The Kids Are Alright: Lineage and Legacy in 1990s Popular Music

True to the Paul Simon (1986) lyric–“it’s every generation send a hero up the pop chart”– there have been intermittent clusters of popular music progeny—singers/songwriters whose parents are/were recording artists—since the mid-1960s. One of the most notable offspring emerged in country western music in 1964, when Hank Williams, Jr., recorded his father’s songs for the film biography Your Cheatin’ Heart. One year later, Frank Sinatra, Jr., a self-described “diligent apprentice” to his dad, released Young Love For Sale on father Frank’s Reprise label. Frank Jr.’s sister, Nancy, got into the family act in 1966 with her debut record, Boots, the first of five albums she recorded on Reprise. The Sinatra siblings’ successes were not substantial or sustaining. The kidnaping of Frank Jr. from his hotel room at Harrah’s Lake Tahoe and his being held for $240,000 ransom surpassed the son of Sinatra’s musical notoriety. Nancy’s three year arc was marked by numerous collaborations with songwriter/producer Lee Hazelewood, including the chart-topping “These Boots Are Made for Walkin’”; various pop covers and arrangements that captured the lightweight Top 40 charm of the period, and a hit dad/daughter duet, “Somethin’ Stupid.”

Around the same time, teeny bopper favorites Dino, Desi, and Billy released I’m A Fool (1965), also on the Reprise label.  The trio consisted of the sons of Dean Martin, Desi Arnaz, and a real estate broker who had sold houses to both the Martin and Arnaz seniors. Although two singles from their album—“I’m A Fool” and “Not the Lovin’ Kind”–reached the Top Twenty, the group lacked staying power and was soon eclipsed by psychedelia.

The most successful of the early showbiz kids, Gary Lewis, was not of Rat Pack descent, although his father, actor/comedian Jerry, was a close associate of Sinatra’s and Martin’s. Gary Lewis and the Playboys sold more than 7 ½  million records. Following their number one hit, “This Diamond Ring,” the group had six consecutive Top Ten singles from 1965 to 1966—“Count Me In,” “Save Your Heart for Me,” “Everybody Loves A Clown,” “She’s Just My Style,” “Sure Gonna Miss Her,” and “Green Grass.”

The next wave of pop progeny that came of age during the late 1970s and into the 1980s is an eclectic collection of artists with relative degrees of recognition and accomplishment, some whose careers have endured for decades. Some of the more celebrated offspring include the late great Nat King Cole’s daughter Natalie, whose Unforgettable (1991) earned her a Grammy; John Lennon’s (and Cynthia Twist’s) first son, Julian; Whitney Houston, who is Dionne Warwick’s niece and the daughter of soul singer and Elvis and Aretha Franklin backup, Cissy Houston; the Judds, featuring Naomi and daughter Wynonna; Bob and Rita Marley’s reggae-rocking son, Ziggy; and country-rocker Carlene Carter, daughter of June Carter and Johnny Cash. Cash’s daughter from his first marriage, Roseanne, is also an established country singer-songwriter.

There are a number of lesser known branches of music’s family tree from this period. Broadway singer John Raitt is a fatherly footnote in the lengthy career of his blues/rocking daughter Bonnie. The late Kirsty MacColl, daughter of folk singer/songwriter Ewan MacColl, released five folk-pop records that were popular in the U.K.  Pop sensation Wilson-Phillips was a California combination of Chyanna Phillips, whose parents Michelle and the late John Phillips were Mamas and Papas with Denny Doherty and Cass Elliott; and Carnie and Wendy Wilson, whose dad Brian was a brilliant Beach Boy.  The group Bloodline was another second-generation hybrid consisting of the sons of Miles Davis (Erin), Allman Brothers Berry Oakley(Berry Jr)., and Doors guitarist Robby Krieger (Waylon).  Blonde wimp duo Nelson ( Ricky Nelson’s twin sons, Matthew and Gunnar), black harmony group The Reddings (Otis’s sons Dexter and Otis III and cousin Mark Lockett), Levert (O’Jays leader Eddie Levert’s sons Gerald La Vert and Sean), and Womack and Womack (featuring Sam Cooke’s daughter, Linda, and Bobby Womack’s niece) appropriated their household names. Other bands included Ceremony, fronted by Chastity Bono (Sonny and Cher); Pretty in Pink , featuring Chaka Khan’s daughter, Millini; and pop-funk Rockwell, the pseudonym for Kennedy Gordy, son of Berry Gordy, Jr.  Soloist daughters include Nona Gaye (Marvin Gaye), Louise Goffin (Gerry Goffin and Carole King), and Jennie Muldaur (Maria and Geoff). Ringo Starr’s son, Zak Starkey, also a drummer, has toured and recorded with his father among others. Mother Frank Zappa’s children, Dweezil, Ahmet, and Moon Unit have collective credits that include MTV veejay, avant gardist, guitarist, and singer. On the fringes are occasional Fleetwood Mac contributors Becca Bramlett, daughter of Delaney and Bonnie, and Billy Burnette, son of Dorsey Burnette of the Memphis-based Rock and Roll Trio, which featured rockabilly great turned teen idol Johnny Burnette.

New Kids on the Block

The most recent “Baby Boom” during the 1990s marked another spawn of musical lineage and legacy. The notable number of debut releases by second generation artists during the mid to late part of the decade marked a collective “umbilical chord progression” or baptism for these potential “heirs of parents.” This second wave of pop progeny is equally diverse in musical genre and style, an array that ranges from children of Hank Williams, Jr. (Hank III) to Tony Bennett (Antonio). Predictably, the 1960s and 1970s lineage is prominent:  Bob Dylan (Jakob of the Wallflowers), Pete Townshend (Emma), John Lennon and Yoko Ono (Sean), Mama and Papa John Phillips (Bijou), Van Morrison (Shana), Steven Stills (Chris), David Crosby (James Raymond of CPR), Leonard Cohen (Adam), the late Tim Buckley (the late Jeff); Led Zeppelin’s John Bonham (Jason of Bonham); and Randy Bachman (Tal), founder of Canadian bands the Guess Who and Bachman Turner Overdrive.

Husband and wife pairs—though the majority are now ex’s—are well represented: Richard and Linda Thompson (Teddy), cult folkies Loudon Wainwright and Kate McGarrigle (Rufus), British folk duo Martin Carthy and Norma Waterson (Eliza), James Taylor and Carly Simon (Sally and Ben), Canadian folksters Sylvia and Ian Tyson (Clay), and Gregg Allman and Cher (Elijah Blue of the band Deadsy).

Jazz versions include the children of trumpeter Don Cherry (Eagle Eye and rapper Nenah), John Coltrane (Ravi), and tenor saxophonist Dewey Redman (Joshua).  World music strands are evident in Afrobeat pioneer Fea Kuti (Fema Kuti), Bossa nova great Joao Gilberto (Bebel Gilberto), Julio Iglesias (Enrique), and multi-instrumentalist, musicologist and soundtrack specialist Ry Cooder (Joachim).

Teach Your Children: Progeny and Prodigy

Genealogy, continuity, sociocultural conditions, celebrity culture, and the mythmaking/demystification process, are among the numerous dimensions which provide some context to help frame this bio-musical undercurrent.  Heredity and following in familial footsteps may be the most obvious, if not fundamental factor present in this second generation wave of singer-songwriter successors. It is a biological inevitability that some of the skills, aptitudes, and competencies ingrained within these artists are the result of swimming in the same gene pool as their parents. Experiences further shape individual interests, identities, and career directions. Many of these artists are products of environments which provided unique possibilities for cultural enrichment and musical nurturing, be it instrumentation, writing, or performance. The opportunities with mom and/or dad and their circle of singing, songwriting friends may transcend mere “taking an interest” in music, but involve an experience of genuinely “living the artist lifestyle” as well. The accessibility of instruments, instruction, studios and touring become integral components of their childhood development stages, socialization, and routine.

Pursuit of their own careers in music seems only natural.Randy Bachman recalls son Tal as a 2-year-old climbing up to the drum kit during band rehearsal breaks, adding that Tal “had this intuitive thing with music and a natural affinity for instruments.” “Everything he touched he could figure out how to play within an hour–piano, fiddle, bass, and guitar. It was uncanny,” said Bachman (Jennings 55). Similarly, Rufus Wainwright and Joachim Cooder were playing instruments by the age of 8, and touring with their parents before they turned 13. “There wasn’t a lot of hardware around when I was a kid, piano was like my computer,” says Wainwright. (Jennings 5) Jakob Dylan uses the analogy of a family business—“working on cars, running a hardware store”:  “How many sons and daughters do exactly what their parents did? I wanted the sound of amps turning on; I wanted to see cable run across my living room. I loved the way the bus felt. It had been there since I was small. The only way to keep it was to do it myself” (Fricke 2000, 48).

In our contemporary culture, we have become conditioned to images of “gifted” children, some prodigious, others pressured pawns of parents projecting dreams. The accelerated allure of fame and fortune have contributed to widespread perceptions of many cases of overbearing parental presence.  The disturbing image of 6-year-old Jon Benet Ramsey in full-costume, makeup, and heels competing in a child pageant was a surreal slice of suburbia in shades of David Lynch’s Blue Velvet. All that was missing from the repetitious footage was the Rolling Stones’ “Can’t you see mother baby, standing in the shadows” eerily echoing on the soundtrack.

Sports routinely provides convenient, yet well-documented, examples of such Great Santinian excess. Tiger Woods’ golf god greatness overshadows the carnival exploitation of the 4-year old prodigy putting on The Tonight Show in front of Johnny Carson. Former University of Southern California quarterback Todd Marinovich’s father, Marv, designed and mandated a birth-to-big-league rigorous regimen for his son that included training, diet, and lifestyle. On the current professional women’s tennis tour, Venus and Serena Willams’s father, Richard, has a well-earned reputation as “irrepressible,” while the fathers of other highly ranked players, Mary Pierce and Jelena Dokic, face restraining orders and tournament bans due to their boorish behavior. Despite the seductive spotlight and prowling producers seeking sensational scoops and celebrity exposes for VH-1 rockumentaries and other cable programming fare, such Mommy Dearest and like father-like son nightmare narratives have yet to emerge from these musical family circles.

 Fortunate Sons and Daughters?: The Blessings and Burdens of Biography

“Following in family footsteps” is familiar fodder for our cultural fascination with fame and celebrity. Such narratives and images abound in the micro-scrutinous, all-access mode of the era. Citing parental predecessors and linkages certainly appeals to the collective consumer curiosity.  The matter of family facts also represents a simultaneous journalistic obligation, an angle that can be presented as a lead, mere mention, or highlighted as a human interest story. The tendency with “higher profile” cases such as those bearing the names “Lennon” or “Dylan” is to want to make ancestry the story rather than part of the story.

The “son or daughter of” biographical badge is both blessing and burden. There is a natural assumption that privilege accompanies a prestigious pedigree, that lineage and last name open doors for young artists and potentially shorten the dues-paying period that is a record industry rite. Just as the family name can create opportunities, lineage can be a liability that creates pressures, unreasonable expectations, and inevitable comparisons. The cumulative result can deprive young artists of an apprenticeship period.

There are examples among the current wave of pop progeny that illustrate this duality.  After dropping out of college, Tal Bachman had the opportunity to join his father’s band briefly when their drummer was injured. Then, when his father toured with Ringo Starr’s All Starr Band in 1996, Tal recorded a demo in dad’s studio. Tal endured numerous record company rejections until his father shopped his demo tape to former Electric Light Orchestra member and producer Jeff Lynne. The connection led to a chain of events that resulted in Bachman’s self-titled debut on Columbia Records in 1999. The single, “She’s So High,” charted in Billboard’s Top Twenty for weeks. Also on the Columbia roster for his self-titled debut is fellow Canadian Adam Cohen. Before signing the major label deal,  Adam benefitted from being affiliated with his father Leonard’s Los Angeles based company Stranger Music. In probably did not hurt Adam that dad also happens to be under contract with Columbia. As the offspring of critically acclaimed but commercially marginal musicians, Rufus Wainwright was privy to a non-glamorous side of the record business. “I saw the real side of it. The struggle of putting together a few thousand dollars for the next project,” says Wainwright. (Hamilton P3). Yet Wainwright readily acknowledges that his parents gave him instant cachet at DreamWorks, the entertainment empire of the Spielberg-Geffen-Katzenberg trinity. Wainwright’s father, Loudon III, best known for the 1972 novelty hit “Dead Skunk,” passed along Rufus’s demo tape to producer Van Dyke Parks, who in turn shared it with DreamWorks music executive and long-time producer Lenny Waronker. It was Waronker who signed Rufus’s mother, Kate McGarrigle, to Warner Bros. in the 1970s. DreamWorks invested nearly $1 million in Wainwright’s recording.  The company’s support was rewarded with Rufus Wainwright (1998), a striking debut that earned Wainwright “Best New Artist” recognition in Rolling Stone. Preeminent rock critic Robert Christgau described the record as “so original that the trend mongers who make it their business to anoint a pop revolution every fiscal quarter are unlikely to understand.”

Bachman’s, Cohen’s and Wainwright’s fortunate son scenarios and major label opportunities are not the standard among the wave of second generation artists.  Whether out of economic necessity, lack of interest from labels, or a conscious effort to counter perceptions of parental privilege, many of these artists travel the independent route. Among them is David Crosby’s son, James Raymond, and his band CPR, who produced three records in two years that were distributed exclusively via their Web-site.

Clay Tyson also relies on Internet connections. Though he is linked to both his parents’—Ian and Sylvia—Web-sites, Clay prefers not to exploit the family name. “I don’t want to be judged like that,” he says. “I’m doing totally different music.” The 31-year old Tyson, who admittedly shares his father’s stubbornness and disdain for the music industry, prefers the independent route for his avant garde and punk pursuits. “I used to think a record deal was the end of the rainbow but after my experience [as bassist] with the Look People [a satirical, Frank Zappa-inspired band of the 1980s], I’d rather do it myself and have more control,”says Clay, who financed his album, Break It Down (2000), with earnings from a part-time job as a theatrical set painter (Jennings 55).

While many of these younger artists may have inherited musical proficiency and interest from their parents, they also illustrate that stylistic preferences may not necessarily be indigenous. Some, such as Chris Stills on his debut, 100 Year Thing (1998) on Atlantic, the same label his father Steven began recording on, deliver like-father, like-son vocals and guitar licks that echo Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young 1960s rock, and Steven’s solo and Manassas works. “I don’t mind sounding like my old man at all,” says Chris. “I don’t want to stray too far from that era. Those are the records I still love best”(Zimmer 290).

Others have established their own sound signatures that distance themselves from their parents’ genres. Emma Townshend’s sparse, lilting Winterland (1998) more closely resembles Tori Amos than her windmill wielding, instrument-smashing, father’s Who performances.  Rufus Wainwright’s influences are not rooted in his folks’ folk traditions, rather opera, Handel and Gershwin. A melodist characterized as a “1990s Stephen Foster” or “queer Harry Nilsson,” Wainwright’s style blends Tin Pan, cabaret, romantic theatricality, orchestral noir and droll lounge. “Rufus actually likes just about every kind of music but folk,” says his mother Kate McGarrigle. “I think my dad loves what I do, but I think I’m far enough away from his own genre that it doesn’t threaten him,” says Wainwright (Offspring 59).

Elijah Blue, whose synth-driven Goth rock with his band Deadsy is not derived from either parents’ (Cher and Greg Allman) music, rejects many of the automatic parental presumptions attached to his, and most of his fellow music offspring’s careers:

I don’t think my music has anything to do with either of them and any intelligent person will realize that. The funny thing is the press. There have been enough Jakob Dylans and Julian Lennon’s that its just a copy of the same old story...grew up, famous parents, went to prep school, left. I got the record deal, frankly, because I got kicked out of my mom’s house and I knew I could do it. (Offspring 62)

My Back Pages: Here Come the Sons

The longest parental shadows may be those cast by John Lennon and Bob Dylan. Their sons’ tasks of claiming their own identities and music rather than their fathers’ legends have been predictably more pronounced than other musical offspring. The pair’s parental predicament echoes the John Hiatt (1987) lyrics: “You’re a chip off the old block/Why does it comes as such a shock/That very road up which you rock/Your dad already did.”

Sean Lennon shied away from major labels, which likely would have meant a multi-record deal, complete with up-front money and tour support. Instead, he opted for the indie route, signing with Grand Royal, a label owned by the Beastie Boys. “It seemed a great way to focus on my music and not the legacy of my father,” says Lennon (Kaufman 31).

Another family factor weighing on the younger Lennon was his half-brother Julian’s experience. Sean believes Julian was “exploited and discarded,” and ultimately denied a reasonable period of time to develop as an artist.  Despite the industry’s shorter windows of opportunity for artists, increasing demands for instant hits and commercially viable music that (cash) registers on SoundScan charts, Julian Lennon managed to release four records on Atlantic between 1984 and 1991. Seven years passed until his next record, Photograph Smile (1998), which coincided with Sean’s debut, Into the Sun. Though Sean may be determined to “seek out situations where I could be just like everyone else,” the truth, or a truth, of the family matter is that he is not. Some critics call Sean’s situation “the hippest form of slumming,” pointing out his inheritance not only of the Lennon legacy, but Yoko Ono’s presence and song publishing rights from the Beatles catalog not owned by Michael Jackson. “It’s this weird paradox,” says Lennon of his inherent dilemma. “ I’ve got all the connections, I’ve got all the opportunities. But, man, is the world ready to beat you over the head with it, to kick you back in the dirt. The world is really ready to say ‘You suck. You’re not as good as your parents’. (Fricke, 1998, 128)

Like Sean Lennon, Jakob Dylan has also displayed extreme reluctance to trade or tread on family connections. Producer Andrew Slater recalls an early Wallflowers rehearsal at the low-budget Fortress Studio: “The shittiest place in L.A.–five dollars an hour. I’m thinking, ‘Here’s this guy who obviously has access to any piece of gear he wants in any rehearsal space. And he’s in this shit hole’”(Fricke 2000, 48).  Dylan’s fellow band members initially only knew him as “Jake.” “I was not a last name guy. I didn’t care,” says Jakob.

For years, Dylan the younger was reluctant to speak of Dylan the elder. With the release of The Wallflowers’ third record, Breach (2000), Jakob reportedly has grown more comfortable with his own achievements. As long as his music precedes his last name in a story or interview, Jakob has shown slightly more willingness to discuss dad. Journalists point out that the young Dylan’s conversations, especially those in front of tape recorders, remain cautious. Jakob never says the name “Bob” or uses the words “my father” or “my dad.” According to David Fricke, “it’s always the elliptical third person: ‘he,’ ‘his,’ ‘him.’” Jakob’s perspective on parental proportion is revealing: “His [Bob Dylan’s] history doesn’t depend on any of the things mine does. His thing is so huge. It’s been going on for so long. It’s in history books, in your schools. There’s countless biographies. In most of the books, there might be one page that mentions the  names of his children. That’s it. I don’t want to be a page in the book (Fricke 2000: 46).

Joachim Cooder’s career is a case in contrast. The percussionist may be the most anonymous of the generation next artists.  In that respect, he is like his father, Ry, who, despite being one of music’s most respected multi-instrumentalists, a guitar virtuoso, soundtrack specialist and musicologist, is averse to the spotlight and stardom. Joachim has not recorded a solo album. Nor does he have a contract with any label, major or independent. Joachim does have a band, Speakeasy, its eight members consisting of two sister singers and six guys who play percussion, drums, accordian, trumpet, violin, lap guitar, and trombone.

The younger Cooder’s unique apprenticeship appears to include a more worldly view, with values and virtues that might be considered more nurturing than dues paying. For most of his life, Joachim’s education has consisted of traveling with his father outside the musical mainstream, from composing film soundtracks and scores to seeking sessions with musicians in exotic locales such as India, West Africa, and Cuba. Cooder’s geomusical expeditions have resulted in critically acclaimed, Grammy-winning recordings with V.M. Bhatt (1993), Ali Farka Toure (1994), and the Buena Vista Social Club (1997). Joachim participated in the all the sessions as a percussionist. In addition, with each of Ry’s film projects, Joachim’s production responsibilities expand.  On the most recent Primary Colors (1998), Joachim wrote four of the instrumental songs for the soundtrack.

Writer Alec Wilkinson (1999) provides a particularly poignant passage that characterizes the Cooder’s father-son relationship, and reveals the “typical parent” presence in musical lineage and legacy.  This scene is Wilkinson’s account of his accompanying Ry Cooder to see Joachim’s band perform at a small club in Hollywood:

Cooder and I arrived at the club early... There was a stage at one end of a dance floor and a bar to one side, Cooder said that the place was similar to plenty of clubs he had played during the early days of his career, when he traveled with a guitar and mandolin and played by himself. “I used to love to come to these places early,” he said. “Arrive and watch the waitresses set up and lay out napkins. It was a nice, quiet time.” Before long, he grew nervous, though. He began to pace. Then he sat down and tried to keep still. He went to talk to the sound man, because he said they usually only know how to set up microphones for heavy-metal bands and that his son’s band was more complicated than that. Joachim arrived, and I heard Cooder tell him, The song’s too slow.”

 

“Still?”

 

“Give it a bit of a groove tempo. It’ll still feel down, but it won’t be so down,” he said, the way another kind of father might say, “Quit chasing the ball. Don’t swing until you get the pitch you really want.” (144)

Growing Pains and The Ties That Bind

Coverage in the rock and popular presses suggest that these second generation singer- songwriters are keenly aware of their parents and their pasts. While there is no denying the privileges of heredity, in some ways their lineage resembles other “normal” families marked by different degrees of dysfunction, divorce, and death. The disparity, of course, lies in these children’s “growing pains” and experiences within celebritized circumstances and the music lifestyle. Interviews suggest that a sense of empowerment transcends the intrinsic entitlements in lineage and legacy for these sons and daughters. They appear to possess the maturity to balance the blessings and burdens of their names, to keep in perspective pressures and privileges, and to distinguish between parent and persona. As Spin’s R.J. Smith (1998) wryly observes, “Who needs family therapy when you’ve got a record contract?”

While these artists perpetuate predominant images of their god-like predecessors, they simultaneously demystify them by painting parental portraits that render mom and dad as mere mortals. The meditative tone in Sean Lennon’s reflections on his father depict such human qualities:

The main difference is, he wasn’t a god. He was a person like you and me, flesh and blood. He was imperfect; he had doubts. And he had days when he felt like shit. . . . People forget how easy it is to overglorify the human being, to mythify them. The reality was, he was my dad. Sometimes he would yell at me for no fucking reason, scream and shout, and I would cry hysterically. If there’s anything the public doesn’t understand it’s that he was a human being. That when he died, he left a real family behind. And that I miss him every day.   I don’t miss John Lennon the persona. I miss my dad. I don’t miss the Beatle. I mean, I miss the Beatle–as a fan of that era. But, really, what I miss is the guy who put me on his shoulders and we walked on the beach together. (Fricke 1998:128)

Routine, respectful expressions among the musical offspring balance the demystifaction of parental fame and previous generational ideals, conditions and circumstances. Beyond Natalie Cole’s posthumous duet with her father on Unforgettable (1991), smaller scale parental homage can be found in Jason Bonham’s Led Zeppelin tribute In the Name of My Father (1997) and Shana Morrison “borrowing” father Van’s “Sweet Thing” to cover on her Caledonia (1999) record. She also delivers a soulful rendition of “Irish Heartbeat” with Brian Kennedy on the Van Morrison tribute record No Prima Donna (1994). Roseanne Cash’s reverence resonates, from her stirring rendition of “”I Walk the Line” at the Kennedy Center Awards ceremony honoring her father Johnny, to her graceful reminisce in the essay “Songs My Daddy Sang Me” (1999).

While recovering from his 1995 liver transplant, David Crosby found out the identity of his first son, James Raymond, a pianist. The discovery was a warmly ironic echo of the title of Crosby’s first solo record, If I Could Only Remember My Name (1971).  Crosby, Raymond, and guitarist Jeff Pevar, formed the band CPR (fitting initials for the 1960s survivor Crosby). Before reuniting with long-time partners Stills, Nash and Young for a new record and a CSNY2K Tour, Crosby played the small venue circuit and recorded three albums with CPR. The trio’s live performances and recording repertoire feature numerous tunes from Crosby’s solo, Byrds, Crosby-Nash, and Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young catalogs.

The mutual mentoring evident in CPR is but one demonstration of the reciprocity of family ties. While the familiar name and progenitors’ careers have helped expose the young artists, the offspring’s music and career coverage fosters an awareness of their parents’ music as well, especially among younger audiences. Such umbilical links are commonplace in the family cross referencing and at individual artist, record label, and music retail web-sites. There is a cartoon depicting a record store scene which playfully comments upon this “generation gap” and its musical misperceptions. In the drawing, two teenagers are standing in front of a poster for Bob Dylan’s Time Out of Mind. Standing to their right behind the counter is the store clerk, a bearded, aging-hippie type. The cartoon’s caption reads: “So when did Jakob Dylan’s dad take up music?”  The young customers’ Bob blasphemy triggers a pained, wide-eyed expression of confusion and annoyance on the face of the tie-dye throwback.

Weird Floating Islands”

Whether detached or determined to claim their own careers, all of these artists are vicariously linked to each other as pop music progeny. When asked if he paid attention to other celebrity sons and daughters of pop music, Sean Lennon replied , “From afar. . . . In a way we feel like these weird floating islands” (Fricke 1998:128).

It’s difficult to speculate if, and how, individually and collectively, these second generation “weird floating islands” will impact popular music. More than likely, most of their career courses will parallel a proportional number of performers without parental precursors. Some careers will sustain, from mainstream to fringe, with a few fortunate sons or daughters perhaps surpassing their parents’ achievements. There will likely be some one hit wonders among the group. Others may survive for a few records before being replaced by the next trend in the music market. A number of discs, no doubt, will be destined for the discount bins, followed by the formulaic fade, or possible career reinvention within or outside music.

No matter the career arc, the recognizable family names will likely linger as bio-byte inscriptions in the rock and roll registry. They will surface and be cited as both familiar and obscure entries from collections and archives to a branch on the “Family Tree” trivia list on some web-site or in a book, to categories and questions on Rock and Roll Jeopardy or as the sensationalist subject of a VH-1 rockumentary.

For those whose careers continue, critics and curious alike will listen closely for allusions to legacy and lineage in lyrics. Dylanologists will wonder if Jakob’s Wallflower tune “I’ve Been Delivered” is a nod to his father’s Basement Tape hymn “Nothing Was Delivered;” or if the lines “You won’t ever amount to much/How could you think you could be enough?” from “Hand Me Down” are personal. What biographical bits might be deciphered in “Amity,” Carly Simon’s duet with daughter Sally Taylor on the film soundtrack to Anywhere But Here, the adaptation of Mona Simpson’s novel about a mother and daughter who leave Wisconsin for Hollywood?

Perhaps some imaginative promoter will recognize the unique opportunity to organize a corporate sponsored Lilith Fair /Lollapallooza-like festival uniting these musical sons and daughters with their mothers and fathers on stage. Call the gathering Rock of Ages, We Are Family or Chips Off the Old Rocks. The concept could be further franchised into a Time-Life-like mutli-disc collection of recordings packaged as a Baby Boom Box Set. The possibility of such a spectacle may not be so implausible when considering the groundswell of hype surrounding the boxing bout between Laila Ali and Jacqui Frazier in June 2001, three decades after their fathers, Mohammed Ali and Joe Frazier, met in their storied heavyweight championship fights.

George Plasketes

Department of Communication

Auburn University

Auburn, Alabama

Works Cited

Cash, Roseanne. “Songs My Daddy Sang Me.” Joe Magazine. Number 3. 1999. Rpt. as “The Ties That Bind,” in Peter Guralnick and Douglas Wolk, eds., Best Music Writing 2000.      Cambridge, MA: Da Capo Press 2000: 7-13.

Feature Story. “New Frontier: Dave Matthews Band Teams Up with Super-producer Glen Ballard.” Ice 166 (Jan. 2001): 6-7.

Fricke, David. “The Rolling Stone Interview.” Rolling Stone. 11 June 1998: 38-42, 128.

———. “The Confessions of Jakob Dylan: A Wallflower’s Coming Out.” Rolling Stone. 26 October 2000: 45, 48, 126.

Hamilton, Doug. “With Famous Roots, Wainwright Finds Own Wings.” Atlanta Journal Constitution 7 Aug. 1998:P3.

Hiatt, John. “Your Dad Did.” Bring the Family. A&M, 1987.

Jennings, Nicholas. “Chips Off the Old Rock.” Maclean’s 8 June 1998: 54-55.

Kaufman, Jason. “In the Studio with Sean Lennon.” US June 1998:31.

“Offspring: Rolling Stone Spring Style.” Fashion by Patti O’Brien; Photographs by Robert Maxwell. Rolling Stone 16 Apr. 1998: 58-66.

Simon, Paul. “Boy in the Bubble” Graceland. Warner Bros, 1986.

Smith, R.J. “Drama King” Spin Mar. 1998: 39.

Wilkinson, Alec. “Who Put the Honky Tonk in ‘Honky Tonk Woman’?” Esquire June 1999:101-105, 144. Rept. in Peter Guralnick and Douglas Wolk, eds., Best Music Writing 2000. Cambridge, MA: De Capo Press 2000: 377-390.

Zimmer David. Crosby, Stills and Nash: The Biography. Cambridge, MA: DaCapo 2000.