Thursday, December 31, 2009

design of a decade

Last night I spent out on a beach with my boyfriend and some of our friends, including a girl named Dawn, who will use any opportunity she has to sing a song with her name in it.

We realized that it was the end of the decade, the end of an era, and so of course Dawn started singing familiar words..."this is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius!  Age of Aquarius!"  I listen to that song every so often, and yesterday it even popped up on my iPod when I was almost done running for the afternoon.

Aside from Dawn singing on the beach at night, I don't know what else to say about the end of the decade.  I'm generally obsessed with reading year-end lists - now we're supplied with end of the decade lists.  I have to say that NPR music, Paste Magazine, and yes, even Pitchfork, to name a few, have more than done their share to well, share their views on the best of the best for the decade.  And I cut off cable this year, so I haven't even seen what VH1 has to contribute to this whole mess.

And frankly?  Despite my undying love for countdowns, and my desire to make my own sort of list, I feel dwarfed and a bit overwhelmed.  As John Darnielle would say, "There's too much information in the pipes."  We have mp3s, we have blogs, we have all of the bonkers stuff this decade that just blows everyone's minds - maybe we do have TMI, generally speaking, as a culture?  Everyone gets a voice now, so how can any one person, news service, collective, or anything recall everyone's voice? 

There's just so much.  I'm pretty good at picking through and finding just what it is that I like, and pretty much sticking with that (my top, um, five? albums of the year would be pretty damn predictable), but I worry in the same way that I got self-conscious at age 13 that I didn't own enough CDs to be considered cool that I'm missing something.  These lists always give me a hefty pile of stuff to catch up on, things that I've heard a little bit of and know I would like (St. Vincent, Saint Etienne, ironically two artists with Saint in their names?), and a list of stuff I've listened to but hasn't put a serious impact on my life.  I always nod my head in agreement when I hear Sufjan Stevens, and that's about it.  

These lists always give me reason for pause.  As with the 90s, Radiohead dominates the top of these lists, and reminds me of what people used to say on Smashing Pumpkins message boards in the late 90s - I know Radiohead is the best band ever, but...what if you just don't get into them?  Really?  I'm never going to be on a long drive with a bunch of friends, cranking Radiohead and singing along at top volume.  I do, however, remember those particular trips we made singing along to Tilly & the Wall, a band I don't even know that I can safely say I like anymore, but one I will always remember fondly.

It's not so easy to put forth a list of music that really moves you.  A list of music you're supposed to like, or that had an impact on society and culture (and maybe I'm just way out of touch, but I don't know anyone except for over-arching hipsters who are into Animal Collective.  Sorry.) but to make a list of music that really moves you is not quite so easy.

I certainly have songs that define the decade for me, and many of those songs didn't happen in this decade.  Starting with simply lots and lots of Smashing Pumpkins, some more Tori Amos, David Bowie, Pat Benetar, and even some Radiohead, I can easily give you my soundtrack to the decade, both music that defined my personal as well as professional life (classical training, what what!).  Maybe I will share them at some point.  I will say that "Age of Aquarius" is on that list.

Naturally, many theoretically less commercial music providers and critiques have to press on and put great things forth, in order to ward off the coming madness of the Age of Britney and Nickelback.  Seriously, that which we refer to as mainstream radio, which is amazing in the fact that it still exists, has had the worst decade maybe ever.  And that's probably due to the fact that it's only the people who really really don't care about music still listening to any of that crap.  Those who love what they love have gone elsewhere, and to a lot of different elsewheres.

That said, tonight, since New Year's is my favorite holiday of all, I will go out and dance tonight.  But I will probably dance to some Outkast, some Killers, some Yeah Yeah Yeahs maybe, and a lot of music that didn't happen in this decade.  It's hard to instantly nostalgize yourself, and it's much more useful to know that history will be our judge.  As general world events went, it was an absolutely terrible decade, a depressing one, and one that I'm not proud of.  History is already sorting out those events.  (What's that you said in 2004?  George W. Bush would never go down as one of history's worst presidents?) 

When I worked for a teen paper in the 90s (when I was in high school), we young whipper-snappers were at a loss as how to culturally define the decade.  I don't know that I can sum up the entire 90s in one adjective, but 10 years out almost everyone has a feel for what they encompassed.  And it seemed pretty impossible for me at that time to define the decade that spanned my ages 7 to 17.  It's even harder now to span the decade of 17 to 27, and all that has grown and changed in my own life. 

But it's okay that we don't have it all mapped out.  History will tell.  And I will guarantee you that more people will be singing M.I.A.'s "Paper Planes" in 10 years than will be singing The Rapture.

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

the classics

This is something I've been thinking about for awhile.  One of those cable stations that Ted Turner owns always had a feature called, "New Classics" with movies released in the '80s or '90s that could be considered classics.  Last year, Entertainment Weekly put out a list of the best films from the last 25 years and called it their very own New Classics.  Film people seem to be doing pretty well with this process of naming new classics in their medium.  

Popular music people, on the other hand, aren't doing so well.

Why is that? 

Wired Magazine had an article around Thanksgiving time that discussed the musical misfires of this past year, and even this past decade, claiming we had no classics.  Arguably, 2009 has been a pretty damn good year for music, even as noted in the aforementioned Wired article. 

And forget what was great about the year - let's think of what we didn't have to put up with.  I'd take Taylor Swift over James Blunt anyday.  Lady Gaga may be overexposed, but upon further reading, she's got quite the  story.  I haven't seen any rap dance craze birthed this year.  Although audiences are constantly pummeled with beer commercials featuring arguably the worst rock band of the decade, if not ever, it seems as if Nickeback's star is fading.  When I look to buy notebooks at Walgreens, I see Jonas Brothers merchandise everywhere, but musically speaking?  I don't hear them anywhere.  I couldn't sing one of their songs if you asked me to, nor recognize their voices - anywhere.  And I teach middle school.  I even listen to pop radio occassionally, and I couldn't hum a Hannah Montana tune if you offered me money.  2009, strangely enough, offered hope for music and the music industry.

But we have no "classics".  The closest to a true phenomenon we've had this year as been Susan Boyle. 

At the start of last week, Carrie Brownstein wrote an excellent piece on her NPR blog about the whole world loving a record.  It responded to this idea of no new classics,  using Susan Boyle as a reference point.  And truthfully, she's right.  There are no new Beatles.  And I believe there never will be new Beatles.

This is for two reasons.  Firstly, if we look at the world of classical music and how highly certain composers are regarded, there has never been another Beethoven.  This was not only because of the quality as well as quantity of his output, but because he changed the way that music worked.  He was history's first truly successful "freelance musician".  He wrote for commissions, but he was not bound to any specific church or patron.  He was the first classical composer to truly experience freedom. 

In terms of popularity, Tchaikovsky comes close but in terms of music historians, his academic reputation is starting to grow as the tide of homophobic outcry against him fades.  Phases of music have come and gone, but in the minds of many classical music fans, music has never been better than in Bach's time.  In popularly regarded classical music, many people consider the three "Bs" to be the most important composers in history: Bach, Beethoven, and Brahms.  But while its easy for the lay listenener to recognize more than one piece by the two former composers, people most widely connect Brahms with lullabys.  The classical music world hasn't had a true phenomenon, beloved by audiences and popular culture, since Aaron Copland, and he died in 1990.  (His later work also bore more resemblence to Webern than "Rodeo".)  Let it also be known he was an American composer, and while he is extremely highly regarded here, I have no idea what his reputation is outside of this country. 

To refer again to the Beatles, we consider them the be all, end all rock band and they were truly international, but different composers (just like different pop acts) have different reputations depending on the nation.  Talk shit about Villa-Lobos in Brazil, or Edward Elgar in England, and see what happens.  And hell, David Hasseloff thinks he and his light up jacket/piano scarf combo singlehandedly brought down the Berlin Wall.

As far as "rock 'n' roll" goes, I think the Beatles were as worldwide and as well known as the musical medium will get.  We won't get beyond that.  I don't think it's going to happen.  The music industry has changed to the point that John Lennon wouldn't recognize it today.  (And I don't think George Harrrison would, either.)

Which brings to mind the question of how many albums were released in the 60s.  That's what is considered The Classic Rock'n'Roll Decade, it seems, but the avenues by which music reached the public is so different than now.  Can you imagine any rock critic coming up with 100 terrific albums that were released in 1964?  Actually, there were less than 70, and records by the Beatles, Beach Boys, and Frank Sinatra account for at least 10 of them.  In the year 2000, there were probably that many albums released in the month of May.  Pitchfork, NPR, and your average Joe Schmo record geek music blogger all pick their hundred favorites every single year now. 

Overall, tastes and genres of music have splintered so much that I think it's a nearly insurmountable task to come up with any new classic.  I can think of some songs from the last decade that can bring a room of divergent populations together.  Gnarls Barkley, Outkast, and M.I.A. come to mind -- generally speaking, rock needs to get its act together because hip-hop seems to be kicking its ass as far as uniting people. 

That said, history is also our judge.  Who would have known 20 years ago that Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'" would be the massive singalong/cultural touchstone it is now for hipsters, old folks, TV mafia men and self-absorbed MTV teenagers alike?  And in 1991, many critics were so confounded by Nirvana's success that no one would have ever thought Nevermind would now stand on a critical consensus as a "recent classic".  Would it have been had Kurt Cobain not met such an untimely end?

I don't think that we've got many classics coming down the pipeline.  Michael Jackson is dead, and people united for the sake of remembering his ouvre fondly for a month or so.  Pop radio played a song of his every hour, hipsters had not actually ironic Jackson dance parties, and pop culture literati analyzed the importance of what he accomplished both as an artist and as a marketing force.  But not for long.

Like Carrie Brownstein, I'm kind of okay with that.  My generation, coming of age here and now, has its cultural touchstones.  And various villages of tastes have their own watersheds, too.  I find it much more interesting to meet someone who loves something with the same unbridled fervor that I do, whether or not its considered a classic.  I feel that way anytime someone tells me their favorite Smashing Pumpkins album is Adore.  To me,  it's more meaningful to have a strong connection with someone who feels passionately about something rather than a loose, brief collective connection with a bunch of people who have knowledge and a somewhat superficial appreciation for something.  That's when popular culture on the whole makes amazing connections.