I think most people tuned to sounds beyond those in the corporate spotlight would acknowledge that the mid-00’s signaled a surge of new, exciting music suddenly getting attention. Of course, some critics credit 2001 as the year rock was reborn, since the emergence of bands like the Strokes, Interpol, the White Stripes, the Vines, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and others was a somewhat refreshing change from the soulless dreck that had dominated since 1999 (some competing hits in 2001: Pink’s Like a Pill, Staind’s On the Outside, and Linkin Park’s In the End). But I hope that, nowadays, people can admit that most of these bands were just a quick fix—a shot of something mildly respectable to hold us over until some really inspiring music came our way. Then it came. True, a bunch of these bands had been around a few years before, but in 2004 they were finally getting the exposure and recognition they deserved. It was a renaissance, of sorts.
There was freak folk: a catch-all term that seemed appropriate for some bands and ridiculous for others, but nonetheless represents an emergence of acts, many of them friends and collaborators, boasting new quirky sounds. Devendra Banhart and Joanna Newsome were the freak-folkiest of the bunch—especially Devendra, whose warm, inviting voice offered imagery that was totally cracked. Both were whimsical spins on 60’s folk sounds, yet both reveled in an eccentricity that was more reflective of Daniel Johnston and Kate Bush. Animal Collective’s Sung Tongs seemed of the moment as well, with its blasted, blissful fragments of acoustic strums and coos making the perfect soundtrack for many a drug-fueled pagan romp. Sufjan Stevens had some folksy trappings, too, with his fondness for banjos and regional lore, but really he sounded more like a cross between Elliot Smith and Stereolab. Regardless, his earnest delivery and pretty harmonies had their charms.
Lumping in Cocorosie, Xiu Xiu, and Antony & the Johnsons with these acts is when the freak-folk label starts to bust. Cocorosie played an intriguingly demented take on children’s lullabies married to hip hop beats, ghostly vocals and animal noises. The sound of Xiu Xiu almost defied description, let alone categorization, but it was challenging, frustrating and exciting. And Antony’s “I Am a Bird Now” was art cabaret that completely shook you with its pure, powerful expression of isolation, loneliness, despair, resignation, and perseverance.
There was also a rise of indie music that fused edgy arrangements and experiments with a bigger, accessible sound—yielding the enticing prospect of eventually having mainstream stars that were actually making interesting music, like the Beatles, David Bowie, and Kate Bush used to. There was the Arcade Fire, who channeled Heroes-era Bowie and Talking Heads into urgent anthems of high passion. There was TV on the Radio, who also took Bowie—as well as Peter Gabriel, 70’s Soul, A.R. Kane, and more—and fashioned a giant, forward-thinking sound that was powerfully emotive, and also sounded great in a stadium. Sufjan Stevens was also one such hopeful, his planned 50-States project being a salient example of his ambition to become an Important Artist. A little later on, there was Patrick Wolf, who had the ramshackle energy of Arcade Fire, the sensuous strings of English folk, the charismatic whimsy of Kate Bush, the dark drama of Echo & the Bunnymen, and the decadent pulse of disco and classic synth pop: which seemed to me like a dynamite recipe for a leftfield artist to capture the attention of the mainstream. There was also M.I.A., whose initial fusion of UK grime, Dirty South and Baile Funk was pretty interesting, but whose second album “Kala” took the fusion approach to wondrous new heights; it was innovative, intelligent, and really damn fun to blast through your speakers.
There were other artists, like the Liars, the Decemberists, the Fiery Furnaces, the Knife, ad infinitum, but writing about them all would take forever! Suffice it to say, there was a glut of good sounds to be heard, and the hopes of many music fans had been restored.
Six years after that initial surge, it now seems as if the renaissance has waned. Devendra decided to front a rock band, a move that has wiped away his unique charms in favor of boring genre clichés. Cocorosie makes the same three songs over and over again. The drama of the Arcade Fire has since morphed into maudlin, world-weary arena rock. It seems that Antony can’t seem to move beyond the sound of his masterpiece, and is in danger of becoming a parody of his former self. Even Animal Collective disappoints! People used to throw around a few bands (Mercury Rev, the Holy Modal Rounders) to describe AC’s general spirit, but their sound was damn unique; now, though, their albums are growing into increasingly more streamlined, non-descript indie, the latest sounding like Brian Wilson at the disco. And for me, the charms of Sufjan, the Decemberists, and the Fiery Furnaces actually proved to be short-lived, with each act’s attempts at cutesy cleverness eventually wearing thin.
Not all hope is lost, though. There’s still some great music coming out. It’s just more of a trickle than a gushing geyser. Xiu Xiu still does what they do best. Joanna Newsome has developed a fuller, mature version of her earlier sound. The Knife just keeps getting better, with their last album, “Tomorrow In a Year” being my favorite album of the year so far. Patrick Wolf may have faltered on his last album, but Bat for Lashes nicely filled in last year’s requirement of inspired dark fairy pop. Similarly, Antony’s spark may have faded, but Soap&Skin is a kindred spirit worth your time.
It’s just that, recently, upon hearing two advance singles from M.I.A.’s new album that is scheduled to come out next month, I felt...well, disappointed.
Again.
It’s been so much fun following the trajectories of these budding and rising artists; am I about to lose yet another one? Is inspiration so ephemeral? Will the Flaming Lips and Radiohead be the only bands who possess both integrity AND staying power?
There’s no real good, clean break to signify an end to this moment in music history (admittedly, many elements of it being a moment at all are probably illusory narrative manipulations from sentimental asses like me), so now seems like a good a time as any.
Let us all raise our glasses and toast to the memory of the 00’s indie boom, the time that jolted life back into the music world.
Cheers to you, dwindling excitement.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Monday, May 24, 2010
FOLK YOU
I don’t like the term “folk music” as it is generally understood. It carries with it a pejorative connotation of primitiveness, of music for commoners.
Plus, its meaning after the 1960’s became frustratingly muddled. Is the eleven-minute, verbosely cryptic “Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands” really supposed to be lumped in with “Goodnight Irene” and “You Are My Sunshine?”
I don’t think any one type of music is intrinsically better, or even that different from any another. Why would it be? We’re all human, and music (like class) is a product of a particular culture. An anthropologist, then, might regard ALL music as a sort of folk music, with different tribes of fans representing their respective sounds. I don’t know any anthropologists to confirm that anyone thinks this way, but I like this conceptualization, and I’ll run with it for now.
I’ve been trying to come up with an informative, parsimonious way to classify human music across cultures and history; to sort out the different types of “folk” music around the world without using specific cultural or historical labels, or even of technique or sound.
Here’s what I have, and feel free to offer feedback or suggestions for change.
Music, to me, can be divided into three very general categories. These categories are defined and distinguished by the role the musical performer plays with respect to his or her audience. These are the categories as I see them:
Campfire Music: Songs of this type can be thought of as encouraging an egalitarian relationship with artist and audience. They are often simple, accessible, and great for group sing-a-longs (or play-alongs for instrumentals).
Shaman Music: The artist as Shaman wants to impress the audience, and to gain their devotion, so songs/performances of this type usually showcase a skill that average people do not have, be it for voice, dance, or command of an instrument. By extension, Shaman music also exhibits much more of the artist’s individual personality than does Campfire music. The more the dominant ego of the Shaman is felt, the more listeners can be swept into his or her cult of devotees.
Pure Music: Songs of this last type are written with the intent of impressing an audience, but also find the artist receding into the background, as if the music was a pure evocation of emotion, enlightenment, or divine glory, rather than the performance of a mere mortal. Pure Music is often reverential in spirit, either to God, or simply to a certain feeling. You might even say that the true audience for songs of this type is the revered Abstraction Itself.
So now that the categories have been established, which artists would go where? It actually depends on the song in question. Most of the Beatles’ songs, especially their early output, would be easily filed under Campfire music. They’re simple, accessible, catchy, and damn fun for everyday people to song along to. Most music typically called “folk” (pre-Dylan, at least) would be Campfire music, as would most dance music, and lots of contemporary pop. D.C. hardcore is a great example of Campfire music: a stylistically unified, egalitarian tribe of warriors distancing themselves from the perceived sins of their surrounding culture, and cementing their solidarity in a rush of communal aggression.
As for Shaman music, this covers most music superstars we know: Your Divas, your Bad Boys, your guitar heros, your charismatic leaders, your impeccable soloists, your masters of show biz. All of that stuff is a Shamanistic display of their power over you. Think Aretha Franklin’s voice, Mick Jagger’s outrageous machismo, Eddie Van Halen’s lightning fast fret work, Mingus’ crazy arrangements, KISS’s image and stage shows. Later Beatles songs grew ever more shamanistic, for example “I Am the Walrus” and “Helter Skelter.” This makes sense, because the opposing pull of everyone’s expanding egos eventually ripped apart the once-famous group unity of the Fab Four. If people tend to worship the artist as an icon, it’s probably fair to say that a role as Shaman has been established.
Finally, there’s Pure music. Some examples include medieval liturgical chants, as well as most Western compositional pieces that prefer emotional or spiritual resonance over impressive showcases of technical skill (think Mozart’s Requiem rather than the Magic Flute). My Bloody Valentine is a more recent example of artists upstaging themselves as performers in favor of obtaining a perfect representation of feeling. Sound collages like Revolution 9 and most of “Kid A” are examples of established Shamans trying out some Pure music.
This categorization is not perfect, I know. Performers like Odetta and Thom Yorke can take a simple, catchy Campfire song (e.g. “Muleskinner Blues” and “Karma Police,” respectively) and turn it into a stunning display of Shaman superiority. And nowadays, our media-saturated and celebrity-obsessed culture has led to the fervent Shamanization of people whose music is Campfire-level accessible, even in performance (e.g. Moby). But I think this “music as social tool” approach has something to it, and seems to explain music’s affect on its creator as well as its audience. It doesn’t require any tedious or messy exploration of music “genomes,” it just explains the dynamics of a tribe when engaging in musical activity. In times before manifest destiny, colonization, globalization and the internet, these tribes were much more consistent and clearly defined. Now, they can change from song to song, which to some probably seems to reflect a flawed conceptualization on my part. While that may be true, I contend that technology and changing culture merely impose superficial variations upon an ages-old human culture machine, and that all this waxing about what is New Wave or No Wave, Grime or Dubstep, sophisticated or primitive, cool or uncool, it’s all arbitrary in the grand scheme of things.
“It’s all folk music, anyway.” Lester Bangs made my point years ago.
Plus, its meaning after the 1960’s became frustratingly muddled. Is the eleven-minute, verbosely cryptic “Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands” really supposed to be lumped in with “Goodnight Irene” and “You Are My Sunshine?”
I don’t think any one type of music is intrinsically better, or even that different from any another. Why would it be? We’re all human, and music (like class) is a product of a particular culture. An anthropologist, then, might regard ALL music as a sort of folk music, with different tribes of fans representing their respective sounds. I don’t know any anthropologists to confirm that anyone thinks this way, but I like this conceptualization, and I’ll run with it for now.
I’ve been trying to come up with an informative, parsimonious way to classify human music across cultures and history; to sort out the different types of “folk” music around the world without using specific cultural or historical labels, or even of technique or sound.
Here’s what I have, and feel free to offer feedback or suggestions for change.
Music, to me, can be divided into three very general categories. These categories are defined and distinguished by the role the musical performer plays with respect to his or her audience. These are the categories as I see them:
Campfire Music: Songs of this type can be thought of as encouraging an egalitarian relationship with artist and audience. They are often simple, accessible, and great for group sing-a-longs (or play-alongs for instrumentals).
Shaman Music: The artist as Shaman wants to impress the audience, and to gain their devotion, so songs/performances of this type usually showcase a skill that average people do not have, be it for voice, dance, or command of an instrument. By extension, Shaman music also exhibits much more of the artist’s individual personality than does Campfire music. The more the dominant ego of the Shaman is felt, the more listeners can be swept into his or her cult of devotees.
Pure Music: Songs of this last type are written with the intent of impressing an audience, but also find the artist receding into the background, as if the music was a pure evocation of emotion, enlightenment, or divine glory, rather than the performance of a mere mortal. Pure Music is often reverential in spirit, either to God, or simply to a certain feeling. You might even say that the true audience for songs of this type is the revered Abstraction Itself.
So now that the categories have been established, which artists would go where? It actually depends on the song in question. Most of the Beatles’ songs, especially their early output, would be easily filed under Campfire music. They’re simple, accessible, catchy, and damn fun for everyday people to song along to. Most music typically called “folk” (pre-Dylan, at least) would be Campfire music, as would most dance music, and lots of contemporary pop. D.C. hardcore is a great example of Campfire music: a stylistically unified, egalitarian tribe of warriors distancing themselves from the perceived sins of their surrounding culture, and cementing their solidarity in a rush of communal aggression.
As for Shaman music, this covers most music superstars we know: Your Divas, your Bad Boys, your guitar heros, your charismatic leaders, your impeccable soloists, your masters of show biz. All of that stuff is a Shamanistic display of their power over you. Think Aretha Franklin’s voice, Mick Jagger’s outrageous machismo, Eddie Van Halen’s lightning fast fret work, Mingus’ crazy arrangements, KISS’s image and stage shows. Later Beatles songs grew ever more shamanistic, for example “I Am the Walrus” and “Helter Skelter.” This makes sense, because the opposing pull of everyone’s expanding egos eventually ripped apart the once-famous group unity of the Fab Four. If people tend to worship the artist as an icon, it’s probably fair to say that a role as Shaman has been established.
Finally, there’s Pure music. Some examples include medieval liturgical chants, as well as most Western compositional pieces that prefer emotional or spiritual resonance over impressive showcases of technical skill (think Mozart’s Requiem rather than the Magic Flute). My Bloody Valentine is a more recent example of artists upstaging themselves as performers in favor of obtaining a perfect representation of feeling. Sound collages like Revolution 9 and most of “Kid A” are examples of established Shamans trying out some Pure music.
This categorization is not perfect, I know. Performers like Odetta and Thom Yorke can take a simple, catchy Campfire song (e.g. “Muleskinner Blues” and “Karma Police,” respectively) and turn it into a stunning display of Shaman superiority. And nowadays, our media-saturated and celebrity-obsessed culture has led to the fervent Shamanization of people whose music is Campfire-level accessible, even in performance (e.g. Moby). But I think this “music as social tool” approach has something to it, and seems to explain music’s affect on its creator as well as its audience. It doesn’t require any tedious or messy exploration of music “genomes,” it just explains the dynamics of a tribe when engaging in musical activity. In times before manifest destiny, colonization, globalization and the internet, these tribes were much more consistent and clearly defined. Now, they can change from song to song, which to some probably seems to reflect a flawed conceptualization on my part. While that may be true, I contend that technology and changing culture merely impose superficial variations upon an ages-old human culture machine, and that all this waxing about what is New Wave or No Wave, Grime or Dubstep, sophisticated or primitive, cool or uncool, it’s all arbitrary in the grand scheme of things.
“It’s all folk music, anyway.” Lester Bangs made my point years ago.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
The Elephunk in the Room: Hip Hop Hatred & Racism
Ok, let’s get started with something that’s been on my mind for a while. Begin Rant:
A few years ago, the New Yorker’s Sasha Frere-Jones accused Stephin Merritt of being racist because, among other things, Merritt didn’t think much of today’s hip hop and R&B artists. I don’t think Frere-Jones’ argument was well-founded (he kind of ignored the obvious trend in Merritt’s taste: that of a gay man getting on in years), and I don’t think that one’s musical tastes determine if they are racist or not (plenty of openly racist people I’ve met listen to mostly rap), but the whole fiasco made explicit something that usually escapes mention: A lot of white Americans don’t like or respect contemporary hip hop and R&B nearly as much as they do rock, jazz, classical, etc.
This general opinion comes in several distinct variations, ranging from musical elitism (they’re not as sophisticated or original as other types of music), blatant racism (e.g. it’s “primitive” or “jungle” music), and a bunch of softer in-betweens.
…Including my own softer in-between. See, I often rank contemporary “urban” artists much lower in my list of preferences than those of other genres. I do like some hip hop and R&B, but rock, jazz, blues, classical and folk artists are way ahead in my book. I would also generalize to say that, with a few exceptions, black artists from recent years just don’t really move me that much.
So why is this? It’s not an argument from “rockism” or anything similar. I don’t like musical elitism. I think that we like what we like, and any musical snobbery that’s around today is an antiquated remnant of times when class determined how one lived and made merry. Put away the powdered wigs and get over yourselves, people.
And I don’t think I need to mention it, but racist explanations offered in this century for anything should be violently ignored. Simply. Stupid.
So why do Kanye, Will.I.Am., and Beyonce get less respect from me than Thom Yorke, Scott Walker, and Joanna Newsome? And why do I love black legends like Miles Davis but am lukewarm for lauded performers like Jay-Z?
I think the main explanation is actually pretty simple: for something to really connect with me, it has to provide an emotional release. The more powerful or complex the emotion elicited, the more I resonate with an artist and their work. I do like silly, fun music (e.g. Surfin Bird, Crank That), but none of it’s at the top of my list. Artists that can conjure joy (Stevie Wonder), melancholy (Joao Gilberto), anger (The Dead Kennedys), terror (Penderecki) ecstasy (John Coltrane, Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan) and strange mixtures of emotions (Astor Piazolla, Pere Ubu) are the ones that make me want to bow to them in reverence. They’re the ones that I really respect.
While this isn’t a racially-motivated opinion, there is a cultural/historical dimension to my distinction between “classic” black artists and the ones lumped as “urban,” and perhaps it’s this dimension that makes everyone jump to the possibility that racism motivates a dislike of rap.
The cultural/historical dimension is this: With the rise of hip hop in the 80’s, Black musicians became encouraged more and more to adapt a tough attitude that was more reflective of life on the street. Yes, gangsta rap is the most obvious example, but even peaceniks like Arrested Development and the Jungle Brothers have a cool distance in their delivery that’s far removed from Stevie Wonder’s unchecked emotional reverie. R&B eventually absorbed this attitude too, and naïve gushers like Whitney Houston’s “How Will I Know” were shelved for tunes with more ‘tude like those by Erykah Badu and R.Kelly.
I understand that this toughness and detachment is probably, to some extent, linked to a newfound sense of artistic independence among Black American artists. Look at the musical transformation of Michael Jackson: “ABC” --> “Rock With You” --> “Billie Jean” --> “Bad & Dirty Diana” --> “In the Closet” --> “Scream.” A morphing from boyish swooning to crotch grabbing badness to righteous indignation. Ever since the 80’s, artists no longer had to play nice like Sam Cooke and Louis Armstrong. Nowadays they can be Nasty, come Straight Outta Compton, and Like Big Butts on their Drunk’n’Hot Girls.
To be fair though, they can also be Prophets of Rage like Public Enemy and Ice Cube. And music by these artists vividly expresses the street-approved emotion of Anger. While I do rank these artists higher than more shallow rappers like Chingy and Birdman, another factor keeps me from fully identifying with any hardcore and gangsta rappers: the lyrics glorifying violence, misogyny, homophobia, and sometimes racism. I respect Chuck D and Ice Cube as artists, but perhaps not as people. Just like most Metal bands, there is a distance between us, regardless of the effective emotional component.
In addition to shedding the obligation to seem warm, friendly, and vulnerable, Black artists also seem to have tossed off the ambition to become Super-Musicians. A lot of white people today note that Black Music doesn’t have a Dizzie Gillespie, a Miles Davis, a Sun Ra, or even a Jimi Hendrix, while acts like Radiohead, Squarepusher, Bjork, etc., are continuing the tradition of generating impressive, creative, innovative output. This is somewhat true (in a superficial sense), but not only does it ignore impressive, creative, innovative and expressive output from Black artists like Prince and TV On the Radio, it also ignores the fact that legendary Black artists like Cab Calloway, James Brown, Marvin Gaye and others had to work their asses off to get noticed, and they still didn’t get the respect (or pay) they deserved until much later. They tried to be superhumans just to validate their humanity in the eyes of White America, and they still got the short shrift. Perhaps I’m wrong, but I think this lead to the opposing expectations for music we see today. A lot of White Americans have a more market-driven attitude of “Why should I respect or pay for an artist that doesn’t try his/her hardest to impress me?” while Black artists and fans perhaps think “Fuck you! The minstrel shows are over. We’re gonna do what we want to do.” So yeah, there are no more Black Super Musicians like Miles Davis, but maybe Miles Davis would be fine with that. Actually, his interviews from the 80’s suggest as much, especially his spat with jazz elitist Wynton Marsalis. After all, Rockism is so 70’s.
If these two theories of mine are true, I can respect why Black artists aren’t eager to make the next “Black Saint & the Sinner Lady” or “Talking Book.” But the fact remains that Urban music today is usually too detached to really move me. The sound of (and choreography for) “Single Ladies” blows me away, but Beyonce never in her songs reveals true emotion beyond cockiness and horniness (which I’ll take over phony love pining, but again, lower on the list). The music of Outkast is catchy, creative, and socially conscious (if also sexist), but Dre and Big Boi don’t really show me the emotions, they tell them to me. If anything, the samples and beats are used to trigger emotion, while their vocals betray nothing beyond cool bemusement. Same with Tribe, same with De La, same with Eric B. & Rakim, same with Everlast, El-P, and Aesop Rock (some White variants of the “Urban” label).
I can’t speak for everyone who ranks Urban artists lower than rock and jazz ones—especially those people whose standard for greatness is set by ridiculous 70’s progressive rock bands—but perhaps there are others who agree with me. I actually think Hip Hop is extremely well suited a genre to exploit emotions like excitement, dread, and reverent ecstasy as well as anger, but this would require artists to drop their reservations and really open up their hearts, which sounds wussy even writing it.
Still, this is the main thing I look for in music, and so if artists today are too tough or cool to really open up to me, then Stephin Merritt and I are just going to listen to the stuff that we can gush over. I’m not sure I’d swoon over a lot of artists in his collection, either, but that’s democracy for you.
End Rant!
A few years ago, the New Yorker’s Sasha Frere-Jones accused Stephin Merritt of being racist because, among other things, Merritt didn’t think much of today’s hip hop and R&B artists. I don’t think Frere-Jones’ argument was well-founded (he kind of ignored the obvious trend in Merritt’s taste: that of a gay man getting on in years), and I don’t think that one’s musical tastes determine if they are racist or not (plenty of openly racist people I’ve met listen to mostly rap), but the whole fiasco made explicit something that usually escapes mention: A lot of white Americans don’t like or respect contemporary hip hop and R&B nearly as much as they do rock, jazz, classical, etc.
This general opinion comes in several distinct variations, ranging from musical elitism (they’re not as sophisticated or original as other types of music), blatant racism (e.g. it’s “primitive” or “jungle” music), and a bunch of softer in-betweens.
…Including my own softer in-between. See, I often rank contemporary “urban” artists much lower in my list of preferences than those of other genres. I do like some hip hop and R&B, but rock, jazz, blues, classical and folk artists are way ahead in my book. I would also generalize to say that, with a few exceptions, black artists from recent years just don’t really move me that much.
So why is this? It’s not an argument from “rockism” or anything similar. I don’t like musical elitism. I think that we like what we like, and any musical snobbery that’s around today is an antiquated remnant of times when class determined how one lived and made merry. Put away the powdered wigs and get over yourselves, people.
And I don’t think I need to mention it, but racist explanations offered in this century for anything should be violently ignored. Simply. Stupid.
So why do Kanye, Will.I.Am., and Beyonce get less respect from me than Thom Yorke, Scott Walker, and Joanna Newsome? And why do I love black legends like Miles Davis but am lukewarm for lauded performers like Jay-Z?
I think the main explanation is actually pretty simple: for something to really connect with me, it has to provide an emotional release. The more powerful or complex the emotion elicited, the more I resonate with an artist and their work. I do like silly, fun music (e.g. Surfin Bird, Crank That), but none of it’s at the top of my list. Artists that can conjure joy (Stevie Wonder), melancholy (Joao Gilberto), anger (The Dead Kennedys), terror (Penderecki) ecstasy (John Coltrane, Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan) and strange mixtures of emotions (Astor Piazolla, Pere Ubu) are the ones that make me want to bow to them in reverence. They’re the ones that I really respect.
While this isn’t a racially-motivated opinion, there is a cultural/historical dimension to my distinction between “classic” black artists and the ones lumped as “urban,” and perhaps it’s this dimension that makes everyone jump to the possibility that racism motivates a dislike of rap.
The cultural/historical dimension is this: With the rise of hip hop in the 80’s, Black musicians became encouraged more and more to adapt a tough attitude that was more reflective of life on the street. Yes, gangsta rap is the most obvious example, but even peaceniks like Arrested Development and the Jungle Brothers have a cool distance in their delivery that’s far removed from Stevie Wonder’s unchecked emotional reverie. R&B eventually absorbed this attitude too, and naïve gushers like Whitney Houston’s “How Will I Know” were shelved for tunes with more ‘tude like those by Erykah Badu and R.Kelly.
I understand that this toughness and detachment is probably, to some extent, linked to a newfound sense of artistic independence among Black American artists. Look at the musical transformation of Michael Jackson: “ABC” --> “Rock With You” --> “Billie Jean” --> “Bad & Dirty Diana” --> “In the Closet” --> “Scream.” A morphing from boyish swooning to crotch grabbing badness to righteous indignation. Ever since the 80’s, artists no longer had to play nice like Sam Cooke and Louis Armstrong. Nowadays they can be Nasty, come Straight Outta Compton, and Like Big Butts on their Drunk’n’Hot Girls.
To be fair though, they can also be Prophets of Rage like Public Enemy and Ice Cube. And music by these artists vividly expresses the street-approved emotion of Anger. While I do rank these artists higher than more shallow rappers like Chingy and Birdman, another factor keeps me from fully identifying with any hardcore and gangsta rappers: the lyrics glorifying violence, misogyny, homophobia, and sometimes racism. I respect Chuck D and Ice Cube as artists, but perhaps not as people. Just like most Metal bands, there is a distance between us, regardless of the effective emotional component.
In addition to shedding the obligation to seem warm, friendly, and vulnerable, Black artists also seem to have tossed off the ambition to become Super-Musicians. A lot of white people today note that Black Music doesn’t have a Dizzie Gillespie, a Miles Davis, a Sun Ra, or even a Jimi Hendrix, while acts like Radiohead, Squarepusher, Bjork, etc., are continuing the tradition of generating impressive, creative, innovative output. This is somewhat true (in a superficial sense), but not only does it ignore impressive, creative, innovative and expressive output from Black artists like Prince and TV On the Radio, it also ignores the fact that legendary Black artists like Cab Calloway, James Brown, Marvin Gaye and others had to work their asses off to get noticed, and they still didn’t get the respect (or pay) they deserved until much later. They tried to be superhumans just to validate their humanity in the eyes of White America, and they still got the short shrift. Perhaps I’m wrong, but I think this lead to the opposing expectations for music we see today. A lot of White Americans have a more market-driven attitude of “Why should I respect or pay for an artist that doesn’t try his/her hardest to impress me?” while Black artists and fans perhaps think “Fuck you! The minstrel shows are over. We’re gonna do what we want to do.” So yeah, there are no more Black Super Musicians like Miles Davis, but maybe Miles Davis would be fine with that. Actually, his interviews from the 80’s suggest as much, especially his spat with jazz elitist Wynton Marsalis. After all, Rockism is so 70’s.
If these two theories of mine are true, I can respect why Black artists aren’t eager to make the next “Black Saint & the Sinner Lady” or “Talking Book.” But the fact remains that Urban music today is usually too detached to really move me. The sound of (and choreography for) “Single Ladies” blows me away, but Beyonce never in her songs reveals true emotion beyond cockiness and horniness (which I’ll take over phony love pining, but again, lower on the list). The music of Outkast is catchy, creative, and socially conscious (if also sexist), but Dre and Big Boi don’t really show me the emotions, they tell them to me. If anything, the samples and beats are used to trigger emotion, while their vocals betray nothing beyond cool bemusement. Same with Tribe, same with De La, same with Eric B. & Rakim, same with Everlast, El-P, and Aesop Rock (some White variants of the “Urban” label).
I can’t speak for everyone who ranks Urban artists lower than rock and jazz ones—especially those people whose standard for greatness is set by ridiculous 70’s progressive rock bands—but perhaps there are others who agree with me. I actually think Hip Hop is extremely well suited a genre to exploit emotions like excitement, dread, and reverent ecstasy as well as anger, but this would require artists to drop their reservations and really open up their hearts, which sounds wussy even writing it.
Still, this is the main thing I look for in music, and so if artists today are too tough or cool to really open up to me, then Stephin Merritt and I are just going to listen to the stuff that we can gush over. I’m not sure I’d swoon over a lot of artists in his collection, either, but that’s democracy for you.
End Rant!
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