Why Lefebure ought to have listened to Mozart more.

Why Lefebure ought to have listened to Mozart more.

Whilst reading Henri Lefebure I couldn’t help but ponder about composers; it might as usual seem a little tenuous but indulge me. Mozart is one of the most famous composers ever, he used a specific number of notes in a specific way to convey a point, or emotion, mood or attitude – he had an idea and executed it in an way which could be appreciated, understood and learnt from. I find it poor on the other hand that so many ‘theorists’ seem to use words in a way so far removed from that of a composer and his notes; rather than formulating words in such a way so as to create an accessible body of work there seems to be too often the tendency to simply fit as many words into a sentence and therefore confuse any point that they may have been trying to make. I am starting to wonder whether certain theorists actually have a point? Or are they simply playing word bingo with the person using the most words winning. I am glad Lefebure was not a composer.

I do actually believe that Lefebure is trying to make a point; I may be grossly mistaken... It is just a little convoluted. Much of his work I think is simply trying to define language and how specific terminology ought to be applied; for example the term ‘production’. Production is the action of producing something – it does not solely relate to a physical object but is most often used to describe one; production therefore produces products. A product is the result of a process but critically this process is termed production; as long as the same rules are followed the end result or product will essentially be the same regardless of who follows this process. This I feel distinguishes a product from a work; with a work a process may be followed but it allows for individual interpretation. If one compares the water lily paintings of Manet and Monet they are both in an impressionist style, they share a similar location, subject matter, epoch but critically are different to each other. Their work is not a product as with a product there is no variation on end result - these paintings are ‘works’. Monet for example painted many water lily scenes and they are all different because of the ‘individual effect’ . For the record replicas of these works are products and also I consider Duchamp’s toilet to be a work because he signed it; generally though urinals are simply products.

It is however still difficult to categorically state whether a city is a work or a product. I think that within a city there may identifiable ‘bodies of work’ and people who are producing ‘works’ but is it possible to carte blanche state whether a city is simply a product or a work; should each city be viewed independently; should these terms be used in isolation? Furthermore should my attitude towards Nomadic cities, shanty towns or developed cities be different? If I follow through my earlier logic that if a process is followed in specific conditions the end result will not vary then a city cannot be a process; no city has identical development, they are all subjected to the ‘individual effect’; a city is therefore a work. There will be elements within that city that are products, things that may be mass produced, that follow a pre-determined route to reach a specific end goal but ultimately if one considers the city to be the layout, the people, the history, the identity of a place then it surely cannot be seen as anything other than a work. I do concur that space within a city can be produced; that the buildings of one city can be built in another location and that the workforce who are creating a city must see their own involvement as being simply a part of a process. Despite this fact that the workforce actions are more closely linked to creating a product the original vision, masterplan, building, road even have all evolved in a specific way and therefore are no different to Manet and Monet and their paintings of water lilies.

I have started to realise that when considering theory it is a bit like trying to pick wool away from Velcro – everything is interconnected and never cleanly removed and should not be viewed in isolation. Production, products and works are influenced by the individual, the workers, the market, the society, and therefore also by geographic, political, historic and natural events. Maybe this is why so many words are used.

Uncomfortable Armchair Reading - Allen Ginsberg - 'Howl'

I have realised that whatever I write in these blogs is influenced by what is going on around me at that precise moment, but interestingly I seem to create an atmosphere which assists me with my thought processes. Having re-read Allen Ginsberg’s ‘Howl’ I have just started to play Duke Ellington’s take on the Nutcracker suite; there is a link. Poetry is too often thought of as rhyming couplet love sonnets whilst jazz musicians are not expected to play classical ballet scores. Ginsberg’s poem is definitely in the ‘classical’ jazz genre, for me it is a thought provoking piece about modern day life – a non rhyming gritty flash imagery comment about life. It is poetry that should be spoken out loud and not the variety to be sent on perfumed parchment. For me the central theme of Ginsberg’s poem is the disillusionment with modern day life; though the poem was dedicated, it is not about one specific ‘hero’ but rather the many variations of people who are not at ease with life. Initially I thought that the poem was about the many people who are shunned because of their actions; people who for many reasons do not quite fit the mould. However, it is also about the people who have tried to fit the mould. For me it is ultimately a poem about the suffering of man; it is about suicide and life and despair and hope. It is gritty and at times uncomfortable reading.

I think that I ought to expand this thought as this poem creates a persona, or memorial for the crazies who have jumped off the Brooklyn bridge; in a strange way it honours these fallen soldiers for whom life has caused such despair – it is just a thought but maybe I was initially mistaken and the poem is not about the despair of the tormented souls but rather of the poet, and by extension the reader’s despair as they are unable to help or even truly understand the plight. It is the howl of the bystander, the friend, the relative, the poet as well as all the others who despair. I find it a perversely noble poem.

Following this logic, for me the poem cannot be fixed upon the generation for whom it was written; it is transcendent – I read it today, fifty-five years after it was written and can relate and take meaning from it. I suspect that this poem could be appreciated by past, present and future if they were prepared to open up to it as it is not disposable literature – it is steeped with emotion, it spits out thoughts and images – so many variations of despairing, disillusioned, unhinged, tortured, mad people in a modern day developed world are recounted.

This poem could be set and be written for the society of the 1960s; the generation of naked protest; of wide eyed drug induced hippies and the philosopher tramps preaching from cardboard boxes under railway bridges to invisible audiences – there are wide spread photographs. But I find this attitude problematic as it suggests that this raw despair and disillusionment was somehow unique to the sixties. I am sure that people today despair, as they would have done a thousand years ago. The reasons for, the attitudes towards it and the patterns of behaviour displayed may alter – but I am sure all have and will howl.

Leaving Neverland - Air Guitar - David Hickey

Leaving Neverland

I am listening to Miles Davis, the sun is setting and if I close my eyes for just a moment I am there – in a jazz club – no – in a Vegas jazz club, background noise, bourbon, cigars, ice, handshakes and that inevitable haze. I have never been to Vegas. I have no desire to go - I can close my eyes and be transported to a realm where it is still cool. Where the lights of Vegas twinkle and it is not for Celine Dion or Elton John - for me current Vegas strikes me as nothing more than Barry’s Neverland rather than the road-trip destination of Hunter S Thompson.

I found David Hickey’s prologue about his adopted home town fitting into this perception of Neverland; Vegas struck me as a place reminiscent of childhood where there are no responsibilities and for a brief fleeting moment everything and everybody is equal - in this sense an embodiment of the communist ideal. I can only equate Vegas with Nimbin in Australia, where I have been. Nimbin is a place where sixty year old fairies rather than cowboys pound the streets - it is also a place where again people are on this ‘even keel’ and whatever ‘is hidden elsewhere exists here in quotidian visibility’ - I wouldn’t want to go back to Nimbin.

For me these are places where people no longer have multi-faceted aspirations - they exude carpe diem but do not have any depth. Becoming a cocktail waitress is an aspiration but –is this arrogant of me? – it is not my aspiration but it is a goal; it just strikes me as a little soulless. I can admire both Vegas and Nimbin from a distance as they do not pretend to be anything that they are not - but maybe they are not for me as I would rather listen to Miles Davis than chat over him in that hazy venue.

Again I seem to be courting controversy. I am not writing Vegas off; I would not like to reside in a place where establishment is the driver, but actually is Vegas not really some sort of alternate societal hierarchy? David Hickey mentioned that in Vegas people know the odds but maybe he ought to have mentioned that they also know their place? Granted, at the table everyone is equal, apart from the dealer – he is elevated - but the moment one stands up from that table you will know your place. Again, granted that on the street everyone may seem to be on a more even playing field but are they really? Are all doors held open for the same length of time? Are all people allowed into the high rollers’ room, the room that I believe, is separated from the others? Yes the odds when playing cards are the same for everyone, the money that will be lost or won will be of the same green but I have a niggling feeling that although on the floor everyone is on a par, all individuals will know whether they are staying in the penthouse or not. Vegas is a place where people go to as they can become anything, or anybody, a distorted reality – and though for Wendy, John and Michael Darling they all were eager to fly to Neverland, in the end they all left.

I posted this article on another blog on the 20.10.10 it relates to an earlier blog I had published on the 15.10.10. Thought it would be useful to include it on this site

In retrospect it should be stated that Alain Badiou’s article is an incredibly interesting and thought provoking piece. It considers as previously stated a very specific moment in history, printed in Le Monde, in a week when the then French premier warned that the world was ‘on the edge of the abyss’, the week that an emergency summit of EU leaders in Paris was called to establish collective ways of restoring confidence in a failing, and flailing, financial market. Badiou takes no prisoners with his attitude. It is an article which is possibly short of a closing scene where a flag flies behind the ‘saviours’ of the free world - or maybe one which should be accompanied by a series of Gerald Scarf illustrations . It is nevertheless a challenging article and one which I suspect may be interpreted in a variety of ways; mine is an opinion at this moment in time.

It is possible that it is not an article about a financial crisis at all - the crisis is merely a useful back drop which may be used as a platform to discuss the apathy of modern day life. Badiou writes of the ’rich, their servants, their parasites, those who envy them and those who acclaim them’ but not of the protestors; of the spectators not the fighters. Yes, Badiou does write about the main characters who are involved with the banking crisis but not as worthy protagonists - more like puppets, controlled. There seems to be a covert point to the article about the need for the public to become involved, active with life. The cinema metaphor one could view as an encouragement to leave the auditorium, as watching a film does not require societal participation.

Admittedly whilst reading this article I could not determine whether Badiou was in the audience with us or whether he was observing us from the projector room. As mentioned this article originally appeared in Le Monde, a French newspaper, ‘who serve[s] these governments’. It may be for this reason that the article is never explicit, suggestive and provoking yes but never overtly proactive journalism. Neither does Badiou alienate his audience by suggesting that it is life that needs bailing out, but I think that maybe he implies it.

Jonathon Meades’ article is still, as before, an interview with Zaha Hadid. Like Badiou’s piece it is an article displaying clever journalism and one which may be interpreted in a variety of ways. It was published in ‘Intelligent Life’, a quarterly magazine from ‘The Economist’, and not in an architectural journal. This is possibly critical as it gives Meades a ‘fair’ platform on which to disseminate a character. I suspect no English architectural journal would have published this article. It is also written by an individual who is not an architect and so not blinkered by mystique, but maybe this fact also causes a callousness on the part of the interviewer. In many ways it made me think of a game of chess or, strangely, a pack of lions by a watering hole occasionally yawning and bearing their teeth, leaving the observer to wonder when, or if, they may pounce. Is it an article about superiority, an outsider trying to penetrate a ‘smugly hermetic world’. The hermit, hermetic. Regrettably it is an article which does little to open up architecture for the masses. Hadid’s comment that she is actually an artist seems appropriate when many people today claim to have difficulty responding to art. Therefore does this article also carry a covert message that ‘normal’ people are unable to respond to architecture as it has been removed from the public consciousness by individuals who refuse to speak frankly about their work? An art form with too much of an aura surrounding it, where even those at the centre seem vague about the discipline.

What is theory?

For clarity I am not trying to be confrontational, argumentative, blasé, smug or self righteous. I have just re-read the first six pages of Terry Eagleton’s book, ‘theory is dead’; it is difficult to consider what an author is truly saying when you are only seeing a glimpse of his psyche, but overlooking this fact I will continue. These six pages provoked me, aroused a curiosity - they made me consider theory or more specifically what is theory and where exactly is its place in the modern day world and then whether this has changed over time. The word ‘theory’ is often applied in conjunction with another word, as in driving theory, or the theory of black holes, but there is a real distinction with the application of the word. As a word ‘theory’ may be used in relation to a subject where certainty has not been proven but also one which is about fact. This is not a linguistic article; however, this nullifying of the word maybe a reason as to why there is far more disposable theory out there – it is not actually theory, it is an inappropriate use of the word. People are writing more stuff, which may be accessed by more people but really it is just words, convenience style theory – disposable theory – theory that looks good in a gold embossed font on the front of a book so that people on a train may promote the fact that they are reading a book about theory. It is not theory – it is just ideas; although this distinction appears a little tenuous, for me it is critical.

This then promotes another question - where has the theory gone to? Where are all the theorists? I am not saying that there is no new theory out there but simply that it is now difficult to distinguish the woods from the trees. Social theory relies on society – the modern treadmill where people are both insular and exhibitionist in equal measure and seemingly interested in the trivia and banal is potentially the reason as to why theory is being diluted. Can ‘theory’ about why men wear Chelsea boots actually be a social theory? It seems more like an idea to me, but then I must question within modern day life what could be written about that would quantify as theory? I am not sure – but I am not a theorist. Is modern day theory hemmed in by the fact that for many, life has become more vapid and as such social theory has followed suit? It seems that in making ‘theory’ accessible and contemporary it has become dumbed down; this is not meant to appear as being intellectually snobbish. Often theorists were great social commentators, leaders who taught and enlightened – for the majority of pseudo theorists today this is not the case.