Today I visited an all-you-can-eat buffet. As I sat down with my first plate, the instore sound-system was playing 'Sowing the Seeds of Love' by Tears for Fears. It's a record that I thought was thrillingly inventive, when it was released in the late 80s. I now think it's musically fussy and ludicrously over-produced; the lyrics, meanwhile, are trite and naive. It was the lyrics that caught my attention this time. As I was about to start stuffing my face, I heard Roland Orzabal sing about "an end to need / and the politics of greed". How undiplomatic.
This set me thinking about what I was doing - eating at a restaurant chain that encourages over-consumption of 'Pan Asian' food in an affluent Western society. (By the way, I know that last link isn't strictly relevant, but I hope you appreciate my reasons for not advertising the chain in question). How many people across the continent (take note, George Bush) of Asia can't afford to feed themselves? And there I was, spending money I won't miss, feeding myself well past the point of need.
Some of you might think I need to get over myself, and start enjoying the (relatively) good life. Others will think I need to stop being a hypocrite and do something about global poverty, instead of stuffing my face. What I will actually do is continue to live the (relatively) good life, while feeling terribly guilty about it.
Saturday, 19 February 2011
Friday, 10 December 2010
More Prescience?
My last post was loosely on the topic of how prescient I can be with hindsight. I was particularly miffed because I felt I had anticipated a particularly ludicrous government policy - as an aside, pedants, it is both the government and the policy that I think are ludicrous - but was unable to claim any kudos as I hadn't made the prediction public. This week, I feel slightly more smug.
Regular readers may be aware of a blog I wrote last year on the subject of Boris Jonson and David Cameron. Towards the end of the blog, I queried the now Prime Minister's professed love of the Smiths. I wouldn't want to question the man's integrity, but it has always struck me as odd. It's not so much the idea that he would listen to lyrics he would find it difficult to agree with that I find unlikely, but the idea of him enjoying a band whose whole aesthetic seems founded on a worldview he could not possibly share.
It seems that I am not alone. In the last two weeks, both Johnny Marr and Morrisey have attempted to forbid Mr Cameron from liking the band. Morrisey's comments are particularly pertinent: 'It was not for such people that either "Meat is Murder" or "The Queen is Dead" were recorded,' he writes. I don't like to think of people as types, but I think he sums the position up well. Cameron, I presume, came to the Smiths in his teens. This is an age in which music forms a huge part of many people's identity. In an era in which the country was divided, Cameron and the Smiths were most definitely on opposite sides of the fence.
Cameron is an intelligent man, and (as an Oxford undergraduate) must have been an intelligent teenager. How did he not realise that this band were speaking for people who were excluded from the life he and his Tory chums were enjoying? I'm glad that Morrisey and Marr seem to understand this, even if Cameron doesn't.
Regular readers may be aware of a blog I wrote last year on the subject of Boris Jonson and David Cameron. Towards the end of the blog, I queried the now Prime Minister's professed love of the Smiths. I wouldn't want to question the man's integrity, but it has always struck me as odd. It's not so much the idea that he would listen to lyrics he would find it difficult to agree with that I find unlikely, but the idea of him enjoying a band whose whole aesthetic seems founded on a worldview he could not possibly share.
It seems that I am not alone. In the last two weeks, both Johnny Marr and Morrisey have attempted to forbid Mr Cameron from liking the band. Morrisey's comments are particularly pertinent: 'It was not for such people that either "Meat is Murder" or "The Queen is Dead" were recorded,' he writes. I don't like to think of people as types, but I think he sums the position up well. Cameron, I presume, came to the Smiths in his teens. This is an age in which music forms a huge part of many people's identity. In an era in which the country was divided, Cameron and the Smiths were most definitely on opposite sides of the fence.
Cameron is an intelligent man, and (as an Oxford undergraduate) must have been an intelligent teenager. How did he not realise that this band were speaking for people who were excluded from the life he and his Tory chums were enjoying? I'm glad that Morrisey and Marr seem to understand this, even if Cameron doesn't.
Saturday, 28 August 2010
Museum of London
How do we judge fame? I'm sure we've all heard the comment "He/she/it can't be that famous; I've never heard of them." Personally I always tut to myself when I hear this - as if your limited frame of reference is the only criterion - but I'm just as guilty of doing it myself. Fame is, by definition, collectively defined. I may know everything there is to know about my nearest and dearest, but if no one else does they are not famous; by the same token if I am the only person in the world not to have heard of the crimewriter Theobald Urquart, the omission hardly disqualifies him from the epithet "well known".
This, of course, only applies in a negative sense. I am pretty sure that Wayne Rooney is famous, not only because I've heard of him, but because I've heard of him in lots of places. If I really am the only person who hasn't heard of the global celebrity that is Mr Urquart, how am I to know I am missing out? You could all be talking about him when I'm not around and I wouldn't know. There would be no point talking about him when I am around because I don't know who he is; even if you did, I wouldn't pay attention.
All this is a round about way of saying I visited the Museum of London last week. I was planning to eulogise about what an underrated gem it is, much more informative and friendlier than more famous museums in the City. It occurred to me, however, that it might actually be rather more famous than I believe. Simply because I hadn't heard of it before, doesn't mean that everyone else hasn't already visited it a thousand times. It was considerably quieter than other museums I visited during the week, but that might be because I am a terrible judge of museums, and while I found it charming and distinctive, you might have found it parochial and narrow.
I am no expert on the subject, but I will say if you are in London and looking for somewhere to visit you could do worse than try this museum (assuming, obviously, that you haven't already been there). I have found in other cities that museums with a local focus are the most interesting: museums that try a broader approach often fail to do anything distinctive. This is something that I thought wouldn't apply in London - the presence of world class collections ensures that there are significant exhibits in most museums and galleries - I have found, however, that even here the local focus provides a wealth of stimulating material.
This, of course, only applies in a negative sense. I am pretty sure that Wayne Rooney is famous, not only because I've heard of him, but because I've heard of him in lots of places. If I really am the only person who hasn't heard of the global celebrity that is Mr Urquart, how am I to know I am missing out? You could all be talking about him when I'm not around and I wouldn't know. There would be no point talking about him when I am around because I don't know who he is; even if you did, I wouldn't pay attention.
All this is a round about way of saying I visited the Museum of London last week. I was planning to eulogise about what an underrated gem it is, much more informative and friendlier than more famous museums in the City. It occurred to me, however, that it might actually be rather more famous than I believe. Simply because I hadn't heard of it before, doesn't mean that everyone else hasn't already visited it a thousand times. It was considerably quieter than other museums I visited during the week, but that might be because I am a terrible judge of museums, and while I found it charming and distinctive, you might have found it parochial and narrow.
I am no expert on the subject, but I will say if you are in London and looking for somewhere to visit you could do worse than try this museum (assuming, obviously, that you haven't already been there). I have found in other cities that museums with a local focus are the most interesting: museums that try a broader approach often fail to do anything distinctive. This is something that I thought wouldn't apply in London - the presence of world class collections ensures that there are significant exhibits in most museums and galleries - I have found, however, that even here the local focus provides a wealth of stimulating material.
Saturday, 17 July 2010
A popularity contest
I am perhaps unusual – at least amongst people who don’t work for the BBC – in harbouring no serious objections to the TV licence fee. I don’t relish paying it; I don’t relish paying for anything. I do, however, think that at a little under £3 a week – per household, not even per person – it represents excellent value. I think that the principle of funding a public service broadcaster in this way is fine and admirable. And I think that because of the way it is funded, the BBC has produced innovative and envied television.
It shouldn’t be surprising then that I view Culture Secretary Jeremy Hunt’s suggestion that the fee could be reduced with suspicion. His reference to the “very constrained financial situation” is an attempt to link it with wider austerity measures that is disingenuous if not outright deceitful. The finances of the BBC are in no way linked to the budget deficit the government is so desperate to cut. If Mr Hunt believes that the BBC should suffer simply because other people and other bodies are, shouldn’t he suggest some sort of pay cap across the whole of the economy?
The true motives behind this lie, I suspect, lies in the unpopularity of the licence fee. I may be unusual in not objecting to it, but I am certainly not unusual in failing to enjoy paying. This government is acutely aware that it is heading for deep unpopularity with some of its decisions. Ultimately, I suspect that in suggesting the licence fee be reduced they are attempting to offset the effects of massive spending cuts across the board.
Monday, 21 December 2009
Killing X-Factor?
So Rage Against the Machine's 'Killing in the Name' has triumphed over - you know I'm not even sure I can be bothered to find out what the X-Factor offering is called. There have been plenty of comments elsewhere on the chart battle, and the American band's victory. Some objections to the X-Factor campaign seem more relevant than others: both tracks are ultimately distributed by Sony; there are better ways to upset Simon Cowell's applecart than backing an outdated and irrelevant rock tune; X-Factor will continue anyway. For me the most cogent argument was made by the NME's Luke Lewis. Along with a number of other points, Lewis suggests that the campaign trivialises a song that addresses important issues in American society. Curiously, the band themselves don't seem to object.
My own opinion is probably obvious already, but for the record I downloaded 'Killing in the Name' and am therefore partly responsible for it being number one. There seems little point in rehashing arguments that have been, and are being, fought out all over the web. What springs to my mind is a quote from Benjamin Disraeli's Sybil, or the Two Nations. Disraeli writes of "Two nations between whom there is no intercourse and no sympathy; who are ignorant of each other's habits, thoughts and feelings, as if they were dwellers in different zones or inhabitants of different planets".
This is my main reason for not wanting to rehash the argument: most people already have entrenched positions on the debate, and don't understand the other side. Joe McElderry may have a vested interest, but he probably spoke for many when he described 'Killing in the Name' as 'dreadful'. For others, me included, the bland pop and associated manipulation churned out by X-Factor is similarly abhorrent. McElderry doesn't understand this, and I wouldn't expect him to.
Ultimately, this is why 'Killing in the Name' is the perfect song for the anti X-Factor campaign. It is a big slab of angry, confrontational rock that is bound to polarise people. There is a time and a place for unity and consensus; there is a time and a place to be reasonable and subtle; but when you are fighting something as pervasively anodyne as 'The Climb' you've got to be obnoxious about it.
My own opinion is probably obvious already, but for the record I downloaded 'Killing in the Name' and am therefore partly responsible for it being number one. There seems little point in rehashing arguments that have been, and are being, fought out all over the web. What springs to my mind is a quote from Benjamin Disraeli's Sybil, or the Two Nations. Disraeli writes of "Two nations between whom there is no intercourse and no sympathy; who are ignorant of each other's habits, thoughts and feelings, as if they were dwellers in different zones or inhabitants of different planets".
This is my main reason for not wanting to rehash the argument: most people already have entrenched positions on the debate, and don't understand the other side. Joe McElderry may have a vested interest, but he probably spoke for many when he described 'Killing in the Name' as 'dreadful'. For others, me included, the bland pop and associated manipulation churned out by X-Factor is similarly abhorrent. McElderry doesn't understand this, and I wouldn't expect him to.
Ultimately, this is why 'Killing in the Name' is the perfect song for the anti X-Factor campaign. It is a big slab of angry, confrontational rock that is bound to polarise people. There is a time and a place for unity and consensus; there is a time and a place to be reasonable and subtle; but when you are fighting something as pervasively anodyne as 'The Climb' you've got to be obnoxious about it.
Tuesday, 27 October 2009
Britpop feud fifteen years on.
This morning I heard Blur's 'Beatlebum' on the radio, and experienced a slight frisson of guilt at turning the volume up. The old feud should certainly have died now, but I always was definitely on the side of Oasis. This was partly because they're from my home town, although they do have one or two misguided ideas; it's partly because I liked their early singles in particular; and it's partly because by the time they appeared on the scene I'd already decided I didn't like Blur that much anyway.
For a couple of years before they became successful, I'd been quite interested in Blur. By 'interested' I mean that while I didn't find myself humming any of their tunes while I was washing up, I imagined they potentially had something I might want to explore at some point. When they released their 'eagerly anticipated' third album Parklife in 1994, I counted myself among the eager anticpators. The debut single, 'Girls and Boys' struck me as wry and clever, but ultimately irritating; ditto the title track, which received a lot of radio play at the time. I was still undecided when they released the album's second single, 'To The End'.
Never has a song more deserved the description 'neglected classic'. It is rarely mentioned in accounts of the era, or lists of the band's great recordings, yet it is one of the most beautifully desolate records ever. Damon Albarn's vocal sounds vulnerable, rather than clever; his voice stretches itself to convey the right emotion. The band's tendency to smugness, meanwhile, is reined in by the beguiling tune.
They spoiled it all by releasing 'Parklife' as a single. I'd already had enough of Phil Daniels' irritating spoken word narration, and Albarn's fake cockernee banter when it was just an album track. Now I was bombarded whenever I turned on the radio. The rest of the world seemed to disagree, and my irritation increased exponentially every time I heard it blaring from a white van or a trendy clothes shop, or accompanying a quirky news item about a dog invading a football pitch or something equally ridiculous. Oasis arrived at around the same time, and I was ready to swear hatred for Blur and everything they stood for.
Actually some of the things that Blur stood for - education, literacy and progressive politics - were alright; similarly, so were some of their subsequent singles. Nevertheless, I have now taken the pledge, and enjoying their work will never be anything other than a guilty pleasure.
For a couple of years before they became successful, I'd been quite interested in Blur. By 'interested' I mean that while I didn't find myself humming any of their tunes while I was washing up, I imagined they potentially had something I might want to explore at some point. When they released their 'eagerly anticipated' third album Parklife in 1994, I counted myself among the eager anticpators. The debut single, 'Girls and Boys' struck me as wry and clever, but ultimately irritating; ditto the title track, which received a lot of radio play at the time. I was still undecided when they released the album's second single, 'To The End'.
Never has a song more deserved the description 'neglected classic'. It is rarely mentioned in accounts of the era, or lists of the band's great recordings, yet it is one of the most beautifully desolate records ever. Damon Albarn's vocal sounds vulnerable, rather than clever; his voice stretches itself to convey the right emotion. The band's tendency to smugness, meanwhile, is reined in by the beguiling tune.
They spoiled it all by releasing 'Parklife' as a single. I'd already had enough of Phil Daniels' irritating spoken word narration, and Albarn's fake cockernee banter when it was just an album track. Now I was bombarded whenever I turned on the radio. The rest of the world seemed to disagree, and my irritation increased exponentially every time I heard it blaring from a white van or a trendy clothes shop, or accompanying a quirky news item about a dog invading a football pitch or something equally ridiculous. Oasis arrived at around the same time, and I was ready to swear hatred for Blur and everything they stood for.
Actually some of the things that Blur stood for - education, literacy and progressive politics - were alright; similarly, so were some of their subsequent singles. Nevertheless, I have now taken the pledge, and enjoying their work will never be anything other than a guilty pleasure.
Monday, 26 October 2009
Nick Hornby, Melvyn Bragg and James Joyce
Over the last fifteen years or so, I have enjoyed an occasional relationship with The South Bank Show. I have caught it from time-to-time simply looking around for something to watch on a Sunday night. As show times vary I have sometimes come in at the beginning of something I've enjoyed very much; frustratingly I've also come in at the end of something I'd have made a point of seeing had I have known it was on - most galling was catching the final five minutes of a programme on Elvis Costello.
Recently, particularly as I've matured into my thirties, I've learned how to use a TV guide, and can now look for shows I think will be interesting. The show's broad coverage means that I frequently find myself skipping episodes, particularly when I want to see Match of The Day 2. As it seems that the present series will be the last, I've been determined to find something to watch before it goes for good.
Yesterday's travesty at Anfield meant I was happy to miss the football last night; fortuitously, this coincided with a show about Nick Hornby. I had been planning to watch the show anyway. I'm generally happy enough to watch documentaries about writers, whether I like their stuff or not - Jeffrey Archer being the one dishonourable exception. As it happens, I've read Hornby's first three novels and enjoyed them.
He's published two more since the last time I read him, the most recent was released last month. I haven't got round to reading either, but possibly will at some point. The show didn't inspire me to rush out and buy the books I haven't read, not least because of a comment Hornby made himself. He says that he occasionally meets people who tell him they've read High Fidelity ten or fifteen times; he longs, he says, to tell them to stop: "there are other things you could be reading". It's a fair point, and sums up my own feelings: Nick, if you're reading this, I've enjoyed what I've read so far, but the rest of your oeuvre will have to wait until I've finished Finnegans Wake.
Recently, particularly as I've matured into my thirties, I've learned how to use a TV guide, and can now look for shows I think will be interesting. The show's broad coverage means that I frequently find myself skipping episodes, particularly when I want to see Match of The Day 2. As it seems that the present series will be the last, I've been determined to find something to watch before it goes for good.
Yesterday's travesty at Anfield meant I was happy to miss the football last night; fortuitously, this coincided with a show about Nick Hornby. I had been planning to watch the show anyway. I'm generally happy enough to watch documentaries about writers, whether I like their stuff or not - Jeffrey Archer being the one dishonourable exception. As it happens, I've read Hornby's first three novels and enjoyed them.
He's published two more since the last time I read him, the most recent was released last month. I haven't got round to reading either, but possibly will at some point. The show didn't inspire me to rush out and buy the books I haven't read, not least because of a comment Hornby made himself. He says that he occasionally meets people who tell him they've read High Fidelity ten or fifteen times; he longs, he says, to tell them to stop: "there are other things you could be reading". It's a fair point, and sums up my own feelings: Nick, if you're reading this, I've enjoyed what I've read so far, but the rest of your oeuvre will have to wait until I've finished Finnegans Wake.
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