Carolee Schneemann in Chicago Nov. 6 2008

Before seeing Carolee Schneemann and a few of her films (Fuses, Snows, Body Collage, American I Ching Apple Pie, Infinity Kisses) at the Gene Siskel Center, the only thing I knew were the pictures of her performance "Interior Scroll" and the poem written on that scroll (a part of the text written on the scroll came out in the anthology Poetry for the Millennium). I found out she actually taught at UIC--she said it was her first teaching job--though I don't know that many people are aware of that over there (I'd also like to point out that her last name and my first name are derived from "snow" in German and B/C/S, respectively.) Here are some notes I took:

Daughter of a country doctor, grew up in the country.

Feminist critique/parody of feminism 1972. Self-parody 2007--nothing is sacred. Awareness of the body that looks like a model's body.

Fuses: equality in bed.

Criticized by feminists: essentialism (!). Censored (by the state?).

FBI in the 60s, fining film labs, going through garbage to find sexually explicit films.

Snows--aluminum foil--napalm--anti-war.

"The ghost of the Interior Scroll"

New sound piece: Gnarles Barkley "Crazy" intro sampled, looped, transformed.

She's concerned about copyright: "I hope Gnarles Barkley doesn't mind; he probably won't hear about this." Irony: DJ Danger Mouse and plunderphonics.

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She was great--sometimes performance art and art film can be as rock'n'roll as anything.

Lit Nobel 2008

This year, an interesting story unfolds around the Nobel Prize for Literature. I only have time right now to post some links, bookmarks if you will.

1) Mini-scandal regarding Permanent Secretary's thoughts on US literature.

2) The winner is Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clezio.

3) Turns out, Le Clezio is a little bit American, among other things--go Albuquerque!.

4) It's not at all strange that New Mexico is part-time home to Le Clezio.

Now I'm retuning to my cave of exam studying.

Shakespeare and Zabic Get Parodied...

...One of them for the first time in history:

Issue 1 anthologizes thousands of poets! (The Zabic poem appears save-the-best-for-last. Vanessa Williams.)

Super!

Olympic Games and National Identity

Right now I only have time to type this lengthy quote from "The Eros of Identity" by Ivaylo Ditchev from the edited volume entitled Balkan as Metaphor: Between Globalization and Fragmentation (eds Dusan I. Bijelic and Obrad Savic, The MIT P, 2002). The quote is very suited to the occasion of the current Summer Olympic Games and of course to the occasion of my studying for prelims. Here we go, pp 239-240:

"National Identity becomes a kind of competition, as differentiation takes place on the universal scene of desire established by modernity. On the other hand, young nations without uninterrupted traditions tend to consider heritage a conspicuous source of prestige rather than a cultural effort and self-limitation. This makes the competition even more ferocious, as everyone is in a similar position (political will, state institutions, intellectual activity...) with respect to identity emblems, the content of which is of lesser interest. The Balkans have become notorious for symbolic wars over heritage. Alexander the Great is disputed between Macedonia and Greece, Cyril and Methodius between Greece, Bulgaria, Macedonia, and Serbia, the Thracian culture between Bulgaria and Romania, et cetera.

"Most of these emblems of identity have but little relation to the present local cultural practices and are the product of the big Western Other's desire. We can illustrate this through the story of the reinvention of the Olympic games. The German professor Curtius delivered a passionate lecture on this question, and it came to the attention of the rich merchant Zappas, who thought it was a good idea to try to revive the games. King Otto I was also interested in doing something about the image of the poor country in which he found himself. But there was no real tradition of modern sport and competition in Greece in the middle of the nineteenth century, and the first couple of games were a disaster. When the baron Cubertin (sic) started to work toward establishing modern international Olympic games, he nevertheless faced stubborn resistance on the part of the Greeks, who saw the trademark of the games as their property. Finally the event was negotiated in the format we have today: Greece has a particular place in the symbolic arrangement (fire comes from Olympus, Greek athletes march in first), but the organization, financing, and participation is international."

Bizarre and Logical

A retro-futurist rocket car, like the one in the picture, or the one I saw this morning as it was passing through the Cleveland suburb where I'm currently staying, is bizarre. A genocidal-psycho-cum-new-age-healer arrested after 13 years in plain view is logical in our terrifying, democratic, civilized world.

Border Radio

Which border? California-Baja California. Which Radio? Fictional. Made over a course of four years (1984-88), Border Radio began as a student film by three writers/directors/cinematographers with limited skills and no budget, and magically the final result is a compelling mix of mainly two genres I've never seen combined before: noir and rock mockumentary. Both genres emerge out of the loose plot concerning the two protagonists played by Chris D. and Luanna Anders. Chris D. plays a leader of an underground rock band on the verge of commercial success. Luanna Anders plays an aspiring author with origins in punk zine writing. The two of them are married with a child. He escapes to Mexico, the band disintegrates, she tries to bring him back, and thankfully their neglected kid is really well-behaved and quite happy nonetheless. There is an issue of money stolen from a club, and of some mysterious "books," band members beaten up by some thugs, the ridiculous roadie successfully hitting on Luanna, and all of it is interspersed with fragments of interviews with all the characters in the movie, given to reporters (who never appear on the screen) apparently working on a story about Chris. The movie is black-and-white, beautiful to watch even on my computer screen. Though I'd known and loved the music in the movie before--The Flesh Eaters, Green on Red, Dave Alvin, that's why I rented it--I really didn't expect the movie to be great. My expectations were low simply because the makers of the movie never really made careers as auteurs after that movie. Now it's a puzzle to me: how come not even one of the 3 makers of such a layered, funny, haunting film, which was released in art theaters in 1988, didn't go on to become brilliant art film makers? (Allison Anders is the successful one of the three, but her output varies from likable Grace of My Heart through the Madonna part of the Four Room omnibus, to HBO gigs like directing Sex and the City episodes. Not exactly Fellini.)

My instinct is that the answer lies in that same cultural neglect that relegated all the best kinds of music to (near) obscurity back in the ReaganBushSr. era. (Or so I hear, I didn't live in this country then.) And if that happened to rock music, which costs much less to produce and distribute (if done right), of course film had an even worse faith being so much more expensive to make. In other words, good underground music exists in obscurity, but it exists, whereas what passes for indie film usually is very unpersuasive and forgettable. (The exception was/is Jim Jarmusch, but that guy always had one financial foot in Europe, right?) Maybe digital, DIY films of today and tomorrow will not suck, because they can entirely surpass the film industry and even theaters...

Educate Yourself About Your City, For Example

I feel like I must have known of the Black Panthers all my life, and my knee-jerk reaction has been to respect them. Learning about them over the years only bolstered that respect. Anyway, today, thanks to the little movie called American Revolution 2, by Howard Alk and Mike Gray, from 1969, I heard for the first time about the Young Patriots. These were white dudes who moved to Chicago from the South, looking for work and a better life, only to find themselves living in slums of Uptown. They were harassed by the cops just like other poorest Chicagoans, e.g. Southside and Westside blacks and they basically rose up in protest against police harassment, so-called urban renewal, and poor living conditions. That was the first step. The Young Patriots drew their inspiration from the Black Panthers so naturally they struck a partnership with them in order to join forces and overthrow capitalism. Some quick googling, and I found an interview where one BP talks a little bit about what happened next. Fascinating and instructive!

My point is, the information about Chicago is out there, and I'm slowly putting together the history puzzle. With once hard-to-find films now available as home DVDs, and with people tirelessly inundating the Internet with subversive materials, it's never been easier to uncover the "secret history."

As far as living in the moment, the Cafe Mestizo open mic was great tonight. Nick, Patrick and Eric, and their band Lower Class Odyssey are sounding better and better--completely live, vocals, bass and drums. I am emphasizing completely live, because I was thinking on my way back home from the open mic about something. MCs who work with DJs have to rap on top of a pre-recorded beat. That's normal, that's hip hop, I have no problem with that. But they don't have to rap on top of their tracks that already feature their vocals--that's one step away from lipsynching, and we are talking about talented underground rappers who write their own lyrics, not some pop starlets on so-called live television. Therefore, my respect also goes to D-Nick, who rapped live, not on top of his previously recorded voice.

May 1, 2008--Marching on in Chicago

We should be demanding a 6-hour day at least, and for the minimum wage to cover basic expenses. After decades of fighting, New Deal signed the 8-hour day into law in the US, which was about 80 years ago. But the current form of capitalism is far from New Deal policies, and workers today have to fight for the right to work, to get paid, and not to be deported, not to go to work intimidated.

I'm on a student visa, and who knows where I'll end up once I'm on the global academic job market. I go to May 1st marches out of solidarity.

This year I was sitting on some bleachers behind a softball field in Union Park early, as marchers were gathering in smaller or larger groups. I sat there for about an hour and 45 minutes soaking up the sun, and got a nice tan on my face, but none of my friends showed up, not even Nick, who was supposed to get there "early." Still, he was nice enough to send the little report I'm including in this post.

Demonstrations here are part-class-part-ethnic-identity-based: the large majority of marchers are Latino workers, and prominent are groups drawing on Native American aspects of their heritage. Most messages are symbolic: "we didn't cross the border, the border crossed us." There is the demand for amnesty for immigrant workers, which is great, but as far as I know it's not backed up, say, by the threat of the general strike in which immigrant and non-immigrant workers in all branches of production would participate. That threat would be untenable, because there is not enough solidarity on the part of non-immigrant workers. And so on, and so forth.

I have to say I didn't feel all that revolutionary that day, but rather distracted and kind of lonely-in-the-crowd. Still, I marched with everybody along Washington, from Union Park to Morgan St (about 20 minutes?), at which point I slipped out of the march and rode my bike to UIC to attend my last writing workshop of the semester.

Well, onward! I'll be there next year for sure.

Here is Nick's account:

"I entered my friends' apartment fairly distracted by the fact that my girlfriend was waiting for me and every passing second was launching me deeper into the dog house. Pajamas hung off Andy and Marybelle as they groggily rolled a blunt and slowly got ready for the march. 'It won't be as big this year, but I'm glad we are going,' Andy said in scratchy voice with a mouth full of smoke. We finished the blunt and started the four-block walk to the pink line. Rosa called and asked if we wanted a ride and we accepted. As we waited for her in front of one of the many corner marts in Pilsen, Sneza called to call us hypocrites for being late. I chewed on her comments in silence as Rosa pulled up in the jeep and took us to Union Park.

"The park was lined with flag and food vendors as the crowd flowed downtown. I got a little pissed that the attendance was half the amount of people from last year, but the amount of people selling shit seemed to double. It was as if people making a buck off of the whole march could be passed of as support. We walked the path as angry Chicagoans blared their horns at us. I was distracted by my angry girlfriend and without realizing it I walked ahead of everyone else and lost the group I was there with.

"The booming drums of the native dancers bounced off the skyscrapers as we marched to Daley Plaza. The smiling faces of proud Pilsenites accompanied by other organizations and supporters flooded the slim city streets. I felt proud to be showing my support for people whose voices are too often unheard. I was interviewed by a couple of film students as the day went on. I'm guessing it was cause of my large sign that read 'America has always had an immigrant problem, just ask the Indians.'

"As we arrived in Daley Plaza I regrouped with Andy, Maribelle, and Rosa. People gave speeches in-between musical performances from Tom Morello and Ben Gibbard. The mayor (fucking asshole) also gave a speech but was met with loud booing. He stepped to the side as the crowd thinned out and returned to their respective city dwellings.

"'See you next year,' I thought as I chased down the torta lady who was now giving her delicious sandwiches away."

James!

In my response to Ceci's comment to my previous post, I forgot the most important thing. So important that it needs its own separate post! That body of water that Silver is sitting by is not "a stream"--it's the gently cascading, beautiful James River in Richmond, VA with its bridges, islands, and hills. Admittedly it looks like a creek in the video. Obviously "my" candidate (he'll be my candidate in case I change my mind and embrace democracy, and somehow obtain citizenship and register to vote, all by November 4) needs to shoot a new video that fully boasts the beauty and power of his native river. Feel free to post some suggestions or screenplays for Silver's future DIY no-budget campaign videos.

The Stupidity of Voting for the "Lesser Evil"

Let me preach here a bit.

If you are voting not because you stand 100% (or even 90, or even 50%) behind your candidate, but because that candidate is less evil than the other one, you must be stupid. I have been stupid on several such occasions.

That "Lesser Evil" is always much, much closer to the "Utter Evil" that you want to oust than it is or ever will be to you, the voter who wants social and economic justice and peace. When it wins, "Lesser Evil" will make convenient deals with the "Utter Evil"--it has to, that’s the basic rule of democracy--and you will be once again broken.

Some voters (not you) are sincerely interested in waging war or watching while someone wages it on their behalf. They are sincerely interested in watching or participating in the big and cruel game of circulating capital by all means necessary. They are sincerely interested in the destruction of the environment--it's all a part of the outlook that sees life as Extreme Olympics. Those voters must be a majority, and the most popular candidates reflect that. "Utter Evil" and "Lesser Evil" compete for their votes.

A minority of people--like you--are truly interested in the above-mentioned social and economic justice and peace, and in saving what could be saved of the environment. Not only on principle: they--you--are fully capable of grasping and are working for these fine, reasonable, basic-survival causes. A large number of those people are however harboring an illusion that voting for the "Lesser Evil" will "make a difference." "Lesser Evil" can always count on these suckers (demagoguery is a crude art, but it works), and sometimes it wins and the “Utter Evil” gladly takes the passenger seat until the next so-called free elections. (They are free for the Extreme Olympics majority, but they are oppressive, constricting and costly for the rest).

If the minority were not stupid and if it were the majority, this guy Silver Persinger, for example, with his Free Party Platform, would stand a fair chance of winning, while the currently most popular candidates would get a handful of hits on their web sites and be regarded as hopeless outsiders. Silver's Free Party, a party of one right now (I am not its offical propagandist, contrary to what this post might imply), would be one of the most numerous and lively parties around.

If today's minority were the totality of people, there would be no need for political parties or for the state itself.

Discuss?

Plzensky Sokol

After living in the Pilsen neighborhood of Chicago for almost two years, I keep "discovering" Czech inscriptions on old buildings. I took this picture and imagined Czech American gentlemen in shorts with suspenders, at the turn of the last century, exercising: squats, jumps, push-ups, sit-ups, etc. breathing in through the nose, breathing out through the mouth, handlebar mustache quivering in-between.

The New York Dolls in Cleveland

Sadly, I didn't get to go, nor will I go to the Chicago show, because the tickets are sold out (plus they were above the price I'm preprared to pay: I do not want to spend in one hour and a half more than what I make in one hour and a half). However, I got this message from a Cleveland NYD fan: "The NY Dolls were incredible we saw em at the Beachland. Johansen was wearing some sort of quasi glam shirt that showed off his little beer belly to nice effect. He's skinny as a rail, but still has something of a beer gut. Imagine Iggy with a little preggy bulge between his hip bones. He looked like he might give birth to a little rock & roll right there on stage!"

If you got to see The New York Dolls this time around or in 1974 or whenever, send me comments and I'll post them. If you haven't seen them live, but have imagined, describe your fantasy.

Borovo naselje this winter