Dig the Surrealism of Gabriel’s ‘Dirt’

Michael Jackson might be the King of Rock, Pop & Soul--or, hey, might not--but there’s still one unofficial and unsolicited pop-royalty title that’s not the slightest bit in dispute: Peter Gabriel remains the King of Music Video.

Gabriel’s riveting “Digging in the Dirt” clip, his first of the ‘90s, is a cogent reminder that the form can still be an art form, an idea that’s been easy to lose sight of during the paltry pickings these last few video years. His welcome return to the airwaves leads off this month’s Sound & Vision, where recent music clips are rated on a 0-100 scale.

Peter Gabriel, “Digging in the Dirt.” Symbolism, as a concept, has pretty well worn out its welcome on MTV, erstwhile land of junior-league Fellinis and Dalis in diapers. But Gabriel reminds us of the power surrealist imagery can have in skilled hands, putting bizarre visuals to use not for their own sake but in the service of finding an emotional truth--and it resonates, movingly, in a way a strictly literal interpretation never could.

One wag dubbed this “the John Bradshaw video,” which isn’t inappropriate: As the title indicates, the song is concerned with seeking healing in uncovering past hurts--the usual dysfunctional stuff. Lest cynics turn on their gag-o-meters, Gabriel dramatically portrays this therapeutic process as a thrilling, terrifying, viscerally cinematic one with enough intuitive impact to send chills down the spines of you and your inner child.

The tension-wrought verses have the singer driving a convertible and angrily swatting at an elusive bee, in the process taking out his frustration on his lovely seatmate, who gets swatted as well. Flashbacks show a disillusioning family beach scene in which the boy learns the patterns he’s put to use as a bitter adult. But as the music switches to a more comforting major key in the chorus, so does the video switch to the symbolism of burial, unearthing and resurrection.

And it’s in these “digging” scenes that director John Downer and his visual collaborator, Spanish artist Zush, really go to town--using the kind of clay animation well-remembered from Gabriel’s “Sledgehammer” and “Big Time” videos--in rendering the shape-shifting legion of demons that will wither once exposed to sunlight. Representing real traumas or special-effects ones, busted windshields or broken hearts, “Dirt” manages to be creepy, discomforting and--finally--surprisingly consoling. 97

Paul Westerberg, “Dyslexic Heart.” At last, a video for a movie theme that doesn’t barrage us with superfluous scenes from the movie. Instead, director Cameron Crowe has framed this clip as a witty complement to--and not just an advertisement for--”Singles.” Moreover, he’s taken several of the bit players from the film (including Jeremy Piven, who has a memorable scene in the feature as an obnoxious grocery checkout boy) and actually made them the leads here. The setting, natch, is a Seattle nightclub, where fleetingly exchanged glances say anything and everything as ex-Replacement Westerberg waxes raspily earnest on the near-impossibility of reading the other sex’s smoke signals. 85

R.E.M., “Drive.” Celebration, or cynical insinuation? While Michael Stipe gravely intones the not-so-sincere lines “Hey kids, rock ‘n’ roll, nobody tells you where to go” on the downbeat soundtrack, he spends the entire black-and-white video being passed over the heads of a packed-to-the-gills young audience. And while superstar performers like Bruce Springsteen and Bono are known for getting a kick out of leaping into crowds for just that sort of hand-to-hand contact, given R.E.M.’s historic disdain for such grandstanding, it’s hard not to conclude that the band is making some sort of derisive comment--however ambiguous--on the pack mentality here. Either way, the sustained image of Stipe’s body held aloft by so many disembodied limbs gradually becomes eerily hypnotic. 72

Kris Kross, “I Missed the Bus.” The star tykes’ latest rap is a cautionary tale for preteens about the dangers of oversleeping. And this cute clip--right in time for Halloween--presents the subsequent school day as a part of that extended comic nightmare, complete with nefariously ghoulish bus drivers and teachers and zombified fellow students. As a result, they will “never ever ever miss the bus again.” . . . And here you thought all today’s kids had to worry about were drugs, guns, gangs and sexually transmitted diseases. 62

Too Much Joy, “Donna Everywhere.” Where does all the money go on those wacky rock video shoots? In this one you literally find out, as the Too Much Joy boys are handed a $36,000 budget that rapidly diminishes as a running tally keeps score of remaining funds at the bottom of the screen. Armed with a record-company advance, the irreverent power-pop band sets up shop and cameras at a local hall, where cash goes for everything from dry-ice effects to paying off the gendarmes who show up to bust the gig. True, ironically self-referential videos are almost a dime a dozen nowadays, but this one’s still a fitfully amusing throwaway. 61

Annie Lennox, “Walking on Broken Glass.” Lennox has made some remarkable videos for her excellent “Diva” album, but this baroque scenario, while starting off interestingly enough, fizzles well before the fade. As the male lead, actor John Malkovich goes back to his “Dangerous Liaisons” period garb to play Lennox’s flirtatious foil, picking up on every corseted young thing in sight at a dignified soiree while the jealous singer gets increasingly soused in furious response. This setup needs a good punch line to pay off, but the fact that Lennox and Malkovich merely kiss and make up at video’s end seems to negate the whole battle-of-the-sexes point of the thing. 50

Roger Waters, “What God Wants.” Rock video or National Geographic special? Waters populates his latest cranky clip with TV-watching zoo denizens--the critters symbolically standing in for, you know, us . Apparently, it’s a fascist-couch-potato jungle out there. As left-of-center agitprop-pop goes, Waters can rant with the best of them--and has crafted some devastating songs before that aren’t all that dissimilar to this one--but his politics are too scattershot here. It’s as if he’s so enraged by conservatism, organized religion, the shallowness of popular culture and everything else that bugs him that he can’t settle down long enough to settle on a target, lyrically or visually. We’re with the orangutans: Let’s change the channel. 48

Ice Cube, “Be True to the Game.” What he really means to say is, be true to your race ( not sung to the tune of the Beach Boys). And given the weight of Ice Cube’s apparent intolerance, that leaves out a whole array of lifestyle choices for blacks.

In three separate scenarios here, the glum-faced, gun-toting rapper is seen kidnaping fellow African-Americans who are bluntly caricatured as traitors to their roots. The first kidnapee is a buppie who dares to live in the suburbs with a blond young thing; the second is a glitzy, Stepin Fetchit-type entertainer clearly intended to resemble crossover superstar Hammer; the last is a corporate-climbing toady who chuckles at his white co-workers’ racist drawings. The message is clear: Black integrationists are Uncle Toms.

The violence in the abduction scenes is joltingly realistic. But our gangsta/hero has other intentions for his bound-and-gagged victims, pulling them from his car trunk into a re-education center where, suitably trussed, they’re to be deprogrammed by the preaching of a Farrakhan-like figure. At worst, this Cube clip is a disturbing glorification of terrorist tactics; at best, it’s a sour celebration of separatism. 18

Madonna, “Erotica.” Say, Burt Ward, you’re looking great these days, but what’s the deal with the gold tooth? And who are those crooks you’re punishing with that cat-o’-nine-tails? Robin . . . you freak! 12