When I applied to the University over four years ago, one of the short essay questions asked what piece of art, music, science or literature had had the greatest impact on my life. I could have named, at that point, "A Midsummer Night's Dream" or "Catcher in the Rye," but that wouldn't have been the truth. Despite the advice from my AP English teacher not to do so, I wrote about U2's "The Joshua Tree."
I wrote about the biggest album of 1987 -- nine years after its release. I wrote about the atmospheric landscape of the masterpiece, from "Where the Streets Have No Name" to "Mothers of the Disappeared." I wrote about four guys from Dublin who didn't declare a terrible beauty to be born, who didn't script the epiphanies of Stephen Dedalus, who didn't write lines of bogs or dough-white hands shackled in rosary beads.
I wrote about U2. And I have no regrets.
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I've made being a fan of the Arts & Entertainment world my job. I've written album reviews on everyone from Bjork to Coolio to G. Love, with varying degrees of success. I've listened with awe at the haunting beauty of Jeff Buckley, the surprising tenacity of Lauryn Hill, the grandiose overtures of Mariah Carey. I've been to great concerts: U2 at RFK. in '97, Phish at Merriwether Post Pavilion in '99, Pearl Jam at the same place in '98, Jimmy Buffett at Nissan Pavilion in '99 (though I can't remember much of that one -- it was my 21st birthday).
I've been fortunate enough to have paid adequate attention to a great year in film, during which not only "American Beauty" challenged me, but "Magnolia" also pushed my limits as an intellectual movie-goer.
The Cavalier Daily exposed me to great opportunities as a writer, driving me also to dissect art, from small-scale exhibits at the Bayly to the sprawling wonder of Vincent van Gogh at the National Gallery.
So I grew to love film and art almost as much as music.
But not quite.
Now I must concede something: I'm not a musician. I did play the recorder in the fourth grade and the viola in fifth and sixth, but that's about where it ends. I love to sing, but the problem with that is my terrible singing voice. So I stand back proudly as a fan.
And while doing that I've been amazed time and time again.
But I've had to confront something a little troubling for the past several months. I've had to watch, week after week, as "TRL"-friendly groups have surged. It's made me see sick to see Pearl Jam relegated behind the Backstreet Boys, Tori Amos behind Britney Spears. To hear the latest news on Christina Aguilera instead of U2, 'NSync instead of the Cure.
I see those kids on MTV hooting and hollering for J.C. and Justin and my insides squirm. Can't they see how ridiculously manipulated they are by record companies? Can't they understand that they're listening to and loving crap?
But at my back I suddenly hear the past's winged chariot hurrying near. And the New Kids on the Block are driving.
Yes, in spite of my desire to be on the cutting edge, my first concert was one by Jordan, Joe, Donnie, Danny and Jon -- and it wasn't the last of them, either. I also saw Milli Vanilli at the Patriot Center. My God, was I one of those girls? Would I have acted that way? Would I have written to "Fanatic"? Maybe.
So where does that leave me now? How can I reconcile being a critic of music when I was so swept up in the exact kind of phenomenon that I ridicule today?
It's actually pretty easy. I can resolve the matter by pointing to two bands. The first is the Beatles. I mean, "I Want to Hold Your Hand?" Can you smell the bubble gum? Who knew that this would be the band to record the amazing mosaic of songs on "Abbey Road," the collage of absurd brilliance that was "Sgt. Pepper's?" I'm not suggesting this is the future toward which the Backstreet Boys are heading, but something beautifully intelligent came out of the early Beatles sugar, and that's important to notice.
And then there's Dave. The Dave Matthews Band is impossible to ignore as a resident of Charlottesville. His is one of the most successful, popular bands of the mid-to-late 90s and today. But DMB is on the radio all the time. When the band has an album out, the videos are plastered all over MTV and VH1. And God do the kids love Dave.
When DMB first exploded into the national musical consciousness in 1995, the sound and sight of the band was like Ipecac to me. I changed the radio station; I used the remote control. I couldn't stand it. Friends in high school always were talking Dave this and Dave that, and if I heard "What Would You Say" one more time ...
But time passed. The band released "Crash" to exceptional success (again), and I tried to stand back. But by that point I was a first year at this fine institution. When the sun came out in the quad, so too came Dave. The melodies of "Crash Into Me" and "Too Much" wafted through the breeze early and often.
And then a crazy thing happened. I swallowed my elitist musical pride and sat down and listened. I listened to Dave coax women into bondage and one-night stands with "Crash Into Me" and "Say Goodbye." I listened to the musical arrangement of the latter and sat amazed. I allowed the beauty of "Lie in Our Graves" to run through me. I heard Dave tell me to get off my ass and go out there and live, for "the future is no place to place your better days."
I stand converted. And if I feel pressure to explain such a change, I laugh. I'm not the one missing out.
Yes, I wanted to marry Jordan Knight. Could he sing? Yes. Was he really musically talented? No. Do I apologize for it?
No way.
Exclusivity as a music fan is easy to experience. I continue to do it. I still claim U2 is better than any band out there. But, as U2 has in the past few years, there comes a time when you no longer can castigate something simply on the grounds that the masses seem blinded by it. I've learned to embrace all kinds of music writing for The Cavalier Daily. That doesn't mean I don't have a firm grasp on what I believe is quality and what is crap. But I've learned to take the guilty out of guilty pleasure and sing "I Want It That Way" if I so choose.
(Emily Kane was Arts & Entertainment editor from 1998-1999.)
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