It is a tagline, nothing more. Plenty of people have signature quotes or phrases standard at the end of their email formats. They come from philosophers, poets, novelists, songwriters, historians, friends and family members. They are poignant, profound, ridiculous, revealing. I never anticipated the question mark punctuating mine would transform it from a simple tagline into a survey.
During a typical class period last semester, my French professor got on one of his many tangents. This one happened to center around jam sessions, with his commenting on the affect of a particular drummer, a fellow who needed to know if his accompanying musicians wanted a beat that rocked or grooved. It made a difference to the drummer. It made a difference to the whole direction of the jam's sound. The demeanor with which Professor Deitz delivered the situation — slightly exasperated, slightly demanding, wholeheartedly wanting to get rolling — struck me as comical. The phrases made it to my quote book. Then they made it to my email signature.
And the question mark punctuating the first line transformed it from a simple tagline into a very nonscientific, yet rather insightful, pseudo-survey. Rarely has a musician responded. Rarely has anyone involved in the local music scene — whether covering it or creating it — addressed the inquiry. On the other hand, professors, classmates, potential future employers, people I hardly know at all — people who perhaps I should not send emails to with such an informal, unprofessional ending — find themselves compelled to tell me exactly which they prefer.
Hands down, people want to rock. It makes sense, with the copious amounts of rock subgenres developed and deconstructed, mixed and mingled over the years. People can rock in pop fashion, indie, punk, garage, grunge, arena, acoustic or folk. They rock hard or rock soft, rock classically or psychedelically. The music industry caters to all kinds.
While my results have thus far given a high yield of rockers, there are a few who want to groove, one who doesn't understand why we cannot have a little of both and another who inquired whether or not there might be any other options. Not being a drummer, not being a musician of any kind unless you count playing the recorder in grammar school — which I do not, under any circumstances — I am uncertain as to whether there is another method for laying the groundwork beats to a jam session.
What I do know is that when my current oscillation from grooving to rocking took place, I found myself in good company. I had a lovely run with the jazziness, the hip-hopiness. I rode out a long stint of preferring the soulfulness, the sensuality and the chill of a grooving beat. It will always hold a special place in the musical chambers of my heart.
But I now find myself ready to rock out, at any cost. My generally harbored tenacity for lyricism has been thrown overboard. For as many times as I have pressed the repeat button on Cats Not Dogs' debut, Rouge, you might expect me to be able to sing along. Not the case, not the case at all. More often than not, I only have vague conceptions of what frontman Jason Loeffler is shouting about. But the sounds supporting his vocabulary are raw and messy, rocking just right. My previously held preference for calmness has been thrown aside. Give me some loud assaulting drums from Meg White. Let me listen to some suggestively intense basslines from Nikolai Fraiture, some precisely ferocious riffs from Matthew Followill.
Not surprisingly, the return to rock really took hold of me at the High Noon — where all good music revelations seem to find me. The evening brought my first taste of the Madison-based Screamin' Cyn Cyn and the Pons. To say the least, they were crude, they were loud and they definitely made some heads roll.
More importantly, the evening set in motion this particular rock-dominated phase with the subsequent sounds that came from the Dials — not to be confused with Montreal's the High Dials, who have done some excellent rocking in their own right around Madison in the past few months. Coming out of Chicago, the Dials brought a power-pop rock fierceness reminiscent of the clean vocals, crisp instrumentation and infectious "danceability" of the B-52s as they promoted their November-released debut, Flex Time.
The suggestive lyrics and the carefree sounds of vocals from bassist Rebecca Crawford and guitarist Patti Gran, the innovation of Emily Dennison on the farfisa and the answer to the call for the rock beat from drummer Doug Meis simply stole me from the groove world. And I was sent a-spinning — rather literally for the evening and very figuratively ever since. One can never experience too much rock.
Yet with each and every email I send, the question still punctuating the bottom horizon of the page, I wonder about that singular comment meshing the rock with the groove. Did rock not spring forth from the loins of the blues? How many sounds are actually pure, isolated representations of one or the other? Can anyone draw the definitive line, which would characterize one band as predominately rocking and another as primarily grooving?
As I prep myself for what will undoubtedly be the best opener for a new season of music coming to Madison venues, I have become especially confounded by the blurred lines. On her most recent album Let It Die, Feist seductively grooves. Read any reviews of her recent tour stops and rumor runs rampant that she effortlessly transforms those tracks into rock anthems.
Apparently one can have a little of both. The oscillating cycle need not take weeks or months to complete. Groove for three minutes, rock the next two and a half. Swing your hips for a couple choruses, then flair your arms for some verses.
Perhaps the tagline should undergo a transformation, perhaps the question need be more confrontational than inquisitive: "Can you groove and rock?" (You do not have to tell me).
Christine Holm is a senior majoring in English and Psychology. Questions? Comments? Want to talk music with her? Reach Christine at [email protected].
