Archive for the ‘Historical Culture’ Category

#454 – Digital History Beyond Bells and Whistles

Thursday, May 5th, 2011

interpreting interpretive digital history.

X-post from Issues in Digital History.

In my class this term—Digitizing Folk Music History: The Berkeley Folk Festival—I have increasingly noticed how easy it is to perceive of the digital merely as “bells and whistles” and lose sight of what to me is the key question in the emerging field of digital history: how do digital tools, design, interactive components, and other capabilities allow us to interpret the past in freshly productive ways?

This slippage toward what we might call the “wow factor” is fine in one sense, for bells and whistles sometimes start out merely as decorative adornment or clanging attention-getters or just a lot of hot air, but then they turn out to reverberate far longer, and lead toward breakthroughs in interpretive historical meaning-making. What starts out as a gimmick sometimes becomes a key insight, or at least a tool for clarifying a historical question or issue.

But sometimes a gimmick remains just a gimmick. Which makes me wonder it there is something odd about the digital: it shifts us so quickly toward form and format, toward technical issues and complexities, that we can quickly forget the ways that digital history is still history, still devoted to the discipline’s difficult but essential task of using evidence as a springboard to develop interpretations and meanings out of the past in conversation with existing theories and arguments that are themselves grounded in explications of evidence.

Did books have this same quality back in the day? Were book makers and readers so taken by the Gutenberg press that they turned from the information in the books to a kind of superficial (or maybe even a deep) obsession with the form and technical capacities of print? I’m guessing they did. Certainly other communications media—radio, television, film—have done this. Form and content are never unrelated to each other.

So, we can draw upon a deeper history of technologies of communication and publication to make sense of our own moment. But so too, we can just simply keep our eye on the ball of interpretation, as it were, in addition to the bells and whistles of digitalness fancifulness.

If the digital pulls us toward aspects of history-making that can, at times, turn out to be superficial, we must right ourselves. For the purposes of digital history, even if you can’t get the video file to load correctly right away, even if the technical problems persist,  you can—we must—still think about what’s of use in putting the video file there in the first place. What’s the point of the digital for interpretive work? And, wait a minute, what in the first place is historical interpretation?

In the case of my course, the digital is only worth the effort to make it sing if it does so in duet with these core questions. Without interpretation as the central issue, all there is in digital history, it seems to me, is a dull thud or a shrill whine. Bells and whistles alone only make shallow sounds—no resonance. But the digital can, if we approach it effectively, inspire a far more robust engagement with the nature of historical inquiry itself.

This central issue of interpretation has, in fact, appeared so many times during the first weeks of my class that I have taken to always referring to the final assignments that students must complete as “Interpretive Digital History Projects” rather than just “Digital History Projects.” This forces students (and me!) to keep reminding ourselves that we are seeking to explore the digital’s potential to illuminate interpretation—whether about the history of the American folk music revival or the United States during the twentieth century or the archival materials in the Berkeley Folk Festival collection or some other relevant topic—rather than obsess over how to get all the bells dinging and the whistles tweeting.

Sure, we ultimately want flash and plugins and apps and embeds and links, we want to wow ourselves with digital derring-do and technical savoir faire, but only if our amazement serves our deeper quest to interpret the past more profoundly.

#453 – Talkin’ Sixties Historiography Blues

Thursday, May 5th, 2011

ramblin’ round your historical subfields.

X-post from U.S. Intellectual History blog comments.

Thanks for the post Ray. You got me going here on the topic. Apologies for the long, rambling post.

I wonder if it’s useful here to think particularly about intellectual history in relation to 60s historiography?

To that end, an unheralded overview of the decade is Howard Brick’s Age of Contradiction, which mapped out the ideological underpinnings of the 1960s around the theme of binary contradictions (authenticity and artifice; community and mass society; systems and the distrust of order; etc.). By going deeper into intellectual currents, and covering a wide range of texts and cultural artifacts, Brick moved past the now-stale contrast between participant memoir-history (I was there, man!) vs. post-60s generational resentment (will you ever get out of the way, baby boomers!).

But more to the point, I’d argue that if we build upon Brick’s work, one starts to see a number of schools of thought on the decade worth further consideration and clarification. Here’s three I can think of right away. There’s probably more.

(1) Movement studies: even more than participant-history, what defined so much early historical work on the 1960s was an effort to make sense of the amorphous but powerful movements on the left. How did their component parts (civil rights, peace movement, anti-Vietnam War, liberals, unions, New Dealers in government, communists, social democrats, counterculture,  communes, feminism, gay rights, ethnic rights movements, youth movement, etc.) fit together. I think these studies often revolved around debates between splitters (Todd Gitlin’s The Sixties: Years of Hope, Days of Rage, for instance, solidified the contemporaneous distinctions between “politocs” and “freaks” as well as between men and women in around the rise of women’s liberation and between blacks and whites around the rise of militant black nationalism) and lumpers (Doug Rossinow’s amazing The Politics of Authenticity, which uses the case study of Austin Texas to notice the overlap between political activists in SDS and the counterculture). Sara Evans work can be included here, as it notices the roots of second-wave feminism in the African-American civil rights movement. I think you could place Jeremi Suri in the lumper camp too, because he creates a very broad definition of counterculture (Betty Friedan counts as countercultural in his recent article for JAH, Jeremi Suri, “The Rise and Fall of an International Counterculture, 1960–1975,” American Historical Review 114, 1 (February 2009): 45-68) in order to link domestic and international politics. You could include many other studies. What they all share is the question of how the parts fit together ideologically to constitute an explosion of cultural and political energies in the 1960s.

(2) Conservative studies: in the last twenty years or so, as historians have grappled with the political and cultural success of the so-called “Reagan Revolution,” with the rise of the neoliberal New Democrats and the neoconservative right in American politics, there has been a loud call to capture stories and histories beyond the social movements on the left, to expand the historical tableau. David Farber and Jeff Roche’s essay collection on the conservative 1960s comes to mind here; Michael Flamm’s work on law and order; Nancy McLean’s study of contestations over the workplace and economic justice includes much on the right; and many other books. I think it’s fair to say that this subfield has fully arrived on the scene within the profession, even if there continue to be more cartoonish Woodstock hippies free love portrayals of the 60s in the popular imagination (why the lag here seems like a really important question!).

One book that moves between these two subfields of left movement history and conservative history is Rebecca Klatch’s work on the ideological links between libertarian right and left in both SDS (Students for a Democratic Society, those “Rebels with a Cause”) and Young Americans for Freedom (YAF). Klatch, a sociologist, noticed that the libertarians found common cause in the counterculture’s anti-authoritarian, individualistic wing, where, as David Farber notes in a fabulous essay in the collection Imagine Nation, edited by Michael William Doyle and Peter Braunstein, about “outlaw” drug culture in relation to state power.

(3) Mass culture – Counterculture: Maybe you could fold this in to the movement studies focus, but I see many 1960s books of recent years concerned with the question of how culture industry related to the politics of the counterculture in the 1960s. But I’m separating it out here because it seems to me that this focus, like the conservative subfield, emerged out of later concerns with the commodification of dissent and the so-called “conquest of cool” in the 1980s and 90s. Tom Frank’s work is crucial here: his study of the advertising and marketing industries located the transition from mass culture to niche marketing and the selling of rebellion in the 1960s. Other works have tried to complicate Frank’s ideological undermining of some kind of stable, authentic counterculture movement in the 1960s. Julie Stephens’ unheralded book, Anti-Disciplinary Politics, is chock full of insights into the counterculture’s intersections with culture industry. Nick Bromell’s Tomorrow Never Knows is a memoir-history in the old school model, but it goes right at the topics of rock music and drugs that dominate popular representations of the 60s, and it does so with subtlety and sophistication. Fred Turner’s work on the ideological connections between counterculture and cyberculture, dating all the way back to systems theory in the research labs of the World War II years and transforming the search for harmonious community into rather nasty forms of neoliberal information economy exploitation, and Sam Binkley’s study of the counterculture’s ideological groundwork for the post-Fordist production and consumption of lifestyles, also bring far greater sophistication to Frank’s ideas about the conquest of cool. What all these studies share is a concern with the intellectual twists and turns of countercultural desires and their reincorporations into (or creations by!) corporate consumer capitalism.

I actually would argue that the field of 1960s history is poised to move past both the participants vs. non-participants binary and the conservative vs. radical history paradigm. At the center of this turn is letting go of questions of success or failure and turning instead to the ways that particular events, stories, archival source, memories, artifacts continue to resonate in contemporary perceptions of dilemmas and problems in American life as they relate to the deep wellsprings of American ideology and sensibility. Intellectual history (and cultural history too, I think) have some of the best tools for accessing this. Despite how much has been written, I think there is a surprising amount of work still left to do on the 1960s.

#450 – State of the Union…

Monday, April 18th, 2011

…from the invisible republic.

A song is like a dream, and you try to make it come true. They’re like strange countries that you have to enter.

— Bob Dylan, Chronicles, Volume 1

Wherever I am, I’m a 60s troubadour, a folk-rock relic, a wordsmith from bygone days, a fictitious head of state from a place nobody knows.

— Bob Dylan, Chronicles, Volume 1

Links:

#449 – Culture Rover’s Unfamiliar Quotations

Monday, April 18th, 2011

what’s newsworthy depends on your perspective.

The madly complicated modern world was something I took little interest in. It had no relevancy, no weight. I wasn’t seduced by it. What was swinging, topical, and up to date for me was stuff like the Titanic sinking, the Galveston flood, John Henry driving steel, John Hardy shooting a man on the West Virginia line. All this was current, played out, and in the open. This was the news that I considered, followed, and kept tabs on.

— Bob Dylan, Chronicles, Volume I

#448 – Culture Rover’s Unfamiliar Quotations

Tuesday, April 12th, 2011

why culture matters: history as mystery.

History has a kind of conscious life in the institutions, ideologies, movements, and forces that seem to constitute the daylight workings of society; but it has a kind of nocturnal life as well—a dream world ruled by the various alchemies of metaphor and symbol, where the boundaries between one institution and another with which it is constantly at war, between an idea and its contrary, swim about in a kind of cultural ectoplasm where forms change places with one another, sending the spirit of one into the body of its sworn antagonist, bringing the dead back to life in new incarnations.

— Robert Cantwell, When We Were Good: The Folk Revival

#446 – Five Hypotheses for Digital History

Monday, March 28th, 2011

the future of the past online.

X-post from Issues in Digital History.

This is an initial attempt, quickly written and subject to revision, at five hypotheses for digital history:

1) Digital history will ultimately be about far more than just the application of computational power to archival materials. While materials will be increasingly treated as data, analyzable on unimaginable scales quantitatively, this will not be enough to constitute a rewarding historical subfield. Qualitative analysis of an original and convincing sort will be needed to link digitally-produced findings to existing historiographic debates and discussions and offer new insights.

2) The move to the screen and future modes of receiving history will demand far greater attention to design, display, narrative, and storytelling than existing historical writing. This is both exciting and daunting. It asks historians to continue to imagine themselves as writers, but also to think of themselves as curators. It demands far more cooperative work on presentation of history. It will require us to push past formulaic article and monograph writing and think much more carefully about the range of narrative possibilities for relating interpretations of the past to others. The way history “looks” will change dramatically.

3) Digital interactivity poses new possibilities and demands for historians. The relationship between interactivity and interpretation, which many historians think about considerably in the classroom, now has a role to play in the scholarly presentation of findings online. Indeed, findings themselves may need to be far more contingent, and even may be produced through the design of interactive tools that allow visitors to manipulate materials. Existing definitions of the authorship of history itself come into question here as historians increasingly have the capacity to create not final texts, but rather environments for collective historical inquiry of materials and fellow (whether compatible or competing) interpretations.

4) As with the digital generally, digital history raises issues of copyright and intellectual property. Not just in terms of the question of authorship mentioned in hypothesis number three, but also in terms of the use of materials in the public realm for historical inquiry. How will we publish, share, and allow others to interact with materials without fundamentally altering existing copyright practices? What do we owe copyright holders as historians and what do copyright holders owe the public when it comes to historical inquiry?

5) Digital history is at once a continuation of long-running historical traditions and a break with certain practices and assumptions. As historians, we have the opportunity to consider digital history through our classic dual lens of change *and* continuity. The field is not a fundamental break with past modes and technologies of history-making, but it is something new, worth exploring even if it bangs up at times against professional and institutional  constraints.

#440 – Culture Rover’s Unfamiliar Quotations

Monday, February 28th, 2011

mystery history registry.

A historical phenomenon, completely understood and reduced to an item of knowledge, is, in relation to the man who knows it, dead.

— Fredrich Nietzsche (courtesy Nick Bromell)

#430 – Boredwalk Empire

Monday, January 17th, 2011

the pleasures of the formulaic.

Steve Buscemi as Enoch “Nucky” Thompson.

Boardwalk Empire is the ultimate refinement of the HBO series. This is at once its great success and its ultimate failure.

The show recapitulates every achievement of past shows. Of course, The Sopranos looms large here. Boardwalk Empire serves as a kind of prequel that takes us back to the early days of twentieth-century American gangsterism as the program chronicles the life and times of Atlantic City kingpin Enoch “Nucky” Thompson (real-life figure, Enoch L. Johnson) during Prohibition.

We get the same complex family dynamics between uncles and nephews, resentful brothers and bitter fathers, adopted sons and alienated wives. We get the internecine struggles, the plotting, the black humor of violent deaths, the hookers with hearts of gold. We get the exquisite acting, the incredible editing, the taut scriptwriting. And of course there is Steve Buscemi in the lead role, with all the Sopranos connections (as Tony Blundetto, as well as director).

There is a good dose of Deadwood on the show, too: the obscure references and playful interest in the flavor of a particular historical period; the interest in older codes of behavior, both public and private, coming into contact with disruptive modern forces; and the similar clash between older modes of social and political organization and shocking new ones. Hey, we even get a lesbian relationship.

It also helps that actress Molly Parker, who played Alma Garrett in Deadwood, appears in sepia-toned photographs on Boardwalk Empire as Nucky Thompson’s widow. It’s as if Deadwood lurks somewhere in the background of this new HBO program, a pre-story about the coming of modernity in America. And as if to link Boardwalk Empire‘s outlawed alcohol kingdom to a future urban regime of illegal substances, Michael K. Williams appears on the show, mapping a version of his Omar character back onto Chalky White, a sharp, African-American businessman and political leader (actually Chalky White is more of an Avon Barksdale, but you get the point).

So, Boardwalk Empire fills in yet another gap in what has become HBO’s ongoing survey of American history, which is fast coming to rival Ken Burns in its televisual authority, and is perhaps even better than Burns’s triumphalist, consensus pans across the national past. For HBO’s fictionalizations allow for a more rueful, ironic, and bitter historical consciousness to emerge, peeking around the period costumes with a sense of just how far America has come, and what has been lost along the way—or perhaps what was never there (innocence, wholesomeness, simplicity) in the first place.

Indeed, when it comes to historical consciousness translated into televisual drama, we might even include the honorary-HBO series Mad Men here as a precursor to Boardwalk Empire (after all, Mad Men is cut from the same cloth, with Sopranos alumni Matthew Weiner as creator and producer and a now infamous rejection from HBO before the program landed on AMC). Like Mad Men, Boardwalk Empire takes great pleasure in showing us all the strange pleasures and lost rituals of a past historical moment that diverges so much from our own. We get, on Boardwalk Empire: birth control directions straight from Margaret Sanger; World War I medical tests; Warren Harding’s corrupt Ohio campaign managers; and various other activities at once familiar and as if from another country.

Just as Deadwood now seems a kind of prequel to Boardwalk Empire, so too Mad Men, The Sopranos, and The Wire offer us what will come next, a few decades later, when the phase of American industrial consolidation seemed to end, and we passed into another, more uncertain, and much more familiar epoch.

The problem is not historical here. I hope HBO keeps going with its saga of the American past. The problem is aesthetic. And the aesthetic issue is a strange one. For Boardwalk Empire is perfectly done. It’s wonderful and addictive. I could not wait for the next week’s episode. And yet, the program was also oddly moribund, stale, caked in cracked, formulaic makeup. It was an HBO Original Series on repeat.

Links:

#415 – The Sixties in the Mirror, Part II

Tuesday, October 26th, 2010

sam durant’s smithson-ian mirrors and dirt made from rock.

Sam Durant, Partially Buried 1960s/70s Dystopia Revealed (Mick Jagger at Altamont) & Utopia Reflected (Wavy Gravy at Woodstock), 1998.

History is representational, while time is abstract; both of these artifices may be found in museums, where they span everybody’s own vacancy. The museum undermines one’s confidence in sense-data and erodes the impression of textures upon which our sensations exist. Memories of ‘excitement’ seem to promise something, but nothing is always the result. Those with exhausted memories will know the astonishment.” – Robert Smithson

…the information tends to obliterate itself so that there is obviously information there, but the information is so overwhelming in terms of its physicality that it tends to lose itself. – Robert Smithson

…you have essentially a gathering taking place out of the scattering.…I’m consolidating the scattering and heightening the loss of focus. – Robert Smithson

The sites are receding into the nonsites and the nonsites are receding back to the sites. – Robert Smithson

In Partially Buried 1960s/70s Dystopia Revealed (Mick Jagger at Altamont) & Utopia Reflected (Wavy Gravy at Woodstock), Sam Durant borrows directly from Robert Smithson’s famous Yucatan Mirror Displacements and Partially Buried Woodshed to explore the meaning of the 1960s counterculture.

Two mirrors on the floor are covered, partially, in piles of dirt. Two audio speakers below each mirror amplify looping recordings: in one channel, Mick Jagger pleads with the audience at the violent Altamont concert to be cool and not push each other around; in the other, Wavy Gravy (Hugh Romney) announces in a chipper voice that he and his Hog Farm will serve breakfast in bed for 400,000 at Woodstock.

On one level, the art is an elaboration of “Smithsonian” theme of entropy. The mirrors, which Smithson photographed in various natural landscapes in the Yucatan and elsewhere, suggest the ways that the counterculture remains with us, albeit refracted from the past (one crucial difference in the use of mirrors is that Smithson photographed his, then obliterated them, whereas Durant preserves them for us in a museum). But the dirt proposes that this reflective memory continues to grow only more murky with time. The memory of the counterculture is covered with debris, time, rot. It is composting, partially buried (though partially visible as well), and, most of all, obstructed.

Standing before Durant’s piece, however, the references to Smithson began to fade into the visual background. It was the sound of Jagger and Gravy’s voices, in a kind of relentless duet, that took over.

One would think that the two voices, their tones rising and sinking, blending and diverging, would create a sense of infinite regress, countercultural despair and hope so conflated that they became entropic, at least according to Smithson’s notion of the term.

But instead, something else quite unexpected happened. Rather than spiraling into a jetty of confusion and chaos, the two voices looped into tighter and tighter counterpoint. They did not grow senseless, but rather made increasing sense. A listener began to understood that the counterculture, at least in memory, is poised forever between these two events (in reality, as historian Michael Frisch has explained, they were less dichotomous than we think).

Innocence and guilt, sustenance and panic, heaven and disaster, communality and duplicity—hearing Jagger and Gravy’s repeating voices, these binaries became arpeggios of climbing and falling tones, scales of suspended judgment, two limits in a span across divides, two speakers swirling together, ascending and descending, under the mirror and dirt, but still yet over the speakers.

Contrary to Smithson’s critical opinion of the museum, I left the installation full of sense-data, texture, and memory, even excitement. Instead of partially buried or revealed images, I had voices in my head.

The past, sonically, was not scattered and lost, but consolidated and reverberating. Utopia became not no-place, dystopia not its opposite, but both became suspended in this-place. It wasn’t entropic so much as elastic: bands echoing, entwined, plucked from the air.

Durant’s sculpture created a kind of countercultural memory music. The mirrors and dirt were made from rock.

LINKS:

See: The Sixties in the Mirror, Part I.

#412 – Art History

Friday, October 15th, 2010

historicizing the phenomenal ephemeral.

History, certainly, is important. Knowing where you come from and why is essential, and thanking and giving reference to those who came before, who plowed the way to where we are now is vital. But those artists at the club last night were there in flesh and blood for that one night, playing and creating music that will never be heard in that particular way again, and for that they deserve the credit of their night, not an explanation of how and why they got there.

Emily Johnson, “The Conundrum That Is: Writing About Performance,” Mental Contagion

On the surface, Emily Johnson writes of attending a burning hot jazz show at a club in Harlem, but the deeper issue she writes about is the challenge of historicizing artistic experience.

How do we not only represent the aspects of art that are obviously lasting—origins, lineages, linkages, appropriations, and contexts—but also the effervescent explosions of art that “will never be heard in that particular way again”?

It’s easy to assume that the impermanent is unimportant, but when it comes to art, the ephemeral can sometimes, in fact, be sheer power flashing forth, history in-the-making.