Taking Justin Seriously
Last summer, I came across an article about the then-to-be released album “Futuresex/Lovesounds.” In it, Justin Timberlake discusses how, in making the album, he wanted to really push the boundaries of pop music and bring something new. And since being released, Justin Timberlake’s “Futuresex/Lovesounds” has been at the top of the charts with almost continuous airplay on the radio: the former front man for the boy band Nsync has created a classic.
We all can remember (or try to forget) the time of sex scandals and tepid political discourse, the time of complacency and indifference, that decade of non-events: the nineties — the brief period of Pax Americana following the Cold War. Those were the days, when people simply didn’t care, and what seemed to have any value or importance lied in the past. This inglorious end of the 20th century when any sort of cultural energy had seemed to have reached its peak in the fields of Woodstock, NY in the summer of 1969, and ever since had gradually dissipated, when the post-post modernist this and thats decided that everything had been said and done and quietly receded into the background. This was the time of America’s greatest musical contribution: the boy band — yes, that toxic mix of corporate marketing, desire for empty spectacle, and unoriginal musical composition divorced from the least bit of passion or interest. It was like music had scrapped the barrel but didn’t realize it because we either were too busy making money off it, or too busy making fun of it. But really what would the music have been otherwise? For years pop had been just the artificial creations of a greedy industry (since when can art have anything to do with an industry). Any remaining elements of that genuine age of good music had finally degenerated into an orgy of extravagant concerts, bizarre videos, and worthless, forgettable so-called music. And it is with great gratitude and appreciation that we were allowed to say to this time: “Bye, Bye, Bye.”Admittedly, this age isn’t completely gone and to a large extent continuous to exist. But it does so with an interesting trend pushing against it: The desire for the genuine. And although this trend produced the reality show, which too became a victim of the “producer,” this emerging push for what is real is gradually changing the cultural landscape and beginning to pay off. Enter Justin Timberlake.
My first impression of the solo work of Timberlake was disappointment. His “Justified” album seemed like the arrogant attempt by a talent-less boybander trying to prove himself. It wasn’t until I took a second look and saw the importance of it. In “Like I Love You“, it is the simple one chord vamp on an acoustic guitar which provides for the entire song’s structure. At first this seemed over-simplistic and boring. It seemed even laughable — I can just imagine poor old Justin struggling to write one song without his precious music producers guiding the way, and the only thing he could come up with was a dumb one chord guitar riff. But then as it got stuck in my head and reluctance in liking it gave way, it struck me. This guy is breaking all the rules. He did something daring. He actually wrote his own song. He abandoned the sacred temple of electronica for an acoustic guitar and people liked it. It was like something within that sewer of the superficial crept up, something real, and gave us something to really enjoy. And it was this experience which made the release of “Futuresex/Lovesounds” worth anticipating.
I knew just by hearing his excitement in that article that it was going to be good. Here’s this guy who has, to his exclusive credit, made a name for himself and really sees a value in what he’s doing. You can just see in him someone who really values the music which came before him, someone who strives to contribute to the American pantheon of great music. And so right when it came out, I got it. And I listened over and over again. I couldn’t get enough of it and by the time I finally overcame my obsession with it, everyone else started to get into it and now I can’t escape it, so I decided to throw my two cents in.
There’s a couple of reasons why I love this album so much. First, it’s simplicity. You can just hear the organic growth of one simple theme or baseline into a full-fledged song. It’s such a throwback to the Soul movement of the 60’s and 70’s. It’s funky and has some great drum beats. But it’s also novel. The combination of beat boxing, the nuanced use of the synthesizer, and the creativity of its lyrical and musical song writing all make for a great experience. And then there’s Timberlake’s voice, a white kid getting away singing falsetto is rare, but he really does it and does it well. What I think makes it such a great album though is that it breaks pop music’s cardinal rule: Thou shalt not deviate from the singing in deference to the music. Those musical interludes are truly original and exciting, especially the song “Lovestoned.” What a daring move to extend the ending of this already awesome song with a meandering musical digression resolving into a completely different theme! It is like he gave absolutely no consideration to what any music executive or radio DJ thought. It is the clear act of a true artist: the defiant expression against the existing stereotype. And although I doubt he provided the arrangement, the string arrangements have Justin’s simple and genuine touch written all over it. The album as a whole is simply remarkable, without one dud on it.
But just as masterpieces of the Jazz movement can’t be solely attributed to one single person, neither can “Futuresex/Lovestoned”. The other genius here is music producer Timberland. Another titan in search for the genuine music of the 21st century, Timberland continues to bring fresh and vibrant ideas to the old concepts of pop. From Missy Elliot to Nelly Furtado, Timberland is redefining the role of the music producer and it’s no different on this album. His contribution can’t be overstated. What a contribution these two have made since “Justified.” It’s really encouraging to see the stale mold of pop music being broken and letting artistic collaboration do its thing. It really does remind me of the various collaborations and combinations of the Jazz age, that burst of creative energy which comes only when music is allowed to go where it wants to.
Well as you can probably tell I have a man-crush on Justin Timberlake. I really don’t want to overstate it. I don’t think he’s the next Mozart or anything, but I think he represents a potentially positive trend in pop music and the culture at large. Not only Justin, but others are breaking that stale mold of the artificial. There really seems to be a need to hear something real, something genuine even if it’s not earth-shattering. Is there any wonder why the top songs these days come from American Idol? — People want something real. It was like the start of this new century provided a sort of shock which made us wake up and look around and say “Maybe everything hasn’t been done. Maybe there’s more.’ And although he’s only a small contribution to this growing trend, Justin Timberlake represents something real and something which genuinely is striving for the artistic. I’m not sure if he’s gotten there yet, but I’m looking forward to hearing what he does along the way, and to see who joins him.
The Charlie Ticket
In 1887, amid much pomp and circumstance, “America’s first subway” opened, running under Tremont St. Boston — and ever since it’s been on a downward track.
Growing up on Cape Cod, riding the subway in the city was always a special treat. The subterranean labyrinth of dark tunnels never ceased to stimulate the imagination, the echoing sounds ringing from the depths and rising to the bustling city.
But as the unique experience became a common routine, the subway lost its mystique.
The mad dash to find a seat, the awkward looks and curious smells, the sweltering cauldron of contagious germs — all led to the gradual disillusionment of riding the “T.”
But all the while, as the treat became a necessity, the mundane ride on the subway had one redeemable factor: one dollar per token, one token per ride.
The simplicity of such a system was of little thought, though in retrospect quite taken for granted. But as the demands for revenue from a bloated bureaucracy and the novelty of new technology coalesced, the days of the token came to an end and the Charlie ticket was introduced.
Since graduating from college, trips into the city have been few and far between. Once again, jumping on the subway was a special occasion rather than a daily occurrence. The city had returned to be the oasis of spontaneity which it once had been, the place of continual discovery.
And so it was last week, when a random trip to the city became the occasion for a discovery of different sort: the Charlie ticket.
I decided on going into Cambridge to a place called the Garment District. So, I hopped on the “T” at an old stop I used to use, Wollaston stop in Quincy. It was there where I discovered that the familiar turnstiles had been replaced by electronic plastic doors and the token dispenser by the Charlie ticket machine.
‘Ah, Touch-screen! How convenient.’
‘Let’s see — All right, easy enough. Five, Ten, or Twenty dollars? Well, I’ll just be needing three or four trips, so five dollars. Put my five dollar bill in. No to receipt. Out comes my ticket. Easy enough, and I’m off.’
I got off at Downtown Crossing for a bite to eat. Then I got back on and headed to Kendall Square at Cambridge. It was at this point that the frustration of dealing with the city began to resurface.
‘Now, where is this Garment District? I know it’s near here somewhere. I think it’s down this street. Or maybe it’s that street. And about 20 minutes and two bad directions later, I managed to find it — closed.’
And then it started to rain.
And then the aggravation.
And then the fateful encounter with the Charlie ticket system.
I headed into the Kendall T stop. Down the flight of stairs. Took out my card. Put it into the slot. And — Buzz! Try it again — Buzz!
‘What? Why isn’t this working?’
I try again and again. Each buzz attracting a new face.
‘Why is this not accepting my ticket? I put 5 dollars in it. I know that the fare’s gone up a little, but something’s must be wrong, I should at least get three or four fares.’
And hearing the train approach, I accept the situation and rush over to the ticket machine and go through the whole process again.
‘Oh, this means I have to buy another five dollar ticket for just one ride. Ugh!’
‘Crap, I only have a twenty. Well, I’ll just get a five dollar ticket out of it.’
And then, Cling clang cling! , as fifteen Sacagawea dollar coins dispense below.
The train approaches. I swiftly grab those metal pieces of the continuous, never-ending failed experiment known as the dollar coin.
And as I briskly run by the MIT billboards which show the progress of technology on our lives, the irony is not lost on me — the day’s experience with the current advance in technology had been a sour one.
And on the ride home, I ponder this experience and the many questions I have:
How can a fare go from one dollar to two?
If I get two fares with a five dollar ticket, where’s that extra dollar go?
Why can’t I buy one fare at a time?
Who came up with this?
Do they realize people like me are getting screwed?
Someone needs to explain . . .
And so with a determination which arises only after experiencing that rare moment of public embarrassment and institutional thievery, I seek the answers I deserve. I want to know who this Charlie is and what’s he done with that extra dollar of mine. It’s time to write the man.
Coming later, the response from the MBTA regarding the aforementioned concerns with the Charlie system. Next stop: Commuter justice.
Attention Radiohead:
Thom Yorke’s “The Eraser” was a nice appetizer, but we’re looking for the main course. I’m hungry, and my patience is wearing thin . . .
Made in America: The Sopranos Masterpiece Part 3 of 3
(Check out parts 1 and 2 below if you haven’t already)
AJ, Anthony Junior: The ungrateful, weak, and detached son of Tony and Carmila. How many haircuts and clothing styles, how many different groups of friends, how many different future plans did this kid go through? Remember when he played the drums? How about his homie-gangster phase. Or the skater phase. How about his pot phase, or when he wanted to own a club and started to do coke. As Bobby’s niece commented, “You’re all over the place.” Truly this kid’s never settled into anything and has just been jumping from one thing to the next.
We really don’t have that much to go by when it comes to the Soprano family prior to 1999. We can only imagine what it was like before. What was it like when Carmila was pregnant for the first time? What sort of plans did Tony and Carmila have for there lives? What was it like when Tony held his new-born son for the first time? Nothing is more sacred than the bond between parent and child, especially when you’re Italian. And as Meadow noted to A.J. “You’re their son, you’ll always be more important.” We can only imagine what the experience was like for Tony seeing his first-born son: his love, hopes, and dreams. The bond being so real and powerful, the son was even named after the father: Anthony Junior. And over the years, the disappointment, the struggle, the helplessness in seeing there son grow (or more aptly: age).
What’s wrong with this kid? Why is he so lazy? Why is he doing such stupid things? Why can’t I get through to him? How do I? I know — he needs to go to a military academy, or better yet a boot in the ass. Tony’s never known what to make from his son. He’s never really known what to do with him, how to raise him, or the path to encourage him on. And over the years the frustration mounted. But one thing was for sure and most likely it was never discussed, probably not really thought that much about, and ultimately never consciously decided: he will not be what I am. And so Tony found himself going between two worlds: his work and his family. His work was the easy part. He thrived at it. He was in control, in his element, and alive. But at home, everything was confusing. Nothing could be the way he wanted. There was no easy way to make things right. He couldn’t kill, beat up, or threaten his problems away like at work. What was required in his “made” job came naturally and easy to him, but what was required from home was utterly unknown. But when that unconscious, unspoken decision of not allowing his son to become what he is, took hold, the paradoxical dichotomy of The Sopranos was born; and with it, the wandering and searching for identity of his son and those mysterious anxiety attacks. Thus the backdrop for the opening episode of the greatest television series ever: que the ducks and call Dr. Melfi: Tony’s on a quest!
The brilliance which lies in the Sopranos is it’s metaphors. Not only do the metaphors connect the dots and encourage us to keep going deeper, they also serve as those influential experiences for the characters. But the metaphors alone and the analysis which accompanies them is not where we find the real, genuine value to the show. Yes, it’s interesting to look into what underlies the show, but that interest and aesthetic appreciation is not what it’s all about. There’s more! The process of the viewer stepping out of his chair and into the TV is one which is supported and encouraged by the symbols and metaphors, but only to encourage us to keep going. To go beyond those fragmented jumble of images and reach for it’s source. When we decide to believe in this process we find along the way the necessary metaphors, symbols, and quotes which speak to us to encourage us to keep going. It’s like David Chase is whispering to us, ‘Keep going, you’re almost there. Don’t stop believing.’ Once we get the momentum, going through those pictures becomes clearer and we stand awestruck by the ultimate reality of this show. It’s like one of those Magic Eye pictures. We are so trained to try to just look directly at something to understand it. But really we need to unfocus to see it. And when we do the picture literally jumps out at us in 3D. And we finally see that all the metaphors, analysis, and interpretations were just the temporary scaffolding to jump to this ultimate reality. And we finally see that everything we’ve been appreciating from the show was unreal and superficial; the reality is one found by seeing the source of all those superficial images. And once we experience this we become utterly transcended by the show’s greatest metaphor .
Remember back to the coma dream. Within it lies both the experience of the individuation process Tony experiences and a great metaphor for understanding and appreciating the life of Tony Soprano. Why does Tony awake from the coma “smelling the roses”? Is it the simple fact that he lived through his ordeal or is it something more. Is it possible that that wild experience going from the mysterious collective unconscious, struggling for identity and actualization, then realizing that identity not through his prior life and it’s psychological requirements and hold, but through his family; that this experience truly brought Tony out of his sleep and opened his eyes, releasing that past grip on things — and although not consciously remembering the process, is wholly affected by it. And at the same time the coma dream is a metaphor: a truly beautiful and profound metaphor.
We don’t know all that much about Tony’s life growing up but we can only imagine. The tough kid who picks up the cute blond after beating up some other kid. The new upstart gangster in Jersey. Being “made” in the family tradition, taking the reins from pops. Heading to the top, all the while being thoroughly depressed: empty inside. But gradually within that utter emptiness, that feeling of nothingness, a pull towards something different, something new, the pull towards a new identity. And gradually finding himself balancing between two different worlds: one made from his past and a new, yet to be fulfilled one arising from his unconscious yearnings and pull to a new identity. And then the anxiety attacks and the therapy (who am I? what’s going on? Note the appearance of the Alzheimer’s disease at this point in the coma dream). And we watch as Tony reaches for that point to let go of his anxiety. Snuffs out Christopher. The dream is over. Not going in the Finnerty house. Dad wake up! It’s me your daughter, Meadow! And that final moment of reaching what’s been pulling him towards for eight years. That final moment at the Diner. Thus awakes Tony!
Each Sunday for eight years at 9 o’clock, we sit in front of our TV’s as the rating and warnings of the evening’s episode are shown. “Oh yes, there’s nudity and violence tonight” “Oh, just profanity” “Oh some sexual content. Nice!” We all do it. It’s part of anticipating the episode. It gives us a little something to anticipate. But behind all this anticipation for the sex, violence, and crudity lies the greatest reality television has ever shown. And to be so focused on all those carnal moments and to ignore the subtleties and metaphors, we rob ourselves of truly appreciating what is behind all those flickering images. Well, some may say ‘Come on with all this interpretation and metaphor crap. You‘re looking into to it too deep. Ya, it’s probably there but who cares? That’s not why we watch.’ I beg to differ and I do believe David Chase does too. Why you ask? Oh, well for those of us who ‘look too deep,’ we found the most delightful series of metaphors which pass a sort of judgment to your limited appreciation, what you tune in for. Remember in the second to last episode when that hitman was getting a call from the Italian guys who just thought they killed Phil. Did you notice where he was? Well, I guess it was hard not to notice: an adult store. The opening images of the scene are of a threesome being shown on one of the store’s TV’s. Well, I happened to have enjoyed it a little. But then I thought, ‘This is ridiculous. What’s the point of this? It’s so contrary with what the show’s been leading to. Why put it there.’ And then it occurred to me that perhaps it’s a way for Chase to show the absurdity for watching the show for superficial reasons, just the sex and violence. He’s saying ‘Oh, you’ve been watching the show for a little sex? You’re not really up to trying to look into what I’ve been doing for a season or so. Okay, here’s a little porn for you.’ It’s the perfect slap in the face for those fake fans and they didn’t even notice it because they were too busy getting off on watching a threesome. And then only moments later our carnal appetites are given another treat. We get to see Silvio gunned down. Oh yay! How fun! And as our hearts are racing with all the excitement, we then cringe as we witness a motorcyclist get run over. It’s like Chase said, ‘Oh, you happen to take a perverse pleasure in seeing my characters get wacked. You’re happy that finally the excitement is here. Well, then you’ll just love seeing an innocent guy get run over.’ This theme is given a nice symbol with the spectators from Bada-Bing watching in curiosity and then horror: they represent the superficial viewer. But there’s one ultimate last metaphoric judgment Chase passes on those who’ve been watching for superficial reasons, and the superficiality in general. But I’ll save it for later. It’s real good.
And so we’re back at the Diner at that fateful moment. The moment of transcendence. The moment of awakening. The moment David Chase took all that was unreal and breathed life into it. That moment where for those who dared to believe, gave us something to weep for but be utterly humbled. That moment which gave us the license to take a step into our TV steps. That moment which made us realize that “The Sopranos” isn’t just any old TV show, but the greatest work of art ever created.
That moment: When Meadow screamed in horror as the murderer briskly walked by her with a cold stare. When a crowded restaurant hit the floors screaming. When Carmila reached over the table shouting, “Tony, No!” When Anthony Junior wiped the blood of his father’s out of his eyes.
And as Pauly and the gang hand over there envelopes full of money to the black-dressed widow. And as the sister wails over the casket of her father. And as person after person say what a great guy he was, the great darkness descends.
It returns. So ferociously, without mercy. So real, deep, and inescapable.
And as he stares at his girlfriend trying to reach out to him. He sees nothing in her. Nothing in her words. She’s not even there. Nothing is there. Just this feeling. This all too often horrific reality.
And as voicemail after voicemail add up on his cell phone from work. And as a different movie executive assistant is chosen and the company car is taken.
As knocks from a sobbing mother are left unanswered: The great descent into pure hell is made complete and he looks at his broken X-Box on the ground, his childhood is over.
And as he stares at that razor blade. As he craves it’s escape, it’s freedom. He reaches and holds it in his hand. He puts it to his arm. And then he stops.
Something stops him.
He puts the razor blade down. And he stares at again.
Why did I stop? What is it that made me stop?
And a flashback to those desperate moments for air in the pool. Flailing! Gasping! Yelling for help!
And help comes. A second chance has been given. I have been saved.
And now from beyond I am saved again. And that voice, “A.J! What are you doing?!”
And he sits in silence at the razor blade he put down, but not through any decision of his own.
And then he gets up and walks to the window and stares at the trees. At the yard below. And he opens his door, goes down stairs, and embraces his mother and cries. And for the first time he feels something. He feels something real. Something guiding him. Something inside and alive.
The struggle AJ goes through following his father’s death is the most intense thing he’s ever been through. But a force pushing him from inside to live and fight his way out of the darkness shines a light in a new direction and on his true calling.
In the weeks that follow, he remembers watching that TV commercial in the hospital. The one which seemed to make sense of all his suffering. The one of the guy at the kitchen table talking to people from his dreams. And he remembers that quote which made sense of everything, ‘You’re not the only one experiencing this. Other people are going through it too.”
And as he stares at those soldiers fighting in Iraq. As he hears of the daily suffering of the world. He connects to it. And he finally sees the meaning of his suffering. He sees his calling. He finally loses that self-pitying attitude which thinks “Why can’t I catch a break?” He sees his path of life and purpose. He no longer sees his suffering as emptiness, but apart of something with meaning. For the first time he grows. And he sees the source of all this. That which put the razor blade down. That which said from beyond, “AJ! What are you doing?” And after years for struggling for identity and purpose he is finally Made. He is made in the truest sense of the word. And he sees in him who is making him. He is alive. He is alive in me.
Since 9/11, the world has descended into a detached insecurity for the future. The daily terrorist attacks in Iraq leave us with a feeling of emptiness and the desire to go back to how things were. We want to believe that all the problems we face are just temporary and the world will go back to how it was. But the sad truth is that this may be just the beginning, that the problems we face may only grow. But as the violence unfolds and terrorist attacks strike without warning, we see a process occurring. We see signs of hope. We see that the end to all the suffering and violence lies in us seeing meaning from it, in seeing a purpose to it all and having the courage to believe in the purpose and fight for it. And as the years go by in this 21st century, those who see the meaning of all the suffering, those who see suffering transcended, will lead the world. They will lead the world to it’s true state of being, it’s genuine, real, and peaceful state; the vision of this world which being rejected and doubted, is host to the most pernicious, heinous , and purposeless violence.
And these leaders, which history has no shortage of producing, will be from different backgrounds, religions, and nationalities; but they will all have something in common: they are Made. They are the products of that genuine and natural process which reveals their character and spirit. They will be those people who escape a burning car and feel “cleansed.” They will see all there actions, guidance, and source of themselves lying with that transcendent reality. I’m reminded of quote which captures this from Clarissa Pinkola Estes, “All strong souls first go to hell before they do the healing of the world they came here for.”
And so after finding his path from the darkness lying in seeing the meaning of all that violence and suffering. And as he starts learning Arabic again and reading up on the Palestinian-Israeli conflict. And as he grows and follows the path from darkness to light. He will know in his heart where its from. It’s not from himself. It’s from his dad. His dad who he thought was dead, but now sees he’s alive in him. The intimate bond between father and son is fulfilled. And so Tony is sacrificed, as all martyrs are, to save his son, and by extension the world. And that mysterious coma dream is fulfilled. Tony is finally awake. He is alive in his son and all those who his son reaches. No longer does he sit by the TV and watch the heroes of World War II, he is now the spirit of the current and future struggle.
Tony is alive! He is not a fictional character. He is truly alive. And all those disjointed and fictional scenes which we have come to love are in end just pointing to this ultimate reality. In the end, we’ve never known the real Tony Soprano, but now we do! It’s like David Chase’s “Made in America” episode was that final parting with the superficial and unreal and revealed what is real.
In the end the judgment of Tony’s came which he worried about. But it came from himself long before the show started and it was fulfilled at that final (beginning) moment. By letting go of the psychological grip of his ego-’made’ reality he submits himself for sacrificing. He affirms his true identity and reaches towards being truly awake. Truly alive within his son. And thus we finally see the real Tony, his true spirit. It is as if he sacrificed who he thought he was to fulfill his ultimate true purpose as a father. Its kind of like the movie that was playing when Tony visited Sil in the hospital: Little Miss Sunshine. You know, the movie with the little girl running to get on that big yellow car (Almost like trying to get back on the bus our mother’s are driving. Hint, Hint). You know, the movie where all the hopeless and depressed family members find their purpose by sacrificing their lives for that little girl. And thus the great metaphors continue to point us to the ultimate reality:
And that reality which descends on the show and us, like Judgment Day brings Tony alive and us alive with him. “It’s end times. The rapture is coming.” says the FBI agent. This reality presents itself without warning or fanfare. Without mercy and concern, but with grace and beauty. It comes, casting a blow on all which is superficial and temporary. It comes in the form of a Ford truck which knows not, nor cares not for the superficial “made” soul who’s head it is crushing, but inside holds all which is genuine and beautiful, the little babies.
Maya Brahman
In the end, I can only point to this reality. I can only help with the scaffolding. In the end you’ll have to jump. In the end you’ll have to have the courage to see something in nothing. To truly be able to appreciate and revere that which has been done with this show, to truly recognize it as being the greatest work of art ever, you’ll have to go on the Journey. In the end, we are told, “Don’t stop
Made in America: The Sopranos Masterpiece Part 2 of 3
(Check out Part 1 below if you haven’t read it yet)
Made in America, the name of the final episode, is a common phrase used in many contexts. We often search for it when buying something. It’s a phrase which has come to mean genuineness, durability, authenticity. In addition, to be ‘made’ connotes the ritual one goes through to be initiated as a true gangster. Put together the phrase offers a sort of ironic twist to the concept of being made. What was once thought of as achieving true identity and purpose has in a sense been a fraud– all the ritual, all the pride and supposed comradery, all superficial. The process of being made is a fraud, it is not the genuine process of becoming. Notice what Phil says about the NJ crew, ‘they don’t even make people right, they don’t even prick the finger.’ Notice what the NJ crew says about Johnny Sack and the NY crew, ‘he created a sort of insecurity’ (referring to Phil). After the death of his brother, and his near death experience, Phil made it his calling to reaffirm his ‘made’ gangster identity. But in the end it led nowhere. Did anyone else catch the brand of vehicle which ran over Phil’s skull. It was a Ford. 100% Made in America. In a sense, this symbolizes the true process of being made overpowering the fraudulent ‘made’ one. So, if we recognize the symbolic judgment passed on the fraudulent ‘made’ identity, than where is the real process? In the final episode, who is Made in America? — This is where it gets a little fun.
The Sopranos opened it’s eight year run with Tony Soprano entering therapy after the onset of anxiety attacks. Through five seasons, we captively watched as Tony and the gang killed, stole, and threatened. For five seasons, we saw Tony, at first reluctantly, open up to Dr. Melfi. We saw Tony recall his traumatic childhood. We saw Tony kill his friends to protect himself. And we saw how gradually Tony’s attacks diminished. Everything seemed pretty self-evident and any direction one could take from the series was matter of great speculation. That was until season 6.
I’ll be the first to admit that season 6 struck me as odd and disappointing. Although I was willing to give it a chance, the show seemed to have taken an odd direction. The opening episode had Tony being shot by Junior, putting Tony into a coma. It is in this coma, that Tony experiences a long dream-sequence. Much longer and complex than a normal dream, the coma dream, which I had at first dismissed, potentially holds the key to understanding the season, the series, and the man.
The coma dream had Tony as a business man at a convention trying to find his wallet after realizing he had accidentally taken Kevin Finnerty’s. He then has to spend more time at the hotel because he can’t leave without his wallet. He speaks to his family (who isn’t Tony’s real family) and later falls down some stairs only to have the doctor tell him that he is getting Alzheimer’s. Later on, he decides he would like to go to The Finnerty family reunion, where he finds Tony’s cousin trying to persuade him to come in. At the door there appears to be Tony’s mother. Tony is reluctant, and when he hears the voice of Meadow in the breeze he decides not to go and then Tony wakes from the coma. The coma dream is apparently forgotten, but Tony emerges from the hospital “smelling the roses.”
What could this coma dream mean? For all those fake fans of The Sopranos, you are forced into a real problem. How do you explain such a bizarre and mysterious set of episodes?
The coma dream, properly interpreted, reveals the entire meaning of the show and the essence of Tony Soprano. To understand and fully appreciate this dream is a huge undertaking; the analysis of which could fill a book. But I’ll just give you the abridged version.
Most normal dreams have familiar scenes, individuals, and situations. They almost always involve a familiar version of yourself, which can be called the ego. Normal dreams have us in various situations, usually based on images of our ego-lives. Tony’s coma-dream, however, is not a normal dream (the writers of the show actually suggested that it wasn’t dream). So what is different than a normal dream? First off, Tony isn’t Tony. Everything about him is different: His occupation, his voice, and his family. This would mean that the familiar ego-self is not there. The coma dream thus comes from the deepest recesses of the human mind, beyond familiar conceptions, beyond memories, beyond everything which characterizes the concept of ourselves. This unconscious is deeper than our personal unconscious. It’s what psychologist Carl Jung called the collective unconscious: the realm of archetypal images which are common and fundamental to all people (It’s a really complex idea, not easily comprehended). The trauma of the shooting left Tony in psychologically vacated state, almost like a blank slate; the image of being held up in a hotel trying to find his wallet illustrates this loss of identity. Gradually we see Tony emerge from this state; within this vacated state emerges the ego-Tony grasping for realization (This gradual realization of his identity coinciding with his emergence from the coma). With the mention of Alzheimer’s disease we finally find one familiar aspect of Tony’s life. This is followed by the family reunion, which provides more characters from Tony’s life. We are now in the realm of a normal dream; however, Tony still isn’t Tony. He’s now confused about who he is. This is symbolic of emerging from the blank slate of the collective unconscious to the personal unconscious. The experience within the collective unconscious has in essence annihilated his prior ego-identity. So, as he begins to emerge from the coma, he enters as the annihilated ego into his prior personal unconscious. This is truly brilliant! Tony doesn’t know who he is, but he is confronted by images of his past ego. This comes in the form of his cousin inviting him into the mysterious house, the Finnerty family reunion. What does entering the house mean? It means returning to that state which is perpetually under threat, requiring constant guarding. It means returning to that psychological state which holds on to the prior ego identity, being afraid to let go, for fear of not knowing what will replace it. In short, it means returning to that identity which is the cause of his anxiety attacks. But through the wind, the voice of his daughter calls out, awakening the real Tony, the individuated and free Tony. The voice of Meadow is the final beacon to finding his identity. Having rejected the psychological state required from his ‘made’ identity, he finds in the trees his true identity, his calling, purpose, and natural Self. Having had the ego annihilated within the collective unconscious, Tony thus is able to emerge as a renewed Self. Having let go of his prior, Self he awakens psychologically and physically from his coma (This analysis is brief. A thorough analysis would be much more in depth).
And so the coma dream is forgotten, deep within the unconscious of Tony Soprano.
That is until he kills his final victim: Christopher.
Christopher was always going to be groomed as Tony’s successor. Maybe not direct successor, but like a son within the gang. When that SUV flipped, leaving Christopher wounded why didn’t Tony call 911? Why did he cover his mouth and snuff him out? The meaning of this killing is profound.
The killing of Christopher not only represents but actualizes the end of that impulse of Tony’s which necessitates the killing of friends and colleagues to save himself (This impulse represented as the Finnerty family reunion in the coma). By killing Christopher, Tony kills that dream of maintaining and passing on the gangster identity on, to show it affinity and the respect which he once had for it. Notice the song in the background, Comfortably Numb. The lyrics say ‘The child is grown, the dream is over.’ (Tony was also singing this song in a previous episode, foreshadowing the importance of it). The killing of Christopher is that act which let’s go of his psychological attachment and anxiety to his ‘made’ identity. Being free of this identity (actualizing the act of not going to Finnerty reunion), Tony is in need of a new identity. He needs to, what Dr. Melfi referred to as, “search for something.”
Feeling lucky and free, he goes to Las Vegas and takes peyote. It is here which we get a glimpse into the perspective of Tony. For a couple of seconds, while Tony is beginning to trip in the bathroom (having knocked his head, like in the coma dream) he stares into the light. This image comes straight from the image of the helicopter in the coma dream. Why would he stare into the light? Well, my contention is that during the trip, Tony had a sort of flashback to the coma dream (not visually, but psychologically). It sounds like a daring, unsubstantiated contention but I think it holds true if you’ll bare me out.
The light immediately brought into the conscious the individuation journey from the coma dream. Questions regarding why he does what he does, who he is in relation to everyone else, and his ultimate purpose. We even witness Tony laughing at the idea of Christopher dieing at the roulette table. At the end of the trip he stares at the sun and starts shouting “I get it!” What does he get? What could he mean? Later on he describes his experience to Dr. Melfi and tells her that, although he didn’t hallucinate, he made some insightful observations about life. He describes how our mothers are bus drivers and we are all trying to get back on the bus. What else could he have gotten? We know that he was “searching” for something by taking the peyote. I’ve argued that it is his new identity, having snuffed out the anxiety-provoking ‘made’ identity. What did he “get”? What identity did he find? And why did the “sun” provide the revelation?
In the final blog of my three part series, I will show how the keystone episode “Made in America” fits into the series to form a quite beautiful reality. We will leave this rather dry interpretation and move towards a much more exciting esoteric interpretation, or as it is known in art — appreciation.
Made in America: The Sopranos Masterpiece Part 1 of 3
In ancient architecture, the keystone was thought to be the most vital part to the structure of an arch. It was the top piece which held the rest of the arch together. Today, the word keystone is commonly used to denote the importance of one thing in relation to what it belongs to. Episode 86 of the television series The Sopranos, although panned by critics and viewers alike, can best be appreciated as that keystone to the series.
Television is at a disadvantage when it comes to portraying elements like theme, metaphor, and character development. These ideas seem to be monopolized by literature, which has the advantage of narration. Through written prose we’ve seen artistic genius flourish. We’ve witnessed the philosophical and literary visions of countless authors and experienced there ideas. With the direct unencumbered authority of the author, the book has made this all possible. TV though, with all the complexities of production, acting, and the limits it has in the portrayal of the aforementioned literary elements, has for the last 50 or so years tended to present the quick laugh, heartfelt moment, and car chase. On June 10, 2007 the monopoly of the written book ended.
Made in America, the 86th and final episode of the Sopranos aired amid huge anticipation and speculation. Will Tony go to jail? Is Pauly a rat? Will New Jersey get it’s revenge against New York? In the newspapers there were even contests to provide the best ending. Being a faithful viewer and seeing the trend that the last season has been headed (both seasons 6a and 6b) I kind of got the feeling that with all this hoopla, people were missing the big the picture and they’d be in for a disappointment. Sure enough shortly after 10 o’clock, fans began to revolt. HBO subscriptions were canceled, bombarding web traffic almost brought the website down; people were ticked. I kind of had the feeling that this would happen, but this seemed a little overboard. All right so you didn’t like, but are you really prepared to pass judgment on a series which has provided so much enjoyment — Do you honestly think Chase just had a bad day writing this one? Of course not. Anyone who knows the series knows how meticulous and thought out it is. How could the final episode be any different. So, what was it people didn’t like? — Well, it’s I guess pretty obvious: the last scene.
Tony comes into a diner to meet his family. He sits down and observes the various people. He picks a song by Journey on the jukebox. AJ and Carmilla come in. They talk for a little. Meanwhile, Meadow struggles to park her car. The family eats a couple of onion rings. Tony seems to watch as Meadow comes running in. And then 11 seconds of nothing. That’s it. That’s the end. Roll credits.
Well, I guess at face value that sure is a disappointing ending. It’s almost like they ran out of film or something. But for those who were looking for that worthwhile ending and were disappointed, I can understand — You seem to be under the impression that you are watching any normal TV show. You seem to be expecting what normally satisfies your expectations from television — the quick laugh, heartfelt moment, car chase. Well it appears you didn’t get that for an ending. You got, well — nothing. Yes, apparently that’s your ending: nothing. It does sound kind of disappointing when you look at in those terms. But let’s just say that there was more than nothing. Let’s for a moment, speculate what this nothing means. And for the fun of it, let’s assume that we are fully expected and encouraged to do so. Well then we have ourselves an ending!
The perspective of the series has largely been 3rd person. That is we watch the characters and plot from an outsiders point of view. For the most part this is the perspective. However, every once in while it becomes a sort of 1st and 2nd person perspective. Every once in while we are thrust into the perspective (usually just visually) of Tony. There are many instances which I will bring up later, but this has been the basic pattern of perspectives for the series. Let us say that those 11 seconds of nothing was really being suddenly thrust into that Tony perspective. What would this nothing mean? Well, it would mean he is dead. Suddenly, without warning, Tony is dead. Well, how would he have a died? I don’t know about you, but did you notice that guy who barely touched his food at the counter go to the bathroom? We know how they do it. Inconspicuous. Methodical. Without warning. Headshot. Dead. So, Tony is killed in front of his entire family. Some may say how do I know if this is what the nothingness is? Okay, let’s say you’re right and Tony is killed, why wouldn’t they just show it. My reply is that I guess I’m not as heartless as you. I really don’t want to see Tony get offed. It seems a little perverse. And for you fans who would want to see it just to know, you really aren’t fans. A real fan would relish the opportunity to experience that last moment rather than merely witnessing it. A real fan (unlike Dr. Melfi) believes there’s something good in Tony worth experiencing. And for those fans who refuse to step into Tony’s world, David Chase gave you the ending you deserved: nothing. As for the true believers who have made it a habit to empathize and understand, we have the special treat of truly experiencing who the man is, his essence, and his purpose. And if you need any further encouragement to accept this interpretation, remember what Bobby said to Tony on the boat: When you die, all you see is blankness. Coincidence–probably not. For those who are now ready to step inside the world of Tony, remember that at the heart of understanding The Sopranos lies the viewers’ willingness to infer. (Parts 2 and 3 coming later this week)
A ‘note’ on this blog’s title . . .
Welcome to my new blog! For those of you who may not know me, my name’s Brian Monroe. Yes, that’s right–the one and only Brian Monroe. The name is a Hibernian mixture of sorts, with Brian coming from the Irish king Brian Boru, who, if I recall correctly, helped unite Ireland during the 11th century against the Viking invasion. The name Monroe comes from Scotland. I’m not really sure what it’s derivation is, but I do know that my name in full–Brian Howard Monroe — loosely translated, means ‘The strong watchman of the marsh.’ Not all that glorious, but I guess it could have been worse, like ‘The dirty pervert outside the window,’ or ‘The foul dwarf of the cow pasture’ (not to put down dirty perverts or foul dwarfs). But anyways that’s my name and that’s what it means, if this counts for anything.
This blog is something I’ve been wanting to do for a while but never really got around to it. I have a keen interest in many topics which I like talking about and writing, but I’ve limited most of my musings to other people’s blogs. A lot of the time I write little comments that I know most people will disagree with. I don’t do it out of spite though, I just like to add something provocactive to get people thinking differently. Sometimes though I do the exact opposite and say things that everyone will agree with. Like on a blog about The Beatles I recall writing, “I think we can all agree that The Beatles were an excellent group.” Every once in a while I think people should take a break from all the arguing and just agree on the basics. But in this case, I did it to be weird and funny.
As to the name of this blog “Blogs from the Underground,” it comes from the Dostoyevsky book “Notes from the Underground.” It’s considered the first Existential work and has been very influential with many subsequent authors. It doesn’t have much of a plot but mainly deals with the neurotic self-obsessed thoughts and ideas of the main character (name escapes me) and his turbulent and hostile reactions to the most ordinary of social circumanstances. I enjoyed the book because it had an unordinary plot and the main character was disgruntled. I wasn’t necessarily riveted by the book, but enjoyed it nonetheless. I guess my main reason for choosing the title is that it sounded cool. But I also think that the whole thing with writing on people’s blogs stuff that I knew people would disagree with has a sort of “Notes from the Underground” flavor to it. It’s the whole non-conformist’s dissension towards society’s unexamined and sterile attitudes and ideas which I’m going for. I don’t really know if “Notes from the Underground” fits this description, but close enough.
So, without further ado I present “Blogs from the Underground”–my musings of the world of art, music, politics and anything that’s on my mind fitting into the aforementioned criterea. I’m glad I finally stopped procastinating and actually did it, and I just want to thank Tom Kershaw for giving me the idea and recommending this website to do it. I really hope that I keep up with it and put out some good stuff. As to my first real blog, I plan on giving my own spin on the TV series “The Sopranos” following the final episode, so come back to check it out. Overall, I hope this blog will provide top-notch critism of worldly topics and be a sort of guide to understanding this all to often smelly, foggy marsh we call the world. Hopefully, I’ll even be able to live up to my name and be that strong watchman of the marsh.
