Apr 06
YEEARRRRGHHHH!!!
Hmm. Trying to emulate Beck’s opening scream in “Lord Only Knows” doesn’t seem to translate too well in the written form. However, the sound is exactly what I need to describe the current state of music, as well as the convulsions that my stomach was going through following an Indian buffet feast Sunday evening.
The music-buffet analogy works on a variety of levels. Entering a dining hall with rows upon rows of steaming dishes, salivating at the thought of sampling the roast beef, the beef vindaloo or the chicken parmesan, is akin to walking into the nearest HMV/Music World/”insert-record-store-here,” on a Tuesday, eager to select from the multitude of albums: your favourite beats, tunes and riffs.
Behold, the roast beef is placed upon a separate carving board, with inviting heating lamps strategically placed to reflect the right amounts of grease and juices oozing from the block of meat. Examine the cardboard cutout of Britney Spears, immortalizing some provocative pose, enticing you with a look that says “Come hither and buy my album.”
(I’m not equating beef to Britney; perhaps in a future post.)
Unfortunately, this is where the analogy stops, as the buffet challenges us to explore new tastes and expand our palates, while the music industry has left its audience “musically castrated.” Much like the culinary dolt who sticks to his boring serving of meat-and-potatoes, the music industry has force-fed processed tripe down our ears. Latching on to each new fad as if its life depended on it (and in some cases it does), labels are delivering countless variations of Britney, The Strokes and Korn to our deaf ears. The incessant need of the blind audience to be satisfied with the familiar has driven the industry to continue generating carbon copies of past acts.
We have got to break free from producing the same garbage, staying within the categories imposed upon us by the music industry. Theodor Adorno said “He who integrates is lost.”
When faced with choices, stand firm and make a decision.
