When the De-evolution arrives, where will this man hide?
I’ve always been attracted to Devo’s approach to art: the theory of de-evolution, the premise of which is that “mankind has actually regressed, as evidenced by the dysfunction and herd mentality of American society.” Devo foretold the cheap consumerism and rigid social structures that would flourish during the Reagan years, and their music is a tongue-in-cheek pursuit of a kind of dystopian American ideal, filled with cheap, mass-produced electronic sounds, shallow common-sense philosophy, campy militarism, and wan paeans to individuality. They mastered the art of bad poetry in their lyrics, sticking to strict meters and obvious rhymes; their songs amounted to a teetering Tower of Babel to meaninglessness. They perverted Kraftwerk’s “man-machine” concept and turned the group into a brand, which fans could buy into by ordering Devo merchandise (most famously the red plastic “flowerpot” hats) from catalogs on the record sleeves. The resulting mix was a clever jumble of lowest-common-denominator commercial music, almost laughably accessible, spliced with high-art social commentary.
All of this happened before my time–Devo was essentially finished by the time I was ten–but when I discovered the band in college I found their concept coupled nicely with my own awestruck/horrified appreciation of consumer society. I liked learning about the people behind the band, and would file away bits of legend and lore. One of the things I loved–and still love–is that, for all their polished corporate image, they actually enjoy a punk pedigree. I read an interview with Mark Mothersbaugh about how, when they were starting out, playing punk clubs around Akron and Cleveland in the mid-70s, the band would get beaten up after virtually every show.
I also learned that, when Devo recorded songs for commercial clients, they would include subliminal messages in the sound mix. (Mothersbaugh claims he got the idea from a nutter fan after a show, who accused the band of putting subliminal messages in their albums before they were actually doing it, a detail I love for its feedback-loop quality.) Underlying all of this is a particularly genius trompe l’oeil concept: the artists can push new thought and creative inspiration under the guise of cheap corporate shillery, pursuing a flawed cultural ideal to its (absurd) logical conclusion. The trope benefits from the fact that the act is not overtly political–the band never dropped its sunny, sugar-fueled corporate-anthem-rock facade.
Meanwhile, actual advertising has evolved (or devolved) from where it was in the 80s. Advertisers understand that consumers are much more media-savvy than they were ten years ago. The result is a ferociously postmodern advertising culture, where ads appear to be self-aware. Advertisers can increasingly target sub-sub-niche markets via social networking sites, users’ search habits, and increasingly diverse publications geared towards increasingly specific self-identified social groups. I always find it disconcerting when people my age “friend” a brand on Facebook, but that kind of behavior is increasingly normal for kids. Built into this is the concept that consumers and brands are in a two-way conversation: advertisers “listen” to consumers on Twitter and Facebook and respond in real time to complaints; consumers make their spending habits and brand preferences public; and users engage with brands through user-generated content, by commenting on or interacting with advertisers’ web sites, Facebook pages, Amazon reviews, blogs, and Twitter. In this environment, Devo 1.0′s arty protest against ad culture is dated and flaccid.
So I was cautiously excited to learn that Devo is re-booting. The ad blog Creativity reports that Devo and Warner Bros have engaged the NY creative agency Mother to help develop and market DEVO Inc. Mother’s LA site appears to be a hoax, and an interview a creative director at Mother in the Creativity post indicates that the creative lead on the account, choreographer “Jann Eulm,” is a fake person. Videos posted on the Devo site from Devo CCO Greg Scholl (also likely a fake person) look like reheated corporate training videos from ten years ago.
This iteration of Devo is a parody of the user-generated-content phenomenon; the site invites fans to help the band develop their sound by giving feedback, taking user surveys, and participating in focus groups. According to “Scholl,” the partners “have initiated a series of studies to help the band determine every decision it makes regarding its body covering, its brand color, its graphic icons and even its choice of vocal style and instrumentation on any given song!”
The project is, I think, a very funny and nasty sendup of mass-market art appeal. Art, music, fashion, and writing are accountable to market forces; an artist’s reproducable creative output is only as valuable as its marketability. Therefore, artists should be asking consumers what to write, paint, record, or stitch together. It’s a call for artists to subjugate themselves to the cloud, to actively pursue generic output in the interest of making distracted consumers happier. The message is couched in disigenuous democratic language with fascist undertones.
The Devo site now has a Color Study page, a flash site where users can respond to prompts about color preferences, which will supposedly inform the band’s fashion and musical directions. What makes it fun is that the questions are typically absurd–especially when coupled with a limited number of possible responses. “What color would not lift this woman’s sinking depression?”, as though a specific color could cure depression. This perfectly exemplifies the constraints of the user-brand conversation, where consumers are prompted to respond to questions about loneliness and personal fulfillment with a limited number of unsatisfying options.
I love Devo and this is just too funny. It reminds me of Ben Elton’s book /This Other Eden/ where product placement is everywhere and actors no longer make movies. Since they were starting to just look like commercials anyway, the movie industry stopped pretending that they were anything else and now the new celebrities are famous for acting in twenty minute advertisements. The book is fantastically funny and a very sarcastic look at consumerism taken to absurd levels.
This is excellent. I love being a content consumer, and, as a writer, a content supplier. Great post.
Where is Booji Boy?