Lost in the ’80s
Here we have Christgau on the ‘80s:
The ’80s were above all a time of international corporatization, as one major after another gave it up to media moguls in Europe and Japan. By 1990, only two of the six dominant American record companies were headquartered in the U.S. Bizzers acted locally while thinking globally in re audiences/markets (will it sell in Germany? Australia? Venezuela? Indonesia now that we’ve sunk the pirates? the U.S.S.R.?) and artists/suppliers (world music was a concept whose geoeconomic time had come). After a feisty start, independent labels accepted farm-team status that could lead to killings with the bigs. Cross-promotional hoohah became the rule—the soundtrack album, the sponsored tour, the golden-oldie commercial, the T-shirt franchise, the video as song ad and pay-for-play programming and commodity fetish. Record executives became less impresarios than arbitragers, speculating in abstract bundles of rights whose physical characteristics meant little or nothing to them. Rock was mere music no longer. It was reconceived as intellectual property, as a form of capital itself.
Commercial stardom, as measured by music recording sales certifications, replaced artistry as an indication of a musician’s significance, according to Christgau. “When art is intellectual property, image and aura subsume aesthetic substance, whatever exactly that is”, he explained. “When art is capital, sales interface with aesthetic quality—Thriller’s numbers are part of its experience.”
Ok, here we are in the ‘80s and I’m in way over my head as far as hearing what’s going on musically. By now, there are several more times the number of records coming out as there were just ten years previously, and during the last half of the decade I became a father, which demanded much of my focus. I certainly noticed MTV, which OMG, began at the 100th year anniversary of the arrival of vaudeville in the US, the first coon song, and the first popular stage appearance of (fake) Jews. MTV had a lot to live up to. I was very curious to see it, but we didn’t have cable until 1985. At that point, I could finally watch all I wanted. It was interesting to see what the players looked liked, but I found the quick-cutting-video thing annoying. It was like ADD land. It was clear though that good looks were going to be more important than ever. But it was more interesting to see videos get more interesting, and turn into an art form. My most watched is still Kyary Pamyu Pamyu’s “PonPonPon” from 2011.
Back in the ‘70s, after the Unholy Modal Rounders broke up, I formed a very short-lived band with Mark Bingham. Later in the decade I formed a duo with John Parrott. There was a young drummer and a young bassman who wanted to play with me, and I thought, wow, a band again. But John didn’t want to be part of a band, or that band. Where it gets weird is…I’ve been talking to my record company boss, who wants to put that very music out, which would be great. It’ll be from cassettes so it will be lo-fi, which beats oblivion. As the ‘80s started, I was musically bereft and didn‘t have the wish to start trying again. I had always liked to play with other people, and didn’t want to be a soloist.
As I write this now, I haven’t played with the other peeps in my band since early March 2020 and when I’m done writing this I’m going to try posting some videos. What I’ve been doing is playing my juke, my National steel ukulele, amplified and steel strung, played in five-string banjo tunings. I went to the corner guitar store, where I know a guy who’s worked there for decades. The reason I had been playing my juke was that, prior to going to Louisiana to record the last of the 100 songs last October, I had been listening to what Mark and I had recorded previously. I noticed how much better the juke ones sounded than the banjo ones. Mark said it’s partially that they are in different ranges so the sound pops more. So I’ve been playing the juke solid for over a year. And I now wanted a fuzztone effect. Zeke, the guy I know at the guitar store, said his partner knew more about effects. They both trotted out different kinds, but nothing was quite right. Then Zeke got it. You want to sound like Jeff Beck. “Yes”, I replied. He brought out this matte black box, about the size of two packages of king-sized cigarettes on top of each other. There were four silver dials on top and a push button on the bottom. In between the dials and the button it read, “Dude”, in matte gold in a real cool font. Its parent company was Sweetwater. The Sweetwater Dude. It sounded great. Everyone in the store said, “Hey, that really sounds great!”
I got it in March, before the shit hit the fan, and then I started playing almost every day. A week and a half later, lockdown began. I went on to play almost every day (and do different kinds exercises and meditation) for about 80 days. I worked on 30 or 40 songs, including five post-lockdown new ones (my first new songs in way over a year), and I’m planning to play them all without looking at the music. Then I found the deadline I had to meet for this thing I’m writing here, and there’s been no more playing music, except two times since then. And here’s where it gets weird: on the 40th year anniversary of deciding I didn’t want to be a soloist, I’ve decided to be a soloist. I just have to learn how to make videos that look and sound ok.
One more ‘80s aside: There’s that thing where one person leads to more persons that lead to opportunities, and then something big happens. Daisann McClain asked Antonia and I to help her finish a song she started, called “Random Violence”, which we did. Then, we went to see her show. She did reggae and had been given the name “Lady Complainer.” Her guitar player was John Scherman. John and I discussed trading fiddle lessons for guitar lessons. Then Brian Cullman said he was doing a record of Steven Foster songs, and would I do one? Sure! “Old Dog Trey”! So I asked John to record it with me, and he brought Tom Overgaard, who he had been playing with since childhood. John knew a bass player and a drummer in another band, and asked if they would record the song with us. Then, whoever was in charge said the bass man, Al Greller, would have to leave the band because he was going bald, so he didn’t look right for the wished-for success they hopefully anticipated. Peter Moser, the drummer, said if he goes, I go. So they both went.
By the time we had “Old Dog Trey” worked out, we wanted to stick together. Then the record got a deal, but in the end the company wanted more well-known Steven Foster cover-ers, and I wasn’t famous enough to make the cut. By the way, the Steven Foster album never came out. Still, we became Peter Stampfel and the Bottlecaps, and made three albums over the course of the ‘80s. We also made a video of “Bridge And Tunnel Girls” from our second album, which we tried to get on MTV’s 11 pm Alternative music program. They said it was too regional. I would rather have been told, you’re too old and we hate you. What’s weird is my record company, Don Giovanni, just released the 1982 demo we made for our first album, the one simply entitled Peter Stampfel and the Bottlecaps. We had a $5000 budget from Rounder Records, which included the cost of those two-and-a-half-inch tapes they used to use, pre-digital. We went over budget $1500. John, Tom and I put in $500 apiece. The recording console was the same one Springsteen had used to record Born To Run. We made our second album for Homestead with a $5000 budget again, and again went $1500 over, and again the three of us each came up with $500. Then we thought rather than pay for a rehearsal space, why don’t we just use our keyboard guy Jonathan Best’s home studio and pay him, which we did. That album took years––Betsey and I had our second baby in the middle––but we were happy with it when we were finished. At the end of the ‘80s, Mark and I recorded the album You Must Remember This, one of my all-time favorites. We poached two of the 100 songs from there.
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