There isn’t much wind, my friend.
And when there is, you won’t find many answers blowing in it.
(One of) The problem(s) with the world right now
is that there isn’t a new Bob Dylan.
(Years too late) punk rockers sang about an American idiot.
And thirty-something (at least) country chicks didn’t want to back down.
The former’s fan base was getting too old to care (the right way.)
The latter’s fan base only put their guns down long enough to boo.
Not much of a revolution.
But, what if there WAS a new Dylan?
A twenty-something chanteuse with a voice and a conscience.
And a song.
What a song.
A beautiful and heart-breaking tale of an Iraq war veteran that lost both legs to an IED.
A veteran that returned home to a son that saw Michael Moore as more of a hero than his old man.
To a daughter that just wants piggyback rides from her daddy again.
To a wife that is going to take the kids and move back in with her parents because the Paxil is just not getting it done for her anymore.
What if this song had the power to cross cultural, racial, economic and even (some) political divides?
What if many, many people could feel something special happening?
A real change.
Maybe even a mania.
Would WOULD happen?
It’s simple, really.
Within days, Republican hatchet men would dig up the story about how she let the high school QB finger fuck her in a ’97 Ford Ranger, behind a fast food restaurant, when she was 17.
Karl Rovians would be flocking to call her a “Wh0re” in her MySpace comments.
“Christians”would work themselves into a lather because she and Mr. QB weren’t wearing rings when he decided to do a little digit spelunking, all the while scratching their heads in consternation because they couldn’t figure out how to have a protest bonfire with mp3 files.
The Democrats would howl at the mistreatment… and then likely do little to fix it if given the chance.
But, what if she somehow managed to withstand the slings and arrows? What if she was made of greater stuff?
What if she could somehow turn down the millions of dollars offered to use her song in a commercial to sell tampons? (The ones with cardboard applicators!)
Well, then the media would grow tired of her as a story. They would shift their focus, instead, to Britney Spears’ comeback album “Emotional C-section Scars.”
And we’d read and watch and, God help us, listen.
Maybe we’ll never have another Dylan.
But, whose fault is it?
The media? Yes.
Our own? Absolutely.
Still, I think that Britney Spears has to shoulder some of the blame.