Turning Point

As the 1960s drew to their frenetic close, its music had reached an unavoidable turning point. When we look back at the music of that decade, it is truly mind blowing. Above all, it was the sheer number of great melodies, lyrics and songs. Obviously the Beatles and their output are synonymous with the time but there was a lot more besides. It is fair to say that the '60s style had been utterly saturated. There was therefore nowhere left to go with it and new directions were badly needed.
Of the ensuing genres which sprang out of that remarkable decade, the most obvious early form was the heavy metal arguably first prototyped by Jimmy Page with the New Yardbirds as they then were before their name change in late 1968 to the now legendary Led Zepellin. Out of this sprang a whole host of immitators from Deep Purple to Black Sabbath. Meanwhile on the other side of the Atlantic a musical shift was taking place which would transplant the musical centre from New York in the East to Los Angeles in the West. Springing out of the legacy of The Byrds, Buffalo Springfield, Jefferson Airplane and surprisingly, The Hollies, Crosby, Stills and Nash gave rise to a softer acoustic sound where intensely personal introspective lyrics reigned supreme. This movement would spawn James Taylor, Joni Mitchell and Jackson Browne and would culminate in the biggest selling album of the 1970s with Hotel California by The Eagles. Back in Britain, Heavy Rock soon splintered to form Progressive Rock fronted by Genesis, Pink Floyd, Jethro Tull and the darlings of prog, Emerson, Lake and Palmer. I would argue that that Glam Rock sprang out of Prog Rock with David Bowie and Marc Bolan leading the way. Folk music had famously been given its impetus in this country by the Beatles signing up the unknown Mary Hopkins to their new Apple label. With Pentangle and Fairport Convention getting on board folk was a well established genre with a new impetus. I think punk rock grew out of the early pub rock of The Faces and, to a lesser extent, The Who. With apologies to any genres I may have inadvertently omitted, Motown had to evolve too and its legacy was undoubtedly disco. Disco was more of a phenomenon which, for a short period of about three years, dominated the music scene. If the Bee Gees were its white icons and Michael Jackson its Black male representative, there can be no doubt that Donna Summer was its queen. When "I feel love" first hit the charts in 1977, everything changed overnight. This one song was the template upon which the following three years would be based. Even if you play it today, it still has the wow factor. All songs which start a new genre have that. Communication Breakdown by Led Zepellin had the wow factor and you knew from the first few bars that something significant had happened.
Today is a sad day when I consider that Donna Summer has passed away at far too young an age and the music world is all the poorer for her passing but all the richer for her having been here.  
  

The dust settles

If evidence were needed of the world in which we live, the last few days have provided it in spades. As I listened to Radio 4 this morning I was appalled to learn that a staggering 750 million children worldwide are currently experiencing starvation. In the same programme, the details of the Greek monetary crisis began to emerge. Collectively, their finances are in a mess. Heaven knows what Mr. Micawber would make of them. It is interesting to note the advice offered by a Dickensian character to a young David Copperfield in the middle of the nineteenth century. It is interesting because it has seldom been more pertinent than it is today.

Tonight, massed ranks of supporters line the streets of Manchester to pay homage to their football club the day after their remarkable victory in the dying seconds of the season to claim the much coveted Premier League crown. It is estimated that in the four years since Manchester City were taken over by wealthy Arab benefactors, around a billion pounds has thus far been spent in pursuit of this and other trophies. Their bitter rivals on the other side of the city have been spending equally obscene amounts for the past twenty years. The club which scaled the dizzy heights of sixth in this immoral race have been the plaything of a Russian Oligarch for the past decade and have spent sums which surpass my understanding. Fully 50 million pounds was spent on just one player before paying his wages which amount to more per week than the value of the average house. Given that most people pay off the mortgage on their house over a quarter of a century, the disparity between the two could hardly be more stark.

The haves and the have-nots have always been with us and the works of Dickens are particularly good at portraying them. While I'm quite sure that monetary divisions will continue to feature in our lives, I just can't find the moral argument to defend the fact that millions of children starve while grown men get paid more money than they could feasibly spend for kicking a football. What has become of us? Furthermore, nobody appears to be doing anything about this. Writing this will do nothing to redress this imbalance but it will at least make me feel a bit better.

It was Nietzsche who first predicted the advent of nihilism and his words have been fulfilled to the letter. When I attend my church, it is with a heavy heart that I see the steady progress of its demise. Doubtless in a generation or two, it will become a house, a museum or a community centre and the concept of worship the remnant of a time long ago.  The new God of money and materialism seems to have devotees by the million.

The headline of our local newspaper last week warned "use it or lose it" in reference to community pubs. I was struck immediately by the common thread which the pub and the church share. They have both been places of great importance in the community because they were meeting places for the people. However, they have not been replaced by a new form of meeting place but rather virtual meeting places. Can social networking sites really replace the function served by these two former pillars of our communities? Their proponents would doubtless point to the Arab spring of last year in which a vast swathe of North Africa was gripped by the need for social change after centuries of oppression. Perhaps this argument carries weight but it is instructive to remember that these countries have thriving churches and although alcohol is forbidden, their elders meet regularly in cafes to discuss their problems. Hence, in spite of the populist view that such countries need to adopt democracy and catch up with the developed world, I am increasingly of the view that the converse could hardly be more true. In such countries, the model of the family predominates society while our model continues to crumble and fragment like a piece of sandstone.

To return to Manchester, aside from the obscene amounts of money involved in modern sport, what appalls me far more is the utter disintegration of sportsmanship. I witnessed petulance, arrogance and a woeful lack of magnanimity yesterday from those people who can least afford to neglect them. The Golden Age of cricket gave us the template for how sport ought to be played. Players such as Fry, Trumper, Jessop  and Ranjitsinji were the beacons of good grace and humility. In the Golden Age, there was no shame in coming second, third or fourth because the taking part and playing in the right spirit surpassed all else. Oh for the second coming of the Golden Age.

On a serious note though, if I truly wanted to witness a second Golden Age, I would surely be better served seeking it in North Africa or Greece. The Greeks are about to enter a financial coffin by remaining in the Eurozone or the financial abyss by reverting to the Drachma. Either option spells decades of financial hardship for them but I suspect they might emerge all the better for it.

We in the UK have just enjoyed four decades of uninterrupted growth and standards of living which our forebears would not have even imagined.  Yet still we want more. Is there no limit to the extent of our greed. I look around me and never have to look for my next meal. I am never cold and never in need of clothing. I can't even comprehend the lives of most of the people with whom I share this strange planet. Our grandfathers gave their lives in the two world wars so that the next generation would not have to face such horrors. However, I feel that their sacrifice was in vain because if they could see us now, I don't think they'd do it all again - and I for one wouldn't blame them if they didn't.

It is interesting to consider the political ideologies which polarised the world as a consequence of the World Wars. On the one hand Communism espoused equality for all while Capitalism espoused opportunity for all. With only North Korea and Cuba left as the only true Communist nations, it would be fair to conclude that this ideology was fundamentally flawed. However, compared to its Capitalist nemesis, Communism has been a roaring success. Capitalism has been a disaster for millions of us as evidenced by recent developments in Greece, Spain, Portugal, Ireland, Iceland and Italy to name but a few. All these countries have been living off overdrafts the magnitude of which they couldn't hope to repay.  

Could it be that a third way exists which has not yet been espoused? For the sake of us all, I sincerely hope so because I'm not sure I like what I see around me. Perhaps Dickens was just trying to tell us through the mouthpiece of Mr. Micawber and friends to give us all an insight into what the future could be. Never did he do this to better effect than with the three ghosts who visited Scrooge upon that fateful Christmas Eve. Perhaps like Scrooge we will all wake up and turn over a new leaf. Perhaps we will all start to remember those around us instead of looking after number one. Perhaps a football club winning a trophy might not be so important after all and perhaps we will feel personal responsibility for the plight of our fellow man. Perhaps we won't need to be guided by Public School educated politicians on the payroll of greedy Antipodeans desperate to extract our money from us. Maybe we can all learn to just count our blessings and be truly grateful for what we have rather than what we have not.    

Great Years

History has a habit of repeating itself and I fancy we might be about to witness more examples this year. The last we had drought measures in the UK, Brotherhood of Man won the Eurovision Song Contest with "Save All Your Kisses For Me". Who would bet against that seasoned crooner Englebert Humperdink emulating this feat. In the Queen's Jubilee year of 1977, Liverpool lost the FA cup final and Virginia Wade was the last British tennis player to win a Singles final at Wimbledon. Will this be Murray's year after so many near misses? In both 1976 and 1977 the country was in a mess financially with the incumbent government enjoying all the confidence of a drunk on a tightrope. 

Altruism

I'm about to attend a one day conference aimed at medical students interested in medical education. As ever, I have been requested to fill out a questionnaire and one of the questions asks whether I am attending for the benefit of my CV. I think it is an indictment on the current system that students are attending everything under the sun for the express purpose of enhancing CVs. Why can't people simply attend something because they want to or because they have a personal interest?

When I read CVs as an employer in my past, if I saw attendance on courses, I would make it my business to grill the candidate about the course to verify in my own mind if the attendance was genuine or mere window dressing. I find it astonishing the lengths my peers will go to to enhance a CV irrespective of any personal interest let alone altruism!

The chilling reality is that future generations of doctors are being created on the basis of a perceived pressure to attend courses in which they have no basic interest. I can only hope their interest is being reserved for patients -if there is anything in it for them of course....

Heroes and Villains

As we prepare for a day of national shame when tens of thousands of public sector workers see fit to go on strike, it is timely to reflect on their decided course of action.

They will abstain from work and hence pay on the urging and advice of their Union overlords. Just for clarity, the latter will not forsake their pay - which is considerable. The top heads of the unions in our country don't earn less than six figure sums - good "work" if you can get it. In addition, it is these very organisations who played the role of kingmaker in the recent appointment of the largely unknown Milliband as Labour leader. So it is fair to say that they wield no little influence in the hearts and minds of the electorate.

You will hear no protestation or condemnation from the Labour party with regard to the strike action. Interestingly though, neither will you hear unconditional support. Easier to sit on the fence and say nothing. It puts me in mind of that great quotation, "Sometimes it's better to just sit there and look stupid rather than open your mouth and remove all doubt".

Let us consider the past of the current Labour leader. He served his apprenticeship at the Treasury under the tutelage of the profligate Gordon Brown who camouflaged himself rather poorly behind words such as prudence. Let us be crystal clear about Brown. As the Chancellor of New Labour he took spending money to hitherto unimagined levels of waste, decadence and irresponsibility. Prudent he was not.

The aptly named incumbent shadow Chancellor is no less profligate in his views. The difference between him and his leader is that he does not attempt to conceal his enthusiasm for spending. With Milliband we don't know because he does not dare tell us.

Put simply, this country is in debt up to it's ears as a direct legacy of eleven years of Viv Nicholson in charge. Viv was the lady who famously vowed to spend, spend, spend having scooped the football pools in the 1960s. And she did. Spectactularly. She ended up bankrupt. The difference is that Brown and Blair have now been put out to grass with generous pensions and pay offs.

It amazes me that public sector workers choose to strike when all around them are losing their jobs. I'm aware of their grumbles and whinges regarding future pensions. However, their rose tinted Utopian view of things became a thing of the past a long time ago. You don't need to be a mathematician. All you need is realism and they seem staunchly immune.

Last week I heard a prominent journalist bemoaning the latest initiative of the coalition to promote youth employment by providing incentives to employers. Where was the guarantee of a job at the end of the contract? Job guarantee? What is this new concept. I thought we were now in 2011. Presumably, she is stuck in the Union wrecked misery of the 1970s.

There is of course one good thing which will come out of the strike. That is one day less of pay for the country to find for these people. I wonder if they might acquire a taste for it? There is always hope because I believe that youth unemployment is at an all time high so there shouldn't be too much trouble replacing them.

Crossroads

In August 2004, I was walking in Cornwall with my (now) wife and she asked me what I really wanted to do with my life. Not having considered this for a long time, I gave the question great thought and then replied, law. Mindy was dumbfounded because I had never intimated any interest in this area before. As we walked along, I said that what I really wanted to do was medicine. She shook her head in disbelief and asked if I intended to change my mind again. No, this time I was quite sure. It was, after all, what I had wanted to do seventeen years earlier when I sat my A levels.

We returned home to North Wales and I made some calls to establish how I would go about it. The advice was clear; I would have to complete a science degree first and then apply to medical schools. I was now 35 years old and immediately wondered if perhaps I might be told old.

Despite having completed the first two years of an honours degree in Biomedical Sciences in 1989, I was told that this was too long ago to be considered. As a consequence, I would have to start from scratch and study for three years to achieve my first step towards medical school. This I duly achieved having lost a year on the way due to ill health.

I applied to four medical schools and was refused an interview by three of them. However, one gave me the chance and I was subsequently offered a place. Whereas my first degree had allowed me to commute from home, the medical school which offered me a place was simply too far away to do so again. I thus lived away from home to study medicine. When I went to medical school my son was just one year old and I felt a great wrench being apart from him and my wife.

It is important to point out that as each year progressed, my identity as a medical student became more and more entrenched. This is important because whoever we are and what ever we do, our sense of identity is key to who we are.

Next week I go before the Progress Committee having failed to achieve satisfactory marks in the medical knowledge exams at the end of the third year. I have spent the last week with my identity in limbo. If the committee rejects my explanation for falling short of standards, I will be out and that, as they say, will be that after seven years study, hard work and sacrifice.

It is of course entirely their prerogative who they accept and who they don't but I sincerely hope they give me the opportunity to have another go at the third year or I shall have to seek a new identity..

Understanding the other guy.

It is nearly a week since Andreas Behring Brevik committed the senseless murder of at least 77 fellow countrymen in his native Norway. I have spent much of that time trying to understand his motives and their impact on a country which continues to be the embodiment of perfect living to many of its European neighbours.

Twenty years ago, I moved to Barnsley in South Yorkshire and was very much the stranger in a local town for local people to coin the much loved edict of Royston Vasey. Just before my first night out with my good friend who was a local, he gave me three pieces of advice: First of all, I was not to mention the coal miner's strike which was still fresh in the memory of many. Next, I would do well to avoid the subject of cricket and, in particular, their local son, Geoffrey Boycott, since the mere subject aroused divisions centred around love and hate. Finally, I was advised to avoid the whole area of politics since this was something of a done deal in Barnsley. When I pressed him on the latter, he kindly put his point into some kind of context. He suggested that if there was a General Election tomorrow in Barnsley and there was a man wearing a blue rosette, a man wearing a yellow rosette and a donkey wearing a red rosette, they'd vote for the chuffing donkey. This was clear enough so I managed to avoid all three subjects that night and for the next three years.

However, my deeper point here is one of tolerance and openness to change. Barnsley was parochial in the extreme. It was surrounded by Rotherhan, Doncaster, Sheffield, Leeds, Bradford, Dewsbury, Huddersfield, Halifax and Wakefield to name but a few. Each of the latter boasted large immigrant Asian populations while Barnsley alone resisted their arrival. I have often speculated on the future of Barnsley and wonder whether this picture of intransigence has since abated and given way to mild tolerance of cultures different to their own. I certainly hope so and hope that Barnsley is the winner by it.

However, back to Anders Brevik. I have read his 2083 document and I'm afraid that it is written by an unbalanced man with a rose tinted view of the past and the future. He may be resistant to change in Norway but the world is changing for ever. It may or may not be for the better but you simply can't fight change when its progress is so inexorable. The internet, cheap air flights and social networking have all conspired to reduce the geograhical constraints of the world around us. It is sad in the extreme that Anders chose to pursue his convictions in this manner and my heart goes out to the families of all those youngsters. We all of us need to accept change and it is hugely regrettable that Anders did not realise this. Perhaps his decision to isolate himself contributed to his delusions and maybe this is the lesson which we all need to draw from this dreadful event.