By James Bouklas

I was struck recently while watching a couple of local bar bands play out in the western part of the Island. They were playing their original creations, all of which sounded fairly trite and anonymous, interspersed with covers of pop music. People were hooting and dancing around them, lined up at the bar, watching the game. I turned to my friend and nudged him- he sat there, deep in thought, attention split between the boys on stage, his notepad, and the game. I asked him if the band members "get it," if they're in on the joke. I asked him if they had ever considered themselves part of something larger, and scrutinized the ways in which they contributed to a particular meme of society. And then we happened upon the obvious- the only thing that separates great music and artists from mediocrity is the ability to effectively step back and see themselves as a part of a whole.

In our correspondences with members of various Long Island bands, we like to ask the question, "What are some of your musical influences?" More often than not, the answer is a variation on, "While we're fond of [bands a, b, c], we feel our sound is entirely our own, and very unique." The notion that a band's sound can be completely unique and self-sustaining without constant self-scrutiny and questioning is a bit absurd. Left to your own devices, your music will fall in line with what already exists, even if you are under the belief that you are the first young man to ever have experienced unrequited love.

Stepping back is really much harder than it looks. It must be, since so few people do it well, let alone attempt it. To demonstrate what I mean, I'll give the example of Radiohead. The members of Radiohead seem to be painfully aware of where they stand in relation to their genre and the role they play as modern artists and musicians. After taking their first few albums to become familiar with their collective voice, they took a step back and took a good, hard look at themselves. In what must have been a painstaking evaluative process, or series of processes, the members took the bold move toward reinvention. They have since done this on a number of occasions, each time more brilliantly than the last. Let's look at the process of reinvention, and in this examination, figure out what a great advantage it is to truly strive for meta-awareness.

You're part of a successful enterprise, and you've finally hit your stride. It's only natural to keep perfecting your art until you are the unrivaled champion. As intuitive and beautiful as it sounds, it is hardly growth-promoting. It atrophies your artistic muscles and you fail to become a better artist. It is the mark of greatness to be able to take a step back and analyze your own creations as part of a larger continuum, both as part of a musical genre, but also as part of a musical movement.

When you reinvent the way in which you create art, you acknowledge that you are part of something larger. You are not just kids emoting in bar; you are musicians who are contributing to an overarching phenomenon. Reinvention is the recognition that your art is not personal. Your art is a product of the times and of your environs, and it is also has an aesthetic quality that impacts your genre as a whole. When you realize this, you can create something new that has the potential to change the way in which people appreciate your art.

This, sadly, is an all-too-rare occurrence in the music world. Many musicians are content with sating the part of themselves that longs for self-expression, failing to accept their place as part of a larger community. I have no issue with bar bands, as long as those bar bands know that people will dance in a bar regardless of what noise emanates from their guitar strings, or mouths. I do take issue, however, with bands being under the false impression that their music is solely an outlet for their emotions, and that if they touch a few people along the way, they have succeeded.

By failing to be self-aware, you run the risk of becoming a cliché, just as much as the fella in his mid-thirties, knocking down beers and rooting for the Giants is a cliché. Not that engaging in cliché behaviors isn't fun and rewarding in its own right- it's safe, and it's that feeling of safety that lets you know that you aren't growing. You contribute nothing to those around you when you add your voice to the chorus that is content to follow one or two paths. Anybody can get up on stage, speak-sing like a modern pop band, and have a bass guitarist with long hair. Hell, I could do it. Convincingly. It's time, as artists, you begin to value what you do as art, and know that there more at stake than simple self-gratification. The very aesthetic of your medium changes with every strum of your guitar. And for your sake and mine, you had better make the most of it.

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