Tomser's Blog

The 2021 World Happiness Report is out. I am sure you, like me, have been waiting with bated breath to find out whether we are ecstatically happy, marginally happy, in a bit of a funk, or in full Oscar the Grouch mode (actual happiness categories, in case you were wondering). It turns out we are somewhere between ecstatically happy and marginally happy (pretty darn happy?). More importantly, we are just as happy as we were last year, supposedly a testament to our resiliency.  

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Researchers produce this annual bacchanal, by taking a poll in 95 countries, asking people to rate their current life satisfaction on scale of 1 to 10, with the highest rating being “the best possible life for you”. In this latest poll 58% of Americans rated their current life satisfaction at 7 or above, and approximately 67% said that they expected their life satisfaction to be an 8 or above within the next five years. That ranks us 18^th in the world, between Germany and the Czech Republic. (U.S.A., U.S.A.).    

I am not sure what to make of this. As we all know from the 2016 and 2020 elections, we can’t trust polls. Unless those polls support my point of view, and then they accurately reflect that most people agree with me. It would be easy to just dismiss this poll as another goofy survey.  (Did you know that 43% of Republicans said Olive Garden is a “quality source of authentic ethnic food”, and 41% of Democrats agree, showing how highly we all rate on the delusion scale?). However, if we take this poll at face value, what does it tell us? 

We spent the last four years being told by pundits that the United States is a nation of angry, frustrated, scared people, who think that this country is going to hell in a handbasket (I love that phrase). Is that wrong? A media invention? Are the majority of Americans Pollyannas, who think that the grass is growing just fine, and that it will get even greener soon (they obviously have not seen my lawn!!). Are we just heedless optimists ignoring the death and devastation around us (to be overly dramatic)? And how could this view of life possibly survive the pandemic? 

Actually, I think both, admittedly exaggerated opinions, can be held at the same time. The truth of the matter is that the vast majority of Americans are doing pretty well. We have become jaded to the extent of our wealth in this country, but when we sit back and reflect, it’s downright amazing. We abound in food, fresh water and secure shelter. The vast majority of us are gainfully employed. We have gotten to the point where expensive technical marvels, like cars, cell phones and computers, are not only commonplace, they are necessities. And we have the free time to indulge in things like writing silly blogs.   

With that abundance, maybe it’s not so surprising that people in this country, reflecting on their individual status, are bullish on the days ahead. Most people do not have have realistic fears that scarcity is right around the corner. They live their lives getting pretty much what they want, when they want, and more. Why shouldn’t they say “Yes, I am happy”? 

At the same time, when we look out of our bubble, life doesn’t appear so rosy. We know that there are too many people who live paycheck to paycheck, such that any unexpected expense could be a disaster. We know that our healthcare system could bankrupt anyone caught in a long-term illness. We know that violence potentially lurks around every corner (or in the next aisle). We know that for many systemic discrimination limits options. We know that major, seemingly insoluble, potential catastrophes await us, such as climate change.  

Plus, we live in a society that promotes fear. Our politicians tell us that our way of life is in jeopardy as a means to get elected, using fear of the criminal, the immigrant or the “socialist” (they’re all the same, aren’t they?). Our news sources distort any event with little regard for facts to enhance ratings. Our religious leaders tell us again and again how decadent and depraved we are as a society, and how our rejection of traditional values is leading us toward hedonistic chaos. How can anyone be happy with all of that baggage?  

Maybe what this poll really tells us is how open to suggestion we can be. Faced with the question of whether we are happy, we think of all the good things in our life, add them up, and say “Yes, I’m pretty happy”. However, if we ran an Unhappiness Report and asked people to rate their current dissatisfaction on a scale of 1 to 10, we would probably get the exact same numbers, in reverse. People would think of everything that’s wrong and say, “I’m pretty dissatisfied, and expect to be even more dissatisfied over the next five years”. 

I also don’t think that this poll tells us much about our resiliency. The last year has been difficult for many people, but most have considered it a temporary blip.  For the larger part of society there was a sense that we would be back to our old ways before we knew it, for better or worse. There has been no real fear of a permanent loss of the things that we depend on. Can we be said to have rebounded when we never really fell?  

In the end, this poll tells us little about our country. It doesn’t measure what it says it measures, and doesn’t impact how we live our lives. It may tell us something about the way that humans tend to compartmentalize, or confirm that some academics have way too much time on their hands, though I don’t think that was the goal. Ultimately, you can take this poll at face value and be amazed for five seconds at the human spirit, or dismiss it outright as smoke blowing in the wind. Your choice. As for me, I’m going to Olive Garden and have the authentic I-talian Lasagna Classico, just like my mother’s Austrian ancestors used to make. Oh, Happy Days!!!   

My Temple lifelong learning class (a nice euphemism for classes for us old people) recently discussed the new child tax credit just passed by Congress. It was generally a good conversation, until one of the participants asked whether we could be sure that the people who got this credit would actually spend the money on their children. This group is pretty much what you would expect from a Philly crowd – very liberal and very socially conscious – and yet this concern was being raised. And it was clear looking at the Zoom reactions that the gentleman who made this comment was not alone in his concern. 

There are so many things wrong with this comment – perpetuation of stereotypes of the poor, blaming those with less for their financial condition, a condescending “I know better” attitude – that it’s tempting to go on a general rant in response, but that would be meaningless and dull. However, there is one aspect of this credit that I think people ignore more than any other. That is the general economic benefit we get by putting more money in the pockets of people who don’t have much. 

Ronald Reagan made popular the concept of the trickle-down economics. The argument was that if you gave the wealthy more money to spend, they would put that money back into the economy and everyone would benefit. The Reagan administration predicted that their massive tax cuts would not result in a deficit because the additional money the wealthy now had in hand would spark an economic boom more than making up for the lost tax revenue. That didn’t happen, and by the end of the 1980’s we had huge deficit and a stagnant economy. 

There was a similar rationale to the Trump administration tax cuts over the last few years, though the focus was more on what corporations would do with extra cash if we cut their rates. The hope was that they would reinvest more in research and development, and increase hiring. This too never came about, as corporations generally increased dividends and executive pay, but did not expand as hoped.   

The problem is that those already well off, whether individuals or corporations, have what they need, and more. Anything extra does not really change their spending habits. Maybe someone buys a 2021 Lexus to replace the 2019 Beemer. Maybe they buy a luxury item, like a yacht. (I understand that the market for collectibles, like baseball cards, is through the roof. Woo Hoo!!!) More likely they invest this money in the stock market where it goes to corporations, which then increase dividends and executive pay. This creates a very nice circle maintaining and expanding the wealth of the wealthy, while doing little to impact the economy generally. 

Those on the other end of the economic spectrum don’t have the luxury to sit on any money they receive. The cost of living, especially for those with children, dictates that what they get, they spend. And they spend it on basics. Food, rent, computers, clothes. A luxury buy is trading in the 2011 Camry for a 2019 Rav4. Or taking care of the house repairs that have been put off.  

The extra money these people spend also goes back to corporations. However, it isn’t just extra cash. Companies now have to respond to a higher demand for their products. They respond to those demands through increased production. Increased production means more jobs. It also leads to more research, development and advertising because the corporations have to stay ahead of their competition.  

Look, I am not an economist, and know that I am dealing in generalities. I have no data to back up this argument, though I am sure I could find it, as well as data to back up the opposite view as well. However, this strikes me as common sense. I know, I know, that’s an old-fashioned concept, and hardly a basis for making decisions. But every now and then I fool myself that I can think rationally and fall back on what seems likely. Silly me. 

I also know that I am butting my head against basic psychology. We feel more of a loss if we give something up than if we fail to get something we were expecting. Failing to get $10.00 that you hoped to get does not seem the same as opening your wallet to give someone $10.00, and yet the economic impact is the same. Similarly, giving up tax revenue does not strike us the same way as money doled out by the government, and yet ultimately, we may get more back from what we shell out.     

Even if I am right, I am not saying that economics is the be all and end all of deciding what our policies should be. There are other considerations. Such as moral concerns (talk about an old-fashioned concept) and budgetary issues. All I am saying is that we should be judging tax cuts that put more money into the pockets of the wealthy by the same criteria that we judge subsidies that put more money into the pockets of those on the lower end of the economic spectrum. They are two sides of the same coin, though the impact may differ. 

As my father would say after one of my mother’s sermons, “And thus ends the reading of the word”.     

Maybe I should let the start of baseball season go by. Too many people wax poetic about baseball as if it is more of a Zen experience than a sport. Great writers that have tackled baseball abound, such as David Halberstam, J.P. Kinsella and Doris Kearns Goodwin, and explained the lure of the game much better than I ever could. Many more mediocre authors have gone on and on about the glories of the game, it’s timelessness, it’s grandeur. Blah, blah, blah. 

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And yet, the start of baseball season hits me like no other sport. Maybe because it’s in the spring when I am looking forward to the warmer weather and longer days. Maybe it’s because it’s going to be a daily companion for the next six months (and hopefully longer). Maybe because it takes me back to languid days sitting in the South Carolina sun watching Gamecock baseball, or the thrill of emerging into Connie Mack Stadium as a kid. I really don’t know. 

Baseball will never be what it was for me when I was young. I am unlikely to sit through all of a 9-inning game on TV. Too many players strike out swinging for the fences. There are too few singles hitters like Pete Rose and Ichiro for my likes. I will undoubtedly go on a regular rant about a “genius” manager pulling a pitcher because their pitch count is too high (isn’t it amazing that the magic number is 100? How convenient). I will repeat the old man’s lament “The game isn’t what it used to be”.

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And yet, all I know is that despite all of that I am really looking forward to the first pitch this afternoon. All I know is that even though logic tells me that the Phillies will be lucky to finish third in their division I am full of hope. All I know is that I will be religiously checking the box scores on a daily basis to see how my favorite players are doing (another 2 for 3, and 2 RBIs for Mike Trout). All I know is that the world feels a little different during baseball season.  Play Ball!!!

I recently read that Phil Collins, the rock star, donated his collection of Texas revolution artifacts to The Alamo. Collins is thought to have the largest private collection of such artifacts in the world. Not H.L. Hunt. Not Jerry Jones (too busy spending his money on mediocre linebackers). Not Ross Perot. His collection includes items thought to have been owned by Jim Bowie and Davy Crockett, as well as a receipt signed by Alamo commander William Barret Travis for “30 heads of beeves” (whatever they are) to feed his men. Collins’ obsession started while watching the Davy Crockett TV show as a kid. When he became rich enough to indulge this obsession, he began to amass his collection.  

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Around the same time, I was reading a memoir by the Irish actor Gabriel Byrne, “Walking with Ghosts”. He reminisces about growing in Dublin, where one of his indulgences was going to the cinema to watch American westerns. He has a vivid memory of going to a local theater where Roy Rogers appeared live on stage, with Trigger! He even remembers Rogers lassoing a kid in the front row. 

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Then last night I watched an interview with Akira Kurosawa. He talked about how much he admired Hollywood westerns, and especially the films of John Ford. That was no surprise since the influences back and forth between Westerns and Samurai films are as obvious as the screwdriver Tommy Pickles has “hidden”. (Sorry, I’ve been watching Rugrats reruns lately).  

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All of this synchronicity made me reflect on the incredible influence that the Western has had on world culture. Up until the 1970’s Westerns were considered to be the quintessential American statement of identity. A host of movies, TV shows and books depicted the American west as an unbounded frontier, where men (and I do mean men – a topic for another post) could define themselves. You either wore the white hat, and stood alone, if necessary, in support of what you believed in and those you loved (Gary Cooper, High Noon; John Wayne, Stagecoach), or you wore the black hat, and were just out for yourself, with no regard for those who stood in your way (Walter Brennan, My Darling Clementine; John Dierkes, Shane).  

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I think it was that sense of freedom from constraint, for either good or bad, that so mesmerized people worldwide for decades. Here was a place that not only was so different from the well-defined boundaries of Europe or Japan, but actually existed. A young Phil Collins could dream about going to Texas. And even though he knew that what he would find wouldn’t match the films he saw, or the books he read, there was still a sense that this wasn’t the ancient past. Traces of that Western ethos were there to be found.   

In this country we were happy to embrace that myth. Yes, we told the world, we are those rugged, independent good guys who stand tall and are always looking off to the horizon for the next challenge. Yes, there are still untamed lands for us to conquer. Yes, we will use our freedom for truth and justice, because that’s the American way.  

By the end of the 1960’s that mythos had pretty much faded, and it was reflected in the movies of that era. Those Westerns were much grittier (Once Upon a Time in the West), celebrated the “bad guys” (Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid) or bemoaned the death of the old west (The Wild Bunch). Many of those Westerns were shot outside the United States, with the best being the Sergio Leone films like The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. Ironically (or not) one of best of those films, A Fistful of Dollars, was based on the Kurosawa Samurai film, Yojimbo. 

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By the early 1970’s the gangster film, starting with The Godfather in 1972, seems to have displaced the western as the archetypical American genre (at least until Star Wars came along). However, those gangster films never defined America the way that Westerns did. It is unlikely that little kids in London, Dublin or Tokyo were thinking “I would like to grow up, move to America, and join La Costa Nostra”.  

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While we still are the largest exporter of entertainment in the world, I don’t see any aspect of that entertainment as so prominent that people across the globe look at it as emblematic of this country. We are as diverse as the hip hop music, superhero movies, cop shows and internet videos that we send across the globe. In fact, that diversity may be what defines us now.   

While the world no longer equates America with the mythical values of the old west, I’m not so sure that we have left those myths behind. Too many of us still see this country as wide-open, ours to conquer, tame and use as we see fit (e.g., the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge siege). Too many of us still see the United States as the last bastion of freedom, which gives us carte blanche to run roughshod over those who get in our way (e.g., Iraq). Too many of use still see the world in simplistic terms of good and evil, with America always wearing the write hat (e.g., Bush’s Axis of Evil speech). 

The myth of the Old West was a beautiful and stirring myth. I can’t watch True Grit or Red River without being attracted to the rugged individualism and the sense of freedom. I know why a London or Dublin boy would want to claim a part of that myth for themselves. Hopefully, people still want to sit down for a Jimmy Stewart Western marathon now and then, and enjoy those movies for the wonderful legends they spin. Just so long as we don’t confuse those fantasies with reality then, or now.     

I was all set to post my next blog entry, but after a restless night I can’t just ignore the shooting in Boulder. I know that I should be similarly disturbed by every shooting, whether it’s Asian sex workers in Atlanta, or the daily carnage on the streets of Philadelphia, but this one hit home. Maybe because I have good friends in Boulder. Maybe because it happened to people shopping in a grocery store, which is a regular part of my life. It doesn’t really matter why. This shook me. 

I could go into a screed about guns or the NRA.  I could compare our rate of mass shootings with other countries that have sensible gun control laws. I could decry our politicians who offer prayers and nothing else. But I won’t, because at this moment all of that seems futile. 

The truth of the matter is that we are who we are in this country. We have a gun culture that we have indulged to the max, and there is no turning back from that. We have to face up to the fact that shootings like this are going to be part of our lives here in the US of A for a long time to come. 

I am not saying that we shouldn’t enact gun control measures like banning private ownership of assault weapons, strengthening background checks, and eliminating check loopholes. I am saying that the proliferation of guns of increasing lethal power has already advanced to where these measures will only be a drop in the bucket. And let’s be honest, even these modest reforms are unlikely to come about in today’s political climate.  

I am by nature an optimist. I like to think the best of people, and I like to think that we can work through many of the problems we face in this world. But on this topic, I am hard pressed to see a way forward that does not include a lot more of these atrocities. That, more than anything, is what has me staring at the ceiling at 2:30 in the morning. 

I like that Seuss 

That Seuss I Like

 

I like that Seuss upon my bike 

I like that Seuss while on a hike 

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I like that Seuss up in a tree  

I like that Seuss with a skinned knee 

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I like it when they Hop on Pop 

I like Ten Apples up on Top 

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I like the Sneetches and their star 

I like that Sam and his cool car 

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I want the Fox with the Four Socks 

I want the Things and their box

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I want that Ish with his three fish 

I want the B Bird and his wish

 

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I want the Lorax and his trees 

I want that Horton and his sneeze

 

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I want the Grinch and his Christmas meaning 

I want that Cat and the fun he is gleaning

 

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The Doctor his output was extensive 

And some of his images are just offensive

 

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In World War II propaganda he did write 

And demonized the enemy with all his might

 

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Those images flowed into many a book 

Now it’s time to give them the hook

 

No government ban was this decision 

Though it was met with great derision

 

The family agreed it was for the best 

And we should care less about the rest

 

But creeps like Tucker will spread their lies 

If the Doctor was here, we’d hear his cries

 

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So hooray for Yertle and Foo-Foo the Snoo 

Hooray for Bartholomew and David Donald Doo

 

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These great characters long may they last 

The ones no more published are better off past 

• *With Profound Apologies to the Doctor
• **Parental Discretion Advised

On March 10, 2020, I sat down with my supervisor at Chubb, Josh Schwartz, to discuss Chubb’s plan for dealing with the COVID pandemic. Chubb had decided to divide employees into “A”, “B” and “C” buckets, with each tranche coming into the office on alternating days. However, since I was over 60 years old, I was to work from home. I remember thinking how bizarre this was, and that we could be out until at least (gasp) June!!!!  

You would think that with all of the SciFi that I read I would have had a better idea as to what was coming. However, at that time there were only pockets of cases. As of March 10, according to Johns Hopkins, there were 760 confirmed coronavirus cases in the United States and 23 attributed deaths. In a country of 328 million that was a drop in the bucket. Plus, we had seen global pandemics before (SARS, Ebola, swine flu) that had not impacted life here in the good old U.S. of A. My mind simply could not comprehend that this would continue through the year and into the next. 

Many things have changed over the last year, not the least of which is the loss of the naivete with which I entered into this mess. Intellectually I knew that something like this could happen, and yet in my gut I didn’t believe that it would. There was no reason for that misplaced optimism. Our vulnerability was as clear as the ice floating in my bourbon, but I was too wrapped up with the daily taste of life to notice it (I am taking an on-line course that suggests I should use more similes – not sure I’m sold). 

That being said, can I really complain about this past year? Some people close to me have lost loved ones, and that is incredibly sad, but my immediate family has been relatively healthy. Quarantining has not been an issue. I live in a big house with every comfort I could want. My kids have been able to move forward with their lives, though maybe not quite as they expected. Julie has had more than her share of challenges with the choir, but in some weird way that makes their accomplishments (the National Anthem at the DNC, the Christmas Day opening on the Today show, backing vocals for the Demi Lovato video at the Biden inauguration, among others) that much more special.  

In fact, I have started to believe that I have gotten a bit too comfortable. One of the first things I learned when I started working from home last March, is how much I need a routine, so I quickly established times that I would get up, sign on to my computer, and shut it off for the day. Even after I stopped working, I settled into a routine, though not as strict, and I haven’t really deviated from it in the last six months.  

There are definitely things that I miss – getting together with friends, going into the City for a play or dinner at a nice restaurant, going to a movie, or a Sixers game – but I can’t say that I feel that my life has been particularly diminished. To some extent I am more in touch with people than when I was commuting into the office (love the weekly Law School Zoom). I really don’t mind watching movies or sporting events on TV. And while I have not had what I could call a great meal in months, I am eating better on a daily basis than I have in a long time.  

Maybe it’s because we have had some nicer weather recently, but it has struck me what a trap this is. It is too easy to settle into a lifestyle that has few challenges, few surprises and few events that will take me out of my comfort zone. I could float along like this for quite some time, pandemic or no pandemic. I could become Nicholas Cage, being offered another mediocre movie, and saying sure, why not (another simile – my on-line teacher would be so proud).  

I am very aware that this is a first world problem, and a privileged first world problem at that. Most people are not as lucky as I am. It is hard for me to fathom how people with multiple school age (or younger) children are getting through this, let alone people who live in cramped quarters, or in bad domestic situations. It’s why I try not and judge too harshly those people who feel the need to go out in the world, even if it’s not the best pandemic choice (unless they aren’t wearing a mask).  

Still, it is my problem. I need this pandemic to end, not only physically, but mentally. I need to move on from this nest and back into a wider world. I need to reject any idea of this being a “new normal” (how I hate that phrase), and see this as just a temporary shift onto a bizarre, sidetrack before emerging back on the main path of life. 

I do think that some of these changes will be permanent (to the extent anything is permanent). Masks will be a lot more common, especially on public transportation. Some people will go back into their offices, but many will not, and who knows how that will change cities. Sporting events will fill up again quickly (except maybe for the Phillies, though that has little to do with COVID), but I am not so sure about movie theaters. We will go back to restaurants, because who can resist a good meal, but we won’t be as sanguine about sitting cheek to jowl with someone chomping away on ribs. In fact, I think we will be leerier of crowds generally, viewing the shoulder-to-shoulder experience as being something a bit more sinister than inconvenient. 

Hopefully there will be some positive changes coming out of this as well. Maybe we will continue to use technology to truly stay in touch with people, and not just for annual birthday greetings and snarky comments. Maybe we will finally face up to the fact that wide access to quality health care is good for everyone. Maybe we will plan ahead so we are better prepared next time (because there will be a next time). Maybe that planning will make sure that the more vulnerable among us don’t get hit so hard. Maybe…Maybe…      

In the meantime, it’s time to step out in the cool spring air and think again about the broader world that’s out there. It’s time to think about the plethora of possibilities once the vaccine has been distributed, and we can mingle. It’s time to put the false comforts of the quarantine behind us, and look forward to a more fulfilling future. Happy Anniversary…and Good Riddance!!!     

A Mr. Jonathan Broder of Fort Lee, New Jersey, writes “Dear Tomser. What is all this about country songs coming from Southern fundamentalist churches? Don’t these songs have a lot more in common with the blues and the Black experience in the South? Don’t these come out of how difficult it was in the South when many of these songs were written for anyone who was not a rich, landowning white person?” 

Well Mr. Broder, you bring up a good point. There is a lot in common between the blues and country music, especially in the strong emotions both bring to the table. And, certainly, country music emerges as well from the hardscrabble life that many of the country stars experienced, which was similar in many ways to the difficult lives of so many of the blues singers. 

I have more trouble with seeing the connection with the Black rock pioneers. Of course, so much of rock comes out of the Black gospel tradition, so there should be a correlation. It is ironic that Gladwell singled out Little Richard, whose father worked as a Seventh Day Adventist preacher, as emblematic of rock. He was incredibly influenced by the music being sung in the Black church, and that style of worship as well.  

But the Black rock pioneers seem to have taken their experiences to a different place than the country singers. I am no musicologist, and my knowledge of country music is only about an inch deep (as opposed to my knowledge of rock, which goes down at least two inches), but I can’t imagine traditional country singers producing the upbeat, pounding, exhilarating sounds of Little Richard, Chuck Berry, Fats Domino, or the other great Black innovators. Then again, I can’t imagine any of those singers reproducing the plaintive, wistful melodies of Hank Williams or Merle Haggard. 

I am reminded of that scene in the Buddy Holly biopic where he goes to Nashville to record “That’ll be the Day”, and the record producers try to fit it into the mold of most country songs of the time. He rebels and does it his own way. It is picked up and he goes to New York, where everyone who heard the song assumed that he was a Black artist. I’m not sure that means anything, but it highlights the differences I see.  

That being said, a Mr. Gregg Swentor, also from Fort Lee, New Jersey, writes, “Dear Tomser. What’s this about country music being American and rock being international? What kinda artist is Mark Knopfler? He ain’t even ‘merican, is he?” 

Well Mr. Swentor, I’m glad you asked. Yes, there have been notable performers who have contributed to country music such as Mark Knopfler, Robert Plant and Keith Urban, who are not Americans. However, they are few and far between. In fact, Urban is the only non-American on the Rolling Stone list of 100 Greatest Country Artists. I doubt if we will ever see a time on the Country music charts like we saw with the British invasion between 1964 and 1967 when 36 songs by non-Americans topped the pop Billboard charts.

Plus, since musicians are artists, they draw from various places and styles that make fitting any music into a mold difficult. For country music it seems that this is especially true of the newer country artists like Lyle Lovett, who has clearly been influenced by big band jazz and gospel, or Garth Brooks who does not hide his love of rock. As for rock artists, they have always borrowed freely (some would say stole) from every genre.     

It just goes to show you. It’s always something. If it’s not one thing it’s another. Either you discount the contributions of blues artists, or you ignore exceptions to the rule. Like my friend John Eargle always said, “All generalizations are false”. Good night my little Tomsers. (This post was brought to you courtesy of the F.O.R.R – Friends of Roseanne Roseannadanna).     

In an earlier entry I said how much I liked Malcolm Gladwell’s Revisionist History podcast (I actually said that I wanted to be Gladwell). It’s amazing how often something happens that reminds me of a topic he covered, or an insight he shared. And yet, the episode that is most firmly planted in my mind is one I thought was his weakest. I’m not sure what that says about me. 

In Season 2, Episode 6, Gladwell interviewed Nashville songwriter Bobby Braddock in an episode called King of Tears. As you can probably tell from the title, Braddock is known for writing some of the saddest country songs ever. His songs include D I V O R C E, which was a hit for Tammy Wynette, and He Stopped Loving Her Today, most famously done by George Jones. If, like me, you’ve never heard of these songs, trust me, they are real weepers.  

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The point of the episode was that country music could be truly sad because it deals with real life situations. Rock music, on the other hand, was dismissed as full of cliches that can’t really tap into melancholy. Rock provides “hymns to extroversion” with little emotional depth, while country revels in the sadness, or so says Gladwell. 

You are probably thinking that, being the lifelong Rock and Roll fan that I am, I disagree with this comparison, and that there lies my dissatisfaction with the episode, but you would be wrong. I actually agree that rock does not lend itself to melancholy as well as country. (I struggled to come up with sad rock songs beyond Clapton’s Tears from Heaven). My problem with Gladwell is that he uses this banal observation to brand rock as a lesser music. Plus, he misses the much more interesting question as to why country singers and their fans gravitate to these songs.  

Gladwell begins his assault on rock by delivering a monotone rendering of Little Richard’s Tutti Frutti, as if to say “see how stupid rock lyrics are”. He then compares The Rolling Stones’ Wild Horses to Emmy Lou Harris’s From Boulder to Birmingham, which is about the death of Gram Parsons (who, ironically, did a great version of Wild Horses), as if picking two songs at random proves anything about the thousands and thousands of songs written in either genre. In trying to force his point, Gladwell dismisses Wild Horses as generic, and even pretends not to understand the lyrics (you can say a lot about RS lyrics, but mysterious they are not!!!).   

The fact that rock does not do sad as well as country is no reason to dismiss it, as the songs Gladwell chose show. Yes, the lyrics to Tutti Frutti are meaningless, but who has ever listened to Tutti Frutti for the lyrics? How could he possibly think that a monotone recitation of that song in any way reflects the raw energy of Little Richard, which is why the song is so enduring and influential? Similarly, Jagger’s lament on the Wild Horses chorus is gut wrenching and sticks with you long after the song ends. It is, frankly, bizarre to hold up these two powerful songs as a reason to denigrate rock. 

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  More interesting is why country lends itself to sad songs. Gladwell provides a clue, and then proceeds, clueless. Braddock, he points out, grew up in Florida, in a Church of Christ congregation, what Gladwell calls “the most fundamental of fundamentalist churches”. He then goes on to point out that all of the country stars who produced what are thought to be the greatest country songs of all time grew up in the Bible Belt. While he doesn’t go further, my guess is that most were either nurtured in the Southern churches, or at least heavily influenced by them. 

We have been taught to make fun of over-emotional Southern preachers. (My favorite parody has always been that of Robin Williams). Yet we underestimate the appeal of that style. It is raw. It is in your face. What is being said is almost secondary. What matters is that the emotions are stirred, and that the congregation FEELS the truth of the Word. And in that, it is effective. 

When I was a Freshman at the University of South Carolina, I was taken to a Southern Baptist Church outside of Columbia and experienced that emotive power. The congregation was fully engaged, urging the preacher on, responding to his exhortations. As the product of a staid German Baptist Church, where a murmured “amen” was considered an outburst, I was floored. It was too wild, too fevered, too passionate for 17-year-old who had always bottled up his emotions. And, yet, it has always stuck with me.  

It strikes me that the ties between that emotional worship style, and the emotion filled songs coming from the country singers who grew up in that atmosphere are not coincidental. The people in the congregation at that church I attended wore their hearts on their sleeves, just as Bobby Braddock does in his songs. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe there is no connection, but at least that would have been something worth Gladwell exploring. 

Country and rock are two different worlds. At times they crossover one to the other, but usually come from contrasting places. Country is an American genre, rock is international (hard to picture a country British Invasion). Rock seeks to blend divergent styles, including country at times. Country knows what it does best, and sticks to it.   

I will never be a country music fan. The plaintive, woeful, heartsick Braddock songs just do not stir me the way that a David Bowie or Talking Heads rocker does. Yet, as I’ve grown older, I have learned to at least appreciate where those songs come from, and be less dismissive. The emotions are real, the best renditions are sincere. Sometimes you just have to get out of your comfort zone, and just let out a loud AMEN!!!  

(I certainly have done nothing worth a retrospective or “best of”, but this was one of my favorites, so in honor of today’s Super Bowl I am republishing it. Enjoy the game).

I watched the Super Bowl by myself last Sunday. No one in my house had any interest whatsoever. In fact, they had no idea who was even playing (“Is it Florida versus the Dodgers?”). I don’t think that they would have even known that the game was coming up if Tom Brady hadn’t been in it. 

After the SB was over, I did get a perfunctory, “How was the game?”, but it was pretty clear that they did not want to hear about the Bucs defense shutting down Mahomes, or Brady going back to his old standby Gronk. If I said anything more than “It was kind of disappointing” I could see their eyes quickly glaze over and knew to go no further. 

I did, however, get the inevitable follow up question, “How were the commercials?”. It dawned on me that by no longer going into the office we were all missing out on the great American tradition of debating which of the SB commercials was the funniest or most clever. Even worse, I couldn’t even answer the question from my family because I hadn’t watched any of the commercials (and there were a lot of them). 

The truth of the matter is that I hate commercials, and not just because they interrupt whatever show I’m watching. I hate them because they are so damn seductive. I know that all commercials are lies. Commercials are not selling products, but a lifestyle that doesn’t really exist. I don’t care what the product is, the world does not all of a sudden become bright and sunny because you use it. 

I know that Old Spice is not going to bring beautiful women running to my side (as if I would want that with my lovely wife). I know that wearing Nikes is not going to give me the ability to jump as high as Michael Jordan. I know that Tide is not going to be any better than Sun Triple Clean in getting rid of that red wine I just spilled on my shirt. I know that buying a Jeep Grand Cherokee is not going to result in my visiting the top of pristine mountains.  

I know all that, but I cannot ignore that commercials influence what I buy. I shy away from Pepsodent and buy Crest or Colgate again and again, who knows why. Every year when the Toyota Sell-a-Thon comes around I ask myself whether I should get a new car (and head for the mountains). Heinz is the only ketchup I will buy (a pox on Hunts). I just can’t help myself. (I am not going to compound the problem by putting up pictures of these products).   

What is truly insidious is that this is commercials have so much influence on me despite my avoidance of them whenever possible. When the SB commercials came on, I muted the TV and read a few pages in my book, or worked on a crossword. (There is no truth to the rumor that I changed channels to watch a Love Boat marathon and missed most of the third quarter, though it was a “Very Special Love Boat” where Gopher confesses to Julie that he is terrified of going out onto the deck because he is afraid of being eaten by a whale. Julie laughs at him, calling him Jonah much to the delight of Isaac and Doc, until Captain Stubing steps in and teaches them all a lesson about tolerance – Buddy Hackett and Raquel Welch guest star). This is my normal practice when I watch television and yet the commercials sneak through. 

I just have to admit that the advertising people are better than I am. They know how to get under your skin and install their earworms into your psyche. I still can recite “Two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame-seed bun”, and I never even liked Big Macs!!! All you can do is be aware of the influence advertisers have, and fight it when you can. Try the generic and where you can’t tell the difference, stick with it. Get those pictures of Shiny, Happy People out of your head and buy what seems best for what you need. 

By the way, I did go back and watch the SB commercials on the internet, which is what I used to do to be able to join in those water cooler conversations at work. I liked the Tracy Morgan commercials, though I don’t know why all of a sudden having athletes pummel regular people, like in that James Harrison FanDuel ad, is suddenly a thing. Will Farrell is always funny, and the commercial with Paralympian Jessica Long was touching. That being said, I am going to make it a point not to buy ANY of the products those commercials were selling. So there!!!!!😝😝😝