Let Them Hear Cake

Rock ‘n Roll, the truly American invention. We drink German beer, eat Italian pizza, practice Greek and Roman-style government, but if there’s one thing we Americans can claim full credit for, it’s Rock n’ Roll. Nowadays, it seems futile to deny its awesomeness, and at times its artfulness, and yet it remains a black sheep.

From its inception, it was looked upon as a defiler of ears, a disruptor of youth. It was the Devil’s sonic hand reaching out to tempt the sinner. Yes, it’s quaint when you consider that it started with the likes of Buddy Holly. Today, it’s become such a normal part of our culture that the sounds of U2 opens every corporate meeting and Marilyn Manson has been forgotten as banal and passe. Yet, after all this time, we separate our rock selves from our civic selves.

Did you know that in the White House there is a massive collection of Vinyl records? Sex Pistols, Ramones, Bruce Springsteen, The Beatles...they are all there, and why not? The Library of Congress holds classic films and the White House has it’s own screening room, and much like film, music is an important part of our culture. At both the Inauguration and the Balls that followed, musicians shared the stage with Barack Obama.

But ever since Ronald Reagan took office, those Vinyl albums, classic Americana, have been hidden away in the basement. Apparently, Nancy Reagan didn’t like the White House halls being lined with shelves of albums like John Cusack’s apartment in High Fidelity. But as Wyatt pointed out on The Daily Show last week, we have a cool President now. Isn’t it time that we give this music the respect it deserves, bring it out of the basement, and blast it in the Oval Office (okay, maybe just keep it at a nice low level while the President reading memos).

This music is who we are. It represents our passions, our angst, our ideals, our flaws. We can’t hide these things away in the basement, we must bring them out into the light. Long after people have forgotten the budget fights and confirmation hearings, they will remember these songs. Great men live forever, but so do great songs. So, c’mon Barack, grab your copy of Blood on the Tracks and put it where it belongs, up on the shelf next to your copy of Huck Finn and The Constitution.