PLAYING TO TYPE

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (09-03-25)

     I've played in bands for longer than I can remember, but that's only a guess since I can barely remember the last 48 hours or so. If it happens to come up in the course of conversation (in other words me shamelessly plugging dates, like Trillium playing at Bar 141 on the 14th, or No Options at Mohansic Grill on the 19th), someone might ask, "What kind of music do you do?" And the answer is, who the hell knows?

     There are so many bands that defy categorization that it's almost a badge of honor to have trouble defining what they do in words alone. It's a mistake to pigeonhole a group into a particular musical style. It's confining, confusing and usually misleading. The group Blondie, in the space of three albums, had hits in the styles of punk, pop, rap, reggae and disco. 

     What constitutes a genre? Sometimes its the lyrics. "Emo" music features songs about social alienation and teen angst, and generally celebrating the art of being miserable. Sometimes music is defined by the beat, like reggae music, driven by a downbeat with two upbeats, usually employing a smug bass player who for once gets to play louder than the guitarist.

     Sometimes it's in the style. "Glam rock" musicians unapologetically espoused platform shoes, tight pants, glitter and eye makeup that looked like it was airbrushed on using a leaf blower. The '80s were hard enough on women who to this day curse the fact that hair crimpers and cameras existed at the same time in history, but brutal on men. That reminds me, I thought of my retirement job: opening up a trendy boutique for undercover cops so they don't have to dress in plain clothes anymore.

     Sometimes the brand of the music has to do with where you listen to it, like "elevator music" or "yacht rock." I'm sure the label "yacht rock" was meant to convey a relaxed pop vibe. But for those of us inexperienced boatmen who regularly backed their yachts into the rocks, thereby shearing off every last blade of the propeller, the term is anything but.

     I used to listen to a lot of "progressive rock," as exemplified by the bands Yes, ELP, Genesis and Jethro Tull, bands that would play a song in a 7/4 time signature and not care AT ALL that you sprained your ankle trying to dance to it.

     Once in a while a genre of music is marked by the specific activity it's meant to inspire in the listener, like "thrash metal." "Mom, I've been asked to join a band." "But Bobby, you don't play anything, do you?" "No, but I've been thrashing fairly often, and it hasn't gone unnoticed. By the way, we'll need a new living room lamp." Thrash metal is a young man's game, because sooner or later your orthopedist will put the kibosh on any further thrashing, and you'll have to be the first to invent "360-degree swiveling massage recliner-chair metal."

     Sometimes just the hair alone will do it, as in "hair metal." It's a real commitment, so if you cut it all off into a bob, don't expect the other members of the band to coo, "OOOH! It looks great! I bet it's SUPER low maintenance!"

     I'm pretty open-minded about music, which is certainly a change of pace for me. But there are a few musical genres that I have some fundamental problems with. "Rap music," or "hip-hop" feels like street poetry, recited over a manufactured beat. Some street poetry isn't that bad, but a lot of it isn't very good, and the fact that they need to use Autotune just to SAY the words on key is not a great selling point. And without a decent melody to help you, all you have is your word. However, there is some talent in being able to use a rhyming dictionary, and in the ability to talk that fast without a lawyer present. In the case of "electronic dance music," there really is no redeeming musical value, just repetitive notes strung together by binary code. 

     I was in a nightclub where it was playing, bad music that inspired worse dancing, when bales of confetti were released from the ceiling, like I was in a ticker-tape parade. Everyone else seemed elated by it, but when a few of them landed in my drink I wondered what it was made of? It probably wasn't toxic, but was it Coors Light-soluble? At least with actual ticker-tape I could check my stock prices. There was so much on the floor afterwards that a family of gerbils could nest there undisturbed.

     These days, an algorithm working for a music streaming service will try to figure out the genre of the songs you like, and play other songs for you that it thinks are like the ones you like. Which is, like, a great way to keep your tastes from ever expanding. What happens if your hand slips and you click on "Kung Fu Fighting?" You've opened up Pandora's box, and Pandora is going to try to play to your taste, which is obviously, goofy fad disco songs about martial arts sung by Jamaican singers. I wish both you and Pandora all the luck in the world.