An Ode to “Free Bird”
On Friday, like everyone else in my demographic, I watched Conan O’Brien’s final episode of the Tonight Show. I was sad to see him go, but his last show was one to remember, due in no small part to the incredible awesomeness of the musical finale. I heard the first few tinkling notes of the great redneck anthem, “Free Bird,” and I thought: HELL. YES.
The song was the perfect follow-up to Conan’s plea not to succumb to cynicism. There is nothing cynical or ironic about “Free Bird.” True, the name has become a tired joke, something shouted at concerts by drunk, unfunny frat boys. Yes, it’s by Lynyrd Skynyrd, a group largely (and proudly) associated with rebel flags and “Sweet Home Alabama.” But lost in the thicket of kitsch that’s grown up around it is the fact that this is a fucking amazing song.
Before we go any further, take the next ten minutes of your life and actually listen to the whole thing:
The appeal certainly doesn’t lie in the lyrics, which are forgettable. Until the triple guitar solo starts, the song’s nothing to write home about. But when it does, “Free Bird” stops being a song and morphs into an experience. If you’re accustomed to melody, it’s barely even music. My bewildered grandmother once commented to me, “I don’t see how you listen to that—it’s just noise!” But that is exactly what’s so great about it. It’s almost 10 minutes of high energy, structureless jamming. Yeah, it’s just noise—but so free and insane it’s transcendent.
I am not what anyone typically pictures as a Southern Rock fan. As a geek/intellectual born and raised in the South, I should despise it. I should have spent all of high school cranking Ben Folds and sneering at Skynyrd. The band makes a handy synecdoche for everything people are fleeing when they leave the region. But as I peeled out of my dirt driveway, late for school again, more often than not it was “Free Bird” blaring from the CD player.
So what does all this have to do with being a geek? (Well, other than this being my personal blog, where I can write whatever I please.) What makes someone a geek is unabashed, unironic enthusiasm. And while it’s a quality that makes us easy to mock, it’s also our greatest defense against cynicism, the world’s easy habit to acquire. (Believe me, I’m usually the first to gripe.) But while bitching about stuff that sucks can be fun in the short-term, over the long haul it’s exhausting and even corrosive. I guess that’s what makes Conan such a well-liked figure. He could have spent his last few minutes before the non-disparagement clause kicked in ripping his bosses a new one. Instead, he thanked them for the good years and went out with the most amazing, uplifting concert-closing song ever written.
Sometimes it just feels good to enjoy something.
