september 25, 2002

Op-Ed

 

HOW BRITNEY SPEARS

RESTORED ORDER 10 THE UNIVERSE

fimanda fiikman
OP Contributor

How many of us are old enough to remem-
ber the good ol’ days, the “pre-Dookie”
days, as I like to refer to them? (Dookie
being the ground breaking Green Day
album that inspired legions of fourteen-
year-olds to dye their hair blue and steal
their older brother's Misfits t-shirt.) Back
when life still resembled a John Hughes’
movie, when people with nose rings were
“weird”. The name Winona Ryder was syn-
onymous with Heathers instead of shoplift-
ing, and the high school smoking doors
were prime cool real estate.

The battle lines were clearly drawn; you
knew who was who simply by checking out
the names of the bands handwritten on
their soiled denim jackets. For those of us
who were more likely to adorn our lockers
and binders with photos of Robert Smith
than Boyz II Men, these were exciting
times. Of course, we espoused that the vul-
gar mainstream were a bunch of senseless
sheep, cheating themselves of the enjoy-
ment of quality music with their closed-
minded attitudes. We would express
incredulity that “real” artists like Joy
Division and the Violent Femmes were not
deemed worthy of hobnobbing with the
likes of Phil Collins and New Kids on the
Block. The truth though, is that we pre-
ferred it that way. It has long been a cliché
to cry “sell out” whenever someone with
supposed indie roots attains a certain level
of commercial success. This is, of course, a
silly and destructive attitude to take, and I
would like to say that I have never been
guilty of it. I would like to say that, but the
truth is that I cringed a little the first time
I saw Morrissey on the Tonight Show with
Jay Leno.

We were so deeply entrenched in our
respective cliques back then that nobody
could have predicted what was about to
happen. The underground was surfacing.
Almost over night ALDO was selling Doc
Martens, the captain of the football team
was blasting Nirvana in his dad’s car, and
skateboards were standard issue. Bands that

had been lurking in the shadows were
exposed and subsequently exploited, but
there were plenty more around to take their
place. Was this the Golden Age we had
been waiting for, the vindication that there
is a place for more eclectic forms of music
in the mainstream? No. This was horrible.
I remember the day my dad picked me up
from school, gleefully singing along to the
NOFX cassette my brother had left in the
car. It was tricky, we wanted people to see
what we saw, to value the things that we
valued, but when they did it seemed all
wrong. The intensity was drained, diluted
from overexposure. Things were looking
bleak; it seemed that there was no end in
sight to the co-opting of counterculture.
The Breeders’ Cannonball appeared in car
commercials and organ versions of
Ramones classics filled the air of hockey
arenas as face-painted fans located their
seats. Thankfully, salvation was on its way
in the form of a scantily clad, underage pop
sensation.

I don't mean to give all the credit to Ms.
Spears; after all, the innovative work of
The Spice Girls and The Backstreet Boys
should not go unnoticed. The truth is, all
of these artists should be rewarded for their
contribution to society. Now that little girls
are starving themselves to fit into low rider
jeans and little boys are taking haberdash-
ery tips from the likes of Fred Durst, there
is aN opportunity to create original and
interesting music from the sidelines again.
There is still a tendency towards bandwag-
on-jumping with certain breakthrough acts
like The Strokes or The Vines, but overall
conditions have improved. Life is back to
normal; we have something to rail against
again. The next time I find myself grimac-
ing in disgust over the blatant pimping of
celebrities to sell soft drinks and Gap prod-
ucts, I will revel in the comfort of knowing
that somewhere the next Tom Waits is
watching this, too. And writing a song
about it.

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