By Jonah Goldberg
Friday, May 29, 2026
Milli Vanilli was not in fact a one-hit wonder. The act
had five hits, all from the same album, Girl You Know It’s True. That
was in 1989.
So imagine a big concert on the National Mall in 1989 and
one of the headliners was … Mario Lanza or Johnnie Ray. You see, they were huge
in 1952, which is as far from 1989 as 1989 is from today.
I don’t mean to pick on Milli Vanilli. Well, actually I
do—or did. (I set out to write about how Milli Vanilli was kind of a precursor
to the AI era.) The duo (before one of them died) became famous for neither
writing (common enough) nor actually singing their own music. They were simply
avatars for a team that created a simulacrum of a band. One can easily imagine
a future where AI does all the work behind the scenes, but they’ll still need
meat props to front the act. I don’t think people will want to go to concerts
just to watch holograms or robots perform music made by machines. But I’ve
decided not to write about that. So, back to my point).
Or consider the C+C Music Factory, words I never thought
I would ever write. The group formed in 1989, so they might be a get for the
concert 37 years ago. Vanilla Ice had his big hit, “Ice, Ice Baby,” the
following year. He really was a one-hit wonder. Given how much he leaned into
his white status, I’m sure someone called him one-hit Wonder Bread. The
Commodores, on the other hand, were actually pretty great for a while. Their
high-water mark was probably 1978, which was 48 years ago. They’re still around,
but they’re almost the Ship of Theseus of music acts: Only one of the original
members is still with the band (William "WAK" King is the Methuselah
of funk). But it keeps going.The reason I’m talking about these acts is they
are—or were—among the “featured performers” of The Great American State Fair,
which is part of America’s 250th birthday bash on the mall organized
by the Trump administration. Most of the acts have pulled out, which may be
great news for the ones that simply got lumped into “…and many more!” at the
bottom of the poster.
You could actually do a great This Is Spinal
Tap-like mockumentary borrowing a plot device from Rocky. Remember
how Apollo Creed wanted a big, patriotic bicentennial boxing match, but no real
contenders were available, so he plucked from the obscurity of South Philly a
palooka named Rocky Balboa? So in This Is MagaPalooza, Richard Grenell,
fresh off his successful work at the Trump-Kennedy Center, could knock on the door
of Andy Dwyer—lead singer of Mouse Rat,
formerly
Teddy Bear Suicide, God Hates Figs, (the on-the-nose) Department of Homeland
Obscurity, Nothing Rhymes With Blorange, etc.—and tell him that he’s got his
ticket to the show. Grenell’s next stop would be to drive up to Scranton and
tell Kevin Malone, the drummer for Scrantonicity
2, that he’s hit the jackpot.
I should back up. If you haven’t followed this story, it’s simultaneously very funny and very sad. The
very funny part is captured in part by the poster alone and the reactions to
it. Most acts elicited shocked expressions of “They’re still touring!?” or even
“He’s still alive!?” No undue offense intended for any of them, but to say
these are D-list acts is an insult to The Romantics and Flock of Seagulls (yes,
they’re still touring). Also funny: Most of the acts have backed out. I mean,
when you’ve lost Bret Michaels—lead singer of Poison, winner of season 3 of Celebrity
Apprentice, and former host of Rock My RV with Bret Michaels—it’s
not a good sign.
The sad part is that our politics have gotten so gross
that no A- or B-listers would conceive of participating in the 250th
celebration of the American founding. I blame everyone, but not equally. When a
deeply unpopular, intensely partisan, vindictive, and corrupt president is
throwing his face and name on buildings and even currency, it shouldn’t be a
surprise that left-leaning artists will have nothing to do with something so
closely associated with him. Indeed, as a business decision, it would be stupid
to play at the Great American State Fair, because many of your fans will punish
you for it. Indeed, Michaels says one of the reasons he pulled out is that he
received so many threats. “Concerns have also been raised regarding the safety
of my fans, band, crew, family and myself, including threats that are
completely unfounded and unforgivable,” Michaels said in a statement.
I agree.
This should be an utterly nonpartisan event. But Donald
Trump has made the GOP an extension of his personal brand in almost every
conceivable way. If Republicans held on to Congress after the midterms, I
honestly wouldn’t be surprised if Lindsey Graham, Mike Lee, or Ralph Norman
proposed renaming the Republican Party the Trump Party. Regardless, when you
turn the Trump Party into a Republican In Name Only Party, you shouldn’t be
shocked by this kind of thing.
That said, this does raise a broader problem for the
right. It hasn’t had a deep bench of traditional celebrities for a very long
time. Clinton Eastwood is a titan (though technically a libertarian). Gary
Sinise, Kelsey Grammer, and Jon Voight are pretty solid, but after that you
head into Scott Baio, Kevin Sorbo, and Kid Rock territory very quickly.
Right-wing hunger for celebrity approval has always been
a little embarrassing, and even harder to explain, at least rationally. I think
part of it comes from envy. But part of it also comes from a kind of patriotism
and, truth be told, a kind of nationalism. That’s why the only place the GOP
has had any real success with A-list celebrities is country music. I think this
reflects very, very poorly on Hollywood and other elite performers. This
country made a lot of very famous people very rich, and they talk about America
as if it’s an albatross.
Billie Joe Armstrong, the lead singer of Green Day, told a London audience, “F— America … I’m f—ing renouncing
my citizenship. I’m f—ing coming here.” What set him off was the repeal of Roe
v. Wade. “There’s too much f—ing stupid in the world to go back to that
miserable f—ing excuse for a country,” Armstrong continued. “Oh, I’m not
kidding. You’re going to get a lot of me in the coming days.”
I could find no evidence that he has in fact forfeited
his citizenship.
I could fill the next 20 paragraphs with similar
statements from the likes of Madonna, Harry Belafonte, Spike Lee, Marlon
Brando, Jane Fonda, Oliver Stone, et al.
But let’s talk about Adam McKay, the writer and director
behind many of Will Ferrell’s biggest hits. McKay often heaps scorn on how dumb
America and Americans are. He and Ferrell privately referred to their first
three movies together as “The Mediocre White Man Trilogy.” Indeed, in his own telling, he has monetized what he calls “American
stupidity” like few others. But at least he owns his ingratitude: “I’m a 53-year-old white guy, and it
happened that I chose a profession that pays probably a hundred times more than
it should.”
Still, that hasn’t stopped him from enjoying the windfall
he’s made off the moviegoers he considers marks. When he revealed he was
wearing a Democratic Socialists of America T-shirt to a Vanity Fair reporter,
the reporter lightly joked, “I guarantee no one has ever worn that shirt in
that car.”
McKay responded, “What exactly is your point?” he shot
back, with a vein protruding from his forehead. “JUST BECAUSE I HAVE BELIEFS I
CAN’T DRIVE A NICE CAR?!!” [All caps in original.]
No one is saying that, dude, but whining about income
inequality, as he often does, while driving a Bentley, tells us something.
I singled out McKay because my problem with the
performative anti-Americanism of so many celebrities is the ingratitude. And
ingratitude for the wild success these people have had doing what they love
strikes me as, at some level, unpatriotic. But if I were to call them
unpatriotic, I would be thrown in with the Trumpists and others they call
“fascists” or whatnot. Patriotism has to mean, at some level, love of country
or at least the idea of your country. It’s fine to criticize America, and it’s
certainly patriotic to criticize the government (depending to some extent on
the content of the criticism).
I’m weary of the “this is how you got Trump” genre of
punditry. But that right-wing hunger for celebrities of our own is one of the
reasons Trump won in 2016. As regrettable as I think the Trump presidency and
his distorted understanding of patriotism have been for this country, I
understand why A-listers earn so much resentment. Fabulously rich, famous, and
attractive people gather to collect awards from each other every year. And
every “awards season” we’re subjected to numerous people pissing from a great
height on the country that made them fabulously rich and famous. They clutch
their Oscar, Emmy, or Golden Globe trophy and celebrate their own courage for
denigrating America. But their courage-on-the-cheap costs them nothing but
having to endure sustained applause before opening their yaps once again. They
don’t all do it, but enough do to make the point. And the applause and fawning
coverage reinforce the resentment.
I think there’s no end to the stupidity of anti-elite
populism, on the right and the left. But at least the billionaires who attract
pitchforks understand the anger, envy, and resentment their wealth invites. The
Oliver Stones and Adam McKays think they are absolved from similar resentment
because they have “BELIEFS” about the little people off whom they profit. It’s
like they welcome a revolution on the mistaken belief that it will eat them
last.
No comments:
Post a Comment