Discuss
Reunited and it feels so good
If it makes their fans happy, old bands have every right to tour
By Joan Anderman, Globe Staff | July 24, 2005
The de rigueur response to news of yet another rock band reunion is a snarky remark about greedy has-beens and aging boomers tripping lamely down memory lane.
For some, the mere thought of a Styx reunion is offensive. Granted, there are degrees of offense. Mission of Burma is cool, mostly because they were never famous and according to the convoluted logic of pop culture, commercial irrelevance equals integrity. Pink Floyd was weird and important enough in its heyday to warrant consideration in any era. Journey, however, is not OK, and neither are the Doobie Brothers.
Word that Loggins and Messina are, at 57, serenading sold-out crowds of suburban parents and their children this summer is greeted by many with a weary roll of the eyes, as if someone had just pointed out a stain on a new garment. Apparently, two guys with guitars singing songs that make lots of people very happy is a problem. So is the fact that they're being paid handsomely for their work.
What haughty hipsters forget is that playing music is a skill, and being in a band is a job. Would it be wrong for a lawyer to return to the firm following a midcareer hiatus? Could anyone blame a retired mail carrier, faced with mounting bills, for trying to get his route back? Yet if a musician past his prime (which in the music business is 23, give or take six months) aspires to make an honest buck, he's a sellout.
''I think people misunderstand that aspect of show business," says Frank Black, frontman for the Pixies, which launched a warmly received reunion tour more than a year ago. ''They don't get how much in the real world we are. The four of us are playing shows, and we earn a fee like anyone else."
Thirteen years after breaking up, the Pixies still sound great. But in some cases talent wanes with time, and I'm not suggesting that every band that ever had a whiff of appeal should be welcomed back with open arms. For my money, Journey shouldn't be allowed on a stage. For that matter, neither should the pale, fragmented imitation of a once-great band called the Beach Boys.
The point is, it's not about my money or even my taste, which is a counterintuitive thing for a critic to say.
In economic terms, the recent surge in rock band reunions is about a huge and lucrative market for nostalgia. There are big bucks to be made from repackaging the soundtrack to someone's youth. Unfortunately, big business is often plagued by inadequate quality control, and one could argue that ears and wallets have suffered in the rush to satisfy demand.
Exhibit A: Herman's Hermits are on the road.
But that argument only satisfies the self-anointed elite who probably can't remember the last time they blissed out at a live show. A concert is a base and elemental experience -- we feel pleasure at hearing music. But it's also complicated and mysterious, a sensory mash-up of memory and anticipation and reverie. Why should a fan of Marshall Tucker or Tears for Fears or Cream be denied?
By the same token, why should an artist?
''It's powerful and healing for me to remember a time when I was in love, optimistic, 10 feet tall, and bulletproof," says Kenny Loggins, who reunited with Jim Messina last year after a 29-year split. ''There's value in allowing people to go back, if only as an escape from whatever sadness is in our lives or in our society."
If those sound like the corny sentiments of an over-the-hill troubadour, consider the words of Lou Barlow, bassist and cred-heavy tastemaker from Sebadoh, Folk Implosion, and the recentlyreunited Dinosaur Jr.
''I'd almost forgotten where I came from," Barlow says. ''To go back and study something I was so devoted to feels really relevant to me."
The idea that something old -- a song, a singer, a fan -- can be relevant goes against the grain of our future-forward, youth-obsessed mentality. What's really odd is that the nostalgia industry is thriving within a pop culture that's consumed with the mindless pursuit of the new. Maybe the takeaway message is that the distinction is pointless. A good tune is a good tune whether it was written yesterday or in 1985 or 200 years ago. Look at all those orchestras that still cover Beethoven. Moreover, a bad song, or even a bad band, can be a fine thing when it brings people to their feet.
I say, let them eat Styx.
Joan Anderman can be reached at anderman@globe.com.
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