Relatively recent BBC4 documentaries regarding popular music from the 1970’s to the early 1980’s have once again got me fixated on that I would call the pivotal moment in leaving a world that believed in the future into becoming one that is incredibly despondent, yet whilst being lit-up with an end-of-the-world-selfishness to paper over the melancholia and sickness that prevails. If this sounds like an over-dramatic interpretation of our current predicament, I’ll try my best to explain why I increasingly feel this way, especially in my blog I’m writing regarding the recent showing of the Joy Division documentary on BBC4. However, this blog deals with Kraftwerk, specifically the 5 landmark albums they released in a row from 1974 to 1981 (Autobahn, Radioactivity, Trans Europe Express, The Man Machine and Computer World).
One really interesting thing I find about Kraftwerk, something talked about in David Cunningham‘s essay Kraftwerk and The Image of the Modern, (featured in Kraftwerk: Music Non Stop) is that they, along with many other German musicians/artists growing up in post-war Germany (I should say, West Germany), sought out something that was their own cultural identity, not the the Anglo-Saxon rock ‘n roll scene at the time of their inception. And in doing so, looked ‘back to the future‘, bypassing the black hole of Nazism to look back to the modernism of early 20th century Germany (such as the Bauhaus movement and the early Frankfurt School). But rather than looking back in a retro-fetish sense, a tendency dominating contemporary music, Cunningham writes that “[T]hey [Kraftwerk] gain their meaning as modern from their dynamic relation to past works [my own italics], through a determinate negation of what precedes them…” and whilst their immediate past was “…the increasingly stagnant conventions of a dominantly Anglo-rock or popular music of the late 1960’s … Kraftwerk’s own articulation of  modernity, at the level of its accompanying image…is more often the than not dependent upon a certain non-synchronous reactivation of those stranded [by the horrors of Nazism?] objects made up of past visual and conceptual motifs drawn from a specifically 1920’s European Culture.” (2011)
Regardless of its quirks, I’ve never really been interested in listening to very early Kraftwerk, when they had long hair, and played guitar, because somehow it doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t conjure the futuristic, the grand modernist impulse that their 74-81 group of albums do – an aura that simultaneously remains exciting to this day to anyone still ‘accidentally’ infected with the desires of a modernism, whilst gut-wrenchingly melancholic due to the conspicuous absence of that aura in our current (non)times.
Why Does the Future Still Feel Analogue?
The first 4 of these aforementioned albums were all released in the 70’s, in an era that I’d argue was still modernist in nature (if we are to talk about the idea of it being an uneven, disjointed, yet somehow still collective grand project looking forwards). And I’d argue that all 4 of these albums, even when they deal with the dark issues looming over the post-war period (Radioactivity, etc), have a real Utopianist essence to them – certainly taking from the early 20th century spirit. But I believe the reason Kraftwerk worked is because it was still possible to be Utopianist in the mid 70’s.
If you listen to Autobahn or Trans-Europe Express on a bright midday moment, when the private-profit social-infrastructure (especially in the UK) is functioning as it is supposed to, you can almost momentarily shirk the gut feeling that the future has disappeared, stolen maybe. Whereas the machines-are-singing-back-to-us Ohm Sweet Ohm, the final moment on 1975’s Radioactivity, can almost be emotionally overwhelming in the way that it conjures the feeling of an almost magical aura, mainly due to its conspicuous absence in these (non)times. (If magical seems like an overly powerful world, I mean that beyond the fog of the aspirational hyperbole of contemporary life, the emptiness seems so engulfing that the likes of me, born halfway into what Franco Berardi called ‘the slow cancellation of the future’, become convinced that the void within contemporary life wasn’t always so hard to avoid.)
The 5th album, however, Computer World, has a crucially different feel to it. Basically it is the end of the modern: Computer World is a postmodern world. I associate the beginnings of postmodernity, with the incoming Margaret Thatcher/Ronald Reagan(1979/81) agenda of “there is no alternative (to capitalism)” (aka ‘no future’), and the increasing individuation which, if anything allowed the creeping digitisation/computerisation of life a much easier penetration of our (increasingly) personal affairs. This only really started to kick in the at the end of the 1970’s and the beginning of the 1980’s, a point when we began to see ‘the slow cancellation of the future’ to (quote both Franco Berardi and Mark Fisher). Computer world was released in 1981, within the crucible of this seismic change, but at which point The New in culture was still possible and still felt “to be infinitely available. [Whilst now] the 21st century is oppressed by a crushing sense of finitude and exhaustion” (Fisher, 2014).
Mark Fisher puts arguments forward at the beginning of his book Ghosts of My Life as to why theorist Fredric Jameson‘s argument that “the postmodern ‘waning of historicity’ is synonymous with “the cultural logic of late capitalism” is a truth. For me it is already a given. And although I’m leaving this as a given with in this blog, I’m saying so as much as I feel that Computer World documents their synonymous relationship, which is why the album sounds more like contemporary life every day, whilst the previous 4 albums both sound like the before and after of this ‘eternal present’ of a computerised quagmire.
Is Computer World the first postmodern album? Maybe not exactly. Many people would say mid-70’s punk, even the Velvet Underground in the late 60’s, were postmodern in their deconstruction of pop music. But for me, Kraftwerk, with these 5 albums really showed that they had their radars fully tuned to the seismic cultural shifts, and, whilst they showed that modernism was still very much a living thing in 70’s, I’d argue that Computer World was the first album to document the postmodern world we’d all come to recognise – more than anything due to the way that we still see the previous 4 Kraftwerk albums as futuristic.
“Business, money, numbers, people”
The words on the tracks Computer World and Numbers are spoken in a very punctuated manner that evokes the pressing of buttons. It all sounds so eerily familiar when we feel lost, powerless, lonely, and insignificant in a post-millennial broadband world, where the information overload fills us with disbelief and a desensitisation to the world, whilst addicting us to the pursuit of contact with others. The loneliness is crucial here; one song on the album evokes the human being sinking further into a cyberspacial abyss, but desperate to be pulled back out of it ...by someone.
“I don’t know what to do, I need a rendezvous”
The track Computer Love is a tragic track in our sad times where it rings so true. It isn’t a song you’d instantly think of when thinking of tear-jerking tracks, but it really does depict our escalating epidemic of loneliness, so movingly written about in 2014 in an article by George Monbiot. A friend once argued that Computer Love was an upbeat track, but for me, hearing it at the back end of 2008, it is a ode to the fate that would fall befall our species. Computer Love not only sounds more relevant today, it seems to depict a potential descent that knows no end. The omnipresence of computerisation enables corporate state interference and profit-motive social media platforms to make us increasingly slave-like to behavioural patterns the increase physical isolation.
Computer Love is far sadder than even Nick Drake’s (for example) odes to the pain of loneliness, because music such as Nick Drake’s evokes a idyll that cyberspacial communications may as well have obliterated due to the way to it disconnects us from each other whilst purporting to do the opposite (who could anymore imagine the world described by Drake existing, without the constant interruptions from cyberspace or our itching desires to be reconnected to it?). Despite people I know finding true companionship via Online Dating, for me it is a symptom of ‘Our Age of Loneliness‘ (Monbiot) and is, like all social media platforms, saturated with the imperatives of a marketised form of individualism, with the obnoxiously elitist dating sites being at the extreme end of this. Online Dating seems to me to now be a ‘When in Rome’ situation: although people do find love/happiness etc, the reason people go onto it is because we’ve become so lonely as a species that meeting people in any other way can seem impossible.
Kraftwerk – After the Future
After The Future is the title of a Franco Berardi book that examines how this slow cancellation of the future from the late 70’s onwards occurred. With Autobahn (1974), Radioactivity (1975), Trans Europe Exrpess (1977), The Man Machine (1978), Kraftwerk entice us with visions of ‘tomorrow’s world’. However, once they had produced Computer World (1981), which “might well be Kraftwerk’s greatest achievement…” with “…its turn to the increasingly abstract spaces of the global rather than the European…” (Cunningham), was there a future left for Kraftwerk to articulate? David Cunningham seems to suggest that the group lost their way after this album, with in a air of inevitability due to the wider context, with “the return of vague invocations of a European avante garde coffee-shop culture on Electric Cafe (1986), seeming unconvincing and unfocused.”
The fact that The BBC broadcast the Kraftwerk, Joy Division, and Synth Britannia documentaries all within the space of a month inevitability touched upon something. They had an air of difference from music documentaries focusing on the 60’s or post-89 music documentaries. But what made them different, and why show them all now? Although all documentaries were intelligible and sensitive to the changes to how we live, and lived in the 70’s/80’s, they were finally frustrating in how they failed to recognise why (I believe) they were even being shown now; not just the high demand for nostalgia for (a time that believed in) the future, but melancholia that constitutes the hipster-less moments of wanting a future again. The Joy Division documentary (for example) articulated the creeping social, political and existential misery that the band channeled with uncanny brilliance, but then completely failed to pick up on/or even acknowledge that the reason such documentaries are being made now is due to the undead presence of these feelings, oozing from the cracks between the hyperbolic lies of the late capitalist pleasure sphere; I am convinced that the reason Joy Division T-shirts are being worn by people born after 1990’s ‘Britpop’ isn’t down to the fashionable nature of ‘dark things’, but is actually because they speak a truth, denied mainstream articulation, that an increasing majority of us connect with.
The Kraftwerk documentary used the Utopianist track Neon Lights to soundtrack a sped-up drive through central London, with no sense of irony. Yes, on a superficial level Postmodern London gels with the essence of Neon Lights, but having spent hours on end aimlessly strolling the totalised-urban-space of the centre, I am left feeling tomorrow’s world was hijacked, gutted, and yet left as a undead body in which to inhabit. I experience elements of Kraftwerk’s post-millennium tours, upon which this documentary rested, and focussed on as its foreground, like I would a much-liked device that has now been unplugged from the mains that initially supplied it with so much inventiveness. With the accompanying blocky computerised imagery inaccessable as anything but 80’s-computer-pastiche to anyone living now, I experience the comeback tours as Kraftwerk being subsumed into commodity fetish. Yet the documentary seems as oblivious to this as the Joy Division documentary seemed oblivious to the ridged-persistence of the pain the band evoked.
To me, their post-millennial comeback tours seem as tragic as the initially-intuitive documentaries uncritical response the usage of the Computer Love melody by post-millennial consumer-emotions-band Coldplay. Now, as far as sugary enjoyment goes, there’s a couple of tracks from the early Coldplay albums I do like; but an uncritical response to a band like Coldplay borrowing a melody from something-much-more-than-a-band that helped us imagine another type of world seems mildly criminal to the likes of someone who, no matter what, can never come to terms with the narrowed idea of life and civilisation that we’re sold every day. This is an entrenched feeling, borne out of daily reactions to life today, and I won’t suddenly envisage a better future by someone telling me “there’s decent contemporary [musical] artists out there...if only you’d try to look for them.”
Strivers (no2), A5, ink on paper
There seems to be an appropriate analogy between every citizen subjected to global capitalism and a person deemed-mentally ill, restrained in a straight jacket and shut away in a padded cell. Each one of us are being subjected to a process of increased isolation to the point of total disenfranchisement. In the strange time of no time/place of no place we occupy one cannot clearly see whether or not this process has already been completed. The internet can often feel like millions of isolated voices soaked with mental anguish, all screaming into a black hole, perpetuating their inertia. From such an angle, the internet resembles the pinnacle of communication-breakdown rather than the pinnacle of communication technology.
Some of the padded rooms are better endowed; they have more in them to keep the subject distracted, to forget their predicament. But some have little to distract their subjects with, who are continuously shouting and banging – but nobody can hear them.
European scientific discovery showed us how to take apart the living planet bit by bit, to see what it is made of, what qualities things possess, which has given us the ability to harness these qualities with revolutionary potential. But it seemed to be blind to half of what makes life what it is; yet you would be foolish to expect any individual living after centuries of the entrenchment of this logic to have some sort of idea what it was that was missed, even though many sense that something isn’t right. Before anybody could say “stop”, a powerful force has been released that capitalised on the extraction of qualities from the earth for profit: industrial capitalism.
Science now does us an immense disservice by continuing its crusade it has already won against organised religion, when the battle should be within itself (although I recognise this as an oversimplification, many leading scientific figures seem so hell-bent on ridding the world of believers in god, that they ignore that the frontline of science is used for the darkest, most secretive and socially regressive forces active in the world).
Capitalism harnessed scientific discoveries to extract from life to create something that is lifeless/dead: an accumulation of capital. This wealth is abstracted from what John Ruskin said was the real wealth: “life itself”. Like a dissection in a scientific experiment, capital acts on the planet as if with a scalpel, taking everything apart to extract profit from it. If there was ever a feeling that capitalism brought any other sort of progress than that of technological progress specific to its continuation, it has been incidental to it, such as with the creation of a proletariat (in the first industrial areas of the world) who forced capitalism to make a deal with it, otherwise there would have been revolution.
But the improvement in living conditions was fooled, exploited and twisted out of recognition by the power of advertising and capital found a way of extracting from one half of the world by manufacturing desire, envy and greed, and getting the other half to make the products. The white people’s of the first industrial nations were made into consumers, whilst the darker skinned people’s, to whom industrialisation was new, were made into the producers. This sent the people who had initially fought back against capitalism into a sleep-like state, and people began to find themselves alone together; everyone in box rooms, watching boxes of moving images, right next to each other, in sprawling suburbs. Alone, surrounded by material gains that couldn’t satisfy.
Once the labour organisations that had grown up to defend workers were defeated, capital had nothing to stop it growing and growing, and the more it grew, the more it fragmented groups of people; the more it did this the more it could exploit the individual. By the time the old Soviet regimes fell and capital went global, lots of people began to feel that if they couldn’t beat it they might as well join it; now they must be rueing this fatal error.
Everything capitalism sold to us as a token of freedom made us more and more trapped in isolation; cars emptied our streets of familiar faces; cell phones began to cut through conversations like an axe, and as more and more bought them, the more and more societies moulded to their design, making it almost impossible for anyone to be without them.
Forget the internet, now we have Facebook. Facebook may have the appearance of being a format that connects people and groups, but Facebook was an ingenious capitalisation; a capitalisation on a social trend already entrenched. Since the 1980’s an intense engineering of society to make it one of competitive individuals, isolated each individual, quietly disenfranchising them, to the extent that everybody found themselves unwillingly in competition with each other. The creators of Social networking sites picked up on this, to capitalise on the burning need to be recognised, seen as worthy of life and liked by others.
What is the feeling one has when they scroll down a Facebook news feed? It isn’t one of being connected, of being in company, it’s one of anxiety; anxiety over not being good enough, being invisible, being less popular, being left behind, being unattractive, which are all tributary anxieties that flow into the main river of anxiety of our time; anxiety over finances/work – and Facebook is an extension of work, which is why employees shouldn’t be surprised when potential employer’s analyse their profile.
Everything is an extension of work now, putting us in a continuous race to keep ourselves afloat. And individualism has began to show what it really means: freedom to fend off forces that are far too powerful for one person to deal with; a continuous becoming-incarcerated. The sound of what we have found ourselves in is slowly becoming too loud to ignore; but we no longer know how to connect and join forces with other people. Protest marches largely resemble festivals, charity races, that know where and when they will begin and end, than anything that has the potential to upturn the insane march into madness we have been placed on.
This is what I feel has happened; that so many of us have the same feeling; that the anger and anxiety about what is going on is trapped within us, as if it is our bodies that are the padded cells.
Achieving and Getting Things Done was an installation I made for a recent exhibition, Globalsapiens: an Introduction. In this exhibition 3 of us were all trying to speak/yell about the state of the world deeply concerning us within the year 2011. But within the confines of an art gallery, within a confines of our individual artist egos, within the confines of our increasingly atomised and forced-self-entrepreneurial lives, is this possible?
Thus within this exhibition we played on this inescapable doubt of ineffectiveness by placing each of us within individual cell-like spaces within the gallery in general. The installation Achieving and Getting Things Done attempted to bring all this doubt within all of my works in this cell into a more clear light.
Here I languish; informed but passive; not knowing which foot to put in front of the other; so letting faint hopes of something better do the walking for me.
Here in my cell there will constantly remain the doubt that my artworks/artist shows may end up as nothing more than self-profiling within [what I often feel is] a dictatorship of individualism; the fetishisation of the self in the forced-competition of status advancement, based on an ultimatum of prosperity and a terror of failure. Thus, everything I have done within my isolated little world sometimes feels so counterproductive: that the truth may be that I am simply bolstering the realism of a system my work fundamentally opposes in its messages, by seeking recognition, and respect from it, for my individual endeavours.