SEMISARDONIC
ABOUT SEMISONIC, OR "I'M WITH
THE BAND, BUT . . ."
Do you remember
the day when you were no longer a big fan of
anybody famous? Can you recall the hour when you
ceased to use expressions like, "I'm really
into . . ." unless it was a reference to
your significant other? How about the last time
you bought a concert tee? Wore one? Thought that
dropping twenty-five bucks on one after a
particularly good show was a valid use of your
hard-earned cash?
Me neither.
Since I've always
valued music ahead of movies, TV, or even sports,
the wee touch of ennui's particularly noticeable
in that realm. It has been so long since a new
band or artist triggered my siren that I'm no
longer sure that the guy who once camped out for
tickets or played a new album ten times in a row
upon first purchasing it used to be me.
I've had a hard
time figuring out if a lessened capacity for
fandom is a symptom of jadedness or part of the
aging process. For those of us nourished with the
minimum FDA daily requirement of irony, it's
sometimes hard to tell the difference. But I
deduce that it must be the latter, since I'm
still idealistic enough to believe in such
fantastic notions as civic altruism, true love,
and a balanced budget by 2002. Furthermore, after
badgering countless peers I've drawn the
conclusion that others are likewise wondering
where all the passion went in their musical
lives. Therefore, my limitations for enthusiasm
must be a sort of hardening of teenybopper
arteries that once coursed with fervor for the
likes of Cheap Trick or the Boomtown
Rats.
It also has
nothing to do with any sort of decline in the
quality of rock-n-roll, since I can name dozens
of working bands whose music I enjoy. Which
brings me to Exhibit A, a relatively new band out
of Minneapolis called Semisonic.
Semisonic released
an album on MCA some time ago, great divide,
and is currently at work on their next CD. The
two singles off great divide,
"f.n.t." and "If I RUn", made
appearances on MTV's 120 Minutes, but my
guess is that the album sold modestly. I'm
guessing that, because they receive little or no
airplay in Chicago (a huge market traditionally
friendly to Twin Cities acts), had a fair-to-good
turnout at a modest-sized club show here last
winter, and have little word-of-mouth among the
local popnoscenti. An up-and-comer, in other
words, in a genre forever surfeited with
up-and-comers.
Two members of
this trio were previously in a cult-status band
called Trip Shakespeare that had a sizeable
Chicagoland following. The congenial but
needed-to-be-persuaded atmosphere at last
winter's Semisonic show meant that the crowd
could be divided, like Gaul, into three parts:
Local in-the-know types formally connected to the
industry, transplanted Minnesotans, and curious
former Trip fans. The exception was a gaggle of
yowling, bopping male enthusiasts in the front
row who kept up a running dialog with the band
members and appeared to know every song by heart.
Since they had obviously made the six-hour trip
down from the Twins, it was plain that they were
the real deal: True fans.
I was at the show
because I had come across the band via two
friends, one the editor of Pandemonium
Online and the other a former hanging
buddy from high school of Semisonic bassist John
Munson. Oddly enough, a third friend of mine also
turned out to have connected with the band via a
totally unrelated relationship pathway, this one
an acquaintanceship with drummer Jacob Slichter.
As a confirmed music contrarian no longer subject
to the tidal pull of a male wolfpack of fans like
those U. of Minnesota frat boys there that night,
I had come to like the band of my own accord.
Despite being at
the core of a large concentration of Trip
Shakespeare fans, I had never warmed to that
band; I found their songs about as accessible as
catching dandelion pollen while wearing oven
mitts. But Semisonic was and is different.
Singer/guitarist/songwriter Dan Wilson has
developed a real knack for hook-filled melodies
that pass the Stick-In-Your-Head Test, and in at
least one song ("Down In Flames") he
demonstrates a nascent brilliance as a lyricist.
The entire album
consists of taut ensemble power pop leavened with
occasional sound washes that give a mysterioso
effect to the straightforwardness of the
material. A fistful of great divide is
power pop of the first rank. Particularly
noteworthy are the two singles, the title track,
"Down In Flames", "In Another
Life" (on which Munson sings lead; the song
sounds like a lost Brian Wilson classic off Smile),
and the infectious "Brand New Baby",
which in a far happier parallel universe was the
top single of 1996. great divide has
made the grade--six dozen or so listenings, and
I'm not tired of hearing it yet.
Live, the band is
equally satisfying; the three-part harmonies
don't suffer, Wilson works the crowd like an old
hand, and there's a treat to watching Slichter
play drums and keyboards simultaneously that
transcends novelty into the "how does he do
it?" realm. Besides, their semisalacious
take on the Rufus chestnut "Tell Me
Something Good" was the most entertaining
cover I've seen live since I saw the Goo Goo
Dolls first assay "Never Take the Place of
Your Man" (originally done by that other
Minneapolitan, His Royal Glyphness TAFKAP).
I first started
noticing my eroded capacity for hardcore fandom
prior to the show, when we walked by the tour bus
parked in front of the club and my friend
introduced us to Munson. Fortunately, Munson
proved to be an affable regular Joe, eager to
talk about old times with his friend, the
vagaries of road life, and the possibility of my
friend scoring him some Bulls tickets the next
time Semisonic came to Chicago.
Shifting from one
foot to another, listening to the conversation
and feeling relieved that we weren't dealing with
a Rock Star oozing Rock Star Attitude, I kept
wondering if old farts my age still did the
things that rock-n-roll fans traditionally
do--hang around back entrances, write gushing fan
letters (or e-mail posts), proselytize for the
band in various social situations amongst the
uninitiated.
My purpose here is
not to create a new tempus fugit crisis
for those on the flabby flank of thirty. If your
reaction to rock-n-roll bands, like mine, varies
from mild interest to cursory indifference, I'm
not looking to be your midlife apologist or
therapist. And if you've retained your devotion
to your favorite artist all these years and still
have the posters hanging on your bedroom wall
from high school, don't tear them down on my
account.
Music speaks to
the heart, and somebody's music speaks directly
to yours. You're the only one who should dictate
the terms of that conversation.
But I sit here
sheepishly wondering what I should do if,
considering that I have two "ins" with
the band, I find myself with the opportunity the
next time Semisonic comes to town to wear the
ultimate badge of true fandom, the backstage
pass. The facade of journalistic objectivity is
pretty brittle after having enthused loudly and
at length about the band. And when does being
aloof cross the line into insulting hypocrisy? My
working plan is to mutter a quick "good
show" to the band, check out the female
hangers-on, and head for the dressing-room deli
platter. But I need a contingency plan in case I
cross the line. In case I start to . . . gush.
Like a true fan.
It's time to
realize that espousing a favorite group doesn't
have to mean a misguided attempt to recapture
lost youth. Sometimes you just find yourself
liking someone's music, and you relearn how to be
a fan all over again. I just hope that Semisonic
is selling long-sleeved concert tees to cover up
my liver spots.
Click here for Captain
Spaulding's Current Hooray
For Me!
Semisonic:
Feeling Strangely Fine
- Captain
Spaulding reviews the latest from the
"six busiest hands in show business..."
Grace
Dangerpugg's Review of Semisonic Live
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