From Rosalía to Càntut: 'mainstream' and nostalgia

Why are our social media feeds still buzzing with images, comments, and promotion of Rosalía? If I mention her, it's not to talk about her as an artist, but about what she represents and what kind of cultural context she embodies. First piece of evidence: the realization that the mainstream The dominant culture, the cultural industry, and cultural products that strive for commercial success have become the primary sites of symbolic production and social cohesion. To capture our attention without resorting to scandal, two things are needed: money—lots of it—and talent. In a media landscape where we access current events through outlets that have transformed information, persuasion, and marketing into a new form of realism, it's difficult to discern whether something has value simply because we see it everywhere, or whether we look at it and recognize it because it possesses inherent value.

Second piece of evidence: cultural consumption is shifting towards the swallowing, not so much of the works themselves as of their interpretations, that background murmur which is now more than just noise, a mass of data: data-driven capitalism, they say. Exegesis has replaced the work; it's not very different from what happens in churches (neither the gesture nor the ritual). Settled in commentary, we feel comfortable; opinion on social media is an easy form of worship. You can ask your questions in chat rooms or on your browser, and with a connection and a free app at the hands of a vast global infrastructure, that's enough. This gives us the feeling that we occupy a meaningful place in the world, and that satisfies us. The "I've said it!" thing about Rosalía has provoked an overinterpretation of her work. This was already foreseen by the form of the product, by the strategies she has used to communicate, and by the dynamics of social media. The eclectic avalanche of references, reduced to tags (tags), allows people to express their opinions and identify with the product. This is what some in the 20th century called kitsch (Clemente Greenberg) is now an update of the appropriative or expropriative logics of bourgeois culture, but from an algorithmic capitalism that transforms the voice of the people into consumption patterns. This means that the process of cultural alchemy—the ability to transform ordinary matter into gold—will be carried out taking into account a business model based on the analysis of data—and tastes—in real time.

That capitalism profits from nostalgia is, of course, something the philosopher Fredric Jameson explained very well in the eighties. The past and its references lend prestige to commodities, they import style and other ways of living, the idealization of a past that has been stripped of all its conflict. Take the case of Beyoncé and Jay-Z's music video filmed in the Louvre, like a new Arnolfini Portrait. That we live in desperate times and that anything offering us magic, mystery, and reasons that aren't of the technocratic order will move us is also clear. But the only religion the culture industry takes seriously is success. When the product is unable to disguise all this economic pressure and struggles for meaning in the name of hitWe stopped being moved. This is what I heard in the music video for the song. Berghain And that, surely, the songs on the album disprove, offering a pleasant musical experience from a fine artist. But I don't feel that pressure when I listen to Camarón sing with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra They say about me, or Morente with the Bulgarian Voices, or María del Mar Bonet with the Cham Ensemble of Damascus to sing Friend and belovedWhen a newly released song is already being processed into samples that will be used in gyms worldwide, it should give us pause. It's not an unnatural place, considering these are products born from artistic assemblages that aim to broaden audiences, tug at the heartstrings everywhere, and transform cultural references into simple, universal formulas, turning cultural consumption into a circuit of labels.

The hit It reminds us that we not only yearn for the past, but also for a present that is disappearing. When the hit We felt emptier than before listening to him, abandoned. The architect of hitHe who has reached the highest peak—does he believe it to be so?—and dies, also suffers emptiness and abandonment after the recognition of the masses. hit It even ends up infantilizing the star, forcing a humanity and humility that the production process itself has usurped. She wants to prove that she is authentic, that it hasn't changed her, that predestination has intervened, that a miracle has replaced marketing. Music mainstream And nostalgia: nostalgia for the premiere, for the freedom before success, for the revival of defunct bands, for the final concert—which never comes—for the day after the ecstasy, nostalgia for a cultural fabric more diverse than the politics of hit withers.

That the mainstream The fact that it is the main site of symbolic production does not mean it is the only one, and that capitalism is nostalgic does not preclude other, more vibrant ways of relating to the past and legacies. This weekend, one of the best festivals in our region, Càntut, took place. It is not the only one; there are many others, but Càntut makes tradition germinate in the territory, in the present, and through the communities. It replaces the cultural expropriation of the past with cultural renewal, breaking with all forms of nostalgia. It offers experiences that remain in the memory, that make us feel less alone, and invites us to understand music from the simplicity of means, from the immediacy of the place, from the certainty of the body, from local customs and a touch of malice, from anger and reverie, from the somewhat worn aura of great-grandmothers and the lights—songs of tilling the land, songs of making it rain—to the politics of after-dinner conversation and the fist slammed on the table. A few years ago, the festival's theme was lullabies. One of the activities was to recover the traditions of the different cultural communities in Cassà de la Selva. El Cántuto reminds us that one day the land was precisely that: land and community, that is, the bodies that work it, inhabit it, breathe it, and dance on it. Some artists take this as their starting point: Joan Magrané, Marala, and El Pèsol Feréstec revisiting our literary heritage; Arnau Obiols, the mountain songbook of Alt Urgell; Tarta Relena with Los Sara Fontán, dead languages ​​and the extinct industrial imaginaries of the capital; Aranná, Mallorcan roots; Feto and the Durruti Te quiero project, historical chronicles; Remedios de Ca la Fresca, political disenchantment; Mazoni in dialogue with Beethoven... In all these cases, the past is a springboard to the future so that the present doesn't die from the longing caused by the past. mainstream and his anxious search for the new hit, of the next saint.