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Dionysian Music – Slipknot

I’m back in the States, despite a brief stay in Belford Hospital in Port William. Having time on my hands in the hospital, I was able to learn a new favorite poem (“I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow”), and, of course, think through a quick defense of music such as that produced by Slipknot and Rage Against the Machine. I owe my inspiration for the following to many drugs and to Glenn Cannon(!) Arbery.

To use the words of Nietzsche, Slipknot participates in the Dionysian element of tragedy: “an assured premonition of highest pleasure through destruction and negation.” [To clarify, Nietzsche says this about Dionysian music in general, not about Slipknot in particular.] To summarize elements in The Birth of Tragedy that call to mind heavy metal, the Dionysian and the Apollinian (I use Kaufman’s spelling to reflect the debt I owe to his thought), “appear coupled with each other, and through this coupling ultimately generate an equally Dionysian and Apollinian form of art–Attic tragedy.” For Nietzsche, the Apollinian functions through beautiful images. It has vanquished the primal order of the Titans that ruled before. It is not, however, just a “healing;” it is also a type of “illusion:” Apollinian art hides from the viewer the brutal, primal terrors and energies that are hidden under the phenomenal world.

Dionysian art, on the other hand, functions through music. “Through music,” says Nietzsche, “the viewer participates in an assured premonition of highest pleasure through destruction and negation, so he feels as if the innermost abyss of things spoke to him perceptibly;” this innermost abyss has a “hidden substratum of suffering and knowledge, revealed by the Dionysian.”

What kind of knowledge do we gain from seeing the Oresteia, or from watching King Lear, or from attending a Slipknot concert? We do, as Aristotle says, achieve some kind of catharsis, or purging, of unclean emotions; yes; but, I think Nietzsche advances our understanding of the knowledge of tragedy even further: “the metaphysical joy in the tragic is a translation of the instinctive unconscious Dionysian wisdom into the language of images;” those who enter the Dionysian become, for a moment, “primordial being itself, feeling its raging desire for existence and joy in existence…. We are pierced by the maddening stings of these pains just when we have become, as it were, one with the joy in primordial existence, and when we anticipate, in Dionysian ecstasy, the indestructability and eternity of this joy.” That is, Nietzsche doesn’t say that only when fear and pity have been purged do we gain some kind of knowledge; no, “in spite of fear and pity, we are the happy living beings, not as individuals, but as the one living being, with whose creative joy we are united.” This rapturous joy is something of what Dmitri lives in The Brothers Karamazov: “I’m a Karamazov. For when I do leap into the pit, I go headlong with my heels up, and am pleased to be falling in that degraded attitude, and pride myself upon it. And in the very depths of that degradation I begin a hymn of praise.” I can’t help but draw parallels between the Dionysian abyss and the Psalmist: “De profundis clamavi ad te Domine;” or Job, scraping his back with a potsherd; in such tragic moments, “Man, jack, joke, poor potsherd, / Patch, matchwood, immortal diamond, / Is immortal diamond.”


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This is all well and good and true for tragedy, but I guess I should at least try to suggest some parallels between tragedy and that things I like to listen to (sometimes).

There seems to be little of the Apollinian in metal, but the Apollinian image need not be beautiful in the way that we think of it normally: it is not “pretty.” As Socrates says, sometimes, you have to tell your eyes, irresistably drawn to scenes of carnage, “All right then, fine, look and have your fill!” “Feed apace then, greedy eyes,” agrees Samuel Daniel. The eyes are drawn to these images of pain and suffering, beautiful in their scenery of desctuction and begation. There are plenty of movements toward Appolinian, image-driven beauty in the music itself, and in the lyrics, of most heavy metal. To take just one example, there is that great section in the Rage song about Danny and Lisa: “They take me away from / The strangest places, / Sweet Danny and Lisa.” Something translates the “strange” forces of the Dionysian abyss into sweet and Apollinian imagery. The entire song seems to suggest a translation of the primal forces of rock considered as just music (aural and Dionysian) into those forces being conveyed in a visual medium (Apollinian) as well: “Hey man, look at me rocking out: / I’m the radio; / Hey man, look at me rocking out, / I’m on the video.”

For another parallel between the old tragedy of yore and the new tragedy of metal, I think of Wagner’s theory of gesamptkunstwerk. Wagner wanted to combine all different mediums of art into his opera with a view towards creating true tragedy. Slipknot definitely embraces the operatic gesamptkunstwerk, shown most clearly by their live shows. They combine music enhanced by huge loudspeakers (aural art), painting in their backdrops, crazy light shows, and special effects (visual art), lyrics of a sort (poetry), and, of course, masks, drummers running all over their set, band members leaping into the mosh pit to crowd-surf, long and stringy hair thrashed to the beat of the music in the “heavy” sections of music… (theatrical, dramatic art).

The song “Psychosocial” provides an excellent example of the tragic hero as presented by the lyrics of the song. I wish I knew the lyrics to the verses so I could back this up even better, but just check the chorus: “The rain will kill us all, / We throw ourselves against the wall; / And no one else can see / The preservation of the martyr in me.” Glenn Cannon says, “The tragic hero of the Dionysian [such as the character in “Psychosocial,” and the members of Slipknot] is actually Dionysius himself undergoing in disguise the agony of appearing at all, having to be and act in a circumscribed and limited mode of being.” Just as Nietzsche says that only the actors behind their masks truly face the tragic abyss, Slipknot acknowledges that “no one else can see the preservation of the martyr” in the characters that they assume.

To conclude, heavy metal today is actively participating in the genre of tragedy. All right, my drugs are wearing off, and I need bed.

“I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow. / I learn by going where I have to go.”

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“I’m On A Boat!” is a post-modern expression of high existentialism

Sometimes, I am embarrassed to admit that I indulge in certain types of media: for example, I love me some Slipknot, revel in Eminem, and even enjoy things like “I’m on a Boat!” I have to ask myself, “Self, are you just being base and falling for stuff that diverts your mind from reality for a bit?” And self says, “Yeah, I; but maybe, there’s something about all this that actually helps me understand reality, too!” In other words, I really enjoy stuff like Eminem; it makes me happy; it seems that there is something good that should follow from that happiness. So, … seeing as how I will be on a boat ferrying in between Scotland and Ireland with the SGA juniors this summer, and seeing as how we plan to visit a small, lonely island off the northern side of Scotland, the following is a brief attempt to justify my enjoyment of “I’m On A Boat!” in terms of what it can teach us about art and reality.

“I’m On A Boat!” is a post-modern expression of high existentialism. First of all, we need to get over the sterile, misunderstood formula for existentialism that is promoted to those who wish to have a shallow understanding of what is actually an important philosophy of life in the modern age. Thumbnail definition (which is false) of existentialism: “things exist, but they don’t mean anything.” This might apply more to what might be considered the absurdist imagination, such as presented in Camus’ masques, or Beckett’s tragedy; but let’s look at existentialism. Jean Paul Sartre is one of the theoreticians behind this school of thought; he promotes the “theatre of situations” as opposed to the “theatre of characters.” We have all wondered, I’m sure, What if I was alive when Christ was proclaiming the Good News? What if I went to TAC? What if I was born as Peter Kane’s twin? Well, the theatre of situations seems to attack one of mankind’s universal illusions: that our life situation is a contingent, interchangeable circumstance through which moves our unchanging self. Existentialism rather violently destroys any false dreams. I think that’s why my favorite lines in “I’m On A Boat!” include the following brilliant observations: “**** land, I’m on a boat, mother******! / ****trees, I climb buoys, mother******! / I’m on a boat with my boys, mother******! / This boat engine making noise, mother******!” See, existentialism is good in that it forces awareness of the reality of our situation in life. Only the unique, definite, particular experiences of our life allows us as selves to come to an awareness of our “me myself” (using Whitman’s term rather than Freud’s, the ego, to designate Whitman’s much more vital understanding of the self). This character, indeed all of the characters in the song and video, reject any alternate realities; they realize that it is only by grasping the situation of their being on a boat can they make any sense of their lives. They don’t reject other situations for other people (“You at Kinko’s straight flipping copies”), they just reject other possible situations for their selves. For example, some of my favorite lines are, “This ain’t Sea World, this is real as it gets, / I’m on a boat, mother******, don’t you e’er forget!” Or, “You can’t stop me, mother******, ’cause I’m on a boat!” Or (and this is my favorite line), “This boat is real!”

Dante, in a letter to Can Grande alle Scale (this is the source for Dante’s understanding of the fourfold method of biblical exegesis, too, so you know the letter’s good), says that one thing by which a work may be judged as artistically correct or not is whether the title of a work is appropriate to the content of the work. (This is similar, too, to Maritain’s understanding of the poetics of the novel: the “harmonious or appropriate expansion” of a theme or idea.) Well, the artistic merit of an existentialist understanding of “I’m On A Boat!” is that every line in the poem serves to reveal and expand the subject mentioned in the title. Do we need to know about T-Pain’s love life to appreciate the situation he is placed in by virtue of being on a boat (“I ******a mermaid”)? Do we need to know T-Pain’s background (what he did before he was on a boat) to understand that the situation he is placed in on a boat is different than what he expected from himself (“I never though I’d be on a boat / … I never thought I’d see the day, / With a big boat coming my way”)? See, one of the brilliant things about “I’m On A Boat” is that no superfluous background material interferes with the unfolding of the situation given in the title of the song. One of the more annoying things in life would be a work of criticism that tracks down every little biographical detail about the characters of the song; or that chases down every reference to things that are not of the boat (much like the Road to Xanadu). Don’t such biographical footnotes distract from the work of art? To explain by digression a bit, I love the Albertine of Ivan Blatny’s poetry. Well, it kind of ticks me off that it turns out that Blatny actually is referencing some guy that Marcel Proust fell in love with, and that all of Blatny’s poetry is an expression of desire for another man! That footnote ticked me off. Heck with that, I say; who cares whether Albertine’s character is supposed to be male or female; she is a beautiful woman in the situation of Blatny’s poems and a beautiful woman she remains for me. Anyway, it seems that learning anything about the singers of “I’m On A Boat” (as a true “character analysis” would try to do) would reveal nothing about what the song is trying to say.

Ah well. I need to return to Dostoevsky’s Mitya’s three torments of the soul, so here’s a final remark about the possible importance of existentialism. We need to look at great events of humans in terms of how they apply to our situation in life. We can’t really come close to the faith that Abraham put in God; Abraham was absolutely absurd to believe that God would make him the father of the nations after He told him to sacrifice his only son! But, Abraham did; and He did; we cannot really have faith like that. We can only be rational, non-absurd beings. We cannot relate to the characters that do great events; we can only look at the situations we are faced with in everyday life.

That concluding remark looks like it could be said by one of Kierkegaard’s “knights of infinite resignation.” I hope I’m not one of those.

Anyway. Here’s why I like “I’m On A Boat:” it provides a forum for a meaningful discussion about art, literature, reality, life, etc. Hopefully, I will be able to justify my enjoyment of Slipknot and Eminem in a similar manner at some point in the future.

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More Evidence of Eugene’s Brilliance

For more evidence of Eugene Curtsinger’s brilliance, read his novel Strychnine and Ceremony in light of a recent short essay by David James Duncan, “Cherish This Ecstasy” (published in The Sun, July 2008 issue, and among what Mary Oliver calls The Best American Essays 2009).

The essay begins:

The peregrine falcon was brought back from the brink of extinction by a ban on DDT, but also by a peregrine falcon mating hat invented by an ornithologist at Cornell University. If you cannot buy this, Google it. Female falcons had grown dangerously scarce. A few wistful males nevertheless maintained a sort of sexual loitering ground. The hat was imagined, constructed, and then forthrightly worn by the ornithologist as he patrolled this loitering ground, singing, Chee-up! Chee-up! and bowing like an overpolite Japanese Buddhist. For reasons neither scientists nor fashion designers entirely understand, this inspired the occasional male falcon to dive onto the ornithologist’s head, [have sex with] the hat, and fire endangered sperm into the hat’s hidden rubber receptacle. The last few females were then artificially inseminated so that their chicks could be raised in DDT-free captivity. The young produced in this way saved the peregrine from extinction – a success story from the annals of human meddling, one as rare as debacles like DDT are common.

And so on. David James Duncan reminds me that when reading anything Eugene wrote, but especially Strychnine and Ceremony, it’s important to remember what Curtsinger’s imagination could do with a phrase from his beloved Meister Eckhart: “The greater the nudity, the greater the union.”


For us, as for Duncan, may any void in our life be filled with beings

like the lone female loon who mistook a wet, moonlit interstate for water and crash-landed on the truck-grooved pavement of the fast lane; loon to whom I sprinted, as a convoy of eighteen-wheelers roared toward her, throwing my coat over her head so she wouldn’t stab me, pulling her to my chest as I leapt from the concrete; loon who, when she felt this blind liftoff, let out

a full, far-northern tremolo that pierced, without stabbing,

my coat, ribs, heart, day, life. All is an Ocean, she

and Father Zossima and the avian choir keep

singing as into black holes in trees, truck

routes, river ice, frigid hearts, ecstatic

birds keep dropping. Till even alone

and in darkness, with no special

hat, clothes, or wings to help

me fly up and feel it, I find

myself caught in the

endless act

of being

loved.

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