Tag Archive | POVERTY

Debtland (2015)

I’ve been on and off with the idea for this piece of work for almost 2 years now, with the initial idea for a work called Debtland coming to mind traveling to Leeds via train on a cold February night I  2014. So I’m glad I finally got around to putting it all together. Sometimes the ideas for my drawings are instantaneously in the right place, and I get on with making them straight away. Pieces such as Debtland sort of grow into so etching worthwhile in the background for a year or so.

Debtland (2015, 110X77cm, mixed media on paper)

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Strivers (no2)

Strivers (no2), A5, ink on paper

Strivers (no2)

A Privatised Implosion (2014)

A Privatised Implosion, A4, ink on paper

 A Privatised Implosion (2014)

Mind maps. Recounting experience of walk, by mapping out the route.

To follow up yesterday’s post, regarding leaving London and having to return to my home town, an incredibly less busy and noisy place, I have posted two maps I drew of routes I have walked, in order to show my thoughts and experience of that area whilst walking through it. One map is of a walk from Shoreditch to New Cross in London, and one is from the Mapplewell to Darton, in my home town, Barnsley.My intention was to show that the thoughts in ones mind whilst walking through an area and experiencing it, can make interesting documentation wherever one happens to be; that whether one is in the heart of a metropolis or in scattered former mining villages, the internal running commentary that accompanies that walk can be just as revealing and conscious-awaking of our real material conditions.

This all related to the Mapping Capitalism course I began, but couldn’t complete, in London, and in particular theorist Fredric Jameson’s notion of cognitive mapping, as a modern means to class conciousness and awareness of our real material conditions, in the disorientating world under late capitalism. Informed by both the philosopher Althusser and the urbanist/town planner who used psychogeographical ideas to create better living environments, Kevin Lynch, Jameson argued that the “mental map of a city explored by Lynch can be extrapolated to that of the social and global totality we carry around in our heads in various garbled forms”

These maps are just the beginning of many I wish to make. I do lots of walking, but not so much leisurely walking (in the sense of a country side stroll), more like walking to town to town, village to village. I have attempted to draw these maps right afterwards, visually the area as I draw the route I walked, in order to remember my emotions and things I saw whilst walking.

If not to anyone else, I find this deeply informative to myself. It’s like when I look back on what I have written the landscape reveals its true identity to me; something an A-Z or Google map could never do. It also made me realise that there is something to be gained conceptually from any walk. Not just a walk through the most tourist-friendly spots on earth.

Map 1. Sunday 7th October 2012

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Map 2. Thursday 7th February, 2013

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Doing anything to prevent ourselves seeing the true conditions of our existence

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The sky is that kind of colour that seems to saturate everything with lifelessness. The kind of day when moving from one metaphysical bubble to another is very much advisable. Even better if you can drape these bubbles in enough shiny stuff as to make convince others that they are desirable places to inhabit.  I suppose you lose a little dignity when you cannot do this at all; when the only thing that has colour on such days are the billboards/bus-stop-poster adverts that show a glamour that is seemingly always just out of reach.

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Stuck in a room with no reachable community (in areas drained of community), where everything sociable requires purchasing power in order to be reached, in a country of people who have been told time again that the world has ended and that their own lives are now all that matters. So I step outside, with just enough money to catch the only bus out of this village to a nearby gallery – my mind needs it easier today, it’s not a day for staring into the abyss whilst sat in it.

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I glance at the young people of this village, hanging around the top shop. A village that offers them nothing but street corners and empty roads to scoot down. They have reached that age when society slowly begins to humiliate them; slowly begins to wear the hopes and dreams down that it helped manufacture in the mind with orgies of images of glamour, the good life, and excitement. It now leaves them to stagnate in grey, underserviced housing estates. Of course they will look for distractions/sugary bursts that can help humour or keep in limbo those slowly-dissapearing hopes and dreams, and who can blame them when it turns into acts that are deemed as anti-social?

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To suddenly see yourself as you truly are – socially trapped, with few prospects/a person well down the chart on the all-important ‘who’s-who’ list – must be one of the worst assaults possible on that necessary ego one needs, in this ocean of egos. Perhaps, at this point in time, now I find myself unemployed and lumped back in my parents’ house on the outskirts of an already-neglected town (after a failed attempt to move somewhere else), I realise the difficulty in retaining one’s dignity and a sense of self-worth, and not feeling humiliated whenever seeing other human beings who seem to be faring better. An immense amount of energy and mental strenth is required to maintain well-being and ignore the omnipresent signs that tell you you are worthless and a ‘loser’.

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Everything that could have been done to make places more pleasant holes to exist in, everything that could have been done to create an environment that gives meaning and well-being to people has been shit on from a great height by the rights of free enterprise and private property.  You either become somebody who is constantly in need of distraction (who have probably now become Facebook/text message addicts), somebody who has a skin as thick as a crocodile’s, or both. There is no real future that one is able to plan for.

Think of the 1960’s film, and cult-classic Kez (situated within the same borough as the village described, and culturally not as far apart as one would expect due to the amount that has changed since the production of the film). The protagonist, Billy Casper, enters the careers/jobs office at the Comprehensive school he attends. He is a young man who has sought constant distraction from his grim existence, to the extent that he cannot apply himself to anything – well, until he pets the Kestrel he names Kez, which gives him a meaning and freedom to life, only for it to be cruely destroyed by the culture he is trapped in. In the interview he cannot think of one job he would like to do; he obviously doesn’t have the capacity and strength to think this far-ahead. All he has in his mind is a desire to get out of that room as soon as possible, and get on with whatever gets him through each day, one by one.

To realise one’s true conditions of existence is, for many, a moment of sheer humiliation, followed by fear. One instead has to constantly spin the plate/keeping in balance the feeling that you “are the man, I am man”, whilst clearly knowing  that they have been, by and large, sidelined by society. The best description I heard of the effect of the current government slashing of welfare is one of humiliation; as things get worse and worse, more and more will find it harder to maintain their dignity and a sense of self-worth. Within these coming years we are sure to witness extremities of all reactions to such humiliation; more riots, more drink and drug problems, more acts of random violence, more tribalism, more talent shows providing slim chances of success to ever-more desperate people, prepared to be in ever-more humiliating productions just for an end to the long humiliation.

It isn’t possible to look away from this, and these grey days demand of us that we see the world minus the ideological-enhancement-of our real conditions such distractions help maintain.

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Thinking along the Hallam Line (Leeds, Wakefield, Barnsley, Meadowhall and Sheffield)

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Along with the Engineering of Leeds (my 4th town) into a (relative) economic powerhouse, there seems to have followed an almost identi-kit pasting of all the traits usually found in the big financial centres like the City of London, yet in a much smaller area circling the railway station (after which it begins again to look more like a typical post-heavy industry northern city, and a Yorkshire town).

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The swankiness; a desert to all retailers except the most upmarket of independent and chain stores. The speed of life in this colony-island of the global finance empire is much much faster than ten minutes walk either way. There is an expectation to be met with tuts if you take your time; you have to run across the street after actually casually stepping out, because a car, that in normal circumstances is a safe distance away, advances towards you with the speed of a motorway slip-road acceleration. Maintenance; you get on the train in your local town feeling pretty well dressed and tidy only to feel like a medieval peasant in contrast to those rushing back and forth from the train station. Homelessness; the homelessness in Leeds, in comparison with its size (irrespective of the wider urban area now dependent on it), is apallingly bad. You do wonder where they could have all possibly come from, as it looks too extreme – without forgetting the suffering such a existence must create, it does often look like a stage-set of a typical city scene, almost hyperreal, which could explain why people find it so easy to be indifferent to others’ suffering in such areas.

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Leeds is often seen as the capital of Yorkshire, and this is very true – certainly regarding the West Yorkshire Urban sprawl, as Leeds has increasingly become the only hub of this 2 million-plus area, as other large towns (especially Bradford) have seen gradual decline since their demise as industrial bases.

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This may not include Wakefield (my 2nd town, living 8 miles from the centre), which does often seem to have something going for it now, quite possibly down to the needless construction of the outdoor shopping centre Trinity Walk and two international sculpture galleries (The Hepworth and Yorkshire Sculpture Park),which surely do deserve their place here with two of the most accredited sculptors of the 20th century originating from the borough.

But Wakefield, or the half of Wakefield mentioned so far, is if anything a suburb of Leeds, that seems to owe its ascendancy to what Leeds has become. This seems to be in an almost identical manner to the relationship towns such as St Albans, Reading, Stevenage have to London. This could well be because Wakefield is the only stop the mainline train line from London (which is so important in the ‘commuter-age’- which shrieks at the sight of snow on the tracks) makes in West Yorkshire on its way to Leeds.

In fact what has become more evident, since the observant eyes of the Southerner Owen Hatherley pointed it out in his book The New Ruins of Great Britain, is that Wakefield feels “like a southern city” (for which he did instantly offer his apologies for saying). But if you look at all the towns served by the East Coast Railway from London to Leeds, they all have a similar feel to them; all commuter towns, and they reek of modern industry, which to inhabitants of the old industrial areas of the north looks like the south (If you were that way inclined you could certainly feel a little bit of treachery, when seeing the a large London Underground map at the visitor service desk in Wakefield Westgate station).

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But there again, this beating organ dependent on the beating heart that is Leeds is only really one half of Wakefield. Wakefield really does seem to be two towns stitched together. One half of the city is the aforementioned town, served by the suits-and-ties-populated Wakefield Westgate station; the other half  is the remnants of a former mining town (culturally closer to Barnsley and Castleford than the other half of the town), served by the incredibly neglected Wakefield Kirkgate station, in a side of town that is full of sad sights, especially once the night draws in.

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This is the problem with Leeds in general, it is the hub of a larger Yorkshire urban area (which Hatherley suggested is a Supercity which possibly doesn’t know that it is), yet much of the urban area is neglected/ignored for the sake of Leeds, which itself is now nothing but a colony of the financial world-city. But there again, could the same not be said for Canary Wharf and its surroundings?

At one point Bradford was probably as big as Leeds, and Leeds would not have the gravitational pull it has without being less than 10 miles away from another large urban settlement. If West Yorkshire was recognised as the metropolis it more-or-less is, one would maybe begin to see a more reciprocal relationship between these already conjoined towns. What you get instead is each town (and this applies for all of England expect London) maintaining a provincial small-town mindedness, which results in London absorbing the lion’s share of (what remains of) alternative culture.

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(Emley Moor Mast, from the former Woolley Colliery pit site, between Wakefield and Barnsley)

I have always had a bit of a longing for West Yorkshire and South Yorkshire to be re-merged to reform the old West Riding of Yorkshire, which stretched from the Yorkshire Dales, down to Sheffield and Right across to York where it ended. It would mean an end to the ridiculous train fare hikes once you cross the South/West Yorkshire border to a town not 10 miles away. This has helped create a divide, with everything in West Yorkshire being Leeds-orientated and everything in South Yorkshire Sheffield-orientated. This is maybe a personal frustation due to being raised in an area right at the top of South Yorkshire, just a mile from West Yorkshire.

Because this area will always be what I call homeland I never really differientated between South and West Yorkshire. Yet there is certainly a gap in the continuity of human settlements around here, which does seperate the South Yorkshire mining-village-conurbation – which begins in Barnsley, heading down the Dearne Valley to join Rotherham, at which point becoming the Sheffield urban-area – from the West Yorkshire urban-area, which begins with Wakefield, Dewsbury and Huddersfield, just over a series of hills.

Barnsley

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There’s just enough of this gap in continuity to give the town of Barnsley (my nearest town) a more isolated location than the other (former) West Riding towns. Barnsley is a strange place. Defiant, proud, but confused about what it is actually defiant and proud about. It certainly has a sense of self (under of the banner of ‘tarn ‘n’ prard – meaning ‘town and proud’) big enough to match that of the much larger urban settlements around here. And I would argue that what has elavated this sense of self in recent years is that it is relatively more isolated and hasn’t become a suburb of the bigger cities, which is evidentially the case with towns such as Wakefield and Rotherham.

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But I would also argue that it stems from its identification as being the centre of the South Yorkshire Coalfield, possibly with more right to claim the east side of Wakefield, the mining villages within its borough, and the Dearne Valley than the actual townships these mining areas resided in. Despite the pomposity of the size of the construction at the time of its erection, perhaps the reasons for the construction of Barnsley town hall, upon a hill looking across the landscape, were for it be a beacon to all of the mining villages under its far-reaching gaze, like a benevolent Mordor overlooking its coal-ming empire(the clock at the top even looks like an eye). However, since a neoliberal agenda replaced the damaged and scarred physical landscape with a more invisible damaged and scarred mental landscape, the idea of what Barnsley is, and how it is still important has been shaken to the core.

The result of this has been an ever-more defiant sense of self with fewer and fewer decent sources with which to proclaim this sense of self; a culture obsessed with past because no real alternative identity has been found. ‘Professional Yorkshiremen’ such as Dickie Bird and Ian Macmillan have capitalised on this huge sense of self, magnified by the ridicule the rest of country deals the place, to the benefit of their careers, but unfortunately (I would argue – although not to completely slag them off, just that I observe this to be the case) it is to the detriment of the town – because by playing this parody back to the rest of the nation, they give it what it wants, which is beneficial to them no doubt, but unfortunately seems to have helped culturally stunt a borough that contains a quarter of a million people; a place where countless people have thrown energy into trying to help the place develop, but to no avail.

The culture of the area is difficult to build on however because of the lay-out of ex-coal mining areas. Barnsley, the town, probably only has 70,000 residents, but the wider borough (not even including the mining villages which are under town halls all-seeing-eye, but not in the town’s borough) has over 220,000 residents. But this village-after-village layout creates a village-culture that dominates the entire town. A village culture is very damaging to a town centre that still sees itself so central to these 220,00 plus residents. For this reason I did have some sympathy for architect Will Alsop’s idea for the town (not the one about having a giant Halo of light over the town, making it look like the class-clown of the north) to rehouse a greater number of the population within the town centre. True, the reality of this would be massively different, but I liked the idea on the grounds that I wish for something to generate life back here, even although the sell-by date for these Blair-year grand schemes has long passed.

The F.E. students, who populate the centre during term-time give some life to the place, and as much as Barnsley College has shrunken from what it was at the turn of the millennium (largely due to financial difficulties caused by corruption at management level) it still attracts many students from all over South Yorkshire, and parts of West Yorkshire. But they leave. Or merely give up on their dreams (not necessarily careerist ones, but also dreams of a different way of life) and return to their respective village quagmires, leaving an age gulf in the town’s culture; a gap that seems to begin at 18+ and end with 40 year olds. Most young people who don’t give up on their wish for something different, and have the (all important) means to do so, leave Barnsley, usually for Sheffield, but also Leeds, Manchester and London.

There is a new museum opening, and as much as museums are obviously about the past, that past doesn’t seem to have anything now to enhance the future of the place. Especially the romantacising of it. Of course there is plenty of unfinished business; the poverty left from the demise of the coal-mining industry and the police brutality dealt out in the strikes. But the centre of an empire of coal mining it isn’t now, unfortunately.

That centre was moved, perhaps with tactical intentions.

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Meadowhall

As much as Barnsley constructed its large Portland Stone town hall in the 1930’s seeing itself at the centre of the greater Yorkshire coal-mining area, this centre has been moved since the demise of the industry. The centre of South Yorkshire (specifically) is (and has been for 20 years) the Meadowhall Shopping complex.  Sheffield is a city with much to offer, and the only place that can really offer decent (again, what remains of) alternative lifestyles to the one just mentioned in Barnsley, but it is not the centre of South Yorkshire, it is more of an alternative within it; the centre is Meadowhall.

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This consumer paradise/hell on the north-east edge of the city is where all of what remains of the railways in South Yorkshire connect; it’s the hub that brings together all the scattered ex mining villages, and steel towns. It is the nearest connection the railway has with the M1 Motorway, and it is where all the coaches for Sheffield pull up. It certainly takes those villages away from towns like Barnsley, and one could certainly speculate that there were political means behind the locating of such a huge shopping centre here. South Yorkshire was once referred to as the Socialist Republic, as after the war it was the home of strong unions and home to a lot of very socialist-orientated housing schemes. It was surely a statement to the New Capitalism being drilled into us at the time to bury the epicentre of all of what South Yorkshire was under a palace devoted to consumerism/commodities (and just a few years after the defeat of the National Union of Miners in a battle at Orgreave just one motorway junction down from Meadowhall).

If you want to see the dominant culture of South Yorkshire, don’t go to Sheffield go to Meadowhall via the interchange. See the masses leaving the trains to walk the aisles (sometimes not even shopping, just going there because it’s where to meet people), people who have had all meaning ripped from under their feet, not future granted to them, save one of acquiring more and more consumer goods. The sight of all these people flocking here is far sadder than the sight of the characterlessness of such shopping complexes.

Sheffield

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The Majority of people in South Yorkshire don’t even get as far as Sheffield (my 3rd town), one finds the train completely empty for the final leg of the journey on the Hallam Line from Meadowhall to Sheffield.

Sheffield is certainly a far more attractive city centre than Leeds. Although apparently the opposite was true in the 1930’s when George Orwell visited it during the great depression. The centre is certainly my favourite urban area in the old West Riding, and is where I wish to relocate if I get the chance. The hillyness of it, and thus the areas of it unsuitable for development make it a relatively green and attractive city; the train station layout is incredibly attractive, being greeted with pleasant water features and walkways, the opposite of the grey,hustle and bustle outside Leeds station. The city has always seemed to be an important place for street art, and compulsive taggers; I like this, as for me, it almost seems to be an embodiment of the aforementioned unfinished business, and makes me imagine that an alternative to capitalism lies dormant in the rolling hills of South Yorkshire. The Supertram system, as it goes up and down the steep hills, has something really positive about it, just to see it, perhaps it feeds into the potentiality of the city to be something different from the others, looking more like a European city.

The city itself is as big as it’s more money-minded brother Leeds, but the wider urban area dependent on it is quite a bit smaller, and the Meadowhall shopping complex prevents it from having the level of consumerism seen on Leeds’ streets. Which, all in all, is definitely a good thing. Meadowhall largely takes the landscape of shopping bags and legs away from Sheffield, and as much as this has shrunk the city, it has opened up opportunities for the creation of many small independent art/music venues, something Leeds may have, but always seems pushed out of reach by the big money in the centre. Not to say that Sheffield hasn’t got all of these things mentioned here, and that Leeds hasn’t got alternatives to its finance, but they are both far less prominent features.

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But one thing that can easily go unnoticed, unless a concerned local tells you, is that the poorer residents of Sheffield have been by and large turfed out of the centre of the city into estates on the outskirts. One of these estates is Gleadless, which is a peculiar looking low-rise estate. Obviously real thought was originally gone into the layout; the buildings weave in and out of the steep green hillsides, and the views are quite leafy, and apparently architects from all over Europe came to view it when it was completed. But now it is a sad place to be. With exhibiting my work quite often in places in the centre (the city’s receptiveness to artist is one of the reasons I’ve warmed to it more than Leeds, for example) I was picking up something from a house down there one day. I just felt sorry for the residents, and realised that many of them are as abandoned and isolated within this city as people in the deprived mining villages are further out in South Yorkshire.

I will always have some kind adoration for the 1960’s brutalist Park Hill housing development next to the train station (whether is a morbid and more positive fascination, depends on my attitude towards the past and present), and I actually would have liked it if they have kept the other similar ones (Kelvin, and Hyde Park) that were demolished in the 1990’s, because the steep rise of the hills around there makes the buildings look so much more profound. But Park Hill is now nothing but a shell, much like the way that New Labour were nothing but a shell of the old Labour party. The original inhabitants of the then-run down estate were relocated, and then the regeneration company Urban Splash turned them into luxury pads for city workers/Young professionals, going for £95,000 each.

But in many ways the reason I do have more positives to say about Sheffield, is because it always makes me think of what Barnsley could be, and is often in dreams (sleeping dreams not daydreams) what it is (as Sheffield’s proximity to the Peak District, Woodland, and then almost immediately high rise, and factories, has an almost collage-like nature to it, usually found in dreams). One just wishes there was something that connected all these towns up better, and didn’t leave them to be the provincial small-town fortresses they seem to end up wanting to be.

A “gruesome simplicity”: The Meaning of Noel Gallagher

(The title paraphrases Richard Seymour’s The Meaning Of David Cameron)

(I suppose writing this is a melancholy act. Even though my love affair with the music of Oasis has been over for over a decade, their music is still the soundtrack for a point in my early high school days in the mid-to-late 1990’s when things looked really bright around me, and society seemed cheery and optimistic [even if we realise how naive this was, looking back]. My friend gave me a cassette in 1996 with their best-seller ‘(What’s The Story) Morning Glory’ taped onto it. It seemed to capture the essence of my then blissful excitment for the future, from a time when even the smell of Lynx Atlantis deodorant seemed to smell of good feeling. But it wasn’t just me, the 1990’s had fooled most into optimism for things to come; the ‘tracksuit’ wearing youth, who the band would later scorn, were walking around the ex-coal mining villages I spend my days in, playing Oasis, alongside Happy Hardcore tape’s on their portable tape players, and the name of the band was even sprayed onto many walls up and down. It Seemed like they had meaning for everyone, and it took me a while to realise that, to quote Morrissey, they said “nothing to me about my life” – Oasis truly were The Motorcycle Emptiness. But these illusions are gone now, and it’s time to brush away the cobwebs made by those dated-voices who still half-maintain them. Well, this is part of a tearing away of the remaining cobweb strands.)

Reading the sleeve booklet for The Stone Roses: Tenth Anniversary CD, when only 16 years old, reading about “the gruesome simplicity of Oasis”, to contrast them with The Stone Roses, I thought it was merely referring to their musical style. Little did I know, or like to admit back then (being a high school kid still very much in awe of the ‘Britpop’ icons), that this was also reflected in the Gallagher brothers’ attitudes. But this was ‘so-so’ in the period from 1995 to 2001, when the illusion of The End of History, allowed for people with nothing reasonable to say to be revered, because no threat was posed from their ‘give a shit’ and clumsy remarks. Now, in a time which might as well be a million years from the late 1990’s, these dated-voices are indeed gruesome.

There’s no doubt The Daily Mail had reason to tweak what Noel Gallagher said in the article featuring the songwriter’s most recent ‘views’ (so as to show that “it’s ok for so-called working class heroes to become part of the establishment as long as they can make it out of poverty”). But whether Noel’s comments did or didn’t praise Thatcher is of no real relevance: his “I couldn’t give a shit” attitude (which is as course and as dated as any of the Top Gear Crew’s), and his simplification of desperately complicated social issues, now he as the wealth to keep himself and his family well out of reach of society’s growing number of desperate people (according to the Mail he “vows to send his sons to private school”,); this attitude is as right wing as the Daily Mail and is itself a Thatcherite attitude.

I will return further on to the question asking whether we should be criticising Noel or criticising the reason why celebrity voices are projected over other more sensible voices. But, in the present context, there’s no getting away from a reality where celebrity voices such as Noel Gallagher’s do permeate the four walls of our homes with ease, and are revered by the many that do listen to those icons to which they associate their own identity with inside this star-system complex inside ‘the society of spectacle’. And one must take into account how damaging reckless well-heard opinions can be.

One needn’t look far to find those who are inspired by his so-called “No Nonsene” straight-talk. A blog post from 2007 pits Oasis against Radiohead, using quotations from a Guardian article on Noel. Using a faux-soft-but-really-quite-fierce sense of nationalist pride to state, in favour of Oasis over Radiohead, “Noel is of course exercising the right of every free-born Briton – the right to take this piss. In fact, it’s not a right but a duty. The average Brit would much rather be thought to be an ignorant no-nothing than a pretentious wanker”. Well, forgive me for not wanting to be an average ‘Brit’. But also forgive me for abstaining from using this myth of an eternal national identity to think of ourselves in this way, as it requires a blanking out of the cultural constructs that helped maintain state power during uncertain times such as the expansion of industrial capitalism and the second world war; also, if you haven’t noticed, the last 3 consecutive governments have been doing their very best to erase these ‘freedoms’ and ‘born-rights’ that ‘us Brit’s’ possess – can’t be that eternal can they then?

Perhaps Noel’s most damaging comments in the Daily Mail were his simplified views on young people and, in particular, on last summer’s riots here in the UK. He makes sweeping statements that, whilst containing face value truths, are intentionally discriminatory: “There was a work ethic – if you were unemployed, the obsession was to find work. Now, these kids brought up under the Labour party and whatever this coalition thing is, it’s like forget that, I’m not interested. I wanna be on TV”. He makes an easy diagnosis, and then does what is all so convenient for a cultural icon who now has the ability to separate himself from all that goes off below him; refusing to understand the causations, and the complexities that are rubbing together down on the streets with ever-increasingly ferocity, as he sits back in his stylish home absorbed in his dated, out-of-context-Mod-cultured world view (most likely).

Over the past month I have been without a job (as my job almost mockingly gets the best out of the workers for 10 months, only to momentarily let us go, without pay, with little savings at the most dismal time of the year) and having been in the Jobcentre a few times of late, I can inform Noel Gallagher that there is “a work ethic” now; people are desperate to work, they are fed up with the lack of hope of any reasonable future for them, and they are angry about it – as the work just isn’t there. Both men who spoke to me today skillfully controlled their rage, but you could see the anger building, an anger that is building not just in the JobCentre, but all over the nation, and Noel Gallagher is so out of date with views that have had no bearing on reality since the 1990’s that he just cannot understand this. Yet we still hear from him (and see his daughter being groomed into a model to become another face in the star-complex at only 11 years of age, although that’s another matter, another Daily Mail matter that is!)

Whilst sitting and waiting, a man who looks fed up with life (you can genuinely see it in peoples’ faces) walks over to a Jobsearch machine (Jobsearch machines, noticeably, make the ‘job-searcher’ scrunch his face up – it’s a defensive mechanism saying “you lot don’t fool me, whoever you are” to the patronising act of having to search these machines for non-existing jobs, feeling that somebody’s taking the piss.) As this man turned to face the screen I noticed that the word money was sewn into the back of his branded jacket. It was a bitter juxtaposition; a social-control system held together by the domination of the necessity of individual social status and general attractiveness being based on acquisition, material wealth, and the act of making it public as glamour, and the poorest in society so desperately need the loudest of items to showcase what they so desperately need, in order to feel some self-respect and self-worth; hence the poorest wear the words of that which systemically makes them the lowest of the low. And this gap, between the riches and the poor, increases under right-wing governance: increased misery whilst surrounded by an increase of capitalism’s aspirationalism in society.

And now we have a rough-draft diagnosis for the summer riots! (in a sense the certainty of further riots is sown into the stitching in brand logos that seek our love.) Troubled events which Noel Gallagher ‘gruesomely’ simplified into a duality between what was going on in “Syria and Egypt” where “people were rioting for freedom. And these kids in England are rioting for tracksuits” to which he added “it’s embarrassing”. Embarrassing for whom? A proud ‘Brit’? He then went on to say, regarding the match thrown onto tinder sticks – the police shooting of Mark Duggan – “it’s all on Twitter and before you know it there’s a riot going on. It was mass robbery and I was embarrassed to be Mancunian”.

Usually finger-pointing is counter-productive, but because, as I said above, his words are heard well above more thoughtful words, I am going to make the point of the hypocrisy in this. Noel Gallagher scorning those who steal, when it is all-but empirical knowledge that Noel ,and his even simpler brother Liam, stole from cars and houses in Manchester to get enough money to pay for the musical equipment they needed in order to become the faces in the star-system complex which they have become. Noel Gallagher was stealing to fund something that gave meaning to him. Fair enough; poverty makes crime, and it’s becoming even harder for people from the lower working class backgrounds to have the opportunity to become musicians (read Owen Hatherley’s Uncommon for a more detailed account on why there were very few ‘Brit’ bands from the 1990’s who weren’t from affluent backgrounds.)

Inequality in society has increased more so since Noel was committing robbery in the 80’s/90’s, whilst consumerism and the publicity needed to fuel it has swallowed up even more of culture. Such a society both eradicates meaning, as commodification enters even more walks of life, whilst fuelling feelings of desperation through making us feel we can do nothing but try to boost our own status within this hall of mirrors. But many cannot afford to, and the future looks to be getting bleaker for many. Riots where people steal as many consumer items as they can carry don’t happen for the simplistic reasons you dispel from your mouth, Noel. That’s a very Thatcherite attitude you’ve got there ‘mate!’ (Make no bones about it; all the signs say these riots will reoccur. And when these are the comments that get heard in society, one can see that the causations haven’t only been unaddressed, but that these ‘tindersticks’ may be getting even drier.)

In an NME interview, following the one in The Daily Mail, where he tried to reproach the tinting to his words which made him sound like he liked Margaret Thatcher, Noel ended by saying “Also, for the record, on the day she [Thatcher] dies we will party like it’s 1989. Just so you know”. But it’s a defunct reply: holding up a collaged image of the working class heroes has no context whilst one uses Thatcherite dialectic to describe what’s happening to the lower working class now. Hating Thatcher the individual is far easier than opposing the social engineering she oversaw, the very social engineering that has taken 30 years to cook up these big problems in society, and is especially easy to do once you’ve finally benefitted from it (as is exemplified in comments made in The Daily Telegraph in 2008, where he blames Margaret Thatcher for the increase in knife crime in Britain, but explains the current situation saying “It’s horrible. It’s not just in London, I was up in Liverpool the other day and it’s the same there. The scumbags are taking over the streets”- but assuming Noel wasn’t threatened by someone with a knife, nor witnessed a stabbing, he’s obviously just making comments about people who he thinks are scumbags, which sounds like he’s also caught the disease of seeing large swathes of the population as ‘undeserving poor’ also commonly known by the awful term ‘Chavs’.)

But if the pre-fame Gallagher’s were in a pre-fame position today they too might have been on the streets of Manchester rioting. The ‘Gangster’ music which he abhors might have seemed more appropriate to his life, with its talk about the harsh realism of being at the bottom yet being constantly shown images of superstars, than the loved-up psychedelia of his much beloved The Beatles; the Britain of the 1960’s, or (more accurately) the Britain of a small area of London which is now projected back to us as if it was the whole of Britain, is so irrelevant to the Britain that we now live in that going to Indie Disco’s which play 1960’s songs, and their 1990’s take-offs, feels like entering The Land That Time Forgot, even more than stereotypically-uncultured northern town centres are supposed to.

In fact Noel’s simplistic attitude is echoed by many of the always-had-a-silver-spoon rich in this country who wish to see changes brought in that would take back democratic right from the likes of the pre-fame Gallagher’s. His disregard for those at the bottom of society in 2012 resonates with the ideas being spouted by Ian Cowie in The Daily Telegraph, for example, who’s idea for an ‘alternate’ voting system where voting is restricted “to people who actually pay something into the system” barring anybody who pays less that £100 of tax a year sounds like a rolling back of democratic rights to the Victorian times to me. This was a blog brought to my attention by George Monbiot in The Guardian this week, in which Cowie also managed to find the space to praise the British Empire’s one time control of the world, where “property-based voting eligibility” (a denial of voting rights for anyone who doesn’t own a property) “worked quite well when the parliament administered not just Britain but the rest of the world”; and in a funny way this all seems to resonate back again to Noel Gallagher, when he used to wield a Union Jack-covered Epiphone guitar on stage, as he lifted riffs from 1960’s psychedelic bands, who had already heavily borrowed sounds from colonies Britain had only just then recently let go (albeit borrowed with much more respect and appreciation); namely India.

But the problem isn’t with Noel Gallagher. The problem is that Noel Gallagher’s words (like Jeremy Clarkson’s, and even, although I respect him infinitely more, Morrissey) are revered by many in society. Why do their views become so important? To be fair, Noel Gallagher would be the first to admit he’s no sociologist, no critical theorist of contemporary culture – he rarely speaks to a paper without slagging university off! Although one needn’t have been to university be thoughtful about the world, Noel clearly isn’t. He’s got nothing of real worth to say. But yet his words have been made into something more.

The words of a star must be seen to be of more worth than yours or mine; they must be able to command respect to provide legitimacy for the society of spectacle that plucks them up into the limelight at random, in order for it to maintain its dominance. Its star-complex halos over us, keeping us hooked on the dreams of the respect and adoration that fame provides, even if it is necessary at times to block out certain faces who fall from grace. Noel Gallagher’s presence, his words and cobbled-together version of British working class identity, appeals as meaningful for many, and it can help mould an whole section of personalities around a narrow image. Whilst he commands more cultural respect than the faces who cover gossip magazines, he essentially has the same function, for a different section of people, whose impetus on difference from the ‘lower’ cultural faces is nothing of a difference on comparison with what makes them the same.
This structure has been maintained in what are still called western democracies since before World War 2. But its dominance has increased, massively helped by the fall of a disastrous-example of communism near to the end of the last century (although it had its own kind of spectacle, essentially a state capitalist dictatorship one) allowing it to cover the globe. All that was once classed as counter-cultural to the spectacular machine has been absorbed and reconstituted, killing off artists who couldn’t deal with their commodification. Noel Gallagher was so far already past the point of being anything that the great reconstitutor of past sounds that he was, that this would never occur to the likes of him.

However, can we now find hope, in how out of date their voices are, possibly signifying that the whole structure of control cannot maintain itself anymore? Their almost “let them eat cake” understanding of the scale of the problems in the world almost eludes to a likelihood the capitalist system’s requirement of the society of the spectacle for social dominance isn’t functioning properly anymore. It’s only a faint hope (I feel it necessary to end thoughts on things with a positive tone these days, to keep my spirits up in the face of all the sad sights I see and hear of in town centres), but it seems to resonate with a questioning of where the hell capitalism can go from here to maintain itself. For good or bad, it is very unlikely that there will be new high points within British culture, under our current social system, to save people for ever-more desperately clinging to its past.

To paraphrase the last words in Richard Seymour’s ‘The Meaning of David Cameron’; What is the meaning of Noel Gallagher? He means it’s time to accept the world needs big changes, and also, to quite appropriately (in the context of Noels inability to grasp the meaning of Radiohead) use some Thom Yorke lyrics, there can be “No more talk about the old days; it’s time for something great”.