on life, music etc beyond mainstream

2015 22 Mrz

The beauty of a Brazilian woman on the fifth floor

von: Michael Engelbrecht Filed under: Blog | TB | Comments off

It’s the “criss-crossing” that I like most. That may be the wrong word, a perhaps better one might be “intertwining”, or “theme travel” like “time travel”. Even better would be the word I learned from a Robert Wyatt-song: „zig-zagging“.

I definitely believe that so called “high art” is a cliche invented by dry brains. Art is high, from my perspective, if it reveals a personal relevance for your life. I could write a small book about this. Culture is about things that are not at all necessary. If Flaubert hadn’t written his Bovary-novel or Kafka no “Schloss”, there would be no one who would miss them.

To say it differently: I have no doubts that Donna Tartt’s “Distelfink” may be a great piece of art for a lot of people, but from a perspective of “personal revelations and discoveries”, “self-recognition” and “approaching the unnameable/unknown”, some episodes of “Banshee” , a deep watch of old “Beat-Club”-shows, or immersing yourself in “Birdman” can have more profound impacts on your life than reading the collected works of Seneca or Thomas Mann. Of course everyone makes his and her own choices. Culture is a “song for everyone”.

Seen in that way, culture changes from an elitist canon of “holy works” and a collection of not really necessary products to a survival kit in the best sense of the word. Then culture, freed from the necessity to rely on high brow guardians of so-called “truth”, really is about growth, recognition, and, sometimes, creates small portions of enlightenment, mini-sartoris in a religion-free sense.

I once got to know a culture worker who was thinking he was the no longer missing link between the high art and the people who need explanations and introductions. One day he entered a hotel room in München where he had to prepare one of his lectures. Suddenly he saw a big spider on the ceiling, and someone knocked on the door. A cleaning woman. She saw that very important person on the bed, trembling, shivering. “Please, please”, he said to the woman, “kill that spider, kill that spider.” This is a true story, and even long before this happened, i didn’t like this guy at all, his gestures, his persona, his aura of “going for the truth”. I heared this story from the cleaning woman. I was in the same hotel at the same time. She fucked me, and I fucked her, she was beautiful, she loved Caetano Veloso. She was a revelation. And she didn’t kill the spider. She took the animal in her hands and brought it to the balcony.

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