Saturday, March 8, 2014

Identity in the Digital Sphere: Is Facebook Fulfilling a Need We Didn’t Know We Had?

[Produced in conjunction with Dr. Christopher Voparil's Ethics After Postmodernism course; Spring 2012, Union Institute and University]


With the exception of the electric light, there never has been a technology that better exemplifies Marshall McLuhan’s aphorism “The medium is the message.” The computer is almost all process. There are, for example, no “great computers,” as there are great writers, painters, or musicians. There are “great programs” and “great programmers,” but their greatness lies in their ingenuity either in simulating a human function or in creating new possibilities of calculation, speed, and volume.            (Postman, 1993, p. 118)

            The nature of identity construction, due largely to the promotion of new communication technologies, has escaped our traditional notions. Should a climate of “almost all process” replace more common modes of representation, individuals may find identification with others, and the seeking of commonalities, a task rendered more difficult due to technological capabilities. This discussion will embrace introduce and illustrate what may be an improvement on the climate of illegimitization of individual identity at work in the mass media in the 1970s and 1980s: the popularization of platforms such as MySpace, Twitter, and Facebook have allowed individuals an ability to define and provide finite information about themselves, their views, and identities, beyond dynamics established by postmodern definitions.

Technopoly, Convergence, and the Power of Technological Literacy

Tim Berners-Lee, the developer primarily responsible for the creation of the World Wide Web, described his intention in establishing a global network of communication: “the original thing I wanted to do was make it a collaborative medium, a place where we [could] all meet and read and write” (cited by Richardson, 2006, p. 1). In J. Bolter’s chapter “Theory and Practice in new Media Studies” (2003), questions related to the origin of identity, and the means by which one’s identity may effect social change (p. 19): “the idea that technologies could work as autonomous agents of social change has been explicitly rejected by cultural studies and by Marxist critics since Raymond Williams (1975). From the perspectives of such critics, it is society that develops and molds new technologies to meet its cultural or economic needs.” While few would dispute that Berners-Lee’s “collaborative medium” has come into existence, as the Internet has become a pervasive spring of information, bubbling up in many directions and locations, Bolter’s chicken-or-the-egg dilemma questions technology as an “autonomous agents of social change.” Does technology itself have an “autonomous” ability to be a forum in which individuals may construct their identity through their actions, or does is technology created to fulfill existing means of human expression?

Technology is a profitable and important industry; since the conception of the original home computers, producers have sought to distribute on a regular basis updated products with additional features and innovative functionality. Separate study of the extent to which the evolution of technology has enabled individuals to create their own applications and software modifications—including the open-source software movement—may focus on the integration of retailers, investors, and those willing to create new implementations of existing technology. This discussion regards the participation of individuals in the World Wide Web who possess no specific set of technical knowledge, but are rather consumers of the platforms made available to general participants of online collaboration. Do individuals’ use of online collaborative platforms for expression represent works of autonomous expression separate from the technology utilized, or are those platforms fulfilling a human need for the original creation and ownership of identity that had been, until recently, previously unavailable on such a wide scale?

In this country, technology has become a pervasive element of our environment: at home, at work, or in transit, computers allow unprecedented access to information. Recent Internet usage statistics identify almost three-quarters of the population of North America, and globally, almost 33% of the world population, as regular users of the Internet (Miniwatts, 2012, table 1). One survey in the United States found 93% of students ages 12-17 are regular users of the Internet, and 64% of those create public content to post on the Internet (Lenhart, Madden, Magill & Smith, 2007, p. 2)—statistics from before the popularization of Facebook, and prior to the invention of Twitter. Disregarding demographic identifications, it is important to understand that populations’ access to the Internet will continue to grow; between 2000 and 2012, Internet access grew by over 500% globally (Miniwatts, 2012, table 1). 

            While the collaborative nature of Berners-Lee’s vision evolves on a daily basis with the creation of each new web site and Internet application, an individual using the Internet may be challenged to master and harness a steady stream of information, and, simultaneously, digest and participate in interaction with other individuals. Maintaining a clear understanding of how information and collaboration are to work together, and, separately, recognizing different delivery methods for the information and collaboration available on the Internet, individual Internet users should feel challenged to understand their own relationship and understanding of technology. Beyond understanding how a web page can appear on a computer screen, educators and students alike need encouragement to gain an understanding about the personal and original information that exists about them on the Internet.

Our understanding of technology—what it is, how to use it, and how to learn from it—is important, as it allows us access to information, and may provide us the ability to complete new and unique tasks. According to an interdisciplinary 2002 report, “technological literacy” may be defined as “three interdependent dimensions—knowledge, ways of thinking and acting, and capabilities… Like literacy in reading, mathematics, science, or history, the goal of technological literacy is to provide people with the tools to participate intelligently and thoughtfully in the world around them” (Committee on Technological Literacy, National Academy of Engineering, National Research Council, 2002, p. 3). This interaction with the “world around” individuals who embrace skills of technological literacy are, by this definition, empowered, “intelligently and thoughtfully,” through which the consumption of information is a rhetorical and educative act—supported by likely only some degree of synchronous human contact.

Jenkins (2006) identifies a “participation gap” (p. 23) among those who use technologies; whether individuals may be identified as digital immigrants or digital natives does not matter unless application and use of technology is evident. “Throughout the 1990s, the primary question was one of access. Today, most Americans have some limited access to the Internet… through the public library or the local school… As long as the focus remains on access, reform remains focused on technologies; as soon as we begin to talk about participation, the emphasis shifts to cultural protocols and practices” (Jenkins, p. 23). Understanding our opportunities to participate in the creation of information on the Internet is critical to a new understanding of technology in education; the Internet is the first and only global, participatory medium, and its volume of information will continue to grow exponentially. Individuals need to stay aware of ways to create new content using technology; students and educators, regardless of their pedagogical focus, need to understand how technology is changing our culture. “Convergence” is a term to define how “the one-to-one relationship that used to exist between a medium and its use is eroding” (Pool, 1983, as cited by Jenkins, 2006, p. 10). Technology has helped change how specific streams of information are received and utilized, and convergence is a term to help identify these changes. This erosion is important to a variety of theorists and scholars, as well as to those who seek a more clear understanding of the relationship between mass media and technological literacy.

Neil Postman (1993), in discussing the use of technology as a means to more efficiently access a greater quantity of information, discusses the importance of “control mechanisms [that] are needed to cope with new information” (p. 72). Using an example of courses that are excluded from an educational institution’s catalogue (p. 74), Postman (1993) structures an argument that identifies a technological climate in which information “is no longer controllable, [and] a general breakdown in psychic tranquility and social purpose occurs” (p. 72). He defines “technopoly” as having “at its aim a grand reductionism in which human life must find its meaning in machinery and technique… the submission of all forms of cultural life to the sovereignty of technique and technology” (p. 52). Previously, technology was viewed in society as a ‘means to an end,’ a tool with which tasks may be accomplished, challenges faced, obstacles tackled. Individuals’ identities are at risk through what Postman names as a “grand reductionism,” as the installation of meaning into actions and the generation of rhetoric renders individual characteristics less important, in an environment in which “psychic tranquility and social purpose” are at stake.

Should Postman’s “technopoly” characterize present-day relationships between individuals and the platforms which they utilize to communicate, use of and interpretation of language becomes an important quality of creative and personal expression.  “Unlike broadcast television or film, then, “resistant reading” is not the only available strategy for digital media, because individual practitioners can produce their own alternative forms. And unlike the theorists of film and television, at least some new media theorists have the opportunity to become new media practitioners” (Bolter, p. 23). The ‘resistance reading’ Bolter describes an informational climate in which individuals participate and evaluate content they and others have created; the collaboration between individual “practicioners” is critical to Bolter’s characterization. Knowing the process necessary to create a MySpace or Facebook page is valuable; more valuable is an individual’s conscious, substantial, and purposeful participation within these networks. Even more desirable is an understanding of how writers and others may help establish norms of practice for new communication platforms.


            Trends in how we use technologies to create and share information are important, for individuals may continue to embrace new ways to communicate with each other, with their communities, and with our world. Neil Postman (1993) guards against the dissolution of individuals’ original narratives, in an environment in which characteristics of identity are surrendered. The ethical disaster of “technopoly” is a crisis of representation; Postman described it as a

… story without a moral center. It puts in its place efficiency, interest, and economic advance. It promises heaven on earth through the conveniences of technological progress. It casts aside all traditional narratives and symbols that suggest stability and orderliness, and tells, instead, of a life of skills, technical expertise, and the ecstasy of consumption. Its purpose is to produce functionaries for an ongoing Technopoly.         (p. 179)

This reliance on individuals’ “technical expertise” may be well-represented by the definition of technological literacy discussed in the previous section. Does this set of skills—of methods of definition through online communication platforms—only fulfill Postman’s nightmarish vision of sublimation, from being a society that values personal expression, to one that seeks to “produce functionaries”? Detailed comparison of online communication platforms—a comparison to include Facebook, Twitter, and Google applications—may yeild useful analysis of each site, for its ability to promote “efficiency, interest, and economic advance” exclusively.

            With basic technological knowledge, individuals are likely to make choices regarding their expression and identification, within the confines of a given platform: even prior to the World Wide Web, thousands of individuals used home computers to communicate via telephone modems and both commerical and homegrown bulletin board services. As these platforms have evolved, individuals have participated in each manifestation of online communication—and have helped refine future products and applications. While present-day software may request users’ participation in constructive criticism towards the revision of future products, little technological literacy is required in the exchange: the feedback provided is essential towards the continuation of a commodity, a full marketplace of technological challenge and innovation.

            The role of the individual in both the construction and propagation digital communication platforms is critical: the climate of identity construction in this effort is increasingly complicated. In “Differance,” Derrida explores the value of definition, of seeing “the classically determined structure of the sign in all the banality of its characteristics—signification as the differance of temporization” (p. 9). What is present and what is real to an individual becomes a question of presence and recognition, of symbols and language. Seeking the origin of language and speech, Derrida’s action of differance is theoretical and linguistic: it is “the name we might give to the ‘active,’ moving discord of different forces, and of differences of forces” (p. 18). While the interpretation of individuals’ actions through the formal and symbolic study in the “human sciences” may aid in understanding mythopoetics, Derrida’s coined term differance is itself a duality, one with a “strange cleavage” (p. 19). While Derrida’s characterization keeps both what is “economical and non-economical, the same and the entirely other” simultaneously—one cannot be part of both the technologically-enabled and the luddite crowds. Derrida’s primary concern seems to be observers’ over-reaching perceptions and assumptions in the construction of knowledge and meaning: “the ‘unconscious’,” as a metaphysical example, “is no more a ‘thing’ than it is any other thing, is no more a thing than it is a virtual or masked consciousness” (p. 21).

            Should our abilities to establish and acknowledge our differences—what is “the same and the entirely other”—in our online rhetoric, individuals’ success may yield abilities of language and expression. The “postmodern condition” described by Derrida may be an individual’s ability, through perception, however skewed and enlightened by previous experience, to come no closer to an explicit understanding of meaning, either through aesthetic illumination or mythic (perhaps epic) repetition. Bolter (2003) wondered if, upon the advent of our improved electronic communication technologies, scholars would “be willing to redefine scholarship to include the multilinear structures of hypertext or (what may be even more radical) the multiplicity of representational modes afforded by digital multimedia? There are powerful institutional forces working against change: for example, the tenure system in the United States, which recognizes printed books and articles as the highest forms of scholarly production. But would anything lead us to expect change?” (p. 23). If scholars of humanities, philosophy, and critical theory were to answer Bolter’s call, and endorse and “expect change” from this, our continuing revolution in our economic, technological, and informational climate, those scholars might discover the need for change within themselves, of how they comprehend the intellectual activities of humans these days: there is at work both a pervasive hypertextuality as well as a new culture of identity construction.

Cornered by attempts to describe the integration of poststructural interpretation of television, Bolter (2003) asserts that a redefinition of critical media theory, after Derrida, has become necessary, due to technology: “many of the qualities that the poststructuralists had been claiming for print—the instability and the intertextuality of the text, the loss of authority of the author, and the changed relationship between author, text, and reader—were realized in a literal or operational way in the computer” (p. 18). While the difference between individuals may continue to provide a theoretical framework for the construction of identity in the present-day public sphere, Bolter supports a reconception for tenets of identity construction because of, and in recognition of, technology’s influence: a new ‘condition’ for our identification and exchange of unique expression.

            The characterization of the public sphere, and the means by which marginalization based on recognition of identity continues to take place, is important to a variety of thinkers across disciplines. Cornel West (1994), in “The New Cultural Politics of Difference,” establishes a valuable framework for the publicity of identity, one that, through technology, has only become more pervasive: a theory and mode of inquiry he names “demystification” (p. 76).

            Demystification tries to keep track of the complex dynamics of institutional other related   power structures in order to disclose options and alternatives for tranformative praxis; it   also attempts to grasp the way in which representational strategies are creative responses         to novel circumstances and conditions. In this way, the central role of human agency (always enacted under circumstances not of one’s choosing)—be it in the critic, artist or         constituency and audience—is accented (p. 76).

West’s framework for a theoretical demystification of identity came as the Internet, and a new connectivity of expression, was still in its infancy: the “complex dynamics” of online chat were yet to evolve fully, and the transmission of images and voices across digital connections was just beginning a new form of archiving, for the extension and creation of human knowledge.West’s theory of demystification is important to an understanding of our present-day methods of identity creation: the “complex dynamics” of power at work in our spheres of discourse and expression has challenged what West named as “the central role of human agency.” No matter the roles or groups we choose to adopt as our own, the means by which our identities are shared have continued to weather “novel circumstances and conditions”—namely, the rise of unprecedented means of human communication and expression. The demystification, and full ‘tracking’ of the relationships of power and authority  Cornel West’s “New Cultural Politics of Difference”: “distinct articulations of talented (and usually privileged) contributors to culture who desire to align themselves with demoralized, demobilized, depoliticized and disorganized people in order to empower and enable social action.”

Redefining the Function of Authority and the Construction of Knowledge

            In Lyotard’s two-fold construction of knowledge, efficiency and performativity become criteria for what knowledge and experience humanity may consider legitimate and useful, of value and meaning: “Power is not only good performativity, but also effective verification and good verdicts” (p. 47). An individual’s relationship to technology is critical in Lyotard’s human world of inquiry, a world built of procedural explorations and critical, selective knowledge consumption—actions our information networks have come to excel at performing. Lyotard appears to predict the movement during the last decades of the twentieth century in support of vocational education in American public high schools, as well as the rise of community college enrollment during this decade and the last: he predicts knowledge “will be served “a la carte” to adults who are either already working or expect to be, for the purpose of improving their skills and chances of promotion, but also to help them acquire information, languages, and language games allowing them both to widen their occupational horizons and to articulate their technical and ethical experience” (p. 49). Our immersion in the “language games” of another—the intersection of individual narratives, which are likely (if anything) to hold power on a mystical plane—comes alongside the responsibility of knowledge.

            Here, I am intrigued by the value Lyotard places on dissensus as the root of innovation, not innovation itself—paralogy—and how our present culture does, or doesn’t, assimilate or stomp out dissensus, the “pragmatics of knowledge” (p. 61). Lyotard found the moments when scientists (and governments) appear on television to announce ‘discoveries’ likely to be efforts that make “epic” (p. 10) the knowledge-finder’s narrative; these moments are important not for human ego but for the transmission of knowledge. While university policies are central to Lyotard’s discussion, the nature and method of human inquiry, and changes to the construction of knowledge through technology may be one of Lyotard’s most notable insights. In my research area, music, productive dissensus—brought about by new ways of producing, distributing, and making money from original music—is alive and well, and was a large part of why Wikipedia went black yesterday, as content providers seek more control over the distribution and resale of recorded media. Lawmakers were trying to save a dying industry, one built around record stores and not digital virtualization, in trying to wrangle up those who peddle or simply pass around freely copyrighted content: a new pragmatics of knowledge.

            Should the “author function […] disappear […] in such a manner that fiction and its polysemous texts will once again function according to another mode” (Foucault, p. 119), we that seek to build our own creative expression and fictionalization of our experience, our authority to do so is, in Foucault’s view, trumped by our narrative’s historical impact. The stories we tell, however fictional, if not spoken with an authority that appears inaccessible in Foucault’s characterization, may merely relish and reiterate what has been said before. Foucault’s most succinct delineation of this may be on page 113: those who write fiction are locked in step with “jurisdictional and institutional” systems, and are not, in fact, “spontaneous attribution” but doomed to production through a “series of specific and complex operations”. These, his first and third points regarding authorship and ‘authority’ on p. 113, combine to establish a sense of Foucault’s assessment of the relationship between the creative artist and their subject in seeking a more meaningful society; the artist’s fictional representation of our limitations and conscriptions as a whole may be part of what Foucault is guarded against—that institutions and systems may come to represent themselves a commodification of expression, a means to which no end is apparent.

Technology and the Language of Identity Construction

            A dilemma similar to that of the parallel between subjectification of the individual and traditional power dynamism exists in the construction of identity, as feminism, a specific ideological movement, has suffered from the fragmentation of groups based on sub-categorization and individual details (p. 166). Butler seeks the acknowledgement of a metaphysical centrality and “psychic center” to gender, calling necessary a total reconceptualization of identity categories, one that supports the language that we use, and have available. In this call, Butler hopes we may find our identities constructed using language that itself constitutes “a site of permanent openness and resignifiability” (p. 166); this “site” within one’s self-concept is critical to this extension and evolution of feminist identity, and the development of useful and salient critical theory.

            In her 1990 essay,  Butler advocates not for a blanketed postmodern nature to identity, but for the subjection of “notions of the body and materiality to a deconstructive critique” (p. 168). Butler calls for a situation in which our physicality remains at the core of the construction of gender, but rests prior to any preconception or categorization: that the terms we use to define our identities might more fully take root in a mobilization of identity, the fulfillment of which is “productive, constitutive, one might even argue performative” (p. 168). This latter term would become utilized by scholars and theorists, to encapsulate Butler’s reconceptualization of gender and identity; in a 2011 video interview, Butler further defined the characteristic of performative identity as “producing a series of effects […] our acting or our role-playing is crucial to the gender that we are and the gender that we present to the world” (Butler, Feb. 2011). These “effects” of our identity, our behavior and our choices, may not necessarily be in line with previous, institutionalized concepts of gender, but specific and unique to individuals.       

            Butler identifies the construction of identity as a process of experience and as having its own significability, to the individual at hand as well as the institutions that individual functions within and around. “I think there is a real question for me about how such gender norms get established and policed and what the best way is to disrupt them and to overcome the police function. It’s my view that gender is culturally formed, but it’s also a domain of agency or freedom” (Butler, Feb. 2011). Within this “domain” rests responsibility for Butler’s construction of identity, beyond contextualization and categorization.

            One example of Butler’s centrality of the body to her construction of identity came through in remarks she delivered on October 23, 2011, in Washington Square Park in New York City, in support of the Occupy Movement. In striking irony, Butler delivered her message through the a “human microphone,” or “people’s mic” technique employed at Occupy Movement sites, to subvert regulations that prohibit electric amplification. In this poetic speech, Butler’s call for physicality in protest illuminates and gives example to supplement her theoretical framework established decades earlier:  “It matters/that as bodies/we arrive together in public/As bodies we suffer/we require food/and shelter/and as bodies we require one another/in dependence/and desire/So this is/a politics of the public body” (Butler, Oct. 2011).

Conclusion: The Ethics of Identity Construction in the 21st Century

What “cultural protocols and practices” surround secondary students’ use of the Internet, or their cell phone? The rituals and habits that develop around the use of technology may become critical elements of students’ and educators’ identities.  Sufficiently represented by web sites and social networking profiles, technology users can exist, interact, and share information in new, individual, unique venues: daily profile updates on social networking sites, blogging, and other Internet applications allow students to generate information almost constantly.

Discussing Jenkins’ (2006) “participation gap,” it is important to remember that the media—or, the streams of public information available—evolved during the twentieth century in a predominantly linear fashion. Newspaper reporters’ stories appeared in newspapers, and television broadcasters appeared on television. These streams of information, while requiring users’ participation, created a one-way network of information delivery. 

But once again, this has not been all that is needed. When you think about how the Web is today and dream about how it might be, you must, as always, consider both technology and people. Future technology should be smarter and more powerful, of course. But you cannot ethically turn your attention to developing it without also listening to those people who don't use the Web at all, or who could use it if only it were different in some way… The Web has been largely designed by the developed world for the developed world. But it must be much more inclusive in order to be of greater value to us all. (Berners-Lee, 2008, para. 15)

      Works Cited

Berners-Lee, T. (2008). Speech before Knight Foundation. World Wide Web Foundation. Retrieved October 4, 2008 from http://www.webfoundation.org/donations/knight2008/tbl-speech

Bolter, J. (n.d.). “Theory and Practice in New Media Studies.” From Digital Media Revisited: Theoretical and Conceptual Innovation in Digital Domains. (2003). Liest, G., Morrison, A., and Rasmussen, T., eds. Boston, MA: MIT. Retrieved from http://www.cubanxgiants.com/berry/329/spring11/readings/week2/bolter.pdf

Butler, J. (1994). “Contingent Foundations:  Feminism and the Question of ‘Postmodernism.’”  In Seidman (ed.), The Postmodern Turn, p. 153-170.

Committee on Technological Literacy, National Academy of Engineering, National Research Council. (2002). Technically speaking: Why all Americans need to know more about technology. Washington DC: National Academies Press.
Butler, J. (19 Feb. 2011). Your Behavior Creates Your Gender [video transcript]. J. Fowler, Dir. Big Think. Retrieved from http://bigthink.com/ideas/30766

Butler, J. (23 Oct. 2011). “Composite Remarks- Washington Square Park, October 23, 2011, via human microphone.” OccupyWriters.com archive. Retrieved from http://occupywriters.com/works/by-judith-butler

Butler, J. (1994). “Contingent Foundations:  Feminism and the Question of ‘Postmodernism.’”  In The Postmodern Turn, ed. S. Seidman. p. 153-170.

Cuban, L. (2003). Oversold and underused: Computers in the classroom. Boston: Harvard University Press.

Derrida, J. (1982). “Difference.” In Margins of Philosophy. Bass, A. (trans.) Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press.

Derrida, J. (1978). “Structure, Sign, and Play in the Discourse of the Human Sciences.” In Writing and Difference, trans. A. Bass. Chicago:  University of Chicago Press.

Doyle, W. and Fraser, M. (2011). “Facebook, Surveillence, and Power.” In Facebook and Philosophy. Chicago: Open Court.

Haraway, D. (1990). “A Manifesto for Cyborgs: Science, Technology, & Socialist Feminism in the 1980s.” In Feminism/Postmodernism, ed. L. Nicholson. New York: Routledge. Retrieved from http://blogs.vassar.edu/confronting-modernity/files/2011/02/donna-haraway-a-manifesto-for-cyborgs.pdf

Hofstetter, C. R. (1973). Bias In the News: Network Television Coverage of the 1972 Election Campaign. Columbus, OH: Ohio State University Press.

Jenkins, H. (2006). Convergence culture: Where old and new media collide. New York: NYU Press.

Miniwatts Marketing Group, Inc. (2008). World internet usage statistics: News and world population stats. www.internetworldstats.com. Retrieved October 23, 2008 from http://www.internetworldstats.com/stats.htm

Murdoch, R. (9 November 2008). Who’s afraid of new technology? BoyerLectures. Retrieved from http://www.abc.net.au/rn/boyerlectures/stories/2008/2397933.htm

Lumet, S., dir. (1976). Network [motion picture]. Written by P. Chayefsky. California: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer.

Lyotard, J. (1984). The Postmodern Condition:  A Report on Knowledge. Trans. G. Bennington and B. Massumi.   Minneapolis:  University of Minneapolis Press. Retrieved from http://site.ebrary.com.proxy.myunion.edu/lib/tui/docDetail.action?docID=10151039

Postman, N. (1993). Technopoly: The surrender of culture to technology. New York: Vintage.

Seidman, S. (1994). “The New Social Movements and the Making of New Social Knowledges.”  In Contested Knowledge:  Social Theory in the Postmodern Era. Cambridge, MA:  Blackwell.

Richardson, W. (2006). Blogs, wikis, podcasts, and other powerful web tools for classrooms.  Thousand Oaks: Corwin Press.
Trier, J. (2006). Network: Still "mad as hell" after 30 years. Journal Of Adolescent & Adult Literacy, 50(3), 232-236.

West, C. (1994). “The New Cultural Politics of Difference.”  In Steven Seidman (ed.), The Postmodern Turn:  New Perspectives on Social Theory.  New York: Cambridge University Press.

Virtual and Visceral Identity in the Cyborg Age

[written in conjunction with Dr. Christopher Voparil's course Ethics After Postmodernism,
Union Institute and University, Spring 2012]
 


                                                                                                            (Triirity, 2012).

            If humanity were to embrace and recognize the formative nature of our actions—the meanings implicit and explicit in how we live out our days—and their relationship to the way we form and change our identity, how might we more efficiently and effectively make representative use of our “statuses,” our blurbs, and the discord of our multiple presences across virtual platforms of engagement? New communication technologies, including the domination of mass media networks, have complicated our definitions of engagement and discussion, from which we once derived our traditional constructions of identity and categorizations. 

            Should our identities be dictated and defined solely by our empowered and realized actions—that is, through the action that is accompanied by our own simultaneous evolutions in self-knowledge—one might expect to discover within modern public discourse a cavalcade of both establishment and anti-establishment views, concurrent with high levels of participation in community, civic, and political events. The ways in which we make productive use of our bodies, including our minds, are an ultimate and imperative expression of our identities, who we believe ourselves to be. As the participatory nature of our democracy and culture may be continuing to undergo its own technological transformation, however, some critical theorists, including Judith Butler and Donna Haraway, have sought to define how identity assigns one’s alignment with and within larger systems, across both pre-determined and chosen categorizations: of race, gender, creed, economics, politics, creativity, and other dynamic characteristics.

            This discussion will define Judith Butler’s discursive construction of self-knowledge through declarative and formative practice; Butler’s definition of identity provides contextualization for Donna Haraway’s framework of power, identity, and technology presented in her seminal “Manifesto for Cyborgs.” Together, these authors’ conceptualization of the construction of identity provides a critical lens that may be useful in assessing trends in individuals’ participation in society—for declarations of individual and collective identity across new forums like Facebook and Twitter have, not long after their inception, led to the unanticipated political ramifications of such networking platforms like the Arab Spring and Occupy Movement. This discussion will illuminate and present foundation for a framework regarding the performative nature of our present-day (and increasingly digital) means of identity construction.

Performative Centrality of the Body: Judith Butler

            Judith Butler’s 1990 essay “Contingent foundations: Feminism and the question of ‘postmodernism’,”  challenges the universality of the term ‘postmodern,’ and the problematic nature of sweeping inclusivity in the naming of intellectual movements. She calls for further discrimination in the construction of terms to describe who we are, through analysis of the actions and effects we create: “What form of insidious cultural imperialism here legislates itself under the sign of the universal?” (p. 157). The relationships and dynamics of power inherent in the construction of identity rise as Butler’s dominant concern: “to require [a fixed] subject means to foreclose the domain of the political” (154). As terms like “postmodern” seek to unify and describe a broad movement, the act of generalization that comes as a result of the establishment of a category of intellectual thought is, to Butler, dangerous and actually an act of alienation and exclusion. She describes her work as “a kind of poststructural analysis” (p. 169).  

            A dilemma similar to that of the parallel between subjectification of the individual and traditional power dynamism exists in the construction of identity, as feminism, a specific ideological movement, has suffered from the fragmentation of groups based on sub-categorization and individual details (p. 166). Butler seeks the acknowledgement of a metaphysical centrality and “psychic center” to gender, calling necessary a total reconceptualization of identity categories, one that supports the language that we use, and have available. In this call, Butler hopes we may find our identities constructed using language that itself constitutes “a site of permanent openness and resignifiability” (p. 166); this “site” within one’s self-concept is critical to this extension and evolution of feminist identity, and the development of useful and salient critical theory.

            In her 1990 essay,  Butler advocates not for a blanketed postmodern nature to identity, but for the subjection of “notions of the body and materiality to a deconstructive critique” (p. 168). Butler calls for a situation in which our physicality remains at the core of the construction of gender, but rests prior to any preconception or categorization: that the terms we use to define our identities might more fully take root in a mobilization of identity, the fulfillment of which is “productive, constitutive, one might even argue performative” (p. 168). This latter term would become utilized by scholars and theorists, to encapsulate Butler’s reconceptualization of gender and identity; in a 2011 video interview, Butler further defined the characteristic of performative identity as “producing a series of effects […] our acting or our role-playing is crucial to the gender that we are and the gender that we present to the world” (Butler, Feb. 2011). These “effects” of our identity, our behavior and our choices, may not necessarily be in line with previous, institutionalized concepts of gender, but specific and unique to individuals.     

            Butler identifies the construction of identity as a process of experience and as having its own significability, to the individual at hand as well as the institutions that individual functions within and around. “I think there is a real question for me about how such gender norms get established and policed and what the best way is to disrupt them and to overcome the police function. It’s my view that gender is culturally formed, but it’s also a domain of agency or freedom” (Butler, Feb. 2011). Within this “domain” rests responsibility for Butler’s construction of identity, beyond contextualization and categorization. One example of Butler’s centrality of the body to her construction of identity came through in remarks she delivered on October 23, 2011, in Washington Square Park in New York City, in support of the Occupy Movement. In striking irony, Butler delivered her message through the a “human microphone,” or “people’s mic” technique employed at Occupy Movement sites, to subvert regulations that prohibit electric amplification. In this poetic speech, Butler’s call for physicality in protest illuminates and gives example to supplement her theoretical framework established decades earlier:  “It matters/that as bodies/we arrive together in public/As bodies we suffer/we require food/and shelter/and as bodies we require one another/in dependence/and desire/So this is/a politics of the public body” (Butler, Oct. 2011).

Unable to Dream, But of a Return to Dust: Donna Haraway and the Cyborg

            If Butler’s framework supports an individual’s confrontation and dismantling of any subscriptions to traditional identity, Donna Haraway’s essay “A Manifesto for Cyborgs: Science, Technology, and Socialist Feminism in the 1980s,” first published in Socialist Review in 1985, imbues and enlivens the debate of gender construction within a brutal and skeptical irony, as she embeds a cyborg metaphor with an impassioned and critical fear. “The cyborg is a condensed image of both imagination and material reality, the two joined centers structuring any possibility of historical transformation” (p. 191). Due to the merging and collapse of traditional paradigms in Haraway’s cyborg culture—admittedly, her aim is “an argument for pleasure in the confusion of boundaries and for responsibility in their construction” (p. 191)—the cyborg emerges as a vessel for an ultra-modern vision of technological discourse, characterized by its stringent, perhaps ‘performative’ vocationalism. The cyborg supports a culture that blurs distinctions between humans and machines, and between humans and animals (p. 192). Haraway’s construct exists beyond common conceptions of knowledge and understanding: “the cyborg skips the step of original unity, of identification with nature in the Western sense. This is its illegitimate promise that might lead to subversion of its teleology as Star Wars” (p. 192). If mass commodification of individuals has been allowed to progress beyond the centralized, and into mythic and virtual realms of construction through the use of technology, Haraway’s cyborg identity may be at present all-too salient in its depiction of a confusing, hybridized atmosphere of both physical and virtual identities, rooted in Butler’s bodily actualization but accounting more fully for exterior systems of power and ownership.         

            The world, in its technological, industrial, and militant exploitation of individuals, may be described as having continued its rambling evolution of identity construction and deconstruction, since the original publication of Haraway’s essay in 1985. The term ‘monetization’ has become common, as our data—our virtual and digital effects, as it were—has come to represent saleable virtual items, from which the creator receives a sliver of remuneration: the availability of sidebar advertisements, to run alongside our generated feeds and pages, is an important characteristic of our present-day identity. “The machine is us, our processes, an aspect of our embodiment” (p. 222). Further identification and assessment of these trends in economic legitimization of individuals’ virtual and available productions may reinforce and more fully discern the action of “embodiment” that takes place, as one asserts an identity rendered beyond traditional paradigms. 

            As response to this harrowing intellectual climate, Haraway’s playful and dark irony is critical to her theoretical extension of feminist construction of identity; across spirituality, economics, and politics, the cyborg is an outsider and deconstructionist, a conscripted identity (p. 218) that comes as the result of historical traditions of power dynamism. This framework of cyborg identity comes alongside the advent of the technological potential of the individual, and, in its irony draws into question our heralded theoretical unifications: “To be One is to be autonomous, to be powerful, to be God; but to be One is to be an illusion and so to be involved in a dialectic of apocalypse with the other” (p. 219). While the political implications of Haraway’s conceptualization are illustrated as threading twentieth-century literature—she identifies science fiction, and the world of Samuel Delany and Octavia Butler as prime examples (p. 220)—the “dialectic of apocalypse” looms large, as the cyborg’s enrapturing and ironic characteristic, in which the true value of “the necessity of limitation, partiality, and intimacy even in this world of protean transformation and connection” (p. 221) becomes a new critical focus. Cyborgs function in ways that compound and redefine their purpose: they may be productive, performative, or otherwise mechanical.

            The dynamics of power identified as critical to Butler’s (1990) conceptualization may be, to Haraway (1985), only part of a larger matrix within which only an characteristic irony and skepticism may be useful: “Human beings, like any other component or subsystem, must be localized in a system architecture whose basic modes of operation are probabilistic, statistical. No objects, spaces or bodies are sacred in themselves” (p. 205). While Butler’s legitimization of identity through bodily universality seeks to acknowledge our physical commonality (“and as bodies/we require one another,” Butler told the crowd gathered in Washington Park, New York City, in October 2011), Haraway’s cyborg beings are sentient and secular, themselves the result of a merging of Western dualism and traditional paradigms. “The cyborg is a creature in a postgender world […] resolutely committed to partiality, irony, intimacy, and perversity” (p. 192): through these aspects, a cyborg may respond with a new grace and transcendence, to the grim realities of present-day injustice and conflict.

            Haraway predicts technology will either lead society to “the final imposition of a grid of control on the planet, about the final abstraction embodied in a Star Wars apocalypse waged in the name of defense, about the final appropriation of women’s bodies in a masculinist orgy of war” (p. 196), or else help foster a world that deals with “lived social and bodily realities in which people are not afraid of their joint kinship with animals and machines, not afraid of permanently partial identities and contradictory standpoints.” In only one scenario does Haraway’s role for the individual remain active and productive, as an intentional and formative act; the subjectification and submission to a larger and imposed “grid of control” might suggest a similar codification and access to knowledge to the tasks Google performs daily. While Haraway saw her metaphor, and its “rearrangements of race, sex, and class rooted in high-tech-facilitated social relations” (p. 207), as useful to progressive politics and the extension of socialist feminism, the efficacy of the cyborg is critical and useful to an understanding of present-day identity construction.

Conclusion

            While dimensions of gender and feminism may have been both authors’ established paradigm of social critique, more than the differences between the sexes has been subject to the shift Haraway described in the construction of identity: from “representation” to “simulation” (p. 203-204), from “sex” to “genetic engineering,” from “mind” to “artificial intelligence.” However performative one’s identity construction may be, these shifts represent the contention of intellectual paradigms, and the collapse of one or all may render any performative nature as vastly reconceptualized. Thus, communication is critical to both Butler and Haraway: while “cyborg writing is about the power to survive not on the basis of original innocence, but on the basis of seizing the tools to mark the world that marked them as other” (p. 217), the tools are themselves may only be accessories to the performative choices made within an individual.

            Butler’s performative, constructive, “site” of identity is essential to modern interpretation of Donna Haraway’s “A Manifesto for Cyborgs”; though Haraway preceded Butler’s essay establishing performative identity by five years, the centrality of the body—both the physical and the virtual—may accompany Haraway’s inventive reconceptualization. Butler and Haraway may share a common vision, of new use for postmodern rhetoric as a way to provide meaningful interpretations of their, and our, lives: the two may share as well a fear of the vacancy that follows the death of traditional textuality and rhetoric itself, within a climate of vicious capitalism and a rise in omniscient, omni-present technology.
 References

Butler, J. (19 Feb. 2011). Your Behavior Creates Your Gender [video transcript]. J. Fowler, Dir. Big Think. Retrieved from http://bigthink.com/ideas/30766

Butler, J. (23 Oct. 2011). “Composite Remarks- Washington Square Park, October 23, 2011, via human microphone.” OccupyWriters.com archive. Retrieved from http://occupywriters.com/works/by-judith-butler

Butler, J. (1994). “Contingent Foundations:  Feminism and the Question of ‘Postmodernism.’”  In The Postmodern Turn, ed. S. Seidman. p. 153-170.

Haraway, D. (1990). “A Manifesto for Cyborgs: Science, Technology, & Socialist Feminism in the 1980s.” In Feminism/Postmodernism, ed. L. Nicholson. New York: Routledge. Retrieved from http://blogs.vassar.edu/confronting-modernity/files/2011/02/donna-haraway-a-manifesto-for-cyborgs.pdf

 triirity. (2012). “WomanCyborg.” TurboSquid. Retrieved from www.turbosquid.com/3d-models/3d-xray-cyborg-woman-model/361554

 

They Might Be Giants Storm Boston in Autumn (10/1/11)

“No people. Fragments and echoes of real people, original and unbroken. The performance was like a dialect, a branch of its original language, an abridgement of it, but not a distortion or even a reduction of its epic scale.” – Derek Walcott’s Nobel Lecture, 1992

I drove through the rain and mist of full autumn, north from Boston, across the White Mountains and into the heart of the Greens. The fireworks that are the changing leaves were muted by the clouds that dropped low on an early Sunday afternoon; my engine growled through its gears as we crested the growing hills, leaving behind the busy city. The solid strum of the acoustic in the Kinks’ “Death of A Clown” radiated against the dull rhythm of the windshield wipers. The city and the night behind me had contained over four hours of performance by They Might Be Giants—John Linnell, John Flansburgh, drummer Marty Beller, bassist Dan Weinkauf, and guitarist Dan Miller—at Berklee Performing Arts Center in downtown Boston, so no matter my drowsiness, my ears were prepared for anything: inside the beats of the windshield wipers, the strum of the Kinks’ guitar, and the gentle colors of transition that drape the mountains in fall, I heard a new music, one I had been made ready for.

At 6:30 on Saturday night, the line to enter the theater nearly circled the theater, weaving along the wet sidewalks of autumn in Boston, where every night is College Night, and the maze of streets, circles, bridges is still a complex modern pleasure: a place where one can still get lost or turned-around. We—Berklee students, couples young and yuppie, hipsters and the moderately-freakily-clad—stood around in faint rain and wondered about the proposed 7 PM showtime. The problem was confusion in the entryway, and what seemed to be futile attempts by a man in a suit to sort people based on their ticket type; one might expect a more efficient system in place at a school that’s focused on the liberal arts (no problems in the second, apparently-not-sold-out show)!

The band has been following an exhaustive schedule in support of their new album since June, one that has included much media interaction, interviews in magazines and television, YouTube postings and Facebook updates, and, on the day before this night of double shows in Boston, a big NPR interview during the day and a show at Philadelphia’s TLA that night.  Since June they had played three free concerts (Boston, Brooklyn, and the tour kickoff in Toronto), two nights in London, and a tear through the northeast and Midwest (from the Stone Pony in New Jersey, north through New England, across New York state to Rochester, before Ohio, Chicago, as far south and west as Tulsa and Nashville, before coming north again). The tour started two days before the release of Join Us, their first adult release since 2007: it became available as a download one day prior to its release as a CD and vinyl record. If one uses first-week sales as any indication of success, this album is the avant-garde pair of Johns’ most successful recording to date: it showed up on the Billboard charts at #32, selling 13,000 units (Trust, 2011).

According to band lore compiled at They Might Be A Wiki, at least eight of the songs on Join Us have been around for a few years. The spit-shine of the Giants’ recording studio may have taken a while, but they act like seasoned professionals at rolling out new forms of media: the release of music videos (including one featuring Rip Torn) on YouTube has included a full studio performance of one of the new album’s most complex works, “Cloisonné.” So the tour kicked off, in summer sweat, and rolled on through to the autumn’s leaves, and October first: there had been only two nights without shows between September 8th and this night at Berklee, though one show a few days prior was cancelled due to illness among a band member’s family. The band emerged from behind the tall black curtains that flank the narrow stage of Berklee’s grand hall, and were not weary, but startling, startled themselves by the epic narrative of music promotion and production that had consumed their days, since June.

The artistic vision of John Linnell and John Flansburgh is built of these echoes, in constant exploration of the limits of a given form—an exhaustive tour schedule is one example. The first show opened with a dramatic vocal mosh of the drawn-out words “The Alphabet of Nations,” and into the kickoff number. The sound system was thunderous in the best way possible, making distinct Marty’s kick drum from all of Dan Weinkauf’s intricacies: the first show was fully his moment, in a way I don’t think I’ve ever seen. The drum kit was on a platform on stage left; everyone in the band could see Marty as he grinned and filled, kicking off many tunes. After “Alphabet,” a startled Flansburgh said hello to the audience and immediately confessed that his beloved green Strat “hit the deck” just moments before the show (“I’m surprised you didn’t hear it,” added Linnell); apparently, it was unusable, which was a shame, because he had certainly grown accustomed to its nuance and abilities, achieving all sorts of wild screaming and odd sounds through facing his tweed amps and letting the feedback rip. He sported a weird a bigger red guitar, with massive white pickups; it never seemed loud enough. For the second show, Flans switched to a beautiful red hollow body guitar, which he seemed to enjoy much more.

The procession of TMBG’s catalog was not presented alphabetically across the two shows, and in fact the band took the dual-show task at hand to present a similar experience to both audiences. Crowdpleasers including “Istanbul (Not Constantinople)” and “Dr Worm” appeared twice, as did what Flans called “They Might Be Giants’ National Anthem,” the get-to-your-feet-and-flood-the-aisles number, “Clap Your Hands.” The first show held seven songs from Join Us; the second show only a few.  The first show proceeded well through “Celebration,” during which Dan Miller and Dan Weinkauf joked with each other about singing the background vocal parts; “Ana Ng” included some surprising piano riffs from Linnell; Dan Miller removed his earpiece to better hear the band during his first careful and expressive solo—a night of good spirits and smiles. The most fragmentary of songs, “Fingertips,” appeared early in the first show: by the “darkened corridors” segment, one could tell Marty Beller’s drum set was getting a full thrash-rock beating; I suspect the band was able to hear themselves and each other’s playing with an uncommon and heightened accuracy, which led to new platforms of individual musicianship. Flansburgh bantered with the audience, made a joke about Berklee’s reputation to maintain a vibrant environment of music education and production but to produce few actual graduates, and described the performance hall as “brutalist… modernist,” so beautiful and acoustically perfect that “it doesn’t even need us.” The song “Drink” was the night’s first singalong, before they played two cuts from their 2009 CD/DVD release “Venue Songs,” including their tribute to Asbury Park’s famous club, The Stone Pony. This jazzy riff was Dan Weinkauf’s spotlight, running through scales smoothly as the Johns shouted their percussive tale of a spilled beer, and Marty beat up on the skins and cymbals. If this was good, Weinkauf’s bass slides in the building final choruses of “The Mesopotamians” were amazing. A pair of songs from their latest release—“When Will You Die” and “Cloisonné”—came before the introduction of longtime Giants friend and Connecticut trumpeter Curt Ramm. The Avatars of They, the sock puppets that appear in giant size via video camera and projector screen, were laughably joined by the small paper face of Meg Ryan, cut out of a magazine. After much banter about corporate sponsorship, including a full improvised jingle for “Epic Fail Baloney Sandwiches,” the Avatars introduced the next song as being from the new album. But, Curt Ramm and the band may have pulled a fast one on Linnell and Flansburgh, who hid behind the kick drum upon which the  video camera was mounted: instead of “Spoiler Alert,” the usual song performed by the Avatars, Ramm and the band began the playful melody of “In the Middle,” a song from their first kids’ album. Ever onward; they made no mention of the flub. The song was given full Muppet-like treatment; perhaps it was meant for the second show (where again, the sock puppets sang only “Spoiler Alert”).

In the first show, as the crowd filed down and filled the area in front of the stage, Flans announced a dance contest, with prizes: four selections of vinyl, including George Benson’s “The Other Side of Abbey Road,” a Ted Nugent album, a signed copy of the Giants’ new release, and the one that grabbed Flans’ attention most, a duet between Barbra Streisand and Donna Summer—hometown proud. The first show wore on, and Flans finished his onstage coffee in time for the first of two battles between the Apes and the People. Using a high-powered handheld spotlight, Flans shined a light down the theater and divided the crowd; fists were thrown in the air as two bands dueled onstage. In the first show, the people won; in the second, an unprecedented victory by the Apes was led by Flans, Linnell on accordion, and Ramm, wailing away on his silver horn. The battles were ever atonal and spastic; Dan Miller seemed to be developing a routine on the toms that complemented a driving, complex beat from Marty. Through three encores in the first show, They Might Be Giants sought the big grand sound that comes after months of practice, before an audience: “Careful What You Pack” is more of a likeable song than ever; “The Guitar” gave all aspiring and electrified undergraduate noodlers a pop-inflected melody to strive for; by the time the band emerged to monstrous adoration and applause, to play “Damn Good Times,” a b-side that has a loveable tone at the right time in the right venue. The music between shows was the hiss and rumble of the busy Boston streets on a Saturday night: of distant sirens, the squeal of buses’ air brakes, the chatter and laughter of a birthday party at a nearby bar. The rain was as light as ever—nearly mist—as the crowd streamed from the theater, only for a new crowd to organize and file in. It was a Tom Jones number that played just before the Giants emerged once more: Flans had changed his shirt, from a white jacket and dress shirt to a simply-patterned short sleeve dress shirt.

Beginning the last show in a marathon leg of a long tour, they spaced out on the initial chord of “She’s An Angel”; Flansburgh joked later that the crowd was likely thinking, ‘how long are they going to be playing? I have to take the T home…’ When someone else called out in protest, asking for the longest show possible, Flans joked: “OK, by request: blues in G.” Linnell added, laughing: “Slow blues in G.” Show two began with some excellent and deep cuts, among them “Subliminal,” “We Live in a Dump,” “XTC vs. Adam Ant,” and, from The Else, a song I never thought I’d see revived in concert again, “Upside Down Frown.” The complex beat was a feature of their show in 2009; now, this number came before an even-more-uptempo segment, from Flans’ silly little love song “Take Out the Trash” to “Particle Man” and “Your Racist Friend.” Dan Miller was especially keen on these early cuts; who knew the band’s fifth album, in 1994, was so worthy of revival? Later, the set brought back “S-E-X-X-Y,” “Spy,” and even the psychologically-revealing Linnell tunes “Snail Shell” and “No One Knows My Plan,” as well as the fantastically-tripleted “Withered Hope,” a second stellar cut from The Else. Flans made new use of the kick drum that had served in both shows as the tripod for the Avatars’ video camera during “Whistling In the Dark,” and Linnell seemed to get his kicks  singing “Turn Around,” his old fun song about a human skull on the ground. There were only two encores to the second show, and that was aplenty, especially as the first was built of two repeats from show one (“Doctor Worm” and “Istanbul (Not Constantinople),” the latter of which featured Curt Ramm on trumpet as introduction). The second encore began with a song from their very first album, one whose melody and beat still define their sound: “Nothing’s Gonna Change My Clothes,” which ended with Linnell and Flans taking turns conducting the band, cueing each instrument with hand motions and robotic swings of their arms. The whole night concluded with this erratic, atonal spontaneity: They Might Be Giants orchestrating themselves and each other, echoing in fragments through the richly acoustic hall on a rainy Saturday night. We the experienced filed out of the theater and onto the wet streets of Boston, to wait out last call in a bar and revel in the consistency of our narratives—that we may not live a life as fragmented or as disembodied as three months’ of near-solid touring, and to ponder what we’ve been through, from battles between humans and apes to watching the weird, live melodrama of instrumental interaction.

Trust, Gary and Caulfield, Keith. 28 July 2011. Billboard Hot 100. Retrieved from http://www.billboard.biz/bbbiz/industry/record-labels/band-perry-s-record-setting-slow-hot-100-1005296912.story


  

Tuesday, January 28, 2014

Thank You, Pete Seeger

"THIS MACHINE SURROUNDS HATE & FORCES IT TO SURRENDER"
-- Pete Seeger's banjo head inscription.

What would the music world-- what would the world in sum-- look like, had it not been for Pete Seeger? He ran in folk circles during and after WWII; he used the clout of his recording catalog and his recognition as one of the entertainment industry's first authentic "celebrities," to try and change political, social, and economic structures; he entertained and criticized political leaders and parties, marched as part of the Civil Rights Movement in the 1960s, and in the streets of New York City, in support of the Occupy Movement in October, 2011. Were it not for the popularity of his 1948 instructional book "How to Play the 5-String Banjo," American folk music-- and the power to express one's political and social criticism in song-- may have never come to exist.

Pete Seeger, with one of the many folk artists he mentored. 


Seeger was 17 when he joined the Young Communist League; a few years later, he joined the Communist Party USA. The rhetoric of his songs in the run-up to World War II (lyric: "It would be much of a thrill/to die for DuPont in Brazil") drew the attention of Eleanor Roosevelt, who played his record for her husband, whose only comment was said to be that very few people would ever hear the record anyway. In 1957, Seeger refused to testify before the House Committee on Un-American Activities: "I am not going to answer any questions as to my association, my philosophical or religious beliefs or my political beliefs, or how I voted in any election, or any of these private affairs. I think these are very improper questions for any American to be asked, especially under such compulsion as this." He was found guilty of contempt, and sentenced to ten years in prison-- but the ruling was overturned in 1962. He found a rhetorical partner in Moe Asch, founder of the postwar 'grassroots' label Folkways; at the peak of his production, Seeger recorded five albums a year for release through Folkways.


Because of the rhetorical capabilities of sound recording technology, the legacy of a musician extends far beyond the grave. And, the availability of another's sound recordings has made drawing connections between artists-- who has influenced who, lyrically and musically-- far more difficult than in the ancient days of troubadours, of sheet music, and of vaudeville and stage shows. Almost seventy years after his songs of protest gained the attention of the Roosevelts, Pete Seeger performed alongside Bruce Springsteen at President Obama's inaugural celebration in 2009 (The Boss' 2006 album was a collection of folk numbers performed in Seeger's style; The Seeger Sessions actually contained no songs written by Seeger). A birthday celebration concert in 2011 in New York City; a number of tribute albums released; the whole of Asch's Folkways catalog  carefully archived and re-released through Smithsonian Folkways recordings: Pete Seeger lived long enough to see his first critics dissipate and new critics rise, lived long enough to see the development of the rhetorical public sphere (from radio to television to the jumble of media feeds we have today). Unlike so many his age, Seeger was an active user of Twitter (@Peter_Seeger)-- for not only the promotion of his music, but of his political views, constructive criticism, and human, if virtual, connection. On December 17, he posted: "I'm convinced that it's impossible to have education without controversy. People who think that's false will find themselves trapped."


Seeger and friends in New York City, October 2011.

On the eve of the first non-white American President's third-to-last State of the Union address, the passing of Pete Seeger should serve as a challenge to citizens: to always stand up for what you know to be right, and to not hesitate to share one's gifts with one another. Pete Seeger lived a rich and full life, long enough to have not only helped define an important genre of American music, but to have participated in our new networks of communication and media. "I have sung in hobo jungles," Seeger's Twitter profile states, "and I have sung for the Rockefellers, and I am proud that I have never refused to sing for anybody."

Saturday, January 25, 2014

A Few Should-Be Winners at the 2014 Grammys



 
The 2014 Grammys will be the usual glitz and glitter, from a corporate industry still fighting piracy, and still obsessed with celebrity: Madonna, it is rumored, will be taught how to twerk live and onstage, by some young pop minion half her age. Paul and Ringo ("peace and love/peace and love!") will needlessly reunite, in celebration of their arrival in the states fifty years hence. I don't necessarily keep current with the constant stream of Billboard's Top 10 hits (weekly, I'll give such FM stations a few hours' shot). I might be neglecting something great that's nominated, and that I haven't heard, so I'll refrain here from bestowing any Grammys, or making any comparative declarations-- but the few items I mention are worthy of recognition, if not tomorrow night, at least here.

 

The first is Daft Punk's Random Access Memories. A spectacular disco-driven affair driven and orchestrated by the French duo Guy-Manuel Homem-Christo and Thomas Bangalter, the jams get kicked out in tracelike fashion, combing choppy electronics with smooth, melodic and appropriate vocoder vocals, glistening above and around a fascinatingly sparse mix. The angular jams may be too long for some-- but not many these days, as the opus fits neatly into the biggest modern pop niches, namely electronic/dance, and three-chord rock. Either crowd can its get its groove on to what is, in physical format, four sides of vinyl (which was one of the biggest hits the limited-release vinyl market has seen in decades). When I was in college, our standby party soundtrack was the Beastie Boys' instrumental In Sound From Way Out, which had not yet been officially released in the states, and rivaled in funk anything any of us had ever heard; if I were beginning my undergraduate adventure today, this Daft Punk album would likely be my go-to, all-purpose jam, the one I'd be running around the dorm, turning people on to.


The other is the song "Royals," written by Joel Little and Lorde (Ella Yelich O'Connor), and made popular by the young Auckland singer/songwriter's simple, almost-acoustic version. Previously, Alanis Morrisette's "You Oughta Know" held the record, for the longest run at the top of the Billboard Alternative chart by a woman; Lorde's melody of economic struggle now holds that honor. The chorus contains a call-and-response repetition of the word "royals" that, every time I hear it, reminds me of 'The People's Mic,' as used in Zucotti Park, and elsewhere. "We'll never be royals [...] And everyone who knows us knows that we're fine with this, we didn't come from money." This song is not only beautifully simple, but important: as economic collapse and repeated government stalemate drives public figures-- from Pope Francis to world leaders to the American mass media punditry-- to discuss how it may be in businesses' best interests, to not simply seek the accumulation and hoarding of profits (as many allege that ASCAP and other music industry titans still do).  

Friday, January 17, 2014

Greed Is Good v3.0: The Wolf of Wall Street

It took David Chase four-- debatably, five-- seasons of The Sopranos, to drag us along through the tragic decline that was Christopher Moltisanti's battle with heroin addiction. In season two, a stock market "pump and dump" scheme becomes the family's latest enterprise, and Moltisanti takes the lead-- though his substance use, and perhaps his mental capacity, keeps him from understanding exactly what's taking place in the office he leads. Later in season two, Moltisanti hits "rock bottom," having his car stolen while he's trying to score heroin; by the season's close, the office is empty, the Webistics scheme having run its course.
Christopher Moltisanti, stockbroker.

There is no "rock bottom" for the character of Jordan Belfort, in Martin Scorcese's The Wolf of Wall Street, in terms of substance use, but also in terms of what he'll do for the benefit of his own hide. The film is gloriously excessive, so graphic and repugnant as to make the oft-referenced opening scenes of Kubrick's A Clockwork Orange look tame, the stuff of comic book fantasy. DiCaprio as Belfort has created one of the greatest villains in the history of American cinema.

Move over, Alex-- there's a new ultra-violence to be had.
The gluttonous tale is told in just under three hours, and Scorcese does well in making every minute count. A keen structural choice-- telling Belfort's arrival and early days in retrospect-- allows for storytelling at lower stakes; the second half of the film accelerates as Belfort's greed, reckless abandon, and obsession with Quaaludes and cocaine lead him to savage just about everything in his life: his boat, his marriages, his relationship with his children, his home, his partnerships. From his first day on the job, it is obvious that Belfort is smitten with the challenge of cold-calling the unsuspecting, and with the illegal deals made by other traders. Scorcese's storytelling is especially well-done during these early chapters; the second half takes the viewer on a frenzied first-person ride, as Belfort loses his grip. An especially great scene is Belfort's first day on the job, at a "pink sheet" stock brokerage firm located in a strip mall on Long Island-- where Belfort shows off his ability to sell anything (or, as he puts it, "selling garbage to garbagemen").
But The Wolf of Wall Street is not merely a morality play; neither good nor evil triumphs. The repercussions of Belfort's egoism are ever-limited, by his excessive (and ill-gotten) wealth. He is uninjured when he, nearly in a stupor, crashes his helicopter; he is unfazed as he, his wife, and guests are rescued from their yacht in a storm at sea; he endangers the life of his daughter late one night by putting her in his car and promptly backing into a wall at his estate, only to suffer a dirty look from their live-in maid; his prison sentence is represented by a brief shot of Belfort on a tennis court. Christopher Moltisanti had to answer to the family patriarch, Tony, and Alex in A Clockwork Orange was forced to atone for his sins through participation in a government program, that sought to fix people like him. But Belfort answers to no one.

To call the film 'Fear and Loathing on Wall Street' would be appropriate, except that Hunter S. Thompson's original mission had nothing to do with an unquenchable lust for inordinate wealth, but rather the opposite. Not even Dr. Thompson could, or would, have destroyed an entire floor of a Las Vegas hotel, as Belfort and company do during his bachelor party weekend, prior to his marriage to his second wife (the weekend cost $2 million). The Wolf of Wall Street does have DiCaprio raising his arms like Rupert Pupkin before an audience of his phone-calling minions, screaming, beating his chest with primal rage-- a few times, I wonder if DiCaprio has started copying facial expressions from Jack Nicholson. Belfort cheers on the daily screwing of the public, via telephone: the world he rapes financially is far from his existence, in and around bullish downtown Manhattan. Belfort's substance use is constant, as he rages on, with the pulse of the brokerage firm constantly thundering in his veins. His original team of brokers consists of the kind of creeps (all but one were drug dealers) that need constant reminding, about not selling heroin along garbage truck routes.
The only magic or mystery to Jordan Belfort, beyond the charm of his (fading) boyish looks, comes in wondering how deeply his selfish streak actually runs: he admits to sleeping with many, many prostitutes; he attempts to bribe an FBI agent; he tries to make out with his second wife's distinguished British aunt; he tries to circumvent his promise of cooperation with the FBI; his drug excesses (especially his fawning over Lemmons, a rare Quaalude no longer produced) are embarrassing; he risks the lives of just about everyone in the film, and no one else comes close to losing control in such a way. No one helps him out, either.


Sorry, Charlie-- DiCaprio's Jordan Belfort
has you beat, many times over. #winning
Before The Wolf of Wall Street, Oliver Stone's Wall Street films may have been some of the best attempts at depicting an obscure and little-known world: of stock brokerages and high-level swindling. Unlike Oliver Stone's Wall Street films, however, the only moral voice in The Wolf of Wall Street is Belfort's first wife, who asks why, if the stock is bad anyway, would you sell it to poor people? Stone's first film used the narrative engine of a father-son relationship, played by Martin and Charlie Sheen, to great effect. Michael Douglas' character of Gordon Gekko would, had he appeared in the film, appeared far more rational, level-headed, and realistic than Belfort or his cronies: an elder stateman from the school of "greed is good," but lacking the tenacity necessary to serve as Belfort's security guard.

Jordan Belfort makes Gordon Gekko
look like he belongs on a Florida golf
course, and nowhere else.
Jordan Belfort is not a character who experiences development or growth, in The Wolf of Wall Street; rather, his life spirals, in a swirl of greed and intoxication. Like Stone's first Wall Street film, Jordan Belfort does consult, and eventually hire, his father, "Mad Max," to serve as a security guard at their brokerage. But as Max questions outrageous bills from a prostitution ring, and expresses his disbelief, he stops short of condemning his son's actions. Not long into the film, Belfort's divorce from his first wife seems inevitable, but happens only after Belfort is caught in the back of a limo, doing cocaine from the breasts of the woman who would become his second wife. The way Belfort seeks to monopolize on his relationships reminded me most of Bob Fosse's film All That Jazz, except that Belfort (unlike Joe Gideon) is totally ethically reprehensible, void of aesthetic or artistic interest or talent, and a total sociopath, moving without abandon, from one cheap thrill to the next. 

B.J. Novak's character of Ryan Howard, from the U.S.
version of The Office, is a rare breed, in that he's much like Jordan
Belfort--if not for having pulled off a meteoric rise to corporate power
and wealth, but for his tenacity and lack of humility, after his fall.


Belfort is a real person, now said to be living in Australia, following a three-year jail sentence for securities and wire fraud; he is at the center of a controversy regarding whether or not he has, or will, stand to make money directly from the release of Scorcese's film. Not having read Belfort's book, the portrait of him in the film is so far from likable that I'm hesitant to spend any money on anything he may profit from. There are no moments in the film in which Belfort displays real skill: he is not especially good with numbers, and the moments in which his over-the-phone salesmanship of junk stock are actually few and far between. He has no skill, only sensation. He has no leadership qualities-- unless you call leadership offering a woman in the office $10,000 to have her head shaved, on a Friday afternoon, to rally the troops and begin the party. Real-life Jordan Belfort's web site peddles his skills, as a motivational speaker and investment consultant, claiming:

"While “Wolf” has its fair share of Hollywood-style exaggeration for entertainment’s sake, one thing is absolutely take-to-the-bank factual: I really ‘did’ crack the code on how to persuade anyone to do anything…and how to teach anyone, regardless of your age, education, or skill level, to be a master sales person, closer, negotiator, online entrepreneur, or speaker in as little as two weeks flat."


 
So what, then, is Scorcese's point, in making The Wolf of Wall Street? Unlike his other films, there is little religious imagery or any journey to faith, no acts of redemption or introspection. If The King of Comedy (1980) can be summed from the scene of Jerry Langford (Lewis) strapped to a chair, held hostage by a strange and seductive Sandra Bernhard-- from which we are to derive a message about our celebrity culture-- The Wolf of Wall Street sees Belfort finally tethered, restrained for the first time in hours, on an airplane, after causing a dangerous commotion (and, calling the pilot "the n-word," according to Benny, Belfort's best friend and himself a total creep). This film is probably meant to unite us, through providing a gross display of a stock broker's total lack of morality: no matter how lavish the "capitalist" party becomes in New York's financial district, it is still not an event any of us would like to be invited to. Wealth corrupts, power corrupts, and Belfort would be an immoral slimeball anyway. If this film to demolish the mysteries of the Wall Street investor class, whose lives and inglorious wealth may be having more of an impact on middle- and lower-class mobility than anybody wants to (or can afford to) admit, The Wolf of Wall Street is timely, its excesses successful. Are we--those not in the highest income brackets-- to recognize Belfort as being one of many, who profiteer all day long, in the intangible business of securities and exchange? A portrait of a 21st century snake oil salesman, the entrepreneur who will 'stop at nothing,' The Wolf of Wall Street is a remarkable and sickening film, giving new understanding to what it means to be "evil" on-screen in the United States. 

Occupy Wall Street protest, Sept. 30, 2011. Investment
bankers threw themselves a champagne reception on
the terrace following the closing bell, to taunt protestors.