I fall perfectly within that age demographic that enjoyed its adolescent idyll at a very good time for adolescent idylls. The economy seemed robust. Parents who wheezed about self-discipline, dreaming ambitiously and the connection between effort and outcome seemed merely annoying, rather than delusional. Dissipation offered the dignity of something that’s chosen.
This is the world that produced Kevin Smith’s early masterpieces.
Most people didn’t have cell phones. We didn’t expect much of the Internet. We unselfconsciously wrote letters to friends, and bought a dozen Aerograms before travelling abroad.
Although school bullies beat us up and stole our books, they wouldn’t ever have considered hounding us to the point of suicide.
America wasn’t at war. What's That I Hear? The Songs of Phil Ochs (1998) needed to include an essay in the liner notes arguing (a bit feebly, I thought at the time) for Ochs’ continued relevance.
In the East Coast Jewish neighborhoods where we lived, we looked east and saw Israel on the apparent verge of comprehensive peace.
A Seinfeld episode called “The Race” (1994) was about the revolutionary communist Elaine was dating. He was a figure of fun because he was pissed off in a world apparently devoid of anything to be pissed off about.
This is the environment that produces the Dave Matthews Band. Coming into its own in the mid-90s, the DMB represents 60’s-style hedonism, but without any of the urgency or social concern of the Woodstock generation.
There’s nothing to give the songs substance. The lyrics aren’t quite risible, but…I hesitate to say “mediocre”. They’re quite literally pointless, but not in the same way as corporate pop is pointless.
This is the world that produced Kevin Smith’s early masterpieces.
Most people didn’t have cell phones. We didn’t expect much of the Internet. We unselfconsciously wrote letters to friends, and bought a dozen Aerograms before travelling abroad.
Although school bullies beat us up and stole our books, they wouldn’t ever have considered hounding us to the point of suicide.
America wasn’t at war. What's That I Hear? The Songs of Phil Ochs (1998) needed to include an essay in the liner notes arguing (a bit feebly, I thought at the time) for Ochs’ continued relevance.
In the East Coast Jewish neighborhoods where we lived, we looked east and saw Israel on the apparent verge of comprehensive peace.
A Seinfeld episode called “The Race” (1994) was about the revolutionary communist Elaine was dating. He was a figure of fun because he was pissed off in a world apparently devoid of anything to be pissed off about.
This is the environment that produces the Dave Matthews Band. Coming into its own in the mid-90s, the DMB represents 60’s-style hedonism, but without any of the urgency or social concern of the Woodstock generation.
There’s nothing to give the songs substance. The lyrics aren’t quite risible, but…I hesitate to say “mediocre”. They’re quite literally pointless, but not in the same way as corporate pop is pointless.
Then I look up at the sky.
My mouth is open wide. Lick and taste.
What's the use in worrying? What's the use in hurrying?
Turn, turn; we almost become dizzy.
It isn’t vacuity as a marketing strategy, but rather, as the honest consequence of having nothing whatsoever to say.
And isn’t this the Arcadian ideal?
It’s useless trying to argue that DMB (or any band) is “good”. But it’s necessary to defend them against the libelous snort they they’re like Vanilla Ice or the “Gangnam Style” guy. DMB isn’t a social phenomenon we should feel bullied into apologizing for.
With that established, let’s all don our Tevas, cargo shorts and hemp necklaces, make sure we have an extra pack of Camel Wides, pile into mom’s Volvo, and let the night begin.
And isn’t this the Arcadian ideal?
It’s useless trying to argue that DMB (or any band) is “good”. But it’s necessary to defend them against the libelous snort they they’re like Vanilla Ice or the “Gangnam Style” guy. DMB isn’t a social phenomenon we should feel bullied into apologizing for.
With that established, let’s all don our Tevas, cargo shorts and hemp necklaces, make sure we have an extra pack of Camel Wides, pile into mom’s Volvo, and let the night begin.
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