Rod Liddle

Rod Liddle

Rod Liddle is associate editor of The Spectator.

Britain has its first punk-rock government

From our UK edition

The most surprising thing about the letter from Guardian and Observer journalists moaning about Suzanne Moore’s supposed ‘transphobia’ is that it contained 338 signatures. This must be the first time a newspaper has had more writers than readers. What an extraordinarily bloated institution — how does it survive? Through those often advertised workshops where Owen Jones explains to people how to write a column? Most bizarre. Surprise number two was that these hacks were prepared to get themselves worked up about a perfectly reasonable piece, for once, by Moore — but found no problem what-soever with Steve Bell’s disgusting and frankly racist depiction of Priti Patel in a cartoon.

A guide to coronavirus hoarding

From our UK edition

We have now got past the absurd stage of glaring in a reproachful manner at Chinese people on the tube. Coronavirus is disrupting sporting events, so this rather mild-mannered little bug has acquired crisis cachet and we must all take it very seriously. Lots of us will die of it, apparently — in this country some 500,000, according to one estimate. Almost certainly older people with under-lying medical conditions, i.e. the very people who voted for Brexit and ensured Labour’s red wall was dismantled in December. If this worst-case scenario does actually happen, expect the Remainers to demand a rerun of that referendum. Health professionals will be able to enumerate for you the stages of Covid-19 as it goes to work on the human body.

The last great purveyors of a vanishing art form: Green Day’s Fathers of All… reviewed

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Grade: B+ It is an eternal mystery to me why Britain has never had much time for power pop, seeing as we gave this often charming genre to the world through the Beatles and, to a lesser extent, Badfinger. But we never really swung for it, post-Abbey Road. When power pop had its mild renaissance in late ’78, we looked away, bored, tugged by disco on the one hand and po-faced boring angular post-punk on the other. The Knack’s ‘My Sharona’ — the epitome of power pop — got in the charts, sure. But there was no groundswell. In the USA it was different. Almost everything labelled punk that wasn’t art rock (i.e. Television and Talking Heads) was actually power pop, none more so than the Ramones. We remained aloof.

In defence of Priti Patel

From our UK edition

We will rue the day we all decided bullying was a bad thing. The consequence is that the inept, the imbecilic and the perpetually frit will hang on to their jobs and we will become a much less efficient country. By bullying I do not mean physically beating someone up and stealing their lunch money, which is what it used to mean when it had a proper meaning. I mean telling someone they’re useless and deserve to be sacked, which is what bullying means today. As R.D. Laing might have put it, that kind of bullying is a rational response to irrationality. The Home Secretary, Priti Patel, who is 5ft 6in tall, has been accused of using bullying behaviour with regard to her civil servants. Nowhere near enough bullying behaviour in my book.

Grimes has talent – but not at writing songs: Miss Athropocene reviewed

From our UK edition

Grade: B The old axiom no longer applies. In modern popular music, it is possible not only to gild a turd, but to gild it so copiously that consumers scarcely catch a whiff of the ordure underneath. The studio is everything: you no longer need to be able to sing, write a tune or play an instrument — with enough electronic manipulation your turd can still become an epic and convince the perpetually gullible rock and pop press that something Important is taking place. In a sense, then, the other old axiom is also redundant: in pop music today, you can fool all of the people all of the time. The Canadian musician Grimes is not quite at turd level: there is some talent there, although I’m not sure quite what it is.

The blindness of cultural Marxism

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Words we are not allowed to use any more now include ‘cultural Marxism’. Suella Braverman, now the Attorney General, used them last year and was immediately upbraided by the organisation Hope Not Hate. Very right-wing people sometimes use it too, you see, so it must never be uttered by anyone else. Banning the use of the phrase ‘cultural Marxism’ is about as culturally Marxist as it is possible to get, but I don’t suppose the cultural Marxists at Hope Not Hate appreciated the irony. Cultural Marxism is a largely 1960s excrescence in which everything must be seen through the prism of unequal power relations, other than which nothing else matters at all. Especially power relations regarding race and gender, the basis of identity politics.

The rancid meanderings of a long-spent wankpuffin: Justin Bieber’s Changes reviewed

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Grade: D– For my first review of popular music releases in 2020 I thought I’d deposit this large vat of crap over your heads. This is the fifth album from Canada’s androgynous, tattooed bratlette — purveyor of corporate trap dross to the world’s pre-pubescent thots, skanks and wannabe hos. Trouble is, even for the dumbest of the world’s unter-mädchens, Bieber’s schtick has long since worn a little thin. So his new album is called Changes, which is the only echo of David Bowie you will find within. But as Justin puts it on the title track: ‘Tho I’m goin thru changes, don’t mean that I’ll change.’ No indeed, well put.

The last working-class people in the Labour party

From our UK edition

A couple of people in the Hornsey and Wood Green Labour party have come up with a fascinating suggestion — a section of the party for working-class people. I don’t know their names, but let’s call them Bob and Hilda for the time being. Bob and Hilda, the last two working--class people alive in the Labour party. The two of them say that while middle-class party members are in general very nice, Bob and Hilda sometimes feel patronised and talked to as if they were children. Bob and Hilda have recommended ‘awareness--raising group workshops’ to address this problem. Hmm.

Wanting to kill us all is madness, not religion

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Sudesh Amman was singularly unsuccessful in his wish to kill kafirs, as he put it, and thereby find himself surrounded by the hoor al ayn — beautiful handmaidens who’ll do anything you want, frankly — in the afterlife. He had perhaps not followed the instructions in the book he had about how to stab people. Two were injured by the madman on Streatham High Road; both, mercifully, should live. However, Amman was shot dead by plain-clothes policemen before he could even scream out the old ‘Allahu Akbar’ thing. The cops were already there because Amman was known to them — known very well to them. I suppose, under British law, they were required to wait until he’d tried to stab somebody before they shot him.

How it all went right: The great Brexit wound has almost healed

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They are getting themselves terribly worked up about that new 50 pence coin commemorating our departure from the European Union. By ‘they’ I mean those people in the Brexit Derangement Syndrome intensive care ward, wired up to saline drips, attended to day and night, occasionally afforded a few thousand volts of ECT when things get really bad, but still foaming, still beside themselves with apoplexy. Alastair Campbell has announced that he will not accept the coin if given it in change. Lord Adonis, who was perhaps already in the antechamber of derangement even before June 2016, said: ‘I am never using or accepting this coin.’ The writer for middle-class kiddies, Philip Pullman, our own pound shop C.S.

The Edition podcast: has the great Brexit divide mended?

From our UK edition

31 min listen

First, as the news agenda is dominated by things like Huawei, HS2, and public spending, could politics be – whisper it – returning to normal? In his cover piece this week, Rod Liddle writes how, for the most part, the election result has put a lid on the civil war between Remainers and Brexiteers. One such Remainer who has reconciled herself with the result is Stefanie Bolzen, the UK Correspondent for Die Welt. She writes in the issue this week about just why Germans are so heartbroken about Brexit. Stefanie and Rod chat Brexit emotions on the podcast. Next, is there anything to be gleaned from the Chinese response to the coronavirus?

A last chance to save the BBC

From our UK edition

Whoever becomes the next director-general of the BBC should take a close look at last week’s Question Time. It came from Liverpool, which is perhaps the most left-wing city in the country, Brighton excepted. On it, the actor Laurence Fox was making sensible comments about the Harry and Meghan business (which is beginning to bore me into a stupor), when he was upbraided by a third-division academic from a glorified teacher training college. This was Rachel Boyle, a ‘researcher on race and ethnicity’. She trotted out the familiar, learned-by-rote cliché that Fox was possessed of ‘white privilege’ and was therefore, by implication, disqualified to comment on the matter.

We want one thing from our royals: patriotism

From our UK edition

There is a fascinating social media group which I think we should all join. It is called ‘DeMOCKracy — 2019 12/12 UK Election Was Undemocratic’. I hadn’t realised, but apparently the election was ‘rigged by Tory billionaires’ to ensure Jeremy Corbyn was defeated. This was done with the aid of fraudulent postal votes, Tory lies, a media which was unanimous in rooting for the Tories — including the BBC and the Guardian! — and will lead, ineluctably, to fascism and the gassing of millions. Where is the evidence for this chicanery?

Emily Thornberry is the one to watch in Labour’s leadership election

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Watch out for Emily Thornberry. She has sneaked through to the next round of the Labour leadership contest because of nominations to make the whole thing “more diverse”. Some of those who nominated her stressed that this was not an endorsement of the woman. There are people in the Parliamentary Labour Party who haven't learned from what happened last time. When MPs decided to make the contest “more diverse” in 2015 they ended up with Corbyn as leader. One of those who nominated Corbyn on that occasion, Old Margaret Beckett, later agreed that her decision to do so had been that of a 'moron'. But they do not learn. Thornberry is competent, unlike Ms Wrong Daily. She is a woman, unlike Sir Keir Starmer.

This bungling Iranian regime is a threat only to the Iranian people

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If this is the start of the third world war, as some quivering liberal commentators seem to believe, then my suspicion is that it will be over quite quickly, such is the majestic impotence of our opponents. I realise it is unwise to underestimate one’s enemy, but come on. In the immediate aftermath of the killing of Iranian military commander Qassem Soleimani, a couple of cheap rockets were lobbed in the direction of the US embassy in Baghdad — they missed, succeeding only in causing a handful of casualties including, presumably, similarly foam-flecked anti-American residents, i.e. people on their own side.

What’s your worst Christmas song?

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Just to sour the festive mood a little, I thought I'd ask what are your least favourite Christmas songs and carols. I've got lots of least favourites. 'Look to the future now, it's only just begun', from Slade's Merry Xmas Everybody is probably the most stupid line ever written in a song. But I like the rest of the song for its sheer good nature and chutzpah. But……….. that spaceman drivel from Chris De Burgh. Mistletoe and Wine is a given, obvs as is Gilbert O'Sullivan's Christmas offering and Taylor Swift's Christmas Tree Farm (go back to it, you woke tart). Carols? If I never hear Oh Come All ye Faithful again I'll be very happy, ditto Ding Dong Merrily On High. I'll bloody well give you a ding dong, mate. Over to you.

Diane Abbott to Donald Trump: Christmas messages from the great and the good

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Diane Abbott I spent the entire day searching for those familiar traditional Christmas delicacies which all kids adore – but could find none anywhere. From shop to shop I went, asking: 'Do you have any of those large chocolate eggs that children like so much at this time of year? Very often sold in cardboard boxes adorned with pictures of rabbits.' In every store the answer was 'No, we don’t have any. We may get them in by March.' That’s Brexit for you. Donald Trump Heard a noise on the roof. Looked out and there was a bearded immigrant scrounger in a red coat trying to herd a bunch of animals around our chimney. Put my head out of the window and shouted. 'Hey! Get lost, loser!' Guy got the hell out sharpish, with his strange creatures.

Caroline Flint could have beaten Boris

From our UK edition

There were not many moments of gloom on election night. I spent most of it, so far as I can recall, in a state of inebriated euphoric gloating — enhanced by the fact that I had hitherto been extremely worried about the outcome. Winning goals are always the most enjoyable when scored, unexpectedly, in injury time. In this case, the exit poll at ten o’clock, a little later confirmed by the equivalent of VAR, Blyth Valley going blue. And then Stockton South — even the local Tories, whom I know well, had not expected to win. From then on it was a mirth fest, reaching its apogee when the fabulously witless Labour MP Richard Burgon was wheeled out to explain the debacle, which he did in the manner of a village idiot attempting to explain the theory of relativity.

Let’s make David Lammy Labour’s next leader

From our UK edition

It is a little over four years since The Spectator journalist Toby Young joined the Labour party for three quid in order to vote for Jeremy Corbyn as leader. May I be the first to suggest that we should all do the same thing now, as Jeremy will soon, sadly, be going? We need to ensure that Labour sticks to the exciting radical platform that has so appealed to voters. We need to choose someone devoid of even the slenderest vestiges of sentience and who the general public will quickly come to detest. The obvious candidate is Diane Abbott, but I don’t think she’s a runner. Rebecca Long-Bailey would be good and Richard Burgon even better. But to really take things forward for the party and estrange the last few remaining potential Labour voters, it surely has to be Lammy.

I’ve found a lovely new home – in Russia

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Staraya Russa. About two thirds of the way from Moscow to St Petersburg, in the historic Novgorod Oblast, once the eastern outpost of that much preferable European union, the Hanseatic League. Beautiful cathedral square, lakes and forests, timber-clad museum where Dostoevsky wrote The Brothers Karamazov. There’s a rather grand house for sale — about 5,000 sq ft, five beds, nice garden — for £143,416. From where I’m sitting, as terrified Tories insist the polls are narrowing and Magic Grandpa is within inches of winning, you’d be mad not to. From where you’re sitting, too, a little later in this awful week, if the Tories were right to be terrified. Staraya Russa. No infantile gender wokeist faddism there, believe me.