Audio drizzle

My heartbeat quickens. The car radio volume is instantly cranked. I am transported back to 1979 faster than I can blink back tears.
Tears? Yes. A lump rises in my throat, preventing me from singing along, though I desperately want to. The decades old anthem rises and swells, and with it, my heart and soul. Let me explain the phenomenon of classic rock and pop for those who weren't there originally.

Something about technology eroded the music making process. The sheer labor and time intensity involved in the pre-Internet music making business was an unabashed display of passion and zeal.
Musicians had no guarantee of success; they sure as heck weren't out to market a brand of clothing or willingly sell out as fodder for eye candy enthusiasts. It wasn't about advancing a career in a push button, low talent, high tech environment.
It was about music. You see, the sucessful music of the '70s and '80s rings so authentic, so vibrant and fresh, that their timless harmonies and original rhythms dominate airwaves and music loops in restaurants, businesses, doctor's offices, supermarkets and shopping malls to this day.
Sorry Britney. Too bad, Lady Gaga. (You ain't no lady, by the way.)
Your stuff sucks.

You'll never make me cry or turn up the volume 30 years from now. Rock on, ELO. Rock on, Journey. You earned your permanent position in pop culture the old fashioned way. And there you'll stay.
I can only wonder if this technology crazed culture will ever re-capture the essence of true music and the heart and soul behind it. I fear not. I fear we're doomed for a continual audio drizzle of pre-fabricated, emotionally stale, mindless melodies so mundane and so vastly uninspiring that we're bored with 'em before they leave the studio.
And that really makes me wanna cry.

The Band

Once upon a time, in a land where technology hadn't hit the distortion pedal, there was a band. The band consisted of a vocalist, me, a bass player, guitar player, and drummer. All the elements of a progressive rock phenomenon. After humble beginnings in a Kansas City area basement with a drum machine, our power quad was assembled and began rehearsing. None of us had any real experience playing, except the drummer we drummed up. "Anchovy Joe" had 11 years percussion under his belt. He had two drumming speeds for our brand of rock: fast and faster.
We played our songs loud. And, as I suggested, fast.
I basically did a lot of guttural, raw experimental vocals borrowed from a Swedish band I admired.
Our bass player kicked in his vocals, and eventually, the boys got really good. They kept practicing until their practicers were blistered. But that posed a threat for my budding rock star career. They got better than me. Oh, I was energetic, jumping around like a chimpanzee on crack.
But they needed more vocal substance, and, not finding the range of motion in my vocals, continued on without me as the front man.
But, as a token of good friendship, I was allowed to be the "manager." I fulfilled managerial duties with zeal, but absolute ignorance. We were getting tight. Our sound was coming together. Our stage equipment was envied and borrowed by other bands.
We were blowing the doors off the pre-technology rip off doors in the coffee houses and small club scenes around Kansas City and beyond.
The clincher was when the guys opened for a "signed" band with a record label, and blew the "signed" guys away.
We began seriously shopping labels at that point. But, amid the growing hair and growing concerns, we lost touch with our roots. We grappled with the "secular" vs. Christian label idea. Do we reach our church youth audience, or expand to the die hard market hungry for meaty metal without too much Jesus interference for mainstream airplay?
Oh, the dilemmas of budding talent.
But, the screech got put on those brakes with the new front man/bassist's wife (he owned the road show equipment) put the kaposh on the idea of selling out and travelling under a label. His children were young, and he was needed more at home than on the road. So, the dreams of travelling the country in a rental van vanished.
The stage equipment was sold and put towards studio equipment, where our front man/bassist became a sound engineer in his basement.
Oh, well. Maybe in the next life I'll be the Steven Tyler of Christian Rock.