Ranting to /dev/null

They're all kinda 12-year-olds, eh? Screaming at each other about what's more true and real in pop music. But at least they're witty 12-year-olds: "The Eagles wanted to be mellow coke dealers. They happened to form a band. End of story."

That's kinda funny. And he has some good thoughts on Cohen. But the whole crowd is basically missing the religious longing that bleeds into all great music. Sure, it comes out as moaning for a lost girl or raging against Dylan Thomas' dying light. But Cohen, Dylan, Pedro the Lion, the Stones and even bad emo bands are all searching for the same universal rescue. The're just peeking under different rocks for it.

The trouble with this essay: Josh thinks the rocks are the point. And he really could learn some new adjectives.

Another, similar thought: The one thing Josh and his emo antagonist agree on is that life is basically meaningless and cruel, and that pop music gives you options to deal with that. Low-grade rock 'n existentialroll, I suppose. But such a view means that all that matters in a life experience is the feelings you take out of it. The emo guy wants to wallow in his feelings; the rocker wants to bash through them. But with Jesus, I would hope our view is light years away: we know that experiences have significance beyond how we feel about them.

I'm done I'll go back to watching the Royals game now.

I think whoever that particular jerk was just happened to catch me in a bad mood. Plus I'm pretty sure it was a personal attack -- I think I know who that person is, and it's somebody who doesn't like me very much personally and wants to mess with me, hiding behind the Net's anonymity. Which is probably why I responded so forcefully.

But Mesh, you're right: the religious longing is in all great music. In many cases, I think it has to do with longing for hope, longing for understanding -- not necessarily for any particular god or God, but for purpose. Like I said, Cohen has it -- think of the song "Hallelujah", which is an excellent combination of the desire for both sacred and secular love. "Remember when I moved in you / And the holy dove was moving to / And every breath we drew was hallelujah". A gorgeous metaphor...especially coming from a Buddhist, as Cohen has been for many years now.

Higher discourse here is, alas, impossible; I don't really have anything particularly weighty to add to this argument. But I do think that the best rock and roll is a mixture of the sacred and profane; it's what draws us to it, what keeps us interested. It's why Bono is such a remarkable lyricist, and Peter Gabriel, and Cohen, and Joe Henry; you also might find Mike Doughty's song "Sweet Lord In Heaven" pretty interesting.

Also, I'm not a pagan, by any means. :-) I don't really have any religious beliefs at all. I don't claim to know whether there is a God or even a spiritual aspect to reality. I suppose that I like the Hindu idea of maya best -- the illusion of reality we perceive that hangs over the Absolute like smoke over a fire. But then again, maybe I've seen The Matrix too many times.

I'm trying to refine these ideas into something less abrasive and more considered -- I did write it as something of a late-night rant, after all. I'll let you know when I come up with something. And thanks for the link!

And I am suddenly reminded that this is not a private exercise in my room. Welcome Josh, and thanks for reading.

Josh, I think you're right that the best rock is a combination of "the sacred and the profane." In a spoken word album called "The Secret Life of the Love Song," post-punk singer Nick Cave argues that all the greatest singers carry a quality called "duende," a Portuguese term. Poet Gabriel Garcia Marquez, who was something of a rock star in his own right, descibed duende as the cry of the soul chained to earth, craving flight. It's no tenth-grade emo longing for a cheerleader: Marquez calls it a demon, an inner blackness that craves an escape into the spiritual that is simply impossible. Cave says that all great love songs are sad songs -- "cold and broken hallelujahs," as Cohen has put it.

Cave says that real sadness has all but disappeared from pop music. (He recorded "Love Song" before the emo movement, but I don't think he'd change his mind: whining is as poor a substitute for sadness as lust is for love.) He lists a few artists who bring a bit of duende to rock 'n roll: "Bob Dylan has always had it. Leonard Cohen deals with it specifically. Neil Young and Tom Waits can summon it. And my friends the Dirty Three have it in bucketfulls." To that list I would add the early Stones, Stephin Merrit, a few Zep tracks (although despite the apparent allegorical connections, not "Stairway"), and Cave himself, who you really should give a listen, if you find the time. I would start with "Let Love In," which just kicks f'in ass all over the room.

I'm off to lunch. Would enjoy hearing your thoughts.

And Springsteen, how could I forget? "Nebraska" is the most duende-loaded album of the '80s, excepting "Let Love In."

There's a poster of Nick Cave glaring down at me right now, so you can safely assume I'm familiar with his work. :-)

Springsteen -- my God, yes, Nebraska is one of my top ten albums of all time. Simply incredible work. I've actually been considering releasing my cover of "Atlantic City" for sale on my site.

Duende. What a great concept. Thank you for bringing that to my attention -- I've never come across it before, and now I'm going to go obsess on it for a couple of days.

Are you familiar with the excellent Somerset Maugham novel "The Razor's Edge"? My favorite book of all time; and it's sort of about that. The narrator says of the protagonist to another character: "We're not used to seeing people who do things for the love of God whom they don't believe in." It's well worth reading, though stay away from the dreadful Bill Murray film version.

Cave is right about great love songs being sad. It puts me in mind of the Pogues' "Fairytale Of New York", which is about two old Irish transients in New York who are still in love. Makes me wanna cry everytime I hear it:

And the boys of the NYPD choir
Still singing 'Galway Bay'
And the bells are ringing out for Christmas day

I think what Cohen captures so well is the feeling that love is bigger than both of the people in it; that, no matter how wonderful it may be to be in love, we're always touched with the feeling that we will never have enough moments with that person, that true love transcends our own lives and relationships; that our love affair will not be the last. Goes back to mortality, if you think about it, as does everything else.

(Have you read Cave's And The Ass Saw The Angel? Very hard read, since it's written phonetically in Applachian hillbilly talk, but a lovely and disturbing piece of work.)

On a semi-related note: Ryan, I notice your current blog subtitle is a quote from "Thunder Road".

Have you heard the acoustic demo version? If not, go on Kazaa and get it immediately (I don't think it's available for commercial purchase).

It sounds EXACTLY like "Nebraska", and it's about a hundred times more beautiful than the album version. It's been on heavy rotation in my MP3 playlist for years.