The floating book shop had good luck today. The rain ceased and three of my most faithful regulars showed. My thanks to the young mom who bought the six remaining children's books I had, and to Sue, Jack and Bad News Billy. The latter purchased The Hunger Games DVD I earned at RewardsTV, as well as the last four VHS tapes Marie donated.
Here's an article I wrote about a decade ago, titled "Philosophy and Religion in Rock: Sound and Fury Signifying Something." It's a 10-15 minute read.
Rock is a broad canvas that includes pop, blues, R & B, acid, metal, etc., etc.. 99% of it is about lost love or hormonal desire, barely scratching the surface of the psyche, however skillfully or passionately executed. I'll focus on eight songs that strive for more, all of which have a raw, dark edge lyrically as well as musically. Each is blunt rather than sophisticated.
Tool's "Aenema" (1996) offers nihilism, the belief that society is so corrupt that it must be destroyed to its roots, replaced entirely. This was the philosophy of the revolutionaries in Dostoevsky's The Possessed (The Devils, in some translations). "Aenema" is a portrait of a man at the end of his rope, overwhelmed by triteness: "...Fret for your latte and Fret for your hairpiece...." He deems such things, in a soft, almost subliminal tone, as "stupid shit." I've reached a point where I avoid using profanity in writing. It has become so casual and overdone as to become tedious. In "Aenema" it works. Several lines in the final chorus begin with our favorite epithet, as the likes of dysfunctional actresses and gangster wannabes are excoriated. The singer prays for armageddon, for the world to be flushed away. It is the soul of man at its darkest.
When listening to the piece and to "Sober" (1993), the only other of Tool's songs I know, I worry that these intelligent young men will become victims of negativism, of the rock 'n roll lifestyle that has claimed so many. I hope they live long enough to realize that good at least equals, if not greatly surpasses bad. I did not learn until middle age that life is a precious gift, despite the suffering that goes with it, which, in my case, has been almost entirely self-inflicted ("Fret for...."). It was a gradual realization, not a lightning bolt. I now prefer the genius of tunes like Cole Porter's "The Best Is Yet To Come." Still, I must respect pieces that compel me to listen despite dark themes, grating music and unrhymed lyrics. "Sober," the tale of a drunk, is chilling drama. The couplet: "...I will only complicate you/ Trust in me and fall as well..." scares as well as fascinates me. A beautiful young woman once said something similar to me. I thank my friend Adam for introducing me to these pieces. I no longer devote energy to the exploration of rock. I do not condemn it, however, as it was once so meaningful to me.
"Black Sabbath" (1970) is the title cut of the debut album of rock's most notorious band. It is not profound theology but rather a compelling tale a master of horror might have concocted, a ponderous rendition of man coming face to face with the evil one - ponderous until the final chorus, when the pace quickens urgently. It is Ozzie's shining moment as a vocalist: "...Is it the end, my friend?/ Satan's coming 'round the bend...." How often I've had such a thought while reading the paper or watching the news. It was what I was thinking those first few hours that terrible day in September.
And for those who believe the members of Sabbath are satanists - would a devil-worshiper scream at the top of his lungs for God's help? This, of course, does not condone any of their personal behavior. Ozzie remains an adolescent, although he, a husband and father, is past 50.
The fact that this British quartet has not been elected to the hall of fame shows how ludicrous the idea of such an institution is in the first place. In its infancy, rocked bucked the establishment. Now acts are expected to conform to a liberal world view. Are Paul Simon and James Taylor rock artists? That seems a huge stretch.
At the risk of incurring the wrath of Bags, a lifelong friend, I would be remiss not to mention Sabbath's "Heaven and Hell" (1980) from the brief, much-despised Ronnie James Dio era. Unfortunately, the lyrics are unpolished, although meaningful. For instance, "sinner" and "beginner" are rhymed when "sinning" and "beginning" would have worked much better. One couplet stands out beautifully, however: "...The closer you get to the meaning/ The sooner you know that you're dreaming...." I've experienced flashes when I thought I had the mystery of life solved only to have them vanish immediately, leaving me feeling I'd yet to learn anything. What intrigues me most about "Heaven and Hell," however, is the music. It begins in Sabbath's typical ponderous style and gradually evolves to one of lightness, closing with medieval-like guitar work. I've always enjoyed their changes in tempo. In this piece I wonder if they meant to communicate ascension - Hell, Purgatory, Heaven. Could it have been just coincidence?
In "Birth, School, Work, Death" (1988), the Godfathers, a UK quintet, tackled bleak existentialism. The title says it all. The lyrics tap into the monotony suffered in carrying out daily routine, a monotony that makes life seem pointless. Of course, one need not agree with the theme of a piece in order to appreciate it. This one describes the overall picture while omitting the wonderful in-betweens, the surprises, the laughs, that give life color, that make it worth living. Still, it is a state of mind not uncommon.
"Man in the Box" (1990) by Alice in Chains features one of the all-time great rock vocals. Alas, Layne Staley's passion for drugs has proven greater than his passion for music, thus derailing a band with great potential. I cannot say exactly what the song is about. It inspired a short story in which I speculated that the box was a coffin and that God and the devil were whispering in the ears of the deceased, fighting for his soul. Forgive me, AIC fans, if this was way of the mark. "...I'm the dog who gets beat/ Shove my nose in...."
Iggy Pop is regarded as the Godfather of punk. In "Winners and Losers" (1986) he took a stab at existentialism: "...which one am I/ Is it the same under the sky?...." His writing is often bizarre, yet uncompromising and often powerful: "Winner and losers/ In love with themselves/ No Santa Claus/ No happy elves...." There is irony in the piece I doubt he intended: "...surly leeches gain the right/ To send their message screaming/ One that has no meaning...." I assume he is lambasting entrepreneurs. However, he, a successful artist, a sort of entrepreneur, is sending his own message screaming. And, like many of us, he hungers for meaning: "...I'll just eat my breakfast/ Keep my questions starving all night...." Iggy has used profanity to hilarious effect in concert. His live performances are legendary. He has a gift for showmanship for which most artists would kill, and it always seems spontaneous, improvised. His use of profanity in recordings does not work as well. In "Winners and Losers" there is none, proving that rawness can be achieved without four-letter words. Its power can only be equaled, not surpassed. In his set on PBS's late, lamented Sessions at West 54th Street, his use of profanity seemed silly, forced. I wondered if it was my age or his that was showing. We're both 51.
John Lennon's "Working Class Hero" (1970), recorded with the Plastic Ono Band, is un-Beatle-like. Rarely heard on radio due, I assume, to the use of profanity, it had almost disappeared from my consciousness when it was revived by Marianne Faithful, backed by a beautiful, almost jazzy arrangement, in a performance on Sessions.... Here again is a tale of someone overwhelmed by the enormity of life. While I no longer agree with most of what it states, I respect it because I was in a similar state of mind as a young man. Fortunately, the American working class has it pretty darn good, although the socialists among us would argue the contrary.
In another irony, Lennon sang: "...learn to smile as you kill/ If you want to be like the folks on the hill...." A child of the working class who had reached unprecedented heights, he was preaching from the very hill he condemned, proving that one need not kill to get there. Still, the song works, as many feel similarly.
These songs share a common thread: the young staring in the face of the puzzling realities of life, the individual's smallness in relation to the universe. I hope these intelligent men learn to embrace the vast good in life. John Lennon was not allowed that opportunity, as a young man tried to vanquish his demons through a gun rather than work. I have no sympathy for that man. Rockers often behave reprehensibly, but they do not kill and, therefore, may find redemption. There is no redemption for a murderer. Of course, some would argue that rockers do kill - indirectly. The young, easily influenced, might take songs to heart and rationalize a lethal lifestyle. I would argue that millions hear these songs and yet very few, if any, are spurred, even subliminally, to violence. There are many other factors that might contribute to subliminal hopelessness - a million abortions a year, for one. Still, these are abstractions that cannot be quantified. Blame always resides with the individual.
Upon reading this, many might say: "How could he leave out...?" I'm sure I, too, will recall pieces I would have liked to have included. They would likely fill a book. We all have songs that are especially meaningful to us. Write your own article or book.
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Vic's Third Novel (Print or Kindle): http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
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