This month’s issue of U., the national college newspaper, contained an article defending the most popular myth in music—the demise of rock.

Gregory K. McIver from the Universtiy of Indiana spouts off the usual platitudes about how songs today from the likes of Paula Abdul, New Kids On The Block and 2 Live Crew don’t measure up to the “classics” of the ‘60s and ’70s.

He writes, “Where are the songs, such as ‘American Pie’ or ‘Stairway to Heaven’ that can stop a bar full of patrons from doing whatever they are doing and join together in a song?” Come on Greg, where are all the bars where the customers know all the words to these songs?

This myopia would be understandable if McIver was a typical 19-year-old college student. He would probably just be unconsciously repeating the “words of wisdom” assaulting him daily from classic rock stations.

His crack about singing in bars, however, makes him sound suspiciously like a fellow baby-boomer. If this is true, then he has no excuse for forgetting the past so quickly.

McIver says New Kids on the Block bothers him. Did he forget that Donny Osmond, Shaun Cassidy, the Archies (who didn’t even exist) and 1910 Fruitgum Company consistently outsold most so-called classic rockers in the so-called classic rock era?

Does 2 Live Crew’s attitude toward women upset him or just the group’s vulgarity? If he listened to lyrics of classic rock songs like the Rolling Stones’ “Under my Thumb” or half the stuff by Frank Zappa maybe he would realize ‘60s and ’70s music could be just as warped as anything sung by the Crew.

Some younger people might think classic rock was the only music the radio played 15 or 20 years ago. In reality, the airwaves were filled with schlock like Paul Anka’s “You’re Having My Baby” and Tony Orlando’s “Tie A Yellow Ribbon”.

Rolling Stone magazine thinks the epitome of ‘70s music was Led Zeppelin but more likely it was Barry Manilow. Every hit Manilow wrote followed The Formula: a quiet beginning with Barry and piano rising to a full choral ending with the last verse slavishly sung two keys higher.

When he couldn’t think of a melody he would borrow one from poor Chopin, who regretfully died before copyrights were invented.

People who gag at the thought of “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” would have passed out hearing Three Dog Night’s “Joy To The World.” And how can anyone listen to death-throes abominations like Bobby Goldsboro’s “Honey” or Terry Jacks’ “Seasons in the Sun” without turning red from embarrassment? Yet each of these songs was a number-one hit.

“Seasons In The Sun,” in fact, was the best selling single of 1974. Maybe Watergate just depressed too many people back then.

The album charts don’t look much better. The top selling rock album in the “psychedelic” ‘60s was from TV creatures The Monkees.

In fact on Billboard’s top ’60s album chart the first “classic rock” album besides Beatles records is “Cheap Thrills” by Big Brother and the Holding Company, at number 34. Ahead of it are barroom-stirring classics by the Singing Nun, Lawrence Welk, and Andy Williams.

Undeniably, there were great songs written and sung in the ‘60s and ’70s. Unfortunately, it wasn’t until the ‘80s when people found out which ones they were.