Inventions of the twentieth century drastically reshaped the purpose and thrust of the popular arts. Radio made it possible for music to be aired, playscripts to be dramatized and heard, and sketches of comedic art to be broadcast. Motion pictures that could "talk" added another exciting and significant dimension. And, in a few short years, television projected art forms of all kinds--oral, aural, and visual--into myriad living rooms around the world. Concurrently, due to the invention of the phonograph, the public could experience over and over again the hearing of a chosen piece of music; and the refinements of tapes and cassettes facilitated the handling and the playing of an even broader and more personal selection of music and of recordings of great dramas and great speeches. Innovations to speed the processes of printing dramatically raised the output and allowed the introduction of the mass-produced paperback book. The same production breakthroughs enabled small-circulation magazines to focus upon and specialize in single art forms. Because of these and other technological inventions, like the computer and the earth-circling communication satellite, millions of the world's exploding populations have been exposed to and significantly influenced by the persuasive power of the popular arts. In addition, the older forms of art and media have interacted and combined to produce ancillary effects which are, in fact, entirely new presentational forms. Elvis Presley performing on television is not Presley in "live" performance. A videotape can "telescope" time, rescheduling significant events and entertainment for maximum viewing at a more convenient moment. And consider what such technological innovations as slow-motion film, split screen, and instant playback have done to revolutionize and popularize athletic contests (which in turn help to sell beer, automobiles, razors, and shaving lotions).
ART AS PERSUASION
What makes art an effective instrument of persuasion is the viewer's unique perception of the artistic event as he experiences it. All audiences, when they are about to attend or experience an event--whether "live" or electronic--have certain expectations about the content of that event. When the event is a political rally, the audience anticipates discussion and exhortation. When the event is a concert--a Presley concert, for instance--the concert-goer would expect to hear, among other old favorites, "You Ain't Nothin' but a Hound Dog."
In addition to expectations regarding content, audiences also have anticipations as to the form and intent of the presentation. The form of a political rally is primarily a succession of public speeches, with perhaps some preliminary and "transitional" music designed to attract attention and add a pleasurable, but secondary, dimension. The political spectator knows that, above all, the public-address form is designed to maintain or change his attitudes and beliefs. He naturally, therefore, comes to the event prepared for a verbal onslaught on his political attitudes; and he sharpens his critical senses in order to analyze the ideological arguments with which he knows he will be bombarded. He will be alert to anything that accords with his views and can be applauded, and equally ready to reject claims and assertions contrary or inimical to those views.
If the popular arts have so much persuasive potential, why aren't they being exploited? Or are they?
In contrast, the concert-goer, anticipating a full evening of music intended solely for the purpose of providing aesthetic enjoyment, does not expect his attitudes to be challenged, his beliefs to be threatened. In music, usually, he anticipates no persuasiveness as such; and so, of course, he does not mentally brace himself to counter arguments or to refute ideas, even if some were to be embedded or disguised in the song, the opera, or the festival. Similarly, a poem often may be enjoyed for reasons other than its ideological content; frequently, it may be appreciated for such stylistic elements as its rhythm, its imagery, the precision and compactness of its phrasing, the delicacy of its structural balance, and for its power to evoke mood and emotion. Generally speaking, those who read poetry do not become argumentative about its substantive ideas or disqualify a poet's work because of his political beliefs. Similarly, with regard to the lyrics of a song, a listener can enjoy "Puff, the Magic Dragon" without buying into its alleged exaltation of smoking marijuana; he can appreciate the music without feeling prompted to debate the legalization of grass.
What is important to remember is that, although the auditor is appreciating the poem or song for its literary or musical qualities, he is nevertheless absorbing the content. Since he perceives the form as being pleasurable rather than persuasive, he may listen to the piece many times. Thus, even though the message may be subtle, the fact that it is repeated over and over--on radio, television, stereo, and cassette--means that millions of people will hear it. This repetition makes the potential power of the piece enormous. While the Federal Communications Commission may limit the broadcast or televised speeches of political figures, it has not similarly restricted the singing of Neil Young or the sarcastic comedy routines of Don Rickles. We may quite correctly conclude then that, when members of an audience witness or experience an artistic performance, they often suspend judgment or make no critical evaluation of the persuasive effect of the work.
ARTISTIC LICENSE
That a viewer suspends or abrogates judgment of controversial content is an acknowledged part of artistic license. There is an unstated assumption between artist and audience that political or moral biases are to be discounted to allow the artist freedom of creation or of expression. This assumption would probably be subject to reexamination when applied to such an obviously political play as MacBird2 or to some of the more blatant revolutionary songs and poems. But generally the assumptions of artistic license stand unchallenged. There are few rhetorical analyses of the revolutionary strategies of Donovan. The fact of the matter is, however, that the strategies are present--and virulent.
Rock music was born of a revolt against the sham of Western culture: It was direct and gutsy and spoke to the senses. As such, it was profoundly subversive. It still is.
That the popular arts are considered essentially entertainment gives them a decided advantage over other and more direct forms of verbal expression. They are normally pleasurable, and at the same time they lower the receiver's resistance to whatever subtle persuasion may be embedded in them. At a distinct disadvantage in this respect are such directly communicative forms as the lecture, the public address, and the personal encounter. Their direct form proclaims their obvious intent. Even if these forms are intended to be informative or inspirational in their impact, audiences do not view them as entertainment. On the other hand, as we have noted, most of our music, film, and night-club routines are perceived almost entirely as pleasurable, aesthetic events utterly devoid of subtle or sinister "impurities" of persuasion against which we must defend ourselves. The "lively" arts, being entertaining, encourage us to attend and pay attention. We may eagerly buy a ticket to a Joan Baez concert and listen entranced to her singing. But a lecture or a public address is another matter. Unless we have a special or vested interest in the subject or the socio-political stance of the speaker, we may be reluctant to attend even if the event is admission free. If we do decide to go, we start with a defensive frame of mind, anticipating that at best the experience will be boring. Potentially, the speech--and certainly the lecture--proffers more intellectual justification, but it is Baez' music which generates repeated applause and quite frequently the audience's insistence upon an encore.
The so-called stand-up comedy act--whether staged in a nightclub or on television--illustrates even more strikingly the peculiar advantage of the entertainment form as a vehicle of persuasion. Many comedians induce audiences to laugh at political jokes even though these jokes reflect sentiments which the same audience would find objectionable in a speech or formal address.
I have to fly to Kansas City, Missouri, right after the show. This white cat moved into an all colored neighborhood and some colored bigots burned a watermelon on his lawn.
The late Lenny Bruce was famous for his blackly humorous attacks on sacred targets. People who laughed at his comedy routine about Eleanor Roosevelt's fabulous breasts probably would find the idea repulsive or at least offensive if Bruce had presented it in the form of a straight speech and without the shield of humor.3 But given the nightclub/entertainment surroundings, most of the audience--even though they may have downgraded the comedian as being foul--tended to discount the grossness and to laugh. Using the format of comedic commentary, Bruce forced an alternate view of the dignified former First Lady upon them. By tossing his darts amid a milieu of liquor and laughter, the comedian was able to disguise his attack and achieve a tolerant audience reception.
Of course, the tactic of comedic commentary can backfire, especially if the target happens to be an extremely influential or powerful politician. Mort Sahl, who used humorous license to comment upon the foibles and fallacies of the presidency, regardless of the party which happened to be in power, purportedly found his contracts cancelled and the number of his engagements drastically curtailed after he tried to "take on" the Kennedy clan.
THE PURITY OF ART FORMS
Another factor which enables popular art forms to be unobtrusively but powerfully persuasive is the audience's perception of the "purity" of these forms. The artist is not considered the arch manipulator as is, for example, the public speaker. There have been too many lies and too many unfilled promises delivered in the form of speeches. As communication, public speaking has been somewhat discredited. Because, in the public mind, artistic creativity is not as closely associated with business and politics as is public speaking, art forms are traditionally considered as rather unbiased and unsullied outlets of expression. You can trust a folksinger. When has a balladeer seriously extolled the virtues of General Motors?
As a people, however, we are becoming increasingly--and, perhaps, uneasily--aware that we cannot consistently perceive all art as being above manipulative intent. Many television programs which in themselves are highly artistic and unbiased nevertheless enjoy commercial sponsorship. It is not unusual for a too creative piece to be censored by a queasy company willing to sponsor only art that is consistent with its conception of an easily offended public. That, in fact, has come to be the prevailing practice, the essential economic fact of life for television. And in the films also we find some straightforward, unabashed propaganda. One example is Battle of Algiers, a how-to-do-it guide for revolution.4 Obviously, the appeal of this kind of film--and its employment of persuasion--is more direct than, say, an Ingmar Bergman film, which is often vague and mystical. Algiers assaults the spectator with violent action and patriotic speeches; Bergman's Wild Strawberries, through its mood and pacing, works more subtly on the viewer.5 However, even if we use the extreme example of Battle of Algiers, our initial assertion is still valid: the filmic format makes its theme more acceptable to far larger groups than would be the same theme expressed in a public speech.
MUSIC AS PERSUASION
Popular music is potentially one of the most persuasive of all of the arts. Clearly, its advantages in this respect are unique and varied: (1) Thematically, modern popular music is relatively simple. When it is coupled with the insistent repetitiveness of today's rock lyrics, listeners need exert very little effort to grasp the ideas, persuasive or otherwise, that the song is trying to communicate. (2) Even more important, perhaps, is the fact that the listeners themselves--thanks to the easy availability and relatively low cost of records, record-players, and cassettes--can play the same song over and over, scores or even hundreds of times. Not beyond belief is the estimate that an admirer of Bob Dylan's music may play his "Blowin' in the Wind" fifty times in a single evening. In contrast, very few people will play a recording of a speech, much less purchase a recording of one. Consider, then, how much greater are the opportunities for the singer of popular songs to make repeated and persuasive impressions upon a listener. (3) Since an infectious beat or a simple lyric has a way of embedding itself in our conscious and subconscious minds, the subliminal persuasiveness of the song is always with us. Once our thinking has been impregnated with the idea, we multiply its effect manyfold and perpetuate it within ourselves--and by ourselves.
Would it make sense for a teacher to write his lecture in poetry or rock lyrics?
In total effect, while as yet there may be no scientific proof that popular music can influence conversion to ideas, political and cultural, it dins into our ears so constantly and bombards our minds so heavily that the possibility of such influencing cannot be shrugged off. Nor can we dismiss an even stronger possibility that repeated playing of music and lyrics when coupled with more direct forms of persuasion--a political speech, for example-will produce significant attitude change.
Two thousand college students riot after hearing attorney William Kunstler discuss the Conspiracy Trial of the Chicago Seven.
Question: What caused the riot?
Kunstler's speech?
The trial?
Society?
Bob Dylan?
Rolling Stone?
All of the above?
That a single speech by a middle-aged militant or that any other similar communicative event can in and by itself produce mass conversion to an idea is both implausible and improbable. What is much more likely is that a combination and repetition of speechmaking, popular music, comedic acts and commentary, and "guerrilla" movies have all contributed to the attitudinal shifts which are taking place in our society. Kunstler's speech may have sparked what appeared to be riot-oriented conversion, but years of "softening up"' by Phil Ochs, the Beatles, the comic strips of Robert Crumb, and polemic films like Algiers and Z made it possible.
Significantly, the popular arts have not been in the hands of the Establishment (a condition which prevailed in earlier eras). If anything, the rock musician, the stand-up comedian, or the modern poet is an outsider who attacks Society's conventions. Since the marriage of the popular arts with the mass media, much of America--much of the world, in fact--has been steadily exposed to alternate life styles. In matters of civil rights, Vietnam, and ecology, for example, the popular arts have exerted steady pressure on a number of major governmental policies during the past decade. There are few folk songs defending the notion of racial or economic inferiority, and very few poems glorifying the backlash. These negativistic, reactionary stances rarely are taken by musicians, poets, and other artists. And this may very well be an important reason why the popular arts remain highly articulate antagonists of twentieth-century bias and bigotry.
1. G.B. Shaw (1856-1950), Irish playwright and critic, whose play, Pygmalion (1913), is his most successful work as a play, a film and the basis for the musical My Fair Lady; Johann Strauss (1825-99), famous Viennesse musician and composer of more than 400 waltzes, including the "Blue Danube"; Howard Hawks (1896-1977), American film director, famous for such westerns as The Big Sky, Rio Bravo, and Red River; Will Rogers (1879-1939), American humorist and social commentator, who was widely known as the "cowboy Philosopher."
2. Barbara Garson's shocking 1966 parody of Shakespeare's Macbeth, in which she parallels Lyndon Johnson with Macbeth, John F. Kennedy with Duncan, and Robert Kennedy as a combination of Malcolm-Macduff.
3. In his routine, which is reprinted in The Essential Lenny Bruce, ed. John Cohn (New York: Ballantine Books, 1970), p. 239, Bruce spoke about a friend of his who supposedly walked in on Mrs. Roosevelt while she was dressing.
4. Directed by Gillo Pontecorvo, The Battle of Algiers (1965) is a starkly realistic reenactment of the violent rebellion of the Algerians against the French in 1954.
5. Written and directed by the Swedish film-maker Ingmar Bergman, Wild Strawberries (1957) concerns the dream experiences of an aging-scientist, played by Victor Seastrom, who is on his way to the university at Lund to be honored.
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