Rock and Roll as a Mainstream Culture is Dead
No. My Medium account was not hacked into by a music writer at Pitchfork…
I crossed a small social media milestone a few weeks ago, reaching 10K Followers on Twitter. It made me realize how much time and energy I have put into writing about mathematics and education — and how much time I haven’t put into music…
My first piece of writing ever published was in one of my university’s publications back in the 80’s. It was an interview with the coach of the varsity hockey team(University of Toronto). I was the sports writer. And while I loved sports, my real passion was music. The passion for math would come much later…
Music was hands down my first passion. Probably started with listening to AM radio music back in the early 70’s. I think Glen Campbell, of all people, was my first introduction to music. I thought Rhinestone Cowboy was the coolest song ever. That is until I started running with the wrong crowd in middle school. Everything from Aerosmith to ZZTop started getting added to my rather empty library. Except for the beer(that came later), I would have fit right in with the Dazed and Confused crowd, yammering on endlessly about the underrated genius of Joe Walsh, the mesmerizing vocal range of Ann Wilson, and the legendary drum fills of Keith Moon.
Fast forward to 2019, and I am seeing one of my favorite bands from the Alternative Rock era — despised that label, but it was less annoying than “Grunge” — the Smashing Pumpkins. It had been 24 years since I saw them last in 1995. The band’s signature sound and live show hasn’t changed. But something seemed amiss as I looked around the crowd of aging Gen Xers, the ahead-of-their time Gen Yers, and the curious Gen Z folks — who missed the entire early 90’s boat of rock’s resurrection.
The entire world is aware of the 1991 resurrection.
As I watched the crowd throw up their cell phones to capture vignettes of what used to be a whole experience of concert going — and then update their social media feed with these cropped experiences — I came to the strong realization that rock music might be alive and well, but the culture has been fading for a while.
And, it is now pretty much dead.
Sure, there might be these big ass music festivals like Coachella and Bonnaroo, but they cater to diversity of musical artists — which makes them so great, but adds to the continued dilution of trying to find rock and roll culture. Everyone I know who has been to either of these festivals has only raved about their experience — which often dwarfs and drowns out singular or subtle moments. The festivals might be huge, but it I remember having to wait in lines to buy tickets for concerts in the late 70’s to about the late 80's — sometimes sleeping overnight on pavement with a sleeping bag. These days, it is a few clicks on the internet. Those moments were part of the cultural framework of rock and roll.
Festivals of my generation were first and foremost about supporting the culture of rock and roll.I also remember going to shows to be somewhat intimidated with the gearheads in their army jackets and other washed-out characters that all looked like extras from Cameron Crowe’s Almost Famous.
But, I think there is a more factual reason for the death of rock and roll culture. Time. Our attention spans have shrunk in the internet/social media age. There will be never be another Pink Floyd again. Forget about matching the talent of Waters, Gilmour, Wright, and Mason, nobody would conceive of filming a band play mega-long songs in an empty and ancient Roman amphitheater in 2019 — or ever again.
If there was one artist that stretched the canvas of rock music, and hence amplifying its culture of creativity, freedom, and rebellion, it was David Bowie.
While Bowie’s influence and music lives on, we are no longer in the Age of Bowie — both literally and figuratively. We are no longer in the age of kids wearing jean jackets and writing their favorite bands with permanent marker on the back. We are no longer in the age of listening to anything but overly produced songs, that sound terrific if you like things always sounding polished and perfect. Pink Floyd’s production was stellar, but they weren’t confined to what seems like a claustrophobic 4 minutes to pen a song.
Arguably, one of the greatest albums of all time is Exile on Main Street by The Rolling Stones. All the “shambling, rambling, and barroom charm”(Brian Eno) of the album is the symbolic grit, excess, and aroma of rock and roll culture. Below is one of my favorite rock pictures. I want to imagine it is well past midnight. That it is the second pack of Marlboro’s on the table. And, Keith Richards is maybe in the midst of penning Shine A Light in a Jack Daniels haze.
Have I romanticized things too much? Well, that is because rock and roll deserves romanticizing? When someone like Eddie Vedder cites the The Who’s Quadrophenia album for “saving his life”, the conditions for deep, poetic reflection for rock and roll have obviously been preinstalled.
Part of rock and roll culture was the how music was consumed with vinyl. You could easily spend a whole day at a record store — especially a used one — flipping through hundreds of albums, pulling up the nuggets, staring at the album cover, flipping it over, and reading the songs. Repeat.
When you took the album(s) home, you would put the record on the turntable, maybe give a little blow to the stylus to clean off the dust, and let the whole side of roughly 20 to 25 minutes play right through.
That ritual is but a faded memory of adolescence. While, I don’t own any vinyl anymore, I still — at the age of 55 — purchase new music. Especially new music which has the grit, grime, and grease of rock and roll.
Rock and roll as a main culture is dead. And, maybe, in the end, that is a good thing. That it now dwells in the sub-culture of loosely bound communities all over the world, cocooning itself in the underbelly of an even more corporate and hostile world. Being shaded into obscurity, maybe even going out on a whimper, but never ever tidying itself up just to survive.
Rock and roll culture was always one thing — a little dangerous. A little too much, and who knows, maybe you would get swallowed up in the debris of its cliched excesses.
It’s all gone. A montage that can only be remembered and never assembled again…
