The MTV generation
By Matt Worley

Three years ago I was at the peak of my pop culture power. Working as the head backshop-layout guy/columnist/cartoonist for the college newspaper (the New Mexico Daily Lobo) during my last semester of school, I knew the back story of almost every artist featured on the 1993 MTV Video Awards. Add in humorous, semi-personal stories about Christian Slater (the host that year) and you could say I knew what was up and down in the pop culture game. That year I wrote two columns on the award show. One from the perspective of being backstage at the event, another from the more realistic confines of my bean bag chair. I gave my editor the bogus column first, and she thought it was true. Of course, she was drunk at the time. The paper, however, ran the boring one.

I took in my own tape-delayed version of this year's awards last night with just a hint of trepidation. I was not excited about any of the performers (save Beck and possibly No Doubt‹both of whom I've seen live). I like Dennis Miller, but I knew he was going to have to tone down his usually caustic and raucous comedy. But being in the position I am at the moment (still the ever vigilant pop culture barometer), I knew I had to watch the carnage.

The massive five hour broadcast (when you add the opening and closing acts) varied wildly from grating to entertaining to actually amusing at times. The big story of the night was the whole Smashing Pumpkins thing. Or maybe heroin as the masked killer of my generation. Along with the Smashing Pumpkin's performance that opened the show ("Tonight, Tonight" ‹which sounds almost identical to the big ballad from their last CD minus all the lyrics about sodomy) there was a two part interview with the band about the dead keybordist and recently fired drummer. The most interesting part was watching Billy Corgan struggle to swear in an attempt to seem angry and hip at the same time. It reminded me of the very few times my dad would cuss. It was as if he was thinking, "The only way you'll understand is if I use your language."

Two anti-heroin songs were played during the rest of the show. The oblique "Needle and The Damage Done" by Neil Young and the painful "Salvation" by the Cranberries. Okay, salvation may be free, but rehab costs just about as much as staying on heroin in the first place. So the lesson here is either you're so deep no one knows what the hell you're singing about, or the song comes off as an extension of the "Just Say No" campaign. But enough about heroin.

There were some highlights. Beavis & Butthead showed blockbuster movie potential with their minute and a half intro to the International Awards. Van Halen proved that the real comeback story of the year has nothing to do with Kiss or the Sex Pistols. Jenny McCarthy got ripped to pieces by a real comedian (Damon Wayans) when they went mano-a-breast. And Oasis showed, once again, why the U.S. revolted from England in the first place. Dennis Miller summed it up best when he let out a mock surprise exclamation about the Oasis singer: "Ohh, he spilled a beer!"

When it comes to awards, though, it seems as if MTV has gone the way of the Grammys. Just give it to the biggest seller. Alanis Morisette won for best new artist (at least a year too late‹not ironic at all, just stupid). The Smashing Pumpkins won for everything, using the "Give a lame song a great video, and they will come" approach. And Coolio was as mystified as we were as to why he won as many awards as he did, almost apologizing in his acceptance remarks. Maybe he didn't want to get shot.

But it wasn't the awards that disappointed me as much as the thought that maybe MTV doesn't want to please me anymore. As an original member of the MTV Generation, I've been resisting the urge to turn to VH-1‹mostly because the music is much worse over there. And I don't want to feel old and out of it yet. But MTV needs to realize that cutting edge isn't letting rich people cuss and strip onstage‹it's acknowledging talent rather than greed. Which, of course, was hammered home by the ending Kiss-off shot.

Matt Worley is waiting for that magical time in the musical revolution when glam metal again becomes the chosen form of expression.

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