by Charles Memminger
Wednesday, November 20, 1996
IT is unfair to suggest that rapper Tupac Shakur was shot to death simply because of his gangsta lifestyle. Tupac’s music is
getting a bad rapSure, he liked to think of himself as an outlaw musician with ties to the gang culture. And sure there was some tension between his rap buddies and musicians on another label. But the fact that a witness to the Tupac shooting was gunned down himself just last week in New Jersey doesn't mean that violence is the exclusive property of rap and hip-hop.
No, the message here is that music kills. Period. And this is just the opening salvo. Expect similar incidents in other branches of music.
I, for one, have been disturbed by the increasingly tense situation between John Tesh and Yanni.
Everyone thought Tesh was just a blond bimbo capable only of co-hosting a mindless entertainment television show. Oh, no. Beneath that perfectly quaffed hair and porcelain smile is a vicious competitor, who used all of his animal cunning to grab a share of the music market.
First, he looked around, carefully charting his campaign. Whose turf would he go after? The Artist Formerly Known as Prince? No, he couldn't make his voice that high. The Village People? Possible. He could become Neat Guy, right between Indian Guy and the Navy Guy. Elton John? No, he doesn't have the hats. Red Hot Chili Peppers? Hmmm. He does look pretty hot in a diaper. But, no, all that jumping around would muss his hair.
Besides, when it gets right down to it, the only musical "instrument" Tesh can play is an electronic keyboard that makes outer-space noises and can play the barking-dog version of "Jingle Bells."
Suddenly, Tesh knew his target had to be that weird, wispy, new age, elevator-type music which was controlled by The Godfather-lite: Yanni.
TAKING on Yanni wouldn't be easy. Still waters run deep. And under the lilting, lyrical sugary tones of Yanni's music runs an intense vein of anger, fueled by a savage suburban upbringing.
The rhythms of the street resonate in Yanni's music, culled from boyhood musical influences like the "popsicle truck song" and the accordion band that played during the spring block party. Then there was the kid who practiced trumpet in the garage a few houses away. He was killed in a senseless drive-by when the bookmobile swerved to miss a puppy and accidentally spilled the complete set of the Hardy Boys onto the hapless trumpeter.
But Tesh, too, had a similar dysfunctional upbringing. It's no picnic being branded "Best Dressed Boy" every year in high school. Unlike other kids, he had to deal with TWO parents. And they were of different sexes. No, Tesh had also come up through the mean streets of suburbia and he wasn't afraid of Yanni.
And so, Tesh began making angel music. Suddenly, in places like Sedona, Ariz., the crystal worshippers and channelers realized that there was a new kid on the block. Soon, the New Agers settled into two different gangs: the Yannites, who wear peach-plaid shirts and baseball caps at a jaunty angle; and the Teshers, who walk around in Lurch Leisure Suits and greet each other with code phrases like, "Hey, guy! How ya doin'?"
Meanwhile, Tesh and Yanni watch each other warily as they spar with individual television concert specials staged at bizarre locations like Stonehenge and the MGM backlot.
Like Tupac Shakur and his rap rivals, the Tesh-Yanni situation is powder keg ready to blow.
And it could happen next summer. I hear someone is planning a big Lolapageezer tour featuring Tesh, Yanni, Julio Iglesias, Billy Joel and The Amsterdam Accordion Trio. Mark my words. Blood and bottled water will flow in the Tesh Pit that day. Music kills.
