March 14, 2007 - Wednesday

March 14, 2007 - Wednesday
3 chords and the troof

I keep encountering a pervasive and severe musical deficit in North America.

I'm told that certain reptiles, like lizards, only grow to the size of their enclosure. In a bid to broaden the minds of my friends I have been busily trying to smash the walls of their musical aquariums by giving them mix CD's of stuff that I've picked up through careful research and acquaintances. And you know what? They love it. So the taste is there. The problem lies solely in what music is made available to them.

My musical taste has definitely broadened since my heady marijuana-addled addiction to classic and progressive rock in years past. This was largely due to my playing the drums in a band that played classic rock, and local radio stations only playing pop rock and classic rock. Since I have been back there has been a significant expanding of the repertoire of stations on the local airwaves. Also expanded is the vast array of music available to listen to. Now, anywhere in Canada, you can listen to…pop rock, and classic rock.

That's not fair actually. You can also listen to Top 10 pop, talk-radio, and country. I didn't totally explore these options earlier because the Top 10's play the kind of music that involves young men and women singing in soulful high-pitched voices, hitting unlikely octaves, and failing to hold a single note for longer than a millisecond. In short, the kind of tunes that make you want to climb up the music industry ladder –from performer, to record company executive– leaving a trail of blood, cocaine, brain-matter, and silicone in your wake.

Due to a lack of anything better I have been occasionally listening to talk-radio –namely the CBC. At least with the CBC your brain isn't flogged into uselessness by three chord progressions and lyrics like:

I should just stay home / If one thing really means one / This club will hopefully / Be closed in three weeks / That would be cool with me

Yes, you should stay home. And, why shut down the club when we can shut down you? That would be cool with me.

Which is not to say I pay that much attention to lyrics anyway. As a rule they generally suck. But when you're forced to listen to something that hasn't got the tiniest shred of melodic originality day-in and day-out, no matter which way you turn the dial on your radio, you find yourself listening to the words in the desperate hope that the DJ's have finally managed to extricate the record companies from out of their collective anuses.

This, of course, is like believing in the Easter Bunny.

With talk-radio you get a little news and the occasional eclectic bit involving a Botocudo Tribesman of coastal Brazil enthusiastically clapping his lip plates together like castanets. Although weird, it's at least interesting…If you're not a Botocudo Tribesman that is.
People here have a strong hatred and distrust towards all things electronic in music. So much so that the 'Chez 106' radio station, in a desperate bid to stay away from anything remotely synthesized, plays the following songs: Freebird by Lynard Skynard, Hotel California by The Eagles, and –due to the 35% CRTC 'Canadian content' rule– New Orleans is Sinking by The Tragically Hip. This was switched to The Hip's other hit, Nautical Disaster, when New Orleans was actually sinking.

Tune in today and –I'm not kidding– you hear the exact same songs in constant rotation since 1992. This is interspersed throughout by some crack-addict screaming about how he can sell you the cheapest car in North America with no down-payment. This, in turn, is followed by the news ("In local news: nothing is happening. Internationally: Bob McDougan's goat is missing. Police are currently holding an ice-flow for questioning…"), and the weather ("It's cold, and looks to be cold throughout the week…").

Thankfully you have the pop rock stations which play much more contemporary music. Stations like 'The Bear' will play Basket Case (Greenday), Nothing Else Matters (Metallica), and (for Canadian Content) Try Honesty (by the optimistically named 'Billy Talent') which can educate you with lyrics like:

Hop in your dumptruck, reverse for good luck / Ride over me, Ride over me

If only it were that easy Mr. Talent…

These songs, again, are played in constant insanity-inducing rotation causing people to sing "So close, no matter how far / Couldn't be much more from the heart / Forever trust in who you are / because nothing else matteeeerrrsss" over and over again, thereby risking a total lynching by their colleagues.

So fine, you turn off your radio and head to a bar that purports to have live music; if by 'live' you mean 'Yes, but barely', and by 'music' you mean 'Wait a second here…Are you saying my guitar has other chords?' In these venues, you will find the place chock full of drunken Canadians singing along with the band to –oddly enough– Freebird, Hotel California, and New Orleans is Sinking. After these song are played twice in succession the band will suddenly get embarrassed looks on their face, thank the audience, dismantle their equipment, and quickly exit the stage. They will then join the crowd in drinking and singing along to the bar stereo which will be playing Freebird, Hotel California, and New Orleans is Sinking.

In my best guess, the reason there has not been a lot of vertical or lateral expansion in terms of musical taste is because you don't have to get far from the faithful old standards before you run screaming back again due to all the utter crap made available by the Record Nazi's. This is a country which, after all, unanimously booed Justin Timberlake off the stage during our leg of the Live 8 concerts. The annoying pop warblings of the likes of Justin Timberlake, Christina Aguilera, R Kelly, and Mariah Carey –none of which can hold a single note in favor of so-called 'tremolo', and sound like they have a badly frightened rodent shivering in their larynx– don't last long in these parts. Why do you think we kicked Celine Dion out?

No sir, Canada is pure rock and roll. No frills, no effects processors, and anything more than about four notes (the fourth note being for the chorus) and the locals start getting edgy. Sadly this leaves us open for global taunting about the likes of Nickleback and Bryan Adams. I'm very thankful that 'grunge' of the 90's has passed away… albeit noisily. God, the thought of listening to some hairy, angst-ridden, plaid-wearing, fuckwit singing depressing gibberish over a melody that is fast at the start, slow in the middle, and fast at the end –or vice versa– makes me vomit in my mouth a little. God, the thought of listening to some hairy, angst-ridden, plaid-wearing, fuckwit singing depressing gibberish over a melody that is fast at the start, slow in the middle, and then fast at the end –or vice versa– makes me vomit in my mouth a little. No, these days they mix it up a bit; sometimes they're fast at the beginning and slow the rest of the way. Or, they're slow at the beginning and get faster and faster. Or, even more unorthodox, they're either slow or fast the whole way through. These new-found concepts combined with the expert use of the chords E, D, G, and C (for the chorus), uncomplicated 4/4 timing, and all things electronic being treated like gangrene makes for some really interesting and dynamic new music.

I guess the point I'm trying to make is that (gasp) rock and roll is dead.

Look at it another way. Music, like fashion, is being messily regurgitated for lack of anything original being created. The crazy thing is that I'm old enough now to hear songs in the 80's (like clothing) making a comeback via starlets that flash their vagina's in public, and fagotty be-stubbled men with complicated haircuts. Sadly, these days, thanks largely to MTV, you don't need talent to be a musician. You just need many large white teeth and the ability to warble your voice like an Islamic mourner.

The thing is that Killing me Softly was crap the first time around. And what Marylin Manson did with Sweet Dreams and Personal Jesus gives Satan a bad name. And what's with those screeching dickheads from Offspring who blatantly stole the melody from Ob-La-Di Ob-La-Da for their idiot 'song' Why Don't You Get a Job? How come nobody has sued these assholes back to whatever mid-west white-trash neighbourhood they came from?

Well, whatever.

Unless music-makers are willing to break out of their formula and start incorporating new sounds, different ideas, and new styles, a new nail is hammered into the coffin of music with every plodding beat of Blur's bass drum. This, of course, involves the complete culling of anybody in a three-piece suit bearing the names 'Record' and 'Executive' on their business card. Synchronous assaults on the top floors of the Sony BMG, EMI, Universal, and Warner buildings with a brutal volley of rapidly-launched sharpened compact disks should do the trick.

If you need me I'll be teaching my lizard to use turntables and a mixer.