I turned the radio off in 1992, shortly after our 3rd national album, Killing Floor, was released; It was a good thing.
In ’92, I also stopped reading pop-press and rock music periodicals, as well. (All the “big ones,” too.)
The lack of journalistic integrity coupled with the ever-present push towards the info-commercial rendered “rock-journalism,” increasingly irrelevant, at least to this reader.
(Perhaps it’s making a come back now? I don’t know.)
As harsh, nay even as “arrogant” as it sounds? When so much of what passes for art opinions are “bought & sold,” I found I don’t really care what the masses are embracing. I could make those preceding words stronger, but you catch my drift.
It’s buried in the old soulish-ness of the archives of the past; the spirit of “the song” unadorned emerging through hardship, woe and joy that captivates me now. (Such soulish energy & transcendence is similar to what I experienced as a kid growing up with a stack of vinyl and a beat up 1930’s Slingerland drum set in a dusty basement in Chapel Hill, NC.)
The “old” songs? They are ever new. Eclipsing space; ascending the confines of time.
You’ll likely find them drenched in uncertainty & but ably tempered with the “tried & true,” the place where lines between “art” and Life dissolve;
Standing the test of time, such songs still extravagantly nurture & reveal.
That’s the work that interest me… ~ Bill Mallonee