Dan Rather Says Goodbye, Nation Tries to Care Dan Rather Says Goodbye, Nation Tries to Care

Consumables
Dan Rather Says Goodbye, Nation Tries to Care
By Tim Grierson
Mar 14, 2005

It should have been a TV event. An icon up there with Cronkite and Murrow, the man has been reporting the news since before Vietnam. And while the ratings showed his final broadcast of the CBS Evening News was his most-watched in ages, it still barely made a blip on the cultural radar. Here's why.

Dan Rather's final broadcast, CBS Evening News (Wednesday, March 9)

"The voice of God," he's been called. More like the voice of your grandfather — the old, wise one you always trusted. Feeling history upon him, he acted less iconic and more kindly during his final broadcast — retiring anchor as lovable codger, you might say. But one indisputable fact washed over me while watching the fleeting last moments of Rather's reign: Who watches the network evening news anymore? According to The New Yorker, the average viewing age for these programs is 60, and there's an unmistakably musty scent that wafts all over them. (60 Minutes is positively wired by comparison.) Fine journalist that he is, Dan Rather is a tired old product of this world — his hubris and complacency rendered him irrelevant long before Memogate pounded the final nail in the coffin. Watching him that final night, you knew there won't ever be another anchor like him — TV news won't allow someone as non-telegenic as him anymore. But at least Tom Brokaw escaped with his dignity intact. Rather coulda gone out like Walter Cronkite, serving as a reminder to 150,000 bloggers how it's supposed to be done. But he didn't, and going out Number One for one night won't ever change that fact. Rather was smooth, professional, a man of integrity. See, this is why some people never have role models: They keep screwing up and acting all human on you.

Clem Snide, End of Love (spinART Records)

Eef Barzelay is an indie lifer. Never going to have a huge crossover like the Shins, never going to be a revered recluse/genius like Paul Westerberg. He sounds like he lives album to album, and he doesn't hide the mundane realities of parenthood and mortality from his lyrics. As domesticity takes hold, his band keeps feeling more country (he recently moved to Nashville) and more hushed. So, if you're too cool for it, well, I guess you're too cool. But his sad/pretty song about Lucille Ball is the sort of felt observation ironic pop-culture dorks make once they develop compassion. And his advice to his listeners about our shared hang-ups never sounds condescending or smug. In short, the perfect uncle everyone needs.

The Game, The Documentary (Interscope Records)

What wise man was it who said that hip-hop was as "real" as wrestling? Between the thug posturing (complete with real bullet wounds you hope to survive so as to enjoy your gangsta credibility) and the Dre pimping, the Game fits the mold of Rap 2005 better than anyone. That there's not a thing interesting about him is entirely beside the point. Lock him up in the time capsule — 10 years from now, you'll hear "How We Do" and ask, "Hey, what was that guy who was with Fiddy on that track?" And no one will remember.

Solomon Burke, "What Good Am I?" (from Make Do With What You Got, Shout Factory Recordings)

Bob Dylan's version was a somber drag — pretty but a little too self-pitying. Burke, enjoying a second life as an R&B interpreter in the style of American Recordings-era Johnny Cash, gives it a backbeat, shaking the lumbering gravity out of the song. He understands that he's no good, but at least he's willing to give redemption a fighting chance. Isn't that what all gospel music is about?

Inara George, "Good to Me" (from All Rise, Everloving Records)

Sensitive girls with acoustic guitars form a cottage industry one must approach with extreme caution. Bedazzled by the cleverness of their poetic lyrics and their coffeehouse arrangements, they can try the patience of even the most enlightened man. On her full-length debut, Ms. George doesn't upend the conventions, so stick with this whimsical slice of romantic custard. The secret to her lover is that he sees in her the same things only her mom sees, drawing an interesting connection between romantic love and the close bond between mother and daughter. And the coffeehouse arrangement is as light and inviting as a Hallmark commercial, which is not a dig.

The Chemical Brothers, "Galvanize" (from Push the Button, Astralwerks)

Remember them? Their dance rock has brushed up against hip-hop for a good long time, but adding Q-Tip's voice to the mix won't fool anybody. These Limeys are over the hill, unable to recapture the public's imagination since "Block Rockin' Beats" way back in the 20th century. It's not fun to hear their quick decline - they always seemed like smart guys. But there are smart guys all over the world. Ask anybody — being smart is never enough.

Will & Grace (NBC on Thursdays)

Kicking a dead horse though it may be, I'd like to remind everyone that this once was a somewhat progressive mainstream sitcom detailing the life of gay men in a sensitive, revealing fashion. That was long ago. Nowadays, you'd be hard-pressed to find another show on the major networks that drowns in its own self-congratulatory bile more completely. You would think that, at a time when gay rights are at the center of political discussion, shows like this would seem relevant. Instead, we get the discouraging revelation that one gay man calling another gay man "queer" again and again isn't funny — or helpful.

America's Next Top Model (UPN on Wednesdays)

At first blush, another stupid reality show — maybe even something worth calling a guilty pleasure. But that's ignoring the disturbing messages this program glibly gives out every week. If the squealing, backstabbing, shallowness, and outright cruelty aren't enough indication, this show feeds into everything chauvinists hate about women: They're catty! They're stupid! They value looks over everything else! They don't have a drop of soul or heart anywhere in their skinny, materialistic bodies! This is not the way women really are — not the ones you and I know. But here we see only the worst tendencies, and it's disgusting what the world of modeling brings out in attractive women. (We can only assume it must be the same for male models.) Dudes have whole channels devoted to the celebration of their terrible qualities — maybe this is some sort of cynical equal-opportunity payback?