electroclash aint dead

legendary mother Leiomy Mizrahi proves that voguers should be kung fu fight choreographers.

see: matrix back-bend into a death drop, handspring wake-up into a dip, backflip into a 720 death drop

vogue down bitch, vogue down.

Muffinhead, my new favorite NYC party thrower / artist

(check his stuff out at muffinheadland.com)

-eric

hmm…

Well, first of all, thanks for reading and following!  I really appreciate the response. I’m sort of mulling over what you said in my head and I’m trying to come up with a response to your response.

Secondly, I guess, in the essay, I should have made a few of my assumptions clearer.  1) I am assuming the sort of semiotic position of Alison Lurie when talking about fashion.  That is to say: clothing/fashion is a grammar and each piece of clothing is a sort of word, punctuation, or article in the language of an outfit or style.  That is also to say: clothing has meaning and we use clothing like we use words, to make some kind of statement (even if those statements are a-thetic or unintentional).  2) I am also assuming a sort of post-modern / post-structuralist Derridian (maybe Nietzschean) attitude towards cultural events, sights, and happenings: everything (and I mean EVERYTHNG) can be read as text.

With these assumptions in mind: my operational definition of irony is “doing/saying one thing, but meaning the opposite.” Notice how (conscious) intention plays no role in this definition: a person can do/say something and mean the opposite entirely without knowing it. “Using” irony, then, can be unconscious. Irony can be “used” or “utilized” in everyday activities or sartorial choices, if we expand these things to be understood as a (kind of) text.

The question of “using” or “being” ironic is a really tough one which would probably need to be related to Heidegger and Nietzsche in one way or another: can anyone be anything? Or are they always becoming something? Is using a mechanism of becoming? Blah Blah blah, I feel like this strays from the point you are trying to make.

Now, the kind of irony you are trying to praise is a mode of being (not using) and is often NOT carefully edited (the ironic mustache might be the example of conscious, carefully edited, pernicious irony in your framework). The issue, for me, is that unintentional, yet sincere irony can still be harmful if it reinforces the dominant power structure. So, your example of the rich kid wearing plaid because his idols do (even if he has no intention of making an ironic statement) still reinforces the dominant power structure by taking something from the poor (even if it was a sincere gesture or homage) for himself. Do you see what I mean?

The intentional “wearing irony” is, in a certain context, tired. 1990’s tshirts, an obnoxiously loud christmas sweater, etc… Boring, annoying. But irony needs to be worn, often, in order to dissemble or criticize dominant structures and images of power (think: dressing in drag).

Maybe the core issue at play is that I, personally, don’t see a difference between wearing or using or being irony/ironic. Life is performative: whether on stage or on the street, wearing and using, to me, are one in the same.

(sorry, this response has been meandering and rambling.  I wanted to get back to you as soon as possible so I didn’t have time to edit or fine-tune the argument.)

-eric

You’ve got to hold on!  Tomorrow will be there!

(Joey Arias and Klaus Nomi)

A short essay on cultural appropriation and queer politics written by someone who just read Nietzsche for three hours straight:

First of all, I totally realize that as a white upper class Jewish self-identifying male I probably have absolutely no right to comment upon the validity of cultural appropriation in relation to the Vogue and Ball scene, but perhaps by realizing how little right to comment upon it I have I afford myself the ability to make some passing judgement on the phenomenon.

As someone who is an advocate of subversive and/or transgressive art form, however, I do find it troubling when I see an intentionally underground mode of expression becoming mainstreamed. There is absolutely nothing inherently wrong with an art form becoming mainstream, and I refuse to buy into the politics and semantics associated with “selling out”: an obliquely obsolete way of understanding the functioning of art in a post-Warhol aesthetic discussion. I am almost universally in favor of the Chicks on Speed motto: “Sell out before they do it to you.” What is troubling is when the art form loses the quality which made it impressive or subversive in the first place. Is this always the case when an underground art form becomes mainstream? That is probably a discussion for another time.

So, while scanning the internet today (as I have been doing a lot lately to avoid reading the copious amounts of Nietzsche and Freud that grad school requires me to read) I found a particularly catchy song by Willow Smith called “I Whip My Hair” which can be watched over here: http://videogum.com/236442/teen-korner-willow-smith-whip-my-hair/franchises/teen-korner/.

Now, I don’t want to get into the game of whether or not Will Smith should be steering both of his children into the entertainment industry, or whether it is OK for a 9 year old girl to be dancing in that manner. Those are only tangents to the issue at hand.

What troubled me (other than how FUCKING catchy this song is, God it is so good, and I am going to remix it soon) is the use of the Vogue dance style towards the end of the video. The Vogue hair whip is the main gesture of the whole video and song, but the use of New Way Vogue hands (hawnds) dips and drops, particularly by the adult characters of the video, seems to me a little discordant with the childhood jubilee of the rest of the video. This is because of the subversive history of the Vogue scene.

Vogue is a dance movement started in the 1980s (named after the dramatic poses of the models in the eponymous magazine) as a safe way for queer and transgendered blacks and latinos to safely throw shade (hate) in a non-violent medium. Voguers compete in a battle setting during a Ball, often also featuring drag contests (although, lately, I think, there has been a de-emphasis on drag). Vogue evolved into a fully formed dance movement and still functions as a means of empowerment for marginalized queer populations. Vogue is a subversive art form because it exists outside of the hegemonic order and often seeks to question or attack it by subverting gender norms and deconstructing masculinity and femininity. When Madonna, in 1990, made her song “Vogue” she did so out of admiration for the movement and scene and hired actual Mothers of Vogue to choreograph the routines. Of course Madonna was appropriating the Vogue dance moves for own profit, but she did so out of a certain kind of respect, a knowledge of the history of the scene, and as a queer icon herself, she sort of (only sort of!) has the right to do this.

So I find it troubling when a hyper-privileged 9 year old girl, who doesn’t know the first thing about queer politics or the history of vogue as a dance movement (how could she?!) appropriates strong vogue moves into her video. Of course, Willow Smith herself probably had nothing to do with it (a choreographer was hired, who may or may not have been a Voguer him/herself) but the use of appropriation of Vogue dance by a non-marginalized person, for no empowering political agenda, serves to de-power the subversive qualities of the Vogue dance.

The same sort of argument comes up in any discussion of graffiti in the mainstream: Does universal praise or recognition of graffiti artists like Banksy and Shepard Fairey set back the art from instead of move it forward?  Does graffiti lose its power the second it is put into art galleries? If graffiti was made legal would it suddenly lose its power as a subversive art form? Do we (rich white people) fetishize graffiti because it is (originally) a production of the cultures we actively marginalize?

Like I said, there is nothing inherently wrong with the mainstreaming of any movement, and hopefully this will lead to some amazing Vogue dancers being hired for more mainstream work for higher pay: but when empowered people start using subversive art forms for their own entertainment, the ability of the movement to question or resist any hegemonic order becomes less and less realized.

This is all a sort of reductionist and reactionary stance on the video: when I first saw it I was happy to see Vogue getting mainstream attention at all. After “Vogue Evolution,” an all-queer dance troupe on Americas Next Best Dance Crew, I hadn’t seen any press on the movement at all. At the end of the day, the presence of Vogue in such an innocuous medium is both good and bad.

But we must keep in mind the criticisms along with the praise: the documentary Paris Is Burning, one of the first glimpses into such a scene received, was at first universal praise for unveiling a secret culture of resistance and empowerment. But later, critics astutely observed that Jennie Livingston, the maker of the film, ended up having a career from her movie, while the drag-queens who she featured remained poor and disempowered. Willow Smith may be making her “career” off of this (a career she doesn’t need, she is already filthy rich) but what of the Vogue dancers themselves?

Anyway, this is all moot because God that song is good.

here are some awesome videos of New Way Vogue (dramatics) if you want to see what I mean:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fwNhV3E0bFY

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WDJHDdw-MOY&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bt4mI8kqzb0

-eric

Rashaad Newsome presents “Shade Compositions,” a live performance featuring a a chorus of more than twenty black women. Influenced by improvisatory orchestral music and live video-mixing, Newsome divides his performers into groups akin to instrumental sections as they enact his choreographed sound score made up of repeated sequences of culturally specific or stereotypical gestures, movements, and vocalizations. Newsome simultaneously records, loops, edits, and remixes in real-time the audio and video documentation of the performers using a hacked Nintendo® Wii™ game controller. The resulting layers of real and projected imagery investigate assumptions and constructions of identity in mainstream media and popular culture.

“Shade Compositions” is an ongoing performance series that, depending on the nature of the space, uses a variable number of black females who perform choreographed dismissive actions that are often characterized as “ghetto” in order to create an orchestra of rhythmic compositions. Using an instrument created with Max MSP technology, a crescendo of aggravated music is built up by the artist editing the beats created live by the girls, thus making each a one-of-a-kind performance.

my new favorite artist?

-eric

Weekly cultural critique is suffering a lot considering I have about 700 pages of reading a week for grad school.  Nonetheless, here is a thoughtful essay filled with drag queens, penis jokes, and all the bloodshed you’ve ever wanted.  Indulge in your blood-thirsty intellectualism:

Let’s get straight to the point here: Bayonetta is a big ol’ drag queen. Whether or not Bayonetta was intended to be one or not: she is one. Whether or not the fictional character is supposed to have male or female genetalia: she is still a drag queen. This is because Bayonetta is a parody (maybe pastiche?) of femininity. Her most defining trait, like any good drag queen, is hyper-femininity. Her gestures are not that of a real woman but of an uber-woman. Her hips sway too much when she walks, while she shoots she her gun she is still stomping on down like the battlefield is a runway, her movements are over feminized (limp wrists and hair tosses are superfluous). Her eyebrows are super-plucked and her make-up never runs no matter how wet or sweaty she may get. Every special attack ends with a pose in front of an imagined camera; every combo ends in a less-clothed hero, every move accentuates her legs or breasts or butt. Her entire body is hyper-feminine, her legs are too long, her head is too small, her breasts are too big for her tiny waist to carry. I challenge any virile straight male to actually be turned on by Bayonetta: her feminized movements and ridiculous proportions exclude the possibilities of any actual titillation on the part of the player. Like the space marines of Gears of War, who are exaggerations of masculinity, we cannot view Bayonetta as a particular sexy character: she is too cartoonish. Bayonetta is an exaggeration of the feminine, she embodies feminine too-muchness. By exaggerating the femininity of the heroine (who, by the way, does supposedly masculine things throughout the game: the wanton execution of violence by phallic firearms and blades, the confirmation of an active libido through ridiculous one liners that exaggerate the sexual potency of the hero, etc…) of the game to such a ridiculous degree Bayonetta, the character, sort of problematizes femininity altogether and renders the concept ridiculous.

There are very obvious things that we can point to in the game that would suggest that Bayonetta is not performing male or female, but is performing gender-fuck. For example: Bayonetta’s outfit is entirely made of hair. The magical demons she summons are composed also of her hair. Like electroclash artist Peaches: Bayonetta uses an excess of hair to play notions of gender binaries. In a world where an average person can (supposedly) differentiate gender in a stranger from the placement of hair on their body (men have hair on their faces, arm-pits, legs; women don’t) Bayonetta exists as a violation: she is simply covered in hair. Another interpretation that is viable is that long flowing hair is a generally feminine trait: here we have long flowing hair taken to an extreme and then rendered as a tool of violence instead of (or in addition to) a gender signifier. Bayonetta’s handling of predominantly phallic weaponry (is there such a thing as vaginal weaponry?) is done with expertise and her exuberance in riding atop missiles and handling big guns is a way of confusing the audience: is she excited because she too wants to ride a less metaphorical missile or is she doing it with expertise because she possesses a less metaphorical missile?

Bayonetta makes her sexuality a point. She coyly licks a lollipop in between levels to restore her HP, she makes jokes about the sexual impotence of the bosses (who, by the way, are giant baby-faced angel statues; her jokes probably go right over their distorted heads) and she taunts Lucca, the only real male character of the game (Enzo and Rodin are never really developed enough to exist as potential mates for Bayonetta) with her body before beating up on him, verbally and literally.

Whether or not we read this as intentional on the part of the designers is totally inconsequential. If the intention of the designers was to make a female protagonist that existed solely for the purpose of inspiring lust in the (assumedly predominantly heterosexual male) players, then they either 1) are complete failures 2) have a very distorted idea of what actually turns on straight males 3) did so in order to poke fun at the players themselves who, if finding any kind of lusty feelings in the heroine, would be doing so under false pretensions because she is secretly also kind of a he. On the other hand, if we read Bayonetta as a drag queen she may be 1) making fun of female leads in other video games 2) making fun of the player for lusting after the female characters of other games 3) making fun of all women in the same way that minstrelry makes fun of black people or 4) actually be a viable example of a strong and powerful queer or female role model. I would like to believe it is number four, when in reality, it is probably a little bit of all of these.

A lot of reviewers were uncomfortable with the game Bayonetta when it came out: they claimed that they felt they were being exploited and that Bayonetta was an exploitive representation of women. If Bayonetta is seen as exploitation we are not giving the creators of the game enough credit and we are sort of missing a viable chance at interpreting nuances of femininity in the narrative. If we only see Bayonetta as an object for our lust, we immediately forget that Bayonetta is more powerful (even as a sexually suggestive female) than any male in the game, or, presumably, of any player of the game. We also forget that there is a clear sense of humor about femininity in the game: the targeting cross-hares of the game are a pair of lips, the fact that Bayonetta sprouts butterfly wings when she double-jumps; these are not done to attract male gamers who, in another context would scoff at such imagery, but are done to poke fun of the concept of femininity itself.

The question remains: can Bayonetta be read as a strong, empowered, female lead? Reading Bayonetta is sort of like reading Tank Girl (both the comics and the movie). These girls exist as powerful anarchic symbols that confirm female sexuality and then go rampant with it. They show an inclination towards lust and violence on the part of both males and females and distort gender. They are more powerful than their male counterparts and they do not have some hetero-normative heroic goal in mind. Then again, both of these characters were created by heterosexual males; yet we (maybe?) celebrate them as feminist symbols.

Of course, like Tank Girl, the creators of the game needed to make Bayonetta a little less harmful as a character to make her more palatable to a wider audience. The average audience would be unwilling to accept an anti-heroic female lead who could beat them up without some kind of caveat. About halfway through the game Bayonetta (like Tank Girl in her film) is given a child to protect: Cereza. This, in a way, castrates Bayonetta of her power: no longer is she a powerful woman who uses her body as a weapon for the forces of (well… not evil) something close to evil, she is now a mother, doing good, protecting an innocent. Of course, it is arguable that Bayonetta protects Cereza because she sees herself in the child: Bayonetta’s real name, as we learn, is Cereza and the child has a striking resemblance to the eponymous hero. If we accept the non-linear path of most Japanese narratives, Cereza is Bayonetta. It could also be argued that Bayonetta’s protection of Cereza makes us see her as a more thought out character, that her becoming a mother (or assuming the role of mother) lets us see mothers as powerful women who sacrifice their lives for their children not because of society but because they want to: and isn’t that empowerment? Nevertheless, Bayonetta ceases to be a rampaging Id the second she is given responsibility, she fulfills the responsibility that all “good” women are “supposed” to fulfill, she (reluctantly at first, then happily) resigns to role of protector, of mother. She gives up her own identity (that of the lascivious, self-interested and self-indulgent murderer) in order to take care of the child. This is a sort of anti-feminist gesture within the text that negates a fully feminist or queer celebration of Bayonetta.

The use of “Fly me to the Moon” seems a strange choice in a game about feminine power. A song, written and sung by Frank Sinatra, a man notably associated with domestic violence, is now being used as the theme song for a lead character who touts her femininity as strength? Were the creators attempting to reclaim the song in the name of women (hence the use of a female singer) or does the use of the song show a confused attitude towards women?

And how do we understand the relationship between Jeanne and Bayonetta? Does the in-fighting between the Umbran Witches exemplify a stereotypical portrayal of women as catty and conniving? Is their reconciliation at the end of the game a celebration of female power and sisterhood or an exploitive fulfillment of some kind of lesbian fantasy? Bayonetta is plagued with these sorts of thematic problems, and it makes the game hard, if not impossible, to classify as pastiche, parody, or exploitation.

Bayonetta displays a prominent problem in media and culture: is it possible, in mediums made (predominantly) by heterosexual males and (predominantly) for heterosexual males to have a powerful female character? Will video games and comic books always suffer from an inherent misogyny? Have there been or are there any truly strong female leads that do not somehow give in to fetishistic or exploitative representations of women? It is true that Bayonetta deals a lot with female power (Bayonetta and Jeanne are infinitely strong, Jubileus (the boss of the game) is female and so is the demon that is summoned to destroy her, the O in Bayonetta is a female symbol in the concept art, etc…) but, as much as I would like to read Bayonetta as a strong female or queer hero or as a critique of exploitive representations of women, as the credits rolled over Bayonetta dancing around a stripper pole, I wondered if reading her as such was entirely valid, if reading any female character in video games as empowering or self-reflexive is valid, because they will always be subjected to fetishizing by the audience (no matter how deliberately they try to avoid such fetishizations) or by the creators themselves.

-eric