His self-acceptance and insights were hard fought and well-researched, relating the questions and the clues he uncovered while mining the intersections of music, race and regional culture. Kemp examines his Southern conundrum through a personal and musical inventory as well as interviewing musicians and others who grew up in the South around that time. In the book, Kemp breaks down his ambivalence, rejection and ultimate reconciliation with his North Carolina upbringing (and struggles with drugs and alcohol). Realizing I had some homework to do, I grabbed my copy of Mark Kemp’s autobiographic confessional from 2004, Dixie Lullaby: A Story Of Music, Race And New Beginnings In A New South. This wasn’t the mere confluence of a chord progression and Southern characters etched in a dramatic setting-the emerging theme (for me) addresses an ongoing dilemma for people coming to terms with who they are and where they come from. The Bottle Rockets “Wave That Flag,” from The Bottle Rockets (1993) On the song “Wave That Flag,” Missouri-born Brian Henneman notices a four-wheel drive displaying the Confederate Stars And Bars and dutifully declares, “Wave that flag, hoss, wave it high/Do you know what it means, do you know why? Maybe being a rebel ain’t no big deal, but if somebody owned your ass, how would you feel?” Tough questions to be sure. The Southern conundrum of identity endures in music, and I noticed a similar martial vibe plus commentary on a track recorded 20-odd years after Zevon’s effort on the Bottle Rockets’ self-titled debut. Why do so many roads lead to Skynyrd when discussing Southern character, and what exactly was being exhorted here? Did Zevon’s own chaotic existence give him artistic license to take aim at some hypothetical shit-kickers? Zevon (who resided in California at the time) bellowed the song’s refrain over a marching, infectious beat and David Lindley’s keening lap steel: “‘Sweet Home Alabama,’ play that dead band’s song/Turn those speakers up full blast, play it all night long.” Ouch. Warren Zevon “Play It All Night Long,” from Bad Luck Streak In Dancing School (1980) Tracing a dead-end existence filled with incest, bovine disease, PTSD, despair and intoxication, the song’s refrain is further damning as it evokes the specter of Lynryd Skynryd, whose tragic plane crash had occurred just a few years earlier. How could we not? In this 1980 song, Zevon’s protagonist inhabited the stereotypical persona of white Southern underclass in harsh, mocking terms not heard since Randy’s Newman’s Good Old Boys from six years prior.īut Ben is originally from Maine and I’ve always lived in Chicago, so thank goodness our friend John, who was born and raised in Texas, gave us some regional cover, agreeing and amplifying our critical appreciation of Zevon’s tightrope walk between empathy and disdain for Southern culture on the skids. My buddy Ben started it off with an essay extolling the virtues of Warren Zevon’s cynical anthem/takedown of Southern life and identity, “Play It All Night Long.” We certainly agreed that the rocking tune was artfully written and particularly bold. It was a simple discussion regarding a couple of songs that shared the same riff and were related from a perspective of content. MAGNET’s Mitch Myers has music, race and regional culture on his mind, and here he tries to reconcile this Southern discomfort
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