Interesting article...
2008 will apparently see new albums from a dazzling array of people, many of whom have been with us for what seems like centuries. From the top, then: Madonna, Dido ("Less coffee table, more experimental", says Q), Metallica, Portishead, Paul Weller, Oasis, REM, the re-formed Verve, Lenny Kravitz (it's apparently called It is Time For a Love Revolution, which is nice), Massive Attack, Janet Jackson, Weezer, My Bloody Valentine, Coldplay and good old Primal Scream.
Fans of the cutting-edge will presumably run in the opposite direction - into the arms of, say, the rather overrated Joe Lean and The Jing Jang Jong. But for listeners of certain age, the above list surely denotes one of the more curious aspects of modern popular culture - that though we may be seven and a bit years into what may or may not be called the noughties, music still seems curiously dominated by people who cut their teeth in the last century. Indeed, should you want to close the curtains, dig out your discarded old-school sportswear, revert to dial-up and and pretend it's actually the mid-1990s, this should be a bumper year.
Aside from all that, we should also brace ourselves for the further spread of a disease that first took root at around the same time. The average case history goes something like this. A band reappears with an "eagerly awaited" new album that represents their first work in some time, and advance whispers from their aides suggest that it's their best work since [insert name of supposedly "classic" album]. Music critics, who are a more credulous and sentimental lot than you might think, get lunched, duly fall into line, and drooling reviews appear. To finish, the general public hand over their money, take the album home, and experience the dull thud of anti-climax, and that's that.
The recent(ish) career of the Rolling Stones provides plenty of examples. As I recall, their propaganda machine did its work, and 1989's Steel Wheels was said to be "a return to form" and "their best album since Exile on Main Street", only it wasn't. Five years later, memories of this outrageous con trick had been forgotten, and much the same reaction greeted 1994's Voodoo Lounge (garbage, aside from the pleasantly pantomimic You Got Me Rocking). Ditto 1997's Bridges to Babylon. By 2005, boomer nostalgia, record company hype and - once again - the critical fraternity's absence of collective memory conspired to couch A Bigger Bang in terms of a comeback that would somehow tilt the world off its axis. But no: once again, it was a howling disappointment. Far be it from me to blow my own trumpet, but I made the point in a review for The Observer, only for at least one outraged rock hack to contact the paper and tell them that - you've guessed it - it was actually a "return to form". Sometimes, you just want to give up.
And so to the here and now. I like REM a lot, and I'm even of the opinion that some of their post-Bill Berry stuff isn't nearly as dull as some people think, but the frenzied advance word on their new album ("razor-sharp", reckons Michael Stipe) seems to promise a depressingly similar outcome. You can already make out distant murmurs about "their best album since Automatic for the People", which even the band will probably want to silence. The simple fact of the Verve getting back together seems to have created the impression that equalling the heights of, say, 1995's A Northern Soul is a foregone conclusion, but who says? News that Primal Scream have re-embraced psychedelia will doubtless prompt overheated references to either Screamadelica or Vanishing Point, to nobody's great benefit. Thinking about the other reviews to come, you can write the top-lines yourself: "Her best since Ray of Light ... a revival of the glories of Definitely Maybe ... as all-conquering as Blue Lines ... as jaw-dropping as Let Love Rule."
A timely reminder, then. For the most part, bands have their glory years, their talent slowly fades, and they either call it a day, or plough an endless furrow of underachievement. The critics know it, the musicians know it, and only a few very blessed talents manage to break the rules. So, with the best part of 12 months to go, let's bear it in mind, eh?
Discuss...
2008 will apparently see new albums from a dazzling array of people, many of whom have been with us for what seems like centuries. From the top, then: Madonna, Dido ("Less coffee table, more experimental", says Q), Metallica, Portishead, Paul Weller, Oasis, REM, the re-formed Verve, Lenny Kravitz (it's apparently called It is Time For a Love Revolution, which is nice), Massive Attack, Janet Jackson, Weezer, My Bloody Valentine, Coldplay and good old Primal Scream.
Fans of the cutting-edge will presumably run in the opposite direction - into the arms of, say, the rather overrated Joe Lean and The Jing Jang Jong. But for listeners of certain age, the above list surely denotes one of the more curious aspects of modern popular culture - that though we may be seven and a bit years into what may or may not be called the noughties, music still seems curiously dominated by people who cut their teeth in the last century. Indeed, should you want to close the curtains, dig out your discarded old-school sportswear, revert to dial-up and and pretend it's actually the mid-1990s, this should be a bumper year.
Aside from all that, we should also brace ourselves for the further spread of a disease that first took root at around the same time. The average case history goes something like this. A band reappears with an "eagerly awaited" new album that represents their first work in some time, and advance whispers from their aides suggest that it's their best work since [insert name of supposedly "classic" album]. Music critics, who are a more credulous and sentimental lot than you might think, get lunched, duly fall into line, and drooling reviews appear. To finish, the general public hand over their money, take the album home, and experience the dull thud of anti-climax, and that's that.
The recent(ish) career of the Rolling Stones provides plenty of examples. As I recall, their propaganda machine did its work, and 1989's Steel Wheels was said to be "a return to form" and "their best album since Exile on Main Street", only it wasn't. Five years later, memories of this outrageous con trick had been forgotten, and much the same reaction greeted 1994's Voodoo Lounge (garbage, aside from the pleasantly pantomimic You Got Me Rocking). Ditto 1997's Bridges to Babylon. By 2005, boomer nostalgia, record company hype and - once again - the critical fraternity's absence of collective memory conspired to couch A Bigger Bang in terms of a comeback that would somehow tilt the world off its axis. But no: once again, it was a howling disappointment. Far be it from me to blow my own trumpet, but I made the point in a review for The Observer, only for at least one outraged rock hack to contact the paper and tell them that - you've guessed it - it was actually a "return to form". Sometimes, you just want to give up.
And so to the here and now. I like REM a lot, and I'm even of the opinion that some of their post-Bill Berry stuff isn't nearly as dull as some people think, but the frenzied advance word on their new album ("razor-sharp", reckons Michael Stipe) seems to promise a depressingly similar outcome. You can already make out distant murmurs about "their best album since Automatic for the People", which even the band will probably want to silence. The simple fact of the Verve getting back together seems to have created the impression that equalling the heights of, say, 1995's A Northern Soul is a foregone conclusion, but who says? News that Primal Scream have re-embraced psychedelia will doubtless prompt overheated references to either Screamadelica or Vanishing Point, to nobody's great benefit. Thinking about the other reviews to come, you can write the top-lines yourself: "Her best since Ray of Light ... a revival of the glories of Definitely Maybe ... as all-conquering as Blue Lines ... as jaw-dropping as Let Love Rule."
A timely reminder, then. For the most part, bands have their glory years, their talent slowly fades, and they either call it a day, or plough an endless furrow of underachievement. The critics know it, the musicians know it, and only a few very blessed talents manage to break the rules. So, with the best part of 12 months to go, let's bear it in mind, eh?
Discuss...
