Another Monday in Late Capitalism at the Ass-End of the Workweek

Dear 2120,

I’ve got a case of ‘the Mondays.’ Here in my time, you see, a lot of us spend Monday to Friday toiling, restless and beaver-like, in undignified hierarchical command structures with the weekend as the week’s only saving grace, the light at the end of a treacherous tunnel filled with passive/aggressive confrontation and mediocre coffee. In the 10s, the weekend is widely regarded as the time to unwind. We ‘let off some steam,’ and forget our woes through stimulant-driven, physical exorcise like raving or, if you’re slightly older, going to a bar and shouting directly into someone’s eardrum over loud music while simultaneously keeping an anxious, watchful eye on the fickle attention of the alcohol-dispensing bartender.

I could write long-winded diatribes on the oppressive nature of capitalist realism (and don’t worry, I shall), but having had my energy and joi de vivre depleted by alcolhol-fuelled, dopamine-stealing activity and the afore-mentioned shouting, I’ll take the typical, lazy shortcut of my post-reflective generation by conveying my Monday melancholy and escapist yearning in easily disgestable sound, image and, of course, GIFs:

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Here’s to Universal Basic Income becoming manifest reality long before 2120 rolls around the corner.

21 Tracks for 2120

Dear 2120,

As 2017 marches on relentlessly, providing shock, awe, frustration and disbelief in equal, abrupt measure, Regular Joes like me are left in the dark as to what kind of world we’re entering. The nature of truth seems to be in a state of flux. In the age of social media, it’s clear that the age-old axiom: ‘there’s two sides to every story’ is becoming increasingly irrelevant on an interconnected planet where people are flocking, fugue-like, to the internet to give their two cents on anything from a man getting kicked off a plane to Trump’s intervention in Syria.

Adding to that, powerful and persuasive propaganda machinery is working overtime to sway the hearts and minds of the global population, creating more confusion, less transparency and a consistent blurring of reality. There isn’t necessarily two sides to a story; there’s around three billion of them – all piled up on Facebook Twitter, Instagram, etc., in angry, sad, elated, euphoric and ultimately conflicting, little soundbites empowered by technology.

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A strategy of coming to terms with this overwhelming, new uncertainty and its byproducts of paranoia, anxiety, apathy and moodswings, is attempting to grasp the elusive, incomprehensible hyperobjects governing our reality, so that they can be expressed, communicated and felt in immediate, comprehensible ways. Condensing your reaction into music is one way of going about this. What’s more, not only does music resonate and speak to the visceral complexities of the present, it has the added benefit of hinting at the future, as French theorist, Jacques Attali, so boldly points out in his book: Noise: The Political Economy of Music:

Music, an immaterial pleasure turned commodity, now heralds a society of the sign, of the immaterial up for sale, of the social relation unified in money. It heralds, for it is prophetic. It has always been in its essence a herald of times to come. Thus, as we shall see, if it is true that the political organization of the twentieth century is rooted in the political thought of the nineteenth, the latter is almost entirely present in embryonic form in the music of the eighteenth century.

In the attempt to traverse the insurmountable barrier of time and communicate with you in a language you’ll experience more directly, the language of music and emotion, we’ve compiled a playlist that echoes the tumultuous now while potentially hinting at things to come.

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Obviously, a list directed at you guys living a hundred years from now, needs to be edgy and forward-thinking AF (Translation: As Fuck), which is why I’ve enlisted the help of my good, knowing and capable friend Tobias who DJs and also works at Vice, a company specializing in being down with the cutting-edge kids and their next-generation-shenanigans.

So, from the downcast soundcapes of Kuedo, Sd Laika and Actress to the grand lamentations of Arca and the frenzied, celestial trance of Lorenzo Senni, we hope you’ll dig the Letters to 2120 selection when you have a minute to disengage yourself from whatever futuristic activity you’re currently involved in.