In the Philadelphia "Inquirer" today is this odious screed from a Thane Tierney, an alleged record-label exec in LaLaLand. Perhaps he wants a fully HipHopped/Rapped/Urbanized/Countrified radio landscape, but, many of us who enjoy rock and its various permutations emphatically do NOT!
Here, in it's vile entirety, is his blasphemy. His e-mail address is at the bottom. I encourage any of you who disagree with his conclusions to make your views and opinions known to him PERSONALLY...as I have...after reading this tripe posted below.
I'd be interested to know what groups/individuals/music genres are signed to Mr. Tierney's label; anyone want to bet it's Rap/HipHop/Urban?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Rock-and-roll is dead: Let it be"
by Thane Tierney, a record-label executive living in Los Angeles:
Here's an excellent way to celebrate rock-and-roll's 50th birthday: Pull the plug and give it the proper burial it deserves.
Rock has been in a persistent vegetative state for more than a decade, and it shows no signs of coming back. Ever.
Want evidence? Look at the top-15-grossing pop (very broadly defined) tours from last year. The top five were Prince, Celine Dion, Madonna, Metallica and Bette Midler, all of whom have been recording in excess of 20 years. Ditto all the rockers in the next 10 (Elton John, Rod Stewart, Van Halen, Jimmy Buffett, et al), with the exception of Dave Matthews, who has been around a mere dozen years. (Just for reference, a dozen years is the span of time between Elvis Presley's "Heartbreak Hotel" and the Beatles' "Hey Jude.")
Look at the top-albums chart. Three rock records in the Top 20. Three. That's only three more than you have, and you don't make records.
Cue the howls of protest.
"If only your harebrained correspondent knew about (insert band name here), he'd play a different tune."
"I just got the new album by (insert band name here), and it's the best thing since (insert classic rock-band name here)."
"That moron doesn't know anything about real rock. Rock lives!"
Uh huh. So does Elvis.
As long as there's a Disneyland, there will be barbershop quartets. As long as there are cruise ships, there will be swing bands. As long as there are electric guitars, there will be rockers. So what?
To its credit, rock lived a good long life. Like an old bluesman, though, it seems to have lost its birth certificate. Various reports have it born in 1951, when Jackie Brenston recorded "Rocket 88," or 1949, when Roy Brown cut "Good Rockin' Tonight." Its birth date is most commonly given as 1955, the year when Bill Haley & The Comets' "Rock Around the Clock" hit No. 1.
In its adolescence, rock not only articulated the angst of a disaffected youth, it also shaped language, style, clothing and politics. It sought to raise consciousness, from Buffalo Springfield's "For What It's Worth" to John Lennon's "Imagine." Even apolitical Elvis got into the spirit with "In the Ghetto." Rock abdicated its primacy in those roles to hip-hop and rap years ago, and rock's audience largely abandoned it; just ask any record company for the figures.
Endless recycling, not only of riffs but of the music itself, sapped rock of its vitality. Time was, oldies were dragged out of retirement solely on holidays for the inevitable Top 100 Countdown of Your All-Time Favorites. No longer. Fleetwood Mac's "Rhiannon," Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Sweet Home Alabama," and Led Zeppelin's "Stairway to Heaven" have all been in continuous rotation on radio for more than 30 years, especially on networks such as Clear Channel and Infinity Broadcasting. Had this been the case in the '60s, we would have grown up listening to golden oldies by the likes of Fred Waring and His Pennsylvanians, the Ink Spots, and the Paul Whiteman Orchestra.
Historically speaking, rock had a great run. Dixieland flourished for about 30 years; big-band swing lasted about half that long. As those styles ran out of gas, their most talented practitioners retired or led the charge to the next big sound. Rock stars, however, seem locked into the same old tired groove.
When are these guys going to hang up their rock-and-roll shoes anyway? Eric Clapton is 60. Mick Jagger is 62. Paul McCartney is 63. Ringo Starr is 65. Chuck Berry is 79. Anybody who says any of them is just as good now as he or she was then either wasn't there, or has been huffing glue for the last 40 years.
I can't blame rock fans for being stuck in the denial phase of Elisabeth Kubler-Ross' five stages of grief. But it's time to move on, before rock's carcass begins stinkin' up the joint.
Sure, filling out rock's death certificate is problematic. It's as hard to attach a specific date to its demise as it was to affix one to its birth. Some would place it at disco's ascendancy in the late '70s; others would say punk's arrival spelled the death knell for substance, replacing it with fashion.
Personally, I would point to 1992, when Eric Clapton's Unplugged album turned rock's most eloquent cri de coeur, "Layla," into a lounge-lizard anthem. It might not have been the actual agent of rock's death, but it was a potent indicator: The soul of rock's greatest living guitarist had been snatched by Bill Murray.
So let's light the birthday candles one last time, drag out the family album(s) and tell each other the stories we've heard endlessly for the last half-century. Then blow the candles out... and leave them out.
Roll over Beethoven, and tell Bruce Springsteen the news.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Contact Thane Tierney at [email protected].
PS: As of August, 2003, a "Google" search produced this little posting from an unemployed Thane Tierney:
Cheers,
> Thane
>
> P.S. For Dave & Barry's benefit: I'm Thane Tierney, currently unemployed
> --er, consulting-- record industry vet (WB, Enigma, Rhino, Hannibal,
> Rykodisc, WEA) who has produced greatest hits packages by both Zachary
> Richard and Gordon Lightfoot, and who has contributed liner notes to dozens
> of projects.
A loser in the industry who trashes the very people who provided his income? How hypocritical!
Here, in it's vile entirety, is his blasphemy. His e-mail address is at the bottom. I encourage any of you who disagree with his conclusions to make your views and opinions known to him PERSONALLY...as I have...after reading this tripe posted below.
I'd be interested to know what groups/individuals/music genres are signed to Mr. Tierney's label; anyone want to bet it's Rap/HipHop/Urban?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Rock-and-roll is dead: Let it be"
by Thane Tierney, a record-label executive living in Los Angeles:
Here's an excellent way to celebrate rock-and-roll's 50th birthday: Pull the plug and give it the proper burial it deserves.
Rock has been in a persistent vegetative state for more than a decade, and it shows no signs of coming back. Ever.
Want evidence? Look at the top-15-grossing pop (very broadly defined) tours from last year. The top five were Prince, Celine Dion, Madonna, Metallica and Bette Midler, all of whom have been recording in excess of 20 years. Ditto all the rockers in the next 10 (Elton John, Rod Stewart, Van Halen, Jimmy Buffett, et al), with the exception of Dave Matthews, who has been around a mere dozen years. (Just for reference, a dozen years is the span of time between Elvis Presley's "Heartbreak Hotel" and the Beatles' "Hey Jude.")
Look at the top-albums chart. Three rock records in the Top 20. Three. That's only three more than you have, and you don't make records.
Cue the howls of protest.
"If only your harebrained correspondent knew about (insert band name here), he'd play a different tune."
"I just got the new album by (insert band name here), and it's the best thing since (insert classic rock-band name here)."
"That moron doesn't know anything about real rock. Rock lives!"
Uh huh. So does Elvis.
As long as there's a Disneyland, there will be barbershop quartets. As long as there are cruise ships, there will be swing bands. As long as there are electric guitars, there will be rockers. So what?
To its credit, rock lived a good long life. Like an old bluesman, though, it seems to have lost its birth certificate. Various reports have it born in 1951, when Jackie Brenston recorded "Rocket 88," or 1949, when Roy Brown cut "Good Rockin' Tonight." Its birth date is most commonly given as 1955, the year when Bill Haley & The Comets' "Rock Around the Clock" hit No. 1.
In its adolescence, rock not only articulated the angst of a disaffected youth, it also shaped language, style, clothing and politics. It sought to raise consciousness, from Buffalo Springfield's "For What It's Worth" to John Lennon's "Imagine." Even apolitical Elvis got into the spirit with "In the Ghetto." Rock abdicated its primacy in those roles to hip-hop and rap years ago, and rock's audience largely abandoned it; just ask any record company for the figures.
Endless recycling, not only of riffs but of the music itself, sapped rock of its vitality. Time was, oldies were dragged out of retirement solely on holidays for the inevitable Top 100 Countdown of Your All-Time Favorites. No longer. Fleetwood Mac's "Rhiannon," Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Sweet Home Alabama," and Led Zeppelin's "Stairway to Heaven" have all been in continuous rotation on radio for more than 30 years, especially on networks such as Clear Channel and Infinity Broadcasting. Had this been the case in the '60s, we would have grown up listening to golden oldies by the likes of Fred Waring and His Pennsylvanians, the Ink Spots, and the Paul Whiteman Orchestra.
Historically speaking, rock had a great run. Dixieland flourished for about 30 years; big-band swing lasted about half that long. As those styles ran out of gas, their most talented practitioners retired or led the charge to the next big sound. Rock stars, however, seem locked into the same old tired groove.
When are these guys going to hang up their rock-and-roll shoes anyway? Eric Clapton is 60. Mick Jagger is 62. Paul McCartney is 63. Ringo Starr is 65. Chuck Berry is 79. Anybody who says any of them is just as good now as he or she was then either wasn't there, or has been huffing glue for the last 40 years.
I can't blame rock fans for being stuck in the denial phase of Elisabeth Kubler-Ross' five stages of grief. But it's time to move on, before rock's carcass begins stinkin' up the joint.
Sure, filling out rock's death certificate is problematic. It's as hard to attach a specific date to its demise as it was to affix one to its birth. Some would place it at disco's ascendancy in the late '70s; others would say punk's arrival spelled the death knell for substance, replacing it with fashion.
Personally, I would point to 1992, when Eric Clapton's Unplugged album turned rock's most eloquent cri de coeur, "Layla," into a lounge-lizard anthem. It might not have been the actual agent of rock's death, but it was a potent indicator: The soul of rock's greatest living guitarist had been snatched by Bill Murray.
So let's light the birthday candles one last time, drag out the family album(s) and tell each other the stories we've heard endlessly for the last half-century. Then blow the candles out... and leave them out.
Roll over Beethoven, and tell Bruce Springsteen the news.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Contact Thane Tierney at [email protected].
PS: As of August, 2003, a "Google" search produced this little posting from an unemployed Thane Tierney:
Cheers,
> Thane
>
> P.S. For Dave & Barry's benefit: I'm Thane Tierney, currently unemployed
> --er, consulting-- record industry vet (WB, Enigma, Rhino, Hannibal,
> Rykodisc, WEA) who has produced greatest hits packages by both Zachary
> Richard and Gordon Lightfoot, and who has contributed liner notes to dozens
> of projects.
A loser in the industry who trashes the very people who provided his income? How hypocritical!
