Tag Archive: punk


THE LAST OF ENGLAND directed by Derek Jarman (UK, 1988

                           

“It’s a love story with England. It’s not an attack. It’s an attack on those things that I believe personally are things without value.” Derek Jarman in an interview with Chris Lippard

Derek Jarman was a war child; conceived during the period of the London blitz and born on January 31st 1942. It is perhaps no surprise to find that the spectre of WWII dominates his imagination and helped inspire his surreal poetic documentary ‘The Last of England’ made in the Spring of 1987.  

Jarman was in his mid-40s when he completed the film which graphically depicts a post-war and post-apocalyptic urban wasteland.  While making it he was diagnosed as HIV positive. This illness was for him another battle which he waged publicly. He announced his diagnosis to the world rather than be shamed into silence. The full-blown AIDS virus would end his life prematurely six years later.

The contagion may have partly accounted for his rage but it was in him anyway. “Where’s hope? Have they killed it” are rhetorical questions asked in a movie. “Yes” comes the blunt reply. “And tomorrow?” the unseen speaker asks. The answer comes in the form of a quote from graffiti Jarman had seen scrawled on a wall in London’s Euston Road: “Tomorrow is cancelled due to lack of interest”.

This brief exchange is practically the only dialogue in a movie that evolved through improvisation; there was no screenplay. Aside from Jarman’s freeform poems (read by Nigel Terry) , most of the movie plays out without words. The director’s obscure diatribes offer few clues about his intentions.  They are more full of attitude than meaning. The critic David L.Hirst called the end result  “an apocalyptic roar of a movie.”

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UNKNOWN PLEASURES by Peter Hook (Simon & Schuster, 2012)

joyPop-pickers of a certain age and diehard hipsters out there surely won’t have missed that the title of yesterday’s post on Ricky Gervais’ ‘Afterlife’ featured a quote from the Joy Division song ‘Heart And Soul’.

This track, from their second and final album ‘Closer’, includes the tortured lines: “Existence, well what does it matter? I exist on the best terms I can. The past is now part of my future. The present is well out of hand”.

Anyone pausing to reflect on such lyrics would probably conclude that the author was either a) deeply troubled or (b) that he had been reading a little too much outsider fiction. Both of these were true of the band’s tortured lead singer Ian Curtis who hung himself on 18th May, 1980. Continue reading

SIGNIFYING RAPPERS by David Foster Wallace & Mark Costello

(Back Bay Books, 2013 – originally published 1990).

“Can blue men sing the whites, or are they hypocrites?” was the surreal and satirical question posed by the Bonzo Dog Band in 1968. In Signifying Rappers, David Foster Wallace (DFW) and Mark Costello are more in earnest when they ask themselves “What business do two white yuppies have trying to do a sampler on rap?”

In both instances, the question could be reframed as ‘What do privileged white people know about the music of disenfranchised blacks?’

Section one of the DFW & Costello’s book is called ‘Entitlement’ and, in it, they seek to convince the readers that they are qualified to analyse rap music despite being of the ‘wrong’ class and color. We learn of their frustration with Punk and other supposedly anti-establishment music which has been appropriated by the mainstream as the acceptable (i.e. unthreatening) face of rebellion.

Rap is lauded as “the first pop genre to countenance a particularly modern American despair, one for which popular music, maybe any popular art, can no longer be a palliative”. This is music which is founded on tension and rage, maintaining a deliberately provocative standpoint so that Public Enemy’s Chuck D advocacy of “killing as a metaphor for excelling” is the type of explosive statement that challenges the liberal values of corporate America.

Rap is described as “a unique U.S. inner-city fusion of funk, technified reggae, teen-to-teen ‘hardcore’ rock, and the early ’70s poetry of the black experience of Nikki Giovanni, the Last Poets,etc” . Part of its radicalism is that “anyone with a larynx can rap”; you don’t need money or musical expertise, all you need is to have something to say.

I read this book now as a historical document not just to learn about a cultural phenomenon but for an early example of DFW’s published works. It is unlikely that it would have been republished if Wallace were still alive today. Since his tragic suicide in 2008 there has been a surge in demand for his writings and for more details of his short life.

The publishers are clearly of the opinion that people will read it for the text (i.e. DFW’s writing) rather than for furthering their musical education. Why else would they have cut the appendices from the original which included a discography of artists/tracks quoted? (This includes the song which gives the book its title – Signifying Rapper by Schooly D).

You won’t find many examples of DFW’s literary genius but you do get a sense of his disillusionment with straight society that is such an essential part of his fiction and journalism. We perceive his deep sadness that the American dream has become so debased that the concept of liberty is now synonymous with the quest for fame and/or the accumulation of material wealth. He writes: “surely freedom can’t be just the wherewithal to buy and display …..more than the Pursuit of Yuppiness” and he makes a telling distinction between “what the electric voices say you must have and what the human voices say you may not”.

The book is dedicated to the greatest music writer of them all, Lester Bangs and it self-consciously draws parallels with postmodernist ideology and regards the inflammatory lyrics as “real poetry that means something”. It is written in the form of a ping-pong conversation between the two young opinionated writers with chapters divided between M and D.

Both agree that Rap Music, in its purist form, has a unique capacity to hold up mirror to their world rather than serving as an abstract adjunct. It is a notion which may seem dated from a cultural perspective but this slim volume is still worth reading for passionately expressing the belief that any form of modern art should be more than just another consumer durable.

I was thoroughly entertained by the BBC 4 profile on John Cooper Clarke and it was a pleasure to see that he is miraculously still in the land of the living after kicking his longstanding heroine addiction.

It’s heartening too to see that he is winning a whole new audience, some of whom were alerted to his genius when a neutered version of Evidently Chicken Town featured on the closing credits of an episode of The Sopranos.

This is still one of his funniest and powerful poems even when the emphatic adjective has been altered from ‘fucking’ to the milder ‘bloody’. Film of his performance in the documentary shows that there’s nothing to beat the original when it comes to the venomous delivery of peerless lines like:

“a fucking bloke is fucking stabbed
waiting for the fucking cab
you fucking stay at fucking home
the fucking neighbours fucking moan
keep the fucking racket down
this is fucking chicken town”.

Poems like this and Beezley Street (which rhymes with uneasy cheesy greasy queasy and beastly) are Britain’s answer to Desolation Row although comparisons to Dylan are exaggerated for someone who has passed the best part of two decades without writing anything new.

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MY BRITISH MUSIC EXPERIENCE

The British Music Experience in London’s 02 Bubble (the venue formerly known as the Millennium Dome) is a permanent exhibition dedicated to the history of popular music in Britain.

“Like Rock’n’Roll,  there are no rules” we are told in ‘pre-show’ introductory video but you can’t take food and drink inside or take pictures so as Nick Cave might have said “That’s just bullshit, baby!”

The main exhibits are divided into seven ‘Edge Zones’  taking visitors on a sonic journey from skiffle to grime. The time-line begins and ends with two 17 year segments (1945-1962; 1993-2000).

Of course, structuring history like this is somewhat arbitrary but presumably the curators wanted to avoid neatly dividing the history into decades. Ending one edge zone in 1975, for example, gives the curators scope to focus the next room to what the guide booklet describes as “more outspoken styles in reaction to the intensity of prog rock and the frivolity of glam”

Punk quite properly dominates this 1975-85 zone but, slotted after Bowie and before Brit-Pop,  no videos or artefacts can hope to capture what Simon Reynolds called the “apocalyptic rupture” in the nation’s cultural history.

Turning entertainment into education is a largely thankless task at the best of times although the BME organisers have done their best to create a lively interactive space. You can for example, navigate a map of the UK to pinpoint key events near your home town. A Gibson Interactive Studio also literally gives you the hands on experience of using guitars, drums and keyboards to make your own sounds (recordings can be stored on your ‘smart-ticket’). You can also use a vocal booth to record yourself singing or make a prick of yourself mimicking the steps of dance crazes through the ages.

I may be old but...One of the problems with an exhibition of this kind, however,  is that archive photos and footage simply don’t have the impact they would have had in the pre-internet age. Nowadays, anyone can make their own sound and vision retrospective online without needing a any museum guide.

Displays of memorabilia which includes Dusty Springfield’s pink mini-skirt, the Ziggy Stardust outfit and Rat Scabies’ ripped drum kit are interesting but these static objects hardly bring history alive.

Visiting on a Tuesday morning, there were very few visitors – the finale show which is supposed to give you the sensory experience of watching band in a stadium setting felt a bit sad with just me and my daughter in the room!

Our music experience ended by the inevitable exit through the gift shop. For reasons best known to her, my daughter bought an Iron Maiden T-shirt and I splashed out on a matchbox-sized pack of gum for the slogan ‘I May Be Old, But I Got To See All The Cool Bands’.