Sarre-Chasm
Calling the Kettle Black
by Jon Sarre
illustration by Eric Johnson
If I’m not mistaken, my musings in this space last month concerned points of light, or at least decency (actual or invented), in this fin de siecle world of ours. Shit, someone oughtta’ve slapped me upside the head for that. Since then, it’s been officially confirmed in the many go-nowhere conversations I’ve had (often with reasonable semi-articulate people who could even be described as “in the know” in these regards), in the muted whispers I’ve picked up with sophisticated eavesdropping equipment, the rumblings deep beneath the seismic plates of this heap o’ rocks practically scream the fact, it’s, it’s, it’s… the title of the latest Descendents record, Everything Sucks.
Yeah, boys and girls, time to just face the facts and confess. Don’t bother looking for merit in that new Bush CD just cos Albini twirled some knobs. Marilyn Manson ain’t no more than Alice Cooper with a less-competent cosmetologist. Metallica shoulda learned from Samson and kept their headbanger locks (even if they weren’t whammy bar fret-doodlers from day one). Don’t be fooled, Gibby Haynes woulda sold his soul to sniff the pussy of an MTV VJette a decade ago if only one woulda given him half a chance. In short, despite what you may see, hear or read, rock’n’roll high school is chock fulla paper tigers, who, as a collective mass, have almost as much creativity and originality as that southern fried yuppie hairdo who just waddled his way into the White House for another shot at actually accomplishing something. Welcome to the end of the millennium.
Sure, there’s gonna be some smartass out there thinking, “No shit, Einstein, sorry your bubble burst, but everything’s sucked since, at least, the beginning of this wretched decade. Actually, everything’s sucked since July 17, [insert year here, depending on level of cynicism].”
My answer to that guy (I’m using the word non-gender specifically here. Don’t wanna offend, y’know) is “Don’t you fucking think I already know that? Hub? Whaddayah think? I’ve never bit my tongue when I’ve hadda write drivel about drivel (not in this magazine, of course, I love all the stuff I don’t hate)? You try knocking out 300-plus words of complimentary things to say about [insert band name here] just cos [insert record label name here] dropped some dough on “promotion” (again, this complaint applies to different, hypothetical magazines). What does `punker than fuck’ mean, anyway?”
The ’90s are the pits, it’s as simple as that. I’m reminded again and again when I flip through the local Alterno-mags (names aren’t relevant unless you live in Oregon and then you probably already know them) and I happen across odd phrases like “one of Utah’s most popular live bands” and “the much troubled and talented Shannon Hoon [the dead guy from Blind Melon, remember?]”.
How does anyone write that stuff with a straight face? It’s a joke, right? I mean, the writer who drew the short straw and got the Blind Melon barrelscraping comp or the release from some loser Mormon-land band whose name escapes me did the piece under duress, torture maybe. Didn’t he (remember, I’m not being genderist here) just wanna say, “This is crap and I don’t even wanna bother explaining why”?
Then again, the near-constant rain here makes some people crazy. Some of them even blow their heads off with shotguns, thus assuring that they won’t just quietly fade away into obscurity.
Yeah, what this decade will long be remembered for is that some stoner kid wrote a dozen or so songs that everyone liked, but the responsibility of being the poet laureate of the first generation raised completely by TV got to be too much for one guy to bear. Hell, the inscription on these years probably won’t even be that dubiously noble. How ’bout “Alice in Chains rocked back then,” or “Remember when everyone was different and had green hair?”
Perhaps it’s premature to slap an epitaph on the 1990s. Something may show up to salvage these years and yeah, I know I’m treading some sandy sludge as I bitch and moan (flip around, I’m sure there’s something I like in this issue). The thing is, I’ve got this Space (until they take it away from me) and I can’t help but notice that the records that get the most consistent wear in my collection were put out by the likes of the Rolling Stones, the Ramones, the Stooges and the Heartbreakers (ever think that the ole tale where rock’n’roll was going down the tubes until the Sex Pistols came along is just revisionist bullshit propagated by a media/entertainment industry that needed to cover ass after losing track of things in the brown acid haze of Woodstock?).
So what’s this all mean? Everything good has been done before? It’s just one of those periodic slumps? It could be worse? It very well could, but does that mean we gotta be thankful for what we get? Except for the disturbing little prospect of commercially slitting your own throat, what’s so wrong with occasionally actually saying “Everything Sucks?” So, y’hear the Atari Teenage Riot record yet? It’s okay. A friend of mine said it sounds like the future. Could be worse.
