When it comes to
writing, I get an A for content. As for flow….basically there is none- so just
try to keep up.
Sitting, cold
and wet at the most epic concert venue in the world, I pondered (which is funny
because I was almost too sick to even think let alone ponder) “what the hell has happened to music?” There is more rap on CMT than here is on MTV,
no music at all on MTV or VH1, musicians are in short supply but if you’re
computer literate you can back up and front your own band, produce, record and
market your own album and probably take home a Grammy for it the next year. Mind
you, you haven’t ever even picked up an instrument and you can’t sing but you
know how to mix, I mean fix that. Elwood Blues could not have said it better…
It’s recycled digitally sampled techno groove, synth rhythms, pseudo songs of
violence laden gangsta rap, acid pop and saccharin soulless slush.” It’s disappointing really, and disheartening.
As the parent of a “tween” I go through a constant circle of emotions when it
comes to the music she listens too: proud mom moment, rock out with the kid
moment, OMG turn that sh!t off moments, and all points in between. We raised
her right though. She loves Elvis, Led Zepplin, Joe Bonamasa, BB King, Stevie
Nicks…..and of course she likes Ke$ha, Lady Gaga, and a plethora of other
“artists” that definitely have catchy tunes and make you wanna groove in your
car seat but musicians? - most of them are not….far from it actually. My
husband can completely reproduce their entire albums on his keyboard in less
than 30 minutes.
When did it
come to this? When did we stop caring about jam bands, guitar riffs that melted
your face off, drum solos that made you pee your pants, power ballads that
broke down even the toughest bastard. When did we let go of that? When music grabbed
a hold of you and yanked you up by the roots. It wasn’t always sensible but it
was profound. It lacked finesse but it was an extension of your soul and you
could share it with everyone around you. It was as simple as the fellowship
that came from peeing in a field with a bunch of strangers after a show. Music
was a religion, just look at the 60’s and 70’s. People dedicated their entire
lives to following bands around the country and so what? So what if they gave
the proverbial F-You to society and blue collar jobs and white picket fences.
They didn’t have a pot to piss in but they had happiness; happiness, freedom
and love, they shared, they laughed and they lived-they truly lived. Yes, things have changed, it’s not so easy to
live that lifestyle anymore unless you’re on a commune in Oregon but that
doesn’t mean the rest of us should have to settle musically.
This is why I
flip through my parents old records once in a while. There is good, good music
in there. I was bottle fed this stuff! Led Zepplin, Janis, Jimi, Crosby, Stills
& Nash, ZZ Top. It was the soundtrack to life. It was always spinning in
the living room. My parents appreciated good music, felt it, lived it, enjoyed
it, shared it. They started taking me to concerts when I was 10. My first
experience was EPIC, it was loud, crazy, it was Red Rocks, a drunk lady threw
up on me-I couldn’t have asked for anything better, it was awesome! My parents were
products of the 60’s and before I was 12 I had seen Neil Young and Crazy Horse, Robert Plant, CCR,
ELO, Billy Joel, U2, Foreigner, Sabbath, Pink Floyd, Marshall Tucker. Then later
they tagged along to the bands I grew up wanting to see, Def Leppard,
Metallica, GnR, Pearl Jam, Refreshments, Smashing Pumpkins, Everclear, Matchbox
Twenty. They never said no to anyone I wanted to go see because I never liked a
band that wasn’t made up of actual, living, breathing musicians. Love or hate their music, they actually knew
how to play instruments…..what a concept!
Maybe all of this technology is put here to make us appreciate the real
music that’s left. Hell BB King has been doing this for 70 years now, still the same, still blues,
still plays, still makes Lucille talk, of course he sits a lot more now but
what the hell, he feels it, you feel it and it didn’t come off a junk drive. One
night, we were stuck on the ramp at Red Rocks for an hour (I have no idea
why.) We stood like cattle waiting to be
branded, singing every TV theme song we could think of. Nothing says comradery
like belting out the Brady Bunch with a herd of weirdo’s you don’t even
know! None the less, I will never forget
it, it was simple, it was stupid and even now, it makes me smile. On the 25th Anniversary of Woodstock,
my dad stacked the speakers up in the window of our house, pointing outwards,
and played Jimi Hendrix Star Spangled Banner as loud as that German system
would go. You could hear it for miles.
It was a lesson in love: love of the times, love of America, love of peace, and
a lesson on how to break the law just a little bit and feel good about it.
So back to my pondering in the cold night. I
admit I was annoyed by many things at that show. First, I was f-ing cold, it
was June and I was cold! On top of that, I was dying of what could only be
poisoning from the margarita machine. Mostly, I was disappointed. When you love a band your
whole life (name not to be mentioned) and then you don’t get the show you know
they are of capable of, you feel a little cheated.(On a side note, apparently
I’m just getting old because I no longer have the patience for stupid people.
To this day I do not see the point in $50-200 to see a band (yea, we won’t
touch that subject) and then getting so drunk you don’t remember any of the
show.) For days afterwards I read post
after post on Facebook about how amazing and wonderful this show was when
really, there have definitely been better.
And I guess I feel a little cheated when you have the service fee from
hell on your ticket charge and the sound guy has clearly lost his mind because
no one in the band can hear each other and the timing is off for the first 5
songs. And I feel ever further cheated when a guy’s a jerk! The
way I see it, I make your paycheck. I buy your CD and your t-shirt, download
your songs, pay to see you live. I
make your paycheck and you do not
reserve the right to be an asshole to me. You have it made, there is no need to
be a prick. Maybe my expectations are just too high.
Okay, rant
over-now, having said all of that and I know it was all over the place, occasionally,
my faith is restored-Alleluia! And if you have achieved restoring my faith you
have done something. What I love more
than anything in life is when you stumble across by chance, accidentally, or on
purpose, a band that makes you smile big and say to yourself “Hell yes, that is what it is about. That is what it is supposed to sound
like. That is what it is supposed to
feel like. It is supposed to be this
infectious! YOU are supposed to make ME feel this way! That is it!” Kinda like a “come to Jesus” moment in the
music world.
Over time, our
perceptions change but the electricity never does. The fact remains that you can’t program
passion and you can’t download soul. There is only one way to get that feeling.
The one that starts in the soles of your shoes and collapses your knees a
little bit and tears through every inch of your insides and makes you groove
whether you want to or not and you never, ever want it to stop. It comes from
good live music and musicians that love what they do and what they do to you.
They give it all, with every ounce of everything they are, it pours out of
their hands and feet and eyes, it oozes out of their pores and you can’t help
but just want all of it. It’s
like a storm that just dropped out of the sky on top of us and blew us the hell
away. How refreshing to hear something
so classic and so vintage sound so right now. So soul, so funk, so rock, so
creamy, so tasty, so, so…. Energy and sweat and skill and sex flooding the
stage and fueling the well-oiled machine that blazes through you like
lightening and burns your soul leaving you simply smoldering in the afterglow
when it’s all over.
Yea, that’s what it was like. That’s what it was like the night Vintage
Trouble restored my faith in music.
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