The World, and All Its Hall Monitors

In last month's column, I alluded briefly to Howard Stern's ongoing troubles with the government. The maverick broadcaster recently found himself dropped by Clear Channel, which carried his show on six of its radio stations. The day after the deed was done, a key Clear Channel higher-up testified in front of Congress on the topic of broadcast indecency. Fines against Stern and his fellow radio mouths could rise to as high as $500,000, and that doesn't even take into consideration the escalated financial hits that could be levied against broadcasting companies, if pending government legislation has its way.

People seem to either love or hate Stern. The self-proclaimed King of All Media either invokes undying love or rage. Whichever way you slice it, there is rarely pervading silence when his name comes up.

Stern often jokes, or half-jokes, that he may not sign on again when his contract comes up for renewal, noting that all of the trouble with the government and people out to get him may not be worth it in the long run. The cynical among you may say, hey, with all of that money coming his way, of course it is.

Well, money isn't everything, and I know I don't have any personal insight into Stern's bank balance. Imagine the feeling that your government is targeting you. I imagine that all of the money in the world won't make that feeling go away, or feel any less sour. And the fines levied against Stern, when all is said and done, may even shut him down for good, which will satisfy all who despise him, but that would be wrong. The whole thing is wrong, folks, and here's why.

Whatever happened to the power switch on people's radios? And please don't forget about the tuning dial. Nobody says you have to listen to something you don't like. Or watch something you don't like. Or like something you don't like. You don't like it? Move on. What do you care if someone disagrees with you? We all are made differently. Think differently. That is our right.

It's the same with music. We all don't like the same kinds. I wish I had a nickel for every person who derided me for liking soft pop back when I was in high school and college. I was locked out of my college dorm room one day because I couldn't stand Led Zeppelin-everybody on the floor slapped on "Stairway to Heaven" at full volume and stood around me while the song played like a collective, gargantuan jackhammer plowing into my skull.

I didn't like Zeppelin then because I hated, and still do hate, "Stairway to Heaven." I'd rather listen to some bloated Emerson, Lake and Palmer epic than "Heaven," which, to my mind, is excessive, drawn out horse manure. Maybe it's partly because I've heard the song a million times and I'm just sick of it but, no…on second thought, I just don't like the song.

What does that make me? Am I somehow sacrilegious because I don't like everybody else's favorite anthem? No, of course not. I do, however, love "Black Dog." What a kick-ass track that is.

In my dorm room, I used to play the Partridge Family, the Association, the Archies, and the like, much to the dismay of my roommate, his friends, and the fraternity nitwits living on my floor. On Mother's Day in my sophomore year, I contracted mononucleosis and had to spend a few weeks in the college infirmary while said nitwits began carrying out their nefarious plan. I came back to my room to find all of my stuff, including my acoustic guitar, piled around a chair near the window. My roommate told me he didn't think I was coming back. Well, he hated my music-what did I expect him to think?

Expectations are everything. Follow them logically along the route of passage and all will be revealed to you. We live with expectations every day, not the least of which is the expectation that we will be given a fair shake during every day of our lives. What constitutes a fair shake these days? That's a good question, one for which I don't have a good answer.

I expect, foolish as it may be, that the world and all its hall monitors will let you and me and everyone we know and everyone we don't know and their brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles and the guy who manages the local Wal-Mart and the kid who buses tables at the local Chi-Chi's and the mother who is concerned for her child's welfare and the anonymous background singers for your brother's cousin's friend's almost-an-acquaintance's Strokes-ish band make up our own minds as to what we will listen to on the radio and on CDs, and tapes, if we so desire, and will let us decide for ourselves what we will watch on TV and what will and won't get us upset enough to turn the dial or eject the CD and tell everyone we know that they will go to hell if they listen or watch it, too, but we can't expect they will take our opinion as the gospel and try to get other people to similarly beg off the experience of being offended.

Attention should be paid by everyone to everything put on this earth that can potentially enlighten or enrage or engage or entertain us, but only if we so desire that attention. You may choose to ignore it all, and just listen to the same five or six albums over and over again. Knock yourself out. It's your right.

What offends me most about the current climate is that so many people are offended by the simple act of being offended. I think living in a world where everything is rosy would be pretty damned boring. So, go on-offend me. I'll get over it.

And you should, too. Make your feelings known. Everyone, regardless of their stand on any issue or book or television program or record or political view or radio program, should have to right to ignore its existence and move on. Freedom of choice is a paramount right, folks. If, for example, you don't like Howard Stern, don't listen to him. You'll feel better instantly, and you won't be taking away someone else's right to enjoy his show, which really, in even a semi-perfect world, should make you feel just about all better. All this effort will cost you is a turn of the dial, or a push of the off button. You won't burn nary a calorie, but you'll be increasing your manual dexterity enough to make you feel like a new person.

There. I believe I have now gotten all of this personal rights issues stuff off of my chest. Next month, I will move on to other, more intrinsically-musical matters. But know that the personal rights issues stuff I've been so concerned with of late is still in my heart, right where it belongs.

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