Posts Tagged ‘Tom McCarthy’

Nick Lezard’s Wacky Birthday Bash

Friday, May 18th, 2012

Nick Lezard is a journalist with a reputation for championing the overlooked when it comes to books (as well as for being able to drink any writer you care to name under the table). I wouldn’t normally make the effort of going to west London for a birthday bash but last night I made an exception as I’ve known Nick for some time now. OK so Marylebone is virtually in central London – but these days it is rare for me to take a tube as far as Edgeware Road unless I’m going to Paddington Station or Heathrow Airport. And as far as I’m concerned anything the other side of Regent Street is west London anyway….

When I turned up fashionably late at The Duke of Wellington in Crawford Street, Nick asked: “Where’s Tom McCarthy?” I’d introduced him to Tom, so it became my job to phone McCarthy and find out why he wasn’t present. Sickness was the answer. Nick had plenty of old friends around for his birthday drinks. Nonetheless, he told me he was amused when Tom and Polly Samson (as well as yours truly) had all told him we were coming. He liked the eclecticism of the writers who’d announced they’d attend his do. Samson turned up, so two out of three ain’t bad! Besides, as far as opposites go you couldn’t do much better than Samson and me.

Samson seemed to be enjoying herself and I had a bit of a laugh by bringing up one of her friends and calling him Trike (a deliberate mispronunciation on my part). I didn’t let on that I’d met him at the launch of a Joe Boyd book and he’d been banging on about his connection to Pink Floyd. This old school rock group are of no interest to me – but Samson has sung with them and co-written some Floyd songs in recent years (although she’s best known as a journalist).

Ultimately I didn’t have much to say to Samson and vice versa. It only occurred to me later that I should have told her that while I found her son Charlie Gilmour swinging off a flag at the student demos in 2010 mildly amusing, it is much better to burn the Union Jack…. Maybe Nick was right and if Tom McCarthy had been present we’d have had more cross-talk – given three very different cultural and social perspectives. I didn’t bother telling Samson my mother (Julia Callan-Thompson) saw Pink Floyd quite a few times in London back in the sixties when Syd Barrett was still in the band (way before Samson’s involvement)… That said, when my mother saw Pink Floyd she didn’t pay them that much attention since she preferred the likes of The Incredible String Band and Bob Dylan. Personally I’m much more entranced with my mom’s slightly earlier musical obsession with modern jazz than her folk rock and psychedelic period.

Anyway the booze flowed freely and everyone at Nick Lezard’s birthday drink up had a good time – even if some truly diverse worlds failed to fully meet….

And while you’re at it don’t forget to check – www.stewarthomesociety.org – you know it makes (no) sense!

Gustav Metzger opening at the Serpentine Gallery

Wednesday, September 30th, 2009

The Gustav Metzger retrospective Decades 1959-2009 is the most extensive single exhibition of auto-destructive art ever to be held in London. Not just the work, but also the head-on collision between the Serpentine as a chic white cube space and Metzger’s decidedly funky left-field practice is in itself interesting. The good news first, and that is Metzger’s Liquid Crystal Environment has never looked better! With the walls inside the North Gallery painted black, and very effective blackout curtains, the colours are really luminous. This piece was also a highlight of the otherwise lousy Tate Triennial earlier this year, but at the Serpentine it looks even better than it did there, or at the Summer Of Love exhibition at Tate Liverpool in 2005. There are scatter cushions on the floor, so you can just lie back and trip out to these light projections. I could easily spend several days in this installation groovin’ on the ambient vibe.

The rest of the exhibition highlights Metzger’s varied practices of the past 50 years, with many pieces realised in new ways. For instance, his series of Historic Photographs are now easier to view than in earlier incarnations, although in most cases there are still obstructions to prevent these works being gazed at from a comfortable and familiar distance. Moving on, Metzger’s trade mark displays of old newspapers and waste materials are too cleanly and neatly laid out. Although this highlights Metzger’s grunge aesthetic, I still found it surprising that a series of car scrappage adverts torn from recent newspapers should be evenly spaced along the walls as if they were somehow equivalent to a series of Jeff Koons pictures. Personally I’d have preferred less space around these and all the other works, anything but the white walls on which they were displayed (light grey would have seemed more appropriate), and considerably dimmer lighting.

Much of Metzger’s oeuvre deals with the ecological destruction wreaked by capitalism,  and while hanging it as if it is decorative does provide a neat counterfoil to its ugly but urgent message, inevitably such a mode of display runs the danger of blunting its impact. That said, it still provided a fantastic contrast to Kazuyo Sejima and Ryue Nishizawa’s expensive and wasteful folly in the Serpentine grounds; a temporary pavilion made from brightly lit aluminium, designed to look impressive in photographs but which is extremely unpleasant and impractical for human use.

Metzger has always excelled at drawing out the contradictions of the art world and exposing the many ways in which the majority of those active within it uncritically serve capitalism. Unsurprisingly, there were fewer rich socialites at the Metzger opening than I’ve come to expect at Serpentine private views. Instead the event was littered with those dedicated to marginal and oppositional aesthetic practices, ranging from Sarah Andrews to Alastair Brotchie, Bronac Ferran to Martin Sexton. Rut Blees Luxemburg to Peter Suchin, Kristine Stiles to Bruce Gilchrist, Sarah Sutch to Matt Hale, Jo Joelson to Clive Phillpot, and Ilze Black to Tony White. There were plenty of Serpentine regulars in evidence too – Nicola Lees, Sally Tallant, Rose Dempsey, Sophie O’Brien – but I could see no sign of co-director Hans Ulrich Obrist, although his current artist-in-residence Hilary Koob-Sassen, and unofficial writer-in-residence Tom McCarthy, were both present and correct.

Despite my surprise at the tasteful installation of work that really isn’t pretty and shouldn’t be treated as such, this is still a great and important show, so make sure you check it out. And look closely at the labelling, which I’m told Metzger went through word by word, since you won’t see it bettered in any other London museum or gallery. Gustav Metzger Decades is on at The Serpentine (Kensington Gardens, London W2 3XA) until 8 November 2008.

And while you’re at it don’t forget to check – www.stewarthomesociety.org – you know it makes (no) sense!

There is no beginning, there is no end, the counterculture goes on forever…

Monday, May 4th, 2009

The London Zine Symposium 2009 took place at The Rag Factory (16-18 Heneage Street, London  E1 5LJ)  yesterday, Sunday 3 May. As an event, it occupies the ground between Publish & Be Damned (with its self-published art focus) and the Anarchist Book Fair (for those committed to full-on and weekend variety anarchist life-styles). There were a lot of familiar faces on the stalls at the Zine Symposium ranging from Mark Pawson (who can also be seen at Publish & Be Damned) to Active Distribution (who favour the Anarchist Book Fair). I was at the top of Brick Lane at lunch time before making my way to the Zine Symposium, and the Whitechapel Anarchist Group (all two of them) were out in force selling their publication WAG in front of the Beigel Bake. Later they were manning a stall down the road at the Zine Symposium. The anarchists somehow managed to constitute themselves as a separate fraction within this event, although the art elements appeared to dominate in terms of the stalls, reflecting the fact that Published & Be Damned is currently the biggest annual bring-and-buy self-publishing event in London.

There were a bunch of readings, workshops and debates, but I only attended Alternative Visions: comics, zines and politics since the 1970s at 2.30pm. The event was dominated by Roger Sabin, a reader in popular culture at Central Saint Martins College of Art. He was assisted by Teal Triggs, Professor of Graphic Design at the London College of Communication. After their own presentations, Sabin and Triggs put a few questions to Isy from Morgenmuffel and Edd from Hey Monkey Riot/Last Hours zines. I had difficulties with the way Sabin treated the hippie and punk subcultures as ultimately distinct, since I feel they are more closely entwined than he assumed, and I also find he takes the rhetoric of those involved with such scenes rather too seriously. However, my main problem with Sabin’s presentation was that he didn’t really deal with the economic and technological factors that have driven change in zine and comic production over the past forty years. However, his ideological idealism didn’t really surprise me given that I’ve never found Sabin’s academic work on subculture very satisfactory, as my ten year old review of his book Punk Rock, So What? indicates (see text in right column of link for this).

As the afternoon wore on, more and more people I knew – starting with Malcolm Hopkins and concluding with Richard Essex – drifted off to The Pride Of Spitalfields. I looked into the pub, but then decided to try to catch the William Blanchard AKA Wildcat Will show Assemblage at the Maurice Einhardt Neu Gallery in Redchurch Street. That exhibition space turned out to be closed and locked up; but as I headed up to it, I did see Jimmy Cauty making his way towards his car, and Martin Sexton standing outside his Artwars Project Space on the other side of the street from the Maurice Einhardt Neu Gallery.

Martin told me Jimmy had just been in to see his joint show with Dominique Lacloche, Beneath The Pavement… The Beach, which was coming down that very night. This joint effort between Sexton and Paris based Lacloche is certainly one of the crazier art manifestations I’ve seen on Redchurch Street in recent years, featuring as it did giant leaves on which photographs have been developed, a levitation machine and a mask of Socrates made out of a 4.5 billion year old meteorite. It made sense to me that a former member of the KLF would have been visiting it. I haven’t seen Jimmy for a couple years, and the weekend just gone was an interesting one for passing people without speaking to them; this started late on Friday afternoon when I’d walked past Liam Gillick on the stairs at Book Works, as he’d been making his way up to the editorial floor of the building, and I’d been leaving. There were a few people I’d avoided speaking to at the Zine Symposium as well, but they shall remain nameless.

Martin Sexton talked me through a few of his innumerable upcoming plans. One that I suspect will remain unrealised is for a psychogeographers super-group featuring Iain Sinclair, Peter Ackroyd, Tom Vague and me, to play a one off concert at his Artwars Project Space. The next show opening at Sexton’s space is Psycho Pomp, which runs from 8 to 31 May 2009. After leaving Sexton, my next move was a meet with Tom McCarthy, Eva Stenram and visiting US writer Jesse Ball; the conversation ping-ponged between Iceland, Finland and teaching creative writing. Later in the evening I opened an email from Richard Thomas apologising for the short notice but saying that the Gloria radio show I’d recorded for Resonance FM would be broadcast tonight (Monday 4 May) from 9.00 to 10.00pm, and repeated on Sunday 10 May, 7.30 to 8.30pm. Finally, I caught the likes of John Williams and Kodwo Eshun talking on Sukhdev Sandhu’s curious but ultimately unsatisfactory BBC Radio 3 Sunday feature The Life & Times of Michael X, before deciding that was enough counterculture for one day, and settling down with an old school kung fu movie.

And while you’re at it don’t forget to check – www.stewarthomesociety.org – you know it makes (no) sense!

Another deranged London anti-classic from Iain Sinclair

Monday, February 9th, 2009

In Hackney, That Rose Red Empire (published by Hamish Hamilton tomorrow), Iain Sinclair brings together his fictional practices and his cultural journalism with stunning results. Sinclair has interviewed dozens of subterranean London figures such as Chris Petit and then, as he frankly admits, freely rewritten what they told him to suit his own agenda. I’ve already had hours of fun trying to work out what is true and what is made up in this book, and I’m sure once more people have read it this will generate endless pub discussions too.

The transcription of an interview with me bears little resemblance to what I actually told Sinclair. Likewise, Sinclair invents all sorts of fantastic stories about me and these include the allegation that after being beaten about the head with bricks I suffered short term memory loss (not true), I have a £600 bicycle (the cycle I bought in 2001 and still use actually cost less than £100), and he even has me imply that I wouldn’t involve myself in Hackney cottaging! Still the portrait he paints of me is mythic and I come across more like Julian MacLaren-Ross than the regular guy possessed by supernatural powers that I actually am; so overall it is rather flattering! But no mention of my boyfriends coz in this book I’m painted strictly as a serial ladies man – so watch out girls! If the material about me is a gauge of the rest of the book, then more than 50 percent of it is fiction.

Much coverage is devoted to the Hackney Mole Man William Lyttle, and while the recollections of some of those who knew him back in the eighties (basically me and my friend Mark Pawson, who rented a room from him) have some grounding in reality, it seems that the entire interview with this legendary figure is simply made up.  However, this may just be a double-bluff on Sinclair’s part. Who knows? For those who don’t know, the Mole Man is notorious for digging tunnels under his Hackney home and neighbouring properties, thereby making them unstable.

Needless to say, Sinclair’s documentary fiction is considerably more accurate than the telephone checked stories of Fleet Street journalists. Likewise, he doesn’t let the Hackney borders contain him, since he devotes a chapter to the Golden Lane Estate just east of Smithfield Market, an area notorious as Pickt-hatch in the Jacobean era due to the many brothels it housed, but now the base of writers like Tom McCarthy and Chris Petit. I only clocked the historical sex industry connection the other day as I was reading Thomas Middleton’s The Black Book, which takes up from Pierce Penniless by Thomas Nashe, where a modern footnote stated: “Pictk-hatch suburban brothel district, just south east of the intersection of Goswell Road and Old Street”. It is unfortunate I didn’t disinter this in time to tell Sinclair, so that he could include it in his book.

Drawing on A Dictionary of Sexual Language and Imagery in Shakespearean and Stuart Literature by Gordon Williams (Continuum International Publishing Group, 1994), I understand that a pickt-hatch was originally a brothel door with the upper part surrounded by spikes. Williams cites numerous examples of the term’s usage, including Middleton’s Black Book, and notes its application to the area now occupied by the Golden Lane Estate. It is interesting that this locale should have been notorious for prostitution because Fortune Street which housed the Fortune Theatre lies just to its east, and of course the Bankside stews were by The Globe, and there was a theatre in Shoreditch (another area synonymous with prostitution in Elizabethan and Jacobean London). I’m not sure if Whitefriars or Turnmill Street which were also stuffed with ‘punks’ and ‘bawdy houses’ back then also had theatres so close by, but there was obviously a connection between popular spectacle in the form of the theatre and the sex industry of that time.

Something else Sinclair doesn’t report is that the Golden Lane Estate was the work of the architects Chamberlin, Powell and Bon, who later designed the adjacent Barbican complex. Golden Lane is also the current home of a shed load of artists and architects including Merlin Carpenter, the one time Martin Kippenberger assistant whose work was notoriously ‘rejected’ by the ‘master’ but subsequently used in a  skip installation. This type of information simply doesn’t catch Sinclair’s imagination and so isn’t in his book. That said, and despite my failing to pick up on the historical sex industry aspects of the Golden Lane area in time to feed it to Sinclair for use this time around, Hackney, That Rose Red Empire is easily the best book I’ve read this year. And I don’t expect to read anything better until my novel Blood Rites of the Bourgeoisie comes out with Book Works next year!

And while you’re at it don’t forget to check - www.stewarthomesociety.org – you know it makes (no) sense!

Alex Trocchi & the revolt against authenticity

Wednesday, January 21st, 2009

Hey kids just in case the notorious lobster loving nude chefs of the International Necronautical Society fooled you into thinking I was the first person to attack the cult of authenticity (and I’m sure they only took this humorous stand to demonstrate that they are absolute masters of the inauthentic), let’s backtrack a bit. Since we’ve been talking about the inauthentic lately in relation to Tom McCarthy and Simon Critichley taking up the trope from various 1980s and 1990s countercultural networks, it seems worth putting my introduction to Alexander Trocchi’s Young Adam online. This is a book from the 1950s that brilliantly satirises the authenticity obsessed existential movement of that time. My analysis of the text comes after a little bit of set up, so stick with this one boppers! Oh and for those bibliophiles with us here today (yes, I do count the likes of Paul Noble among my many acquaintances), this first appeared at the front of the One World Classics edition of Young Adam published in June 2008.

Young Adam Introduction

Alexander Trocchi was born in Glasgow in 1925 and died in London in 1984. His life, as much as his writing, is the stuff of legend. Considered by many to be the most dissolute of the beats, for a time it looked like he was more likely to be remembered as ‘The Lord of Junk’ than as a writer. Trocchi was notorious both for his prodigious chemical intake and pimping his wife Lyn to get money to pay for drugs, But times change and fashions do too; and now ‘Scots Alex’,  as Trocchi was known on the west London drug scene, has become an almost respectable literary figure.

For contemporary Scots writers Trocchi’s immersion in the hippie counterculture makes him a more attractive literary figure than the country’s other relatively visible modernists of the fifties and sixties such as Edwin Morgan, Ian Hamilton Finlay and Hugh MacDiarmid (all principally poets). Irvine Welsh has been quoted as calling Trocchi ‘the George Best of Scottish literature’. Other Scots writers owe even deeper debts to Trocchi; former boxer Barry Graham went as far as penning a Trocchi parody novel “The Book of Man” (1995). In London where Trocchi settled in the early sixties, he towers over those who might be seen as his most immediate English literary heirs such as Ann Quin, B. S. Johnson and Alan Burns. Trocchi did little writing after washing up in London, but he cut a doomed and dashing figure hanging out with the likes of black power leader Michael Abdul Malik, and fellow beat generation stalwart William Burroughs.

There is considerable division over which Trocchi book is his best, but the consensus of opinion is either “Young Adam” (1954) or “Cain’s Book” (1961). “Young Adam” tends to catch the attention of those less interested in drugs and literary experimentation. To date this novel has suffered from being seen as a work of late-modernism cast in the same mould as Beckett, Genet and Ionesco. Trocchi had a hand in publishing all three of these writers when he lived in Paris in the early to mid-fifties.

Trocchi’s importance as a proto-postmodernist has been obscured by what in retrospect appears an arbitrary division between his porn novels and ‘serious’ works. In fact “Young Adam”, the earlier of his two ‘serious’ novels, was first published under the pseudonym Frances Lengel as a ‘dirty book’ by Olympia Press in 1954. The other titles written by Trocchi and published by Olympia under this name are “Helen and Desire” (1954), “Carnal Days of Helen Seferis” (1954), School for Sin (1955) and “White Thighs” (1955).

Trocchi re-edited “Young Adam” removing a number of the erotic passages so that it might be issued by a ‘reputable’ publisher at a time when the use of extended pornographic tropes in literary novels had yet to become an accepted postmodern practice (cf. Kathy Acker, Bret Easton Ellis and Chris Kraus). What Trocchi excised from his ‘definitive’ version of “Young Adam” were principally sex scenes, with one important exception. This is a climactic passage where Trocchi’s narrator Joe recalls an argument with Cathie, his former lover whose dead body he helps drag from a canal at the beginning of the book. Cathie is supporting Joe as he unsuccessfully attempts to complete a novel. Joe describes a day on which instead of writing he made custard and when Cathie comes home this leads to a row. She refuses to eat the custard, so Joe throws it at her as she is taking off her work clothes, then he thrashes her with a rough slat of wood, before proceeding to tip ink, various sauces and vanilla essence over the girl:

“I don’t know whether she was crying or laughing as I poured a two-pound bag of sugar over her. Her whole near-naked body was twitching convulsively, a blue breast and a yellow and red one, a green belly, and all the colour of her pain and sweat and gnashing. By that time I was hard. I stripped off my clothes, grasped the slat of the egg crate, and moved among her with prick and stick, like a tycoon.

“When I rose from her, she was a hideous mess, almost unrecognizable as a white woman, and the custard and the ink and the sugar sparked like surprising meats on the twist of her satisfied mound.”

Trocchi is clearly using a fictional voice and although it might be argued that he shares some of the Joe’s misogyny, he was not prone to the racism implicit in the term ‘white woman’. Likewise Trocchi’s decision not to use Cathie’s name at any point during his description of the “sploshing” and “thrashing” is clearly a conscious device aimed at revealing Joe’s dehumanised ‘nature’ as he reduces the object of his lust and fury to the same base level. This is just one of many passages that demonstrate Trocchi did not want Joe to be a sympathetic ‘character’, or for the reader to trust him as a narrator. Joe’s claim sustained pretty much throughout the second and third parts of “Young Adam” that Cathie met her death accidentally is not necessarily to be believed, just as at the end of “American Psycho” (1991) by Bret Easton Ellis the reader is left uncertain as to whether the narrator Patrick Bateman is a psychotic serial killer or a pathetic fantasist.

Another contemporary New York writer who retrospectively helps illuminate Trocchi’s aesthetic stance here is Lynne Tillman. At the climax of her novel “No Lease On Life” (1998), the narrator Elizabeth Hall is so frustrated by her inability to find any peace in her Lower East Side apartment, that she sends a rain of eggs splattering onto those making noise in the street below her. Tillman’s book is loosely modelled on James Joyce’s “Ulysses” (1922). The action takes place over 24 hours but the tenor of the work and its denouement mark it as self-consciously postmodern. Tillman and Trocchi who knew each other briefly, share a love of classic modernist literature but at the same time both have moved beyond what even by the early 1950s was an exhausted literary form.

Trocchi’s narrator Joe only admits that he knew Cathie half way through “Young Adam”. Joe claims he’d wanted to focus on his attraction to his subsequent lover Ella, and therefore didn’t explain how Cathie fitted into the overall picture of his life. At this point it is Joe and not the reader who has lost the plot. He is confused and says he killed Cathie: “There’s no point in denying it since no one would believe me”. To underline his sense of disorientation, Trocchi makes Joe speak of police ‘sensationalism’ being reported in the newspapers, a reversal of commonplaces about ‘media sensationalism’. The reader only has Joe’s version of events, and Trocchi goes to great lengths to underline his unreliability:

“It was an odd thing that I, who saw Cathie topple into the river, should have been the one to find her body the following morning at one mile’s distance from where she fell in. I felt at the time that it was ludicrous, so incredible that if Leslie had not happened to come up on deck at that time I should most certainly have refused to accept such an improbable event and tried to thrust her away again with the boat-hook.”

While life is full of coincidences, the plots of novels are the result of conscious design. Most writers would avoid happenstances like the one Trocchi employs here because although it just might occur in life, it isn’t plausible as fiction. Trocchi, of course, uses it to undermine Joe’s believability as a narrator. “Young Adam” has been called an “existential thriller” and compared to “The Outsider” (1942) by Albert Camus, but such descriptions rest on a misreading of Trocchi’s text as being modernist. An unreliable narrator like Joe cannot be an existential protagonist because the philosophy of Jean-Paul Sartre, Albert Camus and their various followers, is predicated on notions of authenticity. Joe is not even an authentic bargeman, he is a university drop out who works on the canals for at most a few months.

“Young Adam” is neither an “existential thriller”, nor merely a parody of that genre, but rather an entirely new type of work. Among the many indications that “Young Adam” is a post-modern fiction is the fading away of geographical descriptions as the book progresses. The first part of the narrative is a burlesque of exhausted modernist literature. Trocchi makes his prose deliberately awkward, thereby reversing the tactic he employed to parody pornography, which he wrote both too carefully and too well. Towards the end of “Young Adam” Trocchi has Joe tell us:

“I was out in the street early and found myself walking along Argyle Street in the general direction of the courts. I stopped for a cup of tea at a snack counter, smoked two or three cigarettes, and then continued on my way. As I walked through the town, a strange felling of confidence settled upon me.”

There is a pleasing vagueness to this passage, allowing the reader to draw their own associations from the name Argyle Street. Given that this is one of the longest boulevards in Glasgow – running from the High Street out to Kelvin Grove Park in the west end – a conventional (as opposed to a pulp or post-modern literary) novelist would have described the section of the road they passed along in some detail. It should go without saying that Argyle Street today is very different to the one being invoked when these lines were written more than fifty years ago; to the east it is now littered with pound shops and dominated by the glass hulk of the 1980s St. Enoch Shopping Centre, while the M8 motorway completely separates that part of the avenue from the more residential section to the west. Notice also “Young Adam’s” trademark sloppiness in the passage quoted above, achieved via Trocchi’s self-conscious repetition of words such as ‘street’ and ‘walked/walking’,

Returning to Joe, he is confident he won’t have to answer to the police or courts (or indeed his less sophisticated readers) for killing Cathie. At the end of “Young Adam” an innocent man is condemned to death for the girl’s murder; and Joe’s cold psychotic nature is underlined by his reaction as he watches the drama unfold in court: “The man who was created in the speeches of the procurator was fitted admirably to the crime which the police had invented – a very gratifying thing indeed to see two branches of the public service, the judiciary and the police, work together in such imaginative harmony.” Joe can’t even stay on this train of thought; he breaks to write two sentences about playing pinball in a Jamaica Street dive, then returns to the courtroom to hear the inevitable guilty verdict on the innocent man. Joe is cast very much in the same mould as another of Trocchi’s ‘anti-heroes’, the murderous and lustful Saul Folsrom in “White Thighs”. Both these non-characters owe something to Lee Anderson, the narrator of Boris Vian’s “I Spit On Your Graves” (1946).

“I Spit On Your Graves” was a literary hoax that was first published as if it had been written in English by an Afro-American author called Vernon Sullivan and Vian was merely its translator. In fact there was no Vernon Sullivan, the ostensible author of this work was a figment of Vian’s imagination and the book was written in French. Vian’s first person narrator Lee Anderson adopts a prose style and worldview heavily influenced by Henry Miller and James M. Cain. Although Anderson identifies himself as an Afro-American male, he is able to pass as white and revels in seducing privileged southern girls who have no idea that he is black. These sexual conquests are presented as a form of revenge against the white racists who Anderson tells us murdered his darker skinned brother. However, Anderson’s sexual shenanigans are a mere prelude to him slaughtering two white sisters, Lou and Jean Asquith.

“I Spit On Your Graves” was hugely controversial and there was much speculation about its authorship until the hoax was finally revealed. Trocchi’s greatest success through scandal in the dirty book business was a faked fifth volume of “My Life And Loves” (1959) supposedly written by the philanderer and literary middleman Frank Harris. Again this was Trocchi engaging in a burlesque, he disliked Harris as a middle-brow literary figure and although the book was accepted as genuine upon publication, it was an opportunity for its real author to parody and pillory the man who was supposed to have written it. This is typical of Trocchi’s approach to writing fiction, and the only real exception to it is “Cain’s Book”, which in any case is fictionalised autobiography alchemised into an ‘anti-novel’. The jury is still out on whether “Young Adam” or “Cain’s Book” is Trocchi’s greatest work, but regardless the former remains the best introduction to his writing because it is so much more typical of his proto-postmodernist approach.

For more on Trocchi (the novel White Thighs and his 1969 Arts Lab State of Revolt event) go to: http://www.stewarthomesociety.org/luv/splinters.htm

And while you’re at it don’t forget to check – www.stewarthomesociety.org – you know it makes (no) sense!

5,494 Linda McCartney Vegetarian Sausages For Nicolas Bourriaud

Sunday, January 18th, 2009

As a taster for their 2009 triennial  ‘curated’ by Nicolas Bourriaud (AKA Boring Ass), Tate Britain hosted a series of talks concluding with one this weekend by the International Necronautical Society (INS). For their 17 January shindig, the INS hired actors to play General Secretary Tom “Thunderbird” McCarthy and Chief Philosopher Simon “Hip Hugger” Critchley. The event sold out well in advance because a sensation hungry public were under the entirely false impression that they would be personally addressed by this notorious pair of lobster loving nude chefs. Despite Radio 4 (Today programme, 29 December 2008) making the outrageous claim that McCarthy is widely recognised as a best-selling novelist, the majority of those present appeared blissfully unaware of the fact that the thespians pretending to be the notorious INS nude chefs were Sexton Blakes!

Before the Gilbert & George clones posing as Thunderbird and the Hip Hugger launched into the main act, the INS pulled their masterstroke by having a luvvie impersonating Nicolas Bourriaud introduce them. The actor playing Boring Ass boasted over-lovingly tousled hair and covering his back (but not his arse) was a truly shitty piece of ‘designer’ knitwear in grey marl with buttons running down the sleeve. The fake Bourriaud proceeded to camp it up outrageously in his impersonation of an inept and self-important curator, and used a thick but phony French accent to render his ‘Franglais’ incomprehensible. This had those of us who have seen the ‘English’ ‘translation’ of Bourriaud’s book Relational Aesthetics, rolling in the aisles. Indeed, my body was so racked by laughter that I failed to write down a single word of the parody Bourriaud speech. Fortuitously a brief sample from Relational Aesthetics (page 29), the text the INS piss-take was modelled upon, will convey its flavour: “Pictures and sculptures are characterised by their symbolic availability. Beyond obvious material impossibilities (museum closing times, geographical remoteness), an artwork can be see (sic) at any time. It is there before our eyes, offered to the curiosity of a theoretically universal public. Now, contemporary art is often marked by non-availability, by being viewable only at a specific time…”

Having lampooned Bourriaud so mercilessly, whatever the INS did next was bound to disappoint and it will surprise few readers of this blog that the impersonators playing Thunderbird and the Hip Hugger were deliberately saddled with a lecture that was more suited to the printed page than public performance. Despite endless ‘highbrow’ (AKA first year undergraduate) references to the likes of Plato, Joyce and Wile E. Coyote, the content of the talk can be summarised with a pair of old neoist slogans: “death is not true”, and ‘whenever someone utters the word authenticity you can be certain you’re dealing with a fake”. The content of the lecture was cannibalised from both earlier INS manifestations and the work of 1990s counterculture networks such as the Association of Autonomous Astronauts and the Luther Blissett Project. The harsh lighting and bland delivery created a post-humorous ambiance in which those members of the audience who did not know what was going on became the butt of this INS joke.

The answers for the Q and A session at the end had been pre-scripted, but this form of ‘democratic’ participation is so ritualised that few seemed to notice that the replies were read back rather than spontaneous. The first audience member to speak during the open mike session wittered on about the traditionalist imbecile Rene Guenon and denounced the INS lecture as ‘incoherent” (obviously not aware of the fact that this was its entire point). The next person to gain control of the mike that was being passed around expressed complete agreement with the INS; while a third specified the form in which he wanted his answers, and yet after getting them as scripted rather than as demanded, he still appeared unaware that these had been written in advance.

The Q and A was followed by drinks. The Boring Ass impersonator used this social as an opportunity to parade a trophy blonde who hung onto his arm before the public. While I was enjoying a tipple, a journalist from the TLS mistook me for Thunderbird. I assured her that I was not McCarthy and when she eventually persuaded someone to point him out, she apparently gave him a ticking off for the prank he’d just played. Literary types are still into nineteenth-century notions such as sincerity, and by using the INS as a vehicle to revive the merciless assault on authenticity that characterised the most interesting cultural currents of the 1980s and 1990s, Simon Critchley and Tom McCarthy are successfully distancing themselves from these bourgeois bores.

And while you’re at it don’t forget to check – http://www.stewarthomesociety.org/ – you know it makes (no) sense!

The Radio 4 experience, the unconscious cut-up!

Thursday, January 1st, 2009

I’m always surprised at the amount of personal feedback that appearing on BBC Radio 4 generates. Programmes like Today clearly have a greater influence than, for example, Resonance FM, another radio station I’ve recorded material for recently (and over the past few years). That said, while Resonance has a smaller audience than Radio 4, I personally spend more time listening to the lesser known station. A few days ago, 29 December 2008, I appeared on a pre-recorded Today feature about “what the avant-garde stands for in the 21st Century”. Tom McCarthy and Hari Kunzru were interviewed alongside me, and we’d all been invited along by guest editor Zadie Smith.

I find the way the BBC treats me in comparison to other guests interesting. I’ve been told in the past that I’ll never be taken seriously by the BBC because I have an unacceptable south London accent; some regional accents such as Cockney are considered okay, and others such as south London or Brummie aren’t. So little surprise that there was a lot less of me speaking once the Today piece had been edited than there was of Tom McCarthy and Hari Kunzru who don’t have regional accents.

Likewise, the questions I was asked showed that unlike the other two guests, I wasn’t to be taken seriously. So one question included the assertion that few people had heard of me. True, but few people have heard of Tom McCarthy or Hari Kunzru either; in fact few people have heard of much better known cultural figures such as Iain Sinclair or Andy Warhol.  However, the assertion that I am an obscure figure was misleadingly framed to make it look like it didn’t apply to Kunzru and McCarthy. And while the BBC ran McCarthy’s and Kunzru’s answers pretty much as they gave them, mine were more heavily edited, with the start of my answers missing. For example, Today had me saying people can get narrative from kung fu and zombie movies. This was an observation that followed on from me pointing out that just as photography made realist painting redundant and led to abstraction, so we now got our fictional story narratives from cinema, and therefore novels need to do something that film can’t. The main point was lost, the subsidiary one retained.

No one was trying to set set me up; this is just how Radio 4 processes people. And it should surprise no one that I am treated shabbily compared to those who have public school and Oxbridge backgrounds. This is no reason not to appear on Radio 4 but it is worth pointing out. My view is that the producers, interviewers and editors are unaware of their own prejudice.

And while you’re at it don’t forget to check – http://www.stewarthomesociety.org/ – you know it makes (no) sense!