Off the Charts: Avril Lavigne

[staticrebelle]

Title: Off the Charts: Avril Lavigne

Author: Newt Briggs

Publication: Source Unknown

Date: 11.11.2004





If there is anything to be learned from the virus-like proliferation of Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen films, it's that there's no accounting for the taste of youth. If there was, it would be easy to explain the popularity of Bratz dolls, the "Lizzie McGuire Show" and Avril Lavigne--the Canadian quiet grrrl who has used an armful of bracelets and a generous application of eyeliner to sell more than 10 million copies of her 2002 debut, Let Go.

Perhaps the whole thing wouldn't be so unsettling if it weren't for the sheer volume of product that Lavigne has somehow foisted on our unsuspecting youngsters. Ten million puts Let Go in league with Nirvana's Nevermind, No Doubt's Tragic Kingdom, TLC's CrazySexyCool and Kid Rock's Devil Without a Cause--all superior, if somewhat dated, musical efforts. The problem with Let Go--and even more so with the follow-up, Under My Skin--is that it's about as exciting as, well, Canada.

On top of that, there's the quagmire of Lavigne's image, which is a hopeless muddle of of pop-star gloss and punk grit. Perhaps this is the natural consequence of polished punk bands like Yellowcard and Simple Plan, but the hypocrisy of pop-punk reaches a glass-breaking crescendo with Lavigne. As Alexis Petridis observed in a recent review for the Guardian UK, Lavigne "could be no more obviously manufactured if she had a barcode and a telephone number for customer services taped to her forehead," yet for a significant cross-section of the youth population, "she is an authentic symbol of punk rebellion." There's little doubt that the debate about "authentic" punk rebellion began and ended (badly) with the Sex Pistols, but to suggest that the singer of "Complicated" could ever represent a radical ethos--unless, of course, she cut herself with a broken bottle on stage--is to turn punk into the musical equivalent of Ralph Nader.

But before we go tumbling down the slippery slope of foregone conclusion and bad political analogy, let's take a comforting look back at the history of rock. There, we find that for every Jerry Lee Lewis, there has been a Huey Lewis; for every Beatles, a Monkees; for every ABBA, an Ace of Base; and for every Jefferson Airplane, a Jefferson Starship. In other words, bands have always been beset by shameless bastardizations prepared to utterly destroy the style. It is our task as listeners to separate the Beastie Boys from the House of Pains.

Huey Lewis and the News: Talk about co-opting black culture and then grinding it to dust under the oppressively lame fist of the white man. Huey Lewis took everything that was soulful about R&B--Stax horns, skinny ties, soul--and turned it into the death knell for musical spontaneity. The very idea that it could ever be "hip to be square" was so shamefully caucasian that it belonged in a John Hughes film. After Lewis finished with it, the heart of rock `n' roll not only wasn't beating, it was unresponsive to defibrillation.

The Monkees: Monkees apologists always go to great lengths to point out how the Monkees sang more than just "Hey, Hey, We're the Monkees" and how they actually managed to craft a few enduring pop songs, including "I'm a Believer" and "Stepping Stone." This would be a good argument were they not such tambourine-thumping knobs and had they not been formed solely for the purpose of taking advantage of the British Invasion hysteria inspired by the Beatles. I once heard a rumor that dudes in Milli Vanilli were actually strong performers who were forced to lip-synch by their producers. This fact didn't make me feel any worse when the blonde one tried to kill himself on the Milli Vanilli "Behind the Music."

Ace of Base: Sure, there was a certain charm to ABBA--what with "Dancing Queen" and the three glorious exclamation points in "Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!"--but Ace of Base simply had no shame when it came to Scandanavian dance music. It would be easy to make fun of "All that She Wants," but suffice it to say that I too saw the sign, and it said, "You suck worse than Roxette."

Jefferson Starship: Here's a tip: Never--and I do mean never--attempt to change a band's name enough to imply evolution but not enough to change the name beyond recogition. Case in point, Jefferson Starship, which went from being the '60s psychedelic staple Jefferson Airplane to being the '70s stupor group Jefferson Starship. Granted, Red Octopus was a pretty bitchin' album to make out to every once in a while, but there was no excuse for the half-dozen albums that followed. And Grace Slick's descent into Starship was one of the most humiliating declines in music history. If she really did build a city with rock `n' roll, it probably looked a little like Bakersfield.

[bestofavril]

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