Maybe Van Halen killed it. Axl Rose's diva personality disorder certainly didn't help. Or, to get 99 percent of the readers on my side, maybe it was Nickelback that threw in the towel. The culprit is hard to pinpoint but the damage is done. Rock music as a genre is significantly less poignant in 2011 than it was decades prior -- and the real catalyst of the demise might relate more to capitalism and the digital revolution than the outrage any spandex outfit could instill.
Rocker Tom Morello and his acoustic guitar have done as much to spur this Fall's social critique as anyone. Morello's folksy twang, urging on the Occupy movement, is reminiscent of Dylan, and is eons away from his Marshall JCM 800 guitar tones of Rage Against the Machine. But he is tearing it up. His voice seems to ring louder without the amps -- and maybe that is the point. As Morello says "mic check" to a group of around 1,000 Occupy protesters in NYC, they engage in a collective recitation of his sentences that takes on a Pledge of Allegiance sort of tenor. Regardless of the lack of amplification and the cold conditions, the NYC corridor rumbles with the united human voice; that message doesn't run on 87 octane -- it burns rocket fuel.
The vibrancy of social critique was nearly synonymous with the 1960s counter-culture music. That was what frightened the parents -- the prominence of pot and LSD in a birth-controlled world didn't help -- but the main attention was on the rebellious musical messages toward the status quo. From venues like The Fillmore in San Francisco and The Grande Ballroom in Detroit, the rebel rousing statements often came sandwiched between distorted guitars. And people listened. And demonstrated.
John Sinclair, the well known manager of Detroit's MC5 and recipient of John Lennon's active demonstration to free him from a "10 years for two joints" sentencing, knows more about rock music and its inherent ability to incite activism than anyone on the planet. He also knows where the train line ends. Sinclair told me,
My interest in rock music kind of ends in the 1970s. I liked it when it was part of the fabric of life in the 1960s, something that came out of the way people lived. But then it just became a product. Woodstock was the signal that something else was going to happen that hadn't happened before. Over the next couple years the record companies just bought everything up and changed the concept of alternative expression, and [rock music] became commercialism.
Wayne Kramer, guitarist for the MC5, implied that perhaps modern rock is not as poignant because it has to compete, directly, with all the great bands of the past decades. Kramer told me, "All the music that ever existed exists right now. The Beatles to a 15-year-old on the Internet are a band right now; The Who is a band right now; The Sex Pistols is a band right now; The Clash is a band right now. It is an unforeseen side effect of the digital age."
Kramer continues to unpack the reasons that the MC5 have been such an enduring icon from rock music's golden era by saying,
The MC5 was caught in a moment in time. What you are always trying to capture in art is the instance of original joy -- when the muse visits, where the effort is caught. It is not that you achieved [artistic success], but you are trying for it. The Kick Out the Jams era of the MC5 was young, passionate and committed, and wholehearted about everything. We were convinced, we were certain and it was captured and caught and it remains frozen in amber so that anyone can tap into it at anytime. A reason that the MC5 is enduring may be that we never went on to be rich and famous. Kind of like we will never know James Dean as an old overweight balding fat man. He is always going to be that beautiful young man. Marilyn Monroe will always be that luscious, slightly damaged blond. And in a way the MC5 is kind of locked into that.
The MC5 undoubtedly were relevant and at the apex of rock music, addressing social problems such as racial inequalities or the war in Vietnam, and in a way that is an unfair playing field for a current band to have to compete against. But it doesn't have to be a direct competition; more up-and-coming rock bands need to draw inspiration from the era when the critique rang true. Tom Morello, with his Harvard degree and collection of Grammys is on point: he knows where good inspiration is. Morello speaks of his admiration toward the MC5 by telling Tony D'Annunzio, producer of Louder Than Love: The Grande Ballroom Story, "The MC5's music has been a huge influence on me. They were the original political punk band with an awesome stage show and a tremendous amount of energy." Morello continues and says, "It was in part [Wayne Kramer's] influence to make Nightwatchmen music and play and write and sing my own songs."
Stephan Jenkins, frontman of Third Eye Blind, also became one of a small handful of rock-based acts assessing the political climate. Two days ago Jenkins released "If There Ever Was A Time," a song spurring on the Occupy movement. Jenkins, the UC Berkeley valedictorian, over the two last days has had 21,000 plays and 3,000 downloads of the song off his Facebook page. Do you need prestigious accolades to realize the relevance of directing rock music to the people in 2011?
Hamada Ben Amor didn't have much to show for his 20 years on the planet in 2010. A shared bedroom with his brother, a few hundred dollars computer and a condenser microphone. But in a modern view, Amor may have had the biggest impact of any musician in the 21st century. Amor was a typical college student steeped in a Tupac and Biggie Smalls regime of honesty and 808 bass drums. Amor took the name El General and recorded tracks in his bedroom, drawing upon his idols. He uploaded tracks to Facebook with minimal pomp and circumstance. But on November 7, 2010, it changed. He hit on a nerve. He recorded, "Rais Lebled" which translates to "President of the Country." Tunisia had banned music with nearly any questionable critique of the status quo. A song critiquing the president was a guarantee for safety concerns. Regardless, El General hit "upload" and "Rais Lebled" went viral. Within weeks El General had risen as a leader in the Jasmine Revolution and the Tahrir Square protests in Cairo. His song and message was at the nexus for changing Tunisia and Egypt towards more democratic states. No million dollar tour busses, adorning fans or career trajectory visions: Just music becoming the soundtrack to revolutions.
Watching 1,000 Occupy camps on the planet dig their heels into the ground, and seeing 200 Patriotic Millionaires who want the government to tax them more march through Washington; it is hard not to draw parallels between 2011 and 1968. The apathy of the last decade seems to have lifted. And truth will emerge, the way it always has, through the murky waters of social critique. We need more leaders. We need more anthems. We need more people with the gumption to Kick Out The Jams.