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{i am not rock 'n roll} jonathan bitz I am rock n’ roll. I am so not rock n’ roll. All I want to see was you: knocked on your ass. I want to see you beaten-up, strung-out and invalidated by the same vehicles that ever dared to validate your existence in the first place. I want to see you with your pants-down, hungover and slumped-down over the oceans of ideologies that ever made you rise in the beginning. In this, I want what I’ve always wanted: rock n’ roll. Music. I want the privy information. I want to see you, up on the stage, hair entangled over your microphone. That is, if you own it. I want to see you, with your headphones on, mouth agape and transcendental. That is, if you own it. I want to know the honest moments: I want to know what you’re humming in the shower, or what you say to your lover when you roll over on the cold side of the bed or park bench. I want to know what you’re thinking when you pull your pants back up and over your shivering knees. I want to see this. I want to hear it. I want to feel it, that's all. I want to see you naked. Not on the reach-around. I am not a music critic. I am not a rock n’ roll journalist. More importantly, if you suck – you and I will not smile over cocktails. Not most likely. Really, it’s probably difficult to nail-down what it is that I am, exactly. But in the end, I am just like you, achoo: I am sneeze in these earthly winds of time. I am convoluted and obtuse. In this, I am like (not like) you: I am a human being examining my solitary worth in this collective sea of pennies and jars. I am interested in the human experience. I am interested in the naked moments. I am interested in the honest moments. The ones you own, the ones you never will. All journalism and every great story told has one thing in common: an exploration of the human experience. Often they call it a human interest story. But for me these are simply the greatest stories told – in sport, in music, in politics: a human interest story. It’s the reason why portraiture painters will never die: because if there’s anything that we recognize, understand and identify with it is with our own human shape. Our human texture. Yet, still – why we believe that can understand it, in moments, we don’t. This is also why, if you bring anything back to the human condition; to the human interest story – people will read. People will relate. Lester Bangs wrote from a place where his feet curled-up into his heart. And while he wrote about music, he also wrote about the human experience. HIS experience (HIS experience, but not actually HE/HIM on stage, dancing like the village idiot after a cavity filling). Certainly there are multitudes of great music critics. They’re respected. Validated. And more than that, they have both expounded on the aesthetic that Bangs made popular and they have created something new. More refined. But a lot of what comes from this success is bullshit. What comes from this are a lot of reach-arounds. A lot of self-congratulatory, look-at-me, who-are-you-I’m-closer-to-what’s-important-than-you-because-I’ve-made-friends-with-the-musicians type of ideology. In Denver, it is apparent that while there are good writers in Denver – you really don’t need to be good to write for our publications, you just need to write. And really, care. Especially about local music. But mostly, about music in-general. (I wonder: do other cities have such retarded, literally retarded and unable to write, journalists?) And while this is and isn’t me – what I do know is what I own: I fucking love music. More than that, we have a wealth of talent in Denver that I don’t even think that most really “get”. If not that, then “appreciate”. I can identify times in my life more with the music I was listening to than the actual dates. And certainly music is one of my favorite drugs. But you will never find me making sophisticated, erudite comparisons between artists and albums. I am not this adept. I am not this learned. Many nights I have sat with true music critics and reviewers and marveled at their wealth of knowledge; the vastness of their sonic experiences. And while I do commend their developed ear and their expansive libraries of music, I also know that music – like so much else – is about the human experience. It’s about what hits you and, probably more importantly, when. In any conversation, in any interview, I want to know what hit you and why and how it was possible in the first place. Let’s get it straight: I am not a music critic. I am not a rock n’ roll journalist. At best, I’m a local music reviewer. With syntax, we never include a negative review, or a strong critique. All artists included in our publication have been on account of the fact that they bowled us over. Knocked our pants down. So, number one: this makes syntax different than most reviews. Most publications. Really, this is probably why we've remained where we are. My contemporaries don't have near the freedoms that we do. And in the end, I do feel that their work is compromised. This is not news, they know this. And they work within the received paradigm of what journalism is. This, for the good ones, is an obvious articulation of their abilities. For the others, it's a cop-out. In the end, there is simply too much to talk about in Denver in a positive light that there is no reason to rifle a negative light on any of what so many of us prize, out and into the world. The purpose of syntax is provide a kind of light where there is power. Fuck fame. Fuck fortune. Listen to music in the same way that you play it: with vigor. With energy. With authenticity. Come to shows to be moved. Anything less than that is unacceptable. Pay your door covers. Buy albums. Tell those that you love: that you love them. Everything else is bullshit. |
