#522 – Roll Over Ranke and Tell Hofstadter the News

January 4th, 2012

more on no more plan b and the future of history.

Tenured Radical (Claire Potter) has a typically incisive blog post about the recent “No More Plan B” brouhaha (upcoming panel this Friday at the AHA in Chicago). Calling Grafton a rock star, hers is a synthesis of his call to restructure the values of advanced historical training and Jesse Lemisch’s retort that what we need are jobs, jobs, jobs in education.

Of course, as TR points out, we need both:

Although I think that Lemisch would agree with me on the point I make above, the implications of his argument are that expanded employment (which would enact other kinds of social justice agendas, not the least of which would be expanded opportunities for education) would be enough. I disagree: it is not enough, and this is why Anthony Grafton is a rock star. Arguing that we stop pushing young scholars into a failed market where the most successful will be constrained in their opportunities and intellectual choices, Grafton wants to change the values that have been ineffective in creating jobs for historians. Public history has the potential to create a more free employment system that would support an expanded intellectual community and allow creativity collaborations to flourish.

Furthermore, in a topic that I will take up in part II of this series, Grafton is arguing that the most path-breaking and influential scholarship in the twenty-first century is likely to be collaborative and accessible to a broad public.  Breaking with the model of the exceptional individual, who works in private and competes successfully among professionally and narrowly similar peers, a paradigm that has governed access to the profession for over a century, is in its own way revolutionary.

There’s a lot to consider in TR’s synthesis, but I want to weigh in again with the point that we need to honor the desire of many hopeful history graduate students to become tenure-track professors. Yes, we can, should, and must imagine new modes of cooperative, public historical scholarship (digital humanities in the house). We just need to do so in ways that do not wind up reinforcing experiences of precarity, exploitation, and contingency among the intellectual laborers in the field of history.

In other words, there are important things to cling to in the older, increasingly impossible model of tenure-track professorships. In fact, the longing to be a tenure-track professor seems to me to be connected to the larger critique of intellectual labor within neoliberal capitalism implicit in Lemisch’s curmudgeonly response to Grafton and Grossman. People want to practice the independent craft of history securely, with a range of autonomy and freedom that empowers democratic historical activity rather than impoverishes it.

Ultimately, the question is not just what kind of history we pursue, but also what kind of public we pursue it in. We need to imagine and work toward a public life that supports the knitting together of university history departments, public institutions, and people’s lives in ways that are robustly intellectual and economically innovative. It needs to be a public that expands individual autonomy and collaborative historical research at the same time.

If we do not think carefully about the profession and public life in tandem and work toward changing both, we risk creating a field and a public that merely incorporate historians into existing, exploitative labor markets instead of transforming labor conditions to unleash improved historical investigation and a better public life.

This project, however, will require more collective modes of historical creativity, not just a rock star in the spotlight.

Links:

#521 – Adapting to Domesticity

January 1st, 2012

lucky plush productions, the better half @ mca chicago, 11/6/11.

Lucky Plush Productions, The Better Half (Photograph: Cheryl Mann).

Lucky Plush never quite got to their adaptation of the noir film Gaslight in The Better Half, but that was the point. This was a performance about breaking out of scripts, about the way that the real stories always start around the frame, drawing from it but never quite fully entering into it.

The very nature of the production—half dance, half theater—located the authentic tale at the interstice, the edge between forms. But Lucky Plush went further. The dancers kept interrupting the story to ask the director questions about their roles. They ran out of the auditorium and back in. Yet then they would move into quite beautiful repetitions of dance sequences, as if to suggest that we always must return to the gestures, hints, clues, roles, and rituals that existing scripts, films, norms, and forms provide for us—indeed demand of us.

The Better Half, as its name suggests, was most of all an exploration of the assumptions that steer courtship. How do two people move from being strangers to becoming intimate? How do they do so by entering into existing narrative structures yet also resisting those structures? When does the mystery of intimacy emerge in all its glory, and how?

The play portrayed individuals in a couple as dancers playing actors trying to grasp their roles in an old film script. But the actual plot of the film was not important. It was merely in the background, dimmed by the spotlights on the transformations happening through the adaptation. The two main dancers, a man and woman assigned the role of a married couple, were like metal filaments with shifting charges: sometimes they polarized, sometimes they magnetized, at first they were utterly strange to each other, but eventually they connected, at the back corner of the stage, gleaming and glowing even in the darkness that surrounded them.

They had kissed awkwardly at first, testing each other out, feigning intimacy, pretending to be an established domestic couple when they knew they were not. Then, continuing the dance, they moved dizzily through farce, burlesque, melodrama, comedy, theater of cruelty, Brechtian exposition, cheesy postmodern pastiche, athletic movement, startling weirdness, and everything in between until it mattered not what they were supposed to do, only that they had done it. They adapted—and in doing so were changed for the better halves.

The Better Half: work-in-progress excerpts from Lucky Plush Productions on Vimeo.

Links:

#520 – Living in the City

January 1st, 2012

mary halvorson quintet @ the hungry brain, 11/6/11.

Mary Halvorson Quintet (photograph: Peter Gannuskin).

Playing to a sold out room at the Umbrella Festival, guitarist Halvorson and group made music that was very urban, full of cement, steel, and glass. There was not a lot of nature in here except for the feeling of glimpsing it occasionally on the edges or in the cracks between the built environment. Maybe a park here or there, the river or the bay just beyond the buildings, but mostly sidewalks and vertiginous gazes upward at the sky or down the grid.

Yet there was no feeling of being trapped. There was something else, not ominous, but comfortable, cosmopolitan, curious, something crisp and sharp in the music, the pace of walking through the city, ducking in and out of subway entrances, popping down there and up here, around squares and through small parks, between private and public spaces, moving with timed traffic lights and occasionally down side streets only to turn back again to the main thoroughfares.

The compositions and improvisations were complex, but they had an organization to them, a discipline. In fact, much of the music seemed to be more about locating steady balance and occasional leaps of insight within order than about locating the order in some kind of free jazz flight. This was music of the mole’s eye view, not the bird’s escape. It never went beyond the ken of one person’s perspective at the ground level. It wasn’t really about liberation, nor spirituality, nor even group interplay. There was plenty of excellent ensemble work of course, but it all seemed in the name of evoking the individual’s brainy pleasure of simply feeling alive in the built environment of the postmodern city. Halvorson and group entered into something rather than escaping it.

Bent note and dissonant arpeggios were not bluesified but intellectualized. This was a sound of thinking as well as feeling—and of probing the relationship between them. It wasn’t body music but perhaps it was social body music, interested in sensations and ideas of autonomy among the multitudes, of living not obscenely rich but not desperately poor either, well-educated but unwilling to go along with the dominant system, seeking out the connections and movements to be made in the hidden spheres, the corridors beyond the corridors of power.

This was music that occupied the city’s labyrinth and charged it with life. In their own, highly original way, Halvorson and group stomped the blues, but they were not trying to finger the jagged grain of aching consciousness so much as navigate a system of infinite networks. Though maybe, these days, for many people, those are one and the same.

Links:

#519 – Culture Rover’s Unfamiliar Quotations

December 15th, 2011

historical half-truths from nick tosches.

True history seeks, it does not gather; for the deeper we seek, the deeper we descend from knowledge to mystery, which is the only place where wisdom abides.

— Nick Tosches, Where Dead Voices Gather

The cellular core of what we call history—knowledge itself—is diseased. It is not the artful novelist who has blurred the divide between fiction and fact: it is the professor of learning, the peddler of secondhand misknowing. The more we “know,” the less we know. It is better to keep away from words, “facts,” “knowledge.” They are almost always the carriers of disease.

— Nick Tosches, Arnold Rothstein, King of the Jews: The Greatest Mob Story Never Told

(From Dave Sanjek’s unpublished comments on Tosches at LitPop: Writing and Popular Music conference, 2011)

#518 – Crossing the Line

December 15th, 2011

on john baldessari’s raw prints series.

John Baldessari, (Blue), Lithograph 18 1/2 x 24 1/2 inches.

John Baldessari’s Raw Prints series (1976) features color photographs that Baldessari took of street scenes at the Santa Monica Mall in 1976. The artist then placed the photographs in the lower-right hand corner of large sheets of paper, and restricted himself to one line and one color in a lithograph on the rest of the print

What is so striking in this minimalist exercise is that the single line and one trace of color evoke the essences of the photographs. A triangle and a scratch of purple for a man’s V-necked sweater and a woman with white hair and sunglasses. A crooked square for a van and yellow for what looks like the top of a fire hydrant. A squiggle for an evergreen tree and a striated, broken rectangle of brownish orange for a brunette woman in a blouse just about to vanish around a corner. The outline of a woman in profile and two flashes of blue for the scarf over her hair. A group of people walking toward the camera, but Baldessari notices the white side of a skyscraper in the background and a splash of green below it.

The back-and-forth between the lithographic reproduction and the photographic one creates a kind of depth, the feeling of observing someone who has observed at great length, with perceptive care. This is the art of watching someone watching. But it is not particularly voyeuristic. There is a spirit of multiple communions in these prints: connections made between hand and machine, the looker and the looked at, the moment of impression and the great blankness in which it exists.

There is an economy in these works of art that knows no bounds. The cliché is that a picture says a thousand words, but these prints suggest that but one line and a bit of color might express even more.

Links:

#517 – Hall of Science

December 11th, 2011

simplicity in building names.

#516 – Some Crazy Magic

December 6th, 2011

the great john cohen talking about the great harry smith.

Some Crazy Magic: Meeting Harry Smith from Drew Christie on Vimeo.

#515 – David Sanjek, An Appreciation

December 2nd, 2011

a few words for David Sanjek, RIP.

More here on a kind soul and wonderful scholar.

I was one of the many graduate students Dave befriended in his manic, giving, wide-ranging way. He was damn funny even about his professional and personal heartaches, and he was damn smart, not just about music, but about film, literature, cultural criticism, summer camps, the music biz, and–most of all–about intellectual friendship and how much it was worth.

Dave has a wonderful and moving essay about sneaking childhood peeks into his father’s briefcase, which always contained numerous magazines, newspapers, record albums, recording contracts, letters, publicity photos, and more. In a way, that briefcase became Dave’s mind itself—a place full of treasures, from obscure guitar-slinging Nashville cats to the dance moves of ardent Northern soul fans, from crooners to funksters to folkies to free jazz, from copyright law to summer camp lore, from obscure film noir to the classics of American lit to the latest plays on the stage. The guy had range and he had love: for art, for music, most of all for people. Sometimes he could drive you crazy, but most of the time he made you appreciate finding ways to love the world’s beauty despite all its flaws.

Dave left a lot of essays and books half written. We should pull them together and get his words out. It’s something he struggled to do in his lifetime, but he had something to say in a lot of that material, and it deserves the kind of intense, serious-fun, wide-eyed, appreciative attention that he himself gave to art, music, culture, life—and to all of us. Count me in for that.

Sadly but in deep appreciation of Dave.

#514 – Culture Rover’s Unfamiliar Quotations

November 29th, 2011

art, energy, politics.

Art can create an energy. Actually, the fact that art cannot change things makes it a neutral place for exchanges and discussions, and then enables it to change the world.

- Artist JR, in Raffi Khatchadourian, “In the Picture,” New Yorker, 28 November 2011

Links:

#513 – Culture Rover’s Unfamiliar Quotations

November 28th, 2011

art vs. life.

You are drawn to the life because you love the art, and you imagine that knowing more about the life will bring you closer to the art, but for the most part the life is a smoke screen getting between you and the art. You pick up threads and clues, searching for a pattern that explains the whole, forgetting that a good deal of life (and art) depends upon chance events. You can never definitively find the hidden springs of an artwork; you can only attempt to grasp the results as they gush forth, and with music, which is nearly as changeable and bodiless as water, that grasp will be especially tenuous.

— Wendy Lesser, Music for Silenced Voices: Shostakovich and Fifteen Quartets