Boom and Bust

London Fields # 59

First published Inpress, Melbourne on 29 December 2008

NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

But you really don’t care for music, do you? Isn’t it more than a little ironic that the debut single of this year’s winner of The X Factor is a cover of Leonard Cohen’s classic Hallelujah? The fastest selling download in UK history was released just after the final, so it’s fair to assume that all the late contenders recorded their own karaoke rendering of the same arrangement. The sheer commercial hard-headedness of it just fills my heart with seasonal glee. Saturday night telly is where the BBC and its commercial rival ITV battle it out in audience-voted talent quests, the modern day equivalent of variety shows. Even Peter Kay’s one-off piss-take Britain’s Got The Pop Factor And Possibly A New Celebrity Jesus Christ Soapstar Strictly On Ice spawned its own single, and it seems nothing will stem this tide of bilge passing for entertainment.

Pop may well eat itself, but television feasts on its own entrails. Literally in Charlie Brooker’s Dead Set (E4), which focussed on a microcosm of refugees hiding in the Big Brother house whilst the world outside fell to zombies. Brooker was also behind Screenwipe, an informative, cruel and bloody funny show about television. On ITV, the award-winning TV Burp saw Harry Hill take a gentler ramble through the previous week’s viewing, replete with some lovely running gags. While BBC Four had a series of biopics of famous comedians and their bloody depressing lives, it wasn’t a vintage year for TV comedy. New sketch shows failed, Pulling improved but wasn’t recommissioned. With the exception of Peep Show, the brighter lights were the newcomers, like No Heroics, or The Kevin Bishop Show. 2008 also saw the serious decline of the documentary. reality TV and lifestyle challenges had already done damage, but the new decline was evidenced by ‘mission’ shows. Even Horizon turned mental illness into a game of Spot The Looney.

Dramas prepared us for the end of the world. Spooks saw a Russian sleeper planting a nuclear device in central London, and the ropey Spooks Code 9 was set in the aftermath of a nuclear attack by terrorists at the 2012 games. Survivors (a remake of Terry Nation’s 1970’s original) began with a pandemic wiping out over 99% of the earth’s population, and next year we’re promised a new version of The Day Of The Triffids. While I suppose anything is more entertaining than Hole In The Wall or I’m A Has-been, Restart My Career, you start to wonder if we’re being slowly prepared for a new, tougher world, one where you can only hold onto what is yours by force.

In the real world of London’s streets, 28 teenagers died violently and gangs fought post code-based wars. Britain talked its overvalued housing market into a crisis, and we all just watched helplessly as the credit crunch inevitably became a recession. For sure, someone made a nice profit out of the misery of wrecked lives. Every day a further 350 Londoners lose their jobs; unemployment stands at 1.8 million, the highest since 1991, and predictions expect this to rise by another million by 2010. But the most telling sign of the downturn has been the loss of an integral part of British life and one of the country’s retail giants - Woolworths. Perhaps actually closest to the long-gone Coles Variety stores, Woolies modern Australian equivalent would be Target or K-Mart. Yet Woolies wasn’t an outer suburban megastore - with 807 stores they held a place on every high street. Nothing has felt less like Christmas than watching a wake of buzzards descend upon the 27 000 soon to be unemployed workers, to pick clean the carcass of the dying beast, all to the sound of piped Christmas songs. Ironic also as this was where many a single of Christmas Past was bought.

My catch cry of live gigs this year seems to have been ‘Oh, maybe it was just a bad night’. Hence Robert Forster was dull and uninspired and Nick Cave at Hammersmith seemed a little out of love with The Bad Seeds, perhaps wishing he was playing Grinderman instead. The exceptions to ‘bad nights’ were wonderful. My Bloody Valentine joined the rare echelons of acts whose reunion was a good idea, and Edwyn Collins, who I was a little scared to see after his stroke, proved bloody great, both musically and spiritually. The baggy workings of Working For A Nuclear Free City hinted at a possible return to Madchester, and Frank Turner’s enthusiasm and sheer joie de vie made every show special. Get Well Soon as a full band surpassed their excellent debut album, and Fuck Buttons dark rave provided an exhilarating contrast to boring Carling rock acts.

With Top Of The Pops gone, and only very large stores carrying any physical singles at all, does the singles chart really matter any more? Railing against bad cover versions, I feel a little like Alex DeLarge, strapped into a chair, my eyes clamped open, screaming “It’s a sin!” Yet as I write, the campaign to get Jeff Buckley’s cover of Hallelujah is gaining momentum. Perhaps there is some hope for the future after all?

© James McGalliard 2008

Three Seasons In One Year

London Fields # 47
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 26 December 2007
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

If you look at the news cycle, it was as though nothing of note happened in the world in 2007. Blair may have abdicated and passed the throne seamlessly to Gordon Brown (the invisible PM), but things seem mainly unchanged. Yep, there may well have been wars and disasters, but most of our attention was seemingly drawn to Celebdaq-style events.

Amy Winehouse may have ended the year Back To Black as the best selling album of 2007, but sometimes it was hard to remember that she was a musician (except when it came to odds on whether she’d show up at her own gigs). Pete Doherty, who must have been well aware of the pattern, then became part of the Winehouse saga when he paid her a visit. Earlier in the year the vexed question of whether the various z-listers had been racist came from the misleadingly named Celebrity Big Brother. And the year ended with outrage that Fairytale Of New York had to be censored for play on BBC Radio 1, but they soon backed down from their immovable stance. Were these all distractions from the real news?

Over on TV, Spooks has spent the last nine weeks preparing us for the breaking of ties with America, and Iran gaining nuclear capability. Is this TV drama preparing a complaint public for possible futures, a production trying to be gritty and edgy, or just another distraction? The TV networks have been a news story in themselves this year, with rigged results from premium rate phone lines. While this has spared us the late night horrors of Quiz Call and The Vault, over at Aunty it’s caused the BBC to suspend all competitions. Their studios must be overflowing with promotional tat, as they’re not allowed to give any of it away.

While some got hooked on Heroes, it faded into insignificance next to Battlestar Galactica, which, after stumbling slightly in the second season, came back with some of the tightest drama on screen this year. Summer Saturday evenings meant Doctor Who, which returned with a very strong season, marred only by a messy(anic) final episode. But the great British public were obsessed with reality shite like I’m A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here, talent contests like The X-Factor, or worst of all, series to cast West End musicals (Grease and Joseph And His Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat). Yeach! Only The Apprentice seemed to rise above the mire, but even it had been dumbed down in its move from BBC Two to BBC One; its repetitive formula saved by the candidates and Sir Alan Sugar himself. Charlie Brooker continued to relentlessly dissect the medium in his weekly Screen Burn column for The Guardian, and on his own show Screenwipe on BBC Four. However the best thing on TV this year was Skins – proof that drama can be innovative, involving and original, even if its target is ‘only’ adolescents.

Summer was a lukewarm washout; Glastonbury was a mud bath, July’s Truck Festival was washed into September, and other festivals were postponed or cancelled, while some went bankrupt. In the high street, record shops went belly up, or were bought out, sending us back online to buy specialist items. There were some great songs this year, but few great albums. Many of the previous hopes released lacklustre second efforts; only Bloc Party produced an inventive and mature follow-up to their debut album. Similarly Devastations may have alienated some with Yes, U, but it was the most rounded original and consistent work of their career. But The Twilight Sad was easily the highlight of 2007; their debut album displayed a new original voice and their deafening live shows were each special, different and unique.

The introduction of a total smoking ban was the biggest change for gig goers, and caused problems in venues with a strict No Passouts policy, particularly where this was more a matter of protecting their high bar prices rather than anything else. A continuing pattern was the firework career arc - acts get too big too quickly, and may sell out large shows but can’t satisfy the crowds they draw. This hype also plays into the hands of the scalpers - and prices go up, and gigs are full of idiots who have no interest in the music. These large gigs then become a chore, so I’m almost glad that some acts never broke big so I can still see them in smaller venues. While iLiKETRAiNS’s debut suffered from being too much at the one pace, their live show is still great; Fields are another band that sadly didn’t cross into the big venues, but put on a great live show. Sadly no-one but me picked up Apartment’s The Dreamer Evasive and it seems that they’ve now gone into indefinite hiatus. But some of the best bands of 2007 were an older generation, raging against the dying of the light - James, Grinderman, The Blue Aeroplanes and Gallon Drunk.

2007 was the year summer never came; the year Tony Wilson died; a year that we focused on the wrong things; and a period when BBC 6Music lost many of the presenters that made the station special; a time that dumbing down seemed to be the order of the day. It was a year with few highs or lows. Yet some of the new acts I’ve seen recently at least give me more hope for 2008.


© James McGalliard 2007

Everyone Says I'm Paranoid

London Fields # 33
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 29 November 2006
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

Is Britain heading towards the dystopia predicted in George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four? Spin doctors are straight from the Ministry Of Truth, and while reality TV has softened the concept, the question remains “Is Big Brother watching you?” There are currently 4.2 million CCTV cameras in Britain, and around half a million of those are in London. Recently published figures suggest that you’ll be filmed about 300 times on a day out in the capital. This camera footage is also linked to numberplate recognition software to see if the £8 daily congestion charge for driving in central London has been paid.

But you can avoid the charge if you use public transport, and the cheapest way of doing this is by Oystercard, a smart card which will eventually eliminate paper tickets and cash fares. There’s great pressure for punters to switch - some buses don’t sell tickets on board, and cash fares now cost about double those made by Oystercard. Yet every single journey you make is monitored, and CCTV footage can link you to your card, even if it’s an unregistered, pay-as-you-go one. As a punter, the only time this journey-tracking really comes into its own is when you’ve been partying hard and can’t remember just how you got home. All you have to do is place your card on the reader in the station and hey presto – your forgotten past is there on the screen as your journeys of the previous evening are displayed. But what else could this information be used for?

Recycling of domestic waste is still in its infancy in the UK; many folks will dump their newspapers into the wheelie bin rather than the recycling box next to it. To meet tough new government targets, compulsory recycling is being introduced, involving random checks, and warnings or fines for non-compliance. More stringent measures include the use of hidden cameras, and in one council simply refused to collect a household’s domestic waste because it contained recyclable materials.

New biometric UK passports have just been introduced to meet the stricter requirements of a post-9/11 US. Already you need to submit to having your fingerprints taken if you wish to enter the USA. But a new UK scheme is asking drinkers for them to be fingerprinted before they’ll be served in the pub! The idea is to cut alcohol-related crime, and it’s already been tried as a pilot scheme in the village of Yeovil in Somerset. Publicans who didn’t want to join in the scheme were told they faced having their licences revoked if they refused. The scheme is set to expand, as figures showed a 48% drop in violent alcohol-related crime over six months in the pilot area. So if you’re barred, you’ll stay barred! I wonder what Liam Gallagher and Pete Doherty will make of this? Recent newspaper reports claim that they’re scouring Kentish Town, looking for the right local to take over and run.

The British judicial system is the model on which many others are based. In April last year, the double jeopardy law, which prevented someone being tried for the same crime twice, was removed after being a part of law for 800-odd years. It could be successfully argued that the law had to be changed following the unsuccessful prosecutions of those involved in the murder of black teenager Stephen Lawrence. So sometimes age-old laws need to change or evolve, but consider the case of anti-war protestor Brian Haw, who has held a one-man protest in Parliament Square, outside the Houses of Parliament, since June 2001. Existing laws were unable to remove him. In answer came the Serious Organised Crime and Police Act 2005 (SPOCA), which prohibits protests within a one kilometre radius of, yup, Parliament Square! Following a High Court battle, sections of the legislation have been applied retrospectively, and he is now facing criminal charges.

It could be argued that all this is necessary in the dangerous world of 2006. Dame Eliza Manningham-Buller, the head of MI5, has said that there are at least 200 al-Qaeda cells operating in the UK, and that the agency is currently tracking over 1600 people, and investigating 30 major plots, and 200 others. This, she says, is an 80% increase in casework since January, and went on to say “I wish life were like Spooks, where everything is knowable and soluble by six people”. Yet the recent fifth series of Spooks continually repeated the mantra that the stakes were raised, and previously accepted freedoms just weren’t possible in this new world. So now policeman have cameras fitted to their hats, and are carrying devices allowing people to be electronically fingerprinted in the street, when previously an arrest was needed to do this.

So, in summary they’re watching us, and monitoring what we buy and where we go, and even what we throw out. Some may argue that only the guilty need fear this level of intrusion, as the innocent have nothing to hide. The worry is what this information may be used for. Just remember - no matter how many pictures you take on your London trip, more will be taken of you!


© James McGalliard 2007

The Battle Of Britain

London Fields # 18

First published Inpress, Melbourne on 21 September 2005

NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

“Covering up the agony with mindless entertainment…”
ABC - United Kingdom

Over the past seven years, so-called reality shows have completely changed the landscape of modern television. Along with makeover projects, these are reasonably cheap to make, and have all but replaced the documentary. If their prevalence has made us all slightly more media savvy, just what has it done to those who participate?

In 1998, The Truman Show depicted the ultimate development is reality television. In the same year came the documentary 42 Up, looking at how a cross-section of British children, first interviewed at the age of 7 in 1964, were coping aged 42. This week ITV, as part of their 50th anniversary series of programmes, are halfway through showing the latest of the seven-year updates, 49 Up. The lives of the dozen or so participants have now probably outgrown pure documentary to evolve into the first reality TV stars. Yet in the time elapsed since the last instalment, the world of Big Brother and similar shows has not been without affect. A snowball that means that the director finds himself questioned about his motives in continuing to chase his subjects every seven years. Initially I thought filmmaker Michael Apted had lost his way when putting this together. It felt disconnected, as though he’d merely tacked an appendix onto his earlier work. But as time’s passed, I’ve realised there’s another reason for this change. The nation that he started to document some forty years ago no longer exists.

If starting a similar project now, would virtually all the children be white, and mostly male? There are different schisms now than class, which was seen as the major cultural divide back then. What’s worth noting is [in the first half at least] everyone has moved out of London. The reasons vary, but the most telling comes from Tony, the cabbie. He no longer feels that there are communities as there were when he was growing up, due to the influx of other cultures into Britain. His answer is to head to Spain, and set up his own Little Britain there. To go to another country and create an English enclave there – in other words to do exactly what he doesn’t like about the UK in the twenty-first century himself.

Reality television and documentary can meet and create something other than low brow fodder, as The Monastery showed. The concept for this was remarkably simple – take five men and put them in a Benedictine monastery for forty days and nights, living as the monks do, spending much time in silent thought, and to observe what happens. The resulting three one-hour episodes followed the challenges and revelations the men made as they come face-to-face with their inner selves. Made by the BBC religious unit, it was a compelling, and genuinely moving experience, and easily ranks as one of the television highlights of the year so far.

Last week there was a moment of national pride here, as the English enjoyed the feel-good factor, brought about by their victory in the Ashes series. This was a little odd. Cricket is not a grassroots game at all here – you don’t see kids playing it in the streets or the parks. The strongest following comes from the public schools, and the Asian communities [in the UK that means India, Pakistan and Bangladesh]. Football is the only real national sport here, but English successes there are even rarer than in the cricket. Sadly it seems unlikely that this fervour will have oxygen to fan the flames, as the draw at The Oval which gave the series victory to England was the last test match that you’ll be able to see on British TV without paying a subscription.

Having lost all three of its principal leads during the last series, the producers of Spooks had to find a pretty big bang to keep it all rolling. They came up with a two-parter about a series of bombs aimed at civilians in the capital. Yes, of course it was plotted, written and probably filmed before the events of July. Yet watching the scenes of dialogue-free devastation, you felt that someone had capitulated and rushed back to re-edit the original footage. The next episode concerned the election campaign of an ‘England for the English’ politician. A series that started as an enjoyable romp has descended into a dangerous mirror-reality, almost begging for copycat actions, so they can show how astute their observations are. If only leading light Rupert Penry-Jones had been given a second series of the sadly cancelled North Square instead.

Coincidentally, last weekend Trevor Phillips, the head of The Commission for Racial Equality, spoke of fears that Britain was in danger of becoming a ghetto nation. Yet all of this could be seen as the efforts of a new, changing nation struggling to find its own identity. If Apted decides to continue with his project, it’ll be interesting to see just what the Britain of 56 Up will be. And Gillian Armstrong – isn’t it about time that you showed us how the Australian women of Bingo, Bridesmaids & Braces are coping with their forties?

© James McGalliard 2005