I originally wrote about
a passage from Barthes’ "Music, Voice, Language,” using Edith Piaf’s “Non,
Je Ne Regrette Rien” as the accompanying piece of music. I compared what
Barthes says about Panzéra to Piaf—in each case, the voice sings
full-throatedly, seems to sing for his- or herself, and seems to sing to kill
everything bad. Both are naked voices, voices that are secure, raised, and
convey a strength of desire. The voices have bodies (it especially seems so when Piaf sings, "rien"), and this body is what Barthes calls the grain
of the voice.
In revising and expanding upon a previous blog entry, I wanted to come back to Barthes and the voice. Considering Adorno, who is critical of the voice, I thought it would be a good opportunity to bring the two into conversation. In the essay, “On the Fetish Character in Music and the Regression of Listening,” Adorno describes the voice as becoming fetishized. The voice, in fact, is musical fetishism “at its most passionate.” (36) He describes the voice as being akin to a national trademark—recognizable, well-known, and beloved. During our Adorno presentation, we talked about the voice of Frankie Valli, who, along with the Four Seasons, became a sensation because of his voice. (Piaf is also known for her voice.) Adorno ultimately makes the accusation that the pleasure in voices is completely fetishized, "torn away from any functions that could give them meaning, they meet a response equally isolated,” as if the voice, despite how pleasurable it may be to listeners, is devoid of meaning and incites a response just as devoid. (37)
The two philosophers seem to directly oppose each other. Barthes says that “there is no neutral voice,” for every voice is an object of desire or repulsion. (280) In contrast, Adorno seems to think that the voice is desired so much that it eventually becomes an object of neither desire nor repulsion, for it is simply fetishized, which of course, according to Adorno, is bad. This seems to leave the voice without an actual value beyond its mere fetishization, for the voice loses the value that it formerly had. This makes it confusing whether or not Adorno has a respect for voices with grain. Perhaps he would just prefer a voice that has no grain and is neither desirable nor repulsive, as that voice would never become fetishized. (Note that Barthes does not think this voice even exists.)
In response to Adorno, Barthes might say something about the inherent value of the grain of the voice, arguing that it is retained despite how popular the voice may become. Popularity could also, for Barthes, be evidence of more and more people recognizing, or learning how to, hear the grain of a voice. In "Listening," after all, Barthes tells us that only those who know how can hear the grain. (255) We might, therefore, think that for Barthes, unlike Adorno, the more a voice is desired by the public, the better.
In revising and expanding upon a previous blog entry, I wanted to come back to Barthes and the voice. Considering Adorno, who is critical of the voice, I thought it would be a good opportunity to bring the two into conversation. In the essay, “On the Fetish Character in Music and the Regression of Listening,” Adorno describes the voice as becoming fetishized. The voice, in fact, is musical fetishism “at its most passionate.” (36) He describes the voice as being akin to a national trademark—recognizable, well-known, and beloved. During our Adorno presentation, we talked about the voice of Frankie Valli, who, along with the Four Seasons, became a sensation because of his voice. (Piaf is also known for her voice.) Adorno ultimately makes the accusation that the pleasure in voices is completely fetishized, "torn away from any functions that could give them meaning, they meet a response equally isolated,” as if the voice, despite how pleasurable it may be to listeners, is devoid of meaning and incites a response just as devoid. (37)
The two philosophers seem to directly oppose each other. Barthes says that “there is no neutral voice,” for every voice is an object of desire or repulsion. (280) In contrast, Adorno seems to think that the voice is desired so much that it eventually becomes an object of neither desire nor repulsion, for it is simply fetishized, which of course, according to Adorno, is bad. This seems to leave the voice without an actual value beyond its mere fetishization, for the voice loses the value that it formerly had. This makes it confusing whether or not Adorno has a respect for voices with grain. Perhaps he would just prefer a voice that has no grain and is neither desirable nor repulsive, as that voice would never become fetishized. (Note that Barthes does not think this voice even exists.)
In response to Adorno, Barthes might say something about the inherent value of the grain of the voice, arguing that it is retained despite how popular the voice may become. Popularity could also, for Barthes, be evidence of more and more people recognizing, or learning how to, hear the grain of a voice. In "Listening," after all, Barthes tells us that only those who know how can hear the grain. (255) We might, therefore, think that for Barthes, unlike Adorno, the more a voice is desired by the public, the better.
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