You’ll have to excuse me if I seem to mock the credibility of something that was created by ABC television specifically to replace the Grammies, the broadcast rights for which they lost to CBS in 1973, in its annual schedule. But I watched them anyway–not for me, dear reader, but for you.

• I always thought Jimmy Kimmel was funny. Now I can see that it’s his writers, currently on strike, who are funny. His best line was a crack about The Mighty Mighty Bosstones. O, touche, Kimmel!
• But he’s still infinitely better than Ryan Seacrest.
• The AMAs seem to have abandoned their masturbatory relationship with the country music industry, for whatever that’s worth.
• Duran Duran is really, really old.
• When Slash and Scott Weiland came out to present the award for Favorite Country Album, Slash made the remark, “They’ll let anybody in here these days.” These days?
• Of all the one-liners tossed about by hosts, presenters, performers, and grateful awardees, the most entertaining and on-the-nose actually came from my wife, who gasped, “Oh my God, Beyonce’s nipples are almost showing!”
• Does it say something that the whole string quartet that played behind Daughtry was comprised of metal chicks?
• Every year Gene Simmons looks more and more like Ricardo Montalban. That surely means something, too.
• Black Plastic Bag’s thoughts, prayers, and hearts are with Kanye West.

The New Republic has a story by David Browne about the decline of protest music–more specifically, he addresses the question of why protest songs don’t seem to matter as much now as they did back in the Vietnam era. In general, he argues, the problem with protest songs these days is that they’re not very good: once upon a time we had fantastic tunes like Creedence’s “Fortunate Son,” the Temptations‘ “Ball of Confusion,” and–in an assertion that makes Browne a lonely, lonely man among his peers–”Sun City.” Now we have Black Eyed Peas‘ “Where Is the Love?”–”Idiot Wind” run through a “My Humps” filter–and Pink’s thoroughgoingly godawful “Dear Mr. President.”

The problem with making a qualitative argument is that people who disagree with you can always cite different songs to dismiss the assertion; that’s something Sasha-Frere Jones learned about in a hurry recently. Me, I can point to a pair of what I think are excellent protest songs of relatively recent vintage: Iris DeMent’s “Wasteland of the Free” (ignore the doofy anti-Bush slideshow; the song came out in 1996) and James McMurtry’s “We Can’t Make it Here.”

DeMent:

McMurtry:

Both songs have a few dumb lines, and DeMent in particular gets confused about what her  targets are. (”We’ve got high school kids running around in Calvin Klein and Guess/Who cannot pass a sixth-grade reading test.” Stop them before they dress again!) But if what you want out of a protest song is a clear tune and a singer who possesses the courage of his or her convictions, it’s hard to argue that the guiding spirit of the protest song has disappeared. (And if the job of a protest song is to piss off those in power, DeMent succeeds on that front too: As this story from our sister paper in Tampa points out, a Florida state senator threatened to pull a public radio station’s funding after hearing “Wasteland” on the air.)

The bigger problem with Browne’s piece, though, is that he speedily skips over this crucial reason why protest songs don’t get over today: he supposes that maybe, just perhaps, “audience (and radio) fragmentation that prevents one genre-specific song from reaching a truly mass audience.” This notion deserves more than the brief mention he gives it; indeed it’s pretty close to the sole reason for the death of the protest song. In the Vietnam era, when a larger proportion of the culture got its current-affairs knowledge from a smaller handful of outlets, a singular protest song had a better chance of becoming a hit. Today, when nobody huddles around war footage at the dinner table–Dad’s reading Little Green Footballs, Mom’s flipping through a shelter mag, and the kids get the news from Facebook or a neighborhood podcast (I’m imagining an extreme division, but you get the point)–nobody’s going to agree with the ideas of a protest song, or even that one might be worth hearing.

If you made the cut during this summer’s “American Idol” tryouts, and you’re preparing your game plan for Season 7 in January, keep this in mind: If you try to do Alicia Keys‘ “No One” during the competition, there’s a good chance that you will suck royally, unless you have amazing control. I’m no musical theorist, but my gut tells me that this melody is a bitch to sing, even for Keys. The video:

Her performance at the 2007 MTV VMAs:

At least one person took umbrage at my characterization of rock. This didn’t seem to need any unpacking, but perhaps I was wrong. So, I’m going to throw out some names just to be clear…

Chuck Berry (Solos? Check. Preening? Check.)
The Beatles (Solos? Check. Preening? Check.)
Led Zeppelin (Solos? Check. Preening? Check.)
U2 (Solos? Check. Preening? Check.)

Perhaps there’s some super-modest sub-genre of rock music that I’m not aware of, one in which none of the participants ever step up to the mike or wonder how they look in the mirror. But it seems to me that these are pretty universal traits. (Mind you, I love me some solos and preening.)

And while I’m at it, I’d like to take just a tad bit more air out of the rock mythos. Classical doesn’t need my help, but I think that the comparison is a useful one.

So here goes…

Whereas rock culture preaches the evils of capitalism–Do I need to unpack this? If so, just check out the Festival Express scene in which the hippies want the bands to play for free; it’s a pretty typical sentiment–rock bands are basically travelling small businesses. The ones that take risks tend to do better than the ones that don’t.

Orchestras, however, are more tethered to one place and are heavily subsidized. Are there any that make money even when they take risks?

So I ask you: Which would be more appealing to the socialist and which would be more appealing to a free enterprise type?

Yesterday, on a listserv that was clogged with lots of hand-wringing about indie rock, someone pointed out that today’s alt-metal is analogous to the guitar-centric indie music of yesteryear, something that I’ve been saying since indie rock gave up on the guitar.

All of this coincided with an e-mail exchange I was having with a friend and math-rock vet about the state of heavy metal.

This is what I wrote:

Yeah, well, when I got into this stuff in earnest, in the late ’90s, it was because, in my opionion, indie kids had given up on the guitar. I mean, sure, the big bands still play guitars, but they weren’t USING them. I mean, [Polvo's] Ash Bowie used to listen to Mahavishnu [Orchestra] records, for cryin’ out loud.

So, I like metal inasmuch as it amazes me. And that’s not always because it’s complex. [Jesu's Justin] Broadrick amazes me because he makes rock sound so epic. Baroness makes me laugh and scratch my head in equal measure.

I don’t think that indie rock has come back to the guitar, but I think that a lot of bands have figured out how to make the genre interesting again. I’m loving the new Celebration record.

But a band like Baroness is still my ideal in terms of what I want a ROCK-QUA-ROCK band to sound like. Call it ‘metal’ or ‘cock rock’ or whatever. It doesn’t matter to me. I just want to hear people doing funny, amazing, heroic things with the guitar.

A little bit of research suggests that folks jumped ship in the late-’90s because of grunge–context that wasn’t altogether explicit at the time. In a vintage interview with Tim Ross’ excellent Tuba Frenzy, Battles‘ Ian Williams talked a bit about this phenomenon:

“It [meaning Williams' abstract playing in Storm & Stress] might have something to do with grunge and the victory of the loud guitar. There are pretty diminishing returns now with playing loud rock in a 200 capacity club when Bush or whoever does it on MTV to millions. Those claims of being authentic bore people after a while and they start staying home to watch The X Files or going to rockabilly shows which obviously could care less about being real.”

Grunge, after all, was the stuff that inspired Fugazi’s Guy Picciotto to sing, on 1995’s Red Medicine, “I hate the sound of guitars.”

So did Tortoise and all of those folks who proclaimed the death of hard rock. It didn’t die, though, it just went further underground. And the stuff that didn’t–the Arcade Fires and whatever Zach Braff likes–has very little in common with the Polvos and Bitch Magnets of yesteryear.

Here’s a list of my favorite 2007 records by bands that still love the sound of guitar (with links to my writing or other WCP writing where available):

1) Jesu “Conqueror” (Hydra Head)
2) Baroness “The Red Album” (Relapse)
3) Neurosis “Given to the Rising” (Neurot)
4) The End “Elementary” (Relapse)
5) Om “Pilgrimage” (Southern Lord)
6) Austerity Program “Black Madonna” (Hydra Head)
7) Earthless “Rhythms From a Cosmic Sky” (Tee Pee)
Eight) Rwake “Voices of Omens” (Relapse)
9) Witchcraft “The Alchemist” (Rise Above)
10) Torche “In Return” (Robotic Empire)
11) Weedeater “God Luck And Good Speed” (Southern Lord)
12) Asunder “Works Will Come Undone” (Profound Lore)
13) Titan “A Raining Sun of Light and Love, For You and You and You” (Tee Pee)
14) Pig Destroyer “Phantom Limb” (Relapse)
15) Pelican “City of Echoes” (Hydra Head)
16) Deathspell Omega “Fas - Ite, Maledicti, in Ignem Aeternum” (Ajna Offensive)
17) A Life Once Lost “Iron Gag” (Ferret)
18) Watain “Sworn to the Dark” (Season of Mist)
19) The Red Chord “Prey for Eyes” (Metal Blade)
20) Assemble Head in Sunburst Sound “Ekranoplan” (Tee Pee)

In today’s issue of New York Times, Melena Ryzik tries to figure out how much Radiohead fans are willing to pay for the band’s new album, In Rainbows, which is being released online next week for whatever price you want to pay for it.

More than a few sound as if they’re going the cheap route.

On Tuesday Adam Baruchowitz, 34, a magazine business director, was browsing at Other Music, the downtown Manhattan record store. He said he would pay only $5, partly because he believed that Radiohead already had plenty of money.

Note that this guy is an adult and a professional–and presumably paid according to some other reasoning than how much affluence he’s accumulated thus far–not some 19-year-old who’s scrimping to buy much of anything.

I’m wondering if this idea, which is about as revolutionary as tithing, might be better for publicity than remuneration.

On Monday, a day before its official release, I finally received a promo copy of PJ Harvey’s mediocre new album, White Chalk. This promo arrived two and a half months after the album’s release date was announced, one month after I first requested it from the singer-songwriter’s PR firm, and ten days after the same firm told my editor that Harvey’s label, Island, would be mailing promo copies on September 25th.

The package I received was postmarked September 28th.

This incident wouldn’t be such a big deal if it were isolated. But it’s not. Back in the ‘90s, when I started writing about music, major-label PR folks would either be impossible to reach, or they would be competent and professional. But they would never, ever just string me along. Nowadays, the attitude toward anyone who isn’t calling from the New York Times, Rolling Stone, or—chrissakes—Pitchfork is one that is most generously described as arms-length.

This, of course, has everything to do with what one of my colleagues describes as “leak culture,” something that didn’t exist back in November 2000 when WCP ran its last Harvey review. The maddening thing is, I don’t steal music off the Web. Anyone with loose ethics and a good Internet connection can get way more free music than I ever receive in the mail. Major labels, it seems, expect music fans to steal, which is just another reason why they treat you so poorly if you’re not calling from New York Times, Rolling Stone, or—chrissakes—Pitchfork.

Alt-weeklies might be bearing the brunt of this. They certainly can’t beat the blogosphere for the refresh-button newness of “leak culture.” Neither can they turn around, say, a 1,200 word PJ Harvey review in just one day.

I was never one to buy into the sentiment on the old SST bumper sticker that said “Corporate Rock Still Sucks.” (I’ll take Hüsker Dü’s Warehouse Songs and Stories over Zen Arcade any day of the week.) But, given that I’m not going to go trawling for leaks that major labels say they don’t want me to hear, what other conclusion is there?

Dear Sting,

I am in receipt today of a copy of your book, Lyrics by Sting, which was sent to me via your public-relations proxies at the Bantam Dell Publishing Group. I’m was quite struck by your efforts to not only create an index of first lines to all of your songs (”Free, free, set them free”; “Oh! Demolition, demolition”), but to write explanatory notes for many of them. I’m relieved to know that “So Lonely” is indeed about feeling lonely, that “Brand New Day” is about optimism, that the lyrics to “De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da” “weren’t trying to be coherent,” and that “Fields of Gold” is about the “inherently sexy” barley fields that surround the giant castle in which you live.

You tell so much of yourself! “Seeing a wild creature as beautiful as a fox always takes my breath away,” you write of one song. You explain that you were laying in a garden with your beloved and watching the skies when you thought of the key lines to “King of Pain”:

I turned to Trudie. “There’s a little black spot on the sun today.”

She waited expectantly, not really indulging the mood but tolerant.

“That’s my soul up there,” I added gratuitously.

Is there lead in the paint over at Castle Sumner, Sting? Just asking.

I guess I’m not entirely surprised that your book reveals you as a pretentious ass, but I confess I’m disappointed at how much your commentaries ruin your few good songs. “Message in a Bottle,” I learn, was helped to fruition by your dog. “He [the dog] would stare at me with that look of hopeless resignation dogs can have when they’re waiting for their walk in the park. Was it that hopeless look that provoked the idea of the island castaway and his bottle? I don’t know, but the song sounded like a hit the first time we played it.”

If you must continue writing songs, could please at least stop writing about how you wrote them? Thanks.

Andrew Beaujon will no doubt be delighted to learn that my wife is taking me to see Genesis’ “Turn it on Again” tour this Sunday at the Verizon Center. But, if you’re like the rest of the people I’ve told about this generosity, most of you are probably thinking one of two things:

A) Isn’t that sap a sweet guy! Why else would he accompany his wife to see one of the worst bands of all time?

Or…

B) Doesn’t he know that Peter Gabriel isn’t coming?

The latter is more perplexing than the former, because no one I know, other than a pal who used to loan me bootleg videos of the band playing on Scandinavian television, actually gives a crap about Genesis with or without Peter Gabriel (and if they care so much about Peter Gabriel why doesn’t Steve “I was in GTR, bitches” Hackett get any love?).

So, why front? Phil Collins was the Kanye West, 50 Cent, and Kenny Chesney of the early- to mid-eighties: ubiquitous. Unless your parents were classical musicians or Christian fundamentalists who wouldn’t let you listen to pop radio or date, you know “Abacab,” “No Reply at All,” “Invisible Touch,” and “Misunderstanding” just as well as you know, like, the national anthem or “My Humps.”

Yer MTV was actually pretty entertaining last night:

1. That indeed was Clipse standing behind Pharrell during the pregame show. Pusha T and Malice were nowhere to be found later, though. Sigh.
2. Mark Ronson should call his band the Neverending Formula.
3. Dave Grohl should curate a hardcore-and-metal version of All Tomorrow’s Parties.
4. Dr. Dre now has the physique of a superhero, skinny legs and all. Timbaland, on the other hand, is obviously taking workout tips from Aaron Neville.
5. Kanye West is probably still performing this morning, at top volume, in that room at the Palms, with a bunch of passed-out people littering the floor around him, still in their white slatted sunglasses.
6. I had no idea until last night that Pete Wentz is not the lead singer of Fall Out Boy. I am proud of this.
7. You could tell that Diddy was trying not to stare at Alicia Keys‘ butt. Her “Freedom” breakdown was nice, if a bit abrupt.
8. The rapper from Gym Class Heroes chugged a drink instead of giving an acceptance speech. Enjoy it, bro, because in a few years you’ll probably be working at Kinkos. Or hosting an MTV reality show. Same difference.
9. You know you are old when Justin Timberlake starts talking about getting old.
10. Is there a more boring R&B superstar than Rihanna? At least Chris Brown can do mad-crazy headstands. Wait, maybe Akon is more boring than Rihanna. Then again, maybe Amy Winehouse is more boring than all of them. And she didn’t even show up to prove it.

Bonus: It was genius to have Miss Teen South Carolina say the words “Wu Tang Clan.”