I don’t want to know what Fred Durst is eating for lunch today. It’s not that I don’t love him to death, (pun intended) it’s because I enjoy the mystery. The anticipation for the next album release. The upcoming film clip. Well, back in the day anyway.
When my favourite band were taking over the globe in the nineties, the only thing that kept me in class during the week was knowing on Saturday morning I would see them rock out on TV during the music countdown. Hip hop stars, pop princesses and rock gods graced our airwaves, and it wasn’t unless we turned on the radio, bought their albums or watched them on Saturday morning TV that we, well… saw them. You waited months for album release. Saved your pennies and rode your bike or skateboard to the CD store and there it was gleaming on the shelf. You paid $35 for the plastic cover, sparkling disc and booklet of lyrics and photographs. This little bundle of joy became your life. You replayed that beautiful CD until it skipped with scratches. By that time, the concert tour had almost arrived and the week leading up to the performance you couldn’t sleep. The electricity in the air was inspiring. You wanted to hang out with your mates more, even back chat your parents. You were a rock star yourself because before too long you would see them on stage.
You sometimes waited years for this.
Today, you can follow your favourite singer online, kept up to date with their daily routine from the shower to the hair dryer that shapes their hair. Why bother going to their concert? You already know them like a friend, right?
When Dolores from the Cranberries was found dead last month, the film clip for Zombie shot to 666 million views on YouTube. Prior to her death, it was thousands and thousands less. It took her death for much of the world to remember her, yet she was one of the best female rock stars of our time. True music artists are fading from memories until headlines pronounce their death.
I know I sound like a prude stuck in a musical past, but this isn’t the case. I’m the first to bounce at photo opportunities to share with family and friends on Instagram and Facebook. I don’t mind a good filter or two either. I just feel people have forgotten the deliverers of earth rattling art.
The Bee Gees once drove over a rickety bridge and the sound of the car rolling over the boards gave birth to the beat of one of their most famous songs. Kurt Cobain titled one of our favourite tracks after a deodorant scent. He had discovered “Kurt smells like Teen Spirit” spray painted on his bedroom wall. It was etched in paint by a mate, and six months later the graffiti culprit received a phone call from Cobain asking if he could use what she wrote on the wall for a lyric.
Where have all the rock stars gone?
To their graves.
And it’s commonly the passion for their art that killed them far too early because no one really gets it anymore.
Today’s music is great. Nothing quite like a bit of RiRi (see? I’m still hip, right!?) to start the daily commute with coffee in tow. But, let’s face it. Radio announcers aren’t talking about the singer’s artwork anymore. In fact, it’s almost like the music break is an inconvenience to their chatter. And I’m not saying the work we hear today is no good. I just really miss Dolores as if I have lost a friend and I encourage you to revisit your own memory bank of favourite artists. Add a few more views to their iconic clips available on YouTube before they leave this world. A little less RIP messages, and more of “your music is timeless. Miss you!”