Foreplay/Long Time

Yes, I know. It's been almost two weeks since I last posted, and that is completely unacceptable. No amount of excuses can possibly justify this ridiculous absence. It's simply easier for me to say that I've been lazy. So let me try and make it up to you right now. I now present you with something I like to call

MORE THAN A FEELING

Boston are easily the most frustrating band I have ever heard. Now, I realize that's a bold claim to make in a world where Rolling Stone Magazine listed Linkin Park's Minutes to Midnight as the 25th best album of 2007, Weezer sill exist, and people actually find Devendra Banhart intriguing, but really admitting that these artists got under my skin the way a band like Boston does would be giving them all far to much credit. While I cannot fathom how anyone managed to convince Geffen to launch such a massive marketing campaign for Weezer's third album, I can generally ignore them. As for Linkin Park and Rolling Stone I need merely point out that same list also included Maroon 5, Down, The most recent Smashing Pumpkins album, Fall Out Boy, and Britney Spears. It also listed Devendra Banhart, who is (in the Farm Team's opinion) not only vacuous and boring, but also the poorest excuse for a poet since Jim Morrison posthumously defecated in a Paris bathtub.

All of these things are merely trivial issues that are barely worth mentioning save for the purposes of comparison. My problem with Boston is infinitely deeper and more troubling than one might first suspect. It calls into question everything I hold true about Rock n' Roll and thus threatens to shake lose the firm grip I believe to have on anything remotely resembling a reality. The problem is I actually like Boston. Now, to the unassuming reader that might seem like nothing more than a mere guilty pleasure. Let me assure you it is anything but.

However, in order to go further I must now take a few steps back. First, I need to put some things into context. I grew up in southeast Tennessee, right on to boarders of Alabama, Georgia, and North Carolina. This is what I would like to affectionately refer to as "Skynyrd Country." The only radio stations within a 200 mile radius were Classic Rock and Country. Clearly the classic rock station would be the lesser of two evils. Of course at the time that's not at all how I looked at it. Classic Rock was the greatest music I had ever heard and KZ106 was the only radio station I ever wanted to listen to. This is how I discovered Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, The Rolling Stones, The Band, Neil Young, The Who, ZZ Top, Foghat, Foreigner, Journey, REO Speedwagon, Styx, Van Halen, Guns N Roses, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Jethro Tull, Yes, Kansas, Grand Funk Railroad, The Eagles, The James Gang (and thus Joe Walsh), Peter Frampton, Santana, Rush, Steppenwolf, the Guess Who, Thin Lizzy, AC/DC, The Doors, Deep Purple, Blue Oyster Cult, Aerosmith, Cream, Jimi Hendrix, The Allman Brothers, and of course Boston. The funny thing is now I can't stand 75% of those bands, but from about 1988 (the first year I actually remember being aware of what year it was) until about 1999 I believed in the power of classic rock. Incidentally, I purposely left out three incredibly important artists, The Beatles, Bob Dylan, and Black Sabbath because I discovered the Beatles through my parents and wasn't introduced to Dylan or Sabbath until I got to college.

Having said all that, It's important to note that I was never a huge fan of Boston. I liked them, but never have I owned any of their albums, including their self-titled debut (except for one highly scratch vinyl copy of said debut that once ordained the wall of my kitchen). I mention this record because it single-handedly embodies everything that I love and hate about Boston, and therefore represents in physical form that which may in fact prove that Descartes was totally wrong and we cannot, in fact, prove our own existence or really know anything ever. Of the eight songs on Boston's first album, three of them were top 40 hits and six of them still maintain moderate rotation on any given Classic rock station in the United States. Never mind the fact that guitarist Tom Scholz had (and I suppose still does) a Masters Degree in Mechanical Engineering from MIT, and with that knowledge built his own equipment, including his own distortion pedal which gave Boston their easily definable guitar tone, and thus influenced the sound of nearly every hair metal guitarist throughout the 1980s.

This is where problems start to arise. While I legitimately enjoy an occasional listen to the songs on Boston's first album whenever they so happen to be played on a bar jukebox or from the stereo of Greg's old Ford Escort, I also understand that Boston undoubtedly represent everything wrong with commercial music and the bastardization of Rock n' Roll. Not only did they have a profound influence on the worst musical decade of the last century, but they also embodied the very of essence of that which is Corporate Rock. They were gear freaks and thus constructed a perfect sound that was prefabricated for stadiums and arenas. Boston may have played the club circuit, but it wasn't for very long. From the moment "More Than a Feeling" debuted on top 40 stations across America in 1976, Boston were selling out coliseums.

Also, let me point out that Boston's first album came out a year before Punk broke. This is in no way a coincidence as Punk was, at it's core, a rebellion against everything Corporate Rock stood for. It was about bringing music back to the close personal vibe found only in a dirty cramped and crowded club with no AC. It was about not making people pay an outrageous sum to see their favorite band play live. It was about making people get down and dance or bang their head or jump around or whatever they needed to do to express themselves. I mean, I realize I'm idealizing a lot of this, but really isn't that what it was supposed to stand for? It was about bringing Rock n' Roll back down to earth. One look at the cover of that first Boston album and you understand Punk happened because Boston happened.

How can I legitimately enjoy Boston if they represent everything I hate? What does that mean? Are there no absolutes in this world? Is nothing sacred? If I can like something that, on principle alone, I vehemently despise, then does that mean that love and hate are the same thing? How is that possible? How can I love something I hate? How can they be the same? If love and hate are the same then up and down must be the same too. Left and Right. Black and White. East and West. Real and Imaginary. Nothing is as it should be. Everything is the same and different at the same time. I know nothing. I understand nothing. I am nothing.

Fast Forward to the present. There I am, curled up in the fetal position naked, clutching that old copy of Boston I used to own and crying uncontrollably as the cold water from my shower relentlessly pelts me in the face, my tears mixing with the water and swirling helplessly down the drain with all my dreams and hopes for a better future. I don't know anything anymore. Nothing is real to me anymore. The very fabric of my comprehension has been torn a sunder and I am left but the fragile shell of a man who once believed he understood what it meant to love Rock n' Roll.