Staying in Touch

Over the past decade I had gradually allowed pragmatism to overthrow those things in my life that replenished my soul and kept me in touch with my deeper values. I feel that's part of the burden taken on by choosing to pursue advanced education and join the 'professional' flock. However, I am willing to concede that I also became a bit disenchanted with what pop music was offering me as the two-thousands progressed.

 When I was a teenager and into my early twenties, music was an enduring passion. Several hours a day were spent under the sweeping hands of my choral conductor, scanning sheet music and noting her slight grimace when I slid a note for the sake of good sport.  Although I was young and naive and idealistic, every song I sang fed my soul like nothing else could. In the hardest of times music soothed me, in the greatest joys it extolled my achievements. Music was one of my deepest loves, and I had committed to it since my earliest days as a small child, nestled in the corner with my father's record player and Beatles 45's.

I gave that all up for textbooks and theories and exams. I stored away Medusa, So, Violator, Rubber Soul for the responsibilities of academics. There was no more time for capricious hours alone with the headphones. Gone were the days of cloistering in my room sitting on  the hardwood floor facing the stereo speakers and escaping the conventional.

Just under a year ago, something in me broke away from the system. Some ghost in the machine began to combat my stoic compliance with business as usual. I cannot say what happened initially-as the protagonist in my beloved novel High Fidelity would say; "what came first, the music or the misery?" Perhaps it was the sudden thrust of loss and change in my life that lead me back to that space I'd not existed in for ten years. Perhaps it was the music that awoke the hibernating muse of my past. Perhaps it matters not how or why something changed, but it did, and not in the transient manner I suspected at first.

 Suddenly music re-entered my life with fervor. Something that once was lost was found. Although, at the time, my life seemed to be crumbling to dust in many ways, I had music--I had solace. Part of my mind/heart/soul that had been dormant re-invigorated and spurred me on through an autumn of loss, fear, pain and victory. Not only did I love again-I loved more profoundly than ever before. I hungered for the moment to leave my daily work to shut the car door, slide a disk into the player and regain my center as I made my way home. During the day the music echoed in my mind. I even dreamed of music-I heard it crystal clear through the darkness. I could feel the sounds bubbling within my chest until I could escape to an empty room and sing at the top of my now attenuated lungs. Although the voice that came from me was sometimes weak and unrefined, I remembered that once I could fill a room with ringing. I knew someday I would regain my strength.

Today I celebrate the power that music has had for me every day. Never before in my life has it moved me so. Now I spend giddy evenings returning to the once beloved haunts of the local record shop, flipping through the sonic sweets and squealing when a treasure susses out from the milieu. You can find me half-dancing in my car or my jaw unhinged as I belt out to today's aural selection. You'll hear the music leaking from the rafters and floorboards at home in the night.

Or perhaps you can find me in the crowd at a concert, my eyes welling with tears, my mouth moving along with the music and my body swaying in spiritual sychronicity. If you find me there, and if you feel as I do, tap my shoulder and let us experience the fathomage of sounds that speak to us like no other messages can. That is my perfection-my place where I am safe, brave and enlightened.

Thank you to all who share the music with me, and to those who make it-it is a boundless gift.


~~~c. Paige 2012~~

Giving a Damn

Yesterday I sat through eight straight hours at a professional conference, as is a common procedure for folks of my ilk. After years of towing this line, topics presented at sessions become a little repetitive.
Fortunately, the afternoon brought me an hour of relief in the form of a provocative presentation on the slant of the "ethic of care" originally conceptualized by Foucault and expanded upon by several contemporaries of eclectic disciplines. Distilled down to a simplest form, this is the notion that one must treat all who enter their 'circle' with caring and warmth, and that in turn those who receive care will be expected to pass that caring on to someone else. I realized that term "caring" in itself is a bit vague, as it encompasses many possible interpretations based on culture, values, morals, etc.

I considered the concept from many angles, initially within my own responsibilities as a therapist. It made perfect sense for my own professional bend to engage with and commit to an ethic of care, but I also began to consider what it meant for those who create art-which is easily as emotionally salient as any session with a competent shrink.

So how does the ethic of care transpose onto those in our society we call the 'creatives?' Is there any social responsibility contingent upon being a professional creator? It seems art is decently justified by its aesthetic and sensory stimulation alone, but is there any ethical imperative bound to it? Is an artist expected to create something that speaks to others in a profound way such that they will share that inspiration with others? It seems that is an inherent tendency of art, but is it requisite?

I considered, of course, the practices of one of my favorite musos in this cognitive expedition. That can be equally blamed on my pseudo-enmeshment in representing his work as well as the fact that his music tends to pervade my car radio-and often my most unhinged cogitations occur whilst on the motorway.


It seems that although the ethic of care is not a precondition of artistry, some creatives choose to engage with it of their own socially and self-aware volition. Someone else that comes to mind here is the lovely Jess McAvoy, fellow Oz muso friend whose open engagement with caring for her listeners is refreshing and genuine. She openly advocates for collaboration and accessibility with her listening community. Her willingness to interface with and even seek ideas from her fans is remarkable and appealing. A major tip of the proverbial hat for her.

 Regardless of market standing and mass-appeal, some artists make a conscious decision to give a damn about those who absorb their work, and to commit significant energy to acknowledge that.
 Some may argue that in the current social media sphere, engagement is desultory and meaningless, and that the work itself is best focused on the art rather than the lovers of it.

As a non-professional creative (vocal performance, written word and occasional visual works) myself, I tend to hold that those who find meaning in your work are those who give your work meaning. Yes, the artist themselves put profound value in their expression, but with no souls to touch, the work might transform to silence. Like stories, they are meaningless jumbles of words if never shared with other minds.This is, of course, my own moral value, and I own it openly, but perhaps you agree? Perhaps there is a social justice imperative hidden in the process of creation?

I am increasingly impressed and refreshed by the apparent inclusion of some ethic of care by my most valued familiars in the current musical world.They are creative people who have chosen to engage with those who support, speak-out for and commit to their art. These are people who have taken the precious time and energy to remember that without those listeners, their art might exist in a lonely vacuum. For choosing that commitment alone they deserve admiration. In combination with their creative brilliance, their ethic of caring makes them truly extraordinary artists.

In other words, cheers y'all! 


~~~c. Paige 2012~~~

An artist must be free to choose what he does, certainly, 

but he must also never be afraid to do what he might choose.

-Langston Hughes

~~~

 

It's hard enough to stand for your values and needs in the day-to-day meanderings of normal life. By the explicit and implicit messages floating about that affirm our inadequacy, it is all too easy to acquiesce. We then find ourselves mired in efforts to fulfill others' expectations of us, or to compete with those who should be our collaborators. Eventually we construct durable obstacles around our own sense of self-efficacy as well as potential relationships that could lead to profound growth. We also close ourselves down to the moments of inspiration that could punctuate the noise of the workaday. 

 

By far the most critical voices are the ones within our own minds-always searching for sparks yet apparently assuming they could not possibly already reside within us.

 

One can imagine this is no different for those whom have been granted some level of extraordinary recognition. In fact, it's feasible to assume that with greater power comes even further pressure against one's sense of foundation. The slightest slip of word, misinterpretation or preconceived notion can shift meanings all over the board.That is especially rampant in the current context, in which myriad miscommunications are apparently constant and widely disseminated.

 

I usually spend a decent amount of time here deconstructing my own notions about art and the makers, obviously as prompted by one specific artist. 

 

Today I think I would rather just acknowledge the challenges faced by Wally and the resilience reflected in his chosen responses. It takes a truckload of pluck to be as genuine as he is, even when he does it more cautiously. Yes, he could likely veer off and do whatever the hell he desired by now, having reached a significant level of acclaim. But he chooses to place himself in a space that is artistically available to those who appreciate his work. Furthermore, he recognizes his own strengths and limitations in a way that is candid yet dynamic. That is a fine balance of deep self-awareness. That, in my opinion, is the watermark of an artist who is truly moved by their chosen medium, and willing to bare themselves to both its inherent joys and burdens. Cheers, Wally.

~~~c. Paige 2012

Subversive Dialogue

Recently I've read a few less than laudatory reviews of shows across the current American leg of the Gotye world tour. As expected, initially I was righteously indignant and puffed with botheration, readying myself to wield shield and sword in verbose defence of my musical friend.

Rather than defer to my occasionally elitist uber-supporter tendencies, I chose to challenge myself to sit with the reflections of those who did not see as I see. What did it mean to me to have my values challenged?
As is oft the vexatious case, I came about a stream of concept at the remote, wee hour of 1am. As a confidently identified and constructing Feminist mental health practitioner, I believe in the power of those messages (be they explicit or implicit) that slither beneath the surface of the accepted popular culture or socio-political parlance. Needless to say it took a beer and a serious think to bring forth a singular term that encapsulates Wally's music. The verbiage my electrified brain settled upon was this: subversive.

Now, this is generally a tricky term to espouse as it tends to carry a negative or anarchist connotation. However, subversion is often the catalyst to enlightenment. It is iconoclastic and tectonic, and can shift insidious complacency towards change and growth. So-what manner of subversive semi-synth sample pop music is the product here? Is it an exercise in  deconstruction or genesis? Perhaps it's a yin-yang balance of both.

  Is this why the music can appeal so viscerally to some yet fall short of inspiration for others? Is that the nature of any art? Or is there a resistance to imbibe a concoction comprised of elements not like the accepted norm? Can it be distilled down to the simple dynamic of taste? Or is it a challenge to the order in power and thus a creature to be oppressed lest it storm the gates and alter the system entirely.

It is hard to pin-down the rationale for walking out of a show mid-set after the ubiquitous radio hit pays its dues. What perhaps can be captured is the apparent possibility that the starkly non-trad and innovative MO of Wally a.k.a Gotye subverts the contemporary pop zeitgeist in a fashion that is bound to be loved by many and misunderstood perhaps in equal share.

I'll own my shit in my honesty that I am of the "I get it" ilk. 
Then again I love subversive things.

~~~ c. Paige 2012~~~