Celebrity serves the purpose of highlighting otherwise opaque social relations, conflicts, concerns, and realities.
That which is the fueling, seemingly banal, everyday existence of the masses doesn’t manifest itself into anything of social significance, until an icon framed to represent and vividly portray the beautiful burden of an attributed demographic brings it into public discourse.
The celebrity brings with it an entire economy. It is the commodity, the product and property of a corporate entity, a media monarch within the greater sphere of private ownership of a public institution – a public figure within capitalist society. Money, power, and reference run through iconographies.
Equally, celebrity brings with it an entire ideology. It is the character, the product and property of a ruling class. It may reinforce, resist, reject, or repudiate the standing social order. It is also the product and property of the masses from which it emerged, and which it directly influences and impacts – it is the manipulated mouthpiece of an increasingly superficially divided monoculture.
I didn’t get to this place in my life by doing the smart thing every time. How ’bout you, frank farmer? Out there on the edge… did you ever do something that didn’t make too much sense, except maybe inside you? In your stomach somewhere? Something that wasn’t smart? I’ll bet you have plenty. I’ll bet you do. Nobody gets really good without it. And you’re good. I know that. – Ms. Marron
I suppose the only way to take this one sonically is through the sounds of an autobiography… at this point in my pop literary career with a one said Lady, certain signatures will emerge at some point within each piece – namely: each release being #theanthem, each release “solidifying this time and space voice of twain,” and autobiographical points of reference expounding on the sheer cosmic Pop of said beat drops. #postoculus #postpop This time, will be no different #letsdelve
I see #sxswine heading up the hill. GaGa face down – in clothes not incredibly dissimilar from her Swinecore attire – money scattered, archaeological dig in disarray, Mitochondrial Eve rests in Mesopoptamian ruins… and the scene begins where Austin faded
In case you were wondering what’s behind the swine … existence of the living gold mine … the reality that human traffic runs through vinyl, video, and grapevine … that spectacular misery is of industrial design … that the vomit you spew, pre-emptive anesthetic to the polity coup: our very own blood red, sterilized white, and royal blue … the surrender in silence, the deafening void, the sadness… the sadness… the lament and suffocating isolation of that human capital demise … that behind the lids are empty exes where once haused Tiresian eyes.
The scene shifts, I feel the movie I was in the middle of watching on Netflix when a majestic eclectic heralded G.U.Y.’s arrival: Disney’s Hercules#ayverse
Vinyl Mind Flow #prosewego
Even when you doubt, you cannot deny the truth. In the beginning, was the word, and the word was good; in the end, all that remains is that seminal word to rebuild from the ruins of slander… the only four-letter word from where life springs …. ishq to mark the mortal compass, eros to transform, love to transcend.
The electric world life: owning nothing in the Haus, all is had in electric word; all is manifest from mental creations given wings within tangled webs … beneath the static, found frequencies connect and channel perceived truths as canons of a new world. Bound not by domains, built instead upon the orbits of psychopomp relays.
The sin is not the fall, salvation is not in calendar spring; the sin is to see in shame, to bear false witness against the love made manifest in anything: to posture on the production of mortal death to profit from false life … to fragment, displace, and deny the father his liberated child of light and she, who cultivates endlessly those creations of which never die at night – forever beautysleeping in a trance, but never sleeping to dream, the perceived pain in work, and the beautiful bond of shared experiences yet to be unscene.
That G.U.Y. … makes me want to be a doper person; that G.U.Y., made GaGa cry tears and tempos of cosmic civilization’s arising reign – those G.U.Y.s stepped foot on the shores of a celestial sandbar four years ago: baptized by the stellar, bound to the state, burdened by paradoxes that make us great… silently rolling, navigating while blind, guided only by the music and faith that in time, the walls would crumble and the streets would main, Valhalla would rejoice at The Angels’ true frame, the disparate light would emerge from the dim; and The South would walk through antiquated resentment, to bathe in capital h.i.m.
… four years ago: a maker was met, as moonwalkers first stepped onto the currents beyond wires; houses of song where once wrested lyres …
ARTPOP could mean anything, ARTPOP means what you make of the muse; ARTPOP means mastering the verse, chorus, choreography, bridge, breakdown and sample of life’s cyclical soundtrack. ARTPOP is crafting an atmosphere in the perfection of your mind, from truth of the spirit, the pulse of your heart, and absolute certainty in the mysterious divine. Four years ago a king said, “This is it;” here that G.U.Y. says: “Now, it’s time.”
The secret language of G.U.Y.’s destiny is transcendence through empowered innocence of love eternal
Beyond the bayou’s Britney Jean, and Magnolia’s Lil’ Wayne, we have something fundamental, something fresh, and something authentically New Orleans in the midst – call it an amalgam, call it NOLA-EDM: a mix of “destruction – kind of – creation, improvisation, taking something very modern like EDM – or what people perceive it to be – twisted up and given a soul:” welcome Hello Negro.
Me: For you I think, you’re kind of rebuilding this idea of a post-colonial sound for a Post-Katrina New Orleans. A lot of people say, “electronic music is soulless,” because there is that preconception of “just press play and repeat” – but you improvise. I guess I want to get your thoughts for how you see your music as an environment, and seeing it as if it were this soundtrack for New Orleans – you being New Orleans’ native son – what does the music say to the environment you’re building?
Hello Negro: That’s an interesting question. In my experience, if you look at some great New Orleans musicians – you bring it back to Jelly Roll Morton, and you look at Louis Armstrong, you look at Kid Orie, you look at King Oliver, you look at Dr. John, you look at James Booker, you know Terrence Blanchard, Wynton Marsalis, Duvel Crawford, Troy Andrews, George Porter – who’s a bass player for The Funky Meters – these are all the New Orleans musicians… What we do in New Orleans, and this is going back to “the amalgam,”
what we do in New Orleans is we create, as musicians, we create music as a function of our environment. So, there’s not this “thing” you can do to make your music “New Orleans,” you either understand what that is because of the environment that you came up in – or you don’t.
As a bit of a Pop fiend, it was a pleasure to discuss New Blood with Morgan Spurlock; as a bit of a Pop theorist, it’s something of a marvel to ponder the nine-minute manifesto…
Why New Blood, why now?
I don’t know if it was a question of now, or if I just felt like there was a need to show – I feel like there’s still this shifty new movement in the art space where the people who kind of launched this whole “low brow” art movement, this street art movement are now inspiring this whole new generation of artists; y’know these new kinds of Pop graffiti artists who are kind of coming up in their wake, and I find that to be really fascinating. You gotta think it wasn’t that long ago when low brow art and street art was being relegated to the lowest smallest of the fringe galleries, to now where these paintings are being put up in the cornerstones of the modern art movement. So I think to see where that ripple effect is continuing to affect, not only our generation, but the next generation of artists is really inspiring.
“Opening skies with broken keys…” By now this young maestro’s hands have been heard around the world and weberverse; from Holy Ship to Ultra, Born This Way Ball to Poseidon Tour, Zedd’s fingers have fueled quite the spectral pulse. What about the mind behind the music, though? What makes Zedd’s metronome tick, and what cultivates a sound so kaleidoscopic? Leave it to the prodigy priest of EDM himself, preaching nightly behind pierced lips atop DJ booth pulpits, to clarify the scape of this spectrum we call the contemporary music scene.
Me: Who/what/when/where/how is Zedd? … In 59 characters or less.
Here’s a little story that I made up, so let’s make believe: four years ago I had a party that was too much fun for me…
– “I’ve Just Begun (Having My Fun)”
Back in 2009, I had a little fun drafting up my list of the top twelve Pop artists from the first decade of the millennium (I get bored, it happens). I made up a little narrative of the icons that lived the blueprint for a global lifestyle – more than a genre, an ongoing epic poem defining the general public of that elusive scene, scape, soundtrack we like to call Pop. I was fresh out of undergrad; but forever a 90s kid caught in the nostalgia of homecoming kings, queens, and courts, naturally I paired off the lords and ladies of the said vanity fair, in a fitting hommage to the heralded pantheon of celebrity (which is effectually no more than a glamorized high school) #youcantsitwithus Five coupled jesters of the court, a pair of regal deities, and a pair of honorable mentions (because it’s America – so as long as you’re the best loser, there’s space for you on the podium – but don’t get crazy).
The list went a little something like this…
King and Queen
Monstrous Mavens (Fame Killers): Kanye West, Lady GaGa
2007 climaxed the greatest American tale since The Civil War, and Britney Spears’ Blackout was our living soundtrack. Just as Spears was our blue-eyed child of misfortune, Blackout is the requiem of our American Dream. Britney was an ideal created in our own image. Our image, our perception of our self worth, in the past decade was dependent upon fame and false status. Then, more than ever, our identities were aligned with iconographies: Britney was our Miss American Dream, and in 2007 we saw her strip away her white gown.
At our darkest hour, our brightest supernova wanted nothing more than to go that extra mile for us. We created a monster mistress, a pop iconography reflecting our wildest and greatest desires – embodying our most visceral conquests. She was the broken kingdom, and on behalf of her mortal peers she sacrificed herself for our entertainment. She was our gladiator; our samurai on a kamikaze mission to kill that very system which produced her. Even with her back against the wall she was our central focus; how something so perfect could be so not – and how such reckless power could destroy our most divine wind. We watched her spiral through insanity, as cameras flashed her dancing deliriously to music only she could hear. Even though we led her to this position of mania, she gave us permission to send her on a suicide mission: before the flashing lights, she was to touch the sky, and nosedive in a sacrificial spectacle fit for a fallen empire. She gave more when she had nothing to give – because we asked for it; because the same guys who told us that she was the most valuable dream, told her that her value relied on our affirmation – she Merrill Lynched our Pop selves. Her punishment was her penance, and as much hers as it is ours. The opening is the standing reminder that even after she fades, the irremovable, unstoppable, perpetuating danja remains.