Rage On

Reason, Oct, 2000 by Brian Doherty

A certain poetic internal freedom, yes. But about more mundane freedoms--to earn money, say, and spend it how you see fit, or to not have decisions made for you by a nanny state--Marsh is as quiet as audiences at a Canned Heat reunion.

Unlike many leftists, Marsh understands the oppressive potential of government clearly enough to tell me this in an interview: "The difference between a left-progressive-socialist or communist, or whatever the fuck anyone wants to call me, and a liberal is precisely the degree to which you trust the government. And the difference on gun control is precisely the degree to which you trust the government. The First Amendment is first for a reason, and the Second Amendment is second for a reason.

But Marsh can't sensibly reconcile the liberty whose praises he sings with the kind of state necessary to forge the classless egalitarianism that he wants. "I'm trying to find a way to develop a society where people work cooperatively most of the time in order to act on individuality some of the time," he tells me.

But Marsh's conflation of rock as class-and-race mixer with rock as progressive force foists a narrow, partisan political agenda on a more general form of pre-political expression. Certainly such fathers of rock as Chuck Berry, Jerry Lee Lewis, Little Richard, and Elvis Presley shattered race and class taboos: Crossing such lines explains in large part why they were loved and hated by so many.

More than that, though, such figures helped craft the legend of being young and being American as very heaven. Their foot-tapping, ass-shaking rhythms communicate Dionysian excess, a liberating, often frenzied release from all sorts of restraint and control. It is precisely this aspect that cultural conservatives on both the right and the left have always found suspicious about rock 'n' roll. Rock inspires a devil-may-care sense of fun in both individuals and groups, one that doesn't crave any social purpose higher than making the listener feel a particularly energetic and lively brand of good.

Elvis, Chuck Berry, and the rest did this as artists, not proselytizers. If they were the voice of those suffering social injustice and prejudice, they broke free by standing up for a joyous liberty of pleasure and expression, not by campaigning for campesinos and a ban on nuclear power. They were about flamboyance and excitement--especially their own highly individualized visions of such things--not dour attempts to institute Chumbawamba's dream of endless town meetings.

It's easy, of course, simply to accuse stinking rich entertainment celebs who talk about overthrowing the system that pays them so well of being hypocrites. Easy, perhaps, and necessary, since of course they are. It's a pose that, however stylish, is just that. But there's something more interesting going on than either conscious or naive hypocrisy.

What rockin' leftists have the hardest time facing up to is rock's reality as a product of capitalism. Chumbawamba claims it is playing the game of "exist[ing] within [the capitalist system] and at the same time trying to find ways to bring the bastard down." The members also admit that, thanks to their deal with a major label, they have "a decent standard of living for the first time in their lives." (These quotes all from the FAQ on their official Web site, www.chumba.com. On the site, they also fend off accusations from young fans who complain that Chumba should never suggest that it's all right to get drunk if you enjoy it--that beer money, after all, could have been spent helping the downtrodden.)