Misanthropology

"And now we meet in an abandoned studio.
We hear the playback and it seems so long ago.
And you remember the jingles used to go. "

Oh-o-oh! 25 years. Now, three years my senior, I wonder whether MTV experiences the same existential brain-teasers that I often wrestle with when I'm alone, only inundated by pop culture and my thoughts. As my night ended with uncontrollably visible excitement for a 36 year-old Andre Agassi pulling out a win in a match few thought he could handle, I returned to the idea that had been simmering for the past few hours: Am I getting old, or is society getting that bad?

This seems to be a constant struggle in my mind. As I spent the morning listening to #200-175 of Pitchfork's Top 200 Songs of the 1960s, I could only imagine the reaction of the stereotypical middle-aged "hipster," the "cool guy" who stays up on what the kids are listening to today. It seems that as we get older we try to prove our validity, both to the younger generation and to ourselves, by showing that we can relate to what is going on in today's world. At the same time, my age group, the 22 year-old trying to prove himself in the real world while refusing to "sell out," tries to prove its maturity and its willingness to look deeper than the immediate field of view by dusting off the relics of the past, analyzing them, discussing their worth and their relevance, comparing them to the hits of today. I look at Pitchfork's list and try to imagine what will be said 40 years from now about my generation, what will be chosen as the Top 200 Songs of the "Naughties" as the Brits like to say, the 00s. As much as I tie myself to the 90s, musically and culturally, I can't deny that this decade and the next are the ones that will be defined by my generation. By 2019 I will be 35, past my cultural prime, perhaps listening to the Radiohead of the next generation in an effort to prove I'm still "with it." So as I contemplate all of this I am haunted by the words, not of Shakespeare, nor Plato, nor Bob Dylan, all icons in their own rights, but by Jennifer Lopez. Yes, J-Lo, Jenny From The Block, the Puerto Rican princess who took a gig on In Living Color and a round posterior and turned them into marketing gold. You see, tonight I was sucked into the MTV Video Music Awards and, as my history with award shows has been well documented, I had no choice but to watch, painstakingly turning another excuse for the corporate world to pat itself on the back into a comment on the direction of the world. I've reached the point that I can take MTV, and for the most part the VMAs, with a grain of salt. But as she announced the award for Best Video, an award that still carries some prestige, J-Lo mentioned that in the past the award had indicated a trend in the musical generation. She referenced Peter Gabriel's groundbreaking (at the time) video for "Sledgehammer," and Pearl Jam's win for "Jeremy" ushering in (albeit 2 years after the fact) a more mainstream venue for alternative music. It seems to me that popular music is at a turning point. The past 6 winners of the Video of the Year were all popular for their work in the 90s. They are all entering the elder statesman portion of their careers. Of the 5 videos nominated this year, Christina Aguilera, Shakira, and Panic! At The Disco represent a newer breed, younger blood, and frankly I find it depressing. This is not a step forward. It's not art dictating culture, it's culture dictating art. The fact that Panic! At The Disco won the award (after giving a performance that was worthy of the mute button) is fairly irrelevant. The fact that, out of all the bands in the list, I was rooting for the Red Hot Chili Peppers to win is not.

The truth is, in 1981 MTV created a format that challenged the thought of the time. When The Buggles first came on and the synths of "Video Killed the Radio Star" were first heard, it was a statement that music was no longer simply an auditory medium. More importantly, it was a statement. When I look at the list of early Video of the Year winners, I see names like The Cars, Don Henley, Dire Straits, R.E.M., Neil Young; names that will more than likely grace the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame if they don't already. In 1989, when Neil Young won his award, the top albums at the time were by Richard Marx and New Kids on the Block. This year, as MTV turned voting over to the fans, it was acquiescing, ceding control of its last thread of artistic influence to the forces of consumerism and commercialization. In 1993, Neil Young, by this point very much the elder statesman, collaborated with Pearl Jam, at this point the biggest rock band in the world, on an amazing version of "Rockin' In The Free World." This year Lou Reed appeared embarrassed to be presenting an award for Best Rock Band to AFI. The respect is gone. MTV has gone well past the age at which self-reflection and youthful rebellion fight the desire to make a buck. It appears I have not, though perhaps I'm too old to even realize it. Either way, for mainstream music to maintain its dignity, and for my generation to make its mark, it appears we need to find the cultural kryptonite that will kill the video star.
Perhaps The Buggles are still available.