I heard Catholics from Detroit are pretty cool

I decided that I had to blog this, to record it, if only because I can't get it out of my head--Jack White is the Johnny Depp of rock. Of music in general, if you will. That is, if Johnny was a musician, he would look and sound like Jack White, doing everything himself, mixing genres and style, and filling his lyrics with both captivating arrogance and disarming humility. If Jack was an actor, he would pick roles that are brooding and then crazy and then downright fun as hell, and make them all his own with an array of interdisciplinary influences from characters both classic and obscure. And, as Michele so wonderfully added, if Jack dies a sudden and tragic death and becomes the subject of a film. . . you know who would play him.

As Jack white walked out on to his hyper-stylized stage at Red Rocks--red carpet, white palms, black trim--wearing a flared black jacket over red pants, and a Victorian style top-hat, he looked like a hipster version of Johnny's new Willy Wonka. And as he danced around, song after song, sometimes singing, sometimes wimpering, sometimes screeching, I realized that, like Johnny among the Hollywood crew, there is no one hotter and more interesting to watch in front of a microphone.

Although there are many similarities that I could list, such as their working-class roots, their interest in religious and cultural mythology, and their affinity for European models, there is one in particular that fascinates me, and particularly in Jack White: they both exude that aura of passionate, solitary, wild, tortured artist-hero, yet they are both unquestionably devoted to their women. Johnny has run away to France with his lover and is a doting father to his children (one of whom is named Jack, by the way). And although Jack is apparently married to some British model, and had a brief relationship with "Renee" (can I say tragic mistake? eew), he is very clearly, deliberately, devoted to Meg White.

And for the most romantic of reasons. It's no secret that Meg is as good a drummer as any marginally experienced percussionist. But if you ask Jack, her sticks are the only one to back up his songs for the White Stripes. Her style is the only one appropriate for his music. For him, her lack of skill becomes "an innocence and childlike quality" that helps anchor and define their band. And he'll do whatever it takes to make her shine. On stage, he whispers instructions to her between songs. He writes a few for her to sing in her quivering, slightly nervous voice. At times, she can't keep up with his furious strumming, and he will look up, slow down, adjust to her incompetency, and pretend like he mistook the tempo change. You can almost hear him coaching her--don't worry, Meg, your effortless style is exactly what I need here. You're perfect. He gazes at her with such affection, and not without cause. Which brings me to my other point: Meg is as hot as he is behind her drum kit. She bounces with every step on her bass drum, her long hair flowing and her red scarf giving her a classic movie-star aesthetic. Is it a coincidence that Jack is obsessed with that aesthetic in Rita Hayworth? We'll never know.

All I know is that somehow Jack is right to insist on playing with Meg, and right about her style and particular kind of "skill." She's awesome in her innocent, childlike way, and the perfect compliment to his self-assured dominance. It's quite a sight to see.

On Batman (Begins)

Superheroes represent (I think) our fantasies of possibility, our strengths and virtues magnified by fictional means. Spiderman was bitten by a spider. The Fantastic Four were exposed to some cosmic radiation while in space, and Superman was born on the planet Krypton, sent to earth as his home planet exploded. The Incredibles, a recent incarnation of the superhero, are essentially a separate race, born only from Incredible parents and very different from their "normal" counterparts. These other heroes are not meant to be thought of as human--why?

Perhaps we create supernatural causes for superheroes' powers because we can't expect from ourselves the kind of powers and virtues that our superheroes possess. Admittedly, their superhuman powers are beyond our capacity to even hope for. Their virtues, however, namely their relentless devotion to justice and the public good, even at the expense of their personal lives, and which is more often than not anonymous, is within the realm of human possibility, though most often not within the realm of actual human desire. As such, this kind of extreme virtue (i.e. selflessness) is something we may safely tuck away as something "superhuman," something fictional, something heroic. And we can thus escape this way from real responsibility.

I'd like to argue, though, that Batman is a somewhat unique superhero, in that nothing supernatural or other-worldly happens to him, and that therefore he poses a bit of a challenge to us rather than a means for escape and admiration. (I should add that I see him as unique within the superhero/comic book genre, one I admittedly know little about but I think my argument still works, and not necessarily within the much broader category of cultural icon human heroes, like Zorro, the Lone Ranger, or John Wayne.)

Batman Begins tells the story of Bruce Wayne before he was Batman, of the tragedies and fears and resources that inspire him and enable him to become, or rather to fashion himself into Batman. He does not get bitten by any bats--he only has to conquer his fear of them to exploit them as an aesthetic opportunity. He does not find himself a victim of radiation or cell-altering electricity or venom for his superpowers--he instead studies a powerful and ancient form of martial art in what seems like Mongolia and becomes some sort of ninja. And perhaps most importantly, he is not from another planet nor is he of a separate or superhuman race. On the contrary, he is very much human, and possesses emotional and physical limitations as such. So how does he become Batman?

Well, you could say he has two things most of us haven't got: a great idea and virtually unlimited resources. He has a mansion near caves from which he can carve a secret workshop and storage area, and master the art of repelling. He is heir to a company whose science department made and kept a bulletproof suit, a material with structural memory he makes into wings and a cape, and a car that out performs any vehicle on earth. He has the leisure time to cut bat-shaped ninja stars out of metal, and to spray paint his suit just the right eggshell black. He has the safety net that allows him to make his token hippie pilgrimage to the East to learn and exploit theory mysterious wisdom. And, he has a loyal butler to get him out of trouble when he needs to keep his cover. Viewed this way, his situation is still crazy and fictional. Most of us simply do not have these resources.

But, he is closer to normal than we may think, closer than most superheroes are anyway. We can all potentially conceive of a great idea. And, as post-industrial technologically savvy Americans, we've got quite a few resources, and certainly the potential to increase them. Therefore, all that really separates us from Bruce Wayne, then, is the extent of his massive fortune.

So what does this mean and what does this make Batman? It makes him our contemporary american capitalist hero. With acquired wealth (capital), limited trade skills, no scientific knowledge or means to create any of his materials and anecdotes himself, yet with ample leisure time and a lot of creativity, he manages to create an attractive, admirable, and successful crime-fighting superhero. He is the entrepreneurial business-finance major that becomes CEO of a biomedical company who capitalizes off of the many years of study and hard work by any number of professions and skilled workers, such as doctors, physicists, programmers, engineers, and chemists. He becomes the hero under capitalism for his spark of ingenuity, the winner of the most wealth, the most fame. He gets the most publicity for his idea, while all the brilliant and skilled scientists often go underappreciated, their years of toil often unnoticed. All hail the entrepreneur, the venture capitalist. Long live Batman.

So what is the positive, productive challenge? Well for one, to use all of our available resources in the most creative and utilitarian way we can, putting them together in new combinations to maximize the utility of all that our brilliant minds can collectively create. For two, even though Bruce Wayne is the spoiled rich kid with unlimited money, we can learn to expect (may we demand?) that kind of dedicated virtue from our wealthy, and make contributions where we can within our means. In the movie, this means teaming up with our superhero's cause like charming little Katie Holmes does working nobly and diligently for the DA's office. And most of all, the movie seems to ask that we appreciate the system for making this kind of star-status even possible, for enabling the accumulation of wealth which could potentially result in a massive acquisistion of virtue...creative virtue. Only in America. :)