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Kurt
Hernon:
March,
2004
Rock 'n Roll as
Aphrodisiac: an Old Man Speaks
Destroy your safe and happy lives / before
it's too late / the battles we fought were long and hard /
just not to be consumed by rock and roll - "Memphis,
Egypt", The Mekons
Consumed I am, sadly so. And the battles
rage on.
Today I am officially an old fuck. I am
an old fuck and I am okay with it. Really…I am.
I spent the past weekend doing the things I usually do: drinking,
bitching about stuff, drinking some more, trying to write,
drinking again, bitching some more, throwing shit CD's that
came in the mail out the kitchen window (after saving the
jewel case, of course), getting up to go to the fridge for
another beer, drinking it as I look out the window at November,
December, January, and February's pile of discs splayed across
my summertime brick patio and wondering who the fuck is going
to pick all of that shit up, drinking a bit more, thinking
about sitting down at the computer to write something, saying
"nahh" to myself as I drink a bit more, replacing
Warren Vache and Bill Charlap's 2gether with Duke Ellington's
Far East Suite on the disc player, drinking a bit more,
reading the liner notes of Vache and Charlap's record and
wondering to myself if it might be the best jazz record I
personally have ever heard, drinking a bit more, telling myself
that if it isn't the best then it's right up there, hesitating
to call it the "best" because Sir Duke is blowing
my fucking mind with his odd mixture of big band, orchestration,
and hard bop, taking another drink, thinking about writing
something about these two sensational records that have me
so jacked up but then deciding that the purest pleasure comes
in the unfettered listening and not worrying one goddamn about
deadlines and commitments, then drinking some more.
Old fuck stuff, ya know? Listening to more jazz than rockroll
(in fact, not even playing a single noisy note of rockroll
music during the entire weekend) and wondering if maybe I've
been drained of my last drop of rockroll blood. Vache, Charlap,
Ellington, and his amazing band of Old Fuck music makers left
me not caring one iota 'bout RnR for a coupla oh-so-sweet
days.
But no one with this gig wants to be old. Nobody wants to
be the party-pooping fuddy dud yak, yak, yakin' 'bout how
rockroll used to be rockroll whatsit with this shit these
kids are listenin' to these days and calling rock music. We
are, after all, the rock'n'roll generation. I rock therefore
I am (Worth a fuck? Cool? Smart? Fancy pants-ed? Worthwhile?
Santa Claus? Jesus Christ? Mr. Hifalutinwhogiveafuck?). I
rock, therefore you can sell me your cars, jeans, cell phones,
shit beer, wine-in-a-box, sneakers, or whateverthefuckhaveyou
by simply slapping video imagery of whatever it is you're
hawking over some sort of hipster rockroll groove and transmit
it via the airwaves and into the atrophied mass of my brain.
Yeah, that's serious Old Fuck stuff there, kiddos. Stand back
while the geezer gets his walker and tries to stand up to
address all of you. Ya'll can keep whatever it is you listen
to these days, I'll take Vache and Charlap 99% of the time
anymore…and I'll be a happy old codger because of it.
Ah, fuck it. What am I bitchin' 'bout? And
just whom do I think I'm kidding? Not me, myself, nor I! Surely
I get pissed off about the state of the so-called rockroll
these days…but that's nuthin' new. I've been getting'
riled up about that for a long, long time now (in fact, I'm
not quite sure when I wasn't), it's just that, for some reason
(which I attribute to advancing old-fartism), I have a tougher
and tougher time finding a moment's worth of anything that
passes for rock - let alone ROCK! - that gets me schlong stiff
anymore. And again, that ain't nothin' new, but what is new
is that I am getting older and a part of me has bought into
this whole rockroll as a "young man's game" theory…for
no good reason really…but I have and now I worry 'bout
being the foolish "old man" that I've seen to many
others become. But, that said…
To be honest with you my dick's been hard
for weeks now - painfully so. That adolescent-like I'm-thirteen-and-found-my-dad's-Playboy-and-am-outta-control-gonna-hurt-myself
"Orgasm Addict" type pleasure/pain. Utterly irrational
and outta control to be sure (especially for a nearing fortysomething
year old) but I am more than willing to ride along with this
new found blood flow for as long as it lasts. And I hope it
lasts and lasts and lasts cuz I feel alive again. I feel young
again. And - all because of these centerfold cats who call
themselves the Bigger Lovers - I feel like a rock snob again
(which, when you get right 'round to the core of things, is
what we never-read rockwrite's want more than anything in
life)!
If you asked me to build a band…a sound…a rockroll
vibe, I'd never have been smart enough to come up with anything
remotely close to the brilliance of these guys. The Bigger
Lovers make me hard and I don't give a goddamn who knows it!
In fact, I've stopped wearing underwear when I listen to them
because I want it to be patently obvious, this effect they
have on me!
You sick, sick bastard - I can hear you saying it already,
and I smile. Sick? Perhaps. Bastard? Doubtless. With good
reason? Well, This Affair Never Happened…and Here
are Eleven Songs About it (the long and winding title
of the new Lovers record that we are now speaking about) is
as good a reason as any right-minded rocksnob can have! Listen,
I know I'm getting old, and one of the things you start to
lose when you get old is the ability to, um, er, "perform"
(thus all of those Cialis and Viagra and whatevertheymaybecalled
ads). So when you find something that works, something that
makes you feel young again, something that leaves your lady
with a twinkle in her eye, then you stick with it boys and
girls. Time is an evil thing…it'll rot you from the inside
out if you let it.
And let me tell you this, this Bigger Lovers stuff WORKS!
They're a godsend for your typical feeling-oh-so-sorry for
yourself-I-used-to-be-cutting-edge rockroll types. Who else
can pull off playing Robin Hitchcock fronting the Attractions
(of Elvis C. fame)? Well these guys do just that on track
three ("Blowtorch" they call it…and it is!).
What other band can you name these days who can take the early
"Reeling in the Years" swing of Steely Dan and punch
it full of pop power? Yeah, that's what I thought…can't
come up with a name can you? Well spin track two here a few
times ("I Resign" - and no, it ain't got nothin'
to do with Dick Nixon, 'cept maybe in its groovy, easygoing
early 70's influence) and you'll get yer answer to that one
pal. And so it goes…and so it goes.
Again, as a guy who grew up on 70's geek/punk/pop/pub rock,
the Bigger Lovers are some sort of hallucination - they must
be. It's as if they busted into my youth and listened to my
record collection and then fled out the window, bought some
instruments, bought most of the records they'd heard in my
room, and then practiced, practiced, practiced for the past
fifteen to twenty years until they perfected the art of what
I listened to and gave it a bit of maturity and then reappeared
in my life and said, "Hey buster, here's what we did
with the music you used to love so much…whaddya think?"
I think I could kiss you guys! Each and every one of you!
Shit, this is the third record in a row now man. 3! Threee!
III (for you Romans)! You'd have figured they'd have fallen
flat on their faces by now, which would have been fine after
the absurd brilliance of their first two platters (How
I Learned to Stop Worrying and Honey in the Hive).
Hell, at the very least you could reasonably expect some sort
of drop in quality…but no, nope, nosireebob! This is
the Bigger Lovers we're talking about here people. This is
the band that covers the Only Ones and comes off sounding
like Social Distortion with an education ("You've Got
to Pay"), turns a playground ditty into a morose anthem
("No Heroics"), has a lead guitar solo that dares
to challenge the emotional electric work of Richard Thompson
("Ninja Suit"), and turns in a miss-you-baby "Christmas"
tune that uses the words like "goddamn head lice",
coy jingling bells, rhymes Christmas with "miss us"
(as in "darling I…") and spurns the spirit
of the Noel in calling itself "For Christ's Sake"
(did I say I'd kiss each and everyone of these guys yet? Because
I would!).
So yeah, This Affair Never Happened…and I got
wood. Whatcha gonna do 'bout that? I guess I ain't as old
as I think I am or as you might say I am. Not at all. The
rockroll can still boil this old guys blood…it's just
that I am far more particular about what I ingest as I get
older. It ain't about any old cheap thrill anymore…it
can't be. This thing ain't gonna work for a whole lot longer,
so when it does swell up, it'd better damn well be worth my
time. Because if it ain't, I've got plenty'o'good jazz to
catch up on after all these years pimpin' myself out for any
old rockroll whore.
I am, after all, an Old Fuck, remember?
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