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Don’t Drink the Water: Dave Matthews, secular rituals, and the rhetoric of concerts

In the summer of 1969, the Woodstock Music & Art Fair brought nearly a half

million people together for “3 days of peace and music”. Legendary acts such as The Who;

Blood, Sweat, and Tears; and Jimi Hendrix headlined for a music festival that captured the

counter-cultural spirit of the decade. Calling it “the decade’s most famous and successful

experiment in peace and community”, Rolling Stone named Woodstock one of the top

moments that changed the history of rock and roll (Rolling Stone, 2004). Music has often

been a channel for causes to take root and gain widespread support. Whether done at giant

festivals like Woodstock or individual concerts and shows, musicians have promoted

organizations and personal causes among concert attendees.

Almost 40 years later and 100 miles away, Dave Matthews and Tim Reynolds

performed in New York City at the famous Radio City Concert Hall. During an intimate

acoustic concert in front of a packed house, Dave Matthews attempted to bring together

music and a cause, specifically the rights of veterans who served in the Iraq War. The

concert stands out from Dave Matthews’ typical shows for its stripped-down set, and was

recorded live and distributed as a both a CD and DVD. Concerts, similar to speeches and

sermons, are natural breeding grounds for a rhetorical situation (Bitzer, 1968). With a

captive audience, identifiable speaker, and a common interest that is necessary for ticket

sales, there is room for a “potential exigence” at concerts in which a discourse could occur

(Ibid., p. 6). What is special about concerts compared to other narratives like television

(Porter, Larson, Harthcock, & Nellis, 2002) is their subdued religious nature. Unlike

sermons, which are openly and actively religious, and political speeches, which are

sometimes considered as inhabiting a separate sphere, concerts like Live at Radio City seem

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to fall in the middle of the sacred and profane spectrum (Durkheim, 1915). While concert

attendees don’t ascribe to the same beliefs that would make an actual religion, the

ritualistic nature of what occurs during Live at Radio City attempts, for both Dave Matthews

and the audience, a secular moment. A close textual analysis identifies what role individual

songs, lyrics, and moments of monologue play, and allows critics to flesh out the effects of

this secular event (Browne, 2009). In this essay, I argue that Dave Matthews ineffectively

motivates support for veterans’ rights while performing Live at Radio City by absolving

audience guilt through the concert’s musical narrative. After discussing the current

literature surrounding the study of music, I analyze Live at Radio City according to the

progression of the concert, and conclude with an extension of Durkheim’s religious

continuum in rhetoric and a comparison to another artist-driven cause.

Live at Radio City is by no means the only concert to situate itself in a religious

framework, but there are a few reasons why it makes an excellent case study of the

phenomenon. First and foremost is the ease of access to the concert. Because the concert is

available on DVD, there is room for multiple viewings, which allows fans and critics alike to

participate in a moment more than once. This film distribution does give more impetus for

criticism since it reaches a broader audience over an indefinite period of time. Another

helpful aspect of this concert is that only one group performs. While music fests unite

around a general cause, one artist drawing attention to one cause allows for more accurate

analysis of the interaction that occurs between artist and audience. Instead of having

“many and confused intentions”, single artists who promote one cause can lead to more

“effective orientation centers for joint action” (Miller, 1984, p. 158). Additionally, the call to

action for veterans’ rights mentioned in the show is given both in spoken and written form.

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In each DVD produced an insert with a note about veterans is included, which adds to the

discourse Matthews creates. For these primary reasons, Live at Radio City is an accessible

text to understand secular moments that attempt to live in-between the sacred and the

profane.

Dancing Nancies, a “request for enlightenment”

Of course, no one really writes about Dave Matthews and his music; what is written

discusses the role music plays in society. While not limited to just the following, music

certainly functions in two capacities: as cultural criticism and as an event. Studying music

can be an effective way to point out what is happening in culture-at-large. Styles of music

can solidify social class structures; as the gap between “high” art and “low” art increases, so

too does the gap between the social classes that identify with a corresponding segment of

art. Popular music, according to some a form of “lower art… mixed with remnants of

orgiastic intoxication” (Adorno, 1962, p. 21), can reinforce the same social structures.

Music carries with it an ideology; certain styles act with set beliefs that are inherent in their

communicative power (Morris, 2013). What medium music takes is equally important to

consider in the effects on culture. Technological shifts such as the transition to iPod usage

or digital remixes not only reflect the changes experienced in culture, but also shape how

culture uses music (O’Hara and Brown, 2006). Music is an out working of cultural values as

well as a reinforcement and shaper of those very values.

However, music is not just an ideological message or a vessel that shapes the

experience. An event occurs when music is created. There is a performance aspect that

must be appreciated, for music does not arise out of thin air. What an artist physically does

to create music, how she plays the instrument or the actions taken to produce sound,

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matters. Small changes in physical movement have implications for how an audience feels

and responds to music (Juchnieqicz, 2008). These musical events can take on different

forms. Popular music is reinforced as popular when reenacted in karaoke bars and talent

shows, but the message changes if the original artist is separated from their content (Frith,

2007). Concert attendees are looking to see the musical messages they enjoy and resonate

with to be performed by the authentic creator. An emotional connection forms alongside of

identity when brought together in a musical system and performance (Pogaeceanu, 2013).

Those who participate in events want to share in the experience, or even share the

experience with others by recording the concert (Lingel & Naaman, 2012). Just as pieces of

technology shape the cultural aspects of music, so too do they shape participation in

musical performance. Cell phones, when used not as a distraction or recording device but a

participatory component of the show, change how the event is experienced (Chesher,

2007).

Taking the perspective of a concert as a secular ritual runs parallel to the discussion

of music as an event. To understand what a secular ritual is, it helps to know what is not.

Emile Durkheim identifies the religious life by arguing it has one basic characteristic: a

“division of the world into two domains, the one that is containing all that is sacred, the

other all that is profane” (Durkheim, 1915, 52). The profane is the evil and unworthy,

characteristics most hope to shy away from, including during musical experiences. Yet

concerts are not sacred either, for they do not have both beliefs and rites. Beliefs, according

to Durkheim, “express the nature of sacred things”, and rites are the “rules of conduct” in

the presence of the sacred (ibid., 56). While artists have a message they communicate and

causes they promote like I am arguing, they do not necessarily have beliefs that everyone in

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the audience shares. Not all agree on the nature of the sacred moment that is occurring.

What concerts do have are rites – rituals and responses that all agree should be done when

near something sacred, like a musical event. Because concerts lack shared beliefs, yet

provide a common ritual for audience and artist, they are not sacred. Instead, they are

secular events, moments that produce a quasi-religious experience in form but not content;

and this best describes what occurs in Live at Radio City.

Crash Into Me

In all of its secular glory, Live at Radio City is a 26-song set performed and recorded

live on April 22, 2007. Dave Matthews and Tim Reynolds played at Radio City as the last

stop of their “Dave and Tim” tour, the culmination of a 3-city tour. The show was the

released on CD and DVD August 14th of that same year. A minimalist show, the concert

features a bare stage – two men, two stools, a couple guitars, one piano, and a single rug

that invites the audience into the living room, so to speak. The songs themselves focus on

two major themes, either love or faith. To better identify the religious nature of this

concert, the songs pertaining to faith are highlighted.

The concert follows a narrative structure, including an introduction, rising action,

climax, and a falling action in its format. Two songs from the beginning of the concert,

“Bartender” and “Save Me”, ground the concert in religious connotations. Matthews begins

the conflict by telling the story of Jon Town, a soldier and wounded veteran from Iraq.

Town received no health care compensation or benefits from the military after doctors

declared he had pre-existing mental health issues. After his discharge, the Army forced

Town to pay back the government the bonus he received for entering the military. In

response to this tragedy, Matthews laments with “Gravedigger”. A cover of Daniel Lanois’

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“The Maker” moves the audience towards the climax of the concert, “Eh Hee”, Matthews’

interpretation of a tribal chant. The concert then begins its descent as Reynolds plays two

lyric-less songs, and finally concludes with “Two Step”. The narrative structure of the

concert gives it a beginning, middle, and end that starts and completes the event for the

audience. Whatever events occur or emotions felt, attendees are done when Matthews and

Reynolds leave the stage.

Grace is Gone

Without a greeting to the cheering audience while walking on stage, Matthews and

Reynolds immediately begin to play the first song of the night – “Bartender”. Matthews

looks around the concert hall as he and Reynolds play one full minute of instrumental

guitar music. Matthews then begins moaning to the tune of the song for another minute

until he begins singing about the contemplation of death. Instead of succumbing to the

inevitable, Matthews sings “Bartender please, fill my glass for me / With the wine you gave

Jesus that set him free after three days in the ground.” Matthews is asking for more life, life

that lasts by alluding to the Gospel narratives of Jesus’ death and resurrection three days

later. The lyrics are religious, explicit allusions to Christian scripture, and couch the entire

set in a spiritual framework. Matthews and his audience sing “on bended knee… Bartender

you see, this wine that’s drinking me/ came from the vine that strung Judas from the devil’s

tree roots deep, deep in the ground” – a cry admitting to the divine that they are caught up

in the evil of the world. Attending this concert and participating with Matthews means

hearing religious narratives, admitting participation in evil, and humbling oneself. Yet these

undertones are ritualistic, not doctrinal – while Matthews draws on Christian roots, he

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refers to the Bartender/God as father and mama, which creates distance between the

concert and traditional Christian language.

The spiritual conversation continues with “Save Me”, the fourth song of the night.

Matthews opens the song with a preface, saying it’s “a comedy… maybe it’s tongue in cheek.

I don’t know, or maybe it’s a plea for help from the heavens; I don’t know, you decide”.

Despite Matthews’ confusion, “Save Me” is without a doubt an allusion to Jesus’ forty days

in the desert, singing the man had “been walking there for 20 days / He was going to walk

on for 20 more”. Yet Matthews takes an interesting perspective, playing the part of the

devil. He questions “Jesus”, asking if the man wants “a drink or a bite to eat.” Matthews asks

the spiritual “walking man” to save him, over and over again, “if [he] can”. But the walking

man’s response runs contrary to what is expected. Matthews sings to himself and the

audience the walking man’s response: “You might try saving yourself.” “Save Me” is a

rejection of Christian beliefs, choosing instead a spirituality of self. Matthews does not need

to share any beliefs with the audience, and the audience members are supposed to decide

for themselves what they think the song means. The only important things artist and

audience must agree on are that they should not hold the beliefs mocked in the song and

they should participate in the song. Both “Bartender” and “Save Me” lay the spiritual

foundation of the concert narrative that follows.

Rising Action

Matthews makes a sudden transition in the concert to tell a “story”. He recalls

reading an article about Army Specialist Jon Town, a discharged veteran of the Iraq War.

This story has two supporting pieces: the note provided in every DVD copy of the concert

and the actual monologue given by Matthews on stage. Both give rise to the primary

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conflict experienced by both Matthews and his audience in the course of the concert

narrative.

Matthews introduces the story as “something on [his] mind… you hear things, and

you just think ‘that’s unbelievable, that something like that could happen in the world.’” He

tries to remain apolitical while telling the story, saying he wouldn’t talk about what side he

is on, or what magazine he read because, “it’ll give [the audience] an opinion before,”

finishing his story. The heated political landscape concerning the Iraq war was not the

issue – what happened to Army specialist Jon Town was. Matthews creates a situation that

doesn’t let any of his audience off the hook, since the story is not about a political

preference but something everyone needs to come to terms with. According to Matthews,

Town was injured in a rocket blast that lead to deafness and brain damage. Doctors claimed

he had a “preexisting condition” and wouldn’t receive benefits, and lost his bonus which

meant he owed the Army $3000. That kind of treatment of a veteran who serves makes

Matthews feel sorrow similar to hearing about an inmate given the death penalty and then

later exonerated – both stories that give “that same kind of sickening feeling inside you.”

This description gives a wake-up call to the audience concerning the guilt the nation should

feel over the mistreatment of soldiers like Town, who give of themselves “so completely…

because they believe.” This statement both raises the moral guilt the audience feels, as well

as reiterating the secular experience. Soldiers like Town don’t need to have a specific faith

or religion or object of trust; as long as they hold a belief, they can come together.

Matthews uses religious language without similar belief, a ritual of confession without

common doctrine. Matthews then directs the moral responsibility on the audience

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members themselves. “We all have to think about what we can do about it,” Matthews says,

before moving on to the next song.

This moral shift of responsibility is given to the DVD audience as well. An insert

provided with the recording includes a special note about Town. After providing details

about the story, it moves to a moralistic message. “Supporting our troops entails providing

them with complete, timely care sustained during their military service. Providing this care

is a moral obligation for our nation and should be our highest priority at home.” While this

note raises awareness of the problem wounded veterans experience and the audience’s

culpability in it, no outlet for remorse or repentance is given. The audience is not told how

to atone for their contribution to evil, or how to give justice in this situation. Matthews, on

stage and in his note, leads the audience in confession but not towards change. Instead, he

plays two songs that complete the atoning process without providing justice or repentance.

In response to his story, Matthews plays “Gravedigger”, a song of lament. Matthews

asks for a shallow grave to feel the rain, to feel the sadness going around him. Two of the

characters are particularly fitting in light of Town’s mistreatment, “Little Mikey Carson”

and “Muriel Stonewall”. Mikey died at the age of 8 in the song, a death before his time that

feels different than the death of a one hundred year old. Muriel outlived her children who

died in World War II, and Matthews sings, “You should never have to bury your own

babies”. Both of these characters develop a similar mix of injustice and sorrow – something

isn’t right when an 8-yr old dies or when a mother buries her own. The feeling of sorrow

experience hearing of Jon Town is extended thought the music and lyrics of “Gravedigger”.

A cover of Daniel Lanois’ “The Maker” provides absolution for Matthews and the

audience. Played immediately following “Gravedigger”, the emotion of sorrow continues as

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Matthews sings about his and his audience’s deaths. They enter into “deep water / black,

and cold like the night” after running “a twisted mile”, leaving them like “a stranger / in the

eyes of the maker”. Mistreated veterans like Town are a stain on Matthews and the

audience, leaving them imperfect and strange – guilty. But amidst the fear and “fog in

[their] eyes”, Saint John comes walking to them with the maker. This shift ignores the

sorrow and shame the audience feels, and instead gives each of them a pass. Now, despite

whatever guilt they ought to feel, Matthews and the audience are not, “stranger[s] in the

eyes of the maker”; they no longer carry the sin of veteran mistreatment. When Matthews

sings about, “the flaming swords… burning in the eyes of the maker”, he places justice in

the Maker’s hands, atoning himself and the audience of their guilt. Absolution has come, but

at what cost? None to Matthews or the audience, that much is certain. Nothing has been

done to care for Town and his fellow veterans. Neither are follow-up actions or

organizations offered to support or promote tangible change. Instead, the audience has

experienced internal change in emotion while following the rituals of confession and

absolution during the concert.

Climax

Later in the show, Matthews stops to share another story. Completely unlike the

monologue on veteran affairs, Matthews tells of his family trip to South Africa and the time

he spent with the Khoisan. An indigenous tribe in the region, the Khoisan people enters

into trances and dancing as a part of their religious practice, and Matthews spectates

during one. Matthews says, “The music blew my mind… beyond anything I had ever heard.”

The songs about animals and seasons of ancient origin are from “before words” using only

moans and chants instead of lyrics. The women clap, and the men dance around the fire.

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Matthews describes the difficulty of understanding what was going on as he contemplates

whether he should get a doctor for the people experiencing these vivid trances; yet his

daughters are in rapture, unafraid and in wonder at the scene. For the Khoisan, this is a

religious experience, one where beliefs lead to rituals to perform, working together. But

Matthews separates the ritual of the song from the beliefs that are associated with it. His

rendition of this “magic experience” with the people “who gave birth to God” comes in the

form of the song “Eh Hee”.

Immediately Matthews starts laying a simple rhythm and melody down on the

guitar, saying, “And I do my own thing.” While this song derives from the Khoisan, it’s not

about them anymore. This song is Matthews’s own ritual, an attempt to touch the spiritual

without believing in it. Singing his own chants to introduce the song, Matthews begins the

first verse with the phrase, “Praise God, who has many names, but the devil has many

more”, a perfect example of the multiplicity of beliefs allowed in this ritual. He and the

audience do not have to have the same God (or devils for that matter), so long as they have

the song to sing together. Those who have “answers no matter the question”, doctrines or

beliefs they consider as objectively true, are naïve and ignorant to “believe in a neat little

world.”

There might be an objective reality, but Matthews and the participating audience

are “avoiding the truth”, whatever it might be. And in the context of this concert, that truth

is mistreatment of veterans of war like Specialist Town. Everyone in Radio City Hall has

performed confession, received emotional absolution, and now can ignore the problems

that need changing by entering into a spiritual moment. The narrative of the concert has

continued without stopping to provide room for a tangible act of mercy or justice for the

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veterans who need it. The climax of the typical narrative resolves the conflict, yet those

seeing Matthews perform Live at Radio City ignore the conflict because Matthews ignores it.

What is resolved, however, is any inner turmoil that Matthews or the audience might be

feeling.

Falling Action

The perfect transition to lead us back down from the climax of the concert narrative

is the next song in the set, “Betrayal”. Matthews leaves the stage and gives Reynolds, who

has been referenced throughout the concert but provides accompaniment to Matthews, a

solo song. Reynolds does not begin the song with a story, introduction, or explanation.

“Betrayal” acts like a continuation of the trance that was begun with “Eh Hee”, allowing the

audience to land after the spiritual transcendence that occurred. Watching Reynolds play is

more than enough to understand the role this song plays. There are no lyrics, just

instrumental music, and Reynolds gives barely any thought to the audience. This song is

personal, an individual rather than a corporate experience. For much of “Betrayal”,

Reynolds has his eyes shut, continuing the experience for himself as much as the individual

members of the audience.

Matthews makes one last commentary that decisively proves what the sentiment

should be concerning the war and the concert. He reminisces about the last time he and

Reynolds played at Radio City – it was “the night the war began.” Without mentioning once

Jon Town, or actions that ought to be taken as a result of what has been experienced at the

concert, Matthews comes to a conclusion. In uncertain times, “what ever your belief is…

this really is a time when we need to try and figure out a way to get it together with each

other.” Matthews and the audience have experienced a moment of transcendence by

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participating in this concert. That sense of unity, of coming together, is the take-away,

rather than assistance for those mistreated because of the war. Although the logic of the

concert narrative doesn’t follow, the experience feels like resolution, like unity, like

completeness.

The last song is a fitting close to the concert. “Two Step” brings back the themes of

previous songs, such as love and transcendence (“We might last for a thousand year or

more if not for this / our flesh and blood”). The chorus ties a bow on the narrative of the

concert. Matthews sings, “Celebrate we will because life is short but sweet for certain…/ …

to be sure these days continue / these things we cannot change.” Everyone in the venue has

no more to be guilty of, since the concert has absolved the audience and moved them to

transcendent unity. Celebration is the order of the day so eat, drink, and be merry, for there

is nothing to be sorry about – at least nothing Matthews or the audience can do anything

about.

When the World Ends

Live at Radio City is meant to be a ritual of secular spirituality. Matthews and the

audience that attends the concert attempt to situate themselves between the extremes of

Durkheim’s religious-profane continuum. Yet this secular space is filled with empty rituals

– an act of confession, feelings of absolution, and moments of transcendence, yet all of

which are not grounded in shared beliefs. Everyone at the concert recognized the evil that

surrounds mistreatment of those who sacrifice for others; but without a common

foundation of religion there is little room for a unified action to do something about the

issue. Matthews’ efforts to motivate change for wounded veterans are nullified by the

narrative structure he sets up in Live at Radio City. Because his audience performed the

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rituals in the rising action, climax, and falling action of the concert, no change in belief or

action is needed.

Matthews’ musical and discursive choices made his rhetoric ineffective because it

didn’t do anything, in two senses. First, Matthew’s rhetoric accomplished no outward

actions as a result of the concert. Audience members could not support, donate, or petition

for a change to occur, and therefore did not change their actions compared to before the

concert. The second concerns the missing internal change in belief. Since Matthews

emphatically chose to keep beliefs out of the concert, whether political beliefs concerning

the Iraq war or beliefs in spiritual matters, the audience members could not experience a

change in what they held to be true. Durkheim’s definition of religion is beneficial to the

field of rhetoric in this regard. Because religion concerns rituals that grow out of

foundational beliefs, rhetorical efforts that change beliefs can lead to action.

Not all concerts have to fall into the trap of a secular narrative. In Chesher’s

ethnography of a U2 concert, Bono leads his audience through songs of faith, love, and

unity, but chooses a different ending (2007). The climax of the show is not a musical

moment but a participatory call to action. Bono changes the beliefs of his audience

concerning the reality of world poverty, and gives them all an opportunity to text their

support for the eradication of poverty. Unlike Matthews, the rhetorical actions Bono takes

actually work to fight poverty. Despite the hopes Matthews might have had, the secular

narrative he provides make Live at Radio City an ineffective attempt to promote real change

for veterans’ treatment.

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