Cults of Music

​“The only difference between a cult and a religion is the amount of real estate they own”—Frank Zappa

One of the ironies in my life is my long standing love affair with the industrial music genre and my interest in deindustrial themes. The origins of industrial music go back to the band Throbbing Gristle and the label they started in 1976: Industrial Records.  The intention behind their record label was to “to explore the psychological, visual, and aural territory suggested by the term ‘Industrial.’ ”  Industrial music began around the same time as punk rock, and there was a lot of crossover between these subcultures. One of the things I found so inspiring was the DIY ethos at work in these scenes. There were differences too, though. Genesis P-Orridge noted how “the punk rockers said, ‘Learn three chords and form a band.’ And we thought, ‘Why learn any chords?’ We wanted to make music like Ford made cars on the industrial belt. Industrial music for industrial people.”

The industrial music aesthetic and its engagement and critique of the effect of machinery and factories on our culture sucked me right in. Teenage angst played no small part either. Now I’m settling into my own middle age and I’ve already seen many of the original movers and shakers of industrial and punk music die from the effects of hard living. The others who have been luckier, or wiser, are now also starting to trickle away. Industrialism itself continues to take one nosedive after another on the path of decline. The time is ripe to consider deindustrial music for deindustrial people.

As the resources that prop up today’s popular musicians become scarce, so too will the possibility of listening to music with a swipe of a finger. In the later stages of the long descent recorded music may only be available to listen to when received from radio stations where the engineers and technicians keep equipment and storage media in working order, or at libraries that have dedicated time and energy to preserving a selection of formats. The stadium concert, with its vast energy intakes, will still be possible on smaller scales and in buildings designed on acoustic principles that make up for lack of loudspeakers and amplification, as has been the case in musical halls devoted to classical music and opera. Opera used to be much more popular than it is today, and a ticket could be had for a not-outrageous cost. Someone in San Francisco who wanted to see Mozart’s The Marriage of Figaro in 1875 could get in for a buck, or about $27 in the dollars of today; personally, I consider any concert less than forty bucks relatively cheap compared to the outrageous costs and fees of top-tier touring acts.[1] If the music business doesn’t continue to gouge its audience, cheaper concerts for national acts and large ensembles could come back.

Listening to local musicians in small venues will become the norm. Admission is often free in bars and cafes, though buying at least a drink is often expected. Music in the home will be played on pianos, fiddles, didgeridoos and other acoustic instruments. Folks will be invited over for front-porch sessions and barn dances. Music in all its diverse variety will still be sought to soothe our emotions and uplift the soul. It may not be quite as electric as it has been, though even that would still be possible on a smaller scale.  

Music is a broad topic and tastes are very individual, even when eclectic. Many different tangents could be followed towards different musical futures. As a form of cheap entertainment in a world with less energy, stuff, and stimulation, it seems that the religious dimensions and spiritual dimensions of music are worth looking into here. In the 20th century as scientific rationalism and a fundamentalist materialism spread in the West, many people left behind the religion they were raised in, and others were raised with no religion at all. In many cases the emotional power of popular music and the mass gatherings at concert halls and stadiums have become a surrogate, replacing the emotional release, rapture and instruction once given by churches, synagogues and temples.  Charismatic rock stars share many similarities with fired-up preachers, and there are now many different denominations to choose from in the form of genres, bands, and artists. As the long decline unfolds all of us will be faced with different tragedies, personal, local, and national. One of the most common ways people cope with trauma is through religion. However in a society where the old religious paths have overgrown into tangled thickets, the cathartic effects of music can be useful to help people heal. Some of the popular styles of music today may even become forms of religious music in our tomorrows.

GOAT SONGS, MURDER BALLADS AND MUSICAL CULTS

Saint Jimmie Rodgers

​ I think it is safe to say there will be a fair number of goat songs in the future, just as there are now. That is, songs about tragedy. Tragedy has two Greek roots, tragos meaning “goat” and oide meaning “song.” These goat songs referred to the dramas about traumas put on by the ancient dramaturges. Dressed in the skins of goats to represent satyrs, these singers incanted their tales of universal woe.

Tragedies were originally performed at the annual festival for the god Dionysus in Athens, and the plays were largely chanted. Some of the ancient Greek and Roman writers state that a goat was given away as a prize to those who put on the best performance.  Later Christian writers speculated the goats may have been sacrificed; it seems the fear of goat-hoofed devil music has a provenance that extends back long before the Satanic panic of the 1980s. 

Aristotle believed that a poet or dramatist showed their skill through the careful arrangement of episodes to evoke emotions of fear, pity and amazement. He preferred for the tragic crisis to be brought about by passionate deeds that resulted in  unexpected destruction or downfall. He opined that the best subject of a tragedy was not a person who was wicked at heart, but that of fortunate person who gets thrown under the wheel of fate by making a mistake. Tragedy can have a noble effect on the human soul by bringing about catharsis, the cleansing of strong emotion through its purification and release, the cathartic effect first being experienced by the performers and then transmitted to the audience.

Release from the tragedies faced by people in deindustrial times might be offered by bards and musicians whose songs could offer catharsis for the feelings brought on by living in a time of massive cultural disarrangement and all the warring and violence that implies.  Before true-crime books were ever popular, and before rap music—which may well go on to form a new mode of epic poetry[1]—jumped on to the stage to bust out rhymes about violence and killing from all angles, the murder ballad was a mainstay of traditional song. Brought to America by English, Scottish, and Irish folk singers, this roots music was one of the threads woven into what became the genre of country as known today. The murder ballad remains a part of that form and offers today’s listeners a sense of release.

The oft-considered Father of Country Music was a man by the name of Jimmie Rodgers. Born in 1897 to a railroading father in the rough-and-tumble railroading town of Meridian, Mississippi, he became a railroader himself. Rodgers ran away from home on numerous occasions to join up with traveling shows, where he got a taste for music and the rambling way of life. In addition to the hillbilly and blues styles Rodgers heard growing up, he developed a taste for vaudeville and was inspired to try his own hand at show business. He worked as a brakeman on the railway to support his wife and children, singing and playing on the side, and his several songs about trains earned him the name the Singing Brakeman.

Rodgers eventually took his family to Asheville, North Carolina where he wore different musical hats, playing Tin Pan Alley tunes as well as hillbilly stuff. When talent scout Ralph Peer came to an area near the Virginia-Tennessee border looking for acts to audition for Victor records, Rodgers took the chance and rode that train all the way to stardom. Among the many famous and influential songs he recorded was the American murder ballad “Frankie and Johnny.” It tells the tale of a women who comes home to find her man in the arms of another gal: “She took a little forty-four / rootie toot toot three times / she shot through that hard wood door / shot her man / he was doing her wrong.” Rodgers’ version starts off with, and is interspersed with, his trademark yodel. In this version Frankie’s eventual fate is the electric chair. The Father of Country Music had done his part in continuing the tradition of the tragic murder ballad.  

Another one of the Singing Brakeman’s cuts had a much stranger fate. A tribe in East Africa known as the Kipsigi developed a small cult around Jimmie Rodgers. The Kipsigi were first introduced to gramophone records somewhere in the 1950s and one of the vinyl platters they had was by Rodgers. They pronounced his name as “Chemirocha” and they revered him for his guitar playing ability and thought his instrument was similar to their own stringed lyre, the chepkong.  The Kipsigi found his yodel to sound like a goat.  The girls in the tribe began to believe that Chemirocha was a deity in the form of a kind of centaur, half man and half antelope.

The example of what happened to the recordings of Jimmie Rodgers when they found their way to Africa is only one possibility of the kind of cult that may develop around certain musicians. If a musician is powerful enough they may attain the status of a demigod or saint in the spiritual traditions that get born out of the turmoil to come. Just as religions developed around the teachings of Orpheus and Pythagoras, new mystery cults may be born among fringe subcultures. 

​DRONE DISCIPLES AND DEADHEADS

Pandit Pran Nath

There are many different possible paths a musical cult could take, as divergent as current spiritual paths and styles of music. Some that seem familiar to us now, may not exist as such in the various branches of our futures. Others that are obscure and may seem like the refuge of only a handful of fanatics may go on to become the seeds of movements that become mainstream.

David Holmgren, the co-founder of permaculture, suggests to “use edges and value the marginal.” Something that may only seem like the obsession of a few who are off to the edge of the crowd now, could become common in time. In Wendell Berry’s book The Unsettling of America: Culture and Agriculture he writes of the “widening margin of the divergent possibilities” that exist within any system. Just as monocropping isn’t good for the land, the monotony of dominant styles can leave ripe and fertile areas unexplored. These unexplored areas on our cultural edges may be worth spending time in to see if there are useful elements, musical or otherwise, to extract and bring into the greater fold of the collective.  [2] 

For instance, the subculture around ambient, drone and minimalist music might become the seedbed for a new contemplative wordless music. Ambient is very often thought of as just something listened to for its relaxing qualities, or as something to have on in the background while concentrating on other tasks. Yet it has received levels of devotion most often thought of as the reserve of monastics and sadhus. An interesting case for this type of music involves a group of people I call the “disciples of the drone,” led by Indian vocalist Pandit Pran Nath and his chief students La Monte Young and Marian Zazeela. 

 Pandit Pran Nath was an Indian classical singer born in Lahore (present-day Pakistan) in 1918. He was privileged to hear many live performances from the masters of Indian traditional vocal music as a kid, and started singing at age six. At thirteen he made the decision to devote his life to music and left home, much to the distress of his mother.  He attached himself as a disciple to Ustad Abdul Wahid Khan, the most distinguished master of the Kirana gharana (roughly, “Kirana school”), a style whose lineage is traced all the way back to St. Gopal Nayak in the 12th century.

In 1970 Young and Zazeela helped bring Pran Nath to New York City. They wanted a formal education in Indian classical music, and Pran Nath initiated them into his lineage, making them his first Western disciples. The couple lived with him in the traditional gurukula manner, where the disciples attend to various chores and duties while learning from the master. Young and Zazeela studied and performed with Nath for a total of twenty-six years. Nath went on to teach a number of musicians inside and outside of Young’s avant-garde circle. Many of these were devotees of minimalism. They began to incorporate drones and Indian ideas about tuning and scale into their emergent styles. They also began playing with long-sustained durations. Many of Pran Nath’s students went on to exert an influence on the development [5] of the ambient genre.

As old religious impulses are revived, and as new impulses are born in the deindustrial era, I can see a situation arising where esoteric music schools and lineages, such as the one represented by Pran Nath and his disciples, pass on their trade secrets of music theory and practice. The constellation of musicians around Pandit Pran Nath is admittedly a niche within an already small subculture. Yet ideas from the fringe can go on to have strange impacts on the larger society.

 In 2016 music producer Brian Sweeney began to organize events under the rubric of Ambient Church, promoting “group immersions into modern contemplative, otherworldly, and universal music through site-specific audio and visual performance.” All the events are held in churches because Sweeney’s aim was to bring a connection to the sacred through music, where the play of light, sound, and incense all lend themselves to the creation of a liminal space. No dogma is preached at the Ambient Church, as belief or its absence is left up to the individual. These creedless events do, though, fill a need for connection to divinity, however it may be conceived. Sweeney has said, “Music is spiritual, and if you come with an intention of finding transcendence, you’ll experience it...churches were built for transcendence.”

In deindustrial times such shrines and holy places as Ambient Churches could still exist sans electricity. There are plenty of ways to create long sustained drones with acoustic instruments and light shows can be created with lamps, candles and other means. One of the longest musical performances in the world is going on right now—if it can be sustained through the long descent. John Cage’s ASLSP (As SLow aS Possible) has so far been running for over 21 years (including a 17-month pause) at the time of this writing, and is scheduled to last until 2640.  The work is being played on an organ in a church in Halberstadt, Germany, with note changes about every 6 to 18 months,[1] Given enough disciples to play this long-form contemplative music, a type of minimalist monasticism may emerge. One of the good things about long wordless music is that it gives a focus for contemplation without imposing a specific dogma or creed. If the Ambient Church movement takes hold it could provide community and solace for people in rough times without imposing a specific set of beliefs or doctrines on those who come in search of transcendence.

Other spiritual impulses seen within our recent music history are less obscure.  For the devoted deadhead the concert itself is a spiritual experience. The other deadheads at concerts shared a common community around the attainment of altered states of consciousness, induced by liberal amounts of marijuana and LSD. The songbook of the Grateful Dead was similar to the hymnbooks in a Christian congregation. The familiar songs, transformed and varied upon in long improvisations, formed part of the gel that brought the community together. Psychedelicized and outside of ordinary consciousness, the deadheads experienced mystical states as they danced and reveled. The feeling of togetherness provided a cohesion as they started to come down. It may not have have been religion in the traditional sense, but it was spiritual, and the deadheads had their own iconography of tie-dyed bears, roses, skeletons, and other imagery, often worn, that served to identify one member of the cult to another.

The shared bond was carried over into alternative living arrangements and an entire subculture built around following the band as a lifestyle. They formed a vast network of people who shared resources in the spirit of community. An underground economy emerged around the band as they toured, with vans selling grilled cheeses and hippie food to concertgoers, and people who taped the live concerts bartering and trading recordings with each other as kind of secondary currency. Some of this subculture has carried over to the spin-off groups made up of former Grateful Dead members, and jam bands inspired by the ethos of Garcia and company that go on tour and play the festival circuits.  All of this continues to be a presence in American alternative culture.

I can easily imagine the initiated acolytes of the current jam bands continuing to form their own traveling bands who perform at ever more homespun regional and national festivals. People would come to experience their music with all the fervency of a tent revival. In deindustrial times the alternative network would provide concert spaces, crash pads, equipment, food and other material for making the events happen. Locals would come for the music, mushrooms, beer, and festivity, and leave transformed. Perhaps devotees would still travel along with the bands, following in horse-drawn carts, perhaps working as part of the traveling show’s operation. Townie fans would wait with bated breath until the next flier runner to come to town ahead of the band, and help plaster up telegraph and radio poles with hand-printed psychedelic posters. There may yet come the day when a mother will be afraid that her child will not just run off to join a circus, but to join a freaky group of latter-day troubadours, playing their endless acoustic drones, afraid they won’t ever hop a train back home.

To circle back to industrial music briefly, a third cult of music developed around Psychic TV, the group Genesis P-Orridge founded after the dissolution of Throbbing Gristle. Thee Temple ov Psychick Youth, or TOPY, was formed by P-Orridge in 1981 as a kind of tongue-in-cheek response to the notion of band fan clubs. It differed in that it was a fellowship and network of chaos magicians, artists, musicians, and ’zine and media makers centered around practicing  magic and creating art. TOPY members were those in the vanguard, popularizing the now ubiquitous tattoos, body piercing, and gender blending at a time when these activities were still frowned upon. Numerous writings, artworks, pieces of music, and acts of magic came out of the work of TOPY members.  The key texts were assembled by P-Orridge into Thee Psychick Bible. 

These are just three examples, derived from some of my own musical tastes and inclinations, out of the diverse and kaleidoscopic world of music. I’m sure readers of New Maps can find examples of other subgenres and styles that would have potential useful benefits to pass on to coming generations. Let us also not forget the practical benefits of playing music. Learning to read and play sheet music can sharpen the mind. Knowing how to play a song by heart gives the player a memory workout. The finger or vocal work involved in playing keeps the body nimble. Learning to play with others teaches us to listen to them and work towards harmony. With a modicum of skill and devoted time each of us can learn enough to entertain ourselves, friends, and family and keep spirits bright in troubled times. Those who go on to become master musicians will, at their best, be able to expand listeners’ consciousness and touch their very souls. 

NOTES:

​[1]McIntyre, Douglas. “The History of What Things Cost in America: 1776 to Today.” 24/7 Wall St., Sep. 16, 2010.

​[1] Though poetry and song are connected at the joint, the topic is too broad to tackle in this article. Perhaps I’ll take up in the future. In the meantime check out Wesley Stine's story "Luke Maxwell" in the Fall '21 issue of New Maps if you haven’t already. Also worth a read is John Michael Greer’s essay “Writing as a Microcosm 3: The Spontaneity Trap” that broaches the topic of rap as a future form of epic poetry. https://www.ecosophia.net/writing-as-microcosm-3-the-spontaneity-trap/

[1]See the John Cage Organ Project for further details: https://universes.art/en/specials/john-cage-organ-project-halberstadt

RE/SOURCES:

Berry, Wendell. The Unsettling of America: Culture & Agriculture. Berkeley, Calif.: Counterpoint. 2015.

Hammon, N.G.L., and Scullard, H.H., eds. The Oxford Classical Dictionary. Oxford, England: Oxford University Press, 1970.

Holmgren, David. Permaculture: Principles and Pathways Beyond Sustainability. Hepburn, Victoria, Australia: Holmgren Design Services, 2002.

Keefe, Alexander.  “Lord of the Drone: Pandit Pran Nath and the American Underground.” Bidoun, 2010. https://www.bidoun.org/articles/lord-of-the-drone

Langer, Ken.  “The Ambient Church: Seeking the Spiritual Through the Power of Music.” Klanger’s Page (website), n.d.  https://sites.google.com/site/klangerdude/home/ministry/papers/the-ambient-church-movement

Miller, M.H.  “The Man Who Brian Eno Called ‘the Daddy of Us All.’ ” New York, N.Y.: The New York Times Magazine, July 22, 2020.  https://www.nytimes.com/2020/07/22/t-magazine/la-monte-young.html
Piaza, Tom. Devil Sent the Rain: Music and Writing in Desperate America. New York, N.Y.: Harper Perennial, 2011.

P-Orridge, Genesis Breyer. Thee Psychick Bible: Thee Apocryphal Scriptures ov Genesis Breyer P-Orridge and Thee Third Mind ov Thee Temple ov Psychick Youth. Port Townsend, Wash.: Feral House, 2010.

Richardson, Peter. No Simple Highway: A Cultural History of the Grateful Dead. New York, N.Y.: St. Martin’s Press, 2015.

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This was another essay for my Cheap Thrills column in an issue of New Maps. I am adding these all to my website now, since they originally appeared first in print.

Find my other Cheap Thrills articles here at the links below:
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A COMPLEXITY OF SPECTACLES

DREAM FORAGING

STREAM FORAGING

THE DOWNWARDLY MOBILE DANDY AND THE TRAILER PARK QUAINTRELLE

THE POWER OF THREE: TERNARY LOGIC, TRIOLECTICS AND THREE SIDED FOOTBALL

LEGEND TRIPPING, THE DEINDUSTRIAL GOTHIC, AND A WORLD FULL OF MONSTERS

RADIOS NEXT GOLDEN AGE

THE ART AND PLEASURE OF LETTER WRITING

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