Jamie and I were walking through Storybook Forest at Idlewild recently when we started talking about how some people were really freaked out by clowns when they were little. I never understood this fear. I always found clowns to be mildly amusing, nothing more.
But then I started thinking about some of the irrational things that scared me as a child. While clowns may not have scared me, I had more than my share of irrational childhood fears—the most absurd of which was a fear of certain TV production logos.
My mom would tell you that I didn’t watch much TV as a kid. It would be more accurate to say that I didn’t actively watch much TV. I remember the TV being on quite a bit, mainly as background noise while I was reading, writing or playing games.
Most TV shows have production logos on their closing credits, which are designed to draw attention to a company’s handiwork at a moment when many viewers might be headed for the bathroom or drifting off to sleep. These logos tend to be friendlier today, but in the ‘60s and ‘70s, they often featured stark imagery and loud fanfares that had the side effect of scaring small children.
Why I found these logos scary, I don’t know. I think it had more to do with their sound than their images. When I watch them with the sound off, the emotional impact is nil. My mind tends to remember sounds, though. I always seem to have a song stuck in my head. Now imagine that you’re five and the sound that’s stuck in your head as you’re trying to sleep is the Mark VII Limited hammer. You’re in for a long night.
But I wasn’t alone. Google “Scary TV logos” and you’ll find websites dedicated to this phenomenon. Certain logos have become so infamous that they have earned nicknames. There’s the “S from Hell,” the “V of Doom,” and “Closet Killer,” just to name a few.
So for my Halloween blog entry, I’d like to revisit some of my...uh...favorites.
An honorable mention should go to the Rankin Bass logo.
Rankin Bass was the company responsible for “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” and many other holiday claymation specials. The graphics on this logo are not especially scary, but the music is what makes it creepy. It throws a chord at you that is obviously leading up to something more, but it TAKES SO DAMN LONG TO RESOLVE! My definition of musical hell is having that chord hanging in your head forever.
Third place goes to the early ‘70s Paramount logo.
The fanfare was written by soundtrack legend Lalo Schifrin, best known for the theme from “Mission: Impossible.” He named it “Closet Killer,” which is appropriate. I once scared the crap out of myself when I was little by jumping in front of a full-length mirror in time with the climactic note (the one where they zoom in on the blue mountain). And what’s with the graphics here? I always thought that rectangle looked like a toothpaste box. (You’ll always get the yellow out when you brush your teeth with Paramount?)
In second place—the whole Mark VII Limited/Universal conglomeration.
Jack Webb must have really hated little kids. I had a strange fascination with his no-nonsense action dramas as a child (“Adam-12,” “Dragnet” and “Emergency!”). I especially remember watching reruns of “Dragnet” at my grandma’s house during the early days of cable—and being treated to this double whammy just before I went to bed.
The Mark VII Limited hammer is one of the few logos which is visually scary, in addition to the sound (does anything say “Something scary’s about to happen” like a tympani?). I remember looking at those big, dirty hands (which, according to some sources, are Webb’s) and wondering what they were going to do to me. And it was followed by a Universal fanfare that sounded like the soundtrack for the end of the world.
Is that the scariest possible end to a TV show? Hell, it isn’t even Mark VII Limited’s scariest logo! In 1971, Webb was taken over by the same demon that made everything in America either avocado green or sunset gold around that time. So out went the hammer, and in came this:
Not only is it one of the ugliest logos in history (flat gold lettering on burnt orange?), but the background music could have been titled “The House Is on Fire!” After three years of picturing flames consuming my house whenever this monstrosity came on, Webb went back to the hammer, and I was actually relieved.
And then there’s number one—the one, the only, “S from Hell.”
The Screen Gems logo was an early attempt at electronic music, which may be the reason why it’s so scary. There’s just something about that opening drone that still sends a chill up my spine, even today. Perhaps it was the contrast with the show I just watched (I always remembered this logo from lightweight fare—“I Dream of Jeannie,” “The Monkees” and “Bewitched”), but this logo just about defines late ’60-early ‘70s TV creepiness.
At least as far as TV logos go, that is. I could also write a blog entry on scary TV public service announcements, but fewer of them are available on YouTube. Maybe next Halloween.
Until then, have a blessed Samhain. And watch out for the “S from Hell.”
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Monday, October 5, 2009
That’s what makes horse racing—and Facebook
If I have learned nothing else by getting sucked into the Facebook maelstrom, I’ve gained a measure of tolerance.
As I write this, I have 291 Facebook friends, a quite diverse lot. With a few exceptions (some family, a few members of the Pittsburgh pagan community, a karaoke DJ, a few former co-workers and one current co-worker—and why can’t I hear the word “co-worker” without thinking of Pat from SNL?), they belong to one of three groups: high school, college and Mensa.
The network of people from high school has been stronger than I thought it might be. A few people that I knew well had the tendency to friend everyone they knew, and the friends-of-friends mushroomed into a full-blown class reunion. Some of them have pretty interesting stories. There are no clichés—the class wallflower didn’t become a movie star, and the class stoner didn’t become a millionaire—but many of them have become more real to me than they were when we were in school (which probably says more about me than it does about them).
Then there are the people from college. I’m surprised that few people from my college in general have come my way, but my fraternity has a strong presence on FB. While most of the Pi Siggers on FB are younger than I, hearing from any of them brings back a lot of (mostly) happy memories.
And then there are the people from Mensa, whom I am more likely to keep in touch with in the everyday world. Their names tell the story of my life over the last 10 years or so, and continue to.
It thrills me to see these groups intersect—to see my wife respond to a college friend’s comment about music, or to see a high school friend talk politics with a Mensan. As small as it may seem, I feel as if I’ve made some sort of difference.
At the same time, I have learned to tread lightly, especially in these volatile political times. I have found that many FB friends disagree with me on The Big Two—religion and politics. While my college and Mensa friends are all over the map, the high school friends, with some exceptions, tend to be more politically conservative, and more strongly Christian, than the other two groups. I do not have a problem with this as long as people keep things civil. I’m from the Rodney King School of Facebook—why can’t we all get along?
One of my recent posts illustrates what I’m talking about. There was a poll asking who the best President of the last 50 years was. I voted for Clinton—although I should note that being the best President of the last 50 years is sort of like winning the fifth race at Beulah Park.
There was a high school friend who agreed with me, as well as a Mensan. Another Mensan objected to what he saw as abuses of power by Clinton. Then another high school alum objected to the Monica Lewinsky sex scandal. It could have been a sticky situation (the Facebook thread, I mean), but I said nothing. I wasn’t looking for an argument—I just voted in some stupid poll. At one point, I felt as if I had started a bar fight and walked away. But it turned out for the best, and it made for some interesting conversation. And the high school Clinton fan wound up adding the Mensans as FB friends.
It feels pretty cool to bring people together when you don’t live in the same state.
As I write this, I have 291 Facebook friends, a quite diverse lot. With a few exceptions (some family, a few members of the Pittsburgh pagan community, a karaoke DJ, a few former co-workers and one current co-worker—and why can’t I hear the word “co-worker” without thinking of Pat from SNL?), they belong to one of three groups: high school, college and Mensa.
The network of people from high school has been stronger than I thought it might be. A few people that I knew well had the tendency to friend everyone they knew, and the friends-of-friends mushroomed into a full-blown class reunion. Some of them have pretty interesting stories. There are no clichés—the class wallflower didn’t become a movie star, and the class stoner didn’t become a millionaire—but many of them have become more real to me than they were when we were in school (which probably says more about me than it does about them).
Then there are the people from college. I’m surprised that few people from my college in general have come my way, but my fraternity has a strong presence on FB. While most of the Pi Siggers on FB are younger than I, hearing from any of them brings back a lot of (mostly) happy memories.
And then there are the people from Mensa, whom I am more likely to keep in touch with in the everyday world. Their names tell the story of my life over the last 10 years or so, and continue to.
It thrills me to see these groups intersect—to see my wife respond to a college friend’s comment about music, or to see a high school friend talk politics with a Mensan. As small as it may seem, I feel as if I’ve made some sort of difference.
At the same time, I have learned to tread lightly, especially in these volatile political times. I have found that many FB friends disagree with me on The Big Two—religion and politics. While my college and Mensa friends are all over the map, the high school friends, with some exceptions, tend to be more politically conservative, and more strongly Christian, than the other two groups. I do not have a problem with this as long as people keep things civil. I’m from the Rodney King School of Facebook—why can’t we all get along?
One of my recent posts illustrates what I’m talking about. There was a poll asking who the best President of the last 50 years was. I voted for Clinton—although I should note that being the best President of the last 50 years is sort of like winning the fifth race at Beulah Park.
There was a high school friend who agreed with me, as well as a Mensan. Another Mensan objected to what he saw as abuses of power by Clinton. Then another high school alum objected to the Monica Lewinsky sex scandal. It could have been a sticky situation (the Facebook thread, I mean), but I said nothing. I wasn’t looking for an argument—I just voted in some stupid poll. At one point, I felt as if I had started a bar fight and walked away. But it turned out for the best, and it made for some interesting conversation. And the high school Clinton fan wound up adding the Mensans as FB friends.
It feels pretty cool to bring people together when you don’t live in the same state.
Monday, September 28, 2009
The dream is over, what can I say?
I have heard it said that, if you have a hero, look again--you have diminished yourself in some way.
I was reminded of that quote last night as I finished John, the biography by Cynthia Lennon, John's first wife.
You could not have been a small child in the late '60s and early '70s--with four teenagers in the house--without becoming a Beatles fan. So it was with me. I recognized, even then, that there was something special about this band and how they covered so much ground in less than a decade. As I came of age, they became my heroes, even though the dirt on them wasn't quite hidden. I will always remember the morning I woke up and heard the news on the radio that John Lennon had been killed. I don't think there was anybody else in my school who was quite as affected by his death as I was.
I dismissed Albert Goldman's negative Lennon bio as garbage, even though I never read it and do not plan to. I have held to the romanticized ideas about the Beatles, especially John--the social activist who poured out his soul in his music.
It's obvious that any biography written by an ex-wife is going to be biased. At the same time, John shows another side of Lennon that you won't get from any Yoko-approved hagiography.
Things started out fairly well--boy meets girl in art school, boy travels to Hamburg with his band but keeps in touch, boy and girl sneak around for trysts when they can, boy gets girl pregnant while the band is on its way to superstardom, but appears ready to become a devoted husband and father. At the same time, there were flashes of jealousy and abuse, which Cynthia excused as stemming from John's abandonment by his father and the death of his mother.
Cynthia's inside view of Beatlemania was thrilling, but things began to unravel when John started using LSD, and came crashing down when he met ::sinister music:: YOKO ONO!
I have never held as much bile toward Yoko as many other Beatles fans. It's silly to singlehandedly blame her for the Beatles' breakup, as all four were going in different directions. Sure, her aesthetic sense is weird, but so what? John and Yoko always seemed like the quintessential rock 'n roll romance.
John shows the relationship as one-sided and dysfunctional. Again, you have to consider the source, but I've seen this view backed up by other sources as well. John's nickname for Yoko--"Mother"--says a lot.
The person who I felt the worst for in this book was Julian Lennon, who, in turn, wound up being abandoned by John and did not see him for several years. Feuds over money and visitation are recounted in painful detail. The most poignant quote in the book came from Julian as a child: "Why does Daddy tell people to love each other when he doesn't love me?"
John is slanted, but it represents a human reality of an artist who, I'm sure, was himself annoyed at (and ultimately died because of) his canonization. I imagine he's somewhere saying, "Well, Cyn, you got me."
I was reminded of that quote last night as I finished John, the biography by Cynthia Lennon, John's first wife.
You could not have been a small child in the late '60s and early '70s--with four teenagers in the house--without becoming a Beatles fan. So it was with me. I recognized, even then, that there was something special about this band and how they covered so much ground in less than a decade. As I came of age, they became my heroes, even though the dirt on them wasn't quite hidden. I will always remember the morning I woke up and heard the news on the radio that John Lennon had been killed. I don't think there was anybody else in my school who was quite as affected by his death as I was.
I dismissed Albert Goldman's negative Lennon bio as garbage, even though I never read it and do not plan to. I have held to the romanticized ideas about the Beatles, especially John--the social activist who poured out his soul in his music.
It's obvious that any biography written by an ex-wife is going to be biased. At the same time, John shows another side of Lennon that you won't get from any Yoko-approved hagiography.
Things started out fairly well--boy meets girl in art school, boy travels to Hamburg with his band but keeps in touch, boy and girl sneak around for trysts when they can, boy gets girl pregnant while the band is on its way to superstardom, but appears ready to become a devoted husband and father. At the same time, there were flashes of jealousy and abuse, which Cynthia excused as stemming from John's abandonment by his father and the death of his mother.
Cynthia's inside view of Beatlemania was thrilling, but things began to unravel when John started using LSD, and came crashing down when he met ::sinister music:: YOKO ONO!
I have never held as much bile toward Yoko as many other Beatles fans. It's silly to singlehandedly blame her for the Beatles' breakup, as all four were going in different directions. Sure, her aesthetic sense is weird, but so what? John and Yoko always seemed like the quintessential rock 'n roll romance.
John shows the relationship as one-sided and dysfunctional. Again, you have to consider the source, but I've seen this view backed up by other sources as well. John's nickname for Yoko--"Mother"--says a lot.
The person who I felt the worst for in this book was Julian Lennon, who, in turn, wound up being abandoned by John and did not see him for several years. Feuds over money and visitation are recounted in painful detail. The most poignant quote in the book came from Julian as a child: "Why does Daddy tell people to love each other when he doesn't love me?"
John is slanted, but it represents a human reality of an artist who, I'm sure, was himself annoyed at (and ultimately died because of) his canonization. I imagine he's somewhere saying, "Well, Cyn, you got me."
Sunday, September 6, 2009
America has been given a collective lobotomy
I cannot believe the hysteria that has overtaken America.
Less than a year after sending Barack Obama to the White House (and, yes, it was the American people that put him there, not ACORN), the American people are now intent on destroying him.
Obama is now unable to give an 18-minute address to high school kids without causing a major controversy. People are actually keeping their kids home rather than let them be infected by such socialist notions as working hard and staying in school.
This is typical:
Having to listen to what? The President talking about achieving short-term and long-term educational goals? People should be glad that the President cares enough to give them such a message.
Have parents thought about what they might be hearing from some of their own teachers? Or their peers? Nobody seems to care about that.
Really—even if Obama were part of some Communist plot, do you think he’d be stupid enough to outline it in a video shown in every high school in the country?
Or maybe these cretins still believe in the well-discredited “subliminal messages” theory. Maybe they think Obama will flash messages on the screen designed to make teenagers worship the devil or eat more popcorn.
Other Presidents have spoken at high schools. These appearances were mentioned briefly in the news and people moved on. Why is this time different?
I had great hope that America was ready to put ignorance behind it and learn how to think. I guess I was wrong.
Less than a year after sending Barack Obama to the White House (and, yes, it was the American people that put him there, not ACORN), the American people are now intent on destroying him.
Obama is now unable to give an 18-minute address to high school kids without causing a major controversy. People are actually keeping their kids home rather than let them be infected by such socialist notions as working hard and staying in school.
This is typical:
"Thinking about my kids in school having to listen to that just really upsets me," suburban Colorado mother Shanneen Barron told CNN Denver affiliate KMGH. "I'm an American. They are Americans, and I don't feel that's OK. I feel very scared to be in this country with our leadership right now."
Having to listen to what? The President talking about achieving short-term and long-term educational goals? People should be glad that the President cares enough to give them such a message.
Have parents thought about what they might be hearing from some of their own teachers? Or their peers? Nobody seems to care about that.
Really—even if Obama were part of some Communist plot, do you think he’d be stupid enough to outline it in a video shown in every high school in the country?
Or maybe these cretins still believe in the well-discredited “subliminal messages” theory. Maybe they think Obama will flash messages on the screen designed to make teenagers worship the devil or eat more popcorn.
Other Presidents have spoken at high schools. These appearances were mentioned briefly in the news and people moved on. Why is this time different?
I had great hope that America was ready to put ignorance behind it and learn how to think. I guess I was wrong.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Song parody time
I thought it was time for a song parody. Google tells me that some wingnut has beaten me to this idea (and I'm not posting the link here), but I like mine better. It's not Weird Al, but I work a lot cheaper.
BLAME IT ON BARACK OBAMA
(to the tune of "Blame It on the Bossa Nova" by Eydie Gorme)
Well, I lost my job
And my wife done gone
And she left me here
With my dog and gun
But I can’t accept
Responsibility
So I’m gonna blame that guy down in D.C.
Blame it on Barack Obama!
‘Cause my state turned blue
Blame it on Barack Obama!
‘Cause Rush told me to
Last November he carried the day
Now someone said he’ll take my guns away
Blame it on Barack Obama, the President
(Now is it the debt?) No, no, Barack Obama
(Or maybe Dubya Bush?) No, no, Barack Obama
(Or your own damn fault?) No, no, Barack Obama
The President!
Now, my friends and I,
We’re gonna have a ball
We’re gonna raise a fuss
At the old town hall
Gonna rave and rant
And get on the news
As we sing the creeping socialism blues
Blame it on Barack Obama!
‘Cause he’s African
Blame it on Barack Obama!
Just because I can
I can’t believe they voted for that clown
Why, he’s the reason why my car broke down
Blame it on Barack Obama, the President
(Is it random chance?) No, no, Barack Obama
(Or your horoscope?) No, no, Barack Obama
(Or Freemasonry?) No, no, Barack Obama
The President!
BLAME IT ON BARACK OBAMA
(to the tune of "Blame It on the Bossa Nova" by Eydie Gorme)
Well, I lost my job
And my wife done gone
And she left me here
With my dog and gun
But I can’t accept
Responsibility
So I’m gonna blame that guy down in D.C.
Blame it on Barack Obama!
‘Cause my state turned blue
Blame it on Barack Obama!
‘Cause Rush told me to
Last November he carried the day
Now someone said he’ll take my guns away
Blame it on Barack Obama, the President
(Now is it the debt?) No, no, Barack Obama
(Or maybe Dubya Bush?) No, no, Barack Obama
(Or your own damn fault?) No, no, Barack Obama
The President!
Now, my friends and I,
We’re gonna have a ball
We’re gonna raise a fuss
At the old town hall
Gonna rave and rant
And get on the news
As we sing the creeping socialism blues
Blame it on Barack Obama!
‘Cause he’s African
Blame it on Barack Obama!
Just because I can
I can’t believe they voted for that clown
Why, he’s the reason why my car broke down
Blame it on Barack Obama, the President
(Is it random chance?) No, no, Barack Obama
(Or your horoscope?) No, no, Barack Obama
(Or Freemasonry?) No, no, Barack Obama
The President!
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Not a place to hide
The 2009 Annual Gathering of American Mensa is in the books. Over 1800 people attended, many people worked really hard, and just about everybody had fun. All that, and Dr. Demento, too.
My adolescence (at least the good part of it) flashed before my eyes when the Doctor gave his presentation on his 50 years in radio. His multimedia presentation was loaded with favorites from his show, such as “Fish Heads,” “Dead Puppies,” and several tracks from Weird Al Yankovic. I revisited a musical world that I once thought was known only to me, but as I looked around the room, I saw that I wasn’t alone after all.
I was given the honor of driving Dr. D from and to the airport. The Doctor is quite reserved off the mike, a contrast to his manic radio personality. He’s still an encyclopedia of musical knowledge off the air, but my conversations with him went all over the place—his hometown of Minneapolis, a collegiate trip across the country on a Vespa scooter, his stints as a roadie for Canned Heat and Spirit, and what Barnes and Barnes are doing now.
I also caught up with many of the people who have been a big part of the story of my life over the past decade. While I haven’t had the chance to attend as many Mensa gatherings over the past two years, Mensa has been, and continues to be, the crux of my social life. I met my wife through Mensa, and we were married at a Mensa function.
I’ve often asked myself, “Why Mensa?” The easy answer is that I get along better with Mensans than I do with the general population, but that just leads to another “Why?”
Is it because I have common interests with them? To some degree, yes. Like many Mensans, I know the words (Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!) to many (He’s just pining for the fjords!) Monty (Now go away or I shall taunt you a second time!) Python routines. But I can get lost in their conversations on many other topics, just as easily as I can in a non-Mensan conversation. And not all of my interests are especially Mensan (I’m still waiting to meet another Mensan with more than a passing interest in horse racing).
Is it because Mensans are inherently kinder or more tolerant than non-Mensans? Anybody who has been involved in Mensa politics knows that’s not true. Mensans can be downright cruel at times. These are, after all, people who hooted when Dr. Demento mentioned a radio station “right here in Philadelphia.”
The other morning, I had one of what my wife calls “epiphanettes,” one of those little insights that tend to hit me when I’m not looking.
I think I found the reason why Mensa gatherings are the only place where I don’t feel like the rear end of a pantomime horse. (Enough with the Python already, Bob!)
Mensa is the only place where I don’t have to hide my intelligence.
It sounds a bit silly on the surface. Why hide your intelligence? The better question is, why show it? Sometimes I wonder why they call people of Mensan-level intelligence “gifted.” Unless that gift happens to be of a specific type that an employer is willing to pay a large sum of money for, it’s a gift as appealing as an ugly tie. The only solution for many of us is not to wear that tie.
Many people are so insecure about their intelligence that they resent the gifted. We are taught from an early age to avoid one-upping classmates, teachers, family, co-workers, and bosses in order to get along in life. Mensa is the one place where we’re able to let the geek flag fly.
One unfamiliar with Mensans might be surprised at the occupations they hold. To trot out a cliché, they do come from all walks of life. Yes, computer geeks are common. There are also lawyers, teachers, doctors, writers, scientists, plumbers, mechanics, electricians, and, yes, a now-retired adult film star. There’s one occupation that I’ve always found under-represented—college professors. (And please don’t bombard my inbox with the names of Mensan professors. I’m going by my own experience here.) My theory? They don’t need Mensa because they don’t have to hide their gifts in the real world.
So to the 1800-plus who attended the 2009 AG, I hope you had a great time. I’ll see you down the road when I have the means to come out of hiding again.
Cheerio, when the moon sails along
In your heart, sing a bright little song
Someday I’ll kiss away your troubles and woe
Cheerio, cherry lips, cheerio
And don’t forget to stay demented!
Sunday, May 31, 2009
On the death—and immortality—of rock ‘n roll
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.”
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.”
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