TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/090489/09048900.057

Text File | 1992-09-23 | 5.6 KB | 107 lines

                                                                                MUSIC, Page 63

New Directions for The Next Decade


Check out some tried-and-true recipes. Stir in new voices and
taproots. Add heat. Stand back


    As it closes out the old decade and faces the new one, rock
may be too catholic for its newer, younger core audience. Kids,
of course, need a music to call their own; they need music that
speaks to them while it cruises over the heads of their elders,
or, even better, turns them right off. "The sales today are
going with hard rock," says Kabl Rudman, publisher of Friday
Morning Quarterback, an industry newsletter. "Heavy metal is
doing well with sales and at concerts in the 14-to-18 age
range. Rap is extremely big but is quite racial. That's doesn't
mean white kids aren't into it, but it's pretty well
segregated."

    To open for them on their new tour, the Stones have chosen
hard-rocking Living Colour for a slot that has, over the years,
taken on a fair amount of significance. Opening for the Stones
has come to be not just another lucrative gig but a way for
musicians (black) to break through to a larger audience (white).

    Stevie Wonder toured with the Stones; so did Peter Tosh;
last time out, Prince kicked off some concerts for them. It is
the Stones' way of reminding audiences of the incalculable debt
the band owes to the traditions of rhythm and blues, and soul.
It is also good business. Black audiences may turn out to catch
the opener and stick around for the headliners. Certainly
putting a quarter-century-old rock outfit beside a new band
that's hot and soulful gives the Stones a little proximity to
the future. Keeps them fresh, you might say. Keeps them young.

    For its part, Living Colour could use a little of the
Stones' legendary entree. Theirs has not been an easy road.
They were a hot club band on the East Coast, "really quite well
known," as Mick Jagger says. "But they couldn't get a record
deal because they were black and they weren't playing funk.
They didn't fit into a category." A black band romping in the
white world of hard rock is an anomaly (or, as the promo men
would say, a hard sell) even today. Musicians may cross over a
lot, but radio stations seldom do. Vernon Reid, 31, who plays
guitar with an ear on Hendrix and an eye on the Top Ten,
recognized the problem early on. "Being black makes it tougher,"
he says. "It helped that we are a good band. But we had to be
real good -- better than a white band has to be -- to convince
radio and record companies to take the risk." There was a
significant, and surprising, payoff. Living Colour's first album
is still on the pop charts after a year, and after selling 1.5
million copies.

    Rap also has a problem with the deejays. "The Top 40
stations won't play it," says Rudman, even though some rap (by
Tone Loc, Run-D.M.C., L.L. Cool J and the all-white Beastie
Boys, among others) has busted through onto the upper regions of
the pop charts. Not all the young action is rap, though. Ziggy
Marley, one of Bob's band of children, has got the gift and, to
go with it, a light way with carrying a heavy torch. On One
Bright Day, the new album he made with the Melody Makers (his
younger brother Stephen and two of his sisters, Sharon and
Cedella), there is a lot of tradition and a little
trailblazing. "This album to me sound a little stronger," says
Ziggy, 20, with deft Rasta inflections. "A little stronger in
the beat. It feel harder, with more aggression. I sing it more
aggressive. I'm getting older. Music is a weapon. You can use
a gun for murder, or you can use it to defend yourself." That's
the choice: clap hands or put them up.

    Marley likes rap ("Yeah, mon. It's cool") but swears
allegiance to reggae. Rap has proved to be a fertile source of
inspiration for the ravishing Nenah Cherry, whose hit single
Buffalo Stance dressed street sound up in supper-club clothes
without sacrificing funk. Bobby Brown, the soul flash of the
moment, made an album that sold more than 4 million copies and
spawned three hit singles, marrying the sensuality of Marvin
Gaye to the unearthly musical surprises of Prince.

    If there is one more route into the '90s, it leads inward.
That's the Call's unswerving direction. After a single play of
their new album Let the Day Begin, you understand immediately
and intimately why Peter Gabriel called them "the future of
American music." The Call's music is not retrograde or
nostalgic, but it does hearken heavily to the indwelling
mysteries that Dylan and the Band and Van Morrison also heard.
"The Call is a band for people who feel things extremely," says
Michael Been, the group's songwriter. "We're not for people who
are extremely cool, for whom cool is the ultimate expression."
From available auguries, it seems that the '90s may not be too
cool either, so the Call should fit right in, finally. They
have been cult favorites for about ten years now, but the title
track of the new album is getting some wide play on the radio.
"We shouldn't waste rock 'n' roll," Been says. "Rock should be
looking at some of the big questions."

    And he has wise words for anyone fretting over the graying
of rock, for whoever freaks out on musical fashion and obsesses
over obsolescence. "To be a rock 'n' roller isn't like being a
football player," he says. "There are brilliant jazz and
country players and classical guys in their 60s. If you're a
musician, you're a musician for life." Remember that this New
Year's Eve. And turn the radio up a little. The Call should
still be on.