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by tjmHolden

17 Oct 2007

Sunrise doesn’t last all morning
A cloudburst doesn’t last all day . . .

All things must pass
All things must pass away

George Harrison, All Things Must Pass

Deborah Kerr passed today. As with all people and all things, eventually there comes a passing.

Being of a different generation, I didn’t have intimate awareness of Kerr. But sharing the common cloth that enfolds all generations through pop, I knew of her. In their twenties and thirties, my parents sat in theaters—smiling, chuckling, weeping, fretting in relative reel-time—as Kerr emoted and kissed and sang and danced on-screen. I, probably like you, have only known her from images like the one below, in coffee-table books, or else in scenes flitting across the TV screen or on DVD.

 

So, when I read the obit here what had been basically just a name and a set of two-hour diversions, became something more substantial; something organic and teeming with life.  For those of you - like me—who really only knew Kerr second hand, it turns out that she had quite a life. Quite a PopMatters kind of life. The kind of life that contributed to the popular, entertainment and artistic currents of our times. The times of your grandparents’ or parents’ lives, sure, but yours, too, Even if you’ve never seen From Here to Eternity or The King and I or An Affair to Remember, or . . . for that matter, Sleepless in Seattle. Because, Kerr was part of the stream—a significant stone in that stream—who helped, in some small way, to shape the popular world of today. The one burbling around us; the one that washes up over us in an incessant torrent—no different that the waves crashing over the lovers in From Here to Eternity . . .

 

by Rob Horning

17 Oct 2007

Hopefully the title of this entry doesn’t have you expecting an exegesis of Marillion lyrics or something; instead I wanted to revisit the point I was trying to make in the previous entry about education and try to illuminate it with a concept from an essay by Leszek Kolakowski. In his essay “The Priest and the Jester,” Kolakowski posits two eternally warring approaches to philosophy, which in his view has yet to shake its theological roots and is always taking up eschatological questions.

The antagonism between a philosophy that perpetuates the absolute and a philosophy that questions accepted absolutes seems incurable, as incurable as that which exists between conservatism and radicalism in all aspect s of human life. This is the antagonism between the priest and the jester, and in almost every epoch the philosophy of the priest and the philosophy of the jester are the two most general forms of intellectual culture. The priest is the guardian of the absolute; he sustains the cult of the final and the obvious as acknowledged by and contained in tradition. The jester is he who moves in good society without belonging to it, and treats it with impertinence; he who doubts all that appears self-evident. He could not do this if he belonged to good society; he would then be at best a salon scandalmonger. The jester must stand outside good society and observe it from the sidelines in order to unveil the nonobvious behind the obvious, the nonfinal behind the final; yet he must frequent society to know what it holds sacred.

In the previous post, I was trying to argue that everyday life tends to make jesters of us all, while cultural institutions tend to try to instill us the reverence of the priest and the complacency that comes with believing moral questions have been settled—in Venezuela, in favor of the “new man.” But the “new man” himself was supposed to be a jester; his demeanor was precisely something that can’t be taught, an attitude that self-consciousness and second-handedness destroys.

When I was a college teacher, this dilemma was palpable to me, but I didn’t have this vocabulary to describe it. I could tell that some other English dept. professors clearly took inherited standards seriously and saw these traditions as self-justifying, worth preserving simply because others had saw fit to do the same. These priestly professors would teach appreciation classes and pass off subjective judgments on poetry, etc., without a blush or a moment’s hesitation—to them, that’s why you got credentialed, so that others would have to take your opinion as gospel, so you could essentially say whether various works of art rock, rot, or rule. Others, the teaching assistants especially, wanted to challenge the students to contest everything and reject all hierarchies and make it all up for themselves, as though they weren’t in the classroom to learn from someone else. These instructors wanted to dismantle all authority, particularly their own, and affirm the students’ voice. I would sort of ricochet back and forth between those poles, with an ad hoc pedagogy and a faithlessness in the whole process. Inevitably, one may have to become a priest to become entrenched in academia; one must professionalize and buy into one’s own bullshit, or in other words, have the dignity to take one’s own career seriously. And as a by-product of that, you might so piss off some students with your righteousness that they’ll develop their own jester-like qualities and fulfill their subversive potential.

by Andrew Phillips

17 Oct 2007

The summer stickiness has pretty much dissipated (though nothing can completely kill the subway’s trademark stink), and All Hallows Eve is all but upon us. So, you know what that means: it’s CMJ TIME!!!! That’s right, the industry conference to dwarf all other music industry conferences kicked off in New York City yesterday and will continue through the weekend, hosting hundreds upon hundreds of newbies, up-and-comers, and soon-to-be superstars. As always, PopMatters’ Events crew is out in force, chronicling every inspired solo and dutifully noting every errant riff. While you’re waiting for our extensive breakdown of the conference’s best (and worst) performances, how about a few snapshots from the middle of the mayhem? Check back tomorrow for more photos courtesy of our friends at Flavorpill...

Check out Flavorpill’s CMJ preview...

CMJ Begins
Press and fans from around the planet descended on the Lower East Side of Manhattan to gather their CMJ badges, stock up on free swag, and play Halo 3. People recovering from hangovers and jet lag were comforted by some afternoon-friendly indie pop and classically influenced cover tunes. The coy, unassuming sound of Takka Takka started things off, followed by the cutesy boy-girl vocals and organ-tinged rock of Saturday Looks Good to Me—leaving us early birds yearning for the Festival’s proper beginning later on at night. Also performing the afternoon show was rock and roll violin group the Section Quartet and acoustic folk chanteuse Jennifer O’Connor. A great way to start things off before we head to L’Asso for $1 pizza, as CMJ 2007 prepares to launch tonight with Bouncing Souls, Voxtrot, Q-Tip, and many, many more.
Joe Tacopino

VOXTROT

Venue-Hopping at the CMJ Festival
Before we were off to see Austin’s Voxtrot, with young Canadian sensations the Most Serene Republic and Dean and Britta (who sound like a more mellow Thurston and Kim), there were a host of shows just south of Houston street where venue-hopping at CMJ is at its best. At Arlene’s Grocery, the Swedish synth-pop band Mixtapes and Cellmates took time in between their Postal Service-like tunes to pay homage to Baywatch heart throbs David Hasselhoff and Pamela Anderson. Just around the corner at Pianos, Benji Cossa and Rocketship Park gave us some pedal steel-inspired country rock before we headed into the dungeon-like space at Fat Baby, where Centipede E’est whipped the crowd into a frenzy with their psychedelic stoner rock. Finally, at the aptly titled Living Room, the band Clint, Michigan, playing with delicate vocalist Amy Bezunartea, lulled the crowd with their banjos, fiddles, and mandolins.
Joe Tacopino

THE ROSEBUDS

THE MOST SERENE REPUBLIC

DEAN & BRITTA


More photos

STYLOFONE

by Jason Gross

17 Oct 2007

There’s a 2006 documentary still making the rounds, deserving of your attention.  Bling covers the connection between many rappers’ obsession with diamonds and the inhumane conditions of the many workers who mine them in Africa (Kanye West’s “Diamonds in Sierra Leone” was also part of this wake-up call).  One true believer is now rapper/bling entrepreneur Paul Wall.  His website now has a blood diamonds statement where he promises not to help exploit these workers anymore.  In the film itself, he went to Sierra Leone and met some of the workers who didn’t even have shoes (he bought them some) and saw miners working naked in horrible conditions.

by Rob Horning

16 Oct 2007

Last week, in an issue that went out of its way to demonize Che Guevara, the Economist ridiculed the recent efforts by the Venezuelan government to reshape its public education system in accordance to Marxist theory.

the aim of the new education plan is “the formation of the new man”.
That phrase was coined by Ernesto “Che” Guevara in the early years of the Cuban revolution. His “new man” would be motivated by moral rather than material incentives. Cuba’s communist government has pursued this chimera in vain for decades. Now its Venezuelan ally is embarking on the quest. “The old values of individualism, capitalism and egoism must be demolished,” says the president. “New values must be created, and that can only be done through education.”

All public educational programs are ideological in nature; it’s state-sponsored training in how to be the kind of docile citizen it expects. (Hence, phys ed classes.) So there’s no sense in criticizing Chavez for making the attempt. But it is strange to see an educational program that seems plausible only as a marginal, oppositional, and subversive pedagogy enacted by fringe radical instructors rolled out as a top-down national initiative. The agenda outlined in the Economist article—“children will be taught that capitalism is ‘a form of world domination’ associated with imperialism,” ” ‘a critical attitude towards any attempt at internal or external aggression,’ ” “the need to replace capitalist with socialist “hegemony”, by taking over those institutions that transmit the values of society”—are all things that back in the day many of my fellow Freshman Composition teachers used to fantasize about bringing to our classrooms under the innocuous guise of teaching critical thinking. And I wouldn’t repudiate any of these goals now. But critical thought is primarily a matter of challenging official doctrines and resisting to whatever degree is possible indoctrination of any sort, including that administered by your leftist literature teachers. When the state dictates some new hegemony, it remains hegemonic; it’s still the institutional culture, which itself carries with it the traits that we idealistically hope education will take the edge off of—conformity, superficiality, suspicion, hierarchical discipline, rigidity, etc. The instinctual response to institutional culture often seems to be skepticism, so it’s hard to imagine indoctrination working. Hegemony is never complete enough to eliminate the space for the viewpoints you are trying to eradicate. Indoctrination is much more effective when it operates indirectly, outside of institutional culture, or in what is perceived by participants as interstitial to it—the talk at the water cooler, what your hippie teacher gets away with saying, the shared jokes between individuals about bureaucratic rules as they carry them out, the things the police condone. True hegemony is achieved when these spaces too are reiterating the dominant culture, as they seem to in capitalist society, where individualism and consumerism are played out as pseudo rebellions rather than conformist posturing, mouthing a party line. Sociologists—Michel de Certeau, Henri Lefervre—have theorized this interstitial space as “everyday life,” and much is made of how it subverts the official version of how things are that makes it into recorded history—the speeches of leaders, survey results, economic data, that sort of thing. If the state seeks to leverage everyday life to its advantage, though, it needs to be subtle and circumspect about it, figure out ways to present oppression and restriction as advances in freedom. Platitudes and maxims about the “new man” are probably not enough to create this impression. The best kind of education is that which engenders beliefs that it can’t explicitly pursue as goals, education that works despite itself to create students who are curious, self-motivated, and sufficiently critical.

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