The vocoder, invented by Bell Labs in 1928, once guarded phones from codebreakers during World War II; by the Vietnam War, it had been repurposed as a voice-altering tool for musicians and soon became the ubiquitous voice of popular music.
In How to Wreck a Nice Beach—from a mis-hearing of the vocoder-rendered phrase “how to recognize speech”—music journalist Dave Tompkins traces the history of electronic voices from Nazi research labs to Stalin’s gulags, from the 1939 World’s Fair to Hiroshima, from artificial larynges to Auto-Tune.
We see the vocoder brush up against FDR, JFK, Stanley Kubrick, Stevie Wonder, Neil Young, Kraftwerk, the Cylons, Henry Kissinger, and Winston Churchill, who boomed, when vocoderized on the morning before V-E Day, “We must go off!” And now vocoder technology is a cell phone standard, allowing a digital replica of your voice to sound human.
From T-Mobile to T-Pain, How to Wreck a Nice Beach is a riveting saga of technology and culture, illuminating the work of some of music’s most provocative innovators (thanks derridata).
Work has been draining lately (dissertations, journal articles, a book etc), so to sustain myself I've been trying to follow up on as much music as I can in my [limited] spare time. I read a capsule review in The Wire (Adventures in Modern Music) of Pulse Emitter's Decaying Ships that just blew me away, so I know what to chase down next. According to the reviewer, the album 's soundscapes evoke a storm lashed, remote alien planet. In other words: Acheron. I am dying to hear this as soon as possible.
What else? Well I couldn't neglect to mention Brighter Death Now's Great Death trilogy. It originally surfaced in the mid 90's, but I'm only making its acquaintance now. There is some great material spread over the three discs, but the highlight for me is track 4 on disc 2, entitled "Moratorium". Given the prominent sample from The Evil Dead (a tape recording of an isolated researcher living in a cabin, "far from the groves of academe", reading from The Book of the Dead and then describing what he has resurrected, having initially noticed "shadows moving in the woods"), it's appropriate to mention in the same breath as Acheron, as Lovecraft's Necronomicon provides a common reference point. Death industrial is certainly not everyone's cup of tea by any means. What interests me most though is the conceptual crossovers with other forms of electronic music. I do have Pulse Emitter's Planetary Torture, so perhaps a comparison with Decaying Ships will not be too much of a stretch in a musical sense as well. Speculation only at this point, as I eagerly await confirmation!
Other commitments have swallowed up my blogging energy of late, but I've just read an extraordinary essay that breathes new life into many of the interests featured on this blog. I was doing some research for a new post on dark ambient music, but it seems I'll have to put that on the backburner. Until an opportunity arises then, here is something that speaks to me theoretically, in a way that nothing else I've read in the musical blogosphere has ever managed to do thus far.
Having read the piece I can now start to weave together thoughts about soundscapes in my mind. For example, let's imagine The Place Where the Black Stars Hang as a soundscape of space archaeology, and then relate these thoughts to the album's conditions of production and consumption. This essay allows me to hear Thomas Koner, Burzum, Lull et al in a new light. It's not as simple though as applying the insights of Roger Caillois, for example, given the dystopic inflection of these artists under review. Actually, allow me to rephrase that. I believe that the Caillois style reading of "play", "imagination" and "nature" is functionally equivalent to the interpretation of Myst in the book Digital Play, meaning that the de-centering [sic] of any signs of human labour in such instances follows on from the Doom-like entropic misanthropy of "isolationatism" evoked in dark ambient. Perhaps it's no coincidence then that artists in the latter genre are prone at times to abjuring rational planning and collaboration, substituting instead chaosmagik, [Nazi style] paganism, Deep Ecology etc. I'll hopefully get to say more about this later after refining my model thanks to an interesting essay by Michael Moorcock on the inherent limitations of libertarian and survivalist science fiction (i.e. there seem to be considerable crossovers between the latter, the virtual worlds featured in games, and dark ambient soundscapes).
But first, here's a representative sample from the mindblowing essay in question:
Reviewing the "Toshiya Ueno" post, it dawned on me that what he had written in Aliens R Us contradicted his assessments of communitas, Victor Turner etc, to some extent. For in that essay he describes the mediating "shamanistic" ritualistic role of the DJ at rave parties in almost identical terms to Durkheim's explanation of aboriginal corroboree in Elementary Forms of the Religious Life. So I would say that in the subcultures text I also linked to, he manages to qualify Turner, but certainly doesn't prove that communitas is theoretically somewhat "banal", as stated in his interview. Quite the opposite in fact.
What I got out of the subcultures book was the importance of Mary Louise Pratt's concept of "contact zones". I haven't followed the music blogosphere closely enough in recent times to check if the debates about a British "hardcore continuum" referred to Pratt. But if they didn't, it strikes me as unfortunate because another conference recently made use of her work in a way that appears mutually beneficial. A lot of similar questions were asked, and one can even find terms such as "centrifugal" and "centripetal" approximating Simon Reynolds' response to critics on his Energy Flash blog. Moreover, the Contact Zones in Modern British Culture conference specifically refers to musicians to flesh out its arguments!!
Just in case anyone happens to read this who was a participant, or has already read about both events, my apologies if what I have to say here is not exactly news. Part of the problem for me is that I find wading through the Continental philosophy and/or musical blogosphere too offputting. To be more precise, whenever I read such a blog dutifully reporting the details of the latest esoteric subject, [to cite an actual example from Infinite Thought], as per a seminar on the problem of time in Hegel, "moving towards an historical ontology of the social", my first instinctive reaction is usually a series of vivid hallucinations akin to Francis Bacon's depiction of the Pope frying in agony on the electric chair. The telling difference from Bacon's original though is that I've taken the Pope's place and the electric chair is in the seminar room. So unless there is adequate scope for such a reading method to dialogue with a social epistemology, I generally won't feel the stakes are sufficiently high enough to warrant the risks to my mental and physical health, which would surely follow from a more protracted encounter (i.e. I'm only attracted to those debates that are able to also encompass issues of epistemic justice. An example of a precedent would be unpacking how and why the Hegelian Alexandre Kojeve became a neocon guru).......OK, I admit the severity of my reactions as described here were somewhat exaggerated for comical effect, but you still catch my basic drift, right?
For now then I'm inclined to await publication of conference proceedings to gain a firmer conceptual grasp on "contact zones". I believe Pratt's considerable endeavours are potentially complementary to the theory and method of articulation, as originally developed by Stuart Hall: for researchers interested in musical genres and scenes, it brings into alignment (i.e. contact) the elements that constitute something like the analytical program known as the sociology of rock, in a manner that will [of course] change on a case by case basis.
"Frohmader's musical compositions have been said to be the musical shaping of the artistic works by Giger, specially those used for "Alien", what proves the understanding between both artists and why Giger considers Frohmader to be the perfect composer for the soundtrack for "Alien". Yet apart from this affinity, the compositions created by Frohmader are, above all, the musical equivalent to his paintings, and not only the ones published as the covers for his albums. Thus for example, his first album, "Nekropolis", is a symphony divided into two cycles, the one of the Night and the one of Hell, which contains references to the devils in the Tibetan paintings. In two pieces of "Nekropolis Live", texts extracted from the novel by Lovecraft "On the Mountains of Madness" are recited, together with a poem by Gottfried Benn about a corpse. His series "Homunculus", which he has been publishing in Sweden, is a clear connection with his paintings of evil medieval atmospheres. Or the symphonies "Plague Dances" and "Malleus Maleficarum", from his double LP "Through Time & Mystery - Ending". At the same time, his concerts at cathedrals, both for the music and the place, reflect these mystic-baroque traits.
One of the first things that attracts the attention most in his paintings, is the use he makes of black and white to enhance certain themes or elements. Thus for instance, his landscapes of narrow medieval streets look like pictures extracted from accursed books, and his ghostly Gothic cathedrals have an undeniably evil aura. Looking at some of those black and white elements, as for example the entire series of "Homunculus", it must be admitted that in full color they would not be so very impressive. He also incorporates this technique into photography and even to his own person, and decides he is one of these elements that must appear in black and white. Therefore, he always prefers photos to show him in black and white, instead of color.
Some of his illustrations, as for instance the mass of human remains that presides the cover of his first album, or the poster that is included in his second album, show his vincle to death and Beyond. He sees these universal enigmas as a key for his creativity.
In a great part of his paintings there reigns a nocturnal atmosphere, perhaps enhanced by the timetable of his artistic work; Frohmader has produced his works mostly at night, at least in the past. And an oneiric texture, nightmarish in nature, pervades these paintings as well, so as to try harvest some of the essence of bad dreams, by means of atavistic, ancestral signs, from terror. The final effect is to reflect the things that each observer of the painting would swear to have dreamed in some nocturnal nightmare.
Nevertheless, his work is not as dark as many people believe, and this is an important point. Frohmader has become famous as an "accursed artist" because the most remarkable part of his art is the sinister content, and therefore, this is what is more popularized. In his music there also are passages of light and beauty, a sincere message as opposed to the commercial productions that have appropriated the term "New Age".
In his paintings, he shapes cosmic adventures where the observer can contemplate lakes and rocks made from light, the origin of life fused with the birth and death of suns, exuberant jungles spreading to the horizon, intergalactic starscapes swept by the cold light of nebulae, or simply the Sun rising from the clouds and shedding its light after a storm.
Up to a certain point, the dark and light aspects of Frohmader's art have a chronological distribution throughout his career. And thus we have that in the first years darkness, the macabre, the evil dominate; while in his latter years it is light, beauty, the cosmic, what takes the place of the former. Although in the mid 1980s, with "The Jules Verne Cycle" (two pieces based on two stories by Verne: "The Mysterious Island" and "20,000 Leagues Under the Sea"), this subtle change can already be appreciated, it isn't until 1988 with "Spheres", when Frohmader leaves the dark regions and makes a cosmic voyage towards the worlds of light. This new artistic and aesthetic concept continues in the CD "Miniatures" (1989), whose cover is a painting on the wave of the German futuristic trends of the 1920s - 1930s; as well as in 1990, in the CD "Macrocosm" (released in the United States). The final jump arrives with "3rd Millenium's Choice Vol.1", which closes the circle, and which in a way means a return to the original starting point, even though from a different angle. By the end of 1990, he engages on a trip to the French Brittany, so as to find artistic inspiration and produce a 20 minute film showing landscapes and impressions in his personal style, including music. This music is included in his CD "Armorika", running time 74 minutes, released at the beginning of 1991. The result is a very dense, imaginative work, specially in the themes "Tumulus", "Les Roches du Diable", and "Dolmen". At the beginning of 1992, his CD "3rd Millennium's Choice Vol.2" is released, a meditative excursion that enters science-fiction rather than terror. Later, new, excellent works appear.
COLLABORATIONS, CONTACTS AND INFLUENCES
The relationship between H.R. Giger and Frohmader began when Giger heard music by Frohmader. He felt fascinated and proposed him to make the soundtrack for one of his videos. Frohmader accepted, and from this point a productive relationship between them both developed. Giger claims that he usually paints listening to Frohmader's music. On the other hand, Frohmader admits that he has been influenced in his paintings by Giger.
He is a good friend of Florian Fricke, the alma mater of the mystic music band Popol Vuh, known for their cosmic music since the early 1970s, as well as their movie soundtracks for German movie -maker Werner Herzog at an international level.
Musically speaking, he has collaborated with Ax Genrich from Guru-Guru, and Christoph Karrer from Amon Düül-2, members from two legendary bands of German psychedelic music, predecessors to the New Age movement. In his recordings sometimes collaborate violinists Stephan Manus and Iva Bittová, Stephan Seithel (Oboe), Birgit Metzger (vocals), and others. Through Nekropolis Records, his record label, he has produced CDs from other interesting alternative musicians, as for instance Andreas Merz and Gerd Schedel (two electronic experimental composers from Munich), and Gulaab.
He has worked with the painters of contemporary fantasy art Ernst Fuchs and Hellmut Neukircht; and he has been in contact with sculptor Martin Schöneich as well as painters Wolfgang Ohlhäuser and Elke Wassmann.
Among his influences we find the Gothic horror movies from silent movies, as for instance the "Nosferatu" by Murnau, besides the metaphysical science-fiction movies from Russia and Poland, among them "Solaris" and "Stalker". As for the writers who have influenced him most, these are: H.P. Lovecraft (whom he has illustrated), Edgar Allan Poe, Clark Ashton Smith, Henry James, Bram Stoker, Algernon Blackwood, among less known ones. Besides Giger, the painters who have influenced him most are Bosch and Grünewald."
Just by way of a quick follow up on my earlier posting on Roger Griffin, palingenesis and electronic music, I've kept pushing, trying to find alternatives to the theory of collective efforvescence broached in that post, as I always try to get some sense of how multifaceted an issue is before I make up my mind of how to conceptualise it. In this interview, Toshiya Ueno criticises the reliance by other scholars on communitas, Victor Turner and so forth. I'd only come at the work of this Japanese techno critic previously through a more indirect route, as he contributes a chapter to Aliens R Us called 'Japanimation:Techno-Orientalism, Media Tribes and Rave Culture', so the comments in this interview were revelations to me.
While the provocative claims in that interview perhaps remain open to debate, I have to admit to a factual error in the palingenesis post. It wasn't actually Tangerine Dream who contributed the "stunning" track to the opening of The Keep. It was a demo by Brian Eno. If you listen to "Mea Culpa" on My Life in the Bush of Ghosts, it's possible to hear traces of The Keep. Unsurprisingly then, Tangerine Dream have never covered or performed live the track in question, and this also explains why it hasn't appeared on the official soundtrack. It has apparently surfaced though on a bootleg called Ghosts, which thus far I've not managed to track down.
Some other thoughts unexpectedly came to me reading Dennis Cooper's tribute to Whitehouse. I was less interested in Cooper's personal identification with their libertarian aesthetic, or the mentioning of Bennett's claim that Rip It Up & Start Again mistakenly reports a joke by Steve Stapleton as if it were a factual statement about the band's interest in certain extreme pornographic publications, than in how he reminded me that Paul Hegarty had not only edited a book on Dennis Cooper, but has written a couple of books about noise/music as well.
It also just so happens that I've been listening to Merzbow's 1930 a lot recently, so I'm wondering derridata if you might be able to bring these reflections full circle by answering a question? Have you encountered any commonalities, in theoretical terms and artefacts used as examples, in the respective writings of Toshiya Ueno, Hegarty on Merzbow, and the cultural studies of anime you've been undertaking? Don't worry, I'm not asking you to chase down these authors, but simply wondering if their names have cropped up during the course of your research? If you have any thoughts on the matter, please feel free to hold them till we hook up at the Brian Eno gig. I figure they might have to do with topics such as "techno subjectivity" and, by extension, "post subcultural" spaces or "scenes" in which such identities are enacted/performed/consumed. I'm wondering also whether the existence of any such commonalities could serve to undercut those in the music blogosphere who are focused on divorcing "genre" from "scene"?
One more thing relating to animation, I like how this clip critically comments on not only human motion in general, but more specifically the treatment of "older" women by consumer culture:
I just happened to be looking back through this blog's archives the other day, and was surprised to see Roger Griffin had left 2 comments in response to my posting on palingenesis, electronic music, fascism. I contacted him, and was happy to receive in response 4 articles that helped flesh out some of the concerns I'd raised in my post. Time permitting, which is a big IF in my case (as I am hopefully about to go through a transitional phase in my life involving a major shake up of how I am living/working as an editor of academic journal articles), I might be able to post a more detailed response in the near future.
For the moment then, I'll note that Griffin and I seemed to be in some agreement about the explanatory significance of Durkheim's theory of collective effervescence. I can't see that Roger could object to me reproducing part of our private correspondence, as my hope in so doing is that it will encourage others to investigate his work. That said, Griffin goes on to explain:
"certainly Durkheim's concept of collective effervescence as a way of transcending anomie relates to both fascism and rave communities, but I think in a way illuminated by the distinction between integrative (rave) and identificatory (fascist rally) communities. You can see the full scale conceptual framework I have erected to explain the compulsive need for the creation of a new transcendent nomos under the conditions of modernity in my Modernism and Fascism (just Google). Meanwhile here is the article on apolietic music as well, as well as my article on fascism's temporal revolution which ends with an allusion to Okenfold."
Basically, I think Griffin's terms are apiece with my own distinction between contingency and seriality respectively. I think the recent discussions of representations of the "alien" in rave culture over at the dancecult website (listed on Acheron's blogroll) also fits nicely into the ideal of a "unity in dissensus" presumed by the "integrative" pole. So what else can be said about the "identificatory" in relation to electronic music more generally? (i.e. electronic music outside of rave culture) What I'm starting to wonder, by way of a response, is whether "the animal" necessarily functions as a substitute for the "alien"? In Nazi Germany, for example, this would typically take 2 forms: certain humans are relegated to the level of vermin or beasts of burden, while simultaneously other animals were elevated at the expense of the "subhuman". The subhuman was recognisably an "alien" by virtue of the fact that their physiognomy was a reflection of their country of origin (so their very presence in the Fatherland was a violation of "natural" borders). Further details on these biopolitical [identificatory] dimensions of fascism can be found by revisiting an earlier post on this blog, "After the Downfall: A German reading of The Lord of the Rings".
If this strategy is discernible in the form of identificatory effervescence created in other electronic music cultures, then I feel it is probably of a different order than my previous musings on the trope of "becoming animal" (which incidentally cited some musical precedents, such as Jim Morrision's alter ego, The Lizard King). To be sure, I was initially intrigued by news of Iggy Pop's recent collaboration with a nihilistic kindred spirit, Michel Houellebecq, an album called Preliminaires.
Afterall, nihilism is indissociable from anomie, sometimes in turn fostering "active" effervescent solutions [sic]. In the promotional clip Iggy heaps praise upon Houellebecq's novel, The Possibility of an Island, and seems to imply that the existence of a dog is superior to not only that of the kind of artificial human made dystopia in the book specifically, but to humanity in general. Iggy's career is littered with comparable intimations, featuring, as it does, song titles such as I Wanna Be Your Dog and Dog Food. He also hints at the appeal of a kind of atavistic primordialism on his album Instinct, which the listener senses is in part a response to an urban landscape forged in Cold Metal (a song on Instinct).
Be this as it may, my feeling is that Iggy never really consciously plotted a strategy of sonic attack throughout the course of his career that is somehow tainted by "fascist" aesthetics (remember, Preliminaires pays tribute to Jelly Roll Morton!!), notwithstanding Greil Marcus's description of Iggy urging the audiences in his concerts to vote for Reagan during the 1980s, or the excesses of earlier performances with The Stooges, such as this for example:
It's also obviously the case that his music is not electronic. There is, however, one shared attribute worth considering in relation to the genre of electronic music known as "power electronics", namely, the emphasis on volume (at least with respect to what Iggy had earlier called Raw Power). Now I haven't read Jacque Attali's Noise: The Political Economy of Music, but I'm intrigued by the following quotation, which hints at the ritualistic aspect intended to generate effervescence, and how violence functions in such a context:
"Noise is violence, i.e., murder. Music is a channelization of noise and a simulacrum of sacrifice, a sublimation to create order and political integration. Therefore music is ritual murder".
Attali also makes me think here of those passages in Bataille wherein the shattering of selfhood instigated by the infliction of violence is paradoxically represented as "liberating" for its victim, as it opens them up to an "outside". Bataille even strains credibility, to put it mildly, by referring to the sexual assault of a woman in such terms. Attali must be closer to the truth of the matter insofar as he intimates that such receptiveness in effect can mean reduction to the status of a sacrificial animal intended to buttress identificatory solidarity. Hence the victim is emptied of their autonomy so they can then be made subject to someone else's domination.This is the sense I get whenever I listen to a power electronics album, such as Whitehouse's Great White Death. William Bennett & co. continually draw on transgressive, misogynistic tropes, all wrapped in a shattering wall of noise. I've read enough interviews with him to know that nihilism is a primary concern in Whitehouse's aesthetic. Rhythm is not permissible because it is not "pure" enough; unlike nihilism, it simply dates too quickly, thus explaining Bennett's complaint that the "serious" music press, such as The Wire: Adventures in Modern Music, ignore Whitehouse because they refuse to make the dance music that so entrances cultural journalists (in his words, The Wire is strictly "revisionist", when it comes to electronic music).
But the real clincher, the thing that spurred my reflections following the exchange with Griffin, was reading Bennett's comments on his blog regarding the status of animals. I was struck by how his strident defence of their dignity has never been matched by anything I've ever heard him sing, say, or write, about homosap. Please keep in mind that I'm only thinking aloud here, so these are tentative conclusions at best. I have to guiltily admit though that I actually enjoy Bennett's blog, even as some of its more sinister ramifications are crystallizing in my mind while reading him. Irrespective of whether you agree with him or not, it is hard to avoid the conclusion that William Bennett is a very clever contrarian (and perhaps more of a reflexive ironist than he is usually given credit for), who has succeeded in producing some of the most intense and scary music of all time. Don't believe me? Try listening to Great White Death along with Big Black's thematically similar Songs About Fucking, then wait and see which album burns a bigger hole in your brain....I'll wager that Whitehouse will be conferred with this dubious honour each and every time.
I also do not want to be misconstrued as arguing that it is wrong in principle to defend the dignity of animals: I simply wish to avoid its occurrence at the expense of our collective humanity. A necessary correlate of this view is that animals must be protected from simply becoming "animal capital" (see my previous post of the same title). Some shocking juxtapositions of the kind of sacrificial economy "animal capital" requires can be seen in Georges Franju's little seen documentary, Le Sang des betes (aka Blood of the Beasts). I was about to say that all the film is missing is an updated Whitehouse score, but then the horrible thought occurred to me that it is probably closer to the mark to nominate the films of Walerian Borowczyk. I've posted on his Marceline before, so I admit his works are more open to interpretation than suggested by my association of him with William Bennett. But I can't help thinking of the nightmarish visions of "identificatory community" such a collaboration might (perhaps unwittingly) entail, especially when watching the trailer for this Borowczyk film:
Probably the only place the two meet is on the Civil Radio 18 blog. There have been times when I've thought some of the most interesting blogs were the equivalent of those bands Greil Marcus talks about, who disappear quickly after leaving behind one or two incredible songs. I hope though that Civil Radio sticks around, unlike Infinite Frequencies etc. I particularly like its conceptual focus, as it is in some ways complementary to Acheron's interest in science fiction themes, without having yet hardened into a theoretical formalism. This is particularly remarkable in light of how the blog features the work of guys like Tuomas Rantanen (his "Bionic Paratroops" piece is featured on Mix 15: It's War), whose theoretical tastes also run to Martin Heidegger. In other words, Civil Radio hasn't succumbed to the noosphere tendencies I've complained about on many other occasions.
As for Rantanen's hardcore brand of techno, I haven't yet decided how listenable it would be, outside of the mix featured on Civil Radio 18, which contextualises it with reference to futuristic, militarised soundscapes. But monitoring its development still seems a worthwhile thing to do: i.e. what wider cultural meanings can be imputed to its dissemination? This question will remain compelling.
I also applaud Civil Radio's highlighting of Bill Hicks, and it seems we can look forward to a full length documentary on his legacy later this year: I like to think of him in terms of Gramsci's maxim, "pessimism of the intellect, optimism of the will" (although it seems Bill struggled to maintain the latter aspect throughout his short life, he remained progressive).
On February 25, 2004, British MP Stephen Pound tabled an early day motion titled "Anniversary of the Death of Bill Hicks" (EDM 678 of the 2003-04 session), the text of which was as follows:
"That this House notes with sadness the 10th anniversary of the death of Bill Hicks, on 26th February 1994, at the age of 32; recalls his assertion that his words would be a bullet in the heart of consumerism, capitalism and the American Dream; and mourns the passing of one of the few people who may be mentioned as being worthy of inclusion with Lenny Bruce and George Carlin in any list of unflinching and painfully honest political philosophers".
In the documentary Zeitgeist parts of Bill Hicks' Revelations are being played.
The Bill Hicks Foundation for Wildlife Rehabilitation, dedicated to Bill in tribute to his love of animals, rescues and rehabilitates injured wildlife in the Texas Hill Country.
ahuthnance, we were talking about Roger Griffin and his [separate] interests in electronic music and Nazi Germany. The interesting question is whether any commonalities could be teased out in how he discusses palingenesis? Or is his musical frame of reference so tightly tied to rave culture that it becomes impossible to imagine other settings and genres being used as props for Victor Turner style liminal rituals (even if the participant is a lone individual not directly fusing with a collective)? What if the music is used to provide a commentary on violence in such contexts as well?
In the absence of other writings on electronic music more generally by Griffin, I've had to content myself with other artefacts, such as the brilliant rescoring of Salo, using Kelly Bailey's evocative soundtrack from Half Life 2 (notwithstanding any historical differences between Italian and German variants of fascism, we would agree that each bears examination as a palingenetic populist form of ultranationalism). And then there is the stunning Tangerine Dream track from the opening of The Keep......
time is like a bullet from behind I run for cover just like you time is like a liquid in my hands I swim for dry land just like you
time is like a blanket on my face I try to be here just like you time is just a fiction of our minds I will survive and so will you
we are the only ones right now that are celebrating and we are joining hands right now we are the only ones right now that are suffocating we are the dying ones right now
as the water grinds the stone we rise and fall as our ashes turn to dust we shine like stars
a billion words ago the sailors disappeared a story for the children to rock them back to sleep
a million burning books like torches in our hands a fabric of ideals to decorate our homes
a thousand generations the soil on which we walk a mountain of mistakes for us to climb for pleasure
a hundred clocks are ticking the line becomes a circle spin the wheel of fortune or learn to navigate
a choir full of longing will call our ships to port the countless lonely voices like whispers in the dark
"Call the ships to port" - Covenant
go to the empire state and watch the city lights hear the noise of millions struggle in the sprawl stare into the sky we're few and far between black eyes full of stars wide with memories
[...]
lie down in the park and watch the satellites hear the children sing just a breath away dance in the heavy air along the interstate black lung full of fumes choke on memories
"Like tears in rain" - Covenant
lights blur shifting slightly, always the rain he's there hunting nightly, driven by pain burns fast shining brightly, dies in vain he's there, speaking lightly of life in pain
bionic killer the spider in his net comes to his maker as close as he can get
weak little creatures speaking with god their cries so insane, their prayers just in vain 'cause I am the replicant, to hell with the gods
too late to escape, too late to regret no time to hide, no time to forget lights blur shifting slightly, always the rain he's there hunting nightly, driven by pain
we wish so hard to be seen and pray at night to be heard and yet we have nothing to show but false words and broken dreams
I'm the figurehead on the ship of fools a beacon for the liars in the dark I'm the first and the last I claim this land I'm the lost and the hungry I need this land
"Figurehead" - Covenant
We are the men Silent and cold Beautiful eyes Sheep among wolves We are the men Silent and strong Beautiful eyes Sheep among wolves
ahuthnance, you probably need to get over to this excellent blog asap. Some interesting news about Delia Derbyshire and Tristram Cary, which might one day fill out the excellent BBC Radiophonic Workshop cd you have from around the same period:
OK mhuthnance, just for you, I found this on the excellent Asimov's Science Fiction website. There are a few factoids here I was previously unaware of, so I avoided dropping references to the other more familiar stuff regarding Eno and Klaus Schulze. In any case, it's certainly an excellent companion piece to the Simon Reynolds interview on Ballardian.com a few years back. Enjoy!!
"Like many Asimov’s readers, my diet of literature consists of a great number of science fiction novels, short story anthologies, and magazines. It is not the only artistic pursuit I’m interested in, but it’s accurate to say that reading science fiction has had a profound influence on my own day-to-day life, my intellectual development as an adult, and the formation of my attitudes about our contemporary American culture and its place in the present and future world. The other great artistic love of my life is electronic music, a sonic genre as diverse, innovative, and without boundary as that of the best written science fiction. Though it may seem an oblique comparison, the wildly diverse sub-genres of electronic music have influenced and informed my intellectual development in as profound a manner as the classics of science fiction.
Since I first encountered electronic music in high school, it has operated as an unofficial soundtrack to the novels and stories I’ve read. For me, Aphex Twin’s stark and experimental timbres on Selected Ambient Works, Volume II will always evoke mental associations of Michael Moorcock’s A Cure for Cancer; Hans-Joachim Roedelius’s warm, pastoral Wenn der Sudwind Weht album conjures images of Walter Tevis’s Mockingbird; atmospheric guitarist Jeff Pearce’s Daylight Slowly takes me back to the lovely world of Asimov’s The Naked Sun—not to mention irrevocably reminding me of the beautiful Gladia—and on and on.
Because of these strong associations, when I read science fiction novels and stories, I’m always amused to see writers weaving tales of extremely futuristic milieus—dystopian cities, gender-bending cultures, post-Singularity ways of existence—all featuring extremely dated or “old-fashioned” musical choices. There is nothing that seems more incongruous, to me, than reading about blues rock bands jamming in a futuristic club setting, or android simulacrums with looks based upon Jim Morrison or Elvis. While these choices on the part of the writers are certainly valid, given the musicians’ influence and popularity, I have always thirsted for a more intentionally futuristic sounding music appearing in the science fiction I read. It seems to me that inexplicable alien cultures deserve music that is equally inexplicably alien!
Though there have been stories that have dealt with this theme masterfully, the musics chosen by authors for their novels and stories are largely quite traditional, and hardly ever daring, experimental, or conceptual from a modern listener’s viewpoint. Even from the perspective of a knowledgeable listener in the mid-1970s, as electronic music became more prominent, these limiting sound-choices seem to be as futuristic as a plastic shower curtain, or an electrical vacuum cleaner—innovations of their time, but, when integrated into futuristic modernity, a strange, though certainly romantic, anachronism.
This is not to say modern science fiction writers are all stuck in an eternal 1960s acid-rock or baroque musical future. As an example to the contrary, M. John Harrison’s recent novel Light contains an example of future-thinking in regard to musical styles of times to come: “Music was everywhere, transformation dub bruising the ear, you could hear its confrontational basslines twenty miles out to sea.” In our own world, dub music is an intriguing sub-genre of Jamaican reggae noted for innovative studio-production techniques and a bass-heavy, echoed, hypnotic vibe. Though the invented genre of “transformation dub” is never satisfactorily explained in Light, it instills thought-provoking associations I very much appreciated as I wondered, days after reading the novel, what the music might sound like, how it came about, and what collision of past musical influences might have been responsible for its creation.
Futuristic electronic sound and science fiction have often been associated with each other throughout their popular histories. Louis and Bebe Barron’s otherworldly soundtrack of “electronic tonalities” for the film Forbidden Planet comes immediately to mind as music constructed specifically to shade an otherworldly sci-fi odyssey.
Artists of electronic music have benefited greatly from the pollination of SFnal ideas. These intrepid purveyors of decidedly strange sounds are heavily influenced by both science fiction literature and cinema. Perhaps it is only a matter of time before the influence of these musicians is in turn felt by tomorrow’s SF writers and filmmakers.
The roll call of talented, influential artists and musicians in the electronic genre is long, diverse, and already the topic of several books and countless articles in print and online publications. I could easily wax poetic on dozens of fascinating artists who are worthy of broad attention by music lovers everywhere. For the purpose of this article—and for the continued sanity of those who are curious about the electronic genre, but are unsure where to start listening—I will describe a choice few artists who are directly involved in, influenced by, or have had oblique dalliances with SF literature. Perhaps by exploring some of the following fine musicians and their recordings, your interest may be piqued enough to begin your own odyssey through the wild, strange, and beautiful world of electronically created sound.
One of the most fascinating figures in electronic music is French guitarist, synthesist, Sorbonne philosophy professor, and composer Richard Pinhas. His influence upon electronic music since the 1970s, an influence somewhat obscure until recently, has been far-reaching. Through his band Heldon (named after Norman Spinrad’s utopian city in The Iron Dream) he is credited, along with German innovators Tangerine Dream, as one of the first musicians to combine electronics and rock ’n’ roll into a startlingly progressive and original hybrid.
His guitar style—reminiscent of King Crimson guitarist Robert Fripp’s musical experiments with producer Brian Eno (Eno will be discussed later)—is provocative and emotional. Sometimes violent and aggressive, other times angelic and exuberant, Pinhas’s searing guitar marked the beginning of the electronic-punk sound.
Heldon’s 1975 album Allez Teia melds lovely tape-loop-derived guitar passages with the most modern analog synthesizers of the time. It’s also an overtly political album, with cover art depicting the Paris student riots of 1968. Though peaceful in mood, Allez Teia was quite revolutionary for presenting an album of idyllic soundscapes during a tumultuous and angry time in music. While punk expressed its rage with loud music and shambolic live concerts, Pinhas’s rage was focused toward painfully beautiful and melancholy music.
Pinhas, a political and philosophical radical, always managed to infuse his many albums, both solo and with Heldon, with the visionary literature and philosophy that influenced him: Gilles Deleuze, Philip K. Dick, Frank Herbert, and Norman Spinrad are frequently touched upon in song titles, album dedications, and, in some cases, guest appearances. Pinhas featured spoken-word recordings of Deleuze on some of his albums with Heldon and his later solo material. Pinhas’s albums Chronolyse and DWW are based on the SF works of Frank Herbert and Philip K. Dick, respectively (though DWW’s cover depicts a Fremen of Arrakis as interpreted by Heavy Metal magazine illustrator Philippe Druillet). Track titles like “Paul Atredies,” “Sur le Theme de Bene Gesserit,” “Ubik,” and “The Joe Chip Song” demonstrate Pinhas’s tireless creation of unofficial soundtracks for the great works of science fiction he loves. Norman Spinrad himself sings on Pinhas’s East/West album and the first album by Schitzotrope (a project between French science fiction writer Maurice Dantec and Pinhas featuring “French readings of Gilles Deleuze’s philosophy with metatronic music and vocal processors,” and, yes, it is as cool and weird as it sounds).
Pinhas’s most recent solo work, 2004’s Tranzition (reviewed in Asimov’s by Paul Di Filippo in a recent issue), even features an old tape fragment of Philip K. Dick speaking about his role as a writer. Tranzition is a fine work of interstellar musical ambiance, with masterful guitar playing and software-based musicianship, proving Pinhas is still as relevant in 2004 as he was in 1974. The revolutionary, experimental spirit infused in classic New Wave science fiction is embodied in Pinhas’s music sonically, with the same broad level of influence to successors in his genre. His work is an incendiary music of change, pointing the way to possible futures through advanced technology and thought systems". EXPRESS: What do you think of today's electronic music scene? » PINHAS I'm not specially interested in electronic music; more in post-rock, in noise groups like Wolf Eyes and some of the San Francisco scene. And, of course, classical music.
» EXPRESS: Are you still inspired by science fiction? » PINHAS: I stay tuned in and am still very close to Norman Spinrad — the American writer — and Maurice Dante — the French sci-fi writer living in Montreal. But to be honest, I only read two or three new science fiction books each year.
» EXPRESS: How did Gilles Deleuze's philosophy and Friedrich Nietzsche's eternal return ideas influence your music? » PINHAS: With Deleuze, by truly living and sharing his philosophy; it's a whole, immanent philosophy. Plus, he was a very, very close friend and a great teacher. His main concepts were about time and repetition, process theory and about synchronicity and flux material. So there is a direct connection between repetitive music — my kind of music, metatronic — and his time theory and Nietzsche's eternal return concept. So eternal return and my way of processing are very connected, still in relationship. Music helps me understand some philosophical concepts just as concepts help me to make my music as a process of process — the immanent thing. Deus sive natura. [Literally, "God or nature," from philosopher Benedict Spinoza, but meaning "God is nature"]
» EXPRESS: I understand you wrote a book about Friedrich Nietzsche and his relationship to music. » PINHAS: Yes, it was a book about Nietzsche, Deleuze and music. We know the admiration Nietzsche had for [Richard] Wagner — I also love "The Ring" that I saw four times in Bayreuth, Germany — and [Georges] Bizet as well as Peter Gast [aka Heinrich Koselitz], with whom he wrote many letters. Nietzsche talks a lot about music in his books, too. I have done a part of my philosophy Ph.D. on the problem of time and repetition. Probably all the musicians that work on repetitive music — like Philip Glass, Terry Riley, etc. — have directly or indirectly a straight relationship to the concept of time and repetition and to the concept of eternal return.
» EXPRESS: You once said, "I think there is a straight connection between who I see as the three most important people in the history of modern music: Wagner, [Bela] Bartok and Robert Fripp. But Fripp is the most important composer." What is it about Wagner and Bartok that you love — and why is Fripp the most important? » PINHAS: To be honest, I don't remember ever saying that. It is close to that, but for classical music I am more involved in [Richard] Bach, Wagner. And for the moderns, of course, [Fripp's band] King Crimson is very important — very, very — but not more than Miles Davis or Jimi Hendrix. Fripp is important because hearing his music made my life different and helped me to decide to be definitively a composer and a musician — better than teaching at university.
Photo courtesy Cuneiform Records» EXPRESS: There's a particular theme that runs through "Metatron"'s titles. So, deep breath, here we go. First, Metatron is an angel in the Kabbalah. Then the song name "Tikkun" is taken from the Torah, and the video track "Tikkun (Part 4) " is subtitled "Gematria 52vs814" after the Kabbalah numerology system. And "Tikkun (Part 2): Tikkune Zohar" is named after the most important book of the Kabbalah. Plus, "Shaddai" is one of the Hebrew names for God, and you have two songs that mention that in the title. And you have a composition, "The Ari," named for the Kabbalist Isaac Luria. How did Jewish religion and mysticism influence these works? » PINHAS: So, it is a very long story. In brief, first I don't believe at all in God except if you say, as Spinoza, that "God is nature": Deus sive natura. I spent, lately in my life, five or six years on Spinoza. Fantastic time. Spinoza, directly or indirectly, was inspired by a certain way of the Kabbalah by Isaac Luria — this great genius — despite him saying that Kabbalah is "crap." [Pinhas goes on about a bunch of other deep philosophical things here that, frankly, we can't make heads or tails of, so let's just jump to the next bit.]
» EXPRESS OK, I have a massive brain cramp. You also have two song titles on "Metatron" whose inspirations escape me. Who is or what are Moumoune and Mietz as well as Tigroo and Leloo? » PINHAS: Moumoune was my female hamster that died two years ago. I had a pretty close relationship with her; a kind of empathy and love. She helped me pass a very depressive time in my life — true, even if it seems strange. Mietz was the cat of my psychoanalyst; Mietz died three months after Moumoune. So, it was a very sad story. But Tigroo was my beautiful girlfriend at this moment of creation and my nickname was Leloo — "The Wolf." She was half-French, half-Chinese. But life goes on. See the Talking Heads song "Once in a Lifetime."
» EXPRESS You left music for a period because, you said, you had "no musical statement to make." Have you ever felt like taking another break from music? » PINHAS: No, it just happened one time, between 1982 and 1988. During this time, I studied philosophy again. I spent my life in the French mountains, skiing and paragliding, except one day a week for the Deleuze course. It will never happen again. I just went off music — and a little bit off civilization.
» EXPRESS You've always been very open and honest about which albums of yours you've liked and which ones you don't. What do you think of "Metatron" and where does it rank? » PINHAS: Really, one of the best; surely a kind of achievement. I know that some Heldon CDs, like the second and the third, I don't like them really anymore. Same for the [Peter] Frohmader collaboration. But "Tranzition" and Heldon's "Interface" and "Un Reve" are, even today, very good and powerful albums.
As promised, here is a change of pace, documenting a recent visit to Title Music in Surry Hills. The proprietor, Steve, is a real character, and moreover, extremely knowledgeable and helpful. If it sounds a bit like I'm spruiking on his behalf, well it's only because I want to (Steve didn't ask me to), and I think between Title and Red Eye Records, I can be pretty much guaranteed of finding most of what I'm after in the way of cds, dvds, and books. Title is also a distributor of the ECM catalogue, so this is a good indicator of how you can rest assured that there is a wide range of music available.
I couldn't load Acheron LV-426 this morning for some reason, so I'm hoping this will go through ok. One more thing about Title though, its web presence is not consistently updated, but should still be checked out by those thinking of paying a visit (or placing an order).
Steve told us an amusing anecdote about Baz Luhrmann, who has been a frequent visitor of late on Saturdays. The director is apparently wrapping up post-production on his latest epic, Australia, which stars Hugh Jackman and Nicole Kidman. Luhrmann will come into the store and request, for example, every silent film in stock, or any films with combat scenes, or a particular form of lighting. Other than attesting to the power to indulge personal whims, I figure this anecdote tells us something as well about how significant editing is to the success of a film, in addition to the digitisation of cinema previously mentioned on this blog with reference to Matt Hanson.
My apologies if this personal reminder trivialises the previous post on the catastrophe that is Iraq, as this was not my intention (but I have been listening to Peter Namlook & co all morning and find it too good to not put up here). Next task is find some Mike Ink.......
Note to self: check out Kraken "Valstrik In De Muur" Ambient Currently Playing: Pete Namlook & Charles Uzzell-Edwards - Macro Read & post comments (22)
An interesting project for a sociology of knowledge occurred to me: Mark Fisher and Simon Reynolds have done a fine job in my view in laying some foundations for an argument that something like an "interpretive community" (Stanley Fish's term) came into being around the Cyberculture Research Unit at Warwick University. With the inspiration of Sadie Plant and Nick Land, this "way of seeing" has spread out into the blogosphere, in addition to other manifestations (electronic music etc). Some of what I have to say here amounts to a kind of extension of an earlier post on this blog on the topic of "cultural journalism".
I don't wish to imply, with my [above] qualification, that this typifies the only possible response, so before getting to why I raise the issue in a posting ostensibly concerned with Ballard and technotheory, I can draw another distinction here. I think it unwise to lapse, other than when they are blatantly at issue , into discussion of personal motivations, so I believe the adoption of said approach by other critics in the blogosphere can be safely disregarded:
http://kenomatic.blogspot.com/2007/11/adventures-in-parapolitics-first-in.html Perhaps the only part worth engaging with in the [above] link, has to do with the question of how to appraise the associated avant garde politics. Assessing the possible degree of truth in the satire might be a task that would benefit through comparison with the long standing critical exchanges between sociology and cultural studies. Perhaps one indicator of a search for a mediated position, which avoids the tar pits of a much older sociology of culture, is the formation of the new Sage journal Cultural Sociology. But this example also causes me to cast my mind back to the questions of disciplinary identity and politics, as they relate to interpretive communities. The one that most fascinates me has to do with the proximity of CRU to Steve Fuller at Warwick University; Fuller is a leading figure in Science Studies, and a known critic of Science and Technology Studies, especially in its most popular non-normative form of Actor Network Theory. In the absence of any published commentary by either party, my hypothesis is that Fuller's attitude toward the CRU would, in principle, be something like the position of "the intellectual" featured in the dialogue with a philosopher in his book "The Intellectual" (but see also the older posting on Acheron on "flexible fascism"). My feeling is that there is a story here waiting to be told, particularly as Fuller is increasingly trying to insert himself into debates ocurring in forums outside of the academy (witness, for example, his prominence in the "intelligent design" debate, on radio, assorted websites etc). It can be no straight forward matter however of assuming apriori that one knows what constitutes "politics", and that a history of "British poststructuralism" could precede in the manner of Colin McCabe's (if I recall correctly) historical teleology, however much one might think such an exercise could tell us a great deal about the prominence of the journal Screen, as preparing the ground for the later cultivation of Lacan as pop philosopher, most notably in the form of Zizek. But this is hardly the only way of framing the Lacanian reading strategy. Reservations are also expressed by self-proclaimed post-structuralists and postmodernists of various stripes. For them, it simply will not do to propound Lacanian positions, when it might be said that Zizek, and their numerous clones and epigones, are themselves the paramnesiac symptom of a "body machine complex". This has to do in part then with reservations about the Lacanian reading method as being dependent upon an opposition between symbol and materiality. Lacanians, in this view, are simply a hindrance in coming to grips with the realities of technoculture, particularly its ascendant forms of power. This is a critique which is extended by posthumanists, who draw upon Deleuze and Guattari, and Luhmann, in an effort to move beyond the restrictions of an oedipalised subjectivity. Of interest to this blog's mission statement, this extends to consideration of forging new forms of interaction with non-human others, not least animals. And then there is also, as alluded to in the reference to the "body machine complex", the consideration of human interactivity with technology, from the most mundane levels of tool use up to and including the crafting of new forms of subjectivity. This introduction would seem to have finally brought this post up to speed on its foregrounding of the Ballardian chronotope. I am left wondering if it too needs to thought in terms of the limitations of "a paramnesiac symptom", and if the application of Lacanian procedures to his work [uncritically] confirms these limitations? On these grounds I raised the possibility of exploring a "circuit breaker" of the usual Lacan/Baurdrillard/Bataille lineup with Simon Sellars, the administrator of the Ballardian site (a thumbnail preview of which appears here): http://www.ballardian.com/ballardnoysfisher Perhaps derridata and I might be able to collaborate on this project some day. Until such a time, I've posted for reference an excerpt from a feminist technotheoretical perspective here. It is too early to say whether, if the time comes, our response would diverge in any significant ways from this piece. But I am known to be paranoid about interesting material disappearing from the web before I have had a chance to follow it up, so a hefty sampling follows. The same principle applies to the resources on electronic music which appears below (and who is to say at this embryonic stage that no crossover in theoretical concern could take place?). So firstly, here is the link for the interesting piece which deals, in part, with Cronenberg's adaptation of Ballard's "Crash", which argues that the film is deeply misogynistic: http://www.crimeculture.com/Contents/Articles-Summer05/JemAziz1.html http://www.ballardian.com/jeannette-baxter-from-shanghai-to-norwich
"David Cronenberg’s allegiance to body culture is useful in illustrating how the man/machine interface affects the way female characters are portrayed in popular culture or cinema.For the purpose of this study, two of his films that I consider of paramount importance in investigating the representation or the treatment of women in science fiction and future noir texts, as they capture the paranoia about the insertion or invasion of machine/scientific experimentation into a human body, are The Fly and Crash. I would argue that whereas The Fly falls into the category of science fiction/horror hybrid, Crash is a future noir film. Famously (or notoriously?) dubbed as ‘ “King of Venereal Horror”, “the Baron of Blood”, and “Dave ‘Deprave’ Cronenberg’”,75 Cronenberg’s fascination with the human body is regularly epitomised by his films like Shivers, Videodrome, Rabid, The Fly and Crash. Critics of these films label him the master of body rupture and transformation, observing that he creates images that are truly the ‘most shocking, perverse, disgusting and truly inventive scenes of horror and bodily mayhem ever conceived for the cinema’.76 Indisputably an auteur, Cronenberg’s oeuvre is tied together by his interest in dissecting a human body that has been torn asunder, investigated and sometimes contaminated: in the case of Shivers, by excretory-like parasites. The genres’ different ideological frames consequently affect the meanings attached to the representation of the female characters especially at the level of ideological symbolism, which are vividly dramatised by these films – The Fly and Crash. I will be using them to demonstrate how the fundamental difference in ontological uncertainties moves the latter into the future noir territory. These uncertainties indeed are their most potent forces. Whereas The Fly falls within the realm of the science fiction/horror hybrid, Crash is a future noir text in which the atmospherically bleak world is chaotic; ‘human beings’ struggle to find new meanings in their relationships with machines, culminating in the inescapable human/machine interface. What this suggests is that, unlike The Fly’s ending that is subliminally cathartic, Crash is sombre and cold throughout, sans peur et sans reproche, denying any purgation of the (audience and characters’) emotions. Likewise, although their interests in the interception of the machine by/in the human body are somewhat similar, the watershed lies in the ontological uncertainty of future noir that focuses on the interest in the way the female characters are represented. The films’ ontological instabilities, moreover, are drawn from the different metaphor that the interface represents, influenced in turn by the hybridity of the genres themselves. The fusion of science fiction and the gothic horror in The Fly is characteristically prevalent in the making of a tragic and melancholic hero (Although Cronenberg himself claims that The Fly is a metaphor for the ageing process and denies the idea that it is intended as an AIDS metaphor77), the film’s romantic angle is a chrysalis from which the treatment of the female character can be divulged, whereby, according to Chris Rodley, we see the film’s ‘triumph of love story over special effects’.78 Arguably, Crash, which is adopted into a film from one of J.G. Ballard’s novels, retains the future noir elements of the original text by combining science fiction elements with noir pessimism and inescapable fatalism – a postmodern hybrid. This bleakness may be a result of two authorial visions: Martin Barker, Jane Arthurs and Ramaswati Harindranath argue that Crash ‘is a very self-conscious film […] very evidently formed out of a combination of the visions of J.G. Ballard and David Cronenberg’.79 This is concurred with by Cronenberg who observes that ‘the sci-fi-ness [of Crash], comes from [J.G.] Ballard anticipating a future pathological psychology’,80 a vision that he himself tries to accomplish. This shared bleak vision of the future world engendered by psychopathology is the embodiment of noir’s vision of postmodern nightmare. Therefore, embedded in both films’ ideological differences are their ontological conflicts that offer different ways of reading the female characters. In other words, the portrayal of the female characters in The Fly and Crash as ‘hopeless romantic’ is also emblematic of the genres’ reaction towards Western culture’s interest in investigating a female body, sexuality, and subjectivity; and this is referred analogously to the human/machine interface. One of the strategies employed in The Fly involves locating the metaphor of the interface in the ‘spatialisation’ of a female body. As an exploitable space, it is both intriguing and threatening, signifying the films’ inherent curiosity about the female body; thus, treating it like an object of investigation. There is no denying that the ‘spatialisation’ of a female body marks a new cultural attitude towards the human body itself; it is, however, mostly characterised by the pejorative representation of a female body as a landscape to be explored, manipulated, and ‘tamed’, but ultimately replaceable or dispensable. In David Cronenberg’s The Fly, Seth Brundle (Jeff Goldblum) declares to Ronnie (Geena Davis), “What I am working on? I am working on something that will change the world and human life as we know it”. The ideological significance of Brundle’s experiment is embodied in the womb-like teleports, which in turn carry a bifurcate metaphor: In one sense, the teleports’ role, notwithstanding the fact that the fly’s being trapped in one of the teleports is purely an accidental circumstance, is to ‘reproduce’, taking away a woman’s unique ability to reproduce. When the teleports turn into a ‘gene splicer’, it creates a new breed of being - Brundlefly. The teleports in effect function as a mother’s womb and Brundlefly is its progeny. At one stage of the film, in encouraging Ronnie to experiment with the teleports, Brundle claims that ‘It makes you feel sexy’. It is sexy because the teleports ‘are’, for him, a female body that can be penetrated and analysed, the centre of his unique invention and exploration. Therefore, to a certain extent, Cronenberg’s The Fly can be seen as the modern reworking of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein in which the ‘scientific request is described in terms of sexual aggression against (female) nature’.81 The teleports in effect represent everything that is associated with a female body or a castrated mother: a symbol of fertility, fatal, evil, and mysteriously seductive; hence is required by patriarchy to be annihilated or controlled. The Fly also manifests the paranoia of technological invention gone wrong, whilst simultaneously placing the female body at the centre of the chaos. ‘Locating horror in the body’, argues John Costello, ‘is therefore logical, with no spiritual battleground of “good” versus “evil”, and no promise of afterlife’.82 Costello’s argument is rather problematic, partly due to him eschewing a human body as a cultural site, making it a gradual yet incessant construct. Notwithstanding that, his view of the body as a site for horror gives prominence to the body as an abject essence, a site where ‘cultural abomination’ is finally personified. To a great extent, this is explained by Mike Merrin, who quoted Cronenberg’s talking about ‘the AIDS epidemic […] and asked the interviewer to see it from the point of view of the virus’,83 highlighting his tendency to dig deep beneath the surface of representation. Apparently, for Brundle, ‘I wasn’t just talking about sex and penetration. I am talking about penetration beyond the veil of flesh’, signaling his epistemological quest that directly puts the female character at the centre of his personal conflict with technology. This conflict is a construct, in which, Cronenberg, through his male protagonist, has moved the body out of the realm of the representational, making allowance for the protagonist’s flawed judgement to snowball. Technology is the enabler of the bodily transformation, but Ronnie’s body that raises Brundle’s curiousity is the catalyst, hence her role as his nemesis. Misogynistic, the film is a strict revision of the Fall narrative, blaming the female character for the male protagonist’s downfall.The Fall narrative constructs the interest in Brundle’s experiment around the need to put fundamental blame on the central female character, alluding to her role as his nemesis.Though Brundle’s ultimate goal is to experiment with an animate object, his jealousy of Ronnie’s relationship with her boss precipitates the experimentation on his own body. Following the tradition of a romantic hero, Brundle is ready to cross the boundary of human possibilities by using his own body as the guinea pig in order to prove his heroism, taking the risk to change Mother Nature. If in the Fall narrative ‘what simultaneously subverted and energized the subject of Western culture was not desire per se [Original italic], but transgressive desire haunted by the death which it brought into being’,84 the transgressive desire in the film leads less to the invention of his project, and more to his own tragic death. His status as a tragic hero is due to the flaws in his own judgement, turning him into a sympathetic figure as his human body gradually disintegrates while the ‘fly’ concurrently takes shape. The film does not ‘let go’ of Ronnie that easily, complicating her in the loop of Brundle-fly’s desire to resist his dehumanisation, as he pleads with her to get into the teleports with him so that they can form ‘a family of three … more human than I ever long for’. When Brundle is transformed into a horror figure (or what Robin Wood classifies as ‘superego figure’ discussed earlier), the strategy of the rest of the narrative is to build around the conviction to complicate or punish her. Ronnie’s ultimate punishment is not only to carry the burden of her unwanted pregnancy, but also to be forced to ‘kill’ Brundle. The narrative strategically places Brundle as a tragic hero by demonstrating how his humanity supersedes his fly/machine side. In the end when Brundlefly pleads with Ronnie to shoot ‘him’, his heroism is again centralised, turning Ronnie into la belle dame sans merci instead. This narrative impulse can be cathartic, an element of science fiction that severs it from the future noir territory. Crash, which according to Ian Sinclair is ‘the posthumous dream of a book that no longer exists’,85 is the manifestation of Cronenberg’s curiosity and vision about the interface of human and machine. It unashamedly investigates female desire, sexuality, and body, reminiscent of canonical noir’s treatment of women. This interface signifies the bleak collapse of the future into the present (“Vaughan: It’s the future, Ballard, you’re already part of it”), combining the physical fusion of a human with technology, which therefore undermines the Western binary system. The film’s ontological uncertainty originates in the conflicts between its spatial-temporal and ideological framework, culminating in the creation of a catalogue of characters who are blasé about their surroundings and are brought together by the obsessive desire for pleasure. The sexual act, as the narrative trajectory of the film itself, is an expression of the characters’ actions to transgress theological-cultural (the main characters are married) and physical boundaries. The result is a tremendous blurring of identity and sexuality, while consigning the female characters in the narrative of becoming the Other, who are usurped by hedonistic ‘epicurean’ ethics. These hedonistic ‘epicurean’ ethics are reminiscent of the portrayal of women as the embodiment of male fantasy, shaping them into bona fide femmes fatales. One may ask: are the female characters in Crash liberated? My analysis tries to prove that this is possible, especially by looking at noir elements available in the film. Crash relies heavily on its visual86 style to articulate the basic premise of the story. The stream of light created by moving cars is resonant of the ‘running’ light in Chandler’s mean street or the neon lights of ‘techno noir’ in James Cameron’s Terminator, thus creating an atmospheric feast of noir darkness and a double-edged world that is not what it seems. The film’s tendency to invest a lot of its visual focus on both the body of a human and a car underlines the voyeuristic desire at play. The voyeuristic camera angle that focuses on a naked female body, scarred male and female body, and a wrecked car in equal measure creates a series of visceral images in an effort to unbalance and destabilize any moral judgement attached to the sexual body, resulting in the fragmentation of the ‘humanist’ self. These catalogues of conflicting images, coupled with some raw sex scenes, give the idea that all of entities in the film are penetrated bodies or perhaps penetrable, as body eroticism and car crashes are intertwined. Cronenberg’s characters are transgressors that reflect the insanity of society and challenge the spectators’ moral ground, as they are often covertly placed within a voyeuristic distance, the very essence of what constitutes noir disorientation of the audience. The antagonistic force that the inhabitants of this noir world have to face is no longer the gangster underworld but their own bodies and uncontrollable, ungratified sexual desire, which can only be satiated with mechanical invention and intervention. Cars are eroticised, as illustrated by the way Vaughan sensuously describes his James Dean look-alike’s car in great detail and with pleasure, before re-enacting some famous crashes involving celebrities like James Dean and Jayne Mansfield. The association that is made between car crashes and celebrities (who cash in on their public images) is also a sign that ‘auto-eroticism’ is related to obsession with images - in this case injured and scarred images of humans and automobiles. The characters in the film are to a certain extent eroticised, but they are fundamentally flat and ‘lifeless’, highlighting the sense that Crash is a film about visual fascination and not character development. The central question that arises from this apprehension is: What is Cronenberg’s primary vision? I would argue that the film is misogynistic, characterised by the film’s effort to fuse desire of/for a woman with technology, which results in both the eroticism of technology and the castration of the female body. Technology, in effect, is the new expression of desire itself. The discourse of the encounter is gradually becoming the palimpsest of the interface, which is achieved not in stages but through the nullifying of female subjectivity. For instance, the use of the controversial three successive sex scenes at the outset of the film heralds and demonstrates Cronenberg’s vision of the Oedipal journey to reaffirm masculinity as normalcy, and femininity as its perversion. The first sex scene foregrounds the idea of a woman imitating technology. In the opening scene of the film: As we float past the planes we notice a woman leaning against the wing of a Piper Cub, her chest against the wing’s trailing edge, her arms spread out to each side, as though flying herself. As we get closer we see her jacket is pulled open to expose one of her breasts, which rests on the metal of the wing.87 In this camera cue, Cronenberg creates a fusion with an image of a woman (Catherine) imitating technology while having sex; dehumanising her while simultaneously eroticising technology. Technology is aggrandised and has increasingly incorporated with the sexual scene, a strategy employed by Cronenberg to gradually fuse and eventually denounce the female body in sexual acts. In the second sex scene between James Ballard and his camera assistant, ‘[s]he is draped across a table strewn with camera parts’,88 signifying not only the curious blurring of technology, desire and the human body but also the fragmentation of the female body itself. Female identity and sexuality are constantly destabilized, the result of the inevitable fusion with technology. The third sexual scene finally demonstrates the detachment of desire for/from the female body, while foregrounding the theme of remoteness or alienation: Their sex-making is disconnected, passionless, as though it would disappear if they noticed it. An urgent, uninterrupted flow of cars streams below them.89 The anal sex performed by the couple is designed by Cronenberg to show the distancing of desire from the female body and the lack of intimacy between them. A conventional female body, Cronenberg decided, is no longer attractive without the intrusion of technology, signifying a literal attack of culture on nature. The shift of desire from animate to inanimate objects signifies the vision of a neo-body as a masculine construct, enabling Cronenberg to create a mise-en-scene in which ‘passion’ is contextualised within the image of moving and crashed cars, apotheosising and eroticising technology as a result. If Cronenberg himself admits to using sex as the plot,90 the characters are then reduced to being mere plot devices, which in turns helps to explain thecharacters’ ontological uncertainty, buttressed by their sexual practices that create not intimacy, but distance. The film centres on a protagonist couple (Jim and Catherine played by James Spader and Deborah Unger, respectively) who instead of exchanging everyday ‘husband-wife’ news, ask about each other’s sexual conquests (“Did you come?” and “Did she come?”). The couple’s quest for sexual gratification galvanizes the basic premise of the narrative, forming noir deterministic encounters with a series of other ‘damaged’ characters. Technology in the form of crashed automobiles is the bridge that brings them together, but never connects them at any level other than sexual gratification. Cronenberg creates characters who are both existentially detached (noir alienation) and suicidal/damaged (noir pessimism). When Jim is involved in a head-on crash, the line between physical pleasure and machine is inevitably crossed. Sexual pleasure and the crashed car are intertwining, marked by Dr. Helen Remington’s, the wife of the dead driver, accidental breast exposure at the accident spot. This intertwine eventually forms a knot of sexual gratification, when during a hospital visit, Catherine and Jim indulge in mutual masturbation whilst she is describing to him the condition of his wrecked car. Eventually, the couple (Jim and Catherine) meet Vaughan (Elias Koteas) who tempts them into the subterranean culture with a project that involves ‘something we are intimately involved in … the reshaping of human body with modern technology’, ‘the new flesh’ that the male protagonist, Max, in Cronenberg’s Videodrome is ‘forced’ to accept. When conventional female bodies are no longer desirable and intimate, the film sets out to fuse them with technology in an effort to establish their status as the Other. In the third sex scene of the film, Catherine stands facing the outside of her apartment, exposing her buttocks to James. This act of mooning, according to Ian Sinclair, is ‘a metaphor of otherness’. 91 In addition to the sexual encounters, the scarification of the female body by machine is what Cronenberg does in order to dislocate intimacy of the female body, not gradually but with urgency, as embodied in the automobile crash itself. In other words, Cronenberg places desire within the context of crashed automobiles, which in turns associates women with cuts and bruises, a metaphor for castrated woman and her monstrous vagina. In the first car crash involving James Ballard and Dr. Helen Remington, Ballard sees her as ‘the other woman in the other crashed car [who] inadvertently jerks open her blouse and exposes her breast to James […] / In the strange, desperate privacy of this moment, the breast’s erect nipple seems somehow, impossibly, a deliberate provocation’.92 The breast is metonymical of the nurturing female body, foregrounding the ontological quest of the characters’ ultimate existential experience (Vaughan: […] the car crash is a fertilizing rather than a destructive event, a liberation of sexual energy). However, this very act of sexual liberation is placed within the metaphor of the Other. Therefore, the accident that Ballard was involved with is used by Cronenberg to decentre female subjectivity, causing it to function as a catalyst of his Oedipal journey into manhood. Cronenberg creates the visual language for Ballard to start seeing the women – Catherine and Helen – as ‘a bizarre mirror image’,93 ‘watches her (Catherine) microscopically […] as though, perhaps, she isn’t human’,94 or ‘Helen […] straightening her skirt around her hips like a department-store window-dresser jerking a garment on to a mannequin’.95 As a result, Ian Sinclair observed: The ‘existential romance’ is between James Ballard and Robert Vaughan, that is the thrust of the narrative: a psychosexual alliance between the passive, voyeuristic Ballard and the deranged and driven Vaughan, with his prophetic tattoo and his programme of assassination/suicide.96 Women are hence castrated, and therefore disengaged from the narrative of quasi-homosexuality, consigning them to the role of the Other. In another instance, when Vaughan has sex with Catherine, the act is ‘like two semi-metallic human beings of the future making love in a chromium bower’, not only literally bruising Catherine’s breasts, ‘the marks forming a pattern like car crash injuries’, 97 but also symbolically marking the narrative’s usurpation of her subjectivity. Having relinquished a conventional female sex organ, bruises and cuts on the female body are important in Cronenberg’s oneiric visions, a masculinist effort to construct a ‘neo-sex organ’.98 As an oneiric vision, Cronenberg’s noir world is a mirage which alludes to the Oedipal dream itself, that is, a dream of castrating the mother in the Symbolic in order to identify with the Father. The man/machine interface in the form of cuts, bruises and the visceral, in Cronenberg’s vision, refers to the archaic - the primitive desire to blame the woman for the male’s downfall. In theoriginal script of the film, Cronenberg vividly demonstrates the dissolving of technology with human body, while at the same time putting the blame on the female character. James There’s still a patch of blood there on the road. Did you see it? Renata I saw the blood. It looks like motor oil. James You were the last one I saw just before the accident. Do you remember? We made love. Renata Are you still involving me in the crash? The film’s lack of moral foundation is increased by the visceral effect of watching the characters struggling to gain pleasure from car crashes. The more the couple associate themselves with Vaughan, the deeper they are sucked into the dark world of ‘psychopathology’ where ‘auto-eroticism’ and self-destructiveness are the order of the day, thus ‘redefining our relationship to the automobile in radical, psychosexual ways’.99 The crossing of the boundary between bodily pleasure and machinic intervention culminates in the death of Vaughan - but this is also the ultimate (sexual) goal of his ‘project’, rendering it a success (in the noir sense of the word). Forsythe in Cronenberg’s Shiver summarizes this sentiment, professing that ‘even dying is an act of eroticism’.100 The idea that the ultimate quest for pleasure has not yet been achieved ( Maybe the next one darling…Maybe the next one…”) leaves the film with a strong sense of determinism in which the characters are designed to be doomed and hopeless, that is, noir fatalism at its own zenith. Noir fatalism is expressed through the characters’ obsessive relationship with death.For that reason, the film curiously explores the relationship between the sexual dissident and the death wish in an effort to feminise the desire for death itself. Jonathan Dollimore theorizes that The sexually dissident have known that the strange dynamic which, in Western culture, binds death into desire is not the product of a marginal pathological imagination, but crucial in the formatation of that culture.101 When Colin Seagrave (Peter McNeill) - Vaughan’s stunt partner - dies in a road accident, that is, as the result of re-enacting Jayne Mansfield’s auto crash, he is found cross-dressed, and he has all the props needed to make it similar to Mansfield’s, including her pet dog. Since Seagrave’s ultimate goal is to die in the re-enactment of Jayne Mansfield’s ( a female) fatal car crash, it signals the importance of associating desire for death with femininity. Whereas Cronenberg aligns Seagrave’s death wish with femininity, in Vaughan’s case, the feminisation of the death wish is achieved by feminising his body and desire. Cronenberg feminises Vaughan’s desire by establishing him as a ‘feminine’ character, the one that is obsessed with being penetrated by both machine and another man. Dollimore argues that: The Western preoccupation with death, desire and loss is also significantly gendered […] It was or is a narrative in which woman is held responsible for bringing death and mutability into the world […] there is no dearth of psychoanalytic explanations for this association of women with death, ranging from chronic unconscious male fear of engulfment or even castration during sexual intercourse, to the difficulty of the boy child leaving the mother for another woman.102 The extent to which his body and desire are feminised is later revealed as the personification of Catherine’s desire. Catherine, while having sex with her husband, Ballard, asks questions about Vaughan’s body and what Ballard would like to do with it, setting the sexual scenario subsequently implemented by Ballard. By being penetrated by Ballard, Vaughan’s body, as Cronenberg intends, is feminised. Therefore, his desire for death is not due to the castration complex, but due to his over-identification with the Mother. As the embodiment of an over-identification with the mother, Vaughan represents perverse sexuality, and in this case, he suffers from psychopathology. Despite Cronenberg’s treatment of desire as feminine, which is conspicuously misogynistic, the film’s future noir elements allow the female characters to have their fair share of liberation. Catherine, as a wife in an open marriage, is in search for sexual gratification, to the extent that she is willing to cross the boundary between life and death. To a great degree, her quest for pleasure controls the narrative thrust of the film. It is her sexual fantasy about Vaughan that Ballard eventually experiences. She is therefore more than a wife, but also the controller of the narrative of ‘the next one’. Helen as a widow of the victim of the car accident caused by Ballard, also challenges the notion of a victim, having been ‘turned on’ by it. Her newly found pleasure resulting from the accident develops into a fetish that, like the protagonist couple, lures her into a world of obsession with the penetrated and injured body. She is a post-feminist figure whose principle in life is better explained by the popular adage of ‘been there, done that, bought the t-shirt’. Gabrielle’s (Rosanna Arquette) body sexily clad in an ‘S&M’ metal-and-leather outfit challenges the essence of scopophilia by stressing her vulnerability as an individual damaged by the flaw in her character. The effect is sickening voyeurism that challenges the viewers’ identification with the characters, disorientating them as noir texts usually do. In the original script, ‘it is obvious that they (Helen and Gabrielle) have become lovers’, a female bonding that signifies strength where everything else around them is falling apart. Following noir tradition, the investigation of the female characters also exposes the instability and insecurity of the male characters. While having sex with her husband, Catherine vividly shows her interest in a scarred male body, asking her husband about Vaughan’s penis. She imagines and questions about the penis, creating a descriptive language that nullifies its symbolic power and displaces it in the realm of the real as a form of perversion or psychopathology, which is ‘suffered’ by Vaughan. Catherine’s line of questioning, ‘Is he circumcised? Can you imagine what his anus is like? Describe it to me’, is emblematic of Foucault’s philosophical understanding of ‘knowledge is power’. Her wanting to know, as illustrated by the questions, puts her in the position of the determiner of knowledge, the holder of the truth. That is why, at one point, she suggests to her husband, ‘I’d like to go back James …’, knowing what is ahead of her. In that vein, suddenly, the narrative engenders the idea that while scarification is associated with the vagina, it also generates interests that mystify a male body. In conclusion, though the thrust of both films is towards scrutinizing female subjectivity, sexuality, and body, Crash’s bleakness sets it apart from The Fly as a future noir text. While the male protagonist in The Fly is resonant of the tragic hero whose greatness determines and informs how tragic his ending is later considered to be, it lacks both atmospheric anxiety and moral ambivalence which are two of the major defining criteria of a film noir. The Fly’s dark mood is raw gothic fear of the Other, or the personification of the evil and abject essence within a human body, as manifested by the Bundlefly itself. The protagonist’s disintegration, which culminates in his incarceration in a well-like prison, provides a closure and sympathy, giving a rather monolithic moral dimension to his fate, causing ‘him’ to function as a tragic figure in a cautionary tale rather than a transgressor in a noir world. On the other hand, the ending of Crash leaves the audience disorientated and to a greater extent disillusioned. The characters, in pursuit of the ultimate sexual pleasure, culminating in a fatal ending, i.e., death itself, are devoid of any moral standing or foundation. Their struggle represents a dormant anxiety that runs amok when triggered, leaving no space for moral speculation or anticipation. Knowing that the characters’ pursuit of the ultimate pleasure of death disregards their human dimension, the audience is left disconcerted. When their bodies are snatched by machines, the paranoia of ‘Maybe the next one’, which is embedded in future noir, begins".
Having digested Ballard's thoughts in this clip, which almost sound suspiciously like technological determinism, (the technology makes us contemplate "ITS WORLD"!!), I can return to electronic music. Here then is my reproduction of Sean Albiez's useful posting (I also understand that Simon Reynolds is updating "Energy Flash"):
There has been worked produced post-2000 that looks at early 21st century currents in electronic (dance) music - but has often focused more on IDM and the experimental extremities of glitch, microsound etc. rather than mainstream forms - but even this work has diminished since @ 2004.
Here are some potentially useful references (some of which will have to be cut n' pasted into browser as not html):
Butler, Mark J. (2001) ‘Turning the Beat Around: reinterpretation, metrical dissonance, and assymetry in electronic dance music’, Music Theory Online, Vol. 7 No. 6 December 2001 10th March 2006 <>
Byrne, David (2002) ‘Machines of Joy: I have seen the future and it is squiggly’, Leonardo Music Journal, Vol. 12, pp. 7-10, 2002
Chapman, Dale (2003) ‘Hermeneutics of Suspicion: paranoia and the technological sublime in drum and bass music’, Echo – a music centred journal, Vol. 5 Issue 2, (Fall 2003) 10th March 2006 <>
Cranfield, Brady (2002) ‘Producing Noise: Oval and the politics of digital audio’, Parachute, Issue 107, pp. 42-51
Diedrichsen, Diedrich (2003) ‘Digital Electronic Music: between pop and pure mediality’ in Van Assche et al, Sonic Process, Paris: Actar
Emmerson, Simon (2001) 'From Dance! to "Dance": distance and digits', Computer Music Journal, Vol. 25 No. 1, Spring 2001, pp. 13-20
Garcia, Luis-Manuel (2005) ‘On and On: repetition as process and pleasure in electronic dance music’, Music Theory Online, Vol. 11 No. 4, October 2005 10th March 2006 <>
Hemment, Drew (2004) 'Affect and Individuation in Popular Electronic Music' in Ian Buchanan and Marcel Swiboda (eds.) Deleuze and Music, Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, pp. 76-94
Huegli, Walter and Jaeggi, Martin (eds.) Raw Music Material: electronic music DJ's today , Zurich: Scalo
Loubet, Emmanuelle (2000) ‘Laptop Performers, Compact Disc Designers, and No-Beat Techno Artists in Japan: music from nowhere’, Computer Music Journal, Winter 2000, Vol. 24 No. 4, p. 19-36
Luna, Edward (2003) ‘Beautiful Noise: directions in electronic music’ 10th March 2006 <>
Neill, Ben (2002) ‘Pleasure Beats: rhythm and the aesthetics of current electronic music’, Leonardo Music Journal, Vol. 12, pp. 3-6
Petridis, Alexis (2004), 'Bored of the Dance', The Guardian, 3/11/04 20th March 2006
Stuart, Caleb (2003) ‘Damaged Sound: glitching and skipping compact discs in the audio of Yasunao Tone, Nicolas Collins and Oval’, Leonardo Music Journal, Vol. 13 No. 1, January 2003, pp. 47-52
- (2003) ‘The Object of Performance: aural performativity in contemporary laptop music’ 11th March 2006
Van Veen, Tobias C. (2002) ‘Laptops & Loops: the advent of new forms of experimentation and the question of technology in experimental music and performance’ 10th March 2006 <>
Weidenbaum, Marc (2005) ‘The Organization Musician - Monolake’ 10th March 2006 <>
The Wire also regularly covers techno in one way or another ...
Sean Albiez
Nice work, thanks Sean. I wonder if Tobias, who has also featured on this blog as my interlocutor, would fit in neatly with the interpretive community springing from CRU that I've referenced? My speculation may not be too off target, as he is in regular correspondence with Kode9, who Simon Reynolds associates with CRU (the Reynolds piece can be found on the kpunk blog). It sounds more plausible in light of the theoretical justifications offered on the following youtube clip. For the record, Tobias is known to have refused my association of his position with an historical avant garde. Let others decide perhaps. The clip is a bit old, but remains relevant as a indicator of Mutek as a possible nodal point of the aforementioned network. I should note at this point that I simply regard "network talk" as a more dynamic development of the conception of "interpretive community", with which I began this posting. However, I cannot speak here to the complication of such an assumption by the putatively more "posthuman" perspective of actor network theory, which was not the main focus of my argument anyway:
Please no citation or reproduction of any original writings or images appearing on this blog without the permission of its authors.
"Defects of empirical knowledge have less to do with the ways we go wrong in philosophy than defects of character do; such as the simple inability to shut up; determination to be thought deep; hunger for power; fear, especially the fear of an indifferent universe" (David Stove The Plato Cult and Other Philosophical Follies 1991: 188)
