by Zonker Woodgrove
A couple hundred years ago Bill Shakespeare asked, “What’s in a name?” A rose by any other name would smell just as sweet.” An astute observation, except that it’s wrong. If the word “rose” were to suddenly vanish from society’s lexicon, and these sweetly aromatic flowers were instead called “honeybee shit receptacles,” the multi-billion dollar flower industry would more than likely find another variety to market on Valentine’s Day. Sometimes names do matter.
Take the band “Nelson,” for example. I don’t have to listen to their album to know that they suck. I don’t have to know that, at one point in time, they had a number one hit that made VH1’s top 100 songs of the 90’s. Nor do I need to know that they’re the part of the only family to have three chart-toppers in three consecutive generations. All I need to know is that any group that Wikipedia claims to be a part of the hard rock genre that calls itself “Nelson” doesn’t know the first thing about the responsibilities of being a rock band or producing music that embodies the spirit of Rock n’ Roll. Gunner and Matthew Nelson sound like guys I’d hire off Craigslist if I needed a chemistry tutor. To be perfectly blunt, Nelson sounds like someone neutered the family name. Mötley Crüe, with its fake German punctuation, for example, is a band name that has balls. So does Poison and Led Zeppelin. Slash’s Snakepit qualifies, too. But I guarantee that if Eddie Van Halen’s last name were Herschfelder, he wouldn’t have used it to promote himself as a rock god.
One of these does not belong...kidding, we're pretty sure they were all in the band.
Here’s the perfect example of how some names work, and others don’t. Take a guy named Billy Dahmer. If he wanted to start a death metal group, he should use his last name. If he wanted to play the jazz flute, he should take a page from Kenny G and abbreviate with a first name, last initial sort of brevity. Sometimes, a band doesn’t even have to be any good to be memorable. All that’s needed is a good name. Take a group like the Butthole Surfers. That’s catchy. I haven’t heard their music in 15 years, but I still remember the name. Or the Dead Kennedy’s. Their music sucked worse than an Amish virgin on prom night, but nobody’s going to fucking forget a name like the Dead Kennedy’s.
Google “Nelson” and the band isn’t even the first search item to be associated with the name. Admiral Horatio Nelson comes first, and I’ll bet the farm that most people can’t name more than one fact about the man. Nor did he ever have a number one-hit. And yet he’s still more popular than the band, Nelson. The sad reality is that if you’re reading this blog, you probably can’t even remember the last time you thought of the band Nelson, or heard their music, or really even cared about them. They’re a footnote in history, a bar trivia question, and if 100 random Americans were asked to name the concert they regret not seeing most when they had a chance, not a single one would answer with Nelson. I’m sure that the Nelson twins themselves have a list of shows they’d rather be at than their own. It’s not that naming the band something else would make them suck less, or even any more famous—that’s up to fate and maybe a little more practice in the studio. But naming a rock band Nelson and expecting any semblance of respect is like auditioning for porn packing a three-inch penis. It’s a recipe for disaster and embarrassment that Guns and Roses never had to endure, nor did Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, because those names are significantly cooler than Nelson.
It doesn’t just apply to music either. In the business world, a woman named Jennifer is probably going to get the promotion ahead of the woman named Chastity. In sports, take a look at some of the more successful teams and their respective names. Seattle sports teams haven’t won jack squat, but with names like the Seahawks, the Mariners, and the Supersonics, is it any surprise? The Supersonics move to Oklahoma City, change their name to the Thunder, and suddenly they’re good again. No surprise there. The Pittsburgh Pirates haven’t been good in almost two decades, but that’s because Disney exploited pirates a few years ago and now these new-age posers in Somalia have hijacked the word. I know a pirate when I see one, and these punks are no more pirates than people who illegally upload albums on the Internet for mass download. This is an example of a name that used to be menacing and tough, but has been watered down over the years, leaving the Pirates in a twenty-year drought. And the Cubs, c’mon, really? The Cubs? There’s a reason that they haven’t been to the World Series in forever. Nobody is intimidated by a bear cub. How could a team like the ’89 Cubs, with Greg Maddux, Ryne Sandberg, Andre Dawson, Mark Grace, Joe Girardi, Rick Sutcliffe, and Mitch Williams not win a championship? Trading Rafael Palmero may have had something to do with it, but I presuppose the team name was more to blame. Rugged, masculine names like the Yankees and the Braves have been the dominant forces in baseball over the past two decades. In the NFL, teams like the Patriots, Steelers, and Packers (tough, industrial sounding names) have fared better than the more passive-sounding Dolphins, Seahawks, and Browns. The list goes on and on.
Shakespeare made a point with his “What’s in a name?” question, but he never took the time to fully analyze it. Instead, he delved into a love story that ended with an unrealistic double-suicide involving magic potions and sleeping spells. Had he taken the time to ponder the accuracy of his pseudo-intellectual statement, he may have reconsidered his choice of words. What’s in a name means everything—had Romeo and Juliet (either one) had a different last name, they’d have ended up happily ever after instead of…dead. And if Nelson had called themselves something cool, like “8 Ball Corner Pocket” or “Wipe it on My Pant Leg,” people might actually remember them, if only for their name. Instead, Nelson and countless other bands like them will occupy the darkest purgatory in music hell—a status below “one-hit wonder.” The forgotten one-hit wonder.
Tennyson once asked if it’s better to have loved and lost, or never to have loved at all. In Nelson’s case, despite the brief moment of success, the fact is that in 2012 nobody cares anymore. Their music has contributed nothing to the lyrical canon, and their contribution to society probably would have been far greater had they become accountants or something. Yes, it’s cool that they hit number one but if nobody remembers or cares, then what’s the point? No current bands are counting Nelson as their inspiration, and the only way a Nelson reunion tour could be any more pathetic is if Andrew Dice Clay opened for them. The last time I heard Nelson was touring was in 2007. But more and more of these crappy bands refuse to let go of the dream. And that’s a trend that needs to end, for music’s sake. Nobody’s going to the county fair to see Gunnar and Matthew Nelson, and when you’re a former rock star who’s less of a draw than tilt-a-whirl and cotton candy, it’s time to put the guitar in the attic. It doesn’t get much worse for an aging rock star than carnivals and county fairs, except maybe a Royal Caribbean cruise or something. And I wish I were joking, but as of last year, that’s where Nelson’s remaining diehard fans can find them.
For the record, I have nothing against Nelson. I’m sure they’re great guys, and they probably get a few bucks every month from XM radio. That’s fine. My point was merely that nobody forms a rock band to become obscure, and Nelson is a pretty fucking obscure band these days. Without knowing anything about these guys, I know that they’ve got a shitty band name. Great bands never have shitty, unoriginal names, and therefore Nelson is not a great band. Great bands that have bad names change them. The Beatles realized that The Quarrymen didn’t work. It rolls off the tongue as a little effeminate, the kind of band that a group of amateurs may form to perform Christmas tunes at the mall during the holidays. Look what happened when they changed their name, from The Quarrymen to Johnny and the Moondogs to the Silver Beatles to their final, classic, incarnation. They blew up. If only someone had advised Nelson while there was still hope.
When two or more family members decide to form a band, it’s really only cool if it involves the Gallaghers, the Jackson 5, the Bee Gees, and members of Robert Randolph’s family. The next time you’re undecided if you want to buy an album, go with your gut and judge the book by its cover. I feel for the poor shmucks who shelled out cash money because of the temporary popularity of one or two singles back in the early 90s. Nelson is simply not the kind of surname that warrants eponymous self-glorification, particularly in the rock genre.
Then again, neither is Hanson, but I digress…
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