IIIIIII WANT TO BEEEEEEEE.....a registered Democrat, Part Deux

Dave Weigel of Reason Magazine questions the notion that pop culture is inherently leftist in a review of Dispatches From the Culture Wars: How the Left Lost Teen Spirit (link via Instapundit). I read the Post's review of this book months ago when it was released, based on that, I found the premise shallow at best, at worst a pretentious example of the navel-gazing that those in the pop industry are given to, the surety that they possess cosmic truth. Weigel leans more toward the "shallow" end, dinging author Danny Goldberg for never considering that maybe Democratic policies have something to do with whether the young respond to them. More to the point, Goldberg ignores the glaringly obvious fact that fans don't necessarily look to musicians for their politics:

Not every fan of Rage Against the Machine or the Dead Kennedys is against globalization and free trade. Marilyn Manson -- yes -- guardedly endorsed George W. Bush during the 2000 election, telling the defunct Talk magazine, "If I had to pick, I?d pick Bush and not necessarily by default. I know I don?t support what the other team is about." In the end, very few Dixie Chicks fans, judging by ticket and album sales, care all that much about the band?s stance on presidential IQ or geopolitics.

As someone who often grooves to the MC5's Kick Out the Jams while ignoring or skipping the album's stereotypical hippie rants, I can only say "duh." Who says that the young (or anyone else for that matter) is only interested in overthrowing authority or establishing national medical insurance (cause that's so badass)? Who says that music can only be a conveyer of the will to change? For that matter, why must the change only be the kind of change the DNC approves of?


I could also ask if the kind of arguments a three-muinute pop song contains will necessarily translate to public policy. But I suppose even asking that question marks me as a dull wanker, uncool enough for school and smart enough to get a job. How my soul chafes at its bourgeois confinement.