Nilsson – Nilsson Schmilsson

Nilsson Schmilsson

NilssonNilsson Schmilsson RCA Victor LSP-4515 (1971)


Something I’ve observed through the years is the utter vacuousness of so much pop music from Los Angeles.  Yes, that is a commonplace observation.  L.A. is/was a cesspool.  But what that observation hides is the way that L.A. provided some unique opportunities for refugees from the East Coast.  Harry Nilsson was one of those.  Rightly or wrongly, he was in a state of crisis in New York, and relocated to L.A.  What this meant was that he had the opportunity there to work though his New York problems by way of his music, for whatever reason free from the hangups that would have dogged him in New York.  In a few years, he acclimated to L.A., and, after brief period of sanguinary transition, his music eventually became rather tediously blithe.  He lost touch with a New York frame of reference, and the L.A. frame just came across as complacent, slight and insular.  But, getting to the point, Nilsson Schmilsson came from the brief Goldilocks moment when Nilsson was this affable New York joke-ster out of his element, ready to appear on the cover of his album in a bathrobe, stoned and holding a bowl of marijuana, the photo out of focus.

Often in the conversation of “best albums recorded with a studio band,” this covers a range of song styles from ballad, to novelty, to rock and roll rave-up.  Reviewer Patrick Brown sums this up admirably:

“To me, this is an utterly charming album from beginning to end. I can’t understand how anyone who’s ever had a regular job could fail to be attracted to the first three songs, how anyone who’s been in a relationship that didn’t go as well as planned could fail to enjoy ‘Down’ or ‘I’ll Never Leave You’ or ‘Without You,’ how anyone with a rock and roll heart could fail to enjoy ‘Jump Into the Fire,’ or how anyone at all could fail to enjoy ‘The Moonbeam Song’ or ‘Let the Good Times Roll.’ Maybe this just shows my lack of imagination though. Regardless, I do find it nearly irresistible. Nilsson sings about real stuff but never takes himself too seriously, always seems to have his tongue hovering somewhere near his cheek when it’s not firmly planted there. But it’s not just novelty, I swear it. I mean really, most people do have to wake up, drink coffee and head to work. Why aren’t there more songs about that?”

It is tempting to expect Nilsson to kind of give up the charade, get to his real, unironic core message/personality.  But what endures about this album is how that moment never arrives.  He holds up the various commonplaces of commercial music and, rather than ridicule them, just sort of oddly embraces them as slight pleasures.  As it turns out, there is no deeper meaning.  What has the impression of being a joke ends up being ridiculously sincere — almost a precursor to comedian Andy Kaufman.  You just sort of have to recognize the banality and ironic irony (a kind of double negation) of this spectacle of commercial rock.  It is a beautiful anti-climax.  This is a record that accomplishes “nothing” so very, very well.

Greenwald, Fishman & Miranda – New Political Earthquake in Brazil

Link to an article by Glenn Greenwald, Andrew Fishman and David Miranda:

“New Political Earthquake in Brazil: Is It Now Time for Media Outlets to Call This a ‘Coup’?”

Bonus Link: “This Confirms It was a Coup: Brazil Crisis Deepens as Evidence Mounts of Plot to Oust Dilma Rousseff”

Bridget St John – Songs for the Gentle Man

Songs for the Gentle Man

Bridget St JohnSongs for the Gentle Man Dandelion DAN 8007 (1971)


Bridget St. John’s Songs for the Gentle Man is frequently compared to a number of other folk/rock artists of the late 1960s and early 70s.  The most common is that she sounds like a combination of Nico and Nick Drake.  Others cite Judy Collins‘ work with Joshua Rifkin on albums like In My Life.  One could even throw in Vashti Bunyan.  The Nico comparison is mostly right with respect to tone and timbre of their voices, especially when comparing Nico’s debut album Chelsea Girl.  Both had a husky, deep voice; hardly identical, but Nico is still the closest comparison among reasonably well-known folk/rock singers of the era.  Nick Drake combined folk and orchestral arrangements, but he had a surprisingly different approach, with melancholy that is scarcely present with St. John — it’s a somewhat strained comparison.  Judy Collins is the most important reference point.  She pioneered a type of folk that was kind of the obverse of Joan Baez.  Baez made music that combined bel canto singing (with shrill, heavy vibrato) with homespun folk guitar playing.  Collins instead used elements of showtunes to shape a singing voice that was still based in homespun folk music, then added refined Euro-classical orchestration (by Rifkin).  The problem was that Rifkin was inconsistent, and, sorry to say, operating somewhat at or beyond the limit of his abilities.  St. John took a similar baroque sensibility, through orchestration by Ron Geesin and John Henry, and applied it over homespun (yet adept) vocals and guitar.  Unlike Baez, who often seemed to compromise the folk elements to the dictates of established operatic pop forms, St. John (like Collins) tries to keep each sphere intact.  The strings add sophistication without diminishing the expressiveness of the vocals.  And the arrangements and orchestration on Songs for the Gentle Man are uniformly excellent.  This style of orchestrated folk would slip away in a few years, as the rock music came to dominate folk music.  Then the approaches of Paul Buckmaster (with Shawn Phillips, etc.) and Tony Visconti (with T.REX, etc.) would make similar strides in combining orchestration with rock, albeit in a very different way.

Speaking about the song “City-Crazy,” St. John said that she “sometimes felt not ‘stop the world I want to get off’ but ‘slow the world down, I want to stay on!'”  It reflects the entire album as much as that one song.  This interest in a slower pace of life is a bit like Vashti Bunyan’s musical portrayal of radical rural simplicity.  But St. John has a more urban sensibility, just slower than the bustle of actually existing urban life.

Songs for the Gentle Man was not a revolutionary album, but it took ideas that were percolating in the folk/rock scene and perfected them.  This is not a particularly immediate album.  It may take a few listens to appreciate fully.  But there are few better listening choices for a bright summer morning or afternoon (this is definitely not nighttime listening material).

Barry Adamson – The King of Nothing Hill

The King of Nothing Hill

Barry AdamsonThe King of Nothing Hill Mute CDSTUMM176 (2002)


Barry Adamson, the maestro of fake soundtrack music, has a firm conviction to the devilishly absurd.  His ridiculousness is part of his appeal.  He is a collector, suggestor, director and actor.  The illusory story lines hinted at on his albums can pull emotions and moods out of practically nothing.  He takes the listener places.  Plenty of new experiences are waiting.  The King of Nothing Hill fits a sleek action thriller, the sorts with spies, international intrigue — that sort of thing.  While it sounds like an exotic, action-packed journey, it is still pop music.  It is just on the fringes.  That seems like a comfortable home for Adamson.

“The Second Stain” and “Twisted Smile” pulse with monotonous vamps until the mood envelops everything.  The songs point, prod, and push.  Bass and keys alone can rush listeners back and forth between the highs and lows. Adamson can pick you up and place you carefully in new surroundings, ready to experience the moments as they arrive. You have to be open to the possibilities, true.  If you’re not willing to budge then Adamson’s efforts might be an annoyance. He does have a talent for always being inviting though.  You have to be quite closed-minded not to be swayed a little.

A funky workout session takes place on “Cinematic Soul” (cribbing a bass line from “Sing a Simple Song”).  Adamson can be as brash and glitzy as anyone and still pull it off.  His material may be described as rather composed, but it can boogie too.  Then more surprises come when “That Fool Was Me” has the sultry soul comedy of him singing, “only a fool would leave you / and that fool was me.”

The King of Nothing Hill makes considerable use of electronics and sound effect samples.  There is sometimes an erratic pursuit of a number of different styles, but Adamson uses those shifts to convey a sense of changing scenes in a movie.  The effect can be a bit demanding over the course of the rather lengthy runtime of the album though.

As Above So Below, the predecessor album, had more lounge jazz/acid jazz and bleak, blaring trip-hop pushing it ahead even if it subdued the pseudo-soundtrack impressionism.  Both efforts toy with kitsch.  All things said, the albums are about equally good, just in different ways — if anything this album has more cohesive and focused individual songs even as it lacks some of the elusive intrigue overall.

The King of Nothing Hill is refreshing.  Almost a decade and a half after its release, it has to be given credit for capturing the feel of the sorts of action thriller films it evokes.  Granted, the lyrics go beyond what pure soundtrack music would normally do, by suggesting visuals to accompany the music (like the line, “I don’t even know how the gun got in my hand” on “Whispering Streets”).  But that’s part of the fun of this approach to music.  And Barry Adamson is still basically the only one doing what he does.

Patty Loveless – The Definitive Collection

The Definitive Collection

Patty LovelessThe Definitive Collection MCA Nashville (2005)


The gestures are broad.  The lyrics dwell on commonplaces and banalities, especially slightly melodramatic interpersonal relationship issues.  Much of this has the high-contrast, slick production style of typical 1980s country and pop (even the stuff from the 1990s).  It would even be fair to say the music is mostly formulaic.  This is precisely the point though.  This is what might be called rural proletarian music.  It emphasizes shared experience.  The lyrics might focus on an individual protagonist, but often with a certain level of acceptance of social roles (especially gender roles), and any given song as a whole tends to reaffirm familiar musical forms as a way of emphasizing tradition (never challenging it).  So, like a lot of country, this has a slightly reactionary/conservative perspective to it.  And more, it also kind of validates a more rural or at least small town perspective (against that of an urban one).  The effect is much like a feeling of “town pride” in a small town (just a few hundred people), in ways rejected by city folk, with a lot of simple repeated pleasures.  Yet the music largely manages to avoid negative aspersions too.  This might be a bit rural focused (there are references to tractors), but it doesn’t try to put down that which is outside its sphere of influence.  It is what it is.  There is no imposition in this music.  And Loveless has a really good voice.  While this mines old country forms, with a light oompa-oompa beat or honky tonk groove, it does so adeptly  There are some surprises too, like “Don’t Toss Us Away” (written by Bryan MacLean, formerly of the band Love) and “A Little Bit In Love” (written by Steve Earle).  Loveless really shines drawing something out of the simplest tune though. No doubt, Loveless was one of the better things Nashville had going during the time span of this collection — even if that is only a small complement, relatively speaking.

A Brief Summary of Critiques of Slavoj Žižek

Slavoj Žižek is one of the most famous philosophers in the world today.  Because of that status, he is constantly criticized in the media.  It seemed mildly amusing to summarize the most common bases for these critiques.  There are a few common threads, mostly revolving around two principles adopted from Hegel and Rousseau.

The Emperor Has No Clothes

The fist type of critique is to more or less intentionally misrepresent Žižek’s arguments and theories by refusing the acknowledge the underlying basis of theoretical disagreement.  This is the approach most commonly taken by academics who wish to assert that Žižek is wrong but they are right.  A good example is this op-ed by two virtually unknown professors: “Žižek’s Hypocrisy.”  The usual approach for these critiques is to claim that Žižek is a hypocrite by not being a “pure” expression of something he says, even though one of Žižek’s key positions is that there is no such purity possible.  He has written many times about the dangers of “beautiful soul” syndrome (in the Hegelian sense).  Yet these critics demand that Žižek adopt the position of the “beautiful soul” standing apart from the evil of the world. Here is a quote from an interview he gave discussing this very point:

“I think it’s too easy to play this moralistic game — state power is corrupted, so let’s withdraw into this role of ethical critic of power. Here, I’m an old Hegelian. I hate the position of ‘beautiful soul’, which is: ‘I remain outside, in a safe place; I don’t want to dirty my hands.’ In this ironic sense, I am a Leninist. Lenin wasn’t afraid to dirty his hands. That’s what I miss in today’s left. When you get power, if you can, grab it, even if it is a desperate situation. Do whatever is possible.”

In other words, the critics impose their theory on Žižek but claim that Žižek is violating his own theory.  No, all they have done is reject his theory and inserted their own.  Anyone can do that.

All this is largely the basis for Noam Chomsky‘s attack on Žižek as a charlatan: Chomsky comes from the Analytic school of philosophy, whereas Žižek is from the Continental school.  Chomsky acts as if there is no such thing as the Continental tradition, and proceeds to complain about why Žižek does not conform to what are inherently opposing Analytic positions.  Chomsky disavows his ideological position.

Assertions of Naivete, Crypto-fascism

Another common attack is the critique that Žižek is impractically, or even dangerously naive.  Usually these attacks are prefaced with an assurance that the critic actually likes/respects him, but that he’s gone astray on some certain argument or line of argument.  Unlike the “emperor has no clothes” critics, these attacks generally acknowledge that he takes a different position than the critic and assert that where he diverges from the given critic’s own position is where Žižek is being naive.  An example of this tactic is “An Ode to the Death of Europe and a Concerned Love Letter to Žižek.”  Many of these critiques come from anarchist-leaning people, who (and here’s the ironic part) think that Žižek’s Leninist/Rousseauian position is naive.  But from a historical perspective remember that these are anarchists who think that the evils of the world can wither away without being crushed by a strong state, and they have the audacity to call others naive!  This, in many ways, is a deeper disagreement than the “emperor had no clothes” line of attack, though still the same basic disagreement.  Žižek rejects the “beautiful soul” attitude while these critics strictly insist upon it, and, from a Leninist/Rousseauian position disagrees with some kind of jump from late capitalism straight to a purely horizontal society.  But it is also worth noting that, following sociologist Pierre Bourdieu‘s theory of social distinction, the most vociferous of these critiques tend to be the ones from people and publishers that are closest to Žižek on the political spectrum — he has stated that a purely horizontal society would be nice but could never emerge directly from late capitalism.  But these sorts of critiques are the most lamentable, because the critics tend to be people who actually agree with him on most points, but instead of finding common ground they squabble over who should get credit for the best theoretical position — the essence of Left factionalism.

One of the funnier recurring critiques of Žižek along these lines is that he is expressing some kind of right-wing, reactionary, fascist position (despite his reputation and attempts to pursue the opposite position).  He draws the most ire in this respect for his outspoken position against political correctnessAdam Kotsko has explained the source of this disagreement well, highlighting how “Žižek’s political interventions always try to highlight a fundamental conflict or deadlock. He does so not by laying out a step by step argument with a clear thesis statement, but by overidentifying with the (inadequate) terms of public debate in order to press beyond them.”

It is certainly worth noting that Žižek usually takes for granted that he is arguing for an Enlightenment, rational and communist political position to prevail.  He doesn’t spend a lot of time bolstering those points.  That is to say in his mass-media engagements he doesn’t spend a lot of time arguing for why a rational egalitarian social system is better than a power-based (irrational) system of inequality. To be a bit more specific, he adopts a thoroughly Rousseauian conception of a democratic society, in which any vote by a majority to disadvantage a minority is invalid — many critics who reject this Rousseauian position criticize Žižek when he more or less applies it to current events.  Ironically, it is precisely this adoption of Rousseauian conception of democracy that gets him labeled a crypto-fascist (by people who seem to want a society like that depicted in Lars Von Trier‘s Dogville).

He Has No Program

Some say Žižek does not clearly set forth a coherent program for what the world should look like.  The rebuttal to that charge is summed up nicely by Noam Chomsky, who has said, “One commonly hears that carping critics complain about what is wrong, but do not present solutions. There is an accurate translation for that charge: ‘They present solutions, but I don’t like them.'”  But Žižek goes a step further, actually.  He disavows the ideal of the perfect program that overcomes the problems of the present.  Discussing Hegel, in a general way, he has written that

“The critical ‘system’ is the systematic a priori structure of all possible/thinkable ‘errors’ in their immanent necessity: what we get at the end is not the Truth that overcomes/sublates the preceding illusions — the only truth is the inconsistent edifice of the logical interconnection of all possible illusions . . . .”

So again, the claim that “he has no program” is a variant on the “emperor has no clothes” line of attack, yet again rejecting (or ignoring) his theories to impose a different theory.

But Žižek openly acknowledges that he argues from certain positions: “there is a need for radical economic change . . . . When I was young, such an organized attempt at regulation was called communism. Maybe we should reinvent it. Maybe this is, in the long term, the only solution.”  He also says that “a thorough radical transformation of global capitalism that should begin in the developed West itself.”  This is an old left position, not unlike the argument of Judith Katz in the book White Awareness, that racism is a white person’s problem — in contrast to the many contemporary “multicultural” approaches with toothless anti-racism committees staffed entirely by non-white minorities that plead for recognition by the powerful (white) beneficiaries of racism.  He instead wants the people promoting and benefiting from oppression to undergo a radical self-transformation that causes them to adopt universalism and egalitarianism.  So while it is true that he has no fixed notion of what an ideal society should look like, he very much has some clear guidelines on which direction society should head and what are key conditions that should be met.  Really, the idea that a fixed notion of a perfect society can be articulated by one person on behalf of humanity is itself ideological, and so Žižek typically rejects the framing of inquiries that way.

His Writing Is Incoherent

Another key Žižek tactic is to provocatively disregard social distinctions.  This causes people to lambast him as if he does not understand social distinctions.  While his writing is idiosyncratic, his refusal to honor social distinctions is really part of his attempts at overcoming them.  Critics arguing along these lines are usually defenders of the status quo, or at least defenders of privileges associated with social distinctions.

Lies, Damn Lies

Another common approach is to simply misrepresent Žižek.  This is usually about paraphrasing rather than quoting him.  An example of this is Sam Kriss, who misquoted him to turn a critique of fundamentalists into a (supposed) attack on muslims.  These are, of course, the worst sort of critiques because of their basic dishonesty.  There isn’t much more to be said here.

He Repeats Himself

These are the same jokes!  He is self-plagiarizing himself!  These are the sorts accusations hurled at Žižek constantly.  One of the most high-profile examples was his article “ISIS Is a Disgrace to True Fundamentalism” in The New York Times.  He publicly refused to apologize, and thought the incident absurd.  David Gunkel responded to this common accusation by pointing out that Žižek makes mashups and remixes, and self-plagiarism is “the standard accusation leveled against all remixers no matter the medium of their efforts.”  In other words, these opponents presuppose an ideological position of intellectual property ownership (or some such thing) that is incompatible with the position Žižek advances.  It is possible to simply reject the concept of “self-plagiarism.”  But beyond that, or as an alternative perspective, these criticisms also reek of a defense of the status quo of academic hierarchies of prestige, in that he is an independent academic who (seemingly) relies on publication royalties for income, unlike tenured professors who don’t.  So he does perhaps publish what amount to working drafts.

Disingenuous Grandstanding

Now, here is the best and most legitimate criticism: “could it be that Žižek is really not so different to [Donald] Trump? Both thrive on their quotability, knowing full well how easily so much of what they say can provoke outrage when read out of context; and both of them are, in their own very different ways, what the press loves to call ‘big personalities’.”  Is he just a “cheap contrarian”?  The essence of a Žižek argument is to take a “common sense” position that is widely accepted uncritically, then pursue the opposite position to point out how the “common sense” one is driven by ideology to disregard the real disagreements that produce a deadlock or Gordian knot, then he advances a conclusory statement of his rather reasonable position — which usually is quite modest.  The reason that criticisms of him like this have merit, though, is that he is talking about waging a war against the ideological foundations of authority as he self-promotes and builds a “personal brand” (is there any other better way to describe what he does?) with shock tactics that seem to establish himself in a position of authority, of sorts.  That is, he takes on the role of a celebrity public intellectual.  While it is worth remembering here his rejection of the “beautiful soul” position, his tactics should nonetheless be interrogated and contested on this point.  Perhaps he has settled into certain methods too comfortably?  And yet, perhaps the best conclusion to draw from investigating Žižek’s work is that, yes, he is a stupid contrarian and he provides no insight into fundamental truths or guarantees of meaning.  That would almost make him a Lacanian, arguing that we have to be responsible for the stupid, illusory meaning that we create to cover up the meaningless of existence…