During the early seventies, artists like Hans Haacke could do important and interesting artworks concerning the role of institutions and their power plays and manipulation. It was important, since the institutions still played the role of the father who anyone with a little ambition wanted to replace. The power was centralized not only in terms of control and dollars and cents, but also in an aesthetic sense. But today, we are surprised if we find anything interesting there. It is like an investigative reporter scrutinizing the Royal House in his search for the real power in a state. It's simply not there anymore. by HÅKAN NILSSON, Merge, pilot issue Feb 98 (excerpt from the original article)

"He got wasted, but it's all right. Everything is finite". David Byrne Much of the longing for the old, nostalgic point is rooted in the belief of fixed limitations hailed and protected by the institutions. This wasn't the Sophoclean Oedipus, but the Freudian Oedipus at work: The institution in this case being the father, and breaking the rules was a way of becoming the father yourself. But as these limitations ceased to make sense, the will to become the institutional father turned out to be a nostalgic and envious (rather than functional) standpoint. That is, there are no great forces to fight any more, and hence no force to replace. Lucky were those who had a real enemy to fight.    In fact, one could trace the first affirmative attitude to the diminished role of the institutions in the expanding market of independent record labels and later in independent art spaces and galleries. These will of course form a hierarchic web as well, and new orthodoxies will be formed. But the shift means that neither the Sophoclean nor the Freudian Oedipus is in the game anymore. And while we are doomed to forever walk in the valley of the shadow of recycling, we should feel no fear. Although it was too bad for Oedipus, mourning the sacrifice is a waste of time. Oedipus Schmoedipus, it has become increasingly interesting to concentrate on what actually is possible, rather than what is "not possible anymore." One could describe such a situation as a new dawning, but it seems like such a description still takes its vantage point from what was left behind. Too much effort, too much time has gone into making clear that there are no limits, no genres. But if we adopt an Oedipus-Schmoedipus attitude, this line of argumentation must be abandoned. We need a "letting go" in the realm of recycling that is affirmative to the situation. Death may come quickly in real life. In the sphere of human activities it comes slowly.    The first death proclamations are seldom more than signs, a beginning of what many have described, following the vocabulary of French philosopher Jacques Derrida, as a "closure." Once the closure is complete, the door is locked and we find it unproblematic that the institutions are unlikely to exhibit "cutting edge" works. It may be that death will not be fully recognized until nobody cares about the corpse anymore.    The downfall of boundaries between the genres could be (and has been) described as an implosion of the hierarchies. It can also be described as an expansion of the field of what kind of material you are allowed and able to use. Today, you don't have to be conscious of your selection, since it doesn't have to be a political strategy or irony to "use" a quotation from another field or artist. It is all there for the benefit of all.    I see Barry Adamson's album Oedipus Schmoedipus as an example of the above-mentioned situation. Adamson mixes the material in an unproblematic way: it's jazzy, but it doesn't comment on jazz; it is humorous, but not ironic; it is obvious that he actually likes all the different aspects of the material he uses.    That is: it doesn't matter anymore whether they belong or do not belong to each other in the "first" place. The use of Miles Davis and the likes is not there for the sake of "commenting on," but because it is there to be used and because it fits other purposes. This is what I mean by "recycling in the name of love". It isn't a commentary repetition, it's affirmative rather than political, and it is fun rather than ironic. One can, of course, still be political or ironic, but it has little to do with the "language" one uses. This explains the difference between Zappa's and Jimi Tenor's use of Caravan. This also describes the use of punk by the band Pop Will Eat Itself. There's no commenting in them, just a use of "languages" that suits their purpose.    This issue's insert-maker Spencer Finch doesn't mourn or mimic the abstract art of High Modernism. Grandpa's death simply doesn't awake the same agony as the father's. This can be observed on many levels, and in many contemporary expressions. When Swedish artist Tobias Bernstrup dresses like a second rate Euro-techno singer and performs and sings various Euro-techno songs (even some he has composed himself) on a roll-on roll-off ferry between Stockholm and Helsinki, he reaches out in the realm of recycling… in the name of love.    Standing there on the stage under a strobe light while the floor fills with smoke, it becomes impossible for the art crowd to tell if it is serious or not. It's a laugh, but it is not mocking. Bernstrup seems to have an altogether good time. For all the others, the regular audience, the question never even seems relevant.    There are so many shows on ships like this worse than Bernstrup's. But is there a difference?    That is not the question. The question is if it matters. The answer to the question "is this the future or is this how it will end" might just be a simple yes.~