In The Endless Refrain (Melville House, Nov.), journalist David Rowell explores how legacy acts are strangling new music.
Can you explain the current nostalgia in pop and rock music?
Some people in the book say music these days is not as good. There was more emphasis on melody and musicianship in the 20th century, so I understand the argument. It’s why, according to Rolling Stone, the biggest band of 2024 is Creedence Clearwater Revival, because they’re selling so many greatest hits albums. But there is still great music being made: Soccer Mommy has really smart music, St. Vincent has a lot of interesting sounds, the National is terrific. People who think there’s no great new music haven’t heard enough to make that sweeping generalization.
Why do people make that generalization?
There’s something about music that makes people less open to it later in life. We make intense emotional connections to songs we heard as teenagers, driving around with friends or playing by the pool; we weren’t dealing with kids or therapy. Consciously or unconsciously, we rule out the possibility that new music could be as meaningful. Also, there are so many things competing for our attention, so much multitasking while we listen, and that keeps us from absorbing a song.
You write that the national playlist is stuck in the 1980s. How did that happen?
There are generations that grew up on MTV. When it started, there weren’t many videos available, so MTV played songs over and over. Even the worst videos—and there were so many terrible videos—hypnotized and conditioned us. Decades later, at Target, you hear Toni Basil’s “Hey, Mickey” or Europe’s “The Final Countdown”—1980s songs that played constantly on MTV. People associate comfort with that. It’s Pavlovian.
Is there some truth to the assumption that old bands don’t write great new songs?
When I think about my favorite groups, what you’re describing is often true. Yet I feel like I owe them an open and honest listen, and sometimes I’m pleasantly surprised. The new Cowboy Junkies album is one of their best, but they aren’t getting media attention anymore. When an old band’s new album doesn’t get attention, there’s a danger in assuming it was bad.
You saw shows fronted by holograms of deceased superstars. How do the undead compare with living bands?
I love spontaneity: the artists respond to each other on stage, the song goes into overdrive, or maybe a singer changes the lyrics. There’s little chance of that at hologram shows. Everything you hear is what you already know. That worries me, this undying devotion to “just the hits.” Bands stop recording new music if no one’s buying. Don’t we want more from an artist than cranking out songs we already know?
