Rock is Dead

Let's Kick the Corpse

originally published April 9, 2008

So, Green Bay Packers quarterback Brett Favre retired. Finally. As one legendary career comes to a close, let’s examine the passing of another American icon - rock music.

First, some context: I missed it all. The last, say, seven years of rock (loosely defined here as “artists who might play at Bonnaroo,” though, I believe that applies to any band now). All I knew for sure was that, one, nothing I heard was very impressive and, two, hip-hop had completed its conquest of American popular culture. All our rock stars in the Mick Jagger/ Jim Morrison/ Axl Rose/ Kurt Cobain mode are rappers, and they have been for at least 10 years. Seriously, who’s the last universally recognized frontman? Even my mother has heard of 50 Cent. That, kids, is what we call “the acid test.”

So hip-hop generates our rock stars - plus our sex symbols, cultural commentators, fringe artists, evil clowns and political stirrer-uppers. Dammit, Kanye West is ripping into George W. Bush on national TV. That’s supposed to be Zack de la Rocha! Basically, anyone who stands a chance of pissing off a teenager’s parents operates in the hip-hop continuum, and I find that a little sad. You should, too.

But! I was assured, by those who should know, that even if it’s no longer the music to infuriate your elders by, rock bands - or let’s just say “bands" since my use of “rock” has probably generated a dozen eye rolls at this point, as I’m sure the designation “rock” is no longer acceptable - are still out there producing great stuff. So, in the past year, I’ve been borrowing, burning and sorting through a massive amount of music.

And... yeah, there’s still good music. But on the whole it’s soulless, heartless, gutless, dickless music. Even the loud stuff.

So, rock is dead. Let’s kick the corpse!

All I’m asking for is a little bombast, some bullocks. I’m not pining for a return to KISS nation or to a loud-soft grunge dynamic replete with suicidal lyrics. But how about a band that isn’t made up of aggressively uncool hipsters? Hipsters - God, how I hate that word. And emo - I didn’t even know what that meant until the music press retroactively assigned that tag to Weezer.

Henceforth, these words shall not be uttered. But they’re indicative of what’s wrong with rock: having ceded cultural relevance to hip-hop, an entire generation of musicians has come up convinced that attempting to be big, loud and entertaining is proof of how uncool you are. The same way kids who suck at sports convince themselves that sports are stupid. It’s all a defense mechanism, a level of sneering irony that must be maintained at all costs. Otherwise, you might have to admit your irrelevance to the world at large. Instead of fighting back to dominate the hearts, minds and loins of America’s youth, our rock musicians have hunkered down in a stylistic foxhole and strived to make ever more obscure music - its obscurity being the “proof” that it’s worth a damn.

Come on, kids! Chunk a TV out a hotel window! (Helpful hint: aim for the pool.) That hot tub’s not going to fill itself with groupies - get on it!

Actually, I don’t care about the destroyed hotel rooms, the overdoses, or the arrests for fighting with security at the airport. I don't care about the protests against W. or support for the Zapatistas. I don’t care how you feel about the environment or, for the love of all that’s holy, Tibet. I just want you to admit that you daydream about millions of young people basing their life’s philosophy on lyrics you concocted only because they managed to rhyme. Even if it never happens, what’s the point of dreaming if you’re not going to dream big?

In fact, the only band I can recall in the last 10 years that expressed a desire to make “big” or “important” music is freakin’ Coldplay. A band fronted by a milquetoast singer who named his daughter “Apple.” Time was, if you were a rock star looking to give your daughter a messed-up name, you’d at least have dubbed her something like “Dagger” or “Mamba.” If you’re going to make her fight for dignity all her life, at least give her a chance to intimidate the other kids.

Coldplay leads us to the greatest tragedy of all: the continuing relevance of U2. Which takes us back to Brett Favre: it’s not his retirement that actually triggered these thoughts, or the magic of his final renaissance season. It’s the three or four seasons prior to that, when he was spraying interceptions all over the field and football pundits were openly suggesting he retire. But those suggestions were half-hearted at best, because no matter how mediocre he became, there still weren’t 15 quarterbacks better than Favre at his worst.

In the same way, we have U2. Still. Possibly forever. Bono hobnobbing at the U.N. Album after an album of rehashed music. Because the world still clings to the image of the rock band as cultural force, and U2 is the only band that still embraces the role and isn’t embarrassed by it.

Please, up-and-coming bands of America: it’s out there. Say something controversial. Do something reprehensible. Make music that I remember five minutes after I hear it - even if it annoys the piss out of me. Actually, make sure it annoys me - I’m old enough now that it’s supposed to.

And when that happens, I’ll know the magic of rock music has returned. Because I can’t stand the thought of entering middle age and not yelling at my kids for the shrieking guitars and obscene lyrics spewing from their bedrooms.

Take the power back! YES WE CAN!

Edward Cowan

Liner Notes is Flagpole's music opinion column.