From steve@mtxinu.COM Tue Sep 15 12:06:38 1992 Received: from mtxinu.COM by soda.berkeley.edu (5.65/KAOS-1) id AA23139; Tue, 15 Sep 92 12:06:34 -0700 Received: by mtxinu.COM (5.64/1.29-mls890331) id AA03056; Tue, 15 Sep 92 12:07:37 -0700 Date: Tue, 15 Sep 92 12:07:37 -0700 From: steve@mtxinu.COM (spiral freshness) Message-Id: <9209151907.AA03056@mtxinu.COM> To: bbehlen@soda.berkeley.edu Subject: Articles for FTP site; Status: R This is the article writen by music critic Gina Arnold for the East Bay Express, where she totally shows her ignorance with regard to raving. Also i have included my letter to the editor in response to her column that was printed a week later in the letters to the editor section. May 22, 1992- East Bay Express, pg 41. Music Column: Fools Rush In by Gina Arnold Column Title: Dancing About Architecture The worst insult San Franciscans (soidisant) can ever say about a person is, "They're up from the suburbs." If they want to be more specific, they say the subjects's from Walnut Creek. This is because almost everyone who lives in San Francisco is from a community which could be the Creek's spiritual twin. I am myself, so I don't have to wonder why it's meant as such an insult. The only thing I wonder is why they don't say Berkeley instead--though, in fact, Berkeley's particular spiritual rottenness, at least among the white folk, is slightly different than that of my own home-suburb, where everyone who stuck around claiming that the reason they never go to San Francisco is because it's so impossible to park. Which it is, if your destination is Pier 39. Berkeley's problem is less one of smug aesthetic blankness than one of smug intellectual meanness. It seems like everyone here is in competition with each other to see how coolly superior and dismissive they can be of anything smacking of the lowbrow taint of passion. I was thinking about that the other night when, in an incredibly ugly bar in down-town San Jose, I struck up a conversation with a guy who told me his two favorite rock artists in the world are Don Henley and Henry Rollins. The Berkeley side of my brain immediately felt superior and dismissive, until I realized that what he said made perfect sense. Conflicting musical genres--not to say values--aside, those two artists are two sides of the same coin, Henley reflecting on the end of innocence, Henry raging against the dying of the light. "Done it," says Don. "Do it!" says Hank. And when you come to think of it, there is something equally connected within the work of Bruce Springsteen and Fugazi, about Tom Petty and Nirvana, about old Neil Young and new Neil Young. There's definately a connecting thread there. What those things have no similarity to whatsoever, however, is...rave music. You know, Acid--or as my friends Michele and East Bay Ray like to call it, Flaccid--House. Michelel and Ray and I all went to a rave the other day. ("Finally," I hear all you ravers cry.) We only stayed for half an hour though, because, we decided upon reflection, there was noghting *nothing* for us to think about. Of course, you're not supposed to think at a rave, you're supposed to dance yourself into a frenzy. And that in its turn--aided by some expensive smart drinks which Michele said tasted like ground-up sweet tarts and a health food fiend I know told me contain the exact some amino acids as a banana--is supposed to anaerobically induce some feelings of communal love and freedom and subsequently rid the world of all it's problems. Does that make any sense to you? Because I don't know. I certainly understand the charms of total physicality, the loss of self that occurs in the throes of intense exercise, and I know that is something to aspire to. What I have a problem with is combining the joys of self annihilation (be it through drugs or exercise or, in a rave's case both) to any aspect of rock 'n' roll..and then claiming for the combination some pretensions to super-merit. In fact, it seems to me that the ideals of the two goals (on one hand the state of mindless freedom that physicality causes, on the other hand the heightened awareness and understanding that rock 'n' roll gives) are entirely antithetical to each other. That's why "Fuck art, let's dance," has long been the motto that infuriates me on contact, and it sprang to mind the minute I saw the beautifully clad children all dancing in the park. Just plain conceitedness aside, however, I have two major problems with raving. One problem is, I can't dance to songs I hate. I found this out a long time ago when I tried to do aerobics and they played that song "Foot Loose" by Kenny Loggins and my body simply rebelled. Similarly, the music at the rave we went to--and the deejay was from London, woo-woo-- was repetitive and meaningless. Michele thinks this is intentional, symbolic of the entire movement's deep belief in apathy. "It's kind of like a statement," she says. "You know, the music sucks, but who cares, play it again, what's it matter anyway?"--but it just bored me. There was no tension, no weight to it, none of the things that move at rock concerts. And there was certainly nothing to watch. So, it seems to me, in order to enjoy dancing to recorded music you have to get totally absorbed in yourself and your own motions or you start thinking about how weird everybody looks all dancing and stuff. You start avoiding people's eyes. That leads to the second problem I have with the rave thing, and that's socioeconomics. It's a class issue. Who raves? People with money. Or at least people who want money, which comes to the same thing. They may don the guise of neo-hippies--I hate the way ravers look like skate rats so you can barely tell them apart--but their goals are entirely selfish: you can hear that in their music, and see it on their backs. At one point I saw a girl in a lovely smocked mini dress. "I wonder if she made it," I mused to Michele and she positively sneered at me. "Gina, ravers don't make dresses, they buy them for $150 on Haight Street." Meanwhile, way up in a nearby oak tree overlooking a meadow, a boy in overalls chugged away to the beat. He looked, Michele said, like Sting in Quadrophenia. We turned away, disgusted, muttering our words of power. "Up from the suburbs," we hissed to one another. "Walnut Creek," we sighed with relief. But secretly I remembered the boy in the bar in San Jose, and I suddenly wasn't so sure of myself. Michele says ravers' big insult is, "That's so 1991." These are people who fear the near past like poison, and that's not so difficult to understand. After all, it is scary to think that maybe one day the inwardly-tuned sound of House music will evoke an involuntary twinge of nostalgia within my breast, the way the sound of the Sylvers doing "Boogie Fever" does now. For those like me who prefer watching (and thinking about) more outward reaching rock acts, however, Spitboy plays Gilman Street on Friday, May 22. Happy Memorial Day everybody! _____________________ End of Article... I will send my rebuttle letter when I get a chance.. -steve From steve@mtxinu.COM Tue Sep 15 13:53:21 1992 Received: from mtxinu.COM by soda.berkeley.edu (5.65/KAOS-1) id AA25725; Tue, 15 Sep 92 13:53:17 -0700 Received: by mtxinu.COM (5.64/1.29-mls890331) id AA04643; Tue, 15 Sep 92 13:54:15 -0700 Date: Tue, 15 Sep 92 13:54:15 -0700 From: steve@mtxinu.COM (spiral freshness) Message-Id: <9209152054.AA04643@mtxinu.COM> To: bbehlen@soda.berkeley.edu Subject: Rave article response.. Status: R This is my letter to the editor that was printed the week after the column by Gina Arnold regarding why she hates raves. Editor, I was disturbed by the bitter and ill-informed spiel concerning "raves" by so-called music critic Gina Arnold. Her arguments are poorly substantiated and I suspect that her motivation for the piece is questionable. Arnold stated that she attended a rave for the first time and left after 1/2 an hour because, "...there was nothing for us to think about." Obviously. this experience along with the aid of her cultural-expert-informants/ friends have made her an expert on the subject. She claims that she has a problem with combining what she considers to be the goals of raving, ("self annihilation," and "total physicality.") with rock and roll. This is her main error. House music and raving have nothing to do with rock and roll and this must be what she finds troubling. Arnold is obviously uncomfortable with alternative forms of entertainment that threaten her conceptions of personal and professional self worth. For example, what would it mean for her if all the rock and pop stars she features in her weekly puff piece suddenly disappeared? From reading her column, it appears that Gina is so fixated by stardom and hippness, that it frightens her when people can enjoy each other dancing on equal terms instead of trampling over one another in attempt to get near a stage. Also, it may be a source of anxiety for her to attend a musical event where afterward she cannot boast about hanging out backstage with the band. Arnold's problem at the rave, was not that there was nothing to think about, but that she was not instructed what to think, and therefore she and her friends panicked and left. The rest of her column is filled with gross stereotyping that she probably read in "Image" magazine, or saw on Geraldo. She erroneously catagorizes ravers solely as rich party goers and attempts to make a class issue out of it. Well, I hope next time she attempts to criticize an entertainment form by characterizing it as an activity for the wealthy elite, she will consider how much it costs to see her buddies Nirvana, or say the Pixies, at the Warfield. Steven Fruhwirth Brian--What do ya think? From steve@mtxinu.COM Tue Sep 15 14:45:11 1992 Received: from mtxinu.COM by soda.berkeley.edu (5.65/KAOS-1) id AA27423; Tue, 15 Sep 92 14:45:06 -0700 Received: by mtxinu.COM (5.64/1.29-mls890331) id AA05560; Tue, 15 Sep 92 14:46:13 -0700 Date: Tue, 15 Sep 92 14:46:13 -0700 From: steve@mtxinu.COM (spiral freshness) Message-Id: <9209152146.AA05560@mtxinu.COM> To: bbehlen@soda.berkeley.edu Subject: Re: Rave article response.. Status: R I'm not sure of the exact date of my letter to the editor. I think it was in the next addition of the Express after Gina's column appeared. I might have a copy of the one with my letter somewhere at home but haven't had much luck in finding it. The Express comes out once a week and her original article was published on May 22, 1992 So, what did you think of her column. Pretty pathetic, huh? My friend says that the Express comes out every thurs. My letter probably appeared in the Express for the week of May 29- June 4th. I was totally stoked when I saw they printed it. They did not alter it in any way. I felt vindicated! Hah! -steve ps. I wish I knew what gina arnold looked like so i could heckle her if i ever saw her at a gig! :^)