Introduce Yourself
 
I feel about rock music the way Richard Dreyfuss feels about a plate of mashed potatoes. This is important. This means something. Much like Richard Dreyfuss, I don’t know exactly what it means, or why it’s important. Turns out he was abducted by aliens. Aliens who, by no small coincidence, were obsessed with music as well (Although it wasn’t really rock music. More like folk. And electronica. The kind of stuff they play on NPR in the afternoon.). I can’t blame aliens for my deal (I’m pretty sure).
 
The question for me, dear readers, is not then “is rock music important?”, but rather “ why is rock music important?” Why is it important to me and to most of the people I know? Why is it important to American culture, both now and in the past? Will it always be important? Is thinking about it and writing about it inherently not rock and roll? I guess what I want to write about is why and how music is affective.
 
So I thought to myself: “Self, where should I start?”
 
And I answered: “At the beginning.”
 
“And where might that be?”
 
“Uh, I dunno. tell the nice people about yourself.”
 
“Isn’t that self-indulgent and probably boring?”
 
“Yeah, probably is. You got a better idea?”
 
“No, probably not. Hey, isn’t this conversation-with-myself thing kinda stupid and tiresome?
 
“Yeah, I guess so. Well, we’re off to a good start...”

My name is Anthony Eldridge. I am 26, live in Columbus, Ohio, play bass, and buy more records than your average person does (but not as many as some). I own records by obscure bands like Mogwai and Godspeed You! Black Emperor (or wherever they’re putting that stupid exclamation point this week), but haven’t heard a single note from other obscure bands like Cursive or The Stills (or The Thrills, or Kills or any other goddamn bands that rhyme with “Ills”).
 
My indie rock cred being somewhat set, I’d like to point out that I don’t like snobbery in music.  I hate the idea that some music is hip and some is not, but I still do get wrapped up in it from time to time. For example, I can’t decide if I like The Strokes or not. Part of me wants to love them because they’re not Creed or Limp Bizkit, and I know for certain that I don’t like Creed or Limp Bizkit. But part of me doesn’t like them because they’re from New York and wear nasty old suits, go out with Drew Barrymore, and seem oh-so-perfectly hip. In fact, I hate the fact that they’re hip, but maybe it’s because they are nothing like the bands I would decide were hip if I were given such responsibility. Or maybe it’s because I’m nothing like them: I’m an overweight mid-western guy whose father worked for AT&T instead of running a modeling agency and I don’t have a cool name like Julian or Fab. But then again, at the same time, “Hard to Explain” was a fucking great song. And any band that’s tight with Guided by Voices (from Ohio!) has to be pretty good. So there it is. The media has me so turned around that I can’t be okay with a band being okay. In other words, I need music to mean so much that it means too much. A band can’t just be okay, it has to have a significance beyond the songs it plays.
 
Music is the only art form that seems to elicit such allegiance from its audience. People ground their appearances, language, and sense of cultural identity in music - especially in a large, fragmented culture like America’s. And that, my friends, is the macro theme of this column. What is the meaning of pop music in America? Can music be enjoyed for what it is? Or is the image of music constructed by the media overshadowing everything to the point that we cannot take it at face (sound?) value? Am I just thinking about it too much? I don’t know. But we’ll listen to some tunes and kick this shit around, and hopefully we’ll find out.

Anthony Eldridge is a new contributor to the footnote. We really like his style (and he brought us beer when he visited the office), so look for his "No Action" to become one of the regulars next month!