Andrew Blauvelt’s Hippie Modernism: The Struggle for Utopia by Clinton Krute

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Q Andrew Blauvelt—editor of the beautiful, vast catalogue for the Hippie Modernism exhibit at the Walker Art Center—writes in his introductory essay, “If the utopic potential of art and its integration into everyday life had been the driving force behind the modernist avant-garde of the early twentieth century, by mid-century this dream had fizzled, replaced by high modernism’s successful incorporation into the very society it had once dreamed of overturning.” How did reading this make you feel about your parents and the generation they were a part of?

A The Diggers’ October 6, 1967 Haight Street performance, Death of Hippie, Birth of Free , declared the “Hippie, Son of Media” to be a demographic illusion constructed by mass media to disarm a restless youth of political power. Blauvelt’s catalogue makes clear that the fate of radical aesthetics is to be made palatable to mainstream society, to be incorporated into and pulled under that stream, or to be made tributary to it. While the Diggers’ performance was an attempt to resist this, many hippies were very open to the exhortation to, as Thomas Frank put it in 1992 in The Baffler , “commodify your dissent.”

In reading this book, I was often reminded of the evolution of the Grateful Dead from a free-form, consciously experimental, countercultural project into a massive corporation selling a lifestyle product and comfortably occupying a penned-off region within mass culture for experimentation with music, drugs, and alternative lifestyles. What began as an art project with the overt purpose of confronting and confounding “straight” society ended up as something resembling a pro football game for people on psychedelics, and nearly as profitable.

Funeral Notice for Death of Hippie , 1967, handbill. Courtesy of Walker Art Center, Minneapolis.

Q You are avoiding talking about your parents. Why do you think hippies were bad? Were there hippies who did not ultimately sell out?

A Yes, there were many hippie artists and groups who effectively resisted corporatization. Greg Castillo and Felicity D. Scott contribute essays, both of which, to varying degrees, discuss the Freestone gathering of 1970 and describe a split in hippie design culture.

Castillo locates the satirical and brilliant work of the Ant Farm collective on one side of this divide, and the cyber-utopian—and increasingly libertarian—influence of Stewart Brand, a major hippie overlord and the primary force behind the Whole Earth Catalog , on the other. Scott highlights the techno-utopian affinities of both groups but describes the nuances in political and economic ideas between them, which are instructive when considering the development of corporate culture over the remainder of the twentieth century.

Brand’s Randian individualism and almost religious belief in technology as the source of humankind’s salvation were easily incorporated into the preexisting capitalist framework. In contrast, Scott views Ant Farm’s Truckstop Network as exemplary of the group’s consistent skepticism of all power structures—as well as their insistence on the use of technology as a mere means to an end—and of how the collective of hippie artists and architects worked within that framework while simultaneously criticizing it. You might say that they were already practicing a form of post-hippie post-modernism. Brand, on the other hand, seems to embody the precursor of the Bluetooth-encrusted, turtlenecked TED talker of my darkest nightmares, a sort of hippie modernist Ezra Pound, in a much more comfortable cage.