The term "iconoclastic" as a descriptor for an artist is as overused as anything else in music. Anyone experiencing a moment of political defiance or who wears the right t-shirt, might be considered such a figure, and see their record sales closely attached to that. In recent months the media - and who can blame them really, considering the times - has dubbed the likes of Kanye West and the Dixie Chicks as such for a few criticisms of the present administration. All it takes is one well placed statement to get your name in the rounds of morning talk shows, and to become the moment's hot topic on Fox News, and any publicity is good publicity.
It should mean more, however, to be considered an iconoclast than the attention garnered by a few statements. Iconoclasm should be a life's work, and not a moment's garner. Should that truer definition be the one we use, then the list of truly iconoclastic artists would rightfully be whittled down to a handful. It's not the crux of this article to preach who should be on that list, rather to urge the reader to include, if they haven't already, Ani DiFranco.
You could look at DiFranco, a folkie in punk clothes, and surmise that the only difference between her and Bob Dylan is a generation and gender politics. And just like Dylan who was limited by being called a political singer, DiFranco has her own mainstream misconceptions as well, perhaps even more damning. Being a radical, outwardly sexual female artist, her work is pigeonholed as exclusively feminine; some snidely might remark that it's "Lilith Fair" stuff and nothing more. But in that there isn't a modicum of truth. DiFranco is a woman, yes, and she is a feminist, but not in the trite sense of the term. What about that makes her music exclusively for women? The answer is nothing - nothing, the same as nothing about Dylan being a man makes him exclusively a male taste.
On her latest Carnegie Hall 4.6.02 DiFranco is a sharp, humorous barb, lashing and laughing at the same time. These songs are meaningful pieces of music, categorically wrenching the listener from a ho-hum sense of comfort with their own lives. Tracks like "Gratitude" and "Not So Soft" don't pull punches, and while DiFranco banters with the crowd throughout the recording, it is clear that once she strikes her strident guitar and rises into her characteristic trill, she's opened up a hole in her chest for the audience to look right through to her heart. It is a raw, jagged performance, and one that shouldn't be missed by DiFranco fans or fans of live music in general. She includes two pieces (spoken word poems a la "Last Thoughts On Woody Guthrie" from the Dylan Bootleg Series) about 9-11 that draws a silence sense of awe from her audience that at every other point in the performance sounds ready to beatify her. In the almost five years since the tragedy, DiFranco might be the one artist who hasn't gone completely over the top with her tribute to the moment. She is somber, thoughtful, and most importantly, she's honest.
And not once does she apologize, nor is it expected from her. If we're expanding our definition of that word "iconoclasm" to meet with the present times, then that might be the most important new element: an iconoclast must never back track on their words. |