The
Nuclear Age in Dylan and the Beats
If you
look at all these early performers, they were atom-bomb-fueled… They were fast
and furious, their songs were all on the edge. Music was never like that
before.
- Bob
Dylan, 2007
I learned
about atomic weapons and the potential of nuclear war at a young age, and I was
sometimes puzzled that people could carry on like the threat didn’t exist. Then
again, the point is that I was only sometimes puzzled. Most of the
time I was getting on with my life, like everyone else. I lived through the
Cuban Missile Crisis, Reagan’s “Star Wars” initiative, and Chernobyl, but it
was the Fukushima meltdowns too close to my home that got my attention and made
the nuclear threat unforgettable.
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It might
seem that most people live as they did before the 1940s, concerned with their
families, traditional beliefs, jobs and where to take their next vacation. We
hear about close calls like the Cuban Missile Crisis, and bluffs by crazy world
leaders like Kim Jong-un or Richard Nixon, that remind us of the dangers of
nuclear warfare. There is the occasional nuclear power plant meltdown, but it
seems to be impossible for humanity to sustain a persistent awareness that
nuclear war, or just a colossal accident in a spent fuel storage pool, could wipe
out civilization—and it is probably a good thing that we can put these worries
aside. Nonetheless, the awareness is always there at some level and it has had
profound effects on history, culture, and consciousness.
The
atomic age came with the establishment of the American world economic order.
The Bretton Woods agreement set the stage for a dollar-denominated global
economy, and that economy was based on military spending and nuclear weapons
build-up.
Space
exploration, telecommunications research, and computer innovation were all
directly or indirectly products of the nuclear arms race. The Soviets and the
Chinese were ostensibly not part of this new American world order, but they had
to militarize their societies to keep up with the Americans. The atom bomb changed
everything, and it is still at the forefront of the major issues of this
century. The intractable conflicts in the Middle East are shaped by who has a
nuclear deterrent and who does not.
One of
the best ways to understand the impact of the nuclear age is to see how it has
affected art and popular culture. Sometimes the influence is explicit, but usually
it is implicit in everything around us. The technocratic, militarized security
state is present in every work of art. Comic books and science fiction B-movies
offer many examples of how nuclear danger couldn’t be confronted consciously—it
appeared subconsciously as mutant monsters, blobs and aliens. In other cases,
it was an explicit element of the story. Whereas traditionally children’s
stories resorted to magic and spells to give characters special powers, the
progress of rational science now provided the transformational power, and,
ironically, the superstitious nonsense. A rich comic book and movie franchise
was established by the bite of a radioactive spider. Spy novels and popular
music are other genres that offer thousands of works with Cold War and
nuclear-age themes. These influences on the arts and popular culture have been
covered in books such as The Dragon’s Tail: Americans Face the Atomic Age,
[1] and the famous documentary film Atomic
Café. [2]
There is
insufficient space here to cover a wide range of nuclear age art and literature,
but the best place to start is at the source, with the writers of the 1940s who
grasped how the world had changed and were the first to raise the rebel yell. They
influenced everyone who came later in the baby boom generation. These artists
saw the wartime alliance with the Soviet Union breaking down and heading in an
ominous direction. There were pockets of resistance in the political discourse
from former officials in the Roosevelt administration, but these would soon be
silenced and pushed out of power. The former vice president, Henry Wallace,
made an urgent speech in 1946 trying to steer foreign policy away from confrontation
with the Soviet Union:
The only kind of competition we want with the Soviet Union is to
demonstrate that we can raise our standard of living faster during the next 20
years than Russia. We shall compete with Russia in serving the spiritual and
physical needs of the common man… Let’s make it a clean race, a determined race
but above all a peaceful race in the service of humanity… The source of all our
mistakes is fear. …Russia fears Anglo-Saxon encirclement. We fear communist
penetration. If these fears continue, the day will come when our sons and
grandsons will pay for these fears with rivers of blood. Out of fear great
nations have been acting like cornered beasts, thinking only of survival. …A
month ago Mr. Churchill came out for the Anglo-Saxon century. Four years ago I
repudiated the American century. Today I repudiate the Anglo-Saxon century with
even greater vigor. The common people of the world will not tolerate a
recrudescence of imperialism even under enlightened Anglo-Saxon, atomic bomb
auspices. The destiny of the English speaking people is to serve the world, not
dominate it. [3]
Wallace
was soon fired from Truman’s cabinet, a demotion which came after having lost
the vice presidential nomination at the 1944 Democratic convention, thanks to
manipulation of the vote by party bosses. Thus the writers of the late 1940s
picked up on the warnings made by progressives like Wallace. William S.
Burroughs, who by odd coincidence attended a high school that was later
converted to the Los Alamos Laboratory where the first atom bombs were made, said
of his own writing years later:
This is science fiction, but it is science fiction in terms of
what is actually here now. I have nova conspiracies, nova police, nova
criminals... The virus power manifests itself in many ways: in the construction
of nuclear weapons, in practically all existing political systems which are
aimed at curtailing inner freedom, that is, at control. It manifests itself in
the extreme drabness of everyday life in Western countries. It manifests itself
in the ugliness and vulgarity we see on every hand, and of course, it manifests
itself in the actual virus illnesses. On the other hand, the partisans are
everywhere, of all races and nations. A partisan may simply be defined as any
individual who is aware of the enemy, of their methods of operations, and who
is actively engaged in combating the enemy. You must learn who and what the
enemy is, their weapons and methods of operation. The enemy is in you. [4]
Burroughs’
familiars were fellow writers Allen Ginsberg and Jack Kerouac. All of them had lived
on both sides of 1945, so they were well positioned to witness how the atom
bomb had transformed society. In the Ginsberg biography American Scream, Jonah Raskin
wrote:
“Nineteen forty-eight was the crucial postwar year,” Ginsberg
explained. “It was the turning point. Of course the atom bomb had already gone
off in 1945, and Kerouac and Burroughs and I had talked about it, but the
psychological fallout from the bomb—the consciousness—didn’t really hit until
1948. There was the splitting of the atom and the splitting of the old
structures of society and also a sense of the inner world splitting up and
coming apart.” Like many other writers around the world, Ginsberg turned the
atom bomb into an all-inclusive metaphor. Everywhere he looked he saw
apocalypse and atomization. [5]
Ginsberg
believed the bomb had caused a “psychic disturbance” among his friends, fueling
their despair and subsequent drug use. In his journals, Kerouac labeled the
spiritual crisis the “atomic disease.” [6] In his writing and his actions,
Kerouac showed no interest in politics, or protests and petitions of any kind.
Some said his intent was never to save America but to praise its joys and
eulogize it, as if the existence of the atom bomb had doomed it. However, William
Burroughs said about his influence, “By their fruits ye shall know them, not by
their disclaimers.” He believed that Kerouac had inspired a worldwide movement
that took his work to the next logical step, an activism which aimed to better
the world, not merely fatalistically eulogize it. [7]
Kerouac
described his writing as a holy calling, a command from God to “go moan for man”
and be “as minute as a seed in the pod” in doing so. [8] Indeed, he may have
been one of many humble seeds, for the more powerful forces in the disarmament
movement arose later, some secular, some religious such as Plowshares (still
spilling blood on nuclear installations in the 21st century) and evangelical
Christian groups. It is impossible to know what the alternate history would
have been, but it is plausible that nuclear annihilation was averted only
because of the resistance of millions of citizens who forced political leaders
to step back from the brink. Speaking at the United Nations General Assembly in
New York in 2015, Pope Francis echoed Henry Wallace’s speech when he declared:
An ethics and a law based on the threat of mutual destruction—and
possibly the destruction of all mankind—are self-contradictory and an affront
to the entire framework of the United Nations, which would end up as “nations
united by fear and distrust”. There is urgent need to work for a world free of
nuclear weapons, in full application of the Non-Proliferation Treaty, in letter
and spirit, with the goal of a complete prohibition of these weapons. [9]
Even in
Kerouac’s final year, when his talent and his relevance were said to have been
drowned in terminal stage alcoholism, he could show flashes of wit and a flair
for bringing attention to the existential problem that the chattering classes
preferred to ignore. In an appearance on William F. Buckley’s show Firing Line in 1968, [10] he joined a panel
discussion seeking a definition of “the hippie movement.” One could say that Kerouac
was pathetic in this appearance, offending everyone and at times incapable of
speech. But even drunk and diminished as he was, he could still play the holy
fool. He may have been aware of what was going on but just couldn’t stomach the
political discourse and the inanity of the questions about hippies and
beatniks.
Buckley
asked him if the hippie movement was “Adamite” (aspiring to a state of purity
like Adam in the Garden,) but Kerouac was confused by this flaunting of obscure
vocabulary (a habit of Buckley’s that annoyed his critics). He asked with
puzzlement, “Adamite? You mean Adam and Eve, or atom? What? Adam and Eve? What’s
Adamite? They wear their hair long, in layers? Live in caves?”
“Yeah,
sort of, and back to nature and...”
“Well,
that’s alright. We might have to in due time—after the atomite bomb!
Haha!”
Buckley
flashed a smile, “That was good. Give that man a drink.”
So here,
even at the end of his road, Kerouac was harkening back to what he had felt in
the 1940s on a journey to Mexico City. His evocation of the atom bomb in the
final pages of On the Road reveals the reason the characters have
refused to chase the post-war prosperity on offer in mid-century America. All
the preceding delinquency and mad wanderings of these “best minds of a
generation,” as Ginsberg referred to them, now seem to be explained by a
painful consciousness of the destiny of the world. This is also the moment of
the story when the narrator becomes conscious of the failure within. They
have rebelled against their society, but they are also the flawed products of America
now carousing through a foreign land. The search for freedom and God has gone
hand in hand with utter irresponsibility. As Burroughs would say, this is the
recognition that the virus is in them too. Behind them lies a trail of
abandoned wives and children, not to mention a few stolen cars. To the natives
coming down from the hills, and the pimps and the women in the whorehouse they
visit, they are just yanquis with dollars in their pockets. Kerouac
shifts our attention back to where it needs to be, to the aboriginal peoples of
the world who have endured and paid the costs of Western civilization’s
suicidal rivalries:
Strange crossroad towns on top of the world rolled by, with
shawled Indians watching us from under hatbrims and rebozos. All had their
hands outstretched. They had come down from the backmountains and higher places
to hold forth their hands for something they thought civilization could offer
and they never dreamed the sadness and poor broken delusion of it. They didn’t
know that a bomb had come that could crack all our bridges and banks and reduce
them to jumbles like the avalanche heap, and we would be as poor as them
someday and stretching out our hands in the samesame way. [11]
Bob Dylan
was inspired by On the Road before he
hit the road on his famous trek from Minnesota to Greenwich Village, and Alan
Ginsberg later befriended him when he recognized him as an heir to the Beat poets.
Dylan spoke about the effect of the nuclear age on music in an interview with
Jann Wenner in Rolling Stone magazine in 2007:
It wouldn’t have made sense to talk to somebody
back then [in the 1920s and 1930s], to ask him, “What was it like in the late
1800s or 1900s?” It wouldn’t have interested anybody. But for some reason, the
1950s and 1960s interest people now. A part of the reason, if not the whole
reason, is the atom bomb. The atom bomb fueled the entire world that came after
it. It showed that indiscriminate killing and indiscriminate homicide on a mass
level was possible… I’m sure that fueled all aspects of society. I know it gave
rise to the music we were playing. If you look at all these early performers,
they were atom-bomb-fueled. Jerry Lee [Great Balls of Fire], Carl Perkins [Blue
Suede Shoes], Buddy Holly [Rave On], Elvis [Shake, Rattle and Roll], Gene
Vincent [Be-Bop-A-Lula], Eddie Cochran [Summertime Blues]… They were fast and
furious, their songs were all on the edge. Music was never like that before.
Lyrically, you had the blues singers, but Ma Rainey wasn’t singing about,
nobody was singing with that type of fire and destruction. They paid a heavy
price for that, because obviously the older generation took notice and kind of
got rid of them as quickly as they could recognize them. Jerry Lee got
ostracized, Chuck Berry went to jail, Elvis, of course, we know what happened
to him. Buddy Holly in a plane crash, Little Richard, all that stuff.
Wenner: Then in this new
record [Modern Times], you’re
still dealing with the cultural effects of the bomb?
I think so.[12]
Dylan was
reminding us of the socially disruptive power of the bomb that was first
noticed in the late 1940s. This view of the world passed from the Beat
Generation, to Dylan, then to the rock music of the 1960s. Pete Townshend of
The Who looked back on the era in the same way as Dylan, in an interview with
Barbara Walters and others on the TV talk program The View, in 2012:
As a young kid, walking around in my neighborhood,
all of the older boys had been told… “Here’s a gun, go and kill the enemy.” We
had none of that. What we had was, “There’s this bomb. We dropped it in on
Japan. War is over. We now have an even bigger one. The Russians have it. We’re
all doomed.” That was what I grew up with. So in a sense, the sound of the war,
the sound of the bombers—I wanted my music to speak of that. That was the
umbrella, the cloud that we grew up in in West London. And I know you guys had
it too, so when we brought our music to America—although your situation wasn’t
as acutely bad immediately after the war—the one thing that triggered was the
anger and the revolution and the reaction in the music. It really chimed with
our audience here. [13]
Dylan and
Townshend are not saying here that everyone was thinking directly about
Armageddon all the time, or that Elvis was an avid reader of The
Bulletin of Atomic Scientists. None of the songs on Modern Times, and
hardly any other music of the last sixty years, is explicitly
concerned with nuclear arms. They are about characters living in this world
where things have changed, where there are direct and indirect effects of the
atom bomb throughout our culture.
As the
music became “fast and furious,” so did the pace of social change. If further
examples of the modern interest in this era are needed, consider the present popularity
of cable television series like Mad Men (set in the early 1960s)
and The Americans (set in the dying days of the Cold War), or the fact that my freshman
students in Japan listen to 1970s progressive rock, or even Bob Dylan
sometimes. There is still intense interest in these decades that made the
modern world.
After the
atomic bomb, people were on the move in the perpetually militarized, mobilized
and technological security state. Jack Kerouac was On the Road and
Allan Ginsberg was Howling. People became much more inclined to
question the authority and tradition that were filling the atmosphere with
nuclear fallout. By the time the first post-war generation came of age,
everything was being questioned. The establishment pushed back hard, but the
Cold War unraveled in unexpected ways regardless. The danger seemed to be
resolved, but it never really was. The present destruction of Syria is seldom
recognized as a post-communist resurgence of the Cold War, a proxy war that could
escalate into something much worse under more reckless leadership.
In spite
of the first Cold War having apparently ended in 1989, thousands of nuclear
weapons are still ready to launch within thirty minutes.
Barack Obama has a Nobel Peace Prize for once having said some fine words about
nuclear disarmament, but since receiving this prize he has achieved nothing on
this issue. America backed out of the Anti-Ballistic Missile Treaty in 2002,
and nuclear arms reductions have been stalled since the 1990s. Meanwhile, the
US and NATO have expanded eastward toward Russia while at the same time
perversely calling the country encroached upon not an enemy but a new “adversary.”
China is antagonized in a similar fashion when the US Secretary of Defense
talks about defending “freedom of the seas” in waters 10,000 kilometers from
North America.
In
addition to the threat of nuclear war, the leftovers of the civilian nuclear
project might be enough to cause a global catastrophe in slow motion. Seventy
years of nuclear waste has piled up with no place to go. Hundreds of aging
nuclear power plants will need to be decommissioned in the coming decades, and
it would be naïve to think there won’t be another level 7, or an off-the-scale
disaster at one or more of them before they are safely put to rest.
Returning
to Dylan, it is worth noting that his catalog contains numerous songs on the
subjects of politics, war, decline and apocalypse. These compositions include Chimes of Freedom, Desolation Row, High
Water, It’s All Good, It’s Alright Ma, Let Me Die in My Footsteps, Man of
Peace, Masters of War, Political World, Slow Train, Talking World War III Blues,
With God on Our Side, and A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall. The lyrics of Hard
Rain, excerpted below, are some of the most explicitly apocalyptic of Dylan’s
songs:
I’ve stepped in the middle of seven sad
forests
I’ve been out in front of a dozen dead
oceans
I’ve been ten thousand miles in the
mouth of a graveyard
And it’s a hard, and it’s a hard, it’s
a hard, and it’s a hard
And it’s a hard rain’s a gonna fall
Because of
these lines, and because the song was written at the height of Cold War
tensions in the early 1960s, many people thought the “hard rain” referred to a nuclear
fallout rain. Dylan denied this in an interview when he said:
No, it’s not atomic rain, it’s just a hard rain. It
isn’t the fallout rain. I mean some sort of end that’s just gotta happen... In
the last verse, when I say, ‘the pellets of poison are flooding the waters’,
that means all the lies that people get told on their radios and in their newspapers.
[14]
“Some sort of end
that’s just gotta happen.” These few words explain much about where Dylan went
with his music in the years that followed. He stopped writing the genre of “protest”
songs he had invented, and refused to speak for causes or take sides in ideological
battles. He lived with his family in seclusion in upstate New York during the
height of the anti-Vietnam war movement, and later turned to religion. Like
Kerouac, he seemed to be more concerned now with celebrating the life and art
of the common man, and eulogizing a world he had concluded was doomed, as well
as with preparing himself for the world to come. By the end of the century, Bob
Dylan’s 30th studio album Time Out of
Mind was infused with these themes, especially one with a line that
says everything: Tryin’ to get to heaven before they close the door. In these
songs there is no hint of politics or activism, but the line implies a reason
for that door closing. To be welcomed in heaven, we would have to save the place
we’ve already been given.
Notes
1. Robert A. Jacobs, The
Dragon’s Tail: Americans Face the Atomic Age (Amherst: University of
Massachusetts Press, 2010).
2. Jane Loader, Kevin Rafferty, Pierce Rafferty (Directors), The Atomic
Café, Libra Films, 1982.
3. Henry Wallace, April 12, 1946,
RG 40 (Department of Commerce); Energy 1, General Records of the Department of Commerce,
Office of the Secretary, General Correspondence; Box 1074, File “104251/6” (2
of 7), National Archives, Washington, D.C., in The Untold History of the United States, Oliver Stone and Peter
Kuznick (London: Edbury Press, 2013), ch. 5.
4. Allen Hibbard (Editor), Conversations
with William S. Burroughs (University
Press of Mississippi, 2000), 12.
5. John Raskin, American
Scream: Allen Ginsberg’s Howl and the Making of the Beat Generation (University
of California Press, 2004). Ginsberg’s concern with the nuclear threat
continued throughout his life as he participated in protests in the 1970s at
the Rocky Flats, Colorado plutonium pit factory which inspired his poem Plutonian
Ode.
6. Mark Sayers, The Road Trip that Changed the
World (Moody Publishers,
2012), 57.
7. Richard Lerner and Lewis
MacAdams (directors), What
Happened to Kerouac (1986;
New Yorker Films).
8. Jack Kerouac, Visions of Cody, (McGraw-Hill,
1972).
10. William F. Buckley (Host), Firing Line, The Hippies, Season 3, Episode 32 (September 4,
1968; National Educational Television), .
11. Jack Kerouac, On the Road: The Original Scroll (Penguin Books, 1951, 2007), 398.
12. Jan S. Wenner, “The
Long View,” Bob Dylan: 40 Years of Rolling Stone Interviews, 69-75,
2013. Originally published in Rolling Stone, Vol. 1025-1026, May
3-17, 2007.
13. “Pete Townshend on ‘Who I Am,’” The View, ABC Television, October 8,
2012.
14. Jonathan Cott (Editor), Bob
Dylan: The Essential Interviews (New
York: Wenner Books, 2006), 7-9.