The Melody of Riot

I have been in a strange socially-aware world this summer and it has only depressed me. I tore through “In Sam We Trust” by Bob Ortega, “Fast Food Nation” by Eric Schlosser and today cracked “What’s the Matter With Kansas?" by Thomas Frank. They tell different versions of the same story as the Wal-Mart and McDonald’s books parallel each other in their tales of corporate greed; sucking at the tax-free tit while doing “cost-cutting”. The Frank book ties everything together with a look at why people enjoy voting themselves into economic oblivion. Some days it makes me depressed, others it makes me want to stand up and shout “What the fuck is going on?”, even though no one is listening. I just know it would be much easier to be a NASCAR neophyte, but I can’t help the fact that none of the things Rummy, Ashcroft, Rove or the rest of the Klan believe is important strikes fear in me. Gay marriage? Abortions? Making sure people say “pleasuring myself” instead of masturbation on television? I really wish the same God that talks to James Dobson spoke to me, because it would be a lot easier to take advice from the man upstairs directly, I just have a hard time believing that Pat Robertson is one of the Almighty’s chosen mouthpieces.

My recent musical choices have even had similar messages. Green Day’s year-old “American Idiot” and the recent Son Volt release “Okemah and the Melody of Riot” have definite (and similar) political undertones. The Green Day release is rather good, with the opus “Jesus of Suburbia” so far being my favorite. I have always been someone who believed that people should (for the most part) live where and how they choose. But, the more I think about the suburbs the more I can’t see myself as part of them. Granted, part of it is sheer urban snobbery, but underneath the façade is the fact that I would not be comfortable there. I still remember my third or fourth-grade textbook. It featured an overhead view of Levittown and after quoting the Monkees said that many “of the families were very happy to live there.” While I am sure some families were happy to have new houses, it doesn’t make the underlying concept of SUV Land any more appealing to me. The Son Volt album, in many ways a Jay Farrar solo album with the Son Volt name slapped back on, is a similar attack on Bush’s fucked-up America, just through a different musical avenue. Farrar moans that “the words of Woody Guthrie are ringing in my head” and I can’t help but agree.