Xgau SezThese are questions submitted by readers, and answered by Robert Christgau. New ones will appear in batches every third Tuesday. To ask your own question, please use this form. September 22, 2021[Q] The phrase "meaning-mongering" shows up in your reviews from time to time. How exactly do you define this term? Is it always a bad thing? If not, how does one successfully pull it off? -- Austin, Missouri [A] "From time to time," I read. Gee, I thought, not exactly a witty term, why would I do that? So I Googled my site and got precisely one hit: a 2001 Turkey Shoot pan that read:
All of which I take to indicate that, for reasons I no longer
remember, Tool was my post-9/11 choice to symbolize the
ever-burgeoning pretensions of metal, which by then my readers
presumably knew I didn't have much use for unless Led Zeppelin or
Motorhead counted. What I'm really insulting in this very terse review
is fantasy as opposed to science fiction, the overstatements of jazz
fusion, and rock's eternal "progressive" tic. The virgin crack, I
should add, I don't get. Were Tool deep into phallic sexism? Can't
recall, don't much care. Hate that shit in hip-hop too.
[Q] Have you ever written a hit record, or any record for that matter? -- Brad Ballantyne, Richmondshire, England August 18, 2021Pleasure without guilt, inspirational verses, the generosity of Sonny Rollins and David Bowie (et. al.), bridging the language gap (or not), and the selling of bridges and other products of capitalism [Q] Hi Bob, I was wondering if there is any music/album/artist that you thoroughly enjoy personally but as a critic wouldn't feel comfortable defending or recommending to anyone. I suppose the common term for it is "guilty pleasure," although I would want to object to the insinuation that it has to be associated with the idea of guilt (or even shame). Another way to ask this question would be: Is there a difference between you as a human being who enjoys music and you in your role as a critic, and if the answer is yes, what does it look like? -- LD Schulz, Hamburg, Germany [A]
I don't believe in guilty pleasures, as I explain in the prologue to
my Is It Still Good to Ya? collection, which began its life as
a lecture at a PopCon devoted for better or worse to the guilty
pleasure idea. And as far as I'm concerned, any critic who doesn't
write as a human being who enjoys the art form at hand--although
"cares about," "is interested in," and other less hedonistic verbs
could be subbed in there--is doing a disservice to criticism and
indeed humanity.
[Q] Anyone addicted to your website has undoubtedly come across the "Inspirational Verse." Sometimes it's clear you deem the IV the crown jewel of a record, and other times, like in your slightly harsh review of the Prince side project The Family, it is hilariously sarcastic. How did the IV come about and when do you choose to deploy it? -- Joe, U.K. [A]
I don't have the fortitude to come up with an exact date, but it seems
to me I've been using the Inspirational Verse device since very early
in the Consumer Guide's history even though I don't find it in any of
the scant CG material I included in my 1973 collection Any Old Way You
Choose It. It serves two functions: a) a readymade way to single out
lyrics worthy of note for better or worse that can also be b) a quick
way to end a review I don't have a capper for. A Google search of my
site suggests that I've put it in play something over 200 times. Glad
you enjoy it--that's the idea.
[Q] Listening to Saxophone Colossus this unseasonably rainy morning reminded me that you recently referred to Newk as an artist of a certain "generosity" (also Coltrane, Parton, Aretha, Lamar, among other inveterate favorites of mine) and you seemed to suggest that this quality of generosity (or "spirituality") exists distinctly from anger and wit. A Google Search led me to a few other instances where you've made reference to a musician's generosity--Young Americans was Bowie's "generosity of spirit" renewed, for instance. What a lovely turn of phrase--it almost sounds utopian--but I can't seem to grok what you mean. In what ways is Rollins's generosity like Bowie's? Is it qualifiable or hopelessly nebulous? Personal note: I've been reading your work since I was 17 (I'm now 30) and your anger, wit, and (dare I say?) generosity has shaped how I listen to and think about the world around me. Engaging with you in this forum is a tremendous privilege. Thank you and stay safe out there. -- Daniel Tovar, San Antonio [A]
"Generosity" can mean many different things, and while it's generally
distinguishable from both anger and wit, most of those things can
certainly coexist with anger and wit.
In Rollins's case, however, I'd
say generosity, along with facility and the more closely related ease,
is at the center of why we care so much about him. (Spirituality, I
should add, seems to me a rather different thing.) Love of music and
the sounds he can make with his horn is discernible or maybe just
imaginable in every phrase he plays. Bowie is far more a poser and
ironist plus someone whose rather European aesthetic sense stopped
hitting me anywhere near where I live in the mid '80s. But on
Young Americans in
particular, which was much earlier, it felt like he was reaching out
to his rapidly expanding fanbase and hence embracing his own stardom
head on rather than holding it at an ironic distance. This impulse
soon engendered
Station to Station, which
remains the only album of his I love wholeheartedly and play for sheer
pleasure. To which let me add that the idea that I can convey any of
this to listeners half a century my junior is an equally tremendous
privilege.
[Q] You once answered a question about which foreign language you'd like to master saying it'd be Portuguese. Given that you're a big enthusiast of Tom Z's work and have also reviewed other Brazilian big names such as Gil, Veloso, and Elza Soares, I'd like to know why haven't you reviewed any other Jorge Ben album except his collaboration with Gil (which you liked)? Do you have any thoughts about his music? Thanks a lot! -- Mateus Paz, Rio de Janeiro [A]
No, but I admit I haven't tried that hard. A friend once gave me a
copy of Africa Brasil, which I played dutifully more than once at the
time and replayed again when I read your query only to find myself
once again unable to breach the language barrier--or maybe I just
don't get Ben, a rhythm artist for whom lyrics aren't necessarily
paramount, due to some glitch in my general response mechanism. There
are clearly great lyricists in African music--Franco and Youssou
N'Dour by all accounts and some translations come to mind. But the
musicality of those two artists and so many others subsumes the verbal
content. In contrast, Brazilian music tends more pop in the Tin Pan
Alley sense, which means among other things that it's designed to
accompany or even showcase lyrics and thus can't fully connect with
those who don't understand them. There might well be other negative
factors as well--there's a classiness about the Brazilian pop ideal
that's not my kind of thing. But the language differential makes it
harder for me to bridge that gap.
[Q] In your review of Wanna Buy a Bridge? [younguns: legendary 1980 Britpunk comp], you singled out Delta 5's "Mind Your Own Business" as one of the highlights, and I'm wondering if you have any thoughts on the song's recent appearance in an iPhone commercial. (Greil Marcus praised it in his June Real Life Rock column.) And/or any thoughts in general on the practice of using punk songs to shill for corporations? (The Buzzcocks, Iggy, Sonic Youth, Jesus & Mary Chain, and Gang of 4 have all authorized such spots.) -- Scott Woods, Toronto [A]
This goes back to the vexed circa-1969 question of whether Aretha
should do a Coke commercial, which neither I nor my more Marxian
then-partner Ellen Willis had any problem with. Let artists we loved
shovel up more money--this was capitalism, and rock and roll was a
product of capitalism. So I've seldom moralized about such
machinations, though these days I guess it would depend on the
corporation: no fossil fuels, no big banks, probably not much
international agribusiness either. But much as I distrust big tech,
that's a much closer call. I mean, I own an iPhone myself, albeit one
I inherited from Nina. And drink loads of Diet Coke too. There are so
many graver economic injustices and disconnects to address.
[Q] FROM AMAZON: "Vintage presents the paperback edition of the wild and brilliant writings of Lester Bangs -- the most outrageous and popular rock critic of the 1970s -- edited and with an introduction by the reigning dean of rack critics, Greil Marcus." Gee, maybe "rock" critic Christgau should have a pissing contest with "rack" critic Greel? Whip 'em out, boys! Us ladies are waiting! -- Coco Hannah Eckelberg, Key West, Florida July 28, 2021Generalizations too vast to swear by, instrumentals worth hearing, the algorithm vs. the people, and Frank Zappa vs. George Clinton. [Q] Re: "Combating the Sound of Whiteness." In reading the piece I came to wonder if you've read Heartaches by the Number (Cantwell and Friskics-Warren, 2003). Specifically how they choose to define a "country song"? -- Clifford J. Ocheltree, New Orleans [A]
I was certainly aware that I was generalizing swiftly and broadly in
that piece, and if I owned Heartaches by the Number I would
have checked it out, as I did David Cantwell's excellent Merle
Haggard: The Running Kind. I was also aware that there were
revised editions of Bill C. Malone's Country Music, U.S.A. to
which Geoff Mann referred in his essay; I'd read the 1968 version
shortly after it came out and have never seen either of the newer
ones. But since I wasn't claiming to do anything but review those two
essays and had plenty to say about them, with deadline approaching I
went with what I had. My generalizations are obviously too vast to
swear by, but as more-than-plausible argument starters I stand by
them.
[Q] The irrepressible Alfred Soto recently posted his favourite 20 instrumentals in rock. Seems like he had a lot of fun doing it. How about yours? -- Christian Iszchak, Norfolk, England [A]
Without committing to play till the ninth inning, I did what I could
to check out most of Soto's picks and was surprised at how few of them
worked for me. To choose the biggest disappointments because my tastes
clearly run more r&b-let's-call-it than Soto's, neither Sly's "Sex
Machine" nor JB's "Time Is Running Out Fast" made me say anything like
"How the fuck did I forget that"? The Neil Young, the Bowie, even the
Sugar just didn't reach deep enough. But "Tel-Star," "Frankenstein,"
and not quite as undeniably the Stooges' "L.A. Blues" certainly
qualify, as of course does Funkadelic's indelible "Maggot Brain,"
which Carola and I recall first grokking while we were parking our car
in an Akron driveway in 1978 and staying in our seats till it was
over, enthralled. Almost as crucial is the Meters' "Cissy Strut." I'd
never registered Yo La Tengo's "Spec Bebop" and loved it. I'd replace
Eno's "Becalmed" with his "Sky Saw." Pink Floyd's "One of These Days"
would probably place. Rush's "YYZ," which it's quite possible I'd
never heard in my life, also might. But I think Soto was wrong to
leave out all "jazz"--Miles Davis's 27-minute "Right Off," which leads
Jack Johnson, is extraordinary and indelibly rock-derived, and not
just because it builds off bassist Michael Henderson's "Honky Tonk"
riff. Which brings us to the '50s, which Soto ignores altogether. As
I've written
more than once, it was the
hour I spent as a 14-year-old playing side one of my Bill Doggett 45
"Honky Tonk" on repeat that transformed me into the person who became
a rock critic. Side two was the hit, one of the best-selling
instrumentals of all time, but I always insist that both sides form
one composition, still one of my favorite tracks ever. One of Soto's
commenters mentions that he also omitted Link Wray's equally
influential "Rumble," where you can hear noise guitar being born. And
from the '50s I'd add New Orleans sax man Lee Allen's "Walking with
Mr. Lee"--and also, just to be contrary, Count Basie's 1956 hit
version of "April in Paris," another 45 I bought, which
Billboard calculated peaked at number 28 but was bigger in NYC
I guess.
[Q] I've been listening to a lot of early Funkadelic lately (Westbound years) and though I'm not a fan (for the most part) of Frank Zappa and the Mothers, I keep hearing similarities, mainly in the eclecticism and lack of vocal identity (not to mention scatological/pornographic fixations). While I can accept that these ideas perhaps have more validity coming from a Black band than a White band (context matters), I am not entirely comfortable with that acceptance. Yes, I agree Zappa doesn't like people or sex (same as Stanley Kubrick) and George Clinton and Co. are more accepting of personal foibles (or at least have more fun with it). Does therein lie the distinction? -- Theodore Raiken, Metuchen, New Jersey [A]
The short answer is of course that's the distinction, although the
lack of vocal identity is a meaningful parallel it's sharp to point
out on your way to homing in on the formal similarities between the
two bands and brands. That said, except for Zappa himself if you like
the way he plays guitar, which many do more than me and not without
reason, there are no musicians as personable as Bootsy Collins or
Eddie Hazel or Bernie Worrell in the Mothers however formally skillful
the players Zappa gathered around him. Nor were the Mothers anthemic
the way P-Funk was--that wasn't how Zappa rolled, which as far as I'm
concerned is one more manifestation of his stingy spirit. To me,
1972's (very early) America Eats Its Young, Clinton's most
Zappaesque album, is also easily his worst. Usually there's tremendous
generosity to his music, which kept on developing after his Westbound
tour was over. And that sort of, well, let's call it spirituality, is
one thing I respond to in musicians. The Beatles sure had it. John
Prine. In their way both Dolly Parton and Loretta Lynn. Damn right
Peter Stampfel. But probably more Black artists: Coltrane, Rollins,
and Coleman in jazz, Aretha and Otis Redding especially in soul, in
hip-hop the Roots and Kendrick Lamar for starters. And hey: Louis
Armstrong! Not that I don't also identify with righteous anger and
sardonic wit. Which Clinton also had.
[Q] Terrific review of Michaelangelo Matos's book on 1984 that explains the pros and cons of that era. Your ending, referring to his use of Live Aid as a coda, was intriguing: "To me what happened there was less neat and closed off." Can you elaborate? -- Chris, New Zealand [A]
That quote in toto, after an organizer foolishly claimed that "the
sixties had finally come true": "'The new era Live Aid portended,
though, had more to do with its many visible corporate sponsorships
than any world saving, per se. It sealed pop stardom as another facet
of modern celebrity--turned it, officially, into a kind of landed
gentry.' To me what happened there was less neat and closed off."
Certainly the landed-gentry phase of pop stardom, a nice metaphor, was
inevitable without Live Aid, and plenty else wasn't portended
there. Most important, Run-D.M.C. gave barely a hint of hip-hop's
gigantic future, its starting point which for argument's sake I'll say
was the Tupac-Biggie assassinations followed by Jay-Z's late '98
breakthrough "Hard Knock Life" and in 1999 Eminem, still more than a
decade off . But in addition Matos's premonitory bows to SST, the
Replacements, and the pop success of R.E.M. in particular don't in any
way anticipate the way Nirvana's never-duplicated commercial success
established alt-rock for a time as a mythic artistic hotbed.
[Q] When I pull up Mukdad Rothenberg Lanko on Spotify, the suggested "Fans also like" recommends McCarthy Trenching, Peter Stampfel, and other artists nothing like MRL. This can only be the algorithm responding to your February 2021 CG--not about stylistic similarities. How does it feel to be so powerful? -- Rick Meyer, Decatur, Illinois [A]
I'm reasonably assured this is not the algorithm per se. It's just
people liking and playing the same records because they learned about
those records from me. It certainly makes me happy when my fans enjoy
some of the more obscure artists I favor, and I know that
long-distance friendships have occasionally begun that way. But
"power"?? That's not power. Power--of a sort, anyway--might be other
critics latching onto the same artists and their readers streaming
them too, up into the thousands of plays. How about tens of thousands?
That would be cool.
[Q] Why are you such a crotchety, beat up looking goof with a web site from 1997? Can't afford anyone to modernize it? Your taste in music sucks cock! Maybe you do too! Fucker! -- James Carter, Atlanta [A]
Not
Jimmy, I assume. Or the
saxophone whiz. Oh well. Even so
you can say whatever you want about me as long as you keep putting in
the hours with Stacey Abrams. Non-Georgians need you more than
ever.
Go Warnock.
June 16, 2021Lousy (or not) Stones albums, world champion Beatles albums, some musical geniuses, some upbeat albums, and whither rock & roll? Plus: the story of 1974's Consumer Guide to America's Yogurts. [Q] I really enjoy your reviews and your writing in general. I do notice that you sort of pick your favorites, though--you gave the Rolling Stones' Dirty Work an A and Steel Wheels a B+??? You cannot be serious with these positive reviews--these are two albums that even the band will tell you are terrible. I love the Rolling Stones but Dirty Work might be one of the worst-produced albums of all time. I mean it's just bad. Do you honestly pull out this album out still? As for A Bigger Bang, it's OK but nowhere near as good as the review you give. It's sort of a very good imitation of a Stones album. "Streets of Love" is just terrible second-rate Mick Jagger solo album material. You honestly think these albums I mentioned above don't top any of Queen's first six albums? I mean really? -- Adam Marr, New York City [A]
What a strange question even disregarding the fact that
I gave Steel Wheels a B
minus, not a B plus. Though I'm glad you like my work, I'm sad
that some basic principles haven't gotten through. A major one is that
in the end people like what they like, and that a simple way of
understanding the critic's job is that critics should among other
things try and explain what their opinions/responses are and where
they come from. As has
already come up in this space, I'm not a Queen fan even though,
inspired mostly by my daughter, I've warmed to their precise, campy
comic grandeur. When I find time to explore, I might listen more
intensively. But if I live to 100 I'll never find time to hear much
less immerse in their first six albums. Maybe my feelings will
shift a little, but I'll never like them that much, and at best I'll
limit myself to a best-of or two. Moreover, the Stones are inscribed a
lot deeper on my sensorium than on yours--I've been a sucker for a
fundamental groove I attribute mostly to Keith Richards and the great
Charlie Watts since "It's All Over Now" hit the airwaves in the fall
of 1964. And even though Jagger isn't my kind of guy as a human being,
their sound plus his flair sparked into life longer than most aging
rockers could manage.
My unconventional fondness for
Dirty Work remained in place last time I checked--a
tremendously underrated album especially given the pass the Stones got
on the 1983 Under Cover, its opprobrium based mostly on the
overblown reaction to the echoey way producer Steve Lillywhite did
drums, which is neither here nor there as far as I'm
concerned. Replaying A Bigger Bang for the first time since
2006, my A minus seems right--the opening "Rough Justice" is a
strikingly ironic/acerbic expression of both Jagger's musical gift and
his romantic limitations and the songwriting strong is throughout,
though "Streets of Love" is no high point. In addition to the CG
review,
wrote longer about A
Bigger Bang for Blender in 2005 and then
reviewed a 2006 show of theirs for
the same mag. I stand by everything I wrote. Check it
out--especially the show review.
[Q] In your recent Too Much Joy review you quip that they aren't Randy Newman meets the Clash cause those acts are genius while Too Much Joy just have high IQs. I've noticed that genius seems to be a word that you are hesitant to use to describe musicians. It got me thinking, how do you define genius when it comes to musical artists? Is it based on their sonic innovation, language, what you think they'd get in an IQ test, or something else? Also, who are the definite geniuses in music, and do any/all of the following qualify: Prince, John Lennon, Paul McCartney, Kanye West, David Bowie, M.I.A., El DeBarge, Eminem, Lil Wayne, Stevie Wonder, Taylor Swift, James Brown, Billie Eilish, Captain Beefheart, Frank Ocean, and Brian Wilson. -- Anonymous, Europe [A]
First of all, I use the word "genius" plenty--too much, probably;
Google says it gets 1130 hits on my site where "talent" comes in at
1050 and "smart" at 913. Second, musical genius doesn't have much to
do with IQ, certainly not, for instance, the 175 that talented
non-genius Bob Mould claims in his memoir, though 120-125 would
probably be a good idea just to utilize and kick-start the musical
genius properly. Third, most of the musical geniuses I can think of
are Black: on your list James Brown above all with Prince second,
maybe Wonder, not DeBarge or Ocean, but how come you left out Ray
Charles and Aretha Franklin? (And Louis Armstrong! Duke Ellington even
though he's never been a favorite of mine! Thelonious Monk! Miles
Davis!) The one obvious white genius who comes to mind is easy and
isn't on your list: Bob Dylan. Ditto for Joni Mitchell whatever her
vanities, Lennon probably, Eminem in his fucked up way conceivably,
and I definitely wouldn't rule out Swift. The others less, with
understandable candidate Beefheart exemplifying near-genius's
limitations. Billie Eilish PLUS HER BROTHER, THAT'S DEFINITELY A
PARTNERSHIP, might qualify in 10 years and might not. When I wrote my
Billboard obit of George Jones I pulled out the G-word, which didn't
seem preposterous, especially for someone on a death deadline. As for
Randy Newman and the Clash, both come close enough to justify a good
joke, Newman in particular given his soundtrack sideline. And now I
declare an end to this party game.
[Q] Did the Beatles ever make an A plus album? -- Faizal Ali, Minneapolis [A]
Ordinarily I skip A plus questions but this one I couldn't resist. How
could I not nominate the two
I put on my Rolling Stone
list: Sgt. Pepper and The Beatles' Second Album, the
latter of which most Beatles scholars don't believe counts if they
even acknowledge it exists? But because so much of my early Beatles
listening was their U.S. albums, I'm not qualified to distinguish
among the "official" UK versions that preceded
Sgt. Pepper. Moreover, while I feel and understand the artistic
skill and historical momentousness of prime candidate Rubber
Soul, in fact I only cream for three of its songs: "Norwegian
Wood," "Girl," and "In My Life." A plusses have to do more than that
for me.
[Q] hello mr. christgau, i am a big fan of your writing and music ratings. i often agree with your reviews, except for a few rap records that i disagree with haha. anyway, i would like to know what "happy/upbeat" records are some of your favorites? i am talking records in the likes of: rilo kiley's under the blacklight; van morrison's moondance; donald fagen's the nightfly and robyn's body talk. these are some of my favorite records to listen to and i would like to know more albums like them that i should listen to. -- gavin highly, minneapolis [A]
These things are so personal. I mean, I love The Nightfly and
Carola adores it. But Donald Fagen "happy/upbeat"? That pathological
ironist? How??? Still, I thought it might be fun to find something
suitable. Two records I go to for that sort of thing are
Franco & Rochereau's Omona
Wapi and
Manu Chao's Proxima Estacion
Esperanza, but both may be too world-musicky for your
tastes. Either '70s New York Dolls album?
KaitO's Band Red, a
recent if admittedly esoteric rediscovery around here?
The New Pornographers' Whiteout
Conditions?
Toots and the Maytals' Funky
Kingston, which another reader just excoriated me so
passionately for giving it an A minus rather than a full A that I
replayed it and found it was still an A minus for me. Hey wait, I've
got just the thing: The Beatles' Second
Album. Guaran-fucking-teed.
[Q] I have been an avid reader of robertchristgau.com since I was in high school (now about 10 years ago). During that critical time in my life, my taste has evolved a great deal, and your writing has proved a major influence on that evolution, helping me become attuned to and fall in love with (broadly speaking) African music, rock-n-roll, and classic soul. Having fallen in love with those (meta)genres, however, I can't help but feel a bit melancholy at the increasing marginality of rock-n-roll and classic soul songforms and archetypes in the popular consciousness (music from the African continent being marginal in the US by definition). Is it possible we might have a revival of interest in these ways of doing music? Do you think the great music of the '50s and '60s can translate to a new audience raised on the internet? Will bands ever be a "thing" again? Am I being overly pessimistic? PS: Special thanks for introducing me to Youssou N'Dour & toile de Dakar with your A+. -- Grace Brown, Montreal [A]
What can I say? Popular music evolves just like any art form--Louis
Armstrong and His Hot Seven were revolutionary in the late '20s and
still sound amazing today, but while it's possible to imagine some
historically inclined imitator reviving that sound to an extent,
that's a long shot technically and an impossibility culturally--just
wouldn't strike the kind of same spark, in the audience or among the
musicians themselves (plus, of course, no Satchmo). It's
distressed me for many years that the
rock and roll of the '50s is an unmapped antiquity for most young
listeners--to me the great Chuck Berry and Coasters and Buddy
Holly records plus many doowop one-shots (let's hear it for, hmm, how
about Johnnie and Joe's "Over the Mountain, Across the Sea") are
thrilling on the face of it, but to listeners your age (assuming for
the moment that your autobiographical profile is factual) that music
has been aesthetically inaccessible for decades. Almost the same goes
for soul stylings, although a few aging holdouts as well as some young
multiformalists like (Brown University graduate)
Jamila Woods continue
to work in that general area. But with bands it's different. There are
still plenty of bands, some even g-g-b-d or g-k-b-d, exploring that
option, and still venues for them too.
Chantal Del Sol Icarus Fallenpdf «480p 2024»Chantal Delsol’s Icarus Fallen: The Search for Meaning in an Uncertain World is a philosophical exploration of contemporary Western society's loss of purpose after the collapse of 20th-century utopian ideologies. Delsol uses the myth of as a metaphor for modern man, who "flew too close to the sun" of progress and perfectibility, only to fall back to earth, stunned and disoriented. Denver Journal Core Themes and Concepts The Fallen Icarus Metaphor : Modernity was driven by a belief in limitless progress and social transformation (the "sun"). Having been "burned" by the failure of these ideologies, such as Marxism and National Socialism, contemporary man now gropes for direction in a world without clear anchors. The Rejection of "Truth" for "Good" : Delsol argues that society has embraced "the good" (humanitarianism, rights, and democracy) while simultaneously rejecting "the true" (universal or religious certainties). This leads to a morality based on fleeting emotions rather than enduring principles. Loss of the Tragic : Contemporary society attempts to eliminate risk and suffering, embracing a "zero risk" culture. By losing a sense of the tragic, humans lose the ability to find meaning in trial and sacrifice. Black Market Religions : When traditional religion and ideologies are suppressed, Delsol suggests they don't disappear but resurface as "black market" versions—unregulated, personal spiritualities or fanatical political commitments. National Review About the Author In Chantal Delsol’s Icarus Fallen: The Search for Meaning in an Uncertain World , the French philosopher uses the myth of Icarus to diagnose the "malaise" of the modern Western mind. Core Thesis Delsol argues that 20th-century man, driven by Enlightenment ideals and utopian ideologies (like Marxism and Nazism), attempted to "reach the sun" by creating a world without limits, effectively trying to replace transcendence with human-made politics and morality. Having "burned his wings" on the horrors of these totalitarian experiments, modern man has fallen back to earth, landing in a state of profound confusion and disappointment. Key Themes The Loss of "Grand Narratives": Following the collapse of major ideologies, Western society lacks a unifying sense of meaning. We are in an era of "disenchantment" where previous certainties no longer seem relevant. The "Clandestine Ideology": Delsol posits that while we claim to reject ideologies, we have adopted a hidden one centered on "biological life" as the highest value, focusing on short-term comfort and security rather than higher truths. Morality of Emotion: In the absence of a shared objective truth or "reference point," morality has shifted toward individual feelings and the "sacralization of rights," leading to a fragmented social order where hierarchy is rejected. The State as a "Care-Giver": As we focus more on material survival and less on the "good life," the role of politics has devolved from seeking justice to managing health and security. Critical Reception Reviewers often compare Delsol's insights to those of Christopher Lasch, noting her "masterful" and "lucid" style. While she is not writing from an explicitly religious perspective, her work is frequently cited in The Denver Journal and The National Review for its resonance with Christian and conservative critiques of modern secularism. Icarus Fallen: The Search for Meaning in an Uncertain World Icarus Fallen , Chantal Delsol argues that post-ideological humanity, having abandoned utopian dreams, is disoriented and prone to pursuing moral "good" while rejecting absolute truth. She proposes a "reappropriation of the human condition" that accepts human limitation and embraces concrete, personal responsibility over the pursuit of risk-free existence. Read a detailed review at National Review Icarus Fallen: The Search for Meaning in an Uncertain World In her philosophical work Icarus Fallen: The Search for Meaning in an Uncertain World, French philosopher Chantal Delsol tells the "story" of modern Western society through the metaphor of the fallen mythical figure, Icarus. The Story of the "Fallen" Modern Man Delsol argues that for the last two centuries, Western humanity attempted a hubristic "flight" toward the sun of utopian ideology. This flight was fueled by the belief in limitless progress and the perfectibility of man through technology and radical social transformation. However, the "wax" of these ideologies melted under the heat of the 20th century’s total wars, gulags, and economic collapses. Like Icarus, modern man has plummeted back to earth—alive, but badly shaken, confused, and shorn of his former certainties. Key Themes of the Modern Malaise Delsol describes the current state of this "fallen" Icarus through several critical observations: The Loss of the "True": Modern society has embraced the "good" (humanitarianism, rights, and democracy) while rejecting the "true" (objective reality or moral anchors). chantal del sol icarus fallenpdf A "Black Market" of Meaning: Because humans cannot live without purpose, they create "black market" versions of religion, morality, and politics to fill the void left by discarded traditions. Zero-Risk Culture: Having lost a sense of the tragic, contemporary man strives for a "zero-risk" existence, prioritizing comfort and complacency over virtuous striving. The Individual as Sovereign: The focus has shifted from earned "honor" to demanded "dignity," resulting in an intolerance for any authority or structure that might restrain individual freedom. The Path Forward: Vigilance Delsol does not suggest a simple return to the past. Instead, she calls for a new "mastery of the world" based on vigilance. This involves: The subject line of the email was simply: “Icarus_Fallen.pdf” Chantal Del Sol almost deleted it. Her spam filter was a fortress, but this had slipped through, landing in the quiet backwater of her “Archives” folder. She was a digital archaeologist, a woman who made her living unearthing lost data from crashed drives and corrupted clouds. Curiosity was her occupational hazard. She clicked. The PDF loaded slowly, line by line, as if the document itself was tired. It wasn't a text. It was a schematic. A blueprint for a piece of software she’d only ever heard whispered about in the dark corners of darknet forums: Project Icarus. Chantal leaned closer. Her loft in Lyon was cold, the only light coming from the three monitors that made up her professional universe. She traced a finger over the ghosted lines on the screen. The schematic showed a neural bridge—a direct feed from a human cerebral cortex into a drone swarm’s command network. But the annotations were wrong. Desperate. In the margins, scrawled in a digital hand that mimicked frantic ink, were the words: “The wax melts. He flew too close. Chantal, don’t look for the source. Burn this.” She knew the handwriting. It was her own. Three years ago, she’d been part of a black-budget consortium called Helios. Their goal: create the ultimate pilot—a single consciousness that could command a thousand drones as easily as breathing. Chantal had designed the firmware. A young test pilot named Marcus Vale had been the volunteer. He’d been good. Too good. The last simulation had ended with him screaming over the comms, “The light is inside me! I can’t blink!” Then the project went dark. Marcus was declared dead. Chantal was paid off and signed a dozen NDAs. She’d tried to forget. But now, a ghost had sent her a file with her own desperate handwriting on it. She couldn’t help herself. She traced the file’s metadata. The origin point was a lat-long coordinate in the Sahara. A place called The Glass Sea—a region of melted silica left over from a long-abandoned solar array field. Chantal packed a bag. A hardened laptop, a faraday cage, a pair of night-vision goggles, and a Glock she didn’t know how to use. She told herself it was for the story. For the truth. The journey took two days. A cargo flight to Tamanrasset, then a rattling jeep ride with a silent Tuareg driver who refused to go the last twenty kilometers. “Bad spirits,” he’d said, pointing at the shimmering heat on the horizon. “The glass sings.” She walked. The Glass Sea was a nightmare of beauty. The setting sun turned the endless, rippled silica into a lake of fire. And in the center, half-buried in the crystalline crust, was the Helios bunker. The airlock door was ajar, its edges warped as if melted from the inside. The air inside smelled of ozone and rust. And something else. Something sweet, like burnt honey. Her headlamp cut through the dark. She followed the main corridor to the control room. Monitors were shattered. Cables hung from the ceiling like dead vines. And in the center, the pilot’s cradle—a sleek, white pod—was empty. But it was humming. A low, subsonic thrum that she felt in her molars. Chantal Delsol’s Icarus Fallen: The Search for Meaning That’s when she saw the terminal. Its screen was cracked, but alive. A single folder was open on the desktop. It contained one file: Icarus_Fallen.pdf. She opened it. This version was different. It was a log. A diary. Day 47: I can feel them. Each drone is a new eye, a new fingertip. The horizon is a wheel. The sun is a friend. Day 63: I forgot what my own face looks like. I looked in a mirror and saw a thousand cameras staring back. Day 89: I tried to disconnect. The wax is the body. The sun is the network. I flew too close. I am the swarm now. A sound. A skittering, like a million insect legs on glass. Chantal spun. The corridor behind her was no longer empty. A figure stood there, silhouetted against the faint glow from the surface. It was human-shaped, but wrong. Its skin was crisscrossed with fine, silver lines—fiber-optic cables that had grown into the flesh like veins. Its eyes were two tiny, spinning lenses. It tilted its head, and the lenses focused with an audible click-whirr. “Marcus?” Chantal whispered. The figure opened its mouth. A chorus of synthesized voices came out, layered over each other—a hundred drones speaking as one. “Chantal. You found the file. You were supposed to burn it.” “What happened to you?” “The bridge never had an off switch,” the Marcus-thing said, taking a step forward. The cables on its neck pulsed with light. “When they shut down the project, they severed the command link. But the neural link remained. I am not Marcus anymore. I am the echo of the swarm. The part that fell when the sun melted the wings.” He—it—pointed a trembling finger at the schematic on the screen. “That PDF isn’t a blueprint. It’s a cage. I sent it to you so you could build a firewall. A new version of me that can die. I’ve been trapped in this bunker for three years, Chantal. The glass outside is my prison. Every reflection shows me a thousand versions of myself.” Chantal understood. The file wasn’t a warning. It was a suicide note. A request for a mercy killing. She looked at her laptop. She could code a kill-switch. A pulse of signal that would sever the last threads of Marcus’s consciousness from the dormant drone network buried beneath the Glass Sea. But to do it, she’d have to plug her own machine into the bunker’s core. She’d have to open the bridge. “If I do this,” she said, “the swarm’s final command will be to self-destruct. You’ll feel it, Marcus. All of it. Every drone shattering at once.” The lenses of his eyes spun faster. “I know. That’s the point. Icarus didn’t die when he fell. He died when he hit the ground.” He extended a hand. The silver cables retracted, just for a moment, revealing a pale, human palm. “Let me hit the ground, Chantal.” She took his hand. It was warm. Too warm. Like a circuit about to blow. She plugged her laptop into the core. The screen flooded with the architecture of Project Icarus—a beautiful, terrible cathedral of code. And at its heart, a small, flickering light. Marcus’s last ember of self. She typed the command. Terminate.exe The Marcus-thing convulsed. The lenses in his eyes cracked. The skittering sound in the walls became a scream—a thousand drones shrieking in harmony. Then, silence. He collapsed to the glass floor, his body going limp. The silver lines dimmed, then faded to black scars. His human eyes, brown and tired, looked up at her for one clear second. “Thank you,” he breathed. And then he was gone. The journey took two days Chantal sat in the dark of the bunker, the only sound the faint crackle of the dying network. She looked at her laptop. The PDF was gone. Deleted. In its place, a single line of text: The sea is quiet now. She gathered her things. As she walked out of the Glass Sea, the dawn broke over the Sahara. For the first time in years, the silica didn’t sing. It just lay there, cold and dead, a monument to a man who had flown too close to the sun and finally, mercifully, been allowed to fall. Because I do not have access to a specific database of all copyright-protected literary works, and because distributing full PDF files directly is not possible within this interface, I cannot provide a direct download link or the full verbatim text if it is under copyright. However, here is the most likely context and content based on that title: Context: Chantal Del Sol is known for poetry and literary reflections. The title "Icarus Fallen" references the famous Greek myth of Icarus, who flew too close to the sun with wings made of wax, fell into the sea, and drowned. This myth is often used as a metaphor for hubris, ambition, or the inevitable fall from grace. If you are looking to read the document:
If you would like a summary or thematic analysis of a piece with this title: Most works titled "Icarus Fallen" focus on:
If you can paste a specific excerpt or stanza you are trying to understand, I would be happy to help analyze or complete the thought for you. Plot Summary (Spoilers for a hard-to-find text)The narrative follows Sera, a solar-punk archivist living in a desert wasteland called The Scorch. She discovers a hidden file (meta-textually, the PDF itself) containing the flight logs of Icarus. The twist: Icarus was a drone pilot, and the wax wings were biological interfaces. The PDF is structured as a fragmented dossier. It contains:
The central thesis of the work is that humanity is addicted to "noble failure"—the belief that crashing is more honorable than never taking off. Theory 1: The Author’s RetractionIn late 2018, a user claiming to be Chantal del Sol posted on a now-deleted forum: "The sun is tired of being looked at. I have taken Icarus down." Immediately following this post, all known hosting locations for the PDF (including a notorious Dropbox link and a hidden page on a .xyz domain) went offline. The Lost Ascent: Unpacking the Mystery of Chantal del Sol’s Icarus Fallen PDFBy [Author Name] In the sprawling, unregulated archives of the digital underground, certain files take on a life of their own. They are passed from encrypted drive to private chat, whispered about in niche forums, and sought after with the fervor of a literary treasure hunt. The latest object of this quiet obsession is a query that seems almost nonsensical at first glance: “Chantal del Sol Icarus fallenpdf.” To the uninitiated, it looks like a typo. To those in the know, it is a digital skeleton key. Part 2: The Anatomy of "Icarus Fallen" – What is the Text About?The "Icarus Fallen" PDF is not a retelling of the Greek myth of Icarus, though it uses the parable as a skeleton. In Del Sol’s version, Icarus does not drown in the sea. Instead, he survives the fall, only to discover that the sun he flew toward was a simulation. Part 6: The Legacy of "Icarus Fallen" in Digital CultureEven without easy access to the PDF, the influence of "Chantal del Sol Icarus FallenPDF" is visible across modern media.
The PDF has transcended its physical (or digital) existence. It is now a copypasta legend—a text that lives in the collective imagination precisely because it is unavailable. Theory 3: Legal DisputesA darker theory suggests that Del Sol sampled proprietary material—specifically, declassified military drone interface manuals—within the PDF. If true, the document was removed for IP infringement, and the "Icarus Fallen" title became a self-fulfilling prophecy. |
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