Oliver promised me he's update the blog today, but he's gone and got wankered instead - proof if proof be need be that the ABBA Confusion's regime in England promises to be similar to the stateside mode. Meanwhile though I attempt to compensate for his absense by posting THIS, which I'm gutted we didn't find while we were there...
- W
Tuesday 9 December 2008
Friday 5 December 2008
Rebranding
Oliver is on his way back to Blighty right now, and before I depart myself there's just time to post our latest video. Stay tuned though because although we're leaving New York we've still got lots of unedited footage and our adventures are by no means over...
- W
- W
Tuesday 2 December 2008
Sunday 30 November 2008
Friday 28 November 2008
You're always at the wrong party..
We've created a terrible confusion here. A huge, snorting hulk of a double negative. I'm finding it difficult to write objectively about this when we're writhing in the belly of the authentibeast, but nevertheless I should fill you all in on what we've learnt so far..
Week 1
Sans William, was mostly spent either in the New York Public Library (Oliver <3 Free Internet Access 4eva), or blindly trying to charm people with clumsy Englishness and talk about ABBA. It seems to work. People want to play music with us. Then I play a complicated, underwritten song at the antifolk cathedral, Sidewalk, and about five people join me on stage to reproduce the sound of impotent agony. People are notably less enthusiastic. I tell people that the project is about failing and produce fliers with 'ABBA' in huge letters at the top. I expect people to get the joke.
Week 2
William joins but is mostly away on other duties. I miss Sidewalk this week in favour of performing a guest spot as part of Will's gig at a Brooklyn house party. This is much more succesful in terms of 'musical' 'quality', but a majority of the attendees have already heard about us and are not interested. Already we have the feeling that a scene which is based around irony was perhaps not the best place to present a conceptual project that is essentially a huge, ironic joke. Still, we press on.
Week 3
The dark comedy is turning into thick, oily sewage. We play at Sidewalk, both as The Abba Confusion and Faceometer. Will is unsatisfied with his performance and The Abba Confusion seem to be being viewed as something of a recurring curiosity that, rather than be integrated into the scene, is viewed from afar with big glasses. Cue a massive wordcry on video (see this post). The same thing happens as last time, people get on stage with us and play. This time it's less painful to listen to.
We have to start looking at this in a different way from now on. Correct me if I've got the wrong end of the antifolk pole, but we're now looking at the context of failure in a scene where success seems to be viewed with suspicion, within a country where success is the national lifeblood. It's a complicated situation, but it's made even more complicated by our refusal to define boundaries or definitions. What exactly did we want to achieve from this? We seem to achieve our three basic aims every time we play at Sidewalk, that is playing a gig, forming a band and making a recording. And if authenticity comes from spontanaiety and spectacle, then we certainly achieve that. There's so many different genres of music at Sidewalk, so many different kinds of people, and they get on fine just using it as a place to present what they love doing to their friends and a wider audience. Maybe by playing music that I don't usually make, being more emotionally honest than I usually am, by playing music in a scene that I don't usually engage with, by framing it in this artistic ho-hum, maybe that shows through in the music we make. Or maybe it's seen as essentially disrespecting the inherent authenticity of the people who are doing it for the love of creating. Maybe, against all my beliefs and prejudices, pop music and artistic thinking are just not made to mix. Like oil and an A-bomb. I've certainly had a better response from artists and comedians and writers and generally people who work outside of the field of making music for the joy of making music. The thing that I love about the Beach Boys, and ABBA for that matter, is that they make it seem absolutely throwaway and effortless, but there seems to be something of the divine in them, which only shows its beauty within that context. It's beautiful because it's so disposable. But then there's music like Steely Dan, XTC, Scritti Politti, The Waitresses, which I love because it's using the pure form and playing with it, adding dissonance or wit or coke and hookers. If we were trying to do something like that, and I'm not sure if we were, it's hard to tell if we just chose the wrong place to do it, or there just wasn't enough of the concept in the product. It might be a bit of both. Or we might just be crap. Or have no sense of humour. Nevertheless, we need to get the songs out there. That's the point. It goes on.
Will told me about a lecture that was given by his tutor at Oxford, in which he says something along the lines of.. Picasso is essentially different to cubism at large because you can tell that he's a trained painter, and a student of art history. My natural reaction to this was to take the punk angle and spit in Will's face. How dare anyone say that art is inherently better if one has knowledge or 'better' technique! It presupposes a couple of things - firstly that if the end result of an untrained artist's work is essentially, to most people, indistinguishable from the work of a trained artist, then the trained artist's is better because of the process. And I'm naturally suspicious of either mystification or demystification of the process, my usual thought is that process shouldn't matter in the first place. Secondly, it presupposes that without the training, the unschooled artist is less aware of what he's doing when he creates. And that just made me cry bullshit. Until Will pointed out that his lecturer wasn't making any kind of value judgement. I have confused views about art, ABBA is just the beginning, and it's difficult to think objectively about this, which is all I really want to do, when I'm so full of contradictions. I hate the idea of somebody having to put something of 'themselves' in art, some emotional value, which is sometimes given as an indicator of authenticity. I hate the idea of art having to mean anything authentic. But, to bring it back to the only art form I really understand, I am also naturally averse to anybody singing in an overly affected voice, shouting out 'weird' and theatrical. But Rock and Roll is built upon theatricality and the abnormal. And more importantly, if I'm so averse to the idea of an intangible 'authenticity', then why the fuck do I care about it so much? Why does anyone care? To the aim of establishing a more objective angle, we're interviewing people. Really cool people. Watch this space.
Oliver
Week 1
Sans William, was mostly spent either in the New York Public Library (Oliver <3 Free Internet Access 4eva), or blindly trying to charm people with clumsy Englishness and talk about ABBA. It seems to work. People want to play music with us. Then I play a complicated, underwritten song at the antifolk cathedral, Sidewalk, and about five people join me on stage to reproduce the sound of impotent agony. People are notably less enthusiastic. I tell people that the project is about failing and produce fliers with 'ABBA' in huge letters at the top. I expect people to get the joke.
Week 2
William joins but is mostly away on other duties. I miss Sidewalk this week in favour of performing a guest spot as part of Will's gig at a Brooklyn house party. This is much more succesful in terms of 'musical' 'quality', but a majority of the attendees have already heard about us and are not interested. Already we have the feeling that a scene which is based around irony was perhaps not the best place to present a conceptual project that is essentially a huge, ironic joke. Still, we press on.
Week 3
The dark comedy is turning into thick, oily sewage. We play at Sidewalk, both as The Abba Confusion and Faceometer. Will is unsatisfied with his performance and The Abba Confusion seem to be being viewed as something of a recurring curiosity that, rather than be integrated into the scene, is viewed from afar with big glasses. Cue a massive wordcry on video (see this post). The same thing happens as last time, people get on stage with us and play. This time it's less painful to listen to.
We have to start looking at this in a different way from now on. Correct me if I've got the wrong end of the antifolk pole, but we're now looking at the context of failure in a scene where success seems to be viewed with suspicion, within a country where success is the national lifeblood. It's a complicated situation, but it's made even more complicated by our refusal to define boundaries or definitions. What exactly did we want to achieve from this? We seem to achieve our three basic aims every time we play at Sidewalk, that is playing a gig, forming a band and making a recording. And if authenticity comes from spontanaiety and spectacle, then we certainly achieve that. There's so many different genres of music at Sidewalk, so many different kinds of people, and they get on fine just using it as a place to present what they love doing to their friends and a wider audience. Maybe by playing music that I don't usually make, being more emotionally honest than I usually am, by playing music in a scene that I don't usually engage with, by framing it in this artistic ho-hum, maybe that shows through in the music we make. Or maybe it's seen as essentially disrespecting the inherent authenticity of the people who are doing it for the love of creating. Maybe, against all my beliefs and prejudices, pop music and artistic thinking are just not made to mix. Like oil and an A-bomb. I've certainly had a better response from artists and comedians and writers and generally people who work outside of the field of making music for the joy of making music. The thing that I love about the Beach Boys, and ABBA for that matter, is that they make it seem absolutely throwaway and effortless, but there seems to be something of the divine in them, which only shows its beauty within that context. It's beautiful because it's so disposable. But then there's music like Steely Dan, XTC, Scritti Politti, The Waitresses, which I love because it's using the pure form and playing with it, adding dissonance or wit or coke and hookers. If we were trying to do something like that, and I'm not sure if we were, it's hard to tell if we just chose the wrong place to do it, or there just wasn't enough of the concept in the product. It might be a bit of both. Or we might just be crap. Or have no sense of humour. Nevertheless, we need to get the songs out there. That's the point. It goes on.
Will told me about a lecture that was given by his tutor at Oxford, in which he says something along the lines of.. Picasso is essentially different to cubism at large because you can tell that he's a trained painter, and a student of art history. My natural reaction to this was to take the punk angle and spit in Will's face. How dare anyone say that art is inherently better if one has knowledge or 'better' technique! It presupposes a couple of things - firstly that if the end result of an untrained artist's work is essentially, to most people, indistinguishable from the work of a trained artist, then the trained artist's is better because of the process. And I'm naturally suspicious of either mystification or demystification of the process, my usual thought is that process shouldn't matter in the first place. Secondly, it presupposes that without the training, the unschooled artist is less aware of what he's doing when he creates. And that just made me cry bullshit. Until Will pointed out that his lecturer wasn't making any kind of value judgement. I have confused views about art, ABBA is just the beginning, and it's difficult to think objectively about this, which is all I really want to do, when I'm so full of contradictions. I hate the idea of somebody having to put something of 'themselves' in art, some emotional value, which is sometimes given as an indicator of authenticity. I hate the idea of art having to mean anything authentic. But, to bring it back to the only art form I really understand, I am also naturally averse to anybody singing in an overly affected voice, shouting out 'weird' and theatrical. But Rock and Roll is built upon theatricality and the abnormal. And more importantly, if I'm so averse to the idea of an intangible 'authenticity', then why the fuck do I care about it so much? Why does anyone care? To the aim of establishing a more objective angle, we're interviewing people. Really cool people. Watch this space.
Oliver
Wednesday 26 November 2008
Sunday 23 November 2008
It Continues
To report to you on the nature of authenticity and creativity, here stand I, Will. For as we speak, Oliver is upstairs in our rather classy new Hostel-residence working on a song we just created together. Oh how the indefinable whimsy of creativity bounded back and forth between our mouths brains and guitars as we worked on putting the melody together! As this project supposedly documents these things (should we have been filming it? would the presence of a recording device have in some way encumbered the true 'authenticity' of the moment?) I feel DRIVEN to tell you at least that it's going on, and that we hope to deliver the finished song, 'hot off the press', at Sidewalk tomorrow evening.
If you're a New Yorker and you've been interested in our project so far, please come down. Oliver will be back anon with a bigger entry and some more exciting developments to hit you with.
All best,
Will
If you're a New Yorker and you've been interested in our project so far, please come down. Oliver will be back anon with a bigger entry and some more exciting developments to hit you with.
All best,
Will
Saturday 22 November 2008
Diary Angst
Two weeks in today. Brooklyn Tea Party tonight, Will's got a full set doing Faceometer stuff, but hopefully we'll be able to play one or two Abba confusion songs too. Not much to report now until tomorrow, but we have a couple of leads that may or may not turn into fully fledged bridge cables. I don't want to jinx it just yet. More tomorrow. Love you.
Oliver
Oliver
Thursday 20 November 2008
What I'm Doing
IT'S TIME YOU HEARD MY SIDE
I've found a deli which serves reasonable tea and also has the cricket on and internet access. Like Oliver it seems that my instinct has been to seek the British aspect despite the fact that I'll be back there soon.
Anyway my duties apart from that have been simply to repeat the following three phrases:
"I think you should put credit on your phone, Oliver"
"It'll all be okay, Oliver"
"Book our hostels, Oliver"
That is all I have to say.
Will
I've found a deli which serves reasonable tea and also has the cricket on and internet access. Like Oliver it seems that my instinct has been to seek the British aspect despite the fact that I'll be back there soon.
Anyway my duties apart from that have been simply to repeat the following three phrases:
"I think you should put credit on your phone, Oliver"
"It'll all be okay, Oliver"
"Book our hostels, Oliver"
That is all I have to say.
Will
Wednesday 19 November 2008
Monday 17 November 2008
Three things I have learnt about New York City..
1. It's very much like England except..
2. People like to get excited
3. The chocolate gives me a sore throat
It's obviously time for a major update, I'm sure you've all been waiting with baited breath to hear that we're in exactly the same place we were a week ago. Last Monday's performance at Sidewalk was weird to say the least. In theory what happened was ridiculously cool in an unplanned happening kind of way. And I did essentially complete the project in the sense that I formed a band, whilst playing a gig, whilst recording it. It was probably a mistake to not define any particular parameters of quality to fulfill, but I certainly wasn't expecting the kind of ramshackle debut that I inflicted on the nightflys at Sidewalk. I also failed, however, to define any particular parameters of authenticity, or any parameters of failure. I've said from the get-go that the ultimate aim was failure, but how to define failure within the context that I'm investigating is an important question. This isn't England, or more specifically, Birmingham, where we drink failure with our toast. The American stereotype is one of success-or-die, though it's true that I've deliberately chosen a subculture to investigate which, through it's postmodern leanings, would at least appear on the surface to be more receptive to the ambition-to-fail paradox. Whether this turns out to be true, and the subculture in fact nurtures us young failure-hungry untrepeneneurs, or whether it is a reflection of the culture en-masse remains to be seen. One thing that can be said is that we failed in any common sense of artistic achievement. But maybe it's time to start defining our idea of authenticity - if spontaneity is authentic, then we certainly achieved that, the same can be said for DIY attitude and 'rawness', we were raw as shit. It would be fair to say that we created a spectacle too, and the idea of the spectacle seems to be essential to something being considered 'authentic' ("That's authenticity right there" - Maggie, in response to a couple arguing on the street). So in a sense, by actually achieving something authentic, we failed in our ambition to fail, and thus achieved. Thus all is well.
Oliver
2. People like to get excited
3. The chocolate gives me a sore throat
It's obviously time for a major update, I'm sure you've all been waiting with baited breath to hear that we're in exactly the same place we were a week ago. Last Monday's performance at Sidewalk was weird to say the least. In theory what happened was ridiculously cool in an unplanned happening kind of way. And I did essentially complete the project in the sense that I formed a band, whilst playing a gig, whilst recording it. It was probably a mistake to not define any particular parameters of quality to fulfill, but I certainly wasn't expecting the kind of ramshackle debut that I inflicted on the nightflys at Sidewalk. I also failed, however, to define any particular parameters of authenticity, or any parameters of failure. I've said from the get-go that the ultimate aim was failure, but how to define failure within the context that I'm investigating is an important question. This isn't England, or more specifically, Birmingham, where we drink failure with our toast. The American stereotype is one of success-or-die, though it's true that I've deliberately chosen a subculture to investigate which, through it's postmodern leanings, would at least appear on the surface to be more receptive to the ambition-to-fail paradox. Whether this turns out to be true, and the subculture in fact nurtures us young failure-hungry untrepeneneurs, or whether it is a reflection of the culture en-masse remains to be seen. One thing that can be said is that we failed in any common sense of artistic achievement. But maybe it's time to start defining our idea of authenticity - if spontaneity is authentic, then we certainly achieved that, the same can be said for DIY attitude and 'rawness', we were raw as shit. It would be fair to say that we created a spectacle too, and the idea of the spectacle seems to be essential to something being considered 'authentic' ("That's authenticity right there" - Maggie, in response to a couple arguing on the street). So in a sense, by actually achieving something authentic, we failed in our ambition to fail, and thus achieved. Thus all is well.
Oliver
Wednesday 12 November 2008
"He has expertise in the field that you're stumbling through.."
the response was swift and devastating:
Sunday 9 November 2008
Saturday 8 November 2008
Something Cracked
Yo. Here's the deal.
Got into New York last night. Had my last ever cigarette. Went to sleep. Bought some cigarettes. I'm at my hostel now using the ridiculously expensive internet, so I'll keep this brief.
Just to address some of the issues that Will put forth in his post below. Yes, there is terrible friction in my own thinking. I am essentially putting myself on the level of the Kantian believers in absolute artistic values that I shed so much scorn on in my manifesto. By searching for my artistic fix predominantly in the (apparently) kitsch and vacuous, and fighting its corner as the populist superior of 'high' art (because if more people like it, it's better, no?) I'm making the same kind of subjective judgements that I've set out to avoid. It's a terrible thing that I try my best to steer clear of, but I'm framing this project in my own artistic experience - I've had so much trouble taking my own musical projects 'seriously', and it's probable that this is part of an underlying reaction against what is traditionally perceived as being authentic. A reverse snobbery.
I've been thinking of the parallels between rock stars and rock star behaviour and the idea of the 'genius' or 'creator' with access to realms of creativity shut off to mere accountants and mortals. I don't have time to wax on this right now, but I'll knock something together for my next post.
Rock on,
Oliver
Got into New York last night. Had my last ever cigarette. Went to sleep. Bought some cigarettes. I'm at my hostel now using the ridiculously expensive internet, so I'll keep this brief.
Just to address some of the issues that Will put forth in his post below. Yes, there is terrible friction in my own thinking. I am essentially putting myself on the level of the Kantian believers in absolute artistic values that I shed so much scorn on in my manifesto. By searching for my artistic fix predominantly in the (apparently) kitsch and vacuous, and fighting its corner as the populist superior of 'high' art (because if more people like it, it's better, no?) I'm making the same kind of subjective judgements that I've set out to avoid. It's a terrible thing that I try my best to steer clear of, but I'm framing this project in my own artistic experience - I've had so much trouble taking my own musical projects 'seriously', and it's probable that this is part of an underlying reaction against what is traditionally perceived as being authentic. A reverse snobbery.
I've been thinking of the parallels between rock stars and rock star behaviour and the idea of the 'genius' or 'creator' with access to realms of creativity shut off to mere accountants and mortals. I don't have time to wax on this right now, but I'll knock something together for my next post.
Rock on,
Oliver
Friday 7 November 2008
While Oliver Flies
Oliver is in the air as we speak, winging his way to the city of dreams. I'll be joining him there shortly, but while he's in transit and ill-quipped to prevent me from spewing forth on this website, allow me to have my say:
This is a project about authenticity. In his manifesto essay, Oliver defines good pop as "inarguably authentic and easier to understand than Mozart", and it's this phrase I wanted to slip into the spotlight for y'all today, because reading it again it occurred to me that if the part about Mozart was necessarily subjective (my father, a lifelong orchestral musician, would find Mozart significantly easier to understand than pop music) then the part about authenticity might be no less so. What is authenticity? It's a question worth asking before we embark on our journey (or whilst we are in the process of embarking on our journey). And it's one of those irritating "What is..." questions with which people often open articles, essays and lectures; the sort of unanswerable question which might possibly be useful to an enquiring mind treading a subject for the first time, but which carries out the more crucial role of making the writer look really really thoughtful and clever. (S)He's simply got his subject and stuck two words on the front of it, but it's like (s)he's taken the bottom out of your very world!
What's happening in this scenario is that the writer (let's call him "Will" to save on further gender equivocation) is cultivating an aura of authenticity by beginning a work with the established trappings of academia. Authenticity, in other words, can be faked, and I don't see this applying to music any less than it applies to academic writing, or anything else. Oliver will tell you (I suspect, he's free to correct me) that earnestness will shine through even the most vacuous pop; that you can always tell when someone is faking. As a cynic, I simply suggest that while you may have spotted a lot of fakers trying to get away with it, you'd never know if you'd seen a successful one.
But let's perform that trick again. What is faking? When I play solo I consider my music fairly authentic, I suppose, but I'm not the same person onstage (or on film) as I am off - not quite. I try to keep the two as close to each other as I can, but at the end of the day you're in a bizarre situation when you're performing, and some small part of you is always going to change to reflect that. It's the part that changes when you're with family as opposed to friends, or in a job interview instead of an opium den. Which is the 'authentic' me - the taxpayer, the musician, the son, the literature student, the gamer?
So now for the slam-dunk. Why does it matter? Authenticity is at least party subjective, impossible to quantify, easy to manipulate, and arguably actively disadvantageous when it comes to record and ticket sales (whatever it does for your cultural credibility). I agree with Oliver that the subject is approached somewhat schizophrenically by music fans and critics - what I want to find out about is why it's approached at all. Why does it matter so? Should it? What would happen if it didn't?
There's a whole lot more to be written round this but I thought I'd pave the way for these issues to come to the fore. They create rocky ground for a project such as the ABBA Confusion, which is a fusion of authenticity and its opposite - if one is trying to be authentic, is that not inauthentic too?
See you in New York.
Will
This is a project about authenticity. In his manifesto essay, Oliver defines good pop as "inarguably authentic and easier to understand than Mozart", and it's this phrase I wanted to slip into the spotlight for y'all today, because reading it again it occurred to me that if the part about Mozart was necessarily subjective (my father, a lifelong orchestral musician, would find Mozart significantly easier to understand than pop music) then the part about authenticity might be no less so. What is authenticity? It's a question worth asking before we embark on our journey (or whilst we are in the process of embarking on our journey). And it's one of those irritating "What is..." questions with which people often open articles, essays and lectures; the sort of unanswerable question which might possibly be useful to an enquiring mind treading a subject for the first time, but which carries out the more crucial role of making the writer look really really thoughtful and clever. (S)He's simply got his subject and stuck two words on the front of it, but it's like (s)he's taken the bottom out of your very world!
What's happening in this scenario is that the writer (let's call him "Will" to save on further gender equivocation) is cultivating an aura of authenticity by beginning a work with the established trappings of academia. Authenticity, in other words, can be faked, and I don't see this applying to music any less than it applies to academic writing, or anything else. Oliver will tell you (I suspect, he's free to correct me) that earnestness will shine through even the most vacuous pop; that you can always tell when someone is faking. As a cynic, I simply suggest that while you may have spotted a lot of fakers trying to get away with it, you'd never know if you'd seen a successful one.
But let's perform that trick again. What is faking? When I play solo I consider my music fairly authentic, I suppose, but I'm not the same person onstage (or on film) as I am off - not quite. I try to keep the two as close to each other as I can, but at the end of the day you're in a bizarre situation when you're performing, and some small part of you is always going to change to reflect that. It's the part that changes when you're with family as opposed to friends, or in a job interview instead of an opium den. Which is the 'authentic' me - the taxpayer, the musician, the son, the literature student, the gamer?
So now for the slam-dunk. Why does it matter? Authenticity is at least party subjective, impossible to quantify, easy to manipulate, and arguably actively disadvantageous when it comes to record and ticket sales (whatever it does for your cultural credibility). I agree with Oliver that the subject is approached somewhat schizophrenically by music fans and critics - what I want to find out about is why it's approached at all. Why does it matter so? Should it? What would happen if it didn't?
There's a whole lot more to be written round this but I thought I'd pave the way for these issues to come to the fore. They create rocky ground for a project such as the ABBA Confusion, which is a fusion of authenticity and its opposite - if one is trying to be authentic, is that not inauthentic too?
See you in New York.
Will
Wednesday 5 November 2008
Sunday 2 November 2008
I'm trying to stay level headed..
Steely Dan are like aural opium to me, so I'm in no way a lo-fi fetishist. But this Tall Dwarfs song makes me feel the same sense of spooky familiarity and unsettling oddness that I haven't really had since hearing See Emily Play by Pink Floyd as a kid and for years remembering it as some fleeting, half-remembered dream. I can't help but feel as if the effect would be lessened if the guitars were in tune and all the fuzz was removed - I mean, this seems obvious. But I mean in a purely aesthetic way, regardless of all the connotations of having been crafted with the care of a layman's matchstick boat. There's memories in that fuzz.
I'm trying to write a song that'll act as a diary for our visit - so we can keep adding verses as we go along and.. voila! - 20 minute epic. The first verse is proving difficult though - unless I embellish it's all going to be worry, worry, worry, email, worry, email, twee video, worry. But embellishments are my bread. No fear.
-----------------------------------------------------
..left this message on the Olive Juice forums:
"..2) In four weeks, we will attempt to
a) Form a band
b) Play live
c) Make a record.."
And got this response:
"My guess (and this is not a joke) is that you will be able to accomplish a, b and c probably in one week, so that you can devote the other 3 weeks to the other ridiculously impossible demands."
Wow. Awesome. I was talking to some musician friends on Halloween, who have been to NYC, and they shared the same sentiment. It looks like my grand expectations of momumental but spectacular failure might be unwarranted. Jinxed?
Oliver
I'm trying to write a song that'll act as a diary for our visit - so we can keep adding verses as we go along and.. voila! - 20 minute epic. The first verse is proving difficult though - unless I embellish it's all going to be worry, worry, worry, email, worry, email, twee video, worry. But embellishments are my bread. No fear.
-----------------------------------------------------
..left this message on the Olive Juice forums:
"..2) In four weeks, we will attempt to
a) Form a band
b) Play live
c) Make a record.."
And got this response:
"My guess (and this is not a joke) is that you will be able to accomplish a, b and c probably in one week, so that you can devote the other 3 weeks to the other ridiculously impossible demands."
Wow. Awesome. I was talking to some musician friends on Halloween, who have been to NYC, and they shared the same sentiment. It looks like my grand expectations of momumental but spectacular failure might be unwarranted. Jinxed?
Oliver
Tuesday 28 October 2008
The Abba Confusion - Part 1
I fucking love ABBA. But this isn't about really about ABBA. It's as much about me as anything else. It's about being obsessed with pop music, going to art college for two years, and coming out wanting nothing more than to do pop music. Write it, play it, breathe it, shit it. It's about realising that my brain thinks in I IV V. So it's 50% self indulgence and 50% a look at authenticity in art, but filtered through the only art I know. I spent a lot of time at college writing about stuff that I thought was important, like latent catholicism, but most of the time I just wanted to be Kevin Rowland.
But that said, it's not hard to bring this round to God. When you're delving into the intangible otherness that makes art what it is, those spineshiver brain-exploding moments, it's easy to put it down to J.H.C – Oliver Sacks describes it as feeling like you '[have] God's phone number'. But art can, if you describe it in the broadest sense, make your eyes, ears, the hairs on the back of your neck and your dick stand to attention – not something that the Gods of either testament are likely to endorse. But there's something of the holy even in a penny dreadful, and music is unrivaled in art for sharp, visceral emotional effect. Pop is like cheap romance, and all the better for it, and when pop gets ideas above its station it tends to lose something of its essential naivety. But sometimes it's magic – inarguably authentic and easier to understand than Mozart.
So from a theological bent, you have Brian Wilson's hymnal 'teenage symphonies to God', and there's something of it in the Carpenters too. But by including religion in our study, it's easy to assume that there are certain absolute artistic values defined by a god, which are out of the realms of mortal thinking.. which is a bit of a cop-out. What we're looking for is something equally elusive and indefinable, and it's far more interesting to think that something like that can exist purely in the physical world. To quote Sacks again - “The feeling of the holy, the sacred, the wonderful, the mystical, can be divorced from anything theological, and is conveyed very powerfully in music.” Scritti Politti's post-structuralist soul-pop, for example, is rooted firmly in intellectual boundaries, and Abba. Oh, god, Abba. Abba are the most authentic band I can think of. Abba play crystalline pop music, they sing about the most heartbreaking things but they sing it with a smile to a disco beat. It's almost completely transparent, the pain is just below the surface, and all the things which are considered staples of 'authentic' music – distorted or acoustic guitars, puritan intimacy, minor keys – are safety blankets. They wrap the anguish in easy-to-recognise signifiers that are there to distract and deceive. Wrong? Probably.
But I'm trying to think about all of this logically. I'm trying to forget all of the mysticism and drama of rock and roll, so this is where my thinking has got me to. However, I'll defend the worthiness of the kitsch and the throwaway like a bear, to the point where I find myself reacting against anything that presents itself as overly authentic. Case in point: dressing up as a giant heart whilst in a head-to-toe-in-black kind of post-rock band. So part of this desire to search for the intangible 'authentic-ness', and my fierce rejection of the rock and roll cliche, probably comes from a frustration with my own work. An inability to create anything beautiful? or at least allow myself to? I'm going to New York City on November 7th – it's going to be an interesting experience, for sure. But what I'm most looking forward to is failing. Failing in the most interesting ways possible. Me and Will are giving ourselves four weeks to form a band, play a gig, make a record, get interviewed, get on tv etc. Impossible demands, practically. I know that there's as much chance as finding this elusive authenticity gene as proving the existence of a god, but what we can do is take a logical, almost scientific approach to the creation process. Horrible metaphor: New York is our petri dish, Antifolk is our culture and these demands are our catalysts. It's the DIY dream taken to extremes and turned on its head – the young band rehearsing wherever they can, promoting their own gigs, recording their own music. It's a piss-take as much as anything else, applying such strict rules and planning to a process steeped in passion. But it serves a purpose and it's not a passionless piss-take, in fact passion is crucial – to fail, to look at the failure, to want to discover as a result of the failing.
So failure is expected, but I'm not making any real guesses about what might happen. Maybe achieving some sort of critical or commercial success would be fun, but it's certainly not what we're setting out to do. The demands we've set ourselves are very much geared towards that, but in no way am I equating authenticity with success here. One of the great confusions of the indie aesthetic is the strive for success, but not too much success. We'll play with the idea of selling out, just as we'll play with the idea of the natural formation of a band, the songwriting process, rivalry, band identity, the city of dreams.
It's important to stress the 'we' – this is very much a collaboration. Will is getting to New York a week after me, but he's as essential to this project as our plane tickets. On the one hand, he complements my ideas perfectly by giving them focus, and on the other he disagrees with me completely on certain issues. This friction is absolutely essential to get an interesting dialogue going – we're both already quite set in our ways of thinking and we're both quite stubborn, but I'm sure this will become more and more apparent as we go on.
This is it for this post though, hopefully I've rambled coherently enough. See you in New York!
Oliver
But that said, it's not hard to bring this round to God. When you're delving into the intangible otherness that makes art what it is, those spineshiver brain-exploding moments, it's easy to put it down to J.H.C – Oliver Sacks describes it as feeling like you '[have] God's phone number'. But art can, if you describe it in the broadest sense, make your eyes, ears, the hairs on the back of your neck and your dick stand to attention – not something that the Gods of either testament are likely to endorse. But there's something of the holy even in a penny dreadful, and music is unrivaled in art for sharp, visceral emotional effect. Pop is like cheap romance, and all the better for it, and when pop gets ideas above its station it tends to lose something of its essential naivety. But sometimes it's magic – inarguably authentic and easier to understand than Mozart.
So from a theological bent, you have Brian Wilson's hymnal 'teenage symphonies to God', and there's something of it in the Carpenters too. But by including religion in our study, it's easy to assume that there are certain absolute artistic values defined by a god, which are out of the realms of mortal thinking.. which is a bit of a cop-out. What we're looking for is something equally elusive and indefinable, and it's far more interesting to think that something like that can exist purely in the physical world. To quote Sacks again - “The feeling of the holy, the sacred, the wonderful, the mystical, can be divorced from anything theological, and is conveyed very powerfully in music.” Scritti Politti's post-structuralist soul-pop, for example, is rooted firmly in intellectual boundaries, and Abba. Oh, god, Abba. Abba are the most authentic band I can think of. Abba play crystalline pop music, they sing about the most heartbreaking things but they sing it with a smile to a disco beat. It's almost completely transparent, the pain is just below the surface, and all the things which are considered staples of 'authentic' music – distorted or acoustic guitars, puritan intimacy, minor keys – are safety blankets. They wrap the anguish in easy-to-recognise signifiers that are there to distract and deceive. Wrong? Probably.
But I'm trying to think about all of this logically. I'm trying to forget all of the mysticism and drama of rock and roll, so this is where my thinking has got me to. However, I'll defend the worthiness of the kitsch and the throwaway like a bear, to the point where I find myself reacting against anything that presents itself as overly authentic. Case in point: dressing up as a giant heart whilst in a head-to-toe-in-black kind of post-rock band. So part of this desire to search for the intangible 'authentic-ness', and my fierce rejection of the rock and roll cliche, probably comes from a frustration with my own work. An inability to create anything beautiful? or at least allow myself to? I'm going to New York City on November 7th – it's going to be an interesting experience, for sure. But what I'm most looking forward to is failing. Failing in the most interesting ways possible. Me and Will are giving ourselves four weeks to form a band, play a gig, make a record, get interviewed, get on tv etc. Impossible demands, practically. I know that there's as much chance as finding this elusive authenticity gene as proving the existence of a god, but what we can do is take a logical, almost scientific approach to the creation process. Horrible metaphor: New York is our petri dish, Antifolk is our culture and these demands are our catalysts. It's the DIY dream taken to extremes and turned on its head – the young band rehearsing wherever they can, promoting their own gigs, recording their own music. It's a piss-take as much as anything else, applying such strict rules and planning to a process steeped in passion. But it serves a purpose and it's not a passionless piss-take, in fact passion is crucial – to fail, to look at the failure, to want to discover as a result of the failing.
So failure is expected, but I'm not making any real guesses about what might happen. Maybe achieving some sort of critical or commercial success would be fun, but it's certainly not what we're setting out to do. The demands we've set ourselves are very much geared towards that, but in no way am I equating authenticity with success here. One of the great confusions of the indie aesthetic is the strive for success, but not too much success. We'll play with the idea of selling out, just as we'll play with the idea of the natural formation of a band, the songwriting process, rivalry, band identity, the city of dreams.
It's important to stress the 'we' – this is very much a collaboration. Will is getting to New York a week after me, but he's as essential to this project as our plane tickets. On the one hand, he complements my ideas perfectly by giving them focus, and on the other he disagrees with me completely on certain issues. This friction is absolutely essential to get an interesting dialogue going – we're both already quite set in our ways of thinking and we're both quite stubborn, but I'm sure this will become more and more apparent as we go on.
This is it for this post though, hopefully I've rambled coherently enough. See you in New York!
Oliver
Thursday 16 October 2008
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