It would be a paramount act of hubris to claim to speak for those of my generation, but I’ve had this “heroes” conversation before; seems that with my crew a steak n’ wine dinner invariably, and unabashedly against social protocol, turns to religion, then politics, then cynicism, and over one such evening of pepper-crusted filet and a Greg Norman that had a hint of curant and…armpit…we touched on the hero meme.

In essence: we have no need for heroes; heroes, when unmasked as mortal, invariably disappoint; and it is possible to enjoy a hero’s works without actually liking or appreciating the hero him/herself.

I don’t want to call my generation cynical. We’re not. However, we’ve grown up along with the internet, twenty-four hour TV, reality shows, and all the rest. We have access to any piece of news from across the globe within seconds. And what sells? Violence. Sex. Natural disaster. Sensationalism. So while honor the basic goodness of man, we are far and away aware that a man placed on a pillar will soon enough become pilloried. We’ve seen enough corporate scandals, political scandals, and indicted preachers to see the folly in elevating someone/thing to “hero” status. Besides, and here Bangs said it best, “Having a hero is just a crutch not to do anything amazing yourself.”

Heroes don’t actually exist. They are a construct; a fictional repository of our hopes and dreams and ideals. (Read any Stan Lee interview. ‘Nuff said.) And the problem lies when we create our hero and then have the unfortunate experience of unmasking them, like reading Orwell on Dali or the book on Zev by Crystal. It all comes crashing down because we’ve so idealized them with *our* hopes and dreams. Superman to me is not Superman to you; our heroes are extremely personal. And when one is unmasked, it has strong psychic consequences precisely because we, un- or wittingly, imbue them with bits of ourselves. We take their defeat, so to speak, or rather the tarnishing of their image, so personally because it’s as if we ourselves are taking that hit.

It is possible to appreciate a hero’s deeds without having much love for the hero. This step requires conscious thought; it requires one given to conflating himself with his hero to draw a crisp, distinct, psychic line between himself and his hero. It also requires killing the “hero” moniker. We must admit that there are no heroes; that the object of our fascination is simply a man with extraordinary abilities i.e. music, art, etc. We must, and should, allow the accomplishments of the man stand alone from his character. The fact that Dali lived in a moral vacuum has no effect on my appreciation of his works. Nor does the thought of a drunken Zevon slobbering over a co-ed at a bar while Crystal sits at home eyeing the clock impact, at all, my pleasure when listening to his tunes. Should it? Not if I’m not confusing the hero with his works.

I should end there, but further: Does “David” become less of a masterpiece if we discover Michelangelo fondled little boys? Is “Starry Night” less iconic if viewed in consideration of its psychotic, ear-cutting maker? Of course not. Nor should we impugne the works of Dali and Zevon simply because our heroes have become unmasked — it is not their problem that we’ve conflated our heroes with their works.

Absolutely wonderful post and great following discussion.

Jeff

Dr. Slammy: You’re right: I’m not sure I would have behaved any better than W.Z. under the circumstances. I just hope I never, ever hear tales like that about Graham Parker.

If Zevon and others are guilty of worse sins than I was at one point in my life, it’s only because their resources and status presented them with more and greater opportunities to fuck up than mine did. But when we look at the damning accounts of Zevon, which I have no reason to doubt at all, are we seeing accounts of the car arriving at the Pacific Ocean or merely looking at pictures taken just west of Asheville?

In the end it maybe doesn’t matter, because your central point remains – we ought to be really careful about canonizing heroes. I will say this, though. In Zevon’s final album, I felt I was hearing the voice of a man who lamented, more than anything, that he all of a sudden had so little time to atone for his mistakes. I’d say that makes him guilty as charged, but it also redeems him.

Watch him in the 2003 documentary, “Born into This” by John Dullaghan. It’s bad enough that, despite his age, he’s as insecure as a teenager about women. But, at the end of the movie, he starts kicking his girlfriend.

I can never read him again.

As a (lapsed) Catholic, I like your use of the concept of “original sin,” which is a good way to describe our innate flaws. The flaws that concern me are the mortal sins, though, not the venial ones. So-and-so comes off in an interview/profile as having a prickly personality? I can live with that, although I wish he/she was more gracious. But when so-and-so turns out to be somebody that, as a fan, I don’t want to meet because he/she is Dali-esque or Zevon-esque: That’s what troubles me. Hard as I try to avoid being judgmental, I often can’t help but conclude that These Are Not Very Nice People.

You are dead on about the art being a “timeless wellspring” (another nice phrase). Yesterday, a few minutes after the live Zevon tracks played, his song “Splendid Isolation” popped up, thanks to the “shuffle” mode of iPod. It drove away all my thoughts about the artist and instead prompted one of those “man, I wish I’d written this” feelings.

As I said, my need for heroes, and the way I react to their flaws, may be more about my own shortcomings than theirs. I just wish I’d learned Zevon had been reasonably flawed instead of being mired too often in wretched excess.

Financial success or no, it engenders a decidedly weird life for the artist to live out. If unsuccessful, they and their loved ones are beset by the dilemma of poverty or artistic compromise, either in less time spent exploring, or in dilution of, their original spark. If successful, they must deal with the Pandora’s box of celebrity, with its newfound temptations and loss of privacy.

Rather, isn’t the benefit of our continuing attraction and attention to works of art that the works themselves are instructive? Certainly the best of all works of art, in their myriad manifestations, continues to inform my own artistic endeavors (I’ve lived my entire adult life as a musician), affording me insights about art and life that no other form of human communication can.

I was also curious about the lives these souls lived and are living — Joyce, Monk, Horowitz, Margaret Leng Tan, Rushdie, John Cage, Morton Feldman, and many many more, well-known and obscure — but no matter how they dealt or are dealing with the twin weirdnesses of success/unsuccess, their work remains a timeless wellspring. To me, that’s what really matters.

Perhaps the strategy of Thomas Pynchon, whose first three novels have remained in my personal canon of Best Works of Artistic Transcendence, is wisest — no pictures, no teevee interviews, no MySpace … only his art itself. (Hard for musicians to follow this strategy, though!)

Crystal Zevon seems to now be trying to repair her late ex’s reputation. A rock station in D.C. aired clips of an interview with her all morning on Tuesday. She was doing her very bet to make The Zev sound like the noble, common-man artist that guys like you an d me used to see him as.

Great piece, PV.

S&R guest Pat Vecchio writes about heroes, their flaws, and how they do — or don’t — motivate the rest of us….

Well done, sir. A notable contribution to S&R.