Link to a book review by Staughton Lynd:
Category: Books
Bouree Lam – Why “Do What You Love” Is Pernicious Advice
Link to an interview with Miya Tokumitsu, author of Do What You Love: And Other Lies About Success and Happiness (2015), by Bouree Lam:
“Why ‘Do What You Love’ Is Pernicious Advice”
Bonus links: “Forced to Love the Grind” and “Žižek!” and The End of Dissatisfaction?: Jacques Lacan and the Emerging Society of Enjoyment
Ursula K. Le Guin – The Dispossessed
Ursula K. Le Guin – The Dispossessed (Harper & Row 1974)
In the tradition of leftist utopian novels, often there is a tendency to make story and plot secondary to gratuitous description and monologues. The bestselling Looking Backward: 2000-1887 by Edward Bellamy epitomizes that tendency. Ursula Le Guin manages to make The Dispossessed, about a physicist named Shevek who leaves his isolated moon colony of Annares to pursue his research on the main planet Urras, one of the rare ones that fits sympathetic description of the workings of an anarcho-syndicalist society into a story that has merit on its own.
Le Guin is adept at inserting conspicuous phrasings that distinguish the anarchist society of Annares from contemporary language of Earth (acknowledging the so-called Sapir-Whorf Hypothesis that the structure of a language affects the way speakers conceptualize their world). Shevek’s daughter says, “you may share in the handkerchief that I use,” instead of “you may borrow my handkerchief.” Her characters are the sorts that are rarely featured prominently in fiction of any medium: introverted, revolutionary, scientific. When it comes to character development, she isn’t Tolstoy, but she gets the job done.
As most reviews note, a strength of the book is the critical view Le Guin takes of the anarchist moon colony. She refuses to make it a place without problems, without fear, without ignorance. It is a place still burdened by all the failings of humans. By analogy, the major themes of the book recall Franz Kafka‘s The Trial, from the obscurantist-religious reading, in which Kafka’s protagonist Joseph K. struggles to apply rational logic to a legal system that ultimately is not rational because of its attachment to an irrational power system. Le Guin does what Joseph K. could not; she replaces all state institutions and laws with a rational system based on a non-hierarchical, stateless society. But she details how power structures linger, and they are much like those described by Kafka. The social organization is still subject to individual anxieties, fears, and attempts to consolidate power. But her main character Shevek engages his own limitations, and challenges himself to overcome them.
Just like tellings of Josef K.‘s story, Shevek goes beyond what his friend Bedap thinks about the unenlightened power structures that have been built up in an anarchist society that had supposedly permanently abolished them all long ago, to realize that there is no guarantee of consistency or meaning in any society, and he breaks the hold of the sustaining myth (the very preconditions of law) of the functioning behind-the-scenes power structures that “really” keep Annares going. She drives this home by having Shevek’s mother argue — as Bedap’s rhetorical rival — to stop Shevek from communicating with the planet Urras about his physics theories. Eventually, Shevek breaks the hold that the mother, and the belief that anything external to his mind provides meaning to his existence.
Take the following passage about the presence of police and military hierarchies. Not only does Le Guin convey an awakening and a rising consciousness in Shevek, but she concretely explains how means are inseparably tied to ends in social structures:
“In the afternoon, when he cautiously looked outside, he saw an armored car stationed across the street and two others slewed across the street at the crossing. That explained the shouts he had been hearing: it would be soldiers giving orders to each other.
“Atro had once explained to him how this was managed, how the sergeants could give the privates orders, how the lieutenants could give the privates and the segeants orders, how the captains . . . and so on and so on up to the generals, who could give everyone else orders and need take them from none, except the commander in chief. Shevek had listened with incredulous disgust. ‘You call that organization?’ he had inquired. ‘You even call that discipline? But it is neither. It is a coercive mechanism of extraordinary efficiency — a kind of seventh-millennium steam engine! With such a rigid and fragile structure what could be done that was worth doing?’ This had given Atro a chance to argue the worth of warfare as the breeder of courage and manliness and the weeder-out of the unfit, but the very line of his argument had forced him to concede the effectiveness of guerrillas, organized from below, self-disciplined. ‘But that only works when the people think they’re fighting for something of their own — you know, their homes, or for some notion or other,’ the old man had said. Shevek had dropped the argument. He now continued it, in the darkening basement among the stacked crates of unlabeled chemicals. He explained to Atro that he now understood why the army was organized as it was. It was indeed quite necessary. No rational form of organization would serve the purpose. He simply had not understood that the purpose was to enable men with machine guns to kill unarmed men and women easily and in great quantities when told to do so. Only he could still not see where courage, or manliness, or fitness entered in.”
So, this is a masterful novel, really as good as anything in science fiction.
Evelyn McDonnell Interviews Richard Goldstein
Link to an interview of Richard Goldstein by Evelyn McDonnell about the book Another Little Piece of My Heart: My Life of Rock and Revolution in the ’60s (2015):
“Live Through This: A Pioneering Rock Critic Looks Back with Love and Sorrow on the 1960s”
Sebastian Budgen – A New “Spirit of Capitalism”
Link to a review of Luc Boltanski and Ève Chiapello’s book Le Nouvel esprit du capitalisme by Sebastian Budgen:
William Davies – We Are All Just Rats in a Cage
Link to an excerpt from the book The Happiness Industry: How the Government and Big Business Sold Us Well-Being (2015) by William Davies:
“We Are All Just Rats in a Cage: How the 1 Percent Profits From Your Misery”
Bonus link: “The Happiness Industry and Depressive-Competitive Disorder”
George Clinton – Brothas Be, Yo Like George, Ain’t That Funkin’ Kinda Hard on You?
George Clinton With Ben Greenman – Brothas Be, Yo Like George, Ain’t That Funkin’ Kinda Hard on You?: A Memoir (Simon & Schuster 2014)
George Clinton, of Parliament–Funkadelic fame, has written his memoir in the “as told to” format with journalist Ben Greenman. This gives the book a narrative feel, as if gathered from a series of conversations or recorded monologues. It’s comparable to other memoirs in that format (Cash: The Autobiography, The Autobiography of Malcolm X). Fans of Clinton’s music will learn plenty about how his bands evolved. The accounts of some of his bandmates are a little selective. Though his friendship with Sly Stone in the 1980s and 90s is rendered well as a sympathetic portrait of another star on a downward slide still trying to forge his own way. The first parts of the book, recounting his early days in a hard-working touring band and the middle years as part of a colossal musical entertainment empire that evolves into a corporate “organization”, are snappy and engaging like most music memoirs of this sort, while the last part of book covering the later years (tales of old fart funkadelijunkie) are bitter and resentful and a bit less endearing, just like so many of these memoirs that chronicle the autumnal years when few(er) were listening.
Latter-day fans who think of Parliament-Funkdaelic as two sides of the same band may be surprised to learn how differently they evolved, meeting only for a brief window in time. Funkadelic established itself first, and the band was influenced by psychedelic rock. Clinton mentions the English rock supergroup Cream as an influence repeatedly, and The Beatles, and Jimi Hendrix. He had an appreciation for the white British invasion blues-rock bands, applauding their interpretations of black American blues. He talks about Funkadelic being a very democratic band into the early 1970s. But he also discusses those days like a businessman, never failing to mention how he watched the charts for ideas, made promotional connections in radio, and worked every angle on commercial terms. When Parliament takes off in popularity, Clinton jumps at the chance to be the frontman. He felt that to be really huge a band has to have a focal point. What he glosses over, though, is what the rest of the band thought about that. Clinton talks about some of the key members like Eddie Hazel, but others are mentioned more in passing. He addresses some of the splinter bands led by others with a sense of slightly condescending pity.
If you believe Clinton’s account — and you probably can’t believe all of it — he has been screwed royally on financial matters and he’s cleaned up his life just before writing this book. Still, he comes across as pretty defensive. He has a rationale for everything. Yet he works pretty hard to put those rationales across to the reader, while trying not to let on to those intentions and apologetics. He is also a bit hypocritical. He waxes on about how all music is adapted from other music. And yet, a good portion of this book is a rant about how he’s been ripped off, especially in the hip-hop era when DJs have frequently sampled Parliament-Funkadelic songs. On one page, he’s praising adaptations of old songs (without payment), on another he’s complaining how he hasn’t been paid for samples. Now, he makes some good points that sampling royalties shouldn’t be set up as they are, and should instead be proportional to the sales of the sampler. But his arguments are confused and rather self-serving, ultimately resting on nothing more than his whims and fancies. Some deserve compensation, and others not, and the two can hardly be told apart without Clinton’s infinite wisdom (read: unlimited discretion). He mentions the George Harrison/Chiffons copyright lawsuit, and defends the ridiculous outcome. Yeah, maybe Clinton fell in with some crooked people who haven’t compensated him and pocketed the difference. He makes that case. It is a fair argument. But the idea that anybody at all should be raking in royalties for their efforts of decades before, and that sampling isn’t a fair use that creates no need for royalty payments, have kind of assumed away a big part of the public policy issues.
The most interesting way to look at this book is to set aside Clinton’s own spin and put his hippie ideals into a sharper critical focus. Sure, he was into free love and all that, though pretty early on he tried to reveal the superficiality of much of the 60s counterculture, in terms of how it failed to fundamentally transform society. But doesn’t that critique apply to him as well? The book doesn’t go there, but it should have.
Clinton is fast to discard the democratic cooperation of Funkadelic to achieve bigger commercial success with Parliament. The question of what was surrendered in that process goes largely unexamined, and the assumption that big commercial success is necessarily an achievement superior to purely cultural cachet looms large over the narrative. He derides those who sought material possessions. Yet at the same time he talks about how he instead wanted to use his wealth from Parliament’s success to accumulate experiences. Social scientists have explored how developing “cultural capital” through exclusive experiences and the “nonproductive consumption of time” is just another mode of establishing social distinction, not really opposed to the kind of thinking that gives rise to conspicuous consumption of luxury items. This is a curious flaw in Clinton’s version of hippie ideals.
He blasts those whose message was about “pointing at a power structure and condemning it as they went about installing themselves at the head of a new one.” But again, his pleas for credit (and remuneration) for his past achievements kind of seek to locate himself at a particular position in popular musical history, which is to say in a hierarchy. When discussing a Funkadelic reunion project that required large payments to Bootsy Collins and Bernie Worrell, Clinton complains about how they wanted to be reinstated as co-leaders and acted like stars, lording that status over the long-time (yet non-famous) members of his working band. Who decided that Clinton gets to make these calls? Hasn’t the audience, for better or worse, decided that they want to hear Bernie and Bootsy more than the members of Clinton’s latter-day working band? Isn’t that really why Clinton recruited Bernie and Bootsy back in the first place? There is a tacit assumption that in spite of what the audience thinks he gets to be the center of the operation and, like a CEO, slot everyone else in the band into their “proper” place. Sound very hippie-like to you? Or were hippies always short-sighted capitalists at heart, evidenced by the way they later gave into the “me generation” and vapid 1980s Reaganomics materialism? Don’t expect Clinton to pause long on these questions, because he doesn’t.
No doubt, Clinton has made some great music in his long career. But was his autobiography published only because of his musical talent or did his relentless ability to self-promote have more to do with it? The man admits some faults and mistakes, for sure, but those admissions are limited mostly to things he feels like he has since resolved. The demons he hasn’t bested still lurk in the shadows, and those shadows seep into the pages of this book more than Clinton probably intended. It is good to have this available as Clinton’s side of the story, but there are other perspectives that need to be explored to understand the Parliament-Funkadelic legacy.
Black Armed Resistance
Links to books about black armed resistance in freedom movements:
Negroes with Guns (1962) Robert F. Williams
We Will Shoot Back: Armed Resistance in the Mississippi Freedom Movement (2013) Akinyele Omowale Umoja
Negroes and the Gun: The Black Tradition of Arms (2014) Nicholas Johnson
This Nonviolent Stuff’ll Get You Killed: How Guns Made the Civil Rights Movement Possible (2014) Charles E. Cobb, Jr.
The Deacons for Defense: Armed Resistance and the Civil Rights Movement (2004) Lance Hill
The Deacons for Defense and Justice: Defenders of the African American Community in Bogalusa, Louisiana (2000) L. LaSimba M. Gray Jr.
Bonus links: “Kurdish Women’s Radical Self-Defense: Armed and Political” and “Statement of Support for Black Lives Matter and Defund the Police”
David Harvey – The Seventeen Contradictions and The End of Capitalism
David Harvey – Seventeen Contradictions and The End of Capitalism (Profile Books, 2014)
Admittedly, I did not read all of this book. I did read enough to have my fill though. David Harvey has achieved that status of academic respect that allows him to release books in which he pontificates about his opinions without regard for much other scholarship, and people nonetheless print those books and read them. He adopts an air of aristocratic self-importance such that he can discuss other scholars and simply say he does like them. Support? Research? Logical critique? None of those. Just the wave of his withered, regal hand — he doesn’t like those other theories. That is the problem with Harvey. He’s dispensing his own theories by monologue, not testing them. The premise of this book is to be an accessible, high level discussion of the inherent contradictions of capital (not capitalism). Time and again, Harvey reveals his rigid, old-fogey commitment to old theory and his readiness to dismiss all ideas outside his conceptions of orthodox marxism and class reductionism. Where he’s best is in detailed discussions of the particulars of contemporary urban real estate and associated geography. But while he has updated the descriptions to fit the modern context, his illustrations add nothing to what has been written a century ago (Absentee Ownership and Business Enterprise in Recent Times: The Case of America). Pass.
Viv Albertine – Clothes, Clothes, Clothes. Music, Music, Music. Boys, Boys, Boys.
Viv Albertine – Clothes, Clothes, Clothes. Music, Music, Music. Boys, Boys, Boys. (Faber and Faber, 2014)
There have been many memoirs published from surviving punk rock personalities. These include a recent spate of books from women involved in the scene, and its offshoots, from Patti Smith‘s lauded Just Kids to Kim Gordon‘s Girl in a Band: A Memoir. Viv Albertine, who was the guitarist for the iconoclastic (even by liberal standards) UK punk band The Slits, contributes her own memoir with Clothes Clothes Clothes Music Music Music Boys Boys Boys. Albertine is not a trained writer and so, like her music, her book is direct and from the gut. It is made up of mostly short chapters, arranged chronologically. Each has a punchy theme and tries to grab the reader with its candidness and revealing, even lurid, tidbits. It wouldn’t convey as much about the punk ethos if it was written any other way. It is a book refreshingly light on grandstanding and self-mythologizing — the bane of many memoirs — as well as fake humility and fabricated adversities (at least, taking much of this at face value).
The book is in two parts, named “Sides” (like an LP). The first covers her childhood up through the early 1980s dissolution of her band The Slits. Most readers came for this part of the book, with its gossip about the punk scene and first hand account of what it was like to be a part of the now-legendary Slits. The second part of the book is the rest of her life, one filled with more “typical girl” issues like making a living and having a family. Much of side two would fit comfortably on a daytime talk show for middle class viewers. But throughout, Albertine comes across as remarkably candid, and for all the lurid gossip and confessional tracts, she tries to stick with a tone that is questioning and humble.
The book’s title is drawn from what her mother complained were the only things she talked about growing up. Clothes come first. Chapters include photos and many descriptions of outfits. This was clearly a big part of what she spent time thinking about all her life. Some scenes in the book seem to revolve around how certain clothing was selected, and often the mention of certain brand names stands in for more detailed description of the appearance of that clothing. What is revealing though, is how these descriptions of clothing labels, cut, color, modification, purchase location and such actually fade in and out of the story. It is when Albertine sees potential and promise in her life that clothing takes on a prominent role, at least a sufficient enough role to merit mention in the book. She studied textiles for a time at an art school, so she knew clothing from that perspective. But fashion was part of how punks set themselves apart and brought out instant confrontation with those around them. When she is married and struggles with cancer and in vitro fertilization (IVF) treatment, and when she is depressed and without a career or child, there is almost no mention of clothing. It appears barely in passing. A compendium of eras of her life at the end of the book, with friends, musical interests and key clothing compiled for each era, lists clothing for one time period simply as “boring”. It would have been a bit daring to relentlessly describe clothing across the entire book, even the boring stuff. Not doing so has a way of revealing how clothing was a tool for ambitious and aspirational ends in Albertine’s life. When she omits descriptions of them, it conveys a sense of finality and stasis to those periods of her life. Some readers may find nothing in the details of the clothing descriptions, though it seems worthwhile to at least take in the context for how Albertine’s nostalgia for fashion frames her whole life’s perspective as one seeking mechanisms not just to be herself freed from intrusion but to actively engage in society in her own way. Viewed through the lens of the old debate between positive and negative freedoms, her fashion sense stands for positive freedom to shape your social trajectory. When her trajectory was fixed (or seemed fixed) at times of her life, that positive freedom was missing and so clothing doesn’t play a role worthy of mention in her memoir. Maybe she had (negative) freedom from demands and impositions as a stay-at-home mother, but for her that wasn’t enough, and the clothing that accompanies such negative freedom doesn’t interest her enough to write about.
Music is the reason people know Viv Albertine’s name. Her band The Slits are cult legends, and their debut album Cut is considered a lost classic. It is hard to imagine many later feminist rock bands like Bikini Kill without the historical precedent of The Slits. Albertine describes her early influences, how she navigated the London punk rock scene, and, eventually, how she returned to music later in life after a long hiatus. She had no formal musical training. Mostly, she taught herself to play guitar. The book is filled with plenty of descriptions of the tribulations of being an autodidact musician, playing concerts, writing songs, and recording music commercially. Yet the book’s treatment of music as often as not is a platform to write about the people involved in her life. Albertine somewhat takes for granted that readers have heard of some of the bands and other musical personalities she mentions, but, rest assured, those unfamiliar should still be able to navigate those chapters.
“Boys” is the last part of the book’s title. No doubt, boys and romantic entanglements and exploits with them make up a substantial amount of the book. Albertine is fairly frank. It might be tempting to cite these things as just prurient gossip. Yet, remember, this writer considers herself a feminist. There seems to be something of a point being made here against “slut shaming” and an exploration, of sorts, of what the punk ethos has to say about sexuality, both during its heyday and in its aftermath. Albertine is quick to note how the punk scene could, in actual practice, be misogynistic and more limited for women than its inclusive attitude suggested. The only way to meaningfully examine these things and move beyond them is for people to openly talk about them. Kudos to Albertine for that.
“Side One” is a fast-paced read. The chapters are short. There is no attempt to comprehensively chronicle the days of The Slits here. This remains a book about about Albertine, not her one-time band. Some of the descriptions match almost verbatim things she (and former bandmates) have said in interviews. The ways in which she saw feminism work for (and against) The Slits (and then in the post-Slits years) remains one of the more unique contributions of this book. There are plenty of little vignettes and anecdotes about things like starting a band (The Flowers of Romance) with Sid Vicious, navigating the mean streets of London as a young girl, and acting on the do-it-yourself (DIY) mentality of punk against a backdrop of institutions set up to prevent that from happening or succeeding.
She relied on opportunities that haven’t been so plentiful in the years that followed (there are allusions to the Thatcher government withdrawing some opportunities). Looking back over thirty years later, she writes, “‘Punk’ was the only time I fitted in. Just one tiny sliver of time where it was acceptable to say what you thought. Perhaps I was lucky to have that.” When The Slits disband, she sinks into depression and doesn’t know what to do with herself. Many musicians start other bands, or move into producing or other ancillary roles. But for Albertine, there was something singular about the punk scene, and her outsider status as an untrained musician didn’t really equip her to deal with a music industry that is quick to discard bands and genres. She also came from a poor family, raised much of her childhood by a single mother, and wasn’t exactly made wealthy from her work with The Slits. She didn’t exactly have a vacation home or ample reserve funds to support new endeavors. The abruptness of how her musical life fell apart is interesting, because for many listeners it is easy to never give a thought to what band members do after there albums are out and the tours complete. On top of all this, the militantly confrontational nature of The Slits’ music took a heavy toll. From Albertine’s description, it seems perfectly natural that someone fighting on the front lines to change the world through music might be a bit worn out by that effort a few years later.
“Side two” of the book begins with the immediate aftermath of The Slits dissolving. She becomes an aerobics instructor, then goes to film school, tries to date, eventually marries, tries to have a child and eventually does, has cancer and lives through it. Her husband is identified only as “Husband” or “the Biker”. Then she divorces and renews a musical career. The pacing of the book shifts markedly here.
The trying times of life, especially dealing with cancer, are by no means new topics to this memoir. Albertine treats these as well as she can. Though much of her writing in those stretches seems to echo Denton Welch‘s brilliant unfinished autobiographical novel A Voice Through a Cloud, concerning his strained recovery and difficult readjustment to life after being hit by a car while riding his bicycle (if you have not read Welch’s book, please do so now!).
Her views of romance and love jump around through her life. She stands by a rather unsentimental vision of it, which recalls what philosopher Alain Badiou calls the “two scene” (see In Praise of Love). Yet she also wavers between wanting to see the world from the decentered point of view of two or to reaffirm her own singular identity. She fights off the worst temptations of identity politics. She doesn’t simply categorize herself as a feminist or a punk or a mother, and presume that those labels have a force of their own. For that, she struggles to find meaning and purpose at times.
The themes that emerge from the later half of the book wouldn’t be nearly as interesting if not bracketed by both the entire first half and the final few chapters. Albertine doesn’t talk much about politics or big agendas, only that she has always considered herself a feminist (which is the radical notion that woman are equal to men). But everything in her life is political. Consciously or not, she was always working from ideals that are staples of the political left, mostly involving radical egalitarianism. She mentions struggling with these things in the second part of the book. She describes the punk ethos as “‘nobody’s better than anyone else’ — we didn’t encourage fandom and that’s still with me[,]” and so doesn’t want to glorify The Slits or claim to be some sort of punk legend and spokesperson for a generation (though she does rely on that fandom to auction much of her punk memorabilia to pay for expensive IFV treatments; something hardly worth criticizing her for). Ultimately, she concludes that she doesn’t have the (positive) freedom to do as she wishes in her marriage, so after almost 20 years gets a divorce and commits herself to a renewed music career — spurred on by a strange contact, completely out of the blue, from the actor/director Vincent Gallo.
A long period of Albertine’s life was spent as what people in the States call a “soccer mom”. But there aren’t many soccer moms who were once in a radical punk band and best friends with Sid Vicious! How did she adapt to being a wife and mother? What spurred her to go back to music and arts? What is it like for a woman “of a certain age” (with a punk legacy on top of that) to start up a music career on the “open mic” circuit? Lots of questions like “how does a person cope with having cancer?” are commonplace, unfortunately, in melodrama and (auto)biography. But Albertine’s history as a kind of iconoclast gives those same questions a peculiar import. She does reveal enough about her material circumstances to give a sense of why she chose to buy a bigger house and let it define who she was for a time, and her time as a guitarist for The Slits forces her to confront those questions in a different way than women who dream from childhood about nothing more than marriage and children and a suburban, consumerist lifestyle.
Most musical memoirs are from people who worked in music continuously their entire lives (Patti Smith semi-retired from music for less than eight years). Clothes… is somewhat unique in adding the perspective of someone who walked away from it completely (and then came back). And what do punk stalwarts think of all this? Albertine’s friend Don Letts made a documentary Punk: Attitude in which Henry Rollins (once of Black Flag) comments about how everyone thought of punks as being open-minded, but it turned out that most were just as closed-minded as everyone else, maybe just close-minded in a slightly different way. While it is somewhat obvious by this point to ask about how some first-wave punks — and plenty of others who followed — were sexist and didn’t think women/girls could make legitimate music on their own terms, what has been less explored is to ask what people once associated with punk think about “ordinary” domestic life outside that milieu. Are punks, now at least, open-minded enough to listen to somebody who settled down into suburban life after an underground music career?
Albertine writes about how the punks were “the children of the first wave of divorced parents from the 1950s[.]” Yet much of “Side Two” is about a long, slow reconciliation with that viewpoint, as she tries, for a time, to succeed with a “domestic dream” that she at one point thought “was impossible to live up to.” This is completely in the spirit of her description of her leap into performing in the punk scene back in the 1970s: “Time to try, and maybe fail again, but better that than never try at all.” Go Viv! If only that sort of fearlessness caught on a bit more, what might the world be?
For more on this book, check out the many other reviews and interviews with the author.