Something has happened to rock music. It has splintered. It has consolidated. Tastes have changed. Tastes have reverted. It has become indie, but indie is so corporate. It is anemic, juvenile, and overly concerned with the cantankerous and pontifical music blog scene. I would love to hear something—anything—that lights the mass imagination like 1987’s Appetite for Destruction by Guns N’ Roses. Drawing on such classic rock influences as The Rolling Stones and Aerosmith, It’s raw and incendiary power single-handedly brought rock-n-roll back from the brink of glam, and arguably opened the door for the grunge age to follow.
Gun’s N’ Roses was far from a pretty band, and their deeply flawed personalities, while gaining them plenty of headlines and notoriety, eventually tore them apart before they could even produce a fourth album. But it was this very quality of imperfection that drew many of their fans to them, and fueled their insanely hook-driven music. They were power-houses, rock-wise, and they left a big, gaping hole in the landscape behind them.
Sure, grunge came in and mopped up the mess GNR made with great efficacy; Pearl Jam, Nirvana, Sound Garden, and Alice In Chains hold fond places in the intelligent rock lovers memory, but when was the last time you heard a young singer say they were inspired to fucking kick the walls down by Eddie Vedder? Or of a kid driven to pick up a guitar and start wailing because of Jerry Cantrell? I’m not saying these guys weren’t good—in fact, they were (and continue to be) fairly brilliant. But one could also argue that if it wasn’t for their (at times) overly-introspective take on life, we could have avoided all this stupid fucking emo bullshit nonsense that just makes a person want to give up on life completely and listen to jazz. For instance, how influenced do you think those snotty pricks, Vampire Weekend, are by THESE lyrics:
Ya get nothin’ for nothin’
If that’s what ya do
Turn around bitch I got a use for you
Besides you ain’t got nothin’ better to do
And I’m bored
That little piece of brilliance was from GNR’s It’s So Easy, and there is something just so beautifully immediate about it’s complete lack of artistry. That’s rock and roll. Accept no imitations. Somebody out there please start making some real music again.
Philip Glass Could Have Been a Shredder
You might think from looking at the above headline that I am about to send huge props out to Philip Glass. This is not the case. If you love all things Philip Glass passionately and feel that he is the God Penis Incarnate, I suggest you move on. If you have never experienced Philip Glass, take a look at this YouTube clip of the Philip Glass Ensemble performing “Train/Spaceship” before you read any further (you won’t have to watch for long): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dl0BSh7RXPc.
Ok. Now that we have that bit of unpleasantness out of the way, let me hasten to the point. One of the issues I have always had with guitar shredders like Yngwie Malmsteen is that they tend to spew technical prowess all over the floor without actually expressing anything whatsoever. For an example, check out the two dorks below hashing it out, and pay special attention to the crazy warlock device that the uber-spaz on the left is tapping:
Sounds a little like the Philip Glass, right? At least in spirit? Am I crazy? Try this: open the Philip Glass link in a new window (turn it down halfway or so because it’s fucking LOUD), and then start playing the video clip of the dorks on this page. Dude, they fucking go together almost perfectly. Scary boring.
Technically adept musicians are always frustrated when a larger audience embraces a songwriter or group with less nimble fingers or theoretical knowledge. What escapes these discouraged players is that it is never how many notes you cram into a measure or how sick your progressions are that capture human imagination and hearts. Often times it’s not even the specific lyrics. It’s all about the expression, people. Can you translate into a few simple notes, or into a rhythmic strum, or into your voice, the plight of the human condition? Can you express sadness or joy in a way that is meaningful to another person? If you can, great. You’ve got the makings for a wider happy audience. Like an old friend of mine once said, it’s not WHAT Elvis sang, it’s HOW he sang it.
Shredders are part of the geekdome. They can catch the air on fire with the searing friction of their speedy notes, but their lack of emotional projection leave the rest of us scratching our heads and wondering what the big deal is. And Philip Glass is like this, too. Neo-classical wonks pee their pants at the thought of putting his records on at the party, but the rest of us just wish they’d get over it and put a fucking Journey record on, for the love of Christ. Yes, Steve Perry was a mega-freak, but at least we could all sing along.