Everything’s Falling Apart — So Why Am I Smiling?

Making optimism fashionable again.

Anyone can point at the world and say, “It's going to the dogs”. The real mavericks are those who insist we’re not entirely doomed.

Even in the armpit of Popp World, there is hope. That's the spirit behind our hero, Jazz Cow, and it's why I think it's time we made optimism fashionable again.

I’ve been guilty of a bit too much doom-posting lately. Maybe I let Dr Popp set the tone. Because actually, I’m a fairly upbeat chap—ask anyone. Our hero, Jazz Cow, may conceal his hopeful nature beneath a veneer of cool cynicism, but he's secretly an optimist.

After all, it's only optimists who fight hopeless causes. As Albert Murray says in The Hero and the Blues:

...without the completely romantic presuppositions behind such elemental values as honour, pride, love, freedom, integrity, human fulfilment, and the like, there can be no truly meaningful definition either of tragedy or of comedy. Nor without such idealistic preconceptions can there be anything to be realistic about, to protest about, or even to be cynical about.

The ideal allows us to make sense of the bewildering parade of bad news stories that confront us. Big Tech may try to shape us into gloomy souls who use that idealism as a shield, but resist.

Humans: brilliant enough to split the atom, foolish enough to think that was definitely a good idea.

Comedic characters are fools of their own making, doubling down on mistakes with heroic commitment. And we say, “Yes, that’s me.” We laugh at Del Boy's dodgy deals, Homer’s lazy craving, and Ron Swanson’s grumpy growls. But when push comes to shove, their surprising sacrifices for loved ones keep us invested.

Quite a few animated sitcoms today, while hilarious, are lacking in what the more sentimental types would term “heart.” BoJack Horseman, narcissism and addiction certainly create pathos. But when it comes to actual redeeming features, the cupboard is almost bare. Cheerful Mr Peanutbutter appears, tail wagging, to gently show you that you can be clever or cheerful, but never both.

In the great Rick-off, Casablanca’s Rick Blane (Humphrey Bogart) has more in common with a Jazz Cow than with Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty), who’d rather belch nihilism than sacrifice a thing.

What’s left feels a bit lopsided, all the flaws in technicolour, but none of the heart. Human nature is a magnificent muddle. We’re both tender and terrible.

Of course, for a cartoon, if I had to choose between perfect people and imperfect ones, I’d take the flaws every time. Luckily, I don’t have to choose. Life’s generous like that.

Jazz Cow might say he’d save his own leather before getting involved, but we all know the truth. He can’t let his human friends fall to The Machine. He might prefer to sit Connie Snots playing his sax—but when it matters, he shows up. Even for the cobbler. Fighting algorithms with rhythm sounds mad…

It’s not so mad. The Estonians sang their way to freedom. Music fights tyranny. Rhythm has power.

There is hope. People aren’t all bad—not even Dr Popp (he has his moments). Mark Twain said,

“Everyone is a moon, and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody.”

Quite right. But lately, we’ve been staring at the dark side so long, we’ve forgotten there’s a bit that still catches the light.

As C.S. Lewis said:

“You cannot go on ‘seeing through’ things forever. The whole point of seeing through something is to see something through it. It is good that the window should be transparent, because the street or garden beyond it is opaque. How if you saw through the garden too? It is no use trying to ‘see through’ first principles. If you see through everything, then everything is transparent. But a wholly transparent world is an invisible world. To ‘see through’ all things is the same as not to see.”

There’s the rub, my friends! Perpetual cynicism is a bit like strolling through Kew Gardens in dark glasses—you might feel like a sophisticated jazz musician, but you’ll miss all the colourful flowers… and, frankly, you look like a complete muppet. Jazz Cow knows it. His band of misfits knows it. And deep down, you know it too.

Tucked behind our questionable decisions, hope sits quietly, unshaken by the darkness. Calmly sipping tea, watching the Jazz Band play the theme tune to the apocalypse.

“Do let me know when it all falls apart.”

It’s that marvellously daft little fight against the odds.

So, shall we make optimism fashionable again? Life’s bonkers, but we might as well show up with a song in your heart and a pencil behind your ear. We could all use a bit more fun, couldn’t we?

I’ll be revealing the curious corners of Jazz Cow’s world—plenty to explore, and a few secrets worth spilling, perhaps even revealing some of the inner workings.

Optimism isn’t naïve. It’s the bravest, daftest, most brilliant choice we can make. Let’s choose it again.