Saturday, September 25, 2010

The death of Fluxus was the death of art: a perspective on the decadence of contemporary art

The world of art today is full of things that are silly, trivial, random, easy to do. An artist wanders round a gallery wearing an animal suit (Mark Wallinger). Richard Long walked through Scottish countryside, and the Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art bought his snapshots. Michael Landy destroyed everything he owned (not easy psychologically, but not exactly requiring skill). Banksy stencils images onto the walls of buildings and people try and steal or sell the wall. Duchamp defaced postcards but the Chapman brothers defaced very expensive Goya etchings (earlier Robert Rauchenberg erased a drawing by Willem de Kooning, but he told de Kooning about it). More complex artworks are typically produced by the artist creating a list of instructions and passing them on to a fabricator. And yet the artist claims the product as something original to be sold for huge amounts of money.

Although this style of art, requiring minimal effort, goes back to the early 20th century, in the beginning it was the creation of skilled artist-theorist-provocateurs who had already established a reputation in other areas (e.g. Duchamp and Malevich begun as more conventional painters), and it did not become a mainstream activity until the early 1960s. The first art movement to really specialise in it was Fluxus, which had roots in the late 50s avant-garde music scene but flourished in the 60s.

Fluxus composers produced musical pieces involving one note, or silence, or the smashing of a violin, or nothing but the composer and orchestra wrapping baton and instruments in brown paper. They extended this to produce scores that could be applied in other areas of life. Ken Friedman instructed "Play baseball with a fruit" or "Someone sneezes. A year later, send a postcard reading, 'Gesundheit!'" Yoko Ono suggested, "Hit a wall with your head." Larry Miller said, "Chew a nice piece of notebook or drawing paper".

Many of these things would be unexceptional if done by a modern artist, perhaps on a film which they would be commissioned to produce or would sell to a gallery. But the key for Fluxus (and for related phenomena like Cornelius Cardew's Scratch Orchestra) was not to create art works that had value and could be exhibited in themselves, but the opposite. They wanted to provide an artistic democracy, things that everyone could do, and which therefore could not be sold or exhibited, because why would you pay to buy or go to see something you could make or do yourself?

A Fluxus manifesto explained the contrast:
ART

To justify artist's professional, parasitic and elite status in society, he must demonstrate artist's indispensability and exclusiveness, He must demonstrate the dependability of audience upon him, He must demonstrate that no one but the artist can do art.

Therefore, art must appear to be complex, pretentious, profound, serious, intellectual, inspired, skillfull, significant, theatrical.

It must appear to be valuable as commodity so as to provide the artist with an income.

To raise its value (artist's income and patron's profit), art is made to appear rare, limited in quantity and therefore obtainable and accessible only to the social elite and institutions.

FLUXUS ART-AMUSEMENT

To establish artist's non-professional status in society, he must demonstarte artist's dispensability and inclusiveness, he must demonstrate the selfsufficiency of the audience, he must demonstrate that anything can be art and anyone can do it.

Therefore, art-amusement must be simple, amusing, unpretentious, concerned with insignificances, require no skill or countless rehearsals, have no commodity or institutional value.

The value of art-amusement must be lowered by making it unlimited, massproduced, obtainable by all and eventually produced by all.

Fluxus art-amusement is the rear-guard without any pretention or urge to participate in the competition of "one-upmanship" with the avant-garde. It strives for the monostructural and nontheatrical qualities of a simple natural event, a game or gag. It is the fusion of Spike Jones, Vaudeville, gag, children’s games and Duchamp.
Fluxus was intended to be art that would not be part of the art world (today you can pay a fair bit of money for one of their nice little boxes, but nothing like a Banksy.)

One of Mieko Shiomi's scores did say:
Air Event
Inflate a small rubber balloon in one deep breath and sign your name on the surface of the balloon.
(this is your lung)
You can buy the lungs of other performers at an auction.
But it is unclear what prices were paid, if ever an auction occurred. The main criticism of Fluxus is that often one doubts that the actions were ever performed.

Despite the democratic ideals, Fluxus members went on to become stars. John Cage became an acclaimed composer and his works works became increasingly conventional. Joseph Beuys was a charismatic public speaker with a limitless skill for self-mythologising (turning a minor plane crash into heroic works in felt and lard). Yoko Ono married a Beatle and tried to use their celebrity to end war. George Maciunas ruled the movement like a little dictator, excommunicating those who disagreed with him.

Today we have a situation where "anything can be art". Many viewers feel "anyone can do it", but only a small number of people are allowed to do it in galleries and profit from it. Perhaps Fluxus only existed because of the publicity skills and celebrity status of its founders. Perhaps it is impossible to have a democratic art. But insofar as contemporary art draws on Fluxus's concepts of art works while redirecting them in entirely opposite directions of elitism and selfishness (the artist's greed), they have inverted the original ideas of Fluxus and created an art of dubious theoretical basis that naturally invokes resentment and contempt in audiences who know that not only could they create such works, they should be creating them. Fluxus dreamed of destroying the importance of art, but this only succeeded in the public mind, not in the auction house.

Friday, September 24, 2010

The art world's greatest printer's error

One of the most famous essays in the philosophy of art of the last 100 years was Arthur C Danto's The Artworld (The Journal of Philosophy, Vol. 61, No. 19, [Oct. 15, 1964], pp 571-584.) He advanced the groundbreaking but now commonplace idea that we know something is art not by some innate property of an artwork, but because the art world (critics, academics, curators, artists, dealers) tells us it is art:
To see something as art requires something the eye cannot descry - an atmosphere of artistic theory, a knowledge of the history of art: an artworld.
This is a much-quoted passage. However, it appears that many people do not know the meaning of the word "descry" ("to catch sight of, find out, discover" - Merriam-Webster) or else it is not in their spell-checker, and time and time again in even the most scholarly publications the sentence is given as "something the eye cannot decry".

This has an entirely different meaning: Danto means to say there is something in art that makes it art which cannot be discerned just by looking at it; the quote seems to say there is something in an artwork that no eye can disparage. This error makes Danto appear to assert the supremacy of the visual, something he is in fact denying.

"Descry" may be a slightly obscure word, but it was beloved by the Romantics: we find in used repeatedly by Coleridge, in Christabel
I went and peered, and could descry
No cause for her distressful cry;
The Garden of Boccaccio
Thanks, gentle artist! now I can descry
Thy fair creation with a mastering eye
and elsewhere. Frank Kermode was able to quote it correctly in the 1960s, but many people up to the present day have propagated this error, suggesting a complete failure to understand Danto:
  • Gerald L. Bruns, Tragic thoughts at the end of philosophy, Northwestern UP, 1999
  • Simon Frith, Performing rites: on the value of popular music, Harvard UP, 1998
  • Tony Godfrey, Conceptual Art, Phaedon, 1998
  • Daniel Alan Herwitz and Michael Kelly (eds), Action, art, history: engagements with Arthur C. Danto, Columbia UP, 2007
  • James W Manns, Aesthetics, ME Sharpe, 1998
  • Joseph Margolis, Interpretation radical but not unruly: the new puzzle of the arts and history, University of California Press, 1995
  • James O. Young, Aesthetics: critical concepts in philosophy, McGraw Hill, 2005
  • The Critical review, Issue 41, University of Melbourne, 2001
You can find many more on your bookshelf or Google Books.

In fact the gravest fault does not lie with the critics mentioned above: it was even misspelt in the original printing of the article in The Journal of Philosophy, and in reprints such as Joseph Margolis (ed), Philosophy Looks at the Arts: Contemporary Readings in Aesthetics, third ed, 1987, and Stephen David Ross, Art and its significance: an anthology of aesthetic theory, SUNY Press, 1994. (There is further discussion, not online, in Joseph Margolis, "Farewell to Danto and Goodman", British Journal of Aesthetics (1998) 38 (4): 353-374. doi: 10.1093/bjaesthetics/38.4.353 . Margolis had printed the incorrect version at least twice by this point.)

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Great Forgotten Albums 2: Mecca Normal's "The Observer" (Kill Rock Stars; 2006)

A concept album about online dating written by a feminist experimental semi-riot-grrl art-rock band with no drummer, this might sound a really bad idea or a really good one. Your judgement may be influenced by whether you're a deadbeat man or a cynical and single woman.

Mecca Normal was formed in 1984 in Vancouver by vocalist Jean Smith and guitarist David Lester. Smith has also had a few novels published by small presses, and both she and Lester are visual artists. Their early recordings had an influence both on riot grrl and on the Olympia, Washington twee scene centred around Calvin Johnson. They are frequently of low sonic quality, and make little attempt at writing songs - it's more like someone thinking aloud while someone else tunes up their guitar. This makes The Observer stand out with its mix of catchy pop songs and epic spoken word tracks.

The album starts as fairly conventional alt-rock. "I'm Not Into Being The Woman You're With While You're Looking For The Woman You Want" is self-explanatory, about a man who's looking for "a like-minded woman" but apparently hasn't succeeded. It's an upbeat and catchy opener, with constantly shifting guitars, by turns crunchy and melodic, and succinct summings up of the dating game like the title and: "He says he hasn't found what he's looking for yet. After he's met me."

And there are plenty more failures to meet like-minded people. In "Attraction Is Ephemeral" she describes her time with a seductive and wealthy man, a successful architect: "He says, I love a woman who adorns herself with jewellery. I like a woman who has variation in her wardrobe. ... He suggests I visit a website of Austrian designed underwear. It's expensive but it's beautiful, he says. I stand there by the stove in my slutty outfit the total of which probably cost me $15 including my $1 panties."

She contrasts his worldly sophistication with her own skill at finding discount vegetables: "I don't buy crackers and cheese and pickles and cookies because they're too expensive, and I know the prices of almost everything in the little shops, and if oranges are 50 cents a pound here and 49 cents a pound across the street I will cross the street to save whatever it is, a pound, on my oranges, and brag about it." "He says he'll bring his grand piano out of storage", and all the time she's wondering if they've really connected or if everything he says is "just another line".

"Attraction Is Ephemeral" also introduces sex. "I lie there under him. 230 lb. 'Am I crushing you?' he says. 'Sort of,' I say." Maybe that's why she seems so underwhelmed. "I'll Call You" starts "I want cold impersonal sex during which I'll pretend I'm with someone else." For all the cynicism of its what-people-are-really-thinking lyrics, it's one of the songs you could more easily imagine being played on the radio, along with "To Avoid Pain" with its "Hey hey" refrain.

Some of the later tracks are weaker and break the theme. "The Caribou and the Oil Pipeline" is worthy and dull environmentalism. "The Message" has the rawness and tunelessness of the band's earlier material.

"1922" isn't about dating but is much better: Smith is reflective, outwardly nostalgic but inwardly sad, with lyrical guitars from Lester. "Nothing's automatic, nothing's precise", she says, describing old pictures, thinking about the simple life: "The museums are for men. We know this. Men need history. We need it. We are men. We need to remind ourselves of this." It's funny but always with a harshness in her voice, sometimes barely hidden, sometimes out front, and that links it with the rest of the album.

The album's centrepiece is the twelve-and-three-quarter minute long "Fallen Skier". Over an endlessly repeating riff she describes a first date with a man who arouses both pity and contempt in her, though nothing like love. As you do on a first date, they swap life stories, and she offers a detailed biography of him, a life that never quite took off. He's a "fallen skier, waiter, party guy" - a man aged 47, who had dropped out of school to be a ski bum, later waiting tables at a Greek restaurant "where the staff were encouraged to drink half price on arriving for work", an addict, and is now at college, planning to backpack around Europe. "I don't think he realises it yet but his life has gotten away from him."

She also enumerates his reactions to her, and hers to him, in a series of quotable lines. "No one moves to skid row to get clean." "Will i be playing the part of the woman helping him get his life on track?" "He asks me about this music of mine, is it ever all-out punk? ... I stand a middle-aged woman in a fantastically subtle silk jacket all the way from Japan, Hush Puppies, curly hair flowing in the wind, and this guy's fretting over the possibility that I'm actually Henry Rollins." All in her fantastic delivery, turning on a dime from dry and throwaway, to indignant or tragic.

Time and again she contrasts her own intellectual and creative life with the poverty of his existence: "Carefully I ask if he does anything he might call creative. ... He thinks for a minute and says he doesn't make music or paint if that's what I mean but he does watch TV. Free cable ... I can only half think about being so grey and dispassionate to call watching TV creative."

Although harsh, her lyricism does something to justify this. "Standing on the pier half-watching the sun go down. A cloud of mist is giving great definition to the trees which should have been flat and invisible. I'm thinking of saying something about how the mist is making things clear, but I decide to keep that thought to myself."

How listeners respond to the record will depend heavily on what they make of Smith. She is frequently condescending, particularly in "Fallen Skier", and when she discusses her own faults it is often to boast about them: meanness becomes frugality. But the intensity of her examinating gaze, the brilliance of her lyrics makes up for this. She comprehensively fails to be the observer; like everyone who is dating, sifting through the deadbeats to find a partner, she is the judge.

Sunday, August 8, 2010

Great Forgotten Albums: The Mekons (aka Devils, Rats and Piggies) by The Mekons

A collection of songs about war, murder, child abuse, corporate crime, revolution, mining disaster, and the nastiness of suburbia, this is one of the strangest and most atmospheric albums ever released. But it is one that is easily missed and often dismissed by critics who find it lacks the Hank Williams cover versions and good-time spirit found on their later disks.

Its obscurity is not helped by the fact that people can't even agree on its title - it is sometimes called Devils, Rats and Piggies, and sometimes The Mekons or even Second Album. But we know that it was recorded and released in 1980 on Red Rhino in the UK, the follow to their debut The Quality of Mercy is Not Strnen (whose strange title echoes monkeys typing Shakespeare).

The band came out of the late-70s punk scene in Leeds that also produced Gang of Four and Delta 5. But after early singles like Never Been In A Riot, the Mekons rapidly moved away from the guitar-based sound of punk, becoming by 1985 the proto-alt-country act which recorded the classic Fear and Whiskey.

This record might be the most interesting point on that strange journey. Mixing horns, synths, and violin with distorted guitars, it sounds cheap and muddy with frequently-incomprehensible vocals. Yet beneath that facade are compelling if half-mumbled messages about a world obsessed with propriety, high culture, and success, that hides dark secrets of destructiveness and lust.

It begins uncompromisingly with "Snow", a wintry account of some kind of revolution or failed revolution, a riot going on outside, a prisoner about to be executed, the singer hiding out of the way (echoing the situation of their debut single "Never Been in a Riot"). We are used to revolutions in hot countries; at least for a Briton the snow brings it home. Over a buzzing synthesiser and chugging upbeat rhythm, a mechanical voice intones lyrics like "The strong now have another hero" and "The burned-out homes of left-wing names tell us all where power remains". It sounds horrible yet compelling, much like revolution: it is a statement of intent that this will be an album that confuses, dismays, and sonically violates the listener.

"St Patrick's Day" is about "chamber music in a bungalow", the sociology of music, the lower middle-classes listening to high culture. It echoes the philosopher Roger L Taylor, author of "Art an Enemy of the People", that art exists to legitimate those in power, providing a facade of civilisation that hides their crimes. A tuneless voice chants "the third movement structures and orders a meaningless intelligence". The bleak, horrid sound of the Mekons begins to take on some sort of sense; there is no way to use the old cultural forms of the society that rules us: it is necessary to be oblique and half-repellent. "Refinement and taste - you're not even rich." Sonically, this track is based around blaring horns and rapid strings that build up a nervous tension; the strings of course echo the reference to chamber music, while existing to discomfit the listener, not to soothe.

"D. P. Miller" follows post-punk bands like Au Pairs, Gang of Four, and Raincoats in offering a critique of prostitution or the objectification of woman. The singer complains "standing in these high shoes is breaking my back" and moans "these illusions disillusion me", a strikingly Gang of Four-esque line. The female point of view is ironically countered by the very masculine, awkward, rough singing. The repeated phrase "not the rub" recalls both dialect and Shakespeare.

"Institution" looks forward to the Mekons' later country direction. It's a wilder song, far less controlled and more emotional, with tinkling piano and screeching violin, almost ready to fall into a rollicking jam. The key line is "They took me up to the top of the hill and we looked at the institution in the valley below" - this references both Moses viewing the promised land, and Satan taking Jesus on a mountaintop to tempt him.

"I'm So Happy" is particularly incomprehensible, shouted lyrics in which you can make out the odd phrase like "I feel so drunk". Despite the doomy bass it's first cousin of Ian Dury's raucous list songs, though equally like Joy Division. Again, drunkenness is a direction they would later pursue.

"Chopper Song" combines a detailed account of respectable domestic boredom with references to violent crime. "At least he can talk to his wife tonight. They can talk about that night down the club and what's become of Bryan and Susan and the kids". Many of the songs express a contempt for suburbia. In 1980 there was a strong sense that the middle classes all did essentially the same things, exemplified by mainstream sitcoms that portrayed its boredom and narrow horizons. Today there is less class cohesion with middle-class people more likely to act like the working-classes or like kids. The song concludes with the discovery of an axe - the "chopper". It should be remembered that the Mekons' home in West Yorkshire was the hunting ground of the Yorkshire Ripper, who wasn't arrested until 1981 and was killing girls around the time this was released. Despite this, it's musically one of the more pleasant tracks, with long synth chords and conversational vocals, and it welcomes the viewer by offering an easy target to hate.

"Business" is about the corruption of the international banking trade and its relation to violence and war. Musically it sounds close to the Associates with its melodic synths, despite the savageness of the lyrics (repeated phrases "attache case" "uzi machine gun" "powder burns"). It's probably one of the first pop songs to mention Uzis - the singer pronounces them in an English style, /juzi/ with the first vowel as in "use", rather than the now-more-common /uzi/. It's one of the most mainstream-sounding tracks on the record; you could almost imagine it on a crime film soundtrack.

"The Trimden Grange Explosion" is a cover version of a 19th century folk song about a mining disaster in County Durham in 1882 when 74 pit workers were killed. Musically, there are discordant guitars and high-pitched keyboards that stand out more than the vocals, meaning that the impact of this tale of death is lost.

"Karen" is about a 42 year old man (a schoolteacher, it is hinted) who develops a passion for an eight year old girl. Its linkage of violence and sex again recalls the Ripper and the tense atmosphere of the time, as captured in David Peace's Red Riding books, with the killer Peter Sutcliffe preying on innocent young women. Yet rather than condemn outright (as they do to the middle classes in multiple songs) it is told sympathetically from the point of view of the man "Now I'm sure I've found my wife, her name is Karen and she's very important to my life" - not quite mentioning her age yet. A high-pitched male voice saying "Hello I'm Karen" is comical. Perhaps his passion is less reprehensible than middle-class anhedonia.

"Corporal Chalkie" is more comic, about war past and future. "I know what happened before I was born. The Huns and the Nips got uppy with Blighty and Tommy went out to beat them all up" - a crudely populist description of German and Japanese aggression that trivialises the conflict (Tommy being the archetypal British soldier). "It's another war, we say." It's the most accessible track and one of the more well-known, being re-recorded by the Mekons' Sally Timms. It ends in mock-cockney, "There is no more to war than cor lummie, Sarge."

"John Barry" musically pays tribute to the film composer with its guitar riff and horns, showing the band's sonic inventiveness. Lyrically it is about someone watching the TV news, and not being affected by the horrors: "In the world an event occurs. [...] I never see the relevance." The reference to John Barry also suggests a soundtrack as something detached from the action, overlaid and false. It is more sympathetic to the tv viewer than some of the songs: "sitting down we take off our shoes, this was a very busy day" repeated over and over again hints that people have no ability to engage with current affairs because of the drudgery of their lives.

"Another One" concludes the album with a more commercial sound than the first couple of tracks - suggesting the tunelessness is deliberate. However despite its slightly dub rhythm, it is a less compelling song than many.

The reissue adds two new tracks. "Killer Ken" is disposable, but "Another Set of Teeth" is a lively piece of country music that again points towards Fear and Whiskey.

The album stands at a cusp in the band's history. Although parts mark it as a product of early 80s, it often sounds outside anything of its time. There are strong hints of the direction the band later took by repurposing country music as political text, this record combines folk and country with experimental new wave and synth sounds. Country was crucial to the band for offering a more deeper and complex idea of rebellion than punk, with country's interest in honour and sin, pessimism and romanticism, altered mental states (principally drunkenness), and sympathy with the underdog. Yet country is essentially a conservative style in a way that this album is not: nostalgia and sentimentality are things even the Mekons could not always avoid. But here, instead of the timeless tales of failure and apocalypse of Fear and Whiskey, the band has a dark timely paranoid feel that recalls Yorkshire in the 1980s, facing both Thatcher and Peter Sutcliffe.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Something small: the Collected Works of Ian Hamilton

Ian Hamilton's posthumous Collected Poems contains 62 poems, which take up one page each, except "Larkinesque" which extends 7 lines onto the following side. Many of them have fewer than 10 lines; some fewer than 30 words. Hamilton died comparatively young by modern standards, aged 63 in 2001, but that is still an extraordinarily small body of work, even if you include the additional 20 pages of juvenilia and unpublishedalia at the back.

Hamilton's poetry was all about modesty. Rather than "I" his favourite pronoun was "you"; he sought to express not so much his own thoughts as the experience of those he loved:
Tight in your hands,
Your Empire Exhibition shaving mug.
You keep it now
As a spittoon, its bloated doves,
Its 1938
Stained by the dropping of your blood.
(Birthday Poem)
He wrote of his approach: "It wouldn't be about me; rather, it would be about my inability, however intensely I felt, to do anything about the suffering" (quoted by Alan Jenkins). His father died, and his wife was institutionalised with mental illness. These were the subjects of his earlier adult verse.

He believed his poetry had a kind of magical power: "But did I truly think that poetry, if perfect, could bring back the dead? In some way, yes, I think I did." (Preface to Fifty Poems.) This may seem surprising, but other down-to-earth figures like B S Johnson had equally mystical beliefs (Johnson followed Robert Graves's theory about the White Goddess). Without questioning the sincerity of Hamilton's claim, it was probably an idea that came to him only occasionally, like a Catholic who glimpses a cathedral spire in a faraway city, and decides on salvation. And there are many ways of bringing back the dead.

In the preface to his Fifty Poems, he tells how he "decided [...] to keep the whole business of 'my poetry' quite separate from the rest of my so-called literary life: a life of book reviews, biographies, anthologies and magazines." Hamilton was prolific, just not in poetry; only in prose.

Alan Jenkins quotes Hamilton's biography of Matthew Arnold: "It is a sad thing to see a man who has been frittered away piecemeal by petty distractions, and who has never done his best. But it is still sadder to see a man who has done his best, who has reached his utmost limits - and finds his work a failure, and himself far less than he had imagined himself."

Arnold gave up his lyric poetry to pursue his other role, as an enormously influential educationalist. Hamilton wrote: "What the age didn't need were more poems of the kind that Arnold did have a real gift for, and had indeed already written: lyric poems of the self, that Arnold self which, as he came to believe, had or should have had better things to do than, well, write lyric poems."

The introduction to Fifty Poems describes a sense of failure, of embarrassment, of years wasted: "The raggedness of everything, the booze, the jokes, the literary feuds, the almost-love affairs, the cash, the somehow-getting-to-be-forty, and so on."

Did Hamilton in some sense give up on poetry, or did he simply find himself unable to write it, or was it a combination of the two? Did he believe in the unimportance of poetry, or at least of his own poetry, being a brilliant editor and critic of others? Was this a cover-up for his idleness and inebriation, or was he in some way a broken man?

In a 2007 interview with the Guardian the American novelist Thomas McGuane talked about the death of his sister from a heroin overdose more than 30 years before: "I think everyone, sooner or later in their lives, has something they never get over and in fact, I don't want to get over it."

McGuane added, "I find it more consoling to think of myself as little than to think of myself as big. I think I've gotten that from animals, particularly dogs. Dogs live such a modest life and they don't live long, and the more you're around them, you kind of accept that."

McGuane's novels are very different from Hamilton's poetry; McGuane writes ironic tales of the failed dreams of the American west, comedies of manners, books that are never entirely serious even when celebrating the joys of nature, the wild, the ranch, horseriding, freedom, and escape from human society. Hamilton's poetry is utterly serious, even if sometimes blackly comic. But in both writers there is a sense that they do not wish to write epically; they would rather be small.

Saturday, June 19, 2010

Compare the compare the market.com: UK insurance comparison website commercials compared

Compare the Market

The pinnacle of insurance comparison advertising, they have amusing, well-produced adverts featuring a meerkat upset by people confusing the words "market" and "meerkat" and accidentally alighting on his dating site "compare the meerkat.com". These adverts are copied from American commercials for GEICO, an insurance company, which for 10 years have featured a gecko in a similar case of confusion. Despite this lack of originality, the quality of the meerkat adverts is striking, particularly a recent recreation of the "Battle of Fearlessness" in which the meerkats were driven out of their homeland. The animals have become cult favourites, with rumours of lead meerkat Aleksandr Orlov releasing a single and a range of merchandise on sale.

Ad quality 9/10 (gorgeous production values, humour, cute fake animals)
Ad memorability 9/10 (see above)
Useful information about product 2/10 (they compare something?)
Spin-off potential 9/10 (only docked a point for the failure of Orlov's pop career)
Total 29/40

Go Compare

One of the best ways to get a new business's name in the costomers' mind is to be as annoying as possible. This is certainly the case of the Go Compare jingle, which features Welsh tenor Wynne Evans playing faux-Italian opera singer Gio Compario, who pops up in strange situations with his enormous fake moustache to sing his "Go Compare" song extolling the virtues of the insurance company. In some way, this recalls woman-only insurance company Sheila's Wheels which hit the scene a few years ago with a memorable song performed by three 60s-style singers in pink dresses. It is uncertain whether Evans will follow the Sheilas into a failed pop career with Pete Waterman. He has played Alfredo in La Boheme for ENO and many other roles for different companies, while frequently singing before Welsh rugby games (much as Russell Watson has done for England), so unless there is a severe reaction against his ad appearances, his career seems assured.

Ad quality 5/10 (well-made, just intensely annoying)
Ad memorability 10/10 (Go compare! Go Compare!)
Useful information about product 3/10 (They do put the words of the song on-screen so you can read about the cheaper insurance)
Spin-off potential 4/10 (good for Evans, but unlikely to see the character go on)
Total 22/40

Money Supermarket

The other most striking advertiser in the past year is moneysupermarket.com. They have enlisted Anglo-Iranian comedian Omid Djalili, a rising star of British television, to give an ethnically stereotyped performance of a middle-easterner skilled at haggling. In the adverts he berates members of the public for accepting overpriced insurance quotes and tells them if they're not prepared to bargain the price down, they should get to his website. The ads are cheaper and less impressive than Compare the Market or Go Compare but have a more coherent message.

Ad quality 3/10 (a certain cheapness, dependence on stereotypes, Djalili confuses shouting a lot for being funny)
Ad memorability 4/10 (fat bloke shouting is not original and the product name isn't really integrated)
Useful information about product 3/10 (they save you money, right?)
Spin-off potential 7/10 (possibly some kind of consumer show for Omid?)
Total 17/40

Confused.com

The most established company in the insurance comparison market is also the one to promote itself on the quality of its product rather than its wackiness; its ads feature members of the public enthusing about the ease of use of its website, which apparently allows you to easily customise your search. Competitors offer similar products, but Confused.com is the only one to rely on a low-key explanation of its merits. On the other hand, its name is rather more memorable than the others.

Ad quality 3/10 (talking heads are the last refuge of the desperate "creative")
Ad memorability 5/10 (apparently lots of people like Confused.com - some might even look like your annoying colleague or neighbour)
Useful information about product 6/10 (it actually shows the webpage and explains how you can select things)
Spin-off potential 1/10 (maybe they'll find a future cult star, like that guy from the mobile phone advert who wanted to start a band)
Total 15/40

uSwitch

This brand initially started with comparisons of gas and electricity suppliers at a time when the energy market was becoming increasingly competitive and fragmented. As another old player, they also offer a less in-your-face experience. The latest round of commercials feature a man and a woman in smart-casual fashions stepping into a computer screen to see what is on offer; it may be inspired by the Matrix, but not in a sexy or violent way. It will be interesting to see whether uSwitch, as a long-time player, can hold on to their market share.

Ad quality 3/10 (bland)
Ad memorability 4/10 (bland)
Useful information about product 4/10 (you can compare prices apparently!)
Spin-off potential 2/10 (the couple could be trapped inside their PC in some kind of Tron/Matrix thing, with added romantic comedy potential, but it's unlikely)
Total 13/40

The winner, unsurprisingly, is the meerkat.




All these companies have a similar business model; they act like insurance brokers or financial advisors in a bygone age, pointing people towards a policy and taking commission. It's worth noting that some insurance companies are refusing to appear on price comparison websites. The reason is not clear; it may be that for a large brand it is cheaper to appeal directly rather than pay commission, or it may be because they don't want their prices compared (Ryanair took legal action to prevent their prices appearing on price comparison websites, not to save their commission but perhaps because once you add on their additional fees their product is far less competitive than the headline price they themselves quote).

Insurance companies Aviva and Direct Line each boast of cutting out the middle-man in their commercials. Aviva have amusing ads starring comic actor Paul Whitehouse (The Fast Show) in a variety of heavily disguised roles. Direct Line have loud and annoying commercials featuring the voices of Stephen Fry and Paul Merton. Fry in particular has appeared in a series of terrible commercials (previously for Twinings) but perhaps his pursuit of a quick buck is supposed to subliminally encourage the audience to pursue the best deal.

But which is the best comparison service? Consumer ratings site dooyou.co.uk gives Confused.com 5/5 on a large number of reviews. Based on a far smaller number of reviews, Go Compare.com and uSwitch get 5/5, Money Supermarket 4/5, and Compare the Market 3/5. With many of these sites there is bias due to people being more likely to report bad esperiences, and alternative site reviewcentre.com gives almost everyone poor reviews, with Go Compare coming out best.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Pop Songs Your New Boyfriend's Too Stupid To Know About: the undying spirit of twee

Although rock music has for 55 years been the sound of rebellion, from Elvis and Bill Haley through punk and grunge, many people notice that it's not very rebellious at all. It repeats the same violent, masculine, destructive principles of society as a whole - rockers hold their guitar like a machine gun (and the mic like a pistol or penis). But what if you had a musical genre that privileged weakness, inaction, observation, sexual uncertainty, childishness, and innocence? For nearly 30 years that genre has been twee, the greatest and longest-lasting underground pop movement since the invention of rock and roll.

The godfather of twee was Dan Treacy of the Television Personalities. The band was born out of the late 70s punk scene, its name taking a mocking view of celebrity that was part of punk's desire to start a new and different version of entertainment or art (similarly the lead singer of the Adverts called himself TV Smith). Initially the TVPs made a name with raw-sounding recordings that satirised the music scene in songs such as Part-Time Punks ("They pay 5p on the buses and they never use toothpaste but they still got £2.50 to go and see the Clash tonight"). Co-founder Edward Ball went on to a varied career, with the Times, Teenage Filmstars, the Boo Radleys and solo projects, while Treacy has kept the band going on and off to the present, with album A Memory Is Better Than Nothing released in 2010.

Following their debut single "14th Floor" (1978) and a couple of punky EPs, the TVPs' sound matured for their first truly great song, and their first truly twee. Released as a single in 1980, Smashing Time celebrated a day that Treacy spent taking his cousin on a tour of London. It affectionately mocks some parts of the city, praises others, and overall sums up the joy, excitement, and nervousness of a provincial person visiting the big city: "we were scared in the London Dungeon, it's silly I know, and we were both slightly embarrassed in Soho ... and she thought it was really good and so did I."

This was followed by the album ...And Don't The Kids Just Love It (1981), kicking off a sequence of great releases in the first half of the 1980s. Lyrically Treacy varied from aching love songs like "Someone To Spend My Life With" (which makes twee-ancestor Jonathan Richman's "Girlfriend" seem hard-hearted) to the brooding "How I Learned To Love the Bomb", a slice of mid-80s nuclear paranoia pop to stand alongside Frankie's "Two Tribes" or Nena's "99 Balloons". At times he overreached himself, as with the over-the-top psychodrama "Back To Vietnam", but the best of his songs presented an overwhelming romanticism, sometimes childlike, sometimes hard-fought or snatched against the odds from despair.

Despite coming up through the punk scene, Treacy's influences were quite different. Rather than the Ramones or Sex Pistols he was more interested in 1960s British pop and psychedelia; as well as a musical influence on tracks such as "The Dream Inspires" and "King and Country", this can be seen in lyrically in songs like "I Know Where Syd Barrett Lives". Treacy revered Syd Barrett, whose eccentricity and later madness offered an alternative role model to rebels like Mick Jagger and Jim Morrison - a radical withdrawal from the world (Barrett was unable to cope with his early success with Pink Floyd, retired from the music scene, and lived with his mother for in Cambridge many years) and a withdrawal from sanity.

Like the Smiths around the same time, the TVPs rejected the traditional iconography of rock music (which was mainly American, masculine, violent, celebrating freedom and rebelliousness) and preferred British popular culture, particularly from the 1960s (hence the song and album "I Was a Mod Before You Was a Mod" - the mods were smartly dressed, listened to soul music, and were the antithesis of dirty rock fans). He celebrated British new-wave filmmakers who explored working class life, often focussing on tragic young women (as in Cathy Come Home, Poor Cow, or Georgy Girl); TVPs song "Favourite Films" names actresses such as Rita Tushingham (A Taste of Honey, The Knack, Smashing Time). He also covered legendary eccentric British producer Joe Meek's I Hear A New World (Meek was a homosexual who recorded horror stories and predicted he would die on the anniversary of Buddy Holly - in 1967 he shot his landlady and himself).

The TVPs also put the Avengers on the cover of one album (And Don't The Kids Just Love It); not a twee symbol directly, but one of female empowerment. Treacy seemed to empathise more with women than men, and many TVP songs focused on tragic or suffering women, poor and rich. "La Grande Illusion", "Sad Mona Lisa", "Silly Girl", "The Girl Who Had Everything", and others were not love songs, and some were cautionary tales. But in "La Grande Illusion" he offers a recognition of the suffering of others, such as might be gleaned from watching and imagining from afar, a sadness redeemed only by the pain it stirs in Treacy's heart, the desperate sympathy of "Girl's got tears in her eyes - and I don't know what to do" establishing the cruellest of bonds between them. It's a bond the girl does not even know, unless she hears his song.

Treacy did not have a twee life. He was a heavy drug user, often taking amphetamines before performing. In the early 2000s he spent time in jail (on a prison boat) for drug-related offences. He commented "Christ, Pete Doherty does 3 weeks in Wandsworth and he's the new Johnny Cash! Guess I must be the new James Brown/Albert [sic] Lee/Brian Wilson put together!" This seemed to renew people's interest in him, and there were benefits and collections that provided enough money for him to buy a guitar and record a new record on release. Prison had not hardened his heart, and although My Dark Places (2006) and Are We Nearly There Yet? (2007) were not his best work, they still had moments of pop perfection and overwhelming honesty.




Most of the characteristics of twee can be seen in the TV Personalities. There are the two main moods, joy and winsome sadness, which are both types of romanticism. There is a celebration of passive femininity and a denial of masculinity; and an obsessive self-referentiality about the music scene. But the movement goes far beyond Treacy. While antecedents can be found in Jonathan Richman, the Velvet Underground's self-titled third album, and some of the Beach Boys' more serious moments ("God Only Knows"), it is a movement that flourished on both sides of the Atlantic in the 1980s.

It really came to music fans' attention, and gained a name, with C86, a tape of up-and-coming bands compiled by the NME. More than half of the tape had little to do with tweeness (The Wolfhounds, Fuzzbox, Big Flame, Microdisney spin-off Stump, and the jangly but more masculine Wedding Present and Half Man Half Biscuit) but it did feature several tracks in a melodic guitar-based pop style that was often called "C86" after the tape. The immediate influences for this music included early-80s Scottish bands like Orange Juice and Josef K, bands associated with Postcard Recordings in Glasgow, who made sweet jangly introverted music far from rock and roll posturing, but in a harder, more rhythmic new wave idiom.

The most crucial C86 act, although they were not on the actual tape, was perhaps the band Talulah Gosh, who introduced the world to twee figurehead Amelia Fletcher. Following the rapid demise of Talulah Gosh, she has been in a series of bands all continuing something of the spirit of twee. Heavenly had more guitars and more of a rock influence, but split after the suicide of Heavenly drummer Mathew Fletcher, Amelia's brother. With a new drummer they became Marine Research who only released one album; later she emerged with Tender Trap, playing bright pop with often satirical lyrics ("That girl had a copy of Herjazz while she was at school ... Her record collection separates women from men; sometimes she lets them mingle then breaks it up again", "That Girl" says).

Primal Scream are perhaps the most famous of the twee bands on the original C86 compilation; they possessed a skill at genre hopping as great as Blur or Madonna, and quickly left twee behind to find dance and then rock. Their C86 track "Velocity Girl" not only helped define twee and lent its name to a jangly guitar band, it seemed to have an influence on Stone Roses and the more melodic side of the Madchester/baggy scene. The C86 era found its spiritual home on Sarah records, who released Heavenly, Another Sunny Day, The Sea Urchins, The Orchids, Field Mice, Northern Picture Library, and St Christopher (whose Terry Banks later formed the splendidly-named Tree Fort Angst). Another Sunny Day sang perhaps the definitive twee song title "I'm In Love With a Girl Who Doesn't Know I Exist".

Mirroring Treacy's early tracks like "Posing At The Roundhouse" and "Part-Time Punks" were quintessential twee novelty act the Pooh Sticks, best known for "I Know Someone Who Knows Someone Who Knows Alan Mcgee Quite Well", a song about getting in with the legendary record label boss who was inspired by the Television Personalities to start a record label packed with jangly Glaswegian guitar bands (post-twee he signed Oasis).

In the mid 1980s, a time of Thatcherism, greed, and class war, twee offered a multi-layered critique of society. Drawing on forefathers like Dan Treacy and The Smiths, it questioned masculinity and celebrated outsiderdom, weakness, and failure; and it revived punk's amateurism and do-it-yourself spirit - although Treacy was a great guitarist his vocals were at best a whiny moan that conveyed considerably more emotion than tune.

Meanwhile in the USA, the tall, gangly, deep-voiced Calvin Johnson of Beat Happening was doing twee things in Olympia, Washington, going on to inspire much of the rock scene there (even Courtney Love namechecked him). He celebrated his dorkiness and awkwardness and lack of masculine success; his records were cheap and tinny like they were playing over an old AM radio ("I look at them out together and I see she's wearing my sweater", he starts "Cat Walk", a surprisingly cheerful song about being dumped for someone else). Johnson's influence also fed into 1990s emo, bands such as Sunny Day Real Estate, long before a distant version of that genre went mainstream.

On both sides of the Atlantic, tweeness led into Riot Grrl, genres with a crossover in fans and a common interest in writing and exchanging zines (self-published magazines produced on a minimal budget that originated with punk titles like Sniffing Glue, but were revived in the late 80s and early 90s until the internet killed them off). Both had a strong feminist interest, offering an alternative to the conventional male-dominated music scene that combined a strong subcultural identity with an easy-to-play style.

As time went by, the genre changed and diversified. Late 80s/early 90s Glaswegian drunks The Vaselines, fronted by the funny, forward Frances McKee and the more laid-back and debonair Eugene Kelly, mixed the twee with the offensive. Molly's Lips, one of their most famous songs, is either about a child's encounter with a grandmother, or about cunnilingus. Monster Puss has a similar duality, and they did a gender-confusing cover version of gay disco classic You Think You're A Man. The Vaselines like Calvin Johnson and the TV Personalities inspired Kurt Cobain, who sometimes wore a dress onstage and briefly threatened to overturn the masculine norms of rock and roll.

Another lasting career began with the Field Mice, who recorded epic-sounding largely acoustic songs, often focussed on Robert Wratten's failed relationships. Their Kiss and Make Up was covered by St Etienne, and Wratten and other bandmembers continued in Yesterday Sky, Northern Picture Library, and Trembling Blue Stars. The best of their songs, like "Landmark" and "Willow", managed a clear-headed description of love and heartbreak that captures the drama and saddest thing about love, the way good intentions and sincere admiration so often lead to heartbreak. Although twee is commonly associated with childishness, Wratten's emotional honesty, clarity of expression, and lack of sentimentality make him one of the most adult of songwriters.

The Field Mice's "Willow" unusually features Annemari Davies, Wratten's sometime girlfriend, on lead vocals; she sings in a high, wispy voice lyrics which seem directed at Wratten, "I told you things that turned out to be untrue. When I said them I meant them. There are so many moments from when we were together that I do treasure. Don't you go thinking I never did love you." It's reminiscent of the poetry of Ian Hamilton, whose terse lyrics used the word "you" far more than "I" to express the sorrow of ended relationships.

Twee-influenced synth-pop band Bis threatened the mainstream in the late 1990s, famously appearing on Top of the Pops without a record deal and writing the closing theme for the Powerpuff Girls. Despite their childish image and roots in fanzine culture, they had little in common musically with C86, TV Personalities, or Calvin Johnson. In the face of widespread ridicule (some unfairly directed at singer Manda Rin's appearance, others more justly directed at their deliberately immature music) they never made it big.




More recently the standard-bearers in Britain have been Welsh eight-some Los Campesinos. Loud and boisterous despite their intelligence, they combine exceptionally clever and reference-packed lyrics with upbeat tuneful pop music. Combining the manically upbeat sound of Bis with fiercely intelligent lyrics and a close attention to popular culture (they're probably the most famous band to mention LiveJournal in a song), they established themselves as a many-legged fixture on the music scene, the saviours of twee.

Having said that, the band did not charm everyone, and the now sadly missed music journalist Steven Wells fought a particular vendetta against them, claiming
Twee is a frequently reoccurring herpes virus under the foreskin of the popcock and Los Campesinos! are the weeping sore.
He did like Dan Treacy, and even saw a briefly radical impulse in twee
The Television Personalities (and their alter egos The O Levels) were not twee. The clue is in the fact that they didn't suck. They didn't simper. They didn't peddle a drained-of-all-ideology, passive-aggressive, un-analysed and hideously ill-defined porridge of cringe-worthy pederasty, noxious nostalgia, oblique poetastery, tuneless fax-pop, bourgeois arrogance (posturing as DIY separatism) and right-wing anti-proletarian middle-class smugness (posturing as anti-macho anti-sexism).

Was twee ever genuinely radical? Was it ever anything more than a cowardly retreat from subversion, empowerment and experimentation into a nauseatingly reactionary paedo-aesthetic? Surprisingly, yes it was—for about 5 minutes. In Olympia, Washington State in 1984, a young man called Calvin Johnson decides to rip the piss out of the brutally macho, one-dimensional, throw-the-baby-out-with-the-bathwater straight white male travesty that is American hardcore punk with a superlimp pissrippery called Beat Happening — the first American twee band. Beat Happening make also-on-the-bill Henry Rollin's superbly muscled head hurt. He stares at this abomination like a confused dog.
Partly his disdain was class war, twee having a tendency to be middle class (although many of punk's greatest figures came from the middle classes and leafy suburbia). And partly because he didn't like quiet music.

As can be seen, twee has reappeared wherever young and innocent people have picked up musical instruments and tried to write songs that reflect their confusion, that combination of youthful optimism with a melancholy suspicion that you'll never be cool. One mid-90s example was the Australian band Noise Addict, who penned "I Wish I Was He", about American folk-rock singer Evan Dando of the Lemonheads ("he gets his NMEs sent by air not boat...") and also did a song in favour of sarongs. Another face of contemporary twee is Tullycraft, who since the mid 1990s have combined a retro surf-influenced sound with an obsessive interest in music fandom, as manifested in the knowing lyrics of tracks like "Pop Songs Your New Boyfriend's Too Stupid To Know About" and "The Punks are Writing Love Songs".

Like most genres twee's soul is contested: is it about childish fun and upbeat music, or a genuine refusal of a still-masculine society and a narrow-minded rockist music industry? Or is it simply composed of people too sensitive for their times writing lovely songs about girls they're too scared to speak to? Middle-class perhaps, defeatist maybe, but always music for people who desperately need music that understands what they feel like. And equally importantly music that maybe they can make themselves, an act which can complete the circle of empathy - feeling something, hearing it expressed, and then expressing it yourself. It's punk for people who get beaten up by punks.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Book(s) for sale

Craig Saper, ed., Words (2009). In January 1931, Bob Brown worked with Nancy Cunard's Hours Press to publish Words—two sets of poems printed in a single volume. The book was subtitled "I but bend my finger in a beckon and words, birds of words, hop on it, chirping." One set of poems was printed in 16-point Caslon Old Face, a classic font style used in all Hours Press publications. The other was relief-printed from engraved plates at less than 3-point size (perhaps, according to Cunard, less than 1-point). Because the subtitle was also printed in the microscopic text, archives, libraries, and bibliographies often mistakenly omit it.

Although Brown was, for Cunard, "at the very center of his time, a zeitgeist in himself," they printed only 150 copies, and the book passed into relative obscurity. It is generally mentioned only as a footnote in discussions of Cunard's life or in reference to Readies for Bob Brown's Machine, Brown’s better-known anthology of experimental texts by modernist writers, including Cunard herself. Over time, this experiment in blurring the distinction between text on the one hand and its design and presentation on the other has become a major prophetic work. Noted Brown scholar Craig Saper brings Words back to light, with a thorough explication of its meaning and role in literary history.
(Charles Bernstein's blog)



In the reading-machine future
Say by 1950
All magnum opuses
Will be etched on the
Heads of pins
Not retched into
Three volume classics
By pin heads.
—Bob Brown
One of the most important in the series of experimental texts written and published by Bob Brown in the early twentieth century, Words is among the very first literary works to anticipate the post-McLuhan melding of message and medium, with text being dramatically reshaped and even redefined by the myriad new ways people now deliver it to one another. Words is two sets of poems—one set in conventional type, the other set in 1-point type and requiring use of a magnifying glass—the sets of poems simultanously outstanding in their own right and part of a fascinating poetic commentary and dialog with one another.

Part of the thriving expatriate literary scene in 1930s Europe, and a friend and collaborator with Marcel Duchamp and other Surrealists and Dadaists, Brown predicted that technological progress would so dramatically change the world that the reading experience—and, for that matter, the very nature of text—would be completely changed by the devices and media through which we communicate written art and ideas to one another. At the time, Words and other Brown experiments seemed simple, playful, and largely pointless games. In retrospect, they are remarkable works of prophecy and commentary. Noted Brown expert Craig Saper’s afterword furnishes enlightening context to the republication of this prescient collection of poetry.
(Rice University Press website)

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

The war against the secular

Roger Ebert in his consistently interesting blog has a post about how Twitter and internet browsing are destroying his concentration, reducing his ability to enjoy Victorian novels. It's a sensation many people may have felt, although whether the internet is anything more than a scapegoat is uncertain.

The epic films of the 1960s and 70s, like 2001: A Space Odyssey, Tarkovsky's Solaris, and Apocalypse Now, began with an often glacial slowness, and didn't get much faster. It seems like they aspire to the condition of dreams, enveloping the viewer in a strange world. But it is not exactly the dream they want to create, but the concrete, the secular - which means variously the non-spiritual, the long-lasting, and the non-eternal - a space where they can exist and be free. All art needs this room, a space and time where the audience can move and stretch their legs and experience something at length, escaping the momentariness and fragmentation of ordinary life.

There is a book to be written about how changes in artwork density from gallery to gallery and era to era have affected the visual arts - pictures crammed on walls in the 19th century, now sitting in solitude in white galleries - and how today we may be giving contemporary art too much space. Because after all, despite our dense urban lives, it is time we really have a shortage of - we can flit from work to shallow sensationalist work in a gallery but not commit the time to enjoy temporal arts like the novel, the slow-moving epic, or the opera.

People still have time for long TV series, box sets, but they are paced and punctuated for stop-start viewing with their ad-space-friendly ten-minute acts and credit sequences. What they do not offer is the long slow sensation of drifting off. Everything is Brechtian now, shocking you out of its reality, showing you its frame.

Just putting line breaks in something doesn't make it poetry

German miserabilist philosopher Theodor Adorno asked how it was possible to write poetry after the Holocaust, and Charles Reznikoff produced one of the greatest collections of poetry about the Nazi genocide by not writing anything at all. A master of found poetry, he pursued the avant-garde goals of driving out subjectivity and directly apprehending the world, while managing to document crime and suffering in central Europe and the USA.

Reznikoff was born in Brooklyn in 1894 of Jewish Russian parents. He studied journalism and later law and wrote reports for a legal publisher, but also wrote poetry, at first influenced by the decadent poets of the 1890s and the French Symbolists, and later by Imagism. He printed much of it himself, and made little money. He constantly worked and re-worked his poems, on one occasion demanding work back from Harriet Monroe's prestigious Poetry: A Magazine of Verse when the magazine refused to let him change it before publication; staying out of the magazine was preferable to a ban on tinkering.

He never made much money from his verse, and worked at a range of jobs from hat salesman to a spell as assistant to Albert Lewin, a Hollywood writer, producer, and director, who helped create such seductive and decadent movies as The Picture of Dorian Gray (1945) and Pandora and the Flying Dutchman (1951). He always depended on unliterary day-jobs for his money and wrote in the evenings:
After I had worked all day at what I earn my living,
I was tired. Now my work has lost another day
I thought, but began slowly,
and slowly my strength came back to me.
Surely the tide comes in twice a day. (*)
But nonetheless, Reznikoff produced a large number of books of his poetry, self-published or from little publishers such as the Objectivist Press which he ran with Louis Zukofsky, Charles Offen, and others. He became closely linked with the Objectivists, who also included George Oppen, Carl Rakosi, the British Basil Bunting, and the legendary William Carlos Williams. They rejected sentiment, subjectivity, and vagueness of language (but were unrelated to the objectivism of Ayn Rand).

Williams wrote of the necessity of "ridding the field of verbiage": giving poetry a new form suited to its present role. He wrote: "the poem, like every other form of art, is an object, an object that in itself formally presents its case and its meaning by the very form it assumes. [...] This was what we wished to imply by Objectivism, an antidote, in a sense, to the bare image haphazardly presented in loose verse." (quoted by Peter Jones in Poetry Magazine). Zukofsky ranged from short poems to epics, from the four-word The:
The
The
desire
of
towing.
which appealed to boat-obsessed Scottish artist-poet Ian Hamilton Finlay, (Jacket Magazine) all the way to his epic daybook entitled A.

In the 1940s and 50s, Reznikoff's published output declined as he concentrated on other tasks, but he was never idle. All of Reznikoff's interests - poetry, law, history, journalism - were combined in his book Testimony, which he had worked on for decades. Finally published in 1965, it turned old court reports from the late 19th and early 20th centuries into verse. This:
"It's a lie!" she cried. He struck her in the face with his newspaper, and
then with his straw hat;
and she struck back with a fish she had just bought
and then with the pocketbook she still held in her hand.
The steel clasp scratched his face and it began to bleed.
As she left the store,
he shouted after her that she should not come back
and his house was closed to her forever!
He went upstairs to the rooms where they lived
and gathered up all her clothing he could find
and cut and slashed it with knife and scissors.
came from this:
The complainant denied the charge, and charged her husband with lying. He struck her in the face with his straw hat and with a newspaper. She struck him, first with a fish which she had just been buying for breakfast, and then with a pocketbook which she held in her hand, and whose steel clasp scratched his face and drew blood. The parties were separated. The complainant left the house, and defendant shouted after her, and sent word to her by his son that she could not come back again. She went to her father's house. Three days afterwards the husband said to the son, who was working for him in his store, that he must decide whether he would go with his mother or stay with him. The son decided to go with the mother, and left. The husband then sent word to the wife to take away her clothing, but, before delivering it to her, mutilated each piece of it thoroughly with a knife or scissors, or other sharp instrument, so that a large number of costly female garments of all kinds were utterly destroyed, and in that condition sent to the wife. (Streitwolf v. Streitwolf, 47 A. 14, 18 (N.J. Ch. 1900).)
(Example from Benjamin Watson, Legal Studies Forum, Volume 29, No. 1 (2005)). Reznikoff set out his principles and working methods in the following brief statement (Watson again):
The Method of Revision
1. Write all seemingly good lines
2. Examine every word to remove all possible latinisms and unnecessary words
3. Examine the meaning of the sentences in their order
4. Examine the rhythm of the lines
5. Examine the rhythm of the whole
6. Then revision by contemplation
The follow-up to Testimony was Holocaust, with texts taken from the war crimes trials at Nuremberg and from the Eichmann trial. You can listen to him reading from it at Penn Sound, a project of the University of Pennsylvania. Being taken from court testimony, not legal judgments, the poems present the evidence not the verdicts; facts, not commentary.
Once the commander of a camp had eight of the strongest among
the Jews
placed in a large barrel of water,
saying that they did not look clean,
and they had to stand in this barrel naked for twenty-four hours.
In the morning, other Jews had to cut away the ice:
the men were frozen to death.
In this camp - and in others also -
they had an orchestra of Jews
who had to play every morning and evening
and whenever Jews were taken to be shot.
In one such camp,
the orchestra had all of sixty men. (*)
Reznikoff died in 1976, a year after Holocaust was published. Despite mixed reviews for it, his popularity was on the rise, with the support of the prestigious Black Sparrow Press. His voice remains on filmmaker Abraham Ravett's recordings, reading other people's words.


Many of the great modernist poets, from TS Eliot to William Carlos Williams, made use of quotes and samples in their writing. Eliot's The Waste Land included footnotes by the author explaining how "Poi s'ascose nel foco che gli affina" was from Dante's Inferno and "Why then Ile fit you" and "Hieronymo's mad again" from Kyd's Spanish Tragedy. Williams incorporated personal correspondence (including mail from Allen Ginsberg) and other prose in his epic poem Paterson.

More recent poets like Charles Bernstein (one of the pioneers of language poetry) have made equally creative use of found texts, seeking to question the idea of poetry as communication of meaning by pointing up the reuse and repetition of its linguistic building blocks. In the 1960s, Ronald Gross attempted to copy pop art with his pop poetry, taking text from advertisements and commercial writing:
An optional feature
designed to make
the Visible Woman
even more useful
as an educational toy
is the Miracle of Creation.
Understanding female biology
requires observation
of those parts
relating to gestation.
began his "The Miracle of Creation", text taken from a toy catalogue that seems strange and suggestive when removed from its colourful illustrations and given the full concentration of the poet or reader. Presumably, the text is describing the Visible Woman, an educational anatomical model (of the sort Damian Hirst later reproduced - BBC), and its optional add-on the Miracle of Creation.

Gross's writing, like Reznikoff's, is part of the genre of found poetry, where a writer (or collector) comes across a few sentences and decide it should be poetry; it has a long history. In 1936 Yeats edited the Oxford Book of English Verse and included a section of Walter Pater's prose description of the Mona Lisa broken up into separate lines (New Criterion).

More recently, Hart Seely collected the poetry of George W Bush's defense secretary Donald Rumsfeld (Slate). From a 2001 defence briefing comes this, which Seely entitled "Glass Box":
You know, it's the old glass box at the—
At the gas station,
Where you're using those little things
Trying to pick up the prize,
And you can't find it.
It's—

And it's all these arms are going down in there,
And so you keep dropping it
And picking it up again and moving it,
But—

Some of you are probably too young to remember those—
Those glass boxes,
But—

But they used to have them
At all the gas stations
When I was a kid.
In 2009, former British Poet Laureate Andrew Motion was criticised from some quarters (see the Telegraph) for his poem An Equal Voice, made up of the testimonies of British soldiers. For this poem, he minimised signs of his intervention by choosing a regular line length:
War from behind the lines is a dizzy jumble.
Revolving chairs, stuffy offices, dry as dust
reports, blueprints one day and the next –
with the help of a broken-down motor car
and a few gallons of petrol – marching men
with sweat-stained faces and shining eyes,
horses straining and plunging at the guns,
little clay-pits opening beneath each step,
and piles of bloody clothes and leggings
outside the canvas door of a field hospital.
It looks like a column of text; like prose.

Monday, May 31, 2010

Rock 'n' roll high schools

Bandslam (2009) is a film about teenagers interested in alternative rock, produced by Christian educationalists Walden Media and starring a clutch of Disney's wholesome young actors. It joins a run of films about independent music and its fans, including the breakout Oscar success Juno (2007), which combines teen heartthrob turned Arrested Development star Jason Bateman with the sad quirky music of Kimya Dawson. Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist (2008) follows teens through a night in New York in a quest for a secret gig (an upbeat successor to urban movies from The Warriors to Hangin' With The Homeboys). (500) Days of Summer (2009) is about twentysomethings wondering if love exists and whether musical taste is the be-all and end-all, or if (as Los Campesinos once sang) "it's not what you like, it's what you're like as a person". But this trend also follows such kid-oriented material as Freaky Friday (2003), in which Lindsay Lohan plays guitar in a rock band when not swapping bodies with Jamie Lee Curtis, and even a range of Bratz dolls with attached guitars.

Bandslam centres on Will (Gaelan Connell), a nerdy teenage boy who moves from the horrors of Cincinnati to the paradise of New Jersey (the reason for his leaving does become clearer). His mother is played by Lisa Kudrow: unlike her fellow Friend Jennifer Aniston she has not become a film star but has prospered in smaller films as best friend or sister and now mom. She and her son have an unhealthily close relationship: while he's in the shower she sits on the toilet to talk to him; at one point he encourages her to unzip her top to get the services of a talented drummer with a fondness for older women.

In New Jerseyan suburbia (the Garden State was the subject of another music-heavy film with Zach Braff and Natalie Portman), our hero finds himself in a sort of romantic triangle with two girls. Charlotte is a blonde ex-cheerleader who helps out at playgroup and leads her own dodgy band Glory Dogs - not to be confused with the school's favourite band Ben Wheatly and the Glory Dogs whose singer she once dated. Her strange behaviour is explained towards the end when it emerges that she has made a pact with God (everyone has their secrets here). She is played by Alyson Michalka, who starred in Disney sitcom Phil of the Future, which had a certain following outside its core age group.

The other girl is Sa5m (the 5 is silent - one of the better jokes), brunette and antisocial, played by Disney superstar Vanessa Hudgens, who was Gabriella, the female lead, in High School Musical. While HSM co-star Zac Efron was worshipped by the camera and given many long sequences to show his sensitive side and conflicted personality, Hudgens suffered from a lack of material as his love interest: a mathlete in the first film turned into a lifeguard in the second. She's not much better off here, miscast as Bandslam's troubled girl (think of Ally Sheedy in The Breakfast Club or Julia Stiles in 10 Things I Hate About You for how it should be played) with her natural perkiness and an inability to slouch or mumble or look anything other than well-scrubbed and beautiful.

As with many teen stories, the film uses the device of unsent letters - Will composes regular missives to David Bowie. This appears forced and incongruous, not least because otherwise he doesn't seem to be a particular Bowie fan, but does create expectations for the inevitable Bowie cameo, which is late and brief and poor by the standards of Ricky Gervais's Extras. (In fairness, many things that teenage boys do are forced and incongruous.) Rather than go to the trouble of learning to play an instrument, Will becomes manager of Charlotte's group of no-hopers (one of whom is told off for bearing a resemblance to Flea from the Red Hot Chili Peppers, whom he is almost entirely unlike). He rapidly improves the band by recruiting even more freaks and outcasts, from shop class, orchestra, and marching band.

The film was shot in Austin, Texas, known for its excellent live music scene, and some local bands feature in the climactic bandslam (a music competition not a wrestling event). But the film's attitude to music is inconsistent, flipping between the super-cultish and the mainstream. Will and Charlotte bond while arguing whether The Velvet Underground's self-titled third album is better than their debut, The Velvet Underground and Nico. He wants to visit CBGB's in New York, but uses his trip to enthuse about how punk's spirit inspired U2 and The Killers; most cliquey, over-serious indie fans dislike the pompous stadium rockers (aptly parodied in South Park with Bono's quest to produce the biggest bowel movement in history) and the 80s-influenced pop-rock Mormons.

A similar conflict can be seen in 10 Things I Hate About You, slightly cooler but still fairly mainstream, where the heroine speaks of her love for Bikini Kill (confrontational riot grrls who recorded the best-ever double A-side I Like Fucking/I Hate Danger) and the Raincoats (wayward, disorganised mostly-female post-punk act who swung between dreamy proto-world music and fierce denunciations of soldiers visiting prostitutes) but the film features cute power-poppers Letters To Cleo. Both 10 Things and Bandslam feature covers of Cheap Trick's I Want You To Want Me.

But according to Bandslam the greatest music genre of all isn't indie rock, power pop, or even poverty-eliminating Irish stadium pomp. It is reggae, and particularly the 1960s subgenre called ska, which is apparently better because it's not just about getting stoned. This is a curious statement, as Rastafarians like Bob Marley blended a fondness for weed with a passion for social justice that has made him an icon throughout the developing world, while ska was mostly party music that focused on beats not lyrics. But perhaps the anti-drug message is more important. (In the infinitely cooler Ghost World, the nihilistic heroes dismiss reggae and its main audience of dumb stoners with a contemptuous glance.) Hudgens is particularly fond of Everything I Own, a big hit for Jamaican singer Ken Boothe and a reggae-tinged cover by Boy George.

Walden Media may have filmed The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe but isn't the worst company to be making kids' films: aside from their genuine commitment to get kids reading, their adaptation of Bridge to Terabithia was moving and shocking, with indie-queen Zooey Deschanel at her nicest and best as a school teacher. There isn't much religion in Bandslam, and as with the lion-killing in Wardrobe, it's more Flannery O'Connor than nativity play: a teenage girl who promises to be nice if God will spare her terminally ill father, then sees him die. Religion, then, is real but not always benign.

There are some good jokes (feeding toddlers teriyaki-flavour beef jerky, a bit of Violent Femmes business), and there are certainly plot twists, even though the film is badly paced. But if you were to rate the kids' rebelliousness and cool on a scale from the Heathers to the Flanders, they're not even as cool as Lindsay Lohan in Freaky Friday who manages to be authentically hard to get out of bed in the morning.

Bandslam is made by adults with a pop-culture sensibility but is aimed at kids and the censors who guard them. Movies like Ghost World, Heathers, or Mysterious Skin choose to show teenage life as a random, brutal, nightmarish place where you've got to make your own meaning; Juno approaches adult themes with cutting jokes; and The Breakfast Club and 10 Things I Hate About You represent teenage confusion with some attempt at sincerity. In contrast, Bandslam has improbable plot elements, tried-and-tested cliches, pretty girls, and a few flashes of wit. The result is less anarchic than many shows on Nickelodeon; even Disney's Kim Possible (an animated heroine who fights super-villains with the aid of a naked mole rat) is a more interesting and complex character. But for fans of alternative music, or of movies that make references to Patti Smith and Samuel Beckett (Will's band is called I Can't Go On, I'll Go On which he justifies as being no stupider than Get Cape, Wear Cape, Fly!), it's a fascinating collision of commerce and art.

The movie is set in the fictional Martin Van Buren High School. This might be a nod to Glee or Freaks and Geeks, both of which feature a William McKinley High School; to James K Polk Middle School in Ned's Declassified School Survival Guide; or to The Brady Bunch which had both Fillmore and Coolidge Highs.

Saturday, May 15, 2010

Young Harvey, Young Jack

You don't make up for your sins in church. You do it in the streets. You do it at home. The rest is bullshit and you know it.

1970s cinema has a canon beloved by film-buffs, movie magazines, and even film writers: Taxi Driver, Apocalypse Now, The Godfather, but also Jaws and Star Wars. At the same time, films like One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, despite their power and audience affection, remain outside the official story of American film history in which self-involved mavericks took over, only to be usurped by special effects and populism. This article considers a number of films which fit within the Easy Riders, Raging Bulls tradition but perhaps aren't viewed as often as they should be.

The first thing you notice about Mean Streets is how young Harvey Keitel is. From his 1990s renaissance (The Piano, Bad Lieutenant) he is clearly middle-aged, balancing paunch with muscles, still clinging on not to his youthful beauty but to some of his power. In Mean Streets he is slim, immaculately dressed in suit, bright patterned shirt, and large-knotted tie, with a bouffant hairdo and clean-cut good looks. He is a young man, trying to get started in organised crime, trying to find the balance between religion, loyalty, love, and the necessity to project the appropriate image. His girlfriend is unsuitable, his best friend is a lunatic who owes money to every loan shark in town, and he is trying to be a good Catholic not only in church but on the streets. While he's running the rackets.

Scorsese shoots the film with astonishing facility, layering it with constantly-moving camera, incongruous pop songs on the soundtrack, the first 20 minutes bathed in red light. It's the confidence of a young man who for the first time has the total freedom to say what he wants but more importantly knows almost instinctively how to do it. His cast is brilliant - they look like mobsters and mooks, not actors. The script is funny and savage. De Niro steals scenes with a youthful vitality absent from his later films - in Taxi Driver he was already a veteran, and by the time of Raging Bull he was an old has-been. But at the centre is Keitel, a smooth surface that never lets us beneath the clothes he wears like armour. We can only imagine his troubles and the decision he must make between love and success; yet while we want him to choose Teresa (Amy Robinson) over the mob, we equally want him to stop being so soft with Johnny Boy. It's not just about being made in the mob; it's about entering society and becoming an adult.

James Toback's Fingers, which also stars Keitel, is a lesser-known film, or at least until its recent French remake The Beat That My Heart Skipped. Keitel is a wannabe pianist again working as an enforcer for the mob. The job description for his position involves beating up debtors and having sex with - or sometimes raping - their wives and girlfriends. It is a film of dubious morals and astonishing energy. Like Mean Streets it is a film about what it takes to be a man, and yet even more than Mean Streets it ignores so much of manhood that it is a caricature, albeit one of great virtuosity.

The critic David Thomson, later a close friend of Toback, wrote "Fingers is the best first film by an American director since Badlands. Even that is inadequate praise, for whereas Terry Malick's debut was an inventive ballad about innocent energy run amuck, Fingers is ingrowing and wounding. It does not belong to any familiar genre: it is more like a psychological allegory or ordeal." Thompson could not bring himself to comment on any of Toback's later films. Certainly, Toback never made anything else nearly as good as Keitel explaining why he loved the song Summertime Summertime by the Jamies.

There's a long tradition of tough guys in movies wanting to go straight: most mafiosi seem to want to become legitimate business people. But there's a limit as to what jobs they can do: in Paul Schrader's smoother Light Sleeper, Willem Dafoe's drug dealer wants to become a record producer, and in countless films people want to be rappers. But becoming a concert pianist is a little too esoteric for movie cliches. Insofar as they treat classical music at all, movies tell us that concert pianists are weird, effete, stuck-up and rather unlikable. Thomson finds it all "implausible" and points to the schematic nature of Keitel's character's parents - tough guy father, mother in an asylum. Added to that chiaroscuro is former American footballer Jim Brown as a black pimp, a terrifying figure of darkness. The scene in which he bangs two of his girls' heads together, and the noise of the crack, is one of the most horrible in cinema. Becoming like that is the more realistic choice for Keitel.

It's a film that's all about angels and demons. It's ridiculous, unbelievable; nobody in the audience thinks it's possible for Keitel to become a serious musician, even if his fingers make it through everything intact. When Jacques Audiard remade it, he cut down on the evilness of the criminals, and made Romain Duris's dreams of musical success seem more delusional and pathetic, but he lost the insane sense of Augustinian spiritual conflict: that the true battle was not fought with the hero's fists but with his soul.

Five Easy Pieces and The King of Marvin Gardens, both directed by Bob Rafelson and starring Jack Nicholson, are not about the glamour of violent crime on the streets. They are films about fraud, deception, hiding, and escape. Central to both is perhaps the greatest Hollywood actor of the last 60 years. Nicholson, unlike Keitel, remained a star from the 70s to the present day. While he does all the usual hack work of any big star, he has found time for some astonishing performances more recently. About Schmidt (2002), the greatest film of the overpraised Alexander Payne, is one of the best tales of growing old in middle-class America, and for it Nicholson seems to resurrect both the trauma and the tenderness of the youthful roles that made his name. But back to the 1970s.

The King of Marvin Gardens starts with one of the great scenes of 70s cinema: Nicholson sitting alone in a darkened room, telling lies to no one. He is a late-night radio DJ, spinning wonderful if implausible tales, but it is hard to believe there is anybody listening to him. The film is a stylised, almost theatrical piece, in which nobody might exist except the four main characters, with Bruce Dern playing out dreams of property development in a run-down Atlantic City that doesn't seem to have anybody to live in his houses. It's a film about capitalism, about success, but one in which success and failure are both strangely illusory - Bruce Dern in another of his great madman roles is certainly the happiest character. Nicholson for once plays quiet and introverted, coolly intelligent rather than impulsively physical, something he has seldom explored since.

Nicholson made his name with a supporting role in Easy Rider, a shallow but impactful story about the counterculture and their war with America. Five Easy Pieces presents a generational conflict which is far more ambiguous and more specific in its social and economic setting. While earlier filmmakers like Douglas Sirk criticised the American middle class for its philistinism, greed, crassness, and meanness of spirit, Nicholson's character grows up in an exemplary artsy, liberal, upper-middle-class family, and chooses to reject all that in favour of dangerous labour on oil-fields and being cruel to women. This is a film about somebody who doesn't want to be a concert pianist.

Long before Mean Streets or Five Easy Pieces, Nicholas Ray's Rebel Without A Cause alluded to a crisis of masculinity in the American middle-class. Teenager Jim (James Dean) despaired at his hen-pecked father, but it still showed the young man as capable of love and responsibility in his relationship with Natalie Wood and Sal Mineo. In the 1950s, there was a cosy suburbia against which a man could define himself, but by the 1970s this uniform social background was gone, and there was nothing to rebel against. Five Easy Pieces is nihilistic, with Nicholson's contempt for women (and for his family) only equalled by his contempt for himself.

And yet the film recognises the attractiveness of Nicholson's character Robert Eroica Dupea to both men and women. The scene in the diner where he tries to change his order - denied toast he cleverly requests a chicken salad sandwich in toasted bread, but tells the waitress to hold the butter, lettuce, mayo, and the chicken - instantly became a classic for lovers of grumpiness, despite its mean-spiritedness and the way that it's instantly undercut: Dupea saying he didn't get his order despite his verbal skills and his girlfriend suggesting she'd have punched the waitress out instead. This is not rebellion that's big or clever or successful; it's self-destructive and pointless. Nobody gets what they want in any of these movies.

It's clear that what all the films have in common is that the world, no matter how lovingly and accurately described in Mean Streets or how stylised as in Marvin Gardens, is not where the action is taking place. Was this generation of directors - Scorsese, Rafelson, Toback, the last who could make spiritual dramas that can stand with Bresson or Bergman or Tarkovsky? There's something Dostoevskian about it, recognising that Dostoevsky could be tremendously funny and sly as well as dark and prophetic; the urban hell of St Petersburg at night mirrors that of New York. As well as being the first great urban novelist, it sometimes seems that Dostoevsky was the last novelist to believe in good and evil, even if he loved evil more than good and saw both fade away impossibly - Raskolnikov fails at being evil just as Leo Myshkin fails at being good. While nobody in any of these films is exactly good or evil, what these filmmakers did was to recreate some of this old whirlwind of moral debate, to affirm that the most important thing in the world is the decision about how you live your life even if that decision cannot bring you happiness.

Moving forwards 20 years, Scorsese's last really great film was Casino, in which Robert De Niro plays Jewish gambler turned casino manager Ace Rothstein. This is a film about how it's impossible to ever be really successful. What is great about the movie is the way it demolishes the characters' seeming success with terrible precision. It is a film full of ironies, both visual and narrative, and its over-the-top style captures the enthusiasms of its characters, but at its heart is something similar to Mean Streets. This is a film that understands and sympathises with its characters' successes, but at the same time that is willing to destroy them clinically, to pick them apart without sentiment. Goodfellas, a slightly earlier film considered better by many people, managed the clear-headed analysis of its young mobster's rise and fall, but it lacked the kindliness of the later film. Goodfellas is about a young upstart who thinks he can get somewhere, and by betraying his friends ultimately escapes, while Casino is a film about middle-aged failure, the end of dreams that cannot be avoided.

Saturday, April 24, 2010

We've all seen the future, which is the problem.

A forthcoming event in Manchester, the FutureEverything Conference (May 13-14) seeks to explore the future in all its myriad streams: crowdsourcing, social networking, Twitter, and databases, to answer questions like what will be the next Wikipedia.

There is a constant interest in the future in modern media, with the onrushing progress of internet technology throwing up a series of big new names over the past 15 years in a process of constant fertility: Yahoo, Amazon, eBay, Google, Slashdot, LiveJournal, Wikipedia, Friendster, YouTube, Myspace, etsy, Gmail, Facebook, Twitter, iPhone, Latitude... All of these promised or promise to change the way we live, the way we (a more nebulous we) do business, the way we are made to buy things and the way we might be able to sell them. We are told there is more around the corner; while many things like Twitter and Facebook appear of uncertain value at first, there's always a chance they'll prove useful, or like cigarettes their value might have no relation to their popularity.

And yet it's a constant theme of postmodern and recent Marxist thought that there is (for people today) no future and no past: what marks the present age is a total absence of history, of the future. Fredric Jameson has launched a quixotic battle to preserve the dying concept of Utopia - following the failure of Marxism and the dreams of the 60s counterculture, it seems nobody has any idea of a better society; the idea that the future will be different from the present has been almost entirely closed off, and utopian thought is vanishing the same way as the idea of medieval chivalry.

Today, there is little sense of the past, of history. Narrative is reduced to a series of moments, a list such as the one I made earlier. A list contains no idea of logical connection, of historical agency, of progress, of will, of conscious choice or motive, or of dialectic. Modern media is focussed on the momentary and the stream of moments - the Flickr photostream; Twitter; the website status updates that preceded and followed it; geo-tagging and location tracking; shared amateur and professional video clips from falling-down dogs to moments excerpted from classic films; RSS streams, aggregation, and the jumble of Google News.

It is possible to suggest a story in a twitter post or a photograph, but such a story will always be tenuous and insubstantial, lacking necessity. A photograph frozen in time, even if it is clear what happened next from your external knowledge and internal clues, denies the certainty of history. It is always possible to halt time, to make things otherwise. A photograph obliterates history. Even a video clip is only the most shallow and sensational version of history - someone falls off a table, someone shoots JFK in the head - leaving more questions than answers. Only the understanding of historical processes can truly explain where we have come from and where we are going, and that is something for which there seems little appetite - because we focus our attentions on the future, a future (the next Twitter, the next YouTube) that inwardly we know offers nothing but more of the same.

Monday, March 8, 2010

The dark side of Live Aid

The BBC recently reported that some money from the 1980s charity Live Aid was used by one of the rebel groups, the Marxist Leninist League of Tigray, to buy guns. Live Aid founder Bob Geldof has angrily denied the allegations and is complaining to broadcasting regulator Ofcom, but the claims appear well-researched and the BBC is standing by its report.

In 2005, Prospect Magazine (subscription required) reported that
The millions donated to Ethiopia in 1985 thanks to Live Aid were supposed to go towards relieving a natural disaster. In reality, donors became participants in a civil war. Many lives were saved, but even more may have been lost in Live Aid's unwitting support of a Stalinist-style resettlement project
Aid resources were used to sustain forced population transfers on a large scale, as President Mengistu moved his enemies around Ethiopia; the article did not use the phrase "ethnic cleansing", but it might easily be applied.

Saturday, February 27, 2010

Control

In a new blog post, Adam Curtis discusses the problems with economics and the difficulty of treating the socio-political sphere as if it was a machine. This repeats arguments advanced in his series The Trap and Pandora's Box - that the Thatcherite/laisser-faire (and even Blairite) project of marketizing all aspects of public life (education, the health service, social services, etc) is not truly a freeing, but the construction of an incredibly complex network of measurements, penalties, and rewards, all of which are susceptible to manipulation by the people involved (politicians, managers, staff) who gain rewards or punishments depending on the data fed into the system; inspired by cybernetics, feedback engineering, and systems theory.

One good example is British railways. Before privatisation, almost the entire railway system was run by a single entity, British Rail, which combined passenger and freight operations, rolling stock, track, stations, safety, planning, staffing, and all other aspects of running a railway. The 1993 railways act broke British Rail into over 100 companies: the track is controlled by one company, which contracts out maintenance, and train services are put on by a number of different companies, who lease rolling stock from other companies. A hugely complex bureaucracy is required to adjudicate between all these organisations: train operators are penalised for unpunctual trains, but have found tricks like cancelling trains or adjusting timetables that can be used to manipulate the metrics. Subsidies doubled in real terms from 1994 (just before privatisation) to 2005, with no increase in punctuality or quality of service. Wikipedia has a good summary.

As a result you do not have a free-market system where people are free to innovate and provide new services; you have a huge costly bureaucracy which constrains people into maximising semi-arbitrary metrics rather than competing directly for customers. Of course, with a railway system, it is hard to allow two operators to run rival services and compete against each other, but this reduces the choices to state ownership or unregulated monopoly (with each company building their own lines, as happened in the 19th century). The present system is neither free enterprise nor state control, but the worst of both worlds. The toughest question is why such a system exists: when railway privatisation was planned, some people wanted BR privatised as 1 or 4 companies, but the Adam Smith Institute, a group of right-wing semi-libertarian ideologues pushed for the bizarre system now in place. Their reasoning remains opaque: it cannot be motivated by naive laisser-faire economics, but can only be a product, as Curtis suggests, of strange counter-intuitive ideas lifted mistakenly from cybernetics about how a complex system of data flows (and money flows) can produce a self-regulatory system, little considering the effects on either the cost of the system or the services it provides.