Rock’N’Roll is Dead, Long Live Jack White
Think of this essay not as rock’n’roll’s obituary but rather a save the date card for its memorial service and perhaps a handy pull out guide on surviving the loss of a beloved family member. Here are a few things to remember as you choke back the tears.
Firstly, it’s not your fault, there’s nothing you could have done. Ever since the mass mergers of the 1970’s when small labels were swallowed by mid-size labels and, in turn, were digested by behemoth conglomerates, your ability to discern quality from crap has been severely hampered. How could you be expected to be objective if an artist is on the TV, their song is backing a new hit movie, your favorite magazine is running a glossy interview and the album cover is on billboards all over town? How can they not be good? They’re everywhere. Surely so many different forms of media can’t be wrong at once. (It is respectfully suggested the reader researches the holdings of companies such as Time Warner, Bertlesmann, and Viacom). You can’t be blamed for taking what you’re given, you’re busy, I know.
Secondly, if you love someone, let them go. It’s OK for rock’n’roll to go. Other music forms have died yet they live on in the hearts of their family and friends. A large number of very well meaning people still love baroque music, gypsy jazz and Appalachian yodeling and carry it close by every day. They are content with listening to old, wonderful recordings and going to the occasional revivalist recital – you should be too. The good news is that you can see still see live music without reigniting those feelings of loss and abandonment from the death of your old friend. There are plenty of exciting new bands around who are doing absolutely nothing new or inspirational and will happily take your money to provide you with that comforting and safe feeling of nostalgia.
Thirdly, you are bound to feel a sense of anger (mainly directed at me). It’s natural and often-as-not the messenger bears the brunt of this. My skin is thick, go ahead, I can take it. Of course I’m full of crap and of course the last Modest Mouse record was a tour-de-force of popular music. And I know Radiohead are the finest band to surface in the last decade and that Death Cab For Cutie have put the indie scene back on the musical map. I know all of this. Think of them as white blood cells zooming round the immune system of popular music, fighting the infection where they can and taking out a few healthy cells out in the process. Trouble is, those white blood cells share the same DNA as their host, they’re essentially the same, they’re derivative and when the sequencing says it’s time for the hearing to go and the eyesight to fade, there’s nothing these brave little cells can do about it.
Now what you need is a shaman, a witch doctor and practitioner of mysterious medicine. Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome to the stage, Mr Jack White. When Jack shakes that Valco Airline shaman stick the forces of nature sit up and listen. The man channels his ancient forebears, Robert Johnson and Blind Lemon Jefferson, into a frenzied collision of salvation and healing. Not since the dark days of Paint It Black and Sympathy For The Devil has bad been so good. The essence of creativity is to deftly and with due reverence take what came before, agitate and add a pinch of mojo, a shake of something indescribable and a few drops of the essence of life. The White Stripes are not the best band on the planet and The Raconteurs are nothing more than a fine facsimile of good times but Jack White, Jack White is the Hoochy Koochy man, the snake charmer and possibly the savior of the moribund art form we call rock’n’roll.
So revel in these last days. Let Gnarls Barkley, Jack Johnson and Nickleback [links intentionally omitted] take you where you want to go (remember to add a tablespoon of Jack White per listen). But heed this well, when old man rock finally departs this mortal coil ask yourself if you were the best friend a genre could have or did you just stand by and watch your best buddy gently expire. By then it will be too late so remember you’ll want your last conversation to be one not of warmth, safety and reconciliation but one of passion, confusion, danger and frenzy. Anything else just ain’t rock’n’roll.
January 16th, 2007 at 7:21 am
While Jack White may or may not be a good musician, he and his girlfriend/ex wife (which is anyway?) are the worst stage performers I’ve ever seen in my life. I’m not sure they are aware that they actually have an audience out in front of them. Going to a show feels like an invasion of their privacy. Like we are peeking through a garage window at a practice session…Can you say boring?