WHY DO I BOTHER?
- Bill Holmes
I don't know any better, really. When I was young enough that standing in the crib was an accomplishment, my Mom would put the radio on to help keep me amused while she ironed, dusted, or whatever stay-at-home Moms did back in the day. She must have noticed something, because I have 45's that date back to those pre-toddler days, and I remember them vividly. "Little Star", by The Elegants, was the first, and it's still one of my favorite songs. Thousands of records and... and... (gulp...I don't want to total the dollars!)... well, years later, I still have a voracious appetite for sounds.
Growing up in the sixties and seventies in and around New York, my formal schooling was mirrored culturally by the classic AM jocks like Murray The K, Cousin Bruce Morrow and Dandy Dan Daniels. When I hipped to the FM dial, the baton was picked up by Scott Muni, Alison Steele ("The Nightbird") and Vin Scelsa, The Last Man Standing. Hearing the new singles and albums break the airwaves was a rush, and buying the latest sides was an event. I remember huddling with friends over everything from the latest Beatles and Stones singles to albums from Hendrix, Black Sabbath and Cream. Radio meant exposure to Motown and bubblegum pop, blues rock and surf music, progressive pomp and flowery singer-songwriter sides. Admittedly, it was a magical time. Think about the geniuses that competed for air time in the late sixties - Dylan, Lennon/McCartney, Brian Wilson, Ray Davies, Smokey Robinson, Marvin Gaye, Holland/Dozier/Holland, Jagger/Richards. I could drop twenty more names with ease.
Many people abandon their passion for music when they graduate school, get married, get a "real job". Or perhaps their "passion" is only a temporary burst when the music lingers in their psyche, before it dwindles into background noise, where it shall forever remain. I just don't understand that transition, for although my life is and has been grounded, there has never been a moment when music has not been as important to me as breathing. I've spent most of my life trying to share the pleasure music has given me. It's an emotional roller coaster, a drug, a confessor, a best pal and the soundtrack to a broken heart. It's ALIVE. It's boundless. And most importantly, it's a highly subjective art form, with the ability to appeal, at some level, to everyone, if given the chance.
The byproduct of all this invested passion is that I have watched countless worthy artists toil in obscurity, as the corporate atmosphere continues to use demographics, shareholder profits and plain old greed to suck every altruistic blood cell from what once was art. There's an entire generation of listeners who cannot visualize the meaning of a song without a video. With AM radio devoid of sounds and FM radio tightly wound, those who know no better juggle the few songs that the powers that be select for them. What once was a stallion on a vast, uncharted landscape is now a trotter horse wearing blinders.
So why do I bother?
Anger, frustration and bitterness didn't help me push John Hiatt or Rory Gallagher or Matthew Sweet into the public eye any sooner than they got there; those emotions are helpless and weak. But the written word is a powerful weapon. If I can do the legwork, scour the magazines, surf the websites and turn over every stone looking for worthwhile music, and then communicate my discoveries and impressions in a cohesive and honest way, then someone WILL get it. And if those people who get it, in turn, play those songs or talk about those bands...hell, START a band...then the music is alive.
And I know how to look, because when I see the offerings I am handed, I know what I am missing. I once had an aural encyclopedia on my radio dial, and that has been taken from me. But like the book-readers in Fahrenheit 451, even if it means starting over with the most basic of tools - passing the word - I must do it. The tools are there for anyone with two ears and a heart to discover a global community of wonderful music beyond the standard menu choices. I'm willing to forge ahead on behalf of those who need proof, and find those records and artists, and hold them aloft in my hands like so many jewels salvaged from the bottom of the murky ocean. And when I do, I know that the next time some of you will have already jumped in without being pushed. And some of you will share your treasures with me, and we'll sit around some virtual living room, reveling in the beauty and the energy and the emotion that music brings, and we will look at each other with that warm, knowing smile as another timeless moment is added to our lives. And as much as I will do it for you, I will continue to do it for me, too. I have to.
And that's why I bother.
