I’m not much of a fan of Independence Day. “What a waste of gunpowder and sky,” Aimee Mann sang bluntly in her “4th of July” manifesto. Today the holiday seems even more pointless than usual. What is America anyway? A Chase Bank with a colostomy bag for a charter? While the existence of a real America may be called into question, the existence of real Americans—never. Exempli gratia, singer-songwriter Vic Chesnutt released seventeen albums during his abbreviated career. His music sounds folk-jangled, and the lyrics read as a charmingly egg-headed stalking of life’s naked truths. However, the overall effect feels poignant and foreboding. Chesnutt was born in Georgia and came of age hanging around the historic Athens music scene of the late-eighties/early-nineties. In 1983, a car accident left him mostly paralyzed. He was eighteen. After his recovery, he read a lot of poetry (future song titles would include “Stevie Smith” and “Wallace Stevens”). He resumed playing the guitar. R.E.M. singer and human bandwagon Michael Stipe produced his first two albums, Little and West of Rome. Over the next twenty years, he recorded a ton of songs; he worked with Sweet Relief Music Fund to raise money for musicians who need medical care but have no insurance; and in 1996 he had a speaking part in Billy Bob Thornton’s Rocky, Sling Blade. In 2009, Chesnutt died from an intentional overdose of muscle relaxants. At the time, he was facing a $35,000-lawsuit for outstanding hospital bills—despite the fact that he paid over $500 a month for personal medical coverage. A new series of operations loomed. No more singing to be done.
One of my favorite Vic Chesnutt songs is “Independence Day” and I found an odd little video of said song that I hope you will take a look at:
The studio version came out on Little in 1990 and it’s very fine and clean, but this rooftop version from 2008 gives you a better idea of the emotional range and instability of Chesnutt’s songs. I love the way he moves among feelings of independence, dependence, and interdependence with such sad sleight of hand. The song is sharply humorous. I doubt any of the questions will ever get answered. I have included the lyrics—just as they appeared in all their lower case, half-punctuated, rock-n-roll glory:
well future stepped into my field and turned it into an empire
forefathers where are you now
your dust is settling on my furniture
oh independence day, I never knew it would be so symbolic
oh independence day
well I stepped out of a cloud and the ditch it is close
I mean the ditch it is closing in
hemingway, you did yourself justice
so here’s to you, you articulately dead fisherman
independence day, I never knew it would be so symbolic
independence day
independence day, I never knew it would be so symbolic
independence day
what if I said I love you
and I needed your guidance to help me through the moral obstacles
would you say I am too wordy and then, then would you laugh
what if I said I’m under glass untouchable as the document itself
would you say okay
and that you never even considered me
oh independence day, yes independence,
independence day, independence,
independence day, day,
independence day, I never knew it would be so symbolic
I can hear my students grousing and defending the writer’s haphazardly shifting second person, and I should table that issue. Maybe we don't need to know precisely who the “you” is at every single moment. I just realized that it’s the same time in the Bronx as it is in the Chesnutt video. Soon, City Island, Orchard Beach, and Throg’s Neck will attack the night sky with fireworks, and I might look upon them completely differently. Uh, if I said this Independence Day mattered because I got to spend it all with you, would you say I am too wordy? And then, then, would you laugh?
