Comments or questions about the site?:
advocate webmaster

The current issue will be available online within 7 days of printed publication.

How the Right Stole American Music
or
A Political Manifesto for Musicians

Dan Skinner

On April 9, 1999, day 17 of the NATO bombing of Yugoslavia, over 3,000 Serbs in Belgrade held a rock concert and guzzled beer on one of the city’s main thoroughfares—the Brankov Bridge—every day and night for eleven continuous weeks while bombs fell around them. Despite the Pentagon’s warning, reported by the BBC, that “such action by volunteers would not protect targets from NATO action,” at the end of the campaign, the Brankov was still spanning the Danube.

The relationship between war and music has always been particularly intimate; war is emotionally charged in much the same way as great music is—and often just as incapable of being verbally articulated. It is reported that a French general once said, “Give me a thousand men and the Marseillaise [the French national anthem] and I will guarantee victory.” And it was Beethoven, ever on the margins, who famously ripped up the dedicatory page to his Eroica Symphony, written originally in honor of Napoleon, when, in 1803, Napoleon declared himself Emperor, which Beethoven recognized as an complete betrayal of the spirit of the French Revolution. Beethoven’s action illustrates an essential theme in the relationship between music and politics, underscoring the dangers of unquestioning nationalistic music: the same song that mobilizes a nation to seek and defend legitimate ideals such as liberté, fraternité and equalité can be used to mobilize a nation behind an illegitimate offensive that subverts the purported values of a nation. The same songs that arouse national sentiment, say, to go to Kabul, can also help generate the hubris needed to march into Baghdad.

The current American political predicament provides us with an important opportunity to consider the historical responsibility that musicians—and artists in general—have during times of war. Everybody knows about the important synergy created in the 1960s, when artists like Bob Dylan and Janis Joplin gave words and melodies to what was going on politically, bringing tens of thousands into the political fold. Similarly, Motown and funk gave musical backbone to the civil rights movement, providing a soundtrack for action to emancipatory groups like the Black Panthers, while spirituals and gospel did the same for Martin Luther King’s Southern Christian Leadership Council. Certainly, Weathermen without Bob Dylan are as inconceivable as Communists without the “Internationale.”

Said Emma Goldman (allegedly): “If I can’t dance, I don’t want to be in your revolution.” Filling this need on the streets today we see a welcomed presence of marching bands and street theater troupes, all giving energy to protests, infusing political activism with a much needed human dimension, and proving that Nonmainstream social activists depend on music just as much as a formal nation needs an anthem. Thankfully, organizations such as PunkVoter and Bands Against Bush have begun to fill a much need void, but it is interesting that such organizations are needed. Bob Dylan, after all, didn’t become political; Bob Dylan was political from the beginning.

As assuredly as music is timeless, we will always need musicians to be politically active. Since Bush’s signature foreign policy initiative—the “war on terror”—was set in motion, a strange cacophony of complaints has come from the American Right: They assert that “we shouldn’t listen to musicians for their politics”—citing as radical and threatening performers as Linda Rondstadt and the Dixie Chicks who have dared to speak out—and that musicians should “just stick to playing music.” But when country musicians like Martina McBride and Darryl Worley churn out frothy patriotic paeans focusing on themes of America’s selfless crusade for “freedom” during this “time of terror,” their efforts are deemed acceptable, even necessary. The problem here, if it’s not just another example of classic Republican flip-flopping, must be a semantic distinction between the ideas of “patriotism” and “politics.”

If patriotism is not a form of political action, then what is it? A religious movement? A curious distinction indeed.

A closer look indicates that a rhetorical shift is taking place, and perhaps an intentional attempt by the Right to redefine “the political.” Songs that exalt America and (even dubious) American war efforts are apparently no longer thought to be political. Instead, the Right would like us to consider them, as Simone de Beauvoir would put it, the “unmarked norm.” Members of the Right want us to hear more of these kinds of songs. These songs are good for America. Criticism and dissent from the Left, on the other hand, is cast as political bickering, undermining the sanctity of our nation as a whole, and so has no place in music.

Remember when we burned The Beatles because they were “bigger than Jesus”? Dixie Apparatchiks, anyone?

Music, at least for the Right, is reserved for celebration and affirmation. Like most of their party platform, it is humorless, unreflective and overzealous. One can no longer, as Bruce Springsteen did, wear the American flag on a pair of Levi’s jeans unless one is singing sans tongue-in-cheek about Independence Day and freedom; and most Americans seem to have forgotten that flying one’s flag upside down is not a careless mistake, nor is it an admission of treason, but is, in fact, a form of conscious protest, and often the most pure form of patriotism.

Ironically enough, American political music seems capable only of serving the same role as the Marseillaise did over 200 years ago, with country music in particular serving as drum and fife for the modern political era. How many young Americans will go out and register for the army after hearing “Have You Forgotten?” by Darryl Worley, whose insatiable hunger for images of terrorism and destruction are at the center of his Number One song?:

They took all the footage off my TV
Said it’s too disturbing for you and me
It’ll just breed anger that’s what the experts say
if it was up to me I’d show it every day
Some people say we’re looking for a fight
after 9/11 man, I’d have to say they’re right!”

Like the Marsellaise, our patriotic music is leading the way in fueling the “war on terror” by pumping up America to take on the “terrorists”—as though the American military is fulfilling some historically predetermined mission against some ancient and perpetual form of evil. This music insists that we’re stronger and better than the rest, and that we have God on our side—only a shy step away from Michael Moore’s suggestion in the 1990s that America, in an attempt to rival Great Britain, should call itself “The Big One.” Instead of appealing to our humanity and helping us to see past revenge, to seek a rational solution to the complex problems facing us, American political music has largely become a tool to promote endless war, much as the image of George Washington becomes advertisement clipart for car dealerships on President’s Day. (Incidentally, Worley doesn’t seem as interested in images of Iraqi paraplegics or children with their eyes sliced by shrapnel.)

Still, as has often been the case with American partisan strategies, the Right has done a better job at surrounding their views with a complete aesthetic than has the Left. There is currently no soundtrack for American progressive politics; there are no songs to sing together or march to, no musical culture for the times. Instead of relevant and timely lyrics, we have an old chest filled with tired chants that don’t even rhyme (“The people united will never be defeated!”—Huh?).

The vibrant role music played in the anti-war and civil rights protests has not been repeated during this war, when the US so badly needs some courageous voices with the ability to attract the media spotlight. Where were musicians during the protests in February 2003, for instance, before the bombing of Iraq commenced? Youth look up to musicians. Will Darryl Worley and Martina McBride be the Bob Dylan or Arlo Gutherie of this generation? What does Korn think about the invasion of Iraq? Are they like Britney Spears, who thinks we should just “trust the President”?

The “America: Tribute to Heroes” concert, held a few days after September 11, was both the best and the worst of times for American music. It was great to see musicians raising money for those families who needed it, and for honoring those who gave their lives to save others, but a dangerously unquestioning tone of political discourse was established that night. One couldn’t help but wonder: didn’t Bob Dylan or Neil Young, or perhaps some of the hipper, younger groups, have anything real to say? Young’s rendition of John Lennon’s “Imagine” was nothing short of brilliant, but there was a naiveté about his playing it. It seemed that the only songs available to comment on the world today were those from yesterday, and music as protest had been reduced to sentimentality, of a longing for a day when musicians really cared, and so much so that they became de facto leaders of political movements. Neil Young, was too busy singing “Let’s Roll” to remember that, just the week before September 11, the first George Bush’s “kinder, gentler machine gun hand” was still something that had to be stopped.

In contrast, there is nothing sentimental about the Right wing’s hawkish rhetoric today, which mind-numbingly repeats that the US wants peace while “the terrorists” want war. As Bush has told us time and time again, “this is a new kind of war”—which means that those who oppose it, and those who care to speak out against it, are going to need a new kind of response. Historically, music has provided this kind of support and comfort to those brave enough to dissent, and always helps us remember our history. But, there was no “one, two, three, what are we fighting for?” on that night of “Heroes”—only Billy Joel, who apparently was still in a provincial “New York State of Mind,” and had forgotten the words to “Goodnight Saigon,” by far his most relevant song.

There was an air of peace that night, for sure, perhaps because Americans for the first time, at least for this generation, felt attacked. But music has always been a way of moving forward, of piercing the veil of silence that often limits the range of acceptable questions during wartime; and few were unaware that something big was about to happen. Without music—and art in general—only the state is left to provide this kind of information, especially considering the unwillingness of the media to fulfill its historical role. Moreover, musicians have often been the first to be bold enough to risk public opprobrium. Musicians cannot have their music taken away for dissent. Indeed, while certainly not willing to take such a risk out in the open, Bruce Springsteen couldn’t even take the moment to slip his seething “Born in the USA” under the patriotic radar, as it often at baseball games.

Instead, we have Charlie Daniels’s “This Ain’t No Rag, It’s a Flag,” which illustrates the problem well: waving a flag is patriotism; burning it is politics. Cheerleading is patriotism; dissenting by using Constitutional amendments, say, the First, is politics. Take note: Politics, which is traditionally defined as an action taken by people to shape and influence their government’s behavior, has now been re-cast—at worst, it’s a threat to national security; at best, it’s out of fashion.

This election year Springsteen, REM, Pearl Jam, The Dave Matthews Band, that triple threat The Dixie Chicks and a half-dozen or so others say that they want to change all of this by hitting the road to unseat George W. Bush. Throughout the course of what they are creatively calling the “Vote For Change Tour” various configurations of the line-up will play 40 shows in 30 cities in nine key electoral states. The artists’ goals, stated in a “Declaration” issued by Move On PAC are to impact “the most important election of our lifetime” by both “getting out the vote” and raising money for anti-Bush organizations. Bravo. This is welcome news, but one should take notice of how reactionary this all is, with these musicians raising their voices only when the situation reaches a political boiling point before an election. Truth be told, the most important mission of these shows, according to Move On, appears to be fundraising. Aside from the Dixie Chicks, what were these bands doing for the last three years when Bush still, at least theoretically, could have been stopped? As Springsteen wrote recently in his Op-Ed in The New York Times, “This year…the stakes have risen too high to sit this election out.” It’s at least nice that he recognizes that he and his cadre have been asleep at the switch.

Emergency maneuvers such as the “Vote For Change Tour” aside, why has American music forsaken its historical role? Today’s lack of the sort of urgency we saw in the sixties is probably due, at least in part, to the fact that despite the indeterminate nature of this endless war, there is not yet a military draft. When the youth of an entire society is chained to a war effort, the cost of silence increases exponentially. (Incidentally, those who would be most impacted by a draft are the same consumers that propel the billion dollar music industry forward.) Music might then intervene to challenge the war machine. Bush’s declaration that he is “a war president” should have been a call to arms for American music, but we heard only glib references and saw no direct consequences in our own lives. Will the music industry refuse to budge until we see all three little Hanson brothers trotting off to war?

With little at stake in war for these people right now, political concerns remain mere abstractions. Fans of music don’t demand that music speak to them about these issues, and musicians are unwilling to risk their market share for a potentially unpopular foray into leadership. Instead they are satisfied to have their creative output pad inane advertisements and radio news reports of explosions.

If musicians learn to obey their critics and consider themselves “entertainers” rather than “communicators,” or makers of “products” rather than writers of songs, then the arts have become a hideous farce. And that would be a shame, because more than ever, legions of young people around America need someone to look up to, someone who is willing to grab the microphone and say over and over, “this is wrong, and we’re going to stop it.”

Artists who deserve the name have never accepted that things are merely as they appear, or that what people in power tell them is true. An artist’s very job is to look beneath the surface and criticize.

There is power in numbers, and in these times, every rock concert should be capable of exploding into a threat to the legitimization of this corrupt political regime. But, moreover, we must start looking ahead, to the next struggles. Without musicians in the lead, it is difficult to see from where a movement could come. And if a movement doesn’t come, it is hard to see how our own proverbial bridges will remain standing when this war is over.