Death of an Insurance Agent

This is about to be my most controversial blog post to date. That isn’t really saying much, because I avoid debates at all costs, but today I’m here to settle the biggest dispute of gloomy British alternative rock history. Which band reigns supreme in the world of mopey ‘80s post-punk: The Smiths or The Cure? Personally, I can see no reason for this controversy. The Smiths are the clear winners lyrically, musically, aesthetically, etc. The main arguments against the Smiths is that they’re funny and their frontman, Morrissey, is a jerk. Some are under the impression that being mind numbingly monochromatic and dreary like the Cure is necessary for a true angsty rock band. Because of this, they believe the wiseass remarks that are a trademark of the Smiths’ lyricism make them unable to achieve the properly depressed tone that is essential to the subgenre. Yes, these clever lyrics do embed humor throughout all their songs, but in no way does that keep you from thinking, wow, this guy is so miserable. They are just evidence of the unmatched lyrical talent of Morrissey. And when is being funny ever a bad thing? About Morrissey being a greedy jerk, okay, sure, he suffered from lead singer syndrome, but at least he’s a devout vegan. The fact of the matter is, the Cure is nothing special. Their songs are slow, witless, and nothing ever happens. In half the time it takes one Cure song to get out a few meaningless lines and redundant chords, a Smiths song sets the scene, cracks a joke, and wraps it all up with diverse and jangly guitar riffs.

Even though my stance has been made clear, I must say, melancholy and gloom are the first things that come to mind when I think of the Cure (that’s what they’re going for, so yes, I would consider that a compliment). That’s why I thought the coincidental connection to Song of Solomon was especially interesting. (This is where this post almost becomes relevant) The frontman of the Cure is named Robert Smith, same as the man that took “flight” on the day of Milkman’s birth after his work with the Seven days “[got] to be too much” (3, 158). To me, it made perfect sense. Robert Smith, from Song of Solomon, and his suicide serve as reminders of sadness and death whenever they are brought up throughout the novel. He is a ghost, one of them at least, that haunts the pages. Robert Smith of the Cure evokes similar feelings. We know names play an important role in the novel, and (even though this is totally a coincidence, because the Cure is irrelevant and wasn’t a thing yet when this novel was written) this is an example, to me at least, of the multiple layers behind names, the emotions they create, and the connections between them that can effectively convey a meaning. If you’ve gotten this far and realized the whole first paragraph was unnecessary, you’re right! But I’ll take any opportunity to express my cult-like adoration of the Smiths and bad-mouth the Cure ;)

Crouching Dromedary

Names can hold more power than we often realize, but their significance is evident in countless ways, particularly in literature. From He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in Harry Potter, to the Washington family in “The Diamond as Big as the Ritz” by F. Scott Fitzgerald, and especially in Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison, names play an important role in developing major themes. By naming the evil and unfathomably wealthy family the Washingtons, making them “ direct descendant[s] of George Washington,” Fitzgerald is able to extend his criticism of the corruption of our nation to its foundations (86). In Song of Solomon, names are a prevalent motif, and the Dead family name in particular demonstrates Morrison’s connection between death and freedom. When Macon Dead’s father, Macon Dead, registered with the Freedmen's Bureau after his liberation, he became a Dead. Although this name technically was not correct, “it was new and would wipe out the past,” so it was never changed (54). “Dead” became their symbol of freedom. This connection is seen again in the “flight” of Robert Smith (3). His suicide is depicted as an escape, or a flight to freedom. As Pilate repeatedly describes her father as being shot “five feet into the air,” another image of flight and death is created (40). The description of the uplifting concept of freedom with negatively connotated death serves the illustrate the truly unfavorable reality of what “freedom” is for African Americans.

I'm Very Well Read

   

I found myself, on a Saturday night, standing atop a folding chair, playing “Ballad of a Thin Man” by Bob Dylan out of a phallic speaker. When I reached the lines, “You’ve been through all of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s books,” I remembered the blog post I’d been putting off due to my lack of inspiration. After thinking for a few minutes, the connection between this song and The Great Gatsby became extremely obvious, especially after having examined the novel through a queer lens. The fact that the plot of The Great Gatsby is centered around heterosexual romances conceals the underlying clues alluding to Nick’s homosexuality, but looking at the novel from this perspective reveals that the signs are clearly there. Nick displays his attraction to Gatsby consistently throughout the novel, from saying “there was something gorgeous about him” in the first chapter, to describing his smile as “radiant and understanding” in chapter eight (2, 154). Other suggestions of Nick’s homosexuality are seen in his description of Mr. McKee as “feminine” and their vague interaction in which Nick “was standing beside [McKee’s] bed and he was sitting up between the sheets, clad in his underwear” (30, 38).

“Ballad of a Thin Man” similarly contains innuendoes hinting gay activities. With lines such as “sword swallower,” “hands you a bone,” and “Here is your throat back, thanks for the loan,” the song definitely holds enough insinuations of homosexuality to be able to craft an argument from a queer lens. Its reference of Fitzgerald himself could be analyzed this way, considering Fitzgerald’s own ambiguity and rumors of his romantic relationship with Ernest Hemingway. Besides the gay aspect that has forever changed my perception of The Great Gatsby, Bob Dylan’s artistry in general is related to Fitzgerald’s work. Many aspects of the 1920s are paralleled in the 1950s, including the Modernist movement Fitzgerald took part in. The Beat Generation of the ‘50s was the new form of Modernism, and the works of Beatnik writers and poets, such as Jack Kerouac, influenced Dylan’s writing. Bob Dylan’s was born from the anti-materialism and social criticism of the Beat Generation, which mirrors the ideals of Modernism of the ’20s, and the major themes of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby.