Phil Christman

There’s a school of thought out there (best exemplified by this guy) that says Lyndon Johnson, terrified by the possibility of true social reform, consciously or unconsciously chose to destroy his presidency. After all, a Great Society would have much less room for Johnson and the elites he spent years learning to manipulate. So, off to unwinnable war we went.

(I intend no reference to current events or anything.)

But it’s an almost-universal tendency for the powerful, talented, and ambitious to overreach themselves, as these four musicians illustrate (with minimal loss of life too!):

Imagine this: You’re the greatest living male R&B singer. You’ve just endured a messy divorce from the sister of the founder of your record company, after getting sexually involved with a 17-year-old. Surely, the wreck that is your personal life is an opportunity in disguise. Make a double-album about it! Put yourself on the cover, in Roman dress! Spare none of the gory, bloggy details! Go all emo on us over a wah-wah pedal! And don’t be subtle or obscure: illuminate the otherwise-difficult-to-fathom meaning of lyrics like “If you really loved me with all of your heart/you wouldn’t take a million dollars to part” with ruthlessly clear song titles like “You Can Leave, But It’s Going to Cost You.” How could such an album possibly fail? After all, you’re Marvin Gaye!

Sometimes, though, artistic failure comes from not being yourself enough. The Lord did not intend for Captain Beefheart to make sense, or hits. Thankfully, the Captain figured that out, and went back to writing atonal songs about Bat Chain Pullers and conscious paint.

Here is something else the Lord never intended: for Lester Bangs to make music at all. At least, not if this bit from 1978 is any indication.

I’ve never been, thank God, in a physically abusive relationship. However, I think I understand denial. I am, after all, a former Nader voter. I honed my truly superb denial skills during adolescence by listening almost obsessively to Tears For Fears, an undeniably brilliant singles band that spent the years after 1985 releasing one impenetrably self-absorbed, personal-mythology-drenched, overcooked-to-the-point-of-tastelessness album after another. This trend announced itself with 1989′s The Seeds of Love, a smooth-jazz album too chicken to admit the fact.