Racism in College Football

Much has been made of Auburn's decision to rehire former defensive coordinator Gene Chizik over Buffalo head coach Turner Gill. At first glance, this deal seemed a little dubious, considering Chizik's recent record as the head coach at Iowa State, but I neglected to make a first impression. After further researching Chizik, and remembering that he was the very successful defensive coordinator for Auburn's undefeated run in 2004, and he immediately followed that success by leading the defense of the 2005 national champion Texas team.

His career as a head coach has been rocky in the emerging Big 12 north, but it wasn't hard for me to justify hiring a defensive mastermind with SEC coaching experience over any MAC coach. Certainly, there have been some coaching gems to come out of non-BCS conferences, with Urban Meyer being the most notable. Still, Meyer was much more accomplished when he was offered the head coaching position at Florida than Turner Gill is now, leading Utah to an undefeated season in a stronger conference and a BCS bowl victory. On the other hand, there have also been some successful head coaches plucked from the defensive coordinator position at major conference schools (such as Oklahoma's Bob Stoops).

My conclusion: no grounds for racism charges.

I didn't stop thinking about it there though, especially when I recently stumbled across some Auburn students discussing the issue on a web site I frequent. Not being huge football fans, they didn't have strong opinions one way or the other about whether racism affected the hire, but they weren't happy with the reputation their school has received from the incident. Just looking at the argument before, I hadn't considered the apparently lasting effects that this issue would have on the reputations of the school and its students. I know that in the long run, this too won't last, but for the time being, the media has falsely perpetuated the racist southern stereotype at Auburn.

I don't think I've quite proved my point yet though. Going back to Turner Gill, I don't think he's a bad coach. I think it's entirely possible he's a better coach than Chizik. I'll be the first to admit that Chizik's head coaching career hasn't been the greatest success, but let's look at Buffalo. Gill gets a lot of respect for leading the Bulls to a MAC championship, but most people forget that Buffalo was hardly the best team in the MAC. In terms of overall regular season conference records, Buffalo was tied for fourth. They led their division, but four teams had regular season conference records as good or better than Buffalo's, and being in the much tougher division, those teams went through tougher conference schedules. The MAC western division went 14-4 against Buffalo's eastern division. Even Buffalo was 0-2 against western division opponents in the regular season before upsetting Ball State in the championship game.

Buffalo clearly didn't get any top 25 votes, but how well did they do in the computers? They finished at #60 in the Colley Rankings, fourth in their conference. In Massey, they finished at #76 (#68 MoV), third in the MAC. I'll definitely admit that Gill has improved Buffalo's program over the three years he's been there, but is a #60 finish in the Colley Rankings enough reason to think he could succeed in the SEC in the recently upgraded western division? Chizik on the other hand, while not the head coach, played a significant role in coaching two consecutive top 2 teams.

The correct choice remains to be seen. As it stands now though, I would rather stand with Chizik. He's done a great job so far pulling in an impressive recruiting class, always a difficult task for new head coaches. He also gets points for stealing offensive coordinator Gus Malzahn from Tulsa. Malzahn, a former high school coach, has achieved great offensive success in his stints at Arkansas and Tulsa. I just hope this racist reputation Auburn has acquired is soon to pass.

Letter to the Editor: Wired Magazine

It's not every day that I get to correct a major publication on some of the finer points of probability, so when the chance comes up, I take it. The full article is here, and the erroneous passage is contained in the fourth paragraph from the bottom of this page. I wrote:

"A Formula for Disaster" is a relatively informative article on one of the causes of the current financial mess, but it bears pointing out that one of Mr. Salmon's illustrations of the concept of mathematical correlation is misleading. In particular, Salmon writes, "And if Britney wins the class spelling bee, the chance of Alice winning it is zero, which means the correlation is negative: -1." It's true that this correlation is always negative, but the numerical value of the correlation is dependent upon the number of students in the class with Alice and Britney. In fact, the correlation of A and B will only be equal to -1 in the degenerate case where Alice and Britney are the only two students in the class. In general, assuming that every student in the class has an equal probability of winning the spelling bee (and that these probabilities can be accurately modeled as Bernoulli random variables), the correlation between A and B will be equal to 1/(1-n), where n is the total number of students in the class.

Wired is one publication where writing in geekspeak might actually increase your chances of getting your letter published, so I went all out. Sean, would you mind checking my math?

Racist? Really?

Is this cartoon offensive?


I'm participating in a long-term survey conducted by politicshome.com, pursuant to which I receive one or two emails per week prompting me to answer a short series of opinion questions about the news of the day. This morning, the email contained the following sentence: "Today, we approach the delicate subject of race." I clicked the link, and was greeted with the above cartoon, along with some explanatory text:

The New York Post ran this cartoon in their newspaper yesterday, and it has sparked a controversy. The image is of a chimpanzee having been shot by police. The text reads: "They'll have to find someone else to write the next stimulus bill." Do you think this is offensive?

The media has been all atwitter with the story of the woman in Connecticut who was almost mauled to death by her friend's trippin' pet chimpanzee. After the attack, the owner called 911, and the police were dispatched, at which point they shot and killed the ape. The victim was so badly mutilated that the police thought she was a man when they came upon her body. The last I read, she was in critical but stable condition.

This is what ran through my head when I saw the cartoon. I drew the conclusion that the cartoonist had in mind to intimate that the stimulus was such a poor bill that even a chimpanzee (on downers) could have drafted it. Which is pretty much what you would expect a New York Post cartoonist to say. So was it offensive? I thought that it was somewhat tasteless to take advantage of this lady's plight to make a relatively crass point about a totally unrelated political event, and particularly to do so in such a patently unfunny way. But tasteless isn't offensive. I clicked "No."

Still, I continued to think about it. After all, the email from PoliticsHome had primed me for a question about race. I am an intelligent and educated man, and I am by no means ignorant of the fact that the history of rhetoric regarding race in our nation includes not just a few instances of black men being lumped in with lower primates by people with political and eugenic axes to grind. So I sat a while and tried to spin a sensical interpretation of the cartoon that would play on that outdated and obviously offensive symbolism.

I couldn't come up with anything that made sense to me. For the cartoon to operate in that way, you would have to read it as blaming black people for drafting a shoddy bill, which doesn't fly, since Congress drafted the bill, and most members of Congress are white. Anyway, I finally decided, if there was an offensive racial interpretation to the cartoon, it was too subtle for me to detect, so I left my answer as it was.

It was only later in the morning when I came across editorials by Roland S. Martin and Keith Josef Adkins explaining what was purportedly offensive about the cartoon. Martin writes:

If you haven't seen the editorial in question, it shouldn't take you long to figure out that the subtle message was clear: comparing President Obama to a chimpanzee.

WHOA! Wait a minute! Seriously? I stared at the cartoon for five minutes, actively trying to suss out what was supposed to be racist about it, and I never, NEVER would have made this supposedly obvious connection. It makes no sense at all. President Obama didn't draft the stimulus bill; Congress did.

And now listen to Martin's explanation for why this connection is so obvious:

First, mixing the two stories [the chimp attack and the stimulus] is ridiculous. Yes, the chimpanzee incident and the passage of the stimulus bill have a lot of folks talking, but to put them in the same element just doesn't make sense.

Second, the cartoonist didn't hang a sign around the neck of the chimp, so he left it up to the reader to determine exactly who the cops were referring to.

As to the first argument, about what percentage of the political cartoons that you read make a hell of a lot of sense? My hunch is that this number hovers between 20% and 30%. As to the second, I think it makes my point just as effectively as it makes Martin's own: if it is "left up to the reader to determine exactly who the cops are referring to," doesn't that imply that the reader chooses whether to interpret the cartoon in a way that he or she finds offensive?

Adkins, on the other hand, didn't go out on a limb to say that the cartoon chimp represented Obama in particular, but did write, "I'm sorry, there's no way to interpret a cartoon like this except as racist filth." I just disagree. The cartoon clearly CAN be interpreted as racist filth, but only if the interpreter is predisposed to read racial animus into found cultural objects. I think it can be interpreted as just tactless and unfunny.

Look, I'm not accusing these two columnists, or the many people who agree with them, of manufacturing umbrage in response to the cartoon. I have no reason really to believe that they are being anything but sincere in taking offense to it. I suspect that this is just one area where different upbringings coax out wildly different interpretations of the same cultural object, and not a great deal can be done about that. So I recognize that it's possible to have caused legitimate offense without having intended to do so, and that maybe in such a case, an apology is warranted. But these cases of cross-racial misunderstanding are so common that it's time for both sides to start adjusting their expectations. As a white guy, I just don't have a radar for this stuff. If I offend somebody, it's not insensitivity or malice; it's just that I'm operating on a different set of symbols from the one that would help me avoid putting my foot in my mouth about these things. It's the same way that I can walk past a pile of dishes in the sink for days on end, as Katy steadily boils over in anger: to me, those dishes are not saying "Wash us!"

To finish up, I think it bears saying explicitly that white people generally don't assume that depictions of apes in editorial cartoons are representative of African Americans in general, or of President Obama in particular. Quite the contrary in fact. When I imagine a simian as a symbol for the chief executive, a president of a different vintage comes to mind. Anyone remember the Smirking Chimp?

Federal Funds are Nothing New in Louisiana

Just quickly, I'm noticing that a lot of my more conservative Facebook friends are expressing their pleasure at the fact that Governor Jindal has indicated his willingness to forego the federal stimulus funds allocated to Louisiana in the new bailout package. Granted, Jindal has predicated his position on an abundance of caution, wishing to evaluate the "strings" that may be attached to the funds. But my friends seem to be approving Jindal's move on the more general basis that they oppose Louisiana's acceptance of federal money in principal. (Check out the comments to this blog post from the Huffington Post, for instance).

All I want to say is that as a matter of course, the budgets of every state, including Louisiana, include significant injections of federal funds. Famously, Louisiana long resisted increasing the drinking age to 21, until the U.S. threatened to withhold federal money for highway construction and maintenance unless the drinking age was raised. Louisiana quickly fell in line after that.

Anyway, if you oppose states accepting federal money in principal, you can't start and end your criticism with the stimulus package. There are veins here that run deeper than that.

Indulge my Curiosity

The Catholic Church has been making a fair bit of news the past few weeks. On February 9, the New York Times reported that the Church is renewing the availability of limited and plenary indulgences for the first time since the Second Vatican Council. I won't try to give an exhaustive definition of "indulgences," but they apparently can shorten a believer's stay in purgatory, and played an important role in European history, as the impetus for Martin Luther's exodus from the church. Earlier, Newsweek reported that the Pope was making conciliatory motions towards a group of rogue bishops who formed the Lefebvrist schismatic sect in protest of the reforms introduced after Vatican II.

In isolation, these stories might interest me, but together I wonder do they constitute a trend under Pope Benedict XVI of backtracking on the Vatican II reforms.

Most famously, Vatican II got rid of the Latin mass. As a non-Catholic (and so from the outside looking in), it always seemed to me that this must have been a signifcant loss. Looking back at my own religious upbringing, I feel like I sort of missed out on the sort of ritualism and the incantatory effect that something like the Latin mass must have elicited. Right or wrong, I've always somewhat suspected that I would feel more religious if the clergy didn't expect me to be able to affirm that what they were saying made any sense.

I won't go any further down that particular rabbithole though for three reasons: (1) I'm not Catholic, so if I continue I'm bound to start sounding insipid and insulting, (2) ritualism comes with its own set of liabilities, just as an absence of ritualism does, and (3) it turns out that the end of the Latin mass was only the most visible, and by no means the most important, result of Vatican II.

The Newsweek article (which I cannot recommend highly enough) reports that Vatican II was the first time that the Church had recognized that "the human person has a right to religious freedom," and that it was this doctrine that incited Archbishop Lefebvre to split from the Church. To me this fact is shocking.

Sean, I wonder are the changes accompanying the leadership of Pope Benedict XVI being talked about locally, and how people feel about them. Are people even aware of the renewed availability of indulgences? NYT was reporting that it varied by diocese whether the priests were publicizing them or not. If people are aware of them, how do they feel about them? And how do people feel about conciliatory gestures towards the Lefebvrists? On the one hand, yeah, maybe schisms ought to be healed as a matter of course, but on the other, is the recognition of religious freedom negotiable?

Puzzling Over Some Wacky Ideas about Teenagers, Sex, Technology, and the Law

For as long as I have been a reader of Slate, which probably goes back to around 2001, I have been a fan of Dahlia Lithwick's writing for the online magazine. Even before I'd settled on attending law school after graduation from college, I'd long enjoyed her Supreme Court Dispatches series, which summarized the facts of many of the more notorious cases on the Court's docket, the legal issues attending thereto, and often included transcriptions of the more raucous parts of the oral arguments. Good, good fun, to watch the Court, and especially to do so in the company of such an astute and professional Court-watcher as Lithwick.

Lately though, Lithwick's columns are falling short. A lot of her recent articles on Slate have been cross-published in Newsweek, and those articles have proven particularly lackluster. This weekend, she weighed in on what has become a trend in adolescent circles, namely "sexting," which apparently means taking nude photographs of oneself and electronically transmitting them to other teens. In a number of cases cited in the article, senders and recipients of the sext messages have been charged with crimes related to child pornography. Lithwick forcefully argues that such charges are inappropriate.

We'll assume for the sake of argument that the photographs in question actually qualify as prohibited child pornography in the prosecuting jurisdictions. It turns out though that this assumption may not be warranted in all cases. For instance, in Louisiana, the crime of pornography involving juveniles is governed by La. R.S. 14:81.1. Under that statute, a depiction of "sexual conduct" is required in order to cross the threshold of criminality, and "sexual conduct" is defined as "actual or simulated sexual intercourse, deviate sexual intercourse, sexual bestiality, masturbation, sadomasochistic abuse, or lewd exhibition of the genitals." From this language, it's not clear that a simple nude photograph would be covered; cases would presumably turn on how "lewd" a particular exhibition of the genitals might be.

Anyway, like I said, let's assume that the jurisdictions in question have broader anti-porn laws, or that the photos forming the basis for prosecution are particularly "lewd." Why then should they not be prosecuted? Lithwick can speak for herself:

One quick clue that the criminal justice system is probably not the best venue for addressing the sexting crisis? A survey of the charges brought in the cases reflects that—depending on the jurisdiction—prosecutors have charged the senders of smutty photos, the recipients of smutty photos, those who save the smutty photos, and the hapless forwarders of smutty photos with the same crime: child pornography. Who is the victim here and who is the perpetrator? Everybody and nobody.

Lithwick seems to be suggesting that, in these limited circumstances, child porn is a victimless crime. Of course, you could point to the analogous case of a drug deal: both the seller and the buyer can be charged with a crime. It's equally difficult in that case to identify a "victim," but nobody seriously thinks that a clearly identifiable "victim" is a prerequisite to a certain act being declared criminal. In the case of both illegal drugs and child pornography, the justification for criminalization is the same: when certain revenue streams cause aggregate damage to the physical, mental, or sexual health of the public, those revenue streams ought to be shut down.

Lithwick quotes a police captain in a Pennsylvania case, who argues that the prosecutions are justified, saying, "Once it's on a cell phone, that cell phone can be put on the Internet where everyone in the world can get access to that juvenile picture." She then trivializes his argument, writing:

The argument that we must prosecute kids as the producers and purveyors of kiddie porn because they are too dumb to understand that their seemingly innocent acts can hurt them goes beyond paternalism. Child pornography laws intended to protect children should not be used to prosecute and then label children as sex offenders.

Parenthetically, I'll admit that Lithwick is right on when she says that registration as a sex offender would be an inappropriate punishment for teenage sexting. Those registries are supposed to identify criminal sexual deviants, and whether it's good behavior or bad, nobody ought to maintain that the urges that lead to teen-to-teen sexting are anything other than mainstream.

But again, Lithwick's rush to identify the victim throws her off the scent of what's really going on here. This is not an exercise in paternalism meant to protect the interests of emptyheaded would-be teen sexters. Child porn statutes are meant to shut down commercial activity in contraband, and it is reasonable in that light to enact laws that would curtail production of contraband, including small-scale production.

And besides, the prosecuted teens will ordinarily be benefited by the same procedural safeguard afforded to minors generally in the legal system: prosecution before a specialized juvenile court, with relaxed formalities. Imagine yourself as the juvenile judge before whom a sexting case is brought. You have wide latitude in terms of punishment. Do you really want to put a teen sexter in juvy, much less in prison? No! Your role is the same as it is in the vast majority of other juvenile prosecutions: to ensure the offenders understand the gravity of the situation, the reasons why their conduct is prohibited, and to scare them a little bit. Then you assign them a few hours of community service. In other words, teenagers are already benefited by regulations meant to ensure that their punishment reflects their relative level of informal culpability.

But here's where Lithwick completely loses me, and it's a matter of sort of general penology, rather than something specific to sexting:

Many other experts insist the sexting trend hurts teen girls more than boys, fretting that they feel "pressured" to take and send naked photos. Yet the girls in the Pennsylvania case were charged with "manufacturing, disseminating or possessing child pornography" while the boys were merely charged with possession. This disparity seems increasingly common. If we are worried about the poor girls pressured into exposing themselves, why are we treating them more harshly than the boys?

Allow me to retort with an example from physics. Suppose 10 pounds of force is being applied to an object, but you want the object to stay put. What should you do? Apply 10 pounds of force in the opposite direction. But if 100 pounds of force is being applied, 10 pounds won't be enough; instead you should apply 100 pounds. In other words, if you want to curtail girls sending naked pictures of themselves to boys, and they feel intense peer pressure to do so, a seemingly plausible course of action would be to push back harder, by increasing the applicable punishment to such an extent that it balances or overcomes peer pressure.

Now obviously I make no claims to expertise in child psychology, and can't vouch for whether the push-pushback illustration accurately models a workable incentive structure for teenage girls thinking about sex. But it passes the smell test anyway. Even if it's wrong, it's at least on the side of common sense, so that I think anyone who would take the contra bears the burden of showing why such an incentive structure won't work. Certainly it's not as mystifying as Lithwick seems so hellbent on implying.

But then again, maybe Dahlia's right. I mean, gang initiates feel intense peer pressure to commit murder. So maybe we shouldn't be so hard on them.

Retiring the Joker, a Test Case in Uncoverability

I just wanted to post a quick link that has some relevance to the concept of uncoverability that I was writing about last week.

Apparently, a group of folks (purporting to be fans of Heath Ledger and The Dark Knight) are petitioning Warner Bros. to have the Joker retired from further film adaptations. Quoting from the CNN writeup:

Barbella said he thinks any new performance just won't be able to top Ledger's.

"He upgraded the character in a thrilling way," he said. "Although a lot of actors would love the chance to play the Joker, as Batman fans and now Heath Ledger fans, we think no one could ever perform it as well as he did."

Now obviously I'd be shocked if this particular campaign led to anything as official as a retirement of the Joker. But its proponents raise what appears to be a legitimate point: once this brand-renewal cycle for the Batman movie franchise runs its course, and some new upstart director gets it in his head to revive it again, would it be that shocking for him to voluntarily eschew the Joker character, given the outsize influence that Ledger had on the role? Imagine casting the Joker. Imagine directing the Joker. Imagine portraying the Joker for God's sake. Wouldn't you feel that what you were doing was somehow superfluous, and that somehow, the character was already locked down?

This has as much or more to do with the iconography that has grown up around Ledger and the Joker as a result of Ledger's death as it does with the unique quality of Ledger's performance, but I don't think that changes the truth of anything I've said here. Posthumously, Ledger's have become some very big shoes to fill, and, at least from where I stand now, it wouldn't surprise me if it takes a long time for another actor to try them on.

Kucinich to Citi: "We Own You."

This morning I would have made my conservative father proud. While getting dressed, I quite literally yelled at Dennis Kucinich, who was appearing on CNN, "What are you, some kind of fucking idiot?" Kucinich was bemoaning the fact that Citi, after accepting bailout funds from the federal government, was applying a portion of those funds ($400 M) to become the name sponsor of the New York Mets' new baseball stadium.

Perhaps speaking as a sports fan, Mr. Kucinich's ire could be somewhat justified. I will be the first to admit that, say, the moniker "Minute Maid Park" lacks the magnetic hubris of the late, great "Astrodome." But do I want the federal government messing around with this stuff? No!



"We own you"? Really, Mr. Kucinich? Is that really what you meant to say there? Maybe people would be less put-off by you if only you were a bit less heavyhanded in your approval of actual, state socialism. I'm not the kind of person to make such a charge lightly; in fact, I don't think I've ever called any American politician a socialist, and where I come from, that's saying something.

Maybe it's worth belaboring the obvious on this point: Fortune 500 companies are not in the business of tossing hundreds of millions of dollars into marketing contracts without the prospect of a sizeable return. A part of any major corporate budget is marketing, and to go around clutching one's pearls because the titans of corporate greed failed to suspend their advertising budgets upon receipt of public funds just shows how ignorant (or vindictive) Kucinich and his ilk really are. Advertising is an easy target for these guys, because there's a popular perception that advertising is frivolous business, when really, I think that the perception of frivolity has more to do with the frivolous nature of the public that the ad business must appeal to, than with anything frivolous in the nature of the ad business itself.

Simply put, the money is not being "wasted" just because it's being spent on marketing. Did anybody accuse Apple of wasting money on advertising in the past several years? There are times when the better investment for the future of a business is advertising rather than maintaining jobs. To my knowledge, Citi has not been nationalized as a provider of unemployment benefits, at least not yet.

I don't want to be heard as saying that the mere fact that a large corporation spends its money in a particular way is evidence in itself that the expenditure is a good idea. After all, banks sank billions of dollars into subprime mortgages, and investment banks spent several billion more on the resulting mortgage-backed securities, and those have proven to be disastrous investments. But I think those cases are distinguishable. The mortgage catastrophe has an element of the sorites paradox: a large number of practically identical transactions, no single one of which would have sunk the ship, but whose aggregate effect was to do just that. Nevertheless, in order to be taken in by the logic that because one bad mortgage doesn't kill you, you ought to risk your entire business on bad mortgages required the banks to cultivate systemic ignorance in their employees and management as to one of the most basic functions of any lending institution: managing risk.

By contrast, Citi's purchase of naming rights is a one-off transaction. Sure, it could spell a net loss for Citi, but that's an inappropriate way to evaluate the wisdom of such a unique transaction on the front end. Citi has to evaluate the expected value of the transaction based on what it knows right now; not upon what it will know after twenty years, when the naming agreement terminates. And with a relatively limited number of similar transactions to draw upon, past performance isn't likely to be particularly helpful in this case. I see no good reason to stifle private investment just because a particular transaction happens to be relatively easy to mock.

I am no raving capitalist, but it seems disingenuous to me for the Congress to fail to regulate what the bailout funds could be spent on, and then fly off the handle, threatening hearings and bad press, when the funds were used to pay for perfectly predictable (if not necessarily palatable) expenditures like executive bonuses and advertising. The proper way to channel the funds as Congress intended would have been to attach the strings to the funds on the front end—take it or leave it—not to stage unwarranted attacks ex post. If Congress wanted to put quotas on the number of loans made by Citi and the rest, or on the number of jobs that corporate America should create, then it should have said so in the first place, and conditioned the bailout funds accordingly, since it has the authority to do so. But I seem to recall that Congress' forays into the home loan business had something to do with getting us into this situation in the first place.

My Chemical Romance Covers Dylan: I Have an Opinion About That, and It's Not (Exactly) What You Think

I think it was Monday evening when Katy came home and told me that My Chemical Romance was contributing a cover of Bob Dylan's "Desolation Row" to the soundtrack of the upcoming film, Watchmen. Before even hearing the song, I was nonplussed, and remained so afterwards. They tossed some verses, sped it up, applied their traveling circus style of buzzsaw guitar, lifted a riff straight out of Poison's "Talk Dirty to Me," and got it down to 3 minutes. And they missed the boat entirely.

I should probably start by saying that although not my cup of tea, the problem is not that My Chemical Romance is contributing the cover. Katy owns two of their albums, I've listened to them, and I don't hate them as much as I'd expected that I would. At their best, they sort of succeed as a dark-ish party band; in some places they actually sound like a successor to Twisted Sister, not great praise necessarily, but not all bad either. My biggest complaint with them is that it seems to me that their lyrics could benefit from another several drafts before hitting the CD press.

My problem is also not the problem that a Dylan purist might have. That is, I think that most Dylan songs can and should be covered. In fact, off the top of my head I can name several covers of his songs that kick his album versions in the teeth and don't quit.

Anyway, those paragraphs were tangents. My problem is not with My Chemical Romance, and my problem is not that the Dylanography is inherently untouchable. My problem is with the choice of song itself; I propose that "Desolation Row" belongs in a class of songs which I will denote "Uncoverable."

In fairness, it was practically inevitable that any attempt to film Watchmen would involve a cover of "Desolation Row," since the graphic novel actually quotes the song. In that connection, I can't help but be reminded of the making-of previews for Watchmen, in which the director says, more or less, "A lot of people think of Watchmen as the unfilmable graphic novel." It just strikes me as interesting that in order to film the unfilmable graphic novel, you have to cover the uncoverable song. Poetic, kinda.

I've heard the concept of uncoverability floating around before. On Last.fm, I remember someone complaining about Johnny Cash's cover of U2's "One," saying effectively that the song was so personal to Bono that any attempt to cover it becomes automatically crass. That's not precisely what I have in mind. I think that a song is uncoverable when the original recorded performance is so radically idiosyncratic that it forces the potential cover artist into a catch-22: either he copies the idiosyncrasy, in which case it swallows up his own contribution to the project, making the cover redundant, or he ditches the idiosyncrasy, in which case everyone wonders what was the point of performing a song whose most interesting aspect has been extracted.

The best relatively contemporary example that I'm coming up with is Bush's "Glycerine." Uncoverable I say. Why? Because the arrangement is completely anomalous, and yet it works so well that a casual listener could hear the song a hundred times and never notice what it is that makes the music so haunting: no percussion. Only vocals, fuzzed-out electric guitar, and a string section. If you were inclined to cover "Glycerine," what would you do? Jettison the attributes that make it sui generis, by incorporating drums? Or play it straight, omit the percussion, and allow the song itself and its history to overpower your performance of it? (The tragic choice might be avoided through schtick, say, by Me First and the Gimme Gimmes, but I have in mind serious covers, and not parodies).

So what is the radical idiosyncrasy of "Desolation Row"? I suggest you download it from iTunes and see for yourself, but failing that, read on:

First, at 11 minutes, 20 seconds, it is a radically long song, even for Dylan. The first 9 minutes or so are comprised of a sequence of verses featuring characters from and allusions to various works of art, literature, fairy tale, mythology, scripture, and history. Cameos are made by Romeo and Juliet, Cain and Abel, Cinderella, Casanova, Ezra Pound, T.S. Eliot, and the Phantom of the Opera, among others. Neither the melody nor the arrangement changes appreciably during this section, though changes in diction and emphasis will help to keep you interested. Each verse is essentially self-contained and unrelated to the others.

The other thing worth pointing out is that, while there are emotionally touching standouts (like the Ophelia verse), between one-quarter and one-third of the verses are absolute garbage from the perspective of being well-written or interesting or insightful. In particular I'm thinking of the verses beginning "Einstein disguised as Robin Hood..." and "At midnight, all the agents..." (Interestingly, that latter verse is the one quoted in Watchmen). It's perplexing then, at first, that those verses are there at all, since the song is already too long, and nobody would miss them if they'd been omitted, since they bear no real relation to the other parts.

Then, after all these verses, there is a harmonica interlude, and after it, a final verse, wherein we learn that the foregoing verses were all contained in a letter received by the speaker. The final verse is the speaker's response, and he's having none of it; in fact, he's bored, effectively mocking the audience for any enjoyment it might have derived in the previous ten minutes:

All these people that you mentioned,
Yes I know them—they're quite lame.
I had to rearrange their faces,
And give them all another name.
Right now I can't read too good.
Don't send me no more letters, no,
Not unless you mail them from Desolation Row.

And that's when it hits you that the radical idiosyncrasies at work in this song are the peculiar chutzpah that it must take for an artist to pull this sort of time-wasting, tear-jerking prank on his audience, and the charisma it takes to make them feel satisfied even after the rug has been pulled neatly out from under them. Dylan knows that he can string you along until the end, maybe move you to the brink of tears, or convince you to sing along, just by employing that timeless, nasal/gravel/gargle he calls a voice (maybe the closest we modern English speakers can come to hearing Beowulf sung), sprinkling some good lines and verses in among the bad ones, and mostly by appealing to the audience's ego: "I've heard of Ophelia!" It's Menippean satire meets the Shaggy Dog Story. It's the take that makes you love getting took.

And that's why it can't be covered. Now that "Desolation Row" is a classic, chutzpah and charisma are no longer required in order to get away with it. But it's the chutzpah and charisma that made it a classic in the first place. The reasons that undergird your desire to cover it are the very reasons why you'll never be able to bring anything to it that is new or interesting or relevant or really very good at all. You shouldn't bother trying.