4 Songs that mention Nixon and one about Trump

I had the great pleasure last week of seeing James Taylor play at Bethel Woods, which is a performing arts center at the site of the 1969 Woodstock festival (and, coincidentally, near the Catskills house of Bowie and Iman). Other than that their careers overlapped and they are both generally considered classic rock artists, Bowie and Taylor don’t have a whole lot in common. But when Taylor performed his song, “Line ‘Em Up,” and explained the backstory, I realized there was one thing, or more accurately one person who connects the two singers: Richard Nixon.

Do you remember your president Nixon? That, of course is a line from Bowie’s “Young Americans.” “Young Americans” is not a song about Nixon, and, indeed, the question can come across as something of a non-sequitur. Yes, I remember President Nixon, why do you ask? Of course in 1975, when Bowie released “Young Americans,” everyone remembered Richard Nixon, who had resigned in disgrace the previous year. Bowie’s evocation of the then-recently former president was as one of several images of a gritty America that posed a challenging place to build a life for young newlyweds, but was nonetheless compelling and vibrant.

Taylor, in introducing his song, explained that at first it sounds like a political song, but that it wasn’t. The opening verse about Nixon was inspired by watching the last moments of his presidency. Nixon gave one final speech at the White House, to teary-eyed staff, and then had to walk to a waiting helicopter to depart. From Taylor’s perspective, the problem with this was that Nixon’s distinctively atavistic gait would make for an awkward image. The solution was to position staff so Nixon could shake hands all the way to the helicopter. And that’s what the opening of “Line ‘Em Up” is about.

The other famous rock song that I think of that mentions Nixon very much is political— the Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young song, “Ohio,” about the 1970 Kent State shootings. The incident involved Ohio National Guard killing four and injuring nine students including anti-war protesters. Neil Young wrote Ohio, which opens with the line, “tin soldiers and Nixon coming.” Young, who Bowie admired and covered (“I’ve Been Waiting for You,” not, “Ohio”), also mentioned Nixon in the song, “Campaigner” — “even Richard Nixon has got soul.” Actually, I think that song is all about Nixon, maybe even suggesting that he, “a lonely visitor” who campaigned all his life to “cause a stir” might have been an alien, almost an anti-Ziggy.

“Campaigner” is, in a way, more like the other three songs that mention Nixon than “Ohio,” which is a protest song. In the other cases, Nixon presented such a strange and unrelatable figure that he made for a fascinating subject for youthful artists. But Young certainly knew how to write a protest song, and few have ever been as devastating and effective as “Ohio.” These days, despite the best efforts of Bruce Springsteen, U2 and others, we don’t have anything quite like it, though arguably we need protest songs more than ever. In introducing “Line ‘Em Up,” Taylor wistfully looked down and remarked, “I never thought I’d say it, but I miss Richard Nixon.” Everyone knew what he meant and almost everyone laughed (my wife overheard someone not laugh but instead tut-tut, “why did he have to get political” or some such thing. Why this person seemed surprised by the political leanings of a crowd who came to Bethel Woods to see James Taylor is a mystery to me, but that’s another story).

I do have a nominee for an anti-Trump song that rivals “Ohio’s” poetic lethality, though it never gained anything like the kind of traction that “Ohio” did. I’m thinking of Aimee Mann’s “Can’t You Tell,” which she wrote and recorded for the “30 Songs for 30 Days” project in 2016, which rolled out, you guessed it, 30 anti-Trump songs toward the end of that year’s presidential campaign. I don’t remember any of the other songs, but I surely remember Mann’s. The premise of the song was that Trump actually didn’t want to be president, but a manic hunger to avenge perceived slights compelled him to run— “I don’t want this job, my god; can’t you tell I’m unwell.” “Unwell,” what a great word for Trump.

Mann’s song actually has trace echoes of Bowie’s “Savior Machine” (1970), which is not a protest song. In that, though, the eponymous machine pleads with a compliant public to stop it (him?) before its machine logic leads to it initiating something catastrophic— “Please don’t believe in me, please disagree with me.” Mann’s refrain casts Trump in a similar role— “Isn’t anybody going to stop me?” The answer, I guess, was no.

I was born two weeks before Richard Nixon was inaugurated, so I lived through his entire presidency. I have fuzzy memories of him on television and a vague recollection of how he was both a subject of resentment and ridicule. I didn’t fully understand what I was living through at the time, but ya know, like James Taylor, I too miss Richard Nixon.