If Not For You

Recently, I was reminded of a conversation I had with a friend about the notion of the quintessential rock singer. I offered up Robert Plant, thinking that he embodied the bravado, swagger and throatiness that nearly every subsequent singer of the genre has tried to emulate. My friend, however, disagreed. Plant, he said, was merely emulating the old British and Irish folksingers, re-imagining and reconfiguring their earlier style. Therefore, he added, Plant could not be considered the best rock singer, since what he was really doing was amplifying folk. Well, okay then. Point taken.

Then I suggested Mick Jagger. Surely, Jagger is the rock 'n' roll singer. Again, his style is enviable and influential -- and, yes, I know that he's copying the blues singers he so admired. Jagger knew that being the leader of a rock band meant not only singing, but also scrawling; that being slightly off-key was exhilarating and subversive in its momentary messiness, and that you could hint at danger and sex while seeming innocent and sly. No, my friend said, Jagger is a blues singer. Who then, I asked, is the quintessential rock singer? My friend's answer was John Lennon.

I suppose I had never really thought about John Lennon as a rock singer. I've debated Lennon vs. McCartney as songwriters (favoring Lennon); I've admired Lennon's sense of melody, his vulnerability and his ability to sound young and old at the same time. But the more I think about it, the more I listen, perhaps my friend was right. Maybe John Lennon's voice is the quintessential voice of rock 'n' roll. It wears disguises without losing authenticity, it is everyman, one man, the singer and the serenaded; it can't be traced back to a distinct originator, it sounds brand-new and is unequalled.

Asking questions such as these -- those of essentialness -- is reductive, but also interesting. Whoever is at the nexus of our musical tastes becomes a litmus test; he or she helps categorize and map our own relationship to music. For instance, if Joe Strummer is your quintessential punk singer, your other punk records form clusters around that sound, either deviating from what you consider normative or emulating it. But if TV Smith from The Adverts or Ian MacKaye in his Minor Threat days possess the essential punk sound for you, your notion of what punk music is might be entirely different from that of the Joe Strummer person. At the very least, what typifies a specific genre for us influences our preferences.

With the clustering effect in mind, and getting back to the question of rock 'n' roll singers -- Plant, Jagger or Lennon -- I would still lean toward Plant. My notion of rock 'n' roll coheres around the Led Zeppelin sound and Plant's voice. When it comes to punk, I might have to go with Pete Shelley of the Buzzcocks. As much as I love the singing of Joey Ramone and Paul Weller, there's something about Shelley that encapsulates both the sincerity and the sneer that is punk rock to me.

This notion of essence isn't meant to leave anyone out; it's more about who opened the door to let everyone else in. So, in the various genres -- and we certainly don't have to limit it to rock and punk -- who are the singers you would consider quintessential?

5:59 PM ET | 02-25-2009 | permalink

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Friday Videos

The Go-Betweens

The Undertones

The Undertones

The Exciters

King Floyd

The Yardbirds

Family Fodder

The Libertines

Shirley Ellis

8:17 PM ET | 02-19-2009 | permalink

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Touched And Gone?

The big music news today is that Touch and Go Records is resigning its position as a manufacturer and distributor of a handful of independent labels. Here is the complete statement from T&G's Corey Rusk:

"It is with great sadness that we are reporting some major changes here at Touch and Go Records. Many of you may not be aware, but for nearly two decades, Touch and Go has provided manufacturing and distribution services for a select yet diverse group of other important independent record labels. Titles from these other labels populate the shelves of our warehouse alongside the titles on our own two labels, Touch and Go Records and Quarterstick Records.

"Unfortunately, as much as we love all of these labels, the current state of the economy has reached the point where we can no longer afford to continue this lesser-known yet important part of Touch and Go's operations. Over the years, these labels have become part of our family, and it pains us to see them go. We wish them all the very best, and we will be doing everything we can to help make the transition as easy as possible.

"Touch and Go will be returning to its roots and focusing solely on being an independent record label. We'll be busy for a few months working closely with the departing labels and scaling our company to an appropriate smaller size after their departure. It is the end of a grand chapter in Touch and Go's history, but we also know that good things can come from new beginnings."

I read the news about Touch and Go today. I was sitting in a restaurant and I checked my phone and gasped; my friend actually asked what was wrong. Something is wrong. We are careening toward a paucity of experience and a paucity of means with which to evaluate music. I mean, can we really engage with art on a Web site and in a vacuum, without ever bothering to contextualize it or make it coherent with our lives or form a community around the work? If we never move beyond the ephemeral and facile nature of music Web sites -- and let's not lie to ourselves, that's where it ends for a lot of us these days -- then that makes us worse than blind consumers; it makes us dabblers. We have become musical tourists. And tourism is the laziest form of experience, because it is spoonfed and sold to us. Tourism cannot and should not replace the physical energy, the critical thinking and the tiresome but ultimately edifying road of adventure, and thus also of life.

As for places like MySpace, they're not the enemy, they're not anathema to art, and they're places I peruse frequently. I mean, MySpace is democratic and ceaselessly available, but it is ugly -- and it's a crumb being treated like the whole wedding cake we can't stop gorging on. Are we no longer seekers of the real? Or do we only seek for ourselves without any sense that a tactile discovery is mutually beneficial? Being found is as splendid as the finding. Stumbling upon an MP3 or a blog or a Web site is only half the search. We seem to have forfeited our duties and become half-participants -- and at the cost of the creators. But we have to realize, and the Touch and Go announcement is a reminder, that in order for there to be anything left in which to participate, we have to show up. We have to show up with not just our half-selves, our virtual selves, our broke-ass selves, but with our whole selves, and in the spirit of giving. Mock participation is more than just an absence of real engagement; it is a falsehood that has allowed us to justify our apathy. When, exactly, did we stop showing up? And how long until there's not much left worth showing up for?

3:46 PM ET | 02-18-2009 | permalink

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I'm Not It, You're It

Tag is back. Remember that feeling of running around on the school playground, trying to avoid the touch of a hand coupled with the punishing, instantly miniaturizing and loaded phrase, "You're it?" Personally, I remember it well. I doled out a lot of "its" and I was branded "it" on many occasions, followed by playful hitting, petting and screaming -- all warmups to adult rituals apparently too complicated to be called tag.

To be "it" was to be noticed, but also to be cursed. As a kid, no one really wanted to be "it," but as adults, we all do. (Adults, after all, tend to focus on the being-noticed part -- "it's nice to be noticed" or "it's nice to be appreciated" -- and only remember the price of exposure as an afterthought). Now, however, thanks to Facebook, being "it" and being tagged has reverted back to the childhood version of the game; being "it" is again a duty.

You probably already know of or have read about the "25 Things About Me" lists on Facebook. Maybe you've written one yourself. For those exclusively on MySpace, or who are keeping written journals only to be read upon your death, here is the sequence of events: A friend -- or, worse, someone you've friended after meeting them once at a bar -- tells everyone facts about their life in what usually constitutes a massive over-share. Over-shares are intimate details better left for mutual drunkenness or for moments right before an amnesia-inducing head trauma. Over-sharing is a phenomenon on social networking sites (and Facebook in particular) because they conflate the mundane with the exceptional. In other words, your lunch and your herpes are practically the same thing. A Facebook status update such as "Scott is eating oatmeal" is likely to garner as least as many comments as "Eve just upped her dose of anti-depressants and is looking for a new shrink." The latter is too overwhelming, and places too much accountability on the part of the reader, whereas oatmeal is something we can benignly celebrate while maintaining the distance-masquerading-as-intimacy quality of the site.

But I digress. Back to tagging: So your friend writes 25 Things about themselves and then tags you, meaning that you're next; now you have to write your own 25 Things. The list is the ultimate chain letter, and a long stream of me me me me me me me me me. Not that there's anything wrong with sharing, divulging, confessing and declaring -- it's only the context that I find odd, and the intent. Is Facebook the world's most perfect stage, or is it just staged? I can't tell. Sometimes I think, let's meet for coffee and you can tell me the truth.

However, the '25 Things' is only the beginning. There are constantly new, seemingly endless lists that can claim you as one of their own, like 5 favorite classic-rock albums, 10 records that changed your life, what your name would be if you were a spy or a porn star or a tree. And my friend came up with one soon to catch on: 25 people you would have slept with. Will the lists and tagging ever end? Doubtful.

These days, we are almost always some version of "it," and we seem to love it. And even though I've yet to take my "it" duties to heart, at least it's got me thinking. Perhaps the words "you're it" aren't as admonishing or stifling as I originally thought; perhaps they are merely a way to keep us tethered and connected. After all, who wants to go through life untagged?

5:13 PM ET | 02-16-2009 | permalink

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Songs In The Key Of Me

Last year, I gave readers advice about what songs they should or shouldn't put on a Valentine's Day mix. This year, let's try something different.

What Valentine's Day Song Are You?

Whether or not you have a sweetheart, a secret or not-so-secret crush, an ex who you hope is as alone as you are on Feb. 14, a gas-station attendant you think is hot, an itch, an urge or a pet, Valentine's Day is a time to send a message. And, as you know, we music fans like to speak through the power of song. But what if you're not sure what message to send, or which song to use as the fulcrum for your mix? Fear not, my friends: Monitor Mix is here to help.

You are: Never alone.
Your person doesn't like you to leave the house unless it's with them. Why? What if you have fun without them? What if you uttered a sentence that they didn't hear? What if you ate a kind of food they didn't realize you liked? You speak only with the pronoun "we." As in, "We liked The Curious Case of Benjamin Button," "We are doing well, thanks," and "We were just going to the bathroom." How do you honor this blissful conjoined-ness in song? Simple!

Your songs:
Huey Lewis & The News, "Stuck With You."
The Velvet Underground, "I'm Sticking With You."

(Your song's the easy part; what will be difficult is getting a few minutes of alone time in order to make the mix.)

You are: Crushed out to the point of 2-D.
What the f--- happened to you? You're distracted, you're cruising astrology sites hoping to find one that says the two of you make a good match (you found one, it's from Croatia), you're overlooking deal-breakers like the fact that he doesn't know the difference between "their" and "they're" (you've decided that's just the elitist in you talking) or that she's never heard of Led Zeppelin. All that is totally unimportant; you're showering more than three times a week, boning up on Op-Ed pieces, flossing, trying to rotate the jeans you wear and seeing if jewelry makes a difference. You're a mess, but you love it; more importantly, you hope they love it.

Your songs:
Beat Happening, "Bewitched."
Edwyn Collins, "A Girl Like You."
Yardbirds, "Putty in Your Hands."

You are: Building a shrine to your ex for Valentine's Day.
Remember last year, and the year before that? Remember the flowers, the candy and the phone messages that you still have saved? The hand-holding, the fact that you both loved Season 2 of The Wire, the time you picked each other's back acne (a.k.a "bacne") and laughed until a little pee came out... You'd never been so close to anyone before. This Feb. 14 will be spent surrounded by old photos and a bottle or two of Maker's Mark. Make sure to send a drunken text message at around 11:55 p.m.

Your song:
Magnetic Fields, "I Don't Want to Get Over You."

You are: Happily in a relationship.
No one wants to read that.

You: Hate Valentine's Day.
Isn't the holiday associated with a massacre of some sort? You'll make sure to tell all of your married friends that. And the whole thing has really become so commercialized, don't you think? You're certainly not going to play into this mainstream capitalism bullcrap by buying flowers or chocolates; that's for sissies. In fact, you might even stage a small protest outside a Hallmark store and give the finger to a single mom peddling carnations on the side of the road. Take that! Then, on Feb. 15, you'll register on eHarmony and describe yourself as a romantic.

Your song:
An entire Nine Inch Nails album.

So, what Valentine's Day song represents you this year -- or has represented you in past years? And feel free to add songs to the categories mentioned above.

5:51 PM ET | 02-10-2009 | permalink

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Au Contraire

I am a contrarian by nature. Hardcore vegans make me want to eat raw meat and shoot deer, extreme political correctness brings out my inner crudeness and insensitivity, and when I witness public displays of affection, my instinct is to swear off dating for good. Basically, if you're doing or saying something, and you're doing or saying it LOUDLY, then chances are, I will refuse to do it or say it along with you. In fact, I might do or say the opposite. Why? Because life is more fun this way.

As a contrarian, I am hardly alone. And music contrarians make up a large portion of us. You know the ones I'm talking about, those people who can never simply agree with popular, commonly held beliefs. Someone who insists that Chad Channing was Nirvana's best drummer, that Bleach was better than Nevermind, that the answer to "Beatles or Stones?" is The Kinks, that Springsteen's Tunnel of Love is one of his finest albums, that Bootsy Collins out-funked George Clinton, or that Soul Asylum was somehow the quintessential Minneapolis band. (Really? Over The 'Mats or Husker Du?)

Contrarians get even more infuriating when it comes to members of legendary bands, often claiming that the "genius" title has been misapplied. They'll tell you that the Buzzcocks were superior with Howard Devoto as their singer, and that Pink Floyd was at their peak with Syd Barrett. But were they? Was Fleetwood Mac actually more awesome before Stevie Nicks? Is Son Volt really a better offshoot of Uncle Tupelo than Wilco?

I can't answer those questions, but a music contrarian can, and will. In fact, their argument as to why Fugazi never outshone Minor Threat or Rites of Spring will be the contrarian's calling card, their 10-minute lecture at social events and why they'll never get asked to speak at a wedding.

But why? Why must you or I or our friends resort to such puerile incantations? Merely for the sake of argument, or to assert our individuality? Do we really mean it? Do we really care? I think we do care. I think that for people whose identities have been shaped by songs -- by songwriters, by bands, by cover art, by stage banter we live by and repeat the next day to our friends; by lyrics that make absolute sense or make so little sense that we worship them all the more; by those hours of memorization and by the effort it takes to embrace music, not just momentarily but to hold onto it for life -- that is not something you give up easily or readily. You fight and you contradict the norm not just to be an ass, but to defend all that's held you up over the years. Even if you're totally wrong.

So what contradictory musical beliefs do you hold? What contrarian musical opinions do your friends or co-workers have that drive you crazy? And what contrarian arguments do you find the most ridiculous or the most valid?

-------------------------

In other news, remember when I hired a psychic to predict the year 2009 in music? Well, one of her predictions appears to be coming true.

4:10 PM ET | 02- 4-2009 | permalink

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An Ad, A Bad

Part One:

I wanted to do a quick weigh-in on my favorite Super Bowl ad. Without a doubt, it was Bruce Springsteen's advertisement for America that aired during halftime. By the end of his four-song medley, he had encapsulated all that is good about America: guacamole binges, flagrant rock maneuvers that end with a crotch crashing into a camera lens, ejaculatory fireworks, and even -- this was the best part, for sure -- a shout out to Disneyland! By the time the commercial wrapped up, I was off to buy an American flag, a bigger TV (recession be damned!) and Bruce Springsteen's new album. Now that is effective advertising!

Part Two:

A musical pet peeve of mine was illustrated the other night at the local haunt Valentine's, where a free show took place. The second band embodied what I'll call the "bassist wanted" phenomenon, which consists of a band made up of disparately styled members whose only commonality is that they all answered the same ad on Craigslist. The singer was fresh off a hitchhike from Vermont. Imagine Ben and Jerry plus that other Jerry (of the Garcia variety) all rolled into one. He was wearing pants that may or may not be called "Jams," which are made of the same fabric as your mom's kitchen towels. Roll those pants up to air out the calves, add a pair of sports socks, a T-shirt with the neck cut out, and a white knit hat that he'd borrowed from an ex-girlfriend and you get the idea. The drummer, on the other hand, was longhaired, wiry and in an Iron Maiden T-shirt. Despite the fact that the venue is the size of my living room, he beat the s--- out of his drums during the line check, an act that wasn't about illustrating his technical prowess so much as proving that he was capable of so much more than the Hootie-esque songs we were about to hear. That's right; he was auditioning. The two women in the band were right out of a musical program at a liberal arts college: a cellist who had only recently weaned herself off of Amy Grant and a keyboard player so spacey that sometimes I wasn't sure she knew the songs had even started. Then there was the electric-guitar player. Jeans around his thighs to show off his boxers, forearms ripped from years of gaming, and a look in his eyes that let me know he owns every Yes record ever made.

So, really, there were four bands on stage that night. Unfortunately, they had squeezed themselves into one. Look, I don't need every group to look like they belong together -- like The Beatles, The White Stripes or The Strokes -- but stew and slush are two very different things.

3:06 PM ET | 02- 3-2009 | permalink

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