There are many of our universe's many awe-inspiring puzzles still left to crack: the existence of the elusive Higgs Boson; whether String Theory is an accurate proposition and defining precisely how many additonal dimensions it contains; the continued popularity of Alan Carr, etc. One puzzle, though, fills our lives, every hour of every day, and yet, despite its never-ending presence, still proves as slippery to pin down with a qualified definition: what is Rock n' Roll?
It doesn't take us rock n' roll explorers, or anyone with basic computer-operating skills and limited internet orientation savvy, long to throw in a quick wiki search and dig up explanations. Me being one of those sorts, here's what Mr. Web imparted: rock n' roll evolved "in the United States in the late 1940s and early 1950s, with roots in mainly Blues, Country, R&B, Folk and Gospel music," it has its typical contents spelled out like a felon's belongings in an arrest report (2 x electric guitars [one lead, one rhythm], 1 x saxophone [optional], 1 x string bass or electric bass guitar, 1 x drum kit - backbeat accentuated by snare), and it is even heralded as being "one of the best selling music forms since the 1950s." However, these are mudane, definable facts. They don't elicit a similar heady rush or dynamic crackle of static as rock n'roll and they certainly don't explain why leather trouser-clad middle aged men regularly risk yeast infections in its name.
First and foremost rock n' roll is magic, and, unless you're Derren Brown, magic is very hard to explain. How do you detail the essence of that which burns the eternal teenage flame in all of us; that which soundtracks all the ups, downs, ins and outs of our lives; that which is just as happy to unravel, open and bear an artist's heart and soul, as it is to rip, kick and tear our own all apart? Wiki has exposed the facts, but I want more. I want to find what it means to those who do the supplying: the passion, the dynamic, the secret behind its enduring appeal and power. So, musical compadres, fetch your bullwhip and fedora, we're taking this to ground zero: the lyrics. After all if something so vital is worth shouting about, then I must understand exactly what is being shouted.
For this exercise I'm going to take five examples of rock n' roll lyrics with an attempt to pin this unbridled, wailing, mutha down. For my experiment I will be taking a carefully selected rock cross-section as the prompt for my analysis. And what analysis is that? Simply to live my life through them, as if rock n' roll were indeed the purest hedonistic religion and the lyrics its deeply-held life instructions. Only then, by putting rock n' roll into practice in accordance with its scriptures, can I find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, or, more pointedly, half a pint of snakebite, a charcoal infested spoon and a crumpled spent johnny at the foot of my bed.The rules for the study were very simple: chose one default hard-assed purveyor of all things rock (and roll) as the datum, the source by which all the others must be judged, contrast this with an assortment of variants that are located intellectually north and south of that datum, and chuck in a placebo example to ensure there are no environmental quirks, spiked drinks or paternity cases threatening me, or what I'm about to find.
Join me in my next instalment to find out whether I get my rock n' roll back, or whether it remains a long and lonely time until I do.
Okay. I love the internet. It's given me jobs, a string of unsuitable but ultimately laughable dates and the opportunity to shop with impunity without interacting with people (it's not that I'm antisocial; I just can't stand the High Street when there are people in it). I remember, quite fondly, when I first went online. It was 1994, Leicester University. A girl called Sam, from Sunderland, studying chemistry: "Do you have an email number?", she asked, and proceeded to explain exactly what an 'email number' was. I didn't understand much of what she said but it turned out that email numbers, and access to the 'web' - whatever that was - cost nothing. So I got one, and there it began. Within days I had electronic penpals across the country (and the world) who were just as happy as I was to spend hours tapping away at a screen, debating the merits of Soundgarden vs Pearl Jam vs Screaming Trees, or vinyl vs CDs. We swapped mixtapes in the post - I always had a bulging pigeon-hole when I was at university - and I even met with a couple of them in Real Life. Which was ... interesting.
So, yes, I love the internet. But here's the thing: it's killing music.
When I was about twelve I went on a shopping trip with my dad. We had a hundred pounds or so to spend and I was looking for my first ever hi-fi system, which would replace a much-loved and ready-to-die ghetto blaster on which I'd virtually worn out my collection of Queen cassettes and home-made recordings from the Radio 1 Rock Shows (Tommy Vance and Fluff Freeman: those were the days).
We had an in-depth conversation about whether to start a CD collection or a record collection. I went for vinyl, even though my father warned me about the pitfalls (scratches; cleaning the records every time you listen to them; ever-dwindling vinyl sections in record shops forcing you to order albums rather than being able to walk out with them there and then). This would be a high-maintenance love affair, I understood, but I was ready.
And fast forward to 1994, before the internet was really the internet, downloading music (legally or otherwise) was unheard of and Amazon.com was only just beginning. People bought records from record shops, staff in chain stores knew and cared (mostly) about what they were selling (I can say that, because I was one, once) and independent shops were plentiful and well-stocked in every town. I'd moved on to CDs by then - the student digs just weren't big enough to house a record collection - but getting a new album when it came out was a ritual to be treasured.Release day was a special day, much looked-forward to, something you'd always find money for even with a bulging overdraft and no income to speak of. Walking into town to the record shop, and coming back with more than you bargained for, was all part of the occasion. So was getting home, tearing off the cellophane and thumbing through the inlay card.
It just isn't the same now. Record shops are closing all across the country - witness the demise of Fopp, or the closure of the much-loved Sam the Record Man, a Canadian chain established in the 1930s that eventually went bankrupt in 2001 because of competition from HMV and the internet. Its enormous flagship store in Toronto clung on for dear life until 2007, when it finally closed, sadly.
Of course, online shopping is great, and I'm probably as guilty as anyone in contributing to this sort of shift by shopping at Amazon and Play.com along with all the rest, but nothing beats going into a music shop and wasting a couple of hours browsing.
It's more than just the closure of record shops, though. Much has been spouted by the great, the good and the bigmouths (hello, Lars) about illegal downloading, so I won't waste your time by adding my twopenneth, except to say that I think it's okay provided you also purchase anything you like afterwards. It's legal downloading that I really have a problem with: yes, I've got an MP3 player and yes, I do use it, but cramming your entire album collection onto a tiny piece of kit, doing away with the ephemera that goes with a bunch of albums/CDs and buying all of your music via iTunes or similar - isn't it a bit clinical? Where is the love in that, the evenings spent flicking through vinyl (or CDs), poring over sleevenotes or admiring the artwork? Doesn't a little plastic box kind of kill that sense of wonder a little bit? Oh, and I know you can get pictures of the album covers on your iPod, but that's not the same, really, is it?The other pitfall of our digital obsession is the way it turns music into something disposable. You only like a couple of songs on an album? Just buy them without the rest. Can't get into the new one you just downloaded? Skip it and listen to something else. Without the physical CD or record you miss out on a massive part of the experience of buying and collecting music and I can't help but think that the internet has made music fans impatient. Sure, there's a lot of exciting things you can do with online technologies - and Twisted Ear, or this blog, wouldn't even exist without the web - but new music formats have made the industry too disposable. That's why you get people across the blogosphere deciding they don't like this or that new album weeks before they're even out in the shops. Gone is the magic of release day.
In Leicester (or anywhere) in 1994 all this would have been unheard of. And it's the web's fault. It's made us an impatient bunch of ingrates with short attention spans and an eagerness to go and download something else if we don't like a particular album on first listen. Why do we do this? Because we can. And why can we do this? Because of the internet. I sometimes feel sorry for the kids of today because if they want to hear a new album it's right there at their fingertips. They'll never have to wait patiently for a particular date and then trudge into town with a wodge of fivers in their hands to pick up a CD, and I think their experience as music fans will be less rich because of this. I met a couple of teenagers once who had millions of songs on a shared PC and not a single CD between them. I found this sad: you can evangelise all you like about Napster or iTunes but I'll never be converted.
So I have an internal dialogue that vexes me terribly: I do love the internet. But I hate it too, because it's spoiled things as far as the record industry goes.
It isn't pretty, but the sparkly bits will come (they did send us an RSVP - we promise). In the meantime, some words...
We set this up to allow our writers the chance to rant and rail. Or just mumble - about anything vaguely related to music that wouldn't quite fit within the constraints of our .com site. So, anything goes - from 50-word microblogs and random thoughts to vast diatribes. We do hope you enjoy. And if you think we're talking nonsense, tell us. Or join us as a writer, even. Consider the gauntlet thrown...
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