We Used To Wait #2: Snooki & Stevie
What would our lives be like without music? This is what I think about. My life, obviously, would be different; I wouldn’t be writing this. I’d probably watch a lot more TV, and that’s what actually set me to thinking about this in the first place. This past Saturday I planted myself in front of the tube for a three hour slop-block consisting of two episodes of Jersey Shore and one episode of Teen Mom; I ate fudge bars while I did this, and I bathed in my own shame afterwards. I should’ve never gotten cable; the amount of time I’ve wasted with the television over the last few weeks would make Matt Roush puke in disgust. (Compelled to mention: I also watch “smart” TV shows like Mad Men but I get mostly the same feeling from them, albeit a bit tempered by protective layers of quality and craftsmanship.)
But I love TV; it’s the easiest, most addictive form of entertainment. There’s no commitment. A record, on the other hand, demands that you sit and stare at the wall for an hour. (This is why music always sounds better when you’re high.) I was a very picky listener until I started jamming through iTunes on my laptop while I surfed the internet; I have a much higher tolerance for unusual-sounding stuff if it’s safely in the background. Listening like this is giving up on getting anything out of the experience before the first note is even played, though. You wouldn’t read a book while having a conversation with your friends on Twitter and adding movies to your Netflix instant queue -- or you might, but you’d be hard-pressed to engage in a discussion about the book’s themes afterward.
A lot of modern music is built for this resigned listening approach -- I present the chill wave genre as proof. When I listen to Neon Indian at work while I’m trying to concentrate, I get a massive fucking headache. Neon Indian songs are meant to be enjoyed in the dark while you smoke a joint and download hip hop mixtapes. It’s glitchy electronic wallpaper that makes your futuristic life seem interesting during the moments when nothing is happening; heard in the analog confines of a real world situation, it’s just irritating. Time passes better with a band like the Hold Steady who caress your pleasure centers with big dumb hooks.
Some smart bands are coming at music from both angles; the new Dale Earnhardt Jr. Jr. EP Horse Power overcomes the initial distasteful note their name strikes, and they do it by goosing simple pop songs with sound effects. I can’t tell if they’re the new Tapes ‘n Tapes or the new Barenaked Ladies; I’m having a fine time studying the evidence for clues. In a way they’re a refreshing reminder of early-naughts buzz bands like Ambulance LTD -- the guys that made old school soft rock but dressed it up like Elliott Smith on his way to the Oscars. I don’t think a band called Dale Earnhardt Jr. Jr. could ever write a song that I would call my favorite song, but they’re pretty good at making songs that I can listen to while I drink light beer on my patio and laugh at kids who fall off their skateboards.
The more time I spend away from my computer, the better my life is. The less time I watch TV, the better my life is. These are the conclusions I’ve come to after a weekend of actively avoiding baser forms of entertainment and focusing on the simple joy of sitting in my apartment and listening to records. Time feels a lot kinder, pressures seem a lot gentler, everything is looser and more enjoyable. When people argue about the definition of “art,” I think of a great song and the way it transcends the everydayness of a tedious moment, the slight shimmer of reality colliding with beauty.
Records I enjoyed the “old-fashioned” way:
- Stevie Nicks -- Bella Donna. Fleetwood Mac have always represented the ultimate in California cocaine rock to me, even though they started as a weird British blues band. I think I confused them with Pink Floyd when I was a child, to be honest. But Bella Donna out-L.A.’s even Rumours, in my opinion; maybe because I actually bought it in L.A. while on vacation, or it might be because this is exactly what you’d imagine Nicks herself listening to while Don Henley does lines off her shawl. Nicks’s singing is beyond good, bordering on “life-altering” -- your girlfriend might do your laundry, but she isn’t Stevie Nicks.
- Bob Dylan -- Greatest Hits, Vol. 2. Why does harmonica sound so much better on wax? The DualDisc remastered versions of Dylan’s landmark records that they released a few years ago revealed a lot of vocal nuance, but the harp-work was ear-piercing. The sound is much warmer on this perennial garage sale staple; I think I paid 25 cents for this and I would take it to a desert island with me. Not if I was stranded, per se, but for a vacation, definitely.
Records I wanted to download:
- The Sword -- Warp Riders. I gave these guys a shot because Lars Ulrich said they were heavy; I bought their second album for half price during the great Circuit City meltdown of ’09. The generic repetitiveness of their riffs is a two-sided dagger; they’re reliable but boring. But maybe they’ve taken another step in their evolution -- this could be one I spend ten bucks on at Best Buy.
- Eels -- Tomorrow Morning. I lost interest in these guys the day I bought Beautiful Freak and discovered that the guy called himself “E.” He seems to have transcended his one MTV hit but I’ve never given his work the attention it probably deserves. I’d download this and listen to the first half; can’t see allocating any portion of my paycheck to it.
- !!! -- Strange Weather, Isn’t It? I purchased one of their songs from iTunes three years ago; I really enjoyed it. If I downloaded this, there’s a 50% chance it’d become my favorite thing this year. But the opposite is that I would hate it, so I can’t justify sacrificing any coin. These decisions are relatively easy with the hindsight of two years spent listening to over-hyped crap, but I could be genuinely missing something with this one. My finger itches.
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I listened to the Eels album. You’re not missing anything there. It’s a snore-fest.
I kinda like the remasters of Dylan’s stuff better than the original vinyls, or at least the vinyls I’ve got. Blasphemy, I know. But GHV2 is the shit. You can’t get “Watching the River Flow” elsewhere otherwise, I think.