CONT'D: Where Have All the Rock Stars Gone? | Page 1, 2, 3

Beastie Boys
Back in the carefree eighties, throngs of adolescent males were wound up by three impudent Brooklyn teenagers' unforgettable, testosterone-driven party anthem "Fight For Your Right to Party," the crown jewel of the ubiquitous License to Ill album which featured quirky, juvenile tales of underage drinking, cartoonish violence, and (most importantly) "girls... to do the dishes / to clean up my room / to do the laundry / and in the bathroom." Again, not that the Beasties' misogyny was a good thing per se, but it certainly infuriated enough assistant principals and soccer moms to make the inherent ignorance of their teenage rants forgivable.

Fast forward to the eggshell nineties. Beer-soaked baseball caps have been replaced with Buddhist monks' robes, and while their music and live performances have remained infused with irony and self-parody, the Boys themselves have (sadly) grown up. Lecturing on the global importance of a free Tibet, the horrors of concert-going sexual assault, and the racist motivations behind the Gulf War, former King Ad Rock Adam Hrovitz has turned into a grand scale party-pooper, yelling after the limo for the prom kids to buckle their seatbelts and wear a jacket. Sorry boys, but just because you once "had a little horsey named Paul Revere" doesn't equip you to become the town criers, preaching your dumbed-down version of international diplomacy and liberalism from your hypocritical high horse.

Hole
Janis Joplin, Grace Slick, Joan Jett... rock history is smattered with a few proud, vocal rock chicks who kicked down the door of a male-dominated music form, along the way kicking some serious ass and probably causing Jewel to cower for cover behind journals of teenage poetry. On the surface, the banshee-screaming, no-nonsense Hole front woman Courtney Love would appear to be a worthy heir to the ball-busting tradition.

Somehow, though, her "don't give a shit" attitude doesn't entirely ring true. Maybe it's the manner in which she magically metamorphed from a swearing, panty-flashing wild woman into a sweet, mannerly Hollywood glam queen when Oscar talk buzzed around her overrated performance in The People vs. Larry Flynt, in which she attempted to portray (laughably) an underage stripper. Perhaps more suspect was her reversion back to her devil-may-care rock persona when the need arose to promote her second album Celebrity Skin, allegedly a parody of the star-studded phoniness which she only months before embraced. Musically, Love's artistic abilities were brought into question when Smashing Pumpkins' Billy Corgan claimed most of the song-writing credit for Celebrity Skin, an assertion that echoed back to rumors that Love's late husband Kurt Cobain was silently behind the penning of Hole's first album Live Through This.

The evidence adds up to a very shaky picture of the wanna-be rock queen. Sure, her foul mouth and outrageous stage antics seem to originate from a self-destructive punk ethos, but her inconsistencies indicate that although she wants to be Johnny Rotten, she's really more like Johnny Bravo - a reluctant pop star who just happens to fit the suit (or in this case, the pink mini-dress).

Marilyn Manson
What more can one write about a man who has been publicly decried ad nauseum by church and parent groups, personally blamed for every whacked-out teenager who takes an Uzi into his scout meeting, and (amazingly) has surpassed his twisted homicidal namesake to become the most notorious Manson in America? Could Marilyn Manson be the last true rock star?

All the elements are present: the screeching, guttural music at which your mother shakes her head, the pro-drug, anti-Christianity psuedo-rhetoric that causes Tipper Gore to quake in her sensible shoes, and the always-shocking visual imagery that spurs Walmart boycotts galore. And, like the late comedian/ provocateur Andy Kaufman, the joke is always on the audience, as Manson almost begs the Christian Right to predictably embark on their staggeringly blind-sighted protests, nicely increasing record sales.

From head to toe, Marilyn Manson delivers pure, undiluted entertainment value, often unleashing his soft-spoken, dry wit (a favorite quote: when asked about the most outrageous rumor he had ever heard about himself, he quipped, "That I slept with Courtney Love. I would have a rib removed, I would be on The Wonder Years, but I'd never have sex with her.") as well as starting rumors about himself, just for kicks (for the record, he never gave head to Dave Navarro... I think).

Sure, his artistry occasionally drifts into pretentious realms (the concept Mechanical Animals album reeks of self-importance) and he's sometimes guilty of the sort of pop star pandering and self-promotion that makes Madonna so loathsome. But the difference is that, in true rebel spirit, Manson doesn't want you to love him. He just wants to push the right buttons (drugs, sex, religion) to provoke you, so that the very utterance of his name will incur a passionate reaction (just mention the words to a church-going grandmother and watch the sparks fly). And the truly rock twist to the Manson freakshow is that he seems to do it all merely for his own amusement.

Honorable Mentions
If one searches hard enough, a few morsels of the rebellious essence can be dug out of a few nooks and crannies of the current music scene:

Black Crowes: Uncompromising and outspoken, Chris Robinson and the boys are a throwback to that late sixties integrity that wallpapered the backdrop of the Easy Rider generation.

Insane Clown Posse: If gleeful rebellion could be embodied in just one song, it might be ICP's anthem "Fuck the World", off the recent Great Milenko album. Plus, everyone in the music business absolutely hates them, which is pretty cool.

Old Dirty Bastard: Seemingly wanted in every state, the Wu Tang Clan member makes news and memories at every turn. On an MTV call-in show, ODB was asked what he was doing to give back to the community. His instant response: "Nothing." Whether the music is hip hop or heavy metal, that's rock and roll.

Maybe the essence of rock isn't dead after all, only buried under a shiny sea of Versace sunglasses and hair gel. But as long as there are a few proud warriors continuing to fight the evil forces of marketing, homogenization, and good taste, next year's MTV awards might be worth watching, with the hope (no matter how slight) that a drunken fight, embarrassing display of stupidity, or spontaneous orgy of nudity breaks out. Now that's entertainment.

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Brendan Clarke is a PopPulse Editor. He lives and writes in Hanover, Massachusetts where he has been known to try his luck at stand-up comedy. Brendan is a Capricorn.
E-mail: brendanclarke@poppulse.com