Rockism versus Popism in Aldous Huxley's Brave New World:
"And yet," said Helmholtz when, having recovered breath enough to apologize, he had mollified the Savage into listening to his explanations, "I know quite well that one needs ridiculous, mad situations like that; one can't write really well about anything else. Why was that old fellow such a marvellous propaganda technician? Because he had so many insane, excruciating things to get excited about. You've got to be hurt and upset; otherwise you can't think of the really good, penetrating, X-rayish phrases....
[Said the Controller]"But that's the price we have to pay for stability. You've got to choose between happiness and what people used to call high art. We've sacrificed the high art. We have the feelies and the scent organ instead."
[said the Savage] "But they don't mean anything."
"They mean themselves; they mean a lot of agreeable sensations to the audience."
"But they're … they're told by an idiot."
The Controller laughed. "You're not being very polite to your friend, Mr. Watson. One of our most distinguished Emotional Engineers …"
"But he's right," said Helmholtz gloomily. "Because it is idiotic. Writing when there's nothing to say …"
"Precisely. But that requires the most enormous ingenuity. You're making flivvers out of the absolute minimum of steel–-works of art out of practically nothing but pure sensation."
The Savage shook his head. "It all seems to me quite horrible."
"Of course it does. Actual happiness always looks pretty squalid in comparison with the over-compensations for misery. And, of course, stability isn't nearly so spectacular as instability. And being contented has none of the glamour of a good fight against misfortune, none of the picturesqueness of a struggle with temptation, or a fatal overthrow by passion or doubt. Happiness is never grand."
This might be narcissistic, but I remember a paragraph I once wrote about the faults of poptimism:
ReplyDelete"I can’t be the only one mightily suspicious of poptimism, can I? Is there a musical movement more loaded with contradictions, more loaded with baggage? Firstly, the emphasis on listenability is hardly a unique trait to poptimism. It’s not as if rock mainly sought to sound bad. Secondly, pop has no genetic immunity to awful, grating noises, as Cher Lloyd’s Swagger Jagger confirms (why was there that fashion of rhyming “swagger” with “Jagger” in terrible songs? Oh well, let’s be thankful he wasn’t called Mick Jugger or, heaven forfend, Mick Jigger). Thirdly, it’s rather the rash assumption to declare that teenage girls’ tastes lack artifice and one-upmanship (one-upteenagegirlship?). I suspect there was a whole arcane semiotics of social posturing regarding which member of Take That/N-Sync/One Direction you fancied (and for that matter, isn’t it shallow to favour an act just because you want to get off with one of the members? A teenage boy in 1998 wishing to masturbate over Britney Spears would just watch the video to ...Baby One More Time plank in hand, and not actually buy the sodding album). Fourthly, why isn’t the 9-year-old bratty younger brother’s disdain for pop just as honest and unaffected as his 14-year-old sister’s fondness for Westlife? And again, at least the 9-year-old’s contempt is driven by a distaste for the music, and not by a rival crush on Abz from 5ive. Fifthly, poptimism’s defenders seem desperate to deny the role irony plays in their appreciation. Are they genuinely that resolute in their insistence that there’s no element of kitsch involved? I’m not buying that for a second. And if you don’t value a particular instance of kitsch, it will only sound crap. Sixthly, although pop is of course not reserved exclusive for one demographic, it behoves one to acknowledge that record labels market pop towards a youthful, female audience. As a hairy man in my thirties, it shouldn’t astound anyone that the poptimistic buffet doesn’t have much I wish to stuff my face with. Seventhly, the poptimists’ rejection of rockism as tired, clichéd and arrogant didn’t foster a movement that was original and alive, but a movement that was, if anything, more tired, clichéd and arrogant. Is there a pop equivalent of Trout Mask Replica, or even Electric Ladyland? One yearns for these divas’ reaches to exceed their grasps, yet they appear stuck on the party anthem/sexy boudoir jam/sentimental ballad treadmill. Eighthly, the industry behind poptimism appears the cynical milking of cheap sentiments for naught but a quick buck that will, with scant exception, never actually enter the pocket of the poor fool singing the damned songs. I’m all for ignoring the circumstances of a song’s genesis, but I’m not so contrary that I deny learning of such exploitation sours the song. Ninthly, it can’t be healthy to consume only one genre, can it? Just as a child who only munches on Nik-Naks and Wham bars won’t reach 6 foot, an exclusively poptimist diet surely stunts your aesthetic growth. Tenthly and I hope finally, of course there’s always been good bubblegum pop, pop that sounds sweet and buoyant and alleviates the listener’s cares. However, there’s also always been much more bubblegum pop that’s tripe, that depresses the listener with its inanity and tattiness. Much of the good stuff that’s survived has only survived after decades of risk assessment, and actively seeking to produce such gems will also produce far more stinkers, simply due to the numbers and the nature of the process. Throw enough darts, and at some point you’ll hit the bull. That doesn’t make you Eric Bristow."
Looking back, it seems that I've felt that a sordid origin can taint one's appreciation of a song. Have I changed my mind, or was I just playing devil's advocate with you (and myself)? Or was I just rationalising a prejudice against poptimism? None of those are mutually exclusive.
There are so many arguments contra poptimism....
ReplyDeleteOne of the main ones for me is gut-level "are you kidding?!" response to this idea that pop music and chart-topping stars are underdogs, who needed to be defended and championed against all the detractors and snobs. That the literally ubiquitous are somehow marginalized and overlooked.
This very week there was a flurry on the socials about the idea that Pitchfork had treated Katy Perry sniffily in terms of reviews - withholding the applause and plaudits she deserved. As if Katy Perry - sat in her mansion surrounded by gold and platinum discs from territories all across the globe, counting her millions in between playing arena tours.... is really smarting from the slight of being undervalued by a music website. The idea of this as some kind of huge injustice that needs to be rectified, that critical reparation needs to be made urgently....
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OfoPiRzWnFY&t=1354s This is Todd in the Shadows, a rather great Youtube reviewer of pop music, who has a series called Trainwreckords, where he looks back at notoriously bad albums which effectively dethroned their creators (Be Here Now, Cut the Crap, that sort of thing). This is his video on Katy Perry's Witness, and how her drive for a woke, purposeful pop shattered her relevance in the charts and resulted in her current situation as a Las Vegas residency act. Looks like Katy Perry did want to be taken more seriously, but was found wanting in her attempts at solemnity.
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