The New Classic Rock

I’ve written a lot in this blog about classic rock music, but that very term classic rock has actually been causing me a little bit of confusion for some time now. There’s a very definite sense of what I think of whenever the topic pops up in conversation. Everyone knows rock music attained its full-on classic status after hitting its scientifically verified peak in the late 1970’s, right? Well, okay, perhaps that idea is only applicable to those who are a part of my generation. Led Zeppelin, The Who, The Rolling Stones, Aerosmith, The Allman Brothers Band, The Eagles…. No question! My peers and I grew up knowing those guys were decades in front of us, but they were the ones we spoke of in hushed tones when we stated our cases for the greatest classic rock band ever!

We’re still in that mindset; or I am, at least. Buffalo’s popular music station 97 Rock was where all the dinosaurs thunderously trudged in order to show us young whippersnappers how it was done. Every band they played on that station had already been around for decades, and so us young people were lulled into a false sense of security about just how much the popular culture landscape could change. To us, once a classic rock band, always a classic rock band. The 60’s and 70’s monsters stayed in the 60’s and 70’s and didn’t violate our young, cool turf in the 90’s. Until a couple of years ago, that is, when I casually flipped on 97 Rock to hear some of my favorite hard rock staples and was immediately immersed in “Enter Sandman” by Metallica.

97 Rock had expanded their playlist. No biggie – all the stations had to do that in order to survive, and I think the last time 97 Rock did something with theirs, it was still in the 60’s and 70’s. Besides, Metallica had been around a long time itself, so hearing them on 97 Rock shouldn’t have been the strangest feeling in the world. I let it go, but a few weeks later, I flipped on 97 Rock again and heard the distinctive chorus of Nirvana playing “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” Every year, 97 Rock does some kind of charity event where it plays any song requested by anyone over a 24-hour period, and for a minute, I wrote off this freakish new Nirvana spotting as a song in that marathon. Then it ended, and the deejay gave us his usual rundown of the tunes he had just spun, naming the classic Nirvana song as if it were just another regular old song on their playlist. Of course, that was only because “Smells Like Teen Spirit” really was now a song in their playlist canon.

Just like that, my nice, safe way of defining what’s classic rock was destroyed like one of The Who’s stage sets. Life’s good misunderstood friend Time was now here chonking on the rock music of my own generation, and now there’s no way for me to define classic rock by using its passage anymore. Pearl Jam is now being lumped into the same (very broad) pile of bands as The Beatles, AC/DC, and Van Halen. Even though Pearl Jam is the 90’s band whose music most closely resembles that of the classic rockers I fell in love with, my head is still having trouble ringing it up. I grew up listening to bands like Nirvana, Pearl Jam, The Smashing Pumpkins, Green Day, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and other grunge and post-grunge bands. Technically, they all got thrown under the rock section at the local CD store so…. Wait, you don’t know what a CD is? Er…. Go ask your parents. Okay, now that you’ve satisfied your curiosity, even though every band I’ve mentioned so far is a rock band, I’ve gotten used to placing them into two different mental compartments: The “Back Then” compartment and the “Here and Now” compartment, and now it seems like “Here and Now” evicted all its tenants and so they’re subletting in “Back Then.”

See, hearing grunge on 97 Rock was important. I’m not at the age where I can still be called a young man anymore, but hearing grunge on the local classic rock station was my first experience with the generational gap. People who were kids when I was in high school had now grown up, and the musical torch was passed down to newer bands like The Black Keys and Arcade Fire while the groups of my youth gracefully moved aside and accepted their new designations as elder statesmen. Therefore, grunge’s new home was a final signal that I wouldn’t be keeping up with what was new and hip anymore.

There’s no doubt in my mind that all those bands I loved in the 90’s will still go on to create millions of new fans. I did spend most of my childhood listening to 97 Rock, after all, and became a diehard fan of many of the bands who get played on the station. But it’s odd to think that if I get involved in an argument at school over who the best classic rock band is, I’ll have firsthand experience as I tell them about the glory days of REM and Weezer, the year when Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness was the greatest rock album ever produced and how Billy Corgan’s behavior in the ensuing aftermath pretty much fucked up The Smashing Pumpkins for good, more era-specific bands like Goo Goo Dolls and Oasis, and of course the real giants of classic rock – guys like Black Sabbath and Bruce Springsteen, who were the classic rock staples of my own childhood. Telling them about that last one will inevitably be their cue to give me quizzical looks and ask “Who?” And then refer to those guys as the moldy oldies when I tell them.

That will, in turn, be my own cue to mention that this is going to happen to the rock bands of their generation one day.

Me and The Beatles

Like every other city in the world that rocks out to the old classic bands, Buffalo has always had a very strong relationship with The Beatles. Two of the local radio stations play Beatles songs at particular times every day, and one of them even plays a two-hour bloc of Beatles music every weekend. When that radio station recently created a list of the 100 great vinyl albums ever made, two Beatles albums – The White Album and Abbey Road – placed in the top five. It’s a pretty reverential way to treat a rock band that was so popular, it never got around to swinging by Buffalo. We know the songs, we can quote the lyrics, we argue over the quality of the albums.

And yet. To me, The Beatles were always a kind of the odd man out among the British invasion bands. It’s extremely important to note a few things right now: First, I am a Beatles fan. Although I never bought any of their music on CD, I own several of their albums; Revolver, Rubber Soul, and Abbey Road are all in my iPod, and I will soon be adding Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. And second, I understand why they have attained their status as the greatest rock band of all time. The barriers they broke down in their full realization of studio musicianship are inarguable in their importance and the role they played in the development of modern rock music.

I have, however, had a few problems with the band that many who know me don’t share. In conversation, I’ve often come off as someone who hates these four unlikely Liverpudlian scousers because I’m not capable of elevating them to the critical immunity they have apparently attained. First, John Lennon: My great respects to him for his talent as a songwriter and experimenter. However, in the later days of The Beatles, his songwriting comes off like he cared more about his public’s perception of him as a serious artiste than he did about making music he truly believed in. While he eventually came around again during his solo career, a lot of his later Beatles music just comes off as pretentious to me. Second, I hate the weird feud between the John and Paul factions because they act as if John and Paul were the only two songwriters in the band. They were prominent, but that contest is only a contest at all if you believe quantity means more than quality. Both of them paled in comparison to George, whose output was less because he wasn’t constantly teaming up with anyone. Hell, you could include Ringo if you like. He only wrote two songs for the band, but one of them was “Octopus’s Garden.” Third, no one – John or Paul people – appears to be giving Paul any of the credit he deserves as an experimenter. Everyone concentrates on his ability to write catchy pop tunes.

I didn’t automatically develop a taste for The Beatles, as most of my more artistically inclined friends did. It gradually evolved as I slowly came in later ages to appreciate lyrical and sonic depth. Even counting this, though, a ton of their work is still rather hit or miss. I can appreciate the beauty of the string instruments on “Eleanor Rigby,” but that song evokes a lot of old feelings I’ve had for extended periods in my life and would rather avoid remembering. I have that same complaint about “Yesterday.” I think the entire White Album is overrated, having lost any sense of passion or meaning in an array of competitive artistry and studio wizardry.

I faced a lot of put-downs because I tend to concentrate so much on what I don’t like about The Beatles in conversation. I’m a contrarian, so that’s instinctive. But there is one universal facet of Beatles music which I don’t believe even their most fervent supports can argue: They don’t have the sense of passion, anger, or fun that so many of the other bands of that era had, and for a blue-collar city like Buffalo, that should make them the odd band out. In my personal pantheon, it DOES make them the odd band out. Yes, John sang out for a world-changing revolution in the wonderful song “Revolution,” but as much as I love that song, it lulls and rings flat and hollow when compared to The Rolling Stones and the springy, urgent guitar rhythm in “Street Fighting Man” as Mick Jagger desperately ponders the situation of a restless poor boy in London. Yes, “Eleanor Rigby” is a soul-haunting song which captures the sorrow of loneliness, but it can’t compare to The Who playing “Behind Blue Eyes” as Roger Daltry’s monotonous, growling vocals capture not only the the sorrow, but the anger, resentment, and total mental alienation of loneliness as well. “Back in the USSR” was a cute, clever practical joke on global politics which missed because it was also a cute, clever knock at The Beach Boys as well. Cute, clever, and missed points are all applicable terms which aptly describe another great song about global politics by another great British band: The Clash and their song about unrest in the middle east, “Rock the Casbah,” which about 90 percent of people hearing it for the first time mistake for a sexual anthem.

The Beatles were born into the working class in Liverpool after the Luftwaffe bombings, but I never was able to get the feeling they’ve actually been there. Even at their angriest, most passionate, or most fun, The Beatles sound like they’re forcing themselves to emote. In Buffalo, I get the feeling they’re the local rock band of suburbanites; they look at the issues from afar, thinking they’ll never have to contend with them in their lives. They show concern, but that concern never goes beyond the occasional check for a private charity.

In the meantime, The Rolling Stones and The Who are the passionate fighters for justice, fighting the root causes of the problems with all their rage. They have been the more relatable of the great British bands to me. The Who in particular – although, ironically, I only own one of their albums (Who’s Next) – seem to have a song for everything that strikes a chord with me. They’ve captured my alienation (“Behind Blue Eyes”), my eventual empowerment and embrace of my outcast, rebel status (“Baba O’Riley”), my fascination and eventual disillusionment with populist movements (“Won’t Get Fooled Again”), and even the way I used video games as a means of escape when I was a kid (“Pinball Wizard”). The Rolling Stones captured my depression (“Paint it, Black”), and inspired me to keep fighting for my goals even when they don’t seem attainable (You Can’t Always Get What You Want”). Led Zeppelin captured my imagination in virtually every way. The Clash captured my frustration with corporations. The Police I just love to listen to.

As for The Beatles, they’re a truly fantastic band, and I love listening to their music. I cannot, however, revere them as invincible musical demigods.