I won't lie. Over winter break, I did a fair amount of Facebook stalking. Sidled with a low-stress desk job and a surplus of time, it was one of several ways I whiled away the hours. One of my preferred, ahem, "methods" of Facebook stalking is clicking on music interests. I have all mine listed, so it would only make sense that I'd want to see if anyone else is listening to what I'm listening to, right?
And let me tell you, there are a lot of people listening to some of the same stuff I'm listening to. I have to say, it comes as a bit of a small shock to see that there are nearly 140 people at Boston College listening to the Arcade Fire, who two years ago were lucky if anyone bothered to come early enough to see them open for the Unicorns. Same with the Decemberists (105 people have them listed at BC), a band that just a few years earlier was playing half-full squat houses in the Pacific Northwest. All of this is interesting for a variety of reasons, but it highlights a larger shift in pop music that I've noticed over the past year or so. Fifteen years ago it was grunge, could it be that overly literate folk-rock is now having its cake and eating it too?
Michael Azzerad writes in his book Our Band Could Be Your Life of a colleague of his who, around the time of Nevermind's release in 1991, remarked "We won." He goes on to explain who exactly "we" were and what Nirvana's breakthrough represented as a whole. But if you think about it, Nirvana only ushered in one type of underground music into the mainstream. Grunge was always a particularly Pacific Northwest phenomenon that just happened to occasionally be influenced by artier bands like Sonic Youth and Big Black but which paid even more lip service to rock Neanderthals like AC/DC and Black Sabbath. Sonic Youth never got really famous after Nirvana, they just made enough money so they could make noisy side projects in peace.
In contrast to those heady days of 1991, we are living in an era where the Internet has literally taken any and all of the mystique out of underground music. Seriously, almost any scene in America and elsewhere is documented and launched into cyberspace, easily found and digested by anyone with a fast enough connection. People used to have to find the cool record store; now, all it takes is a Myspace account and some bandwidth.
As a result, a whole range of music has exploded onto the mainstream. Literate folk-rock is just one example, but think about the meteoric rise of a band like Death From Above 1979 - a band whose members five years ago would have been stuck playing to coke-snorting hipsters in Canada somewhere for the rest of their lives.
Now, they open tours for Nine Inch Nails and release an album of remixes with hotshot DJs turning their dumb, bass and drum rockers into dumb, bass and drum party throw downs.
But I wish DFA1979 all the luck in the world (no I don't). Not like it needs it. The fact is the Internet has made it possible for almost any type of music to become popular. Glitch-pop and IDM were once the domain of small, socially awkward men who worshipped at the alter of Aphex Twin.
Now, it seems like everyone likes the Books and Notwist. Even groups and genres that are in and of themselves experimental, obtuse, and hard to comprehend at first glance are gaining more and more prominence.
Take the noise rock scene. Three years ago it would have been impossible to imagine a group like Lightning Bolt being recognized beyond a small core of believers. Now, it and its contemporaries play shows to packed houses, leaving a trail of damaged ears and broken equipment in its wake.
This leaves me with a lot of mixed feelings. Obviously, I'm happy these bands are going to be able to pay their bills and eat. But at the same time I can't help but feel a twinge of immature resentment toward the late arrivals to the game.
Going through Facebook, I see a lot of people who are into what I suppose we're now calling "new indie."
That's all well and good because I like for people to discover new music, but it's hard to let something go when it's been a special secret for a small clutch of true believers for so long. I mean, where were they three years ago anyway?
Nicholas Feeley is a sophomore in the College of Arts and Sciences. His column appears weekly in this space. He can be reached at feeleys@bcheights.com
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