British Surrealism in Context: A Collector’s Eye: Leeds Art Gallery

Surrealist artwork seems to divide people in quite a pronounced fashion, often for quite obvious reasons. Personally, I often find the concepts are more interesting than the executions, although for those who are interested in painting but dismiss Dali I would always recommend viewing some of his paintings first hand. There can be little denying his technical abilities, if nothing else.

Anyway, I was curious to see what this collection of lesser-known works by lesser-known Surrealists had to offer in terms of providing a broader vista beyond the big guns who’ve been absorbed into popular culture (while also being interested to see the Magritte sketches being displayed). The exhibition is, in fact, a private collection being publicly displayed. Having attended an exhibition of Surrealist Art in 1986, Ruth and Jeffrey Sherwin became fascinated by what they saw, and they subsequently accumulated what is said to be the largest private collection of Surrealist art in the country.

So, like any personal collection, this exhibition reflected the owners’ tastes, and as such, it’s reasonable to anticipate a degree of homogeneity even if the individual has eclectic tastes. This is certainly true of the Sherwin’s collection. In itself, this is no bad thing, but many elements of the exhibition left me rather frustrated. For starters, it’s not brilliantly laid out – something which is true of much of Leeds Art gallery in general. It’s not even immediately obvious in which room – or rooms, for there are two, but the lack of signs doesn’t make this readily apparent either – the exhibition is in. The pictures are often cramped together, and the words that accompany them vary wildly in terms of the amount of information given. Worse still, many of the tags are poorly written, and are positioned in such a way as to be unclear as to which picture is which.

The area devoted to the ‘Bruno hat’ hoax was informative and well-executed, while the wall devoted to Conroy Maddox was perhaps the strongest and most interesting area of the exhibition in visual terms. However, the labelling system really didn’t correspond, with the number of pictures on the wall not even matching the number of labels. A small detail in many respects, but frustrating nevertheless.

Perhaps if I’d done more research in advance, I’d have been more aware of just how much Surrealist work has been produced in the last 30 years or so, but then, it’s nice to learn something new. Unfortunately, much of the later work is largely derivative, and is either too self-consciously ‘Surreal’ in its use of the juxtaposed and the incongruous, or veers into abstraction. Indeed, taken as a whole, the collection seems to illustrate precisely why the big names of Surrealism eclipse the rest so dramatically, and I’d include Desmond Morris in the list of those eclipsed. Henry Moore, meanwhile, was well-represented, but isn’t primarily associated with Surrealism, and, besides, his work isn’t exactly hard to come by in the North of England.

Still, another problem caused by the organisation was that some of the more significant pieces – such as Kurt Schwitters’ collage piece, which measures approximately 12” x 8” – were easily missed. Situated at the very end and by the door out, it’s both the archetype of Surrealism and remarkably contemporary-looking. However, beneath it is another small collage, very similar in execution, which happens to be an early work by Damien Hirst. It’s strange to think that one of these pieces is likely to have a value vastly greater than the other, particularly when considering that it’s the less original and significantly later piece that would command the higher price.

Pondering this on my departure, I was left feeling not so much disappointed, but mildly bemused by the exhibition as a whole. Which was perhaps only fitting.


The exhibition ends 1st November… but there’s always plenty going on at Christophernosnibor.co.uk!

We Hate it When Our Friends Become Successful

‘White Noise,’ the debut single by Viewer, has just been played on Radio 1 by Huw Stephens, who’s making very enthusiastic noises. The video is racking up the hits on YouTube by the second. Nothing so unusual about that in itself. New bands get airplay all the time, get masses of hits on YouTube. Some get tipped as the next big thing, others just get a song played and that’s it. The difference is, I don’t normally know the artists.

On the face of it, he’s an unlikely up-and-coming pop star. Yet at 33, Andy Johnson, the voice of Viewer and a man with a face that looks like it’s seen some living, is standing on the verge of something big. And it’s all a little strange. As he tells it, though, it’s life as usual for him (even if he doesn’t bust moves outside his local Indian takeaway as a rule – as he does in the video), and what’s strange is the way those around him are getting hyped – rather like his record.

So when we meet up for a drink, as we do every few weeks, and as we have been doing off and on for years, of course we talk about the latest events in his life, but mostly we ramble on about books and music and current affairs and the state of society and popular culture – same as ever. It’s definitely a good sign, and it’s clear that these early hints of success aren’t going to his head. But then, why would they? He’s hardly having to do heavy press or being called up by MTV or the NME, and he’s not exactly getting rich off it. At least not yet. It’s not all about the money, of course – although as he’ll be the first to admit, some money would be nice, and he’s chuffed that the early airplay will at least pay something in royalties.

Perhaps it’s his age, or perhaps it’s that he’s generally pretty well grounded and cynical. Andy’s been making music for years. Up to now, his projects have broadly reflected his listening tastes: guitar-based pop with a quirky edge, given to lyrical wordplay and clever rhymes (the press release for the single refers to ‘his witty kitchen-sink commentary) has, to now, been his forte, drawing influence from bands like Sparks, Pulp, The Divine Comedy. However, this latest venture couldn’t be more different. In many ways, the same is true of his collaborator, the quiet and rather enigmatic Tim Wright, who’s been in the industry producing electronic music since the 90s under various guises such as Tube Jerk (by which he’s produced not only a substantial back-catalogue, but also earned considerable respect in the techno world), Germ, and Pin. This is, however, perhaps his most overtly commercial project. After all, the guy does list Bauhaus, Swans and Throbbing Gristle amongst his influences, alongside Led Zeppelin, Butthole Surfers, The Fall and Killing Joke. Not yer average technohead’s fodder.

I’ve actually known Andy for a good number of years, and so in some respects it’s strange for me to witness this change in fortune. But no, I don’t begrudge him this taste of success, not least of all because I have immense respect for him as an artist, and as a person. It wouldn’t be entirely accurate to say he’s worked hard for this, because his involvement in Viewer was quite a chance event in many ways, and he’s one of the least fame-hungry people you could ever meet. However, he has most definitely lived it, and he’s endured a succession of mind-numbing admin jobs and years of skintness while honing his craft as a lyricist. While some may consider his refusal to pursue a career, I personally applaud his policy of no sell-out. That’s what’s meant by keeping it real.

The single is a rant against nanny state politics, and in many ways isn’t all that different from a night in the pub with Andy, as he swipes against the smoking ban (it’s not just the ban he has issues with, but its application and the strange details – not to mention the contradiction of a government reliant on the taxes on tobacco for funds, and not just to the NHS) and the relentless erosion of personal freedoms in the interest of ‘protection.’

Another future classic that’s been tearing up the dancefloors is ‘Sunrise,’ which opens with the lyric ‘Hell is a nightclub.’ It’s not only an even better cut than ‘White Noise,’ but also perfectly encapsulates the contradictions that make Viewer such an interesting proposition. Yes, a dance track that features lyrics that berate the inherent shitness of club culture, going down a storm with the very people it’s pointing the finger at. That’s what I call subversion. Yet another track, ‘Dumb it Down,’ is a fairly savage attack on popular culture and lowest-common-denominator media.

Writing the lyrics, in particular to ‘Dumb it Down,’ is a challenge he relishes. Sue, he can spout, but keeping things succinct and fitting them to a dance beat is a whole other discipline, even from indie-pop lyric writing. He tells me how he had a whole set of lyrics penned for ‘Dumb it Down,’ then realised that for the song to work, he had to really strip it back: to dumb it down. Having had a preview of the track, I have to say he’s done a brilliant – and in places hilarious – job.

The world needs articulate lyricists right now more than ever. What’s more, in a time when music is becoming evermore specialist, and the polarity between mainstream chart music and everything else increasingly marked, bands with such immense crossover potential and broad appeal – while retaining credibility – are rare indeed. Viewer: ones to watch.