Lou Reed-Metal Machine Music

Disclaimer:

• The risk that this post becomes a vain attempt to seek a relevant connection between music and life is inevitable.
• One of the (no more) ulterior motives of the post is meant to respond to this article, an attempt to justify (well. 18 Euros spent in Holland) that some of us record consumers are in quest of discerning the meaning of our sorry existence instead of merely splashing our bulk of cash to record merchants, the splashing about which, the article writer derided upon and thought that it was likewise the merits of bland consumerism.
• I express my gratitude to all the flakey airheads mentioned in one of the paragraph below, without whom I won’t be able to find any angle that makes this post worth written. I love you.

“Terus terang begitu anda di atas 30-an naluri berdebat sudah otomatis hilang karenaanda sudah hidup lumayan lama untuk tahu bahwa tidak ada jawaban tunggal buatapapun di dunia ini. Jadi setelah 30-an, prinsip yang baik adalah tenggang rasaatas perbedaan saja dan tidak perlu menganggap bahwa kita cukup penting untukmenjadi otoritas bagi kebenaran. Jika anda merasa menjadi otoritas kebenarandan perlu menjadi penyampai kebenaran itu, berarti ada yang salah dengan anda.You should check your head.” – Taufiq Rahman. 

(Granted, upon entering one’s 30s, one’s tendency to argue with disagreeable others is automatically perished for one’s comprehension that there is no single-absolute answer for everything in this world. (I think that) On the third decade of one’s life, the best principle is to appreciate all dissimilarities. Should you feel significant enough, so as feeling authorized to be the harbinger of the 'truth', please do humanity a favor by appointing a shriek to check your head.)

Yesterday, I replayed my copy of Fleet Foxes’ Helplessness Blues and once again, I was awestruck by the likes of Helplessness Blues, Montezuma and Blue Spotted Tail, songs that denoted our insignificance in this earth, world and life- statements that stand out from the popular beliefs that we were born (to be) special.

Akin to acknowledging one’s insignificance, one part of living (and enlightenment) this life also consists of realizing that life and its inhabitants (read: people) are not always nice, and sometimes the pattern one thought one knew so well will crush one to pieces, figuratively. 

It is a huge irony when ones, even those who are deprived of historical knowledge, know exactly how populist view that the earth used to be flat axiom during the saeculum obscurum, a period of time when the word of religious authorities triumphed over personal experience and rational activity, is somehow destructive and you can always ask how cool that era was to Galileo Gallilei. 

The ironic part is that thousands of years have elapsed and I can still find some flakey airheads who act superior to their peers because of their belief that they were being triumphant upon the seeks of life’s authenticity, that their life resemble the most authentic way of living and in their mind, reflected by the inspirational quotes they frivolously threw, are full of double standards yet convincing black and white truthfulness until the urgency to change the world and others was carved upon the slate that contains their life’s decree. Some opted to convert others blatantly by rabidly saying that others are wrong. Some others opted to alter their surroundings cunningly but with the same portent of self-righteousness. As if they have answers to all worldly problem hence the abundance of noise, opinions and whatever.

 

The aforementioned abundance is not only contaminating one’s life but also music. Like what Tom Breihan from Sterogum stated: “Music is a messy thing. There’s too much of it,too many genres, too many ideas, for anyone to make sense out of all of it — oreven to hear all of it. The idea of imposing a narrative on 365 days of music,of making sense of a whole year, is a fool’s errand. Still, some years, storiesand patterns and commonalities emerge. Trends cut across genre lines and becomemovements. New voices rise up and reshape the landscape in their image. Someyears, you can start to feel like you’re making sense out of all of it. This(2014) isn’t one of those years”.

Sometimes I think that it’s best for me to go for a total recluse in order to see the gnawing abundance from afar. And for that reclusion, Metal Machine Music plays its part.

One of the memorable scenes from “Almost Famous” is when Lester Bangs asked the aspiring William Miller whether he likes Lou Reed, William answered: “The early stuff. In his new stuff he's trying to be Bowie, but he should just be himself” and Lester Bangs, forever a discerning music critic, felt slightly outwitted, nodded approvingly while joking about substance.

Almost Famous’ set was in 1973 and one can easily identify that the album which Miller referred upon is “Transformer”. Be it for Miller’s innocent cynicism (or critics’ opinion in general) or coincidence that Lou Reed, a former dignitary in the inner ring of Warhol’s Exploding Plastic Inevitable, wrote (assembled) Metal Machine Music three years later, an album that becomes the most felicitous response to any criticism.

This album portrayed Reed who shunned everything further. Contrary to the popular belief or else, less popular belief, this album contains nothing recognizable apart from soporific yet disturbing sonic nuisance. It is one hour of pure nothingness, pure nihilism, that the hour is the most challenging part of my entire music listening period. Soundscapes which make NEU!’s works sound like child’s play.

Many years have elapsed until the album laid the pedestal, upon which other works build themselves upon, voluntarily or involuntarily. Not only on other artists’ approach but also listener’s perspective. I can endure hours listening to Roman Catholic Skulls and Strange Mountain incessantly, getting comfortable with Godflesh’s Streetcleaner, not feeling perturbed by Swans, and so on.

Metal Machine Music makes it clear that everyone can record their own music and statement. For a positive confirmation, go ask the man behind Deathless*. It is also a heartfelt approach for Lou’s having kept the jacket clean from all fake enigmatic whatnots (faded photograph, unnecessary artwork, vague diagrams, etc) and wrote descriptive scribbles behind the album’s case instead (an approach slightly adopted by Godspeed You! Black Emperor on the collective's critically acclaimed "Lift Yr. Skinny Fists Like Antennas to Heaven" record's jacket).

And the most important contribution of Metal Machine Music is that the album is a documentation of Lou Reed as somewhat clairvoyant when it comes to what the real state of music should become. A state where too much of everything has been popped out every second and I, who grow tired of everything, finally opt to drop the needle on the soulless record once more to enter the realm of nothingness.

Because soulless is the new soul.

*Deathless is a one man band that (self-proclaim) plays doom/drone music. The album contains nothing but noise and to staple the depth of his output, the man put poetries from goethe and Hippocrates. Whether it’s good or not requires another article.