I think our generation needs one good pair of tight, faded black, cigarette-skinny, crotch-killing pants. Leather pants. Or maybe we just need some good hair spray.
Either way, we have lost what was infinitely cool: the rock star philosophy and the testament to the musicianship of yester-year.
I'm sure many of you are rolling your eyes, but hear me out. The '80s were great, and perhaps we should get back to that. Now, I don't mean to say everyone should be cultivating their mullets, but one must admit the culture of music and overall musical lifestyle of the '80s outshines any of our copied creations these years.
Who is the AC/DC of our time? When was the last time you turned on the local pop station and heard epic ballads equivalent to "Don't Stop Believin'" and "Sweet Child O' Mine"?
I want to bang the steering wheel and agree that, yes, I am back in black, and please, wake me up before you go. (Go.)
Honestly, as sad as it sounds, there are few original acts that capture America's heart like they did in the '80s. Aside from bad karaoke renditions on "American Idol," the public no longer adores an individual group or musician, nor the genius of lyrics and the simple beauty of an insane hook.
No one makes their own music anymore; anything we pick up in a Virgin Megastore has been mass produced by the same five producers in the U.S. of A. I want to know what happened to the Bruce Springsteens and The Police and the Talking Heads and Poisons of today's musical "elite." I demand to know why our generation listens to crap while we're wearing the styles created in a glorious - albeit bygone - decade.
It was a great decade. But while it is understandable that something incredible will stand the test of time, lacking our own design and direction makes people growing up in this decade highly disillusioned as they swim through this repulsive indie-pop, rap-rock-jazz-jam-infused mockery of a music industry.
The only thing we've done musically is mashed all genres to high hell to produce a loud and discordant version of everything we once cherished. As I'm writing this, I am sitting listening to the classic rock station and appreciating the genuine, unapologetic rock blast through my bedroom.
It isn't a fusion, it isn't a remix, it isn't synthesized beyond comprehension, and it certainly doesn't boast of a plethora of mediocre multi-artist compilations. It is pure; it is understood. It is ROCK.
But today's rock scene, or whatever remains of it, seems lost to some strange subsets, from the edgier industrial to the whinier emo, to the softer and blander crap known as alternative. I don't want to hear the same 30-somethings trying to serenade me and sell me on a cause or their image. People like Nickelback just shouldn't be allowed to create music.
Perhaps the reason the '80s rocked hard was that each genre, whether rock, hip hop or pop, had musicians who created beats without concern of their record sales. Okay, that was a little idealistic, I know, but do you think Axl Rose cared if teenagers wanted to rip their clothes off when their ears caught wind of the first line of "Welcome to the Jungle"?
He was writing of his love of the Sunset Strip, of his partying life and his own experiences. He didn't bite his nails praying to go platinum; he wrote a song, he strung together some earth-shattering vocals and pitched to the public his unique creation as an expression of self.
Sure, AC/DC loved a great audience and didn't mind insane record sales, but "You Shook Me All Night Long" was something of their own beautifully perverse creation.
Before you peg me as a 40-year-old woman reflecting on her days as a waitress in some seedy joint outside of the city, I'll have you know I've never attended a Bon Jovi concert, and I didn't vote for Reagan - I would have, naturally, but I'm only 20 years old.
And I can't help it; ever since I can remember, I have had this strange draw to '80s music. I can recall playing Madonna in my Walkman as a child and trying my hand at the moonwalk in front of Michael Jackson music videos. Not to mention the '80s summed up emotion in a very cheesy, melodramatic, honest way that few periods ever have.
Former years used doo-wop and blues to try and elaborate on the ideas of sorrow, grief, heartbreak or jealousy but they never sang straight to the audience like the powerfully bold words of Whitesnake, telling us it was okay to declare, "Here I go again, on my own ..." Even that weirdo of a man, Boy George, inquired with lyrics of child-like construction, "Do you really want to hurt me?"
Something about the '80s, however disgusting the colors, however high the belts or however butchered the haircuts may have seemed, spoke to people without speaking down to them, without drowning their words in stupid beats, without hidden, complicated lyrics.
Musicians of the '80s demonstrated how the music world should appear: glamorous, insane and star-powered. The '80s were fueled by characters and personalities, gods of guitar precariously perched on thrones of corny band names (Bananarama sounds like a smoothie), records and adoringly antiquated cassette tapes.
With the exception of a few who dabbled in acting, product-pushing or random pursuits, most musicians stayed with what was important: the music. Unlike the Gwen Stefanis and Jennifer Lopezes and every other pop songstress of our generation, eighties pop stars knew the art itself was the crucial element.
Forget losing 15 pounds and pushing for their new fashion line to launch in July; the Bangles and the Go-Go's instructed us that walking like an Egyptian was far more clutch than advertising their own person and that when it came to personal and private matters of the musician, their lips were sealed.
Again, I exaggerate a bit. The juicy gossip mill has run forever, but rock stars kept some things out of the limelight, never thinking to create an unfortunate reality TV version of their lives. David Lee Roth lost his temper with bandmates, but didn't publish the dialogue on his blog. Maybe these are the pitfalls of a technologically driven society, but I preferred the days when music did the talking.
I think we could all stand to forget about what bar Paris went to last night and whether Lindsay Lohan is still on coke. Let's remember what it was like to really love music for music, and remind ourselves that being a celebrity and being a rock star are two separate entities.
I don't think music today is bad entirely - there are some decent acts - but I think I liked it better when the worst causes and promotions supported by musicians were the oversized "Frankie says Relax" t-shirts. I don't want to be told what to do or what to wear by my favorite rock idols; I want to appreciate their eccentricity, their electric energy and their amazing presence.
Let's remember what was truly great and go back to the future of music - back to the crazy '80s.
