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I don't usually like to encourage flame
wars on internet message boards. The kind of back and forth prattle that
these things tend to incite really doesn't do much for me, although there
are always exceptions. Last week, while participating in an otherwise
genial discussion of Robert Christgau (the "dean of rock critics") on one
of my favorite boards, a troll presented himself as a truly worthy
exception.
In an exceptionally tacky, multi-post tirade, this fellow (here after
referred to as "Craig") attempted to position himself as A) a
hipper-than-thou contrarian and B) a master of name dropping. His argument
was that because an album doesn't "rock" in the conventional manner, it
isn't worthy of discussion on an otherwise "rock" message board. He
informed us that if an album was not Bob Pollard-approved, essentially, it
didn't matter.
I stopped to think about it for a minute. While nowhere near being a
Postal Blowfish (noun: devout disciple of Guided by Voices), I enjoyed
Pollard's work and, as such, would probably check out records that he did,
in fact, like. However, I also am an unironic fan of songs and albums that
would probably not be considered "cool." Evidence for the prosecution:
FIVE UNCOOL SONGS THAT ARE MOST LIKELY TO GET STUCK IN MICHAEL ROSS'S HEAD
(July edition):
"One On One," Hall and Oates
"Weekend In New England," Barry Manilow
"Knowing Me, Knowing You," ABBA
"Guilty," Barry Gibb and Barbara Streisand
"Don't Stop Believing," Journey
There is nothing cool about this list upon first glance. They're Magic 104
fodder that I grew up hearing and I have since developed a bizarre
fondness for them, pure and simple. They evoke specific feelings and times
and places for me ("One On One"- a twelve-hour flight to London; anything
by Manilow equals riding in my mom's car) that I occasionally crave, much
as Superchunk or GBV may do the same ("Bulldog Skin" was one of the first
indie rock songs I remember humming for days on end). I don't seem to care
about the coolness of my choices any more, and this troll had made me
realize it. I listen to what I like.
The conclusion that I have come by as a result of this is that the "rocktitude"
of an artist, album, or song does not dictate its viability. If this were,
in fact, our measuring stick, then there would be no room for me to bring
up Brian Eno's Music for Airports or Nick Drake. The measure of
music doesn't seem to come from Craig, it doesn't come from Bob Pollard,
it doesn't come from Rolling Stone or Pitchfork; the true importance of
music is dictated by the listener. As John Sebastian put it, "The magic's
in the music and the music's in you." Crank it up.
Actually, the worth of a song is dictated by me,
Michael Ross. Submit inquiries re: what you should be hearing to me, c/o
this website. |
