というわけで、MySpace toddrundgrenmusic
から、About Todd Rundgrenというバイオ
（といってもArenaのUS版プレス・リリース）
を貼り付けます。オリジナルはMySpaceで
見ていただければわかるように、いくつか
に分かれているわけではなく、ひとつの
文章です。
from
MySpace toddrundgrenmusic
“This is sing-along, guitar-rock kinda stuff,” says Todd Rundgren of his aptly-titled 20th solo album, Arena.
True to its name, it’s fist-pumping, anthemic, cerebral, uh, edifying… arena rock. Is that your oxymoron detector
bleating like Miley Cyrus? Understandable. Arena rock, by definition, is simple, lowest-common-denominator—
but not always bad—music, and Todd Rundgren, while quite handy with a hook and a huge crowd, is anything but simple.
Though the multi-instrumentalist/songwriter/producer played his share of widdly-woo lead guitar with the storied late
-1960s garage-psych band Nazz, crafted expansive anthems and played arenas with Utopia through the 1970s and early
1980s, and further perfected the pop nugget in his solo work (he’s the maestro behind the gems “Hello, It’s Me,”
“I Saw the Light” and “Can We Still Be Friends?”), there has always been a thrumming intellectual through-line to his music.
This has manifested in progressive rock tendencies and in heady quote-unquote concepts. Its accessible, dare we say
party,vibe notwithstanding, so it is with Arena. Rundgren broke a self-imposed 10-year hiatus on concept albums in 2004
with the universally lauded 2004 album Liars, which examined the sincerity-to-deceit ratio in ourselves and our lives.
Arena runs parallel to this, scrutinizing courage and cowardice, and how we respond to daily challenges.
“We are challenged,” says Rundgren from his home on the island of Kauai, “to make decisions that reflect our bravery
and daring and fortitude or [laughs] reflect our cowardice and our paranoia and our inability to unify and get things done.”
This topical existentialism is couched in bombastic though intellectually loaded rock n’ roll—a fitting soundtrack of these
times. If it sounds like political polemics, it is and it ain’t. While the state of the world and, more specifically, our country,
is a constant muse, Rundgren casts a wider net, not simply indicting an administration but taking us to task for our response
to political situations. “So in that sense,” he says, “it is a polemical… but it’s about a completely different subject matter.
When I take on something that’s as “formy,” and possibly egg-headed, as a specific area of human behavior,
I try not to take a direct route to the conclusion because I don’t have the expectation that everyone thinks about it like I do.”
When the touring cycle for Liars, and his stint with The New Cars, wound down, Rundgren commenced an “insular process”
of contemplating and conceptualizing Arena. He began where he left off, with the thematic germ that birthed Liars.
“It was quite obvious that we were dealing with, not simply a government, but a whole culture of dishonesty.
The way that people were happy to be lied to about something that was so obviously false, just made me think,
‘Okay, this is right’, because nobody’s paying attention to how much they’re fabricating and how much fabrication
they accept. “But it wasn’t as obvious what had gotten us into that situation, and that was our ability and our willingness
to be riled up over something, and to saber-rattle and to rush in and take prisoners—or take no prisoners, as the case may be
—and that this was as pervasive an aspect of human behavior as dishonesty. And it possibly has a deeper root—our fears often
cause us to be dishonest. So our unwillingness to confront our fears is in a way a larger character flaw than our fudging
with the truth.”
Arena follows an arc in a literate, electric sense. Opener “Mad” sets an intense tone, exploding from ethereal verses and
guitar arpeggios into meaty power chords and strutting Paul Rodgers vocals. Lyrically, it’s two pronged:
Rundgren is being critical and motivational as he tells the listener “You ain’t seen me mad yet/now I’m maaaaaaad!”
“Some people won’t go into action without some sort of emotional impetus—and it’s often anger. You could say that’s
what got us into Iraq: an irrational national anger about 9/11 that blinded everyone to the fact that Iraq didn’t have anything
to do with it. As a country, we were so pissed off that we were willing to just take on anybody.”
The meditative “Afraid” examines the moment of doubt before taking dramatic action—and learning the impetus.
It’s a fitting segue to the driving indictment of war by proxy, “Mercenary,” which is about how “the Iraq War was
contracted out to somebody else, whose perspective and rules and agenda may have been completely different.
It’s the concept of being brave for money, and if that’s what it requires, then it becomes… a national shame.”
“Gun,” a throbbing rocker which pits Rundgren’s hallmark ‘chorus of himself’ vocals with wailing guitar—a metaphor for
brandishing a weapon. The Chicago-bluesy “Weakness” examines dominant-submissive relationships, or at least
what causes us to be intimidated and thereby operated by someone else. The time-is-now corker “Strike” unashamedly
borrows from the blues-rock stomp of AC/DC—and features Rundgren doing his best Brian Johnson yowl.
“People talk about change,” says Rundgren, “but often do not apply themselves to making that happen.
Often, the opportunities for that are limited—unless you take advantage of them, you’re not going to improve your situation.
And inasmuch as doing things out of anger or fear or any other less admirable emotions, still sometimes there is only one
right time for something to happen.” Henceforth, Arena continues a tug of war between inaction and action, indecision and
resolve. “Pissin’” attacks the false sense of authority and cocksure, unilateral action. The breakbeat-trance rock of “Today”
again calls for chains to break, to settle scores and “wake up even.” “Bardo,” named for the Buddhist principle of transition,
occupies a Floydian plane where epiphanies are revealed. “Sometimes during your existence, you’re going to have to confront
something that perhaps you’ve been avoiding your entire life. But nothing in your life will change until you do confront that
thing.” Aptly, the placid epiphany “Courage” follows, and runs into the towering mid-tempo boogie of “Mountaintop” then
it’s game on ‘til “Panic,” a headlong call to keep your cool, ensues. Finally you’re forced to “Manup”,” get off your ass
and stop letting someone else do your dirty work. “Again, the whole Iraq War thing was driven by a bunch of people who never
had any military service, who had no concept at all of what it was like to be in battle.They just had a whole lot of… lip.”
Arena(part 3)につづく
