JoshAdams

Eurovision? More like Euro-schism

This year’s Eurovision song contest cements an image of Europe that’s quite simply fed up with the United Kingdom and its arrogance.

As Scott Mills preceded to introduce his country’s votes to over 100 million people, and its subsequent hosting of the Olympics, he was met by a less than enthusiastic reaction, where other nations received mountains of applause at a mere mention of the name. Was this a lack of passion on our part, or that of Europe’s? Either way, it epitomised our toxic bilateral relationship with the continent, our condescending apathy and their bemused disgust at our inflated sense of self.

When our own charismatic stallion Engelbert Humperdinck finished a dismal but half-expected second from last place, Brits across the country would’ve been regurgitating the same ‘bloc voting’ crap that seems to resurface every year. But most embarrassing of all was the stark contrast between Humperdinck and winner Swedish dance ‘Loreen’, a woman who if not for her Nordic inflection could’ve been a Hoxton music babe, straight from a trendy bar with an upcoming collaboration with Tinie Tempah or the like. There’s an overwhelming feeling that the Swedes have beat us at our own game – spinning a half decent tune: wasn’t melodic pseudo-classy dance music meant to be our thing? Obviously not.

That’s not to say Sweden isn’t a European musical genius, far from it. Sweden has for a while been the ‘cool kid’ of the continent, a self-image dictated by the sense of pride an act like ABBA can bring you if all you’ve got is IKEA and Vikings for your national exports. In fact, behind us and the United States, with over 800 million dollars in revenue, Sweden is the third largest music exporter in the world – our showing at this year’s Eurovision did nothing to cement our deserving of the world’s Silver Medal in music.

Then again, take away Engelbert and there’s still a bucketload of reasons why not to vote for the world’s first proper imperial nutjobs. While the countries of the European Union see themselves in the globe’s largest ever financial crisis, there’s one thing that draws a wedge between us and our neighbours. While we see the impending financial and political disaster as a cue to head for the figurative door, the majority of the continent see it as nothing less than a stimulus for an ever closer fiscal and political union. We are fundamentally opposed to this idea, both in popular opinion and in our national politics. To us, one would rather gouge out its own eyes with Jedward’s abrasive personalities than see a future strapped to the backseat of a European death trap. Not only do Europeans know this, but they do not like it either.

For them, this exact way of thinking is nothing more than a remnant of our own bloated feeling of worth and importance, a staple to the very image that a word like ‘British’ conjures. It’s no wonder the phrase ‘Inselaffe’ (Island Monkey) is the conventional German term for an inhabitant of this country, an acknowledgment of our skewed view on just how far our blustering isle lies from the continent’s coastline. While our national insults for the Europeans range from a less than innovative nod to their eating habits (Frog-Eaters for the French, Krauts for the Germans) to a half-century old political legacy that still gives us a juvenile feeling of historical moral superiority (Nazi Scum anyone?) – their insults reflect an unpopular and arrogant political sentiment that has become a cornerstone of our identity on a continent that is characterised by its ideology of ‘togetherness’. And for the rest of them? It’s well known us Brits know just as much about the patchwork countries of Europe as we do about American “Football” – fuck all.

So next Eurovision, when we proceed to match our dismal performance at the world’s biggest song contest and follow it with a tirade of “it’s all political voting”, remember, it’s hardly fair to expect a Slovenian to remember your nation’s stone age ballad when you can’t even remember its capital city – and capital cities don’t change every year, unlike Eurovision entries. Well, apart from Jedward.

Why I’m still Labour

Thirteen years in Government, Blair then Brown, the invasion of two countries (one of which continues to this day), a poor long-term economic policy, two prime ministers bathed in yes-men and an immigration policy that’s allowed 90% of new jobs in 2010 to go to foreign nationals. Yes, there’s certainly a poignant case for never letting Labour look at No. 10 again, let alone ever having the privilege to stroll in. The Labour Government didn’t preside over an era of political perfection, nor did they function like they meant to achieve it – but beyond the atrocities of the era, I find myself a Labour man, through and through more than I ever have.

Since the party’s inception in 1900, Labour have always been the most progressive force in our politics, from creating the National Health Service in a sick post-war Britain to the birth of the welfare state, they’ve provided the most groundbreaking legislation this country has ever had. At worst, Labour has been a principled gang of thieves, at best, a revolutionary mass for social betterment.

I vote Labour because I believe I have an obligation to provide for those who otherwise could not provide for themselves, I believe that the ‘Social Darwinism’ of ‘survival of the fittest’ is not only idiotic but inhumane. I believe a collective society should be compassionate, empathetic and aware of the erratic blows that life can deal, and as a taxpayer, be prepared to pay for those who are hit – knowing I could experience the very same.

I vote Labour because higher taxes don’t particularly bother me. I’m a low earner and a student, but yet I don’t mind paying a bit more knowing that on any whim I can enter my doctor’s and mutter any old random shit, because he’ll listen to me and help, free of charge. I don’t believe that reverting our National Health Service to ‘capitalist values’ of competition between areas will work, because in a competition there’s always a loser. Nobody deserves to be a loser when it comes to their health. Unlike the US, my health ‘insurance’ isn’t risk-assessed, privately owned or adherent to the laws of supply and demand. My well-being is directly supported by my fellow Brits, and I pay to support them in return. Nobody makes a profit or receives a tidy bonus off my desire to be rid of my ailments, and I know Labour is my best bet in keeping it this way.

It’s their priorities too; unlike a sizable section of the Conservative party, Labour doesn’t seem to capitalise as much on emotive subjects like crime and immigration – but rather focus on social mobility and raising standards of living. Yes, I want crime reduced, a safer place to live and a pragmatic immigration policy – but the reality is that prison will never be enough of a deterrent for some people. Despite what some would argue, rehabilitation is key to being proactive in tackling crime; otherwise you continuously rehash angry, hardened criminals without even the effort to address why they don’t become contributing members of society. Labour more often than not mimic my ideas on these issues.

Call it insignificant, but Labour have the largest variety of socio-economic backgrounds in a major political party. Gordon Brown once called the Conservative Party policy something “dreamt up on the playing fields of Eton” – and he wasn’t too far from the truth. 53% of the coalition cabinet were privately educated, something like only 7% of the population have had the privilege to do so, it’s true, the former prime minister didn’t take too much creative license with this one. Pasty-gate and the allegations of cash-for-access on government policies only go to further my disdain for the Tories.

They’re not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, the previous Government favoured ID Cards and an excess of security cameras that would make ‘1984’ look like a Sunday Lunch, but to support policy areas where I’ll receive the most benefit – I’m sure willing to make concessions.

The French do politics the ‘British way’, they’re just better at it.

Following the first round of Presidential Elections in France, the world has been bowled over by the once called ‘cowardly’ and ‘inefficent’ people that apparently live there. But stereotypers and column cartoonists might have to put their pencils on hold for what looks like a seismic shift in the way the Frenchies do things: they’re doing it British style.

By far the most extraordinary thing for most in this election is the rise of the third place far-right candidate Marine Le Pen, a curvaceous blonde bombshell who, considering her National Front’s previous fascist personality, has done well in crafting a modern identity for a political movement that epitomises the growing angst amongst the French electorate. Walking clear from a crossfire that’s already claimed the economic lives of Greece, Italy, Spain and Ireland, the French emerge only to see their next door neighbour, Germany, a dustpan and brush in one hand, and a cheque in the other, clearing up a slaughter that at one time threatened to engulf the entire continent. Surprisingly enough, they don’t feel too strongly about following suit, on either side.

Marine Le Pen embodies this Euro-backlash, and a way of thinking that once championed French leadership on the continent is now waiting for the first bus out of town. It’s an alien concept to most Britons, who were never bowled away by the idea of a partnership with European Nations – but who ironically have relished its benefits the most enthusiastically, namely the holidays. “The European countries which did not enter the euro display higher performances than countries in the eurozone for ten years” she says, quoting Eurostat data, “The United Kingdom is not in the eurozone and does not have the least desire to be in it. UK does not tolerate this kind of taking away of its freedom.” Le Pen envisages a France where they can set their own interest rates, have their own currency, control immigration (as opposed to the free movement Schengen-Area) and limit its imports – it’s Nationalism, the kind that tells you it’s ‘for France’ followed by a murmured ‘…just only the white ones’.

Because the fact is, Le Pen’s national front is a lot like the BNP (coincidentally also once called The National Front). It screams national sovereignty as its pillar, despises immigration, supranational organisations, interventionism and is a tad nostalgic – not to mention the small problem of a membership that pans the width of a prison cell. Anyone from closet racists, islamophobics to outright fascists have set their sights on Le Pen as the future of France, and although the party’s mantra isn’t evil in its entirety, France risks political radicalism if incumbent centre-right Sarkozy can’t emulate similar policies to quell his people’s dissatisfaction. Sarkozy and socialist Hollande know the political prize is the votes of the far-right, something that could easily deal the deadly blow to their presidential rival. The question is, who’s willing to appease the most?

UK political extremism is pathetic in comparison. The BNP has more or less flatlined since it first took the national stage, commanding only 1.9% of the 2010 general election ballot, whereas Le Pen has managed a seismic 18.1% – just 9% below the President’s UPM Party. It’s not particularly a good thing by any measure when the far-right emerges so triumphantly as it has in France, but at least we showed them just how bigoted you really can be.

One Direction, and it’s up unfortunately.

When groups like Boyzone and Take That ruled the land of the tweenverse in the 1990s, you’d be forgiven for thinking the decade was merely a byproduct of an experiment into female hormones gone wrong, girls 6 to 26 would fawn over their technicolor and overtly metro sexual paraphernalia – dreaming of the day they’d be plucked away by her pruned and perfumed prince charming.

Ten years later and the female sexual pandemic that kept many a hairbrush wet at night seemed depleted to say the least. Aside from the Backstreet Boys – whose members had ironically been through drug and alcohol addiction – the last remnants of a musical legacy that had given the 90s a bad name was over, but as always, a new one had begun. Girls from Wellington to Washington had ditched the soft-spot for side-step dance moves and replaced it with a fondness for denim, juvenile anarchy and hair gel. Acts like Son of Dork, Busted, The Noise Next Door and McFly epitomised the “pop-to-rock” shift at the turn of the century that would eventually lead an entire generation on to discover Greenday, Blink 182 and real guitar music. Sure, these guys still had the female-allure, but their package was sold on the premise of more than just a singing pre-teen soft porno.

Fast forward another ten years and, holy fuck. Twelve years into what was meant to be the greatest century (and millennia) for humanity, ever, and record execs (supposedly clever people) have just unravelled the fact they took a ten-year holiday on the greatest money-spinner in a single music demographic, ever. Cute, singing, boys. Hell, it took until 2008 when vote-in talent show The X Factor produced JLS, the first inkling that a fresh batch of un-boybanded pubescent young ladies were ready for the reaping. Inevitably, 2010 became the year when the bubble burst, and we collided head-on with The Wanted, a clean cut, lower-vested manifestation of the format we’d all seen before – but revamped and reworked for the 2010s.

And then we come to One Direction – the personification of shitting out five Justin Biebers in one go – a group who’ve recently become the first UK group in history to debut at number one with their first album in the United States, something even The Beatles didn’t manage to accomplish. But why the sudden burst after a decade of boy band dormancy? Vast increases in technology and the creation of social media and networking have all helped to inflate and exasperate a playground group crush into an international feeding frenzy.

I’ve been asked what I think of One Direction’s future; quick flick fame, or on to the realms of super pubescent stardom? Well, imagine Take That in their heyday – only with the ability to instantly and electronically communicate with billions of fans on individual digital platforms. Now call that the Internet, Facebook and Twitter.

Now imagine Robbie never left.

Scary huh?

Nicki Minaj: From Jeffree Star to Starships

It’s the 8th of April 2012 and ‘Pink Friday: Roman Reloaded’ has just become the first album by a female rap artist to chart at number one in the United Kingdom, and on its debut too. Just as ‘Starships were meant to fly’, so it seems, was Nicki Minaj. Racetrack rhymes dipped in a form of chaotic genius (never mind the occasional odd peculiar noise), this is a woman that tightly fastens a new meaning to the word ‘rap’ – accompanied with ribbons, rainbows and an acid high that would make Liam Gallagher ditch the credit card and pipe. As eccentric and inventive as Gaga, Minaj is a woman that can emulate the unpredictability and entertainment value of bigger names – but without taking herself too seriously.
July 2007 saw the release of her first mixtape, a grassroots rap, edgier collection and light-years away from the technicolor trollop her critics accuse her of. New Nicki fans won’t find a vocalist, let alone a popstar on this thing. ‘Can’t Stop, Won’t Stop’ features the already prominent Lil’ Wayne and with other gems like ‘Dilly Dally’, ‘Sunshine’, and ‘I’m Cumin’ – the release was a success, just not commercially. Her further two EPs ‘Sucka Free’ and ‘Beam me up Scotty’ both included Lil’ Wayne again – and the first, an appearance from Lil’ Kim & Gucci Mane on ‘Wanna Minaj?’. Nicki’s a girl who’s had a healthy contacts book from the word go, hardly a ‘starship’ but certainly a metaphorical jetpack.

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An Interview with Current Swell

With a rustic sincerity that manages to string country sounds from around the globe, Current Swell have a catalog of sounds that would do most artist’s a creative justice – how could I not make contact? I managed to prise a few answers from Current Swell’s Scott Stanton and dig deeper behind the folksy charm of these Canadian ‘news roots’ lads.

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