Okay, so Lester Bangs had this Theory, right? In so many words, the only direction rock and roll can go in to survive is shrieking atonal non-notes out of shredded vocal chords. The Jesus and Mary Chain, therefore, probably live up to their name. But JAMC is long gone and, besides Nirvana, noise has lost its momentum. The closest we've come this decade is Amnesiac but no one liked it that much anyway. Rock finds itself now in its middle-age, vainly killing itself (Staind) to recoup its early twenties (Led Zeppelin), but taking new joy in tending to its cute and quirky offspring (Vampire Weekend).
No offense to Fall Out Boy (har har har) but how'd we get from the Beatles to Fall Out Boy, exactly? Now, I know this is starting to sound like a conversation every college student has taken part in more times than they care to count, but this is about the next step, not the current one. This is about how to go out in a blaze of glory instead of singing about whether we're human or dancer, which is about as valid a question as whether it's a good idea for your 4-year-old to curl up in a microwave (unless that 4-year-old was Brandon Flowers). Death is not the pinnacle of life, nor is it as bright and wonderful as birth: it's heavy. It's deep, dark, and cavernous. It's gorgeous but in its ugliness, just as child birth is beautiful despite its gore. Therefore, the 21st Century will not see the 21st Century versions of Buddy Holly or Mississippi John Hurt, and if it did, they wouldn't be the ones to close the show. We live to re-achieve that gore, so how do we do it? Not in feathers, I assure you, Mr. Flowers.
Iggy Pop was headed in the right direction. In fact, it would have been almost worth it to see rock die with the Stooges so we wouldn't have to face what it's come to now (at this juncture, Fall Out Boy may take offense, along with Arcade Fire, the Strokes, Fall of Troy, and the White Stripes). Wait, did I just name some of the best bands around and imply they all suck? Yes. I did. Oh, it's good music, but only as good as the Beach Boys or Joy Division or the Stone Roses. Wait, did I just name a bunch of classic bands that have passed the test of time with flying colors and imply they're not that good either? Yes! Yes, I did! Listen better! Because I intentionally did not mention the Beatles or Led Zeppelin or Black Sabbath or Bob Dylan. And as long as we're making lists here, I also didn't mention Sublime, Nirvana, Pink Floyd, Oasis, Michael Jackson, the Clash, the Jimi Hendrix Experience (not so much the solo work), Eminem, or any artists that truly stood for their generation in a wall of sound that transported the General Public - in unison - from their banal day into 3 to 4 minute bouts of suddenly understanding the purpose to their lives, and more importantly, they were the Best at it. The Best. The Best. Sorry, Brian Wilson, but by the time you matured enough to write God Only Knows, John and Paul were doing your job better than you. The list goes on and on and in some ways includes the Beach Boys and excludes the Beatles even, but the latter were definitive. There's not much argument there. I Wanna Hold Your Hand was the first glimpse into rock's potentially violent pubescence and since Lennon died, we've been sittin' waitin' with our hands under our asses for someone to throw the last good punch because we're sick of Abba and we want to move on.
Now, when I say we don't have any Master Bands, I'm intentionally skipping over Radiohead's existence. Why? Because Radiohead's breaking boundaries and shifting shape, etc. etc., and that to me does not the Final Blaze of Glory make. Since this is the Future we're dealing with, we're allowed to work in ideal terms, my ideal being that rock will die with honor - yelling for freedom at a firing squad with its back against the wall and its bloodied fist in the air. So, let's pretend there is no possibility that rock will die its probable death: lying on the asphalt with its face in a puddle and its hand reaching for the bus, as it rolls away and sprinkles mud slush in rock's tired, wrinkled face. Fuck that, let's dream a little. Now, if Radiohead's Third Act is some epic amalgamation of the anthemic Britpop they've forsaken and their talent for composing neo-classical sound orgies, that would make for a proper bookend.
Other possibilities: Ben Gibbard could start taking metric tons of heroin, Jack Johnson could become Interpol's lead singer, or, exactly what Dr. Bangs ordered. An embrace of JAMC's distortion excesses combined with the Stooges' simple death chants, both utilized by talents that can do it right and in a way We would like. Come on, Casablancas, how's about it? Chris Martin? ...Lil Jeezy?
Who knows, maybe Animal Collective will get infinitely better and we'll go down in a blaze of...Confusion....
- Fool in the Rain
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