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Showing posts with label hip. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hip. Show all posts

Wednesday, July 1, 2026

Ken Nordine, Master of Radio

 



 

     Primarily an appreciation, this essay seeks as well to provide a personal context for the reception of Word Jazz.  I have consulted neither secondary sources nor histories of radio but mention only what survives in my own memory.  I have been listening to the albums again, which is surely the best way to get a fix on any artist.

 

 

     Works of art vary in the extent to which they exploit the specific resources of their genre.  Some films, for example, are particularly cinematic with extensive use of montage [1] while others feature camera work less prominently.  Some poetic lyrics foreground sound effects and emotional power; others may sound more prosy or conversational and offer a more cerebral appeal.  An artist’s attentiveness to the qualities most characteristic of the medium, of course, plays no necessary part in evaluation which depends not on the artist’s goals, but on how well those ends are achieved. 

     Radio’s day as a major form of entertainment has already come and gone, though for more than a generation its programming, specific shows for the most part (not just a format the listener might turn on and off at any time) vied with films for people’s attention.  Many radio performers deployed substantial skills equally useful on stage or in print.  Humphrey Bogart appeared (with Greer Garson) in the Lux Radio Theatre version of The African Queen and Dylan Thomas read for BBC radio just as he did with a live audience.  The airwaves were simply a means of transmission for news reporters reading from wire services, while announcers played recorded music, often remaining inconspicuous as many classical hosts do today.

     With the arrival of rock and roll, radio disk jockeys gained new influence and Wolfman Jack and Casey Kasem became celebrities for their spirited and distinctive patter, largely improvised.  A few radio personalities created shows in which any individual iteration was less significant than the pattern  created by the whole, often including considerable repetition.  Outstanding among these was Franklin McCormack whose All Night Showcase on WGN included music, poetry [2], and talk.  Another Midwesterner, Jean Shepherd, working for a series of stations (ultimately WOR in New York), read poetry [3], and told stories, some of which continue to be rebroadcast.  Marshall McLuhan noted his originality, commenting that Shepherd "regards radio as a new medium for a new kind of novel that he writes nightly." [4]

     Ken Nordine’s art was specific to radio.  He exploited the possibilities of the medium in his Word Jazz broadcasts on WBEZ for over forty years, while collections on LPs have been a cult favorite for years.  Nordine had developed an altogether idiosyncratic form which he perfected throughout his career.  He delivered his monologues in his extraordinary rich voice which, apart from his art, served him well in making a good living doing voice-overs and narrations in advertisements and movie trailers.  One need scarcely even know what he is saying, his sound alone carries such beauty, authority, and conviction.  He was a master at tone and timing, and his musical backgrounds were basically jazz with a willingness to stray into sounds rarely heard before, often provided by the Fred Katz Group [5].  The narrations may be funny in the metaphysical style of Piet Hein’s Grooks or spooky and quasi-metaphysical like Rod Serling at the start of The Twilight Zone.  Poignance might turn in a moment to irony.  Nordine was unpredictable.  He became a favorite of the friends of cannabis well before the advent of the Firesign Theatre.

     My first experience was when I was perhaps fourteen years old and a friend a few years older, a student at Antioch (which I understood then to rank with Reed as the hippest campuses in America), offered to play me a record he had just purchased: Ken Nordine’s Word Jazz.  “This one is something else,” he said. “We have to turn out the lights first.”  And in the semi-darkness as his parents shuffled by outside I heard something that struck me as really new.  It wasn’t a series of short stories or stand-up comedy or poetry exactly.  It utilized jazz music and the sort of sound effects used on radio dramas and, most impressively, a voice that seized one’s attention and would not let go.

     Few others have utilized the medium of radio more effectively.  Depending on suggestion as they do, his routines would be less compelling if visual images were included.  Like situation comedies on television, the impact of one individual broadcast depends more on the listener’s familiarity with the conventions of his program in general than on characteristics unique to a single iteration.  His relation to radio drama, many of which were still being produced when Word Jazz debuted, is dialectic: the “realer-than-real” sound effects, each creaking door or splash of water perfect and distinct, resembled those on Johnny Dollar or Inner Sanctum, but his tales were far less predictable than those highly conventionalized programs.  He was hip and existential when those qualities were all but unavailable on mass media.

     Nordine occupies the liminal space between poetry and prose, the popular and the hermetic, the absurd and the profound.  Listening to a single track of Word Jazz is enough to make some listeners cue up the next while others determine to waste no more time.  In contrast to Del Close and John Brent’s How to Speak Hip (1961) (which I did find amusing) or  – Lord help us! – Maynard Krebs (who first appeared on The Dobie Gillis Show in 1959) (whom I did not), Nordine operated, like Lenny Bruce, from within the counter-culture.  He was assuredly a cousin to the Theater of the Absurd and an ancestor to the cerebral comedy of George Carlin and Steven Wright.

     Those who do not know his work are advised to turn out the lights, lie back in bed, and follow the timeless advice of Gus Cannon in 1929, seconded by the Rooftop Singers in 1962, “Daddy, let your mind roll on.”  Even public radio today is dominated by talk and news and music with virtually no poetry or drama and little attention to the specific potential of the medium.  Nordine was one of a kind.  He seems to have come from nowhere and to have left no imitators.

 

 

1.  Mamoulian is an example of a popular studio director in whose work montage in the manner described by Eisenstein in Film Form and Film Sense figures prominently.

2.  In 1936 MacCormack hosted one of the very few broadcast poetry shows with the title Poetic Melodies.

3.  He was particularly fond of Robert Service. 

4.  In Understanding Media, “Radio: the Tribal Drum,” p. 148.  McLuhan goes on to say “It is his idea that, just as Montaigne was the first to use the page to show his reactions to the new world of printed books, he is the first to use radio as an essay and novel form for recording our common awareness of a totally new world of universal human participation in all human events, private or collective.”

5.  Chico Hamilton played drums under an assumed name. 

Saturday, February 1, 2025

Hip Aesthetics

 

     During the twentieth century, several forms of ironic reception of art gained widespread popularity.  Though far from novel, they benefited from the erosion of generally accepted standards of beauty and the exile of many artworks to subcultures or elite audiences.  “Kitsch”  and “camp” have been widely studied [1], while another approach, of arguably equal importance – the hip – has been neglected.  Each involved adopting, temporarily at least, often as much for the fun of it as to reveal unsuspected value, a taste either not one’s own or, at any rate, comically exaggerated.  For kitsch is fundamentally the appreciation of the extremely vulgar products of mass culture, while for camp it is a caricature of a flamboyant gay style.  The hip celebrates a spirited counter-cultural reaction, often the contrary of social norms. 

     The category is used both for artworks and for lived experience bordering on art.  For instance Blake was hip to find Satan the hero of Paradise Lost as was Abbie Hoffman in honoring George Metesky, the “mad bomber.”  Each reaction is an ironic reversal of what might be expected.  People ordinarily seek fame; it was hip of Ted Joans to avoid it.  People seek affluence; to live self-sufficiently was a hip choice by Scott Nearing.  Critics think highly of literary craftsmanship, so Kerouac liked to give the impression that he wrote with a wholly “spontaneous bop prosody.”   

     The spirit of hip is counter-cultural, but the adversarial aspect of the concept is relatively recent.  The  deepest roots are in the notion that poets bring news from a divine realm, either the gods or an extraordinary imagination.  This concept is ancient [2], but in earlier eras the artist had been largely normative rather than challenging social norms.  With the Romantic movement of the end of the eighteenth century, however, and the celebration of the individual genius some in the arts assumed a more contrary posture.  The old patrons – the nobility and the church – lost importance, displaced by middle class consumers as the economic base of much aesthetic production.  With these changes came the avant-garde and contempt for the philistine: “il faut épater le bourgeois” [3].  Some artists since have particularly aimed at provocation, particularly in movements like Dada, Surrealism, and Situationism. 

     The etymology of the term hip is a vexed question.  Over fifty years ago David Dalby suggested that it was derived from the Wolof hipi (or xipi) meaning “with open eyes” [4].  Numerous other alternatives have been suggested including earlier slang derived from hypochondriac, people with the surname Hepp, the wearing of hipboots, associations with hip-flask or with the posture of opium smoking, but a definitive answer remains elusive.  Dalby’s idea has at least the virtue of reinforcing the primary semantic import of the term.

     Whatever the ultimate origin of the word, the current usage has always suggested superior knowledge.  That is the meaning in the word’s first written appearance as slang, a definition in the “Modern Slang Glossary” published in the Cincinnati Enquirer [5] in which “hept” is defined as “to get wise or next.”  The following year Tad Dorgan used the word for several names in a cartoon and it appeared as well in George V. Hobart’s 1904 novel Jim Hickey: A Story of One-Night Stands in which an African American character says, “Say Danny, at this rate it’ll take about 629 shows to get us to Jersey City, are you hip?”  By the ‘thirties, the term was widely used among Blacks, particularly among musicians, and appeared in Cab Calloway’s Hepster’s Dictionary with the definition “a guy who knows all the answers, understands jive.”  The expression was adopted as well as among white people who valued Black culture.  In his Autobiography Malcolm X describes the importance of jive talk in establishing hip credentials in Harlem as well as the appearance of whites who affected it in seeking to be more “Negro than the Negroes” [6]

     Among these white hipsters were musicians and drug-takers, some of whom, like Mezz Mezzrow, had lifelong contact with African-American culture.  Others were further toward the fringes, fans of jazz or marijuana, including artists and intellectuals, some of whom, like Kenneth Rexroth and Norman Mailer, contributed to a theory of hipness during the ‘fifties.

     Kenneth Rexroth, the poet, critic, and translator whose character is described in Dharma Bums as the “father of the Frisco poetry scene,” the organizer the historic Six Gallery reading, cites Lipton and emphasizes even in the title of his essay “Disengagement: the Art of the Beat Generation” [7] the “disaffiliation, alienation, and rejection of the young.”  The movement is thus for him less a protest than a simple opting out.  While condemning “the utter nihilism of the emptied-out hipster,” he asserts that “It is impossible for an artist to remain true to himself as a man, let alone an artist, and work within the context of this society.”  Neither Howl nor On the Road had yet been published; Rexroth’s examples of hip artists are Charlie Parker and Dylan Thomas. 

     Norman Mailer’s essay “The White Negro” [8] proved even more influential.  He, too, stresses the hip person’s disaffection: “one is a rebel or one conforms,” “one is Hip or one is Square,” but he is more willing than the scholarly Rexroth to admit the petty criminal or addict under the title of “the American existentialist, the hipster,” a spiritual adventurer who explores “uncharted journey into the rebellious imperatives of the self.”  Though the more edgy, even sinister, aspects of hip culture faded, late 1950s pop culture figures like Del Close’s Geets Romo (on How to Speak Hip) and Jules Feiffer’s Huey, foil for the nebbishy Bernard in The Explainers (1960), remind us to what an extent the inarticulate, perhaps dangerous, youth played in the hip identity during the 1950s.  The same decade that saw the popularization of the Beats was fascinated as well by juvenile delinquency. 

     Some critics in the literary world offered as skewed a view as comedy albums and comic strips.  Norman Podhoretz wrote one of the fiercest denunciations of the Beat writers [9], associating them with youth crime (“young savages in leather jackets”).  Their work “can easily spill over into brutality” since for them ”kicking someone in the teeth or sticking a knife between his ribs are deeds to be admired.”  For him they are “hostile to civilization” and indeed “against intelligence itself.”  Suffering from “a pathetic poverty of feeling” the hip writers are “the spiritually underprivileged and the crippled of soul – young men who can’t think straight and thus hate everyone who can.”  Though Podhoretz’ is one of the most extreme attacks, it is typical of the reception of the Beats among a good many critics and doubtless characterizes their image in the public as a whole.  

     Familiarity with hip artists became all but unavoidable for as the principal American periodicals Time and Life featured that curiosity, the beatnik (a derisive term first seen in print in Herb Caen’s newspaper column [10]).  In September of 1959 Life magazine printed a photo essay comparing the lifestyle of West Coast artists with that of small-town Kansas residents, giving every American a glimpse of an alternative.  Yet, apart from the misrepresentations of popular culture [11] the question of hip identity, was far from settled among the artists, most of whom were not critics, let alone theoreticians.

     The idea of disaffection, of “dropping out,” is widely shared, but the disaffection of the hip is neither random nor utterly nihilistic.  The positive values of the hip aesthetic are nearly all descended from those of the Romantics.  The most convenient demonstration of this lineage is perhaps Norman Mailer’s list of things which are hip and contrasting things which are square which he calls “a primitive foray into the more formal aspects of Hip” before noting “to my knowledge, no one yet has attempted this terrain.” [12].  In the simplest terms he labels spontaneous as hip, while orderly is square; wild is hip and practical square; instinct is hip and logic square; midnight hip, noon square (des Esseintes would have agreed).  In a social context Negro is hip, white is square; crooks are hip, while cops, naturally, are square.  Catholic is hip, presumably because of the ritual and magic, while Protestantism  is square (though perhaps Mailer would have made an exception for Black Pentecostals).  All this would have made a good deal of sense to Lord Byron.

     Some of Mailer’s opposed pairs are more imaginative, and take the reader a moment to understand.  Schrödinger’s model of the atom is hip, and Bohr’s is square, because the former takes quantum uncertainty into account.  Perverse is hip, pious square.  Some might remain somewhat obscure: physiology is hip and anatomy square (because it does not analyze process?)  the T-formation is hip, the single wing square.  He finds Nixon hip compared to John Foster Dulles, presumably because Nixon was such a fabulating hustler.  Apart from  Mailer’s turns of wit, the general pattern is clear.  Mailer privileges the intuitive, the physical, the irrational.

     Several significant elements of the hip semantic field must be added.  Among the probably erroneous etymologies for hip is one that offers an explanation for the word in the posture of users in  opium dens, reclining on one hip, while a competing explanation would have it suggest the hip flask in which one might carry liquor.  While neither seems likely as a source for the word, both assume an association between hip and mind-altering substances.  The connection, not necessarily essential, arises from three circumstances: the advocacy of pleasure-seeking implied by hip values, the ostracism from  the broader society and inclusion in a subculture that accompanies the use of illegal drugs, and the potential some such substances hold for mystical insight.  Thus Howl speaks of “angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,” Kerouac begins a letter ““Dig this, PEOTL EATERS OF THE HIP GENERATION,” [13] and Tower of Power’s 1973 song “What is hip?” answers “smokin’ only the best weed.”  The historical partiality of white Bohemians as well as African-Americans in  general and musicians in  particular to the use of illegal drugs strengthens the association.

     Advocates of psychedelics will prefer to call such substances entheogenic (meaning “becoming god-filled”) and point to the world-wide use of psychoactive drugs in spiritual practice from the ancient Hindu soma to the contemporary vogue for ayahuasca [14].  This element in  the meaning of hip returns to the first: to be in the know, in this case enlightened.  This grand ambition is evident in Kerouac’s description of On the Road as “an imaginative survey of a new American generation known as the ‘Hip’ (The Knowing) . . .  This new generation has a conviction that it alone has known everything or been ‘hip’ in the history of the world” [15].  Mailer had sought his “ancient heavenly connection” in existentialism, Ginsberg, Kerouac, Snyder, and Whalen in Buddhism, Richard Alpert and the Beatles in varieties of Hinduism, William Everson and Dorothy Day in a radical Christianity, but all pursued paths to spiritual liberation.

     Ironically the idea of hip may diverge from kitsch and camp in that, for all its associations with being au courant with the latest trends, hip is in substantial ways profoundly traditional.  For the sake of divertissement both kitsch and camp defend the ugly and the overdone; whereas hip aims directly at the truth, psychological, social, and cosmic, just as art has always done.  At the same time, hip values the experiential: pleasure and the aesthetic, the irrational and the mysterious, the ambivalent and the self-contradictory, and in all these ways it is deeply human.  For the hip art is play as is all experience, though the drama takes place amid “the iron gates of life.”  For the hip there is always a certain élan, a delight in the game, a winking confidence in the face of mortality, a sense that we may still laugh even if the joke is on us.

 

 

1.  Most celebrated (and influential) is Susan Sontag’s essay “Notes on Camp,” which itself cited Isherwood’s explanation in The World in the Evening in which his character Charles defines the term: “You can't camp about something you don't take seriously. You're not making fun of it, you're making fun out of it. You're expressing what’s basically serious to you in terms of fun and artifice and elegance. Baroque art is basically camp about religion. The ballet is camp about love …”  For him Dostoyevsky, Mozart, and El Greco were camp, while Beethoven and Rembrandt were not.  Clement Greenberg in “Avant-Garde and Kitsch” and Thomas Kulka in Kitsch and Art provide more hostile views.  For a variety of critics, see the essays in Redefining Kitsch and Camp in Literature and Culture, edited by Justyna Stępień.

2.  See, for instance, my examination of Boccaccio’s views posted this month as “Boccaccio on Poetry.”

3.  Often attributed to Baudelaire though I have not located the line in his oeuvres.  The first use is also  attributed to Privat d'Anglemont (1820–59) in the form “Je les ai épatés, les bourgeois.”   Flaubert used “terrifie les bourgeois” in a letter and by 1879 the Goncourts use “épater le bourgeois.”

4.  The term hepicat is also Wolof, meaning “one with open eyes.”  Dalby’s idea seems to have first been published in, of all things, the London Times of July 19, 1969.  It was accepted by many subsequent writers, including J . L. Dillard’s Black English (1972), Clarence Major in his Juba to Jive: A Dictionary of African-American Slang, (1994), Joseph Holloway and Winifred Vass in The African Heritage of American English (1997).  The derivation is prominently featured in John Leland’s Hip: the History (2001).  Dissenters include Jesse Sheidlower in Slate (December 8, 2004) who used the term “crying Wolof” to indicate false African origins for Black American usage.

5.  May 9, 1903.  The puzzling “next” is perhaps a way of saying “to what will happen next.”  Dorgan had referred to “Joe Hip” and “Old Man Hip.”  Hep is usually considered to have preceded hip.  In 1947 Harry the Hipster recorded “It Ain’t Hep,” declaring that hep had become passé, superseded by hip. 

6.  The Autobiography of Malcom X, 105.  I recall a similarly disparaging usage among my hip friends in  college who called slightly younger aspirants to the scene “hippie,” equivalent to teenybopper,  well before the term came into popular usage.  This use is verified by the glossary of the 1959 comedy album How to Speak Hip, according to which a hipster is defined as "a fully paid-up member of Hip society", whereas a hippy is "a junior member of Hip society, who may know the words, but hasn't fully assimilated the proper attitude."

7.  First published in New World Writing 11 (1957), reprinted in Gene Feldman and Max Gartenberg’s The Beat Generation and the Angry Young Men (1958).  Rexroth reinforces the characterization of the hip as “disaffiliated” by Lawrence Lipton, doyen of the Venice Beach counter-culture.

8.  First published in Dissent (1957) and later reprinted as a pamphlet by City Lights and included in The Beat Generation  and the Angry Young Men.

9.  Norman Podhoretz, “The Know-nothing Bohemians,” Partisan Review XXV (1958).  Podhoretz was at least consistent in his reactionary activism.  In 1963 he published in Commentary "My Negro Problem—And Ours" in which he complained about his own feeling oppressed by African-Americans during his childhood, saying that Blacks "were doing the only persecuting I knew about - and doing it, moreover, to me," resulting in "the hatred I still feel for Negroes."  He later worked for the USIA, the Hudson Institute, and Rudy Giuliani. 

10.  See his column for April 2, 1958 in the San Francisco Chronicle.  Caen is also responsible for the equally annoying term hippie.  The September 21, 1959 issue of Life included a contrast of the lifestyles of West Coast hip artists with the people of small-town Hutchinson, Kansas.

11.  Maynard Krebs on the Dobie Gillis Show is one of the best-known, but even his image was subject to further devolution in the cartoon character of Shaggy Rogers on Scooby-Doo.

12. Mailer, Advertisements for Myself, p. 423.  The list, Mailer says, was originally notes for his “The White Negro” and the essay and list, he says, are “the intellectual core” of a proposed book.

13.  Letter to John Clellon Holmes, June 5, 1952 from Jack Kerouac, Selected Letters 1940-1956, edited by Ann Charters, p 368.

14.  See my essay “Drugs and Religion” on this site at https://williamseaton.blogspot.com/2016/06/drugs-and-religion.html.

15.  Jack Kerouac, Selected Letters 1940-1956, edited by Ann Charters, p. n224.

Monday, January 1, 2024

The Hip Aesthetic of the Invisible Circus

 

     The three-day event produced by the Diggers and the Artists Liberation Front in Glide Church during February of 1967 titled Invisible Circus is significant in the evolution of performance art, but rarely discussed in histories that stress the New York City scene.  While East Coast artists like Allan Kaprow, Joseph Beuys, Carolee Schneemann, and Robert Whitman were making a stir in locations like the Rueben and Smolin Galleries, hip San Francisco artists were devising events that embodied distinctly West Coast artistic values.  Among these were a distaste for celebrity and a democratic vision quite at odds with the ambitions of most artists, avant-garde or mainstream.  Through the Artists Liberation Front and the Diggers’ Communications Company, Chester Anderson, Claude Hayward, and others produced truly novel and radical works of art.  The fact that the artists’ names and their most significant works are virtually forgotten in art history is perhaps appropriate.

      The New York performance art scene developed first, its roots in the European trends of Dada, Futurism, and Surrealism.  From Ubu Roi through Artaud and the Theater of the Absurd, modern plays remained conventional in the most fundamental ways with scripts, actors, and spectators.  While the evenings at the Cabaret Voltaire may have seemed altogether chaotic to the audiences, they were planned in detail apart from spontaneous eruptions from the audience and the occasional police raid.  Artists and viewers might become boisterous with cat-calls, boos, and shouted challenges, but the evening, however far out, remained recognizably theater.

     Likewise, for a show often cited as the first “happening,” Allan Kaprow’s 18 Happenings in 6 Parts (1959) at the Rueben Gallery those who attended received detailed instructions on what they should do, when they should move, and the like.  A bell punctuated the movement from each of six sets of three simultaneous happenings. The following year the same gallery presented Robert Whitman’s American Moon for which viewers entered an immersive environment and viewed the event from partial tunnels while performers, including Whitman and Simone Forti flashed lights, produced loud noises, and projected films.  At the conclusion Lucas Samaras sat in a swing above the spectators.  The entire proceeding was “carefully conceived and tightly scripted” to create “an interactive environment that manipulated the audience to a degree virtually unprecedented in 20th century art.” [1]     The limits of innovation in these early happenings are clear.

     A more radical program is explicit in the Fluxus group.  The 1963 manifesto by George Maciunas proclaims itself “REVOLUTIONARY” and advocates “living art, anti-art,” “NON ART REALITY, to be fully grasped by all people, not only critics, dilettantes, and professionals.”  Fluxus demands a fusion of “the cadres of political, social, & cultural revolutionaries into united front and action.” 

     What this might mean in practice is suggested by Maciunas in his “Manifesto on Art / Fluxus Art Amusement” (1965).  He stresses a democratic theme, insisting that, “art-amusement must be simple, amusing, unpretentious, concerned with insignificances, require no skill or countless rehearsals, have no commodity or institutional value.  The value of art-amusement must be lowered by making it unlimited, massproduced, obtainable by all and eventually produced by all.  Fluxus art-amusement is the rear-guard without any pretention or urge to participate in the competition of ‘oneupmanship’ with the avant-garde. It strives for the monostructural and nontheatrical qualities of simple natural event, a game or a gag. It is the fusion of Spikes Jones Vaudeville, gag, children's games and Duchamp.”

     While this program sounds quite revolutionary, it is largely imaginary.  Fluxus was in reality, of course, anything but unpretentious, simple, or natural, and its audience was anything but a general one.    Still, for all that, the events associated with its members remained in many ways highly conventional.  The 1961 Chambers Street loft concerts produced by Yoko Ono and La Monte Young in 1961 observed ordinary concert proprieties, with a clear distinction between onlookers and participants, credited composers, and intermissions, though some involved mixed media and some aleatory elements.  The 1963 Yam Festival devised by George Brecht and Robert Watts was novel in its locations, outside of art galleries, in its element of absurdity, and in its use of mail art, but retained the distinction between creators and consumers.  Never did the group stir outside these boundaries.





    On the other hand, in San Francisco, the epicenter of the ‘sixties youth rebellion, certain events, such as the Invisible Circus were produced that challenged expectations anew and constituted a revolution within the avant-garde itself.  Several activities had indeed been planned, often designed more to stimulate reactions than as an end in themselves.  For instance, the Communications Company brought the Gestetner printer they used for their broadsheets in an activity Richard Brautigan called the “John Dillinger Computer,” but its use was unforeseeable -- they were prepared to print anything for anybody.  Even the projects of insiders were improvisatory.  Chester Anderson went next door to a tavern where he overheard an animated discussion whereupon hie returned to the church, transcribed some of their remarks, printed a few pages and returned to show the bemused drinkers their words on paper. 

     A few pranks were programmed.  For instance, what was presented as a panel discussion on pornography to which a police officer had been invited was really a set-up.  When the police officer began to speak, he was unaware that, on the wall behind him, a penis had emerged through a hole and waggled about while the representative of the straight life was unaware of the cause of the audience’s excited amusement. 

     Though the Circus was punctuated by such moments of pre-planned if playful theater and music including appearances by Pig Pen, Janis Joplin and others, its central importance lies in what was wholly unplanned, what happened that was utterly forgotten as it involved no memoirists or big names in general.  What happened there is gone, something new is happening today.  The pertinent data’s having vanished is in fact the evidence for its authenticity.  Like sand paintings or archaic ritual, the point is in the action as it occurs, not in seeking to fix and retain it like a butterfly specimen in an album.




     While identifiable as a specifically hip aesthetic, the attitude implied by Dave Hodges’ poster was far from universal during the youth rebellion of the ‘sixties.  The “acid tests” of 1965-6 produced by Ken Kesey and Merry Pranksters such as Lee Quarnstrom and Neal Cassady with the aid of Owsley Stanley’s refreshments were very like parties featuring bands such as the pre-Grateful Dead Warlocks and light shows and appearances by Allen Ginsberg and other celebrities prominently featured on the posters.  The same pattern is evident for the Trips Festival at the Longshoremen’s Hall for January 21-23, 1966 organized by Bill Graham, Stewart Brand, Ramon Sender, Ken Kesey and the Merry Pranksters.  Similarly, publicity for the iconic event of the Haight-Ashbury era, the Human Be-In in 1967, resembled a routine concert announcement, lacking even psychedelic graphics.  Emmet Grogan specifically declared the intentions of the producers of the Invisible Circus to reveal “the feebleness of most public gatherings,” and to transform participants from “passive listeners” into “active participants.” [2]




      Though the Invisible Circus has been the focus here, the contrast between hip concepts and practices between the East and West coasts is, in fact, generally applicable, though hardly predictive in any individual case.  On the Pacific artists dared to defy the age-old artist’s ambition (so evident in Van Gogh’s letters) to be known, to sell.  Among the supporting examples that come first to mind are the scrupulous avoidance of individual celebrity in all Communications Company publications.  Authors are not mentioned, even names like Brautigan’s verging on fame; there is no “star” apart from the collective.  On the international level they had affinities with the Situationists. 

     The career of the Cockettes reinforces the point.   Originally an open door, anything-goes troupe founded by Hibiscus (George Edgerly Harris III) who lived with his company in the Friends of Perfection Commune, called the KaliFlower Commune.  They had welcomed men and women, gay and straight, gifted and untalented alike, and the shows were largely spontaneous.  The Cockettes met their end when their increasing popularity led to engagements in New York City where they were panned by critics who did not understand their anti-aesthetic aesthetic.  This did not, however, bring about their demise.   Rather, it was the lure of real celebrity and the financial rewards it implies, resisted by the idealistic communards that led to the end of the Cockettes and the spawning of the Angels of Light.

      Patty Smith’s Just Kids details an avant-garde scene just a few years later, illustrating a thoroughly East Coast goals.  The author and Robert Mapplethorpe were set on fame, always alert for any opening to a gallery, a dealer, or a wealthy collector.  Her depictions of their regular attendance at Max’s Kansas City, ever seeking to inch a bit closer to the Warhol table (though the maestro was not himself there) are richly comic and worlds away from the ethos I myself experienced reading poetry in the streets of San Francisco around the same time.   My broadsheets, like those of the Communications Company, had no attribution.  The conventionally over-sized artist’s ego was not considered hip. 

     The Diggers’ Invisible Circus broke new ground for the avant-garde by renouncing the illusion of the artist’s separateness and ownership of the work, embracing those in attendance as creators of what happens, a fact in any event.  Specific occurrences at the Invisible Circus were quite unpredictable, in a way impermissible even in works employing the aleatory devices associated with John Cage and Jackson MacLow.  The Diggers not only opened the door of the gallery; they did away with the gallery altogether, placing art in the context of everyday life and allowing its motive to be neither more nor less than fun.  While this ethos failed to move the centers of the art world, it did influence the margins, such as the activities at political demonstrations as well as Cloud House events, Burning Man, and Rainbow Gatherings.  Much remains to be done to understand the artistic implications of the hip movement in San Francisco's Haight-Ashbury scene.

 

 

 

1.  Paul Schimmel, “Leap into the Void: Performance and the Object,” Out of Actions: between performance and the object, 1949–1979, MoCA Los Angeles, New York/London, 1998, pp.61-2.

2.  Ringolevio, 282.


Wednesday, September 1, 2021

The Hipster’s Epigone

 

The essay is followed by the lyrics to Cab Calloway’s “Hep! Hep! The Jumping Jive” and “Are You Hep To The Jive?” 

  

1.  Apologia

     It was perhaps inevitable that an app has been developed that will locate for travelers the nearest “hipster” neighborhood.   A number of sites had already compiled travel guides toward the same end, taking into account an area’s median age and the availability of bike trails but primarily “the density of hipster-friendly businesses,” meaning such things as “coffee shops, craft breweries, record stores, organic markets.” [1]

     From the point of view of a septuagenarian one-time resident in the Haight-Ashbury, it seemed that a group hardly distinguishable from those unashamedly consumption-oriented squares called yuppies in the eighties, were, with the simple addition of a few days of stubbly beard (now tolerated in the office) and a taste for Ethiopian food, transformed into hip people.  Of course, this verbal shift parallels the replacement of the underground papers of the sixties in which the radical visual style matched the politics with consumer-oriented free (advertising-supported) weeklies that like to describe themselves as “alternative.” [2]

     Yet I feel I must rise in defense of the older meaning of the word, however useless such arrière-garde defenses, for, just as the introduction of a new word may signal formulation of a new meaning, loss of a definition is generally accompanied by the loss of the concept that underlies the word, and I lament the loss of the old hipster. 

 

2.  What’s hip?  Who’s a hipster?

      The words hip and hipster have conveyed a number of well-attested meanings over the years.  Apart from the basic anatomical signification of the body part and the fruit of the wild rose (from two different old Germanic roots), the word was used in the nineteenth century to mean, according to the OED “to affect with hypochondria, to render low-spirited.”  During Prohibition a hipster was one carrying a hip-flask and in the thirties a wild dancer (with lively movements of the hips).  Such usages have no part in the principal twentieth century definitions suggesting one in the know, an insider who can see what others cannot.

     The source of this meaning of hip is in fact unknown, though several unsatisfactory origins have been suggested.  Some have proposed that the word referred to the posture of opium smokers reclining on one hip.  In the 1960s many jumped to accept the attractive but apparently highly speculative etymology  of David Dalby that the term derived from the Wolof meaning “to open the eyes, to see clearly.”  [3] 

    Apparently the earliest written usage is in a story about “the great blizzard of 1899” in which a Washingtonian is quoted as saying, “And as soon as I get out I’m hep that the water’s froze. What do you think of that?” [4]  It appears then in a cartoon in 1902 and in novels in 1904 and 1914. [5]  By the late 1930s it had attained sufficient currency to be listed in slang dictionaries. [6] 

     Far more significant, though, in terms of disseminating the word widely was the popularity of two musicians, Cab Calloway and Harry “the Hipster” Gibson. In the late thirties Calloway was one of the most popular bandleaders in the country, well aware from the outset of the fascination that jive talk held for the general population. His “Minnie the Moocher,” a huge hit, was full of such slang. [7]  In 1938 he published a booklet titled Cab Calloway's Cat-ologue: A "Hepster's" Dictionary [8], which remained, until the publication of Mezz Mezzrow’s autobiography Really the Blues (1946) [9], the best guide to hip language.

     A great showman who practiced exaggerated mugging and wore attention-getting costumes, Calloway recognized the exotic appeal of Harlem slang.  Calloway’s 1939 song “Hep! Hep! The Jumping Jive” mixes nonsense syllables (including the graceful lyric line (“Palomar, shalomar, Swanee shore”) with a two-syllable refrain (“hep hep”) and a call to “dig your jive on the mellow side,” suggesting good times partying.

     The use of argot itself implies transgressive associations, most dramatically recreational drug use.  References to cocaine and opium and the artificial paradise of getting high fill “Minnie the Moocher” (though Calloway was careful to excise them from his dictionary).  Hip slang arose from the confluence of everyday Black culture, musicians’ shoptalk, and drug-users’ cant.  These three worlds overlapped in part, but they also shared an important characteristic.  Each sought through the codes of a subcultural patois to reinforce their identity with their own group and to exclude outsiders.  The assertion of membership as an insider, the possessor of valuable secrets inaccessible to others, is the essence of the concept of hip.

     Further popularization of the term occurred with the performances of a white musician, Harry “the Hipster” Gibson who would tell his audience, “Gather round, all you hipsters,” and soon embraced the name himself with the song “Handsome Harry The Hipster.” [10] While performing the most extreme facial mugging in American show business prior to Jim Carrey Gibson muted the drug references, saying of his persona only that “he digs those mellow kicks.”  [11]  Though Gibson was only briefly a nationally known performer – he did appear in the film Junior Prom in 1939, but his song "Who Put the Benzedrine in Mrs. Murphy's Ovaltine?" (1946), while enjoying a modest succès de scandale, also caused him to be banned from radio play.  While hip was reaching a wider audience beyond Blacks, dopers, and jazz musicians, it retained associations of counter-cultural, even criminal values. [12]

     In the nineteen-fifties America as a whole heard about hip through the popular magazines’ coverage of the Beat writers and, to a lesser extent, the jazz milieu.  The term was also debated on the margins of intellectual life, and controversy arose in the intellectual quarterlies.  Significantly, proponents and critics agreed to a large extent on the term’s meaning, differing only in the associated value judgment.        

     In Norman Mailer’s “The White Negro” [13]  Mailer described “the American existentialist—the hipster, the man who knows that if our collective condition is to live with instant death by atomic war, relatively quick death by the State as l’univers concentrationnaire, or with a slow death by conformity with every creative and rebellious instinct stifled (at what damage to the mind and the heart and the liver and the nerves no research foundation for cancer will discover in a hurry).”  Mailer begins his essay with a quotation from a popular journalist [14] who says that a hipster “is rarely an artist, almost never a writer. He may earn his living as a petty criminal, a hobo, a carnival roustabout or a free-lance moving man in Greenwich Village.”   In order to live more intensely, according to Mailer, “the hipster had absorbed the existentialist synapses of the Negro, and for practical purposes could be considered a white Negro.”  In his rewriting of DuBois’ double consciousness, he notes “the source of Hip is the Negro for he has been living on the margin between totalitarianism and democracy for two centuries.”  He seeks “to encourage the psychopath” in himself, a psychopathic personality that Mailer notes ominously, “may indeed be the perverted and dangerous front-runner of a new kind of personality.” 

     The most direct riposte to Mailer’s enthusiasm was Norman Podhoretz’s piece “The Know-Nothing Bohemians" [15] the title of which reveals at once the level of vituperation leveled against the Beats in the fifties. [16]   To Podhoretz, Kerouac and the Beats were totally nihilistic, sometimes verging on violence.  To him the hip are “spiritually underprivileged and the crippled of soul—young men who can't think straight and so hate anyone who can.”  Not only are they “anti-intellectual,” and “primitive,” with “an inability to express anything in words” and a “hostility to intelligence,” more shocking yet, they are “attracted to criminality” and Podhoretz conjures up reason to associate Kerouac with attacks on a homeless man and a nine-year-old.

     The view of the hipster as an inarticulate impulsive juvenile delinquent is evident in late 1950s popular culture.  Feiffer’s Huey character appeared first in Sick, Sick, Sick (1958) as a cool, jiving antithesis to the neurotic Bernard and Geets Romo, Del Close’s character in How to Speak Hip (1959) manifests his hipness in the difficulty of communicating with his square interlocutor.  Such a pose held a certain allure, even some commercial possibilities.  By the late fifties, tourists could be certain of spotting a genuine bohemian since Wally Hedrick [17] was hired by Vesuvio’s across the alley from City Lights to sit in the front window decked out in beard and beret daubing a canvas.  In New York In 1959, Fred McDarrah established the Rent-a-Beatnik service to provide colorful party guests, even Black ones including Ted Joans and Leroi Jones (Amiri Baraka). 

     The cooptation and dilution of the idea of the hipster advanced wholesale during the sixties.  “Hippie,” which had originally been a pejorative diminutive referring to younger aspirants to the scene. [18]  Though in fact the social scene in the Haight-Ashbury included all sorts of elements from the psychopathic through the petty criminal to the striving artist and the college student just passing through, their image was dominated by flowers, daisies, and soap bubbles.  The Summer of Love replaced the feral cunning of the fifties hipster with ingenuous naiveté.   

   The crowds clogging Haight Street and Telegraph Avenue might have been called heads or freaks but most often hippies resulting in a power vacuum about the semantic territory of the word hipster.  Meanwhile with the general social reversion to avarice as a career goal came the inappropriate nineties coinage eco-hipster, or green hipster.  The notion, if not the term, doubtless originated among marketing departments seeking a cachet among young consumers.  Closely related is the concept of bobos, or bourgeois bohemians, a term oxymoronic in both English and French. [19]  Whereas voluntary poverty had been widespread among earlier counter-cultures, this group indulged in conspicuous consumption so long as it called attention not only to one’s means but also to one’s taste.  Preserving the semantic element of a discerning insider, the word here applied to purchasing choices.  Though the “green” element of this newly defined group drew on the radical revolutionary allegiances associated with some earlier hipsters, this new grouping adopted a far more cautious political line, in particular never suggesting the fatal entanglement of capitalism with the impending ecological disaster. 

     An easy slide from such eco-hipsters to the contemporary usage of the bare term hipster occurred around the turn of the twenty-first century.  In the early months of 2000 several journalistic treatments of the gentrification of Williamsburg referred to the area’s popularity with “arty” types not using the term hipster, but the term’s application was soon clear with the publication in February of 2003 of The Hipster Handbook by Robert Lanham. [20].

     Today many dictionary definitions retain only trace elements of the earlier meanings. In Merriam Webster’s a hipster is still a bit of a rebel, “someone who rejects the established culture; advocates extreme liberalism in politics and lifestyle,” while for Merriam Webster that element has vanished: “a person who is unusually aware of and interested in new and unconventional patterns (as in jazz or fashion).”  Perhaps unsurprisingly, the most up-to-date definition appears in Wikipedia whose entry is quite clear.  “The 21st-century hipster is a subculture (sometimes called hipsterism) that is defined by claims to authenticity and uniqueness yet, ironically, is notably lacking in authenticity and conforms to a collective style.  The subculture embodies a particular ethic of consumption that seeks to commodify the idea of rebellion or counterculture.  Fashion is one of the major markers of hipster identity.  Members of the subculture typically do not self-identify as hipsters, and the word hipster is often used as a pejorative for someone who is pretentious or overly concerned with appearing trendy or fashionable in a non-mainstream way.” 

 

3.  My Hipster, Ma Bohème

      As language is always in the process of evolution, every individual in a lifetime will notice changes in usage and lexicology.  Naturally, then, every generation of elders is likely to consider some innovations improper.  There is a considerable history both of writers denouncing the degradation of language in their own day and of satire ridiculing old people clinging to outmoded usages.  Those with a taste for pedantry are particularly prone to such lexical conservatism.  A glorious example is H. W. Fowler’s impassioned and lengthy objection to the use of meticulous to mean closely attentive to detail on the basis of its derivation from Latin metus (“frightened”).  His demonstration that the current definition is not Classical is buttressed by the accusation that it arose first in France.   Of course, such reasoning, however sound it may be, cannot influence the development of the word.  (Fowler also considered asset “a false form”, individual “often a colloquial vulgarism”, and elevator “properly used only of a grain hoist”.) [21]

     I am, then, well aware that, as writers have more often realized than teachers, the criticism of new and popular verbal usages is fruitless. [22]  I persist, nonetheless, hoping not to halt the semiotic drift but to flesh out the older sense of hip and hipster, lovingly preserving this ghost of a word if only as an exhibit in the museum of the mind.

     Still, were I to locate a sweet spot in the hipster history, a definition that fills an otherwise vacant place in the lexical structure and, more importantly, one that appeals to me, a signification unfortunately now faded, I would select one close to that suggested by Anatole Broyard in 1948 essay in Partisan Review, “A Portrait of the Hipster,” [23] which, even as it took the hipster seriously, describing him as an “underground man,” bearing both the burden and the freedom of being “of the minority,” also foresaw its cooptation in the very intellectual sympathy that led to both Broyard’s essay and to mine.  “The hipster—once an unregenerate individualist, an underground poet, a guerilla—had become a pretentious poet laureate. His old subversiveness, his ferocity, was now so manifestly rhetorical as to be obviously harmless. He was bought and placed in the zoo. He was somewhere at last—comfortably ensconced in the 52nd Street clip joints, in Carnegie Hall, and Life. He was in-there...he was back in the American womb. And it was just as hygienic as ever.” 

     I am well aware of the problems associated with hip as an aesthetic category [24], yet it remains for me a significant and novel twentieth century artistic concept. For all his topicality, all the talk of Hiroshima and Auschwitz and existential Angst, the hipster is surely the mid-twentieth century successor to a legion of earlier artists who claimed to know more than their fellows: shamans, prophets, and seers. To me the hip will always penetrate lies, the vicious claims of all forms of prejudice, most prominently racism, and the lethal lure of war, that old love-killer misogyny, the lies of criminals in high places, and the spirit-killing programming that teaches people that the way to joy is possessions. That sort of hip had its start in Black peoples’ certainty that society was based on fraud, musicians’ winking certainty that art trumped money, and dopers’ intuition that everyone else was as hooked as they but simply didn’t know it, yet that people could still almost miraculously salvage their corrupt and materialistic society through art, beauty, and spiritual ambition. If those insights are lost, a new counter-culture will likely be required to restore the species to a path of progress.

 

 

1.  The app is called Where Is Williamsburg?  The travel guide I mention is for rent.com.  

2.  To be fair, a few of these journals (the Chicago Reader and the Bay Guardian, for instance) have provided investigative reports and arts criticism beyond features on movies, television shows, food, and merchandise.  During its long decline even the Village Voice sometimes pleasantly surprised its readers.

3.  This etymology, though rejected by most linguists, has survived and spread through secondary books such as J. L. Dillard’s Black English (1972).  It is repeated in John Leland’s Hip: A History (2004).  Dalby had ingeniously suggested African origins for a number of other terms current in his own day’s slang, most of which are not accepted by other authorities. 

4.  The Washington Times (Washington, District of Columbia), 12 Feb., 1899.

5.  T. A. Dorgan featured a character “Joe Hip,” “Son of old man Hip.”  The 1904 novel by George V. Hobart, called Jim Hickey: A Story of One-Night Stands (the title refers to musical jobs) -- preserves a great deal of slang used among musicians.  The 1904 novel, Rex Beach’s The Auction Block, was made into a film in 1917.

6.  Examples include Jack Smiley’s Hash House Lingo (1941) in which hipster is defined as “a know-it-all” and the glossary for Mezz Mezzrow’s Really the Blues (1946) in which a hipster is “a man who’s in the know, grasps everything, is alert.”. 

7.  “Minnie the Moocher” was the first recording by an African-American (and the first categorized as jazz) to sell over a million copies.  Calloway went on to be the first of his race to have a national radio show.  He appeared as well in films including both features such as International House (1933) and short films for Paramount such as 1934 Cab Calloway’s Hi-De-Ho, as well as in cartoons including three Betty Boop animations.  Like Dr. John and Screamin’ Jay Hawkins Calloway was a crossover artist bringing a version of African-American culture attractive to white listeners.

8.  Republished in an expanded version the next year as Professor Cab Calloway’s Swingformation Bureau.

9.  Co-written by Bernard Wolfe.

10.  Recorded in 1944, but composed years earlier.

11.  He was busted a number of times, including once with Billie Holiday in a Florida hotel room in 1956 when he was her accompanist at the Ball and Chain. 

12.  Those unfamiliar with the forties popular music scene may be surprised to learn that a listing of the top eighty records of 1946 included tunes by Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, Thelonious Monk, and Django Reinhardt. See https://playback.fm/charts/top-100-songs/1946.

13.  Dissent, fall 1957.  Perhaps equally influential were the columns Mailer wrote for The Village Voice, such as the lists comparing hip and square.

14.  “Caroline Bird, Born 1930: The Unlost Generation,” Harper’s Bazaar, Feb. 1957. 

15.  Partisan Review, spring 1958.  After a leftist youth, Podhoretz became an agent of reaction.  The Partisan Review was, of course, funded by the CIA as part of its effort to counteract the influence of leftist intellectuals.  Podhoretz himself worked for the USIA in the sixties, at a time when collaboration with the government was unpopular among artists and scholars. 

16.  A certain fascinated repugnance is evident not only in literary reviews but also general interest magazines such as Time and Life.  For a detailed general perspective see Anna Lou Jessmer, Containing the Beat: An Analysis of the Press, Coverage of the Beat Generation During the 1950s, available at https://mds.marshall.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1425&context=etd.

17.  Hedrick, a pioneering artist in conceptual and performance modes, had founded the Six Gallery where the historic poetry reading occurred in 1955. 

18.  In my first memory the word meant something teeny-bopper.  Both hippie and beatnik were scornful labels popularized by the decidedly non-hip Herb Caen.

19.  among the satirical reactions see David Brooks’ Bobos in Paradise: The New Upper Class and How They Got There (2000) and the French cartoon book Bienvenue à Boboland (Welcome to Boboland, 2008).

20.  Stories appeared in "The Bedford Files," Time Out New York (TONY) (February 3–10, 2000) and in "Brooklyn Nights Turn Brighter," The New York Times (February 11, 2000). 

21.  See the entries for these words in Fowler’s A Dictionary of Modern English Usage.  I think as well of the elderly British teacher I met in my youth who denounced the word television as “a monstrous bastard” because it combined elements derived from both Greek and Latin.  He had spent his career in India, always more conservative of British standards than the U. K.

22.  One may easily compile a list of canonical authors who use double negatives, sentences beginning with conjunctions, and the like. 

23.  Partisan Review, June 1948.

24.  See “The Legacy of the Beats” on this site.

 

 

 

1939 Hep! Hep! The Jumping Jive

 

Hep hep

De-boodle-de-ack, de-boodle-de-ackasaki

Hep hep

Oh, rang-tang, te-dah-dah

Hep-hep

Gonna tell you 'bout the jumpin' jive

Hep hep

Jim, jam, jump, the jumpin' jive

Hep hep

Cats gonna beat out this mellow jive

Hep hep

Beat it out on the mellow side

Boy

Whatcha gonna say there, gate?

Oh, boy

Whatcha gonna say there, gate?

Palomar, shalomar, Swanee shore

Let me dig that jive once more

Boy

Lay it right on down to the gator

Oh, boy

Lay it flat as a gator

Now, can't you hear those hep cats call?

Yeah

Come on, boys, let's have a ball

The jim, jam, jump on the jumpin' jive

Makes you dig your jive on the mellow side

Hep hep

Hep hep

The jim, jam, jump is the solid jive

Makes you nine foot tall when you're four foot five

Hep hep

Hep hep

Now, don't you be that ickeroo

Get hep, come on and follow through

Then you get your steady foo

You make the joint jump like the gators do

The jim, jam, jump on the jumpin' jive

Makes you like your eggs on the Jersey side

Hep hep

Hep hep

The jim, jam, jumpin' jive

Makes you hep hep on the mellow side

Hep hep, hep hep

Hep hep, hep hep

The jim, jam, jump on the jumpin' jive

Will make you dig your jive on the mellow side

Hep hep

Hep hep

The jim, jam, jump, the solid jive

Makes you nine foot tall when you're four foot five

Hep hep

Hep hep

Now, don't you be that ickeroo

Get hep, come on and follow through

Then you get your steady foo

You make the joint jump like the gators do

The jim, jam, jump on the jumpin' jive

Makes you like your eggs on the Jersey side

Hep hep

Hep hep

The jim, jam, jumpin' jive

Makes you hep hep, on the mellow side

Hep hep

Hep hep

Now, I've told you 'bout the jumpin' jive

The jim, jam, jump, the jumpin' jive

I know you dug this mellow jive

Oh, you dig it on the mellow side

 

 

 

Are You Hep To The Jive (1940)

 

Are you full of pep? (Yes, yes, yes)

Are you hep-a-hep-a? (Yes, yes, yes)

Are you full of step-a

What do ya know, gates?

Are you in know, or are you a solid bringer-downer?

Listen here, jack

Take it slow you can learn just what I mean

Are you hep to the jive? (yes, yes)

Are you hep to the jive? (yes, yes)

Are you hep, are you hep, are you keepin' in step, are you hep to the jive?

Do you lace your boots high? (yes, yes)

Are you fly, are you fly? (yes, yes)

Do you dig, do you dig, do you swing on the gig, are you hep to the jive?

Do you get in the in the grove? (yes, yes)

Does the beat make you move? (yes, yes)

Do you send yourself jack and then trilly on back and you know that it's smooth?

Oh, are you hep to the jive? (yes, yes)

Are you hep to the jive? (yes, yes)

Are you hep, are you hep, are you keepin' in step, are you hep to the jive?

Are you hep to the jive? (yes, yes) (dah-doo-dah)

Are you hep to the jive? (yes, yes) (dah-doo-dah)

Are you hep, are you hep, are you keepin' in step, are you hep to the jive?

Do you lace your boots high? (yes, yes) (dah-doo-dah)

Are you fly, are you fly? (yes, yes) (dah-doo-dah)

Are you hep, are you hep, are you keepin' in step, are you hep to the jive?

Do you get in the in the grove? (yes, yes)

Does the beat make you move? (yes, yes)

Do you send yourself jack and then trilly on back and you know that it's smooth?

Are you hep-hep-hep to the jive? (yes, yes)

How do you dig-dig-dig-dig the jive? (yes, yes)

Are you hep, are you hep, are you really in step, are you hep to the jive?

Wednesday, January 1, 2020

Art and Life in the Haight Ashbury




     Doubtless the most prominent elements of the artistic legacy of the youth movement of the 1960s are the psychedelic rock music of bands like Big Brother and the Holding Company and the Grateful Dead, the innovating cartoon work from Zap and others, and the graphic design of the concert posters and the underground press, notably the pioneering Oracle.
     The Haight Ashbury itself produced few memorable paintings or sculptures and relatively little of lasting literary value in part because hip artists in the center of the scene sought to make life as a whole into art with street theater, extravagant costumes, community-based music, and a slyly ironic argot. Though the Beat poets had formed the best-known segment of the hip movement during the fifties and several of their principal representatives, born between 1919 and 1935, [1] read at the first Human Be-In in the Golden Gate Park Polo Grounds in January of 1967, the culture of the Haight-Ashbury was far less productive of lasting literary monuments than that of North Beach had been.
     The ambition to make everything an objet d’art naturally led to a paucity of distinct objets d’art. The widely shared goals of enlightenment and the transformation of American culture were inconsistent with aesthetic experience as a unique sort of consumption marked off, indeed exalted, by its separation from everyday life and often associated with the privileged. Along with the resistance to limiting art to self-consciously produced objects for a specialized marketplace came a democratic reluctance to glorify a few “geniuses” whose names are a sort of commercial brand and to cultivate anonymous art and art for free in which professional ambitions had no relevance at all. [2]
     Nonetheless the Diggers, the leading formation of the Haight-Ashbury scene, had emerged from earlier literary publications such as Beatitude and Underhound and other specifically artistic formations such as R. G. Davis’ San Francisco Mime Troupe and the Artists Liberation Front. They produced written texts from the beginning. As the Haight neared its crest, The Communication Company, with Claude Hayward and Chester Anderson at its center, assumed the task of publishing for the collective as members of a movement rather than as individual artists or advocates for strictly aesthetic values. Building on the legacy of the Digger Papers that had already appeared, the Communication Company printed hundreds of handbills as well as works of poetry by Richard Brautigan, Michael McClure, and Lew Welch.
     Having acquired “one brand-new Gestetner 366 silk-screen stencil duplicator” and “one absolutely amazing Gestefax electronic stencil cutter,” “Chester & Claude” announced the Communication Company with a manifesto titled “Our Policy.” The document, though printed on new equipment, has a makeshift appearance that reinforces its message. Across the top is inscribed The Communication Company in a hand that betrays nothing of art school polish. Beneath are detailed the group’s goals in a stencil made from a manual typescript, including a section headed “our plans and hopes,” of which only one of the twelve was explicitly (if vaguely) artistic: “to publish literature originating within this new minority.”
     Yet even this ambition is couched in terms associated with radical politics. The use of the term “minority” is surely influenced by the dawning of black consciousness with its demand for the publication and study of African-American writers. The implication can only be that hip writers, like members of ethnic subcultures, have their own experience couched in a unique rhetoric, and that the Communication Company could serve a role in the dissemination of this particular vision parallel to that of, say, the Third World Press of Don L. Lee (Haki Madhubuti).
     This collectivist emphasis questions the egocentric focus of Romantic theory with its fondness for the “genius” and privileging of individual vision, though it resembles in part such models as IWW culture, Dada, and Situationism and draws from the evolving forms of conceptual and performance art. The first of the “plans and hopes” of the new publisher, however, far from referring g to any of these precedents, is simple: “to provide quick & inexpensive printing service for the hip community.” In the first instance this meant “to print anything the Diggers want printed” and “to do lots of community service printing.” They hope in the way “to function as a Haight/Ashbury propaganda ministry” in the form of a new sort of journal “to supplement The Oracle with a more or less daily paper.” [3] They hoped thereby to counteract the straight press, what they called “The Chronicle’s fantasies.”
     Yet their language suggests that pursuing these goals would require language other than the journalistic norm. Seeking “to compete with the Establishment press for public opinion” would require their being “outrageous pamphleteers,” and “to produce occasional incredibilities out of an unnatural fondness for either outrage or profit, as the case may be.” In the end, the individualist impulse survived with the penultimate ambition “to do what we damn well please,” followed only by a reminder of the reality principle: “to keep the payments up” on the printing equipment.
     Though the authors of “Our Policy” allowed themselves a theoretically unlimited license to fiction and betrayed a fondness for provocation, their aim was congruent with that of the Diggers as a whole: to contribute toward defining, fostering, and protecting the hip youth movement as a whole. Anything less would have struck them as “Art as a fantasy pacifier,” in the words of the handout “Trip Without A Ticket.” This manifesto may be fairly taken to represent the most fully formed statement of the artistic ideology of the Haight, having been originally printed by the Diggers as a whole and then in part revised and later reprinted by the Communication Company.
     “Trip Without A Ticket” compares Americans to psychiatric patients, stupefied by tranquilizing drugs, sleepwalking through the horror of modern life, in desperate need of awakening, of “the single circuit-breaking moment that charges games with critical reality.” Without “the cushioned distance of media” people would cease to be the programmed “normals” required by the status quo and would be transformed into “life-actors” capable of seeing through the culture’s “consumer circuses” and feeling real rapport with the victims of American imperialism.
     The central form through which such eye-opening may occur is theatrical. To create “a space for existing outside padded walls” entails the elimination of the conventional theater building as well as the psychiatric unit. Art becomes an escape plan, with dramatic actions enacted in the everyday world rather than plays behind a proscenium arch, actions that function as “glass cutters for empire windows,” depending on the “universal pardon for imagination” that underlies “the intrinsic freedom of theater.” Only such a new “guerilla” theater can create “life-actors” and generate “a cast of freed beings.” In sum they aimed at establishing a “theater of an underground that wants out” aiming “to liberate ground held by consumer wardens and establish territory without walls.”
     In this way any location “that is free becomes a social art form. “Ticketless theater. Out of money and control.” Several vignettes illustrate precisely what this might look like in practice. “A sign: If Someone Asks to See the Manager Tell Him He's the Manager.”
     “Someone asked how much a book cost. How much did he think it was worth? 75 cents. The money was taken and held out for anyone. "Who wants 75 cents?" A girl who had just walked in came over and took it.”
     Not only is there no ticket; there is as well no script and no barrier between audience and performer. Clearly calling for participatory improvisatory theater set on the stage of the world, this is art without artifacts, beauty carved from the circumstances of everyday life, symbolic action that implies a new world view. With this vision the flotsam of unwanted surplus goods in the Free Store and in the world is transmuted into the tools by which liberation becomes available. “Fire helmets, riding pants, shower curtains, surgical gowns and World War I Army boots are parts for costumes. Nightsticks, sample cases, water pipes, toy guns and weather balloons are taken for props.” The magic appears when the cash nexus is removed. “When materials are free, imagination becomes currency for spirit.”
     Citing Gary Snyder on the necessity to “pin down what's wrong with the West,” the “Trip” finds models for such community-based ritual not so very distant from California. The specific mythic meaning of the original ritual is less important than the involvement in the moment and attentiveness to the constant stream of sensory detail.
     
"The Mexican Day of the Dead is celebrated in cemeteries. Yellow flowers falling petal by petal on graves. In moonlight. Favorite songs of the deceased and everybody gets loaded. Children suck deaths-head candy engraved with their names in icing."

     A parallel imagistic flow follows with the scene translated into the terms familiar to the Haight.


"A Digger event. Flowers, mirrors, penny-whistles, girls in costumes of themselves, Hell's Angels, street people, Mime Troupe.
Angels ride up Haight with girls holding Now! signs. Flowers and penny-whistles passed out to everyone.
A chorus on both sides of the street chanting Uhh!--Ahh!--Shh be cool! Mirrors held up to reflect faces of passersby."


     The hip community was influenced by a number of modern trends in art including improvisation, chance, collaboration, found objects, and street art, yet the most characteristic work that arose from the Haight-Ashbury eschewed the pretty in favor of the illuminating. The Haight Ashbury ethos favored the collective expression of the neighborhood and the movement as a whole to the promotion of individual art egos. The very fact that we have few works of poetry or fiction that fully embody the spirit of the age itself embodies the Haight Ashbury ethos. In order to recover some sense of what art meant in that time and place it is necessary to study the ephemera, and central to any such understanding must be the publications of the Diggers and the Communication Company.



1. Ferlinghetti (born in 1919), Ginsberg (1926), Gary Snyder (1930), Kandel (1932), McClure (1932), and Brautigan (1935) all read. The younger generation was represented by rock musicians.

2. The Cockettes founded by Hibiscus in 1969 insisted that one needed no talent whatsoever to perform. The associated Kaliflower Commune was exceptionally long-lived with related individual and groups active today.

2. Anderson was born in 1932, Hayward was younger, born in 1945.

3. Comparable to the daily publications from the Sorbonne’s École des Beaux-Arts in the spring of 1968 and the Occupy Wall Street Journal in 2011.