Let me list the ways...
by Jon Worley

The new century, not to mention the new millennium, rapidly approaches. My own personal feeling toward this arbitrary bit of silliness can be summed up the title of Warrior Soul's first album, Last Decade Dead Century. I'm tired of summing up. Let's move on, okay?

But that just isn't going to happen. So far this year, "authoritative" lists of the top 100 TV shows, books, movies, horses and flight simulators have been published, all to high levels of outraged scorn and derision. I joined in the fracas myself on one occasion. Who could forget that stirring charge Black Gold made, winning its final race on three legs and getting put down minutes later. Manowar? Boring. Black Gold shoulda been there. And yet... well, it's also true that Marguerite Henry didn't manage to slip any of her books into the top 100, either.

My own field of expertise is popular music, though to be honest my specialty is extremely unpopular artists who skirt the edges of the popular music waters. Every year, the Village Voice polls a monstrously huge number of music critics and somehow arrives at the top 100 albums of the year. Any person with a half-formed sense of opinion will graze the list and find at least 20 execrable albums. Being particularly well-endowed with a sense of sneering arrogance, I generally truly dislike at least half of the albums on the list. And I'm a guy who likes a lot of music.

People who find out that I'm a music critic often ask me what my favorite band is. This particular opinion is subject to change. Generally, it is a band who has released two albums (a brilliant debut and an even more impressive second album). Two, but never three. The third album is always a disappointment, if there is a third album (and most of the time, there isn't). Right now, my favorite band is called Firewater. The band (led by former Cop Shoot Cop singer Tod A.) describes itself alternately as "The world's worst Bar Mitzvah band" or "Led Zeppelin playing all your favorite klezmer hits". The highly fluid line-up has included top members of the New York and Chicago scenes. The second album came out a couple months ago. My pattern still holds. I'm sure I'll have a new favorite band sometime around the new year.

What I generally like to say when confronted with the "fave band" question is to say simply: "I believe in the holy trinity of Neil Young, Prince (the Artist, whatever) and Frank Zappa. Everybody else gets to wait in line." This statement, one that I actually believe to a certain extent, is always good for getting into a half-hour conversation filled with venom and righteous recrimination. "What about Chuck Berry, Elvis or Buddy Holly?" friends of my parents might ask. The Beatles, the Who and the Rolling Stones are also oft-mentioned. Folks who prefer to flank my rock stance might bring up Robert Johnson or John Coltrane. And any mention of Prince will bring out some utterly offended aging hippie who will scream "He's just a Hendrix clone!" Of course, this guy has one Prince album, the Purple Rain soundtrack, and his ignorance is just not worth worrying about.

My criteria for the big list are pretty simple. The artist in question must be prolific. Each of my big three has many more than 20 albums in general release. Sorry Jimi, Bruce, Led Zep. Second, The artist in question must create an entirely new form of music. Zappa and Prince qualify easily, and once Young started cranking up the reverb in his neo-folk songs, he also got in the boat. Last, the artist's body of work has to be consistently good (in my opinion, of course). This is where Bob Dylan and the Stones fall short. You know, come to think of it, James Brown probably makes the list, but I don't own enough for his ascension. I guess owning a large chunk of the prolific artist would be my final criterion.

The point is, when these monster "best of the century" lists are crafted, lots of silly people like me vote, and each of us has her own methodology and personal feelings. Liz Phair's first couple albums are very popular among my family and friends, but I find them trite. I really dig Chumbawamba, an opinion which sets me up for a good deal of ridicule. There's no way to make everyone happy. It's just politics: the only candidate who I'll completely agree with is myself.

There is one good thing to come from these lists, though. It gets people talking. That's never a bad thing. Well, as long as the folks don't move from talking to shouting to shooting. That can be a bad thing.

Jon Worley still can't believe that Pump Up the Volume didn't make the top 100 films list.

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