Audio By Carbonatix
There’s a disease spreading through our generation of twenty- and
thirty-year-olds, a malady we inherited from our parents that’s
rendering us culturally stagnant. It’s sapping our identity. Perhaps,
most tragically, we are welcoming this plague into our homes, cars and
iPods — even our karaoke parties. This cancer is called classic
rock, and it needs to be stopped.
Back when your folks were young, do you think they were listening to
their dad’s Benny Goodman and Glenn Miller records? Hell no.
They were forging their individualism through their Janis Joplin and
their Beatles, their Bob Dylan and their Rolling Stones. As they grew
up, they still liked to party, picking up AC/DC and Rush LPs, maybe a
little Electric Light Orchestra when they got high on the weekends.
But hippie, prog and arena rock somehow still dominate the
guitar-based/non-country airwaves all these years later. According to
recent figures from Inside Radio, a New Hampshire-based trade
publication, there are 485 classic-rock stations in the country, more
than any other strain (modern, alternative, etc.) of rock and roll.
Meanwhile, the top-grossing concert acts of 2008 were dominated by
moldy old-timers like Billy Joel, the Eagles and Neil Diamond.
And the fault lies with the lazy listeners. As our baby-boomer
parents head into retirement, we’re taking over as the dominant
consumers of media, and we’re listening to the same crap they did.
This sad story speaks of a lack of imagination among our generation.
Don’t get me wrong: Anyone without a working knowledge of Blonde on
Blonde and Rumours is missing out. But the 1,500th listen to
“Start Me Up” really should involve some crying. Think of it this way:
Probably every person sharing your wi-fi connection at the coffee shop
right now knows the lyrics to “You Shook Me All Night Long,” but how
many of them can sing along to a single song by My Morning Jacket, TV
on the Radio, Of Montreal, Wolf Parade, Neko Case or any of the other
best rock artists of our era?
There are plenty of places to find cutting-edge music — and
often for free. Members of the so-called Internet age have no excuse
for listening to classic rock other than sheer apathy. Shelling out
$100 for Neil Young tickets is making us broke, and meanwhile,
compelling local bands are playing down the street for the cost of a
pint of Fat Tire.
This is generational warfare, and we’re losing, people. So let’s
fight back. Turn off the Jethro Tull. Walk out of dinner parties where
the hosts put Heart on the stereo. Bolt at the mere mention of foxy
ladies. Huey Lewis be damned, let’s drive a stake through the heart of
classic rock and roll until it is no longer beating. Stop kickin’ down
the cobblestones, and for God’s sake, stop feeling groovy.
