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Julian Cope presents Head Heritage

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Soundtracks of Our Lives week ending 25 November 2012 CE
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spencer
spencer
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Edited Nov 27, 2012, 12:42
Re: Soundtracks of Our Lives week ending 25 November 2012 CE
Nov 27, 2012, 12:04
S'ok, Ian..I may be a bear of lesser brain, but sometimes it can have its uses. Anyway, you've made me aware of Faneras and loads more over my years of STOL reading, so a little bit of translation is the least I can do : ) You mentioned Damien Hirst. I too was thinking of this comparison, but held back..but since you have I will tell you what I did the weekend before last...I took my f-i-l to the Hepworth Gallery in Wakefield. This was out of duty not choice. There was pleasure, but it was outside, photographing the setting sun over the adjacent bohemian boatyard and river. This was my second visit, which affirmed my first impression that the vast majority of the Gallery's contents are arid. This was compounded a thousandfold by the prose that accompanied each exhibit, asscribing meaning that wasn't there and reverence which was not deserved. The title of the latest exhibition was To Hope, To Inspire, To Breathe. I felt like writing 'To Dewsbury' under the arrowed sign at it's entrance. The wall spaces were sparsely hung with paintings and the occasional photograph, and it seemed that this mode of display was meant to encourage closer inspection and, I assume, agreement with the accompanying written floweriness. Hanging surrounded by several feet of white wall was a small black and white photograph, of a wildly grinning teenager bending forward so that his head was adjcacent to what looked like the shaven head from a statue on a plinth. I advanced closer to read the accompanying description. It was Damien Hirst aged sixteen. He was on a college visit to a mortuary. The human head was real. The photograph had been taken by a friend after Hirst had apparently said something along the lines of "look, you've got to take a picture of me with this!" The lengthy reverential prose cited this photograph as being the first recorded instance of Hirst and his artistic medium, death. I assume the photograph itself was worth a great deal of money. To me, the photograph just showed somebody immature being an irreverential twat. Then again, I'm not an art critic, and am a bear of lesser brain. Some music's similarily put on a pedestal of worthiness that it does not deserve, and some people take critical opinion as rote. Fair enough. That's just my opinion. They are welcome to theirs.. one persons moving is anothers sterile.. but I hope that if there was ever a Judgement Day for music, that which I love most would be deemed to have some degree of humanity, for want of a better word..that it would be deemed to come from the heart. I do not find that in the output of Bjork. And Damien Hirst is an arse.
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