Democracy: Beyond the horizon of habits

Been meaning to post on this for a minute. Finally got the impulse to do it. Found this wonderful definition of democracy from that Carl Wilson book about Celine Dion I've talked so much about. This blog is starting to turn into the Carl Wilson Appreciation Society. If it really were, I'd be writing about how I went to his reading downtown last night instead of staying home to nap and clean my room. Anyway...

This is what I mean by democracy--not a limp open-mindedness, but actively grappling with people and things not like me, which brings with it the perilous question of what I am like. Democracy, that dangerous, paradoxical, and mostly unattempted ideal, sees that the self is insufficient, dependent for definition on otherness, and chooses not only to accept that but to celebrate it, to stake everything on it. Through democracy, which demands we meet strangers as equals, we perhaps become less strangers to ourselves.

Yes. I like it. And, though I would rather keep this blog away from the political--but a) how can it not be at this point in time and b) anyone who's talked to me knows my persuasions--I will say that I think there is one candidate--in this election and in my lifetime thus far--that knows this definition of democracy so well, and knows it to his/her (okay, his) core. Wilson is saying that his encounter with Celine helped him to come to this conclusion. It is fitting that HRC, as Wilson points out, picked a Celine song for her primary campaign. My suspicions are, though, that she and Wilson are not on the same page about this.

mark.

Uh Oh, '08!

Well. It's cold as hell in New York, oil is at $100 a barrel and an essentially meaningless circus is about to begin in Iowa which will determine the tone of election season, in turn determining the tone of the year...2008 is alive. I'd like to extend my warmest welcome to it and a fond farewell to '07. Its been a magnificent year, as far as I'm concerned, especially great for music (in case you are in desperate need of another one and I know you are, expect our always-self-consciously-obligatory-but-somehow-useful- and-ever-so-much-fun best-of list soon). Apparently it was a good year for film but I've really dropped the ball there. Although watching I'm Not There, I was convinced I didn't need to watch another movie ever.
I'm excited for 2008 and the surely great things it will bring.

I'd like to continue on the subject of criticism for a moment, though in a different direction than we've been heading. I'm finishing up Carl Wilson's new book for the 33 1/3 series, Let's Talk About Love: A Journey to the End of Taste. It's a keenly observed and well-researched investigation of why we like the things we like (through the lens of an avant music critic trying to give Celine Dion actually serious attention) and includes a lot of pointed (sometimes scathing, sometimes self-deprecating) critiques of the state of criticism. He also articulates in a disarming way a lot of things that I think are real personal problems in our culture (disinterest in excitement, the meat-grinder approach to new music or art or anything, which disables deep listening and is indicative of or perpetuates deeper issues). Here's a passage from near the end of the book where he is trying to reconcile his distaste for Celine with his feelings:

"The very greatest art may ball all the shit and nonshit of existence together, the way it comes in life, but on the less exalted tiers, why must art that focuses mainly on what (Robert C.) Solomon calls "the tender emotions" take a back seat to art that focuses mainly on the harsh ones? The hierarchies of antisentimentalism seem to end in a perverse reversal of values...
It's often assumed that audiences for schmaltz are somehow stunted, using sentimental art as a kind of emotional crutch. As Solomon points out, there's no evidence for this slur: isn't it equally plausible that people uncomfortable with representations of vulnerability and tenderness have emotional problems? Sentimental art can be a rehearsal, a workout to keep emotions toned and ready for use. This doesn't dictate that those uses will be appropriate ones, and emotions alone are not solutions to issues, but sympathy and compassion are prerequisites to charity and solidarity. So between the sentimentalist and the antisentimentalist, who is the real emotional cripple?"

A little harsh out of context, but he makes some damn good points and I think its makes perfect sense with what we're trying to investigate here. Is it natural to become "disinterested" when we feel that certain sort of pleasure, that "good feeling," that tickle in our tear ducts? Could it be that Finding Neverland is actually a good movie, but my shame at letting it manipulate me into feeling made me tear it apart? (Probably not, actually). It is possible, to play the devil's advocate, that all the sappy gooey good-feeling-ness isn't actually pleasurable, but something people put themselves through out of guilt. Further, I believe there is a lot of "sentimental art" whose vulnerability and tenderness is not actually honest. It is overwrought, indulgent, manipulative even and we let ourselves be fooled. There are those of us who, out of humiliation of being fooled one too many times or perhaps a particularly bad burn or perhaps because everyone else is doing it, will shut it down, cross our arms and refuse to let ourselves or our emotions be taken advantage of. Or we look at it ironically, or cynically. Or we take the piss out of it, as it were. I think this is dangerous. Sometimes it can be so wonderful to just have something...nice.

There is a faction of bands making waves (with me and my heartstrings at least) who are really good at making really nice music, full of tenderness and vulnerability. Midlake is good at it. Grizzly Bear is great at it. Final Fantasy is so good at it, his show at the Bowery Ballroom in November was the catalyst for starting this blog. The music is pure and honest and not schmaltz in the least. If it takes a darker turn, or becomes more aggressive, it is through the artists exploration of their own goodness that it does so. It is not indulgent. It's a gift.

more later.
Happy New Year.
mark.

on criticism pt. 2, "Adorno's World"

The second major implication (call it wishful thinking, if you will) is a revolution in the way art and culture is produced and devoured. It is a revolution the likes of which Theodor Adorno (thanks to the lovely, the talented x kr8chi for bringing him up) could've only dreamed. Adorno was a music critic/philosopher who wrote about how "art (mostly music for him though) can resist being co-opted by the status quo--hegemony--what not." He was concerned with how the dominate cultural "tastemakers," as it were, (dubiously linked with the dominant social class, even, or especially, today) take over the production of art and cultural elements for their own profit, having a degenerative effect on the products over time. This is linked with cultural hegemony, which would imply that it was a conscious effort on the part of the dominant class to keep the lower class low. As far as I understand, Adorno was less concerned with this and more focused on the tendency for art to become crap as time goes on. This isn't theoretical. Its real. Its a phenomenon that is going on now, has been forever and it is bad.

I think we are living in an age where it is possible for it to happen no more. We live in a time when it is possible for art and culture and popular taste to be completely user-regulated. This is happening right now in music and the industry is in a desperate panic. It is a perfect storm--the ease with which artists (especially musicians) can produce their work and make it accessible, and the ease with which people can share what they like. I think it is possible (we're not there quite yet) for word of mouth (or fingertip) to be the only thing we need. Advertisements, shameless plugs, etc. can become obsolete. It of course, will take work. But it starts with bold moves by the right people.

More later.

mark.

on criticism pt. 1

Last week's Time Out New York ran a piece about criticism. Its a fun little number that takes a look at the current and future states of criticism, what with all the blogs and the everyone's-a-critic and such. Some big names in print and blogging (or both) weigh in on the issue, with varying degrees of consideration. It doesn't really try to draw any conclusions, which is good because why would you do that? The piece begins chronicling a happening in New York theatre criticism that was similar to something I posted on not too long ago, wherein a critic's criticism becomes fodder for more criticism. Not that that couldn't have happened before the advent of blogs, of course, but with the instant, easy ability to react, I feel like these debates are more fiery, more personal. The piece then goes on to get some authoritative opinions on the matter of criticism through a series of questions. Its important to investigate criticism. I also think, however, that the situation has implications for the art being criticized. I'm going to investigate two of the potential effects, one negative and one positive.

The first lies in a possible change in how people approach art. I see it happening all around. Perhaps it is unrelated to the dramatic rise in blogs and faux-criticism, but it feels like we are becoming an overly critical culture. I surmise (on grounds of only my own nature) that members of the public who regularly contribute to blogs and e-zines and the like (meaning not already-established and paid critics) are looking to immediately put experiences with a work of art into words. They are approaching the work with the prospect of criticism at the forefront of their brain, thereby neglecting the openness it takes, I think, to be a good critic. This is bad. It prevents the viewer/listener/what-have-you from having a genuine experience, as pure as possible. It's impersonal. Not only that, but it also is very hard to get excited in that state. (Lack of excitement, as far as I'm concerned, is a plague on my generation and I'll probably be exploring it later.) This mindset drives a huge divide between audience and art, changing the nature of the work itself.

I should take a moment to point out that I think critical eyes are good things. But they should be thoughtful and learned.

I will write about the second of the major implications that I see tomorrow. And I will call it "Adorno's World." I am very excited.

mark.

Boxer

When listening to Boxer, the newest album by Brooklyn based The National, my mind drifts to the week I first heard it. A pile of pillows and blankets cover the floor of my girlfriend’s yet to be furnished Kalamazoo apartment. It is the night before I am to move to Brooklyn, entering us into what one would call a long distance relationship. My eyes are heavy, but I contemplate Matt Berninger’s steady voice, rattling into the early morning. Rewind to four years earlier. Another life. A film plays at the Ann Arbor State theatre, of which I have no recollection. A hand is placed on my ankle, and the touch is filled with electricity. I daren’t move for fear of breaking some beginning. Now, when I walk the newly icy streets of Brooklyn, I hear these songs and they echo in my headphones with a new power: home.

And so it is with the scope of this beautiful album. My vivid memories commingle with those of the band, and something new comes to the surface. Berninger’s narrative form focuses in on a detail, the color of a pair of gloves, and suddenly pulls out to reveal a sea of faces, brushing shoulders and bundling up a bit tighter for the winter. A strained relationship with heaven is here, too; a healthy skepticism and dissatisfaction with forms no longer able to access the depths found beneath them. The National’s choice of band name seems to me more than a little pointed. Every “I,” “we,” and “you,” actively implicates both the listener and the band. Even Berninger’s unabashed use of “la la la’s” and “mmm-hmmm’s,” reveal much more than a melancholy take on some of pop music’s oldest and purest lyric forms. They seem to be hiding a secret, some words exchanged that only the two of us remember, because it only holds weight in that place. To everyone else, “la de da, la de da…”

I would be doing this exquisite album a major disservice were I to neglect the music. These men are musicians in the truest sense, in that their instruments are natural extensions of themselves. They seem to be looking to unlock lost depth in form here, too. Tensions are layered patiently, finding release at the last possible moment. Lesser bands show their cards right when they are supposed to. The National has the chops to hang on, hang on. When Padme Newsome's brass and string arrangements thunder in, its enough to twist your gut and leave you breathless.This sort of confidence in detail pays off in ways difficult to define. Most, amazed at the way the extra piano flourish holds more power the tenth time than the second, resort to calling the album a “grower,” and leave it at that. I would attribute this power to the band’s ability to craft a song without neglecting the weight of any one of its collective parts. It is impossible to tell if lyrics were written before music, or vise versa, because they are tied so tightly to the same emotional anchor. This becomes most obvious with Bryan Devendorf’s incredible drumming. No fill is added superfluously, no tempo chosen without care of the structure of the song as a whole. In fact, the contemplative work from a drummer of his capacity brings to light just how rare this sort of craftsmanship is. Perhaps I am not looking in the right places, but the indie albums that weigh each instrument’s emotional quality this heavily are few and far between.

Brian Wilson once said that he crafted the bassline of “Don’t Talk (Put Your Head on My Shoulder)” as the song’s emotional heartbeat. However, I felt that power in my chest long before I understood what he was doing intellectually. Wilson knew, possibly better than any pop musician in history, the world of potential in how an artist puts sounds together. When he sings “Surf’s up! Aboard the tidal wave!” and his piano laps gently against a California dock, I don’t contemplate the coming storm; I actually brace my knees. Now, when Berninger boldly confesses “You know, I dreamed about you for 29 years before I saw you” as the band weighs in with him, fully aware of the delicate situation, I realize that The National left someone they care about in Kalamazoo.

Seth.

Indie Rock: our little baby's growing up...

Though they have been at times rhetorically numbing and ridiculously semantic, the recent go-rounds about black influence on indie rock have been compelling to me. They're not particularly exciting but at the very least curious. I'm just glad that conversations like this are happening.

Briefly, it started with Sasha Frere-Jones' October article in the New Yorker, A Paler Shade of White. Then Carl Wilson, of The Globe and Mail, replied with an article in Slate called The Trouble With Indie Rock. Then a slew of opinions came, including this from Frank Kogan of the Las Vegas Weekly, and this from the lovable dork of the New York Times Op-Ed crew, David Brooks along with countless bloggers. There was also an article this week from the LA Times that I refuse to link for it is profound in its missing of the point. There is some very interesting and personal stuff on Frere-Jones and Wilson's respective blogs, including a great raw diatribe by Wilson called "Indie, Class, and the Death of Bohemia," and SFJ's reply to a letter he got from Will Butler of Arcade Fire. The gist of the argument is Has black influence disappeared from indie rock? Is it race? Class? Does anyone care? We've heard from cultural commentators and music critics from most of the major bastions of indie rock, New York, Toronto, LA. But I'd like to hear something from Portland, indie's veritable home.

At the risk of adding to the din, I'll add a couple cents. My leanings are mostly toward Carl Wilson's, but, briefly, the biggest fault I find with the arguments themselves is that it is sometimes neglected that "indie rock" is no longer a symbol of a state-of-mind (or rather a lo-fi, low-energy kind-of-counter-culture) but is actually the moniker of a specific musical genre with its own genesis, evolution, influences, aesthetic, thematic elements, range of sound, audience, etc. It is a particularly malleable genre, but specific nonetheless. Perhaps it is that a good deal of the artists in the genre are expressing certain things at the moment that take on forms that don't resemble Pop as we know it. Other influences like classical or chamber music (which give the impetus for such projects as The Wordless Music Series, a great thing) or minimalism may be more appropriate sensibility to the subject matter, emotional texture, whatnot.

I'm excited that discussions like this are going on, and I commend Frere-Jones for being forward with his bold, albeit flawed, observations. It sparked an intellectual fire that I think needed to be lit. And while I find these conversations interesting, my real question is this: Why the fuck is it so hard for indie rock fans to dance? In 9 out of 10 shows I go to, it is mildly infuriating.

mark.

oh my goodness, oh your goodness

Here we will be exploring all things Good. Good--not in the sense of agreeable or passable or satisfactory-- but "of goodness." We are interested in looking at things, usually works of art, that are created out of genuine goodness. This is not to say that all worthwhile work is born from this place. Indeed, a lot of great work, probably the most impactful, has come from places very different. We're not going to talk about those. We're talking about Good and the many forms it takes and what it spawns. This is also not to say that there is an objective Good. Oh my, no.

We will also focus on things that happen in the world that we find particularly inspiring in the way that they operate against or without regard to pre-existing models of operation. As we look around, we notice at an alarming rate well-established models starting to fail. From the record industry to non-profit arts to the two-party political structure, our conventional wisdom is disappearing. This is exciting. We want to explore things that go by their own models and use the inspiration we get from them.

There will also be an emphasis on music here. It seems as though deep listening to music and thoughtful criticism have become devalued in our culture. So we are going to explore music in hopes of engaging with those who see it as a serious art form and who not only study the music intently, but also look at it in the context of the culture at large. We may even give some thoughtful criticisms of our own. Since we are all studied art critics. For real.

So these things plus whatever else we want will be the focus here. Yes, we are interested in presenting thoughts and ideas, but we are much more excited about the discourse to hopefully come. Interested?

One last thing.
A note on operations: Because blogs are fundamentally meaningless and can have no actual, tangible effect on the world, we will make it a point to talk about the things we post before we post them, to put them into the universe in some other way than the blogosphere and to encourage connection beyond it. This will give us a chance to refine our thoughts, as well as make the posts recollections of things that have already happened, as opposed to fooling ourselves into thinking that posting on a blog is in some way beneficial to humanity.