The Idea of Greatness

Lately I've been reading (elitist alert) a couple of books focused on radically different shades of music, Our Band Could Be Your Life by Michael Azerrad and The Rolling Stone Interviews. By nature of the fact that Our Band talks about iconic indie acts like Sonic Youth and Dinosaur Jr. and Rolling Stone Interviews has interviews from outright icons like John Lennon, Jim Morrison, and Pete Townshend, it's interesting to see what some of the greatest musicians of all time perceived as great.

There are even a few outright surreal statements. When Townshend brings up the entire story and plot that would become The Who's Tommy, there is a feeling that he loves this idea but has no idea how it would be formed in music. It's almost like the band was desperate for a good sound to come out of the ideas they had. And I'd say that that definitely happened with Tommy.

On the same point, Lennon's interview is also downright mind-blowing. He felt that the Beatles' best music was never recorded and done in the early days of the band. Mind you, this interview was done in 1972, when the breakup of the band was fresh in Lennon's memory, but it's still an awe-striking comment that a scant few heard the best of the band, at least according to one of the two chief songwriters of that band.

So what is the idea of greatness? I'm not sure, and neither is anybody else, really. Objective opinions tell us that something is great or is shit, but you never quite know until you put it out there. You could compare this theory to film. Blade Runner was reviled by most critics upon its release, and it's not really as great a movie as it's been made out to be, but you see pieces of it in everything.

This leads to another point: artists, writers, musicians, etc. have all been influenced by the simple brilliance of Pete Townshend's music or the eloquence of John Lennon's take on the world or the swagger and attitude of Jim Morrison, who clearly used the media as his playground to experiment with his image as something more than even a mere rock star. But does influence really create greatness or amazement? I mean, I really love The Strokes and would love to make a band that sounds exactly like Is This It-era Strokes, but I wouldn't dare call Julian Casablancas great. He might influence me and my nonexistent musical stylings, but I don't necessarily think he's great. He's cool and I like him. Not great.

I don't know, it's just a question that has no real answer. What is great? It's subjective. So I don't know, it's maybe just a passed down sort of achievement. I will say this, though, Pete Townshend really is damn great.

A Piece I Wrote Months Ago.

(Context: This was planned by me to be submitted to my local campus' newspaper around mid-October of 2008. This was weeks before the historic election, and so on and so forth.)

"Continual prejudice enshrouds American life"

On October 15, 2008, a group of vandals ransacked 200 copies of this fine newspaper by changing a column title from “Obama fans rally at Gorgas” to “Obama fags rally at Gorgas.” They did this to send out a clear message: that they thought changing an "n" to a "g" was hilarious and that they associate emasculation and the "alternative lifestyle" with Presidential candidate Barack Obama as opposed to the manliness and steady power of Senator McCain. Of course, that's what they intended to do.

Instead, they more or less made a statement about the silly bravado of American culture. For a country so dedicated to saying that we are united and that the 300 million of us can take on anything in the world, we seem to deeply hate each other more often than not. America has struggled through a political season filled with pure vitriol of the views, decisions, and ultimately, the followers of the other candidate. Everyone seems to be in the spirit of hatred of their fellow man merely for supporting two people that they feel should lead the country. This is not even getting into the vast topic of prejudice and how much the country seems to give a care about others' sexual orientation. Does it just look silly if our brawn is sullied by another's choice, or must it be about the muscle-headed nature of the people of this country?

Worse yet, these ingrates also re-affirmed the misguided stance of the South's prejudice towards other kinds of people. While it doesn't seem as worse as say the past century or so on the surface, there's still a black eye given to any concept of even being close to gay, especially among males. The word "fag" (regardless of intention oftentimes) is meant to sting the person in public, like the phrases "geek," "goth," "nerd," or "spaz." And to say that the state is the most tolerant state of other lifestyles is ridiculous, as anti-Christian culture is often immediately classified as "devilish" and homosexuality considered a sin, despite the fact that the same hallowed book offers up the point to "judge not, lest ye be judged."

The South and America reach the fun paradox that keeps the country focused despite our own self-hatred: we are too stubborn to change, even when that change is probably the correct choice. America simply never wants change, and it makes no bones about this. Lack of change could be as small as not wanting to convert to the metric system or as big as thinking that white people and black people should have separate bathrooms, and prejudice be damned on any need to change as a region or as a country because it's the "right thing to do" or because it's the proper thing to do. Keeping a steady path does not always lead to a good end.

Ultimately, what October 15th's incident displayed is the continual ugliness of American culture. This is not to say that our country (and to a lesser extent the South) is entirely filled with bigots, sexists, and generally horrible people, but that those people actually exist. An obvious statement to make, yes, but one that at the wrong times everyone seems to be depressingly oblivious to seeing.