Once upon a time in the early '80s, whilst vegetating before my Samsung during that electrifying epoch known as the birth of music television, I watched that Madonna tart promenade with her navel, and the Prince of Purple play a game of spin 'n' squeal. It was mainstream poop-pop, but I was a young, boob-tube barnacle, so I didn't care. I slurped it up all day long as Don Henley wailed under the streetlamps of his MTV.
It's okay, though. I emerged from the era unscathed, and moved on to folks like Thelonious Monk and Kate Bush. But I really did learn a lot about music and here it be:
As any knobhead knows, music is an art form that uses notes to craft compositions. Its effect upon individuals varies-- one may feel wrapped in warm fuzzies and another may want to slowly drive hot needles through one's eyeballs. Nonetheless, when a modern visual element is added, presto... a music making the notes. Yes?
Nyet. Music television doesn't mean music plus television anymore. The last time I turned on MTV (on a dare) I saw a fashion show, a cartoon, a sitcom, a game show, a soap opera, a beach party, a talk show about sex, and some bad karaoke. Nary a music video to be found.
Music is now a desecrated, trendy puke-tool through which Mr. Corporate Bunghole can cha-ching! on what's inherently wrong with society. I learned that kids can be cool only if they sport the shoes and drink the drinks that some half-naked beach slut, fake gansta, or misunderstood freak tells them to, cuz they know what's hip, not you. And if it still doesn't sink in,...
Meanwhile, in living rooms and tiny rat clubs all over America, truly talented nobody musicians remain unknown because they aren't young enough, their jackets aren't puffy enough, or their bellies aren't flat enough to ever make it onto that MTV buzz-clip that will rocket them to their fifteen minutes. They may dream of making it onto VH1, but with those Donny Osmond moments, that channel will never be cool enough for today's pre-pube consumer.
So let it be written. Music plus television plus time equals total crap.
A one-time cog in the corporate music machine and staff writer for the Woodstock Times art section, Sharon Nichols served as music editor at Chronogram for five years. Having released several volumes of poetry through her own Origin of Souls publishing, she is a part-time DJ and dreams of opening a nightclub in the Hudson Valley called Factory22.
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