“...they made me aware just how momentous music is, and why we should care.”
-Tsunami Bomb
Face it, Chi-Town. Rock music is brain dead for the most part.
A mere, lifeless vegetable.
However, comparing rock music today to the mighty vegetable is a flagrant insult to a vegetable itself! Vegetables have a variety of colors, forms and flavors; some good, some ok, and some bad. But they all have the capability of being beneficial to a person’s well being in the long run.
I can’t speak the same of the latter.
The act of producing sounds from instruments and capturing them into hi-fi or lo-fi recording is alive and well. It’s as accessible, legal and as easy to do as over-the-internet Prostitution.
Ask Eliot Spitzer.
However, the spirit and the art itself have flat-lined. Not one single, rhythmic beat to save themselves.
When this tragic episode happened is highly debatable. I remember a few years back when you could look around and still find an honest, decent musician with the heart and the open mind to create something original. Even if it was in a specific genre, at least they were willing to stretch the boundaries of that sound and try something different.
Then again, I was never a conventional thinker.
Nowadays, I can’t flip through ads without seeing a good 90% of the titles containing the words “Brutal Metal”. But this, by no means, is mentioned as a mushroom stamp of a shot at this prehistoric tribute to the discovery of music. I applause them for their extensive knowledge of cavespeak, neanderthalic grunts and playing steel strings like three elastic rubber bands on a wooden log through modern age amplification. However, not many of us speak or understand this exclusive language. At least they’re nice enough to print out the lyrics in English inside the sleeve. Unless their point is to spread the word out and educate the masses about it.
Kind of like what the Europeans did when they wanted to spread Christianity to different parts of the world. But less carnage.
Where were you when the fun had started?
Where the hell was I? I unfortunately didn’t get the memo.
Quite frankly, music has always been a product. And in the past, music has done a great job of selling itself. But now, it’s like being blindfolded to take the Pepsi Taste Challenge and someone urinating in both cups.
Record companies have become restless and hired Gepetto to stick his hand up the ass of Lars Ulrich to bitch about piracy and how it’s taking away from the business. The answer is simple: Don’t make us spend our hard-earned cash on garbage.
Many bands today choose to play their cards and present their catchiest (and sometimes only good) tune. And I agree, it’s a very wise decision.
But due to the growing number of music fans having shorter attention spans (especially for crap), they’ve had to check themselves into clinics because they’ve developed Carpel Tunnel on their thumbs from constantly pressing the “fast forward” button on their iPods.
Steve Jobst, being the genius businessman he is, knew of this. Which is why iPods need to get replaced every so often.
Besides, bands get their income from largely from touring. Newer bands rely solely on image, stage acrobats, the “whine” and the “jellyfish” prance because they all sound like carbon copies of themselves. A lot of them do flying roundhouse kicks that would make Chuck Norris blush and 1080 degree spin moves that would make figure skaters hand back their gold medals. It’s quite the spectacle and someone should please hand me a scorecard with a 10 on it if it were the Olympics. But last time I checked, I was a concert venue and I came to hear and listen to a band.
And someone please give the vocalist some Tylenol Sinus and a back brace. I think he’s being forced to sing through his nose and he seems to be walking like an invertebrate.
This kind of sad excuse for “Emo” has makes real Emo music want to commit genocide. My condolences to Robert Smith and Ian McKaye.
Some may ask why I think so highly of New Jersey’s The Gaslight Anthem. Sure they remind us of Bruce Springsteen and that New Jersey rock sound.
They also make us reminisce on how good music was and still is. They make us smile and think back to the better moments of our lives.
Shit, I’d rather pop in a Bon Jovi album and dance in front of my mirror. I’m sure John Wayne Bobbit feels more sensation than what’s being played now.
The veteran bands in community that have been left for dead and are clinging to life survive by intra-city incest and count on playing the same venues in the same places in the same city. They are the type of bands that cling to each other like osmosis and won’t go outside of the circle. And if a member were to leave the circle, his or her choices are only limited to other bands within this Pink Sock of a community. They are oblivious to the outside world and the possible talent around them.
Who said I wanted to fit in?
But I’m proud of the some of the historic bands that have influenced some of the successful bands to come out of Chicago. I salute you, Naked Raygun, 88 Fingers Louie and The Smoking Popes. Had you not existed we wouldn’t have Alkaline Trio and Rise Against, bands that still matter. However, Alkaline Trio is now a California-based band.
Very smart decision.
There’s only one time I wouldn’t mind seeing the same lineup in one venue. It’s called a legitimate tour, and I’d be a fan representing a different state other than Illinois and a different city not called Chicago.
In finding the bands that do matter you’d have to go deep into Dante’s Inferno, the community’s seven layers of Hell. You’ll find some of the best raw talent there is, regardless of the genre. These bands never make it out because they don’t have the support, know-how, money, and are being overshadowed by the dark, methane cloud farted out of the more popular bands’ asses.
Then, there are those who just don’t give a shit and would rather play dive-bars the rest of their lives. They are the best of the best.
And that’s also a scene killer.
Stay classy and effin’ fashionable,
Jimmy
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