Music and Politics

Album: The Disposable Heroes of Hiphoprisy, Hypocrisy Is the Greatest Luxury, 1992

Acquired: I special-ordered this cassette from Books, Strings 'n Things in Blacksburg in April 1992. I had a gift certificate.

Best Track: "Television, the Drug of the Nation"; if you've ever heard anything by Hiphoprisy, this is what you heard.

Lasting Memory: I had a BSTnT gift certificate because I had won it in a Virginia Tech Student Government Association-sponsored stand-up competition that was held in conjunction with a set from the obviously much different than from now Diana Jordan. Odd how the site for one of Oprah's favorite comedians makes no mention of the Playboy shoot, the brief stint on Star Search, or the foul-mouthed gynocentrism of the act until very recently. Perhaps willful denail of one's past is a greater luxury than hypocrisy. The two are related, after all.

My own involvement in the stand-up competition was, if not hypocritical, certainly unfair. I had done about 100 profession (though not all paid) comedy gigs between 1989 and 1991, and the rest of the contestants were either first-timers or new enough to the stage that it didn't make much difference. In my weak defense, I hadn't performed in about 5 months, and one of my housemates sort of called me out. Tom Clark, if you ever read this, I'm mostly blaming you for my having unfairly stomped the other folks in the competition.

Ms. Jordan was suitably impressed by my three minutes of material to tell me I was really funny and that I should stick with stand-up. I haven't performed since. I suppose that gives me the right to say I went out on top of a very small hill.

Which, again, while not being hypocritical, would certainly be disingenuous. Would disingenuity be a rider to the contract entitling one to engage in the greatest luxury?

Enough speculation from me. Michael Franti, who wrote all but one of the songs on Hypocrisy Is the Greatest Luxury made it very clear what he considered hypocritical. For Franti in the early 1990s--late and soon of such interestingly named and seldom heard bands as Beatnigs and Spearhead--just about public and private thought, utterance, and action equaled hypocrisy. He must have been a ton of laughs at parties. And I'm not talking about the Communist Party. Zing!

Kidding aside and credit where its due, Franti's ideas are interesting, the music is inventive, and Franti goes as hard on himself as he does on his other topical targets of opportunity, who include the first President Bush, then-California Governor Pete Wilson, and the first Gulf War.

On the personal side, Franti derides himself as a "Socio-Genetic Experiment" gone half-right and all-angry. His grounds for this is that he is

African Native American
Irish and German
I was adopted
by parents who loved me
they were the same color
as the kids who called me nigger
on the walk home from school

Unable to define himself and his proper role in the world to himself adequately, Franti became a "Water Pistol Man" who is "squirting at fires on a woldwide mission" but who never stops to "think about the flowers in [his] own backyard."

Many of the fires Franti would like to be put out, from creeping facism (a nifty cover of The Dead Kennedy's "California Uber Alles") to America's overdependence on imported oil ("Satanic Reserves" and "The Winter of the Long Hot Summer"), are still burning. And "T.V./ is the only wet nurse/ that would create a cripple" was true for him 16 years ago, I just hope Franti has never seen or heard of most of the reality and game shows Fox is airing in 2008.

Is it ironic that there is a video for "Television"? It is certainly ironic that I used dubiously procured proceeds from comedy to purchase an album that is both of the least funny ever recorded and one that sets such a high bar for personal integrity.

I do like the sound, though, which is a mix of blues guitar and industrial banging and grinding. If only Franti could stop talking about "Music and Politics":

If ever I would stop thinking about music and politics
I would tell you that sometimes it’s easier to desire
and pursue the attention and admiration
of 100 strangers
than it is to accept the love and loyalty
of those closest to me

And I would tell you that sometimes
I prefer to look at myself
through someone else’s eyes
Eyes that aren’t clouded with the tears of knowing
what an asshole I can be, as yours are.

If ever I would stop thinking about music and politics
I might be able to listen in silence to your concerns
rather than hearing everything as an accusation
or an indictment against me

I would tell you that sometimes
I use sex to avoid communication
it’s the best escape when we’re down on our luck
But I can express more emotions than laughter, anger,
and let’s fuck

If ever I would stop thinking about music and politics
If ever I would stop thinking about music and politics
If ever I would stop thinking about music and politics
If ever I would stop thinking about music and politics

If ever I would stop thinking about music and politics
I would tell you that I pooped in my own dog dish
And sometimes I would rather face not eating
than face licking it clean
And admitting when I’m selfish
And I’d tell you that I’m suffering
from the worst type of loneliness
The loneliness of being misunderstood,
or more poignantly
the loneliness of being afraid
to allow myself to be understood

If ever I would stop thinking about music and politics
I would tell you that the personal revolution
is far more difficult
and is the first step in any revolution

If ever I would stop thinking about music and politics
If ever I would stop thinking about music and politics
If ever I would stop thinking about music and politics
If ever I would stop thinking about music and politics

I would tell you that music is the expression
of emotion
And that politics is merely the decoy of perception

Well, maybe he still wouldn't be a barrel of monkeys. Alas.

We'll have more fun next time. I promise.

Up Next: Divinyls, Tempermental, 1988