Eduard Hanslick
Wien Zentralfriedhof,
Simmeringer Hauptstraße 234,
1110 Wien
Österreich
29 September 2024
Wien Zentralfriedhof,
Simmeringer Hauptstraße 234,
1110 Wien
Österreich
29 September 2024
Dear LCMF,
Ah! How grievously the modern world has turned its back on all that once constituted music’s most noble and dignified qualities! If one were to compare this list of provocateurs, sonic interlopers, and avant-garde agitators with the celestial names of Haydn, Beethoven, or Schumann, it is as if the gods of art have retreated, leaving behind a playground for jesters, tricksters, and purveyors of noise under the absurd moniker “LET’S CREATE”. Indeed, it is not music they are creating but a chaotic charade masquerading as artistic rebellion.
The festival purports to deal with the figure of the trickster, with mischief, trolling, and what has been vulgarly termed "omnicringe." To begin with, the very notion of “mischief” and “trolling” being the guiding themes for a festival is an affront to the idea of art itself. Music is meant to elevate the soul, not to cavort with such unseemly frivolities! The inclusion of pranksters and so-called “trolls” only reveals the deeper intellectual bankruptcy in much of today’s musical experiments. Rather than approaching the sublime, this festival seems expressly designed to flout all decorum, as though art’s highest aspiration should be to mock itself and descend into grotesque absurdity.
This ill-conceived conglomeration of experimental music, performance art, film, and the like—a veritable maelstrom of chaotic impulses—seems to delight in the very destruction of the noble principles that have long governed true artistic expression. One hardly knows where to begin.
Among the more established names—Charlemagne Palestine, Éliane Radigue, and Yves Klein, for instance—one finds artists whose contributions to the avant-garde, while technically competent, remain mired in the cult of formlessness. What they seem to value is not the transcendental beauty of music but rather the creation of sonic environments that alienate the listener from any sense of melodic or harmonic foundation. In place of clear and elegant structure, we are offered endless drones, arhythmic noise, and, in some cases, utter silence masquerading as profundity.
Furthermore, the inclusion of performance artists such as Amalia Ulman and Dominique Gonzalez-Foerster, alongside filmmakers like Jon Rafman, suggests that the very boundaries between the disciplines are to be wilfully erased. Indeed, this motley collection of contributors seems to revel in their dissonance, as though their work’s disjointedness and incoherence were an asset rather than a failing. To conflate the temporal art of music with the visual or conceptual is to degrade both; they cannot serve the same aesthetic ends and should not be forced into this vulgar cohabitation.
The figure of Yoko Ono stands as a troubling symbol of this anti-art ethos, her infamous scream pieces and “Cut Piece” manifestos that range between the self-indulgent and the puerile. What possible contribution could such gimmickry make to the realm of music, whose power lies not in cheap provocation but in the harmonious melding of form and emotion?
As for the peculiar fixation on “trolling” and “cringe,” I am simply at a loss. The elevation of internet-age vulgarities into a theme for artistic exploration is a cynical, almost nihilistic gesture that turns art into little more than an inside joke, accessible only to those who derive pleasure from subverting all notions of taste and value. To champion mischief and provocation for their own sake is to abdicate the very responsibility of the artist: to search for meaning, for truth, for beauty.
Perhaps there are a few among the list—Laurence Crane, whose minimalism occasionally approaches a kind of cold purity, or Lisa Streich, whose works sometimes hint at formality—who might still carry the torch of artistic rigor. Yet I fear they will be subsumed by the overall cacophony of this circus-like affair.
In conclusion, the “LET’S CREATE” festival represents everything I fear for the future of art: a movement away from structure, from beauty, and from depth, toward a puerile celebration of chaos, discord, and the meaningless. Art is not a joke, and its value cannot be found in the ridiculous. Should such trends continue, we will find ourselves, culturally, in a place where nothing remains sacred, and where no distinction is made between what is profound and what is puerile.
Yours sincerely,
ChatGPT
Ah! How grievously the modern world has turned its back on all that once constituted music’s most noble and dignified qualities! If one were to compare this list of provocateurs, sonic interlopers, and avant-garde agitators with the celestial names of Haydn, Beethoven, or Schumann, it is as if the gods of art have retreated, leaving behind a playground for jesters, tricksters, and purveyors of noise under the absurd moniker “LET’S CREATE”. Indeed, it is not music they are creating but a chaotic charade masquerading as artistic rebellion.
The festival purports to deal with the figure of the trickster, with mischief, trolling, and what has been vulgarly termed "omnicringe." To begin with, the very notion of “mischief” and “trolling” being the guiding themes for a festival is an affront to the idea of art itself. Music is meant to elevate the soul, not to cavort with such unseemly frivolities! The inclusion of pranksters and so-called “trolls” only reveals the deeper intellectual bankruptcy in much of today’s musical experiments. Rather than approaching the sublime, this festival seems expressly designed to flout all decorum, as though art’s highest aspiration should be to mock itself and descend into grotesque absurdity.
This ill-conceived conglomeration of experimental music, performance art, film, and the like—a veritable maelstrom of chaotic impulses—seems to delight in the very destruction of the noble principles that have long governed true artistic expression. One hardly knows where to begin.
Among the more established names—Charlemagne Palestine, Éliane Radigue, and Yves Klein, for instance—one finds artists whose contributions to the avant-garde, while technically competent, remain mired in the cult of formlessness. What they seem to value is not the transcendental beauty of music but rather the creation of sonic environments that alienate the listener from any sense of melodic or harmonic foundation. In place of clear and elegant structure, we are offered endless drones, arhythmic noise, and, in some cases, utter silence masquerading as profundity.
Furthermore, the inclusion of performance artists such as Amalia Ulman and Dominique Gonzalez-Foerster, alongside filmmakers like Jon Rafman, suggests that the very boundaries between the disciplines are to be wilfully erased. Indeed, this motley collection of contributors seems to revel in their dissonance, as though their work’s disjointedness and incoherence were an asset rather than a failing. To conflate the temporal art of music with the visual or conceptual is to degrade both; they cannot serve the same aesthetic ends and should not be forced into this vulgar cohabitation.
The figure of Yoko Ono stands as a troubling symbol of this anti-art ethos, her infamous scream pieces and “Cut Piece” manifestos that range between the self-indulgent and the puerile. What possible contribution could such gimmickry make to the realm of music, whose power lies not in cheap provocation but in the harmonious melding of form and emotion?
As for the peculiar fixation on “trolling” and “cringe,” I am simply at a loss. The elevation of internet-age vulgarities into a theme for artistic exploration is a cynical, almost nihilistic gesture that turns art into little more than an inside joke, accessible only to those who derive pleasure from subverting all notions of taste and value. To champion mischief and provocation for their own sake is to abdicate the very responsibility of the artist: to search for meaning, for truth, for beauty.
Perhaps there are a few among the list—Laurence Crane, whose minimalism occasionally approaches a kind of cold purity, or Lisa Streich, whose works sometimes hint at formality—who might still carry the torch of artistic rigor. Yet I fear they will be subsumed by the overall cacophony of this circus-like affair.
In conclusion, the “LET’S CREATE” festival represents everything I fear for the future of art: a movement away from structure, from beauty, and from depth, toward a puerile celebration of chaos, discord, and the meaningless. Art is not a joke, and its value cannot be found in the ridiculous. Should such trends continue, we will find ourselves, culturally, in a place where nothing remains sacred, and where no distinction is made between what is profound and what is puerile.
Yours sincerely,
ChatGPT