If I Ever Lose My Faith In You

Interesting article and thread on NPR’s website today, discussing when it’s OK to bail on a once-beloved-yet-now-sucky artist and how to deal with the guilt that may arise from abandoning them. From the comments, some people view this as a silly, absurd topic. To them, music is simply another commodity in the marketplace, where no one owes anyone else any loyalty and emotion is irrelevant. One party creates the art and another consumes it, or does not, as the case may be.

At first I completely disagreed. Music is highly personal and intimate. It becomes closely affiliated with so many areas of our lives, providing the soundtrack to so much daily activity, that to disregard it as merely another commodity to be bought and sold is naïve and misguided. If you truly believe that’s all music represents, I pity you.

But then I got to thinking…

I used to be fiercely loyal to certain bands and artists, in part because I am a very loyal person by nature, but also because I used music as a way to self-identify with certain groups or tribes. By liking (or loving, or hating) a certain performer, I was setting myself apart from the rest of the crowd who was into something else. These are My Artists – those are Yours. It’s a tribal mentality that trickles down from sports fandom into music; it doesn’t translate quite as neatly to literature or film or other art forms, perhaps because bands are more relatable to us as fans than individual works of art. [Although I can get just as possessive and defensive about individual albums…but I digress.]

Case in point: I was a big Police/Sting fan throughout the 80s and 90s. Saw Sting on the Soul Cages tour in 1991 and he was tremendous. Sadly, I never got to see the Police live during their heyday – I did catch them a few years ago, but only after the wind had left their sales (pun intended) and they embarked on a lame cashing-in reunion tour (Vowels Across America 2008 – “Eeeee-AAAAAA-Oohhhhh!”) But I bought everything he/they released, always liking it and often loving it. I was totally on board for Punk Sting, Rock Sting, Ballad Sting, Jazz Sting, even Olde English Folk Sting.

But I recall thinking at the end of the 90s, after tolerating his mediocre Mercury Falling, when the Desert Rose, Sting-in-a-Jaguar ad was all over TV, that maybe I didn’t want to keep this latest Sting CD I’d purchased. It was a revolutionary thought to me, somewhat disturbing and rather sad. I had always been a fan, I had always purchased everything he released, I would always continue to purchase everything he released because it would always continue to be worthwhile, and this would always continue for the duration of our lives. Right? I really thought about my musical library in those terms; it was just anathema to think about bailing out on one of my stalwarts. Like U2 or R.E.M., Sting was central among the core group of My Artists – these were my tribal leaders, and we were bound together for the long haul. I just assumed it was a lifelong relationship I’d committed to, much like a marriage – and you don’t bail on a marriage just because things get a little rocky. Or even soft rock-y.

The thing is, Sting and I were never married. There’s no partnership here, it’s purely a one-sided relationship – and in that sense, the free-market puritans are correct. I’m the fan, he’s the artist, and while I want to be supportive, sometimes artists produce crap art. Even good artists. Even My Artists. Musicians go through phases of highly creative levels of output only to be followed by periods of creative drought, and just because you were around during the good times doesn’t obligate you to stick it out for the lousy stuff. This all seems fairly obvious now and a little silly to spell out in detail, but the first time it really hit home was when Sting dropped the turdburger that was Brand New Day (two decent songs out of ten). This was not the first time I’d been disappointed with an album – I’d been selling unwanted CDs for years. Before iTunes and the return of the single as a viable format, I was as frustrated as anyone else when forced to purchase 14 track albums with 12 songs of filler. So while I’d been painfully disappointed with an album before, rarely was it by one of My Artists.

After I accepted the notion that I wasn’t committed to purchase and retain every Sting release from now until one of us dies, it was both liberating and depressing. What had been a perfunctory, fairly rote mechanism (it’s Tuesday: check new releases, scan for familiar names, purchase familiar names, listen, assess happiness level relative to previous releases) was forever transformed. I now had to decide which records made the cut, which ones were worthy enough to pass the velvet ropes and enter the hallowed halls of my collection. Discernment takes effort and focus and a desire for greatness. When you take your collection seriously, when you entertain vague, foolish notions of future generations discovering this immaculately curated time capsule of music after you’re gone and appreciating the lengths to which you went to acquire each essential item, you view it as more museum than library. Is displaying the finest examples of a particular genre or artist more valuable in the long term than an obsession to document each and every iteration of an artist’s journey? I suppose either direction could be a worthy endeavor as a record collector. But there came a time when I had to pick one path or the other, and while most of my income in the 90s went into that wall of CDs, I reached the point where I just couldn’t afford to collect them all.

As a collector with deeply rooted completist tendencies, it’s like an irritant under the skin to know there are albums by My Artists that exist but which I do not possess. So once I relinquished the unspoken but deeply-held belief that all of My Artists are great, legendary, and historically relevant musicians worthy of complete catalogue documentation (because, you know, they’re My Artists) and accepted that they are, in fact, capable of releasing utter dreck as well as works of genius? That was a sad moment. On the one hand it’s liberating to know I’m not obligated to follow each and every flight of artistic whimsy they may pursue, but it’s mostly disappointing – and there’s a little bit of pride involved as well. The common fears of sports fandom trickle down into music fandom. You worry that perhaps you erred by picking the wrong team, siding with the inferior artist who isn’t as historic and legendary as you once portrayed them to be, casting your lot with a fallible tribe comprised of mere mortals and not rock gods. In both endeavors (rooting for a sports team and passionately following an artist), I think that’s where part of the desire for greatness enters in: you want to back a winner, not just because it’s fun but because you want to be proven correct, for your faith to be rewarded. You don’t want get to the end only to discover you wasted your life on something unworthy. You want what you’re rooting for, what you’re passionate about, to actually matter. Ultimately what you really want is to live beyond your years – so if you can’t live forever, at least the thing you loved will survive you.

The NPR discussion doesn’t address the larger question of why so many artists inevitably lose their muse. I suspect aging and the erosion of passion by the inexorable passage of time has a lot to do with it.  Or it could be that some artists only have one great record in them, despite oodles of potential. (Looking at you, Pete Yorn.) To be explored in another post…

In Defense of Dad Rock

Caught Big Head Todd and the Monsters at a Twist and Shout in-store performance this week. I’ve seen them in concert too many times to count, double digits for sure – but it had been several years, and I was anxious to hear how they sounded these days. Their CDs have been pretty hit-and-miss lately, although I liked what I’d heard of the new one so far. While the band sounded great, and Todd still has his boyish charm and infectious enthusiasm, it became painfully obvious standing amidst the 100 or so fans that we are all getting older – the band, the fans, even (especially?) the groupies. I could hear them behind me: obnoxiously giggly, WOOing during the breaks but incessantly chatty during the actual songs, arriving midway into the set yet shocked and dismayed that the show was over so soon (OMG!) When I turned around, though, I was stunned by their haggardly appearance. The clothes were tight and slinky, the hair was teased, but while one of the four was still empirically hot, the other three... I believe the phrase is ‘mutton dressed as lamb.’ Ooof. Time to let it go, ladies.

The couple in front of me had brought their roughly 8 year old daughter to the show, apparently against her will.  With Mom and Dad swaying awkwardly to the beat and flipping through the vinyl bins (‘Look honey, it’s that Flight of the Conchords show you like!’), the young girl stared up toward the ceiling with a look of resigned exasperation – ‘you can force me to listen to your stupid old folks band, but you can’t make me like it.’  Her parents both looked like experienced concertgoers, and I thought to myself, ‘they look pretty good for their age – probably, what, early forties?’ And then it hit me: I’M in my early forties. Christ! What the hell happened here?

Didn’t matter that the band sounded tight and energetic, not coasting at all. Didn’t matter that they just put out their strongest album in over 10 years. Didn’t matter that they can still cut loose and r-a-w-k. Fact is, Big Head Todd & the Monsters have gotten old, just like their fans. It’s music by dads, for dads. And while I still love it, there’s no denying that this is no longer a college band, the pride of Boulder, the standard bearers for the burgeoning music scene in Colorado. This is now a nostalgia band, playing for nostalgic fans who remember where they were when someone first handed them a copy of Sister Sweetly (‘you gotta check these guys out, they’re local and they’re awesome!’)

At some point, every generation goes through the cycle, from the latest thing to outdated to forgotten to retro to classic. It’s always easier to notice this transition from the outside – when you’re in the middle of it, it’s not nearly as apparent that the stuff you love that used to be the stuff everyone else loves isn’t loved anymore. You don’t realize how much time has passed, how trends have changed. Sure, there’s always some hot new thing coming along, but MY bands are still where it’s at.  But at some point it hits you – Sister Sweetly was over two decades ago.  High school was 25 years ago. All the things you loved, the bands and movies and sports heroes and shows and quotes and pop culture references that defined you, that you clung to as badges of honor distinguishing you and your tribe from all others… that’s all ancient history. Maybe it’ll come around again as retro or ironic or trendy – but more likely, it’s simply forgotten, culturally irrelevant to everyone who came after you. And you don’t see this shift until long after it’s already happened. But then the dinosaurs probably didn’t notice the impending comet of doom coming to wipe them out either, they always figured they’d keep on keepin’ on…

And yet there’s merit in the old stuff, the nostalgic, the retro-in-waiting. Because good music is simply good music, and quality art endures. So I don’t feel so bad about my inevitable failure to keep up with every current trend and fashion. The vapid Flavor-of-the-Month has always been with us, it just used to be called Van McCoy before it was called Wham! before it was called Chumbawumba before it was called LMFAO. Don’t get me wrong, I will always have a soft spot for cheesy, infectiously catchy pop songs. But I also strive to avoid getting stuck in the mud of the familiar and the safe, because it’s so easy to do. We all know people who found their sound (or their look) and never let it go – upon reaching a certain level of musical development and sophistication they said, ‘Yep, this is it, this is where I make my stand. Beyond here I shall go no further.’ Be it 60s folk, or 90s grunge, or all things Lynyrd Skynyrd, they found their comfort zone, and there they shall remain.

As I continue to seek out new music and new bands, I’m always digging for unheard sounds, exploring the roots and branches of artists and genres that I love, because there’s so much great music out there, from emerging artists as well as old fogies. It may not be fashionable, it may not get airplay, it may have limited appeal outside of its core constituencies, but it’s there. And I aim to bring it to the surface as often as possible. That’s what this blog is about.

As I’ve said for years, life’s too short to listen to crap music.

On tea bagging, corporate protesters, and faux outrage

Generally speaking, human beings are freaked out by change. Especially a lot of change, all at once. It's unsettling and scary, and people tend to resist it by either clinging to what is familiar or by fearing and deriding the strange new thing. This is true even when the change is needed, even when it may be essential for survival. We like routine, the familiar, the habitual. We don't like to change and grow unless we have to, because it's often painful. Obama's election signaled a shift in the social and cultural makeup of this country. We all know Obama talked ad infinitum about change during the campaign, but I don't think America totally grasped the degree of the change that was coming. (Yeah yeah, insert your 'see, told you, Obama's a secret Muslim/Nazi/Socialist/Communist' joke here.) I mean that having a black/bi-racial/non-white/non-traditional President of the U.S. is unnerving to many Americans because it strikes at the core of how they have always viewed themselves as a nation: white, Anglo-Saxon, Christian. That's the default setting in their mind. And culturally speaking, that's how it's been for a couple hundred years...but now it's shifting. The browning of America is more than underway: Caucasians will soon fail to be a majority in America and merely be a plurality (i.e. the largest of the minority groups, but under 50% population.) I think it's fair to say not everyone is cool with this happening. Doesn't mean if you're a white guy who made a sign and yelled at a rally recently that you're a racist - but if not, there's a good chance some of your fellow Tea Baggers are. Do the math.

But this isn't about being Racist! with a capital R, it's about people's fear of the unknown (change) rising up as the cultural norm that frames their world view is shifting below their feet. That it's happening at the same time as an economic meltdown turned into a vicious recession, which is coming on the heels of a difficult few years of overextending ourselves in two wars and diminished standing in the world following our misguided response to 9/11, is truly unfortunate, and I think is really the reason for such deep seated emotion being seen. America was a little shaky coming into this year, and now we're seeing the social cracks revealing themselves as more and more strain is being placed on society. I worry, if this level of vitriol and outrage is resulting over changing health care, what about changing immigration policy? Or changing our consumer and manufacturing habits regarding climate change, or our food production? We have so many major challenges facing us, all at once and all of them urgent.

I really worry about our ability as a nation to keep it together, especially since 1) neither side seems capable of listening to the other, 2) politicians and pundits seem more than willing to stoke populist fears and play on people's worst instincts, 3) most of them are funded by powerful interests who are perfectly happy raking in their profits and will fight (and spend) like hell to maintain the status quo, and 4) our media sources are increasingly parochial and insular - we keep feeding ourselves with only what we want to hear, and demonize and make caricatures of the other side, on nearly every issue. (Bush was a fascist? Obama's a Nazi, or a commie? Sotomayor's a racist? Come on. This sort of language doesn't help, it only makes things worse.) And the sad, frustrating thing is that it seems to be working - the corporate interest noise machine is not just obstructing progress by obfuscating the truth, it's poisoning the well...

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/eric-e-burns/an-open-memo-to-progressi_b_255918.html

I'm glad I'm not President because I don't have a solution, just the knowledge that nations have crumbled under lesser circumstances and there's no guarantee that the United States of America will continue to exist on this Earth forever. It's up to each generation to take action to keep it thriving and alive, and we've got to work together, as a country, as partners in a joint venture, to make it happen. I wish I saw more willingness to do that out there, both online and in the streets.

An open letter to opponents of health care reform...at least the stupid ones

I'm confused. How exactly will providing insurance coverage for the 48 million Americans who don't have it deny you your right to see your doctor when and if you wish? I still haven't heard someone rationally explain that or show me where this nefarious plot is spelled out in the proposed bill. This isn't a zero sum game where there are only so many doctor's office appointments to be had and if you don't push me aside you won't get yours. What part of 'if you like your existing insurance you can keep it' aren't you getting here?

And please stop using the Soylent Green, 'the gummint's gonna kill all the old people' argument - it's asinine and inaccurate and entirely unfounded. The power of attorney/living will section of the bill (page 425, I believe) reiterates existing legislation that provides Medicare recipients the funding to seek out counseling once every 5 years to discuss their end of life options, at their discretion. It's not mandatory, it won't force anyone to have to defend themselves in front of a death panel or any other such nonsense. It's an additional, optional benefit to Medicare recipients who may be faced with the difficult decision of whether or not to remain alive on respirators, tubes, etc. This counseling gives them the info to decide in advance which course of action they want, IF they want to take advantage of it. Sort of like deciding to be an organ donor on your driver's license. Nobody's making you do it, it's your choice. People seek out this advice all the time, but up to now many of them have had to pay an attorney out of pocket to get this advice. (Damn lawyers!) So now, it would be a government-funded benefit, see? This is a compassionate and benign measure, not a diabolical plot to kill off the sick and infirm. And to continue to use that as a tactic to scare the ignorant and fearful rather than coming up with a valid argument against reform is disingenuous at best, if not downright sinful. So stop it.

Erection Day!

Holy crap. A whole lotta shit has gone down the past few months. Seems like the world as we know it is crumbling...and there's a lot more trouble to come. Not really sure why either of these guys wants to be president anymore - this has to be the most daunting set of problems facing a new administration since FDR, maybe longer. And it's been the never-ending campaign - so thank God, Election Day is here! Hard to believe it’s finally, nearly, truly almost over. I’ve refrained from posting anything on here the past few months, choosing to vent elsewhere – Huffington Post, shooting the shit with friends, mumbling to myself while watching assorted talking heads on cable.

But now, at long last, the chance to take the one meaningful action that matters – the only thing that matters, really. Vote. Although technically I already did it – turned in the mail-in ballot in person last week, knowing I’d be spending the entire day as a poll watcher for the Democrats. And what a lonnnng day it looks to be – 6:30am until the last person votes and they tear down the site, which could be well after the polls close at 7pm. I’m thinking a 15 hour day – wahoo! But it’s a lot better than sitting at home and watching MSNBC tally the returns for hours on end – never thought I’d get to the point where I’d had enough of the campaign, but I’m just about there. (Jenny has been in awe/disgust at my capacity to consume so much election-related media.) Jesus H., let’s just vote already.

Also choosing to resist obsessing about how many things could go wrong, about the Diebold machines that Rove and Cheney programmed to cheat, about the numerous ways that voter fraud and intimidation may rear its ugly head. Choosing instead to envision just how great it will feel to win, to back the winner, and to know that the long national nightmare of W. is about to mercifully draw to a close. Not sure what I’m more excited to watch tomorrow night – Matthews and Olbermann beside themselves with glee, or the variety of assholes at Fox News trying to intellectually process an Obama victory, perhaps even a landslide/mandate. Probably the latter – exploding heads are always cool.

Thoughts on the DNC

So the Democratic National Convention is finally in town, and as fascinated as I am by presidential politics, I haven't summoned the courage to fight the traffic and head downtown yet. Curious as to what exactly the protesters are protesting, curious as to how many celebrities are cruising Larimer Square, curious to see if anyone's hiring for over-educated, under-employed interns. (Yep, still looking - and it's nearly Labor Day, how ironic. But I digress.) But so far I've avoided the whole thing, other than staying home to watch the talking heads and getting excited to see Union Station in the background. Although I haven't done much more than stick a couple yard signs out front, I do intend to get more involved in the campaign process during the next few weeks. Would hate for this whole thing to come down to swing state Colorado going for McCain by the slimmest of margins and knowing I could have canvassed more neighborhoods and made more phone calls. It amazes me that this is even a possibility - who the hell are these 45% of the voters who are supporting McCain? Even more mystifying, who are the 12-15% still undecided?? Boggles my mind. I guess people just really aren't paying attention, at all. If they were, McCain would be 20 points behind.

I grew up in Arizona, where McCain has been our Senator for many years. I disagreed with him on many issues but I always respected him, and was disappointed he didn't get nominated in 2000. (Still would have voted for Gore, but I would have thought about it.) But that was eight years ago, and something has gone terribly wrong with the man. The John McCain of 2008 is no Maverick. He has cozied up to Bush on nearly every single issue - except climate change, thankfully - and appears to have lost any sense of independent spirit or innovation. He is uninformed, dangerously out of touch for today's technology-based global economy (never uses a computer?!), and often seems confused, tired and bitter. It's sad to see - I can't remember a public figure looking and sounding more tired and worn out, a total retread of a candidate. He simply doesn't have the vision, intelligence, or judgment to lead this country in the 21st century. Obama may have some on-the-job learning to do, but I trust his judgment far more than the empty shell that once was the 'Maverick'.

Along those lines, this post really troubled me. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/chris-kelly/the-mccaine-mutiny_b_121034.html Chris Kelly is normally a scathingly funny writer, but here he pegs the current incarnation of McCain to a T, and it's frightening. Horrifying thought, really, that this guy has a serious shot at the White House - whether it's because the Democrats eventually implode due to Hillary Pumas gone wild, or Obama foolishly veering toward the center and pissing off the base when 80% of the nation thinks we're on the wrong track, or just simple, old school, redneck racist fear of some black Muslim dude with Hussein in his name. God help us...

George Carlin, R.I.P.

It's been a lousy couple weeks. First Tim Russert dies during the most exciting election cycle in recent memory, leaving our national political discourse rudderless and in the hands of hacks like Hannity and Blitzer. And now this. One of my heroes - a champion of free speech and free thinking, hilarious, offensive, challenging, brilliant, crass, depressing, and honest - is gone. God bless you George Carlin (even though you were convinced He didn't exist). You told us the truth, even when it was ugly or stupid or unpopular. You challenged us to look at the world, and in the mirror, with a critical eye. You loved language and words. You had a bullshit meter like nobody else. And you were damn funny. The world is definitely a dimmer place today without you.