After my incredibly snobby post about good art, I've been starting to think of myself as something of a hypocrite (yeah, huge revelation there). Because, as much as I'm all about finding good art with “substance,” I more than frequently indulge myself in cheesy, light, feel-good stuff that doesn't make me think, only makes me smile. I indulged in this brand of sugar-coated entertainment just last night, and it was a lot of fun. I have no regrets.
Last night, I saw Air Supply in concert. Some of you may never have heard of them (shame on you!), but I'd bet money you've heard their music. That's because they wrote many of the songs that form the backbone of every “light adult contemporary” radio station, including “I'm All Out of Love,” “Making Love Out of Nothing at All,” “Lost in Love,” “The One That You Love,” “The Power of Love,” and, of course, “How Many Times Can I Say The Word Love in One Song?” Ok, so that last one is made up. I'd place them in the same category as Chicago and the Moody Blues: cheesy white people music that somehow became mixed up in my childhood. Is Air Supply's music of dubious artistic quality? I think my friend Nick would say yes. And I would agree. But I'll tell you what, I didn't let that stop me from having a good time. It was good to get off my artistic high horse for once.
Frankly, part of the fun, however, was in that I knew how silly and uncool the whole thing was, like I was flying right in the face of modern musical tastes. I'm much more indulgent to light entertainment from twenty or thirty years ago than of to its equivalent of today. You know how I like to be the rebel.
I did not go alone, however. That would just be weird. I took my mom (it's her birthday this week!) and my friend Spencer, who nearly had a heart attack when I asked him if he wanted to come along.
“Air Supply? AIR SUPPLY?” he shrieked, wildly, “Are you freakin' KIDDING? Wild rabid dogs with machine guns couldn't keep me away!” Well, he said something like that. The point is, he wanted to come - somehow, I suspected he would.
Spencer more than outmatched me in terms of enthusiasm for the whole thing, which really added to the pleasure of the concert. My mom seemed to enjoy watching her son and his buddy, both in their mid-20s and way below the mean age of Air Supply's target demographic, swaying with the music and singing along at the top of our voices.
The Air Supply guys were really showing their age, but managed to put on a solid show nevertheless. They were going to prove that old guys still know how to rock! Unfortunately, their music does not "rock" or even do anything more than sway gently, so most people remained unconvinced. However, we loved it for what it was. And, all things considered, they were enjoyable to watch. You have to admire that kind of passion poured into a song they've been singing every day for thirty years. Russell Hitchcock's voice is still as smooth and piercingly charming as ever. They really played to the crowd, who were more than appreciative, and seemed to enjoy the attention and adoration just a little too much.
Which really got me thinking about fame and celebrity. Most of the people crowding the stage and begging for autographs (seriously) were kids in their teens who probably had never heard of Air Supply before that night. But it didn't matter – we worship celebrity in our society (its the state religion) and even though these guys were well past their hey-day, icons of a previous by-gone generation, there was still enough fame there that it drew instant admirers like moths to a flame, especially in a remote, rather backwards little town like Orem (come on, admit it). When they came down into the audience during one song, they were mobbed with people begging for handshakes, hugs, a picture, anything to connect themselves with that most sacred of qualities: fame.
We stayed put, since we had come to hear the band and enjoy the music, not worship the musicians. I'm not sure I would ever want to enter the realms of mainstream celebrity – fortunately, thats not in my list of career goals. I would hate to become so famous that I personally overshadowed any of the work I was trying to do. I want my career to be about the art and the characters I play, not about me.
When you see Tom Cruise in a movie, you don't think “Wow, this character is really conflicted and, in so many ways, reminds me of myself in a very moving and thought-provoking way,” even if he's doing a really good job acting (unlikely, but possible)! No, you just think, “Wow, that's Tom Cruise! What a weirdo! Seriously, what's up with all that scientology junk?” For the serious artist (which probably rules out Tom anyway), this is a big problem.
But here I go being all snobby again. For now, I'll just need to enjoy the fact that, for the rest of my life, I'll be abler to remember seeing Graham Russell, in person, saying some of the most delicious tripe I've ever heard: “Beautiful music... where does it come from? It falls from the heavens like crystal rain, it carries you away to far-off mountain, and you stand on a precipice and look at the world.... And you see her, the goddess of love. In her hands she holds the white dove of peace... and she lets it go, and it flys away into the heavens and reminds us all of the power of love....” It just doesn't get any better than that.
Air Supply is just one of my many "guilty pleasures." Another is the movie "Hello, Dolly!" with Barbara Streisand. There, I've admitted it. What are your guilty pleasures? I'd love to know, and it feels really good when you finally get it out there. Come on, I won't make fun of you.
Last night, I saw Air Supply in concert. Some of you may never have heard of them (shame on you!), but I'd bet money you've heard their music. That's because they wrote many of the songs that form the backbone of every “light adult contemporary” radio station, including “I'm All Out of Love,” “Making Love Out of Nothing at All,” “Lost in Love,” “The One That You Love,” “The Power of Love,” and, of course, “How Many Times Can I Say The Word Love in One Song?” Ok, so that last one is made up. I'd place them in the same category as Chicago and the Moody Blues: cheesy white people music that somehow became mixed up in my childhood. Is Air Supply's music of dubious artistic quality? I think my friend Nick would say yes. And I would agree. But I'll tell you what, I didn't let that stop me from having a good time. It was good to get off my artistic high horse for once.Frankly, part of the fun, however, was in that I knew how silly and uncool the whole thing was, like I was flying right in the face of modern musical tastes. I'm much more indulgent to light entertainment from twenty or thirty years ago than of to its equivalent of today. You know how I like to be the rebel.
I did not go alone, however. That would just be weird. I took my mom (it's her birthday this week!) and my friend Spencer, who nearly had a heart attack when I asked him if he wanted to come along.
“Air Supply? AIR SUPPLY?” he shrieked, wildly, “Are you freakin' KIDDING? Wild rabid dogs with machine guns couldn't keep me away!” Well, he said something like that. The point is, he wanted to come - somehow, I suspected he would.
Spencer more than outmatched me in terms of enthusiasm for the whole thing, which really added to the pleasure of the concert. My mom seemed to enjoy watching her son and his buddy, both in their mid-20s and way below the mean age of Air Supply's target demographic, swaying with the music and singing along at the top of our voices.
The Air Supply guys were really showing their age, but managed to put on a solid show nevertheless. They were going to prove that old guys still know how to rock! Unfortunately, their music does not "rock" or even do anything more than sway gently, so most people remained unconvinced. However, we loved it for what it was. And, all things considered, they were enjoyable to watch. You have to admire that kind of passion poured into a song they've been singing every day for thirty years. Russell Hitchcock's voice is still as smooth and piercingly charming as ever. They really played to the crowd, who were more than appreciative, and seemed to enjoy the attention and adoration just a little too much.
Which really got me thinking about fame and celebrity. Most of the people crowding the stage and begging for autographs (seriously) were kids in their teens who probably had never heard of Air Supply before that night. But it didn't matter – we worship celebrity in our society (its the state religion) and even though these guys were well past their hey-day, icons of a previous by-gone generation, there was still enough fame there that it drew instant admirers like moths to a flame, especially in a remote, rather backwards little town like Orem (come on, admit it). When they came down into the audience during one song, they were mobbed with people begging for handshakes, hugs, a picture, anything to connect themselves with that most sacred of qualities: fame.
We stayed put, since we had come to hear the band and enjoy the music, not worship the musicians. I'm not sure I would ever want to enter the realms of mainstream celebrity – fortunately, thats not in my list of career goals. I would hate to become so famous that I personally overshadowed any of the work I was trying to do. I want my career to be about the art and the characters I play, not about me.
When you see Tom Cruise in a movie, you don't think “Wow, this character is really conflicted and, in so many ways, reminds me of myself in a very moving and thought-provoking way,” even if he's doing a really good job acting (unlikely, but possible)! No, you just think, “Wow, that's Tom Cruise! What a weirdo! Seriously, what's up with all that scientology junk?” For the serious artist (which probably rules out Tom anyway), this is a big problem.But here I go being all snobby again. For now, I'll just need to enjoy the fact that, for the rest of my life, I'll be abler to remember seeing Graham Russell, in person, saying some of the most delicious tripe I've ever heard: “Beautiful music... where does it come from? It falls from the heavens like crystal rain, it carries you away to far-off mountain, and you stand on a precipice and look at the world.... And you see her, the goddess of love. In her hands she holds the white dove of peace... and she lets it go, and it flys away into the heavens and reminds us all of the power of love....” It just doesn't get any better than that.
Air Supply is just one of my many "guilty pleasures." Another is the movie "Hello, Dolly!" with Barbara Streisand. There, I've admitted it. What are your guilty pleasures? I'd love to know, and it feels really good when you finally get it out there. Come on, I won't make fun of you.
Comments
And as far as guilty pleasures go, I kind of like stupid shows on MTV, like "Yo Mamma" and "Pimp My Ride."
P.S. I think that The Moody Blues are genuises. Gotta love that pre-punk, Beatle-based, British-invasion, beatnik, lyrical synth-pop!