Every year I hear a jazz album that reaffirms my adamant belief that jazz is the most important genre of music, in all historical moments. Songs of an Unknown Tongue is the most recent addition to this corpus. McFarlane’s voice is a phenomenal force by itself (you don’t need to be a jazzhead to appreciate that), but when her vox gets upraised by Kwake Bass and Wu-lu’s mesmeric, swaying production???
The compulsion emo fans have to create diagnostics and tiers and graphs and taxonomies and dendrograms and wikis and zines and various labyrinthine diagrams, I can only assume, is a psychic product of technocapital’s drive to arboreally organize. But also. I can’t help but drool over this shit lmao.
I have seen these images mucking around futilely in the digital tar pits of tweeter dot com for months now, and I can no longer sublimate my desire to review.
Something Old and You Don’t Need Maps have both spent some time on it:
Emo discourse? Rankable emo discourse…
If you’re a millenial internet masochist like myself, and also if you’re a person who had an extremely not okay time in 7th grade, like myself, you have probably seen some enthusiasm for #BringBackScene2019 (Note: this same type of shit exists in 2021. Just look up the scene tag on Tik Tok). The motivations for this admittedly insular trend are mainly kitsch and centered on the garishly morose fashion of aughts young people.
You probably don’t need a reminder of how Bush era counterculture looked. If you’ve liked this silly little meme page, you probably experienced that black-and-pink joie de…
In Baudrillard’s Simulacra and Simulation, the philosopher describes the world of the forthcoming 21st century as a realm where consumerism itself becomes reality: “These billboards, in fact, observe and surveil you as well, or as badly, as the ‘policing’ television. The latter looks at you, you look at yourself in it, mixed with the others, it is the mirror without silvering in the activity of consumption, a game of splitting in two and doubling that closes this world on itself” (108).
It’s strange to think that no other subgenre better demonstrates the fulfillment of The Baud’s analysis better than contemporary…
disgruntled member of the music commentariat