The Michigan Daily - michigandaily.com
Thursday, March 6, 2008 - 5B
Rock 's not dead, just old
Yesterday's rockers might think they're relevant but
the blues artists are the ones still kickin'
Andrew Sargus Klein
Daily Arts Writer
.ock'n'roll doesn't always age well. More
specifically, her iconic bands don't. Pop
culture loves to either make light of tight-
shirted Mick Jaggers or barely notice Led
Zeppelin reunions. "Almost Famous" and
"Dazed and Confused" are the classic rock
measuring sticks for many misguided par-
ticipants of my generation, as is the notion
that if a "classic rock" band can't channel a
Fillmore West version of "One Way Out" or
"Tiny Dancer," it's beyond recovery.
Two years ago millions of people
watched the Rolling Stones take the field
during halftime at the Super Bowl; the vast
majority of those people were, if not out-
right disgusted, simply embarrassed for a
band that was once so legit it was infallibly
mainstream - so completely mainstream it
became a clich6, and such a clich6 that it's
now a tired milestone.
Give it up, we thought. And prayed. Give
it up so you can succor the glory of the '60s
and '70s before absolute dilution. As an "I
found rock because of the Stones" person,
the Stones I saw during that Super Bowl
were unquestionably bad - limp guitars,
shaky overall and a past-his-prime Mick
Jagger. The Stones I saw live outside Wash-
ington, D.C. half a dozen years ago were a
different story. Yes, they ran through their
hits. Yes, everyone split for beers and bath-
rooms when Keith sang his token pair of
songs. The mile-high speaker stacks were
breaking up and I was in the nosebleeds.
The show, however, was an all-out affair:
They more than just ran through the hits
- they rocked the shit out of them.
A Bigger Bang, the group's most recent
effort, was a lackluster, almost-acceptable
record. They played the opener, "Rough
Justice," and 1965's "Satisfaction" for the
Super Bowl halftime show and bombed. But
good for them, I thought. Ultimately, the
album was a not-quite retort to critics who
deride old farts for strapping on Telecast-
ers and recreating the Summer of Love. The
Stones are too old, too ubiquitous to ever
reclaim street cred, the critics say, and I
can't always defend the Stones for provid-
ing the prosecution's evidence.
But that's not the case for all the bands
your dad gets really excited about when
they drop a new greatest hits record. Bruce
Springsteen's Magic is a legit piece of rock-
pop/wall-of-well-produced-sound music.
The man built solid tracks around a few
well-established melodies and he didn't
tank the lyrics for the most part. And the
thing is, he doesn't sound like 1982 Bruce
on a 2007 record; he sounds like 2007
Bruce not overdoing 1982. And when the
Boss hits road with the E Street Band, they
sell out every single show - the Stones do
too.
And why not? Who cares if Tom Petty,
who scored the halftime show gig for the
most recent Super Bowl, looks like he needs
someone to show him where the stage is?
Their rock'n'roll meant enough 20 (or 30, or
40) years ago that we're still going to buy
$90 nosebleed tickets and be grateful.
Rock'n'roll's icons (who are still tour-
ing and pushing albums) either don't give a
shit or are beautifully disillusioned; when it
comes to the blues and blues rock, though,
the standbys far outpace their rock'n'roll
counterparts.
Buddy Guy - the bluesman who indi-
rectly begat Jimi Hendrix and has chops
so good you'd let him perform brain sur-
gery on your mother - is a consummately
incredible performer. His song selections,
covers and antics all suggest a musician
who is at once comfortable in a by-gone
element and in the here and now. He walks
through crowds while soloing, serenades
women in the front row and pretty much
plays the ringmaster and jester at the same
time while not undermining his own image
or music.
B.B. King is on another level. He recently
played the Orientalism-meets-Bolshevik
RussiaFoxTheater inDetroitwithabacking
band of musicians older than our parents,
yet younger than the 82-year-old King. The
man told Viagra jokes, shook/danced in his
chair and directed the audience to, among
other things, share a kiss with whomever
they were sitting next to. His overlong
anecdotes were, more often than not, poi-
gnant vignettes of a personal history that
included 60-plus years of gigging.
And the man has tone. King's blues guitar
style is so ubiquitous it's easy to forget his
forerunner status on the electric blues fam-
ily tree. He walked slowly on stage as the
band introduced him, and when he pulled
out that first note he let it fill the entire
theater - in sublime overdrive - with a
spotlight smile on his face. The night never
dipped below that first note.
Blues, for most modern music listeners,
is a niche genre regardless of its pedigree
and progeny. Rock'n'roll's image, as we
generally know it, is widespread, rampant
debauchery and the bane of "selling out."
Blues icons haven't suffered under the same
spotlights; they seem to be doing exactly
what they've been doing for decades and
suffering nonetheless.
COURTESYOFGEFFEN,COLUMBIAVIRGIN
FROM TOP: B.B. King, Bruce Sprinsteen, Rolling Stone
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