WHATPEOPLEARESAYINGABOUT

GHOSTSOFMYLIFE

AfterthebrillianceofCapitalistRealism,GhostsOfMyLifeconfirmsMarkFisher’sroleasourgreatestandmosttrustednavigatorofthesetimesoutofjoint,throughalltheirfrissonsandruptures,amongalltheirapparitionsandspectres,past,presentandfuture.DavidPeace,authoroftheRedRidingQuartetandRedorDead

MarkFisherreadsthecontemporaryworldlikenootheranalystofitsmiseriesandmadnessandmores.Heisdrivenbyangerbut,miraculously,heneverforgetstocelebrate,whenthatreactionisapposite.Ifindhisworkexhilarating,fascinating,deeplyengagingand,notleast,utterlyvital;thisworldwehavemadeforourselveswouldbealesserplacewithoutit.NiallGriffiths,authorofSheepshagger

Ghosts Of My Life confirms that Mark Fisher is our most penetrating explorer of theconnections between pop culture, politics, and personal life under the affective regime ofdigitalcapitalism.ThemostadmirablequalitiesofFisher’sworkareitslucidity,reflectingtheurgency of his commitment to communicating ideas; his high expectations of popular art’spowertochallenge,enlighten,andheal;andhisadamantrefusaltosettleforless.SimonReynolds,authorofRetromaniaandRipItUpandStartAgain

Amustreadformodernists,andforanyonewhomissesthefuture.Thisisthefirstbooktoreallymakesenseofthefogofideasthathavebeentaggedas“hauntology”.GhostsOfMyLifeisenjoyable,progressiveandexciting.BobStanley,authorofYeahYeahYeah:TheStoryofModernPopandmemberofSaintEtienne

PraiseforCapitalistRealism‘Let’s not beat around the bush: Fisher’s compulsively readable book is simply the bestdiagnosis of ourpredicament thatwehave!Through examples fromdaily life andpopularculture,butwithoutsacrificingtheoreticalstringency,heprovidesaruthlessportraitofourideological misery. Although the book is written from a radically Left perspective, Fisheroffers no easy solutions. Capitalist Realism is a sobering call for patient theoretical andpoliticalwork.Itenablesustobreathefreelyinourstickyatmosphere.’SlavojŽižek

‘What happened to our future? Mark Fisher is a master cultural diagnostician, and inCapitalistRealismhesurveysthesymptomsofourcurrentculturalmalaise.Weliveinaworldin which we have been told, again and again, that There Is No Alternative. The harshdemandsofthe‘just-in-time’marketplacehavedrainedusofallhopeandallbelief.LivinginanendlessEternalNow,wenolongerseemabletoimagineafuturethatmightbedifferentfromthepresent.Thisbookoffersabrilliantanalysisofthepervasivecynicisminwhichwe

seemtobemired,andevenholdsouttheprospectofanantidote.’StevenShaviro

‘Finally,ananalysisofcontemporarycapitalismthatcombinesrigorousculturalanalysiswithunflinching political critique. Illustrating the deleterious effects of “business ontology” oneducation and “market Stalinism” in public life, Fisher lays bare the new cultural logic ofcapital. A provocative and necessary read, especially for anyone wanting to talk seriouslyaboutthepoliticsofeducationtoday.’SarahAmsler

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CONTENTS

00:LostFutures‘TheSlowCancellationoftheFuture’GhostsOfMyLife

01:TheReturnofthe70sNoLongerthePleasures:JoyDivisionSmiley’sGame:Tinker,Tailor,Soldier,SpyThePastisanAlienPlanet:TheFirstandLastEpisodesofLifeonMars‘CantheWorldbeasSadasitSeems?’:DavidPeaceandhisAdaptersNowThen,NowThen:JimmySavileand‘the70sonTrial’

02:HauntologyLondonAftertheRave:BurialDowncastAngel:InterviewwithBurialSleevenotesforTheCaretaker’sTheoreticallyPureAnterogradeAmnesiaMemoryDisorder:InterviewwithTheCaretakerHomeiswheretheHauntIs:TheShining’sHauntologyHauntologicalBlues:LittleAxeNostalgiaforModernism:TheFocusGroupandBelburyPolyTheAcheofNostalgia:TheAdvisoryCircleSomeone Else’s Memories: Asher, Philip Jeck, Black To Comm, G.E.S., Position Normal,MordantMusic

‘OldSunlightFromOtherTimesandOtherLives’:JohnFoxx’sTinyColourMoviesElectricityandGhosts:InterviewwithJohnFoxxAnotherGreyWorld:Darkstar,JamesBlake,KanyeWest,Drakeand‘PartyHauntology’

03:TheStainofPlace‘AlwaysYearningForTheTimeThatJustEludedUs’–IntroductiontoLauraOldfieldFord’sSavageMessiah

Nomadalgia:TheJuniorBoys’SoThisisGoodbyeGreyArea:ChrisPetit’sContent

PostmodernAntiques:Patience(AfterSebald)TheLostUnconscious:ChristopherNolan’sInceptionHandsworthSongsandtheEnglishRiots‘TremorsofanImperceptibleFuture’:PatrickKeiller’sRobinsoninRuins

Formywife,Zöeandmyson,George

Mark Fisher is the author of Capitalist Realism: Is There No Alternative? (Zer0, 2009). Hiswriting has appeared in many publications, including Sight & Sound, The Wire, TheGuardian,FilmQuarterlyandfrieze.HeisProgrammeLeaderoftheMAinAuralandVisualCulturesatGoldsmiths,UniversityofLondon,andalecturerattheUniversityofEastLondon.HelivesinSuffolk.

Acknowledgements

ManyoftheideasinGhostsOfMyLifewerefirstauditionedonmyblog,k-punk.I’mgratefultothek-punkreaderswhorespondedtothe ideasthereandhelpedthemtopropagate. I’malso grateful to the publishers who kindly allowed me to reprint material in Ghosts, inparticularRobWinteratSight&SoundandTonyHerringtonatTheWire.Someofthepiecesthatoriginallyappearedelsewherehavebeenalteredforinclusionhere.Needlesstosay,allresponsibilityfortheeditsinGhostslieswithme.If IweretolisteveryonewhoinspiredorsupportedthewritingofGhostsOfMyLife, thebookwouldnevergetstarted,soIwillconcentrateonlyonthosewhoworkedcloselyonthemanuscript.Thanks,therefore,toTariqGoddardforhispatience,LiamSprodandAlexNivenfortheirattentivecopy-editingandproofreading,LauraOldfieldFordforallowingmetouseherdrawingstoillustratethetext,ChrisHeppellforthecoverphotograph,andRobWhiteforhiscustomarilyinsightfulandincisivecomments.

LatelyI’vebeenfeelinglikeGuyPearceinMemento-Drake

00:LOSTFUTURES

‘TheSlowCancellationoftheFuture’

‘There’snotimehere,notanymore’ThefinalimageoftheBritishtelevisionseriesSapphireandSteelseemeddesignedtohauntthe adolescent mind. The two lead characters, played by Joanna Lumley and DavidMcCallum,findthemselvesinwhatseemstobea1940sroadsidecafé.TheradioisplayingasimulationofGlennMiller-stylesmoothBigBandjazz.Anothercouple,amanandawomandressedin1940sclothes,aresittingatanadjacenttable.Thewomanrises,saying:‘Thisisthetrap. This is nowhere, and it’s forever.’ She and her companion then disappear, leavingspectral outlines, then nothingness. Sapphire and Steel panic. They rifle through the fewobjectsinthecafé,lookingforsomethingtheycanusetoescape.Thereisnothing,andwhentheypullbackthecurtains,thereisonlyablackstarryvoidbeyondthewindow.Thecafé,itseems,issomekindofcapsulefloatingindeepspace.Watching this extraordinary final sequence now, the juxtaposition of the café with thecosmos is likely to put inmind some combination of Edward Hopper and RenéMagritte.Neitherofthosereferenceswereavailabletomeatthetime;infact,whenIlaterencounteredHopperandMagritte,InodoubtthoughtofSapphireandSteel.ItwasAugust1982andIhadjustturned15yearsold.Itwouldbemorethan20yearslaterbeforeIwouldseetheseimagesagain.Bythen,thankstoVHS,DVDandYouTube,itseemedthatpracticallyeverythingwasavailableforre-watching.Inconditionsofdigitalrecall,lossisitselflost.Thepassageof30yearshasonlymadetheseriesappearevenstrangerthanitdidatthetime. This was science fiction with none of the traditional trappings of the genre, nospaceships,norayguns,noanthropomorphicfoes:onlytheunravelingfabricofthecorridorof time, alongwhichmalevolent entities would crawl, exploiting and expanding gaps andfissures in temporal continuity.Allwe knew about Sapphire and Steelwas that theywere‘detectives’ofapeculiarkind,probablynothuman,sentfromamysterious‘agency’torepairthese breaks in time. ‘The basis of Sapphire and Steel,’ the series’s creator P. J. Hammondexplained, ‘came from my desire to write a detective story, into which I wanted toincorporateTime.I’vealwaysbeeninterestedinTime,particularlytheideasofJ.B.PriestleyandH.G.Wells,butIwantedtotakeadifferentapproachtothesubject.SoinsteadofhavingthemgobackwardsandforwardsinTime,itwasaboutTimebreakingin,andhavingsettheprecedentIrealisedthepotentialthatitofferedwithtwopeoplewhosejobitwastostopthebreak-ins.’ (Steve O’Brien, ‘The Story Behind Sapphire & Steel’, The Fan Can,http://www.thefancan.com/fancandy/features/tvfeatures/steel.html)Hammondhadpreviouslyworkedasawriteronpolicedramas suchasTheGentleTouchandHunter’sWalkandonchildren’sfantasyshowslikeAceofWandsandDramarama.WithSapphireandSteel,heattainedakindofauteurship thathewouldnevermanage to repeat.The conditions for this kind of visionary public broadcasting would disappear during the1980s, as the Britishmedia became taken over bywhat another television auteur, DennisPotter,wouldcall the ‘occupyingpowers’ofneoliberalism.The resultof thatoccupation isthat it isnowhard tobelieve that suchaprogrammecouldeverhavebeen transmittedonprime-time television, still less on what was then Britain’s sole commercial network, ITV.Therewereonly three televisionchannels inBritain then:BBC1,BBC2and ITV;Channel4wouldmakeitsfirstbroadcastonlyafewmonthslater.

BycomparisonwiththeexpectationscreatedbyStarWars,SapphireandSteelcameoffasverycheapandcheerful.Evenin1982,thechroma-keyspecialeffectslookedunconvincing.Thefactthatthestagesetswereminimal,andthecastsmall(mostofthe‘assignments’onlyfeatured Lumley andMcCallum and a couple of others), gave the impression of a theatreproduction.Yettherewasnoneofthehomelinessofkitchensinknaturalism;SapphireandSteelhadmoreincommonwiththeenigmaticoppressivenessofHaroldPinter,whoseplayswerefrequentlybroadcastonBBCtelevisionduringthe1970s.Anumberof things about the series areparticularly striking from theperspectiveof the21stcentury.Thefirstisitsabsoluterefusalto‘meettheaudiencehalfway’inthewaythatwe’vecometoexpect.This ispartlyaconceptualmatter:SapphireandSteelwascryptic, itsstoriesanditsworldneverfullydisclosed,stilllessexplained.TheserieswasmuchclosertosomethingliketheBBC’sadaptationofJohnLeCarré’sSmileynovels–TinkerTailorSoldierSpyhadbeenbroadcastin1979;itssequelSmiley’sPeoplewouldbegintransmissionamonthafterSapphireandSteelended–thanitwastoStarWars.Itwasalsoaquestionofemotionaltenor: the series and its two lead characters are lacking in the warmth and wisecrackinghumourthatisnowsomuchataken-for-grantedfeatureofentertainmentmedia.McCallum’sSteel had a technician’s indifference towards the lives in which he became reluctantlyenmeshed; althoughhe never loses his sense of duty, he is testy and impatient, frequentlyexasperated by the way humans ‘clutter their lives’. If Lumley’s Sapphire appeared moresympathetic,therewasalwaysthesuspicionthatherapparentaffectiontowardshumanswassomethinglikeanowner’sbenignfascinationforherpets.Theemotionalausteritythathadcharacterised the series from the start assumes amore explicitly pessimistic quality in thisfinalassignment.TheLeCarréparallelsarereinforcedbythestrongsuspicionthat,justasinTinkerTailorSoldierSpy,theleadcharactershavebeenbetrayedbytheirownside.ThentherewasCyrilOrnadel’sincidentalmusic.AsNickEdwardsexplainedina2009blogpost,thiswas‘[a]rrangedforasmallensembleofmusicians(predominantlywoodwind)withliberaluseofelectronictreatments(ringmodulation,echo/delay)tointensifythedramaandsuggestion of horror, Ornadel’s cues are far more powerfully chilling and evocative thananything you’re likely hear in the mainstream media today.’ (‘Sapphire and Steel’,gutterbreakz.blogspot.co.uk/2009/05/sapphire-steel.html)OneaimofSapphireandSteelwas to transposeghost storiesoutof theVictoriancontextand into contemporary places, the still inhabited or the recently abandoned. In the finalassignment,SapphireandSteelarriveatasmallservicestation.Corporatelogos–Access,7Up, Castrol GTX, LV – are pasted on the windows and the walls of the garage and theadjoiningcafé.This ‘halfwayplace’ is aprototypeversionofwhat theanthropologistMarcAugéwill call in a 1995bookof the same title, ‘non-places’ – the generic zones of transit(retailparks,airports)whichwillcometoincreasinglydominatethespacesoflatecapitalism.Intruth,themodestservicestationinSapphireandSteelisquaintlyidiosyncraticcomparedtotheclonedgenericmonolithswhichwillproliferatebesidesmotorwaysoverthecoming30years.TheproblemthatSapphireandSteelhavecometosolveis,asever,todowithtime.Attheservicestation,thereistemporalbleed-throughfromearlierperiods:imagesandfiguresfrom1925and1948keepappearing,sothat,asSapphireandSteel’scolleagueSilverputsit‘timejustgotmixed,jumbledup,together,makingnosortofsense’.Anachronism,theslippageof

discretetimeperiodsintooneanother,wasthroughouttheseriesthemajorsymptomoftimebreaking down. In one of the earlier assignments, Steel complains that these temporalanomalies are triggered by human beings’ predilection for the mixing of artefacts fromdifferenteras. Inthis finalassignment, theanachronismhas ledtostasis: timehasstopped.The service station is in ‘a pocket, a vacuum’. There’s ‘still traffic, but it’s not goinganywhere’:thesoundofcarsislockedintoaloopeddrone.Silversays,‘thereisnotimehere,notanymore’.It’sasifthewholescenarioisaliteralisationofthelinesinPinter’sNoMan’sLand: ‘Noman’s land,whichnevermoves,whichnever changes,whichnevergrowsolder,whichremainsforevericyandsilent.’Hammondsaidthathehadnotnecessarilyintendedtheseries toend there.Hehad thought that itwouldberested, to returnat somepoint in thefuture.Therewouldbenoreturn–atleast,notonnetworktelevision.In2004,SapphireandSteelwould comeback for a series of audio adventures; thoughHammond,McCallumandLumleywerenot involved,andbythentheaudiencewasnotthetelevision-viewingpublic,butthekindofspecialinterestnicheeasilycateredforindigitalculture.Eternallysuspended,nevertobefreed, theirplight–andindeedtheirprovenance–nevertobefullyexplained,Sapphire and Steel’s internment in this café from nowhere is prophetic for a generalcondition:inwhichlifecontinues,buttimehassomehowstopped.

TheslowcancellationofthefutureItisthecontentionofthisbookthat21st-centurycultureismarkedbythesameanachronismandinertiawhichafflictedSapphireandSteelintheirfinaladventure.Butthisstasishasbeenburied, interred behind a superficial frenzy of ‘newness’, of perpetual movement. The‘jumblingupoftime’,themontagingofearliereras,hasceasedtobeworthyofcomment;itisnowsoprevalentthatisnolongerevennoticed.InhisbookAfterTheFuture,Franco‘Bifo’Berardireferstothe‘theslowcancellationofthe

future[that]gotunderwayinthe1970sand1980s.’‘ButwhenIsay“future”’,heelaborates,

I am not referring to the direction of time. I am thinking, rather, of the psychologicalperception,whichemergedintheculturalsituationofprogressivemodernity,theculturalexpectationsthatwerefabricatedduringthelongperiodofmoderncivilization,reachingapeak after the Second World War. These expectations were shaped in the conceptualframeworks of an ever progressing development, albeit through differentmethodologies:theHegel-MarxistmythologyofAufhebungandfoundingofthenewtotalityofCommunism;the bourgeois mythology of a linear development of welfare and democracy; thetechnocraticmythologyoftheall-encom-passingpowerofscientificknowledge;andsoon.Mygenerationgrewupatthepeakofthismythologicaltemporalization,andit isverydifficult,maybeimpossible,togetridofit,andlookatrealitywithoutthiskindoftemporallens.I’llneverbeabletoliveinaccordancewiththenewreality,nomatterhowevident,unmistakable, or even dazzling its social planetary trends. (After The Future, AK Books,2011,pp18-19)

Bifoisagenerationolderthanme,butheandIareonthesamesideofatemporalsplithere.I, too,will never be able to adjust to the paradoxes of this new situation. The immediate

temptationhereistofitwhatI’msayingintoawearilyfamiliarnarrative:itisamatteroftheoldfailingtocometotermswiththenew,sayingitwasbetterintheirday.Yetitisjustthispicture–withitsassumptionthattheyoungareautomaticallyattheleadingedgeofculturalchange–thatisnowoutofdate.Rather than the old recoiling from the ‘new’ in fear and incomprehension, thosewhose

expectations were formed in an earlier era are more likely to be startled by the sheerpersistenceof recognisable forms.Nowhere is this clearer than inpopularmusicculture. Itwas through themutationsofpopularmusic thatmanyof thoseofuswhogrewup in the1960s, 70s and 80s learned tomeasure the passage of cultural time. But facedwith 21st-centurymusic, it is the very sense of future shockwhich has disappeared. This is quicklyestablishedbyperformingasimplethoughtexperiment. Imagineanyrecordreleasedinthepastcoupleofyearsbeingbeamedback in time to, say,1995andplayedon theradio. It’shard to think that itwillproduceany jolt in the listeners.Onthecontrary,whatwouldbelikely to shock our 1995 audiencewould be the very recognisability of the sounds:wouldmusicreallyhavechangedsolittleinthenext17years?Contrastthiswiththerapidturnoverofstylesbetweenthe1960sandthe90s:playajunglerecordfrom1993tosomeonein1989and itwould have sounded like something so new that itwould have challenged them torethinkwhatmusicwas,orcouldbe.While20th-centuryexperimentalculturewasseizedbyarecombinatorialdelirium,whichmadeitfeelasifnewnesswasinfinitelyavailable,the21stcentury isoppressedbyacrushingsenseof finitudeandexhaustion. Itdoesn’t feel like thefuture. Or, alternatively, it doesn’t feel as if the 21st century has started yet. We remaintrapped in the20thcentury, just asSapphireandSteelwere incarcerated in their roadsidecafé.Theslowcancellationof the futurehasbeenaccompaniedbyadeflationofexpectations.

Therecanbefewwhobelievethatinthecomingyeararecordasgreatas,say,theStooges’FunhouseorSlyStone’sThere’saRiotGoin’Onwill be released. Still lessdoweexpect thekindofrupturesbroughtaboutbyTheBeatlesordisco.Thefeelingofbelatedness,oflivingafter thegoldrush, isasomnipresentas it isdisavowed.Compare the fallowterrainof thecurrentmomentwith the fecundityofpreviousperiodsandyouwillquicklybeaccusedof‘nostalgia’.Buttherelianceofcurrentartistsonstylesthatwereestablishedlongagosuggeststhatthecurrentmomentisinthegripofaformalnostalgia,ofwhichmoreshortly.Itisnotthatnothinghappenedintheperiodwhentheslowcancellationofthefutureset

in.Onthecontrary,those30yearshavebeenatimeofmassive,traumaticchange.IntheUK,theelectionofMargaretThatcherhadbroughttoanendtheuneasycompromisesoftheso-calledpostwarsocialconsensus.Thatcher’sneoliberalprogrammeinpoliticswasreinforcedby a transnational restructuring of the capitalist economy. The shift into so-called Post-Fordism –with globalisation, ubiquitous computerisation and the casualisation of labour –resultedinacompletetransformationinthewaythatworkandleisurewereorganised.Inthelast10to15years,meanwhile,theinternetandmobiletelecommunicationstechnologyhavealteredthetextureofeverydayexperiencebeyondallrecognition.Yet,perhapsbecauseofallthis, there’s an increasing sense that culturehas lost theability tograspandarticulate thepresent.Or it couldbe that, in onevery important sense, there is nopresent to grasp andarticulateanymore.Considerthefateoftheconceptof‘futuristic’music.The‘futuristic’inmusichaslongsince

ceasedtorefertoanyfuturethatweexpecttobedifferent;ithasbecomeanestablishedstyle,muchlikeaparticulartypographicalfont.Invitedtothinkofthefuturistic,wewillstillcomeupwithsomethinglikethemusicofKraftwerk,eventhoughthisisnowasantiqueasGlennMiller’sbigbandjazzwaswhentheGermangroupbeganexperimentingwithsynthesizersintheearly1970s.Where is the 21st-century equivalent of Kraftwerk? If Kraftwerk’s music came out of acasual intolerance of the already-established, then the present moment is marked by itsextraordinaryaccommodationtowardsthepast.Morethanthat,theverydistinctionbetweenpastandpresentisbreakingdown.In1981,the1960sseemedmuchfurtherawaythantheydo today. Since then, cultural time has folded back on itself, and the impression of lineardevelopmenthasgivenwaytoastrangesimultaneity.Twoexampleswillsufficetointroducethispeculiartemporality.WhenIfirstsawthevideofor theArcticMonkeys’ 2005 single ‘I Bet You LookGood on theDancefloor’, I genuinelybelievedthatitwassomelostartifactfromcirca1980.Everythinginthevideo–thelighting,the haircuts, the clothes – had been assembled to give the impression that this was aperformanceonBBC2’s‘seriousrockshow’TheOldGreyWhistleTest.Furthermore,therewasnodiscordancebetweenthelookandthesound.At leasttoacasual listen,thiscouldquiteeasilyhavebeenapostpunkgroupfromtheearly1980s.Certainly,ifoneperformsaversionof thethoughtexperiment Idescribedabove, it’seasyto imagine ‘IBetYouLookGoodOnTheDancefloor’beingbroadcastonTheOldGreyWhistleTestin1980,andproducingnosenseofdisorientationintheaudience.Likeme,theymighthaveimaginedthatthereferencesto‘1984’inthelyricsreferredtothefuture.Thereoughttobesomethingastonishingaboutthis.Countback25yearsfrom1980,andyouareatthebeginningofrockandroll.ArecordthatsoundedlikeBuddyHollyorElvisin1980wouldhave soundedoutof time.Of course, such recordswere released in1980,buttheyweremarketedasretro.IftheArcticMonkeysweren’tpositionedasa‘retro’group,itispartlybecause,by2005,therewasno‘now’withwhichtocontrasttheirretrospection.Inthe1990s,itwaspossibletoholdsomethinglikeBritpoprevivalismtoaccountbycomparingittotheexperimentalismhappeningontheUKdanceundergroundorinUSR&B.By2005,theratesof innovationinboththeseareashadenormouslyslackened.UKdancemusicremainsmuchmorevibrantthanrock,butthechangesthathappentherearetiny,incremental,anddetectable largely onlyby initiates – there is noneof thedislocationof sensation that youheard in theshift fromRave toJungleand fromJungle toGarage in the1990s.As Iwritethis,oneofthedominantsoundsinpop(theglobalisedclubmusicthathassupplantedR&B)resemblesnothingmorethanEurotrance,aparticularlyblandEuropean1990scocktailmadefromsomeofthemostflavourlesscomponentsofHouseandTechno.Secondexample.IfirstheardAmyWinehouse’sversionof‘Valerie’whilewalkingthroughashoppingmall,perhaps theperfectvenue forconsuming it.Upuntil then, Ihadbelievedthat‘Valerie’wasfirstrecordedbyindieplodderstheZutons.But,foramoment,therecord’santiqued1960ssoulsoundandthevocal(whichonacasuallistenIdidn’tatfirstrecogniseasWinehouse)mademe temporarily revise thisbelief: surely theZutons’ versionof the trackwasacoverof thisapparently ‘older’ track,which Ihadnothearduntilnow?Naturally, itdidn’t takeme long to realise that the ‘60s soul sound’wasactuallya simulation; thiswasindeedacoveroftheZutons’track,doneinthesouped-upretrostyleinwhichtherecord’s

producer,MarkRonson,hasspecialised.Ronson’sproductionsmighthavebeendesignedtoillustratewhatFredricJamesoncalledthe‘nostalgiamode’.Jamesonidentifiesthistendencyinhisremarkablyprescientwritingsonpostmodernism,beginninginthe1980s.Whatmakes‘Valerie’andtheArcticMonkeystypicalof postmodern retro is the way in which they perform anachronism. While they aresufficiently‘historical’–soundingtopassonfirstlistenasbelongingtotheperiodwhichtheyape–thereissomethingnotquiterightaboutthem.Discrepanciesintexture–theresultsofmodernstudioandrecordingtechniques–meanthattheybelongneithertothepresentnortothepastbuttosomeimplied‘timeless’era,aneternal1960soraneternal80s.The‘classic’sound,itselementsnowserenelyliberatedfromthepressuresofhistoricalbecoming,cannowbeperiodicallybuffedupbynewtechnology.It is important tobeclearaboutwhatJamesonmeansby the ‘nostalgiamode’.He isnotreferring to psychological nostalgia – indeed, the nostalgia mode as Jameson theorises itmightbesaidtoprecludepsychologicalnostalgia,sinceitarisesonlywhenacoherentsenseof historical time breaks down. The kind of figure capable of exhibiting and expressing ayearningforthepastbelongs,actually,toaparadigmaticallymodernistmoment–think,forinstance, of Proust’s and Joyce’s ingenious exercises in recovering lost time. Jameson’snostalgiamode isbetterunderstood in termsofa formal attachment to the techniques andformulasofthepast,aconsequenceofaretreatfromthemodernistchallengeofinnovatingcultural forms adequate to contemporary experience. Jameson’s example is LawrenceKasdan’snowhalf-forgottenfilmBodyHeat(1981),which,althoughitwasofficiallysetinthe1980s,feelsasifitbelongstothe30s.‘BodyHeatistechnicallynotanostalgiafilm,’Jamesonwrites,

sinceittakesplaceinacontemporarysetting,inalittleFloridavillagenearMiami.Ontheother hand, this technical contemporaneity is most ambiguous indeed…Technically,…itsobjects(itscars, for instance)are1980sproducts,buteverythinginthefilmconspirestoblurthatimmediatecontemporaryreferenceandtomakeitpossibletoreceivethistooasnostalgiawork–asanarrativesetinsomeindefinablenostalgicpast,aneternal1930s,say,beyondhistory.Itseemstomeexceedinglysymptomatictofindtheverystyleofnostalgiafilmsinvadingandcolonizingeventhosemoviestodaywhichhavecontemporarysettings,asthough,forsomereason,wewereunabletodaytofocusourownpresent,asthoughwehad become incapable of achieving aesthetic representations of our own currentexperience.Butifthatisso,thenitisaterribleindictmentofconsumercapitalismitself–or,attheveryleast,analarmingandpathologicalsymptomofasocietythathasbecomeincapableofdealingwithtimeandhistory.(‘PostmodernismandConsumerSociety’inTheCulturalTurn:SelectedWritingsonthePostmodern,1983-1998,Verso,1998,pp9-10.)

WhatblocksBodyHeatfrombeingaperiodpieceoranostalgiapictureinanystraightforwardwayisitsdisavowalofanyexplicitreferencetothepast.Theresultisanachronism,andtheparadox is that this ‘blurring of official contemporaneity’, this ‘waning of historicity’ isincreasinglytypicalofourexperienceofculturalproducts.AnotherofJameson’sexamplesofthenostalgiamodeisStarWars:

oneof themost importantculturalexperiencesof thegenerations thatgrewup fromthe1930s to the 1950s was the Saturday afternoon series of the Buck Rogers type – alienvillains,trueAmericanheroes,heroinesindistress,thedeathrayorthedoomsdaybox,andthecliff-hangerat theendwhosemiraculous solutionwas tobewitnessednextSaturdayafternoon.StarWarsreinventsthisexperienceintheformofapastiche;thereisnopointtoaparodyofsuchseries,sincetheyarelongextinct.Farfrombeingapointlesssatireofsuchdeadforms,StarWarssatisfiesadeep(mightIevensayrepressed?)longingtoexperiencethemagain:itisacomplexobjectinwhichonsomefirstlevelchildrenandadolescentscantake theadventures straight,while theadultpublic is able togratifyadeeperandmoreproperlynostalgicdesiretoreturntothatolderperiodandtoliveitsstrangeoldaestheticartefactsthroughonceagain.(‘PostmodernismandConsumerSociety’,p8)

Thereisnonostalgiaforahistoricalperiodhere(orifthereis,itisonlyindirect):thelongingof which Jameson writes is a yearning for a form. Star Wars is a particularly resonantexampleofpostmodernanachronism,becauseofthewayitusedtechnologytoobfuscateitsarchaicform.Belyingitsoriginsinthesefustyadventureseriesforms,StarWarscouldappearnewbecauseitsthenunprecedentedspecialeffectsrelieduponthelatesttechnology.If,inaparadigmaticallymodernistway,Kraftwerkusedtechnologytoallownewformstoemerge,the nostalgiamode subordinated technology to the task of refurbishing the old. The effectwastodisguisethedisappearanceofthefutureasitsopposite.Thefuturedidn’tdisappearovernight.Berardi’sphrase‘theslowcancellationofthefuture’is so apt because it captures the gradual yet relentless way in which the future has beenerodedover the last 30 years. If the late 1970s and early80swere themomentwhen thecurrentcrisisofculturaltemporalitycouldfirstbefelt,itwasonlyduringthefirstdecadeofthe 21st century that what Simon Reynolds calls ‘dyschronia’ has become endemic. Thisdyschronia,thistemporaldisjuncture,oughttofeeluncanny,yetthepredominanceofwhatReynoldscalls‘retro-mania’meansthatithaslostanyunheimlichcharge:anachronismisnowtakenforgranted.Jameson’spostmodernism–withitstendenciestowardsretrospectionandpastiche – has been naturalised. Take someone like the stupendously successful Adele:althoughhermusicisnotmarketedasretro,thereisnothingthatmarksoutherrecordsasbelongingtothe21stcenturyeither.Likesomuchcontemporaryculturalproduction,Adele’srecordingsaresaturatedwithavaguebutpersistentfeelingofthepastwithoutrecallinganyspecifichistoricalmoment.Jameson equates the postmodern ‘waning of historicity’ with the ‘cultural logic of latecapitalism’, but he says little about why the two are synonymous.Why did the arrival ofneoliberal,post-Fordistcapitalismleadtoacultureofretrospectionandpastiche?Perhapswecanventureacoupleofprovisionalconjectureshere.Thefirstconcernsconsumption.Coulditbe that neoliberal capitalism’s destruction of solidarity and security brought about acompensatoryhungeringforthewell-establishedandthefamiliar?PaulViriliohaswrittenofa ‘polar inertia’ that isakindofeffectofandcounterweight tothemassivespeedingupofcommunication.Virilio’sexampleisHowardHughes, livinginonehotelroomfor15years,endlessly rewatching Ice Station Zebra. Hughes, once a pioneer in aeronautics, became anearlyexplorerof theexistential terrain that cyberspacewillopenup,where it isno longernecessarytophysicallymoveinordertoaccessthewholehistoryofculture.Or,asBerardi

hasargued,theintensityandprecariousnessoflatecapitalistworkcultureleavespeopleinastate where they are simultaneously exhausted and overstimulated. The combination ofprecarious work and digital communications leads to a besieging of attention. In thisinsomniac, inundated state, Berardi claims, culture becomes de-eroticised. The art ofseductiontakestoomuchtime,and,accordingtoBerardi,somethinglikeViagraanswersnottoabiologicalbut toaculturaldeficit:desperatelyshortof time,energyandattention,wedemandquickfixes.LikeanotherofBerardi’sexamples,pornography,retrooffersthequickandeasypromiseofaminimalvariationonanalreadyfamiliarsatisfaction.The other explanation for the link between late capitalism and retrospection centres onproduction. Despite all its rhetoric of novelty and innovation, neoliberal capitalism hasgraduallybutsystematicallydeprivedartistsoftheresourcesnecessarytoproducethenew.IntheUK,thepostwarwelfarestateandhighereducationmaintenancegrantsconstitutedanindirectsourceoffundingformostoftheexperimentsinpopularculturebetweenthe1960sand the80s.The subsequent ideological andpractical attackonpublic servicesmeant thatoneof the spaceswhereartists couldbe sheltered from thepressure toproduce somethingthatwas immediatelysuccessfulwasseverelycircumscribed.Aspublic servicebroadcastingbecame ‘marketised’, therewasan increased tendency to turnoutculturalproductions thatresembled what was already successful. The result of all of this is that the social timeavailableforwithdrawingfromworkandimmersingoneselfinculturalproductiondrasticallydeclined.Ifthere’sonefactoraboveallelsewhichcontributestoculturalconservatism,itisthevastinflationinthecostofrentandmortgages.It’snoaccidentthattheefflorescenceofculturalinventioninLondonandNewYorkinthelate1970sandearly80s(inthepunkandpostpunk scenes) coincided with the availability of squatted and cheap property in thosecities.Sincethen,thedeclineofsocialhousing,theattacksonsquatting,andthedeliriousrisein property prices have meant that the amount of time and energy available for culturalproduction has massively diminished. But perhaps it was only with the arrival of digitalcommunicativecapitalismthatthisreachedterminalcrisispoint.Naturally,thebesiegingofattentiondescribedbyBerardiappliestoproducersasmuchasconsumers.Producingthenewdependsuponcertainkindsofwithdrawal–from,forinstance,socialityasmuchasfrompre-existingculturalforms–butthecurrentlydominantformofsociallynetworkedcyberspace,with its endlessopportunities formicro-contact and itsdelugeofYouTube links,hasmadewithdrawalmoredifficultthaneverbefore.Or,asSimonReynoldssopithilyputit,inrecentyears,everydaylifehasspedup,butculturehassloweddown.No matter what the causes for this temporal pathology are, it is clear that no area ofWesternculture is immune from them.The former redoubtsof futurism, suchaselectronicmusic, no longer offer escape from formal nostalgia. Music culture is in many waysparadigmaticofthefateofcultureunderpost-Fordistcapitalism.Atthelevelofform,musicis locked into pastiche and repetition. But its infrastructure has been subject to massive,unpredictable change: the old paradigms of consumption, retail and distribution aredisintegrating,withdownloadingeclipsingthephysicalobject,recordshopsclosingandcoverartdisappearing.

Whyhauntology?Whathastheconceptofhauntologytodowithallthis?Itwasinfactwithsomereluctance

thathauntologystartedtobeappliedtotheelectronicmusicofthemiddleofthelastdecade.I’dgenerallyfoundJacquesDerrida,theinventoroftheterm,afrustratingthinker.Assoonasitwasestablishedincertainareasoftheacademy,deconstruction,thephilosophicalprojectwhichDerrida founded, installed itself as apious cultof indeterminacy,whichat itsworstmade a lawyerly virtue of avoiding any definitive claim. Deconstruction was a kind ofpathologyofscepticism,whichinducedhedging,infirmityofpurposeandcompulsorydoubtin its followers. It elevated particular modes of academic practice – Heidegger’s priestlyopacity, literary theory’s emphasis on the ultimate instability of any interpretation – intoquasi-theological imperatives. Derrida’s circumlocutions seemed like a disintensifyinginfluence.It’s by nomeans irrelevant to point out here thatmy first encounterwith Derrida tookplaceinwhatisnowavanishedmilieu.ItcameinthepagesoftheNewMusicalExpressinthe1980s, where Derrida’s name would be mentioned by the most exciting writers. (And,actually, part of my frustration with Derrida’s work came out of disappointment. TheenthusiasmofNMEwriterslikeIanPenmanandMarkSinkerforDerrida,andtheformalandconceptual inventiveness it seemed toprovoke in theirwriting, createdexpectationswhichDerrida’sownworkcouldn’tmeetwhenIeventuallycametoreadit.)It’shardtobelievethisnow but, along with public service broadcasting, the NME constituted a kind ofsupplementary-informal education system, in which theory acquired a strange, lustrousglamour.IhadalsoseenDerridainKenMcMullen’sfilmGhostDance,shownlateatnightonChannel4intheearlydaysofthenetwork,atatimebeforewehadaVCR,whenIhadtoresorttowashingmyfacewithcoldwatertotrytokeepmyselfawake.Derridacoinedtheterm‘hauntology’inhisSpectersofMarx:TheStateoftheDebt,theWorkof Mourning and the New International. ‘To haunt does not mean to be present, and it isnecessarytointroducehauntingintotheveryconstructionofaconcept,’hewrote.(JacquesDerrida,SpectersofMarx:TheStateoftheDebt,theWorkofMourningandtheNewInternational,Routledge, 1994, p202) Hauntology was this concept, or puncept. The pun was on thephilosophical concept of ontology, the philosophical study of what can be said to exist.Hauntology was the successor to previous concepts of Derrida’s such as the trace anddifférance; like thoseearlier terms, it referred to theway inwhichnothingenjoysapurelypositive existence. Everything that exists is possible only on the basis of awhole series ofabsences, which precede and surround it, allowing it to possess such consistency andintelligibility that it does. In the famous example, any particular linguistic term gains itsmeaningnotfromitsownpositivequalitiesbutfromitsdifferencefromotherterms.HenceDerrida’s ingenious deconstructions of the ‘metaphysics of presence’ and ‘phonocentrism’,which expose the way in which particular dominant forms of thought had (incoherently)privilegedthevoiceoverwriting.Buthauntologyexplicitlybringsintoplaythequestionoftimeinawaythathadnotquitebeenthecasewiththetraceordifférance.OneoftherepeatedphrasesinSpectersofMarxisfromHamlet,‘thetimeisoutofjoint’andinhisrecentRadicalAtheism:DerridaandtheTimeofLife,MartinHägglundarguesthat it ispossibletoseeallofDerrida’sworkinrelationtothis concept of broken time. ‘Derrida’s aim,’ Hägglund argues, ‘is to formulate a general‘hauntology’(hantologie),incontrasttothetraditional‘ontology’thatthinksbeingintermsofself-identical presence. What is important about the figure of the specter, then, is that it

cannotbefullypresent:ithasnobeinginitselfbutmarksarelationtowhatisnolongerornotyet’(RadicalAtheism:DerridaandtheTimeofLife,StanfordUniversityPress,2008,p82)Is hauntology, then, some attempt to revive the supernatural, or is it just a figure ofspeech?Thewayoutofthisunhelpfuloppositionistothinkofhauntologyastheagencyofthevirtual, with the spectre understood not as anything supernatural, but as that which actswithout (physically) existing. The great thinkers ofmodernity, Freud aswell asMarx, haddiscovereddifferentmodesof this spectralcausality.The latecapitalistworld,governedbythe abstractions of finance, is very clearly a world in which virtualities are effective, andperhapsthemostominous‘spectreofMarx’iscapitalitself.ButasDerridaunderlinesinhisinterviewsintheGhostDancefilm,psychoanalysisisalsoa‘scienceofghosts’,astudyofhowreverberanteventsinthepsychebecomerevenants.Referring back to Hägglund’s distinction between the no longer and the not yet, we canprovisionally distinguish two directions in hauntology. The first refers to thatwhich is (inactualityis)nolonger,butwhichremainseffectiveasavirtuality(thetraumatic‘compulsiontorepeat’,afatalpattern).Thesecondsenseofhauntologyreferstothatwhich(inactuality)has not yet happened, but which is already effective in the virtual (an attractor, ananticipation shapingcurrentbehaviour).The ‘spectreof communism’ thatMarxandEngelshadwarned of in the first lines of theCommunistManifesto was just this kind of ghost: avirtualitywhose threatened comingwasalreadyplayingapart inundermining thepresentstateofthings.In addition to being another moment in Derrida’s own philosophical project ofdeconstruction,SpectersofMarxwasalsoaspecificengagementwiththeimmediatehistoricalcontextprovidedbythedisintegrationoftheSovietempire.Orrather,itwasanengagementwiththeallegeddisappearanceofhistorytrumpetedbyFrancisFukuyamainhisTheEndofHistory and the Last Man. What would happen now that actually existing socialism hadcollapsed, and capitalism could assume full spectrum dominance, its claims to globaldominionwerethwartednotanylongerbytheexistenceofawholeotherbloc,butbysmallislandsofresistancesuchasCubaandNorthKorea?TheeraofwhatIhavecalled‘capitalistrealism’–thewidespreadbeliefthatthereisnoalternativetocapitalism–hasbeenhauntednot by the apparition of the spectre of communism, but by its disappearance. As Derridawrote:

Thereistodayintheworldadominantdiscourse…Thisdominatingdiscourseoftenhasthemanic, jubilatory, and incantatory form that Freud assigned to the so-called triumphantphase ofmourningwork. The incantation repeats and ritualizes itself, it holds forth andholds to formulas, like any animistic magic. To the rhythm of a cadenced march, itproclaims:Marx isdead, communism isdead,verydead,andalongwith it itshopes, itsdiscourse,itstheories,anditspractices.Itsays:longlivecapitalism,longlivethemarket,here’stothesurvivalofeconomicandpoliticalliberalism!(SpectersofMarx,p64)

Specters of Marx was also a series of speculations about the media (or post-media)technologies thatcapitalhad installedon itsnowglobal territory. In thissense,hauntologywasbynomeanssomethingrarefied;itwasendemicinthetimeof‘techno-tele-discursivity,techno-tele-iconicity’ ‘simulacra’ and ‘synthetic images’. This discussion of the ‘tele-’ shows

that hauntology concerns a crisis of space aswell as time.As theorists such asVirilio andJeanBaudrillardhadlongacknowledged–andSpectersofMarxcanalsobereadasDerridasettling his accountwith these thinkers – ‘tele-technologies’ collapse both space and time.Events that are spatially distant become available to an audience instantaneously. NeitherBaudrillard nor Derridawould live to see the full effects – no doubt I should say the fulleffects so far – of the ‘tele-technology’ that hasmost radically contracted space and time,cyberspace. But here we have a first reason why the concept of hauntology should havebecomeattachedtopopularcultureinthefirstdecadeofthe21stcentury.Foritwasatthismomentwhencyberspaceenjoyedunprecedenteddominionover thereception,distributionandconsumptionofculture–especiallymusicculture.Whenitwasappliedtomusicculture–inmyownwriting,andinthatofothercriticssuchas Simon Reynolds and Joseph Stannard – hauntology first of all named a confluence ofartists.Thewordconfluence is crucialhere.For theseartists –WilliamBasinski, theGhostBoxlabel,TheCaretaker,Burial,MordantMusic,PhilipJeck,amongstothers–hadconvergedona certain terrainwithout actually influencingone another.What they sharedwasnot asoundsomuchasasensibility,anexistentialorientation.Theartiststhatcametobelabelledhauntologicalweresuffusedwithanoverwhelmingmelancholy;andtheywerepreoccupiedwiththewayinwhichtechnologymaterialisedmemory–henceafascinationwithtelevision,vinyl records, audiotape, and with the sounds of these technologies breaking down. Thisfixation on materialised memory led to what is perhaps the principal sonic signature ofhauntology:theuseofcrackle,thesurfacenoisemadebyvinyl.Cracklemakesusawarethatwe are listening to a time that is out of joint; itwon’t allowus to fall into the illusion ofpresence.Itreversesthenormalorderoflisteningaccordingtowhich,asIanPenmanputit,wearehabituatedtothe ‘re’ofrecordingbeingrepressed.Wearen’tonlymadeawarethatthesoundswearehearingarerecorded,wearealsomadeconsciousoftheplaybacksystemsweusetoaccesstherecordings.Andhoveringbehindmuchsonichauntologyisthedifferencebetweenanalogueanddigital: somanyhauntological trackshavebeenabout revisiting thephysicalityofanaloguemediaintheeraofdigitalether.MP3filesremainmaterial,ofcourse,but their materiality is occulted from us, by contrast with the tactile materiality of vinylrecordsandevencompactdiscs.Nodoubtayearning for thisolder regimeofmaterialityplaysapart in themelancholiathatsaturateshauntologicalmusic.Astothedeepercausesofthismelancholia,weneedlooknofurtherthanthetitleofLeylandKirby’salbum:Sadly,TheFutureIsNoLongerWhatItWas.In hauntological music there is an implicit acknowledgement that the hopes created bypostwarelectronicaorbytheeuphoricdancemusicofthe1990shaveevaporated–notonlyhas the future not arrived, it no longer seems possible. Yet at the same time, the musicconstitutesarefusaltogiveuponthedesireforthefuture.Thisrefusalgivesthemelancholiaapoliticaldimension,becauseitamountstoafailuretoaccommodatetotheclosedhorizonsofcapitalistrealism.

NotgivinguptheghostInFreud’sterms,bothmourningandmelancholiaareaboutloss.Butwhereasmourningistheslow, painful withdrawal of libido from the lost object, in melancholia, libido remainsattachedtowhathasdisappeared.Formourningtoproperlybegin,DerridasaysinSpectersof

Marx,thedeadmustbeconjuredaway:‘theconjurationhastomakesurethatthedeadwillnotcomeback:quick,dowhateverisneededtokeepthecadaverlocalised,inasafeplace,decomposingrightwhereitwasinhumed,orevenembalmedastheylikedtodoinMoscow’(SpectersofMarx,p120)Buttherearethosewhorefusetoallowthebodytobeinterred,justasthereisadangerof(over)killingsomethingtosuchanextentthatitbecomesaspectre,apurevirtuality.‘Capitalistsocieties,’Derridawrites,‘canalwaysheaveasighofreliefandsaytothemselves:communismisfinished,butitdidnottakeplace,itwasonlyaghost.Theydonomore thandisavow theundeniable itself: aghostneverdies, it remainsalways tocomeandtocome-back.’(SpectersofMarx,p123)Haunting,then,canbeconstruedasafailedmourning.Itisaboutrefusingtogiveuptheghostor–andthiscansometimesamounttothesamething–therefusaloftheghosttogiveuponus.Thespectrewillnotallowustosettleinto/forthemediocresatisfactionsonecangleaninaworldgovernedbycapitalistrealism.What’satstakein21stcenturyhauntologyisnotthedisappearanceofaparticularobject.Whathasvanishedisatendency,avirtualtrajectory.Onenameforthistendencyispopularmodernism. The cultural ecology that I referred to above – themusic press and themorechallengingpartsofpublicservicebroadcasting–werepartofaUKpopularmodernism,aswere postpunk, brutalist architecture, Penguin paperbacks and the BBC RadiophonicWorkshop. In popular modernism, the elitist project of modernism was retrospectivelyvindicated.Atthesametime,popularculturedefinitivelyestablishedthatitdidnothavetobe populist. Particular modernist techniques were not only disseminated but collectivelyreworkedandextended,justasthemodernisttaskofproducingformswhichwereadequatetothepresentmomentwastakenupandrenewed.Whichistosaythat,althoughofcourseIdidn’t realise it at the time, the culture which shapedmost ofmy early expectations wasessentiallypopularmodernist,andthewritingthathasbeencollectedinGhostsOfMyLifeisaboutcomingtotermswiththedisappearanceoftheconditionswhichallowedittoexist.It’sworthpausingamomentheretodistinguishthehaunto-logicalmelancholiaI’mtalkingabout from two other kinds of melancholia. The first is what Wendy Brown calls ‘leftmelancholy’.Onthefaceofit,whatI’vesaidrisksbeingheardasakindofleftistmelancholicresignation:although theyweren’t perfect, the institutions of social democracyweremuch betterthananythingwecanhopefornow,perhapsthebestwecaneverhopefor…Inheressay‘ResistingLeft Melancholy’, Brown attacks ‘a Left that operates without either a deep and radicalcritique of the status quo or a compelling alternative to the existing order of things. Butperhapsevenmoretroubling,itisaLeftthathasbecomemoreattachedtoitsimpossibilitythantoitspotentialfruitfulness,aLeftthatismostathomedwellingnotinhopefulnessbutin its ownmarginality and failure, a Left that is thus caught in a structure ofmelancholicattachmenttoacertainstrainofitsowndeadpast,whosespiritisghostly,whosestructureofdesire is backward looking and punishing.’ (Wendy Brown, ‘Resisting Left Melancholy’,boundary 2 26:3, 1999, p26). Yetmuch ofwhatmakes themelancholy Brown analyses soperniciousisitsdisavowedquality.Brown’sleftmelancholicisadepressivewhobelievesheis realistic; someone who no longer has any expectation that his desire for radicaltransformation could be achieved, butwho doesn’t recognise that he has given up. In herdiscussionofBrown’sessay inTheCommunistHorizon, JodiDean refers toLacan’s formula:‘theonlythingonecanbeguiltyofisgivinggroundrelativetoone’sdesire’andtheshiftthat

Browndescribes–fromaleftthatconfidentlyassumedthefuturebelongedtoit,toaleftthatmakesavirtueof itsown incapacity toact– seems toexemplify the transition fromdesire(whichinLacaniantermsisthedesiretodesire)todrive(anenjoymentthroughfailure).ThekindofmelancholiaI’mtalkingabout,bycontrast,consistsnotingivingupondesirebutinrefusingtoyield.Itconsists,thatistosay, inarefusaltoadjusttowhatcurrentconditionscall ‘reality’ – even if the cost of that refusal is that you feel like an outcast in your owntime…ThesecondkindofmelancholiathathauntologicalmelancholiamustbedistinguishedfromiswhatPaulGilroycalls‘postcolonialmelancholia’.Gilroydefinesthismelancholiaintermsofanavoidance;itisaboutevading‘thepainfulobligationstoworkthroughthegrimdetailsof imperial and colonial history and to transform paralyzing guilt into amore productiveshamethatwouldbeconducivetothebuildingofamulticulturalnationalitythatisnolongerphobic about the prospect of exposure to either strangers or otherness.’ (Paul Gilroy,PostcolonialMelancholia,ColumbiaUniversityPress,2005,p99) It comesoutof a ‘lossof afantasy of omnipotence’. Like Brown’s leftmelancholy, then, postcolonialmelancholia is adisavowed formofmelancholia: its ‘signaturecombination’,Gilroywrites, is thatof ‘manicelation with misery, self-loathing, and ambivalence.’ (Postcolonial Melancholia, p104) Thepostcolonialmelancholicdoesn’t (just) refuse toacceptchange;at some level,herefuses toaccept that change has happened at all. He incoherently holds on to the fantasy ofomnipotence by experiencing change only as decline and failure, forwhich, naturally, theimmigrant other must be blamed (the incoherence here is obvious: if the postcolonialmelancholicwere reallyomnipotent,howcouldhebeharmedby the immigrant?).At firstsight, it might be possible to see hauntological melancholia as a variant of postcolonialmelancholia:anotherexampleofwhiteboywhingeingoverlostprivileges…Yetthiswouldbetograspwhathasbeenlostonlyinthetermsoftheworstkindofresentmentressentiment,orin terms of what AlexWilliams has called negative solidarity, in whichwe are invited tocelebrate, not an increase in liberation, but the fact that another group has now beenimmiserated; and this is especially sad when the group in question was predominantlyworkingclass.

Nostalgiacomparedtowhat?This raises the question of nostalgia again: is hauntology, as many of its critics havemaintained, simply a name for nostalgia? Is it about pining for social democracy and itsinstitutions?GiventheubiquityoftheformalnostalgiaIdescribedabove,thequestionhastobe,nostalgiacomparedtowhat?Itseemsstrangetohavetoarguethatcomparingthepresentunfavourablywiththepastisnotautomaticallynostalgicinanyculpableway,butsuchisthepowerofthedehistoricisingpressuresofpopulismandPRthattheclaimhastobeexplicitlymade.PRandpopulismpropagate the relativistic illusion that intensityand innovationareequallydistributedthroughoutallculturalperiods.Itisthetendencytofalselyoverestimatethepastthatmakesnostalgiaegregious:but,oneofthelessonsofAndyBeckett’shistoryofBritain in the 1970s, When The Lights Went Out is that, in many ways, we falselyunderestimateaperiodlikethe70s–Beckettineffectshowsthatcapitalistrealismwasbuilton a myth-monstering of the decade. Conversely, we are induced by ubiquitous PR intofalselyoverestimatingthepresent,andthosewhocan’trememberthepastarecondemnedto

haveitresoldtothemforever.Ifthe1970swereinmanyrespectsbetterthanneoliberalismwantsustorememberthem,wemustalsorecognisetheextenttowhichthecapitalistdystopiaof21st-centurycultureisnot something that was simply imposed on us – it was built out of our captured desires.‘AlmosteverythingIwasafraidofhappeningoverthepast30yearshashappened,’JeremyGilberthasobserved. ‘Everythingmypoliticalmentorswarnedmighthappen,sinceIwasaboygrowinguponapoorcouncilestate(that’sahousingproject,ifyou’reAmerican)intheNorth of England in the early 80s, or a high–school student reading denunciations ofThatcherism in the leftpressa fewyears later,has turnedout justasbadlyas they said itwould.AndyetIdon’twishIwasliving40yearsago.Thepointseemstobe:thisistheworldwewereallafraidof;butit’salsosortoftheworldwewanted.’(JeremyGilbert,‘Movingonfrom the Market Society: Culture (and Cultural Studies) in a Post-Democratic Age’,http://www.opendemocracy.net/ourkingdom/jeremy-gilbert/moving-on-from-market-society-culture-and-cultural-studies-in-post-democra)Butweshouldn’thavetochoosebetween,say,theinternetandsocialsecurity.Onewayofthinkingabouthauntologyisthatitslostfuturesdonotforcesuchfalsechoices;instead,whathauntsisthespectreofaworldinwhichallthemarvels of communicative technology could be combinedwith a sense of solidaritymuchstrongerthananythingsocialdemocracycouldmuster.Popularmodernismwasbynomeansacompletedproject,somepristinezeniththatneededno further improvement. In the 1970s, certainly, culture was opened up to working-classinventivenessinawaythatisnowscarcelyimaginabletous;butthiswasalsoatimewhencasualracism,sexismandhomophobiawereroutinefeaturesofthemainstream.Needlesstosay,thestrugglesagainstracismand(hetero)sexismhavenotinthemeantimebeenwon,butthey have made significant hegemonic advances, even as neoliberalism has corroded thesocial democratic infrastructure which allowed increased working class participation inculturalproduction.Thedisarticulationofclass fromrace,genderandsexualityhas in factbeen central to the success of the neoliberal project – making it seem, grotesquely, as ifneoliberalismwere in somewayapreconditionof thegainsmade in anti-racist, anti-sexistandanti-heterosexiststruggles.Whatisbeinglongedforinhauntologyisnotaparticularperiod,buttheresumptionoftheprocesses of democratisation and pluralism for which Gilroy calls. Perhaps it’s useful toremind ourselves here that social democracy has only become a resolved totality inretrospect; at the time, it was a compromise formation, which those on the left saw as atemporarybridgeheadfromwhichfurthergainscouldbewon.Whatshouldhauntusisnotthenolongerofactuallyexistingsocialdemocracy,butthenotyetofthefuturesthatpopularmodernismtrainedustoexpect,butwhichnevermaterialised.Thesespectres–thespectresoflostfutures–reproachtheformalnostalgiaofthecapitalistrealistworld.Musicculturewascentraltotheprojectionofthefutureswhichhavebeenlost.Thetermmusic culture is crucial here, because it is the culture constellated aroundmusic (fashion,discourse,coverart) thathasbeenas importantas themusic itself inconjuringseductivelyunfamiliarworlds.Thedestrangingofmusiccultureinthe21stcentury–theghastlyreturnofindustry moguls and boys next door to mainstream pop; the premium put on ‘reality’ inpopularentertainment;theincreasedtendencyofthoseinmusicculturetodressandlooklikedigitallyandsurgicallyenhancedversionsofregularfolk;theemphasisplacedongymnastic

emoting in singing – has played a major role in conditioning us to accept consumercapitalism’smodelofordinariness.MichaelHardtandAntonioNegriarerightwhentheysaythat the revolutionary take on race, gender and sexuality struggles goes far beyond thedemand that different identities be recognised. Ultimately, it is about the dismantling ofidentity.The ‘revolutionaryprocessof theabolitionof identity,weshouldkeep inmind, ismonstrous, violent, and traumatic. Don’t try to save yourself—in fact, your self has, to besacrificed!Thisdoesnotmeanthatliberationcastsusintoanindifferentseawithnoobjectsofidentification,butrathertheexistingidentitieswillnolongerserveasanchors.’(MichaelHardtandAntonioNegri,Commonwealth,HarvardUniversityPress,2011,p339)WhileHardtandNegriarecorrecttowarnofthetraumaticdimensionsofthistransformation,astheyarealsoaware, italsohas its joyfulaspects.Throughoutthe20thcentury,musicculturewasaprobe that played amajor role in preparing the population to enjoy a future that was nolongerwhite,maleorheterosexual,afutureinwhichtherelinquishingofidentitiesthatwereinanycasepoorfictionswouldbeablessedrelief.Inthe21stcentury,bycontrast–andthefusionofpopwithrealityTVisabsolutelyindicativeofthis–popularmusicculturehasbeenreducedtobeingamirrorhelduptolatecapitalistsubjectivity.By now, it should already be very clear that there are different senses of the wordhauntology at play inGhosts Of My Life. There is the specific sense in which it has beenapplied to music culture, and a more general sense, where it refers to persistences,repetitions,prefigurations.Therearealsomoreorlessbenignversionsofhauntology.GhostsOfMyLifewillmoveamongstthesedifferentusesoftheterm.Thebookisabouttheghostsofmylife,sothereisnecessarilyapersonaldimensiontowhatfollows. Yetmy take on the old phrase ‘the personal is political’ has been to look for the(cultural,structural,political)conditionsofsubjectivity.Themostproductivewayofreadingthe‘personalispolitical’istointerpretitassaying:thepersonalisimpersonal.It’smiserableforanyoneatalltobethemselves(stillmore,tobeforcedtosellthemselves).Culture,andtheanalysisofculture,isvaluableinsofarasitallowsanescapefromourselves.Suchinsightshavebeenhardwon.Depressionisthemostmalignspectrethathasdoggedmylife–andIusethetermdepressiontodistinguishthedrearysolipsismoftheconditionfrom the more lyrical (and collective) desolations of haunto-logical melancholia. I startedbloggingin2003whilststillinsuchastateofdepressionthatIfoundeverydaylifescarcelybearable.Someofthesewritingswerepartoftheworkingthroughofthecondition,andit’sno accident that my (so far successful) escape from depression coincided with a certainexternalisation of negativity: the problemwasn’t (just)me but the culture aroundme. It’scleartomethatnowtheperiodfromroughly2003tothepresentwillberecognised–notinthe far distant future, but very soon – as theworst period for (popular) culture since the1950s.To say that theculturewasdesolate isnot to say that thereweren’t tracesofotherpossibilities.GhostsOfMyLifeisanattempttoengagewithsomeofthesetraces.

GhostsOfMyLife:Goldie,Japan,Tricky

Itmusthavebeen1994whenIfirstsawRufigeKru’s‘GhostsOfMyLife’ontheshelvesofahighstreetrecordstore.Thefour-trackEPhadbeenreleasedin1993,butthiswasatime–before internet hype and online discographies – when the traces of the underground tooklongertosurface.TheEPwasaprimeexampleofdarksideJungle.JunglewasamomentinwhatSimonReynoldswouldcometocall the ‘hardcorecontinuum’: theseriesofmutationsontheBritishdancemusicundergroundtriggeredbytheintroductionofthebreakbeatintoRave,passingfromhardcoreRaveintoJungle,SpeedGarage,2-step.I’llalwayspreferthenameJungletothemorepallidandmisleadingtermdrumandbass,becausemuchoftheallureofthegenrecamefromthefactthatnodrumsorbassguitarwereplayed. Instead of simulating the already-existing qualities of ‘real’ instruments, digitaltechnologywasexploitedtoproducesoundsthathadnopre-existingcorrelates.Thefunctionoftimestretching–whichallowedthetimesignatureofasoundtobechanged,without itspitch being altered – transformed sampled breakbeats into rhythms that no human couldplay. Producers would also use the strange metallic excrescence that was produced whensamplesweresloweddownandthesoftwarehadtofillinthegaps.Theresultwasanabstractrush thatmadechemicalsallbut redundant:acceleratingourmetabolisms,heighteningourexpectations,reconstructingournervoussystems.ItisalsoworthholdingontothenameJunglebecauseitevokesaterrain:theurbanJungle,orrathertheundersideofametropolisthatwasjustintheprocessofbeingdigitalised.Ithassometimesseemedasiftheuseoftheword‘urban’isapolitesynonymfor‘black’music.Yetit’spossibletohear‘urban’,notassomedisavowalofrace,butasaninvocationofthepowersof cosmopolitan conviviality. At the same time, however, Jungle was by no means anunequivocalcelebrationoftheurban.IfJunglecelebratedanything,itwasthelureofthedark.Jungleliberatedthesuppressedlibidointhedystopianimpulse,releasingandamplifyingthejouissancethatcomesfromanticipatingtheannihilationofallcurrentcertainties.AsKodwoEshunargued,inJungletherewasalibidinisationofanxietyitself,atransformationoffightandflightimpulsesintoenjoyment.Thiswasdeeplyambivalent:atonelevel,whatwewerehearingherewasakindofsonicfictional intensification and extrapolationof theneoliberalworld’s destructionof solidarityand security.Nostalgia for the familiarity of smalltown lifewas rejected in Jungle, but itsdigitalcitywasdevoidofthecomfortofstrangers:no-onecouldbetrustedhere.Jungletookmany of its cues from the Hobbesian scenarios of 1980s films such as Blade Runner,Terminator andPredator 2. It’s no accident that all three of these films are about hunting.Jungle’sworldwasoneinwhichentities–humanaswellasnonhuman–stalkedeachotherfor sport aswell as for sustenance.Yetdarkside Junglewasabout the thrill of the chased,aboutthevideogameeuphoria–anxietyofeludingruthlesspredators,asmuchasitwasabouttheexhilarationofrunningpreytoground.Atanotherlevel,darksideJungleprojectedtheveryfuturethatcapitalcanonlydisavow.Capitalcanneveropenlyadmitthatitisasystembasedoninhumanrapacity;theTerminatorcanneverremoveitshumanmask.Junglenotonlyrippedthemaskoff,itactivelyidentifiedwiththeinorganiccircuitrybeneath:hencetheandroid/death’sheadthatRufigeKruusedastheir logo. The paradoxical identification with death, and the equation of death with the

inhuman futurewasmore than a cheap nihilist gesture. At a certain point, the unrelievednegativityofthedystopiandrivetripsoverintoaperverselyutopiangesture,andannihilationbecomestheconditionoftheradicallynew.Iwasapostgraduatestudentin1994,andIdidn’thaveeitherthenerveorthemoneytohangaroundspecialistrecordshopstopickupallthelatestreleases.SoIwouldaccessJungletracksinmuchthesamefitfulwaythatIhadfollowedAmericancomicsinthe70s.Iwouldpick themupwhere andwhen I could, usually onCD compilations issued long after theirdubplatefreshnesshadcooled.Forthemostpart,itwasimpossibletoimposeanynarrativeonJungle’srelentlessflow.Fittinglyforasoundthatwassodepersonalisedanddehumanised,thenamesoftheactstendedtobecrypticcyberpunktags,disconnectedfromanybiographyorplace.Junglewasbestenjoyedasananonymouselectro-libidinalcurrentthatseemedtopass through producers, as a series of affects and FX that were de-linked from authors. Itsounded like someaudiounlife form, a ferocious, feral artificial intelligence thathadbeenunwittingly called up in the studio, the breakbeats like genetically-augmented houndsstrainingtobefreeoftheleash.RufigeKruwereoneofthefewJungleactsaboutwhichIknewalittle.BecauseofSimonReynolds’evangelicalpiecesonJungleinthenowlong-defunctMelodyMaker,IwasawarethatRufigeKruwasoneofthealiasesusedbyGoldie,who,almostuniquelyintheanonymityoftheJunglescene,wasalreadybecomingarecognisableface.Iftherewastobeafaceforthisfacelessmusic,thenGoldie–amixedraceformergraffitiartistwithgoldteeth–wasastrong candidate.Goldiewas formed by hip-hop culture, but irrevocably altered byRave’scollective delirium. His career became a parable for a whole series of impasses. Thetemptation for any producer emerging from the scenius of the hardcore continuum wasalwaystorenouncetheessentiallycollectivenatureoftheconditionsofproduction.Itwasatemptation that Goldie was unable to resist, but, tellingly, his records declined the verymomenthestoppedusingimpersonal,collectivenamesforhisprojects,andstartedreleasingthemunder the (albeit assumed) nameGoldie.His first album,Timeless, smoothed out theanorganicanglesofJunglewiththeuseofanalogueinstrumentsandanalarmingjazz-funktastefulness.Goldiebecameaminorcelebrity,tookapartintheBBCsoapoperaEastEnders,andonly in2008releasedthekindofalbumthatRufigeKrushouldhaveputout15yearsbefore.Thelessonwasclear:urbanBritishartistscanonlybesuccessfuliftheydepartfromthescenius,iftheyleavebehindthecollective.The first records Goldie and his collaborators released under the names Rufige Kru andMetalheadswerestillhighonRave’scarnybuzz.1992’s ‘Terminator’wasthemostepochal:jittery with excitable rave stabs, its phased and timestretched beats suggested aberrant,impossiblegeometries,whileitsvocalsamples–fromLindaHamiltoninTerminator–talkedoftimeparadoxesandfatalstrategies.Therecordsoundedlikeacommentaryonitself:asifthetemporalanomaliesthatHamiltondescribed–‘you’retalkingaboutthingsthatIhaven’tdoneyetinthepasttense’–weremadephysicalinthevertiginouslyimplodingsound.AsRufigeKruprogressedtheirsoundbecamesleeker.Wheretheearlyrecordsputoneinmindofanassemblageofdismemberedorgansthathadbeencrudelystitchedtogether,thelater releases more closely resembled mutants that had been genetically engineered. Theunruly and volatileRave elements had gradually drained away, to be replaced by texturesthatwerestarker,moodier.Thetitles–‘DarkRider’, ‘Fury’, ‘Manslaughter’–toldtheirown

story.Asyou listened,you felt likeyouwerebeingpursued throughanear-futurebrutalistarcade.Vocalsampleswerecutback,andbecamemoresubduedandominous.‘Manslaughter’featuresoneofthemostelectrifyinglinesfromBladeRunner’sroguereplicantRoyBatty: ‘IfonlyyoucouldseewhatI’veseen,throughyoureyes’–theperfectsloganforJungle’snewmutants,engineeredbystreetsciencetohaveheightenedsensesbutashorterlifespan.IboughtanyRufigeKrurecordthatIcameupon,but‘GhostsOfMyLife’broughtaspecial

tingleofintriguebecauseofitstitle,withitssuggestionofJapan’s1981artpopmasterpiece,‘Ghosts’. When I played the ‘Ghosts Of My Life’ 12’, I quickly realised with a shiver ofexhilaration that the pitched down voice repeating the title phrase did indeed belong toJapan’sDavidSylvian.But thiswasn’t theonly traceof ‘Ghosts’.After someatonalwashesandtwitchybreakbeats,thetracklurchedtoasuddenhalt,and–inamomentthatstilltakesmybreathawaywhenI listentoitnow–abriefsnatchofthespidery,abstractelectronicsinstantlyrecognizablefromtheJapanrecordleaptintothechasm,beforebeingimmediatelyconsumedbyviscousbassoozeandthesyntheticscreechesthatwerethesonicsignaturesofdarksideJungle.Timehadfoldedinonitself.Oneofmyearliestpopfixationshadreturned,vindicated,in

anunexpectedcontext.Early80sNewRomantic synthpop, reviledandridiculed inBritain,butreveredinthedancemusicscenesofDetroit,NewYorkandChicago,wasfinallycominghometoroostintheUKunderground.KodwoEshun,thenatworkonhisMoreBrilliantthantheSun:AdventuresinSonicFiction,wouldarguethatsynthpopplayedthesamefoundingroleforTechno,hip-hopandJungleasdeltabluesdidforrock,anditwasasifadisavowedpartof myself – a ghost from another part of my life – was being recovered, although in apermanentlyalteredform.

‘JustwhenIthinkI’mwinning’In1982,Itaped‘Ghosts’fromtheradioandchain-listenedtoit:pressingplay,rewindingthecassette,repeating. ‘Ghosts’ isarecordwhich,evennow,compelsyoutokeepreplaying it.Partly, that’s because of theway the record teemswith detail: you never feel you’ve fullygraspeditall.NothingelsethatJapanrecordedwaslike‘Ghosts’.Itasananomaly,notonlybecauseofits

seemingconfessionalism,exceptionalintheworkofagroupwhichfavouredaestheticposesoveremotionalexpression,butalsobecauseofitsarrangement,itstexture.ElsewhereonTinDrum – the1981album fromwhich ‘Ghosts’ came– Japanhaddevelopedaplastic ethno-funk,where electronics flitted through the elasticated rhythmicarchitecture createdby thebass and drums. On ‘Ghosts’, however, there are no drums and no bassline. There is onlypercussion that sounds likemetallicvertebraebeinggentlystruck,andasuiteof soundssoausterelysyntheticthattheycouldhavecomefromStockhausen.‘Ghosts’beginswithchimesthatmakeyoufeellikeyouareinsidesomemetallicclock.The

airischarged,anelectricalfieldthroughwhichunintelligibleradio-wavechitteringspass.Atthe same time, the track is pervaded by an immense stillness, a poise.Watch the group’sextraordinaryliveperformanceof‘Ghosts’ontheOldGreyWhistleTest.Theylookasiftheyaretendingtheirinstrumentsratherthanplayingthem.OnlySylvianappearsanimated,andthenit’sonlyhisface,half-hiddenbytheheavyfringe,

thatmoves.Themanneredangstofhisvocal sitsoddlywith theelectronicausterityof the

music.Itssenseofenervatedforebodingisbrokenbytheonlytraceofmelodramainthesong–thesynthstabswhich,simulatingthekindofstringsyou’dhearonamoviethriller-score,cueinthechorus.‘JustwhenIthinkI’mwin-ning/whenI’vebrokeneverydoor/theghostsofmylife/blowwild-er/thanthewin-d’…What, exactly, are the ghosts that haunt Sylvian? The song derivesmuch of its potency

fromdecliningtoanswer,fromitslackofspecificity:wecanfillintheblankswithourownspectres. What’s clear is that it isn’t external contingencies which ruin his wellbeing.Somethingfromhispast–somethinghewantstohaveleftbehind–keepsreturning.Hecan’tleave it behind because he carries it with him. Is he anticipating the destruction of hishappiness, or has the destruction already happened? The present tense – or rather thehesitation between past and present tense – creates an ambiguity, suggesting a fatalisticeternity,acompulsiontorepeat–acompulsionthatmightbeaself-fulfillingprophecy.Theghostsreturnbecausehefearstheywill…It’shardnottohear‘Ghosts’asareflectionofsortsonJapan’scareeruptothatpoint.The

groupwas theculminationofacertainEnglish takeonartpopthatbeganwithBowieandRoxy in the early 70s. They came from Beckenham, Catford, Lewisham the unglamorousconurbation where Kent joins South London – the same suburban hinterland from whichDavidBowie,Billy IdolandSiouxsieSiouxhadcome.AswithmostEnglishartpop,Japanfoundtheirenvironmentonlyanegativeinspiration,somethingtoescapefrom.‘Therewasaconsciousdriveawayfromeverythingthatchildhoodrepresented,’Sylvianhasremarked.Popwastheportaloutoftheprosaic.Musicwasonlypartofit.Artpopwasafinishingschoolforworkingclassautodidacts,where,byfollowingupthecluesleftbehindbyearlierpioneers–the allusions secreted in lyrics, in track titles or in interview references – you could learnabout things that weren’t on the formal curriculum for working class youth: fine art,Europeancinema,avant-gardeliterature…Changingyournamewasthefirststep,andSylvianhadtradedhisgivenname(Batt)foronethatreferredtoSylvainSylvainfromtheNewYorkDolls,thegroupwhosestyleJapanhadbegunbyimitating.By the time of ‘Ghosts’, all of the ersatz Amerikan swagger of this Dolls phase is long

forgotten,andSylvianhaslongsinceperfectedhisplasticmass-producedcopyofBryanFerry.InhisanalysisofBryanFerry’svoice,IanPenmanarguesthatitspeculiarqualitycamefroman only partly successful attempt to get his Geordie accent to forge a classic, timelessEnglishness.Sylvian’ssingingvoiceisthefakingofafake.ThealmostwhinnyingqualityofFerry’sangstisretained,buttransposedintoapurestylingdevoidofemotionalcontent.Itisculture(d),notnaturalatall;prissy,ultra-affected,and,forthatveryreason,strangelylackingin affect. It couldn’t contrast more with Sylvian’s speaking voice at the time – awkward,tentative, stronglybearingall the tracesofclassandSouthLondonwhichhissingingvoicehadsoughttoremove.‘Sonsofpioneers/arehungrymen.’‘Ghosts’ was paralysed by very English anxieties: you could imagine Pip from Great

Expectationssingingit.InEngland,workingclassescapeisalwayshauntedbythepossibilitythatyouwillbefoundout,thatyourrootsareshowing.Youwon’tknowsomecrucialruleofetiquette that you should. Youwill pronounce somethingwrongly –mispronunciation is aconstantsourceofanxietyfortheautodidact,becausebooksdon’tnecessarilytellyouhowtosaywords.Is‘Ghosts’themomentwhenartpopconfrontsthisfear–thatclasswillout,thatone’sbackgroundcanneverbetranscended,thattherudespectresofLewishamwillreturnno

matterhowfarEastyoutravel?Japan had pursued art pop into a sheer superficiality, which exceeded even theirinspirations in its depthless aestheticism. Tin Drum, the 1981 album from which ‘Ghosts’came,wasartpopasBarthespop,aconspicuousplayingwithsignsfortheirownseductivesake.Thealbumcoverimmediatelydrewyouintotheirheavilyconfectedworld:Sylvian,hisheavily sprayed, peroxided fringe falling artfully over his Trevor Horn specs, sits in asimulationofasimpleChinesedwelling,chopsticksinhand,asaMaoposterpeelsfromthewall behind him. Everything is posed, every Sign selectedwith a fetishistic fastidiousness.Checkthewayhiseyeshadowgiveshiseyelidsanalmostopiatedheaviness–but,atthesametime,everythingissopainfullyfragile;hisfaceaNoh-mask,anemicallyultra-white,hisbodyposture ragdoll drained. Here he is, one of the last glam princes, and perhaps the mostmagnificent–hisfaceandbodyrareanddelicateworksofart,notextrinsicto,orlesserthan,themusic,but formingan integralcomponentof theoverallconcept.All–social,political,cultural–meaningseemstobedrainedfromthesereferences.WhenSylviansings‘RedArmyneeds you’ on the closing track, ‘Cantonese Boy’, it is in the same spirit of semioticorientalism:theChineseandJapaneseEmpiresofsignsarereducedtoimages,exploitedandcovetedfortheirfrission.BythetimeofTinDrum,JapanhaveperfectedtheirtransitionfromNewYorkDolls-trash-hounds togentlemenconnoisseurs, fromworkingclassBeckenhamyouth intocosmopolitanmen about town. (Or they’ve achieved as much as is possible: ‘Ghosts’ suggests that thetransitionwillneverbesosuccessfulastoeliminateanxiety:themoreyou’vedisguisedyourbackground, the more it will hurt when it is exposed.) Tin Drum’s superficiality is thesuperficiality of the (glossy) photograph, the group’s detachment that of thephotographer.Images are decontextualised, then re-assembled to form an ‘Oriental’ panorama that isstrangelyabstract:aFarEastassurrealistnovelistRaymondRousselmighthavereimaginedit.LikeFerry,SylvianremainsSubjectaswellasObject:notonlythefrozenImage,butalsohe who assembles images, not in any pathological, Peeping Tom sense, but in a coollydetachedway. The detachment, naturally, is a performance, concealing anxiety even as itsublimates it. The words are little labyrinths, enigmas with no possible solution – theappearanceofenigmas,perhaps–false-frontedfolliesdecoratedwithChineseandJapanesemotifs.Sylvian’svoicebelongstothismasquerade.Evenon‘Ghosts’,Sylvian’svoicedoesnotasktobetakenatfacevalue.Itisnotavoicethatreveals,orevenpretendstoreveal,itisavoicetohide behind, just like the make-up, the conspicuously-worn sino-signs. It’s not only thefixationongeographythatmakesSylvianseemlikeatourist,anoutsideobservereveninhisown‘inner’life.Hisvoiceseemstocomeentirelyfromhishead,barelyfromhisbodyatall.And after this? Japanwould fall apart,whileDuranDuranwere alreadymore thanhalfwaytowardstakingalumpenversionofJapan’sschtickintosuperstardom.ForSylvian,therewas a pursuit of ‘authenticity’, which was connoted by two things: the turn away fromrhythmandtheembracingof‘real’instruments.Thewipingawayofthecosmetics,thequestforMeaning, the discovery of a Real Self. Yet, until 2003’sBlemish, Sylvian’s solo recordsseemedasiftheywerestrainingtowardsanemotionalauthenticitythathisvoicecouldneverquitedeliver,onlynowtheylackedthealibiofaestheticism.TinDrumwasJapan’sfinalstudioalbum,butitwasalsooneofthelastmomentsinEnglish

artpop.Onefuturehadquietlydied,butotherswouldsurface.

‘Youreyesresemblemine…’AfragmentofJapan’s‘Ghosts’washedup14yearslater,onTricky’sfirstsingle,‘Aftermath’.Hereitwasn’tsampled,butcited,byTricky’smentor,fellowBristolianMarkStewart.Inthebackgroundof the track’s loping-shantyrhythms,youcanhearStewart speak-sing the lines‘justwhenIthoughtIwaswinning,justwhenIthoughtIcouldnotbestopped…‘TheuseoftheJapanreferenceandthepresenceofStewart–amajorfigureinBristolpostpunksincehistimewithThePopGroupinthe1970s–werealreadypowerfulcluesthatTricky’spositioningas a ‘trip-hop’ artistwas reductive andmisleading. Too often, the label trip-hopwould beapplied towhatwas ineffectablackmusicwith the ‘blackness’mutedorexcised(hip-hopwithout rap).The ‘trip’ inTricky’smusichad less todowithpsychedelics andmore todowiththefuggyindolenceofmarijuana.ButTrickypursuedganjainertiawellbeyondstonerlassitude into a visionary condition, inwhich rap’s aggression and braggadocioweren’t somuchremovedasrefractedintheheathazeofadreamy,hydroponichumidity.Onthefaceofit,Tricky’sra(s)pcouldbeheardastheBritishanswertohip-hop,but,onamoresubterraneanlevel,whathewasalsotakingupandrenewingwerestrandsinpostpunkandartpop.TrickycountspostpunkactslikeBlondie,TheBanshees,TheCure(‘thelastgreatpopband,Ithink’,hesays)ashisprecursors.It’snotassimpleasopposingthislineagetothesoul,funkanddubreferenceswhichweresoobviousinTricky’searliestmusic.Postpunkandartpophadalreadydrawnsubstantiallyupon funkanddub. ‘Igrewup inawhiteghetto,’TrickysaidwhenIinterviewedhimin2008.‘MyDad’sJamaican,mygrandmotheriswhite.When Iwasgrowingup, till Iwas about16, everythingwasnormal.When Imoved to anethnic ghetto, I had friends there andmy friendswould say, “Why do you hang outwiththoseskinheadguys,thewhiteguys?”andmyskinheadfriendswerelike,“Whyyouhangingoutwith thoseblackguys?” Icouldn’tget it, Icouldn’tunderstand it. Icouldalwaysgo tobothworlds,Icouldgotoareggaeclubandthenawhiteclubandnotevennoticeitbecausemyfamilyisalldifferentcolours,differentshades.SoatChristmas,yougotawhiteperson,blackperson,African lookingperson,Asian lookingperson…wedidn’tnotice it,my familyare colour blind. But all of a sudden things started moving around, learning bad habits,peoplewhisperingtoyou,like,“Whyyouhangingaroundwiththosewhiteguys?”ThesearekidsIgrewupwithsincefiveyearsold,theguysIgrewupwithsaying“whyyouhangingoutwiththoseblackguys?”ThenIseeTheSpecialsonTV, thesewhiteandblackguysgettingtogether.’TrickyappearedattheverymomentwhenthereactionarypantomimeofBritpop–arockwhich had whitewashed out contemporary black influences – was moving towardsdominance.Thephonyface-offbetweenBlurandOasiswhichpreoccupiedthemediawasadistraction from the real fault lines in Britishmusic culture at the time. The conflict thatreallymatteredwasbetweenamusicwhichacknowledgedandacceleratedwhatwasnewinthe90s–technology,culturalpluralism,genreinnovations–andamusicwhichtookrefugeinamonoculturalversionofBritishness:a swaggeringwhiteboy rockbuiltalmostentirelyout of forms thatwere established in the 1960s and 1970s. Thiswas amusic designed toreassureanxiouswhitemales at amomentwhen all of the certainties they had previouslycountedon–inwork,sexualrelations,ethnicidentity–werecomingunderpressure.Aswe

nowknow,Britpopwouldwinthestruggle.TrickywouldslinkawaytobecometheheraldofafutureforBritishmusicthatnevermaterialised.(ArapprochementofsortsbetweenTrickyandBritpopwas–thank-fully–missed.Blur’sDamonAlbarnwassupposedtoguestonthealbum Tricky recorded under the name Nearly God – alongside The Specials’ Terry Hall,amongstmanyothers–butthetrackthatthepairrecordedtogetherwasremovedfromthealbumbeforeitwasreleased.)WhenMaxinquayewasreleasedin1995,Trickywasimmediatelyanointedasthevoiceofamute, depoliticised generation, the wounded prophet who absorbed and transmitted adecade’spsychicpollution.Theextentof thisadulationcanbegaugedby theoriginof thenameNearlyGod:aGermanjournalisthadaskedhim‘what’sitliketobeGod?Well,nearlyGod?’Insteadoftakinguphisassignedroleastheimpoftheperversein90smainstreampop,though,Trickysidledoffintothesidelines,ahalf-forgottenfigure.Somuchso,thatwhenheappearedasaguestatBeyoncé’s2011Glastonburyperformance,itprovokedagaspofshock–asif,foramoment,we’dstumbledintosomealternativerealitywhereTrickywaswherehedeservedtobe,aglamorousgargoyleontheedificeof21stcenturypop.All-too-symbolically,however,Tricky’smicrophonedidn’tseemtobeswitchedon,andhecouldbarelybeheard.‘OnMaxinquaye,’ Ian Penman wrote in his landmark March 1995 essay for The Wiremagazine, ‘Tricky sounds likeghosts fromanother solar system’.The spectralityofTricky’smusic, the way it refused to step up or represent, the way it slurred between lucidity andinarticulacy,made for a sharp contrast with themulticoloured brashness of what Penmancalled ‘theFace- cover/TalkinLoud/JazzieBnexusofgroovyOneWorldvibery’.What’s sosignificant about the version of multiculturalism that Tricky and Goldie proffered was itsrefusalofearnestnessandworthiness.Theirswasnotamusicthatpetitionedforinclusioninany kind of ordinariness. Instead, it revelled in its otherworld- liness, its science-fictionalglamour.Likeartpop’sfirstpioneer,Bowie,itwasaboutidentificationwiththealien,wherethealienstoodinforthetechnologicallynewandthecognitivelystrange–andultimatelyforformsofsocialrelationsthatwereasyetonlyfaintlyimaginable.Bowiewasbynomeansthefirsttomakethisidentification:lovingthealienwasagesturethatself-mytholo-gizingblackmagi – Kodwo Eshun’s ‘sonic fictional’ canon of Lee Perry, George Clinton, Sun Ra – hadmadelongbeforeBowiefirstdidit.Identifyingwiththealien–notsomuchspeakingforthealien as letting the alien speak through you –waswhat gave 20th century popularmusicmuchof itspoliticalcharge.Identificationwiththealienmeantthepossibilityofanescapefromidentity,intoothersubjectivities,otherworlds.Therewasalso identificationwiththeandroid. ‘Aftermath’ includesasampleofdialoguefromBladeRunner: ‘I’ll tellyouaboutmymother’, theanti-Oedipal taunt that thereplicantLeon throwsathis interrogator-tormentorbeforekillinghim. ‘Is itmerely coincidence thattheSylvianquoteandtheBladeRunnerliftconvergeinthesamesong?’,Penmanasks.

‘Ghosts’…Replicants?Electricityhasmadeusallangels.Technology(frompsycho-analysistosurveillance)hasmadeusallghosts.Thereplicant(‘YOUREYESRESEMBLEMINE…‘)isa speakingvoid.The scary thing about ‘Aftermath’ is that it suggests thatnowadaysWEALLARE.Speakingvoids,madeuponlyof scrapsandcitations…contaminatedbyotherpeople’smemories…adrift…

WhenImetTrickyin2008,hereferredunbiddentothelinefrom‘Aftermath’thatPenmanpicksuponhere.’Myfirstlyriceveronasongwas‘youreyesresemblemine,you’llseeasnootherscan’.Ineverhadanykidsthen,sowhatamItalkingabout?WhoamItalkingabout?[My daughter] Maisie wasn’t born. My mother used to write poetry but in her time shecouldn’t have done anything with that, there wasn’t any opportunity. It’s almost like shekilledherselftogivemetheopportunity,mylyrics,IcanneverunderstandwhyIwriteasafemale;IthinkI’vegotmyMum’stalent,I’mhervehicle.SoIneedawomantosingthat.’Hauntology,then,telepathy,thepersistenceofthenolonger…Youdon’thavetobelieveinthesupernaturaltorecognisethatthefamilyisahauntedstructure,anOverlookHotelfullofpresentiments anduncanny repetitions, something that speaks aheadofus, insteadof us…From the start – like all of us – Trickywas haunted, and the crepitational-texture of 21stcenturyhauntologywasalreadybeingauditionedonTricky’searliestrecordings.WhenIfirstheardBurialadecadelater,IwouldimmediatelyreachforTricky’sfirstalbumMaxinquayeasapointofcomparison. Itwasn’tonly theuseofvinylcrackle, somucha signatureofbothMaxinquayeandBurial,thatsuggestedtheaffinity.Itwasalsotheprevailingmood,thewaysuffocatingsadnessandmumblingmelancholybledintolovelorneroticismanddreamspeech.Bothrecordsfeellikeemotionalstatestransformedintolandscapes,butwhereBurial’smusicconjuresurban scenesunderBladeRunnerperma-drizzle,Maxinquaye feels as if it is takingplace in a desert as delirial and Daliesque as the initiatory space that the characters passthrough in Nic Roeg’sWalkabout: the land is scorched, cracked and barren, but there areoccasionalburstsofverdantlushness(onthequeasilyerotic‘AbbaonFatTracks’,forinstance,wecouldhavestrayedintotheruinedpastoralofTalkTalk’sSpiritofEden).‘Youreyesresemblemine…’Fromtheverybeginning,speakinginhisdeadmother’svoice,asemi-benignNormanBates,Trickywasconsciousofhis(dis)possessionbyfemalespectres.Withhispredilectionforcosmeticsandcross-dressing,helookedlikeoneofthelastvestigesoftheglamimpulseinBritishpop:hisgenderambivalenceawelcomeantidotetoBritpop’slumpenladdishness.It’sclearthatgenderindeterminacyisnopantomimemummeryforhim,but something that goes right to the core of his music. Saying that Tricky ‘writes from afemalepointofview’failstocapturetheuncanninessofwhathedoes,sincehealsoinduceswomentosing fromwhatseemstobeamaleperspective. ‘I likeputtingwomen inamalerole,tohavethewomanplaythestrengthandthemanbetheweak.Iwasbroughtup,oneofmy uncleswas in jail for 30 years and the other for 15 years. I didn’t seemy dad, Iwasbrought up bymy grandmother andmy auntie so I’ve seenmy grandmother fight in thestreet. I’ve seenmy auntie andmy grandmother have fistfights, I’ve seenmy grandmothergrabmyauntie’sarmandcloseitinthedoorandbreakherarmfightingovermeat.SoIseewomen as tough. They fedme, they clothedme,my grandmother taughtme to steal,myauntietaughtmetofight,shesentmetoboxingwhenIwas15.Ifmengotowar,youstandinonefield,Istandinanother,weshooteachother,butwhat’sthehardestiswhenyouareathomeandyougotta listentokidscryandyougottafeed ‘em.That’stough,I’veseennomenaround,I’veseenmyunclegojail forsevenyears,thentenyears,myotheruncle;myDadneverrang.Womenkeepittogether,keepthefoodonthetable,defendus,defendthechildren,likeifanyonefuckedwithustheywouldbedowntheschool.I’veneverseenmendothatforme,I’veneverseenmenthereformelikethat.AllIknowiswomen.’Gender doesn’t dissolve here into some bland unisex mush; instead it resolves into an

unstablespaceinwhichsubjectivityiscontinuallyslidingfrommaletofemalevoice.Itisanartof splittingwhich is alsoanartofdoubling.Through thewomenwho sing for/ashim,Tricky becomes less than one, a split subject that can never be restored towholeness. Yettheirvoicingofhisincompletenessalsomakeshimmorethanone,adoubleinsearchofalostotherhalfitwillneverrecover.Eitherway,whatTrickyunsettles–bothasavocalistandasawriter/producerwhocoaxessingingfromanOther–istheideaofthevoiceasarocksolidguarantor of presence and identity. His own weakened, recessed voice, all those croaks,mumbles andmurmurs, has always suggested a presence thatwas barely there, somethingsupplementaryratherthancentred.Butthemain–usuallyfemale–voiceonhissongsalsosounds absented and abstracted. What the voices of his female singers – flat, drained,destituteofordinaryaffectivecadences–most resemble is thesoundofamedium,avoicebeingspokenbysomethingelse.‘So this is the aftermath…’ It is not that Tricky possesses female singers; more that heinducesthemintosharinghistrancestates.Thewordsthatcometohimfromalostfemalesourcearereturnedtoafemalemouth.‘I’malreadyontheotherside’,asMartinaTopley-Birdsang on ‘I Be The Prophet’ from the Nearly God LP. Tricky’s upbringing was particularlygothic.‘Mygrandmotherusedtokeepmeathomebecausemystepgrandfatherusedtobeoutworking,andsheusedtowatchalltheseblackandwhitehorrormovies,vampiremovies,anditwaslikegrowingupinamovie.Sheusedtositmeinthemiddleofthefloor,causeshelostmymum,herdaughter.She’dbeplayingBillieHoliday,smokingacigaretteandwouldsaythingslike“youlooklikeyourMum,”watchingme.IwasalwaysmyMum’sghost.Igrewupinadreamlikestate.OnetimeI’veseenasuicideoffanNCPcarparkandthepolicetookmedowntoseewhatIsawandthenextdayintheEveningPosttherewasmynameinthere.Iwokeupanditwasonthefridge,mygrandmotherhadputitonthefridgelikeIwasfamous.’Theonewho ispossessed isalsodispossessed–of theirown identityandvoice.But thiskindofdispossessionisofcourseapreconditionforthemostpotentwritingandperformance.Writershave to tune intoothervoices;performersmustbecapableofbeing takenoverbyoutside forces – and Tricky can be a great live performer because of his capacity toworkhimself up into a state of head-shaking shamanic self-erasure. Like the occult, religionprovides a symbolic repertoire which deals with the idea of an alien presence using thetongue,of thedeadhaving influenceon the living, andTricky’s languagehas alwaysbeensaturated with biblical imagery. Maxinquaye’s purgatorial landscape was littered withreligious signs,whilePre-MillenniumTension exhibitedwhat seemed like religiousmania: ‘IsawaChristianinChristiansands,adevilinHelsinki.’‘HerecometheNazarene/lookgoodinamagazine…MaryMagdalenethat’llbemyfirstsin.’When I interviewed Tricky he had just released the single, ‘Council Estate’. Here, classspectres spoke – but not for the first time in Tricky’s work. Class rage could be detectedsmoulderinginmanyofhistracksfromthebeginning.‘Masteryourlanguage/anduntilthen,I’llcreatemyown,’hewarnedon1996’s ‘Christiansands’,castinghimselfastheproletarianCalibanplottingrevengeonhisallegedbetters.Heisacutelyawareofthewayinwhichclassdeterminesdestiny.‘Breakingintoahouseorcarequalslocksmiths,insurance,it’sallmakingmoney offme. The longer I’m in prison you’remakingmoremoney.Modern-day slavery:insteadofslaves,theyturnthemintocriminals.’Trickycalled thealbum fromwhich ‘CouncilEstate’ cameKnowleWest, after the areaof

Bristolinwhichhegrewup.‘WhenIwasatschool,therewasonecertainteacherwhosaid,whenyougoforajob,assoonasyouputyourpostcodedownandtheyknowyou’refromKnowleWest,youain’tgonnaget the job.So lie, ifyou’regoing to fill inyourapplicationforms,lie.’‘CouncilEstate’ conceivedof resentmentasamotivating forceand successas revenge. Itwasn’tabout leavingyourpastbehind,asSylvianwantedto, it isaboutsucceedingso thatyourclassoriginscanbeforcedbackdownthethroatofthosewhosaidyoucouldn’tsucceed.Like so many working class pop stars before him – including Sylvian – success providedvindicationforTrickyandgavehimaccesstoaworldwhichbothattractedandappalledhim.1996’s‘TrickyKid’washistakeonthethemeofclassdislocationthathaspreoccupiedBritishpopsinceatleastasfarbackasTheKinks.Itwasthebestsongaboutaworkingclassmaleprojected out of their milieu into the pleasure gardens of the hyper–successful since TheAssociates’ ‘ClubCountry’(‘Adrivefromnowhereleavesyouinthecold…everybreathyoubreathe belongs to someone there’). With its febrile, Jacob’s Ladder–like vision of leeringhedonism – ‘coke in your nose…everyone wants to be naked and famous’ – ‘Tricky Kid’anticipatedthewayinwhich,inthefirstdecadeofthe21stcentury,workingclassambitionswouldbeboughtoffbythefool’sgoldofcelebritycultureandrealityTV.‘Nowtheycallmesuperstar…,’itdemonicallyproclaimed,alineechoedintherefrainof‘CouncilEstate’.Whyis ‘superstar’ such an importantword for him? ‘Because it’s such a stupidword in away.What used to happen is that youmake an album, and if your album’s successful, fame isalmost part of the game.When Iwas starting off, I justwanted tomake a good album, Iwantedtomakesomethingthatnoone’severheardbefore–Iwasn’tinterestedinanythingelse.’

01:THERETURNOFTHE70S

NoLongerthePleasures:JoyDivision

Adaptedfromk–punkpost,January9,2005

IfJoyDivisionmatternowmorethanever,it’sbecausetheycapturethedepressedspiritofour times.Listen toJDnow,andyouhave the inescapable impression that thegroupwerecataton-ically channelling our present, their future. From the start their work wasovershadowedbyadeepforeboding,asenseofafutureforeclosed,allcertaintiesdissolved,only growing gloom ahead. It has become increasingly clear that 1979-80, the yearswithwhichthegroupwillalwaysbeidentified,wasathresholdmoment–thetimewhenawholeworld (social democratic, Fordist, industrial) became obsolete, and the contours of a newworld (neoliberal, consumerist, informatic) began to show themselves. This is of course aretrospectivejudgement;breaksarerarelyexperiencedassuchatthetime.Butthe70sexertaparticularfascinationnowthatwearelockedintothenewworld–aworldthatDeleuze,usingawordthatwouldbecomeassociatedwithJoyDivision,calledthe‘SocietyofControl’.The70sisthetimebeforetheswitch,atimeatoncekinderandharsherthannow.Formsof(social)securitythentakenforgrantedhavelongsincebeendestroyed,butviciousprejudicesthatwerethenfreelyairedhavebecomeunacceptable.Theconditionsthatallowedagrouplike Joy Division to exist have evapo-rated; but so has a certain grey, grim texture ofeverydaylifeinBritain,acountrythatseemedtohavegivenuprationingonlyreluctantly.By the early 2000s, the 70s was long enough ago to have become a period setting fordrama, and JoyDivisionwere part of the scenery. Thiswas how they featured inMichaelWinterbottom’s24HourPartyPeople(2002).Thegroupwerelittlemorethanacameohere,the first chapter in the story of Factory records and its buffoon-genius impresario TonyWilson. Joy Division assumed centre stage in Anton Corbijn’sControl (2007), but the filmdidn’t really connect. For those who knew the story, it was a familiar trip; for those notalreadyinitiated,however,thefilmdidn’tdoenoughtoconveythegroup’ssorcerouspower.Wewere taken through thestory,butneverdrawn into themaelstrom,nevermade to feelwhyanyofitmattered.Perhapsthiswasinevitable.Rockdependscruciallyonaparticularbodyandaparticularvoiceandthemysteriousrelationshipbetweenthetwo.ControlcouldnevermakegoodthelossofIanCurtis’svoiceandbody,andsoendedupasarthousekaraokenaturalism;theactorscouldsimulatethechords,couldapeCurtis’smoves,buttheycouldn’tforgethevorticalcharisma,couldn’tmustertheunwittingnecromanticartthattransformedthesimplemusicalstructuresintoaferociousexpressionism,aportaltotheoutside.Forthatyouneedthefootageofthegroupperforming,thesoundoftherecords.Whichiswhy,ofthethreefilmsfeaturingthegroup,GrantGee’s2007documentary,JoyDivision,patchedtogetherfrom super-8 fragments, TV appearances, new interviews and old images of postwarManchester,wasmosteffectiveattransportingusbacktothosedisappearedtimes.Gee’sfilmbeginswithanepigraphfromMarshallBerman’sAllThatIsSolidMeltsIntoAir:TheExperienceOf Modernity: ‘To be modern is to find ourselves in an environment that promises usadventure,power,joy,growth,transformationofourselvesandtheworld–and,atthesametimethatthreatenstodestroyeverythingwehave,everythingweknow,everythingweare.’WhereControltriedtoconjurethepresenceofthegroup,butleftusonlywithatracing,an

outline,JoyDivisionisorganisedaroundavividsenseofloss.Itisselfconsciouslyastudyofatimeandaplace,bothofwhicharenowgone.JoyDivisionisarollcallofdisappearedplacesand people – so many dead, already: not only Curtis, but also the group’s manager RobGretton,theirproducerMartinHannettandofcourseTonyWilson.Thefilm’scoup,itsmostelectricmoment,thesoundofadeadmanwanderinginthelandofthedead:ascratchyoldcassetterecordingofIanCurtisbeinghypnotisedinto‘apastliferegression’.Itravelledfarandwide through many different times. A slow, slurred voice channelling something cold andremote. ‘Howoldareyou?’ ‘28’,anexchangemadeall themorechillingbecauseweknowthatCurtiswoulddieattheageof23.

AsylumswithdoorsopenwideIdidn’thearJoyDivisionuntil1982,so,forme,Curtiswasalways-alreadydead.WhenIfirstheard them,aged14, itwas like thatmoment inJohnCarpenter’s In theMouthofMadnesswhen Sutter Cane forces John Trent to read the novel, the hyper-fiction, in which he isalready immersed: my whole future life, intensely compacted into those sound images –Ballard, Burroughs, dub, disco, Gothic, antidepressants, psych wards, overdoses, slashedwrists.Waytoomuchstimtoevenbegintoassimilate.Eventheydidn’tunderstandwhattheyweredoing.HowonearthcouldI,then?New Order, more than anyone else, were in flight from the mausoleum edifice of JoyDivision, and they had finally achieved severance by 1990. The England world cup song,cavortingaroundwithbeery,leeryKeithAllen,amanwhomorethananyotherpersonifiesthequotidianmasculinismofovergroundBrit bloke culture in the late80s and90s,was aconsummateactofdesublimation.This,intheend,waswhatKodwoEshuncalledthe‘priceofescaping theanxietyof influence (the influenceof themselves)’.OnMovement thegroupwerestillinpost-traumaticstress,frozenintoabarelycommunicativetrance(‘Thenoisethatsurroundsme/soloudinmyhead…’)Itwasclear,inthebestinterviewsthebandevergave–toJonSavage,adecadeandahalfafterCurtis’sdeath–thattheyhadnoideawhattheyweredoing,andnodesiretolearn.OfCurtis’ disturbing-compelling hyper-charged stage trance spasms and of his disturbing-compelling catatonic downer words, they said nothing and asked nothing, for fear ofdestroyingthemagic.Theywereunwittingnecromancerswhohadstumbledonaformulaforchannellingvoices,apprenticeswithoutasorcerer.TheysawthemselvesasmindlessgolemsanimatedbyCurtis’vision(s).(Thus,whenhedied,theysaidthattheyfelttheyhadlosttheireyes…)Aboveall–andevenifonlybecauseofaudiencereception–theyweremorethanapopgroup,morethanentertainment,thatmuchisobvious.Weknowallthewordsasifwewrotethemourselves,wefollowedstrayhintsinthelyricsouttoallsortsofdarkerchambers,andlisteningtothealbumsnowislikeputtingonacomfortableandfamiliarsetofclothes….Butwhoisthis‘we’?Well,itmighthavebeenthelast‘we’thatawholegenerationofnot-quite-mencouldfeelapartof.TherewasanodduniversalityavailabletoJoyDivision’sdevotees(providedyouweremaleofcourse).Providedyouweremaleofcourse…TheJoyDivisionreligionwas,self-consciously,aboys’thing. Deborah Curtis: ‘Whether it was intentional or not, the wives and girlfriends hadgraduallybeenbanishedfromallbutthemostlocalofgigsandacuriousmalebondinghad

takenplace.Theboysseemedtoderivetheirfunfromeachother.’(DeborahCurtis,TouchingfromaDistance,77)Nogirlsallowed…AsCurtis’swife,Deborahwasbarredfromrock’spleasuregarden,andcouldnotpassinto

thecultofdeaththatlaybeyondthepleasureprinciple.Shewasjustlefttoclearupthemess.IfJoyDivisionwereverymuchaboys’group,theirsignaturesong,‘She’sLostControl’saw

Ian Curtis abjecting his own disease, the ‘holy sickness’ of epilepsy, onto a female Other.Freudincludesepilepticfits–along,incidentally,withabodyinthegripofsexualpassion–as examples of the unheimlich, the unhomely, the strangely familiar. Here the organic isslavedtothemechanicalrhythmsoftheinorganic;theinanimatecallsthetune,asitalwaysdoeswithJoyDivision.‘She’sLostControl’isoneofrock’smostexplicitencounterswiththeminerallureoftheinanimate.JoyDivision’sicy-spinedundeathdiscosoundslikeithasbeenrecordedinsidethedamagedsynapticpathwaysofabrainofsomeoneundergoingaseizure,Curtis’sepulchral,anhedonicvocalssentbacktohim–asiftheywerethevoiceofanOther,orOthers– inlong, leeringexpressionisticechoesthat linger likeacridacidfog. ‘She’sLostControl’ traverses Poe-like cataleptic black holes in subjectivity, takes flatline voyages intothe landof thedead andback to confront the ‘edgeof no escape’, seeing in seizures littledeaths (petil mals as petit morts) which offer terrifying but exhilarating releases fromidentity,morepowerfulthananyorgasm.

InthiscolonyTrytoimagineEnglandin1979now…Pre-VCR,pre-PC,pre-C4.Telephones far fromubiquitous (wedidn’thaveone tillaround

1980,Ithink).ThepostwarconsensusdisintegratingonblackandwhiteTV.More than anyone else, Joy Division turned this dourness into a uniform that self-

consciously signified absolute authenticity; the deliberately functional formality of theirclothessecedingfrompunk’stribalisedanti-Glamour,‘depressivesdressingfortheDepression’(DeborahCurtis).Itwasn’tfornothingthattheywerecalledWarsawwhentheystartedout.But itwas in thisEasternblocof themind, in this sloughofdespond, that you could findworking class kids who wrote songs steeped in Dostoyevsky, Conrad, Kafka, Burroughs,Ballard,kidswho,withouteventhinkingaboutit,wererigorousmodernistswhowouldhavedisdainedrepeatingthemselves,neverminddisinterringandapingwhathadbeendone20,30yearsago(the60swasafadingPathenewsreelin1979).Back in ‘79, Art Rock still had a relationship to the sonic experimentation of the Black

Atlantic. Unthinkable now, butWhite Pop thenwas no stranger to the cutting edge, so agenuinetradewaspossible.JoyDivisionprovidedtheBlackAtlanticwithsomesonicfictionsit could re-deploy – listen to Grace Jones’s extraordinary cover of ‘She’s Lost Control’, orSleazyD’s ‘I’veLostControl’,oreven toKanyeWest’s808sandHeartbreak (with its sleevereferences to Saville’s ‘BlueMonday’ cover design, and its echoes ofAtmosphere and ‘In ALonelyPlace’).Forallthat,JoyDivision’srelationshiptoblackpopwasmuchmoreoccludedthan thatof someof theirpeers.Postpunk’sbreak fromlumpenpunkRandRconsisted inlarge part in an ostentatiously flagged return-reclaiming of Black Pop: funk and dubespecially.Therewasnoneofthat,onthesurfaceatleast,withJoyDivision.ButagrouplikePiL’stakeondub,now,soundsalittlelaborious,alittleliteral,whereas,

JoyDivision,likeTheFall,cameoffasawhiteangloequivalentofdub.BothJoyDivisionand

TheFallwere‘black’intheprioritiesandeconomiesoftheirsound:bass-heavyandrhythm-driven. This was dub not as a form, but a methodology, a legitimation for conceiving ofsound-productionasabstractengineering.ButJoyDivisionalsohadarelationshiptoanothersuper-synthetic,artilyartificial‘black’sound:disco.Again,itwasthey,betterthanPiL,whodeliveredthe‘DeathDisco’beat.AsJonSavagelovestopointout,theswarmingsyn-drumson‘Insight’seemtobeborrowedfromdiscorecordslikeAmyStewart’s‘KnockonWood’.TheroleinallthisofMartinHannett,aproducerwhoneedstobecountedwiththevery

greatestinpop,cannotbeunderestimated.ItisHannett,alongsidePeterSaville,thegroup’ssleevedesigner,whoensuredthatJoyDivisionweremoreArtthanRock.Thedampmistofinsinuating uneasy listening Sound FXwithwhichHannett cloaked themix, togetherwithSaville’s depersonalising designs, meant that the group could be approached, not as anaggregationofindividualexpressivesubjects,butasaconceptualconsistency.ItwasHannettandSavillewhotransmutedthestroppyneuromanticsofWarsawintocyberpunks.

Dayin/DayoutJoy Division connected not just because of what they were, but when they were. MrsThatcher just arrived, the longgreywinterofReagonomicson theway, theColdWar stillfeedingourunconsciouswithalifetime’sworthofretina-meltingnightmares.JD were the sound of British culture’s speed comedown, a long slow screaming neural

shutdown. Since 1956,whenEden took amphetamines throughout the Suez crisis, throughthe Pop of the 60s, which had been kicked off by the Beatles going through the wall onuppers in Hamburg, through punk, which consumed speed like there was no tomorrow,Britainhadbeen, inevery sense, speeding.Speed isa connectivitydrug,adrug thatmadesenseofaworldinwhichelectronicconnectionsweremadlyproliferating.Butthecomedownisvicious.

Massiveserotonindepletion.

Energycrash.

TurnonyourTV.

Turndownyourpulse.

Turnawayfromitall.

It’sallgetting

Toomuch

MelancholiawasCurtis’artform,justaspsychosiswasMarkESmith’s.Nothingcouldhavebeenmore fitting than thatUnknownPleasures beganwitha track called ‘Disorder’, for the

key to Joy Division was the Ballardian spinal landscape, the connexus linking individualpsychopathologywithsocialanomie.Thetwomeaningsofbreakdown,thetwomeaningsofDepression.ThatwashowSumnersawit,anyhow.AsheexplainedtoSavage,‘Therewasahugesenseofcommunitywherewelived.IrememberthesummerholidayswhenIwasakid:wewould stay up late and play in the street, and 12 o’clock at night therewould be oldladies,talkingtoeachother.Iguesswhathappenedinthe‘60swasthatthecouncildecidedthat it wasn’t very healthy, and something had to go, and unfortunately it was myneighbourhood that went. We were moved over the river to a towerblock. At the time Ithoughtitwasfantastic;nowofcourseIrealiseitwasanabsolutedisaster.I’dhadanumberofotherbreaksinmylife.SowhenpeoplesayaboutthedarknessinJoyDivision’smusic,byageof22,I’dhadquitealotoflossinmylife.TheplacewhereIusedtolive,whereIhadmyhappiestmemories,allofthathadgone.Allthatwasleftwasachemicalfactory.IrealisedthenthatIcouldnevergobacktothathappiness.Sothere’sthisvoid.’Dead end lives at the end of the 70s. Therewere JoyDivision, Curtis doingwhatmostworkingclassmenstilldid,earlymarriageandakid…

FeelitclosinginSumneragain:‘WhenIleftschoolandgotajob,reallifecameasaterribleshock.MyfirstjobwasatSalfordtownhallstickingdownenvelopes,sendingratesout.Iwaschainedinthishorribleoffice:everyday,everyweek,everyyear,withmaybethreeweeksholidayayear.Thehorrorenvelopedme.SothemusicofJoyDivisionwasaboutthedeathofoptimism,ofyouth.’A requiem for doomed youth culture. ‘Here are the young men/ the weight on theirshoulders,’wentthefamouslinesfrom‘Decades’,onCloser.Thetitles‘NewDawnFades’andUnknownPleasurescouldthemselvesbereferringtothebetrayedpromisesofyouthculture.YetwhatisremarkableaboutJoyDivisionistheirtotalacquiescenceinthisfailure,thewayinwhich,fromthestart,theysetupanAntarcticcampbeyondthepleasureprinciple.

SetthecontrolsfortheheartoftheblacksunWhatimpressedandperturbedaboutJDwasthefixatednessoftheirnegativity.Unremittingwasn’ttheword.Yes,LouReedandIggyandMorrisonandJaggerhaddabbledinnihilism–butevenwithIggyandReedthathadbeenamelioratedbytheoddmomentofexhilaration,oratleasttherehadbeensomeexplanationfortheirmisery(sexualfrustration,drugs).WhatseparatedJoyDivisionfromanyoftheirpredecessors,eventhebleakest,wasthelackofanyapparent object-cause for theirmelancholia. (That’swhatmade itmelancholia rather thanmelancholy, which has always been an acceptable, subtly sublime, delectation formen torelish.)Fromitsverybeginnings,(RobertJohnson,Sinatra)20th-centuryPophasbeenmoretodowithmale(andfemale)sadnessthanelation.Yet,inthecaseofboththebluesmanandthe crooner, there is, at least ostensibly, a reason for the sorrow. Because Joy Division’sbleaknesswaswithoutanyspecificcause,theycrossedthelinefromtheblueofsadnessintotheblackofdepression,passingintothe‘desertandwastelands’wherenothingbringseitherjoyorsorrow.Zeroaffect.NoheatinJoyDivision’sloins.Theysurveyed‘thetroublesandtheevilsofthisworld’with

theuncannydetachmentoftheneurasthenic.Curtissang‘I’velostthewilltowantmore’on‘Insight’buttherewasnosensethattherehadbeenanysuchwillinthefirstplace.Givetheirearliestsongsacasuallistenandyoucouldeasilymistaketheirtoneforthecurledlipofspikypunkoutrage,but,already, it isas ifCurtis isnot railingagainst injusticeorcorruption somuchasmarshallingthemasevidenceforathesisthatwas,eventhen,firmlyestablishedinhismind.Depression is, after all and above all, a theory about theworld, about life. Thestupidityandvenalityofpoliticians(‘LeadersofMen’),theidiocyandcrueltyofwar(‘Walkedin Line’) are pointed to as exhibits in a case against the world, against life, that is sooverwhelming,sogeneral,thattoappealtoanyparticularinstanceseemssuperfluous.Inanycase,Curtisexpectsnomoreofhimselfthanhedoesofothers,heknowshecannotcondemnfromamoralhighground:he‘letthemuseyou/fortheirownends’(‘Shadowplay’),he’llletyoutakehisplaceinashowdown(‘HeartandSoul’).That iswhyJoyDivisioncanbeaverydangerousdrug foryoungmen.Theyseemtobepresenting The Truth (they present themselves as doing so). Their subject, after all, isdepression. Not sadness or frustration, rock’s standard downer states, but depression:depression,whosedifferencefrommeresadnessconsistsinitsclaimtohaveuncoveredThe(final,unvarnished)Truthaboutlifeanddesire.Thedepressiveexperienceshimselfaswalledofffromthelifeworld,sothathisownfrozeninnerlife–orinnerdeath–overwhelmseverything;atthesametime,heexperienceshimselfas evacuated, totally denuded, a shell: there is nothing except the inside, but the inside isempty. For the depressive, the habits of the former lifeworld now seem to be, precisely, amodeofplayacting,aseriesofpantomimegestures(‘acircuscompletewithallfools’),whichtheyarebothnolongercapableofperformingandwhichtheynolongerwishtoperform–there’snopoint,everythingisasham.Depression is not sadness, not even a state of mind, it is a (neuro)philosophical(dis)position. Beyond Pop’s bipolar oscillation between evanescent thrill and frustratedhedonism, beyond Jagger’s Miltonian Mephistopheleanism, beyond Iggy’s negated carny,beyondRoxy’s loungelizardreptilianmelancholy,beyondthepleasureprinciplealtogether,JoyDivisionwere themost Schopenhauerian of rock groups, somuch so that they barelybelongedtorockatall.Sincetheyhadsothoroughlystrippedoutrock’slibidinalmotor–itwouldbebettertosaythattheywere,libidinallyaswellassonically,anti-rock.Orperhaps,astheythought,theywerethetruthofrock,rockdivestedofallillusions.(Thedepressiveisalways confident of one thing: that he is without illusions.) What makes Joy Division soSchopenhauerian is the disjunction between Curtis’s detachment and the urgency of themusic, its implacable drive standing in for the dumb insatiability of the life-Will, theBeckettian ‘Imustgoon’not experiencedby thedepressiveas some redemptivepositivity,butastheultimatehorror,thelife-Willparadoxicallyassumingalltheloathsomepropertiesoftheundead(whateveryoudo,youcan’textinguishit,itkeepscomingback).

AcceptlikeacurseanunluckydealJDfollowedSchopenhauerthroughthecurtainofMaya,wentoutsideBurroughs’GardenofDelights, and dared to examine the hideous machineries that produce the world-as-appearance.Whatdidtheyseethere?Onlywhatalldepressives,allmystics,alwayssee:theobsceneundeadtwitchingoftheWillasitseekstomaintaintheillusionthatthisobject,the

one it is fixateduponNOW,thisone,will satisfy it inawaythatallotherobjects thus farhavefailedto.JoyDivision,withanancientwisdom(‘Iansoundedold,asifhehadlivedalifetime in his youth’ – Deborah Curtis), a wisdom that seems pre–mammalian, pre-multicellular life, pre-organic, saw through all those reproducer ruses. This is the ‘Insight’thatstoppedfearinCurtis,thecalmingdespairthatsubduedanywilltowantmore.JDsawlife as the Poe of ‘The Conqueror Worm’ had seen it, as Ligotti sees it: an automatedmarionettedance,which‘Throughacirclethateverreturnethin/Totheself-samespot’,anultra-determinedchainofeventsthatgoesthroughitsmotionswithremorselessinevitability.Youwatch the pre-scripted film as if from outside, condemned towatch the reels as theycometoaclose,brutallytakingtheirtime.Astudentofmineoncewrote inanessaythattheysympathisewithSchopenhauerwhentheir football team loses. But the true Schopenhauerian moments are those in which youachieve your goals, perhaps realise your long-cherished heart’s desire – and feel cheated,empty,no,more–orisitless?–thanempty,voided.JoyDivisionalwayssoundedasiftheyhadexperiencedonetoomanyofthosedesolatingvoidings,sothattheycouldnolongerbeluredbackontothemerry-go-round.Theyknewthatsatiationwasn’tsucceededbytristesse,it was itself, immediately, tristesse. Satiation is the point at which you must face theexistentialrevelationthatyoudidn’twantreallywantwhatyouseemedsodesperatetohave,thatyourmosturgentdesiresareonlyafilthyvitalisttricktokeeptheshowontheroad.Ifyou‘can’treplacethefearorthethrillofthechase’,whystiryourselftopursueyetanotheremptykill?Whycarryonwiththecharade?Depressive ontology is dangerously seductive because, as the zombie twin of a certainphilosophicalwisdom,itishalftrue.Asthedepressivewithdrawsfromthevacantconfectionsof the lifeworld, heunwittingly findshimself in concordancewith thehuman condition sopainstakinglydiagrammedbyaphilosopherlikeSpinoza:heseeshimselfasaserialconsumerofemptysimulations,ajunkyhookedoneverykindofdeadeninghigh,ameatpuppetofthepassions.Thedepressivecannoteven layclaimto thecomforts thataparanoiaccanenjoy,sincehecannotbelievethatthestringsarebeingpulledbyanyone.Noflow,noconnectivityinthedepressive’snervoussystem.‘Watchfromthewingsasthesceneswerereplaying’,gothefatalisticlinesin‘Decades’,andCurtiswrotewithadepressive’sironcertaintyaboutlifeas some pre-scripted film. His voice – from the very start terrifying in its fatalism, in itsacceptance of theworst – sounds like the voice ofmanwho is already dead, orwho hasentered an appalling state of suspended animation, death-within-life. It soundspreternaturallyancient,avoicethatcannotbesourcedbacktoanylivingbeing,stilllesstoayoungmanbarelyinhistwenties.

Aloadedgunwon’tsetyoufree–soyousay‘Aloadedgunwon’tsetyoufree,’Curtissangon‘NewDawnFades’fromUnknownPleasures,but he didn’t sound convinced. ‘After pondering over the words to ‘New Dawn Fades’,’DeborahCurtiswrote,‘IbroachedthesubjectwithIan,tryingtomakehimconfirmthattheywereonlylyricsandborenoresemblancetohistruefeelings.Itwasaone-sidedconversation.Herefusedtoconfirmordenyanyofthepointsraisedandhewalkedoutofthehouse.Iwasleftquestioningmyselfinstead,butdidnotfeelcloseenoughtoanyoneelsetovoicemyfears.Wouldhereallyhavemarriedmeknowingthathestill intendedtokillhimself inhisearly

twenties?Whyfatherachildwhenyouhavenointentionofbeingtheretoseeitgrowup?Had I been so oblivious to his unhappiness that he had been forced to write about it?’(TouchingfromaDistance:IanCurtisandJoyDivision,Faber&Faber,1995,p85)Themalelustfordeathhadalwaysbeenasubtext inrock,butbeforeJoyDivision ithadbeensmuggledintorockunderlibidinouspretexts,ablackdoginwolf’sclothing–ThanatoscloakedasEros–orelseithadwornpantomimepanstick.Suicidewasaguaranteeofauthenticity,themostconvincingofsignsthatyouwere4Real.Suicidehasthepowertotransfigurelife,withallitsquotidianmess,itsconflicts,itsambivalences,itsdisappointments,itsunfinishedbusiness,its‘wasteandfeverandheat’–intoacoldmyth,assolid,seamlessandpermanentasthe‘marbleandstone’thatPeterSavillewouldsimulateontherecordsleevesandCurtiswouldcaressinthelyricsto‘InaLonelyPlace’.(‘InaLonelyPlace’wasCurtis’song,butitwasrecordedbyaNewOrder in a zombie state of post-traumatic disorder after Curtis’ death. It sounds likeCurtisisaninterloperathisownfuneral,mourninghisowndeath:‘howIwishyouwereherewithmenow’.)The great debates over JoyDivision –were they fallen angels or ordinary blokes?Werethey Fascists?Was Curtis’ suicide inevitable or preventable? – all turn on the relationshipbetween Art and Life. We should resist the temptation to be Lorelei-lured by either theAesthete-Romantics(inotherwords,us,aswewere)orthelumpenempiricists.TheAestheteswant the world promised by the sleeves and the sound, a pristine black andwhite realmunsulliedby thegrubbycompromisesandembarrassmentsof theeveryday.Theempiricistsinsistonjusttheopposite:onrootingthesongsbackinthequotidianatitsleastelevatedand,mostimportantly,atitsleastserious.‘Ianwasalaugh,thebandwereyoungladswholikedtogetpissed,itwasallabitoffunthatgotoutofhand…’It’simportanttoholdontobothoftheseJoyDivisions–theJoyDivisionofPureArt,andtheJoyDivisionwhowere‘justalaff’–atonce.ForifthetruthofJoyDivisionisthattheywereLads,thenJoyDivisionmustalsobe the truthofLaddism.Andso itwouldappear:beneathall the red-noseddowner-fuelledjollityofthepasttwodecades,mentalillnesshasincreasedsome70%amongstadolescents.Suicideremainsoneofthemostcommonsourcesofdeathforyoungmales.‘Icrept intomyparents’housewithoutwakinganyoneandwasasleepwithinsecondsofmyheadtouchingthepillow.ThenextsoundIheardwas“Thisistheend,beautifulfriend.Thisistheend,myonlyfriend,theend.I’llneverlookintoyoureyesagain…”Surprisedathearing theDoors’ ‘TheEnd’, I struggled to rousemyself.Evenas I slept I knew itwasanunlikely song for RadioOne on a Sundaymorning. But therewas no radio – it was all adream.’(TouchingFromaDistance,p132)

Smiley’sGame:Tinker,Tailor,Soldier,Spy

FilmQuarterly,Vol.65,No.2,(2011)

WhatistheallureofGeorgeSmiley?WhydoesSmileybeguileevenleft-wingviewerswho,onthefaceofit,mightbeexpectedtoseehimasatonepointinJohnleCarré’s1974novelhedescribeshimself:‘theveryarchetypeofaflabbyWesternliberal’?TheenigmaofSmiley’sappeal is one of many spectres that haunts Tomas Alfredson’s movie adaptation of TinkerTailorSoldierSpy.Theghostthatmostinsistentlyrefusestobeexorcisedisthe1979BBCTVversion,rightlyrememberedasoneofthegreatesteverBritishtelevisionseries.Re-adaptinganovelaftersoaccomplishedaversionisrisky,especiallywhenyouhaveameretwohourstoplaywith,asopposedtotheseries’moreunhurriedfive.Pace – and pacing, as in moving around restively while waiting – were central to thecoiling tension of the TV series, which caught the crab-like convolutions and slowlyinterlockingrhythmsof leCarré’snarrativeexceptionallywell.The limitationsof televisionproductionactuallybenefitedthesenseofexpansiveness.Setsandactionwereminimal;thedrama was often about faces, and about Alec Guinness’s face in particular, which couldsuggest a lifetime of regret with the slightest wince. Guinness’s performance was amasterclass in concision and nuance – not words one would always associate with GaryOldman,cast(emphaticallyagainsttype)asSmileyinthenewTinkerTailor.WhenanovelcreatesasrichamythworldasleCarré’sdoes,nosingleadaptationwillevercompletelyexhaust it.There is always thepossibilityofuncoveringhithertounderexploredanglesandforthoseofuswhoarefansofthenovel,astrongnewversionwouldhavehadthebenefit of liberating the book (and Smiley) from the Guinness portrayal – a prospect thatmight explain some of le Carré’s enthusiasm for the film. Le Carré has said he felt thatGuinnesstookSmileyfromhim,makinghimunabletowritethecharacteranymore.Whenitwas announced that thiswas Alfredson’s next directing project after the success of Let theRightOneIn(2008),hopesforsomethingspecialwerejustifiablyhigh.Hisbrilliantreworkingof vampire fiction had a sense ofmelancholy, violent lives lived in secret that could havecarriedovermosteffectivelytotheclosed-worldintriguesofBritishspying.ItisthusallthemoredisappointingthatthisnewTinkerTailorfailstocompellinglyreimaginethestory,andcentraltoitsfailureisthefilm’sinabilitytomakeSmileyalluring.In thenovel leCarré reckonedwith the sensational exposures thathadboth traumatisedand titillated British society in the 1960swhen Soviet double agents Guy Burgess, DonaldMaclean,andKimPhilbywererevealedtobeoperatingrightattheheartoftheintelligenceestablishment.ThebookbeginswhenSmileyiscalledoutofretirementtosearchforadeep-covermole – itwas in fact leCarréwhopopularised this term– in theSecret IntelligenceService (otherwise known as MI6). Tinker Tailor follows Smiley’s circuitous pursuit andexposureofthetraitor,whoisultimatelyrevealedtobeSmiley’sfriendandrivalBillHaydon–oneofmanymentohaveaffairswithSmiley’ssemi-estrangedwife,Ann.Thenarrativeissuffusedwithwhat PaulGilroy has called ‘postcolonialmelancholia’. Smiley,Haydon, andtheircontemporaries–notablyJimPrideaux, the formerheadof the ‘scalphunters’ section,shotinthebungledoperationthatultimatelyleadstothemolebeinguncovered,andConnie

Sachs,theheadofintelligence,dismissedwhenshecomesuncomfortablyclosetothetruth–havewatchedalltheexpectationsbornofimperialprivilegeslowlydisappearing.‘TrainedtoEmpire,trainedtorulethewaves.Allgone,alltakenaway,’Sachslaments(PanBooks,1979,102).Postcolonialmelancholia is fedmorebyhostility towardstheUSthanit isbyfearoftheSoviets – Haydon and Smiley’s boss, the irascible Control, are united in their loathing ofAmericans.WhenControlismaneuveredoutofhispositionbytheambitious(andverypro-US) PercyAlleline, this seems to consolidate the sense of irreversible declinewhich hangsoverthenovel.England’sgloryliesinthepast;thefutureisAmerican.Inthenovelanditssequels, it is clear that Smiley’s victory is temporary; his world is on the brink ofdisappearing.SmileybringstomindEnglisharchetypesbothancientandmodern.WhatistheperpetuallycuckoldedSmiley,returningtosavehisailingkingdom,ifnotaColdWarKingArthur?YetthisisArthurdoneinthestyleofT.S.Eliot’sPrufrock,whosefamousself-characterizationas‘anattendantlord’appliesalltooacutelytoleCarré’scharacteraswell:‘Deferential,gladtobeofuse,/Politic,cautious,andmeticulous;/Fullofhighsentence,butabitobtuse;/Attimes,indeed,almostridiculous–/Almost,attimes,theFool’(‘TheLoveSongofJ.AlfredPrufrock,’TheCompletePoemsandPlaysofT.S.Eliot,FaberandFaber,1969,16).While in some respects a pathologically self–blinding figure, Smiley shares some ofPrufrock’sself–consciousness;when,inascenethatispowerfullyplayedoutinboththeBBCandthefilmversion,Smileyrecallshisoneface-to-faceencounterwithhiscounterpart, theSoviet spy chiefKarla, he calls himself a ‘fool.’ Crucially, however, he adds that hewouldratherbehiskindoffoolthanKarla’s.When Smiley recounts themeetingwith Karla to his younger protégé Peter Guillam, hereproacheshimselfforhavingtalkedtoomuchonthatmemorableoccasioninanIndianjailcell. Karla wins the encounter by never speaking, by transforming himself into the blankscreenthatSmileycannotonthisoccasionbecome–whichmakesitalltheeasierforSmileyto fall into the trapof projectinghis ownanxieties andpreoccupationsonto the impassiveKarla.Inthenovel,Smileyaffectstodisdainthepsychoanalyticlanguageof‘projection’but,tellingly, he cannot resist using these terms to describe himself; appropriately, for in thenormalrunofthingsSmiley’sartconsistsincultivatingaparticularkindofsilence–notthemereabsenceofchatter,buttheauthoritative,probingsilenceofthepsychoanalyst.Thefacecan’tgiveanythingaway,yetatthesametimeithastoinviteconfidence.Thosewhodon’twanttotalkmustbedrawnintoconfiding.Andisn’tthatalargepartofSmiley’sappealtothose of us from a more adolescent, more compulsively loquacious time: his grownupcapacitytoengenderrespect,andtoquietlysolicitourneedforhisapproval?SpeakingafteraLondoncritics’ screeningofTinkerTailor inSeptember,Oldman said that,by contrastwiththeGuinnessversion,no-onewouldwanttohughisSmiley.YetthesuggestionthatwewouldwanttohugGuinness’sSmileyisabsurd.SurelywhatwefindourselvescravingfromSmileyisaword,agesture,themeresthintofapprobation.ButitisamistaketoseetheavuncularseductionsofGuinness’sperformanceasiftheywereinoppositiontotheruthlessnesswhichOldman emphasises in his rendition of Smiley, for Smiley’s merciless, unblinking huntingdownofhispreydependsuponthisverycapacitytodrawpeopleout.Oldman’sreadingofSmiley’sblanknessisfarlesssophisticatedthanGuinness’s.LeCarré’s

Smiley is famously corpulent; Oldman’s is angular, stiff, dyspeptic.We can’t imagine everwanting to confide in him. Oldman’s Smiley is simply an inexpressive mask: forbidding,impassive,unyielding.ItisasifOldmanisgivingushisshallowreadingofhisgrandparents’generation:aloof,distanced,bottled-up.Theykeptitallinside;theydidn’tknowhowtohaveagoodtime.ForOldman,Smiley’srestraintplaysasrepressionandacertainmaliciousself-satis-faction – his silence is a simple lack of demonstrativeness, or a merely inverteddemonstrativeness.Speaking on BBC Radio 4’s Today, le Carré himself identified Oldman’s performance of

repression as one of the highlights of this new version. ‘You couldn’t really imagine Alec[Guinness]havingasexlife,’hesaid. ‘Youcouldn’t imagineakissonthescreenwithAlec,notonethatyoubelievedin.WhereasOldmanhasquiteobviouslyamalesexualitythatherepresses, like all his other feelings, in this story.Oldman is a Smileywaiting patiently toexplode.Ithinktheairoffrustration,ofsolitudethatheisabletoconveyissomethingthatreallydoestakemebacktoanovelIwrote37yearsago.’Sadly,thisremarksuggestslessanew way of seeing Smiley than a certain coarsening of understanding brought about, nodoubt, by the dissemination of a therapeutic wisdom which insists that the truth of acharacteristobefoundintheir(narrowlydefined)sexuality.To say that Smiley iswaiting patiently to explode is a very curious take on a character

definedratherbyalackofheat.WhenOldmanshoutsatHaydon‘whatareyouthen,Bill?’atthe climaxof the film, this is an abandonmentof emotionaldecorumquite out of keepingwith Smiley’s character, for whom the English ruling-class habit of transposing aggressioninto the chill of superficially polite discourse comes as second nature. Anger is one of theemotionsthattheSmileyofthenovelfeelsatthemomentofHaydon’sexposure,yetitisnotthedominantone:Smiley

saw with painful clarity an ambitious man born to the big canvas, brought up to rule,divideandconquer,whosevisionandvanitiesallwerefixed,likePercy’s,upontheworld’sgame;forwhomtherealitywasapoorislandwithscarcelyavoicethatwouldcarryacrossthewater.ThusSmileyfeltnotonlydisgust;but,despiteallthatthemomentmeanttohim,asurgeofresentmentagainsttheinstitutionshewassupposedtobeprotecting’(297).

Thus,thetoneoftriumphalismwithwhichthefilmends–SmileygloriouslyrestoredtohisplaceofhonourinMI6–strikesanotherfalsenote.TheSmileyinAlfredson’sfilmisafigurewhoisfarlessqueerthantheSmileyofthenovel

or the televisionseries.Homosexualdesire iswidespread inTinkerTailor–mostnotably inPrideaux’sbetrayedlovefortheflamboyantlypolysexualHaydon–butthereisnosuggestionthatSmileysharedthesepassions.TheSmileyofnovelandseriesisqueerinthemoreradicalsense that a ‘normal’ sexuality cannot be assigned to him. Smiley’s is not a fluid,indeterminate sexuality like, say, thatofPatriciaHighsmith’sTomRipley.Hisperversity isrenunciation itself.At thepreview,Oldmanreferredapprovingly to leCarré’scommentsonGuinness’s lack of sexuality; but he also characterised Smiley as masochistic (repeatedlysubjectinghimselftoadulteroushumiliations)andsadistic(thewayhepursueshispreygoesfar beyond professional duty). Yet the idea that Smiley is sadomasochistic quite clearlycontradicts the idea that he is repressed. For sadomasochism entails enjoyment, not

repression. Far frombeing repressed, it’s clear that Smiley isdriven – driven by somethingwhichwillnotallowhimtoeverreclineintohappyretirementanymorethanhecouldsettleintothepleasuresofconjugallife,weretheyavailabletohim.Fromhisearliestappearances in leCarré’s fiction– inthenovelsCall for theDead andA

Murder of Quality – Smiley is on the edge of things. In most of the novels which featureSmiley, he rarely appears asofficially amember ofMI6.He is called out of retirement, orpretending to be retired; and when, after Tinker Tailor, he is not only restored to theorganizationbutmadechief,itisinatemporarycaretakercapacity.OneoftheparadoxesofSmiley’s character is thathe seems to stand for the solidity – and stolidity – ascribed to acertainmodelofEnglishness,yetheishimselfanoutsider,aninterloper,avoyeur.Thisisthespy’svocation,andleCarrérepeatedlyinsistsonit,nowheremorepassionatelythaninthebitteroutburstoftheagentAlecLeamasattheendofTheSpywhoCameinfromtheCold,somemorablyperformedbyRichardBurtoninthe1965filmadaptation.‘Whatdoyouthinkspiesare,moralphilosophersmeasuringeverythingtheydoagainstthe

wordofGodorKarlMarx?They’renot,they’rejustabunchofseedy,squalidbastardslikeme,’Burton’sLeamastellshislover,Liz,afterithasbeenrevealedthattheywerepawnsinacomplexplothatchedbyControlandSmiley. It is thebeyond-good-and-evilagent, theonewhoactswithoutperformingcomplexmoralcalculations,theonewhocannotbelongtothe‘normal’world,whoallowsordinaryfolktosleepeasily.Yetdutyisonlythepretext;thereisalsothematterofthedeeplibidinallureofthisno-man’s-landforoutsiderslikeLeamasandSmiley.Likewriters,theylistenandobserve;likeactors,theyplayparts.But, for spies, thereareno limits to theseroles;onecannotsimplystepoutof themand

returntothewarm,becauseeverything–includinginnerlifeitself,allitswoundsandprivateshames–startstofeellikecover,aseriesofprops.ThereisarevelatorypassagetowardstheendofthesecondSmileynovel,AMurderofQuality,firstpublishedin1962.Attheendofthenovel – a strange whodunit thriller – Smiley confronts the murderer, but, as in the laterconfrontationwithKarla,heendsuptalkingabouthimself:

And there are some of us – aren’t there? –who are nothing,who are so labile thatweastound ourselves; we’re the chameleons. I read a story once about a poet who bathedhimselfincoldfountainssothathecouldrecognisehisownexistenceinthecontrastofit…Thepeoplelikethat,theycan’tfeelanythinginsidethem:nopleasureorpain,noloveorhate…Theyhavetofeelthatcoldwater.Withoutit,they’renothing.Theworldseesthemasshowmen,fantasists,liars,assensualistsperhaps,notforwhattheyare:thelivingdead(Coronet,1994,174).

There is a clear implication in this slide from first person (‘some of us’) to third person(‘people like that’): the Cold Warrior Smiley is himself one of the ‘living dead.’ Inpsychoanalyticterms,Smileyislessa‘sadomasochist’thananobsessionalneurotic.(Lacaninfactarguesthatthequestionposedbytheobsessionalis‘amIaliveoramIdead?’)AttheendofSmiley’s People,when Smiley has defeatedKarla and has the possibility ofwinningAnnback,Smileyisveryfarfrombeingelated.ThereislittlesenseofthisinOldman’sSmiley:his‘sadomasochism’istoocrudetoapproximatethebaroquemechanismsofself-decep-tionsandself-torturingswhichgovernSmiley’spsyche.Yetanother falsenote is struck inAlfredson’s

filmwhenSmileyseesAnnbeingembracedbyHaydonattheMI6Christmasparty;hethrowshimself against the wall in a spasm of agony. In other respects, the party scene addssomething which wasn’t there in the BBC version, a sense of the camaraderie within thedepartment, but it is hard to imagine Smiley engaging in so public and so spontaneousdisplay of emotion. More troublingly, to suggest that Smiley would straightforwardly feelpainwhenconfrontedwithAnn’sinfidelitiesistobetraytheveryideathatheismasochistic.WhenconfrontedaboutAnninthenovelandTVadaptation,Smiley’spreferredposeisoneofwearyresig-nation;butthisconcealsthesecretsatisfactionthatheexperiencesinAnnplayingherassignedroleasimpossibleobject.Butwherethemasochistwouldorganisehisenjoymentaroundthisimpossibleobject,forSmiley,thefunctionofAnn’sunattainabilityistokeepherat a safe distance.His enjoyment is not organised aroundAnn – or sexuality – at all, andwhensheissafelyunattainableshecannottroublehim.UnlikeintheTVseries,weneverseethefacesofeitherAnnorKarla,Smiley’sotherOther,in the film. This rightly suggests that both figures are at least partially absent for Smiley,filled inwithhis fantasies.Butwhat’smissing isanaccountof theway thatSmiley fills inthesefantasyscreens,andanysenseofdiscrepancybetweenthefantasyfiguresthatSmileyprojects and their real-life counterparts. In the film, Smiley cannot remember what Karlalookedlike;inthenovelhegivesadetaileddescriptionofhisadversary.Definedexternallybyhis struggle againstKarla, Smiley’s internal struggle consists ofhisnecessarily thwartedattempts to refuse any identification with his Soviet counterpart. Smiley’s attempts todistance himself from the ‘fanatic’ Karla, his attempts to position himself outside politicsitself,aretheexemplarygesturesofaveryEnglishideology,whichappealstoapreorpost-political notion of ‘common humanity.’ Yet, ironically, what Smiley and Karla have incommonistheirinhumanity,theirexilefromanysortof‘normal’worldofhumanpassions.WhentheymeetinDelhi,Smileyisbaffled,frustratedbutalsofascinatedbyKarla’srefusalofthe appeal, unable to fathom a commitment to an abstract ideology, especiallywhen – inSmiley’s view – it has self-evidently failed. ‘The irony in le Carré’s fiction,’ writes TonyBarley, ‘is that a sound basis for commitment is always either sought or mourned for itsabsence,andyetwhengenuinecommitmentappears(invariablyincommunism)itistreatedasincomprehensible.Communismbecomesfanaticism,notastrengthbutaweakness’(TakingSides:TheFictionofJohnleCarré(OpenUniversityPress,1986,95).BarleyrightlyarguesthatSmileycannotbereadasacipherforliberalideologybecausetheincoherenciesandimpassesofhisownpositionareneverresolved.BehindthemanifestcontentofSmiley’sentreatiestoKarla–comeandjoinus,giveupyourdeadgeneralities,enjoytheparticularitiesofthelivedworld–thelatentmessageisthatallBritainhastoofferisdisillusionment,theimpossibilityofbelief. (Smiley tellsGuillamthat ‘fanaticism’willbe theundoingofKarla: in fact,whenKarla is defeated inSmiley’sPeople, it is becauseof his failure to be sufficiently ‘fanatical’.)Very little of this comes out in Alfredson’s depoliticised film, inwhich Smiley is simply awrongedherowhoultimatelyattainsjustice,Haydonissimplyatraitor,andcommunismissimply an exotic period reference. The nickname for MI6, ‘The Circus,’ in fact openlyacknowledgestheaberrantenjoymentavailabletothosewhohavecrossedintothisfictionalColdWorld.Themultivalentoriginofthenickname–inadditiontohintingatthewaythespies play their deadly game in a spirit of mordant, laconic cynicism, it is also a nearhomonymof ‘service,’ and a play on the location in the novel ofMI6’s offices: Cambridge

Circus, central London – tells you a great deal about theworld inwhich Smiley operates.Muchof thepowerof the televisionversionderived fromtheway it threwusdirectly intothisworld.Guinness’sSmileyincarnatedamodelofBBCpaternalism:heguidedusthroughhisworld,buthehadhighexpectationsofus.Verylittlewasexplained–wehadtopickupleCarré’s invented nomenclature (scalphunters, lamplighters) on the fly. The work slanginvokedtheexoticismofararefiedformoflabour,whilealsosuggestingtheroutinisationofespionagefor those involved in itonadailybasis. Itallcontributedto the feelingthat theCircuswas a lived-inworld. One of themajor problemswith Alfredson’sTinker Tailor, bycontrast,isthatitsworlddoesn’tfeellived-inatall.Gratifyingly,thefilmdoesnottalkdowntoaudiences; justas in theTVseries,wearerequiredtoorientateourselves in theCircus’sintrigues. But the combination of Oldman’s inexpressiveness and the compression broughtaboutbyhavingtotellsocomplicatedastoryinsuchashorttimeresultsinsomethingthatisstrangelyuninvolving.The film isalmostentirely lacking in tensionorparanoia; in theTVseries,thescenewhereGuillamstealsafilefromtheCircusisalmostunbearablytense.Inthefilm, the same sceneplays out in a curiously distancedway.Then there is the questionofperiod, and the film’s striving to create a sense of London in the 1970s. I was too oftenremindedofLifeonMars,whichevoked thedecadewitha seriesofclumsilyplacedperiodsignifiers.AswithLifeonMars,muchofAlfedson’sfilmlookslikea1970sthemepark.Ratherthan discreetly constituting a period background, branded goods (Trebor mints, Ajaxhouseholdcleaner)aredistractinglypushedtotheforegroundofourattention,detailsthatweareinvitedtoapprovinglynote.Butwherethedetailsmatter,thisnewversionislacking.Erasproducecertainvoices,certainfaces.What’smissinginAlfredson’sversionissomethinglikethegrainofthe1970s.Toooften,theactorsseemlike21st-centurymoisturisedmetrosexualsin1970sdrag–andbaddragatthat.Presentedwithphotographsofpeoplefromthe1970s,the clichéd but accurate observation is that people looked so much older then. But thepreposterously fresh-faced likes of Benedict Cumberbatch (who plays Guillam) and TomHardy(intheroleofrogueagentRickiTarr)aren’tnearlyweatheredenoughtoconvinceas1970s secret agents. The skin, the hair are too good. The faces are without the sallow,harrowed,harriedlookthatMichaelJaystonandHywelBennettbroughttotherolesinthe1970sproduction;theirvoicesunabletoconveyanysenseofthebitterandbrutalisingeffectsof the spy’s life.JohnHurt’sControl,at least,has the rightweatherbeatencomplexionandcynical-playfulcadences.Accentsareasevereprobleminthe film.OldmanplaysSmileyasgenerically posh, but at the same timehe sounds like no one you’ve ever heard; at pointsthere’s an oddly Scottish lilt to his accent. The accent of Toby Jones’s Percy Alleline,meanwhile–playedasScottishinkeepingwiththenovel–keepsdriftingsouthward.KathyBurkeishopelesslymiscastasConnieSachs:shesoundslikeaschoolgirltakingonthepartofaposhwomanintheschoolplay.Theproblemhereisn’tjustoneofauthenticity;it’sthatthewayward accents once again undermine the sense of a lived-in world. There is too muchconspicuous effort going into this 1970s simulation. Throughout, you can practically hearGaryOldmanstrainingtoholdbacktheEstuaryEnglish.IntheBBCversion,theCircuswasan unprepossessing space – functional, dreary corridors leading into cramped offices. InAlfredson’s version,Control’s office looksmore like something fromanightclub thanwhatyouwouldexpecttoseeinMI6.Onewantstoescapethe1970sversion,butAlfredsondoesn’tgiveusnearlyenoughtodothat.Thereismuchthatisdifferent,butnothingthatisstrong

enough to displace the television version in the memory. The casting of Colin Firth asHaydon,however,atleastallowsustoseethecharacterinadifferentway.ThefaceofIanRichardson–whowouldgoontoplaytheTorygrandeeandMachiavelintheBBCtelevisionseriesHouseofCards– providedagrey-eminence imageofBritishpower in the1970sand80s.Idon’tknowwhoitwaswhosaidthatColinFirthlookslikethemidwaypointbetweenthe current British prime minister David Cameron and his deputy Nick Clegg, but theobservationisveryastute.ThefaceoftheBritishEstablishmentnolongerhasthehawk-likepuckishnessofRichardson;ithastherumpled,casualyouthfulnessofFirth.OneofthemajorproblemswithAlfredson’s film is that it assumes the ruling values of the neoliberalworldgoverned by youth and consumerism (isn’t this what ‘American’ codes for in the Smileynovels?).RichardSennetthasarguedthatthechronicshort-termismofneoliberalculturehasresultedina‘corrosionofcharacter’(TheCorrosionofCharacter:ThePersonalConsequencesofWorkintheNewCapitalism,W.W.Norton,1999):adestructionofpermanence,loyalty,andthecapacitytoplan.Isn’tSmiley’salluretiedupwiththepossibilitiesofcharacteritself?Inthe 1970s, Smiley showedup all the inadequacies, squalid compromises, and subterraneanbrutalitiesofsocialdemocracy.Then,Smiley’sdoubtsandhisfailingspromptedustoimaginea better world even as we struggled to resist Smiley’s blankly and perversely comfortingavuncularity; now,when thatbetterworld seems if anything further away, it takes all ourefforttoresistthelureofnostalgiaforthesocial-democraticworldofwhichSmileywasboththeconscienceandthedirtysecret.

ThePastisanAlienPlanet:TheFirstandLastEpisodesofLifeonMars

k-punkpostJanuary10,2006

Life On Mars is symptomatic enough to be interesting. Symptomatic of what? Well, of aculture that has lost confidence not just that the futurewill be good, but that any sort offuture ispossible.Andalso:LifeOnMars suggests thatoneof thechief resourcesof recentBritishculture–thepast–isreachingthepointofexhaustion.The scenario is that SamTyler (JohnSimm), a detective from2006, is hit by a car andfinds himself back in 1973. The game that you can’t help playing as you watch is: howconvincing is the simulation of 1973? You’re constantly on the look out for periodanachronisms.Theansweristhatitisn’tveryconvincing.Butnotbecauseofanachronisms.Theproblemisthatthisisa73thatdoesn’tfeellivedin.Theactualpost-psychedelic,quasi-Eastern Bloc seediness of the 70s is unretrievable; kitsch wallpaper and bell bottoms aretransformedinstantlyintoStylequotationsthemomentthecamerafallsuponthem.(Theremustbesometechnicalreason–maybeit’sthefilmstocktheyuse–thataccountsforwhyBritishTVisnolongercapableofrenderinganysenseofalived-inworld.Nomatterwhatisfilmed,everythingalwayslooksasifithasbeenthickly,slicklypaintedingloss,likeit’sallacorporatevideo.ThatremainsmyproblemwiththenewDrWhoasithappens:thecontemporaryBritishsceneslooklikeathemepark,averystageystage-set,toowelllit.)‘LookOut There’s a ThiefAbout’ public information films on black andwhite TV,OpenUniversity lecturers with preposterousmoustaches and voluminous collars, the test card…Everything is so iconic, and the thingwith icons, afterall, is that theyevokenothing.Theicon is the very opposite of theMadeleine, ChrisMarker’s name – rhymingHitchcock andProust– for those totemic triggers that suddenlyabductyou into thepast.Thepointbeingthat the Madeleine can only manage this time-snatching function because it has avoidedmuseumification and memorialisation, stayed out of the photographs, been forgotten in acorner.HearingT-Rexnowdoesn’tremindyouof73,itremindsyouofnostalgiaprogrammesabout1973.And isn’t part of our problem that every cultural object from 1963 on has been sothoroughly, forensically, mulled over that nothing can any longer transport us back? (Aproblem of digital memory: Baudrillard observes somewhere that computers don’t reallyrememberbecausetheylacktheabilitytoforget.)

k-punkpost,April13,2007

In the end, the science fiction elements of Life OnMars consisted solely in an ontologicalhesitation:isthisrealornot?Assuch,LifeOnMarsfellsquarelyintoTodorov’sdefinitionofthe Fantastic as that which hesitates between the Uncanny (that which can ultimately beexplained naturalistically) and the Marvellous (that which can only be accounted for insupernaturalterms).ThepredicamentthatLifeOnMarsexploredwas:isSamTylerinacoma,andthewhole1970sworldinwhichheislostsomekindofunconsciousconfabulation?Or

hashe,by somemeansnotyetunderstood,been transportedback into the real1973?Theshowmaintained the equivocation until the end (the final episode was ambivalent to thepointofbeingcryptic).Simmhaswrylyobservedthattheshow’scentralconceitletstheproductionoffthehook.IfTylerwas in a coma, then anyofLifeOnMars’s historical inaccuracies couldbe explainedawayasgapsinthecharacter’srecollectionsoftheperiod.NodoubttheenjoymentofLifeOnMarsderived from its imperfect recollection,notof1973 itself,butof the televisionof the1970s.Theprogrammewasmitigatednostalgia,ILove1973asacopshow.Isaycopshow,because it is clear that theSFelementsofLifeOnMarswere littlemore thanpretexts; theshow was a meta-cop show rather than meta-SF. The time travel conceit permitted theshowingofrepresentationswhichwouldotherwisebeunacceptable,andbeneaththeframingontologicalquestion(isthisrealornot?),therewasaquestionaboutdesireandpolitics:dowewantthistobereal?As theavatarof thepresent,SamTylerbecamethebadconscienceof the70scopshow,whose discontent with the past permitted us to enjoy it again. Simm, as the modern,enlightened‘goodcop’,waslesstheanti-typeofantediluvian‘badcop’GeneHuntthanthepostmoderndisavowalwhichmadepossibleourenjoymentofHunt’sinvectiveandviolence.Hunt,playedbyPhilipGlenister, became the show’s real star, belovedof the tabloidswhoadoredquotinghisstreamsofabuse,carefullyconstructedbythewriterssothattheycouldcomeacrossascomicratherthaninflammatory.Hunt’s‘no-nonsensepolicing’waspresentedwithenough‘grit’tomakeuswince,butneversomuchviolencethatitwouldinvokedisgust.(Inthisrespect,theprogrammewastheculturalequivalentofablowtoasuspectthatwouldnotshowupunderlatermedicalexamination.)Undoubtedly, although perhaps unintentionally, the show’s ultimate message wasreactionary; in the end, rather than Tyler educating Hunt, it was he would come to anaccommodationwithHunt’smethods.When,inthefinalepisode,TylerisfacedwithachoicebetweenbetrayingHuntorstayingloyal(atthispointinthenarrative,itappearsthatTyler’sbetrayalofHunt is therequisitepriceTylermustpay inorder toreturnto2007), thisalsobecameachoicebetween1973andthepresentdaythatamountedtoadecision,notaboutcollarlengthsorotherculturalpreferences,butaboutpolicingstyles.Audiencesympathyismanaged such that, howevermuchwedisapprove ofHunt,we are never supposed to losefaith in him, so that Tyler’s betrayal seemed far worse than any of Hunt’s manymisdemeanours.Tyler’s(apparent)returnto2007underscoresthisbypresentingthemodernenvironment as sterile, drearily worthy, ultimately far less real than the rough justice ofHunt’s era.Modernwisdom (‘how can youmaintain the law by breaking the law?’) is setagainstHunt’srenegade-heroicidentificationofhimselfwiththelaw(‘Iamthelaw,sohowcan I break it?’) The deep libidinal appeal of Hunt derives from his impossible duality asupholderoftheLawandhewhoenjoysunlimitedjouissance.ThetwofacesoftheFather,thestern lawgiver and Pere Jouissance, resolved: the perfect figure of reactionary longing, acharismaticembodimentofeverythingallegedlyforbiddentousby‘politicalcorrectness’.

‘CanTheWorldBeasSadasItSeems?’:DavidPeaceandhisAdapters

DavidPeace’sfourRedRidingnovelswereactsofexorcismandexcavationofthenear-past,abloody riposte to I LoveThe1970s clipshownostalgia. They stalk theWestYorkshire thatPeacegrewupin,transformingrealevents–theframingandintimidationofStefanKisco;theincompetentpoliceoperationtocatchtheYorkshireRipper–intobackgroundforbrutalandunrelentingfictionsthatpossessanapocalypticlyricism.Peacehas alwaysbeendoggedby comparisonswith JamesEllroy.There’snodoubt thatencounteringEllroy liberatedsomethinginPeace,but intheendPeaceis thebetterwriter.PeacehascalledtheexperienceofreadingEllroy’sWhiteJazzhis ‘SexPistolsmoment’.ButPeacebuildsuponwhatEllroyachievedmuchinthewaythatthepostpunkgroupsleaptintothespacethatthePistolshadblownopen.PeaceextrapolatesapulpmodernistpoeticsfromEllroy’s experiments in telegraphic compression, and while Ellroy’s pugilistic prose has apump-action amphetamine drive, Peace’s writing is hypnotic and oneiric; its incantatoryrepetitions delaying and veiling plot revelations rather than rushing headlong towardsresolution.Despitepresenting seemingly similarworlds – inwhich thepolice are routinelycorrupt,journalistsarevenalandco-optable,andthewealthyarevampiricexploiters–theirpolitical orientations are very different. Ellroy is aHobbesian conservative,who evinces amachopragmatism thatacceptsviolence, exploitationandbetrayalas inevitable.The samephenomena are oppressively omnipresent in Peace’s world, but there is no sense ofacceptance: instead,hisnovels read likehowlsofagonyandcalls for retribution,divineorotherwise.Peace, who has said that he aimed to produce a Crime fiction which is no longerentertainment,haswrittenCrimeworks thatarehauntological ina triple sense.TheCrimegenreisofcoursewellsuitedtoexplorethe(moral,existential,theological)problemsposedbywhatQuentinMeillassouxcalled‘odiousdeaths’:thedeaths‘ofthosewhohavemettheirend prematurely, whose death is not the proper conclusion of a life but its violentcurtailment’; and as they moved away from the uneasy combination of fanciful genretrappings,periodsignifiers,AngryYoungManhomageandbrutalitythatcharacterised1974,the novels of the Red Riding Quartet were simultaneously drawn towards actuality andtheology,asiftheproximityoftheoneentailedtheother.Readersareputintothepositionofspectralmournersbythevoicesofthosewhohavediedodiously,theRipper’svictims,heardinthevisionary ‘Transmissions’whichprefaceeachof thechapters in1980,sectionswhichcombinetheactual(gleanedfromreportageandbiography)withthespectral.Thenovelsarehauntologicalinanothersense,asensethatisclosertothewayinwhichwehaveuseditinrelationtomusic,butnotquitethesame.PeaceisnotatallinterestedintheproblemsofdegradedmemorywhichpreoccupyTheCaretaker,BurialorBasinski.His isapastwithoutcrackle,renderedinthefirstpersonandinatensethatisverynearlypresent.Theocclusionsinthenarrativearedue,nottofaultyrecordingdevicesormemorydisorders(culturalorpersonal)buttotheself-blindingsofhischaracters,whoseethemselves(andtheevents of which they are a part) only through a glass darkly. In the end, everything –narrative, intelligibility–succumbstototalmurk;asthecharactersbegintodisassociate, it

becomesdifficulttoknowwhatishappening,orwhathashappened;atacertainpoint,itisunclearastowhetherwehavecrossedoverintothelandofthedead.Hunter, theseniorManchesterdetectiveassignedtoinvestigatetheWestYorkshirepoliceforce in 1980, finds himself caught in a world in which things don’t add up; they don’t fittogether. It’s aGnostic terrain.TheGnostics thought that theworldwasmadeof a corruptmatter characterised by heavyweight and impenetrable opacity: amurky,muddymire inwhich fallen angels – one of the persistent images in theRedRiding books – are trapped.ThereisnoquestionofHunter,orsolicitorJohnPiggottin1983–orevenPeace–beingabletocompletelyilluminatewhathashappened.Thisisaworldinwhich,asTonyGrisoni,thescreenwriterwho adapted the novels for Channel 4, puts it, ‘narratives disappear into thedark’.The libidinalorientation towards thepast isalsomarkedlydifferent in thecaseofPeaceandsonichauntology:whereashauntologicalmusichasemphasisedtheunexploredpotentialsprematurelycurtailedintheperiodsitinvokes,Peace’snovelsaredrivenbytheunexpiatedsufferingofYorkshireattheendofthe70s.AndPeace’swritingisalsohauntological initsintuitionthatparticularplacesarestainedbyparticularoccurrences(andviceversa).Ashehas insisted in many interviews, it is no accident that Sutcliffe was the Yorkshire Ripper.Peace’s books are avowedly anti-nostalgic, the anti-Life On Mars, with its ambivalencetowards police brutality (and its media representation). There is no such vindication inPeace’snovels,nosuppressedyearningforatimeinwhichcopperscouldbeatsuspectswithimpunity.Afterall,itiscorruption,ratherthancriminalityperse,thatisthefocusoftheRedRidingQuartet.Music in Peace’s books functions as a hauntological trigger. He’s remarked that he usesmusic, includingmusichedoesn’t like, to takehimbackto the feel, thegrain,ofaperiod.Musical references are embedded in the text either diegetically, as background sound, ormoreesoterically,ascryptic-epigraphicciphersandrepeatedincantations:aportaleffectthatgratifyingly echoes (in reverse) theway inwhichmusic of the1970s, especiallypostpunk,woulddirectlistenerstofiction.1980ishauntedinparticularbyThrobbingGristle,especiallythephrasethattheytookfromanotherkiller,CharlesManson:‘cantheworldbeassadasitseems?’ In Peace’s hands, this question becomes an urgent theological enquiry, the veryrelentlessnessofthesadnessandmiseryherecountscallingforthanabsentGod,aGodwhoisexperiencedasabsence,thegreatlighteclipsedbytheworld’sunendingtears.Theworld,thesad, desolatedworld, is full of angelswhosewings have either been shorn off, reduced tostubble, or which have grown into gigantic, dirty monstrosities…addict angels hooked onalcohol,casualbutincessantlusts,andthetrashoftheconsumersocietythatisstrugglingtobe born out of the wreckage of the social democratic consensus…angels whose ultimateresponsetotheworldispuking(everyonepukesinPeace’sbooks),throwingupthewhiskiesand theundercookedcrispypancakes,butneverbeingable topurgeanyof it,neverbeingabletotakeflight.The religious elements in the books become increasingly foregrounded as the Quartetdevelops,untilthedeeplyambiguous,hallucinatoryendingof1983becomesaquasi-Gnostictreatiseonevilandsuffering.Thefinalsectionofthenovel,‘TotalEclipseOfTheHeart’(thattransfiguration of pop cultural reference into epigraph being one of Peace’s signaturetechniques),explicitlyposits the idea that, far fromundermining theexistenceofGod,evil

andsufferingentailthatGodmustexist.Eclipseimpliessomethingthatiseclipsed,ahiddensourceof light thatproducesall this shadow. In thephilosophyof religion, theproblemofevilmaintainsthatsuffering,particularlysufferingvisitedupontheinnocent,meansthatthetheisticGodcouldnotexist,sinceabenevolent,omnipotentandomniscientbeingwouldnotcountenance undeserved suffering. With his inventory of wretched child abuse cases,Dostoyevsky’s Ivan Karamazovmakes themost famous, andmost passionate, statement ofthisposition.YetifthereisnoGod,thesufferingremains,onlynowthereisnopossibilityofits expiation; if there can be no justice to come, the universe is permanently blighted,irrevocablyscarredbyatrocity,abuseandtorture.TheRedRidingnovelsinspiredChannel4intomakingthekindoftelevisiondramasthat

someofushadlongsinceceasedhopingcouldeverbemadeinBritainagain.Thethreefilms,broadcast in 2009, were the most striking British dramas of the first decade of the 21stcentury, towering above all the facile costume epics, routine police procedurals andemotional pornographywhich clogged the schedules.Moreover, in their useof setting andlandscape, in the epiphanic power of their images, the Red Riding films attained a visualpoetryandanexpressionistnaturalismthatexceededpracticallyanythingBritishcinemahasachievedinthepast30years.AsNickJamesobservedinhispreviewoftheRedRidingfilmsforSight&Sound,nothing

in theprevious careerof theRedRiding’s threedirectors – JulianJarrold for1974, JamesMarshfor1980,andAnandTuckerfor1983–gaveanyhintsthattheycouldproduceworkofthisquality. Inmanyways, it is as if the auteurof these filmswasPeacehimself, and thethreedirectorssucceedsoconsummatelybecausetheyallowedthemselvestobechannelsofhis infernalvision. Itwas inevitable that somecompressionoccurred in the transition frompage to screen; indeed, onewhole novel from Peace’s Red Riding sequence – 1977 – wasneverfilmed,butTonyGrisonideservesimmensecreditforthewaythatheweavedthethreefilmsintoasymphoniccoherencethatneverthelessrefusedeasyclosureandintelligibility.Peace’sequivalentofEllroy’santi-heroDudleySmith,thecorruptdetectivewhojustifieshis

own running of drugs and vice operations as ‘containment’, isMaurice Jobson, thewhey-facedpolicemanwhofeaturesinallthreeofthefilms.WhereSmith(asmasterfullyplayedbyJamesCromwell in thebestEllroyadaptation todate,LAConfidential [1997]) is charming,charismatic and flamboyantly loquacious, Jobson (as played byDavidMorrissey in the C4adaptations) is taciturn,abstracted, immobile,blank, inasemi-fuguestateofdisassociationfrom theatrocitiesheparticipates in.Morrissey’s isoneofmanyexcellentperformances inthetrilogy:allofthemmasterpiecesofmeasureandcontrolledpower,propertelevision/filmacting, far from the braying thespery that the British theatrical tradition often turns out.Rebecca Hall is damaged and dangerous as Paula Garland, Maxine Peake, angular yetvulnerable as Helen Marshall. Sean Harris manages to make Robert Craven plausiblyloathsome without tripping over into grand guignol grotesquerie; while Paddy ConsidinebringsaflintyresolutiontotheroleofPeterHunter,oneofthefewlightbringersintheRedRiding’sNorth,an invertedworld inwhichevilenjoyscarnivalesque licenceandthepoliceandthepowerfularefreeto‘dowhattheywant’.The film adaptation of Peace’s extraordinary novel The Damned Utd lived down to

expectationstojustaboutthesameextentthattheChannel4filmsexceededthem.Theteamtaskedwith adapting thenovel lookedunpromising.BeforeTheDamnedUtd, Director Tom

Hooper (drafted in after Stephen Frears left the project) had a background in fairlyunremarkabletelevision(hewouldlatergoontomakeTheKing’sSpeech),whiletheshtickofscreenwriterPeterMorganand leadactorMichaelSheen–asestablished inTheQueenandFrost/Nixon–didn’thaveanyobviousfitwithPeace’sfracturedandabrasivemodernism.Intheend,HooperandMorgandidn’tadaptPeace;theyeliminatedhim.Hooper’sfilmreturnsus to the found object-narrative – Brian Clough’s bitter 44-day stint as manager of LeedsUnitedin1974–thatPeaceusedastherawmaterialforhis‘fictionbasedonafact’.What’smissingiseverythingthatPeacebroughttothefacts:thebiteofaRealthatwillalwayselude(bourgeois) realism; and the shaping power of a Gnosticmythography, inwhich themostmalignentityisthecursedlandofYorkshireitself.Itcanbetiresometocriticiseafilmadaptationsimplyforthewaysitdiffersfromitssource

novel. In this case,however, a close comparisonof the twoversionsofTheDamnedUtd isinstructive, for two reasons. First, because, in erasing Peace’s signature, the film in effectcompetes with his rendition of the Clough/ Leeds story; and second, because Peace’s pulpmodernismpreciselyoffersBritishcultureanescapefromthekindofgoodhumoured,wellbalanced,middleoftheroad,middlebrowrealismthatHooperandMorgantradein.At the press screening, Morgan said that when he read The Damned Utd, it brought a

nostalgiarush‘likeeatingFarley’srusks’.YetsurelyeventhemostguilelessofthereadersofPeace’snovelcouldseethatittastesnotofthewarmmushofbabyfoodbutofbile,scotchandrefluxedstomachacid.InHooperandMorgan’shands,Clough’sstoryisreducedtoallofthegivens,alltheoff-the-shelfnarrativeandthematicpegs:hewasa‘misunder-stoodgenius’,struggling against an establishment represented by puffed-up provincial patriarchs like theDerby County chairman, Sam Longson (well played by Jim Broadbent); he was self-destructive,andheneededhispartnerPeterTaylor(TimothySpall)tocurbhisexcesses;hewaslockedintoanoedipalstrugglewiththemanhereplacedatLeeds,DonRevie.Eventhisistoldmorethanitisshown,andthroughout,theaudiencetreatedasifitiswitless:dialogueis too often used for clumsy plot exposition or to crudely telegraph Themes. Not only doHooperandMorganfailtoevokePeace’sexistentialterrain,hisblightedvisionofYorkshire,theyalsoconveylittleofhisintensesenseofterritoriality.Inthenovel,Leeds’sEllandRoadgroundisthesiteofastruggleoverspaceinwhichCloughisupagainstboththespectreofDonRevieandtheanimalaggressionoftheplayershehasleftbehind.(Astrikingimagefromthenovel –ofCloughchoppingupandburningRevie’sdesk inanattempt to exorcise theabsent father’s ghost – inexplicably never made it to screen.) The film also misses thepurgatorialrhythmofsportwhichPeacecaughtsoacutely.Aseverysportsfan–nevermindabout coach – knows, the jouissance of sport is essentially masochistic. ‘The Damned UtdshowswhatClough’stragedywas,’ChrisPetitputinhisreviewofthenovel,‘deepdown,heknewthatwinningwasonlylossdeferred.’TheintensefearthatcolourseverythinginPeace’snovelisdissolvedinatonethatisfrequentlyjaunty.ThenthereisMichaelSheen.TheproblemwithSheen’snowwellestablishedapproachto

historical characters is that it deprives the film’s world of any autonomous reality –everythingisindexedtoarealityexternaltothefilm,judgedonlybyhowwellitmatchesouralreadyexistingimageofthecharacter,whetherthatbeClough,KennethWilliams,BlairorFrost.(Andtherearebizarrebleed-throughsbetweenthecharacters–atonepoint,itfeltasifSheen’s campy Clough had morphed into Kenneth Williams.) Certainly, Peace has an

advantage over the film-makers here: written fiction canmove beyond received televisionimagesoffiguresfromrecenthistoryfarmorequicklythanfilmcanbutanactorwithmorecourageandpresencethanSheenmighthavereachedbeyondphysicalappearancestoreachatruthofCloughnotaccessiblevia theTVfootage. Instead,Sheenoffershisusual tracingofmannerisms and verbal tics, competent enough as far as it goes, but devoid of any of thetorturedinnerlifethatPeacegavetohisClough.Eveniftheactingwereuniformlysuperb,itwouldhaveneededfarmorethanHooperprovidesinordertosummonthedreadandmiseryofPeace’sworld;but the indifferentphotographyand theoftenappalling soundtrackmakeHooper’s The Damned Utd feel more like a dramatisation of actual events than a film ofPeace’snovel.

NowThen,NowThen:JimmySavileand‘the70sOnTrial’

July2013

Theturnthateventstookhadallthelookofsomekindofritualassassination.Thekillingnotofabody–thebodywasalreadydead–butofaname.Itwasasifsomekindofdealhadbeen struck – you’ll get to live out your lifewith your reputation intact (or as intact as itcouldbe),butayearafteryourdeath,itwillallbedestroyed.Nothing,absolutelynothing,will survive.Yourheadstonewillbedismantled.Thepenthouse inwhichyou livedwillbedemolished.Yournamewillbecomesynonymouswithevil.September 2012, and it all starts to come up. Like a build-up of effluent that could nolonger be contained, first seeping, then surging out. Jimmy Savile, the nation’s favouritegrotesque, the former DJ and children’s entertainer, is exposed as a serial sex abuser andpaedophile.Youcan’tsayitcomesasasurprise,andthat’soneofthemostunsettlingaspectsofthewholeaffair.Howoutintheopenitallwas…WeallreadthetextpurportingtobethetranscriptofanunbroadcastscenefromtheBBC’ssatiricalprogramme,HaveIGotNewsForYou,inwhichSavileisopenlyaccusedofbeingachildsexabuser,andtookitatfacevalue(itseemsnowthatthetranscriptwasafake,butitwasanastonishinglyconvincingsimulation…Therhythmoftheinteractionbetweenthepanellists…Thewaytheverbalsparringescalatesinto aggression…The name of the supposed victim, Sarah Cornley…it all had a ring ofauthenticity–thesignatureofaReal,perhaps,thatcouldnotatthenberecognisedexceptinfiction…)Yes,inacertainway,itwasalloutintheopen–weallknew,orfeltthatweknew–butitmatteredthattheabusewasneveracknowledgedinhislifetime.ForwhilethestoryremainedunofficialSavilewouldnotonlygounpunished,hecouldcontinue tocomporthimselfasacelebrated entertainer, a knight of the realm, stalwart charity fundraiser. No doubt Saviletook a sociopathic delight in being able to get away with it in plain sight. In his 1974autobiography, As It Happens, Savile had boasted about having sex with an underagerunaway. The police wouldn’t dare touch him, he taunted. Neither, it seemed, would themedia.Occasionally,ajournalistwouldattempttobreachhisdefences.LouisTherouxdidhistrademark gentle probing of Savile about the paedophilia allegations in 2000 BBCdocumentary,butofcoursetherewasnoquestionoftheoldmancracking.Bytheendof2012,the70swasreturning,nolongerassomebittersweetnostalgiatrip,butas a trauma. The phrase it’s like something out of David Peace has become something of acommonplaceinthepastfewyears.Strangelyforfictionthatisaboutthepast,Peace’sworkhas actually gained in prophetic power since its publication. Peace wasn’t predicting thefuture–howcouldhebe,whenhewaswritingaboutthe70sandthe80s?–somuchashehad fixated on those parts of the pastwhichwere about to resurface. The Fritzl case hadechoesoftheundergroundlairinwhichchildrenarekeptprisonerintheRedRidingnovels.Andeverything thatcameto lightaboutconspiraciesamongst theEnglishpowerelite–allthemurkand tangleofMurdochandHillsborough– seemed to throwusback intoPeace’slabyrinths of corruption and cover-up.Murdoch, Hillsborough, Savile…Pull on one threadand it all started to connect, and,wherever you looked, therewas the same grim troika –

police, politicians, media…Watching each other’s backs (partly for fear that they will bestabbed in their own back)…Having the goods on each other, the best kind of insurancepolicy,therulingclassmodelofsolidarity…Afterhisdeath,SavileincreasinglystartedtolooklikesomethingPeacehaddreamtup.Weweredrawntoacertainkindoffictionbecauseconsensualreality, thecommonsenseworldthatweliketothinkwelivein,wasn’tadequatetoafigurelikeSavile.Atthesametime,itbecame clear that the elements in Peace’s writing that previously seemed mostmelodramaticallyexcessivewerethosewhichendeduprhymingwiththenewrevelations.It’sas if melodramatic excess is built into the Real itself, and the sheer implausibility ofcorruptionandabuseitselfformsakindofcloakfortheabuser:surelythiscan’tbehappening?Savile’sstompinggroundwasrightintheheartofPeace’sterritory…inLeeds…wheretheentrepreneur-DJstartedtobuildhisempire,andwhere,knowingthatabuseiseasiertogetawaywithwhenitcomesdisguisedascare,hevolunteeredasahospitalporter…Aspoonfulof sugar helps the medicine go down…Incredibly, Savile was for a time a suspect in theYorkshireRipper investigation–membersof thepublichadnamedSavile,andthebodyofoneoftheRipper’svictims,IreneRichardson,hadbeenfoundveryneartohisflat.Thentherewas the infamous photograph of Savile, Peter Sutcliffe and Frank Bruno at Broadmoor in1991–Savile, totinghis signaturecigar,brokeringameetingbetweena serialkillerandatroubledformercelebrityboxer.ThegrinningSutcliffelookslikehe’swearingoneofSavile’sshell-suits. The insanity of a society and of an era – all their occult complicities betweencelebrity, psychosis and criminality – is screamingly exposed here. Ritual inversion: light(entertainment)transformingintothedarkesthorror.Bytheendof2012,Savile’snamewassoirretrievablysulliedthathisoldfriendPeterSutcliffefelttheneedtospeakupforhim.Savile was the kind of figure who came to dominate popular culture without inspiringmuch affection. You couldn’t say he was ever loved. Someone writing in to the LondonReviewofBooksduguptheBBC’saudienceresearchreportsonSavile’sfirstappearancesonTopof thePops. ‘10December1964.JimmySavile,who introducedtheprogrammeonthisoccasion,wasobviouslydislikedbyalargenumberofthesampleaudience.Manyindicatedtheiraversiontothisartistbyremarkingthatanythingtheyhadtosayabouthimwouldbe“quite unprintable”, whilst comment by those who freely expressed their feelings wasliberallylardedwithsuchtermsas“thisnutcase”;“thisobnoxious‘thing’”;and“thisrevoltingspectacle”.’Youdon’thavetobeloved,orevenliked,tobeapopularfigure.Saviledidn’tevenhavethelove-to-hateappealofanationalpantomimevillainsuchasSimonCowell.Histickettofamewashisgrotesquerieitself(andthisgrotesqueriemeantthatoneofthemostinitiallyunnerving things about the revelationswas being forced to think of Savile as any kind ofsexualbeing).AsAndrewO’Haganargued inhispieceonSavile for theLondonReviewofBooks,whatmatteredinthenewworldoftelevisionlightentertainmentwasnotlikeability,or talent, but a certain larger-than-life aura – call it eccentricity, or call it derangement –which Savile easily possessed as his birthright. Even thosewho found Savile creepy couldaccept thathe ‘belonged’on television.Afterall,whereelsecouldhepossiblybelong?Theproblemwasthat,afterthe60s,ifyoubelongedontelevision,therewasnowherethatwasn’topen to you.We now know that Savilewas given keys to the Broadmoor hospital for thecriminallyinsane,sothathecouldwanderaroundtheinstitution–justoneexampleofthefreedoms that Savile’s celebrity and power would acquire for him. We hear that Savile

molestedparaplegicpatientsintheirhospitalbeds,andI’mremindedofDennisPotter’s1976televisionplay,BrimstoneandTreacle,inwhichtheleadcharacter,theunctuousMartin,rapesaseverelybrain-damagedyoungwomanwhilepretendingtocareforher.TheBBCwithdrewtheplay justbefore itwasdue tobebroadcast–presumablyataroundthesametimethatSavilewasappearingonSaturdaynightkids’TVwhilerapinghelplesspatientsinprivate.As Savile’s reputation descended into the mire, it pulled others’ with it. The police

investigationpromptedbythescandal,OperationYewtree,wentafterawholeslewofformerhouseholdnameswith(surely)moretocome.Someone,Idon’trememberwho,saysit’s likethe 70s have gone on trial. Yes, but it’s a very particular strand of the 70s that is underinvestigation–nottheofficiallydebauchedrock‘n’roll70s,notZeppelinorSabbath,butthefamilyentertainment70s.As the stories mounted up, Savile came to seem more and more unbelievable. Taken

together,evenfactsthatwerealreadyknownaboutSavilebeforehisdeathcametolookasiftheycouldn’tpossiblybetrue.Coulditreallybethecase,forinstance,thatSavilehadtakenpart innegotiationsbetween the Israeli and theEgyptiangovernments in the70s?ThathehadmediatedbetweenPrinceCharles andPrincessDiana as theirmarriage started to fail?(Andhowmad,howdesperate,wouldyouhavetobetotakeJimmySavile’sadviceonyourmarriage?)ThathehadspentChristmasafterChristmaswithMargaretThatcher?(ThatcherhadtriedfourtimestoennobleSavile,butwasrepeatedlyrebuffedbyheradvisers,andonlysucceededinknightinghimatthefag-endofherperiodasPrimeMinister.)Murdoch and theDailyMailwasted no time in pushing the idea that the abusewas an

institutionalpathology–itwastheBBC,and,morebroadly,thepaternalisticmediacultureofthe60sand70s,whichhadincubatedSavile’scorruption.TheBBC,nowinapermanentstateof confusion about its role in a neoliberal world, duly went into a neurotic, narcissisticcollapse.Itsjudgementwasshot;ithadfailedtobroadcastareportaboutSavile’sabuse,andthecrisisoverSavilewouldpushitintomovingtoohastilywhen,afewmonthslater,aTorypeerwaswronglynamedinanotherabusescandal.MurdochandtheMailcrowedonabouthowtheSavilerevelationsdemonstratedtheimportanceofpressfreedom–butthequestionthat theyneatlyevadedwas,wherewere their bravehacks?Whydidn’t theyexposeSavilewhenitmattered,whenhewasalive?Whenthequestionstartedtobeaskedabouthowhe’dgotawaywithit,wealreadyknew

the answer.He had connections at the very top. The very top. And he took care tomakefriends with those in power and authority at lower levels, too. Police officers regularlyattendedSavile’snownotoriousFridayMorningClubmeetingsathishomeinLeeds.Savile’sascenttohisunlikelypositionofpowerandinfluencerequiredimmenseamounts

of hard work. One thing you could never accuse him of was slacking. A forensicallyresearchedposton theSumpPlugblogdetailshow infernallybusySavilewas in theearlydaysofhiscareer:

ThePlaza[BallroominManchester]wasjustoneofmanydancehallsandclubsthatSavileoversaw,managed, diskjockeyed at, wielded shadowy control over or had some kind ofundeclaredstakein,notonlyinManchesterbutalsoontheothersideofthePennines—inBradford, in Wakefield, in Halifax, over on the coast in Scarborough and Whitby, andespecially in Leeds. In his hometown the joints he presided over included the Cat’s

WhiskersandtheLocarnoBallroomintheCountyArcade,knownbylocalssimplyas‘theMecca’(laterrebrandedastheSpinningDisc).That’swhere, in1958,hispredilectionforunderagegirlsfirstcametotheattentionofthepolice.Thematterwasswiftlyresolvedbypeelingafewhundredquidoffthebigrolloftwentiesthathealwayscarried,rightupuntilhedied.Meanwhile, in Manchester on any given night in the late 50s and early 60s, if youcouldn’tfindSavileatthePlazaatlunchtime,he’dsurelybeattheRitzlateron.Or,ifnot,trytheThreeCoinsinFountainStreet.Hedidn’tevenrestonSundays;thatwaswhenhespantheplattersforupwardsoftwothousandjiversandtwistersathisTopTenClubatBelleVue.Themanwaseverywhere—atpracticallyeverymajordancehallandnightclubintheNorth’sheavingconurbations,asmuchofafixtureastherotatingmirrorball.

Savile’s empire quickly spread down south too, down to the Ilford Palais, and to DeccaRecords,whowould pay him to play their latest releases. UpNorth, Savile’s racketswereprotectedbyagangofbodybuilders,boxers,andwrestlers,including–improbablyforthoseof uswho came to knowhimas the comically fatwrestlerBigDaddy, cuddlymainstay ofSaturday afternoon television – Shirley Crabtree. The roots of 70s televisionwere here, inthese ballrooms and dancehalls, their seediness waiting to be transubstantiated into lightentertainment.But,ayearafterSavile’sdeath,thetransubstantiationwouldgointoextremereverse.Now

then,nowthen–oneofSavile’scatchphrasesstartedtoassumeanominoussignificance.Onlyafewmonthspreviously,theBBChadbroadcastanumberofprogrammescelebratinghislifeandwork.Now,condemnationisnotenough:alltracesofhisexistencemustberemoved.Notonlyistheheadstonetakenaway,butwehear–canthispossiblybetrue?It’simpossibletotellinthefeveredatmosphere–thatthefamilyofachildburiedneartoSavilehadrequestedthatSavile’sremainsbedisinterred–asifheweresomemedievaldevil,anoxiouscloudofmalignancy that can corrupt even the dead. More farcically, CBeebies, one of the BBC’schildren’s channels, was censured because it broadcasted a repeat of an episode of theprogrammetheTweenies,inwhichoneofthecharactersimpersonatedSavile.

Nowthen,nowthen…

At the time when Savile was abusing, the victims were faced, not with Jimmy Savile themonster,JimmySaviletheprolificabuserofchildren,butwithJimmySavileOBE–SirJimmySavile–JimmySavile,KnightCommanderofthePontificalEquestrianOrderofSaintGregorytheGreat.WhenweaskhowSavilegotawaywithitall,wemustrememberthis.Naturally,fearplayed a part in keeping Savile’s victims quiet.Who’s going to believe yourword against thewordofatelevisionentertainer,someonewhohasraisedmillionsforcharity?Butwealsoneedtotake seriously theway that power canwarp the experience of reality itself. Abuse by thepowerful inducesacognitivedissonance in thevulnerable– this can’t possibly be happening.Whathashappenedcanbepiecedtogetheronlyinretrospect.Thepowerfultradeontheideathat abuse and corruption used to happen, but not anymore. Abuse and cover–up can be

admitted,butonlyonconditionthattheyareconfinedtothepast.Thatwasthen,thingsaredifferentnow…

02:HAUNTOLOGY

LondonAftertheRave:Burial

k-punkpostApril14,2006

Burial is the kind of album I’ve dreamt of for years; literally. It is oneiric dancemusic, acollection of the ‘dreamed songs’ Ian Penman imagined in his epochal piece on Tricky’sMaxinquaye.Maxinquayewould be a reference point here, aswould Pole – like both theseartists, Burial conjures audio-spectres out of crackle, foregrounding rather than repressingsound’saccidentalmaterialities.TrickyandPole’s‘cracklology’wasafurtherdevelopmentofdub’smaterialistsorceryinwhich‘theseamofitsrecordingwasturnedinsideoutforustohearandexult in’ (Penman).But rather than thehydroponicheatofTricky’sBristolor thedankcavernsofPole’sBerlin,Burial’ssoundevokeswhatthepressreleasecallsa‘nearfutureSouth Londonunderwater.You cannever tell if the crackle is theburning static off pirateradio,orthetropicaldownpourofthesubmergedcityoutofthewindow.’Near future, maybe…But listening to Burial as I walk through damp and drizzly SouthLondonstreetsinthisabortiveSpring,itstrikesmethattheLPisveryLondonNow–whichistosay,itsuggestsacityhauntednotonlybythepastbutbylostfutures.Itseemstohavelesstodowithanearfuturethanwiththetantalisingacheofafuturejustoutofreach.Burialishauntedbywhatoncewas,whatcouldhavebeen,and–mostkeeningly–whatcouldstillhappen.Thealbumislikethefadedtenyear-oldtagofakidwhoseRavedreamshavebeencrushedbyaseriesofdeadendjobs.Burialisanelegyforthehardcorecontinuum,aMemoriesFromtheHauntedBallroomfortheRavegeneration.ItislikewalkingintotheabandonedspacesoncecarnivalisedbyRavesandfinding them returned to depopulated dereliction.Muted air horns flare like the ghosts ofRavespast.Brokenglasscracksunderfoot.MDMA flashbacksbringLondon tounlife in thewaythathallucinogensbroughtdemonscrawlingoutofthesubwaysinJacob’sLadder’sNewYork.Audiohallucinationstransformthecity’srhythmsintoinorganicbeings,moredejectedthan malign. You see faces in the clouds and hear voices in the crackle. What youmomentarilythoughtwasmuffledbassturnsoutonlytobetherumblingoftubetrains.Burial’s mourning and melancholia sets it apart from dubstep’s emotional autism andausterity.My problemwith dubstep has been that in constituting dub as a positive entity,withno relation to the Songor to pop, it has too oftenmissed the spectralitywrought bydub’s subtraction-in-process. The emptying out has tended to produce not space but anoppressive,claustrophobicflatness.If,bycontrast,Burial’sschizophonichauntologyhasa3Ddepth of field it is in part because of the way it grants a privileged role to voices undererasure,returningtodub’sphono-decentrism.Snatchesofplaintivevocalskitterthroughthetracks like fragments of abandoned love letters blowing through streets blighted by anunnamedcatastrophe.TheeffectisasheartbreakinglypoignantasthelongtrackingshotinTarkovsky’sStalker(1979)thatlingersoversublimeobjects-becometrash.Burial’s London is a wounded city, populated by ecstasy casualties on day release frompsychiatric units, disappointed lovers on night buses, parents who can’t quite bringthemselvestoselltheirRave12inchesatacarbootsale,allofthemwithhauntedlooksontheir faces,butalsohaunting their interpas-sivelynihilistkidswith the thought that things

weren’talwayslikethis.ThesadnessintheDem2meetsViniReilly-eraDuruttiColumn‘YouHurtMe’ and ‘Gutted’ is almost overwhelming. ‘Southern Comfort’ only deadens the pain.Ravershavebecomedeadbeats,andBurial’sbeatsareaccordinglyundead–likethetik-tokofanoff-kiltermetronomeinanabandonedSilentHillschool,theklak-klakofgraffiti-splashedghosttrainsidlinginsidings.10yearsago,KodwoEshuncomparedthe‘harsh,roaringnoise’of No U-Turn’s ‘hoover bass’ with ‘the sound of a thousand car alarms going offsimultaneously’.The subduedbassonBurial is the spectralechoofa roar,burned-outcarsrememberingthenoisetheyoncemade.Burial reminds me, actually, of paintings by Nigel Cooke. The morose figures CookegraffitisontohisownpaintingsareperfectvisualanaloguesforBurial’ssound.Adecadeago,jungleandhiphopinvokeddevils,demonsandangels.Burial’ssound,however,summonsthe‘chain-smoking plants and sobbing vegetables’ that sigh longingly in Cooke’s painting.Speaking at the Tate, Cooke observed thatmuch of the violence of graffiti comes from itsvelocity.There’s somethingofanaffinitybetween theway thatCooke re-createsgraffiti inthe‘slow’mediumofoilpaintsandthewayinwhichBurialsubmerges(dubmerges?)Rave’shyperkinesisinastatelymelancholia.Burial’sdilapidatedAfroNoFuturismdoesforLondoninthe00swhatWuTangdidforNewYorkinthe90s.ItdeliverswhatMassiveAttackpromisedbutneverreallyachieved. It’severything thatGoldie’sTimelessought tohavebeen. It’s theDubCitycounterpart toLuomo’sVocalcity.Burial isoneof thealbumsof thedecade.Trustme.

DowncastAngel:InterviewwithBurial

TheWire286,December2007

Withhis self-titled debut LP last year, Burial establishedhimself as an extraordinary sonicmythographer, a soundpoet capableof articulating the existentialmalaiseof an era andaplace using only sampled voices, broken breakbeats and musique concrète sound effects.BurialwasavividaudioportraitofawoundedSouthLondon,asemi-abstractsoundpaintingofacity’sdisappointmentandanguish.Burial’swasasoundsaturatedindancemusic,buthisunsequencedbeatsweretooeccentrictodanceto.Hissoundwastoooutofsteptofit intodubstep,thegenrehisrecordsweremostlikelytobefiledunderbecausetheywerereleasedonKode9’sHyperdublabel.Burial’ssoundmighthavefallenbetweenthecracks,butitwasn’tsomeeclecticmelangeofexistingforms.Whatwasmostimpressiveaboutit–andnodoubtoneofthereasonsthatitwasTheWire’sRecordOfTheYearfor2006–wastheconsistencyof its sonic concept.Therewasan impersonalquality toBurial’sdesolateelegies, aqualityreinforcedbyhisdoingonlyafewinterviewsandrefusingtoallowaphotographofhisfacetobeusedinanypromotion.Swarmingrumoursfilledthehype-vacuum.Manydidn’tbelievehe actually existed, attributing the record’s production to Basic Channel, The Bug, Kode9himself–amassivebackhandedcomplimenttohowfullyrealisedBurial’s(syn)aestheticwas.In fact, his sound has been gestating slowly, semi-secretly, for at least half a decade. ThetracksonthefirstalbumhadbeenselectedfromrecordingsBurialhadmadesince2001.Hisfirstappearanceonvinylwasthetrack‘BrokenHome’onWasteland’sVultureCultureMix2in2004.Andthe12’EPSouthLondonBoroughs,whichtrailedsomeofthemostpotenttracksfromthefirstLP,followedayearlater.Burial’srefusalto‘beaface’,toconstitutehimselfasasubjectofthemedia’spromotionalmachine,isinpartatemperamentalpreference,andinpartaresistancetotheconditionsofubiquitousvisibilityandhyper-clarityimposedbydigitalculture–‘It’slikeaouijaboard,it’slike letting someone into your head, behind your eyes. It lets randoms in,’ he says of theinternet.‘I’mjustawell lowkeyperson,’headmits. ‘Iwanttobeunknown,becauseI’dratherbearoundmymatesand family,but there’snoneed to focuson it.Mostof the tunes I like, Ineverknewwhatthepeoplewhomadethemlookedlike,anyway.Itdrawsyouin.Youcouldbelieve in it more.’ Burial doesn’t DJ or play live, so photographs of him can’t even besurreptitiously taken and circulated. ‘I justwant to be in a symbol, a tune, the name of atune,’heexplains.‘It’snotlikeit’sanewthing.It’soneoftheoldundergroundwaysandit’seasier.’ Burial is more sensitive than most to the way in which people are shaped byimpersonalforces.‘Whenyouareyoungyouarepushedaroundbyforcesthatarenothingtodowithyou,’he says. ‘You’re lost;mostof the timeyoudon’tunderstandwhat’sgoingonwithyourself,withanything.’Heknowsthathissounddoesnotcomefromanythingwithaface.Withoutbeingchauvinistic,BurialisfiercelyloyaltotheBritishHardcorecontinuumfromwhich his sound has emerged. ‘If you’re well into tunes, your life starts to weave aroundthem,’hesays. ‘I’d ratherheara tuneabout real life,about theUK, thansomeUShip-hop

‘I’m in the clubwith your girl’-type thing. I love R&B tunes and vocals but I like hearingthings that are true to the UK, like drum ‘n’ bass and dubstep. Once you’ve heard thatunderground music in your life, other stuff just sounds like a fucking advert, imported.’Indeed,onetrackonhisnewalbumUntrueiscalled‘UK’;another,oneofthemostsorrowful,iscalled‘Raver’.Burial’sLondonseemstobeacitypopulatedbydejectedRavers,returningto the sites of former revels and finding them derelict, forced to contrast the quotidiancompromisesoftheirpost-Ravelifewiththecollectiveecstasytheyoncelivedout.Burial’sisa re-dreaming of the past, a condensation of relics of abandoned genres into an oneiricmontage.Hissoundisaworkofmourningratherthanofmelancholia,becausehestilllongsfor the lost object, still refuses to abandon thehope that itwill return. ‘A lot of thoseoldtunesIputonatnightandIhearsomethinginthetunethatmakesmefeelsad,’hesays.‘AfewofmyfavouriteproducersandDJsaredeadnowtoo–andIhearthishopeinallthoseold tracks, trying to unite the UK. But they couldn’t, because the UK was changing in adifferentdirection,awayfromus.MaybethefeelingoftheUKinclubsandstuffbackthen,itwasn’tasartificial,self-awareorcreatedbytheInternet.Itwasmorerumour,undergroundfolklore.Anyonecouldgointothenightandtheyhadtoseekitout.Becauseyoucouldseeitinpeople,youcouldsee it in theireyes.ThoseRaverswereat theedgeat their lives, theyweren’t running ahead or falling behind, they were just right there and the tunes meanteverything.Inthe90syoucouldfeelthatithadbeentakenawayfromthem.Inclubculture,it all became like superclubs, magazines, Trance, commercialised. All these designer barswouldbetryingtobelikeclubs. Itallgot justtaken.Soit justwentmilitant,undergroundfromthatpoint.Thateraisgone.Nowthere’slessdanger,lesssacrifice,lessjourneytofindsomething. You can’t hide, the media clocks everything.’ He checks his pessimism: ‘But[dubstep nights] DMZ and FWD have that deep atmosphere and real feeling. The trueundergroundisstillstrong,Iheargoodnewtunesallthetime.’AfterastatementasdefinitiveashisfirstLP,itwasdifficulttoimaginewhereBurialwouldgonext.ButUntruesubstantiallymodifiesthesoundauditionedonBurial.ThemostobviousdifferencefromthefirstrecordistheamountandtypeofvocalonthenewLP.HismentorKode9describesitas‘weirdsoul’and,ifthereferencepointsforthedebutwereearlytomid-90sRaveandJungle,thetouchstonesonUntrueare late90sGarageand2-step.Thecut-upandpitchshiftedvoices–loopedfragmentsoflonging–makeUntrueevenmoreaddictiveandevenmorekeeninglymovingthanBurial.Burialhadinfactproducedawholealbum’sworthofmaterialinanotherstyle–‘moretechnical,allthetunessoundedlikesomekindofweaponthat was being taken apart and put back together again’ – but he scrapped it. ‘I wasworrying,’herecalls,‘I’dmadeallthesedarktunesandIplayedthemtomymum,andshedidn’tlikethem.Iwasgoingtogiveup,butshewassweet,tellingme,‘Justdoatune,fuckeveryoneoff,don’tworryaboutit.’MydogdiedandIwastotallyguttedaboutthat.Shewasjustlike,‘Makeatune,cheerup,stayuplate,makeacupoftea.’AndIranghermobile20minuteslaterandI’dmadethat‘Archangel’tune[onUntrue],andIwaslike,‘I’vemadethetune,thetuneyoutoldmetomake.”Burial’streatmentofvoicehasalwaysbeencrucialtohissound.Toomuchdub-influencedmusiciscontenttosimplyerasethevoiceandturnuptheecho,butBurialinstinctivelyknewthatdubbing isaboutveiling the song,about reducing it toa tantalising tissueof traces,avirtual object all themorebeguiling because of its partial desubstantialisation. Thedrizzly

crackle that has become one of his sonic signatures is part of the veiling process. Self-deprecatingly,heclaims thathe initiallyused thecrackle to conceal ‘the fact that Iwasn’tverygoodatmakingtunes’.Butheisnotsomuchinfluencedbydubasbythe‘vocalscience’developedbyJungle,Garageand2-stepproducers.WhenheandhisbrotherswouldlistentodarksideJungle,Burial foundhimself increasinglydrawntothevocaltracks. ‘I’d lovethesevocalsthatwouldcomein,notpropersingingbutcut-upandrepeating,andexecutedcoldly.Itwas like a forbidden siren. Iwas into the cut-up singing asmuch as the dark basslines.SomethinghappenswhenIhearthesubs,therollingdrumsandvocalstogether.SowhenIstarteddoingtunes,Ididn’thavethekitandIdidn’tunderstandhowtodoitproperly,soIcouldn’tmakethedrumsandbasssoundmassive,soaslongasithadabitofsinginginit,itforgavetherestof thetune.ThenIcouldn’tbelievethat I’ddoneatunethatgavemethatfeelingthatproperrecordsusedto,andthevocalwastheonethingthatseemedtotakethetunetothatplace.Myfavouritetuneswereundergroundandmoodybutwithkillervocals:‘LetGo’byTeebee,‘BeingWithYouRemix’byFoulPlay,Intense,AlexReece,Digital,Goldie,Dillinja,EL-B,D-Bridge,SteveGurley.ImissbeingonthebustoschoollisteningtoDJHypemixes.’New Labour Britain is intoxicated by consensual sentimentality, hooked on disposable

simulatedemotion.WiththeubiquityofTVtalentshows,religioseemotinghasbecomeafasttrack tomedia recognition, secular UK’s equivalent of sanctification and salvation. In thisprocess,singinghasbecomealmost incidental– it’s lachrymosebackstories that themediareallyhungersfor.Burial’sstrategywithsingingisexactlycontrarytothis:heremovesvoicesfrom biography and narrative, transforming them into fluttering, flickering abstractions,angels liberated from the heavy weight of personal history. ‘I was listening to these GuyCalledGeraldtunes,’hesays.‘IwantedtodovocalsbutIcan’tgetapropersingerlikehim.SoIcutupacappellasandmadedifferentsentences,eveniftheydidn’tmakesense,buttheysummedupwhat Iwas feeling.’ In theprocess of changing thepitchof the vocals, buriedsignalscometolight. ‘Iheardthisvocalanditdoesn’tsayitbutitsoundslike‘archangel’,’saysBurial. ‘I likepitchingdown female vocals so they soundmale, andpitchingupmalevocals so they sound like a girl singing.’ This is apt, as angels are supposed to bewithoutgender. ‘Well that works nice with my tunes, kind of half boy half girl,’ he enthuses. ‘Iunderstand thatmoodything,butsomedancemusic is toomale.SomeJungle tuneshadabalance,theglow,themoodinessthatcomesfromthepresenceofbothgirlsandboysinthesametune.There’stensionbecauseit’sclose,butsometimesperfecttogether.Ilooklikeher.Iamher.’Kode9describesthealbumas‘downcasteuphoria’,andthatseemstofit.‘Iwantedtomake

ahalfeuphoricrecord,’Burialagrees. ‘ThatwasanolderthingthatUKundergroundmusicusedtohave.OldRavetunesusedtobethemastersofthat,forareason,todowiththeRave,halfhumanendorphinsandhalfsomethinghypnotisedbydrugs.Itwasstolenfromusanditneverreallycameback.MateslaughatmebecauseIlikewhalesongs.ButIlovethem,Ilikevocalstobelikethat,likeanightcry,anangelanimal.’Angels,again.OnUntrue,Burial’sRaversappearasdowncastangels,beingsoflightexiled

intothedullweightoftheworldly.UntrueislikeGermandirectorWimWenders’sWingsOfDesire (1987) relocated to the UK: an audio vision of London as a city of betrayed andmutilated angels, their wings clipped. But angels also hover above the hopeless and the

abandoned here. ‘My new tunes are about that,’ Burial agrees, ‘wanting an angel to bewatchingoveryou,whenthere’snowheretogoandallyoucandoissitinMcDonaldslateatnight,notansweringyourphone.’As you might expect, Burial’s attunement to angels, demons and ghosts goes back to

childhood. ‘My dadwhen I was really little,’ he says, ‘sometimes he used to readmeMRJamesstories.OntheSouthBanklastyear,IbunkedofffrommydayjobandIfoundabookofMRJamesghoststories.TheonethatfuckedmeupwhenIwaslittlewas“Oh,WhistleAndI’ll Come To You, My Lad”. Something can betray how sinister it is even at a distance.SomethingweirdhappenswithMRJames,becauseeventhoughit’sinwriting,there’llbeamomentwhenthepersonmeetstheghost,whereyoucan’tquitebelievewhatyou’veread.Yougocold,justforthosefewlineswhenyouglimpsetheghostforasecond,orhedescribestheghostface.It’slikeyou’renotreadinganymore.Inthatmomentitburnsamemoryintoyouthatisn’tyours.Hesayssomethinglike,“There’snothingworseforahumanbeingthanto see a facewhere it doesn’t belong.” But if you’re little, and you’ve got an imaginationwhichisalwaysmessingyouupanddarkingyouout,thingslikethatarealmostcomfortingtoread.‘Also,’ he continues, ‘there is nothing worse than not recognising someone you know,

someoneclose,family,seeingalookinthemthatjustisn’tthem.Iwasonceinalock-ininapubandtheregularsthereandsomematesstartedtellingthesefucked-upghoststoriesfromreallife,maybethathadhappenedtothem,andIswearifyouheardthem…Onegirltoldmethe scariest thing I ever heard. Some of these storieswould stop a fewwords earlier thanseemedright.Theydon’tplayoutlikeafilm,they’retoosimple,tooeveryday,slight.Thosestories ring true and I never forgot them. Sometimes maybe you see ghosts. On theundergroundwithanemptyCostcuttersplasticbag,nowheretogo, theyaresmaller,about70percentsmallerthananormalperson,smallerthantheywereinlife.’Burialmakes themostconvincingcase thatourzeitgeist isessentiallyhauntological.The

powerofDerrida’sconcept lay in its ideaofbeinghauntedbyevents thathadnotactuallyhappened, futures that failed tomaterialiseandremainedspectral.Burialcraves somethingheneveractuallyexperiencedfirsthand.‘I’veneverbeentoafestival,aRaveinafield,abigwarehouse,oranillegalparty,’hesays,‘justclubsandplayingtunesindoorsorwhatever.Iheard about it, dreamed about it.My brothermight bring back these records that seemedreally adult to me and I couldn’t believe I had them. It was like when you first sawTerminatororAlienwhenyou’reonly little. I’dgetarushfromit, Iwashearingthisotherworld,andmybrotherwoulddropbylateandI’dfallasleeplisteningtotunesheputon.’ItwashisolderbrotherwhomadeRaveakindof‘presentabsence’inBurial’slife,aspacetobefilledwith yarns and yearnings. ‘He loved tunes, Rave tunes, Jungle,’ Burial tellsme. ‘Helivedallthatstuff,andhewasgone,hewasontheothersideofthenight.Wewerebroughtup on stories about it: leaving the city in a car and finding somewhere and hearing thesetunes.Hewouldsitusdownandplaytheseoldtunes,andlateronhe’dplayus‘Metropolis’,Reinforced,Paradox,DJHype,FoulPlay,DJCrystl,SourceDirectandTechnotunes.’TheRaverelics feedahunger forescape. ‘I respectworkinghardbut Idreadaday job,’

assertsBurial.‘Orajobinterview.I’vegotatruantheart,Ijustwanttobegone.I’dbeinthekitchens,thecorridorsatwork,andI’dbestaringatthepanelsontheroof,clockingallthemaintenance doors, dreaming about getting into the airducts. A portal. As a kid I used to

dreamaboutbeingputinthebins,escapingfromthings,withoutmymumknowingshe’dputme out in the bins. So I’m in a black plastic bag outside a building and hearing the rainagainstit,butfeelingallright,andjustwantingtosleep,andatruckwouldtakemeaway.’Atoo quick psychoanalytic readingwould hear this as a thinly codedwish to return to thewomb–andBurial’swarmbasscertainlyfeelsenwombing–butthatwouldbetoignorethedesire to flee that is also driving this fantasy. Burial wants out, but he cannot positivelycharacterisewhatliesbeyond.‘Wealldreamaboutit,’hesays.‘Iwishsomethingwasthere.Butevenifyoufighttoseeit,youneverseeanything.Youdon’thaveachoice.You’dbeonthewaytoajob,butyou’relongingtogodownthisotherstreet,rightthere,andyouwalkpast it.No forceonEarthcouldmakeyougodownthere,becauseyou’vegot to traipse towherever.Evenifyouescapeforasecond,peopleareonyourcase,youcan’tgodownoldThamessideandthrowyourmobilein.’Buttherearealwaysflickersandflashesoftheotherside.After-images.‘Iusedtogettakenaway to themiddleofnowhere, by the sea,’ concludesBurial. ‘I love it out there, becausewhenit’sdark,it’stotallydark,there’snoneofthisambientlightLondonthing.Weusedtohavetowalkbackandholdhandsandusealighter.Seethelight,seewhereyouwereandthenyou’dwalkon,andtheimageofwhereyou’vejustbeenwouldstillbeonyourretina.

SleevenotesforTheCaretaker’sTheoreticallyPureAnterogradeAmnesia

May2006

Could it be said that we all now suffer from a form of theoretically pure anterogradeamnesia?Oliver Sacks’TheMan whoMistook hisWife for a Hat and Christopher Nolan’sMemento(2000) havemade the features of the condition – referred to, misleadingly, as short-termmemory loss – well-known. In fact, sufferers do produce newmemories, but they are notretained. There is no long-term encoding. This type of amnesia is anterograde rather thanretrograde because it does not affect anymemories formed before the onset of condition.Theoretically: in practice, it is likely that even the old memories will undergo somedegradation.OnTheoreticallyPureAnterogradeAmnesia thealbum,atendencyintheCaretaker’smusichasreachedakindofculmination.Thethemewasoncehomesicknessforthepast.Now,itistheimpossibilityofthepresent.SelectedMemoriesFromTheHauntedBallroomwasakindofreplicantmnemonicimplant,afalsememoryofthetearoompopofthetwentiesandthirties.ForthoseofushauntedbythelambentacheofAlBowlly’scrooninTheShiningandPenniesFromHeaven,thatkindofTotalRecall trip was irresistible. The ghosts were so glamorous, their bob haircuts and pearlsglisteninginthecandlelight,theirdancemovesohsoelegant.AnoccultedreferencemighthavebeenTheInventionofMorel(aninfluenceuponLastYearatMarienbad(1961)andthereforealsouponTheShining(1980)),AdolfoBioyCasares’sciencefictionallovesongtoLouiseBrooks.Casaresimaginedaworldweliveinitwherethespectresof the beautiful and the damned are preserved forever, their little gestures and banalconversations transformed, by repetition, into holy artefacts. The simulation machine onMorel’sislandisfilm,ofcourse,andwhohasnotatsometimewantedtodoasCasares’herodoesandpassbeyondthescreen,soastofinallybeabletotalkwiththeghostsyouhaveforso longmoonedover? It is thesametemptationthatJackyields to inTheShiningwhenheentersintotheconsensualhallucinationofTheOverlook.TheGoldRoom,inwhichtheScottFitzgerald-eraeliteforevercavortinaceaselesswhirlofwit,cocaineandwealth,isperfectlyheavenly.Butyouknowwhatthepriceofthetickettoheavenis,don’tyouJack?Don’tyou?Itisthatgrave-damp,mildewedodourwhichtheperfumeandthepreservativeneverquitecoveredupwhichhasalwaysmadeTheCaretaker’smusicuneasy,ratherthaneasy,listening.Queasy listening, actually. It has never beenpossible to ignore the shadows lurking at theperiphery of our audio-vision; the trip downmemory lanewasdeliciously intoxicatingbuttherewasabitterundertaste.Afainthorror,somethinglikethedimbutinsistentawarenessofplagueandmortalitythatmusthavenaggedattheentranced-dancersinPoe’s‘TheMasqueoftheRedDeath’.

That’snotall.

Somethingelsewaswrong.

Thesepiaand thesoft focuswerephotoshopped in,weknewthat.These thickcarpetsandchinatea-setsweren’treallythere.Andtheyneverwere,notforus.Wewereinasimulationofanother’s mind’s eye. The mottled, honeyed, slurred and reverbed quality of the soundalertedus to the fact that thiswasnot theobject itself but theobject as it is for someoneelse’smemory.OnTheoreticallyPureAnterogradeAmnesia, thingshaveworsenedimmeasurably. It isas iftheOverlooksimulationhasrunoutofsteam.Thelightshavegoneout.Thehotelisrotten,aburnedoutwrecklongsincegutted,thebandispaleandverynearlytranslucent.The threat isno longer thedeadly sweet seductionofnostalgia.Theproblem isnot,anymore,thelongingtogettothepast,buttheinabilitytogetoutofit.Youfindyourselfinagreyblackdrizzleofstatic,ahazeofcrackle.Whyisitalwaysraininghere?Oristhatjustthesoundofthetelevision,tunedtoadeadchannel?Wherewerewe?Yousuppose thatyoucouldbe in familiar territory. It’sdifficult toknowifyou’veheardthisbeforeornot.There’snotmuchtogoon.Fewlandmarks.Thetrackshavenumbers,notnames.Youcan listen to theminanyorder.Thepoint is toget lost.That’seasy in this ill-seen, late Beckett landscape. You extemporise stories they call it confabulation – tomakesenseoftheabstractshapesloominginthesmokeandfog.Whoiseditingthefilm,andwhyallthejump–cuts?Bynow,verylittleafewhauntingrefrainslingeringatthebackofyourmindseparatesyoufromthedesertofthereal.Let’s not imagine that this condition afflicts only a few unfortunates. Isn’t, in fact,theoreticallypureanterogradeamnesiathepostmodernconditionparexcellence?Thepresent–broken,desolatedisconstantlyerasingitself,leavingfewtraces.Thingscatchyourattentionfor a while but you do not remember them for very long. But the old memories persist,intact…Constantlycommemorated…Ilove1923…

Dowereallyhavemoresubstancethantheghostsweendlesslyapplaud?

Thepastcannotbeforgotten,thepresentcannotberemembered.

Takecare.It’sadesertoutthere…

MemoryDisorder:InterviewwithTheCaretaker

TheWire304,June2009

‘Ihavealwaysbeenfascinatedbymemoryanditsrecallespeciallywheresoundisconcerned,’writesJamesKirbyviaemail.‘Somethingsweremembereasilyandothersweneverseemtograsp. That idea was developed more on the boxset I did [2006’s Theoretically PureAnterogradeAmnesia]whichwasbasedaroundaspecificformofamnesiawheresuffererscanrememberthingsfromthepastbutareunabletoremembernewthings.Torecreatethatinsound was a challenge that I relished really. I realised the only way was to make adisorientatingsetwithvery fewreferencepoints.Fragmentsofmelodybreakingoutof thismonotonoustoneandaudioquagmire.Evenifyoulistenoverandovertoallthesongsyoustillcan’trememberwhenthesemelodieswillcomein.Youhavenofavouritetracks,it’slikeadreamyouaretryingtoremember.Certainthingsareclearbutthedetailsarestillburiedanddistant.’Kirby’sdescriptionperfectlycapturestheunsettlingexperienceoflisteningtoTheoreticallyPureAnterogradeAmnesia.With the release of the sixCDboxset, his project TheCaretakercrossed over from being an exercise in atmospheric nostalgia to being a harrowinginvestigationofmemorydisorder.Theboxsetismorelikeasonicinstallationthanarecord,aworkwhoseconceptualandtexturalrichnessputsmuchsoundarttoshame.ThefirstthreeCaretakerrecords–SelectedMemoriesFromTheHauntedBallroom(1999),AStairwayToTheStars(2001)andWe’llAllGoRidingOnARainbow(2003)–swathedsampledBritishtearoompop in a gaslit halo of reverb and crackle. On Theoretically Pure Anterograde Amnesia theeffectsandthesurfacenoisetakeover,sothatinsteadofagentlydub–dilapidatedpop,thereis an unnavigable murk, as abstract and minimal as a Beckett landscape. Echoes andreverberations float free of any originating sound source in a sea of hiss and static. If theearlierrecordssuggestedspacesthatweremildewedbutstillmagnificent–grandhotelsgonetoseed,longabandonedballrooms–TheoreticallyPureAnterogradeAmnesiainvokessitesthathave deteriorated into total dereliction, where every unidentified noise is pregnant withmenace.The72 tracks–allof themnumberedrather thannamed–simulate theamnesiaccondition,andthefewfragmentsofwellknowntunesthatoccasionallyflareinthegloomareintermittentislandsoffamiliarityinaworldthathasbecomehostileandunrecognisable.‘Maybeit’sadarkhumour,akindofanaudioblackcomedy,’KirbysaysofTheCaretaker,but the solemnity of the project belies Kirby’s reputation as a prankster. His label V/VmnotoriouslyreleasedaversionofLieutenantPigeon’s‘MouldyOldDough’justafterappearingonthecoverofTheWire176undertheheadline‘Harder!Faster!Louder!’,oneofaseriesofmanglings ofmainstreammusic – tracks by Chris de Burgh, John Lennon and Elton Johnwerealsobutcheredandreassembled–thatV/Vmissued.It is the focus on culturalmemory that holds together all ofKirby’swork, including theV/Vmmash–ups.IftheV/Vm(sub)versionsofpopcomefromthebrashsideofpostmodernpastiche,thenTheCaretakerisaboutthedarksideofculturalretrospection.TheoreticallyPureAnterogradeAmnesiawasinmanywaysanactofdiagnosisofaculturalpathology.Itmight

seemstrangetodescribeaculturethatissodominatedbypastformsasbeingamnesiac,butthekindofnostalgiathatisnowsopervasivemaybestbecharacterisednotasalongingforthepastsomuchasaninabilitytomakenewmemories.FredricJamesondescribedoneoftheimpassesofpostmoderncultureastheinability‘tofocusourownpresent,asthoughwehavebecomeincapableofachievingaestheticrepresentationsofourowncurrentexperience.’Thepastkeepscomingbackbecausethepresentcannotberemembered.Memorydisordershaverecurredas themes in thepopular cinema in thepastdecadeor so: it is theoreticallypureanterogradeamnesiathatafflictsLeonard,theleadcharacterinMemento,whilethemassivelysuccessfulBournefilmswerepreoccupiedwithmemoryloss.Itisnotsurprisingthatanxietiesaboutmemory should continually surface in late capitalism,where, as Jamesonandothershave argued, perpetual economic instability and the rapid turnover of ephemeral imagesleadstoabreakdowninanycoherentsenseoftemporality.Kirby has approached the failure of the future from a different angle on another of hisprojects,2006’sTheDeathOfRave.Here,Raveisdesubstantialised,strippedofallbassweightand drumpropulsion, reduced to shimmer and haze. The tracks sound like they are beingheardfromoutsideaclub:ahorriblyaccuratesonicmetaphor,perhaps,ofourcurrentstateofexilefromthefuture-shockingrateofinnovationthatdancemusicachievedinthe80sand90s.‘Yeah,thatprojectreallyisinitsinfancy,’Kirbysays.‘ItcameaboutaspartoftheV/Vm365projectwheretheaimwastomakeoneaudiotrackaday.IusedtogoRaveswhenIwasyounger,wentthroughthatwholeexplosioninelectronicmusicfrom1987toaround1992-93whenitseemedliketherewasanewgenreeverysingleweek.Itwasanamazingtimeinmusictohearsomanythingshappeningandsomanynewpossibilitiesopeningupandtoseeandfeeltheenergyofnewmusicexplodingondancefloorsandinclubs.IthinkTheDeathOfRaveisaboutthelossinthatspiritandatotallossofenergyinmostelectronicmusicsacrosstheboard.IfeelsorrythesedaysforpeoplewhenIgotoclubsasthatenergyisn’tthereanymore. I mean we have some so called very cool clubs in Berlin such as Watergate andBerghain,butyoucomparethemtothosebackinthelate80sandearly90sinManchesteranditreallyisnocomparison.Ofcoursenewthingspopupbutthedifferencenowreallyisthatifsomethingexplodesthenbeforeitcangrownaturallypeoplehavestrangledittodeathwithparodiesonlineandoftenasceneornewstyleisdeadbeforeitevensurfaces.HouseandTechnoforinstancetookalongtimetomatureinChicagoandDetroit,nowthereisnotime,onceanideaisoutoftherabbit’shatit’scopiedadinfinitumuntiltheenergyisgone.Thatisthekeyword–‘energy’,it’stheonethingIhavealwaysbeeninspiredby.FormethoseDeathOfRavetracksareaboutstrippingRavemusicfromallitsenergyandspiritoffun–takingtheaudio from the Rave to the grave, if you like.’ The tracks are like energy flashbacks, frailfigmentsofRavereconstructedinaserotonin-depletedbrain.Kirby’s other project The Stranger is organised around space rather than time. ‘TheStranger really isadarkerversionofTheCaretaker,’Kirby says, ‘and is its closest relative.The Stranger is about creating a physical location in sound. The last album for example[2008’sBleaklow]wasabout the siteofBleaklowwhich is in thePeakDistrict, it canbeagrim place on the dark grey days but also beautiful on sunny days.Weirdly I had a fewpeoplegetintouchwithmewhowalkupthereandtheytoldmeIcapturedtheatmosphereperfectlyand theyused itas theywerewalkingup there. Iguess theoddglintof sunshinecomingthroughthatslatenortherngreyskycouldbeheardaurally.’

Kirby himself now lives in Berlin. ‘I moved to Berlin as it has the atmosphere andopportunitiesof thebigcitybutalso there’sa lotof spacehere to thinkmoreandalso it’seasytohideawayonthedarkstreetshere.Alsoit’snotasbrutalasManchesterhere,thereismoreofanopenessaspeopledon’tfollowthemediaandnewssomuch.’LikeTheStranger,though,TheCaretakerremainsaprojectrootedinBritishness–‘it’softenonlyBritishmusicwhichhasbeenusedassourcematerial.’AparallelforTheCaretaker’sexcavationofpre-rockBritishpopisDennisPotter’smusicaldramafortelevision,PenniesFromHeaven. ‘TheuseofaudioinPenniesFromHeavenisamazingalongwithitsvibrancyandcolourandofcoursethewayDennisPotteruses the sadness in the lyrics to keep telling the story is also special asthesesongsreallyarestoriesinthemselves.JohnCliffordandHerkHarvey’sfilmCarnivalofSouls(1962)wasalsoapointofreference,theclosingscenesinthatfilmcouldevenbeaudiofromAStairwayToTheStars. I only saw that filmafterpeoplehadmentioned it tome. Itworksa lot thatway,peoplewilldrawa line tosomethingandIwill then investigate thattoo.’But of course themain initial impetus for TheCaretakerwasKubrick’sThe Shining. The

name‘thecaretaker’wastakenfromtherolethatJackTorranceiscondemnedtoforeverplayinthehauntedOverlookhotel(‘you’vealwaysbeenthecaretaker’,Torranceistoldinoneofthe film’s most chilling moments). The conceit was simple: inspired by ‘the hauntingsequences which feature the ballroommusic which is playing only in Jack’s mind’, Kirbythought, why not make a whole album of material that might also have played in theOverlook?The Shining soundtrack includes two tracks by Al Bowlly, the between-the-warscroonerwhose songs features inmanyofPotter’sdramas,andKirbysoughtoutmusic inasimilarvein.‘Ispentalotoftimesearchingoutmusicfromthateraoveratwoorthreeyearperiodandconstantlystartedtoplayaroundwiththissourcematerial.Theinterestingthingformeisthefactthatmostofthatmusicisaboutghostsandlossasitwasrecordedbetweenboththeworldwars.It’sofatotallydifferenteraandhadmoreorlessbeenforgotten.Titlesinspirednewideasasdidtheaudio itself. Iwas fortunateas therewasagreatrecordshopnearwhere Iwas in Stockportwhichwas ran by twoold guys and it specialised in 78s. Iwouldtakeinaudioandaskthenwhatwassimilarandtheywouldscuttleoffintothebackoftheshopanddigoutsomeoldcataloguefromthe1930sandthenpulloutvinylsforme.Itwasanamazingresourcesadlywhichisnolongerthereasoneoftheguyspassedawayandtheotherdecidedtoclosetheshop.Itwaslikeatimewarpinthere,likegoingback30or40years.Theywouldhandwritereceiptsandhalfoftheirstockwasinthisbackroomyouweredeniedaccesstoo.TheyhadnoideawhatIwasdoingintherebuyingtheserecords,thoughoneofthemtoldmeonetime‘Youwereborninthewrongeraasnobodyisinterestedinthismusicwhoisyourage.”Kirbyhastunedtomorerecenthistoryforanupcomingproject.‘Ithasbeeninmymindfor

awhiletoworkonaScragill/Thatcherprojectandthisistheperfecttimeforthisnowasweapproachthe25thanniversaryoftheMinersStrike.Alothasbeenwrittenelsewhereaboutthisconflictanditsoutcomeandlegacy,Ihavebeenscouringonlineandalsohavepickedupsomeamazingfootagetoreprocess.ItwilllinkcloselytoTheCaretakerintermsofitsstyleasitwillbelikewatchingahalfrememberedversionduetotheprocessing.SomeofthefootageistotallyghostlikeasitwasrecordedonVHStapesfromMinersbackin1984,sothereisareallossinqualityandthesoundfailstomatchthevisuals.It’slookinglikeadreamversion

maybe.Thiswillbemainlyvideoworkwithalsoanincrediblylimitedvinylreleasefeaturingaudio from these videos and some exclusive audiowork.’ This will fit into a series of re-stagingsoftheMinersStrikethisdecade,includingJeremyDellerandArtangel’sTheBattleOfOrgreaveandDavidPeace’sGB84.KirbydecidedtocloseV/Vmdownlastyear. ‘V/VmwasavehicleforalotoftheworkI

havedonebutIthinknowasmusicconsumerswehavereachedapointwherelabelsarenotso important,what ismore important is delivery and availability ofwork.’ It is partly thepossibilities for the online distribution ofmusic,whichKirby has always been enthusiasticabout,thatledhimtoendV/Vm,buthe‘alsofoundIwasusingthenameV/Vmlessandlesswhenitcomestonewworks.I’vebeenworkingonaverypersonalalbumintermsofmoodsIwant to conveyand I guess Imayusemyownname for that.’ In fact, thealbum,entitledHistoryAlwaysFavoursTheWinners,willcomeoutunderthenameLeylandKirby(‘Leylandismy grandather’s andmymiddle name. There are already toomany James Kirby’smakingmusic out there, if I believeGoogle.Now I’monly competingwith a glamourmodel fromSheffield in the Google search.’) The Leyland Kirby music was made without the use ofsamples,but ithasclearlybeen informedbyKirby’s time in thevaults.The trackshaveaneerily untimely quality, a stately grace, a filmic scope. On ‘When Did Our Dreams AndFuturesDriftSoFarApart’,adoleful,echo-refractedpianodesolatelytracksthroughsubduedelectronic textures. ‘The Sound Of Our Music Vanishing’ is a more violent exercise inthwartedrecall–hereitasifthememoriesarerushinginandbeingobliteratedatthesametime,likeBasinskiifthetapeswerebeingviolentlyshreddedinsteadofgentlydisintegrating.Theepic‘WhenWePartedMyHeartWantedToDie’,meanwhile,hasaswelling,magisterialmelancholythatrecallsAngeloBadalamenti.The Caretaker project continues, however. ‘I have started to play shows finally as The

Caretaker,usuallyIjustliketoletthemusicjustcreepoutofthespeakersasifit’sactuallythevenueplayingtheaudioorthatthesoundsareinyourownmind.IplayedinAthenslastweekinapitchblackroomwhichworkedwell,maybeIcanworksomevisualsintotheliveprocessbuttheywouldhavetoaddtotheaudioandnotdistractthelisteningprocess.Iamalways of course interested in playing more relevant locations, so for instance BlackpoolTowerwouldbeamazingastheballroomthereisagreatVictorianexampleandperfectforthisparticularaudiorecall.’‘More than anything it’s all about research and mood when making the albums,’ Kirby

replieswhenIaskhimhowhemakesTheCaretakerrecords. ‘Knowingthesourcematerial,maybehearinga lyricalphrasewhichopensupan idea inmymindor indeed just readingsomething,suchaswiththeAnterogradeboxsetwhichsparkedoffanotherideaandofferedadifferenttangentandpossibility.Withoutgoingintothespecifics,thingsarereworkedtotallyinadigitalrealmuntiltherightmoodsurfaces.It’sveryimportanttoothatIamintherightmoodmentallytomakethatmusicwhichIthinkcomesacrosscertainlyinthelateralbums,asopposedmaybetothefirstalbum.IamgettingbetteratrealisingthedayswhenIgetthebestresultsnowwhenworkingonaspecificproject.It’sstrangereallybecausethereisafullrangeofemotionsinthemusicwhenIlistenback,fromlosstohappiness,dislocation,regret,longing.Maybeit’sthesourcemusicitselfwhichinspiresthis,buttherearestillformealotofpersonalmoments inamongstthosealbums.Maybeevensomeofmyownmemoriesareintertwinedinthere.’

Theword‘research’keepscomingupinKirby’sdiscussionofTheCaretakerproject.‘Ihavebeendoingalotofonlineresearchinthelastcoupleofyearsandalsohavebeenwatchingalot of documentaries about peoplewho suffer frombrain disorders andmemory problems.Thelastrelease[2008’sPersistentRepetitionofPhrases]wasbasedaroundalotofconditionswhere the sufferer just repeats themselves, so the audio featured a lot of loops andmicroloops, itwasa lotwarmerandmoregentlethantheboxsetrelease.Notallmemoriesare necessarily bad or disturbingmemories.’ OnPersistent Repetition of Phrases, one ofTheWire’stoptenrecordsoflastyear,therewasaccordinglyareturnofthesomeoftheprettinessthat was absent from Theoretically Pure Anterograde Amnesia, but there was also an icylucidity, an exquisite poise, about the record. It felt like a distillation and a consolidation.‘Thechallengenowistomovethesoundsomewhereelsebrainwiseandmemorywise,thatwilltaketimetofindthenewdirection.MoreresearchwillhavetobedonebeforeIfindthebestpathwayforfutureexploration.Iwouldalsolovetousethismusiconfilmasitwouldbeperfectforthis,somaybeadoorwillopensomewhere.’

HomeisWhereTheHauntis:TheShining’sHauntology

k-punkpost,January23,2006

1.Thesoundofhauntology

Conjecture:hauntologyhasanintrinsicallysonicdimension.The pun – hauntology, ontology –works in spoken French, after all. In terms of sound,hauntologyisaquestionofhearingwhatisnothere,therecordedvoice,thevoicenolongertheguarantorofpresence(IanP:‘WheredoestheSinger’svoiceGO,whenitiserasedfromthedubtrack?’)Notphonocentrismbutphonography,soundcomingtooccupythedis-placeofwriting.Nothingherebutusrecordings…

2.GhostsoftheReal

Derrida’sneologismuncoversthespacebetweenBeingandNothingness.The Shining – in both book and film versions, and here I suggest a side-stepping of thewearisome strugglebetweenKing fansandKubrickiansandpropose treating thenovelandthefilmasalabyrinth-rhizome,asetofinterlockingcorrespondencesanddifferences,arowofdoors–isaboutwhatlurks,unquiet,inthatspace.Insofarastheycontinuetofrightenusoncewe’veleftthecinema,theghoststhatdwellherearenotsupernatural.AswithVertigo(1958),inTheShiningitisonlywhenthepossibilityofsupernaturalspookshasbeenlaidtorestthatwecanconfronttheRealghosts…ortheghostsoftheReal.

3.Thehauntedballroom

MarkSinker: ‘ALL[Kubrick’s] filmsare fantastically ‘listenable’ (ifyouusethis insorta thesamesenseyouusewatchable)’WheredoesThe conceit of TheCaretaker’sMemories from theHaunted Ballroom has the simplicity ofgenius:awholealbum’sworthofsongsthatyoumighthaveheardplayingintheGoldRoominTheShining’sOverlookHotel.MemoriesfromtheHauntedBallroomisaseriesofsoft-focusdelirial-oneiricversionsof20sand30stearoompoptunes,theoriginalnumbersdrenchedinsomuchreverbthattheyhavedissolvedintoasuggestiveaudio-fog,thesongsallthemoreevocativenowthattheyhavebeenreducedtohintsofthemselves.ThusAlBowlly’s‘It’sAllForgotten Now’, for instance, one of the tracks actually used by Kubrick on The Shiningsoundtrack,isslurreddown,fadedinandout,asifitisbeingheardintheetherealwirelessofthedreamingmindorplayedonthewinding-downgramophoneofmemory.AsIanPenmanwrote of dub: ‘It makes of the Voice not a self-possession but a dispossession – a ‘re’

possessionbythestudio,detouredthroughthehiddencircuitsoftherecordingconsole.’thesinger’svoiceGO?

4.IntheGoldRoom

Jameson:‘itisbythetwentiesthattheheroishauntedandpossessed…’Kubrick’seditingofthefilmdoesnotallowanyofthepolyvalenciesofthatphrase,‘It’sAllForgottenNow’, togoun(re)marked.Theuncanninessof the song, todayand25yearsagowhen the film was released, arises from the (false but unavoidable) impression that it iscommentingonitselfanditsperiod,as ifwereanexampleofthewayinwhichthateraofbeautifulanddamneddecadenceandGatsbyglamourwerepainfully,delightfullyawareofitsownbutterfly’swingevanescenceandfragility.Simultaneously,thesong’splaceinthefilm–itplaysinthebackgroundasabewilderedJackspeakstoGradyinthebathroomaboutthefactthatGradyhaskilledhimselfafterbrutallymurderinghischildren–indicatesthatwhatisforgottenmayalsobepreserved:throughthemechanismofrepression.Idon’thaveanyrecollectionofthatatall.WhydoesthisGoldRoomPop,allthosemoonlightserenadesandsummerromances,havesuch power? The Caretaker’s spectralised versions of those lost tunes only intensifiessomethingthatKubrick,likeDennisPotter,hadidentifiedinthepopofthe20sand30s.I’vetried towrite before about the peculiar aching quality of these songs that aremelancholyevenat theirmostostensibly joyful, forevercondemnedtostandin forstates that theycanevokebutneverinstantiate.For Fredric Jameson, theGold Room revels bespeak a nostalgia for ‘the lastmoment inwhichagenuineAmericanleisureclassledanaggressiveandostentatiouspublicexistence,inwhichanAmericanrulingclassprojectedaclass-consciousandunapologetic imageof itselfandenjoyeditsprivilegeswithoutguilt,openlyandarmedwithitsemblemsoftop-hatandchampagneglass,onthesocialstageinfullviewoftheotherclasses’.Butthesignificanceofthisgenteel, conspicuoushedonismmustbeconstruedpsychoanalyticallyaswellasmerelyhistorically.The‘past’hereisnotanactualhistoricalperiodsomuchasafantasmaticpast,aTimethatcanonlyeverberetrospectively–retrospectrally–posited.The‘hauntedballroom’functionsinJack’slibidinalechonomy(toborrowaneologismfromIrigaray)astheplaceofbelonginginwhich,impossibly,thedemandsofboththepaternalandthematernalsuperegoscan be met, the honeyed, dreamy utopia where doing his duty would be equivalent toenjoying himself…Thus, after his conversations with bartender Lloyd and waiter Grady(Jack’s frustrations finding a blandly indulgent blankmirror sounding board in the formerandapatrician,patriarchalvoiceinthelatter),Jackcomestobelievethathewouldbefailinginhisdutyasamanandafatherifhedidn’tsuccumbtohisdesiretokillhiswifeandchild.Whiteman’sburden,Lloyd…whiteman’sburden…If theGoldRoom seems to be amale space (it’s no accident that the conversationwithGrady takes place in themen’s room), the place inwhich Jack – viamale intermediaries,intercessorsworkingonbehalfofthehotelmanagement,thehouse,thehousethatpaysforhisdrinks–facesuptohis‘man’sburdens’,itisalsothespaceinwhichhecansuccumbtotheinjunctionofthematernalsuper-ego:‘Enjoy’.

Michel Ciment: ‘When Jack arrives at the Overlook, he describes this sensation offamiliarity,ofwell-being(‘It’sveryhomey’),hewould‘liketostayhereforever’,heconfesseseventohaving‘neverbeenthishappy,orcomfortableanywhere’,referstoasenseofdèjavuandhasthefeelingthathehas‘beenherebefore’.‘Whensomeonedreamsofalocalityoralandscape,’ according to Freud, ‘and while dreaming thinks “I know this, I’ve been herebefore”,oneisauthorisedtointerpretthatplaceassubstitutingforthegenitalorgansandthematernalbody.’

5.Patriarchy/hauntology

Isn’tFreud`sthesis–firstadvancedinTotemandTabooandthenrepeated,withadifference,inMosesandMonotheism,simplythis:patriarchyisahauntology?Thefather–whethertheobsceneAlphaApePere-JouissanceofTotemandTabooorthesevere,forbiddingpatriarchofMosesandMonotheism–isinherentlyspectral.Inbothcases,theFatherismurderedbyhisresentfulchildrenwhowanttore-takeEdenandaccesstotalenjoyment.Theirfather’sbloodon their hands, the children discover, too late, that total enjoyment is not possible. Nowstrickenbyguilt,theyfindthatthedeadFathersurvives–inthemortificationoftheirownflesh,andintheintrojectedvoicewhichdemandsitsdeadening.

6.AHistoryofViolence

Ciment:‘Thecameraitself–withitsforward,lateralandreversetrackingshots…followingarigorously geometric circuit – adds further to the sense of implacable logic and an almostmathematicalprogression.’EvenbeforeheenterstheOverlook,Jackisfleeinghisghosts.Andthehorror,theabsolute

horror,isthathe–haunterandthehunted–fleestotheplacewheretheyarewaiting.Suchis The Shining’s pitiless fatality (and the novel is if anything even more brutal in itsdiagramming of the network of cause–and–effect, the awful Necessity, the ‘generalizeddeterminism’,ofJack’splightthanthefilm).Jackhasahistoryofviolence.InbothnovelandfilmofTheShining,theTorrancefamilyis

haunted by the prospect that Jack will hurt Danny…again. Jack has already snapped,drunkenlyattackedDanny.Anaberration, amiscalculation, ‘amomentary lossofmuscularcoordination. A few extra foot-pounds of energy per second, per second’: so Jack tries toconvinceWendy,andWendy tries toconvinceherself.Thenovel tellsusmore.Howhas itcometothis,thataproudman,aneducatedman,likeJack,isreducedtosittingthere,false,greasygrinplasteredalloverhisface,suckingupeverythingthatasmarmycorporatenon-entitylikeStuartUlmanservesup?Why,becausehehasbeensackedfromhisteachingjobforattackingapupil,ofcourse.ThatiswhyJackwillaccept,andbegladof,Ulman’smenialjobinOverlook.Thehistoryofviolencegoesbackevenfurther.Oneofthethingsmissingfromthefilmbut

dealtwithatsomelengthinthenovelistheaccountofJack’srelationshipwithhisfather.It’sanotherversionofpatriarchy’socculthistory,nownotsosecret:abusebegettingabuse.JackistoDannyasJack’sfatherwastohim.AndDannywillbetohischild…?

The violence has been passed on, like a virus. It’s there inside Jack, like a photographwaitingtodevelop,arecordingreadytobeplayed.Refrain,refrain…

7.Homeiswherethehauntis

Theword‘haunt’andallthederivationsthereofmaybeoneoftheclosestEnglishwordtotheGerman ‘unheimlich’, whose polysemic connotations and etymological echoes Freud soassiduously, and so famously, unravelled in his essay on ‘The Uncanny’. Just as ‘Germanusageallowsthefamiliar(dasHeimliche,the‘homely’)toswitchtoitsopposite,theuncanny(dasUnheimliche,the ‘unhomely’)’(Freud),so ‘haunt’signifiesboththedwelling-place,thedomestic scene and that which invades or disturbs it. The OED lists one of the earliestmeaningsoftheword‘haunt’as‘toprovidewithahome,house.’Fittingly,then,thebestinterpretationsofTheShiningpositionitbetweenmelodramaand

horror,much as Cronenberg’sHistory of Violence (2005) is positioned betweenmelodramaandtheactionfilm.Inbothcases,theworstThings,therealHorror,isalreadyInside….(andwhatcouldbeworsethanthat?)YouwouldneverhurtMommieorme,wouldya?

8.Thehousealwayswins

What horrors does the big, looming house present? For thewomen ofHorrodrama, it hasthreatenednon-Being,eitherbecausethewomanwillbeunabletodifferentiateherselffromthe domestic space or because – as in Rebecca (itself an echo of Jane Eyre) – shewill beunabletotaketheplaceofaspectral-predecessor.Eitherway,shehasnoaccesstothepropername.Jack’scurse,ontheotherhand,isthatheisnothingbutthecarrierofthepatronym,andeverythinghedoesalwayswillhavebeenthecase.

I’msorrytodifferwithyou,sir.Butyouarethecaretaker.You’vealwaysbeenthecaretaker.Ishouldknow,sir.I’vealwaysbeenhere.

9.I’mrightbehindyouDanny

Metz:‘WhenJackchasesDannyintothemazewithaxinhandandstates,‘I`mrightbehindyouDanny’,heispredictingDanny`sfutureaswellastryingtoscaretheboy.’PredictingDanny`sfutureJackmightbe,butthatiswhyhecouldequallywellsay‘I’mjust

ahead of you Danny…’ Danny may physically have escaped Jack, but psychically…? TheShining leaves uswith the awful suspicion that Dannymay become (his) Daddy, that thedamagehasalreadybeendone (hadalreadybeendoneevenbeforehewasborn), that thephotographhasbeentaken,therecordingmade;allthatisleftisthemomentofdevelopment,ofplayingback.Unmask!

(AndhowdoesDannyescapefromJack?Bywalkingbackwardsinhisfather’sfootsteps).

10.TheNoTimeoftrauma

Jack: Mr. Grady. You were the caretaker here. I recognise ya. I saw your picture in thenewspapers.You,uh,choppedyourwifeanddaughtersupintolittlebits.Andthenyoublewyourbrainsout.Grady:That’sstrange,sir.Idon’thaveanyrecollectionofthatatall.WhatisthetimewhenJackmeetsGrady?Itseemsthatthemurder–andsuicide–hasalreadyhappened,GradytellsJackthathehadto correcthisdaughters.Yet –not surprisingly–Gradyhasnomemory–Bowlly’s ‘It’sAllForgottenNow’waftinginthebackground–ofanysuchevents.‘Idon’thaveanyrecollectionofthatatall.’(Andyouthink,well,it’snotthesortofthingthatyou’dforget,killingyourselfandyourchildren,isit?Butofcourse,it’snotthesortofthingthatyoucouldpossiblyremember.Itisanexemplarycaseofthatwhichmustberepressed,thetraumaticReal.)Jack:Mr.Grady.Youwerethecaretakerhere.Grady:I’msorrytodifferwithyou,sir.Butyouarethecaretaker.You’vealwaysbeenthecaretaker.Ishouldknow,sir.I’vealwaysbeenhere.

11.Overlooked

Overlook:Tolookoveroratfromahigherplace.Tofailtonoticeorconsider;miss.

HauntologicalBlues:LittleAxe

k-punkpost,October3,2006

Sincewe’retalkingabouthauntology,weoughttohavementionedBelovedbynow:notonlyMorrison’snovel,butalsoDemme’sastonishingfilm.It’stellingthatDemmeiscelebratedforhis silly grand guignol, The Silence of the Lambs, while Beloved is forgotten, repressed,screenedout.Hopkins’pantomimehamturnasLectersurelyspooksno-one,whereasThandieNewton’sautomaton-stiff, innocent-malevolentperformanceasBelovedisalmostunberable:grotesque,disturbing,movinginequalmeasure.LikeTheShining – a film thatwas alsowidely dismissed for nigh on a decade –Beloved(1998)remindsusthatAmerica,withitsanxioushankeringsafteran‘innocence’itcannevergiveupon,ishauntedbyhauntingitself.Ifthereareghosts,thenwhatwassupposedtobeaNewBeginning, a cleanbreak, turnsout tobea repetition, the sameold story.TheghostsweremeanttohavebeenleftintheOldWorld…butheretheyare…WhereasTheShiningdigsbeneaththehauntologicalstructureoftheAmericanfamilyandfindsanIndianBurialGround,BelovedpitchesusrightintotheatrociousheartofAmerica’sothergenocide:slaveryanditsaftermath.Nodoubtthefilm’scommercialfailurewasinpartduetothefactthatthewoundsaretooraw,theghoststooReal.Whenyouleavethecinema,thereisnoescapefromthesespectres,theseapparitionsofaRealwhichwillnotgoawaybutwhichcannotbefaced.SomeviewerscomplainthatBelovedshouldhavebeenreclassifedasHorror…well,soshouldAmericanhistory…BelovedcomestomindoftenasIlistentoStoneColdOhio,theoutstandingnewLPbyLittleAxe. Little Axe have been releasing records for over a decade now, but, in the 90s, mynervoussystemampedupby jungle’scrazedaccelerations, Iwasn’t readytobeseducedbytheir lugubriousdubblues. In 2006, however, thehauntedbayous ofStoneColdOhio taketheir place alongside Burial’s phantom-stalked South London and Ghost Box’s abandonedtelevision channels in hauntological Now. Since I received Stone Cold Ohio last week, I’velistened to little else; andwhen Iwasn’t immersed inStoneColdOhio Iwas re-visiting theother four Little Axe LPs. The combination of skin-tingling voices (some original, somesampled)withdubspaceanddriftisdeeplyaddictive.LittleAxe’sworldisentrancing,vivid,often harrowing; it’s easy to get lost in these thickets and fogs, these phantomplantationsbuiltoncasualcruelty,thesemakeshiftchurchesthatnurturedcollectivedreamsofescape…Shepherds…Doyouhearthelambsarecrying?Little Axe’s records are wracked with collective grief. Spectral harmonicas resemblehowling wolves; echoes linger like wounds that will never heal; the voices of the livingharmonisewith thevoicesof thedead in songs thickwith reproach, recriminationand thehunger for redemption. Yet utopian longings also stir in the fetid swamps and unmarkedgraveyards;therearemomentsofunboweddefianceandfugitivejoyheretoo.IknowmynameiswrittenintheKingdom….Little Axe is Skip McDonald’s project. Through his involvement with the likes of OhioPlayers, the Sugarhill Gang andMark Stewart,McDonald has always been associatedwith

future-orientated pop. If Little Axe appear at first sight to be a retreat from full-on futureshock–McDonaldreturningtohisfirstencounterwithmusic,whenhelearnedbluesonhisfather’sguitar–wearenotdealingherethefamiliar,tiresomestoryofa‘mature’disavowalofmodernism in thenameofa re-treadingofTrad form. In fact,LittleAxe’sanachronistictemporalitycanbeseenasyetanotherrenderingoffutureshock;exceptthatthistime,itisthe vast unassimilable trauma, the SF catastrophe, of slavery that is being confronted.(Perhapsitalwayswas…)EventhoughLittleAxeareapttobedescribedas‘updatingthebluesforthe21stcentury’they could equally be seen as downdating the 21st century into the early 20th. TheirdyschroniaisreminiscentofthosemomentsinStephenKing’sItwhereoldphotographscometo(akindof)life,andthereisahallucinatorysuspensionofsequentiality.Or,better,tothetimeslipsinOctaviaButler’sKindred,wherecontemporarycharactersareabductedbackintothewakingnightmareofslavery.(Thepointbeing:thenightmareneverreallyended…)Thereisnodoubtthatblueshasaprivilegedpositioninpop’smetaphysicsofpresence:theimage of the singer-songwriter alone with his guitar provides rockismwith its emblem ofauthenticityandauthorship.ButLittleAxe’sreturntothesupposedbeginningsunsettlesthisbyshowingthattherewereghostsattheorigin.Hauntologyisthepropertemporalmodefora history made up of gaps, erased names and sudden abductions. The traces of gospel,spirituals and blues out ofwhich StoneColdOhio is assembled are not the relics of a lostpresence, but the fragments of a time permanently out of joint. These musics were vastcollective works of mourning and melancholia. Little Axe confront American history as asingle‘empireofcrime’,wheretheWaronTerrordecriedonStoneColdOhio’sopeningtrack–apost9/11re-channellingofBlindWillieJohnson’s‘IfIhadMyWay’–iscontinuouswiththeterrordomeofslavery.When I interviewed Skip, he emphasised that Little Axe tracks always begins with thesamples.Theoriginisoutofjoint.HehasdescribedbeforetheanachronisingMethod-ologyheusestotransporthimselfintothepast.‘Iliketosurftime.WhatIliketodoisstudytime-periods–getrightinto‘em,sodeepitgetsrealheavyinthere.’McDonald’sdeepimmersioninoldmusicallowshimtotravelbackintimeandtheghoststomoveforward.Itisakindofpossession(recallingWinfrey’sclaimthatsheandthecastwere‘possessed’whentheyweremakingBeloved).LittleAxe’srecordsskilfullymystifyquestionsofauthorshipandattribution,originationandrepetition.Itisdifficulttodisentanglesamplingfromsongwriting,impossibletodrawfirmlinesbetweenacoverversionandanoriginalsong.Songsaretexturally-densepalimpsests,accretedratherthanauthored.McDonald’sownvocals,byturnsdoleful,quietlyenraged and affirmatory, are often doubled as well as dubbed. They and the moderninstrumentation repeatedly sink into grainy sepia andmisty trails of reverb, falling into adyschroniccontemporeanitywiththecracklysamples.In his landmark piece on Tricky (the piece, really, in which sonic hauntology was firstbroached), IanPenmancomplainedaboutGreilMarcus’ ‘measuredhumanismwhich leaveslittle room for theUNCANNY inmusic’.Partof the reasonLittleAxeare intriguing is thattheiruseofdubmakesitpossibleforustoencounterbluesasuncannyanduntimelyagain.LittleAxepositionbluesnotaspartofAmericanhistory,asMarcusdoes,butasonecorneroftheBlackAtlantic.WhatmakesthecombinationofbluesanddubfarmorethanagimmickisthatthereisanuncannylogicbehindthesuperimpositionoftwocornersoftheBlackAtlantic

overoneanother.Adrian Sherwood’s role in the band is crucial. Sherwood has said that Little Axe take

inspiration from the thought that there is a common ground to be found in ‘themusic ofCaptain Beefheart and Prince Far I, King Tubby and JimiHendrix’. In thewrong hands, asyncresislikethiscouldendupasarecipeforstodgy,WholeEarthhumanism.ButSherwoodisadesignerofOtherWorldmusic,anexpertineeriness,akindofanti-JoolsHolland.Whatismost pernicious about Holland is the way in which, under his stewardship, pop is de-artificialised,re-naturalised,blokilytracedbacktoafacialisedsource.Dub,evidently,goesinexactly the opposite direction – it estranges the voice, or points up the voice’s inherentstrangeness.WhenIinterviewedSherwood,hewasdelightedbymydescriptionofhisartas‘schizophonic’–Sherwooddetachessoundsfromsources,oratleastoccultstherelationshipbetween the two. The tyranny ofHolland’sLater…has correspondedwith the rise of no-nonsense pop which suppresses the role of recording and production. But ‘Dub was abreakthroughbecausetheseamofitsrecordingwasturnedinsideoutforustohearandexultin;whenwehadbeenused to the“re”of recordingbeingrepressed, recessed,as though itreally were just a re-presentation of something that already existed in its own right.’(Penman)HencewhatIhavecalleddubtraction;andwhatissubtracted,firstofall,ispresence.Pierre

Schaeffer’stermforasoundthatisdetachedfromasourceis‘acousmatic’.Thedubproducer,then, is an acousmatician, amanipulator of sonic phantoms that havebeendetached fromlivebodies.Dubtimeisunlive,andtheproducer’snecromanticrole–hisraisingofthedead–isdoubledbyhistreatingofthelivingasifdead.ForLittleAxe,asforthebluesmenandtheJamaicansingersandplayerstheychannel,hauntologyisapoliticalgesture:asignthatthedeadwillnotbesilenced.I’maprisonerSomehowIwillbefree

NostalgiaforModernism:TheFocusGroupandBelburyPoly

‘Myselfandmy friendJimJupphadbeenmakingmusic, independentlyand together forawhile,andalsoobsessingoverthesamethings–thecosmichorrorofMachen,Lovecraft,theRadiophonicWorkshop,weird folk and the occult.We realised thatwewanted to put ourmusicout,butalsocreateourownworldwherewecouldplaywithallthesereferencepoints.Startingourownlabelwastheonlywaytodoit.’JulianHouseisdescribinghowheandhisschool-friendJimJuppcametofoundtheGhostBoxlabel.Off-kilterbucolic,drenchedinanover-exposedpost-psyche-delicsun,GhostBoxrecordingsareuneasylisteningtotheletter.Ifnostalgiafamouslymeans‘homesickness’,thenGhostBoxsound is about unhomesickness, about the uncanny spectres entering the domesticenvironmentthroughthecathoderaytube.Atonelevel,theGhostBoxistelevisionitself;oratelevisionthathasdisappeared,itselfbecomeaghost,aconduittotheOtherSide,nowonlyrememberedbythoseofacertainage.Nodoubttherecomesapointwheneverygenerationstartspiningfortheartefactsofitschildhood–butwastheresomethingspecialabouttheTVofthe1970swhichGhostBoxreleasesobsessivelyreference?‘Ithinktheredefinitelywassomethingpowerfulaboutthechildren’sTVfromthatperiod,’Housemaintains.‘Ithinkitwasjustafterthe60s,thesemusiciansandanimators,filmmakershadcomethroughthepsychedelicthingandacidfolk,theyhadthesestrangedarkobsessionsthattheyputintotheirTVprogrammes.Also,someonelikeNigelKnealehadobviouslycomefrom a tradition of HP Lovecraft – 20th century science used as a background to cosmichorror and the occult. The themes he explored in the Quatermass series eventually foundtheirwayintoDoctorWho,ChildrenoftheStones,SapphireandSteel.IfyoulookattheBBCRadiophonicworkshop, people like David Cain also studiedmedievalmusic, and he did agreat dark folky electronic album called The Seasons. And a few of Paddy Kingsland’sarrangementsbringtomindPentangle.It’sliketherewasthisstrangepast/futurethingwhichhadcomethroughpsychedelia.’The affect produced by Ghost Box’s releases (sound and images, the latter absolutelyintegral) are the direct inverse of irritating postmodern citation-blitz. The mark of thepostmodern is the extirpation of the uncanny, the replacing of the unheimlich tingle ofunknowingnesswithacocksureknowingnessandhyper-awareness.GhostBox,bycontrast,isaconspiracyofthehalf-forgotten,thepoorlyrememberedandtheconfabulated.Listeningtosample-based sonic genres like Jungle and early hip-hop you typically found yourselfexperiencingdéjà vudu ordéjà entendu, in which a familiar sound, estranged by sampling,nagged justbeyond recognisability.GhostBox releases conjurea senseofartificial déjà vu,whereyouaredupedintothinkingthatwhatyouarehearinghasitsoriginsomewhereinthelate 60s or early 70s: not false, but simulated, memory. The spectres in Ghost Box’shauntologyarethelostcontextswhich,weimagine,musthavepromptedthesoundswearehearing:forgottenprogrammes,uncommissionedseries,pilotsthatwereneverfollowed-up.Belbury Poly, The Focus Group, Eric Zann – names from an alternative 70s that neverended, a digitally-reconstructed world in which analogue rules forever, a time-scrambledMoorcockiannear-past.ThisreturntotheanalogueviathedigitalisoneofthewaysinwhichGhost Box records are not straight-up simulations of the past. ‘We like to confuse theboundaries between analogue and digital. Jim uses a combination of analogue synths and

digitaltechnology.IntheFocusGroupstufftherearesamplesofoldpercussionalbumsanddigital effects, electronic sounds generated on the computer andprocessed found sounds. Ithink it’s do with this space between what happens in the computer and what happensoutsideof it.The recordingof space, real reverb/room soundand thevirtual spaceon theharddrive.Likedifferentdimensions.’‘Itwasbangon1980whenFairlightsandDX7sappearedinelectronicmusic,’Jupppointsout.‘Isupposethatdigitaltechnologyisatippingpointincultureingeneral,eveninthewaythattelevisionismade.’YetBelburyPoly’ssoundreliesondigitalequipment.‘Attheheartofitisacomputerandwedon’thidethatfact.Havingsaidthat,I’msittinginthestudionowandit’smostlyanaloguesynthsandapileofacousticinstruments,whatwedocouldn’texistwithout hip-hop and sampling culture and the access to cheap electronic instruments. It’srevisitingoldtexturesandoldimaginedworldswithnewtools.’Jupp laughswhen I suggest that therewasacertaingrain to70sBritishculture thatgotsmoothedawayby80sstyleculturegloss.‘It’salmostasifwebecametotallyAmericanised,gotour teeth fixedandhadaproperwash. Iwas talking to someone theotherdaywhosegirlfriendcan’tstandhimwatchingoldsitcoms,shealwayscallsitgrotTV.Iknowwhatshemeans.ButmaybeinTV,radioandrecordsthentherewasafeelthatwaswashedcleaninthe80swheneverythingwasangular,digital,American,upbeatandcolourful.’Ghost Box explore a sonic continuum which stretches from the quirkily cheery to theinsinuatingly sinister. The most obvious predecessors lie in ‘functional music’, soundsdesigned to hover at the edge of perceptibility, not to hog centre-stage: signature tunes,incidentalmusic,music that is instantly recognizable butwhose authors,more often (self-)styled as technicians rather than artists, remain anonymous. The Radiophonic Workshop(whosetwo‘stars’,DeliaDerbyshireandDaphneOram,becamewidelyrecognisedonlyaftertheirdeaths)wouldbetheobvioustemplate.Houseagrees: ‘IthinkthekeyreferenceistheRadiophonicWorkshop,which iswildly experimental (Britain’s electronic avant garde, theequivalentofGRMPierreSchaefferinFranceetc.)butit’salsoincrediblyevocativeofradioandtelevisionwithwhichwegrewup.It’sgotasortofdualitytoit,it’shauntinginitsownright but also serves as amemory trigger. I think this dim,half rememberedaspect of oldHammer films, Doctor Who, Quatermass is important – it’s not like an I Love 1974reminiscence. Rather than being just nostalgia, it’s triggering something darker, you’rerememberingthestrangeideasintheseprogrammes,thestuffunderthesurface,ratherthanjust knowing the theme tune. I think this iswhyLibrarymusic is such an influence – youlisten to the albums divorced from context and it operates on an unconscious level, likemusicalcuesformissingvisuals.When I grew up DoctorWho episodes likeThe Sea Devils hauntedme, the way slightlyshakymonstersandsetshavetheirownuncannyhorror.TheloudblastsofAtonalmusic.Thefirst time I saw the Hammer film ofQuatermass and the Pit really affectedme. And thosedimly remembered easternEuropean animationshad a certain quality.Also, certainpublicinformationfilmsandadverts.’GhostBoxpresideovera(slightly)alternativeworldinwhichtheRadiophonicWorkshopweremore important than theBeatles. Ina sense that isourworld,because theWorkshoprendered even the most experimental rock obsolete even before it had happened. But ofcourseyouarenotcomparinglikewithlikehere;theBeatlesoccupiedfrontstageinthePop

Spectacle, whereas the RadiophonicWorkshop insinuated their jingles, idents, themes andspecialFXintotheweftofeverydaylife.TheWorkshopwasproperlyunheimlich,unhomely,fundamentallytiedupwithadomesticenvironmentthathadbeeninvadedbymedia.Naturally,GhostBoxhavebeenaccusedofnostalgia,andofcoursethisplaysapartintheir

appeal.Buttheiraestheticinfactexhibitsamoreparadoxicalimpulse:inaculturedominatedbyretrospection,whattheyarenostalgicforisnothinglessthan(popular)modernismitself.GhostBoxareattheirmostbeguilingwhentheyforegrounddyschronia,brokentime–asonBelburyPoly’s ‘Caermaen’ (from2004’sTheWillows) and ‘Wetland’ (from2006’sTheOwl’sMap) where folk voices summoned from beyond the grave are made to sing new songs.DyschroniaisintegraltotheFocusGroup’swholemethodology;thejoinsaretooaudible,thesamplestoojagged,fortheirtrackstosoundlikerefurbishedartefacts.Inanycase,attheirbest,GhostBoxconjureapastthatneverwas.Theirartworkfusesthe

lookofcomprehensiveschooltextbooksandpublicservicemanualswithallusionstoweirdfiction, a fusion that hasmore to dowith the compressions and conflations of dreamworkthanwithmemory.Househimselftalksof‘astrangedreamofaschooltextbook’.Theimplicitdemand for sucha space inGhostBox inevitably remindsus that theperiod since1979 inBritainhasseenthegradualbutremorselessdestructionoftheveryconceptofthepublic.Atthe same time,Ghost Box also remindus that the peoplewhoworked in theRadiophonicWorkshop were effectively public servants, that they were employed to produce a weirdpublic space – a public space very different from the bureaucratic dreariness invoked byneoliberalpropaganda.Publicspacehasbeenconsumedandreplacedbysomethinglikethethirdplaceexemplified

byfranchisecoffeebars.Thesespacesareuncannyonlyintheirpowertoreplicatesameness,andthemonotonyoftheStarbucksenvironmentisbothreassuringandoddlydisorientating;inside the pod, it’s possible to literally forget what city you are in. What I have callednomadalgiaisthesenseofuneasethattheseanonymousenvironments,moreorlessthesametheworldover,provoke;thetravelsicknessproducedbymovingthroughspacesthatcouldbe anywhere.My, I…what happened to Our Space, or the idea of a public that was notreducibletoanaggregateofconsumerpreferences?InGhostBox, the lost conceptof thepublichasaverypalpablepresence-in-absence,via

samples of public service announcements. (Incidentally one connection between rave andGhostBoxistheProdigy’ssamplingofthiskindofannouncementon‘Charly’.)Publicserviceannouncements – remembered because they could often be disquieting, particularly forchildren–constituteakindofreservoirofcollectiveunconsciousmaterial.Thedisintermentof suchbroadcastsnowcannotbutplayas thedemand fora returnof theveryconceptofpublicservice.GhostBoxrepeatedlyinvokepublicbodies–throughnames(BelburyPoly,theAdvisoryCircle)andalsoforms(thetouristbrochure,thetextbook).Confronted with capital’s intense semiotic pollution, its encrustation of the urban

environmentwithidioticsigilsandimbecilicslogansno-one–neitherthepeoplewhowrotethemnorthoseatwhomtheyareaimed–believes,youoftenwonder:whatifalltheeffortthatwentintothisflashytrashweredevotedtoapublicgood?Iffornootherreason,GhostBoxisworthtreasuringbecausetheymakeusposethatquestionwithrenewedforce.

TheAcheofNostalgia:TheAdvisoryCircle

‘TheAdvisoryCircle–helpingyoumaketherightdecisions.’Withitssuggestionsofabenevolentbureaucracy,TheAdvisoryCirclewasalwaystheperfectnameforaGhostBoxact.OnMindHow You Go (2005), producer and vinyl archivist Jon Brooks produced a kind of Anglo-analoguepastoralismthatisasaffectingasanythingthatthelabelhasreleased.InwhathassincebeenestablishedtobethecustomaryGhostBoxfashion,Brooks’sanaloguesynthesizerdoodles–all themorepowerful, somehow, for theirunassumingslightness–gently triggerdrifts down (false)memory lanes, inducing you to recall amassmediated pastwhich younever quite experienced. Mind How You Go frequently invokes that talisman of 1970spaternalism,thePublicInformationFilm,andit’sperhapsnoaccidentthattheriseofGhostBoxhascoincidedwiththeemergenceofYouTube,whichhasmadepublicinformationfilmsandothersuchstreetfurnitureof1970saudio–visualexperiencewidelyavailableagain.WhatBrookscapturesextremelypoignantlyistheconflictedclusterofemotionsinvolvedinnostalgiclonging.‘MindHowYouGo’and‘NuclearSubstation’summonrememberedsunlightfromchildhoodsummersevenastheirdolefulmelodiesarelacedwithadeepsenseofloss.Yetthere’saverydefinitebutsubduedjoyhere,too,inthewaythatatracksuchas‘Osprey’achievesakindoffalteringsoaring.It’snotfornothingthatthewordacheisoftenassociatedwith nostalgia; and The Advisory Circle’s music positively aches with a sadness that issimultaneouslypainfulandenjoyable.2011’sAsTheCrowFliesfeltfolkierthanTheAdvisoryCircle’spreviousreleases,withacousticguitarscreepingovertheanaloguesynthesizers likeivy spreading over the frontage of a brutalist building. The album’s closing track, ‘LonelySignalman’, brings these different textures together beautifully: its vocodered refrain(‘signalman lives all alone/ signalman is all alone’) is simultaneouslyplayful andplangent, acombinationthatistypicalofBrooks’swork.IaskedBrooksabouttherootsoftheexquisitesadnessthatcolourshismusic.‘A lot of it stems frommy childhood.Withoutwishing to go too far down the ‘torturedartist’path,Iwillsaythatmyupbringingwasacyclicperiodofsafety,security,contentment,anxiety, despair and sadness. As an adult, I’ve managed to work through a lot of thesechildhood feelingsandchannel them intowhat I’mdoingmusically.Thankfully, I cannowmakesenseofalotofstuffthathappenedbackthen;IcanbalancethisagainstanyresidualscarsImightbeleftwith. I’mnotsayingI’mgladthatIhadaturbulentchildhood,butforwhatit’sworth,ithasshapedmyart,quiteindelibly.’Aparadoxical impulse liesbehindBrooks’swork.Heis fascinatedbyfunctionalculture–thatwhichwedon’tconsciouslyhearorseebutwhichshapesourexperienceofenvironments–yettheattentiononwhatwasbackgroundnecessarilypushesitintotheforeground.2011’sMusicForDieterRams,ahomagetothedesignerbestknownforhisworkwithBraunreleasedunder Brooks’s name, was an attempt to bring functional music together with functionaldesign. Rams’s slogan ‘less, but better’ could equally apply to the original conception ofAmbientmusic. After all,Whatwas the ambition forAmbient if not thatmusic attain theunassuming ubiquity of many of Rams’s products – all those radios, coffee makers andcalculatorswhichwereembeddedintoeverydaylife,theirdesignerunknowntothegeneral

public?Perhapsforthatreason,Brooksisn’tthefirstartisttodedicatemusictoRams:AlvaNoto devoted two wonderfully eerie tracks on his For 2 album to the designer. It’s thosethings lurkingat thebackgroundof attention, things thatwe took for grantedat the time,whichnowevokethepastmostpowerfully.‘With hindsight,’ Brooks says, ‘the fact that these things are so evocative of the past,accentuatesandcrystallisesmyinterestinthem;butactually,I’vealwaysbeeninterestedinthings‘inthebackground’–forme,that’swherethereallyinterestingstuffhasalwaysbeen.Asakid,IwasequallyfascinatedbylibrarymusicusedonTV(orTVthemes)asIwasaboutpopmusic;thingsthatweweren’tsupposedtotakeanyrealnoticeof.IusedtolookoutforTVtesttransmissions,forexample,andofcoursePublicInformationFilms.OpenUniversitybroadcastsheldthesamefascination; thesebroadcastsweren’t targetedataneight-year-oldchild,butIwasdrawntowardsthemnonetheless.Iwasalsodrawntologos,brandingandsoforth. I remember being particularly entranced by certain record labels’ logos – Polydor,DeccaandPyeweremy favourites. I loved theway they lookedon the recordsandwouldquiteoften sit at the turntableandwatch themgo round,as the recordplayed.Therewassomething very elegant about them. Again, these things were presented as ‘functional’, intheirownway.So,thefascinationwasalwaysthere.It’sjuststayedwithme.’Thoseobjects and spaces are also functional. IsBrooksparticularly fascinatedby culturethatoperatesinthisostensiblyfunctionalway?‘Iamabsolutelyfascinatedbythataspect.Attheriskofbeingslightlytangential,takingtheconceptofMuzakasanexample,IverymuchenjoyedreadingJosephLanza’sElevatorMusic.Thisisagreatexampleofbringingthebackgroundtotheforeground,intheformofstrictly‘functional’music.ItgoesastepfurtherinthisrespectthanevenLibrarymusicdoes.Ihavealways been fascinated by the cultural aspect of this – how we can have small speakersinstalledinceilingsinshopsandthemusicjustfiltersthroughandno-oneisreallysupposedto notice; they called it ‘non-entertainmentmusic’ at the time.Muzak gained a really badreputationinthe1970s,butifyougobackandlistentosomeofthemusicthatwasproducedforthesystem,you’llfindsomeverytight,compactarrangementshiddeninthere.Composersthatarehighlyregardedbyrecordcollectorsnow,forexampleSvenLibaekandSydDale,didalotofworkforMuzak.Inmuchthesameway,Iapplythisfascinationtodomesticdesignormotorway service stations. Dieter Rams was interested in creating something that justworked,witheleganceandsimplicity.Ilovethefactthathewasn’tsearchingforfamewithhisdesigns,butnowwecancelebratethosedesignspubliclyandhandhimthespotlight,asitwere,inmuchthesamewayaswehavediscoveredcomposerslikeSvenLibaek.’

SomeoneElse’sMemories:Asher,PhilipJeck,BlackToComm,G.E.S.,PositionNormal,MordantMusic

In2009,anartistknownasAsherreleasedanalbumcalledMiniaturesontheSourdinelabel.The only information on the sleeve was the following terse statement: ‘recorded inSomerville, MA, winter 2007’. Rumours and mysteries proliferate in a data vacuum, andMiniatures puts the listener into a state of suspension and suspicion: what exactly are welisteningto?Whomadeit?Whatdoes ‘making’ itmeaninthiscontext?Andwhatsenseof‘recorded’isbeingused?Let’sconsidertheaudiofacts,suchastheyare.Evenherethereisveiling–allthetracksarecoveredinafogofcrackle.Whatwehearismostlypiano,althoughoccasionallystringscanalsobedetected.Thepiano is contemplative, reflective,exquisitely sad: the lugubrioustemposeemstoliteralisethenotionoflonging.Thehazeofthecrackleandthequietnessoftheplayingmeanthatyouhaveto‘leanin’tohearthemusic–playedonipodheadphones,itpracticallydisappearsintothebackgroundnoiseofthestreet.Howwerethetracksmade?Atleasttwotheoriescirculatedonline.One,theclosestthereseems to be to any official story, maintains that the tracks onMiniatures were all shortsections recordedbyAsher from the radio and thendigitally looped. (If so, he shouldbuyhimselfaradiowithbetterreception.)TheothertheoryisthatthepianopieceswereplayedbyAsheronpoorqualitytape,thensubjectedtofurtherprocessesofdigitaldistortiontogivetheimpressionthattheyarefoundsoundobjects.Thetracks’unresolvedstatus isnotsomedryconceptualriddledetractingfromtheexperienceoflisteningtothem;instead,theenigmaactuallyheightensthemusic’sfragile,fragmentarybeauty,itsuncannyintimacy.Miniatureswasoneofanumberofrecordsfromthe00swhosesoundcentredoncrackle.Why should crackle resonate now? The first thing we can say is that crackle exposes atemporalpathology: itmakes ‘outof joint’ timeaudible.Crackleboth invokes thepastandmarksoutourdistancefromit,destroyingtheillusionthatweareco-presentwithwhatwearehearingby remindingusweare listening toa recording.Cracklenowcallsupawholedisappeared regime of materiality – a tactile materiality, lost to us in an era where thesourcesofsoundhaveretreatedfromsensoryapprehension.ArtistslikeTricky,BasicChannelandPolestartedtoforegroundvinylcrackleattheverymomentwhenrecordswerebecomingsuperseded. Back then, it was the CD that wasmaking vinyl obsolete. Now, theMP3 canneither be seen nor touched, still lessmanipulated by the hand in theway that the vinylrecordcouldbe.Thedigital seems topromisenothing less thananescape frommateriality itself,and thestory of Willam Basinski’s 2002 album Disintegration Loops – a recording of tapes thatdestroyedthemselvesintheveryprocessoftheirtransfertodigital–isaparable(almosttooperfect) for the switch from the fragility of analogue to the infinite replicability of digital.Whatwehavelost,itcanoftenseem,istheverypossibilityofloss.Digitalarchivingmeansthatthefugitiveevanescencethatlongagousedtocharacterise,forinstance,thewatchingoftelevisionprogrammes–seenonce,andthenonlyremembered–hasdisappeared.Indeed,itturnsout thatexperienceswhichwe thoughtwere forever lost can– thanks to the likesof

YouTube–notonlyberecovered,butendlesslyrepeated.Crackle,then,connotesthereturnofacertainsenseofloss.Atthesametime,itisalsothesignofafound(audio)object,theindicationthatweareinascavenger’sspace.Thatiswhycrackleisastock-in-tradeofsomeoneliketurntableartistPhilipJeck.Jeck’sfirstrecordhadappearedin1999,buthisworkgainedanewcurrencybecauseofitsconvergencewithwhatBurialandTheCaretakerweredoing.JeckhadbeeninspiredbyhearingmixerslikeWalterGibbons,LarryLevanandGrandmasterFlashinthe80s,buthismontagesreconceiveDJingastheartofproducingsonicphantasmagoria.UsingDansetteturntables,FXunitsandrecordsfound in charity shops, Jeck defamiliarises the vinyl sourcematerial to the point of near-abstraction. Occasionally, recognizable fragments (60s rock, Mantovani-like lite classicalkitsch)thrillinglybobupoutofthewhooshingdelirium-stream.Jeck began the extraordinary 2008 version of Gavin Bryars’ The Sinking of the Titanic(which he performed in collaborationwith Italian ensemble Alter Ego and Bryars himself)with nearly 14 minutes of crackle. In this audio-fog, threatening objects loom, barelyperceived.Aswelisten,wecometodistrustourownhearing,begintoloseconfidenceinourabilitytodistinguishwhatisactuallytherefromaudiohallucinations.Ominousstringsandasolitarybellproduceanatmosphereofquietforeboding,andtheensemble–atfirstindistinctshadows in a Turner-esque squall – only gradually emerge from the cloud of crepitation.Here,asinAsher’sMiniatures,cracklesuggestsradiostatic.ThesinkingoftheTitanicinfactprompted the first use of wireless in sea rescue. As Bryars points out in his sleevenotes,Marconihadconceivedoftelegraphyasaspectralscience.He‘becameconvincedthatsoundsoncegeneratedneverdie,theysimplybecomefainterandfainteruntilwenolongerperceivethem. Marconi’s hope was to develop sufficiently sensitive equipment, extraordinarilypowerfulandselectivefiltersIsuppose,topickupandhearthesepastsounds.Ultimately,hehopedtobeablehearChristdeliveringtheSermonontheMount.’Jeck has referred to the sonic sources he uses as ‘fragments of memory, triggeringassociations’butitiscrucialthatthememoriesarenotnecessarilyhis;theeffectissometimeslikesiftingthroughaboxofslides,photographsandpostcardsfromanonymouspeople,longgone.Thissamefeelingofcominguponotherpeople’sorphanedmemoriescouldbeheardinthe2009albumCirculations byG.E.S. (Gesellschaft zurEmanzipationdes Samples/ SocietyForTheEmancipationOfSampling).ThereissomemysteryaboutwhoisbehindG.E.S.,buttheprojectappearstobeafrontforgenre-hoppingdilettanteJanJelinek,bestknownforhisLoop-findingJazzRecords,whichconstructedaversionofminimalTechnooutofminusculejazzsamples;JelinekhasalsoproducedmicrohouseunderthenameFarbenandAmbientasGramm.G.E.S.’sideawastotakemicro-samples,loopandcollagethem,playtheminpublicspaces, and record the results. Would the ordinary laws of copyright apply if music wassampled in these conditions? The tracks are like unsigned audio-postcards, recordedsometimes in named places (Mount Zermatt and Hong Kong are mentioned in the tracktitles),sometimesinplaceswecanonlyguessat,usingthevoicesandbackgroundnoisestoorientateourselves. ‘BirdsOfHeraklion’beginswithdistortedelectronicpulsesbeforebeingsweptupbyabackwardsrushofverycinematicstringsthatsoundliketheymighthavecomefrom a black and white film extolling the benefits of train travel. ‘Orinoco, Bullerbü,(Crossfade)’ is initiallybuilt from theviolent juxtapositionof crazedbirdnoiseswithwhatcouldbeasamplefromsomeforgottenfilmnoirorahighlystrungmelodrama,butitends

withechoes,andstrange,abstractwhistles.‘ImSchilf’putsoneinmindofthekindofalienpipingnoisesyouwouldhear inanOliverPostgateanimationoranearlyCabaretVoltairetapeexperiment,while‘Farnballett’and‘Farnballett(InDub)’recallaBinatonetennisgamehavingaHAL-likenervousbreakdown.Therandomsounds,thepassingconversations,makeyou feel likeyouarewitnessing stray frames froma filmnowholeversionofwhichexistsanywhere.Thissensethatactioniscontinuingbeyondwhatwearehearing,togetherwiththerecord’s travelogue-cosmopolitanism,remindmeofnothingsomuchas thecold,dislocatedbeauty of Antonioni’s The Passenger. The closing track, ‘Schlaf (Nach Einführung DerPsychoanalyse)’–whichsoundslikewindchimesonsomedust-blownalienplanet–islikeamemoryofaColdWarsciencefictionthatneverquitehappened.Whatstopsthisbeingadryexercise or a disparate mélange is the inescapable sense of anonymous sadness whichpervadesthewholerecord.This same senseof depersonalised tragedyhungoverAlphabet 1968, the 2010 albumby

Black to Comm, aka Marc Richter, the man behind the ‘death Ambient’ genre and theHamburg-basedDekorder label.Richtermischievously describedAlphabet 1968 – onwhichtheonlyhumanvoicesareonfieldrecordingsattheedgeofaudibility–asanalbumofsongs.WhatifweweretotakeRichter’sprovocationseriously–whatwouldasongwithoutasingerbelike?Whatwoulditbelike,thatistosay,ifobjectsthemselvescouldsing?It’saquestionthat connects fairy tales with cybernetics, and listening to Alphabet 1968, I’m fittinglyremindedofafilmicspaceinwhichmagicandmechanismmeet:JFSebastian’sapartmentinBladeRunner.Thetracksonthealbumarecraftedwiththesameminuteattentiontodetailthat the genetic designer and toymaker Sebastian brought to his plaintive automata, withtheir bizarre mixture of the clockwork and the computerised, the antique and theultramodern, the playful and the sinister. Richter’s pieces have been built from similarlyheterogeneous materials – record crackle, shortwave radio, glockenspiels, all manner ofsamples,mostlyofacousticinstruments.Excepton‘Void’–asteampunkJohnCarpenter-liketrackwith susurrating voices conspiring in the background – themusic does not feel veryelectronic.AswithSebastian’stalkingmachines,yougettheimpressionthatRichterhasusedthelatesttechnologyinordertocreatetheillusionofarchaism.Thisisarecordinwhichyoufeelthatyoucansmellthedustcomingofftheretrievedobjects.Butsointricatelyarethesesonicpalimpsestslayeredthatit’simpossibletodeterminewhatRichterandhiscollaboratorshaveplayedandwhathasbeenconjuredfromthearchives.Thesoundsaretreated,reversedandsloweddowninawaythatmakestheiroriginalsourcesmysterious.Thereisasenseofsubtlebutconstantmovement,ofsoundshadowsflittinginandoutofearshot.Richtersosuccessfullyeffaceshimselfasauthorthatitisasifhehassnuckintoaroomand

recordedobjectsastheyplayed(to)themselves.Ontheopeningtrack,‘Jonathan’,crackle,afield recording of drizzle and cut-aways to white noise set the scene for a pensive piano.Children’svoicescanbeheardinthedistance,anditislikewearebeingusheredoutofthehumanworldintothemysteriousworldofobjects-amongst-themselves,aworldjustadjacenttoours, yetutterly foreign to it. It is as ifRichterhasattunedhimself to the subterraneanrapturesandsadnessesofobjectsinunoccupiedrooms,anditisthese‘songs’thathehears.It’snotfornothingthatthethemeofobjectscomingtolifewastakenupsooftenincinemaanimation(for,asitsnamesuggests,whatisanimationifnotaversionofthisprocess?),andmost of the tracks onAlphabet 1968 could be tunes for cartoon sequences – the ‘song’ an

objectsingsasitstirsitselfintomotion,ordeclinesbackintoinertia.Infact,theimpressionofthingswindingdownispersistentonAlphabet1968.Richterhas

madeanenchantedsound-world,butonefromwhichentropyhasnotbeenexcluded.Itfeelsasifthemagicisalwaysabouttowearoff,thattheenchantedobjectswillslipbackintotheinanimateagainatanymoment–aneffectwhichonlyheightensthetracks’poignancy.Thelabouring, looped double bass on ‘Rauschen’ has all the mechano–melan-choly of aphonographwindingdown–orperhapsofoneofSebastian’sautomatarunningoutofpower.On ‘Trapez’, reverbed wind chimes create a gentle Narnian snowfall. As so often on thisalbum, the track recalls a running-downmusicbox –oneparallelmightbeColleen’s 2006albumBoîtesàMusique,exceptthat,whereColleenrestrictedherselftoactuallyusingmusicboxes,Richterloopsandsequenceshissonicmaterialsothatitsimulatesclockwork.But it’sanuncannyclockwork,runningtoacrookedtime.On‘Amateur’–withitshintsofartificialrespiration,asifthewallsthemselvesarebreathing–thepianoloopseemsbentoutofshape.EntropyiseverywhereintheworkofPositionNormal,anactwhomSimonReynoldsonce

called ‘the godfathers of hauntology’, but it is a very English kind of entropy. In PositionNormal’smusic,itislikeLondonhasfinallysuccumbedtotheentropythatalwaysthreatensto engulf the city inMichaelMoorcock’s JerryCorneliusmythos. Except there’s somethingattractiveaboutthedeepdaydreamylassitudethatreignshere:entropyisn’tathreatsomuchasalysergicpromise,achancetouncoil,unwind,unspool.Gradually,youaremadetoforgetallofyoururgenciesasyourbrainislulledandluredintothesunnySundayafternoonwhenallPositionNormaltunesseemtotakeplace.TheallureofthisindolentLondonwastoucheduponbyacertaintrajectoryin60s’rock:thesunnydazeofTheKinks’‘SunnyAfternoon’,TheSmall Faces ‘Lazy SundayAfternoon’, TheBeatles’ ‘TomorrowNeverKnows’ and ‘I’mOnlySleeping’.Yet this particular strandofAnglo-languordidn’t originatehere, in the acid andweed reveries of rockers in repose. You can look even further back for antecedents, tomoments in Great Expectations – the airless, inertial stasis of Satis House – or to Alice’sAdventures in Wonderland (especially well captured in the hookah-hazes and fugues ofJonathanMiller’s1968BBCtelevisionversion).PositionNormal’sLondon isa city fardistant from thecorporateglossofbusy/business

Londonas it is fromthe touristLondonofpageantry.The tourguide for thisanachronisticcitywouldbetheJamesMasoninTheLondonThatNobodyKnows,the1969filmdirectedbyNormanCohenandbasedon thebookbyGeoffreyFletcher. It’s apalimpsest city, a spacewheremany timesare layered. Sometimes,whenyouwalkdownanunfamiliar street, youmight stumble into aspects of it. Streetmarkets that you’d imagined had closed long ago,shops that (soyou think)couldn’tpossibly survive into the21st century, ripeoldvoices fitonlyfortheVictorianmusichall…Position Normal’s tracks are Dadaist dub-doodles, disarming in their seeming slightness.

Theyfeellikeskitsorsketches;unwillingtobeseentakingthemselvestooseriously,butatthesametimeentirelylackinginknowingsmirks.There’sadaydreamyqualitytothewaythemusicisconstructed:ideaswaftinbuttrailoffinconclusivelywhilestillhalf-baked.Itcanbefrustrating,atleastinitially,yetthe effect is accretive and seductive. A Position Normal album comes off like an anglo-Fantasiascavengedoutofcharityshops,allthedetritusoftheEnglish20thcenturymadetosing.Forthemostpart,youarelefttoguessthesourcesofallthefunnyvoices.Whoarethey,

thischeerygang–children’sradiopresenters,comedians,characteractors,lightentertainers,newsreelannouncers,jazztrumpeters(mutesalwaysattheready),ragpickers,costermongers,chancers, idlers, thespians gone to seed, frothy coffee café proprietors…?Andwhere havetheycomefrom–scratchyoldshellac,unmarkedtapes,soundtrackLPs?Thetracksbleedintooneanother,andsodothealbums,likefailingmemories.It turns out that decaying memory is at the heart of Position Normal’s music. In aninterviewwithJoakimNorling forFriendlyNoisemagazine,PositionNormal’sChrisBailiffhassaidthattherootsofthePNsoundlayinhisfather’sAlzheimer’sdisease.‘Mydadwentintohospitalandhadtosellthefamilyhome,IhadtomoveoutandwhilstdoingthisIfoundsomanyoldrecordsofhisandrecordsthatheboughtforme.Nurseryrhymes,documentariesandjazz.Ididn’twanttothrowanythingawaysotookthemwithme.Istartedtolistentoallofthemandrecordedontotapemyfavouritesoundsandmadeincrediblyvariedmixtapes.ItheneditedthemdownanddownuntiltherewerewhatIsupposearecalledsamples.’It’sasifBailiffwassimultaneouslyattemptingtosimulateAlzheimer’sandcounteractit.PositionNormal canbe fitted into thevenerableEnglish traditionofNonsense. (AnotherSmall Faces parallel: Stanley Unwin provided some of his trademark gobbledygook forOgden’sNutGoneFlake,thealbumwhichincluded‘LazySundayAfternoon’.)ThissamesenseoflyricaldementiaisatworkonMordantMusic’s2006masterpieceDeadAir.Mordantexplicitlyaffirmdecayanddeliquescenceasproductiveprocesses,andonDeadAiritisasifthemouldgrowingonthearchivesisthecreativeforcebehindthesound.Thealbum sounds like an electro/Rave version of The Disintegration Loops, except what wasdisintegratingherewasamomentinBritishbroadcastinghistory.Thelooseconceptbehindthe album was a dead television studio, and what’s crucial to its unnerving allure is thepresenceofformerThamesTVcontinuityannouncerPhillipElsmore.There’salunaticcalmaboutthewaythatElsmorereadingBaronMordant’sNonsense(bestheardinitsownrightonhiscollaborationwithEkoplekz,eMMplekz).ListeningtoDeadAir is likestumbling intoanabandonedmuseum200yearsintothefuturewhereoldRavetracksplayonanendlessloop,degrading,becomingmorecontaminatedwitheachrepetition;orlikebeingstrandedindeepspace,pickingupfadingradiosignalsfromafardistantearthtowhichyouwillneverreturn;or like memory itself re-imagined as an oneiric television studio, where fondly recalledcontinuityannouncers,driftinginandoutofaudibility,narrateyournightmaresinreassuringtones.

‘OldSunlightFromOtherTimesandOtherLives’:JohnFoxx’sTinyColourMovies

k-punkpost,June19,2006

Hewasinthemarketcrowds,wearingashabbybrownsuit.Tryingtofindmethroughallthe years. My ghost coming home. How do you get home through all the years? Nopassport, no photo possible.No resemblance to anyone living or dead. Tenderly peeringintowindows

John Foxx’s Tiny Colour Movies is a welcome addition to this decade’s rich cache ofhauntologicalreleases.Foxx’s music has always had an intimate relationship with film. Like sound recording,photography – with its capturing of lost moments, its presentation of absences – has aninherentlyhauntologicaldimension.Itwouldn’tbeanexaggerationtosaythatFoxx’sentiremusicalcareerhasbeenaboutrelatingthehauntologyof thevisualwiththehauntologyofsound, transposing the eerie calmness and stillness of photography and painting onto thepassionalagitationofrock.InthecaseofTinyColourMovies, therelationshipbetweenthevisualandthesonic isanexplicitmotivating factor. The inspiration for the albumwas the film collection of ArnoldWeizcs-Bryant.Weizcs-Bryantcollectsonlyfilmsthatareshort–nomovieinhiscollectionislongerthaneightminuteslong–andthathavebeen‘madeoutsidecommercialconsiderationfor the sheer pleasure of film. This category can include found film, the homemovie, therepurposed movie fragment.’ The album emerged when, a few weeks after he attended ashowing of someofWeizcs-Bryant films inBaltimore, Foxx foundhimself unable to forget‘the beauty and strangeness’ of Weizcs-Bryant’s movies – ‘juxtapositions of underwaterautomobiles, the highways of Los Angeles, movies made from smoke and light, discardedsurveillancefootagefrom1964NewYorkhotelrooms’–sohedecided‘togiveintoit–toseewhatwouldhappenif[he]madeasmallcollectionofmusicalpiecesusingthememoryofthoseTinyColourMovies.’TheresultisFoxx’smost(un)timelyLPsince1980’sMetamatic.TinyColourMoviesfitsrightintotheoutofjointtimeofhauntology.BelburyPoly’sJimJuppcitesMetamaticasamajortouchstone,andtimehasbentsothattheinfluenceandtheinfluencednowshareanuncannycontemporaneity.Certainly,manyofthetracksonTinyColourMovies–syntheticbutoneiric,psychedelicbutartificial–resembleGhostBoxreleases.Thisisanelectronicsoundremovedfrom the hustle and bustle of the present. An obvious comparison for a track like themajesticallymournful ‘Skyscraper’wouldbeVangelis’BladeRunner soundtrack, but, in themain,thesynthetictexturesarerelievedfromthepressureofsignifyingtheFuture.Instead,theyevokeatimelessNowwheretheurgenciesofthepresenthavebeensuspended.Someofthe best tracks – especially the closing quartet of ‘Shadow City’, ‘Interlude’, ‘ThoughtExperiment’and‘HandHeldSkies’–aresliversofsheeratmosphere,delicateandslight.Theyare gateways towhatHeronbone used to call ‘slowtime’, a time ofmeditative detachmentfromthecommotionsofthecurrent.

Iconstantlyfeeladistantkindoflonging.Thelongestsong,thesongoflonging.Iwalkthesame streets like a fading ghost. Flickering grey suit. The same avenues, squares, parks,colonnades, like a ghost.Over the years I find places I can go through, someprocess ofrecognition.Remnantsofotheralmostforgottenplaces.Alwaysreturning.

Tiny Colour Movies is a distillation of an aesthetic Foxx has dedicatedly explored sinceUltravox’s Systems of Romance. Although Foxx is most associated with a future-shockedamnesiaccatatonia(‘Iusedtoremember/nowit’sallgone/worldwarsomething/weweresomebody’s sons’), there has always been another trance-mode –more beatific and gentlyblissful, but no less impersonal or machinic – operative in Foxx’s sound, even on theMcLuhaniteMetamatic.Psychedelia had explicitly emerged as a reference point onSystemsofRomance (1978) –particularly on tracks such as ‘WhenYouWalk ThroughMe’ and ‘MaximumAcceleration’,with their imagery of liquifying cities and melting time (‘locations change/ the angleschange/eventhestreetsgetre-arranged’).Theremighthavebeentheoccasionalnodtothepsychedelia of the past – ‘When You Walk Through Me’ stole the drum pattern from‘Tomorrow Never Knows’ for instance – but Systems of Romance was remarkable for itsattempttorepeatpsychedelia‘in–becoming’ratherthanthroughploddingre-iteration.Foxx’spsychedeliawassober,clean-shaven,dressedinsmartlyanonymousMagrittesuits;itslocale,elegantlyovergrowncitiesfromthedreamsofWells,DelvauxandErnst.ThereferencetoDelvauxandErnstisnotidle,sinceFoxx’ssongs,likeBallard’sstoriesandnovels, often seemed to take place inside Surrealist paintings. This is not only amatter ofimagery, but also of mood and tone (or, catatone); there is a certain languor, a radicallydepersonalised serenity on loan fromdreamshere. ‘If anything,’ Ballardwrote in his 1966essay on Surrealism, ‘Coming of the Unconscious’, ‘surrealist painting has one dominantcharacteristic: a glassy isolation, as if all the objects in its landscapeshadbeendrainedoftheir emotional associations, the accretions of sentiment and common usage.’ It’s notsurprising that Surrealism should so often turn up as a reference in psychedelia’s‘derangementofthesenses’.Thederangement inFoxx’spsychedeliahasalwaysbeenagentleaffair,disquieting in itsveryquietude.Thatisperhapsbecausethemachineryofperceptualre-engineeringseemedtobe painting, photography and fiction more than drugs per se. One suspects that thepsychotropic agent most active on/in Foxx’s sensibility is light. As he explained in aninterviewfrom1983:‘somepeopleatcertaintimesseemtohavealightinsidethem,it’sjusta feeling you get about someone, it’s kind of radiance – and it’s something that’s alwaysintriguedme–it’ssomethingI’vecoveredbeforeinsongslike‘SlowMotion’and‘WhenYouWalk ThroughMe’. I like that feeling of calm…It’s likeWilliam Burroughs summed it upperfectly–“Ihadafeelingofstillnessandwonder.”’ThereisaclearGnosticdimensiontothis.FortheGnostics,theWorldwasbothheavyanddark, and you got a glimpse of theOutside through glimmers and shimmers (two recurrentwordsinFoxx’svocabulary).AroundthetimeofSystemsofRomance,Foxx’scoverartshiftedfrom harsh Warhol/Heartfield cut/paste towards gentle detournements of Renaissancepaintings.WhatFoxxappearedtodiscoverinDaVinciandBotticelliisaCatholicismdivestednot only of pagan carnality but of the suffering figure of Christ, and returned to an

impersonalGnosticencounterwithradianceandluminescence.What is suppressed inpostmodern culture isnot theDarkbut theLight side.Weare far

morecomfortablewithdemonsthanangels.Whereasthedemonicappearscoolandsexy,theangelicisdeemedtobeembarrassingandsentimental.(WimWenders’excruciatinglycloyingandportentousWingsofDesireisperhapsthemostspectacularfailedcontemporaryattempttorendertheangelic.)Yet,asRudolfOttoestablishes inThe Ideaof theHoly,encounterswithangelsareasdisturbing,traumaticandoverwhelmingasencounterswithdemons.Afterall,what could bemore shattering, unassimilable and incomprehensible in our hyper-stressed,constantly disappointing and overstimulated lives, than the sensation of calm joy? Otto, aconservativeChristian, argued that all religious experiencehas its roots inwhat is initiallymisrecognisedas‘daemonicdread’;hesawencounterswithghosts,similarly,asapervertedversionofwhat theChristianpersonwouldexperience religiously.ButOtto’saccount isanattempttofittheabstractandtraumaticencounterwith‘angels’and‘demons’intoasettledfieldofmeaning.Otto’s word for religious experience is the numinous. But perhaps we can rescue the

numinous from the religious. Otto delineates many variants of the numinous; the mostfamiliartousnowwouldbe‘spasmsandconvulsions’leadingto‘thestrangestexcitements,tointoxicatedfrenzy,totransport,andtoecstasy’.Butfarmoreuncannyintheultra-agitated,presentisthatmodeofthenuminouswhich‘come(s)sweepinglikeagentletide,pervadingthe mind with a tranquil mood of deepest worship.’ Foxx’s instrumental music – on TinyColour Movies and on the three Cathedral Oceans CDs, and with Harold Budd on theTransluscence and Drift Music LPs – has been eerily successful in rendering this alientranquillity.OnTransluscenceinparticular,whereBudd’slimpidpianochordshanglikedustsubtlydiffusinginsunlight,youcanfeelyournervoussystemslowingtoareptileplacidity.This is not an inner butOuter calm;not a discoveryof a cheapNewAge ‘real’ self, but apositive alienation, in which the cold pastoral freezing into a tableau is experienced as areleasefromidentity.Dun Scotus’ concept of the haecceity – the ‘here andnow’ – seems particularly apposite

here.DeleuzeandGuattariseizeuponthisinAThousandPlateausasadepersonalisedmodeofindividuationinwhicheverything–thebreathofthewind,thequalityofthelight–playsa part. A certain use of film – think, particularly, of the aching stillness in Kubrick andTarkovsky – seems especially set up to attune us to haecceity; as does the polaroid, acapturingofahaecceitywhichisitselfahaecceity.The impersonal melancholy that Tiny Colour Movies produces is similar to the oddly

wrenching affect you get from a website like Found Photos. It is precisely thedecontextualised quality of these images, the fact that there is a discrepancy between theimportance that the people in the photographs place upon what is happening and itscompleteirrelevancetous,whichproducesachargethatcanbequietlyoverwhelming.Foxxwroteaboutthiseffectinhisdeeplymovingshortstory,‘TheQuietMan’.ThefigureisaloneinadepopulatedLondon,watchinghomemoviesmadebypeopleheneverknew. ‘Hewasfascinatedbyallthetinyintimatedetailsofthesefilms,thejerkyfigureswavingfromseasideandgardenatweddingsandbirthdaysandbaptisms,recordsofwholefamiliesandtheirpetsgrowingandchangingthroughtheyears.’‘Hereyouseeoldsunlightfromothertimesandotherlives’,Foxxobservesinhisevocative

sleevenotes for Tiny Colour Movies. To leaf through other people’s family photos, to seemoments thatwere of intense emotional significance for thembutwhichmean nothing toyou,is,necessarily,toreflectonthetimesofhighdramainyourownlife,andtoachieveakind of distance that is at once dispassionate and powerfully affecting. That is why the –beautifully,painfully–dilatedmomentinTarkovsky’sStalkerwherethecameralingersovertalismanicobjects thatwereoncesaturatedwithmeaning,butarenowsaturatedonlywithwaterisformethemostmovingsceneincinema.Itisasifweareseeingtheurgenciesofourlives through the eyes of an Alien–God. Otto claims that the sense of the numinous isassociatedwithfeelingsofourownfundamentalworthlessness,experiencedwitha‘piercingacuteness [and] accompanied by themost uncompromising judgment of self-depreciation’.But,contrary to today’segopsychology,whichhectorsus intoreinforcingoursenseof self(all thebetterto ‘sellourselves’), theawarenessofourownNothingness isofcourseapre-requisite for a feeling of grace. There is a melancholy dimension to this grace preciselybecauseitinvolvesaradicaldistanciationfromwhatisordinarilymostimportanttous.

Hestoodinthesoftbeamsofsunshinediffusedbythecurtains,caughtforamomentinthestillnessoftheroom,watchingthedustswirlingslowlygoldenthroughpatchesoflightthatfell across the carpets and furniture, feeling a strange closeness to the vanishedwoman.Being here and touching her possessions in the dusty intimacy of these rooms was likewalkingthroughherlife,everythingofherwasherebutforthephysicalpresence,andinsomewaysthatwastheleastimportantpartofherforhim.

LongingandachingarewordsthatrecurthroughoutFoxx’swork.‘BlurredGirl’fromMetamatic–itslovers‘standingclose,neverquitetouching’–wouldalmostbetheperfectLacanianlovesong,inwhichthedesiredobjectisalwaysapproached,neverattained,andwhatisenjoyedissuspension,deferralandcirculationaroundtheobject,ratherthanpossessionofit–‘arewerunningstill?orarewestandingstill?’OnTinyColourMachines,asonCathedralOceansandthe albumswith Budd, where there are nowords, this feeling of enjoyablemelancholy isrendered by the minimally disturbed stillness and barely perturbed poise of the soundsthemselves.

I candetect tinyedgesof time leaking through. I feelnothing is completely separate.Atsomepointeverythingleaksintoeverythingelse.Thetrickisinfindingtheplaces.Theyareslowly moving. Drifting. You can only do this accidentally. If you set out to do itdeliberatelyyouwillalwaysfail.It is onlywhen you remember, only thenwill you realise that you caught a glimpse.Whileyouweretalkingtosomeone,or thinkingofsomethingelse.Whenyourattentionwasdiverted.Justahint,aglimmer,ashade.Much later, you will remember. Without really knowing why. Vague peripheralsensations gather. Some fraction of a long rhythm is beginning to be recognised. Thehiddenfrequenciesandtidesofthecity.Geometryofcoincidence.

ListeningtoTinyColourMovies,aswithallofFoxx’sbestrecords,onehasasenseofreturning

to adream-place. Foxx’s shiftingor shadowcity,with itsErnst-like ‘greenarcades’ andDeChirico colonnades, is urban space as seen from the unconscious on a derive; an intensivespaceinwhichelementsofLondon,Rome,Florenceandother,moresecretplacesaregivenanoneiricconsistency.Ilostmyselfinthatcitymorethan20yearsago.

Sleepingincheapboardinghouses.Aghostwithleavesinhispocketandnoaddress.Thegoodfacehalfblind.Anebulaofsongsandmemoriesslippinginandoutoffocus.Someonetoldmehewastherebutitdidn’tregisteratthetime.Thevoicecameunfocussedfromallaround.Stillandquietliketheshadowsofanoceaninthemovingtrees.

Indented text from John Foxx’s ‘QuietMan’ and ‘ShiftingCity’ texts and the CathedralOceansbooklet.

ElectricityandGhosts:InterviewwithJohnFoxx

k-punkpost,September23,2006

MF:Whichfilmsweremostinfluentialonyouearlyon?JF: Oh, very cheap science fiction films mostly. There was one particularly memorablemovie called Robot Monster, so bad it was surreal, it had the quality of a dream, anexceptionalmovie.Inowthinkit’soneofthebestfilmsI’veeverseen,partlybecauseithadnoregardforplotoranythingelserecognizableasconventionalcinemaofthetime.Thisofcoursemadeitaneventofinestimableimportancetome,because,asachildItookitallliterally–swalloweditwhole,likeAlice’spotion.And like that potion, it allowed entry to an unexpected universe. One which hadunfathomablelogicandlawswhichwereendlesslyflexible.Adeeplyexhilaratingexperience.Istilldreamsequencesfromit,orratherIseemtohavepermanentlyincorporatedsectionsofitintomydreamgrammar.GrowingupwithmoviesasachildandbeingsubjectedtothembeforeIcouldunderstandtheadultpreoccupationsandmotivationsinvolvedintheplots,pitchedmeintoconscriptingthesefilmsasapersonalgrammar.Ihadnochoice,soIendedupwiththisLynchianreservoirofsequencesthatcarriedeverydreadandjoyandeverythinginbetween.Theseeventsarestillimbuedwithunfathomable,inexplicable,tantalizingmystery,becauseI couldn’t reallyunderstand themat all. Itwashallucinogenic andvivid, andprovidedmewith an image bank and a gorgeous range of emotional tones I still haven’t managed toexhaust.Much later, when I got to ‘Cinema’ – or the official critical view of it – the moreintellectual,oftenFrenchaspect.Ididn’trecogniseitatall.Later, I ended up enjoying this sort of perspective a little, but in a rather disengaged,scepticalway.Tome,itseemsamethodofcriticismwhichisoftenmarvelouslybaroqueandcanbeengaging,buthaslittletodowithmyownexperienceofCinema.Icanonlydealwithitasamarvelousfictionalconstruct,likemedievalreligionorquantumphysics – a consensual social hallucination developed by a priesthood. In the end it’s astangentialasmyownindividualone.Butthatverycrude,improvisational,amateurishsideofcinemaorfilmmaking,Icontinuetofinddeeplyfascinating.TakeforexampleEdWood’sfilms.Hemadethemsimplybecausehewasinaplacewhereitcouldbedone.IthinkofEdWoodasasortofadvancednaiveartist.Hewasamongthefirsttomakecut-upmovies.Heachievedthisbyusingpropshecameacrossinwarehousesandstockfootagehediscovered in the filmvaults ofHollywood cutting rooms, thenhe builtmovies aroundthesefragments.Thisistheartofcollageandsampling.Itisartasfoundobject,ascoincidence,asaccident,asSurrealism,asDada,asSituationism.AllmadepossibleandmotivatedalsobythedynamoofAmericanopportunism,butwithgreatloveandinadequacyandtenderness.EdWoodwasdoing, fiftyyearsago,what theavantgardeareonlynowbeginningtodo

withfilm.(This is also very similar to theway rock ‘n’ roll oftenmanages to parallel or prefigureavant garde concepts, by arriving at them from a totally different direction. Pop is such avirile mongrel it’s capable of effortlessly demonstrating, realising, manifesting, absorbing,remakinganysortofacademicintellectualconcept.Itcandothissowell,itoftenmakesanyparallelorpreviousversionappearweakorevenredundant).Anadmirationforthatsortofvisceral,sensual,opportunistic,nativeintelligenceledtoaninterest in, and respect for, home video and super-8 – very low grade domestic ways ofmakingfilms– I suddenly realised therewasawholeotherworld there, onewhichhadn’tbeenproperlydiscussed,butasreal,infactmorerealandpotentiallyatleastaspowerful,asofficialcinema.

MF: The film collection you refer to in the sleeve notes toTinyColourMovies – youwriteaboutitverybeautifully.ArethereanyplansforthosefilmstobeshownintheUK?JF:Thanks.I’dliketo–therearesomeproblemswiththesefragments,becausethey’resosmall.They’rephysicallydifficultthings,andthey’reuniqueirreplaceableandveryfragile,soyoucanonlyevershowdigitalcopiesofthem.Butitwouldbeinterestingtodosomethinglikethat.I’mbeginningtolookatsomepossibilitiesnow,workingwithMikeBarker,whohasaccumulatedamarvellousarchive,andwe’rediscussingthiswithsomefilmfestivals.

MF:InoticedyouthankedPaulAusterinthesleevenotes,whywasthat?JF:PaulAusterhasisveryinterestingtome,becauseIwrotethisthingcalled‘TheQuietMan’yearsago,inthe80s,infactI’mstillwritingit.ThenIreadtheNewYorkTrilogy,anditstrucksomanychimes.ItwasasifI’dwrittenit,oritwasthebookIshouldhavewritten.Ihavetobeverycarefultofindmywayarounditnow.Suchoccurrencesaresimultaneouslyrewardingandterrifying.Theyillustratethefactthatthereissomethingintheair,whichistremendouslyhearteningafterworkingaloneforyears,yettheyscareyoubecauseitfeelsasifsomeonehaspublishedfirst,andthereforeregisteredtheirclaimtowhereyoudiscoveredgold.I simply wanted to acknowledge the effect, and the odd sort of encouragement ofrecognised themes, aswell as a continuing parallel interest in the idea of lostmovies andfragmentsMF:There’sacertainkindofLondonaffectthat’sinteresting,ofstillness,andthecitybeingovergrown,whichissortofrecurrent inyourwork–where’sthatcomefromdoyouthink?JF:When I first came to London it seemeda great deal like Lancashire,where I’d comefrom.ButLancashirehadfallenintoruin.Thefactorieshadclosed,theeconomyhadfaltered.WefeltliketheIncasaftertheSpaniardshadpassed.Helpless,nostalgicsavagesadriftintheruins.Igrewupplayinginemptyfactories,hugeplaceswhichwereovergrown.Iremembertreesgrowingoutofthebuildings.Irememberacertainmomentsoflookingatitallandthinkingwhatitwouldhavebeenlikewhenitwasallworking.Whatlifemightbelike,ifitwereallworkingstill.Allofmyfamilyworkedinmillsandfactoriesandmines.Andallthiswasgentlysubsiding,spinningaway.

ComingtoLondon,Icouldn’thelpbutwonderifitmightalsofallintodissolution.ThenIsawapictureafriendhad.Itwasarealisticpaintingofwhatappearedtobeaviewoverajunglefromahighplace.Graduallyyoucametorealisethatitwasaviewofanovergrowncityfromatower,thenyourealisedthatthispanoramawasfromaruinedCentrePointandyoucouldseeTottenhamCourtRoad,OxfordStreet,CharingCrossroadintheundergrowth.Itfeltlikearevelation.ItmanifestedsoperfectlythisvisionI’dhadofeverythingbecomingovergrown,anovergrownLondon.Avisionoflongingandnostalgiatingedwithfear.IwouldoftenexperienceafeelingofstillnessandwonderasIwalkedthroughcertainparts

ofLondon.Ioftenwalkedthroughemptybuildingsandneglected,overlookedplacesandtheywouldreplaythatsensationverystrongly.IwenttoShoreditch,in1982,andmadeastudiothere.Whenwefirstwentintothestudio

building it had trees growing out of the windows on the upper stories. It was very likeLancashire, thatwhole areawas derelict, had been abandoned, because that had been theindustrialbitoftheEastEnd.Nowtherewasno-onethere,itwasempty.Itgavemethatcalmdriftingfeelingofrecognition.Therewassomekindofcollectiveimageofovergrownandabandonedcitiesatthattime.

Perhapsit’salwaysthere.SuchimageswerepresentinBallard,Burroughs,PhilipKDick.Inthosesciencefictionauthorswritingaboutthenearfuture–conductingthoughtexperiments,exploring likelyconsequencesandviewsof theunrecognisedpresent,which I think isveryvaluable.Theyofferperspectivesandmeditationsonourvanityandendeavours.Assuchtheymaintain continuity with a long line of imagery, from religious myths and folk stories tosciencefiction.

MF: It seems to have a real unconscious resonance, this idea of overgrown cities, it’sobviously there insurrealistpaintings,whichseemtobeaconstantreference,especially inyourearlywork–JF: Yes, there’s that side of it too. In science fiction films you often get those recurrent

images,whichIthinkareverybeautiful,ofsomeonewalkingthroughanabandonedcity.Wehaveaccumulatedarangeofsuchimagesallalongtheline,fromfolkandfairytales,to

the actual construction of follies and romantic overgrown gardens, to the truly dislocated,suchasPiranesi’sruinsandprisons,toMaxErnst’spaintings,orBreughel’sTowerofBabel,orthebackgroundurbanlocationsinBosch,aswellasDeChirico’stownscapesandshadows.PlanetoftheApeshasoneofthemostshockingandresonant–theendoforiginalmovie,

whereweseetheStatueofLibertytiltedinthesand.Arealjolt,thefirsttimeyouseeit.AmoderntakeonShelley’sOzymandias.The radiance I sometimes refer tooccupies this sortofarea. Ioften seepeopleas if ina

frozen moment and they seem to have an internal glow inside them. Their skin seemstranslucentandtheycarrytheirowntime.Ifeelcalmanddistantandwarmfromthis.Itcanhappeninaninstant.Inverymundaneurbansituations.Yourealiseyouarenotlookingatasingleperson,butatasortofstreamorcascade.It happened yesterday in a supermarket. I happened to glance at a young woman who

looked like a transfigured hidden Madonna. She wore jeans and a teeshirt, an ordinarywoman.But equally, shewas a continuity, a lovely geneticphysical thread toother times,bothprevious andaheadand still unformed. She simply glowed.Quietly andunknowingly

luminous.TheEternalWoman.

MF: The sort of feelings you deal with are more abstract; it’s like you go to those stateswithoutreferencetothewaythey’vetraditionallybeencoded,really.Youoftenusetheword‘angelic’,or‘angel’…JF:Yes, veryperilous territory, especially since these termshave sincebeen co-optedby

NewAgers.I’llputonthegreysuittodispelallthat.ManyofthesespringfromwhatIthinkofas‘thoughtexper-iments’–thingsIemployall

thetime,asatooltogetathalfburiedoremergingrealisations.Ifyou’reatallinterested,I’lltrytooutlineafew.Firstly,theideainterestedme–stilldoes–ofparallelevolutions–imaginesomethingthat

mayhaveevolvedalongsideus,somethingwe’renotquiteawareofyet,thatwehaven’tyetdiscovered.Thatmay include thingswhichexist inotherplanesorbyothermeans,or thingswhich

resemblehumanbeingssowellthatweassumethemtobehuman,buttheymaynotbe.Yetthey live among us undetected – the possibility that other forms of lifemay have evolvedalongsideus,butinvisiblebecauseoftheirproximity.‘Hiding inplainsight’ isagreat idea, something that’svery interesting in itself–onone

levelconnectedwithsleightofhandandparlourtricksandconmen,butontheotherhand,very subtle, intuition ledperceptions. It couldgive rise to situations thatare tremendouslymoving,fragile,tender.Metaphoricallyveryresonant.Anotherone–I’malsoveryinterestedintheconceptofasingularity.Aneventthatonly

happensonce,oronceeverythousandormillionyears.There may be rhythms which extend over tens of millions of years and are therefore

unrecognisabletous,exceptassingleunconnectableandunexplainableevents.Butthefactthatwehavenocontexttofitthemintodoesn’tmeantheydon’thappen.Yet another thought experiments posits the concept of Angels as a connection between

things.Anentitythatonlyexistsbetween.Asortofweborconnection.Theyarisepurelyasan intrinsic, invisible and unsuspected component of the evolution of the ecology thatsupportswhatevertheyexistbetween.Theycannotexistontheirown.Manyofushavetheselittleincidents–everythingfromcoincidencesonward–thingsthat

wecan’texplainusingthereferenceswecommonlyemploy.I’m very interested in those things, always have been. Through those odd things, we

glimpse something that’s outside the way we usually look at the world, and realise theremightbeanotherwayoflookingatit,analternateperceptiontotheonewehave,andIthinkthat’saveryvaluablepossibilitytokeepholdof.Theawarenessthatmaybetherearegapsinourperceptionthatwearen’tabletofillyet.MF:Yes,becauseIthinkoneofthemostpowerfulthings–whichcomesoutinTinyColour

Movies but in retrospect has always been there – is that you’re able to dealwith positive,affirmatoryfeelingsthatareeerieanduncanny,andpossessacertainkindofcalmserenity.JF:Good,somehowthat’salwaysbeenavitalcomponentofthatsortofexperience,forme.

A sensation of utter calm and stillness. Miles away from any agitation. It seems deeplypositive.It’sanoppositetotheexcitementyougetfrom,say,rockandroll…Ithinkingeneralwe

liketostirourselvesupinvariousways,usingartorusingmediaorwhatever,andIthinkit’sjustasvalidtomoveagainstthenorm,andthenormatthemomentistospeedeverythingup.I mean, that’s what we’re trying to attain, aren’t we, through media? – That awfulmaximisationoftimeandefficienttransmissionof‘information’.Someofthisiseconomic–timeequalsmoney–andsome is simplydonebecause it canbedone,andhasbecomeanunquestionedconvention.Ifyoucouldtime-jumptoshowtheaverageTVadoftodaytosomeone20or30yearsago,theywouldn’tunderstandit.Theadwoulddependontheviewer’sperceptionspeedandalsoon a series of recent references.Our parents simplyweren’t fast enough, they hadn’t beenacceleratedaswehavebeenbymediaandthepaceofmodernlife,andtheyalsodon’thavetheinculcated,busyreferencechain.Accelerationisalsokindofexcitingandinteresting,ImeanIreallyenjoyit,sometimes–butitequally leadsyoutothink ‘whathappensifyoudotheopposite?’–itmightbejustaspleasurableandjustasvalidtodothat.So,oneof thethingsIwanttotrytodo isworkontheotherendof thisspectrum–seewhathappenswhenyouslowthingsdown.Iwas surprisedwhen Iwasdoing the firstmusic forCathedralOceans, using echoes thatwere30secondslong,sotherhythmswere30secondsbetweenthebeats.Itwasveryinterestingslowingdownenoughtoworkwiththatintuitively.Youhadtodoit,youhad tosynchronisewith the track inorder tobeable toworkwith it.And it’sveryinterestingwhatkindofstateyougetinto–intense,yetcalmandtranquil.Asortoftrancestate.MF:Ithinkit’sparticularlyontheLPswithHaroldBudd,whereyougetthatsortofachingplateau,whereyouslowdownsomuchthatanypeturbationhasamassiveeffectreally.Haroldwasoneofthefirstpeoplewhogotthatright,Ithink.Oneoftheveryfirsttohavesufficientcouragetoleaveenoughspaceinthemusicandnotfillspacesunnecessarily.Notdecorate.Takesanawfullotofquietcouragetodothat.Whenthis isdone, itallowsanalternativeecologytoemerge–onebasedoneventsthataremuchlessfrequent.Andthat,ofcourse,affectstheirsignificance.Youaredrawntothemin a sort of smiling fascination, rather than the usual popmusicmethodof lapel grabbingbombardment.MF: It seems tobe something similar towhatyouget inTarkovsky films–whereeitherpeoplesay‘oh,thisistooslowIcan’tstandit’,ortheyenterintotheslowtimeofthefilmandanythingthathappensalmostbecomestoomuch.JF: Exactly, you can concentrate on any event very thoroughly, when that mode ofperceptionismadeavailable.Eventsbecomestatelyandwelcomeandvaluedandsignificant,andtheirarrivalanddeparturecanbefullyexperienced.Thelackofjostlingallowsthatsortofelegantnotionalspacetoopenup.ItfunctionsattheotherendofthespectrumfromcommercialTVandcinema,andofrock&roll.Bothendscanbeequallyinteresting,Ithink.MF:Itseemstomethatyou’vealwaysimposedthestillnessandcalmnessofpaintingandphotography or a certain type of film onto the agitation of rock, really. Certain kind ofdreams - thedreamswe’remost familiarwith–arehyper-agitated, fullofurgencyetc,but

there’sanothertypeofdreamqualityyouseemtogettowherethoseurgenciesaresuspendedandyou’reoutofthateverydaylifepush-and-pull,really. Iwondered-thereseemstobeacertainaching,orlongingquality-thesearewordsyouseemtousealotinyourmusic…JF:Well,dreamsareaveryimportantcomponent.Irealisedthatitisnotsimplytheimageyoupresentyourselfwith,inadream,whichisimportant–it’salsotheemotionaltoneofthescene.Youcanseeacloud,butthiswillbeaccompaniedbyasenseofwonderorbyasenseofdread,anditisthataccompanimentwhichdeterminesitsmeaning.Theemploymentof these imagesand tonesare someof the things that everyone shares,aren’t they? They’re composed of bits of unique personal events and references andmemories,suchaslongingsthatyoumighthavehadwhenyou’reachild.Whenyourparentsareawayevenforanhouritfeelasthoughitgoesonforeverandyoureally deeplymiss them – and the abstraction, the tone component of that just carries onthrough life. Gets applied to different situations. These longings – and all other emotionalpartsofthespectrum–jointherepertoireoftoneswecarryandapply.Somemomentslastforever.MF:Butthere’salmostapositiveside,almostanenjoymentoflongingandache.JF:Ohyes,wheretheobserverpartofyouacknowledgesanemotionalconnectionwiththerest. Simultaneously you feel as though you are very integrated, yet you are being gentlypulledawayfromyourself.Gentlydisengaged.MF:Isn’tthe‘emotionless’qualityofyourmusicmoretodowithacertainkindofcalm?JF:Yes,it’squiteacomplexthing,acompound.Therearestateswherethere’sasensationof time passing, things changing, knowing the world is changing, falling in on itself, andreforming.Andyoumayevenbeintheprocessofdoingjustthatyourself.Buttherearemomentswhereyoujuststandbyandwatchitall,whereyou’reawareofit,inamoment that seems togoon forever.So it’s somethingof standing inastillplaceandwatchingthepatternsinpassingcrowdsandeveninyourownlife.Itcanbeaverypowerfulexperience.That stillness, and the maintenance of a quiet dignity in the face of insurmountablecircumstancescanbeimmenselymovingtowitness.Itcanbemuchmoreeffectiveandmovingifsomeonetellsthestoryinanunemotionalorundramaticway.YoufindthatinIshiguro.Remainsof theDayorNeverLetMeGoaregoodexamplesofthatkindofwriting,wherethemostimportantcomponentsremainunstated.TheLeopardissuffusedwith,andisdependentonavariantofthis.It’s also allied to a device used in differentways byCharlieChaplin, BusterKeaton andCary Grant. – An archetypical figure attempts to retain dignity in the face of theworldlychaoswhileremainingeverhopefulofromance.AndwithBallardandBurroughs,yougetanalmostgentlemanly,middleclassversionofasimilarsortofstance–mayhemofallkindsobservedfromadisengagedviewpoint.

AnotherGreyWorld:Darkstar,JamesBlake,KanyeWest,Drakeand

‘PartyHauntology’

‘It’sareallygrey-soundingsynth,reallyorganicandgrainy.Wecall them“swells”–wheresynthesisersstartquiteminimalandthendevelopintoahugechord,beforeprogressing.Ifeltlikeitwouldn’tberightifwejustcarriedonwiththatdaygloHyperdubsoundofacoupleofyearsago.ImeanIlovethosesongs,butitalreadyfeelslikealifetimeaway.’Ifeltvindicatedwhen I read these remarks of Darkstar’s James Young in an interview with Dan Hancox.WhenIfirstheardthealbumaboutwhichYoungistalking–2010’sNorth–thephrasethatcametomymindwas‘AnotherGreyWorld’.ThelandscapeofNorthfeltliketheverdantMaxErnstforestofEno’sAnotherGreenWorldbecomeash.

…withwinteraheadofus

Thedepressive’sworldisblackand/orwhite,(youonlyhavetorememberthecoversofJoyDivision’s Unknown Pleasures and Closer), but North does not (yet) project a cold worldentirely swathed in snow.North is the direction that the album is heading towards, not adestinationithasreached.Itslandscapeiscolourlessratherthanblack,itsmoodtentative–itisgreyas inunresolved,agreyarea.This isanalbumdefinedby itsnegativecapabilityofremainingindoubts,disquietanddissatisfactionsthatitunabletoname.ItisgreyasinTheCure’s‘AllCatsAreGrey’fromFaith,arecordthatstoodbetweenthespiderypsychedeliaofSeventeen Seconds and the unrelieved darkness of Pornography. YetNorth is ultimately toojitterytomustertheglacialfatalismofFaithbutwhatNorthhasincommonwithTheCure’sgreatrecordsisthesenseoftotalimmersioninamood.Itisaworkthatcameoutofmethodimmersion: Young told Dan Hancox that, as they recordedNorth, the group had listenedobsessively to Radiohead, Burial, the Human League and the first album by OrchestralManouevresintheDark.Therecorddemandsthesamekindofinvolvement,whichisperhapswhysomefounditunengaging.Onacasuallisten,theveryunresolvedqualityofthetrackscouldseemsimplyundercooked.JamesButtery’svocalscouldcomeoffaslimp,anaemic.Inaddition, many were disappointed by Darkstar’s failure to provide an album full of the‘robotic2-step’thattheyhadinventedon‘Aidy’sGirlisaComputer’.Infact,theymadetherobotic 2-step album but ditched it, dissatisfied with its lack of ambition. (This whollycompletedalbumthatwasneverreleasedisoneofseveralparallelswithBurial.)‘Aidy’sGirlisaComputer’apart,ifyouheardNorthwithoutknowingthehistory,youwouldn’tassumeany connectionwithdubstep.At the same time,North isn’t straightforwardly a return to apre-dance sound. It is more a continuation of a certain mode of electronic pop that wasprematurelyterminatedsometimeinthemid-80s: likeNewOrderif theyhadn’tabandonedthesleekcyberneticmausoleumthatMartinHannettbuiltforthemonMovement.Except,ofcourse,thatitisnotpossibletosimplycontinuethattrajectoryasifnothinghadhappened.Darkstaracknowledge thepresentonlynegatively. It impingeson theirmusic inperhapstheonlywayitcan,asafailureofthefuture,asatemporaldisorderthathasinfected

thevoice,causingittostutterandsibilate,tofragmentintostrangeslitheringshards.Partofwhat separates Darkstar from their synthpop forebears is the fact that the synthesiser nolonger connotes futurity. But Darkstar are not retreating from a vivid sense of futurity –becausethereisnosuchfuturityfromwhichtheycouldretreat.ThisbecomesclearwhenyoucomparetheDarkstarcoverof‘Gold’totheHumanLeagueoriginal.It’snotjustthatoneisnomore futuristic than the other; it’s that neither are futuristic. The Human League track isclearlyasupersededfuturism,whiletheDarkstartrackseemstocomeafterthefuture.It’s this senseof living in an interregnum, thatmakesNorth so (un)timely.WhereBurialmadecontactwith thesecretsadnessunderlying theboom,Darkstararticulate thesenseofforeboding that is everywhere after the economic crash of 2008.North is certainly full ofreferencestolostcompanionship:thealbumcanbereadasanobliquetakeonaloveaffairgonewrong.

Ourfate’snottoshare….

Theconnectionbetweenusgone….

Buttheveryfocusonthelovecoupleratherthantheravemassiveisitselfsymptomaticofaturninward.InadiscussionthatSimonReynoldsandIhadaboutNorthshortlyafteritwasreleased,Reynoldsarguedthatitwasamistaketotalkasifravewasbereftofemotion.Ravewasamusicsaturatedwithaffect,buttheaffectinvolvedwasn’tassociatedwithromanceorintrospectionThe introspective turn in21st century (post)dancemusicwas thereforenot aturn towards emotion, it was a shift from collectively experienced affect to privatisedemotions. There was an intrinsic and inevitable sadness to this inward turn, regardless ofwhetherthemusicwasofficiallysadornot.Thetwinningofromanceandintrospection,loveanditsdisappointments,runsthrough20thcenturypop.Bycontrast,dancemusicsincediscoofferedupanotherkindofemotionalpalette,basedinadifferentmodelofescapefromthemiseriesofindividualselfhood.The21stcenturyhasoften felt like thecomedownaftera speedbinge,or theexilebackintoprivatisedselfhood,andthesongsonNorthhavethejitteryclarityofProzacwithdrawal.It’ssignificantthatmostofthedigital interferenceonNorth isappliedtoJamesButtery’svoice. Much of the vocal sounds as if it has been recorded on a shaky mobile phoneconnection. I’m reminded of Franco Berardi’s arguments about the relationship betweeninformational overload and depression. Berardi’s argument is not that the dot.com crashcaused depression, but the reverse: the crash was caused by the excessive strain put onpeople’snervoussystemsbynewinformationaltechnologies.Now,morethanadecadeafterthedot.comcrashandthedensityofdatahasmassivelyincreased.Theparadigmaticlabourerisnowthecallcentreworker–thebanalcyborg,punishedwhenevertheyunplugfromthecommunicativematrix.OnNorth, James Buttery, afflicted by allmanner of digital palsies,sounds likeacyborgwhose implantsand interfaceshavecome loose, learningtobeamanagain,andnotlikingitverymuch.North is like KanyeWest’s 2008 album808s andHeartbreak with all the gloss removed.Thereisthesamemethodmelancholia,thesameanchoringinearly80ssynthpop,explicitlyflaggedin808’scasebythecoverdesign’sechoofPeterSaville’ssleevesforNewOrder’sBlue

MondayandPower,CorruptionandLies.Theopening track ‘SayYouWill’ sounds like ithasbeen worked up out of the crisp synthetic chill of Joy Division’s ‘Atmosphere’ and thefunereal drum tattoo of New Order’s ‘In A Lonely Place’. As withNorth, though, the 80sparallelsaredisruptedbythedigitaleffectsusedonthevoice.808sandHeartbreakpioneeredtheuseofAuto–Tune,whichwouldsubsequentlycometodominateR&Bandhip-hopfromthelate00sonwards.Inasense,theconspicuoususeofAuto-Tune–thatistosay,itsuseasaneffect,asopposedtoitsofficialpurposeasadevicetocorrectasinger’spitch–wasa90sthrowback,sincethiswaspopularisedbyCheronher1998single‘Believe’.Auto-Tuneisinmany ways the sonic equivalent of digital airbrushing, and the (over) use of the twotechnologies (alongside the increasingprevalenceof cosmetic surgery) result in a look andfeel that is hyperbolically enhanced rather than conspicuously artificial. If anything is thesignatureof21stcenturyconsumerculture,isthisfeelingofadigitallyupgradednormality–aperverseyetultra-banalnormality,fromwhichallflawshavebeenerased.On808sandHeartbreak,wehearthesobsintheheartofthe21stcenturypleasuredome.

Kanye’slachrymoseandroidshtickreachesitsmaudlindepthsontheastonishing‘PinocchioStory’.ThisisthekindofAuto-Tunedlamentyoumightexpectneo-Pinocchioandandroid-OedipusDavidfromSpielberg’sAI(2001)tosing;alittlelikeBritneySpears’s‘PieceOfMe’,you can either hear this as themomentwhen a commodity achieves selfconsciousness, orwhenahumanrealisesheorshehasbecomeacommodity.It’sthesouredsoundattheendoftherainbow,anelectroasdesolatedasSuicide’sinfernalsynth-opera‘FrankieTeardrop’.A secret sadness lurks behind the 21st century’s forced smile. This sadness concerns

hedonism itself, and it’s no surprise that it is in hip-hop – a genre that has becomeincreasingly aligned with consumerist pleasure over the past 20-odd years – that thismelancholyhasregisteredmostdeeply.DrakeandKanyeWestarebothmorbidlyfixatedonexploring the miserable hollowness at the core of super-affluent hedonism. No longermotivatedbyhip-hop’s drive to conspicuously consume – they long ago acquired anythingtheycouldhavewanted–DrakeandWestinsteaddissolutelycyclethrougheasilyavailablepleasures,feelingacombinationoffrustration,anger,andself-disgust,awarethatsomethingismissing,butunsureexactlywhatitis.Thishedonist’ssadness–asadnessaswidespreadasitisdisavowed–wasnowherebettercapturedthaninthedolefulwaythatDrakesings,‘wethrewaparty/yeah,wethrewaparty,’onTakeCare’s‘Marvin’sRoom’.It’snosurprisetolearnthatKanyeWestisanadmirerofJamesBlake.There’sanaffective

aswellassonicaffinitybetweenpartsofKanye’s808sandHeartbreakandMyBeautifulDarkTwistedFantasyandBlake’stwoalbums.YoumightsaythatBlake’swholeMOisapartialre-naturalisationofthedigitallymanipulatedmelancholyKanyeauditionedon808s:soulmusicaftertheAuto-Tunecyborg.Butliberatedfromthepenthouse-prisonofWest’sego,unsureofitself,caughtupinallkindsofimpasses,thedisaffectionlanguisheslistlessly,notalwaysevencapableofrecognizingitselfassadness.Youmightgosofarastosaythattheintrospectiveturnreachedakindofconclusionwith

Blake’s2013albumOvergrown. Inhis transformation fromdubstep topop,Blakehadgonefromdigitallymanipulatinghisownvoicetobecomingasinger;fromconstructingtrackstowriting songs.The initialmotivation forBlake’sapproach to the songnodoubtcame fromBurial,whosecombinationofjittery2-stepbeatsandR&Bvocalsamplespointedthewaytoapossiblevisionof21stcenturypop. Itwasas ifBurialhadproducedthedubversions;now

thetaskwastoconstructtheoriginals,andthatentailedreplacingthesampleswithanactualvocalist.ListeningbacktoBlake’srecordsinchronologicalsequenceislikehearingaghostgradually

assumematerialform;orit’slikehearingthesongform(re)coalescingoutofdigitalether.Atrack such as ‘I Only Know (What I Know Now)’ from the Klavierwerke EP is gorgeouslyinsubstantial – it’s themerest ache, Blake’s voice a series of sighs andunintelligible pitch-shiftedhooks,theproductionmottledandwaterlogged,thearrangementintricateandfragile,conspicuouslyinorganicinthewaythatitmakesnoattempttosmoothouttheelementsofthemontage.Thevoice isa smatteringof tracesand tics,a spectral specialeffect scatteredacross the mix. But with Blake’s self-titled debut album, something like traditional sonicpriorities were restored. The reinvention of pop that his early releases promisedwas nowseemingly given up, as Blake’s de-fragmented voice moved to the front of the mix, andimplied or partially disassembled songs became ‘proper’ songs, complete with un-deconstructedpianoandorgan.Electronicsandsomevocalmanipulationremained,buttheywerenowassignedadecorativefunction.Blake’sblue-eyedsoulvocals,andthewaythathistracks combined organ (or organ-like sounds)with electronica,madehim reminiscent of ahalf-speedSteveWinwood.JustaswithDarkstar’sNorth,Blake’sturntosongsmetwithamixedresponse.Manywho

wereenthusiasticabouttheearlyEPsweredisappointedormildlydismayedbyJamesBlake.Veilingandimplyinganobjectisthesurestroutetoproducingtheimpressionofsublimity.Removingtheveilsandbringingthatobjecttotheforerisksde-sublimation,andsomefoundBlake’s actual songs unequal to the virtual ones his early records had induced them intohallucinating. Blake’s voice was as cloyingly overpowering as it was non-specific in itsfeeling.Theresultwasaquavering,tremulousvagueness,whichwasbynomeansclarifiedbylyrics that were similarly allusive/elusive. The album came over as if it were earnestlyentreatingus to feel,withoutreally tellinguswhat iswasweweresupposed tobe feeling.Perhaps it’s this emotional obliqueness that contributes to what Angus Finlayson, in hisreviewofOvergrownforFACT,characterisedasthestrangenessofthesongsonJamesBlake.They seemed, Finlayson said, like ‘half-songs, skeletal place-markers for some fullerarrangement yet to come.’ The journey into ‘proper’ songswas not as complete as it firstappeared.ItwaslikeBlakehadtriedtoreconstructthesongformwithonlydubversionsordancemixesashisguide.Theresultwassomethingscrambled,garbled,solipsistic,ablearyversion of the song form that was as frustrating as it was fascinating. The delicateinsubstantiality of the early EPs had givenway to something that felt overfull. Itwas likedrowninginawarmbath(perhapswithyourwristscut).OnBlake’salbums,thereisasimultaneousfeelingthatthetracksarebothcongestedand

unfinished,andthatincompleteness–thesketchymelodies,thehalf-hooks,therepeatedlinesthatplaylikecluestosomeemotionaleventneverdisclosedinthesongsthemselves–maybewhy they eventually get under your skin. The oddly indeterminate – irresolute andunresolved – character of Blake’smusic gives it the quality of gospelmusic for thosewhohavelosttheirfaithsocompletelythattheyhaveforgottentheyeverhadit.Whatsurvivesisonly a quavering longing, without object or context, Blake coming off like an amnesiacholding on to images from a life and a narrative that he cannot recover. This negativecapabilitymeansthatOvergrownislikeaninversionoftheoversaturatedhigh-glossemotional

stridencyofchartandrealityTVpop,whichisalwaysperfectlycertainofwhatitisfeeling.Yetthere’sanunconvincing–orperhapsunconvinced–qualitytosomuchofmainstreamculture’shedonismnow.Oddly,this ismostevident intheannexingofR&Bbyclubmusic.When former R&B producers and performers embraced dance music, you might haveexpectedanincreaseineuphoria,aninfluxofecstasy.Butthereversehashappened,andit’sasifmanyofthedancefloortracksarepulleddownbyahiddengravity,adisownedsadness.The digitally–enhanced uplift in the records by producers such as Flo-Rida, Pitbull andwill.i.amislikeapoorlyphotoshoppedimageoradrugthatwe’vehammeredsomuchwe’vebecome immune to its effects. It’s hard not to hear these records’ demands thatwe enjoyourselves as thin attempts to distract from a depression that they can only mask, neverdissipate.InabrilliantessayonTheQuietuswebsite,DanBarrowanalysedthetendencyinaslewofchartpopoverthepastfewyears–includingJay-ZandAliciaKeys’s ‘EmpireStateofMind’Kesha’s‘TikTok’,FloRida’s‘ClubCan’tEvenHandleMeYet’–‘togivethelistenerthepay–off, the sonicmoney-shot, as soon and as obviously as possible’. Pophas always deliveredsugar-sweet pleasure, of course, but, Barrow argues, there’s a tyrannical desperation aboutthisnewsteroid-drivenpop.Itdoesn’tseduce;ittyrannises.This,Barrowargues,is‘acrude,overdetermined excess, as if pop were forcing itself back to its defining characteristics –chorushooks,melody,“accessibility”–andblowingthemuptocartoonishsize.’There’sananalogytobedrawnbetweenthisartificiallyinflatedpopandBerardi’sdiscussionofinternetpornography and drugs such as Viagra,which, similarly, dispensewith seduction and aimdirectly at pleasure. According to Berardi, remember, we are so overwhelmed by theincessant demands of digital communications,we are simply too busy to engage in arts ofenjoyment–highshavetocomeinano-fuss,hyperbolicformsothatwecanquicklyreturnto checking email or updates on social networking sites. Berardi’s remarks can give us anangleonthepressuresthatdancemusichasbeensubjecttooverthelastdecade.Whereasthedigital technology of the 80s and 90s fed the collective experience of the dancefloor, thecommunicative technology of the 21st century has undermined it, with even clubbersobsessivelycheckingtheirsmartphones.(BeyoncéandLadyGaga’s‘Telephone’–whichseesthe pair begging a caller to stop bugging them so they can dance – now seems like a lastfailedattempttokeepthedancefloorfreeofcommunicationalintrusion.)Eventhemostapparentlyuncomplicatedcalls toenjoymentcan’t fullysuppressacertainsadness. Take Katy Perry’s ‘Last Friday Night’. On the face of it, the track is a simplecelebrationofpleasure(‘LastFridaynight/Yeahwemaxedourcreditcards/Andgotkickedoutofthebar’).Yetit’snothardtohearsomethingSisyphean,somethingpurgatorial,inthesong’sevocationofa(notso)merry-go-roundofpleasurethatPerryandherfriendscannevergetoff: ‘Always saywe’regonna stop/ThisFridaynight/Do itallagain…’Playedathalf-speed, this would sound as bleak as early Swans. David Guetta’s ‘Play Hard’ calls up asimilarlyinterminablerepetition.Pleasurebecomesanobligationthatwillneverletup–‘ushustler’s work is never through/ We work hard, play hard’ – and hedonism is explicitlyparalleledwithwork: ‘Keeppartyin’ like it’syour job’. It’s theperfectanthemforanera inwhichtheboundariesbetweenworkandnon-workareeroded–bytherequirementthatwearealways-on(that,forinstance,wewillansweremailsatanyhouroftheday),andthatwenever lose anopportunity tomarketise ourown subjectivity. In a (not at all trivial) sense,

partyingisnowajob.ImagesofhedonisticexcessprovidemuchofthecontentonFacebook,uploaded by userswho are effectively unpaidworkers, creating value for the sitewithoutbeing remunerated for it. Partying is a job in another sense – in conditions of objectiveimmiserationandeconomicdownturn,makinguptheaffectivedeficitisoutsourcedtous.Sometimes,afree-floatingsadnessseepsintothegrainofthemusicitself.OntheirblogNoGoodAdvice,thebloggerJdescribestheuseofasamplefromKaoma’s1989track‘Lambada’onJenniferLopez’s2011hit‘OnTheFloor’:‘Thesnatchof‘Lambada’functionsasaburied-memory trigger, a sort of party hauntology that lends the song a slight edge of wistful,nostalgicsadness.’Thereisnoreferencetosadnessintheofficialtextofthetrack,whichisasimple exhortation todance. So it’s as if the sorrowcomes fromoutside, like tracesof thewakingworldincorporatedintoadream,orlikethegriefwhichcreepsintoalltheembeddedworldsinInception(2010).‘Partyhauntology’mightevenbethebestnameforthedominant21stcenturyformofpop,thetransnationalclubmusicproducedbyGuetta,Flo-Rida,CalvinHarrisandwill.i.am.Butthe debts to the past, the failure of the future are repressed here, meaning that thehauntology takes a disavowed form. Take a track like the Black Eyed Peas’ immenselypopular‘IGottaFeeling’.Although‘IGottaFeeling’isostensiblyanoptimisticrecord,there’ssomething forlorn about it. Perhaps that’s because of will.i.am’s use of Auto-Tune – thereseemstobeSparky’sMagicPiano-likemachinicmelancholyintrinsictothetechnologyitself,somethingwhichKanyedrewoutratherthaninventedon808sandHeartbreak.Inspiteofthetrack’sdeclamatoryrepetitions,there’safragile,fugitivequalityaboutthepleasures‘IGottaFeeling’soconfidentlyexpects.That’spartlybecause‘IGottaFeeling’comesoffmorelikeamemoryofapastpleasurethanananticipationofapleasurethatisyettobefelt.Thealbumfromwhichthetrackcomes,TheE.N.D.(TheEnergyNeverDies)was–likeitspredecessor,TheBeginning–soimmersedinRavethatiteffectivelyoperatedasanactofhomagetothegenre.TheBeginning’s ‘Time(DirtyBit)’couldhaveactuallypassedforaRavetrackfromtheearly90s – the crudeness of its cut and paste montage recalls the ruff ‘n’ ready textures thatsamplerswouldconstructatthattime,anditsborrowingfromDirtyDancing’s‘(I’veHad)TheTimeofmyLife’wasjustthekindofsubversion/sublimationofcheesysourcematerialthatRaveproducersdelightedin.Yet,theBlackEyedPeas’Rave-appropri-ationsdidn’tfunctionsomuchas revivalsofRaveasdenials that thegenrehadeverhappened in the firstplace. IfRave hasn’t yet happened, then there is no need to mourn it. We can act as if we’reexperiencingallthisforthefirsttime,thatthefutureisstillaheadofus.Thesadnessceasestobesomethingwefeel,andinsteadconsistsinourtemporalpredicamentitself,andwearelike Jack in the Gold Room of the Overlook Hotel, dancing to ghost songs, convincingourselvesthatthemusicofyesteryearisreallythemusicoftoday.

03:THESTAINOFPLACE

‘AlwaysYearningForTheTimeThatJustEludedUs’–IntroductiontoLauraOldfieldFord’sSavageMessiah(Verso,2011)

June2011

‘Iregardmyworkasdiaristic;thecitycanbereadasapalimpsest,oflayersoferasureandoverwriting,’ Laura Oldfield Ford has said. ‘The need to document the transient andephemeralnatureofthecityisbecomingincreasinglyurgentastheprocessofenclosureandprivatisation continues apace.’ The city in question is of course London, and Ford’sSavageMessiah offers a samizdat counter-history of the capital during the period of neoliberaldomination.IfSavageMessiahis‘diaristic’,itisalsomuchmorethanamemoir.ThestoriesofFord’s own life necessarily bleed into the stories of others, and it is impossible to see thejoins.‘Thisdecayingfabric,thisunknowableterrainhasbecomemybiography,theeuphoriathentheanguish,layersofmemoriescolliding,splinteringandreconfiguring.’TheperspectiveFord adopts, the voices she speaks in – and which speak through her – are those of theofficiallydefeated: thepunks, squatters, ravers, footballhooligansandmilitants leftbehindby a history which has ruthlessly photoshopped them out of its finance-friendly SimCity.SavageMessiahuncoversanothercity,acityintheprocessofbeingburied,andtakesusonatour of its landmarks: The Isle of Dogs…The Elephant…Westway…Lea Bridge…NorthActon…CanaryWharf…Dalston…KingsCross…HackneyWick…In one of many echoes of punk culture, Ford calls Savage Messiah a ‘zine’. She beganproducingitin2005,eightyearsintoaNewLabourgovernmentthathadconsolidatedratherthanoverturnedThatcherism.Thecontextisbleak.Londonisaconqueredcity;itbelongstothe enemy. ‘The translucent edifices of Starbucks and Costa Coffee line these shimmeringpromenades, ‘young professionals’ sit outside gently conversing in sympathetic tones.’ Thedominantmoodisoneofrestorationandreaction,butitcallsitselfmodernisation,anditcallsitsdivisiveandexclusionarywork–makingLondonsafeforthesuper-rich–regeneration.Thestruggle over space is also a struggle over time and who controls it. Resist neoliberalmodernisationand(sowearetold)youconsignyourselftothepast.SavageMessiah’sLondonisovershadowedbytheloomingmegalithof‘London2012’,whichoverthecourseofthelastdecadehas subsumedmore andmore of the city into its banal science fiction telos, as theOlympicDeliveryAuthoritytransformedwholeareasofEastLondonintoatemporaryphotoopportunityforglobalcapitalism.Whereoncetherewere ‘fridgemountainsandabandonedfactories’ out of Tarkovsky and Ballard, a semi-wilderness in the heart of the city, now amuchblanderdesertgrows:spaces forwanderingareeliminated,makingwayforshoppingmalls and soon-to-be-abandoned Olympic stadia. ‘When I was writing the zines,’ Fordremembers, ‘I was drifting through a London haunted by traces and remnants of rave,anarcho-punk scenes and hybrid subcultures at a time when all these incongruous urbanregeneration schemeswere happening. The idea that Iwasmoving through a spectral citywasreallystrong, itwasas ifeverythingprosaicanddullabouttheNewLabourversionofthecitywasbeingresistedby theseghostsofbrutalistarchitecture,of ‘90sconvoyculture,ravescenes, ‘80spoliticalmovementsandavirulentblackeconomyofscavengers,peddlers

and shoplifters. I think the book could be seen in the context of the aftermath of an era,whereresiduesandtracesofeuphoricmomentshauntamelancholylandscape.’AllofthesetracesaretobeeliminatedfromtheRestorationLondonthatwillbecelebratedat London 2012. With their lovingly reproduced junk-strata, overgrowing vegetation andderelictspaces,SavageMessiah’simagesofferadirectripostetotheslickdigitalimageswhichthe Olympic Delivery Authority has pasted up in the now heavily policed, restricted andsurveilledLeevalley.Blair’sCoolBritanniaprovides the template for ananodynevisionofLondon designed by the ‘creative indus-tries’. Everything comes back as an advertisingcampaign.It isn’t justthatthealternativesarewrittenover,orout,it isthattheyreturnastheirownsimulacra.A familiar story.Take theWestway,WestLondon’s formerlydeploreddualcarriageway,onceacursedspacetobemythologisedbyBallard,punksandChrisPetit,nowjustanotheredgyfilmset:

This liminal territory, cast in a negative light in the 70s was recuperated by MTV andboringmediatypesinthe90s.TheWestwaybecamethebackdropforGorillazimbecility,blanddrum&bassrecordsleevesandphotoshootsincorporateskateparks.

CoolBritannia.Oldjoke.‘Space’ becomes the over arching commodity. Notting Hill. New Age cranks peddlingexpensivejunk.Homeopathyandboutiques,angelcardsandcrystalhealing.

Mediaandhighfinanceontheonehand,faux-mysticismandsuperstitionontheother:allthestrategiesofthehopelessandthosewhoexploittheminRestorationLondon…Spaceisindeedthecommodityhere.Atrendthatstarted30yearsago,andintensifiedascouncilhousingwassoldoffandnotreplaced,culminatedintheinsanesuper-inflationofpropertyprices inthefirstyearsof the21st century. If youwanta simpleexplanation for thegrowth in culturalconservatism,forLondon’sseizurebytheforcesofRestoration,youneedlooknofurtherthanthis.AsJonSavagepointsoutinEngland’sDreaming,theLondonofpunkwasstillabombed-out city, full of chasms, caverns, spaces that could be temporarily occupied and squatted.Once those spaces are enclosed, practically all of the city’s energy is put into paying themortgage or the rent. There’s no time to experiment, to journeywithout already knowingwhere you will end up. Your aims and objectives have to be stated up front. ‘Free time’becomesconvalescence.Youturntowhatreassuresyou,whatwillmostrefreshyoufortheworking day: the old familiar tunes (orwhat sound like them). London becomes a city ofpinched-facedronespluggedintoiPods.SavageMessiah rediscovers the city as a site for drift anddaydreams, a labyrinth of sidestreetsandspacesresistanttotheprocessofgentrificationand‘development’settoculminateinthemiserablehyper-spectacleof2012.Thestrugglehereisnotonlyoverthe(historical)directionoftimebutoverdifferentusesoftime.Capitaldemandsthatwealwayslookbusy,evenifthere’snoworktodo.Ifneoliberalism’smagicalvoluntarismistobebelieved,therearealwaysopportunitiestobechasedorcreated;anytimenotspenthustlingandhasslingistimewasted.Thewhole city is forced intoagigantic simulationof activity, a fantacismofproductivisminwhichnothingmuchisactuallyproduced,aneconomymadeoutofhotairand bland delirium.SavageMessiah is about another kind of delirium: the releasing of the

pressuretobeyourself,theslowunravellingofbiopoliticalidentity,adepersonalisedjourneyout to the erotic city that exists alongside the business city. The eroticism here is notprimarily to dowith sexuality, although it sometimes includes it: it is an art of collectiveenjoyment,inwhichaworldbeyondworkcan–howeverbriefly–beglimpsedandgrasped.Fugitivetime,lostafternoons,conversationsthatdilateanddriftlikesmoke,walksthathaveno particular direction and go on for hours, free parties in old industrial spaces, stillreverberatingdayslater.Themovementbetweenanonymityandencountercanbeveryquickin the city. Suddenly, you are off the street and into someone’s life-space. Sometimes, it’seasier to talk topeopleyoudon’tknow.Thereare fleeting intimaciesbeforewemeltbackinto the crowd, but the city has its own systems of recall: a block of flats or a street youhaven’tfocusedonforalongtimewillremindyouofpeopleyoumetonlyonce,yearsago.Willyoueverseethemagain?

IgotinvitedupforacupofteainoneofthoseTectonflatsontheHarrowroad,oneoftheoldmen from theday centre Iwork in. I tookhimupKilburnHighRoad shopping andwatered the fuchsias onhis balcony.We talked about theBlitz andhospitalsmostly.Heused to be a scientist andwrote shopping lists on brown envelopes dated and filed in astackofbiscuittins.

Imisshim.

Imissthemall.

SavageMessiahdeploysanachronismasaweapon.Atfirstsight,atfirsttouch–andtactilityiscrucialtotheexperience:thezinedoesn’tfeelthesamewhenit’sJPEGedonscreen–SavageMessiahseemslikesomethingfamiliar.Theformitself,themixofphotographs,typeface-textanddrawings,theuseofscissorsandglueratherthandigitalcutandpaste;allofthismakeSavageMessiah seem out of time, which is not to say out of date. There were deliberateechoes of the para-art found on punk and postpunk record sleeves and fanzines from the1970s and 1980s. Most insistently, I’m reminded of Gee Vaucher, who produced theparadoxically photorealistically delirious record covers and posters for anarcho-punkcollectiveCrass.‘IthinkwiththelookofthezineIwastryingtorestoreradicalpoliticstoanaestheticthathadbeenrenderedanodynebyadvertisingcampaigns,Shoreditchclubnightsetc.,’ Ford says. ‘That anarcho-punk lookwaseverywherebut totally emptiedof its radicalcritique.Itseemedimportanttogobacktothatmomentofthelate‘70sandearly‘80stoapointwheretherewassocialupheaval,wheretherewereriotsandstrikes,excitingculturalscenesandrupturesinthefabricofeverydaylife.’The‘return’tothepostpunkmomentistheroutetoanalternativepresent.Yetthis isareturnonlytoacertainensembleofstylesandmethods–nothingquitelikeSavageMessiahactuallyexistedbackthen.Savage Messiah is a gigantic, unfinished collage, which – like the city – is constantly

reconfiguringitself.Macro-andmicro-narrativesproliferatetuberously;spideryslogansrecur;figuresmigrate through various versions of London, sometimes trapped inside the drearilyglossyspacesimaginedbyadvertisingandregenerationpropaganda,sometimesfreetodrift.

ShedeployscollageinmuchthesamewayWilliamBurroughsusedit:asaweaponintime-war.Thecut-upcandislocateestablishednarratives,breakhabits,allownewassociationstocoalesce. In Savage Messiah, the seamless, already-established capitalist reality of Londondissolvesintoariotofpotentials.SavageMessiah iswrittenforthosewhocouldnotberegenerated,evenif theywantedto

be. They are the unregenerated, a lost generation, ‘always yearning for the time that justeludedus’:thosewhowereborntoolateforpunkbutwhoseexpectationswereraisedbyitsincendiaryafterglow;thosewhowatchedtheMiners’Strikewithpartisanadolescenteyesbutwhoweretooyoungtoreallyparticipateinthemilitancy;thosewhoexperiencedthefuture-rush euphoria of rave as their birthright, never dreaming that it could burn out like friedsynapses; those, in short,who simply did not find the ‘reality’ imposed by the conqueringforcesofneoliberalismliveable.It’sadaptordie,andtherearemanydifferentformsofdeathavailabletothosewhocan’tpickupthebusinessbuzzormustertherequisiteenthusiasmforthecreativeindustries.Sixmillionwaystodie,chooseone:drugs,depression,destitution.Somany forms of catatonic collapse. In earlier times, ‘deviants, psychotics and the mentallycollapsed’inspiredmilitant-poets,situationists,Rave-dreamers.Nowtheyareincarceratedinhospitals,orlanguishinginthegutter.

NoPedestrianAccessToShoppingCentre

Still, themood of SavageMessiah is far from hopeless. It’s not about caving in, it’s aboutdifferentstrategiesforsurvivingthedeepmidwinterofRestorationLondon.Peoplelivingonnexttonothing,nolongerlivingthedream,butnotgivingupeither:‘Fiveyearssincethelastpartybutheheldhisplot,scavengingforfoodlikeaBallardiancrashvictim.’Youcangointosuspendedanimation, knowing that the time is not yet right, butwaitingwith cold reptilepatienceuntilitis.OryoucanfleeDystopianLondonwithouteverleavingthecity,avoidingthecentralbusinessdistrict,findingfriendlypassagesthroughtheoccupiedterritory,pickingyour way through the city via cafes, comrade’s flats, public parks. Savage Messiah is aninventoryofsuchroutes,suchpassagesthrough‘territoriesofcommerceandcontrol’.Thezinesare saturated inmusicculture.Firstofall, thereare thenamesofgroups: Infa

Riot and Blitz. Fragments of Abba, Heaven 17 on the radio. Japan, Rudimentary Peni,EinstürzendeNeubauten,ThrobbingGristle,SpiralTribe.Whetherthegroupsaresublimeorsub-charityshopundesirable,theselitanieshaveanevocativepowerthatisquietlylacerating.Gigpostersfrom30yearsago–Mob,PoisonGirls,Conflict–callupolderversionsofyou,half-forgottenhaircuts, long-lost longings, stirringagain.But the roleofmusicculturegoesmuchdeeperinSavageMessiah.Thewaythezineisputtogetherowesasmuchtotheroguedance and drug cultures that mutated from Rave as to punk fanzines; its montagemethodology has as much in common with the DJ mix as with any precursor in visualculture.SavageMessiah is also about the relationship betweenmusic andplace: the zine isalso a testament to theway inwhich the sensitivemembranesof the city are reshapedbymusic.

This sombre place is haunted by the sounds of lost acid house parties and the distantreverberationsof1986.TestDepartment.303.808.Tracesofindustrialnoise.

Theroundhousewaseasytogetinto,andthedepotitself,disusedforyearsislitupwithtagsanddubs.You can hear these deserted places, feel the tendrils creeping across the abandoned

caverns,thederelictbunkersandbrokenterraces.Midsummer,blisteringheatundertheconcrete,ArmagideonTime(s),ahiddengarden,tobefound,andlostagain.

Superficially, the obvious tag for SavageMessiahwould be psychogeography, but the labelmakesFordchafe. ‘I thinka lotofwhat iscalledpsychogeographynowis justmiddle-classmen acting like colonial explorers, showing us their discoveries and guarding their plot. Ihave spent the last twenty years walking around London and living here in a precariousfashion,I’vehadaboutfiftyaddresses.Ithinkmyunderstandingandnegotiationofthecityisverydifferenttotheirs.’RatherthansubsumingSavageMessiahundertheincreasinglyplayed-out discourses of psychogeography, I believe it is better understood as an example of aculturalcoalescencethatstartedtobecomevisible(andaudible)at themomentwhenFordbegantoproducethezine:hauntology.‘TheLondonIconjureup…isimbuedwithasenseofmourning,’ Ford says. ‘These are the liminal zones where the free party rave scene onceilluminated the bleak swathes of marshland and industrial estates.’ So many dreams ofcollectivityhavediedinneoliberalLondon.Anewkindofhumanbeingwassupposedtolivehere,butthatallhadtobeclearedawaysothattherestorationcouldbegin.Hauntingisaboutastainingofplacewithparticularlyintensemomentsoftime,and,likeDavidPeace,withwhomherworksharesanumberofaffinities,Fordisalivetothepoetryofdates.1979,1981,2013:theseyearsrecurthroughoutSavageMessiah,momentsoftransitionand threshold, moments when a whole alternative time-track opens. 2013 has a post-apocalyptic quality (in addition to being the year of the London Olympics, 2012 is also,accordingtosome, theyear that theMayanspredictedfor theendof theworld).But2013couldalsobeYearZero:thereversalof1979,thetimewhenallthecheatedhopesandmissedchancesarefinallyrealised.SavageMessiahinvitesustoseethecontoursofanotherworldinthegapsandcracksofanoccupiedLondon:

Perhapsit isherethatthespacecanbeopeneduptoforgeacollectiveresistancetothisneo liberal expansion, to the endless proliferation of banalities and the homogenisingeffectsofglobalisation.Hereintheburntoutshoppingarcades,theboardedupprecincts,thelostcitadelsofconsumerismonemightfindthetruth,newterritoriesmightbeopened,theremightbearupturingofthiscollectiveamnesia.

Nomadalgia:TheJuniorBoys’SoThisisGoodbye

k-punkpost,March4,2006

Space comes as standardwith the JuniorBoys. The synthpop that inspired them remainedattached,forthemostpart,tothethree-minuteformat;‘extended’remixeswereaconcessiontotheimperativesofdance.OnlyoneofSoThisisGoodbye’s10tracksisunderfourminutes.Space is integral, not only to their sound, but to their songs. Space is a compositionalcomponent, a presupposition of the songs, not something retrospectively inserted at aproducer’s whim. The pauses, the imagist-allusiveness of the lyrics, the breathy phrasingwouldnotwork,ormakemuchsense,outsideaplateau-architecture imported fromdance;crushedintothreeminutesJuniorBoys’songswouldlosemorethanlength.House references are everywhere: the title track is gorgeously, oneirically poised on ahoneyedMrFingers’plateau,anditisnotonlythearpeggiatedsynthwhichdrivesmanyofthetracksthatisreminiscentofJamiePrinciple.YettheLPdoesnotsoundeitherlikeHouseorlikemostpreviousattemptstosynthesizepopwithHouse.SoThisisGoodbyeislikeHouseif it had started in thewilds of Canada rather the clubs of Chicago. ToomanyHouse-pophybridsfillupHouse’sspacewithbusiness,hecticactivity.OnVocalcityand,tosomeextentThePresentLover,Luomodidtheopposite:dilatingtheSongintoanunfoldingdriftwork.ButtheLuomoLPsweremorepopHousethanpopperse.SoThis isGoodbye is,however,verydefinitelyapoprecord;ifanything,it’sevenmoreseductivelycatchythanLastExit.TheobviousdifferencebetweenSoThisisGoodbyeanditspredecessoristheabsenceofthetricksystop-startstutterbeatsonthenewrecord. IfJuniorBoys’ inventiveness isno longerconcentratedonbeats,thatisareflectionasmuchofadeclineofthesurroundingpopcontextas it a sign of the JB’s newfound taste for rhythmic classicism. Last Exit’s reworkings ofTimbaland/Dem2tic-beatsmeantthatithadarelationshipwitharhythmicpsychedeliathatwas,then,stillmutatingpopintonewshapes.Intheinterveningperiod,ofcourse,bothhiphopandBritishgaragehave takena turn for thebrutalist, andpophas consequentlybeendeprived of any modernising force. Timbaland’s beat surrealism became water-treadingrepetitionyearsago,displacedbytheultra-realistthuggishplodofcorporatehiphopandtheuglycarnalityofcrunk;and2Step’s ‘femininepressure’haslongsincebeencrushedbythetestos-terone-saturatedbluntnessofGrimeandDubstep.Thatskunk-fuggedheavinessremainstheantipodesoftheJuniorBoys’cyberian,etherealised,plaintivephysicality;listeningtotheJunior Boys after Grime or Dubstep is likewalking out of a locker room thickwith dopesmokeoutontoaCasparDavidFriedrichmountain.Alung-cleansingexperience.(Significantalso that those other ultra-heterosexual post-Garage musics should have bred out theinfluenceofHouse,whiletheJuniorBoysreturntoitsoemphatically.)ButtheremovalofrhythmictricksinessperhapsalsoindicatessomethingofthescaleoftheJuniorBoys’popambitions,whicharebestseenasthepioneeringofaNewMORratherthananotherattemptatNewPop.Ifthereisnocuttingedge,thenitmakesmoresensetoabandontheformermarginsandrefurbishthemiddleoftheroad.TheJuniorBoys’songshavealwayshadmoreincommonwithacertaintypeofmodernistMOR–HallandOates,PrefabSprout,BlueNile,LindsayBuckingham–thanwithanyrock.ModernistMORistheoppositeofthe

discreditedstrategyofentryism:itdoesn’t‘conformtodeform’,itlocatesthealienrightintheheartofthefamiliar.TheproblemwithcurrentPopisnotthepredominanceofMOR,butthefactthatMORhasbeencorruptedbythewheedlingwhineofIndieauthenticity.Inanyjustworld,theJuniorBoys,notthedrippymorosenessofJamesBluntnortheearthyearnestnessofKTTunstall,wouldbethegloballydominantMORbrandin2006.Ultimately,though,SoThisisGoodbyesoundsmoremiddleofthetundrathanmiddleoftheroad.It’sasiftheJuniorBoys’journeyintoNorthAmericaEndlesshascontinuedbeyondthelate-night freewaysofLastExit. It’s like the firstLP’s city lightsandEdwardHoppercoffeebarshavereceded,andwe’retakenout,beyondeventhesmalltowns,intothedepopulatedwildernesses of Canada’s Northern Territories. Or rather, it’s as if thosewildernesses havecreptintotheverymarrowoftherecord.InTheIdeaofNorth,GlennGouldsuggeststhattheNorth’s icydesolationhasa specialpullon theCanadian imagination.Youhear thisonSoThisisGoodbyenot inanypositivecontentsomuchas inthesongs’gapsandabsences;thegapsandabsencesthatmakethesongwhattheyare.Thosecrevicesandgrottoesseemtomultiplyasthealbumprogresses.Thesecondhalfofthealbum(whatIhearasthe‘secondside’;oneofthemostgratifyingthingsaboutSoThisisGoodbye is that it is structured likeaclassicpopalbum,notanextras-cloggedCD)diffusesforwardmotion into trailsofelectro-cumulae.The title track sets stately synthsagainst theanticlimactic urgency of Acid House’s Forever Now: the effect like running up a downescalator, frozen in an achingmoment of transition. ‘Like a child’ and ‘Caught in aWave’immersetheagitateddriveoftheLP’ssignaturearpeggiatedsynthinavapourtrailofopiatedatmospherics.ThereadingofSinatra’s‘WhenNo-oneCares’istheknotwhichholdstogetherallofSoThisisGoodbye,aclueto itsmodernistMORintentions(lines fromthesong– ‘countsouvenirs’,‘likeachild’–providethetitlesforothertracks,almostasifthesongisapuzzlethewholealbum is trying to solve).So This isGoodbye’s songs bearmuch the same relation to high-energyasthelateSinatra’sboretobigbandjazz:whatwasonceacommunal,dance-orientedmusichasbeenhollowedoutintoacavernous,contemplativespaceforthemostsolitaryofmusings. On the Junior Boys’ ‘When No-one Cares’ beats are abandoned altogether, thetrack’s ‘endless night’ lit only by the dying-star flares and stalactite-by-flashlight pulse ofreverbedelectronics.The Junior Boys have transformed the song from the lonely-crowd melancholy of theoriginal–Frankat thebarstaring intohiswhiskysour,happycouplespartyingobliviouslybehindhim(orinhisimagination)–intoalamentwhisperedinthewilderness,icy-breathedintotheblackmirrorindifferenceofaGreatLakeatmidnight.ItisascosmicallydesolatedastheYoungGods’versionof‘SeptemberSong’,asarctic-whiteasMilesDavis’Aura.‘WhenNo-oneCares’isoneofmyfavouriteSinatrasongs,andImusthavefirstheardit20yearsago,butwith theJuniorBoys’ version–whichmakes the catatonic stasisof theoriginal’s griefseempositivelybusy–itisasifIamhearingthewordsforthefirsttime.Sinatra’sNo-OneCares(whichcouldhavebeensubtitled:FromPenthousetoSatisHouse)waslike pop’s take on literarymodernism, anaffect (rather than a concept) album, a series oftakesonaparticulartheme–disconnectionfromahyper-connectedworld–withFranktheageingsophisticateadrift in theMcLuhanwastelandof the late50s,Elvisalreadyhere, theBeatlesontheway(whoisthe‘no-one’whodoesn’tcareifnottheteenaudiencewhohave

foundnewobjectsofadoration?),thetelephoneandthetelevisionofferingonlynewwaystobelonely.SoThisisGoodbyeislikeaglobalisedupdateofNo-OneCares,itsimagesof‘hotellobbies’, ‘shoppingmallswe’llnever seeagain’ and ‘homes for sale’ sketchingaworld inastate of permanent impermance (shouldwe say precarity?). The songs are overwhelminglypreoccupiedwith leave-taking and change, fixated on doing things for the first or the lasttime.‘SoThisisGoodbye’isnotthetitletrackfornothing.Sinatra’smelancholywasthemelancholyofmass(old)mediatechnology–the‘extimacy’

oftherecordsfacilitatedbythephonographandthemicrophone,andexpressingapeculiarlycosmopolitanandurbansadness. ‘I’veflownaroundtheworldinplane/designedthelatestIBMbrain/butlatelyI’msodownhearted’,SinatrasongonNo-OneCares’‘ICan’tGetStarted’.Jetsetting is now not the privilege of the elite somuch as a veritiginousmundanity for apermanentlydispossessedglobalworkforce.Everytownhasbecomethe‘touristtown’alludedtoinSoThisisGoodbye’sfinaltrack,‘FM’,becausenowathomeeveryoneisatourist,bothinthe sense of permanently on themove but also in the sense of having the world at theirfingertips,viathenet.IfSinatra’sbestrecords,likeHopper’spaintings,wereaboutthewayinwhich the urban experience produces new forms of isolation (and also: that such massmediatedprivatemomentsaretheonlymodeofaffectiveconnectioninafragmentedworld),thenSothisisGoodbyeisaresponsetothecyberspatialcommonplacethat,withthenet,eventhemostremotespotcanbeconnectedup(andalso:thatsuchconnectionoftenamountstoacommunionoflonelysouls).Hencetheimpressionthat,ifSinatra’s‘WhenNo-oneCars’wasanunansweredcallfromtheheartlessheartoftheBigApple,thentheJuniorBoys’versionhasbeenphoned-indownadigitallinefromtheedgeofLakeOntario.(Isitaccidentalthattheterm‘cyberspace’wasinventedbyaCanadian?)SothisisGoodbye isavery travelsickrecord.Itexpresseswhatwemightcallnomadalgia.

Nomadalgia, the sickness of travel, would be a complement to, not the opposite of, thesicknessforhome,nostalgia.(Andwhatoftherelationbetweennomadalgiaandhauntology?)It’s entirely fitting that the final track, ‘FM’, should invokeboth ‘a returnhome’ and radio(nottheonlyreferencetothatghost-mediumonthealbum),sinceinternetradio–withlocalstations available from any hotel in the world – is perhaps more than anything else theobjectivecorrelativeofourcurrentcondition.Aconditioninwhich,asŽižeksoaptlyputsit,‘globalharmonyandsolipsismstrangelycoincide.Thatistosay,doesnotourimmersionincyberspace go hand in hand with our reduction to a Leibnizian monad which, although“withoutwindows”thatwoulddirectlyopenuptoexternalreality,mirrorsinitselftheentireuniverse? Are we not more and more monads, interacting alone with the PC screen,encountering only the virtual simulacra, and yet immersed more than ever in the globalnetwork,synchronouslycommunicatingwiththeentireglobe?’(‘NoSexPlease,WeArePost-humans’, http://www.egs.edu/faculty/slavoj-zizek/articles/no-sex-please-we-are-post-humans/)

GreyArea:ChrisPetit’sContent

BFI/Sight&SoundWebsite,March2010

At one point in Chris Petit’s haunting new film Content, we drive through Felixstowecontainerport.Itwasanuncannymomentforme,sinceFelixstoweisonlyacoupleofmilesfromwhereInowlive–whatPetitfilmedcouldhavebeenshotfromourcarwindow.WhatmadeitallthemoreuncannywasthefactthatPetitnevermentionsthatheisinFelixstowe;thehangarsandloomingcranesaresogenericthatIbegantowonderifthismightnotbeadoppelgängercontainerportsomewhereelseintheworld.AllofthissomehowunderlinedthewayPetit’s text describes these ‘blindbuildings’whilehis camera tracks along them: ‘non-places’, ‘prosaic sheds’, ‘the first buildings of a new age’ which render ‘architectureredundant’.Contentcouldbeclassifiedasanessayfilm,butit’slessessayisticthanaphoristic.Thisisn’tto say that it’s disconnected or incoherent: Petit himself has calledContent a ‘21st-centuryroadmovie,ambient’,anditsreflectionsonageingandparenthood,terrorismandnewmediaarewovenintoaconsistencythat’snon-linear,butcertainlynotfragmentary.Contentisabout‘correspondence’,indifferentsensesoftheword.Itwasinpartgeneratedby electronic correspondence between Petit and his two major collaborators: Ian Penman(whosetextisvoicedbytheGermanactorHannsZischler)andtheGermanmusicianAntyeGreie.Penman’s text is a series of reflectionson the subject of email, that ‘anonymousyetintimate’etherealcommunication.SomeofPenman’sdisquisitionsonemailareaccompaniedbyimagesofpostcards–thepoignanttactilityofthisobsoleteformofcorrespondenceallthemore affecting because the senders and addressees are now forgotten. Greie, meanwhile,producesskeinsofelectronicathatprovideContentwithakindofsonicunconsciousinwhichtermsandconceptsreferredtointheimagesandthevoicetrackarerefracted,extrapolatedandsupplemented.One of the first phrases cited in Greie’s soundwork – which resembles sketches forunrealisedsongs–isaquotationfromRoyBatty’sfamousspeechinBladeRunner:‘IfonlyyoucouldseewhatIhaveseenwithyoureyes.’ThisisaphrasePenmanhasmademuchofinhisownwritingsonrecording,technologyandhaunting–anditbringsustotheothermeaningof ‘correspon-dence’ Content plays with: correspondences in the sense of connections andassociations.SomeoftheseareunderscoredbyPetitinhisdryly-poetictext;othersheleavestheviewerstomakeforthemselves.One of themost gratifying aspects ofContent, in fact, is that by contrast with somanycontemporary television documentaries, which neurotically hector the audience byincessantlyreiteratingtheircorethesis,Petittrustsintheintelligenceandspeculativepowerof the viewer.Where somuch televisionnow involves amutual redundancy of image andvoice – the image is slaved into illustrating the text; the voicemerely glosses the image –Content is in large part about the spaces between image and text, what is unsaid in (andabout)theimages.The use of a German actor andmusician and themany references to Europe inContentreflectPetit’schildhoodwhich,ashedescribesinthefilm,waspartlyspentasaforceschild

inGermany.But it also reflects Petit’s long-standingdesire for somekindof reconciliationbetweenBritishcultureandEuropeanmodernism.PetithasdescribedContentasan‘informalcoda’ to his 1979 film Radio On (recently reissued on BFI DVD). With its strong debt toEuropeanartcinema,RadioOnprojectedarapprochementbetweenBritishandEuropeanfilmthatneverhappened–arapprochementanticipatedinthe1970sartpop(Kraftwerk,Bowie)usedsoprominentlyinthatfilm.PetitimaginedaBritishcinemathat,likethatmusic,couldassert its Europeanness not by rejecting America, but by confidently absorbing Americaninfluences.Yetthisfutureneverarrived.‘RadioOn,’Petit said ina recent interview, ‘endedwithacar ‘stalledon theedgeof thefuture’,whichwedidn’tknowthenwouldbeThatcherism.’Aheadlayabizarreyetbanalmixoftheunprecedentedandthearchaic.InsteadofacceleratingdownKraftwerk’sautobahn,wefoundourselves,asPetitputsitinContent,‘reversingintoatomorrowbasedonanon-existentpast’, as the popular modernism Radio On was part of found itself eclipsed by a toxic-addictive confection of consumer-driven populism, heritage kitsch, xenophobia and UScorporateculture.Inthislight,ContentstandsasaquietbutemphaticreproachtotheBritishcinema of the last 30 years, which in its dominant variants – drab social realism, fauxgangster, picture-book costumedramaormid-Atlanticmiddle-class fantasia –has retreatedfrommodernity.Itisn’tonlythepoorandthenonwhitewhoareeditedoutofNottingHill,forexample – it’s also theWestway,west London’s Ballardian flyover,which now stands as arelicof‘themoderncitythatLondonneverbecame’.YetContent isn’t justarequiemfor the lostpossibilitiesof the last30years. In itsuseofstunningbutunderusedlocations–theready-madepost-Fordistscience-fictionlandscapesofFelixstowe container port, the eerie Cold War terrain of nearby Orford Ness – ContentdemonstratesnotonlywhatBritishcinemaoverlooks,butwhatitcouldstillbe.

PostmodernAntiques:Patience(AfterSebald)

Sight&Sound,April2011

ThefirsttimeIsawAndreiTarkovsky’sStalker–whenitwasbroadcastbyChannel4intheearly1980s–IwasimmediatelyremindedoftheSuffolklandscapeswhereIhadholidayedasa child. The overgrown pill boxes, the squat Martello towers, the rusting groynes whichresembledgravestones:thisalladdeduptoareadymadesciencefictionscene.AtonepointinGrantGee’sPatience(AfterSebald)(2011)–anessayfilminspiredbyWGSebald’snovelTheRings of Saturn – theatre director Katie Williams makes the same connection, drawing acomparisonbetweenthedemilitarisedexpansesoftheSuffolkcoastandTarkovsky’sZone.WhenIreadRingsofSaturn, Iwashopingthat itwouldbeanexplorationof theseeerilynuminousspaces.YetwhatIfoundwassomethingratherdifferent:abookthat,itseemedtomeatleast,moroselytrudgedthroughtheSuffolkspaceswithoutreallylookingatthem;thatoffered a Mittel–brow miserabilism, a stock disdain, in which the human settlements areroutinelydismissedasshabbyandtheinhumanspacesareoppressive.ThelandscapeinTheRings of Saturn functions as a thin conceit, the places operating as triggers for a literaryramble which reads less like a travelogue than a librarian’s listless daydream. Instead ofengagingwithpreviousliteraryencounterswiththeSuffolk–HenryJameswentonawalkingtour of the county; his namesakeMR James set two of hismost atmospheric ghost storiesthere–SebaldtendstoreachforthelikesofBorges.Myscepticismwasfedbythesolemncultthat settled around Sebald suspiciously quickly, andwhich seemed all-too-ready to admirethose well-wrought sentences. Sebald offered a rather easy difficulty, an anachronistic,antiqued model of ‘good literature’ which acted as if many of the developments in 20thcenturyexperimental fictionandpopularculturehadneverhappened. It isnothard to seewhyaGermanwriterwouldwanttoblankoutthemiddlepartofthe20thcentury;andmanyoftheformalanachronismsofSebald’swriting–itsstrangesensethatthisisthe21stcenturyseenthroughtherestrainedyetornateproseofanearly20thcenturyessayist–perhapsarisefromthisdesire,justasthenovelsthemselvesareaboutthevarious,ultimatelyfailed,ruses–conscious and unconscious – that damaged psyches deploy to erase traumas and constructnew identities.ThewriterRobertMacfarlanehas calledSebalda ‘postmodernantiquarian’,and the indeterminate status of The Rings of Saturn – is it autobiography, a novel or atravelogue?–pointstoacertainplayfulness,butthisneveremergesatthelevelofthebook’scontent. It was necessary for Sebald to remain po-faced in order for the ‘antiquing’ to besuccessful. Some of Gee’s images of Suffolk take their cue from the black and whitephotographswhich illustrateTheRingsOf Saturn. But the photographswere a contrivance:Sebaldwouldphotocopythemmanytimesuntiltheyachievedtherequiredgraininess.Gee’sfilmwaspremieredaspartofaweekendofeventssuperblycuratedbyGarethEvansofArteventsundertherubricAfterSebald:PlaceandRe-EnchantmentatSnapeMaltings,nearAldeburgh, inSuffolk. Intheend,however,Sebald’snovelsfits intoanydiscussionofplaceand enchantment only very awkwardly: his work is more about displacement anddisenchantment than their opposites. In Patience (After Sebald), the artist Tacita Deanobserves that only children have a real sense of home. Adults are always aware of the

precariousness and transitoriness of their dwelling place: none more so than Sebald, aGermanwriterwhospentmostofhislifeinNorfolk.Patience(AfterSebald)followsGee’sdocumentariesaboutRadioheadandJoyDivision.Theshift fromrock to literature,Gee toldMacfarlane,wasone thatcamenaturally to someonewhose sensibilitieswere formedby theUKmusic cultureof the1970s. If Sebaldhadbeenwriting in the 1970s, Gee claimed, he would surely have been mentioned in the NMEalongsideotherluminariesofavant-gardeliterature.GeestartedreadingSebaldin2004,afterarecommendationfromhisfriend,thenovelistJeffNoon.Thefilm’ssomewhatgnomictitlewasa relicofanearlierversionofwhat the filmwouldbe. Itnowsuggests theslowingoftimethattheSuffolklandscapeimposes,areleasefromurbanurgencies,butitisactuallyareferencetoapassageinSebald’snovelAusterlitz: ‘Austerlitztoldmethathesometimessathereforhours,layingoutthesephotographsorothersfromhiscollectionthewrongwayup,asifplayingagameofpatience,andthatthenonebyone,heturnedthemover,alwayswithanewsenseofsurpriseatwhathesaw,pushingthepicturesbackandforthandovereachother,arranging theminanorderdependingon their family resemblances,orwithdrawingthem from the game until either there was nothing left but the grey tabletop, or he feltexhausted from the constant effort of thinking and remembering and had to rest on theottoman.’Geehadoriginallyintendedtomakeafilmaboutthenon-placesinSebald’swork:thehotelrooms or railway station waiting rooms in which characters ruminate, converse or breakdown (Austerlitz himself comes to a shattering revelation about his own identity in thewaitingroomatLiverpoolStreetstation). Intheend,however,Geewasdrawntothebookwhich–osten-siblyatleast–ismostfocusedonasinglelandscape.Gee filmed practically everything himself, using a converted 16 mm Bolex camera. Hewantedsomethingthatwouldproduceframesthatwere‘tighterthannormal’,hesaid,‘asifasinglecharacterislooking’.GeeseesPatience(AfterSebald)asanessayfilm,inthetraditionof Chris Petit’swork and Patrick Keiller’s Robinson trilogy. Butwhen I put it to him thatPatience lacksthesinglevoicethatdefinesPetitorKeiller’sessayfilms,Geerespondedself-deprecatingly. He had tried to insert himself into his own films, but he had always beendissatisfied with the results: his voice didn’t sound right; his acting didn’t convince; hiswritingwasn’t strongenough. InPatience, as in the JoyDivisiondocumentary, the story istherefore told by others: Macfarlane, Dean, Iain Sinclair, Petit, the literary critic MarinaWarner and the artist JeremyMillar. Millar provided one of themost uncanny images inPatience.WhenhelitafireworkintributetoSebald,thesmokeunexpectedlyformedashapewhichresembledSebald’s face,somethingwhichGeeunderlines in the filmbyanimatingatransitionbetweenMillar’sphotographandanimageofthenovelist.MorethanoneofthespeakersattheTowardsRe-Enchantmentsymposiumacknowledgedthattheymisremem-beredTheRingsofSaturn.There’ssomethingfittingaboutthis,ofcourse,giventhattheduplicityofmemorymighthavebeenSebald’smajortheme;butmysuspicionis thatmisrememberingof a different kind contributes to theRingsofSaturn cult; that thebookinducesitsreaderstohallucinateatextthatisnotthere,butwhichmeetstheirdesires–forakindofmodernisttravelogue,anovelthatwoulddojusticetotheSuffolklandscape–betterthanSebald’sactuallynoveldoes.Patience(AfterSebald)isitselfamisrememberingofThe Rings of Saturn which could not help but reverse many of the novel’s priorities and

emphases. In The Rings of Saturn, Suffolk frequently (and frustratingly) recedes fromattention,asSebaldfollowshisownlinesofassociation.Bycontrast,themainsubstanceofthefilmconsistsofimagesoftheSuffolklandscape–theheathlandoverwhichyoucanwalkformileswithoutseeingasoul,thecrumblingcliffsofthelostcityofDunwich,theenigmaofOrfordNess, its inscrutable pagodas silently presiding over ColdWarmilitary experimentswhichremainsecret.Sebald’sreflections,voicedinPatiencebyJonathanPryce,anchortheseimages far less securely than they do in the novel. At Snape, some of those who had re-createdSebald’swalk–includingGeehimself–confessedthattheyhadfailedtoattaintheauthor’s lugubrious mood: the landscape turned out to be too energising, its sublimedesolationprovingtobefallowgroundforgloomypsychologicalinteriority.Inaconversationwith Robert Macfarlane after the screening of the film, Gee said that it was not reallynecessarythatSebaldhadtakenthewalk.HemeantthatitwasnotimportantwhetherornotSebaldactuallydidthewalkexactlyasTheRingsofSaturn’snarratordescribedit,inonego:thatthenovelcouldhavebeenbasedonanumberofdifferentwalkswhichtookplaceoveralongerperiodoftime.ButIcouldn’thelpbuthearGee’sremarkinadifferentway:thatitwasnot necessary for Sebald to have taken the walk at all: that, far from being a closeengagementwiththeSuffolkterrain,TheRingsofSaturncouldhavebeenwrittenhadSebaldneversetfootinSuffolk.ThiswastheviewofRichardMabey,castintheroleofdoubtingThomasattheTowards

Re-Enchantment symposium.Mabey –who haswritten and broadcast about nature for 40years,andwhoselatestbookWeedshastheglorioussubtitleHowVagabondPlantsGatecrashedCivilisationandChangedtheWayWeThinkAboutNature–arguedthatSebaldwasguiltyofthepathetic fallacy.When he readThe Rings Of Saturn,Mabey said, he felt as if a very closefriendhadbeenbelittled;althoughhehadwalkedtheSuffolkcoastlandcountlesstimes,hecouldn’trecogniseitfromSebald’sdescriptions.ButperhapstheissuewithSebaldisthathewasn’tguiltyenoughof thepathetic fallacy, that insteadof staining the landscapewithhispassions, as Thomas Hardy did withWessex, or the Brontes did with Yorkshire, or, morerecently,as themusicianRichardSkeltonhasdonewith theLancashiremoorland–SebaldusedSuffolkasakindofRorschachblot,a trigger forassociativeprocesses that take flightfrom the landscape rather than take root in it. In any case,Mabeywanteda confrontationwithnatureinallitsinhumanexteriority.HesoundedlikeaDeleuzeanphilosopherwhenheexpostulatedaboutthe‘nestedheterogeneity’and‘autonomouspoetry’ofmicro-ecosytemstobefoundinacow’shoofprint;ofhowitwasnecessaryto‘thinklikeamountain’,andquotedapprovinglyVirginiaWoolf’sevocationofa‘philosophisinganddreamingland’.IwasstruckbytheparallelsbetweenMabey’saccountofnatureandPatrickKeiller’sinvocationoflichenas‘anon-humanintelligence’inRobinsoninRuins.Withitsexaminationofthe‘undiscoveredcountryofnearby’,RobertMacfarlane’sfilmfortheBBC,TheWildPlacesofEssex,shownaspartoftheTowardsRe-Enchantmentsymposium,wasalsoclosetoMabey’svisionofanaturethriving in the spaces abandoned by, or inhospitable to, humans. (Macfarlane’s film nowseemslikeacounterparttoJulienTemple’swonderfulOilCityConfidential,whichrootedDrFeelgood’sfebrilerhythmandbluesinthelunarlandscapeofEssex’sCanveyIsland.)Patience(After Sebald) could appeal to a Sebald sceptic like me because – in spite of Sebald – itreaches the wilds of Suffolk. At the same time, Gee’s quietly powerful film causedme todoubtmyownscepticism,sendingmebacktoSebald’snovels,insearchofwhatothershad

seen,butwhichhadsofareludedme.

TheLostUnconscious:ChristopherNolan’sInception

FilmQuarterly,Vol.64,No.3,2011

In Christopher Nolan’s breakthrough memory-loss thriller Memento from 2000, thetraumatised and heavily tattooed protagonist Lenny has a suggestive conversation with adetective:

TEDDY: Look at your police file. It was completewhen I gave it to you.Who took thetwelvepagesout?LEONARD:You,probably.TEDDY:No,youtookthemout.LEONARD:WhywouldIdothat?TEDDY:Tosetyourselfapuzzleyouwon’teversolve.

Like Lenny, Christopher Nolan has specialised in setting puzzles that can’t be solved.Duplicity–inthesenseofbothdeceptionanddoubling–runsrightthroughhiswork.It’snotonlythecasethatNolan’sworkisaboutduplicity;it isitselfduplicitous,drawingaudiencesintolabyrinthsofindeterminacy.Nolan’sfilmshaveacoollyobsessivequality,inwhichanumberofrepeatingelements–atraumatised hero and his antagonist; a dead woman; a plot involving manipulation anddissimulation – are reshuffled. These film noir tropes are then further scrambled in themannerofacertainkindofneo-noir.NolanacknowledgesAngelHeart(1987)andTheUsualSuspects (1995)as touchstones (hementionsboth inan interviewwhich is includedon theMemento DVD, singling out Parker’s film as a particular inspiration), but one can also seeparallels with themeta-detective fictions of Robbe-Grillet and Paul Auster. There’s a shiftfrom the epistemological problems posed by unreliable narrators to a more generalontologicalindeterminacy,inwhichthenatureofthewholefictionalworldisputintodoubt.Memento remains emblematic in this respect. At first glance, the film’s enigma resolvesrelativelysimply.Lenny,whosuffersfromanterogradeamnesiacconditionwhichmeansthathecan’tmakenewmemories, is ‘settingpuzzles forhimself thatcan’tbesolved’sothathecan always be pursuing his wife’s murderer, long after Lenny has killed him. But afterrepeated viewings, the critic Andy Klein – in a piece for Salon.com pointedly entitled‘EverythingYouWantedToKnowAboutMemento’–concededthathewasn’t‘abletocomeupwiththe‘truth’aboutwhattranspiredpriortothefilm’saction.Everyexplanationseemstoinvolvesomebreachoftheapparent‘rules’ofLeonard’sdisability–notmerelytherulesasheexplainsthem,buttherulesaswewitnessthemoperatingthroughoutmostofthefilm.)Therules are crucial to Nolan’s method. IfMemento is a kind of impossible object, then itsimpossibilityisgeneratednotviaananything-goesontologicalanarchybutbythesettingupofruleswhichitviolatesinparticularways–justastheeffectofEscher’spaintingsdependuponunsettlingratherthanignoringtherulesofperspective.

Nolan neverthelessmaintains that, however intractable his filmsmight appear, they arealwaysbasedonadefinitivetruthwhichheknowsbutwillnotreveal.AshesaidofInceptionintheinterviewwithWired,‘I’vealwaysbelievedthatifyoumakeafilmwithambiguity,itneedstobebasedonatrueinterpretation.Ifit’snot,thenitwillcontradictitself,oritwillbesomehowinsubstantialandendupmakingtheaudiencefeelcheated.Ambiguityhastocomefrom the inabilityof the character toknow–and thealignmentof the audiencewith thatcharacter’.Whenthe interviewerRobertCappsputs it toNolanthat theremightbeseveralexplanations of the film’s ending, that the ‘right answer’ is impossible to find, thedirectorflatlycontradictshim:‘Ohno,I’vegotananswer.’ButNolan’sremarksmayonlybeanotheractofmisdirection;and,ifacenturyofculturaltheoryhastaughtusanything,it isthatanauthor’s supposed intentions can only ever constitute a supplementary (para)text, never afinalword.WhatareNolan’sfilmsabout,afterall,buttheinstabilityofanymasterposition?Theyarefullofmomentsinwhichthemanipulator–theonewholooks,writesornarrates–becomesthemanipulated–theobjectofthegaze,thecharacterinastorywrittenortoldbysomeoneelse.In Inception, Cobb is an ‘extractor’, an expert at a special kind of industrial espionage,whichinvolvesenteringintopeople’sdreamsandstealingtheirsecrets.Heandhisteamhavebeenhiredbyhyper-wealthybusinessmanSaitotoinfiltratethedreamsofRobertFischer,theheirtoamassiveenergyconglomerate.ButthistimeCobb’steamisnotrequiredtoextractinformation,buttodosomethingwhichthefilmtellsismuchmoredifficult:theyaretaskedwith implanting an idea into Fischer’s mind. Cobb’s effectiveness as a dream thief iscompromisedby theprojectionofhisdeadwife,Mal, thepathological stainhenowbringswithhimintoanydreamcaper.Maldiedaftershesufferedanapparentpsychoticbreak.SheandCobbsetupa lover’s retreat in the ‘unconstructeddreamspace’ that thedreamthievescallLimbo.Butaftershebecametooattachedtothisvirtuallovenest,Cobb‘incepted’inhertheideathattheworldinwhichtheywerelivingwasnotreal.AsCobbmordantlyobserves,thereisnothingmoreresilientthananidea.EvenwhensheisrestoredtowhatCobbtakestobereality,Malremainsobsessedwiththeideathatshetheworldaroundherisnotreal,soshe throwsherself fromahotelwindow inorder to return towhat shebelieves is the realworld. The film turns on how Cobb deals with this traumatic event – in order to inceptFischer, Cobb has first of all to descend into Limbo and defeat Mal. He achieves this bysimultaneouslyacceptinghispartinMal’sdeathandbyrepudiatingtheMalprojectionasaninadequatecopyofhisdeadwife.With theMalprojectionvanquishedand thedream-heistsuccessfullycompleted,Cobbisfinallyabletoreturntothechildrenfromwhomhehasbeenseparated.Yetthisendinghasmorethanasuggestionofwishfulfilmentfantasyaboutit,andthesuspicionthatCobbmightbemaroonedsomewhereinamulti-layeredoneirclabyrinth,apsychoticwhohasmistakendreams for reality,makes Inception deeply ambiguous.Nolan’sown remarks have carefullymaintained the ambiguity.’ I choose to believe that Cobb getsbacktohiskids,’NolantoldRobertCapps.Nolan’s filmsarepreoccupiedwith, toparaphraseMemento’sTeddy, ‘the lies thatwe tellourselves to stay happy’. Yet the situation isworse even than that. It’s one thing to lie tooneself;it’sanothertonotevenknowwhetheroneislyingtooneselfornot.ThismightbethecasewithCobbinInception,andit’snotablethat,intheWiredinterview,Nolansaysthat‘Themost importantemotional thingabout the top spinningat theend is thatCobb isnot

lookingatit.Hedoesn’tcare.’Notcaringwhetherwearelyingtoourselvesmaybethepriceforhappiness–oratleastthepriceonepaysforreleasefromexcruciatingmentalanguish.Inthisrespect,DormerinInsomnia(2002)couldbetheanti-Cobb.Hisinabilitytosleep–whichnaturallyalsomeansaninabilitytodream–correlateswiththebreakdownofhiscapacitytotellhimselfacomfortingstoryaboutwhohe is.After theshootingofhispartner,Dormer’sidentitycollapsesintoaterrifyingepistemologicalvoid,ablackboxthatcannotbeopened.Hesimplydoesn’tknowwhetherornotheintendedtokillhispartner(justasBordeninThePrestigecannotrememberwhichknothetiedonthenightthatAngier’swifediedinabungledescapologyact.)ButinNolan’sworlds,itisnotonlythatwedeceiveourselves;itisalsothatwearedeceivedabouthavingaself.Thereisnoseparatingidentityfromfiction.InMemento,Lenny literally writes (on) himself, but the very fact that he canwrite a script for futureversions of himself is a horrifying demonstration of his lack of any coherent identity – arevelationthathisSisyphianquestbothexemplifiesandisinflightfrom.Inceptionleavesuswith the possibility that Cobb’s quest and apparent rediscovery of his children could be aversionofthesamekindofloop:aPurgatoriotoMemento’sInferno.‘The urge to rewrite ourselves as real-seeming fictions is present in us all,’ writes

ChristopherPriestinhisnovelTheGlamour.It’snotatallsurprisingthatNolanhasadaptedanovel by Priest, since there are striking parallels between the two men’s methods andinterests.Priest’snovelsarealso ‘puzzles thatcan’tbe solved’, inwhichwriting,biographyandpsychosisslide intooneanother,posingtroublingontologicalquestionsaboutmemory,identityandfiction.Theideaofmindsasdatascapeswhichcanbeinfiltratedinevitablyputsone inmindof the ‘consensualhallucination’ofGibson’scyberspace,but thedreamsharingconceptcanbetracedbacktoPriestandhisextraordinary1977novel,ADreamofWessex.InPriest’snovel,agroupofresearcher-volunteersusea‘dreamprojector’toenterintoashareddreamofa(then)futureEngland.LikethedreamsharingaddictswebrieflyglimpseinoneofInception’smost suggestive scenes, some of the characters inADream ofWessex inevitablyprefer the simulated environment to the realworld, and, unlikeCobb, they choose to staythere.Thedifferencesinthewaythattheconceptofshareddreamingishandledin1977and2010 tell us a great deal about the contrasts between social democracy andneoliberalism.WhileInception’sdreamsharingtechnologyis–liketheinternet–amilitaryinventionturnedintoacommercialapplication,Priest’sshareddreamprojectisgovernment-run.TheWessexdreamworldislyricalandlanguid,stillpartofthehazyafterglowof60spsychedelia.It’sallafarcryfromInception’snoiseandfury,themindasamilitarisedzone.Inception (notentirely satisfactorily) synthesizes the intellectualandmetaphysicalpuzzles

ofMementoandThePrestige(2006)withthebigbudgetballisticsofBatmanBegins(2005)andTheDarkKnight (2008).Theproblemis theprolongedactionsequences,whichcomeoffasperfunctoryatbest.Atpoints,itasifInception’sachievementistohaveprovidedabaroquelysophisticatedmotivationforsomeverydumbactionsequences.Anunkindviewermightthinkthattheentiretyof Inception’scomplexontologicalstructurehadbeenconstructedto justifyclichésofactioncinema–suchasthe ludicrousamountof thingsthatcharacterscandointhe time that it takes for a van to fall from a bridge into a river. Blogger Carl Nevillecomplains that Inception amounts to ‘three uninvolving action movies playing outsimultaneously’ ‘What could have been a fascinatingly vertiginous trip into successivelyfantastic, impossibleworlds,nottomentionthe limboof therawunconscious intowhicha

coupleofthecentralcharactersplunge,’Nevilleargues,

endsuplookingwhollylikeaseriesofactionmovies,onewithintheother:“reality”looksandfeelslikea“globalisation”movie,jumpingfromTokyotoParistoMombasatoSydneywithateamofbasicallydecenttechnicalgeniuseswhoareforcedtoliveoutsidethelaw,makingsure thereare lotsofhelicoptershotsofcityscapesandexotic localcolour.LevelonedreamisbasicallyTheBourneIdentity…rainy,grey,urban.LeveltwoistheMatrix,zerogravityfistfightsinamodernisthotel,levelthree,depressingly,turnsouttobea70sBondfilmwhiletherawIdisbasicallyjustacollapsingcityscape.

The‘levelthree’snowscenesatleastresembleoneofthemostvisuallystrikingBondfilms–1969’sOn Her Majesty’s Secret Service – but it’s hard not to share Neville’s sense of anti-climax.Ratherthanpickinguppaceandrampingupthemetaphysicalcomplexity, thefilmrushes towards its disappointing denouement. The elaborate set-up involving the ‘dreamarchitect’Ariadneissummarilyabandoned,assheistoldtoforgetthelabyrinthand‘findthemostdirectroutethrough.’WhenAriadneandthefilmaccedetothesedemands,itasiftheimperatives of the action thriller have crashed through the intricacies of Nolan’s puzzlenarrativewithallthesubtletyofthefreighttrainthateruptsintothecityscapeinanearlierscene.Neville is right that Inception isvery far frombeinga ‘fascinat-inglyvertiginous trip into

successivelyfantastic, impossibleworlds’,butit isworththinkingaboutwhyNolanshowedsuchrestraint.(Hisparsimonycouldn’tcontrastmorestarklywiththestylisticextravagancesofsomethinglikePeterJackson’sTheLovelyBones(2009),whichaimsatthefantasticandtheimpossible, but ends up CGI-onanistic rather than lyrically oneiric.) One initially strangethingaboutInceptionishowun-dreamlikethedreamsinthefilmare.It’stemptingtoseetheNolan of Inception as a reverse Hitchcock – where Hitchcock took De Chirico-like dreamtopographies and remotivated them as thriller spaces, Nolan takes standard action flicksequencesandrepackagesthemasdreams.Exceptinascenewherethewallsseemtocloseinaround Cobb when he is being pursued – which, interestingly, takes place in the film’sapparent ‘reality’– the spatialdistortionsatwork in Inceptiondonot resemble theways inwhich dreams distend or collapse space. There are none of the bizarre adjacencies ordistancesthatdonotdiminishthatweseeinWelles’sTheTrial(1962),afilmwhich,perhapsbetterthananyother,capturestheuncannytopographiesoftheanxietydream.When,inoneof Inception’s most remarked upon scenes, Ariadne causes the Paris cityspace to fold uparound herself and Cobb, she is behavingmore like the CGI engineerwho is creating thescenethananydreamer.Thisisadisplayoftechnicalprowess,devoidofanychargeoftheuncanny. The Limbo scenes,meanwhile, are like an inverted version of Fredric Jameson’s‘surrealismwithout the unconscious’: this is an unconsciouswithout surrealism. TheworldthatCobbandMal‘create’outoftheirmemoriesislikeaPowerpointpresentationofaloveaffairrenderedassomewalk-throughsimulation: faintlyhaunting in itsvery lackofallure,quietlyhorrifyinginitssolipsisticemptiness.Wheretheunconsciouswas,thereCGIshallbe.In an influential blog post, Devin Faraci argues that the whole film is a metaphor for

cinematic production itself: Cobb is the director, Arthur the producer, Ariadne thescreenwriter,Saito‘thebigcorporatesuitwhofancieshimselfapartofthegame’,Fischerthe

audience. ‘Cobb, as adirector, takesFischer throughanengaging, stimulatingandexcitingjourney,’Faraciargues, ‘one that leadshimtoanunderstandingabouthimself.Cobb is thebig time movie director…who brings the action, who brings the spectacle, but who alsobrings the meaning and the humanity and the emotion.’ In fact, as a director Cobb issomethingofamediocrity(whowemustconcludeisfarlessaccomplishedthanNolan)–asNeville argues, Fischer’s ‘journey’ takes him through a series of standard-issue action setpieces, which are ‘engaging, stimulating and exciting’ only in some weakly generic way.Significantlyandsymptomatically,Faraci’shyperboleheresoundsas if itmightbelonginamarketing pitch for Cobb and his team; just as when Cobb and the others eulogise the‘creativity’ofthedreamarchitectureprocess–youcancreateworldsthatneverexisted!–theysoundliketheyarerecitingadvertisingcopyorthescriptfromacorporatevideo.ThescenesinwhichtheteamprepareforFischer’sinceptionmighthavebeendesignedtobringoutthedepressingvacuousnessoftheconceptofthe‘creativeindustries’.Theyplaylikeamarketingteam’s own fantasies about what they themselves are doing: the view from inside anApprentice contestant’s head, perhaps. In any case, Inception seems to be less a meta-meditation on the power of cinema than a reflection of the way in which cinematictechniqueshavebecomeimbricatedintoabanalspectaclewhich–fusingbusinessmachismo,entertainmentprotocolsandbreathlesshype–enjoysanunprecedenteddominionoverourworkinglivesandourdreamingminds.It is no doubt this sense of pervasive mediation, of generalised simulation, that temptsFaraciintoclaimingthat‘Inceptionisadreamtothepointwhereeventhedream-sharingstuffisadream.DomCobbisn’tanextractor.Hecan’tgointootherpeople’sdreams.Heisn’tontherunfromtheCobolCorporation.Atonepointhetellshimselfthis,throughthevoiceofMal,whoisaprojectionofhisownsubconscious.Sheaskshimhowrealhethinkshisworldis,wherehe’sbeingchasedacrosstheglobebyfacelesscorporategoons.’ThemomentwhenMalconfrontsCobbwithallthisisreminiscentofthesceneinVerhoeven’sTotalRecall(1990)whenapsychiatristattemptstopersuadeArnoldSchwarzenegger’sQuaidthatheishavingapsychotic breakdown. ButwhileTotal Recall presents uswith a strong distinction betweenQuaid’squotidianidentityasaconstructionworkerandhislifeasasecretagentatthecentreof an interplanetary struggle – adistinction that the filmveryquicklyunsettles – Inceptiongives us only Cobb the generic hero: handsome, dapper, yet troubled. If, as Faraci claims,Cobbisn’tanextractorandheisn’tontherunfromfacelesscorporategoons,thenwhoishe?The‘real’CobbwouldthenbeanunrepresentedX,outsidethefilm’srealitylabyrinth–theempty figure who identifies with (and as) Cobb the commercially-constructed fiction;ourselves,inotherwords,insofaraswearesuccessfullyinterpellatedbythefilm.This leads toanotherdifferencebetween Inception and itsPhilipKDick-inspired80sand90sprecursorssuchasTotalRecall,Videodrome(1983)andExistenz(1999).Thereisverylittleof the ‘reality bleed’, the confusion of ontological hierarchy, that defined those films:throughout Inception, it is surprisingly easy for both the audience and the characters toremember where they are in the film’s ontological architecture. When Ariadne is beingtrained by Cobb’s partner, Arthur, she is taken round a virtual model of the impossiblePenroseSteps.On the faceof it,however, Inception is remarkable for its seeming failure toexplore any paradoxical Escheresque topologies. The four different reality levels remaindistinct, justas thecausalitybetweenthemremainswell-formed.But thisapparentlystable

hierarchymightbeviolatedby theobjectuponwhichmuchof thediscussionof the film’sendinghascentred:thethimble,the‘totem’thatCobbostensiblyusestodeterminewhetherheisinwakingrealityornot.Ifitspinswithoutfalling,thenheisinadream.Ifitfalls,thenhe is not. Many have noted the inadequacy of this supposed proof. At best, it can onlyestablish thatCobb isnot inhis ‘own’dream, forwhat is there to stophisdreamingmindsimulatingthepropertiesoftherealthimble?Besides,inthefilm’schronology,thethimble–thatostensibletokenoftheempiricalactual–firstofallappearsasavirtualobject,secretedbyMalinsideadoll’shouseinLimbo.Andatotem,itshouldberemembered,isanobjectoffaith (it’s worth noting in passing that there are many references to faith throughout thefilm).The association of the thimble with Mal – there are online debates as to whether thethimblewas firstofallCobb’sorMal’s– is suggestive.BothMalandthe thimblerepresentcompeting versions of the Real. For Cobb, the thimble stands in for the Anglo-Saxonempiricist tradition’s account of what reality is – something sensible, tangible. Mal, bycontrast,representsapsychoanalyticReal–atraumathatdisruptsanyattempttomaintainastablesenseofreality;thatwhichthesubjectcannothelpbringingwithhimnomatterwherehe goes. (Mal’s malevolent, indestructible persistence recalls the sad resilience of theprojectionswhichhaunttheoccupantsofthespacestationinTarkovsky’sSolaris(1972).)Nomatterwhat‘realitylevel’Cobbison,Malandthethimblearealwaysthere.Butwherethethimblesupposedly‘belongs’tothe‘highest’realitylevel,Mal‘belongs’tothe‘lowest’level,thelover’slimbowhichCobbrepudiated.MalconflatestworolesthathadbeenkeptseparateinNolan’sfilms–theantagonist-doubleandthegriefobject.InNolan’sdebut,Following(1998),theantagonist-doubleoftheunnamedprotagonist is the thief who shares his name with Inception’s hero. The theme of theantagonist-double is nowhere more apparent than in Nolan’s remake of Insomnia and TheDarkKnight,filmswhichareinmanywaysabout theproximitybetweentheostensibleheroand his beyond-good-and-evil rival. Nolan’s adaptation of Christopher Priest’s novel, ThePrestige,meanwhile,isineffectafilminwhichthereisadefiningantagonismbutnosingleprotagonist:bytheendofthefilm,theillusionistsAngierandBordenaredoubledinmultipleways,justastheyaredefinedanddestroyedbytheirstrugglewithoneanother.Moreoftenthannot,griefisthesourceoftheseantagonisticdoublings.Griefitselfisapuzzlethatcannotbesolved,andthere’sacertain(psychic)economyincollapsingtheantagonistintothegriefobject, since thework of grief is not only aboutmourning the lost object, it is also aboutstruggling against the object’s implacable refusal to let go. Yet there’s something hollowabout Cobb’s grief; on its own terms, it doesn’t convince as anything other than a genre-requiredcharactertrait.Itinsteadtostandinforsomethingelse,anothersadness–alossthatthefilmpointstobutcan’tname.One aspect of this loss concerns the unconscious itself, and herewemight takeNolan’sscriptquiteliterally.Forthosewithapsychoanalyticbent,thescript’srepeatedreferencestothe‘subconscious’–asopposedtotheunconscious–nodoubtgrate,butthismighthavebeenaFreudianslipofaparticularlyrevealingkind.TheterrainthatInceptionlaysoutisnolongerthatoftheclassicalunconscious,thatimpersonalfactorywhich,Jean-FrancoisLyotardsays,psychoanalysisdescribed‘withthehelpofimagesofforeigntownsorcountriessuchasRomeor Egypt, just like Piranesi’sPrisons or Escher’sOtherWorlds’. (Libidinal Economy, Athlone,

1993,164) Inception’s arcades and hotel corridors are indeed those of a globalised capital,whosereacheasilyextendsintotheformerdepthsofwhatwasoncetheunconscious.Thereisnothingalien,nootherplacehere,onlya‘subconscious’recirculatingdeeplyfamiliarimagesminedfromanersatzpsychoanalysis.Soinplaceoftheeerieenigmasoftheunconscious,weareinsteadofferedanOedipal-litesceneplayedoutbetweenRobertFischerandaprojectionof his dead father. The off-the-shelf pre-masticated quality of this encounter is entirelylacking in anyof theweird idiosyncrasieswhichgive Freud’s casehistories their power tohaunt.CodFreudianismhas longbeenmetabolisedbyanadvertising-entertainmentculturewhichisnowubiquitous,aspsychoanalysisgiveswaytoapsychotherapeuticself-helpthatisdiffusedthroughmassmedia.It’spossibletoreadInceptionasastagingofthissupersedingofpsychoanalysis, with Cobb’s apparent victory over the Mal projection, his talking himselfaroundtoacceptingthatsheisjustafantasmaticsubstituteforhisdeadwife,almostaparodyofpsychotherapy’sbluntpragmatism.ThequestionofwhetherCobb is stilldreamingornotat the film’send isultimately toosimple.ForthereisalsotheproblemofwhosedreamCobbmightbein,ifnothis‘own’.TheoldFreudianparadigmmadethisaproblemtoo,ofcourse–buttheretheissuewasthefactthattheegowasnotmasterinitsownhousebecausethesubjectwasconstitutivelysplitbytheunconscious.InInception,theegoisstillnotamasterinitsownhouse,butthatisbecausetheforcesofpredatorybusinessareeverywhere.Dreamshaveceasedtobethespaceswhereprivatepyschopathologiesareworkedthroughandhavebecomethesceneswherecompetingcorporate interests play out their banal struggles. Inception’s ‘militarised subconscious’converts the infernal urgencies and languid poise of the old unconscious into panickedpersecutionandaconsolatoryfamilialism:pursuedatworkbyvideogamegunmen,youlaterunwindwiththekidsbuildingsandcastlesonabeach.ThisisanotherreasonthatthedreamsinInceptionappearsoundream-like.For,afterall,thesearenot‘dreams’inanyconventionalsense.Thedesignedvirtualspacesof Inception’sdreams,withtheirnested ‘levels’,evidentlyresembleavideogamemore than they recalldreams. In theeraofneuromarketing,wearepresidedoverbywhatJGBallardcalled‘fictionsofeverykind’,theembeddedliteratureofbranding consultancies, advertising agencies andgamesmanufacturers.All ofwhichmakesone of Inception’s premisses – that it is difficult to implant an idea in someone’s mind –strangelyquaint.Isn’t‘inception’whatsomuchlatecapitalistcognitivelabourisabout?Forinceptiontowork,ArthurandCobbtellSaitoearlyinthefilm,thesubjectmustbelievethat the implanted idea is theirown.Theself-helpdictumsofpsychotherapy–whichCobbaffirmsat theendof Inception–offer invaluableassistance in this ideologicaloperation.AsEva Illouz argues, discussing the very conversion of psychoanalysis into self-help thatInception dramatises, ‘if we secretly desire our misery, then the self can be made directlyresponsibleforalleviatingit…ThecontemporaryFreudianlegacyis,andironicallyso,thatweareinthefullmastersinourownhouse,evenwhen,orperhapsespeciallywhen,itisonfire.’(ColdIntimacies:TheMakingofEmotionalCapitalism,Polity,2007,47)Yetourmisery,likeourdreams,ourcarsandourrefrigerators, is in fact theworkofmanyanonymoushands.Thisimpersonalmiserymaybewhat Inception isultimatelyabout.Theostensiblyupbeatendingandallthedistractingboy-toyactioncannotdispelthenon-specificbutpervasivepathosthathangsoverthefilm.It’sasadnessthatarisesfromtheimpassesofacultureinwhichbusinesshascloseddownanypossibilityofanoutside–asituationthatInceptionexemplifies,rather

than comments on. You yearn for foreign places, but everywhere you go looks like localcolour for thefilmsetofacommercial;youwanttobe lost inEscheresquemazes,butyouendupinaninterminablecarchase.

HandsworthSongsandtheEnglishRiots

BFI/SightandSoundWebsite,September2011

‘I’m sure that a group of people who brought the British state to its knees can organisethemselves.’ So argued John Akomfrah, the director of the Black Audio Film Collective’sHandsworthSongsatascreeningofthefilmatTateModernlastmonth.Thefilmwasreleasedin 1986, a year after riots in Handsworth, Birmingham and Tottenham. Not surprisingly,given that the Tate had convened the event as a consequence of the recent uprisings inEngland,thequestionofthecontinuitiesanddiscontinuitiesbetweenthe80sandnowhungoverthewholeevening,dominatingthediscussionthatfollowedthescreening.Watched – and listened to – now, Handsworth Songs seems eerily (un)timely. Thecontinuitiesbetweenthe80sandnowimposethemselvesonthecontemporaryviewerwithabreathtakingforce:justaswiththerecentinsurrections,theeventsin1985weretriggeredbypoliceviolence;andthe1985denunciationsoftheriotsassenselessactsofcriminalitycouldhavebeenmadebyTorypoliticiansyesterday.Thisiswhyitisimportanttoresistthecasualstory that thingshave ‘progressed’ inanysimple linear fashionsinceHandsworthSongswasmade.Yes, theBAFCcannowappearatTateModerninthewakeofnewriots inEngland,somethingunthinkablein1985;but,asRobWhitepointedoutinthediscussionattheTateevent,thereislittlechancenowofHandsworthSongsoritslikeappearingonChannel4now,stilllessbeingcommissioned.Theassumptionthatbrutalpolicingandracismwererelicsofabygoneerawaspartofthereactionarynarrativisationoftherecentriots:yes,therewaspoliticsandracismbackthen,butnotnow,notanymore…Thelessontoberemembered–especiallynowthatwearebeingaskedtodefendabortionandopposethedeathpenaltyagain–isthatstrugglesareneverdefinitivelywon.As theacademicGeorgeShirepointedout in theTatediscussion,manystruggleshavenotbeen lost somuchasdiverted intowhathecalled ‘theprivatisation of politics’, as former activists become hired as ‘consultants’. Shire’s remarksstrikingly echoed recent comments made by Paul Gilroy. ‘When you look at the layer ofpolitical leaders fromour communities,’Gilroy observed, ‘the generationwho cameof ageduringthattime30yearsago,manyofthosepeoplehaveacceptedthelogicofprivatization.They’ve privatised that movement, and they’ve sold their services as consultants andmanagers and diversity trainers.’ (See http://dreamof-safety.blogspot.com/2011/08/paul-gilroy-speaks-on-riots-august-2011.html)Thispointstoonemajordiscontinuitybetweennowand 25 years ago. In 1985, political collectivities were in the process of being violentlydecomposed–thiswasalsotheyearinwhichtheMiners’Strikeendedinbitterdefeat–astheneoliberalpoliticalprogrammebegantoimposethe ‘privatisationofthemind’whichisnow everywhere taken for granted. Akomfrah’s optimistic take on the current riots – thatthosewhoriotedwillcometoconstitutethemselvesasacollectiveagent–suggeststhatwemightbeseeingthereversalofthispsychicprivatisation.One of many striking things about Handsworth Songs is the serene confidence of itsexperimental essayism. Instead of easy didacticism, the film offers a complex palimpsestcomprising archive material, anempathic sound design and footage shot by the Collectiveduring and after the riots. The Collective’s practice coolly assumed, not only that ‘black’,

‘avant garde’ and ‘politics’ could co-exist, but that they must entail one another. Suchassumptions, such confidence,wereall themore remarkable for the fact that theywere sohardwon:theCollective’sLinaGopaulrememberedthattheideaofablackavant-gardewasgreetedwith incomprehensionwhen the BAFC began theirwork. Even the sight of youngblackpeople carrying camerasprovokedbemusement:are they real?Gopaul recalledpoliceofficersaskingastheCollectivefilmedeventsinHandsworthandBroadwaterFarm25yearsago.At a time when reactionaries once again feel able to make racist generalisations about‘blackculture’inmainstreammedia,theCollective’sundoingofreceivedideasofwhat‘black’supposedlymeansremainsanurgentproject.InTheGhostofSongs:TheFilmArtoftheBlackAudioFilmCollective,theoutstandingsurveyoftheBAFC’sworkthatheco-editedwithfellowOtolithGroupmemberAnjalikaSagar,KodwoEshunarguedthat, for theCollective, ‘black’‘might be profitably understood…as a dimension of potentiality.’ At the Tate discussion,which he chaired, Eshun pointed to the use inHandsworth Songs ofMark Stewart and theMaffia’sdub-refractedcut-upversionof‘Jerusalem’:thetrackmakesabidforanaccountofEnglishnessfromwhich‘blackness’,farfrombeingsomethingthatcanbeexcluded,becomesinsteadtheonlypossiblefulfilmentofthemillenarianpromiseofBlake’srevolutionarypoem.TheuseofStewart’smusicalsobringshometheextenttowhichHandsworthSongsbelongedtoapostpunkmomentwhichwasdefinedbyitsunsettlingofconceptsof‘white’and‘black’culture.TrevorMathison’sastonishingsounddesigncertainlydrawsupondub,butitsvoiceloopsand seethingelectronics are equally reminiscentof theworkofTestDepartmentandCabaretVoltaire.Somuchfilmandtelevisionnowdeployssoundasacrudebludgeonwhichcloses down the polyvalency of images.Whooshing sound effects subordinate audiences tothe audio equivalent of a spectacle, while the redundant use of pop music enforces aterroristic sentimentalism. By strong and refreshing contrast, Mathison’s sound – which issimultaneouslyseductiveandestranging–liberateslyricismfrompersonalisedemotion,andfrees up the potentials of the audio from the strictures of ‘music’. Subtract the imagesentirely,andHandsworthSongscanfunctionasagrippingaudio-essay.Mathison’ssoundrecordingequipmentcapturedoneofthemostextraordinarymomentsinthe film, an exchange between the floor manager and the producer of the long-defunctdocumentaryseriesTVEye in the run-up toa special editionof theprogrammewhichwasabout to be filmed in front of a Tottenham audience. The exchange reveals that it is notpossibletosecurelydelimit‘merelytechnical’issuesfrompoliticalquestions.Theproducer’sanxietiesaboutlightingquicklyshadeintoconcernsabouttheproportionofnon-whitesintheaudience.Thematter-of-fact toneof thediscussionsmake this suddenpeek into the realitystudioallthemoredisturbing–andilluminating.Thescreeningandthediscussionat theTatewereareminder that ‘mainstreammedia’ isnotamonolithbuta terrain. Itwasn’tbecauseof the largesseofbroadcasters that theBBCandChannel4becamehosttopopularexperimentalismbetweenthe60sandthe90s.No:thiswasonlypossibleonthebasisofastrugglebyforces–whichwerepoliticalatthesametimeastheywerecultural–thatwerecontentneithertoremaininthemarginsnortoreplicatetheexistingformofmainstream.HandsworthSongsisagloriousartefactofthatstruggle–andacallforustoresumeit.

‘Tremorsofanimperceptiblefuture’:PatrickKeiller’sRobinsoninRuins

Sight&Sound,November2010

In Ellis Sharp’s short story ‘The HayWain’, a Poll Tax rioter in 1990 takes refuge in theNationalGalleryand‘noticeswhathehasnevernoticedbeforeonbiscuittinsorcalendars,orplastictraysonthewallsofhisaunt’sflatinBradford,thosetinyfiguresbendinginthefieldbeyond.’Constable’ssupposedlytimelesspaintingofEnglishlandscapeceasestobeakindofpastoral screensaver and becomes what it always really was: a snapshot of agriculturallabour.Farfrombeingsomerefugefrompoliticalstrife,theEnglishlandscapeisthesiteofnumerousstrugglesbetweentheforcesofpowerandprivilegeandthosewhosoughttoresistthem. Sharp replaces the dominant pastoral image of the English countryside, not with adeflatedquotidianrealism,butwithadifferentkindoflyricism,onecolouredbyrevolt:fieldsand ditches become hiding places or battlegrounds; landscapes that on the surface seemtranquil still reverberate with the unavenged spectral rage of murdered working classmartyrs.ItisnotthesunlitEnglishafternoonthatis‘timeless’,buttheabilityoftheagentsofreactiontoescapejustice.WhenthePolltaxrioterisclubbedbypoliceandhisbloodstartstostain Constable’s emblem of English nationhood, we’re uncomfortably reminded of morerecentepisodes.‘Hewasresistingarrest,right?Rightmates?(Right,Sarge.)…Weusedminimalforce, right? … Don’t piss yourself and we’ll see this thing through together, right mates?…Everyone’llbeonourside,rememberthat.Thecommissioner.TheFederation.Thepapers.And,ifitcomestoit,theCoroner.Nowfuckinggoandcallforanambulance.’Patrick Keiller’s latest film,Robinson in Ruins, the long-awaited sequel to his two 1990sfilms, London (1994) and Robinson in Space (1997), performs a similar politicisation oflandscape. Or rather, it exposes the way in which the rural landscape is always-alreadyintensely politicised. ‘I had embarked on landscape film-making in 1981, early in theThatcher era, after encountering a surrealist tradition in the UK and elsewhere, so thatcinematography involved thepursuitofa transformation, radicalorotherwise,ofeverydayreality,’Keillerwrote in2008,ashewaspreparingRobinson inRuins. ‘Ihad forgotten thatlandscapephotography is oftenmotivatedbyutopianor ideological imperatives, both as acritiqueoftheworld,andtodemonstratethepossibilityofcreatingabetterone.’Londonwasa melancholy, quietly angry study of the city after 13 years of Tory rule. Its unnamednarrator,voicedbyPaulScofield,toldoftheobsessiveresearchesundertakenbyRobinson,arogue–andfictional–theorist,intothe‘problemofLondon’.Londonwasthecapitalofthefirst capitalist country, but Keillerwas interested in theway that the citywas now at theheart of a new, ‘post-Fordist’ capitalism, in which manufacturing industry had beensupersededbythespectralweightlessnessoftheso-calledserviceeconomy.Robinsonandhisnarratorfriendbitterlysurveyedthisbravenewworldwiththedolefuleyesofmenformedinaverydifferentera:aworldinwhichpublicservicebroadcasterscouldcommissionfilmsofthisnature.Londonwasasremarkablefortheuniquewaythatitcombinedfictionwiththefilm-essayform. The film was composed of a series of striking images captured by Keiller’s static

camera,which unblinkingly caught the city in unguarded epiphanicmoments.Robinson inSpace retained the samemethodology,butbroadened the focus fromLondon to the rest ofEngland. Rural landscapes featured inRobinson in Space, but as something which Keiller’scameralookedoverratherthanat.Inthefirsttwofilms,Robinson’sinterestwasinthecitieswhere capitalismwas first built, and in the non-places where it now silently spreads: thedistribution centres and container ports that are unvisited by practically anyone exceptRobinsonandhisnarrator-companion,butwhichwebBritainintotheglobalmarket.Keillersaw that, contrary to certaindominantnarratives, theBritish economywasnot ‘declining’.Rather,thispost-industrialeconomywasthriving,andthatwasthebasisofitsoppressiveandprofoundlyinegalitarianpower.LondonandRobinsoninSpaceweremadeinthespacebetweentwopoliticalnon-events,thegeneralelectionsof1992and1997.1992wastheyearwhenchangewassupposedtocome–theendofToryrulewaswidelyexpected,notleastbytheConservativePartyitself,yetJohnMajorwasre-elected.1997sawthelong–anticipatedchangefinallyarrive,butitturnedouttobenokindofchangeatall.FarfromendingtheneoliberalculturethatKeilleranatomised,Tony Blair’s government would consolidate it.Robinson in Space, largely assembled in thedyingdaysoftheMajorgovernment,wasmadetooearlyforittoproperlyregisterthis.Yetits focuson thebanal,Ballardian infrastructureofBritishpost–Fordistcapitalismmade itadeeplypropheticfilm.TheEnglandofRobinsoninSpacewasstill theEnglandpresidedoverbyGordonBrownadecadelater.ThetraumaticeventwhichreverberatesthroughRobinsoninRuinsisthefinancialcrisisof2008.It’sstilltooearlytoproperlyassesstheimplicationsofthiscrisis,butRobinsoninRuinsshareswithChrisPetit’sContent–afilmwithwhichithasmanypreoccupationsincommon–thetentativesensethatahistoricalsequencewhichbeganin1979endedin2008.The‘ruins’whichRobinsonwalksthroughherearepartlythenewruinsofaneoliberalculturethathasnotyetaccepted itsowndemise, andwhich, for themoment, continueswith the sameoldgestures like a zombie that does not know that it is dead. Citing Fredric Jameson’sobservation in The Seeds of Time that ‘it seems to be easier for us today to imagine thethoroughgoingdeteriorationoftheearthandofnaturethanthebreakdownoflatecapitalism;perhaps that isdue to someweakness inour imaginations’,Robinsonneverthelessdares tohope,ifonlyforamoment,thattheso-calledcreditcrunchissomethingmorethanoneofthecrisesbywhichcapitalismperiodicallyrenewsitself.Perhapsstrangely,itisthe‘thoroughgoingdeteriorationoftheearthandnature’thatseemtogiveRobinsonsomegroundsforhope,andthemostevidentdifferencebetweenRobinsoninRuinsandthepreviousfilmsistheemergenceofaradicalGreenperspective.Inpart,Keiller’sturntowardsGreenthemesreflectschangesinmainstreampoliticalculture.AtthetimeoftheprevioustwoRobinsonfilms,Greenpoliticscouldstillappeartobeafringeconcern.Inthelastdecadeorso,however,anxietiesaboutglobalwarminginparticularhavecomeintothevery centre of culture. Now, every corporation, nomatter how exploitative, is required topresent itself as Green. The emergence of ecological concerns gives Keiller’s treatment oflandscape a properly dialectical poise. In the opposition between capital and ecology, weconfrontwhatareineffecttwototalities.Keillershowsthatcapitalism–inprincipleatleast–saturateseverything(especiallyinEngland,aclaustrophobiccountrythatlongagoenclosedmostofitscommonland,thereisnolandscapeoutsidepolitics);thereisnothingintrinsically

resistant to capital’s drive to commoditisation, certainly not in the ‘natural world’. Keillerdemonstrates this with a long excursus on how the prices of weight increased in theimmediatewake of the 2008 crisis. Yet from the equally inhumanperspective of a radicalecology,capital,forallthatitmayburnoutthehumanenvironmentandtakelargeswathesofthenonhumanworldwithit,isstillamerelylocalepisode.Environmental catastrophe provides what a political unconscious totally colonised by

neoliberalismcannot:animageoflifeaftercapitalism.Still,thislifemaynotbeahumanlife,andthereisthefeelingthat,likethenarrator’sfatherinMargaretAtwood’scoldlyvisionarynovelSurfacing,RobinsonmayhaveheadedoffintosomekindofdarkDeleuzeancommunionwithNature. AswithSurfacing, Robinson in Ruins beginswith a disappearance: Robinson’sown. Paul Scofield having died in 2010, the narration is no longer handled byRobinson’sfriend, but by Vanessa Redgrave, playing the head of a group seeking to reconstructRobinson’s thinking from notes and films recovered from the caravan where he was lastknowntolive.IftheRedgravenarrationdoesn’tquitework,thenthatispartlybecausethereis a feeling thatKeiller has slightly tired of theRobinson fiction, or it has ceased to servemuchofafunctionforhim.Forwhatseemslikelargepartsofthefilm,theRobinsonframingnarrative disappears from view, to the extent that it can be something of a jolt whenRobinson is mentioned again. Lacking Paul Scofield’s sardonic insouciance, Redgrave’snarrative is often oddly tentative, her emphasis not quite mustering Scofield’s assuredmasteryofKeiller’stone.In tracking thehistoricaldevelopmentof capitalism inEngland,and the sitesof struggle

against it,Robinson inRuins showsa sensitivity to theway that landscape silently registers(andengenders)politicsthatechoestheconcernsofDanièleHuilletandJean-MarieStraub.As in Straub-Huillet’s films,Robinson inRuins returns to landscapeswhere antagonism andmartyrdomoncetookplace:GreenhamCommon,thewoodlandwhereProfessorDavidKellycommittedsuicide.Keiller’sdecisiontoretainfilmratherthanswitchtoadigitalmediumcarriesmorecharge

nowthanitdidwhenheusedacinecameraforLondonandRobinsoninSpace.Inmanyways,evenin1997,wehadyettoreallyenterthedigitalrealm;now,withcyberspaceavailableoneverysmartphonehandset,weareneveroutsideit.Thereturntofilmmadehimappreciatethematerialityofthemediuminanewway.‘Comparedwithvideotape,’Keillerhaswritten,‘filmstockisexpensivetopurchaseandprocess,andthecamera’smagazineholdsonly122mofstock,justover4minutesat25fps.Filmhencetendstoinvolveagreatercommitmenttoanimagebeforestartingtoturnthecamera,andthereispressuretostopassoonaspossible,both to limit expenditureand to avoid runningoutof loaded film.Results arevisibleonlyafter processing, which, in this case, was usually several days later, by which time somesubjectswerenolongeravailableandothershadchanged,soastoruleoutthepossibilityofaretake.IbegantowonderwhyIhadnevernoticedthesedifficultiesbefore,orwhetherIhadsimply forgotten them. Another problem was that, with computer editing, it is no longerusualtomakeaprinttoedit.Instead,camerarollsaretransferredtovideoafterprocessing,so that the footage is never seen at its best until the end of the production process. Thishybridityofphotographicanddigitalmediasoemphasisesthevalueofthematerial,mineralcharacteristics of film that one begins to reimagine cinematography as a variety of stone-carving.’

WhenwehearearlyoninthefilmthatRobinsonhasmadecontactwithaseriesof ‘non-humanintelligences’,weinitiallysuspectthathehasfinallysuccumbedtomadness.Yetthe‘non-human intelligences’ turn out not to be the extra-terrestrials of a florid pulp sciencefiction-inspired psychosis, but the intra-terrestrial lifeforms that an ecological awarenessrevealsgrowingwithasilentstubbornnessthatmatchesthebrutetenacityofcapitalism.Inoneof themany slow spirals that typifyKeiller’s approach inRobinson inRuins, the lichenthat his camera lingers on in an early shot, apparently formerely picturesque effect, willeventually come to take centre stage in the film’s narrative. Lichen, Robinson comes torealise,isalreadythedominantlife-formonlargeareasoftheplanet.InspiredbytheworkofAmerican biologist Lynn Margulis, Robinson confesses to a growing feeling of ‘biophilia’,which Keiller seems to share.While his camera lingers tenderly onwildflowers, the film’sverbalnarrativeissuspended,projectingusforafewlongmomentsintothisworldwithouthumans. Thesemoments, these unnarrativised surveys of a non-human landscape, are likeKeiller’sversionof the famous ‘Straubianshot’, thecut-aways todepopulatedlandscapesinStraubandHuillet’s films.Robinson isdrawn toMargulisbecause she rejects theanalogiesbetweencapitalismandthebiologicalthataresooftenusedtonaturalisecapitalisteconomicrelations.InsteadoftheruthlesscompetitionwhichsocialDarwiniansfindinnature,Margulisdiscovers organisms engaging in co-operative strategies.When Keiller turns his camera onthese ‘non-human intelligences’, these mute heralds of a future without humanity, I’mremindedoftheblackorchidsinTroyKennedyMartin’sEdgeOfDarkness,thoseharbingersofan ecology that is readying to take revengeon ahumanity that thoughtlesslydisdained it.Kennedy Martin’s inspiration was the anti-humanist ecology of James Lovelock, andLovelock’sapocalypticmessageseemstohauntRobinsoninRuinstoo.Keillerfindsextinctionlooming everywhere – species dying off at a far faster rate than scientists had thoughtpossible only a few years ago. The emphasis on extinction means that the concerns ofRobinson in Ruins rhymewith the preoccupations that have emerged in speculative realistphilosophy,whichhasfocusedonthespacespriorto,beyondandafterhumanlife.Insomerespects, thework of philosophers such as Ray Brassier and TimMorton re-stages the oldconfrontation between human finitude and the sublimewhichwas the former subject of acertain kind of landscape art. But where the older sublime concentrated on local naturalphenomenonsuchastheoceanorvolcaniceruptionswhichcouldoverwhelmanddestroytheindividualorganismorwholecities,speculativerealismcontemplatestheextinction,notonlyof the human world, but of life and indeed matter itself. The prospect of ecologicalcatastrophemeansthatdisjunctionbetweenthe livedtimeofhumanexperienceandlongerdurations isnownot justaquestionofmetaphysicalcontemplation,butamatterofurgentpoliticalconcern,asoneofRobinson’stouchstones,FredricJameson,noted.‘[A]sorganismsofaparticularlifespan,’Jamesonwritesinhisessay‘ActuallyExistingMarxism’,

wearepoorlyplacedasbiologicalindividualstowitnessthemorefundamentaldynamicsofhistory,glimpsingthisorthatincompletemoment,whichwehastentotranslateintothealltoo-human termsof successor failure.Butneither stoicwisdomnor the reminderofalonger-term view are really satisfactory responses to this peculiar existential andepistemological dilemma, comparable to the science-fictional one of beings inhabiting acosmostheydonothaveorganstoperceiveoridentify.Perhapsonlytheacknowledgement

ofthisradicalincommensurabilitybetweenhumanexistenceandthedynamicofcollectivehistoryandproductioniscapableofgeneratingnewkindsofpoliticalattitudes;newkindsofpoliticalperception,aswellasofpoliticalpatience;andnewmethodsfordecodingtheage aswell, and reading the imperceptible tremorswithin it of an inconceivable future.(ValencesoftheDialectic,Verso,2010,pp369-70)

Amongst its requiemforneoliberalEngland,Robinson inRuinsgivesus some intimationsofthoseimperceptibletremorsandinconceivablefutures.

Contemporaryculturehaseliminatedboththeconceptofthepublicandthefigureoftheintellectual.Formerpublicspaces–bothphysicalandcultural–arenoweitherderelictorcolonizedbyadvertising.Acretinousanti-intellectualismpresides,cheerledbyexpensivelyeducatedhacksinthepayofmultinationalcorporationswhoreassuretheirboredreadersthatthereisnoneedtorousethemselvesfromtheirinterpassivestupor.Theinformalcensorshipinternalizedandpropagatedbytheculturalworkersoflatecapitalismgeneratesabanal

conformitythatthepropagandachiefsofStalinismcouldonlyeverhavedreamtofimposing.Zer0Booksknowsthatanotherkindofdiscourse–intellectualwithoutbeingacademic,popularwithoutbeingpopulist–isnotonlypossible:itisalreadyflourishing,intheregionsbeyondthestriplitmallsofso-calledmassmediaandtheneuroticallybureaucratichallsoftheacademy.Zer0iscommittedtotheideaofpublishingasamakingpublicofthe

intellectual.Itisconvincedthatintheunthinking,blandlyconsensualcultureinwhichwelive,criticalandengagedtheoreticalreflectionismoreimportantthaneverbefore.