One element left out of Brett Gaylor's Rip: a Remix Manifesto is that of the remixer/reuser's attitude toward the past. The implication is that it's benign, merely using what he/she finds to make new art. But it's rarely that simple. Led Zep didn't merely borrow from Willie Dixon and Robert Johnson; they made made them "now" because now is better than then. There's an implied condesention toward the past, one often epressed by remaking it in a contemporary image.
In Girl Talk, the past is updated by being laid over new beats, taken out of context, and often given a new vocalist. That'snot a neutral act, even if it's done affectionately. As he screws with classic rock, you know he's upsetting many bands and their rap-hating fans by laying emcees over their riffs. But Girl Talk's am equal opportunity irritant; I'm sure many hip-hop fans are just as horeified by some the lame aongs their favorites are paired with.
But if the past tries to control the future and fights the present, it's not simply out of greed or small-mindedness. It is under attack by the forces of now, just as it always has been.
Showing posts with label Girl Talk. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Girl Talk. Show all posts
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Remix/Revisionism
I just left a screening of Rip: a Remix Manifesto and ultimately I liked it as an act of provication. Filmmaker Brett Gaylor's manifesto is:
1. Culture always builds on the past.
2. The past always tries to control the future.
3. Our Future is becoming less free.
4. To build free societies, you must limit control of the past.
Good stuff worth contemplating, but what was interesting (beside the complete omission of hip-hop and sampling from the discussion) was the way Gaylor's evidence seemed to undo his argument. He contends that the past exerts unprecedented control over today's art and culture, but the film is centered on Girl Talk, who has now put out two albums of music laden with uncleared samples. His career and other examples in the film show that bit business may be trying to control ideas, but it has generally been unsuccessful.
He also misses the image enhancement, cultural capital and motivational value that accompanies the transformation of the ideas from the past. Gaylor exploits the pirate image throughout the film, but he does so as if being one's a bad thing. It might be an illegal thing, but until recent events, Johnny Depp's pirate-as-rock 'n' roll-outlaw has been an attractive pose, and transforming old blues songs, old Mickey Mouse comics, old fairy tales and old top 40 hits into works of art that speak to their moment has always had an appealing, subversive dimension.
There's enough cool in Rip: a Remix Manifesto to make it worth seeing (or downloading here) (or remixing here), but he gets a number of things wrong (Is it really a crime to hear music that contains samples that haven't been cleared?). Ultimately, it's more of a love letter to Girl Talk than anything else, but there are a lot of less worthy subjects of love letters.
1. Culture always builds on the past.
2. The past always tries to control the future.
3. Our Future is becoming less free.
4. To build free societies, you must limit control of the past.
Good stuff worth contemplating, but what was interesting (beside the complete omission of hip-hop and sampling from the discussion) was the way Gaylor's evidence seemed to undo his argument. He contends that the past exerts unprecedented control over today's art and culture, but the film is centered on Girl Talk, who has now put out two albums of music laden with uncleared samples. His career and other examples in the film show that bit business may be trying to control ideas, but it has generally been unsuccessful.
He also misses the image enhancement, cultural capital and motivational value that accompanies the transformation of the ideas from the past. Gaylor exploits the pirate image throughout the film, but he does so as if being one's a bad thing. It might be an illegal thing, but until recent events, Johnny Depp's pirate-as-rock 'n' roll-outlaw has been an attractive pose, and transforming old blues songs, old Mickey Mouse comics, old fairy tales and old top 40 hits into works of art that speak to their moment has always had an appealing, subversive dimension.
There's enough cool in Rip: a Remix Manifesto to make it worth seeing (or downloading here) (or remixing here), but he gets a number of things wrong (Is it really a crime to hear music that contains samples that haven't been cleared?). Ultimately, it's more of a love letter to Girl Talk than anything else, but there are a lot of less worthy subjects of love letters.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Song du Jour
The Bran Flakes' "Stumble Out of Bed": After the Avalanches and Girl Talk, most sample-oriented music seems to lack ambition, but this manipulation of Dolly Parton's "9 to 5" replicates the plight of the working man as it struggles to get words out and move the song forward while the DJ keeps backing him up. The forward/backward movement becomes an agreeable groove before there's a genuine interruption - the Osmonds' meditation on freedom in "Think" - and "you speak of freedom / as if it's just a word" seems to give the song the impetus to make it to the chorus. Who expected saving wisdom from the Osmonds?
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
All the Talk
Girl Talk's House of Blues show was the most rock 'n' roll show I've seen this year, and only partially because of the music. Actually, what was rock 'n' roll about it was only partially connected to the music. At the sold out show, I was the only person I saw over 40, and I saw few obvious thirtysomethings. The crowd was young, and most everybody there was dressed to be a star. The wardrobe choices drew heavily from '70s and '80s notions of glam - a lot of shiny material - but all were more interesting and energized than the handful of people in rock 'n' roll black T-shirts and shorts.
This was the sort of show that drew the Us vs. Them line good rock 'n' roll draws, one that marks who's cool and who isn't. The line's unstable and who's cool depends on the show and the crowd, but the night was charged with the electricity of people who were all quite confident they knew something their elders and the uncool didn't. Two people in line had to ask me (with equal incredulity), "You know Girl Talk?"
Girl Talk - Gregg Gillis - doesn't actually do much onstage. He hunches over a table and rocks while manipulating the tracks in his sonic collage, but there was more genuine danger onstage than I've seen in a long time. Anyone who wanted onstage was welcome, so it was soon packed with people, some dancing, some nodding, some simply into their moment onstage. People were behind Gillis, and at one point people bodysurfed the back of the stage crowd. When he revved up the energy, the crowd onstage surged, so much so that people had to hang on to his desk so that it didn't get pushed into the audience. At one point, two legs were knocked out from under the desk and it banged to the ground with an ugly electronic fart.
As for the music itself, it brought to mind the poet Ted Berrigan's Train Ride. In the book-length poem, Berrigan described what he saw looking out the window while on a train, but he didn't provide the markers to indicate the passing of space. He simply responded to what he saw each time, giving the work a loose coherence - because things don't change that quickly - and a surreal quality as disconnected places and thoughts become connected. Girl Talk's show was a speeding train through the back half of the 20th Century, and his combinations of tracks spoke to each other in different ways. It's hard not to think of the irony of hip-hop voices matched with classic rock, the latter often the musical hiding place for those who hate rap. He also wasn't above easy laughs, at one point alternating between Paul McCartney crooning, "I love you" and 2 Live Crew shouting "We want some pussy."
But Girl Talk's most radical move was to treat all pop as equal. Classic rock, pop hits and hip-hop were equally loved and mocked, equally valuable building blocks for his music. And whether they knew exactly what was going on or not, the audience knew they were seeing something, and they were hearing inclusive values enacted. And they could put their arms around their pals' shoulders or waists celebrate a collective moment. It was a rock 'n' roll thing.
This was the sort of show that drew the Us vs. Them line good rock 'n' roll draws, one that marks who's cool and who isn't. The line's unstable and who's cool depends on the show and the crowd, but the night was charged with the electricity of people who were all quite confident they knew something their elders and the uncool didn't. Two people in line had to ask me (with equal incredulity), "You know Girl Talk?"
Girl Talk - Gregg Gillis - doesn't actually do much onstage. He hunches over a table and rocks while manipulating the tracks in his sonic collage, but there was more genuine danger onstage than I've seen in a long time. Anyone who wanted onstage was welcome, so it was soon packed with people, some dancing, some nodding, some simply into their moment onstage. People were behind Gillis, and at one point people bodysurfed the back of the stage crowd. When he revved up the energy, the crowd onstage surged, so much so that people had to hang on to his desk so that it didn't get pushed into the audience. At one point, two legs were knocked out from under the desk and it banged to the ground with an ugly electronic fart.
As for the music itself, it brought to mind the poet Ted Berrigan's Train Ride. In the book-length poem, Berrigan described what he saw looking out the window while on a train, but he didn't provide the markers to indicate the passing of space. He simply responded to what he saw each time, giving the work a loose coherence - because things don't change that quickly - and a surreal quality as disconnected places and thoughts become connected. Girl Talk's show was a speeding train through the back half of the 20th Century, and his combinations of tracks spoke to each other in different ways. It's hard not to think of the irony of hip-hop voices matched with classic rock, the latter often the musical hiding place for those who hate rap. He also wasn't above easy laughs, at one point alternating between Paul McCartney crooning, "I love you" and 2 Live Crew shouting "We want some pussy."
But Girl Talk's most radical move was to treat all pop as equal. Classic rock, pop hits and hip-hop were equally loved and mocked, equally valuable building blocks for his music. And whether they knew exactly what was going on or not, the audience knew they were seeing something, and they were hearing inclusive values enacted. And they could put their arms around their pals' shoulders or waists celebrate a collective moment. It was a rock 'n' roll thing.
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