The Substantially Similar Weblog

Johnny Cash’s music video Hurt may well be the saddest music video I’ve ever seen. I’d heard the song several times without realizing quite how sad it is.

Critical theorist and science philosopher/sociologist Bruno Latour· has a fascinating article in Critical Inquiry·, Why has Critique Run Out of Steam? From Matters of Fact to Matters of Concern· (alternate version from Latour’s website·).

I was quite influenced by Latour’s book, Science in Action: How to Follow Scientists and Engineers through Society·. Science in Action is a powerful critique of the concept of scientific truth/consensus as such. When I read Science in Action (towards the end of my undergraduate chemistry degree), it confirmed when I had begun to suspect: the general direction of science and widespread acceptance of scientific truth is largely socially constructed. Latour articulated a persuasive narrative of science that I had felt intuitively but not yet been able to fully develop in words myself.

Now, Latour once again puts his finger on a changed problem: “critique” has become so successful that it has become a tool to destroy truth rather than elucidate it. Latour suggests, like old army generals, we (critical theorists) might still be fighting the last war while our cause goes down in flames. Latour writes about the right wing’s success in muddying the waters with respect to global warming science:

Do you see why I am worried? I myself have spent some time in the past trying to show “the lack of scientific certainty” inherent in the construction of facts. I too made it a “primary issue.” But I did not exactly aim at fooling the public by obscuring the certainty of a closed argumentor did I? After all, I have been accused of just that sin. Still, I’d like to believe that, on the contrary, I intended to emancipate the public from prematurely naturalized objectified facts. Was I foolishly mistaken? Have things changed so fast?
In which case the danger would no longer be coming from an excessive confidence in ideological arguments posturing as matters of factas we have learned to combat so efficiently in the pastbut from an excessive distrust of good matters of fact disguised as bad ideological biases! While we spent years trying to detect the real prejudices hidden behind the appearance of objective statements, do we now have to reveal the real objective and incontrovertible facts hidden behind the illusion of prejudices? And yet entire Ph.D. programs are still running to make sure that good American kids are learning the hard way that facts are made up, that there is no such thing as natural, unmediated, unbiased access to truth, that we are always prisoners of language, that we always speak from a particular standpoint, and so on, while dangerous extremists are using the very same argument of social construction to destroy hard-won evidence that could save our lives. Was I wrong to participate in the invention of this field known as science studies? Is it enough to say that we did not really mean what we said? Why does it burn my tongue to say that global warming is a fact whether you like it or not? Why can’t I simply say that the argument is closed for good?

(too bad blosxom, my weblog software, doesn’t support multiple categories—this should obviously be filed in culture and politics.)

Via Steve: you’ve got to see this advertisement—I feel great. I don’t quite know where it came from or whether it was actually created for real use. If you like that one, check out the Pinata Ad as well.

I expect these links will be making quick rounds of the blogosphere. A Google search on turnpikefilms turns up very little at the moment (only 117 results, most of which are “meta” type content). Let’s check back again in a week.

DJ Danger Mouse’s The Grey Album· is great. Get it while its available, and spread the word.

Also check out the New Yorker· story on the making of the album: The Mouse That Remixed. Also, from EMI stomps Grey Album·:

So why did EMI yesterday demand that the handful of stores that were selling the album destroy it, and send Cease and Desist letters to Danger Mouse?
…
EMI rigidly controls all Beatles sound recordings for Capitol Records. Sony Music/ATV Publishing controls the publishing side. And both are, of course, founding members of Big Music whose avowed purpose in life is to make sure all music ‘products’ are the sole property of its members.

It’s good to see such a salient conflict between copyright and creativity. The more frequently this occurs, the harder it is to ignore the fact that copyright law so frequently works against its original purpose.

The Triplets of Belleville· was the most delightful film I’ve seen in a long time. I give it my “best animated feature” award 2003-2004.

It’s best not to know too much about the story, I think, going into it, so I won’t say anything here. (Why am I even bothering to write about it at all, then? So you’ll go see it!)

My favorite little detail was in the Triplets’ apartment: just for a second or so, a poster for Jacques Tati·’s Les Vacances de Monsieur Hulot· appears. The film pays homage to Tati throughout, and most likely alludes to other French films and directors that were beyond my surface knowledge.

If you want a more detailed description of the film, check out Roger Ebert’s review·. I have to agree with his hesitant characterization of the film as “Marquis de Sade meets Lance Armstrong.”

Ornette Coleman’s 1960 album Tomorrow is the Question had a profound influence on me. I believe I first started to understand Coleman when I was living in Belgium in 1993, and ten years later this album remains an emotional tour de force.

“Tears Inside” gets at that feeling of crushing sorrow which drains away even the energy to cry. The melody is beautiful, hesitant, almost swallows itself. The rhythm section (bass and drums) is sparing, in some parts playing only in the space between Don Cherry’s trumpet lines or Coleman’s sax solo.

I get the feeling of “Tears Inside” in dreams. It stays with me for the rest of the day, eerily unattached to a particular event or even thought.

Unlike Steve, who hated Kill Bill, (and like Ebert, who gave it his top rating), I loved Kill Bill, Volume 1 (see also Kill Bill at IMDB, which curiously already has a listing for Kill Bill, Volume 2).

I’m perhaps influenced by Tarantino’s introduction to Iron Monkey, a film which Tarantino brought to the United States. Tarantino is clearly a disciple of masters like Woo-ping Yuen, and in Kill Bill, he shows he now has achieved a respectable level of mastery.

One of my favorite quotes from Tarantino’s interview in Iron Monkey describes how the kung-fu film can’t be only a comedy, or an action film, or a drama, or a love story: the audience for the kung-fu film demands all these things in one sitting. Tarantino achieves this sort manic roller coaster ride in Kill Bill (okay, well, maybe it’s not much of a love story, but it has everything else).

I’m reminded a bit of modern jazz artists like Wynton Marsalis, whose every note is a tribute to their heritage. Marsalis may not be as “original” as was Charlie Parker or Dizzy Gillespie, but he’s still a lot of fun to listen to, and his technical mastery exceeds that of his musical mentors.

Tarantino may not be “original” in Kill Bill, but I believe originality is highly overrated—and essentially impossible. In fact, the premium on novelty is a modern invention. In the past, artists sought not to do what had never been done, but rather to perfectly imitate their forerunners.

I never understood salsa music until I saw Panimanian legend Ruben Blades at the 9:30 Club. On a Tuesday night, the club was packed past capacity to see Blades and his 15-odd member band, which included at least three separate drum sets and four keyboards. I was glad that I wasn’t responsible for setting up and doing sound checks.

Before hearing Blades, I thought all salsa music was fairly similar. Blades’ band played with such intensity, depth, and complexity that I realized I hadn’t really heard salsa before. He incorporated African and American Jazz rhythmic and melodic structures without losing his grounding in Latin music or falling into a generic “world beat” fusion sound.

Throughout the concert, Blades signed whatever objects were passed him from the front of the crowd, kissed audience members, accepted personal notes to be read later, all the while coordinating extraordinarily tight and complex arrangements and maintaining a formidable yet modest stage presence. When members of the ensemble took solos, he stepped back behind the percussion so as not to steal the show.

Between songs, he imparted wisdom, 80% Spanish 20% English (most of the audience were hispanophone anyway). He mentioned several movies he was in last year and this year, and said that far more important to him were the two law degrees he was about to receive. The most important thing for us to do, he said, was to educate ourselves as much as possible. It’s easy to see why he won 20% of the vote when he ran for President of Panama; the world would be a better place if he had won.

El Padre Antonio was one of many memorable songs; with almost no Spanish knowledge, I’ve attempted a translation below (ongoing at this point).

 El Padre Antonio Xejeira vino de España, buscando nuevas promesas en esta tierra. Llegó a la selva sin la esperanza de ser obispo., y entre el calor en entre los mosquitos habló de Cristo. El padre no funcionaba en el Vaticano, entre papeles y sueños de aire acondicionado; y fue a un pueblito en medio de la nada a dar su sermón, cada semana pa' los que busquen la salvación. El niño Andrés Eloy Pérez tiene diez años. Estudi an la elementaria "Simón Bolivar". Todavia no sabe decir el Credo correctamente; le gusta el río, jugar al fútbol y estar ausente. Le han dado el puesto en la iglesia de monaguillo a ver si la conexión compone al chiquillo; y su familia está muy orgullosa, porque a su vez piensa que con Dios conectando a uno, conecta a diez. Suena la campana: un, dos, tres, del Padre Antonio y su monaguillo Andrés. El padre condena la violencia. Sabe por experiencia que no es la solución. Les habla de amor y de justicia, de Dios va la noticia vibrando en su sermón: Pero suenan las campanas: un, dos, tres del Padre Antonio y su monaguillo Andrés. Al padre lo halló la guerra un domingo de misa, dando la comunión en mangas de camisa. En medio de un padre nuestro estró el matador y sin confesar su culpa le disparó. Antonio cayo, ostia en mano y sin saber por qué Andrés se murió a su lado sin conocer a Pelé; y entre el grito y la sorpresa, agonizando otra vez estaba el Cristo de palo pegado a la pared. Y nunca se supo el criminal quién fue del Padre Antonio y su monaguillo Andrés. Dobaln las campanas: un, dos, tres, del Padre Antonio y su monaguillo Andrés. 

Here is my attempt at translating this song. I don’t really know Spanish, so I would appreciate suggestions:

 Father Antonio Xejeira came from Spain, seeking out new promises in this land. He arrived in the forest with no desire to become a bishop, and surrounded by heat and mosquitoes he spoke of Christ. Father did not work in the air conditioned Vatican surrounded by documents, and he went to a tiny shack in the middle of nowhere to give his sermon every week for those searching for salvation. Andrés Eloy Perez is a ten years old boy, he attends "Simón Bolivar" elementary school. Todavia does not know how to say the Lord's prayer properly, he likes the river, playing soccer, and skipping school. They have made him the church choir-boy to see if the kid will connect; and his family is proud, because they think that when God connects with one, He connects with ten. The bell rings: one, two, three, for Father Antonio and his choir-boy Andrés. The Father condemns violence, He knows from experience that is not the solution. He tells them of justice and love, of God, the news resonates in his sermon: But the bells ring: one, two, three, of Father Antonio and his choir-boy Andrés. War came to the Father during Sunday mass, while giving communion in shirt sleeves. in the middle of an "our father" a matador shot him without confessing his sins. Antonio cried, a hole in his hand without knowing for what Andrés died on his side without knowing Pelé; and between the cries and the surprise, in agony again he was the Christ on the Cross. And the criminal himself never knew who was Antonio Father and his choir-boy Andrés. Ring the bells: one, two, three, for Father Antonio and his choir-boy Andrés. 

I really loved this rant by Dave Eggers about criticism. He rages against the whole “selling out” idea. I used to worry about artists selling out. Now I’m with Eggers:

Oh how gloriously comforting, to be able to write someone off.
…
One less thing to think about. Now, how to kill off the rest of our heroes, to better make room for new ones?
…
The only thing worse than this sort of activity is when people, students and teachers alike, run around college campuses calling each other racists and anti-Semites. It’s born of boredom, lassitude. Too cowardly to address problems of substance where such problems actually are, we claw at those close to us. We point to our neighbor, in the khakis and sweater, and cry foul. It’s ridiculous. We find enemies among our peers because we know them better, and their proximity and familiarity means we don’t have to get off the couch to dismantle them.

Update: Steve wrote a counter-rant against Eggers’ rant. I think he (Steve) is wrong, but it really depends on what you think Eggers meant. (I’ll leave the substance of the disagreement ambiguous for the moment).

Apparently, Madonna is flooding Kazaa with spoof files of her song, containing an audio clip of her voice: “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”.

It will be interesting (and instructive) to see if this increases sales. Apparently, some people are using the audio clip as their system error sound. Other people hacked Madonna’s website and put up links to “free” downloads of the very music she’s trying to protect with her spoofing!

The trademark blog speculates as to whether this could constitute “self-tarnishment” of a mark, and what, exactly, that would mean.