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Above: The Recording Industry Association of America is comprised of the world’s biggest record labels.

TL;DR Version:
Musician and recording engineer Steve Albini lays his teeth into the music recording industry in his now famous rant “The Problem With Music”. Originally published in The Baffler in 1993, the article breaks down the expenses and income of an up-and-coming band signed to a major record label, and demonstrates how industry contracts are designed to rob musical talent in favour of superflous managerial types – “producers,” “distributors,” etc. Written in 1993, the numbers Albini provides are long outdated – the contract type, however, is still standard within both the recording industry and the film industry. In the wake of SOPA, PIPA, ACTA, and other invasive copyright initiatives, Albini’s argument is another nail in the coffin of dying, money-hungry entertainment giants: piracy only robs those who rob the producers of culture.

The Problem With Music
by Steve Albini

Whenever I talk to a band who are about to sign with a major label, I always end up thinking of them in a particular context. I imagine a trench, about four feet wide and five feet deep, maybe sixty yards long, filled with runny, decaying shit. I imagine these people, some of them good friends, some of them barely acquaintances, at one end of this trench. I also imagine a faceless industry lackey at the other end, holding a fountain pen and a contract waiting to be signed.

Nobody can see what’s printed on the contract. It’s too far away, and besides, the shit stench is making everybody’s eyes water. The lackey shouts to everybody that the first one to swim the trench gets to sign the contract. Everybody dives in the trench and they struggle furiously to get to the other end. Two people arrive simultaneously and begin wrestling furiously, clawing each other and dunking each other under the shit. Eventually, one of them capitulates, and there’s only one contestant left. He reaches for the pen, but the Lackey says, “Actually, I think you need a little more development. Swim it again, please. Backstroke.”

And he does, of course.

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Above: Simon, the “bullshit-liberal hero” of a Hollywood student protest film – The Strawberry Statement (1970) is accosted by a cop.

Revolutionary circles are abuzz following the youtube release of a new Miley Cyrus music video (see below), which combines protest footage of the Occupy movement with a remix of Cyrus’s nominally political dance track “Liberty Walk” (nominally political in that it repeats the word “Liberty” a bunch of times and includes aphorisms such as “Free yourself, slam the door—not a prisoner anymore!”). This grand announcement of support for the Occupy movement has already elicited a semi-official response from OWS: Priscilla Grim—a co-editor of The Occupied Wall Street Journal—reacted to the music video with a challenge to Ms. Cyrus, telling TMZ in an interview that “I double dog dare [her] to fight on the front line of economic civil rights at LA City Hall,” and adding that “Revolutionaries occupy, Ms. Cyrus.”

It goes without saying that this gesture of support is very different from the sort of actual/egalitarian protest participation that, for instance, Lou Reed has offered by taking “stack” (speaker’s list) at general assemblies in Liberty Plaza. And it is both easy and justified, after so much commercial co-option and celebrity cluelessness, for Occupiers to remain cynical about new celebrity endorsers.

But a brief moment in revolutionary history, in which Hollywood made a concerted effort to capitalize on campus revolutionaries with a series of studio-backed student protest films, can teach us that ‘revolutionary’ cultural objects made from within the culture industry deserve close scrutiny rather than immediate dismissal—they are often ambiguous, but may hold the potential to politicize audiences outside the reach of radical-political culture. While we should remain aware that Miley Cyrus is maximizing the earning power of her personal brand with this pro-Occupy video, we should also take the video seriously as a potential piece of contemporary revolutionary culture.

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This post comes with two steps. Step one is to watch the above video made by Spanish revolutionaries.

Step two is to watch the video below. Listen very closely.

The song is called Uprising, the single from the album The Resistance, by Muse. It may, at first, seem like a protest anthem or kernel of revolutionary culture, especially with lyrics like, “Rise up and take the power back/ It’s time the fat cats had a heart attack/ You know that their time’s coming to an end/ We have to unify and watch our flag ascend.” Thankfully, the Top of the Pops Christmas Special exists to remind us it’s yet more mindless entertainment designed to make money.

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Above: Bruno Mars sings about doing nothing.

Even the most cynical among us can find something enviable about Bruno Mars, be it his precision-crafted pompadour, his truckloads of money, or his apparent invulnerability in the face of American class-1 drug laws. He is Elektra records’s golden boy, transformed by the brute force of finance capital into a new king of pop. We find him forced upon us from the top-tier of the musical mass media: international radio stations (like Virgin) and music-oriented television stations (MuchMusic, MTV, etc) have taken Bruno Mars and multiplied him to infinity.

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Two days ago we went to the MMVAs with signs (for the uninitiated, this is the brainwashing super-spectacle of the Much Music Video Awards). We were not there to protest but to hack reality, taking the ideology of the event more literally than it takes itself. We spoke as overzealous TV fans, praising television for its corporate superstructure and its role in stupefying our society.

On our placards were giant barcodes scannable by smart phones, leading users to a resource of cultural de-mystification.

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Above: Ice Cube’s debut solo album – AmeriKKKa’s Most Wanted

TL;DR Version:
Gangsta rap drew attention to the pressing issue of African American poverty, Kanye West draws attention to himself.

Conceit at the Top of Hip-Hop
by Noah Gataveckas

It seems like aeons ago when Ice Cube spoke:

I don’t want to see no dancin’, I’m
Sick of that shit – listen to hit! ‘Cause
Y’all ever look and see another brotha on the
Video, tryin’ to outdance each other? [1]

Really it was only 1990. Now here we are, 20 years later in an age where acts like T-Pain and the Black Eyed Peas are considered “hip” by most young people and top 40 countdowns around the world. Hip-hop, it seems, has regressed to its pre-1990s identity. Can you recall what this was like? Vanilla Ice, MC Hammer, Tag Team, Marky Mark & the Funky Bunch, etc. Videos of anonymous fools dancing in parking garages, and dopey rappers repeating catchphrases hypnotically, often advertising the very title of the song you were listening to. The genre of ‘dance rap’ was a predominant manifestation of what “hip-hop” or “rap” meant in the common vernacular of 1989 or so. And it looked like this creatively bankrupt trend might prevail unabated to the end of time, until gangstas, circa 1992 and 1993 – thank god for gangstas! – pulled a drive-by and murdered them niggas.

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