April 2, 2003

The Litter Box

AND SO IT came to pass in the spring of aught-two that, when one surveyed the musical landscape, little had changed for the better. This was shortly after the "garage rock revival" was rechristened by the powers that be with the snappier, more marketing-friendly moniker "new rock." Boy bands had become self-styled soul artists, and half-naked teen girls still roamed the charts with light-hearted songs that suggested they might actually put out. These developments, though frightening in concept and practice, were of no real consequence. Like Republicans, fruit flies, and sausage patties, the modern pop singer is a minor annoyance subject to easy dismissal. What made this particular year so disappointing was unfulfilled expectations. This was to have been the year that rock and roll assumed its rightful place on the throne of popular music. Popular music was headed back to the future with loud guitars and a strong backbeat leading the way. Music would be revitalized and ready for the next 20 years. And then, after People and Rolling Stone name-dropped the Velvet Underground and Television, and after a couple of bands with nice hair and forgettable songs stole the hearts of the Brits, the whole deal went phutz. Which isn't to suggest there weren't plenty of bands out there trying. You couldn't swing a dead cat around by the tail at the Great American Music Hall without hitting some Scandinavian next big thing. But, despite the predictions and promises of the hip tastemakers and pulse takers, there remained a palpable sense of dissatisfaction with, if not outright disinterest in, "new rock."

Meanwhile, somewhere in North Carolina, around Raleigh, Durham, and Chapel Hill, four guys who knew better were putting the finishing touches on their answer to the latest almost-rage. Having played through punk as it came and went, through new wave and at least two garage revivals, the Fleshtones, now in their 26th year of "retro" rocking, figure they're once again in a prime position to be overlooked by the masses. And they're correct. There's no way a self-respecting A&R person with an expense account and a job to save is going to take a chance on an aging party band. So the 'Tones will have to settle for the personal satisfaction of being America's greatest living rock and roll band, even if the job isn't all it's cracked up to be.

The funny thing is, if more bands had followed their lead (and I don't mean the way the Hives ripped off the Fleshtones' patented "power stance" move during shows), the revival, or whatever you want to call it, might have caught on. Instead, too many bands spent too much time trying to pass as cooler-than-you or just copying the heroes they initially set out to pay respects to. So while everyone agrees that rock is stale and in dire need of a kick in the keister (a stance the Fleshtones have maintained since 1977), nobody is willing to reach beyond a basic formula that is supposed be commercially successful. Cynical? Shmynical. Go ahead, try and defend The Soundtrack of Our Lives without mentioning '70s FM radio, or the Mooney Suzuki without dropping the MC5. And this is "new rock"? If it isn't blatant, it's either boring or it's bad.

The point is, the upcoming Fleshtones album Do You Swing? (due April 12 on YepRoc!) is everything "new rock" seems incapable of being: honest and fun. It nods to the exalted past without being reverential, and it's staggering in its simplicity, an off-the-cuff concentration of the history of rock and roll. Swing is a fantastic collage of everything that's good about rock music, and at the same time, it exposes the band's commercial Achilles heel. The Fleshtones' steadfast refusal to adhere to one style or follow trends has come at a cost. When punk and new wave blew up, they were dismissed as a dumb frat band. When the '80s garage revival took off, they were accused of not being authentic enough. During the '90s they were so far out in left field that most people just forgot about them, even though they were making excellent music. Today, as another new trend gets ready to blow through, you just know they'll be overlooked again – dismissed as not heavy enough, ignored for having the wrong haircut or whatever it is you need to qualify for membership in the club. But what can you expect from a band that relishes Sylvester's "Do You Wanna Funk" as much as the Sonics' "Boss Hoss"? What makes the Fleshtones so endearing is the way they take the essence of rock and roll and apply it to whatever floats their boat. It's the same anything-goes quality that made rock's early days so thrilling – everything that's missing from today's would-be-contenders.

Another summer is almost upon us, and with it comes the unsettling feeling that, no matter how much backing Little Steven Van Zandt is willing to provide, rock's new emperor has no clothes. Meanwhile, the tired, old kings of super rock have shown all of us how it should have been done in the first place.