In a political moment where each day comes with another punch to the hefty gut of democracy, celebrating the Fourth of July was not top of mind for me. Not even my grandfather’s expertly grilled hot dogs, slathered in ketchup, could fill me with patriotism. The day left me with a bellyache, mystery meat toiling in my stomach as I watched President Donald Trump sign what he has deemed The Big Beautiful Bill.
The bill, indeed large but decidedly ugly, scales back crucial programs, including Medicaid and food assistance, to pay for $4.5 trillion in tax cuts. These tax cuts ultimately benefit the wealthiest Americans, the nonpartisan Congressional Budget Office finding that families in the highest income decile will receive around $12,000 in tax savings, while America’s poorest families are estimated to pay an additional $1,600. Trump struggled to get the bill through the Senate and the House, but ultimately succeeded on July 3. The President made a spectacle of his congressional victory, descending onto the White House’s south lawn to the triumphant playing of trumpets, signing the bill before an audience of military families on Independence Day.
And while Trump signed away the livelihoods of millions of Americans, barbecues across the country were grilling to the patriotic stylings of various musicians. From Miley Cyrus’s “Party in the U.S.A.” to “American Girl” by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, American-centric music dominated this Fourth of July’s U.S. Spotify charts. Second on the list was Bruce Springsteen’s 1984 single, “Born in the U.S.A.” which received 1.473 million plays.
It’s easy to understand why Springsteen’s song appeals to the American patriot. From the album’s iconic cover — the deep blue of Springsteen’s worn denim and the red cap tucked into his back pocket — to the chorus’s guttural refrain: “born in the U.S.A.” But even a rudimentary glance at the song’s lyrics unveils Springsteen’s biting critique of U.S. involvement in Vietnam.
Originally titled “Vietnam Blues,” “Born in the U.S.A.” is the anthem of a disillusioned Vietnam war veteran. The song’s punchy verses detail the lived realities of American veterans. The veteran is chosen for service — “they put a rifle in my hand / Sent me off to a foreign land” — fights the good fight, and eventually returns to an unforgiving American benefits system — “went down to see my V.A. man / He said ‘Son, don’t you understand?’”
Juxtaposed with the narrative verse is Springsteen’s epic, repetitive chorus: “I was born in the U.S.A.” The simplicity of the chorus hammers home the song’s message that only the U.S.A. would send their sons to fight for a futile, imperialistic cause, and then refuse to help them after they’ve been bloodied, bruised and forever traumatized. Springsteen’s song effectively equates failure in Vietnam with the failure of the American dream, capturing the cold war anomie that defined the early 1980s.
Despite this clear messaging, Springsteen’s song has been continually misunderstood. Fourth of July streams aside, in 1984, President Ronald Reagan’s team asked Springsteen if they could use “Born in the U.S.A.” in the President’s reelection campaign. Springsteen refused, but Reagan referenced the song and its musician in a stump speech anyway. This catapulted Springsteen into the political world, as he became incredibly outspoken against Reagan and his policies. Other campaigns, including those for Bob Dole and Pat Buchanan attempted to utilize Springsteen’s song until he objected.
How then does a song so explicitly anti-American continue to be played as an affirmation of American patriotism? The question expands beyond Bruce Springsteen. I think back to Don McLean’s 1971 song, “American Pie.” “American Pie” is the rock and roll equivalent of medieval epic poetry, Don McLean its bard. The song takes listeners on a journey through 1960’s American music from the Beatles to Bob Dylan. And while there are many positive references to American life, the chorus waves goodbye not only to Miss American Pie, but also the elusive American dream.
The line “drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry” has long been heralded as a metaphor for the death of the American dream. Levees, man-made embankments meant to protect areas surrounding rivers and canals from flooding, were places of socialization for young adults in the 1960s midwest. The levee being “dry” connotes a couple of different things: literally, there was no water (an environmentalist’s take perhaps!) and figuratively, the new American era is void of the vibrancy and opportunity that defined the 1960s.
“American Pie” celebrates American culture while simultaneously taking the time to critique it. But the song’s commentary is often overlooked, listeners using McLean’s lyrics as evidence of American absolutism.
This trend has continued beyond the 70s and 80s. Contemporary music that critiques American governance has been aestheticized by internet culture, internet users fashioning a sort of neo-Americana aesthetic that the musicians themselves tend to disapprove of. One pertinent example of this was Ethel Cain’s “American Teenager,” a 2022 single accompanying her debut album “Preacher’s Daughter.”
The song expresses Cain’s frustration with the idyllic “American Teenager” of heartland America — the cheer captain, the star quarterback and the preacher’s daughter — using anti-war themes to confront listeners with the reality that this vision can never be truly achieved. She paints this picture vividly when describing the tragic story of the boy next door: “the neighbor’s brother came home in a box / But he wanted to go so maybe it was his fault / Another red heart taken by the American dream.”
Unfortunately for Cain the internet seems to have missed the memo, using the song on videos with the hashtag #vintageamericana, among others, to promote the very aesthetic that Cain is attempting to critique.
Is media literacy truly dead? Or are Americans ignorant of the issues at hand when we’ve got a little pep in our step? While both of these are likely true to some extent, I think part of the reason is that the ability to critique American culture, norms and society is the most American thing that there is. Being critical of American life boils down to our most basic freedoms, the foundations on which this country was created. In short, to be anti-American is American. Writer and activist James Baldwin puts it better than I ever could: “I love America more than any other country in the world and, exactly for this reason, I insist on the right to criticize her perpetually.”
Lucy Dixon could eat five hot dogs in one sitting.
