From beyond the grave, Adorno’s love shines for M.I.A.

Theo, Theo, Ador-no-no, here we, here we, go, go.

Theodor Adorno cranking up “Fire Fire” by M.I.A. on his headphones

A few weeks back I wrote a post on the musician M.I.A. and her incredible rise to fame. She’s a woman who has stayed autonomous in her art as she spreads a message, cryptic and decentred, of individual expression, freedom, and critical thinking. It was upon this realization that the following hypothesis came to me: If Theodor Adorno were still alive today, the famed social theorist and philosopher would be alongside me singing her praises, albeit in a more eloquent and impassioned fashion than myself. For Adorno, I will argue, the work of M.I.A. exemplifies the victory of authentic art over the culture industry, the medusa of our contemporary media-based society.

Adorno’s social and aesthetic theories are linked through a concomitant commitment to emancipation. Sadly, he believed that ‘culture’, as we have traditionally understood it (i.e. ‘Oh he’s such a cultured young lad, that one’) no longer exists in the post-WWII world. Art and culture do not raise our moral consciousness, nor do they bring us in touch with our ‘humanity’. No, nowadays art has lost its symbolic ‘home’ in the bourgeois and social elite, instead settling into our commodity-based society of mass-consumption and, ultimately, mass-culture. This faceless ‘thing’, call it ‘the Man’ or ‘the System’, Adorno terms ‘the culture industry’. For, in the spirit of mass-production, culture has indeed become an industry, pumping out the latest celebrities and melodies straight from the factory line.

Of course, there is a sense of brooding gloom when Adorno talks about the culture industry. For Adorno, every philosophical argument ultimately comes down to the following question: will this way of thinking, in the short or long term, lead us into a mentality that could create another Holocaust? Adorno is sceptical of all authority, all administration, and the ‘instrumental rationality’ which is lies at the dark heart of the greatest existential tragedy of the 20th-century – an event when, dehumanized and rid of morality, humans invented killing machines designed for the mass extermination of millions of their fellow human beings. According to Adorno, the culture industry is run by this same instrumental rationality; indeed, it is the rationale behind most of our daily interpersonal relations. And that is a very bad thing.

It’s bad because, ultimately, the culture industry (CI) makes us treat other human beings as a means to some absurd, inhumane end. Worse, the CI is not ‘run’ by anyone; it is uncontrollable and, like a virus, it spreads like wildfire to infect us all. The majority of us are already dependent on this media-monster. Like a cigarette it drives its victims to addiction insofar as it is ultimately unsatisfying. We always want more – more and more doses of its elixir, ‘entertainment’. More than religion, nationality, or political beliefs, it has become the great ‘unifying’ force of our age, the pot from which we all reach-in to pick an identity, a set of interests, hobbies, favourite bands and TV-shows. It’s at work when hundreds of millions of TV sets are all alight to the images of the NFL SuperBowl, or when a group of co-workers gather around the water-cooler to discuss last night’s episode of Lost. It is our common heritage, we communicate with each other through its symbols and language.

But why should we be worried? Well, in brief, Adorno believes that the CI seduces the masses into an intellectually-comatose state while it moves forward, uninhibited by human resistance, in its agenda of strict control through conformity. Spooky. Scary.

How does it do this? The CI keeps its grasp over the masses by ‘manufacturing’ false needs (i.e. the anxiety of not being ‘cool’, ‘rich’, ‘beautiful’, or ‘smart’ enough to succeed/fit-in or the outright fear of outsiders and ‘terrorists’). It then ‘satisfies’ these needs (though, like the cigarette, never to our complete contentment). Like a typical box-office thriller, the conflicts it creates always vary superficially in their appearance but never in their foundational form. There is always the same basic storyline – after a series of obstacles and threats to his life, the hero always comes out victorious and the viewer goes home assuaged from the ephemeral fears built up over the course of the crescendo that is the cinematic plotline. Like a cult that preys on the young and weak-willed, the culture industry exploits the individual’s natural tendencies towards fear and alienation in order to control him under a false promise of happiness (acceptance, security, pleasure). However, this ‘happiness’ is nothing but a state of deception and a categorical imperative to conform. Thus the culture industry stifles creativity, critical awareness, and an understanding of true reality.

It is the role of art to inspire resistance.

If art is to emancipate, though, it must stay clear of the claws of the culture industry. How may it resist such an all-engulfing, neutralising force for evil? As John McCain would say, ‘my friends’, it is in the power of negation.

Edward Saïd said, “In an intellectual hierarchy which constantly makes everyone answerable, unanswerability alone can call the hierarchy directly by its name.” In the same respect, for a work of art to resist the culture industry, it must present itself as a thing unwanted, an art-less artefact of pure irrationality and/or nonsense. It must lay well-outside the borders of what is or could ever be acceptable to our mass-culture. For Adorno, the superhero of his age was Franz Kafka. Since Kafka’s works never addressed the ills of the administered society directly in content, their elusive nature did well to resist neutralisation. Oftentimes, it isn’t through the content of a work of art at all, but through its symbolic ‘form’. And when a work of art presents itself as unattractive, it escapes the glance of the superficial eye.

In an empirical reality which is answerable, concrete, and objective (Apollonian if you want to be Greek about it), art must be unanswerable, abstract, and delusional (Dionysian). Art must posit itself in a safe, controlled arena of thought where it is free from the weapons of the culture industry. Once the spectator leaves the secluded realm of art and steps into the ‘real world’ of society, he or she is awakened to a new earth. The indirect and delusional character of art should be seen as advancement towards direct and engaged opposition to society. Symbolically, as the artist revolts against the cold, restrictive nature of the culture industry, so similarly must the spectator transfer this spirit of resistance to his or her own fight against the cruel and unjust elements of his/her society. If Artist = Inspire, then Individual = Act. For if the artist were to express his or her political agenda or encourage others to follow in the content of his social rebuttal, he or she is only further propagating a social system where individuals are told to follow the lead and take no responsibility to become critical thinkers themselves. To do that would be to render the artist a politician, a part of the same system he or she wishes to resist. And so art’s apparent uselessness and futility is both what defines it and what saves it from being dismantled by instrumental rationality and the administered world.

In Adorno’s wise words, “Only by ceasing to be ‘lovely’ can [a work of art] .. provide an intimation of beauty.” Thus any work of art which makes a claim to beauty places itself in a precarious position. While it may commonly be seen as ‘beautiful’, the work is more likely to fall short of our heavy aesthetic criticism, ultimately letting us down and leading us to believe that lasting beauty is not possible in our world. Truthfully, we should never be showed or told what is beautiful; beauty must spring forth from our own independent judgment. In a work which addresses beauty in the form of negation, our perspective of beauty opens up to a wide spectrum of possibilities.

Art negates reality in order that the individual may affirm a new reality, based on hope, true beauty, and the infinite realm of possibilities.

– Enter M.I.A., contemporary aesthetic superhero –

M.I.A. loves to look ugly. Her sense of fashion resembles that of an elderly woman who, while getting dressed one morning, decided to take LSD and was subsequently transported through space and time on a psychedelic trip through her memories of that time in the 80’s when she had a torrid love affair with a young exchange student from Kenya. Everything about her public persona is powerfully ridiculous and, at least initially, repugnant. If there is no sense of aesthetics in her fashion, there is even less in her music. Myself included, I’m not sure if there is anyone out there who actually liked M.I.A. the first time they listened to one of her songs. She combines obscure musical styles from all around the world and then layers them all on top of one another. Indeed, her latest album, Kala, was recorded in Jamaica, Trinidad, India, and Liberia.

Most of the songs make little sense; I dare you to try to catch any meaning from ‘Mango Pickle Down River’. Her songs don’t sound like anything that has previously been recorded, nor anything that would normally be allowed to be recorded, let alone anything that anyone would actually pay money to listen to (300,000 Americans bought Kala). Her music videos are almost painful to watch (if you can watch them at all – epileptics strongly warned). They purposefully attempt to appear low-budget, amateurish, and unashamedly void of any element of ‘prettiness’. Her fashion, her music, and her videos are intentionally repulsive to the mainstream, mass-culture audience. It’s almost as if she’s trying hard not to be beautiful.

Rather, she’s trying hard to be truthful, and truth is best expressed in paradoxical terms. She talks about how hip-hop influences child soldiers in Africa, then goes full-circle by writing hip-hop songs told through the voice of child soldiers. Comparatively, Kanye West made a song about blood diamonds in Sierra Leone and turned it into an anthem about putting more bling on his Rocafella chain (‘Throw your diamonds in the sky if you feel the vibe, the Roc is still alive every time I rhyme’). In M.I.A.’s music we find stories of child prostitution, sectarian violence, and illegal immigration. Sharp as a machete she cuts through the bland prettiness and pettiness of hip-hop, negating all visions of a world where shiny happy people are holding hands. But, paradoxically, through rejecting that world as one based on ‘illusion’, her art makes it possible to imagine a new world where cultures interact and intertwine playfully, where marginalized voices are brought to the forefront, where the hybrid is the new standard of aesthetics. At a time when London‘s immigration and integration problems are all-too-well-documented, hers is an imaginary world, set in the anything-goes domain of the aesthetic, where diversity is accepted, appreciated, and celebrated as it presents itself unashamedly in its full flamboyance.

So M.I.A., thank you. You are a glowing example of what it’s like (or rather, what it should be like) to be a 21st-century citizen. Born and raised in displacement, poverty and war, your incredible story represents the challenges of our world, while your music provides a subtle glance at its resolution. Your original, authentic, and autonomous music inspires people all around the world not only to feel good and dance, but also to find a new sense of beauty rooted in recognizing and rectifying the ugly truths of the world. You dare to venture outside the sphere of mass culture, holding a spotlight to the darkest margins of our world. You enlighten society as you shout out the well-masked secrets of war, poverty, and failed foreign policy – murky and unpleasant to the prude eye. You raise awareness towards struggling local communities which in turn feed your creative spirit. In short, you entreat us all to revolt against authoritarianism and total-administrating societies with your call to war,

“Hands up! Guns out! Represent! the World Town!”

This goes out to the woman who had millions of Americans of all ages jumping up and down, rejoicing, as they playfully sang and danced to the sounds of, “All I wanna do is (4 gun shots) and a (gun reloading) (cash register opening) and take your money!” The biting irony would have been more than enough to give Adorno himself a heart-attack – that is, if he weren’t already dead. Rest in peace, good sir.

Life and Rhymes of Mathangi Arulpragasam a.k.a. ‘M.I.A.’

M.I.A., I just can’t get over you.

Yes, it’s true, I do have a deep-rooted fascination with south-Asian women. There’s nothing like a hot and highly emotive Bollywood actress’ ability to sing and dance (well, lip-synch and dance) her way into your Western heart. One smile or deep inquisitive stare and I am jolting my shoulders up and down in an attempt to win her affection. But the feelings that M.I.A. stirs up in my soul are quite different.

It wasn’t until the spring of 2007 that I was inadvertently introduced to the Sri-Lankan singer/song-writer/fashion-designer/artist. I was listening to Shock Value and one of the bonus songs had caught my attention for its extremely catchy chorus. That, and there was a comical contrast between her and Timbo’s lyrics during their respective verses.

Timbaland, I guess playing on the fact that she is supposedly ‘Indian’ (which she is not — and anyways, it’s the wrong kind of Indian) says: “Baby girl, you and me/ need to go to your teepee/ The moon is full and I’m shining/ baby I know you see me.” Woah, that shit is deeeeeep.

Meanwhile, a playful M.I.A. sings: “In a faraway land we get shit made/Ray-Ban shades, warheads laid/ Babies born in air raids… / Ride up on our tanks invade/ Blow up things to save our name.”

A year later, a friend of mine visited from NYC and brought with him all of the latest music hype. With childish enthusiasm he played me the new song that was apparently taking over the American airwaves, ‘Paper Planes’. I heard it once and I hated it. In fact, I went on a rant about how music like this is making society more stupid, calling for a collective revolt against claiming anything that nonsensical and superficial was ‘cool’. And what’s with the gun-shots? It seemed like 500% clichéd crap.

He did introduce me to this music blog, though, and in doing so planted the seeds to my future love. After I found this amazing Radioclit remix to “Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa” (third one down), a search for more Esau Mwamwaya brought me to this other song, featuring M.I.A. From there, I found a remix to her song ‘Boyz’ featuring Jay-Z that had garnered attention from the blogosphere for its oh-so-political lyric, “Gotta get Bush out the chair, give Obama the floor.” Ya, what an Obama-reference will do for you. In any case, the song was amazing. Drums exploding to some foreign rhythm, a high-pitched voice screaming ‘Nanananana’ over and over again. I fell in love, instantly. I decided it was time I took all of these coincidences seriously and got a hold of her album Kala.

Instantly I was addicted to the tribal drums of ‘Boyz’, as well as the song ‘World Town’. There was something so unadulteratedly foreign to it, it was like nothing I had ever heard. There’s a point at 1 minute 8 seconds into the latter song when the chorus unexpectedly jumps in your face; there should really be a warning at the beginning declaring, “Danger: Not suitable for those listeners with pacemakers.”

Then, as I began to pay more attention to her lyrics, I was opened up to discovering that there might just be a message that I was missing. First of all, it took me a while to realize that in ‘Boyz’, when she asks “How many no money boyz are rowdy, how many start a war?” she’s not talking about ‘boyz in da hood’ (sorry, Jay-Z) but she’s referring to child soldiers (“Oh gosh it’s the new warlord!”). Intrigued, I started to read her biography and interviews with her. Fact after fact, I was blown away by the character that is M.I.A.

1. She is Sri Lankan of Tamil heritage, her father a fighter for Tamil independence, a terrorist by American standards.

2. She was born in London, but from the age of six months would be uprooted back and forth between its grimy ghettos and the poverty of the small island nation in the Indian Ocean.

3. She graduated with a degree in fine art and film from Central Saint Martins, London‘s highly prestigious college of art and design.

4. Following her first exposition in Portobello, London, she enjoyed the success of a promising artist, so much that Jude Law is said to have purchased one of her early works.

5. Later, in an effort to grow and mature as an artist, she was advised by one of her idols to experiment in the artistic medium in which she felt least comfortable, that of music.

Two years later the buzz surrounding her low-budget, eclectic singles ‘Galang’ (a must-watch video!! if only to see her dance) and ‘Sunshowers’ was growing around London and she was beginning to feature on local radio stations while her mp3s were circulating on P2P networks. For the rest of the story on her rise to popularity, check out her wikipedia article. It really is fascinating.

As I witnessed first-hand, her message tends to be somewhat indirect and cryptic. In most of her music, if you’re not looking for it, you’ll hardly notice it. And there’s a reason for that, as she explains,

Nobody wants to be dancing to political songs. Every bit of music out there that’s making it into the mainstream is really about nothing. I wanted to see if I could write songs about something important and make it sound like nothing. And it kind of worked…

Her music is full of irony, satire, and tongue-in-cheek contradictions. She’s quick to highlight her distaste for superficiality and the all-engulfing hip-hop culture, while her musical style replicates it in its nonsensical lyrics, ‘thug’ references and rapping-style. A typical example is the song ‘Hussel’. When asked about why she made it, she replied,

[E]very number-one hit coming out of America is like, “Hustlin’, hustlin’, hustlin’.” When I was in Liberia, you get into the huts, and little kids are listening to that shit. And it’s cute to see them dancing to it like, “Wow, yeah, the “Hustlin'” song, that’s so cool!” And then it’s like, actually, it’s not fucking cool.

So what does M.I.A. go and do? She makes her own song about hustlin’ — a different kind of hustlin’ altogether. The chorus sums up her view: “Hustle hustle hustle/ grind grind grind/ Why has everyone got hustle on their mind?” Meanwhile, in her verse she plays the role of an immigrant worker who saves up to pay for her children’s dentistry school tuition. “We do it cheap/ hide our money in a heap/ send it home and make ’em study/ fixing teeth.” The best part, though, is the guest rapper.

If this were anyone else, you’d expect Lil’ Wayne or Rick Ross to pop out slurring words about running the street corners of the Bronx, selling crack rocks to make a dime. But no… instead, M.I.A. scoured the shady suburbs of London (to Woolwich, a rough town of immigrants) and found ‘Afrikan Boy’, a Nigerian immigrant who had enjoyed some fame in the local music scene for a rap he made about shoplifting at the local LIDL supermarket. His verse begins like a public service announcement, “You think it’s tough now? Come to Africa!” repeated four times through a loud-speaker before he begins to rhyme about hustlin’ basic condiments (salt, pepper, water) on the side of the motorway, or what it’s like to live with the fear of being deported.

While most of her songs are a bit cryptic in their social conscientiousness, “$20” is quite upfront. In the voice of a child rebel soldier she rhymes:

So I woke up with my Holy Quran/ And found out I like Cadillac/ So we shootin till the song is up/ Little boys are acting up/ And baby mothers are going crazy/ And the leaders all round cracking up./ We goat rich, we fry/ Price of living in a shantytown just seems very high/ But we still love T.I./ But we still look fly/ Dance as we shooting up/ Looting just to get by.

She makes it so easy to imagine yourself, for a brief second, in a remote African village huddled in a hut while kids with guns are dancing to “Throw Some D’s” by Rich Boy. That’s the culture we’re exporting these days.

You’d think that’s enough praise for M.I.A., but wait, there’s more to her artistry. In a great interview with NYC’s The Village Voice, she explains the recording process of her second album, Kala. On the cusp of entering the mainstream, M.I.A. sat down with some major players on the music scene to try and pump out some hit singles to shoot her to the top. Of course, there was one man, and one man only, who was called to do the job. Enter: TIMBO!

And yet, no songs with Timberland are to be seen on her record. She even sat in the studio with the likes of Akon, Lil John, and Grammy winners Three 6 Mafia, but the only collaborations featured on her album are Afrikan Boy and a group of rapping Australian aboriginal children on the song ‘Mango Pickle Down River‘. Everyone was calling her name, asking to enlist their help in the creation of the next ‘Maneater’. The problem was, M.I.A. refused to sing about looking for hot guys on the dance floor.

At one point, when Interscope played “Boyz,” Will.I.Am and Pharrell and Timbaland were all in one room, and I was just coming from India, working in a little studio with cockroaches and little kids using my blank CDs as frisbees and shit. And then I sat in a million-pound studio with T.I. and Britney next door. They were playing my stuff, and I felt like I’ve done this to the point where I can bring it to Interscope. … And at the same time, I was like, if I can already do that, what’s the point of working with big-name producers?

Damn straight!

But what blows me away is M.I.A.’s unwavering commitment, both artistic and social, to changing the world. Kanye West, during a monologue in his 2008 concert in Paris, had this to say about his own involvement in the music business: “This is not just a cheque for me. This is not me seeing how much I can make on tour so I can put a pool in my house. This is about that kid that went to art school with a dream of painting the world in some way.” In her authenticity, her originality, her honesty, and above all her creativity, M.I.A. takes this statement to the next level. She is a postmodern warrior.

P.S. A great site on M.I.A. and her background: http://www.tamilnation.org/diaspora/unitedkingdom/mia.htm