Sanford and Son and The Cosby Show: Junkyard Finds or Expensive Art

 

One of my father’s favorite shows was Sanford and Son, and it is the first show I remember featuring a primary cast of all black characters. Fred Sanford, played by Redd Foxx and his son owned a junkyard, and many of the of the show’s comedic storylines were based on schemes to make money for necessities like vehicle repairs or pay for traffic tickets. While the show touched on issues like race, it did so in a stereotypical way—Sanford was a poor black man who didn’t like white people because they were responsible for keeping him down.

That traditional depiction of Black America changed with the 80s debut of The Cosby Show. Instead of being undereducated and held back by society, Cliff and Claire Huxtable were the pinnacle of success. Claire was a lawyer and Cliff a doctor, they were ever present in the lives of their five children, owned a Brooklyn brownstone and instead of struggling to pay their bills, they bought expensive art and attended concerts of their favorite jazz performers.

Both shows introduced audiences to the Black experience, but those experiences were vastly different, and only one was presented as desirable. While the show was wildly successful, critics suggested that it reinforced the hegemonic idea that systemic racism was a thing of the past and that all anyone needed to do to be successful in life—in other words, wealthy—was to work hard and earn an education.

When comparing Sanford and Son and The Cosby Show, which one more accurately represented the realities of Black Americans? Did Sanford and Son reinforce stereotypes while The Cosby Show shattered them? Or was The Cosby Show guilty of ignoring the struggle most Black families experienced on their way to the top?

From 8-Tracks to TikTok: Is Connectivity Skewing our Objectivity

 

My sister—15 years my senior—refers to me as the “Encyclopedia of Useless Information.” She’ll tell me she likes a song or a television show, and I will give her the life story of the singer or actor, complete with jail stints, children’s names and number of marriages, information she wasn’t looking for or particularly interested in. While our tastes usually align, the way we consume popular culture is vastly different.

The oldest of five, my sister grew up in the 1960s and can remember our parents bringing home the family’s first color television set—which was limited to three channels--in the back of an Impala station wagon. She listened to Elvis on an 8-track player and read about her favorite stars in magazines. I was born into the Sesame Street generation, watched Saturday morning cartoons and listened to New Kids on the Block cassettes with my SONY Walkman. By the time I reached middle school, we had cable television and I listened to Beastie Boys CDs on my boombox, and by the end of my high school years, I could use dial-up internet to research and listen to my favorite grunge bands and learn anything I wanted to know about their lives—something my sister couldn’t have imagined while waiting for the mail to see who had made the cover of Teen Beat that month.

According to Deanna Sellnow, “popular culture is comprised of the everyday objects. actions, and events that influence people co believe and behave in certain ways,” which means that Elvis and Teen Beat were as much a part of shaping my sister’s life as Nirvana, MTV and Google played in shaping mine. However, the way we consumed—and continue to consume those objects, actions and events—is vastly different. Does this mean that older generations were immune, in some ways, to the “noise” of popular culture in a way that younger generations, who are constantly connected to a device, won’t be able to experience? I think I’ll Google that and see what the masses have to say.

The Formative Years: Music as an Illusion to Life

I know the feeling well, and so do you. That moment a song comes on you haven’t heard in years, but you know every lyric, every pause in beat, and every change in pitch. More so, you know exactly where you are being transported from your history. Music has a way of doing

that. Transporting us back, shaping us forward, identifying in that very intense moment the exact feeling you were simply trying to identify, let go of, or extend. Music doesn’t define us, but it mirrors us, and it’s not surprising that much of that mirroring happens in our teenage to early adult years.  

This imprint music has upon our lives is known as “reminiscence bumps.” Christopher Bergland explains that music we consumed during our teenage years creates nostalgia and a disproportionate link to memories from this earlier time in our lives (Bergland 2021). Much of this can be linked to a time in life with new experiences that were defining but also created heightened emotions. When considering the brain and emotional development of teenagers, this makes complete sense. Teenagers naturally experience life as emotionally charged. Their lows are incredibly low while their highs are incredibly high, and in all of this, they closely relate to music as it provides an illusion of life. While it may be providing them with a perspective on how to understand life, it more so is allowing them to connect with their experience on a deeper level. Whether they are looking for intensity or release or comic vs. tragic lyrics, it’s not necessarily what the song’s lyrics are conveying, but rather how the music itself represents the intensity of feelings they experience in any given moment. Interestingly enough, songs with the strongest reminiscence bump are popular songs between the ages of roughly 16 and 19. Yet, when considering development at this age, it makes sense; these years are of significant emotional development as well as the slow beginning to the shaping of identities. Music is not merely entertainment or shared messages, but instead it connects the audience to themselves. Dr. Burunat perfectly states, “Its rhythm, melody, and structure provide a kind of sequential framework, a timeline. And it’s this extraordinary combination that allows music to act as both a time machine and a storyteller, helping us to recall not just a feeling but the entire context of an event” (Perez and Toiviainen 2025). Music conveys emotions and attaches itself to profound memories. It’s just as Sellnow explains it as an illusion to life.  

If you want to understand what is going on with a teenager, pay close attention to the music that draws them. Each day in my classroom, as students walk in, a song is playing to set the mood for the day’s learning. Originally, these were songs I had chosen, yet recently I had students turn in notecards with their top songs. And now, there is nothing like a group of teenagers walking into a classroom and all breaking into song. It creates an emotion and mood of its own, as they tend to connect on a level that is in fact not an illusion but a mirroring of their own lives.   

Which brings us back to you. What songs take you back? What are the memories you most associate with those, and why do you think those specific songs have left the impact on you that they have?

Global study shows why the songs from our teens leave a lasting mark on US. University of Jyväskylä. (n.d.). https://www.jyu.fi/en/news/global-study-shows-why-the-songs-from-our-teens-leave-a-lasting-mark-on-us 

Sussex Publishers. (n.d.). Why the songs of our youth trigger such intense reminiscence. Psychology Today. https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/the-athletes-way/202102/why-the-songs-of-our-youth-trigger-such-intense-reminiscence?msockid=149d554f68236a512011460d69746b58 

 

 

Why Charlie Puth Makes So Much Sense, Especially This Week

I didn’t plan to write about Charlie Puth this week, but I had just watched a reel of him breaking down why so many songs sound alike. Suddenly it kind of felt like he was accidentally teaching a segment of our class...

In the clip, Charlie Puth sits at a piano and starts breaking down how the same chord progressions show up across a lot of hit songs. He plays them one after another, moving between different artists, and once he points it out, it’s hard not to hear it. On the surface, the songs feel different. The lyrics change, the production changes, the overall mood shifts. But underneath all of that, they’re built on the same harmonic structure.

That’s what immediately brought Adorno to mind. In “On Popular Music,” he argues that popular music is fundamentally standardized. Even when songs sound new or innovative, their underlying framework is already in place. The chorus lands where we expect it to, the harmony resolves in familiar ways, and the emotional payoff is essentially built into the system. For Adorno, this kind of repetition isn’t accidental. It shapes how listeners respond and encourages a more passive form of listening.

Watching Puth explain these similarities feels like a modern version of that argument, even if he isn’t making it critically. He seems genuinely intrigued by the patterns, but the result's the same. Certain formulas work and trigger recognizable emotional responses, and the industry continues to rely on them.

At the same time, Sellnow’s “illusion of life” perspective complicates the picture. Music symbolizes intensity and release patterns. Certain chord progressions create tension; others provide resolution. If those emotional structures are widely shared and culturally recognizable, then repetition might not simply reflect industrial standardization. It may also reflect the use of a shared musical language that allows artists to communicate emotion efficiently and effectively.

So when Charlie Puth shows us that multiple hit songs use the same musical framework, I wonder if it's proof of Adorno’s culture industry, or proof that humans gravitate toward familiar emotional rhythms. And if songs are similar, remixing them becomes easier and more fluid. Basically, shared musical architecture makes borrowing almost inevitable.

So now I’m sitting here honestly wondering... If you found out your favorite song shares the exact same chord progression as ten other hits, would it lose meaning for you?

Halftime Collectivism

    

     Popular music as social cement, promoting obedience and cathartic reconciliation was noted by Theodore Adorno in his writing “On Popular Music.”  Two mass behaviors toward music were outlined; an obedience that follows rhythm, sensitized to individualized interruptions and susceptible to authoritarian collectivism, and emotionality that is lured by frustration toward catharsis, reconciling the listener to social dependence.  These two social functions of music are capitalized on in the Superbowl Halftime Show. 

    Since Michael Jackson’s 1993 performance, popular music has been singularly featured at the event, and after the 2019 NFL partnership with Jay-Z’s Roc Nation, the artists’ performances for the halftime show have held a culturally Marxist overtone.  Since 2020, the halftime performers have been latin/Hispanic and black performers, exclusively.  Political predominance has centered the stage, with J.Lo’s imagery of protest against ICE in 2020, Eminem’s knee for BLM in 2022, and Lamar’s “commentary on systemic racism” in 2025.  Cultural Marxism has claimed the halftime show as a site-of-struggle against western hegemony at the Roman-games reincarnation that is America’s sport. 

     “Concentration and control in our culture hide themselves in their very manifestation.  Unhidden they would provoke resistance” (Adorno, pg. 68).  Adorno’s summation of pop music is that it commands its own listening habits, promotes like-dislike behaviors, and is ultimately, a standardized production that presents itself as “natural,” offering pseudo-individualization within cultural mass-production and large-scale economic concentration.  As the quote mentions, this concentration of control attempts to hide through the illusion of choice.  Currently, the illusion of choice seems to be between pop; pre-Roc-Nation halftime show acts like Maroon 5, Justin Timberlake, and Lady Gaga, and pop with cultural Marxist overtones; acts like Kendrick Lamar and this year’s Bad Bunny, who purposefully integrate political messaging into their performances.  Lamar’s main song of last year’s show featured a combative “diss track,” the title featured in the only audible repetition of the song: “they not like us.”  With all the performative cultural messaging, for those without the “inside knowledge” of the track, the assumption of the message would be that it was solely about race. 

    This year, Roc Nation decided to further promote cultural Marxism with Bad Bunny, who has until now refused performances in America as a protest against ICE, will perform only Spanish-language songs, and will “bring a lot of his culture.”  What is unique about this performer is his *actual* affiliation with Marxism via the company that financed his career, Rimas Entertainment, which was co-founded by Rafael Ricardo Jimenez-Dan, a vice minister during the Chavez era in Venezuela (as reported by Armando.info and musicbusinessworldwide.com).  The Chavez era was an authoritarian, Cuban-aligned regime that was hostile to the United States. 

    Now that more folks are primed toward the anti-western, neo-Marxist ‘resistance’ culture that currently flows from the hidden concentrations of control, the new obedience is formed through the illusion of independence and resistance.  For Adorno’s second type of mass behavior, emotional catharsis is now encouraged through the anticipated “party vibes” of Bad Bunny’s performance, where you can Latin-dance away your capitalism-fatigue and frustration. 

Do you think Adorno's two types of behavior toward music in general are accurate?  One as the rhythmically obedient and susceptible to authoritarianism, the other as emotional catharsis of frustration?

18 Minutes of Protest

 Alice's Restaurant Massacre

    I believe the last thing someone wants to do is spend 18 minutes of their lives listening to an active protest about the Vietnam war. Especially post-war, but that's exactly what you'll unknowingly be doing when you listen to "Alice's Restaurant" by Arlo Guthrie. 

I was probably 10 when I first heard this song. I remember being annoyed when my dad forced us to listen to it in the car on our way to visit our grandparents. Surprisingly it's a song that has stuck with me my entire life, the catchy "you can get anything you want at Alices Restaurant" called to me as a kid. But now I see that catchy phrase as a symbol of community, particularly during a time period when belonging, freedom, and shared values were called into question. The line definitely suggests "you'll find something here, something that you won't get from the "government" system". 

To give you a bit of a backstory, the song is a mostly-true satirical retelling of his Thanksgiving arrest for littering which ended up making him ineligible for the Vietnam war draft. The irony of the whole deal is that a system who is willing to send young men into a massively controversial war is deeply concerned about a single instance of trash in the woods. If you're willing to give it a listen, it's a valuable insight to what men may have been experiencing emotionally during this time frame. 

The most interesting thing about this particular song to me is that it challenges the system in more ways than one. It's a song... but not really. It's more like a folk storytelling session, and at 18 minutes in length it definitely challenges the social norms of music expectations. It does follow Hadju's ideas about music becoming the soundtrack to a crises: Alice's Restaurant reflects Vietnam War anxiety, draft resistance, and a generational distrust of institutions. But the most important question that the song asks today, post-war? If you can get anything you want at Alive's Restaurant, what does that say about what we're missing everywhere else? 

They Just Don't Make Music Like They Used To

Today's music, many love it, others hate it. "They just don't make music like they used to" seems to be a common statement of today. Now more than ever, there is a big debate over which songs fit into which categories, and many overlap. For example, songs labeled "new country" now feature rap artists and a more pop feel than the old western country songs. 

Opinions on what is considered a category of song may change throughout the years, but the culture of songs continues to grow. As L.B. Bermingham states, “Culture always builds on the past.” This continues to be true, especially in the music department. It’s always interesting to listen to music categorized by year. For example, 70's music is comparably different from 80’s music. Although they can be seen as similar since they are 10 years apart, the majority of songs from each era have a distinct sound, which places them in their respective category. The sound quality, lyrics, and meanings all evolve as time goes on. What is popular now will soon be what is known as outdated and a part of the 2020’s music. 

An aspect of music that is particularly notable is the use of older tunes in today’s music. Many mash-ups have been created with similar-sounding songs because they flow together with similar rhythms and beats. Some songs even have the exact same sound as other songs do. Even though this is not an uncommon occurrence, the public still seems to enjoy a song that sounds the same as others. Even if a new song sounds like an old one, there will be someone out there who enjoys it. Why is this? Is there a bigger emphasis on the artist and more people like the person rather than the music? Is it the feeling of familiarity that makes the song liked? Is repetition from song to song a good thing and possibly a good idea? Who knows, but there is something to be said about the success rate of songs when copying a popular tune with similar sounds. 

A question to consider is at what point does a song become too much like another in order to be reprimanded? Should there be a penalty for similar-sounding songs, or is that just the nature of music?

Noise to Nostalgia

Each summer I attend a church girls' camp as a leader. It’s demanded that I attend the camp, not because they don’t have enough leaders, or because I’m the coolest leader there (I am, but that’s not why they want me), but it's because the girls and I have a stupid tradition. I wake them up in the morning.

Each year I bring my giant suitcase sized portable speaker and blast the girls awake with the same song: “Life Is Better With You” by Michael Franti. 

Same song. Same early hours. Same tradition year after year. Every morning there are groans, dramatic sighs, and at least one sleeping bag pulled completely over their heads in protest, yet they now associate that song with its upbeat tempo and encouraging words as the epitome of girls camp nostalgia. The older girls warn the newer girls of the waking up protocol and it’s now accepted and expected as our ritual. The song hasn’t changed in more than 8 years, but the perspective of what the song represents helps the girls shift into a mindset of belonging. They are experiencing the early wake up together, they are blasted by the repetitive tempo and rocked to their core as a collective group. They are all tired together and yet, because they’ve experienced this ritual together for years…it now brings the fond memories of the one week we spent together in the outdoors with bugs, hikes, sunshine, little sleep and a shared message that “Life is Better” because they are here with us. Often, when we play the slideshow of photos from the week and pair it with that song, the room feels joyful and collective. The song has become a part of girls camp. It no longer communicates annoyance. It communicates belonging and shared experiences, which feels pretty special.

This week’s readings were so timely. I just returned home from New Orleans and each night while traveling I had the opportunity to soak in the local music and culture there. Every street corner had performers, musicians and bands playing. It was amazing. I am not typically a jazz fan…don’t get me wrong, I appreciate jazz intellectually, but it is not what I reach for in my everyday listening. Yet in New Orleans, listening to live jazz in the city where it was born felt entirely transcendent. I wasn’t just listening to music. I was hearing soul, history, and culture. The genre that I usually skip on the radio felt meaningful and inspirational. With a backdrop of French, Caribbean, African and Creole influences in the architecture, food and general vibe, the music took on a different experience for me. This begs the question: What extent does music create meaning on its own, versus, how much of that meaning comes from the context, place, and relationships surrounding it?

This question becomes even more personal when I think about my son, who is in all state jazz choir. Jazz is still an acquired taste for me, but I love listening to him sing it. I hear effort, identity, and growth when he’s learning to scat with asynchronous rhythm. I love the music that he’s crooning, not because my music preferences have changed dramatically, but because of my son. The meaning is relational.

Sellnow’s concept of music as rhetoric helps explain this a little better. Music doesn’t just communicate personal taste or preference; it communicates rhetorically through shared emotional patterns. Adorno takes the pessimistic approach and would call this standardization or conditioning, but he probably wasn’t hugged enough as a child so I’m going to ignore him and take the optimistic view. Sometimes we don’t fall in love with the music itself. We fall in love with what emotions the music holds for us.

Culture Jamming

     When I read the Culture Jamming or a culture jammed?:RiP!: A Remix Manifeston by L.B. Bermingham, I realized the manifesto extends beyond music and Walt Disney films. Literature is also a part of it. For example, when classic novels such as Little Women by Louisa May Alcott entered the public domain, other authors reinterpreted the story and modernized the characters to reflect on current society. I don't agree with this practice, I feel it takes away from the original source and newer editions are measured up to it. One question I have is, why can't a classic book remain as such so others can return to that time period and experience it the way the author intended? Why does it have to be reinterpreted into something it's not? I tried to read a couple that were “reinvited,” but wasn’t able to. The books are not as well written or as interesting. Now, I generally avoid them. 

     Copyright, fair use, Creative Commons and the public domain are complex issues that have been hotly debated since the middle of last century, but the advent of more and more digital technologies and the pervasive influence of the Internet have made the illegal sharing of files almost run of the mill (Bermingham). When it comes to music, I remember way back in the 2000s there was a crack down on individuals pirating it. At one time, it was easy to put a music CD into a computer and download music onto it. Then a blank CD can be used to burn the music on. Unfortunately, computers no longer come with a disk drive for CD in it. The disk drive needs to be purchased separately instead. A few years ago, I tried to burn a Ritchie Valens CD only to find out the music was formatted differently, and it wouldn't burn onto a blank CD. After experiencing that, I stopped burning CDs. 

     Another thing this article reminded me of is Alan Freed and the payola scandal. Alan Freed was a disc jockey from the 1950s. He helped push the rock-n-roll scene by playing the music and sponsoring the music in concerts. His success came to a halt when he was accused of a “pay-to-play” arrangement between promoters and DJs (Case Western Reserve University, 2026). The reason this article reminded me of him is because he also experienced the culture tension at that time when he played a new form of music that later became regulated. Now, some of that music has been mashed up in other artists' songs. 

 

                                References 

Bermingham, L.B. Culture Jamming or a culture jammed?: A Remix Manifeston. Southern Utah University. Retrieved from chrome-native://pdf/link?url=content%3A%2F%2Fmedia%2Fexternal%2Fdownloads%2F1000000604

Case Western Reserve University. (2026). Alan Freed. Encyclopedia of Cleveland. Retrieved from https://case.edu/ech/articles/f/freed-alan

Maisie Peters’ Musical Bookends in “The Good Witch”

 My favorite musician of all time is British singer-songwriter Maisie Peters. Not only does she put on an incredible concert (seeing her live for my 21st birthday a few years back is still one of the highlights of my life), she is an incredible lyricist. Whether that’s the heartbreaking bridge of “You You You,” the comedically angry lyrics of “Volcano,” or the highly motivational bridge of “There It Goes,” Maisie has some of the best lyrics I have ever heard in my life. 

Maisie Peters performing at the Glastonbury Festival 

An example of both her wonderful lyricism and the music itself that stand out are the opening and closing songs of her 2023 album The Good Witch, “The Good Witch” and “History of Man.” Though lyrically different, the chorus of “History of Man” has the same melody as the verses of “The Good Witch”, serving as auditory bookends to the album. What especially stands out to me is the fact that even though the two songs have incredibly different messages, these melodic similarities fit the tone of both songs, helping them send a similar rhetorical message.

The songs both use largely tragic lyrics, but “The Good Witch” leans a bit more comic at times, with lines like “still miss you, but I know now it’ll pass” and “I will try forgiveness, but I will not forget,” showing "a self determination to move on and improve. “History of Man” is wholly tragic, and overall representative of the tragedy of the female experience. There are countless lyrics that represent this, but two that stand out the most are “women’s hearts are lethal weapons, did you hold mine and feel threatened?” and “I hold on, I try to hold your hand, I save you a seat and then you say you wanna stand.” The last lyric mentioned follows the same melodic pattern as “still argue like my mother and suppress stuff like my dad,” from “The Good Witch, which, despite seeming tragic, actually has quite a few comic elements when looked at in context with the rest of the song.

“History of Man” by itself stands out to me as my favorite song of all time, and one that I believe everybody should listen to at least once in their life. Maisie uses references and imagery beautifully, with mentions of biblical stories, Greek mythology, historical events, and more. There are other songs on The Good Witch that do this as well, namely “Wendy,” titled after the famous Peter Pan character and “Yoko,” named after Yoko Ono, but none do it quite as poignantly as “History of Man.” The song stands on its own as meaningful, both in general and rhetorical communication, but the connection of it back to the title track makes it even more significant. Both songs are about femininity and identity, with “History of Man” capping it off with a suitable amount of rage. 

Does “History of Man” fully stand on its own or is it majorly aided by the elements of “The Good Witch” found within it?

Chicken Strips

 I went grocery shopping this week. Frozen chicken breast strips are a staple on my list these days.

They didn’t have my usual brand, so I grabbed a new one. The packaging looked convincing enough, and it was on sale. And after dinner, I understood why.

Turns out, you can’t always trust packaging—or price—to tell you what you’re actually buying.

And if packaging can ruin dinner, imagine what else it’s capable of.

This week, my thoughts turned to music—specifically what Sellnow describes as incongruent music. She explains that incongruity occurs when the emotional tone of the music contradicts the meaning of the lyrics. Cheerful, upbeat music paired with disturbing or controversial messages. Or tragic lyrics set to energizing, release-driven musical patterns. When that happens, meaning shifts. The message isn’t simply heard—it’s repackaged.

Incongruent music doesn’t just entertain; it persuades. According to Sellnow, these mismatches can broaden audience appeal, soften resistance, and gradually normalize ideas that might otherwise feel unsettling or inappropriate. The music does the emotional work first, making the lyrics feel less severe, less urgent, or less serious than they actually are.

In other words, the packaging tries to make the product more palatable.

I remember a friend showing me a song in high school that deeply troubled me. It sounded playful and catchy. It even featured a child’s voice. But the lyrics described brutal ways to take one’s own life. The contrast was jarring—and intentional. The brightness of the music masked the darkness of the message, allowing something deeply disturbing to slip into everyday listening.

That’s dangerous, disguised rhetoric—even when it doesn’t feel dangerous.

Other songs operate with more subtlety. Whistle by Flo Rida relies on what Sellnow calls strategic ambiguity. Very little is stated directly. Instead, listeners are invited to supply meaning themselves. This process—lyrical ascription—allows audiences to interpret the song using cultural knowledge and shared assumptions. The song never has to say anything explicit. Listeners do that work for it.

Even All About That Bass packages its message in confidence and empowerment, yet it still reinforces narrow ideas about bodies, worth, and comparison. It’s catchy. It’s fun. It carries a message and we’re responsible for how we consume it.

That’s the power of incongruent music. We hum along before we’ve decided whether we actually agree with what’s being said.

I’m not arguing that we can’t enjoy music. But awareness matters. Because just like my chicken strips, something can look good, sound good, and still not be something I want to consume.

And once you notice the packaging, you can’t unhear it.

So how do we sharpen our filters? How do we slow down enough to notice when packaging is persuading us—and choose more intentionally what we let shape us?