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C103
Article; from Feature 'Life is what you make of it'
ECSTASY
Hong Kong
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Mitsi
/ Photograph: Suzanne Mooney
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In your
palm is a pill. You pick it up and look at it more closely.
Its Japan Airlines logo looks familiar but you have never
tried a JA before...
Suddenly
bass rips up from the floor and you are on your way, techno
trance throbbing in your ears. Half an hour later you
start staggering, you sway against bodies and finally
find yourself sitting cross-legged on the dance floor,
an imaginary console on your lap, tapping out messages,trying
to reach those who are dancing a few inches away. Somebody
lifts you up and drags you into one of the chillout tents.
You are overwhelmed by the messages that keep coming in,
your correspondence becomes even more frenzied. Nausea
overpowers you. You crawl out of the tent and lean against
a wall. Some of the temporary bars are covered in bamboo
- being vaguely inspired by a Tropical Island theme -
possibly the remains of a previous party. Hours later
you are still unable to walk. You want to throw up. You
finally pass out. Other people share your fate, and lie
motionless around you. You mutter something about missing
important messages. The fake JA has revealed the depth-lessness
of the set design, replacing the (artificial) embodied
experience of empathy and communication with an (artificial)
disembodied one.
JA, CK,
B29, CU, HQ, Red Hearts, Motorolas, Mitsubishis... can
all be counterfeited in China, like other brands, car
parts, pharmaceutical products, perfumes, cosmetics...
The fake forces you to rethink all the objects and processes
around you, it provides a kind of grazing of the smooth
mirror of global production. By definition a suspect product,
it makes you adopt a critical attitude to designed objects,
supporting a hermeneutics of suspicion. The fake sheds
light on the true nature of the absolute fakes, the augmented
reality that pervades our consumer culture. The nature
of the absolute fake is compensatory. It's the synthetic
flavouring added to junkfood, the theme park in a cultural
desert.
MDMA is
called 'Ecstasy' as a marketing ploy. Alexander Shulgin,
who first used the term, said he preferred the name 'Empathy'
as it was a word more fitting with the drug's effects,
yet he believed that the name Ecstasy would sell better
than Empathy. Naming, branding, marketing - not even drugs
escape this logic. The MDMA commodity had to be re-enchanted
to appeal to a new breed of consumers. The chosen name
rings eerily of perfume names: Eternity, Escape, Miracle...
evoking emotional associations, suggesting a lost or elusive
spiritual dimension in your life. Exploiting aspirations,
fostering regression. Club culture is not immune from
this trend; this liminal space promises sensuous contact
and a self-transcendence that is missing from our mundane
reality. Does the rave approximate a Church, Disney World
or a 'youth detention camp'? Has the alternative culture
of acid house been domesticated - the rapture contained
and smothered in regulated and commodified leisure sites?
As carnival created a culture of the ludic that offered
fleetingmoments of indulgence and resistance in marginal,
interstitial sites, the ecstasy-fuelled experience of
clubbers represents both an implicit indictment of our
anaemic quotidian and a compensatory solution. When Japan
Airlines doesn't take you to your destination, you might
wonder if you really wanted to go there.
Article reproduced from CIRCA
103, Spring 2003, pp.58-59.
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