If it took God six days to create the heavens and the earth before taking a rest day as the “Book of Genesis” tells us, we can be certain that by the dawn of that seventh day, storytellers of every stripe were already hard at work conjuring tales of the destruction of Earth and all its creatures.
That theme of apocalypse—“The end times are here!”—has persisted ever since, seemingly built into the fabric of existence as surely as night was designed to follow day, or for the terror of the underworld to serve as the counterweight to the beauty of the heavens.
“In my beginning is my end ,” wrote T.S. Eliot in his “Four Quartets,” getting things down to the micro level of our personal mortality. Our own deaths are daunting enough, but writ large as apocalypse, the end of everything and everyone, it takes on a kind of mystical allure, like a ravenous fire that sees us fleeing in terror while fighting the urge to glance back in awe.
Apocalypse comes calling in many forms, including the end of a way of life, the loss of trust in one’s land, in the values of those who have power to shape your life.
Ancient myths vary in their framings of the apocalypse arriving via famine or flood, earthquake, fire or pestilence—all of them acts of nature but often with some god or other setting them in motion as either punishment for human depravity or score settling with other gods. In Christianity, the end has long been posited as the Battle of Armageddon, pitting the forces of good vs. evil in a final struggle for domination.
Then along came science and the atomic age, and nuclear physicist Robert Oppenheimer’s famous lamentation about the atomic bomb’s world-ending potential, framed as a declaration he took from his studies of Hinduism and Shiva, its goddess of destruction:: “Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.”
Some 25 years after which Crosby, Stills & Nash launched “Wooden Ships,” in what turned out to be a story about survivors trying to escape the calamity.
***
***
“Wooden Ships” is one of those songs I have often found myself singing or humming little snippets of while going about my days since its 1969 debut. It’s sticky in the way that all great songs are, regularly creeping back into my consciousness unbidden for quickie lyrical phrases (“Wooden ships on the water, very free, and easy…”), David Crosby’s sweet tenor slowly talking down all the turbulence that might otherwise impede his ship’s progress.
Crosby composed much of the song while christening his new boat docked at Fort Lauderdale, toying with melodic riffs and chord changes on his Martin guitar. He invited Stephen Stills and Jefferson Airplane’s Paul Kantner to join him there, and the song, all acoustic in the creating, emerged more or less spontaneously, with Stills and Kantner working out most of the lyrics.
A few months later, Crosby, Stills & Nash convened in a Hollywood studio for the recorded electric version, Stills in particular lighting things up with some striking guitar solos, mostly improvised. “He didn’t plan anything out because he didn’t have to,” Crosby told “Guitar Player” magazine in November, 2022, just two months before he died. “The guy’s good, man. He took a few whacks at it, and we picked the best one.”
For all the song’s dreamy allure, or perhaps because of it, I’d never tried to cohere the lyrics into any comprehensive understanding of its meaning. But in this summer of such great discontent, with the words “dystopia, apocalypse, and armageddon” wafting through the air with the profusion of pot at a ’60s rock festival, it struck me that “Wooden Ships” might bear closer examination.
Fortunately, the song requires no great exegetical sleuthing. Despite its feints toward a kind of dreamy psychedelia, Crosby laid it out straight in a 2012 interview with the website MusicRadar: “It’s a post-apocalyptic story. The world has gone to hell…The idea was that we were sort of sailing away from that madness.”
“That madness” being not only the relatively new threat of nuclear apocalypse, but the additional heavy background of the times, which included a horrid and fraudulently pursued war, a dishonest, power-drunk president, multiple assassinations of beloved figures, and a culture in great upheaval, with a near-pervasive sense that we were divided as never before by perspectives on race, gender, generations, and radically different conceptions of what constitutes patriotism.
Yes, this was 56 years ago. Don’t that beat all?
Let’s give a listen now to Crosby, Stills & Nash’s take, at least at the time, on one way to address all the upheaval.
***
***
So: our heroes are fleeing a nuclear holocaust in wooden ships that are safer from pervasive radioactivity than are the metal ships that had largely replaced them in the modern age for battle purposes, ironically enough. They’re sailing “free and easy…the way it’s supposed to be”—though no ease will be forthcoming, apparently, for the “silver people on the shoreline,” presumably shipless, radiated and doomed. And though,
“Horror grips us as we watch you dieAll we can do is echo your anguished cries”
…the sailors are, in the end, left only to:
“Stare as all human feelings die.”
That last was likely a hard line to process and write for Messrs. Stills and Kantner, and it’s a hard line to hear in what we otherwise understand as a lamentation of unparalleled human suffering. What is the effect on survivors of essentially adopting a lifeboat strategy of saving themselves and precious few others—while the great preponderance of living things have already expired or soon will?
As for the survivors, what is there to save of those who have let “all human feelings die?” One could sail for a very long while before recovering from that condition.
Granted, there are strict limits to how many people can fit on boats. But if we pull out for a broader focus on the metaphor of apocalypse and apply it to the political situation of that or any other time where fear and despair take hold of a country or the larger world, there’s something deeply unsettling about the specter of “Wooden ships on the water, very free (and easy),” with the song’s composer suggesting that sailing away from it all to “escape the madness” is the only (or merely preferred?) answer.
Four years later, another singer, in perhaps no less charged a time, offered an alternative.
***
***
“Everybody I talk to is ready to leave
With the light of the morning
They’ve seen the end coming down long enough to believe
That they’ve heard their last warning
Standing alone
Each has his own ticket in his hand
And as the evening descends
I sit thinking ’bout Everyman”
That’s the first verse of “For Everyman,” the title track of Jackson Browne’s second album, which served as a direct response to the theme of sailing away in “Wooden Ships.” Browne was well-acquainted with Crosby, who actually sang harmony on the song, so Browne’s was not so much a rebuke to his fellow Laurel Canyon musician as it was just an alternate take on the prevailing question of, “What are we to do now?”
Browne’s “everyman” is essentially the stand-in for those who stand and fight, right where they are, for the better world that virtually all music pines for and tries to describe.
If those on a ship heading elsewhere “each have their own tickets in hand,” Browne’s everyman has a neighbor’s hand in his own. They’re in the struggle together, and refusing to turn their backs on the carnage they see.
Browne’s is essentially a humanist, communitarian vision, in contrast to the stark, “Sorry, but good-bye” message of the wooden ship passengers sailing off to save what is left of the society they hope to re-establish elsewhere.
Let’s give it a listen before wrapping up.
***
***
Besides the words “dystopia, apocalypse, and armageddon,” I’m hearing others with increasing intensity since January. “Canada,” for one.
Also: “Portugal,” Spain,” Costa Rica,” “Mexico.”
And: “I have dual citizenship from my mom’s side, so…”
Apocalypse comes calling in many forms, including the end of a way of life, the loss of trust in one’s land, in the values of those who have power to shape your life.
Part of me says I’m old, and this is a fight the younger generations had better be prepared to take on now themselves to help shape the country they want. (As I cast an eye on wooden ships headed to distant lands—“far away, where we might laugh again…”)
Another part considers my own family here, building their lives and cocooned to a great degree within extended family, jobs, their local communities. Go farther afield from them, leave because “they don’t need us?”
Don’t they? Don’t I need them?
And were I to leave, would the forces taking ever-increasing control of all facets of our lives even permit the likes of me to come back for visits?
And how terrified should I be, should everyone be, that I’m even asking these kinds of questions?
***
In the spirit of Woody, Pete, Phil, and others in the noble tradition of the brilliant and biting protest song….
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LQXvY4wL9w0
***
See and hit the Follow button at https://www.facebook.com/andrew.hidas for regular 1-minute or less dispatches from the world’s great thinkers, artists and musers, accompanied always by lovely photography.
Deep appreciation to the photographers! Unless otherwise stated, some rights reserved under Creative Commons licensing
Homepage rotating banner photos (except for library books) by Elizabeth Haslam https://www.flickr.com/photos/lizhaslam/
Library books by Larry Rose, Redlands, California, all rights reserved, contact: larry@rosefoto.com
Apocalypse by jaci XIII, São Paulo, Brasil https://www.flickr.com/photos/turatti/
Crosby, Stills & Nash and Jackson Browne album covers from the public domain
Brilliant analysis of two of my favorite songs (and albums). It had never occurred to me to see them as contrasting responses to the apocalypse, but it fits. Thank you!
Very much my pleasure, Jefferson, thanks for stopping in!
David Crosby’s “Wooden Ships” brings to mind so many other songs sending a similar apocalyptic theme. Creedence Clearwater called it “a bad moon rising.” Leonard Cohen’s “Everybody Knows” states the obvious that “the boating is leaking and the captain has lied.” Sager and Evans’ “2525” goes straight to a biblical prediction about humankind’s future–“if God’s a-comin “it’s…it’s time for the Judgement Day.” Bob Dylan’s “Desolation Row” has people screaming about an impending doom(“Titanic sailing at dawn” but still manages to have them absurdly ask, “Which side are you on? ” Johnny Cash’s “The Man Comes Around” fears that our transgressions will ultimately reveal that death, the fourth beast atop a pale horse, will lead us into Hell. David Bowie warned us in “Five Years” that unless we change our ways it may be too late. Tom Waits’ “Earth Died Screaming” depicts Earth’s final hours with haunting poignancy–“There was thunder, there was lightning/Then the stars went out and the moon fell from the sky… The poker’s in the fire and the locusts take the sky.” Barry McGuire’s “Eve of Destruction” blames our demise on war (“And even the Jordan River has bodies floatin’ ) and hypocrisy (“Hate your next door neighbor but don’t forget to say grace.”). Randy Newman’s “Political Science” uses humor and satire to describe America’s contribution (nuclear proliferation) to the apocalypse– Australia shouldn’t worry about all our nuclear weapons because we “Don’t wanna hurt no kangaroo.” In the end, David Crosby, like so many other songwriters, senses death as both a personal and universal inevitability (hopefully not).
I suspect yours could be a much longer list, Mr. Spencer, but this’ll do as a handy reference point…Just shows the universality and timelessness of the apocalyptic theme—and we haven’t even mentioned fiction!
Robert, wow! Great additions to Andrew’s typically fine explorations.
Should I stay or should I go now? If I go there will be trouble. If I stay it will be double. Different catalyst, same dilemma. . The wisdom of which decision was right can usually only be reached in retrospect. If you happened to be Jewish in 1938 Germany, Kristallnacht brought such decisions into sharp focus. For many, too late. My daughter went to New Zealand for study 7 years ago and has now decided to stay and applied for citizenship. Considering present conditions she doesn’t feel comfortable coming back here even for a visit. In retrospect, that choice makes her look like a genius. Which way that choice breaks for me has become a daily battle.
I definitely feel the authoritarian slide is well underway now, with the only thing that could stop or at least slow it being Trump losing Congress in ’26—though even that may be too little, too late. With the Republican Party essentially dead except as a vehicle for carrying out Trump’s orders and the Supreme Court devastatingly compliant with their “unitary executive” claptrap, there may either never be a recovery of true democratic norms, or it will take a generation or two. Either way, our generation and probably the next will likely be living under dark clouds, our Kristallnacht pivot moment perhaps being the specter of people grabbed, tackled and shackled on our streets by masked men with neither IDs nor explanations, their abductees transferred to hellholes with virtually no due process or appeal. Never thought I’d see the day when the highest court in the land would review that scene and decide, “Sure, do it all you want…”
I think for me, the question doesn’t come down so much on whether we go full fascist—we’re already too far down that road for my taste—but only whether I can leave behind so much and so many that I hold dear, whatever the political circumstance. Your daughter seems to have made a decision that suits her no-doubt accurate assessment of what has happened to this country, but I assume that leaves you pretty torn on how exactly to navigate that reality?
Dear Drew,
I was on one of those wooden ships about 15 years ago—figuratively speaking. Back then, Obama was in office, and despite the challenges, there was a sense of hope. I left the U.S. not in despair, but in search of a more affordable, sustainable life. Costa Rica offered that, and more: beauty, warmth, and a rhythm of living that felt human again.
But lately, I’ve come to realize that my Boeing 737 has turned into a wooden ship. Not because I’m fleeing nuclear fallout, but because the emotional and civic landscape I once trusted feels irradiated. My wife, who holds a valid visa, is now afraid to travel back to the “Great America Again.” She’s been detained at immigration before—no explanation, no apology, just missed flights and shaken nerves. Even I hesitate to return, wondering if my social media posts might be construed as treasonous.
Among the expat community here, there’s a shared exhaustion—not just with the current administration and its sycophants, but with the broader cultural shift toward apathy and denial. It’s not just the yes-men. It’s the normalization of blindness to suffering, the erosion of constitutional principles, the abandonment of democratic norms, the praise of autocrats, and the betrayal of allies like Ukraine. The list is long. And heavy.
I expected a wave of migration to Costa Rica—a modern exodus. But it hasn’t come. Is it because people have given up? Is there no hope left? No concern for the future of our children? Or have we simply tuned it all out?
Your invocation of Wooden Ships and For Everyman was spot on. But I wonder if today’s soundtrack has shifted. My AI companion, Copilot, offered a few songs that seem to capture the emotional climate now:
These songs don’t offer escape or unity. They offer witness. They name the numbness, the despair, the quiet horror of watching human feeling die.
So yes, Drew—some of us are still sailing. But the waters are darker now, and the ships feel lonelier. Whether we stay or go, the question remains: what are we saving, and who are we saving it for?
Warm regards, Kirk Thill San Juan, Costa Rica
Oh man, Kirk—so much to be pondered and said here, in a conversation that could go on for as many hours as we could bear before someone suggests: “Hey, how about a swim?” I’m going to respond here in no particular order to a few points you raise:
“The list is long. And heavy.” Part of why it’s heavy is because it’s long, but that’s only part of it, right? Because the “heaviness” is one of mood, depth, a darkness of soul that weighs everything down, and shortening the list won’t make it any lighter. This incipient loss of country and its place in the world as menace rather than exemplar is so new and shocking that it feels like the whole weight of the world is on this country’s shoulders, and we’re buckling under the pressure—all while the administration pretends we’re becoming Masters of the Universe. I really felt that line “And heavy.” Exactly right. Ooomphugg…
About the expected immigration wave to Costa Rica (and wherever else…): I think it’s early yet, but I’d be surprised if it didn’t happen to a noticeable degree in various desirable locations like yours. I think I’m like a lot of people in watching closely, hoping for some movement, some sign of effective resistance. If it doesn’t occur and things don’t turn to some degree at the mid-terms, then I suspect Trump & Co. will be gliding free on the Highway to Autocracy, much on the model of Orban in Hungary, if not worse. At that point, I’ll be surprised if emigration doesn’t skyrocket here. Yet even then, I’m not sure I could do it. It is a mammoth decision, involving countless factors, many of them competing. Ask me in November next year!!
Your “hesitation to return, wondering if my social media posts might be construed as treasonous” is exactly what has been going through my mind lately. Yesterday, trying to sort out my feelings on the Charlie Kirk shooting, pondering what I might want to share about it in this space or social media, I found myself pausing for a moment, wondering if it was “safe” to say one thing or other that might be construed negatively by someone compiling a list or just deciding to randomly select someone LIKE ME for a little round of vengeance. The idea seems crazy (except it’s not anymore), but what bothered me most is that it crossed my mind at all. Sure, there’s always danger out there, and many deranged people ready to do someone in, but everything—threat, fear, bellicosity— now seems all the more elevated, at least equal to or exceeding even the ’60s, when cities burned and the whole country’s soul seemed aflame.
Finally, I appreciate you & your AI friend popping out that song list to fit the tenor of these times. I’ll be girding my loins in coming weeks and take them one at a time!