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Why does the Tampa Bay area love classic rock? Times pop music critic Gina Vivinetto interviews a really old guy to find out the appeal of Geezer Rock.
By GINA VIVINETTO and TOM ZUCCO
© St. Petersburg Times, published September 12, 2002
Doesn't it seem like every classic rock act that travels to the Tampa Bay area performs to a sellout crowd? It's as if an audience is guaranteed if the band's heyday was, say, 20 or 30 years ago.
We here at Team Pop have begun to think our area has a jones for old, crusty rock 'n' roll. Geezer Rock, we call it.
Over the next week, fans will scamper to see The Triple Shot of Rock Tour featuring Loverboy, Eddie Money and Survivor, as well as the Allman Brothers, another visit from Elton John and Billy Joel, and in Crystal River, the legendary Three Dog Night. Next month's big tickets: the Moody Blues, Rush, Aerosmith.
What decade is this, anyway?
Team Pop decided to investigate. Having not one unspeakably old person in our posse, we hired a panel. Okay, we hired one guy, classic rock lover and St. Petersburg Times staff writer Tom Zucco. Zucco brought his credentials: age. The guy's a fossil. Zucco's an authentic geezer, in the same age bracket as many of these touring rock stars.
(Zucco: "Hey! Who are you calling authentic?")
At work we call him DJ Prostate. Behind his back, of course. But now we needed him. He could answer questions from young pop music lovers curious about the appeal of Geezer Rock.
After explaining what we wanted several times, Zucco grasped the concept and agreed.
Times pop music critic Gina Vivinetto is herself at a loss to explain the Tampa Bay area's love of classic rock. In the following transcript, Vivinetto reads questions to Zucco, who, gathering his years of rock 'n' roll knowledge like so many rings in the trunk of an aged redwood tree, attempts to separate fact from myth.
Gina: Let's jump right in.
Tom: Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs!!!
(pause)
Gina: Get a grip on yourself, okay? Now . . . our first letter is from a young woman who states, "Classic rock songs, unlike today's provocative pop, aren't about anything. Like, Survivor's Eye of the Tiger. What's that about? Or Eddie Money's Shakin'. Shakin' what?"
Tom: You gotta read between the lines, Miss.
Gina: Don't ever call me that again. Just answer the question.
Tom: I need only point to Timothy, the 1971 monster hit by the Buoys. It was about these three guys who get trapped in a mine. Kind of like How Green Was My Valley meets Emeril Live.
Hungry as hell no food to eat.
And Joe said he would sell his soul for just a piece of meat.
Before the narrator passes out, he notices Joe is . . . um . . . staring at Timothy. When he wakes up, the narrator says,
My stomach was full as it could be, and nobody ever got around to finding --
Timothy.
Timothy. Timothy. Where on earth did you go?
Timothy. Timothy. God why don't I know?
Go ahead. Tell me you're not moved.
Gina: To tears. All right, here's another letter: "The only reason classic rock acts sing live, risking hitting all those bad notes, is because they don't know how to lip synch."
Tom: Yes, they do. You obviously never saw American Bandstand. That was like watching those old gladiator movies where the actors speak Italian but it's dubbed in English.
Gina: Oh? Tell us more about the gladiator movies.
(Pause)
Tom: Next question.
Gina: A young man writes, "Fans of classic rock are stuck in a time warp. They're all losers wearing acid-wash jeans and sporting mullet hairdos."
Tom: What, you'd have us wear baggy shorts and spiked hair and tank tops? All we're doing is giving kids a reference point. They look at us and say, "How can I not look like those morons?" It's our duty as the chronologically challenged to set this nonexample. The only good thing about this is that the way young people dress now will look perfectly stupid to their children. Then we'll have our revenge.
Gina: Moving on, how about this letter: "Those old guys actually enjoy performing onstage. How? They don't even wear cool microphone headsets. They have no synchronized choreography."
Tom: Okay. We don't get out much. No, seriously, Hendrix set his guitar on fire, Morrison exposed himself, and the Who smashed their instruments. That's quality entertainment. Just about all those guys are dead, though.
Gina: Respond to this: "Bands before the White Stripes never wore nifty clothes with color motifs."
Tom: Right. There were no theatrics before KISS. (eyes rolling) Paul Revere and the Raiders wore Revolutionary War uniforms. James Brown and his band wore funky suits and got down onstage. And then there was Sam the Sham and . . .
Gina: And Loverboy. Don't forget Loverboy, for wearing all that red and black. The leather pants, the headbands.
Tom: Zzzzzzzzz. Huh? Where am I? Is it time for Jeopardy? (pause) Oh. Anyway, my point, I think, is that lots of folks dressed up. Sonny and Cher, for instance. Sonny dressed like Alley Oop in that stylish fur vest.
Gina: Alley who? Never mind. Speaking of Sonny Bono . . . Raoul in Tampa writes, "Gregg Allman was married to Cher? How icky!"
Tom: That was for what . . . 30 seconds? And like today's pop stars are June and Ward Cleaver. Janet Jackson was married to some guy nobody ever saw, and before he got divorced, Eminem rapped about beating his wife. And Jennifer Lopez is already working on husband No. 3. Look, I'm, Operaman: J-Lo. High maintain-o!
Gina: Perplexed in Pinellas Park writes, "My friend who knows a lot about music told me Gregg Allman didn't wear those mutton-chop sideburns in the 1970s to be funny."
Tom: That's where he hid his stash. Which also explains the phenomenon of Z.Z. Top.
Gina: "All classic rock artists are old," writes a preteen pop fan. "Get out your abacus. If you add Justin Timberlake, 21, and Britney Spears, 20, and Avril Lavigne, 17, together, you'd still be shy one Mick Jagger, 59."
Tom: Oooo. Alert the media. People actually (gasp) AGE! Deal with it, okay? So Mick is morphing into Katharine Hepburn. And Crosby, Stills and Nash look like Edgar Alan Poe, Boss Tweed and Yosemite Sam. But Carson Daly is turning into Fred Flintstone. Check it out. Jowls, 5 o'clock shadow, weight problem. The only person who doesn't age is Dick Clark. I think he had Nero on his first show.
Gina: Laura Nyro?
Tom: No. The guy in the toga. Played the fiddle. Audience hated him.
Gina: One angry youngster writes, "The Who still tours even though half the band is dead! These guys have albums called Who Are You? Who By Numbers, Who's Next? I suggest Who's Left!
Tom: Almost clever. As long as Pete Townshend and Roger Daltrey are still kicking, the Who will muddle on. Hey, it's a rock tradition. Look at the Temptations. They only have one original member -- their tailor -- and they still tour.
Gina: "Old people, like my parents, light their lighters -- sorry, flick their Bics -- at concerts. Please explain."
Tom: We're trying to find the nearest restroom. You'll understand someday.
Gina: A worried -- or is that hopeful -- youngster writes, "After the classic rock people die, will the art of air guitar be lost forever?"
Tom: Yes, and that's a real American tragedy. But even that beats prancing across a stage with a Mr. Microphone (Hey! We'll be back to pick you up later!) spouting off about sex, money and some authority figure.
Gina: But wasn't that what your generation was doing, too? Wasn't that . . .
Tom: Or some prepackaged teenagers who are this month's star du jour.
Gina: Sort of like the Monkees?
(silence)
Tom: At least we agree on one thing.
Gina: Which is?
Tom: For the sake of mankind, Celine Dion must be stopped.
Gina: Celine likes the old geezers. I'd watch my tongue, if I were you. She may be the only friend you've got.