As things stand, the children have no realistic choice. It's imposisble to listen to
most of the rock stations, or watch the televised videos, without being exposed to
kinky sex, torture and even killing.
Some of it, no doubt, is calculated to shock. But because we adults, in our
pseudosophistication, refuse to acknowledge shock, the effect is to legitimize and popularize
things that ought to have us screaming bloody murder.
Now, thanks to a handful of Washington women, maybe we'll take our heads out
of the sand and start screaming.
[From the Washington Post, Sept. 14, 1985]
ROCK RATINGS
(By Ellen Goodman)
BOSTON. -- There is something familiar about the scene. A public conflict between
concerned mothers in silk and outrageous rock stars in skin. A People magazine
cover with a shopworn headline: "Has Rock Gone too Far?" A meeting with
broadcasters this week, a congressional hearing next week, furrowed brows, lips that roll
the words "Sex, Violence, Rock 'n' Roll" into one.
Haven't we been here before? How many times before? Which side were we on
before? Surely the Golden Oldies among us titter over memories of the Movement to
Restore Decency, the midnight record burners, the prudes who televised Elvis only
from the waist up. "They" as Elvis said, "are just frustrated old types anyway."
And we were inclined to agree.
Rock was born and bred to be anti-establishment and despite the news that Ringo
Starr has become a grandfather, yesterday's rocker to [sic] loath to become today's
establishment. But even the most terminally tolerant of rock fans knows that something
has happened since the days of the old hound dog.
The outrageous edge of rock and roll has shifted its focus from Elvis' pelvis to the
saw protruding from Blackie Lawless' codpiece on a W.A.S.P. album. Rock lyrics
have turned from "I can't get no satisfaction" to "I'm going to force you at gunpoint
to eat me alive."
The veritable Prince of rock is now writing ballads to his sister -- "Incest is
everything they said it would be" -- and Motley Crue has become the bard of rape -- "I'll
either break her face or take down her legs." You do not have to be a "frustrated
old type" to hope that your children don't go around the house singing the words to
"Nightstalker."
It's this heavy-metal message that is forcing an older generation of fans to become
critics. One of them, Tipper Gore, 36, wife of Sen. Al Gore (D-Tenn.), mother of four
and Phil Collins fan, is one of those who said "enough." She and Susan Baker, wife
of Treasury Secretary Jim Baker, with two others formed something called the
Parents Music Resource Center. They have had as much publicity lately as Madonna.
The women of the PMRC have been attacked with such lethal epithets as "Washington
wives," "ladies" and, gasp, "housewives," as if they were swinging
pocketbooks at the heads of rock stars. Indeed some in the industry portray the "wives"
and their allies in the PTA as right-wing censors out to limit the free speech of the
whole motley crew.
Frankly, I think it would be lovely if all the broadcasters, producers and musicians
had the restraint to limit the amount of mayhem that went out over the
airwaves. You cannot direct "adult" songs specifically into 15-and-over eardrums. The
lyrics drift, like cigarette smoke, polluting everyone within range, doing the worst
to the youngest.
But the goal of this group is really quite modest. They are not trying to censor the
W.A.S.P., ban the Twisted Sister, or inflict pain and suffering on the Torture Rock
crowd. Their primary aim is to get a label on the rock-music records, to win a
consumer victory for parents. They would also like to brown-bag the worst of the porn
covers and to get the raunchiest lyrics out front so the buyer could beware.
PMRC has not been without effect. This summer, the record industry agreed to a
mild PG rating, providing that each company rate its own artists. But PG sounds a
bit too much like "okay." The PMRC would like a single industry-wide standard and
an R. The PTA, for its part, would like more specific ratings.
I have reservations about ratings, though not the same ones the record companies
have. The movie experience is mixed at best. Under the cover of an R, the amount
of violence has actually increased. The ratings are often arbitrary (four-letter words
are more of a no-no than chain-saw murders), and there is nothing like a dirty . . .
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