Michael J. Kramer's Blog, page 17
March 1, 2023
Instrumental

A musical instrument is an artifact; the musician dances upon it—even with it, as may a dancer, too.
— Charles Seeger, “Toward a Unitary Field Theory”
February 28, 2023
Rovings

“Stages”Endgame @ Washington Guild Theater, 16 February 2023David Blight, Frederick Douglass Prophet of Freedom @ Library of America, 16 February 2023Keith David, Speech delivered by Frederick Douglass at the National Convention of Colored Men in Louisville, Kentucky on 24 September 1883 @ The Frederick Douglass Project, Theater of War Productions/Penn State University, 9 February 2023Jon Langford @ Judson & Moore Distillery, 19 February 2023Peter Guralnick, Adventures in Music and Writing @ NYPL, 3 February 2023Graham Nash @ Library of Congress, 31 January 2014Tim Barringer, Why We Need Ruskin Now @ Getty Museum, 15 June 2022The Multiple Reinventions of the Américas in Context @ Getty Reserch Institute, Parts 1 and 2 Kevin Butterfield and Sophia Rosenfeld, Democracy and “Common Sense”@ Library of Congress, 3 February 2023By Alison Knowles: A Symposium @ Berkeley Art Museum and Pacific Film Archive, 4 November 2022Bruce Barthol @ The MimeCast, 27 July 2020ScreensMichael Snow, New York Eye and Ear ControlWild Tales (Relatos Salvajes)
February 27, 2023
The Phantom Public

February 24, 2023
Dustbowl Empiricism

I worked from history to theory, and I tried to use theory to inform but not imprison my understanding of historical experience. An anti-theoretical bias is particularly strong in Anglo-American historical circles: in part it represents a healthy suspicion of fashionable (usually French) slogans and catchwords masquerading as ideas. But the hostility to theory can also be rooted in a narrow and unimaginative cast of mind: Alfred North Whitehead called it ‘dustbowl empiricism.’ …My own view is that without an occasional dose of speculative boldness, historians are doomed to the deadly antiquarianism for which they have rightly been scorned, since George Eliot gave us the archetypal pedant-historian Casaubon in Middlemarch.
— Jackson Lears, Preface (1983) to No Place of Grace: The Quest for Alternatives to Modern American Culture, 1880-1920
She Fell In Love

Wilco’s masterpiece pop song “Heavy Metal Drummer,” from the celebrated 2001 album Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, is about many things: youth, aging, sincerity, taste, immediacy, distance, summertime, bleached blond hair, double kick bass drum pedals, the pleasures of listening, sweet smell of pot smoke, the pleasures of watching someone else listening, the pleasures of the cover song, the meaning of bliss.
It is a song about heavy metal that is not a heavy metal song. A nostalgic reverie that streaks past the past into a glorious dad-rock future. A sincere missive to an ironic appreciation. A shiny shiny pants fable about dudes in Kabuki makeup and outrageous platforms. A jealous gaze upon even oneself one day thrashing out devil’s triads on stage in front of the adoring crowd. A love letter to a fan, maybe to fandom itself.
It starts with a tinny, off-kilter drum machine fill that gives way to a propulsive trap-drum beat worthy of a 1979 Pontiac Firebird Trans Am. Ringing mixolydian chords circle around and around, flowing out over the landing in the summer, by the water, absorbed into the reefer wafting out over the Twainian Chuck Berry riffage of foggy Mississippi River riverbanks. It ends with a looping mystic crystal revelation of bubbling postlapsarian glitter glow, the chords leaving behind a gurgling spin of fairy dust that spirals out over the caked makeup faces, abandoned cracked plastic beer cups, and cigarette butts at the concert ending.
In between, classical music masks Kiss tunes, but they can’t quite drown out the sound. Maybe one can indeed rock and roll all nite into eternal youth. There is a mish-mashing of taste levels into a new holistic aesthetic of the American beautiful. Midwestern sublime. Grimy, Detroit Rock City St. Louis metro-area grind meets oracular individual epiphany combined with collective euphoria. I would not feel so all alone, everybody must get stoned. There is imitation and originality. Cover songs leading to original insights. Roll over Beethoven. At the landing, it’s summertime and the living is easy. Somewhere in there: crickets.
What “Heavy Metal Drummer” might be most about, however—the secret that unlocks the song—is love: love forming, love in motion, love’s foolishness, love’s serious power, love is king. In this case the object of love is the heavy metal drummer. Maybe the object of affection is also an older man’s glance back to a moment of youthful happiness suspended in time. Yet these objects of love are but sticks twirling in the air. They are not the actual subject of the song. The actual subject is the feeling of falling in love itself. Falling in love with music, with a location, with a memory, with the hum of human time, with the things that make us tick. She fell in love with the drummer. Another and another. She fell in love.
What matters is not that the woman whom the song’s narrator is watching intently fell in love with the heavy metal drummer. The drummer is ridiculous in his shiny shiny pants and bleached blond hair, mugging for the crowd. What matters most is not even the way in which the young woman, like so many adolescent female fans (who are in fact the protagonists, the rock stars of rock music), then fell in love with the next drummers in the next heavy metal bands to come through town to perform at the landing in the summer. It’s the next line of the song that counts: she fell in love. She fell in love with falling in love. And so has the singer himself. And so maybe have we, the listeners.
It is the heavy metal’s drummer’s fate to be but the vehicle, revving away with two feet on the double kick drums, for this desire. Maybe this is the musician’s fate more generally. Music is the alchemical catalyzer of the perception of falling in love. We miss the innocence we have known, but the knowledge is better. So says the backup vocalist (bassist John Stirratt) in “Heavy Metal Drummer,” who affirmatively gasps in falsetto joy at the insight.
The song pommels onward, chords churning, rotating, turning, form the root to the dominant, the major to the minor to the major again. We are refreshed in the memory of falling in love, touching that feeling again, feeling it in ourselves, seeing it in others, bringing it into the present. We recover it by missing it. Then it fades out, kissing off.
February 23, 2023
February 11, 2023
January 31, 2023
Rovings

January 30, 2023
Liberty Tree

Typically, pundits portray contemporary American politics in both-siderism parallel, with an extreme right, an extreme left, and a middle caught in…well, the middle.
Perhaps this isn’t quite accurate. From the outside, looking at who is currently able to exercise power, the comparison does not line up. Moderate Democrats exercise power, to be sure, as do extreme-right Republicans. By contrast, those who seem to lack effective power in the contemporary dynamic are those on the left of the Democratic Party and those few moderates remaining in the Republican Party. It is the left-wing of both parties (if one really can can call the few remaining moderate Republicans such a thing) that lacks concrete power. They are the elected officials who struggle to enact policy.
The real battle for power today is between the right-wing of both parties. The question being legislated is something like: Should the US to be a center-left, corporate-dominated, democracy with some incomplete but not completely absent social democratic tendencies, or is it to be a fascist fantasy of guns, patriarchy, white supremacy, and anything-goes libertarianism? This seems to be the fight. It’s not a bipartisan-center versus extremist wings configuration, but rather a which more conservative vision will triumph.
This is not to say that more left-wing politics (national healthcare, so-called soft infrastructure, environmental transformation, even wealth redistribution) are unimportant. Not at all. The views, policy positions, and public personae of Bernie Sanders, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, etc. matter. So too, of course, does the presence of Never-Trumpers and other conservative, but not crazy-conservative, Republicans. These figures matter. But, do they really control anything in a foundational sort of way? In the end, it does not seem so.
In this sense, it does no good to line up the parties as if they were parallel. Extreme right-wing Republicans exert far more real political force than those on the so-called extreme left of the Democratic Party. The comparison is false. The actual power held is deeply unequal, never mind the differences in sanity of the policy proposals or the willingness to work within existing norms.
Meanwhile, more conventional Republicans, the few who remain, are, we might say, far more like the left of the Democratic Party than the center. In terms of their ability to wield power, moderate Republicans lack it. At least this is what it looks like from the outside They are there, but don’t have their hands on the wheels of government even when their party controls a part of it.
In this way, the battle for the future of the United States politically is between the right wing of each party. To grasp this fact is to shift from formulaic portrayals of the American political system as a body with symmetrical wings, which is in fact inaccurate, to a kind of misshapen, windswept tree. Its trunk is tilted toward a corporate-left-liberal center. There are some fragile buds on its left. And even more fragile ones on the center-right. Many of its branches have been torn off in a storm of far-right rage. Perhaps it is the liberty tree.