I Come, Anon!

Little Mystery - Todd Thibaud (mp3)

Bob doesn’t like anonymous commenters. They are the green eggs and ham of his existence. He prefers people with names. People like troutking, gooftyakemyhand, Thom Anon, Daisy, cinderkeys, BeckEye.

I find Bob’s prejudices in this matter to be entirely weird.

Of the people whose pseudonyms I’ve listed above -- loyal or semi-loyal readers one and all -- Bob only knows three of them well. He knows little or nothing of the other three. Nothing, that is, except a made-up name that re-emerges with new comments.

Do they have spouses or children? What are their career interests or personal aspirations? Are they religious? Do they own firearms? Have they ever stalked someone on Facebook? Bob doesn’t know. And, more importantly, Bob doesn’t really care.*

Which is precisely why I don’t quite understand why he gets so annoyed with anonymous comments like the one he received following his Damning-With-Faint-Damnation write-up about the Avett Brothers.

The Anonymous In Question (I hereby name him “TAIQ”) wrote a sincere response to Bob’s negative slant on the Avett Brothers. He (she?) wasn’t trolling. He wasn’t insulting Bob. He was just begging to differ and sharing his own degree of interest in and passion for the band in question. I would think -- and perhaps Bob will correct me -- that the kinds of comments TAIQ offered are precisely the kind of honest counterpoints for which one might hope to receive from the outside world when writing an opinion piece on a blog.

What if TAIQ named himself “TAIQ”? Or Jimmy, or Papa Smurf, or Dick Cheney’s Pet Giraffe? This somehow would have comforted Bob. At least, that’s the impression one can rightly get from Bob’s frequently put-off replies to people who simply choose to keep the name “Anonymous.”

One of my favorite movie moments of the last 20 years -- and one of the most powerful American literature moments of the last century -- is the scene where John Proctor screams and beseeches the mortal judges of his fate to leave him his name in the film adaptation of “The Crucible.” (Skip to the 3:15 mark to see the clip. Every single time I watch it, I get very misty.)

If we all had to post our names -- our real, full, completely identifiable names -- on all the doors to all the places we visit or pass by, both in the real world and online, perhaps we would be more respectful of our own decision-making. We might better honor our names and our souls if we were required to own up in toto to all our words and deeds.

But then, how to defend that the entire foundation of Bottom of the Glass is built on anonymity? From day one, Bob and I determined we could not, with sufficient comfort and confidence, write our honest and blunt opinions about things unless we keep our identities all but private. That’s right; this entire blog is written by two mostly-anonymous people who choose to reveal only what they wish to reveal about themselves.

Were our full names on BOTG, the entire tone and personality of this endeavor would shift. It would become safer, stiffer, and more vanilla than a venti Starbucks latte. Instead, having just the slightest veneer of identity protection frees us up to be a version of ourselves that need not care about our paycheck security, our colleague security, our church security, whatever.

It is not a lie, our semi-anonymity, anymore than Clark Kent is a lie. It is a reminder that we all create personae to fit specific crowds and times. (If you have somehow fooled yourself into thinking you are immune from this peccadillo, sleep well with your self-delusion.)

To TAIQ and others out there in our Anonymous Universe: all we’d really like -- but don’t by any means demand -- is some basic, simple, and yes ultimately still-anonymous way of identifying you that separates you ever so slightly from all those other anonymous people we don’t know.

We both sincerely hope you’ll have been intrigued or annoyed enough to return and share in future conversations!


* - This lack of care does not speak ill of Bob. It is the natural inclination of almost all of us to not care about the life details of people with whom we have no actual expected interactions in the near or far future. It’s tough enough for most of us to care about the life details of people we actually care about and work or live with, much less those we hardly know.

Assault on the Avetts

Avett Brothers--"Shame (live)" (mp3)

There are no good reasons at all why I should turn against the Avett Brothers. They play a melodic, largely acoustic brand of music with confessional lyrics, effective harmonies and some pretty good songs. They seem like nice guys. They are strongly rumored to put on a very good live show. People love them. Critics have been on board for years. They use a banjo. All of these characteristics taken together are practically a blueprint for a major strand of music that I have liked for over 40 years. So what's the problem with the Avett Brothers?

They're safe.

Perhaps now that I've said it, you realize it, too. If you do, you're quickly becoming indifferent or, more likely, defensive.

The realization crept up on me and then whacked me on the head like Maxwell's Silver Hammer. Now, as I've gotten older, as things have begun to slow down a bit, I don't possess the Safe-O-Meter that maybe I once did. A band that's kind of alternative, that's pretty acoustic, that is underproduced and doesn't seem to take itself too seriously can suck me right in. Maybe it always could. To think of Crosby, Stills, and Nash as once somehow revolutionary seems hard to believe.

But the path of the Avetts is more insidious. See, we received the Avetts for Christmas, a very thoughtful gift from a music-loving friend. I received a two-disc homemade-burned set of favorite Avett songs. And I've listened to them pleasantly for several weeks. My wife liked what she heard, too. They're in heavy rotation in the kitchen Bose.

So here's what brought the Avetts down for me and what may make you angry: the Avetts have become darlings of the Conservative Christian community around here. It has turned me against them. I should have realized it, but I wasn't paying attention. Avettmania started among the Christian students. The first time I heard about them was from a student who told me that they were "kind of bluegrass" (completely wrong--I guess it was the banjo) and that they were great in concert. Then more and more of his friends were dropping their names, too. When the Avetts played nearby, a lot of the students went. At first, if you're a teacher, you think, 'Oh, they must be a popular band among students these days.'

I'm here to suggest that it's a bit more than that. See, if you went back a few years, we might be having the same conversation about David Wilcox. I never heard that much of his music, except on an endless admission trip with an admissions guy (and Young Life leader) who declared Wilcox his favorite performer and seemed to listen to nothing else, at least during both directions of that car ride to Jackson, Mississippi. But it became clear after I returned from that trip and mentioned Wilcox to students that he, too, had spread along similar paths.

To have received the Avetts from a Conservative Christian adult was the reminder that the Avetts had achieved that same kind of Christian status. The Avetts are now a Conservative Christian "talking point," a band guaranteed nods of approval and acceptance.

And, unfortunately, that means they're safe. Because the tunes that drift through the FCAs and Young Lifes and PCA Presbyterian churches of America are not edgy, challenging, or controversial. They are bland-ish songs of families and relationships, dogs and parents. If they touch on social issues, those issues are likely to be safe social issues--Down's Syndrome or bad parenting.

And, unfortunately, in that context, I hear the songs in a new light and I realize there are no solos, the musicianship is not particularly accomplished, the melodies are familiar enough to attract me, but the lyrics are generalized and somewhat trite, even on a song of theirs I quite like, "I And Love And You":

That woman she's got eyes that shine
Just like a pair of stolen, polished dimes,
She asked to dance; I said, "It's fine,
I'll see you in the mornin' time."

Oh, Brooklyn, take me in,

Are you aware the shape I'm in?

My hands they shake, my head it spins,

Ah, Brooklyn, take me in

If you listen to a bunch of their songs, you'll discover how easy it is to finish their lyrical lines with common rhymes and stock phrases. You won't discover any depth to any relationship they write about, nor will you stop to ponder a line for additional meanings. In short, they are easy to listen to, but not rewarding. I wish it were otherwise.

What I don't know, can't know, is if the Avetts themselves cultivated this kind of Christian audience. Nor do I know if when they play in other parts of the country they draw the same of listeners. I'm guessing, if you're a performer, you take what you can get. Because the Avetts aren't singing God, Jesus, or faith. Maybe they're just what you listen to if you want to take a secular walk and not stray too far.

But now that I've seen them painted with this brush (or painted them myself), I have a hard time hearing them any other way. The Surgeon General has declared them safe for Christian listening. No, thanks. There are still songs and melodies I like, but I won't be traveling with them much longer, unless they find a way to reinvent themselves. Sorry, fans.