It is with my customary sadness that I hear that another interesting and historic building is to be demolished. The Trinity Centre Multi-Storey Car Park in Gateshead is set to be razed soon to make way for a Tesco development. My immediate thought was that it would be such a shame to lose such a classic piece of Brutalist architecture ... far better conceived and implemented than many of its contemporaries I would argue, with its external staircase being referenced in a variety of subsequent buildings, most noticeably the Lloyd's Building designed by Richard Rogers. The Lloyd's Building is not a bad building to compare the Trinity Centre Car Park to, representing as it does another architect's idea for the future, albeit a more playfully postmodern one. Such interesting phases of ideas that buildings such as the Car Park represent will cease to exist in the built world if we continue demolishing them before their deserved listing arrives in the next few decades.
I reject any arguments arguing that the building deserves to be demolished on account of being "ugly" as it is to be replaced by a Tesco. It is not merely the likely identical nature of this Tesco with a previously-built cousin that worries me, more that in perversely following the saga I will be inflicted to one of those terrible "artist's impressions" architects now knock up on computers. Always lit in the washed-out, eel-grass fronds of light that accompany transmissions from the sea bed, its the people that populate them that alarm me ... unburdened by the many shopping bags they carry, discussing whether it is to be pizza or ten-pin bowling next, or simply more shopping.
And let's not forget that at the heart of this sad affair is an actual man. Owen Luder is fast and unfairly becoming Britain's most demolished architect. Approaching eighty, he has witnessed many of his key works (e.g. the Tricorn Centre in Portsmouth) face dynamite and digger and unrepentant, often protests in a dignified manner (in stark contrast to local ochlocracies e.g. the Tricorn Centre in Portsmouth). While there are serious problems with many of his buildings (though many it must be said stemming from terrible neglect by local councils), I still feel peculiarly sorry for him. How must it feel to see your life's work destroyed in your lifetime? And especially when it was a life devoted to constructing permanent structures... Punished for pursuing grand projects, Owen Luder's output has become ephemeral within four decades.
Thinking about Luder got me thinking about the Car Park's major claim to fame, its appearance in one of the best films ever made, "Get Carter". Those of you who haven't seen it really ought to ... any film featuring Michael Caine, John Osborne (!), Ian Hendry, Tony Beckley, George Sewell and Britt Ekland should be top of your list anyway. The Ted Lewis novel on which the film is based, "Jack's Return Home" is well worth a read to, if only for its fabulously pulp fiction opening: "The rain rained.". It might be rubbish, but it makes perfect sense to anyone raised north of Sheffield...
Anyway, in the film, Jack Carter throws local "big man" (in a number of senses) Cliff Brumby off the top of the building* in his attempts to seek revenge for the murder of his brother. I have often thought of Newcastle as the star of the film ... looking exceedingly grim and gritty, a post-war "craphouse" to borrow Carter's phrase.
In this sense, Brumby's attempts to regenerate the city become quite interesting. He is meeting with two rather well-spoken (though not as well-spoken as John Osborne!) architects about his plans for the complex. I always thought the inference here was that Brumby, supposedly a legitimate businessman, was involved in some highly murky urban regeneration a la Newcastle antiheroes T. Dan Smith and John Poulson. But then I realised that "Get Carter" was filmed in 1970 and released a year later ... a whole year before the first wave of scandal broke. Let's not forget how big a wave it was whilst we're at it, claiming Reginald Maudling's position as Home Secretary - I wonder whether other current and dubious schemes such as Pathfinder will go on to claim political casualties...
Now maybe Mike Hodges knew something back then, but the fact remains that "Get Carter" starts to look like a peculiarly prescient piece of film, in addition to its many other strengths.
"Hang on! Hang on!" I hear you cry. What's any of this got to do with pop music? Well I began to think the above curiously, whilst listening to a rather prescient pop record, Randy Newman's "Political Science". It suddenly occurred to me just how much more successfully this record encapsulates America now than it possibly did in 1972, when it first appeared on "Sail Away". True, the nuclear threat may have diminished, but the record always seems to me to be far more about the political and cultural reasons behind the nuclear threat; the finger behind the button rather than the button itself. The America of "Political Science" seems very much a country troubled by its loss in status, a place where "even our old friends put us down" and where political and cultural isolationism seem to be the safest tactic. This all seems incredibly apposite today.
This got me thinking about how the future is depicted in the supposedly here today gone tomorrow world of pop. Is prescience ever more than a happy accident in pop music? Do we really want our records to be prescient or is pop all about the here and now? I started digging through tracks to answer these questions...
Gosh, I hope pop records aren't prescient. This was the finding of a Saturday morning's research. Can anyone name an optimistic track about the future? Most are in Newman's nuclear idiom (and pretty entertaining they are too. Honourable mentions for Tom Lehrer's exquisite "We will all go together when we go", Nena's bonkers "99 Luftballons" and Frankie Goes To Hollywood's muscular "Two Tribes") or else seem simply to be fairly banal statements of what's going to happen in the near future: as Angie Brown sang, "I'm gonna get you baby, I'm gonna get you yes I am".
I was in a fairly morbid mood by the time I reached my tailor's on Saturday. All over-friendly hands, he told me how nice it was to see me again. "The second suit I work on for you ... where I come from we say you need only five suits in your lifetime - one for first confirmation, one for dogfighting and chasing women, one to marry in, one to watch your kids marry in and one to be buried in." Great, I thought, he's mapped my life out and I've already got enough suits in my wardrobe before I even met the fellow. I ended up in a tat shop near Bethnal Green where I bought some turn of the century Waite Tarot cards - always been intrigued by the drawings and their supposed significance. On the tube to Soho I shuffled and drew one. Death. I know Death doesn't mean Death, but when the first card you draw is Death you think Death, Death. On returning in the late hours of Sunday morning I frapped up the computer and told Media Player to play a random track. It chose "In the Year 2525 (Exordium and Terminus)" by Zager and Evans, a cheery little number about how mankind's quest for ever-greater technology will bring about its destruction...
I am beginning to think I am doomed, and I still have a lot of pop records to listen to. My advice is never to care too much about the demolition of a multi-storey car park ... you'll only end up frightened.
* And the actor Bryan Mosley into a long-lasting stint as Alf Roberts in "Coronation Street" or so I thought. The Lancashire network of great aunts were consulted on this matter and they said he'd been in it back in the sixties. Further research proves they're right - he was a semi-regular character from 1961-63. Always believe your great aunts.
I reject any arguments arguing that the building deserves to be demolished on account of being "ugly" as it is to be replaced by a Tesco. It is not merely the likely identical nature of this Tesco with a previously-built cousin that worries me, more that in perversely following the saga I will be inflicted to one of those terrible "artist's impressions" architects now knock up on computers. Always lit in the washed-out, eel-grass fronds of light that accompany transmissions from the sea bed, its the people that populate them that alarm me ... unburdened by the many shopping bags they carry, discussing whether it is to be pizza or ten-pin bowling next, or simply more shopping.
And let's not forget that at the heart of this sad affair is an actual man. Owen Luder is fast and unfairly becoming Britain's most demolished architect. Approaching eighty, he has witnessed many of his key works (e.g. the Tricorn Centre in Portsmouth) face dynamite and digger and unrepentant, often protests in a dignified manner (in stark contrast to local ochlocracies e.g. the Tricorn Centre in Portsmouth). While there are serious problems with many of his buildings (though many it must be said stemming from terrible neglect by local councils), I still feel peculiarly sorry for him. How must it feel to see your life's work destroyed in your lifetime? And especially when it was a life devoted to constructing permanent structures... Punished for pursuing grand projects, Owen Luder's output has become ephemeral within four decades.
Thinking about Luder got me thinking about the Car Park's major claim to fame, its appearance in one of the best films ever made, "Get Carter". Those of you who haven't seen it really ought to ... any film featuring Michael Caine, John Osborne (!), Ian Hendry, Tony Beckley, George Sewell and Britt Ekland should be top of your list anyway. The Ted Lewis novel on which the film is based, "Jack's Return Home" is well worth a read to, if only for its fabulously pulp fiction opening: "The rain rained.". It might be rubbish, but it makes perfect sense to anyone raised north of Sheffield...
Anyway, in the film, Jack Carter throws local "big man" (in a number of senses) Cliff Brumby off the top of the building* in his attempts to seek revenge for the murder of his brother. I have often thought of Newcastle as the star of the film ... looking exceedingly grim and gritty, a post-war "craphouse" to borrow Carter's phrase.
In this sense, Brumby's attempts to regenerate the city become quite interesting. He is meeting with two rather well-spoken (though not as well-spoken as John Osborne!) architects about his plans for the complex. I always thought the inference here was that Brumby, supposedly a legitimate businessman, was involved in some highly murky urban regeneration a la Newcastle antiheroes T. Dan Smith and John Poulson. But then I realised that "Get Carter" was filmed in 1970 and released a year later ... a whole year before the first wave of scandal broke. Let's not forget how big a wave it was whilst we're at it, claiming Reginald Maudling's position as Home Secretary - I wonder whether other current and dubious schemes such as Pathfinder will go on to claim political casualties...
Now maybe Mike Hodges knew something back then, but the fact remains that "Get Carter" starts to look like a peculiarly prescient piece of film, in addition to its many other strengths.
"Hang on! Hang on!" I hear you cry. What's any of this got to do with pop music? Well I began to think the above curiously, whilst listening to a rather prescient pop record, Randy Newman's "Political Science". It suddenly occurred to me just how much more successfully this record encapsulates America now than it possibly did in 1972, when it first appeared on "Sail Away". True, the nuclear threat may have diminished, but the record always seems to me to be far more about the political and cultural reasons behind the nuclear threat; the finger behind the button rather than the button itself. The America of "Political Science" seems very much a country troubled by its loss in status, a place where "even our old friends put us down" and where political and cultural isolationism seem to be the safest tactic. This all seems incredibly apposite today.
This got me thinking about how the future is depicted in the supposedly here today gone tomorrow world of pop. Is prescience ever more than a happy accident in pop music? Do we really want our records to be prescient or is pop all about the here and now? I started digging through tracks to answer these questions...
Gosh, I hope pop records aren't prescient. This was the finding of a Saturday morning's research. Can anyone name an optimistic track about the future? Most are in Newman's nuclear idiom (and pretty entertaining they are too. Honourable mentions for Tom Lehrer's exquisite "We will all go together when we go", Nena's bonkers "99 Luftballons" and Frankie Goes To Hollywood's muscular "Two Tribes") or else seem simply to be fairly banal statements of what's going to happen in the near future: as Angie Brown sang, "I'm gonna get you baby, I'm gonna get you yes I am".
I was in a fairly morbid mood by the time I reached my tailor's on Saturday. All over-friendly hands, he told me how nice it was to see me again. "The second suit I work on for you ... where I come from we say you need only five suits in your lifetime - one for first confirmation, one for dogfighting and chasing women, one to marry in, one to watch your kids marry in and one to be buried in." Great, I thought, he's mapped my life out and I've already got enough suits in my wardrobe before I even met the fellow. I ended up in a tat shop near Bethnal Green where I bought some turn of the century Waite Tarot cards - always been intrigued by the drawings and their supposed significance. On the tube to Soho I shuffled and drew one. Death. I know Death doesn't mean Death, but when the first card you draw is Death you think Death, Death. On returning in the late hours of Sunday morning I frapped up the computer and told Media Player to play a random track. It chose "In the Year 2525 (Exordium and Terminus)" by Zager and Evans, a cheery little number about how mankind's quest for ever-greater technology will bring about its destruction...
I am beginning to think I am doomed, and I still have a lot of pop records to listen to. My advice is never to care too much about the demolition of a multi-storey car park ... you'll only end up frightened.
* And the actor Bryan Mosley into a long-lasting stint as Alf Roberts in "Coronation Street" or so I thought. The Lancashire network of great aunts were consulted on this matter and they said he'd been in it back in the sixties. Further research proves they're right - he was a semi-regular character from 1961-63. Always believe your great aunts.
No comments:
Post a Comment