An Unfortunate Darkness

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Today, while the sun burns the sky and heat is smeared over the dry landscape like hot Vaseline, I'm going to go off on a tangent.

That's right, due to circumstances beyond my control, I am going to temporarily take leave of the somewhat confusing trail of breadcrumbs that I've been weaving through this dense forest for the past several months, even at the risk that I may not find my way back, because there's something that's troubling me and if I don't say something about it, I'm afraid that no-one will.

Back in the 80's, a decade that eagerly sought to define itself as anything other than the 70's, there were a number of new musical movements. Among these was the meteoric rise and eye-catching crash of heavy metal. It got started by a handful of genuinely talented bands that blazed new territory and, in so doing, tapped into a raging undercurrent of teenage angst and frustration. However, once metal really got popular it was inundated by me-too bands; talentless little three-chord rock corporations desperately looking to cash in on a big thing, without adding anything of value to the musical mix. Even Michael Bolton tried to get in on the act with a hard rock album.

The whole movement curled up and died not long after that. Blame it on Michael Bolton. He's an acceptable scapegoat.

Now here we are in the middle-latitudes of the enlightened 2000's. Space travel is commonplace (although still a little tricky and somewhat explosion-prone), electric cars exist outside of car-show stages, on the actual streets (just not that many of them), and we like to pay extra to get our water in shiny plastic packages instead of drinking from the tap like a pack of barbarians. Truly, all is bliss and enlightenment.

But wait, what's this dark blemish now growing on our utopian, futuristic society like fungus on old coffee grounds? Yes. Eighties hair metal is back.

Now, I've ranted and raged before about my numerous problems with our cultural fixation on things retro, but let me just point out that I do endorse resurrecting old musical styles and infusing them with something new. Building on what came before is a respectable and potent means of exploring new ground. Unfortunately, that's not what's happening here.

The new bands that are bringing 80's metal back to the unfortunate front are not presenting a new twist on an old thing – they are a simple carbon copy of the very worst aspects of that stale-dated musical movement. Bands like The Darkness and Turbonegro (I know, it's a shame to waste a name like that) play brand new material which is indistinguishable from anything produced by the talent-shunning metal bands of the late 80's. From the simplistic three-chord riffs and shrill guitar solos, to the desperate sexuality of the lyrics, from the waist long hair to the spandex jumpsuits and snakeskin boots, the new metal is an identical reproduction of the old. The only difference is that, instead of starting out with important new bands and then degenerating into hopeless mediocrity, we've leapt straight to that sad twilight stage. The music industry is busily selling brand new hair metal when there are still tape cases full of the old stuff jammed under our collective beds. Bringing a musical movement back, just like it originally was, is kind of like bringing a loved one back from the dead - you think it'll make you happy, but it really, really won't.

Save me from things that linger.

Here's what I find particularly disturbing about this whole thing. I've already argued that genius fattens to mediocrity with the complacency of success, resulting in short bursts of inspired productivity and long declines of marginal accomplishment. Now, however, the bloated, former child-star, tyrant that is the popular music industry is bypassing the groundbreaking, but somewhat risky, early-genius stage, and cutting straight to the high-profit margin, low-risk phase by just recycling old material and pretending that it's something new. Increasingly, if you want to hear genuinely new music, or see a groundbreaking movie, you must search high and low through the cluttered jungles of independent record labels and movie studios. I haven't yet got the hang of doing this – there aren't a lot of road signs or highway maps to simplify navigation – but it seems to be the only way of finding any artistically worthwhile entertainment these days.

Save me from things that linger.

There, I've said it – my unprovoked and ill-planned rant reaches its sudden conclusion. The sun sinks low to the earth, the air cools and slow, evening breezes waft in, hinting at cool fresh air that might let me sleep tonight. If I'm lucky.