I am a pariah. I have been cast out into the desert because I am presently a social leper. The bug moved silently through my system, eroding my mentality. I call it the Hyprocisy Influenza, a disease that will make you shed your convictions and put on a new skin that’s not really fit to wear.

It all started when I awoke with an uneasy feeling Wednesday morning. A studious creature of habit, I went to my computer and read the Internet headlines. I turned ashen as I read highlights from the previous night’s Grammy’s. Music icons Steely Dan had finally had a good night. They had won for album of the year, best pop performance, best pop vocal album, and best engineered album/non-classical. My soul felt like a piece of two-day gristle.

Where the hell was Eminem? He was supposed to win so that my finger-pointing could continue. I wanted to be able to wake up in the morning and be able to say that my society was boiling down into uncaring ooze. Marshall Mather’s (his “Christian name”) victory would have done that. Instead I was confronted by the fact that I had to digest a hectare of humble pie.

I had been turned on to Steely Dan many moons ago. Their tight musicianship (Peter Rodman of The Colorado Springs Sun once wrote “They’re too damn perfect”) is complemented by hefty beat lyrics. Donald Fagan’s tales of uncanny relations are undercut by a jazzy flow that is free of debris. When you first listen to Steely Dan there is a camouflage sound, otherwise known as elevator music. The pleasing melodies are G-rated enough to warrant infinite occupancy at a grocery store’s muzak selection. I guarantee that Ingles would lose a bale of customers if the lyrics were deciphered.

The next time you’re looking for Spam in the “Unidentified” aisle and Steely breaks out over the loudspeaker, be aware that the song might be about lusting after young girls (“Babylon Sisters”), heavy drug use (“Boston Rag”), a child molester (“Everyone’s Gone To the Movies”), offing a cuckolded wife (“Gaslighting Abbie”), etc. I am blind to these deviant writings because I admire these men for their musicianship. Their influence on me has opened my eyes to jazz greats like Charlie Parker (thank you, “Parker’s Band” and “Charlie Freak”) and the writings of beat greats like William Burroughs and Jack Kerouac.

Want shock value? The name, Steely Dan, is borrowed from Burroughs’ novel “Naked Lunch.” The moniker is of the pleasure variety, known to most as a dildo. Feeling guilty yet? “Cousin Dupree,” the winner for best pop performance, is a sweet little story about underage lusting - “When I see my little cousin Janine walk in, all I could say was ow-ow-ouch/Honey how you’ve grown like a rose/Well we used to play when we were three/How about a kiss for your cousin Dupree?/She turned my life into a living hell /In those little tops and tight capris/I pretended to be readin’ the National Probe as I was watchin’ her wax her skis.” The song seems like an ode to the literary world’s favorite little sicko, Humbert Humbert, from the classic “Lolita.” The book and the song have very troubling matter, but they have both been praised as lofty art.

I am by no means glorifying Eminem, or giving praise to his lyrics about intense homophobia and rape fantasies. He is an icon in youth culture because of media condemnation. Instead of letting Eminem ride off into the sunset, columns and headlines scream his name that fuels his popularity (you can now call me a twice-over hypocrite). If I remember correctly, Johnny Cash and R.L. Burnside delved into some violent lyrics. Yet, we now hold both of these men in high esteem. Eminem is hate because we add timbers to that loathing by destroying his name on a daily basis. My sense of irony was played out when I criticized Mr. Mathers while Steely’s ode to a pedophile, “Everyone’s Gone to The Movies,” played in the background.

Steely fans will probably call me a traitor. “There is no comparison,” they’ll say. “Steely Dan examines the underbelly. Eminem is the underbelly.” I agree, but art has to come from everywhere. Jazz began in the brothels of New Orlean’s Storyville. The term jazz is borrowed from “jass,” which was the jasmine perfume that prostitutes used to wear.

In the mood for more offenses? Check out the “Doors Live.” The song, “The End” is about the tragic hero, Oedipus Rex, and his thirst for his mother’s loins - “Mother,” Jim Morrison screams, “I want to f—--- you!” This little quote didn’t go over well with audiences back then. Bad boy Jim didn’t offer any explanation of the song at the time. People just assumed that he was talking about his own mother.

Now you have the excrement classic, “Kill You” by Eminem where he delves into rape fantasies about his estranged mother - “Oh, now he’s rapin’ his own mother, abusing a whore, snorting coke, and we gave him the Rolling Stone cover? You g---- right B----, and now it’s too late. I’m triple platinum and tragedies happened in two states.” Chilling, yes, but like Morrison, it seems that Eminem is just trying to get a rise out of the public. The lyrics are hard to digest and my stomach did a slight somersault. However, he’s essentially making fun of our society. Take away the 8 million “f---s” and you essentially have a rapper laughing at everyone of us.

“Look at me,” says Eminem, “You hang me in effigy, yet you put me on the front page.” It won’t be long before Oliver Stone turns him into a hero.

There is also the argument that rap is nowhere near the musical lineage of jazz. In my own little world of free opinion, I agree. But jazz got a couple of years seniority on rap. I also believe that Steely Dan is musically superior to Eminem. But that’s just me. Both, however, at effective are getting their points across. Yes, Eminem, has a grim landscape, and his own morbid insecurities have garnered millions. He’s like a cute rabid dog that some sucker wants to take home. He has a violent message, but when was our world a place of peace and Utopia? You have the choice not to listen Eminem, as well as Steely Dan. I respect any parent who does not allow their children to listen to bigoted musings. If anything, Eminem can be a great learning tool on how not to act towards people who are different.

I’m going to ignore Eminem from now on. Let his ego take a trouncing once the dollars start to disappear. If he really is the artist he claims to be, then the maturity will blossom in later offerings.

Maybe he’ll start writing songs that appease the “older” crowd. Then again, he wouldn’t be Eminem if he delved into schlock. Steely Dan never caved in, so why should our astute whipping boy? Maybe he’ll take a cue from Fagan and Becker and start masking his lyrics.

 

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