As far as hoary, oft-repeated sayings go, it’s hard to beat “rock is dead.” The origin of the phrase is shrouded in mystery — like the etymology of “heavy metal” — but it’s not hard to picture Lester Bangs coining it while reviewing the latest Lou Reed long-player in his underwear, specks of Robitussin drying on his mustachioed upper lip.

In reality, people have been claiming “rock is dead” since the genre wriggled its way into the repressed loins of America’s bobbysockers. Every so often, a new pack of scruffy young kids with guitars are labeled as its saviors, but it never lasts. ROCK IS DEAD. Long live paper and scissors!

But what if we had empirical evidence that rock really was dead? Or at least in a state of such dissolution that its resurgence was a probabilistic impossibility? To know for sure, we’d need data.

Now we’ve got some.

This article in The Hollywood Reporter indicates that rock is a spent force in the marketplace, squeezed out by more persistent pop forms. Based on a recent study highlighting the ubiquity of synth-pop, the news may be the final nail in rock’s coffin. (I’m just shocked that there was room for one more.)

According to Hit Songs Deconstructed, 79 percent of top 10 pop hits used a synthesizer as the song’s primary instrument. That’s up from 62 percent a year ago and seems to signal that the current electro-pop fad is here to stay — at least a little while longer. Further boosting that theory: the fact that 88 percent of Top 10 songs used electric-based instrumentation. As for the least popular instrument? The guitar, which hit a low of 4 percent during the second quarter of 2011….

…as for lyrical themes in pop music, “hooking up” is the most popular so far in 2011, prevalent in 38 percent of hit songs, followed by “inspirational” songs, which have steadily increased to account for 25 percent of the Top 10 in the second quarter of 2011, “partying/clubbing” (21 percent) and “love/relationships” at 17 percent. Curiously, any “other” categories of lyrical themes have failed to register at all, coming in at zero percent so far in 2011. Last year, when music listeners were seemingly interested in a little more than sex, it was at 9 percent.

Now, it’s easy to come right back and say that the vast majority of rock songs have been about fucking. That may be true, but the flexibility and durability of the form was such that it could include both “Wango Tango” and “Roundabout” in the same canon. I’m not sure that today’s pop will evolve to the same extent.

For those of us who still traffic in this antiquated form, there are more troubling indicators:

Other curious trends pointed to a steep drop in solos, down from 17 percent to 5 percent of hits, and the once popular bridge portion of a song now only exists in 42 percent of songs, down from 54 percent last quarter and 55 percent a year ago.

You may think that it’s perfectly fine to eliminate the guitar solo. Years of co-existing with jam bands elicits a certain sympathy for that worldview. I still enjoy them (if they’re well-placed and say something), but they aren’t a musical necessity. I have more of a problem with the idea that nobody employs bridges anymore. Sure, some of them are useless, but they are a time-honored construct that helps to give songcraft a form. I’m all for experimental art, but eliminating the bridge is kind of like saying we’re no longer going to bother with paragraph breaks. Can you get away with it? Probably. But it says something about our society if we abandon such formalities. It’s a short hop from here to anarchy. Anarchy, I tell you!

One thing that I like about having quantitative data on the death of rock is that it liberates me to keep making it. I am The Contrarian, after all. It would hardly befit my status to toil in a popular genre.

As always, we’re interested in your reactions. What do you think of this data? Was rock dead all along, and we’re just now noticing? What if it turns into a zombie? Are we prepared for that?

www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xn-IKc3CUvM

I hear there’s more coming…

Damn, a lot of stuff happened this week. A lot of this sounds braggy, but I suppose I don’t care!

1. We passed the Local Community Radio Act after 10 years of effort. Props to all of the folks who worked so tirelessly to expand opportunities for true local broadcasting in more American towns and cities. My thoughts on the matter live here.

2. The Contrarian Media got a Wikipedia entry. Look ma, we’re a real magazine!

3. I made another video for a song from Farewell Plutonia.

4. The FCC did its thing with the Open Internet Order. I was on NPR’s “All things Considered” just before, and in Billboard just after.

5. I was unanimously voted on to the Board of Directors for the National Association of Media Arts and Culture. I am honored.

6. I got my travel booked for CES — the biggest tech trade show in the country on the planet, at which I am speaking. What happens in Vegas. . .

7. I did another cool thing that I can’t tell you about. I’m such a tease.

8. We started a new music project, the hexcore/witch-house/occultdub act SpeLL C▲s†††r.

9. We sent a Contrarian newsletter. You should sign up!

10. Lux Eterna Records started its website build. Soon you’ll be able to buy and listen to all the music on our fledgling roster!

I will now collapse in an exhausted heap. Happy whatever it is you choose to celebrate!

This is the second video from the album, “Tea for None.” It should be pretty easy to suss out its deeper meaning (well, unless you’re a certain breed of conservative):

www.youtube.com/watch?v=-xOz7FrohcY

There are lots more videos on The Contrarian YouTube channel, which the Power of Christ compels you to subscribe to!

Hey there. Remember me? I’m the guy who used to post here a lot before my job as a Defender of What is Right and Proper took full possession of my mental faculties. Still, here I am: battle-scarred, a bit fatigued but nevertheless prepared to deliver a new screed for your edification and amusement. We call this rant…

In Defense of Recorded Music

You may have heard that the recorded music industry is in dire straits. By “recorded,” I mean physical media, and by “industry,” I mean the record companies. Now, it’s very easy to make this about the majors vs. everyone else, but that’s not entirely accurate. Independent labels sold CDs, too, albeit with a serious barrier to entry in the marketplace due to the major label chokehold on distribution and retail.

Indie labels (and by extension, the artists on indie labels) have also struggled to make up for revenue lost from the declining physical goods marketplace. Download sales are on the rise (as is legal streaming), but the profit margins are much lower due in part to the decoupling of the album format and the inability of the industry to attract new customers — many of whom are members of a generation accustomed to getting music for free.

This is a problem for traditional industry players, as well as musicians and songwriters for whom the sales of recorded media provided a significant and mostly stable revenue stream. Not all artists see the “digital disruption” as a net negative, however. Many creators, this one included, have benefited tremendously from the removal of the gatekeepers that once stood between artist and audience. As has always been the case, talent, creativity, dedication and perseverance are important qualities in the new paradigm. Although we may never see the return of the rock star caste, there is now the possibility of a more diverse and dynamic music marketplace.

But we ain’t there yet. Not by a long shot.

There are some who suggest that musical artists will earn a living from live performances as well as the sale of “scarce goods” such as unique or limited edition music packages and road merch. I have a real problem with this theory for a number of reasons.

First, it puts a premium on live performance, an activity that many musicians enjoy but some — including this guy — don’t particularly care for. Neither did the Beatles. Or Steely Dan. Or Andy Partridge of XTC. Or Brian Wilson… I could go on and on, but the point is this: these artists depended on demand for their recorded music to propel their creativity. Even if they were in a shitty deal, that contract was an incentive to make new art. Perhaps the songwriting/publishing royalties paid the bills. Either way, it was the product that produced the return — creative or economic.

Second, the lack of revenue from recorded music affects the live music market, as more “successful” acts demand higher returns from performance — a cost that’s eventually passed on to consumers in the form of 15 dollar beers at the Enormodome. Smaller artists are forced to compete in an glutted marketplace in often less-than-ideal working conditions. Oh, and what if you’re a songwriter? Yes, they still exist. But they aren’t really known for selling t-shirts, are they?

Third, there are limits to how many “scarce goods” a developing or niche act can sell on its own. I do OK, but I also have a day job. Trust me, these goods take time, energy and capital to produce. Without the necessary investment and promotional expertise, it can be difficult to create and market specialty wares. Some artists may be at a disadvantage here, as doing so requires a different skill set than composing, playing an instrument or singing. I wrote a short story for one of my records, and I make videos for a lot of my songs. What if I was just a really amazing tenor saxophonist?

Is the new music marketplace a form of digital Darwinism, in which artists with certain skills thrive while others drop off? It might not be a bad thing if more people quit playing music, but I very much doubt that’s gonna happen anytime soon. What’s more likely is that we’ll see more part-timers and so-called “hobbyists,” a phenomenon that thrills some and annoys others. (I hate the term “hobbyist,” because I’m a seasoned professional, even if I don’t compose or record full-time.)

As I mentioned, many loathe the very idea of “amateur” artists existing on the same platforms as “professionals.” But given the manufacturing of consumer consent that took place at the industry’s peak, I’m not sure the distinction was ever more than arbitrary. Every generation has its Beatles, and every generation has its Milli Vanilli. Some folks need to be told what to buy, and some excel at that making the sale. The rarity is when art and commerce occupy a singular point in space-time. I call that the 1970s.

The real issue with the mainstream biz is that the major labels no longer know how to sell.

In all honesty, the majors’ true customer was never the fan. The customer was the corporate radio PD who determined playlists for entire swaths of the country due to the consolidation in station ownership. That guy required certain “enticements” to even consider spinning your Vertical Horizon track. The customer was the chain record store who could be cajoled into buying quantities of the new Good Charlotte album to keep shareholders happy. The customer was the promoter willing to pay more than 100 percent of gross to the act based on pay-to-play broadcasting and “units moved” (and ultimately returned to the warehouse).

In other words, the game was rigged.

Now the cat’s out of the bag, the genie’s out of the bottle, and you can’t put the toothpaste back into the tube, no matter how hard you try. None of this is to say that recorded music doesn’t have value. It has tremendous value. It still makes people dance, cry, laugh, remember long lost loves, wanna kill, fuck, dream, drive, die, LIVE.

Which is why I refuse to give up on it. We will find a way to make sound captured in a fixed media a meaningful cultural/spiritual artifact. And when we do, the economics will follow. Until we realize that recorded music is ART, there is no hope. If it takes the entire collapse of the current industry, then perhaps it’s simply creative destruction. As a moderate, I don’t believe in the necessity or inevitability of such an outcome. I know too many good people who still work in the business of selling recorded music to wish further uncertainty upon that sector. And I’m heartened that these same good people are the ones who get the basic fact that music is expression first, commerce second.

We’re all in it together, us artists, fans and creative entrepreneurs. And together we will achieve what has eluded the “industry” for more than a decade. We will make recorded music matter again.

I am not going to talk about the election outcomes right now. This post is about me, dammit.

My last few weeks have involved the amazing Future of Music Policy Summit, speaking engagements and meetings on each end of the country (including CMJ in NYC followed by a kickass trip back to VT), an international TV appearance,  new recordings for the Strange Angels project with Arthur Leon Adams III, and the erection (ha!) of our new label, Lux Eterna Records.

In between all that, my wife and I managed to squeeze in a few days together in wine country, where I did this phone interview with Baltimore City Paper while driving the corkscrew mountain path that is Pacific Coast Highway. Then it was off to SF for a meeting and some hang time with Art (during which I taped a segment for NPR; not sure when that airs).

Now I’m back in DC for a day, then I go to Baltimore to speak about the state of music distribution in the digital age at this event hosted by Maryland Lawyers for the Arts. Friday, I have another engagement at the IP Empowerment Summit at Howard University alongside some real superstars in public policy, technology and law.

On Saturday, I pick the missus up from the airport (she stayed on in Sonoma for a training). Maybe we’ll catch a movie or just stay in with the cats and bunny. Either way, we shall have a time!

I’m hoping to bring in a few new writers to Team Contrarian in the next few weeks, to ensure the same level of quality our readers have come to expect. If you’d like to throw your hat in the ring, email casey.contrarianATgmail.com with a brief summary of why you think I should make you a star indentured servant part of our crüe. Please have writing samples available at request.

As you were.

I’ve discovered the Twitter recently, which I’ve heard is “important” in “Iran” and things, but as far as I can gather is a great way to get new jokes while I’m trying to drive. One of my favorite people to follow is comedian and writer Rob Delaney (@robdelaney), a disarmingly handsome fella who daily delivers absurd and inappropriate musings with a unnervingly cheery zeal.

The other day he posted the following:

I laughed a lot, sent it to some friends, and eventually decided this was definitely a song which had to be realized in the next 24 to 48 hours. Thus I present to you the long lost Beatles track, “Don’t Look At Me, Jeffrey” from the soundtrack to Hat Party.

“Don’t Look at Me, Jeffrey”

I’ve got some awesome news on that front.

The CDs have been assembled by Mars Pyramid and are on the way to Contrarian HQ. The inimitable Susan Norton has turned in the comic that comes with the purchase of the physical copy of the album. The liner notes have been written and the lyrics pieced together. All that’s left are the videos (and probably a podcast where I explain what a tremendous pain in the ass it is to do this stuff, but also why it’s fun and rewarding). Look for an official rollout within the next couple of weeks.

But it’s not all about me, me, me. I’ve decided, after six or so solo releases (at least two of which have been successful by modest standards), to put out some stuff by other artists.

Lux Eterna is the name of the label, and the next release will be from classically-trained experimental-Americana guitarist Mark G. Cooley, who has decided to go electric on his new recording. (Go ahead, scream “Judas!” — it always feels good.) So what does this as-yet-unnamed album sound like? Picture Discipline-era King Crimson as played by technicolor gnomes from another dimension and you’re almost there. There’s lots of cool shimmers and shudders for all you noise addicts, too. In other words, something for everyone.

Next, I hope to collaborate on a pop song cycle with Arthur Adams. I’ve long wanted to compose an album in tribute to weirdo rocket scientist Jack Whiteseide Parsons in which bygone California — in all of its bootstrapping, schizophrenic glory — serves as a musical lodestone. Last time I checked with Arthur, he was down. All the way down, even.

After (or perhaps before) that, I hope to release something from The Ten Thousand Things, whom readers will know as our resident Library Scientist, Wes Covey.

By the way, my short story “The Cove,” which was featured as a digital extra for my last record, Eldritch Musicks, is published in the latest edition of Fantastic Horror #16. You can read it online, even.

As you were.

With this line, Val Kilmer’s slithery performance in Oliver Stone‘s The Doors comes to a close. No doubt that Jim Morrison was one of rock’s most intriguing front men, yet by the end of his short life, he was a tubby, poor man’s Burroughs with a penchant for whiskey, women and Mexican food.

The Doors were the antithesis of the 1960s preoccupation with love and good vibes. Although based in sunny California, Jimbo and the boys dealt in the dark, macabre and hypnotic — unconventional themes for the time.

The surviving Doors never turn down an opportunity to wax nostalgic about their long dead singer, presenting him as everything from a 20th-Century shaman to a resurrection of Dionysus. Morrison was certainly aware of how his image shaped the band. His canny and often cryptic use of media created a lasting icon. Morrsion’s peackocking visage has leered from dorm room walls for generations, and continues to serve as a visual touchstone for the sexy, rebellious side of rock.

Ride the snake, kids. Ride the snake.

And here we are, 39 years since Morrison’s bloated body was found in a Paris bathtub. People around the world still celebrate the life of a man who claimed that the souls of Native American auto fatalities leapt into his body when he was a child. Well, Morrison’s own soul has apparently leapt into another vessel: a taco shop on West Hollywood’s Santa Monica Boulevard called Mexico Restaurante y Barra. Specifically, their bathroom.

Forty years ago this building was actually Doors HQ. Artists, musicians and sundry ’60s hangers-on would lounge around the future enchilada sling-shop to experience the times and create art. Call it Warhol Factory West.

What now is a bathroom was once Morrison’s vocal booth. Here, he recorded the vocal track for numerous songs, including my personal favorite, “LA Woman.” The restaurant pays tribute to the The Doors by augmenting the Mexican décor with band photos, gold records and other memorabilia.

Owners of the eatery, self-proclaimed Doors fans, feel the presence of Morrison in the bathroom. Light bulbs pop, the building makes moaning sounds and voices can be heard within the stalls.

Haunted or not, Mexico Restaurante y Barra is worth a visit if you find yourself in the neighborhood. A true piece of rock real estate, the walls have absorbed more than just the aroma of nachos, they’ve reverberated with the sounds of one of America’s legendary bands.

So go ahead and have a burrito. And if it happens to “Break on Through to the Other Side,” take a seat in the bathroom. Maybe the Lizard King will help you light that fire.

With all of the stuff happening at my job and the consulting I’m doing, I’ve not had a ton of time for music making. That doesn’t mean I haven’t made some progress, however.

My new record, Farewell Plutonia, is just about done. Originally, I had intended it to be another concept album about, well, something. I’d even toyed with the idea of publishing a short graphic novel with a CD included as the “soundtrack.” Unfortunately, the narrative never fully emerged, so I’ve tabled that idea for the time being. Now I’m looking at doing a fairly small run of CDs, once I figure out the design direction. Obviously, it will also be available at all the digital stores and services. And I’ll probably make some new videos.

I haven’t completely given up on the graphic novel idea, though. In fact, I’m thinking that the next album I make will be inspired by (if not completely based on) the life of Jack Whiteside Parsons — father of American rocket science and flamboyant metaphysician who blowed himself up back in 1952. That seems more suited to the comic format, and the narrative is already there.

In other music news, my friends Timothy and Elizabeth Bracy came over this weekend. Timothy used to be in the Mendoza Line. Some of you probably know them; they released records on Kindercore, Bar None and Misra. Anyway, they got me drunk (or I got myself drunk — it’s hard to remember) and roped me into playing with them at the Black Cat next weekend. Next weekend! That means I have to hurry, hurry, super-scurry to learn the material. But if I’m gonna end my moratorium on live performance, it might as well be with the Fabulous Bracys. As my revenge, I think I’ll force them to make a new record that I’ll produce.

Bwah-ha-ha-ha!