Victims of the Modern Age

by Johanna Armstrong

“Teenage” has recently appeared to have acquired a negative connotation. Where, before, adolescent years seemed to hold a sort of promise of love, victory, maturity, and happiness, it now forebodes pressures, depression, isolation, and danger. Wally Cleaver ideals have mutated into Kurt Cobain idols, The Beatles become The Killers, and Valium has replaced pot as the drug of choice.

But what is there to point fingers at? Who is there to blame for this emergence of such a dark culture? Music is only a reflection of the change in teen minds, marketing ploys to appeal to what’s popular. We can’t blame music for turning an entire generation into pill popping, self destructive, apathetic adults. We can’t blame violence on TV, either, because something has to have happened to allow the human mind to sit through the mutilation and gore on modern cable and in theatres, to give children the desensitization needed to put themselves through that with no reaction, or worse, laughing. Similarly, we should not be concerned about children being influenced by violent video games, but rather by the fact that they can become obsessed with them, addicted to the method and execution of the violence.

So what has brought society from Invasion of the Body Snatchers to Saw? Pong to Grand Theft Auto? The Bee Gees to the Sex Pistols? Depictions of drug abuse, violence, suicide, and sex dominate modern media, reflecting the dark, hidden underbelly of teen culture. Heroine-chic drives young women into anorexia while music idols caught in the talons of alcohol and heavy drug addiction are glamorized by the youth who strive to be like them. But, again, the idols are not to blame: it’s those who idolize them.

Perhaps we should examine not the children but the experiences and expectations pressing upon them. Modern teenagers are growing up in a post-9/11 universe, where the Government has waged a war on a terrorism that they have only experienced once, and which only 3,000 families experienced first hand. The on-again off-again terrorist alerts have come to mean nothing, and the war itself has become, to those who don’t personally know anybody fighting, only something for the government to exploit. The pressure being put upon the leaders of tomorrow to fix the mistakes of those that preceded them are already beginning to overwhelm youth, with campaigns against global warming, terrorism, genocide, economic gluttony and the misdistribution of world resources, child labor, government torture, etc. pressing heavily on their decisions to make something of themselves, to live up to the expectations of their parents and elders, to right the wrongs and fix what’s been broken. In an attempt to escape, they trip themselves on acid. In an attempt to release what they have to hide from adults, they self-injure, they murder pixels, they bask in the animosity of the Internet and live out extreme fantasies that are considered taboo in society. In an attempt at individualism and extreme rebellion (the rebellion of yesterday now considered tame) they push all limits, they cross lines, they establish a caste-like system of classification among their peers as if to wage their own wars, as if to set up people to hate for the sake of hating. Teenagers need outlets from the increasing expectations and pressures of the modern age, even if it’s damaging to themselves or others or, even, deadly.

But perhaps it is not only the fact that they have to deal with the problems imposed by today’s adults, but also the problems themselves. Children are surrounded by violence, not from the media, but from the world. Images of children from Africa, of Darfur, of Guantanamo Bay, Rwanda, of Mexicans scrambling over American borders and getting shot, of train bombs in Britain, and the War in Iraq are all riddled throughout news channels so that any channel-flipping tyke can catch, if only for a second, a taste of true life outside of his or her middle class home. This constant exposure to the violence people are capable of will no doubt mess with the developing mind of the youth, whether 3 or 13, and perhaps it is only a defense mechanism kicking in that they grab on to gaming controllers and reenact World War II battles on their living room TVs, that they watch movies like Scream and Saw and realize, perhaps only subconsciously, that people like this exist, that things like this happen, and perhaps it is their bodies trying to convince their minds that they like this, that violence is attractive, that violence is normal. Perhaps it is only their bodies giving them the desire to shoot hi-definition pixels of uniformed military men, or scantily clad hookers. It is their bodies trying to desensitize their minds so their minds won’t have so much trouble growing up in a world where this happens on a daily basis, far away, maybe, but it’s happening and they better get used to it if they ever hope to deal with it. Why do we wonder, then, why these kids are able to slit their wrists? Why suicide and self-destruction, rape and the degradation of fellow man is glamorized in modern music? Not because people have become demoralized, because secularization has eaten away at all ethics established by preceding generations, but rather because the actions done and hidden by man have been discovered, have been recorded, have been distributed on a mass scale for people to be informed of. The information age has backfired, and we expect the youth to fix it. We have force fed children all of man’s mistakes, and we expect them to fix it, to do something about it, without realizing that perhaps it was too much too soon, that perhaps those mistakes shouldn’t have been made in the first place, and now what is happening is the regurgitation.

Media is only a reflection of what society wants, of what society is. Extremes have led to extremes and adults wonder what’s up with kids these days. Perhaps it is evolution, this desensitization of children’s minds, or perhaps devolution. Regardless, expecting children to fix mistakes as they continue to be made is a mistake in itself. What man is doing is passing down an exponentially worsening existence, and we have only just realized it.

The Loveable Bye Bye Birdie

A review by Roberto Borgert


Bye Bye Birdie can be described in one word: corny. Just take a look at the character of Harvey Johnson, played wonderfully by Daniel Larson. Harvey Johnson is your typical fifties white kid: bowtie, glasses that could pick up television signals, a cracking high pitched voice and pants worn so high that your grandparents would be ashamed to look at him. In the midst of all that silliness, Harvey Johnson is a memorable character. He is innocent, somewhat confused and is an adolescent. These are the kinds of characters to be found in Bye Bye Birdie, characters that you remember, even though there really is nothing extravagant or elegant about them (with a few exceptions of course). The unbridled cockiness and risqué factor of Conrad Birdie, played by DongJun Kim, created some amazing moments in the play. I will always remember watching Jun pelvic thrusting with gusto and exclaiming phrases such as “Hug me” and “suffer,” not to mention my all around favorite line of the play, “When I sing about a tree, I really feel that tree.”

Having first seen the musical at the school performance I approached it with much skepticism. I had seen the original Bye Bye Birdie done on film starring Dick Van Dyke, and I was not impressed. I foresaw an excruciating two and a half hours of songs that meant nothing and Hollywood’s attempt to milk a few more dollars off the image of Elvis Presley. Truthfully speaking, after watching the school performance my outlook on the play hadn’t changed much. Yes, it had some moments of entertainment, but I really didn’t feel affected by the play at all. It was only after spending a weekend ushering and watching the play two more times that I started to understand its genius.

Bye Bye Birdie is not a serious play; there is no getting around that. Bye Bye Birdie is a play oriented around fun. There are jokes in it that are meant to be corny. Take a look at the scene where Harry MacAfee, played by John Dwyer, breaks into song because he heard the name “Ed Sullivan” and is later accompanied by a choir of adults in repeating that name over and over again, ending with Mr. Dwyer on his knees pronouncing his undying love for Ed Sullivan. Look at the character Albert Peterson, played by Peter Baker. Albert is completely and totally a momma’s boy. You would hardly think he had matured past the age of twelve (if even that) by the way he is constantly looking for her approval and will bend over to anything she says. On that note, Mrs. May Peterson, Meghan Murphy, has got to be one of the most obnoxious characters in American Drama. She is constantly dropping borderline politically incorrect lines and is nothing more than a whining, complaining, and pitiful excuse for a mother. Yet for some unknown reason Mrs. Peterson is enjoyable to watch on stage.

For those in-depth seekers of a greater meaning in theater there is also a social commentary to be had in this play. Now, I don’t know much about the play and virtually nothing about who wrote it or composed the scores, but I believe that there is a harsh criticism of popular culture hidden beneath the happy, obnoxious, dance lines. Conrad Birdie is not only a part of the lives of the young girls of Sweet Apple, Ohio, but the mere thought of Conrad has gone so far as to consume the young female culture of the small town. Ursula, played by Valerie Bloomberg, is one of these women; she confesses that she is reduced to a “raging, panting, jungle beast!” by the mere sound of Conrad Birdie’s voice. This idolization of pop figures is present even in today’s society. And, as it is in Bye Bye Birdie, today’s idolization of pop figures is at most, laughable. Almost two weeks ago, the biggest news stories were those of how Britney Spears shaved her head. Where are the stories about the Iraq War, of Scooter Libby’s trial? These stories, which actually shape our lives and our country, are not given the time on our daily news broadcasts that they deserve simply because some deranged singer shaved her head or perhaps an extremely rich diva got arrested for speeding. Enough ranting about our media. I do think that Bye Bye Birdie has an element of criticism within it that should, at the very least, have some thought given to it.

Saint Johns Prep’s production of Bye Bye Birdie is solid. It is funny, silly, obnoxious and lovable all at the same time. There is a very talented cast, and it is apparent that there was a lot of hard work put into producing the show. All in all, it’s a great show and if you didn’t see it this last weekend you definitely missed out on a great example of what prep students can do. It is well deserving of four out of five stars.

Bright Eyes: Digital Ash in a Digital Urn

Music review by Johanna Armstrong

With a bizarre electronic synthesizer opening song, Digital Ash in a Digital Urn could at first probably be mistaken for some reject Kid A track, but it’s not completely out of the Bright Eyes style. Putting bizarre or tedious openings in order to weed out “casual listeners” has almost become a trademark of the band’s ring-leader, Conor Oberst, present in every single one of his albums since he put out his first when he was 16. However, the chaos and disarray end suddenly with the sound of an alarm clock: appropriate and perfect for his recurring theme of needing to wake up from our dreams, as well as its purpose, which is to clear your mind and have you focus on what’s at hand: the music.

Digital Ash strays from what we’re used to from Conor, that is: raw and simple honesty shot through an acoustic guitar and his wavering voice. Though, buried under the unusual use of digital and computerized sound effects, we find that all of that is still there. His voice still cracks, his words are still as uncomfortably honest as they were in Lifted or the Story is in the Soil, and he sticks to the thematic guns that have made him into what media describes as “the Ritalin generation’s Bob Dylan.” Digital Ash’s second song, “Gold Mine Gutted”, could possibly be the most subtly depressing songs ever written about drug abuse and self-destruction, with no crescendo to speak of leading to his final line, delivered without emphasis except for the last three words which are spoken without instrumentation. “And all those white lines/that sped us up, /we hurry to our death. /Well, I lagged behind, /so you got ahead.” Digital Ash gradually turns into what we expect from Bright Eyes, clearing out most of the electronica and depending on simple guitar and drums to deliver some of the most powerful verses of the CD. However, the occasional prescence of heavily distorted guitars and digital drum beats gives the album a sort of edgy feel of distress and anxiety, completely fitting considering the subject matter and Conor’s own notorious reputation for being modern music’s own destructive romantic. Most of the album contains references to drugs and alcohol and sex, but not in glorification of either. The single, “Take it Easy (Love Nothing)” is mostly about a one nigh stand with a friend, ending in Conor’s desperateness to find something like that again, and then his resentment for said friend, while “Devil in the Details” seems to outline an attempt at reform, that is sobriety and fidelity, but alas, the devil is in the details and he can’t seem to bring himself to change, or be true to his promises.

“Light Pollution,” one of the songs most upbeat songs, outlines the life of a friend and the struggles he goes through in an attempt to survive today’s society. “But it’s funny how alive he felt/down in that unemployment line,” before ending in his eventual demise. “And maybe he lost control/f---ing with the radio/but I bet the stars seemed so close/at the end.”
“Easy/Lucky/Free” ends the CD beautifully and appropriately, outlining the circle of life through the eyes of Conor Oberst.

For all the heat he’s received for being melodramatic and piteous, Conor pulls it off so well that you wouldn’t want it any other way. Digital Ash in a Digital Urn, while at first coming off as a studio experiment with sound effects and overdramatics, is a beautiful album, complimenting its twin album I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning expertly. And for all its talk of self-destruction and child-like confusion and loss of innocence, there seems to be a small sign of hope in a verse from “Theme from Piñata”: “I know debris; it covers everything/But still I am in love with this life.”