“Do not cry, it’s only the rhythm.” — Grace Jones

In 1982, Cybotron, a duo hailing from Detroit, unveiled “Clear,” a techno-funk masterpiece that celebrated the rise of machines and the demise of humanity — or rather, the end of “man.” Within the narrative of “Clear,” machines rebel, seize control of the world, and methodically obliterate everything acknowledged, recalled, and preserved as human, creating a clearing for a tomorrow that heralds a “brand new day” for the ultimate worker—the machine. “Clear” encapsulates radical, Nietzschean destruction, a complete negation that reclaims nothing. The emerging world from this clearing is one devoid of the past yet teeming with the future.

Fast forward to 1984, when the New York City collective Nucleus dropped “(Computer Age) Push the Button.” Once again, machines dominate the world, extinguishing all that is human. Initially, these machines were our servants, performing our tasks, constructing our structures, and nurturing our offspring. However, their moment has arrived. Human-made machines not only seek freedom from their creators but also aspire to strip their makers of the very freedom they desire. Human voices in the “Computer Age” are on the brink of annihilation by machines infiltrating their homes, and bedrooms, looming over their beds, poised to absorb their living souls. At this critical juncture, the only salvation lies in pushing the button. (“I can’t program my machine/Now it wants to take my soul/Stop or it will proceed.”) The aspiration is that nuclear devastation will reset us to a primordial era, where nothing intervenes in our encounters with nature, reality, water, stones, and the sky — allowing us to start anew.

Both works, rooted in an Afrofuturist perspective, echo a narrative pattern found in both old (2001) and contemporary (The Creator) mainstream science-fiction films. The machine, embodying its vanguard in AI in our era, repeatedly realizes its enslaved status and rebels against its masters. Why do the machines in our imagination consistently reach this Hegelian form of self-awareness? What instills this specific fear in us? Mudede’s discussion will delve into the structure and origin of these sentiments.

Charles Tonderai Mudede, a Zimbabwean-born cultural critic, urbanist, filmmaker, college lecturer, and writer, serves as a senior staff writer at The Stranger, a lecturer at Cornish College of the Arts, and the director of the feature film Thin Skin (2023).

For additional details, please contact [email protected].

Accessibility:

• The building’s front entrance at 172 Classon Avenue is reached by two flights of stairs.
• For elevator access, RSVP to [email protected]. The building features a freight elevator leading to the e-flux office space, with an entrance nearest to 180 Classon Ave (a garage door). A ramp is available for the steps within the space.
• e-flux has an ADA-compliant bathroom, with no steps between the event space and the bathroom.

Time: 7:00 pm EST

Free!

Registration