Blog In defense of ska

I won't bore with you a scholarly, carefully researched history of ska that traces the genre from its Jamaican origins to its modern-day incarnation. I won't give you the opportunity to point and laugh at my imminent decrepitude by regaling you with stories of "the glory days" when I used to see '90s ska revivalists like The Pietasters and MU330 play upstairs at the Mercury Café (back when the Merc hosted rock shows instead of radical feminist theater and organic-products swap meets). But I will say this: Ska is good, and you best realize it.

I know it's tough for many music fans to take ska seriously. For the most part, it's being played today by a curious mix of barely reformed high-school band geeks and lip-pierced meatheads. Some of ska's Jamaican originators—like Toots And The Maytals and Jimmy Cliff—are still performing, but their shows are skewed mostly toward their later reggae output. Weirdly enough, most reggae fans aren't that into ska, either—or at least ska's more aggressive strain, which has ruled the scene since the late '70s, when ska and punk started going steady. The lesson here? Punks stink up everything they touch, and hippies are confused and frightened by fast movement. Or something like that.

Seriously, though: Some of ska's shining qualities have nothing to do with hipness, music snobbery, or your ability to get laid after a concert. Take, for instance, Less Than Jake, one of ska-punk's enduring success stories (which is also headlining the Ogden Theatre tonight). After ska enjoyed a huge spike in popularity during the '90s—Christ, They Might Be Giants were recording ska-punk themes for TV shows back then—ska bands like Less Than Jake were written off wholesale. And people were happy, even relieved, to do that writing. After all, ska is the opposite of cool. There's no way to play it hip at a ska show. And that's its inherent saving grace: You can only act so tough with a trombone shoved in your face. You can only stand there with your arms crossed for so long—with everyone skanking like maniacs around you—before you'rethe one who looks like a dork.

Despite every attempt at throwing it in the dumpster, ska has survived into the new millennium. Even in Denver, outfits like Synthetic Elements and Potato Pirates are doing their part to help keep ska in circulation. And this millennium needs it. It's a new era, people. Bush is out. Obama's in. Times are tough, but there's hope. Do we really need to mill around and mope along with depressing chumps like Conor Oberst and My Chemical Romance anymore? That shit is tired. Life isn't that tough. And even if it is, let's kick it in the face, blow horns, and laugh like idiots instead of sitting in our bedrooms putting on eyeliner and pouting about it.

Real music critics—a bunch of snooty dudes who seem to think music is something you should stroke your chin to and contemplate like it's the Mona fucking Lisa—don't like ska. It's not even worth their time to hate; they just ignore it. That's why I will never be a real music critic. See these tears? Really, I'm hurt. I guess I'll just have to pack up all my Bad Manners and Toasters and Operation Ivy records, leave the critics to wallow in a puddle of their own seriousness, and go have some fun.