NoXRave

(This is an entr'acte plucked from the between degenerative genetic tissue of malformed cultural deposits...)

"While starving myself with tiny, underwater kisses, miniscule bubbles filled with gaseous reminders excitedly began to cuddle up upon the rubbery back-annals of my exposed lobes. From within this watery tension seemingly meaningless trifles, that would have usually seemed a million lights from home, cracked the muddy channels, lined as they were with the sciatic tendrils of fibre optics, their endings be-knighting the river water with an output of rock steady plasma."

Via satellite, retrospectively, with time differences perfunctoraily abridged and only a sanitary delay, images were comfortably delivered of Brasilian avant-retro-pop group CSS live at Glastonbury, claiming to be the only ‘Third World band’ on the bill. Sadly this self-affirmation was no victorious cry of defiance, no revolution of the industry. This was no more than ‘Knebworth?! Are you ready?!" rock-toric. The band played off and on but seemed to know not what they said or rather what they had signed.

Through this statement from the mud they sucked up the ghosts of this tourist shanty town’s ‘disappeared’ ( the roundabout radicals, the tie-dyed in the woolly mind hippies and even the gangs of thieving scallies) and processed their ideas into a finished plastic novelty. The band’s kitsch bric-a-brac reference-image library was a crash course in lazy laser surgery, a tour de force in how to shambolically, and with only half-realising, carve up the cash cow but keep the heart beating (to extend my analogy: a stadium rock group like U2 would have no such ethics, they just mince the fucker and sell the hamburgers). From the LoveYes! perspective Lovefoxx’s passionate scream was simply making sure that we were aware that, despite the popularity of off-the-shelf Third World full of artificial sun , fruit acid and Epoverty, there was a new organic product on the market, dreamed up by indigenous modern culturalists and full of natural ingredients. look around you for Sao Paulo, Brasil and the entire Third World actually has a burgeoning ‘middle class’ too!

The essence of ‘development’ (‘overseas’ or internalised to the nth degree) is the technological construction of a layer or layers that control and obscure the unequal distribution of opportunities. Our view of this ‘diversity’ is thus prescribed and homogenised so as to most effectively circumvent an orgiastic explosion of difference that might threaten to overwhelm these health surfaces that separate us from each other and each other's experiences.

(An important aside: This is why it is necessary to hold up another lens or mirror (media) to this view; in order to grasp something of a world the that appears somewhat at least the wrong way round).

I believe this to have been the case when Marx and Engels waxed lyrical about the forces unleashed by capital and industry and well before, right back to Kubrick’s projected Ulyssean vision of ape-like humanoids out clubbing. This technological stratification of the social throughout history is the ideological parallel of Descartes’ rudimentary anthro-pologising when discussing physical human extension beyond ‘the self’ on his mission to grasp the motor of being.
We are made a propos of ‘development’ in the sense described more readily in terms of demographics and marketing; both the study and the practice of increasing the ‘middle’ (i.e. consuming) classes (and reducing the numbers of 'producing' i.e. working classes). The growth in the global middle class can therefore be understood not as the erosion of poverty but its de-politicisation. technology may re-engineer certain forms of production but this conceals rather than eradicates poverty. Thus our impoverishment is consolidated as quickly as we become more crippled in trying to grasp it.

When the next World Party tells us we are all children of the same mother make a closer inspection of the sensational Damien Hirst-designed bridge umbillicisng us between continents. Funny how it’s shaped like a syringe and appears to be pushing in poison and sucking up money. But you shouldn’t feel bad about it. No sir! as the only real difference between 'us' and 'them' is the bang from the crack we on!

“Nothing had changed, the monster was still breathing and, to tell you the truth, since the operation takes a better photograph. But off screen the nights here are still illuminated only by desperation and made sticky with longing and ignorance…”

“In Other news: Once exiled Gilberto Gil named Brasil’s Minister of Culture and closer to home (is it? where am I exactly?) Peter Garratt joins the Cabinet of Kevin Rudd”

The examples of ‘virgin’ ethnic territory being coated in make-up and sprayed with the spot light are too numerous to detail as they occur with every human reflex whether on the other side of the world or amongst the interstellar chaos of your diminishing responsibility.

As usual and as intended what this extended public thought-wank (of course due to the above described extension and stratification of ‘public access’ everyone is waxily onanising, yet understandably no-one is listening and we are alone again) condenses into (?) in my navel as a question of how to make a ‘political’ culture in an 'economy of survival', whether actual or spiritual. Should CSS not exploit markets in their own or other continents and become fantastically successful? Do they not deserve it? Should they not share their music? Such questions seem fairly ridiculous.

Rather what we are saying is that we are still bored of being instructed to have fun and our emotions harvested and processed, our native lands re-developed. We are old and tired of it! (our teeth are too long for it, our eyes too big and hairy to hear of it!). I believe the pulse of a band like CSS is fun-oving ,iving and sharing and we want this and not all the other shit that we are told must come with it along with the army of mimiks who vacantly rape every moment of all its magic.

"In the steam of the bathrooms of the chateau bleu, the shadow of the negress dances, stimulating a longing for more resistant, persistent dreams with less empty gestures and more intense intimidating meanings.

Yet even now through my TV eyes they have captured the image of my obsidian charge and are crystallising her movements ready for the next dawn's mock-up street markets".

We don’t need a Nu Rave. We need Love!Yes?