I’m sorry if you think I’m pretentious. There’s more than a good chance I come across that way. I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve discovered I’m a self-proclaimed snob. And I think I am not alone. There are countless others out there in the world just like me, strutting around with our heads held high, sure to make it known that we like what we like and it’s better than what you like. Again, we’re not trying to be rude (okay, some of us get off on being rude, but I don’t count myself as one of them. I actually worry about being rude.) but we just happen to be thoroughly convinced that what we like IS better than what others around us like, for good reason. Let me clarify, folks like me who know what they like, which is most likely contrary to what is popular with the general masses, are the ones who come across rude or pretentious mainly because what we like is in fact not what is embraced by most of society.
What is the meaning of all this blathering, you may be asking. Let me back up a bit. As per usual, this blog post is simply stemming from things that have been stewing around in my head for quite some time. Usually, after things have been stewing for quite some time, something I see, hear, overhear, or somet unknown muse sends a spark and the whole batch of stew erupts like a gas station falling victim to a careless smoker (a la Zoolander). Suddenly all that has been swimming around in my mind comes spewing out of my fingertips and into words read here or elsewhere. As I’m bad (aka lazy) about editing, I fear that often these words stay a jumbled unorganized mess, but since I know what I’m saying, I simply leave them be. There’s always time for editing, I tell myself. It’s nice to tell yourself things sometimes. This is not where I’m going with my self-proclaimed snobbery post, but is indeed a preview into the chaotic inner-workings of my mind. Perhaps what you read here or hear me say in person will now make a bit more sense with the knowledge that most of what’s written and spoken by me is simply verbally processed spew…which in itself aids in the mental processing, uh, process.
All that to say, as I was on my way to my coffee shop the other afternoon, something lit the match and the gas station erupted and now I’m spewing wordy flames, sorting out the idea that somehow it became okay for music to cease to be art and instead become a mindless opiate for the masses. And that’s when I started to think about how I sound (and probably am) really pretentious. Yet, I remain firm in my convictions.
The music I like, the music my friends like, and that several of my friends make, is in fact better than most of what is heard on popular radio. Let me clarify by what I mean by “better.” Let’s be honest, if we’re basing what is considered “good” music solely on numbers sold and amounts of money amassed, then the majority of true music is not considered good, and therefore definitely not better than what’s on popular radio. But herein lies the problem. Good music doesn’t sell. I mean, it does, but not nearly in the amounts that its popular counterpart does. I suppose that what I mean by “better,” is mostly “higher quality.” So if good music doesn’t make millions of dollars, what constitutes as good/true music?
One word: artistry.
It is the time, dedication, hard work, and yes even natural abilities that makes one a good musician.
Just because someone puts on a pair scrubs, tosses a stethoscope around their neck, that doesn’t make them a nurse. In the same fashion, just because a person is handed a guitar, a microphone, or even a recording contract, that doesn’t make them a musician. I hesitate to even use the term “recording artist” as the word “artist” is involved. If it didn’t make them sound like a small woodwind instrument given to elementary school students, I would just call them “recorders.” So…what do we call the individuals who get so much radio play today, but do very little besides gyrate their bodies while scantily clad? Who cares! It’s sexy, and sex sells. And besides sex and money, what really matters anyway?
I’d like to know who is responsible for deciding music no longer needs to have any sort of quality before being fed to the masses and punch them in the face. You know, if I wasn’t a borderline pacifist. Maybe I can just glare at them intensely and make them uncomfortable with my unwavering stare. But it’s not just their fault. Folks line up to buy this fabricated crap (Well, not so much anymore. Now they click their little keys and make sure gratification is nothing but instant.) The masses feed the industry that feeds the masses.
Okay, obviously not all popular music is terrible. It’s catchy and thus fun to listen to. That has to count for something. I’d say it’s fun to dance to, which given the right crowd, it can be. But dancing these days has turned into nothing more than rubbing against one another’s genitals in a public space with lots of flashing lights…and generally really off-beat.
I often have people ask me how I learn about the musicians that I listen to. It starts with turning off the radio. Sounds strange, doesn’t it? Wanna find out about good music? Turn off the radio! Hmm, no, turn off pop radio. Feel free to leave it on the classic rock station, the classical music station, or
NPR (I promise they’ll play you good music and not turn you into a flailing socialist.) Also, stations like
KEXP and
The Current do a good job at playing music that wasn’t written in 45 minutes by some dude with a computer in a cubicle. Though, theoretically, they’re tied to public radio, so return to the NPR comment and move on.
Fellow music snob friends help, too. It’s important to keep the cycle flowing of telling folks you know about a new band you just heard, so that they may return the favor. And on and on it goes. And you know, the internet might have a little something out there about music. I’m not sure. It’s pretty vast.
Let my conclude by showing you two videos. One is of mega popular multimillion dollar pop star Rihanna. “Her” song “Rude Boy,” was a chart topper written by several dudes (okay, in her defense, she helped) whose native language isn’t even English. Hope you don’t have to dial 1 to understand the lyrics, cuz you know, it would be absurd to be a multi-lingual nation. Wait….that’s off topic and being saved for another blog. Honestly, I think I’d prefer Rihanna’s song in another language. If I couldn’t understand it, I wouldn’t feel the need to douse my eardrums in Holy Water every time I’m unfortunate enough to fall within earshot. Obviously, singing about sex isn’t a bad thing. It’s a totally natural event that people think about on a daily basis. Good music and art and the like lose their power if they aren’t engaging in that which makes us human, both good and bad. But, if I want to hear a woman describe how she’ll give her man an erection, I’ll just hang around the condom aisle in Wal-mart.
The second video is by Drew Grow (formerly of the band Five O’Clock People) who while makes a decent living, continues to play sold out shows to possibly hundreds of people. He is a working artist, constantly developing his craft. Ever evolving as an artist and human, rather than changing with the passing trends. I chose to pair Drew Grow with Rihanna relatively arbitrarily. He just came on my ipod as I’m finish up this post. So I went to
his website where he has a post that touches on things similar what you’ve just read. He, as a quality musician should, wrestles with the larger questions and struggles of life and invites his listeners to do the same. He, like a quality musician should, convies emotion and moves his listeners, with and without words.(Close your eyes and listen instead of watching the video.) He might even talk about sex sometimes, who knows. He's playing here with The Portland Cello Project who also find themselves to be pretty outstanding musicians. He also often plays with a band and together they are called Drew Grow and the Pastor's Wives, if you should feel so inclined to check them out. You should feel so inclined. :)
I know stylistically these two songs are super different. Apples and oranges if you will. I'm not so much focusing on that though. For the moment, ignore style. Focus on quality.
You’re free to like what you like, and we're all going to stick with what we like anyway. But I'm going to stick with quality artistry. (Okay, with the occasional guilty pleasure of music that falls short of the title of “good,” because, damn, that mass-pleasing music is catchy!)
At last, the soap-box is free now. I’m off it.
++It should be noted that simply because someone writes and sings a song in a language other than their own, it doesn’t have to suck. Example
here.
