Notes From D. R.

Bo Knows

Bo Diddley, the grandfather of rock music, passes away at 79. More from Power Line.

The Last Song

Legendary singer Luciano Pavarotti passes away at 71.

King Of The World

The New York Times declares that Kanye West--the rapper who famously claimed, "George Bush doesn't care about black people"--cares only about himself.

Midnight Express

I never would have realized the greatness of a certain album were it not for the mediocrity of a certain movie.

In June 2001, I went to see the Martin Lawrence film What’s The Worst That Could Happen? solely because it had been filmed in Boston the year before; the film’s production had been the source of much local media coverage in the summer of 2000, and I wanted to see if the movie was worth all of the traffic headaches the production caused.

In short, it wasn’t—the film was an endless procession of lame jokes, unfunny set pieces, and obnoxious overacting from Lawrence, Danny DeVito, and John Leguizamo. However, there was one unforgettable song on the soundtrack—“Music” by Erick Sermon, a tune based on a sample from the 1982 song “Turn On Some Music” by Marvin Gaye.

Unable to get the song out of my head, I purchased Gaye’s Midnight Love album. “Turn On Some Music” was excellent, as was the remainder of the album—in fact, Midnight Love was such an accomplished work that I would have gladly paid twice as much for the album if I knew how great it would be beforehand.

This October marks the 25th anniversary of Midnight Love’s release; it was Gaye’s final album of original material. For all of the acclaim that 1971’s What’s Going On and 1973’s Let’s Get It On have received, Midnight Love is every bit as outstanding as those two classics.

There is a sense of emotional uplift that fills the entire album, a feeling that the words and music have been created by a truly free individual. Such freedom stands in stark contrast to the emotional bondage that defined Gaye’s life in the twelve years prior to the production of this album—the death of Tammi Terrell, his two failed marriages, his split with Motown, his drug and tax problems. It seems as though Gaye, weighed down by such troubles, used the Midnight Love recording sessions as an opportunity to clear his mind. The result was a tremendous critical and commercial success (although one wonders how much more successful the album would have been had Michael Jackson’s Thriller not been released two months later).

Sadly, the problems that consumed Gaye’s life in the years prior to Midnight Love returned with a vengeance. Although he won two Grammys in early-1983, he was excoriated in the press for his “unconventional” version of “The Star-Spangled Banner” at the 1983 NBA All-Star game. His tour to promote Midnight Love was interrupted by mysterious health woes and plagued by bizarre behavior; a July 13, 1983 Boston Globe review of a Gaye concert on Boston Common noted that at one point, the singer “…picked up a rose offered by a fan and started chewing one of its petals.” (That same month, Gaye told a Boston television station that someone was trying to kill him by poisoning his food.) After the tour ended, Gaye famously moved back in with his parents in an attempt to subdue his personal demons; the effort failed, as Gaye was shot to death by his father on April 1, 1984 following a heated argument.

Gaye died one day before his forty-fifth birthday. Yet in so many ways, he still lives on: you can’t listen to a song by Usher, R. Kelly or Ne-Yo without hearing Marvin Gaye’s voice. Midnight Love established a standard of R & B excellence that these artists can only emulate; it’s almost impossible to envision these artists ever surpassing Gaye in terms of quality.

Would that Midnight Love received its just due as an excellent Marvin Gaye album. It was neither a “socially conscious” work in the vein of What’s Going On nor an artistically trailblazing work in the vein of Let’s Get It On, but like those earlier albums, Midnight Love is an example of Gaye working to his fullest potential. One only wishes he could have conquered his internal battles—and continued to maintain his unique standard of greatness throughout the 1980s, 1990s and 2000s.

Saving The Planets

If you’re ever compiling a list of the most overrated groups of the last twenty years, be sure to place Digable Planets somewhere in the top 5.

The New York-based trio garnered plenty of attention fourteen years ago with their first, and last, good album, Reachin' (A New Refutation of Time and Space), which became a hit on the strength of the popular single “Rebirth of Slick (Cool Like Dat).” You couldn’t turn on a radio in 1993 without hearing “Slick,” a skillful jazz-rap hybrid obviously influenced by A Tribe Called Quest. The album itself was a solid piece of work in the Tribe tradition, with such tracks as “Pacifics,” “Where I’m From,” “What Cool Breezes Do,” and “Escapism (Gettin’ Free)” standing out in particular. There was an inventiveness and sharpness to the lyrics, a creativity that was in woefully short supply in pop music at the time: I couldn’t help comparing the depth of “Slick” to the banality of the singles from Janet Jackson’s then-popular CD janet.

Reachin’ was not a flawless album: “La Femme Fetal,” a pro-Roe v. Wade song that garnered tremendous acclaim from music critics, was a perfectly dreadful tune: I thought the song was over-the-top propaganda when I first heard it, and I was pro-choice at the time! The song appears to have been written with the specific intent of getting positive coverage from those who agreed with the political sentiments, as opposed to being some sort of principled statement on the part of the artists. The song is so absurd that at one point, the lyrics imply that David Souter, of all people, is opposed to abortion. Talk about a track that shouldn’t have made the final cut.

The Planets won a Grammy for “Slick,” and their new fans waited in anticipation for their next album. Of course, once those fans heard that next album, 1994’s Blowout Comb, most of them were wondering what the heck happened to the group. Comb was, quite frankly, an abomination, one of the decade’s worst albums. Instead of the creativity of Reachin’, the lyrics were a mishmash of militancy and mediocrity; it appeared that the Planets were trying to rip off Tribe and Public Enemy at the same time, to little positive effect. The songs “Jettin’” and “9th Wonder (Blackitolism)” were half-decent, but the rest of the album was manifestly worthless. It was as though the Planets failed to realize that faux-militancy never led to quality music: much like De La Soul’s 1993 debacle Buhloone Mindstate, Comb is a lamentable example of talented artists squandering their gift by filling their albums with bizarre sociopolitical rants.

Looking back, a fair case can be made that the Planets weren’t all that in the first place, and that Reachin’ only received so much acclaim because it was released during a time in which pop music had reached a creative nadir. Folks were desperate to hear something that wasn’t cut from the usual hip-hop or “grunge” cloth: critics embraced Reachin’, Liz Phair’s Exile in Guyville, and U2’s Zooropa not because they were classic albums, but because they were better than the garbage that filled the music industry’s recycling bins to capacity in 1993. The industry was still at a creative low tide in 1994, but Comb was so bad that it couldn’t be judged approvingly even under a lesser standard.

The Planets broke up shortly after the release of Comb; after spending years being involved in solo projects or participating in new groups, the group reunited in 2005 and released a greatest-hits album. If they ever put out an album of new material, it will hopefully stand the test of time, instead of receiving exaggerated praise because of the times.

Material Witness

How do you fight a culture war when you’ve been a fan of one of the chief enemies?

I can't deny that I have a almost-irresistible urge to give Madonna a pass when she engages in the same sort of left-wing Hollywood political ranting that Barbra Streisand and Alec Baldwin are known for. I know it's not right, but I can't help it--because Madonna was the first celebrity I ever had a crush on.

I can't recall if either "Borderline" or "Lucky Star" was the first Madonna video I saw her in, but I was convinced that Madonna was the most beautiful woman in the world. Madonna became for me what Michael Jackson became for many young girls during the same time period: the absolute center of the universe. (I remember winning a Madonna poster in 1985 for selling a certain amount of candy bars during an elementary school fundraiser. I had the poster--a concert still photo of Madonna wearing her "Boy Toy" outfit with a purple-and-white jacket--on the wall of my room for a year.)

Madonna seemingly became more beautiful with every new video--"Material Girl," "Like a Virgin," "Into the Groove," "Live to Tell." I remember being jealous of Sean Penn when I heard about his marriage to her; I also remember desperately wanting to see Who's That Girl?, the first PG-rated movie she was in. (I eventually saw Girl nine years later on television; it's not the greatest film in the world, but like Prince's film Under the Cherry Moon, it's not nearly as bad it's been made out to be.)

On some level, I never stopped being a fan of Madonna; my childhood crush allowed me to excuse any number of transgressions. I remember watching Bill O'Reilly on Inside Edition in the summer of 1989, tearing into Madonna for her extremely bizarre (and in O'Reilly's estimation, blasphemous) video for "Like a Prayer"; I thought O'Reilly was being way too hard on her--and that Madonna looked even better with her natural dark hair. I also remember the fuss over her 1990 song “Justify My Love,” her 1992 book Sex and her 1993 film Body of Evidence--and wondering why people were singling her out for criticism, when there were so many other folks peddling questionable content at the time.

I was glad to see Madonna survive the "Justify My Love"/Sex/Body of Evidence controversies, and regain her past prominence with the Bedtime Stories and Ray of Light albums, as well as her above-average (considering her previous films, that is) work in Evita. Regardless of what I think about her politics, she is a legitimate musical talent, and it's always nice to see talent being rewarded.

There's no way around it: when it comes to Madonna's more outlandish activities (the Bush-bashing, the awful films, publicity stunts such as the 2003 Britney Spears kiss), I hold her to a different (lower?) standard than I do other entertainers. It's one of those things where, once you start liking a person, you never really stop liking them. Perhaps Madonna has never changed in my mind; she's still the charismatic entertainer I was attracted to as a young boy, as opposed to an overbearing Hollyweirdo calling attention to herself and spouting off about things she knows nothing about.

To be fair, there are times when even I can't make excuses for her. The crucifix imagery she used in her 2006 Confessions tour was manifestly stupid and distasteful; although she denied that the use of the imagery was intended to be offensive, it's hard to avoid the sense that she was really trying to make fun of her critics on the religious right.

However, it's virtually impossible for me to join the chorus of those who have condemned Madonna as an exemplar of American moral decline. The part of me that likes her will never go away. Instead of ripping her next outrageous act, I just might go on Holiday.

It’s Only Rock ‘N’ Roll

If there's one thing that annoys conservatives, it's "limousine liberal" songs.

For years, the right has criticized left-wing attempts to promote certain political ideals through popular music. While American musicians have long used their work to advance certain sociopolitical aims--the 1930s anti-lynching song "Strange Fruit" is an obvious example--the controversy over songs being used for political purposes has never abated since the beginning of the culture wars in the mid-1960s.

Conservatives have never hesitated to point out that some post-1960s liberal songs are just plain awful. There's no question that, in terms of either lyricism or musical construction, there are some absolute duds out there, with Michael Jackson's 1987 "Man In The Mirror" arguably the most abominable of all-time (the music is vapid and soulless, and the lyrics merely reflect the extreme guilt of someone who has a lot of money when others don't). Phil Collins' 1989 "Another Day in Paradise" and Bruce Hornsby's 1986 "The Way It Is" are musically above par, but the lyrics of both songs suffer from the same sort of rich-man's-burden guilt that makes "Mirror" almost unlistenable.

Not every left-wing political song is devoid of merit, however: some function effectively as musical op-eds (Marvin Gaye's 1971 "What's Going On," Stevie Wonder's 1973 "Living for the City," Billy Joel's 1982 "Allentown.") Even Prince, whose political songs are usually awful (1991's "Money Don't Matter 2 Night" is almost as bad as "Mirror"), effectively depicted the social problems of mid-1980s America in 1987's "Sign O' The Times.")

What vexes conservatives is that there are relatively few post-1960s songs reflecting the values of the right. Conservatives would love to see high-profile artists releasing songs about the dangers of Islamic extremism or the emotional impact of abortion. (Remember when conservatives defended Madonna's 1986's "Papa Don't Preach" on the grounds that the song implicitly rejected abortion--and liberals criticized the song for allegedly promoting the idea that it's better for a pregnant teenager not to have an abortion?) Conservatives would also like to see more musical expressions of religious faith--although it would be strange to hear, for example, foul-mouthed rappers doing songs about their love for the church. (For all the culture-war fights Prince has been dragged into, conservatives don't give the guy enough credit for his religious-themed songs, with 1987's "The Cross" arguably his best work in that regard. In addition, one cannot listen to 1982's "Free" without being moved by its passionate patriotism.)

Mocking liberal songs is a central element of modern conservative punditry: Rush Limbaugh's use of The Pretenders' 1984 "My City Was Gone" as his show's intro music is intended to poke fun at the song's anti-capitalist sentiment. However, conservative criticism of liberal themes in American music is similar to conservative criticism of liberal themes in American films: in both cases, it comes from a profound disappointment that the beliefs of the right are not given equal time.

Human Nature

Hard to believe, is it not, that this fall will mark the 25th anniversary of the release of Michael Jackson's Thriller album?

It speaks volumes about Jackson's self-destructiveness that when we think about him now, we only see him in terms of the scandals he's been involved in since the early 1990s, as opposed to the work of creative genius that propelled him to super-stardom in the early 1980s. Listening to Thriller nowadays is sort of like watching Roman Polanski's The Pianist: you can't deny the quality of the work, even as you shake your head at the depravity of the person who created it.

Jackson was arguably the last "traditional" musical figure to achieve tremendous success prior to hip-hop's ascendancy in the popular culture. Ironically enough, it was Jackson's ability to transcend racial barriers that allowed hip-hop to gain so much popularity in the mainstream. (Few remember that prior to the Billie Jean video in 1983, it was extremely rare to see an African-American performer featured on MTV.)

Even at the height of his Thriller success, Jackson was far from a universally loved figure. Louis Farrakhan condemned Jackson in April 1984 for supposedly presenting an unmanly image to black youth, and the racial-solidarity crowd didn't look too fondly upon his dalliances with Brooke Shields. Let's not even get into the debate over his altered physical appearance.

It shouldn't be forgotten that the pre-whacko Jacko was to the 1980s what Colin Powell was to the 1990s: a symbol of bigotry conquered, of hatred overcome. Jackson became popular at just the right political/cultural moment: after three decades of civil-rights-related strife, and during a time in which racial and political tensions still hadn't really receded (the debate over efforts to make Martin Luther King Jr.'s birthday a national holiday was only just beginning to conclude, and President Reagan had been repeatedly smeared as racially insensitive by America's civil rights leadership), Jackson held out hope that blacks and whites could ultimately find commonality. He was embraced by both communities solely on his merits as a performer--an accomplishment that was trumpeted in the '80s but has been completely ignored now (for obvious reasons).

Those of us who remember the Thriller era will always fight a desire to forget about everything that came after. One wishes that post-Thriller fame hadn't gone to Jackson's head, causing him to completely separate himself from reality and thus set the stage for future disaster.

Remember when the media tried to portray Jackson as the "babyface" of the music industry, and Prince as the "heel"? Jackson was the sweet, kindly role model and Prince was "His Royal Badness," the former a symbol of innocence, the latter a portrait of perversion. It may be that Prince avoided the fate that befell Jackson precisely because of the negative way he was portrayed in the press.

Like Bill Clinton, Jackson evidently figured that he could get away with anything since he was seen as a positive figure in the eyes of the media. While Prince certainly had an ego, he never had the American press corps telling him, in essence, that he could do no wrong--and thus never really behaved as though he were without fault.

Like the mythical Narcissus, Jackson made the mistake of falling in love with his own image. As a result, a populace that embraced him 25 years ago has now told him, in no certain terms, to Beat It.

So In Love

Singer Luther Ingram, best known for his 1972 hit "If Loving You Is Wrong (I Don't Want To Be Right)," passes away at 69.

All Downhill From Here?

The Boston Globe on Academy Award-winner Jennifer Hudson's future.

The Red Light District

Is it possible to criticize American pop culture without being perceived as a fuddy-duddy?

Earlier this week, we witnessed yet another battle in the ongoing culture war between Fox News commentator Bill O'Reilly and hip-hop performer Christopher "Ludacris" Bridges. The feud started in 2002, when O'Reilly condemned Pepsi's decision to feature Bridges in TV ads; O'Reilly felt that it was wrong for Pepsi to essentially endorse Bridges' sexually explicit lyrics. As a result of O'Reilly's criticism, Pepsi cancelled the TV ads; Bridges responded by attacking O'Reilly on numerous songs, most notably 2004's "Number One Spot." Last Sunday, while accepting a Grammy for his 2006 album Release Therapy, Bridges sarcastically thanked O'Reilly; on his Radio Factor program the next night, O'Reilly defended his position, insisting that Bridges' music is harmful to young listeners.

O'Reilly isn't wrong to question the influence of Bridges' music on young children; however, the intense criticism that O'Reilly has received since going after Bridges is a testament to how difficult it is to make substantive criticisms about questionable content in pop culture.

There's always a risk that, when one condemns questionable elements in pop culture, one will be fiercely criticized for either hypocrisy, shortsightedness, or both. To be fair, there are times in which such criticism is legitimate: two decades ago, Tipper Gore took tremendous heat for condemning questionable lyrics in some of Prince's songs. Now, looking back, one can make a reasonable argument that the actions of Gore's husband, former Vice President Al Gore, have had a much more deleterious effect on American culture than anything Prince has ever written: Gore's willingness to promote propaganda about "global warming" and defend the perjury of former President Clinton has arguably done more to pollute American culture than any of Prince's sexually charged lyrics. Thus, one wouldn't be wrong to question Tipper Gore's fitness as a moral critic.

However, just because Tipper Gore was arguably a flawed social crusader doesn't mean that everyone who raises questions about pop culture is similarly compromised. On "Number One Spot," Bridges pointed to O'Reilly's alleged sexual harassment of a co-worker as proof that his critic was a hypocrite. Even if one accepts Bridges' argument, the question remains: what about those who weren't allegedly involved in such disputes but who do feel that his lyrics are harmful to American youth?

The reality is that it is extremely difficult to criticize American pop culture without being dismissed as an idiot. This is perhaps why younger conservative pundits avoid going after pop culture the way older conservatives do: no one wants to be discredited as "out of touch."

It's hard to think of a conservative writer under 35 who has attacked offensive hip-hop music, profanity in movies, violence on television or inappropriate sexual themes in popular novels. All such criticism is left to conservatives of a different generation.

Are these younger conservatives cowards? Not necessarily. They realize that the power of pop culture is stronger than it has ever been, and that in many ways, it's impossible to stem the cultural tide. Younger conservatives are less likely to "stand athwart history, yelling 'Stop!'" because they know the popular culture will simply tell them to "Shut the (expletive) up!"

O'Reilly is right to go after Bridges' lyrics on his nightly reports. However, he shouldn't expect younger conservatives to provide any moral support.