Preface

Preface to the blog edition

Adam Hutchings

The essays contained herein have no exceptionally unifying theme, they simply can be grouped under the umbrella heading of cultural ponderings, however each in their own way transcends their cultural significance to address further issues. What fundamentals are there in relation to the habits of women when it comes to music consumption? Aldric Fournier surpasses expectation to give a damning yet reasonable overview of the issue. Do adverts create or destroy culture? A question few of us have asked ourselves. Many condemn adverts for their implicit manipulation, others enjoy them for their perceived creativity or expression of humour or art or quirkiness. Richard Morris examines adverts in an historical and cultural context to find out more. And finally, as global warming is used by all to sell products Aveline Barnett Wing ironically utilises this very habit while simultaneously critiquing it, and loosely directing her analysis towards the music industry . My own opinions of the issues contained herein are bettered solely by the individuals who are present here, which is why on this occasion I am mere editor of this collection, giving the main limelight to these experts on there chosen areas.

The renowned French philosopher and cultural commentator Aldric Fournier, well known for his outspoken, pessimistic stance on the role of women and his intolerance to people who are not him, gives an interesting view on the female music consumer in his chapter An Essay Concerning Human Understanding of Female Music Consumption. This essay follows from a series of essays from Fournier, many concerning the differences between the male and female psyche, and contains almost as many flaws as his previous attempts.

Adamant in his position and compelling in his argument, Fournier's viewpoint is undeniably an empirical gesture, stemming from his own unavoidable experiences and inadvertent studies; a response stemming from bitter rejection from the female population. Fournier holds a unique authority on the matter as a result of being inaccessible to women, yet self-aware and judging on this matter, and finally using this judgement in an analysis of the way he is treated, and others are treated, in the world. His appropriation of the Lockean Tabula Rasa is largely a rhetorical gesture used more for effect than for its theoretical suitability, as Locke's relevance largely ends after Fournier's emphasis on experience is shown. However, he combines this premise with notions of socially constructed citizens within the contemporary, culminating in a scathing generalisation of women and an Adornian polemic against the subtly dominating nature of the music industry in particular.

An Essay Concerning Human Understanding of Female Music Consumption owes more to Fournier's self-developed knowledge of 'the way women are' than his expertise on music consumption, although it must be said that by no means is he ignorant on this subject, having worked in a small specialist Parisian record store which exclusively sold music from everywhere in the world apart from France; such is Fournier's eccentric nature.

The English sociologist, poet and novelist Richard Morris explores the implications of adverts on culture in Adverts: Culture Created or Culture Destroyed positing himself in a fair and reasonable place, showing a critique of the purpose of advertising and the paradoxical notion of their acceptance into the cultural sphere, whatever that may be, while simultaneously refusing to get stuck in the role of advert-bashing and noting changeable situations, opinions and agendas.

Morris' background has its roots in poety, having won the 1984 'Best Poem in The World' Award for the groundbreaking I'd Quite Like a Rug (shown below). Since then he has had a continued presence in the poetry world and, as a result of his continuing prolificacy, consequently moved into novel writing, often taking on various humanitarian issues, such as exploring the hidden agendas of national news coverage and the various issues deemed unnewsworthy, and therefore hidden from the public, in his novel Abbey Guthrie's Plaque.

A natural progression led him into sociology, in which he lectures at Oxford and Cambridge Universities regularly. The subject considered herein primarily concerns the role of music as cultural capital and its appropriation in avertising whilst looking at the broader cultural importance of adverts.

I'D QUITE LIKE A RUG - Richard Morris

id quite like a rug

to be pushed around the floor

and occasionally replaced

in the centre

it slips under the bed

clawing towards the dark

i'l pull it from its goal

and tell it to stay put

my rug could be red

and blend into the carpet

or it could be blue

and do quite the reverse

id quite like a rug

but it would get lost

beneath the mess that time

never fails to bring

and so i'd feel a guilt

the rug cannot be kept

for I can never give

it life which it deserves

so rug, please stay put

hanging in the shop

wait for someone else

I'd quite like a lamp instead

Copyright © Richard Morris, 1984

Our final essay is Global Warming and Pop Music: "Fund my Record, It's Research!" by the famous San Fransisco-based hippie-slash-political commentator Aveline Barnett Wing. A veteran of the psychedelic scene, Wing's hippie roots are evident, albeit reasonably restrained, in her critique of the economic opportunities of the climate change 'fashion' within the music industry and elsewhere. Wing uses this as a foundation to explore authenticity and what could be considered misdirected musical ability in the music industry as well as the way 'green fashion' has has evolved over recent years - another marketing gimmick, so to speak.

Aveline Wing nowadays specialises in non-fiction writings of a largely left-wing nature, and is critical of such things as globalisation, corporate power, cultural decadence, R'n'B, and capitalism, although she concedes she is yet to come up with a suitable alternative. She is a regular columnist in the monthly magazine J'adoube which aims to see contemporary issues from an unbiased and objective point of view and to consequently make sense of some of these issues.

butterdish

To say our butter dish was stolen would be somewhat off the mark, and yet it seems the most appropriate way to put it. One day it was there, next day gone. Peculiar, don't you think? But the fatal flaw is revealed when we are forced to admit that we, namely myself and my current housemates, did not purchase this particular butter dish. It was bought by two of my former housemates; the long departed housemates of yesteryear.

They were both girls, both 20, and I know what you're thinking, but they were actually rather pleasant household companions. Both were frequenters of the fine art degree at the local university, and it was nice to have the occasional chunk of culture slip into the air, and hover while we all basked in its glow.

Now, on to the acquisition of the butter dish. It was a day of profoundly forgettable circumstances. No remarkable weather. No events worth mentioning. No interesting characters livening up the day, or plot. The girls simply went out to buy a butter dish, leaving my other housemate, male, 21, and myself looking after the house, so to speak.

We made affirming nods and grunts as the girls told of the intricacies plaguing the mission at hand. Overall objective: acquire butter dish. Requirements for overall objective: must be nice. Secondary objectives: keep eyes open for other appropriate buys, have a pleasant lunch - a filled baguette of sorts, and return home unscathed.

At the nearby cheapo shop, called Flip, where few items edged over the one pound mark, the two girls came across a suitable butter dish, sitting amongst various other less suitable butter dishes. The choice was clear: mock the dishes made to look like small animals, and the ones which looked too cheap or student-y, and go for the suitable one.

The suitable butter dish was not too big, not too small; an oblong plate in which a standard block of butter could sit comfortably, with an elongated cuboid lid of sorts which would be placed over the plate, to keep out intruders. It was a fashionable off-white which promised to fit in nicely with our rather new, rather fashionable, off-white themed kitchen. A small motif was embossed into the lid—a woven style circle with a feather inside. It cost £1.50 and the girls spent 75p each.

They returned late in the afternoon having accomplished their mission. The quest had taken them over perilous lands, fraught with danger. But nothing was too big a task for these mighty warrior women.

Once safely home we all rejoiced in the newfound ownership of the butter dish. We had some celebratory toast and spread the butter from that very dish. It spread well, and we all knew the girls had done good.

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But now, alas, the dish has gone. It is more than a year on since the dish was bought, and not a day had passed in which it hadn't been used. So now it has been taken, this asset will be sorely missed.

The girls both moved away at the end of June, unconsciously leaving the butter dish comfortably at home with us. We set about continuing to butter all things butterable, and obtaining that butter from the butter dish. It had become a piece of kitchen furniture in its own right, and no one really gave it a second thought.

So when one of the girls came to visit, four months later, we had no idea as to her dark intentions. Using the pretence of a friend's party on a Saturday night, she descended upon the town with promises of tea, chats and catch-ups the following day, post-party. This was all fine by us, and we welcomed her home. The following day, however, I was obliged to work, and was not around for her visit.

She arrived mid-afternoon. Hugs were exchanged, teas were brewed and consumed, chats were had and after an hour or so of pleasantries she was ready to go. As my current housemate and my ex-housemate passed thrgough the oh so famillier kitchen on their way to the front door, the ex's eyes darted suspiciously. Sure enough, the butter dish sat exactly where expected, as unaware as we were to the incoming threat.

It sat comfortably in between toaster and bread bin, a fresh brick of thick yellowness residing proudly within. It was mocking her, she thought. She must have it back. "Oh, yeah," she casually observed. "My butter dish."

My housemate didn't reply.

"I forgot about it," she continued. "I guess i'll take it now."

My housemate said nothing.

She coaxed the butter off the dish on to a nearby plate, it franticly gripped onto its home as she tipped it, but gravity won out in the end, and the butter lay beaten on an everyday dinner plate.

my housmate bit his lip.

I came home two hours later to hear the tragic story. After much consoling we decided to be men and move on. What right did we have, after all, to contest the custody of this butter dish? We hadn't even chipped in to pay for it.

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Looking back on this tremulous period of our lives, the emotions rise to a near bursting point. Thankfully, due to herioic efforts on the part of myself and my housemate, and support from two new housemates, one of whom bought a new butter dish, we survived. A pivotal moment had come which threatened to destroy the very foundations on which we lived, but that moment had also gone, and the foundations remained. At the end of the day, and indeed at the start of the day, no toast went unbuttered, no sandwich too dry.

ennui ad nauseam

Such ennui doth enflict a fissure in time,

In which a mere locution,

Would not succeed to ignite the ether,

So salient as senses wane,

Ergo, I apprise to thee,

A forethought,

That I intend, in all acounts,

To locate the respective synonymy,

And wield them without ignominy,

And prompt the nauseous aftermath,

Due in the face of such foul grandiloquence.

leaves

liberate the leaves from their oppressive fate.

must we waste council gardeners' time by collecting leaves alighting the grass in the English autumn. are they really that bad? imagine, if you will, a young couple, wandering aimlessly through the slowly cooling air around the network of paths which navigates the city's central park. "oh Gerard," she quips, "it is such a lovely day, is it not?" "Indeed it is," returns Gerard's rich English baritone, "if it wasn't for all these pesky leaves." N'est pas! it doesn't happen! Gerard loves the leaves, as do we all. the endless scope of varying hue; the soft bed which cushions the unyielding outer core of the earth. the leaves make autumn what it is, let us embrace it!. so why remove them? does the leafy garden not fit in with modern Britain's self-proclaimed image? that of pride, prosperity, and freedom? well, hear this, Britain, the leaves have no freedom! leave the leaves, for they are called "leaves", after all.

Scattered Gems

splattered gems: resurrection

"Are you still here?"

"I need to get socks!" - Chris' donation

"I Spent 30 fucking quid that night."

"Did you see the pictures? They were all flat."

"I haven't bought a single alcoholic drink in London."

"Maybe he's just seeing it as more fexible than you hope for." - Chris' donation.

"I don't engage wth females any more." - Chris' donation, again.

splattered gems

here lies the gem - at rest after a fleeting existence. godspeed.

"Pack it in, the pair of you!"

"...a dildo and a beer box..."

"I asked Brian to bring in a loaf" - donated by Chris.

"I've had enough coffee today, I don't want anymore coffee."

"The purpose of a sock is to let the perspiration from your foot be absorbed...by the sock." - donated by Chris.

splattr'd gems

the gems of yore, at once a bore, a flaw and chore, will here be store(d), and thus ignore(d).

"You eat so much, how are you not fat?" - donated by Chris.

"Scarface, What a film."

"Gives him something to grip."

"That thing with me an' Tony."

"I found this massive elephant, was so cool, I just had to have it."

"If I was in flats, yeah."