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Follow the Heard, pt. I


The mis-classification, or rather the conglomeration of musical genres happens most readily at record mega stores and on what passes for MTV. It seems the act of naming a musical style has been wrested from the control of listeners, only to find its way to the content management systems of record label project managers. Duck and Cover will attempt, over the coming months, to find out whether we, as listeners, have lost control, whether we ever had it, and how the decentralization of the music business is good for everyone.



To begin with, when did emo become so incredibly, undeniably awful? Where is the transition between The Promise Ring and Good Charlotte? For that matter, who deemed Good Charlotte emo? We didn't. The t-shirted kids standing in the corner of the bar didn't. Furthermore, at what point did Country & Western demand concerts with pyrotechnics? How did we get from Merle Haggard to Randy Travis?



Anyone who pays attention to trends will easily spy the sneaky nature by which one's favourite unknown becomes Billboard's pick of the week. One day you're bopping along to Ultimate Fakebook while your kicks stick to the beery floor, and the next thing you know they're on a major with national tour dates. Your first reaction, understandably, is to feel betrayed. However, that quickly passes. You feel good for them. They made it. That's the point, right?



Except that their next album sounds different. A little predictable. You don't feel anything, so you put it back. Kids used to call it "selling out," but it's different from that. So often a compromise occurs when a band is told they can no longer write what the want; they have to write what sells. When musicians sign with a major record label, be it Sony or Merge, BMG or Warner, they so often sign away their integrity--they're no longer free to write when the muse moves them; they write when the producer demands it. And here is where music street veers sharply into the pop parking lot: a subdivided catch-all where bands stagnate, atrophy, and become Meatloaf.



Let us return to the emo example. During the mid to late 90s, bands like The Promise Ring, Sunny Day Real Estate, Rainer Maria, and Seam (to name but a few) were playing a sound as yet undefined. It isn't like they all sat down at Denny's and said, "Right. Let's make emo songs. What should we whine about?" They simply wrote songs they wanted to write. Style in music, as in the written and visual arts, often reacts with (or against) a preceding style. Usually these styles churn for years under the surface, bending and merging with mainstream genres. For instance, the influence of the Beach Boys' Pet Sounds was noted, but rarely emulated. Hints of it creep in now and again with the likes of The Olivia Tremor Control, Beulah, and lately Sufjan Stevens, but it seems to be a sound that listeners aren't quite ready for. Yet currently, "emo" has been applied to an odd blend of post-punk pop . . . with eyeliner (Eyeliner? I guess they need it for all the posing for photo shoots). In these cases (Green Day, Good Charlotte, Sum 41), the label precedes the sound. It's as if the band stands up and declares first, "we are emo!" to a crowd that dutifully replies "okay! yes! we agree!"



"But Jamie," you may say, "this is how bands make money? They're making a living. You can't fault that." And you are right. They are earning their bread. This is how it's done. Or rather, this is how it WAS done. The Internet is a big place, and the old method of sign, print, sell is going the way of the dodo. New methods for distributing and selling music are but a mouse-click away.

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