The Hydrogen Jukebox: Selected Writings, 1978-1990

by Peter Schjeldahl, Robert Storr (Introduction), Malin Wilson (Editor)

Baudelaire's famous description of "the best criticism" as "entertaining and poetic, not coldly analytic," lives in the essays of Peter Schjeldahl. Schjeldahl self-consciously continues the modern tradition of art criticism crafted by poet-critics, providing a sharp perspective on individual artists, their work, art-world events, and new creative directions. He challenges established views, and his infectious passion for art continually engages the reader. In essays on Rothko, Munch, Warhol, Dubuffet, Nauman, Sherman, Salle, de Kooning, Guston, Ruscha, and Koons, Schjeldahl skillfully juggles theory and analysis in exploring cultural context and technique. His writings, free of the contortions of some critical prose and characterized by a sustained focus on works of art, map the contemporary art scene in New York (with occasional forays to Los Angeles and elsewhere), cataloguing the colorful personalities, cultural attractions, and ethical hazards of the art world. It's a fast, fun trip, with arguments that fold back upon themselves in surprising revelations and reversals of the author's opinion. There is never a dull moment for those with an eye on contemporary art. 

Genres: Art, Essays, Art History, Nonfiction

384 pages, Paperback

First published August 26, 1991

Reviews

[Alex Wexelman · Rating 3 out of 5]

I never thought I'd finish this book. Three hundred and twenty-six pages is a completely subjective experience, which in this case felt tiresome whereas in other books can feel like a relative breeze. Peter Schejeldahl is smart, but he writes like a stupid person imitating what he thinks smart writing sounds like. I am a tedious reader: I make many notes, I look up and define all the words I don't know, and I write little bios for each artist I am unfamiliar with. This helps a lot and while it slows down the whole experience, it helps me be a better reader.

That said, I rarely finished an essay by Schejeldahl convinced I knew (or he knew) what exactly his opinion is on the subject at hand. "He is afraid of ideas to the point that he can’t be a good critic,"
Robert Storr said of the writer and I can't help but nod furiously along in assent.

To me, a good critic situates the artist in time and space. She tells you why he or she is important or not. It's a pretty simple job many can't get right. Schejeldahl overwrites, over-convinces, over-explains. Hydrogen Jukebox, if it were a music machine, would be an eclectic collection of 311, Train, and The Rolling Stones. There is little cohesion and nothing in the way of pacing. It's just clips from a long career of writing around, but not about, art.

This is all very harsh, I must admit. Schejeldahl does get into the thick of it at times. He did something that suggests he has talent: he convinced me that I might give Sol LeWitt more credit than I tend to—getting one to change their mind is another trick a sharp critic can pull off. That said, this collection felt lumbering, a bit laborious. Having enjoyed Schejeldahl's contemporary criticism in the New Yorker, I sense he is better at shorter articles and has gotten better at the form in the intervening years. In this, he is a bit scattered. But he always has a great analogy and though he writes with less lucidity than I would like, he isn't as difficult to parse as the footnote critics, as he calls them.

Overall, I learned some stuff, but didn't have too much fun along the way. The introduction from Storr, before the two had a falling out, sets Schejeldahl up as an everyman. But he's too inscrutable to be an everyman. Perhaps, in the future, I'll read his other book. The one that covers 1988 to the present. I'm sure he shines brighter in that one. But I also wouldn't bet my lucky penny on it. Anyway, I'm going to take a break from him for the time being and we'll check back in in a year.

[August · Rating 3 out of 5]

Some of it is incredible and some of it is super minutiae-heavy. But the dude is so interesting either way.

[JabJo · Rating 5 out of 5]

Peter Schjeldahl is my favorite art writer because of his genuine enthusiasm for art. He doesn't write to demonstrate his own cleverness or discriminating taste, but through an eagerness to share ideas and observations that might bring others along on his lively journey through the art of, in this case, more or less, the eighties, with occasional visits farther back. (This book is from 1993.) I like how he takes you to a viewpoint and says, 'look at it from this angle.' Very lively coverage of artists including Ruscha, Nauman, Kiefer, Smithson, Guston, as well as some flashbacks to Munch, Manet, Courbet and others. It's personal, direct, and no artspeak. Very enjoyable.

[Cody · Rating 4 out of 5]

What I find most appealing in Schjeldahl’s writing—aside from its shear craft—is his conviction of art’s core importance in life and society, and his willingness to critique/judge/proclaim from this stance. I certainly share Schjeldahl’s conviction, but, as a child of the 80s, I can’t help but constantly scoff at notions of importance, meaning, and centrality. Schjeldahl has an amazing way of acknowledging all of these issues in order to more fully assert his convictions. Take this passage on Rothko, for instance:

Rothko lacked the wisdom of the seventies, which seems to be that belief in anything at all is messy and dangerous, and this does give us an edge on him. But it’s a petty edge, as witness the disheartening littleness and shallowness of nearly all new artistic developments of the past few years. Look at our wised-up contemporary art, then look at fifties Rothko. Can we, for survival’s sake, learn to prefer the former to the latter?

So while I might blush when Schjeldahl writes about how Rothko’s genius stemmed from his belief that his paintings would inspire truly spiritual experiences in the observers, there’s actually a significant part of me that longs to cast aside the “wisdom” of the seventies (or in my case, the eighties and nineties) so as to let art—mine and others’—wholly envelope me. In this sense, *The Hydrogen Jukebox* is a sort of self-help manual.

[Scottiev · Rating 5 out of 5]

Peter's wit, cynicism and excellent analyze of the visual arts is something most scholars refuse to embark on. His take no prisoners stance, yet poignant nature and insight made his essays a pleasure to read. Rather than getting lost in his prose, as a young artist, I preferred his ability to approach his subject with 20/20 vision unlike his contemporaries who often supplant societal knowledge for their personal taste.

[Emma · Rating 4 out of 5]

yum yum yum. the titular essay is really interesting to read fifty-odd years from the stagnancy of the late 70s. we are even moreso culturally bereft now. it is missing the warmth and softness that you find in Schjeldahl's later writing.
7/10

[Mills College Library]

709.04 S337 1991