RIP Stuart Hall (no, not that one)

Stuart Hall was a founder of the Cultural Studies movement.  I was lucky enough to study at North East London Polytechnic in the late 80s/ early 90s under people who worked with him.  His work and their teachings had a major impact on the way I think.

I am sure he would dispute, or at the very least deconstruct, the title of Godfather of Multiculturalism, as seen in most obituary headlines so far.  ‘Godfather’, mmm, smacks of religion and paternalism, and Cultural Studies is not Multicultural Studies, it has no agenda, it tells us to look to the popular and ‘low’ culture around us to read history in the making and find hidden, codified cultural truths and myths.  Cultural Studies is not about how we bury our dead, it’s about on how many levels it’s important how we bury our dead.

Hall was the first to strongly identify Thatcherism as a coherent and powerful political ideology, in 1979, receiving criticism from the left and the right - for taking it all rather too seriously and being rather pessimistic.  Well, I say he was right in his intimation of the evils of the approach of the Thatcher government but I accept that you, dear reader, may disagree, I accept that you too may be one of those suffering from the collective memory loss that followed the death of ex Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher last year.

Hall’s ‘pessimism’ was referred to again in a last recent interview with The Guardian.  I prefer to think of it as his plain speaking when he said this of the current Labour party "The left is in trouble. It has not got any ideas, it has not got any independent analysis of its own, and therefore it has got no vision. It just takes the temperature: 'Whoa, that's no good, let's move to the right.' It has no sense of politics being educative, of politics changing the way people see things."  Hall expressed pessimism about politics generally, everyone should read him.  Read him especially if you wish to understand the British.

Policing the Crisis – Hall’s  influential early book on 'Mugging, the State and Law and Order'  is the work that provided us with the analytical tools to interpret how a social phenomenon could be objectified and transformed into a moral panic. It sought to unearth the relations of social forces obscured by portrayals of urban streets 'infested with violent hoodlums', a constructed social crisis centred on street crime, and a call to police the crisis that was really driven by the anxiety caused by growing political, economic and racial conflict.

Policing the Crisis was re-released only last year, 35 years on from its original publication.  A fitting tribute.  I’ve not read the reissue yet (it has a updated fore- and after-word) it was his death that reminded me of his work and I’m looking forward to the re-issue but I’m also sad that the social and political issues therein,  raised so eloquently and to such acclaim 35 years ago, have not yet been resolved, at least that what’s the decision to reprint now says to me.

Stuart Hall was a very important Twentieth century scholar and historian, I hope to see him well feted in death and I hope the reporting of his death will lead to an increase in readership of this radical and accessible cultural commentator and philosopher.  He made sense of our time by asking questions. Lots of them.

new libertines

Libertine: one devoid of most moral restraints, seen as unnecessary or undesirable . . .One who ignores or even spurns accepted morals and forms of behavior sanctioned by the larger society.

Cameron's 'Big Society' has brought us no closer to understanding the current 'larger society' and as it is a concept which confuses or scares us, many of us now spurn its morals and accepted forms of behaviour. This has led to us living according to a highly personal subjective moral code.  I have long held that morals are personal and subjective, steeped in self interest and therefore pretty immoral according to most moral codes.

The good news is that this leads me to suppose we are all libertines now, that the gloves are off and it could be fun. Do what you want, safe in the knowledge that no-one really gives a fuck anymore.

oi!!

will someone please just click follow for fuck's sake

thanks

ab

'lympics schlympics

I am ambivalent toward the Olympics. At best, I am ambivalent. At worst I am a miserable, unpatriotic whinger. I try to play down the latter. I've felt like this for a while, I felt the same way about The Dome.

I've never got on with athletics, I only run when chased and even then have a tendency to stop, turn around and foolishly yell "Come on then!". Sport was the only class I ever played up in at school. I saw no point in it frankly. To the extent I remember asking Ms Hall for motivation to run the 100 metres. Ms Hall was the chunky, butch, tougher one of our two games teachers, the other was a little blonde who let us do aerobics and looked like Olivia Newton John (well, in comparison to Ms Hall anyway). The boys had one who looked like Sting, but the other one was a dead ringer for Jimmy Greaves. Anyway, Ms Hall was furious with me for walking the hundred metres and sent me on a 400 metre punishment run. Result! Off I go around the playing fields, hit the first corner, which is a bit of a blind spot for the fat K D Lang lookalike on my case - and where I make myself throw up. Hah, the fun's over for you, Ms Hall! A girl had been sick in cross country the week before and they let her off running any further, so I'd marked this down to try the next time they sent me off on a long run. It worked a treat. Again Ms Hall was furious as she stomped across the field to bring me in.

Another hurdle (ahem) for me in engaging with London Twenty Twelve is that, to my detriment, I'm really not competitive. The idea of working towards something for years and years, visualising yourself as a winner and then for it to be over in seconds and to find yourself the loser, well, it's just weird to me. I want to see a documentary about all the losers, who spend the rest of their lives as evidence that 'you get nothing for coming fourth' (The Guard - brilliant fillum). I bet they are totally fucked up.

I suppose I'll just have to shut up and put up or learn some stock 'lympic lovin' phrases. I live in East London, so maybe I can rent myself out? What I will do is stay calm and try to avoid any embarrassing moments. I still cringe at the memory of turning up at a friend's house last time it was Olympics year, to find her and her husband watching the Paralympics. "Oh great!" I cried cracking open a beer, "this lot are hilarious". Apparently they are not hilarious, apparently they are plucky and amazing and I should be ashamed.

Bored of writing about this sporting cabaret now, but I reckon this blog will be peppered with my anti Olympics rants going forwards. Even if we win stuff.

I'll end by saying Seb Coe is a Tory twat and Steve Ovett was always way more cool (even if I've spelled his name wrong).

ab
Feb twentytwelve

Performance Review

" . . . a conceptual installation, the concept of a P.A., with hindsight I'd have been better off with a painting of a secretary".

Got a point there.

stop kissing?

I am considering no longer ending typed messages with 'x' or 'xxx'es.

I use them too freely. They are a post-ecstacy/rave culture affectation, a faux sophistication, alongside kissing everyone you meet hello and goodbye. They are a panacea for the frankly poxy nature of the times in which we live.

End of bulletin. Possibly end of kissing.

Disaffected

Oh christ. I've just looked up the definition of disaffected. It's a word that's been roaming round my head and rolling off my tongue too often of late for me to be even slightly unsure of its meaning or mistaken in its use, so I had to check. Ooh, it's bad. Really not a good word for it . . . ladies and gentlemen, I give you . . . DISAFFECTED:

Definition:- alienated, estranged

Synonyms:- antagonistic, discontented, disloyal, dissatisfied, hostile, indifferent, mutinous, rebellious, seditious, uncompliant, unfriendly, unsubmissive

Antonyms:- contented, happy, pleased

In short:- "I am disaffected" = "I am a miserable cunt".

Ooops.

Collared

I'll say it as I felt it. Incensed, briefly incandescent with rage.

There he was, outside a lovely old Mayfair pub, on a beautiful sunny day, oozing youth and poshness and totally unknown to me. He was also totally clueless as to the crime he was committing.

I couldn't believe my eyes.

A collar turned up on a polo shirt is rugger de rigeur, and there's a lot of it around in Mayfair, but on a slim fit, limited edition Fred Perry polo shirt...?!?! Fuck off, son! Was he edging his way towards a Soho / Carnaby Street life that Mummy and Daddy wouldn't understand? Or was he just trying too hard?

I love Fred Perry, and I salute my well dressed working class hero british boys (black & white) for proving money alone cannot buy you style.

Anyway, I didn't shoulder barge him, and I didn't stroll over and turn down his collar. I just looked, shook my head and walked on. Maybe I don't need those anger management sessions after all.

Blind

Blind busker on the underground again.

Well, I say busker, but I have never ever seen a someone just stand still, whistle (fairly tunelessly) for a bit and call it busking.

He stands on one of those small marked out half discs on the underground floor. They're sponsored by Carling (I think)to showcase proper buskers.

Buskers who actually play instruments. Buskers who don't have absurdly long white sticks poking outside of the area far enough to trip up rushing commuters. Commuters who then feel compelled to apologise to "the poor man". At the end of a day already littered with soul sapping "I'm sorry"-s as they hang their heads before lovers and colleagues. They still don't give him any money though. It's not like he's going to remember your face. And this is London.

Oh god, that's offensive.

I'm sorry.

No, I'm not.

Here's another thing.

It's the uncomfortable closeness to Victorian London. A blind, whistling beggar, for christ's sake! I fully expect to get home with some kind of pox and a couple of urchins. Wouldn't be the first time, I suppose.

Phew. I feel better now. Bit guilty though, so I hope the blind guy never reads this . . . (ahem)

Thanks
A.B.

Hipster Tax

Perhaps it's time to introduce a very localised hipster tax? How do we make the 2 communities mutually beneficial? There is surely an educational elite in the hipster community compared to the indigenous? There are numerous community buildings harking back to an era of previous social reform in the East End of London. Why not put the two together to provide the currency and the means for a community tax based on actions and exchanges? There are many sets of skills and experiences in this tiny and suddenly cutting edge part of London.

But no, the hipsters will continue to get in my way as I go to the shop (some cnut even trying to film me as I nipped out for eggs yesterday); the local boys will continue to chase each other round with actual guns (which will mildly excite the hipsters); the local corner shops will hike their prices even more and I will continue to draw what I can from this current iteration of my area. And hopefully not get shot.