Sticking to your lane

The sound of silence, and plastic dreams.

Like everybody else, my life can be complicated and even confusing. I don’t feel very easy to categorise. Sometimes I want to hear ‘The Sound of Silence’ by Simon and Garfunkel, and sometimes I want to play ‘Plastic Dreams’ by Jaydee. They talk to such different parts of my being, and I don’t want to have to choose.

Triptych After Shelley (iii) by David Hoyle

There have been some great reviews and reader responses to my new short format book – Strawberry and the Big Apple: Grace Jones in Stockport, 1980. A quick thanks to reviewer Desmond Bullen who told his readers that the book “resists easy categorisation”. It’s clear that, for him, that’s a positive thing.

‘Strawberry and the Big Apple’ is the eighth (and final) book in Art Decades - my small format book series - which launched in 2019 - the subjects of the other books include the artist Keith Haring’s New York nightlife, the early Seventies British terror group the Angry Brigade, and, probably my favourite; Sylvia Plath in Paris during Easter 1956. When the Plath book was published it was described as “surprisingly good” by one reviewer, apparently a little incredulous that a disc jockey could have produced it!

The idea of resisting categorisation seems very appropriate for a book that brings to an end a series of works and such a wide variety of subjects, but, more significantly, also appropriate for a book about Grace Jones, born in Jamaica, then making a home in New York and Paris; an actress, model, singer, and performer; a disco star who also covered ‘She’s Lost Control’ by Joy Division. Grace Jones is a challenge, unreadable, with an ambiguity about her look - “I am very feminine, but I am also extremely masculine. I’ve got these two things going on” she once declared.

In her memoirs, she also admits that arriving in America she didn’t think of herself as black, at least not in an African American way. She had an afro, but she didn’t have a black American accent. She says she felt at one remove from the black community in New York. She was Jamaican; “I just didn’t sound hip and Harlem enough when I opened my mouth”.

Her search for film roles was undermined by her agency’s assertion “Your face doesn’t fit”. Being told your face doesn’t fit could elicit all kinds of responses. Grace Jones had the strength to turn a negative into a positive. This is one of her achievements; she’s created her own space, her desire and ability to resist categorisation is striking.

A Certain Ratio, likewise. They came together in the years after punk broke, an era that encouraged participation in music. They weren’t interested in the clichéd punk rock look and the genre’s generic sound, instead taking the spirit of adventure into new territories. They weren’t alone this, so many of my favourite acts swerved anything derivative of the Sex Pistols or the Damned; including John Lydon’s post-Pistols project PIL, as well as Joy Division, the Pop Group, the Cure, the Slits, and many more.

Especially once they’d recruited drummer Donald Johnson, ACR developed what was described “punk-funk”. Things were very tribal in the 1970s. In clubs and pubs, punks and funk fans seldom met, unless it was to trade blows; fusing those two genres was brave, but it worked. In the decades since, A Certain Ratio have also incorporated other genres into their sound, including jazz and techno.

What’s the opposite of creating something that defies categorisation? Being formulaic. 

The attitudes both acts had (and still have) I realise were an attraction to me. Not standing still, but always trying to take your creativity onwards is something I’ve instinctively always wanted to do.

Even leaving aside the variety of subjects in the Art Decades series, in my little world, I’ve probably ended-up a bit of an anomaly; DJing more-or-less every weekend from May 1986 to March 2005 – and lots since – but also ending-up giving a talk at the inaugural Sylvia Plath Literature Festival. I never planned to be where I am; following my interests has given me an eclectic creative life.

In another review of the whole Art Decades series, on the Recessed Space website, Will Jennings draws interesting parallels between DJing and what he identifies as my writing style. The best thing about this is he brings up stuff I’ve never analysed or realised myself.

One aspect of my DJing that I have thought about a few times is how I’ve managed to sustain a career despite never being able to give a specific answer to the question “What do you play?”.  Ultimately it’s held me back, though, this tendency on the turntables to resist “easy categorisation”.

I’m sure my career could have reached a higher level and I’d have experienced less peaks and troughs if I’d been able to answer this succinctly. But I’ve ended-up mixing it up a little, maybe getting deep into some genre and then coming back to something different and then going off on a tangent.

I’m not going to play ‘The Sound of Silence’ when I DJ, but I like being at venues where I can find room for the SOS Band ‘Just Be Good to Me’, ‘The Wanderer’ by Romanthony, disco edits, or relatively recent things that jump out of me when I’m searching for tunes. Like this…

Starting off DJing in 1984/5, I was part of a fortunate generation, in that DJing was less about technical ability, and it definitely wasn’t as competitive than now, and - best of all – there was lots of room for DJs who liked to mix up the genres.

The four of us resident DJs at the Haçienda in 1988 all came from an eclectic post-punk background similar in nature to that of A Certain Ratio (Mike Pickering had been in the Factory act Quando Quango). We had our specific sound, but all of us had a openness to new music, and a curiosity.

However, if I adjust the angle of my self-reflection there’s another word which is also partly accurate, and not as generous or sympathetic to my modus operandi as “eclectic”; and that’s “unfocussed”. You could take a view that I’m not easy to categorise not through choice but because I’m restless, my mind all aflutter, and I lack single track focus.

Eclecticism may not be all it’s cracked up to be.

At the end of the 1990s I had dinner with the German DJ Paul van Dyk who was then at the top of the DJ tree. We were chattering about music, talking about the Fugees I think, because I remember mentioning  ‘Doo Wop (That Thing)’ by Lauryn Hill. We agreed it was fabulous, but he said he’d never play it in a set.

I understood his point about never playing it in a set, especially from the point of view of the fans of PVD who’d paid £20 or whatever it was back then. Some of them would have maybe enjoyed an excursion into Lauryn Hill’s beautiful neo-soul, but they’d be in a minority; to most it would be bewildering.

It’s very hard to have major success in the creative world without endlessly meeting peoples’ expectations about who you are and what you do. First off, the industry wants you to be an easily defined brand, but, secondly (and sadly) also sometimes audiences are resistant to their favourite artists straying too far from their original path.

Paul Van Dyk has thrived in the music business. Better to allow yourself to be defined. Stick to it. Be a brand. Mr Van Dyk understands that markets have categories. Resist them at your peril!

Leading an eclectic creative life is at odds with audience expectations and market pressures. Kae Tempest once told told me this; “We want our artists to fit into these nice little boxes”.

I’m grateful that I continue to find clubbers and readers who trust me enough to go with my flow. I don’t mind being judged but I resent being pigeonholed. As I say, the music I listen to talks to such different parts of my being; and my creative activity does too. I’ve always considered we lose something when we become defined.

I’m drawn to people who won’t stay in their lane. I enjoyed all the recent David Hoyle activity at Aviva Studio. David is a mercurial and magnificent talent; a cabaret act that could also be called performance art, a wearer of amazing outfits, a film-maker, and the creator of stunning visual art.  

Sculpture by Julie Campbell (aka Lonelady)

The music artist Julie Campbell (aka Lonelady) updated her social media followers recently with news that two of her sculptures currently feature in the 'Dancing About Architecture' exhibition at Hypha Studios in London (see pic). Known for her music, Julie’s first forays into the creative world were visual; she did a Fine Art degree which focussed on painting, drawing, and sculpture. She is responsible for the look of her record sleeves - the Hinterland album (a Warp records release) is particularly striking – and she is a prolific photographer.

I don’t believe our identities are written in stone. We change, our circumstances and surroundings change; a fixed self-definition is self-defeating. Not just as creatives, I mean; as people.

Please don’t pigeonhole your friends, acquaintances, favourite artists. We all have a tendency to do this, even to be ruled by preconceptions of people picked up several years or decades ago. Whereas we should allow everyone to discover new things about the world, and to change, and to spread their wings.

Swerving past any fixed definitions is exhilarating to me, although these things aren’t straightforward; to the extent that I haven’t even got the energy to convince anyone in the creative world that bumping around resisting categorisation is necessarily happy-making. In so many ways it just makes your life harder.

I remain respectfully admiring of anyone who pays consistent attention to a single goal. I take my hat off to John Cooper Clarke, for example, who first recited his poetry in Manchester venues well over fifty years ago, and is in constant demand still, performing his familiar poems in a style perfected in the punk years, albeit over longer sets, with poems interspersed with multiple droll stories. It’s undeniable that his basic creative output remains the same; especially onstage, even allowing for a fertile spell releasing records with music backing from the Invisible Girls, and, subsequently, his appearances on TV game shows.

I’m also a big admirer of writers and historians who’ve accrued a deep and expert knowledge from a lifetime’s study. Peter Steinberg is an archivist specialising in Sylvia Plath. He runs a blog, and has published widely on Plath (he co-edited two huge volumes of Plath’s letters). Steinberg is the editor of the soon-to-be-published Collected Prose which pulls together all of Sylvia Plath's shorter prose, a lot of which is previously unseen. His single-track focus has delivered great and valuable work.

The most important thing navigating through a creative life - maybe life in general - is to be your authentic self. Whether you’re by nature a Steinberg or a David Hoyle, follow what feels right, and resist outward pressure. Authenticity is so valuable.

What feels right for me, is to follow my passions, instincts, interests, even - or especially - if they confuse preconceptions. In 1980, I met musician Pete Wylie and immediately recognised a kindred soul. He often used to quote a phrase of Patti Smith’s, “the sea of possibilities”, and, for me, I reckon embracing that, is what life, the adventure, is about.