Listening to the Future - Bill Martin

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The whole underlying goal of progressive rock—to draw together rock, classical, jazz, folk, and avant-garde styles into a new metastyle that would supersede them all—is inherently optimistic. So too is the attempt to bridge the gulf between high and low culture, which I consider progressive rock’s worthiest ambition: by creating a style of music that combined technical innovation and sophistication with mass appeal, progressive rock musicians achieved a goal that avant-garde composers could only dream of. The heroic scale on which so much progressive rock unfolds suggests an abiding optimism; as do the epic conflicts and the grapplings with the Infinite and otherworldly which dominate so much progressive rock. It is also possible to see in the “uncommercial” nature of progressive rock a reminder of a time when the music industry was more tolerant of experimentation and individual expression, and less concerned with standardization and compartmentalization.

      At its best, progressive rock engaged its listeners in a quest for spiritual authenticity. Sometimes its ernestness could lapse into a rather sophomoric naivete. However, even at its most naive it was never wide-eyed or saccharine, while even at its bleakest, it never gave way to bitterness, cynicism, or self-pity. In short, I suspect that progressive rock has retained its attraction for many of its older followers—and has even drawn some younger ones—because it encapsulates an optimism, a confidence, and perhaps even an innocence that is a refreshing antidote to the cynicism and pessimism of more recent times. (p. 222)

      Although I might have approached one or more of the aspects of the question with a different emphasis than Professor Macan’s, I think what he says here is insightful and essentially right. (I will discuss Rocking the Classics in detail in my third chapter.) But what is the connection to larger political and cultural questions? Although this connection may be perfectly obvious to many readers, let’s try to set it out systematically—my view is that doing this will help us see why progressive rock is historically important in the realms of music, culture, and politics in a broad sense.

      Let’s begin with a question: What is “the cynicism and pessimism of more recent times,” and what is the basis of this? Another way to come at this is, What is the sense in which optimism and cynicism are opposites, and what is the sense in which this opposition is materially grounded?

      In the largest frame, pessimism is the view that either the human project can come to no good end, or that there really is no human project—or even prospect, in any collective sense—in the first place. I think that if there is a human project, it is the sort of thing argued for by Aristotle: the bringing about of eudaimonia, flourishing, which involves an intertwining of the good person, the good life, and the good society. If the question is, What might humanity hope for and strive for, I don’t see any other answer. Now, of course, neither “flourishing” nor “good” in these formulations is self-defining, and there is the question of what might truly be possible in any given historical period. Marx’s contribution to all of this was to give material grounding to the immense possibilities that exist in our time. Pessimism and cynicism, however, regard the prospect of all of this as either undesirable or highly unlikely. Of course, as Marx demonstrated, this pessimism is also materially grounded, in that it is in the interest of some social classes that a collective human project of mutual flourishing not emerge. In other words, some classes depend on the majority of humankind being held in conditions of subjugation and exploitation—and these oppressing classes promote the view that, because of “human nature,” the “permanence of greed,” or some such cliché, nothing else is possible.

      Radically affirmative or utopian strivings emanate from the felt experience that society does not have to be based on exploitation and domination, and that something else is indeed possible. The pessimism and cynicism of our time are especially driven by the fact that, in the twentieth century, movements and ideologies working for an alternative to capitalism have been defeated, derailed, or have rotted from within by the very tendencies that need to be overcome. In the wealthier countries, and among the wealthier classes, this cynicism has been accompanied by a certain euphoria, one that aims at a “partial utopia” mainly through the acquisition of lots of toys (often of the high-tech variety) and accommodations and plots of land cut off from the general condition of humankind. Although one shouldn’t become too concerned for the welfare of these “rich kids” in a world where, through the new processes of globalization, whole continents are being written off (namely, Africa), the fact is that even this little bit of “utopia” is not and could not be “true flourishing.” Perhaps the pleasures of “cybersex,” real enough on some level, but certainly limited and really quite thin, are a good demonstration, by way of negative example, of the idea that true flourishing has to be mutual and ever open to its extension to others. (Indeed, in the music of Yes, there is clearly the sense that mutuality has to extend beyond humanity itself, to nature, the world, and the cosmos more generally.) Or simply think of the idea of feasting at a small banquet that is surrounded by thousands and even millions of starving people, especially starving children, and inquire into the nature of the “happiness” that might be achieved in such a feast.1

      Here’s yet another way of coming at this question in terms of hopes, dreams, and aspirations—imagine someone saying something like this: “I dream of a world where people are divided into classes, and where what they might accomplish in the world is heavily conditioned by this division; I dream of a world where people are divided by gender and ethnicity, and where there is an advantage to being one gender or ethnicity rather than another; I dream of a world where a few have much, and where many have little or nothing; and I dream that, in this world, I am one of a small minority that occupies the top part of this hierarchy, and that reaps the benefits from the collective labor, strife, and suffering of the immensely larger bottom part.” Such a “dream” could only be the product of a sick mind—or a sick social system.

      Certainly, and this is the contribution of Marx to this discussion, what will first of all bring down the system of anti-mutuality is not its failure to achieve true happiness, but rather the fact that the oppressed and excluded cannot hold body and soul together. As their numbers and immiseration increase—and this must happen, according to Marx, because of the fundamentally exploitive nature of the capitalist system (one of Marx’s greatest insights is that the cause of exploitation is not first of all that there are bad, oppressive people running things, but instead that there is a social system based on exploitation)—so does the possibility of an explosion of protest, rebellion, and even revolution against this system. Such movements must aim, ultimately, to achieve a global community of mutual flourishing (this is what I mean by “communism,” with a small “c”, or what I sometimes also call “radical communitarianism.”) Such movements must not aim to simply replace those who are at present the beneficiaries of the machinery of exploitation.

      In its best moments, this immense collective transformation is what the sixties and its cultural expressions were all about. What is overwhelmingly obvious is that such a transformation did not occur—though, significantly, many of the expressions of the possibility of such a transformation have been extraordinarily difficult for the system to bury, despite an equally extraordinary effort to do this. What has worked best for the system is to recuperate elements of the sixties as mere fashion (though even this strategy of cynicism has its dangers—I would identify the whole area of sex and gender as especially rich with possibilities). Likewise, progressive rock, at its best, is also an expression of this utopian, radical, and transformative spirit—even if not in a straightforward “political” way, at least as that term is often understood (or misunderstood). In fact, this is all to the good, because therein lies progressive rock’s potential staying power and relevance to a time of pervasive cynicism.

      But why get into these questions here, in a book about progressive rock—or even in a book about any kind of music or art? I do reject purely “political” readings of artists and works, of the sort one gets from critics of a more sociological bent (such as they are—and they are a motley group, from the boorish to the insightful, from Lester Bangs to Greil Marcus or Dick Hebdige). If music is simply a matter of the “political statement” it makes, what is the point of it as music? In other words, why not just cut to the chase and put out the pamphlet or flyer? “Political statement” music, by the way, is sometimes called “agit-prop” (“agitation and propaganda”) art,

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