I Miss Rocking Out.

Remember when washed out sounds were a novelty? When the wet-effects vocals and echo were a new thing? It felt like summer, the sound and lyrics sticky on your skin and in your ears.

Now, two years later, it's still there. It's the dub-step of indie and it won't go away. It feels as if we have hit the Horse Latitudes of Indie Rock.



"Horse Latitudes?"

Yes. Allow me to explain.




Let's look to our good friend Wikipedia ::
"One theory, of sufficient popularity as to be an example of folk etymology, is that the term horse latitudes originates from when the Spanish transported horses by ship to their colonies in the West Indies and Americas. Ships often became becalmed in mid-ocean in this latitude, thus severely prolonging the voyage; the resulting water shortages made it impossible for the crew to keep the horses alive, and they would throw the dead or dying animals overboard."

That, I feel, is where we currently are when it comes to the state of the Indie Rock genre. We are stuck in a place with low winds, balmy breezes, and no movement. We need to push some of the dead weight off of the ship to make progress. There is an addendum to the etymology of the word, though ::

"However this is extremely unlikely since horses would have been eaten and not thrown overboard."

That'll do fine, too. That is also how music has worked in the past. Once the pool becomes stagnant enough, the animals begin to cannibalize. Sounds, idea, concepts -- everyone works off of one another. In our current state of music, it seems as though in the process of eating one another -- some sickness has been transferred between the bands, keeping the symbiotic washed-out-effects trait dominant. We need this to be a recessive gene to get back to where we once were.



Even if the wet effects were just turned down 4 notches from "15" to "11" -- that'd be a start. Echo effects are not an excuse to play whatever you want and not worry about moving lyricism and technical ability with your instrumentation. But it sometimes feels like that's the direction we are heading towards.



I didn't get involved in music because I like feeling like I'm trapped in some dreamy soundscape 24/7 -- but Indie Rock is my genre. It's the genre that pulled me through many hard times. It's the genre that keeps my feet moving to a drum beat when I'm walking up hills on campus at 7am in the morning. It's what compliments my coffee and goes well with my cigarette. It's what I like. And to see that genre in this shape is a lot like seeing grandma sick in bed and knowing she hasn't got much time. I really want to enjoy our time together before it's over -- but she smells like tuna and coffee-breath.



I grew up to The Strokes, Sleater-Kinney, Sonic Youth, The Pixies, Bikini Kill, Interpol, McLusky, Built to Spill, Sad-Sappy-Sucker era Modest Mouse. And I'm not hearing anything that really reminds me of that kind of sound these days. I dare say that Indie Rock is getting fat. Getting obese on the sweet sugary sounds of dream-pop, echo, and wet effects. And that's no way to live as a genre. You'll have heart problems. That's no good.



What I propose is a diet for Indie Rock.
An exercise regiment for the genre to return it to the formerly noble status that it once held. For Indie Rock to once again be able to bench 400 lbs. of PBR. I want to see that day. I want to live for that day. I want to be part of the night where my feet start moving again to music that I can't stop from shaking me from the spine outward. And each night when I pray to Stephen Malkmus, I ask for the blessing of Elliott Smith - for Sleater-Kinney to reunite - and for Indie Rock to once again find it's spine. To once again be unafraid of being reckless, wild, and willing to shred a guitar. I also ask for the protection of JEFF the Brotherhood -- as they may be one of the last bastions of hope in this desolate Indie Rock atmosphere.



---
I said, "Kiss me, you're beautiful -
These are truly the last days"

You grabbed my hand
And we fell into it
Like a daydream
Or a fever
---

Let's jump into it.


- Matthew Smollon, Indie Rock Cynic