The Betrayal of Soul to Flash & Pomp

The tragic death of Amy Winehouse at age 27 recently reminded me of a documentary I reviewed for radio called 27, about the music and message of Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin and Jim Morrison – all of whom died within one year of each other, also at age 27. Watching footage of their concerts really got me thinking about how the lives and performances of musical icons tend to reflect, and help shape, the culture in which we live. While substance abuse still persists among high-profile musicians, artists and celebrities alike, it seems to me that in the 1960s at least, the motivation behind drug use was different than it is today.

I am no historian. I cannot claim to have studied the subject or anything close. Nor was I a young adult partaking in the 1960s, so my observations here are merely peripheral. I bring this up only because I am often disturbed by how few of today’s young stars show any real expression of soul on stage. We rarely see the likes of Janis Joplin anymore, who put so much passion into her performances that, as one observer noted, you would be surprised to see her still alive at the end of it. Jim Morrison, notorious for his destructive streak and perpetually stoned, was still widely regarded as being more of a true artist than a performer, deeply committed to living on the edge. Who today can match the psychedelic effects of a Doors or Grateful Dead concert?

What I see instead now is image-making. Pop stars in this day and age are focused on choreography, personal branding, reputation building by association with their peers and staged performance – with emphasis on the staged. While some of them are extraordinarily gifted – Beyonce being one clear example – for the most part I still find watching an awards show like the Grammys unbearably boring. Musical performances from modern-day youth are riddled with flash, pomp and narcissism. It’s less about the music than it is about the cool factor. It’s less about soul than it is about persona.

What I don’t see enough of is self expression that embraces living on the margins. Lady Gaga is one of the few counter culture darlings in existence, but she is of a starkly different breed than the legends of half a century ago. I recently interviewed nationally-known forensic psychologist Jeffrey Smalldon, an expert on the mind of psychopaths and serial killers who has studied everything from cult leaders and the mentally ill to genius and celebrity. Fascinated by the abnormal, he tells me about a book called Freaks: Myths & Images of the Secret Self, and its analysis of the complicated and nuanced relationship between so-called freaks and the people who comprised their audience. He talks about how freaks challenged our understanding of identity and how, in the late 1960s, the term “freak” was associated with free expression and hippies. I am surprised to learn that hippies generally considered this a badge of honor.

The evolution of “freak” from the hippie era to the current day Lady Gaga phenomenon could make for an engrossing read. Personally though, I am deeply compelled by the anomalous expression of soul, as evidenced in the young talent and rich character of Casey Abrams on American Idol. An artistic genius too large for the pop culture stage, he earned high praise for his creativity, fearlessness and lunacy. For me, his body language, vocal stylings and facial expressions were delightfully freakish, but it was his soulful performances that stirred the embers of my innards. In him I see the seeds of an icon; the marriage of soul and heresy at its best, even if largely undeveloped.

I hope he does something with it. I hope, by age 50, he has begun to sort out his artistic legacy. By then, surely, he will have glimpsed what he is capable of. By then, hopefully, we all have.

But I digress.

I want to see the soul brought back into music. Enough of the strobe lights and elaborate posturing. I don’t want to be dazzled. I want to be transported.

I want to feel something real.