Who Says All the Great Art is Made by Pinkos and Sissies?
Like me, you may be tired of the assumption that in order to create art of beauty and lasting quality one must be a card-carrying member of what has come to be known as the “liberal elite”. The sensible critic might ask whether somehow a craving for tofu and a predilection for sitting in lotus position is a prerequisite for transcendent self expression. Be assured, gentle reader, that I do not subscribe to that school of thought !!! To break this hurtful prejudice, I now present a critical overview of some of the fine visual art adorning the albums of a true, red-blooded, meat eating American artist. Ladies and gentleman, Mr. Ted Nugent.
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Cat Scratch Fever (1977)
The muted blue tones surrounding the self-portrait on “Cat Scratch Fever” (1977) are typical of his late Detroit period, drawing attention to the face. Much like the Mona Lisa, the observer must struggle to classify its enigmatic expression: on the surface it appears calm, yet there is a subtle intensity and a hint of some compelling emotional conflict that can never be precisely pinpointed.
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Scream Dream (1980)
1980’s “Scream Dream” represents a departure from stark self-portrait to a more surrealist sensibility. While the style may have changed, however, the emotional ambiguity that characterizes Nugent’s best work remains. Two distinct interpretations of this work are possible. The first is that the picture is a commentary on the thin line between man and machine in modern culture with the detailed portrayal of each muscle and sinew in Ted’s rugged form drawing the observer’s attention to the mechanical qualities of the human body and blurring the distinction between player and instrument.
The second interpretation is that Ted is agitated because he’s got two guitars but no hands to play them with.
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If You Can’t Lick ‘Em….Lick ‘Em (198 
Nugent’s next step continued his progression away from self-portrait in its purest form. Given the depth and richness of the character study on the cover of “If You Can’t Lick ‘em…Lick ‘em” (1988), only the most knowledgeable critic might perceive that this genre represented a true departure for Ted. Its depiction of a world weary and yet proud stance captures the dignity of the female boxer in the way no trashy modern film ever could. Some critics have referred to a subtle sexual provocativeness but I have a suspicion that this reflects the peculiar obsessions of those critics rather than anything intended by the artist.
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Son,
In no way is this blog a waste of time. In fact, I’ve never been so proud of you.
Dad
Dad, it’s time for dinner. Come to the dinner table and stop playing around on that internets.
Mum.
I recall seeing TN at the Baltimore Coliseum back in 1978 or something like that. I believe I was sitting way up at the top, left of stage. I must have blacked out for a while or ‘switched gears’, as sometimes happens in loud environments, because I suddenly realized that I was all alone up there, and was looking around for my party. I think much of the crowd left early because there were about 20 rows of empty bleachers below, then a group of 5. I don’t know what I was thinking, indulging risky action, but I remember taking a series of giant leaps over great blocks of empty seats to finally land next to the group, my party, say hello, and sit down. Most all the crew had the Cat Scratch Fever album, but I had a burning fever heart. Now I always carry ear-plugs and a T. Nugent look-alike lives on my street. I’ll try to get a picture up sometime.
Oh, A., your critiques are more accessible than UF’s. What a weirdo that on is, eh?
Phil,
Only a select few truly understand the Nuge. You are clearly one of those select few.
Anandamide
Perhaps Ted is screaming on the cover of Scream Dream from the tragic knowledge that, although he’s not wearing anything under the loincloth, his huge guitar-hands prevent him from doing the Wango Tango.
Or possibly from the slivers he got trying…..
Pure gold, my friend. Pure MF-ing gold. It’s what the blogosphere is all about, really. I only wish more people would put time into this sort of analysis.
Regards,
-Patrick H.
Thanks Patrick, but I only hooked up the cart. The Nuge did all the heavy pulling.
Wow. I’m impressed. It takes a brilliant mind to understand the artistic depth and vision of a mind as complex and brilliant as The Motor City Madman’s.
Hats off to you, sir.
Next up: Bon Scott. Truly a lyricist on par with any great poet, and Bon Scott wasn’t a WUSS! Take that, Keats!
Ahhh, Bon Scott….it does get the mind to churning. Thanks for the praise, but as I told PH, you were struck by an arrow from the Nuge’s crossbow, not mine.
Imádpom őt
köszönöm
My dad went hunting with Kevin Costner’s dad once.
That makes me kind of like Kevin Costner.
If my dad and Kevin Costner’s dad were at a family reunion that consisted of them two and Kevin Costner and I, they would sit at the big table and Kevin Costner and I would sit at the kid’s table.