A documentary without any real theme and only mildly interesting subjects.
There is something ineffably sad in White musicians reveling in their mediocrity when they could never rival the originators of the music that they so casually replicate. The formalism of White popular music speaks volumes for its lack of emotional connection with lived experience - unlike Black music. The only joy here comes from a sheer display of technique and technology without exuberance. That the artists concerned display little emotion on their faces reveals the emptiness within. The suspicion with loud music created by Whites is that it is loud to distract attention from its musical and cultural vacuity. As superficially moving as a Rolling Stones CD.
The problem for Whites here is that you can copy Black music but you cannot be it - unless you are Black. Why is Black music always being appropriated after it has lost its currency among Blacks? The question here is why cannot Whites produce an authentic music that accurately reflects their own cultural experience - and what do they have to express that is honest? punk rock anyone? Not as interesting as Rock School.
No comments:
Post a Comment