Here’s a thought I had while walking the dog this morning: the Internet, as wonderful as it is, has really fucked up the process of loving rock and roll. Like some gloriously bad drug, it’s made the process of finding stuff so easy and instantly rewarding that it’s put another important human experience — the process of seeking — to sleep. And that process of seeking was one of the things that put the world of recorded music up on a pedestal; that gave rock its mystery — its Godhood.
Please recognize that I was only walking my dog five minutes ago, so I can’t claim to have properly beard-stroked and pipe-tamped my way through this one. That’s your cue to chime in and help me.
The genesis of this thought-bomb occurred last night, as I was driving home. I had the wonderfully eclectic and entertaining Stiff Generation CD in the stereo, and was bouncing about between tracks, when the player alighted on “Peppermint Lump,” as performed by Frisbie. (I found this out later; I’d long since lost the CD cover — another side effect of the digital age that’s demythologized rock and roll.) Anyhow, as I tooled down the byways of northern Virginia, I thought to myself: “Man, that sure sounds like a Pete Townshend song. But what on Earth would he have been doing on the Stiff label?”
I got home, and popped open the laptop. About 60 seconds later, I had my answer — and a YouTube “audio” of the original track in question. This was satisfying at a certain level, but at another, it really bugged me. It was so easy!
About 10 years ago, I found out that Harry Vanda and George Young (of Easybeats and AC/DC producers fame) were very briefly involved in a studio lark they called the Marcus Hook Roll Band. I think I learned about the MHRB in the liner notes of an obscure Australian Easybeats greatest hits album — and the story excited me. Supposedly, in 1972 or thereabouts, Harry and George — on a legendary studio Lost Weekend — had gotten drunk and thrown together some simple, balls-out rock and roll for fun, involving George’s younger brothers Angus and Malcolm. Then they sobered up and largely forgot about what they’d done. Somehow, some way, a record exec heard these tracks and flipped out, thinking they were huge hits in the making. Back in the studio they went, and cranked out a whole album’s worth of this cock-rock stuff, laughing and winking at the silliness of it all.
Anyhow, 30 years later — but before the internet really gained the ability to help — I began my quest to find some Marcus Hook Roll Band. The long and short of it is that I had to enlist the services of a friend who lived in Holland, who scoured local record stores and online used/bootleg CD outlets until she finally found one. Which she then mailed to me. Turned out it sucked. But it was like buying a lottery ticket — half the fun was waiting to find out if you’d won, and imagining how much better your life would be if you did. That’s what you spent your money and time on — and now that pleasure is largely gone.
The end of the Rock Holy Grail doesn’t necessarily mean that the God who once supped from that chalice is dead. But he’s been demystified in a critically important way. And that’s a bad thing. You may discuss when ready — I look forward to your responses.
HVB
E. Pluribus and I talk about this every few times we see each other. One of us probably brought it up here a couple of years ago. I agree that there was something good about the quest and even the eventual letdown. It made us have a deeper appreciation for the gems we did find. I hope the youth of today have new means to build character. I’m sure they do. Now let me get back to my warm milk.
That Peppermint Lump picture reminds me : whatever happened to that biog’ Pete was ‘researching’ when the internet Police felt his collar for dodgy downloads. Thought he would have published it by now?
Angie, not Frisbie. According to my indispensible copy of “Stiff The Story of a Record Label,” (1983) “The songs were written by an Eel Pie staff writer, James Asher, who took them to his boss, Pete Townshend, who loved them. The arrangements are vintage Townshend and rank alongside anything he has done on his solo albums. In addition to his writing abilities, Asher plays all the instruments on the B-side.”
Released as Stiff Buy 51 on 24 August 1979.
On the one hand I understand your point. But I also remember the days when you could not get the Big Star albums. It was the early 70s, my friends and I were digging the Lou Reed and John Cale solo albums, but you literally could not get Velvet Underground albums. The Sun Sessions were not properly reissued by RCA until 1976. I do not long for those days when essential music was simply unavailable.
And as someone who lost a majority of the record collection he had spent 40 years building due to a natural disaster, I shudder to think what it would have been like to try to rebuild my library in those days. From my perspective the digital revolution has been a godsend.
HVB was referring to Frisbie’s cover of this song, which is on a Stiff Records tribute, The Stiff Generation. I know a little bit about this comp:)
My mistake. The picture threw me off, as did the original track. I’ll have to look up the Stiff Generation CD
I think a corollary to this is also a) the more disposable cash we now have as old working stiffs and b) iTunes. Used to be, I’d really have to make a hard decision when I found two albums I wanted … because I only had the cash for one. Now with the push of a button I can buy downloads on itunes for 9.99 … and not even blink. It’s too easy to buy … as well as find.
I also find it interesting that the kidz today don’t seem to mythologize today’s rock stars the way they *still* do for those of the 60s and 70s. That fascinates me.
Do kidz even listen to rock musik now-a-daze? A look at the top10, and I’m convinced not. But as my nieces & nephews have taught me, they loves them some Classic Rock from the 70’s. Rush, Tom Petty, Queen, etc. are pretty much considered Kidz music ’round these parts.
“War and Pete,” is what Roger likes to call it. Kinda funny, that one.
My kids, who are adults now, both listen to rock music, and Classic Rock was never much of a big deal to them. They both really support local bands (which I’m taking all the credit for, dammit!), and they have always seemed to go out and find new things to listen to without my help.
Which makes me think that maybe, as a whole, we’re too old to appreciate the Internet and its musical ways. I’m excited to find a record I’ve been looking for for ages, or just one that’s in great shape sometimes, but my kids are excited to find stuff, too. I think it’s just different. But it was a lot harder long ago, when some releases were Europe only or Japan only and your favorite shop couldn’t get those odd imports. Sometimes I think some things should be harder to get, because they always were, but maybe it’s because as an older person, I value the music AND the packaging. I was in some tape trading circles way back, and you could et anything, but I skipped things all the time because I wanted the “real” one. I don’t think kids look at it that way.
Great points, 2K. My teenage son gets a big kick discovering new bands through YouTube and other free ways. In that way, it’s no different from teenage me discovering a band on syndicated video shows of my youth, like Rock World, or SNL.
ya know, i liked the mystery. it is gone forever. i just found the last song that was stuck in my head from childhood, that i didn’t know who sang. thanks to a google search of half assed lyrics and youtube, i found this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r8NYYMREofs
There will always be something magical about going into the old recco sto and finding that elusive disc you’ve been clamoring for.
Back in the old college days, we used to take weekend trips to Memphis and frequent a huge place called Planet Music. You could find anything in there. This is where I finally located a copy of Chicago III after store after store searching the “Chicago” section with no success.
I like to hold it in my hand. I like to look at the pictures and read the notes.
TB