Rock Around the Clock

• Share

Jack Nicholson read the words of Abraham Lincoln. Aretha Franklin, a natural woman in a natural fur, sang a hymn to single motherhood from Les Miserables. Kermit the Frog sent Gonzo the Great searching for the White House. Barbra Streisand performed a knockout set and gave her benediction to the party's Arkansas hosts. Warren Beatty, recently married, spoke of political honeymoons. En Vogue and Boys II Men showed that a cappella renditions of The Star-Spangled Banner could have art and soul. Michael Jackson led a chorus of glamourati in We Are the World. Some geezer band from the '70s reunited to sing Don't Stop (Thinkin' About Tomorrow).

Who could stop singing Don't Stop? (David Letterman's advice to Fleetwood Mac: "Stop!") That catchy jingle was the only tune on America's mental jukebox last week, when movie and music stars descended on Washington in numbers not seen since the bond drives of World War II. The whole wide world of American tinsel and twang -- Oprah Winfrey, Little Richard, Kenny Rogers, Bill Cosby, Kathleen Battle, Macaulay Culkin, Harry Belafonte -- showed up, swelling the Rat Pack of John F. Kennedy's day to Hamelin proportions, offering its best wishes to a new Administration. Chuck Berry updated the lyrics to his '50s chugger Reelin' and Rockin': "I set my watch and it was quarter to eight,/ You know, Bill's gonna get this country straight." Rapper ( L.L. Cool J had the word from a new generation: " '93! You and me! U-ni-tee!/ Time to par-tee with Big Bill and Hillaree."

At this multimillion-dollar partee, Big Bill Clinton -- excuse us, William Jefferson Clinton -- played the role of First Audience. TV viewers of America's Reunion on the Mall on Sunday, or of Tuesday afternoon's Salutes to Children and Youth and the evening's Presidential Gala, could doze through all the dos. Clinton couldn't and wouldn't. A pretty fair performer himself, he knew that a speaker is only as good as his listeners. So he gave the victory fist to soprano (and fellow Arkansan) Barbara Hendricks. He misted up at Goldie Hawn's tale of her dead father. Jackson's song for AIDS victim Ryan White induced a dry cry in Clinton. "Mr. About-to-Be-President," as music mogul Quincy Jones addressed him, gave the thumbs-up to Bob Dylan, though the old folkie's mumble through Chimes of Freedom earned a look of wry amazement from First Daughter Chelsea.

Celebrity has its muscle in America, but politics has the power. Eddie Murphy can't drop a bomb, he can only make one. Steven Spielberg can beam E.T. home, but he can't run NASA. Superagent Mike Ovitz can't appoint a Supreme Court Justice (at least, we don't think he can). So the artists, most of them liberal Democrats, came to celebrate the politics of inclusion: after 12 years, or maybe 30, they were back on a party line to Washington clout.