Rock 'n roll these days is similar to the concept behind stonewashed jeans (the most trite and absurd and tacky of recent fashion statements). It's a way for people to buy a look of wear and tear, to look like they've been places, to appear raw and experienced when in fact they're living sheltered easy lives that afford them the capital to buy a life they'll never know except through bleach in a washing machine. It's buying life instead of living it.
MAYBE it's me, but I am so sick of sincerity in rock 'n roll. I'm not talking about the kind of sincerity that inexorably permeates your auditory system every time you listen to some vintage Stones or early Led Zep or down-and-druggy Velvet Underground or Celtic Christian Consciousness. I don't doubt that life is tough in Ireland, but U2 music is produced for maximum moving ness effect that is achieved through lots of driving thumping beats, plenty of references to a hopeless, endless search (for sincerity, it seems), and ripping guitar riffs interspersed at the right moments. One is tempted to suggest that Bono lighten up and smile for a change of scenery. If Bono could invent a barometric measure of intensity, he probably would expect that his howls and grimaces would register 100 percent pressure.
I like listening to U2 too--its really chilling, haunting stuff to the uninitiated ear. But I don't buy it. When you think about it, all this pre-menstrual screaming and yelling is reminiscent of nothing so much as the whining and complaining that we used to associate with funky female folkies. Methinks that the band doth protesteth too much, and this lack of subtlety, this blunt polemicism, can cut an album but it can't cut an attitude.
OF course, the only thing worse than copping the sincere attitude (and in the case of U2 I don't doubt it started out sincere and was eventually co-opted by the forces of commerce) is having an attitude. Enough with Sting's image as the politically correct artiste extraordinare who can rock out with the boys, jam with Black jazz musicians, do the classical thespian thing, father a host of love children and be just the eccentric country gentleman donating his time and energy to worthy causes. I mean, aren't we bohemian? Gimme a break.
THE problem here is that I am describing a relentless, insidious rock 'n roll process that happens to even those--especially those--with the best of intentions. So what's the answer.
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Sparta Michigan
Sparta Studio G Salon
www.gidgetgroendyk.com
Rolling stone magazine
Sparta town and country news
MAYBE it's me, but I am so sick of sincerity in rock 'n roll. I'm not talking about the kind of sincerity that inexorably permeates your auditory system every time you listen to some vintage Stones or early Led Zep or down-and-druggy Velvet Underground or Celtic Christian Consciousness. I don't doubt that life is tough in Ireland, but U2 music is produced for maximum moving ness effect that is achieved through lots of driving thumping beats, plenty of references to a hopeless, endless search (for sincerity, it seems), and ripping guitar riffs interspersed at the right moments. One is tempted to suggest that Bono lighten up and smile for a change of scenery. If Bono could invent a barometric measure of intensity, he probably would expect that his howls and grimaces would register 100 percent pressure.
I like listening to U2 too--its really chilling, haunting stuff to the uninitiated ear. But I don't buy it. When you think about it, all this pre-menstrual screaming and yelling is reminiscent of nothing so much as the whining and complaining that we used to associate with funky female folkies. Methinks that the band doth protesteth too much, and this lack of subtlety, this blunt polemicism, can cut an album but it can't cut an attitude.
OF course, the only thing worse than copping the sincere attitude (and in the case of U2 I don't doubt it started out sincere and was eventually co-opted by the forces of commerce) is having an attitude. Enough with Sting's image as the politically correct artiste extraordinare who can rock out with the boys, jam with Black jazz musicians, do the classical thespian thing, father a host of love children and be just the eccentric country gentleman donating his time and energy to worthy causes. I mean, aren't we bohemian? Gimme a break.
THE problem here is that I am describing a relentless, insidious rock 'n roll process that happens to even those--especially those--with the best of intentions. So what's the answer.
Tags
Sparta Michigan
Sparta Studio G Salon
www.gidgetgroendyk.com
Rolling stone magazine
Sparta town and country news
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