--Jerry Jeff Walker, "Pissin' In The Wind"
"How many roads must a man walk down before he admits he is lost?"
--David Lee Roth, from Strummin' With the Devil: the Southern Side of Van Halen
Two revisions of Bob Dylan's famous lyric provides context for this brief survey of social, political, and rhetorical statements, made within the genre of popular and commercial song: since Dylan's gravely-voiced premonitions and dreams gave flight to all manner of recorded psychedelic statements in the early 1960s, artists' abilities to foster social and political movements within music have come under scrutiny. How are songs of critique and protest received by the public, and to what extent do record labels—themselves commercial entities serving to preserve corporate interests—seek to control artists' lyrical and rhetorical messages?
Tupac-Ressurection.com leads to Paramount Pictures' main site, and the parent company—Viacom—promotes Jersey Shore, a remake of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and Comedy Central's recent sweep of the Primetime Emmys, garnering awards for The Daily Show With Jon Stewart and Futurama. Through the Internet's Wayback Machine, one may access 'snapshots' of what the Web—including this site, promoting a 2003 MTV documentary about Shakur's life, the "only film made in collaboration with Shakur's mother, former Black Panther Afeni Shakur" ("TUPAC: Resurrection," 2003). The film's producer, Lauren Lazin, has continued work for MTV, Nickelodeon, VH1, as well as on films including The U.S. vs. John Lennon. The transitory nature of fame, within genres of pop music, may create a difficult framework for artists' sustained work toward social justice: Lennon may have penned "Imagine" and other notoriously popular anthems of change, but the extent to which his political idealism has been embraced and lyrically ratified by the succession of songwriters in his wake may actually illuminate a grim situation of rhetorical representation on MTV, VH1, and other celebrity-obessed channels. These networks are corporate, seek profits, and are interested in selling entertainment, not inciting riots. Lady Gaga's meat dress may represent an individual's unique embrace of their fame, and will no doubt be discussed as part of her VH1 Behind the Music documentary, but to what end? As Blake Wilson pondered in the New York Times, reviewing Dorian Lynskey's 33 Revolutions Per Minute: A History of Protest Songs, "can pop music change the world?" (Wilson, 2011).
In seeking to define this relationship, between a performer and their effect on the views and actions of a self-selected audience, one may consider the actions of the Tupac Amaru Shakur Foundation (tasf.org), its arts education programs, and performing arts center, on the outskirts of Atlanta, founded by Tupac's mom: to what extent might popular musicians' actions of protest and justice promote a legacy of change, establishing new traditions of community and music? Does the strategic placement of Creedence Clearwater Revival's "Fortunate Son" in all-too-many filmic depictions of the Vietnam War and a domestic culture of protest elevate this pop-radio hit to a new level of success? The slew of comments on the brief New York Times review of Lynskey's compendium to pop protest music may sum to characterize the fragmentation of a previously-commoditized market: most of those choosing to comment on the review seem to do so, in order to promote their own favorite protest song, from artists we've never heard of, recordings that may or may not have been made widely available for public sale. Is it by accident that Country Joe and the Fish's studio recording of their popular Woodstock sing-along "Feel-Like-I'm-Fixin-to-Die-Rag" has fallen off our informal map of cultural and musical history, half a century after half a million people covered in mud all knew the words on a field in upstate New York?
There is an absurdity to protest in pop music: to what extent may one protest the system within which they work, or, as Sean Wilentz described in his review of Lynskey's book, where "simple outrage surpasses ideology" (Wilentz, 2011). While CSNY's song "Ohio" may represent one of the most expedient and effective embraces of the genre of popular recorded music, Neil Young's work as a lyricist and songwriter extends far beyond his reaction to the shootings of students at Kent State University in Ohio: promoting energy efficiency and sustainability through his tour to support his 2005 Greendale album, Neil Young continues to serve as an example of sustained inclusion of political and social lyrics within the genre of popular music.
Like the situation described in Neil's early 1980s lyrics, many celebrities within popular recorded music have found it "better to burn out/than it is to rust" (Young, 1983, "Hey Hey My My"): many rhetorical heroes have expired all too soon, including Tupac, Lennon, Hendrix, Morrison, and others, from dangerous mixtures of idealism, substance use, and toxic interactions. The state of protest within popular recorded music is, for all purposes, too transitive to define: the end of commercialization, and the rise of downloadable product and musicians' self-representation, may continue to characterize songwriters' predicament. "Occupy This Album," a February 2012 compilation featuring tracks from over fifty artists, was produced by an organization (Music For Occupy) that stands "in solidarity with Occupy Wall Street" ("About," 2012), and while these efforts are noble in helping redefine the genre's rhetorical abilities, I wonder if any modern recording artist would dare to perform public relations antics like renting hotel suites in Montreal and Amsterdam, and surrounding themselves with comedians, musician friends and the press, and call the set of stunts a "Bed-In" for Peace? John Lennon explained himself to the press in 1969 as such: "It's part of our policy not to be taken seriously. Our opposition, whoever they may be, in all manifest forms, don't know how to handle humour. And we are humorous" (Wiener, J., 1991, as cited by Wikipedia, 2012). Do we, consumers of recorded music, expect—or even want—such humor from our entertainers and American idols?
"Bed-In." (2012). Wikipedia. Retrieved from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bed-In#cite_note-4
Tupac Amaru Shakur Foundation. (2012). "About TASF." Retrieved from http://www.tasf.org/the-foundation/about-tasf/
Wilentz, S. (29 April 2011). "A History of Protest Songs." New York Times. Retrieved from http://www.nytimes.com/2011/05/01/books/review/book-review-33-revolutions-per-minute-by-dorian-lynskey.html?pagewanted=2&_r=4&src=rechp
Wilson, B. (27 April 2011). "Is The Protest Song Dead?" New York Times. Retrieved from http://artsbeat.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/04/27/is-the-protest-song-dead/?ref=review
Chris,
ReplyDeleteAs I read your post I couldn’t help thinking about Green Day singer Billy Joe Armstrong’s recent “meltdown” at the iHeartRadio festival. Upon realizing he had only one minute left on stage—evidently more time for Usher and Rihanna was needed—Armstrong launched into a string of profanities (at times, quite inexplicably, in a pseudo-cockney accent) including “I’m not fucking Justin Beiber.” His coup de grace was smashing his guitar.
Regarding Armstrong’s tantrum, Spencer Kornhaber of The Atlantic editorialized, “it's sad to see Armstrong claim credibility on the back of longevity and the fact that he's ‘not fucking Justin Bieber’—in other words, a rock star, not a pop star…This is a corporate rock band, and I don't mean that pejoratively but rather as a point of fact: They've allied with and profited from the commercial forces that lead, among other things, to independent and alternative radio stations being killed and local DJs being replaced with automated playlists. That's fine…But in Vegas, he made a spectacle of acting like he's been playing a different game than that.” (para. 4).
I would agree with Kornhaber here, especially with his final point that it’s one thing to be a corporate band; however, it’s another thing entirely for Armstrong to pretend he is somehow not a cog in that machine.
I think Armstrong knows this, so, I wasn’t surprised to hear a day or so later he played his celebrity get-out-of-jail-free card and checked into rehab. Seeking treatment is absolutely paramount for drug addiction—there is no doubt this is true. The timing, however, seems more like an escape hatch, one folks like Armstrong get to utilize as a mea culpa.
You ask, “[t]o what extent may one protest the system within which they work”? And I think your question exists at the crux of pop music’s ability to protest.
Armstrong’s tantrum aside, perhaps I’m most saddened by the fact he smashed a perfectly good guitar. I bet my entire collection is worth only a fraction of what I’m sure was a custom model crafted just for him.
Kornhaber, Spencer. “The Sad Irony of Green
Day’s Tantrum.” The Atlantic. 22 Sep 2012.
Web. 1 Oct 2012.
J. Johnson