Friday, November 15, 2013

My Favorite Album: David's Contribution

It's an odd question to ask about a favorite album in a time where albums have become increasingly irrelevant.  I searched the recesses of my mind for an album that stuck out to me as great.  A few albums came to mind, all of which could be associated with a time and place.   Californication by RHCP was the album of my summer at Ojibwa sleepaway camp, I used to sit in my bed and try to memorize the lyrics.  Chronic 2001 by Dr. Dre was the first non clean rap album I owned.  A Place in the Sun by LIT most famous for My Own Worst Enemy, carried me through 6th and 7th grade, as well as a long car ride to a cabin in West Virginia with Jordan where we knew every word to every song.  Ultimately I settled on an album that launched a career and supercharged an ego, an album that was omnipresent during one of my most formative years.  An album that brought people together, and was also the first time I ever cared about skits on a rap album.  That album is College Dropout By Kanye West.

The album gives us our first taste of the lyrical genius that can come from Kanye - We Don’t Care features lines like “drug games’ bulimic its hard to get weight” and All Falls Down has the line “couldn’t afford a car so she named her daughter Alexus”  (….get it?!).”   All of this with incredible guests.  The songs that were released were great, but the best songs are reserved for those that listened to the whole album, and only get better with time.  Long before we knew how pompous and self-aggrandizing Kanye was, long before he was a world superstar, we had College Dropout. 

David is a Medical Resident, Music Lover, Drummer, and Close Relative living in Chicago

Click here for The Purdy's Contribution
Click here for Der Kaurich's Contribution
Click here for La Magram's Contribution
Click here for Die Myhre's Contribution
Click here for Der Mazur's Contribution
Click here for La Cohen's Contribution
Click here for Il Greenwood's Contribution
Click here for Der Thobaben's Contribution
Click here for Doundou Tchil's Contribution
Click here for Eta Boris's Contribution
Click here for HaWinograd's Contribution
Click here for Le Malon's Contribution
Click here for Atomic Sam's Contribution
Click here for La Swaynos's Contribution
Click here for Boulezian's Contribution
Click here for HaZmora's Contribution
Click here for The McBee's Contribution
Click here for Le Drgon's Contribution
Click here for The Brannock's Contribution
Click here for The Danny's Contribution
Click here for The Drioux's contribution
Click here for El Reyes's contribution
Click here for My contribtuion

Thursday, November 14, 2013

800 Words: Living in the Past - Part IV (Conclusion)

“Optimism is the opium of the masses. A healthy atmosphere stinks of stupidity! Long Live Trotsky!”


- Milan Kundera


I often think to myself that I’m an advance scout for my own generation. I show them what it’s like to get old quicker and experience disappointment earlier. Growing up as I did in a background that was entirely too privileged to feel the way I do, I feel like I’ve shown many all too blessed people of my age-group what it’s like to fall out of love with the world at an early age, and then to indiscriminately lash out as so many older people do at this world which has proven so disappointing so often, and so prematurely.


For somebody whose life has been extremely easy, I’ve had it pretty tough over the years. I’ve prattled on in these posts in a spiral of seemingly endless self-abasement about precisely why that is, and I wish that there was some means other than writing to turn it all into something productive. But it would be all too easy to pretend to an optimism which neither I nor most people earn. An optimistic attitude may get you something, but it won’t get you much. Regardless of our attitude towards life, we’re born when we are born, and our life unfolds as it does, followed by a death which seldom announces its precise time of arrival. We are neither the captains of our souls nor masters of our destiny; we are along for the ride, and only get a tiny sliver of input in our lives’ direction. Biochemistry determines virtually all of our life for us, right down to our temperamental capacity to change our life circumstances, and those of us who fight against our fates usually end up living out the same pathologies we were trying so desperately to avoid, only more fanatically. However unlikely, it's possible that extremism in the pursuit of virtue is no vice, but there is definitely not a single virtue in the pursuit of extremism - be it the extremity of politics or extremity of character correction or extremity of obsession. If a person wants to correct, truly correct, the circumstances of his life, he well may be able to. But there is an ironclad guarantee that the spiritual and emotional losses incurred along that path will be incalculable to someone - you or someone you love, someone you love or someone you hate, deservedly or not.  As my father recently said so memorably: “There are no solutions, only problems.”   


Unfortunately, the past is all we have, and while the future is not yet written, there is little which history proves except that future will mercilessly repeat the past. The idea that we can aspire to be better people than we are is as dangerous and laughable as it is laudable and inevitable. The world is a treadmill that never stops, and we run on it not to move forward, but merely to stay in the same place. Hopefully, we'll sometimes be in good enough shape that the treadmill won't feel as burdensome, but eventually, we all step off, and sometimes we fall off quite painfully. 

Life doesn’t exist to be triumphed over, it exists to be lived. Whenever I hear people say that they triumphed over life’s vicissitudes like so many battles with proud scars to show, my bullshit detector flies through the roof. Physical wounds heal into scars because they are merely openings to be filled, but spiritual wounds are like the sepsis which fills them when the opening is not properly treated. The infection can spread through you or to others at the slightest opportunity, and it always seems to make itself visible at the least opportune moment. And when that puss is popped like a bad or fatalistic attitude which suddenly reveals itself, the wound is either felt as intensely as when it was first made, or it is passed on like an infection to be someone else’s burden. The soul is a very fragile thing, and perhaps it would be best were we never to be conceived. Otherwise, we subject a soul to the sickness which the world inevitably provides. And when our souls get sick, the pathologies of our sicknesses are passed on, and there is nothing we can do about that. It isn’t just the sins of the father which are passed on, it’s the sins of the friend, of the teacher, of the collaborator.


To a certain extent, I live morbidly in the past. I write about it endlessly - world history, personal life history, history being made, history not yet made. The world is a museum whose collection is still growing, but since most people don’t realize that, most people go crazy chasing certainties in places where nothing is certain. The past and its memories are the only thing in this world of which we can be reasonably sure. The past is fact, the future is opinion.


The fact remains, I wish my life was better than it is. Everybody does - most people have much better claims on that wish than I, though some have worse. But if there is any hope for the future to stop (or at least delay) the repetitions of the past, then the exacting study of the past is the only way which it will happen. There is no guarantee that learning the truth of it will set us free, and plenty of reason to believe it will make us miserable.


Perhaps I fudged that earlier statement a bit: without a doubt, the past is the best certainty we have, but even the past is not exact data. It is a hall of mirrors in which we can all only see what we’re permitted to see (a less charitable person would say ‘what we choose to see’). Perhaps I should amend the previous statement to say this: the future is opinion, but the past is perception. The objective truth is not for any of us to pronounce, but if we perceive a truth, then it is either objectively true, or it is untrue, and we have no way of knowing which. Most people can’t deal with that level of moral uncertainty, and they will do everything within their power to avoid its presence. The rest of us have to deal with burdens of potential truth which are far too heavy when there are far too few of us to carry them - if only more people could occasionally help us, or didn't pretend to help when they only meant hinderance… But we all exist within our own echo-chambers of self-validation, and some people are far more blessed than others to live within that chamber’s cocoon. We’re all a little self-deluded. But no matter what we perceive, there is a true version of what happens, and it may one day reveal itself. And if it did, then like today’s elderly Germans, some of us would have to spend an entire lifetime atoning for what we did and what was done in our name.


There is a moment in Milan Kundera’s most famous book, The Unbearable Lightness of Being, in which Tomas, the main character, talks about how the current Czech government - a relatively liberal authoritarian regime - pleaded ignorance to the Stalinist crimes of the past. He argued that like Oedipus, even if this government never saw what was being done in its name (itself an incredibly dubious claim), the new, more tolerant government was morally culpable for what was done because it reaps the privileges of those crimes. Whether or not intentional, the truth of what happened was so horrible that its members must put out their own eyes. For this comment, and a dissident’s exploitation of it, Tomas was disbarred from medicine and never again worked as a doctor. Perhaps the old government would have shot him, but the new government's reaction didn't speak very well of it, and in any event, the newer more liberal dictator - Alexander Dubceck - was soon replaced by a still more authoritarian government for the crime of trying to make dictatorship palatable.

We have no moral obligation to discover such truth or learn it if we’re reluctant to do so; but if we’re not prepared, the truth will confront us at moments too inopportune to ever know how to justify ourselves - because there is no justification. If we truly believe in conscience, then we must admit to our crimes, and never stop atoning for them. We will try our best to explain why we did what we did as best we can, but there is no justification that grants absolution. There is only the nagging hope that one day, maybe, we can do enough good in our lives to eventually counterbalance the evil.

Monday, November 11, 2013

My Favorite Album: The Purdy's Contribution

Frank Zappa's Apostrophe. 

wise words in my most formative years: "Watch out where the huskies go, and don't you eat that yellow snow"

The Purdy is a music professor and virtuoso percussionist in the Baltimore area.


Click here for Der Kaurich's Contribution
Click here for La Magram's Contribution
Click here for Die Myhre's Contribution
Click here for Der Mazur's Contribution
Click here for La Cohen's Contribution
Click here for Il Greenwood's Contribution
Click here for Der Thobaben's Contribution
Click here for Doundou Tchil's Contribution
Click here for Eta Boris's Contribution
Click here for HaWinograd's Contribution
Click here for Le Malon's Contribution
Click here for Atomic Sam's Contribution
Click here for La Swaynos's Contribution
Click here for Boulezian's Contribution
Click here for HaZmora's Contribution
Click here for The McBee's Contribution
Click here for Le Drgon's Contribution
Click here for The Brannock's Contribution
Click here for The Danny's Contribution
Click here for The Drioux's contribution
Click here for El Reyes's contribution
Click here for My contribtuion

Saturday, November 9, 2013

800 Words: Living In The Past Part III - The Sublime Pleasures of Degeneration






“One epoch of history is unmistakably in its decline, and another is announcing its approach. There is a sound of rending in every tradition, and it is as though the morrow would not link itself with to-day. Things as they are totter and plunge, and they are suffered to reel and fall, because man is weary, and there is no faith that it is worth the effort to uphold them. Views that have hitherto governed minds are dead or driven hence like disenthroned kings, and for their inheritance they that hold the titles and they that would usurp are locked in struggle. Meanwhile interregnum in all its terrors prevails; there is confusion among the powers that be; the million, robbed of its leaders, knows not where to turn; the strong work their will; false prophets arise, and dominion is divided among those whose rod is the heavier because their time is short. Men look with longing for whatever new things are at hand, without presage whence they will come and what they will be. They have hope that in the chaos of thought, art may yield revelations on the order that is to follow on this tangled web. The poet, the musician, is to announce, or divine, or at least suggest in what forms civilization will further be evolved. What shall be considered good to-morrow--what shall be beautiful? What shall we know tomorrow--what shall we believe in? What shall inspire us? How shall we enjoy? So rings the question from thousands of voices of the people, and where a market-vendor sets up his booth and claims to give an answer, where a fool or a knave begins to prophesy in verse or prose, in sound or colour, or professes to practise his art otherwise than his predecessors or competitors, there gathers a great concourse, crowding around him to seek in what he has wrought, as in oracles of the Pythia, some meaning to be divined or interpreted. And the more vague they are, the more they seem to convey of the future to the poor gaping souls grasping for revelations, and the more greedily and passionately are they expounded.”


Max Nordau - Degeneration


Degeneration is a very bad book, but it is an absolutely fascinating bad book - a book written by a 19th century psychologist/pseudo-philosopher who clearly suffered from the degeneracy he accused his subjects of displaying, and like many second-rate German thinkers of his time (including Nietzsche...) obsessed by the horrors of modern moral permissiveness - not least of which was a contempt for modern democracy... - stumbles into a truth by the very incompetence of his methods which the more rigorous minds of his generation could never have seen. The book dabbles in long-since discredited pseudo-science like theosophy and phrenology, and yet it's through the backwardness of its methods that it creates a theory of civilization’s decline that is absolutely correct, even if one-sidedly so.


“Degeneration” itself is an extremely loaded, dangerous, term. The recent re-discovery of 1500 works of art banned by the Nazis for being ‘degenerate’ should be enough to warn us about the dangers of using this term lightly, and warn us of what’s coming if we focus too much on the degeneration itself rather than the far worse perniciousness of its remedies. But when a society is deeply ill, it is much like a person. Just as the antibodies will inevitably kill cells and hamper other bodily functions, the remedies to societal degeneration will inevitably kill people. The people who would seek to cure degeneration itself, cure it by revolution--whether from the right or left is immaterial--rather than heal it by reform, are the most degenerate people of all, and must be viewed like medieval doctors who use bloodletting and unsterilized instruments to cure illness. Just as medicine has advanced to the point that life can be prolonged, we have to have faith that the day is coming when the world will be rid of medieval concepts like revolution and war; and politics, like science, will be a matter of incremental reforms through data and empirical research to obtain a ‘true’ and verifiable conception of the best possible government. The “right to be degenerate”, however corrosive it seems, is inviolate, and inevitably must be defended from those who would repress it. As Nordau’s intellectual successors proved, there is no person more dangerous to the world than the movement who would seek to cure degeneration.


But degeneration, as disgustingly as the term is generally used, most definitely does exist. It is the state when the vast majority of the public becomes unhealthily obsessed by certain components of the world’s culture at the exclusion of the culture’s other parts. When a cultural world grows so large that its ever-increasing complexity assaults people’s brains, people retreat into simplistic explanations for why the world they live in is the way it is - and they become fixated on small parts of the culture, endowing these small components with a significance they absolutely do not deserve. The assault on people’s brains by cultural stimuli becomes so unremitting that our overstimulated brains demand constant stimulation in order to be engaged at all, and this demand can only be gratified by obsessions, obsessions which by their very simplicity obscure truth rather than clarify it.


In its ideal state, the human brain aspires to clarity, and has no need for vague obfuscating terms like spirit or humanity or sexuality or the id. In an optimal situation, an ‘innocent’ situation, it would not even occur to a brain to require more than the pleasure of formal perfection. It would derive its pleasure from purely rational pursuits, like the solving of a mathematical equation or the construction of a home appliance (or perhaps a Raphael painting or a Bach fugue). But since we live in a world of messy human longings and ‘ugly’ human needs, the brain constantly strives for greater, more amorphous connections. If there are ‘groupthink’ solutions to these messy human problems which are generally accepted by the clique to which a person belongs, the person’s brain needn't seek its own solutions, and can therefore stay that much more at rest and think that much more clearly about other matters (after all, ‘groupthink’ is occasionally a good thing. To give the most obvious example, it’s how children are socialized into the world.).


But in order for the human brain to feel at peace with itself, it requires clarity at all times, and often requires clarity from situations that are completely irrational. Even in an irrational situation, the human brain must make sense of it. Human matters are far more nuanced and complex than even the most specialized mathematical fields, and the way we solve human problems is through metaphor. Metaphor is the algebra of the soul, the humanistic equivalent to mathematics, in which we try, however imperfectly, to create equations from situations which appear at first glance to have nothing in common. Within our lives, we have situations which challenge us, and the best we can do to solve them is by comparing this situation to preceding ones. We compare and contrast them, and work out just how like or unlike every new problem in our lives is to old ones. Just as in higher-level mathematics, we can perceive connections between things which seem completely disparate. In the brains of people who maintain their clarity even in the face of human frustration, human motives can be explicated as clearly as any mathematical proof.


But most of us are extremely muddled thinkers. Most of us never learn how to solve higher-level mathematics, let alone our dealings with other people. Our metaphors are inexact, and our reasoning nearly as approximate as if we chose our actions at random. We are confused by the world; we’re neither the creatures of reason and light which Rousseau and Kant would have us believe, nor are we the creatures of darkness and irrationality from the fevered imaginings of Schopenhauer and Freud. We are creatures who try to act rationally as best we can, and usually fail. Our brains attempt to perceive the world in all its complexity, but our perceptions continually let us down because no one person can take in the largeness of the world, though perhaps we all can try a little harder...


And in place of a complexity we can’t understand, we simplify our lives so that we can make sense of them. In an era like the 1950’s when so many people shared the same worldview, the simplification of life is all-too-simple, because who could possibly want to harm another person in whom you see so much of yourself? It is easy to be a tolerant liberal reasonably open to new cultural experiences when you know that everybody else wants the same goals out of life which you do, shares your worldview, your values, and your frame of reference. But the stability of such a world makes the world a duller place. It requires visionaries of true genius to force the world to open itself up to a different way of seeing.


The ‘great geniuses’ who grew up in such eras, geniuses like Dylan and Spielberg and George Carlin and Matt Groening and Francis Collins and Barack Obama (and pre-boomers like Orson Welles, James Watson, Louis Armstrong, Franklin Roosevelt, Mark Twain etc…), are that much greater than the great geniuses after them, because the geniuses of this older generation had to rise up from the homogeneity of their upbringings to claim their individuality in a milieu where individuality was intensely discouraged. And in doing so, they taught their followers to be themselves. Thanks to the preceding geniuses, people of genius and talent who follow in their footsteps are already liberated. Nothing in the history of the America we know today which follows in the particular genres of The Times They Are A-Changin’, or ET, or Seven Dirty Words, or Bart the Daredevil, or the mapping of the Human Genome, or the passing of the Affordable Care Act, could possibly have the same apocalyptically elemental power on the larger public, or on history, as the originals did. The work of opening people’s minds to new horizons has already been done. Just as these works redefined America, if a new genius emerges who is on their level, that person would completely change the curvature of American history as much as these other figures have. Music as we understand it would no longer be music, science as we've known it would no longer be science, movies not movies, politics not politics.


But there is an inevitable price for such greatness. Once these horizons have been opened, there is no ignoring them, no turning back the clock, no unseeing what has already been seen. There will always be people resistant to such changes, and they will believe with all their might that these changes must be resisted by any and all means. There will also be people so eager to look forward that they will view all these new discoveries uncritically, and refuse to acknowledge that progress has equal potential for bad as well as good; and in order to affect the change they want, they will attempt to destroy all connections with the past both beneficial and destructive. In every historical epoch, both sides of the argument become obsessed by these changes and would do anything within their power to return the world to the conformity which they view as inevitable so long as the world conforms to their particular worldview. 

The tragedy is, both sides are absolutely right. If humanity were simple enough to ever conform to a total worldview, then humans might be completely happy within one weltanschauung or the other, and it wouldn't matter which. Instead, all these monist ideologues rage against developments which conflict with their view of the world, and can't understand why their glorious vision of the world never comes to be. And as new explanations for why the new world never materialized proliferate, each side bifurcates again and again by infighting, and while discussions about the world used to take place in which everyone fundamentally agrees and only argues over particulars, perceptions of the nature of the world run the entire gamut with every conceivable point of view taken. Everybody becomes unique, just like everybody else, and nobody understands how anybody else could believe what they believe. 

And as this process grows exponentially more volatile, people retreat further and further into like-minded communities, the chasms between them and the ‘other’ growing ever greater, with gulfs of understanding that eventually can never be surmounted. This is the story of history, and in every culture and civilization, it becomes only a matter of time before each group perceives the ‘other’ as a threat which must be eliminated at all costs, by any means, with total war until the enemy is eliminated totally. Within a culture in decline, each person becomes his own feedback loop of self-generated obsession, unavoidable and tragic with consequences that are all too foreseeable.


Some people become obsessed by religion, others by sin. Some are obsessed by mysticism, others by rationality. Some are obsessed by violence, others by pacifism. Some are obsessed by anti-intellectualism, others by intellectual obscurantism. Some people become obsessed with extremist politics of the right, others by extremism of the left (give it twenty years…). Some are obsessed by futuristic science fiction, others by fantasy literature which recreates the past. A fanatic is someone who can’t change his mind and won’t change the subject, but when people become obsessed with their subject, the maintenance of this obsession endows the brain with all the stimulation it needs to maintain the stimulation with which this incomprehensible world initially endowed them.


What Nordau states as polemic, I submit as inevitable. As a culture degenerates, it grows ever more unstable, unmanageable, insane. But stability is boring, and the great works which stability brings about inevitably shake us out of the very stability which the unstable world which preceded them worked so hard to build. And as we wrestle with the idea of making the world better - more sensible, more manageable - the messy nuances of human nature get in the way to such an extent that in the long run, we can’t help but fail. The world does not become, the world is. We cannot improve the world, but we can temporarily heal it.


And as the world grows more insane, so too do the consolations which make the world a finer place to live. We already have the achievements of past generations to improve our lives’ lots, but we can also build upon them to create a still greater world. We know fully well that with every step we take to create what we perceive as an improvement to the edifice of civilization, there will be many who bristle at our every effort, and do everything they can to resist and destroy it. Such is the lot of a world grown too interesting, and eventually, the contradictions will become so great that there is no way to stem destruction’s tide. Our world, and everything we know about it, will eventually collapse, and the finer our world grows, the more inevitable such a collapse will be.


The closer we get to the ‘fall’, the higher we reach to the cultural mountain’s summit. The more energy and stimulation is gained, and the more splendid culture becomes. The more diseased a civilization becomes, the more it bifurcates into different cliques governed by different obsessions; each of which takes on a different response to the world’s spiritual disease, and each of which requires all manner of diversions to distract each obsessive from his particular sickness. Just before the "fall" of World War I, the world produced splendid riches from its many, many niches, and even if there was not a Beethoven or a Shakespeare or a Michelangelo (or a Spielberg) among their creators, there were hundreds upon hundreds of ‘lesser geniuses’ who sprayed a rain of beauty upon this earth unequaled before or since. As we draw closer and closer to next fall, we will see ever more and more of that beauty. In movies, there may be no equivalent in the younger generation to giants like Spielberg, Scorsese, Coppola, or Lucas, but there are hundreds of filmmakers from the next few generations which are candidates for greatness - from Spike Lee to Richard Linklater to Jason Reitman to Alexander Payne to Sofia Coppola (to say nothing of other American directors I don’t much like but others love…), and even if the world of television will never inspire the world like movies, it’s a golden period so amazing as to defy quantification. 

Even if there’s barely a “giant” among the younger generations of musicians the way there are so many in the older who monolithically inflamed the entirety of the music world - like Bob Dylan or Bruce Springsteen or Johnny Cash or Otis Redding or Stevie Wonder… make your own list (to say nothing of pop giants…)  - among the next generation, we’ve had hip-hop artists over the last quarter-century who've inflamed an extraordinary chunk of the world population - Public Enemy, De La Soul, L.L. Cool J, Wu-Tang Clan, Biggie, Tupac, Dr. Dre, Jurassic 5, Eminem, R Kelly, Snoop Dogg, Lauryn Hill, Beastie Boys, Jay-Z, Missy Eliot, Beyonce, Outkast, Little Brother, 50 Cent, Gnarls Barkley, MIA, Kanye West, Lil Wayne, Frank Ocean - and even if hip-hop is a 2-year project to learn which I haven’t even begun, I can’t help but be impressed by its popularity, and by how seriously people take it. And even among more old-school style rockers of various types, the comparative little leaguers among the younger generations - musicians like James McMurtry, Sufjan Stevens, Regina Spektor, Charles Bradley (a late bloomer), The Mountain Goats, Gogol Bordello, Arcade Fire, Neko Case, (among many others…many of whom aren’t mentioned because I don’t like them…) - create songs with quality enough that it’s possible that people will still see value in some of this after another century, and we underestimate their potential claim on posterity at our own peril. 

Even if there are no young scientists yet whose discoveries seem to have inspired the intellectual world’s attention the way Francis Collins and Craig Venter have, or Watson and Crick, or Brian Greene and Ed Witten, or Noam Chomsky, or Persi Diaconis, or Steven Chu, or James Hansen, there are thousands of scientists whose work creates new reality out of their research every day, and no doubt, there will be a new generation of great American scientists soon enough. 

And even if Barack Obama is the final great president in US history, the tide is most definitely turning toward liberalism in the next generation. Whether or not the gains are incremental or stupefyingly large, they will have been made possible by Barack Obama’s patient educating the American public against a conservative campaign of ignorance and fear. We don’t know what the future brings, but the near future of America seems overwhelmingly liberal, and it is President Obama who made that possible. 

All this great talent is possible in one era. The more volatile America gets, the more creative it becomes - with amazing talent, amazing potential for talent, and amazing talent still unknown to us. Because as the world gets worse and worse, the need for culture gets more and more desperate. However unlikely, it’s possible that the current rain of American-founded beauty could continue for another hundred years without interruption. Just think of it, as America (hopefully) continues to slowly crumble, the American Carnival could snowball into a greater and greater party with all the terrible beauty of an avalanche. Long may it rain!


Note from 2025: Some of this clearly was laughable. Whether aided by Russian propaganda or operating of its own volition, the tide turned against liberalism dramatically. Barack Obama was not the 4-dimensional thinker I took him to be, and Republicans stooped below even my low opinion of them, utterly rejected Obama's attempts at dialogue and unity, and shed even the trappings of beholding themselves to democratic process. In retrospect, I was borderline worshipful of Obama the way partisan always are when in thrall to their leaders--I'm only human, and therefore I can admit the error of my ways. By not advocating his point of view forcefully, he not only created domestic monsters like Donald Trump, but foreign monsters like Russian election interference and god alone knows what next will come from China.

Clearly I was overstepping my expertise on popular culture and shoehorning cultural developments into a syllogism that didn't work. But there was also a development I didn't count on. 

I've fundamentally stopped listening to all music but classical, but movies continue to divide the public: some thinking superhero movies bereft this era of original content, others think it a new great flowering with the advent of the A24 and Neon production companies. In the intervening years since this post, a whole new generation of filmmakers--my generation, arose: you could name thirty directors and it wouldn't cover the whole generation. This is a generation that strikes me as more promising than the 1960s-born generation before them, and, ironically, it is precisely because of the lack of cultural education that enables their creativity--I should have seen this comin. Go on yutube sometime and watch the film vloggers, their lack of film history knowledge is pretty breathtaking--one youtuber even made an extremely involved video claiming the 1990s as the cinematic golden age. But perhaps it's this exact ignorance of what came before that liberates the creative urge. Perhaps this bodes better for the country than to keep shepherding the ominous baggage of other eras. The lack of education and cultural literacy just might be what keeps this country young. 

Tuesday, November 5, 2013

800 Words: Living In The Past Part II - Masscult and Nichecult




“In movies, the balance between art and business has always been precarious, with business outweighing art, but the business was, at least, in the hands of businessmen who loved movies. As popular entertainment, movies need something of what the vulgarian moguls had — zest, a belief in their own instincts, a sentimental dedication to producing pictures that would make their country proud of their contribution, a respect for quality, and the biggest thing: a willingness to take chances. The cool managerial sharks don’t have that; neither do the academics. But the vulgarians also did more than their share of damage, and they’re gone forever anyway. They were part of a different America. They were, more often than not, men who paid only lip service to high ideals, while gouging everyone for profits. The big change in the country is reflected in the fact that people in the movie business no longer feel it necessary to talk about principles at all.”


- Pauline Kael


It is enormously common to poo-poo the 1950’s. And there’s no doubt that there was an enormous amount to poo-poo. We were a country segregated beyond belief in ways that we don’t even document. Leave alone the fact that tens of millions of blacks lived in fear and poverty, and simply ask yourselves what it must have meant to live as most of our grandparents did in a prosperous society in which so much conformity was expected from so many people who might have been gay, irreligious, trapped in bad marriages, and sacrificing their purest happinesses for a future happiness that would never come. In all these ways and many more, the 1950’s was an era as pre-modern as any era that came before it. Even the white males who should have most benefited from living in it all too frequently lived lives of quiet desperation. And if the world was ever going to do better, then the ersatz well-being of the 1950’s had to be brought to as ignominious an end as possible.


But the 1950’s and early 60’s brought us Brown vs. Board of Education, Civil Rights, and mass desegregation, the enactment of the Marshall Plan, the widespread and America-enforced dissolution of the European empires, unprecedented prosperity and (still) unprecedented equality of wealth distribution, the polio vaccine and the double helix, the seatbelt and radial tires, color TV and credit cards, Peanuts Cartoons and Dr. Seuss, Playboy and the Pill, the modem and the microchip… and let’s not even talk about the death of Stalin and the Soviet Thaw. This was the era that brought us Invisible Man and Catcher in the Rye, West Side Story and Gypsy, Kind of Blue and Ah Um, the golden periods of Alfred Hitchcock and Billy Wilder, James Brown/Ray Charles and R&B, Chuck Berry/Elvis Presley and Rock’n Roll.


Yes, there was far too much conformity, but conformity has its advantages too. Then as now, there were only two consequential political parties in America: one the party of liberalism, the other the party of moderate liberalism. There were only three consequential TV networks, all of whom commissioned the best playwrights in America to write shows for them watched by the same tens of millions who watched crappy police procedurals and gameshows. There were only two major record labels, both of whom used the profits from their bestsellers to make sure that more obscure music which lost money in sales would nevertheless be made available. This America was not yet divided into highbrow and lowbrow, rightbrow and leftbrow, youngbrow and oldbrow. Rather, a great middlebrow stew was concocted in which everybody was forced to appreciate the classics and college football in the same Sunday afternoon - and anyone who did not was an outcast. Because everyone was so alike - with the same cultural references, the same political views, the same aesthetic tastes, the same frame of ethics - it was impossible for the great majority of Americans to view one another as enemies. And within that middlebrow was an upper-middlebrow of more than 20 million Americans spread throughout the whole country - small towns as much as cities - who believed in civic engagement, patronage of the arts, community betterment, and self-improvement through lifelong education. It may yet turn out that the 1950’s and early 60’s, horrible as it was, is the best America was ever going to do. By any objective standard, our time is the more prosperous and advantageous. No sane person should prefer to live in 1950’s America to 2013 America. But spiritually, we are completely impoverished by comparison. The 1950’s was our Golden Age, not because of the material welfare it offered us, but for the hope for a still greater future which it engendered.


The brighter future the 1950’s predicted and endowed is now upon us, and what a disappointment it is. We traded the stifling collectivism of the 1950’s for the unvarnished individualism of the 60’s, and whether all of us realize it or not, the whole country has kept with the 60’s ethos ever since. But what was the price of being able to feel like ourselves? In comparison to that former era, we cannot offer even the slightest hope that America will be a better place for our grandchildren that our grandparents had for us. Our grandparents experienced America in the high Midsummer of its prosperity. It seems ever more likely that we’ll experience the USA which living memory has always known in the grey autumn of its decline and fall.


There are worse things than being a civilization in decline - death and dissolution to name the two most obvious - and decline offers some of the finest contributions of all. Decline is when all which is productive in a culture - be it civilizational or agricultural - is harvested; and in so many ways, America is doing the very best work it’s ever done. Nothing America ever offered the world is more miraculous than the internet or the home computer or email or HTML. We won the Cold War and even if we mismanaged the transition economically, we brought down the Soviet Union without a single shot fired. When Yugoslavia broke into civil war in its wake, we (and Britain) led the halting of the first democide of hundreds of thousands to happen on European soil since the death of Stalin. The American poltiical and economic model has spread to Western Europe with such successful vengeance that they now beat us at our own game, and dare to lecture us consistently on how we’re not meeting the humane standards which they’d never have dreamed of achieving without our grandparents’ unprecedented largesse. It is America which launched the Hubble Space Telescope, confirmed the existence of black holes, and an American who discovered the dwarf planet Eris. It was America which funded and fundamentally researched the entirety of the human genome and the Genographic Project.  Culturally, it wasn’t half-bad either. We were never a nation who produced dozens of great novelists, but we’ve come up with dozens of amazing television serials like The Sopranos and The Simpsons which may yet supplant the novel as the entire world’s long-form artistic narrative of choice. This was the era of Spielberg’s and Scorsese’s maturity, Dylan’s and Springsteen's too. This is the era in which America spearheaded a golden age of international cuisine, and a completely unexpected golden age of non-fiction writing. We've had a 'silver age' revival of stand-up comedy with bizarre geniuses like Louis CK and Chris Rock; we've produced short, light newspaper comics of genius like Bill Waterson's Calvin and Hobbes and darkly complex graphic novels by Alan Moore (admittedly an English immigrant like Hitchcock). But perhaps most importantly, it is this country and this era which will endow posterity with all sorts of miraculous cultural contributions of which we don’t yet know. Just as we now feast on the works of niche artists like Van Gogh, Kafka, Mahler, Nietzsche, Proust, Schiele, niche artists from the last generations of ‘Old Europe,’ who to a man experienced just a handful of their contemporaries appreciate them properly, so there are the modern Van Gogh’s and Kafka’s among us, waiting to be discovered for their true worth - and no doubt many Van Gogh’s and Kafka’s who never were discovered, and never will be.


To feel free to be yourself is as great a blessing as the world ever endows. But that blessing generally comes at the price of someone else’s curse. We have our own identities now, and our own infinities of choice lay out before us to an extent that would paralyze the strongest among us. And because we’re freer to be any self we want than ever before, few if any of us are free to be our best selves and be recognized for having done so. It’s hard to believe that the result does not ultimately limit our quality of life - aesthetically, intellectually, technologically, morally. And if not ours, then our grandchildren’s.

Is there any younger American filmmaker of eminence who can achieve in our generation what Spielberg did in our parents’? Is there any younger musician of fame who writes quality songs with the influence of Bob Dylan’s best (and yes, I’m not even an uncritical Dylan admirer)?  More importantly, is there politician in Obama’s wake who can even speak sincerely as Obama once did about uniting the country? Will any politician follow him into the White House in our lifetime who can even calm the right wing’s worst urges as well as Obama has? I can’t swear to any of it, but I fear that all these questions are self-answering. The reason is all too simple - when a country is no longer united by mutual priorities, and virtually everybody has the ability for self-creation, each person is only exposed to what he wants to see. The entirety of human experience is far more difficult to sum up in a single achievement when there is no incentive to experience things alien to you. A person can have all the talent in the world, and perhaps so much freedom will lead geniuses, “great men”, and good people to finer achievements than they ever could achieve if they were not allowed so much individualism. But for better or worse, fame for having achieved so great a task is a large part of what spurs people to have ambition to achieve and appreciate great things. If talented people no longer have incentive to create greatness for a universal audience, then the aim of most people will necessarily be lower. And if that is the case, then this most ripened of American harvests which we bequeath to posterity will likely be someone else’s country’s to consume, and from which they, not us, will plant, sow, and reap the next great harvest.

Monday, November 4, 2013

800 Words: Living in the Past (Part I)



I do not idealize the past. If there were a button which existed to allow people to magically transport themselves to any past epoch with wholly different cultures, languages, and families. I’d hope it would be destroyed and banned immediately. There are many, many things which I wish were different about living in today’s world, but short wishing exponentially better treatment for the mentally imbalanced and learning disabled, I doubt there’s a single wish for my life which is not a wish of an extremely privileged, entitled person. Even if I’m Jewish, short, balding, overweight, in bad health for my age, learning-disabled, and all too often morbidly depressed, I’m a thirty-one year old ‘white’ male at the beginning of 21st century America. Statistically speaking, there is not a single epoch in a single country yet known in which a person of my characteristics had a better chance for a quality life. My paternal grandfather’s life had most of the drawbacks which I have, but he was born in Northeastern Poland, five years before World War I’s outbreak. By the time he was a teenager, he’d already survived two wars which claimed millions and millions of lives. In his twenties, he would have to survive in a worldwide economic depression and a Stalinist puppet government capable of punishing even the slightest infractions with imprisonment, torture, and death. At my age, he knew that the greatest ordeal of all was rapidly approaching.


The chances that he would live on to prosper in America are as infinitesimally small as the chances that my life will be a failure for its duration. Even now, as a thirty-one year old underachieving ne’er-do-well in a hyper-achieving community, the odds that I’ll wake up tomorrow and that my potential will suddenly flourish for its remainder and that the anguish of my younger years will never be seen again are exponentially better than at (very) least 95% of the earth’s population will ever realize its potential for living a quality life for even a day. When you look at the statistics, it becomes so bleak that it’s kind of funny. No one should envy the circumstances of any life encumbered by major depression, but oh my god how much worse could it be? Is there even a percentage point of a percentage point of the earth’s population who could ever have the opportunity to squander, let alone utilize, as many opportunities as I’ve yet had?


80% of humanity lives on less than $10 a day - I can barely get through a day without spending at least $50. I might have my problems, but I have high-speed internet access in order to unwisely broadcast them; meanwhile, 1.6 billion people don’t even have electricity, and 22,000 children die of poverty every day. We don’t hear about their suffering because they live so far removed from any kind of privilege that there is no way to properly chronicle their existence as anything but a statistic.


In the meantime,  I’m almost chronically sick, no doubt in large part from the fact that I can’t stop eating, and I complain incessantly about my various ailments on this blog. These complaints may get more frequent - how long will larger ailments like diabetes and heart disease patiently wait for me to stop getting hungry? I complain about chronic colds, yet 2.6 billion people don’t have any sanitation to prevent the spread of unnecessary infection. I complain about dehydration, yet 1.1 billion people don’t have adequate access to drinking water. I complain about various learning difficulties I’ve had over the years, yet the world still contains a billion illiterate people. I complain about pain all up and down my spine which I no doubt generated for myself by being overweight, yet the growth of 27-28% of the world's children is stunted from malnutrition. And yes, I recently complained about a rather extreme surfeit of diarrhea (the brown thunder) on this blog, which is in especially bad taste considering that 1.8 million children die every year from diarrhea (reading that last figure froze my blood). No doubt, it’s better to be a well-off person in 2013, but for the vast majority of the world, it doesn’t make much difference to what era they’re born into - it’s all shitty. And the way we know that is that the gap between rich and poor is larger now than in any era when history could be reliably recorded. In 1820, the gap in means between rich and poor was 3 to 1; in 1992, it was 72 to 1. How much larger must that gap be now? Even in our era of recession, it is still the great ever era in human history to be a person of means. But it’s no more or less terrible to be a person without means than it ever was.

There are times when, like all nerds of the earth, I might wish myself born into an epoch - past or future, here or there - which might better value my particular qualities. But to fantasize about being born in a different epoch would presuppose that I’d be a person of means, which is a ridiculous conceit. It might be fantastic to live in fin-de-siecle Vienna, but only if your father was a bourgeois gentleman who allowed you a stipend to live off, and only if you could easily escape from mainland Europe in time for the World Wars. It might be wonderful to live in mid-century Greenwich Village, but only if you were white, had a university education, and survived The Great Depression, or WWII, or Korea, and weren’t blacklisted by HUAC. People of later generations than ours might fantasize about living in Silicon Valley, but that presupposes that they’d be gifted with millenial computers, possess the proper connections in the tech world, and can find a niche skill which a better-educated Chinese or Indian worker couldn’t develop for a fraction of the salary.

Thursday, October 31, 2013

800 Words: Lincoln Giving Back

I stayed up very late Tuesday Night when I realized that Chinatown was playing on TCM. I’d seen it at least twice before, and for years, it’s held up in my mind as as great and devastating a movie as has ever been made. To be sure, the movie’s still a virtuoso miracle of craftsmanship, plotting, pacing, acting, and relevance. In our era of The Great Recession, few movies have more to teach us about the evil which makes our world a worse place to live. But as it is with Rosemary’s Baby before it, and The Pianist afterwards, Roman Polanski shows a mastery of locking you into a plot, and slumping you further and further into your seat as you feel claustrophobically trapped by the disgust of the situation he exposes. He doesn’t entertain you, he brutalizes you - he puts your sensations on edge and lets you feel every raw nerve in your body. This is not a movie to be experienced lightly; if you watch it too often, you could go mad.


The Wednesday before, I watched Lincoln. I saw it last year, and while I liked it, the movie seemed trapped in its own staginess. It seemed far too dialogue heavy and far too enamored of its subject matter to truly branch out into real vibrancy. But during this viewing, tears welled up in my eyes five separate times. It is not a movie with anything approaching Chinatown’s perfection, but it does make you feel hope. Like Chinatown, it has no illusions about the evil which men do, but it does offer us the possibility that by engaging in acts which resemble evil without yielding evil’s most potent temptations, evil can be surmounted and virtue win out. Is it a more truthful portrayal of humanity than Chinatown? I have no idea, and I’m inclined to believe that humanity usually acts  closer to the manner which Chinatown portrays. But even if Lincoln is based on a lie, then it’s based on the lie which we all need to believe if we’re to keep on plugging away at life.


It’s all too easy to dismiss Lincoln as an earnest, inspirational movie which should provoke us all to greater action because of its message. But that’s much too easy a write-off for a movie which is so cynical about the political process it nevertheless espouses. In this movie, Abraham Lincoln is so powerfully charismatic because he is very much a cynical, wheeler-dealer politician who always puts his Machiavellian machinations at the service of higher ideals. The hope which Lincoln offers is that moral compromise need not automatically mean the triumph of corruption. In our lifetimes, we will all make hundreds of thousands of moral compromises, and we all need to believe that we can still be good people who retain our humanity in spite of often acting badly. The only alternative is to believe that fanaticism is our only weapon to triumph over evil, and once we believe in fanaticism we allow ourselves far greater acts of evil in good’s name.


The compromised, crooked timber of humanity is what shines through in Lincoln. Like all of us, this hero is deeply flawed, but it’s by using his flaws that he makes the world better. Perhaps what Lincoln shows us is not a true glimpse of humanity, but if the straight-and-narrow pessimism of Chinatown is humanity’s accurate portrayal, then what is served by our knowing it?  



Just as it does with people, the humanity of artworks shines through. Some people give back, and you feel better, more consoled, more supported, more uplifted in their presence than you would if they weren’t there. But some people are airless, they sap you of energy, they make you less your best self in your presence, and you hate yourself a little more by the time you leave them. Just as with people, without that human quality, the work in question is in some sense spoiled and corrupted - less great, perhaps far less, than it would otherwise be. Too much compassion and the work seems overly full of shit, too much contempt and the work feels abusive. It is in that middle ground between compassion and contempt in which a peaceful person exists. If human nature is ever to be better than that of Noah Cross’s, then we need more things - people, art, religions, philosophies, sciences, tools, moral maps - to show us the way.