Year's almost over, so that goddamn awards show's already set up shop at my heels and commenced the appropriate nipping protocols. Coming into '08 there was a definite air of fuck yeah! on the musical end, with beloved new acts like Wolf Parade and Tokyo Police Club slated for sophomore releases. While last year's ceremonies were still going on, I was scratching my head as to what new and outlandish award categories we could fashion for those albums, but the result ended up being—and stop me if you've heard this before—that they changed it. Moreover—and this may or may not be connected to said change—it now sucks.
To summarize: they changed it, now it sucks.
Obviously it's common practice for the blockrog crowd to take this phrase each morning with their tea and scones (nice breakfast choices, assholes), but I've always prided myself as being somewhat of a yeasayer (All Hours Cymbals by Yeasayer: 7.72/10) in these matters. Arcade Fire are better than Talking Heads, Futureheads are better than Gang of Four, and goddamn anything is better than Dinosaur, Jr. But it's an entirely different case here. Nobody has “sold out” (or have they? I honestly dunno. You'll notice that the only reference ever to a record label on this blog was my metaphorical invocation of DFA in my first article, and, y'know what, I may have been talking about the band), nobody's “just ripoffs”, nobody's putting out “the same old shit”. Au contraries, I place the blame on “adulthood”.
Let's review: I've already declared that bands like Arcade Fire have as much of a place—or even more—in the artistic canon as their “groundbreaking” and “revolutionary” progenitors, and this is only partly the usual slam on the nostalgia-mongers. The other half, and the one we'll discuss here, is that “derivative” has become a de facto cuss word in artistic circles. The very notion that a new release draws inspiration or elements from an earlier work is enough to send some into a rage, like so: “they're all just unofficial mods to Quaaaaaaaaaake!” One might counter that the argument is less absurd when stripped of hyperbole, but I really don't think it is.
The contention of the Reasonable Man is that, while originality and experimentation may be of value in the process, its only value in the product is if it contributes to a greater final aesthetic. Granted, if you had shot David Bowie before he ever declared himself a sex alien, I would probably disappear from the fucking time-stream, but that's neither here nor there. I, the Theorist have reason to care about originality, as it very often does lead to the pioneering of new and worthy aesthetics, but I, the Listener am perfectly content with my Foals, thank you. You'll note that in my colleague's repeated attacks on said gentlemen, he has lashed out against the concept (not the execution!) of Jack White twice, yet never actually mentioned music. Valid?
's all we got today, folks. Tune in next time, wherein if you read really closely, you might be able to figure out why these articles are titled “Adulthood”.
