As someone has probably already realized, I have not been updating this lately. There are two reasons why I haven’t written: first, I’m taking three graduate class right now which are demanding a lot from me, and second, I’m talking to someone about writing for a magazine with similar themes as those I’ve been discussing here. Since my inspiration in the last few months has been sucked dry by school, I decided to save those few ideas I do have until I know what will happen with this writing opportunity.
Before school got into full swing I was able to start the following fragment on Hip-Hop and music in general. I decided to post in here, unedited, since I won’t be able to write anything new until some time in December. On that note, the Chapter Five that I posted before this is also for the most part unedited.
I have recently been spending some time on that great life-taker the “Internet Forum.” In particular I was involved in a lively debate over at ArtsandFaith.com—a great site. The topic got around to what makes good Christian Hip-Hop. I pointed to my previous blogs on the subject wherein I argue that there should be certain difference between secular and Christian music—a difference that must transcend lyrics. It is this idea that I am going to explore a bit more here.
One of the things that have historically held popular music in general from being treated on the same level as other Art is the fact that many musicians do not consider their works as a whole. (A Marxist would disagree with me here, suggesting that the only true separation is along class lines. Elitist members of society create Artistic rules and structures in order to systematically renounce pop music as useless. Oddly enough it is pop music that helps make the rich, richer and to establish materialistic philosophies as the norm in our culture. But that is for another post…) It is not uncommon to here a singer talk about how a lyric expresses or says this or that, but rarely do they attempt to explain what the music expresses or says. This is due, in part, to a belief that music does not have tangible communicative properties. Lyrics can speak, music can only make people “feel.” Therefore, many musicians fail to even attempt to communicate through their instruments. Another reason for this is that most popular music is made by people who do not think in artistic terms (a fault of our world’s retreat from intelligence and critical thinking). Most rock bands are made up of young teenagers, whose goals are more often than not to let out aggression, be popular, and meet girls.
For most pop music this problem of uniting the themes of the lyrics and the power of the music is very difficult. The ability to have a four piece band all understand and agree (even in a general way) on a theme and work together successfully to express that theme is daunting. The few bands that are able to do this are often headed by diabolical singers or the members communicate exceptionally well: I.E. Radiohead, The Smashing Pumpkins….etc. Making a song with four members of a band, where each member has an instrument, and each instrument has a part, means that there are many opportunities for the theme to be diluted.
Imagine if the theme of the song is love, as it often is. The lead singer writes the lyrics to the song and a basic chord progression on guitar and takes it into the band for them to learn. In his lyrics the focus is upon the difficulty of finding true love. Lets assume that he tells the band that this is the theme (something that in my experience is rarely done---most of the time the singer just plays and sings the song and the band ignores his words and pays attention to the melody and the music…but I’ll give our fictional rock star the benefit of the doubt.), and they each begin learning the song. Even if they are conscious of the theme, they will each have their own interpretation of what “true love” means. Thus the process of interpretation has begun before the Artist has finished the work. Sometimes this can be helpful, by “pooling” their visions of a theme together they can make a work that better communicates to the listener. But my point here is that there are several points where the theme can become watered down and diverted. In the case of Hip-Hop this problem can be minimized simply because it does not require so many people in order to produce the song. In reality, all that is necessary is a producer and a rapper, and often times these are one in the same.
Monday, October 31, 2005
Chapter 5
Chapter 5
When U received the message that he could return to work at the station he felt both relieved and anxious. It was two weeks after his meeting with Mr. Hughes. He had spent most of his jobless days brooding over the integrity of the System. Whenever a genuine doubt would stab its way into his consciousness, U would quickly look at his PDA to see if there would be a punishment for his doubt. But, every time he looked the time of day was all that would glare back up at him. Imagining himself back at work, watching the movements of the new supervisor, became U’s new obsession. He was still leery of Mr. Hughes’ story, but the possibility drove him into almost constant contemplation on the topic. But when he actually read the message on his screen, ordering him to return to work, he’s obsession took on a fearful preoccupation. Enemies
Walking into his office U scanned the room from signs of the unordinary. Having been gone for two weeks meant almost everything felt a little off to U, but nothing was foreign. U kept his old schedule of arriving before anyone else in the compound and leaving after them. He hoped that these extra hours would give him a better chance of coming into contact with the new supervisor, but it was another week before he even heard mention of him.
U. was uneasy, not because of what he had been told of the new supervisor, but of what he had not been told. Going back to work at the station had brought U. through several states of mind; from a gnawing anxiousness to an ignorant peace which could only last a few moments. The office felt unsettlingly the same, considering that here U had killed a man with visceral brutality. Had this place been as he had idealized it in his lofty thoughts, then he would have felt the need to remove his shoes for fear of desecrating hallowed ground. As it was however, the sterile, poorly lit room seemed to U to suggest a once sacred relic which had been denounced as a fraud and all those who were healed by its ethereal qualities had reverted to their previous states and completely forgot about the relic as a sacred object. This emotion began to subside in U as he gave himself over to work. A new fleeting thrill filled him, to discover the truth, or lies, of Hughes. It seemed to U that the only way he would ever be allowed close enough to the supervisor to really ascertain the truth would be to return to his previous work ethic. And so U poured himself into his job.
It was two weeks after he had returned to work before U caught any sight of the new supervisor, and when the time did come he hardly knew what to do. U had been arriving early to work as he had done before the murder, now, however, no one was ever seen by U as he walked down the long hallways of the station. The walk would often give U time to wonder when or how he might meet the new supervisor that day. This thought was upon U’s mind as he entered his office early on morning. He had left his apartment a few moments earlier than usual on this particular morning and this brought him to the door of his office and to a sight which only confounded the preoccupations of is mind. Seated at his desk, with his back to U, was a man in a deep gray suit. The man turned around as he heard U approaching. He was young, not any older than thirty five, or six. Face, clean cut, very well kept over all, in fact. The man’s body seemed to freeze as he beheld U.
“Well, good morning, you must be U. I’m the new supervisor for this quadrant.” the man slowly turned back around to the computer which he had been facing. U could just make out the supervisors hands as they worked feverishly at a PDA. The computer screen on U’s desk shuttered and then turned black.
“I’ve just been going over your work. I liked to arrive before the programmers so that I don’t have to disturb them…unless of course something is wrong. I have to say that your work here is very impressive By the way my name is Dr. Hardenbrook.” The doctor quickly put his PDA away, stood, and moved towards the still silent U.
“I hope you find everything in order,” said U as he shook hands with the new supervisor. The other man’s palm felt damp and yet it gripped U’s hand firmly. He began to regret having offered his hand in the first place, only there didn’t seem to be a way around it.
“Oh, yes! In fact I think I’m about finished here. It expedites my job so much when you workers keep such ordered records. It was wonderful meeting you Mr. U. Have a great and…uh, keep up that great work.” And with those short, quickly executed sentences the supervisor was gone. U was left staring at his office and his now turned off computer. His mind was filled with the dark possibilities of the supervisor. At the end of his five second revelry U turned quickly to try to catch the sight of Dr. Hardenbrok. The supervisor was walking uncomfortably into the eveloping hallway and soon was covered in the darkness only to be seen in flashes from the dancing picture frames which would light up an arm, or his coat, or his face, but never the totality of him. Mr. Hughes’ words came flooding back to U. He allowed the door to swoosh shut, watching it all the while. And then he walked over to his computer, staring at it as if to take it all into his consciousness, to search for something wrong. Turning the computer on U listened intently at the room itself, as if to ascertain if something in the very substance of the room had been altered by the new supervisor.
Why had he been so nervous? A feeling of panic griped U and he began to search through his computer to see if he could find if anything had been tampered with. But even if Dr. Hardenbrok had done something, changed something, or whatever, U wondered to himself, what good would my workstation have done? What could I possibly have that a supervisor does not have access too? But then, why would he be afraid of me seeing his work? Maybe he was just unnerved by my abrupt entrance. All these possibilities went coupled with a thousand counter thoughts in U, but no resolution presented itself. U was again struck with the fact that all these seemingly irrational doubts were allowed to go unjudged by the system; his PDA was silent.
As U began his work for the day every keystroke seemed to distract him. “Was that button always there? Was that title on this page yesterday?” U thought to himself. Everything appeared foreign but nothing was tangibly altered on his computer. When his break came instead of remaining in his office like he usually did, U pulled on his deep gray coat, locked his computer with a code and walked down the hallway towards Miss. Gram’s office. U’s break came at 10.25 and lasted until 10.40 at which time U had to be at his computer typing or else suffer a dock in pay at the equivalent of one hour’s work. In addition, visiting with other employees during your personal break with likewise result in the loss of one hour’s pay. With a full understanding of this U quickly moved across the long hallway to his coworker’s office. A tension rested upon his chest and when he breathed, a sound between a quiet grunt and deep sigh came from his mouth or nose. Miss. Gram had been given an office along a short corridor that ran across the main hallway. When U turned the corner onto the corridor he hesitated for a moment, looking around for the supervisor, who had left U’s office hours ago. U was surprised to find Miss. Gram’s office door open. As he approached he could make out his coworker as she sat facing her computer. Gram’s feet were pulled back underneath her chair and she leant forward as if she was lost in the flow of characters that went across her screen. This most not have been to far from the truth because U was able to get inside her office before her trance was broke and she turned to notice him. A tuft of dark auburn hair was tucked behind her left ear and as her head came to a halt in front of U.
“Mr. U…” a deep, anxious exhalation left Miss. Gram’s mouth, “why are you here?”
“It’s my break period,” U said simply, and then realizing the insufficiency of his he added, “I needed to talk to you about something.” After he finished, U watched as Miss. Gram’s face drew a perplexed look. Regretting having used such suspicious language, U searched himself for a believable excuse: “It’s about the new supervisor…did stop by here?”
“Mr. Hardenbrok? Yes, I think he was here this morning. When I come in today I noticed my computer had been accessed. I assumed it was the supervisor since he is the only other person with the ability to that. Why do you ask U? Are you feeling ok?” Her eyes had been darting around the floor while she was speaking, as if she was looking for her words which had been scattered to the ground. When she finished, Gram looked up at U again. He wondered himself why she would ask him if he was feeling ok. What if she was worried that he might kill the new supervisor?
“Oh, well I just wanted to see if I could catch him…I had to talk to him about some of the work I’m doing. You said he did access your computer, I think he might have had some difficulty when he accessed mine. Was there anything odd on your system this morning? Anything out of place?”
“No…at least not that I can remember. What happened to your computer U?” But U was lost in thought. A few moments latter he awoke and answered Gram.
“I don’t know. Maybe nothing.”
“Nothing? It sure sounds like it must have been something for you to come here during your break.”
“Well, when I came into my office this morning he was there. Maybe I startled him or something but he looked very surprised to see me, scared even.”
“So he wasn’t expecting to see you. Look Mr. U, if this isn’t important I do have work I should be doing…” She turned back to her computer.
“I think he was doing something”
“Of course he was,” Said Miss. Gram as she started typing, “he was doing his job, which is what should you be doing.”
“I don’t think he was doing his job. At least, not his official job. He was doing something he didn’t want me to see. After I came in he quickly packed up and left, but not before he closed down the computer.” U had to raise his voice to compete with the rising sounds of Miss. Gram’s typing. He reached over to her shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
“Will you listen to me,” he implored, “I think this Mr. Hardenbrok is up to something”
“I can’t talk right now U, I’ve already received several warning buzzes to return to work. I suggest you listen to your own warnings and go back to your office yourself.”
“My PDA is not buzzing Miss. Gram. It has not buzzed once, in two months.” And with that dramatic declaration, U walked out of the office, down the corridor, through the hallway and back into his own workspace, the whole time day dreaming about the affect his exit had on Miss. Gram. In general, he felt quite pleased with himself. He sat down in his office chair and sat staring at his screen, not contemplating what he saw, but what he had done. As U was about to return to work he saw a red flashing light emitting from his hip where his PDA set.
“Mr. U. Please contact me immediately concerning your recent conversation with a Miss. Gram. Do not speak to anyone else regarding the actions of Mr. Hardenbrok until we have spoken. Mr. Hughes.” Thus read the PDA. U clicked the confirm button and felt a feeling of panic creep over him. What was I thinking, he thought, she knows I’m after the supervisor now. And why was she so calm? Does she know what he’s doing? Maybe she’s with him. How did she know that there was something wrong with my computer? All I ever said was he had trouble accessing my system.
U reached back down to his PDA and sent a message to Mr. Hughes:
“I’m sorry I told Miss. Gram too much, but you must listen to me. The new supervisor is doing something. I don’t know why yet, but I believe he is sneaking onto my computer. I only talked to Miss. Gram because I thought he might be doing the same thing to her. I found out that not only is he using her workstation, I believe that she knows it and may be helping him! Please tell me what I can do! If I’m right the Gram will tell Mr. Hughes and he will try to stop me some how! U.” As U mentally dictated the message his own words began to settle in upon him and he paused for a moment to look up and see if anyone was around. After being assured of his safety U sent the message. His heart was beating heavily and images of Gram whispering to Mr. Hughes filled his mind. A thirty-second eternity passed before his PDA again flashed with text.
“Do not worry. We expected as much. Please return to work and act normal. If you see Miss. Gram again do not mention anything about your earlier visit. More instructions will follow. End. Mr. Hughes.”
It was not until long after U had gone home that he again received any communication. He had been given plenty of time to worry about what he had done, and wonder what Hughes had meant by saying that they “expected as much”. Luckily for U he did not see Miss. Gram again that day but the possibility of running into her the next day plagued him.
“Mr. U, I am sorry that made you wait so long before this communication. Due to the earlier events of today I was compelled to meet with the other associates and discuss our next plan of action. I was able to convince the others that you can be trusted. Despite the fact that you possibly divulged your suspicions of the supervisor, the association has decided that you will be a welcome addition. I regret that I was unable to tell you about the association before, but until I knew whether or not you could take orders and be trusted I could not reveal the extent of our operation. I hope you will not hold my caution against me. A lot was at risk. Mr. Hughes.” U read the message and was immediately filled with excitement.
“I don’t really understand. How many more of us are there? And what about Mr. Hardenbrok? If Miss. Gram tells him about me won’t there be trouble? If my life is in danger please tell me. U.”
“I already told you not to worry Mr. U. The situation is under control. Even if Miss. Gram tells the supervisor, he can do nothing to you now. You are safe. But we must see you in person. Tomorrow, instead of proceeding to work, you will take your shuttle to the Hydrogen 3 mines 60.13 meters south of Minerva. You will be gone for the whole day so plan accordingly. There will be no need to notify the Station, we will see to that. End. Mr. Hughes.”
When U received the message that he could return to work at the station he felt both relieved and anxious. It was two weeks after his meeting with Mr. Hughes. He had spent most of his jobless days brooding over the integrity of the System. Whenever a genuine doubt would stab its way into his consciousness, U would quickly look at his PDA to see if there would be a punishment for his doubt. But, every time he looked the time of day was all that would glare back up at him. Imagining himself back at work, watching the movements of the new supervisor, became U’s new obsession. He was still leery of Mr. Hughes’ story, but the possibility drove him into almost constant contemplation on the topic. But when he actually read the message on his screen, ordering him to return to work, he’s obsession took on a fearful preoccupation. Enemies
Walking into his office U scanned the room from signs of the unordinary. Having been gone for two weeks meant almost everything felt a little off to U, but nothing was foreign. U kept his old schedule of arriving before anyone else in the compound and leaving after them. He hoped that these extra hours would give him a better chance of coming into contact with the new supervisor, but it was another week before he even heard mention of him.
U. was uneasy, not because of what he had been told of the new supervisor, but of what he had not been told. Going back to work at the station had brought U. through several states of mind; from a gnawing anxiousness to an ignorant peace which could only last a few moments. The office felt unsettlingly the same, considering that here U had killed a man with visceral brutality. Had this place been as he had idealized it in his lofty thoughts, then he would have felt the need to remove his shoes for fear of desecrating hallowed ground. As it was however, the sterile, poorly lit room seemed to U to suggest a once sacred relic which had been denounced as a fraud and all those who were healed by its ethereal qualities had reverted to their previous states and completely forgot about the relic as a sacred object. This emotion began to subside in U as he gave himself over to work. A new fleeting thrill filled him, to discover the truth, or lies, of Hughes. It seemed to U that the only way he would ever be allowed close enough to the supervisor to really ascertain the truth would be to return to his previous work ethic. And so U poured himself into his job.
It was two weeks after he had returned to work before U caught any sight of the new supervisor, and when the time did come he hardly knew what to do. U had been arriving early to work as he had done before the murder, now, however, no one was ever seen by U as he walked down the long hallways of the station. The walk would often give U time to wonder when or how he might meet the new supervisor that day. This thought was upon U’s mind as he entered his office early on morning. He had left his apartment a few moments earlier than usual on this particular morning and this brought him to the door of his office and to a sight which only confounded the preoccupations of is mind. Seated at his desk, with his back to U, was a man in a deep gray suit. The man turned around as he heard U approaching. He was young, not any older than thirty five, or six. Face, clean cut, very well kept over all, in fact. The man’s body seemed to freeze as he beheld U.
“Well, good morning, you must be U. I’m the new supervisor for this quadrant.” the man slowly turned back around to the computer which he had been facing. U could just make out the supervisors hands as they worked feverishly at a PDA. The computer screen on U’s desk shuttered and then turned black.
“I’ve just been going over your work. I liked to arrive before the programmers so that I don’t have to disturb them…unless of course something is wrong. I have to say that your work here is very impressive By the way my name is Dr. Hardenbrook.” The doctor quickly put his PDA away, stood, and moved towards the still silent U.
“I hope you find everything in order,” said U as he shook hands with the new supervisor. The other man’s palm felt damp and yet it gripped U’s hand firmly. He began to regret having offered his hand in the first place, only there didn’t seem to be a way around it.
“Oh, yes! In fact I think I’m about finished here. It expedites my job so much when you workers keep such ordered records. It was wonderful meeting you Mr. U. Have a great and…uh, keep up that great work.” And with those short, quickly executed sentences the supervisor was gone. U was left staring at his office and his now turned off computer. His mind was filled with the dark possibilities of the supervisor. At the end of his five second revelry U turned quickly to try to catch the sight of Dr. Hardenbrok. The supervisor was walking uncomfortably into the eveloping hallway and soon was covered in the darkness only to be seen in flashes from the dancing picture frames which would light up an arm, or his coat, or his face, but never the totality of him. Mr. Hughes’ words came flooding back to U. He allowed the door to swoosh shut, watching it all the while. And then he walked over to his computer, staring at it as if to take it all into his consciousness, to search for something wrong. Turning the computer on U listened intently at the room itself, as if to ascertain if something in the very substance of the room had been altered by the new supervisor.
Why had he been so nervous? A feeling of panic griped U and he began to search through his computer to see if he could find if anything had been tampered with. But even if Dr. Hardenbrok had done something, changed something, or whatever, U wondered to himself, what good would my workstation have done? What could I possibly have that a supervisor does not have access too? But then, why would he be afraid of me seeing his work? Maybe he was just unnerved by my abrupt entrance. All these possibilities went coupled with a thousand counter thoughts in U, but no resolution presented itself. U was again struck with the fact that all these seemingly irrational doubts were allowed to go unjudged by the system; his PDA was silent.
As U began his work for the day every keystroke seemed to distract him. “Was that button always there? Was that title on this page yesterday?” U thought to himself. Everything appeared foreign but nothing was tangibly altered on his computer. When his break came instead of remaining in his office like he usually did, U pulled on his deep gray coat, locked his computer with a code and walked down the hallway towards Miss. Gram’s office. U’s break came at 10.25 and lasted until 10.40 at which time U had to be at his computer typing or else suffer a dock in pay at the equivalent of one hour’s work. In addition, visiting with other employees during your personal break with likewise result in the loss of one hour’s pay. With a full understanding of this U quickly moved across the long hallway to his coworker’s office. A tension rested upon his chest and when he breathed, a sound between a quiet grunt and deep sigh came from his mouth or nose. Miss. Gram had been given an office along a short corridor that ran across the main hallway. When U turned the corner onto the corridor he hesitated for a moment, looking around for the supervisor, who had left U’s office hours ago. U was surprised to find Miss. Gram’s office door open. As he approached he could make out his coworker as she sat facing her computer. Gram’s feet were pulled back underneath her chair and she leant forward as if she was lost in the flow of characters that went across her screen. This most not have been to far from the truth because U was able to get inside her office before her trance was broke and she turned to notice him. A tuft of dark auburn hair was tucked behind her left ear and as her head came to a halt in front of U.
“Mr. U…” a deep, anxious exhalation left Miss. Gram’s mouth, “why are you here?”
“It’s my break period,” U said simply, and then realizing the insufficiency of his he added, “I needed to talk to you about something.” After he finished, U watched as Miss. Gram’s face drew a perplexed look. Regretting having used such suspicious language, U searched himself for a believable excuse: “It’s about the new supervisor…did stop by here?”
“Mr. Hardenbrok? Yes, I think he was here this morning. When I come in today I noticed my computer had been accessed. I assumed it was the supervisor since he is the only other person with the ability to that. Why do you ask U? Are you feeling ok?” Her eyes had been darting around the floor while she was speaking, as if she was looking for her words which had been scattered to the ground. When she finished, Gram looked up at U again. He wondered himself why she would ask him if he was feeling ok. What if she was worried that he might kill the new supervisor?
“Oh, well I just wanted to see if I could catch him…I had to talk to him about some of the work I’m doing. You said he did access your computer, I think he might have had some difficulty when he accessed mine. Was there anything odd on your system this morning? Anything out of place?”
“No…at least not that I can remember. What happened to your computer U?” But U was lost in thought. A few moments latter he awoke and answered Gram.
“I don’t know. Maybe nothing.”
“Nothing? It sure sounds like it must have been something for you to come here during your break.”
“Well, when I came into my office this morning he was there. Maybe I startled him or something but he looked very surprised to see me, scared even.”
“So he wasn’t expecting to see you. Look Mr. U, if this isn’t important I do have work I should be doing…” She turned back to her computer.
“I think he was doing something”
“Of course he was,” Said Miss. Gram as she started typing, “he was doing his job, which is what should you be doing.”
“I don’t think he was doing his job. At least, not his official job. He was doing something he didn’t want me to see. After I came in he quickly packed up and left, but not before he closed down the computer.” U had to raise his voice to compete with the rising sounds of Miss. Gram’s typing. He reached over to her shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
“Will you listen to me,” he implored, “I think this Mr. Hardenbrok is up to something”
“I can’t talk right now U, I’ve already received several warning buzzes to return to work. I suggest you listen to your own warnings and go back to your office yourself.”
“My PDA is not buzzing Miss. Gram. It has not buzzed once, in two months.” And with that dramatic declaration, U walked out of the office, down the corridor, through the hallway and back into his own workspace, the whole time day dreaming about the affect his exit had on Miss. Gram. In general, he felt quite pleased with himself. He sat down in his office chair and sat staring at his screen, not contemplating what he saw, but what he had done. As U was about to return to work he saw a red flashing light emitting from his hip where his PDA set.
“Mr. U. Please contact me immediately concerning your recent conversation with a Miss. Gram. Do not speak to anyone else regarding the actions of Mr. Hardenbrok until we have spoken. Mr. Hughes.” Thus read the PDA. U clicked the confirm button and felt a feeling of panic creep over him. What was I thinking, he thought, she knows I’m after the supervisor now. And why was she so calm? Does she know what he’s doing? Maybe she’s with him. How did she know that there was something wrong with my computer? All I ever said was he had trouble accessing my system.
U reached back down to his PDA and sent a message to Mr. Hughes:
“I’m sorry I told Miss. Gram too much, but you must listen to me. The new supervisor is doing something. I don’t know why yet, but I believe he is sneaking onto my computer. I only talked to Miss. Gram because I thought he might be doing the same thing to her. I found out that not only is he using her workstation, I believe that she knows it and may be helping him! Please tell me what I can do! If I’m right the Gram will tell Mr. Hughes and he will try to stop me some how! U.” As U mentally dictated the message his own words began to settle in upon him and he paused for a moment to look up and see if anyone was around. After being assured of his safety U sent the message. His heart was beating heavily and images of Gram whispering to Mr. Hughes filled his mind. A thirty-second eternity passed before his PDA again flashed with text.
“Do not worry. We expected as much. Please return to work and act normal. If you see Miss. Gram again do not mention anything about your earlier visit. More instructions will follow. End. Mr. Hughes.”
It was not until long after U had gone home that he again received any communication. He had been given plenty of time to worry about what he had done, and wonder what Hughes had meant by saying that they “expected as much”. Luckily for U he did not see Miss. Gram again that day but the possibility of running into her the next day plagued him.
“Mr. U, I am sorry that made you wait so long before this communication. Due to the earlier events of today I was compelled to meet with the other associates and discuss our next plan of action. I was able to convince the others that you can be trusted. Despite the fact that you possibly divulged your suspicions of the supervisor, the association has decided that you will be a welcome addition. I regret that I was unable to tell you about the association before, but until I knew whether or not you could take orders and be trusted I could not reveal the extent of our operation. I hope you will not hold my caution against me. A lot was at risk. Mr. Hughes.” U read the message and was immediately filled with excitement.
“I don’t really understand. How many more of us are there? And what about Mr. Hardenbrok? If Miss. Gram tells him about me won’t there be trouble? If my life is in danger please tell me. U.”
“I already told you not to worry Mr. U. The situation is under control. Even if Miss. Gram tells the supervisor, he can do nothing to you now. You are safe. But we must see you in person. Tomorrow, instead of proceeding to work, you will take your shuttle to the Hydrogen 3 mines 60.13 meters south of Minerva. You will be gone for the whole day so plan accordingly. There will be no need to notify the Station, we will see to that. End. Mr. Hughes.”
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
Afraid of Death
It had occurred to George before that she was pretty, but seeing her made-up and smiling like this almost crushed him. It took a lot for him to ask Jana, 4 months of longing, 3 weeks of dreading, 5 days of planing, and 6.25 hours of doubting and sweating.
He loved the way she would only pour skimmed milk into her coffee and eat the salad for lunch, it made him guilty but at the same time happy, knowing that if he every married her, she would make him change his diet and all that stuff—he always wanted to live healthy. George got her at right after her trip to the bathroom after lunch and before she made it to her cubicle, he wanted her to feel satiated and clean.
“Ugh...back to work eh? Seems like lunch goes by way too fast...” George fell in beside her as they both walked from the hallway that housed the bathrooms and lead from the cafeteria to the offices.
“Yeah...that's true...” She said slightly, allowing the words to drift out unaffected.
“Oh um, my name is George.” He stuck out his hand.
“Jana, nice to meet you” She turned to face him and allowed herself a little smile that she hoped wouldn't encourage him to much.
“Jana?” He said, veiling his intimate knowledge of her name, “Nice to meet you too. Have you...eh...been here long? I kinda like to think I know everyone here but--”
“Well I've been here since June, but I guess I haven't made the rounds much. I tend to keep to myself.”
“Hmm, I know what you mean. I do that sometimes too.” He felt stupid and worried as they both neared the end of the hall. Time was running out.
“Say, we should eat lunch together, us 'loners,' I mean you’re not doing anything, I'm not, I tend to eat alone--” Jana silently groaned and broke in:
“The thing is lunch is kinda my down time. I use it to relax and think and stuff. Its what gets me through the day. So--”
“Right, I know what you mean.” His voice dropped as a sudden wave of embarrassment overcame him. “That's alright maybe another time, or something. Well, this is my row, I've got that cubicle furthest away from any of the windows.” Even as he finished complaining he regretted it. He gave her a faint wave and walked briskly down to his space. The next day, however, providence had pity on George and things got a bit better.
“George?” The voice startled him from his typing revelry, drawing him towards the open wall in his cubicle.
“....hi..”
“Uh, hey, umm...did you..still want to have lunch?” George didn't bother to ask her about her sudden change of mind, but managing a weak affirmation he agreed to meet her for lunch. Unfortunately, a mandatory staff meeting kept the couple from the lunch date, so Jana broke down and agree to have dinner with him.
“So.....when did you want to order?”
“Soon...I mean now. If you’re ready, or we could wait.”
“Well I'm getting hungry and I know what I want so whenever you’re ready--”
“Oh sure, I'm ready, lets see here...I'm just gonna have this chicken dish with the side of vegetables. Waiter!” George asked Jana what she would be having for dinner—a salad, which just about killed George—he ordered the chicken dish with the side of vegetables and they both had iced tea to drink.
The conversations that arose that night were unnaturally meaningful, both George and Jana found themselves fluidly digressing from one topic to another, exposing the expanses of their lives and thoughts in passionate effusion. They began with the simplest of things—favorite movies and music—and quickly shuffled through desires and beliefs, books and families, each of them set upon reaching the goal of disclosing past loves and the inevitable discussion that would follow on the nature of love and the struggles of relationships. Before they arrived at that pivotal talk, he excused himself and headed towards the bathroom. He could have been nervous, but he wasn't.
He used the urinal and washed his hands at the sink. They only had the wall-mounted machines that air-dry your hands which always annoyed George. Since no one else was in the bathroom he gave a little prayer while he washed his face and rubbed his neck which was sore-particularly the left side. As he rubbed he thought about going back out there, he already missed her. He kept trying to imagine her face in the mirror in front of him, but he couldn't. He wished there was some way to get a picture of her. Then he found the bump.
On the left side of his neck, half way down, a small, hard, round bump protruded out. At first he didn't know what to do, if he should touch it or not. But then he remembered that all the rubbing hadn't hurt him so it couldn't be sensitive. He began to wiggle it around and feel it. The last time he had been sick was 3 months ago, or so, and he couldn't think of anyone who had been coughing around him. No one he knew had been sick. A young boy walked in the bathroom, reminding George of the outside; he realized that he had been gone for a long time already.
“Hey, sorry 'bout that, where were we?”
“You were just telling me about high school, something about being bored I believe?”
“Oh yeah, thats right. Well it was mostly boring, just like it is for everyone else but--”
“So did you ever date in high school? That must have made it at least a little interesting!”
“...I saw one or two girls but it was all stupid, you know how it is at that age. I think you date in high school just to talk about dating in high school.” She laughed and he gave a slight chuckle that—he thought—made him seem humble.
“I totally know what you mean. I must have had five relationships between my sophomore finals and my Junior midterms. And I hated them all!” Her laugh cut straight through George.
“That's high school. So what did you do after high school? Did you date a lot in college too?”
“No, not really. I stayed away from relationships for awhile so I could focus on studying, but I did go out once or twice I guess.”
“Nothing serious?” George asked, worrying that he might have been too blunt. Jana took a drink of the iced tea.
“I did meet my husband there, Nathan...so yeah I guess there was that...” The air collapsed around George, quietly suffocating him.
“oh....I--”
“He's gone now. I lost him three years ago to cancer.”
“Oh, oh I'm so sorry...I didn't know. I'm really sorry to hear that--”
“No, no don't worry about. It's been three years and we didn't have any kids or anything so I guess that was a blessing. It could have been worse I guess. I mean it wasn't that bad, just the first year was really tough, but God's helped me and I'm ok now. I am.”
“Wow, that's amazing that you pulled through that and all.” He knew he sounded awful, but she had stopped talking and so he had to say something. It suddenly occurred to him that he was sweating, and that he hadn't been eating much. He took a bite and watched her hoping that she wouldn't see the anxiety and discomfort in his face. She didn't.
“Yeah well, like I said, that's pretty much the past now. I mean, as much as it can be...” This time he jumped in before she stopped talking.
“Is that why you came to work for us?” He attempted to summon a deeply interested expression. He didn't.
She nodded as she chewed her salad, “I went back to school for a couple years and then almost got hired right away.” He twisted in his seat for a second. “I really poured myself into school that first year, it gave me some direction and motivation. I guess if it hadn't been for that I would still be mourning.”
“Will you excuse me for a moment? I'll be right back.”
Inside the bathroom, George headed straight for a stall. He wasn't sure why, but the thought of being walked-in on frightened him, even though he wasn't doing anything. He felt the bump on his neck and walked the length of the stall---it was one of those large stalls.
Married, (he thought to himself) she was married. At least if she had divorced he would know that she didn't like her old husband. But a widow? Who can compete with a dead man?
He stopped in the corner of the stall, on the far side from the toilet, and prayed quickly and quietly. But his chest continued to pound in him and his thoughts continued to swim rapidly through his mind. I can't leave her out there, (he thought to himself) she'll get suspicious. He wasn't even sure why he felt so disgusted and frightened by this dead man and his wife--his widow. He had been through this before, only last time it was a woman with a job, before that a blond with a skirt, before that a heavy-set girl with a smile, before that there was no one.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” She asked with such a tone of sincerity that George felt like dying himself.
“Yes, yeah I...I feel fine,” sitting down, “my hands got sticky from the salad dressing and I just wanted to clean up before I started to stick to everything.”
“George,” it was the softest sound her voiced had made that night; she let his name drift off into infinity, “I want you to know that I really like this.” As Jana spoke her eyes slowly crawled upwards, meeting with his in a moment of debilitating honesty-a moment he would forever romanticize beyond all hopes and possibilities. Unable to break the stare, George felt the bump on his neck with his left hand and spoke:
“I have to go.”
George paid the check quickly and quietly, occasionally reaching up to his neck to feel if it had grown or shrunk. He wondered if he was imagining it. It was hard and lumpy, it felt unnatural. When he entered his car he was overcome with an incredible urge to get something that would cure him of whatever it was that he had. So, he drove to the nearest supermarket to peruse the drug aisle. During the drive, the thought struck him that he might be dying, maybe a tumor or something like that. All he could think of was dying, and that made him think of Jana's dead husband.
There were a few scattered cars in the parking lot when George pulled in. The lot was poorly lit by rows of lamp posts, some of which hardly seemed to penetrate the dark night. He knew where the medicine aisle was and so he wasted no time finding it. He grabbed a package of something that claimed to, “...ease soreness, swelling, and pain in the neck and back....” it hardly seemed to fit the bulge he felt, but he had to get something.
As he walked back to his car the vast loneliness of the parking lot hit him, the artificial lights which hardly worked anyway seemed to paint everything as weak and phony as the lights themselves. The thought occurred to him again that he might be sick, really sick, and he might die. This wasn't the first time this thought had come to him, but for whatever reason this was the first time that it felt real. After the thought settled in on him he couldn't ignore it, he felt his chest sink down into defeat. He wanted to tell himself that it was unlikely that he had anything deadly; but every time he was close to convincing himself, he realized that if it wasn't this lump, it would be something else. He was going to die and it might as well be now as later. He wanted to cry. He did.
When he got home, he immediately turned on his computer and spent the next several hours searching for symptoms, focusing on terminal things. It wasn't until his eyes could hardly stay open that he decided to go to bed, he reached some level of peace by planning on seeing the doctor first thing in the morning. Lying in bed, just as the creeping feeling of surrendering to unconsciousness swept over him, an image of Jana came to mind and the anxiety returned. The memory of how he had just walked out without any explanation woke him completely, and he soon was back to obsessing over his own death. He rolled over in his bed, unto his stomach so that his face was buried in a pillow and tried to relax, but he couldn't. Looking over at his clock on the nightstand he saw that it was nearing 3 am, he put his head back into the pillow and prayed.
God. I can't sleep. You know my thoughts but. I feel out of control. I don't want to die dear Lord. I don't want to die. save me. Let me sleep. Don't let Jana hate me.
Let me sleep.
Each word seemed incapable penetrating his skull and floating to the beyond. He wasn't even sure why he kept praying other than he knew he should. It felt both pointless and important to him and he couldn't tell which emotion was right. He had always believed, had faith, but the hollowness of his prayer made him question even what he had believed. When he finally fell asleep it was only after an hour of feeling infinitely and unfathomably far from God and everyone.
When George went to leave for his doctor's appointment the next morning, his nervousness reached such a feverish pitch that he felt quite numb, as if everything was unfolding in another world or on TV or in a book. This numbness followed him as he filled out various forms at the doctor's office and as he was moved to a examining room. He sat on the table in the middle of the room and looked forward towards a mirror, the sight of himself in the medical gown forcefully pulled him from the netherworld into the stark florescent light of the room and he felt like he was going to die and he couldn't stand it. He wanted to leave more than anything and never find out about the stupid bump. If he had to die, better to die ignorant, better to die outside of white walls and syringes and yellow gowns. Why waste away before helpless strangers in a foreign building, spending hours waiting in suffocating rooms and filling out eternal forms? He stood up and walked towards the door and would have made it had his phone not rang.
From his pants, which lay along with the rest of his clothes in a small pile on a chair behind him, George's cell phone rang. Turning away from the door, he quickly found the small phone and answered it:
“Hello?”
“George, this is Jana...” Her voice was small and thin through the cell's speaker, but it still fell like a familiar melody on his ear.
“...hey...I...I'm sorry about last night I had to take care of something and I...” He wanted to tell her about the lump and about the tumor and about cancer and death and everything but he felt so melodramatic and fake he just couldn't make himself.
“You left because of him didn't you. George, I meant it last night when I said that I liked the dinner, it was good. I didn't think I was going to enjoy it at all to tell you the truth, but I did, and I want to do it again. I'm not saying that I love you, I don't know that. But I do want to have more nights like that, if you can.” Her words seemed to cut straight through all his worries, he forgot death and he forgot the white walls and he forgot his gown and everything.
“I do too...”
“You can't just say that George, my husband's dead, and I miss him, and I will always love him, but if I ever marry again, I will love that man more and I can't see you if you are afraid of a dead man. I can only offer this once, if you want to get to know me, you can't let him stop you. But if you can't do that, let me know now, please.” Her words came faster and faster, each one drenched with exhaustion and passion, and resoluteness.
“Are you still there George?”
“Yes, yeah, I'm here. I want to see you again. As soon as I can.”
“Are you sure? You can't leave me like that again George, if you ever do that to me again I won't talk to you, it will be over.”
“I know, I'm so sorry about that, I was stupid, I was just afraid, but I'm not anymore. I really want to see you. I just have to finish up something here and I'll call you up ok?”
“Ok. Thank you George.”
He hung up the phone and walked back to the table. Pulling his knees up against his chest he buried his eyes in his arms and prayed and he knew he wasn't as far from God anymore and he didn't care about death anymore.
George met Jana latter that same day for the last time and then he died, but he wasn't afraid.
He loved the way she would only pour skimmed milk into her coffee and eat the salad for lunch, it made him guilty but at the same time happy, knowing that if he every married her, she would make him change his diet and all that stuff—he always wanted to live healthy. George got her at right after her trip to the bathroom after lunch and before she made it to her cubicle, he wanted her to feel satiated and clean.
“Ugh...back to work eh? Seems like lunch goes by way too fast...” George fell in beside her as they both walked from the hallway that housed the bathrooms and lead from the cafeteria to the offices.
“Yeah...that's true...” She said slightly, allowing the words to drift out unaffected.
“Oh um, my name is George.” He stuck out his hand.
“Jana, nice to meet you” She turned to face him and allowed herself a little smile that she hoped wouldn't encourage him to much.
“Jana?” He said, veiling his intimate knowledge of her name, “Nice to meet you too. Have you...eh...been here long? I kinda like to think I know everyone here but--”
“Well I've been here since June, but I guess I haven't made the rounds much. I tend to keep to myself.”
“Hmm, I know what you mean. I do that sometimes too.” He felt stupid and worried as they both neared the end of the hall. Time was running out.
“Say, we should eat lunch together, us 'loners,' I mean you’re not doing anything, I'm not, I tend to eat alone--” Jana silently groaned and broke in:
“The thing is lunch is kinda my down time. I use it to relax and think and stuff. Its what gets me through the day. So--”
“Right, I know what you mean.” His voice dropped as a sudden wave of embarrassment overcame him. “That's alright maybe another time, or something. Well, this is my row, I've got that cubicle furthest away from any of the windows.” Even as he finished complaining he regretted it. He gave her a faint wave and walked briskly down to his space. The next day, however, providence had pity on George and things got a bit better.
“George?” The voice startled him from his typing revelry, drawing him towards the open wall in his cubicle.
“....hi..”
“Uh, hey, umm...did you..still want to have lunch?” George didn't bother to ask her about her sudden change of mind, but managing a weak affirmation he agreed to meet her for lunch. Unfortunately, a mandatory staff meeting kept the couple from the lunch date, so Jana broke down and agree to have dinner with him.
“So.....when did you want to order?”
“Soon...I mean now. If you’re ready, or we could wait.”
“Well I'm getting hungry and I know what I want so whenever you’re ready--”
“Oh sure, I'm ready, lets see here...I'm just gonna have this chicken dish with the side of vegetables. Waiter!” George asked Jana what she would be having for dinner—a salad, which just about killed George—he ordered the chicken dish with the side of vegetables and they both had iced tea to drink.
The conversations that arose that night were unnaturally meaningful, both George and Jana found themselves fluidly digressing from one topic to another, exposing the expanses of their lives and thoughts in passionate effusion. They began with the simplest of things—favorite movies and music—and quickly shuffled through desires and beliefs, books and families, each of them set upon reaching the goal of disclosing past loves and the inevitable discussion that would follow on the nature of love and the struggles of relationships. Before they arrived at that pivotal talk, he excused himself and headed towards the bathroom. He could have been nervous, but he wasn't.
He used the urinal and washed his hands at the sink. They only had the wall-mounted machines that air-dry your hands which always annoyed George. Since no one else was in the bathroom he gave a little prayer while he washed his face and rubbed his neck which was sore-particularly the left side. As he rubbed he thought about going back out there, he already missed her. He kept trying to imagine her face in the mirror in front of him, but he couldn't. He wished there was some way to get a picture of her. Then he found the bump.
On the left side of his neck, half way down, a small, hard, round bump protruded out. At first he didn't know what to do, if he should touch it or not. But then he remembered that all the rubbing hadn't hurt him so it couldn't be sensitive. He began to wiggle it around and feel it. The last time he had been sick was 3 months ago, or so, and he couldn't think of anyone who had been coughing around him. No one he knew had been sick. A young boy walked in the bathroom, reminding George of the outside; he realized that he had been gone for a long time already.
“Hey, sorry 'bout that, where were we?”
“You were just telling me about high school, something about being bored I believe?”
“Oh yeah, thats right. Well it was mostly boring, just like it is for everyone else but--”
“So did you ever date in high school? That must have made it at least a little interesting!”
“...I saw one or two girls but it was all stupid, you know how it is at that age. I think you date in high school just to talk about dating in high school.” She laughed and he gave a slight chuckle that—he thought—made him seem humble.
“I totally know what you mean. I must have had five relationships between my sophomore finals and my Junior midterms. And I hated them all!” Her laugh cut straight through George.
“That's high school. So what did you do after high school? Did you date a lot in college too?”
“No, not really. I stayed away from relationships for awhile so I could focus on studying, but I did go out once or twice I guess.”
“Nothing serious?” George asked, worrying that he might have been too blunt. Jana took a drink of the iced tea.
“I did meet my husband there, Nathan...so yeah I guess there was that...” The air collapsed around George, quietly suffocating him.
“oh....I--”
“He's gone now. I lost him three years ago to cancer.”
“Oh, oh I'm so sorry...I didn't know. I'm really sorry to hear that--”
“No, no don't worry about. It's been three years and we didn't have any kids or anything so I guess that was a blessing. It could have been worse I guess. I mean it wasn't that bad, just the first year was really tough, but God's helped me and I'm ok now. I am.”
“Wow, that's amazing that you pulled through that and all.” He knew he sounded awful, but she had stopped talking and so he had to say something. It suddenly occurred to him that he was sweating, and that he hadn't been eating much. He took a bite and watched her hoping that she wouldn't see the anxiety and discomfort in his face. She didn't.
“Yeah well, like I said, that's pretty much the past now. I mean, as much as it can be...” This time he jumped in before she stopped talking.
“Is that why you came to work for us?” He attempted to summon a deeply interested expression. He didn't.
She nodded as she chewed her salad, “I went back to school for a couple years and then almost got hired right away.” He twisted in his seat for a second. “I really poured myself into school that first year, it gave me some direction and motivation. I guess if it hadn't been for that I would still be mourning.”
“Will you excuse me for a moment? I'll be right back.”
Inside the bathroom, George headed straight for a stall. He wasn't sure why, but the thought of being walked-in on frightened him, even though he wasn't doing anything. He felt the bump on his neck and walked the length of the stall---it was one of those large stalls.
Married, (he thought to himself) she was married. At least if she had divorced he would know that she didn't like her old husband. But a widow? Who can compete with a dead man?
He stopped in the corner of the stall, on the far side from the toilet, and prayed quickly and quietly. But his chest continued to pound in him and his thoughts continued to swim rapidly through his mind. I can't leave her out there, (he thought to himself) she'll get suspicious. He wasn't even sure why he felt so disgusted and frightened by this dead man and his wife--his widow. He had been through this before, only last time it was a woman with a job, before that a blond with a skirt, before that a heavy-set girl with a smile, before that there was no one.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” She asked with such a tone of sincerity that George felt like dying himself.
“Yes, yeah I...I feel fine,” sitting down, “my hands got sticky from the salad dressing and I just wanted to clean up before I started to stick to everything.”
“George,” it was the softest sound her voiced had made that night; she let his name drift off into infinity, “I want you to know that I really like this.” As Jana spoke her eyes slowly crawled upwards, meeting with his in a moment of debilitating honesty-a moment he would forever romanticize beyond all hopes and possibilities. Unable to break the stare, George felt the bump on his neck with his left hand and spoke:
“I have to go.”
George paid the check quickly and quietly, occasionally reaching up to his neck to feel if it had grown or shrunk. He wondered if he was imagining it. It was hard and lumpy, it felt unnatural. When he entered his car he was overcome with an incredible urge to get something that would cure him of whatever it was that he had. So, he drove to the nearest supermarket to peruse the drug aisle. During the drive, the thought struck him that he might be dying, maybe a tumor or something like that. All he could think of was dying, and that made him think of Jana's dead husband.
There were a few scattered cars in the parking lot when George pulled in. The lot was poorly lit by rows of lamp posts, some of which hardly seemed to penetrate the dark night. He knew where the medicine aisle was and so he wasted no time finding it. He grabbed a package of something that claimed to, “...ease soreness, swelling, and pain in the neck and back....” it hardly seemed to fit the bulge he felt, but he had to get something.
As he walked back to his car the vast loneliness of the parking lot hit him, the artificial lights which hardly worked anyway seemed to paint everything as weak and phony as the lights themselves. The thought occurred to him again that he might be sick, really sick, and he might die. This wasn't the first time this thought had come to him, but for whatever reason this was the first time that it felt real. After the thought settled in on him he couldn't ignore it, he felt his chest sink down into defeat. He wanted to tell himself that it was unlikely that he had anything deadly; but every time he was close to convincing himself, he realized that if it wasn't this lump, it would be something else. He was going to die and it might as well be now as later. He wanted to cry. He did.
When he got home, he immediately turned on his computer and spent the next several hours searching for symptoms, focusing on terminal things. It wasn't until his eyes could hardly stay open that he decided to go to bed, he reached some level of peace by planning on seeing the doctor first thing in the morning. Lying in bed, just as the creeping feeling of surrendering to unconsciousness swept over him, an image of Jana came to mind and the anxiety returned. The memory of how he had just walked out without any explanation woke him completely, and he soon was back to obsessing over his own death. He rolled over in his bed, unto his stomach so that his face was buried in a pillow and tried to relax, but he couldn't. Looking over at his clock on the nightstand he saw that it was nearing 3 am, he put his head back into the pillow and prayed.
God. I can't sleep. You know my thoughts but. I feel out of control. I don't want to die dear Lord. I don't want to die. save me. Let me sleep. Don't let Jana hate me.
Let me sleep.
Each word seemed incapable penetrating his skull and floating to the beyond. He wasn't even sure why he kept praying other than he knew he should. It felt both pointless and important to him and he couldn't tell which emotion was right. He had always believed, had faith, but the hollowness of his prayer made him question even what he had believed. When he finally fell asleep it was only after an hour of feeling infinitely and unfathomably far from God and everyone.
When George went to leave for his doctor's appointment the next morning, his nervousness reached such a feverish pitch that he felt quite numb, as if everything was unfolding in another world or on TV or in a book. This numbness followed him as he filled out various forms at the doctor's office and as he was moved to a examining room. He sat on the table in the middle of the room and looked forward towards a mirror, the sight of himself in the medical gown forcefully pulled him from the netherworld into the stark florescent light of the room and he felt like he was going to die and he couldn't stand it. He wanted to leave more than anything and never find out about the stupid bump. If he had to die, better to die ignorant, better to die outside of white walls and syringes and yellow gowns. Why waste away before helpless strangers in a foreign building, spending hours waiting in suffocating rooms and filling out eternal forms? He stood up and walked towards the door and would have made it had his phone not rang.
From his pants, which lay along with the rest of his clothes in a small pile on a chair behind him, George's cell phone rang. Turning away from the door, he quickly found the small phone and answered it:
“Hello?”
“George, this is Jana...” Her voice was small and thin through the cell's speaker, but it still fell like a familiar melody on his ear.
“...hey...I...I'm sorry about last night I had to take care of something and I...” He wanted to tell her about the lump and about the tumor and about cancer and death and everything but he felt so melodramatic and fake he just couldn't make himself.
“You left because of him didn't you. George, I meant it last night when I said that I liked the dinner, it was good. I didn't think I was going to enjoy it at all to tell you the truth, but I did, and I want to do it again. I'm not saying that I love you, I don't know that. But I do want to have more nights like that, if you can.” Her words seemed to cut straight through all his worries, he forgot death and he forgot the white walls and he forgot his gown and everything.
“I do too...”
“You can't just say that George, my husband's dead, and I miss him, and I will always love him, but if I ever marry again, I will love that man more and I can't see you if you are afraid of a dead man. I can only offer this once, if you want to get to know me, you can't let him stop you. But if you can't do that, let me know now, please.” Her words came faster and faster, each one drenched with exhaustion and passion, and resoluteness.
“Are you still there George?”
“Yes, yeah, I'm here. I want to see you again. As soon as I can.”
“Are you sure? You can't leave me like that again George, if you ever do that to me again I won't talk to you, it will be over.”
“I know, I'm so sorry about that, I was stupid, I was just afraid, but I'm not anymore. I really want to see you. I just have to finish up something here and I'll call you up ok?”
“Ok. Thank you George.”
He hung up the phone and walked back to the table. Pulling his knees up against his chest he buried his eyes in his arms and prayed and he knew he wasn't as far from God anymore and he didn't care about death anymore.
George met Jana latter that same day for the last time and then he died, but he wasn't afraid.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
MoodSwing9
I just found this crazy cool interview from http://www.sphereofhiphop.com with Moodswing9, one of the founding members of Anticon. In it he discribes his conversion to Christianity. This quote here really got me excited:
"...the works of Francis Schaeffer have had a huge impact on my life. He deals with Presuppositional Apologetics and Theology in the Arts. I think it should be mandatory reading for any Christian artist trying to understand his place in the world and sharing his/her faith. Also, I highly suggest any material by Hans Rookmaaker, Calvin Seerveld, Nicholas Wolterstorff and Jeremy Begbie."
About a year ago I found a copy of one of Hans Rookmaaker's books used in a book store and it totally changed my thoughts on Christian art. And, Schaeffer is one of my greatest influences.
"...the works of Francis Schaeffer have had a huge impact on my life. He deals with Presuppositional Apologetics and Theology in the Arts. I think it should be mandatory reading for any Christian artist trying to understand his place in the world and sharing his/her faith. Also, I highly suggest any material by Hans Rookmaaker, Calvin Seerveld, Nicholas Wolterstorff and Jeremy Begbie."
About a year ago I found a copy of one of Hans Rookmaaker's books used in a book store and it totally changed my thoughts on Christian art. And, Schaeffer is one of my greatest influences.
The Death an Art Form: The Death of Film Part Two
In my first post on this topic I addressed the decline of creativity in films and I suggested at the very end that video games might be the future for the dramatic art. Here I will explore how I perceive this change will take place. My goal here is not to predict the next great art movement so much as to encourage artists to look at video games as a potential medium.
First, I want to look at the growth of video games. The source here is the The Entertainment Software Association. They have a great list of “Top 10 Industry Facts,” I copied the ones that were pertinent to our discussion here:
1. U.S. computer and video game software sales grew four percent in 2004 to $7.3 billion -- a more than doubling of industry software sales since 1996.
2. Seventy-five percent of American heads of households play computer and video games.
3. In 2004, more than 248 million computer and video games were sold, almost two games for every household in America.
4. The average game player is 30 years old and has been playing games for 9.5 years.
5. The average game buyer is 37 years old. In 2005, 95 percent of computer game buyers and 84 percent of console game buyers were over the age of 18.
8. Forty-three percent of all game players are women. In fact, women over the age of 18 represent a greater portion of the game-playing population (28 percent) than boys from ages 6 to 17 (21 percent).
9. In 2004, 19 percent of Americans over the age of 50 played video games, an increase from nine percent in 1999.
10. Forty-two percent of game players say they play games online one or more hours per week. In addition, 34 percent of heads of households play games on a wireless device, such as a cell phone or PDA, up from 20 percent in 2002.
This challenges some interesting conceptions people have about video games; they are no longer just for kids, they are a powerful market force for people of all ages. The $7.3 billion in sales, however, has been down played by some because it cannot compare to the movie industry. The argument goes that the sales of games and the ticket sales of movies are fairly close, but with DVD sales, movies make significantly more. But this trend is changing. In a recent AP news article about Nintendo's hand held gaming system, DS, a study is cited that shows how the gaming industry is expected to grow:
“According to market research firm DFC Intelligence, the worldwide portable game market is expected to grow from $4 billion in 2004 to $11.1 billion by 2007.”
Keeping in mind that the total sales for all systems in 2004 was 7.3 billion, the idea that in less than two years hand held sales will reach $11.1 billion is staggering. And it is important to remember that the average age of players is only going to go higher as those raised on Atari grow older. So what does this all mean? The video game market is set to grow tremendously in the next few years as players grow older and younger players are added. But this fact alone does not lead me to believe that games will one day replace movies.
As I previously stated, one of the biggest arguments against the rise of video games in comparison to movies is DVD sales. While this is valid to some extent it does have at least one important flaw, piracy. Right now it is extremely easy to illegally download or buy a DVD, the copy protection is weak and anyone with a camcorder, a movie ticket, and an internet connection can post a movie online. The only way for the movie industry to stop piracy is to work with all the different manufacturers of DVD players to create a copy right protection system and/or to individual hunt and shut down movies posted online. The former attempt at prevention is quite possible although costly, but the later is nearly impossible; as fast as the industry can identify and stop someone from sharing or selling a movie, someone else has created a new means to illegally distribute them. Peer-to-peer file sharing is not going away because it would be unconstitutional to stop in general and it is next to impossible to identify individual illegal movie files. Thus, try as they might, the greatest hope for the industry is to limit the piracy as much as possible.
For the video game industry, piracy is not nearly as big of a problem. Since each of the three main systems (Sony, Microsoft, and Nintendo) has complete control over the specs of their machines, they can very easily implement copy right protection into the hardware. In addition, from the software end, it is much more difficult to make a usable, illegal copy of a game than a copy of a movie. In some systems, the only way to use an illegal version of a game (that I'm aware of) is to physically modify the hardware, something that few people have the patience to do. What this means is that DVDs will continue to be pirated in large numbers while the video game industry will remain relatively untouched by this epidemic. This, however, is still not enough to catapult video games to the primary dramatic medium.
One of the main reasons I see the rise of video games as significant is the amazing advances in the technical capabilities that have been made in the newest generations of gaming systems. What has kept gaming from being a reasonable art form has been the difficulty in rendering the artists vision, whether that be in regards to visuals or audio or voice acting or the size of the game. With the newest systems, these problems have been greatly minimized and in some cases all but vanquished. Now, almost whatever the designer imagines can be materialized on the screen, something that the movie industry still in struggling with. This means that epic stories that span hours and hours can be created with voice acting and believable character models for a lot less money than a film would cost to make. In film, anything past two hours in length greatly taxes the attention span of the audience; games, however, can successful stretch into 30-50 hours of playing because they are interactive. This opens up possibilities that film makers could never even dream of. The tools that video games can give to the artist are tremendously powerful, increasing in number and potency, and are relatively unexplored—a combination that will undoubtedly lead to innovation and a new art movement.
There are only two objections that I have heard that seem like they could genuinely hold video games back from usurping film:
1.People like movies because they don't have to do anything except watch, games demand interaction which sometimes is to taxing in our apathetic and A.D.D. culture.
2.Video games, by their very nature, require interaction, which means that the artist must surrender some control over the action. How can any significant artistic statement be made when the player has the freedom to undermine (through his/her choices, movements, actions, etc...) it?
To the first point, I would point out that more often than not people turn to TV, not film to fulfill their lazy-entertainment fix. In addition, video games hold many possible levels of interaction, sometimes it is intense, other times it is not. For example, some games are including more and more movie-like clips that unfold the plot without the player's help. Another example can be seen in the Internet, millions of people choose to focus intently on surfing the Internet so much so that many TV news stations are struggling to keep their audiences from abandoning them for blogs and online news agencies. Millions upon millions of people have already made the choice to be active in their entertainment, whether that be the Internet or in video games. So, this point can be refuted on three grounds:
1.Video games do not need to fill this passive entertainment role since TV is the primary means by which people “vegg out” already.
2.Games can have a combination of passive and active roles for the player.
3.Many people already choice to engage in active entertainment.
As for the second point, I would suggest that this is something that is only a problem for those without the imagination to see how artists could work through the games to guide the players actions. For an illustration I'm going to go for quite a stretch, but I believe it will be worth it.
From a Christian perspective, humans have free-will, yet God's will encompasses all of our lives and our choices to weave a reality that is filled with symbolism and meaning. We choose to do everything that we do, but if we look back throughout history we find various themes that reappear over and over. Also, in nature and the unfolding of time one can find all sorts of symbols and metaphors and allusions and meaning. In other words, our free-will does not exclude God's will and providence in our lives. In the Old Testament one can see this happen in the nation of Israel. They chose over and over again to disobey God. Through this disobedience, themes and symbols appear that clearly are from God. God worked through their choices to create the themes of love, redemption, and salvation etched in history. In the same way, I believe video game designers can create worlds where the player has free-will, but that the individual choices can be shaped by various devices to form a united artistic creation. The player, like humans, do not have unrestrained free-will (a human can have the will to fly but not the choice), so that the designer can script for a limited number of possible choices. If this is done, it will be both effective and practical for a video game designer to create an actual work of art. While the interaction element of games might change the approach to the art, the artist can still retain control over the work.
The video game market is growing tremendously and is projected to continue on this path. Its future is held in the hands of an older and older demographic and wider acceptance from cultures. Where the film industry is struggling with originality, copy right protection, and tools for exploration, games seem to flourish. The problems that have held back games in the past were mostly caused by technological restrictions—something that has been greatly elevated in the next generation of consoles. The tools, money, and market are all in place for the video game industry to move from pure entertainment to one of the main art forms of the 21st century. It is only a matter of time and desire.
First, I want to look at the growth of video games. The source here is the The Entertainment Software Association. They have a great list of “Top 10 Industry Facts,” I copied the ones that were pertinent to our discussion here:
1. U.S. computer and video game software sales grew four percent in 2004 to $7.3 billion -- a more than doubling of industry software sales since 1996.
2. Seventy-five percent of American heads of households play computer and video games.
3. In 2004, more than 248 million computer and video games were sold, almost two games for every household in America.
4. The average game player is 30 years old and has been playing games for 9.5 years.
5. The average game buyer is 37 years old. In 2005, 95 percent of computer game buyers and 84 percent of console game buyers were over the age of 18.
8. Forty-three percent of all game players are women. In fact, women over the age of 18 represent a greater portion of the game-playing population (28 percent) than boys from ages 6 to 17 (21 percent).
9. In 2004, 19 percent of Americans over the age of 50 played video games, an increase from nine percent in 1999.
10. Forty-two percent of game players say they play games online one or more hours per week. In addition, 34 percent of heads of households play games on a wireless device, such as a cell phone or PDA, up from 20 percent in 2002.
This challenges some interesting conceptions people have about video games; they are no longer just for kids, they are a powerful market force for people of all ages. The $7.3 billion in sales, however, has been down played by some because it cannot compare to the movie industry. The argument goes that the sales of games and the ticket sales of movies are fairly close, but with DVD sales, movies make significantly more. But this trend is changing. In a recent AP news article about Nintendo's hand held gaming system, DS, a study is cited that shows how the gaming industry is expected to grow:
“According to market research firm DFC Intelligence, the worldwide portable game market is expected to grow from $4 billion in 2004 to $11.1 billion by 2007.”
Keeping in mind that the total sales for all systems in 2004 was 7.3 billion, the idea that in less than two years hand held sales will reach $11.1 billion is staggering. And it is important to remember that the average age of players is only going to go higher as those raised on Atari grow older. So what does this all mean? The video game market is set to grow tremendously in the next few years as players grow older and younger players are added. But this fact alone does not lead me to believe that games will one day replace movies.
As I previously stated, one of the biggest arguments against the rise of video games in comparison to movies is DVD sales. While this is valid to some extent it does have at least one important flaw, piracy. Right now it is extremely easy to illegally download or buy a DVD, the copy protection is weak and anyone with a camcorder, a movie ticket, and an internet connection can post a movie online. The only way for the movie industry to stop piracy is to work with all the different manufacturers of DVD players to create a copy right protection system and/or to individual hunt and shut down movies posted online. The former attempt at prevention is quite possible although costly, but the later is nearly impossible; as fast as the industry can identify and stop someone from sharing or selling a movie, someone else has created a new means to illegally distribute them. Peer-to-peer file sharing is not going away because it would be unconstitutional to stop in general and it is next to impossible to identify individual illegal movie files. Thus, try as they might, the greatest hope for the industry is to limit the piracy as much as possible.
For the video game industry, piracy is not nearly as big of a problem. Since each of the three main systems (Sony, Microsoft, and Nintendo) has complete control over the specs of their machines, they can very easily implement copy right protection into the hardware. In addition, from the software end, it is much more difficult to make a usable, illegal copy of a game than a copy of a movie. In some systems, the only way to use an illegal version of a game (that I'm aware of) is to physically modify the hardware, something that few people have the patience to do. What this means is that DVDs will continue to be pirated in large numbers while the video game industry will remain relatively untouched by this epidemic. This, however, is still not enough to catapult video games to the primary dramatic medium.
One of the main reasons I see the rise of video games as significant is the amazing advances in the technical capabilities that have been made in the newest generations of gaming systems. What has kept gaming from being a reasonable art form has been the difficulty in rendering the artists vision, whether that be in regards to visuals or audio or voice acting or the size of the game. With the newest systems, these problems have been greatly minimized and in some cases all but vanquished. Now, almost whatever the designer imagines can be materialized on the screen, something that the movie industry still in struggling with. This means that epic stories that span hours and hours can be created with voice acting and believable character models for a lot less money than a film would cost to make. In film, anything past two hours in length greatly taxes the attention span of the audience; games, however, can successful stretch into 30-50 hours of playing because they are interactive. This opens up possibilities that film makers could never even dream of. The tools that video games can give to the artist are tremendously powerful, increasing in number and potency, and are relatively unexplored—a combination that will undoubtedly lead to innovation and a new art movement.
There are only two objections that I have heard that seem like they could genuinely hold video games back from usurping film:
1.People like movies because they don't have to do anything except watch, games demand interaction which sometimes is to taxing in our apathetic and A.D.D. culture.
2.Video games, by their very nature, require interaction, which means that the artist must surrender some control over the action. How can any significant artistic statement be made when the player has the freedom to undermine (through his/her choices, movements, actions, etc...) it?
To the first point, I would point out that more often than not people turn to TV, not film to fulfill their lazy-entertainment fix. In addition, video games hold many possible levels of interaction, sometimes it is intense, other times it is not. For example, some games are including more and more movie-like clips that unfold the plot without the player's help. Another example can be seen in the Internet, millions of people choose to focus intently on surfing the Internet so much so that many TV news stations are struggling to keep their audiences from abandoning them for blogs and online news agencies. Millions upon millions of people have already made the choice to be active in their entertainment, whether that be the Internet or in video games. So, this point can be refuted on three grounds:
1.Video games do not need to fill this passive entertainment role since TV is the primary means by which people “vegg out” already.
2.Games can have a combination of passive and active roles for the player.
3.Many people already choice to engage in active entertainment.
As for the second point, I would suggest that this is something that is only a problem for those without the imagination to see how artists could work through the games to guide the players actions. For an illustration I'm going to go for quite a stretch, but I believe it will be worth it.
From a Christian perspective, humans have free-will, yet God's will encompasses all of our lives and our choices to weave a reality that is filled with symbolism and meaning. We choose to do everything that we do, but if we look back throughout history we find various themes that reappear over and over. Also, in nature and the unfolding of time one can find all sorts of symbols and metaphors and allusions and meaning. In other words, our free-will does not exclude God's will and providence in our lives. In the Old Testament one can see this happen in the nation of Israel. They chose over and over again to disobey God. Through this disobedience, themes and symbols appear that clearly are from God. God worked through their choices to create the themes of love, redemption, and salvation etched in history. In the same way, I believe video game designers can create worlds where the player has free-will, but that the individual choices can be shaped by various devices to form a united artistic creation. The player, like humans, do not have unrestrained free-will (a human can have the will to fly but not the choice), so that the designer can script for a limited number of possible choices. If this is done, it will be both effective and practical for a video game designer to create an actual work of art. While the interaction element of games might change the approach to the art, the artist can still retain control over the work.
The video game market is growing tremendously and is projected to continue on this path. Its future is held in the hands of an older and older demographic and wider acceptance from cultures. Where the film industry is struggling with originality, copy right protection, and tools for exploration, games seem to flourish. The problems that have held back games in the past were mostly caused by technological restrictions—something that has been greatly elevated in the next generation of consoles. The tools, money, and market are all in place for the video game industry to move from pure entertainment to one of the main art forms of the 21st century. It is only a matter of time and desire.
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Francis Schaeffer and Criticism
I ran across an interesting article on one of my biggest influences, Francis Schaeffer. Schaeffer ranks up there with C.S. Lewis as one of the great apologists of Christianity. He taught that Christianity involved our whole lives, including art and philosophy. A belief that was, and still is, profound and revolutionary. This article was from truthseeker.com. Here is the introduction that you can find on Truth Seeker's home page:
“The Journal of Independent Thought
Devoted to: science, morals, free thought, free discussions, liberalism, sexual equality, labor reform, progression, free education and whatever tends to elevate and emancipate the human race.
Opposed to: priestcraft, ecclesiasticism, dogmas, creeds, false theology, superstition, bigotry, ignorance, monopolies, aristocracies, privileged classes, tyranny, oppression, and everything that degrades or burdens mankind mentally or physically.”
They attempt to take Schaeffer to task as an art critic and a shaper of Christian aesthetics. In an article about Three Myths of Christianity, Earl Lee (an unlikely name if I've ever heard one) lists one of the “myths” about art: “Christianity is important as a patron of the arts and sciences, and of learning in general. Much of Western Art is inspired by religious themes. The preservation of Greek civilization was led by monastic orders and helped bring about the Renaissance.”
Lee quickly acknowledges that “clergy and churches were once important sources of income for artists, at least in the Medieval and Renaissance periods,” in other words, it is true that they (almost single handedly) saved all Classical texts from obscurity, thus preserving the foundation from all Western art. After brushing aside this concession, Lee moves to the kill:
“Today, however, most religions are not particularly interested in art, except architecture. One can easily argue that limiting the great artists of the past to religious themes may have done more to hinder the development of artistic ideas than help it.”
On this point, I would have to agree with Lee, and I have. He points to examples from “Christian” rock music which he says “shamelessly rip[s] off the style and music of mainstream rock musicians”. This shows Lee's flawed understanding of art since he apparently thinks Christians cannot use similar music and style as mainstream musicians. As if Christian musicians had to magically invent their own style totally divorced from the mainstream. While there should be some important differences between the two, there will also be inherent similarities since both believers and nonbelievers alike are subject to the suffering of this world. However, it is true that Christian artists have not been as innovative as thought ought to be.
But this is not what really bothered me about Lee's article. He attacks Christian aesthetics from ignorance and exaggeration:
"Christian aesthetics are equally blighted. Read, for example, Francis Schaeffer's How Should We Then Live? or go to see it in the film version. Schaeffer mauls the history of Western art and philosophy, often betraying his own ignorance of the subject about which he claims expertise. Like most ideologues, including the Nazis, Schaeffer is happy only with realism and naturalism in art. He even goes so far as to claim that Michelangelo's statue of David is not "Christian" art, because the historical David was circumcised. Because Michelangelo's "David" is not circumcised and is not therefore a historically accurate representation, he claims that the statue is, in reality, secular humanist art, not Christian.
Since Schaeffer's argument for Christian truth and "realism" can be applied to most of Western art since the Medieval era-realism was not an important artistic movement until the 19th century-we can safely claim that none of the great art of the past is Christian-almost all of Western art is Humanist and therefore an argument for more Humanism."
Schaeffer's “maul[ing]” of the history of Western art in How Should We Then Live? is an attempt to condense thousands of years of art into a short, easily readable book. In doing this he had to make some generalizations, something that is inherent in any critical discussion (and something that Lee doesn't shy away from). But generalizing things for the sake of space is not the same as being “ignorant”. This is not what I wish to really challenge Lee on however.
Note Lee's account of Schaeffer's analysis of “David” in How Should We Then Live? Lee hinges his entire argument around the belief that Schaeffer calls “David” a humanist work because of some foreskin. This is nothing but a pathetic attempt at shocking the reader. Schaeffer actually gives several reasons why the “David” statue is humanistic. Even on a surface level one can look at the statute and see that it glorifies man. As one of Schaeffer's examples goes, the almost absurd size of the work (17 feet tall) suggests that Michelangelo does not intend us to see “David” as the historical, human, David but rather the perfection of man. And this is Schaeffer's point.
Aside from straw-maning Schaeffer, Lee mistakenly identifies Schaeffer's aesthetics from his criticism. Schaeffer's occupation with How Should We Then Live? is not to set out some aesthetic standard for Christian artists, but rather to look at what has happened; here he is descriptive, not prescriptive. Elsewhere he does describe some guidelines for art, but not in this book. In other words, Lee is pulling this argument that “Schaeffer is happy only with realism and naturalism in art” from his own desire to write him off. And the point of all this? Lee wants to say that Christian art has no advantage over secular art. But it does. The question really is why haven't Christians produced the art that should naturally arise from the worldview they claim? The answer lies not with poor aesthetics or ignorant philosophers but with apathy, laziness, and sin. Lee is a pragmatist and would have us look at the totality of Christian Art and see its mistakes and its eccentrics and its puritans and its people as proof of a failed and flawed belief system. But Christianity doesn't allow that. Christianity assumes that all people are fallen, all people sin, all will fail; however, this does not mean that greatness, that righteousness, that good-genuinely good-art cannot come from here. It can and should. But often the answer lies outside the realm of complacency, an awkward and horrific place for many believers. Although Lee illogically attacks Schaeffer, we cannot blame anyone but ourselves, because Christianity lacks the complete track record in the arts that it ought to have. So write.
“The Journal of Independent Thought
Devoted to: science, morals, free thought, free discussions, liberalism, sexual equality, labor reform, progression, free education and whatever tends to elevate and emancipate the human race.
Opposed to: priestcraft, ecclesiasticism, dogmas, creeds, false theology, superstition, bigotry, ignorance, monopolies, aristocracies, privileged classes, tyranny, oppression, and everything that degrades or burdens mankind mentally or physically.”
They attempt to take Schaeffer to task as an art critic and a shaper of Christian aesthetics. In an article about Three Myths of Christianity, Earl Lee (an unlikely name if I've ever heard one) lists one of the “myths” about art: “Christianity is important as a patron of the arts and sciences, and of learning in general. Much of Western Art is inspired by religious themes. The preservation of Greek civilization was led by monastic orders and helped bring about the Renaissance.”
Lee quickly acknowledges that “clergy and churches were once important sources of income for artists, at least in the Medieval and Renaissance periods,” in other words, it is true that they (almost single handedly) saved all Classical texts from obscurity, thus preserving the foundation from all Western art. After brushing aside this concession, Lee moves to the kill:
“Today, however, most religions are not particularly interested in art, except architecture. One can easily argue that limiting the great artists of the past to religious themes may have done more to hinder the development of artistic ideas than help it.”
On this point, I would have to agree with Lee, and I have. He points to examples from “Christian” rock music which he says “shamelessly rip[s] off the style and music of mainstream rock musicians”. This shows Lee's flawed understanding of art since he apparently thinks Christians cannot use similar music and style as mainstream musicians. As if Christian musicians had to magically invent their own style totally divorced from the mainstream. While there should be some important differences between the two, there will also be inherent similarities since both believers and nonbelievers alike are subject to the suffering of this world. However, it is true that Christian artists have not been as innovative as thought ought to be.
But this is not what really bothered me about Lee's article. He attacks Christian aesthetics from ignorance and exaggeration:
"Christian aesthetics are equally blighted. Read, for example, Francis Schaeffer's How Should We Then Live? or go to see it in the film version. Schaeffer mauls the history of Western art and philosophy, often betraying his own ignorance of the subject about which he claims expertise. Like most ideologues, including the Nazis, Schaeffer is happy only with realism and naturalism in art. He even goes so far as to claim that Michelangelo's statue of David is not "Christian" art, because the historical David was circumcised. Because Michelangelo's "David" is not circumcised and is not therefore a historically accurate representation, he claims that the statue is, in reality, secular humanist art, not Christian.
Since Schaeffer's argument for Christian truth and "realism" can be applied to most of Western art since the Medieval era-realism was not an important artistic movement until the 19th century-we can safely claim that none of the great art of the past is Christian-almost all of Western art is Humanist and therefore an argument for more Humanism."
Schaeffer's “maul[ing]” of the history of Western art in How Should We Then Live? is an attempt to condense thousands of years of art into a short, easily readable book. In doing this he had to make some generalizations, something that is inherent in any critical discussion (and something that Lee doesn't shy away from). But generalizing things for the sake of space is not the same as being “ignorant”. This is not what I wish to really challenge Lee on however.
Note Lee's account of Schaeffer's analysis of “David” in How Should We Then Live? Lee hinges his entire argument around the belief that Schaeffer calls “David” a humanist work because of some foreskin. This is nothing but a pathetic attempt at shocking the reader. Schaeffer actually gives several reasons why the “David” statue is humanistic. Even on a surface level one can look at the statute and see that it glorifies man. As one of Schaeffer's examples goes, the almost absurd size of the work (17 feet tall) suggests that Michelangelo does not intend us to see “David” as the historical, human, David but rather the perfection of man. And this is Schaeffer's point.
Aside from straw-maning Schaeffer, Lee mistakenly identifies Schaeffer's aesthetics from his criticism. Schaeffer's occupation with How Should We Then Live? is not to set out some aesthetic standard for Christian artists, but rather to look at what has happened; here he is descriptive, not prescriptive. Elsewhere he does describe some guidelines for art, but not in this book. In other words, Lee is pulling this argument that “Schaeffer is happy only with realism and naturalism in art” from his own desire to write him off. And the point of all this? Lee wants to say that Christian art has no advantage over secular art. But it does. The question really is why haven't Christians produced the art that should naturally arise from the worldview they claim? The answer lies not with poor aesthetics or ignorant philosophers but with apathy, laziness, and sin. Lee is a pragmatist and would have us look at the totality of Christian Art and see its mistakes and its eccentrics and its puritans and its people as proof of a failed and flawed belief system. But Christianity doesn't allow that. Christianity assumes that all people are fallen, all people sin, all will fail; however, this does not mean that greatness, that righteousness, that good-genuinely good-art cannot come from here. It can and should. But often the answer lies outside the realm of complacency, an awkward and horrific place for many believers. Although Lee illogically attacks Schaeffer, we cannot blame anyone but ourselves, because Christianity lacks the complete track record in the arts that it ought to have. So write.
Sunday, July 31, 2005
The Death an Art Form: The Death of Rock Part One
Since its beginnings, Rock Music has been considered either a short lived fad, or a genre that is dead, or dying. Yet, the genre has been successful and popular for 50 plus years. Some of the greatest popular art of the last century has come from rock music. But the resilience of Rock has lulled many into thinking that it could never die; this art form has become such an intricate part of the 20th century that we can no longer image popular culture without it. It has been a long time since we have seen the fall of an art form (the last, arguably, was radio in the early part of the 1900's. But also, paintings, plays, and classical music have all basically been buried in the last few decades. However, there are few alive who witnessed any of these forms in their prime as the case with rock.) Art forms are born, grow into maturity, and then slowly die. Rock music is not different. But since people have been claiming its death for years what reason do we have to believe that now is the time of its demise?
To know whether Rock music is dying we must look at the tools and techniques and decide what else can be done. Is there anything left to do? A simple look at some of the critically acclaimed albums of the last ten years is revealing. These are the Grammy winners for Best Rock Album from 1994-2004:
2004 Green Day. Title of the Work: American Idiot.
2003 Foo Fighters. Title of the Work: One by One.
2002 Bruce Springsteen. Title of the Work: The Rising.
2001 U2. Title of the Work: All That You Can't Leave Behind.
2000 Foo Fighters. Title of the Work: There Is Nothing Left To Lose.
1999 Santana. Title of the Work: Supernatural.
1998 Sheryl Crow. Title of the Work: The Globe Sessions.
1997 John Fogerty. Title of the Work: Blue Moon Swamp.
1996 Sheryl Crow. Title of the Work: Sheryl Crow.
1995 Alanis Morissette. Title of the Work: Jagged Little Pill.
1994 Rolling Stones. Title of the Work: Voodoo Lounge.
Notice that almost all of these albums are unoriginal. The style, themes, lyrics, music, everything here is recycled. There are some fairly sad albums here, but one of the most distressing was the latest winner: Green Day. This band won an award for a style, theme, and genre that has remained unchanged for more than ten years! This is astounding. The amount of change that historically occurs in rock music over ten years is drastic. That's the difference between “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes” (Platters) and “Abbey Road”. Or the Cure “Boys Don't Cry” and Nirvana's “Nevermind”! Yet this album is claimed to be the “Best Rock Album” of the year 2004. Now, some will chastise me here for basing my argument on such a historically out of touch award. “American Idiot” probably won for many reasons. The band did deserve an award for their years of work, perhaps the academy realized they had missed some of the band's greater albums. Also, the political message of the album is a far cry from the band's early slacker style. And the production value has gone way up. But, essentially this is the same music, the political musings may be new (but are hardly original. If anything this is a sure case of senseless pandering to a disenchanted youth who want nothing more than to complain about a government that they don't know anything about.) and their songs may sound cleaner, but nothing has truly changed. For the sake of those who oppose the Grammys as a source of data, I will look at another barometer. Billboard magazine is the best source to find out what is actually selling. Here are the top selling rock albums for the past few years and their ranking for that year.
Billboard Year End Records from 2002-2004 (This was all I could get my hands on.)
2004
6 FALLEN Evanescence
9 THE VERY BEST OF SHERYL CROW Sheryl Crow
2003
5 LET GO Avril Lavigne
6 METEORA Linkin Park
8 FALLEN Evanescence
2002
2 WEATHERED Creed
5 [HYBRID THEORY] Linkin Park
7 SILVER SIDE UP Nickelback
These are the rock albums (I excluded “Pink”). Notice again there is a lack of originality here. Linkin Park is mixing post-grunge rock with some pathetic rhyming. Evanescence is perhaps the only thing close to original here and its Goth/Classical/Rock style leaves no room for growth (this is an example of forging new ground by finding a niche). Creed's style is hardly different from the poppy post-grunge sound (think late Pearl Jam, early Foo Fighters, Live, etc...) and Nickelback is post-grunge. And Avril Lavigne needs no explanation. Alright, well some might also take issue with my use of sales as a barometer. And not wishing to contribute to the commodification of music, I will now turn to the hip critics for answers.
Rolling Stone Records of the Year for 2004.
Aerosmith - Honkin' on Bobo
The Arcade Fire – Funeral
Jimmy Buffett - License to Chill
Eric Clapton - Me and Mr. Johnson
Elvis Costello and the Imposters - The Delivery Man
The Cure - The Cure
Franz Ferdinand - Franz Ferdinand
Interpol – Antics
Jimmy Eat World – Futures
The Killers - Hot Fuss
The Libertines - The Libertines
Modest Mouse - Good News for People Who Love Bad News
Phish – Undermind
R.E.M. - Around the Sun
Rilo Kiley - More Adventurous
The Rolling Stones - Live Licks
Patti Scialfa - 23rd Street Lullaby
Scissor Sisters - Scissor Sisters
Elliott Smith - From a Basement on the Hill
Patti Smith – Trampin'
Taking Back Sunday - Where You Want to Be
Tegan and Sara - So Jealous
TV on the Radio - Desperate Youth, Blood Thirsty Babes
U2 - How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb
Velvet Revolver – Contraband
Wilco - A Ghost Is Born
Brian Wilson - Smile
Notice how many of these into one of a few categories: 80's music rehashed (the Killers, The Libertines), post-grunge (Jimmy Eat World, Taking Back Sunday), more-of-the-same (think U2, Brian Wilson, R.E.M., and the Stones), or rehashed experimental styles (Modest Mouse, Franz, TV on the Radio, Wilco). With such clear stagnation can we realistically expect rock to pull through? I have looked at three, industry standard sources for my data and in all three cases originality was found lacking. Before we can answer this we must look at those few bands which are, in some way at least, still making innovative music, which I will do in my next post on this topic.
To know whether Rock music is dying we must look at the tools and techniques and decide what else can be done. Is there anything left to do? A simple look at some of the critically acclaimed albums of the last ten years is revealing. These are the Grammy winners for Best Rock Album from 1994-2004:
2004 Green Day. Title of the Work: American Idiot.
2003 Foo Fighters. Title of the Work: One by One.
2002 Bruce Springsteen. Title of the Work: The Rising.
2001 U2. Title of the Work: All That You Can't Leave Behind.
2000 Foo Fighters. Title of the Work: There Is Nothing Left To Lose.
1999 Santana. Title of the Work: Supernatural.
1998 Sheryl Crow. Title of the Work: The Globe Sessions.
1997 John Fogerty. Title of the Work: Blue Moon Swamp.
1996 Sheryl Crow. Title of the Work: Sheryl Crow.
1995 Alanis Morissette. Title of the Work: Jagged Little Pill.
1994 Rolling Stones. Title of the Work: Voodoo Lounge.
Notice that almost all of these albums are unoriginal. The style, themes, lyrics, music, everything here is recycled. There are some fairly sad albums here, but one of the most distressing was the latest winner: Green Day. This band won an award for a style, theme, and genre that has remained unchanged for more than ten years! This is astounding. The amount of change that historically occurs in rock music over ten years is drastic. That's the difference between “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes” (Platters) and “Abbey Road”. Or the Cure “Boys Don't Cry” and Nirvana's “Nevermind”! Yet this album is claimed to be the “Best Rock Album” of the year 2004. Now, some will chastise me here for basing my argument on such a historically out of touch award. “American Idiot” probably won for many reasons. The band did deserve an award for their years of work, perhaps the academy realized they had missed some of the band's greater albums. Also, the political message of the album is a far cry from the band's early slacker style. And the production value has gone way up. But, essentially this is the same music, the political musings may be new (but are hardly original. If anything this is a sure case of senseless pandering to a disenchanted youth who want nothing more than to complain about a government that they don't know anything about.) and their songs may sound cleaner, but nothing has truly changed. For the sake of those who oppose the Grammys as a source of data, I will look at another barometer. Billboard magazine is the best source to find out what is actually selling. Here are the top selling rock albums for the past few years and their ranking for that year.
Billboard Year End Records from 2002-2004 (This was all I could get my hands on.)
2004
6 FALLEN Evanescence
9 THE VERY BEST OF SHERYL CROW Sheryl Crow
2003
5 LET GO Avril Lavigne
6 METEORA Linkin Park
8 FALLEN Evanescence
2002
2 WEATHERED Creed
5 [HYBRID THEORY] Linkin Park
7 SILVER SIDE UP Nickelback
These are the rock albums (I excluded “Pink”). Notice again there is a lack of originality here. Linkin Park is mixing post-grunge rock with some pathetic rhyming. Evanescence is perhaps the only thing close to original here and its Goth/Classical/Rock style leaves no room for growth (this is an example of forging new ground by finding a niche). Creed's style is hardly different from the poppy post-grunge sound (think late Pearl Jam, early Foo Fighters, Live, etc...) and Nickelback is post-grunge. And Avril Lavigne needs no explanation. Alright, well some might also take issue with my use of sales as a barometer. And not wishing to contribute to the commodification of music, I will now turn to the hip critics for answers.
Rolling Stone Records of the Year for 2004.
Aerosmith - Honkin' on Bobo
The Arcade Fire – Funeral
Jimmy Buffett - License to Chill
Eric Clapton - Me and Mr. Johnson
Elvis Costello and the Imposters - The Delivery Man
The Cure - The Cure
Franz Ferdinand - Franz Ferdinand
Interpol – Antics
Jimmy Eat World – Futures
The Killers - Hot Fuss
The Libertines - The Libertines
Modest Mouse - Good News for People Who Love Bad News
Phish – Undermind
R.E.M. - Around the Sun
Rilo Kiley - More Adventurous
The Rolling Stones - Live Licks
Patti Scialfa - 23rd Street Lullaby
Scissor Sisters - Scissor Sisters
Elliott Smith - From a Basement on the Hill
Patti Smith – Trampin'
Taking Back Sunday - Where You Want to Be
Tegan and Sara - So Jealous
TV on the Radio - Desperate Youth, Blood Thirsty Babes
U2 - How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb
Velvet Revolver – Contraband
Wilco - A Ghost Is Born
Brian Wilson - Smile
Notice how many of these into one of a few categories: 80's music rehashed (the Killers, The Libertines), post-grunge (Jimmy Eat World, Taking Back Sunday), more-of-the-same (think U2, Brian Wilson, R.E.M., and the Stones), or rehashed experimental styles (Modest Mouse, Franz, TV on the Radio, Wilco). With such clear stagnation can we realistically expect rock to pull through? I have looked at three, industry standard sources for my data and in all three cases originality was found lacking. Before we can answer this we must look at those few bands which are, in some way at least, still making innovative music, which I will do in my next post on this topic.
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Chapter 4 (Part Two): The Revelation
Before reading this I would strongly recommend rereading or at least skimming through the first part of this chapter.
“You are not the first to go without correct judgment. There have been 23 others that I know of. They all murdered someone else in a horrific act of violence, and when the Stripes came, they, just like you, were allowed to go unpunished. Three years ago, I was ordered by the System to go investigate a double murder. At the time I was stationed on Earth. The report on our PDA’s said that a mother had killed her husband and son. When we got to the scene, the judgment upon her was that she was to be sent to a new town. No punishment was given. At the time, it didn’t bother me too much; I thought that the Stripes in this other town would punish her. Two months later another murderer was let off without punishment. A week after that it happened again. Finally I began to question what was happening. I knew the punishment laws better than most; I’d administered plenty of terminations of murderers before. The night after the third murderer went free I laid awake most of the night struggling for an answer. Sometime past –04.00 I started to fall asleep. In that time between consciousness and unconsciousness a wicked thought came to me: what if the System was wrong. I was awoken from my sleep by this thought. Guilt and panic swelled up inside of me. I rushed to check my PDA to see what punishment I would get for doubting the System. My PDA was blank.
“You are being very patient Mr. U, I’m sorry this is taking so long but we’re almost done. Did you ever have feelings of hatred towards Dr. Ortho?” Said Mr. Hughes.
“At first,” Mr. Hughes PDA narrative continued, “I was unsure what to think. I had my PDA checked for mechanical problems, but everything came out fine. My doubts continued and grew stronger, yet the PDA was silent. After several days of tremendous feelings of doubt and guilt, I had an epiphany: I realized that I was allowed to doubt the System because it wanted me to doubt it; it was asking me for help. The System was just, but it was making unjust decisions. How could our System make these mistakes unless someone had changed it, manipulated it, debased it for their personal gain. This was what the System was telling me by allowing me to doubt it. The System wanted me to see this flaw and discover its cause. Do you understand?”
U looked up and the man sitting across from him. For a moment he considered running out of the room and contacting someone, anyone, who could deal with this man. But, the moment was fleeting and he resolved to tease out all that this Mr. Hughes had to say:
“Do you have any real proof that the System has been disturbed? What if there were other variables involved in those murder cases that you don’t know about. It seems more likely to me
that the System is just than that someone was able to access and change it.”
“Were you expecting to see Dr. Ortho today Mr. U?” Asked Mr. Hughes aloud.
“Proof? This conversation itself is proof. If the System wasn’t changed, would it let us talk such blasphemy against it? You yourself said that all this afternoon you doubted the System without any punishment. Why would we be allowed to think like this unless it wanted us to recognize that it needed help? As for the murders, I poured over every significant variable in the System’s database, and in each case I found that the judgement should have been severe. But they weren’t. What other explanation could there be for these things?” U’s heart beat heavy and swift as he considered Mr. Hughes’ words. He felt as if all the oxygen in his body and been drawn out by some force, leaving him hollow.
“If Mr. Hughes is right,” U thought to himself, “then we’re all lost”. Even as he thought this, he seemed to fall deeper into a panic.
“Why are you telling me this Mr. Hughes? I came here because I thought justice was going to be done, not to hear blasphemous lies from a alleged servant of the System.” U said through his PDA.
“Last two questions Mr. U and then we’ll be done. Did you murder Dr. Ortho?” Mr. Hughes asked.
U’s PDA lit up with Mr. Hughes’ words: “I want your help Mr. U. I know this is difficult for you to believe but if you think it over, I’m confident you will find that the only possibility is that the System has been altered. I want to know who is changing it and why, and you can help me. The replacement for Dr. Ortho will be coming here next week. If you can tell me who he is, and look for reasons why someone would want him instead of Dr. Ortho working as a supervisor it would be a great help to me. Think it over. You may contact me through your PDA, it is secure, I am sure of that. Although the System has been altered by some forces, I have found that those forces can not view my communications through the PDA. How I know this I cannot tell you right now. Please consider my words and give me your answer soon. But for now, I do need an official confession from you. It is a mere formality to validate our meeting to any suspicious superiors. So if you could, please answer my next verbal question on your PDA.”
“What if I don’t want to help you? If your theory is correct then there are people who would be very interested to learn of your little investigation.”
“No,” Mr. Hughes replied through his PDA, “the System wouldn’t let you report me. You would be stopped, how I can not say, but you may trust that it would be unpleasant.”
“I wanted to thank you for your patience Mr. U. Again, these questions are for your protection. The last question I have is why did you kill Dr. Ortho?” Mr. Hughes’ voice seemed as calm and commanding as it did when he had first met him. It was a stark contrast to the passionate words U had read on the PDA. U felt uncomfortable as he tried to recall bits of his once abandoned confession; it seemed so childish now:
“I killed Dr. Ortho because I had to. Five years ago, I watched him on my MediaStation. He explained the System, how it works, its use, its potential. At the time there were people who doubted and feared it, so Dr. Ortho was there to help them understand. He said that we must have faith; that the System only requires faith to operate. We must each take the opportunity presented to us by the System as a chance to have faith. If we feel that we are too severely punished for a crime, then we must use that doubt to show our faith. Accept the judgement, and your faith will allow the System to function correctly. If, however, you do not accept the System’s judgement, then liberty will fail. He said these things to help the people who felt their freedom would be lost by the System’s control. When he said all those words, a feeling came over me. I knew what my act of faith would be. I knew that if I could kill Dr. Ortho, believing in the judgement which would come, then I would truly have faith. I felt, as if this was what he was asking me to do, reaching out through the screen to my heart Dr. Ortho demanded that I kill him. I killed Dr. Ortho because I had to, because I had faith in what would happen if I did.”
“Thank you Mr. U. You will be receiving contact from me or the department concerning our findings. Please feel free to contact me if you have any questions regarding our discussion here and the role this interview will play in your punishment.” Said Mr. Hughes as he stood, shook hands with U, and then left the office.
“This was is not how it was supposed to happen,” U thought to himself. He sighed, rocked back in his chair, and felt completely out of place.
Tags:
Fiction Short Stories Writing Science Fiction Christian Fiction Space
“You are not the first to go without correct judgment. There have been 23 others that I know of. They all murdered someone else in a horrific act of violence, and when the Stripes came, they, just like you, were allowed to go unpunished. Three years ago, I was ordered by the System to go investigate a double murder. At the time I was stationed on Earth. The report on our PDA’s said that a mother had killed her husband and son. When we got to the scene, the judgment upon her was that she was to be sent to a new town. No punishment was given. At the time, it didn’t bother me too much; I thought that the Stripes in this other town would punish her. Two months later another murderer was let off without punishment. A week after that it happened again. Finally I began to question what was happening. I knew the punishment laws better than most; I’d administered plenty of terminations of murderers before. The night after the third murderer went free I laid awake most of the night struggling for an answer. Sometime past –04.00 I started to fall asleep. In that time between consciousness and unconsciousness a wicked thought came to me: what if the System was wrong. I was awoken from my sleep by this thought. Guilt and panic swelled up inside of me. I rushed to check my PDA to see what punishment I would get for doubting the System. My PDA was blank.
“You are being very patient Mr. U, I’m sorry this is taking so long but we’re almost done. Did you ever have feelings of hatred towards Dr. Ortho?” Said Mr. Hughes.
“At first,” Mr. Hughes PDA narrative continued, “I was unsure what to think. I had my PDA checked for mechanical problems, but everything came out fine. My doubts continued and grew stronger, yet the PDA was silent. After several days of tremendous feelings of doubt and guilt, I had an epiphany: I realized that I was allowed to doubt the System because it wanted me to doubt it; it was asking me for help. The System was just, but it was making unjust decisions. How could our System make these mistakes unless someone had changed it, manipulated it, debased it for their personal gain. This was what the System was telling me by allowing me to doubt it. The System wanted me to see this flaw and discover its cause. Do you understand?”
U looked up and the man sitting across from him. For a moment he considered running out of the room and contacting someone, anyone, who could deal with this man. But, the moment was fleeting and he resolved to tease out all that this Mr. Hughes had to say:
“Do you have any real proof that the System has been disturbed? What if there were other variables involved in those murder cases that you don’t know about. It seems more likely to me
that the System is just than that someone was able to access and change it.”
“Were you expecting to see Dr. Ortho today Mr. U?” Asked Mr. Hughes aloud.
“Proof? This conversation itself is proof. If the System wasn’t changed, would it let us talk such blasphemy against it? You yourself said that all this afternoon you doubted the System without any punishment. Why would we be allowed to think like this unless it wanted us to recognize that it needed help? As for the murders, I poured over every significant variable in the System’s database, and in each case I found that the judgement should have been severe. But they weren’t. What other explanation could there be for these things?” U’s heart beat heavy and swift as he considered Mr. Hughes’ words. He felt as if all the oxygen in his body and been drawn out by some force, leaving him hollow.
“If Mr. Hughes is right,” U thought to himself, “then we’re all lost”. Even as he thought this, he seemed to fall deeper into a panic.
“Why are you telling me this Mr. Hughes? I came here because I thought justice was going to be done, not to hear blasphemous lies from a alleged servant of the System.” U said through his PDA.
“Last two questions Mr. U and then we’ll be done. Did you murder Dr. Ortho?” Mr. Hughes asked.
U’s PDA lit up with Mr. Hughes’ words: “I want your help Mr. U. I know this is difficult for you to believe but if you think it over, I’m confident you will find that the only possibility is that the System has been altered. I want to know who is changing it and why, and you can help me. The replacement for Dr. Ortho will be coming here next week. If you can tell me who he is, and look for reasons why someone would want him instead of Dr. Ortho working as a supervisor it would be a great help to me. Think it over. You may contact me through your PDA, it is secure, I am sure of that. Although the System has been altered by some forces, I have found that those forces can not view my communications through the PDA. How I know this I cannot tell you right now. Please consider my words and give me your answer soon. But for now, I do need an official confession from you. It is a mere formality to validate our meeting to any suspicious superiors. So if you could, please answer my next verbal question on your PDA.”
“What if I don’t want to help you? If your theory is correct then there are people who would be very interested to learn of your little investigation.”
“No,” Mr. Hughes replied through his PDA, “the System wouldn’t let you report me. You would be stopped, how I can not say, but you may trust that it would be unpleasant.”
“I wanted to thank you for your patience Mr. U. Again, these questions are for your protection. The last question I have is why did you kill Dr. Ortho?” Mr. Hughes’ voice seemed as calm and commanding as it did when he had first met him. It was a stark contrast to the passionate words U had read on the PDA. U felt uncomfortable as he tried to recall bits of his once abandoned confession; it seemed so childish now:
“I killed Dr. Ortho because I had to. Five years ago, I watched him on my MediaStation. He explained the System, how it works, its use, its potential. At the time there were people who doubted and feared it, so Dr. Ortho was there to help them understand. He said that we must have faith; that the System only requires faith to operate. We must each take the opportunity presented to us by the System as a chance to have faith. If we feel that we are too severely punished for a crime, then we must use that doubt to show our faith. Accept the judgement, and your faith will allow the System to function correctly. If, however, you do not accept the System’s judgement, then liberty will fail. He said these things to help the people who felt their freedom would be lost by the System’s control. When he said all those words, a feeling came over me. I knew what my act of faith would be. I knew that if I could kill Dr. Ortho, believing in the judgement which would come, then I would truly have faith. I felt, as if this was what he was asking me to do, reaching out through the screen to my heart Dr. Ortho demanded that I kill him. I killed Dr. Ortho because I had to, because I had faith in what would happen if I did.”
“Thank you Mr. U. You will be receiving contact from me or the department concerning our findings. Please feel free to contact me if you have any questions regarding our discussion here and the role this interview will play in your punishment.” Said Mr. Hughes as he stood, shook hands with U, and then left the office.
“This was is not how it was supposed to happen,” U thought to himself. He sighed, rocked back in his chair, and felt completely out of place.
Tags:
Fiction Short Stories Writing Science Fiction Christian Fiction Space
Friday, July 15, 2005
The Death an Art Form: The Death of Film Part One
There are two main reasons given for the poor movie ticket sales this year: 1. the product is inferior, or 2. the growth of DVD sales, home movie theaters, and internet bootlegged movies has caused the value of seeing a movie on the large screen to be diminished. What is interesting about both of these forces is that they appear to be irreversible: DVDs will only be sold more often, Home theater systems will only fall in price, and bootlegged movies will either continue to be rweleased through the internet or they will cause DVD prices to fall and their features to rise. As for the inferiority of the movies themselves, anyone who happens to even glance at a marque will notice an increase in remakes and adaptations. Not only that, the kind of remakes and adaptations that are being released are so shockingly poor that one wonders if Hollywood will produce a film version of any story that has ever been sold to anyone. Original films are increasingly rare. Plots are rehashed over and over again with each new incarnation inheriting less and less from their witty ancestors. Acting, unbeknown to many, has taken a tremendous fall. Watching a movie from the 30's through the 80's one finds that acting in the last decade or so is far bellow that of other times. (There are some significant contradictions to this statement, but, as usual, I am being general.) But what does this all mean?
The first thought that should come to mind we any art form experiences a slump like we find in film is that it is only a temporary problem; however, we must also consider that all forms have their beginning, their prime, and their end. Theater, Opera, Vaudeville, all these have fallen from their height. At one time each of these forms were the main form of acting/storytelling, and now, while they all still exist, they have all become forms of the past. Why is this? Simply because every art form (or genre) is limited, it has a certain number of tools and techniques it can use and when those have been exhausted nothing is left. One might argue that Art is infinite and is not confined to anything except our willingness to experiment. To answer this I will turn to an example from music. If I am a Classical musician, the type of instruments I can use is limited, the tempo and style is limited, the complexity is limited, etc...Now, if I experiment with any of these or many of the other variables that I have left out, I have some room to explore, but at a certain point I am no longer “Classical”. Statistically speaking, there is an almost infinite number of chords progressions, movements, melodies, and the like that I can use to make “Classical” music, however, most of those don't sound good together at all, so my room to explore is limited. (Unless of course I wish to make music that purposely sounds “bad”, but then my music themes are limited because I can only use themes which involve some sort of dark, conflicting, or ambiguous elements.) If I add guitars and a drum set I become a Rock/Classic hybrid. If I change the style and remove certain instruments I become Jazz. Thus, the Art itself is not limited, the genre/form, however, is. In the same way, a visual art form using acting and storytelling will always exist, it always has. The particular form that art will take will change though. How then do we know when an art form/genre is dying and when it is stagnant?
To know whether film is dying we must look at the tools and techniques and decide what else can be done. And again, there is an infinite amount of things with film that can be done, but we must narrow ourselves to things that ought to be done, things that will actually function successfully in regard to theme and form. What plot can be made into a movie that has not already been done several times? At look at the “Best films” released recently shows that they fall into one of a couple categories: 1. The plot/substance of the film is weak but the visuals are very strong and evocative, 2. the plot/substance is shallow but the epic scope of the film and the special effects are good. 3. The plot is original but experimental. Most affective plots have already been made into movies. What is left are plots that were previously unfeasible visually or, in order to be original, are so experimental that they no longer affectively communicate to the masses. (see my previous discussion on post-modern Hip-Hop). Look at Lost in Translation, Kill Bill, Hero, Sin City, or The Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind, all of these movies are critically accepted as great, however, none have much of any real substance; they all are filled with absolutely stunning visuals, visuals that could never have been done ten years ago (with the exception of Lost in Translation), but their themes are either paper thin (L.in T.) or totally lacking (Kill Bill). These are some of the best artistically rendered films of our time and they are sorely lacking. The other critically successful films lately have been movies such as Spiderman and Lord of the Rings, these, while well done, only have a spirit of originality in them because they would have been (or were) unsuccessful had they been done without our modern special effects. So then, what is going to happen when all the adaptations which were held back for visual reasons have been made? The only new ground being made in film lately has been in visuals and there are other forms of art which can (and I suggest will) steal the thunder of Hollywood visuals.
If an art form is in a rut, rather than dying, we can identify this by looking at its potential. Can we possibly conceive of a new approach to the genre that has plenty of room to grow? So far in our look at film I would have to say that the only approach that is fairly fresh is the visual aspect. But, as I have pointed out, this is not a comprehensive enough style to allow for a continued originality in film.
Film is a relatively old art form which has experienced a significant drop in originality and competency lately. This drop is the result of an art form which has all but exhausted its plots. Evidence for this can be seen in the fact that the best artistic films of the last few years have had little substance and instead relied on visuals. Special effects and visuals, due to recent advancements in computers, are the last fronter for film. But even this fronter is being colonized by another art form which instead of dying out, has just come into its adolescence and continues to grow at an astounding rate: Video Games.
The first thought that should come to mind we any art form experiences a slump like we find in film is that it is only a temporary problem; however, we must also consider that all forms have their beginning, their prime, and their end. Theater, Opera, Vaudeville, all these have fallen from their height. At one time each of these forms were the main form of acting/storytelling, and now, while they all still exist, they have all become forms of the past. Why is this? Simply because every art form (or genre) is limited, it has a certain number of tools and techniques it can use and when those have been exhausted nothing is left. One might argue that Art is infinite and is not confined to anything except our willingness to experiment. To answer this I will turn to an example from music. If I am a Classical musician, the type of instruments I can use is limited, the tempo and style is limited, the complexity is limited, etc...Now, if I experiment with any of these or many of the other variables that I have left out, I have some room to explore, but at a certain point I am no longer “Classical”. Statistically speaking, there is an almost infinite number of chords progressions, movements, melodies, and the like that I can use to make “Classical” music, however, most of those don't sound good together at all, so my room to explore is limited. (Unless of course I wish to make music that purposely sounds “bad”, but then my music themes are limited because I can only use themes which involve some sort of dark, conflicting, or ambiguous elements.) If I add guitars and a drum set I become a Rock/Classic hybrid. If I change the style and remove certain instruments I become Jazz. Thus, the Art itself is not limited, the genre/form, however, is. In the same way, a visual art form using acting and storytelling will always exist, it always has. The particular form that art will take will change though. How then do we know when an art form/genre is dying and when it is stagnant?
To know whether film is dying we must look at the tools and techniques and decide what else can be done. And again, there is an infinite amount of things with film that can be done, but we must narrow ourselves to things that ought to be done, things that will actually function successfully in regard to theme and form. What plot can be made into a movie that has not already been done several times? At look at the “Best films” released recently shows that they fall into one of a couple categories: 1. The plot/substance of the film is weak but the visuals are very strong and evocative, 2. the plot/substance is shallow but the epic scope of the film and the special effects are good. 3. The plot is original but experimental. Most affective plots have already been made into movies. What is left are plots that were previously unfeasible visually or, in order to be original, are so experimental that they no longer affectively communicate to the masses. (see my previous discussion on post-modern Hip-Hop). Look at Lost in Translation, Kill Bill, Hero, Sin City, or The Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind, all of these movies are critically accepted as great, however, none have much of any real substance; they all are filled with absolutely stunning visuals, visuals that could never have been done ten years ago (with the exception of Lost in Translation), but their themes are either paper thin (L.in T.) or totally lacking (Kill Bill). These are some of the best artistically rendered films of our time and they are sorely lacking. The other critically successful films lately have been movies such as Spiderman and Lord of the Rings, these, while well done, only have a spirit of originality in them because they would have been (or were) unsuccessful had they been done without our modern special effects. So then, what is going to happen when all the adaptations which were held back for visual reasons have been made? The only new ground being made in film lately has been in visuals and there are other forms of art which can (and I suggest will) steal the thunder of Hollywood visuals.
If an art form is in a rut, rather than dying, we can identify this by looking at its potential. Can we possibly conceive of a new approach to the genre that has plenty of room to grow? So far in our look at film I would have to say that the only approach that is fairly fresh is the visual aspect. But, as I have pointed out, this is not a comprehensive enough style to allow for a continued originality in film.
Film is a relatively old art form which has experienced a significant drop in originality and competency lately. This drop is the result of an art form which has all but exhausted its plots. Evidence for this can be seen in the fact that the best artistic films of the last few years have had little substance and instead relied on visuals. Special effects and visuals, due to recent advancements in computers, are the last fronter for film. But even this fronter is being colonized by another art form which instead of dying out, has just come into its adolescence and continues to grow at an astounding rate: Video Games.
Monday, July 11, 2005
The Future, Billy Corgan, Art, and Foundations
In the coming weeks I am going to take a new approach to this blog. There are several topics I will be dealing with that require multiple posts; however, I am impatient and want to talk about each of them all at once. Therefore, I have decided to treat each topic a bit at a time. Expect me to introduce a discussion in one post and then write a review of an album, book, or movie in another. And then introduce yet another topic in a third post. It will be many months before each of these subjects are completely treated on here, but I believe this format will let me tackle the various issues that currently plague me while presenting a variety that will interest different people.
In a recent interview, Billy Corgan of Smashing Pumpkins fame (perhaps one of my favorite bands) talked about the ideology of the early-mid-nineties, specifically the Grunge movement. Corgan remarks that as the years wore on, he felt defeated as their dreams of changing the world fell flat. As proof of this, he points to the current American culture which is based on “right-wing" value. This to Corgan is evidentially contrary to whatever “they” were working towards.
This post is not really about Billy Corgan or the Grunge era- they are merely specifics that allow me to speak about a more wide spread belief that conservative values are somehow counter-artistic or anti-humane; an ideology that works against peace and love and justice/equality. The reason such a belief exists at all is in part due to a lack of spiritual maturity in many Christians who simply fail to be loving, peaceful, and just. There are many other causes for this belief but to do into them would be to stumble into a monstrous digression. Instead, I intend to examine how ironically misguided this rejection of conservative values is philosophically and practically. In order to do this I am going to take some liberties with Corgan's quote. Corgan did not specifically identify Christian values as against the Grunge revolution, but by saying “right-wing” the implication is there. And I intend to grab hold of this implication despite what his intentions were so that I might deal with the broader issue.
If Christian values were contrary to the Grunge ideology, what exactly was this ideology? Well, if we generalize (always dangerous yet necessary for communication in any sense of the word) and conflate the themes of Nirvana, Pearl Jam and the Smashing Pumpkins, we find that they seemed to be fighting for equality (specifically for women in a patriarchal society, but also for sexual preferences. They were against gender roles too. To say that men or women had to act in a certain way was to be unjust.), for love (Although this love took on a very dark countenance for a reason that is at the very core of my ost.), and for justice. They were against consumerism, commodification, oppression of the weak, any sense of being judgmental. And what was the basis for these various positions? Essentially it was an evolutionary utilitarianism. In other words, the only argument they could produce (however, I don't believe any of them articulated this argument even though it was underlying in their lyrics and themes) was that it was the best idea, the most practical. Why was it “right” to be anti-violence and wrong to be hateful? Because violence is not good for humanity. Because love is good for humanity. Ultimately that had nothing better than “the most good for the most people” to appeal to for values. And utilitarianism has never been a strong foundation for anything simply because it requires a dangerous assumption that happiness and suffering can be statistically analyzed. Now before I get emails informing me that so-and-so from whatever band was actually a Buddhist or he believed in “some god” or something along those lines let me again state that I am generalizing here quite self-consciously. And I believe that if you look at the overall worldview of this movement you will find that what I am suggesting is more or less true. The Grunge movement boils down to a restatement and expansion upon the 60's Hippie ideology (which, interestingly enough Corgan himself points out in the same interview). The hopefulness had been lost by this time, but the themes and concerns were essentially the same. Additionally, the 60's appealed to a more mystical foundation where as the 90's dealt with a less mystical and more utilitarian base.
Perhaps someone would suggest that it is not necessary to have a foundation in order to have a moral or ethical stance: “why should I defend loving someone? Must I have a philosophical theory to justify equality or peace?” Yes. But why? Because without a foundation the structure will collapse. Ironically enough, this animosity towards a foundationalism is in itself a philosophical ideal: pragmatism, the brother of utilitarianism. The reason that foundations are important is simply that people actually live by them. To ignore worldviews is to be in denial. Everyone, everywhere has a belief system as a foundation for moral and ethical values, a filter to judge the world and events and emotions and thoughts and desires. In the case of the Grunge movement the foundation was a mystical, existential utilitarianism founded on near nihilism and a Darwinist view of humanity. In this system right and wrong was determined relatively in accordance with the most good for the most people. In the end however, this was insufficient. Corgan himself recounts playing Lollapalooza in 94' and watching as the crowds were filled with unthinking macho alcoholics: “They're not really getting it. They're there with their khakis and their beer, and they want to hear the hit—that's really not about changing things.” But here Corgan has no real way to judge his fans, they are merely doing what seems best for them. If Corgan had confronted one of these fans the encounter could have happened like this:
Corgan: You fool, don't you see that your latching on to the rage of our music and ignoring the message? I'm singing about how wrong it is to be macho and sexist and unthinking!
Fan: Why should I care? Thats not what I get out of your songs.
Corgan: Because if we don't work together and fight against hatred and sexism and commercialism we'll never be free!
Fan: Why is that my problem?
Corgan: Because you're a human!
Fan: Why does that matter? Why should we stop hatred and all that stuff?
Corgan: Because people are suffering and we can help them!
Fan: Why is that my problem? I'm happy and content being who I am why should I lose that to help others?
Corgan: Because you should.
Fan: Why should I not be sexist? It pleases me!
Corgan: Because we are all human and therefore deserve to be treated equally with respect and love.
Fan: Why should we all be treated equally?
Corgan: Because we all share the same experiences and because its right.
Fan: Why is it right? Who said so? Prove to me it is!
Of course I'm straw-manning Corgan here. I'm sure he would have a lot more intelligent things to say that what I've put in his mouth. However, in the end he wouldn't be much better off than what I've proposed because the Grunge ideology had nothing to appeal to. It's foundation was on the idea that we should do our best to help the most people because it was a good idea. Any justification that they could offer would be founded on statistics which in themselves were relative to time, place, culture, people, and a million other variables-variables which are really impossible to calculate. How do you establish the value of a human life when all you have is statistics or a vague notion that love is better than hate? Perhaps part of the reason the Grunge movement failed was that it had no foundation by which to demand others change their lives. All they could say was that it was a good to love because it was good to love or because the world would be a better place, but for who? And in whose opinion? If the value of the individual is based on the premise that “because we exist, we have value” or “because it is in the best interest of everyone to give equal value to everyone” then there is no true basis for value just some ideas why we should believe in the value of the individual. Thus, Corgan and his cohorts had no true reason to urge revolution from their fans.
Now let us look at Corgan's assertion that “right-wing” values were/are the antithesis of the Grunge ideal. First off, in a very fundamental way I agree with him. For them, man was hopeless and the best he could do in life was to try to be humane and to enjoy it while it lasted. This certainly is not in following with Christian values. But in another way, Christian values actually speaks to the same issues that he was fighting for and in a more significant manner as well. Christianity specifically stresses the tremendous importance of Love, justice, equality, peace, while condemning oppression, commercialism, commodification. The great difference is that with Christianity there is a basis. Here, the individual has value because they are made in the image of God, by God. There is something outside humanity that establishes value. In the same way, there is a real reason to pursue peace and love and fight against injustices. The very things that Corgan and others were so adamant to work for are also concerns except there is a real foundation rather than a utilitarian hopelessness; there is no sense of loving only because it is the best thing for humanity (which can only be supported by questionable statistics), instead there is love founded on an eternal and absolute standard.
Therefore, in Art, it should not be that Christian values are rejected, rather the Christian artist, armed with a foundation that is unchanging, that gives profound value to individual people, should be at the forefront of art. This art can be full of compassion and love that at the same time demands justice and equality. Billy Corgan should be, if anything, excited to see a time when at least some people hold a belief that has the foundation necessary to bring about the change he envisioned.
In a recent interview, Billy Corgan of Smashing Pumpkins fame (perhaps one of my favorite bands) talked about the ideology of the early-mid-nineties, specifically the Grunge movement. Corgan remarks that as the years wore on, he felt defeated as their dreams of changing the world fell flat. As proof of this, he points to the current American culture which is based on “right-wing" value. This to Corgan is evidentially contrary to whatever “they” were working towards.
This post is not really about Billy Corgan or the Grunge era- they are merely specifics that allow me to speak about a more wide spread belief that conservative values are somehow counter-artistic or anti-humane; an ideology that works against peace and love and justice/equality. The reason such a belief exists at all is in part due to a lack of spiritual maturity in many Christians who simply fail to be loving, peaceful, and just. There are many other causes for this belief but to do into them would be to stumble into a monstrous digression. Instead, I intend to examine how ironically misguided this rejection of conservative values is philosophically and practically. In order to do this I am going to take some liberties with Corgan's quote. Corgan did not specifically identify Christian values as against the Grunge revolution, but by saying “right-wing” the implication is there. And I intend to grab hold of this implication despite what his intentions were so that I might deal with the broader issue.
If Christian values were contrary to the Grunge ideology, what exactly was this ideology? Well, if we generalize (always dangerous yet necessary for communication in any sense of the word) and conflate the themes of Nirvana, Pearl Jam and the Smashing Pumpkins, we find that they seemed to be fighting for equality (specifically for women in a patriarchal society, but also for sexual preferences. They were against gender roles too. To say that men or women had to act in a certain way was to be unjust.), for love (Although this love took on a very dark countenance for a reason that is at the very core of my ost.), and for justice. They were against consumerism, commodification, oppression of the weak, any sense of being judgmental. And what was the basis for these various positions? Essentially it was an evolutionary utilitarianism. In other words, the only argument they could produce (however, I don't believe any of them articulated this argument even though it was underlying in their lyrics and themes) was that it was the best idea, the most practical. Why was it “right” to be anti-violence and wrong to be hateful? Because violence is not good for humanity. Because love is good for humanity. Ultimately that had nothing better than “the most good for the most people” to appeal to for values. And utilitarianism has never been a strong foundation for anything simply because it requires a dangerous assumption that happiness and suffering can be statistically analyzed. Now before I get emails informing me that so-and-so from whatever band was actually a Buddhist or he believed in “some god” or something along those lines let me again state that I am generalizing here quite self-consciously. And I believe that if you look at the overall worldview of this movement you will find that what I am suggesting is more or less true. The Grunge movement boils down to a restatement and expansion upon the 60's Hippie ideology (which, interestingly enough Corgan himself points out in the same interview). The hopefulness had been lost by this time, but the themes and concerns were essentially the same. Additionally, the 60's appealed to a more mystical foundation where as the 90's dealt with a less mystical and more utilitarian base.
Perhaps someone would suggest that it is not necessary to have a foundation in order to have a moral or ethical stance: “why should I defend loving someone? Must I have a philosophical theory to justify equality or peace?” Yes. But why? Because without a foundation the structure will collapse. Ironically enough, this animosity towards a foundationalism is in itself a philosophical ideal: pragmatism, the brother of utilitarianism. The reason that foundations are important is simply that people actually live by them. To ignore worldviews is to be in denial. Everyone, everywhere has a belief system as a foundation for moral and ethical values, a filter to judge the world and events and emotions and thoughts and desires. In the case of the Grunge movement the foundation was a mystical, existential utilitarianism founded on near nihilism and a Darwinist view of humanity. In this system right and wrong was determined relatively in accordance with the most good for the most people. In the end however, this was insufficient. Corgan himself recounts playing Lollapalooza in 94' and watching as the crowds were filled with unthinking macho alcoholics: “They're not really getting it. They're there with their khakis and their beer, and they want to hear the hit—that's really not about changing things.” But here Corgan has no real way to judge his fans, they are merely doing what seems best for them. If Corgan had confronted one of these fans the encounter could have happened like this:
Corgan: You fool, don't you see that your latching on to the rage of our music and ignoring the message? I'm singing about how wrong it is to be macho and sexist and unthinking!
Fan: Why should I care? Thats not what I get out of your songs.
Corgan: Because if we don't work together and fight against hatred and sexism and commercialism we'll never be free!
Fan: Why is that my problem?
Corgan: Because you're a human!
Fan: Why does that matter? Why should we stop hatred and all that stuff?
Corgan: Because people are suffering and we can help them!
Fan: Why is that my problem? I'm happy and content being who I am why should I lose that to help others?
Corgan: Because you should.
Fan: Why should I not be sexist? It pleases me!
Corgan: Because we are all human and therefore deserve to be treated equally with respect and love.
Fan: Why should we all be treated equally?
Corgan: Because we all share the same experiences and because its right.
Fan: Why is it right? Who said so? Prove to me it is!
Of course I'm straw-manning Corgan here. I'm sure he would have a lot more intelligent things to say that what I've put in his mouth. However, in the end he wouldn't be much better off than what I've proposed because the Grunge ideology had nothing to appeal to. It's foundation was on the idea that we should do our best to help the most people because it was a good idea. Any justification that they could offer would be founded on statistics which in themselves were relative to time, place, culture, people, and a million other variables-variables which are really impossible to calculate. How do you establish the value of a human life when all you have is statistics or a vague notion that love is better than hate? Perhaps part of the reason the Grunge movement failed was that it had no foundation by which to demand others change their lives. All they could say was that it was a good to love because it was good to love or because the world would be a better place, but for who? And in whose opinion? If the value of the individual is based on the premise that “because we exist, we have value” or “because it is in the best interest of everyone to give equal value to everyone” then there is no true basis for value just some ideas why we should believe in the value of the individual. Thus, Corgan and his cohorts had no true reason to urge revolution from their fans.
Now let us look at Corgan's assertion that “right-wing” values were/are the antithesis of the Grunge ideal. First off, in a very fundamental way I agree with him. For them, man was hopeless and the best he could do in life was to try to be humane and to enjoy it while it lasted. This certainly is not in following with Christian values. But in another way, Christian values actually speaks to the same issues that he was fighting for and in a more significant manner as well. Christianity specifically stresses the tremendous importance of Love, justice, equality, peace, while condemning oppression, commercialism, commodification. The great difference is that with Christianity there is a basis. Here, the individual has value because they are made in the image of God, by God. There is something outside humanity that establishes value. In the same way, there is a real reason to pursue peace and love and fight against injustices. The very things that Corgan and others were so adamant to work for are also concerns except there is a real foundation rather than a utilitarian hopelessness; there is no sense of loving only because it is the best thing for humanity (which can only be supported by questionable statistics), instead there is love founded on an eternal and absolute standard.
Therefore, in Art, it should not be that Christian values are rejected, rather the Christian artist, armed with a foundation that is unchanging, that gives profound value to individual people, should be at the forefront of art. This art can be full of compassion and love that at the same time demands justice and equality. Billy Corgan should be, if anything, excited to see a time when at least some people hold a belief that has the foundation necessary to bring about the change he envisioned.
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Artistic Activism
The current status and trajectory of the Arts is distressing. Film, Music, and Television critics are all struggling with poor work. Rock music seems to be dieing its long predicted death, movies are increasingly rehashed plots or remakes and even the “artsy” movies seem to be running out of steam (See Wes Anderson's latest, or the new Bat movie from the director of Memento, although some directors are still moving forward, it is at least a slump. See this years ticket sales for that). In TV the sitcom has all but vanished in any significant way and reality TV is hardly a competent usurper.
This crisis---whether real, imagined, or temporary---has been caused by many forces to numerous and complex to deal with at this time. But this crisis is multiplied in the Christian community by a crisis which has been ongoing for several decades, and perhaps even a few hundred years, depending on who you ask or which particular artistic medium you look at. Worship Music as at the forefront of this crisis and many othersmany others have been lamenting its faults of late. Even worse is Christian Rock Music, which has always struggled for an identity, and when you combine that with the fact that the rock genre is quite probably in its last gasping breaths, the situation is bad to say the least. So then, what are we going to do? It is very easy, in comparison, to find what is wrong with Art, whether that be the more general slump or the specific struggles of the Christian arts. But it is difficult to figure out what to do about it and even harder to actual do something. For those who can create, there is a lot of work to be done. But what about those who can't or don't? What I would like to discuss here is what the listener/watcher/reader/viewer can do to help the Arts recover.
The most obvious approach is financial support; however, I believe that this is more often than not a disservice to the artist. Take for example a CD. Let us say that you know a guy who plays in a original rock band. They have just recorded a CD and he asks you to buy it. While it is good to buy that CD it is not enough. The comodification of art is one of the reasons it is in a rut right now. Simply buying a work of art does not provide the artist with any incentive to improve or explore. One could say that simple demand for a work of art is a good barometers of the arts quality: if it is good, it will sell, if it is not, it won't. But this is not necessarily true. If we return to our previous example, your motivation for buying that kid's CD was more than likely not genuine interest in the art, but rather sympathy and encouragement. Because of this, I have seen bands who have little or not talent artistically become wildly popular. Now, I am not saying that you should not buy independent music or works of art; rather, I would plead with you to take an active role in art. Don't just buy that kid's CD and bury it in your shelf, instead listen to it, try to understand it, and then talk to the artist. Without being negative question their themes, forms, styles, language, tone, etc. This creates a responsibility for the artist, they cannot make total garbage if their fans are engaging their art and discussing it. And in our times we need responsible artists. In a similar way it is important that when your talking to an artist about their work that you don't simply tell them how it was “good”, or “cool”, really engage the work, have something of substance to say and say it kindly. Pursue the artists, ask them how their work is coming along, discuss with them what their doing and why. This is particularly important for the Christian Artist who, as I've already suggested, is in a double fix. Perhaps no other Christian Art is in more trouble than Worship music. If you know someone who plays worship music, urge them to write their own material. Support them, but do so in a way that promotes excellence not stagnation.
I'm sure that my words are either falling on deaf or converted ears, or maybe my words are not clear enough. But my hope is that if people will stop treating art as a commercial and shallow thing, then the artists will stop producing shallow and commercial works. I have already spoken on the obligation of the artist, specifically the Hip-Hop artist, but the audience/receiver of the art also has an obligation: think critically about the work, discuss it, and support growth.
This crisis---whether real, imagined, or temporary---has been caused by many forces to numerous and complex to deal with at this time. But this crisis is multiplied in the Christian community by a crisis which has been ongoing for several decades, and perhaps even a few hundred years, depending on who you ask or which particular artistic medium you look at. Worship Music as at the forefront of this crisis and many othersmany others have been lamenting its faults of late. Even worse is Christian Rock Music, which has always struggled for an identity, and when you combine that with the fact that the rock genre is quite probably in its last gasping breaths, the situation is bad to say the least. So then, what are we going to do? It is very easy, in comparison, to find what is wrong with Art, whether that be the more general slump or the specific struggles of the Christian arts. But it is difficult to figure out what to do about it and even harder to actual do something. For those who can create, there is a lot of work to be done. But what about those who can't or don't? What I would like to discuss here is what the listener/watcher/reader/viewer can do to help the Arts recover.
The most obvious approach is financial support; however, I believe that this is more often than not a disservice to the artist. Take for example a CD. Let us say that you know a guy who plays in a original rock band. They have just recorded a CD and he asks you to buy it. While it is good to buy that CD it is not enough. The comodification of art is one of the reasons it is in a rut right now. Simply buying a work of art does not provide the artist with any incentive to improve or explore. One could say that simple demand for a work of art is a good barometers of the arts quality: if it is good, it will sell, if it is not, it won't. But this is not necessarily true. If we return to our previous example, your motivation for buying that kid's CD was more than likely not genuine interest in the art, but rather sympathy and encouragement. Because of this, I have seen bands who have little or not talent artistically become wildly popular. Now, I am not saying that you should not buy independent music or works of art; rather, I would plead with you to take an active role in art. Don't just buy that kid's CD and bury it in your shelf, instead listen to it, try to understand it, and then talk to the artist. Without being negative question their themes, forms, styles, language, tone, etc. This creates a responsibility for the artist, they cannot make total garbage if their fans are engaging their art and discussing it. And in our times we need responsible artists. In a similar way it is important that when your talking to an artist about their work that you don't simply tell them how it was “good”, or “cool”, really engage the work, have something of substance to say and say it kindly. Pursue the artists, ask them how their work is coming along, discuss with them what their doing and why. This is particularly important for the Christian Artist who, as I've already suggested, is in a double fix. Perhaps no other Christian Art is in more trouble than Worship music. If you know someone who plays worship music, urge them to write their own material. Support them, but do so in a way that promotes excellence not stagnation.
I'm sure that my words are either falling on deaf or converted ears, or maybe my words are not clear enough. But my hope is that if people will stop treating art as a commercial and shallow thing, then the artists will stop producing shallow and commercial works. I have already spoken on the obligation of the artist, specifically the Hip-Hop artist, but the audience/receiver of the art also has an obligation: think critically about the work, discuss it, and support growth.
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Chapter 4 (Part One): The Meeting
On the whole, U’s trip back to the compound went quietly. He spent most of the time rehearsing his confession. At one point, several months ago, U had tried to write a confession so that when he finally killed the doctor, and the Stripes ran in, he could pour out a passionate and beautiful admittance of guilt. He had fantasized about the way they would all react and how the MediaStation controllers might report his compelling proclamation across the airwaves. But, after several drafts, U found the writing to be impossible. It would be best just to let it happen; just let his confession come out naturally.
When he arrived at the entrance room of the compound, Mr. Node was no longer tending to the green plants and the air felt uncomfortably calm in comparison to the excitement U felt. The metallic door shut behind U with a muffled sound. He stood facing the room and the hallway stretched out in front of him. “...04.03…” U’s rectangular PDA read.
“I don’t know why I thought anyone would be here, I’m 30 minutes early.” After say this aloud to himself, U briskly moved down the hallway towards his office. The image frames still held their position along the hallway, bringing vivid colors of light unto U’s path.
“I should take in all this while I still can. Once they punish me, there’ll be no more beautiful images from Earth to look at.” U thought with melancholy. He stopped and watched a particularly stunning frame which showed a field of yellow wheat. Golden red leaves and deep brown branches could be seen extending out from where the camera was set. The title of the frame read, “the tree house”. The wheat moved effortlessly with the silent wind which also blew the soft clouds above. The image frames were meant to give the compound a sense of Earthliness, and that is what U felt.
“U!” A female voice confidently echoed out in the long hallway. U turned to see a middle aged woman in a white skirt, which went well down to her shins, walking towards him. As she drew closer, U could see that she looked concerned. Her face always wore a look of heaviness upon it. Now, that weight seemed to have increased to an insurmountable mass. Not that she appeared old, for her features were pleasant enough; it was something in her mannerisms that revealed the weariness. U felt his blood quicken as she stopped a few feet from him.
“U, what happened today?” It was a question, but the firmness in her voice made him think she was making a statement.
“Are you going to answer me? I asked what happened today.” U looked at her, and a slow grin covered his face.
“What happened to whom?
“You know what I mean. What happened in your office today? I saw some Red Stripes running in there earlier. And Dr. Ortho never came by to check my work. There’s a Blue Stripe in there right now. Her voice had shifted while she was talking, rising from distress to panic, and finally ending sorrowfully. What did you do U?”
“I made a leap of faith Mrs. Gram. It had to be done, and now I must go deal with the consequences.” And with that, U turned from his co-worker and stole down the hall. He imagined her look of disbelief as he walked on.
“She said he’s already in the office,” U thought to himself, “what could he be doing? Collecting evidence or something I suppose.” He walked a little bit quicker, and a little bit lighter. He didn’t let the image frames distract from his walk anymore. Turning the final corner, U was confronted with the door to his office. His breath went still for a moment, which was broken only by a contented sigh.
“Finally, justice will be done. They will punish me and this will be over.” U stepped forward and the door swooshed open before him. When his eyes adjusted to the darker light, U could make out the shape of a man hunched over his computer. The man was facing the wall opposite of the door U had just come through. When that door shut, the man looked up from his typing. U could now just make out the man’s Blue Stripe uniform. The Stripe still faced away from U, but his head was perked up as if to listen.
“Mr. U?”
“Yes, and you must be Mr. Hughes.” U felt a rush of blood and adrenaline as the conversation that would lead to his judgement began, but he tried to hide his excitement. He walked over to the desk. Mr. Hughes turned around and rose to meet U. He was a tall man, maybe taller than 6 feet. He wore his uniform with confident presence and the angular nature of his face made U think that he was able to counteract the forces of time simply by being assured of the present.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t have met over more pleasant circumstances Mr. U, but we’ll just have to make the best of this. My name, as you apparently know, is Mr. Hughes, I work for the Enforcement Center as the Chief Investigator. Please sit down Mr. U, we just have some formal questions to go through,” U and Mr. Hughes both sat down facing each other, “Before we continue can you please pull out your PDA. In order for this conversation to be legal we need a written record,” U complied with Mr. Hughes’ wishes. He selected the “Chat” button on his PDA, Mr. Hughes did the same. By doing this, the two men could record every word they said. It was a rudimentary system, which required each party to concentrate and visualize each word they said, but it was fairly effective in recording thoughts both spoken, and unspoken.
“Please set your PDA to the internal setting, I will be asking you a few questions that should not be answered out loud.” U did as Mr. Hughes asked, thinking to himself that the Blue Stripe was undoubtedly referring to the confession of the murder.
“In all cases of murder,” Mr. Hughes began to say out loud, “the eUnion has ordered that the System’s judgement be confirmed by a report from a Chief Investigator. This law was passed to ensure that whenever a member of the eUnion is facing a possible severe punishment, absolute justice is done. Of course, the System has yet to make a mistake in judgement and so my job is mostly a formality, but I’m sure you will feel safer knowing that your life is not treated lightly.”
When Mr. Hughes finished talking, U’s PDA lit up with text:
“Continue talking with me like normal, follow my cues…”
“The first question I have is how long you knew Dr. Ortho, please play close attention to your PDA as you answer so that we can record it properly,” Mr. Hughes said aloud.
Again the PDA displayed a message from Mr. Hughes: “You do not need to answer my verbal questions on the PDA, just give the appearance that you’re thinking about your answer. We must give the illusion that this is really an interrogation in case anyone is listening or watching. I need to talk with you Mr. U. You did something today which is out of order, and you were not punished. Do you know why?” U looked back down at his PDA in confusion, what did he mean “the illusion of an interrogation?” A quick bolt of panic spread through U. “This was not the way it was suppose to happen,” he said to himself.
“What is this?” U asked Mr. Hughes.
“Please Mr. U, use your PDA for all answers and comments so that we can properly record this interview.
U concentrated on his words: “I don’t understand what you’re talking about…what is this?”
“Good, I think that went through. Now, the next question is how was your relationship with Dr. Ortho before today?” Mr. Hughes said with a factual tone.
Another message appeared on U’s PDA: “I am a protector of the System, and it is my job to insure the integrity of it. The judgment of your action today presents a challenge to that integrity. We both know that you murdered a man, and that the punishment for murder is severe, yet the System allowed you to get away without any punishment at all. Don’t you find that a bit odd?” With a flooding pulse, U reread the message. “Maybe this man isn’t really a Blue Stripe,” he thought to himself, “No, that wouldn’t be possible, he would have to fool the System. But if he is a Blue Stripe, how can he question the judgment of the System?” U waited a moment before answering Mr. Hughes:
“Yes, I thought it was odd. I’ve just spent most of the day trying to understand why I wasn’t punished. But what I want to know is, who you are? You say you’re a Blue Stripe but you’re questioning the System. That makes no sense. I can’t figure out why the real Stripes aren’t swarming in to punish your doubt, but until they come, I won’t listen to your lies.” U believed little of what he said, but he couldn’t let Mr. Hughes’ words rest.
“Alright, that answer went through. I want to thank you for your trust and cooperation Mr. U, I assure you that these questions are for your protection. Now then, could you tell me how you felt about Dr. Ortho both personally and professionally?” Mr. Hughes’ verbal questions seemed like all the right ones. U wondered why he couldn’t just answer those questions and be punished.
Tags:
Fiction Short Stories Writing Science Fiction Christian Fiction Space
When he arrived at the entrance room of the compound, Mr. Node was no longer tending to the green plants and the air felt uncomfortably calm in comparison to the excitement U felt. The metallic door shut behind U with a muffled sound. He stood facing the room and the hallway stretched out in front of him. “...04.03…” U’s rectangular PDA read.
“I don’t know why I thought anyone would be here, I’m 30 minutes early.” After say this aloud to himself, U briskly moved down the hallway towards his office. The image frames still held their position along the hallway, bringing vivid colors of light unto U’s path.
“I should take in all this while I still can. Once they punish me, there’ll be no more beautiful images from Earth to look at.” U thought with melancholy. He stopped and watched a particularly stunning frame which showed a field of yellow wheat. Golden red leaves and deep brown branches could be seen extending out from where the camera was set. The title of the frame read, “the tree house”. The wheat moved effortlessly with the silent wind which also blew the soft clouds above. The image frames were meant to give the compound a sense of Earthliness, and that is what U felt.
“U!” A female voice confidently echoed out in the long hallway. U turned to see a middle aged woman in a white skirt, which went well down to her shins, walking towards him. As she drew closer, U could see that she looked concerned. Her face always wore a look of heaviness upon it. Now, that weight seemed to have increased to an insurmountable mass. Not that she appeared old, for her features were pleasant enough; it was something in her mannerisms that revealed the weariness. U felt his blood quicken as she stopped a few feet from him.
“U, what happened today?” It was a question, but the firmness in her voice made him think she was making a statement.
“Are you going to answer me? I asked what happened today.” U looked at her, and a slow grin covered his face.
“What happened to whom?
“You know what I mean. What happened in your office today? I saw some Red Stripes running in there earlier. And Dr. Ortho never came by to check my work. There’s a Blue Stripe in there right now. Her voice had shifted while she was talking, rising from distress to panic, and finally ending sorrowfully. What did you do U?”
“I made a leap of faith Mrs. Gram. It had to be done, and now I must go deal with the consequences.” And with that, U turned from his co-worker and stole down the hall. He imagined her look of disbelief as he walked on.
“She said he’s already in the office,” U thought to himself, “what could he be doing? Collecting evidence or something I suppose.” He walked a little bit quicker, and a little bit lighter. He didn’t let the image frames distract from his walk anymore. Turning the final corner, U was confronted with the door to his office. His breath went still for a moment, which was broken only by a contented sigh.
“Finally, justice will be done. They will punish me and this will be over.” U stepped forward and the door swooshed open before him. When his eyes adjusted to the darker light, U could make out the shape of a man hunched over his computer. The man was facing the wall opposite of the door U had just come through. When that door shut, the man looked up from his typing. U could now just make out the man’s Blue Stripe uniform. The Stripe still faced away from U, but his head was perked up as if to listen.
“Mr. U?”
“Yes, and you must be Mr. Hughes.” U felt a rush of blood and adrenaline as the conversation that would lead to his judgement began, but he tried to hide his excitement. He walked over to the desk. Mr. Hughes turned around and rose to meet U. He was a tall man, maybe taller than 6 feet. He wore his uniform with confident presence and the angular nature of his face made U think that he was able to counteract the forces of time simply by being assured of the present.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t have met over more pleasant circumstances Mr. U, but we’ll just have to make the best of this. My name, as you apparently know, is Mr. Hughes, I work for the Enforcement Center as the Chief Investigator. Please sit down Mr. U, we just have some formal questions to go through,” U and Mr. Hughes both sat down facing each other, “Before we continue can you please pull out your PDA. In order for this conversation to be legal we need a written record,” U complied with Mr. Hughes’ wishes. He selected the “Chat” button on his PDA, Mr. Hughes did the same. By doing this, the two men could record every word they said. It was a rudimentary system, which required each party to concentrate and visualize each word they said, but it was fairly effective in recording thoughts both spoken, and unspoken.
“Please set your PDA to the internal setting, I will be asking you a few questions that should not be answered out loud.” U did as Mr. Hughes asked, thinking to himself that the Blue Stripe was undoubtedly referring to the confession of the murder.
“In all cases of murder,” Mr. Hughes began to say out loud, “the eUnion has ordered that the System’s judgement be confirmed by a report from a Chief Investigator. This law was passed to ensure that whenever a member of the eUnion is facing a possible severe punishment, absolute justice is done. Of course, the System has yet to make a mistake in judgement and so my job is mostly a formality, but I’m sure you will feel safer knowing that your life is not treated lightly.”
When Mr. Hughes finished talking, U’s PDA lit up with text:
“Continue talking with me like normal, follow my cues…”
“The first question I have is how long you knew Dr. Ortho, please play close attention to your PDA as you answer so that we can record it properly,” Mr. Hughes said aloud.
Again the PDA displayed a message from Mr. Hughes: “You do not need to answer my verbal questions on the PDA, just give the appearance that you’re thinking about your answer. We must give the illusion that this is really an interrogation in case anyone is listening or watching. I need to talk with you Mr. U. You did something today which is out of order, and you were not punished. Do you know why?” U looked back down at his PDA in confusion, what did he mean “the illusion of an interrogation?” A quick bolt of panic spread through U. “This was not the way it was suppose to happen,” he said to himself.
“What is this?” U asked Mr. Hughes.
“Please Mr. U, use your PDA for all answers and comments so that we can properly record this interview.
U concentrated on his words: “I don’t understand what you’re talking about…what is this?”
“Good, I think that went through. Now, the next question is how was your relationship with Dr. Ortho before today?” Mr. Hughes said with a factual tone.
Another message appeared on U’s PDA: “I am a protector of the System, and it is my job to insure the integrity of it. The judgment of your action today presents a challenge to that integrity. We both know that you murdered a man, and that the punishment for murder is severe, yet the System allowed you to get away without any punishment at all. Don’t you find that a bit odd?” With a flooding pulse, U reread the message. “Maybe this man isn’t really a Blue Stripe,” he thought to himself, “No, that wouldn’t be possible, he would have to fool the System. But if he is a Blue Stripe, how can he question the judgment of the System?” U waited a moment before answering Mr. Hughes:
“Yes, I thought it was odd. I’ve just spent most of the day trying to understand why I wasn’t punished. But what I want to know is, who you are? You say you’re a Blue Stripe but you’re questioning the System. That makes no sense. I can’t figure out why the real Stripes aren’t swarming in to punish your doubt, but until they come, I won’t listen to your lies.” U believed little of what he said, but he couldn’t let Mr. Hughes’ words rest.
“Alright, that answer went through. I want to thank you for your trust and cooperation Mr. U, I assure you that these questions are for your protection. Now then, could you tell me how you felt about Dr. Ortho both personally and professionally?” Mr. Hughes’ verbal questions seemed like all the right ones. U wondered why he couldn’t just answer those questions and be punished.
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Fiction Short Stories Writing Science Fiction Christian Fiction Space
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