Pulled out the Walkman and some cassettes last weekend. I let the Smithereens’ “Green Thoughts” repeat a few times, an album I miss because for some reason I don’t own a digital copy. Suddenly, I became spellbound by only a memory, a deep black trip through some houses I used to live in and a world I once knew.
0 Comments
Watching the Cure perform last night at Lollapalooza was a rich and rewarding experience, for two reasons. First, I wasn’t there. For the first time in years I wasn’t ankle deep in the Grant Park mud and debris a hundred yards from the stage trying to hear the music over the din of chatty Chads and Trixies. Instead, I was here on the West Coast with my feet up next to a pitcher of Rhett Butlers, watching the festival’s extremely well-directed live stream. Shoulda done it this way the whole time.
The Tao that can be explained is not the enduring and unchanging Tao.
— Lao Tzu Before beginning my graduate communication studies, I knew I was entering a conflicted field. The fact that every scholar I’ve spoken to or studied with defines communication slightly differently and citing different theoretical perspectives is exciting, not daunting — and, surprisingly, not that confusing. It is large, this field; it contains multitudes. Translation: there’s still much to be done — more than ever, now that the communication of information is a vaunted pillar of modern society — so come on aboard. Thus, a new missive questioning the standing, ambition and overall health of communication scholarship — “Communication Scholars Need to Communicate” by USC Annenberg’s dean, the earnest Ernest J. Wilson III — is merely the latest in a long series of semi-perennial glances toward our brainy navels. The field, it seems, is still fermenting. I’d forgotten J.J. Cale lived around these parts, and it’s a damn shame I was reminded of it by his obit. Cale died this weekend of a heart attack, at a La Jolla hospital just over the hill from my house.
If there’s an afterlife and ol’ J.J. winds up haunting this realm as a ghost — well, not much is gonna change. “Listening as means of remodeling one’s drudgery.”
There’s a choice phrase, from Herta Herzog’s 1941 study of daytime radio dramas and their effects on listeners. Trying to ferret out the uses and gratifications of all that programmed escapism, Herzog identified three reasons why people tuned in to formulaic soaps: for the “emotional release,” for life-adjustment “recipes” and my favorite above. I made special note of that one because it resonated with the uses and grats of my own daily habit — listening to music — and I was reminded of it again recently as I plumbed a recent subgenre called vaporwave. Here, I thought, is a good example of the other side of Herzog’s equation: musicians making music as a means of remodeling the drudgery they hear around them. Throughout my 20 years in music journalism, the question I’ve been asked most often is, “What’s the best concert you’ve seen?” Variation: “Seen any cool shows lately?” (The second most common Q: “What was your first concert?” A: Journey, with Bryan Adams opening, July 20, 1983, at Lloyd Noble Arena.)
I’m terrible about answering this because (a) I have good memory but terrible on-the-spot recall, and (b) like any critic the answer changes week to week. But on the occasion of winding down this portion of my career, I thought it was time for a definitive retrospective. So here's a running list of my favorite concerts. That doesn’t mean these were the critical best, though personal and professional thrills usually coincide. This list stems from the personal — the shows that were a thrill, often because of who it was, where we were, sometimes why, often who I was with (maybe you!) — from my misspent youth to my just-finished days as a full-time critic. A lot of ticket stubs and laminates under the bridge ... |
this blahg
I'm THOMAS CONNER, Ph.D. in Communication (Science Studies) and culture journalist. Archives
November 2023
Categories
All
|