Jon Gnarr and I have at least a few things in common. One of those is an affection for the anarcho-punk band Crass. When I was deep into my own Crass phase, the lyrics of pop musicians seemed pointless, facile, empty. Even other punk seemed lacking. The Sex Pistols sang about "Anarchy in the U.K." but not much was there to understand what that meant. The Clash sang about being oh so bored with the U.S.A., but then planned a money-grabbing tour here. Nothing was as political, or politically revelatory as Crass's "Bloody Revolutions" or "Big A, Little A." I learned a lot from Crass, knowledge I still carry with me today.
In "The Outlaw," the teenage Jon Gnarr believes Crass is the only band that matters. He's not too knowledgeable, fairly ignorant but a smart kid. When he finally hears John Lennon's "Working Class Hero" he thinks that its punk. I think this is what I identify with most. There was a point in my life when I was informed only by the things immediately around me, the things I had discovered myself. I had a smattering of books, a few painters I liked, and a few punk rock and metal records that I'd listen to in constant rotation.
When I got to college, my teachers opened some doors. I gained new appreciation for Shakespeare and Milton, and finally understood what it meant to really READ with a critical eye. But my friends also helped. I learned about Tom Waits, Leonard Cohen, Graham Parsons, Emmylou Harris, Nancy Griffith, Iris DeMent. I read Flannery O'Connor for the first time. I read Carson McCullers, Charles Bukowski, and Dostoyevsky. Suddenly there was a new world, richer and more beautiful than I had known about before.
I kind of feel like that's what "The Outlaw" is about, a kid realizing for the first time that life is larger than what is immediately around him. It's something that we learn once but always must struggle to remember.