Leonard Cohen and his ladies

This blog has been about art and literature since I resurfaced here to your great readership.

Time to return to the erotic. Mildly and respectfully.

A few words about Leonard Cohen, whom I love and respect.

I am watching Leonard Cohen Live at the Isle of Wight 1970. He is a phenomenon. Sexy is too mundane a word to describe his presence. He is a magician, although that word is an empty cliche too. He looks a bit absent. I know, it was in the middle of the night. I have not seen other performance of that period. On his recent Live in London DVD (2008) and indeed it is the same man. I am certain, however, that during the 2008 concert he is quite conscious of what he does and communicates with his band. Absence then does not apply. I am less sure of that, but do have the feeling he is supremely in control on the 1970 occasion, but by way of casual magic, not by direct and open communication.

Isle of Wight was a war zone before he came on, in the grip of that great tension between organisers, longhaired still, and the audience, who demanded to be admitted free of charge, in the name of some revolution or other. He refers to that a few times and playfully, I think, mentions that they have the number but not the strength to establish their nation. I can not escape the thought that he is at once supportive and ironic, in other words above all that. But he holds them in his grip, firmly, like a magician, a sexy one at that.

The purpose of this blog entry is to air my suspicion that he has a spell on his female backup singers. An erotic spell. Listen to 'The Guests', 'Take this Waltz', 'Dance me to the end of Love' and especially 'If it be your will'. All great songs, whether I am right or wrong in the following. Forgive me, but I can only imagine the Master having severely primed his ladies before the recording. Sex is in the air. Or perhaps he merely looks at them intently during the session, constantly, or rather only sparingly, coyly. The eyes of the lady or ladies on their part will not leave the face of the Master, they adjust their posture, as if offering their breasts, extending backwards their ripe hindquarters, ready for the taking. The relation is clear, he is the Master and they follow. He is a great lover, no doubt, sensitive and full of empathy, but the initiative is his, as is the timing and choice of position - above all whether anything will happen at all and who the chosen one will be. His ladies are ready, as is so clear from the swooning, subservient tones. They do not compete, but like sisters wait for the whims of the Master. It is, to use a big. provocative word, obscene in my eyes, very mildly and respectfully so. Can anyone see this differently? Regardless, I love and respect Leonard Cohen, his ladies and the songs they sing, and everyone that loves them.

Less than zero

I have just finished Bret Easton Ellis' (BEE) Less than Zero. What amazes me is that Less than Zero is 25 years old this year. Previously, I had read Glamorama (see Wednesday, November 08, 2006), Rules of Attraction and Lunar Park, in this order, and seen the film based on American Psycho. His work has been praised and denounced. Little doubt about his ability, much about his morality, is a quick summary. I enjoyed them all, including the least successful Glamorama, which I commented on before. Cynical his work is not. (Should I care if it wasn't? Oh, I don't know. Not sure I care. I should, but don't. It worries me that I don't.) It is set in and around LA. The cast are sons and daughters of Hollywood producers and directors, rich and spoilt. BEE works hard at putting up attrocities of the milder and extreme sorts, from beautiful drugged out teenage boys serving drug dealers to a snuff movie someone has paid $15,000 for showing a naked girl being raped, mutilated (and later presumably killed.) We follow Clay, the protagonist, first apparently as nihilistic as the rest (as far as we know that rest), later at least aware that he is missing something, such as the ability to say that he once loved his beautiful (ex-)girlfriend Blair. It comes to nothing, because his summer break home ends and he returns to his New England college.
The title 'Less than Zero' refers to an Elvis Costello song, off his 'My aim is true' album. Indeed, it is Elvis that serves as the parent, the way he looks at Clay from the Trust promotion poster, or just past him in fact. The lyrics refer to Oswald Mosley, the UK fascist leader, and perversion in general. No direct clues to BEE's morality tale. (Clues? What do you suggest? I am in control here, baby.) Less than zero, meanwhile. Is that indicative of what Clay is about, having realised he was not going anywhere but unable to act and correct, making him arguably less than his oblivious peers rather than more? Or is less than zero to indicate how the emotional or moral climate is 'freezing', a BEE stock word? That is indeed what the phrase in EC's song suggests.

I know little about BEE. I understand he stems from the circles he describes and that he is elusive. He should be. The fact that he puts so much inside knowledge into his body of work, that the protagonist could indeed be himself is part of the mystique of his work. Not to be spoilt by by BEE revealing what is truth and what fiction, what autobio, what borrowed. (I have read quite a few novels that borrow heavily from truth. A trend, perhaps, in these days of reality television etc. I like it. Food for thought of what truth and fiction really is.)

BEE's Imperial Bedroom is just out, to favourable reviews, judging from those that I have read. The book is waiting for me. As I understand, Clay's vague drive to want to escape from the nihilism of his peers has not borne fruit. He has become part of the Hollywood system. I cannot wait to read it. Elvis Costello returns as the provider of the title. Will he play a cameo role again? (Stay with me. I will be back, dude.)

Performance art: 100 Years, Julia Stoschek Foundation, Düsseldorf

Dusseldorf had an exhibition on 100 years of performance art. I did not make it (again: what am I doing with my life, when I am so interested? Such is life, procrastination rules.) It has history start at Marcel Duchamps' Tonsure, where usually there is a consensus performance art started in the 60s. Again, art is not what it is. It is context and definition.

This time I reflect on the work of Andrea Fraser. During 2003, she made a performance 'Untitled'. What she did is sleep with a collector in a hotelroom - for reputedly $ 20.000 dollar. Her NYC gallery owner was the pimp. The candidate had to be straight and unmarried. (Fraser cunningly covering herself against litigation?) A video of 1 hour would be made as a record of the performance. 1 Copy for the collector and a few more (4, I believe) for sales.

The video apparently looks like amateurporn. Fraser alone in red dress, pacing, receiving the man, sharing a glass of wine, ending naked in bed doing the business.

Yes, the work is about the human condition, but this is too thin for me. It is principally about art & business: what is art, what does a collector want, the artist selling a little, intimate part of herself.

To me, this is at best a film and acting, not art. Less so than me eternal reference: Emin's unmade bed. It is business too.