TIME: Almanac 1990/1990 Time Magazine Compact Almanac, The (1991)(Time).iso/time/090489/09048900.057

Text File | 1990-09-22 | 6KB | 94 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.