Do You Remember Rock and Roll Radio?

“It’s been a long time since I rock and rolled.” - Led Zeppelin

“I’m in love…with that song.” - The Replacements

In the grand scheme of all things rock and roll, it isn’t the recollection of the first time you hear a great song that sticks with you, rather the memories seem to lie in the instances when a particular song hits you in the gut. Sometimes the experience is a first-round knockout: a tune heard which instantly is recognized as a classic of its form. For me, the song I’ve heard this year that have fallen under that category are “Daddy’s Gone” by Glasvegas and “The ’59 Sound” by the Gaslight Anthem. I have to go back to 2007’s “Stuck Between Stations” and “Massive Nights” by the Hold Steady to find similar occurrences. Going back farther, it’s harder find other music made this decade which gets the heart pumping from the first note onwards. This is not to say there hasn’t been great rock and roll this decade, but for a good chunk of the 2000’s it was pretty hard to find. The 2000’s have been a transitional period for music, where the influences of old mediums like FM radio and MTV have become an afterthought. Much of the decade has seen the evolution from these almost extinct forms of influence to new, user-friendly ones such as streaming radio stations such as NME Radio and Pandora. MTV and FUSE have been replaced by YouTube, Facebook and MySpace as the primary means of releasing music videos. The advent of high-speed internet in the 21st Century has allowed music fans to hear more artists in a year than were ever played on Casey Kasem’s American Top Forty. But we have lost something intrinsic to rock and roll in gaining such freedom. Music has lost its communal influence; its ability to reach millions of listeners just by turning a little left of the dial.

Most people don’t remember the first time they heard Don MacLean’s epic salute to the history of rock and roll, “American Pie,” but there are many who can remember being around a group of good friends, cruising the streets of their hometown on a direct destination to nowhere and attempting to sing all the lyrics. It was rare all MacLean’s words would be recalled accurately, but trying to remember the verses was just a happy excuse to get to the chorus and the final big shout-out:

“Bye, Bye, Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levy but the levy was dry
Them good old boys were drinking whiskey and rye
And singing this will be the day that I die.”

It wasn’t just the classic song that made this experience so memorable to so many. It was the spontaneity of hearing the song on the radio that caused such unrepentant joy. One could usually hear “American Pie” sometime after 9 P.M. wherever you were on a Friday or Saturday. If one cues it up on CD or an MP3 player, the element of surprise and elation is taken away. You know it’s coming like a karaoke song at a bar. It’s just not the same.

The role of a DJ was to know their audience and try to give them the best musical experience they could, combining old favorites, new hits, a few obscure ditties plus a dash of listener requests. They made concerts in their mind, understanding just when to bring the tempo down to a slow song like Ben E. King’s “Stand By Me” and when to raise it up with Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels’ “Devil With a Blue Dress On.” George Lucas captured the old-school experience in his classic film “American Graffiti” with its unprecedented use of music to frame a film but also the incorporation of the mythic DJ, Wolfman Jack. Richard Linkletter expanded Lucas’ concept in his film “Dazed and Confused,” which celebrated mid-70’s rock in the same fashion Lucas did for 1950’s rock and roll. Linkletter used the influence of MTV to make some of “Dazed and Confused’s” scenes resemble music videos. Both films encompassed what it was like to be young or young at heart. The primary difference between the aforementioned films and films such as “Saturday Night Fever” is the song selection was used in hindsight, not in the presence of the moment. A good DJ doesn’t play “top forty.” They play to an audience like a rock star.

Understanding the mood of the listener is very similar to a rock band when they perform live. There was a depth of knowledge, mood and setting DJ’s possessed which rivals that of classical music conductors. Anyone who grew up listening to radio in the late 1980’s couldn’t escape Guns N’ Roses” classic hit “Sweet Child O’ Mine.” The challenge posed to the DJ was when to play it. How long do you wait, how many requests do you put up with before you acquiesce? A great DJ knows just how long to pull that string before they release it. At the height of a song’s peak, a DJ could cause an avalanche on the dance floor, a house party or a crammed 1977 Monte Carlo. They held your emotions and your night in their hands. Song selection could get you into that first awkward dance at high school, high-fives and shouts with your best buds or make you feel alone in a crowd of hundreds. These people performed concerts without a band, all they had was an innate feeling of music.

A DJ could play “Beth” by KISS and somehow you thought they played it for you and your friends, sitting in a garage lamenting various romantic entanglements. They could play “You Shook Me All Night Long” by AC/DC and bring forth dancing libation in a crowded basement. Whatever the song would be, the result would be a forthcoming of emotion. A spin of “I Think I Love You” by the Partridge Family would result in a gigantic circle of revelry, smiles and dancing. These moments brought people together, generated smiles, goodwill and fellowship. It didn’t matter if anyone could actually sing or even knew the words. What was important was absorbing yourself into the moment, the happy bliss of friends and the knowledge they felt the same thing at the same time. At its peak rock and roll could make friends from strangers, love from infatuation and marriage from courtship. Music could conquer anything for a moment or a minute. It takes a human soul to transform it into real emotion. Rock and roll was the drug. The DJ was the dealer.

It is hard to pinpoint an exact moment when the influence of the DJ began to wane although in most certainly happened in the 1990’s. In the late 80’s four genres began to permeate the listening public in a way that confounded the conventional wisdom of most industry insiders. Both were gaining steady followings throughout the decade but mainstream airplay eluded the majority of the artists. The alternative/modern rock/punk/grunge/whatever genre had rabid followings in college and urban areas. Artists such as the Cure, Husker Du and the Replacements released great record after great record during this period, gaining much critical praise but little in success in terms of airplay or sales. Speed metal or “thrash” bands Metallica, Anthrax and Slayer began to draw massive crowds due to phenomenal musicianship and fan rapport. Country music artists George Strait, Randy Travis and Reba MacEntyre began to see their audience expand by incorporating a pop music feel to many of their songs. Run-DMC saw unexpected chart success with a novelty mash-up of Aerosmith’s “Walk This Way.”

“Hair bands” such as Motley Crue achieved massive chart success with party anthems like “Girls Girls Girls” and power-ballads such as the top ten hit “Home Sweet Home.” The full-lengths albums, however, left much to be desired in terms of overall quality. It was quite common for many people to fast forward or rewind the cassettes of the Crue, Poison and their peers to play the two or three listenable songs. This procedure resulted in the infamous “tape explosions” where the tape would become loose as the rewind, fast forward and play buttons were beat on like arcade games. This malfunction was not too detrimental if it occurred in a boom box or home stereo but when a cassette tape exploded in a car stereo, a mess ensued that not only took hours to remove but also severely damaged the cassette tape. Digging a tape out of a car stereo tended to take the fun out of an evening of anticipated fun to say the least. This continual source of frustration combined with sub-standard album quality slowly resulted in music fans looking elsewhere for their rock and roll.

The “hair bands” and other major pop stars of the eighties such as Michael Jackson and Bruce Springsteen began to take more time between album releases, resulting in six-plus singles from two-year old records. The DJ’s were told to play each and every release, along with the older singles. This philosophy resulted in audio overkill. People became sick of hearing the same artists and the same videos played continually for years. This concept of “milking the record” began to interfere with a radio station’s attempt to break new artists. Slowly, music fans began to turn the dial a little to the left in search of something new. In that process, they found stations playing music which was new and exciting. Metallica rocked harder and faster than Motley Crue. REM was more thoughtful and retrospective than Springsteen. Alabama made better dance songs than the “King of Pop.” As these artists began to become more renown to a larger audience, mainstream radio retreated into the comfort of “safe” artists such as Vanilla Ice, Warrant and Paula Abdul. The radio spectrum was about to splinter, all it needed was another brick from the wall.

“1989 – the number – another summer. Sound of the funky drummer.” These words brought forth Public Enemy. Their song “Fight the Power,” used in the classic Spike Lee film “Do the Right Thing” began to gain airplay on MTV. One of the greatest protest songs ever written, “Fight the Power” capitalized on urban disaffection. “Now, the world is gone, I’m just one. Oh, God help me,” the final verse on Metallica’s epic anthem of disaffection, “One” resulted in the band’s first commercial hit without compromising any of their speed-metal credentials. “Stand in the place that you live. Now face west. Think about direction – wonder why you haven’t now” was REM’s version of a dance song. At the same time, the “new” sound of country music had taken hold, driving such stalwarts such as Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson and Kenny Rogers into radio oblivion. In their place was a music that sounded kinda country, kinda rock and a lot like the Eagles and Poco. Leading the charge was Garth Brooks, an unabashed showman whose concerts resembled heavy metal bombast more than a Saturday night at the Grand Ole Opry. When these diverse acts began to take hold on the radio and in record stores, the synth-based pop of the eighties went from life support to dead air. This ascension was culminated three years later, when Brooks, REM, and newcomers Nirvana all had number one albums. In a few more years, rap and hip-hop records would also become top ten mainstays. The invention of Soundscan, a computer program which gave actual sales results as opposed to estimates, was a major factor in this culture shift. A change was overdue to come and most likely would have occurred without Soundscan. However, technological advances quicken such changes, often with unforeseen results.

Initially, most people embrace the new sounds coming from the radio and music television stations. Record labels were left reeling about what artists they should sign or promote. Sales fell so sharply for the hair bands that many of them were left bankrupt, forced to play the same dingy bars where they began their careers. In the early 90s, one could tune into the top forty station and hear a wide range of genres that may never be experienced again. Like any rising styles of music, the initial output was fantastic. It was common to be at a party and jam out to Brooks and Dunn, the Breeders and Dr. Dre. It was a fantastic time to love music but like most cultural movements, it was short lived. Nirvana imploded with the death of Kurt Cobain, Garth Brooks grew tired of recording and semi-retired and rappers 2Pac and Notorious BIG were murdered. By 1995, record labels had begun signing every act they could find to big (and mostly unwarranted) contracts. Few of them had the impact of their predecessors. Despite their bravado, Toby Keith and Tim McGraw were not Garth Brooks. Green Day and the Offspring had all the volume but none of the danger inherent with Nirvana. The exception was hip/hop’s Eminem who managed to sell millions of records because he is inarguably one of the greatest artists of the modern era.

Radio was also transitioning in the 90s. Gigantic corporations Clear Channel and ABC/Disney began to scoop up radio stations like a kid at a baseball card show. To them, it seemed if they did not know what listeners wanted; it was more profitable to give music fans as little alternative as possible. The days of independent radio were numbered. People began to choose sides once again. Either all country, all rock or top forty pop (which was basically hip/hop) stations dominated the airwaves with a strength never seen before. The late 90s saw the biggest payola scandal since the days of Alan Freed. Granted, there was music that was legit. The technology pendulum swung again and most music fans decided it was time to quit.

Computers used to be the toy of the geeky rich kid in class. By the end of the 1990s, it started to become a staple of most households. The internet was still in its infancy, but CD burners gave music fans a better bargain than used CD stores, pawn shops or flea markets. CD burners allowed anyone with a computer to make an exact copy of a CD with little or no loss of sound. It became a common sight to see a group of friends at a record store, each with one CD to purchase, their sole intent to go home, make copies and share them with their friends. The writing (no pun intended) was on the wall. It would become much more difficult to market a poor album based on the quality of one hit single. Music fans took more chances with artists they liked if they could have a few buds buy an album of agreed taste. The record industry largely ignored this trend at the time, believing the new conglomerate radio stations would still lead the horse to water. Playlists became more homogenized due to the massive takeovers, yet this excessive promotion did not increase record sales. The meteor called the internet was about to land and radio was a listless dinosaur chewing leaves.

It seems easy to blame the arrival of widespread internet use of the record industry’s demise but the industry did themselves no favors. As the 21st century arrived, only Eminem, boy bands and country artists were still selling millions. The quality of radio music had dropped abysmally, leaving people little choice but to pursue an alternative and “fight the powers that be.” People didn’t choose to download just because it was easy, they did it because radio sucked. There was little a diverse group could agree on anymore. It is hard to believe those who bought Shania Twain CD’s also rocked out to Radiohead. The genres had retreated largely due to the lack of diversity on radio stations. Instead of a big, joyous party, there were complaints about whoever had the unfortunate position to be in charge of the music. While big radio drowned in their Kool-Aid, music lovers downloaded to their gigabyte heart’s content. Because the music was now free, people took more chances, listened to different things and passed them on. The era of being spoon-fed was over. No marketing wiz could save it. YouTube, Facebook and MySpace became the means of communicating what someone liked. Why have a request show if the song you want is just one click away and not somewhere left of the dial?

The record and radio industries responded in a fashion that’s similar to a limp animal waiting to be put out of its misery. It is common now to turn on that FM signal and hear Billy Joel on ten stations. He’s on the oldies station, the eighties station, the easy listening station and the rock station. If Joel and Elton John would cover “Mama’s Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys” they’d cover the whole gamut. Instead of looking to the internet for inspiration, radio stations have chosen homogeny. This concept may be good for elevators on 50 story buildings and dentists’ offices, but it gives nothing but numbness to the average human. Gone are the days when you could be driving on the highway with nowhere to go, put the brakes on and say to yourself “What’s that song?”

That question is also now regulated to the internet and streaming radio. The listening public has become splintered into shards of taste. Similar yet so different there is no knowledge of the other. We listen to our own station, make our playlists and have become deaf to what else is out there. Getting what we want has given us less and less or what we need: Music that is new, different and challenging is all but gone as we spin the same record round. There is no need to absorb and tolerate anything different. It can just be deleted like a mix tape for a girl or boy that never quite understood your love.


Garth Brooks made us want to dance with “Friends in Low Places.” His melodic chime brought many of us to a moment of comradery. Whether we liked it or didn’t, if you were remotely out and about in the early 1990’s, that song was a part of your life. Maybe you sang along in a drunken stupor or were proud that you stood in the corner of the club and despised it. Either way, it brought people together. The same could be said for Nirvana, disco and right back to the Beatles. There was always something going on that could be danced to or criticized. Music was a passion. If there were bar fights over the song selection, at least people cared enough to complain or fight for their right to party. Now that Garth Brooks’ ditty is just an oldie, we either dance or chuckle when it is played. If we dance, we do so with our memories.

If we stand by the wall, it is also done with our memories. Popular music has become a reboot of the Lawrence Welk show, except there is nothing to really make fun of or rebel against. When we choose to rage against the establishment machine, are we not raging against ourselves? There was a time when we thought about these things as deeply as a nighttime infatuation. Music was love; love was music. One could not possibly exist without the other.

We could head-bang with each other, rap with each other and hold our arms together and love it all while we were in the back of a car, a basement dance floor or in the comfort of our own room. The future was a drug inhaled as we tiptoed through it. We might not have been who we wanted to be but music took every one of us to all of our fantasies. For a little while, the music on the radio synthesized itself. There weren’t just hicks, metal-heads, preps or punks. A little bit of each was inside us all. We danced to it, shouted and held each other close. We drove on the back roads looking for trouble, without really knowing what it was. We escaped on the wheels of hidden beers and a large automobile. All the while, the radio played a celebration song. When we were caught, it cried with us sad songs of wanting everything too much too soon. As we woke up, the morning voice of grace and redemption shone through those who’ve been there before. If the voices were sad, we regretted. If the voices were loud, we marched on. Regardless of circumstance, there was always a song. A radio played to top volume. Fists were pumped in the middle of the night, an arm held tight around someone while the sun rose. Music came like a breathless kiss, an invigorating injection to the vein of eternal youth.

Listen! Just for one second! Don’t you hear it? Turn the radio on. Find that elusive frequency. Get in your car; take a deep breath and drive. The second when you think you’re lost, turn the radio up, park your car and take it in. You may not know where you’re going, but your heart knows where you’ve been. Park your car and listen to the songs you know or may yet discover. Music breathes in the night, whether you’re lonely or with your one and only, the radio plays. If it does not sing for you, sing out for the jukebox of the past. It’s always there, playing those songs we sing to ourselves, making us dance to a tune from a forgotten June, Think of that song, the one making your heart skip. Take a drive with your memory into midnight. The nights you remember or the ones you wish you had. The nights when the songs played long after you went to bed. The songs you sang along to while the sun rose. Don’t you remember? Do you remember?

Smells Like Fake Spirit: How the Guitar Hero Franchise Jumped the Shark

When I was an alien, cultures weren’t opinions,” – Kurt Cobain

On September 1st, 2009, the fifth installment of the popular rhythm game franchise, “Guitar Hero” was released to little fanfare, its arrival eclipsed by a similar game featuring a band whose recording career ended forty years ago. While the Beatles were grabbing all the headlines with “Beatles Rock Band” a YouTube user named Corporalgregg2 released a video compilation highlighting some of the new features available in the “Guitar Hero 5” video game. Specifically, the video shows one of its playable characters, the late Kurt Cobain, singing Public Enemy’s “Bring the Noise,” Billy Idol’s “Dancing With Myself” and most disturbing, Bon Jovi’s “You Give Love a Bad Name.” The Guitar Hero 5 shows Cobain rocking out to these songs with mannerisms appropriate to each of the tunes. He jumps around like Flavor Flav during “Bring the Noise” and poses like a poseur during “You Give Love a Bad Name.” Much of the rock community, especially Cobain’s fans, were outraged that his likeness was used in such a disrespectful, humiliating fashion. Blame was mostly laid at the feet of Courtney Love, Cobain’s widow. Love has vehemently denied signing Cobain’s likeness to Activision (the developer of Guitar Hero 5) but has been subjected to countless attacks from all sides since she began making statements regarding the situation on Twitter.

Attacking Courtney Love is easy for many music fans, who tend to blame her for exploiting Kurt Cobain’s death over the last fifteen years. Much like politics, pointing fingers is easy but doing so represents an ideological short cut in which angry fans find a scapegoat for their frustrations (see Barack Obama and tea parties). Love’s band Hole released a phenomenal record in 1994, “Live Through This” which to many rock fans sounded like a Nirvana record – as if the output of Bush and Stone Temple Pilots didn’t. Hole’s follow-up release in 1998, “Celebrity Skin,” was more polished and produced and drew criticism as being a Smashing Pumpkins style record. The era of grunge had passed by the time of “Celebrity Skin” and many bands were releasing more produced material with less distortion. In retrospect, “Celebrity Skin” was a product of its time, as was “This Is My Truth, Tell Me Yours” by the British band Manic Street Preachers. Music fans didn’t question the Manics’ motives, nor those of David Bowie when they changed their sound. Interestingly, other female rock artists of the time such as Liz Phair were subjected to the slander of “sell-out.” Phair’s 1998 album “Whitechocolatespacegg” was panned for its lack of an edge compared to her earlier releases, “Exile in Guyville” and “Whip-Smart.” This would be considered an outright double-standard except releases by the aforementioned Bush and Stone Temple Pilots were even crappier than their earlier material. The artists who gained fame during the early 90’s grunge era were growing up and evolving, except for Kurt Cobain and Nirvana. His death left a bookmark to the era which no artist could ever attempt to emulate or surpass.

Cobain’s mystique and reputation as an anti-authority, anti-corporate icon would remain intact for the rest of the 1990’s and into the 21st Century. Much like the late John Lennon, music fans tend to remember Cobain with rose-tinted glasses, forgetting that it was Cobain himself who wanted a more polished version of Nirvana’s sound, which was heard initially in the “Sliver” single and was perfected in the classic album “Nevermind.” It is probable Cobain never thought this step would turn the band into the next big thing as much as a production equivalent of the Pixies or Husker Du. His classic liner notes railing against wannabe fans in the album “Incesticide” confirms this. Cobain was not comfortable with being an icon. Had he lived, it would be hard to fathom him in one of those horrid Grammy Awards duets rocking it out with Kanye West. But like John Lennon, this speculation only exists in the form of what did happen or what we perceive our heroes to be. “Tomorrow Never Knows” can be taken both ways. A hardcore Bowie fan in the 1970’s would never have thought the Thin White Duke could release “Let’s Dance” in the 80’s. People are people, so why should it be that everyone is expected to act stereotypically?

Economically, Courtney Love is fine. She has not only the continual revenue from Nirvana material but also her own. There is little reasoning an individual with a lot of money would exploit the legacy of someone she loves for her own gain, if said gain would not significantly alter her way of life. Yoko Ono is insanely rich through being John Lennon’s widow. Many of her marketing choices regarding Lennon’s estate, such as jewelry, are questionable, but maybe she is doing the best she can to bring more of Lennon’s mystique to a new audience. But bashing Yoko is out of vogue, considering she has maintained a cordial business relationship with Paul McCartney, Ringo Starr and the estate of the late George Harrison for quite some time. Hating Courtney Love is still a hobby for many Nirvana fans, which has largely been driven by the antagonism between her and Nirvana members Dave Grohl and Krist Novoselic. Much of this animosity toward Love derives from the publication of Kurt Cobain’s Journals in 2002. The collection of Cobain’s diaries was thought by many to have been in poor taste and motivated by money. However, most material such as this finds its way into release sooner or later. Private letters and recordings of deceased U.S. presidents are widely considered revelations and are seldom condemned. Cobain’s journals would have eventually have been published by somebody, sooner or later. Why is the fact that Courtney Love chose to do it received with such hatred? Nobody cares that the family of Harry S. Truman released his private papers. Maybe Courtney Love should be commended for supervising Cobain’s journals, rather than leaving them to someone else.

The 2004 Nirvana box set, “With the Lights Out,” seemed to convince many fans that Love, Grohl and Novoselic had at least reached a truce of some sort. The release of Guitar Hero 5 has opened up decades old wounds, with Love, Grohl and Novoselic trading insulting barbs, blaming each other rather than focusing on the true culprit in the debacle. Activision has stated repeatedly they consulted the trio regarding the inclusion of the songs “Smells Like Teen Spirit” and “Lithium” in Guitar Hero 5 and gave Love final approval on Kurt Cobain’s likeness in the game. Yet it seems they held something back, legalese or not. The term “avatar” meant having Cobain’s likeness included in the game to Love, not letting him sing the songs of other artists looking like a jackass. I challenge Love’s accusers to think about this. What is an avatar? A new movie by James Cameron? An animated show about an air-bender on Cartoon Network? I sure as hell would have a tough time explaining all this to my Dad. Logically, it seems Activision needed more playable characters for Guitar Hero 5 than Shirley Manson and Carlos Santana. In fact, players can humiliate the late, great Johnny Cash in the same fashion as Cobain, yet nobody is complaining – yet. However cool it may be to have the “man in black” sing “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” it is certain many of his long term fans will consider this a bastardization of his legacy. Yet all focus and blame is focused on Courtney Love, who regardless of what she signed or did not sign, had absolutely no intent or desire to humiliate her husband.

Video games, by their nature, have to get bigger or better. The worst review a game can get is “I like the older one.” Games such as Madden NFL improve yearly but do not allow technological advances to sidestep the concept of football. Many game franchises are not as astute. Adding more features sometimes subtracts from the experience. Capcom’s “Street Fighter” franchise was the biggest game on the planet in 1992, the same time Nirvana was the biggest band in the world. Capcom struggled to advance “Street Fighter II,” arguably the best 2-D platform fighter ever made. They created more characters, invented more moves for players, but the initial feel was lost. The attempted to copy Namco’s Tekken into 3-D combat with little success. Capcom introduced tag-moves which confused players even further. It would be difficult to find modern game players lining up at midnight anticipating a new Street Fighter release. Instead of working on what made Street Fighter II a classic game, they chose to meddle with it and as a result turned off the millions of fans who bought the game in the first place.

Sega’s flagship icon, Sonic the Hedgehog, has suffered a similar fate. After making three games of blink-fast speed and control, Sega chose to enter the 3-D market. The spiky blue rodent no longer sped on all levels but walked around and collected idiotic objects in “Sonic Adventure.” Further attempts at modernization only succeeded in making Sonic suck even further. Like Capcom, Sega forgot what made the initial Sonic the Hedgehog games appealing. Other video game franchises such as Mortal Combat, Pitfall, and WWE pro-wrestling have suffered a similar fate. Improvement is not always advancement, new does not always mean better. The desire for more money, however, remains the same.

Activision knew it had to have something appealing to counteract the onslaught on “Beatles Rock Band.” Playable versions of music icons such as Johnny Cash and Kurt Cobain seemed to be a logical step. The geeks in their cubicles thought “more means better.” Customization of licensed characters had been done in professional sports games and pro-wrestling games. What is the difference? The pathetic reality Activision has realized is there is a big contrast between making Brett Farve as great as he was in the 1990’s with a military-rifle arm or giving John Cena high-flying ability than making music icons sing songs they would never sing. Activision just wanted to make people more excited about the new Guitar Hero, just as ABC thought the Fonz would be super-cool skiing over a shark. But it is a converse equation: we don’t like the more, we want the less. Seeing Kurt Cobain singing songs of artists he hated does not widen the appeal of Guitar Hero, it shrinks it. Interestingly, punk icon Iggy Pop has chosen to let himself be rendered in Lego form for the upcoming “Lego Rock Band.” Players can “block-rock” as “the world’s forgotten boy” as they fake strum their way through his 1977 classic, “The Passenger.” It is quite debatable as to who will shell out fifty bucks for this privilege.

Guitar Hero’s CEO Dan Rosensweig states "We care about the artists more than anyone else and we would like to make artists happy in every circumstance.” It is doubtful Rosenswieg cares more about the artists in Guitar Hero than he does about his financial bottom line. It does not seem he cares about the fans of many of the artists included in the game either To many Nirvana fans, the gift Kurt Cobain gave to the world is not a joke, a game or an avatar for amusement. He was a hero to many who grew up listening to his music while they played video games. Regardless of complaints or compliments, the fake music games will fade into history like the “Macarena.” Kurt Cobain would quite possibly be amused by all this silliness, as he often made fun of Nirvana’s stature as a stadium act by doing deliberately horrid covers of “The End” and “Baba O’ Reilly.” He’d want everyone to stop taking everything so damn seriously. We should remember his advice: “Stop your crying – go outside and ride your bike.”

Glasvegas Live - The Past, Present and Future of Rock and Roll

On Tuesday, April 7, I had the fortunate opportunity to experience what could only be considered pure magic. I confess I was more excited to see Glasvegas at Minneapolis’ Varsity Theater than any concert I have attended in years. From the first time I heard the single, “Daddy’s Gone” seeing the powerful, atmospheric video for “Flowers and Football Tops” on an extra-caffeinated morning, I’ve been hooked. The few You Tube videos of Glasvegas live, including a blistering performance of “Geraldine,” showcase a band capable of almost indescribable emotion. It is the kind of feeling that makes you play a song over and over again, each time feeling something new inside yourself. The last time I recall a similar feeling was seeing Travis and Stereophonics in 2000, who were breaking the United States on the surge of the second wave of Britpop.

I have been to at least seventy concerts but this was the first time I bought a ticket by myself. I didn’t care if anyone went with me to see Glasvegas – I was jazzed just to have my golden ticket. My erstwhile, energetic wife decided a few weeks later to accompany me, probably after hearing incessant playing of the band on our computer. Playing Glasvegas for the past two months must have stuck something inside her as well. I told her I absolutely wanted to meet the band after the show. I did not care how long it took or if we drove home at the crack of dawn. I had to tell James Allan, Rab Allan, Paul Donoghue and Caroline McKay and tell them how much their music has moved me.

As I’ve gotten older, I noticed how few people I know continue to embrace new music and find something different in their lives. Many seem content to play songs from their youth or listen to their too obvious successors (reality check: Nickelback is Butt Rock part II – different butts, same crappy rock). Glasvegas is the most passionate band since the Libertines and possibly even Nirvana. Hefty praise, I know, but in an era of cookie-cutter, niche-ridden music, hearing a band making music on their own terms takes me back to my teenage years, listening the Clash and Sex Pistols for the first time. Glasvegas took this feeling one step further, incorporating the doo-wop and surf which was a staple of my mother’s record collection. James Allan seemed to be playing my jukebox and as we entered the Varsity Theater that Tuesday night, I felt like the ten-year-old kid who went to his first concert with his mom to see the Everly Brothers 25 years ago.

After we entered the Varsity, my wife, Andrea snagged a Glasvegas poster from a stairway and secured us a spot at the front of the stage. She was generous enough to loan her too-excited husband cash for a t-shirt, as in his excitement for the show he forgot there would be a merchandise table. I was able to see the set list beneath Paul’s microphone and supply of Stella and bottled water. Usually, it is exciting for the audience to be surprised at the song order, but seeing gave me more anticipation for what was to come. As Glasvegas took the stage amidst fog and the echo of doo-wop from the PA, the all too common army of cell phones and cameras raised in the air like lighters from an era long since passed. The opening notes of “Geraldine” sounded and as the full band joined in, I jumped like I was eighteen years old in the chaos of the early Lollapaloozas. Music has a way of transcending age and time; an ethereal experience which brings you outside yourself and into a world unlike any other. The fog was thick, Glasvegas was rocking and I knew at that moment, they would be the next big thing.

What followed was almost a blur; like how you feel on an amusement park ride you hope will never end. Glasvegas’ showmanship rivals Bruce Springsteen’s, bringing your emotions up and down, making you move and then dance slow. Like Springsteen, the live performance eclipses the record because of the raw feeling and belief emitting from the band. James Allan is in total command of the moment, sucked into the surreal world of impending fame. The concept of “Spectorism” (after famed yet now convicted genius Phil Spector) performed live is something rarely, if ever attempted. Yet the songs “Go Square Go”, “It’s My Own Cheating Heart that Makes Me Cry” and especially “Flowers and Football Tops” conjure a “wall of sound” that honestly is very hard to describe unless you experience it firsthand. As Glasvegas began their final song, the gut-wrenching “Daddy’s Gone”, Paul Donoghue’s amplified opening bass notes filled the Varsity. As James began singing, some in the audience knew the words, many didn’t but as the song creschendoed into it’s final chorus (as many Spector songs do) the entire Varsity Theater was mesmerized.

A friend of mine once told me of how he felt seeing Springsteen at the old Guthrie Theater in Minneapolis thirty years ago. Although “Born to Run” may not have much in common with “Daddy’s Gone” on the surface, both are anthems to a generation looking for identity and a voice. As Springsteen gave a voice to those disenfranchised from the Vietnam War and peace movement, James Allan is the voice of a new time and era: lives filled with heartbreak and hope but not the in idealization of “suicide machines” and “dirty arcades.” Instead, Allan conjures the sadness and aspirations inside our souls, challenging us to celebrate social workers and abhor mindless violence; recognize the love and loss in everyday lives without the grandeur of past glory days. As “Daddy’s Gone” ended, James kissed the girls and shook hands with the boys. In an age of despair and cynicism, it is the heart of the romantic that rings true.

I did get the pleasure of meeting Glasvegas after the show and enjoying their more than generous hospitality. But that is where the story ends. I don’t feel it is appropriate to be voyeuristic about such encounters. Although there were autographs and pictures, that was not why I was there; not to broadcast pictures and tour bus stories for the universe to see. It wasn’t why I stood outside a library which years before I huddled inside to hide my family from a storm. As the empty tour bus stood parked, I looked at the library and thought about how our past catches up with us, how the little things in life play such a big part if we only let them. I met Caroline, Paul, Rab and James, told each of them Glasvegas was “the next big thing.” Although their future may be unwritten, their present is filled with the excitement and surrealism of the unknown. As we drove home that night, my wife told me I should play music for my kids the same way my mom did for me. The next night, I did. I felt the ethereal circle of music, which binds all of us who believe in it; the same feeling Glasvegas feels every time they take the stage. They bring it all back home, which is exactly where our hearts need to be. The concert of a lifetime, a band for the ages. I have seen the past, present and future of rock and roll and its name is Glasvegas.

Viva Glasvegas! The Return of Recession Rock and Roll

Since the advent of rock and roll in the 1950’s, people have attempted to declare it dead, that it has run its course and there is nothing more the medium can offer audiences. This has occurred since 1959’s Buddy Holly plane crash to the present day with John Mellencamp writing an article which theorized the music industry is responsible for his lack of album sales (please insert your own Mellencamp joke here). Mellencamp argued it was impossible for rock music to get airplay yet tales of hard times and Americana are a little tough believe when they are written from a millionaire’s mansion. Powerful songs or struggle and perseverance tend to be written by those who have experienced them recently. The debut album of Glasvegas, a quartet from Scotland, is the best record I’ve heard in years and seems the most likely artist to epitomize the current worldwide recession.

A quartet whose songs are majestic yet simple, Glasvegas has a stripped down look and sound, which accents the soaring harmonies in many of their songs. Singer/songwriter James Allan could be a dead ringer for Joe Strummer or a 1950’s rocker. The entire band usually dresses in simple, black clothes yet their sound resembles the Arcade Fire, albeit with ten fewer musicians. Singing with his natural Scottish accent, James Allan is almost challenging audiences to accept the philosophy of no compromise. Rarely, if ever, has any artist achieved mass popularity if had an accent as strong as Allan’s. U2’s Bono is Irish and Tom Jones is Welsh but if one were to listen to their recordings without this knowledge, they might as well have hailed from New York City. Glasvegas’ adherence to their Scottish heritage makes some of Allan’s lyrics unintelligible but in doing so makes the songs more alluring and draws the listener into his passionate vocals. Coincidentally, U2 has recently announced Glasvegas will open for them for part of their upcoming tour.

In tough economic times, most people tend to cut back on extravagances, which can be shown in popular music during various eras of recession. It seems hard times often bring the best music. The 2002 recession may have been short, but it brought the White Stripes to prominence. A duo of just guitar and drums, Jack and Meg White’s minimalism was a welcome shot in the arm to the rock industry. A decade earlier, as the United States was going through the Bush I recession, audiences rebelled against the excesses of hair bands like Motley Crue and flocked to an unknown Seattle trio, Nirvana, en masse. Nirvana’s “Nevermind” became the anthem of early 90’s angst and even knocked the King of Pop Michael Jackson from the top of the charts. Nirvana had a minimalist approach to music as well. Although it can be argued produced Butch Vig slicked up Nirvana’s sound, their blistering live performances showcase a band in total deafening control. If “Nevermind” was the angry record of the early 90’s, REM’s “Automatic for the People” was the sad record. Abandoning their traditional, bouncy sound for sparse, melancholy arrangements, REM crafted an album which reflected the attitude of a generation abandoned by their leaders. A stripped down sound filled the record, which is still considered the band’s greatest achievement.

The rise of punk music in 1970’s Britain stands as the ultimate example of music upheaval during an economic crisis. Chronicled in the Julien Temple film “The Filth and the Fury”, punk’s assault and takeover of British youth culture was a direct result of mass unemployment, despair and bitterness young people felt toward their government, elders and society. The Sex Pistols encapsulated these emotions in their first three singles “Anarchy in the U.K.,” “God Save the Queen” and “Pretty Vacant.” The political fury over the band’s popularity caused the BBC to ban playing of “God Save the Queen” to prevent it from becoming the number one song in the country. When the Pistols performed live, it was a live action disaster flick. It became debatable if the band could really play at all, which was a ruse spread by their manager, Malcolm McLaren. The concept of band with questionable musical ability somehow managing to become the most popular artist in Britain was indeed a slap in the face to society. Truthfully, all of the Sex Pistols (even Sid Vicious) had decent musical chops. Decent enough to convince critics they couldn’t play. Like Nirvana, the Sex Pistols’ existence was short (approximately eighteen months) but their one record is still considered one of the finest rock and roll albums ever made.

Glasvegas’ self-titled debut album reflects a society different from the three decades previously discussed. Most western cultures are no longer impoverished on a scale compared to yesteryear. Many people who consider themselves poor still have an Ipod, internet and a big T.V. Yet many are still sad, the disconnection brought on by modern convenience has left many lonely and unappreciated. Glasvegas’ first single, “Geraldine,” describes a social worker who wants to “be the angel on your shoulder” who talks people “back from the edge.” James Allan celebrates an occupation often underappreciated. Drummer Caroline McKay’s simple yet strong backbeat pounds against the falsetto of Rob Allan, James’ cousin. Combined with James Allan’s passionate, accented vocals, “Geraldine” is a fantastic debut single that recalls classic music from the 1950’s with punk bombast and pure pop melody.

“Daddy’s Gone”, the band’s second single is a different take on the far too common problem of absent fathers. James Allan describes his father as “my hero, but you were never here though,” a bittersweet admission of unconditional love. The lyrics, along with Allan’s incredible voice, conveys gutwrenching sadness yet the chorus has tone of defiant resolve:

“I wont be the lonely one
sitting on my own and sad
a fifty year old
reminiscing what I had”

The lyric can be interpreted two ways, as a statement of pity or one of self-determination, possibly both. Many sons of broken homes have resolved to raise their own families the best they can, refusing to subject their children or themselves to the fate given to them by their own father. The song’s arrangement is minimal, repeating motifs of guitar and bass until the emotional final chorus, which incorporates 50’s harmony with punk passion. This synthesis of old and new is epitome of great rock and roll. Glasvegas brings us a new interpretation of the past for our uncertain future. Unlike many of the recession rock artists of the past, Glasvegas inspires us to think, not destroy; to be passionate about life and not nihilistic.

We are in an era where many of us are contemplating our place and our future in this world; an inclusive, yet distant society that seems to long for real emotion rather than those manufactured on television or fabricated on the internet. James Allan and Glasvegas bring us back home, back to the place of unshielded feeling. Many of us need a little bit more of that human touch, the place inside us which makes us care and rage with all our power, suppressing nothing and ideologically uncompromising. Glasvegas challenges us to recognize the world around us for what it is and truly feel it in our gut. The world is not a just soundbite on CNN or gossip item on Perez Hilton. It is a real, evolving entity; one we can shape if we choose to do so. Glasvegas are a triumph of emotion over calculation, belief over doubt. It is this attitude, the same attitude of Elvis Presley, the Sex Pistols and Nirvana, that makes music truly alive for us all.