One of the most difficult things about being a pop music lover is dealing with the little deaths that happen every day in the world of pop songs. The music of the moment is left behind for the music of the next moment. One day, a band like Meese has the attention of the world and Atlantic Records, and the next day — well, . One week, you can’t stop listening to that record, and the next, the guy on the barstool next to you has no idea who the band was.
It’s just the nature of pop music. It’s transient and, in some ways, disposable. And yet, a long-forgotten song can still have a profound impact on your life. Maybe that’s why I was so affected by “High-Bias” — a current installation at by painter Eric Corrigan and local musician Paul Garcia.
As Garcia, who has been part of Dressy Bessy’s touring line-up and currently focuses on his own band, , showed me into the spacious Golden Triangle gallery, I was immediately transported into a not-so-distant past of used record store bin-digging, cassette dubbing and vinyl fetishizing. Pallets holding hundreds of old records occupy swaths of floor space, as does a gigantic room sculpted of old stereo speakers (from which emanated a loud collage of music and voices) and a candy-red late ’60s Jaguar.
In the passenger seat of the Jag are a box of cassette tapes, an electric guitar and an old portable radio. At the back of the room is a low, black stage that could’ve come from any dive bar in America. The stage is occupied by a drum set and an Epiphone guitar, and is littered with set lists that Garcia picked up in clubs around the country while on tour. A collection of old black-and-white televisions towers behind the stage. Next to it is a portable hi-fi system, playing “Switched On Bacharach,” and a cardboard box, filled with old Herb Alpert records.
This last item is a point of particular pride for Garcia. After noticing that every used record store always seems to have a surfeit of Alpert LPs, the musician began collecting them. He then subjected them to all sorts of torture — left them in the desert and abandoned them in blizzards. The records have now been slipped into protective plastic covers, with scribbled notes that say things like, “This limited edition Herb Alpert L.P. was crushed by the back wheel of a van. Truly unique!!” That one has a price tag of $250. The joke, of course, is on Wax Trax, Twist & Shout and the people who love them.
“I’ve never considered myself an artist,” says Garcia. “I just started collecting this stuff.”
The installation, however, is certainly a work of art. Completing the picture are Corrigan’s works. A screenprint of cassette tapes, recreations of famous album covers with the musicians removed and an enormous painting inspired by the Rolling Stones classic “Some Girls” are just some of Corrigan’s more traditional works. There’s also a video installation that’s a montage of various music-related sources and a framed selection of letters that Corrigan sent to dead rock stars at imaginary addresses (e.g. “Elliot Smith and “Kurt Cobain, 123 Main St., Aberdeen WA”), all of which are stamped with “RETURN TO SENDER,” “NO SUCH STREET” and other similarly humorless postal responses.
As I looked around the room, I spotted a couple of eight-track tapes stacked carelessly on top of a speaker, a cassette lying on the floor and more items that made the gallery feel like nothing more than the bedroom of my youth. I remember listening to Elton John’s “Greatest HIts” endlessly on my parents’ 8-track and “renting” vinyl albums from a Longmont record store to dub onto high-bias cassettes. Most of those records, like the ones stacked on pallets in the gallery, have been forgotten for years.
They meant a lot to me at the time, but I’m not even sure what some of them were. The cassettes I dubbed them onto once occupied honored spots in wall racks. When CDs came along, I dumped those tapes into a cardboard box, and later, into a paper bag. Finally, when MP3s began to dominate my music collection, that paper bag made its way to the landfill.
Whether once-loved pop music ends up living in a landfill, in an art gallery or just in nostalgic memories, it might make you question the meaning and value of such ephemeral art. After all, everything about the marketing of pop music exploits and reinforces its disposability. The industry actually WANTS you to forget about Katy Perry so that you’ll buy Ke$ha. It wants you to replace all your cassettes with CDs and all your CDs with MP3s, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. It keeps you engaged with the music you love.
And the fact that I can’t remember what my favorite song was last year or last month isn’t necessarily a bad thing either. As great as it probably was, it had to make room for my next favorite song. And the next.
This ephemerality doesn’t just apply to physical recordings either. Live music only exists in its moment (don’t even get me started on the inadequacy of even the best live recordings and DVDs). Whether you see the Don’ts and Be Carefuls at the Rocket Room, Air Dubai at the Larimer Lounge or Tin Horn Prayer at 3 Kings Tavern tonight, your favorite moment of the show will be forgotten in a few days.
But the collective impact of all these transient moments and objects is undeniable. My first vinyl purchases (Queen’s “The Game” and Supertramp’s “Breakfast in America”), my first cassette (Pat Benatar’s “Crimes of Passion”) and my first CD (Tears for Fears’ “Seeds of Love”) all affected me and made my life better. I’ve probably forgotten more local live music performances than I remember, but each one mattered and still matters. “High-Bias” traps that collective impact within the four walls of an art gallery, feeds it with love and presents it for us to unabashedly ogle. It reminds us that it’s ok to forget, and positively delightful to remember.
“High-Bias” will be installed at Walker Fine Art through April 10, with a special First Friday event on April 2. Visit for hours of operation and other details.
Eryc Eyl is a veteran music journalist, critic and Colorado native who has been neck-deep in local music for many years. Check out every Tuesday for local music you can HEAR, and the every Friday.
