What Are Labour For?

25 Jul
25/07/2015

The current rise of Jeremy Corbyn is exposing a split in the Labour party, but not the one we might initially think. We have been told, and will be told with increasing volume over the coming weeks, that it’s a split between the right and left of the party. There will be talk of fundamentalists trying to hijack Labour, of attempts to make the party unelectable.

That sounds good for soundbites, but doesn’t even begin to touch what’s going on.

There’s also talk of it being a generational divide. But commentators seem completely puzzled as to which generation is the one supporting Corbyn. Some are telling us that it’s the old guard, a forgotten era of the British left trying to take the stage one last time. Others are saying this is very much a crusade of the young, of people who haven’t yet learned cynicism. To my mind, this shows that it’s not a generational divide.

This isn’t about left or right, old or new, Labour or Red Tory.

What we have right now is a conversation about what politics -and a political party- is for. A lot has been written about Tony Blair in the last two decades. (There are still, to my mind, too many people in Labour who are willing to overlook the minor fact that he waged an illegal war and is responsible for countless deaths, simply because they look to him making the party electable.) Most analysis talks of Blair moving the party to the centre ground, away from the ‘hard left,’ and this idea haunts the party still.

The truth is, for all of his faults, there is a very simple reason that Blair made New Labour electable. He was selling hope. Who can forget the scenes, the music, the flags, the sheer elation as the party swept the board in 1997.  Even their theme music, Things Can Only Get Better, spoke of newfound optimism. Hope is the single most potent force in politics. Obama bottled that in 2008 and nobody could stand against him.

When people are voting out of hope, it’s hard to sway them with arguments over facts, figures, or stats. At that point, you simply sound like an accountant. Unless you have a large media empire backing you, of course….

I’m reminded of the referendum campaign last summer. The meetings in George Square, and the rallies in Buchanan Street. The campaign lost, ultimately, but even the most hardened No campaigner recognised that the Yes campaign was the one gaining traction. It was polling around 20% at the start of the campaign, and it reached 45% by September 18th. Better Together, on the other hand, chose to play to a hardcore vote they knew they had. Of people who were not going to enter the debate or budge. It got them across the line, but not by much, and it was increasingly difficult to campaign against Yessers who were simply talking about hope and positivity.

The hope that Blair sold to us was a lie. It opened the door to the modern version of Labour. A party who became state arms dealers. A party that encroached our civil liberties. A party who used the Export Credit Guarantee to usher in all kinds of abuses to innocent people abroad, while sinking them further into unpayable debts. A party that introduced university tuition fees and started the creeping privatisation of the NHS.  A party -built on people power- who challenged it’s own citizens right to free assembly and passed a law demanding that we apply for permission to demonstrate at parliament. Let’s never forget that; the ruling party of the land demanded that we ask their permission to hold them to account, on land that we pay for. The party who, when the banking collapse happened, rushed to throw public money at bailing out banks, under the guise of it being to protect the people, rather than simply bailing out those people. Gordon Brown’s government managed the Tory wet dream of nationalising private losses and privatising public profits. Then they rolled over and allowed the tories to blame them for everything.

So it was a false hope, but it was still potent. Look now at the contenders for the leadership. Look wider than that, at the whole front bench. They talk of right, left or centre. They talk very much of what they can’t do. They speak of cuts and deficits. They abstain on votes rather than standing on principles. Not one of them who wishes to lead the party -and then presumably seek to lead the country- is offering any vision of hope or principle.

The only one offering anything different is Jeremy Corbyn.

I don’t particularly see it in Corbyn either, if i’m honest. Of all the candidates, he’s the one I’m closest to politically. But I have reservations about some of his affiliations and he seems too willing to throw public money at homeopathy. His position on the EU has yet to be questioned in any real depth. If I were a member of Labour, I’d be finding it very difficult to vote for him until or unless he clarified certain things. All of that said, I think he’s becoming a figure that other people can build hope around. Young and old, left or right, Labour and ex-Labour, people are using Corbyn as something of a political Rorschach Test, and putting their own optimism onto him. Because he does at least represent a Labour that stands for things. A labour that fights back against things. A Labour that -shock horror- will vote against children being made to starve, and against invading other countries.

There is a version of the Labour party now that defines itself by whether or not it’s electable, regardless of what needs to be said or done to get there.  And here’s where the divide emerges. On the one hand we have people who want a politics of principle, and politics of getting in the good fight, win or lose, simply because it’s the right thing to do. On the other we have people who have become hardened to the idea that winning is the thing. That getting into power is what matters.

More and more, this latter group talk of the rest of us as if our hope and idealism are bad things. And they don’t seem to notice that this very attitude is a large part of why Labour are bleeding votes. The SNP in Scotland picked up thousands of votes in the election from people who don’t support independence. The Yes campaign itself picked up countless votes from people who started the campaign very much as old-school Labour unionists, but saw only one side offering a positive message. Across Europe, we’re seeing this divide grow. And the media constantly paints it as Lefts Vs. Right, when it’s Hope Vs. Fear.

People are crying out for something to believe in.

Personally, I’m unconvinced that Corbyn is that figure. As I said, there are still too many important questions to be answered. But Labour needs to wake up and embrace this conversation, rather than panicking and wheeling in Tony Blair to speak on the issue, because all that’s going to do is drive people further and further away from the party.

The root of the issue right now is a conversation about what the Labour party is for. They’ve been asking this question of themselves for a long time now, and they keep getting it wrong. They’re running out of chances.

The Replacements; live at The Roundhouse 02.06.2015

03 Jun
03/06/2015

I’ve been asked many times over the years to try to explain why I love The Replacements so much, and why it is they command such devotion from a relatively small amount of fans. I’ve tried and failed. But last night, watching them live for the very first time, I heard a few thousand people singing Androgynous at the tops of their lungs, the words belted out like a stadium anthem. A song that says, “she’s happy the way she looks, she’s happy with her gender.” As those of us in the crowd built towards the chorus, our voices raising on, “And they love each other so,” I couldn’t help but think I had an answer. Even now, in 2015, it still seems so much of “rock and roll” is about playing up to fake ideals and forced iconography. Last night we made a sing-along-anthem out of a song, from 1984, that says, ‘whatever you are, whatever you want to be, it’s okay.’ That’s my band.

But I’m skipping ahead.

I’ve had a relationship with this band and this music for longer than I care to recall. One way or another, my obsession with them has informed my adult life, and their sensibilities have bled through into my own writing. The way they went about their business deals and career ambitions has, for better or worse, often guided my own decision making.  But -even though I’ve seen both Paul Westerberg and Tommy Stinson play solo tours- the relationship has always been in something of the abstract. The band split up in 1991, and I was never going to get to see them.

The last two decades have been kind to the legend of The Replacements, if not to the band members themselves. Even if they weren’t legitimately great, history may well have chosen them to fill the same spot; being the band that fizzled and died just before punk and alt rock exploded into mainstream success,  the band that had influenced Nirvana and Green Day, as well as hipster darlings like Wilco and Ryan Adams. A band who could be talked about in newsnet groups, and then the early message boards, at a time when the internet existed just enough to share the story of a band, but not yet enough to instantly share the music. There are maybe a handful of bands who existed at that precise perfect nexus point, between influencing many disparate artists who were more successful, to the internet’s early ability to fan flames, and to the new generation of music writers who wanted to be able to talk of a band who were great, but who you would never see, unlike those writers, who were there and saw it. If you were of a cynical mind, you could say The ‘Mats didn’t need to have been any good to earn the legend they did.

You’d be completely wrong.

You could also argue that I was going to enjoy the gig no matter what. I was already prepared to do that. Heading into the venue, I knew deep down that I wasn’t expecting greatness. I was going to see my favourite band, and they would play maybe an hours worth of songs that I love. They would do a decent job of faking the commitment and spirit, and we in the crowd would do a decent job of making up any shortfall in energy, and I would come away having had a great time, but really knowing that most of the enjoyment had been from the idea of seeing the band, and not the experience.

I was completely wrong.

I’m one of a generation of fans who have helped to build that legend. We’ve written about this band in such fanciful, overblown and pretentious terms, that a reader could almost forget we were writing about a rock and roll band, and assume we were talking about some great art house project. I’m as guilty of that as most. I’ve written more about The Replacements than any other topic, and usually in the most wankerly and hifalutin terms. And you know what? I stand by every word. And, no doubt, in future I will do it all over again.

But last night stopped the band from being a legend in my head, and turned them into an actual, working, playing act on a stage in front of me. In doing so, it made me realise the one thing I’d missed all these years. For all of the high praise I can throw at the material, for the arguments I can make about Westerberg being our finest lyricist, about the various messages the band sent out simply by existing, we can lose sight of one thing; The highest praise, the only praise, this band needs is to say what a stunning rock and roll band they are.

A drummer, two guitarists, a bass player. Loud vocals. Energy, chords, rhythm.

The Replacements took to the stage last night and ripped through 29 songs. They played longer, louder, faster and better than I expected. There were no gimmicks, no frills, no pyro. Nobody needed to walk onto the stage on an elephant, or riding a giant lemon, and there was no need for a video screen behind them to help add a feeling of scale or importance.

Last night, they were the best rock and roll band you could hope to see. There’s no higher praise.

These Childish Things: Are We Dumbing Down Art?

23 May
23/05/2015

Simon Pegg gave an interview for the Radio Times, in which he criticised -or appeared to criticise- genre movies for ‘dumbing down.’ This, in the words of Douglas Adams, made a lot of people upset and was widely considered a bad move. Pegg later clarified his position on his own website and, to my mind, made a lot of good points.

Here’s a quote from the RT piece that started it all…

“Now we’re essentially all consuming very childish things – comic books, superheroes… Adults are watching this stuff, and taking it seriously!”

First things first, whoever decided that a slammer was a way to go, needs to look long and hard in the mirror. It is never acceptable to do that. Never!

Okay. There’s plenty to unpack in this quote. I tried to sit and write a cohesive argument, during which I hoped to figure out whether I agreed or disagreed with what he was saying. The truth it, I have views that are somewhat contradictory of each other. I both disagree with Pegg and absolutely agree with him. I’ve decided the best I can do is to present all of my opposing ideas here, and then hope that my cohesive opinion forms somewhere in the middle of the venn diagram.

Point The First; ‘Childish things.’

I have an issue with the way we talk about things being childish, or child-like. Too often, these phrases are used to refer to things beings dumbed down, or simplified. However, children are hands-down the cleverest people on the planet. Their capacity for understanding and learning far outstrips anything we can do as adults. You think it’s impressive that Einstein managed to work his way through the theory of relativity? That’s fucking nothing. Sit and watch what a child manages to do in his or her first four years. From nothing, from absolutely zero, with no frame of reference, a baby learns the world. It learns days and nights, people, communication, it learns to talk without having a language in the first place, it learns the very concept of language. Moving, shuffling, crawling, walking, running. Touching, cheating, giving pleasure, causing pain. Cause and effect. It’s amazing what those little bundles of collected water achieve. And from there, children go on to become far more ambitious, daring, and adult than any actual adult.

That’s really my problem with the way we talk about children’s entertainment; it’s fundamentally wrong. Children engage with material that is exciting, fun, ambitious. Children tell stories with a freedom and imagination that get’s taken away from us as we grow. Children also grow to understand very deep and complex issues. They learn about life and death, love and loss, grief and hope. They learn to deal with, and engage with, stories that tackle issues that we now seem to shy away from as adults.

When we find art that can bring us a little sense of that, any story, film, TV show or song that can rekindle that spark, we should treasure it. Doctor Who has survived for over 50 years now, not because it isn’t a kids show, but because it’s the very best kids show. It’s a show that allows adults to be children again, in short doses.

Like many comic book readers -certainly ones of my generation- I spent my teens and twenties insisting that super heroes were meant for adults. (I also wondered why the industry was dying.) Now, by and large, I’m drawn to super hero tales that embrace what they really are. That accept they are absurd little morality tales, with grown-ups dressing as a variety of animal-themes heroes, and blowing shit up. I find that the heart of Batman isn’t the moody adult avenger that we see on the surface of the story, but the scared and angry little boy that we engage with in the subtext. Superman is just a normal guy from Kansas, he could be your neighbour or your best friend, but he has super powers and can fly into outer space. How fucking cool is that? How much does that get the little childish spark in you burning?

Children are simply better than us when it comes to hope, excitement and ambition. Genuinely child-like storytelling is one of the best things there is (maybe even better than milkshake) and we lose sight of that, because we’ve lost sight of the verve and creativity that informs it. And that, in turn, is what leads to the ‘dumbing down’ that people have noticed. Not because we’re given stories that are too child-like, but rather, because we’re given stories by people who’ve forgotten how to be child-like.

Point The Second: On ‘Dumbing Down.’

Alan Moore has taken a lot of shit in the past for pointing out that the comic book industry has been taken over by a form of arrested development. A relevant quote can be taken from this interview;

In the 1980’s, comics didn’t actually grow up. I know there were all those newspaper articles that said, ‘Bam! Sock! Pow! Comics have grown up.’ But actually, Bam! Sock! Pow! No they haven’t. No. What they did was, I think, and this might be a controversial statement, I think they met the emotional age of the general public coming the other way. I think there has been a retreat of things in this century. Because of the burgeoning levels of complexity that assails the entirety of our culture.

I don’t always agree with everything Moore says, because he’s prone to over-generalisation (he says, generalising…) but I think here he has a point. As the world is getting more and more complex, as technology is making it possible to see terrible events in real-time, and as our culture moves faster and faster, there seems to be a backwards shift in our entertainment. Not all entertainment, of course. Anyone reading this far is likely to have a mental list of adult, complex and insightful works of contemporary entertainment at the ready to rebut me. But those seem to be the outliers at the moment. They always were, the mainstream pop-culture level entertainment has always been a shallower-but-wider pool, but it seems to be getting ever shallower and ever wider.

Let’s take comic books as an example. Too many people want to deny that superheroes were created for children, too many people want to steal those creations away and wrap them in some kind of protective ‘adult’ bubble. This behaviour misses the point that truly allowing the characters to be great children’s literature would be the best way for us to enjoy them as adults, and that we’re trapping ourselves in a feedback loop by ignoring that.

There’s a form of extended adolesence that we as a culture seem to be trapped in. One that manages to stop us from truly growing up and embracing the childlike parts of ourselves.

I had an odd experience when I first watched SPACED. I was a bleach-blonde comic geek, mooning over a woman, and every single thing I said during any given conversation was some form of pop-culture reference. By the same token, when I first read HIGH FIDELITY, I was working in an independent record shop, mooning over a woman, and spending my days making top-five lists. I WAS those guys. I felt like they had somehow stolen my life for comedy gold (because I am a pretty funny guy, so who could blame them?) Somewhere along the line, I stopped being that guy, and I realised that the people who continued to identify with these characters were maybe missing the point. It’s much healthier to be identifying with the protagonist at the end of HIGH FIDELITY than with the snarky, mean, immature and self-obsessed character he is during the book. People still call for more SPACED, without accepting what a horrible, weird mess that would be. Those actors are in a different place, those characters would be in a different place. People who are still calling for a sequel to SHAUN OF THE DEAD are somehow missing that there was a sequel. There was a whole trilogy, and it was about growing up.

 We’ve….grown up. Or have we?

Too many of our conversations are just reheated references to films we watched twenty years ago, and too much of our pop culture is driven by nostalgia as a result. But the damaging kind of nostalgia, the one that has no real warmth, and is making us think of a time that never really existed. (I’m going to let you all in on something; George Lucas has done absolutely nothing in the last twenty years that ruins your childhood.)

Point The Third: On Life Before And After Star Wars.

There is a line of argument that blames STAR WARS for some mass dumbing-down of SF. (Which is odd, since STAR WARS isn’t SF…) The reasoning is to point out that SF used to deal with things. That PLANET OF THE APES was about racism and society, that 2001 was ambitious as hell, that SILENT RUNNING was fucking grown-up. And then along came STAR WARS, which either lacked subtext or had one that we chose to ignore, and featured a slave trading white kid as the hero, and Jedi Knights who were happy for bars to refuse to serve droids, and pop culture has been a dumbed down place ever since.

I don’t really buy into the whole argument. There were dumb SF films before Star Wars, there have been intelligent ones since. The biggest films in cinema have always tended to be some form of popularist, sentimental fare of varying quality. Subtext is often subjective, and no one era of art has a real claim to be any more or less pure than another. Hollywood has always made money off sequels and reboots.

However, I do see some value in the argument. Just as the Bechdel Test isn’t really a valid way to judge any single film, but is a pretty accurate way to attack a body of work, so I think people who lay the blame on STAR WARS are being unfair to focus on one film, but they are correct to notice that something in the culture shifted around that time.

If entertainment is still art, and if art is where we deal with our modern world and the big questions of life, then what does it say about us as a culture that we are less and less dealing with these big issues in our entertainment? Which leads to….

Point The Fourth: On Consequences, Violence & Grief. 

Here’s where I’m starting to feel an opinion forming, a through-line that’s pulling all together. Being genuinely child-like in our art is important, and all too rare, but we’re replacing it with an odd adult form of arrested development.

Our biggest films now all seem to end in final Acts that are filled with explosions. Cities are falling. Aliens are being wiped out. Robots are being blown up. Both AVENGERS: AGE OF ULTRON and MAD MAX: FURY ROAD have filled our screens this year with lessons in visceral, amazingly choreographed, immersive action. (For what it’s worth, FURY ROAD does it far better than AGE OF ULTRON.) Amazing amounts of work and detail are going into putting these things together. A veritable orgy of shit blowing up and people doing amazing stunts. In theory, the stakes in these stories are getting higher and higher every year, but in practice? I’m not convinced.

What real emotional consequences were there during the battles in either Avengers movie? What was to be lost, or grieved over, or paused to contemplate, in all the robots and aliens blowing up? Where did we see the cost on human lives and emotions as Metropolis fell in a pornography of destruction during MAN OF STEEL (and I don’t mean the good kind of pornography…) Star ships crashed into cities in the last STAR TREK film, how did that feel? What did we care? A lot of people died during MAD MAX: FURY ROAD, how many of them were we led to care about? How many of the people who were blown up, incinerated, chopped up, stabbed, run down, or crushed did we really care about? Or get a chance to care about?

Much has been made, naturally, of the idea that our popcorn movies have been affected by 9/11 and, to a lesser extent, the ‘war on terror’ and 7/7. We’ve all seen the images of buildings falling, of explosions, of dust clouds. But if that is what is informing the subtext of our movies, then why is it only the physical destruction that we’re dealing with? Where is the emotion? The reflection? The human cost?

It sees to me, and maybe I’m wrong, but that there’s little difference between the various reavers in MAD MAX: FURY ROAD, or the robots and aliens in avengers movies, and the old villainous Indians in westerns. The characters that we’re asked not to care about, there only so that we can shoot things, kill things, and run away from things without having to think any deeper. Except, there seemed to be a moment in time when we as a culture realised that was wrong. Not only because of the implicit racism of that trope, but also because that, in turn, made us face up to complexity. We stopped making those kinds of westerns (and boy, did the genre die a quick death after that) and started to make films that explored deeper issues, and looked at more sides of the story. Then, somewhere along the line, we just wanted to have Storm Troopers to blow up again.

I don’t really know if what I’m arguing here is that we’re regressing, or simply getting better at lying to ourselves. I just wonder if, in an age when we’re all supposed to be hyper self-aware, if we’re maybe all participating in a culture that fundamentally lacks self-awareness.

Point The Fifth: The Wrong Kind Of Childishness.

Pretty much coming back to where we came in. Simon Pegg took a lot of heat for his words. Very quickly. The very fact that he needed to backtrack shows that maybe he was onto something. As much as I opened up this piece by defending the childish imagination, I think there are other sides to childhood that we can recognise as destructive. The possessiveness, the anger, the lashing out. Those of us in our various fandom sub-genres hate nothing more than having our love of something challenged, or even having the thing we love face any level of criticism.

I’ve done it. You’ve done it. We’ve all done it. Someone criticises a film, TV show, comic or novel that we’ve loved, and we react in anger. We take it personally. We maybe lash out. I think we need to stop and pause, and think about why that is.

I’ve argued before, that nothing proves literary writers correct in their disdain of genre quite as much as the way genre writers react to that disdain. We get angry and defensive fast. And the same appears (to me at least) to be true here.

Pegg raised the notion that certain aspects of out culture are overly dumbed-down and infantilised, and the response was that certain people in our culture instantly started shouting at him and calling him names. I think they’re maybe not proving what they think they’re proving…

Point The Sixth: A New Hope

Maybe this is all the end. Maybe the pop culture mainstream, driven by straight white men who steal from elsewhere and then repeat over and over, is in it’s death throws, and this is merely the end of a long game of Chinese whispers. Maybe all of these blogs, interviews and think-pieces really only speak to the fact that ‘we’ -in this form- have had our time and deep down we’re panicking about that.

As the mainstream slowly makes more room for diverse voices, as we (at glacial speed) are opening up to intersectional arguments, and to wider representation, maybe all of these issues that I’ve been arguing about will become irrelevant, as new art and culture is born. Maybe it already is irrelevant, and our mainstream culture is merely showing that the game is up, and that it’s time to change.

Or maybe this whole essay today is the one thing that’s irrelevant, who knows?