Neil Peart insists the song The Trees is just a silly little ditty about trees fighting each other, and that it’s not a parable for the tyranny of the mediocre that’s so feared in Objectivism.
Given that just about every other song he wrote in that period was Ayn Rand fanfic, this comes off as hard to believe.
I just read Jeffrey Archer’s 1980 short story “Broken Routine” (in his collection A Quiver Full of Arrows), which has the same premise, except that it’s cigarettes and a newspaper on a British commuter train.
If cultural criticism can be viewed as an art form in its own right, I don’t believe “in toto” what Barthes (or Camille Paglia for that matter) says they believe either. The difference being that if you put artists in the unnatural position as critics of their own works, any extreme or controversial stances will tend to obfuscate rather than educate.
Re: Blister In The Sun
I think the sheets could be bloodstained from habitual drug injection sites. Has Gordon Gano ever commented why a junkie, strung out and presumably uninterested in sex, even with the mentioned girlfriend, would be out on the streets trying to spot women with unusually big hands?
Admittedly, I’m not completely separating the artist from their work in this line of questioning.
I don’t agree with you. I think the idiotic and unworkable nature of Gilead society is exactly because of the old-(white)-man-centric policies enacted by the old (white) men doing the shagging. Their POV evidently being that if their own children were not going to populate the country, then better for society to die out.
I may be completely lost in the discussion of this song, but wouldn’t big hand refer to his own hand being his next injection site? I mean, maybe that’s exactly what you just said and I’m missing some context.
I’m OK with any interpretation that favors heroin over masturbation. Understandably, more people have experience with performing and discussing masturbation than a hard drug user’s quest for a fix.