BY SARA SARGENT

In print | March 31, 2005

I admit it: I have mainstream music tastes. It’s not that I don’t march to the beat of my own drummer, it’s just that my own drummer is a mainstream drummer who plays in a mainstream band. And yes, my drummer may write over-dramatized songs when he drops a spoon down the garbage disposal because it reminds him of the time he and his ex-girlfriend went to the zoo and watched loons all afternoon (of course, that would be because spoon and loon rhyme). And yes, his band-mate may spend hours perfecting a unique performance style, sitting on a precious little stool and strumming his precious little heartbroken heart out, trying to keep the bangs off his broodingly conflicted, precious little face. In all honesty, I don’t see how any of these things give music snobs the right to scoff. Let’s get real: You’re just jealous because no one thinks your body is a wonderland. So why don’t you just bite your un-bubblegum tongue and shove it?

In the real world, where drivel rules and quality drools, the pop music du jour (favored by uninformed listeners like myself) often pollutes the airwaves and drives music purists to drink. Swarthmore, however, refuses to kowtow to the likes of me, especially when it comes to Olde Club’s bookings. In fact, there was only one occasion when I’d heard of the Olde Club act, and that was because I’d slept with half the band-members a few years ago during my garage-band phase. Just kidding. I never had a garage-band phase.

Then last weekend, just when I was about to have a maxi-freak-out if Olde Club didn’t secure Gavin or Dave, I got wind of next year’s line-up. Finally, artists I’d heard of: Barry Manilow, Joan Osborne, Kenny Loggins, LFO, Hootie and the Blowfish, UB40, Raffi. To me, it was like Christmas Eve and Arbor Day rolled into one. Unfortunately for the rest of campus, the turn of events may have students seeing red. People apparently don’t consider Bette Midler to be “angsty” enough. But hell, what do I care? I’ll be too busy jamming to “Wind Beneath My Wings” to notice the thronging hipster mobs.

In my humble opinion, music isn’t music unless it really means something to you; and I bet everyone, even those who have no respect for me (and I’m guessing that’s most of you), will agree. When Michael Pollack ‘08 learned that Raffi, the self-designated "Children’s Troubadour," was coming, he was alight with nostalgia. “I can’t wait to return to my nursery school days with Raffi and ‘Baby Beluga,’” he said. Responses like Pollack’s are undoubtedly the inspiration behind the Olde Club switch. The booking staff could no longer ignore the oft-ignored campus minority that delights in the crooners of yesteryear. Zsaleh Harivandi ‘07, a sophomore with an ear for elevator music, remarked, "I love Barry Manilow. I can’t wait to sit outside of Olde Club under the stars, surrounded by PAs and the Swarthmore Police, and hear about how much he loved that girl who was so good-looking that she made him sing."

While the overarching aim of the revamped bill is greater enjoyment for typically less-indulged fans, the Olde Club crew is also working toward eclecticism. During the fall semester, students can look forward to oldies-but-goodies from UB40, Babyface and Joan Osborne. After learning of this, Jenna Adelberg ‘06, who attended her first and only Joan Osborne concert at the tender age of 12, asked, “What if God was one of us?” I assured her that he was, and that is how we managed to get Joan to come here. She nodded, adding, "Yes, maybe he’s just that stranger on the shuttle, trying to make his way home." Yes, maybe.

Following the star-studded fall semester, spring at Olde Club promises even more fantastic shows, featuring icons like Ashlee Simpson and Sixpence None the Richer. Athena Samaras ‘07, a devoted connoisseur of Simpson’s music and founder of the Swarthmore chapter of her fan club, responded to the news enthusiastically: “I’m really excited that we’re mixing up classic rock stars like Ashlee Simpson with various no-talent ass clowns.”

And in the minds of some students, no-talent ass clowns they may be — particularly students who believe that the music industry doesn’t produce better talentless ass than Eagle Eye Cherry and Shania Twain (slated for Oct. 22 and Feb. 4, respectively). Then again, it’s not possible to please everyone. Some Swatties are ardently in support of girls who wear Abercrombie & Fitch and would take her if they had one wish; others passionately denounce that sort of music, raising their voices in protest with a resounding “LF … NO!” One disappointed first-year, Jamie Midyette, said, “Frankly, I am appalled and enraged to find out that these bands are coming to Olde Club. I liked Hootie and the Blowfish when I was, like, nine and only one of their songs.” Well, boo-freaking-hoo, Hootie-hater.

But with the jury still out until September, it’s difficult to know precisely how the student body will react. Will satisfied sentiments like Adelberg’s and Samaras’ predominate, or will students express outrage similar to Midyette’s? Even the students in charge of Olde Club seem unsure. When reached for comment about the new face of the bill, Olde Club Facilities Director Ben Ewen-Campen ’06 was a man of few words. “I am physically aroused by the prospect of Raffi coming,” he said.

Ever since I can remember, Stardust has always promised that “the music sounds better with you.” Frankly, I don’t think the music will sound any better with you and I don’t care whether you go to Olde Club or not. Kenny Loggins never asked you to do him any favors, and I don’t think he’ll start when he comes in November. Seriously, though, let’s face the facts: Olde Club will never get any better than this. Just make yourself happy and quit it with the pretense of pretension. Finally admit that you’ve been nursing an Alanis fetish since you were 10. Finally admit that you don’t believe David Beckham married Victoria Adams because her name is Posh Spice, dammit! And finally admit that next year’s Olde Club schedule is the best thing since sliced bread. We all know you will be front and center at every show ? you don’t have to deny it, we don’t judge here at Swarthmore. Everyone has his “thing,” and no one cares that you sleep in your Carole King t-shirt every night and hum “I Will Survive” in the shower. Plus, if you don’t go, it’s like a black fly in your Chardonnay — and not in that cool, ironic way, but in that sad, depressing way because you’ll be missing out on the best year of your life. Don’t you think?

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