Music and postmodernism

Postmodernism or post-modernism, a concept - or two - so hard to define that it is barely a concept. The fact that it is impossible to define with any degree of satisfaction or success is perhaps in itself the epitome of the post-modern condition. Whatever that is. You see?

Nick Hornby, in "Fever Pitch" described the Dutch invention Total Football as the footballing version of postmodernism; people playing out of their expected positions in order to surprise and attack better. Of course, it only works up to a point. But the idea of playing out of position is an instructive one. Because perhaps postmodernism is simply that - changing positions, revealing the norms of society by breaking them, inverting them. Expose master narratives as being discourse. Question everything and see where you end up. So you are a defender? Who decided that you can't make a run and score a goal? The manager - or tradition? Why listen to authority at all? And who decided that the pitch should be rectangular - and covered with grass? And then we have to take a step back and realise that some things are required if we want to keep the game intact. And a theory of rejecting theories (Tony Cliff) is, of course, a theory.

So what does this have to do with music? Well, I first started thinking about postmodernism in conjunction with music on Wednesday when a student brass band where entertaining bemused innocent bystanders in the very modern university building which houses, among other things, my department. A new glass contrivance has been placed among three existing buildings, connecting them and making them one big centre for humanistic research. Outside walls became inside walls, inside walls became inner balconies - in fact, the whole thing is rather postmodern. So, in the former courtyard, now the cafeteria, we were entertained by a group of people who, as the gig proceeded started moving out of position - walking around with trumpets among people trying to eat lunch and availing themselves of the inner balconies and stairs to create a feeling of omnipresence rather than a stage act. Audience became participants, musicians hid behind chairs… and so on. Changing positions, basically.

Now, what really brought on these thoughts and indeed the need to write about it was the Swedish Eurovision Song Contest competition. Deciding upon which song to send to wherever the ESC is held used to be, historically, a fairly straightforward affair. One night, 10 or so songs, a well-dressed presenter or two. There was a formula which was followed in some way or another. Today it has evolved into a venue for postmodern irony. To begin with, it is no longer one event, but 6 – a month and a half of competitions which are held all over the country, in increasingly obscure venues.

The starting line-up for all the competitions comprised 32 songs and contained some old-timers doing their usual stuff, some utterly forgettable washed down pop songs, a euro-disco tune sung completely in Italian (!), oriental disco sung mainly in English, one sweet but dull singer-songwriter and the yearly comedy contribution: a song which through puns and innuendo was all about masturbation. (Funny or vulgar? Clever or moronic? Postmodern or just silly? Can’t make up my mind.) The most interesting tune, which predictably did not make it to the final, was a propitious fusion of Swedish and Iranian folk music, sung in three languages by the band Sheida. Mixtures of cultures and their music can yield wonderful results and the apparent ease of the process is exciting and encouraging. See also:

http://www.sheida.se/

http://www.salsaceltica.com/

http://www.afrocelts.org/

http://www.stockholmlisboa.com/

I must confess to not watching all the programmes – by way of boycott and sheer lack of interest in an event that just cannot merit quite this much attention. Due to a rigorous selection policy, the songs that finally made it to the main final were all variations of the bestselling concept that is a Swedish ESC winner. Three ballad efforts and the singer-songwriter number made it seem a little more varied than it really was. The songs which brought the ESC to Sweden were all similar – as were these songs. Needless to say it works quite well, catchy, happy tunes which stick in your head like a persistent migraine. I liked most of them and am still cheerfully humming. And am quite impressed by that the fact that I have for the first time in my life been seduced by something approximating a latino lover act – and what finally did it was a local lad, 20 years of age. How postmodern of me. Some songs were in Swedish, most were in English – and contained quaint little grammatical errors and faulty pronunciation which made the artists appear not only conventional but also mildly illiterate.

Ultimately, this conventionality of the songs undermined the postmodern efforts to make the actual competition a little different. Again. The presenter did his best to do the unexpected, make meta-jokes and turn the whole thing a bit queer. But essentially, having two men sing a love song and do a romantic dance towards the end seemed just as formulaic as everything else. The postmodernism that is the Swedish song competition has just done a full circle. By now the revolutionary thing might be to bring back the actual traditional concept. The song which in the end won (quite as expected) epitomised the fact that the queer postmodern irony of this competition is just gloss – even if it is entertaining when the skimpiest little outfit of the whole evening covers (or un-covers) a man. While the stage performance differed from all the others, the song itself is a conglomeration of all the songs this country has won the competition with. And the outfits, while marvellously silly, just don’t reach the silliness standard of 1974. But the refrain sums up the whole discussion of postmodernism quite well:

Words, I like to break ‘em
Words, I’d like to shake ‘em
Shake them from my troublesome mind
And you turn up your nose
It’s a joke you suppose
But baby, I’m the worrying kind

Don’t even know if the double meaning is intentional, but very few people would be deeply worried at this stage. Because in the end what can be more conventionally postmodern than a modern-retro glam rock band from southern Sweden that almost, but not quite, takes itself seriously? Yet, more importantly, what could be more old school? An updated rendition of Waterloo sung by a group of lads who look and sound like The Sweet. Europe, we proudly give you - The Ark.

http://www.thearkworld.com/