Woody Guthrie (photo by Lester Balog)
As you’ll have noticed, there’s a good bit of anxiety around these days. I’ve got loads. You probably have too.
I’m anxious about global things, like geopolitical instability and climate change; societal things, like employment prospects and dodgy urban planning; and personal things, like having a substandard body and shortchanging important relationships.
Most people, I suspect, could cite equivalent concerns, some more acutely felt than others. It feels as if we’re in the middle of an anxiety epidemic – and unless things take a miraculous turn, it’s likely to get worse rather than better.
There’s been some interesting writing about this lately. A friend on Facebook linked to an article called We Are All Very Anxious, by a group called Plan C, which describes itself as “committed to ongoing experimentation to find the forms of collective activity needed to build a world beyond capitalism”. I don’t know enough about the group to have an opinion about their overall activities but I found the article very interesting, and although it doesn’t mention performance in any way, I think it’s a good articulation of some of things I love most about cabaret.
I’d recommend reading the whole article but, to summarise, it suggests that early capitalism was marked by the misery of many workers; post-war capitalism was marked by the boredom of many workers; and, today, late capitalism is marked by the anxiety of many workers. It also suggests that such feelings, though widely held, are not widely discussed at the time, and certainly not taken as signs that something is wrong with the system under which they proliferate. They are a kind of “public secret”, shared but not acknowledged, experienced as personal failings and sources of embarrassment or shame. We repress such feelings, becoming alienated.
If there’s something wrong with your work life or social life or sex life or family life, you must be doing it wrong – so the official line runs, and fortunes are made by persuading us of this or that way to fix yourself. Of course, sometimes we are doing it wrong. But sometimes there’s no way to do it right because, frankly, the game is fixed. So we need to think less about trying to win and more about changing the rules, which is an essentially collaborative undertaking.
It’s not about making a better you. It’s about making a better us.
But feelings of powerlessness – whether in the form of misery, ennui or anxiety – are inimical to action, including the exploration of ideas about organising society in ways that might create less unhappiness. So we need to buck up. The Plan C article suggests that the misery of early capitalism was challenged by worker organisation and rebellion, and the stifling effects of post-war capitalism were challenged by radical protest – effective methods in their day but no longer applicable.
The article argues:
During periods of mobilisation and effective social change, people feel a sense of empowerment, the ability to express themselves, a sense of authenticity and de-repression or dis-alienation which can act as an effective treatment for depression and psychological problems; a kind of peak experience. It is what sustains political activity… what we now need is a machine for fighting anxiety – and this is something we do not yet have.
The article goes on to propose a number of avenues of exploration, including the following:
Transformation of emotions.
People are paralysed by unnameable emotions, and a general sense of feeling like shit. These emotions need to be transformed into a sense of injustice, a type of anger which is less resentful and more focused, a move towards self-expression, and a reactivation of resistance.
Constructing a disalienated space.
Social separation is reduced by the existence of such a space. The space provides critical distance on one’s life, and a kind of emotional safety net to attempt transformations, dissolving fears. This should not simply be a self-help measure, used to sustain existing activities, but instead, a space for reconstructing a radical perspective.
To my mind, we do have a machine for fighting anxiety: cabaret.
Cabaret performance – in the broad definition that I go by – has no fourth wall. It relies on the collaboration of the performers and the audience. It is conversational and responsive. It is as unrepeatable as any other social experience. It thrives on the engagement of all those present. It listens. Any cabaret show worth its salt is a disalienated space that provides critical distance on one’s life and encourages self-expression with an emotional safety net, inviting those present to think about how we are with one another in ways that can inform everyday life long after the end of the show. Everyone has agency. Everyone has utility. Other outcomes are possible though laughter and collaboration.
I’m thinking of the work that Duckie does with older and younger people and those with addiction issues, building performances together.
I’m thinking of how Reverend Billy‘s lively cod-evangelical performance interventions in bank lobbies, with a choir dressed as toads or bees, encourage consumers to engage with global economics.
I’m thinking of Mat Fraser‘s performative lecture on how museums have struggled to present disability in humane terms.
I’m thinking of how Bryony Kimmings’s Catherine Bennett project presents to children an image of pop stardom that’s about curiosity, friendship and thoughtfulness, not sex, fame and money.
I’m thinking of how clowns like Dr Brown and Red Bastard lovingly bully people into unlocking their expressive creativity.
I’m thinking of how Amanda Palmer continues to rework the relationships between performer, audience, creative process and performance event.
There are plenty more examples. My own first live cabaret night as a producer – Come With Me If You Want To Live, which launches this Friday at Chelsea Theatre – grew out of many of these ideas, from its title and imagery (read more about them in Dickie Beau’s interview with me for Run-Riot), and most of all in the intention of creating not just a fun night but a sense of shared experience with progressive potential. In fact, the Plan C article has inspired a late addition to proceedings: an Anxiety Box, in which audience members will be able to pool their neuroses – and, who knows, perhaps exorcise a fraction of them by doing so.
Of course, I’m not suggesting that performance work like this is sufficient to effect a wholesale change in society for the better. But I do believe that in its form and, often, its content, it can help point the way, help get us out of our funk and explore the options. It can be a machine that kills anxiety in the way that Woody Guthrie’s guitar was a machine that killed fascists: a conduit for thought and feeling that insists that humane alternatives to narrow-minded thinking exist and are viable.
The best cabaret is about recognising a shared reality, not escaping it. It’s about activation – activating audiences, activating spaces, activating connections, activating ideas – not passivity. It’s about thinking and feeling and working together to find new ways of being together.
It’s not about a better you. It’s about a better us. With a bit less anxiety all round.
