Porno Para Ricardo

All this discussion of post-modernity and appropriation of style on ‘The Grain’ recently[1] has left me thinking about the ‘authenticity’, to use a musicological buzzword, of such musical practises. The criticism often levelled at post-modernity is that too often it appropriates style without concerning itself with content – or context. Thus we lambaste artists who seem to quick to jump on the latest stylistic bandwagon. Case in point, the recent 80’s pop revival for taking the sound but leaving the meaning. The reason being that we take it as read that the meaning of music stems from the context (social, economic, historical) of the musician, and that this inevitably shapes and creates the sound. To take the one without the other leads, all too often, to pastiche – that most wretched of musical traits. On the other hand, as AN demonstrates in the Beastie Boys essay, when genre styles are appropriated into a meaningful context, when they are not just taken on fashionable, but on representational, aesthetical considerations, then the ‘old’ can be re-told and re-evaluated as something contemporary and valid. In addressing this well documented subject, I’d like to step outside of the Anglo-American dialogue, and talk about a band who I have become very interested in of late; Porno Para Ricardo.

Right – introductions. Porno Para Ricardo (PPR) are a Spanish – language, hardcore punk band from Cuba. Formed in the late 90’s, they have become prolific since the mid-noughties, releasing several albums on a self-run record label. Ok, a hardcore punk band from Cuba – as niches go, this one is fairly… well, niche – but bear with me. For PPR have seemingly committed wholesale appropriation (genre robbery, if you like) of a totally alien style in hardcore punk. They have taken 80’s New York and transplanted it into contemporary Havana. It is interesting to note perhaps that NY-Havana was a particularly busy cultural tramline that fed both cities (Salsa, Latin Jazz, Afro-Cuban styles, Bolero all owe their origin to this inter-city dialogue). It has since been artificially (and, some would suggest, superficially) closed by political forces. But this aggressive re-opening by PPR is just part of the significant re-contextualisation of style to create a new, politically motivated, meaning.  PPR have taken the punk aesthetic on board firstly because it speaks to them both politically and aesthetically and secondly because they can re-mould it – play with the nuances, tinker with the conventions, fine-tune the sentiments – to speak for them and their unique situation. Is this post-modern? I don’t know. But it’s what post modern and the appropriation of the past should be.

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Synechdoche, New York

Charlie Kaufman’s directorial debut has met with some mixed responses. For every critic praising it, there is one whose reaction has been one of bafflement. Kaufman, who has the (possibly unique) position of being a script writer as famous as half of the directors in Hollywood, has followed up his collaborations with Spike Jonze on ‘Being John Malkovich’ and ‘Adaptation’, as well as the Oscar winning Michel Gondry collaboration ‘Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind’, with a film that again embraces an unconventional narrative.

Synecdoche, New York[1] is the story of Caden Coutard[2] (played impeccably by Philip Seymour Hoffman) a regional theatre director struggling with his life and relationships (as well as the belief he is will die imminently). He receives a MacArthur ‘Genius’ grant and chooses to produce a work that will finally realize his desire to be brutally honest, and in which he can immerse himself in an attempt to provide authenticity. He gathers his cast in a hangar in New York, and starts his production as a recreation of the surrounding city, instructing his cast to re-enact the mundane, quotidian details of life as he has experienced it. As time goes on, the play is increasingly populated with actors playing their real life counter parts, including Caden himself, and his ‘life’ begins to slowly disintegrate. His relationships fall apart as his body gradually begins to shut down as a result of an unspecified disease, increasingly burdened by the weight of his attempt to present truth and his own life failings.

The experience of watching Synecdoche, New York reminded me, in a number of ways, of J.M. Coetzee’s semi-autobiographical novel Youth, and the comparison is an interesting, illuminating one. In S,NY Kaufman has made a creative leap forward: his quintessential concentration on neuroses, and his preoccupation with the creative process bizarrely and multifariously refracted in his narratives is still present, but here this tendency is combined with a pathos and a sense of the struggle to carry the weight of searching after purpose and accomplishment, with the constant prevailing threat of death and mortality, and ultimately Kaufman succeeds in attaining to a depth of personal emotion that many thought were lacking from his previous efforts.

Youth is far removed from S,NY in many respects, but what links the two works is the neo-existentialist focus on their protagonists’ quest for meaning in their lives, in their art, the evocation of that indescribable feeling that you are slowly wasting your life, never to be productive, or creative, or anything you ever believed you could be. They are both quests for identity, for truth, for purpose. The feeling of yearning for achievement, worn down by the weight of ambition, whilst the real world gradually recedes into the distance pervades both works, and they are both centred on one man’s perspective.

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