The early nineties was a polarizing time to be a pop-culture sponge. Where I lived at the time, you were either a Greenday follower, or a Nirvana fan, rarely both. There was a clear-cut social distinction between two, one on hand frivolous brats, and the other brooding miserablists. Artists seldom strayed from the confines of their genres, keeping proceedings primarily by the book.
The musical climate of today is quite different, not only in production, but certainly in consumption. (When last did you purchase a cd, cheapskate?) Genres that were once clearly demarcated have become permeable, and it’s evident that dialogues have developed between musical varieties. The digressions music has taken have spurned hundreds of coined terms attempting to categorize all the cross-pollination going on, and while there will always be unholy matrimonies (Techno-Metal anyone?), all this genre hopscotch has produced some exciting amalgamations.
The term ‘indie’, entailing independence from major record labels, doesn’t describe a genre so much as a fluid aesthetic. Where labels (read: The Man) push for marketability above artistic integrity, indie has always provided an outlet for those intent on sticking it to said Man. Previously encompassing sounds that resided only on the periphery, indie has now entered the mainstream consciousness; this inevitably creates a tension between those lamenting its popularity, and those embracing it. With the general indifference prevalent in our globalised society, it’s hard to imagine the arrival of a unifying anthem or cause; but the tension has to amount to something right? A little bit of friction is productive; it worked out okay for those guys that stormed the Bastille didn’t it?
It’s futile trying to establish who fits under the indie umbrella because the movement has a secret weapon in assimilation, cherry-picking musical sensibilities from the deluge. It’s a wide berth, spanning from the grandiosity of The Arcade Fire, the poise of slackers, The Strokes, to the post-millennial drone of Radiohead. Without the restrictions of convention to follow, artists have run rampant, borrowing sounds from any and every other genre; Vampire Weekend somehow roped in reggae, The Killers revived new-wave, The Hold Steady channeled The Boss, and boy wonder, Conor Oberst, took over the confessional vacated by Dylan. So hey, man, my electric guitar can totally be friends with your trombone now, fudge it, bring your glockenspiel too.
Listening to Japandroids debut Post-Nothing with its fuzzy guitars and bang your steering wheel to bits drumming, on ‘Young Hearts Spark Fire’ as they sing "We used to dream/ Now we worry about dying/ I don't want to worry about dying.”. A line so simple may seem suspect, but it’s delivered with contagious conviction, the energy and sheer velocity of it is incendiary. It seems prudent, all things considered then, to be less concerned about where music is situated and how to classify it, and more about where it’s going. Be excited.
