In response to recent events in the world political climate and in reflection of our role as a form of American media, we at theblowup have chosen to dedicate our editorial section of Issue #5 to a wide-ranging inquiry into cultural imperialism. We are collecting personal stories that demonstrate just how pervasive American culture is in every corner of the globe. "Testimonies: Encounters with Pop Culture" is an editorial survey that considers the significance of mass-marketing internationally from the perspective of a variety of writers living outside of the U.S. or of non-American origin. We hope that this collection of testimonies will provoke discourse, pose new questions and challenge the hegemony. _ edited by Kate Sennert _ click here for print friendly format
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"Reviewing
the popular music of the twentieth century as a whole, most people
would probably agree that some of it is excellent, some unbearable
and most of it very indifferent. What the good, bad and indifferent
share is a musical language," |
Shaggy,
Coca Cola and that Thong Song
 Crossings
_ Sumita Chakravarty [full page version] Having lived in the United States for upwards of two decades, the task of tracing the impact of American culture on my life seems both banal and forbidding. For what, after all, is there new to say? Either one is led to blandly acknowledge the definitive nature of this influence (I live here, after all, having first arrived as a student from India eager to take in all that America had to offer), or to embark on a path of cultural retrieval, highlighting all those parts of myself that remain obstinately "Indian." Yet to cast the issue in these terms is hopelessly inept. The "American" part of me (most obvious when I am in India) and the "Indian" part of me [more] |
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“Back in the day when I was young, I’m not a kid anymore, but some days I sit and wish I was a kid again.” Ahmad, Back in the day, 1994, Giant Rec. There’s a simple logic of desire. No added psychoanalysis needed. You desire because you lack. You desire what you lack. The bigger the distance between yourself and the object of desire, the stronger the sentiment. My desire was pretty intense, revealing itself not in the form of concrete pangs of jealousy, Chinese burns around the soul, but as sporadic leaps of the heart with the stomach still attached to it.[more] |
Notes
on an American Dream