After all, I sort of did write that because I was looking for a quick-and-easy thing to post about, to assuage my guilt about not posting more often. And, I told myself, not everything has to be as long and complicated as the post that preceded that “silly” one(1,736 words, yikes!).
But… ultimately, I don’t consider the subject trivial. To explain…
Years ago, when Umberto Eco (the Italian semiotician and author of The Name of the Rose) was still alive, I saw something he wrote (or perhaps he was just being quoted) in a magazine. He predicted that our species was moving back toward nonverbal (or perhaps you would say post-literate) modes of communication. And this was years before emojis, in the ’90s or maybe the ’80s.
Anyway, I think of his prediction frequently these days (as I’ve mentioned before in a related rant). My question about the thumb-up emoji arises in that context.
My concern is that I see our ability to communicate flattening, becoming one-dimensional. The English language (the only one in which I am sufficiently literate to be able to perceive subtle distinctions) is amazingly versatile, flexible and able to communicate an apparent a galaxy of things with a single word, depending upon its context.
But I’ve seen a marked tendency to reduce in recent years. Sixteen year ago, I wrote about the absurdity of having my wife ask me why I was not her “friend” on Facebook. But I didn’t consider my wife absurd for wanting to include me in something she was enjoying. My problem was Facebook’s reduction of human relationships to one word. On that medium, you were either a “friend” or you were not, (which makes sense only if you haven’t advanced past the kindergarten level of social interaction). Obviously, my wife was and is much more than that to me. And yet in the years since then Facebook, in its hyperbureaucratic, ones-and-zeroes-obsessed manner, has dutifully labelled her, my parents, my children, grandchildren, cousins, acquaintances, and people I didn’t even know but approved to be polite (and no, I don’t do that any more) have all become my “friends,” without any elaboration or explanation or qualification or enhancement — without any of the things that make life rich and full.
I am reminded of the Newspeak Dictionary from Orwell’s 1984. Each edition is smaller, thinner, containing fewer words. The idea is to reduce the number of concepts a human is capable of generating or communicating, so that ideas that are troublesome to Big Brother’s state simply don’t arise or spread. As the dialectic of Oceania proceeds, language gets flatter and flatter. A thing that is in some way very, very bad is “doubleplusungood,” rather than horrible, evil, shocking, abominable, mortifying, putrid, appalling, disgusting, or … well, you get the idea, comrade.
When I first read that as a kid, being a word guy, I found the idea of such a dictionary, steadily shrinking, more terrifying than what Winston found in Room 101. Although what he encountered there was pretty doubleplusungood as well.
As these modes become common, even universal, we become less intelligent. And humanity sinks into the mire. It’s one of the reasons that “Idiocracy” arrived centuries earlier than the silly film predicted…
I ask because when I use it to respond to a text, my phone will tell me “You liked…” whatever I was responding to.
Is that how you would translate this nonverbal communication into words? That seems to me to reflect a very limited understanding of the symbol and its vast usefulness.
Sure, it can mean “like,” in certain circumstances. But if that’s what I need it for, I can just type “I like it!” easily enough. Nevertheless, I do use it for that quite frequently, and it works in the right context. I see others doing the same.
But to my point, it is far more valuable and essential for saying something that words can’t say — or can’t say without hurting feelings. To express it briefly in words, it’s something like one or more of the following:
“Check!”
“Got it!”
“Received!”
“10-4!”
“Roger!”
Or, at greater length:
“OK, you’ve sent it and I’ve seen it, and I have nothing to say about it, and certainly no value judgments to make regarding your important missive. So, with all due respect, please go away without asking further about it, so I can try desperately to dig my way out of this mountain of actual, important work I need to do…”
Employed that way, it is enormously useful.
I learned this almost immediately after joining James Smith’s gubernatorial campaign in 2018. From the first day, I was hit by a tsunami of texts that went exponentially beyond anything I had seen or imagined before. I don’t know quite how to fully convey the quantity I mean. I could easily have done nothing but read and answer texts all day long, and still not do full justice to the task. And I had a universe of other things to do, as a more or less one-man communications department in the last months of a statewide campaign.
It was immediately as horrible as email, but more immediately demanding, since most people know it’s crazy to expect a prompt reply to an email. When you got one of those back in the ’90s, you were excited. Not anymore.
Part of this was that for the most part, James and running mate Mandy Powers Norrell communicated only by text. Sure, there was the occasional phone call while they flitted daily across the state, but no emails — which sort of drove our campaign manager nuts. He’d never encountered anything like it, and his campaign experience was much greater than mine (which is to say, he’d served in a bunch of them, and I’d been in zero).
But our two principals texting all the time would have been tolerable had that been for all the other people that constantly peppered me with information and observations that seemed to them critically valuable at that moment. I’m talking about not only fellow campaign staffers, but friends and contributors and well-wishers from across the state and beyond.
Worse, it wasn’t just individuals. There was also that cruelest invention of the 21st century — the GROUP TEXT! The kind that just keeps coming at you, with multiple responses from various recipients, all day long. The emoji was magnificently effective with these. It said, with all due politeness, “Acknowledged.” But it gave no one anything to respond to, so no one noticed when I removed myself from the group.
Finding that mode of communication was, for me at that moment, as wonderful as finding a cure for the common cold. I’ve used it that way many times since. Not to be rude or dismissive — just to get on with what I need to do, without hurting feelings.
So what does it mean to you? Or perhaps I should say, in what way is it most useful to you?…
I frequently say something here and there about what’s wrong with journalism today (as opposed to what non-journalists tend to think is wrong).
Yesterday’s New York Times offered some good illustrations of two of the main problems with the reporting we now receive from what used to be called “newspapers.”
Not that the NYT isn’t still an excellent newspaper (as the word is now used), and possibly the best left in the country. But while cranking out some wonderful content and doing a better job than most in employing new technology constructively, it still prominently displays some of the worst habits of the medium today.
Before naming them, let me mention the one guiding principle that guided journalism in my day — that is, the late 20th century (and maybe the first few years of the next, but from 2006 on, everything was falling apart). We saw it as our job to inform the reader as much as we could as quickly as we could.
That meant telling the moderately interested reader everything he (or she) wanted to know about a story in the headline — and to tell a reader who couldn’t care less that this was not what he’d picked up the paper for. If you couldn’t do that in the headline, you did it in the first paragraph, the lede. By that time you had communicated the who, what, where, when and how, and maybe even a bit of why. The paragraphs after that were arranged in descending order of importance, in terms of the reader’s ability to understand what was going on. (Think “inverted pyramid.”)
This was based in respect for the busy reader. That respect is now gone, trashed, mutilated, completely irrelevant.
And so we have the present situation. The “murder of the inverted pyramid,” as one blogger has put it. I just ran across that after writing what I did above. Here’s what that writer said:
Once upon a time, when newspapers were both noble and strong, editors and publishers regarded readers’ time as very valuable. Editors and publishers understood that newspaper readers were trying to absorb as much information as possible in the least amount of time. They knew that most readers would not finish most stories. Readers would read until they had absorbed enough of a story to meet their needs, then they’d move on to another story, or move on with their day. Once upon a time, editors and publishers did not try to manipulate readers to rip off readers’ time and attention.
Indeed. Anyway, there are two maddening, insulting, stiff-arming ways that newspapers now play keep-away with the news, day after day, story after story:
The say-nothing headline. You know those little teasers that essentially say, We know something and you don’t, and you have to click just to start to get the tiniest hint of it. They tend to be shockingly frank about this, starting with such phrases as “What we know about…” and “What you need to know about…,” rather than telling you what you want to know.
The “live updates” structure. This is used on the biggest story of the day, and is usually played as the lede on a newspaper’s app or its main browser page. You know the form. You call it up, and the top item is the absolutely latest thing the reporting team (this tends to be on an “all-hands-on-deck” story) have learned. Which means the “story” leads with some low-interest detail that would have appeared in about the 20th graf of a normal, coherent news story — if at all. This is completely useless to a person who has a life, and therefore only a moment to learn about this subject. The only person who could benefit from it would be someone following every hiccup on this story since the instant that it broke — in other words, someone without a life, or someone who is somehow peripherally involved in the story. Everybody else is out of luck, and therefore uninformed, and so more likely, say, to vote for Donald Trump.
Whenever confronted with that second atrocity, if I really want to know the essentials, I look at a sidebar to the main story, and usually find something resembling a news lede within the first few grafs.
Anyway, to illustrate these phenomena, I offer you a big story out of New York from two days ago, as reported by, as I said, probably the best newspaper in the country.
It’s the shooting of three people in an office building on Park Avenue Tuesday evening….
And now, you are missing something you would no doubt find entertaining on a surveillance camera: my head is exploding. Because after starting this post yesterday and getting distracted, I’m going back to grab the screenshots I had saved yesterday to illustrate what I’m talking about. And they’re not on my iPad… or my phone… or my Mac. Well, one of them is… As for the others…
Since the image of the shooting story as it dominated the NYT app yesterday morning is gone, here’s a lesser example of it — the tariffs story currently at the top of the browser version of the Times:
You’ll see examples of what I’m talking about in the shooting case — the incoherent item labeled LIVE in red, and below it the sidebars, the related stories. It’s not a great example because it’s a calmer story; it hasn’t caused the paper to send every reporter all over Manhattan trying to discover what the hell is happening on the park. So it doesn’t lead with a breathless paragraph about the latest minor fact to slip out of a source during a press conference. It even has a nice lede-like summary at the top of it.
But it shows the typical layout. And here is the latest version of the “LIVE” story of the shooting, which now is much calmer than it was yesterday morning. But you see the pointless structure for anyone with limited time — the latest developments, rather than a summary of the important points.
Anyway, with the shooting story, I was more motivated than usual to get to the fundamental facts, because two of my grandchildren were staying with friends in Manhattan. Turning away from the mess in the NYT, I texted my daughter, their mother, who told me that their hosts lived a good distance away. That was reassuring. Not so reassuring was the fact that their daily routine up there took them right by where the shooting happened. But they were fine, thanks be to God.
Meanwhile, I had turned to the sidebars, in search of news. And I found a perfect illustration of the “say-nothing headline:”
After that, it was kind of like a real news story, except for being broken up by subheds into chunks, instead of rationally assembled in inverted pyramid. Subheds like “What happened?” and “Who were the victims?” and “Who was the gunman?” Note how the subheds also conform to the “say nothing” principle.
It was only by accident that later in the day, I happened to run across a real news story about the shooting, with a real headline, in The New York Times. I wasn’t looking for news. I had clicked on the “SECTIONS” link on my app, as a quick way to get to the opinion content
What’s that I see? A real news story?
Look, right there next to Gwyneth Paltrow! A headline! Not a “say nothing” headline, but one that actually relates the essentials! Here’s the story, so you can judge for yourself:
Presumably, lots of people had managed to find it, or else it wouldn’t have made the “Most Popular” category. But how? I had been looking at both the app and the browser version of the paper, and had seen not a hint of it — at least, not at the times I was looking. All I can guess is that people weren’t looking at the digital version of the “newspaper” at all, but coming in by direct links from social media.
Still, I was glad to see it. It was like discovering an old friend I had thought was dead. Of course, the headline was a bit long, because headline writers today are no longer restricted by limited space. I would have said something more like “Gunman kills four, self, in New York.” You could cram that into a one-column, three-deck format if necessary. It was good that they got the police officer in, though.
I was curious to see what they had done in the print version, under those restricted conditions, but I ran into another depressing fact about newspapers today. Here’s the front of that morning’s paper. If you click on that, don’t bother searching for the story; it isn’t there.
The shooting broke at 6:28 p.m. on Tuesday. But people who bought a paper the next morning wouldn’t see a word about it. That’s because putting out a print version is today an afterthought, something for those few doddering ancients (as opposed to with-it 71-year-old youths like me) who still demand a dead-tree paper. And, to save some of the ungodly cost of producing such a product (that insane $4 rack price doesn’t cover it, folks), the paper rolls off the presses at a stunningly early hour. (Maybe not “stunningly” to i, but to a guy who spent all those years working until 2 a.m. getting out the city edition containing the very latest, it’s unreal.)
(By the way, I currently subscribe to six newspapers, and read them all on my iPad. I’m not going to deal with frustration, not to mention expense, of having a hard copy delivered to my house, just so I can see what happened two days earlier.)
Anyway, as a postscript… of course, the story leads today’s print version. But it now has a second-day, or perhaps I should say third-day, headline. It was still worth four columns, giving more room than the usual one-column lede in the NYT.
Bottom line, as a reader who subscribes to six newspapers, I don’t think it’s too much to expect at least one of them to show me, at the top of its homepage, what I most want to know about the biggest news of the day. But that’s not what the business is about any more…
I don’t go see many movies in theaters. There was a time when I went to pretty much all of them, back when I was a copyeditor in Tennessee and was the paper’s film critic on the side. I wasn’t paid to do that additional work, but it wasn’t really work to me. Besides, the paper made it more than worthwhile by reimbursing me for the tickets. Not that the tickets cost much then. Fact is, I probably would have done it without the reimbursement. If, in my continuing project of cleaning out the garage, I run across a copy of my 1977 review of “Star Wars,” I’ll show to you. But I’ve promised to show it to my kids first.
Now, when I do go to a movie theater — once a year or so — I feel the need to take out a mortgage, to spread the payments out in easy installments. First, there’s the cost to get in. Of course, I can get the senior discount, but that discount is so inconsequential that the difference between that and full price is no more than the cost of a ticket in my youth. But hey, that’s just inflation over time, right? If you go to the CPI calculator, you’ll see that that the cost is about the same. Bu if you want to experience highway robbery, try to get some popcorn and a drink.
And no, the fancy recliner seats with the gigantic cupholders, arranged stadium-style, aren’t worth all that extra cost. I find myself wondering why, after the trauma of COVID and the ongoing existential threat posed by streaming and gigantic 4K screens at home, theaters didn’t go the other way — rock-bottom prices to sit on wooden benches or something. My buddy Tony and I used to go to a theater like that in Ecuador when we were about 10 to see Italian Hercules movies and “The Three Musketeers” in French (with Spanish subtitles, in case we wanted to follow the dialogue). It cost us 40 centavos to get in, which in those days amounted to about 2 cents American. And we loved it. A Coke — in a bottle — cost another 2 cents.
About now, I should start getting to my point, which is that my son who is an avid collector of Marvel comics and I were planning to see the new Fantastic Four when it comes out this Friday. (Or a few days later. You’re kind of crazy to go on opening night.) Even though we had just been to see the new Superman a couple of weeks back!
But then I found that “Happy Gilmore 2” was coming out on the same day — July 25! So what was I going to do?
OK, a word about “Happy Gilmore.” Of course, the original flick was overwhelmingly silly. But it worked! I’ve got this thing about movies (and books and other things) that work. They might be the stupidest plots acted out by actors I would never go to see under normal circumstances. But if, somehow, everthing clicks, I will watch it again and again. “Happy Gilmore” is a perfect example. “Old School” is another. They sound so stupid that you’re put off just hearing about them. But the actors — and director — take that stupid idea and make it brilliant. At least, that’s the way I reacted to it. I don’t think I’ve ever done a “Top Five Sports Comedies” list yet, but “Happy” would definitely be on it. In fact, it would be competing with “Major League” for the top spot.
And yeah, I know about sequels made 30 years after the original. They’re often sad — like that made-for-TV reunion movie for “The Beverly Hillbillies” in 1981. Buddy Ebsen had forgotten how to be Jed Clampett! But I’m not expecting brilliance — just a little bit of fun nostalgia. And I know for a fact that “Shooter” McGavin will appear!
But shell out money for a third theater visit in a year?
So imagine my joy when I got an email today from Netflix telling me it will be streaming “Happy Gilmore 2” starting Friday! I was already thinking I might wait for it to be streamed for free at home, and now I don’t have to wait! (Oh, and it had better be “free” to subscribers! They’d better not use this occasion to usher in a new class of premium “world premieres” or some such thieving gimmick!)
Well, I’m happy, and looking forward to Happy 2.
I wonder — how much longer will actual movie theaters continue to exist? The business model seems almost entirely unworkable now…
In modern writing, it’s standard to use one space after a period at the end of a sentence, not two. While two spaces were common with typewriters due to their monospaced fonts, computers and proportional fonts have made a single space the preferred and recommended style.
But could that really have been the actual reason? Could people really not see that, when a period appeared — and had a space after it — and the next word was capitalized, the old sentence had ended, and a new one begun?
Of course, I realized, as soon as I typed “and the next word was capitalized,” that a huge portion of the American population (practically everyone who had not been brought up on AP style) capitalizes words at random — which is another form of insanity, to be dealt with another day.
But let’s say that was the reason. Why do people who weren’t alive back in the days of monospacing still do it?!?!?
Perhaps it’s because they’ve grown up in the utterly undisciplined online era, which has no limits whatsoever. You can type all day for the rest of your life, and never fill the available space. In fact, “space” is no longer a concept that defines the life of a writer.
But I was brought up right, and therefore have a semi-religious horror of wasting that precious resource. Or perhaps I should say I had it. Twenty years of blogging has undone me (or undun me). Now, I vomit forth words at a phenomenal rate (when I get around to posting), and feel little or no obligation to tidy up the mess. Back in the day, I spent half my “writing time” cutting what I had initially written, stream-of-consciousness-style, down to fit. Now, I just take the first step, and move on.
Not back then, though. Back then, a good journalist would embrace discipline, thinking “I must not kill any more trees than necessary!” Or more likely (and practically) thinking, “If I don’t cut this to the assigned length, some unfeeling monster on the copy desk will slash it in the middle of my very best sentence, and toss what follows it into the composing room trash bin!” (Which has happened to me.)
But you don’t have to be a journalist who remembers having to shout over the noise of the linotype machines to see that the double-space thing is wrong. Google’s AI feature didn’t exist until last year, and yet it clearly states that “In modern writing, it’s standard to use one space after a period at the end of a sentence, not two.”
Well, I could go on, and probably would, except that I want to get back to my original question:
Why do people still do this? I’d really like to know. It’s one of those human pathologies in which a take a morbid interest…
Well, today is the day (as you know I love to tell people over and over) that was supposed to be forever cherished as our national Day of Independence. That’s what John Adams expected, and predicted at the time, because that was the day that the Second Continental Congress actually voted to separate these 13 states from the British Empire.
What happened two days later was everybody lined up and signed a piece of paper saying so. And sure, you can call that Independence Day, too, for that very reason. No argument about that. But Adams has always been my favorite Founder, so this date causes me to want to stress his achievement, which was more significant than what Thomas Jefferson did. And yet everyone associates this big move with ol’ Tom. It’s almost like his personal holiday. But come on, people. Jefferson never opened his mouth during those weeks that Adams harangued the Congress so furiously to get them to step off and make the decision. Jefferson wrote the hard-copy version because Adams persuaded him to, because he admired the Virginian’s ability to turn a phrase (and also thought it would help that Jefferson was way more popular in the Congress than he was, since Tom didn’t make such an effort to tick everybody off), and he did it not alone, but as a member of a committee including Adams, Ben Franklin and a couple of other guys.
And I’m afraid that far too many of my favorites Americans, when they think about something beyond hot dogs and fireworks at all, think of the Declaration as somethign that genius Thomas Jefferson dreamed up on his own in his hotel room in Philadelphia, and then unveiled to the whole world’s enduring admiration and gratitude. Or something like that. Which isn’t right, and doesn’t give credit where due. Y’all know that no one respects a well-turned phrase more than I, but Independence was the result of more strenuous efforts than applying quill to paper.
I could go on, but now I’m going to switch to the subject of popular music….
I’ve been sort of halfway following a newsletter feature in The New York Times called The Amplifier. Well, “follow” is a bit strong. Basically, I sometimes look at the song lists they regularly email me, and have frequently been impressed by the selections I find. These folks are widely knowledgable, and you can’t pigeonhole them. They’re neither desperately trying to convince us that pop music in the 21st century is seriously wonderful, nor stuck in 1973 and telling us that all music has been crap since Lester Bangs died, if not earlier. They have a much broader perspective.
… so I thought I’d share that with you for your enjoyment, or serious appreciation, or whatever.
I gave you the link for that list above, and I hope it works for you. If not, these are the songs:
Tracy Chapman: ‘Talkin’ Bout a Revolution’
The Isley Brothers: ‘Fight the Power, Pts. 1 and 2’
Public Enemy: ‘Fight the Power’
Michael Franti & Spearhead: ‘Yell Fire!’
Bob Marley & the Wailers: ‘Get Up, Stand Up’
Mavis Staples: ‘Eyes on the Prize’
Patti Smith: ‘People Have the Power’
Björk: ‘Declare Independence’
Rage Against the Machine: ‘Know Your Enemy’
Antibalas: ‘Uprising’
I looked at the list eagerly, having enjoyed past ones, but then I realized something… As much as a lot of people may dig those songs, they’re not really in my wheelhouse, to my knowledge. I haven’t even heard a bunch of them, but that’s beside my point.
My point is that as an Independence Day list, well, it really doesn’t work. But don’t blame the NYT folks. As much as I love American pop music, and have since “Hound Dog,” it’s just not the medium for addressing the American Revolution. Pimply-faced outcries against the Man are certainly within the reach of pop music, but that’s not what this country’s revolution was.
If you even want to call it a “revolution,” which I tend to doubt. You want a revolution? You want something that fits the tone of these kinds of songs? Well, the French had one of those, perhaps the ultimate one. And now that they’re on their Fifth Republic, I’m still not sure think they ever got over the trauma of it. The Russians, in their way, had one, too, and Vladimir Putin still isn’t coping with it in a well-adjusted manner.
Not that I’m running down our own, or anything — certainly not in this first year of our 250th commemoration. No, the American Revolution was one of the most significant and positive developments in the political history of the human race, which is why I am so grief-stricken now as I watch what it produced, all those things I love, being so rudely, stupidly and cruelly dismantled.
What do I call it? Well, one way to describe it is as a parting of the ways between a unique new country that had come into being and the country that had fostered it. This was not about oppressed people (paying taxes on tea? call that oppression?) rising up to destroy the established order, murder the royal family, obliterate religion, and that other sort of carrying-on we’ve seen elsewhere.
And it certainly wasn’t some class uprising by the sans cullotes against the rich and powerful. If you look carefully, the same people, in terms of social class or property or education levels, were in charge after independence as before. People of all classes took part, on both sides. But the guys who initiated and led this were people who knew how to run a city or colony or country (or a business, for that matter), and had been doing it in the past. Which, all the noble (and they are noble) words about freedom aside, is one of the very biggest reasons why our republic worked so well until very recently.
No. Our “revolution” was about serious people who had followed their fathers and grandfathers in building a new kind of country in what was to them (although not to, say, the Hurons) a New World. And they were pretty satisfied with what they’d built, and wanted it to continue. They saw themselves as Englishmen, but they were getting the strong impression that the British Crown didn’t really get them any more, and didn’t fully appreciate what they had become, and how they deserved to run it themselves without increasingly pesky interference from London.
Well, KIng George wasn’t going to go for that — certainly not after having expended all that treasure to protect the colonies from the French a few years earlier, as any Tory could have explained to you at the time. So yeah, there had to be a rupture, a ripping-away of the ties that bound. And eventually, starting a year before the Declaration (which continues to make me very uncomfortable, as I’ll explain again if you need me to), there was a very serious war. A particularly nasty war if you were down here in South Carolina (and elsewhere) — not a simple ones-and-zeroes matter of Patriots vs., Redcoats, but bloody, fratricidal violence between people who lived side-by-side. And (with the help of the French, of course), that war had an astounding outcome, with the world’s great superpower losing to a bunch of farmers, lawyers, shopkeepers and the like with a minimal amount of military expertise.
And the world was never the same again, and in so many ways, I thank God for that.
But “revolution?” In the French sense? In the sense of someone with such a pimply moniker as Rage Against the Machine? No. I don’t think so. It was something far bigger, far more important to human history.
But as I’ve probably also said before many times, I do have a favorite rock song about revolution. When the 45 came out, it seemed that the juke box in the cafeteria of Robinson High School in Tampa was broken. Whenever I was in there, whenever I walked by, I would hear the sweet sound of “Hey, Jude.” Which was wonderful because it’s truly one of the greats, and I love it.
However, I was frustrated because I didn’t think I was hearing the flip side nearly enough, certainly not as much as the tune deserved. So after the bus took me back home to MacDill Air Force Base after school, I made a habit for awhile of walking over over to “the Wherry.” That was a small building a couple of blocks from our apartment that contained two things — a sort of convenience store run by the Base Exchange, and a tiny snack bar where airmen, dependents and such could stop in to order a burger or hot dog or whatever.
And this snack bar had a juke box, which was very well stocked (I can’t remeber all the tunes, but I remember being impressed perusing the choices). At that time of the day the place was pretty empty, but I’d plug in my change and sit and listen to that song, which rang out with all the raw energy of its title. And then do it again. And again.
Mind you, it wouldn’t be all that long before I outgrew thinking John Lennon was a particularly wise political analyst (“Imagine” was a beautiful song, but the lyrics were vapid, which I realize I say in contradiction to wide and fervent popular opinion), but I always thought that he — in his instinctive cynicism — pretty much had the more fiery, self-righteous sort of revolutionary pegged. And he wasn’t buying. I mean people like John Adams’ cousin Samuel, or Robespierre, or certain adolescents who knew little beyond three guitar chords, but felt passionately. In this song, his was the more reflective attitude that there was a lot to consider beyond the romantic notion that revolution, per se, is necessarily a good idea, much less the perfect solution that its enthusiasts so fervently imagine:
You say you want a revolution, well, you know
We all wanna change the world
You tell me that it’s evolution, well, you know
We all wanna change the world…
But when you talk about destruction
Don’t you know that you can count me out?
You say you got a real solution, well, you know
We’d all love to see the plan
You ask me for a contribution, well, you know
We’re all doin’ what we can…
But if you want money for people with minds that hate
All I can tell you is, brother, you have to wait…
But if you go carryin’ pictures of Chairman Mao
You ain’t gonna make it with anyone anyhow…
Hey, let’s put in a quarter and listen to it AGAIN…
