In the too-quiet parts of my life, mostly just in my car, I find myself yearning for new music. I yearn so much that I might be straining a muscle or two. I yearn not for new the latest electronic art music or the newest psychedelic symphony, or the coolest new synthpop sound. I yearn for rock music, just rock music. When I yearn, I search my collection for just the right sound, skipping past almost everything just to find an album or two that recaptures the feel of, say, Iggy and the Stooge’s “Search and Destroy” or Fishbone’s version of “Freddie’s Dead” or anything by Les Breastfeeders. Nothing too fancy, just the sonic equivalent of galloping across the ranch on your best horsey friend.
Alas, when I look for new music, I find very little of that. Sure, it exists, but I’m not seeing it. I’ve had some success including a couple sloppy garage rock recommendations from a Lego-aficionado (Oblivians and The Jim Jones Revue) or an EP bought because Sir Hubner raved about the band (No Joy). Instead, I find other really excellent music that doesn’t rock as hard or ingeniously layers complexity on top of subtlety.
I want new music suitable for the drive home, just as rush hour traffic breaks up and just before the sun sets over the mountains. I want it to match the blue collar feel of the industrial areas along my drive or the pent up energy of racing motorcycles held back to street-legal speed. I want something I can sing along with or, better yet, add simple harmonies to simple choruses. I want it to feel like Sammy Hagar’s “I Can’t Drive 55” first felt to adolescents without driver’s license. I don’t even need air guitar fuel, just rock music.
Is that asking too much?