Solomon lamented that it was all vanity, and his cry has been echoed through the ages.
We gotta change, ya'll. Bruce Hornsby, and later Tupac, sadly declared "that's just the way it is." Aerosmith recognizes "we're living on the edge." Metallica decries the miserable trap of a single mother caught up in a life as an adult entertainer in their cover of Seger's "Turn the Page." Shine-down condemns us in "what a shame." Offspring realized "the kid's aren't all right." Pearl Jam recounts the story of a tortured boy named "Jeremy" and mourns a woman trapped in an abusive relationship in "Better Man." Elvis breaks our hearts singing about children "in the ghetto." Rise Against stirs our guilt over foreign workers caught up in the evil American capitalist machine in their "Prayer of the Refugee." A whole host of other do-gooders beg us to "Feed the World" because this year, at Christmas, the only gifts Africans may get is "life." Nickelback tries to predict what would happen if "everyone cared'; could even John Lennon "imagine" a world like that? Queen's suicidal poor boy thought that "Nothing Really Matters" in their much karaoke-d masterpiece "Bohemian Rhapsody." Black Eyed Peas, considering all this, asks "where is the love?"
How many songs about social injustice can you name? How many songs wishing for a better world can you sing along to? Occasionally, when we get the big date, coveted promotion, winning ticket, passing grade, long vacation, reprieve of punishment, appointment to favor, or witness something truly beautiful we, just for a moment, think to ourselves - what a wonderful world.
But if we're honest about the undertone - it's not such a wonderful world. In fact, it's quite tragic. Against the beautiful Technicolor rose blooming in the foreground is the ravaged, black and white disaster looming just out of focus - that is the world in which we live. In our moment in the sun we fancy ourselves invincible, and it's all worth it. But in the quiet of death we pass into nothingness as those the world is cruelest to are often silenced by the despair that claims them.
The cry "where is the love" starts introspectively and ends as condemnation of the world around us. Indeed, where is the love? Almost cynically I also ask, why do we suspect that there is love? What is that? How can society ask where love is - it's a constant appeal to something they profess not to believe in.
Why would there be love? You are welcome to pause, "youtube" a few nature videos of some wildebeest being mauled by a ravenous lion - or if you want something more exoctic of a giant centipede eating a mouse - and come back and let us discuss further about this love business. Why do we insist there should be such a thing, if the pruning of the weak has produced this biosphere of endless variety why stop it now?
Somewhere amidst the cacophony of human voices me may be able to extract something they would deny if there song did not betray them. We know it's not supposed to be this way. In the noise of youth, if the ruckus of sex, drugs, and "rock and roll", we can drown it out. In the pleasures of riches we can buy our minds of the subject. Adrenaline rushes, binge drinking, good food, good times, loud pipes, big rims, and flashy phones help give us the smirk of "this is alright." But offspring had it right, the kids, they've got issues - and they're definitely not alright.
Many individuals do well for themselves - but no one takes a look at it all and can honestly believe "everything is as it ought to be." We ask, because it begs the question. "Where is the love?"
I know the answer, and it has nothing to do with superstition and everything to do with the most plausible canon of evidence ever produced.
