Silverchair's Break-Up: The End Of A Strange, Inspirational Rock & Roll Tale

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In the U.S., news of Silverchair's break-up might seem particularly unappealing as a rock and roll story.  For most, Silverchair must have appeared to be lingering in a post-grunge haze, occassionally releasing a lackluster album every few years to satisfy an ever-dwindling fanbase of misguided nostalgics. That is, of course, assuming that someone actually remembered who they were.  If they were remembered, I'm sure there would be a near-buried image of a music video of with a guy who looks Taylor Hanson, and a man in a pig-mask, for some reason.  The song in that video would probably rock, but wouldn't seem significant now.

The problem is, while they were once contemporaries of Bush, Hole, Live (and other monosyllabic post-grunge bands), they had evolved significantly since their early fame, and had established a new present for themselves; where nostalgia and Greatest Hits tours weren't necessary.  True, they seemed destined for an early death: they were cursed with an explosive early fame, based on a decreasingly-popular style of music and teenaged good-looks.  Their first album, Frog Stomp was a bonafide U.S. hit, but their next two Freak Show and Neon Ballroom tested the fatigue of the public.  Next came singer Daniel Johns' public bout with anorexia, which didn't mix too well with the jock-rock wave that was sweeping over the States, where Staind, Korn and Linkin Park assuming the role of hard rock's new tortured artists.

A live Silverchair show around 1999 would have revealed a talented, yet tired band with nowhere to go.  Their best loved songs were from their first batch, and the newer hits didn't have the swagger and youthful appeal that they should have had.  Even loyal fans wouldn't have expected a rebirth of the band after that point, but they were given new life by an unlikely ally: the piano.

During a yearlong hiatus 2000-2001, singer Daniel Johns tackled his issues with the gentle touch of songwriting via piano.  Working on piano gave his songs a richer sound, a complex blending of tones, keys, modes and motifs that the rock guitar can rarely emulate.  In addition, the writing style gave way to a fresher approach to the rock guitar that still was a basis for many album tracks.  On Diorama, the new songs showcased a hugely ambitious sound, complete with full orchestra arrangements, numerous key changes, wild melodic and harmonic shifts, and a vocal prominence that belied their previous work.  Songs such as "Across The Night," "Tuna In The Brine," brought a sophistication that was completely unheard of for bands of their era.  The album ends with the gorgeous "After All These Years", a piano-vocal outing that has the touch and twists of a McCartney ballad.  Aside from a few lyrical missteps, the album is as enjoyable and inspirational today, 10 years after it's release.

At this point, the band live was a force of nature.  Daniel Johns wielded the presence and confidence that would propel the band further down their new path.  The rock songs rocked harder, his voice was clear and confident, his piano playing was expressive and often improvisational; the band had truly transformed certain disaster into new life.

Their next album, Young Modern, combined much of the pomp and orchestral aspects of Diorama, with several razor-sharp pop-rock songs.  Songs like "Straight Lines" were tight, excellent efforts, designed to be catchy, yet unpredictable.  The album also revealed their most ambitious song to date, their "Thieving Birds" suite, a whip-smart arrangement of Beach Boys-esque pop and flowery baroque obsessiveness.  The album failed to catch fire in the U.S., but was well-received by fans and critics worldwide.  The live shows that followed this album were monstrous.  The band now had more than enough material to play to their "new era" fans and didn't have to cherry-pick their old hits to engage their audience.  I remember hearing a complaint by a concert-goer after seeing them at this time, who loudly moped, "They didn't even play Tomorrow!"  That fan didn't get much of a response, as it was clear most of us weren't at all interested in watching the band dig that far back for nostalgia's sake.  For all of us at the show, the current Silverchair was the one we really wanted to see.

Now that they've officially called it a day, it's comforting to know that their departure wasn't a tragedy, but a dignified resignation by a near 20-year band.  The may have not reached the heights of rock royalty, but their unusual career path and frequent successes will surely read as an interesting chapter of music history.

The "Ultra-Low Price" Solution

This Tuesday, musicians and record labels rejoiced at the sight of a long-forgotten phenomenon in the music industry: a stampede of fans buying music!  That's pretty much...unheard of!  It's like waking up one day and hearing they got Bin Laden or that Lance Armstrong does steroids.   Completely bizarre stuff.  

But there was a time when major artists' albums would prompt midnight lines at record stores on Monday nights, waiting for important Tuesday releases.  Pre-ordering a CD was, at one time, a surefire way to make sure that on Tuesday, your copy was securely waiting for you on your doorstep.  Yes, there was actually a time when consumers were so gungho that they were worried that they might not get their own copy on the first day!  Well, that's not really the case anymore; the word "copy" doesn't even make sense.  It's just digitized information, 16-bits a second at 44,100 hertz.  That usually amounts to about 100MB or less for a full length album, and that's a negligible amount by today's high-bandwidth standards.
 
But alas! when Lady Gaga's 2nd full-length album Born This Way was released, and there were hordes of fans beating down Amazon's virtual doors to buy the MP3s.  Amazon's spokesperson said that it was, "the largest amount of interest we have ever seen for an album in just one day."  The traffic was so heavy that Amazon couldn't keep up, and had to re-tool and try again the next day.

The only catch to this monumental re-birth of the industry was that the full album was being offered for 99 cents.  That's the price of gum; the cheap gum, not that fancy Orbit kind.  It's roughly the price of one-quarter gallon of gas; about the amount you'd need to drive a Vespa to a Best Buy to buy the Lady Gaga CD for $17.99. 

By the way, the background of this $0.99 deal was that it was a promotion for Amazon's MP3 store to place itself as a legitimate competitor of iTunes, and it isn't the permanent price of any full album in the store.

So, being the perpetual optimist that I am (uh), I'm inclined to see what's genuinely good about the Ultra-Low pricing solution.
First off, paying 99 cents at a reputable store like Amazon is possibly easier than getting it for free via Mediafire or torrents.  With those types of sources, you have three downsides: It's illegal.  It's immoral.  It can take a few extra seconds or minutes to find the exact item you're looking for.  If you can go to Amazon and legitimately purchase an album for the roughly the price of a pack of Trident, the cost-benefit analysis will probably find you saving more by taking the "Legal, Moral, But-Still-Convenient-Enough Path."  And, hey, 99 cents might not be much, but it's better than nothing.

And while "better than nothing" doesn't seem like a very lofty goal, I don't have a whole lot of faith that there will someday be a situation where the majority of people will pay $17.99 for an album, or even $9.99 for that matter.  Piracy is too easy and convenient, and will likely stay that way.  So, isn't it logical to try to beat piracy at it's own game?  Make it easier and more convenient to purchase.

Secondly, it would force a sense of economy on the music industry.  The industry could come out more trimmed-down, more artist-focused, and with less side-bar players taking a percentage (because how many ways can you possibly split-up 99 cents?).  Even though the music game has slimmed down considerably since the pre-2000's, it still has fat left to be burnt off.  Maybe the loss of players such as PR firms, consultants, low and mid-level managers, would be detrimental to the overall health of the industry, but it's hard to argue that there's really anything to make the music industry "more dead" than it is right now.  It was quite arguable, in my opinion, that for the music industry to ever grow again, it needs to shrink considerably first.

But is there really enough meat on a $0.99 bone to support the costs of making music?  Probably not.  There are still studios with $500,000 mixing consoles and $500,000 worth of other microphones and instruments, and people with decades of experience in how to make great records.  It still takes weeks, if not months, to properly produce an album that meets the public's standards.  How is a million dollar facility expected to be used for dozens of days, to produce a product that is only worth $0.99?  How is a record label supposed to afford to pay for that cost when they know they're only going to make pennies off of that product, even if all goes perfectly?  How are young bands, who are currently paying $500 per month for a rehearsal studio, supposed to justify their hard work for something that is valued at about 1/3 the price of a can of Red Bull?  Is the demoralization going to be worth it?  Will it create a situation where, even the world's finest songwriters, need to work nights at the grocery store to make ends meet?   Or, will music meet the fate of other types of fine art, where high-quality music will be elevated to an exclusive delicacy, with wealthy patrons footing the bill?  Or can we all just think to ourselves, "we can do this!," and remember that the 99 Cents Store is really not so bad!