We made money for faceless suits in The Late Road..it was deeply maddening..
We lost as usual, as so, so, many of my truly talented and ‘driven’ mates in this ‘biz’ have.
I do not include a single person in that who wants to be praised and overpaid, Bowie and Marley etc, the ‘titans’ are distant gods to them too..they are the real deal and will do the stuff they do and love whatever..
The world has changed and the marketing stultification consensus has crept out like a thin plastic film on all of us..from peace festivals and militant punk we moved to Utube ads and war-game soundtrack nervelessness..a loveless landscape where thumb twitching on the right beat is the replacement for the dance and singalong of youth…
You’ve all heard my views on the war games and blood films..The misogyny and objectification..the pornography of fame neurosis..
Well let me disavow you of the notion that i’m a miserable old nihilist repeating the same old ‘youth of today doomsayer dismissals..I’M FULL OF LOVE AND HOPE! ,..That’s right, I See the return of poetry, community, I attend wild anti-authority improvisations where no one present gives a flying fek about labels or competition hollow..
I see the independence of the unnameable creative impulse that cannot be quantified, tamed, marketed or controlled…I see the backlash where the indomitable human spirit gets out of the lonely game chair and runs again beneath the tree’s.New art new writing new films always and always compelled to chant down Babylon and proclaim the plastic emperors spiritually naked.
This is Moonset.
The firedogs ate the lunatics and it happened like this.
Brent Jackson Peacehaven Sep 2016.