I'm So Tired I Can't Sleep

Whenever I'm falling asleep, it seems, no matter how tired or awake I was before I went into "it's time to sleep" mode, I always find myself in this in-between period right before I drift into sleep where I'm thinking of things that barely make any sense, scattered thoughts that don't go together, non-truths and altogether really wacky stuff. It's like the beginnings of a Lewis Carroll novel. But I'm also conscious of the fact that all this stuff passing through my mind is completely nonsensical, and it's always encouraging--I know that I'm about to fall asleep.

Well, tonight I'm on very little sleep, and I'm very tired. But I can't sleep. I lay in bed and I think of all these somewhat nonsensical things, but they're not that crazy. And I can't sleep. But despite my consistent insomnia, I'm really happy that I've got the chance now to start writing about some of the really cool shit (or at least it seems cool to me, at least right now) that I'm thinking about.

There are a lot of things on my mind keeping me awake. But it sort of started when I somehow got Don Maclean's "American Pie" stuck in my head. It's been in there for over a week now, I think, since I was trying to come up with an obscure holiday to dress as for Terry Casey's in-its-very-early-stages-of-planning Obscure Holiday Party. I was so broken up that both No Pants Day and Talk Like a Pirate Day were taken well before I'd even heard of this proposed party idea, so I hit the net for some ideas. And I was stumped. But I sought help from friends in the office to find me a good holiday. Devon found one that fits me so obviously that I'm almost angry I didn't figure it out. The Day the Music Died.

So anyway, since then, I've had "American Pie" stuck in my head. But I've been thinking about the song--a few years ago, I happened upon a web site that--for some godforsaken reason--completely deconstructed the lyrics, line by line, pointing out every cultural allusion Maclean made. It completely changed my outlook of the song. It's actually a very good literary piece, and musically it's not bad, either. I've also been thinking about years ago when VH-1, in the pre-I Love the '80s days, relied solely on ridiculous Top 100 (or more) list shows to garner cheap ratings. They happened to do some sort of Greatest Rock Songs of All Time list, and went with the head-scratching decision to make "American Pie" number one. I was baffled. How did it even qualify for the list? Has anyone in pop music history been the least bit influenced by Don Maclean? Seriously, how can a Beatles song not be number one on that list? Or at the very least, a Beach Boys or Bob Dylan or Led Zeppelin song or something equally typical of VH-1?

And due to all these burning questions on my mind in the past week, I've come up with what I think the problem with lists is. In any given mainstream media outlet, "greatest" has come to mean "the best good." "Great" doesn't even mean "great" anymore. "Great" is too risky for the mainstream. "Great" is Robert Johnson and Muddy Waters and Hank Williams and Chuck Berry; "great" is not Frank Sinatra or Elvis Presley or Eric Clapton or Jimmy Page. Those guys are all in the "best good" category. They're safe; they're accessible; they're taking what's already been created and marketing it better. That doesn't mean they're not better than those other guys. It just means they're not greater than those other guys.

So take this theory and apply it to, say, Rolling Stone magazine's 500 Greatest Songs of All Time. What's number one? "Like a Rolling Stone" by Bob Dylan. Now, I'm not going to say Bob Dylan didn't influence anyone. He influenced the Beatles, which, if that's all you do in your musical career, is good enough to warrant legendary status. But what about "Like a Rolling Stone" is so great? It's a traditional rock song. It may be Dylan's only traditional rock song. It didn't change anyone's mind about music; it didn't spawn a musical revolution. It just happens to be a really fucking good song. Number two on the list is "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction" by the Rolling Stones. A three note riff, maybe the most recognizable in rock history. Vaguely angry lyrics. Lo-fi production. It's the Rolling Stones, for chris'sakes. How is this song even in the top ten, though? If this is the second greatest song of all time, what the fuck are we doing making music? It's a lost cause if that's the second best we can do. Seriously, world, stop making music. You'll never get better than a three-note riff and an unmelodic melody.

Now, you may respond by saying something along the lines of "Well, that's just Rolling Stone. You're putting too much stock in their list." Am I? Is there a better known, better selling music publication in the entire world? This is what Americans (yes, Americans, the ones who invented rock and roll) read every month. It's a piece of shit. And then they put on their VH-1 and sing along to the billions of verse-chorus-verse-chorus-verse-chorus of "American Pie" and they watch their NFL and drink their Budweiser and drive their SUVs. America, fuck yeah.

Okay, I'm coming off a bit too angry. It's okay that Rolling Stone made this list. Really, it is. This is what sells magazines. This is what even keeps people talking about music. It's the stimulation for healthy discourse. And if that list leads to five people seeing "Monkey Gone to Heaven" by the Pixies and wondering why they've never heard that song, that's five more people learning more about music. For that, I am satisfied with Rolling Stone's position in American culture.

What I am dissatisfied with, however, is this throwing around of the term "great." Pixies? Not very good. But great. Nirvana? Very good (yes, I believe this). Not great. The Velvet Underground? Should be unlistenable, really. But mind-numbingly great. Led Zeppelin, on the other hand, is a band of four incredibly talented musicians who couldn't have recorded a great song if God himself transcribed it and handed it straight down to Robert Plant.

The world is satisfied with very good. The world loves very good. The world cannot fucking stand "great." Great is new and different, great is dangerous. This doesn't just apply to music; it's an epidemic of culture. Democrats and Republicans are very good choices for political office because they're safe and they're predictable. They will do what we think they will do. They are terrible choices for utopia or dystopia. Well, who would want dystopia? I wouldn't. But dystopia is a great thing--it changes the world on a widespread level. There is not a single politician in America who will ever do that again.

But before I get too far up my own ass with cynicism, let's go back to some things I didn't fully expand on. You could make the case that "American Pie" or "Like a Rolling Stone" is the best good song ever recorded. They work within simplistic, formulaic song structures. The listener knows what to expect next and isn't scared away by something surprising and new. They have very strong lyrics that put the listener into the stories they tell. But at the same time, they are very unaffecting lyrics. Maclean's lyrics document an historical day. To the listener, it's in the past. It's very sad that we lost Buddy Holly, et. al. to a plane crash, but what are we supposed to do, bring him back to life? There's no challenge for the listener. Likewise, in "Like a Rolling Stone"--and I don't believe this was Dylan's intention at all, but this is how it turned out--we take the vivid illustration of the life of a vagrant and reflect on it. "How does it feel?" Now we think we know. But really, think about that--does anyone who's ever listened to "Like a Rolling Stone" and sincerely reflected on the lyrics have any idea whatsoever how it feels to be on your own, with no direction home, like a complete unknown, like a rolling stone? No way. Maybe some bums have heard it in passing. I'm sure they have better things to worry about than the lyrics to a song written by a man whose social circle was based in Greenwich Village and whose hobbies consisted of writing poetry and smoking lots of weed.

That's why those songs are so very good and so frustratingly un-great. The same could be said for John Lennon's "Imagine," which found its place at number three on Rolling Stone's list. John Lennon wasn't a communist; he was anything but. But that's what "Imagine" is about. Everyone knows that damn song; everyone loves that damn song. It somehow is more recognizable than most of the Beatles' canon. But it's such a vapid, empty song. Yeah, I can imagine all that stuff. So fuckin' what? That song ain't going to change anything. It might make some people feel all warm and gooey on the inside because gee, they really wish the world was a better place and that makes them good people. Sorry people, but listening to John Lennon's hypocritical hypotheticals doesn't make you a good person.

My final thought on the Rolling Stone list comes down to a band I've already mentioned: Led Zeppelin. Poll listeners of classic and mainstream rock stations on what is and always has been the "greatest" song of all time, and the answer will ultimately be "Stairway to Heaven." Rolling Stone put it at 31. Granted, I think the magazine had some convoluted ranking system compiling the lists of editors, reporters, musicians, and other industry types, which would contribute to "Stairway" falling so far short. But I think they should have made an editorial decision, an ultimatum on "Stairway." For a song that's so widely considered to be the greatest, it must be number one--or nowhere at all. Now, I've never been into the idea of being "controversial" just to sell a product (see the music rag New Musical Express, or NME, if you need an example), but what the hell is that about? 31? What an awful number. It's either number 1 or number 501 (right behind "More Than a Feeling," which I admit I was ecstatic to see on the list).

I am not arguing that "Stairway to Heaven" is the greatest song of all time, or even the best good song of all time. I think it's a ridiculous song in many ways. It's got a pretty freaking awesome guitar solo--actually, the whole section there is awesome. Its convoluted lyrics are simultaneously breathtaking and laughable, as is Robert Plant's delivery of them. But if that's the power and the glory right there, when Plant belts out "AND AS WE WIND ON DOWN THE ROAAAAD!!!!" it's gotta be either the best or worst song ever made. This is taking a stance on rock and roll, and you put rock and roll at number 31. I don't get it. If I were on Rolling Stone's staff when that magazine came out, I'd have personally apologized to everyone I knew, just because "Stairway to Heaven" was placed at 31.

The wackiest thing I thought before I didn't fall asleep tonight was the concept of what Rolling Stone does. I pictured this blue, spherical shape. It was incomplete--just a bunch of little blue dots, some connected, some disconnected. But they were in the general, vague shape of a sphere. There is a heavier concentration towards the middle. On the outer edges, the blue dots become less concentrated and tend away from the herd a bit more. Rolling Stone takes that blue sphere and looks at it, and says, hey, that's great. Then they take a white, empty square and place it concentric with the sphere. But the square is smaller than the sphere. The dots that stray from the sphere too much get cut off by the white edges of the square, and those in the middle of the sphere are included. That's the way music, and art in general, works. The world uses a square to decide how much of that art it wants. Some people place the square in different parts of the square--maybe there's a section that focuses on screamo. Maybe there's a section for opera. The most efficient square is concentric and tiny. That's what Rolling Stone is. And that's what America is. It's efficient and superbly boring.

And that's the problem with America. America can't decide whether "Stairway to Heaven" is the best or worst thing to happen to music. America wants to play it safe. That's why Dane Cook is so insanely popular (really? this is the comedic superstar of my generation? where's Richard Pryor or Eddie Murphy or Woody Allen?). That's why Bill Simmons is the most popular sports columnist in the country. I mean, seriously--I don't cover sports, but I could write a better sports column than Simmons. And yet, his relevance and hugeness has me opening every column he writes. Usually I get a few paragraphs in and become disgusted with him for writing it and myself for continuing to read it. This is America, though. Fuck yeah. Vote Democrat or Republican in '08, listen to The Eagles, drive Ford trucks. We may not be the greatest country in the world, but we certainly are the very best.

God/Allah/Xenu bless America.





By the way, I have not taken any drugs today, except for caffeine in the form of a minuscule cup of free coffee I drank at the State Theater at approximately 8:30 p.m.