Sunday, July 10, 2011

on real, in musick & as a metaphor for elsewhere

i want to be clear about something:
i view our modern social world as a myriad of bullshit opinions bouncing off of one another in time/space. this iS the perspective i will write from. where i always come from. call it my bullshit opinion...

that said, and considering that postmodern arts represent a total devotion to the subjective, why are there still objective terms for musick? what's real musick? see, i even spell it differently. we don't like the same musick. there's too much out there for us to fall in straight down the partyless line, too many myspaces, bandcamps, facebooks, too many reverbnations, last.fms, blogspots, tumblrs, posterouses. & those are just the ones i have personally tried (and failed) (miserably). what are you in musick these daze if you can't guarantee a thousand screaming teenagers who will all dole out the big bucks to see your band sound awesome while drunk AND still buy t-shirts from your label? in the past, you would be up-and-coming, a diamond in the rough (to people that know you) and a complete failure nobody (to people you don't know).

but what now?; now in this now, a now where your band's coverage in the local rags & your access to shows at medium-sized venues may place you so much higher in the -archy of things that i can only see an outline of your backside, heel to asshole. a now in which the sheer catchy nature of a name or look often times gains said access. a now that has escaped the now altogether and slid from free-for-all (pun intended) right back into that old familiar place of reproduction of tired images of ourselves.
one answer iS a lot of covers. like, a lot of fucking covers. endless indy-attempts at striking large by literally recreating someone else's shit and posting a video on youtube in hopes of boosting itunes sales towards that amerikkkan dream, progress. another answer iS pure saturation to the point of bands not even bothering to know each other's musick prior to showtime. and the americana kept playing on and on at the local radiostation...

with the negative ranting section of the bullshit opinion almost out of our systems, for those who stuck around, here's where i try to take some good out of the thing i've focused my entire creative life around for a few years now. more precisely, i'm asking myself, with all this negative (and believe me, there's more, negativity doesn't sell though) (even on free blogs) :

why the fuck still participate in the shit if it's so bad? you like tormenting yourself?

and i ask for no article's sake, but rather as a practice in maybe being more careful next time opening a new post window and letting my spinal cord's 1st try go forth. it comes back to the subjective (fuck, i guess it has & will for awhile). that iS, in a world where from the git, i've known nor wanted no chance at what in my father's brief stay in musick, was called making it, why still scream off mike (& off key) so damn much? why? cause success & failure do not exist as a constant paradigm in my life. i beat the tar out of success (a heavy smoker) (pun intended) in an alley right after i quit college, and i still haven't found that coward, failure (though i'm sure he's one of 10 people who will read this).

(editor's note: dj shadow's "what does your soul look like part 2" just came on, so i had to danse)

i wish i could use footnotes like 'real' writers. there's that word real again.

what's real? iS this article? as a friend would say, "metaphysics, metaphysics, what does that even mean?" so rather than stretch that sillyputty graymatter between the ears too far, i'll git to the git. real, to me, can only be those direct experiences, seen through the individual reality tunnel and processed in the individual brain as real. okay, that's not too much to digest, but even simpler; real can only be the shit we do and remember as real. therefore, what can we really get out of this musick thing? the reality iS we can get out of it exactly what we get out of it. a psychogeographical stand? sure. asses moving in the crowd? well, maybe.
would you be willing to give up all the autonomy of never making it for being more successful? well would you? no, i'm not antagonizing you, you're a faithful reader, well you cheated on me that one time, but still. just ask yourself that. it's postmodernism folks, there's no wrong answer. remember? let's take full advantage of this mockery of existence. free shows, cause no one's qualified to charge anymore! to quote amiri baraka (as leroi jones) in Black Music, "the music was already in danger of being forced into that junk pile of admirable objects & data the West knows as culture" (italics added) pop quiz: when did he write that? oh man, no, not in the olden days. i mean them was the good ole days. the times! bob dylan was a pioneer. well there's no goddamn pioneers anymore then. bob dylan's not walking through that door (at the folding art business that figured it might as well put on shows, every other place iS doing it. money iS money). bringing us to our next point (how the fuck many different tangents can there be?):

if you want to listen to musick, listen. enjoy. if not, don't come. don't host shows. we don't need anymore half-assing, we artists do enough.

you don't have to danse. you don't have to be in there the whole time. but if we're going to a show tonight, let us not be scene, but be heard as drunken pirates aboard a ship with no captain, just loud enough to scare the neighbors, just high (in spirits) enough to welcome them in as brothers, sisters & otherwise. let's be up late at 4 in the morning like an old new york jazz bar. even later like the best aspects of the raves of the thrust-into-pure-irony-90's (the constant party still sounds fun to me). "but we don't play jazz or techno!", they scream from the hollows of a south city cellar. let us not, then. we will take their parties, not their genres! this iS postmodernism. we could throw a jazz rave. and 20 people would come. just like 20 others went to see the jordanian post-hardcore band they "found" in college. and 18 more got out to see the guy-who-played-guitar-on-rise against's-1st-album's new band, "mr. precision and the decision makers". meanwhile the most honest kid with a banjo couldn't book a show that night. so she played around a fire with 6 friends. at which did the 'real' musick occur?
the only people who like our musick are the ones who listen to our musick. the ones who have had experiences listening to it. asked us about it. everyone else iS hyperbole faker, myspace hits & facebook likes. & just because i'm willing to admit i'm small, to know that the experience iS the whole thing, no matter how many monies (many, many monies) or bullshit opinions circulated surrounding a show, doesn't mean i'm not really a musician.
play to be heard. not to be scene.
play free. because if not, you ain't playin, you just play too much.
just play. play your fucking hearts out. fuck what they say.
and if you really want it, you'll be a heartless real musician one day.

it'll be a bootstrap operation.

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