Gavin Vicious
Jul. 22nd, 2004 05:30 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
imomusI meet V*ce magazine founder and publisher G*vin McIn*es at Cafe Chanoma, Nakameguro.
G*vin immediately lives up to, exceeds, and pushes into self-parody everything I've heard, read and feared about him. He's wearing a Skrewdriver T shirt. His arms are covered in tattoos. It's his first time in Tokyo (he's here to set up a Japanese edition of V*ce, something I've been arguing against ever since the idea was mooted, but might end up assisting in some capacity). When I ask how he's finding Tokyo he says 'It's completely demented. It's great, though, you can shout 'White Power' and nobody knows what you're talking about!'
G*vin does a great Rab C. Nesbitt impersonation (his parents are Glaswegians, by the way, Big Man). He seems disappointed that I'm so well-spoken and un-Scottish. I'm also a much slower drinker than he is, and not much help when it comes to knowing stuff like whether coke and heroin are available in Tokyo. 'My Tokyo is a sort of twee and tender-minded place where pretty girls sit in cafes eating very high quality cakes and talking about their cats,' I explain. I wouldn't be much help in a rumble with Shinjuku yakuza. Perhaps it's beer and post-Scottish bravado talking, but G*vin seems really keen to go there, find the nearest tinted limo, and shout into it 'Hey little guy, you with the permed hair!' Oh shit.
Despite his 'controversial' views -- he likes Japan's immigration policies, and came to Machiavelli by way of Tupac Shakur -- G*vin's actually rather likeable. Something about him reminds me of Iggy Pop. What we have in common is a love of provocation and unreliable narration -- oh, and a belief that human nature is essentially good, which means (somewhat paradoxically) that you don't have to tout some 'responsible' moral line every time you say anything. You can let people draw their own conclusions. (Oh, and can I mention that V*ce has good art direction, great photography and interesting writing.)
I have the feeling that G*vin's White Power schtick is really all about wanting to be 'beyond the pale', and what I like about V*ce is that it's consistently and boldly 'beyond the pale'. It absolutely doesn't allow you to trust it (G*vin says that he's making the pseudonyms more obvious these days, to show the mag is written by fictional characters), and it makes you re-examine your political convictions. V*ce gets up people's noses, and its eagerness for a fight goes beyond the call of duty for a style magazine. That's refreshing in a world where product cycles and marketing imperatives are the real fascism. I still doubt whether V*ce will fly in Japan; this is a country where youth is liberal but not 'politically correct', so I doubt the shock taboo humour of G*vin's Dos and Donts captions will amuse Japanese kids, who tend to be sweet, idealistic, naive and polite. And, in fact, if V*ce does succeed here, becoming some sort of barometer of changes in Japanese culture, I'll be rather sad, because I love the way Japan renders irrelevant all the western dialectics which are V*ce's battleground -- perhaps I should say playground. Well, let's see.
As our meeting wears on I sense I'm being categorized as somewhat fagé (G*vin's term -- faggy, pronounced with a french accent). That's fine, though. There's a place for fagé in V*ce, a magazine which often seems to me to be supplying White Trash fancy dress for the values of urban creative elites. (When I describe another V*ce strategy -- Canadians arriving in the less-liberal US and parodying its obsessions theme by theme -- G*vin nods conspiratorially.) Hidden beneath the macho swagger, the sex, drugs and rock and roll of V*ce, there's something reassuringly fagé about the magazine. I work with editor J*sse Pears*n, concocting stories about laptop girls, homeless people with Hello Kitty curtains, and cuddly Russian teddy bears. J*sse himself will be in Tokyo next month. He's curating an art show at Rocket Gallery, Aoyama. According to G*vin, the show is all about pussy cats, because 'J*sse's into all that kind of stuff'. Now that's what I call reassuringly fagé. Or, as Rab C. Nesbitt would put it, 'Ya wee fucking j*sse!' Maybe V*ce Japan can fly after all.
G*vin immediately lives up to, exceeds, and pushes into self-parody everything I've heard, read and feared about him. He's wearing a Skrewdriver T shirt. His arms are covered in tattoos. It's his first time in Tokyo (he's here to set up a Japanese edition of V*ce, something I've been arguing against ever since the idea was mooted, but might end up assisting in some capacity). When I ask how he's finding Tokyo he says 'It's completely demented. It's great, though, you can shout 'White Power' and nobody knows what you're talking about!'
G*vin does a great Rab C. Nesbitt impersonation (his parents are Glaswegians, by the way, Big Man). He seems disappointed that I'm so well-spoken and un-Scottish. I'm also a much slower drinker than he is, and not much help when it comes to knowing stuff like whether coke and heroin are available in Tokyo. 'My Tokyo is a sort of twee and tender-minded place where pretty girls sit in cafes eating very high quality cakes and talking about their cats,' I explain. I wouldn't be much help in a rumble with Shinjuku yakuza. Perhaps it's beer and post-Scottish bravado talking, but G*vin seems really keen to go there, find the nearest tinted limo, and shout into it 'Hey little guy, you with the permed hair!' Oh shit.
Despite his 'controversial' views -- he likes Japan's immigration policies, and came to Machiavelli by way of Tupac Shakur -- G*vin's actually rather likeable. Something about him reminds me of Iggy Pop. What we have in common is a love of provocation and unreliable narration -- oh, and a belief that human nature is essentially good, which means (somewhat paradoxically) that you don't have to tout some 'responsible' moral line every time you say anything. You can let people draw their own conclusions. (Oh, and can I mention that V*ce has good art direction, great photography and interesting writing.)
I have the feeling that G*vin's White Power schtick is really all about wanting to be 'beyond the pale', and what I like about V*ce is that it's consistently and boldly 'beyond the pale'. It absolutely doesn't allow you to trust it (G*vin says that he's making the pseudonyms more obvious these days, to show the mag is written by fictional characters), and it makes you re-examine your political convictions. V*ce gets up people's noses, and its eagerness for a fight goes beyond the call of duty for a style magazine. That's refreshing in a world where product cycles and marketing imperatives are the real fascism. I still doubt whether V*ce will fly in Japan; this is a country where youth is liberal but not 'politically correct', so I doubt the shock taboo humour of G*vin's Dos and Donts captions will amuse Japanese kids, who tend to be sweet, idealistic, naive and polite. And, in fact, if V*ce does succeed here, becoming some sort of barometer of changes in Japanese culture, I'll be rather sad, because I love the way Japan renders irrelevant all the western dialectics which are V*ce's battleground -- perhaps I should say playground. Well, let's see.
As our meeting wears on I sense I'm being categorized as somewhat fagé (G*vin's term -- faggy, pronounced with a french accent). That's fine, though. There's a place for fagé in V*ce, a magazine which often seems to me to be supplying White Trash fancy dress for the values of urban creative elites. (When I describe another V*ce strategy -- Canadians arriving in the less-liberal US and parodying its obsessions theme by theme -- G*vin nods conspiratorially.) Hidden beneath the macho swagger, the sex, drugs and rock and roll of V*ce, there's something reassuringly fagé about the magazine. I work with editor J*sse Pears*n, concocting stories about laptop girls, homeless people with Hello Kitty curtains, and cuddly Russian teddy bears. J*sse himself will be in Tokyo next month. He's curating an art show at Rocket Gallery, Aoyama. According to G*vin, the show is all about pussy cats, because 'J*sse's into all that kind of stuff'. Now that's what I call reassuringly fagé. Or, as Rab C. Nesbitt would put it, 'Ya wee fucking j*sse!' Maybe V*ce Japan can fly after all.
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(no subject)
Date: 2004-07-22 05:49 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-07-22 10:48 am (UTC)About the Pabst Blue Ribbon phenomenon I'm less knowledgeable, except to point out that the slight contact I've had with it involved people who did in fact come from the appropriate regions of the country (e.g., Tennessee, semirural Pennsylvania) and while they could plausibly be judged "hipsters," the "how droll!" irony level was middling. The party you attended sounded far more grotesque than I imagined.
But in general, how unusual is it, and how contemptible, to wander as far as possible from the circumstances of your upbringing? Reading between the lines in a possibly (but not intentionally) offensive and inaccurate way, to what extent do your aesthetic leanings and philosophies spring from the photonegative of your background? To what extent does the hip-white-trash thing reflect exactly the same phenomenon in reverse? Is it so much more distasteful for the rich kids to slum it than it is for the poor kids to affect sophistication? Maybe it is. I'm just wondering.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-07-22 01:21 pm (UTC)I'm largely indifferent to publications of this sort because, as Momus might say, I simply think they rebel against the wrong things; insofar as they are even rebelling at all, given the social climate of our times (If one really wanted to take a risk, one should start a magazine with the most radically genteel subject matter possible, with articles that, say, instructed how to plant a garden that precisely reproduced in flowers the footfall diagram of a minuet dance: now that would be truly daring). I'm only half-serious about my admonishments--as I often am--but my deep ambivalence still stands.
While I am loathe to continue to paint myself in this thread as some sort of Childe Oracle of thee Mountains--complete with silhouette lighting, a red sunset, coonskin cap, one leg up on a rock with musket in hand--I make no attempt to distance myself from my origins, because what I have become is a direct outgrowth of those selfsame origins (a Jeffersonian yeoman ethic, southern courtliness, storytelling tradition, etc). In short, I am no more than what any of the others in my line might have become, had they found themselves in favorable circumstances.
As to your question: "To what extent does the hip-white-trash thing reflect exactly the same phenomenon in reverse? Is it so much more distasteful for the rich kids to slum it than it is for the poor kids to affect sophistication?", I would say that the question itself is a middle-class one, in that the answer is obvious to someone from the 'lower tiers' of society: the slummers are toying with a kind of perverse, veiled contempt, while the strivers are merely trying to better themselves for the simple reason that the opportunity has presented itself; poor kids don't adopt the affectations of the rich simply because they don't know how. In my own particular case, I have merely added a few flourishes with which to amuse myself, but the impetus is the same.
That said, I wouldn't say that poverty alone gives one some sort of moral authority or 'authenticity'--it merely appears that way when juxtaposed with the actions of callow, comparatively affluent people who engage in a kind of condescending class tourism. Surely, the 'other' is always going to hold an irresistible attraction, and we should not hesitate to explore, but when done without empathy or understanding of context, it's an ugly thing--just like blackface minstrelsy was. One can usually laugh it off, but the more egregious instances can stick in one's craw.
Thoughtful questions, all. Thank you, sir. I hope that I've answered them to your satisfaction.
W
(no subject)
Date: 2004-07-22 01:57 pm (UTC)Oh, sure; and perhaps our gracious host would rather we take it "offline" so he doesn't keep getting email from our discussion. So I'll try to keep my continuation briefish.
now that would be truly daring
Forgive me, but I'm not sure I see how. What is at risk? Advertising dollars? Reputation? Attention? It seems to me that there are plenty of magazines featuring material that, if it's not "radically genteel" is at least thoroughly inoffensive (unless one is offended by inoffensiveness, an attitude which strikes me as at least 50% pose). No, I think it's still riskier -- to circulation, reputation, perhaps life and limb -- to advertise oneself as a white power advocate, or to allow oneself to be portrayed as one even if one denies it. Not all daring acts are admirable, though, as any episode of Jackass would teach us. Perhaps in hip artistic circles, a magazine such as you describe would face a challenge in earning some sort of coolness merit badge, but in the broader context of the "social climate of our times" I think the greatest risk it would face would be complete obscurity.
the question itself is a middle-class one
Well, I'm probably incapable of asking any other kind of question, by definition. I would dispute that the attraction of slumming it is simple "perverse, veiled contempt" -- there's a Romantic myth operating there as well, one probably powerfully bound up with the Romantic Rockist tradition
Anyway, thanks for the conversation!