MUSIC NOTES JD Buhl
It’s the Song, Not the Singer A song is but a little thing, and yet what joy it is to sing! Paul Laurence Dunbar Nowhere is this more true than on American Idol. What joy it is to sing is suggested in the face of each contestant; their every grimace, groan, or grointhrust refers to an ecstatic state. But that little thing, the song, is further diminished by competitive attention to performance. Such tattered flags as “I’ll Be There” or “Without You” exist now for the sole purpose of wowing crowds hellbent on celebrity. Earlier this year, Associated Press entertainment writer Derrick J. Lang noted what a Christian appearance Idol was taking on. At that point in the show’s eighth season, more than half of the 11 finalists were regular church singers, with three of those six employed as worship leaders. Reminding readers that several finalists have gone on to make gospel albums, Lang wrote that like this season’s Kris Allen and Danny Gokey, “many contestants throughout the past seven seasons of Idol have been Christian and either overtly or subtly showcased their faith.” What an unfortunate choice of words. American Idol is itself a showcase, a spectacular display of the earnest insincerity that so often defines America itself. Though Idol has hosted its own songwriting competition, the broadcast that fills homes weekly is that of singers abusing songs once endowed with their own weight and meaning as a way of drawing attention to themselves. In a rare lead vocal on Pearl Jam’s No Code, guitarist Stone Gossard sings, “It’s all just inadvertent imitation ... all across this
nation/It’s all just inadvertent simulation, pattern in all mankind/what’s got the whole world fakin’ it.” Subtlety is rare where histrionics are the norm. The Idol-inspired tendency to over-emote, a phenomenon known as “over-souling,” is inadvertent, almost innocent. One can feel sympathy for those straining to replicate something — call it soul — they may have only seen imitated, and doing so before millions of voters. Not content to be moved, viewers are in the position of calculating exactly how moved they have become. It is here that the song is a little thing indeed. I get the feeling that performers on Idol hold words and melodies in suspicion, as if no combination of these arts can be trusted to do the job. The singers are not there to deliver the hard work of songwriters, to let that work speak for itself; they are instead there to deliver themselves. And it is not just the amateurs. During this season’s finale, Rod Stewart, once the greatest rock ‘n’ roll singer since Elvis, prostituted his “Maggie May” one more time. What began life as a poignant and pointed lyric, charting with concise details that confused region between passion and ambivalence, has become just another sing-along. Rod’s appearance was about Rod’s appearance, not the song that once broke hearts with its depiction of a dissolute schoolboy and the less-thanvirtuous woman he loves. This subordinating of song leads to a loss of soul. Linford Detweiler of Over the Rhine wrote in Image that “soul can’t be reduced to a formula or nailed down or explained or quantified, but every music lover knows when it’s missing.” My fear is that by voting for the most convincing simulation of soul, those who consider themselves music lovers are willingly contributing to its trivialization; they have signed off on the latest attempt to formulize and quantify this essential element of human communication. Detweiler goes on to say PRISM 2009
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that “soul gets tangled up with suffering, darkness, hope, forgiveness, awe — the slippery stuff of life.” The difference between a singer with soul and the “soul singers” one finds on Idol is “the difference between having sex and making love: physically, the same thing is being accomplished, more or less, but one invites the spirit in.” What’s got the whole world fakin’ it? This leaving the spirit off the guest list. I would sound as stupid as Simon Cowell if I were to say that every Idol contestant’s life is devoid of suffering, darkness, hope, forgiveness, and awe. But few if any know how to give voice to these human experiences by trusting a song to guide them. They are so busy over-souling that the possible succor of the words and music, their very intention of addressing these beauties, is lost. In a conversation with Bay Area writer Lee Hildebrand, gospel star Hezekiah Walker spoke of his role as judge in a choir competition. Although technique, dynamics, and choreography were among the criteria, “spirit makes the difference.” Gospel performers are bringers of the good news, “and we have to communicate that and make sure it translates. It can only translate with spirit.” Spirit is what Christians might call soul, and we all know how it hurts the heart and the ears when a gospel singer feels he or she has more of it than somebody else. Precautions were taken to make sure that Walker’s event would not become anything like American Idol. Hildebrand was told by a sponsor spokesperson that judges were “not going to make fun of anyone or make anyone feel bad.” Humiliation is central to Idol’s appeal. Yet BeliefNet blogger Joanne Brokaw believes that “the fact that the line between Christian music and the mainstream is becoming more blurred makes it OK for people who are involved in worship to audition for a show like this and not feel like they are selling out or will be criticized.” Central, too, is sex