All You Lucky People

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All You Lucky People

Do peo­ple really want the truth?

If you spend any period of time cruis­ing “con­ser­v­a­tive” sites ded­i­cated to dis­sect­ing pop cul­ture, or “neu­tral” sites dis­sect­ing of cul­ture with one or more con­ser­v­a­tive writ­ers on staff, the answer comes rapidly. It’s no. To be more pre­cise, the afore­men­tioned writ­ers have lit­tle if any inter­est in pro­claim­ing, via point­ing out, truth.

This may seem like a strange sum­ma­tion. Didn’t the late, great Andrew Bre­it­bart say pol­i­tics is down­stream from cul­ture? Aren’t these peo­ple, at least in part, attempt­ing to embody this tru­ism by dis­cussing the lat­est enter­tain­ment efforts and soci­etal swings main­stream info­me­dia declares are where it’s at, or at least should be? Sure. But it is a very, very small and utterly inef­fec­tive part.

To slightly para­phrase Paul’s snap to the church in Corinth, said writ­ers are look­ing only at the sur­face of things. They see the obvi­ous — the block­buster movie, the hot enter­tainer, the even hot­ter social trend as deemed by whichever upper crust pub­li­ca­tion wants some free pub­lic­ity this week via pre­fab­ri­cated “con­tro­versy.” They com­ment, they argue, they strive to score max­i­mum points with the Kon­ser­v­a­tive Kool Kidz Klub. All very nice. And all utterly mean­ing­less in terms of influ­enc­ing pop culture’s course. Gen­uine influ­ence comes not from adding a me too with a con­ser­v­a­tive view. It comes from explor­ing and pro­mot­ing the unknown that is wor­thy of attention.

It’s not like there are no oppor­tu­ni­ties to gen­uinely impact peo­ple through ele­ments gen­er­ally asso­ci­ated with pop cul­ture, given how its more her­alded items sel­dom pack the punch many believe they hold. The great movie icons of recent decades — Star Wars, the ongo­ing spate of super­hero movies — have worked their way into the pop­u­lar lex­i­con, but out­side of the freak­ishly obsessed few their soci­etal impact is nonex­is­tent. Books and their authors fly high for fif­teen min­utes and then dis­ap­pear over the hori­zon. Heard any­one dis­cuss The Bridges of Madi­son County or Life of Pi lately? An argu­ment can be made that the Chi­nese water tor­ture known as net­work tele­vi­sion has moved the moral­ity and mores gauge nee­dles to the left; Will & Grace did much to nor­mal­ize homo­sex­u­al­ity in the pub­lic eye, and every time I hear a five year old loudly exclaim “oh my god” in ref­er­ence to most every item in my toy store I, uh, ‘thank’ the writ­ers of Friends. Pop music is both omnipresent and impact­less, streamed today and sent pack­ing tomor­row. When an album (Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band by The Bea­t­les) first released fifty years ago sells more phys­i­cal copies than any other album, all’s said need­ing to be said con­cern­ing cur­rent music’s place in cur­rent society.

Maybe fol­low Sgt. Pepper’s lead and find music from the past that still holds value today?

Time to shift gears a bit. As today’s great­est song­writer Terry Scott Tay­lor recently sang, there’s not a holy man who doesn’t know grief well, or thinks the road to heaven doesn’t pass through hell. This truth is embod­ied in how through­out Christianity’s his­tory, many believ­ers have found their great­est solace not in the New Tes­ta­ment but rather in a chap­ter writ­ten by the Old Tes­ta­ment mys­tic prophet Isa­iah. Writ­ten hun­dreds of years before Christ’s pas­sion and death on the cross, Isaiah’s descrip­tion of the com­ing Mes­siah as a man of sor­rows, well acquainted with grief, has res­onated through­out the mil­len­nia with those suffering.

Twenty-​two years and 22,000 light years removed from today’s Chris­t­ian music scene, fea­tur­ing end­less recy­clings of end­less clichés about a good good father, with his band Adam Again the late pio­neer of Chris­t­ian alter­na­tive rock Gene Eugene released Per­fecta which sadly turned out to be the band’s final album before Eugene’s death due to an aneurism in 2000. There’s a Kick­starter cam­paign cur­rently under­way to finally release it on vinyl as well as remas­tered CD. Not that there’s a need for cause aside from its dark bril­liance to revisit this sadly unknown work, but it’s as good of a rea­son as any.

If the mea­sure of an album’s poten­tial impact on indi­vid­u­als, who in turn influ­ence soci­ety, can be deter­mined by said album’s raw­ness strip­ping away all emo­tional pre­tense and pos­tur­ing, then Per­fecta would be an instant game changer even today. Lay­ing atop a foun­da­tion of simul­ta­ne­ously jan­gling and snarling dis­torted gui­tars, Eugene’s grainy razored vocals ripped through sto­ries most Chris­t­ian artists wouldn’t dare touch: failed rela­tion­ships, sub­stance abuse, and Leonard Cohen. For starters. When dur­ing the song “Relapse” he cried ‘believe me, I’m fine,’ you know the song’s char­ac­ter was any­thing but. In “All You Lucky Peo­ple,” Eugene’s resigned alien­ation from the Chris­t­ian music that at best held him at arms length and usu­ally avoided him at all costs spilled out:

Won’t you give me your secret
And allow me a tale to sell
To the guests of the guilty at the gates of hell
I’m after it
I’m after it
And you’ll know
That I keep look­ing at all you lucky peo­ple com­ing around to say hello
Hello

It’s some­what doubt­ful you’ll be hear­ing this dur­ing wor­ship time next Sunday.

Per­fecta isn’t a col­lec­tion of rumi­na­tions about lost faith. Rather, it col­lects tales of what hap­pens when faith gets stom­ach punched. A lot. Despite this, faith remains, beaten down but not defeated. There is life beyond life’s insid­i­ous heart­breaks. There will be blood. But there is also the bloody Cross.

It is Per­fecta, and albums like it, by artists and bands such as Gene Eugene and Adam Again, that tell life chang­ing truths. This is the pri­mal scream at pop culture’s cen­ter, one often obscured by drek and dross yet still present. If the writ­ers cov­er­ing pop cul­ture from the right side truly wish to make an impact, they will throt­tle back on the 378th dis­ser­ta­tion this week about Won­der Woman and start actively seek­ing out that, and those, whose cre­ation can effect change in lieu of ram­bling on about the lat­est layer of frost­ing atop an already over­sug­ared cake.

https://youtu.be/q0RMbnHBHb4

Do people really want the truth?

If you spend any period of time cruising “conservative” sites dedicated to dissecting pop culture, or “neutral” sites dissecting of culture with one or more conservative writers on staff, the answer comes rapidly. It’s no. To be more precise, the aforementioned writers have little if any interest in proclaiming, via pointing out, truth.

This may seem like a strange summation. Didn’t the late, great Andrew Breitbart say politics is downstream from culture? Aren’t these people, at least in part, attempting to embody this truism by discussing the latest entertainment efforts and societal swings mainstream infomedia declares are where it’s at, or at least should be? Sure. But it is a very, very small and utterly ineffective part.

To slightly paraphrase Paul’s snap to the church in Corinth, said writers are looking only at the surface of things. They see the obvious – the blockbuster movie, the hot entertainer, the even hotter social trend as deemed by whichever upper crust publication wants some free publicity this week via prefabricated “controversy.” They comment, they argue, they strive to score maximum points with the Konservative Kool Kidz Klub. All very nice. And all utterly meaningless in terms of influencing pop culture’s course. Genuine influence comes not from adding a me too with a conservative view. It comes from exploring and promoting the unknown that is worthy of attention.

It’s not like there are no opportunities to genuinely impact people through elements generally associated with pop culture, given how its more heralded items seldom pack the punch many believe they hold. The great movie icons of recent decades – Star Wars, the ongoing spate of superhero movies – have worked their way into the popular lexicon, but outside of the freakishly obsessed few their societal impact is nonexistent. Books and their authors fly high for fifteen minutes and then disappear over the horizon. Heard anyone discuss The Bridges of Madison County or Life of Pi lately? An argument can be made that the Chinese water torture known as network television has moved the morality and mores gauge needles to the left; Will & Grace did much to normalize homosexuality in the public eye, and every time I hear a five year old loudly exclaim “oh my god” in reference to most every item in my toy store I, uh, ‘thank’ the writers of Friends. Pop music is both omnipresent and impactless, streamed today and sent packing tomorrow. When an album (Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band by The Beatles) first released fifty years ago sells more physical copies than any other album, all’s said needing to be said concerning current music’s place in current society.

Maybe follow Sgt. Pepper’s lead and find music from the past that still holds value today?

Time to shift gears a bit. As today’s greatest songwriter Terry Scott Taylor recently sang, there’s not a holy man who doesn’t know grief well, or thinks the road to heaven doesn’t pass through hell. This truth is embodied in how throughout Christianity’s history, many believers have found their greatest solace not in the New Testament but rather in a chapter written by the Old Testament mystic prophet Isaiah. Written hundreds of years before Christ’s passion and death on the cross, Isaiah’s description of the coming Messiah as a man of sorrows, well acquainted with grief, has resonated throughout the millennia with those suffering.

Twenty-two years and 22,000 light years removed from today’s Christian music scene, featuring endless recyclings of endless clichés about a good good father, with his band Adam Again the late pioneer of Christian alternative rock Gene Eugene released Perfecta which sadly turned out to be the band’s final album before Eugene’s death due to an aneurism in 2000. There’s a Kickstarter campaign currently underway to finally release it on vinyl as well as remastered CD. Not that there’s a need for cause aside from its dark brilliance to revisit this sadly unknown work, but it’s as good of a reason as any.

If the measure of an album’s potential impact on individuals, who in turn influence society, can be determined by said album’s rawness stripping away all emotional pretense and posturing, then Perfecta would be an instant game changer even today. Laying atop a foundation of simultaneously jangling and snarling distorted guitars, Eugene’s grainy razored vocals ripped through stories most Christian artists wouldn’t dare touch: failed relationships, substance abuse, and Leonard Cohen. For starters. When during the song “Relapse” he cried ‘believe me, I’m fine,’ you know the song’s character was anything but. In “All You Lucky People,” Eugene’s resigned alienation from the Christian music that at best held him at arms length and usually avoided him at all costs spilled out:

Won’t you give me your secret
And allow me a tale to sell
To the guests of the guilty at the gates of hell
I’m after it
I’m after it
And you’ll know
That I keep looking at all you lucky people coming around to say hello
Hello

It’s somewhat doubtful you’ll be hearing this during worship time next Sunday.

Perfecta isn’t a collection of ruminations about lost faith. Rather, it collects tales of what happens when faith gets stomach punched. A lot. Despite this, faith remains, beaten down but not defeated. There is life beyond life’s insidious heartbreaks. There will be blood. But there is also the bloody Cross.

It is Perfecta, and albums like it, by artists and bands such as Gene Eugene and Adam Again, that tell life changing truths. This is the primal scream at pop culture’s center, one often obscured by drek and dross yet still present. If the writers covering pop culture from the right side truly wish to make an impact, they will throttle back on the 378th dissertation this week about Wonder Woman and start actively seeking out that, and those, whose creation can effect change in lieu of rambling on about the latest layer of frosting atop an already oversugared cake.