The smokers' voice synthesizer is my Rosetta Stone for unpacking the aesthetics of Auto-tune. The android voice is the sound of a broken human. Cyborg augmentation signifies weakness, not strength—the Droid 2 commercials are lies. The mechanized human is that whose living body is no longer self-sustaining. Remember "Fitter Happier." Auto-tune signifies the human being unable to break free from the inhuman rectilinearity of quantization. Digitization is mutilation. Auto-tune is the muffled voice of a circle stuffed into a square. It is the cry of the organism that is too damaged to express its pain.
Remember Darth Vader. The significance of the mask is only revealed at the very end, when we discover the secret: the whole time, behind the mask, he had kind eyes. The prequels weren't that bad (except for Attack of the Clones, which was) but as far as I'm concerned they don't count. Ewan McGregor was more than good enough as the young Obi-Wan, but the role of Anakin was fatally miscast: Hayden Christensen just looks like a douche. You can tell from the very beginning that he will go down the dark path, and you don't care. His fall to the dark side has no tragic resonance. And a friend once told me that Star Wars was originally titled The Tragedy of Darth Vader.
Darth Vader is no simple villain. People forget that he never comes off as that evil. Sure, he is ruthless and brutal, but unlike the Emperor he shows no signs of sadism. Even Grand Moff Tarkin takes visible pleasure in the prospect of wiping out the Rebellion. But Darth Vader never laughs. On some level, he must have known that the Rebels were going to win the Battle of Yavin 4. That was why he joined the battle in his fighter: he was escaping. Tarkin, a bureaucrat and politician who has probably never flown a starship in his life, scoffed at the notion of evacuating in his hour of triumph seconds before being vaporized along with the rest of the Death Star. Darth Vader does not have a villain's mad hubris. He is not a villain; he is a tragic hero whom we only meet once he has already fallen.
I ought to rephrase what I just said about Auto-Tune. It implies that I have a problem with Auto-Tune—nothing could be further from the truth. I love Auto-Tune, because it represents for me the redemption of quanization. The circle, although stuffed into a square, may represent its pain via various regular polygons. The human creature is made inhuman, denied even the ability to express its pain, but even as it is denied humanity it is nonetheless granted the transhuman right to music. It is no longer human; it is nothing but pain; but this pain may sing the song of itself in the world of regularity which is the only world available to it now that it has been robbed of its aliveness
MY FAVORITE AUTO-TUNE SONGS:
I will explain why I like them so much sometime later.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Arcade Fire: "Rococo"
My spontaneous theory on Arcade Fire's anti-hipster anthem "Rococo": I wasn't an art history major, but I seem to have an intuitive grasp of what "rococo" means. I know it was a movement in Western art that followed Baroque. Here is the difference, as I provisionally understand it, between Baroque and Rococo: Both are intricate, but Baroque intricacy is structural while Rococo intricacy is merely ornamental. In music, the highest incarnation of the Baroque is Johann Sebastian Bach, particularly his canons and fugues. The complexity of a Bach fugue is so staggering because it emerges organically from the iteration of simple musical premises and stringent laws of thematic development. Aside from the theme itself, very little in the fugue could have been otherwise. It has a fractal orderliness extending to its very core. A complex fugue may be marveled at, but its complexity beckons comprehension. It awaits the mind subtle enough to master it.
Rococo, in contrast, strives only to marvel those naïve enough to fall under its spell. Its melodies are not iterated rationally--they are merely garnished with ornamental curlicues designed to make them sound complex. Under its sheen of complexity, rococo is simple and trite. Rococo is meant to sound sophisticated in order to appeal to people who are trying to appear sophisticated.
Thus also with the modern kids, using great big words they don't understand. The fictionalized version of Lester Bangs portrayed by Philip Seymour Hoffman in Almost Famous says that "the only true currency in this world is what you share with someone else when you're uncool." But that currency loses its value—or, to paraphrase Jesus of Nazareth, this salt of the earth loses its taste—when what was once uncool suddenly slingshots right straight into the heart of cooldom.
The Arcade Fire are not cool. For God's sake, just look at them: they're a bunch of dorks! From Canada! They're also probably the best band on the planet right now. Most really good music, especially nowadays, is made by people who are uncool. To make really good music, you have to spend a lot of time working on making music and not a lot of time out partying with the in-crowd or making friends. People who would choose to spend most of their time making music instead of socializing tend to be awkward and asocial by nature, which is to say uncool.
The same is true of sophistication in general: it is uncool. Sophistication means, in this context, unironic enthusiasm for things that take effort to understand. It's like the kid in third grade who sat on the swing reading The Giver during recess instead of playing four-square. Or at the very least it's like that group of four or five kids who broke out their Magic cards whenever they had a spare moment. In general, sophistication smacks of those kids who liked indoor recess better than outdoor recess.
In this respect, and in this respect only, I am proud to call myself a hipster. That is, I am proud to call myself a hipster inasmuch as by "hipster" I mean "uncool person who spends his time reading sophisticated books and listening to sophisticated music instead of making friends." Uncool sophistication devolves into cool counterfeit sophistication at every generation; don't worry, it'll pass. And until it does, we can all take comfort in knowing that just because you're a bunch of uncool dorks doesn't mean you can't be the best band on the planet.
Rococo, in contrast, strives only to marvel those naïve enough to fall under its spell. Its melodies are not iterated rationally--they are merely garnished with ornamental curlicues designed to make them sound complex. Under its sheen of complexity, rococo is simple and trite. Rococo is meant to sound sophisticated in order to appeal to people who are trying to appear sophisticated.
Thus also with the modern kids, using great big words they don't understand. The fictionalized version of Lester Bangs portrayed by Philip Seymour Hoffman in Almost Famous says that "the only true currency in this world is what you share with someone else when you're uncool." But that currency loses its value—or, to paraphrase Jesus of Nazareth, this salt of the earth loses its taste—when what was once uncool suddenly slingshots right straight into the heart of cooldom.
The Arcade Fire are not cool. For God's sake, just look at them: they're a bunch of dorks! From Canada! They're also probably the best band on the planet right now. Most really good music, especially nowadays, is made by people who are uncool. To make really good music, you have to spend a lot of time working on making music and not a lot of time out partying with the in-crowd or making friends. People who would choose to spend most of their time making music instead of socializing tend to be awkward and asocial by nature, which is to say uncool.
The same is true of sophistication in general: it is uncool. Sophistication means, in this context, unironic enthusiasm for things that take effort to understand. It's like the kid in third grade who sat on the swing reading The Giver during recess instead of playing four-square. Or at the very least it's like that group of four or five kids who broke out their Magic cards whenever they had a spare moment. In general, sophistication smacks of those kids who liked indoor recess better than outdoor recess.
In this respect, and in this respect only, I am proud to call myself a hipster. That is, I am proud to call myself a hipster inasmuch as by "hipster" I mean "uncool person who spends his time reading sophisticated books and listening to sophisticated music instead of making friends." Uncool sophistication devolves into cool counterfeit sophistication at every generation; don't worry, it'll pass. And until it does, we can all take comfort in knowing that just because you're a bunch of uncool dorks doesn't mean you can't be the best band on the planet.
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