Rock’s decline has stars taking final bow
Genre has lost its commercial dominance, so many aging musicians are calling it quits
They’re running scared.
Rock stars, that is, a dying breed of cultural icon once revered for their lives of hedonistic excess and refusal to play by the rules.
“Born To Be Wild.” “Anarchy in the U.K.” “Won’t Get Fooled Again.”
But 60 years after this souped-up hybrid of country and R&B stormed the barricades, its aging progenitors find themselves shut out of the cultural spotlight as hip hop takes the lead, album sales go into decline and legions of loyal followers head to retirement homes.
Never mind, “Hope I die before I get old.”
With the recent glut of rock star deaths, the Who’s famous lyric has been changed to “hope I live long enough to collect my first Social Security cheque.”
First it was Neil Diamond, 77, cutting short his 50th anniversary tour when he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s.
Then it was Elton John, 70, announcing his retirement to spend more time with his kids.
Then came Paul Simon’s admission that, at 76, it was time to throw in the towel on live performances.
And the list goes on: Lynyrd Skynyrd, Aretha Franklin, Ozzy Osbourne, Anita Baker, Slayer.
Maybe they were spooked by the domino-like death sweep that targeted everyone from Prince and David Bowie to George Michael, Tom Petty and Gord Downie in the past two years alone.
Maybe it was getting shut out of this year’s Grammy telecast, being relegated to minor categories such as polka and bluegrass, and having the award for Best Rock Performance go to the late Leonard Cohen.
Maybe they’re having nightmares about AC/DC’s Malcolm Young — diagnosed with dementia — escorted from the concert stage directly to a nursing home (where he died in November).
While it’s not unusual for people in their 60s and 70s to slow down, this trend toward self-imposed exile runs against the image of the defiant, grim-faced rocker keeling over onstage, guitar in hand, giving their life for rock ’n’ roll.
It’s all about hip hop today. And don’t kid yourself; it’s not as if there’s no connection.
To middle-aged rock ears, Cardi B’s “Bodak Yellow” — one of the biggest hits of 2017 — sounds exactly the same as the Sex Pistols’ Never Mind the Bollocks did to the parents of1977: edgy, aggressive, a little scary.
The gulf is huge, and with country music nipping at its heels and gutless crooners such as Ed Sheeran and Shawn Mendes dominating what’s left of mainstream music, there’s no space for those who want to play guitar with their teeth and set the stage on fire.
If I was an aging classic rocker, I, too, would cut and run.
“I feel the travel and time away from my wife and family take a toll that detracts from the joy of playing,” insisted ’60s pop laureate Simon, ending his storied career with a news release and the promise of one final tour.
I had to laugh when I read this. Simon has been married three times, has kids in their 20s and has been on the road for, what, 60 years?
He just realized now, at 76, that heading out on tour puts a damper on his family life? Really? My guess is that, as he inches toward 80, the wistful songwriter is probably frustrated:
“I just released another critically hailed album no one listened to and my last radio hit (‘You Can Call Me Al’) dates back to Ronald Reagan’s second term. Screw this. I’m taking up croquet.”
As for Diamond, his Parkinson’s diagnosis is tragic, but how much do you want to bet he had an exit strategy before his health issues flared up? Ultimately, what they all want is to go out on their own terms. With dignity.
And if the words “final tour” send ticket sales through the roof — how many farewell tours did the Who stage? — so much the better.
Can you blame them? The rock ’n’ roll cheerleaders are gone. Industry support has vanished.
Even classic rock stations are pushing out veteran artists to make way for ’90s grunge.
There are still warhorses carrying the torch, including U2, Guns N’ Roses, Bruce Springsteen, Bob Dylan, Billy Joel, Paul McCartney, the Rolling Stones, playing to people with aching backs whose prostates are acting up.
But because rock music is like the late Rodney Dangerfield — it gets no respect — those performers’ days are numbered. So what’s the future? Indie rock. Holograms. The fuzzy memoirs of undead rock stars. The wax museum-ish Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.
And then there are bands such as Foreigner, happily anonymous, who showed up in Kitchener a couple of years ago — without one original member — keeping the flame alive with no tangible connection to its own past.
“Dude, I service society by rocking,” Jack Black’s rock freak intones with fist-pumping defiance in School of Rock. “I’m out there on the front lines liberating people with my music!”
It’s a sentiment that, like everything else about this increasingly dormant musical genre, will one day be preserved in amber. Joel Rubinoff writes for the Waterloo Region Record. Email him at jrubinoff@therecord.com