Sparks are Strange 

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“When you’re strange. Faces come out in the rain. When you’re strange. No one remembers your name.” –The Doors. 

When you’re strange, they will compare you to strange, when you’re strange. Don’t make them look ugly when you feel strange. Don’t make them seem wicked when you feel alone and unwanted. It won’t even things out when you’re feeling down and unloved and strange.  

When I first learned of the documentary being made on the Mael brothers in Sparks called Sparks Brothers, I figured the comparisons to Queen would be inevitable and constant, as they have presumably throughout Sparks’ career. Thankfully, I was wrong on the quantity of comparisons in the documentary, but I was right about the quality. 

When faced with the inevitable comparison questions, most artists follow the time-tested, thoroughly vetted art of embracing comparisons and distancing themselves from it at the same time. After watching comparisons of the unconventional for decades, we’ve seen professionals approach this in two ways. They either embrace it or distance themselves from it, and we’ve even heard some manage to tight wire both, “Thank you for comparing us to them. They achieved what we can only dream of achieving, but I honestly don’t see the comparison. We’re so different in so many ways.” The worst strategy I’ve seen, and that which Sparks employed, albeit subtly, is to bash the other strange artists. The other ones might lose, but you will not win by doing so. 

The Sparks Brothers documentary is a mildly entertaining, overlong discussion of a modern band who started in the 70’s. I’ve now listened to the entire catalog of Sparks, and while I admire the band for their weird, strange, and just plain different efforts, they are not Queen. To someone who appreciates any efforts made at being unconventional and just plain different, in the art-rock milieu, I think they had enough songs to create a quality greatest hits album, but I don’t think their greatest hits would’ve qualified for Queen’s greatest hits volume II.   

The Sparks Brothers documentary also tells the tale of a band who refused to play by the rules. Yet, when you’re strange and experimental in nature, you’re going to drop some duds. The problem with that, of course, is that when a listener chooses to click on one of your songs, and it’s one of the duds, that sample unfortunately marks your entire catalog in their mind. In his review of the documentary, comedian and social critic Adam Carolla concluded his review by saying, “No one listens to Sparks.” Some find the experimental nature of Sparks frustrating, because they come so close to making great songs. Some find it weird for the sake of being weird, but others find it inspirational, and that’s the reason some of us listen to Sparks. Sparks have some great singles, but no great albums, and they are not a great band. We do like them for who they are however.  

Any band who stretches beyond the borders of weird, strange, and just plain different to structured outlandishness will eventually and inevitably be compared to Queen. Any time a band, or musician, attempts to redefine genres, engage in genre-breaking material, or corrupts and disrupts traditional structures in music, the Queen comparisons are inevitable. Queen might not be the weirdest band of all time, and they might not have been the first outlandish band, but they set a standard by which we compare all unconventional acts.  

Comparisons are a way of life in any artistic endeavor. Every artist, and aspiring artist, should prepare for real, perceived, or imagined comparisons. They should prepare for the terms copied, derivative, or an unfair characterization of them as a poor man’s (list artist’s name here). The worst thing an artist can do is subtly diminish and outright bash the other artist. Doing so should be left to Bigfoot enthusiasts, UFO experts, and other conspiracy-theory minded milieus.  

If you’re ever so bored, and you can’t find anything else to watch, the shorts on these subjects can be mildly entertaining at times. It’s almost inevitable, in these shows, that an interviewer will ask one of the experts in their field to augment or refute the theories of another expert. This second expert will inevitably attempt to establish his bona fides by diminishing the first expert and any others who claim expertise in their field. Those of us who know nothing of these fields know that we are supposed to pick one of these experts to follow. I am a bad example, because I don’t believe any of them, and I never will until they provide unquestionable and clear video, a dead body, or something else that I would be a stubborn fool not to consider a fact. The only thing I hear from the second expert is some jealousy that the interviewer would dare to lend some credibility to the first. I only hear the second expert attempt to gain some credibility on the back of the first. I also don’t hear anything the second one says after bashing the first. In this universe, where I have no knowledge, I end up dismissing everyone, and no one wins.    

The Mael brothers did not take the occasion of the Sparks Brothers documentary to bash Queen, as I wrote. The brothers didn’t say anything about Queen, one way or another, but I have to assume that they had some say on the final cut. If that’s true, they allowed a no-name producer to diminish Queen.  

“If I was producing that song,” the producer said in reference to a Sparks’ song, “I’d like put a beat on it or something, and be like oh my God, this is amazing. Everyone’s going to feel so sad about this, and we’re going to sneak it into them, and then Sparks would’ve be like, let Queen do that.” The idea that the Sparks’ Mael brothers didn’t say this might make it okay to some, but they allowed the director to keep it in, thus breaking a cardinal rule of weird art.  

Outside of creating the best piece of art they possibly can, the goal of every artist is to make some sort of connection relative to the artist. Queen, David Bowie, and many others proved that this can be accomplished in unconventional ways that align with their interpretation and personality. We can assume that this producer wanted to add a beat to make a better connection to a wider audience. I understand the whole “sell-out” complaint, but some of the best weird bands learned how to walk and chew bubble gum at the same time. I also understand that the artist doesn’t want to compromise on their artistic vision, but to suggest that Queen was more open to compromising themselves than Sparks tells me that they wanted this quote left in to help Sparks explain why Queen proved more popular than them. It doesn’t. It does nothing but slam on Queen, and it accomplishes nothing for Sparks in my humble opinion.    

My advice for anyone being compared to a seminal artist who made an impact that is difficult to defeat is to embrace the comparison. As I wrote, thank the interviewer for the comparison and attempt to distance yourself at the same time. If, however, you find the comparisons exhausting, you say something along the lines of, “Any time an artist attempts to do something out of the ordinary they are compared to Queen. If you listen to our music and Queen’s, you won’t find any comparisons, other than we’re both unconventional. Queen did their thing, and we did ours. All the power to them, but I don’t honestly see the comparison.” Doing otherwise makes you come off sounding like an insecure UFO or Bigfoot expert who knows facts are hard to come by in their field, and the only thing left are competing theories. Those experts slam on each other all the time about intangibles such as findings and theories, and they attempt to establish their bona fides by saying none of the other experts know what they’re talking about except them. In my opinion, it’s a no-win situation.  

If I never heard of Queen, and I didn’t establish my own connection to them, I might’ve dismissed them as a result of this producer’s shot, but I wouldn’t have tilted that vat of credibility back on Sparks. My question, if I were in the Sparks’ camp editing this film, is what are you hoping to accomplish by leaving this in? I would’ve dismissed them as petty, jealous types who want to taint Queen’s credibility to bolster theirs. I know Sparks music, and I know Queen’s, and I judge them to be separate and distinct entities. If I didn’t, neither parties would receive more acclaim, clicks, or anything else from me as a result of one party bashing the other.  

You Know What They Say…  

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What did they say? Should we be analyzing them based on what they just said? Those word choices lead me to believe they might be bizarre. What do we say about them? Did we read too much into it? Every time they learn a new word, they use it as often as they can. What does that say about him? “Who cares?” she says. She accuses us of over-analyzing them and being wrong more often than we’re right in these situations. “Maybe they just like using new words.” 

You know what they say, “Where do we go from here now that all of the children are growing up?” 

“I don’t think your mother would approve,” Green said. 

“I don’t call her mother,” Aqua replied. “I call her mom. No one calls their mom mother anymore.” 

“No one?” 

“Babies call their mom mommy, kids call her mom, and kids who are trying to be handsome call her mother.”  

You know what they say, “Who’s your daddy?” 

When we finally locate our child’s missing underwear, we knew it was time to consult his doctor, on his meds, when our dad said: 

“That’s such a relief, because I was so worried that our neighbors might find them at their house.” 

“Why would his underwear be over there?” we said when his tones suggested we should all consider this a relief. 

“Because they might find them there,” he said, as if we weren’t getting it. “They might steal them and say they found them at their house.” 

“Why would they do that?” we asked.  

“I watch that Court TV a lot, and these people dream up stories like these all the time,” he said. “Who’s to say they don’t dream up some tale about their daughter getting pregnant, and who’s the father? Why, it’s your kid! It’s what they call a paternity suit.” 

“I’m going to guess that the judge might throw this one out dad,” we said, “because they’re four-year-olds.” 

“Listen Mr. Smarty Pants,” he said in such a forceful manner that we took a step back. “You don’t know everything. You don’t know anything. They bring up frivolous cases like these all the time. You think they all get thrown out? And what happens before that case gets thrown out? Your child’s reputation gets dragged through the mud by all of these scandalous newspapers running stories on him.”  

You know what they say, “Despite all my rage I am still just a rat in a cage.” 

“You’ll know you’ve been married a long time when you can identify the smell your partner’s gas in a crowd.”  

You know what they say, “All right, all right, I hope you sons a bitches see the light.” 

“Sometimes I think you enjoy making me suffer in life.” 

You know what they say, “Who will buy these wonderful roses?” 

“Why do you care if people are attractive?” Aqua asks. “Why does anyone care how attractive people are? On my list of priorities, how attractive a person is, is actually quite low.” 

“I believe you, but attractive people make the world go round. We can be funny, even if we’re not, when we’re attractive. We can be smart, savvy, and strong if we’re more attractive. It’s not true. It’s a relative perception, and when I say it, I’m joking, but it does make the world go round.” 

“Then don’t say it.”  

You know what they say, “The world is, the world is love and life froggy.” 

People mess up 180 degrees and 360 degrees all the time. “Your thoughts on this matter and mine are 360 degrees different.” We know what they mean. They mean 180 degrees, but what if we could change 360 degrees? It’s a dumb line that requires some pseudointellectual psychobabble, but it seems to me that there’s some surprisingly hilarious or existentially challenging lines in there somewhere that needs to be explored for idiotic impact.  

You know what they say, “You’re not paranoid if they’re really after you.” 

It is possible to lose your sanity in an instant, I know, but with as much space as authors devote to this phenomenon, loyal readers might think it’s common. Stephen King wrote about this phenomenon so often that I don’t think he realized how often he self-plagiarized. His scenes involved an incident so foreign to his character’s experience, and they proved so shocking and so scary that their hair went completely white in an instant. He wrote about such incidents so often that I think he would say it’s not only possible, it’s happened. “How is it possible?” is the only question that springs to mind. I’ll admit I don’t understand the finer details of hair growth, but I don’t understand how anything, no matter how scary or shocking, can cause the nutrient depletion necessary for grey and white hair from root to tip. The idea of losing sanity in an instant is more plausible but almost as difficult to comprehend. Most crazy people didn’t have a flashpoint. Crazy, more often than not, has an anthropological source that starts with genetics and builds over time after being raised with unusual people of unusual ideas.  

“You mean to tell me that it’s possible that we could see something so shocking that it could completely alter my brain chemistry. The prospect of that is so scary that it might alter my brain chemistry.” 

You know what they say, “If I wanted you dead McGurty, you’d be dead already!” 

I don’t know if I’ve aged out of certain narratives, or if I’ve seen the same ones so often that I just don’t believe them anymore. Modern movies tipped my suspension of disbelief for I now finally see them trying to convince me that our action hero is a no-nonsense, gun-toting belligerent who takes no guff. They’ve ruined most of favorite movies of all time in the process, for I now see what I fell for for so many years. When I hear character-building lines that instruct the audience to recognize that our action hero is a no-nonsense, gun-toting belligerent who takes no guff, I remember all the action heroes I loved who were no-nonsense, gun-toting belligerents who took no guff. I immediately think such lines are lazy, and I eventually realize I’m not wrong, because I see the derivative nature of the line. Thanks to modern movies and all of the characterizations I no longer believe, I now see the old ones for what they are. I now see how the narratives of the movies I loved were carefully constructed by side characters the screenwriter used to build the main character, so the director didn’t have to use costly action scenes to prove to us what a badass he was. I’ve also learned a great deal from the show-don’t-tell school of writing that says if you’re going to have a badass, have them shoot an otherwise insignifigant side character. Shoot the one eating a sandwich over by that lamp. Shoot don’t tell. Shoot him for no reason other than you just didn’t like the way he looked at you. I’m not buying the “If I wanted you dead McGurty, you’d be dead already!” line anymore. It’s been used too many times since The Godfather and the James Bond movies for me to believe it now. If this character would murder another person without knowing all the details, they’re obviously not much of an intellectual, so her adversary should just try to trick her with some intellectual gamesmanship. Also, if she shoots first and asks questions later, shouldn’t she be locked up as a psychopathic maniac? “Shhh, watch the movie!” 

Horrible & Important Music Snobs

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“You listen to some horrible music.”

“What do you listen to?”

No answer.

Some of us listen to music others consider weird, strange, and just plain different music, but we’ve listened to it for so long that it no longer bothers us when they say it’s horrible. Who cares what anyone thinks of the music we play for our entertainment? We might have when we were in high school and college, but most of us left those insecurities behind us when we entered adulthood. We didn’t have anything to do with writing the music or the lyrics of these songs, so when people try to call us out in front of groups, we regard it as equivalent to Yo-Mama jokes. They’re the silly, inoffensive jokes we make about one another at parties and family get-togethers. We don’t make fun of someone’s appearance, their financial stability, or their children. No, we try to find a harmless subject on which the other has little-to-no vulnerability, and we drill down to the core. One guy lands a quality shot, the recipient hits back, and everyone keeps firing someone runs out of ammunition. It’s part of a fun little game we all play with one another.

Repetitive jokes like these only leap the fence from meaningless and harmless to competitive with repetition. When she first said, “You listen to some horrible music,” we laughed as hard as everyone else. We felt no need to respond. She could’ve been a little more creative, but it was a decent shot, and it was funny. 

We’ve found some jewels in the rough over the years, but we know that an overwhelming majority will never enjoy the music we do. It’s a thing, or a thang, we’ve known for so long that it doesn’t really matter to us anymore. It used to matter a great deal to us. We used to try to discover bands before any of our friends did, and the excitement we felt when we found such artistic musicians was almost physical. If the recipients of our recommendations grew to love the music, and they attributed it to us in some manner, it was thick and delicious gravy. That pursuit probably started us down these weird, strange, and just plain different musical paths, but whatever the anthropology of it was, when we returned to the chart-topping, traditional music that most enjoy, we were left with, “Is that all there is?”  

She would get such mileage out of this joke that she sought any strategic use of it that she could find. People would laugh, big belly laughs, because they knew about our listening habits. We laughed too, for years, until we thought about her music. “Wait a second,” we said. “What do you listen to?”

“Oh, I was just joking with you,” she said.

“I know you were,” we said, “but if you’re going to get in the ring, what you got?”

Nothing.

No one cares what kind of music she enjoys, because she doesn’t love music. It’s background noise to her. It’s what she turns on when it’s a little too quiet. She doesn’t ache for brilliance the way we do, great songs don’t alter her mood, and she’s never used the word masterpiece with emotional exclamation points. She lets a DJ select her music for her. Okay, but to what station does she tune? She prefers trite and simplistic tunes that are as far from difficult and challenging soundscapes as songs get. Her favorite music involves corporate production, computer enhanced vocals and a professional songwriter composing and editing lyrics. We have no problem with any of that on the surface, because we know 90% of the population prefers that music. They don’t seek out unique chord changes and complicated structures that no one else considered before. She’s not a musician or a music aficionado. She just wants a hummable beat that she can strum on her steering wheel. She doesn’t demand artistry from her favorite artists, and we suspect that most of the music we love involves more minds than we’ll ever know. Yet, her repetition suggests that there is some sort of psychological game going on that she’s won, because we considered this game so silly that we’ve yet to fire a shot.

That’s where the “What do you listen to?” snark was born. It’s fine if you crack on our music. We don’t defend our music, because we don’t think it needs defense, and because we find it silly to defend something we had no hand in creating. The only reason we said anything at all was because she spent the whole game on offense, and if we were going to find out if she had any game at all, we thought we should test her defense.

***

Someone stepped into her silence and stuck up for her. He was a gentleman who saw a woman flopping on the shore. She wasn’t embarrassed, and we didn’t really make her look bad, but he apparently felt the need to fill a void she couldn’t. 

He preferred important artists who created important music. He preferred cultural scribes who wrote meaningful music. He preferred musicians Rolling Stone told us that we’re supposed to like. As he spoke, we thought of all the articles that centered around the theme, “Why it’s okay to like this artist now.” This guy preferred to listen to the martyrs, the prophets, and philosophers of music who told us what to think. We told him that we sought our philosophical mainframe in other venues. He asked where, we told him, and we both viewed the other’s path to philosophical truths as simplistic.

“[My artist] has witnessed carnage and mayhem firsthand,” he said, “and he writes about it. He writes about tragedies, foreign and domestic, and he does so with heart-wrenching and illustrative prose and poetry.”

“It’s poetry without a punchline. He writes subjectivity as if it’s objectivity.”

“But he’s been there,” he said in a tone that suggested we don’t get it. The you-don’t-get-it crowd gets a lot of mileage out of that line without saying it. The power lies in the inference.

“On the yellow brick roads provided by the undersecretary of tourism development.” 

“But he writes from the soul,” he said. “His lyrics are deep and meaningful.”

“[The artist] regards it as the truth, but it is his truth. He regards it as challenging. It’s his important music. It’s the college thesis paper he never wrote, because he never attended college. It’s his “I’m smart. Not like everybody says … like dumb … I’m smart and I want respect!” moment.”  

“This is where you and I differ,” he said, “because I find his lyrics so intellectually stimulating that I consider him important.”

“But did he write it to be important?”

“Why does that matter?” he asked.

“My favorite artists don’t strive for importance in this vein, and when an artist does, it always sounds contrived to me. Did your favorite artist write your favorite important song for the purpose of artistic interpretation, or did he do it to be a star?” 

“I doubt that anyone writes a song with the hope that someone, somewhere will consider it important,” he said. “I’ve never written a song, and neither have you, but I have to imagine that it’s so hard to write a song that if you strive for a hit, or the level of importance that we’re talking about, you probably end up chasing your own tail.”

“You can hear it in the song,” we said. “You can hear it in the emotional triggers he uses to evoke and provoke. There’s nothing wrong with it of course, but it doesn’t move the needle for me. Listen, every musician wants to be successful at what they do, but what do they do to get it? I respect anyone who knows their limitations and battles them from within. Do some artists reach a peak of creative brilliance, and they witness the other guy constantly outdoing them? Does this idea that they can’t outdo their rivals compel them to go down the intelligent and important roads? I don’t know. Does the idea that they’ll never reach their creative peak again compel them to do it? I don’t know, but I can tell you that no musician has ever changed my mind on anything, and I find the never-ending attempts to do so a little tedious at times.”  

“So, who’s the music snob here?” he asked.

Our initial thought, after this conclusion of this conversation, was that this man was attempting to turn the tables on us. He chuckled after saying it however, and it was a reflective chuckle that suggested he was laughing as much at himself as he was us.