Sam
TS Member
Seemingly inconsequential events can have massive impacts on history, on geography, on landscapes, on the spaces we call our own. An example. During the second-half of the 20th century, several men born to rich families across Arabia were given unusually small penises. These Arab men have grown up to inherit the family wealth and become multi-billionaire businessmen, with far too little taste and far too much time on their hands. Their own cities, such as Dubai and Abu Dhabi, are already ruined by their gaudy designs, so they have descended on London, in an effort to spoil that as well. See, how a handful of men born with small cocks from 1945 to the 1980s has resulted in a veritable dirge of phallic-shaped glass'n'steel monstrosities and silly shapes (the 'Shard', the 'Walky-Talky', the 'Cheesegrater') all over central London.
We, the British who call this city our capital, and the ordinary people from all over the world who live in London, cannot let these people destroy our city. But they are. London is being slowly but noticeably turned from a real living, breathing city into a gentrified, sanitised playground for the obscenely wealthy. In the New London, independence is not allowed, creative expression is not permitted (unless it is for sale) and any sort of disruption or dissent is absolutely banned.
The best clue as to how London was in the past and how it will be in the future can be found in its architecture. The older buildings are majestic and impressive, but digestible, and on a distinctly human scale. St. Paul's Cathedral, the Palace of Westminster, the OXO Tower and the Festival Hall. All of these buildings (at least if it wasn't for the oppressive security presence outside Parliament) draw you in, and invite you to participate in their human narratives.
In the opposite corner, we have the symbols of corporate London that tower over the buildings I've just mentioned like playground bullies. The Shard, Tower 42, the Cheesegrater, the Walky-Talky, Canary Wharf. These buildings do not invite but exclude. With their vast, unrelenting, inhumane scale they say 'keep away!' to any ordinary folk who dare approach them, or even live in the shadow of them (especially the case with the oppressive Shard with literally casts the council housing around London Bridge into shadow). Even if you've lived in London all your life, they make it clear that this is a no-go area for you, the common man. There may be a 'public' square in front of Canary Wharf but it isn't for you, unless you're just passing through, shopping, or wearing a £200 suit.
As George Monbiot recently said in the Guardian, “street life in these places is reduced to a trance-world of consumerism, of conformity and atomisation in which nothing unpredictable or disconcerting happens, a world made safe for selling mountains of pointless junk to tranquillised shoppers.” These places aren't yet made this way by the law, but by architecture and design. The steel'n'glass monoliths that now loom above us in the Square Mile remind us that the only valid activity in these places is to be a good citiz—sorry, a good consumer, and to shop until you drop. Anything spontaneous, or genuinely creative, or dissenting that happens in the world of bland, air-conditioned, soulless, gentrified London is to be discouraged. It's not normal. It's weird. It's weird to care for your community, or for fellow human beings. It's weird to believe that society should be radically different, and that free-market capitalism isn't necessarily good for everyone. It's normal to turn your brain off and shop. It creates perfect, well-behaved public spaces where any disobedience is rapidly quelled.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MZukiRrYROA#ws
In other cities across the world, even-handed local administrations recognise that independent spark, culture, creativity and soul are what draw people to a city, and make them want to stay (if it was huge business that drew in the punters, then Dubai would be the most visited place in the world). Cities like San Francisco, Berlin and even Sheffield know this. But surely, independent London still exists? It does, but it's being slowly eroded away. It's being eaten at from the edges by the ever-enclosing enclave of glossy corporate headquarters, snazzy city flats for the super-rich and all the repulsive amenities that provide these people with their grotesque lifestyles – the hundreds of premium restaurants, the Porsch dealerships, and the obnoxious hotels. They may be in London, and we may be able to pass them on the street, but these places are not for you and me.
The city centre of London, where once creative people would have lived for a peppercorn rent in the attic of some Victorian factory, and would have used that space to create real art, is being consumed to the point where it almost impossible for ordinary people to live their anymore. The place is a ghost-town of real people – populated entirely by tourists and the uber-rich who jet in from the United Arab Emirates for a few months each year, to congratulate themselves on what a fantastic job they're doing in turning London into a Dubai-on-Thames. An entirely vacuous world, similar to a massive outdoor shopping mall, where everything must be sanitised and sterilised before being presented to the consumer. Any flourishing signs of life in real trade, real small business, real independent, are a mistake, an anomaly. They should never have got through the system which is designed to stop them. The building that once housed the seat of London's democracy, County Hall, where Ken Livingstone goaded Thatcher by hanging massive anti-unemployment banners from the edifices, has now been consumed almost entirely by the three resident attractions of Merlin Entertainments. The building has become just another empty shell, housing the corporate frivolity of late-stage capitalism.
Speaking of Merlin, what is more symbolic of the thick corporate gloss, lacquered over every surface than the EDF Energy London Eye (formerly known as the The Merlin Entertainments London Eye, formerly known as the British Airways London Eye)? It was built as a great Ferris wheel for the people, right by Parliament, allowing almost any Briton to democratically rise about their great city and survey it from height. Opened by Tony Blair in 1999 as the jewel in the crown of the great millennial projects, it should be a joyous feature of our national community, owned by the people of Britain and for the people of Britain, with a little help from an experienced attraction operator, of course. What it has become over the years, accelerating since Tussauds regenerated into Merlin, is a nauseatingly glossy experience, with corporate bollocks and stylish, luxury crap dripping from every surface. It has become the great money-spinning wheel of fortune, ripping off tourists with an extortionate fee, effectively pushing Londoners out of the market for their own great wheel. No citizen of York, who gain free access to their fabulous Minster, would stand for this.
Tube map by Imran Qureshi
But is there any hope, any salvation to be found amid the gleaming monoliths that symbolise the faceless post-modern capitalism that has infected this once-great city like a cancer? Yes, and unlike the skyscrapers which thrust arrogantly into the sky and selfishly block out the view of actual beautiful buildings like St. Pauls, it can be found underground. In that most efficient and seemingly workmanlike institution of London, you can still find the city's soul. In fact, it's stronger than ever, in the Underground.
Whenever I feel dispirited by the increasing corporatism and gentrification of my capital, I just have to go Underground to feel my mood instantly lift. Something about the London Underground just seems to have the joy of life running through its tunnels, and I think it's to do with the way it's been managed and run over the years. With love, and care, and interest – an almost obsessive love that has infected the geeks who run the Tube network ever since it was nationalised in 1933. What I adore about the Tube is the feel of constant progress. Not for profit, or for the sake of shareholders, but to make the service better for people who feel a sense of ownership over this hilariously-ancient, creaking network.
In my fifteen years of using the tube, it's never been better than it is today, and that's because it's not run by a company out to make a swift buck on an outsourced contract by cost-cutting. It's run by a public body, whose sole purpose is to constantly make the service better. And it's getting better all the time. The range of upgrades, refurbishments, improvements, frequency increases and new stock is dizzying, and seems to expand in scale on an almost daily basis. Escalators are replaced, new trains are brought in, lines are resignalled and stations built so that everyday the London Underground offers a better service than it did the day before.
Pew, pew, pew!
Even the announcements, the branding and the posters have a warmth about them. All of the current range are beautiful, and each one is worth stopping to look at in its own right. They contrast sharply with the cold, cynical adverts on street level, that try and pull your heartstrings to put your money in a conglomerate bank by depicting scenes of creepy domestic tranquillity. Unlike all the corporations and the chain shops above, that try to create a false sense of identity, of history, and of love for the brand, the Underground has all these things for real, and it cultivates them beautifully. Maybe people feel invested in the network, from the Underground geeks to the people who run the TubeCrush blog, because they know that every penny given to it will be reinvested back into the network, rather than fall into the pockets of a Chinese billionaire, playing with London like a toddler plays with a toy truck. The Tube also excels at art, really beautiful art, such as Mark Walinger's simple but beguiling series of labyrinths, which can now be found in every single station, from Swiss Cottage to Sloane Square.
The warmth and character that has been created in a publicly owned transport system, compared to the utterly hollow, bland and vacuous experience that chain-dominated Oxford Street has become, speaks volumes about each. Whereas transport systems are traditionally cool, cold and airless, the best shops offer entry into another world, of the unexpected, of beautiful items new and old. But Oxford Street is symbolic, the vanguard, of the movement that has drained the high street of life all over the country, all over Europe, and all over most of the western world. Oh, it may look alive still, the armies of shoppers, the dazzling store-front lights, the names of the shops picked out in standalone neon letters like the cathedral of an ancient religion, but it's dead inside.
Some areas of London still survive as hold-outs, but they're fighting a losing battle, like a virus spreading through the body and shutting down its vital areas one-by-one. Camden, Soho, Kentish Town, Shoreditch, and much of the East End. To varying degrees, these places still burn with an independent spirit, though their markets, quirky bookshops and boutique stores are becoming slowly infected by the Starbucks and the Costas in this world that seem to be every other store-front, even in hip Camden, which implore us to drink, drink, drink, drink coffee. Keep drinking coffee, and let's pretend it's important. Let's pretend it's as important as sex, or laughter, or joy, or beautiful food, or alcohol, or company, or kindred spirits. It's not. But I digress.
The authorities, either locally or nationally, will do nothing to stop this hostile takeover, enthralled as they are to the economic miracle of consumerism and big-name capitalism. But for what, for what is this economic miracle worth? Do we want to live in a society, do we want to live in a London, where everything has been sanitised, checked, copied and reproduced exactly, to make sure that no imperfection, no character and no life accidentally seep into the final product? A London where we can see the echoes of something that once was interesting, a great merchant's house, or a brick fish market, that has been tastefully 'recycled' (i.e. destroyed) as yet another Caffè Nero? Where we wonder 'I wonder what this was once, or if anything interesting ever happened here', as we slurp our insipid coffee. Or do we want a society like the London Underground? Where, it may be old, and it may be inefficient, and it may be creaking at the edges, but goddamn we're trying. A society with soul, with character, with ambition, where everything done is for the good of everybody, to make the world a better place, rather than just a richer place. A society characterised by a direct line from history, rather than just staring at its pretty bits through a shiny gauze, or a glossy window. There are two Londons, and they are growing increasingly apart. I know which one I'd rather be in. Mind the gap.
Further reading
The Shard is the perfect metaphor for modern London - The Guardian
The Shard has slashed the face of London for ever - The Guardian
We, the British who call this city our capital, and the ordinary people from all over the world who live in London, cannot let these people destroy our city. But they are. London is being slowly but noticeably turned from a real living, breathing city into a gentrified, sanitised playground for the obscenely wealthy. In the New London, independence is not allowed, creative expression is not permitted (unless it is for sale) and any sort of disruption or dissent is absolutely banned.
The best clue as to how London was in the past and how it will be in the future can be found in its architecture. The older buildings are majestic and impressive, but digestible, and on a distinctly human scale. St. Paul's Cathedral, the Palace of Westminster, the OXO Tower and the Festival Hall. All of these buildings (at least if it wasn't for the oppressive security presence outside Parliament) draw you in, and invite you to participate in their human narratives.
In the opposite corner, we have the symbols of corporate London that tower over the buildings I've just mentioned like playground bullies. The Shard, Tower 42, the Cheesegrater, the Walky-Talky, Canary Wharf. These buildings do not invite but exclude. With their vast, unrelenting, inhumane scale they say 'keep away!' to any ordinary folk who dare approach them, or even live in the shadow of them (especially the case with the oppressive Shard with literally casts the council housing around London Bridge into shadow). Even if you've lived in London all your life, they make it clear that this is a no-go area for you, the common man. There may be a 'public' square in front of Canary Wharf but it isn't for you, unless you're just passing through, shopping, or wearing a £200 suit.
As George Monbiot recently said in the Guardian, “street life in these places is reduced to a trance-world of consumerism, of conformity and atomisation in which nothing unpredictable or disconcerting happens, a world made safe for selling mountains of pointless junk to tranquillised shoppers.” These places aren't yet made this way by the law, but by architecture and design. The steel'n'glass monoliths that now loom above us in the Square Mile remind us that the only valid activity in these places is to be a good citiz—sorry, a good consumer, and to shop until you drop. Anything spontaneous, or genuinely creative, or dissenting that happens in the world of bland, air-conditioned, soulless, gentrified London is to be discouraged. It's not normal. It's weird. It's weird to care for your community, or for fellow human beings. It's weird to believe that society should be radically different, and that free-market capitalism isn't necessarily good for everyone. It's normal to turn your brain off and shop. It creates perfect, well-behaved public spaces where any disobedience is rapidly quelled.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MZukiRrYROA#ws
In other cities across the world, even-handed local administrations recognise that independent spark, culture, creativity and soul are what draw people to a city, and make them want to stay (if it was huge business that drew in the punters, then Dubai would be the most visited place in the world). Cities like San Francisco, Berlin and even Sheffield know this. But surely, independent London still exists? It does, but it's being slowly eroded away. It's being eaten at from the edges by the ever-enclosing enclave of glossy corporate headquarters, snazzy city flats for the super-rich and all the repulsive amenities that provide these people with their grotesque lifestyles – the hundreds of premium restaurants, the Porsch dealerships, and the obnoxious hotels. They may be in London, and we may be able to pass them on the street, but these places are not for you and me.
The city centre of London, where once creative people would have lived for a peppercorn rent in the attic of some Victorian factory, and would have used that space to create real art, is being consumed to the point where it almost impossible for ordinary people to live their anymore. The place is a ghost-town of real people – populated entirely by tourists and the uber-rich who jet in from the United Arab Emirates for a few months each year, to congratulate themselves on what a fantastic job they're doing in turning London into a Dubai-on-Thames. An entirely vacuous world, similar to a massive outdoor shopping mall, where everything must be sanitised and sterilised before being presented to the consumer. Any flourishing signs of life in real trade, real small business, real independent, are a mistake, an anomaly. They should never have got through the system which is designed to stop them. The building that once housed the seat of London's democracy, County Hall, where Ken Livingstone goaded Thatcher by hanging massive anti-unemployment banners from the edifices, has now been consumed almost entirely by the three resident attractions of Merlin Entertainments. The building has become just another empty shell, housing the corporate frivolity of late-stage capitalism.
Speaking of Merlin, what is more symbolic of the thick corporate gloss, lacquered over every surface than the EDF Energy London Eye (formerly known as the The Merlin Entertainments London Eye, formerly known as the British Airways London Eye)? It was built as a great Ferris wheel for the people, right by Parliament, allowing almost any Briton to democratically rise about their great city and survey it from height. Opened by Tony Blair in 1999 as the jewel in the crown of the great millennial projects, it should be a joyous feature of our national community, owned by the people of Britain and for the people of Britain, with a little help from an experienced attraction operator, of course. What it has become over the years, accelerating since Tussauds regenerated into Merlin, is a nauseatingly glossy experience, with corporate bollocks and stylish, luxury crap dripping from every surface. It has become the great money-spinning wheel of fortune, ripping off tourists with an extortionate fee, effectively pushing Londoners out of the market for their own great wheel. No citizen of York, who gain free access to their fabulous Minster, would stand for this.
Tube map by Imran Qureshi
But is there any hope, any salvation to be found amid the gleaming monoliths that symbolise the faceless post-modern capitalism that has infected this once-great city like a cancer? Yes, and unlike the skyscrapers which thrust arrogantly into the sky and selfishly block out the view of actual beautiful buildings like St. Pauls, it can be found underground. In that most efficient and seemingly workmanlike institution of London, you can still find the city's soul. In fact, it's stronger than ever, in the Underground.
Whenever I feel dispirited by the increasing corporatism and gentrification of my capital, I just have to go Underground to feel my mood instantly lift. Something about the London Underground just seems to have the joy of life running through its tunnels, and I think it's to do with the way it's been managed and run over the years. With love, and care, and interest – an almost obsessive love that has infected the geeks who run the Tube network ever since it was nationalised in 1933. What I adore about the Tube is the feel of constant progress. Not for profit, or for the sake of shareholders, but to make the service better for people who feel a sense of ownership over this hilariously-ancient, creaking network.
In my fifteen years of using the tube, it's never been better than it is today, and that's because it's not run by a company out to make a swift buck on an outsourced contract by cost-cutting. It's run by a public body, whose sole purpose is to constantly make the service better. And it's getting better all the time. The range of upgrades, refurbishments, improvements, frequency increases and new stock is dizzying, and seems to expand in scale on an almost daily basis. Escalators are replaced, new trains are brought in, lines are resignalled and stations built so that everyday the London Underground offers a better service than it did the day before.
Pew, pew, pew!
Even the announcements, the branding and the posters have a warmth about them. All of the current range are beautiful, and each one is worth stopping to look at in its own right. They contrast sharply with the cold, cynical adverts on street level, that try and pull your heartstrings to put your money in a conglomerate bank by depicting scenes of creepy domestic tranquillity. Unlike all the corporations and the chain shops above, that try to create a false sense of identity, of history, and of love for the brand, the Underground has all these things for real, and it cultivates them beautifully. Maybe people feel invested in the network, from the Underground geeks to the people who run the TubeCrush blog, because they know that every penny given to it will be reinvested back into the network, rather than fall into the pockets of a Chinese billionaire, playing with London like a toddler plays with a toy truck. The Tube also excels at art, really beautiful art, such as Mark Walinger's simple but beguiling series of labyrinths, which can now be found in every single station, from Swiss Cottage to Sloane Square.
The warmth and character that has been created in a publicly owned transport system, compared to the utterly hollow, bland and vacuous experience that chain-dominated Oxford Street has become, speaks volumes about each. Whereas transport systems are traditionally cool, cold and airless, the best shops offer entry into another world, of the unexpected, of beautiful items new and old. But Oxford Street is symbolic, the vanguard, of the movement that has drained the high street of life all over the country, all over Europe, and all over most of the western world. Oh, it may look alive still, the armies of shoppers, the dazzling store-front lights, the names of the shops picked out in standalone neon letters like the cathedral of an ancient religion, but it's dead inside.
Some areas of London still survive as hold-outs, but they're fighting a losing battle, like a virus spreading through the body and shutting down its vital areas one-by-one. Camden, Soho, Kentish Town, Shoreditch, and much of the East End. To varying degrees, these places still burn with an independent spirit, though their markets, quirky bookshops and boutique stores are becoming slowly infected by the Starbucks and the Costas in this world that seem to be every other store-front, even in hip Camden, which implore us to drink, drink, drink, drink coffee. Keep drinking coffee, and let's pretend it's important. Let's pretend it's as important as sex, or laughter, or joy, or beautiful food, or alcohol, or company, or kindred spirits. It's not. But I digress.
The authorities, either locally or nationally, will do nothing to stop this hostile takeover, enthralled as they are to the economic miracle of consumerism and big-name capitalism. But for what, for what is this economic miracle worth? Do we want to live in a society, do we want to live in a London, where everything has been sanitised, checked, copied and reproduced exactly, to make sure that no imperfection, no character and no life accidentally seep into the final product? A London where we can see the echoes of something that once was interesting, a great merchant's house, or a brick fish market, that has been tastefully 'recycled' (i.e. destroyed) as yet another Caffè Nero? Where we wonder 'I wonder what this was once, or if anything interesting ever happened here', as we slurp our insipid coffee. Or do we want a society like the London Underground? Where, it may be old, and it may be inefficient, and it may be creaking at the edges, but goddamn we're trying. A society with soul, with character, with ambition, where everything done is for the good of everybody, to make the world a better place, rather than just a richer place. A society characterised by a direct line from history, rather than just staring at its pretty bits through a shiny gauze, or a glossy window. There are two Londons, and they are growing increasingly apart. I know which one I'd rather be in. Mind the gap.
Further reading
The Shard is the perfect metaphor for modern London - The Guardian
The Shard has slashed the face of London for ever - The Guardian
