Unraveling Millenial Manhood and Dad Rock

I have been an outspoken opponent of the suffocating genre classification of “dad rock” for years, but, until recently, I hadn’t thought about why the term has rubbed me so abrasively other than its primary purpose is to belittle the value of bands I love (most while still being critically acclaimed for the majority of their careers). Many of them I first fell in love with while in college (say at 20) over a decade ago, and many I champion just as adamantly, if not more so, today, now past 30.

Wilco. The National. Ryan Adams. The Walkmen. Nada Surf. Drive-By Truckers. Conor Oberst.

The National, photo credit: Dierdre O'Callaghan

The list goes on. As long as musicians no longer in their twenties brandish at least one guitar, play versions of mid-tempo rock and roll and delve into mature lyrical themes that swim near the waters of aging, marriage, divorce, parenting, and existential hand-wringing, there will be admonishing, trendier types writing it off as dad rock – not of commercial potential in today’s industry, not relevant to the times, sequestered within an older family-oriented man’s worldview, a fossil in a cacophony of EDM, dubstep, cookie-cutter fist-pumping radio country, and soulless Auto-tune pop by child TV personalities from long ago.

Just as there are plenty of popular musicians who transcend those groan-inducing trends, there are many beloved bands (that I also love) with members on the north side of thirty that still play rock and roll with guitars to sustained acclaim, yet generally don’t have to endure dad rock slander.

Spoon. Radiohead. LCD Soundsystem. Modest Mouse. Kurt Vile. Arcade Fire. Phoenix. The Black Keys.

Don’t get me wrong; many of the critics who subvert the worth of the bands that make “dad rock” are slightly less approving of the music of the latter bands than the near-universal gushing praises of their fans and vast majority of critics. To paraphrase those dissenters (even if they pen a positive review for these bands), the artists are still out of touch with the moment we reside, which should lessen their influence. Those who live by (i.e. me) and invest in this music are “rockist”.

I’ve long come to terms with being classified as rockist, but should I be considered “dad rockist” if many of these are my favorite bands even if I’ve never been married and have never been a father?

Sure, I was linked for years in my late twenties to a woman who had children, but does that worldview fully carry on with you once you’re in your thirties with three roommates, no serious mate and no kids? Does any of it matter when we’re talking about music?

To me, someone who takes listening as personally as anything in life, it must.

 

I found myself outlining this post today after listening to Ryan Adams’ new self-titled album (probably my 30^th spin of that record) and a recent Canadian release sent to me by a friend, Dan MacCormack’s Symphony of Ghosts. Adams’ record is characteristically brooding and is as unified as anything he’s ever done, awash in heartache, 3am colors and lusting electric guitar swaggers. MacCormack was a name new to me, but that album, although neither high enough on the radar nor classic four-piece-based enough to be in danger of being called dad rock, is a mature, swooning collection of string-and-steel-driven folk with intermittent rock flourishes and uncommonly potent songwriting that rings of literature (the songs are inspired by the writing of novelist David Adams Richards, whose novels are set in MacCormack’s home of New Brunswick) and rustic imagery and adulthood.

On “Feels Like Fire”, Ryan Adams sings, “Just so you know, you’ll always be the hardest thing I will let go / passing by your church and all the houses in a row / feels like fire.” It’s a chorus written by one of my favorites and carried the weight of a hundred things that had regularly popped in my head without reprieve for the better part of a year. It’s the kind of line that wouldn’t mean a whole lot to teenagers or college kids listening to whatever the hell is on the radio or queued up in their Saturday night Spotify playlist, but it hits me as heavily as that metaphorical swinging anvil he begs for in “My Wrecking Ball”. MacCormack offers up lyrics taking stock in the magnitude of raising another man’s child as your own or having a father “who has never walked a straight line past nine” and loving him just the same. Stuff like empathy isn’t child’s play. It’s not hard to imagine this kind of music invoking a rush of emotions for the right listener at the right moment in just about any year. This music (and much of the music I adore) may often be about relationships (thriving or failing), aging, doubt and the like, but for my money, I can’t think of many themes I’d rather spend my time on.

Jeff Tweedy (left) and Spencer Tweedy (right)

Hell, for that matter, Jeff Tweedy (another of my songwriting heroes) has fronted a band that, since about Sky Blue Sky, has been the quintessential poster outfit for dad rock. A month ago, he released a damn good double album under the name Tweedy with his 18-year-old son, Spencer, on drums and named the collection, Sukierae, after Tweedy’s wife and Spencer’s mother. I guess that’s about as uncool as it can get to the casual music fan, but I honestly can think of few things cooler and with more heart at its core, especially when the songs are at one of his highest calibers.  

Another favorite songwriter, Jenny Lewis, unveiled a dazzling (if more polished and pop-oriented compared to the Rilo Kiley of a decade ago) album, The Voyager, a short few months ago. Produced by Ryan Adams with an assist from Beck and veteran Heartbreaker Benmont Tench, Lewis’ writing and delivery impressively walk the tightrope of being both as gorgeous and venomous as ever while tackling topics most other songwriters would shy away from.

Jenny Lewis, photo credit: Autumn De Wilde

A former child star now in late thirties and still possessing centerfold beauty and style of yesteryear, Lewis is still one of the best feminine (and I’d argue feminist) voices in rock-based music today. Even if she plays guitar and writes mid-tempo songs steeped in unshakeable melodies, it’s somewhat interesting to me that nobody will call her music dad rock, especially when most longtime fans lament some sort of decline since the collapse of Rilo Kiley (typically citing Under the Blacklight as the death knell). It’s curious then that The Voyager most closely resembles that poppier-than-previous-albums swan song from 2007 (coincidentally, the same year Wilco released Sky Blue Sky and The National gave the world Boxer) and has likely struck some of the same wrong chords with those fans still wishing for another Takeoffs and Landings thirteen years later. In any case, anyone who has listened to The Voyager or its Beck-produced lead single, “Just One of the Guys”, it’s hard to ignore the coup de grace line in that song, when all the “oohs” and background accompaniment drift away and we come to the bridge with nothing but Lewis’ crystal clear, undeterred voice drops a half-heart-on-sleeve, half-tongue-in-cheek zinger (and a solid argument for this piece):

“There's only one difference between you and me
When I look at myself, all I can see
I'm just another lady without a baby.”

That’s as honest, unapologetic and illuminating a line as I’ve heard in 2014, but it would also seem to be grossly undervalued if “Just One of the Guys” really tried to fit in on the radio or against the most popular genres of the moment. The thing is…it has a kindred spirit with the very music I love that is called dad rock, but its core purpose is to skewer vapid young twenty-something girls at parties and illuminate the chasm between her, them and the guys.

Where does dad rock begin and end?

Are single thirty-something guys who adore the music Wilco, The National and Jenny Lewis but have no kids dad-rockists?

Is this really a genre, or can something positive merely be said for people who appreciate meaningful storytelling with often-mature themes put to rock music by actual adults and played by veteran musicians?