Metamorphosis In Four Minutes

So I am back to musing about rock and roll again.

What brought this about? Well, per usual, an inspirative spark. In this case it was my drive home from work Friday afternoon when I was wrung out from eight hours of meetings and dysfunction. My brain was done; there was no more for it to give, and my only thoughts were how to negotiate nine miles of I-4 and what I was going to buy at the grocery store…and even those thoughts were hard to cull.

So I plugged my mp3 player into my car’s stereo and hit shuffle. Here was the first thing that came up –

Fuck yeah.

Where two miles earlier I was trying to not fall asleep behind the wheel, I was transformed into a head-banging, energy-overloaded pool of Angst DNA. Instead of gently trying to maneuver my car through the morass of Orlando traffic, I became an urban warrior in an up-plated Humvee, daring people to take me on.

Don’t tell my insurance company.

This is the power of music, and specifically rock and rock. Sure, all genres of music have that power and I am not trying to dis them, but rock is my drug. Case in point – my dear friend is going through a break-up, and her way of dealing with it was an evening of Mike’s Hard Lemonade, Blake Shelton and Lady Antebellum. If she was sad before, she was damn near suicidal afterwards. So in this instance her choice of country music (I’m sure the alcohol had nothing to do with it, heh) enhanced the mood she was already in.

And hey, if that’s how she wants to roll, roll with your bad self. But speaking only for myself, if I am sad the last thing I want is something that enhances the sadness. And if I am happy, I want something that makes me continue to feel happy.

Now, I can hear your fingers typing – “Ministry, Jer? Really? That makes you happy?”

Yes. Yes it does.

Why? Because it – and rock music in general – demands you to be happy. Sure, there are exceptions to this; one that comes to mind is Mumford and Sons, as they tend to get me thinking too introspectively about opportunities lost and of better times. My son played M&S as we were driving the Niagara Falls last month, on the same day we decided to call in Hospice for my mom, and halfway through the second song I demanded my son to change it to Green Day. I was not having a real good day, and Little Lion Man kept reminding me about the traumatic decision my siblings and me had to make earlier that day.

I mentioned Green Day. Virtually all their songs make me happy. The only one that doesn’t is Wake Me Up When September Ends, which is as melancholy as Billy Joe Armstrong gets. My son told me he wanted that played at his funeral; well that pretty much killed that song for me. I can’t hear it now without thinking of the awful possibility that I may have to one day bury my son.

Sorry dude, that’s not going to be my job, it will be your job to bury me.

So back to being happy (Please!). If it’s Green Day, give me Holiday (“The representative from California has the floor” – awesome interlude).

“I beg to dream and differ from the hollow lies!”

Fuck yeah. Again.

Last point. I get this sometimes – “Doesn’t angry music, like N.W.O. or Holiday, make you angry, Jer?”

Nope. It makes me move. It instills an anthemic to-the-core beat deep in my bones that manifests itself in purposeful striding and increased blood pressure. It makes me feel alive.

So take that, Lady Antebellum. And take a little Helmet with ya -

Fuck. Yeah.

Overrated

I guess I am obligated, based on recent stories; to address the category of most overrated rock bands. To recap, I exhorted on who I thought was the greatest rock band ever (The Who), which begat a story on the most underrated bands. Both of those stories were positive feel-goods, at least from my end, as I attempted to show why all the above were deserving of far more respect than they earned.

Now it’s time to flip the script.

Rock is littered with bands that achieved far beyond their talent. To be clear, I am not talking about one hit wonders here – those bands got their requisite fifteen minutes of fame then faded as they should have. Nothing overrated about the Starland Vocal Band or Bubble Puppy. They had their hit, had their time on the charts then went back to wherever they belonged…which was, not annoying us anymore.

No, I am talking about bands, some of them legendary, as the list will reveal, that in my mind fluked their way to fame. Bands that, if you dissect their work, even minimally, reveal a sham. Now, there is a common thread among the bands on this list, and that is excellent timing. Some appeared at the most opportune time and took advantage of a sentiment or a mood. Hey, cool. But do not ever confuse opportunity with talent. Cuz these bands, quite frankly, did not have much.

So here we go. I got my Hater Hat firmly planted on my head. And with a Ringo Starr (most overrated drummer) drum roll, I give you, first, the runners-up of Most Overrated Rock Bands in history:

Boston

This band roared onto the scene in the mid-70’s with a rich, deep, hard rock groove featuring double-lead guitars and the somewhat soulful voice of Brad Delp. They dominated FM radio airplay and their debut album went multi-zillion platinum. “I close my eyyyyyyes and I slip awayyyyyy….’ Then the double-leads kicked in. Infectious, soaring guitars.

Then we found out it was all manufactured in a studio. Tom Scholz was an MIT grad in Engineering who took basic guitar riffs and processed them through various electronic gadgetry, mixed it, mixed it again, then for good measure mixed it one more time before deciding it was a sound worth making money off of.

That first album had fans screaming for more. It took a couple of years for Sholz to 'manufacture' another album, Don’t Look Back, in 1978, that sounded, well, exactly like the first one. But since the debut was so good (supposedly), fans ate up the second one. They wanted more. It took eight years before they got Third Stage, which sounded, you guessed it, like the first two. The bloom was clearly off this rose. Three albums in twelve years were enough to show this wasn’t a band.

It was a science project.

The Sex Pistols

Here was a band that was the beneficiary of outrageously good timing. Coming out of Britain in 1977, they cashed in on a growing unrest among the masses due to a recession and a general distaste for the royalty over there. So they did a lot of heroin, screamed loudly, and hated everything. They didn’t do songs, they did primal rants. Zero musical value. Johnny Rotten (what an appropriate surname, even if it was concocted) couldn’t sing, Sid Vicious couldn’t play guitar, and the rest of the hacks were equally horrible.

“I-I-I am an Anarchist-ah!”

No, you suck. And it is an absolute travesty that they are in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

KISS

Y’all knew this was coming, didn’t ya? I have never been a fan of KISS, but hey, at least take comfort in knowing there is a band that I think is even more overrated than them.

But first, my case for having them here:

To be fair, KISS is a great party band. They had some anthemic songs that to this day will get people out shaking their asses. And further, they put on one hell of a show. The KISS Army is a loyal, devoted bunch.

But musically, they’re kindergarteners. Know how most rock songs are three power chords? KISS couldn’t handle three, so they reduced it to two. Really, none of them are decent musicians, as witnessed by their laughable ‘Individual’ albums of the late 70’s. Okay Ace Frehley scored a semi-hit with New York Groove, but you would think that, with four albums consisting of a combined 40-plus songs…if they were any good, there would be at least a half dozen memorable tunes there, right?

There wasn’t. Because there’s very little talent. And they also had the annoying pretense of thinking they were better than they really were. Amazing what makeup and costumes can do, eh?

And Gene Simmons is the biggest douchebag on the planet.

And now…I give you the Most Overrated Band in Rock History:

The Grateful Dead

Oh my. I can already feel the backlash. The DEAD?!? How could you?

Here’s how.

First off, TWO drummers? WHY? Look, I have listened to the Dead’s music and I have divined nothing within it so intricate that it requires two percussionists. They basically play the same damn thing anyway. My guess is one of them was their dope connection so they felt obligated.

Their musical library. Quick – name a Dead hit. I’ll give you Touch of Grey and Casey Jones. Name another one. Okay, Truckin'. This band was around for forty-plus years and nobody can tell me what was so wondrously memorable about their songs. That’s probably because their legion of followers were as drug-addled as they were.

But the real reason is, they didn’t do songs. They did impromptu jams. And that’s the defense their fans give for their supposed greatness – it wasn’t about spitting out airplay hits, it was about their concert aura, how a Dead show was the most spiritually uplifting, five-hour tie-dyed party on the planet (I am still trying to figure out which planet they are referring to). So they just went wherever the feeling (and the dope) took them. And yes, I know, the Deadheads will say that’s what made them great, and why they followed the band on their tours. No two shows were the same – in Memphis they may do a 20-minute version of I Need a Miracle, and the next night in Nashville they may extend it to 30 minutes.

What-freakin-ever.

The thing is, even those extended, boring jams were lousy. They were of high-school garage band level talent-wise. What, Jerry Garcia dropped some killer blotter acid so he thought he was suddenly Jimi Hendrix? He wasn't. Bob Weir could sing, but when they went off-script, which they consistently did since they never had a script, it just sounded like a muddled mishmash of guys trying not to overdose while performing. Having been hatched in the San Francisco Summer of Love of 1967, they caught the imagination of the times and turned it into forty years of crappy musicianship. They were the epitome of the now-tired cliché - the more you drink, the better we sound.

So there you go. Four bands that each member of should wake up each morning thanking their lucky stars that they were able to get over on the rest of the world and make a fortune being lousy.

But knowing the Sex Pistols, they’re likely just to give us the finger.

Year of the Buzzard

I see that, according to the Chinese New Year, this is the year of the Dragon. Nice. And, of course, just like the traditional zodiac, everyone who is born this year will all have the exact same personality traits.

But that’s now what I want to talk about.

I was driving down I-4 this morning listening to the only FM station that plays rock in this town, and my mind drifted back to when I was coming of age in northeast Ohio in the late 1970s. Yep, I started doing a ‘back in my day’ rant in my head, and the crux if it was how little of ‘my’ music is on the radio these days.

Getting older? Sure. But nowadays it is more about ipods and playlists and downloads and Pandora and satellite radio that customizes each person’s songs to their personal liking. Hey, technology is a wonderful thing. Digitized music shrunk down to a device the size of a credit card that can store thousands of songs. Slip it in your shirt pocket, plug in the Skullcandy and you’re good to go. Consequently, traditional FM just ain’t what it used to be. It has become the poor-man’s playlist.

This was not the case in 1978.

Back then, FM radio was the shit.

Not only because of the music (which was a huge part of it) but because that was our only true vehicle for song delivery. Oh sure, we had eight-track tapes, but any good upstanding red blooded slacker-in-training in northeast Ohio listened to one station, and one station only - WMMS 100.7. The Buzzard. The station said those call letters stood for 'Where Music Means Something'. We always said it meant 'Weed Makes Me Smile'.

The 'Buzzard' moniker predated a lot of markets that imitated WMMS by calling their station ‘The Ape of Cincinnati’ or ‘The Wolf of Kansas City’ or whatever. The Buzzard was it. They won Rolling Stone’s FM Radio of the Year award nine years straight, and for many of us late-teens with raging hormones in the greater Cleveland area, it was our mantra. The Buzzard told us what to do. Whether it was Jeff & Flash on the morning drive, Denny Sanders mid-days, Kid Leo on evening drive or the BLF Bash late nights, they summoned, we obeyed.

Kid Leo signed off at 6pm, but on Friday nights he would end a bit earlier, so that we could be treated to Murray Saul telling us that we "GOTTA GOTTA GOTTA GOTTTAGGOTTAGOTTAGOTTA GET DOWWWWN DAMMIT!" which seque'd into the same three songs - Friday on My Mind, Cleveland Rocks, and Born to Run.

BLF Bash would play Funkadelic’s Maggot Brain (the full 20-minute version) every Saturday night at midnight while he likely banged some hot groupie in the studio…or so we imagined.

WMMS was our Facebook. It was our social network that told us where to be, who to be with, and what events that were not to be missed. In 1978, to celebrate their tenth anniversary on the air, the held a free - FREE - concert featuring none other than Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band. For the months preceding it, they copiously gave away free tickets to this show, held at the Cleveland Agora, and each time they announced that the twentieth caller would win I would dial (rotary-dial phone) like mad to score those tickets. Alas, I couldn’t. But that was okay, because they broadcasted it live.

I attended college in the mornings and worked at a grocery store in the afternoons. I was in the Produce department where most of my time was spent trimming heads of lettuce, wrapping packages of plums and smoking weed out back…or in the cooler. Being out of the customer area of the store provided me the opportunity to jam out to WMMS, every day, from 3pm to 9pm. Then I would get in my 1978 Camaro Z-28, pick up a 12-pack of Genesee Cream Ale, and me and my cohorts would do whatever criminal misdemeanors we had planned that night…while listening to WMMS. It was a time of relative innocence and freedom - of That One Summer where everything was shimmeringly bright - we were old enough to get down, but young enough not to have mortgages, babies or bills.

WMMS always had the first announcement of any concert dates, and I can recall one in particular - Led Zeppelin. Their 1980 tour. WMMS announced the tour dates at the Richfield Coliseum (which has since been torn down) and how to get tickets. Due to the expected onslaught of demand for such a high-profile show, they had a special arrangement that required getting a money order and mailing it in. The day they gave out the instructions I ran down to the post office to get that money order. Yes, back in those days that’s where you got money orders. The instructions were very explicit - tickets were $30 apiece (Thirty bucks!) plus a $1.50 handling charge, so $31.50 each. I drove like a bat out of hell (Meat Loaf) to the post office ready to hand them $63.00 for my money order then straight to the mailbox.

Standing in front of me was this very cute blonde who was trying to explain to the middle-aged teller what she was trying to do - ‘Uh, they told me I have to, uh, get a $30 plus a dollar fifty, I think, money order for…’

I jumped in. I said “She's going to see Zeppelin! She heard it on WMMS! She needs a $31.50 money order! And a $63 money order for me! ZEPPELIN!!!! WOOO HOOOO!!!!”

Yeah, I tapped that.

Sadly, that tour got cancelled when John Bonhan, Zeppelin’s drummer, died of asphyxiation. He drowned in his own vomit after binge drinking. So I never got the tickets.

Looking back, that event was the beginning of the end for WMMS, and for that phase of my life. Less than a year later, I graduated from Kent State and moved away from the Cleveland area. I became an adult.

Now it's over 30 years later. I'm a middle-aged, responsible father with a mortgage and a mundane job. As I drive down I-4 towards downtown Orlando heading to work, I have WJRR blasting through the box. And I hear that Red Hot Chili Peppers are coming to the Amway Center, tickets going on sale next week.

And I think, I hope Anthony Kiedes doesn’t overdose before the show.

Most Underrated in Rock

Earlier this month I wrote a story on who I thought was the greatest band ever. The Who. Kind of surprisingly, a number of people agreed with me. I was waiting for the Led Zep legion to come out and hang me. Seems the consensus, based on my extremely small focus group of 12 followers, is that not only are The Who the best ever, but that Who’s Next was one of, if not the, greatest rock albums of all time.

Well, that’s a subject of another debate. This time I want to delve into the topic of most underrated band. The only one ground rule I had in this highly subjective competition was, it had to be someone people have heard of, so you can’t say ‘My cousin’s kick-ass garage band.’ These have to be bands that people would at least say, oh yeah…I remember them.

With that kick-off, I give you the three bands that I think truly never got the recognition they deserved. First, some Honorable Mentions:

The Spin Doctors - Awesome debut album with a quirky fun pop sound, then pfffft. What the heck happened?
Montrose - You're Rock Candy Baby...you're hot sweet and sticky. Sammy Hagar's first band.
Chicago - Never inducted in the R&R HOF, which is a glaring oversight
Midnight Oil - Most relevant Australian Band (Sorry AC/DC)
Cake - Best band you've probably never heard of

Now, I give you the three runners-up, in no particular order:

The Kinks

Okay. Everyone has heard of The Kinks. Many would even go so far as to say, “UNDERRATED? Cmon Jer…they got their due.”

I respectfully disagree.

Sure, they had longevity. Sure, they had hits – Lola, Sunday Afternoon, Come Dancing, Superman, and they even get re-relevantized every holiday season with Father Christmas (give us your money…we got no time for your silly toys…).

But my rationale for including them in this ‘Most Underrated’ category is, they gave us the best guitar riff in rock. And like most memorable rock riffs, it was simple and powerful. Five notes –

Da DADA Duh Da…Da DADA Duh Da…

Girl, you really got me now. You got me so I don’t know what I’m doing.

I just gave you an earworm and you’re tapping your feet now aren’t ya?

I rest my case.

Thin Lizzy

Trust me, this band was a lot more than 'The Boys Are Back In Town'. Led by one of the most charismatic frontmen in rock, a black-Irishman, Phil Lynott, this band had attitude. And they delivered that attitude with a tight, clean sound that had you simultaneously dancing your ass off and sticking your middle finger in the air in rebellion. Their songs were also the works of professionals of their respective crafts, that, when melded together, told wonderful tales of life in the streets, mysticism...and cowboys. 

Yes, cowboys. This is my favorite TL tune -

Sadly, their career was short-lived thus never getting the true accolades they deserved. But for a period of time, from 1975 through 1980, nobody was better. And Phil was taken from us too soon, dying in 1986 at the age of 36.

 

 

Humble Pie

Wow. What a band. They were a power punch to the solar plexus courtesy of a driving blues beat punctuated by the one-of-a-kind voice of Steve Marriott. Steve was absolutely amazing. There was no voice like his – a soaring, snarling, soulful much-larger-than-his-body where-in the hell-did-that-come-from sound of absolute joy. Nobody put more of himself or herself into a song than Steve did. Thirty Days In the Hole, Stone Cold Fever. And, of course, he didn’t need no doctor –

But it wasn’t just Steve. That band also featured a guitarist that went on the have a decent career. Guy by the name of Peter Frampton.

But the winner of The Most Underrated Band in Rock History Is…

The Dave Clark Five

The DC5 was part of the British Invasion of the mid-1960’s (that coincidentally also brought us The Who and The Kinks). From 1964 through 1968 they traded top of the chart hits with The Beatles and the Rolling Stones, churning out hit after hit – Glad All Over, Catch Us If You Can, Because, Do You Love Me, Bits And Pieces…to name just a few.

They captured the tone of that era perfectly – that mid-60’s pop sound. They were The Beatles with more ‘party’ to them – they were innovative, being the first rock band to have a saxophone player. And if you were having a party, they were the band you wanted in the house. They also introduced the concept of ‘over-modulation’ to producing, later mimicked by Phil Spector and his Wall Of Sound. That sort of almost too-loud, make the speakers shake distortion that had you reaching to turn down the volume, making you think that it’s your phonograph player with it’s crappy speakers doing the deed.

Nope, that was just the DC5 doing their thing. And doing it very well. 

What also made the DC5 beautiful was their simple message - let's have fun. There were no social statements to their music, no hidden lyrics that could only be discerned by playing the song backwards, no hidden agendas. They didn't try to make us think - they wanted us happy. Their message was this: We are gonna have a party, and we are gonna make sure every ass is shaking on the dance floor. Joy. Pure joy. Certainly what we needed as a country in the wake of the Kennedy assassination and the deepening of the Vietnam War. The world was bleak and sorrow filled the air...until the DC5 re-injected some much-needed and cathartic joy.

Their career was rather short-lived, as the psychedelic sound of the late-60’s made most people turn away from that pop sound of a few years earlier. Sadly for DC5, they weren’t some bubblegum band that should have been discarded. They were legendary, and those songs still hold up. If you disagree, give a looksee at the following, or as Dave said, WATCH ME NOW!” -

Tell me you aren’t gonna play that song at your next frat party.

They were (finally) inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 2008, about twenty years too late, which, in my opinion, cemented their status as most underrated. It took the world far too long to catch on. Tell 'em Tom -

Better late than never, for the most underrated band in rock history.

Best. Ever.

A friend of mine, a fellow Browns fan who is an entertainment writer for the Jacksonville Times, recently wrote the following article –

http://jacksonville.com/entertainment/music/2012-01-06/story/best-live-albums-70s

Interesting.

Certainly, determining the ‘best of’ anything is a dicey proposition to be subjected to much debate. It’s based on opinion, maybe a survey to get a feel for what a group of people think, whatever. And at the end of the day you take a stand, then take the criticism as it comes and defend your choices.

Well here’s my criticism. How in the hell do you not include The Who Live At Leeds?

In my opinion, Leeds was the greatest rock band at their absolute prime kicking it out without accompaniment – it was just Keith, John, Roger & Pete leaving it all out there. They ripped though their hits (at the time) of Magic Bus, Substitute, My Generation, along with insane covers of Young Man Blues and Summertime Blues. And for good measure, after an intermission they came back and did a 45-minute rendition of Tommy. With no orchestral backup. Four men with their instruments, period.

Being a child of rock, I was influenced heavily by whatever the flavor du jour was in the genre. At one time I thought Blue Oyster Cult was the shit. There was my brief infatuation with Cheap Trick until I realized that their so-called ‘talent’ was, indeed, a cheap trick. The classic bands like Led Zeppelin & The Rolling Stones certainly left huge indentations into my consciousness. The Beatles deserved their place in immortality. As I morphed into an adult, I concluded that Zeppelin was the best rock band ever. Many of my contemporaries agreed.

My brother, who was/is a musician, would shake his head at me. He’d tell me to research Zep’s music and see where it came from – it was a rehash – or straight out pilfering – of the black man’s blues. Boogie With Stu ripped off Ooh My Head by Ritchie Valens. Not much of what Led Zep was original. He then would tell me, you want original? Try The Who.

The Who was part of the second wave of the British Invasion. After The Beatles and Stones came over, The Who came over with The Kinks and Dave Clark Five in the mid-60s. They did their share of pop-tinged music to garner airplay, but there was this depth and attitude…not to mention a propensity to destroy their instruments on-stage. They were punks before there was punk.

For that matter, they were trendsetters in virtually everything they did. They had the audacity to merge the words ‘Rock’ and ‘Opera’ together by giving us Tommy and later, Quadrophenia. Synthesizers? Listen to Who’s Next – perhaps the greatest rock album of all time. Right out of the gate we get synth’d with the opening to Baba O’Reilly. Staying with that album, name me a better line than ‘If I swallow anything evil, put your fingers down my throat’ from Behind Blue Eyes. Other just fantastic cuts like Getting In Tune and Song Is Over enrich the 48-minute experience before they coda the album with the anthemic Won’t Get Fooled Again, which weaved in the synthesizers, a Keith Moon drum solo, Pete’s scissor kicks and bunny hops and Roger’s microphone spinning into a nine-minute climactic cacophony of cynical rebellion. I will always smile and grin at the change all around before I get on my knees and pray that we won’t get fooled again.

They showed their longevity by pumping out music that demanded your attention. One of my favorites is a somewhat obscure mid-70’s song off The Who By Numbers titled Slip Kid, which featured the following lyrics -

Keep away old man, you won't fool me
You and your history won't rule me
You might have been a fighter, but admit you failed
I'm not affected by your blackmail
You won't blackmail me

Right before Keith’s death in 1978 they put out Who Are You, and with that album, their immortality was solidified. My fave cut off that disc is Trick Of The Light, which describes a young man’s affection with a prostitute – ‘Did a shadow of emotion cross your face or was it just another trick of the light?’

After Keith's death they soldiered on, staying relevant with songs like Eminence Front in the early 80's, but they lost their heart and soul without Keith. They got a new drummer in Kenney Jones, who was very good, but he was no Keith Moon.

What made The Who so great? Well, it goes back to Keith. They were an ‘inside-out’ band. Most bands had the drummer keep the beat, as a person whose duties were nothing more than making sure the rest of the members had a metronome to synch to. Not The Who. Keith Moon didn’t keep a beat – that was John Entwistle’s job as bassist. Keith played ‘Lead Drums’ – listen to The Who’s songs and pay attention to that machine-gun splatter into background, and sometimes in the foreground, of Keith’s drumming. He was all over the place, yet always right there. No other band had this dynamic, which made The Who unique.

Pete didn’t so much ‘play’ a guitar as he attacked it. He played angry, and the object of his derision seemed to be that instrument slung around his neck. He treated guitars like an abusive husband treated a cowering, frightened wife. – ‘Do what I say bitch or you’re gonna get it’ – and she ended up ‘getting it’ anyway as the guitar, after its job was done, would get rewarded by having its neck impaled into a Marshall amp. Pete was saying ‘you are here to do my bidding and when I am done so are you.’

And Roger. Name me a better voice in rock.

The Who was a collection of extremely talented; one of a kind musicians that, when put together quintupled the sum of their parts. They were one of a kind innovators, who weren’t ‘one of’ the best bands in rock.

They were the best. Ever.

The Riff That Saved Rock

I love rock and roll. It is the soundtrack of, well, my life basically. Long as I can remember there was some kind of rock, whether it was bubblegum as a pre-pubescent teen, Elton John singing Rocket Man at the roller rink, or Black Sabbath groaning from my brother’s room. When I hear Maggie May I think of hitting puberty. If it's Boston's More Than A Feeling, it's copping more than a feeling from Marci Bartlett in an Ohio cornfield.

For my generation, rock was rebellion. It was a drastic left-turn away from the sound of our parent’s generation, which consisted of Sinatra and Streisand. It was mandatorily cool to rock. The fact that it got under our parent’s collective skin made it all that much better - “Turn that crap down!” was my dad’s favorite phrase when I was between 16 and 19 years of age. I sported tee shirts of all the concerts I attended - Blue Oyster Cult, Golden Earring, Deep Purple to name but a very few. It was a new, exciting sound.

I also realized that it had been around for about twenty years, having essentially started when Elvis stole the black man’s Delta Blues, swung his hips and made teenage girls cream their collective undergarments. But by the mid-seventies, it was still a fresh sound because it had regenerated itself a few times over - the British Invasion snatched the mantle from Elvis, who by then was busy making bad movies. Then the psychedelic sound reconstituted the 60s pop sound into a mind-expanding experience. The Vietnam War brought us the protest sounds of Crosby, Stills Nash & Young. And when I was in high school, Bruce Springsteen and his street troubadour style of gassing up the Chevy and getting the hell out of this dump of a town resonated with us teenagers wanting to tell our parents to shove it. Rock had a way of reinventing itself when it was necessary. 

The 1980s came and with it some new sounds - the punk scene gave us The Clash and U2, two very relevant bands that kept things tight. Then there was the synth-tinged, dancy stuff of bands like Psychedelic Furs, The Smiths and Depeche Mode. Not my cuppa tea, but still, interesting new sounds. But these sounds, in my mind, were fringe efforts. The mainstream of rock and roll was, unfortunately, starting to fall under its own collective excess. Pseudo-metal junk bands like Warrant, Cinderella and Poison were taking over the airwaves. These bands brought nothing new - they were a rehash of what was already done filled with vacuous lyrics. Springsteen talked about busting out - Warrant talked about busting cherries. Hairspray and spandex took over. It was a wasteland of cheesy music videos. Something had to give, lest the soundtrack of our lives turned into Driving & Crying or Stryper. There wasn't a decent rock song from 1987 through the end of that decade, save Guns 'N Roses. By 1990, rock was dying, being choked of all relevance and integrity.

Then, in 1991, a group of surly slackers from Seattle gave us the following riff -

Four power chords. F–B–A–D. Simple. Revolutionary.

And rock was saved. 

Suddenly spandex was out, flannel was in. Big hair was replaced by unwashed hair. Mosh pits were created. It was no longer about production; it was about plugging in the Gibson and letting it fly. Don’t need no mixing boards, don’t need no producer. Just let it rip. Keep it underproduced. Keep it raw. Keep the hairspray.

The Grunge Sound was born. Mother Love Bone begat Nirvana which begat Soundgarden which begat Pearl Jam which begat Alice In Chains. The sound spread from the epicenter of Seattle and bands like The Red Hot Chili Peppers and Stone Temple Pilots built upon its new relevance. And it was a sound that was true to the roots of rock. It was in your face without making you wince at its silliness. It had the same punch as Elvis had in 1956 when he told people not to step on his Blue Suede Shoes.

Now, I understand that many may not like Grunge. That’s cool. It is a somewhat dense, depressing sound, not conducive to dancing or picking up chicks. But it saved rock. I shudder to think what would have happened had Kurt Cobain, despite all his eccentricities, had chosen not to say ‘Fuck this shit’ and didn’t try to keep rock from careening over the cliff under the weight of its own ever-increasing irrelevance. The lyrics of Smells Like Teen Spirit may have a certain amount of WTF-ness to them, but that didn’t matter. It was the sound that mattered.

A mulatto. An albino. A mosquito. My libido.

Yeah.

How time flies. That was twenty years ago. Thus I sense that rock may be ready for another seismic shift. The novelty of Cobain’s indulgent self-pity has long worn off and has been cloned so many times that it is now just a caricature of his original. I’m sorry, but Buckcherry just doesn’t do it for me. So the time may be ripe for another guy (or gal) to take the mantle and shake us out of our complacency. It’s time for rock to reinvent again.

Kurt said it back in 1991 - Here we are now. Entertain us.

Let There Be Rock

To quote Joan Jett, I love rock and roll.

Which, I know, makes me about as unique as a grain of sand. It is the music of my generation, shared and adored by millions of baby boomers, gen x-er’s. millenials and whatever other demographic is out there of anyone under 65 years old. My son - born in 1994 - loves rock and roll, and now boasts having every Beatles song ever recorded on his iphone. Proud papa me. My song list includes the Beastie Boys, Rage Against The Machine, The Who, Korn, Nirvana, Average White Band, Soundgarden, Fatboy Slim, Prodigy...to name but a few.

Rock and roll came of age in 1995. Why? Because that’s when a Hall of Fame was opened to honor the greats of this genre, on the shores of Lake Erie in Cleveland, Ohio. That, to me, defined it's arrival - a shrine built to house the greats.

I have been to the Rock and Roll Hall Of Fame many times, and I still love going there. You are greeted by a giant ‘teacher’ from Pink Floyd’s The Wall hanging from the ceiling ever reminding you that ‘If you don’t eat your meat, you can’t have any pudding!’ The exhibits are fantastic - under glass is the original manuscript of Born To Run, written on notebook paper by Bruce Springsteen. Over there is Janis Joplin’s Mur-say-deez Benz…the Lord did indeed bought her one. In another section you get the geographical influences, from The Eagles representing SoCal to Booker T and The MG’s representing Memphis. A piece of the fuselage from the plane that Otis Redding tragically died in is on display.

However, the R&R HOF is not without controversy. There are a number of individuals/bands that have not been inducted, such as Chicago and Rush, and others that have been whose induction has been questioned, like Leonard Cohen and Madonna.

It is Madonna’s induction that seems to really make people go postal. Madonna? SHE’S NOT ROCK AND ROLL!

Okay, fair enough. Then I have one simple question for you  -

Define Rock & Roll.

What exactly 'is' it? A sound? A lifestyle? Both?

Unlike other musical genres, rock & roll really has no definition. And when you go to the R&R HOF and see the exhibits of the early influences, you see why. It was the bastard stepchild of gospel, delta blues & country, basically. Poor blacks were creating a sound that was later cribbed by Elvis Presley. Early country artists like Hank Williams (SENIOR, thank you very much) were influencing it. It even has the influences of Caribbean, Afrikaan and Big Band. Throw all that together, shake your hips violently, toss in some pyro and good drugs, and voila. Rock and roll. It's sort of like when that judge tried to define pornography by saying 'I know it when I see it'. That's rock & roll - a mindset on an individual level that changes from person to person.

So what does that have to do with the R&R HOF? Everything. Cuz that's what you find there. A little bit of everything. Including Madonna.

Because, to me, the ‘mindset’ aspect of rock & roll is, it’s an all-inclusive party. It is the furthest thing from intellectual snobbery you can find. It is come one come all, stop that grinnin’ and drop that linen, let yourself GO revelry. Rock out with your cock out. It’s a dead man’s party, leave your body at the door.

And to that I say, effin-a right. Nobody, not even the cops, was ever kept out of a rock and roll party. So hell yes. Madonna should be in there. While you’re at it, put Donna Summer in there too -  she’s up for nomination this year. I didn’t care for disco, but it got me laid. So should Donna get in I will recall my bell bottom polyester slacks, airport-hangar-wide lapel shirts, and Love Hangovers.

Just keep KISS out. Because they suck.

I still have standards, ya know.