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In the moral equivalent of an oldies show, some major names in the rock and roll pantheon hit Capitol Hill this spring, and official Washington culture turned a full pivot.
Testimony from onetime members of Sha Na Na and the Vogues (a follow-up to an event last year that boasted the Supremes, the Drifters, the Platters, Danny and the Juniors and Sam and Dave) came in support of legislation that would amend copyright law to crack down on ``imposter musical groups''--live performers who tour the country using purchased rights to an original group's name even though none of the group's authentic members are within earshot.
Though there was plenty that was convincing in the pleas for new protections for the aging and, in many cases, financially ailing entertainers, what stood out in this pop-meets-parliamentary-procedure gig were the heartfelt statements from Members of Congress.
``This is the music I grew up with, and the music I still listen to in the car and at home,'' said Rep. Dennis J. Kucinich, D-Ohio, a lead backer whose Cleveland district contains the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum . Rep. Charles Norwood, R-Ga., another of the bill's mover/shakers, confessed to a reporter that he had proposed to his future wife to the strains of the Platters' ``Only You.''
Now just imagine such declarations from the lips of, say, Everett Dirksen or Hubert Humphrey back in the 1950s, when the fledgling phenom of rock was dismissed as a tool of depraved youth and Godless communism.
The Hill's attitude in that era was encapsulated in a comment by Oren Harris, D-Ark., the House subcommittee chairman who in running the 1959 payola hearings said that payoffs to deejays were the only way ``a lot of these so-called hit tunes and questionable records'' could have climbed the charts.
The antipathy was reciprocated by rock singers and fans who kept their distance from the civics establishment. Remember what Eddie Cochran was told when he took his case of the summertime blues to his Congressman? ``I'd like to help you, son, but you're too young to vote.''
No, rock's road to legislative respectability was long and winding. There was the phase in 1962, when members of Congress played the immortal record ``Louie, Louie'' by the Kingsmen at various speeds seeking obscenities amid its indecipherable lyrics.
There was the phase in 1973 when conservative New York Sen. James Buckley demanded a crackdown on songs that extoll ``the use of drugs, either directly or through code words.''
There was the phase in 1985 when the Senate Commerce Committee acceded to pressures from Tipper Gore and Co.'s Parents' Music Resource Center and held a hearing to consider a ratings system to discourage pornographic rock lyrics, only to be upstaged by the populist charms of Frank Zappa, John Denver and Dee Snider of Twisted Sister.
The 1990s, however, brought a tectonic shift. When the man who would become the first baby boomer president staged his party's 1992 national convention, the climactic celebration music was no longer the Depression-generation's ``Happy Days Are Here Again,'' but Fleetwood Mac's ``Don't Stop Thinking About Tomorrow.''
By then, Sen. Patrick Leahy, D-Vt., could admit that he is a notorious Grateful Deadhead, and Rep. John Kasich, R-Ohio, would speak openly of his admiration for Pearl Jam.
The wave of rock probably hit its peak on the Hill in 1998 during a Senate debate over the government's antitrust campaign against Microsoft Corp. That's when noted British rhythm and blues groupies Orrin Hatch, R-Utah, and Slade Gorton, R-Wash., traded barbs using Rolling Stones song titles. (Why does one suspect some staff involvement?)
True, there is still some backsliding.
When the country/gospel vocal group called The Singing Senators, which consists of Sens. Trent Lott, James Jeffords, Larry Craig and John Ashcroft, appeared on ``The Today Show'' a while back, they looked bewildered when young hipster host Katie Couric suggested that they change their name to ``Hootie and the Blowhards.''
But the current signs look promising. The average age in Congress today, according to Congressional Quarterly, is 52.7. That would mean the typical member was a young teenager in the late 50s when rock was sweeping the nation. If we can't exactly expect veterans like Strom Thurmond and John Dingell to identify original members of the Drifters, we can at least hope that the majority of solons will admit that those 50s-era greased-up pundits were correct when they said rock and roll is here to stay.
It won't be long before we see lawmakers cheering the State of the Union address while holding up cigarette lighters in a darkened House Chamber. Keep on truckin,' Congress. You've matured.
Charlie Clark has written for The Washington Post, Congressional Quarterly, and National Journal among other publications.
Alistair Cooke's Letter From America (BBC)