The Gothic or “Goth” subculture emerged from Britains punk scene during the early 1980s. The music associated with the movement showed a sophisticated handling of themes and aesthetics associated with Gothicism, proving that the Goth adjective was more than just a fanciful label given to the bands by the music industry and the popular press. In order to gain a greater understanding of what is genuinely Gothic about this body of music, this study investigates Goth from a musicological perspective exploring specific techniques that were used by the artists, and examining the reasons why Gothicism appealed to many British youths during the Thatcher-era.
Attali’s observations coincided with the
emergence of British post-punk music. My focus here is on the band
Throbbing Gristle (typically abbreviated as ‘TG’)
who created what they called ‘industrial’ music. TG,
formed in 1975, originated as the musical incarnation of the
performance art group, COUM Transmissions. Initially conceived as a
shock involved in moving from the street communities to the
new mid-rise ‘crescents’.
Contemporary musicians and artists who were children in
Manchester during this period and, in particular, those who came from
the Hulme and Moss Side districts, remember this migration within
Manchester as a time of unqualified trauma. Bernard Sumner, a
member of Manchester’s legendary post-punk band Joy Division, sees
this laying-waste of his city as the inspiration behind the band’s
sublime, but uniquely despairing, music:
Everyone says Joy Division’s music is gloomy and heavy
one-of-a-kind poster for the lost horror film London After
Midnight (1927), which sold for $478,000.
In terms of Goth popular music, the artwork on associated
posters was intimately connected with a Punk aesthetic (appearing in the
late 1970s), which rejected the lush psychedelic visuals of Rick
Griffin, Roger Dean and Alan Aldridge.
Whilst acknowledging the graphic art linked to the early
The metafictional meanings of lycanthropic transformations in Doctor Who
At first glance, werewolves seem to be thin on the ground in Doctor Who . In 1981, a year after the vampire tale ‘State of Decay’, and eighteen years after the television series began, the incumbent producer, John Nathan-Turner, reported that he ‘would love to see a werewolf story in the programme’.
Even so, it took another seven years for the punk lycanthrope Mags to menace Sylvester McCoy's Doctor in the ring of the Psychic Circus in ‘The Greatest Show in the Galaxy’ (1988–89). And for an
At a time when monolingualist claims for the importance of ‘speaking English’ to the national order continue louder than ever, even as language diversity is increasingly part of contemporary British life, literature becomes a space to consider the terms of linguistic belonging. Bad English examines writers including Tom Leonard, James Kelman, Suhayl Saadi, Raman Mundair, Daljit Nagra, Xiaolu Guo, Leila Aboulela, Brian Chikwava, and Caroline Bergvall, who engage multilingually, experimentally, playfully, and ambivalently with English’s power. Considering their invented vernaculars and mixed idioms, their dramatised scenes of languaging – languages learned or lost, acts of translation, scenes of speaking, the exposure and racialised visibility of accent – it argues for a growing field of contemporary literature in Britain pre-eminently concerned with language’s power dynamics, its aesthetic potentialities, and its prosthetic strangeness. Drawing on insights from applied linguistics and translation studies as well as literary scholarship, Bad English explores contemporary arguments about language in Britain – in debates about citizenship or education, in the media or on Twitter, in Home Office policy and asylum legislation – as well as the ways they are taken up in literature. It uncovers both an antagonistic and a productive interplay between language politics and literary form, tracing writers’ articulation of linguistic alienation and ambivalence, as well as the productivity and making-new of radical language practices. Doing so, it refutes the view that language difference and language politics are somehow irrelevant to contemporary Britain and instead argues for their constitutive centrality to the work of novelists and poets whose inside/outside relationship to English in its institutionalised forms is the generative force of their writing.
This book is about science in theatre and performance. It explores how theatre and performance engage with emerging scientific themes from artificial intelligence to genetics and climate change. The book covers a wide range of performance forms from the spectacle of the Paralympics Opening Ceremony to Broadway musicals, from experimental contemporary performance and opera to educational theatre, Somali poetic drama and grime videos. It features work by pioneering companies including Gob Squad, Headlong Theatre and Theatre of Debate as well as offering fresh analysis of global blockbusters such as Wicked and Urinetown. The book offers detailed description and analysis of theatre and performance practices as well as broader commentary on the politics of theatre as public engagement with science. It documents important examples of collaborative practice with extended discussion of the Theatre of Debate process developed by Y Touring theatre company, exploration of bilingual theatre-making in East London and an account of how grime MCs and dermatologists ended up making a film together in Birmingham. The interdisciplinary approach draws on contemporary research in theatre and performance studies in combination with key ideas from science studies. It shows how theatre can offer important perspectives on what the philosopher of science Isabelle Stengers has called ‘cosmopolitics’. The book argues that theatre can flatten knowledge hierarchies and hold together different ways of knowing.
Printing Terror places horror comics of the mid-twentieth century in dialogue with the anxieties of their age. It rejects the narrative of horror comics as inherently and necessarily subversive and explores, instead, the ways in which these texts manifest white male fears over America’s changing sociological landscape. It examines two eras: the pre-CCA period of the 1940s and 1950s, and the post-CCA era to 1975. The authors examine each of these periods through the lenses of war, gender, and race, demonstrating that horror comics are centred upon white male victimhood and the monstrosity of the gendered and/or racialised other. It is of interest to scholars of horror, comics studies, and American history. It is suitably accessible to be used in undergraduate classes.
Ethnicity and popular music in British cultural studies
Subculture, Hebdige endeavoured to theorise a variety of youth subcultural styles as a set of ‘differential responses to the black immigrant
presence in [post-war] Britain’ (1979: 29), but I am primarily concerned
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here with his discussion of punk. In a particular sub-section entitled
‘Bleached roots: punks and white ethnicity’, issues of race and ethnicity are
clearly foregrounded. Hebdige suggests, for example, that ‘the punk
aesthetic can be read … as a white “translation” of black “ethnicity”’ (64
her most recent book, 2012’s Punk Faun, Olsen continues to address
themes of genre, displacement and irony. The book, which includes
open-field poetics among the array of poetic forms it embraces, is a
baroque pastoral; though ‘bar-rock pastel’ is the only means available
in the text of uttering that phrase. The book emerges from a consideration of the decorative, masquerade, masquing and the ephemeral. The
contemporary artist Matthew Barney (associated with the contemporary baroque) and the Renaissance patron of the arts Isabella d’Este
provide the book’s epigraphs