The American Culture

When Dexter Gordon passed away in 1990, Detroit Free Press columnist Mitch Albom penned an article boasting he owned every one of the jazz saxophonist’s albums while simultaneously lamenting the majority of his readership probably didn’t even know who Gordon was. Instead, Albom took the opportunity presented by Gordon’s death to tell his readership they were stupid, uncultured louts who probably knew all the lyrics to Madonna’s hit singles. Madge, you may recall in those days, was still somewhat of an enfant terrible. It was an apples v. oranges argument, in other words, and somewhat fatuous on Albom’s part. This brings us to the media storm surrounding the death of Dick Clark and the comparative cricket chirping attending the passing of Levon Helm. The former was a marketing-savvy promoter who broadcast rock, pop, and disco infomercials into America’s living rooms every week for decades. No harm there, as parents were assured by the smooth-talking, youthfully handsome, hip yet terminally white-bread host that rock music wasn’t really all that dangerous. Yes, the longhairs wielded electric guitars like blade-brandishing barbarians laying siege to Rome, but they were held back from complete victory by adhering to the strictures enforced by lip syncing to

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