Every once in a while, a class comes along that really makes you re-think what you know about something. I'm taking a class now called American Musical Mavericks, and it's really making me examine my musical tastes. For instance, I never really understood how unforgivably horrendous Nickelback was until I began this class. I mean, I had a pretty good idea that they are terrible, but in the grand annals of rock music a hundred years from now, they'll be duking it out with Creed, Kansas, Color Me Badd, Air Supply and Insane Clown Posse for the official title of "Worst Band Ever."
Side note -- speaking of Kansas, I heard an interesting theory about bands with location names. You know, like Kansas. The theory states that the smaller the actual geographic entity for which the band is named, the more talented the band actually is. This theory, the inverse ratio of talent to square mileage, is astoundingly accurate. The two biggest-named bands, Asia and Europe (you know, "The Final Countdown"), are so sonically offensive you almost beg to hear the sweet soothing sounds of Scott Stapp to stop the pain. As you get smaller, the band's appeal grows. In descending order, you have the following: America, Japan, Kansas, Chicago and Boston. There may be a flaw in this reasoning, though. According to theory, the best band in history is the Miami Sound Machine.
But back to the real topic: The Musical Mavericks class is making me re-open my ears to all sonic influences. One thing you learn on the first day of class is that music is a very loosely defined term. It doesn't have to be rhythmic or use instruments or be aurally pleasing. Case in point: Bjork.
It doesn't even have to be sound. Some scholars say that there is music in the absence of all "regular" sonic input. The sound of life -- the wind rustling leaves, cars honking and the ambient noise of existence is music enough. Well, that's a load of bull****.
Music is music. Everyone knows that.
Perhaps the best musical experience of my college career took place last Thursday night at the Satellite Ballroom, as famed underground mash-up DJ Girl Talk took the stage. For those unfamiliar with Girl Talk, he's a scrawny white dude (real name: Greg Gillis) who takes existing popular songs, breaks them down track-by-track and mixes them with other equally disintegrated songs. For instance, you'd be shocked how well the famous guitar riff from "Sweet Child O' Mine" goes with the bong-rattling bass hook of Rick Ross' "Hustlin'." But that's only about 1/15th of the actual new "song" created by mashing up the parts of about 30 existing songs. The actual show was incredible. Best dance party I've ever been to. There was so much sweat dripping from the ceiling I thought the fire sprinklers were on full blast. A good time was had by all.
The Girl Talk method of music-making brings up an interesting question: Whose music was he playing? Did the mash-up of songs create a new song? The answer, of course, is no. It's just a bunch of songs everyone likes.
On the whole, Charlottesville has a phenomenal music scene. Even with the closure of Starr Hill this summer, there are still a ton of venues to pick up the slack. The performers coming into town by and large are all fairly talented. Not to mention all the crappy guitar players on the Downtown Mall.
Brendan's column runs biweekly Mondays. He can be reached at collins@cavalierdaily.com.
Read More
Khul Ke Nacho — a celebration of free-spirited dancing
By Malaika Rehman | 1 hours agoThe sea of attendees wearing desi attire and dancing joyfully throughout the night was a reflection of the thriving Pakistani community in and outside of PSA.
Holding onto every grain in the hourglass
By Mai Hukuoka | YesterdayNow that I’m back at school, I have made it my mission to take note of the sneaky passage of time.
Students brave the cold for a whirlwind sorority rush
By Mia Tan | 3 days agoStudents recount a mix of emotions from rush, with some disappointed after dropping from the recruitment process and others ecstatic to join Greek life.
