The Death of Music, Part 7: "Nothing Songs"

As an amateur songwriter, I can honestly say I've written some bad tunes in my day. You know, the kind of song that's so ripe that fish wrapped in newspaper say, "WHOA, what the hell's that smell?" However, one thing I can honestly say I steadfastly resist at all costs is writing the "nothing song."


For those of you who don't know what I mean by the term "nothing song," I mean something that's even worse than bad: a nebulous ball of chords and notes with no compelling reason to exist, other than (usually) financial gain. The nothing song, as I define it, isn't bad OR good; it's just… THERE.


You've definitely heard nothing songs even if you think you haven't. Nothing songs can be competent, tuneful, pleasant, and even catchy. They often go down pretty easy. However, they also tend to be depressingly generic and nondescript. They tend to follow in the wake of hundreds (if not thousands) of songs with a similar sound before them. Simply stated, a nothing song is inoffensive enough, but you have to ask yourself while listening, "Did this REALLY need to be written? Is this adding anything important or significant to the already billions and billions of songs out there?"


And they don't have to be love ballads or soft rock songs, either. Even songs with loud, angry guitars or surly, wailing vocals can qualify for nothing-hood by virtue of their inconsequential nature.


I know what a lot of you are thinking: "You're talking about POP songs man! It's supposed to be disposable fun! Lighten up!" To which I reply, with a derisive snort, "PURE BUNK!" (Heh.) There are plenty of disposable "pop" (or "rock") songs which are fun and catchy as well as smart, unique and innovative. Just because something is classified as a "pop song" doesn't mean it gets a free pass to be non-inspiring, derivative dross.


And seriously folks, I honestly don't think my standards are THAT high. When I hear a song, all I want is some sort of sign - however muted - that the artists involved might have actually gotten worked up or cared about the notes they were laying down, and that they didn't bolt from the studio 5 seconds later and make a beeline for the bank deposit window.


This is why a nothing song can truly be worse, in a sense, than a flat-out BAD song. At least with (some) bad songs you get the distinct impression that someone really cared about what they were doing. At least with (some) bad songs you feel the passion and effort that went into making it, however atrocious the final result may be. And sometimes, amidst all the utter awfulness of a bad song, you can still catch glimmers of inspiration and creativity that nearly carry the tune and save it from outright suckiness.


Not so with a nothing song! Nothing songs are far, far more insidious than that. They usually have no personality, charm or vitality to speak of, because they tend to be homogenized within an inch of their commercialized lives. Any and all impurities are methodically distilled out of them, and they have no real spice or spark propelling them along. Hell, they have no real reason for being at all!!! And, more often than not, the producers of nothing songs try to hide the nothing status behind immaculate production, tried-and-true chord changes or a clear, powerful singing voice. But don't be fooled! These songs are sheer black holes of sound, sucking up precious vibrations in the air.


Basically, the goal of the nothing song is to be as innocuous and inoffensive as possible while simultaneously appealing to as many people as it can reach. The end result of this delicate balancing act is usually a reasonable, but ultimately unsatisfying, aural concoction which most people describe in terms like "not bad," "is what it is," "gets the job done," or "pleasant enough." Think about it. Do those sound like good reasons for any song to exist?


I personally respect my pop and rock music more than that, and so should you.

New Song: Love Is a Spider

Hey folks... if you get a chance, check out the new song over on
www.myspace.com/glennpagemusic called "Love Is a Spider." This one was written about a year ago but recorded last week. The melody and chords have a somewhat exotic feel to them, or at least I think they do, and that's why the lyrics turned out sort of dark and noir-ish. Or are they? Maybe I'm just imagining things. Either way... stop on by and let us know what you think.

Thanks for listening...

Misunderstood Monkees

Recently, a petition to induct the Monkees into the Rock and Roll "Hall of Fame" has been making the rounds on the internet. Why is such a document necessary? Well, I would hazard to guess that pretentious, self-proclaimed arbiters of taste like Rolling Stone editor-in-chief and Hall co-founder Jann Wenner (who appears to have the Hall of Fame by the short hairs and who, I suspect, still listens to "Born to Run" alone in his living room with the lights off) have made it their life-long mission to keep Mike, Micky, Peter and Davy out.


As far as I can tell, members of the "rock intelligentsia" (snicker) have a mad-on for the Monkees because, oh, I don't know, they didn't wear enough denim. Or, who knows? Maybe it's because the Monkees were actually involved in the creation of some tuneful, catchy, well-loved music back in the 60's. (Gasp! Choke!) In light of all this, my brother and I just had an extended conversation about the Monkees, and together we arrived at a very simple, but profound, conclusion:


The Monkees were freakin' awesome.

"But," I already hear some of you sputtering in feeble protest, "The Monkees aren't COOL! They weren't even a REAL band maaaaan! They didn't play their own instruments or write their own songs, and they didn't sing about "real" things like Bob Dylan! Plus, they were just a watered-down version of the BEATLES!"


Sigh.


In my experience, the people who make these types of pronouncements are either a) self-important musicians or wanna-be musicians who take themselves WAY too seriously, b) rock snobs and "rock journalists" who buy into a dubious dichotomy of what constitutes "real" and "fake" music, or c) people who don't know much about music to begin with and just accept the received "wisdom" about the Monkees.


Well, I hate to break it to these people, but the truth is this: most secure, well-rounded musicians and music-lovers are neither threatened by nor upset at the existence of a band like the Monkees. On the contrary, many of these musicians actually LIKE them quite a bit. For example, it's well known that The Beatles took the Monkees in stride, and even claimed to be fans of the television show. The Beatles, of course, were so amazing that it makes sense that they wouldn't be threatened by the Monkees. However, I also suspect they were wise enough to appreciate the band members' respective talents for what they were and smart enough to appreciate the amazing confluence of quality singing, songwriting, musicianship and production on The Monkees' records.


Let's take look at the most common myths about the Monkees one-by-one.


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* Myth #1: The Monkees weren't talented (other than Mike Nesmith).


This one started with the initial backlash against the group, when it was first revealed they didn't play the instruments on their first two albums (and only played fitfully on albums thereafter). However, no one other than the most recalcitrant of individuals still clings to this myth. In fact, the individual Monkees brought a wide array of talents to the table, from acting to singing to songwriting and musicianship. In hindsight, it's clear that the show's producers considered these factors when the "band" was chosen, even if they wanted to wield ultimate control over how those talents would be utilized.


Mike was a talented songwriter and producer, as well as an idiosyncratic vocalist with a dry sense of humor. And yes, he did later sell the concept for a 24 hour video channel to Time Warner, thereby becoming instrumental in the genesis of MTV. Micky was a former child actor and a gifted singer (it runs in his family) with a unique voice that alternated between warm and raucous depending on the needs of the song. He was also an amateur guitar player (he only learned to play drums for the show) who showed occasional spurts of songwriting inspiration. Peter was an accomplished instrumentalist (he played eight instruments) who wrote, among other things, the closing theme for the show. Davy, like Micky, was also an experienced actor who brought a Broadway and music hall flavor to the proceedings.


Oddly, many detractors will concede some of the aforementioned talents to the Monkees while still slagging them for not being as talented as their albums would suggest. In their minds, since the Monkees weren't the genius masterminds who single-handedly brought all those wonderful pop confections to life, they should be regarded as no-talent hacks. Sorry, but it's not an either/or proposition.


* Myth #2: The Monkees weren't a band.


The original marketing of the Monkees, while I can find no instances of outright lying, did seem to blur the lines regarding who played what and just how "real" the band was. People like Micky Dolenz have always maintained that "The Monkees" was, first and foremost, a show ABOUT a band, but there are still some (shades of) gray areas surrounding the way the band was marketed initially. However, what IS clear is this: while the Monkees may not have totally been the band they represented, they WERE undeniably the lead vocalists on everything, and they eventually did become a fully functioning, touring band. People with lesser qualifications are dubbed "bands" every day of the week, and people who do nothing more than sing are often hailed as full-fledged "artists" (and rightfully so).


But these types of arguments are fruitless when wielded against the eternal guardians of the most holy rock canon. The bone of contention for people like Jann Wenner (I'm guessing) is the misrepresentation of the Monkees in the media, and an alleged attempt to dupe the music-buying public. Nevermind that people like me were able to recognize the Monkees weren't all they appeared to be when I was a wee lad of 8 years old. Maybe Jann's a little slower on the uptake.


Still, even if we allow that the Monkees weren't really a "band" in the normal sense of the word, I believe they represented (and represent) something much more important, which I will return to in a moment.


* Myth #3: The Monkees only sang bubble gum pop, or Beatles rip-offs.


Well, I don't really have a problem with (good) bubble gum pop, per se, but even if I did, the Monkees weren't really a bubble gum band. Unlike some bands, the songwriters, musicians and producers working on the Monkees' material were just too damn talented and diverse to be easily dismissed as "bubble gum." Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart, Carole King, Harry Nilsson, Neil Diamond, Mike Nesmith, Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil, John Stewart, Jeff Barry - all these writers and many others were arguably at the top of their game when they submitted songs for The Monkees, and the quality of songcraft on display is undeniable.


Any arguments based on the "cynical intentions" of Don Kirshner (or anyone else) is either trumped or deemed irrelevant when one looks at the sheer caliber of talent the Monkees had at their disposal. After all, who cares about the "co-opting" of rock and roll (which was seldom as pure as it seemed, anyway) when the songs are this damn good?


Likewise, the criticism that the Monkees were just a watered-down version of the Beatles holds very little banana puree upon closer inspection. Yes, "Hard Day's Night" was the original inspiration for the TV show. However, if you actually take the time to listen to the Monkees, you would have a tough time (for the most part) finding any direct similarities between the two bands, other than some superficial parallels that lots of 60's bands shared.


Ok, so maybe the riff on "Pleasant Valley Sunday" sounds like a distant cousin to "I Want to Tell You." And yeah, lots of Davy's tunes sound like they were cut from the same music-hall cloth Paul was using at the time. But overall, there is a lot of stylistic diversity in the Monkees music, and very little of it mirrors the Beatles, who were all over the map themselves by 1966. This makes complete sense when you consider the wide range of songwriters the Monkees employed. Not only were their songwriters inspired by The Beatles, but by lots of other 60's bands, such as The Rolling Stones, Love, and the Dave Clark 5. The Monkees' writers also brought unique styles of their own to the table, many of which pre-dated the Beatles.


By way of comparison, think about how much the average Nickelback song sounds like a watered-down version of Pearl Jam, Creed or Fuel. Now think about how much the "average" Monkees song sounds like the "average" Beatles track. When weighed against the blatant mimicking some bands do, the Monkees aren't even in the same universe as their mop-topped forefathers.


Sure, most of the Monkees' songs don't have the "artistic gravitas" or experimentation of the Beatles' best songs. However, keep in mind that the Monkees songs (at least in the beginning) were not meant to be profound statements of artistic intent. They were meant to be aural moments of pure rock/pop bliss. And to that extent, they succeeded. Not only that, but there really is something to be said for the "art" of crafting a perfect pop song.


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Okay, now that the most common arguments against the Monkees have been dispatched, let me return to my earlier point about what the Monkees represented to me, and probably to a lot of other people as well.


Beyond the superficial pleasure of just listening to a bunch of good songs, the Monkees were inspirational role models for many aspiring musicians. The way this worked was on two levels: On one level, you could relate to the fictional characters on TV because they were always struggling to make it "big" like the Beatles. Plus, if you knew the story of the real actors, you could identify with the struggle they felt to prove themselves creatively.


On another level, the Monkees (on the TV show) WERE the idealized band they longed to be, who just cranked out one great song after another. Yes, it was designed behind the scenes by expert songwriters, producers and sessionmen. But so what? That almost makes it better. All dreams are illusions or fantasies, so why wouldn't a budding musician watching the show want to hear and aspire to a great one? Who wouldn't want to sing/play/write something on par with Carole King (mainly because it IS Carole King) and then be able to switch gears and toss out 10 equally great, but diverse, follow up songs?


Not to get too philosophical about it, but the Monkees represented the tension between the artist who struggles to be more than he already is, and the idealized fantasy of what he hopes to become. And, from time to time, the Monkees actually DID become a great band, showing glimpses of genius and inspiration, even though the carefully constructed fantasy was (of course) always slightly out of reach. And that's not too far off from any of us, really. We all have an idea of how great we'd like to be, even if we seldom hit those heights.


So, you may ask, why not just induct the recognition-worthy individuals behind the scenes (like Boyce and Hart, for example) on a case-by-case basis, rather than induct "The Monkees" collectively? Simply put, the Monkees - Mike, Micky, Peter and David - were the living embodiment of the inspirational fantasy I described above, as well as the voices on some of the most well-crafted and enduring songs of the 60's. * If nothing else, the naysayers have to admit they were the stars of a beloved show that brought rock music into many children's lives for the first time, and into many people's living rooms week after week for two years.


If that alone doesn't qualify them for induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, then I'll be a monkey's uncle.




*For further listening, I recommend the following songs (beyond the obvious hits):
The Girl That I Knew Somewhere
Sometime in the Morning
She
While I Cry
Words
Shades of Gray
You Just May Be the One
Tapioca Tundra
Porpoise Song
Love Is Only Sleeping
You Told Me
Zor and Zam
Early Morning Blues and Greens
Daily Nightly
I'll Be Back Upon My Feet
The Door into Summer
Sweet Young Thing

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How to Be a Bad-Ass Magician, Part One*

So, you want to be a bad-ass magician (or “illusionist” as the kewl kids like to say) but you don’t have a 10-year contract on the Vegas strip or a cold, steely stare that seems to pierce the souls of ordinary men and expose their deepest, darkest secrets to the harsh light of day? Well, fret not! I’m here to show you how you can easily bemuse and baffle your friends and family, all without having to get rip-roaring drunk and then falling into your cousin’s swimming pool, which seems to be the approach you favor most when it comes to bemusing and baffling people.


Let’s get started immediately on some amazing tricks you can do right at home or in the workplace!


Our first astounding illusion is the ever-amazing and oh-so-popular “Elevator Summoning Trick!” What’s that you say, you never heard of it? Well, we can’t just jump right to making Mount Rushmore disappear, ya know. That’s advanced stuff. Gonna be at least a week or so before we get to that level. We gotta start with SOMETHING a little less mystifying.


Anyway, the way THIS trick works is quite simple. But first, let me describe the illusion: While standing in an elevator lobby packed with innocent bystanders (soon to be your unwitting and unwilling audience), you will appear to make one of many elevator doors fly open by sheer will alone. You know, because you’re so bad-ass and a magician and stuff. Then, while the crowd stands there gasping and select members of the opposite sex doff their clothes with lightning-fast urgency (don’t forget, bad-ass and all that), you will stride unfazed into the open elevator, turn and cross your arms swami-style, and then proceed to be whisked away to your sanctum sanctorum in the sky. Or your boring desk job, whatever the case may be.


So how is this confounding bit of astonishing mysticism accomplished?


Spoilers!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


The secret to the stunning “Elevator Summoning Trick” is simple law of averages. Stand in front of enough elevators long enough and you’re bound to be right once in a while. Heck, even monkeys could type out the Complete Works of William Shakespeare if they had enough time, and most magicians are at LEAST as smart as the average monkey.


So, while the crowd is still waiting for the little elevator lights, all you have to do is pick an elevator… any elevator… and go into your shtick. But you want to be believable, so really lay it on thick… start grunting, groaning and hyperventilating like you’re literally giving birth to the Buddha child out your tukus. Augment the “summoning” effect by motioning toward the elevator doors with both arms outstretched and facing upward. Also, be sure to scream like a possessed banshee; you want it to seem like every muscle and sinew is literally being rent right from the bone. Come on! You want to be a magician don’t you? Half the effect lies in the theatrics.


Now, whenever the correct elevator door flies open you get to stand there all high-and-mighty like you knew it all along, and yeah, Criss Angel can eat your shorts and all that good stuff. It might also help the overall effect if you pipe in some Korn-like music to blare through the lobby at the precise moment the doors open and maybe run up and put your mouth on the elevator’s dirty security-cam for good measure. YES! Now you are a magician.


Oh, right. What do we do about the other seven or eight times when the elevator that you’re “summoning” DOESN’T fly open? Ok, well, this is where it gets a little tricky, so to speak. The long and short of it is you’re going to have to kill anyone and everyone who witnesses an unsuccessful attempt. That way, no one can go blabbing your “magician’s secret” and ruin all the fun for the next potential audience.


Consequently, you’ll need to keep a small concealed weapon like a revolver or a long blade on you at all times (magicians should know how to keep things up their sleeves anyway), and wait until you guess the wrong door to pull it out. Fortunately, that will only be about 80 to 90 percent of the time, if you get really good at guessing. As the incorrect doors slide open somewhere behind you, slowly turn to the by-now-mesmerized crowd, give them a big, toothy, sh*t-eating grin and bellow, “SURPRISE!!!!!” at the top of your lungs before dispatching every last one of them quickly and efficiently.


Be sure not to leave any DNA, then wash up silently and throw all the heavy duty trash bags in a nearby dumpster. Sadly, these are much less honorable times we live in, and you can’t trust most people to not blow a good magic trick by posting it on YouTube or something. Trust me, it’s better this way. Best of all, after you’ve made short work of each “failed audience” you’ll be ready for yet another (hopefully) more successful performance!!!


And there you have it: the secret to the amazing “Elevator Summoning Trick” revealed. I know, I know, it seems too simple to be true, but that’s all there is to it!


What’s that? You’re gonna wuss out on me NOW? Show a little dedication to your craft, buddy…




* A tip of the magician’s hat to Al Jaffee for additional inspiration on this one.

Keep off the Void

Sometimes when I’m out and about in public places (like parks) I’ll see large, abstract, modern sculptures that seem ideal for people like me to climb on and take pictures by. Naturally, I do so every chance I get, laughing and giggling and having the time of my life while engaging in such tomfoolery.


That’s when I like to imagine the artist as a tortured soul who was desperately trying to represent the existential emptiness that is mankind’s existence, spiraling ever downward into an icy, unforgiving abyss. I also envision the artist visiting the park to show his peers the culmination of 8 years of sweat, toil, and careful aesthetic deliberation only to find an uncultured boob like me using “Pain: A Study in Marble” as my own personal jungle gym. He then chases me from the park as I shriek like a giddy schoolgirl the whole way home.


The last laugh’s probably on me though, because I think it’s more likely the artist was simply trying to create an abstract representation of coitus, and I’ve been unknowingly pressing my face against a large man’s marble ass cheek the whole time.

Review: April Smith and the Great Picture Show, “Live from the Penthouse” (April Smith Music)

Let me preface this review by mentioning I just finished reading “Why We Hate Us” by Dick Meyer. Meyer’s objective is to detail the various reasons Americans seem to be mired in a culture of self-loathing, isolation, and detachment. His main culprits are the usual suspects: media, the breakdown of communities, government betrayal, intellectual trends like relativism and postmodernism, the “me” decade, consumerism, materialism, vanity, and suburban sprawl. The book is rather lightweight, but it’s a brisk, entertaining read.


What does any of this have to do with April Smith though? Well, two of the qualities Meyer extols in his book are authenticity and the pursuit of excellence. He argues that years of exposure to hipster irony and “phony” people (who are either too afraid or too jaded to commit to anything), has created a widespread thirst for authenticity and excellence. Simply put, people are tired of the attitude that it’s “not cool to care about anything.” It’s not that people need to be super-serious or crave constant earnestness; they just want to hear something “real” which has the guts to say what it feels and truly aspires to greatness.


I’m here to tell you that April Smith’s music is the real deal, folks.


On “Live from the Penthouse,” April and her bandmates are not afraid to embrace trends and styles from earlier in the 20th century (most of the tunes on “LFTP” have a vaguely 30’s and 40’s jazz or blues vibe about them) but – and here’s the amazing part – there is not a single “wink wink, nudge nudge” moment on the whole disc. That is, the retro stylings are merely incorporated into the seamless fabric of the music. There is no attempt by Smith or her cronies to distance themselves from what they are doing by using quotes or acting like it’s all a clever put-on.


Similarly, they don’t carry on (at least not audibly) like jazz-o-philes who intend to slay us with their killer chops and reverent recreation of a bygone era, nor do they want to force “important music” on us, or anything cloying like that. The music simply is what it is, no more and no less. And the music on this disc is damn good enough to stand on its own merits without additional layers of subtext. Ironically, this approach makes “Live from the Penthouse” sound less dated than some CD’s that came out last week: Smith’s sound is both timeless AND cutting edge.


If you doubt me, throw this disc into your player and cue up “Beloved,” a piano-backed torch song on which Ms. Smith professes her devotion to a recently deceased lover, telling him she’ll “gladly settle” for his ghost if she can’t “have the real thing.” Sounds goofy right? On paper it probably IS goofy to anyone who hasn’t seen “The Notebook” 16 times (including twice on opening night). But I’ll be DAMNED if Smith and her band SELL this song.


“Beloved” is very tastefully done, never going over the top or trying to force emotion out of the listener. Smith’s voice – tender, aching AND powerful throughout – ascends to the highest notes of her register like she’s literally trying to reach into the ether and pull her lost lover back to earth. In fact, “Beloved” is one of those songs that’s SO intense in the raw emotion being conveyed that I found it nearly uncomfortable to listen to. And yeah, that’s a compliment, folks.


Most singers/musicians/songwriters could never pull off a song like “Beloved.” Given the basic premise, they’d probably opt for maudlin bombast or possibly clever self-awareness and still come off badly. April Smith inhabits every note of the song without fear, imbuing each word with just the right amount of passion and emotional nuance. It’s the kind of performance that stems from excellence, and the kind of artistic bravery borne of authenticity. Yes, “Beloved” is just a song, but it’s a damn great song, and April Smith accords her composition the respect it deserves.


However, lest you think “Live from the Penthouse” is all moody paeans to ghost lovers in the sky, let me assure you there are quite a few jaunty numbers here as well, like the playful “Wow and Flutter” and the sea-shanty-ish sing-along “Colors.” The latter boasts an ebullient kazoo solo (!) and casts April Smith in the role of modern-day, morale-boosting Andrew Sister. It is quite refreshing to hear, in 2009 no less, someone who writes a (non-ironic) song dedicated to U.S. troops while at the same time eschewing mawkish sentimentality and/or bitter, protesting lyrics.


That is not to say Ms. Smith doesn’t have a political viewpoint – I think it’s safe to assume she does – but any politics one might glean from a track like “Colors” are made all the more potent by Smith’s artistic decision to take the high road and “play it straight.” Imagine if such a song were written and performed by, say, Nellie McKay. Do you honestly think McKay could resist the temptation to throw in a couple of lines about the horrors of war (as if we don’t already know them), or knowingly wink at the audience while she delivers her “faithful ode”? I could be wrong, but my guess is no. Smith gives herself, and her audience, much more credit than that.


It’s also important to note that while Smith does play characters in her songs, she never lapses into caricature or sounds affected. While there are some sultry tones here and there, Smith never resorts to pussycat growls or high-pitched “Betty Boop” vocals (for example) in a dubious attempt to sound sexy or to “send up” someone’s antiquated idea of female sexuality. Instead, Smith simply uses her god-given vocal prowess to sing the living hell out of everything she writes.


The vocals on LFTP are so good, in fact, that one hopes Smith’s vocal chops don’t one day end up overshadowing her formidable songwriting skill. I say this because some of Smith’s tunes are so well-crafted they damn-near qualify for “standard” status. (“Bright White Jackets” from her debut CD is a prime example.) You might think that’s hyperbole, but pound for pound, ounce for ounce, there is no discernible difference in quality between some of Smith’s tunes and many of the “timeless classics” I’ve heard over the years. Am I an uncultured slob, or is April Smith just THAT good? Maybe both.


Yeah, April Smith and the Great Picture Show are the real deal folks. And much like obscenity, I may not be able to fully define “real,” but I know it when I hear it. “Live from the Penthouse” is so good, it’s obscene.


**** (4 out of 5 stars)