…2..3..4 – An Xperience Column

…2..3..4 – An Xperience Column – by Chris Busone.

“Not Choosing is Choosing”

“There are two types of people in this world; avoid them both.”

So says renowned German philosopher, and preeminent pessimist, Arthur Schopenhauer. And while I’ll grant him that that’s hilarious, and that there may not have been a whole hell of a lot to be optimistic about in 19th-century Germany, I’m surprised to see that there are some among us today who seem to think that Arthur may have been on to something.

I like to think we can find some sort of middle ground, no matter our differences, be they philosophical, political, or musical. And it is the subject of the latter that leads us to a conversation I had recently with another great philosopher named Arthur, Art Fredette.

I was visiting the RadioRadiox studios for one reason or another and had a back-and-forth, as I often do, with one of my favorite people and my great friend, Art Fredette. As we meandered from subject to subject, Art relayed to me the story of him finding a Beatles album (“Meet the …”) in his father’s record collection as a young lad. When Art the junior showed Art the senior the album, surprised at his father’s affinity for the Liverpudlians, his dad said, “They’re okay. But they’re not Elvis!”

I had been looking for inspiration for my next column, and Art’s tale of a rock & roll changing of the guard of sorts provided it. (Consequently, all proceeds from this column will be donated to the Art Fredette Foundation for Struggling and Uninspired Writers.)

His story made my disjointed mind flash to the age-old (and profoundly boring) question: Elvis or the Beatles? And while that query is something I have absolutely no interest in discussing or writing about, Art’s story led me down a more thought-provoking path. Why in the good Christ do I have to choose in the first place? Why are we made to feel like we have to pick a musical genre or contemporary artists, and live and die with them? Why in the hell can’t I love Elvis and The Beatles, the Stones and Zeppelin, Miles Davis and Chet Baker, and Tiny freaking Tim alike? Why can’t I dig everything from Guy Lombardo to David Bowie?

My playlists are made of a pantheon of musical giants, coupled with artists that I had never even heard of before Amazon Music suggested them. And their respective musical makes and models are from diametrically opposite sides of the musical spectrum. And although that has always been my own personal approach, I am absolutely sure I’m not alone.

I was in fact just playing a list in my car that included Louis Jordan’s “Beans and Corn Bread” directly followed by “Welcome to the Jungle” by Guns N’ Roses. “Beans and Corn Bread” and Guns N’ Roses … dinner and a show.

There are also times, rather than a playlist, when I want to hear an entire album, track for track, the way the artist assembled it. I did two weeks last month listening to Counting Crows’ “August and Everything After” record (still just so incredible), then a week of “Nevermind” by Nirvana. That was closely followed by Mel Torme with Marty Paich’s “Dek-Tette” (“Lulu’s Back in Town”!) and the Paul Butterfield Blues Band’s self-titled debut, which kicks off with “Born in Chicago” right into “Shake Your Money-Maker.” Come on!

Look, my point here isn’t to proclaim what a musically well-rounded and open-minded individual I am, and that you should all stop what you’re doing and build creepy little shrines to me in your foyers. It’s to try to illustrate that those who limit themselves to one musical genre or group of like-minded artists are doing just that: limiting themselves. It’s akin to going to the most sumptuous smorgasbord imaginable and standing in the corner eating the same deviled egg over and over again. Sample the fare! Taste the difference! Live la Vida Loca!! Vive la France!!! WOLVERINES!!

Okay, so I may have gotten a little carried away there … I’m just saying, ya know, maybe try something different sometimes, maybe … ya know?

Or don’t.

If you’re truly content with banging to Megadeth’s “Rust in Peace” or still trippin’ on Floyd’s “The Dark Side of the Moon,” then go ahead and shine on you crazy diamond (yea, I know that song’s on “Wish You Were Here,” but Jesus Christ I’m trying to go somewhere with this). If that’s what makes you feel the burn, then ignore the last eight or nine paragraphs, or however many it ends up being after editing, and keep doing what you’re doing. My point is, you can choose NOT to choose.

Now there are those who will pontificate that “not choosing is choosing,” but those people bother me, so screw them. My choice for a perfect day starts with my wife and Bloody Marys and Miles’ “Birth of the Cool” in the morning, Robbie Robertson’s 1987 self-titled album and poached eggs on crab cakes for brunch, followed by John Doe’s “A Year in the Wilderness” (favorite track “The Golden State”) with a steak at dinnertime, then wrapping it all up with a night out listening to local legends like Trauma School Dropouts with a few Jack-on-the-rocks. That is a well-rounded diet if I ever saw one. All the food groups are represented here.

Now, admittedly, I’m just naturally contrary, so getting a straight answer out of me to any question is a task in and of itself. But when I’m painted into a corner and faced with a “YOU MUST CHOOSE” scenario, I’m always gonna default to a non-committal, sarcastic, expletive-laden answer that frustrates the asker. It’s the poet in me.

So here you go: F-CK “either or,” F-CK “this or that,” and really, really F-CK “Elvis or the Beatles.”

And while I recognize that that is a sentence in a suicidal search for alliteration, all I’m trying to say, my devoted readers, is just try whatever looks good on the menu. That’s my philosophy. It’s my philosophy when I listen, and it’s my philosophy when I play. So you may see me at my next show playing a classic hit of my own (I’m using the word “hit” sardonically here) or one of someone else’s hits, or even “Tiptoe Through the F-CKIN’ Tulips” for all I know. Either way, I’ll be counting them all off with the same amount of grit and gusto, ‘cause it’s all good, and good for you. So belly up to the bar and count it off with me, 2…3…4.

(Also … Beatles. WTF are you thinking? Of course Beatles … or maybe Elvis … sh*t!)

 

 

 

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