The Block is Back

“Fifteen years ago . . . they walked away. Tonight . . . the Block . . . is back. Are . . . you . . . ready?”

The text flashes on three giant screens behind the stage, interwoven with black and white clips from a heyday so remote, yet so familiar, that it causes simultaneous feelings of shock and yearning. Lush strings and a score worthy of Hollywood blockbusters tap directly into the audience’s tear ducts. For anyone standing in that audience who also happened to be there when The Block first hit two decades ago, the questions mounted. Could the bodies of men pushing 40 still rock the dance moves of teenage yore? Could they possibly be “for real,” or were they just the ugly girl seen behind the beer goggles of nostalgia? Could Joey still hit those high notes in “Please Don’t Go, Girl,” like a 14-year-old boy?

One question trumped them all, the one we had already been asked: Are you ready? My answer: no. And yes. Oh yes. The New Kids on the Block are back.

They played Cox Arena on November 25, 2008, at the tail end of their North American reunion tour. I’ve been to many concerts in my life, from the enormous to the puny. I’ve seen U2 play to a full house at the San Diego Sports Arena, and I’ve seen Danish star (and American nobody) Tina Dico play in front of about a dozen people at the Casbah. Music is one of my “things,” and so by extension are concerts. But after what I saw the New Kids pull off, I will have to reclassify my previous concert experiences as “music performances.”

My musical tastes tend toward the obscure, or at least something smaller than the top 40 wonder-divas of the day, or legacy rockers with legions of gray-haired followers. As such, I don’t attend very many stadium spectacles, or “concerts in the park,” too big for any building to contain. But I’ve seen Shakira, Sarah McLachlan, Juanes, and the aforementioned U2, probably the biggest band in the world. All of these are artists who follow the “go big or go home” philosophy of performance. All of their shows looked small compared to the New Kids concert.

This concert had everything:

• Fog machines, streamer confetti, and showers of sparklers accented various portions of the show.
• Danny Wood performed several breakdance pieces, including that feat of strength where you go parallel to the ground and hold your body up just with your hands. He went into spins and “runs” on his hands.

• Cursing, though sparse. Joey, last seen as the kiddiest of the kids, had fun with it, unleashing a “Holy sh--!” then saying, “I don’t know if we swore back in the day.”
• Mid-way through the show, they relocated to a circular, rotating off-stage stage in the middle of the floor. Here they performed old hits such as “Tonight” and new hits such as “Dirty Dancing,” while dancing around a baby grand piano, atop of which a go-go dancer cavorted.
• A solo Jordan Knight performed “Baby, I Believe in You” on a high platform, while an industrial fan blew upward at his open chest, his almost-off shirt flapping behind him like an impudent sail.

• At the first “intermission” or costume change, the video screens played an oddly out-of-place montage of fallen musicians and family members. It was reminiscent of Oscars-night tributes, accompanied by the same raucous cheers for the images of, say, Kurt Cobain and James Brown, and crickets chirping for, well, how would I know who those people were? My best guess for why they showed this: in the 15 years of silence since we last heard from the New Kids, these are the people they lost personally, as well as those who are lost to our musical culture. And yet the New Kids survived.
• Speaking of costume changes, the New Kids brought the chic, donning everything from suits to t-shirts and jeans to lily-white psych-ward get-ups to Celtics jerseys, a shout-out to their Beantown roots.
• Jordan and Joey McIntire both had the stage to themselves for several of their own non-New Kids songs. Perhaps they were rehearsing for their solo careers? They are clearly the singing stars of the band, and Joey in particular looks like a matinee idol and would surely win most American Idol seasons handily, but I think their best music has been made as New Kids.
• The backing band usually gets introduced at the end of the show; the New Kids introduced them with raps riffing on the players’ names.
• A brief cover of Queen’s “We Will Rock You” was inserted seamlessly into “Hangin’ Tough.” The New Kids closed the show with a seemingly impromptu but almost certainly meticulously rehearsed cover of Little Richard’s “You Make Me Wanna Shout.”
• Crotch-grabbing and self-deprecating commentary. Though an earlier team grab during a dance routine threatened to bring the house down with the weight of fainting women, the most precious crotch grab of the night happened at the end of “Click Click Click,” where the band has a ritual pose-off, in keeping with the photographic theme of the song. This one saw Jonathan Knight giving a monumental heave to the family jewels, the image lustily displayed on the big screen above the stage. The other New Kids bowed deferentially to the genre-destroying clutch.

• They brought the noise, in the form of their adoring fans. I’ve never been to any concert or any event of any kind that was so loud with screaming devotees.
• They played for almost two hours and a half hours, in an age when even big shows rarely last more than an hour and a half.
  

I was actually not a New Kids fan in my youth, but I have been informed that many of the details I noticed at this concert are iconic throwbacks to their glorious concerts and videos of the past, including Joey’s smiley face black jacket, Jordan’s shirtlessness, and of course, their legendary dance moves. The crowd went wild at the first strains of “The Right Stuff”; the Kids could have left it at that, and everyone would have been happy. But for them to have relearned and then performed the classic dance routine that older fans surely remembered, well, it brought a deep smile of satisfaction to my face. What I appreciated was the exceptional fan-service that wasn’t necessarily expected, but is the sort of thing that separates a merely good performer from a band that truly respects its fans and is doing its best to connect with them.

It seemed to me that the New Kids didn’t feel merely respect, but extraordinary gratitude for their fan base. Here’s a band that went from being princes of the world to being a musical joke, all within a few years. They could have reunited and been greeted with the sound of one hand clapping. That their new CD is selling well and they’ve been welcomed by a new generation of teenagers is a gift. I admired how determined they seemed to not have anyone leave the building feeling disappointed. It was as if they dreaded most the thought that someone would go home saying, “Well, they used to be good, but I don’t know why they came back.”

Why did they come back? Answers: Yes, they can still dance like fiends. Yes, they are “for real.” And no, Joey doesn’t sing like a little boy anymore. But that was the beauty of this concert. They’re not the same as they were, and I think no matter what expectations the crowd was carrying into the show, they would have been a little disappointed if the band hadn’t changed. I think what the old fans wanted to see in their New Kids is that they be new again. Their new album is very much a product crafted to appeal to current R&B and hip-hoppy pop tastes, and as such, the songs sound a lot like many other genre hits on the radio. Their old songs, though refreshing to hear now (and live), are still old, and being different from what’s produced now doesn’t make them new. What was new about the New Kids to me was their attitude toward the music and toward their audience.

They seemed to know that their old songs, though catchy and even enduring, are not the pinnacle of songwriting, so they sang them as fun songs, not as preciously overwrought opuses. And as cheesy as a lot of the antics were (breakdancing?), and as dated as the dancing was, the whole performance radiated cool. I think it was because they embraced the cheesiness as part of their history, instead of denying it. If they had seemed ashamed of their past, then the whole audience would have to be ashamed of themselves for coming to the show. That kind of cowardice would not have gone over well. Instead, the New Kids showed that they were happy to be back and even happier to know that they were missed. Their lack of pretension created something that was genuinely new in the musical world, and it was music to my ears.

But there’s something even simpler than this, and it has to do with those 15 years gone by. Seeing little Joey and the rest of them bringing the goods in their mid- to late-30s is reassurance that even though we’re all a little older, we can still raise the roof that looms ever nearer to our heads.

(The lone missed opportunity was the band’s failure to perform their new song, “Big Girl Now,” recorded on their CD with Lady Gaga, who happened to be the first opening act, and was thus in the house. This was especially disappointing because they had actually performed the song together at least once before, at the Sacramento concert. I can only surmise that they decided it wasn’t a great showpiece, or Lady Gaga was somehow unavailable. But it would have done much to bridge the gap between old fans and new. Instead, we were treated to the New Kids singing “Grown Man” alongside a video of Nicole Scherzinger of the Pussycat Dolls. It was rather depressing stuff.)

My companions at the show, neither one of them out of swaddling clothes when the New Kids were darlings of the universe, are ardent fans of their new album, The Block, but were only vaguely aware that there existed a prior incarnation of the band, one that featured jazzy hats, skinny ponytails, and shameless falsetto. I asked them how they liked the show, and they said it was good, but they prefer “the real The Block.”

I would say they’ve missed the point, but that would imply that they ever could have gotten the point. Not having been there in 1990, however, there’s really no way they could have “gotten” it. It would be like asking me to appreciate the JFK assassination. Yes, I understand the significance, but I can never “get” it the way someone who was alive then “gets” it. To them, the popularity of the New Kids is a tedious history lesson.

It occurred to me that here was a generation of young people who thought that the New Kids on the Block were that hot band that had collaborated with Ne-yo and the Pussycat Dolls. God willing, their second lease on life will be as fruitful as the first, so that their current work can legitimately be called “the real The Block.” Until then, the New Kids will always be a Hypercolor dream of synth and drum machines and not one, but two, hit songs with an “Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh” hook.

(Note: I neglected to bring a camera to the show because I didn’t realize it was going to be awesome. As a result, I’ve scavenged Youtube to find the clips in this article, which occasionally necessitated using footage from other shows if it wasn’t available for the San Diego concert.)

Yes No Prop 8

A curious incident on the homestead. Amid some television news coverage of yet another street rally against the passage of Proposition 8 (a “hot button” issue, which forbade gay marriage in California), my father shared his philosophy on the topic. “I voted yes on 8. These people are sick. They were born this way. Why should they be punished for that? Why should we prevent them from getting married?”

My eyebrow rose, almost involuntarily. “A Yes vote means that gays can’t get married,” I said. “Oh!” my father rushed to correct himself, “I mean I voted no.” Of course he did. Surely he just misspoke, and didn’t actually misapply a Yes vote for a No on the ballot, right? And then I wondered how many voters on Election Day, less careful than my father, actually voted Yes when they meant No, or vice versa.

I am reminded of the hilarious Simpsons episode (Season 15, Episode 8) where Homer buffoonishly tries to assist Marge’s campaign for a particular proposition, including printing up bumper stickers that say “Yes No 242.”

This whole ordeal of an election cycle (disregarding for a moment the beauty pageant cum satyr play that was the presidential election), all the way up to the street rallies and the tragicomic words flowing from my father’s mouth, was a living picture of our glorious democracy, up to its gills in its solemn duty of obfuscating the issues and obscuring facts. Hence, the laughable (or reviled, or endearing, depending on your stance) “King and King” commercial in support of Prop 8.

It makes me wonder where all these rally-rabbits were before the election. Even in my neighborhood of Hillcrest, epicenter of gay life in San Diego, I saw only the occasional “No on 8” sign dangling from a chain-link fence, whereas pretty much any other neighborhood in town was rife with Charlie Churches and pregnant housewives pushing strollers at major intersections and spreading the gospel. How many horn-honkers did I have to endure every time I got stuck behind a traffic light?

My father’s comments were followed by my mother’s virulent proclamations that gay marriage was wrong and that she had voted against the proposition. Or was it for the proposition? Having mailed their ballots in beforehand, my mother, who had apparently delegated the task of actually filling out the ballots to my father, questioned him on whether he had marked her down for a Yes or No. Really, do we even know the difference?

My final word? I believe it was best expressed on a car window I saw whizzing by the other day: “Equality in marriage. Everyone deserves the right to be miserable.”

Odd Fellow Societies

There is a perception, taken for granted, among mainstream "voting" America that people who don't vote are people who don't care. About the country's present and future, about liberty and high ideals, about their neighbors, about society in general - they just don't care one whit about matters of consequence. I can grant that this is likely true of most non-voters (and I would doubly assert that this is true of most voters as well). But for myself, I can say that it's because I do care that I don't vote.

For "voters" to think that I am the strange one, that I'm doing something unconscionable, or at the very least thoughtless, says to me only that they are relying on their prejudices. To me, they are the ones who are guilty of not thinking.

Why don't I vote? It's not because each individual vote "doesn't matter," as is commonly bandied about even by unsentimental voters. That's too easy an answer, and it embodies the very lack of care that non-voters are accused of. My vote may not matter, but neither does the "work" I do at my job, and yet I don't cease to go to the office.

It's not because I'm against the government, whether this government or any other that would leave me reasonably unmolested. Though I am against having any direct contact with a government, I am not against its right to exist. I believe in the social contract, that having accepted a place in this society, I ought to recognize some of the rules of the place.

I don't vote because I don't believe that it makes me a better human being or a better citizen. And in fact, it would make me worse in both respects, because it would mean that I'm bowing down to forces that I don't believe in.

I reflect on the words of Thoreau, once jailed for his refusal to support an American government that permitted slavery, and now a universally sanctified American hero:

All voting is a sort of gaming, like chequers or backgammon, with a slight moral tinge to it, a playing with right and wrong, with moral questions; and betting naturally accompanies it. The character of the voters is not staked. I cast my vote, perchance, as I think right; but I am not vitally concerned that that right should prevail. I am willing to leave it to the majority. Its obligation, therefore, never exceeds that of expediency. Even voting for the right is doing nothing for it. It is only expressing to men feebly your desire that it should prevail. A wise man will not leave the right to the mercy of chance, nor wish it to prevail through the power of the majority. There is but little virtue in the action of masses of men.
- Thoreau, Resistance to Civil Government (aka Civil Disobedience)

(It baffles me that a thinker as anarchic and individualistic as Thoreau has come to be embraced by a culture that has withered to such a level of conformity and fearfulness as ours. But perhaps the times were just as bad in Thoreau's day, and such a society is apt to misunderstand what Thoreau meant and to adopt him as one of their own.)

What the quote doesn't say explicitly is that you don't vote for anyone or even any party. All your vote says is that no matter what the outcome of the election, you will accept it. Your vote is your buy-in voucher, saying that you support the system, no matter which figurehead stands atop it. You vote only for perpetuating the system, whether it be good or bad. I hear of Americans moving to Canada if their presidential choice is not elected - yes, I hear of it as a joke, not as a matter of serious deliberation.

In a representative democracy, what is a man to do when he alone represents himself? How can I in good conscience vote for someone who doesn't represent me? In the spirit of American self-reliance, I choose to stand outside of this fray, this mess hall of gluttons eating with their hands, who do not see that you cannot fix the system by working within the system. Maybe if enough people stood alongside me for the right reasons, and not because they don't care, then the country would see that there is another way to carry on without tipping over. They will see that we are not the strange ones. It is the mainstreamers, who work so hard to get us to buy in to their world-view, who categorically trumpet the virtues of democracy and capitalism, as if all human progress ended there, it is they who are the strange ones.

Why don't I vote? If I did, if like a good boy, I registered and went to the polls, would the guys in cheap baseball caps wielding clipboards leave me alone? Yes, they would. Because that's how little they care.

Wherever a man goes, men will pursue and paw him with their dirty institutions, and, if they can, constrain him to belong to their desperate odd fellow society. It is true, I might have resisted forcibly with more or less effect, might have run “amok” against society; but I preferred that society should run “amok” against me, it being the desperate party.
- Thoreau, Walden