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Culture

“I Ain’t Goin’ to Play No Second Fiddle”

By Tom Sykes.

Emanating from a forgotten corner of the American South East, the blues is the foundation upon which modern popular music has been built. Rock ‘n’ roll, soul, jazz and country music all owe a significant debt to the blues men and women of the Mississippi Delta.

Alongside gospel music, blues was the most popular form of African American cultural expression in the first half of the twentieth century. However, since the genre’s heyday in the 1930s and 40s, blues has been forgotten and displaced by its more slick and economically savvy musical offspring, rock and soul. Since the 1960s, blues artists have only been brought back into the spotlight by the rock stars and soul singers who appreciated their influence. It was British bands, such as the Rolling Stones and the Yardbirds, who sparked the blues revival of the 1960s, after they popularized covers of tracks by Muddy Waters, Howlin’ Wolf and Robert Johnson. There is still some way to go before the blues is fully appreciated as the bedrock of popular music, but thanks to the success of the Stones and others, there is a growing recognition of the profound influence of this remarkable genre.

One area of blues music that remains fundamentally misunderstood is its political and social significance. Though we acknowledge the musical debt owed to the blues by the writers of the great protest songs of the civil rights era and beyond, we rarely see blues as a form of protest music in itself. Blues, instead is regarded as deeply introspective, dealing with themes of love, pain, and personal misfortune. Where Sam Cooke, Marvin Gaye and Bob Dylan hit out forcefully and explicitly against the injustice facing African American communities in tracks such as ‘Chain Gang’, ‘What’s Going On’, and ‘Blowin’ in the Wind’, blues musicians seemed content singing about spurned lovers, sexual prowess and the wonders of rail travel.

According to one study by the University of Mississippi, overt political protest was present in just two percent of the blues records produced before 1945. However, when blues music is placed in its historical context of racial oppression in the Jim Crow South, it becomes clear that the blues was a radical and sophisticated form of dissent against white supremacy in the USA. Not only did blues provide the musical foundation of twentieth century popular music, but it was also the first musical genre that brought the experience of an oppressed minority into mainstream culture and laid the groundwork for the more famous protest anthems of the 1960s.

The seemingly trivial themes that southern bluesmen addressed in their songs all carried a far greater meaning than a superficial look initially reveals. One such theme is the recurrence of the trope of rail travel in Delta blues music. Southern bluesmen were not simply impressed by the locomotive as a symbol of modernity. Instead, rail travel was an expression of one of the most prized freedoms of the post-emancipation South: the freedom of movement. In this context, a seemingly simplistic song such as ‘Hello Central’, by Lightin’ Hopkins, in which Hopkins moans about being prevented from catching a train to see his lover, can be understood as a protest against the structures of southern racism that sought to limit the freedom of movement of African Americans and tie them to their traditional role as plantation labourers. Protest against the structures of Jim Crow racism is similarly evident in the reverence shown for criminals and vagrants who challenged white supremacy by existing outside of the control of white landowners. The popularity of the itinerant bluesman, Henry Thomas, who sang about his existence beyond the grasp of white plantation owners, is testament to the power of Delta blues as a declaration of African American autonomy in the post-emancipation South.

Arguably the most politically radical and powerful of the blues artists of the South were the Blues Queens who dominated the ‘race records’ industry in the 1920s and 30s. These women, whose popularity far exceeded their male counterparts until the 1930s, directly challenged the structures of white patriarchal society that sought to defeminize and even dehumanize Black women. The Blues Queens, led by Ma Rainey and Bessie Smith, asserted their own freedom and sexual agency through their music in a manner that shocked white audiences. Bessie Smith’s ‘I Ain’t Goin’ to Play No Second Fiddle’ is an assertion of female agency, in which the singer talks about kicking her man out of her house, as she “ain’t gonna play no second fiddle ’cause, I’m used to playin lead”. In her 1928 hit ‘Prove It On Me Blues’, Ma Rainey even challenged the gender normsr imposed by US society by singing “It’s true I wear a collar and tie”, and later alluded to her lesbian sexuality with the words, “I went out last night with a crowd of my friends, It must’ve been women, ’cause I don’t like no men.”

The radicalism and political significance of the blues is confirmed by the reaction of white society to the growing popularity of what was described as the “devil’s music” by many social conservatives. According to the musician, Adam Gussow, who was one half of the blues double act, Satan and Adam, a pastor from Baltimore described the blues dancehall as “hell’s ante-room”. Gussow even identifies Black community elders who warned that the blues “only poisons the soul and dwarfs the intellect”. Such an extreme reaction against the radicalism of the blues can only serve as evidence of the efficacy of blues protest and expression.

In the context of Jim Crow oppression, blues artists, who dealt with themes such as freedom of movement, resistance to labour exploitation, and female sexual agency, were vital in the development of consciousness of racial injustice in the USA. Without pointing the finger explicitly at the white establishment, the blues gave expression to the simmering anger of African Americans, both in the South and in industrial North and West. It was these artists who laid the groundwork for the Civil Rights movement and the protest anthems that accompanied it.

The blues deserves credit for establishing a tradition of protest and dissent that had never existed in popular music beforehand. Just as from a musical perspective James Brown could not have existed without the influence of the likes of Muddy Waters and Howlin’ Wolf, nor could he have written the Black power anthem, ‘Say It Loud – I’m Black And I’m Proud’, without the trailblazing protest of the bluesmen and women of the American South.

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Culture

Charles Manson’s Other Side

By Ed Merson.

Spotify can lead to many different places. The rabbit-hole of music which I embarked on during lockdown opened my eyes to the peculiar phenomenon of Charles Manson’s debut album in 1970, ‘Lie: The Love and Terror Cult’. Music often evokes emotions of happiness or sadness, but not much has incited such confusion and fascination, or even guilt, as Charles Manson’s debut record.

When people think of Charles Manson, the most likely things which come to mind are the events of mid-1967 involving the Manson Family. Feeding a commune of middle-class teenagers LSD while manipulating the words of the Beatles to incite a race war, Manson coerced lost souls in the Summer of Love to commit nine murders on his behalf, including that of Sharon Tate, the wife of Roman Polanski.

Before listening to this album, it’s interesting to consider what to expect. Dark and estranged by madness is the first inclination. The album cover immediately gives this impression, which features Manson, Swastika on forehead and ‘LIFE’ magazine changed to ‘LIE’. Besides, what else could come from the mind of a serial murderer who forced innocent people to paint the words ‘Piggies’ on Polanski’s kitchen walls with blood.

To my dismay, the album offered a deep and reflective Charles Manson, commenting on US Society, his wish to return home and his relationship with girls. If anything, this fits perfectly into the context of counterculture and Woodstock.

The first song ‘Look at Your Game, Girl’ is a soft and intimate address to a girl, asking to reveal her emotions to his confused and sad state:

What a mad delusion

Living in that confusion

Frustration and doubt

Can you ever live without the game

The sad, sad game

Mad game

Just to say loves’ not enough

it can’t be true

Oh, you can tell those lies

but you’re only fooling you

Although experiencing familiarity while listening, I was immediately snapped back to the narrative of murder and manipulation.

‘Look at Your Game, Girl’ is followed by ‘Mechanical Man’: an unemotional response to the monotonous nature of industrial life in middle America. Manson offers a satirical and receptive comment on the dysfunctionality of life that Manson experienced himself, growing up with a negligent father who worked in local mills in Ohio.

 I am a mechanical man, a mechanical man

And I do the best I can

Because I have my family to look out for

I am a mechanical boy

I am my mother’s toy

And I play in the backyard sometime

I am a mechanical boy

Largely abandoned by family, he lived between foster homes and eventually committed his first offence of arsenal when he was 13. From then on, Manson’s home would be in state institutions, spending 20 years in rehabilitation centres and prison intermittently. The background brings sadness when listening to ‘Home is Where You’re Happy’: a short and upbeat song that resonates with his own loneliness and isolation.

Up to this point in the album, without knowing the origin of the words, you could equate it to the voice of Rodriguez, also lost in American culture until recently. However, the insightful lyrics are interrupted by ‘I’ll Never Say Never to Always’ performed by an ensemble of girls. The same ensemble who loyally followed Manson and whose hands killed nine people. A chilling amalgamation of murderous voices.

The album was written during his incarceration, where he learnt to play the guitar and met Phil Kaufman, producer of Gram Parsons, who encouraged Manson to record his music. Through this relationship came another with The Beach Boys. He recorded his album in their studio and even harboured his family in Dennis Wilson’s LA house. The Beach Boys even went on to adopt his song ‘Cease to Exist’ as ‘Never Learn Not To Love’.

If ever you wanted a means of gaining an insight into the mind of a psychopathic multi-murderer, behind the Swastika tattooed on his forehead and his chilling expression of madness, an album with a mixture of longing for love and social commentary provides the perfect opportunity. You may now continue on the straight and narrow of modern music.

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Culture

2021: Shining lights in a dismal year for music

2021: Shining Lights in a Dismal Year for Music

Tom Sykes

 

2021 has been a year to forget for many reasons, not least for the music industry, which seems to have done its best to churn out a host of mediocre and unoriginal albums. Aside from predictably inane pop releases from the likes of Dua Lipa, Justin Bieber, and Selena Gomez, producers have turned to celebrity amateurs in the hopes of making a quick buck in what is fast becoming a TikTok driven industry. This year has seen a UK number one record from Youtuber, turned-boxer, turned-rapper, KSI, meanwhile Usain Bolt has his eyes on a Grammy for his recent reggae release, ‘Country Yutes’. While these albums have provided an entertaining distraction, their surprising success hardly indicates a thriving global music scene. To make matters worse we seem to be in the midst of an Abba reunion – need I say more.

To cut artists and producers some slack, it has been an exceptionally challenging 18 months for the industry. The pandemic has wreaked havoc to live venues leading to a decline in emerging artists and hiatuses for those bands who rely on live performance. However, it is hard not to be disappointed by the creative output of an industry emerging from the pandemic.

That said, 2021 hasn’t been all doom and gloom for music lovers. A select vanguard of talented artists has put their long periods of isolation to good use and cobbled together some brilliantly innovative albums. Hailing from the London post-punk, Aussie indie rock, and US country and bluegrass scenes, these artists are attempting to save the stuttering music world and provide some direction to a rudderless industry. What follows is a list of the best albums released in 2021 designed to restore some faith in the creativity of today’s generation of musicians.

1. Bright Green Field – Squid

Quite simply the best punk band around. ‘Squid’ has burst to the forefront of the London punk scene this year with their faultless debut album, Bright Green Field. In fact, it is reductive to describe Squid as a punk band, as Bright Green Field demonstrates that they are so much more than that. Along with Black Midi and Dry Cleaning, the members of Squid are representatives of a musically sophisticated London punk scene with jazz, blues, and funk influences seeping through their records. They are at their raw and thoughtful best on the rollercoaster post-punk track ‘Peel St.’.

2. Sharecropper’s Son – Robert Finley

At the tender age of 67, Louisiana-born bluesman Robert Finley has released his second studio album, Sharecropper’s Son. Finley is a musician with an incredibly diverse musical and professional background, having served as a US army guitarist, led a gospel group, and appeared in the 2019 incarnation of America’s Got Talent. Having been spotted busking by the Music Maker Relief Foundation in 2015, Finley has gone on to achieve the commercial and critical acclaim that his work richly deserves. Sharecropper’s Son is an autobiographical album that returns to Finley’s roots on the plantations of Louisiana while incorporating some of the many influences that Finley has picked up on his long musical journey. The result is a rich, bluesy record built around the distinctive twang of a southern blues guitar with some strong nods to gospel and soul. The album provides a strong indication of Finley’s musical versatility built up over years of toiling in an industry that never paid him his due. The title track ‘Sharecropper’s Son’ and ‘County Boy’ represent classic southern blues in its modern incarnation, meanwhile, Finley shows off his vocal range in the more soulful tracks, ‘My Story’ and ‘I Can Feel Your Pain’. The standout track from the album is ‘Souled Out On You’, a gritty and powerful southern soul track, sure to become an instant classic.

3. Shyga! The Sunlight Mound – Psychedelic Porn Crumpets

This is not the best album on this list, nor is this the most talented band. The Psychedelic Porn Crumpets make it onto this list not on merit but by virtue of their magnificent name. The Aussie prog-rockers returned in 2021 with their fourth album with a little less psychedelia than their previous offerings, but a whole lot more crumpet. Well worth a listen.

4. Daddy’s Home – St Vincent

One of the more established names on this list. St Vincent released her sixth album in 2021, a haunting record that defies categorization grounded thematically on the release of her father from his ten-year prison sentence. The album is almost impossible to define as it veers from funk guitar riffs to discordant thrashing and occasionally threatens to spill over into trashy pop before a cutting lyric brings it back into focus. Daddy’s Home is certainly not an easy listen, but St Vincent has built on her strong reputation for innovation, lyrical talent, and sheer strangeness with a commercially unfriendly but fascinating album.

5. The Ballad of Dood and Juanita – Sturgill Simpson

This concept album from Sturgill Simpson is a true product of pandemic-induced reflection and creativity. Simpson dreamt up this civil war love story, or as he calls it, a “simple tale of either redemption or revenge” while recovering after being hospitalized with coronavirus. The ballad has come to life in the form of a bluegrass album that cements Simpson’s status as country music’s brightest star. The album even features a cameo from country legend, Willie Nelson on the delicate love song ‘Juanita’. As good a reason as any to give it a listen.

6. Comfort To Me – Amyl and the Sniffers

If the London punk scene is dominated by thoughtful and sophisticated post-punk bands, Aussie surf-rock is at the other end of the spectrum. Along with the Chats and the Smith Street Band, Amyl and the Sniffers have been thrashing out 3-chord punk tracks since their 2019 debut. The Londoners seek to emulate the post-punk groups of the 1980s, while Amyl and the Sniffers are far more akin to the early punk-rockers of the 70s. Their rapid delivery of their simplistic songs gives them a Ramones-like quality, while lead singer Amy Wilson has the energy of Iggy Pop combined with the alluring stage presence of Patti Smith. Comfort To Me is stylistically nothing new. It is Taylor who makes the band compelling, with her empowering lyrics and irresistible presence – punk rock for the age of female empowerment.

7. Delta Kream – The Black Keys

Ohio blues group, The Black Keys, are succeeding in the traditional quest of the ageing rock band to remain relevant as they enter their forties. They have returned in 2021 with Delta Kream, an album that pays tribute to the legendary bluesmen of the Mississippi Delta. Delta Kream provides a shiny new coat of paint to some of the oldest and most influential country blues songs ever written. The Black Keys’ rendering of ‘Poor Boy a Long Way From Home’, a song that has been covered by almost all the greats of the blues, is the standout track on an impressive album.

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Culture

The Importance of Being Beautiful

The Importance of Being Beautiful

Mary Neale-Smith

The word beauty comes from the Old French beaute, originating from the Latin bellus meaning pretty or handsome. The Latin word was associated with women or children, and when used to describe men, it implied insult or irony.

In Webster’s (1828) Dictionary of the English Language, beauty was defined as ‘whatever pleases the eye of the beholder’. So today, as mainstream beauty has to conform to capitalism and the patriarchy, the beholder is male. Men are the judge, jury, and executioner when it comes to defining beauty.

The definition and concept of beauty has transformed throughout the centuries. In The Beauty Myth, Naomi Wolf (1991) writes about how women have transitioned away from being economically and politically reliant on men. But, for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. The obligation became ingrained in our society that women ought to be beautiful. This counterforce arose as women were no longer bound to the narrative of domesticity and chastity. One waste of time had to be replaced by another.

We believe ‘beauty’ is something that can be achieved. It is not about chance or luck. We ignore the role of genetics and natural variation. Instead, we have been persuaded that beauty is a product of a woman’s hard work, investment, and perseverance. So it is imposed on us all, expected of all women, regardless of their profession, relationship status, or desire to be judged on a more meaningful characteristic.

The irony is that the idealised standard of beauty right now is being “natural”. To look like you haven’t had to try. The cosmetics giant Glossier can market products as ‘glow-enhancing’ and then made a fortune in charging extortionate prices for essentially sheered out products. By 2024 the skincare industry in the UK is predicted to be worth $24 billion, reflecting women’s investment into countless regimes and routines to achieve the goal.

All the hard work and expense in trying to achieve the perfect ideal of beauty has been rebranded. The old-fashioned message splashed across magazines telling women to spend time and money to look better for their husbands has been seamlessly transitioned into telling them to do it for themselves. The magical phrase ‘self-care’ has turned the hours and pounds spent on your appearance into something progressive.

What is difficult about this discussion is that it is not the desire to be beautiful that is wrong. Navigating these waters is hard when it can appear to be unfeminist to criticise any decisions women make around their bodies. The problem is that beauty has become a requirement, and the beauty standard centers around narcissism and feeds off our insecurities.

When we look in the mirror, we might see things we like, but more often than not, we focus on the parts that we don’t. These parts are often natural and how they ought to be, but we get manipulated into believing they need to be worked on. That they need improving.

Instead of raising meaningful and important questions about these beauty standards and their origins, we are trying to expand them. We believe that beauty is such an important attribute that we all need to feel beautiful. It’s placed on an untouchable pedestal.

As a result, the ideal of beauty has evolved in some positive ways. It has become more inclusive and diverse – the body positivity movement works to enable people of all shapes and sizes to be included in what is beautiful. But, the underlying assumption: beauty is, and should be, of fundamental importance to us all. Why can’t it matter less?

The beauty ideal turns us into hamsters on a wheel. Although we are continuously running, we never get anywhere because perfection cannot be reached. And we keep running because participating and trying to achieve the beauty ideal delivers a sense of power.

But this power is a facade. Often the only type of power women are pushed to pursue. It is a power rooted in the male gaze and male opinions. Yet, it is not a power over men but a power to attract them. With beauty comes power, perhaps it’s a privilege, but the privilege is not without consequences.

The historical progression of professions reliant on beauty show just how the beauty ideal and the power associated with it have changed over time. Previously, when beauty mattered less, it was used by a class of working women in jobs like dancers, models, and sex workers, which were low paid and unrespected. The new reality is being beautiful is valued above all else. Some women have managed to make money out of it. Porn, modelling and being a social media influencer are some of the few industries where women earn more on average than men.

But using your beauty to make money doesn’t feel like stepping off the wheel. In fact, believing you are benefiting from the beauty ideal feeds it more. As Margaret Atwood observes, “even pretending you aren’t catering to male fantasies is a male fantasy”.

The beauty ideal will not change while we conform to it, but not conforming is often too great a sacrifice. Being sold the promise that beauty can and should be attained also makes many people very wealthy – so it’s not going anyway. For the time being, it seems we are damned if we do and damned if we don’t.

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Culture

Music and Society

Music and Society

Ed Merson

 

When I was 17, my school put on a talk for the whole year. It was about the history of music. I was excited. I loved music. I used to sit outside at parties, not bothering to dance to the shit music played out of some UE Boom, listening to my own music.

The talk was by a man called Mike Hurst. He made it clear he was cool. Former singer of the Springfields, who he said had headlined instead of the Beatles. Everyone ‘ah’ed. He started to talk about the origin of music. Through Egyptians, Early Modern England. I ignored all of this. I wanted Cat Stevens.

I grew up on my parents’ music. CDs in the car, like everyone else my age. I thought I had the most individual music taste, trawling through to find the most obscure 70s musician, and when ‘Mike Hurst’ started playing a song by Howlin Wolf I was proud I knew the song. I whispered to the person next me, ‘Do you know that song?’. He said no and I reveled in my knowledge. From this point onwards I listened to the talk, counting how many songs I knew of.

But that wasn’t the point. I had missed the point of the talk, just like I didn’t understand my parent’s music. I re-watched his talk recently online. He gave one remark at the end which has almost stopped me from playing my parent’s music. My parent’s music was theirs. They experienced it, and they followed it as instructions. The music was a unifying symbol which brought social issues to their minds. They felt they could fight against the society which was holding them back.

Now I look at myself. Privately educated. Durham University. Funded by my parents. Where is my fight? Well, I could just say that I haven’t been given a challenge yet. Or that there isn’t anything to fight against. But I would be lying to myself to legitimize the life which I’m leading. I would be insular, selfish, or weak. There are so many problems which are given little to no public stage. Music created a consistent narrative which couldn’t be avoided.

There is no change in our lives. Though we have no limitations, we have no purpose, and our desire to . Instead of listening to music and adapting it as a basis of action, we read the BBC, or scroll through Instagram and TickTock. Though our parents used the medium to fight against social norms, we have no problem with conforming to the paths which society gives us. School, then university and then a job.

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Culture

Bragging rights: NFTs and a new world of art

Bragging Rights: NFTs and a New World of Art

Thea Belton

 

Picture this. You walk into the Louvre and head straight to the Mona Lisa. You join the throng of people craning to see the world-famous Da Vinci painting. They have travelled hundreds of miles, just as you have, to catch a glimpse of the 77×53 cm image that has been described as the “best known, most visited, the most written about” piece of art in the world. But you possess something that everyone else here does not. While anyone can claim to have held a moment in front of that notoriously enigmatic expression, only you possess the bragging rights to ownership of it.

Well, not quite. But as close as you can get to owning the painting that has the highest known insurance valuation in history at $100 million. This is because you have purchased an NFT (non-fungible token) of Da Vinci’s masterpiece, and you can show off your digital copy of it (better, of course, than the thousands of google images you can get) at the dinner table with your friends.

This is all hypothetical of course. The Louvre has not started selling NFTs of the Mona Lisa. But we’re not far off. Russia’s State Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg announced in July 2021 that it will auction off tokenized versions of five famed artworks from its collection: Leonardo da Vinci’s Madonna Litta (1490); Giorgione’s Judith (1504); Vincent van Gogh’s Lilac Bush (1889); Wassily Kandinsky’s Composition VI (1913); and Claude Monet’s Corner of the Garden at Montgeron (c. 1876).

The sale is set to take place at the end of next month on the Binance marketplace. The idea is to “provide a new level of accessibility to the Hermitage’s collections” and “emphasize the importance of digitalization as a new stage in the realm of collecting artworks,” according to the museum’s announcement.

For those of you who don’t know, NFTs are a way of buying a digital good that represents a real-world object, usually art, in the form of a unique digital token living on a blockchain. Essentially, you can purchase some clip art of a rock for the price of a house if it is sold to you by the right artist. They were started to support struggling artists but have quickly become an exclusive stock-purchasing industry that is generating billions of dollars. You might question their rising popularity, considering that an original painting is noticeably different from a copy, whereas a digital piece of art will always be the same as the original. They essentially give you the flex of owning a piece of digital art and access to the exclusive NFT communities that are forming.

They are becoming both a new world of trading and a future of fine art collecting. In both cases, they are hospitable to the uber wealthy, and are the latest way to climb the social and financial ladder further into the heart of capitalism.

Take 18-year-old artist FEWOCiOUS, who has made millions auctioning off NFTs. The teen has jumped into the industry with full force, building a community through his sale of NFTs and placing himself at the centre of the intersection between craft and commerce. Yet the intersection is blurring the lines between money and art to the extreme.

NFTs are not just a new way of buying art. They’re becoming a currency in themselves. In New York, the auction platform Origin Protocol, which sold the viral video “Charlie bit my finger” as an NFT, is hosting events with entry requirements of NFT tokens via an online auction platform.

Grimes recently sold 10 pieces at auction, amassing a staggering $6 million. Her one-of-a-kind video, “Death of the Old” was sold at $389,000. Meanwhile, 700 copies of her pieces “Earth” and “Mars”, were sold at $7,500 each. Meanwhile, Balmain has launched its 3rd NFT project – trainers you can purchase that also give you access to exclusive VIP experiences. Gucci auctioned a video NFT at Christie’s in May for $20,000.

The roaring twenties are well under way. At the annual conference of NFT corporations in New York, crowds queued to get into Hammerstein Ballroom. The party was hosted by OpenSea, who facilitated over $10 billion in NFT trading volume in 2021 so far. Essentially, artists, buyers and dealers have found a way to immerse themselves even deeper into the exclusive world of investments and keep the good times rolling for those rich enough to partake.

Speaking this week to Freddie de Rougemont, Old Masters Specialist at Christie’s, a grimace at the mention of NFT’s said it all.

“It’s the same as the idea of online bidding at an auction,” he said ruefully. “It takes all the theatre out of it.”

I know what he means. There’s nothing quite like that wind-knocked-out-of-you feeling when you see a famous piece of art in real life for the first time. The goosebumps you feel when you begin to understand the meaning behind an artist’s entire life’s work are like no other. The hair-raising and invigorating moment when art creates beauty out of trauma, and you are moved by the genius produced from personal and historical pain.

Yet the art market has also always been dominated by a level of hype, a need to get the right people generating excitement about certain pieces, that often takes away from the art itself. I witnessed it in Christie’s, standing next to a dealer audibly excited by the beauty of an 18th century print. Less than a minute after he had moved away, a gentleman had rushed up to the print and taken a snap of its going price.

Working at Frieze Masters art fair this year was like this experience on crack. What was, I soon realised, the fashion week of art hosted in Regent’s Park, opened my eyes to the anxiety of the rich to bid on the most sought-after pieces. In their expensive tailored suits, fur hoods and bejewelled hands, jacked up on morning Marlboro’s and Vicodin, they work themselves into a frenzy over the Frieze catalogue, before rushing in to be schmoozed by gallery attendants.

Meanwhile, the lowly Frieze staff spend their lunch break fawning over the Basquiat that gleams from the centre of the room. I barely gave myself a moment to eat, so enraptured was I by my proximity to Auerbach, Freud and Moore. Yet I was also sucked into this slightly deranged bidding mentality. With only an hour to tour the fair, I found myself looking for the big names on the cards before I’d even bothered to look at the art next to it.

The world is too fast paced for money to be made from a slow and balanced approach to viewing art. Nowadays, bids for $1million + are made from the comfort of bed and bragging rights to virtual masterpieces can be bought at the click of a finger.

While it is a new form of people’s relationship with art, it stems from the age-old characteristic of the art world, that lingers in the hallways of Christie’s and spills out in bizarre escapades in Regent’s Park. It is the need to compete with others, to prove that one is better, and to show off one’s wealth, style and taste. It is the preoccupation of the wealthy and sucks the life out of the Auerbach that so captivated a 14-year-old me on a school trip to London.

When it comes to NFTs, the exclusive aspect to their business model is wholeheartedly denied by brands such as Balmain. Yet the current hype around NFTs promotes an access-only mentality to so many products, events and experiences that are unaffordable to most. According to investment banking firm Morgan Stanley, metaverse gaming and NFTs could constitute 10 per cent of the luxury goods market by 2030. Will this expand the world of NFTs to the rest of us, and will we want it? Only time will tell.

https://time.com/6115274/nft-conference-parties-culture/

https://news.artnet.com/art-world/hermitage-museum-auctioning-nfts-1992830

https://www.voguebusiness.com/fashion/exclusive-why-balmain-is-betting-big-on-nfts

https://www.theverge.com/2021/3/1/22308075/grimes-nft-6-million-sales-nifty-gateway-warnymph

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Culture

Navigating 2022: When and What to Leave Behind

Navigating 2022: When and What to Leave Behind

Sia Jyoti

 

Despite it boiling down to a change in numbers, the event of a new year tends to accumulate emotion unlike ever before. I like to think of myself as a realist, unfazed by mere ‘special days’. Yet I too find myself, every year in and every year out, overwhelmed by the New Year blues of January the 1st.

During day-to-day life, Mondays take shape as benchmarks of productivity. What you failed to achieve on the weekend and what will taunt you for the coming week are all things you tackle — on a Monday. Yet every so often, that occasional late Sunday night will lead to a missed 9 a.m. or a failed gym attendance. When this happens, you’ll maybe groan, whine a little to your housemates or to your parents on the phone to paint the illusion of how much you ‘really care’. Self discipline and criticism is tough in these instances and we find ourselves trusting the unknowns of Tuesday, Wednesday – maybe even Thursday. What is it then about the relentless agony of achieving something — anything, on the first day of the year? Spanning from the taking on of a Tolstoy novel to the sole establishment of a year-long goal, why are we so desperate for change?

In the coming of a new year, romanticisation is flipped on its back and every event from the former year takes shape as possibly the worst judgement of your life. That late assignment? A sign that you’ll never really be competent enough. That average first date? Your one chance at love that you blew with your fear of commitment. The things we nostalgically reflect on the night before suddenly take shape as all that we avoided. At a younger age when one’s emotional intelligence hasn’t quite developed, I would owe it all this regret to athe mixture of alcohol, fireworks, and New Year’s Eve kisses. In retrospect, I find the blues to be deeper than a result of sensory overload and immaturity.

On the first day of a new year, the human love for patterns, continuity and comfort clashes with an intrusive urge to change. The daunting prospect of localising in on the areas of mediocrity which require improvement manifest into our beloved resolutions. Eating better, exercising more, and always, without an actual plan, magically ‘stressing less’. The majority of resolutions we publicly announce will fail due to the external validation of your friends’ proud reactions. The others may partially succeed, but only until March when the normality of 2022 also settles in. What then? How does one navigate the pressure of a new year?

I find the problem is inherent within my choice of the word navigate. Why all of a sudden do I find myself lost in my own life? About decisions I have consciously made and patterns I so carefully built? The word resolution can be defined as a pledge or a commitment. It can also be referred to as “the conversion of something abstract into another form” (Oxford Dictionary). For example, the resolution of an image that may have been pixelated earlier. Whilst one meaning almost begs a certain stubbornness, the latter suggests clarity. Perhaps in our struggle for change we dismissed our need for closure. Both metaphorically, of the emotions we thought to have processed in one drunken night, and of the events that don’t seem as far away as you would like them to.

In my attempt to avoid the let down of failed resolutions, I will start my Mondays now with reflection. Instead of investing in an overcomplicated bullet journal, maybe I’ll try and invest in myself. Two years now we’ve lived in a pandemic where change occupied a constant state. The beginning of 2022 most certainly does not require a continuation of that stress. To allow myself to grow in a way and “make better judgments” required by resolution, I first must sign up to do some reflection. I know you’ve been told that it is all in the past — that your unsolved anger and miscommunication can be left in the former year. Regardless, it doesn’t take a genius to know that if flared pants could make it back into society, your saviour complex most certainly will. For now, I’ll pledge to write in my journal. That way, I’ll attempt a resolution designed for resolving.

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Culture

Do We Really Outgrow Childhood Classics? Or Perhaps a Better Question is “Should We?”

Do We Really Outgrow Our Childhood Classics? Or Perhaps a Better Question is, Should We?

Oluchi Emenike

 

Maya Angelou wrote “I am convinced that most people do not grow up … we mostly grow old. We carry an accumulation of years in our bodies, and on our faces, but generally our real selves, the children inside, are innocent and shy as magnolias”.

There is so much truth to this statement. For the most part we never do leave our childhood classics behind. If anything, the pandemic has allowed us to reconnect with forgotten books, films and television shows. Whether it was re-reading the Harry Potter books, re-discovering The Chronicles of Narnia or re-watching Avatar the Last Airbender there is so much joy to be gained from revisiting past favourites.

Some of our fondest memories are connected to childhood classics, they are an entryway to the imagination. They generate important questions, educate, and challenge our perception of the world around us. They expose the multi-dimensional nature of the human experience. They reveal the vast spectrum of human emotions; we laugh, we scream, we cry, we experience loss at a young age through childhood classics.

His Dark Artifices by Phillip Pullman remains one of my favourite book series for all the reasons stated above. It introduced such profound concepts and emotions which I barely understood but nevertheless accepted. As a child it doesn’t make sense when two friends can never see each other again. You fail to understand why people grow apart and how relationships previously thought to be indestructible can be severed by a knife. Or when a character has finally found her parents why she must ultimately lose them at the end of the novel. For a child, friendships and relationships are supposed to last forever. So, when the media you consume violates this principle it is incredibly confusing but at the same time crucial. Only now can I properly qualify the themes explored in His Dark Artifices because my understanding of the human psyche has been enriched by personal experience. The loss of friendship and self-sacrifice makes greater sense because we have accumulated these experiences which are a natural consequence of the human condition. Revisiting childhood classics leads to a full circle moment, the realisation that things once unknown are now known.

It makes sense that we derive comfort from revisiting old favourites, these stories are so deeply entrenched in our collective consciousness. Though aimed at children they are created by adults, so naturally treasured by adults, and tell us so much about the adult condition through the eyes of a child. This convergence encourages us to reassess the pressure and intensity of the adult world with child-like enthusiasm. We seek to invoke our world with themes we identify in these classics, freedom from self-consciousness and rejection of normality. So, we continue to rely on these stories.

But there is such a thing as overreliance on the past. In the process of preserving the meaning associated with childhood interests, we risk stifling personal development. We fail to accept that we are so intrinsically different from the people we once were when we first encountered these stories. We struggle to let go of our old identity and release ourselves from the burden of the past. This obviously does not mean that we should reject these old favourites but reminds us that it is okay to outgrow ourselves.

So, I think that the answer to the above question is both yes and no. Childhood classics are foundational to our development. They informed our metamorphosis into the individuals we are now, often shaping us in ways that we cannot see. Yet, it is also natural to outgrow things. It is easy to resist this growth because we are conditioned to believe that the things we love as children have no place in the adult world. But this is not true, we can allow ourselves to grow while still holding on to the essence and value of childhood stories.

There is so much value in growing out of things, it requires an impressive degree of strength of character to realise that the books, films, interests and sometimes even people that used to consume our lives – no longer fit. It signals change, akin to stepping through an unknown door completely blind without the comfort and security of what we knew before. It is daunting, scary, intimidating and so many other things all at once. But most importantly it is essential.

As we grow, we should not needlessly reject our childhood impulses, we should not forget what these stories meant to us and who they represent. Yet, this should not prevent us from embracing change. So that ‘someday we’ll be old enough to start reading fairy tales again’ – C.S. Lewis.

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Culture

Has photography lost its focus?

Has Photography Lost its Focus?

Bea Twentyman

 

The advent of accessible photography has coincided with the implicit mainstreaming of social media. This of course, is not really a coincidence at all, as both have materialised through the rise of technology which has allowed for the mass intake of visuals on a daily basis, be that through adverts, Instagram posts, or photos we take on our phones. This has led, I would argue, to a general desensitisation to photography.

You open Instagram. You see a friend’s post. You like it. You scroll and repeat. And then, on Monday your weekly average screen time flashes up . You start the inevitable process of telling everyone you’re on a social media detox in sheer horror. By Tuesday you’ve caved. I think what instils the panic is that if you compared those hours on your phone to what you can actually remember looking at in that time, you’d probably come up laughably short. It’s not to say social media can’t be interesting and funny and informative, it’s just the sheer volume and accumulation that means for the most part, it isn’t adding a great deal to our lives.

With the rise of social media has come a shift in the focus of photography. In a world of selfies and influencers and facetune, we look more at ourselves than at the world around us. This obsession with appearance has cultivated a self-image society, where photos are used as a form of false presentation rather than a way of capturing real moments. The oversaturation of images means we don’t look at photos in the same way anymore. What once was a rare glimpse or capturing of a special or particularly beautiful moment is now a subconscious form of self-posturing.

I’ve possibly given social media a bad rap and it’s certainly not the crux of the issue because without cameras on phones none of this would be possible anyway. That everyone can take photos instantly has rendered photography more accessible but is also problematic in its own way. The notion that anyone can take a photo is reminiscent of the old adage that anyone can make art. You may be thinking, well, both those statements are true, and you wouldn’t be wrong. Of course, anyone can take a photo, in the same way that anyone can do a painting. What doesn’t necessarily follow is that this photo or painting will be any good . Suggesting everyone can take photographs is what has led to it being considered a so-called ‘soft’ subject. That is to say, it degrades the highly skilled and difficult discipline and training required to refine photography skills.

It’s not all bad though, because there’s clear evidence that we still want to appreciate good photography. Take any David Attenborough series for example. Its breath-taking visuals always spark a conversation and indeed provoke necessary discourse about environmental issues. Social media allows photography to have a pervasive socio-political impact in a way that wasn’t really possible a few decades ago. The return of film cameras reflects a maintained desire to have physical photographs rather than just those digitally stored on a nebulous cloud.

Whilst traditional photography is certainly a casualty of the mobile phone, it’s also impossible to conceive of it ever fully disappearing. In our post-pandemic world, I hope we hold onto the escape and solace found in nature during that uncertain time and take the opportunity to adopt a new skill on the way.

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Culture

Bob Dylan at his Most Sincere

Bob Dylan at His Most Sincere

Cosmo Adair

 

New York City, 16th September 1974. A waning singer returns to the studio where he recorded his first album. He plays a new song called ‘Idiot Wind’; it’s vitriolic, disgusted, a paean to the difficulties of fame. The production team and the session musicians are astounded. He finishes the song and turns to them. “Was that sincere enough?”

Of course, he knew it was. ‘Humble’ isn’t an epithet very often used to describe Bob Dylan. You can picture him as he speaks: the dark sunglasses, cigarette dangling from his lips and a grin of elusive circumspection. In fact, there’s a degree of sincerity to every track on the album. After all its title, Blood on the Tracks, wasn’t chosen at random. In Dylan’s most lyrical album he exposes his bloody heart and lets it bleed upon the airwaves.

The only thing lacking sincerity, however, is the singer himself. He consistently denies that the album is of any autobiographical interest. What does he call it, then? ‘An entire album based on Chekhov short stories’. Even the most loyal Dylan fans can’t deny that remark is pretentious. Yet there’s something strangely human in his suggestion that this tender expurgation of feeling isn’t personal. Even after singing for 45 minutes on the subject, he’s still incapable of discussing it.

It’s hard not to begin with ‘Tangled Up in Blue’. It’s the first song on the album and, I dare say, it’s the most elusive. To me, the song seems to discuss how being overly tangled up in one’s own emotions and seeing things from a single standpoint makes a relationship impossible. It’s that age-old issue of not being able to enter the belovéd’s mind. But Dylan brings new vigor, new sincerity to this issue — and he does so by scrapping linear narrative and allowing the song to drift between the first and third person singular. He plays with this in the song’s concluding lines:

‘We always did feel the same

We just saw it form a different point of view

Tangled up in blue’.

With time-granted distance, Dylan recognises that his inability to understand his lover made the relationship impossible. The conscious use of several perspectives makes it clear that now he is able to understand these things.

If you’re listening on vinyl or CD, there’s a brief pause. Then you’ll hear the gentle strums of an acoustic guitar escape the muffled amplifier. The progress from E Major, to E Major 7, to E7 calls the listener into its world of melancholy languor and summer evenings. It’s ‘Simple Twist of Fate’, and the painfully eidetic recall of a past romance sits atop of the chords. There’s the clocks, the saxophones, the neon lights. Love once heightened his perception of things, but now it’s gone by ‘a simple twist of fate’.

Similar techniques are at play here: the seamless transitions between time-periods, and the changes in perspective. The romance of the first 4 verses is undermined by the 5th: ‘He woke up; the room was bare’. Has this whole story so far been a dream? The directness of that line hammers home her absence. Such bareness — the lack of images, the sensory void — seems purposefully contrasted to the earlier details (the ‘neon burning bright’, ‘the heat of the night hit him like a freight train’). A distance between then and now is established; whatever he tries, he cannot resurrect that distant night.

Throughout the album, the idea of fate is crucial to a successful relationship. In ‘Tangled Up in Blue’, this constantly reunites the lovers, but in ‘Simple Twist of Fate’ it condemns them to be apart. The heartbreakingly cryptic line, ‘She was born in Spring, but I was born too late’, hammers this home.

This idea reappears in ‘If You See Her, Say Hello’. There’s a geographical distance between them (‘she might be in Tangier’), but we later discover,

‘And though our separation

It pierced me to the heart

She still lives inside of me

We’ve never been apart’.

Memory is able to cancel geographical distance. He negates the distance in a figurative sense, thus what we’d suspected becomes true: that he’s still hopelessly in love with the person, and that he feels they’re so deeply bonded that true separation is impossible. A sense of fate, or fatedness, is present in that belief in such a deep bond. His conviction that their fates are shackled together seems almost Catholic — it’s as if once married, they can never truly be separated, at least in a spiritual sense, in God’s eyes.

In his book Dylan’s Visions of Sin, Christopher Ricks makes much of the Keastian side of ‘You’re a Big Girl Now’. “And I’m just like that bird …” But here Dylan does one better than Keats; through a direct simile, he not only aligns himself with the bird but becomes it. And, like the bird, he is singing for the sake of singing; he’s very aware that he won’t necessarily get anything in return. But he sings on, anyway, just to please her, to be background music to which the belovéd can live out their day.

The sincerity of the song is also present, I feel, in its less beautiful side: the almost patronizing remark that ‘You’re a Big Girl now’. There are hints of Dylan’s earlier, derisively misogynistic ‘Just Like a Woman’. It’s certainly Dylan speaking here. And he seems to almost resent Belovéd’s self-agency, which has led to her departure.

Whatever Dylan might say about the album, whether or not the reader likes the album, I think it’s impossible to deny its sincerity. And, with that, I urge you to listen to it. Then perhaps you’ll agree with me that it’s not only