The university has me teaching rock history again next semester. I’m in the process of getting my syllabus together.
We all know that this subject is generally “taught” from the angle that it’s yet another excellent opportunity to propagandize to the kiddies. Most of the overall-rock history books that are used as textbooks out there come at it from a “the-music-reflected-the-social-attitudes-of-the-times” slant. And we all know what that’s about: opening the door to the whole peace-activism-feminism-environmentalism-tossing-age-old-social-customs-out-the-window-was-a-good-thing way of seeing the last half of the twentieth century.
Now, my view is that any kind of history begins with an aquaintance with the names, dates and events that comprise the development of the human endeavor being examined. Only after you have a firm grasp on that can you start to draw inferences about how it “reflected social attitudes” or whatever.
Let’s take a concrete example that usually comes up for me when I teach this course. Invariable, either on the first night when I go around the room and ask, as an ice-breaker, what the students’ choice for all-time greatest rock recordings would be, or a few weeks later, when they’re submitting their paper topics, some bright-eyed young scholar-in-the-making will gush about how John Lennon was a man of peace and “Imagine” was such a great song. The way I’ve generally handled that is to just let the student reconsider that as he or she absorbs the material as the course unfolds. He or she (usually a she) generally has no idea that Lennon had such an explosive temper, had such infantile expectations of the women in his life, flitted so fitfully from one spiritual approach, therapy technique and political philosophy to another, and had such addictive tendencies. (I generally try to just leave “Imagine” alone. For me to point out that it’s a nihilistic and anarchistic - not to mention musically plodding - pie-in-the-sky exercise would be to engage in opinion-dispensing beyond what I feel my academic code of ethics would allow.)
You can imagine (excuse the pun) that I am tempted to just spew out all the above on that first night, but of course I don’t want to encourage attrition by stirring up talk along the lines of “Man, I don’t think this guy really likes rock and roll. What is the university doing having him teach this course?”
I do what I can to make this a serious course that can enhance a student’s understanding of Western civilization. For instance, when it comes time to discuss Vietnam, I go all the way back to the French missionaries arriving in the early 19th century, up through Napoleon III, and on into how Ho Chi Minh studied at the feet of Josef Stalin in Moscow in the 1930s, and how the North was directly aiding the National Liberation Front (Vietcong) by 1960, in violation of what was agreed upon at the post-Dienbienphu conference in 1954.
What I’m thinking about doing at the outset this time is inviting the students to consider that those elements in our society that have had concerns about rock’s impact may have been on to something. I think this is important because the general trend, in those books and in places like the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, is to make light of any anti-rock sentiments as square and fuddy-duddy and reactionary.
But, jeez, has there ever been a field, even within the arts-and-entertainment realm, so peopled with cartoonish, sociopathic, perpetually adolescent characters? It’s important for someone to say, “There are other ways to regard these people than veneration.”
Anyway, it’s a weird little way that I’ve been handed to take my stand in postmodern America.