It seems that in the immediate wake of important events and/or great tragedy, the American public looks first to the media, then to the government and then lastly to the commentary of Americans in the context of popular culture. The first two reactions are predictable -- almost to a science. The media is sensationalist and the government is reactionary. Only the final element is consistently a wild card.
This has been the case for years. In the Cold War, Vietnam, Desert Storm and the Lewinsky scandal the former formula held true -- with the first two elements of reaction being predictable and the voice of pop culture and the masses varying greatly.
The reaction to Sept. 11 was no different. And this event is, so far, the most important of our lifetime.
Two of the most incisive commentaries by popular culture arrived via different avenues -- Wilco's "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot" in music form, and Michael Moore's "Bowling for Columbine" as a documentary.
'Bowling for Columbine'
"Bowling" is an exploration of gun--ownership in America. Moore begins the film in Michigan. He points out that the gun--loving state was the place that both Dylan Klebold, one of the Columbine shooters, and Timothy McVeigh and his co--conspirators were raised for large amounts of their life. Moore ventures into the militia itself and the hometown of Dylan Klebold and explores the mindsets of the people he finds there.
Largely, the responses to his queries are typical " the ability to protect one's family, constitutional right and civic duty are all reasons frequently cited for gun ownership. Moore also holds a rather frightening interview with Jack McDermott, a former friend of McVeigh's.
Moore then goes on to thoroughly explore the events surrounding both the Columbine massacre and the Flint, Mich. shooting of a six-year-old girl by one of her classmates -- Moore's hometown. These exposs include frequent forays into corporate and conservative America, making editorial accusations of organizations and corporations such as K-Mart, Lockheed-Martin and especially the National Rifle Association.
Throughout the film, Moore begins to paint with his directorial brush the main thrust of the movie -- not that gun possession is inherently bad, but that America is a nation ruled by fear.
An important part of the film is a short expos on gun crime in Canada. Moore begins by portraying Canada as a nation of gun-owners. He points out that with only 10 million families, Canada owns seven million guns -- numbers that rival America's. Yet somehow, Canada, a nation of some 30 million, has less than 50 gun-related casualties a year. The United States suffers over 11,000.
Moore digs to the bottom of this paradox. His findings are somewhat surprising. Canadians simply are not as scared as Americans. The general paranoia in America that drives us not to go out alone at night and own handguns just doesn't exist in Canada. It seems, for example, that Canadians see no need to lock their doors, something Americans do even when in their house.
In the end, Moore's criticism of America rests the majority of blame on the corporate world for America's socio-economic woes, but at the same time points to the media and the government as the culprits for driving Americans to living in a culture of fear.
'Yankee Hotel Foxtrot'
Wilco's sixth album, "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot", is a masterpiece of sonic experimentation combined with eloquently mournful lyrics. At first glance, "YHF" seems to be primarily a relationship album with lead singer/songwriter Jeff Tweedy frequently writing about his crumbling romance.
This is evident in the first track of the album, "I Am Trying to Break Your Heart" -- " I always thought that if I held you tightly/You would always love me like you did back then/Then I fell asleep and the city kept blinking/ What was I thinking when I let you back in? / I am trying to break your heart." The talk of relationships continues. "Radio Cure" seems to be an apology to a lover for Tweedy's obsession with song, "Cheer up, honey I hope you can/ There is something wrong with me/ My mind is filled with radio cures/ electronic surgical words."
The final track of the album is impressively depressing, as Tweedy becomes a self-deprecating lover, "How can I convince you it's me I don't like/ when I've always been distant/ And I've always told lies for love."
These lyrics seem to speak beyond the relationships that Tweedy wrote the album about. While he must have written the words with a larger picture in mind, the album's scope is still breathtaking.
YHF was originally scheduled for release on Sept. 11, 2001. Every song on the album was written and recorded before that date, yet the album wasn't released until April because of disputes with the record company at the time.
And it is here that one of the greatest ironies in music history lies: Sept. 11 presented one of the greatest -- perhaps unprecedented -- opportunities for popular music to commiserate with and express the emotions of an entire nation. And Toby Keith, Neil Young, Bruce Springsteen and some others tried; but ironically, it seems the purest, most moving expression of post-Sept. 11 sentimentalism was an album written, completed and scheduled for release on that date by a humble artist trying to make music. Jeff Tweedy was simply a songwriter who knew the pain of losing love and struggling in relationships -- which turned out to be the perfect analogy.
In "Jesus, etc." Tweedy sings in his bleeding voice, "Tall buildings shake/ voices escape singing sad, sad, songs/ 'Till two chords strung down your cheeks/ Bitter melodies, turning your orbit around." A bit later in the song he sings, "Voices whine/ Skyscrapers are scraping together." In the next song on the album, "Ashes of American Flags," the words are haunting: "All my lies are only wishes/ I knew I would die if I could come back new/ I would like to salute/ the ashes of American flags/ And all the falling leaves/ Filling up shopping bags."
In "War on War" Tweedy proclaims, "You have to lose/ You have to learn how to die/ If you want to want to be alive." Another song on the album, "Heavy Metal Drummer," recalls an earlier era in American music, seemingly before corporate corruption and bad radio -- "I miss the innocence I've known/ Playing Kiss covers beautiful and stoned."
"Yankee Hotel Foxtrot's" music is just as relevant. While the prevalent acoustic guitar and piano recall the alt.country beginnings of the band with Uncle Tupelo, the band also experiments with a wide range of sounds. Many of the songs on the album begin or end with distorted strings, off-kilter rhythms and distant vocals -- all reminiscent of Radiohead's "Kid A," and "Amnesiac," likely the two most experimental albums in the last five years. But the mystic music seems to transcend genre, adding universal relevance to the songs. In another sense, the oft-present discord seems to emphasize the ubiquitous loss in Tweedy's lyrics.
This is where "Bowling for Columbine" crosses "YHF's" path. It is that feeling of loss and the need for salvation that both Moore's film and Wilco's album try to evoke. But the film stumbles. Moore insists on starring in too many of the key moments of the documentary. As a filmmaker, it seems that he still hasn't quite figured out that people watch his work for the incisive social commentary, not for him. Make no mistake, the social commentary is there and the epiphany that the film reveals is nearly breathtaking, but Moore's antics make the film fall flat emotionally.
On the other hand, emotion is the one thing that "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot" does so well. The album seems destined for greatness. In spite of originally being shunned by one of the largest labels in popular music, the album jumped to No. 16 on the charts in its first week and has received not only universal acclaim but also universal acceptance.
"Yankee Hotel Foxtrot" achieved what almost no album has done before: it encapsulated the sentiment of an era toward an event that will define our lives and generations. And this was unintentional. Somewhere between tall buildings shaking, skyscrapers scraping and the ashes of American flags, Wilco managed to capture what no other band could: rock music that is American and is what America has not been for far too long.
