Music is a portal: Warlocks (The Grateful Dead), Jazziacs (Kool and the Gang), The New Yardbirds (Led Zeppelin), Feedback (U2), The Blue Velvets (Creedence Clearwater Revival), Paul Hewson (Bono) and Dave Evans (The Edge)—bands ranging in name from iconic blues songs (The Rolling Stones for Muddy Waters’ “Rollin’ Stone”) to an underground sex paperback (The Velvet Underground).
In an age of “intellectual copyright” (egomaniacally so), music is and always will be an enterprise built on borrowed capital—musical influences. We should be under no illusions, regardless of any naïve temptation to the contrary, to apotheosize any musician or group without proper accreditation. More often than not, it’s Blues and Jazz that our contemporary music is indebted to. Though, certainly, cultural times inherently contribute (significantly) as well—the 60’s being prime example: a volatile American landscape of post-war—Cold War, ‘white flight’ suburbanization and emerging consumerism that served as a hot-plate for the somber tones of blues for aspiring rock musicians.
"There are two types of people in the world—those who love Journey and liars"
So—this week (and every week) in Austin, we scour the Austin social scene for those unique musical talents, which help us find our sense of vicarious escapism. It’s here where one thing becomes important—NO—essential: that we honor the dead. Some might refer to it as musical influence—homage—whatever you call it, weeks like this give us the opportunity to visit and revisit musical history. In a way, good music—truly astounding music, will give rise to not only isolated smiles and momentary enjoyment, but it’ll pack you up and take you on the road. Scoff. Disagree. Whatever you need to do. But, good books, good movies—inevitably remind us of the borrowed capital. The rest are either pretenders and/or liars. (Or, as one Journey cover band bellowed from a stage on Bourbon Street (NOLA): there are two types of people in the world—those who love Journey and liars)
The Black Keys (left) and Junior Kimbrough (right)
Most (if not all) bands maneuver through layers of musical phase, accentuating ever progressively like a metronomic beat, from blues to funk to R&B to disco to pop—with mutual crossovers. It’s part progressive, but, it’s largely mood oriented, people finding their roots and influences. So, when listening to The Black Keys, if we don’t at least find our way to Junior Kimbrough, then we’ve partially missed it. If, when we watch Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction, we don’t find our way to Sergio Leone, Black Mask magazine, or Roger Corman, then, we’ve partially missed it.
Pearl Jam circa 1993
Sure—the biggies draw us in. We like whom we like for reasons nostalgic and otherwise: Dave Matthews Band, Ben Harper, or Pearl Jam. What we too quickly forget about though, is, as one friend recounted for me, that bands like Kings of Leon (before they were Kings), played gigs at hole in the wall joints to apathetic crowds of fifteen. Which begs—who were they, before they were? This is the great kernel of potential brilliance in each and every ACL and SXSW. It’s the American Dream resonating in sound waves and reverberated feedback in clubs and venues all throughout Austin (and any city that truly cares about music, not just entertainment).
Music is certainly for our enjoyment—let’s not get sidetracked. But, it’s much more than that. Musicians are emotional snake charmers—playing the tunes that evoke us from our hermetic emotional funks—from which we contort and coil—resonating the ills and illustrious of the human experience. If we really are “the” Live Music Capital of the World—then we should be more than mere convivial fans. We’re not pimple faced pubescent—we’re roadies and band-aids, we love the music.
So—our challenge is to travel the spectrum, to experience who they are before they are. Big to you, small to me, doesn’t matter—whether it’s Andrew Bird, The Wood Brothers, Devotchka, Preservation Hall Jazz Band, Heartless Bastards, or The Dodos—there’s a world of musical enjoyment and discovery to be had. One need only think about what legendary—godlike bands have been formed from crumpled, nothing special fliers staple rooted on school pin boards—worthy of legendary rocker exasperations: John Paul Jones. So, get on—go out, continue frequenting the venues, big and small—gaudy and guile, because it’s “Stevie Ray Vaughan Day” (October 3).
Raymond is the cultural critic for the South Side Sanctuary, traveling to the outer-limits of the social realm to discover to unique facets of the human existence. He also really loves the early forms of the band Journey. Strike up a friendship if you like: ray [at] southsidesanctuary [dot] com
Who Were They, Before They Were?
Music is a portal: Warlocks (The Grateful Dead), Jazziacs (Kool and the Gang), The New Yardbirds (Led Zeppelin), Feedback (U2), The Blue Velvets (Creedence Clearwater Revival), Paul Hewson (Bono) and Dave Evans (The Edge)—bands ranging in name from iconic blues songs (The Rolling Stones for Muddy Waters’ “Rollin’ Stone”) to an underground sex paperback (The Velvet Underground).
In an age of “intellectual copyright” (egomaniacally so), music is and always will be an enterprise built on borrowed capital—musical influences. We should be under no illusions, regardless of any naïve temptation to the contrary, to apotheosize any musician or group without proper accreditation. More often than not, it’s Blues and Jazz that our contemporary music is indebted to. Though, certainly, cultural times inherently contribute (significantly) as well—the 60’s being prime example: a volatile American landscape of post-war—Cold War, ‘white flight’ suburbanization and emerging consumerism that served as a hot-plate for the somber tones of blues for aspiring rock musicians.
"There are two types of people in the world—those who love Journey and liars"
So—this week (and every week) in Austin, we scour the Austin social scene for those unique musical talents, which help us find our sense of vicarious escapism. It’s here where one thing becomes important—NO—essential: that we honor the dead. Some might refer to it as musical influence—homage—whatever you call it, weeks like this give us the opportunity to visit and revisit musical history. In a way, good music—truly astounding music, will give rise to not only isolated smiles and momentary enjoyment, but it’ll pack you up and take you on the road. Scoff. Disagree. Whatever you need to do. But, good books, good movies—inevitably remind us of the borrowed capital. The rest are either pretenders and/or liars. (Or, as one Journey cover band bellowed from a stage on Bourbon Street (NOLA): there are two types of people in the world—those who love Journey and liars)
The Black Keys (left) and Junior Kimbrough (right)
Most (if not all) bands maneuver through layers of musical phase, accentuating ever progressively like a metronomic beat, from blues to funk to R&B to disco to pop—with mutual crossovers. It’s part progressive, but, it’s largely mood oriented, people finding their roots and influences. So, when listening to The Black Keys, if we don’t at least find our way to Junior Kimbrough, then we’ve partially missed it. If, when we watch Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction, we don’t find our way to Sergio Leone, Black Mask magazine, or Roger Corman, then, we’ve partially missed it.
Pearl Jam circa 1993
Sure—the biggies draw us in. We like whom we like for reasons nostalgic and otherwise: Dave Matthews Band, Ben Harper, or Pearl Jam. What we too quickly forget about though, is, as one friend recounted for me, that bands like Kings of Leon (before they were Kings), played gigs at hole in the wall joints to apathetic crowds of fifteen. Which begs—who were they, before they were? This is the great kernel of potential brilliance in each and every ACL and SXSW. It’s the American Dream resonating in sound waves and reverberated feedback in clubs and venues all throughout Austin (and any city that truly cares about music, not just entertainment).
Music is certainly for our enjoyment—let’s not get sidetracked. But, it’s much more than that. Musicians are emotional snake charmers—playing the tunes that evoke us from our hermetic emotional funks—from which we contort and coil—resonating the ills and illustrious of the human experience. If we really are “the” Live Music Capital of the World—then we should be more than mere convivial fans. We’re not pimple faced pubescent—we’re roadies and band-aids, we love the music.
So—our challenge is to travel the spectrum, to experience who they are before they are. Big to you, small to me, doesn’t matter—whether it’s Andrew Bird, The Wood Brothers, Devotchka, Preservation Hall Jazz Band, Heartless Bastards, or The Dodos—there’s a world of musical enjoyment and discovery to be had. One need only think about what legendary—godlike bands have been formed from crumpled, nothing special fliers staple rooted on school pin boards—worthy of legendary rocker exasperations: John Paul Jones. So, get on—go out, continue frequenting the venues, big and small—gaudy and guile, because it’s “Stevie Ray Vaughan Day” (October 3).
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author
Raymond is the cultural critic for the South Side Sanctuary, traveling to the outer-limits of the social realm to discover to unique facets of the human existence. He also really loves the early forms of the band Journey. Strike up a friendship if you like: ray [at] southsidesanctuary [dot] com