CHAPTER 5

FINDING THE GROUP

After the name is discovered but before the photograph is snapped, the members have to be found.

Typically this is seen as a simple matter of finding instrumentalists of a certain skill level who have similar taste. But actually, the group aggregate comprises personality types. Music styles and similarity of taste—mere affectations which can be bulldozed or manipulated—are subordinate to this.

The personality archetypes and how they interrelate are of prime importance. The Clash is a great example of perfectly juxtaposed types, with the earnest Joe, the flashy Mick, the shy, hunky Paul, and the outlaw Topper. Principle songwriters Joe and Mick complemented each other. One was classic, conservative, and formalistic, while the other was enamored with pop fads and trends. Most importantly, though, both were committed to acting as style exponents of leftist factions dedicated to the violent overthrow of Western capitalist imperialism.

When choosing one’s cadre, remember that human behavior patterns are pliable. The instrument one plays determines one’s comportment to a dramatic degree. Bass players are usually picked for their style and are often quiet and/or affable. Guitar players are often controlling, temperamental, and fastidious. Singers, insecure because of the highly personal nature of their contribution, behave like politicians. Drummers are gregarious but have style and anger issues. When a person switches instruments, they often change their personality according to their new assignation.

Finding the group members is ultimately a matter of who is available, a case of ships passing in the night, the hand of fate, lady luck, the deck you’re dealt. “Geography is destiny,” or so it’s been said, and just as the Russian Empire had to make do without decent access to the world’s oceans, you will have to forge on with the impoverished human material at your disposal. The failure of the US educational system, awful brainwashing techniques practiced on the population by Nazi death cult TV programs, and brain-decaying Fascist radio will have wrought their devastating consequences on even the toughest psyches of those you are forced to recruit. Still, the human flotsam you end up with will be preferable to any dreamed-up aggregate of ideal players. Supergroups are very rarely any good—one more reason to avoid heaven with its “one hell of a rock ’n’ roll band” (featuring Jimi, Janis, and John Bonham).

Some of your collaborators might be refugees from awful jobs, insipid record collections, religious sects, bad marriages, and dormitories full of sports enthusiasts. Your group will be their last hope, and there might be desperation in their eyes. These are the ones you want. Don’t make them any promises and remind them regularly of the tenuous nature of the group and also of their expendability. Your group will be determined by the particular context of your scene—the groups which are happening (if any) and the situation you encounter. Unless you have access to very special technology, you will not be living in New Orleans in 1956, swinging London in 1967, NYC in 1976, Manchester in 1988, or whatever you imagine to have been the high-water mark for groups.

Once again, as far as membership, you will have to make do with the raw material you are presented with. These wretches might seem like nincompoops, squares, dodos, or goofs. It doesn’t matter. They are lumps of clay, and you must mold them as you see fit. Don’t get discouraged. People are quite plastic and can be bent and twisted to a surprising degree to make them conform to your vision. You are Dr. Frankenstein to your group’s monster. Utilize the lightning. These prospective members might just need an extra jolt or three. But remember: being a single parent is a lot of work, especially when one is playing God and engineering life itself. You will choose the members to complement each other, just as Frankenstein chose limbs—an arm here, a torso there—until the creature was complete.

As with the famous doctor, your offspring might end up in various compromised positions—playing rough with children, burning to death in an abandoned windmill, floating alone on a boat into oblivion, and so on. Whoever they turn out to be, you must prize them and treat them with respect until such a time that you end the group relationship. Don’t cuckold your group like some discontent Madame Bovary, or walk a dozen paces apart from them at the truck stop.

 

I. ZODIAC

Zodiacal configuration is one way to design an effective group.

By observing other groups, one can use them for clues as to the alchemy unleashed by particular combinations.

As the paradigm group, the Beatles can be held up to the light for inspection. Two air signs (John and Paul, Libra and Gemini) and two water signs (George and Ringo, Pisces and Cancer) gave the group a strong dualistic personality, simultaneously playful and pop (air signs) as well as deep, cranky, and mystical (water). With this arrangement, they combined silliness, perversity, spiritualism, and horror in their music, images, and stunts. Signs under these elements lack the cartoonish aggression of the fire signs (Little Richard, Tina Turner: Sagittarians) or the macho confidence of the earth sign (Elvis Presley, Phil Everly, Bo Diddley, Phil Spector: Capricorns), which typified so much of the initial wave of rock ’n’ roll.

Indeed, the second phase of rock ’n’ roll—the “soul” and surf groups, followed by the British Invasion—can be seen as the air sign’s response to the predominantly fire and earth of the initial rock ’n’ roll putsch. Brian Wilson was an air sign (Gemini), as were Smokey Robinson (Aquarius)—the architect of the Motown sound—and, perhaps most significantly, Bob Dylan (Gemini), whose every musical caprice would be studied and mimicked by groups through the ’60s and ’70s—and even today.

The Rolling Stones were a well-rounded aggregate, comprised of two fire signs (Mick Jagger, Leo; and Keith Richards, Sagittarius), two water signs (Brian Jones, Pisces; and Bill Wyman, Scorpio), and an air sign (Charlie Watts, Gemini). In 1968, as the Stones moved from their brittle, trendy “in” stage to global-superbrand status, they purged one water sign (Jones) and replaced him with an earthy Capricorn (Mick Taylor), a move designed to strengthen their financial pragmatism and work ethic.

This deft ploy propelled them strategically over their peers in an era of changing values and general upheaval in the industry, at a time when their very existence seemed uncertain. When their controversial manager Allen Klein (Sagittarius) had been disposed of, the fiery core of the group (“The Glimmer Twins”) grabbed power for themselves and—fearing trouble from a possibly obstinate, sneaky, and Machiavellian sea-goat—eased Taylor out in favor of a relaxed, ingratiating, and somewhat ineffectual air sign (Ron Wood, Gemini).

During this aforementioned time of upheaval, the Who ushered in what would become the “classic rock” era, with their stadium concerts, high-concept albums, costumes, and spectacular bombast. Astrologically, they were an equal balance of air, earth, water, and fire. This is actually a volatile mixture, and they were marked by abusive behavior—sadistic and masochistic, psychic and physical—all played out on a public stage.

World-famous quartet Sonic Youth also had all four elements represented in their membership and were nearly a mirror of the Who, with both featuring conceptualist Taurean leaders. However, they avoided any bloody dramatics by putting their introverted water sign (Steve Shelley: Cancer) behind the kit, and their Leo (Thurston Moore) up front at the mic, as opposed to the Who, who had it backwards (Daltrey is a Pisces and Moon was a Leo cusp). Without an attention-loving lion frothing behind the drumkit, they could be somewhat more stable, and their career was marked by a fascination with all manner of stimuli, both high- and lowbrow (though with so many competing personality types they arguably may have suffered from “overstimulation”).

This comparative study shows how vital not only zodiacal signs are, but also their placement in the group. A brief guide to the variety of astrological types is perhaps in order:

The zodiac is based on life stages. It goes from Aries, the baby, to Pisces, the old soul.

Aries, like the tiny infant it represents, is petulant and greedy but has incandescent charm. (Agnetha Fältskog, Marvin Gaye, Angus Young, Kid Congo Powers, James Chance, Aretha Franklin, Ian MacKaye, Michelle Mae, Serge Gainsbourg, Al Green, Richard Berry.) Sartorially fastidious, Aries crash through the world without regard to consequences. They identify with childhood, as with Angus Young who dressed as a schoolchild and Ian MacKaye whose “straight edge” philosophy rejected the rituals of adulthood.

Taureans are small children, stubborn and imbued with incessant energy, enthusiasm, and excitement for new forms. (James Brown, Mary Wells, Ann-Margret, Iggy Pop, Pete Townshend, Roy Orbison, Kim Gordon, Master P, Jonathan Richman, Link Wray.) Taureans’ “childishness” is seen in their artless, animalistic approach—as with Iggy Pop—and a fascination with the lost world of purity, youth, and innocence—as with Richman. They are easily bored.

Geminis, being preadolescents (about eleven years old or so), are precocious. This stage of life is characterized by a desire to show off one’s cleverness. The preadolescent is also undecided about what exactly it is, and thus Geminis are marked by an unwillingness to be classified (Prince’s “Controversy,” Dylan’s ideological and spiritual restlessness, Morrissey’s refusal to be defined sexually or politically). The “twin” is therefore obsessed with blurring his or her own identity with alter egos (Paul McCartney’s Percy “Thrills” Thrillington, Prince’s symbol, Ray Davies’s X-Ray, and so on). (Other Geminis are Lydia Lunch, Peggy Lee, Nancy Sinatra, Shirley Owens, and Charlie Feathers.)

The next sign is Cancer, which represents the sullen teenager. These bundles of emotionalism are contrarian, anti-social, depressed, and fond of dark poetry and being “cool.” These people hate society at large but are interested in fomenting subculture. An example would be Debbie Harry, who often hosted cable-access happening TV Party and chose to star in No Wave cinema, despite having a number-one chartbuster (“Call Me”) and being blessed with movie-star good looks. (Other Cancerians include Ian Curtis, Danzig, Lee Hazlewood, Kim Fowley, George Clinton, and Steve Albini.)

The Leo is a college-aged young adult, magnetic, bright, but narcissistic and licentious. They are wonderful at bringing talented, disparate people together, as with David Crosby and Isaac Hayes, but their need to be adored can unhinge much of this work. (Mick Jagger, Ronnie Spector, Jerry Garcia, Kate Bush, Robert Plant, Madonna, Joe Tex.) Leos are fond of grand gestures delivered with offhand nonchalance.

Virgos are the twentysomethings in the beginning of their professional lives. As such, they are rigid perfectionists who labor with a firm sense of commitment toward creating an ideal form. They do not suffer half measures or amateurism. Joan Jett’s überproduced bubblegum music is one example, and Freddie Mercury’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” is another. Michael Jackson illustrates the pitfalls of the Virgo’s approach. Called the “King of Pop” for his commitment to purity and artifice, he created what many believed to be the ultimate album (Thriller, 1982) before turning his artist’s eye to self-improvement and tragically destroying his face in a surgical quest for “perfection.” (Other Virgos: Cass Elliot, John Cage, Buddy Holly, Fred Cole, and Otis Redding.)

Libras, representing the early thirties, are set in their ways. They seem to have it all figured out. They are often urbane, cultured, and decorous. They are attractive but, as the only inanimate object in the zodiac, they find it difficult to negotiate the world of flesh and machines. (Lux Interior, Yvonne Fair, Brigitte Bardot, France Gall, Wanda Jackson, Marc Bolan.)

Scorpios, representing middle age, are obsessive, secretive, tribal, and hardworking. Strangely charismatic, people want them to lead but they typically defer, preferring to influence in a remote or removed fashion. (Ike Turner, Joni Mitchell, Grace Slick, Melba Moore, Minnie Riperton, Neil Young.)

Sagittarius is the divorced or cheating spouse in a midlife crisis—making big scenes, lashing out, and generally raging, sometimes somewhat ridiculously, against mortality. (Tina Turner, Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, Dennis Wilson, Dionne Warwick, Billy Childish.) Artful provocateurs, they are manufacturers of quality outrage and smash-’em-up stagecraft.

Capricorns, slightly grayer, are pragmatic, cynical, and fond of material wealth for the comfort and status it brings. They are connoisseurs, whose enigmatic façade is often impenetrable. Their sadism is legendary. (Patti Smith, Elvis Presley, Françoise Hardy, Bo Diddley, Jimmy Page, Marianne Faithfull.)

Aquarians, being akin to retired people, are aesthetically conservative but socially progressive. Therefore they have a formalistic, confident approach to music. (Smokey Robinson, Gene Vincent, Carol King, Jon Spencer, Barrett Strong, Etta James.)

Pisces is the final stage of life. Therefore, like the old eccentric, Pisceans don’t care about public opinion or social mores any longer. This makes them independently minded, rebellious, and outspoken, but also unpredictable and prone to drug addiction and alcohol abuse. (Poison Ivy, Neneh Cherry, Terry Hall, Jennifer Herrema, Mark E. Smith, Johnny Cash, Arthur Lee, Lou Reed.)

 

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When starting a group, people’s feelings must also be considered. Do not enter into a musical relationship lightly.

People never recover from the expectations they imbue the collective endeavor of the group with. Losing one’s group is every bit as poignant as the broken heart from a romantic relationship and even more so, since disappointment in the case of group collapse is intertwined with one’s public life, one’s creative life, one’s job, and one’s opportunities. It is seen as a measure of one’s self-worth and a referendum on one’s political ability and charisma—one’s very humanity.

Therefore, before you offer to “jam” with someone, first ask yourself the questions: “Am I willing to spend my entire life with this person?” “Am I willing to share every bit of glory, every folly, every circumstance?” “Can she or he tolerate my strangeness and inconstancy?” “How does this person make me look?” “Do they enhance my appearance and stature, or reduce it?” and, “If they reduce it, can I accept the reduction gracefully and not resent it?”

Because once you discontinue the jamming, or the group breaks up, the strangeness between you and the other members will persist to the grave. You will earn their undying enmity—and they yours. Your encounters henceforth will be a black smudge and your interactions a war of nerves, a battle of attrition, a twisted carnival of passive aggression which will haunt you forever.