Both my father and I could recognize ourselves in the faces of the crowd, almost equally divided between his generation and mine, at the Hall and Oates concert in Chicago on Friday night (July 23, 2010). A 50-something couple sat directly in front of us, while immediately behind us were three teenage girls who loudly demonstrated throughout the concert that they knew all the words to Hall and Oates’ catalogue of hits. Our three rows were emblematic of the entire theater where boomers, Xers, and youngsters joined in chorus with “I Can’t Go For That”, “You Make My Dreams”, “Sara Smile”, etc.

The show itself was a dazzling display of music virtuosity, talent, and craftsmanship. Daryl Hall’s vocals were soulful and soaring, whether he was in raspy rock, falsetto croon, or Cocker-scream incarnation, while the band–powered by saxophone player Charlie DeChant’s eclectic and exciting solos, and the scorching dual lead guitars of John Oates and Paul Pesco–was pitch perfect and tight, leading the crowd through ballads, jam sessions, and funky danceable numbers.

Due to a bear hug embrace of ’80s new wave trends, the most succesful duo of all time was once considered kitsch and relegated to the role of “guilty pleasure,” by critics unable to dismiss or dispute their talent, but unwilling to acknowledge their musical and artistic value. However, after heavy hip hop sampling and everyone from Brandon Flowers (of The Killers) and Travis McCoy (of Gym Class Heroes) citing Hall and Oates as a primary influence, the group has gained what the Chicago Sun-Times calls, in a review of Friday’s show, “unexpected indie cred.”

Thomas Conner, the Chicago paper’s pop music critic, elaborates:

Hall & Oates within the last year have enjoyed a more direct appreciation among a new generation. Daryl Hall performed his hits with Montreal-based electro duo Chromeo at the Bonnaroo concert festival. In last year’s indie film “(500) Days of Summer,” Joseph Gordon-Levitt’s character celebrates his new romance in a Broadway-like production number to “You Make My Dreams.” Smooth pop duo The Bird & the Bee released their third album this year, an entire set of Hall & Oates covers. “There’s definitely no irony,” said Greg “The Bee” Kurstin defending the release. “They’re great songwriters and these are great songs.”

The pop and R&B sensibilities of Hall and Oates possess generational and racial crossover appeal that demonstrates, through hip hop sampling, modified covers from neo-soul singers to country performers, and questionable rip-offs–Nelly Furtado’s “Maneater”, that the rock bands and songwriters that aging critics continue to cherish, including Bruce Springsteen–for whom your youthful correspondent has a special appreciation–have relatively very little influence outside a small selection of earnest rock bands with cult followings, and will soon, at least musically, be tossed into the heap of cultural oblivion as rock ‘n’ roll inches closer and closer towards its tomb.

The death of rock ‘n’ roll, which at this point is inevitable and imminent, requires serious mourning–intellectually, emotionally, and spiritually. However, neither sentimentality nor musical preference should get in the way of an honest appraisal of modern music that accepts the fact that the chief influences on the current generation of hitmakers are those that may have dipped a toe in the rock world, but existed most expressively in other genres–Michael Jackson, Madonna, Public Enemy, NWA, Tupac, Prince, and to possibly a lesser, but more interesting extent–Hall and Oates. That list is by no means comprehensive or complete, but it should be read as instructive for understanding where current musical sounds, both exciting and banal, come from.

The most refreshing aspect of the Hall and Oates performance was their expression of creative awareness and flexibility. Rather than simply basking in the nostalgic glory of a thirty-plus year career, millions of record sales, dozens of hits, and a newfound importance, they remain open to influence from the younger musicians who honor them and reveal respect for the twenty-somethings and teens who have recently started downloading their songs and buying their tickets by working to wrap their old hits in new casings.

The stage set and lighting effects had an aesthetic younger than most members of the band. Mid-way through the show, it became obvious that Daryl Hall and John Oates are keeping track of the designs and technical innovations of popular dance clubs and applying appropriate visual updates to their performance. From rave colors, including glowing tambourines, to MTV-style lighting direction, which moves at light speed, nearly all the hallmarks of contemporary clubs were central to the show.

More importantly than flashy progression is musical innovation, and Hall and Oates demonstrated a malleability to modernize, which is rare among their peers. Each month Daryl Hall televises an internet concert called “Live From Daryl’s House” that typically features much younger special guests such as Travis McCoy, Chromeo, Eli “Paperboy” Reed and Diane Birch. Consistent interaction and performance with youthful talent has paid off, and the Hall and Oates live show effectively captures how cross-generational influence can cut both ways.

“I Can’t Go For That” was turned into a funky jam, which would fit well in newly opened dance clubs judging from its updated beat and the reaction it received from the younger members of the audience. “You Make My Dreams” reached a crescendo in a new funkified ending that got the biggest ovation of the night when Hall half sung and half rapped new lyrics over a lightning quick beat. There were plenty more examples of Hall and Oates’ willingness, but more impressively, enthusiasm for adapting to musical changes–a condition that demands modesty and maturity. Hall and Oates are not merely content to teach, nor do they take their newly earned younger audience for granted. They want to learn.

Baby boomers in music, but also in politics, higher education, and the media, who continually behave with obnoxious arrogance, foolish pride, and unearned authority when myopically and irrationally clinging to their own ideas and steadfastly pursuing their own projects, without allowing input from other generations, should accept a lesson in creativity, adaptability, and integrity from Hall and Oates.

The pop duo may be a surprising source of wisdom, but increasingly insulated boomers will eventually acquire many lessons from unlikely people and places. Unwanted and unexpected instruction is one of the many costs for living, as the song says, “out of touch.” Hall and Oates, in their own small but insightful way, are working, albeit in slim company, to avoid such a burdensome price.

Whenever I give a talk or sign copies of my book, Working On a Dream: The Progressive Political Vision of Bruce Springsteen (Continuum Books), a reader inevitably asks me, “what’s your favorite Springsteen album?” I always give the same answer—The Rising—and get the same reaction—shock. Undoubtedly, they expect me to name Born to Run, Born in the USA or some other album released before I was born (March 22, 1985). Far too many of Bruce Springsteen’s fans fail to appreciate that the extraordinarily gifted songwriter they claim to admire has continually evolved during the past two decades, and has enhanced his legacy with deeply resonant, provocative, and evocative music. Springsteen’s recent albums draw on familiar trademarks and styles, but also inject fresh sounds and newly diversified lyrical content into his melodically, stylistically, and lyrically rich body of work.

There is no denying the enduring meaning, value, and power of Springsteen’s early work, which contains some of the best songs in rock history. However, too many fans betray the artist who created those songs, along with the values delineated in those songs, when they run for a beer at arenas after hearing the opening chords of a new song and passively demand that Bruce Springsteen, a man whose creativity and artistic boldness produced the music they celebrate, stop being an artist and adopt the static performance personality of an oldies jukebox. None of this would be very important if it had no impact on Springsteen. Disappointingly, the tour for his latest album, Working On a Dream (2009) was much more nostalgia driven than its predecessors, which focused primarily on the newer material from The Rising (2002), Devils & Dust (2005), We Shall Overcome (2006), and Magic (2007).

Therefore, the following list of Springsteen’s best songs from the current decade, compiled solely by your correspondent, seeks to have significant influence on two groups of people. First, Springsteen fans unwilling to move beyond the years of big hair, leg warmers, and the Reagan administration should turn it into a mix CD (I don’t own an I-Pod and therefore don’t know the language. Apparently, I have my own relic tendencies.)  and play it regularly with an open mind to invest the same time, thought, and energy in Springsteen’s new music that they did when the old stuff was new. Second, I offer the hope that someone from Mr. Springsteen’s camp will find this list and pass it on to his or her boss—the Boss—when he is getting ready to tour again and drawing up setlists.

For those interested in a much more detailed and thorough analysis of the following songs, I recommend buying my book, which contains passages on all them, with one exception—“The Wrestler”.

 Songs are listed in chronological order.

1. “Land of Hope and Dreams”—Already I will be excused of breaking the rules because this song was written in 1999. However, it was not released until 2001, as one of two new songs on the live album, Bruce Springsteen and the E-Street Band: Live in New York City. A spiritual locomotive of a rocker that dramatically and perfectly closed most shows on The Reunion and The Rising tours, this song was written as an inclusive rewrite of the exclusive “This Train is Bound for Glory.” Not only one of the best of the decade, but one of his best ever.

2. “American Skin (41 Shots)”—This epic rock song about race relations, racial profiling, and police brutality was also released on Live in New York City, but it was known before then as a controversial song inspired by the tragic murder of Amadou Diallo by New York City police officers. Diallo was a West African immigrant who police misidentified as a rapist. When he reached for his wallet to identify himself, the police murdered him, firing 41 shots. Musically, the song unnerves the listener with passionate vocals and the entire artillery of the E-Street Band. Lyrically, it represents, better than most songs, Springsteen’s unique ability blend political, psychological, and social themes through individual stories with empathy, complexity, and radical love.

3. “Worlds Apart”—This little known track from The Rising easily belongs in Springsteen’s top ten songs. It is his most experimental song, and is both exciting and exhilarating to hear. Combining the sounds of a hip hop beat, a Pakistani choir, and rock ‘n’ roll guitar solos, “Worlds Apart” tells the vague story of an American soldier who falls in love with a Middle-Eastern woman. However, that story, because of the deeply spiritual content of the lyrics, becomes allegorical for a nation struggling with multiculturalism, immigration, and anti-Arab hostility after the 9/11 attacks.

4. “Mary’s Place”—Also from The Rising, this is the most familiar sounding track on the album. Its gospel-energized, Asbury Park party quality harkens back to Springsteen’s first two records. Close examination of the lyrics reveals that, despite its danceability, it is actually a spiritual meditation on mourning and how one can find the strength and sustenance to “live brokenhearted.”

5. “The Rising”—Depending on its incarnation and the context of its performance, this tribute to sacrifice and meditation on the question of an afterlife, can evoke tears or fist pumping hope. It has worked equally well as a tribute to the lives lost on 9/11, an anti-war statement when coupled with Springsteen’s recent protest song “Last to Die,” and a statement of combative hope at campaign rallies for Barack Obama.

6. “My City of Ruins”—This gospel song was originally written as a prayer for Asbury Park, but became a post-9/11 anthem when used as an album closer for The Rising. Its music is straight out of a sanctified church, but its prayer acknowledges the marriage between the secular and sacred. Springsteen humbly asks divine assistance in building hope, faith, and love, and accepts communal responsibility for communal future, rather than merely looking upward for the perfect solution.

7. “Devils and Dust”—The title track of Devils & Dust is a soul stirring, thought provoking contemporary folk song about a soldier in Iraq. One of any great artist’s most valuable gifts is the capacity to present an experience he hasn’t lived with enough truth and resonance to make it seem as if he has lived it. In Working On a Dream, I compare the lyrics of this song to essays members of Iraq Veterans Against War write in Warrior Writers: Re-Making Sense (IVAW). The parallels are stunning. Beyond giving all-too often muted active servicemen and women a voice, this song also presents an examination of the unseen spiritual consequences wars have on the individuals who fight them.

8. “Black Cowboys”—This Devils & Dust ballad tells the story of a young boy growing up in the South Bronx—a neighborhood where bullets fly and families collapse. The boy’s saving grace is his mother’s love until that is taken away from him. A deeply moving trauma narrative about people who have been rendered invisible in American life, this song demonstrates how Springsteen can often write cinematically.

9. “Maria’s Bed”—The Devils & Dust track continues the long Springsteen tradition of sanctifying the flesh and giving sexuality salvific powers. It is also unbearably catchy and fun.

10. “Jesus Was an Only Son”—Another from Devils & Dust. Norman Mailer wrote a fine novel about Jesus the man, called The Gospel According to The Son. “Jesus Was an Only Son” is a moving gospel song about Jesus as a mother’s son. It demands the listener to consider Christ’s political execution as a metaphor for daily injustices that rob lives and separate mothers from children in contemporary life.

11. “American Land”—This song was written for and originally performed by the Sessions Band, and can be found on We Shall Overcome: The Seeger Sessions (Extended Edition) and Live in Dublin: Bruce Springsteen and The Sessions Band. “American Land” is Irish folk meets American rock, and it celebrates the profound influence immigrant groups have had on American culture.

12. “How Can a Poor Man Stand Such Times and Live”—Springsteen took the music from the Blind Alfred Reed folk song about the Great Depression and rewrote the lyrics to apply to Hurricane Katrina and the criminally negligent government response it provoked. He recorded it with the Sessions Band and released it on the same albums as “American Land.” It is a powerful protest song that deserves more attention.

13. “I’ll Work For Your Love”—This ebullient and bouncy rocker from Magic sanctifies the flesh and gives sexual love salvific powers just like “Maria’s Bed.” It is also equally catchy and fun.

14. “Long Walk Home”—Magic is a dark record that surveys the wreckage left from the Bush years. Close to its conclusion, the soulful rock tune “Long Walk Home” offers hope in the form forgotten civic virtues—community involvement and activism—and progressively redefined private values—family and patriotism.

15. “The Wrestler”—Written for the movie of the same name, this Golden Globe winning song was officially released on the album Working On a Dream. It is a tearful chronicle of the downtrodden, dispossessed, and dislocated. Although not as strong as “Streets of Philadelphia”—another award winning soundtrack song—it is similarly moving in its unsanitized presentation of suffering and call for empathy.

For those interested, I have a new essay published on the Black Commentator today called “Straight Hair, Flat Culture: Fear and Loathing of Black Sexuality.” A subscription is required to read the entire piece, but free 10 day trials are available.

“The girls from Rutgers…they got (sic) tattoos and…them some (sic) nappy headed hos, and the girls from Tennessee, they all look cute,” Don Imus, much to his pain more than anyone else’s, said in a now infamous rant that got him suspended from radio and expelled from MSNBC. By now, the Imus “controversy” has been dissected, debated, and deconstructed to the point of nausea. However, there still remains a peculiar absence of any acknowledgement that Imus spoke for millions when he reinforced, albeit crudely and hatefully, the white beauty standards that still largely dominate American culture, and produce a myriad of less obvious, but equally cruel and hateful consequences. Almost all critics and commentators, even Al Sharpton, focused primarily on the word “ho” and its degrading, dehumanizing implications when condemning the radio shock jock.

The persistence and permeation of white beauty standards runs so long and wide that even those most incensed by Imus could not comprehend what he was talking about. The “ho” label, despite being the most loaded and offensive term of the sentence, is a distraction. What he really means when he identifies tattoos and, most importantly, “nappy” hair is rough, ragged; ugly. Many of the female players on Tennessee’s team were also black, yet according to Imus’ racially colored lens, which is shared by many who express it in milder language; they were “cute” because they had straight hair, and lighter, inkless skin. In a word, they were much “whiter.” The fact that this part of the scandal was not discussed on mainstream television demonstrates that the dominant culture largely agrees with the distinction that Imus made between the opposing college basketball teams, so much so that it never occurs to anyone to even question it. Notable exceptions like social critic Michael Eric Dyson, analyzed the white beauty standard aspect with clarity and brilliance, but the crux of his analysis and those that were similar were relegated to small internet publications, moderately popular radio broadcasts, or Dyson’s collection of interviews, Know What I Mean? Reflections on Hip Hop.

The clearest signal of white beauty standards was the word “nappy,” which for decades has meant “black” and “unattractive.” Cultural resistance to nappy hair has a long and harmful history. From painful procedures in beauty shops to the $45.6 million (excluding Wal-Mart) yearly sales of home relaxers, the painful pressure of conformity to white cultural norms is visible in the black community. Many black women wage their own personal protest by going natural, and pegging their sisters who straighten as “sell outs.” Ingrid Banks, professor of black studies at University of California Santa Barbara, summarized the hair dilemma succinctly, “For black women, you’re damned if you do, damned if you don’t.”

Lose-lose situations where the costs always equal damnation are common for women who have progressed to a point where their talents, intelligence, and character rightfully earn them slots of leadership in politics, business, academia, etc., but must walk a tightrope where gender roles are confused and misogyny operates as an undertow, rather than a tsunami. Women pursue professional excellence, but must also appease the sensibilities of men who are falling behind in education and achievement. They still must carry themselves with sex appeal, but want to be recognized as more than mere sex objects. Many of these externally enforced, internally fought conflicts are in their elderly years, but they take on new drama and stakes for contemporary women who, for the first time, are surpassing men in many professional and educational fields. The dualistic urges to succeed and conform, which often are complementary in the boardroom and nightclub, manifest in expensive medical bills for irreversible procedures. Black women are paying for nosejobs to make their noses thinner, and Asian women are having their eyes widened. This may seem extreme, but it is increasingly common. It is also a sad indication of how limited progress can be, if not in monetary terms, then at least psychological terms. One of the most repulsive and repeatedly discussed consequences of unrelenting social pressure on women is the skeletal shape that many actresses, pop stars, and twenty-somethings starve themselves to have. Formerly sexy women like Teri Hatcher, Nicole Kidman, and Angelina Jolie have transformed themselves from pinups to cautionary posters against eating disorders.

Read the rest.

Rock ‘n’ Roll, when done right, has always served the vital purpose of encouraging recklessness. It allows people to overcome inhibitions and act as they desire, should, or in some cases, probably should not. Even when it gets serious it keeps this sacred vow. My book on Bruce Springsteen’s music and American politics, Working On a Dream: The Progressive Political Vision of Bruce Springsteen, is about a lot of things, one of which is Springsteen’s inspirational call for listeners to shed their sociopolitical inhibitions—inhibitions that obstruct and overshadow empathy. The United States is suffering from two lethal deficits and neither have anything to do with fiscal reports. One is a deficit of inspiration and the other is an empathy deficit. Therefore, Springsteen’s music and any art that seeks to inspire and works to unify is immeasurably important.

The Righteous Hillbillies in their new music video “She’s Righteous,” of which I have written about the filming, are not serving a sociopolitical purpose. The inhibitions they are crushing to death are simply those that prevent people from having a good time. As I said before, this song inspires listeners who do not already have a foot in the grave to sing, drink, and dance. This is fun, but also seriously played rock music that attempts to reclaim some of the party territory conquered by hip hop in the last twenty years.

Rock ‘n’ roll is a dying musical form, enjoyed less and less by young people, because it stopped being fun, danceable and sexual. Hip hop, pop, and country have all captured the partying imagination of young people, while those who want loud guitars, charmingly sleazy lyrics, and rough vocals either have to go to the indie underground or take a time machine to the 70s. The Righteous Hillbillies win back some ground, and serve a lost art, in their new video—“She’s Righteous.”

Watch it here, and it should put a smile on your face as big as lead singer Brent James’ when he is looking at something (any idea what?) off camera at 1:47.

The finest inquiry of literature is the inquiry into the life of the individual. What makes the individual lonely, affectionate, or terrified? What makes the individual tick?

Naturally, the best stories about individuals also become stories about history, sociology, and philosophy. Through this ever-widening examination, literature endorses a certain set of values. Obviously, the establishment of values within literature widely differs—The Fountainhead certainly recommends a different code of ethics than The Grapes of Wrath. However, literature’s unique ability, and diversity, when exploring and endorsing ethics and values possesses unparalleled power. Christopher Hitchens claims, with good evidence, that literature presents the “finest opportunity for moral exploration.” 

Jim Harrison, one of the greatest American writers of the twentieth century and perhaps the master of the novella, delineates a set of values with brilliance, toughness, and humor in a series of novellas, found in several different books, about a character named Brown Dog. Living in a deer hunting cabin in Upper Peninsula Michigan, Brown Dog is happily in the “bottom 10 percent” of income earners, working as little as possible and refusing to consider a career since dropping out of Moody Bible School in Chicago. Aspects of his behavior may seem pathological, but none of them are without redemption. He has a bottomless appetite for sex, and is constantly trying to feed it. However, he is also a real lover of women who never objectifies them, rather he insists on treating them with genuine awe, loyalty, and respect. His refusal to compromise on principles and his default distrust of authority may look like stubborn rebellion for rebellion’s sake, when they are actually a product of his Bible studying days that are not entirely behind him. He holds steadfast to a creed of belief and behavior and is unwilling to loosen his grip for wealth, power, or advancement in social status, which is too often tied to materialistic ambitions and self-interested conformity.

Brown Dog nearly gets thrown in jail for destroying the equipment and vehicles of Michigan State University anthropology graduate students who plan to study the graves and bodies of an old, but recently discovered Native American burial ground. He tracks down a phony Indian activist and filmmaker in Hollywood to retrieve his stolen bearskin rug, and unofficially adopts a young girl with developmental disabilities before smuggling her into Canada to prevent her from going into the State’s custody. The integrity, compassion, and honesty of Brown Dog cannot be negotiated, and he will go to seemingly ridiculous lengths to enforce his code, which is simultaneously inspirational and amusing. 

The committed resistance to mainstream values of greed, profit utility, and spiritually vacuous decision making, combined with a full embrace of love, simple organic pleasure and comical outsider status, makes Brown Dog a literary hero, but also a rural hero. 

Susan Stewart, Professor of English at Temple University, writes in her book On Longing that the countryside is “space ideal, space of childhood and death…where within patterns of nature we search for traces of the human,” while the city can only speak the “language of the state,”  because it is unable to speak in the variety of diverse tongues that reverberate across city streets. The state’s language, along with the “silence of the bank and silence of headquarters,” becomes monumental. Through this silence comes the “miming of corporate relations.”

Stewart’s juxtaposition perfectly explains why Brown Dog could only exist in a rural environment. He moves like a slow, obnoxious shadow: Off the grid and off the radar, but somehow managing to leave a mark. The institutional pressures he despises are most dominant in large cities, which is why he only moves through them when he feels he must—to retrieve his stolen bearskin rug or study scripture. Big things, as they are too often narrowly defined, happen in the city. Stewart is getting at these big things when she writes about the language of the state and the miming of corporate relations. She also mentions milling crowds, class conflicts, and the potential for sudden terror.

Brown Dog detaches himself from these big things, and instead of chasing after the big rewards promised mostly by the people and institutions of cities, he fights for small victories. He will protect the graves of American Indians. He will find the bearskin thief. He will save a developmentally disabled child from the horrors of a state facility, which he decides is not suited for her after he takes a drive past it to see that there are no flowers planted anywhere on the grounds. 

Brown Dog, despite being the most heroic, is not the only Harrison character to find solace and strength in rural settings. In his latest collection of novellas, The Farmer’s Daughter, the title novella features a young woman who through the triumphs and tragedies of her life cannot leave her true love: Montana. The English Major, one of Harrison’s recent novels, is narrated by a man who embarks on a nationwide road trip to rename every state flower and bird. 

Rural settings maintain a consistent importance in Harrison’s work because they allow Harrison’s characters a sanctuary in which their resistance to social pressures and commitment to hard won principles of freedom and self-determination are able to thrive. In the bosom of nature, spiritual values of identification with outlaw population groups who live according to their own norms of quiet charity, earned elegance, and the rejection of political maneuvering, social phoniness, and yuppie asceticism also undergo sanctification. Having a home in rural America gives Harrison’s characters, especially Brown Dog, ironic community with fellow voluntarily isolated rebels and political protest by overcoming dejection with detachment. 

There is a constant pressure in American culture to do something that is often attached to a fake urgency: “Sign a petition for universal healthcare”… “Sign up for our email list to tell Washington you want an end to climate change.”

This isn’t to say that apathy is defensible or that environmental activism is a waste of time. It is simply to acknowledge that often these small gestures are carried out for purposes of self-comfort and self-aggrandizement. The Rev. James Forbes has wondered  “if there is such a thing as ‘liberal light.’ That is the ideology and rhetoric of liberalism but your heart is still tethered to selfish pride, greed, race and other prerogatives.” “Liberal light” is defined by small gestures attached to fake urgency.

Brown Dog, and Harrison’s gallery of thoughtful, compassionate rogues, see through this phoniness and stake out their own territory for life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. When they make a gesture towards grander ideas and values, it is not attached to any urgency but their own and the people they seek to assist. 

For Americans tired with big disappointments from big institutions—political, financial, educational—and looking for a moral template of citizenship in confusing and troubled times, there may be no better moral guide than the understated rural heroism of Jim Harrison and his greatest creation, Brown Dog.

Note: A similar version of this essay was also published on The Daily Yonder.