The Inner Sleeve

Over the years, I have devoted a great many column inches to the vast potential that technology has to revolutionize the way we listen to music, and by extension the way we interpret our culture. I now humbly qualify that opinion.

We live in a time of deeply held convictions. They extend from our political beliefs to our musical preferences. It’s a time when to hold a differing opinion is not just a point of contention to be debated and discussed, it’s just cause for personal attack and ranting eviscerations.

I’m not above it, either. When someone goes after my presidential candidate or attacks my faith (two subjects near and dear), I feel it is my duty as a citizen to respond – with a vengeance. Is it the cyber equivalent of poking a beehive with a stick? More often than not. Do I feel better afterward? Oh heavens, no.

Of course, as someone who takes music nearly as seriously, the Web poses just as many pitfalls. Many is the time I’ve read a thoughtful, professional review of a band, only to see it followed up with a pile of comments saying not only that said band sucks, but that I’m an idiot for even liking them in the first place.

On a certain level, the democratization of opinion that the Web offers is a good thing. It allows for the free exchange of ideas. But once some troll (as they’re called in Web parlance) starts shouting everyone down, it’s bound to take some of the fun out of it. The end result could explain why new albums don’t generally become part of the popular music canon the way they did in, say, 1968 or 1975 or even 1991. The backlash is practically built into the system nowadays. If that keeps up, rock music will end up more like jazz, seen as stuck in the past with its best work 40 years past. That’s not true, of course, but perception is everything.

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This October marks the 96th anniversary of the debut of the Edison diamond disc, so it’s more than appropriate that I devote this month’s column to this auspicious occasion. Why is it so auspicious, you ask? Because it marks a rare failing on the part of this great American inventor, and it points to a key component of how people relate to music.

Before I begin, I should point out that we are not referring to Edison cylinders, those revolutionary gizmos that first brought recorded sound to the masses. Instead, we’re talking about the inventor’s foray into gramophone recordings. Designed to compete with Victor and Columbia Records, Edison discs instead are an interesting footnote in music history. Here’s what went wrong for the Wizard of Menlo Park.

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“Why do you let me stay here

All by myself

Why don’t you come and play here

I’m just sitting on the shelf”

     – She & Him, “Why Do You Let Me Stay Here”

So I’m listening to this new disc by She & Him that my colleague Mendelsohn reviewed last issue. It’s a quality record, by and large, with some cute girl-group tunes and pleasant instrumentation, but that’s not what we’ll be discussing today. Hearing that stanza above got me to thinking about the pitfalls of lyric writing, specifically when it comes to rhymes.

If you’re trying to write the way you talk, eventually you’re going to run up against reflexive pronouns (myself, yourself, herself, etc.). And those pronouns may well end up at the end of a line, which means you’re going to have to come up with a rhyme for it.

According to my rhyming dictionary, the only words that rhyme with “self” are the aforementioned “shelf,” which gives us semi-awkward verses like the one above, and “elf,” which is even less helpful (unless you’re writing a Christmas song or a Tolkein-inspired folk tune).

I guess you could try “health” or “wealth,” but only if you’re willing to sing the song in a Dick Van Dyke-esque Cockney accent. The more adventurous songwriter may try to shoehorn “twelfth” in there, but that doesn’t exactly free up your options. (“Why do you let me stay here / All by myself / Why don’t you come and play here / I’ll be here until the twelfth...”)

Sometimes the songwriter gets lucky and two rhyming words naturally work together. We dance with our feet, and music has a beat. That’s good. When it’s night, we see by starlight. With rhymes like that, a song practically writes itself.

On the other hand, my rhyming dictionary tells me that only four words in the English language rhyme with “love.” And since 90 percent of pop songs are about love in some form, songwriters have had to make some serious compromises.

“Of” rhymes with “love,” which means songwriters are often forced to end their sentences with a preposition. This could explain why rock and rollers are so often described as degenerates. That and the Satanism.

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It seems every time we turn around lately we get hit with more snow (or “angel poop,” as I’ve taken to calling it). As a result I have never been more eager for the arrival of spring. Some people start planning the Great Spring Wardrobe Shift, packing away those bulky sweaters and digging out their little short pants. Not me, though.

As a music geek, I’ve begun mapping out in my head when I’ll be able to bust out the springtimey CDs – putting aside the bleak sounding, acoustic guitar and piano music that temporarily transforms the latest dump of angel poop into a serene icy landscape. As the weather warms and the muscles in our backs stop contracting against the cold winds, I seek out music that reflects the newly-recovered “will to bigness,” as Fitzgerald called it. I’m talking great huge major key anthems that sound like a celebration of life and are just begging to be played loud. Driving home from work on the first warm Friday evening with that perfect spring music, left arm resting in an open window – that’s bliss, baby.

Maybe I’m overthinking things, but I’ve already got a few picks lined up. Some Hold Steady Boys and Girls in America, Springsteen’s The Wild, the Innocent and the E Street Shuffle, maybe a little Tattoo You… oh yeah. Soon.

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I’ve been writing about music here for over three years, and yet there’s an 800-pound gorilla in the room that I haven’t spoken about – American Idol.

Let’s face it – few things have had the impact on the music industry in recent years that American Idol has had. It’s made stars out of a few people (that Clay Aiken guy, that Carrie Underwood girl), given us the guy behind the best-selling album of 2007 (the execrable Chris Daughtry), and generally dominated music coverage in much of the mainstream media.

Like it or not, no discussion of pop culture in the ’00s can avoid American Idol But even as American Idol has changed the landscape of the modern music industry, many of us have been dismissive and often scornful of its success. After watching pretty closely for the past couple of years (sue me – I live with teenagers), I think I’ve figured out why we music geeks have been so derisive.

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