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To a large extent, commercial conservatism has put a crimp in rock's evolution. It's a matter of survival for "AOR" radio -- stations that play album-oriented rock -- to coddle their audience (usually in the 25-to-44 age group) with a steady dose of oldies. "We find that classic rock is what most people want to hear," says Mark Chernoff, program director at New York City's K-ROCK. "They like the familiarity." K-ROCK and similar stations may play a new Eric Clapton record relentlessly ("We will beat it to death," Chernoff says), but they go easy on breaking their listeners in on the new stuff. Easy, and conservative. R.E.M., the Black Crowes and a couple of the less obstreperous bands will get on the air, but it may be a while before Fishbone or the Butthole Surfers make the cut.
It's a truism by now: rock 'n' roll, born-and-bred rebel music, languishes when it becomes a commercial tool, part of a marketing package. When Dennis Hopper made Easy Rider and Martin Scorsese made Mean Streets, the use of rock 'n' roll on a movie sound track was practically revolutionary. Now it's de rigueur: the rip-snorting Thelma & Louise, with first-rate tunes by the likes of Toni Childs, Marianne Faithfull and Glenn Frey, released its sound track even before the movie hit the theaters. This is good for the movie and good for business, but it makes rock part of a formula. When great rock tunes show up as prefab nostalgia on a movie of the week, or when they're used on TV to shill everything from brew to sneakers, the music's devalued. Its history and resonance are depreciated, embalmed in commerce.
Now that rap is the newest thing for underscoring commercials, and Madonna is ascending from pre-eminent dance diva to the high priestess of the new pop panculturism, rock has found a little room to maneuver. "Rock's in a constant state of change and always mutating," Geoff Tate, lead singer of Queensryche, reminds us. "You're seeing the fusion of rock with funk. I mean, extreme ( black R.-and-B.-influenced rhythm sections." Also, a fearless rock band like Jesus Jones, fresh from London, manages to meld echoes of psychedelia with hot flashes of contemporary urban rhythm. The results are heady, challenging and abrasive, and unlikely to show up on a Subaru commercial anytime soon.
"I think it's better that we have so many choices," says Allison Anchors, 24, a veteran New York City rock-club employee. "When I was visiting in Florida, it was so cool. All styles and races totally mixed. There would be dance-offs, with three homeboys going against three Army guys. Everyone doesn't follow one music anymore. People are getting more diverse. They finally woke up. Or got bored." Christina Amphlett, lead singer of the spunky, post-punky DiVinyls, says, "The whole rap thing has been a rhythm revolution. It's always good to have diversity."
The new rock invites -- indeed, insists on -- different kinds of sounds for different kinds of audiences. "I think the British invasion will happen again," predicts Mike Edwards, the lead singer of Jesus Jones. Fishbone combines an upside-your-head musical assault with some pointed lyrics. "Forgive us for we have no control or self-respect," goes Junkie's Prayer. "Grim reaper has cashed my life-savings check/ Thy rocketh and thy pipeth restoreth me . . ."