Green Day's 'American Idiot'

It wasn't the summer of '69 that sticks out in my memory. It was 1983. I spent afternoons at the pool with my best friend. The water sparkled. The radio blared. One hit in particular—Def Leppard's "Rock of Ages"—captured our attention. I not only bought the album it was on, I wore it out.

I couldn't help but remember that bit of adolescent attraction the first time I put headphones on for Green Day's latest, American Idiot. Just as Def Leppard shaped my youthful perspectives, American Idiot—a tour-de-force punk-rock opera—is guaranteed to color the opinions of quite a few of today's teens.

Green Day is nothing if not influential. Their sophomore release, 1994's Dookie, paved the way for bands such as Good Charlotte, Sum 41, Blink-182, Simple Plan, New Found Glory and Yellowcard. And it sold 10 million copies. Though their subsequent studio albums have not equaled Dookie's performance, Green Day remains crowned king of the punk-rock hill. Along the way, singer/guitarist Billy Joe Armstrong, bass player Mike Dirnt and drummer Tré Cool have developed an uncanny knack for crafting songs that exude cynical disaffection while still reeling in usually positive-minded fans.

Anatomy of an Idiot
American Idiot was the consequence of a musician's worst nightmare. Green Day was in the middle of recording this album when the master tapes were stolen. Instead of rerecording those tracks, the band veered in a new direction and decided to tell the story of several disenfranchised characters: Jesus of Suburbia, St. Jimmy and Whatsername. American Idiot thus follows in the "rock opera" tradition established by The Who with Tommy.

American Idiot blends apathy, honesty and satire as it focuses on two themes: rejection of the political status quo and overwhelming hopelessness. And it doesn't take a rocket scientist to discern where the band stands politically. "Don't want to be an American idiot/Don't want a nation under the new mania/Can you hear the sound of hysteria?" read the lyrics on the title track. "Welcome to a new kind of tension/All across alienation." "Holiday" compares the president to the Nazis: "The representative of California has the floor/Zeig heil to the president gasman/Bombs away is your punishment."

When Green Day isn't venting anger, they let hopelessness seep in. "Give Me Novacaine" begs, "Take away the sensation inside/Bittersweet migraine in my head/It's like a throbbing toothache of the mind/I can't take this feeling any more." On "City of the Damned," Armstrong sings, "City of the dead/At the end of another lost highway/Signs misleading to nowhere—city of the damned/Lost children with dirty faces today/No one really seems to care."

Turning a bit of a corner is the amped up "Wake Me Up When September Ends," which reflects poignantly on the death of Armstrong's father. "Here comes the rain again/Falling from the stars/Drenched in my pain again/Becoming who we are/As my memory rests/But never forgets what I lost." It's too bad that it's one of the few moments of long-term perspective on the album.

"East 12th St." asks, "Does anyone care if nobody cares?" Great question. So why does the band ignore it? Instead, ultimately, it's loneliness and rage that inform Green Day's perspective. Additionally, several songs take shots at organized religion, make passing drug-use references, and include multiple uses of the f-word and other profanities and crudities.

Alien Nation?
Despite that kind of content (or possibly because of it), my prediction is that American Idiot will enjoy immense popularity. (It debuted at No. 1 a couple weeks ago.) It's a collection of high-energy punk/pop songs simply dying for lots and lots of airplay. I'm less optimistic about how well the band's growling apathy will serve young fans. I suspect these songs will do little to help listeners think constructively about society's problems—even as the band strikes a self-righteous pose.

Still, it would do us all a lot of good to remember and understand that the alienation that Green Day sings about is a reality for many. As I think about my own youth, I recall how the bands I loved seemed to promise a refuge from my problems—not always in a positive way. I'm sure I spent hundreds (if not thousands) of hours lost in their songs, believing that no one really understood. If Green Day had been around then, their cassette tapes likely would have been a staple in my Walkman. (Yes, they'd already invented that by then!) Without input from someone willing to help me evaluate their messages, I would have swallowed them whole.

Green Day offers very little to listeners who're looking for answers about life's hardships. But I wouldn't have been able to see that. So if I have an opportunity to connect with today's young fans, I won't quickly disregard the reasons they connect with the music—even as I suggest a more hopeful direction.