A long-lost friend dropped by the house last night with her not-so-new husband and a couple of friends in tow. In short order, the men got down to business by drinking beer and discussing the future of music. The ladies (gladly) talked about something other than music or beer. There are better ways to spend an evening, I suppose, but at the moment I'm kinda stumped as to what they might be.

We quickly settled on the key question of the day: Is there anything interesting going on in music? Experimental and truly "alternative" music were excepted, of course, but just about everything else sat on the table.

In short order, we stipulated that Arcade Fire is a fine band in the Radiohead "accomplished and modestly ambitious" vein. We also stipulated that bands such as Coldplay, Maroon 5 and worse were pale imitators of this ideal. We also agreed that "accomplished and modestly ambitious" was not an acceptable ideal for rock and roll.

Rock and roll, of course, is a catchall category. Motown R&B was rock and roll, and hip-hop is very rock and roll. Even the most noodly of experimental music tends to fall into the rock and roll camp.

Rock and roll must be loud. It must be dangerous. And it must stimulate the primal urges. Not all the time, of course. Just like any hair band in the 80s that wanted airplay put out a power ballad, mixing things up is always good. But on the whole, rock and roll must be fast, dangerous and have something to do with fucking. Politics are nice and all, but sometimes we just need the Iceberg.

And yet what we have today are Arcade Fire and Beyonce. Very competent, to be sure, but hardly dangerous. One look at Beyonce and you think Danger! Danger! Danger! But she's not dangerous at all. Her dance moves are flirtatious, but her music is decidedly rooted in the firmament. Arcade Fire simply doesn't take fire. Oh, the albums are pleasantly listenable and all, but they're not about to inspire a baby boom among the indie rock set.

Industrialized nations around the world have seen declining birth rates for years. The United States has resisted this trend, but largely due to immigration. If you listen to the music of the immigrants--rock and roll if there ever was such a thing, even if it goes by the monikers of ranchera and salsera and the like--there's lots of cheatin', lyin' and fuckin'.

Even good old American country and western music, which used to have a stranglehold on those subjects (throwing in dogs, trucks and intergenerational conflict to leaven the loaf), has largely become the province of empty ballads and macho posturing. I'm gonna wipe the floor with some (literally) poor person halfway around the world? Pathetic and hardly dangerous.

When will the next great band emerge? What will the music sound like? Where's the next big scene? I dunno. What I do know is that it will arrive with the full-throated scream of wounded youth. It will sound much better loud than soft. And it will immediately inspire conspicuous copulation.

In other words, you'll know it when you feel it in your loins. Rock and roll shouldn't have it any other way.

Jon Worley's ears still work well despite their increasing accumulation of hair.