Intersections of scripture and life

Month: August 2023

A conservative guy reviews left-of-center music: “I Ain’t Got No Home”

Song: “I Ain’t Got No Home”

Artist: Woody Guthrie

Album: Dust Bowl Ballads (1940)

Genre: Folk

Featured image is “Dust Bowl, Cimarron County, Oklahoma,” by Arthur Rothstein (April, 1936)


In the 1930’s, a combination of severe drought and bad farming practices led to the “Dust Bowl,” vast dust storms that devastated large swaths of the American Midwest, already reeling from the Great Depression. Among the thousands of “Okies” who traveled west in a desperate search for work was one Woodrow Wilson “Woody” Guthrie.

Guthrie, already a talented musician, eventually found a spot in Los Angeles’s music industry. He made a point to visit migrants living in camps (“Hoovervilles”) throughout California. At one such camp, the story goes, he encountered the folk hymn “Can’t Feel at Home,” which had been recorded by the Carter Family in 1931. “Can’t Feel at Home” traverses territory familiar to so much of American folk music: that this transitory life is a sojourning on the way to our true home in heaven. 

But Guthrie wasn’t having it. Using the same folk idiom and the same theme of homelessness, Guthrie nonetheless bypasses the solace of religion in his “I Ain’t Got No Home.” There may or may not be a world “beyond the blue,” as the Carters sang, but we know for sure that there is trouble in this one. In between harmonica riffs — the harmonica is always weirdly cheerful in a melancholic way — Guthrie’s narrator sings of a world of sharecropping, repossessions, privation.  

And this world has its villains. A “rich man,” likely a banker, took the narrator’s house when the latter couldn’t make payments. As he wanders from place to place seeking employment, the local police give him trouble. Guthrie’s narrator is a working man in a society stacked against working men: “The gambling man is rich /  and the working man is poor.” The American Dream, it turns out, is nothing more than a dream. There is no place for him, never mind how hard he tries. 

In recent weeks, some cultural commentators have drawn parallels between Guthrie and Oliver Anthony’s chart-topping “Rich Men North of Richmond.” Like Guthrie, Anthony has lost faith in the idea that working men can get ahead in this country. His titular ‘rich men,’ however, are those of a particular sort: namely, the inhabitants of Washington, D.C., who tax his dollars (which already “ain’t s–t” due to inflation) and distribute them to obese good-for-nothings presumably in exchange for votes. It’s worth noting here that Anthony’s scorn appears to be bipartisan — he has, for instance, expressed disdain for Republican politicians who have sought to co-opt his breakout hit. 

For Guthrie, though, the problem is even more fundamental. It’s a “great and a funny” world, not in any positive sense, that systematically disadvantages working people in a way that no tax reform would fix. In Guthrie’s world, the owners (of mines, land, capital) win, and the rest lose. Between them a great gulf has been fixed, one that cannot be crossed without (at a minimum) strong labor unions. 

As Marx noted, capitalism’s problem is not a lack of productivity. It’s ridiculously productive. It lifted South Korea, for example, from a medieval farming culture into a highly developed economy in six decades. Capitalism’s problem is that it necessarily creates winners and losers. And by no means are the “losers” stupid or lazy people. Ron Swanson’s famous dictum that “capitalism is God’s way of deciding who is smart and who is poor” is funny, but it’s simplistic and dangerous politics when taken literally. The fact is that market liberalization enriches a society as a whole while leaving behind individuals, sometimes in large numbers. 

Conservatives are suspicious of mass overhauls of the American economic system — and rightly so, given that forced redistributions tend to be disastrous. What they must do, however, is imagine what it’s like to be the “losers.” It might not even be that hard to imagine — very little of what I do for a living, for example, could not be automated with currently existing technologies. Artists like Guthrie can help here, telling the story of earnest and hardworking people whose skills and abilities are, for whatever reason, not in sufficient demand. Markets work, but they do not work for all people at all times. That’s just a fact. To be conservative, as Michael Oakeshott pointed out, is not blind devotion to an ideology; it’s trying to hold on to what is good about a society (with a certain degree of awe that it has come to exist at all) while incrementally and carefully improving what is bad.

A conservative guy reviews left-of-center music: “Whitey on the Moon”

Song: Whitey on the Moon

Artist: Gil Scott-Heron

Album: Small Talk (1970) 

Genre: Spoken Word 

Content Warning: Profanity. 


It was an inspired if anachronistic move to include a segment from Gil Scott-Heron’s “Whitey on the Moon” in the excellent, if overly melancholic First Man (2018). Scott-Heron was not the only, or even the first, person to criticize the United States’s massive expenditures on the Apollo program in the face of its equally massive social problems [1], but he does so with exceptional verve and style. 

“I can’t pay no doctor bill (but Whitey’s on the moon).” Scott-Heron delivers this line beautifully — it isn’t rage in his voice, nor even exactly righteous indignation. It’s not even the same thing as people getting mad at Jeff Bezos for going to space while his warehouse workers fall asleep on their feet from exhaustion. It’s an ancient exasperation, tinged with a finely-tuned sense of irony, of being asked to celebrate the triumphs of a culture that would not find a place for him, that had, for centuries, made “great leaps” at the expense of his people. 

Now, Apollo was a triumph, a staggering feat of ingenuity and courage. It was, and is, a source of national pride and even identity. To have it written off as rich white people playing games is unpleasant — but it’s a good, Old Testament kind of unpleasantness. The kind that can get a person to sit up and pay attention. The kind that teaches us that national pride does not exclude national repentance, and that national repentance does not obliterate national pride. 


A couple of years ago I took my oldest daughter to a local coffee shop, which had some books for children. I picked one out and started reading it to her. The book was called Ron’s Big Mission, about a nine-year-old Black boy in 1950’s South Carolina who loved to read science books at his local library. He was prohibited from checking these books out — until one day he decided that he would not leave the premises without them. The police (for the love of mercy) were eventually called. Finally, the absurdity of the situation impressed itself on the adults, and Ron finally got his own library card. 

The epilogue stated that Ron was Ronald E. McNair, who earned his PhD in physics and eventually became America’s second Black astronaut. On January 28, 1986, he and six others slipped the surly bonds of earth and touched the face of God. At this point I was choking back sobs and my daughter had moved on to Elmo, which was totally fair. 

America, the horror and the glory. 


[1] See also, “Reader’s Digest,” by Larry Norman.

A Conservative Guy Reviews Left-of-Center Music: “Working Class Hero”


Song: “Working Class Hero”

Artist: John Lennon

Album: John Lennon / Plastic Ono Band (1970)

Genre: Folk

Content Warning: The original recording (as opposed to the radio edit) contains profanity.


Synopsis:

The B-side to the ubiquitous “Imagine,” “Working Class Hero” sheds the cloying sentimentality of the former and gets down to serious political business. It’s just Lennon and his guitar, strumming three chords and railing against a nameless “they” (presumably the cultural and political elite) who exert an ever-present downward pressure on working people. “They” inflict physical violence and humiliation at school; “they” ensure that you choose an inoffensive career; and “they” feed you a steady diet of religion, sex and TV to render you easily-managed.

While the Brits have always been more class-conscious than us Americans, Lennon’s offering continues to touch a nerve 50 years later and from across the Atlantic – not least because recent political developments [1] have ushered socioeconomic class (in particular, the white working class) back into the national conversation.

What’s cool about it:

I dunno. I’m a sucker for a guy alone with his acoustic guitar. And it’s got a nice hammer-on pick too.

For my money, Lennon is more compelling when he paints dystopias rather than utopias. Was everything about his upbringing orchestrated by dark powers to keep him down? Probably not – but he obviously feels like it was, and he succeeds in having “you” feel the weight of a societal deck stacked against you. Bad schools, difficult home life, constrained job opportunities – and there is “no time” to develop the internal resources necessary to overcome all this stuff. In a particularly effective line, Lennon scoffs at the notion of the “room at the top” that “they” promise the masses beneath. He is less wrong than I would like him to be. While reports of the death of upward mobility are frequently exaggerated, it’s equally true that it has become harder for children to earn more than their parents [2].

But Lennon does not reserve his scorn solely for “them.” He does not feel sorry for “you” either, as you delude yourself into thinking you’ve beaten the system merely by spouting bits of leftist ideology. For all your cleverness and sloganeering, he growls, you remain “peasants as far as I can see.” Nothing less than heroism, of an admittedly unspecified sort, is what the hour calls for. Perhaps in the post-revolutionary world-to-come there will be “nothing to kill or die for,” but in this present evil age we must be heroes.

Conservative reactionary stuff:

The Left is generally suspicious of Great Man theories of history, in which remarkable individuals (rather than mass social movements) shape the course of human events. It’s thus just a bit ironic that Lennon feels compelled to use the language of “heroes,” by definition individuals who accomplish great and admirable things. The forward march of human progress, he senses, has somehow gotten stuck, requiring remarkable exploits by a chosen few to get things moving again. Perhaps he himself could lead the charge: “If you want to be a hero, well, just follow me.”

And why not? If “they” broke it, then “you” can fix it. It just requires detoxing from the cocktail of religion, sex and TV that “they” have forced upon you. Of course, the particular “dope” Lennon decried in 1970 seems a little quaint now, particularly with regard to religion; we now know, pace Marx, that opiates are the real opium of the masses.

More importantly, Lennon implicitly assumes that if “you” win, then you necessarily dismantle the system, usher in a classless society and bring about the world that “Imagine,” uh, imagines. But, for me, it’s hard to imagine a world in which “you” can avoid becoming “them.” There’s a Cold War-era Russian joke in which the Soviet premier Leonid Brezhnev is showing off his collection of fancy foreign cars to his mother. “That’s great, son,” replies his mom, “but what will you do if the Communists come back?”


[1] Trump, obviously, but also things like the college admission scandals.

[2] The fading American dream: Trends in absolute income mobility since 1940 | Science Magazine

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