Hope & not hope
On November 09, 2016, I mauled enough dumplings to stun a yak and trundled my hollowed-out psyche two miles west to watch Nicolas Jaar tour one of the greatest electronic works of the past 25 years. Released between the Brexit vote and our election of a fascist, Sirens is loosely about Jaar’s growing up in a Chilean family during the Pinochet dictatorship, but it is more accurately about the systems and patterns that result in dictatorships, looking at the system from a higher level than we usually see in ragestroking, reactionary political music. Its emotional & philosophical centerpiece, “No”, is about a vote to keep Pinochet in power; in order to kick him out & embrace the future, Chileans must counterintuitively vote “no.” The show, sold out, was approximately what we all deserved after what all happened the day before.
This year, I spent the day after the election disassociating in a park, and then I went to a museum and disassociated there, instead. I got a bottle of Westvleteren 8 at a convenience store (I know, I know), and then drank it while disassociating. Then I got on an airplane, got off the airplane, and saw Godspeed You! Black Emperor. This band is more outwardly activist than Jaar. They once put a flowchart on one of their album covers showing the connection between the record industry & military contractors. Their latest (excellent) album is called ”NO TITLE AS OF 13 FEBRUARY 2024 28,340 DEAD”. Two members of the band are projectionists who play film loops during their live shows; the loop that opens their live shows famously contains the word “HOPE” etched by hand on each frame.
The word “hope” has a loaded history in the left. Obama used it to caption his now-iconic campaign poster in 2008. In 2024, pundits polled those on the left & right to determine how they felt; the right said “angry,” the left said “hopeful.” I don’t think many people on the left are hopeful as of this writing, as there isn’t much to be hopeful about.
I frequently refer to text as a canon of wonder, a place where I can be a little optimistic and, yes, hopeful as we all navigate challenging times. The past few years of my life haven’t been easy, but they have been felt wholly, beautifully. And despite the past week, to say nothing of the broader looming apocalypse, 2024 has been one of the best years of my life. I’ve tried to write this text on & off over the past week, and mostly I spent it ragestroking, wracked with grief, on the phone with loved ones, wondering how to move forward. There must be a place for that, because we don’t to have the nice stuff without darkness from time to time, and lord knows we’re probably going to end up with an awful lot of darkness for a while.
Music feels like a safe enough space to talk through hard emotions. It’s pretty normal for music to be a downer; we’re not fazed by it. We’re able to go there through relating to the lived experiences of others. Jaar & GY!BE make radically different work, but they come bearing the same reminders. What we’ve built is fragile. It can collapse and renew itself. Fighting is a practice; you will never be done.