Subversion and Song: Taylor Mac’s A 24 Decade History of Popular Music

Appropriation is usually something we see as a tool of oppression. Taylor Mac’s raucous, politically-charged, and all-too-entertaining show is flipping this narrative with its provocative, non-traditional use of music.

Written by Aidan Comiskey

Photo courtesy of Texas Performing Arts

The idea of music as a subversive force is nothing new. Musicians have been using their art to protest social justices through ironic messages from Sibelius’s Finlandia to “Million Dollar Loan” by Death Cab for Cutie. Rarely, however, do we see music used ironically to disrupt traditional notions of history — that is, unless you happen to be a Taylor Mac groupie. In fact, music-based subversion is the artistic currency of Taylor Mac’s A 24 Decade History of Popular Music, a 24-hour long retelling of American history through the perspective of those marginalized by society.

At his September 27th show at the McCullough Theatre, Mac began his (very much abridged) show with a rendition of “O Superman” by Laurie Anderson, itself an appropriation of an operatic aria written to critique the relationship between the United States, technology, and communication. Mac’s powerful vocals are backed only by the sounds of the muted four-person band behind him and the audience chanting a breathy, staccato “ha” at his request. This adds to the almost-oxymoronic ambiance of eeriness and togetherness that would come to define the evening as Mac had the audience participate to an almost-uncomfortable degree.

Between songs, Mac talks about what he’s singing, how it relates to history, and how both relate to modern day, especially to current politics and the Kavanaugh hearings, which were reopened the day of the show. Mac continues singing in this vein as he introduced the song he’s singing next, something that he argues the GOP — the Grand Old Patriarchy — would like to have as its theme song. The audience sits in half-excited, half-nervous anticipation for what’s to come as Mac begins a soulful rendition of the minstrel song “Dixie,” prompting a reaction of bemused surprise and horror.

As the night continues, Mac covers more of American history and politics through songs varying widely in subject and genre. Yet something unites Mac’s set choices: the element of subversion. Whether done by the original artist or Mac himself, the songs that Mac uses to tell the history of America from a marginalized perspective — that is, to challenge traditional notions of history — all twist someone’s original intentions.

Mac’s next piece is “Rights of Woman,” a feminist anthem calling for women to unite for liberation, written to the tune of “God Save the Queen. Through this choice, Mac points out not only the irony of a patriarchal society that celebrates its female leader while denying women basic rights but does so through the appropriation of the musical essence of patriotism — a national anthem. This is followed by “Gloria” by Umberto Tozzi (but more well-known for its English cover by Laura Branigan) where Mac transports the audience to “a backroom sex party,” critiquing societal shaming of sexuality and challenging audience members to shame those who shame them.

Photo courtesy of Travis Amiel

Mac next does a rendition of Nina Simone’s “Mississippi Goddam,” using the powerful civil rights era protest song to draw parallels between government actions during the 60s and today. The performance harshly criticizes the conciliatory attitude held by many progressives when it comes to striving for equality, just as Nina Simone did when she wrote the song half a century ago.

The performance continues with Bob Dylan’s “A Hard Rain’s a-Gonna Fall,” itself an adaptation of a 17th century British ballad describing the visions of a man on his deathbed. Dylan’s version, a critique of midcentury suffering, war, and injustice, retains its relevance sung by Mac, who laments these tragedies in their contemporary forms: modern day interventionism, infringement on LGBTQ+ rights, and conservative reactionism.

Most politically striking, however, is Mac’s rendition of murder ballad “Banks of the Ohio,” which he uses to discuss his desire to “metaphorically murder” the GOP. It is through this aspect that the audience can truly understand and appreciate Mac’s performance and realize its central message. For so many years, the narratives told have been those of straight, rich, white men, with the histories of other groups left untold and unappreciated, as if society has killed them. Mac makes the point of doing the reverse in the narrative he tells in his show, hoping to include the previously excluded while alienating the patriarchy.

As a gay man, Mac focuses on queer history, something deeply relevant to his own experience in society, as well as the histories of other similarly oppressed groups, namely people of color and women. These focuses narrow Mac’s intended audience, something Mac himself acknowledges as he repeatedly tells the audience that the show is “not for everyone.”

More subtle is how Mac mirrors the idea of metaphorical killing through his song selections. By choosing songs that undermine oppressors or appropriating songs himself, Mac has “killed” those who refuse to acknowledge his humanity and the humanity of members of marginalized groups in general, taking away the rhetorical power of oppressors through performance. And it’s through performance, a calculated selection of songs and their interplay with Mac’s dialogue, that they take on their final meaning.

The message of a song is, as Mac demonstrates, not static; The interpretation of songs, much like language, changes as contexts shift and intents change. After all, “Dixie” certainly didn’t mean the same thing in the McCullough theatre as it would’ve a century and a half ago on the land it stands on.