— ROLLING  STONE —

Storm Front
5/5 Stars
Review by Hayes Griffith
Published: November 30th, 1989

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And So It Goes....

Billy Joel's discontented decry of the "modern" world.

Billy Joel's latest album 'Storm Front' does not aim to be a complacent compilation of songs in which the listener can escape from reality and instead immerse themselves in a pop fantasy. No, Joel does not shy away from society's current failings, instead he embraces the unsavoury real world issues and transforms them into something a little easier to digest: music.

The album's first single, 'We Didn't Start the Fire' documents the erosion of our society's moral center, by condensing forty years worth of history into one delirious, galvanic, and frenzied track. Joel efficiently leaps through the decades mentioning their key figures, and their issues with a half crazed intensity. In one line he mentioning the likes of Doris Day, and Grace Kelly, whilst singing about Castro and the Communist Bloc in the next breath.

Once he careens towards the more contemporary social horrors at hand, Joel starts to lose it — "Foreign debts, homeless vets, AIDS, crack, Bernie Goetz/ Hypodermics on the shore, China's under martial law" — well, Joel voices it perfectly, "I can't take it anymore!" But more on that later, my darling readers.

For now, I think I should drone on about instrumentals and go into heavy detail about the difference Mick Jones makes to Joel's sound now that he's replaced Phil Ramone. Perhaps I should talk about chord progressions, that would be interesting wouldn't it?

Or maybe I should see if the Rolling Stone's editors are worth their salt. If you're currently reading this, they aren't.

For about a decade, this has been a platform to air my anticipated opinions, but now I think I shall give you a dose of my unwanted ones. I only recently turned thirty-seven, so I am quite aware that this news may seem rather strange, but yet here the announcement it is in black and white: I'm retiring from writing. I didn't think 'quitting' was the appropriate term for what I'm doing, seeming as I don't ever intend to bag myself a new job in which I have to pick up a pen and smudge the earth with my criticisms ever again.

You see, I think the world is rapt with enough hatred at the moment, and that I don't need to contribute to the problem anymore. I'm done, and want to make better use of my time. I see no real merit in professionally scrounging about for faults with music. Especially not when it's one of the few things left that bring people any microcosm of happiness in a world that's gone tits-up.

Of course, I'm not about to apologise for anything I have said over the years (because I find my past works to be quite funny if I'm being honest), but I am waving the metaphorical white flag. The musicians have won, and they will continue to do so. You artists were always going to win too, so I don't know why you allowed my silly comments to bother you so much. What, did you lot think that in years to come, when I'm dead and gone, that my words would stand the test of time?

No, my comments will be forgotten and your music will remain. If you remember that much, it may help you to ignore the words of my colleagues in future. Be proud of the work you do, and flick away us buzzing gnats that attempt to discourage you. Ars longa, vita brevis, and all that jazz.

I realise that this is all coming out of left field. So before anyone jumps to the inaccurate conclusion that I have suddenly and miraculously developed a heart, I'll put those rumours to bed. Contrary to popular belief, our feelings do in fact reside in the head and not the heart, so I shall be talking about the head— for accuracy's sake. The brain is a muscle, and I suppose I never adequately exercised the part used to produce and experience feelings, much before. Luckily, in recent years I have become aware of this issue and worked to remedy my shortcomings. I am perfectly capable of experiencing a whole plethora of emotions now, which seems a little treasonous to say as an Englishman, but there it is.

Now as for you lot...I can only assume that the part of your brain which is responsible for empathy has atrophied over the years from a complete lack of use. I know many think of me as some sort of unfeeling creature, but I don't think I was ever cruel enough to minimise suffering and death. Imagine that, you're colder than Hayes Griffith... I mean really, that's just shameful. Consider this a wake up call.

I realise I am generalising, but I know how much people love to do so. If you're content to label anyone that contracts AIDs as either a lowly drug addict, or a promiscuous, sinning, gay man, well then I'm content to say that you lot are all sadists for rejoicing in, and turning a blind eye to this terrible disease. Oh yes, I see how easy it is to generalise now, it must be why you have such fun doing it.

If you are outraged, scandalised, or offended by the way I'm addressing some of you right now, know that you are exactly who I am directing  my questions and ire towards right now. Who are you to decide what's natural and unnatural, right or wrong, whatever? Does it really make you feel morally superior to persecute, villainize, and ostracise certain groups of people for simply living a life that impacts you in no way whatsoever?

You force so many to go against their nature, to walk against the wind, just so that you can feel comfortable. I ask it again, who are you to decide that your life is any more important than those who have died for expressing— or hiding— a love that you're too narrow minded  to understand? You don't even have to understand it, because once again, it doesn't impact you in the slightest! If you had blood on your hands before, you're swimming in it now. Does that image tarnish the view you have from your so called "moral" high ground?

If I hadn't met the right person, at the right time, I certainly wouldn't have been able to walk against the wind society whips up for much longer. I wouldn't be here, like so many others that found themselves collapsing from the effort it takes to bear the brunt of those vicious gales.

No, I was one of the fortunate ones who found someone to help me turn my back, and walk with that wind instead. I am content with the knowledge that I'll never have to navigate those draining gusts again because of him. This man has also turned me into enough of a sappy twit to believe that some day when ashes are scattered and we're all just dust, that'll he'll find me once again, and we'll travel along that now gentle breeze together, forever.

I am putting this in print now, because I want certain people reading this to know that this eternal bliss is an option, even if society tries to make you believe that it's not. I only wish that I could have read something with a similar message when I was younger, because it would have meant a great deal to me. So I'm stating it now, clearly, love who you want to love, and get away from those who would rather see you miserable than free and happy.

Take the advice my dearest friend, may he rest in peace, once bestowed upon me "si vis amari ama," which simply means "if you wish to be loved, love." I think many people could benefit from adopting this sentiment into their outlook on life, I know I certainly did.

If this actually does make it to print, it's definitely going to be banned just as quick, but I still live in hope that it'll reach at least a few readers who needed to see it. Now, I do have a few remarks to conclude with, but I promise to keep them brief, I'm aware I'm rambling on.

First of all, I want to take this opportunity to thank the musicians who I have commonly offended and scarcely complimented over the years. If one were to think of the world, and everyone in it as a spectrum of colours and tones (like I often do), the majority of us are simply monochrome— you know, black, white and grey. It's the artists, of any description, who are the splashes of vivid colour — the reds, the purples, etcetera. Us grey blurs rely on you to bleed your colours into the world so that we may experience it's vibrancy like you do. You have created some of the most breathtaking, bizarre, and ugly portraits for me to take in over the years, and I thank you for sharing them with me. Even if I have appeared most ungrateful in the past, I am explicitly stating it now, that I am truly grateful for your music.

I also wanted to make sure everyone reading this was aware that when I said I found a man, it wasn't a misprint or an error on my part. So I will also save many of you the trouble of declaring that you are no longer a fan of me, my writing, or my stints on television, now that you know the truth. I urge you to save your breath, because I have already rejected the lot of you who will now suddenly find me intolerable because of my sexuality.

If my life, and who I chose to be happy with, is apparently so deeply unpalatable to some of you, in every respect... well, I sincerely invite you to fuck right off.

And with that, I shall sign off for the last time.

— Hayes Griffith.

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THE END