READING IS FUCKINMENTAL / Jason Matthew Smith

TEENAGE WASTELAND

Of hormones and pulp.

Tell me this: Is there anything in the universe more annoying than the American teenager? With all of their surly, awkward, pimpled-ness, can you think of a segment of American society that is more loathed and loved than teenagers? I mean, just about every corporation and manufacturer worth its weight in Clearasil panders to the teen demographic. Most of the films Hollywood defecates into the theaters are geared toward teen boys who have lots of money to blow and want to see more tits and s’plosions. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, per se.

Same goes for music. Teenage rage and mooning over unrequited love have spawned the best and worst in songs. And books. How else do you account for the enduring popularity of Jack Kerouac’s On The Road? Teenagers. God bless ’em.

So to understand the hormone-injected inspiration behind pop culture, you gotta understand the American teen. A good place to start is Teenage Confidential, by Michael Barson and Steven Heller. It’s a graphics-intensive romp through the history of the teen in the U.S., through movie posters, album and magazine covers, and advertising. Some of the copy adorning the movie posters is absolutely priceless (from the 1940s B-movie, Girls Under 21: “Too old for playthings … and too young for love!”). The book focuses on the’40s, ‘50s, and early ’60s, so you’ll have to look elsewhere for a fleshed out treatise on The Jackson 5.

Gotta love the book covers from mid-1950s pulps, too—young delinquents arching their backs in suggestive poses, black leather jackets, cigarettes tucked behind ears, and titles such as Juvenile Jungle, Teen-Age Mafia, and Hate Alley. As a fan of these schlocky paperbacks, I can tell you that the contents are every bit as melodramatic as the titles and cover art. Good stuff. I shudder to think how what the cover of a pulp novel about my teenage years would say. Probably something like, Tragically Responsible: The Story of a Boy Who Works Part-Time for Milstead’s T.V. & Appliance, Makes His Car Payment on Time, and Never Gets Laid … But Abuses Himself Fourteen Times a Day to Photos Ripped From the J.C. Penney Catalog!     

Jason Matthew Smith is a Texan who never developed an accent, thanks to a steady diet of television reruns during his formative years. He now lives in Utah, where everyone thinks he sounds just like John Astin, the original Gomez Addams.