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Barring the gauntlet
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Fun, simplistic music left in the '80s-let's bring it back**
Ooh, baby, do you know what that's worth? We'll make heaven a place on earth.--Belinda Carlisle, 1987.
Is she perverted like me? Would she go down on you in a theater?--Alanis Morrisette, 1995.
Remember when music was fun? When you could listen to the radio and hum along comfortably, without having to think too hard--or at all--about any particular song? In the '50s, you had the Drifters: "Saturday night at the movies, who cares what picture you see, when you're huggin' with your baby last row in the balcony?" In the '60s, of course, rock got its first taste of social morality. Pick your hippie band, pick your topic, but there was still a line that wouldn't be crossed, even by the most radical of musicians. (OK, maybe the lines would be crossed, but the radio stations would only rarely play those songs) In the '70s, groups such as Led Zeppelin created songs of depth and beauty, but then came disco, and we all know what happened next.
The polyester ethic extended into the '80s, when Republicans ruled the country and America seemed like a pretty good place to be. WeEhad just endured wars and a close encounter of the impeachment kind, and it was time to sit back, relax and let an actor from California protect us from the Evil Empire. Not a bad deal, if you ask me.
During that decade, music seemed to be a fairly empty-headed art. Any idiot with a bad haircut and a synthesizer could get a record contract (Kajagoogoo, Madness and A Flock of Seagulls, for example). The closest the Top 40 got to social consciousness was with "We are the world," and those who wanted more could just head to alternative radio, thank you very much.
My sisters and I would sit in front of the stereo on weekends, listening to the American Top 40 with Casey Kasem, before he got relegated to the mere "Hot 20." We would listen devoutly to the Go-Go's, who, along with The Gloved One, of course, were probably one of our favorites. Theirs was a music of insouciant abandon: "Everybody get on your feet. We got the beat. Yeah, yeah, we got the beat." Facile, yes, but darn fun for three kids in their pre-high school years. And Michael, before he removed the glove and starting touching other people's crotches, was the be-all and end-all of musical utopia. That goes without saying. (It still frightens me to think that kids 12 and under were actually born after "Thriller" came out.)
Now, of course, it's the '90s, and it seems that the only way to get a record deal is to prove that you can be more offensive or more off-the-wall than the next guy in line. Examples of this abound: Nirvana, for instance, seemed to think that they were the purveyors of all things angst-ridden--even if frontman Kurt Cobain was too pretentious to admit that he enjoyed the band's success. Pearl Jam, one of my favorite bands, also seems to carry the torch for a generation's (perceived) ennui.
My favorite example of this is their song "Jeremy," which tells of a boy who, emotionally abused and ignored by his parents, blows his head off in front of his classmates at school. "Clearly I remember picking on the boy--seemed a harmless little f--k. But we unleashed a lion--gnashed his teeth and bit the recess lady's breast. Add more lyrcs.
The Go-Go's this is not. And for some reason, I wish it were. After hearing every rock band and rapper talk about all the crap going on in the world, I'm starting to long for the days when you could turn on the radio, flip it to Casey's Top 40 and hear the Bangles telling you to walk like an Egyptian, or Culture Club asking, "Do you really want to hurt me?" Hootie and the Blowfish is currently enjoying commercial success based on this very principle. Members of the band have said in interviews that they want to make fun, carefree music--even if critics bash them for admittedly saccharin lyrics like, "But there's nothing I can do--I only wanna be with you. Hey, I'm tangled up in blue--I only wanna be with you." Such simplicity is not acceptable, not angst-chic enough, in the Very Serious and Important Music Atmosphere of the '90s.
It comes down to this, I suppose: I want to get the beat, not the point. I want to return to the days when Run D.M.C.'s idea of hard-line rap was, "You talk too much, oh boy you never shut up," and bubble gum pop erased any hint of serious thought from music lyrics. I don't want to hear Alanis Morrisette talk about theatrical blow-jobs or Pearl Jam talking about child abuse or wife-beating. These are important issues, but do they belong on radio? Maybe, maybe not--but until they leave, I'll be minding my own, waiting patiently for a comeback from Belinda and the gang.
Justin Dillon is a Trinity senior and editor of The Chronicle.
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