This Attic Emphatic

Does anyone here remember FORTH? Well, this blog is starting to feel a little FORTHed, if you know what I mean.

While we’re dwelling in the past, why shouldn’t I tell you, too, that I began to see signs a week or two ago that he is back. A few more channel surfing excursions and a couple of pop-up ads later, I knew it was true. Some sleuthing at Amazon tells me this must be an “exclusive” release, and a visit to Walmart.com and I’ve found the mother lode. It’s true, the man who helped me give up Dr. Pepper is back, and we’re only just pawns in his game.

Okay, Garth Brooks’ soon to be failed comeback isn’t all that interesting to me or you. I know “Low Places” but absolutely nothing else, and I don’t feel that I’ve been all that victimized by his reign. I’d probably say that Garth Hudson and David Brooks have caused me more pain. But, still, Garth Brooks’ insistent mediocrity makes a little more sense today than it did back then.

Perhaps like so many others, I really stuck on Garth’s fame because it seemed so wildly undeserved. Yes, there are bad, bland, and shameless pop acts everywhere. And, Steve Colbert’s defense of country music notwithstanding, there are even more in red states. But that’s just the thing. Today—seeing Garth again—I cannot get over the idea that he paved the way for W. That after Garth it was possible for willful, entrepreneurial types to seize positions of cultural or political power without even pretending to be anything more than smirking placeholders of granted authority. Sure, the hat must be invoked. The drawled common sense must flow. The predictable blather of family and baseball and America must issue forth. But real talent or actual convictions? These things are just too dangerous for those millions of Americans who have decided that democracy means never having to hear anything that you don’t already know.