I got a feelin' it didn't come free
I got a feelin' and then it got to me
When you don't feel it it shows they tear out your soul
And when you believe they call it rock and roll
- Spoon, "The Beast and Dragon, Adored"
The most important debate I have ever seen never really took place.
I've lived through what I think is a fair share of presidential elections. While I was too young to remember Bush vs. Mondale, most who do would agree with me when I say that those debates might very well be the ones referred to in that shining jewel of a hook I so artfully constructed. Eh, not so much. I remember Bush vs. Clinton vs. Perot. I remember Clinton vs. Dole. I remember Bush vs. Gore. I remember Bush vs. Kerry. All of these debates, crucial and testing to the mettle of the American electorate, as they forced themselves to sit in front of what must be the most fucking senseless waste of time since
The Cure For Insomnia in some sort of ancient rite of not only proving endurance and fearlessness in the face of such adversity and lobotomizing rhetoric, but also showing that Americans must be the most idiotic optimists in the world when it comes to political arena.
No, the most important debate I ever saw was true grassroots. It showed what the people of this nation thought, felt, tasted, smelled, screwed, shot, snuffed, snorted, drove, danced, slept, ate, metabolized, masticated, sipped, slurped, and addicted themselves to. It was also the single-most engineered piece of crap to ever be pulled over on the American
younguns' since ad
companies decided to appeal to their wallets, instead of their brains, thus creating the oh-so-empty yet oh-so-feared youth demographic.
By the time the Hives vs. Vines phenomenon had run its race through the hearts, minds, ears, airwaves, and pockets of America, something had happened. The feud, the fight between the Hives and the Vines was pretty much
nonexistent from the very beginning. Both were the ten-second darlings of the media during the wonderful days of the garage rock revival in the late 90s, as bitter rivals. The sad thing about it was that the people going out and shelling out cash for these
CDs knew at the very last moment that they had been had.
Sure, there were huge differences between the Hives and Vines to someone who just listened to the singles or the radio. The Hives, to those who grew up in the post-blink-182 world of pop-punk, sounded like some anachronistic prophet of the punk movement from the late 1970s. They sounded gritty, dirty, stripped, and they were infectiously hip and peppy. Throw in the gimmicky yet
wondrously suave suits setup they pulled off, and you have a new
geist in music that is just short of mod, just short of punk, but
deliciously independent of both while being both. They were hyper, happy, and fun. They were Swedes.
The Vines, on the other hand, sounded like the grunge movement, only all grown up. They kept the power of grunge, those mumbled lyrics and over-distorted chords with tons of feedback that seemed like an anthem to God knows how many dissatisfied teens. Where the Hives were making kids jump and dance, the Vines were making them jump up and down and pound their steering wheels while racing around their hometowns in some strange attempt to relive
Fear and Loathing before they had ever even read it. They were somewhat grungy in look, but remarkably clean while still managing to look
urbanite chic with their track jackets and screen shirts at was to be the forefront of a clothing boom before it even happened. They were Aussies.
The two bands, those Hives and Vines, even had their differences carried into their music videos. The Hives went for style and substance, creating videos that I will still swear to this day that Franz Ferdinand simply copied. These videos captured that tingling sort of
energy that never seems to dissipate no matter how many times you listen to it or how many
occasions you dance to it with or without the
assistance of any sort of mind-altering chemical. It's pure garage pop-punk with a mod face. One word:
Bowlcuts. The Vines, on the other hand, had videos that had tons of violence. Either at the hand of Thor via lightning strikes that destroyed the band or through the most insanely-jacked up PCP addicts in a mosh pit ever, they had pure destructive rage and anger. If anything, they had this strength of youth dynamic to their stuff. They were having fun. Partying. No ties or business to take care of, unlike those damn Hives. To the whole world (at least the part that cared), it seemed like the Hives and Vines were polar opposites.
The highly-musically-aware were thrilled. Finally, a true rock feud in our day and age. Sure, there had been Slayer vs.
Metallica. There had been Simon vs.
Garfunkel (
teehee). There had been Ozzy vs. Alcoholics
Anonymous. That was old stuff, from the generations prior that had managed to survive the throes that inevitably come with the cresting of the massive waves that are new generations. The flotsam left behind by these massive, yet all too
uninfluetial, bodies in the end left some relics on the beach to be examined and drug behind by some sunburned baby from climes and locales far from the site. That is what we were. Yes, we. I was one of these people who wanted this feud. I wanted to see a modern Beatles vs. Stones. Stones vs. Who. Who vs. Zeppelin. Page vs. Plant. Rockers vs. Mods. Metal vs. Punk. Pop vs. Grunge. This set me on fire. I was far too invested in this crap than I should have been considering all the problems I had with my high school years (Who am I kidding, I had no problems at school).
See, when you have few friends in high school and musical artists say what you're thinking better than you ever hope to (they still do, actually), you tend to get irrationally consumed in what little tidbits of musical news reach
you from the outside world. Sure, there was the WWW. But, when
dialup was the weapon of choice for
ISPs and South Arkansas was your home, something as big as the Hives vs. Vines made you absolutely tremble in a way that Moses bashing the hell out of that golden calf did. You could almost feel the same heat and light as for the first time, you felt like you were a part of something (Fuck elections, man. This is
music!)
The climax, that explosive moment of sheer energy and passion that was the confrontation between the two bands came on the MTV Video Music Awards in 2002. The Hives started first, with a
performance that was ripped straight from
How to Please a Crowd: The Ultimate Handbook for Bands by one Iggy Pop. All it lacked was some self-fondling under pants and crowd walking. And cutting. And rolling in honey. Okay, so it was Iggy-
esque. The Vines....went nuts. If I had known at the time that their lead singer, Craig
Nicholls, had
Asperger's Syndrome I might not have been surprised at how he acted or why he just started screaming nonstop instead of actually trying to sing. I just through they were a horrible live band. No, not horrible. Too often people describe a band that refuses to meet the crystal perfection of their albums with repetition of its caliber over and over again as bad. Different. Live. Powerful. Strong.
It was a huge disappointment, for me. About two weeks before the much-hyped battle of the bands, I had bought the Hives CD in Little Rock on a field trip. As I listened to both of the
CDs I became more and more convinced that instead of two different bands with two distinct groups of fans who would love to just go for the jugular instead of to a concert the Hive and Vines would just be a mediocre musical Janus. Not to say the bands were mediocre, but that the attempt to turn these two sides of the same movement into
separate entities were almost as shoddy as fans limited recognition of it. It was a bust. It was a disappointment. I'm not going to wax melodramatic here and say it was the end of the world. Not at all. As involved as I was with music and that particular incident, it wasn't nearly as disheartening as my proms or even my entire senior year. It was just a disappointment was all.
And that's why I vote.
