the self-protest song
With political turmoil (real or imagined) rampant in the news, and the Baby Boomers reaching the age of retirement, there is a vestigial organ of change that has been on my mind lately: the protest song. There are many classic examples that were all written and released within ten years of each other during the 1960’s. You can listen to “The Times They Are A-Changin’” by Dylan, “Volunteers” by Jefferson Airplane, or “For What It’s Worth” by The Buffalo Springfield (which I’m not completely convinced is actually a protest song). All are excellent songs, but it is hard to truly calculate their actual influence on United States policy changes during that time period. The actual impact of the songs isn’t so important. What I want to examine is the effect those songs have on the people who remember those songs as having had a profound effect. A common sentiment that often accompanies the remembrance of the classic protest song is one of anger at authority, often paired with a disillusion that the government has its citizens best interest at heart. For those of us who are the children of Baby Boomers, we never had the luxury of faith in institutions so the nostalgia for protest songs and the act of protesting in general seems quaint to me. Because of that I find it hard to empathize or sympathize with people my age who want to harness (i.e. steal) the momentum of our parents’ generation with their own protests. It seems that nobody told them that in order to actually become a movement you have to have genuine concerns and an attainable goal in mind.
I don’t like the term protest song so much as I don’t find writing a song about how pissed off you are really does much to change peoples’ minds. If you look back at the songs of the 60’s, there are examples of that message, although when I went back and listened, I didn’t find as many that fit that profile as I thought I would. Still, it is clear that culturally, the protest song has come to mean a song where a singer is upset, so they lash out at some outside cause of their anger and pretty much are left with the solution that if that problem didn’t exist than they would be happy. That sounds more like the ingredients of a tantrum than a protest to me. Of course, in my digging, I did manage to stumble upon a wonderful song that actually did kind of encapsulate the way I feel about political figures and why you would have to be insane to want to be one.
“I Don’t Want to be President”, written, I believe in 1980, is a little late to the Vietnam War era party. The song is from the perspective of a man who was put on the path to politics at an early age. Instead of enjoying childhood, the singer was forced to learn the ropes of playing the Washington game. Through the song we hear about how the singer’s career progresses from Congress (House of Reps, it seems) to the Senate and eventually to being elected the President. What’s truly amazing about this song is the chorus:
I don’t want to be President / but I want to help the poor and the helpless people / I don’t want to be President / but if I’m elected I promise to be faithful
The chorus is first introduced as a scripted read, which is intended to be used to show his promise as a candidate and get the trust of voters. This gets repeated and it becomes unclear whether or not the singer is starting to believe in the line he spits out to people or not. Eventually it is revealed that the chorus is really only a half truth, perhaps. In the final version of the chorus, however, the line gets changed a little to “I don’t want to be President / I really don’t want to be President”. Chapin’s voice is suddenly quiet during this moment of the song and the child who got pushed into political life comes out again. While he was dedicated to helping the American people, you can sense that it was never really of his own volition and that the election feels more like a punishment than a reward.
I consider this to be a real protest song. Instead of protesting for social change, Chapin’s character is protesting against becoming a symbol for that change. Having been forced into his position by family/society pressure, the elected President was never able to figure out his own interests. Maybe the most interesting point made is that protesting isn’t really about making a loud noise in order to force other people to change, it’s about being listened to so that people don’t force their weight on you. Unfortunately for Chapin, I’m not sure that that’s a lesson the Baby Boomers or their offspring ever learned.
I don’t like the term protest song so much as I don’t find writing a song about how pissed off you are really does much to change peoples’ minds. If you look back at the songs of the 60’s, there are examples of that message, although when I went back and listened, I didn’t find as many that fit that profile as I thought I would. Still, it is clear that culturally, the protest song has come to mean a song where a singer is upset, so they lash out at some outside cause of their anger and pretty much are left with the solution that if that problem didn’t exist than they would be happy. That sounds more like the ingredients of a tantrum than a protest to me. Of course, in my digging, I did manage to stumble upon a wonderful song that actually did kind of encapsulate the way I feel about political figures and why you would have to be insane to want to be one.
“I Don’t Want to be President”, written, I believe in 1980, is a little late to the Vietnam War era party. The song is from the perspective of a man who was put on the path to politics at an early age. Instead of enjoying childhood, the singer was forced to learn the ropes of playing the Washington game. Through the song we hear about how the singer’s career progresses from Congress (House of Reps, it seems) to the Senate and eventually to being elected the President. What’s truly amazing about this song is the chorus:
I don’t want to be President / but I want to help the poor and the helpless people / I don’t want to be President / but if I’m elected I promise to be faithful
The chorus is first introduced as a scripted read, which is intended to be used to show his promise as a candidate and get the trust of voters. This gets repeated and it becomes unclear whether or not the singer is starting to believe in the line he spits out to people or not. Eventually it is revealed that the chorus is really only a half truth, perhaps. In the final version of the chorus, however, the line gets changed a little to “I don’t want to be President / I really don’t want to be President”. Chapin’s voice is suddenly quiet during this moment of the song and the child who got pushed into political life comes out again. While he was dedicated to helping the American people, you can sense that it was never really of his own volition and that the election feels more like a punishment than a reward.
I consider this to be a real protest song. Instead of protesting for social change, Chapin’s character is protesting against becoming a symbol for that change. Having been forced into his position by family/society pressure, the elected President was never able to figure out his own interests. Maybe the most interesting point made is that protesting isn’t really about making a loud noise in order to force other people to change, it’s about being listened to so that people don’t force their weight on you. Unfortunately for Chapin, I’m not sure that that’s a lesson the Baby Boomers or their offspring ever learned.
Post a Comment →Surf (i.e depraved sex) City
Is it just me or is the song "Surf City", recorded by Jan and Dean just laden with sexual innuendo? I always knew there was something sinister just below the wax veneer of surf rock and Brian Wilson. I have this theory that society goes through ebbs and flows of how acceptable it is to talk about sex in the open. I feel we are in a sort of flow, hence I feel comfortable penning these observations. I was listening to my 60’s pop station on Internet radio and the song Surf City started. Now, I have heard this song probably hundreds of times since my childhood. In my head I was singing along to the words, tapping my toes in a way so my coworkers wouldn’t notice, and then there it was, like a money shot to the face.
First of all, the first line is “Two girls for every boy”, a line that literally gets repeated in varying forms for about two-thirds of the song. I don’t how much more clear the singer can be about this. Surf City is apparently the place to go because as a male, you are guaranteed a threesome (of course, if men everywhere flocked to Surf City on this promise I’m sure the ratio would be skewed in another direction leading to all kinds of degrading situations). You’d think that just saying this one would be enough encouragement for ravenous teenage dudes everywhere, but creepy thing about it is that they just can’t seem to let this go. It gets brought up in the chorus and in a couple of versus. At some point it turns from unbelievable awesome possibility to “why are we hitch hiking across the country with this weirdo again? Pull over, I want to get out!” Of course, this is all assuming that Surf City is an actual, physical location with municipal services and a local government and not just a stand in youth jargon term for threesome. Now that I think about it, that makes way more sense.
After the inticing advertisement of “two singin’ honeys for every guy”, the singer then decides it’s the perfect time to bring up his schlong, which he so lovingly refers to as a “woody”. From his hard on the subject then moves to the vehicle he is driving. This vehicle is said to have no “backseat or a rear window” but it apparently is satisfactory, or as the singer sings “it gets me where I want to go”. Does this sound like a rape van to anyone else? It seems to me like he should spend less time cruising for surfer girls and more time in prison and therapy for sexual harrassment.
Moving on, the song describes a beachside resort town where everyone is either surfing or partying, prime conditions for stalking, if you ask me. More mention of the two girls thing, I’m not sure what it is about this guy. Now, if this song still sounds harmless to you, it’s the coming up part that puts it over the edge of borderline still innocent to full blown pervtastic.
The singer so energetically sings: “And if my woody breaks down on me somewhere on the surf route/I’ll strap my board to my back and catch a ride in my wetsuit”.
Where, oh where to begin. Okay, so after boasting about the bounty of girls to be had and the lively times he is about to enjoy, he is apparently anticipating an inability to perform sexually, once it comes time for the showdown. One can only hope that it’s because he knows what he’s doing is wrong. But don’t worry, he’s got a resolution to his predicament: he’s just going to “strap a board to my back” a euphemism for Viagra, no doubt, and then “hitch a ride in my wetsuit”. That last bit is so littered with filth I’m having a hard time holding down my English Breakfast Tea at the thought. Does this singer have no shame? The song might as well have been called “Poon Hunt” and he could have sung a little more openly about attacking teenage girls (daughters of self-respecting middle class white men, even), and trying to get into their bikini briefs.
I just have one question to ask America. In all these years did no one in control of radio stop to think about the consequences that a song like this would bring on society? How are we to live in a world where men just have sex with young, beautiful, tanned women who spend all day toning their bodies on the ocean and all night drinking into wild abandon?
What? You say the song is just about hitchhiking to a little beach town where a lot of kids go to surf, get some sun, then drink punch at the town hall with plenty of adult chapperones? Hang on, I think I hear the police outside my door.
First of all, the first line is “Two girls for every boy”, a line that literally gets repeated in varying forms for about two-thirds of the song. I don’t how much more clear the singer can be about this. Surf City is apparently the place to go because as a male, you are guaranteed a threesome (of course, if men everywhere flocked to Surf City on this promise I’m sure the ratio would be skewed in another direction leading to all kinds of degrading situations). You’d think that just saying this one would be enough encouragement for ravenous teenage dudes everywhere, but creepy thing about it is that they just can’t seem to let this go. It gets brought up in the chorus and in a couple of versus. At some point it turns from unbelievable awesome possibility to “why are we hitch hiking across the country with this weirdo again? Pull over, I want to get out!” Of course, this is all assuming that Surf City is an actual, physical location with municipal services and a local government and not just a stand in youth jargon term for threesome. Now that I think about it, that makes way more sense.
After the inticing advertisement of “two singin’ honeys for every guy”, the singer then decides it’s the perfect time to bring up his schlong, which he so lovingly refers to as a “woody”. From his hard on the subject then moves to the vehicle he is driving. This vehicle is said to have no “backseat or a rear window” but it apparently is satisfactory, or as the singer sings “it gets me where I want to go”. Does this sound like a rape van to anyone else? It seems to me like he should spend less time cruising for surfer girls and more time in prison and therapy for sexual harrassment.
Moving on, the song describes a beachside resort town where everyone is either surfing or partying, prime conditions for stalking, if you ask me. More mention of the two girls thing, I’m not sure what it is about this guy. Now, if this song still sounds harmless to you, it’s the coming up part that puts it over the edge of borderline still innocent to full blown pervtastic.
The singer so energetically sings: “And if my woody breaks down on me somewhere on the surf route/I’ll strap my board to my back and catch a ride in my wetsuit”.
Where, oh where to begin. Okay, so after boasting about the bounty of girls to be had and the lively times he is about to enjoy, he is apparently anticipating an inability to perform sexually, once it comes time for the showdown. One can only hope that it’s because he knows what he’s doing is wrong. But don’t worry, he’s got a resolution to his predicament: he’s just going to “strap a board to my back” a euphemism for Viagra, no doubt, and then “hitch a ride in my wetsuit”. That last bit is so littered with filth I’m having a hard time holding down my English Breakfast Tea at the thought. Does this singer have no shame? The song might as well have been called “Poon Hunt” and he could have sung a little more openly about attacking teenage girls (daughters of self-respecting middle class white men, even), and trying to get into their bikini briefs.
I just have one question to ask America. In all these years did no one in control of radio stop to think about the consequences that a song like this would bring on society? How are we to live in a world where men just have sex with young, beautiful, tanned women who spend all day toning their bodies on the ocean and all night drinking into wild abandon?
What? You say the song is just about hitchhiking to a little beach town where a lot of kids go to surf, get some sun, then drink punch at the town hall with plenty of adult chapperones? Hang on, I think I hear the police outside my door.
droning
I don't know when the drone became a part of music. I have held up my end of the bargain and looked at Wikipedia for answers but didn't bother to really read it all that much. My familiarity with sustained tones and tone clusters stems from a place it probably did for many: John Cale and the Velvet Underground. While there are hints of this in the singing traditions of Old Regular Baptists and probably a countless number of other indigenous musics, perhaps the most famous and brilliant example in the modern age of rock and pop music is the song “Heroin”.
If you haven't heard the song I suggest you take a listen. I do feel obligated before you embark to warn you that the song may be as addictive as its namesake. The two volleying chords played on guitar, fighting for supremacy while a single, sustained viola tone acts as a binding agent (in combination with a heartbeat like drum pattern and alternating tempo) is a fine example of the conscious effort to recreate a physical and psychological experience. You feel as euphoric and intense as if you've shot up, yourself (I'm guessing). It is a wonderful piece made all that much more euphoric and unsettling by the constant battering of the singular note. The perfection of his drone technique makes me question how Cale was able to continue along the same musical school of thought so long after the records were pressed. When I drifted away from the Velvet Underground, the drone stayed behind to the point where I had pretty much forgotten about it. We all know what happens when you forget about things.
While I have been a big fan of Spencer Krug since first hearing the Wolf Parade EP, I must admit that I wasn't sure about his influences. Some groups are easy to peg, but Krug has meandered around genres, dabbled in abstract lyrics and made himself difficult to call a replication. I am convinced that while I can't prove Wolf Parade was influenced by Percy Grainger (a half thought out hypothesis), I suspect full well that there is some John Cale in Spencer Krug.
The song, performed by Sunset Rubdown is called "Us Ones in Between". Like in “Heroin”, there is a balancing act between a limited chord structure (played on a piano) and a set of tones sustained for pretty much the duration of the song. There is a little more flexibility in both respects: Krug employs some actual progressions and the drone follows those progressions to avoid any unbearable dissonance. This may technically exclude this song from having true droning qualities (I’d have to re-read the Wikipedia article to be sure), but the idea cannot be overlooked. Unlike the sweet but violent sound of the viola, the drone is played out on a guitar distorted to sound like the ghosts that are referenced so frequently in the first Wolf Parade LP. In many ways, the sustain has a more up-front role with "Us Ones In Between". It slips in almost unnoticed like its predecessor, but it gets pumped up to volumes that make it completely overbearing before fading back away to nothing.
I've thought a lot about what "Us Ones in Between" means musically. For me, it shows a nod to a process. While the process of playing one note uninterrupted for four minutes alone is rather unartistic in itself, it can clearly have artistic applications. There is something exciting that happens when you extend, when you push something to the limits of listenability. Musicians and composers have been aware of these implications for a long time. I don't want to say that Krug's implementation of the drone is in as pure a form as Cale's, but that's where musical exploration gets exciting again. You have to find the limits in order to reign it in and manipulate it to the desired effect. That constant darting out in front and then falling back in with the crowd while exhausting, leads sometimes to some of the most beloved contributions to the collective conscious.
If you haven't heard the song I suggest you take a listen. I do feel obligated before you embark to warn you that the song may be as addictive as its namesake. The two volleying chords played on guitar, fighting for supremacy while a single, sustained viola tone acts as a binding agent (in combination with a heartbeat like drum pattern and alternating tempo) is a fine example of the conscious effort to recreate a physical and psychological experience. You feel as euphoric and intense as if you've shot up, yourself (I'm guessing). It is a wonderful piece made all that much more euphoric and unsettling by the constant battering of the singular note. The perfection of his drone technique makes me question how Cale was able to continue along the same musical school of thought so long after the records were pressed. When I drifted away from the Velvet Underground, the drone stayed behind to the point where I had pretty much forgotten about it. We all know what happens when you forget about things.
While I have been a big fan of Spencer Krug since first hearing the Wolf Parade EP, I must admit that I wasn't sure about his influences. Some groups are easy to peg, but Krug has meandered around genres, dabbled in abstract lyrics and made himself difficult to call a replication. I am convinced that while I can't prove Wolf Parade was influenced by Percy Grainger (a half thought out hypothesis), I suspect full well that there is some John Cale in Spencer Krug.
The song, performed by Sunset Rubdown is called "Us Ones in Between". Like in “Heroin”, there is a balancing act between a limited chord structure (played on a piano) and a set of tones sustained for pretty much the duration of the song. There is a little more flexibility in both respects: Krug employs some actual progressions and the drone follows those progressions to avoid any unbearable dissonance. This may technically exclude this song from having true droning qualities (I’d have to re-read the Wikipedia article to be sure), but the idea cannot be overlooked. Unlike the sweet but violent sound of the viola, the drone is played out on a guitar distorted to sound like the ghosts that are referenced so frequently in the first Wolf Parade LP. In many ways, the sustain has a more up-front role with "Us Ones In Between". It slips in almost unnoticed like its predecessor, but it gets pumped up to volumes that make it completely overbearing before fading back away to nothing.
I've thought a lot about what "Us Ones in Between" means musically. For me, it shows a nod to a process. While the process of playing one note uninterrupted for four minutes alone is rather unartistic in itself, it can clearly have artistic applications. There is something exciting that happens when you extend, when you push something to the limits of listenability. Musicians and composers have been aware of these implications for a long time. I don't want to say that Krug's implementation of the drone is in as pure a form as Cale's, but that's where musical exploration gets exciting again. You have to find the limits in order to reign it in and manipulate it to the desired effect. That constant darting out in front and then falling back in with the crowd while exhausting, leads sometimes to some of the most beloved contributions to the collective conscious.
Millertarianism: And all those signs we apparently didn't pay attention to
I was made aware of some comments that Frank Miller made about the Occupy Wall Street movement (if it can so be called) on his website. It’s unfortunate that I clicked that link because what I found was incredibly disheartening. The post itself is not at all interesting, nor is the string of lunatic responses below it. What is interesting, however, is that people seem surprised that Miller made those comments.. If you look back through is work, there are extremely consistent elements that exist in all of them, and those elements are a very direct reflection of the man that Miller is and the ideologies of which he believes. That man, no question, wrote those comments.
Having grown up in the 1990’s, I was not really a part of the world that the Dark Knight Returns was forged in. That, of course, did not keep me from picking up a trade paperback copy of it and thoroughly enjoying it. In 2005, Batman had come back in a big way. Thanks to Nolan and company, not only was the character back in theaters, Frank Miller and his two monumental works featuring Batman was back as people just couldn’t get enough. His books were being talked about again with a renewed sense of permanent place in the canon. I can only imagine how happy he must have been knowing his work was being seen by people who might never have thought to look into his work otherwise. But while I enjoyed DKR and then Year One, there was something I couldn’t help but notice: the Miller who wrote those stories was a real person who has seemed to genuinely believe in what his stories were demonstrating. The Dark Knight Returns was written in the 80’s, when a poor economy, increasing violence and the introduction of the crack market could actually cause people to be fearful. It’s not as if there were any signs that things were going to get better. Violence had been getting worse pretty steadily throughout the 70’s and the financial markets had become flimsy and completely unpredictable thanks to new methods of speculating. I believe Frank Miller felt that fear, and if you look at DKR, it’s pretty clear what he thought the solution was.
The Dark Knight returns, in retrospect, is really nothing more than an aging Bruce Wayne who has become unafraid of death, and therefore able to use the symbol of Batman to turn the world into something he wants it to be. The violent gang he fights against, the Mutants, operate using fear as a primary weapon against the people who have become unable to resist on their own. In order to gain the upper hand, Batman defeats the Mutant’s leader in combat, becoming the new de facto leader. Batman goes on to form a new gang out of the Mutant ranks in the hopes of restoring order using a method tried and true: force . If you’re like me, it’s hard to figure out how the new Batman regime is any better than the old, yet when I read the story, it was hard not to root for Batman. There’s a part of us that wants to believe we will have the strength to fight for our principles and that by taking action (i.e control), we will inspire others to do the same. This rarely, if ever, happens. Even in Miller’s own work, there is no sense of anybody ever feeling empowered to change their circumstances other than Batman, and perhaps Carrie Kelley.
Surprisingly enough, the world didn’t descend into the chaos Miller predicted. The 90’s and Silicon Valley boom went on to revitalize the economy, crime started dropping and continues to do so. Of course, September of 2001 brought on a new wave of fear, this time a more unifying version. Terrorism, in some ways, brought back the sentiments of brawn and it seems more than coincidental that Nolan’s films and Miller’s Batman books were suddenly all over the place again. Like with followers of Ayn Rand’s work, there seems to be something about the threat of cooperation and nonviolence that seems to bring the proponents of the “self-made man” out of the woodwork. Unfortunately, radical individualism is only so far away from totalitarianism.
I’m not honestly sure if Miller does have genuine fears about the threat of terrorism. There are lots of statements made by him that suggest he does. While some fear may be justified, the fact of the matter is we are still far safer today than we have been in a long time. There will always be security risks, but as our population increases and and we are forced to share more and more of our resources, it doesn’t seem likely that violence will become a practical answer to resolve disputes as so many of us will be affected no matter who the intended target of an attack is. That is the great thing about a more globalized culture. With a future that looks less dangerous than our past, then for Miller, a new fear emerges: the fear that his works and he won’t matter anymore. Who’s going to be able to relate to a post-apocalyptic story about Batman kicking ass and taking names when violence is passe? Who’s going to care about his views on the existential threat that Al-Qaeda represents?
I wish Miller had more faith in his work. He did a lot to change the way we think about comics and really proved to many people who were unsure that comics is a valuable medium for expression. Much of The Dark Knight returns is truly amazing, even if it is a fascist’s wet dream. Unfortunately, Miller seems a lot more bent on deafening us with his rants than paving new ground as an artist and storyteller, so that by the time another generation of comics readers comes up and asks us about him, we’ll put our hands to our ears and go “What?”.
Having grown up in the 1990’s, I was not really a part of the world that the Dark Knight Returns was forged in. That, of course, did not keep me from picking up a trade paperback copy of it and thoroughly enjoying it. In 2005, Batman had come back in a big way. Thanks to Nolan and company, not only was the character back in theaters, Frank Miller and his two monumental works featuring Batman was back as people just couldn’t get enough. His books were being talked about again with a renewed sense of permanent place in the canon. I can only imagine how happy he must have been knowing his work was being seen by people who might never have thought to look into his work otherwise. But while I enjoyed DKR and then Year One, there was something I couldn’t help but notice: the Miller who wrote those stories was a real person who has seemed to genuinely believe in what his stories were demonstrating. The Dark Knight Returns was written in the 80’s, when a poor economy, increasing violence and the introduction of the crack market could actually cause people to be fearful. It’s not as if there were any signs that things were going to get better. Violence had been getting worse pretty steadily throughout the 70’s and the financial markets had become flimsy and completely unpredictable thanks to new methods of speculating. I believe Frank Miller felt that fear, and if you look at DKR, it’s pretty clear what he thought the solution was.
The Dark Knight returns, in retrospect, is really nothing more than an aging Bruce Wayne who has become unafraid of death, and therefore able to use the symbol of Batman to turn the world into something he wants it to be. The violent gang he fights against, the Mutants, operate using fear as a primary weapon against the people who have become unable to resist on their own. In order to gain the upper hand, Batman defeats the Mutant’s leader in combat, becoming the new de facto leader. Batman goes on to form a new gang out of the Mutant ranks in the hopes of restoring order using a method tried and true: force . If you’re like me, it’s hard to figure out how the new Batman regime is any better than the old, yet when I read the story, it was hard not to root for Batman. There’s a part of us that wants to believe we will have the strength to fight for our principles and that by taking action (i.e control), we will inspire others to do the same. This rarely, if ever, happens. Even in Miller’s own work, there is no sense of anybody ever feeling empowered to change their circumstances other than Batman, and perhaps Carrie Kelley.
Surprisingly enough, the world didn’t descend into the chaos Miller predicted. The 90’s and Silicon Valley boom went on to revitalize the economy, crime started dropping and continues to do so. Of course, September of 2001 brought on a new wave of fear, this time a more unifying version. Terrorism, in some ways, brought back the sentiments of brawn and it seems more than coincidental that Nolan’s films and Miller’s Batman books were suddenly all over the place again. Like with followers of Ayn Rand’s work, there seems to be something about the threat of cooperation and nonviolence that seems to bring the proponents of the “self-made man” out of the woodwork. Unfortunately, radical individualism is only so far away from totalitarianism.
I’m not honestly sure if Miller does have genuine fears about the threat of terrorism. There are lots of statements made by him that suggest he does. While some fear may be justified, the fact of the matter is we are still far safer today than we have been in a long time. There will always be security risks, but as our population increases and and we are forced to share more and more of our resources, it doesn’t seem likely that violence will become a practical answer to resolve disputes as so many of us will be affected no matter who the intended target of an attack is. That is the great thing about a more globalized culture. With a future that looks less dangerous than our past, then for Miller, a new fear emerges: the fear that his works and he won’t matter anymore. Who’s going to be able to relate to a post-apocalyptic story about Batman kicking ass and taking names when violence is passe? Who’s going to care about his views on the existential threat that Al-Qaeda represents?
I wish Miller had more faith in his work. He did a lot to change the way we think about comics and really proved to many people who were unsure that comics is a valuable medium for expression. Much of The Dark Knight returns is truly amazing, even if it is a fascist’s wet dream. Unfortunately, Miller seems a lot more bent on deafening us with his rants than paving new ground as an artist and storyteller, so that by the time another generation of comics readers comes up and asks us about him, we’ll put our hands to our ears and go “What?”.