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"Teenage Kicks"

Before decamping for Merlefest, Peter posted a provocation to which, for various reasons, I have delayed responding. His fundamental argument, as I understand it, is that the sadly inevitable transition from physical album to electronic file will move music back to its halcyon days as a singles format.

Which, he argues, is a good thing, citing for evidence a short series of one-hit wonders whose charms I will leave him to defend.

I wish there were a less crude way to say this, but I'm not a big fan of the one-night stand. I much prefer to have a (very long distance) relationship with the artists I invite onto my shelves. Having spent no little time lusting after a pristine copy of the County Five's Psychotic Reaction LP, for which I finally spent $20 back in 1979 (that's $56.61 in today's dollars; a quick check of eBay suggests you can buy a copy for $24.95-$149.99); having listened over and over again to my best friend's copy of Paper Lace's LP (the one with "The Night Chicago Died") during junior high; having my very own copy of Sammy Johns' Chevy Van LP and the album on which Dean Friedman recorded "Ariel," I have learned the painful lesson that sometimes a fluke hit is nothing more than a fluke. Having been to see no small number of artists on the strength of one radio hit — Sue Saad and the Next come to mind, though I can't say exactly why, except that the disappointment resonates even today — I wish no longer to have my time wasted by such foolishness.

This is why, in the end, the Sonics are a much more durable, influential, and important band than the Count Five, who were, that LP reveals, were nothing more than a bad Yardbirds knock-off. It's why I still occasionally seek out Jonathan Edwards albums, having learned from his self-titled debut that he was capable of rather more than "Sunshine." It's why I remember fondly seeing the Troggs at the Showbox in the late '70s (three of four original members and, as Cheeseman pointed out, deep scars in the backs of their guitars from those huge belt buckles) and discovering that they were really a glorious, robust rock band. (They encored with "Wild Thing" three times, apparently shocked that our punk audience wanted to hear more and having prepared no further songs. I like to think that we stood and applauded, even with the lights on, because they were wonderful and so clearly needed our love and validation.)

A good single should be an entry point to a broader career, to an artist and an artistic vision worth exploring. And, surely it doesn't need saying, but great songs are not necessarily singles. Witness, for example, Gillian Welch's tour de force, "I Dream A Highway."

Peter is, of course, right about many things beyond our shared admiration for Welch's song.

Album sequencing matters a great deal, and is one of my several reservations about the whole downloading debacle. This is why, when Steve Earle wrestled control of his comeback album Train A Comin' from Winter Harvest and restored his sequencing for the album for its reissue on his label, I tossed the original. I trust that Steve knows best how to present his songs. And he does. (And I mean no disrespect to the folks who worked at Winter Harvest. They did a good thing.)

And, as Peter writes, far too many CDs take advantage of the disc's length to release songs nobody needs to hear. But at that point we diverge. I don't take that to suggest that the album as an artistic concept needs to be retired. The problem is really a failure in editing. We are watching the label system crumble, and though I am quite certain some large business entities will survive and prove every bit as odious, I fully understand why musicians wish to be free of those shackles. On the other hand, good producers and A&R people were once capable of forcing artists to rewrite songs that weren't good enough, or to pick new songs. Those filters seem largely to be absent today, and a great deal of listening time is wasted because of that.

One of the more unnerving aspects of writing this blog, for me, is that nobody edits it. Ordinarily Peter watches my back (and I watch his), and most of the big pieces I have written over the last decade have also been read and commented on by my friend and colleague Bill Friskics-Warren, and frequently by my wife. They keep me from saying too many stupid things, they force me to clarify arguments which seem clear to me, but become murky on the page. They call me on my bs, and I need that. Constantly. We all do. Here I work without a safety net, and it is not comfortable. (Which is one of the reasons I try, and I am grateful for your patience as a reader.)

I'm not a musician, not a songwriter, none of that. But all creative people need editors, and musicians — more than most, I suspect — need somebody who is on their side and yet capable of compelling them to do better work. Proponents of the new technology trumpet the removal of filters and the purity of artistic vision possible in this marketplace. Nonsense. Music is a collaborative art, as is filmmaking. And better work comes of that clash of wills (as we reveal six times a year in these pages!). Few artists really thrive without filters, and we can all name a dozen bands that went to hell when the principal songwriter quit taking advice from his or her mates and producers.

Peter argues that there now is a relatively small pool of artists who deserve to make albums. It is certainly true that too many people make albums which reveal they are far from ready to play on the national stage, and my floor is cluttered with them. But among those with real talent, those artists really deserve the advice and counsel of people who can take their talent and help them shape it. And that seems largely absent.

More music in the marketplace isn't better. More GOOD music is better.

And then there are the Avett Brothers, about whom I am of several minds. I fear they are the Old 97s of the new string band set, in that they periodically seem capable of writing durable and revealing songs, but too often are content to run roughshod over them in the frenzy of performance, and even in the studio. Peter hears growth on their new record, and salutes the presence of an outside producer. I wonder if perhaps it is too late, if they have been allowed to shape themselves without intrusion for too long. And I recommend this morning's happy sounds of the Undertones, masters of the fast and furious two-minute pop-punk song, to all.

And, yeah, I'm listening to the greatest hits disc Ryko put out in 1994 because everything else I have is on vinyl. And the second half of the disc isn't nearly as good as the first. So it goes, eh?

Posted by grant on April 29, 2007 10:47 AM | Permalink

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