Maria Technosux
2005-04-22 12:29:13 UTC
My review of _Wreckers of Civilisation_ by Simon Ford.
At the instigation of Mr. Veni Vidi Exii I decided to read this book
in order to get a better understanding on the the history of
Industrial Music, which Mr. Veni Vidi Exii felt I lacked completely,
simply by having the committed the crime of referencing a few
mainstream artists in this newsgroup.
Now, as to the book... I tried to get it 2nd hand but this book is
(since it's release in 1999) already on its way of becoming a
collector's item. The pile of about 4-5 books sold at the local import
store was sold out within a few weeks as soon as it arrived. Online
2nd hand copies are already damn expensive. After having spend a
whooping 35 euros for my copy, a mere 24 hours later I returned the
book to the store for a refund. I haven't read such GARBAGE in quite
some time, and I (poor me) had a few months back made it through
Moynihan's Lords of Chaos (more on that later, stay tuned!).
Unfortunately Ford's book lacks the humour that Moynihan (if anything)
does have; Moynihan at least recognizes that some of the events he
describes merit nothing but nihilist ridicule.
Ford is a cheerleader who can't even have a laugh at what he's
describing here, assuming it all to be very serious indeed. How can
anyone who takes this group so seriously end up a cheerleader? Doesn't
this group basically BEG to get ripped to shreds? Wasn't their whole
career an attempt to chase away from art as many people as possible?
(Not a bad idea BTW!) At the beginning of the book, he says that Not
Having Been There is greatest asset in reconstructing the history of
the group. While usually I, too, am critical of access and the way
access is taken for granted in Cultural and Arts studies (whereas the
fact is that you don't need access 1) for something to have an impact
on you 2) for you to criticize it), I believe that it is exactly that
Not Having Been There that has reduced Ford to the status of
cheerleading nostalgic. Not Having Been There becomes an excuse for
not analyzing and not critiquing. What is the point of "respectfully
knowing your place and keeping your distance" when this group
basically worked to destroy such an elitist attitude? And yet this
group eventually had to concede to the impossibility of such a project
and eventually chose art over participation, as art is antithetical to
participation.
Ford doesn't bother to think critically about his ability to
reconstruct a history he wasn't part of or witness to based on
residue-materials such as recordings, photographs, interviews, flyers
and NME reviews, while at the same time soundbiting accepted
academically canonized works. Is this some failed attempt at proving
context/framework of interpretation? He assumes that printing the
primary sources themselves will somehow alleviate this ragbag of infoz
upon infoz, as if the materials themselves presented "as such" are
self-explanatory. But having such faith in the materials as being
self-evident is essentialism, semiocracy, and an intellectually lazy
position to take.
There is no real critique or real historical analysis in this book.
Statements by the artists are accepted at face value and only
contrasted against one another or those of critics. Are these
trustworthy sources? How can anyone print anything out of the NME "as
is" knowing what a tabloid rag that magazine has always been? The
writer has nothing else, no framework to bring to bear on the work
other than a few semi-historical soundbites on rising unemployment and
The Tories assault on UK social life taking place in the "background",
the very same "background" that these cheerfully apolitical artists
sought to deny and suppress from their lifes at all costs, this
escapism being their sole claim to art (but this true for most
artists).
As for the art-works presented here, the idea that a book like this
would somehow lead me to recognize the greatness of the history of
Industrial Music is ludicrous. The "outrageous" Demolition Derby
performances of Coum are a regurgitation (no pun!) of older artistic
practices, which Ford, while accurately identifying them, subsequently
downplays as being "influences". As any proper student of contemporary
art knows, in the belletristic conception of art, every "genius" has
mere "influences"; no one is busy reinventing square wheels and no one
must point at this tiring repetition because that would destroy the
whole substratum, because to admit to this repetition is to deny and
insult the "geniusness" of the artist.
Ford's ignorance of contemporary art critique is all over the place.
He accepts at face value statements such as: "it should be possible to
make love in public". Ford doesn't even attempt to point out that, in
contemporary art-studies, the museum ( or even the art-object residue
of the performance itself) is not considered to be public but private
(semi-public at best if one accepts the museum's propaganda about its
placement in society at face value).
As for Marilyn Manson, NIN, Ministry, Madonna, etc. being influenced
by TG's Nazi aesthetics... once again we are dealing with an attempt
at historical revisionism here, a revisionism that attempts to place
TG in the middle of the web as the great spider from which all of the
current Gucci-Jackboot/Nazi-chic originated from. In fact, the *Jews*
of the proto-heavy metal band Blue Oyster Cult were dealing in Nazi
aesthetics and S&M glorifying lyrics and imagery in the 1970ies*. It
is more likely that the Nazi-aesthetic was adopted by American bands
because of the mass popularity of Heavy Metal in the US, rather than
because of some obscure avart-garde group. There is no foundation for
this revisionist attempt at blowing up TG's influence.
But questioning acts of revisionism is not something that Ford feels
compelled to question and analyze. Towards the end of the book, he
simply points out Coum's retroactive incorporation into the
performance-art canon as a merry-happy "they got their due place in
art history at last" (why would anyone want a place in history when
one is working to undo the grip of history?). He doesn't bother to
investigate how this book, WoC, might be part of that same restorative
attempt, or how the incorporation of previously neglected examples of
performance art, might have something to do with the crisis of
self-legitimization performance art and its apologists are constantly
confronted with, and how this might lead to a
power-in-bigger-numbers/"we have been around" attitude which then
prompts the retroactive inclusion of Coum into the canon.
As for the No-So-CFT... I can't stomach such blatant and ignorant
anti-feminism so soon after the death of my fave feminist writer and
anti-pr0n/anti-prostitution writer and activist Andrea Dworkin. (Oh,
and Mr. pornographer Ford, how come we never get to see GP-O's long
and hard, yet we get page after page of open CFT vaginas? A bit of
heterosexist homophobia at work here, hmmm?) I don't care that this
shit took place 40 years ago, the fact that it hunts us down after so
long is testament to its aggressive insistence on forcing itself up
your ass. This is what an ass-syringe must feel like, right? No
thanks!
Truth be told, I don't think that hippie GP-O was unattractive at all
(I once had a boyfriend with a body like this). So I really don't
understand where the "we can never find anyone this ugly" sentiments
are coming from really. However, choosing a mate by virtue of him
having magically snapped your nickers as he walked by...come on you
people this IS hilarious! And would he demand of me what he demands of
his women, he'd go straight out the window, and he need not take a
jump either cos that's the way I'd personally remove him from the
building. As for his more recent "developments", a Dr. Thorpe quote is
very much in place: "All this time we've been running around cutting
people apart and having cruel sex when we could have bought big pink
wigs and expressed our manhood in an even more disturbing and inhumane
fashion."
And there is nothing kewl or insightful about aimlessly detailing an
utterly abusive "relationship" (using the term rather "loosely" (no
pun!) here) between a man and a woman who are basically trying to
out-rule one another in outrageousness. For a
battle-of-the-freak-couples you need not buy this book; just watch a
Jerry Springer rerun tonight; same principle made simple. Those of you
who consider yourselves too "underground" to watch MTV programs like
Jackass or Wild Boyz will nonetheless permit yourself the sin of
enjoying practically indistinguishable entertainment through the
purchase of this book. (Oh and fuck off already with your:
"Coum/Performance Art paved the way for such kind of entertainment to
get on TV blah blah blah").
This Demolition Derby relationship is detailed solely for shock value.
The writer doesn't attempt to explain how this one-upmanship between
the two might have (if at all) influenced the music. Not that this
would have made for a better book; there are countless of books about
how choreographer Balanchine was fucking his prima ballerinas and
speculations on how this might or might have not affected a ballet
performance... bo-ring! The only place where he does attempt anything
of the sort is in relating TG's demise to the demise of the
relationship, which is easy. But insightful? Not at all.
Finally, the modular numbering scheme used here to number the pages is
annoying. In some pages the text is poorly printed and unreadable. A
lot of the black and white photographs used (some of which I suspect
were originally colour) were too dark for me to make out what the hell
is happening in there - prompting some intentionally hilarious
interpretations, such as the photograph of a hippie GP-O naked on the
floor, his body covered with convoluted wires, and a Not-So-CFT
attempting to electrocute(?) his crotch. Whether or not my
interpretation of this picture is correct or not is irrelevant really,
as as it wholly within the range of possible Coum state-subsidized
depravities.
According to the Book Data Ltd listing for WoC, this book is intended
for (quote): "General, Undergraduate, Research & Professional". I am
sure that generals will love the uniform fetishism and
fascist/neo-Nazi dabbling of TG. Any academic or researcher who takes
himself seriously needs to do his own research, as this book obscures
more than it explains.
The best statement to summarize this book is one of the artists: when
you "coum", you'd better "coum" with a lot of money. Not with my 35
euros you don't!
Tex.
* "The group [Blue Oyster Cult] was damned instead for its stage
persona as "a neo-fascist, vampirish New York band that would sooner
suck your blood than take your money" (39). But while the
"neo-fascist" appellation was perhaps merited by management gimmicks
that begged for such an interpretation, such a reading still falls
upon the blunt-sabre fact that this was, after all, a Jewish band
whose forte, moreover, was a quite sardonic satire."
http://www.usd.edu/~tgannon/hm.html#fn10
At the instigation of Mr. Veni Vidi Exii I decided to read this book
in order to get a better understanding on the the history of
Industrial Music, which Mr. Veni Vidi Exii felt I lacked completely,
simply by having the committed the crime of referencing a few
mainstream artists in this newsgroup.
Now, as to the book... I tried to get it 2nd hand but this book is
(since it's release in 1999) already on its way of becoming a
collector's item. The pile of about 4-5 books sold at the local import
store was sold out within a few weeks as soon as it arrived. Online
2nd hand copies are already damn expensive. After having spend a
whooping 35 euros for my copy, a mere 24 hours later I returned the
book to the store for a refund. I haven't read such GARBAGE in quite
some time, and I (poor me) had a few months back made it through
Moynihan's Lords of Chaos (more on that later, stay tuned!).
Unfortunately Ford's book lacks the humour that Moynihan (if anything)
does have; Moynihan at least recognizes that some of the events he
describes merit nothing but nihilist ridicule.
Ford is a cheerleader who can't even have a laugh at what he's
describing here, assuming it all to be very serious indeed. How can
anyone who takes this group so seriously end up a cheerleader? Doesn't
this group basically BEG to get ripped to shreds? Wasn't their whole
career an attempt to chase away from art as many people as possible?
(Not a bad idea BTW!) At the beginning of the book, he says that Not
Having Been There is greatest asset in reconstructing the history of
the group. While usually I, too, am critical of access and the way
access is taken for granted in Cultural and Arts studies (whereas the
fact is that you don't need access 1) for something to have an impact
on you 2) for you to criticize it), I believe that it is exactly that
Not Having Been There that has reduced Ford to the status of
cheerleading nostalgic. Not Having Been There becomes an excuse for
not analyzing and not critiquing. What is the point of "respectfully
knowing your place and keeping your distance" when this group
basically worked to destroy such an elitist attitude? And yet this
group eventually had to concede to the impossibility of such a project
and eventually chose art over participation, as art is antithetical to
participation.
Ford doesn't bother to think critically about his ability to
reconstruct a history he wasn't part of or witness to based on
residue-materials such as recordings, photographs, interviews, flyers
and NME reviews, while at the same time soundbiting accepted
academically canonized works. Is this some failed attempt at proving
context/framework of interpretation? He assumes that printing the
primary sources themselves will somehow alleviate this ragbag of infoz
upon infoz, as if the materials themselves presented "as such" are
self-explanatory. But having such faith in the materials as being
self-evident is essentialism, semiocracy, and an intellectually lazy
position to take.
There is no real critique or real historical analysis in this book.
Statements by the artists are accepted at face value and only
contrasted against one another or those of critics. Are these
trustworthy sources? How can anyone print anything out of the NME "as
is" knowing what a tabloid rag that magazine has always been? The
writer has nothing else, no framework to bring to bear on the work
other than a few semi-historical soundbites on rising unemployment and
The Tories assault on UK social life taking place in the "background",
the very same "background" that these cheerfully apolitical artists
sought to deny and suppress from their lifes at all costs, this
escapism being their sole claim to art (but this true for most
artists).
As for the art-works presented here, the idea that a book like this
would somehow lead me to recognize the greatness of the history of
Industrial Music is ludicrous. The "outrageous" Demolition Derby
performances of Coum are a regurgitation (no pun!) of older artistic
practices, which Ford, while accurately identifying them, subsequently
downplays as being "influences". As any proper student of contemporary
art knows, in the belletristic conception of art, every "genius" has
mere "influences"; no one is busy reinventing square wheels and no one
must point at this tiring repetition because that would destroy the
whole substratum, because to admit to this repetition is to deny and
insult the "geniusness" of the artist.
Ford's ignorance of contemporary art critique is all over the place.
He accepts at face value statements such as: "it should be possible to
make love in public". Ford doesn't even attempt to point out that, in
contemporary art-studies, the museum ( or even the art-object residue
of the performance itself) is not considered to be public but private
(semi-public at best if one accepts the museum's propaganda about its
placement in society at face value).
As for Marilyn Manson, NIN, Ministry, Madonna, etc. being influenced
by TG's Nazi aesthetics... once again we are dealing with an attempt
at historical revisionism here, a revisionism that attempts to place
TG in the middle of the web as the great spider from which all of the
current Gucci-Jackboot/Nazi-chic originated from. In fact, the *Jews*
of the proto-heavy metal band Blue Oyster Cult were dealing in Nazi
aesthetics and S&M glorifying lyrics and imagery in the 1970ies*. It
is more likely that the Nazi-aesthetic was adopted by American bands
because of the mass popularity of Heavy Metal in the US, rather than
because of some obscure avart-garde group. There is no foundation for
this revisionist attempt at blowing up TG's influence.
But questioning acts of revisionism is not something that Ford feels
compelled to question and analyze. Towards the end of the book, he
simply points out Coum's retroactive incorporation into the
performance-art canon as a merry-happy "they got their due place in
art history at last" (why would anyone want a place in history when
one is working to undo the grip of history?). He doesn't bother to
investigate how this book, WoC, might be part of that same restorative
attempt, or how the incorporation of previously neglected examples of
performance art, might have something to do with the crisis of
self-legitimization performance art and its apologists are constantly
confronted with, and how this might lead to a
power-in-bigger-numbers/"we have been around" attitude which then
prompts the retroactive inclusion of Coum into the canon.
As for the No-So-CFT... I can't stomach such blatant and ignorant
anti-feminism so soon after the death of my fave feminist writer and
anti-pr0n/anti-prostitution writer and activist Andrea Dworkin. (Oh,
and Mr. pornographer Ford, how come we never get to see GP-O's long
and hard, yet we get page after page of open CFT vaginas? A bit of
heterosexist homophobia at work here, hmmm?) I don't care that this
shit took place 40 years ago, the fact that it hunts us down after so
long is testament to its aggressive insistence on forcing itself up
your ass. This is what an ass-syringe must feel like, right? No
thanks!
Truth be told, I don't think that hippie GP-O was unattractive at all
(I once had a boyfriend with a body like this). So I really don't
understand where the "we can never find anyone this ugly" sentiments
are coming from really. However, choosing a mate by virtue of him
having magically snapped your nickers as he walked by...come on you
people this IS hilarious! And would he demand of me what he demands of
his women, he'd go straight out the window, and he need not take a
jump either cos that's the way I'd personally remove him from the
building. As for his more recent "developments", a Dr. Thorpe quote is
very much in place: "All this time we've been running around cutting
people apart and having cruel sex when we could have bought big pink
wigs and expressed our manhood in an even more disturbing and inhumane
fashion."
And there is nothing kewl or insightful about aimlessly detailing an
utterly abusive "relationship" (using the term rather "loosely" (no
pun!) here) between a man and a woman who are basically trying to
out-rule one another in outrageousness. For a
battle-of-the-freak-couples you need not buy this book; just watch a
Jerry Springer rerun tonight; same principle made simple. Those of you
who consider yourselves too "underground" to watch MTV programs like
Jackass or Wild Boyz will nonetheless permit yourself the sin of
enjoying practically indistinguishable entertainment through the
purchase of this book. (Oh and fuck off already with your:
"Coum/Performance Art paved the way for such kind of entertainment to
get on TV blah blah blah").
This Demolition Derby relationship is detailed solely for shock value.
The writer doesn't attempt to explain how this one-upmanship between
the two might have (if at all) influenced the music. Not that this
would have made for a better book; there are countless of books about
how choreographer Balanchine was fucking his prima ballerinas and
speculations on how this might or might have not affected a ballet
performance... bo-ring! The only place where he does attempt anything
of the sort is in relating TG's demise to the demise of the
relationship, which is easy. But insightful? Not at all.
Finally, the modular numbering scheme used here to number the pages is
annoying. In some pages the text is poorly printed and unreadable. A
lot of the black and white photographs used (some of which I suspect
were originally colour) were too dark for me to make out what the hell
is happening in there - prompting some intentionally hilarious
interpretations, such as the photograph of a hippie GP-O naked on the
floor, his body covered with convoluted wires, and a Not-So-CFT
attempting to electrocute(?) his crotch. Whether or not my
interpretation of this picture is correct or not is irrelevant really,
as as it wholly within the range of possible Coum state-subsidized
depravities.
According to the Book Data Ltd listing for WoC, this book is intended
for (quote): "General, Undergraduate, Research & Professional". I am
sure that generals will love the uniform fetishism and
fascist/neo-Nazi dabbling of TG. Any academic or researcher who takes
himself seriously needs to do his own research, as this book obscures
more than it explains.
The best statement to summarize this book is one of the artists: when
you "coum", you'd better "coum" with a lot of money. Not with my 35
euros you don't!
Tex.
* "The group [Blue Oyster Cult] was damned instead for its stage
persona as "a neo-fascist, vampirish New York band that would sooner
suck your blood than take your money" (39). But while the
"neo-fascist" appellation was perhaps merited by management gimmicks
that begged for such an interpretation, such a reading still falls
upon the blunt-sabre fact that this was, after all, a Jewish band
whose forte, moreover, was a quite sardonic satire."
http://www.usd.edu/~tgannon/hm.html#fn10