Hello, everyone.
This is a very special and odd edition of “Totally True Tune Tales.” See, I typically alternate this column with “Summertime Blues, News, and Reviews,” which is replete with such lovely favorites as Band vs. Band where I compare/contrast two artists, and Your Band Here where I give props (or boo loudly) unsigned acts. I was all set to go hog wild on the latter, as I have about twenty bands backed up to review. And I mean, I was all set. The layout is done and everything.
And then, badness: MySpace is not loading anything whatsoever for me.
I love you, MySpace. Really, honestly, I do.
So there went my column.
And then I was all like, “well gee whiz, I could write about extra news items! Won’t that be lovely?”
Have you seen the news today? This week? In the last month? It’s pitiful. There is nothing worth mentioning and it’s a disgrace to all real news in this world that anyone should care.
And so, until such time that the Internet stops ruining my columns and the real world starts being more interesting, I’m going to have to get a bit more… creative.
POINT ONE: MY LOCAL MUSIC SCENE
I have mentioned early and often that I make trips to the Minneapolis/St. Paul area on a regular basis, and that I frequent shows there. There are some amazingly innovative sounds from this home of Prince, and I simply have not stopped enjoying the experience. However, I’m frequently reminded that I am indeed a girl from Dubuque, Iowa. There is music here, too, as much as I try to pretend there is not.
The majority of musicians here perform covers. That is just plain lovely. What a jukebox could do to raise money for the bar is instead being blown on some second-rate hacks who spend more time bitching about the monitors than actually playing memorable hits for everyone to love. Oh, and the memorable hits come flowing faster than Busch Light on tap; younger bands are working the Audioslave and Sum 41, guys in their ’30s are still working off the popularity of Matchbox 20, and the older dudes are trying to rouse Beatles singalongs. This isn’t counting the country cover bands that run the entire age span. There’s not a displeasingly non-top 40 song to be found in the bunch. Drunk people eat this shit up because, hey, they’re drunk, and that’s my town.
However, there are some bands here who play originals. Unfortunately, their influences seem rather off. There’s a plethora of death metal type bands, or Slipknot ripoffs, or hardcore knockoffs, or some sort of bastard conglomeration of all three. It’s a hopeless effort to fit the current trends in metal. It’s mostly hopeless because these kids don’t know much at all about recording, production, or making themselves sound good. They have no idea how to promote themselves, how to create a market, or how to draw in folks who wouldn’t normally gravitate towards them. Instead, they play for the same group of friends who tell them how much they rule instead of looking for some good advice on how to improve and someone to point out what they’re doing wrong. Lovely.
Other originals bands include a whole lot of folk music. Now, yes, we are a land of cornfields and general tendencies toward hippie non-commericialism. Unfortunately, the same problem befalls these folks as the metal kids. They focus on what has already been done and try to re-create it in their own voice. There is no desire here to upset the status quo or to go out on a daring limb. Each song is as mellow as the last, busting out the occasional rip roarin’ folky rousing cover to get the place clapping hands and tapping feet as they drink, drink, drink. It gives people the feeling that they’re in the land of intellect when really they’re in the exact same pit of mediocrity as their hard rocking compadres.
What can be done? I suggest trucking in bands from a 250-mile radius and anyone in this town with talent, get the hell out while you still can.
POINT TWO: WHY THE MUSIC VIDEO REALM IS SO ENRICHING
I’m a big fan of VH1 Classic. I enjoy watching decades-spanning chunks of music videos. It doesn’t matter if it’s the ’70s hour or if it’s the gothy alternative stuff. It’s a fix of delicious high from my youth when I would wake up super early in the morning to sneak watching MTV because I wasn’t allowed. I can finally see all of the things I once missed, and then some. All of this with little interruption by short-speaking VJs.
In fact, VH1 Classic has done some incredible things to me. I regularly watch with a pad of scrap paper nearby to take notes of which bands I need to investigate. Sure, I’ll see videos that I saw a hundred times growing up, but I nearly always see things I have never seen before. Particularly in the ’80s hours, I am frequently blasted with obscenely obscure garbage that damn near brings a tear to my eye. Oh, it’s certainly not all good to say the least. But it’s the idea that there are so many things I missed, so many things out there that I would at least like the opportunity to discover… I want it all, and I want it now.
And there’s always a side to a song to discover when you see its video for the first time, particularly if you’re already familiar with the tune. For crying out loud, I’m a late bloomer to a lot of the synthpop I love so dearly; it was mostly the advent of Napster and dating a couple of people with odd tastes years ago that turned me on to Depeche Mode and a hundred smaller bands of its ilk. Given that I was barred from MTV until I was about 12 years old, there’s a good chunk of new wave years that I missed completely. It’s amazing when songs I have grown to adore on mixes and blasting from my car are now rediscovered for me in the music video medium. It’s a whole new world, Aladdin-style.
This can be a great thing. See: “Fish Heads” by Barnes & Barnes.
This can be a really bad thing. See: “Come On Eileen” by Dexy’s Midnight Runners.
I’m eating it all up with a fork and spoon as quickly as I can get it into my system. Syringes, snorts, you name it. I want to ingest all music media in every form imaginable, and I want to do it right now. For me, it’s the next best thing to an orgasm. So, thank you, VH1 Classic. You will help make me die happy.
POINT THREE: THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN CRITIQUE AND FANBOYISM
You know who I like? I like Samantha Fox. I totally adore her music. It’s awful and I don’t care. I love it. But on a scale of 1-10, she never rose above a 4, ever. She used sex as a marketing tool with some really terrible music underneath it. But I love her to pieces.
You know who else I like? Phil Collins. I try to tattoo that onto my hands and such and everyone thinks I’m crazy, but goddamn it, I love me some f*cking Phil Collins. For crying out loud though, he made “Sussudio.” What the f*ck is “Sussudio”? Nobody knows, nobody cares. It’s something to sing. You know, he did some great work with Genesis and he did some legitimate crap with Genesis. Same with his solo career, which has gotten completely awful after 1991. Still, I will blast these godawful songs because they sound good. They make me happy. I dance a little and his warm, limited voice is soothing like a hug from my grandma. I know most of his music is trash pop. I know that critically, only 20% of his output is worth any sort of accolade, and I don’t even listen to a lot of that 20%. I like the tripe. I don’t know why, but I just do.
And then there’s The Doors. I hate The Doors. And I dislike most of The Who, too. The Eagles can totally bite my crank. It’s crap, all crap. The Velvet Underground? A couple of neat songs, the rest… ugh. Neil Young can go sing about the needle and the damage done to someone else who cares. And I have absolutely zero patience for The Smiths, well, maybe aside from a song or two.
But Styx? Bring me a big ol’ pile of that delicious, cheesy-ass Styx. BECAUSE IT’S YOUUUUU, BAAAAAABE, WHENEVER I GET WEARY AND I’VE HAAAAAAAD ENOOOOOUGH, FEEL LIKE GIIIIIIIVING UUUUUUUP.
It’s in our nature to hear something and like it. It doesn’t matter whether it’s artistically sound. Sometimes it just “has a good beat and I can dance to it.” Sometimes it’s a culture, like a posse of Juggalos, who don’t care about pop sensibility or any sort of talent whatsoever. Music is music and it’s a hell of a lot more to us than just the art. It’s a mood, it’s a feeling, it’s something we can relate to and it’s a friend who understands our pain. That doesn’t make it quality, but it certainly makes it worth something.
It’s okay to be a fan. It’s okay to like something that is sub-par intellectually. We are not created to be super snobs of the highest order, we are emotional beings who have random likes and dislikes. This should never be a judge of true quality, but recognized for what it is. Pet Sounds will always be near the pinnacle of artistic godliness, but I guarantee more people are enjoying Nelly right now. And that’s okay, just as long as you can tell the difference and not mistake your personal preferences for quality.
POINT FOUR: I DON’T HAVE A POINT FOUR
The trunk contains sex toys, including handcuffs. Quid pro quo, care to talk surgery?
What satisfaction is left when all you do tells everyone you’re acting untrue,
–gloomchen
