Those opening bars and the first vocals of Green Day’s American Idiot are iconic. Not because of what they now represent but because of how frequently it was heard. The song is now part of the new media which introduces the next generation to the band. Certainly not their intent to get involved with it but one of life’s inevitable shortcomings, like when Ronal Reagan was using Born in the U.S.A. as a campaign song. Artists have no control over where their music goes but do have a strategy to manipulate it once it is in the wrong hands. It has happened to American Idiot before and, no doubt, will happen again. Yet their protest album, a bold release at the time, is reliant more on the sharp lyrical beat Billie Joe Armstrong reveals. His sharp understanding of the world at the time, and how it was set to be shaped, is a genuine masterstroke at times.
But those are just times and the bulk of what he achieves with American Idiot is the sort of simpler protest march where harsh and boisterous instrumentals cover up the cracks. For all the tensions of the title track the guitar solos and the joy of recognisable sound do little to paper over a call to “do the propaganda”. It is hard to poke holes in one of the decades-defining songs. There is still a foot-tapping brilliance to it, a catchy riff which continues as a generalised counterculture, a call to arms for the everyman scared of specifics. Jesus of Suburbia is where rewarding material lies. Ritalin-reliant members of the public trying to avert their eyes from the fresh hell of being an American. That sense of shame can extend to far more than the US, its application to the rest of the world with a few minor revisions is astonishing and terrifying.
American Idiot is more an observation of a recycled agenda on both fronts – that of the enforcer and protestor – than a kick against the specifics. It observes a hatred for the flag and general experience of the country because this is what feeds the horrors beneath. What sounds vague at times on Boulevard of Broken Dreams or cliché on album low point Extraordinary Girl are tied with the same sound defining the crunch of politically charged momentum. Even then, some of the lyrics have aged like fine milk. Those great moments on Jesus of Suburbia find ballast in questionable writing even for the year it was written, but ultimately it is the feel and emotional appeal which lasts. Armstrong has pockets of refined lyrical style but ultimately it crumbles on more than a few listens.
What it means for many is far more important, more culturally prevalent, than much of the album. An image iconic for its continued appearance, not for its overall quality. It was a movement for many and still is. That is more important than anything else. But then it is the lack of evolving this defiance, the soppy love structure of many of these tracks, She’s a Rebel and Letterbomb particularly, which undermines the core protest people found in it. There are still defiant highs but not as many as memory may let you believe. Homecoming marks a sincerely underrated effort from the band but the rest serves as filler between the facade of rebellion. Just take a walk through those starry nights on Are We the Waiting.
