Campfire songs

I've always been a sucker for what you might call "alternative voices". New Order were (and still are) my favourite band largely because Barney's voice is so distinctive. Of course, when you put a little more thought into it, you realise that all voices are somewhat distinct; it's just a matter of degree. But in music, as in all art, degree matters. (Well, it used to. These days, it seems that stating that you are an artist is enough: you do not actually have to have any content. The other day, I had cause to read the blog of a woman who thinks she is a poet. She puts words in stanzas and they say things about her life. That is all. Insight none, adroitness with words, none, depth, none. Nothing. Yet people say she is a poet and she's part of a scene. Maybe I'm envious. Not of her talent--she has none--but of her brass. I would never claim to be a poet, even though I am much more talented than she is, so much so that it's not even a contest. And I think there is some relevance to my subject here, because what makes her writing so grey and uninspiring is that anyone could write it. That's the problem with art in this age. Postmodernism has taught us to value everything by its own standards, so that it is hard to criticise work on merits that do not apply, or it doesn't claim, but it has opened the door to the utterly mundane. For me, art is something elevated. I don't mean "refined". I mean "above life". I mean that when I see art, I understand something that I didn't understand before seeing it. I don't think I am experiencing art if I think that any schoolgirl could write it, paint it or sing it.)

Sometimes you find yourself respecting an artist without much liking their work. I think that that is only possible if you clearly distinguish your sense of aesthetics from your taste, and few of us can truly do that. Most things I like, I like because they appeal to me in some way. I mean, I might admire Stendhal in some ways but I'll leave reading him to you. I mostly feel that way about the career of Natalie Merchant. I love what she is about but god, do I have to sit through it?

Mostly no. That's the beauty of the CD, I suppose. When we listened to music on vinyl, it was just too much bother to get up and pick up the stylus to skip over the duff tracks. But with CDs, and particularly with iTunes, you don't need even to bother with the stuff you don't like. So I ripped only a few of the tracks from Campfire songs (and I have nothing else by Ms Merchant, although truly, I do admire her: I think that I would have liked her music more had she taken a path into alt.rock and not so much into alt.folk, because I hate to say it, folk is so fucking dull most of the time that it's unbearable to listen to--but maybe it's simply her eschewing of tunes you can hum, or inability to write them, that turns me off).

Anyway, she has a beautiful, intriguing voice, and she's fey and interesting as a person, but I never fell in love with her or her music. There is a limit too on how often you can enjoy a song about wifebeating (What's the matter here).

On a side note, curiously, when I watched Carnivale, I was struck by how much Clea DuVall resembled her. I don't suppose she actually does, but she seemed to have the same vibe. Both seem to be a bit not of this world. I quite like that, although I suppose it's true that I'm just flattering myself to think that I'm not of this world either: I think it's a lie sensitive but mundane men tell themselves because they find it hard to fit.

posted by Dr Zen @ 11:12 am