Skip navigation.

Directory of Lost Causes

Posts tagged with "Leonard Cohen"

James and Michael

,

Back to the War

, , , ...

Is war inevitable?

I can't find the quote online, but if I can trust my memory, it was from a V.S. Naipaul interview. The author was asked how he thought the situation in the Middle East would end, and he said that it would end with "victory for one side and defeat for the other". The interviewer thought this sounded a bit harsh, to which Naipaul replied that he was not condoning the situation, that was simply what he saw.



With the ascent of Obama to office, perhaps the world begins to look different. After all, the closure of the detention facilities at Guantanamo seems a symbolic and practical step towards dismantling entrenched mechanisms of war. However, it is probably still too early to become complacent in one's hope. In London Review of Books, David Bromwich has the following to say:

To judge by the nomination of Hilary Clinton as secretary of state and the likely nomination of Dennis Ross as Middle East envoy, Obama wants to be seen as someone who intends no major change of course. In a televised interview on 11 January, he said he would deal with Israel and Palestine in the manner of the Clinton and Bush administrations. The unhappy message of his recent utterances has been reconciliation without truth; and reconciliation, above all, for Americans. This preference for bringing-together over bringing-to-light is a trait of Obama's political character we are only now coming to see the extent of. It is an element - until lately an unperceived element - of a certain native moderation of temper that is likely to mark his presidency. Yet his silence on Gaza has been startling, even immoderate.



The implication of this passage is that Obama might believe peace possible only through chloroforming the truth. When both or all sides are allowed a voice, according to such a belief, conflict is inevitable. If Obama does, in fact, believe such a thing, then it might be hard to blame him. Historically, almost any kind of difference has been enough to inflame human insecurity to a murderous degree. To pluck one random example from history, Galileo expressed an opinion (now generally accepted as fact) that differed from many of those around him, and was put on trial and forced to recant - in this case the peace being enforced by chloroform.



Such controversies continue. For instance, not long ago. Michel Houellebecq was put on trial for calling Islam "the dumbest religion".

From the article linked to:

The controversial writer is being sued by four Islamic organisations over his comments about his book, Platform, in an interview last year with the literary magazine Lire.

The novel is also cited in the case being brought by the largest mosques in Paris and Lyon, the National Federation of French Muslims (FNMN) and the World Islamic League.

France's Human Rights League has also joined them, saying that Mr Houellebecq's comments amount to "Islamophobia".

The case has become a cause celebre, which, like the Salman Rushdie affair in the UK, raises questions about the appropriate limits, if any, to be placed on freedom of expression.



Houellebecq's position?

"I have never displayed the least contempt for Muslims," he said, but added, "I have as much contempt as ever for Islam".



This seems to be a retort of admirable clarity. There are, of course, differences between Galileo's trial and that of Houellebecq, but there is at least one very worrying similarity.

Mr Houellebecq's lawyer, Emmanuel Pierrat, argues that the case effectively re-establishes the notion of blasphemy, despite the fact that France is a secular state and has no such law.



Had he been found guilty, Houellebecq would have faced "up to a year in prison and a 52,000 euro fine".

Fortunately - I have no qualms in saying that - the suit was eventually dismissed.

Is war inevitable? Is the only way to peace to choloroform into silence the voices on one side?



I've been thinking about this a great deal recently. In Justin Isis's short story, Abandoned by God, Unable to Pay Gas, Water and Electric Bills, Unsuccessful for Trying Out at JV Football, Unable to Touch a Ganguro Gyaru's Face for Fifteen Seconds, Incapable of Remembering the Lyrics to Cocteau Twins, Unable to Successfully Learn Para Para Dance Steps, Rejected by Creditors, Incapable of Attaining Enlightenment, Defeated Routinely at Marvel vs Capcom 3, Declared Ritually Unclean by Shinto Priests, Downgraded from 'Boyfriend' to 'Sex Friend', Refused Service at Local Donut Shop, Unable to Touch a Ganjiro Gyaru's Face for Thirteen Seconds, there is the following passage:

The monk led him back through the forest of silver towers, to a clearing where he found the little man standing. He was looking at a sculpture resting on a pedestal. It was fashioned in the shape of a young woman, and at its base was a tiny slot with two metal switches. The little man depressed one switch, then the other, then flipped both.

"Well, what does it do?" Richard Dawkins said.

The little man closed his palm and brought it away from the sculpture, then offered it to Richard Dawkins, who held out his own hand. After a moment he felt something slippery and cold. He looked down. A little golden cube sparkled in the reflected light of the towers. As he watched, it melted in the palm of his hand. He held it to his lips and received a faint taste of cinnamon.

"It provides ice cubes," the little man said. "Some of the ice cubes are gold and others are silver, and others are gold and silver at the same time."

"You mean they're mixed. Their colors are mixed."

"No, that would be absurd. The combined cubes are both gold and silver at the same time."

"But the properties," Richard Dawkins said, "The properties are complementary. The gold and silver mix together."

The little man took another cube from the sculpture and popped it into his mouth.

"Ridiculous! Nothing in the world can be complementary. The gold and silver cubes are both exclusively gold and exclusively silver at the same time. Everything is exactly itself and nothing else. The quality of qualities is that they do not merge!"

"But that's impossible," Richard Dawkins said. "Black can't very well be white now, can it?"

"Can't it? Can't it?" the little man was fairly screaming now. "You might just as soon deny that anything exists at all!"

Then, composing himself, he walked away from the sculpture and stood very straight, facing Richard Dawkins.

"Look here Dawkins, you think I am mistaken, and I think you are mistaken. There's nothing left for us to do except fight to the death."

"I think that's overstating the case somewhat," Richard Dawkins said. "Surely we could agree to disagree?"

"Impossible," said the little man. He signalled, and one of the monks walked over, carrying a tray. On it were a number of rubber bands.

"Choose your weapon, Dawkins," said the little man, taking a thin old band of red elastic. He drew it back and aimed it at Richard Dawkins, who had chosen a thicker green band. The two of them moved several feet apart.

"On your mark," intoned the monk. "Get set...go."

The red elastic band zipped past Richard Dawkins' head. Richard Dawkins feinted to the side, then fired the green band at the little man, striking him in the chest. The little man collapsed to the sand.

"You've killed him," the monk said. "You've won."

Several of the other monks descended on the little man and helped him to his feet. He walked to the other side of Richard Dawkins. Then, without a word he took off his shoes. The monks handed him a box tied with a red lace thread.

"Now you must wear the shoes that can never be removed." one of them said.

The little man accepted the box, glared at Richard Dawkins with a look of immortal hatred, and set off back through the desert.



It struck me as very 'true' metaphysically, that as far as pure ideas are concerned, there is nothing to do but fight to the death. It is also interesting that, in this story, the death incurred is not necessarily literal, fatal death, or meaningful at all, but still results in "immortal hatred".



In her review of The God Delusion, Marilynne Robinson summarises as follows:

Indeed, Dawkins makes a bold attack on tolerance as it is manifested in society’s permitting people to rear their children in their own religious traditions. He turns an especially cold eye on the Amish:

“There is something breathtakingly condescending, as well as inhumane, about the sacrificing of anyone, especially children, on the altar of ‘diversity’ and the virtue of preserving a variety of religious traditions. The rest of us are happy with our cars and computers, our vaccines and antibiotics. But you quaint little people with your bonnets and breeches, your horse buggies, your archaic dialect and your earth-closet privies, you enrich our lives. Of course you must be allowed to trap your children with you in your seventeenth-century time warp, otherwise something irretrievable would be lost to us: a part of the wonderful diversity of human culture.”

The fact that the Amish are pacifists whose way of life burdens this beleaguered planet as little as any to be found in the Western world merits not even a mention.

Yet Dawkins himself has posited not only memes but, since these mind viruses are highly analogous to genes, a meme pool as well. This would imply that there are more than sentimental reasons for valuing the diversity that he derides. Would not the attempt to narrow it only repeat the worst errors of eugenics at the cultural and intellectual level? When the Zeitgeist turns Gorgon, the impulses toward cultural and biological eugenics have proved to be one and the same. It is diversity that makes any natural system robust, and diversity that stabilizes culture against the eccentricity and arrogance that have so often called themselves reason and science.



Memes, like genes, fight for evolutionary dominance. We know that biologcial diversity is valuable, and that dominance of the human race is undoing that diversity and threatening to tip us into catastrophe. But what about meme diversity. Theoretically, this is also favoured, by some, in what we call 'multi-culturalism'. And yet, in a way, meme diversity is even harder to keep in healthy balance than biological diversity, because, as portrayed in the Justin Isis tale, all memes are programmed to fight all other memes to the very death - victory for one side and defeat for the other. The only memes that make some - problematical - attempt to do otherwise are such pluralist memes as Daoism, Buddhism and so on, and even these are not yet entirely free from the 'defeat or victory', 'with us or against us' programming of other memes.

Recently, Momus wrote a blog post about this dilemma - how do the pluralist memes embrace the anti-pluralist memes as part of their pluralism? Or, as he put it, "whether, if we support openness, we must remain closed to the things we find closed, thereby contradicting ourselves."

I left some comments under the entry. I quote from one of them:

The essential issue you've written about (how to be open to what is closed, or whether you should be open to it), really is something that occupies a lot of mental space for me. I do find myself taking sides, but this frustrates me. It doesn't seem to get anywhere. It seems like conflict almost for the sake of it in the end, not in order to arrive at a resolution.

I suppose eternal war of this sort is tolerable if no one is playing to win, but only playing to play. But really to wish to vanquish the enemy, to have no more bambastic [sic], climactic art, for instance... Well, in this particular case, such a victory doesn't really appeal to me. I suppose there might be some areas in which I'd like to see such a victory.



Momus's reply was as follows:

Oh, you can take sides without banishing or vanquishing, Quentin! As Cage says, "We can both live".



We can both live. It seems so obvious. And yet, to many, it is not. To whoever killed Theo Van Gogh, for instance, it was not. Religion is a meme, and memes, as much as genes, seem to be about ensuring the immortality of a particular identity. To attack a meme - merely by disagreeing with it, by having a different meme - is to attack the very source of a person's proposed immortality, or so it must appear to them, depending on the meme.

If it's a case of victory and defeat with all memes, then it is war to the last standing, since all memes must vary slightly. Is that the logical conclusion of all this? One meme, just as genetic engineering and other factors would seem to promise that we are on the road to the dominance of one genetic pattern? Can a world even exist with such lack of diversity, or will it inevitably collapse on itself at that point?

Certainly, I don't know. All this is still a dilemma for me, and a serious question that requires the most serious consideration. One thing that seems sure is this, Sharia Law is not multi-culturalism.

We can both live. We can both live, as long as we are happy to see that even when our memes attempt to fight each other to death, our genes, our bodies, still live, and that, perhaps even in the case of meme-death, the death is not fatal, and immortality is ensured through "immortal hatred".



In The Possibility of an Island, Houellebecq wrote that language seems almost designed for conflict (the battle of meme vs meme), but that in physical closeness (he was talking about sex, mainly) harmony can be achieved. Make love, not war? As Leonard Cohen might say, "You can still get married"? It's easy to hate someone you've never met, because you've only seen their ideas - their memes. It's usually harder to hate someone in their presence, and the presence of their body (I realise there are exceptions here). Perhaps if I have any hope that the war might ever end, or that it might become a war whose only casualities are the 'playing-to-play-not-to-win' casualties of memes, who pretend to die for a while for the sake of the game, it is in the curious idea that people might begin to listen to their bodies more - bodies that can live and let live, so that we can both live, and bodies that know the harmony that is not in language.

I ache in the places where I used to play

,

For one reason or another, I had occasion to look up this recently. It's quite possibly the best title sequence for any television series ever. I can remember the whole room being charged when this sequence came on the television. I wonder if it is possible to find any title sequence made in the last twenty years to equal it for drama. But back in the seventies and even the eighties, there were, indeed, title sequences to rival this, as shown by this, this and this. Somewhere something has gone very wrong with people's taste. There seems to be no discernment any more. Not only that, there's no imagination. No sense of adventure. The adventure that should be in the blood of youth seems trammelled entirely by neurotic desires to be slick - something like a premature middle-age, with each person now carrying a committee of accountants and executives in their own head.



I mean, compare the old and new Doctor Who opening sequences. How could anyone honestly prefer the newer one? Surely such a preference can only be dictated by a sort of insecurity, a lack of self-esteem surrounding money and peer-approval. The second sequence probably had more money spent on it, so it's a safer bet that if you pretend to prefer it you won't look like a skanky loser - an attitude that is the perfect fusion of all that is worst in adolescence and middle-age.



Anyway, I've just been - purely in order to ease my general tension a little before getting back to duties - looking through some pop music videos, and I was so thrilled whilst watching this one, from Lene Lovich (and this can't be pure nostalgia, because I'm not even sure I knew the song at the time), that I came to a sudden melancholy conviction that pop music really is dead; it is finally and irrevocably something that is in the hands of the accountants, and all the silly, daring playfulness has fled from it.



Ah well, I don't intend to pontificate much over this matter. You may disagree with me, and it's not really a matter that can be decided rationally. The heart of the individual must judge here.

What I will do is attempt what I should have done some time ago - to revive my memories of the Leonard Cohen show that I attended last month. Now, there are a number of people in the world of music about whom I have come to feel regret that I have never seen them perform live, and probably never will. These include the abovementioned Lene Lovich, Tama, Kate Bush, Thomas Dolby and The Smiths. One person whom I never expected to be able to see live, but whom I can now say that I have, is Leonard Cohen, and all thanks to the fact that his accountant apparently stole all his money while he was meditating in some monastery somewhere, so that he was forced, in his early-mid-seventies, to go out into the world once more and be troubadour. So, accountants are good for something, after all.

I'm too tired and too harassed to wax eloquent over the occasion of the Cardiff Cohen gig, which I think I attended on the 8th of November, though I may be wrong. (Or was it the 18th?) Anyway, whenever he was in Cardiff. Look it up, if you like. (The 8th - I was right.) I'll just try and give you some idea of how it was for me. Also, I took a few fugitive photographs, which are not very good, but which I might post later, anyway.



I can't actually remember the opening song, would you believe? I'll have to see later if anyone's put a setlist online. If this were Morrissey, someone would definitely have put the setlist online by now, but perhaps Cohen fans are more sedate. I thought that I knew Cohen's back catalogue quite well, but this gig proved that the gaps in my knowledge are extensive. At least half of the material was either new to me, or only very vaguely known. The reason for this was, quite simply, that most of the songs played were drawn from the latter half of Cohen's career. You might think that this would put a dampener on the evening for me, and I would have preferred a few more of my favourites, I suppose, but I was also interested to discover new material in this way.

The overall mood of this gig was quite different to anything I've been to before. Perhaps this can be most clearly described in terms of Cohen's band. He actually had a small chorus of female backing singers (three in all). Now, I quite expected something like this, but I think this might be a first as a gig experience for me. Altogether he was backed by something like a nine or ten-piece band. As far as gigs are concerned, I am more used to a band consisting of lead guitar, bass guitar, possibly rhythm guitar, drums, possibly synthesisers, and vocals. This is, I suppose, the rock'n'roll and indie pop formula, and it is one that largely relies on volume, physicality and adrenalin. The Cohen formula seemed quite different to me. Thinking about it now, there was absolutely no ringing of my ears when me and my friend left the gig. My ears had not been placed in danger at all. The music was not to be appreciated through its bass vibrations, but simply through the musicianship. That musicianship was clearly quite considerable, but never seemed, to me, to assume much of a foreground shape. It was very much a backdrop to the man with the smoky voice.

The man himself appeared much shorter than I had expected. And he seemed likeable in a Japanese, your-humble-servant sort of way, his bowing seeming somehow quite sincere (I don't know how this works, but it's true). Someone asked me a while back if he tipped his hat after each song. I don't know if he did it every single time, but he did do it several times. Of the songs unfamiliar to me that particularly caught me interest, were The Future and In My Secret Life. This, a little like a Morrissey gig, was one in which the lyrics mattered. I remember particularly, for instance, Cohen singing, "Destroy another foetus now/You don't like children anyhow", and, "The dealer wants you thinking/That it's either black or white/Thank God it's not that simple/In my secret life." The words seemed to take on new resonance as they were sung live, as if they were comments on very recent developments in the world, and in me, too.

Incidentally, for most of the gig, Cohen kept to his smoky, croaky older voice. My friend had speculated on whether he would actually try and sing, as he once did on his earlier recorded material. He did actually approach that younger, almost-singing voice with some of the songs towards the end of the gig.

The gig lasted two hours or so, with an interval in which my friend and I got some rum from the bar. I'll see what songs I can remember being sung. If I don't know the titles, I'll have to just give it a miss. I'm Your Man, Take This Waltz, Hey That's No Way to Say Goodbye, Who By Fire, First We Take Manhattan, In My Secret Life, The Future, Famous Blue Raincoat, The Partisan, Bird on a Wire, Democracy, I Tried to Leave You, That Don't Make It Junk, If It Be Your Will, Suzanne, Dance Me to The End of Love, Ain't No Cure For Love, Tower of Song and Jazz Police. I might have missed out one or two. It's even possible I've added a couple.

Songs that stood out for me were The Partisan, Democracy, Famous Blue Raincoat and the others mentioned above, although I generally had the feeling that the gig was getting better as it went along.



Cohen spoke to the audience a little. I don't remember that much of it. I remember he said something to the effect that he'd heard Cardiff was a hard-drinking town, and that he'd had his own troubles there, and this was a song about how he'd dealt with them, before going into That Don't Make It Junk with the opening lines, "I fought against the bottle/But I had to do it drunk". I also remember a remark that made me laugh about how he had spent long periods taking medication or trying out spiritual practices, but had to give up both because, "cheerfulness kept breaking through".

The song that received perhaps the greatest response (which might be surprising to citizens of the USA) was the song Democracy, now most definitely given a new context by recent events:

It's coming through a hole in the air,
from those nights in Tiananmen Square.
It's coming from the feel
that this ain't exactly real,
or it's real, but it ain't exactly there.
From the war against disorder,
from the sirens night and day,
from the fires of the homeless,
from the ashes of the gay:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.



Footage from the actual gig below:



Though I feel cautious in my hopes about real change here, I think the world has really had enough of the kind of international behaviour that has been so disastrously destructive of hope for so long. It was clear that everyone in the venue wanted to hope, myself included. There was a real feeling of uplift here that lasted for the rest of the gig.

Cohen did, if I remember correctly, three encores (not three songs, since each encore was two or more songs long). Before each of the encores he skipped off and on stage like a gambolling lamb, in a way quite surprising and endearing for one his age. The last of the encores began with the song, I Tried to Leave You: "I tried to leave you/I can't deny it/I closed the book on you/At least a hundred times". It was a very charming moment of rapport with the audience, acknowledged with applause. Of course, the reference was not merely to the fact this was an encore, but the fact that this entire tour was a kind of encore forced on Cohen after he had expected to retire from such things. This rapport and applause was reprised at the very end of the song with the final line: "And here's a man still working for your smile."

This was not quite the last song. Cohen reminded us before we left how lucky we were not to be involved in some of the terrible things happening now in the world, and ended in a brief, prayer-like song, the title of which I don't recall. To be honest, I felt quite choked up.

It was a good night.

I was going to pontificate, actually, about how Cohen has managed to age so well in the music business because he is first and foremost a writer, but I don't really feel the need to do so now.

Watch this space

But there were so many people you just had to meet... without your clothes

Well, I'm setting out to stay with a friend, and tomorrow we shall spend the evening with Leonard Cohen:

Various things

, , ,

I'm actually pretty busy at the moment. I'm sure people won't believe me when I say that, if for no other reasons than 1) I still post entries here and 2) I don't mention in those entries much of what is happening in my actual life, so that people may form the impression that nothing is happening at all.



Well, things are happening. Or, at least, things are keeping me busy. Some people see that as a good thing. "Keeping busy? Good. Good." And so, often, misunderstandings occur if people ask how I've been, and I say, "Busy." I seem to be someone who, perhaps for physiological reasons, needs an extraordinary amount of time for private reflection, and what some might call 'wool-gathering'. I am a kind of cetaceous marine mammal to whom such reflection is air.



I'm getting off the track a bit. This post is meant as another kind of 'busy-back-soon' note on the door. Which is not to say I won't be in here from time to time, just that, well, I might not respond as soon or as expansively as I would like to communications and comments. I mean, you take all this for granted, anyway, don't you? I'm the only one who actually thinks I have to tell you this, aren't I?

Anyway, although I'm quite far from being a workaholic, I think my being busy at the current time is symptomatic of good things rather than soul-crushing things. I shall not say what those things are now. If, by any remote chance, anyone should be curious, then I'm sure those things will come out in the course of time, barring disasters, such as a sudden and unexpected attack of death, or something.

But to get down to business, as the title of this blog entry suggests, there are various things I wanted to post here by way of news and diversion and general bloggishness to give readers a reasonably pleasant 'watch this space' kind of feeling.



First of all, news, or should I say, vague rumour: All indications are that Shrike is progressing towards its release. I do not know the exact release date, but will let the details be known when I can.

Secondly, Mr Wu kindly made me aware that Mishima Yukio's short film, Yuukoku, or, Rite of Love and Death, has now been released on DVD, and may even be viewed online. I have taken the latter option, and it is, indeed, a jean-creaming piece of heavy, full-on art. Bowie tried doing the whole Renaissance man bit, but has mainly failed to convince outside the arena of music (though I'm very fond of The Man Who Fell to Earth), and I can't think of many other modern artists (popular or otherwise) who have even made much of an attempt, let alone succeeded. Mishima was bona fide.

Thirdly, oh, I seem to have forgotten. I felt sure there was something else. Oh yeah, I'm going to see Leonard Cohen on Saturday. That's at least one more thing I wanted to say, and if my busyness will at all permit it, I might report back here.



There might have been something else, too, but I've forgotten.

The Next Day...

I knew I'd forgotten something. I posted a link to it before in the comments section, but thought I should post a 'main page' link, too. A while back on Chomu I put up an essay I wrote called 'Useful Parasites'. I wrote it with a particular magazine in mind, but, perhaps appropriately, it was rejected. I'm really very (figuratively) footsore from peddling my wares to publishers who keep one waiting - sometimes for years - only to say 'no', so I put it up on Chomu immediately it was rejected. Since then, on Chomu, there has also been a piece by Brent Peterson, and it's good to see our little stable of writers gradually widening, though it's a shame that so far it is full of stallions, with no mares, except nightmares.

I realise Chomu is a bit irregular, in more ways than one, but would like to encourage people to keep checking back, as we are putting up new things in fits and starts, and don't always makes announcements. There are at least four 'serial' pieces that will be continued (I sincerely hope) at some point, too, namely, 33 Ways of Winning at Life, Who Would Have Thought that a Girl Like Me Would Double as a Superstar?, Scramble City and The Dream Cycle, and if that doesn't keep you occupied until I can fully retutn my attention to this blog, I don't know what will. Incidentally, I am also hoping to serialise my temporarily shelved novel of invertebrate ambition and excess, The Sex Life of Worms, on Chomu at some point. I've honestly got quite a lot on.