Schlock Rock

It is one of my least favorite songs ever, if not my absolute least favorite. Hearing it used to be enough to send me reaching for the radio dial, back when I used to listen to the radio. The last time I heard it was post 9/11, abourt the S.S. Missouri (where the WWII surrender documents were, I believe, signed), and while there was no escape from it then (or anywhere else after 9/11) it did send me as far from the bandstand as I could get. I’m speaking of that platitudinous pean to patriotism, Lee Greenwood’s “God Bless the U.S.A.” It ranks, with me, as one of the most bombastic tunes ever written, and has always struck me as vaguely pointless. In the days after 9/11, when it was nearly obligatory to wear one’s patriotism on one’s sleeve, it seemed the song came roaring back from wherever it lives each year between annual 4th of July celebrations.

This 4th of July, I’ve managed to go without hearing it. But I’ve never been able to put my finger on exactly what I object to about the song. Now I don’t have to. Michael Bérubé does it for me with a dead-on analysis of the song’s banality.

And needless to say, I think the song is odious almost beyond measure. That’s not because I’m a paid-up member of the latté-drinking liberal cultural élite who sneers at my fellow citizens’ simple, heartfelt expressions of patriotism; it’s because the song’s version of patriotism is completely contentless. Two verses and three choruses, and Mr. Greenwood couldn’t find a single reason to love the U.S.A.? Yeah, yeah, I know, pride, pride, freedom, freedom: “I’m proud to be an American, where at least I know I’m free.” But free to do what? To fire employees without cause, thanks to the at-will employment doctrine? To abolish the estate tax? To hold up a sign saying that Matthew Shepherd got what he deserved? Or to protest foolish wars, march for civil rights, and support the right of kids with Down syndrome to be educated in regular classrooms where they can go to visit Fort Robideau with their nondisabled peers? “God Bless the U.S.A.” doesn’t say, and that’s what makes it such a perfect emblem of a certain kind of right-wing contentless patriotism, the kind of patriotism that supports the troops by flying flags from cars while supporting a President who leads the troops off to needless slaughter and then cuts their veterans’ benefits. Had Greenwood said anything about that freedom– “I’m proud to be an American, where at least I know I’m free of all taxes on my estate of $36 million,” or “I’m proud to be an American, where at least I know I’m free to fight for the right to register Mississippi’s black voters in the face of murderous right-wing opposition”– one imagines that his song would be a good deal less popular.

OK, well, that’s what I thought before I heard the song’s instrumental intro. And all I could think, after hearing the intro for the first time, was Oh. My. God. Tinkling electric piano . . . the kind of thing one associates with Lite Rock Radio– more specifically, with abominations like Chicago’s “Hard to Say I’m Sorry.” What in Abraham Lincoln’s name is going on with that electric piano? Is it supposed to make us reflective and sentimental? Is it supposed to suggest sincerity and devotion? Doesn’t anyone realize what happens to Real Men when they listen to stuff like that? It’s not even dreck– it’s something much worse. It’s Wuss Rock.

“Contentless patriotism.” It’s the absolute perfect phrase to sum up why that song causes bile to rise in back of my throat. Actually, it describes what I feel like I saw in the days after 9/11. I remember a picture of one guy, photographed from the back, standing on a highway divider, dressed in a shirt printed with an American flag design, and waving a huge American flag to passing cars. I remember looking at that and thinking “why?” What exactly is he trying to say or do with this gesture? It pariotism really as simple as waving a flag and an inexplicable feeling in one’s gut, that could actually just be something you ate?

Greenwood’s bit of bombast contains the line “Where the flag still stands for freedom, and they can’t’ take that away.” Hearing it I can’t help but think “Haven’t they tried? And haven’t we willingly let them?” I can’t help but think of the post 9/11 days when the Congress granted sweeping war powers to the president, virtually without debate. In fact one representative who dare to simply suggest that the subject was worth more debate and deliberation was rewarded with death threats and the need to hire body guards. Suddenly, debate and deliberation—two of the things our Congress is supposed to do— were “unpatriotic.” Congress then turned around and passed the “Patriot Act,” again virtually without debate, and without so much as bothering to read it. Again, one couldn’t suggest that perhaps the bill should be read, discussed, and debated without risking the label “unpatriotic.” After all, it was patriotic to “do something” but “unpatriotic” to question whether it was the right thing to do. Even now, the president and his party actually seek to amend the constitution to deny equal rights to an entire group of Americans.

I guess what I’m tryind to say is this. There are and will be a lot of people going on today about how “America is the greatest nation on Earth.” Maybe it is, and maybe it isn’t. It’s certainly the wealthiest, and the most powerful. But, despite what some might think and what the culture communicates, wealth and power do not necessarily imply virtue. Yes, there are a lot of advantages to living in the wealthiest, most powerful nation in the world, even if you aren’t one of its wealthiest and most powerful citizens. Again, wealth and power do not imply virtue in those who happen to possess them. In fact, wealth and power can be, and often are, gained by doing far-from-virtuous things. In short a “great nation” may not always do great things on its way to greatness. But one has to stop and think about that, and think about what Americas policies and actions have meant for countless people around the world, who never benefited from that “greatness,” and were in fact sacrificed (though not willingly) for it.

From my point of view, patriotism stems (or should stem) from realizing America’s potential for greatness, and working to help it reach that potential, while also acknowledging the ways in which it has failed to do so, and fails to do so every day.

What bugs me about Greenwood’s song is that it seems to encourage people to forget all that and just wave the flag.

OK, well, that’s what I thought before I heard the song’s instrumental intro. And all I could think, after hearing the intro for the first time, was Oh. My. God. Tinkling electric piano . . . the kind of thing one associates with Lite Rock Radio– more specifically, with abominations like Chicago’s “Hard to Say I’m Sorry.” What in Abraham Lincoln’s name is going on with that electric piano? Is it supposed to make us reflective and sentimental? Is it supposed to suggest sincerity and devotion?

…I want to suggest, instead, that the song actually saps its listeners’ vital essences with that electric piano, and then tries to cover for it by making the closing choruses increasingly bombastic.

Ultimately, it appeals to emotion and discourages the use of intellect. “Don’t think,” it says, “about all that other stuff. Just wave the flag and be proud. You’ll feel better.” And you will. You’ll feel better. But you won’t be better. Neither will America. Neither will the world.

So, after the fireworks have fizzled, and the strains of Mr. Greenwoods bit o’ tunage have finally begun to fade, celebrate the 5th of July as the beginning of all those other days of the year when we don’t shoot of fireworks, but we’re still Americans. Celebrate it by thinking about both the past and the present; about the wrongs of the past and the potential of the present. And then step forward and do what you think you can to help America be as great as its potential implies, and give yourself and the rest of us something to really celebrate next year.

And without any help from Mr. Greenwood.