Sunday, May 29, 2005

consumptive fantasies

Once again, my naivité has allowed me to become engaged in conversations that most people would ignore...

I was in Toronto today to see the Massive Change exhibition at the AGO - a separate post will give some of my opinions on that. I exited and composed my thoughts, as any good bullshit artist should do, while I walked to Yonge St. My particular reveries of a solitary walker led me down University ave, and past the American consulate, where an anti-US protest was underway. The issue was of course American involvement in Iraq, with a particular regard for the atrocities currently being committed against Muslims in the area.

So I’m paying attention to the guy with the megaphone, who proved himself a less than capable motivational speaker, when I catch up to a woman in her mid-thirties responding to her young son’s questions about the protest. Since I’m a nosey bastard, I couldn’t help but overhear.

“...why we had to go there. People in Iraq were being murdered, and now they can begin to experience freedom and start building their lives again.” Before I could respond she rattled off “I support the president. I voted for the president,” to which I had to ask which one she was referring, as there were several thousand presidents in the world, and that the one which leads her country should not be referred to as “the president”. That semantic game went nowhere fast.

Again, I’m a nosey bastard, so I asked her what freedoms she felt came from a military occupation. “Well, we ended all of the rapes that were happening.” was one of her many answers, along with the threat of WMD and the rest of the line items we all heard from the American government in 2003.

Interestingly enough, none of the people of Iraqi descent who I have met ever complained about the widespread rape problem.

She told both me and her kid that “Some wars are good.” The kid replied “So guns can do good things?” to which she said “Sometimes you have to kill bad guys to get things right.”

I asked her if she thought all 100,000 civilians that the Lancet estimates have been killed by the US invasion to have been bad people; Iraq might ultimately see the good to come of such barbarity, under the terms of her own logic.

“Fewer people have died from this war than did in Vietnam. We’re doing a better job.” Using one barbaric imperialist war to justify the ontology of another is indeed the way to go on this one...

Anyhoo, I told her kid to look it up for himself on the internet, as while his mother might love him very much, she might not have all the facts about American foreign actions. That pissed her off, and she quickly disappeared into a random office supply store which I’m sure had exactly that which she needed.

Still, I wasn’t really satisfied.

Going back to the American consulate, I began to talk to the few dozen Americans sitting out front watching the protest across the street. Here’s the stats:

12/15 people I talked to thought that Iraq possessed nuclear arms technology, which has been proven false by every reputable source, including the CIA.

7/15 thought that Canada had sent troops to Iraq to fight alongside America, which it did not.

3/15 thought that widespread raping and murdering occurred while Saddam Hussein was in power, which contradicts what most international observers and Iraqis themselves have ever reported; you can see some results for yourself here.



13/15 thought that America was right to invade a country and impose “freedom”. [As of this writing, with Operation Lightning we are about to witness the largest deployment of security forces in Bagdad since the war began. The city is being cordoned off from the exterior, and is being cut into several security sections along the lines of the ghetto projects of the second world war. Let’s hope this is a better event than it looks to be.]

7/15 thought that Muslim extremism was caused by the tenets of the religion, and could not be overcome. Interestingly enough, 6/7 of those people, when asked about the dangers of Christian extremism, did not believe such a thing to be possible.

9/15 thought that violence can solve more problems than it creates, when used “effectively”. I almost got punched by 4/15 people when I asked if the individuals who caused the 9/11 tragedy had a justification to their actions, from their point of view.

And here I was thinking that the Americans who were visiting Canada were the enlightened ones who wanted to get away from their despotic leader. Looks like the election of 2004 really did provide a legitimate mandate to the intentions of the White House.

Saturday, May 28, 2005

snowflake babies???



The American president had a public statement opposing stem cell research. Instead of using the roughly 400,000 embryos that were created for in vitro fertilization to conduct scientific research, Bush has called for their adoption.

He called them "snowflake babies".

No wonder the National Education Association has questioned the viability of scientific education in the nation's schools, given the new religious climate of the country.

Has Bush ever actually talked to a scientist? Why are Republican senators and congressmen who oppose stem cell research allowed to even join the discussion if they have no actual knowledge of the process?

Friday, May 27, 2005

Broadcast

I flashed my light into the dust-choked window and saw that everything was in order. There was a reason that Michael had sent us out to the Darum flats, but I wasn’t convinced that looking into a mostly empty parts shed was worth anybody’s time.

“Hurry it the hell up Mahir, we have two more hobos to frill before the light ends.” Kojo was my driver and I liked him that way. A few years back, during the Kuinails Insurgencies we were in the field together scupping the rebellious in Pakistan. There was much to be silenced in those times, and I knew all too well the extent to which Kojo could defend himself against the innocent noises. There were times when I felt that we both had gone over to a darker place, especially when we were posted in the Northern Areas.

I pried my face from the window of the small metal shed and jumped back into the cruiser. Kojo didn’t say a thing before running us 10 kilometres south.

The shale sands channelling our vector straight were new, and must have been formed when they blew up the Torrent here a few years ago. Kojo and I had checked our meters, but the rads were mostly under control.

I stared out the window with the rise and fall of Kojo’s breath being mimicked by the pulse of my suit transponder. We were now passing what was once called Bakersfield, back when the Americans were occupying the area. I hated moving on from their entrenchments, but the pay got better elsewhere so I booked camp and fled North with a bunch of outlanders.

“Is there any way we can get to Armstrong before the month ends?” I asked, getting ready to pull out my travel pad from the pack under my seat.

“No way. I want to clear 470 by June in order to keep next year’s taxes in line.”

“You don’t think we can make another, what, 213 by then?”

“Not really. There’s been too many other scrubs out here since February, mopping the place up too well. It’s getting harder to find lines, and even harder to get a trace of those lines back to proper channels. Zip kills all over the place, too many multifrags. Even nanotags are getting repped by bandits stealing kills. Pay attention to your newswire.”

Kojo printed off a thumb pass and, with a quick motion, delegated it to me. “I already got you in for next Tuesday in G-ton Atol, buddy. You want your nut happy, you go there instead.”

“This is a two-kill thrill, and you fucking know it. Armstrong will pay off. Lots of cred for popping that Spring holdings up there.” I looked at the circular pass and knew that I shouldn’t have shared my imprint with an offshore like Kojo. His entire process cycled continually, forging ahead on you. He found it comical to cull fallen bits for pleasure.

“Mahizeer, you’re an underground drip, you know it? I don’t care what you say, I’m going to pulse there without you. Back by Wednesday morning, promise.”

“Right. No funerealz this time, eh? I’m not going to keep it U-S-B for you this time, buddy. You’ll be on your own.”

The dash perspired in red as we came past 50° on the map. This was a new music zone, and the newsfeed changed with a sinful bell. I kept marking the thumb pass to see if I could change the date, but Kojo had put a DNA interface on it. Whatever. I had access to Selkirk point. Not as nice as Armstrong, but Kojo has refused to take me there since we got back from the Insurgencies. He has refused to take me to a lot of places.

We pulled up beside a river, and Kojo got out of the cruiser and immediately began to scan some of the plants by the door. His suit transmitted a few bits to me, and I could see that we were headed in the right direction. The rads were getting lower.

Kojo stood up from his crouch and looked out onto the wide river beside us. He tossed a toxin pack into the water for a reading. The turning barriers that were used on the old highway system were still mostly intact, and harboured us close to a three metre drop. I thought my friends online back home would like to see this beautiful river valley, all alone among so much dessert, so I tried to pull it all in. Kojo was too decisive, however, and was back in the cruiser before I could scan everything that I wanted. Still, Micah would probably be able to piece it all together for an engine demo or something. Everything, all that you know and everything that you can’t, must be made into positive stats or the cred-flow quickly dries, leaving you with no options for an audience.

“We have to keep the show flowing, you know.” Kojo nodded, then put his visor back on. I knew that he was trying to ignore my intentions.

“I’m not concerned about the aesthetics of it this time. There’s no way that a style can be imposed. Well, nothing that isn’t already there, you know? I mean, that last couple we scupped, they were lit so wrong it hurt, but when we brought it out in software it was gorgeous.” He pulled up the vid on his glovescreen. “I mean, the way she folded before separating? Classic.”

“Ya, I know that comes out sometimes. I dunno. Maybe with so many scrubs around we should set ourselves higher you know. That guy back in Flint really opened up some new vectors, and we should follow up.”

“Fuck copying everything. They have different standards down there, like they plan too much or something. Just kind of be the thrill.”

“I’m not sure if that’s it though. What does anyone know anyway? I mean, opinions are selling these days.”

“So you agree with me. Let’s move-“

There was a bug and it was K’s shoulder, so punched it was, my glove shut and screen off. Kids back home really do like buddy vids.

“Fuck off! Anyway, opinions are not aesthetics. I want a purity of representation.” He took a small red candy from his pocket and slid a little sideways in his chair. I scanned the channels to see if any tourneys were being played, but found nothing beyond the usual high school amateurs.

After an hour we pulled up to our second last place for the day. It was a cabin placed high on the edge of the lake fed by the river we passed earlier. Nice wood siding, stone chimney, ATV by the shed. Nostalgia found everywhere. I hoped we could really deploy here.

“My turn.” Kojo fell out of the cruiser and I rode out high beside him. Unlike the shed, this place had more than one entrance.

“I’ll check out the window, you grab the door.” I think that he wanted to spin a little aggressive today; heroics really got him off. I waited until he got back from the side of the cabin.

I heard him before I could see him. My viewers were right. Around the bend I could have capped him dead in the head, but this wasn’t a tourney so I left it for the kids back home to sim.

“You’re going to have to be quiet unless you always want to muscle it it.”

“Bullshit” Kojo whispered. I always thought that he looked a bit like an old friend of mine called Omari, and never more so than now. “We’re going to have to enter the front door. The window’s a projection.” I heard that the new mechs out on the westland were doing things like that to keep the satellites guessing.

The door was simple, my suit wouldn’t have a problem deactivating the lock without me even noticing. I was surprised by the absence.

So was Kojo when we entered the room. Nothing. Not a table, a closet, or anything. Just a cement floor, walls, and ceiling. I started knocking on the walls to see if there were any more projections inside, but could find no hollows.

“Do you think it’s a dud?” Kojo looked at me intently, and I could still feel the unease left by his voice a few seconds after the com.

“I’m not sure what to expect. The place must have been cleaned out or something.” He looked around the floor by the far wall where the projection was. “Must be internal, there’s no lightbox here.”

I turned off my datacast. No reason to waste bandwidth on a two percent viewership.

[TO BE CONTINUED]

Monday, May 23, 2005

everything is political

Riding my bike the other day, I realized that sometimes it is hard to delineate what is important from the mediocre. At other times, like when an obnoxious driver throws a lit cigarette in your face for riding in his lane, it is really easy to figure out. My friendly driving buddy, maybe you had a bad day (or possibly bad life) at work, and indeed you did want to get home in the most empowering fashion as possible. And here's this stupid cyclist who is taking a lane for itself. Even though the lane beside you was entirely free, I can understand the frustration which led to an act constituting assault, and it in turn caused me to respond in a less than civil manner. A victim script which undermines the moral position of the victim. A non-stop and self-affirming fuck you, and so we both drop into the abyss together. Isn't judgement fun?

What I mean by this rather convoluted opening is to suggest that even little things can have a significant depth of political importance. With the threat of election now past, once again the overt process of acting political has come and gone from popular media attention. We as Canadians almost had to “get political” with a possible June election, and accordingly we were told by the news media to “pay attention”. A few questions were raised: are the Liberals a bunch of corrupt opportunists? will the Conservative party “save” the economy while killing social programs for those who are less fortunate? will the Bloc successfully fracture the country? Despite the importance of debating such themes, it is crucial to note that all of those directly involved in the political process are actors, playing scripts which they believe will influence public opinion. Consequently, the central debate within the party spectrum is continually swayed from a debate on the consequences of public institutions themselves to the personalities of the actors.

You can buy politics in pretty much the same way you do any other piece of furniture in your life: that which seems to be most excitingly dynamic and innocuously conforming at the same time. But maybe that's precisely my point, for the media, as a phenomenon largely dictated by the whims of the market, is itself a politicized form of what was once “the political”. News agencies alter their coverage to accommodate viewership. Politicians change their campaigns in order to elicit certain viewer responses, much in the same way that car commercials do. The viewer is invoked as the actor-in-charge in either situation. “Look how tough and in control I am” screams Ford to its viewers as an SUV charges over a hill. Similarly, politicians invoke voters as “rational” and in control of their destiny when they vote for their party. The car is the country when I -- the viewer -- make things happen. That ghost-self in front of me which I buy as my identity is entirely and always advertising a particular market position.

This process reminds me that everyday people spend billions of dollars on little scripts used daily. It works like this: you might consider yourself a “professional”, and thus you purchase the lifestyle accouterments that accord with that power: PDA, laptop, luxury vehicle, clothes that are expensive but not overtly fashionable. You are supposed to believe in certain things, like free enterprise and rational humanism. Likewise with the “working class”: minivan or SUV, satellite dish, big-screen tv. That you as a relatively poor person could afford to own televisions and cars and such tends to reinforce a belief in things like free enterprise and rational humanism. It is quite interesting to note that class distinctions are not as rigidly maintained to the degree they were in the first half of the 20th century, however. Rich and middle-income people alike will find themselves in similar malls, consuming similar media culture, and desiring relatively similar things.

The difference between what we used to call “the classes” is no longer entirely material, in so much as a 20" tv for $200 and a 50" plasma for $7500 were each most likely manufactured in similar facilities with the same rates of pay for their employees. Purchasing either the low or the high end precipitates the same result: the company profits and thus maintains its production and market ideologies.

So where does this leave what we used to call the political?

What if you don’t agree with the specific production or market ideology of a company? Let’s say that you disagree with the abuse of the environment as represented by industrialized farming. In a more or less traditional sense of politics, you’ll try to support political parties which seem environmentally friendly. While this may have the desired effect of slightly limiting the company’s production policy, it is unlikely to bear fruit in pragmatic terms. Even the most progressive governments on the planet cannot effectively curtail the business interests of corporations. In fact, some of the largest corporations have monetary resources which exceed many governments, and thus they maintain their freedom to realize their business on terms which may prove against the wishes of a particular citizenry. With this in mind, let me bring up the somewhat sobering fact that Monsanto and its subsidiaries will likely remain more powerful than the Democrats, the Liberals, the NDP, the Greens, or whoever else.

Voting in this context will not perform its intended function, namely the representation of the will of the people to those who guide the country. As much as those of us on the left wish to berate market economics, financial data is the will of the people made into a practical representation. If company X brings a product to market by exploiting its employees, there will be no change to the real political situation of those employees until the company no longer makes money with that product. Despite the current data regarding health and environmental damage, people continue to eat garbage food because they like the “modern” lifestyle that quick food represents.

In classical terms -- Cicero, Machiavelli, etc -- the key to maintaining power is to convince the ruled subjects that what is being done is not only necessary and beneficial, but also inevitable. If such is the case with liberal capitalism, than is it not most fitting that the more or less empty gesture of voting would be the sole overt political contribution from the vast majority of the population. In this manner, policies which are detrimental to the greater good can be passed without fear of resistence, and a near immunity to open insurrection. Is this why every day I see more people drinking coffee while conversing than ever participating in what we typically call politics or activism?

One cool as shit thing that is universal in the market is incapacitance. See, if any solution were to truly work, it would obliterate its reproduceability and thus its long-term profitability. That's the bottom line for corporations: will you as consumer be a revenue stream for us not once, but repeatedly. Wonder why, for example, that DVD player stopped working or bits of your car started falling off after only a few years? Maybe a more Frankenstein-like image might evoke itself when you start to question why much of the food that we eat is itself becoming a purposefully broken technology. To make a short story long, what might planned obsolescence have to say about our individual sense of identity and power? Are we doomed to be Broken Subjects fixed by Market Solutions™?

And so we sit and watch tv and wait until the voting happens to act out what we think is our political duty. There's little time to think about the political consequences of little daily rituals, like buying a coffee or chosing to yell at some kid whose method of transportation differs from your own (<--- action="" aggregate="" all="" also="" and="" another="" br="" but="" buy="" call="" consequence="" day="" do="" every="" everything="" generally.="" in="" is="" it="" manner="" of="" one="" political="" politics="" relate="" see="" sell="" that="" the="" to="" we="" which="" zeitgeist="">
As a side note, I won’t assume a link between the guy who yelled at me to get off the road and the Conservative Party sticker on his bumper.

Thursday, May 19, 2005

Wolf Eyes continue to impress, but I can only like my old Skinny Puppy tapes for so long boys...


Nate Young plays his radio




John Olson plays dem blues

The article that ended up in View magazine, including a conversation with the above and superbly dressed Mr. Olson can be found here.

As for the show itself, the exploratory sections were more impressive than the "smash hits" like Stabbed in the Face. There was a bit of an eastern feel to Olson's horn played overtop of metal-on-metal drones and random sonic detritus. I was a little disappointed with the night's brevity, as the band only performed a 45 minute (roughly) set. Considering that both openers were decent and played for a while, I guess that we can let the kids off this time.

Still, it was nice to see that Hamilton could indeed welcome a more esoteric act with the cold-rolled steel fingers of acceptance. There were even a few kids who were on the verge of moshing. It's a shame they didn't just let loose to bring down a wall or break some bottles on their heads, or even look menacingly at a small dog.

Monday, May 16, 2005

Wolf Eyes had better get their shit together



MP3: Wolf Eyes - Village Oblivia

At least, that’s what most people might think upon hearing one of their numerous releases. Impatience is probably the most common initial reaction to the wall of noise, filter washes, and sonic detritus that tends to populate the audio landscapes that are produced by the band. And yet, if a critic were to look for a single concept to summarize the band’s aesthetic, patience would be it. It takes time for musicians to elicit and manipulate authentic emotional responses. Sometimes, the patience of a master sadomasochist is required to get through it all. With this in mind, Wolf Eyes are preparing to make pain-dependent lovers of us all with a visit to Hamilton’s famed Underground this week.

Typically, a Wolf Eyes album will set the stage for bursts of sheer audio terror with docile and pleasingly enigmatic mechanical and electronic sounds. You might at times recognize a cymbal, guitar, or saxophone, but do not assume that they are fed to the mix unaltered. Meshes of frequencies play in and out of the sonic field, disturbingly and menacingly encircling the listener like Custer’s Last Stand. Bursts of distortion expand and plume over sparsely-arranged electronic percussion and thumping tape loops, invoking the audio equivalent of the nuclear testing at Bikini Atoll: destruction as beauty, and beauty as destruction. On top of everything sits a distorted and anguished human voice which mouths guttural words that are largely unintelligible. All of this sonic information is performed in a loose, quasi-improvisational setting that ensures maximum sonic assault and a minimum of pre-packaged sentimentality. If the artist meeting that you have in your head is early industrialists Throbbing Gristle exchanging words with post-punk godheads Suicide on a DAT processed by laptop terrorist Kevin Drumm (a meeting curated by Sonic Youth, by the way), then you’re getting somewhat close to the mark.

The cacophony began in 1996 with the recorded solo experiments of Nate Young, who was looking for a vehicle to pursue a passion for electronics and sonic catharsis. Fiddling with a variety of homemade and stock-modified instruments, Young realized a means for making his hobby a productive act. Aaron Dilloway began jamming with Young to provide “guitar posturing”, but added tape manipulation, mouth, electronics, and sax upon becoming the group’s second full-time member. When the band relocated back to Michigan from New York in 2000, multi-instrumentalist John Olson was incorporated, and has proved himself to be the most volatile member in a live setting. Olson quite infamously clocked himself in the head with a mace(!) during an opening spot for Sonic Youth; the show did not stop despite the musician’s near-blackout from a gaping head wound.



I asked Olson about their emotionally-charged and uniquely aggressive sound. “The key is using low-fi equipment, shit that’s about to break anyway. Primitive devices allow more of a variety in sound, and you don’t have to worry about your gear when you play. You can just work with it better. It’s more immediate.” He stressed that their walls of noise and punk-antic live presence is not a macho thing, with the antics having everything to do with “a celebration, not a powertrip.” The setup is different on each tour, but always reflects a personalized edge. “We like to strip it all down to the basics. I don’t really like using pedals or whatever, but we make sure to treat our gear like instruments, not electronics. It’s more primal that way.”

Despite the seeming randomness of sound to the uninitiated, Wolf Eyes are anything but a free jazz collective. “We don’t want the stage to be exploration. Ideas emerge from practise, and we go over sections until we find what works together. We don’t go into a jam with a sound in mind though, or somewhere we want to be. It’s not complete freedom – you know how many free-jazz jammers end up sounding the same? Like they think that they are doing something new, but it’s been heard before. We don’t want to be charting a course on a well-known sea.”

Important to this process is the band’s unrelenting attitude to recording, where nearly all of their jams and live shows find themselves on tape. This work ethic has resulted in a massive discography of releases. After over 100 releases on a variety of the indie scene’s most prolific avantgarde labels, including Olson’s American Tapes and Dilloway’s Hanson Records, SubPop has given the band a high degree of media exposure by releasing their 2004 triumph Burned Mind. “It was a drunken joke, actually,” quips Olson. “They were wondering what they should release next, and this guy mentioned us. He got them some records, and they went for it”. When asked about the band’s expectations for their success, Olson was quick to ignore the bullshit of media attention. “It’s all about community, not us as a band or them as a label. It’s nice that more kids will hear us because of SubPop, but we have no contract with them. It was a one-off.”



This art-minded attitude is what maintains the integrity of their music. There is never a point when the band thinks that it has succeeded, but rather the point of the whole process is the challenge of renewal. “Half the jammers today play to the converted, they don’t want to play to empty rooms or to crowds that they know won’t like them. They don’t want to play what they might like, and nobody else.” More importantly, “the underground scene revolves around respect, not personalities but actual output. We don’t really want to be a band that is known by everyone, but it would be nice for a band or a label to be a figurehead for even more activity in the community.”

Listeners will find themselves happily disoriented when Wolf Eyes find themselves with an exceptionally rare Canadian date at The Underground May 19th, with openers Lullabye Arkestra (founded by Do Make Say Think member Justin Smalls) and local noise proliferators OFNSVORNGé. Nothing can be promised as to how the show will aurally progress, but I can be sure of one thing. Wolf Eyes invite all of the sonically dispossessed into their aural landscape; both chin-strokers and hardcore kids alike will weep with delight as their world gets deliciously imploded before their very eyes.

Thursday, May 12, 2005

Clem Snide - - eh for me, ok for the REM set


Clem Snyde
End of Love
[Spin Art, 2005]

Clem Snide have been playing downbeat, countrified rock for over ten years now. End of Love is the band’s fifth full-length, and demonstrates an increasing maturity since their more chaotic days in Boston. With members hailing from both red and blue states in America, the band’s geographic diversity betrays country and indie-rock roots that gleefully coexist with vocalist Eef Barzelay’s confident, tinge-of-Lee-Ranaldo-sounding voice.

Arrangements follow the dense and varied approach made famous in alt-country by Lambchop, from the banjo and distorted guitar over country twang of “Jews for Jesus Blues” to the vibes gracing the tonal roots of “God Answers Back” and the strings highlighting “When We Become”. The lyrical focus of the album is a sense of uplifting melancholia and acceptance of the tragic pleasures in life, with relational context given priority over absolute emotional states. “Tiny European Cars”, for example, reminds us that Isaac Newton’s productivity-through-chastity – he died a virgin – might not betray the same loneliness of the recently brokenhearted. While this album might sound a little too safe for some of the scene’s more adventurous listeners, those waiting for the next good REM record (aka, keep waiting) should pick this one up.

MP3: Clem Snyde - Fill Me With Your Light

Tuesday, May 10, 2005

another thing about North America is...

I found a copy of the Turkish magazine Skylife from April 2005. This is an industry mag for Turkish Airlines, and like many of these complementary publications, it exists largely to transmit advertising to an otherwise captive inflight audience. Lifestyle obviously plays a big part of ad culture, and Skylife is no different. Where it does differentiate itself is in its cultural content, and not for the reasons which may seem obvious.

A quick flip to the section on music reveals that the indie music scene has a larger profile in Turkey than it does in North America. First page: a profile of an electronica festival featuring Amon Tobin, Peaches, M83, and the Tied & Tickled Trio, among others. Apparently, the Istanbul Foundation for Culture and Art, who are principle organizers of the event, have their fingers a hell of a lot closer to the pulse than do mainstream art organizations on this side of the Atlantic. With the notable exception of the inclusion of Jaga Jazzist at last year's summer concert series at the Docks in Toronto, I have not seen an equivalent conflation of independent and mainstream audiences.

So I turn the page, and what lies in front of me but line profiles of Boom Bip, Tobias Thomas, Electrelane, Nicola Conte, Jason Moran, the Notwist, and the Kitbuilders. Now, none of these acts is on the pristine cutting edge, but to see them in a magazine which is aimed at the general public is fairly impressive -- and in an industry mag, no less.

Equally impressive is the section of film, which looks at Vera Drake from the UK and Samaritan Girl from South Korea, alongside some rep cinema favourites.

From this, can i assume that the average urban dweller of Turkey, or at least of Istanbul, has a higher level of cultural awareness than the typical suburban dweller in North America? After all, our mainline magazines seem to focus on J-Lo, 50 Cent, or Kelly Clarkson whenever they need to fill a section on music. Typical print copy centres not on their music, but rather their lifestyles and other nuggets of personal gossip, thus successfully avoiding that fact that none of these "artists" actually has anything to say.

Film over here tends to focus on how much money the files in the top 5 made. No merit is given to artistic quality or authorial intention. If the total is higher than say $15 million for an opening weekend, then it was a success. It's like all the mainstream imprints received Playschool Kids' First Aesthetics and Criticism sets when they started to write about art. Art = money, otherwise nobody has any fucking clue.

I think the public actually wants to consume legitimate culture, as evidenced by the success of some relatively cutting-edge television shows and films. The real problem as I see it is accessibility. Most people simply do not have the time (or, more insideously, the motivation) to seek out alternative forms of media content. Instead, they just let what washes over their senses by mainstream media be counted as "my culture".

So what happens to a culture which wants good music, but continually indulges market instincts for the promotion of a culture. J-Lo wins the music race because the company behind her spends millions marketing her sounds and image to the population. Lacking any real alternatives to MuchMusic/MTV or broadcast radio, people come to accept J-Lo as a normative force in music, rather than the aesthetically useless noise that it is.

But hey, who am I to judge. Go ahead, waste your time with crappy hollow songs that you think highlight your life. What does that say about you? :P

Friday, May 06, 2005

Clint Wilson - Chromaplay (Logos)

Clint-Wilson_title

Technology has instilled its own grandiose morphology upon our conscience that, in a sense, acts akin to a parallel evolution. Without a model to follow, we have for several decades both consciously and blindly embarked upon a project of biological manipulation. The interpellation of biology as a technocratic subject is the fundamental truth that will mark our time in history.

Clint-Wilson_chromaplay13

Taxonomy is a mark of distinction. That which is subject to speciation finds itself excised from its rational function and underlined and emphasized as scientific discourse. This hyper-attenuation of the biological subject is a means of both discovery and aesthetic transcendence. By fixing the organism as a demoralized subject (re-presented to truth as a mirror), we have accessed a power to the genetic which will in many ways enhance and betray our survival. Jun 24 1992 marks like a wound, much more so than the forestry and biotech company logos which adorn the butterflies themselves. The flight of scientific inquiry will indeed carry us forward to a new sense of reality and justice.

Clint-Wilson_chromaplay10

Clint-Wilson_chromaplay12

Business ostensibly follows the scientific model. Markets are rationally apportioned both supply and demand to ensure stability. At the same time, a continual disregard for the data which is imprinted on civilization by the business process is proving highly detrimental to both natural systems as well as the market’s bottom line.

Clint-Wilson_chromaplay3

Clint-Wilson_chromaplay1

Entropy is accelerated, and an increasing number of mutations and aberrations are normalized through exclusion or integration. In many places are signifiers to the only concept which will deviate from absolution: the imprint of human technological progress.

Clint-Wilson_chrom_detail

Butterflies have a unique host process to the logo. As a symbol for the incision of purity, they signal a sense of reasoned change made obsolete by market pathology. They sit as both flag and flier, an aesthetic of form in motion. Both the logo and the butterfly share a common and false representation as static entities, one in death the other in life.

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The technological has continued the process of biological integration with a guiding human hand. Choices are made, usually in line with the evolutionary principle of market forces. In light of the relatively arbitrary nature of the evolutionary process, we can not adequately assume ourselves, as represented by corporate and market ideology, within the guise of First Principles. However, since we must continue to enjoy the fruits of our technocratic solutions, may we seek our redemption by invoking the priestly nature of our technological dependence and allowing it to sing? After all, as is commonly known by musicians, entropy can have positive effects on our collective psychology when guided by a sense of morality and aesthetics.

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Thursday, May 05, 2005

women: good fundamentals, bad show(man)ship

It seems that women's rights are becoming more of an issue internationally. In a nod to the Christian fundamentalism that is sweeping the United States like a Manitoba brush fire, Japan seems poised to introduce legislation which would restrict a woman's right over her own reproductive capacity. The neat thing is that in order to accomplish this, the Japanese constitution has to be changed to get around that whole human equality thing that plagues every good fascist. Now that sounds a little familiar, doesn't it? Unlike the US however, in this case there's no religious dogmatism, but rather nationalistic pride. A good woman is a good country, they say.

Are certain men in power really that scared of the genetic information that is missing on the Y-chromosome? I know it doesn't produce like the X does, but should we really be scared of two little Xs cohabiting the same body? [Christians who learn a bit of dimestore science quickly point out that XX is really really close to XXX, while XY cannot be turned into anything so rude]

Maybe that Jim O'Rourke song was more prophetic than once I thought. "Women of the world, take over. Cuz if you don't the world will come to an end. And it won't take long."

Forget Middle-Eastern oil dependency, the true battleground of the 21st century will be internal. The "seed of creation" (such a scary scary place for fundies...) will be Ground Zero.



It doesn't help the cause that so many otherwise progressive women's research and health groups appeal either to frilly, soft, Victorian symbolism of purity and innocence like this:


"Women's Wellness Program" @ the Stanford School of Medicine

or Hellenic stoicism (good women are supposed to silently bear the burdens of their sex)

"Defining Women's Health" @ Harvard University, 2002

or the flakey, Earth-Goddess imagery made popular in the 1960s

"The Everychick"

I myself prefer a more militant approach, and maybe we should all co-opt a Herstory logo to demonstrate to these scared bigots that women do not actually go quietly into the night.

Print the .jpeg below and put it on a t-shirt, then punch a dude in the face. Or better yet, hit him where he's hitting you, right in the junkpile.

Sunday, May 01, 2005

what a delightful Mayday, wanna party?

Edinburgh Mayday 2005



Happy Mayday everybody.
That doesn't really mean all that much over here, does it? Elsewhere in the world however, festivities and gatherings are commonplace, on both the mainstream and activist fronts. From city festivals to worker marches, the world is awash in possibilities for the coming year.

Arguably, we in Canada get to experience a later Mayday with the 2-4 weekend in late May. Plenty of folks get good and drunk, precariously making their way down shorelines late at night trying to get back to their tents in a drunken stupor. Maybe this in and of itself is a fertility rite. This holiday does preclude the addition of a Mayday stat holiday from being a possibility in this country, despite the fact that an increasing number of people require an increasing amount of time away from their jobs in order to maintain a degree of sanity.

Now, I fully support a potentially debaucherous night of dancing, so maybe it's time that North America begin to accept and promote festival culture, thus allowing massive dance parties akin to those that Europeans routinely throw.

Then again, there should be a place for a national holiday marking activist movements in general. Maybe it could refer to civil rights movements in decades past, or highlight current struggles.

Still, wouldn't it really be nicer to dance naked around phallic structures, while throwing flowers and fruit juices at each other?

So in light of acting more or less democratically, which would you prefer,

this:


this:

(which by the way frequently results in this):


or this:


Personally, I'd like the left hand to greet the right, if you know what I mean. I'd love to see cops dancing around a maypole, but then again that might be a little too Pride Week, and Toronto already has a pretty killer party for that...

Regardless, join the fun.

Happy Mayday 2005 kids.