riffs and reason

classic rock and philosophy

Sep 11, 2023

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The weight of a date can sometimes etch itself into the marrow of your bones, making its presence felt in every thought, word, or action you take.

September 11th is one of those dates.

It’s a patchwork of memories, a blend of agony and heroism, threading through the collective consciousness of a world forever changed. Pause for a moment and pay a small, hushed tribute to those whose souls were altered or lost that day.

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This past week, I’ve been on a pilgrimage of sound and story with my good friend Jeremy Nathan. Back before COVID, we had planned to go on a grand musical odyssey through the UK. Well, you know the story: lockdown happened, and for two years, none of us did much outside of the house.

Then, a week before last, misfortune struck, a change of plans happened, and an opportunity opened up, allowing us to revisit our plans for a music history tour of England tracing the British influence on classic rock.

The highlight for me so far has been our trip to Rushock, an obscure English village that is the epitome of pastoral serenity. The peace was surreal. We went there to visit the gravestone of John Bonham, Led Zeppelin’s drummer. An assortment of drumsticks and cymbals adorned his grave, a testament to a life that has beaten out rhythms that still echo in our ears. When he died, the music for Led Zeppelin stopped.

After we paid our homage to Bonham, we recorded a podcast, which will be out later this week.

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Excuse me if you’re not into classic rock, but maybe you will be by the end of this post.

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The needle drops on the vinyl record, a crackling silence fills the air, and then erupts the iconic guitar riff—rugged, timeless, a sonic testament to the human condition.

Ah, classic rock…

The genre suffused with the raw essence of existentialism long before many of us knew what Sartre meant by "existence precedes essence."

Classic rock isn't just background noise; it's an anthemic fusion of philosophy clad in a leather jacket and blue jeans. Imagine you're listening to Stairway to Heaven by Led Zeppelin. As Robert Plant wails about buying a stairway to heaven, your mind drifts towards questions of morality, commerce, and spirituality. Are we, as Immanuel Kant might ask, treating heaven as a means to an end, commodifying the afterlife?

Look at the Beatles and their haunting Yesterday. It’s full of existential regret, melancholy, and the yearning for a past that has vanished like smoke in the wind. This song alone can conjure a debate worthy of Nietzsche about the necessity and tragedy of memory. It's the human condition captured in less than three minutes—a miracle of sorts, the philosophy of nostalgia condensed into a capsule easy enough to understand, hard enough to forget.

The Rolling Stones’ Paint it Black can offer a discourse on existential nihilism, that cornerstone of philosophical thought that argues life lacks intrinsic meaning, purpose, or value. Mick Jagger doesn't just sing; he laments, he cries out against the ceaseless march of time that turns love into a shadow and the sky from blue to gray. He engages, unwittingly or not, with Albert Camus' philosophy of the absurd—the confrontation between human beings' need for significance and the cold, indifferent universe.

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Think of classic rock as a treasure trove of ethical questions. Should we break free and live authentically, as Queen suggests in Bohemian Rhapsody, even if that means facing existential despair? Or do we follow the stoic disposition espoused by the Eagles in Hotel California, where you can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave? Isn't that the epitome of the human condition—a desire for freedom hemmed in by the limitations of reality?

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Let's not forget the socio-political philosophy embedded within these iconic tracks. Songs like Bob Dylan’s Blowin’ in the Wind or Creedence Clearwater Revival's Fortunate Son probe the collective societal consciousness, critiquing war, and injustice. They're not just songs; they're rallying cries, anthems of a generation questioning the status quo. This is where rock and the philosophy of civil disobedience intertwine, each amplifying the cry of the other.

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And oh, how we dance to these philosophies, how we let them seep into our consciousness as we drive down endless highways or hum them absentmindedly in grocery store aisles. Classic rock becomes both the question and the answer, a Socratic dialogue set to the strumming of electric guitars.

Finally, these songs, these anthems, are the distillation of humanity’s most intricate emotions and questions into a form that is accessible, that speaks to both the scholar and the layman. The lyrics and melodies linger, a haunting echo that invites us to ponder, to question, to rebel. They don't offer solutions, but isn't that the essence of philosophy—to dwell in ceaseless inquiry? Classic rock throws us headlong into the abyss of existential questions and says, "Think, damn it. The answer is blowin' in the wind, but first, you must dare to ask."

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In a world increasingly dictated by 280-character thoughts and ephemeral stories, classic rock serves as a timeless philosophical manuscript—a well of eternal questions, forever urging us to look within and without. It's an odyssey through the corridors of the human soul, a journey that transcends generations, evergreen in its quest to unravel the complexities of existence.

The philosophical beauty of classic rock, forever asking us to listen, not just hear. And in that nuanced difference lies the wisdom of ages.

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The Playlist

And here we are again, my friend, at the end, which is really the beginning of another exploration. This is the second week in a row I’ve used pop culture as the entryway into a philosophical discussion. I hope you like the style. Because I believe pop culture isn’t merely a distraction; it's a mirror, OK, sometimes it’s a funhouse one, distorting yet revealing facets of the human condition. It’s a mass form of collective philosophical inquiry packaged as entertainment. Sometimes we don’t realise the seeds being sown in our minds until we pause and reflect. One of my favourite books on the matter is Everything Bad is Good for You: How Pop Culture is Making Us Smarter by Steven Johnson. Pop culture often reveals what academia or mainstream discourse hesitate to utter; it’s the canary in the coal mine of civilisation’s subconscious, heralding what we are reluctant to face. Camille Paglia saw art and popular media as the battleground for society's soul.

If you’ve made it this far, thanks for reading. I’d also love to here your thoughts and comments. If you’re shy, you can email me. If not, comment below. I hope your week is shaping up to be a good one. Mine is. I have the podcast I recorded at John Bonham’s grave coming out later this week and mid-week, I’m in Liverpool to do The Beatles thing. I suspect next week’s dispatch will be pop culture related…well philosophy as told through pop culture. I have a bunch of notes on the song Who Are You by The Who probably my favourite classic rock group next to Pink Floyd. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity for an existential romp with a song like Who Are You.

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