Spinning into Irrelevance
by Casey Logan

In 1997, Rolling Stone published a sprawling, investigative story called "The Case of John/Joan" by journalist John Colapinto. Nearly 20,000 words in length, it focused on the subject of a 1970s journal study, an infant boy made to undergo a sex change after a nightmarish post-natal accident. Colapinto crossed decades and timelines to deliver a definitive story on human sexuality, the tale of a life sacrificed for the scientific argument between sociology and psychology, whether sexual identity is innate or learned. It was as good a piece of journalism as Rolling Stone ever published.

For decades, Rolling Stone has published such award-winning cultural pieces in the midst of its increasingly lame music coverage. For a while, the former supported the latter, but in recent years even the best journalism couldn't mask the fact that Rolling Stone has become an MTV-esque joke, a newsletter for fads. Regardless of stories on social issues, Rolling Stone has always been a music publication, and when the music therein sucks, so goes the magazine.

This June, Rolling Stone founder and publisher Jann Wenner hired a new editor-in-chief, and all sorts of media dorks fell into a tiz-bath over the selection of Ed Needham, an English import from the chicks-for-dicks magazine industry (Maxim, FHM, Loaded). How would Needham change the magazine? they asked. Would he axe the longer, investigative pieces? Would he turn Rolling Stone into a lad mag clone? Would the publication become just another Bop Magazine for male twenty-somethings? Would Alyssa Milano get the cover?

Hey media spazz, does it matter?

Quality stories such as "John/Joan" will find themselves into other publications no matter what Needham does. If the FHM graduate turns Rolling Stone's lame knob a few more notches toward max, so be it. Rolling Stone doesn't deserve your concern, at least no more so than "The Real World."

More relevant is Spin.

Never so culturally ambitious, Spin's founders instead opted for a music-dominated magazine that could sit next to Rolling Stone on bookstore racks like a hip cousin at a family reunion. The writing was edgy, but not alienating, and the subject matter was fresh without being obnoxiously obscure.

In December 1999, Spin published an issue typical of its old self. It combined elements of mainstream hip (a cover story on Beck, a beautifully illustrated article on Tim Burton and a look back at Captain Beefheart's 1969 avant garde classic Trout Mask Replica) as well as less obvious features on documentarian Chris Wilcha, graphic novelist Craig Thompson and the controversial English art exhibit "Sensation." Sure, there were misses (a profile of alterna-bore Bush; a Limp Bizkit concert review), but Spin still felt ahead of the game and confident as the credible thumb in Rolling Stone's eye.

At its peak, Spin was worth buying for the "Exposure" section alone, a slice of the magazine filled with nods to bands, filmmakers, writers and fashion designers that might otherwise have gone unnoticed at the national level.

So what happened? Something of a Rolling Stone turn, it seems. In the past two years, Spin has devoted three cover stories to the world's biggest pop star — cuss words or no — Eminem. It's hung its reputation on gallows called Sugar Ray, Papa Roach and Creed. It has all but fellated Weezer.

And that's just the cover. These days, the "Exposure" section just feels like filler. For example, one recent issue includes an info-graphic on pop stars and their zits, a concept so dull you've got to flip back to the cover to make sure you're not reading some bullshit chick magazine. Then the film page goes off and displays photos of the Crocodile Hunter and Vince Vaughn, a combination that soils the very concept of free press.

Flip through the rest of the issue, and the best thing you'll find is Spin's scoop on Brooklyn's thriving music scene — the one hipsters in Fayetteville were talking about four months ago.

Then there's Weezer. Really: How bad have things gotten when Weezer members can compare their punk ethos and integrity with that of Fugazi, and no one calls them on it?

The August issue doesn't get much better. A cover story on the Red Hot Chili Peppers? Maybe 10 years ago. Seeing the Chili Peppers on the cover today feels somewhat like watching the Yankees win another World Series. Right, right, we get it. They win. We give up. It's their world. The rest of us just live in it and try to listen to our good music quietly.

The rest of the August issue contains pretty much anything you could learn from your clueless aunt: there's this crazy Steve-O dood on "Jackass"; that kid from Rushmore has a band; and that accent guy next to Paula Abdul on that one Fox show is just totally mean. And nothing against VJ Gideon Yago, but if Spin is actually going to shop for contributors at MTV, they might as well go all the way and give a back page column to Carson Daly. Because you are either on this side of the mainstream or that side, Spin. You cannot have your cake and claim to be allergic to wheat, too.

Maybe this is all a bit harsh, maybe this is a bit over-criti — no wait, wait, then there's that back page comic strip on the lives of rock stars. Rob Zombie? Stephen Tyler? WHAT THE SHIT IS GOING ON? At the very least, Spin, at the very least, bring back Travis Millard (www.fudgefactorycomics.com) for the back page.

In Spin's defense, such rage for a magazine only follows love. This is how it works. First, you fall for a publication when you pick it up and can literally read it cover to cover. Time passes, and you start skipping around here and there. Eventually, you're surfing for specific stories listed in the table of contents. Next thing, a bunk issue passes and the only thing of interest is a blurb about Todd Solondz that makes you mad. Another issues passes and you're straining to be interested. And then one day you get the most recent issue in the mail, flip through it once or twice, find yourself scowling at a photo of Britney Spears no matter how smarmy the caption is, and you can only wonder why your subscription hasn't run out yet.

Fortunately, Spin has not traveled as far from its roots as Rolling Stone, partly because its roots were never so wide-ranging. So it still can be saved. The most simple solution: study Magnet and Vice Magazine and breed the two. Then practice some self-control. If it's an MTV regular, it doesn't go in Spin. No more Eminem. Swear off Weezer. Drop the reactionary style of reporting that produced editorial equations such as "Osbournes = interest." And put some pride back into that once-great "Exposure" section. Because at 17-years-old, Spin should be aging a lot better than this.

E-mail Casey Logan at logankc at hotmail dot com.

— graphic by Dan Norton