Saturday, December 20, 2003
Speaking of which, Sam, wtf is with all the homoerotic violence?
12/20/2003 05:34:00 pm
Three uses of 'other' in one sentence, that's Freudian because he's gay, right? I don't even know what he looks like but I bet he's beautiful.
12/20/2003 05:33:00 pm
I mean, he sounds like a jar of molasses smoking a fag, perched on a velvet cushion. It's ludicrous but it's incredible. He sounds like he can't be arsed and yet he's got all of Broadway exploding behind him. Sod nicking things from minor players, he's stealing "Bolero" off Ravel and making it look like he wrote it himself. If I never hear anyone else sing again I wont mind. He's totally making up these melodies as he's going along only you know he's not, he's not, he's just so fucking good that he sounds as if he is. It's like Buckley and Sinatra- no, someone better than Sinatra, more fulsome, more given to bathos because bathos is much more affecting than pathos when it's done right, completely through overblown and mawkish and pompous and out of the other side of ridiculousness into some beautiful other country that most other people are too embarrassed to even try and get to.
Wow.
12/20/2003 05:32:00 pm
Fucking hell, Rufus Wainwright.
12/20/2003 05:23:00 pm
The good humor man he see everything like this…
There was a moment during one of the climactic battles of The Return Of The King when Legolas (he’s the elf, non-nerds [I use the term ironically {nerd, not elf}, considering The Guardian’s rather aimless and unfocused article on The Triumph Of The Nerd or some such last Friday {December 12th}, which spent 2,000 words being surprised that girls like Lord Of The Rings and superhero comics are now forming blockbuster movies, like fantasy films have never been popular, as if Star Wars and Superman weren’t sensations nigh-on 30 years ago, as if Jason & The Argonauts never existed, as if no one ever went to the cinema in search of fantastical, escapist spectaculars until post-9/11, as if we’re all nerds now but never were before – I mean, wtf?!]) clambers up one of the giant, killer-elephant-things, swinging from strap to strap, bouncing on its haunches, slashing the guy-ropes that tether the huge, orc-bearing (ok, they’re not orcs, they’re foreigners, specifically Asiatic/African foreigners, with masks, and shaved heads, and make-up, but I don’t even wanna start to go into the race issues here) chassis, causing it to fall off as the giant, killer-elephant-thing (is this the same giant, killer-Elephant-thing that topped NME’s Albums Of The Year poll?), killing (presumably) it’s murderous crew of immigrants and voodooists. Legolas then daintily runs across the giant, killer-elephant-thing’s back, demonstrating supreme balance and fleetness of foot, before drawing his magnificent bow and unleashing an arrow into the giant, killer-elephant-thing’s cerebral cortex via the back of its head, killing the giant, killer-elephant-thing and bringing about the behemothic beast’s final, fateful tumble earthwards. And at the moment the giant, killer-elephant-thing hit the dirt, the audience of the Exeter Picturehouse, to a man (excepting me and my companion, possibly [and maybe a few others, so not quite to a man, perhaps more like 60%]), cheered. I’ve never known anything like it in my life. But considering that I’ve probably only been to the cinema three dozen times in my life this is not surprising.
What makes Peter Jackson’s Lord Of The Rings meta-epic (it seems churlish now to call it a trilogy – these are obviously not three films anymore than, say, Orbital’s “Lush 3-1” and “Lush 3-2” are two songs) so much better than the Wachowski Brothers’ Matrix saga? If anything struck me about The Return Of The King (aside from the sentimentality which comprised the denouement – remember the end of Return Of The Jedi, with the celebrations and the shiny C3-PO and the kissing and the smiling and the happyhappyjoyjoy? That lasts about three minutes – in The Return Of The King the equivalent lasts half a fucking hour or more) it is the complete spiritual and moral hollowness of it. The goodies win, the baddies lose, no one we really like dies (apart from Bernard Hill but he’s old so it’s OK), there are no consequences to deal with apart from happiness and the dawning, utopic Age Of Men, the absolute worst that happens is that we have to say goodbye to Bilbo (who is remarkably still alive!) and Frodo, that Sam gets to marry the girl and have some lovely halfling babies (his betrothed’s enormous, hirsute feet eroding any slight hint of eroticism), that Aragorn becomes king and that his elven love returns to be by his side, that Faromir (sic) doesn’t die by being burnt alive by his batshit insane father, that Merry & Pippin are left with the prospect of eating yet more bacon and eggs, drinking yet more ale, and smoking yet more tobacco… The Matrix trilogy ends with the death of Trinity and the resultant martyrdom of Neo (he loves her so much that he’s got nothing else to live for, so he might as well save the rest (read ‘dregs’) of humanity from the evil machines, geddit?), and, much as we don’t care about these characters, or by this point in proceedings the fucking godforsaken films themselves, there is at least a sense of pathos and finality-through-death and a new dawn that might require some work in order for people to live happily ever after.
An aside for the Wachowski Brothers – if you are ending an epic, pseudo-biblical film and want people to be touched, moved, enlightened and enriched, then don’t, for god’s sake, have the final, platitudinously hopeful utterances spoken by computer programs; if your audience didn’t care for Jesus and his Laura-Mulvey-baiting-first love (cinematic woman as nothing more than catalyst for man’s success [resist the temptation to go nuts over the Magical Negro, please Nick]) then they’re not going to care for MS Word and Mozilla Firebird gazing winsomely at a sunrise and saying “turned out nice again!” now are they?!
Lord Of The Rings has none of this sense of pathos at all. If anything the laying-on of sentimentality and happy-endings (which appears to have been done with an enormous trowel) twists the mood towards bathos, which is really not want you want after ten+ hours of mind-boggling, terrifying, wonderful, thrilling, triumphant cinema spectacle. But this is not Jackson’s fault, of course – it is Tolkein’s.
My father and I read The Lord Of The Rings together when I was very small, and although I have since re-read The Hobbit I have had no inclination to revisit the actual trilogy itself, especially not since it has replaced Harry Potter as the Devon commuter’s morning read of choice. Snobbish, I know, but there you go. My twenty-year-old copies are safely ensconced beneath my bed should I ever change my mind, browned pages and broken spines all. I would say something insightful and knowledgeable about Tolkein writing in a post-war England which needed both escapism and hope for a better future, and that this is why the culmination of The Lord Of The Rings is so bleakly happy and idyllic, but I have no idea whether this is actually the case and know sod-all about Tolkein himself or what happens at the end of the books themselves, so I shan’t. We do like a happy ending though, don’t we?
Having studied philosophy at university, even if only for a minor part of my degree, and counting “thinking about things” as an interest, I tend very much to run away screaming from pop.cultural products which aspire towards profundity. Watching The Matrix for the first time at university, in a living room surrounded by rapt stoners who were very rapidly being mind-boggled and exclaiming “this is the best film ever” or “this is the most original film ever” or some such ridiculousness while I made a mental checklist of shots nicked from Vertigo or locations very similar to those in Die Hard or Terminator 2. The “there is no spoon” idea I could deal with without feeling sick, but the whole “what if we’re all in somebody else’s dream” schtick was tired and old before the jaded (as in ‘made green’?) opening credit sequence. By the time The Matrix Reloaded attempted to drown us in a sea of foul-smelling tripe about choice and destiny and paths and so on I was fully fed-up and embarrassed by the level of thought that had gone into it. Cod-philosophy? Not even that. I guess it’s quite amusing that Waking Life, with its extended, boring monologues about lucid dreams and existential theory, should be one of the films that I’ve enjoyed most over the last few years. Possibly Hal Ashby’s Being There is the diametric opposite of Waking Life, openly mocking the gullibility of people drawn into believing trite observances are universal profundities before rapidly and unexpectedly evolving the protagonist into some kind of magical entity, moving from realism into magical-realism just as Waking Life moves from luscious, surreal waking-dream into a realisation that it is little more than a visually stunning discourse on nothing in particular. I love Being There as much as Waking Life.
That The Lord Of The Rings is at heart completely empty works in its favour. Jackson is a schlock director, a b-movie maker – you only need to glance at Bad Taste or Braindead to realise this – and Lord Of the Rings is the ultimate b-movie. The story and world are laid in stone and have been for decades, visuals painted clearly in people’ minds by calendars, animations, Games Workshop, countless illustrations and parodies and so on and so forth; all Jackson had to do was bring them to life. Any fiddling with the story would have been untenable due to the unavoidably stern gaze of the Tolkein-fascists who must be consulted at every level lest they curse you, or something. Jackson could have ended the movie at the moment the Ring sinks into the magma, at the moment victory is achieved, avoiding the basking in happiness that follows, but a; the purists would go nuts, and b; why bother? When you’ve made a ten-hour film with no real lightness or calm after the first 40 minutes, why not milk the happy-ever-after for all its worth? The final 40 minutes or so was the only point during the film(s) that I have even approached boredom, and even then I felt nowhere near as cheated as I do at the culmination of Close Encounters when Richard Dreyfuss happily runs of to live in bliss in the world of the aliens with nary a thought for his wife and kids.
The key thing is to provide a spectacle, a cinematic phenomenon that bedazzles and astounds and amazes. To create a new world, not better or worse but different and remarkable and strange. To make people gasp, to make people cheer when a young man with false ears fires an imaginary arrow into the skull of an illusory elephant, to make a 6’2” Welshman appear as a dwarf and a rock star’s daughter appear as an ageless elf. Jackson has done all of this, and done it superlatively. And I am sure that come September (or whenever) and the release of the extended DVD version (replete with seven minutes of Christopher Lee to give a face to the faceless evil) the full, unexpurgated vision will be even grander, even more pompous, even more thrilling and magical and dangerous and magnificent.
The greatest film(s) ever made? Dunno about that. But certainly the grandest.
For what it’s worth, I think I enjoyed the first film the most, when the spectacle was new, to both us and to Frodo et al. The second and third films evolve inexorably into huge, awesome war films, but that first film is an adventure story, about stepping outside for the first time and seeing where the road takes you, the first brushes with danger, and the dawning realisation that there’s more between heaven and earth, Samwise Gamgee, than is dreamt of in your philosophy.
Addendum
Never go off to have lunch and then come back to a blog post 3/4s done, because you will forget your point.
I felt like I was being condescended to by The Matrix, as if someone who wasn't as smart as me (and I'm not very smart to start with) was trying to show off with second and third-hand ideas that they don't fully understand (and assume that no one else understands either, so they can show off with them!), whereas I don't feel Lord Of The Rings was trying to do anything other than entertain me in the most spectacular ways. And of course there's always the fact that the crux of the Matrix films was predicated entirely upon you the audience believing Neo & Trinity's love for each other as a profound well of human experience. Which is patently ridiculous considering Keanu's dramatic ability ranges from confused to confused and back to confused again. The dialogue in LOTR may have made Star Wars look like South park, but that's part of the fun ("by nightfall these hills will be swarming with orcs!"). Uergh, what the hell. I just don't like The Matrix very much.
12/20/2003 01:51:00 pm
Current listening - Patrick Wolf's bizarre and compelling Lycanthropy and Rufus Wainwright's magnificently luscious and camp Want One. NME does have some uses then.
12/20/2003 11:55:00 am
Wednesday, December 17, 2003
I guess, in my naïve and idealistic way, I'd always hoped that NME (which I read every week from the age of 15 up until 21) would grow and develop and change tastes and so forth directly analogous to my self. This is obviously not the case.
12/17/2003 11:21:00 am
Awesome.
12/17/2003 11:19:00 am
So once again I buy my yearly copy of NME. I used to look forward to end-of-year issues, lists of best albums, best films, best singles, reminders of things I'd forgotten, tantalising mentions of things I'd never heard of. For instance, check out this list from when I was 16 (1995, as if that wasn't immedietely obvious from the contents);
NME Albums 1995
1. Maxinquaye - Tricky
2. (Whats The Story) Morning Glory - Oasis
3. It's Great When You're Straight..Yeah! - Black Grape
4. The Bends - Radiohead
5. Grand Prix - Teenage Fanclub
6. I Should Coco - Supergrass
7. Different Class - Pulp
8. To Bring You My Love - PJ Harvey
9. The Great Escape - Blur
10. Timeless - Goldie
11. Elastica - Elastica
12. Foo Fighters - Foo Fighters
13. The Second Tindersticks Album - Tindersticks
14. Wake Up! - The Boo Radleys
15. Hot Charity - Rocket From The Crypt
16. Wowee Zowee - Pavement
17. A Northern Soul - The Verve
18. The Charlatans - The Charlatans
19. Garbage - Garbage
20. Exit Planet Dust - The Chemical Brothers
21. Exit The Dragon - Urge Overkill
22. Pure Phase - Spritulized Electric Mainline
23. No Protection - Massive Attack V Mad Professor
24. Mark's Keyboard Repair - Money Mark
25. Stanley Road - Paul Weller
26. Throbbing Pouch - Wagon Christ
27. Bwyd Time - Gorky's Zygotic Mynci
28. Leftism - Leftfield
29. Only Built For Cuban Links - Raekwon
30. Liquid Swords - Genius/GZA
31. Washing Machine - Sonic Youth
32. Life - The Cardigans
33. Music For The Amorphous Body Study Centre - Stereolab
34. Branded - Isaac Hayes
35. Post - Bjork
36. Ballbreaker - AC/DC
37. L'Etat Et Moi - Blumfeld
38. Mellon Collie And The Infinite Sadness - The Smashing Pumpkins
39. I Was Born A Man - Baby Bird
40. Tical - Method Man
41. Mirror Ball - Neil Young
42. Clear - Bomb The Bass
43. Tilt - Scott Walker
44. Jack's Tulips - Lambchop
45. Nobody's Cool - Lotion
46. We Care - Whale
47. Disgraceful - Dubstar
48. There Are Strings - Spring Heel Jack
49. Red Medicine - Fugazi
50. Viva Last Blues - Palace Music
Or how about this one from when I was 18 (1997, obviously);
NME Albums Of The Year 1997
1. Spiritualized – Ladies And Gentleman We Are Floating In Space
2. Radiohead – OK Computer
3. The Verve – Urban Hymns
4. Primal Scream – Vanishing Point
5. Super Furry Animals – Radiator
6. Cornershop – When I Was Born For The 7th Time
7. Mogwai – Mogwai Young Team
8. Teenage Fanclub – Songs From Northern Britain
9. Bentley Rhythm Ace – Bentley Rhythm Ace
10. Supergrass – In It For The Money
11. Daft Punk – Homework
12. The Chemical Brothers – Dig Your Own Hole
13. Blur – Blur
14. The Charlatans – Tellin’ Stories
15. Bjork – Homogenic
16. Death In Vegas – Dead Elvis
17. Prodigy – The Fat Of The Land
18. Wu-Tang Clan – Wu-Tang Forever
19. Yo La Tengo – I Can hear The Heart Beating As One
20. Gravediggaz – The Pick, The Sickle And The Shovel
21. Black Grape – Stupid Stupid Stupid
22. The Divine Comedy – A Short Album About Love
23. Nick Cave And The Bad Seeds – The Boatman’s Call
24. Pavement – Brighten In The Corners
25. Oasis – Be Here Now
26. Stereolab – Dots And Loops
27. Grandaddy – Under The Western Freeway
28. Roni Size & Reprazent – New Forms
29. Travis – Good Feeling
30. Mick Head Introducing The Strands – The Magical World Of The Strands
31. Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci – Barafundle
32. Portishead – Portishead
33. Eels – Beautiful Freak
34. Squarepusher – Hard Normal Daddy
35. Jonathan Fire Eater – Tremble Under Boom Lights
36. Prolapse – The Italian Flag
37. Wilco – Being There
38. Missy ‘Misdemeanor’ Elliot – Supa Dupa Fly
39. Photek – Modus Operandi
40. David Holmes – Lets Get Killed
41. Echo And The Bunnymen – Evergreen
42. Finley Quaye – Maverick A Strike
43. Tindersticks – Curtains
44. Manson – Attack Of They Grey Lantern
45. Scarfo – Luxury Plane Crash
46. Foo Fighters – The Colour And The Shape
47. Howie B – Turn The Dark Off
48. Robert Wyatt – Shleep
49. Silver Sun – Silver Sun
50. The Wannadies – Bagsy Me
Even as recently as 2001 there was a respectable degree of variety, nay, eclecticism even, in the picks for the year;
NME Top 50 Albums of 2001
1 The Strokes 'Is This It' (Rough Trade)
3 Spiritualized 'Let It Come Down' (Spaceman)
3 The White Stripes 'White Blood Cells' (XL)
4 Jay-Z 'The Blueprint' (Roc-A-Fella)
5 Starsailor 'Love Is Here' (Chrysalis)
6 Slipknot 'Iowa' (Roadrunner)
7 Mercury Rev 'All Is Dream' (V2)
8 Rufus Wainwright 'Poses' (DreamWorks)
9 Andrew WK 'I Get Wet' (Mercury)
10 Aphex Twin 'Drukqs' (Warp)
11 Super Furry Animals 'Rings Around The World' (Epic)
12 Elbow 'Asleep In The Back' (V2)
13 Basement Jaxx 'Rooty' (XL)
14 Air '10,000 Hz Legend' (Source/Virgin)
15 Destiny's Child 'Survivor' (Columbia)
16 Daft Punk 'Discovery' (Virgin)
17 Pulp 'We Love Life' (Island)
18 Roots Manuva 'Run Come Save Me' (Big Dada)
19 Fugazi 'The Argument' (Dischord)
20 Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds 'No More Shall We Part' (Mute)
21 Stephen Malkmus 'Stephen Malkmus' (Domino)
22 Sparklehorse 'It's A Wonderful Life' (Parlophone)
23 Travis 'The Invisible Band' (Independiente)
24 Low 'Things We Lost In The Fire' (Tugboat)
25 Radiohead 'Amnesiac' (Parlophone)
26 Missy Elliott 'Miss E …So Addictive' (Elektra)
27 Mark Lanegan 'Field Songs' (Beggars Banquet)
28 Mogwai 'Rock Action' (Southpaw/PIAS)
29 Clearlake 'Lido' (Dusty Company)
30 The Charlatans 'Wonderland' (Universal)
31 New Order 'Get Ready' (London)
32 Björk 'Vespertine' (One Little Indian)
33 Kings Of Convenience 'Quiet Is The New Loud' (Source)
34 REM 'Reveal' (Warner Bros)
35 Boredoms 'Visioncreationnewsun' (Birdman)
36 Beanie Sigel 'The Reason' (Roc-A-Fella)
37 Turin Brakes 'The Optimist LP' (Source)
38 Four Tet 'Pause' (Domino)
39 Aaliyah 'Aaliyah' (Blackground/Virgin)
40 N*E*R*D 'In Search Of…' (Virgin)
41 Oxide & Neutrino 'Execute' (East West)
42 Kurupt 'Space Boogie: Smoke Oddessey' (Antra)
43 The Beta Band 'Hot Shots II' (Regal)
44 The Tyde 'Once' (Track And Field)
45 Future Pilot AKA 'Tiny Waves, Mighty Sea' (Geographic)
46 Cannibal Ox 'The Cold Vein' (Def Jux)
47 Sizzla 'Rastafari Teach I Everything' (Greensleeves)
48 Gorillaz 'Gorillaz' (Parlophone)
49 Zoot Woman 'Living In A Magazine' (Parlophone)
50 Gorky's Zygotic Mynci 'How I Long To Feel That Summer In My Heart' (Mantra)
If you ignore the frankly ludicrous inclusion (and/or high ranking) of The Strokes, Starsailor, Mercury Rev, The Charlatans, REM and New Order, that's a pretty damn good list, as lists go (hatehatehatehate them).
But now, in 2003? What do we get? We get this...
NME Albums Of 2003
1. The White Stripes – Elephant
2. The Rapture – Echoes
3. The Strokes – Room On Fire
4. Elbow – Cast of Thousands
5. Yeah Yeah Yeahs – Fever To Tell
6. Rufus Wainwright – Want One
7. Kings Of Leon – Youth & Young Manhood
8. Outkast – Spekerboxxx/The Love Below
9. Radiohead – Hail To The Thief
10. My Morning Jacket – It Still Moves
11. Evan Dando – Baby I’m Bored
12. The Coral – Magic And Medicine
13. Spirtualized – Amazing Grace
14. The Distillers – Coral Fang
15. Hot Hot Heat – Make Up The Breakdown
16. Dizzee Rascal – Boy In Da Corner
17. Funereal For A Friend – Casually Dressed And Deep In Conversation
18. The Sleepy Jackson – Lovers
19. Muse – Absolution
20. Jet - Get Born
21. Blur – Think Tank
22. The Hidden Cameras – The Smell Of Our Own
23. The Cooper Temple Clause – Kick Up The Fire, And Let The Flames Break Loose
24. Four Tet – Rounds
25. The Darkness – Permission To Land
26. The Kills – Keep On Your Mean Side
27. Super Furry Animals – Phantom Power
28. The Mars Volta – De-Loused In The Comatorium
29. Peaches – Fatherfucker
30. Black Rebel Motorcycle Club – Take Them On, On Your Own
31. 50 Cent – Get Rich Or Die Trying
32. The Thrills – So Much For The City
33. Mogwai – Happy Songs For Happy People
34. Jay-Z – The Black Album
35. Nick Cave – Nocturama
36. British Sea Power – The Decline Of British Sea Power
37. Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy – Master And Everyone
38. 22-20’s – 05/03
39. Patrick Wolf – Lycanthropy
40. Devendra Banheart – Oh Me Oh My..The Way The Day Goes By The Sun Is Setting….
41. Soledad Brothers – Voice Of Treason
42. Stellastarr* - Stellastarr*
43. Ten Grand – This Is The Way To Rule
44. Basement Jaxx – Kish Kash
45. Cat Power – You Are Free
46. The Ravonettes – Chain Gang Of Love
47. Canyon – Empty Rooms
48. Jane’s Addiction – Strays
49. The Duke Sprit – Roll, Spirit, Roll
50. Starsailor – Starsailor
It's no wonder I don't read NME anymore, is it? This is the most reductive, retro-friendly, dogmatic, artifically-scene-building list I could imagine. Tokenistic nods for Outkast, Jay-Z, Four Tet, 50 Cent, Dizzee and Basement Jaxx (the Jay-Z album is rubbish! Rubbish! And it only came out the other week?! Did no copies of This Is Not A Test? find their way to King's Reach Tower until last week?).
(Lists courtesy of Rocklists.net.)
Interestingly enough Beyonce is voted Single Of The Year. "It's Fab Moretti's single of the year", they say, as if that caveat makes it OK for indiekids to like. Yes, yes, of course. Someone from The Strokes likes it ergo I like it too! It's rather pathetic that NME has to spoonfeed it's readership with justifications for enjoyment like that. I'd hoped the whole bigoted indie mentality ahd died out long ago, but it seems it never will.
12/17/2003 10:44:00 am
Anyway... First three shots with my 'good' foot were fucking shocking. So I then got a hat-trick with my left instead. Forza!
12/17/2003 12:01:00 am
Tuesday, December 16, 2003
Meanwhile, if you wrap up warm and walk for five or ten minutes away from the town, find a clear area with no trees, preferably behind a hill so the orange luminescence that is civilisation at night is blotted out, and look straight up, you see something like this...
Which is MUCH better than those fucking illuminated Homer Simpsons.
12/16/2003 11:36:00 pm
Look at us, we're so festive; we love Christmas; see how mcuh we're enjoying ourselves!
Fuck off and die already.
December the 16th and already I am becoming almost homicidally enraged by the enforced joviality, the six-foot tall, illuminated Homer Simpsons, the epilepsy-inducing strobe-lighting that passes for exterior decoration.
12/16/2003 10:54:00 pm
It's amusing that, apart from the obvious chip on my shoulder which has come into violent focus below, I don't care for class at all. I don't care for anything that seeks to define, which is interesting considering my day job, from genre to race to sexuality to whatever. Which is why I get so pissed off when someone defines me, especially without foundation.
12/16/2003 10:39:00 pm
The idea that pre-modern, pre-capitalist values were the ultimate goal in Britain - the default model once you'd passed a certain age and made a certain amount of money - was around for so long, and made such a dent in the psyche, that it can reasonably be said to be the basis of all the hating on Westwood; he and the shift he embodies unsettle most of the onetouchfootball forum and the likes of Dom Passantino and Nick Southall on ILM, people who like Everything In Its Proper Place, who feel most comfortable with a world where the sons of the clergy can be relied upon to live up to the hierarchical values that the industrial bourgeoisie eventually mostly cow-towed to, and who suffer a certain future shock from the world we're in today. It would be so much easier and happier for them, you feel, if pre-modern values had remained the default; then their Class War idea of pop music - veering in some cases towards sub-Marxism - could remain unquestioned, their simple proletarian games could be played unchallenged.
From here.
Interesting thing is that I can't think of anything where I've actually dissed Westwood directly apart from one oblique reference here (which is a dis of Zane Lowe, in actual fact) and the nameless, comedy dig at him here in a distraction piece. Quite why I should therefore be singled out as being unsettled by Westwood is a mystery to me. Google searching reveals this, which comprises three hits, one of which is the elidor.blospot.com piece, one of which is the ILM thread, and the other is the esteemed music writer and amateur chef Dave Stelfox's illustrious blog, World Of Stelfox.
The comparison between Zane Lowe and Westwood is based purely on their presentational styles; lots of bombast, lots of shout-outs, lots of enthusiasm and little insight. Which is pretty much the way of most Radio 1 presenters who are in it for the music rather than the celebrity, as it were (Westwood being in it for the music, Chris Moyles being in it for the celebrity, perhaps? But where is the dividing line between the two? Westwood obviously courts celebrity to an extent too otherwise his face would not adorn compilation CDs; and quite possibly he wouldn't have been shot either [which reminds me, did I once say something on ILM about Westwood being shot and how it was unfortunate he didn't die? I don't recall but it's more than possible, tongue-in-cheek or not]; of course today of all days music and celebrity are more symbiotic than ever, a link inescapable by rap-loving clergy offspring and alternative msuic press editors and working class heros alike).
As for any actual dislike for Westwood on my part, I've never met the man, and we might get along swimmingly for all I know. I doubt it however. Do I have a problem with him? I find his (and Zane's) presentational style utterly patronising and unpleasant though. I dislike his perma-amplified delivery, his slipping and sliding transatlantic vowels and his continued appropriation of slang terms which sit awkwardly. But I don't often listen to his show so this is not a problem, particularly. The fact that he posits himsef within a narrow, clichéd cultural milieu is though, especially when that milieu is one which encourages the perpetuation of negative racial stereotypes, which is undoubtedly what he does. Keeping it so real that you get shot is not a positive message to be sending out. Interpolating yourself within a culture in which many young people fnd themselves trapped, therefore perpetuating that entrapment for others, is not a good thing. Choosing to ignore your own heritage in favour of a parodical fetishisation of someone else's, especially a less privileged heritage, smacks of the worst kind of cultural tourism. I'm reminded of a story (a suburban myth?) I've heard about a young man who lives in a hut just off Swansea beach (or wherever), eschewing 21st century life - work, tax, electricity, media, the lot - and has achieved that most enviable (and, frankly, bullshit) 21st century fetishised trait of 'spiritual freedom'. And who's father is a QC in Bristol (or wherever) who pays a generous stipend into a savings account for his errant, idealist, shack-dwelling son. It's very easy to opt-out when you've got a huge parental safety net to fall back upon should you need to. Working class people don't opt-out of society and culture in this way because they simply can't afford to. How do you think they (read 'we') feel when they see this type of thing? Rubbing their faces in it, as it were? This is surely just another way for the upper classes, the Bourgeoisie, to tread on the proletariat again, by removing traditional escape routes and claiming them for themselves. Unsurprisingly this makes me want to set fire to things.
Noel Gallagher, bless his cotton socks, once said something along the lines of if Coldplay weren't in a band they'd have good careers as solicitors or something; I'd have been working in a factory. It doesn't seem fair that they're denying an escape route to some other kids out there who need it (this is paraphrased, obviously, but what Noel said was very close to this). Westwood stepping into the shoes of black culture is the same thing; like it or not, black people in western culture are still not fully allowed to succeed outside of certain areas (namely music and sport), and even within those areas they're only allowed a certain jurisdiction within which to operate (hence the furore in certain parts about "Hey Ya" being an 'indie rock' song and having "nothing to do with hip hop" - eat my fuc, basically, if that's your problem with it, that it doesn't conform to black stereotypes). (This is yet another reason why The Simpsons is one of the greatest achievements of the lae 20th century - Dr Hibbert.) By reinforcing stereotypes and achieveing socio-economic success/stability/wealth, how many people is Tim Westwood keeping down? How many opportunites is he denying? Never mind raising awareness of a culture, never mind the acts he has helped break into the mainstream, never mind whatever. Sub-Marxist? No, post-Marxist. Althusser. Tim Westwood is an ideological state apparatus, as simple as that, and that he appears to be beneficial to the culture he is fetishising on some levels is further affirmation of his ideological rather than full-on repressive status. The subtley dangerous organism is more sinister than the obviously dangerous organism.
As for Will Young being historically important because he sets up the means of achievement and self-fulfillment historically associated with the industrialists and their successors (fighting your way through a field of mostly proletarian contestants, starting on a level playing field with no advantages of privilege) as the default model for the upper middle classes, well... how to put this... I'm terribly sorry if your comfortable, aspirational, middle-class life thus far hasn't brought you spiritual self-fulfillment. Now fuck off and stop stealing ours, you patronising shit. Is this supposed to be funny? So the youthful middle-classes failed to find themselves while scuba-diving off Ko Tao or shitting in a stream in Delhi or herding cattle in the Outback? I really fucking feel for them. I mean really sympathise. All that opportunity and affluence and private education and all those doors held open for you by society and you still aren't happy? I fucking weep. The working class has always been cool but now we're spiritually rich as well, is that it? I'm reminded of Crispian Mills, grandson of Sir John, son of Hayley, ex singer and guitarist with Kula Shaker, commenting that "people in India may be poor but they're happy" so that makes it alright to steal their culture you fucking wanker?! To mope and whine and plead spiritual weakness and dissatisfaction and dissaffection and the curse of privilege?! Fucking damn you. Go to fucking hell (and you know I really mean that because I'm an athiest so hell isn't something I invoke lightly because it doens't exist except for you).
Who is the 'you' I'm damning? The culture surfers or the ones saying culture surfing is a good thing? I doubt I'm actually aiming this directly at Robin because I don't know him, but by [insert something you see as sacrosanct here], this whole ideology sucks maggots from a dead dog's ass. Accuse me of being for the status quo? Of being afraid of the world as it is? Of fearing change? FUCK YOU. I'm not the one promoting the continuation of the oppression of the working class, spoonfeeding them with shite, manipulating their circus games from Simon Cowell down to Will Young, Tim Westwood, the Bourgeousie now at every level, no longer controlling the performers but assuming the roll of performers because as well as money they need the love and affection?! Need to be seen as talented and creative as well as astute? So the monarchy slipped from top spot as the most admired and loved facet of society to be replaced by celebrities, so, fuck it, the ruling classes will damn well make sure it's not those pesky, distasteful proles being idolised as celebrities then! Instead of celebrity making you rich, being rich makes you a celebrity. Is this why my inbox is inundated with spam about Par1s H1lton being fucked in the ass?
I work at Exeter University, one of the most affluent universities in the country, and, incidentally, where Will Young went. I am involved at various, modest levels with local arts; film makers, musicians, writers, actors, academics etcetera. And I see this kind of affluent culture surfing at every level, creative people left to work shit jobs to support themselves so they can do their work or art or whatever you want to call it, whilst others soak up the 'spirit' of it from a position of privilege. And these people who soak up the spirit are exactly the same ones who fetishise art-as-suffering, who perpetuate retroactive myths, who justify their patronising as patronage. Tell me this isn't wrong? Tell me it isn't wrong that people from priviliged backgrounds are now eschewing their own class heritage in order to usurp that of those less well-off because their own isn't cool enough or spiritual enough? It's bad enough that it's been the case with theatre and art and jazz and eerythign else over the centuries, but now pop music has succumbed too, the last working class art from, the last boon of folk tradition, stolen like everything else and the people doing the stealing think they're doing their victims a favour!
I imagine Dom Passantino, a good mate of mine and fellow Stylus scribe, who happens to come from a working class immigrant family and was also namechecked in the ridiculous swamp of prose above as being one of the people who like Everything In Its Proper Place, who feel most comfortable with a world where the sons of the clergy can be relied upon to live up to the hierarchical values that the industrial bourgeoisie eventually mostly cow-towed to, and who suffer a certain future shock from the world we're in today, is even more pissed off about this than I am. Two generatiosn ago my family were shopworkers and steelworkers in Sheffield. I am the first member of my family to go to university. My mother is a special needs teacher. Chris Martin's father used to employ my father. Am I supposed to sit back and accept the fact that a; my culture is being stolen by my socio-economic superiors and b; I'm being blamed for it myself? Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Make trade fair? Look closer to home first.
12/16/2003 04:00:00 pm
So Auspicious Fish wakes up.
12/16/2003 11:32:00 am
Sunday, December 14, 2003
You are Gonzo the Great.
You love everyone, and still you get shot out of a
cannon on a regular basis. Oh, and you are
completely insane and have a strange
fascination for chickens.
ALSO KNOWN AS:
The Great Gonzo, Gonzo the Great, Just Plain Weird
SPECIES:
Whatever
HOBBIES:
Tapdancing blindfolded on tapioca while balancing a
piano on his nose, backwards, five times fast.
FAVORITE MOVIE:
"From Here to Eternity...with no brakes."
FAVORITE TV SHOW:
"Touched By An Anvil"
QUOTE:
"No parachute? Wow! This is so cool!"
What Muppet are you?
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12/14/2003 11:21:00 pm
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