Long Live Paper and Scissors

No reason to panic. That's what I tell myself, yet for some reason I do worry.

I don't know why I particularly care, but for some reason I am worried that rock is dead.

Dead. Not buried. Just lying in state, like a benevolent despot.

I know this has been written about ALOT, by writers who have thought more about this than I ever will, who's opinions are lapped up by rock-centrics like me that still care (Chuck Klosterman has probably devoted one million words to the subject.).

I am also aware that for every two people who feel the same way I do, there are two people who will flash a middle finger and tell me that I'm wrong.

I get where the "Rock is Alive and Well" crowd is coming from: There are a ton of great acts putting out exciting new music (if you know where to look for it). The SSXW festival is a cultural phenomenon. It is possible to have a new favorite band every week.

I mean, am I a huge hypocrite if I told you that I think this is one of the most exciting eras in the history of live and recorded music, while at the same time eulogizing an entire genre? Yeah.

Here's why I am worried, in a nutshell:

1. This article about Grizzly Bear. -- Basically, one of the best bands of the past decade is struggling to thrive in today's environment, mostly because the audience for their music is so small. Why is that? It leads me to my next point:
2. Rock has too many chieftains, too few kings.-- Selling out 3,200 seat venues throughout the northeast is impressive, and there are many bands that can do this in today's post-major label age. However, this generation is not producing bands that can reach that next level. Partly, this is by design--the artists themselves aren't thirsty for that kind of commercial success. Partly, this is simply because there is no longer a road map for that kind of superstardom, and no rock audience for that superstarband even if there were.
   
   If U2 was starting out today, would they be THE U2? Probably not.
3. Vampire Weekend. -- Look, I'm not saying they aren't an AMAZING band, that I don't tap my toes to everyone of their catchy songs, that I don't own all of their albums. 'Cause I do. I am just saying that if they are the poster child for rock in this new world, then rock is lost.
   
   In the same way rock would have lost if The Cure had become the biggest band in the world in the late 80's, instead of Guns N' Roses. I dunno.
   
4. We live in a singles world, and rock has always been about albums. -- Most people don't buy albums. They listen to songs. Songs they find through Spotify, or Rdio, or Pandora, if that's still a thing. They go to YouTube and search for music. They're not listening to the same artist for 50 minutes straight. This type of consumerism benefits pop music, producers, and one-hit wonders. But it is not the world in which albums are of any value at all. Which makes REALLY getting into an artist extremely hard to do. And rock is all about getting REALLY into one band, talking your friend's ear off about them until he/she goes out and buys the album just to shut you up.
   
   I kind of think of it as the epic struggle between twitter and journalism, texting and email, cliffs notes and War and Peace. I am on the losing side of this battle, but I feel pretty good about it.
5. Rock has become the plaything of the privileged and the overly critical. -- What I call the "Pitchfork" effect. I'm not sure how rock has become the soundtrack of the upper class, the college educated, the enfranchised. But it seems to have happened.
   
    I think about NPR, our most cerebral of media institutions, which intoduces more new rock music in one hour on "All Songs Considered" then an entire days worth of 'rock format' radio. The same outlets which serve up the newest music for your enjoyment also dissect every moment of an album and determine its value for you, free of charge (on a scale from 1 to 10, no less).
   
   The rock world is full of too many J. Evans Pritchard wannabes, and not enough Mr. Keatings.
   
   The future is firmly the hands of the curators, not the artist, it seems to me.
   
   In the same way that orchestral music eventually became a museum piece. I mean, nobody riots when Stravinsky is played today. "Rite of Spring" is dusted off, played by a competent orchestra, then put back on the same shelf as Bach, Brahms, and Beethoven. How the fuck did that happen?