Dr. Philebrity: It’s Only Rock ‘n’ Roll, But No One Likes It
Dr. Philebrity,
†
I have a two-parter arising from last Fridays Making Time:
After the jump, perhaps the greatest Dr. Philebrity session of all time. Subjects discussed: Hardcore and its after-effects, Neil Diamond, the art-vs.-commerce conundrum, why people suck and why it’s goood to sleep with the drummer.
†
1. If we’re not supposed to be into over-hyped, over-publicizied bands like The Strokes and Franz Ferdinand, then why does the†everyone on the†dancefloor lose their shit when one of their songs†are played?
My dear sweet whoever: Thank you for writing in. Your question gets straight to the heart of the hipster conundrum. Nobody wants to be one (or worse, wants to be seen as wanting to be one), even those who are almost always claim they aren’t, and yet these motherfuckers are everywhere, at everything, wanting nothing more than to have already done it so they can be ó†who didn’t see this coming? ó over it.
Cultivated disaffection is nothing new. What more was Judas when he said he preferred Jesus’ earlier work but an aspiring hipster? John Wilkes Booth? Dude drank gallons of Haterade. And on we go, through the sands of time…
Sorry for getting all heady on you there, friend. It’s just that when I hear stuff like this, I can’t help but take the long view. As for the Strokes and Franz, well, who says you’re not supposed to be into them? Assholes like this? Honey, please. You like what you like. You dance to what you want to dance to; have you ever tried dancing to music you don’t like? Oh God, it’s just awful. My point is that dancing, when it’s right, is that perfect confluence of music that you love and your body letting you say how much you love it regardless of how “over it” or “not your scene” it is. In that way, seeing the throngs of people who rush to the dance floor when they hear the Strokes or, if you don’t want to single them out, a great song by, say, New Order, is a perfect pop moment.
Go back and take a look at that message board link I just highlighted. See these people? They’re bored. And insecure. Most of them don’t even like to dance, which is as sure a sign as any that there is some serious shit wrong with you. The boredom comes from a lot of the usual sources ó unfulfilled dreams, lame desk jobs, you name it ó but the brand of insecurity is fairly unique, as their distaste for groups like the Strokes or Franz Ferdinand comes from a total lack of understanding of just what pop really is. Pop is the pleasing intersection of art and commerce. If you grew up listening to one joyless hardcore band after another preaching to the choir about how “evil” it is to “sell out,” then you’d be kind of fucked up about the enjoyment of popular music, too. For lots of folks, music is tied up in some kind of notion of ownership, and when those notions are interrupted for whatever reasons ó even good, as in a great band getting over in a big way ó folks are now pretty much trained to cry foul, even if they have zero understanding of why. This is why while our parents can enjoy, say, Neil Diamond on a very pure level, we can only do so in quotation marks. For true “evil” comes around, well, hardly ever, and “selling out,” at least when it pertains to your favorite new band suddenly getting megapopular, never existed in the first place. Or at any rate, Dear Lord, certainly not now.
That’s the long answer to your question. The short answer to why everyone says they hate the Strokes, et al and yet they rush to the floor when their records come on? Shit, honey, most people don’t even know what they like. But their bodies do. That sounds creepy and gross, but whatever. Deal with it.
†2. A friend of mine got dirty with Tom Vek’s drummer on Friday night. Is her conquest dulled any because he’s only part of the touring band and not really “on the marquee”? Also, isn’t groupie love a thing of the past and only done†for irony’s sake, like double guitars animal spandex or that Backstreet Boys video that rips off “Heavy Metal Parking Lot”?
Ok, jeez, I hope you have insurance, because you’re really working the Doc pretty hard today. But luckily, this one is easy. So your friend fucked the drummer. Awesome. He was probably really good, too. And if it’s casual sex you want from drummers, sister, it is casual sex you will get because it’s a cliche but it’s true: These dudes are always flakes. And the ones who aren’t are usually wayyyyyyy needy. Worse than the singer, even.
Now to the more pertinent question: Did it “count” in terms of bagging a rock star and getting whatever points that gets in this day and age? Only time will tell, but odds are good. Here’s how it works: When a guy like Tom Vek or Matthew Sweet or whoever goes on tour with a band that is not a band creatively involved with whatever record the tour has been booked to promote, the guys he hires to play his music are called “ringers.” Ringers are pros. In earlier days, they might have been session musicians ó some still are ó but ringers are like waiters or cab drivers in that there’s always a clutch of good ones in demand. If this guy is in fact one of these guys ó and Tom Vek is hooked up enough industry-wise to suspect that he is ó chances are, sooner or later he will wind up playing in a really famous band, where your friend’s I-Fucked-That-Dude stock will really go up. (Although, to be honest, as I write, I’m starting to suspect that it was YOU who bagged the dude and you’re actually just using the “my friend” thing just in case you don’t like my answer. If that’s true, Dr. Philebrity encourages you to grow a little sack and own up to your obviously slutty Almost Famous-esque sexuality, because honey, I AM A DOCTOR. I’ve seen it all.)
And lastly, is groupie love a thing of the past? In a word, no. What are stars but objects on which we can project our sexual fantasies? Do you think anyone really just wants to be friends with Rufus Wainwright? Is the populace just dying to help Scarlett Johannson with her math homework? As long as there are people who can’t get laid, there will be stars. And as long as there are people who are determined to get laid in the most freakish and compromised terms available, there will be groupies.
And honestly? Thank God for that.
Over and out,
Dr. Philebrity
Related: Dr. Philebrity On Jersey Trash
Related: Dr. Philebrity On Dancin’
Related: Dr. Philebrity On Dissin’
Related: Dr. Philebrity On Belchin’
Related: Dr. Philebrity On Waxin’, Milkin’
