Mad Props! to Townsman eh, who made Rock Town Hall his place and pointed us toward this video for “Jane,” Starship’s smash hit. A motion was made to bring this video to The Main Stage. So it is written, so let it be done!
The floor is open to your analytical skills!
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Townspeople,
This is your Rock Town Hall!
If you’ve already got Back Office privileges and can initiate threads, by all means use your privileges! If you’d like to acquire such privileges, let us know. If you’ve got a comment that needs to be made, what are you waiting for? If you’re just dropping in and find yourself feeling the need to scat, don’t hesitate to register and post your thoughts. The world of intelligent rock discussion benefits from your participation. If nothing else, your own Mr. Moderator gets a day off from himself. It’s a good thing for you as well as me!
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It occurred to me that George Harrison wrote at least two songs on the art of songwriting, “This Song” (check out the “humorous” promotional video that one of those soft serves who don’t allow embedded videos from YouTube has posted here) and “It’s Only a Northern Song.” Traffic has that song every songwriter can relate to, “Empty Pages.” Collectively I’m sure we can list a hundred songs on the art of songwriting, but rather than turn this into another Last Man Standing, let’s share what have these songs taught us about songwriting and the songwriter of each song? For instance, Harrison’s songs about songwriting teach us that it’s not brain surgery, that it can be as much a matter of punching the clock than it is inspiration, that there’s no point in overthinking a song…
This may be the shortest Last Man Standing we’ve ever had, but then again, we frequently say that, don’t we? The goal is not to list any old song about horses; the song has to be about horse racing, or have a definite reference to horse racing. Simply riding a horse doesn’t count, so don’t bother suggesting The Rolling Stones‘ “Wild Horses” whenever that day comes when you ride them.
Because there may be so few horses in this race, I won’t kick things off with the one obvious entrant that comes to mind.
The horses have entered the starting gate…they’re off!
Enjoy the following promotional message, courtesy of one of our very own Townsmen!
This is where we show our exquisite taste in haberdashery and personal grooming, indicating just what we would do with our Look, if we were to enjoy the same (presumably) unexpected mega-stardom enjoyed by the Kings of Leon. KoL chose, for whatever reason, to dump their dope-smoking, white-trash hillbilly Look (the one that so pleased “authenticity”-starved British rock critics a few years ago), in exchange for slick, Randy Jackson-approved, AmIdol garb, hair and grooming.
But what would *you* do? And while we’re at it: which current or past rock personalities dressed with the kind of style and panache that matched your high expectations of a *rock star*?
I look forward to your responses.
HVB
I just have one question: what are we to make of the Kings of Leon‘s transformation from greasy-haired, southern-fried dirt rockers — i.e., this:
… to poncey American Idol contestants; i.e., this:
I mean, really, am I the only person who finds this transformation both weird, and, I dunno, somehow backwards? Aren’t rock stars supposed to start out dressed for success, then let themselves slip into lazy, bongwater-atained hippiedom? What’s going on here?
HVB
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Townsman Al came across a couple of posts on musician Robbie Fulks‘ website that got him thinking…and got him thinking it was time to call on his fellow Townspeople to help him work through some feelings. He asked that I post some excerpts from Fulks’ posts and open the floor for discussion. Take it away, Al!
I came across the following two posts by Robbie Fulks on his website. It’s Robbie ruminating on the relationship between artist and fan, and it struck me in several ways. Most obviously, and despite my best efforts, I saw myself in several of Fulks’ scathing anecdotes. And, unsurprisingly, I was insulted.
Here’s an excerpt from his first post, entitled dumb things to say to singers:
It doesn’t seem too much, though, to expect some manners and social common sense, even from emotional people who have just been roiled by divine vibrations. My mom could hardly believe it when, one of the first times she helped me sell records at a show in Kentucky, a guy recited the last ten years of his personal story. He started in his adolescence and ended in graduate school, mentioning along the way his places of residence, college major and minor, romantic attachments, and shifting musical tastes. It took just over five minutes, and it seemed to be the price, imposed on me by him, of ongoing show attendance and CD purchases. “Why did that asshole think any of that was interesting to anyone?” said Mom, heated by outrage to a profane boil. I answered her honestly, “Some people think they know you very well, so it ‘s only equitable that you know them.”
The other week, a friendly, bright fellow who comes to see me play a lot bumped into me and right away started getting carried off by somber reflections on the course my career had taken over the last 15 years. “It’s always great to see you play,” he said, “but sometimes I feel bad about your audience. You’ve been at it so many years, you put out all this different music. And sometimes people like it, and your shows are packed. And then there are these other periods, when…” In his pause you could almost hear the ellipsis bumping brokenly off — Dot! Dot! Dot! “You are making me depressed,” I told him. I know he was trying to share some simple fellow feeling for what he took to be my Job-like woes, but it’s of no use to me hearing about problems that I’m in no particular position to affect, such as the starving infants of Africa or the turnout at my shows. I actually thought for a second of punching him.
One reason this comment gets on my nerves is that I’ve made it to others. I’m not sure why, but one has a need to acknowledge the unjust obscurity of others. One time I was doing a show with Marti Jones at the Bottom Line in New York. Boy, I wince just thinking about this. Excited to meet her, I pulled her into a private room backstage and just unloaded. “Your records are so good!” I gushed. “And not only good, but perfectly designed in style and production finesse to make you a worldwide superstar! Why didn’t this happen? It bothers me!” She was polite but didn’t fabricate a specific answer to my question. What in the world was I thinking?
Another time I heard the Dixie Chicks singing Darrell Scott’s song “Long Time Gone” on the radio. It sounded so very nice, and so very much like the New Grass Revival, that I immediately called New Grass’s bassist and lead singer, John Cowan, just called him right there from the car in the middle of Pennsylvania. “John!” I breathed. “The Dixie Chicks just sang this song, and it’s a hit for them, and it sounds exactly like you guys used to sound!” “Yes,” he said. “Well?” I retorted. “How does it strike you when someone takes a sound and style that you invented and struggled to achieve commercial recognition with, and sells millions of records with it, twenty years later?” A short silence ensued. “I guess I don’t feel that great about it,” he said at last, beaten. What in the world was I thinking? [More…]
There’s a lot more in this post that I’m sure many of you will identify with, from whatever perspective you’ve had in this artist-fan dynamic. The weekend’s upon us; I encourage you to take some time in the coming days to read his post in whole. For now, if you’re itching to discuss, Fulks eventually comes to this conclusion: Continue reading »
