Rock 'n' Roll Will Never Die

There is no shortage of oafish conservative pundits, in print and on the airwaves, and it'd be easy to field a softball team of the very worst. Let's give a bye to the obvious-Bill O'Reilly, Michael Savage, Sean Hannity, Cal Thomas, Oliver North, Michael Medved and Mark Levin-and concentrate on a blowhard who was at one time a desired speaker and fundraisers and now, like a mid-level athlete tarred by steroid accusations, is mostly shunned.

The man's name, as those with a packrat memory know, is R. Emmett Tyrrell Jr., the founder of the once-influential American Spectator. Not so long ago, in the 1980s and early '90s, this was a vibrant and idiosyncratic magazine, before its frontman embarked on a conspiracy-laden mission to bring down Bill Clinton, printing increasingly wild and unverified stories about the former Arkansas governor's alleged misdeeds while in Little Rock. As if Clinton didn't provide enough self-inflicted wounds to comment upon.

The magazine lost credibility and saw its best writers move on to more reputable publications, suffered financial reverses, ownership and format changes until the disgraced Tyrrell took over the reigns again a few years ago.

By that time, no one really noticed. It's a shame that TAS' most notable distinction today is that it spawned David Brock, the strange conservative-turned-ultraliberal, rather than the excellent work by men such as Christopher Caldwell and Byron York.

Journalism at times can be a charitable profession, and so Tyrrell has found refuge of sorts in an all-but-ignored syndicated column that at least keeps him off the streets. I mistakenly clicked up one of Tyrrell's latest exercises in premature senility last week ("Democrats Dying With Rock and Roll," March 16) and wasn't surprised that this onetime inquisitive entrepreneur is still throwing ineffective spitters. Rock 'n' roll certainly isn't dead (although many of its icons are), but Tyrrell's influence is, his reach the equivalent of a reunion tour by the Peanut Butter Conspiracy or Ultimate Spinach.

Tyrrell's simplistic notion of the enduring, and ever-mutating, art form's death is that, because radio is no longer dominated by Top 10 hits but rather mostly conservative talk shows-now, there's a novel observation-demonstrates nothing but the fact that the Boomer editor doesn't pay attention to popular music anymore. One suspects that, like The New York Post's John Podhoretz, he never really did, save the pre-Pet Sounds Beach Boys, Perry Como and Doris Day. Tyrrell is correct that the actuarial table for those in the music industry, given the abuse of alcohol and drugs, rivals that of workaday Russian citizens, but that's where his wisdom ends.

Consider this silly passage: "Given how preachy the average rocker became by the late 1960s, this is ironic. In their warbles they lectured ordinary Americans on what to eat, what to wear, even prayer. They lectured us on the value of the great outdoors and of world peace? So Rock and Roll, rest in peace. Besides, Rock and Roll has not come up with a worthwhile song in at least a decade."

(While my own tastes vary from season to season-Hank Williams, Sam Cooke, Buddy Holly, Fairport Convention, the dB's, Fred Neil, the Dells and Explosions in the Sky are currently dominating the playlist in my office-it's absurd, even for a routine-driven Boomer, to say there hasn't been a "worthwhile" rock song in "at least a decade." Green Day's Billie Joe Armstrong is pretty obnoxious, but he's not stupid, and his band's 2004 "Holiday" and "Whatsername" stand up with classics from earlier eras, as do songs from groups like Radiohead, Smashing Pumpkins, Thunderbirds Are Now!, The Mars Volta and Interpol.)

It seems to me that Tyrrell's fellow cultural conservatives are far more dogmatic on the issue of "prayer," and I don't think Keith Richards or Bob Dylan gave a rat's ass about what their fans wore or ate. And it would be more honest if Tyrrell acknowledged the embrace of capitalism by astute rockers like Mick Jagger, Paul McCartney and Bono. Maybe it would surprise him, but not every music entertainer has the ascetic ideals of Pete Seeger.

Incredibly, given today's political environment, Tyrrell equates his nonsensical "death of rock" trope with an equally damning assessment of the Democratic Party. It's hard to tell right now whether the GOP will lose its Congressional majority in the fall, but the combination of public relations missteps by the White House, the war in the Republican Party between immigration restrictionists and proponents, a media-despite Tyrrell's dated obeisance to Rush Limbaugh-that hungers for a liberal takeover in D.C. I wouldn't yet count out, as Tyrrell does, the horrific specter of House Majority Leader Nancy Pelosi.

But it's not just Tyrrell who's trying to erase, or ridicule, the undeniable pop music explosion of the 1960s. In December of 2004, the far more sober and serious writer William Tucker wrote in the American Spectator that Dylan "couldn't even tune Elvis's guitar." I happen to prefer Dylan by a long stretch, but that's like saying Albert Pujols is a bush-leaguer compared to Hank Greenberg or Mickey Mantle.

Tucker's beef was that Rolling Stone, in one of its endless lists, that December decreed that "Like A Rolling Stone" was the "greatest rock song of all time." I agree, but that's beside the point: for those interested, it's a never-ending debate and one's own choice can vary depending on mood. Who's to say that The Crystals' "He's a Rebel," The Smiths' "What She Said," the Stones' "Gimme Shelter" or Stevie Wonder's "Uptight" aren't qualified for the top spot?

Tucker's logic is historically inaccurate. He writes: "For Sixties-bred liberals? 'Like a Rolling Stone' represents the Dawn of Creation-the day radical politics was wedded to rock 'n' roll." In fact, it was the "radicals," the folkies and students who were drawn to various social causes, who were dismayed and angered by Dylan strapping on an electric guitar and writing lyrics that were surreal and personal. Dylan's career moves were calculated and often cynical; he rejected the "spokesman of a generation" label foisted upon him and withdrew almost totally from topical songwriting by 1967. He didn't endorse candidates, didn't march or appear at rallies after '64, and probably didn't even vote.

In addition, if Tucker was set on downsizing the cultural influence of Dylan he could've avoided some simple mistakes, such as attributing to him the song "Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood" and writing that "[He] still writes fantastic folk music" like "Tiny Montgomery," a song that was penned in '67.

Then there's this Aug. 9, 2005, pip from The New York Sun's Alicia Colon-a political columnist whose views I often agree with: "These Days The Music Died," a quixotic plea for parents to "end [the] criminal assault on children's innocence." Colon, who fondly remembers seeing the Temptations, Marvin Gaye, Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, the Four Tops and the Righteous Brothers, among others-on one bill!-at a Brooklyn venue 40 years ago, is appalled by the today's music, and says it's time that "God-fearing people break their silence." I'm not a fan of the violent lyrics in some pop songs today-or George Clooney's self-congratulatory films in multiplexes, for that matter-and obscenity-laced videogames hold no interest, but it's foolish to spend much time worrying about current fashions.

Colon pines for the old pop songs about "puppy love," "lost love," joyous love," and the like, the kind of tunes the Beatles started out with when they became superstars overnight in the United States in early '64. At that time, parents in my neighborhood were united in the belief that the band was an awful influence on their kids, with the long hair, smart-aleck quips and loud electric guitars. One of my brothers had to sneak into the house Meet the Beatles after he'd bought it at Sam Goody's for $1.99 and the five of us went down to the basement to listen to the "new music." It was exhilarating-not all that different than when the Sex Pistols' "God Save the Queen" was released in the U.S. 13 years later-and I guess not at all "God-fearing."

Personally, I believe parents ought to heed the words of the dreadful Pink Floyd on matters of pop culture: Leave the kids alone. There are only so many principles parents can pass down to their offspring without holding them under virtual house arrest. Forget movies and music, I'd say, and concentrate on manners, honesty and reading. And then watch them sneer at the next generation's taste in entertainment.