1970s, Onward: The "Blanding of America"
By the end of the 1960s, neon saw a steep decline in use in America’s cities. Skip DeBack explains that “municipal sign codes and public tastes [had] changed. The use of neon as ‘the’ choice for an electric sign was being replaced with cheaper alternatives” (DeBack). Additionally, new roadside development near the Interstate System was focused at off-ramps and interchanges, because, as Jens Hilke explains, the “design of [the] limited access highways prohibit[ed] businesses from having direct access to the highway itself. With so little space available around the interchanges, land became extremely valuable, limiting the diversity of business to only those with deep pockets: oil company gas stations, shopping malls, national and regional chains. The result – uniform, cookie-cutter architecture replaced regionally distinctive vernacular designs” (Hilke). Largely, this was indicative of a shift in American culture from the local and regional towards a larger national identity, marked by the rise of corporate hegemony.
Having traveled the country playing countless shows, even riding on Furthur, the psychedelic bus driven by Neal Cassady, Kerouac’s inspiration for Dean Moriarty in On the Road, The Grateful Dead are considered hardened road warriors. Their fans are known for driving vast distances just to see the next show on a tour, so naturally, folk themes of the road come up within their music as a means to talk about the journey of life. The closing track on 1970’s American Beauty, “Truckin’” is a chronicle of the band’s experience touring the country to perform, and their impressions of the uniformity of American culture.
"Arrows of neon and flashing marquees out on Main Street /
Chicago, New York, Detroit and it’s all on the same street /
Your typical city involved in a typical daydream / Hang it up and see what tomorrow brings”
The band acknowledges the uniform regularity in America’s streets following the construction of the Interstate Highway System, as neon and other forms of landscape vernacular were co-opted by chains, no longer unique to their regional location. Andrew Wood observed that “the thrill of discovering the unique look and feel of a roadside motel was replaced by assurances of sameness by hosts from coast to coast” (Wood). No matter which exit a traveler took, they were guaranteed to find a drive-through burger place, a chain motel, and a few gas stations on the street corner. Indeed, the Dead had it right when proclaiming that most cities are “all on the same street.”
In his study “Travelling Across America in One Place: The Phenomenon of the Interstate Village,” Alf Simon identifies and defines the interstate village as “a commercial node at a non-metropolitan interchange where the interstate passes within a mile or two of a town.” For the most part, these interstate villages are “service based, usually comprised of motels, restaurants, gas stations and truck stops. In most cases the businesses are dominated by corporate chains” (Simon). He compares them to a ‘placeless geography’ where “different localities both look and feel alike, and in which distinctive places are experienced only through superficial and stereotyped images and as indistinct and unstable backgrounds to our social and economic roles” (Simon). These interstate villages, filled with uninteresting services, no longer served as a means to elevate the travel experience. Simply recognized for their economic necessity, the Interstate Highway System and the rise of interchange villages marked the decline of neon signs and other important landscape vernacular.
Left: Margolies, J. (1984). [Holiday Inn sign, Gatlinburg, Tennessee] [Photograph]. Retrieved from https://www.loc.gov/item/2017710579/.
Center: Margolies, J. (2003). [Space Age Lodge sign, Gila Bend, Arizona] [Photograph]. Retrieved from https://www.loc.gov/item/2017703537/.
Right: Margolies, J. (1984). [Holiday Inn sign, Brockton, Massachusetts) [Photograph]. Retrieved from https://www.loc.gov/item/2017710470/.
The commercial businesses commonly found in interstate villages are announced “by a gallery of billboards along the [road] that start a considerable distance away” (Simon). These prime the traveler to check if they need gas, ask themselves if they are hungry, or need to use the restroom. They function very similarly to neon signs, but lack the distinct identity provided by landscape vernacular. The pylon signs that would replace neon were “mounted on top of poles that can be over one hundred feet high, and are visible from a great distance on the interstate” (Simon). Favored for their durability, cheap cost when compared to neon, and high readability at fast speeds, the proliferation of pylon signs along the off-ramps of the nation’s highways “results in a visually chaotic landscape with considerably more information than one can take in moving at automobile speeds” (Simon). While it was admittedly more cost effective for businesses to use pylon signs in lieu of neon, the identical pylon signs erected by corporate chains lacked the personal touch of a neon glass blower and the regional character of local small businesses. In its difficulty to be mass produced, neon’s constraints are what shape its aesthetic and the message it sends as landscape vernacular. Perhaps neon represented a lost vision of the future for the United States, or maybe a naiveite about how the world works. Either way, landscape vernacular became much harder to find, indicative of the path the nation had chosen where the ‘real thing’ – an authentic experience or unmediated connection – is obscured by vacuous noise.