It Never Entered My Mind

Heather and I had just driven over the Brooklyn Bridge and were entering the East Village. Catching a light, we were caught between the excitement of inadvertantly driving over the bridge and fighting about getting lost on our way to Battery Park. Patient as ever, our son in the back looked out the window into a vast, unknown world. As our car wound down the off-ramp and into the Village, we caught a red light and waited. All the time, we had a brand new cd in the stereo; neither of us were really listening as we struggled to make sense of our location, stressed about taking longer than we wanted to reach our destination and tense as driving in New York is about, well the dumbest thing one can do. I found myself, though, at the light, with a little breather, a little quiet, watching the working suits crossing the street and I realized that this was playing. It Never Entered My Mind that the mass movement of humanity in a crowded, impersonal and artificial world could flow so seemlessly. Like a scene from a film, I captured a half-minute of busy working-day life for a group of people I'll never know and I gave them a soundtrack for my visit. While the light turned green and we delivered our little car into the center of the Village in order to find Washington Square and NYU, I realized just how peaceful chaos can truly be. The rest of our driving experience mellowed and I stopped being irate at my passengers; I don't think I've ever been tense or angry at my family since that red light four weeks ago. Red Garland's building arpeggios with Paul Chambers sparse bass notes create a tranquil environment for Philly Joe's percussive accents. All of this waits for Miles' muted trumpet lines, so calm and soothing. It Never Entered My Mind that music so dated and distant from my life could be the song of comfort and familiarity. This is the quintessential song of what is becoming the greatest album of my collection; "Workin' With Miles Davis" from fifty years ago this week is the essence of group collaboration; each musician feeding off one another and the whole building each song to its creative fullest. For every time I press play on this album, that mass of people crossing the street do so in half-time in my mind, the city and its inhabitants becoming one organic and freely flowing singular unit. If I remember nothing else of our trip, I have that thirty seconds.

Lefty Brown's blog about classic albums nearly created a riot in my mind. Just what makes a "classic" recording? Or, for that matter, a piece of music defining its time? Is "Frampton Comes Alive" classic or indulgent tripe? Or both? Is the popular music scene so splintered today that there can be no such thing as a recognizable "classic" album of this decade without that piece of work being so commercialized and mainstream? Does mainstream mean sellout?

I'm interested as I give my students in my rock history course an assignment. They're to pick an artist from the last quarter century (for cripe's sake, that's 1981 onward!!!!) that is most due for induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. I've found myself wondering which artist or band I'd induct. Granted, there are already some great bands that have made it in since Reagan's inaugural - U2, The Pretenders, but what bands, new and worthy, have come our way over the last twenty-five years? So many are up for disqualification as either being one-hit wonders or band stuck in their respective eras and not successfully making it into "true" legacy status. R.E.M.? I'd like to see them nominated and yet they commercially crashed in the early nineties. The Smiths? Possibly. Any of the Brit-pop/New Wave bands? Depeche Mode and New Order come to mind. If Prince isn't in already, he's a shoo-in the immediate second he becomes eligible. While we can cheat ourselves ahead, what about bands from the nineties? Of course, Nirvana's a given. Should the Smashing Pumpkins be inducted? If Jane's Addiction never makes it, Perry Ferrell should be for his genesis of Lollapalooza. The Chili Peppers are reaching their induction year and should rightfully enter. Metallica (80s, too) as well. I'd throw Pearl jam in there as well. Alanis Morissette? Spare us, though that first album sold a hell of a lot of records. Phish is deserving, though no other bands from that scene are worthy, even though the String Cheese Incident had a good run and Widespread Panic still has its followers. Will Gov't Mule ever get the recognition it deserves, or should Bruce and James Brown get bumped aside so that the HoF can dedicate an entire wing to Warren Haynes as the hardset working man in rock music? Will Ryan Adams be seen as a visionary or a snotty nosed alt.country punk who couldn't create an original piece of music without sounding twenty-five years older than the recording dates? I understand my audience of three will contemplate this question to great depths but no one else will read this. What are your thoughts, guys? Your musical palates are possibly more diverse at this juncture; I'm listening to more jazz than I've done so in my life and you amaze me with your discoveries of new music all the time. Wow me.

Back to Miles, if you don't mind. I'm waiting for the light to turn.