The new, old, and all that is in-between

The all too rare moments of lucidity share many qualities with that of a slow drip percolator. E-mails flash constantly on my screen, and car alarms whistle outside my window, and I seem to have succumbed to that general malaise of the mid-year (-ish), in which insight seems to be an elusive companion. We sit amidst the racial mutterings of our delightfully entertaining politicians, spouting rhetoric for both the right and left dependant on whomever happens to be listening, and the grumbling of the Americans as an environmental disaster that "could have been prevented" oozes towards their shorelines. It is astonishing how often there appears to be an answer available long before the question was asked, but which was not quite prevalent at the necessary time. And honourable mention must go to the damp squib that is the British political system, which, to quote Pete Townshend, constitutes another circus of "Meet the new boss, the same as the old boss". A gloriously astute remark, and one which is far more dese
rving of him than the regretful, "I hope I die before I get old".

In a quite apt turn of events, then, a song off the new Ted Leo & the Pharmacists album, The Brutalist Bricks, piqued my interest:
              Well, didn't you look sharp with your boots
              When you met me on the path?
              From Two-Tone to Downtown Beirut, but only half-way back
              Stealing bits of wisdom from the shelf
              Turned prisons to prisms on the self
              And what do they know about the springtime of me and you
              Born in the midst of the long hot summer we lived through?
              Did they see you run for every rhyme?
              Did we run for running out of time?
 
             When even heroes have to die,
             No one lives forever, Love
             No one's wise to try

             Adding our own wisdom to the shelf
             And stealing bits of paper, we had health
             But working away, did we miss the passing of the time?\line
             In your own flame you can wither, through your passions still outshine

             And did you read the writing on the wall?
             Prophesying a doom upon us all
             That even heroes have to die,
             No one lives forever, Love
             No one's wise to try
             But hidden in the writing on the wall
             Many are the beauties of the fall

It is a mark of a good song which is able to reveal a myriad of possible meaning, such as to evoke a response across history, experience and emotion. In a further turn of events, I found myself watching Hackers, which constituted an easy excuse for an indulgence in nostalgia, for those that may remember it. Shockingly, and perhaps, unsurprisingly, this constitutes a horridly dated artifact. The obvious problems that are presented by displaying "cutting edge" technology to a future audience are prominent - "It's six times faster than a Pentium" - but beyond this, it reflected all those hallmarks of the early to mid-90's. A curious display of manga inspired fashion, combined with charity shop ingenuity, and all of the angst and paranoia that was so proudly instilled within the many youths. It was so much of it's time that it cannot do anything other than remain there. A cruel criticism, perhaps, but where I became intrigued as to how one draws this into the realm of our everday consumption of popular culture. 

To refer specifically to the world of music, the chosen sphere of existence will delineate where the goals lie. By this, I mean that if an artist is seeking to appeal to the teens, then the music must be geared to that target market. Consider whether the current popularity of Justin Bieber is likely to continue - certainly, the idea is laughable, and can be immediately dismissed. In all likelihood, and I speak only from his current trajectory, chances are highly probably that he can only become a sort of Britney Spears character, although, hopefully, one that avoids the fate that all that have been thrust forward too young are confronted with. He may be a celebrity who has made a lot of money - and who possibly continues to sell a lot of records- but for that very reason, a curiousity that is "just there". It is familiar but only to those of us within this particular moment, and thus, will be superceded by whatever is to come next. This is not to say, however, that the willfully obscure will escape any other fate, as they too exist somewhere on the same strata, although for different reasons. Their success lies in the devotion of the few, who will recall fondly the scene, but will find it fades outside of its original context. It may be argued that this is beside the point, as there was no original context, and that it was highly personal from the outset, but I leave this aside.

I do not want to be mistaken for advocating that we should all settle for the middle ground of classic rock as the only the indelible mark upon our listening habits. To the contrary, some rely heavily upon specific genres as a mark of identity, and take great solace in being able to elicit something therefrom. It can be a part of a person, even if it carries with it the condemnation of being berated by a child for awful "taste". It remains to everyone to have those movies, or songs that reflect something of a childhood, or a life experience. For that reason, it remains a cherished aspect of that person, and it is completely irrelevant whether the future has overtaken it, or whether it is, by any standards of evaluation, just bad. It may be true to say that the true value in music, books and films are in their ability to be shared, and perhaps not in sheer merit. Perhaps one cannot understand the item itself, but one may be able to grasp its significance to another.

It may be pointed out, however, that merit must have a part, as (and this is inescapable) there is much placed before the masses that is just plain terrible. This has led to the quite commonly expressed idea that "the music died with the close of the 60's", which many will, quite rightly, bristle at. It is a patently absurd reason to ignore all that has come since. I do not argue that the 60's were not a wellspring of astonishing creativity and quality, nor that the weariness of the 70's, and the trashy glamour of the 80's, do much in favour of negating the theory. The 90's began to show signs of a return, although the music was still very much saturated by the run of grunge, and then rise of nu-metal did no-one any favours. It is only with the start of the new century, in my opinion, that the genres began to surge back to a new all encompassing acceptance. And this is not to say that popular culture does not continue to mine new depths within this decade- it certainly does, as we are faced with bad remakes of bad movies, and horrible reworkings of old songs in an attempt at an "update"- but only that now there is a greater choice for those that wish to seek it.

However, it is worth pointing out that many forget, or are unaware, of anything beyond the "popular" songs that were, admittedly, overwhelmingly imposed through the mediums of the time. In other words, the 70's consisted of country-rock and disco. The 80's were, well, whatever it was people want to call it, and the 90's can be definable as grunge and nu-metal. But it is only to scratch the surface on what was going on, and the indie artists may point to Big Star, Chris Bell, the Feelies, the Replacements, Husker Du, Young Marble Giants, and the hundreds of underground artists that were making something for themselves and were unapologetic of that fact. Genres were bent, often broken, and popular conventions were flaunted. It was exciting stuff, and so much so, that some of it remains very influential today.

To aim for the "timeless" is a difficult task, as one seeks to be something that is going to appeal to fashions of the time, but at the same time, adopt the conventions of the past, and hence, be recognisable to another crowd. I cannot help but feel that if an artist consciously seeks to do this, they are confining themselves to a sort of mediocrity, as they are marrying concepts that are extraordinarily complex, and playing the odds with the unknown. This is not say that one can never aim for this- to the contrary. I mean only that it is a daunting task to take up. The listening habits of people are almost impossible to predict, even if the cynic may point out that they can be manipulated to a certain extent. The truly "great" albums are those that become labeled as such, and are certainly not easily conferred with that honour, if any truly are at all. At the same time, however, I find myself very aware of being exposed to elements that are very much of their moment, and I cannot help but wonder whether they will hold the same significance in the coming years. At the moment, the byword appears to be the contemporary electro pop that was foreseen by the Postal Service, but is now omnipresent with artists such as Beach House, Broken Bells, and the variety of others that are taking lesser known elements of the 80's indie scene, and placing them within the context of the present music scenes. To my horror, the 80's are making a strong resurgence, which seems to suggest another decade being sacrificed to the crass and overt, although, hopefully, this will, once again, prompt the indie on to new and exciting avenues. One can only hope, although this now carries the caveat that indie is actually now "popular". What that means, can only remain to be discovered.

To return to my point, I was thinking of how this ties into my earlier musings on being "cool". If one considers the notion only in the sense that it captures something of a timeless quality- that is, on the one hand, of its time, but also, on the other, beyond it- one is faced with the idea that one needs to be a part of popular world, but at the same time, not of it. A small task, one may think. I remain of the opinion, however, that even though it is a futile aim, that the exercise has some merit, as it requires an awareness of the movements of time that although need not necessarily be observed, the mere consideration of which has value. Ultimately, we are all going to have those pictures that we look back in embarrassment, or those "artifacts" in our collections that are rarely played, watched or only heard in private. In a sense, heroes may die to the larger world, but at the same time, they may be imortal to someone. Perhaps that is all one requires.

To quote the recent article on the London Times on a performance by Iggy & the Stooges:
"Restlessly patrolling the stage in his strange, lolloping, broken-doll walk- the result of innumerable falls and bashes- Iggy cut an extraordinary figure for a man of any age, let alone 62. His singing encompassed a deep punk croon together with a lot of yelping and bawling, while Williamson's razor-edged riffing- which was so far ahead of its time in 1973-  now sounded like classic punk rock of the sort made famous by the Clash, the Pistols and all the other bands who were inspired by the Stooges in the first place."
In my strangely convoluted way, it is entirely questionable whether I have succeeded in stating anything of particular value. Perhaps not, although I hope there is at least some cud to chew on, somewhere within the disorded mess. You need something certified, you say? I'm your guy. Just don't ask me to think about it too hard, or create the propensity of getting me into trouble. I am quite capable of doing that on my own.