Tucked into a collection of essays, Futures of Socialism: Into the Post-Corbyn Era (shortly to be published by Verso), is the author Owen Hatherley’s Stop Me If You Think You’ve Heard This One Before: A Study in the Politics and Aesthetics of English Misery. The thesis is that the Smiths were always a reactionary force, politically; the notion that they were straightforward progressives, then Morrissey suddenly became a supporter of the far right because of something he ate, is belied by a much more complicated picture. I won’t tell you any more, you should read it, I think it’ll be just your cup of tea. Because this is all our cup of tea right now.
This period is a hall of mirrors, all we have is all we have. Whoever we chose to be with, that’s who we have. As confronting as that is in family terms, it is also true culturally. There are no fresh supplies. The Today programme can wheel out a violinist whose tour has been cancelled, and you can talk to your friends about whether or not you have read Wolf Hall, but we are all basically living out of the store cupboard: all the music and literature and thought-paraphernalia you have carelessly stashed over the past few decades, and you want to hope there are some anchovies amongst it all, and it’s not just Wotsits.
Were the Smiths reactionary? Did they, in fact, get that from the Kinks? Why, in that brief period of 2000 to 2005 when EastEnders was good, was it so good? Did any of us read Flaubert’s Parrot, or were we all just pretending, a mass emperor’s new clothes, everybody naked? Was Buffy the first bridge between teen culture and the intelligentsia, a kind of portal, if you will, or would you more properly give that plaudit to Twin Peaks? What happened to Lord Lucan, anyway? Some days I feel as if I could dive back into the major Jilly Cooper trilogy (Riders, Rivals, Polo) and just never come out. But I’m holding that back for when things get really desperate.
