Not quite yet, jesus boy.....I just remembered one of my favorite music obits from more than a decade ago:
the Lumpen Times wrote:Music of the Living Dead
Garcia is dead, and I am grateful. How his band ever inspired such a devout following is beyond me, but the outpouring of emotion at his demise proves collective musical taste is beyond bland.
Being a Deadhead has little to do with musical appreciation, embracing instead an insipid San Francisco soundtrack that appeals to a cross-section of pathetic proto-hippies and annoying wannabes. The former boast triple-digit show attendance and an affinity for VW microbus engine repair, the latter are hung up on out tie-dyeing each other, slapping stickers on dad's Volvo and rioting with too conspicuous rebellion when tickets aren't available. If either faction takes a second to stop smoking ditchweed, they might realize how vapid the Dead's music is.
Of course, the Dead were not really about music, they were about their vanilla "vibe"--as musical as professional wrestlers are athletic. The spectacle is there, and genuine entertainment energy, but the sizzle lacks steak. Garcia's bluegrass-founded guitar was distinctive, he and his cohorts had talent and a knack for improvisation, but their sound was a lullaby played to an already-anesthetized crowd who wanted an excuse to reek of patchouli and wear gingham. The Dead pandered, never pioneered.
Lennon, in exemplary contrast, was an innovator, as were Cobain, Hendrix, Coltrane, Baker, Mingus, Davis; their sound was dynamic, it evolved and inspired evolution.
Garcia was a snake-oil salesman, taking a blues standard or folk favorite and watering it down to suit stadiums-full of folks who wouldn't appreciate Robert Johnson or Hank Williams if they climbed in bed and screwed them all night. The Dead offer ketchup to the original style's Tabasco.
And therein lies their appeal--pasteurization. They set the score for a whitebread "Easy Rider" daydream, imparting a non-threatening pinch of blues, reggae, zydeco, or country that insinuated authenticity. But why deal with the intensity of an original when the Dead provide such great background? You don't need to listen to it, you only need to hear it, and faintly at that. Pass another rail dude, this is the world's greatest cover band.
Deadheads embody all that is un-musical about music--filling arenas where the sound stinks, t-shirts cost $40 and your dugout gets clipped. The music itself is secondary to it's implication, which is magnified by overt spectacle worship. Pink Floyd and Jimmy Buffett still reap the rewards of this mindset; Blues Traveler, Phish and Widespread Panic are gearing up to cash in on it now that they're out of Garcia's rotund shadow. Tears shed for the Dead's death are a lame lament--a paean to the passing of rock-and-roll's most renowned purveyors of elevator music. What a long, lame trip it's been.
Rick Reuben wrote:Edit those words out or I'm contacting a moderator.
