Red Hair

N.B. The purpose of this article isn't to objectify red hair or red-headed women. Rather, it explores my own interest in red hair and its cultural presentation. I reassure you that I think all hair colours are beautiful in their own way. :)

Having been told by my hairdresser that it is not possible to dye my dark brown hair red, on the basis that it is very thick and would need bleaching first, I have become even more obsessed with the colour because of its unattainability! Sadly I shall always have to admire red hair from afar.

Here's the closest I'm going to get... and I look like Offred from The Handmaid's Tale with lipstick:

Red hair has always generated fascination, and unfortunately ridicule, which means that I am not alone in my interest. Pre-Raphaelite paintings are a great place to start when investigating the timeless appeal of the hair colour. (N.B. I know very little about art history). In Victorian England, red hair still carried much of the old medieval stigma and was not generally thought of as beautiful. Elizabeth Siddal, a young woman born in 1829 into a humble background, became a mould-breaking model and muse for the painters after she was spotted in her early twenties by artist Walter Deverell. Lizzie, as she was known, looked more like a modern-day runway model than the small, curvaceous Victorian ideal. Her striking face and luminous red hair are timelessly captured in many a pre-Raphaelite painting, most famously John Everett Millais' Ophelia. With tragic irony, Siddal's own life ended in suicide; her poor health and depression culminated in her overdose one year after the birth of her stillborn child. Despite her unhappy life, Siddal made an incredible impact on art and she is immortalised in many iconic paintings.

Culture in the 20th Century was not devoid of red-heads. One of my favourite childhood novels was the 1908 Anne of Green Gables. I identified with the protagonist, but of course I have never had a head of hair that could be ridiculed with the word "carrot." Interestingly, Anne was preoccupied with melodrama and Tennyson's The Lady of Shallot, providing a link with the pre-Raphaelites. Red-haired women graced our screens and celebrity magazines, from Judy Garland's Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz (1939), to wartime starlet Greer Garson, to Paul McCartney's actress girlfriend Jane Asher in the 1960s. In the late 20th century, screen sirens such as Kate Winslet and Nicole Kidman gave red hair a new, "sexy" lease of life. Of course, everyone from my generation understands the significance of the Weasley family in the Harry Potter series.

Recently, red hair has become very fashionable. I saw a promotion in a magazine recently for an auburn hair-dye, with a worrying tagline about keeping up with the new trend. Never one to like following the crowd, I find this mildly irritating. I believe that people should wear what they like, not what they are told to wear, and that the same goes for hair colour. For goodness sake, how can a hair colour be in fashion? It's totally ridiculous, although I hope this triumph of fiery hair and pale skin means that people recognise they live in the United Kingdom and not Ibiza, and thus there will be a reduction in the amount of fake tans. Hmm. Perhaps not. Anyway, I digress. The lining to this silver cloud of fashion is that there are more auburn locks around, and hopefully there will be a reduction in prejudice against red-headed people; please ban the word "ginger."

I shall leave you with some examples of modern-day red-headed people!

That's Gay

Oh, how I love Bryan Safi!

It's so refreshing to see the ridiculousness of gay-stereotyping and homophobia in the media presented in such a fresh and funny way. For any of us who have complained about the portrayal of gay people and gay issues in popular culture, That's Gay is just perfect! Thumbs up to Infomania. :D

Enjoy :)

J xxx

Shout! The True Story of the Beatles

It was with much excitement that I found Shout! in my favourite music shop, priced at just three pounds. I had it on Dad's authority, and from several magazines, that it is the definitive Beatles biography. I eagerly bought it, and a few days later began to read.

I have now finished it, surprised at how long it took to complete. The size of the book is misleading: while it could not be described as thin, it looks like a quick read until you open the pages and see the small and closely-spaced print. I read through it steadily, intrigued, as I always am, by the fascinating story of the world's greatest group.

The author, Philip Norman, writes in an engaging and readable style that is hardly academic but certainly creates the impression of a man who knows his stuff. Although I was slightly bemused by his rather foolish comparison of John Lennon's death with the events of 9/11 in the introduction, I felt that the book was going to be much more informative than the other Beatles biography that I have read, Hunter Davies' 1960s work The Beatles.

The Beatles is a rather innocent book, leaving out the nastier side of the story and glossing over controversial facts due to the wishes of the relatives of those involved. Because it was, and still is, the only authorised biography of the group, Davies has no choice but to present The Beatles favourably. However, The Beatles does have the advantage of being a genuine historical source. Having read the book, and thoroughly enjoyed it, I closed it having built up much respect for his author. In a 100-page 2009 introduction, Davies explains why he has chosen not to revise and improve the text: it is like a time capsule of history. For all its inaccuracies, it's great.

Anyway, back to Shout! Unlike Davies' biography, Norman tells the whole story without fear of controversy. Sex, drugs, scandal: none of it is censored, and he weaves in the historical context successfully. He introduces each character gradually and thus doesn't throw too much individual biographical information in your face.

I particularly liked Norman's writing on the Beatles' manager, Brian Epstein, who tragically died in 1967 of a drug overdose. He was a sad and confused figure whose homosexuality was obvious to all who knew him yet was something he tried so hard to stifle. Madly in love with John Lennon, his management of the Beatles was at once an exciting and heartbreaking time for Brian. Unlike Davies, who barely hints at Brian's sexuality to avoid upsetting his mother, Norman gives a sensitive and touching account of the sad life of Brian Epstein.

Unfortunately, as the book came to its end, I became more and more annoyed with Norman. Particularly in the final section of Shout!, he demonstrates a clear and somewhat outrageous pro-John Lennon bias, whilst criticising Paul McCartney in a way that can only be described as harsh. Although admitting to being a "John person" in the introduction (most Beatles fans class themselves as either a "John-person" or a "Paul-person"; I pride myself on being both!), there is no excuse for his unbalanced adoration and dislike of John and Paul respectively. John's flaws are excused, whilst Paul's are enhanced. Norman appreciates John's sense of humour and sharp tongue, whilst he is unimpressed with Paul's "nice-guy" image; presumably he thinks John to be more authentic. John is presented as the talented one, the funny one, and his frankly awful treatment of his pre-Yoko wife Cynthia is barely commented on. Paul is presented as a jealous, obsessive fake who can never live up to his Beatle partner.

This bias irritated me and changed my opinion of the whole work. Its subtitle, The True Story of the Beatles, came into question for me. I was also irritated with Shout!'s abrupt end, and its increasingly arrogant assumptions. "George wasn't great," Norman writes, and goes on to say that he was merely an average guy who got lucky. Norman also assumes that his book is the best, particularly criticising Many Years From Now, an interview-based authorised biography of Paul. Naturally, Norman wouldn't approve of any book which portrays Paul in a positive light. It sneers at how a whole chapter of the book is dedicated to Paul's taste in art. I have been dipping in and out of Many Years From Now since May, and I will testify to its quality as a book.

Shout! is clearly a well-researched and well-written biography, but, despite its great start and middle, its bias becomes its downfall towards the end. Philip Norman is too confident in his talent as a Beatles expert and biographer for my taste, and, while Shout! may be juicier and more accurate in actual events than the quaint 60s The Beatles, its disappointing bias and almost vitriolic attack on Paul makes The Beatles a much less infuriating read. This is not to say that I didn't enjoy Shout! and I would still reccomend it to any Beatles fan; after all, it is "the definitive."

xxx

The Beatles and Childhood

Good afternoon!

I've been wanting to write a Beatles-related post for a while, partly because I feel I ought to start studying them in a bit more depth, and partly because I haven't got much of a desire to write anything angsty at the moment. Most of my anger about our sick society has already put itself into words, either on this blog or in discussions with friends. So until I find myself raging again, the blog's tone will probably be a little less angry and a little more relaxed!

I'm going to focus on the theme of childhood in the Beatles' work. Hopefully it won't be too waffly...

No matter what happens to us in life, we cannot escape our childhoods. We cannot escape the influence of our parents, our schools, our friends, our bullies, our favourite toys, the daily rituals, our worst punishments, our favourite memories. Our upbringing is beyond our control, and dependent on the lottery of birth.

For four young lads from Liverpool who took the world by storm, childhood was no less inescapable, and indeed there is a huge amateur and scholarly fascination with the Beatles' upbringings. Most biographies place a heavy emphasis on their childhoods, from which came a strange sequence of coincidences and lucky occurrences that turned a less-than-impressive skiffle band into the greatest supergroup of all time. A new development on the Beatles' youth never fails to make the News; most recently, of course, the ten-year-old Paul's prizewinning Coronation essay was discovered in Liverpool library. You can even visit the childhood homes of Paul McCartney and John Lennon, and stand amongst a small group of awed tourists as you survey the room in which the young Paul learned to play his guitar. Without their unextraordinary, Northern beginnings, the Beatles would never have existed.

Perhaps if Paul had not been brought up in a family in which his father, Jim, was a musician and his mother, Mary, encouraged a strong work-ethic for her sons, he would not have worked so hard at perfecting the guitar (despite at the detriment of his schoolwork!). If John's aunt and mother had not been such strong, witty individuals, John may not have the quick sense of humour that he brought to the band. If Ringo had not spent much of his childhood in hospital, the resulting better education may have sent him on a very different path. And if George had not been encouraged by his approving mother, he may not have worked so hard despite his unequal share of the lime-light.

Indeed, the Beatles themselves were fascinated by their own childhoods and the memories of the days before fame and fortune. John, in particular, referred to his past in several songs, most notably In My Life and Strawberry Fields Forever. Paul, of course, penned Penny Lane, a jolly tune about the Liverpool road and roundabout in which Paul spent many a childhood hour waiting for the bus.

The Beatles, four young men influenced heavily by their pasts, went on to influence the lives of literally millions of 1960s children, many of whom were caught in the all-consuming disease-like phenomenon of "Beatlemania." Many young people had rooms filled to the brim with Beatles merchandise, and the euphoria and sexual excitement caused by the Fab Four awakened many an innocent young girl. One of the legacies of the group is that even today's children are influenced by the Beatles, as they become more and more engrained in the cultural identity of Britain. Few children can escape the dreaded Yellow Submarine in primary school music classes. My Dad had me singing Can't Buy Me Love and She Loves You at the age of six, and I remember curling up on the sofa, ten years ago, watching black-and-white footage of the band performing. Looking back, I was particularly bewitched by John Lennon.

Recently, in the wave of Beatles nostalgia that came with the 40th anniversary of the release of Abbey Road and the band's subsequent demise, the Times 2 featured an article about today's young kids and the Beatles. The journalist played a handful of infants the original vinyl of several well-known Beatles songs and recorded their reactions. One child's merry comment closes the article: "The Beatles are great. The modern songs are a pile of dog c**p.”
(http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/music/beatles/article6825010.ece)

Childhood is at the centre of the Beatles, just as childhood is at the centre of life. The upbringings of the Fab Four have the power to fascinate and indeed it is well worth visiting Liverpool to experience a glimpse of their lives before they took the world by storm. Over forty years on, they have the power to transfix and transform the lives of today's children, if not in the same hysterical way as they influenced the crazed children of their heyday.

J
xxx

On Happiness and Modern Society

Earlier in the day I fell across an interesting article written by a BBC entertainment journalist about what happens at an X-Factor audition.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/8209429.stm

The article confirmed the feeling of disgust, sadness and discomfort that I feel when watching the early stages of The X-Factor (and, to a lesser extent, the later stages). I didn't watch it last year, and don't intend to this year, because of my increasing feeling that the makers of the program are both reflecting and contributing to Britain's deeply unhappy culture.

For those who are genuinely talented and are purely looking for a "big-break," The X-Factor is undoubtedly a useful tool. I'm not a fan of Leona Lewis, but I appreciate the incredible range and tone of her voice and enjoyed watching her rise to fame. I don't know her personally, but from her story it seems to me that she was always a reasonably happy, well-rounded individual with a few normal self-confidence issues.

However, there are thousands of sad, deluded individuals who audition each year and are mocked and humiliated in front of millions of viewers as their human need to be loved and adored is crushed. This is, I think, because people in our sick British society today feel that they need to be famous, beautiful and talented to be loved and adored, and are looking for love and adoration from people they don't know rather than those closer to home. A religious figure recently said that he felt social networking sites are detrimental to society, because people now feel that having 1000 friends on Facebook is more important than having five friends in the real world.

Try explaining this observation to your average viewer of The X-Factor, and they will probably shrug and respond: "They put themselves up for it." Yes, of course they do. It's a choice. But would they make that choice if society was not infected with the pressures of fame and fortune? To laugh at these "freaks," to mock their pathetic attempts to become "the next Michael Jackson," is to laugh at our society, and to accept the way our country has become.

People "choose" to have boob-jobs, "choose" to mimick specific celebrities, "choose" to become glamour models. "Isn't it wonderful," people say, "We are free now. Sex is no longer a taboo, women are free, we can choose to dye our hair how we like, we can do what we want!" People are obsessed with shaping their own identities in the way they look, sometimes distorting their bodies, rather than letting their personality and inner beauty shape their personality.

The reality is, that freedom and "choice" is an illusion. People are slaves to fame, slaves to fashion, slaves to everything that makes someone unhappy.

REAL choice is a beautiful thing. Choosing to put two fingers up at our X-Factor culture, choosing to search for real happiness when the rest of the country is walking straight into its own misery, choosing to love those who may not find acceptance anywhere, and believe they can find it in fame.

OK, I'm not the perfect advocate for this! I'm not a saint. In my life I've done my fair-share of laughing at X-Factor auditions and wishing I could be adored by the general public. I'm ashamed to say it, but I know that I'm not totally free of the scars of our society.

But I do realise, and I think many people don't, that money and wealth and fame and beauty and fashion don't make you happy. "Money doesn't buy you happiness" is, of course, an age-old proverb, but no one takes it seriously. Even though there is much proof around, everyone believes that they will be an exception to the rule. Studies show that Lottery winners, once they have got over the initial rush of apparent well-being and excitement, return to their prior level of happiness or unhappiness within a reasonably short time.

An individual's freedom, an individual's choice, an individual's happiness, is a beautiful thing. But fake freedom, fake choice, fake happiness is threatening to extinguish the light that is in every human being.