The unholy communion between the art of the matter and the critical mass
“Strictly speaking, writing about music is as illogical as singing about economics”
So said ‘The New Republic’ magazine in 1918.
Almost certainly the inspiration, conscious or otherwise, for Martin Mull’s observation that “Talking about music is like dancing about architecture” in the 1970s, in terms of discouragement neither of the aforementioned can measure up to Frank Zappa’s “Music journalism is people who can’t write, interviewing people who can’t speak, for people who can’t read”.
Well, thanks a lot Frank. But do you know what? I can take it - If only because by-and-large I agree.
Poking fun at those with a tendency to inappropriately and clumsily over analyze, as they totter and teeter on the tightrope of criticism, ever likely to plummet into a pile of still steaming, freshly laid pretentiousness is a clear and present danger.
Times though, have changed. All those quotes originate from times before the phrase “dumbing down” was coined - let alone become an omnipresent feature of our culture with a capital “K” - and a time when "criticize" meant "analyze" and "examine" not "rip to pieces" and "take the piss".
These are anti-art times and anti-popular art times the more so, as those with a vested interest in the packaging and selling of creative (‘scuse me while I publicly vomit in the street) ‘product’ seize more and more of the power and influence over what we are exposed to, with their vested marketing interests in pigeon-holing and keeping separate what they regard as the commercial and non-commercial.
So, pardon me for trying to increase the enjoyment and awareness of Art - just as others have done for me - so shoot me! - I’m not interested in converting anybody – the best thing to do with a zealot is kick ‘em in the doin’s and hoof it – no, all you need is openness and a modicum of self-awareness.
(N.B. not “breeding” or “culture” or “taste”. I recently had the misfortune to be part of an audience in a part of London that when I lived there, I would never have been allowed near. It was populated by (though thankfully, not exclusively) by well-bred, cultured and tastefully up-their-own-arse stiffs. Why they were there I have no idea but it certainly wasn’t for music. To be seen, maybe. Acting like they were extras in some particularly cringe inducing Richard Curtis movie alas, they were not open - they were so closed they couldn’t tell the pearls from the paste, even if they could comfortably afford either. As old Ian put it “They want a bit of Wembley up their Kyber Pass”. Give me Hanley or Wolvo any day...)
Back to Art.
Having established that there may be no purpose in writing about it does not therefore mean that there is no purpose in Art itself. Mr Fripp says music is the wine that fills the cup of silence so maybe the purpose of art is to plug the gap between how we experience our existence, most of the time and how we would wish to, all of the time.
The Reithian objective to “Inform, educate and entertain” would seem then the bare minimum any artist should be aiming to achieve. Communication alone is not enough – the ultimate aim being to ‘connect’. Such a conjoining between giver and receiver can induce a highly personalized heightened sense of insight, intimacy, even comfort. This is empathy in one of its fundamental forms, achieved through acts of sharing and acceptance. Or is that a load of up-my-own arse bollo’ too?
You decide.
Everyone’s a critic these days.