybody loves the luleelurah.
I have been accused of making up my mondegreens after the fact. But the mondegreens are exactly as I heard them, although most of them I misheard when I was little. I thought of this one tonight:
WRONG: One little wrong brings home the food that the children never remove
RIGHT: One little wrong brings all the gloom, sends a chill in every room
"Chip Chip," by ?
(The original "Chip Chip" was by Gene McDaniels, but my mondegreen was from a cover version by a female country singer in the early '70s. I don't know the singer, and Google's been no help. Readers? Bueller?)
Then there are those mondegreens which can only be described as Dada:
WRONG: To St. Tiffany I want to pray
RIGHT: When I see Mary Ann walk away
"More Than a Feeling," Boston
St. Tiffany? Not to be confused with St. Taffy, patron saint of the peter pull.
The problem is that a lot of things don't seem funny. Then again, almost anything can seem funny to some people. In my family, we made jokes about serial killers at the dinner table. John Gacy--now that guy was a real laugh riot. I heard he recited the 23rd Psalm while strangling people. And dressed as a clown to boot.
I've been on Facebook a lot lately, discovering a lot of people from high school and college, many of whom I barely knew back then. There's a link to this blog on my profile page, so I can't say anything about what a dork that one guy is...you know who you are...
It certainly is an eclectic group, full of Christians and Jews and pagans and atheists. No Zoroastrians. Yet. There are screaming liberals like me and some right-wingers who....are entitled to their opinion....(cough!) There are gays and grandmothers, Methodists and Mensans, Pittsburgh Steelers (and even some Browns) fans and people who think "first down" is something a gosling has.
And all of them have some connection with me, even though I wouldn't recognize many of them if I were in the same room with them. This is Your Life, Bob Fritz! Do you recognize this voice? Uh...no....
Ah, the power of the Internet. It can make even a nerd feel popular.
It reads, "Politics, Culture and Whimsy from a Chipped Chopped Mind." It often seems as if there isn't enough whimsy here. I often think I would like to just babble, do a Jack Kerouac "first thought, best thought" thing. So that's what I'm doing now.
I could go back to mondegreens. Those seem to get a lot of hits, but not one-tenth as many as the Fall Out Boy video. Everybody loves the luleelurah.
I have been accused of making up my mondegreens after the fact. But the mondegreens are exactly as I heard them, although most of them I misheard when I was little. I thought of this one tonight:
WRONG: One little wrong brings home the food that the children never remove
RIGHT: One little wrong brings all the gloom, sends a chill in every room
"Chip Chip," by ?
(The original "Chip Chip" was by Gene McDaniels, but my mondegreen was from a cover version by a female country singer in the early '70s. I don't know the singer, and Google's been no help. Readers? Bueller?)
Then there are those mondegreens which can only be described as Dada:
WRONG: To St. Tiffany I want to pray
RIGHT: When I see Mary Ann walk away
"More Than a Feeling," Boston
St. Tiffany? Not to be confused with St. Taffy, patron saint of the peter pull.
The problem is that a lot of things don't seem funny. Then again, almost anything can seem funny to some people. In my family, we made jokes about serial killers at the dinner table. John Gacy--now that guy was a real laugh riot. I heard he recited the 23rd Psalm while strangling people. And dressed as a clown to boot.
I've been on Facebook a lot lately, discovering a lot of people from high school and college, many of whom I barely knew back then. There's a link to this blog on my profile page, so I can't say anything about what a dork that one guy is...you know who you are...
It certainly is an eclectic group, full of Christians and Jews and pagans and atheists. No Zoroastrians. Yet. There are screaming liberals like me and some right-wingers who....are entitled to their opinion....(cough!) There are gays and grandmothers, Methodists and Mensans, Pittsburgh Steelers (and even some Browns) fans and people who think "first down" is something a gosling has.
And all of them have some connection with me, even though I wouldn't recognize many of them if I were in the same room with them. This is Your Life, Bob Fritz! Do you recognize this voice? Uh...no....
Ah, the power of the Internet. It can make even a nerd feel popular.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Whose American Dream?
The American Dream. It’s a phrase that’s thrown around a lot every day, although few people can tell you what it really means.
Wikipedia defines it thus:
Wow. Just reading that took my breath away. Well, not literally, but you get the idea. But since the phrase was coined in 1931, its meaning has been bastardized beyond recognition.
The next time you hear “The American Dream” used in the media, pay close attention to how it’s being defined. It’s usually used by a newscaster while footage of some housing plan loaded with ugly McMansions is being shown. The voice-over will say something like, “The cost of the American Dream just got higher today….”
That’s right—the American Dream has been narrowed down to owning a house. Where in the above definition does it say anything about owning a house? Why is it assumed that the goals in life are always material?
The need to survive being what it is, many goals are material, but does that mean the media should be in the business of creating false needs on top of the real needs that are already breaking people’s backs?
Perhaps it’s time to sit back and assess what this American Dream really is.
An idea that has become analogous to The American Dream is the “Horatio Alger story.”
The phrase “Horatio Alger story” comes, strangely enough, from stories written by Horatio Alger, which, allegedly, concern poor boys that become rich through hard work and clean living.
That’s how Alger’s stories are perceived today, mainly because few people currently living have actually read them. Most of the protagonists do not become rich, nor is hard work the main reason for their character development:
So that’s what they called it back then…
Today many of us try to live out a “Horatio Alger story,” overextending ourselves in order to gain wealth or status—to live The American Dream.
Maybe this American Dream is nothing more than a misinterpretation of the works of a 19th-century pulp novelist.
Wikipedia defines it thus:
The American Dream refers to the freedom that allows all citizens and all residents of the United States to pursue their goals in life through hard work and free choice.
Wow. Just reading that took my breath away. Well, not literally, but you get the idea. But since the phrase was coined in 1931, its meaning has been bastardized beyond recognition.
The next time you hear “The American Dream” used in the media, pay close attention to how it’s being defined. It’s usually used by a newscaster while footage of some housing plan loaded with ugly McMansions is being shown. The voice-over will say something like, “The cost of the American Dream just got higher today….”
That’s right—the American Dream has been narrowed down to owning a house. Where in the above definition does it say anything about owning a house? Why is it assumed that the goals in life are always material?
The need to survive being what it is, many goals are material, but does that mean the media should be in the business of creating false needs on top of the real needs that are already breaking people’s backs?
Perhaps it’s time to sit back and assess what this American Dream really is.
An idea that has become analogous to The American Dream is the “Horatio Alger story.”
The phrase “Horatio Alger story” comes, strangely enough, from stories written by Horatio Alger, which, allegedly, concern poor boys that become rich through hard work and clean living.
That’s how Alger’s stories are perceived today, mainly because few people currently living have actually read them. Most of the protagonists do not become rich, nor is hard work the main reason for their character development:
“However, it is not the hard work and clean living that rescue the boy from his situation, but rather a wealthy older gentleman, who admires the boy as a result of some extraordinary act of bravery or honesty that the boy has performed. For example, the boy might rescue a child from an overturned carriage or find and return the man's stolen watch. Often the older man takes the boy into his home as a ward or companion.”
So that’s what they called it back then…
Today many of us try to live out a “Horatio Alger story,” overextending ourselves in order to gain wealth or status—to live The American Dream.
Maybe this American Dream is nothing more than a misinterpretation of the works of a 19th-century pulp novelist.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Why do you think they call it trivia?
Last weekend, I took part in something called CultureQuest, which has nothing to do with yogurt or strep throat.
Instead, it is a 90-minute test of "cultural literacy" (a term for people who are too prissy to call it trivia) among teams representing Mensa chapters across the U.S. and Canada. Do you know the eight countries in “The Group of Eight”? Or what characteristic makes the Ferruginous Pygmy Owl ferruginous? Do you care?
I have played on CultureQuest teams for two different Mensa chapters over the past few years, and we have, more often than not, managed to earn a few bucks for the chapter—which is good, because all this knowledge should be worth something.
It’s fun, it’s not a bad way to spend a Sunday afternoon—but with every passing year it means less to me.
When I was younger, trivia contests were what I was all about. I was a terrible athlete, had no real talent that went beyond the high school marching band—but I never met a state capital that I couldn’t name.
So, I was a natural for “In The Know.” You might know it by a different name in your town, but the principle is the same—a TV show where teams from two high schools answer trivia questions.
I was always pumped for each game, because it was my chance to shine. The results were all too predictable. My school would win one or two games each year, and then lose to a school where people besides me took the game seriously.
Since there are no professional trivia teams, my spotlight disappeared once I left high school (although, for several years afterward, I would often overhear kids in my neighborhood mumble something about “In The Know” whenever they saw me), but that didn’t stop me from wanting to reclaim it. I would play along with “Jeopardy!” whenever it came on. People in the room would usually say one of two things. One was “Shut up!” The other was “You should get on that show.”
I had my chance to get on a quiz show a few years ago when tryouts for “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?” came to Pittsburgh. I made it all the way to the final interview, but was not chosen.
Why? I think it might have had to do with my answers to a questionnaire where I was supposed to tell the producers about myself, recount interesting things I’ve done, tell them about my most embarrassing moment, and so on. It was then that I realized that I’ve led a pretty boring life.
You’ve seen the interviews with game show contestants where they tell the host about the time they were almost thrown in jail in Mexico or climbed a mountain in the Alps. My most embarrassing moment involved pissing off a state driving examiner. Not exactly something that’s going to keep people from switching over to SportsCenter.
The contestants may be lying through their teeth, but their stories are interesting, so they make for good TV. TV game shows aren’t about being smart. They’re about being entertaining.
Which is just as well, because life is no longer a trivia contest for me. I would like to see a game show full of information that is truly relevant. “If you had to be late with one of these payments, which one would it be—house, car, or credit card?” Now that’s important information. How about, “In a job interview, what is your response to, ‘What is your greatest weakness?’”
Forget being a millionaire. I’m just glad I’m not a slumdog.
Instead, it is a 90-minute test of "cultural literacy" (a term for people who are too prissy to call it trivia) among teams representing Mensa chapters across the U.S. and Canada. Do you know the eight countries in “The Group of Eight”? Or what characteristic makes the Ferruginous Pygmy Owl ferruginous? Do you care?
I have played on CultureQuest teams for two different Mensa chapters over the past few years, and we have, more often than not, managed to earn a few bucks for the chapter—which is good, because all this knowledge should be worth something.
It’s fun, it’s not a bad way to spend a Sunday afternoon—but with every passing year it means less to me.
When I was younger, trivia contests were what I was all about. I was a terrible athlete, had no real talent that went beyond the high school marching band—but I never met a state capital that I couldn’t name.
So, I was a natural for “In The Know.” You might know it by a different name in your town, but the principle is the same—a TV show where teams from two high schools answer trivia questions.
I was always pumped for each game, because it was my chance to shine. The results were all too predictable. My school would win one or two games each year, and then lose to a school where people besides me took the game seriously.
Since there are no professional trivia teams, my spotlight disappeared once I left high school (although, for several years afterward, I would often overhear kids in my neighborhood mumble something about “In The Know” whenever they saw me), but that didn’t stop me from wanting to reclaim it. I would play along with “Jeopardy!” whenever it came on. People in the room would usually say one of two things. One was “Shut up!” The other was “You should get on that show.”
I had my chance to get on a quiz show a few years ago when tryouts for “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?” came to Pittsburgh. I made it all the way to the final interview, but was not chosen.
Why? I think it might have had to do with my answers to a questionnaire where I was supposed to tell the producers about myself, recount interesting things I’ve done, tell them about my most embarrassing moment, and so on. It was then that I realized that I’ve led a pretty boring life.
You’ve seen the interviews with game show contestants where they tell the host about the time they were almost thrown in jail in Mexico or climbed a mountain in the Alps. My most embarrassing moment involved pissing off a state driving examiner. Not exactly something that’s going to keep people from switching over to SportsCenter.
The contestants may be lying through their teeth, but their stories are interesting, so they make for good TV. TV game shows aren’t about being smart. They’re about being entertaining.
Which is just as well, because life is no longer a trivia contest for me. I would like to see a game show full of information that is truly relevant. “If you had to be late with one of these payments, which one would it be—house, car, or credit card?” Now that’s important information. How about, “In a job interview, what is your response to, ‘What is your greatest weakness?’”
Forget being a millionaire. I’m just glad I’m not a slumdog.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Personal responsibility
Pittsburgh is not the first place most people would guess that a tragedy like last week’s shooting, which left three police officers dead, would occur, let alone the relatively quiet neighborhood of Stanton Heights.
While most of us were shocked by what happened, what will happen from here is all too predictable. The accused gunman, Richard Poplawski, will have his day in court, during which he will have a free public soapbox for his ridiculous conspiracy theories. He will then have 10 or 15 years to write his book, and then, as a prosecutor on "Law and Order" once put it, there’s that pesky needle.
Much has been said in the media about Poplawski’s easy access to a variety of guns and extremist media. It’s enough to make you think that the Bill of Rights—or at least its first two amendments—might have been a bad idea.
But the problem isn’t too many rights—it’s not enough responsibility.
There is the Second Amendment guaranteeing the American public’s right to keep and bear arms (although nobody seems to quote the part about the “well regulated militia”). I have no problem, in general, with someone wanting to own a gun, but I don’t understand the fascination with guns—and I find the whole fanatical “from my cold, dead hands” gun culture creepy.
Poplawski, with a less-than-honorable discharge from the Marines and a restraining order from a former girlfriend, was able to buy four weapons, including an AK-47, from a local gun store. And nobody saw anything wrong with this picture?
If I walked into a bar visibly drunk, the bar could not legally serve me another drink. If I claimed that I had a Constitutional right to one more beer, nobody would take me seriously. Yet nobody questions why someone with danger all over his past would want an AK-47.
Then there is the First Amendment—the right to free speech. I’m a former journalist, so you won’t find anybody more opposed to censorship than I.
But it’s hard to ignore that two major influences on Poplawski are right-wing crank Alex Jones, who alleges that FEMA (an agency barely capable of handing people bottles of water) is building concentration camps, and Fox News’ Glenn Beck, who disseminates nightly lies about President Obama. Not to mention Poplawski’s frequent visits to hate sites such as Stormfront.
But we know what will happen. The Becks and Hannitys and Limbaughs will all throw Poplawski under the bus. “Don’t blame us. That’s not what we meant. Don’t censor us over the actions of a lone nut.” Nobody is talking about censorship—but shouldn’t media outlets accept some responsibility for the messages they send?
“Personal responsibility” has long been the mantra of right wingers, especially when they want to berate some alleged “welfare queen.”
It’s time for the right wing to accept some personal responsibility of its own.
While most of us were shocked by what happened, what will happen from here is all too predictable. The accused gunman, Richard Poplawski, will have his day in court, during which he will have a free public soapbox for his ridiculous conspiracy theories. He will then have 10 or 15 years to write his book, and then, as a prosecutor on "Law and Order" once put it, there’s that pesky needle.
Much has been said in the media about Poplawski’s easy access to a variety of guns and extremist media. It’s enough to make you think that the Bill of Rights—or at least its first two amendments—might have been a bad idea.
But the problem isn’t too many rights—it’s not enough responsibility.
There is the Second Amendment guaranteeing the American public’s right to keep and bear arms (although nobody seems to quote the part about the “well regulated militia”). I have no problem, in general, with someone wanting to own a gun, but I don’t understand the fascination with guns—and I find the whole fanatical “from my cold, dead hands” gun culture creepy.
Poplawski, with a less-than-honorable discharge from the Marines and a restraining order from a former girlfriend, was able to buy four weapons, including an AK-47, from a local gun store. And nobody saw anything wrong with this picture?
If I walked into a bar visibly drunk, the bar could not legally serve me another drink. If I claimed that I had a Constitutional right to one more beer, nobody would take me seriously. Yet nobody questions why someone with danger all over his past would want an AK-47.
Then there is the First Amendment—the right to free speech. I’m a former journalist, so you won’t find anybody more opposed to censorship than I.
But it’s hard to ignore that two major influences on Poplawski are right-wing crank Alex Jones, who alleges that FEMA (an agency barely capable of handing people bottles of water) is building concentration camps, and Fox News’ Glenn Beck, who disseminates nightly lies about President Obama. Not to mention Poplawski’s frequent visits to hate sites such as Stormfront.
But we know what will happen. The Becks and Hannitys and Limbaughs will all throw Poplawski under the bus. “Don’t blame us. That’s not what we meant. Don’t censor us over the actions of a lone nut.” Nobody is talking about censorship—but shouldn’t media outlets accept some responsibility for the messages they send?
“Personal responsibility” has long been the mantra of right wingers, especially when they want to berate some alleged “welfare queen.”
It’s time for the right wing to accept some personal responsibility of its own.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Who pays for infallibility?
I’m not Catholic, I certainly don’t play one on TV, nor did I stay at the Vatican Holiday Inn Express last night. The closest I’ve come to being Catholic is rooting for Notre Dame.
At the same time, several of my family members are Catholic, and one of the best friends of my family is a priest who used to come to the house to give communion to my Irish Catholic grandmother. When it comes to Catholicism, I may be on the outside looking in, but I’m standing pretty close to the front window.
Since I’m not bound by Catholic teachings, papal pronouncements about such things as birth control usually strike me as quaint and easily dismissed. But a recent pronouncement by Pope Benedict XVI makes me wonder just how much of a grip he has on reality.
During his recent trip to Africa, the Pope went one step beyond his usual opposition to birth control to make the claim that condoms make AIDS worse. Abstinence is, of course, the only way to go in his universe.
He said this to a continent where four out of every five AIDS infections occur, over 20 million people are infected with the disease, and over 20 percent of adults in three countries.
He said this to a continent where some people believe a legend that says that sex with a virgin will cure AIDS. This has resulted in the wholesale rape and infection of children.
And yet, the Pope is leading the continent on a course that will surely lead to more disease and death in order to attempt to adhere to someone’s centuries-old interpretation of the Bible.
Whether abstinence is a worthy goal, I’ll leave up to you, but any idea based on asking people to avoid normal mammalian behavior is dicey at best—and, in this case, deadly.
But wait! Why am I wasting my time with this entry? This isn’t really about AIDS or abstinence or condoms. It’s about a church that, once again, has to maintain its image of infallibility by, once again, not knowing to admit when it’s wrong.
It took the Catholic Church 400 years to apologize to Galileo.
Africa can’t wait that long.
At the same time, several of my family members are Catholic, and one of the best friends of my family is a priest who used to come to the house to give communion to my Irish Catholic grandmother. When it comes to Catholicism, I may be on the outside looking in, but I’m standing pretty close to the front window.
Since I’m not bound by Catholic teachings, papal pronouncements about such things as birth control usually strike me as quaint and easily dismissed. But a recent pronouncement by Pope Benedict XVI makes me wonder just how much of a grip he has on reality.
During his recent trip to Africa, the Pope went one step beyond his usual opposition to birth control to make the claim that condoms make AIDS worse. Abstinence is, of course, the only way to go in his universe.
He said this to a continent where four out of every five AIDS infections occur, over 20 million people are infected with the disease, and over 20 percent of adults in three countries.
He said this to a continent where some people believe a legend that says that sex with a virgin will cure AIDS. This has resulted in the wholesale rape and infection of children.
And yet, the Pope is leading the continent on a course that will surely lead to more disease and death in order to attempt to adhere to someone’s centuries-old interpretation of the Bible.
Whether abstinence is a worthy goal, I’ll leave up to you, but any idea based on asking people to avoid normal mammalian behavior is dicey at best—and, in this case, deadly.
But wait! Why am I wasting my time with this entry? This isn’t really about AIDS or abstinence or condoms. It’s about a church that, once again, has to maintain its image of infallibility by, once again, not knowing to admit when it’s wrong.
It took the Catholic Church 400 years to apologize to Galileo.
Africa can’t wait that long.
Friday, February 27, 2009
The 15 albums that changed my life
This is one of many silly exercises that’s been going around Facebook ever since old fogeys like me discovered the site, and I find the idea very intriguing. But I maintain that most people who post their lists, as the lolcats would say, r doin it rong.
Most of the lists I’ve seen are just lists of people’s favorite albums—which is just fine, but it doesn’t answer the question.
Anybody can make a list of their favorite albums. I’ve done it several times. But the exercise is asking you to list those albums that changed your life in some way. The idea that a collection of songs could somehow change you from a crack addict to the CEO of a Fortune 500 corporation is absurd. By “changing your life,” I’ll settle for something along the lines of introducing you to a certain type of music, helping you get through a particularly difficult time, or providing the soundtrack for an important or happy time in your life.
They do not have to be your favorites. They may not even be albums you like. There are titles below that I don’t own on CD—and don’t really care to.
1. The Archies
Some of the most dishonest of these lists contain only albums from artists who’ve been around over the past 10 years or so. Which means that the writers apparently listened to no music until about 10 years ago. I asked myself, “What was the first pop music you remember hearing?” That’s why this list starts with the cartoon avatars for a group of nameless session musicians singing facile odes to young love. This was my introduction to pop music. I could have done a lot worse.
2. The Beatles (the “White Album”)
This was my introduction to adult pop music, and what an introduction it was. The White Album is often docked for being a sprawling, disorganized mess, but that’s what great about it. Consider that the Paul wrote both “I Will” and “Helter Skelter”—and that John wrote both “Happiness Is a Warm Gun” and “Julia.” Did any other band cover so much ground in so short a time?
3. Elvis’ Golden Records, Elvis Presley
I was too young for all the hysteria that accompanied Elvis’ entry into the national consciousness, but this album made me feel as if I’d been there. It contains the first evidence that proved that Elvis was The King.
4. Rubber Soul, The Beatles
It’s hard to believe now, but when I was little, any rock music that came out between, say, 1955 and 1966 was considered too sweet for more “modern” tastes. Even The Beatles seemed like two different bands to me then—the cute mopheads who sang “She Loves You” and the post-Sgt. Pepper group that my grandpa called “long-haired hippies.” This album showed me that the early incarnation had just as much substance as the late one—arguably, more.
5. My Aim Is True, Elvis Costello
This was the first album I bought with my own money. I was 12. I’d seen Costello on Saturday Night Live and read a glowing review of this album in Hit Parader, so I knew I had to get it. It introduced me to a wonderful world of music that I wasn’t about to hear on Top 40 radio—and a lot more than music, but more about that later.
6. Let There Be Rock, AC/DC
I could have picked any Bon Scott-era AC/DC album, but I chose this one because I gained the nickname “Angus” in high school for playing the opening riff to “Whole Lotta Rosie” on the piano when I entered the band room. The name stuck with me well into college. Musically, it was heaven for a 15-year-old boy—three chords, basement sound, and lyrics full of unsubtle sexual metaphor. But it showed me that rock, above all else, should be fun.
7. John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band, John Lennon
I first heard this album not long after Lennon died, and I still feel its impact. Here was a Beatle—a fucking Beatle!—going through the same kind of pain I went through in adolescence. From his unstable childhood to the Beatles’ breakup, it’s all right here. Sort of like a celebrity reality TV show, except it’s real.
8. The Doors
Like most public school educated 16-year-olds, I couldn’t tell the difference between stoned gibberish and real poetry. I thought Jim Morrison was a poet, and it wasn’t long before I thought I was one, too. Thanks a lot, Jim. But Ray Manzarek’s mesmerizing keyboards and the album’s overall spooky vibe keep me coming back to this day.
9. The Best of the Manhattan Transfer, The Manhattan Transfer
A college roommate had this cassette. It always brought me peace when I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown—which was about three times a week. Their a capella version of “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” still sends a chill up my spine. This record taught me that rock ‘n roll’s not the only music that can save your soul.
10. Shadowland, k.d. lang
lang was the first artist I discovered completely on my own, without the recommendation of a friend or music critic. I first saw her on the Tonight Show, singing “Tears Don’t Care Who Cries Them.” I thought, “Well, she’s weird looking, but damn!—what a voice!” And the rest of this CD is just as stellar.
11. My Favorite Things, John Coltrane
I bought this around 1990 or so, but it would be years before its impact would become apparent. It was the first jazz CD I owned, and it was an anomaly in my collection for years (in my traveling CD case, it’s on the same page with Nirvana and the Sex Pistols). But it presaged a time when rock would no longer be my basic unit of musical currency.
12. The Velvet Underground and Nico
As clichéd as the word “mind-blowing” is, it fits here. Heroin, sado-masochism, you name it—Lou Reed can write a song about it without flinching. Rock has many poets, but Reed might have been its first journalist.
13. Nevermind, Nirvana
I had abandoned contemporary rock during the hair-band era in favor of country and ‘60s classic rock. Hair metal struck me as phony and formulaic, and I wondered if rock wasn’t finally dead after all. This CD brought me—and the world—back to rock ‘n roll.
14. BloodSugarSexMagik, Red Hot Chili Peppers
I think this was the first CD I bought that bore a Parental Advisory sticker. Between its f-bombs and its hot mix of punk and funk, it was a great introduction to the freewheeling aesthetic of ‘90s alternative-rock culture.
15. When I Was Cruel, Elvis Costello
While it was Costello’s best record in years, it changed my life for more personal reasons. I mentioned on a Yahoo! group that I was about to see Costello on his tour supporting this CD. This started an extended conversation with Jamie, the woman who would become my wife.
Most of the lists I’ve seen are just lists of people’s favorite albums—which is just fine, but it doesn’t answer the question.
Anybody can make a list of their favorite albums. I’ve done it several times. But the exercise is asking you to list those albums that changed your life in some way. The idea that a collection of songs could somehow change you from a crack addict to the CEO of a Fortune 500 corporation is absurd. By “changing your life,” I’ll settle for something along the lines of introducing you to a certain type of music, helping you get through a particularly difficult time, or providing the soundtrack for an important or happy time in your life.
They do not have to be your favorites. They may not even be albums you like. There are titles below that I don’t own on CD—and don’t really care to.
1. The Archies
Some of the most dishonest of these lists contain only albums from artists who’ve been around over the past 10 years or so. Which means that the writers apparently listened to no music until about 10 years ago. I asked myself, “What was the first pop music you remember hearing?” That’s why this list starts with the cartoon avatars for a group of nameless session musicians singing facile odes to young love. This was my introduction to pop music. I could have done a lot worse.
2. The Beatles (the “White Album”)
This was my introduction to adult pop music, and what an introduction it was. The White Album is often docked for being a sprawling, disorganized mess, but that’s what great about it. Consider that the Paul wrote both “I Will” and “Helter Skelter”—and that John wrote both “Happiness Is a Warm Gun” and “Julia.” Did any other band cover so much ground in so short a time?
3. Elvis’ Golden Records, Elvis Presley
I was too young for all the hysteria that accompanied Elvis’ entry into the national consciousness, but this album made me feel as if I’d been there. It contains the first evidence that proved that Elvis was The King.
4. Rubber Soul, The Beatles
It’s hard to believe now, but when I was little, any rock music that came out between, say, 1955 and 1966 was considered too sweet for more “modern” tastes. Even The Beatles seemed like two different bands to me then—the cute mopheads who sang “She Loves You” and the post-Sgt. Pepper group that my grandpa called “long-haired hippies.” This album showed me that the early incarnation had just as much substance as the late one—arguably, more.
5. My Aim Is True, Elvis Costello
This was the first album I bought with my own money. I was 12. I’d seen Costello on Saturday Night Live and read a glowing review of this album in Hit Parader, so I knew I had to get it. It introduced me to a wonderful world of music that I wasn’t about to hear on Top 40 radio—and a lot more than music, but more about that later.
6. Let There Be Rock, AC/DC
I could have picked any Bon Scott-era AC/DC album, but I chose this one because I gained the nickname “Angus” in high school for playing the opening riff to “Whole Lotta Rosie” on the piano when I entered the band room. The name stuck with me well into college. Musically, it was heaven for a 15-year-old boy—three chords, basement sound, and lyrics full of unsubtle sexual metaphor. But it showed me that rock, above all else, should be fun.
7. John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band, John Lennon
I first heard this album not long after Lennon died, and I still feel its impact. Here was a Beatle—a fucking Beatle!—going through the same kind of pain I went through in adolescence. From his unstable childhood to the Beatles’ breakup, it’s all right here. Sort of like a celebrity reality TV show, except it’s real.
8. The Doors
Like most public school educated 16-year-olds, I couldn’t tell the difference between stoned gibberish and real poetry. I thought Jim Morrison was a poet, and it wasn’t long before I thought I was one, too. Thanks a lot, Jim. But Ray Manzarek’s mesmerizing keyboards and the album’s overall spooky vibe keep me coming back to this day.
9. The Best of the Manhattan Transfer, The Manhattan Transfer
A college roommate had this cassette. It always brought me peace when I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown—which was about three times a week. Their a capella version of “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” still sends a chill up my spine. This record taught me that rock ‘n roll’s not the only music that can save your soul.
10. Shadowland, k.d. lang
lang was the first artist I discovered completely on my own, without the recommendation of a friend or music critic. I first saw her on the Tonight Show, singing “Tears Don’t Care Who Cries Them.” I thought, “Well, she’s weird looking, but damn!—what a voice!” And the rest of this CD is just as stellar.
11. My Favorite Things, John Coltrane
I bought this around 1990 or so, but it would be years before its impact would become apparent. It was the first jazz CD I owned, and it was an anomaly in my collection for years (in my traveling CD case, it’s on the same page with Nirvana and the Sex Pistols). But it presaged a time when rock would no longer be my basic unit of musical currency.
12. The Velvet Underground and Nico
As clichéd as the word “mind-blowing” is, it fits here. Heroin, sado-masochism, you name it—Lou Reed can write a song about it without flinching. Rock has many poets, but Reed might have been its first journalist.
13. Nevermind, Nirvana
I had abandoned contemporary rock during the hair-band era in favor of country and ‘60s classic rock. Hair metal struck me as phony and formulaic, and I wondered if rock wasn’t finally dead after all. This CD brought me—and the world—back to rock ‘n roll.
14. BloodSugarSexMagik, Red Hot Chili Peppers
I think this was the first CD I bought that bore a Parental Advisory sticker. Between its f-bombs and its hot mix of punk and funk, it was a great introduction to the freewheeling aesthetic of ‘90s alternative-rock culture.
15. When I Was Cruel, Elvis Costello
While it was Costello’s best record in years, it changed my life for more personal reasons. I mentioned on a Yahoo! group that I was about to see Costello on his tour supporting this CD. This started an extended conversation with Jamie, the woman who would become my wife.
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