A Regional Conflict

Every time I visit my girlfriend in Wuppertal, I also lay hands on her iPhone. Since her computer is from Pleistocene origin with an internet connection that travels at 0.5 kb a second, this new gadget, declared ‘cult’ by the telephone company that holds the exclusive rights for it in Germany, has made my digitally extended life more easy for me. I finally have time to read some blogs of people I know and whose opinion and taste I value. It was with great interest I read Momus’s entry on Goodipal.

I had seen this Danish lecturer/musician last summer when he was part of one of the numerous Berlinales. Colleagues whose identity I won’t reveal here, had convinced me to go and see him, because, because (I insisted), because (and insisted one more time just to hear again: “believe me, you won’t regret it.”)

Ten minutes into the lecture I did regret it, very much. By then the atmosphere was suffocating. I hadn’t heard one original opinion or observation, I had seen some cheap imitation of Fluxus art ( it is: take a blackboard, write key words from your lecture on it, draw circles and arrows, pretend you are revealing a mystery of life: in Goodipal’s case it sounded like: “today is the first day of the rest of your life.”), I hadn’t heard anything funny. I was bored by his MTV-hit songs imitations and I didn’t like the fact that he never looked up. Twenty minutes into the lecture I decided I had given him enough time to convince me and walked out.

When reading Momus’s account of the lecture, I was curious if my experience had been the odd one out. Maybe I had caught him in a wrong moment. In the blog is a video with the highlights. It lasts about ten minutes. The first highlight was Goedipal declaring himself controversial. (For those who don’t know me yet: being controversial in the DIY-culture is as having a cult-status on commercial television. Both terms are used for marketing.) (For those who don’t know me yet: to tell your audience right from the beginning that you are controversial, emphasizes your independence in regard to the cultural institutions. )

He also said his lecture was intended for people of his age. That was also my impression last summer. I was just too old to return to class again. But I also got a bit preoccupied. If that guy could be a lecturer, how wise would that make his students? To cut it short: I gave up watching the highlights after five minutes, just after his rant against Iceland and Björk. The points summarized in the blog entry were dull.

Goodipal is cult. He is the same class of cult as Dieter Bohlen, the guy with the sharp tongue and cruel comments in the German version of This Nation’s Next Superstar. Every time I visit my girlfriend in Wuppertal I also look at her television. The continuous freak show is of high entertaining value. His taste of music is terrible. Unfortunately he doesn’t recruit the freaks, but those whose voices make listening to FM radio an experience close to playing Russian Roulette. Those who have or had television must remember the days when they threw loud insults in the direction of the TV.-screen, as if the people who appeared on it, could actually hear the infuriated comments. Goodipal continues to do so. But his attacks are aimed at the MTV-stars.

The Björk clip – declare independence – appears in the comment section. I was saturated by listening to Björk by the end of the nineteen nineties. Since then I haven’t heard or seen her work. I don’t know when above mentioned song is made. It is a silly song for its lyrics. Goodipal’s reaction is just as silly. Both are born in more or less the same part of the European northern hemisphere. It is a regional conflict in which the Faroese accuses the Icelandic of being ‘fascists.’

‘Fascist’ was a very popular word in the nineteen seventies. There were some regimes around (Portugal, Spain, Greece, Argentina, Chili) that justified such a nominator. Those regimes disappeared. The word ‘fascist’ continued to travel through the decades. It started to be used in every heated discussion. It started to wear out. It even came to the point that a sole contribution to a discourse was spitting this word in the face of the opponent. Now it is just an insult and an indicator. Whenever the word pops up, further discussion is useless. Mickey Mouse and the pope are fascists and so am I.

Every time I visit my girlfriend in Wuppertal, I mention the Holocaust. I put on her father’s uniform and spank her. One day she will admit that she is a fascist too.

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