Long before anyone knew about PC Music, the virtual contracts had already been signed, corporate sponsors partnered, and zillions of fans adorned in mimicry. Where did all this begin then? Duh, the internet. Where else could a group of artists transform themselves into pop stars by dint of declaration?
Just so it's out there, I am a supporter of PC Music (though I admit that allegiance is sometimes riddled with embarrassingly existential angst). Its impossible to say how much-needed their fresh and ingenious attitude toward pop music is. And their music, by the way, is endlessly impressive and labyrinthine and represents a pioneering feat for the electronic DJ. More importantly though, I like PC Music because they provoke more questions than they answer, not the least of which being the throbbing what does it mean?!?! upon first introduction.
So who/what/why is PC Music? Hard to say. We know they are an online record label based in London whose contributors include head honcho A.G. Cook, adorable petri-pop-star Hannah Diamond, foul-mouthed millennial GFOTY, the elusive DJ Sophie, the musicologist and “regular-guy” Danny L Harle, the energy drink cover girl from space QT, and a whole bunch of other personas who contribute electronic music. If I was asked to describe their identity as a whole I guess I would say something like: “hyper-pop consumerism via art-school nihilism with a touch of Dada-Minaj a Toi” but then I guess I would also sound like an asshole wouldn't I?
OK, if nothing else, PC Music is brilliant in meticulously maintaining the their surprisingly subtle image.
And that’s the capital T Truth.
I’m thinking in particular of Hannah Diamond’s hat, or those GFOTY interviews.
I do, however, admit to feeling deeply unsettled if I give them too much time or attention.
Cuz the thing is, their identity is such an unbelievable well-performed act that the only way it could be accomplished is if the players themselves embodied the characteristics their personas represent. Is authenticity just a bad joke? And who's laughing? And where does this leave "art"?
???????
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What I am saying is: Any romantics left in the world (please stand up) will surely chew their knuckles in despair trying to understand why “Pink & Blue” is giving them the goose pimples.
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I don't know if I’m alone in this but watching GFOTY interviews is really scary!!! I mean holy shit WTF!!!!
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Alright, the Truth is PC Music begs for reactionary commentary. It is vodka-drunk on paradoxes. They maintain an identity which is both unattainable yet unavoidable. The more you search for a meaning, the more you end up feeling like a schmuck.
What we’re left with is the realization that this is not merely a reflection of the absurdities of corporate culture but an actual immersion into them, where any distinction between image and reality is erased. Someone like James Ferraro toes the line in this genre, but the difference lies in authorship: he gives interviews and we know its him. Just like his music and twitter presence reflects the sensations of walking into a Best Buy from a gated community in Florida or coming across a glowing ATM at night, we know why he makes his art: to reflect the surreal feeling of living a contemporary life. Plus, Ferraro’s output still belongs to the art-space culture of museums and installations. PC Music on the other hand sings from the void. They obsess over the world of consumerism until it obliterates everything else. This is way fucking post-irony. They would probably align themselves with someone like Nicki Minaj long before Ferraro’s Lo-Fi High Concept work. Yet, at the level of intentionality, there’s no question that they come from (and still remain) in Ferraro’s world of cutting-edge philosophizin' arties. Its like they’ve taken the paranoid warnings of the Situationists— that the age of “the autonomous movement of the non-living” is upon us— and worn it as an accessory, proclaiming: everything that is true is false, everything that is false is true… nothing is real, there are only mirrors. The artist is the product. There is only one true path of the universe and it is being bushwhacked by the zeitgeist. Observation and response is our only choice. Our God is a cursory trend. No values, no politics, no allegiance except to the nihilistic world of the cultural garde…
Upload Creativity into the coin slot, into the digital chip, into the Zone…
If this all sounds like a robotic response system, its no mistake: the very Idea is in the absence of authorship.
Then things get even more confusing.
A few nights ago I was cruising the web and came across a photo spread taken at a PC Music premiere-thing where their “multimedia reality network” Pop Cube was revealed. It was terrifying. To be there in person would have been like living in a Bret Easton Ellis novel. And yet of course, for the few moments I was looking at the pictures, I did want to be there, more than anything.
I saw with comic horror that the gang had somehow actually gotten Red Bull to sponsor the entire event, which was complete with limos, red carpet photo ops, and mock-paparazzi asking members their opinions about the latest PC Music releases. I now had faces to the once-mysterious A.G. Cook, who apparently is tall and thin with big glasses and mop-ish hair. He sported a Red Bull RallyCross shirt. GFOTY wore a bikini and thong with $100 in bills taped to it and QT sang her famous song inside a giant translucent Red Bull can. She even had the QT energy drink for sale this time. The price: $20 a pop.
I learned later that SOPHIE’s “Lemonade” was picked up by McDonalds for a commercial. There’s no doubt all his friends at the sterile Red Bull Studios congratulated him profusely for the feat: Cook shakes his hand, promising him its just the beginning; Kane West turns up his track “good price” with those words pumping throughout the studio; GFOTY starts twerking; QT puts her conference call on hold; the film crew hands out Red Bull to everyone.
So PC Music is out of the closet, so to speak. We now have faces to the once-veiled wizards. Cook and Sophie give an interview to Rolling Stone from a Williamsburg bar (ha-ha!). Their goal: to take pop music (and culture) as far as its vanities will allow. Shallow conversation about deep conversation. Deep conversation about shallow conversation. One and the same.
Hell / Party
A world according to PC Music (and don't be naive here, they do have Global Plans) would be all skittles, candy hearts and virtual reality games. I hate skittles and never play video games.
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That night, nervous and uneasy, with PC Music on shuffle, I fell into a strange dream….
Here is what happened:
I am on an assignment with three English professors who live deep in the Missouri Ozarks. They are debriefing me from the back of a jeep (only I am in back; all three professors are in front, like a comic trio) meandering through forests and small towns. We come to a small village resembling a colonial recreation, except darker and completely abandoned. The three professors look back at me and tell me this village is problematic…that they haven’t quite figured it out yet…. that they haven’t been able to stop these people. Why would you want to stop these people? I ask. “Its a cult,” one says, “they’re called 918. They attract members, kill them and feed the corpses to their animals.” I look around the grim village but fail to see any trace of animal activity.
The general mood of the Ozarks is the blues.
Next thing I know, I’m walking out of a campsite latrine to find an old schoolmate of mine walking in. We exchange greetings. I’m elated and showing it; he’s elated and feigning it. As we walk, Jack eventually discloses to me that he’s part of the 918 cult. The way he talks about it is the way you’d suspect someone from a cult would talk. “It has made me discover who I am really am. I owe everything to 918, everything,” he says, “and because you’re not a part of it, you would never understand.” Its behavior that is completely pattern within the context of the cult, but approaches lunacy to the rest of the world, and this is of course is where we get problems.
The feeling I remember during this conversation was of a giant void laid out between us. It was uneasy to say the least: I’m paranoid and twitching, and deep down I know everything in the world will soon get sucked up into the void, that rift, caused by the presence of this cult. The wind howls.
Next thing I know, Jack has taken me to a party inside a huge Victorian mansion in the woods, with dark walls and big windows, chandeliers and drapes swinging in the wind. There is an excess of stair cases, but no light or electricity.
What happens at the party: I learn that the 918 cult has a reputation of attracting wealthy membership, which is how they maintain the cost of their extravagance. From eavesdropping, I gather than many members of 918 are the same Hollywood stars you can see walk red carpets to accept awards for t.v. and movies. The only celebrity yet to publicly acknowledge his involvement, however, is Harmony Korine (and you could say he is reveling in the role) who is at the party, drunk, and boasting about the many appropriate bridges 918 burns. His eyes are pure white. There are others at the party and I’m looking at them all wondering if they know.
Later, I’m with Jack again and everything goes to shit. I’m gripping an old book in a dark room with a huge window facing the moon. Jack has his back to me facing the wall, explaining in a calm voice all 918 has done for him, literally listing the merits of the cult one by one. I’m thinking about those three English professors. I clutch the book. Then Jack admits that 918 needs me dead. He says they have to kill me, and that I wouldn’t understand. Suddenly, the window breaks into a million pieces and everything stops.
Next thing I know: I’m alive, walking in the woods. Somehow, I have escaped death. I spot a road on the top of the hill and aim for it. I decide to track down a car and report the cult to the authorities once and for all. But the thing about cults: once you’ve sniffed the poison, you see its trail everywhere. Suddenly I know I can’t trust anyone. My own schoolmate wants me dead. Think: What do I know about 918? That they are rich and powerful. Even Hollywood is in their pocket. Those three English professors? Why do you think they brought me down here in the first place?? Fuck! So stupid. I feel the world closing in around me but I keep walking, avoiding the roads, sticking to the shadows, eating sleeping where I can. Walking, walking. The void is everywhere. The stars look real.
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