Brand Storyteller & Creative Director Copy
THE POWER OF MUSIC
Tuning Fork Magazine - August, 2014
If you haven’t been tagged in the Facebook band game yet, know this: Nobody will make you change your icon to a giraffe—and what the hell was that about, anyway?—so go ahead and play. It’s fun.
For the few who haven’t seen this game, I’ll walk you through it.
Someone sends you the name of a band, and you reply:
[Tag the person who messaged you] sent me this.
MY BAND IS: [Your band’s name]
Heard of Them? Yes/No
Like Them? Yes/No
Seen Them Live? Yes/No
Favorite Song: [Title]
Favorite Album: [Title]
Here’s what there is to like about the game: You have an opportunity to introduce people to bands they might not already know. Of course, I’m the guy who sends YouTube clips of bands I love to my friends.
First, some credentials.
I was a DJ at a club in Lawrence, Kansas, in college. This means I spent an inordinate amount of time and money at Exile Records, the used-vinyl shop. It was exactly like John Cusack’s store in the movie High Fidelity, except Jack Black and Todd Louiso were remotely likable d-bags. The employees at Exile were just d-bags.
I spent several years as executive producer of NOISEHEAD, St. Joseph, Missouri’s only 30-minute alternative-music video show. Creating the show generated many friendships and even a marriage between two of its hosts. Sadly, they have yet to name any of their many, many children after me.
NOISEHEAD helped me discover a myriad of new bands, some of which became new favorites. I also built a stellar CD collection that my ex-wife would one day carelessly destroy with Dr Pepper and scratches. I had the opportunity to meet and interview acts like Radiohead, Matthew Sweet, G. Love & Special Sauce, and the Violent Femmes.
Incidentally, if anyone says the name Radiohead, I’ll buy you a beer if I forget to tell you that I’ve met and interviewed them. It was a big deal for me, and I can’t help myself.
I’m also the guy who contacts a radio station to complain about its playlist because I hope someone there will care enough to improve it.
Hey, Buzz, please play more Alt-J, Mumford & Sons, and Red Hot Chili Peppers every 20 minutes, because that’s going to make us listen longer. Really, it is.
Confession: The real reason I wanted to write this piece was to wax poetic about the power of music.
Here’s a comment I found on YouTube about the Soul Coughing song “Buddha Rhubarb Butter.” It crystallizes my love of music so much that I had to share it:
“I love this song so much, I want to dig a hole in it and live there.”
Last weekend, while I was with a group of fellow music enthusiasts—you can call us snobs if you like—I realized how much I’ve missed having discussions about music. Think about your life and the people who, sometimes unknowingly, have shaped your musical taste. It’s a topic few of us take the time to ponder.
Here’s my list.
My best friend in middle school, Wes Kliewer, gave me my first rock album for Christmas-The Cars Self-titled album. We also spent hours playing guitars and drums in a small practice space in his basement, where we suffered permanent hearing loss.
Missy Mullinax was a crush of mine, but I loved her record collection even more. We spent hours in her basement listening to her albums: Tom Petty, the B-52s, and Elvis Costello.
Scott Burch, an upperclassman in my fraternity, introduced me to many bands, including my favorite in college, the Police. The Police took me to reggae music and Sting to jazz. Thanks, Scott.
Tom Wurster—also in my fraternity—had the coolest collection of campy and just plain awful ’70s 45s. Such classics as “Heartbeat—It’s a Lovebeat,” “Billy, Don’t Be a Hero,” and “The Night Chicago Died.” It’s fun to listen to music you’ve written off as lame when you approach it with a sense of humor.
Rob Johnson, my college roommate, was my copilot for many live shows at venues like the Bottleneck and Liberty Hall in Lawrence.
Jo Schriok worked at Kief’s record store in Lawrence and had a coveted record collection. By digging through her stacks of LPs, I discovered new bands and saw many of them live at the Bottleneck.
Chris Howard, a fellow DJ at the Sanctuary in Lawrence, trained me to spin vinyl and taught me what I refer to as “The Howard Technique.” He didn’t play music for people as much as he played it at them.
We made each other laugh by playing a song that would pack the dance floor, like the Romantics’ “What I Like About You,” and following it with a loud punk-rock song by the Dead Kennedys. Then we’d watch people scatter like cockroaches.
Chris would also lay out two very different singles and challenge me to select songs that would take the listener smoothly from one to the other.
“Get me from Prince to the Clash in three songs,” he would say.
This was a fascinating exercise that I still think about—especially when I hear a DJ playing songs randomly.
Amy Hausman was the girl with the coolest mixtapes ever. I promise not to ruin her image with a list of what she’s listening to these days.
Chad Lebo gave me the idea to create my video show, NOISEHEAD, and helped get it off the ground.
I also raise a toast to the girls in my life who broke up with me and sent me into periods of darkness when I listened to lyrics—which are usually what I focus on least in a song.
Confession: The real reason I wanted to write this piece was to tell you the following story.
Once, in an airport on my way back from a job interview, I met a girl while waiting for my flight to Kansas City. I think she was a hooker. In fact, I’m fairly certain she was a hooker. To be clear, a very attractive hooker.
Whenever I fly, I have a knack for being chosen to ride shotgun with the prettiest girl on the plane. On this day, the sexy girl with just a little too much red lipstick and shiny, vinyl, thigh-high, dark navy-blue pirate boots would be my travel companion.
I was intrigued by the way she giggled when I asked what she did for a living. I was being polite at this point.
Sure, we flirted a lot, but we also talked nonstop about bands, concerts, and music all the way to our destination. I’m almost certain that when she told me she had “met” U2, she was talking shop at the time.
The power of music often relates to physical attraction.
My college roommate, Rob, had quite a Chrissie Hynde fixation. If Chrissie Hynde doesn’t ring a bell, Google the Pretenders. I’ll wait.
When I met the new Tuning Fork photographer for the first time, she reminded me so much of Chrissie that I decided I needed to call Rob and have him visit so he could meet her. If I find out she can handle a guitar properly, I may forget to call Rob and get to know her myself.
Confession: I know the power of music because, at the present time, I have a very unlikely song by Maroon 5 stuck in my head. I kid myself and justify it because the cut is a hip, acoustic version of one of their hits. Secretly, though, I’m drawn to it because it reminds me of someone I know—and the terror she strikes in my heart when I see her headed toward a jukebox with a fistful of dollar bills.
I’m also the guy who, in an effort to get to know said girl, sends her 70 songs I like in hopes of generating some sort of connection based on our musical tastes.
I think to myself, “If I want her to try my music, I should be willing to peruse the catalog of her favorite band, no matter how sappy they may be.”
Well, I didn’t hate everything about Maroon 5—mostly the way lead singer Adam Levine’s vocals are overproduced with effects usually reserved for Britneys and Jessicas with all looks and no talent.
Truth be told, when I discovered their acoustic album, I noticed that Levine has a fairly nice voice. Oh, he still does a lot of boy-band “yeah, yeahs” and “no, nooooooos,” but his voice is solid.
Really, I found only one song I could tolerate. The lyrics in most of the others made me want to shoot myself in the head, but the point is that I tried them out.
Now, here’s the kicker: The file folder I sent with my music has yet to be opened. For those keeping score at home, she hasn’t bothered to sample one of my songs, and I have Maroon-F-ing-5 stuck in my head.
“There’s a flower in your hair, and I’m a flower in your hair…”
In the name of God and all that is holy:
Please.
Make.
It.
Stop!
We laughed as our parents pulled out old ’50s and ’60s albums and told us how the songs magically transported them back to their glory days. There was a time when I thought this phenomenon was limited to people in their age bracket. Still, when I hear certain songs from days gone by, all I can think about is walking down Jayhawk Boulevard between classes in college.
Trust me, one day this will happen to you too.
I know the power of music.
The first concert I ever attended was a Cheap Trick show when I was 16. I recently heard the band Eyelit cover “I Want You to Want Me” at Café Acoustic in St. Joseph.
I may or may not have choked back a tear, depending on how dark it was and where you were standing at the time.
I know the power of music, and I love discussing it and sharing it with others.
—Chris Fleck