To parry rhetorical idiocy, lets not use a genre here, but instead I’m just going to put 5 songs down, and say that sound equals genre X, where X = a word I will make up soon.
Yeah Yeah Yeahs – Down Boy
Arcade Fire – Ready to Start
TV on the Radio – Blues from Down here
The National – Blood Buzz Ohio
Decemberists – And here I dreamt I was an architect
This genre, which I’ll attempt to put into words, should be called (for the sake of this article) Menthol-Indie because I feel like it. Moving on.
Maybe its because I live in a city known for lobster and sub-arctic wind chill. Or maybe its because I’m keen on lament, but this style of music creates an environment, so closely resembling abandoned city streets in winter, I can’t help myself but try and draw the parallel.
I think Phil Spector is over-hyped and what he contributed was, at best, benign to the times. But his philosophy, while boring in concept is amazing in practice. The wall of sound with the least amount of instruments possible (Somewhere in here, Andy Warhol becomes the creator, but I’m not entirely sure where, and its not essential for this ramble) essentially creates white noise, and with some percussion, melody, and narrative in front of it, makes it the backdrop of a person lost in the world, contemplating the finer details of “why the hell am I here?”
What we get in life is often background noise, car horns, engines rumbling, trains roaring by, planes, dogs, one-sided cell phone conversation and any number of small ticks; insects, clocks, technologies constant reminders that they’re waiting for us. This serves no purpose to the individual, and in a musical sense, it would not effect (or shouldn’t, outside the schizophrenic mind, a purpose to narrative.) If it hasn’t been made obvious yet, I’m making the connection between the individual and the narrative, which should be clear to begin with, but its being pitched differently here.
What this white noise may come to represent, if it wasn’t the intention to begin with is the innumerate life teeming beyond the individual which, when already in a position of indirection, may only further the idea that life goes on without, therefore, what’s your purpose?
But beyond our teen angst and depression, these instances are less an overall characteristic of the individual, and more a characteristic of an event: a break-up, a parent dying, rejection, and unemployment. Could white noise, in the adult mind (or narrative) be the chaos that comes with the myriad of responsibilities throw into havoc when something like this comes? Ignore for a minute whether or not it does. Hear me out…
The device (Wall of Sound), when viewed as a device, seems to suggest to us the interpreter that the chaos marches in a lock-step uniformity; that chaos must represent “the other” by virtue of its consistency, and lack of relationship to the listener. When applied to any narrative, this follows a logical literary pattern of Person v. Environment, which is a traditional Antagonist. Traditionally, this is found in Drama not Comedy (literal sense) but music, and especially that which could be considered post-industrial (society, not music) seems to suggest a comedic effect in so far as there is no resolution. The white-noise, chaos of the Wall of Sound is a constant, something the Protagonist lives with and grows increasingly familiar with. Have you ever heard the Wall of Sound used in a staccato capacity? Neither have I, and I’m not even sure how you would pull it off, but lets forget that for a second.
What this style says about chaos, which was traditionally considered the opposite of self (the other) , is that it becomes a familiarity. If we look to the alternative of the post-industrial society, its generally rural, where all noises come with nature, and therefore has a very logical connection to a given person. People hunt, fish, farm, and live in the environment, which are at least a few degrees away from direct relations. But in the city, too much “environmental” factors have little or nothing to do with anyone else. The consumer order is sharply divided. I saw 3 news helicopters today. While the argument for benefiting the individual could be there, if it wasn’t our lives wouldn’t be so much different (do we really need to know about a traffic jam after the fact?).
A few paragraphs back I wondered if the familiarity with noise is the immediate stress of the responsibility and it’s new found immediacy. What I think we’ve tripped over in between is that its less the immediacy, but the presence of all things that must exist in order for a City-Society to function. That is, theres a butterfly effect that occurs to me if the Traffic-Copter isn’t out that day, even if its effects are not felt directly. In finality, the wall of sound seems to operate within the narrative as a sort of societal feedback. One that doesn’t suggest a wish to return to a rural life, but the pressure cooker of demands in a metropolitan lifestyle, and beyond this, the ever growing coldness that comes with or all too familiar relationship with it.
Its said of New York City, if you can make it there, you can make it anywhere. If we funnel this through out musical filters, I think Menthol musicians would argue its because a grave disinterested attitude is not created by a personal interest, but a necessary interest in survival. Essentially, the Menthol guitarist, with his reverbed out instrument asks us, “Do you really think Deluth would have recovered from 9/11 as quickly as NYC did?” For too many albums, they’ve been telling us the answer is “no.”