A prophesy is preserved in sound at the beginning of Guided by Voices’s aptly titled Propeller[1] album.  After a shout of, “Is everyone ready to rock?” what sounds like a multitude of voices begins chanting, “G-B-V!!!… G-B-V!!!…G-B-V!!!”  This crowd didn’t actually exist, but was made up of band members and friends re-recording layers of the chant to create the effect of a large crowd.[2] 

 

Guided by Voices, led by songwriter Robert Pollard[3] and (at that time, 1992) consisting of his brother Jim Pollard and friends Tobin Sprout, Greg Demos, Mitch Mitchell and Kevin Fennell didn’t play live anymore and had planned on this, their fifth album, to be their swan song.  According to Jim Greer (rock critic for Spin magazine and former member of the band) they put all of their best anthemic songs on the album had 500 of them pressed, hand decorated the covers, and split the copies between them.  Friend Pete Jamison (the band’s “manager for life”) sent several of his copies to magazine critics,[4] while Demos sent a few to small record labels, hoping to find distribution.[5]  One of them (a Cleveland-based record label called Scat and owned by Robert Griffin) took notice and signed them. 

 

Their next album, Vampire on Titus (1993), caught the attention of Matador (one of the leading independent record labels of the early 90s) and soon thereafter, Robert Pollard was able to quit his day job teaching fourth grade and assumed full time leadership of the band.  After their first critically successful album, Bee Thousand, they took to touring the country.  On every stop since, the prophetic chant from Propeller became a reality.

 

Despite achieving “a special kind of success that MTV hits or platinum records could never really equal”[6] Pollard and company remain relatively unknown in the realm of popular music. Though he holds dominion over a small legion of dedicated fans, counts his total number of songs to be around 5000 and has released more recorded music than most popular acts do in their entire history,[7] Pollard’s name is hardly as familiar as those of the current holders of “MTV hits or platinum records.” 

 

Though his paradoxical position as simultaneously a cult hero and yet totally obscure is very interesting, my interest in this paper will primarily be to analyze that position in relation to Pollard’s music itself.  Through other’s analysis and some of my own, I want to understand how and why the music functions aesthetically in terms of sonic quality and lyrically to create such a particular appeal.

 

To assist my analysis, I will refer throughout to what Simon Frith presented as “the social function of music” in his article “Towards an Aesthetic of Popular Music.”   Many of the “social functions” and his aesthetic conclusions are fitting in the story of Guided by Voices. 

 

The sonic qualities of the music itself play an important role in the saga of Guided by Voices because many of their earlier recordings are very different from the sound of most studio “rock” recordings.  A leading force in what popular media called a “lo-fi” movement, the band’s sound was often marked not only by loud hisses and buzzes of low-tech recording equipment, but was “marred” by “unprofessional” sounding editing and mixing. 

 

Many of the other “lo-fi” bands used similar techniques.  Rising almost in parallel with the so-called “grunge” or “alternative” genres (and like them, it was mostly created by marketing more than bands themselves), the “lo-fi” movement came to be known by a few bands of probably thousands in different cities who were recording in their own makeshift studios (their apartments, garages and basements) on four-track recorders (or more primitive machinery).  Bands like GbV, Pavement, Sebadoh, Half Japanese are only a few of the bands that achieved notoriety during the early 90s for their contrast not only to the slickly produced pop of the time (think MC Hammer) but also to the “grunge” sound of loud, noisy guitars.   The “lo-fi” bands often used a different type of noise that came from their earlier recordings that were done through modest means (arrangements in garages, basements, and using whatever and whoever was around for instruments and musicians).  They arguably had a more diverse sounds in contrast with the relative sameness of Nevermind, for instance.  That is, while the latter was packed with full sounding rockers, on the typical “lo-fi” recording, you never knew what sonic direction the next track might take.  

 

Bob and company distinguished themselves even within the “lo-fi” community in two ways.  First, they had been recording music in this way since approximately 1986, predating most of the “lo-fi” material.  Second, they made music that was structurally closer to a conventional pop song.  With such mainstream influences as the Beatles and the Who, but also lesser known ones such as Big Star and Wire, the accessibility of their music was apparently still too low to catch on given its unusual sound.  During the early 90s when “alternative” music was supposed to be taking the world by storm, in reality the real revolution was occurring in your neighbor’s basement.

 

The homemade sound did attract some, but commercially it remained in the “indie” (independent) category which allowed it some success, but not on the level of most of the popular “alternative” acts like Nirvana or Pearl Jam.  Bob was surprised enough at their popularity outside of Dayton and the “indie” crowd, let alone a larger one, but Bob has never shied away from the idea of becoming more popular.  “I do have a secret ambition, like Guided by Voices will fuckin' rule the world, just kick ass”[8]   He also voices his ambition to actually have a radio hit, but not by compromising the way he wants it to sound:  “I would like to have a hit, I'll take a hit, and if someone thinks the way we recorded a song is enough to be a hit, fine. But I'm not making hits. I'm making an album. The album has to please me.”[9] 

 

In saying so, Bob takes a stance of artistic integrity often professed in “indie” or “alternative” rock, but not always held to by many bands.  However, in the case of GbV, their particular history as relatively unknown provides Bob with a secure distance:  “I’m not afraid of failure because we were failures from the beginning.  Nobody gave a shit about us for ten years.”[10] This distance combined with a stake in artistic integrity is proven by how long they spent in obscurity, but also because by what Bob claims makes the recording “good:” the conditions of its recording.  That is, the fact that they were in control of these recordings made the result more satisfying to he and his band:

 

For our early recordings, we actually went into a studio, and put the material in the hands of someone who didn't know what the hell he wanted and it came out sounding like shit. Eventually, we said, ‘Hell, we're going to do it ourselves.’ And we used Toby's [Tobin Sprout’s] four-track. And I think we sounded better--although it was four-track sound, not 16-track or 24-track. It sounded better because we were in charge, and we were getting the vocal sounds we wanted and the guitar sounds and everything.[11]

 

After their first wide critical acclaim in 1994 with the album Bee Thousand, Bob has remained “in charge” while making several changes that (whether intentionally tactical or not), lent themselves to gaining a wider audience.[12]  In an interview in 1999, Bob referred to his having two sides, an experimental one, and “this really big, power-anthem pop” side.[13]  In 1996, after their last fully “lo-fi” album, Alien Lanes,[14] he made a significant move to splinter these two sides.  He released a solo album called Not in My Airforce[15] alongside the band’s current release, Under the Bushes, Under the Stars[16] (his collaborator Tobin Sprout also released a solo work).  At first, the idea of a Bob solo work seemed somewhat redundant, as most of the songs are written by him, and most of the band members made appearances.  However, compared to the “official” GbV release of that year, Not in my Airforce retains much more of the “raw” home-recorded sound, whereas Under the Bushes… was the band’s first foray into a fully produced studio sound.  By revealing this split, Bob could continue to experiment (i.e., mess around in the basement) to please both himself and his hardcore fans, while the band’s releases (with the more full produced sound) could be more accessible to new fans.  Indeed, many fans I’ve spoken to and seen writing on the fan’s electronic mailing list, Postal Blowfish,[17] refer to Under the Bushes… as the album that led them to discovering the band.  Another reason for the split is purely Bob’s prolificacy and desire to not spend so much time recording and doing post-production (re-mixing, adding tracks or layers to songs).  GbV "gets in there and gets out, instead of having the same musical ideas repeated.”  Under the Bushes… originally was going to be purely more fully produced cuts (by Steve Albini[18] and Kim Deal[19]), but upon returning from a European tour with new songs, Bob decided to quickly cut a few and put them on the new album.

 

I [had written] a bunch of new songs, like 18 or 20 songs, and I thought they were better. They were more spontaneous and more free, they weren't geared toward a concept of anything, so we decided to record them in Dayton. Plus [for the previously recorded songs], we rehearsed for maybe a month in the basement, and took maybe two more weeks to record it—the whole process took two months to rehearse and record, and I don't like to work that way…some of it turned out really good, but a lot of it is painful for me to listen to because it took so long and it was so labored.[20]

 

This solo/band split also became a problem with the band’s label, Matador, who thought flooding the market with Bob’s music could alienate fans who are trying to keep up, at the same time dilute the buying power of the potentially wider popular music audience.  While this may have been true for the latter, the dedicated fans remain fairly obsessive about owning everything the band puts out.  One article describes them as “drug addicts” who “start jonesing” if “three months pass without a release”[21] while one fan described the band itself as “tailor-made for obsession… It was like every time I went into a record store I would find a new GbV album that I didn't even know existed.”[22]  So even though Matador generally wanted Bob to “go on vacation,” he managed to release short EP’s on different home-made labels, or put extra tracks on releases of singles as B-sides.

 

In 1997, however, Bob made a highly radical move that is still somewhat misunderstood.  The original lineup was disintegrated, and he subsumed the members of a Cleveland-based band named Cobra Verde.  Bob cites artistic stagnancy and personal differences in making the decision, but the change also produced a band lineup that, because of its tighter and more polished studio and live performances, had more commercial potential.  Bob nevertheless left some of the experimental side (not to mention a few of the old band members) on that year’s Guided by Voices release, Mag Earwig!,[23]  yet left some of the most charged “anthem-like” songs they’d ever recorded (such as “Bulldog Skin,” for which professional looking video was produced, and “I Am a Tree”).  This changed the band’s outlook and profile, but ultimately did not find them a more extensive audience.

 

These last two albums show how Bob remained unsatisfied with a more “commercial” sound.  His desire to add the more intimate “lo-fi” recordings to the previously established studio tracks display how his desire to remain “in charge” overrode the desire to accommodate a larger audience.

 

After a two year silence from the band (but not from Bob, who recorded two more solo albums, Waved Out (1998),[24] and Kid Marine (1999)[25]), Bob and company made their most ambitious gesture towards a wider audience.  Again, the band lineup changed, keeping only the most key player from the “GbVerde” lineup, guitarist and songwriter Doug Gillard, and adding longtime contributor Greg Demos (later replaced by bassist Tim Tobias for touring, as Demos could not leave his day job as a lawyer), guitarist Nate Farley, and drummer Jim MacPherson (formerly of The Breeders).  In addition, the band changed record labels, from their faithful Matador Records to TVT Records. 

 

To record his first album in two years as Guided by Voices, Bob secured an interesting change in the hiring of former Cars singer/songwriter Ric Ocasek.  It was an unusual move for Guided by Voices to have an “official” producer at all besides he or his friends, let alone one of such note. Bob and Ocasek, on the band’s 1999 release, Do the Collapse,[26] created a more “full” sound than anything the band had ever recorded, including a few songs with string arrangements, and even one or two with some synthesizer effects (primarily in “Teenage FBI”) in homage to earlier Cars tunes. 

 

Nadine Gelineau, TVT’s marketing director, regards the album as pivotal in Bob’s career.  “Do the Collapse held for me step forward.  He's having fun in the studio, making quirky references to studio albums that he grew up with.”  She sees it “as a natural bridge to what's coming next, and in reflection people will realize that Do the Collapse is a very important album in the band's history.”[27]

 

Fan’s opinions of the aesthetic worth of Do the Collapse, on the other hand, run the gamut from people who claim it is Bob’s best album (calling it “fuckin’ brilliant”[28] “purely because you can play it loud…it doesn’t fall apart at loud volumes”[29]) to those who think the songs on it are below Bob’s par (“GBV’s worst album yet”[30]).  Others stated the opposite, that it is  “overproduced, not raw enough, too clean sounding.”[31]  Agreeing with this assessment, one fan expressed the same criticism that Bob did of his own “over-produced” music: “I got sick of that damned guitar sound.  The inherent casualness of GbV in the past…is what really makes my day.”[32]

 

The combination of Do the Collapse and the alliance with TVT also produced some different marketing opportunities for the band.  TVT has a much more aggressive marketing strategy, though it is still is not considered a “big label” (in relation to Columbia or Warner Brothers), with the stereotypically negative things that go along with that (primarily loss of artistic control).  On one hand, one of the label’s most promising coups was the inclusion of “Teenage FBI” on the soundtrack album for the popular television show Buffy the Vampire Slayer.  Though the band has yet to show an influx of teenage fans, the marketability of soundtrack albums in general in the 90s and the popularity of the show seemed a unique opportunity. 

 

Another interesting aspect of the band’s current marketing status is Nadine’s regular participation on the Postal Blowfish mailing list, informing the die-hard how the marketing effort is going (in very specific terms of what radio stations in what parts of the country are playing singles, etc.) and letting them know how they can help.  She explained to me that the fan base was a very important aspect to her marketing effort with GbV as opposed to other bands on the label.  She knew that “it would be important to the band that we maintain that link and do everything in the spirit of what the core are accustomed to,” thus “not alienating the band’s core and thus their ability to survive no matter what.”[33] 

 

This is one aspect of the “full service” that TVT Records provides as a “large indie” label that separates them from the larger “majors.”  Since TVT handles its own distribution, Nadine can make personal connections with local representatives in a city the band are touring in, making sure that not only the large chain record stores stocked with GbV’s album, but the smaller independent ones are given attention as well, since they generally contribute more to the “word of mouth” effect.  In addition, their diverse artist roster helps them distribute marketing costs:  “We can use the success of Snoop Dogg as leverage to get our developing artists into stores that wouldn‘t take them otherwise.”[34]
                Regarding Do the Collapse, Nadine has been somewhat surprised by the lack of sales despite accolades that seem to flood, in town after town, in many newspapers and magazines.  The fact that some fans dislike it yet support Bob in general “goes to show the kind of relationship GbV has with their fans—that they are allowed to make (what some people consider) a mistake and still carry on.”  She also sited a Postal Blowfish member “who hates it but bought 6 copies."[35]

 

However, whatever the opinion of the album and TVT’s marketing efforts, close to all of the fans on Postal Blowfish would love to see Bob hit it big.  One said that after buying Bob’s most recent solo release, he “knew that Do the Collapse was pretty much an exercise in marketability, which I certainly can't hold against Bob, as he has a cool band and a family to feed.”[36]  Another told me that he thinks “any audience Bob gets would be well deserved,”[37]  This is a switch from the attitude of most fans of “lo-fi” or even some “alternative” music, where fans feel like something is lost when a larger audience is gained and “everyone” knows about the band of their choice.  One Postal Blowfish subscriber, James Mann, elaborated on this attitude—though it seems to apply to some fans, but not those that I spoke to:

 

The whole "indie cred" notion of anything popular being bad is such crap. I feel legions of "old-time" GBV fans would rather Bob and crew go back to silk screening 7" covers in their basement, earning $8,000 a year just so they wouldn't be "selling out.”  That notion is appealing when:  A) you're 18 years old, and living off daddies money or working at a pizza joint, or B) Not the person who is trying to earn a living with music, who grows like any other human.[38]

 

Rick Allen expressed a similar sympathy with Bob:

 

[The] man's gotta eat, and personally I wouldn't want to have to live out my days in the indie rock ghetto.  There are a lot of intelligent tasteful people that just don't listen to indie rock and I think they should have the opportunity to be exposed to GBV.  It's not like the band is turning into Korn or Britney Spears or something.[39]

 

However, it remains important to some that Bob not have to change his music to accommodate future fans.  Recently, there surfaced a discussion about the sequencing of Do the Collapse, positing that the second song, “Zoo Pie” would be alienating to those who weren’t already fans.  One Postal Blowfish subscriber accused Nadine and others that if they were worrying too much about the “casual listener” they weren’t staying true to Bob’s musical vision.

 

Either way, Nadine doesn’t see Bob’s life changing that much, with or without TVT or mass success:

 

He makes music for himself, I don't think that's going to change.  He's such a music fan—and the thing that the fans do for Bob is it allows him the luxury of maintaining that ideal because he knows you are going to buy and support the music regardless.  He has a large enough fan base and a simple enough lifestyle that he doesn't need to prostitute his beliefs in music.  He'll be able to maintain his love of making music for a long time—whether or not we're a part of it he'll always be able to.[40]

 

Nevertheless, the new material and marketing efforts have gained a few fans, as the PB subscription has gained a hundred subscribers between December 1999 and March 2000.  The Postal Blowfish group’s greatest diversity is age, counting 15 and 16 year olds as fans alongside the fans closer to Bob’s age (42).  These are primarily white males,[41] there is another mailing list entirely for female fans.[42]

 

Not to be slowed down by what would be for many a time to coast on one’s accomplishments, on the eve of a US tour in support of Collapse, Bob released his fourth full solo album just following his 42^nd birthday on Halloween, 1999.  A collaboration with Doug Gillard (Gillard plays all the instruments, recorded on four-track), Speak Kindly of Your Volunteer Fire Department[43] has many elements of the home-recorded style that fans had been familiar with, but also has some of the catchiest songs Bob has written in some time.  Speak Kindly… was well received by those fans who thought that the songwriting on Collapse was substandard.

 

                I have spent some time on the history of Guided by Voices and characterizing both the fan’s and Bob’s attitude towards gaining popularity because to many fans, the history of the band is important to why they enjoy it.  Frith’s first category of social functions of music refers to its ability to answer “questions of identity: we use songs to create for ourselves a particular sort of self-definition, a particular place in society.”[44]  This is true of Bob’s music, but also the story behind it, as it not only gives listeners “a pleasure of identification…with the performers of that music,” but has actually inspired some to change their lives. 

 

Many of the Postal Blowfish are musicians themselves, like Tery Daly, who had been doing recording similar to Bob’s for three years prior to hearing GbV.  Hearing Bee Thousand inspired him to start releasing his own recorded music.[45]  James Mann reported a similar identification, siting their recent song “Teenage FBI” as helping him decide to “quit working at a ‘real’ job and go freelance” [he identified himself as a freelance writer for several magazines].[46]  Bob is only passing this kind of inspiration on, since it was the same kind that helped him persevere:

 

A parent told me at a parent-teacher conference--she knew what was going on with the band from the local papers--she said, 'I think that's good. I want my son to see that when you have your heart set on doing something, it can happen to you. So what you're doing with your band is good.' I almost cried."[47]

 

Now, I will turn to describing the other aspects of the music that attracted and hooked many fans.  As a result, this analysis will mostly focus on their “lo-fi” years, for the primary reason that the majority of the core fans became familiar with them during that period.

 

In describing their first experiences with the earlier albums, responses were one of two: they were hooked right away, or it took time for them to warm up to the sound.  Michael Formanek described how he had purchased Vampire on Titus, but with little expectation, but upon playing it he was instantly interested: “I got up during “’Wished I Was a Giant’” [the first song on the album] to start it over and turned up the volume as loud as I could.”[48]  Another commented on the same song, even though they found the album as a whole harder to appreciate at first, saying that “I loved the fact that, underneath all the sludge, there was a beautiful song waiting in there…[making] it all the more fragile, elusive.”[49]

 

Some of this effect comes from the fact that many of the fans (or subscribers to PB anyway) are “lo-fi” musicians themselves.  Tery Daly considers Bee Thousand to be “the greatest album ever recorded in all of human history:”  

 

One of the first things that hit me was that this album, production wise, sounded exactly like the stuff I was recording, but it didn't bother me a bit, in fact, it added to the atmosphere/personality of the songs. It was so intimate, so unprofessional, so personal, as if the band were performing the song just for you. At one point where the guitar drops out, and comes back in, I knew immediately that part of the track had been accidentally erased (having done it myself on a few occasions, it's one of the most frustrating things ever) and there was an immediate sense of bonding with the music.[50]

 

This same sense was reported by those who initially did not react as immediately to the unusual sound (myself included).  These outnumber those who reacted positively, and many even go so far as to say that on their first listen to one of the albums was quite negative, reporting reactions like, “I very close to outright hated Vampire on Titus,”[51] or “I have been told by the person who played it [again, Vampire on Titus] for me that I mocked it and didn’t like it”[52]  and “I hated it.  I thought they should have tuned their guitars before recording it.”[53]

 

However, after an initial listen, they then recounted how the music produced a delayed reaction wherein they didn’t appreciate it until later.  Many times, they will have shelved the album, and then upon listening to it again they have a completely different experience.  While this was also my experience with Alien Lanes, this process was described by many of my respondents.  Matthew Tragresser claimed that had he not routinely listened to new purchases in his truck on the way to work, “I probably would have never listened to the whole thing,” having been “completely bored by it.”

 

I literally thought that I would never listen to the CD again. If I hadn't taped Fugazi's newest album on the other side, it probably never would have made it into my truck. Over a week later, as I reached the end of Fugazi's Red Medicine, I let the tape flip over to the other side because I was too busy driving to pull it out. Amazingly, two songs into Bee Thousand, I found myself singing along. Personally, I think it's pretty unusual to even remember most of the songs on an album that I've only listened to once, and here I was, singing along--I even was able to vaguely remember what each upcoming song was going to sound like before it started. I was noticing subtleties that had somehow eluded me before. It was like the songs had become a part of me and hearing them for the second time was like some kind of flashback to my childhood.[54]

 

Even after being familiar with this effect, Tragresser reported that the same process took place when he bought the next album, Alien Lanes:

 

The first time I listened to it, I hated it. I distinctly remember thinking how unfortunate it was that Guided by Voices only had one really good album. Then, one day, I listened to Alien Lanes on a whim and it just clicked. Pretty soon I was listening to Alien Lanes even more often than Bee Thousand.[55]

 

Even though many simply reported that “after a really good listen I became more than hooked”[56] or “I liked it and got into it little by little until I was blindsided by Alien Lanes—and then it clicked,”[57] many echoed Tragresser’s description of how the music’s “subtleties” became more apparent.  One described how after a few listens, “the songwriting appears stronger and after I was used to the sound, a lot of the subtleties added more to what I could hear.”[58]

 

At the same time, many interesting descriptions piled up describing how the songs “just embedded themselves in my brain and wouldn’t leave”[59]  One even sarcastically told me that her friends listened to GbV often, and that “eventually, I caught the bug myself.  GbV is pretty infectious, you know.”[60]  One humorous account described seeing them live and enjoying it, yet “it didn’t sink in for a week or so.  I ended up singing “The Closer You Are” and doing the Bob Pollard kick in the cooler at work.  That was when I realized how much I liked GbV.”[61] 

 

Another humorous description of Alien Lanes “clicking” was an experiment I performed on a friend whose musical tastes suggested he was a potential GbV fan.  After he liked Do the Collapse, I lent him Alien Lanes.  After a day or two, he reported that it was alright, he just didn’t like it as well as Collapse.  A week or two later, he left me a voice message stating: "Alien Lanes is amazingly amazingly good and I don't know why I didn't like it very much at first.  I frankly don't want to listen to any other music again, ever!  I think I could live on a desert island with this album."[62]

 

One fan told me that the music “It definitely took some getting used to.  It was a slow and almost subconscious process.  I'd find the same damn songs popping into my head at random times and HAVE to go listen to them.  Eventually, all the songs revealed themselves to me.”[63]  I emphasize “reveal” because another respondent used this exact term in describing how it took “perseverance,” but with time, the beauty of the record revealed itself.  I liked that need to work on it, to discover its greatness.”[64] 

 

So what precisely are these subtleties that “sneak into your system, sprout talons, and then cling to your hindbrain?”[65]  This can be characterized by three major categories: how the music fits into a “rock” genre, it’s unusual sonic qualities brought about by their recording conditions, and finally their lyrical quality. 

 

Bob Pollard is first and foremost a music fan himself, as Nadine Gelineau pointed out to me, and he is quite proud of his line of influence, calling it “Ragu rock” because in terms of other brands of rock, in his music: “it’s all in there—all the good elements”[66]  He once explained that even the band’s name “refers to the fact that he's guided by the voices of rock history in his head” which are constantly speaking to him.[67]  George Lipsitz coincidentally uses a similar term while making the claim for popular music as “dialogic” in the same way that Bakhtin claimed for the novel:  “[Popular music’s] “voices” resonate with the vernacular and sacred traditions of the past, incorporating musical and linguistic figures into readily understood icons and images.”[68]

 

For Bob, “all the good elements” begins with the earliest "British Invasion” pop (primarily the Beatles, the Rolling Stones and the Kinks, and is evident in his British accented singing voice), he sites many other major rock “movements” since: 60s bubble-gum (Paul Revere and the Raiders, Herman's Hermits), glam rock (T. Rex, David Bowie), “prog” or “progressive” rock (Genesis, Van Der Graaf Generator, Yes, Emerson Lake and Palmer), punk rock (Wire, The Stranglers), and finally “post-punk.”  This lineage of influence generally ends with guitar bands of the 80s such as the db’s, the Soft Boys, R.E.M., and the Replacements, while others along the way include The Who, Blue Oyster Cult, Thin Lizzy, Cheap Trick, and Big Star.  During the last leg of their 2000 tour, his current incarnation of GbV began doing cover songs (Stones, the Who, the Cars, and AC/DC)—a practice relatively unprecedented given the catalog of his own songs he can draw from. 

 

He is fond of telling the story of how he ordered copies of albums by Moby Grape, Ten Years After, and King Crimson from his father’s record club based purely on the band’s names.  This sense of rock music’s history is another feature that attracts the listener.  As Nadine G points out, his later “studio” sounding recordings have given him a chance to “have fun in the studio” to make “quirky references to the studio albums that he grew up with.”  Many fans have referred to their previous love of the Beatles, The Who and other similar groups, one even making a claim that the song “Echoes Myron” on Bee Thousand “is a Beatles song.”[69]   This would please Bob, who like many American youngsters were introduced to the Beatles on the infamous Ed Sullivan Show appearance:

 

I was maybe 6 or 7, and saw that and freaked out that there were bands like that.  It was the first rock thing I saw.  Before that, it was pretty easy-going stuff that I heard. I went, 'Wow, man, this is good,' and I started practicing in the mirror to be like a Beatle, and I got some ambition that maybe someday I'll do it. I lost that pretty rapidly when I found I had no musical talent, but that's the thing that inspired me and made me start writing songs. I started writing my own 'Beatles songs,' because I couldn't get enough Beatles.

 

Returning to fans comments, many of them enjoy the fact that he has such a vast musical knowledge, thus allowing them to explore the history of “rock” in different ways.  One commented on one of Bob’s more experimental side projects (a band he calls Nightwalker) as being “about record collecting and tracking down the rare shit as much as it is about music.  I love it!”[70]  Another went even further:  “GbV music, to me, is basically Bob rewriting the history of rock (or at least the segments of rock history that he cares about), building a universe, fashioning mythologies and mysteries.”[71]  John Wenzel here unknowingly restates Lipsitz’s re-articulation of Bakhtin’s concept of “dialogism” as: “the recovery and re-accentuation of previous works,” “an ongoing historical conversation in which no one has the first or last word,” and simply as “cumulative.”[72]

 

One of Frith’s social functions describes how a unique aspect of popular music is its ability to “organize our sense of time,” making them “the key to our remembrance of things past.”[73]  Many fans reported that hearing GbV gave them a sense of nostalgia, or made them remember old friends or lovers, even if it was the first time they heard it.  Matthew Tragressor’s description of his experience with Bee Thousand, “every song seemed like it had been my favorite song at one point in my life, and now I was hearing it for the first time in years,”[74] sounds similar to Frith’s description of the Beatles music as a “nostalgic music:”  “Even on hearing a Beatles song for the first time there was a sense of the memories to come, a feeling that this could not last but that it was surely going to be pleasant to remember.”  This sense was attributed to several songs, including “The Official Ironmen’s Rally Song,” “The Goldheart Mountaintop Queen Directory,” and “Smothered in Hugs,” which gives one listener “a sense of a wonderful and rebellious moment that was fucked up by forces beyond our control now vividly and bitter sweetly remembered but forever lost in time…”[75]  The sincerity of this passage made me think the listener has something personally invested in his interpretation of the song, but since it simply gives him “a sense” of this feeling, one wonders.

 

Bob also has an interest in maintaining what he calls the “mystique” of the rock star—the mystery of a band or musician’s name, the obliqueness of an album cover’s art and song titles, and the star quality of the singer/songwriter.  When an interviewer wondered why he never plays guitar live, jokingly saying, “I'm beginning to think you write songs on an accordion,” Bob answered, “That's good. I like that. That's the mystique. You don't even know if I can play.”[76]

 

At the same time, he values his role as a different kind of educator (referring to his former occupation) to younger generations.  Often referring to himself as “the Professor of Rock,” he once complained about his son’s lack of interest in “real” punk thusly:  “I hate to get negative on bands, that's not my thing. All the Nirvana and Pearl Jam wanna-be’s, and these punks that aren't really punks, my son likes that. Which is fine, but I can't believe he won't come into my room, the rock library, and investigate the real punk stuff.”  His band mate Jim Greer seconded by saying “He’s not interested,” to which Bob seriously then jokingly responded, “He would be if he listened to it. He's a slackard.”[77]  He also sees this knowledge as a benefit in the songwriting process: “Youth is pretty to look at, and youth is easy to market, but as a songwriter, nothing beats experience.”[78]

 

He also values his image as an older rock star, and sees himself as a father figure to his fans.  Often introducing himself as “Uncle Bob,” and addressing the audience at live shows as “kids,” he still sees himself as a teacher of sorts:  “When I decided not to teach anymore, I thought 'I'm gonna lose my connection to the kids.' But that's not the case at all. It's like I have more kids now, in the audience.”[79]

 

Thus Bob’s relationship to rock history may rely on the maintenance of a certain “rock” genre, it is one which confirms George Lipsitz’s (and by extension, Bakhtin’s) contention that rock and roll is inherently “dialogic,” and the fan’s identification with him and his music is keyed from what Frith describes as “the lumber-room of musical references we carry about with us,” in which “one particular combination [of sounds], for no apparent reason, takes up residence in our own lives.”[80] 

 

Thus, defining his songwriting style is as difficult as it is simple: somehow he manages to sound like all of his influences, and yet like nothing else simultaneously.  In moving to a discussion of the sonic quality of the music and how it relates to fan’s identification with it, a quote will take us from genre placement to these sonic qualities.  Bob reported once that he hoped the earlier recordings would sound like bootlegs:

 

I used to love to find bootlegs of old ‘60s bands that were just outtakes and unreleased songs.  So I kind of wanted Guided by Voices albums to seem like that, too, like you had found some really rare Who songs or Beatles songs.[81]

 

This is an interesting idea for two reasons.  First, because his fans have done him one better and discovered unreleased songs of his that, given his description above would amount to being “rarities” twice removed.  Second, it is speaking to what the music “seems” like upon its discovery, which harkens back to Frith’s statements about music’s use as defining an identity or a community. 

 

Before continuing, however, let me use some examples do describe the sound of the music.  I have already described the hiss of the tape and the buzz of an amplifier on the song “A Salty Salute” on Alien Lanes, and this is present in many of the earlier albums. 

 

I would argue that this effect is something inherent to the sound quality of the recording regarding its ambiance.  In his book Rhythm and Noise, Theodore Gracyk makes a similar argument when he discusses the “presence” of a rock recording as an important aspect of rock’s “aesthetic impact.”  This “presence” includes famous “mistakes” like Bob Dylan’s buttons banging into his guitar, Bruce Springsteen’s squeeky piano pedals, and Run-D.M.C’s crackly record sample. “How it sounds…is due to decisions made in the recording process.  These qualities are expressive elements and relevant features of the musical work.  Thus John Fogerty’s praising the echo of “Movin’ and Groovin’” and historians’s extolling the virtues of the particular sound achieved in Elvis and others’ first recordings in Sun Studios are analogous to Bob and his fans’s prizing the sounds captured in his basement. [82]

 

For me, the buzz or hiss of the tape recalls simply the experience of recording on tape.  I never recorded any music, but as a child, my sister or my friends and I would experiment with simply recording our voices with a tape recorder, making gifts for our grandparents or parents.  The “white noise” occurs only on tape recording systems, the most accessible means available to consumers to record their own sound.  Even though professional tape systems largely eliminate the hiss of tape recording, home systems still cannot rid them entirely of it (that is, until the availability of inexpensive DAT (Digital Audio Tape) recorders.  So the hiss gives those of us ranging in ages spanning Baby Boomers to Generation X a sense of immediacy inherent to the recording itself that evokes it’s “home-made-ness.” Relatively new fan David Morris sums up “adjusting to the music and it’s “presence” gracefully by stating:

 

I must admit, the lo-fi aspect did niggle at me when I started listening. hardcore ufos messes up in numerous places and I thought "why don’t they just re-record it?”  I listened to 'wished I was a giant' and 'exit flagger' and it just annoyed me how they hide the melodies away.  I think I got over it when I realized my equation (pollard=genius) and decided that its really the music that counts.  but by then I had learned to love all the little quirks and missed cues as I had heard them so much…now I see lo-fi ness as an integral part of the band, like the crappy recording is an extra instrument.[83]

 

In early GbV recordings, the guitar sound is often muted or muffled in a way unusual to a conventional “rock” sound, and the quality of the vocal was often experimented with—though quality is not a term some would apply to their tunes.  A few sound as if they were recorded with Bob standing a distance from the microphone or with the microphone muffled or obscured in his basement recording studio (called lovingly “the Snakepit”).  Others are altered or distorted beyond recognition, giving Bob’s voice a raspy, grating feeling as in “’Wished I Was A Giant.’”  One unusual experiment is found on the song “Chicken Blows” where Bob’s voice has a mechanically produced fluttery effect, making sustained tones sound textured with a “wah-wah” that is slightly off from the song’s unbelievably slow tempo.

 

Often, one hears what are probably mistakes in the music, as Tery Daly described above.  Similarly, regarding the instrumentation and/or mistakes in the music,[84]  During “Scalding Creek,“ a simple tune featuring Bob and another “Voice” (possibly himself) in harmony accompanied only by guitar.[85]  In the middle of a verse, there is a loud crashing sound as if someone has literally dropped an electric guitar on the floor—with it plugged in to an amplifier.  This must have been recorded on one of the tracks that Bob felt was the best take, and so he decided to leave it there, sacrificing a mistake for the good of the song as a whole.

 

This is a good example of how fan’s come to feel closer to the music.  Regarding “Scalding Creek” specifically, Brandon Bentley used it as an example of how the music affects him:

 

Stuff like the speaker crash in “Scalding Creek.”  They didn't necessarily happen on purpose, but when they happened, the band kept them in the song because they made it sound spontaneous.  That's really the key... the lo-fi songs sound more immediate... like Bob just thought of this song last night, recorded it quickly, and sent it to you to get your opinion.  Feels like you're on the inside... like you're hearing the album before it's released... even when it's been out for years.[86]

 

Others echo the “personal” aspect of this account, including Daly’s description (“[the production] was so intimate, so unprofessional, so personal, as if the band were performing the song just for you”[87]).   Nicholas O’Brien explained how the “noise” in their music “gave a more personal feeling to the songs, as if they had been recorded at home by a friend who wanted me to listen.”[88]  This idea that Bob’s music has been made by someone close to you or “just for you” again lends itself to the idea that Frith outlines the pleasure listeners get in feeling included in the process of making music.  Here, like his heavy metal air-guitar players, the listener gets pleasure not because they are fantasizing about playing, but are secure in their position as spectator.[89]

 

This is also made evident by those who identified with Bob’s pleasure in “discovering” music.  While some described it as “old fashioned, rustic, non-prefabricated…[and] honest,”[90] another said that “there was something about the throwaway nature and recorded quality that made it sound like lost treasure.  It really made me feel like I do when I listen to something old that somehow hasn't aged.”[91]  Brodie Schewendiman reported that after he’d discovered it, “it made me feel like I had discovered something that not everyone had been fortunate enough to discover.  I felt like, ‘this shit's so good I gotta tell everybody!’”[92]

 

John Fiske’s reference to De Certeau in his article “Commodities and Culture” is interesting in this light.  He sites De Certeau saying that popular culture was “the art of making do:”

 

The creativity of popular culture lies not in the production of commodities so much as in the productive use of industrial commodities.  The art of the people is the art of “making do.”  The culture of everyday life lies in the creative, discriminating use of the resources that capitalism provides.[93] 

 

Though Fiske is talking about the consumption of popular culture, it relates to the production of Bob’s music, not only because of the home-made nature of the recording and sound quality it produces, but because of the lyrical content of his music.

 

Bob’s lyrical style has been described as “stream-of consciousness,” “fantastical” and even “nonsense”[94] while he describes them as “grand, cosmic”[95]  As a result, their interpretation is open to conjecture in most cases.  Nevertheless, their delivery is “so passionate and convincing that his subjects hardly matter.”[96]  Thus, fans can often interpret the lyrics any way that they want.  

 

Frith’s second aesthetic category for the evaluation of popular music is this century’s focus on the use of the voice.  The privileged position of the voice in Bob’s music, combined with its highly malleable lyrics perfectly exemplify his explanation of the identification possible within a vocal performance:

 

It is through the singing voice that people are most able to make a connection with their records, to feel that performances are theirs in certain ways…We can thus identify with a song whether we understand the words or not.[97]

 

Thematically, however, many of the songs seem to explore the self-reflexive theme of his music itself.  These seem more obvious after the success of the Bee Thousand album.  On Alien Lanes, there are several songs that visit this theme.  One of these, “Watch Me Jumpstart,” which clearly describes a triumph over adversity:

 

Watch me jumpstart as the old skin is peeled,

 

See an opening and bust into the field

 

Hidden longings no longer concealed.

 

Watch me bulldoze every bulldozer away,

 

Each new obstacle from each old new day

 

Where it’s going it’s hard for me to say.

 

…Straight from ground zero X marks the spot,

 

I can’t pretend to be something I’m not

 

‘Cause I’m supernova erect and white hot

 

And shoot me down

 

And bring me down

 

But I won’t be around.[98]

 

 

 

But others sound like they could be describing Bob’s experience of meeting unexpected success after years of “doing it himself.”  For example, in “Motor Away” he pronounces to the subject he addresses that even though he can “lie to yourself, that it’s the chance of a lifetime:

 

You can be anyone they told you to

 

You can belittle every little voice that told you so.[99]

 

 

 

Bee Thousand’s “Echoes Myron” could be seen as a response to critical evaluation of his work as being simplistic pop songs:

 

Most of us are quite pleased

 

With the same old song…

 

Man of wisdom and man of compromise

 

Man of weak flesh in an armored disguise—all fall down.

 

“If it’s right you can tell,”

 

Echoes Myron like a siren with endurance like the liberty bell…

 

And we’re finally here, and shit yeah, it’s cool

 

And shouldn’t it be - or something like that?[100]

 

 

 

The trappings of his new found success can also be heard, however in a few songs, particularly in “Ex-Supermodel” where he ends up resolving,

 

So I write music for soundtracks now

 

I write music for soundtracks now

 

That’s all I wanted to do anyhow[101]

 

 

 

And a particularly exquisite example of Bob’s wariness of entering the mainstream can be found on 1997’s “I Am Produced:” 

 

I am pressed, printed, stomped

 

And strategically removed

 

I am everybody

 

Insane without innocence

 

I am trapped, tricked, packaged

 

And shipped out

 

I am produced.[102]

 

 

 

This last example is a rare example of a clear yet complicated political statement.  Given the importance of “production” in relation the history of Bob’s music, this simple stanza eloquently expresses Bob’s possible frustration with being mass marketed, yet simultaneously speaks to a larger issue in relation to the human condition in the age of mass consumerism.  Stating by extension that “everybody” is “produced,” he could mean one of many things, including not only the notion that a real studio “production” can be compared to factory production, but also that it makes a product more efficient but lacking in quality.  It could also express a feeling that no matter how carefully you hide from corporate and consumerist hegemony, it will find you and manipulate you in some way, perhaps formatting your behavior:

 

"I Am Produced" is basically about people in general. About going from childhood to adulthood, having to become some kind of active, constructive part of society. It's kind of a sad thing because you lose a lot of the spark and creativity, You just become part of the chain. I'm able to do what I want. Not too many people are able to do what they want. And so, I feel grateful for that. very few people can do what they want. It takes drive. I'm trying to teach that to my 16 year old son."[103]

 

At the same time, he has stated that “Sad If I Lost It” is “about persevering, and 'how long can I continue to do this?'”  “It” being writing and performing his music.  “Sometimes I want to stop it, but something doesn't let me because I think I would be very sad if I didn't do this:”[104]

 

Oh, this time I really mean that

 

A cracking coat where I dig that

 

Oh, this time I want to keep it alone

 

Oh, this time I really trust you

 

But it can't belong to anyone

 

And I'd be so sad if I lost it.[105]

 

 

 

Another song that examines his role as to his being a songwriter and/or public performer is “I Am a Scientist,” which has become one of the bands best-loved songs.  In it, the lyrics compare being a rock singer (a “lost soul” who alternately “shoots” himself with “rock’n’roll”) to being a scientist, “seek[ing] to understand me,” and to a pharmacist (filling prescriptions of “potions pills and medicines to ease your painful lives.”[106])

 

Audience identification in this case is addressed directly, but this is a rarity in Bob’s music, unless he is referring to a smaller audience.  Specifically, I am referring to his use of everyday subjects in his lyrics that only his friends or people in his hometown of Dayton would be familiar with.  Many titles of songs or albums refer to geographical locations, beginning with the naming of his publishing company, “Needmore Songs.”  Besides being an apt name for a such a prolific artist, Needmore is the name of a street in Dayton, as is Titus, where Bob lived during 1993 (and still does today), thus lending it’s name to the album Vampire on Titus. 

 

Bob himself and others refer to apocryphal stories concerning how songs were titled or what they are about.  Many times they are about whatever was immediate to him at the time.  In the film Watch Me Jumpstart, we see several of these references, but are also treated to a moment that seems indicative of the way Bob titles songs.  As Bob is riding along in a car with the filmmaker, he misreads a sign reading “Motor Parts” as “Motorpranks.“  Half joking, half serious, he reports, “So I’ve got two song titles today: ‘To Live and Die in LA Lounge [a small bar they have driven by] and ‘Motorpranks’”[107]

 

Referring to this scene while speaking with Ed Kinsella, he responds,  “You know what?  He has at least that many every day.  I think if not all, then most discussions with Bob will have a song title in there somewhere.”[108]  Ed is a subscriber to Postal Blowfish, and local of Dayton who has become a member of the Monument Club—a bi-weekly meeting of friends at the Pollard garage which has been converted into a makeshift bar.

 

This community of friends (primarily “Bob’s buddies, neighbors, and Jimmy’s [Bob’s brother Jim Pollard] buddies,” and former team members of high school sports teams[109]) are those Bob writes his anthems about and for.  “The Monument Club is very much like a church—it’s not the building it’s the congregation!  They all hail from Northridge and still live in this tiny suburb of Dayton.  Nearly all have had a song or reference about them.”[110]

 

Case in point, Ed himself has been immortalized by Bob’s recent song “Pop Zeus,” which ends with a chorus of “Electric Newspaper boy!!”[111]  After joining Postal Blowfish, Ed began reporting the news from the fan mailing list (fan’s reports about shows or rumors, reviews and opinions that show up there) back to Bob.  Bob dubbed him the “Electric Newspaper Boy” and Ed now even makes Monument Club reports back to Postal Blowfish, creating a dialogue between Bob and his fans that is truly unique.

 

Other songs have grown out of a phrase that Bob picks up on and builds into one of his anthemic songs.  This was the case with a song mentioned earlier, “’Wished I Was A Giant,’” which has a particularly powerful vocal delivery, and features such sincere proclamations as “only a matter of time before we have to pay!”[112]  According to Ed, this song arose as a result of an encounter a particularly large member of the Monument Club had with a particularly drunk woman at a bar.  “This woman is completely trashed and looks at Gibby who’s about 6’3” and says “you’re wished I was a giant, ain’t cha” and Bob cracked up and either wrote it down or they repeated it enough times the next few days.”[113]  A nickname was bestowed, and soon after, a Pollard classic was born.

 

Apparently a classic Sprout/Pollard composition, “14 Cheerleader Coldfront” was inspired by Bob’s attending a high school basketball game:

 

It was one of the more upper-class schools were playing, one of the wealthier schools here in Dayton I forget which one…They had really pretty cheerleaders and there were like 14 across the front and they were pretty much oblivious to everyone, kind of into themselves and stuck on themselves, so that’s where I came up with the title.[114]

 

The lyrics (by Pollard) and their accompanying simple tune (by Sprout) bear out the tone of the inspiring concept:

 

14 cheerleader cold front

 

put your nose beyond 

 

creeping boys in alleys

 

find them when your gone

 

stick close to locker rooms

 

and waving clothes to wear

 

you will hold them dear

 

to something queer and stare.[115]

 

 

 

Ed reported that the song “Release the Sunbird” (from Bob’s first solo record, Not in My Airforce) touched him at a more personal level, his mother-in-law having recently died. 

 

My wife and I had a few beers and were really into the lyrics about “You can’t kiss her…when she’s gone.” and were quite teary eyed.  We felt that he must have had someone close to him die.  Only when I got to know Bob did I find out that it was about Jimmy taking his car, the Sunbird, to the junk yard.  when I told him my interpretation he was really flattered.  Any great song has different meanings to different people.[116]

 

                All of these examples also bear out the idea of “making do with what you have,” in the way Bob takes an off the cuff remark or chance phrase and makes an triumphant or jubilant anthem or an endearing ballad out of it.  Though usually there would be very few correlations between Bob and the jazz musician Rahsaan Roland Kirk, but George Lipsitz’s description of how Kirk presents himself onstage as exposing “the tension between music as a commodity and music as an expression of lived experience”[117] seems appropriate in Bob’s case as well.

 

Referring back to the epitaph of my paper, Bob seems to view his creative process as an everyday occurrence as common and effortless as breathing, eating, or eliminating.  This attitude and his subject matter go against some popular musicians feeling that they must write something important to the world, something that will “make a difference.”  In his own way, Bob is making a difference, but not by doing anything special, just by doing what comes naturally every day.  I asked Ed if it would be fair to say that his interpreting potentially anything as a title is his way of experiencing daily life or making sense of the world?

 

Ed’s answer affirmed this conclusion while invoking one of Bob’s primary influences when he wrote back under a quote of the above question, “See also Lennon, John.”[118]  This is confirmed by a song called “Dayton, Ohio – 19 Something and 5” recently released as a single, a live recording of the song begins with Bob’s introduction, “This is a song about smokin’ dope..havin’ cookouts, and hangin’ out on the West side.”  The song’s lyrics then speak to the “timeless greatness” of the everyday:

 

Isn't it great to exist

 

At this point in time?

 

Where the produce is rotten

 

But no one is forgotten

 

On strawberry Philadelphia Drive

 

Children in the sprinkler

 

Junkies on the corner

 

The smell of fried foods

 

And pure hot tar

 

Man, you needn't travel far

 

To feel completely alive

 

On strawberry Philadelphia Drive

 

On a hazy day in 19 something and 5[119]

 

 

 

                This particular song provides a transition to another method that Bob uses to transform the everyday into something that resembles the “mystique” of rock.  The live experience of Guided By Voices provides yet another aspect to both Bob’s positioning himself with him and his fans, as well as adding an angle to the aesthetic appeal of the music itself.

 

As mentioned above, their recorded music often had a quality, sounding like they were recorded in a basement or a closet.  This reflects on the live performance in an unusual way.  Contrary to Gracyk’s case for the recording as the primary “text” of rock, many bands have fans who would report that the “real” experience of their music is to see them live.  If the band is skillful with the music that they play, they will be able to transform it into something different with a live performance, changing the entire sound.  This is often inevitable since some techniques are more difficult to recreate live, such as string arrangements or keyboard/synthesizer effects, since some of these effects may have been performed by an instrumentalist whose duties are needed elsewhere in the live performance (i.e., the lead guitarist doubles on keyboards, but can’t play them both at once).

 

However, the effect of the older Guided By Voices material played live is a remarkable contrast for several reasons.  First, the quality that nevertheless become endearing such as the hiss of the tape, mistakes made and other sonic qualities of instrumentation that are unique to a non-professional sound are gone, replaced by an always full sounding, loud guitar sound.  When trying to describe this effect, I keep returning to the idea that the live performance in the case of GbV is a fulfillment of a promise that the recording holds in it—similar to the chant preserved at the beginning of Propeller.  For those persistent enough to appreciate the recording techniques and become familiar with the “lo-fi” quality of their songs become aware of this promise when they realize—like fan Stevie did—that “underneath all the sludge, there was a beautiful song waiting in there.”[120]  They begin to see its potential when they begin to love the song not just because they think it’s a great song but because of the recording conditions.  Finally, they when they see the same song performed with the energy of their live performance, it is as if they’ve seen the song fully realized, as truly one of the “anthemic” songs that Bob spoken of them being. 

 

Sometimes, what was originally recorded rather simply as a vocal with guitar accompaniment is turned into a full-fledged wall of guitar sound with fuller sonic force and increased tempo and momentum (as in “Quicksilver,” “Peephole,” “Choking Tara,” and “Dragons Awake!”).  Others were full pop songs (meaning that all their conventional band instruments were used), but their quality was minimized in different ways, but live are also given more sonic force (“Echoes Myron,” “My Valuable Hunting Knife,” or “Game of Pricks”)

 

The second aspect of the GbV live experience is that of Bob himself.  His stage persona can be seen as a parody of rock performance in general.  He has been quoted as saying that “being onstage is a silly thing,” and his performance persona shows it.  Taking every chance he can to jump into the air with a kung-fu kick, slam back a bottle of Budweiser, or swing the microphone a la Roger Daltry, his voice rarely falters, even on occasions where his jumping and recklessness causes him to fall over another band member or the drum kit.  At times, Bob barely stops between songs, pausing only for an announcement and a countdown (i.e., “This is from Bee Thousand, it’s called ‘Peephole,’  One! Two! Three! Four!”)

 

Bob also plays with his position as a rock star by making joking statements about the band’s dominance in the rock music world, or their lasting endurance.  Of course, about the last he is not really exaggerating, as he and some form of the band have been around for approximately 15 years.  However, it is still amusing to hear him yell at you (talk about preaching to the converted): “We’re GBV, and we’ll never give up on you, not like those fools who’re playing down at the bar on the end of the street [at the time some re-formed 80s metal band was playing down the street]” or “We’re gonna play for five hours—heck we’ll play longer than Bruce Springsteen!”  At the time, Springsteen’s tour reuniting him with the E Street Band was getting attention for performing for three solid hours.  GbV’s often run over two hours, but at times consist of as many as 40-50 songs.  “We’ll play till I’m too drunk sing anymore” or “I can’t read the set list anymore,” all make fun again of the rock image of drinking or partying too much.  This playfulness and willingness to make fun of himself and his position onstage not only endears the crowd to the performer, it heightens the intensity of the experience in general. 

 

All of this points to the net effect of the live show: that of a celebration.  The well-initiated in the crowd usually re-create the “GBV” chant from the introduction to Propeller, and shout/sing the lyrics they know as loudly as they can, often creating a nominal chorus behind Bob’s lead vocals.  What’s more, at least in the Postal Blowfish virtual community, it is an opportunity to meet or get together again.  Tery Daly (only one of many travelers) told me he’d put 10,000 miles on his car going to different GbV shows recently, and in the past year’s tour a show has not gone by that at least a small group of people haven’t met up for pre or post show activities.

 

I recently attended my first meeting with other Blowfish in Los Angeles.  The experience of meeting complete strangers whom you know you share a great amount was as unusual as it was fulfilling.  The group of us formed a contingent at the front of the crowd, at times arm-in-arm singing our favorite songs together.

 

To illustrate, consider the sonic transformation of the song “Peephole” from it’s simple guitar accompanied version on Bee Thousand to its current live incarnation.  After its explosive beginning, its tempo is raised several notches and now backed by the solid guitar sounds of Gillard, Farley and Tobias, backed by the startlingly solid pounding of Jim MacPherson.  It is one of the crowd’s favorites to sing along with, and one recording of a recent live version even ends with Bob beckoning to the crowd to sing along with him the ending chorus of “la la la la la’s.”[121]  This captures the essence of the experience: the transformation of a song from a simple love song to a rousing group sing-along.

 

This aspect of the music is echoed by long time fan and show traveler Jay Austin: 

 

In the end, his message is simple, and immediately apparent to anyone who sees the live show. It's summed up in his most revealing lines: "I am a lost soul, I shoot myself with rock and roll/The hole I dig is bottomless, but nothing else can set me free” [this is the last verse of “I Am a Scientist.” It's about rock as a celebration of life, whether that life is rooted in big-city angst or corn-fed Midwestern contentment.

 

Thus, it doesn’t matter if we, the fans identify with the song in the same way—it’s just important that we do, and can share in that passionate delivery, no matter what is fueling it for us.

 

Epilogue

To conclude, I must first state that I thought I would be making a case for Bob’s uniqueness in the world of popular music.  Instead, I discovered that the aspects of Frith’s social functions and aesthetic categories of popular music certainly aren’t unique to Bob.  Indeed, what makes Bob and his music such a ripe subject for exploration is the very fact that they exemplify these items so well.

 

                Finally, let me submit for approval the song “Don’t Stop Now” as one song which exemplifies in turn almost all of the social and aesthetic issues I have been discussing.  It represents the transformations inherent to Bob’s music simultaneously.  Its subject transforms an everyday event to a grandiose sounding one, while it is transformed sonically from its acoustic version, to its studio version to its live version.  The song’s lyrics begin:

 

Woke up one morning saw a rooster struttin’ round my house

 

Six pack rings around his neck

 

Cock of the block

 

Don’t stop now,

 

Don’t stop now.[122]

 

 

 

Ed reports that this also was inspired by the chance encounter it describes:

 

It turns out the opening lines about the rooster with the 6 pack rings is a literally true!  Bob gave his son a "live chick" for Easter one year and he eventually tired of it and they gave this now growing rooster to the next door neighbor.  Bob went out to get the paper one morning and saw the rooster walking by with the 6 pack ring around his neck -- the Cock of the Block![123]

 

The song first appeared as a track on an album of unreleased material called King Shit and the Golden Boys, a joking pseudonym for Guided By Voices.  It featured Bob playing guitar alone and singing.  Plucking the G string, Bob’s acoustic guitar produces a buzzing sound that adds to this song’s ambient quality—using what most would regard as an error becomes one of the most valuable aspects of the song.  Later, this song was given a full studio sound on the Under the Bushes, Under the Stars album.  Finally, on the band’s recent tour, Bob has been announcing the song as “our theme song,” and “the ballad of Guided by Voices.”

 

Given this information, and the background story, one could interpret this song as symbolic of the band’s (or Bob’s) odyssey.  The chick (representing the early band) is put out of sight and forgotten, but is left to develop on its own.  Now, it re-emerges as the proud, yet still somewhat humble and self-mocking “cock of the block,” plastic six pack rings representing their vulnerability and playful drunkenness.  The rooster’s transformation from a chick is also represented by the song’s sonic transformation from a small guitar ballad to the larger, sing-along anthem it becomes a the live show, where fans sing along with Bob:

 

Pulled into economy island,

 

King Shit and the Golden Boys,

 

Plenty more where we came from,

 

Top of the line,

 

Don’t stop now,

 

Don’t stop now.[124]

 

 

 

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Bibliography

 

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Notes