I'm Watching You...

The world of today seems to be plagued constantly by the omnipresence of the paternal state, as growing pressure of an increasingly phobic public mounts, and monitorization becomes a byword for life in the 21st Century. It has led to an almost hysterical backlash, from both the State, and the public, one demanding more in the name of the masses, whilst the few desperately, and vainly, point to the growing inroads into privacy. It is not a new problem, as the role and prevalence of the State will always remain a point of hot contention, that for the most part, people also reserve a paradoxical antipathy.

Human fears have long been recognised as a greater motivator, and now, it seems, it can be viewed as such a constant companion that few amongst know what it is not to have some complaint or doomsday speech thrust upon us. Great commerce is made upon insecurities, and perhaps it is a truism to say that, in a distortion of Machievellian dirty hands, to make great wealth, there is never a completely innocent set of hands.

Inequality has long been recognised as a great motivator in social upheaval, and perhaps it is an element of this that has caused the meteroric rise of the realm of popular music. The ability to create a mini-revolution, even if it is only in the sense of a passing fashion, holds great allure, and especially in youthful scenes, it is difficult to miss the excitement, even if the underlying sub-text may be completely misunderstood. If the powers that be are to be believed, we are a generation of consumers, primed to foster some form of guilt - one that is bound to the normal indignance that our habits should be predicated upon the mistakes of the last generation. Pseudo self aware eco-warriors that waiver between complete disinterest and passionate intensity, a generation that has been promised, so they say, a desert wasteland, and a proliferation of premature deafness as reward for over-indulgence. The ease of communication has led to vast social networks, purportedly comprised solely of loneliness, regressing social skills, and the death of language. Nostalgia for a time none could have known is explained away as depression era consolation, and we are plagued by the marketing machine, a by-product of the everyday working world, and the need for all to collect a pay cheque. In fact, it is rather amusing to see psychological debate as to whether we are now in the midst of a generation that is breaking established psychological principals through an ability to mature and become self sufficient.

It is a trusim to say that it is always easier to point to flaws than the positive elements. A vast fortune of self-help is styled upon this very basic thought - think good things, and good things will happen to you. Over-analysis, and pseudo-intellectual thought are desperately prevalent, and I do not excuse myself from this pitfall. But it must rankle ever so slightly to be given trite observation as prophecy, and moreover, to led by the nose, to the glorification of the truly banal. I do not know whether we find ourselves at a crisis point in the world, personally, I do not think so, but given the right mindset, it is easy to quote the words of WB Yeats:

       "Turning and turning in the widening gyre

The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

But where much horror and disaster is promised, it is easy to overlook the permanent in favour of the temporary. In the words of the Drive-By Truckers "Rock 'n Roll means well, but it can't help telling young boys lies". In the fluctuating realm of fashion, each decade seems to provide some new popular notion for the world to adopt, and which social mores demand devout observance. Ironically, of course, each "new" fashion is often only a subtly updated version of a previous incarnation, as we saw 70's fashion make a resurgence of few years ago, albeit with a slight "supposed" Noughties twist. Currently, the horrid prevalence of the 80's is defined by all those nostalgic for the youthful promise that the era, allegedly, held. It is a glorification of the plastic, bedecked with a chorus of desperately silly songs, awful dances and blindness inducing fashions. But then again, the eloquent Mr. Litt does make some valid points in his piece "The 80's: the best of times, the worst of times", which I must grudgingly acknowledge, even if I am going not going to quote anything due to its conclusion being incompatible with my blind hatred of almost all the music to emerge from this era.

This is not to say that we should all be politicians, or hippy vegans, decrying the establishments and demanding a "green" makeover of the world. We will always need these people, but uniformity would be a far more dangerous, and harmful, than the alternative. But then I am inclined strongly to awareness as far preferable to blind observation. The question then becomes, as with most things, as the role and extent of possible future regret arising from present choices. I do not intend to draw any negative connotations, so I ask only the neutral question - We are all young once, but it remains to each person to decide whether they always wish to be reminded of that. To take a very simple example, consider the youthful tattoo that always accompanied by at least one warning that it will form the basis for regret. But then, can one truly say that the youthful mark will not mean as much on older skin? One cannot always say that it won't, and to draw this out into the great complaint that each prior generation makes that the subsequent has an increased lack of empathy and degraded of morals (which is usually an empty and groundless observation), there is a great capacity amongst people to disagree. The contradictions and confusion that define life are so numerous that one cannot be blamed for wishing to avoid thinking about it in the first place. It may be a reactionary and inert tactic, but it is a well worn response, even if, in hindsight, it may be deplorable.

Hindsight is always a cruel mistress, as it is easy to see an answer after events have unfolded. For those amongst us wishing to wear their hearts on their sleeve, perhaps it is a reminder to enjoy oneself before wiser heads are said to prevail. Or the bitterness strikes, as the more cyncial amongst us would eagerly point out. We live in a world of contradictions, and although it is easy to become wrapped up in a scene, the tattoo that is so readily accepted amongst a peer group may still frowned upon in the professional world, even if youthful bravado can make revolutionaries of us all.

But the fear can be encapsulated in the words of the Gaslight Anthem "So don't sing me your songs about the good times, those days are gone and you should just let them go. And God help the man who says you if you'd have known me when. Old haunts are for forgotten ghosts". We all hope that there is some Che Guevara in us, the unrepentant desire to fight on, even if there is the lurking suspicion that there may also be some Fidel Castro, in that having achieved the initial goal, the pure idealism becomes slowly eroded, and the desire to fight seeps away. Time does make fools of us all, but then, with that knowledge, it can hardly be a reason to detract from the original idea, given. hopefully, reasoned intentions. Many amongst us are compelled to rage against the conservative world, even if they far outweigh the alternatively suited.

Regret is a complex notion, and one would be a fool to theorise a world in which people do not make mistakes. Old heads cannot always dictate, even if they wish they could. "I wish that I knew what I know now when I was younger". Perhaps, with due respect to Mr. Wood, but then, is it not highly probable that where one has turned out rather differently, in that alternative world, that there would still have not remain a slight tinge as to how things may have been. Regret is a tiresome exercise in futility, unless the opportunity arises to remedy the original error.

I am aware that I tread perilously towards an explanation of the fluttering of butterfly wings, and a treatise along these lines seems to lead inescapably into an exercise into madness. The thought crosses my mind whether one can do away with regret without sacrificing the notion of a conscience, and if it cannot, then whether regret is integrally bound into our notion of self. But to step away from this line of thought, I am intrigued by the question by the point at which each person is able to distinguish a temporary notion from a permanent one. It is a realisation that many may instinctively shy away from, although perhaps this only reveals my age, if the writings of Jeffrey Arnett are to be believed. It may also indicate that each generation is perhaps not as distinct from the previous one, even if the challenges each faces is profoundly different over the course of the intervening years.

Ultimately, in the words of Mr. Tweedy:

"There's a party there that we oughtta go to, 

If you still love rock 'n roll, 

Do you still love rock 'n roll?", 

One can only hope to be able to give an honest answer.