Music is like politics in that it is too important to be left to professionals. –Michelle Shocked
While 1988 was a banner year for critical and commercial acceptance of overtly political popular music, I suspect that the vast majority of self-consciously “political” songs, made cultural inroads far smaller than, say, George Michael’s Grammy-winning derriere last year; the most widespread political imagery derived from popular music teetered between cheerful indifference (e.g., George Bush’s misreading of Bobby McFerrin’s hit as “Don’t Worry, Be Complacent”) and self-righteous sanctimony (e.g., suburban liberals’ misreading of Chapman’s big hit as “Do Worry, Be Guilty”). Glib narcissist though he may be, Manly George (Michael, not Bush, but give the latter time) has mastered the populist art of positioning his prized possession where it counts. While the typical political song may make listeners feel good about their own sensitivity or awareness, it’s much more difficult to inspire political participation.
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If you haven’t heard Michelle Shocked, you probably will soon. While this playfully subversive Texan troubadour has the talent and appeal to follow in Chapman’s footsteps as the Platinum Political Folkie of 1989, she’s also shrewd enough to throw curveballs at anyone who would dare to pigeonhole her music this way. Her recent solo acoustic performance at Cabaret Metro featured country- and blues-derived songs of remarkable range and wit, opening performances by friends from both coasts (the Balancing Act, a cleverly inventive Los Angeles postrock combo, and Roger Manning, a ragged New York bluegrass anarchist), and–here’s the curveball–an impromptu public forum on flag etiquette with guest appearances from the current favorite public enemies of the month.
Part of the reason Shocked is such an effective storyteller may be that her own life has been more interesting than most movies you will see this year. Growing up with a fundamentalist Mormon mother and stepfather in rural east Texas, she read too many books and asked too many questions (she had to “teach her history teacher how to say ‘bourgeois’”). She learned to associate music with liberation while attending bluegrass festivals with her natural father, an aging hippie. In one of several hilarious moments at the Metro show, Shocked yodeled (to a tune that by her own admission sounded a lot like Arlo Guthrie’s “Alice’s Restaurant”) an account of her hometown of Gilmer’s annual “Yamboree Queen” contest, which continues to be celebrated despite the fact that government agricultural policies terminated yam production there decades ago. “That’s east Texas for you,” she said. “Hell, that’s America.”
Perhaps most shocking of all was her decision to devote encore time to an experiment in audience democracy: a participatory public forum on Chicago’s favorite parlor game, “What Is the Proper Way to Display the Flag?” Needless to say, Michelle was making trouble for the VFW; on hand to discuss the subject were Chicago’s favorite art student, “Dread” Scott Tyler, and an antiwar protester whose conviction for burning the flag (overturned on appeal in Texas) will soon reach the Supreme Court for review. The experiment seemed deliberately designed to shake up those fair-weather progressives in the audience who would rather leave their copies of Tracy Chapman on the coffee table than question any of their own beliefs. Judging from the mixed audience reaction–some felt cheated; others wanted to elect her mayor–she accomplished just that.
