Guy Debord’s 1952 film Howls for Sade appeared three years before Ginsberg wrote his Howl. Its 24 minutes of silence and black screen scandalized audiences, and Debord said “I will make no concessions to the public in this film.” Today we can see what he couldn’t, that it’s a concession to posit viewers as a public, which demands that concessions be made before it will open its eyes. A declaration of war on the public was then still a quite acceptable, even French-traditional act for an artist. His later film Refutation depended on his previous film and a public interested in it. But if one does release work (perform, record, etc.) and it gets praised, there’s this denunciation, even if it would be senseless if the film was never liked or disliked: “Those who claim to like my film have liked too many other things to be capable of liking it…” and the same is true of those who dislike it.

Let’s take words to mean what they generally mean and not the meaning we want them to have. To say “for me, an artist is…” is the easy escape and changes nothing. Let’s imagine we can look reality in the face and take meaning as what words generally mean in practical terms, not drawn from the past but today. . (A shy friend, when asked how old he is, answered, “You mean today?”) Granted “artist” is often used to denote what goes unrecognized in the spectacle, but let’s stick to the effective artist, which is the dream or at least consolation of the vast majority of those who call themselves artists.

We will conclude that those who aspire to be an artist cannot become the artist known in the history books, if that’s what they’re thinking. That was a different world, now long past. Those who dream of being that, including any of the roles titled filmmaker, writer, and musician, etc., or even harboring the secret of being a “true artist,” must turn themselves into those fortunate never to have had that dream. “I wanted to be a writer as far back as I can remember.” That’s a lie; he hasn’t gone back far enough, disavows his self for the sake of backing up a recognized social role.

To wipe the slate clean is a huge, sometimes daily work, precisely what the artist only undertakes at the peril of her identity. In our society (that it’s ours goes without saying, for none escape) an artist is somewhere in the hierarchy of celebrities or on the road to becoming one. As a pathetic final resort they will be an artist in posterity, for which they must get their documentation together asap. To be an achieved artist is the greatest honor, the one that confers total freedom, as that word is understood (the flip side is chaos, psychosis). Donald Trump is not a politician but an artist and great improviser (improvisation is all the rage in academia these days… “everyone an artist” now means “everyone is an improviser”). The Donald is free to do and say anything he feels like, and respected for that even by his political enemies. He fulfills the goal that appeared in the early postwar period of spontaneity, irrationality in the face of an over-ordered society. He presents an image of total pleasure, and the society of enjoyment (the psychological shorthand for the society of the spectacle) eats it up.

What if instead we say, we are not artists but people doing things of our own interest, sometimes where others can witness us. True artists are considered rare; this is not, for it extends far beyond the field of traditional artworks. The most radical project imaginable is to do something of one’s own interest. It’s not a matter of renunciation, for that is always shadowed by hope that the prisoner of self-discipline will one day find they’ve left the cell door unlocked. Renunciation implies a “them” to balance “us.” What do they think? That  doing what you love must exceed doing what you love. Rather, one looks at a rotten apple and a fresh one on the table and makes the obvious choice. Clear, unclouded vision and knowing the difference in pleasure and nutrition is all that’s needed. The life of the artist is a hard life (at least initially) but to clean one’s window–the phrase is John Coltrane’s–is still harder. And there isn’t a clean window in the house, maybe just one tiny pinhole.

For those who choose to engage the work rather than be distracted by potential reward, work will be boring at times. That tempts them to think the boredom will be dispelled if only the other receives the work as interesting. To substitute the other for oneself is the entry ticket to the society of the spectacle; to go there is to sign the contract. The contract is printed with gold letters but the ink is indelible; few go back the way they came in. To clean the window is to read the fine print, usually too late. Even those destroyed by the dream will uphold it, as if maybe that loyalty oath will work for them. To think clearly about this, objectively without preference for the conclusion, is called cynicism, bitterness, the resentment of the failed artist. Yet one may fail as an artist without becoming a failed artist, who presumably didn’t want to fail. It’s possible to fail in advance of failure by creating work that consistently leaps outside as soon as market functionality is ready to pounce on it. Those who do so never get to know if they have actually done this or merely adopted the ego of the cursed artist (“I can’t help being what I am”–just another doomed essentialism)

To look up from the work and see the world rushing past it crushes the artist with humiliation. The escape it, and thinking “some day…,” is not to supply yet another work but to immerse oneself in the working. To have one’s work ignored then brings smiles rather than tears and gritty determination. The artist is one who not only knows but cares that attention paid to the work will give it value. Is there value “just for myself and my friends?” For society that cannot be the case, and we are society even in our alienation, a quality that applies to us all. Every ounce of value robs the maker and performer of their own honest valuation, until there is nothing left. Then one is the true artist, marked as significant, churning stuff out, and finally respected for doing so. Even one’s parents can be brought into the fold; reconciliation all around.What do people parade when they go to reunions? That they are artists who haven’t made it and never will?

Debord released things in order to offend the pubic. That’s still fulfills “artist,” for it isn’t indifference. All anti-art is art, in fact has become the epitome of art, enshrined because it’s no longer possible. Why do anything “in public” at all, when there is no more public (as Debord experienced it) and one can only create a substitute for oneself? Since the common aim of artists is towards what is anachronistically called the public, this should be a serious question. Coltrane resolved it for himself, said his recordings were not equal to what went unrecorded, but he valued live performance as the proper locus for his explorations, which were themselves often recorded. He did not glad-hand the audience but used his playing to close himself off from those who came to hear him.People walked out, stopped buying his albums, so what? His interviews during the period show he was not concerned.

Have the Coltrane clones been wrapped up in their search all these years? Is that even possible today? When the spectacle has become a totalitarian embrace, the model of what’s called “soft” censorship, what loophole is there, what possibility to find listeners so unsophisticated they will not compare this with that, that is, will not make a judgment? Where to find those who say, “I don’t know what you’re doing or why you’re doing it”? To ask that is neither a thumbs up or down. To answer it as an interview question is a non-communication.  The player turns into an interpreter who wants to be helpful and can only hope to be accepted. It’s answered rather by more playing—“Let’s try this–now do you know?” That is direct communication. And only if the other can say yes without adding a single word can the player think they truly know. If they still don’t say yes you play more.

The only possibility for artists today is to be perceived as to some extent avant-garde, which means that a consumer will say, “I almost didn’t get it.” What is outrageous and adventurous is a bounded field, and known as art. To make a name the initial work cannot show precisely what consumers (of course curators) think they want but must make them hesitate ever so slightly. That is “the difference” essential to the market. It is the play (the looseness between the bolt and the hole) between what is and what could be that makes one’s work visible. To leave “what is” behind and replace it with the full range of what could be, which I’ve called “free playing,” is beyond visibility.

To do nothing is to be invisible; to go beyond visibility is different. When one is invisible there is always the option to behave, talk, and make things that will make one visible. Once one that happens the option is off the table. That’s why the initial work is so important. After achieving a recognized (visible) name back from the spectacle it doesn’t matter too much whatever else one does. The aim of making art is to become a tenured artist. Like all those tenured, they seek rest from their labors, and the spectacle promises that, but puts them to work being the somebody they have become, so the achieved rest is from trying to be artists. The curse of the spotlight is that there is always a bigger one, and that whatever size you are awarded it never leaves you, there is no hiding from it. It is hungry for your life and sucks up every drop of it. To try to turn a little light on yourself, the job of every start-up entrepreneur, then is the real act of renunciation, for you have renounced the option of anonymity, otherwise known as “a joyless future.”

The historical avant-garde we have supposedly inherited was marked by an expectation that the future would be “freer and more truthful,” as Debord said.It could not represent the negative without this. It is this which is lacking in the avant-garde today, when the imaginary is only a bleak future. Debord claimed to be one of the “lost children,” meaning those who were sent on a mission and not expected to return. But he imagined being found, or rather was motivated to contribute to that utopian future. He did not die alone; that was merely the image he apparently had. There was a future and he inhabits it, but it isn’t one “freer and more truthful.”

That future was wiped off the hard drive by a world conceived as divided between worthlessness and individual triumph, the fulfillment of ambition. The society of the spectacle became the last utopia, finally arrived. It is the eternal future because the present has become eternal. The future previously implied the presence of hope, against which the present stands condemned. Some few—but enough, including artists—thought this validated the struggle to achieve it. This is not possible when the future is seen to be growing worse all the time, as if what the spectacle of daily events offers is reality. That denies any point to struggle, transforming those fighting into either noble fools or poseurs. That’s no criticism, for the spectacle needs them desperately.


Whether to prepare something in advance, such as improvising along a certain line rather than playing without that intention, is a question of trusting one’s immediate intuition alone, not even knowing what that might be. To assert the latter should never deny the value of mixing that with preparation, the will to create continuity or to make something acceptable to others. One has simply carved out a space for not following those related values. The immediate-intuition approach must have some protection for it to be asserted as something that can and does occur, which is why I reserve for it the name of playing freely. It doesn’t mean one is a free person, but that in the midst of playing, painting, dancing, etc., one is faced with the naked awareness of what is going on. Instead of imposing an idea on that and trying to make it something according to one’s will, one relies only on that situation, to which everything else is dismissed as external and irrelevant.

I am speaking here of art-making but it is only as part of all one’s life activities. To walk down the street with one’s usual gait is to fall into a normal pattern just as much as to play one’s conventional style or follow a score: Neither good nor bad, but that is what one is doing, it is one’s limit, and it’s possible to be aware of just what limits one chooses to observe. Following one’s secure habits or caring about the other’s judgment will not disturb others, whether audience or those seeing you walking. But in free playing mode, disappointment and frustration, even collapse occurs when one becomes aware of the penetration of any external element, which are blocks to immediate engagement.

As distinct approaches to making art, there is a constant tug of war between them, and neither is superior to the other. In one the artist has a vision or inspiration of what a work can be, maybe changes it somewhat in process but essentially seeks to fulfill that vision. In the other, the artist simply begins doing something and follows with something else, perhaps ending with no perceptible unity or fulfilling ending. A painting appears unfinished, and even the painter must make a leap to see that it is perfect as it is. In the first, freedom (spontaneity, intuition) is present to a flexible degree: one can operate freely within the plan and forget it somewhat, then return to it as the ultimate vision. In the second however, any hint of following a plan disrupts one’s moves. Those of the first approach are uncomfortable with an empty space; those of the second find anything but open space to be cluttered.Each is dissatisfied but for opposite reasons.

These two are not poles, such that each can reach toward the other more or less. For free playing, at least, it is not a question of balancing them. The first can reach toward the second, but if the second reaches towards the first it automatically becomes a version of the first and disappears as a possibility. It is purist except for this: those preferring it are obliged to recognize that both are valid art and can stand on their own, and they should never insist that theirs is the only way. Dogmatic insistence would deny almost all existing art, including most abstract expressionism, a kind of sectarian position that is useless to defend free playing (incidentally, this reverses an opinion I held through the early nineties). It is not so important for artists of the first approach to recognize the second, since they are already using intuition as a component of their work. What would be incorrect is for them to say they are playing freely when they are perfectly satisfied with mixing intuition with what preexists the situation.

The free playing approach is an obstinate reality in the cracks of our culture, which insists that there is no art without conception and “meaning.” Thus it can only go against the grain of what is socially valued, what we all mostly value. Free playing conceives culture as clutter, and sets about the work of removing it, an unending task, for “culture” is what is inevitably left in its wake. It is called “self-indulgent” but from its perspective it is the other that should bear that, for it indulges the players’ wish to conform. For this reason free playing is barely known as a possibility nor taken seriously by professional artists, and audiences cannot easily tell the difference. Those who prefer to play freely can however suggest it to anyone, including so-called serious artists: here’s something you might try, and we invite you.

Theoretically one can do both, but it is difficult, for it is inevitably a kind of dabbling, with the mind confused about what is to be done. In attempting to play freely one will be tempted to perceive where it is going and try to shape it, to create continuity rather than letting it emerge, if it ever does. If continuity and form in general seem diminished, one will try to insert meaning so as to restore it, . What latitude should be allowed for diverging from one’s conception of what art should be? That brings the deliberating mind into the game, such that one is trying to do two things at once: playing freely and taking care not to violate the border that is felt must be there.

When it is said that we all fear freedom this is meant, that there is a border out there we might violate, be accused of it, and will pay a penalty rather than be rewarded. Even darker is the suspicion that we have a deep wish to violate the other and will do so unless held in check by some sense of rightness that preexists our actions. Preexistent rightness is the common notion of form, and therefore art. In this way art gets aligned with the social order in its moral rather than institutional guidance system. It is that which determines what is freedom and what is illicit indulgence, what individualism is approved and what is asocial.

Free playing is first of all a protected, private, and disciplined space, like meditation, where one can learn by doing just how deeply the mind is penetrated by the need to conform to given form and order. There the need appears and we can let it go, as false and burdensome. It is where we can test our mutual fear of freedom before putting it to the social, collective test: What harm could it do to make this sound rather than that? Only then, when we’re able to dance semi-confidently on that shaky ground, do we open the door. A swinging door, as we discover, for that empty space is soon filled with all kinds of clutter.

Performances called “edgy” and “risky,” and music categorized as “avantgarde”  suggest that hidden desires will be uncovered and fulfilled. Familiar desires call for compulsive repetition; those unknown can potentially yield an uncomfortable experience. Freud and the surrealists called it the uncanny, a disorientation requiring reflection or analysis to prevent permanent damage to the psyche. This potency is not ascribed to the sky gods known as icons, worshiped for their visible power, but to the underworld, to which one does not bow in awe but enters on a dangerous excursus off the beaten path of knowledge. While icons are asked for a repeat demonstration of their power at each ritual appearance, reassuring the spectators, the performers leading audience on a “risky” journey are more transparent, shamanic psychopomps (guides of the soul in afterlife), for it is the spectators’ experience that is center stage.

This is an analysis of advertising of course, language especially useful for musicians beginning their climb to visibility, and not their actual sense of what they’re doing. They can hope to be recognized for having been underground, as were the icons before them, but not if they remain there. Following a Christian mythology, their image is to have risen from their invisible wandering in the dark, having overcome the artist suffering of anonymity. However, they can only hint that spectators will experience discomfort and disorientation; what they must deliver is a sense of comfort, like all entertainment.  Just as parents once gave kids a Halloween experience that was a truly frightening hint of death, and has since been cleansed of darkness by the bright lights of Christian correctness, so has the allure of off-beat (off the well-trodden path) music been cleansed of potential discomfort and replaced by a simulacrum.

This shift puts the pressure on musicians to reassure rather than disorient and confuse the spectator, and it is internalized in the professional-performer role. In the society of the spectacle the audience is accustomed to see everything as an act, and the performers are expected to know what they’re doing, or at least fake it. In either case they are to please the audience (entertainment), show off their presumed genius (art), or better yet, do both. It would not be conducive or proper for the musician, in the midst of playing, to venture into new depths themselves. Any such exploration is supposed to happen away from the audience, as in “experimental music.” Something else can occasionally break through—the uncanny–when the performers are not “performing” but are themselves engrossed in their unique experience, off their own beaten path. This is what I’ve been calling free playing, when the freedom of the session is opened to listeners.

Those who prefer this, rather than fulfilling society’s art entertainment needs, are the seekers of their own hidden desire via new experience, which may or may not “communicate” to anyone at all. To be called edgy and avantgarde or even innovative would be an insult to them and a lie to the spectators, for those the media and self-promoters advertise as such will not shake any of their contemporary audience out of their comfort zone. Musicians who resist are powerless to take back “avantgarde,” which has been distorted from its original meaning and transmuted into supported art. Those who claim any such label for themselves would be easily accused of reaching for the same visibility that the institutionalized avantgarde has achieved. In a sense the aberrant individuals are not true performers, for they will not think in terms of the reward known as success, the plateau of self-celebration they are expected to achieve. If it is pleasure they seek it is that strange one of not-knowing, even distrusting what they do know as leading them astray.

Note: The traditional term was a noun spelled “avant-garde,” often capitalized. It referred to a group that perceived itself as a specific, principled movement with a membership, and often expelled people for various violations. Picasso was not an avant-gardist; the Surrealists were. They  ignored the needs of the consuming public, yet often purposely sought to scandalize it. Moreover, “…rarely have avant-gardes maintained good relations with their predecessors, which they have always struggled to relegate to the past.”(p. 110 of Vincent Kaufmann, Guy Debord: Revolution in the Service of Poetry.) To be ahead of history, with or without followers, meant to disown even their own past. Committed to their advanced position, they were risking nothing.

For instance: Despite the affirmation by sixties Free Jazz musicians that they were still jazz musicians and adhered to much of that tradition, Free Jazz can be called a movement, one of the last avant-gardes on the model of what came before. They pushed ahead despite the conflict that ensued and were ascetic in their disregard of the consequences, true believers in their cause. Their failure was the inability to provide the comfort a sufficient number of the public desired.

After the sixties the term for movements became an adjective, often spelled without the hyphen, “avantgarde.” As a noun it would henceforth refer to those the music media and other institutions recognized as having a positive value, “the best music,” etc. The word is a mockery of what came before, a boost for the social order rather than a radical critique and scandal. It would no longer refer to self-motivated and self-controlled movements but to individuals and groupings who desired and expected approval, with channels for achievement. One writer aptly (and approvingly) referred to the avantgarde icons collectively as the “permanent avantgarde.” Whatever music they play is automatically advanced, once they have sufficient media and institutional support. The avantgarde consists of obedient citizens, mindful of their unwritten contract with their audience and society at large.

An avant-garde movement is as impossible to create today as it is to rebuild the society of fifty years ago. To those who might read this there obviously exist those who resist conformity with the success-oriented ego, the politically-correct “contribution to the good of society,” and the responsibility to communicate with consumers. Compared to past Avant-gardes they too have private control over what they do, but have no membership list, name, or even notoriety. Emphasizing their similarity would subvert the tendency to bow to “the greats that have gone before,” including those of free improvisation and Free Jazz, a self-demeaning habit promoted by the society of the spectacle. However they do not need to cloak themselves in any mantle of authority, nor–at least for the present–to construct any substantive identity in order to keep doing what they’re already doing so well. Yes, change is under way; faith in the system is eroding, though not yet in the anointed and wannabe avantgarde. Clinton will win, but the terrain has been shaken. Cracks have appeared, the center cannot hold. As the May ’68 French youth scrawled on the walls, “under the sidewalk, the beach.”

Two famous bass players Duet Across the Ocean

Even more amazing and progressive than making music through the medium of technology is the concept of being, playing, and listening in the same room at the same time. Only a few have stumbled on this astounding new theory and have begun to experiment with it. With mediating devices such as smart phones, recorders, and cameras left at the door (as guns were in ages past), all tests show that the attention, emotive and physical reactions of those present were tremendously heightened. The dogmatic pseudo-scientific faith in mediated communication has led to an absurd and inefficient cul de sac, such as two people communicating with each other on smart phones while walking next to each other. Or the notion that without physical presence musicians could be said to be “playing together.” What is called progress today has actually been regression from the high point of communication reached in the earliest days of human existence, when not only two but a large number of people could communicate within arms length of each other, with no prostheses to interfere. Not only could they talk, but they could actually reach out and physically touch each other; like other animals they could even know the other through smell. Communication was only at the speed of sound, but the distance covered was negligible.

The bold investigators, arousing stunned and horrified opposition, have been arguing that the mediation developed over the past two hundred years has only increased the blockage of sound wave and other physical communication between persons. That earlier form, increasingly out of favor, was rich in sensuality compared to the very reduced, flattened-out form obtained through mediation, called “information.” The attempt of innovative technologists had been to come as close as possible to the actual presence of the other while at the same time preventing it. The notion that unmediated communication is inadequate has been found to be a myth, just one more “received opinion” that facts are disproving. Investigators have been painstakingly breaking this down in order to release the energy of what they are calling “direct communication.”

For obvious reasons of control and pacification the social and political authorities prefer technological mediation, arguing that this reduction is the only efficient means of managing human relationships. Yet blinded by their faith, during the Occupy Movement they thought they would hamper communication  between persons by banning amplification. Much to their dismay they found that the movement, forced to restore and invent new techniques of direct communication, expanded enormously. In fact what was re-invented in Zuccotti Park became a world-wide model, through the very mediating technology that was expected to wall people off from each other.

The gramophone was the origin of all sound communication beyond the physical movement of molecules. Now spread to the entire planet, it is thought to increase the mutual presence of subjects to each other. Now study after study has proven that this actually decreased that presence. People have become more abstract to each other, virtual rather than concrete existences, and have lost the capability to speak in each other’s presence beyond a few banalities, called “everyday life.”

With that abstraction has come paranoia, leading to a society where every other is a threat one must guard against, realizing the Hobbesian fantasy of the war of all against all. Given the lack of training and experience in facing one another without the wall of a device to protect them, there is good reason to pull out one’s gun, the best substitute for mediated communication. Hence the open carry laws: when out in the jungle of other people (even one’s family) one must have the protection of both mediating devices, a gun and a phone. The new still-experimental concept, however, offers a solution far cheaper and more efficient: eliminate both the phone and the gun. It’s an improvisational situation, but those who have tried it have found it to reduce paranoia and violence, and the management of relationships has actually benefited enormously.

Subjects of one experiment were told to walk down the street with no protection but clothing, and were found to have a profoundly different experience. At first they felt awkward, since they were the only ones without their eyes glued to devices or ears filled with virtual sounds. Soon however they reported things previously obscured, made eye contact and even spoke with strangers and, in real time, observed faces, trees, the shape of objects in space, sounds previously heard only on field recordings. They found their visual perspective of the scenery changed constantly, indeed following the movement of their bodies (turning their heads, for example, instantly provided a new vista). Moreover, after only an hour or so they could make judgments about all these things without reporting and checking them first with anyone else.

These subjects, stripped of their usual protective mediating devices, were directed to enter a room where musicians were making odd sounds. The sounds seemed unreal since they had never  before heard them on their devices, the only known means of determining reality. At first this caused the subjects great fear, but suddenly, trapped in immediate sensuality they  burst into joy. A number exclaimed: This is actually happening right in front of me! There is no one to experience this but myself and these others! I don’t have to record it in order to experience it; I’ll never hear these exact sounds again. I have nothing to compare this with, and no reason to make a comparison. This is what life could be!

A Chicago artist even older than me wrote me this as his take on yesterday’s essay, Globalization and the Avant-garde: “Everything I do (have done) that falls into a general category of experimental stuff–music, video, self-made instruments, one-of-a-kind books, performance and writing–only amounts to stuff isolated from the world of supply and demand. Being self-produced my output has no return on investment in a capitalistic way of thinking. And further, most everything I have done is nothing really new, in fact, most of what others call new avant-garde or post-avant-garde art is in my eyes some form of rehash. At least, that is how I experience the “new,” nevertheless there are works by current artists that move me at a deep level and from out of the old avant-garde comes alternate and genuine ways that satisfy my soul. Wows me, inspires me, etc.” (Incidentally, here’s one of his videos:

My response: You elaborate what I say in my essay. It is how an “ordinary” artist today like you and myself  and myriad others would fit the wider conception I offer.

“Avant-garde” is a word still thrown around as an adjective, largely applied promotionally. As a noun it once referred to a group of self-constituted artists who were extremely unpopular. What they did that was new was disturbing, their experimental work was considered useless and foolish, a failure in the eyes of those few who heard of them. They were a joke, as Jackson Pollack was presented in Life Magazine in 1949. In fact they had a strong suspicion of success, and hesitated to approve those who achieved it.  For society to start approving of them would threaten their hard-won authenticity, for “new” to them meant “rejected.”  What we call the history of 20th Century art could be traced according to that rule: include nothing that did not face ridicule.

In the period we’ve been living in, since the sixties perhaps, all that has changed. The old play-by-the-rules corporation is dead; capital embraces the new and invests in it. As for art, we can’t have people getting impressed by artists who aren’t on the team. So what will be valued as new, and who are the geniuses? With the door to art-making and innovation open, that problem comes up.

The most obvious solution is, those acceptable as innovators will be among those needing most to be accepted, will apply for the job, bring their credentials and tooth-pick bridges and look honestly eager. They will be emblems of The American Dream, faces beamed upwards. They are exactly those the older avant-garde scorned as phonies, and would never let into their club. It doesn’t mean they don’t make anything of interest, only that in the vast smorgasbord of art, the tons of cds out there, these folks so willing to serve–the kids who always did their homework, jumped up in class “Me! Call on Me!” and got decent grades–are the only ones rewarded with the media spotlight. In the attention-deficit society this is all that counts. What happens when you have a tenured, permanent avant-garde, as it’s been called, on the conveyor belt to manufactured iconic status, is the assumption that whatever they do is automatically and guaranteed to be of interest.

I have no interest to deny them their prize; “More power to you” is my blessing, not scorn. What you and I do is not in that category because we haven’t cared enough to be go for the gold, or maybe we lack that kind of personality, or maybe we just don’t want to exchange play time for attention-getting time. Unlike the old avant-garde we don’t have the camaraderie of the elite few, who cover each other’s back, who trust that the lack of attention to our work will transform into posthumous glory (revenge). We just do what we do and keep our nose in our work. Our inventions are not “new” on the market, in fact we don’t need to claim them as new. But the experience we have, through frustration and boredom, is one of newness, which means nothing special, as the Buddhists say–experiencing something that opens the door to something else. Anyone who wants to join us down here in the cellar, the door’s open. That is a life choice that has consequences. Some will say, so what? We say, this is the real deal.

With the 19th Century creation of the art avant-garde on the model of the military, art was fully enlisted in the Age of Discovery, building on the opening shots of the Renaissance–perspective painting and realistic anatomy . While the early terrestrial explorers were motivated by investment and debt, and only later idealized their achievements, the avant-garde was endowed from the outset with the mission to bring the unknown and threatening outside within the realm of the human.

The outside was not, as it was for the Greeks and subsequent medieval thinking, the stable perfection of heavenly spheres looking down on us imperfect earthlings, the model of form one retreated to through both reason and spirituality. The outside was rather the unknown space imagined as ultimately homogeneous and harmonious with us, but required our intervention in order to dispel fear that it wasn’t. Until proven otherwise it contained the irrational of monsters and the imperfection of the empirical and everyday, and it threatened existence with the fatality of exceeding the horizon. By the 19th Century, the only artists significant to the human adventure were viewed as this avant-garde, such as the “cursed poets,” who had their own telescopes and spaceships to go beyond and return, making the beyond safe and habitable even for the bourgeois. It did this with a trace of the old vision, for to bring order to chaos, to see form in the formless, was to round off the irregular, just as scientific investigation of the empirical discovered the (circular) rationality of the natural order.

To do this art could not stand alone, starkly facing the ordinary human subject.  Parallel to science, expert discourse was needed to interpret, promote, and persuade ordinary folk that this weirdness is indeed, if you look at it a certain way, really an expansion of the human and no threat to it. The musical avant-garde played and made things from outdoor materials, exotic (Stravinsky, Picasso) as well as internal (Schoenberg), then they and others brought them indoors, explained and repeated them, and conquered a small patch of the symbolic order known as Art, the well-kept secret. Edgar Varese’s “music is organized sound” was frightening and radical for a moment, then as “music” became an extension of technology decades later—the familiar and useful extension of the human body and mind—sound was only alien to those insufficiently socialized. Anathema in the 20s, this concept provokes no more than a yawn as it is taught in music schools today.

This shift, towards the socialization and familiarization of the former exterior, is the essence of globalization. That which began with Columbus’ voyage has now achieved its purpose: we’ve apparently arrived. The subduing of the earthly sphere is fully as complete, in its own way, as the heavenly perfection once was imagined. Lacunae are filled in with knowledge known as information, which moves ahead at its bureaucraticly predictable pace. We are living in the once-beyond. As Communism imploded so did all other resistance, utopias, and other dreams. It is the image of resistance that dominates the imagination, not a horizon that adventure was repeatedly able to prove to be real. Capital envisions no outside to itself.

With the world now unified under the logic of capitalism there is no dangerous alien existence for the avant-garde to espy and conquer for mankind, no exotic fruits to bring back in its ships. To argue that what looks like chaos is actually form is merely a mopping-up educational operation; the teachers already know, and know how to learn what they don’t yet know. The succession of technology holds no mystery, we know how that works. The world finally has caught up with the adventurers, such that the social order can claim to be itself the avant-garde, no longer needing inscrutable artists to peer ahead and advance our limited consciousness.

The visual sector (Contemporary Art, the endless biennials) is deprived of its former function, evident from how it is more honored officially than mainstream art, in fact endowed by capital with a permanent non-voting seat at the table (“kicked upstairs,” in older managerial lingo). Its job is ideological in a different way. While earlier it showed there was more out there to be tamed, the perceived threat of radical disruption to home-bound tradition, now it celebrates the global triumph. Those whose task is concrete imagery are assigned the responsibility to point out the remaining imperfections of the social order with which it is congruent, for if the image includes the imperfections they are presumed already in process of being healed. At least someone has spoken up. When visual art scorns the earlier avant-garde formalist aestheticism, it does so as the conscience of the social order, confirming its role as interior to capital and not an external threat.

Unfortunately for the avant-garde assigned to music, there are only two minor functions, closely related. One is to cast its lot with technological innovation, which is by definition already domesticated. It continues the experimental tradition begun by John Cage and others towards the merger of sound (nature) and music (the human), the colonization of sound by human agency (Yeah, team!). The discovery of form is now internal, expanding or at least defending the field that was earlier rounded-off. This avant-garde elaborates and repeats the adventures of the earlier avant-gardes as simulations of their motions, imagining it is working on outside material and bringing it to an unenlightened world when it is more realistically preaching to the choir, and its funding sources. The other avant-garde function seems even to reverse the original, to maintain the avant-garde as a tradition with no claim to be innovative. Any aberration that seems to depart the norm would go over the edge of the horizon and be lost. This one, jazz and avant-jazz, like mainstream jazz itself, at least has the honesty to deny any intention to actually innovate, despite the obligatory promotional claim of individuals to do so.

These two together form the true avant-garde. The hope to find a “really true” one outside, knocking on the door, is merely the attempt to resurrect a concept so comprehensible that it can no longer function. Avant-garde art “worked” socially because it was incomprehensible; with globalization that infinite game is over. It obviously does work promotionally to claim that one is bringing adventure to the world. Yet once enlightened, once all the strange fruits of musical adventure past and present are available at the touch of one’s finger of private censorship, once all the risk of displeasurable experience is gone, curiosity becomes a mere temporary state. “There is no there, there,” the poetic insight that was once exciting, has become, “There is no beyond to which the avant-garde is assigned.”

There is vast alien experience still, terra incognita that the serious, globalized avant-garde has abandoned, untheorized aberrations beyond the pale of media discourse. However, those who explore it feel no responsibility to put their shoulder to the wheel to advance Music and themselves in the world’s esteem. And those who pay attention to it do not endow it with the aura of saving the world from its troubles, in fact they must ignore its political, spiritual, and artistic insignificance in order to experience it. In our age of no alternatives, this is an adventure of social non-conformity worthy of its name.

The original impulse of this writing is the philosopher Peter Sloterdijk, In the World Interior of Capital (2013), better know for his Critique of Cynical Reason (1983)

Notes to the audience for  an imagined event by  Spring Garden Music

This will be the making of sounds out of an imagination of free playing that is not grounded in musical ability, concepts, compositions, or styles of playing. It extends our experience with our bodies and the objects you see on the stage in order to create experience we ourselves have not had, and in its specifics neither have you. Doing this reveals to us and possibly to you what we collectively expect music to do and its function in our lives, in a way that affects us personally. It is as difficult for those who think themselves musicians as it is for those known as “audience.” Authentic experience however necessitates a certain amount of confusion for oneself, and that is the direction in which we are pointed.

Those you see on the stage form a company of initiators who most often play in private sessions. Our assigned role has been music providers and performers, but only to the extent that there is no other social category we fit in. The musician ego, which each of us has constructed over time to a greater or lesser extent, is unfortunately what defends us against experience and self-knowledge. We find it both deceiving and a burden on our desire to enter a state of playing freely. Anyone who performs develops this ego and can decide to base their sense of themselves and their activity on it or not. While the musician ego aims at getting a positive response from the audience, our aim is to see what happens when we don’t know where things will go.

You came to a performance but we will not be performing for you.  If you are affected by what is going on it will be in the course of things and is not our intent. Whatever effect this event has on you belongs strictly to you, something you can talk about later or just think about. Discussion will follow the playing, which could take more than an hour. You probably won’t notice the length, for in the presence of those who themselves don’t know what will come next, completely vulnerable to the moment, there is no way to avoid paying attention.

Ordinarily our audience is other players and partners who are simply not playing at that time, but we are even more excited to see non-players. The audience normally observes and judges whether their pleasure equals what they expected. They are blocked from participating when they see others in a defined role as musicians, and all the traditional ritual in place, like a church service.  If the playing is loose and open they often sense the limitations of their passive role. As happens often with young children, when they see others in spontaneous play they commonly want to join in. To be relieved of responsibility, the role of spectator, is today the recipe for boredom. If you feel moved to do something active, that’s fine, but do it behind the others silently, and leave them to absorb the event undisturbed. We will probably see you back there and may be inspired by you as we are by each other.

We will  play no sets or pieces of music, so no solos, duos or what have you. We play only when and if others arouse us to action. We are not under contract to make music or even to play freely, we play as we are stimulated to play. Those who feel they should play cannot play freely. Whatever you might think you want, we will imagine you want us to take steps beyond whatever we have done before.

Sound that is the result of free play evokes feelings that are often not known to us; to call it music might be only lazy and not wanting to offend. To make sounds that are not music is a huge challenge, for in today’s rush to bland tolerance “music” can be anything one intends to be music. The better challenge is to follow the feeling of where things are going without prescribing that feeling in advance. It will probably get called music retrospectively, but we’re already on to the next thing. It might enable what you don’t know is possible for you. That is our bond in common.