Ok, as previous posts have made abundantly clear, I am lazy. It is for this reason that I have not reinstalled by satellite radio receiver after removing it to use in another car in September. This, combined with the current NPR pledge drive, and the fact that I have grown a bit tired of the Gnarls Barkley CD currently in my deck (150 or so consecutive listens will have this effect, regardless of the CD’s quality), resulted in my resorting to terrestrial radio for the latter half of my nine-minute commute this morning.
Out of nostalgic obligation, I tuned to KZPS, the classic rock station on which I grew up. The station has since been bought out, of course, by Clear Channel.
The Devil has yet to purchase an iPod, so He has purchased, via Clear Channel, every terrestrial radio station within his jurisdiction to ensure that he never misses the latest from Rob Thomas, Diddy, or Hoobastank)
To my horror, following an unsuspecting John Mellencamp song was Nirvana’s cover of Bowie’s “Man Who Sold the World.” Are you KIDDING me? Bob Seger’s career must be spinning in its grave knowing that it is losing airtime to a band whose leader is not even alive, much less still touring and creating music.
Since when does a song recorded in 1993 count as “classic rock?” This is precisely the sort of negligence that is creating the horrid musical homogeneity rampant in radio today. If mainstream radio can’t even be depended on to expose people to the Stones, the Beatles, Clapton, and the Who, what hope can we have that the masses will be exposed to Duke Ellington, Wes Montgomery, Miles Davis, Buddy Guy, Bob Wills, Jerry Garcia, Neil Young, The Doors, Bob Dylan, Merle Haggard…..
Perhaps the fact that these quality artists are not spoon-fed to the masses is what makes finding and delving into them so very sweet. I did not, after all, discover and learn to appreciate good music from the radio. My sisters and brothers-in-law really impressed on me the value of good music. Sandra introduced me to the Beatles; Paul to the Stones, Cream, Junior Brown, and M. Ward, among others; Dani to Todd Snider, Arrested Development, Miles Davis, and the Gourds, among others; and Sean to Neil Young, Public Enemy, the Skatalites, Jane’s Addiction, and Lenny Kravitz, among many others.
My fear is that the songwriters of tomorrow will, considering Nirvana as a “classic” artist worthy of replication, be both “stupid and contagious” with their music. If the likes of Rob Thomas and Ludacris continue to churn out lyrical and musical drivel, I suppose the best that I can hope for is that the feeling of the discovery of quality bands will become even sweeter by contrast.
While top 40 subscribers are certainly in danger of a white-bread music collection, there are a lot of idie rockers facing a similar peril. If one spends all of one’s time consumed by the next emerging artist, finding vain satisfaction in their appreciation of even the most obscure bands, one is certainly running the risk of listening to purely sub-par music. Thanks to our vigorous consumer market, most quality music does find itself on some sort of label. It’s when the major labels sign no-talent hacks like Fuel, Eve 6, and Matchbox 20 that we are reminded that the best music still lies somewhere under surface, safe from Clear Channel’s watchful eye. It is this subterranean search that makes finding new music so great.
For those of us who really appreciate music and take it seriously, it is through listening to, sharing, and writing about quality music that will guarantee its survival. As long as Mariah Carey outsells M. Ward, the major record labels will have no reason to be concerned with diversity or quality.
