The Wank Zone
I'd prefer not to Wang Chung tonight.
There was a movie that I just couldn’t get out of my head. Not because it was good, but because it had come so highly recommended at the time and was such a big letdown. The time was the mid-eighties; sometimes disappointment really hangs in there. At first I thought it was Blow Out (a ridiculously lame riff on Blow Up and The Conversation) but it wasn’t that turkey. It turned out that the scene that I couldn’t forget was from the sonic extravaganza To Live and Die in LA.
The spotting brush (usually these things are about four or five hairs round) hit the Kodalith with a scratching sound and I was gone in a rage. When a spotting brush makes that kind of racket, I know I have entered into some sort of alternate universe where a pin dropping can shatter an eardrum. The rest of the clip is pretty indicative; it’s foley gone mad with a relentless Wang Chung score.
I was reminded of this stuff this morning when I read The Death of High Fidelity. I don’t think it was MP3s that were responsible for the death of natural sound—I think it happened long before that, in the mid-eighties. No, I’m not just talking about the advent of digital sound in general, either. I think the movies helped kill high fidelity sound.
I was working in a stereo store when Dolby 5:1 hit. Everywhere you went, fighter jets were whizzing about (Top Gun anyone?). Sound never sounded so counterfeit before. People might have gone a bit over the top after the invention of the radio play and its attendant sound-effects man (Garrison Keillor still employs a fine one with a wonderful array of gadgets), but nothing quite matches the phony world of over-amplified gut crunching Dolby sound. It doesn’t sound like music—or real experience of any kind.
The simulations have a life all their own. They have nothing to do with the world, but everything to do with storytelling. We can now guess what is about to happen in a movie based on the soundtrack with astounding accuracy because it has all become so programmatic.
How did this happen? Producers gave the public what they wanted. I can remember watching hundreds of pedestrian guitarists over the years who always ended up sliding their hands down into the nether regions of the fretboard to unleash a bunch of squeally, loud high notes—I credit Eddie Van Halen with really popularizing the practice. Rex used to call this move “Heading for the wank zone.” It always sent us heading for the door. But without fail, it got the crowd to its feet, cheering—give the people what they want and all that. The world wants to hear that breath, amplified so loud that it can’t be missed—with that pumping synth line. Some things never really change. Now they call it techno.
I don’t really mean to knock it, I know that people find this sort of simulation fun—but it seems to me that it tells us nothing. It’s a canned story with a predictable end. Ultimately, it distances us from the world and any real feelings or sensual impressions.
But then, that was the desired aim, according to William Friedkin in Counterfeit World: Making 'To Live and Die in L.A.' . For that end, the sound is perfect: everything was supposed to be phony.
January 8, 2008 12:55 PM
I remember you talking about that movie when it came out (on VHS, or was it BETA LOL LOL). I didn't hear any brush noises on my laptop speakers, but of course I heard the "arcing" of the projector lamp. Well, maybe they had an actual arc point source for extra sharpness? Oh hell no. Did you see who the main dude was? William Peterson? Makes sense that He is the producer of TV's #1 show right now..... CSI!!!! Now, that's some true crap right there. I don't watch the show for it's believability. (Actually, I don't watch it at all) I have seen a few minutes of what seems like supermodel-cops, and I laugh whenever I think of scenes when the blacksupermodel dude "thinks". That is some funny-assed stuff right there. As John Lovitz used to say, "That's ACTING!"