Written by Robert Scucci | Published
Last year, when Spinal Tap II: The End Continues (my review here) was announced, I was over the moon and couldn’t wait to see it. When I was growing up around comedians, the same kind of people I still hang out with today, I always thought that everyone held this movie in high esteem as one of the greatest comedies that ever lived. To my dismay, I just learned that the niche is 1984’s This is Spine Tapping in fact it is, and how its cultural returns diminish with each passing year.
Line of Generation (noun) – A cultural limit that marks whether a work survives its initial period and remains emotionally understandable, influential, and willingly accepted by future generations.
“But Rob, Spinal Tap was on that one The Simpsons episode from 1992″ is probably what you’re thinking.” However, that’s also a deep cut that not many people born after 1995 will relate to, let alone recognize as a significant pop culture moment (Harry Shearer might beg to differ).
It is the closest modern media center operating in the same area This is Spine Tapping is something The Metalocalypsewhich is now a distant memory. Ironically, I know many people who admire the dream cartoon that inspired it directly This is Spine Tappinghowever I have never seen the movie itself.
So what’s the deal? Why Spinal Tap, the band and the movies, didn’t cross over Line of Generation? The answer is surprisingly simple. The target of its satire is no more.
We Have The Same Rock Stars Now That We Did Then
One thing any musician, and plenty of non-musicians for that matter, will tell you is that the idea of a big rock star is dead. Don’t get me wrong, bands like Aerosmith, Guns N’ Roses, Metallica, The Rolling Stones, and AC/DC are still around, but that’s exactly the problem. It’s the same rock stars anyone born in the 80s grew up watching rule the airwaves.
These artists no longer live extravagant lives, trash dressing rooms, or make headlines for doing anything outlandish. When they make news, it’s usually about retirement travel or long-term life planning, because you can’t live forever. Rock stardom has grown into something close to brand management.
Furthermore, hindsight has taught us that some of the so-called excesses were not nearly as consistent as we once believed. Van Halen’s infamous story about littering places with brown M&Ms is a good example. For years, it was treated as rock star madness.
David Lee Roth later explained that their tour passenger clause was actually a practical safety check. Van Halen’s stage show was huge, technically demanding, and very dangerous. The brown M&M rule was there as a visual deterrent. If the band saw black M&Ms in the dressing room, it means the venue was not reading the passenger properly, which means the venue may not be safe for the band and the audience.
If the venue failed that test, the team would not agree to play, still be led, and occasionally riot with food fights because the night was visible. Once that story came out, the excesses of rock began to feel more like careless chaos and more like consumption wrapped up in theater.
I’m not saying that bands like Mötley Crüe or Pantera didn’t earn their reputation, because they absolutely did. But it’s kind of overkill This is Spine Tapping skewering was already an exaggeration for mainstream music fans, even back then.
So who do we have now? Green Day and Blink 182 are still moving units, but they’re no spring chickens. That’s not a knock, it’s just how time works. Machine Gun Kelly sells records. Taylor Swift outsells everyone else combined. Nowadays, if you listen to local rock radio, you hear the same artists This is Spine Tapping it was playing in the 80s, only now they’re sober, counseling, and trying to stay disabled enough to be able to tour.
These guys are no longer trashing hotel rooms. They burn incense and do yoga. Lars Ulrich rides his Peloton to get his cardio in before hitting the stage. That version of rock stardom doesn’t support the same kind of irony.
The Weird Al Theory
Even putting modern rock logic aside, it’s a real nail in the coffin of cult classics This is Spine Tapping that we no longer use media in the same way. The concept of everyone watching the same thing over the weekend and talking about it on Monday is gone. Remote work plays a role because there is no longer a water cooler, but the biggest problem is fragmentation. None of us watch the same things at the same time.
There are countless streaming platforms, and the algorithm makes it possible for us to access exclusive content that perfectly matches our individual tastes. Many people refer to this as the death of monoculture. Albums were usually released on Tuesdays. The comic books came out on Wednesday. Movies premiere on Fridays. Now content appears whenever someone feels like releasing it, sometimes leaving nothing.
Recently, I’ve come to call this lack of monoculture the “Weird Al Theory.” In the 90s, hits lasted months or years. Every few years, “Weird Al” Yankovic resurfaces, puts on a greatest hits show, and releases an album that feels timely. That model no longer works. Musical trends die out instantly, and there is no shared cultural trajectory for parody to stay the same.
The same thing happened here This is Spine Tapping. Its purpose disappeared. Rob Reiner understood this well, that’s why Spinal Tap II: The End Continues it doesn’t work as much satire as straight comedy. You can still make a movie about musicians arguing about stage performances and promotion, but it won’t be good if you want people to buy tickets.
People still say “this goes to 11,” but most don’t realize it was a joke about Marshall amplifiers. They just know that it means one more than 10, completely divorced from its original context.
As time goes on, Spinal Tap, the band and the films about them, will continue to fade into obscurity. And that’s like a *** sandwich that’s really hard to swallow.
This is Spine Tappingagain Spinal Tap II: The End Continues both are currently streaming on Max.
