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On Music: Are You Serious?
Part II
MUSIC COLUMN by Aamir Bermiss
It is a quiet evening in music. Foolish and curious writers have begun asking
questions about the motivation behind so-called artists as they continue to
produce material. Last week, we started in on the subject of seriousness. Art
vs. entertainment. When it comes to music criticism, there are no simple
questions or simple answers—just many differing opinions from a thousand
different, self-proclaimed experts. I've tried to bring the subject of
seriousness up with musicians and composers from genres as diverse as HipHop,
20th century concert music, and electronic noise music but the responses are
so diverse and ambiguous that they are not worth recounting here. Every artist
has their own concept of what seriousness is and also what is supposed to be
taken seriously. This leads me to believe that the same is true of listeners.
Some people think music without a vocalist is just noise, some people think
the exact opposite—that triviality and singers are inseparable musical
entities. Some artists will say that music is no longer about notes on paper
or the ancient instruments that man has been tinkering with since the first
moments of consciousness, that real new music cannot be taken seriously if
it’s played on the piano or guitar. Often the (mis)conception is that music
that is supposed to make people dance and have a good time is not serious
music, but some artists (mainly those who create such music) will defend the
art of making dance music. Perhaps making trivial music is a serious affair as
well.
At this point, we could get lost in the semantics of this argument so it’s
important to emphasize the real overall subject of debate here: does any body
take music seriously? A funny question. Initially, I thought not. And it would
seem that, aside from artists and critics, no one is really taking music
seriously these days. It’s a circus for the most part. The only way to get
serious endeavors into the public consciousness is to precede it with an
annoyingly catchy single and to disguise it as non-serious. But, after much
consideration, I think that the answer might be that a lot of people take
music very seriously but only if it doesn't approach them in a serious way. It
is this writer's contention that the American public is actually afraid of
serious music. There is some kind of serious (no pun intended) phobia of music
that might challenge one's sensibilities. Also, laziness may factor into the
equation. When music is serious, it is often also progressive, which means it
won't necessarily be precisely what people are used to hearing. To cite an
example, Common's last album Electric Circus features the popular
semi-underground Chicago rapper in a highly futuristic setting. While Common
has somewhat of a cult following, they did not want to hear him rhyme over
anything other than the conventional boom-bap for which HipHop is renowned. In
fact, a good portion of his fans were alienated by his previous album, Like
Water for Chocolate, where Common utilized the organic sound of a live band as
the basis for many of the tracks. From an objective position (as objective as
this journalist can be, while being a vehement Common admirer) his albums had
been progressing in the direction of Electric Circus from the start and it
only made sense for the album to have an electronically-influenced vibe.
HipHop has always progressed in tandem with technological advancements. It was
birthed from an experimentation with turn tables and metric (pertaining to
rhythm) layering. Of course it is pertinent to note that at the time it was
not "serious" artistic merit that DJ's were looking for but a way to get
people keep people dancing and win themselves loyal fans. Bringing it back to
Common, our example, here is music derivative of that which originally got
people moving, music that could be listened to with the same attitude as
danceable HipHop but a bit more abstract and less obviously danceable. People,
for the most part, were not feeling it. Longtime hardcore Common heads
considered the new album "artistic" but not good. Not worth blasting in their
car stereo. Not worth listening to. While the subject matter was essentially
the same, and the lyricism was still very hip, the experimentation with beats
was too much for the public. Too technical, too measured. In essence—too
serious.
Remarkably, a year later, Andre3000 comes out with his half of the most recent
Outkast album, The Love Below, which, while not the sonic landscape that
Electric Circus is, utilized a lot of the same experimental tools. A year
after Electric Circus had come and gone. However, Dre's album was preceded by
an 80s-style pop song with what was easily the catchiest hook of the year. The
album itself is pretty much a serious piece of work, but its first few tracks
are done with a tounge-in-cheek, over-produced sheen that made the seriousness
much easier to swallow. Now I don't mean to get down on Andre3000 or The Love
Below, but as a complete album it is unquestionably of a lesser quality than
Electric Circus. In 10 years, though, MTV will call The Love Below one of the
most revolutionary albums of the beginning of the century and I'll be
surprised if anyone, except very studious HipHop heads, remembers Electric
Circus for what it contributed to the genre.
An even deeper murk of quandary leads us to ask: who, that listened to The
Love Below considered it a serious album? Well, it’s honestly too early to
tell with that. But let's keep the examples coming—let's talk about Jay-Z.
Known across the globe Jay-Z, Sean Carter, has been the most popular figure in
HipHop since the mid to late 90s. His albums featured simplistic lyrics about
sex, money, and power delivered with virtuosic eloquence over some of the
finest, most innovative production of the last 10 years. If you ask any Jay-Z
fan (of which there are many) whether or not they take Jay-Z seriously, most
will probably answer yes. His rhymes we thrown about like words of wisdom and
he has been deified many times over in magazines and television. Yet, in his
"last" album, The Black Album, Jay-Z admitted to dumbing down his lyrics in
the name of record sales. He admitted to wanting to say things more
substantial, in the style of cats like Common and Talib Kweli. And from what
this writer surmises, he did not take his music very seriously. Certainly, he
acknowledges a craft to producing a hit but there is little to no weighted
artistic merit to the music from the point of view of the MC. Well, this puts
a strange spin on things. If the artist doesn't consider his music serious,
but the people do—where are we then?
My suspicion is back where we started.
There's not much else to say on this matter. I suppose that seriousness, like
beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. While something in me makes me want to
say that if an artist does not consider him or herself a serious artist then
the work that they put out cannot possibly be so, something else is forcing me
to admit that an artist that considers him or herself serious can often be a
complete piece of trash. I'm not sure why people read this column. Perhaps it
is a faith in the columnist’s knowledge and judgment of music. Perhaps it is
merely the sick pleasure they derive in seeing me try to explain what is
primarily inexplicable. We writers must admit one thing certainly: without the
assumption that there is serious music or that music can be categorized in
terms of its quality and intention, there is no reason for us to write—and I
believer that we must write. So with gravity and levity (and an overall
feeling of futility) I sense a denouement coming on. Listener beware. |
