SCOTLAND BE WARNED: BEWARE MR GIULIANI

Someone in the West Coast of Scotland is reading the wrong web sites. As if a visit by the Pope might not be divisive enough, somebody, with the best of intentions, has invited none other than Ex-New York City Mayor Rudolf Giuliani to address the Scottish Council for Development and Industry's International Awards dinner on 19 November 2010. I'd like to remind the powers-that-invite something my grandmother taught me years ago: Good intentions pave the road to hell. And, if anyone thinks Rudy's ideas will do anything positive for Scotland and/or Glasgow, get ready for a lot of division, fire, and brimstone. I'm an expat New Yorker, I was forced to endure King G's iron fist.

"Freedom is about authority. Freedom is about the willingness of every single human being to cede to lawful authority a great deal of discretion about what you do and how you do it." - Giuliani 1994

The last thing Scotland needs is misinformation from a mayor who arguably, had it not been for the fortunate PR boost from 9/11, would have left office the most hated mayor in New York City history. I witnessed first hand the deliberate unravelling of almost every shred of community fabric in New York's five boroughs, at the behest of Rudy and his henchmen. As a result, rents went way up, private/small enterprise went out, and Corporate America trampled the pavements and a people that once produced greatness -- from original art and music to innovative commerce. Now, even the hot dogs carts in Central Park are licensed, taxed and regulated to the point of extinction, in favor of McProgress.

Take for example, my own apartment which is located on East 13^th Street, Manhattan. When I moved out, the rent was 574.00 per month. Now, it is going for around 2500.00. It seems a fair argument that my landlord, most certainly benefiting from Giuliani's destabilization of the housing market, and weakening of housing enforcement, was able to skirt the rules and name his price.

Legally, Mr Landlord should have been only able to raise the rent 1/40th of the cost of a renovation. Surely, on some paperwork, buried somewhere deep within city hall, overlooked by inspectors, must be a construction receipt for a $75,000 renovation, right? But I find this hard to believe, as all my neighbours witnessed was a rushed paint job and quick move-in of some transient students. For a better-bigger picture, just look at the recent mess in areas known as Stuyvesant Town and Peter Cooper Village in Manhattan, where corporate jackal developers were allowed to concoct a shakey financing deal, and try to force 'luxury living' into very old community, while simultaneously forcing out existing tenants at every turn. It's a nasty business which they're still fighting over.

From around 1995, I watched as my local dry cleaners, grocers and landmark institutions shut one after another under the Giuliani 'market-will-handle-everything' wrecking ball. In their place? Corporate chains, banks, and restaurants which carpet-bag profits for shareholders who have no way of being a part of the communities their investments occupy and devastate. Scotland take note: the angels have been driven out, and Disney, Starbucks and Bank of America rush in where fools can't afford to tread.

It's no secret where Giuliani got his inspirations. The gruesome team of Fiorello Laguardia and Robert Moses left a long, controversial legacy of destroying neighborhoods. As ill-conceived as the UK housing schemes of the 1960s, Laguardia and Moses preceded in the 50s by laying waste to vast areas like the South Bronx, displacing tens of thousands of middle-class people and creating immediate slums, all in the name of an expressway and the almighty automobile. Moses was known for many debacles in the name of progress, all coated in corruption. Mayor Laguardia was his ambitious, willing enabler for much of it. Both were known as egotistical, media-seeking opportunists. Both are among Giuliani's heros.

Mayor Michael R. Bloomberg continues the big-business fatheading of the Giuliani legacy. With the arrogance of a bailout-and-bonus-banker, Bloomberg spent his way into a third, illegal term in office - setting aside a clear decision on the part of voters to set term limits to a maximum of two. (Of course, setting aside elections and voters is nothing new now, see George W. Bush, round 1). The results? Your coffee will be served from Seattle, your local shops will give way to giant world banks. Now, in New York City, more attention is paid to building high rise buildings for transient rich people, and forcing baseball stadiums down the throats of New Yorkers than paying attention to the well being of their communties.

The slogan of Glasgow is 'Let Glasgow Flourish', not 'Force Glasgow Corporate', but if the powers of Scotland allow this and other cities to be led by the fallacy that is the Giuliani rationale - forcing is exactly what will happen. As for Glasgow, an urban area grappling with knife crime, sectarianism, abject poverty and a sheer lack of opportunities for many young people (despite alot of dedicated efforts) the very last thing that the city needs to do is take tips from a disgraced politician. Britain has its own Tony Blair, thank you very much. So, beware, beware and be wary of the devils that gunsling the word 'gentrification' and show little or no regard for those who will suffer from the collateral damage.

Take Merchant City in Glasgow, for example, where although signs of positive progress are evident, there are barely enough permanent residents to fill all the luxury apartments. Many of the upper floors of the buildings stand empty - space for perhaps some non-luxury people, creating a social mix where the culture could flourish and support the local businesses. As it stands, the area seems dangerously close to becoming a weekend-warrior booze barrio. All that is not needed are Disney shops, even higher rents, more coffee joints and nail salons.

I am no civil planner, but it does not take one to see that growing new, vibrant neighborhoods requires a delicate touch, with time to allow them to develop. The key ingredients: human beings who generate an autochthonous culture and subtle encouragement. Ingredients politicians like Rudolf Giuliani either don't understand or treat with contempt and disdain.

But don't take it from me, take a trip to what has become the overpriced, inaccessible (except to tourists and rich folks) city of New York. Speak to some middle-class locals who were there before the reign of King G, and ask what they think of the man who tried to be President. More than likely you'll discover the real truth: Rudolf Giuliani did not "clean up New York" -- a good economy under Bill Clinton did. The rest is just post-9/11 hot air, and corporate bullying that Scotland does not need.

"Families are significantly less important in the development of children today than they were 30 or 40 years ago. Religion has less influence than it did 30 or 40 years ago. Communities don't mean what they meant 30 or 40 years ago." - Giuliani 

Consider yourselves warned.

                                                                             --Martin Belk, August 2010

I thought of Nora Jones tonight as I sat in the audience for Rufus Wainwright's Glasgow show: a lot of people love her, flock to see her, but I'm not entirely sure why. That's not to suggest the attention is not well-deserved, but to characterize -- if Norah Jones were a whispering soothsayer, Rufus Wainwright is the shamanic voice of a cello. But I don't entirely get either, yet.

First, I must admit that I have no active knowledge of Wainwright or much of his work. I attended tonight's opening of his new tour because a dear friend, both of us expat New Yorkers, sent me an email about another phase of Rufus' coming of age. Parts of my life seem to coincide with his, and on more than one occasion other friends have pointed this out, for example our New York burn-outs -- aesthetically differently, but that's another story. His is in the New York Times.

I'm also very aware that Wainwright is dear friends with some of my dear friends who remain in New York City - he gigs and plays with quite a few of the old Squeezebox! crowd. Somehow I didn't get on the 'Rufus' bandwagon, perhaps I was busy bouncing back from the burn. Nonetheless, a dear friend here invited me to Glasgow's Royal Concert Hall for the show.

I love discovering new work during live performances: no expectations. Before the start, an announcer came on stage and asked the audience, at Wainwright's request, "not to applaud until after the [entire] set and Rufus has left the stage. His exit is part of the performance".

What followed was Wainwright entering in a feather-collared black drapey outfit with a train that stretched far behind. He sang a set of songs with varied tempos and depth, accompanied by a unique piece of film of his blackened eye opening and closing, in different sizes and positioning across a giant backdrop screen.

To my delight, the first set was very conceptual, a choreography of the video, Wainwright's body movements and the sound. It was not at all what I, nor the Glasgow crowd had expected. To be honest, I had carried some trepidation in with me: Wainwright's voice sounds the monotonous to me in much of his Pop work. This piece however, transcended Pop.

For the first time, I was able to understand a voice described as 'an instrument' - a term which has always seemed highly technical. Tonight, during this dramatic set, I was able to forget words and listen to sounds, and I then likened Wainwright's instrument to a cello, and the piece made sense. One line that did come forth and stick with me was something like "I don't know what to do with a Rose, What do I do with you?" (Incidentally, I just sent my grandmother, who has cancer and is very close to passing over, a painting I did of a yellow rose).

During the intermission, I heard 'not what we expected' murmurs throughout the crowd, and I, for one, was happy that people who'd come to hear a Pop show got some art and music from a clearly classically trained performer. Great. By any means necessary.

The second half, however, was not so successful. This time, Wainwright sauntered out onstage in a pair of jeans, white t-shirt and arty-style vest covered in patchwork something or other -- too casual, the contrast of appearances alone was jarring to me. He'd earned the respect of this first-timer with the first set, then proceeded to throw me off an artistic cliff.

While addressing the audience, Wainwright acknowledged his need to 'dig out of a hole' from the first set. I disagree. To follow a genius conceptual piece which triumphed in challenging the faithful, with a scaled-down run-through of songs in the style of an old American Pop show 'Puttin' on the Hits' - was disappointing. His voice went from innovative to unnerving, and upon making a mistake (fair enough) even Wainwright commented "There's something in the air tonight...   ...shards of glass". Perhaps, but some continuity in the show could have guided us through the sharp jungle.

Wainwright's classical training, and focus for the performance seemed to return in his encore set. When singing a song related to Scotland and taught to him by his recently departed mother, his posture changed and became more attentive, and notes began flowing smoothly.

We all have our processes. One thing I admire Wainwright for is his ability to make mistakes on stage and keep going - 'anything worth doing is worth doing imperfectly' as the old saying goes, although one time seemed a bit staged for comic relief.

Another rough spot seemed to be with a song where he was singing about being drunk, (although he, like me and many of our mutual friends, have traded the booze boat for other things, namely a life), while reassuring the audience "I'm not drunk" -- sometimes it's hard to look back without staring.

In the end the one thing I really identified with was Wainwright himself, a man who's as seen many transitions as I have of the same lusciously dirty nooks and crannies of Manhattan into squeaky-clean real estate ventures for corrupt politicians and developers, not to mention greedy purple universities. And after 8 years of a war criminal for a President, and now dangerous people like Sarah Palin being crowned charlatan-of-the-hour, Wainwright's song 'I'm so tired of you America' struck deep chords within me.

While I wish he'd lose some of the grating Valley-Girl accent, I admire his tenacity in general, and after the first set tonight, may very well check out his opera if given the chance. I enjoyed much of the show, but can't fault Wainwright for being in tune with what seems to be the rest of the humanity right now: struggling to figure out exactly which way to go. But isn't that what art is all about? Struggle, trial and change?

--MLB

 NINE: "I should have IDIOT tattooed on my forehead".

Yes, yes you should, along with all the filmmakers involved in this project. Along with me for paying to sit through this nonsense. Daniel Day Lewis as an Italian? Please. Somehow tieing this into Fellini? A travesty. With this, and the goose-choking release of 'Avatar', I have a lingering question: with all the money, pr machines and resources in the world, how come Hollywood can't eek out a good fart, much less a film? 

The best part: everyone I went with got naps during the songs. Long songs. Longer songs than a Tim Burton film. Songs with lyrics that could have been written, er, probably were written by a third grade music student. Songs with the name 'Gweeedo' repeated over and over, and inspired rhymes between 'black and white' and 'play of light'. Ray of light? Not in this nursery school. And, I just love how Kate Hudson reminds me of chickens croaking before slaughter.

The worst part: The last remnants of an era that produced real talent were rolled out to try and glue together NINE's house of cards. Sophia Loren shot like a wax statue held up by a butt pole. Judi Dench, the only cast member that appeared to have a pulse, left to whittle the soul she brings to the screen before a clumsy, chiche Lewis. And why roll out that Kidman-clutz a-gain? Answer: Someone wanted to be just like Moulin Rouge. Heaven forbid. Fergi ate the stage and seemed in her element, with a good showtune and robust dance performance. Repeat after me: t-h-u-n-d-e-r-p-u-s-s-y.

The thing that gets me, is that this movie has me agreeing with, *choke* Howard Stern. Back in the day, he accused 'Beavis & Butthead' as being racist. "If you colored those characters as black kids, or made their faces look ethnic, there'd be riots in the streets." NINE makes me think the same about the presentation of Italians. Stereotype after stereotype rolls across the screen in leather shoes and tacky sports cars, greasey hair waving in the wind - all of which was done better in the 60's anyway.

I once heard Camille Paglia argue that Italians should never have given up their ethnicity in America. NINE sells it to the highest bidder. Step up, Ms. P...

Art is happening, but not in Hollywood. When oh when will this era of saccharine end? I had high hopes for this recession. Rent 'Sweet Charity', stay home where it's warm, and see how it's really done.

MLB 

This is not advertorial. This is a blatant CALL TO ACTION on behalf of Border's Books, Buchanan Street, Glasgow. I was saddened by the news of administration, I was sickened to walk by and see bargain-basement 'CLOSING DOWN' signs just now.

If Border's Buchanan Street is allowed to close, Glasgow loses, in a big way. If the government can bail out the banks, they need to step in here.

Glasgow loses, here's why:

1. This store is not only a retail space, it is a prime meeting location. 1000's of people daily come through its' doors, rendezvous, buy a book or a magazine, then continue on to lunch/dinner. Every restaurateur within a 30 minute walk should take note! 

2. It has been challenging the status quo. In this dire age of complacency in retailing, Border's Buchanan Street has a passionate staff. The store is open until 10pm most days, challenging the home-by-six mentality (especially in an era where retailers complain of low sales = they're never open when working people need them).

3. Because of its innovative programmes, hours and location, the presence is a source of stability and nighttime safety in the area. If allowed to close, or turn into another 9-5 dress shop, Buchanan Street will become a dangerous ghost town for drunken brawlers every night.

 4. Border's Buchanan street has the one and ONLY international peridoicals, news and books sections in the entirety of lowland Scotland. NO other retailers offers such a wide selection.

5. Border's Buchanan Street is one of the few retail chains that aspire to act independently, and support the local community. Our annual writers' conference is one example.  They have a forum for all sorts of events, and have become prominent in hosting things that have no other home.

 Write your MSP's, and business friends. The private sector needs to step up here. Rumour has it that the Glasgow store has been consistently profitable.

 Change is ok, but if this institution turns into another useless discount clothing store or dress boutique, along with the ridiculous withdrawal of the airport rail link, Glasgow will have taken a giant step back from being a hub in Scotland to being just another run of the mill bourgeois town for weekend shoppers.

 Do something.

ONE Magazine photographer and editorial liaise Thomas Haywood gets caught while catching a falling man at the Union Gallery, in joint collaboration with The Edinburgh Filmhouse:

For the full story, visit the Union Gallery.

MLB

WE'RE FALLING APART: IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT

            -Martin Belk 

I, for one, am very fatigued to keep hearing about the sad state of Western economies, particularly in the US and UK. Frankly, 'SHUT UP ALREADY', is my current sentiment. Every single bit of this so-called financial crisis is your fault, our fault, and now it's high time to take action or just lie down and take it.

First, look at the laughable level of customer service - in retail, wholesale, any ‘ale'. It stinks. From the High Street to Fifth Avenue, it's clear that the twelve year olds who've been left to run shops could care less about me, my money, my time or whether or not I'll come again. Remember that? ‘Come Again', a standard greeting in retail, circa 1750-1975. You don't see those signs anymore. No one cares.

Worse, workers are so poorly paid and poorly motivated that they'll literally throw you out of the store fifteen minutes before closing. If the daily routine of ambivalence doesn't get you, just try milling around a shop within the dreaded ‘fifteen minutes ‘til closing'. What at noon is a lack of care turns to pure scorn, and they'll run as fast as they can to get away from you, while diverting eyes to their beloved floor. Minutes later, rent-a-boob security will come and ask you put down your selections and leave. Nice.

The other retail phenomenon I just don't understand is the case of the mysterious opening hours. If I walked out, right now, to my shopping street there'd be dozens of mostly empty stores, with said ambivalent teenaged sales associates meandering about. Why open at 9am, complain about overhead, and wait ‘til the lunch rush - then, when customers actually do, in fact, show up, rush them out the door?

*Newsflash* the year is now 2009. People work all manner and varieties of shifts and hours. Many are working multiple part-time gigs. These ‘people' can become ‘customers' if you ‘cater' to them. Such as opening your doors at 10, 11 even, and leaving them open until 7,8,9 even. Imagine that: stores that were open when people actually needed them. Shocking.

If retail doesn't get you, business to business will. Recently, I had a 96 page book to put on press. Not the biggest job, not the smallest either. The first so-called ‘professional' took the job, only to literally disappear when we asked for a proof print - standard in our industry (you don't print 1000 books before seeing a proof, it just seems to help).  

The second ‘professional' spent as much time demanding payment, in full, up front, than servicing the job. I guess I should be exhuberent that he took my calls. And he is not an exception. Everyone nowadays, has hoodwinked the public into this new gambling fetish called ‘Direct Debit' and ‘Direct Deposit'. I say no.

The game is simple: get the money up front and don't ever, ever, be wrong or give any back - no matter how wrong you actually are. ‘They' make money off the interest, and the fact that you, the customer (another outdated word), are now providing them, the vendor, with their accounting services - further boosting their profits. Glad I could be of service.

Want a side-splitter? Just try to deal with an energy/gas/electricity/phone or internet company. My recent move left me, although ‘promised' within ten days, without broadband or a phone for six weeks. My transition electricity bill has been generated for or five times at last count, and has gone from 22.50 to 185.37 to now 68.85. I've sent in another query, we'll see what comes up when they spin the roulette wheel.

The point? our decline of culture and economies in the US, UK and otherwise can be blamed on but one person: You. Me. We. Us. We've allowed ourselves to be cattle-driven by Wall-Street bond junkies and corporate customer cull out of control. We've been relegated to call centers where there should be a person to see face to face, and web sites where there should be someone to call.

So, I, for one, do not want to hear any more about how pitiful things are, the recession, bank executive woes or any of it. We've sat back and are continuing to allow this to happen.

And you know what? While they're busy playing monkey games on the internet, avoiding customers and creating layer upon layer of fine-print to alienate any chance of progress, I prefer not to. Thank you Bartelby.

I have decided to run my business using a chequebook. If anyone doesn't like it, they apparently don't need me as a customer. I refuse to carry debit cards, and want nothing to do with direct debit. I'm fed up with making their lives better with my money. As far as customer service, I'll never return to that book printer again. I've found two or three printing companies in Poland and the Czech Republic who are thrilled to have me as a customer, take my calls, and arrange reasonable payment terms. And no I'm not a traitor to the local economy - it betrayed me.

The raw truth: Eastern Europe, South America, China and Russia are standing poised and strong, and ready to compete. And my prediction is, they will, and they will win.For proof, just look at the so-called ‘Mexican problem' in America or ‘Polish problem' in the UK: they act as if they want to work and want to succeed. Buckle your seatbelts.

I have little sympathy, if any, for Brown's Britain or Obama's red, white and blue. If Gordon Brown wanted to ensure a win, and Obama wanted to boost his ratings, pass health care in one fell swoop and regain the confidence of the progressives - both would get together, and send troops to seize the banks we've bailed out. No more bonuses Mr Executive.

But pardon me, I'm thinking like a loathsome customer again.

Martin Belk - 10/11/09

Ps. In a total abandoning of all ONE editorial rules about advertorial, I'll share a rare, shining, exceptional moment: EAT restaurant, Oxford Street, London. Last week.  They smiled. They helped. They thanked. I had a place to sit and watch the people go by for as long as I wanted. Boy o' boy did that sandwich taste better than anything I'd had in ages. I went back two days later. Go there.

THIS IS IT: POP AND CIRCUMSTANCE -- on Michael Jackson

I'm going to break with my normal postings here for a film review of Michael Jackson's THIS IS IT.

Although I pride myself on having few limits to my musical tastes, I've never been a Michael Jackson 'fanatic'. Although 'Thriller' was the very first cassette I used to demonstrate the power of my very first serious JVC sound system at the age of sixteen or so, and burned the tape thin on the player inside my navy blue '74 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme, I never joined an 'MJ craze'. Although the beats to 'Billie Jean' incorporate a complex exponent mathematical system used in the ancient pyramids and throughout history, while I certainly enjoyed the music, dancing and stage artistry of the King of Pop, I dismissed him as 'too mainstream', 'too easy'. Although I never jumped on a Jackson bandwagon, after seeing 'THIS IS IT' last night at the late showing, I think I may have missed a few things. In fact, I know I missed a few things, and Michael Jackson played it that way.

First, I will try to never, ever, ever again make judgements on anyone based on media reports. After his passing, the newsjackals had me believe that all that had really occurred was the washed up King of Pop, who couldn't even sell his jackets at an auction, had overdosed in an exhausted, sad state of misery. He may have been sad. He may have been broke and miserable. But from what I saw onscreen last night, Michael Jackson was not even close to exhausted or washed up.

I watched with my jaw on the floor as 'MJ' danced and rehearsed and sang like never before. I kept saying 'Fifty, fifty...' under my breath. At fifty years old, this man was out-singing, out-dancing, out-living everything that Pop music now hypes, combined. Love, hate or indifferent, this man was the very best our Pop culture had to offer, and even the high-brows should take notice of his professionalism and skill. He demonstrated a knowledge of music, arrangements, choreography and positive project management we'll ever witness. All the contemporary conspirators — from Madonna (who couldn't sing her way out of a paper bag), Boy George (who has to wear a paper bag for attention), and newer vermin like Justin Timberlake, Spears, and the choirs of oversinging deep throats who claim their 'art' as R&B — none will ever get near Michael Jackson, even on one of his off days, if he actually had one.

So, the question begs, why wasn't I a fanatic? Why did it take Michael Jackson's passing for me, a man who watched the very first MTV transmission in my Aunt Susan's bedroom (she had cable), to finally appreciate the man who would define the medium? The answer is on the celluloid.

Like many others have commented, 'THIS IS IT' revealed a human side of Michael Jackson, and showed something far too obscure in the entirety of our current society — process. In this age where 'everyone's a winner' in schools, and everyone wants to be a star after graduation, no one tells you how or what it takes to get there. I think the most poignant thing I saw in Jackson last night was the humanity of being human — how he connected the dots, the dance steps, the notes and the logic of being at the center of the biggest performance machine in history, and keep cool.

So, why all the witch hunts, controversy, rumours, hatred and speculation of a criminal? Because he refused to be controlled, and too many in society hated him for it. And after last nights' film, I'm not sure that Michael Jackson's life in obscurity served him well. Perhaps, if the world had gotten to witness some of the process revealed in 'THIS IS IT', history would lend a kinder hand to Jackson. But at it's root, for me are three or so distinct reasons why, as Madonna put it at he video awards “While he was trying to build a family and rebuild his career, we were all passing judgement.”

First, Michael Jackson was a homosexual, or at least bisexual. Big surprise. I, for one, do not believe it was his duty or responsibility to address his sex life in public, and give him a lot of credit for leaving the details to our imaginations. As for the nauseating trials and day to day coverage of his alleged 'relationships' with young boys, this for me was a lower point than the OJ Simpson farce. If Michael Jackson was indeed a paedofile, it wasn't proven, and I believe the prosecutors knew it never could be. Pedarast, perhaps. Paedo, no - by definition. All profited, mainly the newsjackals, from the affair. And older-liking-younger is nothing new — shall we debate the lyrics to Learner and Lowe's 'Thank Heaven for little Girls'? Or talk about Jerry Lee Lewis' marriage, a-gain? Why not have a chat with Don Bachardy on his relationship with Christopher Isherwood? In a new documentary, Bachardy states: “...the [obsurd] idea of this middle-aged man deflowering this young boy...it was exactly what the boy wanted.” Incidentally, Bachardy and Isherwood's relationship lasted over thirty years, til' death did they part.

My point: as with the death penalty for murder, we have to be incredibly careful before lynching the bogey man. Innocent people die in Texas, and elsewhere, everyday. Today's cries of 'Paedo' to incite the angry mob is yesterday's 'Commie' — the newsjackals need an enemy to feed on, and we're all too happy to give them one — real, imagined or conveniently coincidental.

Second, is the fairytale life of Jackson. While I can never see myself building a 'Neverland Ranch', I don't see why it is anybody's business that he did. There's no doubt that Jackson suffered an incredible amount of child abuse at he hands of his father, and even if he hadn't, the gruelling schedules and demands of a child star would have been enough to make him weird. I remain convinced that all Michael Jackson had on his mind was hugs, milk and cookies. So what? We don't have to look very far at the similar tragic stories — from the cast of the Little Rascals, to Mackenzie Phillips, to Judy Garland — to gain insight on this one. The real tragedy? A society that allows the Hollywood and Music Industry machines to exploit these children, however talented, and then leaves them to fend for themselves as adults — we've all got guilt on our hands for turning our backs on him/them, as Madonna also observed.

Third, drug addiction. The heroin of the newsjackal masses. Sidestory SOMA, brave new nothing. Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, William Burroughs, Jack Kerouac, Elvis, Kurt Cobain, Judy Garland, Whitney Houston, Billy Holiday, Edith Piaf...just to name some of the addicts with actual talent. Now, Jackson joins the list. Do we really need a half-wit primetime special to understand this one? Is it really surprising, that the alcohol and cigarette companies funded a lot of these people's addictive careers? Does anyone else out there get the connection? Ugh.

For me, the problem with celebrity is akin to other us/them blights on our culture, and begins with what Michel Foucault describes in his book, 'Madness and Civilization', as the 'Hopiteaux Generale' or 'General Hospital'. Before it's institution, the sick, mad, crazy if you like, all existed within their societies. After, they were removed and labeled as 'other' and sent away. It's frightening to me to think that this same logic, while originally well intended, was a component behind things like Hitler's final solution and Pol Pot's Cambodia: other, other, other. Everyone's a winner' needs to be sent to the scrap heap, lest we repeat.

What I saw last night in 'THIS IS IT' removed a layer or two of Jackson's 'otherness' and brought me one step closer to a human I could, in turn, further comprehend. ' Instead of continuing our current vapid culture of celebrity — other, other, other, now turned to me!, me!, me! — and coveting the positions of 'others', and turning 'others' into demigods destined to fall — we need to demand change based on talent, and burst the bubble of fake celebrity. By doing so, those who follow Jackson won't necessarily be arriving at an early grave. In order to do this, we need to invest more in arts education and incentives, and allow the most talented to do as Jackson did up to the last day of rehearsal – and instead of putting people on pedestals, put them on stage — within reach, for all to relate to.

I wish a large number of younger people knew a range musicians from Mozart to Thelonius Monk. I wish we educated them to appreciate quality in the arts, as opposed to size, volume and quantity. Jackson has quantity, but could stand alone and captivate tens of thousands at a time, with quality. And for all the criticism, I cannot understand why the 'powers-that-be' didn't rush to canonize Michael Jackson in an artistic sense. He didn't use profanity in his music, and sang about positive things while telling stories. He probably gave more money to charity than Bill Gates, and tried to bring attention to our dying planet. His work was sexy, not sexual. No one was called a 'nigger', 'ho', 'bitch', or 'motherfucker', in his repertoire. He never 'smacked his bitch up'. Curiously, he avoided all this guttering, and retained millions of fans young and old, without being branded 'vanilla' or 'goody-goody'. Another mark of genius.

A large part of society and especially the newsjackals hated Michael Jackson because they could not get their claws around him, and for that, I am eternally grateful. There are few who actually get to live, even intermittently, as we all cry out for: free. I guess after seeing 'THIS IS IT' I have to be honest, while I even have a lump in my throat, and admit I'm still not a fanatic. But my gosh do I have more respect for Michael Jackson than ever before – it is a rare, rare moment to be able to witness anyone who is and was truly the very best at what they do. The rehearsal footage was far better than a lot of concerts I've been to. And for those who wish young people had good role models in Pop culture, they did, and he's gone. If we are lucky enough to get a 'next one', we'll have to take care of them.

Whoever this may be, like Jackson said to his guitarist “This is your time to shine. We're with you.” Well, some of us, anyway.

--Martin Belk                                              2 November 2009

I had high hopes for this recession. The clearing of yuppies and trust-fund brats from Manhattan, the bust of mediocre record companies, film houses and television studios which, for the past 13 or so years have kept us swimming in beige. The clearing of yuppies and trust-fund brats from the rest of the world who now watch cable television and pretend they are in Manhattan. No such luck.

Last Monday, I sat with John Calder at a talk with MP Vince Cable, author of The Storm, and not unlike our own Mike Holmes of ONE Magazine, the only writers with the balls to write a preemptive newsflash about the current economic meltdown. The subject of the talk: The Root of All Evil? Morality and Money.

Vince Cable and another panelist, Nic Marks of the New Economics foundation discussed banks and greed, unreasoned lending and unscrupulous hoarding and the ins and outs of human behavior to a crowd of about 100, while the host sat onstage and typed on his handheld twit device.

During the Q&A, Calder asked Cable why he pulls some of his punches in his criticisms of the status quo, and I asked why we discuss banks instead of bankers - and how can we expect these beasts of profit, who've been fastracked from a broad education down the slippery MBA road with little or no sense of history, to act or think responsibly in a greater context.

Cable grumbled at Calder, dismissing his Attlean assertion of managed economies (I reckon he has books to sell), but agreed about history and said the first thing he'd do is put history books back into the first-year economic courses, which prove that all upswings in an economy are cyclical - and what goes up comes down every 15 years or so. Oh, the good ole' days - readin', writin', and common sense.

As I made my way through this August, I cautiously watched for evidence of change. Real recession-era change. Perhaps, I imagined, in the tougher economic times people would become friendlier, more concerned about the fabric that connects us as a society to the guy on the other side of the street -- not unlike the week after 9/11, before the Guiliani PR machine took over; or stories I've heard about the greatness of the human spirit in times of crisis. My conclusion: no change, and either there is no real crisis, or, because of it, people have only gotten socially worse. 

Since we now have a generation with no real sense of history or geography, and no perspective of society other than the day they were born at the center of the world, how can we expect any change? In school, they/we've been taught that 'Everyone's a Winner!', and if that's indeed true, there certainly can be no losers. This must be why the stores are packed with hungry shoppers, with credit cards waving for their well-deserved new look of the season. Privileged people turned orange from the fake suntan outside, green from faux security on the inside. In place of real art, beauty, and craft we have a sea of phony celebrities twitting their way to an elusive 'top', and nowhere is this more evident than most festivals.

Festival: day or period of time set aside to commemorate, ritually celebrate or re-enact, or anticipate events or seasons-agricultural, religious, or sociocultural - that give meaning and cohesiveness to an individual and to the religious, political, or socioeconomic community. (1)

Give. Meaning. Cohesiveness. Hrmmm. That's what I thought. That's what I like to think. But I don't see it so much these days. Somebody over at the Fringe, er, Edinburgh Comedy Festival, made 5 million pounds on the bulletin book, but the ticket selling machines still weren't humming correctly. At the book festival: pay your money, get in line, sit 50 minutes, applaud, go buy a book to get an autograph and a thank-you from the author, leave. "Latecomers will not be admitted." 

I may be wrong, but the one thing I've observed at festivals from New York to Prague, of film, theatre, music and yes, books is that none actively engage their local communities. Whether films in Tribeca, plays in Philadelphia, or tragedies in Edinburgh -- ticket prices soar each year, exponentially. Most venues stand variably empty, while their indefatigably hopeful producers try to coax would-be audience members in with free tickets. The battlecry: "BUMS ON SEATS!!" So much for art. Roving bands of fussy tourists wander the streets and fight like pack wolves over tables at hip joints like Starbucks and Hard Rock, so things'll be just like home. Yippee McCulture! 

Having been fortunate enough to know the first producers of the Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh Conference on the Novel, et.al., I'm constantly amazed by the tales of the bygone gatherings. Real festivals with conversations and dialogs, where the locals packed free houses where artists performed, as opposed to being celebrities. Where theatre, literature and film deposited political themes, questions and controversy in the psyches of the audiences, and things seemed to matter. The good old days.

 Nowadays, I don't think a Beat Poet, Samuel Beckett, Woodie Guthrie or Bob Dylan would see the light of day in this age of Me-the-Celebrity. Where's the real, sustained opposition to wars in Iraq or Afghanistan? Not in today's music that's for sure. Like schools, universities and the arts across the US and UK, so-called festivals are failing the communities they should, at least, inform. Damn straight Socrates, and unexamined life is not worth living, and our bourgeoisie are fat and miserable. For this and other reasons, I'm thinking a name change is in order: from festival to CARNIVALS.

Carnival: A traveling amusement show usually including rides, games, and sideshows. (2)

Eureka! Now that's more like it. Sideshows - the things we all dream of. This, I think, is a perfect title for the gatherings and events formerly known as festivals. It allows all the superficiality of 'amusement' without having to muddy the waters with art, culture or the pursuit of substance.

Last night, I attended one of Jim Haynes (co-founder of the Traverse Theatre) infamous Sunday Dinners, this time a one-off in Edinburgh. He'd been on BBC Radio inviting the whole of Scotland the week before. Jim is known all over Europe for these dinners, where the only requirement is to "eat & have fun", and, I might add, that there be no strangers. At his atelier in Paris, you can hardly get in Jim's door on a Sunday night before being asked your name and introduced to at least five people. New people.

As I mingled through the room, I became in front of a couple, inches from my face, who, instead of looking up, tried everything in their power to avoid 'I' contact. "Hi, I'm Martin, what's your name?" Reluctantly, the man gave his name as I forced him to shake hands and then reached for the woman as she attempted to slink away. They weren't bashful, they were above me.

"Is this your first Jim Haynes party?" I invaded upon the man (mind you, this is in a noisy room full of 80 people).

"Yes." The man said.

"Well, there are no strangers allowed at a Jim Haynes party" I continued, turning toward the woman.

"You might have trouble getting that to work here!" she said, with a smirk. 

Exactly.

Thank God for the other guests who got it - a surgeon from Edinburgh who specialises in correcting young children's cleft palates; a recent graduate of Strathclyde University with a First in marketing and a new company; a painter from Portobello; and a host of others who I'll mingle with anytime.

As for the the rest - Let them eat (and choke on) their carnivals.

(1) "festival." © Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc.. Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc.. 31 Aug. 2009. <http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/festival>.

(2) "carnival." The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition. Houghton Mifflin Company, 2004. 31 Aug. 2009. http://dictionary.reference.com/br>.

Judge Deborah A Batts, of Manhattan may be the first in a revival of a once-popular trend: reading. In short, she sent Swedish writer Fredrik Colting packing. While I haven't read Mr Colting's book (and don't plan to), I am elated that a judge took the time and effort to evaluate, from a literary craftsmanship standpoint, the work in question.

In this repugnant era of 'me too!' and 'everyone's a winner!' -- where the James Frey's of the world can hire a publicist, cause a fake scandal, repent and then promptly launch his next title under just-as-cheesey PR taglines, all to avoid scrutiny of the work and to propel sales based on hype -- where lip-synching is now the norm in performance --where pop music, television and mainstream film is for the brain-dead -- thank God someone in authority has had the temerity to not only carefully consider, but document and demonstrate the process of consideration for great literary work.

'There's nothing new' is the phrase I hear bantered about festivals and bookshops, theatres and conferences. Sure there is: take the time to find it. But beware, Mr Colting and others like him are not new. They come from the land of sequel damnation -- where a machine powered by formula rules the uneducated peasants. They claim to innovate, interpret, re-think -- in place of actually thinking. And with titles such as '60 Years Later: Coming Through the Rye' - and the oh-so-highly-innovative pen name 'JD California' -- things couldn't be more thinly veiled.

Mr Colting's work may indeed contain interesting arguments or passages, ideas or assertions, but JD Salinger does not need help. Colting is now going down the "I didn't think America banned books" road. He didn't think. America did not ban a book, it took a long-needed step in the right direction for the creative arts.

"It is hardly parodic to repeat that same exercise in contrast, just because society and the characters have aged." ---Judge Batts

This is going to be a big one...

M

further reading from the NY Times:

Judge Rules for J.D. Salinger in ‘Catcher’ Copyright Suit

Tomorrow, the UK government is set to release a 'white paper' on piracy over the internet. The assertion is that internet piracy is costing thousands of jobs, and threatening the film, radio and TV industries, as well as life in the free West as we know it today. BULL.

While the US Congress, International Banking Industry and  UK Parliament scramble for ways to sugar-coat the era of the largest fraud ever perpetrated on citizens worldwide, the vultures are out for the spoils.

 Translation:

 "Internet Piracy Threat" -- a ploy to play upon people's ignorance of a system that rewards flagrant overbudgeting, fatcat middlemen, and bad creativity.

 All tomorrow's white paper will do is create another useless bureacracy, spending and wasting more public money to police an unpoliceable industry, like banking, that cannot accept the fact it must change. There is also massive battles in the US over internet 'Throttling' - where your local service provider - like Virgin, Talk-Talk or Verizon, literally choke the connection between your computer and the internet. In turn, they are able to gouge for so-called 'premium services' - you pay more for them to unblock the connection and make it go faster.

Plenty of details about all this are available at www.freepress.net

Perhaps Hollywood and co-conspriators around the world and in the music industry and television industry need to get the message: the jig is up.  If the days of multi-million dollar salaries and bonuses are over for do-nothing bank execs - why is the government jumping on the bandwagon to subsidize poorly-produced, lip-sinc rock stars and horrible Hollwood bilge? Who needs 'Drag me to Hell' - when we're already there?

They've turned the world's teenagers into whores, music into a repetitive synth-pop parody and now they want to ensure their little profit party?

In the latest issue on ONE Magazine, Peter Simpson takes a look at all this in Welcome to Generation Free.  It's time to get active, and stop being so PC about yet another shiestering of citizens around the world. In Sweden, this controversy has given birth to a new, and third largest political party: The Pirate Party --

Their Goals: -Reform Copyright Law; -Abolish the Patent System; -Renew Individual Rights to Privacy

Speak now or your peace will be forever witheld. Don't say you haven't been warned.

Yesterday ONE Magazine hosted a successful West End Festival event. John Calder, Samuel Beckett's publisher and friend joined a standing-room only crowd at the Grosvenor Theatre, Glassgow for a screening of FILM - Beckett's one and only ventures into celluloid - starring the late Buster Keaton.

 The discussion and Q&A that followed was lively, and mixed old-school Godot Groupies with young filmakers, dancers and theatre artists. The event went for 2 hours and at the end, we screened FILM a second time. 

THANK YOU to the friendly, helpful staff of the Grosvenor, Producer Graeme Smith,  Sheila Colvin; Jonathan Pryce and the Indigo Promotions Group.

ESSE EST PERCIPI - - - How do you perceive? Post comments on the event here...

Just yesterday, I was attending a meeting at the local burgh hall. Very rainy, steamy, humid Saturday afternoon with a weak cup of coffee kind of affair.

As our speaker was going through her community presentation, the doors leading into the next room started banging and clanging. Speech from folks greeting each other began to build to a crescendo until everyone had apparently arrived. I noticed a proud billow in the voices, perhaps a lodge meeting kind of tone.

 Just as suddenly as the noise had started, a quiet once again occupied the corridors, until music began to blare from an overtaxed portable tape player. At once, all the go-ers began to belt, in highly un-unified tones, 'ONWARD CHRISTIAN SOLDIERS'. Aside from the fact that the next-door group was now drowning out our own meeting, my heart sank with every note. Personally, I've had enough of propaganda, be it Christian, Zionist, Muslim, Neo-Nazi, Neo-Conservative, Radical Feminist or from the people who plaster our world with tabloid mediocrity.

 Then, to my further horror, a voice erupted from the tape the go-ers were listening to...a voice that can only be born in Southern America (the part that still hasn't figured out that the South lost the American Civil War, or that Hussein had nothing to do with 9/11). It was the sound of a voice that has turned my stomach for over forty years: a nasal hillbilly screeching about 'The Lard', not unlike the ignorance of GW Bush's 'Nukular'.

To top off the rude intrusion of the next-door go-ers, was the topic of the sermon, falling right in line with the tabloid bourgeois: gay marriage. How original. The nasal preacher proceeded to go on and on about 'man and woman, Adam and Eve' with all the trappings of the illiterate majority.

When in Rome, bite your lip. I did. But it was difficult. I wondered: would this room full of Brits pretend not to hear this if the Hillbilly was not posing as a preacher and  instead was delivering a Black-Shirt hate speech?

I left the room as quickly as I could. I was angry, and worse, a certain chill entered my bones:  one I hadn't felt since I first saw sub-humans picketing funerals of soldiers from Iraq. As I passed the windows outside, I made little attempt to hide - and looked pointedly through the windows at the brethren. It was a room made up of a dozen or so sixtysomethings, but one woman caught my eye in particular: at least eighty or ninety, pure white hair hunched well forward, her head at a ninety degree angle to her wheelchair.

At this, I became furious. Seeing the old woman reminded me of my own grandmother, who is now ninety years old, and her mother, who I knew well, who lived to an hundred and three.  Not long ago, my aunt, who was visiting my grandmother, decided to drive her to her Sunday School class at the local Baptist Church, where she, with nothing much else to do, decided to sit in.

What my aunt discovered that day in the foothills of North Carolina was as shocking for her as my afternoon yesterday in Scotland: a so-called Sunday School Teacher, blithering on and on about the danger of the 'homa-seksials' and how they would bring down the wrath of the Almighty.

My question is: WHAT THE HELL? Is the right-wing so desperate, so out-of audiences that it has turned to upsetting and psychologically traumatising our older generation? The answer: yes.

What better way to further a losing agenda than to turn what should be a loving relationship between the very old and the very young into a platform for their campaigns of hate? It does not matter if someone is gay or straight, religious, spiritual or agnostic - be warned. These people will stop at nothing, and at a vulnerable time such as a recession, much like the time Hitler made his stand and carried the vote, not to mention the youth, it's time for vigilence and action.

 And, don't be fooled, the keepers of mediocrity -- the Centrists, masquerading as Liberals, are not protecting anyone. They're more concerned with Political Correctness, and policing words like 'gollywog' and drafting more 'health and safety' legislation -- which only fuels the fundamentlist flames -- fear, Fear, FEAR.

I've always had a love of older people In street terms: they know shit. They're fun to be around, good with children, survived wars and camps and missile crisis'. Perhaps it was when my Grandfathers stepped in for my mostly absent father -- another by-product of the hypocritical 60s. Or when my Great Grandmother encouraged me to dream, work hard, and dream some more.

Or today, when the publisher of some of the most important 19th Century literature, and activist for the real arts -- who at 82 has plenty of other things to do -- takes an active interest in me as a writer and editor, in a publishing world swimming in patronage, lukewarm content and a conspiratorial disdain for cultural dialog. There are very few people in the Western world who do not have some access to older people - a wealth of knowledge, experience and insight to be had for the price of a cup of tea.

On a practical side: Instead of sitting back and watching the illiterate fundamentalists take over the world by traumatising our older people, and allowing the corporate media to turn our children into whores, it's time to get active. On the small front, close the clubs, gay and straight, for one Saturday per month and channel that manpower back into communities; black out TV service one evening per month and call people out of their overpriced cubicles. On a larger front, 2-year public service in the US and UK is terribly overdue --- which would be a major deterrent to the underpinnings of a new insidious facism that is forming under our very feet, right now.

On a moral side: No matter what side of the marriage debate an individual takes, subjecting older people to skewed propaganda serves no purpose whatever, especially with no room for open debate or discussion. Children are starving worldwide, AIDS and other diseases are rampaging less-fortunate nations...and this is where the failed policy makers of the right-wing have chosen to spread their "message". This, from the so-called keepers of the good news.

MLB 

Two lettres in one day. It's a thin line, between love and hate.

TO: Channel 4 

RE: 'Secret Millionaire' 

It is incredibly meaningful to have seen this programme mature with age. At first, it seemed gimmicky, however, last nights broadcast was, in my opinion, very groundbreaking. In contrast to many shows on television, you've presented the harsh realities of substance abuse and addiction.

Thank you for not sugar-coating the issue. Thank you for not 'teasing away' the message with anecdotes and 'you know how it is' sidebars. The ramifications of booze-drug peddling on television are paramount. The honesty in this programme, and the bravery of the 'millionaire' should be a new benchmark for producers and filmakers. It is easy to make jokey programming that pleases alcohol manufacturers. I am sure it is difficult to get messages such as 'alcohol is a drug' past the ratings' team.

I don't advocate prohibition, just more provocative, responsible programming, like yours, to balance the onslaught now directed at Western society. 

Now, about that one you call 'Skins'...

Kind Regards,

Once, when I was younger, back around 1979, I was sitting in Mrs Bland's classroom beside my friend at the time Jay Hull. Jay and I'd been spending our morning lying about all the girls we'd done and were gonna do and had been told we could do (there was time for some of that, back then).  

Then the announcement came: 'History' was now to be known as 'Social Studies' and 'English' was to be called 'Language Arts'. Mrs Bland, who's name did not fit her personality at all, didn't seem convinced. The propaganda films, filmstrips and slides that followed did little to bring the rest of us around.

 This morning I received a signature early call from John Calder, who was even more up in arms than usual over the economy, and all the lies that politicians were peddling to the angry populaces of the US and UK and the world about what they'd done, were 'gonna do and had convinced themselves they could do to fix things. John's not convinced. AH! l'histoire se répéter...pass the freedom fries...

What came up during our conversation was that this new world reorder is not about the economy at all, but rather a fight over ideology. Not matter how many Obamas America elect, how many Bushs, Cheneys and Madoffs are proven to be criminals, how many Browns meet with Clintons and how many Blairs hide in the Middle East one thing is certain: there are too many out there who still, cannot accept that the holiest of holys, the market, is not going to fix things. They are the Social Study-ers, the Language Art-ists and the MBA koolaid drinkers.

 Now, all MBA believers aren't bad. Their ideology is. They were sold the same line of crap that they've turned around and shoved at us little guys for the past twenty or thirty years. Allan Bloom, who in this case I'll call 'Mr Right' comes to mind, circa 1987:

 "A great disaster has occurred. It is the establishment...of the MBA as the moral equivalent of the MD or law degree, meaning a way of insuring a lucrative living by the mere fact of a diploma that is not a mark of scholarly achievement.

True liberal education requires that the student's whole life be radically changed by it, that what he learns may affect is action, his tastes, his choices, that no previous attachment be immune to examination and hence re-evaluation. Liberal education put everything at risk and requires students who are able to risk everything.

The effect of the MBA is to corral a horde of students who want to get into business school and put the blinders on them..."

From where I sit, the only places akin to the darkness of the MBA are the pits of literal religious fundamentalism (no questions asked) and homes with codependant parents who treat their kids as equals, and discourage them from venturing (keep me company).

 Ever wonder how on earth we get large groups of people chanting "market...market...market" as a mantra,  others who still believe that Sadaam Hussein caused 9/11, or still more who follow FOX News, the Sun and Rupert Murdoch down the road to hell? 

Yes Virginia, God put dinosaurs in the ground so we could have oil.

And yes Uncle Thomas, being liberal means we have to be everything to everybody, police our  words, shame our children from being rowdy and sugarcoat the world for that big safe molley-coddled society in the sky.Right.

On second thought, perhaps the market will sort this out after all, as it crashes all around and takes the MBA spin doctors with it.

"If you see a good fight, get in it." Martin Luther King Sr to MLK Jr. — Now that's the art of language. Most likely taught in an English class.