A Green Day Fan Site

Another critic posted a predictable backhanded critique complimenting Green Day’s American Idiot and 21st Century Breakdown while simultaneously dismissing Dookie as “nothing particularly groundbreaking.” He writes that while it’s “ridiculously infectious,” it is made up of “crude lyrics and derivative arrangements.” This is the kind of thing that’s been written again and again by critics and has become mind-numbingly tiresome. But even Green Day fans have been known to ask why it is that older fans, who are presumably not captivated by Dookie’s themes of teenage alienation, would take a shine to an album like Dookie.

I fell in love with Dookie when I was 30 years old. And “fell in love” is too weak a phrase. I loved it obsessively, listening to it incessantly and finding myself carried away on its combination of infectiously bouncing giddiness and no-holds-barred musical attack. Even though I’m not particularly musical — and perhaps because of it, since I could fully grasp the directness of the music on Dookie even without any particular sophistication on my part — what I adore about Dookie is the music. The taut, powerful guitar riffs, the drums and bass that pound in your chest, the delicious melodies, the lovely nasal, whiny, heartbreakingly sweet voice. I would love this album equally if the lyrics were in a foreign language that I didn’t understand.

I went to art school years ago, where I learned to look at things for what they are, rather than running for some explanation that relies on words to tell me how to feel about something I can see right in front of me. It gave me a frame of reference to appreciate all the arts, including music, on their own terms, without expecting that everything should be “groundbreaking” or somehow wildly original or intellectually complex, as if that were the ultimate goal of every artist. Art is not about showcasing one’s ability to be complicated or deep, it’s about creating a disarming, perfect expression that touches another person’s heart or mind. Simplicity is highly valued in the visual arts, because directness is an elusive accomplishment, and, when it works, it just knocks you flat on your ass.

Green Day didn’t invent rock and roll, they didn’t invent punk rock, and they didn’t invent jangling pop hooks. The history of popular music is a continuum, in which all artists build on one another’s accomplishments. (That’s actually true of all human endeavors, which is why it makes little sense, in general, to value individual contributions so highly over the contributions of the whole canon of human output.) So what if Dookie is not groundbreaking? Rock and roll is a traditional art form, and punk rock, in particular, sticks pretty closely to some very specific parameters. It isn’t meant to be innovative, it’s meant to kick ass. When they recorded Dookie, Green Day didn’t re-invent the proverbial wheel, but they made a really fucking kickass wheel, the likes of which had not exactly been seen before, not with quite that same power, appeal or perfection.

Dookie was such a revelation to me that I thought I had just not been paying enough attention to the music scene, and that if I sought them out there would be other bands that I would love as much as Green Day. And I did start listening to a lot of other great bands at the time, but none of them were quite Green Day. Dookie may be easily dismissed by critics for not meeting their particular criteria for pretentiousness or complexity, but it’s a gem. If critics still don’t get it, tens of millions of fans certainly do. There is a reason why Dookie is such a beloved album, and the reason is not that we’re all crazy-in-love with songs about masturbation (not that I’m knocking them…).