Whenever I feel the hopelessly bleak deathscape of winter in Ohio greedily leeching what little desire I had to leave the security of my bed, Oberlin comes up with something to warm my spirits. Recently, that spirit-warmer came in the form of Olga Neuwirth’s contemporary multimedia opera “Lost Highway,” a brilliant adaptation of the eponymous David Lynch movie. I can think of no other college that offers students the opportunity to view a contemporary opera on campus, written by a current composer-in-residence, performed by a mix of peer and professional actors, accompanied by first-rate musicians playing some of the most difficult modern music available, and enhanced by light and sound orchestrated by faculty and students, all set up in a building usually reserved for guest lectures and weddings. (Every time I bear witness to the tasty dichotomy of atonal contemporary music played in Finney Chapel, my heart does a happy somersault.) Any negative reaction to Neuwirth’s opera must therefore be tempered by the admission that, as Oberlin students, we are a phenomenally spoiled bunch.
Descriptions of the opera are difficult, not only because of the absence of a linear plot but because of the ease in which one can succumb to the sort of pretentious and nonsensical literary fluff that creates an illusion of intelligence in the writer and of comprehension in the reader. Indeed, a trip through the production notes in the brochure of the opera would easily lead cynical theatergoers to expect the show to be a travesty. Marvel at lines like: “Do not expect what you have learned to expect, but instead expect to be the locus where everything comes together, and is either understood or mystified, or remembered or forgotten.” And: “For those of you who have not seen David Lynch’s Lost Highway, the completion of this psychological journey awaits you when you do. For those of you who have, tonight already happened. Or has it? Only you will know, and tonight you will find out.”
Right. This aimless high-school level philosophizing, pervasive in program notes for almost all avant-garde performances (where sometimes the program notes are longer than the song itself), is perhaps partially responsible for the incredulity that constitutes most concert-goers’ opinions of contemporary music. The truth of the matter is that most contemporary music can be understood and explained in concrete terms; whether or not the artist wishes for their work to be demystified in such a manner is an entirely separate matter.
Because “Lost Highway” is a seizure-inducing orgy of the senses, it is easy to be so overwhelmed that the plot line becomes unclear. I will consider this review to be an unambiguous success if it can clarify the circuitous and at times unwieldy plot, which the production notes so kindly avoided. Central to the opera is the idea of a “psychogenic fugue,” a mental disorder that causes the afflicted individual to forget every detail of his or her life and adopt a completely new identity. Jazz trumpeter Fred Madison’s suspicions of his wife Renee’s infidelity cause him to develop this condition, though its onset is initially unknown to both Fred and the audience. Fred (Barry Bryan) begins to see and converse with a faceless Mystery Man (Chad Grossman), and shortly thereafter brutally murders Renee (Alice Teyssier). During a particularly fitful night in Prison, Fred transforms into Pete Dayton (Michael Weyandt), an auto mechanic. Pete begins an affair with Alice, the wife of a mobster and porn distributor known by the names Mr. Eddy and Dick Laurent (played by the fantastically entertaining Raphael Sacks). She is the spitting image of Fred’s wife (both roles are acted by Teyssier), but their relationship is passionate and fulfilling in ways that were unknown in Fred’s loveless marriage.
In a recent interview with Newsweek magazine, Neuwirth elaborated on the idea of the psychogenic fugue in the context of Pete’s affair with Alice. “For me, Fred converts into Pete to try again, to have a better life, to be younger and more attractive to this woman. This is the horrible thing. No matter what, you remain a prisoner of your body and mind. You can’t escape from yourself, your fears, your inner life.” This dreary epiphany is the end note of the both the opera and the movie; there is no sunny resolution, and though no one in the audience would pretend to know how all of the plot threads wove together, it’s hard to escape the bleak reality of the ending.
The opera makes no pains to clarify any of the plot details. It was Lynch’s intent with the film to leave many of the audience’s questions unanswered, and Neuwirth achieves the same result. In an interview that appeared in Rolling Stone at the time of the film’s release, Barry Gifford, who co-wrote “Lost Highway,” says that although the central plot is understandable, “things happen in this film that are not - and should not be - easily explained.”
Part of the reason why Neuwirth’s opera is so blithe in its presentation of the plot is that it is only one element vying for the attention of the audience. The music is phenomenal: the pit orchestra, comprised of members of Oberlin’s Contemporary Music Ensemble under the baton of Timothy Weiss, skillfully moved through Neuwirth’s intensely demanding score, assaulting the more frenzied passages with gleeful insanity. For much of the opera, the orchestra creates a low and ominous rumble underneath the action on stage. This is especially potent in the beginning, where Fred and Renee’s loveless marriage is manifested by their spoken—rather than sung—dialogue. The set of their house is dark and devoid of color, and the score reflects this icy dimness. During Andy’s party, the music creates an atonal groove that synthesizes Neuwirth’s avant-garde harmonies with a pseudo-lounge music electric bass line and hints of a dance beat. Moments later, as Mr. Eddy throttles one of Pete’s customers, the score’s frantic rhythms and shrill harmonies are evocative of Bela Bartok, but as with all of Neuwirth’s music the comparisons are only tangential.
Incidentally, that scene with Mr. Eddy is the only aria in the entire opera, and it is easily the longest scene in a production otherwise divided into short, pointed ingots. As Mr. Eddy inflicts physical and, infinitely more harmful, verbal pain on the stranger, he alternates between low bass notes and his falsetto range, punctuating his angry exhortations with asthmatic wheezing, as funny as it is sinister. The score matches the dynamics of the stage action, and the orchestra delivers on point, without exception.
Though the opera would adroitly stand on the merits of the score and plot, it is further enhanced by the use of pre-recorded sound effects and complex visual images. It would be easy to dismiss this aspect of the production as a novelty, were it not for the successful interplay between the visuals, the music, and the story. When Fred hallucinates in prison, bestial images flash on the transparent screen that covers the entire stage. When Fred murders Dick Laurent/Mr. Eddy, the Mystery Man films his gruesome death, and the action is broadcast for all to see. Pre-recorded sounds are used to great effect, partially because of the relative restraint exercised in their admission. They are most effectively used during Fred’s sojourn into the life of Pete. In one scene, the distortion of Alice’s voice reminds the audience that the events on stage are all transpiring in the warped imagination of the murderous Fred Madison. It is a fortunate discovery (or, perhaps, unfortunate) that the introduction of these new media truly enhanced the potency of the bleak and inescapable miasma that is this opera’s atmosphere.
Reaction to this opera seems heavily divided: people loved it, hated it, or didn’t understand it. I feel like the former two categories must inherently also claim membership of the latter: there is no way to fully understand this opera. I don’t think David Lynch fully understood the elements of the story when he made the movie. For 100 minutes, the audience is bombarded with radically harmonized contemporary music, a story line based on a rare psychological illness, and menacing visuals broadcast on a 40-foot-long screen. When I left Finny Chapel, I didn’t even want to talk about the production, lest I commit a grave injustice against everyone who worked on “Lost Highway” by not giving it time to digest. At a time when avant-garde classical music seems to be more reviled by audiences than any other fringe art form, this sort of multi-media cross-breeding might introduce the elements needed to increase public acceptance of contemporary classical music. “So many [composers] are not courageous today,” she told Newsweek. “No one tries anything out, and just dish out these polished surfaces so no one can criticize them. Their skills are high, but what we get as listeners are only these tidy, neat packages, Where’s the edge, the roughness, the invention? Where?”
2.20.2007
2.16.2007
It's Not Easy Being Green: The Grinch as Fascist Allegory
This is an essay I handed in for an english class in high school. My tongue bore a hole in my cheek.
The first lines of “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” immediately establish the competing ideologies of the Grinch and the town that borders his secluded home. “Every Who down in Whoville liked Christmas a lot... But the Grinch, who lived just North of Whoville, Did NOT!” The denizens of Whoville, it is worth noting, are all blonde-haired and blue-eyed. They live in identical houses, smile incessantly, and are, without exception, Christians. The homogenous nature of Whoville is undoubtedly intended to mirror Adolph Hitler’s genocidal concept of a master race, and one can only speculate as to what kind of unspeakable eugenics shaped Whoville into the Aryan community that Seuss describes. The Grinch is described as physically inferior to the Whos, possessing a heart that is “two sizes too small,” as well as a coat of green fur, which, along with his atheistic tendencies, separate him markedly from the Whos.
The bias of the story’s narrator is immediately apparent; the narrator declares that the Grinch’s distaste for Christmas is inexplicable and can only be rooted in a hatred of all things good in the world. By aligning the narrator against the Grinch, Dr. Seuss has created a means of satirizing the Whoville theocracy by enthusiastically agreeing with its misguided and authoritative ideology to the extent that any educated reader will immediately see the outlandishness of the Who community.
The reasons for the Grinch’s seclusion on a mountain outside of Whoville are unclear; he may have been outcast from the town in a pogrom of sorts (in which case, one wonders where the other green, fuzzy, small-hearted exiles now reside.) More likely, however, is that the Grinch simply enjoys living by himself. It is clear that he is a man of science; his ingenuity becomes apparent in the latter half of the story when he crafts a large and sturdy sled out of household materials. As Christmastime nears, however, the Whos down in Whoville do not wish to quietly celebrate their holiday in the confines of their homogenized community but rather intend to proselytize loudly and assimilate dissenters into their theocratic ranks. The narrator describes shrill singing and noises of all kinds emanating from Whoville, and these noises preclude the Grinch from continuing to pursue science in the quiet of his secluded residence. The proselytizing of the Whos acts as a catalyst for the Grinch, who realizes that he must “stop this whole thing!” and thereby put an end to the misguided Whos and their state-sponsored religion. The Grinch resolves that the best way to thwart the Whos would be to remove all gifted belongings from their homes, because he believes that their coveted holiday is more strongly rooted in materialism than in religious fervor. This idea is decried by the narrator as “awful,” and while the Grinch’s intentions here are noble, his idea is doomed from the start. The Grinch does not realize the extent of the Who’s religious convictions; Christianity is not about material possessions but rather functions as a vehicle for the Whoville government (the existence of which is implicit in the story) to assert control over neighboring regions in a bold attempt at nothing less than world domination.
As the Grinch, cleverly disguised as Santa Claus, sets about to removing the material evidence of Christmas from Who houses, his physical and mental prowess becomes clear. It is no easy task to successfully force an entire Christmas tree up and out of a chimney, and to do such a thing without waking up the houses’ occupants is truly remarkable. In one particularly suspenseful passage in the story, the Grinch encounters a Who sentry, named Cindy-Lou Who. (All Whos have the same last name, perhaps implying sordid incestuous practices indicative of a closed community like Whoville.) Cindy-Lou demands an explanation from the Grinch as to his intent: “Why are you taking our Christmas tree? WHY?” Confronted with a potentially disastrous situation, the Grinch utilizes the girl’s youthful naivety and, claiming to be Santa Claus, assures that “there’s a light on this tree that won’t light on one side. So I’m taking it home to my workshop, my dear. I’ll fix it up there. Then I’ll bring it back here.” Even the narrator concedes that “old Grinch was so smart and so slick,” and Cindy-Lou returns to bed satisfied with his explanation.
Despite his enormous efforts and abundant skill, the Grinch is ultimately unsuccessful in thwarting the Whoville religious menace. The Grinch views the Christmas morning celebration of the Whos as a “shocking surprise,” and he experiences the heart-wrenching disappointment of a man who has fought for his convictions and lost. Overcome with anguish, the Grinch resigns himself to the inevitability of Whoville domination and resolves to join their ranks lest he be eliminated by any future aggression. Seuss paints a dystopic view of the Whoian future in his story in hopes that it will serve as a cautionary tale against the dangers of a fascist theocracy and of a homogenized culture where difference is systematically removed. If the Grinch, a principled man of science, can be reduced to a menial kitchen laborer at the Whoville Christmas feast, then the threat fascism poses to the average American is frighteningly tangible.
It's Not Easy Being Green: The Grinch as Fascist Allegory
For fifty years, Theodore Geisel’s children’s story “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” has been a holiday staple for American families, uniting generations with its seemingly innocuous tale of a reclusive curmudgeon inspired to appreciate Christmas after a failed attempt at holiday sabotage. This ironic interpretation of what is clearly an allegory of much deeper meaning has nonetheless become an accepted reading of the story, but to continue to view this piece in such a light would be fallacious and disrespectful of the author’s true intent. Geisel, known to most by his pen name of Dr. Seuss, was a veteran of World War II. His distaste for the fascism espoused by dictators like Hitler and Mussolini was by no means hidden, and he was particularly disgusted by the idea of state-sponsored religion. Inspired in part by the war and in part by the success of his earlier children’s fiction, Seuss penned one of the most poignant anti-Fascist allegories to ever grace American bookshelves.The first lines of “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” immediately establish the competing ideologies of the Grinch and the town that borders his secluded home. “Every Who down in Whoville liked Christmas a lot... But the Grinch, who lived just North of Whoville, Did NOT!” The denizens of Whoville, it is worth noting, are all blonde-haired and blue-eyed. They live in identical houses, smile incessantly, and are, without exception, Christians. The homogenous nature of Whoville is undoubtedly intended to mirror Adolph Hitler’s genocidal concept of a master race, and one can only speculate as to what kind of unspeakable eugenics shaped Whoville into the Aryan community that Seuss describes. The Grinch is described as physically inferior to the Whos, possessing a heart that is “two sizes too small,” as well as a coat of green fur, which, along with his atheistic tendencies, separate him markedly from the Whos.
The bias of the story’s narrator is immediately apparent; the narrator declares that the Grinch’s distaste for Christmas is inexplicable and can only be rooted in a hatred of all things good in the world. By aligning the narrator against the Grinch, Dr. Seuss has created a means of satirizing the Whoville theocracy by enthusiastically agreeing with its misguided and authoritative ideology to the extent that any educated reader will immediately see the outlandishness of the Who community.
The reasons for the Grinch’s seclusion on a mountain outside of Whoville are unclear; he may have been outcast from the town in a pogrom of sorts (in which case, one wonders where the other green, fuzzy, small-hearted exiles now reside.) More likely, however, is that the Grinch simply enjoys living by himself. It is clear that he is a man of science; his ingenuity becomes apparent in the latter half of the story when he crafts a large and sturdy sled out of household materials. As Christmastime nears, however, the Whos down in Whoville do not wish to quietly celebrate their holiday in the confines of their homogenized community but rather intend to proselytize loudly and assimilate dissenters into their theocratic ranks. The narrator describes shrill singing and noises of all kinds emanating from Whoville, and these noises preclude the Grinch from continuing to pursue science in the quiet of his secluded residence. The proselytizing of the Whos acts as a catalyst for the Grinch, who realizes that he must “stop this whole thing!” and thereby put an end to the misguided Whos and their state-sponsored religion. The Grinch resolves that the best way to thwart the Whos would be to remove all gifted belongings from their homes, because he believes that their coveted holiday is more strongly rooted in materialism than in religious fervor. This idea is decried by the narrator as “awful,” and while the Grinch’s intentions here are noble, his idea is doomed from the start. The Grinch does not realize the extent of the Who’s religious convictions; Christianity is not about material possessions but rather functions as a vehicle for the Whoville government (the existence of which is implicit in the story) to assert control over neighboring regions in a bold attempt at nothing less than world domination.
As the Grinch, cleverly disguised as Santa Claus, sets about to removing the material evidence of Christmas from Who houses, his physical and mental prowess becomes clear. It is no easy task to successfully force an entire Christmas tree up and out of a chimney, and to do such a thing without waking up the houses’ occupants is truly remarkable. In one particularly suspenseful passage in the story, the Grinch encounters a Who sentry, named Cindy-Lou Who. (All Whos have the same last name, perhaps implying sordid incestuous practices indicative of a closed community like Whoville.) Cindy-Lou demands an explanation from the Grinch as to his intent: “Why are you taking our Christmas tree? WHY?” Confronted with a potentially disastrous situation, the Grinch utilizes the girl’s youthful naivety and, claiming to be Santa Claus, assures that “there’s a light on this tree that won’t light on one side. So I’m taking it home to my workshop, my dear. I’ll fix it up there. Then I’ll bring it back here.” Even the narrator concedes that “old Grinch was so smart and so slick,” and Cindy-Lou returns to bed satisfied with his explanation.
Despite his enormous efforts and abundant skill, the Grinch is ultimately unsuccessful in thwarting the Whoville religious menace. The Grinch views the Christmas morning celebration of the Whos as a “shocking surprise,” and he experiences the heart-wrenching disappointment of a man who has fought for his convictions and lost. Overcome with anguish, the Grinch resigns himself to the inevitability of Whoville domination and resolves to join their ranks lest he be eliminated by any future aggression. Seuss paints a dystopic view of the Whoian future in his story in hopes that it will serve as a cautionary tale against the dangers of a fascist theocracy and of a homogenized culture where difference is systematically removed. If the Grinch, a principled man of science, can be reduced to a menial kitchen laborer at the Whoville Christmas feast, then the threat fascism poses to the average American is frighteningly tangible.
2.15.2007
Fuck Ahoy!
According to a recent survey published by Liberty University, the average American teenager is a “horny boning machine whose single-minded goal is to alleviate their sexual frustrations whenever possible, regardless of the gender or species of the partner. Also, they love pirates.” It’s safe to say that when Liberty University founder Jerry Falwell commissioned this study, he had the 1998 porn classic “Fuck Ahoy!” in mind.
A story of sex and swash-buckling, “Fuck Ahoy!” is a heart-wrenching tale of sea wenches and the lazy, drunken pirates who love them. And boy, do they love them. They love them on a dinghy. They love them on the catwalk. They love them on the poop deck. And, in a death-defying feat of acrobatics, they love them on a 30-foot-high rope ladder. One can’t help but wish that the mind-numbingly dull “Pirates of the Caribbean 2” had bore more in common with “Fuck Ahoy!” We could have spent less time watching Orlando Bloom suck at acting and more time watching Johnny Depp unleash the Kraken all over Keira Knightley.
If you like your porn to have highly developed and intricate plot lines, you might want to skip “Fuck Ahoy!” and rent a skin flick with a bit more substance; I recommend the 1988 Bette Midler classic “Beaches.” For those who prefer their wenches seen and not heard, “Fuck Ahoy!” will not disappoint. The dialogue is minimal, and when the characters do speak it’s in a thick and largely unintelligible German accent. In one scene, a buxom and thoroughly naked blonde is on the deck sunbathing; from below deck a similarly-clothed pirate emerges and proceeds to put something in a hole that most Americans use as an exit only. Their decision to relocate to a rope ladder is announced with a grunt and then a cheap, cheesy diamond-wipe to a new scene. I don’t know what hazard pay is like for porn actors, but I hope that they got some sort of worker’s compensation for the rope burn.
As an expert in the field of Piratology, I can assure the reader that the premise of “Fuck Ahoy!” is entirely plausible. (When he wasn’t plundering whole villages, Captain Blackbeard was an avid connoisseur of wenches and was known to have massive, 18-person orgies on the deck of the Queen Anne’s Revenge.) However, after the first fifteen minutes of “Fuck Ahoy,” I became perturbed by the lack of authentic wenches. Wenches aren’t skinny blonde women in their 20’s; wenches are old, nasty ladies with a peach-fuzz moustache and a bad case of jaundice.
It was like the creators of this fine motion picture read my mind. From below the deck came the most unsightly naked wench my corrupted eyes have ever seen, a formless, gelatinous mass of saggy and over-ripened flesh that gave new meaning to the term “Crow’s Nest.” As the captain satisfied his urge to pork elderly wenches, I couldn’t help but fixate on the large cesarean section scar on her lumpy and misshapen abdomen.
So as you sit in your dorm room, sobbing and fervently masturbating to images of Pirates getting their jollies rogered, take time to reflect on the qualities that make this film a pornographic masterpiece. And then run to Campus Video to rent the sequel.
--Fuck Ahoy--
Pirates: 50 points
Wenches: 25 points
Old, nasty wenches: 75 points
Cesarean section scar: 150 points
German pirates: -60 points
Title’s resemblance to snack cookie: -45 points
Rimming on a rope ladder: 200 points
Total: 295 points
A story of sex and swash-buckling, “Fuck Ahoy!” is a heart-wrenching tale of sea wenches and the lazy, drunken pirates who love them. And boy, do they love them. They love them on a dinghy. They love them on the catwalk. They love them on the poop deck. And, in a death-defying feat of acrobatics, they love them on a 30-foot-high rope ladder. One can’t help but wish that the mind-numbingly dull “Pirates of the Caribbean 2” had bore more in common with “Fuck Ahoy!” We could have spent less time watching Orlando Bloom suck at acting and more time watching Johnny Depp unleash the Kraken all over Keira Knightley.
If you like your porn to have highly developed and intricate plot lines, you might want to skip “Fuck Ahoy!” and rent a skin flick with a bit more substance; I recommend the 1988 Bette Midler classic “Beaches.” For those who prefer their wenches seen and not heard, “Fuck Ahoy!” will not disappoint. The dialogue is minimal, and when the characters do speak it’s in a thick and largely unintelligible German accent. In one scene, a buxom and thoroughly naked blonde is on the deck sunbathing; from below deck a similarly-clothed pirate emerges and proceeds to put something in a hole that most Americans use as an exit only. Their decision to relocate to a rope ladder is announced with a grunt and then a cheap, cheesy diamond-wipe to a new scene. I don’t know what hazard pay is like for porn actors, but I hope that they got some sort of worker’s compensation for the rope burn.
As an expert in the field of Piratology, I can assure the reader that the premise of “Fuck Ahoy!” is entirely plausible. (When he wasn’t plundering whole villages, Captain Blackbeard was an avid connoisseur of wenches and was known to have massive, 18-person orgies on the deck of the Queen Anne’s Revenge.) However, after the first fifteen minutes of “Fuck Ahoy,” I became perturbed by the lack of authentic wenches. Wenches aren’t skinny blonde women in their 20’s; wenches are old, nasty ladies with a peach-fuzz moustache and a bad case of jaundice.
It was like the creators of this fine motion picture read my mind. From below the deck came the most unsightly naked wench my corrupted eyes have ever seen, a formless, gelatinous mass of saggy and over-ripened flesh that gave new meaning to the term “Crow’s Nest.” As the captain satisfied his urge to pork elderly wenches, I couldn’t help but fixate on the large cesarean section scar on her lumpy and misshapen abdomen.
So as you sit in your dorm room, sobbing and fervently masturbating to images of Pirates getting their jollies rogered, take time to reflect on the qualities that make this film a pornographic masterpiece. And then run to Campus Video to rent the sequel.
--Fuck Ahoy--
Pirates: 50 points
Wenches: 25 points
Old, nasty wenches: 75 points
Cesarean section scar: 150 points
German pirates: -60 points
Title’s resemblance to snack cookie: -45 points
Rimming on a rope ladder: 200 points
Total: 295 points
In response to the question: "Where is Music Headed?"
New music is, and always has been, and always will be, the product of the things that came before it. Pop music borrows (steals, really) from all genres and styles and piggybacks on past works in an endless cycle of theft and regurgitation. Additionally, American pop music is a mirror of American cultural trends (whereas other genres, like jazz or underground rock or punk or classical, are either independent of culture, influential to culture, or a reaction to culture). This is why I think pop music is so dead: it's just telling you what you already see and know, in song form.
What I've noticed in recent years, and what I actually think bodes well for pop music, is an increased latin music influence. Beats are taking on the textural, layered qualities of afro-cuban music and salsa, which is a great and interesting musical heritage for pop music to pilfer (although the jazz musicians beat them to it!). This can, then, be seen as a mirror of our culture because of the rising hispanic population in America.
Any musical revolutions that happen will go largely unnoticed, as they always have and always will. It takes many, many iterations of copying and tinkering and altering the source material before the once-unapproachable musical paradigm shift becomes the norm, an inevitable transformation and the untimely demise of any creativity that may have eminated from that once-pure, nascent art form.
What I've noticed in recent years, and what I actually think bodes well for pop music, is an increased latin music influence. Beats are taking on the textural, layered qualities of afro-cuban music and salsa, which is a great and interesting musical heritage for pop music to pilfer (although the jazz musicians beat them to it!). This can, then, be seen as a mirror of our culture because of the rising hispanic population in America.
Any musical revolutions that happen will go largely unnoticed, as they always have and always will. It takes many, many iterations of copying and tinkering and altering the source material before the once-unapproachable musical paradigm shift becomes the norm, an inevitable transformation and the untimely demise of any creativity that may have eminated from that once-pure, nascent art form.
The Fallacy of Conventional Notions of Subjectivity
Here's another paper about subjective interpretations of music, again from high school. Not sure if I completely agree with it anymore.
The term subjectivity has, through years of misuse, assumed its wrongful place in the loathsome ranks of English language clichés. Phrases such as “It’s all subjective,” “That’s open to subjective interpretation,” and “In your subjective opinion” have all helped to sap the meaning from the word by broadening its definition to the point of redundancy. Subjectivity, contrary to the supposed definition implied by those who would most readily utter the above truisms, cannot be used to describe the infinitely numerous (and infinitesimally small) differences between unique human beings. The variations in belief, opinion, and action that separate one individual from another are a poor standard of differentiation because of their superficiality. While it may seem convenient to distinguish two people based on religion or political belief, it is more accurate to point out their transcendent similarities: both polarized ends of an issue share the same passion and fervor for their opinion. When the aforementioned beliefs, opinions, and actions—seemingly varied and unique from person to person—are examined on the scale of their emotional resonance, unifying similarities can be found in even the most diametrical constituencies.
The reason it is important to examine subjectivity through the light of emotions and feelings rather than tangible actions is because of the redundancy inherent in pointing out the minute differences in human actions. As a word, subjectivity has some very useful applications, but any resonance or meaning the word might have will be sapped by allowing it to refer to any superficial variance from one human being to another. Claiming that a work of art lacks merit because it fails to convey any emotional heft can be grounds for a discussion of subjectivity; claiming that Timmy likes Rice Crispies in the morning and Harry likes Pop Tarts is not. (However, one so inclined could argue that both breakfast choices inspire the same enthusiasm in both boys, and therefore the use of subjective interpretations is applicable, though perhaps oddly placed.)
Nowhere is the discussion of subjectivity more relevant than art. Paintings, literature, and music are all designed to inspire a wide range of emotions in the viewer. Works in these fields that are done well will generally inspire the same range of emotions in all observers; this is because human beings, regardless of cultural heritage, are subject to the same tumultuous existence, and the memory of joyous or mournful moments will reliably manifest itself with the same colors or sounds in works of art. The color red, for example, is now and always has been identified with passion, anger, and love. The universality of this correlation suggests that the assignment has some intrinsically human emotional association. Red was not arbitrarily assigned by an artist centuries ago to represent passionate emotion; it is chosen by artists because it is their synesthetic reaction to experiences of love or anger. Similarly, a laboriously slow violin sonata might conjure the wailing lament of a grieving relative; this identity exists because the minor-key tones of the violin are meant to mimic the sound of grief, not because human beings have been taught an association between the two.
Music provides an apt example of emotional transcendence because of its lack of constancy: the art form evolves with such frequency that contemporary music only vaguely resembles that of 200 years ago. All art forms evolve, but music tends to be much more ephemeral. It is not uncommon to have portraits painted, a practice dating to before the Italian renaissance, nor is it uncommon for novels to be written in the tradition of Charles Dickens, long since dead. Music does not follow this trend; if a modern classical composer wrote a piece in the style of Mozart, they would likely face unrelenting ridicule from their peers. This is because compositional styles have evolved since Mozart’s day; the elegantly simplistic melodies and major-key harmonies of his works are pleasing to the ear and still receive great attention today, but they are also relics of an earlier style of music, one that has long grown outdated as its elements have been assimilated into other genres. Composers like Bela Bartok and Arthur Schoenberg, recognizing the limitations inherent in a fixed-pitch instrument like the piano, used string instruments to make sounds that were not found on the piano. By sliding up and down strings, or creating squeaks and squeals with the bow, these composers emulated the sounds made by the human vocal chord. The sound was often dissonant and unpleasant, standing in stark contrast to the pleasing sounds of the piano compositions of their predecessors, but this was an artistic necessity: life is not always diatonic.
As a musical genre, jazz in particular illustrates several important points about subjectivity. Jazz traces its origins to classical music, as well as to African American and Cuban music. The synthesis of classical melodies with African and Cuban rhythms resulted in what now represents the foundation of jazz music. In the first half of the 20th century, jazz was found predominantly in the big bands of New Orleans; large ensembles played works by and with Benny Goodman, Louis Armstrong, Dizzy Gillespie, among other notables. Among jazz-philes, there are two prevailing schools of thought surrounding this time period and the genre as a whole: one would argue that this big band music constituted jazz’s hey day; the other views the big band music of the 1930’s and 1940’s as classical musicians view Mozart, with pleasing and simplistic melodies that have grown tired and cliché with the passing of time. Wynton Marsalis, in particular, has helmed the movement to retrograde jazz music back to this supposed golden age, denouncing almost all new jazz music made after 1970 as “garbage.” Mr. Marsalis, a world-class classical trumpeter who also functions as band leader for the Lincoln Center Jazz Orchestra, does not tout a popular sentiment, and even those musicians and critics who denounce the works of the avant-garde jazz movement are quick to distance themselves from Marsalis’ rhetoric.
One of the most interesting things about Miles Davis’ career is that his work is simultaneously championed and denounced by both sides of the debate over modern jazz music. In the late 1960’s, Miles Davis made a leap from the acoustic bop that had characterized the past 20 years of his career and entered the realm of electronic music, utilizing keyboards, guitars, and a host of production effects to create the epochal “Bitches Brew.” The album features many lengthy, brooding, loosely structured jam sessions, all of which create a dark and ominous atmosphere meant to reflect Davis’ racial and socio-economic concerns. For many, it was a revolution in music and culture; for some, it marks the beginning of the end of jazz music. The harmonious sounds of Benny Goodman’s clarinet were replaced with the cacophony of pounding drums and violent trumpet solos; Miles, like Schoenberg and Bartok, realized that music should convey the discordant as well as the sonorous.
It is important that the reader not infer from the preceding description that those opposed to the avant-garde jazz movement are, by association, opposed to any music that expresses negative emotions. Plenty of jazz compositions written before 1960 express sadness; the difference is that they still adhere to fundamental compositional principles (a D chord must resolve to a G chord which must resolve to a C chord, for example), relying on slow tempos and soft dynamics to express introspective sadness, whereas a typical melancholy song in the avant-garde movement would rely on forceful playing and atonality to convey the same emotion.
It could be said that the subjective differences of opinion regarding avant-garde jazz are the result of the atonality and sonic dissonance that characterizes much of the fringe music made today. However, this would be incorrect: those who denigrate the avant-garde movement dislike the music not because of its dissonance, though they may cite that as part of their rationale, but because they are unable to establish any emotional connection to the music. The harmonious sounds of 1930’s jazz and bop feed their souls in ways that the fury of Miles Davis and Cecil Taylor do not. Subjectivity here is elevated beyond a difference of opinion to a matter of deeply personal emotional resonance; the cosmetic is trumped by the intangible.
This glorified notion of subjectivity is not immune to the same sorts of flaws that the broader definition decried earlier possesses: emotions can be debated, albeit more abstractly, just as much as superficial details pertaining to a work of art or music. Furthermore, the emotions of the viewer are inevitably influenced by the outward features of a piece, and thus it makes sense to discuss the merits of a work by its cosmetic intricacies as well as emotional resonance. One of the most interesting characteristics of those who champion the merits of avant-garde jazz is their insistence that critics like Wynton Marsalis aren’t connecting with the music because they simply don’t understand it: like a foreign language, avant-garde music holds a wealth of beauty and passion available only to those fluent. All art requires some prior experience on the part of the viewer, ranging from heartbreak and disenchantment in a Beethoven sonata to a formidable knowledge of classical mythology in a T.S. Eliot poem. If appreciation of music can be taught, as some in the avant-garde movement claim, then subjectivity is rendered impotent. The value of a work on an emotional level becomes irrelevant, disregarded in favor of an exacting list of criteria capable of determining the merits of an artist’s creation.
The term subjectivity has, through years of misuse, assumed its wrongful place in the loathsome ranks of English language clichés. Phrases such as “It’s all subjective,” “That’s open to subjective interpretation,” and “In your subjective opinion” have all helped to sap the meaning from the word by broadening its definition to the point of redundancy. Subjectivity, contrary to the supposed definition implied by those who would most readily utter the above truisms, cannot be used to describe the infinitely numerous (and infinitesimally small) differences between unique human beings. The variations in belief, opinion, and action that separate one individual from another are a poor standard of differentiation because of their superficiality. While it may seem convenient to distinguish two people based on religion or political belief, it is more accurate to point out their transcendent similarities: both polarized ends of an issue share the same passion and fervor for their opinion. When the aforementioned beliefs, opinions, and actions—seemingly varied and unique from person to person—are examined on the scale of their emotional resonance, unifying similarities can be found in even the most diametrical constituencies.
The reason it is important to examine subjectivity through the light of emotions and feelings rather than tangible actions is because of the redundancy inherent in pointing out the minute differences in human actions. As a word, subjectivity has some very useful applications, but any resonance or meaning the word might have will be sapped by allowing it to refer to any superficial variance from one human being to another. Claiming that a work of art lacks merit because it fails to convey any emotional heft can be grounds for a discussion of subjectivity; claiming that Timmy likes Rice Crispies in the morning and Harry likes Pop Tarts is not. (However, one so inclined could argue that both breakfast choices inspire the same enthusiasm in both boys, and therefore the use of subjective interpretations is applicable, though perhaps oddly placed.)
Nowhere is the discussion of subjectivity more relevant than art. Paintings, literature, and music are all designed to inspire a wide range of emotions in the viewer. Works in these fields that are done well will generally inspire the same range of emotions in all observers; this is because human beings, regardless of cultural heritage, are subject to the same tumultuous existence, and the memory of joyous or mournful moments will reliably manifest itself with the same colors or sounds in works of art. The color red, for example, is now and always has been identified with passion, anger, and love. The universality of this correlation suggests that the assignment has some intrinsically human emotional association. Red was not arbitrarily assigned by an artist centuries ago to represent passionate emotion; it is chosen by artists because it is their synesthetic reaction to experiences of love or anger. Similarly, a laboriously slow violin sonata might conjure the wailing lament of a grieving relative; this identity exists because the minor-key tones of the violin are meant to mimic the sound of grief, not because human beings have been taught an association between the two.
Music provides an apt example of emotional transcendence because of its lack of constancy: the art form evolves with such frequency that contemporary music only vaguely resembles that of 200 years ago. All art forms evolve, but music tends to be much more ephemeral. It is not uncommon to have portraits painted, a practice dating to before the Italian renaissance, nor is it uncommon for novels to be written in the tradition of Charles Dickens, long since dead. Music does not follow this trend; if a modern classical composer wrote a piece in the style of Mozart, they would likely face unrelenting ridicule from their peers. This is because compositional styles have evolved since Mozart’s day; the elegantly simplistic melodies and major-key harmonies of his works are pleasing to the ear and still receive great attention today, but they are also relics of an earlier style of music, one that has long grown outdated as its elements have been assimilated into other genres. Composers like Bela Bartok and Arthur Schoenberg, recognizing the limitations inherent in a fixed-pitch instrument like the piano, used string instruments to make sounds that were not found on the piano. By sliding up and down strings, or creating squeaks and squeals with the bow, these composers emulated the sounds made by the human vocal chord. The sound was often dissonant and unpleasant, standing in stark contrast to the pleasing sounds of the piano compositions of their predecessors, but this was an artistic necessity: life is not always diatonic.
As a musical genre, jazz in particular illustrates several important points about subjectivity. Jazz traces its origins to classical music, as well as to African American and Cuban music. The synthesis of classical melodies with African and Cuban rhythms resulted in what now represents the foundation of jazz music. In the first half of the 20th century, jazz was found predominantly in the big bands of New Orleans; large ensembles played works by and with Benny Goodman, Louis Armstrong, Dizzy Gillespie, among other notables. Among jazz-philes, there are two prevailing schools of thought surrounding this time period and the genre as a whole: one would argue that this big band music constituted jazz’s hey day; the other views the big band music of the 1930’s and 1940’s as classical musicians view Mozart, with pleasing and simplistic melodies that have grown tired and cliché with the passing of time. Wynton Marsalis, in particular, has helmed the movement to retrograde jazz music back to this supposed golden age, denouncing almost all new jazz music made after 1970 as “garbage.” Mr. Marsalis, a world-class classical trumpeter who also functions as band leader for the Lincoln Center Jazz Orchestra, does not tout a popular sentiment, and even those musicians and critics who denounce the works of the avant-garde jazz movement are quick to distance themselves from Marsalis’ rhetoric.
One of the most interesting things about Miles Davis’ career is that his work is simultaneously championed and denounced by both sides of the debate over modern jazz music. In the late 1960’s, Miles Davis made a leap from the acoustic bop that had characterized the past 20 years of his career and entered the realm of electronic music, utilizing keyboards, guitars, and a host of production effects to create the epochal “Bitches Brew.” The album features many lengthy, brooding, loosely structured jam sessions, all of which create a dark and ominous atmosphere meant to reflect Davis’ racial and socio-economic concerns. For many, it was a revolution in music and culture; for some, it marks the beginning of the end of jazz music. The harmonious sounds of Benny Goodman’s clarinet were replaced with the cacophony of pounding drums and violent trumpet solos; Miles, like Schoenberg and Bartok, realized that music should convey the discordant as well as the sonorous.
It is important that the reader not infer from the preceding description that those opposed to the avant-garde jazz movement are, by association, opposed to any music that expresses negative emotions. Plenty of jazz compositions written before 1960 express sadness; the difference is that they still adhere to fundamental compositional principles (a D chord must resolve to a G chord which must resolve to a C chord, for example), relying on slow tempos and soft dynamics to express introspective sadness, whereas a typical melancholy song in the avant-garde movement would rely on forceful playing and atonality to convey the same emotion.
It could be said that the subjective differences of opinion regarding avant-garde jazz are the result of the atonality and sonic dissonance that characterizes much of the fringe music made today. However, this would be incorrect: those who denigrate the avant-garde movement dislike the music not because of its dissonance, though they may cite that as part of their rationale, but because they are unable to establish any emotional connection to the music. The harmonious sounds of 1930’s jazz and bop feed their souls in ways that the fury of Miles Davis and Cecil Taylor do not. Subjectivity here is elevated beyond a difference of opinion to a matter of deeply personal emotional resonance; the cosmetic is trumped by the intangible.
This glorified notion of subjectivity is not immune to the same sorts of flaws that the broader definition decried earlier possesses: emotions can be debated, albeit more abstractly, just as much as superficial details pertaining to a work of art or music. Furthermore, the emotions of the viewer are inevitably influenced by the outward features of a piece, and thus it makes sense to discuss the merits of a work by its cosmetic intricacies as well as emotional resonance. One of the most interesting characteristics of those who champion the merits of avant-garde jazz is their insistence that critics like Wynton Marsalis aren’t connecting with the music because they simply don’t understand it: like a foreign language, avant-garde music holds a wealth of beauty and passion available only to those fluent. All art requires some prior experience on the part of the viewer, ranging from heartbreak and disenchantment in a Beethoven sonata to a formidable knowledge of classical mythology in a T.S. Eliot poem. If appreciation of music can be taught, as some in the avant-garde movement claim, then subjectivity is rendered impotent. The value of a work on an emotional level becomes irrelevant, disregarded in favor of an exacting list of criteria capable of determining the merits of an artist’s creation.
2.10.2007
The War on Terror...izing Christmas (from 2005)
In what can only be described as the right wing’s newest and most insidious attempt at deflecting public attention from the complete and utter fiasco that is the war in Iraq, a movement in this country to “take back Christmas” has been fabricated in the hopes of distracting people with an irrelevant issue while allowing the war to slip momentarily out of the public eye. Rather than protest the ubiquitous materialism and commercialism that the holiday currently embodies, these hypersensitive crusaders feel that the use of the phrase “Happy Holidays” over “Merry Christmas” marginalizes their religion. Putting aside the semantics of the word “Holidays” (perhaps it is a reference to both Christmas and New Year’s Eve?), the sheer audacity of a group with a 75% majority in the United States to feel as though they are being oppressed or discriminated against is mind-boggling.
As with almost any other crazy and irrational scheme from the right, the movement to plaster the word “Christmas” on every store window in the country is helmed by none other than Bill O’Reilly (a.k.a. the pundit who stole Christmas). O’Reilly blames the media for trying to “secularize Christmas,” as if such a thing even made sense, and says that the use of the phrase “Happy Holidays” in retail stores is “frightening.” Never mind the fact that Macy’s and Lowe’s Hardware both have dutifully restored the word “Christmas” to their advertisements, a victory that O’Reilly acknowledges but downplays. O’Reilly’s fight against a non-existent opponent to his unthreatened holiday also seems to be inherently self-defeating, as it simply results in the continued exploitation of his holiday in the name of selling goods and services. Remember, kids: there is nothing more Christian than supporting the manipulation of one of your most important holy days in the name of peddling iPods and cell phones.
This so-called “War on Christmas” is little more than a shameful diversion tactic on the part of the conservative media. Capitalizing on the emergence of the increasingly outspoken religious right, news commentators like Bill O’Reilly are seeking to incite a controversy over a hot-button issue (one that holds no bearing on any substantive national events) to draw attention away from the many failings of the Bush Administration.
George W. Bush has had an abysmal year, and his approval ratings are as low as Nixon’s right before he resigned from office. The complete lack of preparedness for Hurricane Katrina exposed the Administration’s incompetence and raised questions about how we would handle another terrorist attack. Several of the Republican Party’s leading figures have been indicted on charges ranging from obstruction of justice to conspiracy. Most notably, the war in Iraq reached the 2,000-casualty mark for U.S. soldiers, with an estimated 30,000 Iraqi casualties, including civilians. In an age of high-tech tactical warfare intended to minimize the human toll of war, these numbers reflect the hurried planning and poor execution of what will forever be remembered as a failed war. Understandably, conservatives have been desperately trying to control the damage, and as usual they’ve found yet another way to exploit wedge issues as a means of underplaying serious issues that threaten the country. They’ve employed these tactics successfully against everyone from John McCain to John Kerry, and it is more than likely that they will prevail again. The so-called Grand Old Party of principles and morals has become a circus of exploitative white men motivated solely by self-interest.
Despite GOP wishes to the contrary, the war on terror cannot be replaced by the war on Christmas. It is the responsibility of the American people to reject the preposterous claims made by members of the conservative media, and to ignore counterarguments made by liberals who take the bait. It is increasingly clear that our media is, for whatever reason, unable to ask tough questions of the Bush administration. The age of Walter Cronkite and journalistic integrity has been replaced by the age of sensationalism and pandering, and nothing makes this clearer than the perpetuation of this myth of a war on Christmas.
As with almost any other crazy and irrational scheme from the right, the movement to plaster the word “Christmas” on every store window in the country is helmed by none other than Bill O’Reilly (a.k.a. the pundit who stole Christmas). O’Reilly blames the media for trying to “secularize Christmas,” as if such a thing even made sense, and says that the use of the phrase “Happy Holidays” in retail stores is “frightening.” Never mind the fact that Macy’s and Lowe’s Hardware both have dutifully restored the word “Christmas” to their advertisements, a victory that O’Reilly acknowledges but downplays. O’Reilly’s fight against a non-existent opponent to his unthreatened holiday also seems to be inherently self-defeating, as it simply results in the continued exploitation of his holiday in the name of selling goods and services. Remember, kids: there is nothing more Christian than supporting the manipulation of one of your most important holy days in the name of peddling iPods and cell phones.
This so-called “War on Christmas” is little more than a shameful diversion tactic on the part of the conservative media. Capitalizing on the emergence of the increasingly outspoken religious right, news commentators like Bill O’Reilly are seeking to incite a controversy over a hot-button issue (one that holds no bearing on any substantive national events) to draw attention away from the many failings of the Bush Administration.
George W. Bush has had an abysmal year, and his approval ratings are as low as Nixon’s right before he resigned from office. The complete lack of preparedness for Hurricane Katrina exposed the Administration’s incompetence and raised questions about how we would handle another terrorist attack. Several of the Republican Party’s leading figures have been indicted on charges ranging from obstruction of justice to conspiracy. Most notably, the war in Iraq reached the 2,000-casualty mark for U.S. soldiers, with an estimated 30,000 Iraqi casualties, including civilians. In an age of high-tech tactical warfare intended to minimize the human toll of war, these numbers reflect the hurried planning and poor execution of what will forever be remembered as a failed war. Understandably, conservatives have been desperately trying to control the damage, and as usual they’ve found yet another way to exploit wedge issues as a means of underplaying serious issues that threaten the country. They’ve employed these tactics successfully against everyone from John McCain to John Kerry, and it is more than likely that they will prevail again. The so-called Grand Old Party of principles and morals has become a circus of exploitative white men motivated solely by self-interest.
Despite GOP wishes to the contrary, the war on terror cannot be replaced by the war on Christmas. It is the responsibility of the American people to reject the preposterous claims made by members of the conservative media, and to ignore counterarguments made by liberals who take the bait. It is increasingly clear that our media is, for whatever reason, unable to ask tough questions of the Bush administration. The age of Walter Cronkite and journalistic integrity has been replaced by the age of sensationalism and pandering, and nothing makes this clearer than the perpetuation of this myth of a war on Christmas.
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