Pomegranates on the Market

Some friends recently put out a compilation album called Pomegranates. I wish I could have been there for the release event and to follow the response to the album, but I hear very positive things. In fact, late last month the two did live sets at an event with Hypernova, a New York-based band said to be at the forefront of Iranian rock, and Yellow Dogs are featured in Nobody Knows About Persian Cats, a (Cannes Film Festival) Award winning film by Bahman Gobadi (see flier below). In short: pretty cool. And pretty interesting as a music album is a form of mediated and material culture that is possibly closest to youth, pop culture, and the second generation.

You can preview and get copies of the album online, and listen to an interview the pair did on KCRW (below). Pomegranates sounded fresh and pioneering since the moment I heard about it. Arash told me how he cherished the old Iranian tunes they dug up and dusted off, and how all elements of this production would pay deepest homage to a genre, a past, and an culture. Mahssa spoke with equal passion about the project, despite the long, thankless hours it took to make. In both their descriptions are elements of making something not only auditory but also tactile, for future generations to hold on to - from the cover art, to the denotations to, of course, the psychadelic, funk, and pop music from the 60s and 70s it showcases.

But apart from its hip elegance, I think Pomegranates is a beautiful example of how contemporary, specifically second-generation ways of being Iranain American are emerging. I also think of it as an interesting case of commercial culture. It's interesting because Pomegranates is a commercial product that succeeds in maintaining its meaning and depth beyond its ability to be replicated, bought, and sold on the market. At least, so it seems.

In Ethnicity Inc. John and Jean Comoroff argue that markers of ethnic difference (but also national and religious difference) are becoming increasingly commoditized, to the extent that commoditization of ethnicity no longer threatens the authenticity of a given community, but strengthens it. Making something into a commodity has long been thought to reduce its value and authenticity as a signifier, but they see commoditization and market competition as a necessary and accepted part of distinguishing ones ethnicity.

Really? Reducing something to a commodity doesn't decrease the cultural value of a material artifact? Making something a product doesn't put its authenticity in jeopardy? How can this be, when  many of us would surely recognize the problem of “selling out” - that familiar compromise of illusive “real” and “deeper” elements of creative expression (whatever they may be) for monetary gains; a problem often associated with music.

So it's not surprising that those I spoke with tended to distinguish the profit-driven cultural and community initiatives from the non-profit ones. Even when good intentions are acknowledged across the board, the voluntary, philanthropic, and gainless activities seem to represent community goals more closely than those for money. But when Reza Aslan commented that the Prince of Persia should indeed star Jake Jyllenhall rather than an Iranian American actor, at a PAAIA/Levantine Cultural Center public event late last year, “because we need to get the highest box office return possible,” not many seemed impressed by his logic, but nobody from the large, diverse audience actually challenged him on this point. Sometimes we reluctantly accept these ways of representing and addressing a community´s concerns because we must. To quote a second generation Iranian American musician´s similar resignation, “that's just the way things work in America.” There's an element of compromise in this sentiment; of loss of authenticity in exchange for broad, public recognition of Iranians/Persians in a positive light in a Hollywood movie.

But this doesn't seem like the win-win situation the Comoroff’s described (for more on that listen to this interview with them). In the case of the Prince, successful commerce doesn't seem to go seamlessly hand in hand with accurate and fair representation of Iranian Americans. Rather, it's a compromise. I also saw this in the way people talked representing themselves online. On the one hand it was a global commons where artists could show work, sell work, and network. On the other hand certain people spoke of it as a corrupting global marketplace where everyone had to be “tagged,” “labeled,” and compete to “sell themselves.” The collective commons of creativity versus the stifling clench of pure business.

But are the boundaries all that clear? They weren't for the Comoroffs, who see the ethic “brand,” as allowing people to commercially own and therefore benefit from the sale or marketing of their ethnic identity in an identity economy. It's not simply impoverishing to sell your own culture, it's empowering, they argue. Perhaps we can't easily say this of a massive Hollywood production like Prince of Persia, and the blatant story of accumulation it seems to represent. But the modest case of Pomegranates might be one where we see a sense of recognition and respect for Iranian (American) culture, an acknowledgement that operates through (and not despite) the consumption of such cultural products by both non-Iranians and Iranian Americans themselves.

But I still wonder what exactly allows such a product to maintain its authenticity to both the producer and the consumer. Is it that they also sell the record on vinyl? The sound and feel of which are associated with a time when music was more "authentic." Is it that it's put out by a European record label with a story of specializing in discovering the previously undiscovered value of unique music from the past? Undiscovered gems that haven't yet experienced value inflation. Or its circumvention of the mainstream? Is it more authentic as a product because of the makers' own emotional, familial, and cultural proximity to the persistent nostalgia of a diaspora/exile nation? Or a bit of all of these things? (the usual social scientific explanation).  


And will I feel a little more a part of a community (within a community) when my copy arrives in the mail? Will it be because I will listen differently than someone who has little or nothing to do with that community? Is that what will make it authentic for me and other listeners like me? For all my (Western) reluctance about marketed culture, will I be moved by listening nonetheless - moved a little closer to a people and a time and a place I engage with mostly through such means as a product made by others who create from a similarly second generation position. It seems the interaction between these factors of both production and consumption are a indispensable parts of the formula.