Prohibition
Several years ago, in one of the required reading assignments for Bradley Brookshire’s Research and Writing class at Purchase, I came across a comment that continues to haunt me. Unfortunately I can’t remember the exact source, but it may have been in Leonard Meyer’s discussion of Adorno that I was first introduced to the concept of “servile intellectuals”, those who fancy themselves to be members of the cultural elite yet still actively participate in popular culture by, say, reading their daily horoscopes.
Earlier this week, like the voice of my conscience personified in print on dogpile.com, my astrological oracle warned that I “may be running the risk of losing [myself] in the noise of socializing.” How true. In the past few weeks, my stress level has been gradually rising to the brink of unbearability due to my incessant juggling of professional and personal commitments. My normally chaotic existence has been further complicated by preliminary preparations for a concert in early December with the Artemis Chamber Ensemble. More details to follow, but the program features the works of composer Michael Shapiro. I’ll be playing his Clarinet Sonata and Piano Quintet, two works written in completely disparate styles – one channeling early Copland and Bernstein, the other purely minimalistic (or as I like to refer to my part in the Quintet, Czerny exercises on crack).
In order to salvage some semblance of my sanity, I firmly resolved to fly under the radar this weekend. No dinner parties, no late night visits to my favorite spot for French Martinis, and under no circumstances will I be consuming any beverage served in a shot glass. I didn’t even make it into Manhattan for the Carter docu-concert at MoMA. I did, however, indulge in a bit of well-deserved retail therapy (my reward for a challenging week: Earl Jean skinny corduroys, eighties-style with zippers at the ankles, a steal for $10). Another reason I relish suburban life: if I so choose, I can wear sweatpants and no makeup to Bloomingdale’s without fear of running into anyone except other suburbanites, similarly incognito in their ponytails and sneakers.
posted by Carol Minor @ 11:52 PM
1 Comments:
I think what you recall was probably Richard Leppert's comments, which run "he [Adorno] insists on the responsibility of the intellectural to 'be a critical, promotive factor in the development of the masses.' The critical theoretician's role is to help change society by explaining it -- but all the while remembering that his or her own position of relative intellectual privilege ironically exemplifies the very problem for which redress is sought." [Introduction to Theodor W. Adorno: Essays on Music, U. of California Press, 2002, p. 21] Or perhaps it was another passage in the same Introduction? In any case, Adorno wrote scathingly of the intellectuals who fell "helpless" at the feet of the Nazis. In the current political climate of increasing restrictions on the free press, of boundless mendacity and obfuscation by the White House, of warrantless (and unwarrented) wiretaps, one is reminded of Adorno's scorn, which ought to chasten every intellectual who is not objecting to the spread of neo-Fascism with every fiber of his or her being.
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