The Music of 1995

Last month my friend Kevin summarized his feelings for the music of 1995.  He wrote:

1995 music finally crushed me.  Off with the makeup.  Cut the hair.  Get clothes in a color other than black.  Trade in boots for loafers and quit Bartz's Party Store and start work at Fleet Mortgage/Washington Mutual for next 15 years.  95 didn't scare me straight, it frustrated me into society, and I owe it all to …… Coolio??

I decided it was my mission to prove him wrong, because my memories of the music of 1995 were quite positive, so I spent a month gathering music from this forgotten year.  What I found in my own collection was enough to make a strong case, but I went out and gleaned another dozen or so bands to feature – some I’d never even heard of before – and then my friend John hopped onto the theme, making an even stronger case.  Last Saturday, four of us got together in Wisconsin to do nothing but play and discuss music.  Here’s what we came up with for 1995.  For me, the first three albums along justify the entire year:

“High and Dry” and “Planet Telex” from The Bends – Radiohead

“Jackson Cannery” from Ben Folds Five – Ben Folds Five

“Common People” from Different Class – Pulp

“Honey White” from Yes – Morphine

“Universal Heartbeat” from Only Everything – Juliana Hatfield

“Downtown” from Mirror Ball – Neil Young

“Not My Idea” from Garbage – Garbage

“Summerland” from Sparkle and Fade – Everclear

“Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me” from Batman Forever Soundtrack – U2

“Somebody’s Crying” from Forever Blue – Chris Isaak

“You Could Make a Killing” from I’m With Stupid – Aimee Mann

“The Universal” from The Great Escape – Blur

"Just Like Anyone" from Let Your Dim Light Shine - Soul Asylum

“Don’t Look Back in Anger” from (What’s the Story) Morning Glory – Oasis

“Hometown Blues” from Train a Comin’ – Steve Earle

“Radio King” from Down by the old Mainstream – Golden Smog

“That Was Another Country” from Glow – Innocence Mission

“Sandman” and “A Happy Ending” from Faust – Randy Newman

“You Must Go” from Walk On – John Hiatt

“In the Meantime” from Resident Alien – Spacehog

“Brain Stew” from Insomniac – Green Day

“You’ll See” from Something to Remember – Madonna

“Blue” from Tomorrow the Green Grass – Jayhawks

“Awake” from Wholesale Meats and Fish – Letters to Cleo

“My Friends” from One Hot Minute – Red Hot Chili Peppers

“This is a Call” from Foo Fighters – Foo Fighters

“Loose String” from Trace – Sun Volt

“All I Really Want” from Jagged Little Pill – Alanis Morissette

“Every Poet Wants to Murder Shakespeare” from Kisses 50 Cents – Bad Examples

“In the Blood” from Deluxe – Better Than Ezra

“Casino Queen” from A.M. – Wilco

And that’s only what we had time for.  There were many other band represented in 1995 that might have been worthy of our time: Big Country, Emmylou Harris, Smashing Pumpkins, Lloyd Cole, Graham Parker, Collective Soul, Del Amitri, Little Feat, Indigo Girls, Alice in Chains, Goo Goo Dolls, Dishwalla, Bruce Springsteen, Urge Overkill, Prince, Bar Scott, Semisonic, Vigilantes of Love, etc., not to mention jazz, hip-hop and other genres that we didn’t focus on but that undoubtedly had something to offer.

1995 may not have been perfect, but it surely had some terrific stuff.  Sure, for some of these picks I happened to play the one really good song from an otherwise mediocre album.  But you can’t tell me that when the oldies station plays “Happy Together” by The Turtles that you’re wishing the disc jockey had picked a deep cut.  Sometimes the hit is what makes the album.

Then again, I’d put up Radiohead’s The Bends against any album of any year, and it would hold up very well.

So was Kevin persuaded to view the music of 1995 in a new light?  Impressions are tough to overcome, but I think there may be a crack in the armor.  Perhaps Kevin can post a comment below if he cares to interject.

This Business of Music

In Sunday’s Chicago Tribune, Mark Caro offers a terrific analysis of today’s music business that has artists and labels scrambling to tap into on-line sources of income.  Far too often, these sources offer a pittance, calling into question whether artists can continue to create albums and make a living.

That the big labels screwed up and screwed up big in the late 90s when they fought tooth and nail the reality of the Internet goes without saying (and it’s eerily similar to the ongoing battles between Time Warner and local network affiliates – will cable even exist ten years from now?), but it’s doubtful that anyone could have predicted that online streaming would become the primary way people listen to music. 

The very idea of owning one’s music is becoming anachronistic.  Sure, there continues to be a “vinyl revival,” with LP sales increasing almost 6-fold since 2007 (a trend that couldn’t make me happier), but on the whole album sales have reached historic lows, and digital albums aren’t exactly booming either, growing a measly 1.9% in the second quarter of 2013, and possibly declining this quarter.

Which leaves streaming: YouTube.  Pandora.  Spotify.  iHeartRadio.  Slacker.  SomaFM.  For now, these services aren’t providing musicians with the income that physical sales offer.  Rates vary, but according the article, one would need to listen to a song 200 times for an artist to earn $1 on Pandora vs. earning, say, a dollar with a few sales on iTunes.  The argument goes that once these streaming services grow, they’ll be able to pay more to artists (as Spotify has in Sweden), but that remains to be seen.

(for a positively fascinating breakdown of how one artist makes money, check out Zoe Keating's self-reported income as a musician)

More likely, to me, is that music is simply going to become disposable, worth nothing or close to nothing.  In David Byrne’s terrific book, How Music Works, the former Talking Head’s member remarks how music, in a way, has come full circle.  Over a hundred years ago, the only time people enjoyed music was while it was being played.  There was no “owning” music.  You heard it at a performance, and then it disappeared.  At the time, recorded music was something to be feared.  John Philips Sousa warned us against recorded music, saying that it would not only devalue live performance, but impede the yearning to master an instrument:

The child becomes indifferent to practice, for when music can be heard in the homes without the labor of study and close application, and without the slow process of acquiring a technique,…the tide of amateurism cannot but recede, until there will be left only the mechanical device and the professional executant…

Today, both of Sousa’s concerns appear to have been mollified.  Virtuosos are alive and well in every conceivable genre at every possible instrument.  And live performance is the one thing keeping musicians fed and audiences interested.  Performing used to be an artist’s cash cow, a necessary ingredient to spur physical sales.  Today, when access to musical recordings is ubiquitous, live performing is what’s keeping music fresh, immediate and inspiring, and audiences are willing to shell out serious cash to experience it.

In David Byrne's book, he devotes a chapter to revealing the budgets and income of two of his recent recordings.  It's enlightening, but ultimately not indicative of the average musician, since Byrne is still benefitting from the music business's past paradigm.  Things have shifted, and independent artists today aren't reeping the benefits of the 1970s business model. 

Perhaps one day the vinyl revival will really kick it into gear, and life will return to the glorious past yet again, whereby people gather in front of a turntable and take turns listening to the latest releases.  But in the meantime, an artist's bread and butter appears to be performing.  And perhaps that's the way it should have been all along.

The Suburban Myth

The mythology of suburbia is thick, with mountains of publications spreading the idea that the burbs are an endless landscape of plazas and McMansions where free spirits are forced to conform and where people living not 25 feet from their neighbors live in lonely isolation.  Books have been published about it.  Sermons given.  Songs written.

I love the vintage Anne Taintor magnets that satirize the suburbs, usually through the eyes of a 1950s housewife.  My favorite is of a woman washing dishes who declares, “If by ‘happy’ you mean trapped with no means of escape…?  then yes, I’m happy.”

The Rush song, Subdivisions, describes the suburbs as a place where creativity is a road to isolation:

Nowhere is the dreamer or the misfit so alone…

…Any escape might help to smooth 
The unattractive truth 
But the suburbs have no charms to soothe 
The restless dreams of youth 

These lyrics didn’t mean much to me when it came out in 1982, but as an adult I’ve become more enchanted by this idea of the “suburban dream,” a phrase usually uttered with a degree of irony.  I’ve heard people respond to the question, “How are things going?” with “Oh, you know.  Living the dream in suburbia.”

As with most myths, there’s a morsel of truth behind the sentiment that’s been exaggerated for effect.

As a teenager, I remember saying to friends, “If I ever considering mowing the lawn and doing the laundry achievements, shoot me.”  And yet, I’ve been doing just that for the last 16 years.  I’ve managed to get a few interesting things done as well, but there’s no doubt that a good day is a day when I get a bunch of chores done.  And as a parent who has sometimes fallen into the trap of scheduling my children’s lives with activities from sunup to sundown, I really do think there is a danger that we are fast producing children who are being put into “little boxes” and who will “come out all the same.” (thanks Malvina Reynolds for your satirical look at the burbs).

But I look around me at the ridiculous talents of the children in my community, be it in art or math, science or drama, music or social action endeavors, politics and athletics, and I conclude that the suburban myth of a sprawling landscape of individuality suppression is just that – a myth, applicable to some but not to others, just like any other mythology (consider the Wild West or of New York’s Broadway).

Sadly, there are lost souls in the suburbs, people who are misunderstood, misguided, underloved and uninspired.  But then there are many remarkable people already living out their futures.  Just yesterday I read about Dane Christianson, a 20 year-old student at Illinois IT, who recently invented a new take on the Rubik’s Cube and who looks to become a successful entrepreneur in 2014.

I won’t bother to tell you what I  was doing when I was twenty, but it surely had nothing to do with thinking.

Sure, I wish my neighborhood was a little more friendly.  We have a long way to go in the hospitality department.  I wish more would open their doors to the people who live next door or down the block from them.  I wish people walking their dogs would say hello when passing by.  I wish people wouldn’t drive their cars into their garages, not to be seen again until they leave their garages the next morning.  Things surely aren’t perfect.  And I’m saddened by the young souls who truly don’t fit in, often with tragic consequences.

But I’m no longer buying into the myth.  My kids are doing more interesting things with their teenage years than I did with mine.  A little too scheduled?  Probably.  But also not busily TPing houses on a regular basis the way I did (sure, it was a hell of a lot of fun, but was it constructive?).

If my life adds another reason to buy into the suburban myth, so be it.  It isn't too shabby.

The True Sign of Aging: Smarter Kids

As the parent of two sixteen year-olds, I recognize that my perceived IQ is going to plummet precipitously over the next five years or so, only to rebound nicely in time for my daughters’ graduations from college.  This, I can accept, primarily because it’s temporary and because I’ll end up looking pretty good in the end.

I can also accept that I recently had to purchase my first pair of reading glasses and that the suit I purchased in 1993 is becoming tight in the mid-section. 

What I can’t accept is the true sign of aging: having kids that are far smarter than I am or ever will be.  And this has nothing to do with grades and tests.  Sure, both of my daughters did better on their practice ACTS than I did on my actual exam, but they’ve also taken classes that begin with the words “honors” and “AP,” and they tend to engage in activities such as completing assignments and studying.  Well, sure, anyone can do well on his ACT if he prepares for it.  Where’s the challenge in that?

No, the true sign of my kids’ superior intelligence was exhibited on Labor Day, when my family got together with friends and agreed to play a game of Pictionary – children vs. adults.  I am humbled and ashamed to reveal that my opponents were three-quarters of the way through the board before my team reached the first square!  We managed to shrink the margin of defeat before our kids completed their victory dance, but in truth, the adults – to borrow President Obama’s description of the 2010 midterm election – took a shellacking

Yes, I drew a Christmas tree about as well as my daughter did, but that didn’t help my team guess any quicker.  And my game partner learned that drawing nothing to help us guess the word “nothing,” wasn’t as successful as drawing something and then drawing a line through it, as our opponents did.  Even my 11 year-old son, who I would hope to be lagging somewhat on the intelligence front, portrayed “time zone” perfectly, sketching the Earth, drawing vertical lines through it, and then adding a clock for good measure. 

That’s right.  My sixth grader successfully drew “time zone.”  My team couldn’t even get “yield sign.”

Which is why from now on, I’m going to exercise my superiority over my children the only way I know how: ping-pong.

The Ryan Braun Debacle on 89.7 WUWM

My essay on Ryan Braun aired on Milwaukee's NPR station, 89.7 WUWM, on September 11th.