Robert Plant
I call it “squinting”—you will have your own term. You’ve chosen a favorite musician, probably in your teen years, and the relationship grows through awkward phases…Along the way, you find yourself squinting to keep seeing what made you fall in love…In pop music, which is a worse deal for the aging than painting and fiction are, there can be a fair amount of effort involved.
This is the start of Sasha Frere-Jones’ review, Gut Check, of PJ Harvey’s latest release. (And PJ falls into that squinting category for me—some of her music was ecstasy embodied for me.) But when it comes to issues of doing your art and aging, pop music and ballet have to be two of the most youth-centric. Some would say they are youth-centric to a draconian degree.
But as my wise friend Sally Reed reminded me on the occasion of my birthday this week, forms change. It’s a mantra worthy of my studio wall as well as my bathroom mirror. And look at how even the forms of pop music and dance have stretched and morphed. How many aging rockers are touring and making music? It isn’t just superstars like Robert Plant, The Rolling Stones, Paul McCarthy and Bob Dylan—even Robbie Robertson, the Band heartthrob from the 70’s, just released a new album. In the words of Mitchell Stephens, “Once upon a time, these men reinvented what it meant to play rock-and-roll. Is it not possible that they might also be capable of reinventing what it means to be ‘old’ and still playing rock-and-roll? Age has, after all, done them a few favors. To begin with, it has given these fellows, none of whom has ever been saddled with a day job, years of practice. They’re better musicians than they were at 25, and better singers too.”
Another great moment recently on this same theme: Charles Lloyd, jazz veteran at 73, came out of semi-retirement to blow our minds. He recently performed at the Regatta Bar in Cambridge with his latest quartet, now playing with three extraordinary young musicians in their 30s—Reuben Rogers, Eric Harland and my favorite all time jazz pianist, Jason Moran.* It was an evening I will never forget.
And then there was the stunning moment at the end of the National Theater’s recent broadcast of Fela! when Bill T. Jones jumped up on stage and danced with the cast, shirtless. Like Mark Morris, Jones continues to engage us with the way his body can move.
All anecdotes worth considering. Yes, forms change. And sometimes what shows up surprises everybody.
Charles Lloyd Quartet
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* For a list of my many blog posts about Jason Moran, go here.
Frere-Jones used to write for the Post; I miss his reviews. (The arts section in the paper has been gutted.)
We have so many models of “greats” who still have much to give; it’s a delight to see them still going strong, giving the younger ones coming up a run for the money (perhaps literally).
Happy (belated) Birthday!
I just can’t see it in rock-n-roll; these guys are still playing music too loud for aging ears because, IMO, their still in love with the adulation they received through it (think of all those grannie-groupies clapping joyfulliy in the crowd). And they need the money. I can’t think of any group making anything significant ten years down their road. Something about rock is just too ephemeral, too locked into your rockin’ years; you can keep playing the old songs, but there’s no straying too far from the original renditions without losing the faithful who listened to them in the first place. Some bands could evolve through a history, but none can bring enough force to master the present as they once could. Just my opinion. Jazz musicians are different, since improvisation is so much a part of that craft; they had to improvise in the moment back then, they have to improvise in the moment now. Rock bands ossify in their tracks, like ships in bottles; jazz groups continue to voyage. Must be something about their essential poetic. Hard to find any artist still growing into old age — my guess is that they’re the ones who manage to keep refuting what they know, stay young.
Brendan, you are so right about the difference between rock and jazz forms. And what a memorable line: Rock bands ossify in their tracks, like ships in bottles; jazz groups continue to voyage. And that word you use–refuting–is powerful too. Thanks so much for your comment.
Thanks M. I didn’t know Frere-Jones’ history.
So what do I do, but refute–in a manner–my own comment. The dream of rock flight can’t die, that’s what keeps those fossils onstage. But its some weird form of archetypal possession, I think, posing as Dionysos, joy-riding Phaethon’s chariot to doom. Gary Moore, who was played guitar for Thin Lizzy when I loved ’em — and played their songs in a garage band with boozy ambition back in 1979 — died this weekend, choking on his own vomit after drinking way too much champagne and brandy. He was still performing, trying to reach the heights of those old anthems. He joins singer Phil Lynott of T.L. now in the grave of fallen stars. I posted a poem at my blog yesterday about that permanent dream of flight which, I believe, can only survive in the imagination. (http://tinyurl.com/4ltb5ek) — Brendan