I have good reasons for asking this, because several years ago I moved to a very large city. Back then it was a mish-mash of concrete and urban sprawl, and it felt dark and vaguely threatening. Then the developers moved in with their skyscraper cranes, steel girders and eyes glittering with holy zeal. ‘Let us regenerate’, and they did and they saw that it was good.
Unfortunately for many of us, it was less than good: it was destructive and pig-headed. At first I was pleased to see the new restaurants and the space age department stores. I even liked some of the shoppers; though I can’t understand people who wear sunglasses over their hair like UV protective Alice bands.
Then the Dark Side became apparent. I like to hang around rock venues, and often these are small city centre pubs with basement stages. They charge £4 on the door, and you can turn up to hear a handful of unsigned bands at the weekend. They are full of leather clad music fiends, and – believe it or not – some of them are actually friendly. Occasionally I look like one of them, despite being ‘middle-aged’. Who wants to be a stereotype? Lots of people!
But the Noveau Urban Re-generators hate these places because they take up valuable ‘real estate’. Why have a rock pub when you can bulldozer it into the dirt and build a faceless department store on the ruins instead? After all, what people want is a nice clean happy environment, uncluttered by hairy bohos like me. This isn’t just vapouring, I’ve watched it happen.
One by one I’ve seen valuable venues close down, either through the will of the regen. vandals or because a gang of local yuppies signed a petition. ‘We don’t like the noise of culture’ would be shorthand for their views. These are people who install themselves in town centres while the dust is still settling on their new build apartments. Suddenly – because they paid upwards of £150,000 for a brick and plaster box which will fall to bits in 20 years anyway – they become horribly vocal.
I’ve watched two valued venues close down in just a handful of years, and there are more on the way. A friend recently showed me a converted church on Cardiff Bay called The Point: it went bust because people complained about the noise. The venue was forced to foot the bill for sound-proofing, but this proved too much of a financial strain. In my own city, Ronnie Scotts shut down: it’s now a strip club. Another city centre club had to close because of complaints from the pin stripe brigade.
A few years ago this would have been unthinkable. People actually wanted to go to live music venues to socialise, but now music (much like masturbation) has become a solo experience. Of course people still travel to festivals in the Summer, but that’s just in between iPod and MySpace sessions. Music is always at its best when experienced with other people, so I continually wonder, ‘What the Hell went wrong’?
Another reason for hating urban regeneration is that – as predicted by Naomi Klein in ‘No Logo’ – it has led to private space masquerading as public space. When I walk through my city I have security guards peering at me, guarding those valuable pizza restaurants against hairy folk rockers like me. After all, I might get stroppy and say, ‘Good morning’ or something.
Urban yuppies are incompatible with grassroots culture. They stunt the development of our major towns and cities because they are anti-creative, anti-intellectual and self obsessed. They are heeded by local authorities on a disproportionate scale to their personal worth and intelligence, and they should be quitely ignored for the fools they really are.
I don’t claim to be a film expert, but I can’t understand the Western world’s obsession with Hollywood. When you’ve seen half a dozen of their mass produced products you’ve seen them all.
Acting? You must be kidding! There seems to be a total lack of dedication to any kind of craft in most Hollywood flicks. Then there’s the merchandising, the Oscars, the ego stroking combined with the not so subtle subtext of backstabbing and falsehood. It’s not big, it’s not clever and it’s not art. It’s just a machine churning out (not so cheap) entertainment for the huddled masses.
World cinema is the way to go. Did I say ‘World cinema’? Where else are films made? I got into ‘foreign’ films by accident after I decided to borrow a few from my local library. French films are all about relationships: something the French have elevated to a high art. They seem to have a huge amount of categories for this crazy little thing called love. Ever seen ‘Claire’s Knee’? A man becomes obsessed with touching a girl’s knee, and this – for him – is the only kind of contact he craves. When he finally does so, it’s rather touching… Pun intended.
I finally got bored with French flicks, so I tried Spanish films. They’re actually not much different from the French ones because they also obsess about relationships, but with a strong dose of surrealism thrown into the stew for good measure. The erotic charge in some of those films is immense: ‘Sex and Lucia’ is a classic example. It’s not an ‘adult film’ because it’s beautifully shot and it has an almost dream-like quality about it. And it tells a story using a kind of symbolic language which you gradually unravel as you think about the film.
Hollywood simply steals ideas from this huge catalogue of talent and recycles it for the peanut munching morons who actually think Keanu Reeves can act. I respect Al Pacino, and despite my rather acid tones I don’t dislike all American films: just the target marketed ones with coke ads printed all over them. If you want a good independent US film try watching ‘Wristcutters’. Then try finding someone who’s actually seen it; you’ll probably have a long search.
Japanese and Chinese films are also rewarding to watch. Yes, you have to read the subtitles, but it’s a small price to pay for quality. ‘Warm Water under a Red Bridge’ is highly original (many Japanese films appear to draw on folk tales and mythology: this one is no exception) and even a Chinese martial arts flick is vastly superior to Hollywood dross.
How about watching Drunken Master 1 & 2? The acting is terrible, but the fight scenes are pure unadulterated genius. The list goes on, and I can’t capture the essence of truly wonderful cinema in this post. All you have to do is look for them and keep an open mind. Hollywood won’t: its third eye is closed.
Here are some verses from a song called ‘The Hollywood Sign’ by Dory Previn:
You know the Hollywood sign
that stands in the Hollywood hills?
I don’t think the Christ of the Andes
ever blessed so many ills.
The Hollywood sign seems to smile
like it’s constantly saying “cheese”.
I doubt if the Statue of Liberty
ever welcomed more refugees.
Give me your poor,
your tired, your pimps.
Your carhops, your cowboys
your midgets, your chimps.
Give me your freaks,
your whores, your harlots,
your flunkies, your junkies.
Give me your starlets.
A slightly belated Happy New Year to everyone: all 2 of you, as I can see from my blog stats that not many people actually read these pages. Actually the ‘About’ section (possibly the most tedious thing you will read online) has the most hits. I really don’t mind: writing is therapeutic and I don’t post here so much.
I want to say a few words in praise of the Idle Foundation (IF) who have been the source of so much inspiration and moral support over the last year or so. I’m proud to be a member as we’re a small but growing band of online misfits, bohos and creatives. I’m using the word ‘misfits’ affectionately here! Who wants to fit in with an inherently corrupt and culturally vapid system?
Looking back over 2008, I’ve had a very creative year. I’ve written a manifesto, a handful of essays and a few poems. I even wrote a guitar tune, inspired by the late Davy Graham. I hope to get involved in some more writing with and for the IF at some stage, and my point is… without their encouragement I would have produced nothing. I need a kick up the arse coupled with a bit of support before I can ‘put pen to paper’.
Inevitably a blog like this falls short of saying what’s really in my heart, but I hope this will suffice. Thank you, thank you and thank you all again.
…and things that go bump in the night! Halloween is over (or Samhain if you’re a Wiccan). Needless to say I spent it in the pub with an assortment of costumed revellers. I’m not 100% sure they all knew what they were celebrating.
I remembered my dead friend, Craig, and how we all went out one Halloween many years ago. Craig and Brian were dressed as werewolves, and on the way back home we passed an off-license where we noticed a police forensic team dusting for prints. The place had just been robbed.
The next day we learned that the heisters were 3 men dressed in Halloween costumes. It was strange that the law paid us no attention as we staggered past. Maybe they weren’t looking.
Last night I spotted a rather attractive girl dressed as a vampyre. She was wearing red contact lenses and had prosthetic fangs fitted. She really looked the part! For me, Halloween is nothing more than an interesting night out, but I almost wish it could be extended. It seems healthy to focus on our mortality once in a while, and to remember the departed.
1. I didn’t pray to my upside-down cross
2. I wasn’t particularly rude about Jesus
3. I ate fewer babies than normal
4. I didn’t say God’s name backwards more than a couple of times
5. Avoided ouja boards like the plague
6. Burned my tarot cards
7. I didn’t suckle on a witch’s tit
8. No major curses were put forth
9. Refrained from ritually sacrificing my parents to Beelzebub
10. I didn’t vote Conservative
I don’t look so very different from a lot of people, and I don’t always dress so differently from most people. I’m too old to be sartorially radical, and too young to start wearing brown. Why do older people end up wearing loose fitting brown clothes? Particularly men…
This evening I went out wearing a t-shirt with the Marvel comic character Thor on the front, and an old (but revered) leather jacket. This didn’t get positive remarks from people… I had quite a bit of hostility. If I’d gone out with a centre parting and a suit, and perhaps the faint citrusy tang of mid-priced aftershave, I would have become instantly acceptable to some (very stupid) people.
I blame the times we live in and popular culture. It has become acceptable to be openly rude about, ‘People who aren’t like me.’ Well, surprise surprise; no-one is particularly like you!
I’m not misanthropic, or angry, or mad, or illiterate, or foolish. Why are so many people like that? What makes people decide to embrace ugliness and stupidity? As soon as they do that, they become slaves. They are empty and will remain so forever.
After a long break (longer than is probably decent!) I’m venturing into the world of online dating. I didn’t try to avoid dating so much as discover that today’s world makes it seem silly to leave things to chance.
Naively I thought that I would meet someone in my everyday life; perhaps in the pub (women go there from time to time!) or at work, or through friends. Sadly, this hasn’t happened.
I’ve never liked the idea of using the Internet to meet someone, though I’ve tried chat rooms. Women who meet you there say things like: ‘I’d prefer not to meet someone who’s from the Internet’.
Oddly, I’m not ‘from the Internet’. I wasn’t born online, or spawned there. I’m just a guy who happens to have Net access. Strange the rules people make when dating… Almost like playing ‘don’t step on the cracks’ when you were a child. I’ve always thought that if two people get on with each other, it doesn’t matter how or where they met. Apparently I’m wrong.
So I’ve signed up to an online dating service and I’m talking to a woman who seems very pleasant. Hanging around in pubs (or bars a few years ago) got me nowhere. Even casual flings aren’t on the menu for me. I’m not ugly, I’m not good looking; I’m simply me. One day perhaps… one day.
I decided to write about death because I recently met someone who had been diagnosed with liver cancer. With treatment he went into remission, but he had been told he was terminal. Death is everywhere but we choose not to see it. The dead cat by the side of the road, the weary feeling in our bones which we can get rid of with a brisk walk; these are signs of our mortality.
I’m inspired by a poem which, I believe, dates from ancient Egypt, around 3000 BC :
Death is before me today
like the recovery of a sick man,
like the going forth into a garden after sickness.
Death is before me today
like the odor of myrrh,
like sitting under a sail on a windy day.
Death is before me today
like the course of the freshet,
like the return of a man from the war-galley to his house.
Death is before me today
as a man longs to see his house
when he has spent years in captivity.
Here, death is seen as release and freedom: a new beginning preferable to the stagnation of exile or waiting for conflict. At last, here it is the old bastard! Personally I feel like Woody Allen who said, ‘I am not afraid of death, I just don’t want to be there when it happens.’ Wise words there, Woody.
I love those cool urban nights when everything seems to happen the way you want it too. Last night I went out and sampled some excellent beer: Whitstable’s ‘Pearl Of Kent’. I kid you not, this stuff tastes like toffee and has a smooth edge to it not unlike top quality whisky. I had to stop myself from over-indulging! I also had an unmentionably awful ale, which tasted like fermented fox piss with added grapefruit juice: not everything is wonderful.
I met a poet called Simon and a man who claims to make a living by playing slot machines. He never gets my name right, but he seems friendly… ‘Be careful of such people’, says my heart. Actually I think he’s pretty honest: time will tell.
As we head for recession it seems that some of my smaller city haunts have discovered live music and drama. At least one pub I know has opened a small theatre on their top floor.
Heading home I dropped into a jazz bar and heard a classically trained guitarist flick through some gypsy orientated guitar tunes and songs. And all this in the Midlands; for a few hours it seemed more like Greenwich Village in the 60s, or perhaps some obscure Parisian suburb. Hopelessly romantic, I know, but worth exploring.
Not that I’m obsessed with vampires… noooo, of course not. My psychiatrist says, ‘You’re definitely not obsessed with them, it’s just a hobby’. He’s right. It’s a hobby.
Anyhow, when I was growing up my dad used to tell me the story of the Croglin Vampire, otherwise known as, ‘The vampire of Croglin Grange’. Usually, this was shortly before I was about to fall asleep, so you can imagine how disturbed my dreams were.
It’s a long rambling story which I’m too lazy to tell you here, so I thought I would provide a link. Sleep well!
Thousands of Chinese people were evicted from their homes prior to the 2008 Olympics. Many were taken away in the night and ‘disappeared’. We should protest.
YouTube is a great place to find strange vids on all manner of weird and wonderful subjects. A friend pointed me towards the cat genre of online oddness:
I noticed that if I slow down whatever I’m doing, relax and enjoy myself, the world around me seems to do the same thing. People seem kinder, strangers smile at you. ‘Who is this person looking so content?’ More please.
This short movie is called ‘Big Buck Bunny’, and it was produced using free open source software (FOSS). It’s very amusing, and worth checking out. It might load very slowly, even with high bandwidth, but usually you can get around that by turning off the HD feature. Respect!
Vampires or ‘vampyres’ are really very bohemian. I love vampire films; there’s something so dark and compelling about them. They’re seductive, confronting us with our deepest fears: life, love, sex and death… the realisation of our own mortality.
I mentioned sex, and I think vampires are very sexual. Just read Bram Stoker’s ‘Dracula’ to get a sense of that (even though the sexual references are very oblique). All those stakes piercing soft human flesh: nothing Freudian going on there then!
Last night I watched ‘Lost Boys: the Tribe’. Not the world’s greatest vampire film, but good fun anyway. Here’s the song from the first movie: eerie!
I will revisit the vampire theme in another post later on. I have a lesser known English vampire story for you.
Okay, you probably know how to be a bohemian, but do you know how to dress like one? If not, follow these tips:
Steps
Wear chunky jewelry. Look for natural stones, like turquoise. Long strands of bead in subdued colors, as well a wooden jewelry, also add to this look.
Buy interesting vintage pieces. Peruse consignment stores and garage sales for vintage garments and accessories, especially from the 1960s and 70s.
Layer your clothing; combine different textures and patterns. Try a dress over jeans, a tunic with tights and boots, shorts with tights, or cardigan sweaters in earthy tones. If you do decide to mix patterns, stick to a basic color scheme, and alternate the size of the patterns (such as a small floral print with white graphic stripes).
Wear your worn-out jeans from last year.
Purchase items in interesting patterns, such as plaid, florals, and stripes.
Wear your hair long, if possible. Beachy waves and highlights are trademarks of this look.
Beaded flats, natural-material flip-flops (like grass or leather, instead of plastic), and boots are perfect shoes for this trend.
Buy unique purses and jewelry from vintage stores or flea markets.
Wear scarfs in the winter. Look for nubby knits and floaty, ethnic prints.
Clothes that are ’60s and ’70s inspired are the highlights of this trend. Check out some fashion books from your library from this time period. Examine the photos for inspiration. Look at the way people wore their clothes and imitate their looks.
Tips
Choose warm, soft colors. Examples include rusted orange, forest green, soft rosy pink, and deep purple. Stick to nature-inspired tones.
Warnings
Don’t over do the layerings and textures (unless you want to look like Jimi Hendrix).
Article provided by wikiHow, a collaborative writing project to build the world’s largest, highest quality how-to manual. Please edit this article and find author credits at the original wikiHow article on How to Dress As a Bohemian. All content on wikiHow can be shared under a Creative Commons license.
I’ve long been a fan of the amazing Richard Thompson and his incredible guitar playing. He seems able to play things which us mere mortals can’t aspire to. I was lucky enough to see him last year at Birmingham Symphony Hall. His voice seemed to fill the entire building.
