after prufrock

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Episode 38, October 28, 1970

Amidst the great ranks of television variety shows we find The Johnny Cash Show (2); home of the man in black, his sprightly wife, the Tennessee Three, and a host of first class guests ranging from Kris Kristofferson to Ray Charles (whose cover of Ring of Fire is well worth a listen) to Joni Mitchell and Satchmo (above). Running on the ABC network from June 1969 to March 1971, the Johnny Cash Show featured the consistent comedic flair of June Carter as well as the musical accompaniment of regular guests Carl Perkins and the Statler Brothers.

Cash’s extensive foray into country music and subsequent infusions of blues, gospel and rockabilly styles has contributed a musical vocabulary that is in many ways inextricable from modern lexicon of the rock and roll genre. His romantic cultivated image of the man in black and renegade outlaw worked a long way to concrete his celebrity aura and to trademark both the man and the sound into the minds of his audiences. This myth culminated in his Folsom Prison performance (although live footage only exists of his San Quentin show), which was carefully construed and crafted to bolster Cash’s persona as the dark and brooding desperado and proved to be a defining chapter in his musical career. Many years later, after his outlaw persona became somewhat diluted by his intensifying Christian beliefs, Cash would revive the man in black by his poignant rendition of the Nine Inch Nails’ original Hurt.

Of course, if you’re looking for a lighter side of Johnny Cash, one can always turn to his good as gold impersonations to kick you off.

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As Bette feels like an old chum of sorts, I thought perhaps to focus on another yesteryear favourite- the The Dick Cavett Show. Spanning from 1969 to 1975 (and intermittently on various networks thereafter), the show could be characterised by its host’s refined measure and endearing wit. Cavett’s vast intellectual arsenal allowed him to perceptively cover a plethora of subjects and interview a great number of fascinating guests, simultaneously engaging both his audience and those he interviewed with his relaxed conversational style.  So dynamic and influential was his persona and show format, even Nixon attempted to usurp this sophisticated talk show-host from his American TV throne. Check out more of Dick here, where these days he puts his pen to use and shines a light on the joys and hazards of the entertainment industry and other contemporary topics.  Considering the stamina it must have taken him to propel 90 minutes of unscripted, thoughtful and entertaining material night after night, it is not surprising to note that Cavett’s own views on the typically loquacious American shows we presently have flashing on our midnight screens are less than adoring.

& now, for some classic Dick and Bette:

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Lazy Sunday afternoons with green thumbs from fresh cuttings of cos lettuce and the sweet sound of old Hollywood blaring through the speakers. The dvd drive overheats from the likes of Garland, Rogers and Astaire and “the inimitable… Barbra Streisand” (circa 1965).

What a shame that shows like “What’s My Line?” and “The Judy Garland Show” have slipped through our fingers, only to be replaced with repetitive 21st century personalities who wear mink eyelashes and fail miserably in the arena of comparable vocals. With the exception of a few unfailingly polarizing figures, the majority of the talent which ends up on our screens, records or magazines seems to lack terribly any kind of vivacity or power in their interactions with their public. But in a world where the outside matters decidedly more than the inside, fans and the discerning public alike seem to be completely unable to pull their heads out of the sand and both expect and demand more from performers. It’s a two way street, kids, and the rock stars aren’t going to show up for the show if you’re cooing in satisfaction for their lip-syncing counterfeits.

For you see, this is where it gets interesting. Celebrities have always served as the nexus for contemporary mythology and as potent symbols for both monumental successes and failures. In the Golden Era, these successes and failures were carefully monitored and filtered through to the public via the well oiled publicity machine that was entrusted with the responsibility of fostering the stars’ aura. In today’s world however, the negotiation of celebrity motifs seems to have been thrown out the window. What a deep pang of nostalgia I feel for the years where the press possessed some dignity and where the artists possessed humility, or if not humility then at least a vague accountability for their madness, their art. Switching on the television today, we no longer have the privilege of encountering stars on the other side of the screen, but rather, the mediocrity of celebrities whose identity is fractured beyond repair, and who’s “aura” lasts for barely the 15 minutes of fame Warhol once promised us.

In today’s bungling ring of celebrity invalids, the paparazzi harmonizes with the inferior desires of the public, and the public revels vicariously in the cheap thrills of their artless gods.