Hang the DJs, #7

Fall, 2014.

I am sitting with my friend Lauren outside a café called Pappelreihe, on Kienitzer Straße in Schillerkiez, Berlin, Germany. We are talking about my hatred of techno music. It seems I talk about my hatred of techno music too often now. I do not think I brought it up. I think I have convinced her that the claim, vis-à-vis the Berghain, that we enter into a space designed to preserve our anonymity is dangerous when it’s a widely known secret that a plain-clothes security force patrols the space. But she doesn’t seem to think this argument should concern us too deeply. She says I should do some drugs and go back.

Me– “I think we should be skeptical of aesthetic spaces that take intoxication as the precondition of their appreciation; e.g., that don’t allow for a sober, critical enjoyment.”

Lauren– “I think you’re skeptical of fun.” I wonder why we shouldn’t be skeptical of fun. I bet Romans had lots of fun watching slaves be torn to pieces by lions. I bet Kristallnacht was a lot of fun, if you were a Nazi. Cigarettes are a lot of fun for me. They will probably kill me.


Tom in my head, cites Adorno: Bach gegen seine Liebhaber verteidigt; Adorno & Horkheimer: Dialektik der Aufklärungparticularly the bit about Odysseus and the wax in the ears and bourgeois aesthetic receptivity– and finally, Benjamin: Über Haschisch.