PARTING SHOT

The Summer of Definition is behind us. How well we remember those proud days, when those who got to the video stores too late were faced with a soul-wrenching choice: Smokey and the Bandit III, or the political conventions. So while millions scoured the garage floor, a handful gathered in front of the television to witness a modern miracle.

It must have been a miracle because of all the attention paid to it. Here is what happened: two men widely thought to be dull and vague and colorless were forced to make speeches. Now sending a politician to make a speech, we know, is like flinging ol’ Brer Rabbit once more into the brier patch. But these were not just any speeches. The candidates had to Define Themselves, we were told. And when the moment of truth arrived-though they had nothing but a skilled staff of professional speechwriters and researchers, state-of-the-art videotaping equipment, polling data showing just what people wanted from the speech, and months to prepare-even despite such odds, these two titans met the challenge.

They defined themselves with a clarity, a contrast, a vertical hold few had expected. How did they do it, you may ask? How was it that two men who have had only a couple of decades’ speaking experience, who have probably addressed no more than a few million people (not counting television appearances), were nonetheless able to find that inner core of strength, that final fire, to propel them up the Everest of this challenge?

How? Because they know that we Americans are an exacting people who demand the highest standards in our leaders. We are not afraid to ask for sacrifice as we plumb the depths of the men and women who would lead us. And if that means making a thirty-minute speech with nothing but a tele-prompter and a few thousand of your most fervent supporters, then buddy, you’d better hit that podium.



BUT THIS WAS MORE THAN THE SUMMER of Definition. (Ah, the memories!) We also quivered like leaves in a gathering storm as we felt yet another trend beginning. I’m talking, of course, about Mike Dukakis’s choice of “America,” Neil Diamond’s melting-pot anthem, for his theme song. (“From every port around the world, we’re comin’ to America.”) This song, with its insistent refrain-’Today! Today!’-did as much as anything to “define” Dukakis and will be remembered long after his rather predictable speech is forgotten. Neil Diamond should get a post in the Department of Images.

So it was surprising when George Bush in New Orleans opted for patriotic and ethnic ditties instead of reaching into those hot stacks of wax for some tracks to call his own. For as the advertisers have long known, there is no product so humble that some boomer rock song cannot be found to serve as its pitch. It’s already hard to tell whether Phil Collins, Steve Winwood, and (say it ain’t so) Eric Clapton are primarily musicians or hucksters of soft drinks and beer. Now it’s time for the next devolutionary step-the campaign as rock concert. Forget those factory cafeterias and ghetto strolls. Whip up a two-hour concert using baby-boom nostalgia rock to trumpet your major themes, and take that dude on the road!

The Dallas Convention Center, site of the GOP’s triumphant 1984 gathering, should be the kickoff venue for The Republicans of Rock ’88 Tour. Those rockin’ Repubs might blast off with some Diamond-penned taunts of their own, using “Song Sung Blue” to remind the crowd of those “gloomy” Democrats and “Thank the Lord for the Night Time” to reinforce the notion that Dukakis is soft on crime. Of course, the Diamond classic “Solitary Man” is perfect for painting the Duke as hopelessly out of the mainstream. Then the New Bush, that tender, compassionate troubadour, will take center stage for the E.T. song, “Heartlight,” singing very low so he can hear the quiet people that nobody hears.

But enough Diamond; Top Forty rock is full of political ammo. After Bush’s first set, Jerry Falwell and the Social Issue Singers lay on some boogy-down-home moralizing with a beat. They’ll swat welfare recipients with “Get a Job,” bash atheists with “Jesus is Just Alright,” and denounce unmarried mothers via the Supremes’ “Love Child.”

Following a break, during which the overheated crowd is sprayed with Perrier, it’s time for the GOP version of macho, retro rock: Phil Gramm, Jesse Helms, and Jack Kemp electrify the faithful with a twenty-minute medley of “No More Mr. Nice Guy,” “Bad to the Bone,” and “You Don’t Mess Around with Jim.” The latter drives the crowd into a frenzy: “You don’t cancel the B-I bomber, you don’t cave in on the Canal, you don’t give away the store to the Russian hoides, and you don’t mess around with George!”

Then it’s teen heartthrob Dan Quayle’s turn. Quayle, a newcomer to the pop charts, plays it safe with “California Girls,” which he cleverly changes to “Dallas/Fort Worth Girls.” He’s pelted with lingerie while surly Democrats in the crowd sing the 1965 hit, “Liar, Liar.” Guards hustle them out as Quayle, hearing shouts from the press section, launches into a medley of the Eagles’ “New Kid in Town” and “I Can’t Tell You Why,” a catchall number to cover the draft issue, Paula Parkinson, etc. An option here is the old Sam Cooke-cum-Art Garfunkel smash, “Wonderful World.” Talk about musical full disclosure: “Don’t know much about history/Don’t know much biology… I don’t claim to be an A’ student.”

As the evening builds to a climax, Quayle brings Bush back for his closing numbers. The veep swings into a sassy redo of Aretha Franklin’s “Think,” loaded with lyric changes that zing the Democrats. (“Think, think, think about the taxes that they’ll raise/Think, think, think about that national malaise!”) But he doesn’t tamper with certain lines: “I ain’t no psychiatrist, I ain’t no doctor with degree” serves to recall the Dukakis-saw-a-shrink rumors and his pointy-headed Harvard background. Bush deals with his own pampered youth through his take on Sam and Dave’s “Soul Man.” “Yes, I’m Skull and Bones, got that fraternity ring/And if you don’t believe it, just you hear me sing! I’m a Yaaaaallleee man . . .”

The Republicans of Rock wind down their show with a plaintive “Stand By Me,” Bush’s plea to the so-called Reagan Democrats. Then the grand finale brings the whole cast onstage for a closing blast at Dukakis: Randy Newman’s “Short People.” If overnight polls show that voters are turned off by the negative singing. Bush can warble a heartfelt “Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word” at a later concert.

Of course, the Democrats will not promise “no first use” of the rock ’n’ roll arsenal. With Billboard and Rolling Stone showing the two parties neck and neck and no money available for new MTV spots, every Democratic concert is a must-win situation. Next month: the Duke of Earl wows ’em at a sold-out Hollywood Bowl!