Sunday, October 15th, 2006 // Paperhouse
I apologize in advance to anyone I offend, but most modern country music is simply terrible. I’m sorry that I don’t care about your dog or how your wife left with your truck. That said, I admit that I am a fan of alternative (alt) country, and it’s definitely worth your time to check it out.
The general consensus is that alt-country came about through two different influences. On one side we have the traditional American country music. Examples of this range from Woody Guthrie to Hank Williams, both amazing artists worthy of their own Paperhouse columns. On the other side we have the country-rock style that originated from the re-emergence of rock and roll with country. The artist best identified with this style is Gram Parsons, who released two great albums before his untimely death. As a frame of reference, I would classify the legendary Man In Black, Johnny Cash, as somewhere between the two. Skip ahead from the 1960s to 1990, when the band Uncle Tupelo released No Depression, the first widely recognized modern alternative country album. From there, alt-country began to take off. Many different groups and individuals began to embrace the style; its influence can be seen in groups like Camper Van Beethoven, whose lead singer formed another group worth a listen, Cracker. Jeff Tweedy, of Uncle Tupelo, went on to form Wilco, whose early albums are steeped in alt-country stylings.
Today there are many artists who embrace this style; Bright Eyes is one of the more well known. Other examples include the Old 97s, Whiskeytown (a now-defunct band led by Ryan Adams) and The Elected (with Blake Sennett and Jason Boesel of Rilo Kiley). Albums released in the past year include Rabbit Fur Coat, by Jenny Lewis (of Rilo Kiley) with the Watson Twins; Fox Confessor Brings the Flood, by the reigning queen of alt-country Neko Case; and more recently Post-War by M. Ward, though his style leans closer to traditional Americana.
To all the country fans out there, give alt-country a listen — trust me when I say that it’s better than what you’re listening to. And to everyone who hates on country, twangy music ain’t all that bad.
Sunday, October 8th, 2006 // Paperhouse
In high school I was always the kid walking around the halls with my headphones on, rocking out in my own little world. People unfamiliar with the concept of a “one-person dance party” stared at me like I was psychotic. I never minded; I just had a good time. The music that bled through my headphones into the surrounding hallway was not the Top 40 or Dirty South that was popular at my school at the time; it was loud, typically anthemic, and reasonably impassioned. Now, three years after having strayed from the aforementioned angsty genre in which I once found interest, Against Me! remains a personal outlet.
The four piece from Gainesville, Fla., is laden with acoustic guitar, syncopated drums, and harsh, semi-yelling vocals. They are considered “folk-punk,” a genre which I initially labeled as being too abrasive. I didn’t truly understand or appreciate the genre until I saw Against Me! live. The show was unlike any which I had experienced; it seemed as though everyone knew every lyric to every song. It was like a huge pub: Hundreds of people sang the same semi-political choruses in a pleasantly dissonant roar. The band broke a collective sweat from dancing and exerting more energy than I could have ever expected. There were no mosh pits or girls wearing Ugg boots. The show wasn’t treated as a place where individuals prove their devotion to a specific genre through their clothing choices or attitudes. That night was just a bunch of people together in a room sharing music, dance and an obtuse feeling of camaraderie; I was with a group of friends to whom I had never actually been introduced. I haven’t been to a concert like that since.
Every so often I walk along the Cut at night and hear a bunch of guys with acoustic guitars singing random Against Me! songs. They sit in a circle strumming and singing at the top of their lungs, not caring about who is trying to study around them or who actually likes the band. I hear:
Everyone would leave with the memory that there was no place else in the world/ And this was where they always belonged/ We would dance like no one was watching… /Just gimme a scene where the music is free/ And the beer is not the life of the party/ There’s no need to shit talk or impress/ ‘Cause honesty and emotion are not looked down upon,
and it reminds me of that night at the show. I crack a smile, knowing that there are still people who love music for how it makes them feel, not for the scene or a prescriptive image. They appreciate how music should bring people together and make them happy, not self-conscious. Consider this a “thanks” to those guys, from the kid with the headphones.
Sunday, October 1st, 2006 // Paperhouse
We are all part of a global community!
You hear that all the time now. Well, the fact is, a global community might as well be *no* community. What we call the global community is really just a term for the gray uniformity of the globalized media. When the same story runs in Topeka and Miami, in Bangor and Burbank and Bangkok, it must speak to the common denominator of all those audiences. It cannot express a human perspective, being forced instead to synthesize its human elements into a sort of bland universalism, and it has no capability to provide much in the way of “local color.”
But the greatest problem of the globalized media is trust. As media outlets become more far-flung, as stories have to be turned around in shorter and shorter periods to meet the demand of an ever-more-ravenous 24-hour audience, a certain expediency must be adopted regarding traditionally important principles like accountability. If editors no longer have time to check apostrophes, who, then, is checking facts? In days past, different publishing or broadcast organizations could rely on their reputations and those of their personnel to reassure the readers of the integrity of their copy. But institutional integrity has proved short-lived: Now a segment on a cable news network is increasingly indistinguishable from the ads that paid for it, and the onscreen anchors who deliver it are indistinguishable from actors.
How is the discriminating reader to deal with such an affront? As the mainstream media are increasingly defined by their dual nature as global and commercial enterprises, broadcast media that are both locally produced and noncommercial in character are becoming increasingly important anchors for citizens searching for transparency and probity. Local print media (like The Tartan) find that being grounded in a community is as much an asset to their readers as USA Today’s breadth of distribution is to its shareholders. Similarly, local broadcast media (like Carnegie Mellon’s own radio station, WRCT) offer a dual benefit: They provide a candid, locally-grounded perspective to their listeners, and also act as the voice of their community.
As the globalized media fill more and more of the airwaves with emptiness, more of the audience is changing the channel. We may be part of a global village, but it turns out the locals have a few things to say.
