The Subtle, the Blatant, and the Purple

762. CHARLENE, "I've Never Been To Me"
Written by Ken Hirsch & Ron Miller
Prodigal 0636 1977 Billboard: # 97
Motown 1611 1982 Billboard: # 3

763. REBA MCENTIRE, "Fancy"
Produced by; Tony Brown written by Bobbie Gentry
MCA 54042 1991 Did not make pop charts

Like a lot of people I know, I first started paying attention to Barack Obama after his speech at the 2004 Democratic National Convention. It wasn't just that he was a great public speaker. It was that, unlike the speeches of so many politicians who tried to inspire me, the moving words Obama spoke actually seemed to describe the country that I thought I lived in. We worship a mighty God in the Blue States, he told the partisan faithful at the convention, and we don't like the government poking into our libraries in the Red States. Even back then, that was the America I knew: conservatives in Massachusetts and liberals in Missouri, not one America ("the real America") or two (Red and Blue), but a dizzying number of semi-interlocking subgroups. It was beyond ethnicity or even ideology. It only seemed to simplify around election time, when the press-politician feedback loop made sure that all those many groups were reduced to just two, two easy actants that even the most casual audience member could follow.

Once can make facile analogies to McCarthyism, to Henry Ford's war on New York City, even to the bimetallist Populists of the 1890s, who saw England and the Eastern United States in cahoots to rob the West blind. But the electoral map of red and blue that seemed so clear throughout the 1980s, 1990s, and 2000s really goes back to 1968, to George Wallace, Richard Nixon, and (especially) Roger Ailes, who figured out a way to break up the loose coalition that had helped Democrats win the Presidency in all but two elections over almost four decades. The rise of cultural conservatism in post-Nixon Republicanism only made this tie stronger. By 1980, battle lines were drawn, and every American needed to decide which side of the internecine barricades s/he was on.

Charlene's "I've Never Been to Me" is a fascinating artifact of that cultural transformation. The single barely made the Billboard Hot 100 in 1977, when it was first released (the year before the Moral Majority was founded). Yet it rose all the way to # 3 when it was re-released five years later, after influential d.j. Scott Shannon had taken to playing it repeatedly on his show. In terms of production, it is obviously a 1970s song, so why did it have to be rereleased in the early 1980s to be popular? Reaganism, obviously: just say no; antisex conservatism. Case closed.

Maybe.

"I've Never Been to Me" is musically obvious throughout and lyrically clunky at points, nowhere more so than in the spoken word section toward the end. Admittedly, spoken word in the midst of a sung performance is very hard to pull off on record, as even an established pro like Kenny Rogers could tell you (cf. 1979's "Coward of the County"). There are some cute stretches in this lyric, though, particularly in the internal rhymes in many of the verses, which double the words' impact but must have been hell on Hirsch & Miller's copy of Clement Wood. As anyone who has attempted this song at karaoke can probably tell you, "I moved like Harlow/Through Monte Carlo/And showed 'em what I've got" flows particularly well. Those words can be as much fun to sing on top of those notes as the events they describe were supposed to have been for the narrator back in the day.

And then there's the one internal rhyme that really drives the song home, a better conveyor of its would-be message than the clunky reference to "unborn children" a few lines earlier: "I've spent my life exploring/The subtle whoring/That costs too much to be free." Vulgarity is much more common in pop now than it was thirty years ago. If you weren't around back then, you can't really appreciate the impact of the word "whoring" in a song that otherwise sounded so inoffensive and gentle. It's almost the reverse of Joey Ramone singing that he wants to be your boyfriend over dissonant punk guitars. In any case, the first time you heard those three lines, it hit you like a sledgehammer.

Okay, so there's a little bit of craft in the songwriting. It's still part of a conservative plot to brainwash women, right? The real author of the song has to be Phyllis Schlafly. To which I say, have you seen Priscilla, Queen of the Desert? A lipsynched performance of this song by drag queens opens the movie. Yes, yes, I know, "camp"--as if slapping that one word on a cultural artifact allows us to avoid all further critical thought. For the entirety of the movie, though, this song almost functions as a sort of thesis statement, emphasizing the way in which one can be oversated with sensation. In truth, what fails about the song, even in Charlene's rendition, is not its delineation of the narrator's problem, but rather the solutions that it offers to it. We don't know how much of a jerk the husband of the woman she's talking to really is, or how much of a strain it is to raise her bratty children. But that still doesn't mean that the narrator's weltschmertz isn't very real.

Indeed, one of the reasons why this song might work better as a drag number is that a man can identify with its narrator without politically letting down his gender. (Rearrange that last clause any way you like--I assure you each meaning is intended.) This isn't a song about turning back from feminism to femininity but rather one about growing weary of compulsive sensation and consumption, a feeling that was certainly very apt in the early 1980s. And if that is a wholly "conservative" emotion, then Charles Baudelaire was a pioneer of Reaganism. Just take another look at his address to his "hypocrite lecteur" at the beginning of Les Fleurs des Mal.

Alright, I hear you say, but you're stretching the point: any anticonsumption weariness in the early 1980s was sucked up by the rising tide of cultural conservatism and then walked in lockstep with the platforms of the Republican Party, which promoted even higher levels of consumption than almost any other organization in our society. I admit you may have a point there, one captured in the ideological contradictions embodied in the antiselfishness/procapitalism acceptance speech that Bob Dole gave at the 1996 Republican Convention. Charlene's single, you could claim, succeeded because it was coopted on the occasion of its re-release and only its antifeminist message remained. As Chuck D most assuredly didn't say, Red States win again.

Which brings me to 1991's "Fancy." This isn't a rereleased single, but rather a rerecorded one. Bobbie Gentry wrote this song back in the late 1960s, but Gentry's arrangement of it almost makes the song come off as a smarmy dirty joke. This is not quite the right approach for a story about an impoverished girl whose mother "turns her out," as the lyric bluntly puts it, pushing her into a life of prostitution. Gentry's original rendition features kicky horns (once again, the continuing curse of Herb Alpert), but while horns may have worked on Dusty Springfield's "Son of a Preacher Man," they don't work there. Neither does Gentry's vocal, which is too distanced to convey the song's true roach-populated horror.
Logically, Gentry's rendition should be the more feminist version of the song--she's in the thick of the 1960s and crosses over more to rock. Reba McEntire, by contrast, is firmly in the Country camp. After Reagan, Tennessee is as Red a State as you can get.

Nevertheless, McEntire's version of "Fancy" is a revelation, beginning with the electric guitar that rightfully replace's Gentry's popping horns. There's also no distance to McEntire's vocal, which is both tortured and sly in turns, and both at exactly the right places: screaming for momma on one verse and taking the pathetic rich johns in stride on the next. In McEntire's hands, this is an unabashed song about the worst kind of female empowerment, one that balances the agency that its narrator gains with the heavy price that she had to pay for it.

Could you construct an argument that this record is conservative rather than liberal? Sure, if it's really that much more important to you whether you live in New York or Indiana. But whether you're Red or Blue, this is a song about the world of poor, uneducated women, the ways in which they may attempt to form cross-generational ties, and the ways in which they are commodified by a male-dominated world.

Because, my fellow citizens, there is no Red America, and no Blue America. We can grow sated with our consumption, our amusement, our pleasures in the Blue States; and we can feel righteous anger at the way rich men exploit both women and the poor in the Red ones. E pluribus popu[lu]m!

The Workmen and Their Tools

0959. THE ENEMY, “You’re Not Alone”
Written by the Enemy ; produced by Owen Morris & Matt Terry
WEA/Warner 2007 Did not make pop charts

Even back in the old record store days of LPs, I was always fascinated by how music was sorted. Then and now, a lot of stores just threw up their hands and dumped 75% of the stock into something they called Rock/Pop. However, as music has been more and more anatomized and balkanized over the last three decades, subdivision increasingly prevails.

Witness the classification of this song. If you don't just find it classified as "Rock," it is often specified as "Punk" or even "Aggro," the latter even the title of another single by the same band. Musically, though, this is not really punk--well, I guess it is if you file your old Sham 69 singles under that categor. I, on the other hand, have always considered them more Power Poppy--check out the power chords--okay, let's compromise it and call it Power Pop with chanting.

If I had to classify this song solely by its lyrics, however, it would be simple: it's a protest song. What's that you say? Protest songs are played on acoustic guitars and underproduced with about half the energy of this so that they remain "real"? Not where I come from. Even back in my twenties, my two favorite protest songs were "Free Nelson Mandela" and "Sun City," and those are both high energy, mightily produced songs. And how about "By the Time I Get to Arizona"? That was a song that lit the fuse to an existing protest movement that actually ended up succeeding.

All these songs are written in what musicologist Benjamin Filene has wonderfully called "the musical vernacular"--simply put, the music people live and breathe in on a daily basis. Since World War II, that has frequently meant some form of pop. And when the factories began closing in Coventry in 2007, the Enemy didn't even think about what kind of music they should set their angry words to. Like any real bards of the people, they used what they had lying around, up to and including the brilliant inverted steal of "Don't let the sun go down on our empire" for the lyric.

"You're Not Alone" is the first and (so far) the most brilliant protest song of the Second Great Depression. I hope it will be performed at least as long as "This Land Is Your Land" is.

This Is Our Moment, This Is Our Time

700. 10,000 MANIACS, "These Are Days"
Produced by Paul Fox; written by Robert Buck and Natalie Merchant
Elektra 64700 1992 Billboard # 66

For a moment, a very brief moment, this particular 10,000 Maniacs song captured its time in history, which is only appropriate since it's a song about making sure that remarkable times don't pass without proper notation. The lyrics concern themselves with personal rather than public history, with the flush of youth and how intense your feelings and insights can be in that phase of your life. The singer is clearly beyond that phase, but she isn't rueful or judgmental. She's just telling the young person to whom she is speaking that she should remember this moment. She should (in the words of an earlier song that was less historical and more universal than most people appreciated at the time of its release) keep your eyes wide/the chance won't come again.

Buck and Merchant's lyrics here aren't particularly inspired, not even on the rough-hewn level that Dylan's had been thirty years before. As with the Stooges' "T.V. Eye," it's the music that carries the real meaning here. This was the one single above all else where that odd mix of old folkie instruments that the Maniacs liked to play actually gelled. All that strumming makes it feel as if something is bubbling under the surface for the whole song. The lyrics may adopt the perspective of a slightly older person looking back on her youth, but the music still exists in that glorious, giddy, inchoate moment, where the visions are inspired and come fast and furious, just before one needs to think about translating them into concrete plans. In my own version of this kind of youthful moment the guitars rocked a lot harder, but I still concede the general resemblance.

The historical moment this song captured, in spite of itself, was the dawn of the Clinton era. I can even give you a date and an approximate time: 21 January 1993, maybe around 10 o'clock at night. That was the night of the Clinton Inaugural, and 10,000 Maniacs were one of the featured acts at the Rock the Vote Ball because they were, as Dennis Miller pointed out in his introduction of them, Chelsea Clinton's favorite band. There were better performances that night--1/2 of U2 combined with 1/2 of REM to do a boffo a capella version of "One" (which actually is a great song); Don Henley sang "Dirty Laundry" as if it were the night of the Gary Hart inaugural; and Michael Stipe combined with Merchant and the Maniacs to do a version of "To Sir with Love" that made me seriously reconsider all those bad things I had previously said about Lulu--but, even with all that, "These Are Days" was unquestionably the song for that night. If you hunt up the band's performance that night on YouTube, you'll see that they all knew it, especially Merchant. Never before and never since/I promise.

As they took the stage that night, 10,000 Maniacs almost certainly knew that they would be breaking up very soon. There was pretty much just a valedictory performance on MTV Unplugged (as opposed to all that mad shredding they usually did in concert), and it was all over. Merchant went solo and the rest of the band just limped along. By the summer, this song was being used for promos for Class of '96, a Fox series about college life that starred, among others, Kari Wuhrer.

And Bill Clinton? Sometimes it's hard to remember how much he did accomplish as President, because the shutdown, the sexual relations, and the rise of global terrorism just loom so large in retrospect. But the truth is, no President could have accomplished what we wanted him to accomplish when he took that oath of office. Even if he hadn't been a sex addict, he was still just a mortal, not the angel Gabriel.

Pay no attention to the date and timestamp on this entry--I'm writing it at 11:17 pm Tuesday 3 June 2008 and I haven't felt this hopeful about my country since all the way back then. But I'm afraid. I'm afraid to hope this much, because . . . well, because of history. I know all the things that can go wrong. I know how politicians can let you down. I know that the most secure way to be is smug and cynical and sarcastic and pragmatic. At my age, I'm supposed to have outgrown the stupid credulity of youth.

But I still remember knowing how it was meant to be. And there's a man over there who's daring me to be foolish, daring me to hope. Even though I'm supposed to be wiser than that, I might just take him up on it.