Archive for November, 2009

#348 – Snark with Spark

Tuesday, November 24th, 2009

a critique of critique of critique.

Jody Rosen had two extremely fun and funny critical takedowns of other critics last week in Slate. The first burst burned down the bucolic barn of New York Times editorial-page ruralist Verlyn Klinkenborg. The second went at all the John Mayer haters out there.

Were they snarky? Yes. Were they ruining conversation? Probably not. For there was plenty of argument behind Rosen’s fairly vicious quipping. He had a point to make in each case, and he made it with a series of swift, magnificent uppercuts rather than any hits below the belt.

Listen to Rosen on Klinkenborg:

…bewilderment is his shtick. Klinkenborg’s columns are literary minstrel routines, starring the writer as an idiot savant—a bumpkin-seer who perceives the marvelous in the pedestrian and pivots to “epiphanies” that elude those of us who haven’t spent years watching sunlight dapple the snouts of woodchucks.

And Rosen on Mayer and Jonah Weiner’s “playa hating” of him:

Jonah, let’s cut to the chase: John Mayer is a douchebag. Or, rather, he’s a meta-douchebag—a guy who’s smart enough, self-aware enough, to know that he’s a douchebag, and to meditate on douchebaggery and its discontents in his music.

…It strikes me that Mayer and his ilk get an especially tough time from critics. Sensitive white boy singer-songwriters with easy-listening proclivities and Berklee College of Music-honed chops—they’re not exactly rock critic bait. Even in these poptimistic times, it’s still socially acceptable to reflexively dismiss the Mayers of the world. So I’ll say one more nice thing about him: the guy can write some tunes.

What’s wonderful about these critical put-downs is that after the initial sting, there’s plenty to ponder. Having pastoral tendencies, I have always read Klinkenborg uncritically, dreaming of life on ye old idyllic Hudson Valley farm; but I will never do that the same way again, even if I will still not “playa hate” Klinkenborg as much as Rosen does. And though I still, much to my own dismay, cannot remove my authentic core of rockist purity (I jest for those of you who have followed the great poptimist vs. rockist debates), I will give that Mayer another, more ironic listen.

The key to Rosen’s snark is that it has spark: it illuminates. It may open up wounds, but it also opens up conversation, deeper thinking, and more careful inquiry.

#347 – In Production

Tuesday, November 24th, 2009

producing “the production of knowledge.”

This phrase, repeated incessantly in some quarters of the humanities, has long since slipped its original moorings, and owes more to American corporate lingo than to Althusser. – Scott McLemee, The Public Option,” Inside Higher Ed

Has anyone traced the actual history of this phrase, “the production of knowledge”? I think of Foucault when I hear it more than Althusser. And I am reminded, in particular, of Foucault’s focus on the broader, more intricate channels through which power flows, shaping of ideas and bodies as well as institutions of governance, all in the name of fostering a “regime” of control. So knowledge, for Foucault, gets “produced” based on the larger systems in which people think and know. And it does so through capillaries of everyday life as well as the main arteries of official power. The micro-production of knowledge as well as the macro. Is that accurate, oh ye Foucauldians out there, surveilling me?

And what of the “corporate lingo” dimensions? Corporations can be as anti-humanist and anti-Enlightenment as Mr. Foucault himself was, though with very different goals in mind. When did this phrase, “the production of knowlege,” appear in corporate boardrooms and at management retreats, and for what purposes?

Let us produce some knowledge, yes?

X-posted from HASTAC blog.

#346 – Come Gather Round (the Computer) People

Tuesday, November 24th, 2009

of digital public intellectuals, civic engagers, and policy wonks.

(1) Michael Bérubé visited our Engaged Humanities Scholar as Public Intellectual research workshop at Northwestern U in mid-October. He was smart and funny, offering a model of the public intellectual as witty and welcoming to others.

(2) He talked about his new project, The Left at War, which examines intra-progressive intellectual debates about the military responses to 9/11. Michael argues that cultural studies–particularly the legacy of Stuart Hall’s more explicit political examinations of the ideological background in which Thatcherism emerged in 1980s Britain–can help us gain a better sense of how to build a progressive multilateralism in the US and the world (imitating Hall’s famous phrase “Marxism without guarantees,” I’d call Michael’s vision “multilateralism without guarantees”). Michael’s point was to use Stuart Hall’s more political analysis rather than his more famous subcultural studies work in order to critique both the liberal hawk pro-war position, which was easily coopted by the right, and to criticize what Michael calls the “Manichean left,” which assumes that the enemy of my enemy is my friend (even in this case fundamentalist terrorists). Though I want to learn more from the book about how, exactly, cultural studies fits into this new model of progressive internationalism (Ellen Willis figures in the part of the book Michael did not discuss as much during his visit, which can’t be a bad thing!), Michael’s careful effort to think through how ideas and culture relate to the world of politics was captivating.

(3) Michael’s visit, which took place the same weekend as the wonderful conference at U of Iowa called Platforms for Public Scholars, made me think more consciously about the whole concept of the “public intellectual” in our time. I was left thinking about three different models of public intellectual that both overlap and diverge:

  • (a) The classic public intellectual is the heroic (foolhardy?) book reviewer or essayist with a desk copy, a 1000 to 5000 word limit, and a deadline for publication. This is the typical version of the public intellectual in which the world might become the alcoves at CUNY in the 1930s and 40s and we might become all New York Intellectuals sparring in the generalist, non-specialist public sphere of debate and discussion. The digital comes into play here as book reviews and essays give way to blogs and multimedia formats: can a general, broad, inclusive public sphere of intellectual engagement function in this new space? Can it be more democratic and widely participatory than the exclusivity of intellectual life in the world of New York Intellectuals and other cafe intellectual traditions?
  • (b) The Platforms for Public Scholars offered a different model of the public intellectual, what we might call the civic intellectual, a figure who works in radically-democratic, service-based collaboration with members of other communities (youth groups, schools, unions, associations, towns, and the like) on products of knowledge exploration and acquisition. The civic intellectual is not necessarily a generalist, but rather knows how to bring specialized training in a scholarly field to bear on a particular project, and also is open to learning from other, non-academic communities. This model most directly challenges older versions of university-centric scholarship, which is so influenced by its monastic origins. And the digital seems to offer one way by which civic intellectualism might flourish, bringing the university and the world beyond the campus gates together in productive and new ways. *But* this is not quite the same thing as (a) the classic public intellectual. And therein lies a tension concerning the public intellectual and the digital. What is gained, what lost, in the differences between these two models? How might they overlap in useful and worthy ways?
  • (c) Finally, a third kind of public intellectual is the policy wonk. This figure is more closely aligned with government and political parties. He (and often it’s a he, though increasingly less so) tends to think little of culture, and live in a world even more insular than the academic. It’s the institutions of policy wonkery to which Michael Bérubé wants to introduce the tools of cultural studies (though in doing so, he also wants to reshape what culture studies is, moving it away from simplistic pop culture transgression-equals-resistance assumptions to Hall’s more supple explorations of the linkages between culture, ideology, and politics). Unlike the classic public intellectual, the policy wonk is less concerned with maintaining a distance from centers of power. Unlike the civic intellectual, the policy wonk tends to be less concerned with the processes of “democraticizing knowledge” (by and large), and more concerned with actual ends and results through access to power.

(4) So, how might these three kinds of public intellectualism intersect and overlap and diverge? Where does the digital fit? Are there other kinds of public intellectual activity and what should be their relationships to the models above. I think there are great and perhaps even insurmountable differences between the three models above, and I am left thinking about the role of the digital in exacerbating these differences and, also, the potential of the digital to offer tools for reorganizing public intellectual life in new ways. I want to get away from the “digital is democratic, may a 1000 blogs bloom” euphoria. At the same time, I think the digital does offer enormous potential for a sense of quality intellectual engagement and civic belonging beyond both what the book, magazine, newspaper, and cafe could do in days of yore as well as what the campus could do with chalk and chalkboard.

(5) I’m starting to think about how the abstractions above can be applied to particular projects of scholarly inquiry. So as I begin to organize my next research projects, I am pondering how I might move among the three models above while developing a history of folk music festivals, a biography of Paul Goodman, or a history of the 1976 US bicentennial. And I am thinking about how the digital might be applied in this research, and I’m particularly contemplating how one might represent these different sorts of projects in U.S. intellectual and cultural history through digital means.

For instance, how might the participatory and multicultural dimensions of folk music festivals appear digitally? How might not only the analog music of banjos and clogs and slide guitars and accordions, but also the feeling of community and exchange at these festivals, be investigated through digital means? How might Goodman’s multi-genre approaches to public life appear online? How might the reader/viewer/interactor with this material contribute to making meaning out of it? How might I represent the knowledge gleaned from my research so that it can “go viral,” mutate, be used and re-used in new ways?

(7) Thanks again to Michael Bérubé for his enormous energy and generosity of time and spirit during his visit.

X-posted (and revised somewhat) from HASTAC blog.

#345 – Culture Rover’s Unfamiliar Quotations

Sunday, November 22nd, 2009

the digital humanities, circa 1965.

For now it was like walking among matrices of a great digital computer, the zeroes and ones twinned above, hanging like balanced mobiles right and left, ahead, thick, maybe endless. Behind the hieroglyphic streets there would either be a transcendent meaning, or only the earth.

- Thomas Pynchon, The Crying of Lot 49

#344 – A Digital Chaperone At the Halfway Home

Thursday, November 19th, 2009

beck offers new modes of digital culture.

Beck’s recently-revamped website offers an intriguing example of where musicians and artists might move as the commercial recording industry’s grip on production and distribution gives way to the Internet’s new possibilities (and challenges) for musical and artistic experience.

Beck_modern-guilt_wideweb_gamma-orphans

The website is a torrent of sound, video, interviews, remixes, and more. It’s easy to navigate. It’s fun. Most intriguingly, it features Beck not only as artist, but as curator. In fact, it combines the two roles into one. One moment we’re hearing a new track Beck has released, such as “Harry Partch,” based on the American hobo composer’s 43 tone scale and powerfully-eccentric theories of composition; next we’re watching video of Beck’s collaborations with other artists in covering classic albums (“The Record Club”); next we’re listening to the “Planned Obsolescence” series of mixes Beck has assembled, each with written comments by listeners appended to the track; next we’re reading “Irrelevant Topics,” an interview series between Beck and fellow artist-entertainers such as Tom Waits; and soon we find ourselves exploring Beck’s discography and maybe, perhaps, even checking out his online store.

I find myself wanting to spend time on this website, checking back for updates, eager to follow Beck’s adventures through digital means. The layout is simple, the navigation logical, the graphic design distinctive, the flow of materials exciting, even captivating.

Of course, I know the website is not maintained directly by Beck. One needs a whole staff, or at least various kinds of collaborations, and certainly lots of expensive equipment, to make this sort of Internet venture work well. And one also has to, perhaps, already have a public presence to draw in a readership (though not necessarily). Most of all, one has to let go of older models of selling product and imagine a new, more public, less commercial vision of art. The economic underpinnings will be different than they used to be.

Nonetheless, beck.com offers an intriguing experiment in individual presentation in the emerging field of the digital arts and humanities: the website becomes a kind of living archive of musical and cultural exchange, a virtual nexus, a playspace, a gallery of expressive communication. The website is grounded in older modes of art-making: the song composition, the recording session, the video, the interview. But it combines these into a stream of humanized bytes and bytes that flows through the machine.

Mutations indeed.

X-posted to HASTAC Blog.

#343 – Anthology of Polymorphous Perversity

Thursday, November 12th, 2009

when harry (smith) met matthew (barney).

It comes about from legends, Bibles, plagues, and it revolves around vegetables and death. There’s nobody that’s going to kill traditional music. All those songs about roses growing out of people’s brains and lovers who are really geese and swans that turn into angels—they’re not going to die…traditional music is too unreal to die. – Bob Dylan

Harry Smith’s Anthology of American Folk Music is not a dictionary, encyclopedia, or even an anthology; it’s the first installment of Matthew Barney’s Cremaster Cycle.

harry_smith

The alchemy of milk: Harry Smith.

Or, better said, the Cremaster Cycle comprises volumes five through ten of the Anthology of American Folk Music.

Image: Allen Ginsberg.