Culture

Culture

Tuesday

Alexander Larman

Is Kanye West the David Bowie of his age? 

Kanye "Ye" West has been barred from appearing at London’s Wireless Festival by dint of having his temporary visa withdrawn. The move has generally been met with approval, save by those disappointed fans of his music whose pre-ordered tickets will now be refunded. “Kanye West should never have been invited to headline Wireless," said Prime Minister Keir Starmer. "This government stands firmly with the Jewish community, and we will not stop in our fight to confront and defeat the poison of antisemitism." Fair enough, many might say. Last year Ye released a single entitled "HH" (Heil Hitler) and declared himself a Nazi on social media. Ye has now made a series of groveling public apologies.

kanye west
karl ove knausgård
Orson Fry

Meeting Karl Ove Knausgård

On a winter’s morning, outside the Three Lives bookstore in New York’s West Village, Karl Ove Knausgård has just finished signing copies of his latest novel, The School of Night. His features are familiar from the dustjackets – the gray-blue eyes, the grizzled beard – but he is surprisingly tall and his signature silver mane is now cropped short around the ears. Gone, too, are the cigarettes, traded for a vape. The School of Night is the fourth novel in Knausgård’s “Morning Star” series. It takes its name from a secret society of Elizabethan poets and scientists, which included the explorer Sir Walter Raleigh and the play-wright Christopher Marlowe.

Gavin Mortimer

Céline Dion doesn’t do politics

It’s the most talked about comeback in France since Charles de Gaulle came out of retirement in 1958. The general may have launched the Fifth Republic, but Céline Dion is limiting herself to ten evenings at the Paris La Défense Arena between September 12 and October 14. Dion is French Canadian, but the French have adopted her as their own, as they did with the Belgian Jacques Brel and Britain’s Jane Birkin.  Dion has been plagued by ill-health in recent years – suffering from an incurable autoimmune condition called Stiff Person Syndrome – and hasn’t sung live for six years.

Monday

Travis Aaroe

In praise of Trump’s architecture

I was in Budapest last month, where the city’s castle is now being rebuilt in its old neo-Baroque style. The plan is to create a near-exact replica of the complex as it stood before the city’s siege in 1945, when it was reduced to rubble during the fighting. So much of the original was destroyed that whole wings – like the palace of the Archduke Joseph – will have to be rebuilt from scratch.  The new complex has been accused of being a sort of Disneyland. This isn’t helped by the fact that many of its structures are made largely out of concrete, with the baroque facades added later as an outer shell. Yet there is a deeper reason. The project is much too self-conscious.

Trump ballroom library

Saturday

Charles Cornish-Dale

The peptides market is exploding – but are they safe?

Two weeks before the 2024 presidential election, Robert F. Kennedy Jr. tweeted that “the FDA’s war on public health is about to end.” He then listed a host of treatments, all of which he claimed had been “aggressively suppressed” by a corrupt Big Pharma system. Two Ps – psychedelics and peptides – featured on that list of treatments, one more familiar than the other. You could be forgiven for thinking that peptides are a recent creation but they’re not. They’ve been around for a long time, but they’ve gained huge attention due to Wegovy and Ozempic.

peptides

Friday

Hermione Eyre

This Hockney show is disorientingly enjoyable

When so much contemporary art is riven with obscurity and angst, it is disorienting, at first, to encounter something as straightforwardly enjoyable as Hockney’s latest exhibition. Aged 88, the artist went out into his garden in Normandy with his iPad to make a visual diary of the year 2020. A hundred or so of the iPad sketches he made have been put together here, blended into a frieze, a walk-through panorama of the seasons rendered with Vivaldi-like virtuosity. As we move along the curve of this 90-meter frieze, we see nature through Hockney’s bright yellow spectacles. He distills the garden to its dramatic essences. The chill mist of winter is numinous, the dormant trees skeletal, the spring blossom riotously delicate, the blue sky bluer than blue.

hockney

Thursday

Josie Cox

My search for the perfect New York therapist ended badly

Before moving to New York City, I had a particular vision of what my life as a writer in this fabled land of opportunity would look like. I’d wear sleek, black turtlenecks and skinny jeans. I’d go to diners and eat bagels. I’d defy the caloric calculus and stay svelte. I’d write at my window like Carrie Bradshaw, getting paid at least $2.50 per word. I’d go to book parties and stroll through the West Village, occasionally bumping into a semi-famous friend. We’d spontaneously drink wine. Perhaps most importantly, I’d have an excellent therapist – someone who had many leather-bound books, a calm and reassuring presence that could effortlessly calibrate my mental state. He’d look a bit like Wallace Shawn or maybe Barbra Streisand.

Christopher Sandford

Will the Stones ever play live again?

How times change. Our forebears once thought that full-figured Bill Haley was at the razor-sharp, frighteningly decadent and anarchic edge of pop culture. Compared to the Rolling Stones’ subsequent carnival of drug busts, court appearances, car crashes, house fires, paternity suits and chosen or enforced overseas exile, not to mention the matter of Keith Richards’s alleged blood transfusion, or of his unusual choice in dispersing his father’s ashes (cocaine, nostril), Haley’s act now seems as quaint as the background accompaniment to an Edwardian tea-dance.

Melissa Kite

Meghan is a woman much misunderstood

Lying in bed with a swollen face, I decided that the best thing to do was nothing, so I ended up watching the Duchess of Sussex make smoothies. I don’t know why everyone is so mean about her Netflix show because it hit the spot for me. As I took to my bed after surgery to take out the old screws and plates in my long-ago broken jaw, everything put me on edge apart from watching Meghan and her lovely way of smiling and smiling as she expressed wonderment at a bunch of grapes, or the way a liquidizer whirred. As my face swelled and turned some interesting shades of green and yellow, and I wondered if I would ever smile again, there was something absolutely restorative about watching Meghan gasp with enthusiasm about flowers and honey and lettuce. Everything was “amazing!

Rachel Johnson

Never pass up a chance to ski

The snow is deep and crisp and even, the sky bluer than blue, and beneath my Black Crow skis the soft hiss of fresh powder. I’m rehearsing my excuses as I carve my wiggly way down a well-upholstered piste. “I’ve gone skiing by mistake,” I cry out on the pure mountain air. I’m almost embarrassed by my own excess as this is my second ski break of the year, and to go twice before Easter during a war and an energy crisis is giving peak first-world indulgence. Still, as I like to say, I have not one but two Agas, “just not in the same house,” so what the heck. Here goes. My two ski trips in two months, then.

ski
Graeme Thomson

Anthemic angst from The Twilight Sad

The only thing misery loves more than company is a backbeat. While capturing pure happiness surely remains the Holy Grail of any artistic endeavor, the blues is the bedrock of popular music for a reason. Sure enough, as we ready for the clocks to go forward, two albums arrive which could hardly be said to be full of the joys of spring, although they approach personal crisis – and catharsis – in very different ways. It’s The Long Goodbye, the sixth album by Scottish indie-rock band the Twilight Sad, is their first in seven years. During that hiatus lead singer and lyricist James Graham was dealing with his mother’s decline and eventual demise from early onset dementia, while also becoming a father.

twilight sad
Alex Diggins

Ovid puts today’s radicals to shame

It’s a crisp afternoon, and in a darkened room in central Amsterdam a woman is being smothered in snakes. Projected on to three walls is a massive video close-up of her face. She is young and beautiful and remarkably composed: just a nose twitch here, an eyelid flutter there, as a python wriggles across her mouth or languidly caresses her cheekbone with its tail. In the room behind me, another woman stares fiercely back. Her shoulders are bunched with muscle, arms stiff at her sides, like a nightclub brawler about to nut someone. But it’s the bull’s horns sprouting from her forehead, and the mane of matted fur marching down her back, that make it hard to meet her gaze.

colm Tóibín
Leyla Sanai

Tales of quiet intensity: The News from Dublin, by Colm Tóibín, reviewed

Colm Tóibín is a master of understatement, his work characterized by great emotional intelligence coupled with redoubtable restraint. This is his third anthology of stories, following Mothers and Sons (2006) and The Empty Family (2010). Within a few pages, he fills the gaps between words – the things he doesn’t say – with as much meaning as the prose. Familiar themes emerge. There is the Irish diaspora in the US (as in Brooklyn and Long Island); the Catalan Pyrenees (the setting for “The Long Winter” in Mothers and Sons); and Argentina (as in the novel The Story of the Night). Feelings of exile and being an outsider are aroused, while Catholicism still taps on the shoulders of those long lapsed.

David Honigmann

The misery of working with Chuck Berry

In Ian Leslie’s John & Paul, the creative relationship between the titular Beatles is treated as a platonic love story. Matt Thorne widens the paradigm with seven more pairings, variously rivalrous, amorous, respectful, disrespectful and occasionally frankly tenuous. The 11 American and three British musicians here have careers that collectively cover seven decades of popular music.  There are three dynamics at play. First, there are the Thucydides tensions, where a waning power tangles with a rising one. Frank Sinatra invites Elvis Presley to join him on a television show; Keith Richards throws a filmed concert with Chuck Berry. (Richards, for once, is the younger partner.) The older player is not always generous.

Ian Buruma

Why Hitler’s suave architect escaped the noose at Nuremberg

At the Nuremberg trial of the main Nazi war criminals, one man stood out: Adolf Hitler’s favorite architect and later armaments minister, Albert Speer. He cut a gentlemanly figure in a gallery of rogues. The strutting, smirking Hermann Goering reminded Rebecca West, who attended the trial, of “a tout in a Paris café offering some tourists a chance to see a black mass.” Julius Streicher, the Jew-baiting brute, was like “a dirty old man of the sort who gives trouble in parks.” On the same bench, all declaring their innocence in the face of overwhelming evidence of monstrous crimes, were the lantern-jawed SS leader Ernst Kaltenbrunner, the sour-faced ex-Champagne salesman Joachim von Ribbentrop, Fritz Sauckel, the thuggish slave-labor chief, and the rest of the sorry gang.

Wednesday

Richard Bratby

The Royal Opera’s Siegfried is magnificent

Covent Garden’s new Ring cycle has reached Siegfried, and once again, you can only marvel at Wagner’s Shakespeare-like ability to anticipate modern preoccupations. Want to talk about the manosphere? Well, here’s opera’s most profound study of the playful, disruptive, world-making energy of the adolescent male psyche. The least interesting thing that you can say about Siegfried is that he’s an impulsive oaf. Well, duh. Have you never met (or if you’re really unfortunate, been) a teenage boy? Wagner could hardly make it more clear. Siegfried’s upbringing has been toxic. He has been isolated from humanity, and his only inkling of love has been brutally transactional.

siegfried

Tuesday

Kristina Murkett

Harry Potter is for infantilized millennials

Nostalgia is often seen as a positive emotion, but the word actually derives from the Greek nostos, meaning "homecoming," and algos, meaning "pain." Nostalgia is really a type of homesickness, an ache for something lost. As audiences watch the new trailer for the HBO Harry Potter television series, the algos may hit pretty hard: those tantalizing two minutes are the reminder we need that you can’t catch lightning in a bottle twice.  The first thing you notice is simply how bad everything looks. Shows seem to have an obsession nowadays with making everything as dark as possible, so that you are constantly trying to adjust the light settings of your screen to see what’s actually happening.

harry potter

Monday

Alexander Larman

Is HBO’s Harry Potter series a worthwhile gamble?

The actor Andrew Garfield attracted some controversy recently when, promoting his new family film The Magic Faraway Tree, he revealed that he had seen the Harry Potter series for the first time. “I know it’s controversial and we shouldn’t be putting money in the pocket of inhumane legislation right now, through she that shall remain nameless,” Garfield said. “There are so many beautiful artists that worked on those films. I have a newfound appreciation for all of the artists, and Daniel is great.” While Garfield’s appreciation of Daniel Radcliffe’s modest acting abilities as Potter might be greater than that of other viewers, his cautious decision to liken the films’ ultimate creator J.K.

JK Rowling

Friday

Barney Campbell

‘LinkedIn speak’ is a disgrace

The past few years have seen a slew of devastating style assaults on the English language known as "LinkedIn speak." You know the type of word salad: "synergize" instead of "combine," "ideated" instead of "thought of," "holistic" instead of – well – looking at something as a whole. Alarmingly, there is now an app, Kagi Translate, that allows you to type any sentence and it will deliver it for you in this wretched patois. For instance, write "I went to the zoo," and Kagi gives you: "I had an incredible opportunity to observe high-performing teams in a diverse ecosystem and reflect on the importance of adaptability and strategic positioning." Go on, try it.

Linkedin

Wednesday

Mark Nayler

Don’t let AI read philosophy for you

The German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer (1788-1860) once wrote that "the man who feels himself drawn to philosophy must himself seek out its immortal teachers in the quiet sanctuary of their works." That’s easier said than done: philosophical classics have a terrible reputation outside ivory towers – as big, boring, difficult books, filled with obtuse theorizing about irrelevant problems, their covers featuring ghastly old men staring miserably out at the reader. Books about philosophy are hugely popular today, most of which repackage the thoughts of past thinkers for time-pressed readers – but I suspect not many people transition from these guides to the great works themselves, especially when AI can do all the hard reading for you.

philosophy
Colbert
Alexander Larman

Who would trust Stephen Colbert with Lord of the Rings?

Stephen Colbert is many things – late-night host, perpetual thorn in the side of President Trump and, some would suggest, a comedian – but few have hitherto described him as a Hollywood screenwriter. Which is why it was some of the most jaw-dropping news that the entertainment industry has seen in recent months that it has been announced that Colbert will be co-writing the latest Lord of the Rings film, currently subtitled Shadows of the Past, and that his co-screenwriter will be none other than his son Peter McGee, along with regular Rings writer Philippa Boyens. Everything about the story is, to put it mildly, perplexing.

Monday

Graeme Thomson

David Byrne has done it again

The title of David Byrne’s most recent album and current tour is Who Is The Sky? The phrase works two ways. Read literally, it has the playful 1960s feel of a Yoko Ono film or some absurdist Fluxus piece; firmly on brand, in other words, for someone as steeped as Byrne in New York’s downtown art lore. Read it aloud, however, and it becomes “Who Is This Guy?,” a more pointed title for an artist who has always seemed – to reference an old Talking Heads song – one of rock’s more slippery people. At the second of two recent Glasgow dates, both interpretations seem to fit. In Talking Heads, Byrne was a jerky, remote presence, aloof to the point of alien.

Sunday

Simon Ings

The art of aging

More than 30 contemporary artists have contributed to the Wellcome Collection’s latest exhibition, which asks what it’s like to age at a time of unparalleled longevity. But as so often happens at the Wellcome’s exhibitions, it’s the ephemera that draw the eye first. “These 2 men are the same age,” says a leaflet advertising Kellogg’s All-Bran breakfast cereal. “One has driving power – energy – the will to succeed. The other is listless – tired all the time – it is an effort for him to plod through each day’s work.” The point being that aging is, to a not inconsiderable degree, something we do to ourselves, and something we do to each other. It is a process, not an event.

aging

Saturday

Lionel Barber

Lloyd Blankfein – guiding light of Goldman Sachs

Goldman Sachs inspires awe and envy in equal measure. Those who survive the Wall Street investment bank’s annual cull earn fortunes. Leavers join an alumni network that makes the Freemasons look like plodders. The “Government Sachs” roll call includes prime ministers (Mark Carney, Mario Draghi, Rishi Sunak and Australia’s Malcolm Turnbull); US Treasury secretaries (Robert Rubin and Hank Paulson); and central bank governors galore, not to mention two recent BBC chairmen (Gavyn Davies and Richard Sharp). After the global financial crisis, which Goldman navigated more adroitly than rivals, Rolling Stone compared the bank to “a vampire squid wrapped around the face of humanity.” New York magazine ran a cover story which asked: “IS GOLDMAN SACHS EVIL?

lloyd blankfein
harry styles
Rod Liddle

Harry Styles has a cute voice

Grade: B In which the foppish Davy Jones figure from the manufactured band One Direction (Zayn Malik being Peter Tork; One Direction didn’t have a Mike Nesmith) sheds the soft-rock pop-lite that has served him so well and goes with what he fondly believes is challengingly funky EDM, a genre which I do not believe plays to his strengths. So what you get is lyrics as fabulously inane as on “Watermelon Sugar” but very little of the pleasant tunes which accompanied that and his many other hits. There are some interesting rhythmic textures for sure, and a surfeit of old-skool playground synths. There is also a surfeit of repetition, a necessity for the oeuvre and a polite nod toward rap.

Friday

Deborah Ross

The Peaky Blinders film is surprisingly literate

Peaky Blinders: The Immortal Man is the film that fans of the television show have long been waiting for, so I must watch what I say. The story follows a group of exceptionally violent Birmingham gangsters operating between the wars and if you see it at the cinema you’ll hear a message before the opening credits. It’s Cillian Murphy imploring audiences not to give away any spoilers and ruin it for everyone else “by order of the Peaky Blinders!” There will be no spoilers here today. I have no wish to get my face slashed. Although I’ve dipped in and out of Peaky Blinders down the years, I’ve never stuck with it and am not steeped in its lore – I can’t stomach all those beatings even if they are highly stylized and set to cool rock music; my fault!

peaky blinders

Thursday

Stephen Sexton

Nintendo and the plumber who conquered the world

It’s not more than a parlor game, perhaps, to speculate about history’s most crucial inventions. One invention often makes the next possible. Electric light revolutionized human productivity, allowing us to work well beyond sundown. The combustion engine and later the turbine engine collapsed our sense of distance, putting other continents within a day’s travel. We’re still debating what the internet’s done; how social media offers the double-edged sword of instant communication and addressability for good and ill; how it encourages the avatarization of ourselves as online presences. We’re both ourselves online and not quite ourselves, entirely embodied and yet psychically elsewhere.

nintendo

Tuesday

Alexander Larman

Looking back at Eyes Wide Shut, after Epstein

The constant parade of shocking and disturbing revelations from the Epstein files has been going on for a considerable time now. It shows no signs of coming to an end. Just when we all think that we’ve seen the worst of it, another 10,000 documents enter the public domain. Even though the stories have been widely disseminated, the details of the abuse of young women by the wealthy and powerful remain just as distressing – and scandalous – no matter how many times they are repeated. At some point in the future, Hollywood – or a streaming service, or AI, or however we get our entertainment by then – will probably make a film about the Epstein scandal.

D.J. Taylor

Life lessons from George Orwell

It was the British political journalist Jason Cowley, writing in London’s Sunday Times a month or two back, who posed a query calculated to strike terror into the heart of any self-respecting Orwell-fancier. Were we, Cowley wondered, with the air of one who tosses a Sèvres vase into the air to watch it descend into heap of fragments, approaching peak Orwell? Was the man in whose voluminous output so much of modern political and sociocultural malaise has been refracted losing his sheen? Some Orwellians – myself included – on hearing this would probably respond with a rather handy Latin phrase: si monumentem requiris, circumspice, which loosely translates as, “If you want evidence, buster, then take a look around.