The Rolling Stones will be playing the Super Bowl Halftime Show.
Now, I know that I must keep my expectations low when dealing with the "Big Game." It is, needless to say, the most widely-watched of all television programs each year; one must not expect a Laurie Anderson peice or a live performance by Godspeed You! Black Emperor when one's granddad could well be watching. But this decision is converative to the point of atrophy. The Rolling Stones are not merely old news; they are ancient. I find myself at a loss not only to find an innovative piece of music in their oeuvre since 1978's Some Girls, but to even find a track I've enjoyed since that album. These four men are a rampaging nostalgia machine, existing only to remind those boomers who still seem to run everything that they were ever on the cutting edge. This same principle governed Paul McCartney's appearance at the event last year, but even he seemed to realize the ridiculousness and the futility of his performance. It was a pathetic, boring performance, but the boomer audience in the seats of the arena and those watching at home ate it right up.
Sometimes I wonder if these artists are truly out of ideas, or whether they are simply trapped by the more unimaginative members of my parent's generation, those who can't bear to see their youth slipping away, and therefore keep all of the remnants and accouterments wrapped around them well into their middle age. These people may well be your parents; they are most often seen at college homecomings, standing outside in khaki shorts, hawaiian shirts and porkpie hats, remembering the best times of college and pretending that they can recapture their former glory by returning to the scene and wishing. Mick Jagger did amazing things with his life and created works which have been celebrated the world over, wheras this sad marker of humanity probably did very little with that degree he earned from a state school thirty-odd years ago. He lives vicariously through the artists of his day, and he'll be damned if any one of them tries to move beyond while he cannot. (It's pathetic, but sometimes I wonder if I'll look back at this statement in thirty years and wonder what I could have done with my degree.)
What bothers me the most is that this music has very little to do with the participants themselves, the players of the teams who will eventually make it to this contest. Do you think the average young football player gives a damn about the Rolling Stones? Not to pidegonhole anyone's musical taste, but I highly doubt the average twentysomething athelete listens to the music preferred by the average fiftysomething couch-jockey. Since the Super Bowl is supposed to be a celebration of their individual achievements, then shouldn't the music reflect their own personal tastes? One wouldn't flood a sophisticated cocktail party with a Tom Jones record, so by the same token we should not subject players to a musical choice which is completely incongruous to the event in question. Here's the solution:
Sometimes I wonder if these artists are truly out of ideas, or whether they are simply trapped by the more unimaginative members of my parent's generation, those who can't bear to see their youth slipping away, and therefore keep all of the remnants and accouterments wrapped around them well into their middle age. These people may well be your parents; they are most often seen at college homecomings, standing outside in khaki shorts, hawaiian shirts and porkpie hats, remembering the best times of college and pretending that they can recapture their former glory by returning to the scene and wishing. Mick Jagger did amazing things with his life and created works which have been celebrated the world over, wheras this sad marker of humanity probably did very little with that degree he earned from a state school thirty-odd years ago. He lives vicariously through the artists of his day, and he'll be damned if any one of them tries to move beyond while he cannot. (It's pathetic, but sometimes I wonder if I'll look back at this statement in thirty years and wonder what I could have done with my degree.)
What bothers me the most is that this music has very little to do with the participants themselves, the players of the teams who will eventually make it to this contest. Do you think the average young football player gives a damn about the Rolling Stones? Not to pidegonhole anyone's musical taste, but I highly doubt the average twentysomething athelete listens to the music preferred by the average fiftysomething couch-jockey. Since the Super Bowl is supposed to be a celebration of their individual achievements, then shouldn't the music reflect their own personal tastes? One wouldn't flood a sophisticated cocktail party with a Tom Jones record, so by the same token we should not subject players to a musical choice which is completely incongruous to the event in question. Here's the solution:
Yank the Stones. Book Kanye West.
1 comment:
You're mocking an ancient British rock legend?!! How dare you doubt the cultural relevance of the Stones! Blasphemy!
BTW, thanks for the link. I will reciprocate in turn. :)
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