Chose the Wrong Profession
The other night was sleepless, it is can Banksy's fault. After watching Exit Through the Gift Shop, which seems at first like a great piece of fiction, you can see in the the credits some clues that the protagonist, Mr. Brainwash, really did have an exhibition in LA, which really did get capture the cover of the LA weekly. I spent the rest of the wee hours maniacally scouring the internet... how could this be? This a hoax so enormous that it would make P.T. Barnum blush. Imagine that I made better music, worked harder, was more clever, whatever, and arrived to have the fame of Banksy. Then, leveraging all this money & fame created an entirely fictional shadow Filastine that would make a music that is empty, derivative, superficial, with zero social criticism. But the public loves this false Filastine, the press fawn, he sells out concerts, and is hired to produce Madonna's new record. A few days later I found myself in a cinema because of the above image. Terrorist percussionists dressed in suits and balaclavas? This is a very narrow bit of bandwidth from the collective unconscious that seems to be shared only by the Infernal Noise Brigade and a half dozen Swedes. The film is called Sound of Noise and it's genius. Lately my inboxes are full of inane patter about witch house, ethnic dubstep, a new micro-genre of techno, or yet another indy-electro project by some pasty british teenagers. What relevance does this shit have? It's all so instantly disposable. Banksy, Swedes, thank you deeply for making me feel for a moment less lonely, for giving a bit of inspiration that regrettably doesn't come from my fellow musicians. It's shaping up to be an ad-hoc zero-budget mega-production.