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And that is why, by any close reading of the law, X-rated pop deserves its First Amendment cloak. No one can predict whether, in a cool retrospective glance a decade or so from now, today's raunch will give evidence of artistic value. Odds are that, as in any group portrait, the members of the blue brigade will soon emerge as individuals, some gifted, some not. But because it speaks from the gut of disenfranchised America, and because it has raised the crucial issue of freedom of expression vs. public propriety, the form already has political value. And clearly, because of its popularity, it does not offend "contemporary community standards": a lot of the community is laughing and singing along.
Other Americans are outside picketing, agitating and getting agitated. That is, last time anyone checked, still the American way. You may despise the work of Clay or Mapplethorpe, Crue or the Crew, and still embrace the concept of an America that allows them to find or lose an audience. They have the right to offend; you have the right to be offended.
You can be excited by their work and still care about the future of children. You can mourn the fact that the end of innocence now arrives at about the age of reason -- that toxic pop culture, not just from entertainment but from school and home, from the news and the street, reaches young children. If you are a parent, you can take responsibility for steering them toward maturity. It's your job and nobody else's.
After that, you're on your own. Entertainers shouldn't have to act as baby- sitters or Sunday school teachers. And the government should quit playing hall monitor to blue comics, metal defectives, rap randies -- and the real artists among them who, through subtlety or obscenity, will help us navigate our trip into the 21st century.