That’s not to say that we’ve all stopped believing in creators’ rights or that we no longer think piracy is a real problem.  On the contrary: the creative economy depends on creative rights.

We all understand the demand for easy access to inexpensive content, and the people who produce that content – artists, movie makers, journalists, musicians, songwriters and more – are eager to deliver it. But, as it turns out, they want their rights to be respected.

Unfortunately, some consumers get confused about the difference between demand and entitlement. A recent TechDirt screed illustrates this entitlement mentality.  Writing about Joel Tenenbaum, who was sued for pirating and distributing songs online (a jury found that he had willfully infringed copyrights and awarded a judgment far larger than had been asked), Mike Masnick wrote:

“Tenenbaum’s actions robbed no one. No one has a “right to be paid for their work.” You have a right to try to convince people to buy, and the RIAA and its labels FAILED in convincing Tenenbaum to do that. But that’s the market at work. Today for lunch I may pick the deli rather than the pizza shop next door. Based on the RIAA’s logic here, I have just “robbed” the pizza place of its “right to be paid” for its work. There is no right to be paid. Only a right to try to convince people to buy.”

Of course, Tenenbaum did choose not to buy the music.  But that didn’t seem to stop him from taking it anyway.  He just chose to take it without paying for it.  And then he let other people take it, too. To most of us, a marketplace gives the consumer the chance to buy a product or not.   But, apparently, in the pirate’s world, the way the “market” works is that you get a choice between buying and stealing, as if the two are equally valid options.

Let’s cut the nonsense out of his analogy: Tenenbaum didn’t choose the “deli.”  He wasn’t even interested in the free samples that the “pizza shop” offers.  He wanted a bunch of full slices of pizza, and when he thought no one was looking, he took them.  The way Masnick tells it, if you don’t create something that people want to buy more than they want to take for free, it’s your own fault:

“Deserving to be paid for your work and a nickel gets you five damn cents. You earn money by offering something in the marketplace that people want to buy. You didn’t do that.”

So, apparently, Joel Tenenbaum is simultaneously a “consumer” and somebody who rejected what the music industry offered.  And yet…

“You made the conscious decision to declare war on your best customers.”

I’m not sure in what regard Tenenbaum could be considered one of their “best customers.”  It was my understanding that customers paid for things.  That puts a fat asterisk on statements like this:

“The idea that not giving money to the RIAA somehow means less music will be brought to the public is laughable. It’s not a fact, it’s pure propaganda. Thanks to these same new technologies that the RIAA has tried to kill off, it’s easier than ever for bands to create, promote and distribute music. And because of that, there’s more new music out there than ever before.”

It’s true, now that the technological barriers have dropped so far, musicians are giving away tons of songs for free!  And yet, Joel Tenenbaum didn’t choose to download one of those songs.  He wanted something that was more valuable to him… though, apparently, not so valuable that he would pay for it.

Musicians often give away their content for free, most of them with the expectation that they’ll be repaid in other ways.  Some of those models – for instance, giving the music away for free and making it up with concerts or merchandise – do well for some artists (though, it’s hard to see how a songwriter makes money in that model).  That’s their right, and creators should be free to choose their business model.

But for those creators who don’t want to give tracks away for free, it’s high time for pirates and their enablers to stop rationalizing theft by imagining that they’re somehow doing their victims a favor.

Creators have a right to be paid in exchange for their work, if they make it a condition of using their work, just as pizza makers can require you to pay them before they give you their pizza, and just as car rental agencies can require you to only use their cars in specific ways while in your care.

Lawsuits may not be the solution to getting broader respect for these intellectual property rights. That solution really is going to be found in new technologies and new business models.

But let’s be honest in the meantime: Piracy is not just another consumer choice.  It is theft.

It’s in some kind of order. Here we go:

“Civilized Worm,” The Melvins. A song Ozzy would have sacrificed his first, second and third born for. You kind of wish he had. How did this song not become a massive anthem? I ask again, how did this song not become a massive anthem? It should have been bigger than lingerie football.

“One More Robot – Sympathy 3000-21,” The Flaming Lips. Off the Yoshimi album, it’s the best thing the Lips ever did. One subtle note change by Wayne Coyne is enough to make you feel like calling everyone you know and telling them how much you appreciate their smell.

“Der Golem,” Fantomas. The greatest death metal/orchestral song ever recorded. From the magnificent Director’s Cut – the best thing Mike Patton has put on record. Or Cd, or pizza.

“It’s Not Too Beautiful,” The Beta Band. Why didn’t this band explode above and beyond Coldplay and take over the world? And why am I not taller? A lilting melodic feast that goes on for nearly nine minutes and is still too short. Like me.

“Slowly,” Amon Tobin. I’m pretty sure this came out in 2001. I’m pretty sure it will blow your face off. When it does, don’t go outside until you put it back on.

“Chewing Gum,” Annie. Best piece of bubble gum you’ll find anywhere. If a.m. radio existed like it did when I was a lad, this would have been the “Love Will Keep Us Together” of the OO’s. I believe Annie is Swedish, and vice versa.

“Monster,” by The Automatic. There is something wrong with this band. They are not awesome, or possibly even great. But this song is a relentless piece of rock crap that makes you want to beat the crap out your own butt!

“Atlas,” the Battles. It’s like kiddie music for kids who live on Planet Robot Poop. Designed like a melodic can opener. It makes me happy while also wanting to eat an entire roll of tin foil.

“Lollpopsichord,” Black Moth Super Rainbow. The best pop band working today – simultaneously uplifting and downward facing – like doing yoga in a vat of yogurt. The weird thing about this band: their sound is utterly monotonous. But monotony is perfectly fine if what you’re doing is right.

“Dayvan Cowboy,” Boards of Canada. Soundtrack music to a movie that has not been, but should be, made. Clint Eastwood on Jupiter, shopping for hats.

“I Loved You,” Carbon/Silicon. If the Clash sodomized the Stooges with the head of Mickey Dolenz. The band also put on one of the best shows I saw in 2008, the highlight being Mick Jones dedicating a song to Redeye! And the crowd seemed confused.

“The Bridge,” Clinic. The most sinister, unnerving pop sound around. I love this band so much that I hate them. I’ve purchased tickets for them twice – and they’ve canceled both times. They also accepted, then turned down Red Eye. I hate them for that. But you should listen to this band anyway. I think maybe the singer has issues.

“Falstaff,” Clinic. see above. A bunch a musical genius jerkfaces in masks. i hate them for being so awesome and jerkfaced. I’m trying to get over them, but I don’t think I ever will. Buy this song.

“For the Wars,” Clinic. God I hate this band. See above. But Jesus, they are awesome. Surreal space garage rock you can dance to, provided you define dancing as nodding and possibly twitching.

“Black Shuck,” The Darkness. AC/DC meets Queen – but better than that, if you can imagine. Perfectest rock song that’s both irresistible and annoying. A lot of people hate this band, which I understand. But a lot of people LOVE this band, and I understand them more.

“Little Kids,” Deerhunter. A band casually waiting for stardom to embrace them. A gorgeous melody from a creepy classic album. I believe they will be on Red Eye in the near future – fingers, toes, and vestigial tail crossed.

“Black and White Town,” The Doves. If you want to know what it’s like to live in England, play this song. It’s like staring out a window of a parked car in the rain, while your mother is inside the principal’s office trying to undo your expulsion. I know this feeling.

“Mon Amour,” Dungen. Nine minutes of guitar solos, riffage and a few seconds of unlistenable feedback. Somehow all of it works. And he sings foreign! And by foreign I mean not English – which is a really arrogant thing for a foreign person to do. This is earth: speak English!

“Fumbling over Words That Rhyme,” Edan. Best hip hop band around. Why doesn’t anyway care? Because it’s a weird dude from Philly without any PR. I’ve tried to get this dude on Red Eye. They don’t even return my calls (or socks!)

“Gay Bar,” Electric Six. It’s not a novelty song. It’s a great rock song, from a dude who has the exact same voice from that scary guy in Steppenwolf. Seriously, Dick Valentine is the second coming of John Kay, or the third coming of Danny Kaye. I can never tell which.

“Twin Peaks:Fire Walk With Me,” Fantomas. I hate using the word “haunting,” but this is haunting heavy metal. It will make you pee your pants, if you’re wearing pants (i’m not).

“The Bit,” The Fantomas-Melvins Big Band.” Bone crushing, mind bending metal epic vomit. It’s a live hissing mess – like a dragon pooping out a smaller dragon pooping out a snake.

“Over the Ice,” The Field. Electronica test patterns that work! I listen to this while I’m jogging and doing my laundry (I do both simultaneously, down ninth avenue!)

“He Doesn’t Know Why,” the Fleet Foxes. I don’t know why this band irritates me, because they write amazing, beautiful songs. But they still irritate me. It’s got to be the beards. They leave a rash all over my tummy!

“Don’t Rhyme No Mo,” The Free Association. This could be the most hypnotic big beat song of the last twenty years. I can’t stop listening to it, even when I’m not listening to it – if you know what I mean. You don’t, do you? Oh wait – you do? Never mind then.

“Days of Last,” F_cked Up. Oh the riffage! Oh the majesty! Oh the Canadians! Damian Abraham – where are you anyway? Email me – you’re supposed to be working for me!!

“Natural’s Not in It,” Gang of Four (repackaged by the Rakes). If you can’t dance to this, then you’re dead (or possibly not a fan of dancing). A remake/remix that makes an old great song even greater. The lyrics are still borderline genius idiotic.

“Hairy Trees,” Goldfrapp. Another majestic song by a pop artist who should rule the world but doesn’t, probably because she’s a jerk or something. This song will melt your toes.

“Hard to Beat,” Hard-Fi. A perfect pop gem that makes you want to propose to a chick and then run off with her sister. How can you not absolutely love this song? How can you? Sometimes I think I don’t even know you anymore.

“Supply and Demand,” The Hives. Super annoying band that can’t stop writing amazing riffs. This is the Troggs, the Kingsmen, and the Stones all rolled up into two and a half minutes of delectable destruction! Plus they wear matching suits and have a fat guitarist!

“Move Your Feet,” Junior Senior. More infectious than HPV or Herpes. I’ll stop there.

“Caroline, Yes” The Kaiser Chiefs. From the album “Employment,” which everyone should own. if you don’t you’re probably a racist. This band writes amazing choruses, while sometimes forgetting to write songs. Not a bad thing, when you like choruses, but don’t have time for songs.

“Sugar,” Ladytron. Mammoth slab of pop sugar metal confection. Rots your teeth, mind, underwear. In that order, I believe.

“Someone Great,” LCD Soundsystem. I hate sad music. but this is awesome sad music. I’m getting sad just thinking about how sad this awesome song is. Hold me, you crazy jerk.

“The Stupid Creep,” The Melvins. Just a harsh mean song that’s also fun, neat and wrong. I asked King Buzzo what it’s about, and he said, “it’s about a stupid creep.”

“Maneater,” Nelly Furtado. Something is wrong with me for loving this song. But I love this song. The chorus is terrible, too!

“Bros” Panda Bear. This is a big song. A BIG song. It bothers me how many things are going on in this thing. And I have a feeling I will probably end up hating it in ten years – there’s something very 311 about Panda Bear. Am I right?

“Centuries of Sin,” Probot. Awesome thrash metal from a Dave Grohl-led super thrash band. Not a great album, but a perfect badass song that should open a movie about headless zombie bikers who eat cats and tin.

“Love in a Trash Can,” The Raveonettes. Best casual throw-away guitar work in a perfect pop song. If you’ve ever heard this song, then you have loved this song (you can quote me on that, imaginary people who quote things)

“My Baby’s Taking Me Home,” Sparks. What a piece of hypnotic genius. Vocals used as rhythm that’s better than anything Moby could have hoped to create in his entire annoying lifetime. These guys have been around for decades, but they take more chances than any young band today. I include the Beatles.

“Hairy Candy,” TOBACCO. from the singer of Black Moth Super Rainbow – my bet for best over all pop song of the decade. Bubblegum meets Percocets – without the peristaltic mayhem.

“101 North,” Tomahawk. You can guess from the title, it’s driving music. I love any song that allows Mike Patton to sing, because Mike Patton rarely allows himself to sing.

“Overnight,” Gonzales. A tear-inducing piano ditty that will induce tears, via piano.

“Obsessed with Gloom,” Campag Velocet. Imagine driving the coolest car in the world in an underground fish tank that goes on forever. This song would be playing on the radio, while you drown!

“Love me Now,” And the Lefthanded. I know nothing about this band. But I found this song on an Erol Alkin compilation, called “A Bugged In Selection.” It’s gorgeous like something gorgeous that’s gorgeous. What happened to them? Who are they? Where are my pants?

“Smiling Off,” Black Dice. I’m talking about the DFA remix. Jeez! it’s remixy! Strange band though. I can only listen to them with the lights on.

“To All The Wizards in Lockdown,” Richard Norris. from a Psychedelic Guide to Monsterism – compiled by some artist who does the Super Furry Animals CD covers. Holy crap, what an amazing CD, but also an amazing, wonderful psychedelic dance mess explosion of a song! I don’t know who Richard Norris is, but if you do, send me thirty dollars.

“Still Light,” the Knife. This song makes me cry. Mainly because it hits me when it’s drunk. But I keep coming back for more. I have low self-esteem.

“Vanilla radio (live),” The Wildhearts. Not sure when this was released, but Ginger gave it to me last year, so it counts. Best riff since BOC’s Godzilla. FYI: the Wildhearts has a new CD out, called Chutzpah. You should buy two – one for you and one for President Obama.

“From Blown Speakers,” The New Pornographers. Every album by this band begins with three or four awesome songs, and then….snore. But this is a beauty of a pop song – and the singing is terrifically terrific on a scale from terrific to super terrific.

“I found the F,” Broadcast. From the excellent Tender Buttons album, which is full of fuzzy pop gems. Imagine dropping a cherry lifesaver on a rug at Jiffy Lube. And then picking it up and eating it. That’s this song.

“I saw a ship,” The Czars. Defunct pop band fronted by the second or third best singer in America. A little story: Saw these guys play in England a few years back. (See, I told you it was a little story).

“Bottle Rocket,” The Go! Team. It’s like the Rockford Files theme meets a big chocolate sundae meets your face. I listened to this song 30 times in a row, and then never listened to it again. Then I broke all my hummels!

“Thirsty and Miserable,” Lemmy. Remake of the Black Flag classic -but done better because Lemmy is singing/lurching. Listen to this, and you either want to quit or start drinking.

“Pit Stop,” Lovage. Brooding love song sung by Mike Patton, and a chick I can’t remember. Saw them live twice – and it was really enjoyable, in an enjoyable way!

“Pitie pour mes larmes,” Patton/Kaada. If you want to get lucky, put this song on. Works really well, especially if you’re with someone. Luscious, romantic pop song that Patton was born to sing and animals to eat.

“Work, work, work,” The Rakes. Great band that sings about great things (pubs, smoking, girls) in a ridiculously honest, simple way. Where are these guys? Oh – look – they’re under my bed!

Why did I write this?

Well, my book is due Tuesday, and I needed something to do, other than the actual matter at hand.

So, this list is really just procrastination.

Do you agree with this list? Disagree? Any additions? Subtractions…?

This is no youthful indiscretion, this is 2003. Will the ObamaMedia be able to ignore a Czar associated with lyrics like this:

The American way manufactured by white folk in office, by these rich men here to mock us. The United States; a piece of stolen land led by right-wing, war-hungry, oil thirsty… And when it’s all said and done still can’t [garbled] the wrong place cause they got people of color playing servant to do that shit for them; mother fuckers ready to wipe out soft targets on territories harboring terrorists?

Tragedy.

The true terrorists are made in the U.S.

Truther/Czar Jones himself at the 4:20 mark:

At this point. The end of the occupation. The right of return of the Palestinian people. These are critical dividing lines in human rights. We have to be here. No American would put up with an Israeli-style occupation of their hometown for 53 days let alone 54 years. US tax dollars are funding violence against people of color inside the US borders and outside the US borders.

Gateway Pundit has much, much more.

Breitbart TV has this piece of jaw-dropping video. 

American Icon: “If you want to know all about Andy Warhol, just look at the surface of my paintings and films and me, and there I am. There's nothing behind it.”

Vast, determined, highly successful forces and superior technologies dominated the theaters of WWII prior to America’s entry into the conflict after Pearl Harbor in 1941.  The Manhattan Project began in August of 1942, a couple of months before General George Patton invaded North Africa.  Character, strategy, and tactics played as large a role in dealing with Panzer and Tiger tanks as did Patton’s Shermans, of course, because firepower alone was insufficient in itself.  But the defeat of one totalitarian threat by 1945 was not apt to make much difference in taking down another in a place where school children were being trained to fight to the death for the Empire— with sharpened sticks.  The Manhattan Project, through funding, research, experimentation, design, development and production, met the challenge and made the difference.

The atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima on August 6, 1945, Andy Warhol’s 17th birthday.

“Progressive” revisionist history would have it that the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombings were atrocities which rank with the Holocaust.  An accepted general estimate of the death toll for both cities is about two hundred thousand, as compared to projected casualties for both sides of the conflict resulting from an invasion of Japan, which number, conservatively, in the millions.  Do the math.  Then again, a prolonged invasion with Stalin’s help costing more lives and helping establish Soviet hegemony in the region might have been nice, by progressive standards, but American victory prevented that.

Victory in the cultural theater of the war of ideas is the contemporary problem, however, and what is commonly called the “elite media” is the dominant, overwhelming force.  In contrast, for example, talk radio’s audience for conservative and independent ideas forms the choir who hears the sermons and appreciates the alternative viewpoints to the left-leaning MSM.  This is not to minimize talk radio’s importance, by any means, but to point out the need for developing a potential audience throughout the media, and everywhere the purveyors of “progressive pop” have the lion’s share of cultural impact.  Nothing less than a “velvet revolution” brought about by combined intellectual and production efforts on the scale of a Manhattan Project can be expected to effectively change the situation as it now stands.

The Andy Warhol Museum

The potential audience for such change, which includes a lot of kids who have nothing better to do, trends toward merely exercising the right to yell “F***” in a burning theater, the fire having been set by the aforementioned elites.  This audience’s attitudinal aesthetic is effortlessly absorbed, so predominant is it in their everyday experience.  The thought of TARGET stores selling merchandise featuring Ernesto Guevara’s iconic mug is as cool as anything else.  Thus children at the private Black Pine Circle School may delight in their identification with the proletariat and the belief that capitalism will fail by marking the watershed event of their middle school education with the symbol of the hammer and sickle— on their publicly-displayed class mosaic.  We all may be predisposed, if appropriately educated, to enjoy the irony.  Or not.

But minds can change, particularly if there’s something better to do than passively absorb propaganda.  It can be just as much fun to oppose it, even in subtle ways.

As an artist and a capitalist, Andy Warhol had a different take on such communist icons.  One needs no highly refined eye to be struck by ways in which he presents them, for the most part, as graphically superficial or devoid of power.  Perhaps this speaks to his cultural heritage from “the old country”.  Somewhat surprisingly, Warhol, in fact, never created any version of the “Che” portrait, though he did once authenticate a forgery done by a Factory worker— not surprisingly, for all cash involved.

The general attitudinal aesthetic, or as one might have it, the interaction between culture and viewpoint, is critical in a democratic society.  It revolves to a great extent around the prevailing culture.  Right now leftist cultural hegemony holds the whip-hand over political processes and “correctness” generally.  The press, the schools, the intelligentsia, the liberal arts, and pop culture are particularly saturated with progressive, collectivist, elitist thought.  While the USSR rose and fell, and freedom was regained in the Bloc states as mentioned in the previous correspondence, such hegemony has had more than enough time to take hold in the West.

That these wretched, obsolete ideas, elsewhere cast into the trash-heap of history, are worthy of no more than mockery and condemnation is beside the point.  They’re alive, baby.  Why else would people be singing John Lennon’s “Imagine” every time the ball dropped on New Year’s in Times Square for the past four years, and likely forevermore?  Refer back to the link on “irony” above for a concise description of long-term processes, as envisioned by Antonio Gramsci, by which such outdated leftist influences survive.

Interestingly, while the process of saturating the West with Marxist ideologies took nearly a century, the Warhol Factory redefined the cultural landscape in a decade or less.  The progressive left had to surreptitiously fill academia, the press, and the entertainment industry with their supporters over time, since ingrained American values— and the Second Amendment— precluded other, quicker options.  That goal seemingly accomplished, the capitalist economic system can now be overburdened by the demands of special interests to the extent that it collapses.  The nature of the State can then be modified to control the economy and create a more ideal, pacifist, utopian system on the euro-socialist model.  Everyone can be “free” to lower their expectations and be happy with less, and the “world can live as one.”  Especially under the global caliphate likely to come next, if Western Europe is any indicator.

Warhol’s influence on culture, in contrast, might be seen as promoting freedom of expression and personal, autonomous vision in a social context.  As American history often illustrates, one person, acting with the freedoms guaranteed by the Constitution, can move mountains, especially with the support of other individuals.  Collective, progressive groupthink, however, has currently forced the issue that the idea of human freedom is a matter of dispute between those who favor individual liberty in Jeffersonian terms and those who demand collective “power to the people.”  Is there any doubt that the people in question are of the enlightened progressive left, who will be glad to dictate their demands to all?  Such thinking reduces everyone to second-class citizenship.  It replaces upward mobility with that of a lateral kind, in a totalitarian class system which might just as easily leave an Andrew Warhola few better options than sweeping factory floors in industrial Pittsburgh all his life.

Instead, he built his own Factory.

"Those who talk about individuality the most are the ones who most object to deviation, and in a few years it may be the other way around. Some day everybody will just think what they want to think, and then everybody will probably be thinking alike; that seems to be what is happening." —Andy Warhol, 1963

To recapitulate, Warhol’s was a commercial enterprise; it ignored boundaries between the fine arts and popular culture; its influence on everyday consumer culture, society, and even political resistance to totalitarian ideas was immense, shaping attitudes as well as images.  It is not Warhol’s content, but vision, methods, and means of manipulating media that provide lessons for those who would have an impact on pop culture and attendant attitudes.  Finally, and of critical importance, his was an American vision, based on that enemy of progressive thinking, that “cowboy” mentality of individualism, so despised by collectivists wherever they hold power, yet within the reach of all who are willing to think for themselves.

Collectivist, progressive conformity is the enemy of freedom everywhere.  It is the politically correct “enemy within” democratic governments, and it is exerting force throughout American culture and society.  It can ultimately gain total power— it can happen here— decades after it has been proven unequivocally rotten to the core among free peoples.  Its supporters have more money than they can spend, with billionaires on their side.  Power and money will bring it to pass if nothing is done.

Free and independent thinking is a common, potentially unifying factor among conservatives, libertarians, classical liberals, and large numbers of artists, producers, musicians and consumers of popular culture.  Many of them may not like traditional viewpoints very much, but they still cannot stand the idea of being under the collective thumb of progressives.  There are more than enough such people capable of working together as critical thinkers for the cause of personal liberty, and they have more than enough reasons to do so.  As in the case of Andy Warhol’s Factory, they can have the impact of a Manhattan Project on the culture wars, facilitating a swift and irrevocable change in fundamental ways of seeing and thinking which reflect —and re-assert— American exceptionalism as a standard of excellence the moribund predictability of collectivism will forever fail to approach.

“The surest defense against Evil is extreme individualism, originality of thinking, whimsicality, even — if you will — eccentricity. That is, something that can’t be feigned, faked, imitated; something even a seasoned imposter couldn’t be happy with.”  —Joseph Brodsky, Nobel Prize Winner and 1991-92 Poet Laureate of the United States.

The contemporary pop cultural idea of a hero is everywhere draped in progressive, underdog guise.  The contrary, rebel image will be that of a new anti-hero, one who refuses to accept the collective will and all its commandments, one who is, in fact, the real underdog of the real underground.

No other ideological self-examination necessary.  It’s a simple question: Do you want to be free, or not? Heed Andrew Breitbart’s warning about pop culture.  Learn from Warhol as well as Reagan.  Create and support what you believe in. Connect.  Let those who control the system compete with the new realities brought into being.  Work from the outside or the inside, but make it happen.  Make it accessible to the greater audience beyond the choir-loft.  Find the money, lots of it, and be smart with it.  The culture war needs a Manhattan Project, and it will not be government-funded.  The future must be redefined.  It can be done.

It has been done before.

—SG

Your correspondent, as absorbed by the Warhol Museum, 117 Sandusky Street, Pittsburgh, PA.

A dance craze— like “freaking”— it is not, but rather, a point of view.

Back in January of this year, Andrew Breitbart announced “Big Hollywood’s modest objective: to change the entertainment industry”.  The announcement is as important as it is radical, assessing the power of Pop Culture in shaping global attitudes and standing athwart contemporary assaults on Western values, yelling, as did William Buckley in 1955, Stop.

Ask yourself: Is a vision of the world that is contrary in almost every way to the prevailing cultural paradigms a difficult “sell”?  Given this is always so, how is such a challenge overcome?

“Being good in business is the most fascinating kind of art. Making money is art and working is art and good business is the best art.”  —Andy Warhol.

This from a man whose art, at a time when the prevailing artistic paradigm was the dynamic force of abstract expressionism, cut against the grain entirely with stark, cold, objective representations—with silk-screened wooden boxes virtually indistinguishable from their cardboard counterparts containing Brillo pads, and with paintings of common household items— Campbell’s soup cans, most famously. It is not impossible to shift the paradigm, to change the perspective, to assert new viewpoints in art and capture the minds of the audience for them.

The business of producing “art”— representations of reality in every possible medium— generates billions of dollars and has an enormous impact on culture. In point of fact, those representations reinforce sensibilities in their audiences and participants that not only contribute strongly to the creation of culture, but also to the attitudes that are informed by culture.

What’s the problem with so many contemporary attitudes? They are, among other things, non-judgmental, amoral, narcissistic, belligerent, pathologically emotional and unreasonable, anarchic, obsessed by a sense of entitlement, absurd, destructive, willfully ignorant, nihilistic, devoid of self-knowledge and an understanding of human nature, externally motivated, and as controlling and manipulative as an adherence to leftist ideology, whether conscious or unconscious, can produce.

These leap to mind and reveal nothing more than the tip of the iceberg, saying nothing of the attendant symptoms of such folly in over-excitement, anxiety, ennui, sexual dysfunction, chemical dependency and so forth. The litany can go on and on and on… but to go so far as to question the ‘appropriateness” of such attitudes is, as often as not, viewed as intolerable.  Such benign expressions as affectations of dress or teenage dancing simply must not be “suppressed” or linked to the entertainment industry, since kids have always done it, and they’re just having fun.

Somehow (golly gee-whiz, I wonder how?) these attitudes and viewpoints have come to define convoluted and contradictory ideas— twisted ideas— of freedom and the pursuit of happiness more in line with fear and loathing than with joi de vivre. Are these viable foundations for a life worth living? We can’t ask Lord Byron. We can’t ask Kurt Cobain. Nor can we ask Michael Jackson.

Claims that “it’s only rock and roll” or just a movie, TV program, a video game, etc., are bogus. These popular diversions can and do consume our time and attention, often demanding the total focus of consciousness it takes to be an Indy driver or a member of a Bomb Squad.  Ephemeral, disposable, they may be, but those things that produce such riveting effects cannot be dismissed as mere entertainments, i.e. of little consequence.

Ideas have consequences. Art has consequences. Both worlds create connections in the mind to abstract visions that, again, inform cultures and subcultures collectively and individually. “Everybody here is wearing a uniform, and don’t kid yourselves”, as Frank Zappa, a wise guy, put it. Black tie, rainbow bumper sticker, stacked heels, AC/DC or Che T-shirt, cowboy hat or rose tattoo—what are the connections?  They can be almost infinite in terms of thoughts, beliefs, attitudes, ideas, self-images, all broadcast by various media, and it might be reasonable to suggest that not all of them are in one’s best interests.

And if such choices regarding personal appearance reflect only the surface, what lies in the depth of the content of our character? What can be said of our thoughts and emotions? What of our words and actions? Do our deepest inner selves and our reputations among others reflect genuine integrity of character in the combinations and permutations of all these elements of personality?

But we’re smart. We’re highly intelligent. Yet we are like consumers of some exotic hallucinogen so jaded by long experience we say derisively, “That stuff has no effect on me” as we ramble somewhat aimlessly from one personal or cultural/political disaster to another.

“If conservatives don’t figure out popular culture soon, the movement will die a deserving death”, said Mr. Breitbart six months ago, and rightfully so. What, then, must conservatives, independents, libertarians, classical liberals, free-thinking artists, producers, and, yes, patrons of popular culture who are unswayed by leftist “progressive” dogma figure out?

Andy Warhol assumed a role of detached observer, a recorder, a mirror; an objective overview of Warhol’s work, one not distracted by glitter and trash, brings certain elements of popular culture into clear focus. First among equals is Economics, and it’s no more complicated than the artist’s quote above. Make the money, work hard for it, be smart with it. Good business means making the hard work pay off with financial growth and independence. Diversify. There’s no yawning abyss between art and music, film and literature, magazines and photography, sculpture and performance art, news and gossip and entertainment. They are all mediums through which an artistic vision may be realized. Media is meant to be used, to be manipulated.  Objectively, is most effectively manipulated by the controlled application of CASH.

Invest.  Invest in Ideas.  Artists, (you know who you are, if no one else does) knowing with certainty that there will be no grants from National Endowment for the Arts, get a job, be self-supporting, and invest in yourselves.  There is no such thing as “selling out”; selling out is the whole point. Tongue planted firmly in capitalist cheek, of course, with the hope that conservatives and others will get a handle on pop culture, and soon.

And Fat Cats take note: George Soros has moved so much money in the promotion of the Left in politics and media he could easy change the name of his Open Society Institute to “Global Social Engineering R Us”.  Those who wish to see their values portrayed in artistically viable ways, in a manner conducive to accessibility and commercial success, need to ratchet up their efforts to compete with this monster— or at least put up a viable Resistance.  Put your money where your mouths are, and into the hands of artists and producers who may be “under the radar” but who know (knowing hunger and even the concept of thrift) what to do with the financial resources, and will do it wisely with the intentions of realizing their creative ideas and reaping a profit, thus keeping your patronage.  You might even avoid seeing the wealth you’ve worked so hard for over the years go up the noses of your trust fund beneficiaries.  (Don’t worry about their dance floor behavior, though.  It can’t possibly be an indicator.)

Another important Warholian element for consideration is the idea that there are differences between the culture of the fine arts and the popular culture. Simply put, it does not matter. Warhol effectively erased a great many such distinctions, and if there are to be any, history will be the judge. The intellectual and moral crises challenged by those who rebel against the cultural dominance of the left today are of such existential moment it is foolish to labor over such points.

The real work of redefining the future is what is of profound importance.

NEXT: Do The Warhol— Part 2 of 4: The Cult(ure) of Personality

I focused on his creative output and what it meant to musicians and culture as best I could in our impromptu conversation.  In other words, we didn’t dwell on the fact that it SURE seemed like he was a serial molester of male children.  His music will stand alone.  HUGE talent, obsessive artist, stratospheric career from childhood into his thirties.  Iconic images and motion pictures of him, dancing and performing unforgettably at his peak, will probably always be tainted for our generation by what he became, by what many of us now know he was for a long time.  His strange celebrity outran his music, but maybe now it will stop running… all this will be said better over the next few days and probably weeks by others.

What I’m looking forward to, after whatever period is gentlemanly to wait, is our own FBI undercover superagent, Bob Hamer dropping the…well, dropping his last name plus another “m” on the kind of man who SURE seemed like he built elaborate playgrounds to lure children to himself.

People once heard, told, acted out and retold these tales, taking active roles in creating visions of life and its possibilities in imaginative ways, instead of flopping on couches with a Monster Burger in one hand and a Bucket o’ Suds in the other, passively awaiting the predetermined outcome of one steroid-based extravaganza or another. This says something disturbing about the contrast between ancient and modern civilizations and the ways the perception of reality can either be generated by humans or imprinted upon them, unless you’re the CEO of an international fast food conglomerate or a viewer engaging in a fierce wind-breaking competition during a broadcast’s inevitable male-enhancement advertisements or rain delays. 

In terms of giving one’s ears and mind something more interesting to do, then, where is the contemporary equivalent of music as interesting as “Dharma For One” by Jethro Tull or Pink Floyd’s “Money“? Heard anything as refreshing and widely accessible as a “Cars” by Gary Numan or a “Walk On The Wild Side” by Lou Reed lately?  And where are geniuses the likes of George Clinton and Prince, lavishing funk beyond measure upon the collective consciousness and contributing to a more harmonious cultural groove?  

Consider for a moment that the Captain of the P-Funk Mothership and the Artist Formerly Known As He Is Now did not have to fill James Brown’s shiny boots or restrict their expressions to genre-specific limits, but made it up themselves and let it fly.  So did the aforementioned musical luminaries, and the earth rocked on its axis between listener’s ear-holes.  Therein lies the clue to the death-rattle of rock music.  The verdict: Murder One with a bullet, even with Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr reuniting briefly for David Lynch’s Transcendental Meditation benefit. 

This has nothing to do with the good work floating around by the likes of Crystal Method, Flyleaf, or Radiohead, for instance.  Music is not dead, nor are musical ideas, popular or obscure.  It’s the culture that has been laid low, with the aid of the old scapegoat “corporate greed”, true, but more so by conformity of thought regarding the disposability of music and artists.  Creative writers and musicians, that is to say, real artists, do actually exist, as opposed to hacks motivated solely by “stardom” and its blandishments. These genuine artists, capable of growing and expanding their audiences for lifetimes, are essentially defenestrated by the media conglomerates that snatch them off the streets as soon as they either fail to turn a profit or bring in a profit that is smaller than that required of them. 

Meanwhile, absurdly, record companies will willingly hemorrhage money in the maintenance of “stars”, throwing hundreds of millions after them with the net result of bringing in a fraction of that investment as profit.  If, say, for some reason, “99 Red Balloons” had sold 27 million units of product years ago, Nena would have been packing venues for years afterward, with sales driven by high-dollar promotional hype in the expectation of the record label for lightning to strike twice. Forget Economics 101.  If that sounds like an allusion to the career of Michael Jackson, how dare anyone think such a thing of such a fabulous, larger than life superstar?  So now we’re back to myth and legend, and regard to proportionality in terms ancient and modern.  If it is impossible to wait for a hit to come into existence, it becomes necessary to create one, regardless of the cost.  That cost comes in the loss of what someone like Nena might well create with a modicum of long-term vision on the record label’s part.  This implies, however, the somewhat metaphysical notion that, in art, as opposed to mere product, anything is possible, particularly with conditions conducive to creativity. Such conditions are sorely lacking in the outlined scenarios, which have deteriorated for decades now.

Such narrow thinking applies not only to struggling artists, but to established ones as well. John Kay of Steppenwolf and Boz Scaggs spring to mind as musicians having earned previous acclaim who could even now produce fine works, and likely hits, if the machinery in place made more room for respect for artists, as the American Recordings label did with the late Johnny Cash. This would mean wasting fewer resources throwing whatever a company thinks some mindless demographic will buy at the wall and hoping it will stick rather than stink, as it usually does, so that’s probably out.  That does not change the fact that Cash took Grammy Awards for those recordings in the last decade of his life. 

When legend and myth reflect reality, they evolve over time.  When they are created in fifteen minutes and tossed aside fifteen minutes later, with that method of production being a paradigm and a fixed idea leading to permanent stagnation and atrophy, what happens is what is happening now.  A music culture built on originality, defined by unpredictability and dependent on freedom, dies.  Something new, something unknown, or different in that it comes from outside the understanding and control of the failed system, gradually appears to replace it. 

Presently, the funeral wake is ongoing, prior to Rock’s interment, for which no plans have been made.  Rock Music is survived by its stepchildren, Bombastic and Melodramatic Pop (no relation to Iggy), Max Volume of Interminable Adolescence, and Dim Nostalgia of One Hand Clapping.  

Pass me that Beatle and I’ll sing you a bottle song.

“Beyond Here Lies Nothing” shambles to life like a dusty corpse shuffling to a slow and sloppy rumba.  Dylan oversees the proceedings: part funeral director, part carnival barker, commanding ancient instruments and sentiments with a wink and a throaty growl.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, tonally, musically, lyrically, is “I Feel A Change Comin’ On”- imagine a sunny spring stroll down a country lane with your heart subsumed with thoughts of a new and tender love, and you have an idea of what this tune will do to you.

That Dylan can command these two diametrically opposite songs (on the same album, no less) is testimony to his expansive talent – he is large, he contains multitudes, and is frighteningly comfortable with all the sides of his protean and encompassing nature.

It is sad to have to report, then, that “Together Through Life” as a collection is merely excellent and nowhere near the high standard set by his recent late career renaissance.  It is a must have for Dylan purists only – for everyone else, the two aforementioned tracks are all that are needed.

Far superior is last autumn’s horrifically overlooked Tell Tale Signs, a collection of outtakes, alternate versions, and live performances taken from the last twenty years, from 1989’s Oh Mercy to 2006’s Modern Times.  It is a revelation, easily placed alongside Blood on the Tracks and Blonde on Blonde as among his very best.  It is a collection full of glorious gems inconceivably left off of the albums for which they were originally recorded.

“Most of the Time,” for example, from the Daniel Lanois produced Oh Mercy, is a slow burn, electric and moody with murky production and instrumentation.  The version which appears on Tell Tale Signs, however, features just Dylan and his acoustic guitar, a sped-up take which showcases his sinewy and preternatural phrasing as he slips the complex verses in between invisible spaces in the rhythm.

Then there are the new tunes (new to our ears, at least) – “Someday Baby” is a heart wrenching chronicle of a one-sided relationship; the narrator gives and gives but receives nothing but abuse and neglect in return.  He wearily accepts this fate, however, as the only way he can be close to his beloved.

“Born in Time” and “Huck’s Tune” are subtle demons – at first they leave little impression.  Successive listens, however, peel back layers and layers of depth and ambiguity. The live versions of “Ring Them Bells” and “Lonesome Day Blues” are blistering reminders of how hard Dylan can rock when he wants to (and, I might add, what an underrated guitar player he is).

And then there’s “Can’t Escape From You,” as Goth as hell and not going to take it anymore.  A more funeral dirge cannot be found this side of Joy Division, and indeed here Dylan shows bands like The Sisters of Mercy to be the effete pretenders we always knew they were.

The fact that “Cant Escape From You” was hidden until now will confound musicologists for decades: What for any other artist would be a career peak was for Dylan, it seems, an afterthought.  There is something heartbreaking about this song, but also something vaguely sinister – Dylan’s voice, pushed now to near its seventh decade, drips with more than a little knowing of the grave, like Odin swinging from the Tree of Life, the wisdom of the dead upon his lips.

So my advice: Skip the new record and get Tell Tale Signs. Both albums, however, have something in common – they occupy a musical space that doesn’t really exist anymore.  Dylan synthesizes everything from Hillbilly Appalachian to Harlem jazz to Nashville Western to Scotty Moore rockabilly.  All of these uniquely American sounds seep from his pores – he knows this music, loves it, and lives it.  He is both its last and greatest practitioner.

Dylan lives, but he is already a ghost, haunting us with the harmonies of a long dead Republic.

Matt Patterson is a columnist and commentator whose work has appeared in The Washington Examiner, The Baltimore Sun, and Townhall.  His email is mpatterson.column@gmail.com.

NOVA’s “Big Energy Gamble” aired January 20th to rave initial reviews in the DeVore household. The show detailed California’s effort under Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger to cut greenhouse gas emissions by 30 percent in 11 years while the state is expected to grow by 20 percent.

I was the show’s skeptic. I maintained that it is physically impossible to reach the governor’s lofty goals without first lifting the state’s obsolete ban on the construction of modern, safe, and reliable nuclear power plants.

The NOVA producer, Cass Sapir, was a delight to work with. He seemed genuinely interested in his topic. Producing a top-quality show was important to him. The film crew was wonderful, and the lighting, angles, and sound quality were excellent. I enjoyed the 90 minutes of interview and B-roll they filmed in my Irvine office, but was worried that, with all that material, I could easily be made to look awkward or foolish given that I was likely to be onscreen for three minutes at the most.

After the show aired last week, I exhaled in relief and exalted to Diane, my wife, at the quality of the episode. Not so fast, she said. Did you notice the music? Diane is a music teacher with a degree in music composition. She and a couple of musician friends of hers who compose for the online gaming industry noted that, when mention was made of nuclear power, the music turned pensive and ominous. When solar or wind were being discussed, the music was light, hopeful, and evocative of technology.

I reviewed the show online and, of course, they were right. The music was a tad unsettling around the first two portions I spoke. Check out this YouTube we made of my three segments on the show. At 0:40 into the segment, they discuss California’s economic distress and the music is somber then at 1:12, they cut to nuclear power and the scary music starts. At 1:33, they begin interviewing new Energy Secretary Steven Chu who gets his own hopeful motif – Dr. Chu says we need nuclear power as a bridge before effective large scale renewable energy comes online. The same motif is carried over for my last segment at 1:53.

I should be thankful that it was only the music. A review of the political donations from the staff at WGBH, the PBS affiliate that produces NOVA, shows that for the past 18 years, not a single donation was made to a Republican or conservative cause by any employee there – and liberals wonder why conservatives are often hostile to government-funded broadcasting.

To see my NOVA debut on YouTube, click here.