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Thursday, June 22, 2006

Slave to the Image

Posted by on June 22 at 18:23 PM

Few images have impacted my imagination more than this one:
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At dusk, the massive, robotic head of Grace Jones rises from the desert floor, turns to the side, opens its metal mouth, and shoots out a silver CX GTi Turbo.

Dreamed up by Jean-Paul Goude (Jones’s husband at the time—1984) for France’s most recognizable automobile corporation, Citro├źn, the image transports me from any point in real time to a fantastic world where Jones is the entire economic base, the whole productive force, the source and sole generator of labor power. In the pyramids of ancient Egypt we see masses of hardened human energy, human misery; in this giant head of Grace Jones, we do not see the expenditure of a society of slaves organized by the will of a master, but, instead, the economy of just one, the production of a single slave who works for no master, who works simply because there’s work to be done. The image is of a slave utopia.


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Ah, Grace Jones and Jean-Paul Goude... the Bjork and Matthew Barney of the mid-80s.

No image, just the marker.

A tiff file?!

One of my most vivid musical memories of childhood is lying on the fully reclined seat of our family car parked in our driveway, listening to a brand new cassette I had just bought. The tape: Slave to the Rhythm. The car: A Citroen CX.

Since there's now a separate blog for music posts, can't we have another separate one for Mudede's pretentious bullshit?

Hey Nigga Schola,


Maybe it's just a pretty car ad? You could ask anyone in my Auburn trailer park about TV car ads, and I'll bet they know more about them than you do. TV ads are the popular entertainment of our time, they're created to amuse ordinary working slobs.


Shouldn't someone with your privledge and connections spend your energy writing about something more important? Yesterday you began constructing a hierarchy of black music and placed Coltrane near the top.

Grace Jones is all image, and that image was constructed by the gay men who were her stylists. John Coltrane had solid talent and didn't need a highly constructed visual image.


As an ingnorant gay cracker, when I look at Grace Jones I don't see any pyramids, I see hair spray, eyeshadow, and lip liner expertly applied. One can see real genius in her make up. But make no mistake, those fags who sew her costumes, shine her pumps, and put together her face work like slaves to create that beauty.


Ooops my older cousin just got off swing shift.

Yeah, they had this video on at CC's a couple of weeks ago. I had heard the song but never seen the video. And you thought she was crazy in 'Boomerang'...

www.tut.by


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