A friend of mine recently posed the question to me: How long would you want to play, create, and perform music if you did it for a living?
I thought it was a strange question. Especially considering the source. My visceral response: forever. But then I got to thinking about specific examples of rock bands who've forged on seemingly forever.
If I were Keith Richards or Mick Jagger, I would have hung it up a long time ago. They haven't had anything to say in years. I remember being given Voodoo Lounge as a going away present in seventh grade before we moved to Chicago. I sat on the floor of my bedroom next to my "boom box" and listened to it, amongst a sea of brown boxes containing the rest of my belongings, and thought, "What the fuck? These guys are too old." Sure, maybe these sentiments are an oversimplification, but what do you expect from a seventh grader?
Ultimately, I think their astounding longevity actually taints their legacy. They charge an arm and a leg for their concerts and everyone that goes is desperately seeking glimpses into their past, whether it's the CEO up front or the customer service representative in the cheap ($200) seats. Live music, regardless of genre, is about the current, present moment. Or at least it should be. The lyrical content, or even mood, may be nostalgic but the experience shouldn't be. And I would venture to guess there aren't many people at these concerts who can name a good Rolling Stones' song from the past twenty years.
In college I went and saw Jethro Tull and I was embarrassed for Ian Anderson. Overweight, yet adorning spandex and posturing himself as he did in the late 60's and 70's- taking flute solos standing on one leg, with the bottom of one foot touching the other leg about the knee (think flamingo)- their set list was nothing more than an expensive fit of nostalgia. Lesson learned.
The Who is one of my favorite bands of all time, and there is no way in hell I'd pay to go see them. Too old to do their peak brilliance any justice, they should just spend even more time and energy focused on activism if you ask me. Not to mention, Pete Townsend and Roger Daltrey are the only surviving members. I don't care who's playing bass and drums or how many head-in-ass journalists portend they're as good as ever, there's no way in hell they're armed with the perfectly juxtaposed rhythm section of John Entwhistle's anchoring Keith Moon's insanity. It's contrived. But don't tell the accountant in the third row who just got high for the first time in 30 years. He paid good money for those seats.
I still remember the first time I heard The Who score a Hummer commercial. I'm not sure I could have been more disappointed in people I didn't actually know personally. Would they have ever done such a thing back when they were finishing up sets by destroying everything? Absolutely not. Back then, the destruction meant something. It was part of their message. And their message, at least seemingly to me, used to run counter to every facet of getting in bed with Hummer Corp. Inc. LLC. Not anymore.
So, with the best interests of rock and roll in mind, I'd like to think I'd hang it up at 40.
