Capturing an elusive feeling
I RECENTLY SAW a video of an acoustic version of the Foo Fighters’ “Best of You,” which is easily my favorite song by the band. But it was one of those things. I had forgotten how much I like the song until I saw the video today. There’s nothing especially groundbreaking about the song. After all, it’s a variation on the power ballad species employed by various rock bands. Call it un piacere colpevole. Yet, somehow, there’s something thrilling and pure about the song and Dave Grohl’s Springsteenesque performance. It got me to thinking.
David Grohl: Click to see video
Lately, I have been exploring performances that perfectly capture an otherwise elusive feeling. Which, generally speaking, is one of the things we expect from art, whether it’s music, cinema or literature. We prize artists who find a way to explain an emotion, belief or idea in an authentic way. I spoke about this topic a few weeks ago in an article about the thrilling Los Angeles band Best Coast.
Over the years, I have typically sought out new artists, because the best ones can present something fresh and different. In music, I championed X, the Replacements, Tom Waits, Aimee Mann, Matthew Sweet, My Bloody Valentine, Jack White and many others. At the same time, even the most original and enterprising recording artists are still irrevocably linked to the bands and singers that inspired them. When I write about musicians, I think it’s important to provide a frame of reference. A lot of readers may not know Bethany Cosentino, but they might be interested in giving her music a chance if they read that her band’s sound is influenced by Ronnie Spector and Kevin Shields.
In any case, when we think of preternatural artistic moments, certain images come to mind. We think of the Beatles’ appearance on “The Ed Sullivan Show”; Elvis Presley’s 1968 television special; Michael Jackson on the Motown Anniversary Show; Bob Dylan’s and Van Morrison’s appearances in The Band’s “Last Waltz”; and Queen’s appearance at Live-Aid. There are others.
The reason a music performance resonates with me lies exclusively in my interpretation of what I am experiencing. It also lies in my willingness to buy in a music artist’s performance—the willful suspension of disbelief—the same way I am willing to buy into an actor’s performance. The only way “The Best of You” can resonate with anyone is to accept that David Grohl is really in anguish. Some people are not willing to make the leap for Bob Dylan, much less David Grohl.
In a recently published interview, Greil Marcus discusses this topic. Marcus, widely regarded as one of the greatest popular music critics, explains: “I don’t know if this is a particularly recent phenomenon or if it’s much older, but over the last twenty years I’ve noticed more critics and commentators of all sorts saying, essentially, ‘You can’t fool me. I won’t be fooled. I know what this is about. I see the man behind the curtain.’ A willingness to be fooled, to be taken into someone else’s imaginary world, to believe in something that didn’t happen when you’re reading a book or listening to a song—that’s how you connect with art, by being willing to be fooled. It’s that old phrase about the suspension of disbelief; that’s what the arts are supposed to enact. And it just shocks me to see so many people saying, ‘I won’t suspend my disbelief. You can’t make me.’ That’s not a good approach.”
I blame Deconstructionists. And Marcus agrees: “Deconstruction, you know, it started out as fun. How does this thing work, what makes this tick? And that’s fascinating and can be illuminating and instructive. But let’s say you have a clock. And you love this clock, it’s handed down in your family many generations, it’s beautiful, it always works, the alarm always goes off when it’s supposed to. And, then, one day you take it apart. You can have two reactions when all the pieces are lying on the floor. You can say, Isn’t it incredible that all these little pieces—each of which is nothing by itself—can combine into this marvelous artifact? Or you can say, Look! It’s just a bunch of stuff!”
But Marcus also understands how someone can have their own interpretation of a performance, especially someone who writes about and, as a result, interprets music. He says: “Because people say, ‘Well, you’re just making (your interpretation) up.’ And the proper response is, ‘Of course I am.’ I’m trying to bring one dimension of listening to bear on another. That’s all criticism is. It’s the bringing to bear of one perspective onto another that is going to resist it. Your sensibility is both embracing or resisting the thing that you’re considering and writing about. And you create that tension between the person who’s creating the thing and the person who’s responding. Some people like to say, ‘Well, can’t you just like it without thinking about it?’ Well, no, some people can’t do anything without thinking about it. Thinking about things is what makes life interesting.”