In each of the six decades since the birth of rock and roll, you can
find some magic, and you can shake your head and wonder how anybody could
listen to such rubbish.
But for me, the 70’s is the big enigma.
Some of the best rock, much of it indelibly stamped into the concrete of
our collective consciousness, was made in that decade. And I couldn’t do without it. But it was a confusing decade, one with
little or no direction, a time of extremes and excesses.
Hard rock, prog rock, power pop, funk, metal, disco, jazz fusion, punk, folk-rock,
singer-songwriter … and the leisure suits.
Brother.
The 70’s were not kind to a lot of 60’s icons. The Stones, Clapton, and The Who, for
example, all had their moments, but really they drifted through with mixed results. Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd triumphantly
pushed through, and then collapsed at the finish line. Deep Purple didn’t make it. The Beatles and Hendrix didn’t even get out of
the starting block.
The energy that began as punk and coalesced into New Wave was certainly
welcome. It brought some much-needed
focus to all that aimless thrashing about.
To borrow from Rossini’s invective against Wagner, the 70’s had
wonderful moments, and dreadful quarters of an hour.
No comments:
Post a Comment