Nairn’s Cardiff

An appreciation of Nairn’s Towns (2013 Notting Hill Editions)

The reprinting of Ian Nairn’s collection of pieces from The Listener magazine during the 1960’s presents the opportunity to appreciate how prescient his writing about places was. Those who have more recently revisited Outrage (Nairn 1955) may agree that so much of what he feared and predicted has come to pass. The essays collected in Nairn’s Towns are, however, even more specific to place and many of the themes and issues raised can be reconsidered in the case of those locations with which we are most familiar. In my case the Cardiff of the 1960’s described by Ian Nairn remained recognisable through the following decade and many of his observations still ring true some fifty years later . This note is offered as a supplement to his essay on that city, one which revisits and develops some of his observations and themes with the advantage of hindsight. There have been very significant physical changes in Cardiff but the underlying issues in Nairn’s writing have proved to be enduring.

For example, in the second paragraph of his essay he describes the aspect of the city presented on leaving Cardiff Central railway station as the embodiment of T.S Eliot’s ‘shabby equipment always deteriorating’. The ‘joke modern’ Empire Pool has of course since disappeared but been replaced by Even-More-Of-A-Joke-Post- Modern and even less digestible slices of ‘commercial hackwork’. As Owen Hathersley observes in his editorial footnote to Nairn’s piece, in Cardiff a lot of replacement equipment has degraded from flashy to trashy rather too quickly.

It is now planned that the prospect from the Central Station will be graced with a new regional headquarters for the British Broadcasting Corporation to be designed by the Foster Partnership. This then echoes another theme in Nairn’s discourse, that of the domination of those “London firms …dumping down their most slapdash agglomerations.” Much of his short essay is concerned with the lack of a distinctive architectural style in the city and the dominance of external influence. He comments that “Most of the local firms seem happy to follow the well-beaten trail of mediocrity”, the one notable exception at that time noted as the Alex Gordon Partnership. Even this was qualified, the designer of the (then modern) building singled out by Nairn for praise being an Englishman. This may be seen to have been be a persistent trend in the intervening period and buildings by Welsh architects of note are the exception to illustrate, if not prove, the rule suggested by Nairn in the 1960’s. Of their work a debate may be had on Nairn’s implication that such exceptions are notable in being rooted in the vernacular, as might whether the question as to why ‘the Welsh are no good at visual things’ posed in his third paragraph may still be relevant fifty years later. The real issue may, however, be about confidence in the commissioning of architecture.

An argument may be advanced that the lack of such confidence in Cardiff is embedded in the DNA of the place. In its period of most significant growth from the 1830’s it may be said to have been built by the Irish for a Scot and was, outside the largely mediaeval settlement boundary, a planted settlement and, in effect, a company town. New development took place mainly on the landed estates of the Marquesses of Bute and subsequently on those of Lords Tredegar to the east and Plymouth to the west. The development of aristocratic estates elsewhere in Britain informed the initial planned development of Butetown and the architectural style adopted was essentially late Georgian. 

Only fragments of such development have survived from the time of the Second Marquess of Bute and much of what remained had already been, or was being cleared by the time of Nairn’s essay. This was an aspirational form of urban extension by the Second Marquess of Bute and, had it succeeded, might have imposed a more enduring (but imported) architectural style on the city. The reasons for its failure are more fully detailed by others (Daunton 1977, Davies 1981, Davies 1982, Davies 2009) but the construction of the railways, essential to the success of the Bute Docks and growth of coal exportation, made Butetown an unattractive location for wealthier residential occupiers who relocated to new development north of the main line railway. Butetown and Newtown became and remained literally the ‘wrong side of the tracks’ and dominated by the ‘mean stucco terraces’ referred to by Nairn.

The direct route from Cardiff Castle to the Pierhead intended by the Second Marquess of Bute perhaps had some symbolic civic intent and in that respect it also failed. Bute Street became, as Nairn accurately describes it, the major thoroughfare of the “Tiger Bay of lurid legend…. A straight mile of shops and cafes facing the long dockyard wall: suicidal, but in an almost noble way….” His observation that everyone he spoke to seemed to say that the wild days of Tiger Bay were ‘just before their time’ has the ring of truth. Certainly, in my experience, anyone who even referred to the area as ‘Tiger Bay’ could be viewed with some suspicion. The Docks, as Butetown was more generally known, certainly remained a distinctly separate part of the city and, if not quite ‘lurid’ certainly offered more alternative forms of entertainment than could be found north of the railway. Although the heart had been torn from it and the shops and cafes of Bute Street replaced with what Nairn described as “a council estate of well- intentioned but implacable aridity” there remained sufficient pockets of misbehaviour to attract those in relentless pursuit of the elusive good time until the 1980’s ( see http://rhcroydon.blogspot.co.uk/2013/08/and-now-its-deja-bayview-again.html )

In the 1980’s a new wave of even more comprehensive redevelopment, by then called ‘regeneration’, was undertaken and history repeated itself with another attempt to physically connect the city centre with the waterfront 150 years after Lord Bute’s initial development. The result is what, in his footnote to Nairn’s essay, Owen Hathersley dismisses as “… a ‘boulevard’ of shocking banality” slicing the dispiritingly cheap and tacky restaurants and miserable flats from the council estate of Bute Town. A fuller and no less damning appraisal of what is now called Lloyd George Avenue is offered by Professor John Punter who outlines the original design aspirations for that project (Punter 2006). The intentions of the promoters of this later development were, perhaps, even more expressly symbolic than those of the Second Marquess of Bute. Originally referred to as ‘The Mall’ and with clearly stated aspirations that it would provide a form of ceremonial route the promotion was accompanied by much rhetoric. Also, to echo the earlier theme of imported design raised by Nairn, the promoters sought to purchase the cultural capital represented by the international reputation of David Mackay of MBM and thereby their association with the Olympic Village at Barcelona. It was clearly intended to be something more than a wider than average residential thoroughfare but it failed to achieve that.  What now exists bears very little resemblance to the design purchased from David Mackay and the reasons for this are more complex than may be outlined here. What can be said simply is that the original design was not executed as intended and  the reason for the failure of Lloyd George Avenue does not lay in the observation made in 1951 by Sir Hugh Casson that the British do not like rhetoric in their buildings and that there are surprisingly few ceremonial avenues in our cities (Brunius and Harvey 1952). Cardiff is an exception in that respect. The intended dimension of Lloyd George Avenue were those of King Edward VII Avenue in Cardiff’s civic centre at Cathays Park which Nairn describes as “..the one piece of planning for which Cardiff is famous – and by which local worthies convince themselves that the face of the city is perfect….”. He is largely dismissive of all but the City Hall and states that “..the other buildings form a stone zoo, one weary neo-Classical hulk after another, lumped down on a regular grid. No shops, wide pavements, parked cars, everything at one removed from life.”

In many respects Nairn is correct in that Cathays Park is something of an aberration, a capacious compound dominated by imported Edwardian architectural styles. That is, however, what makes it unique as were the circumstances which brought it into being and conserved its purely civic function. The construction of a civic centre in that form was made possible by its retention in the single ownership of the Bute family and its sale to the city in 1898. At the insistence of the Third Marquess of Bute the form of permitted development was widely spaced buildings and avenues and the use of the park was restricted to civic, educational and cultural functions, any commercial activity being expressly prohibited. This has had significant consequences for the city to the present day which are outside the scope of these notes. Here it is only noted that the availability of nearly 60 acres in the heart of the town of over 150,000 people at the end of the 19^th century presented a unique opportunity at a time when the exportation of coal through the port of Cardiff was reaching the peak of its growth and prosperity. The procurement of Cathays Park by the Corporation marked the ascendancy of civic society although, as already noted, the influence and patronage of the Bute estate remained a persistent factor not least in the establishment of those institutions which consolidated Cardiff’s position as the dominant urban centre in Wales.

The antithesis of Nairn’s essay is that written by Dewi Prys Thomas in praise of the architect of the main University College Building (now Cardiff University) of 1909 (Thomas 1983). The latter evokes his personal memories of seeing Cathays Park for the first time in 1934 when those original Edwardian buildings stood in relative isolation in what he describes as being comparatively open parkland.

“A vast urban space stretched before me towards distant domed buildings. They were white. Unreal to my northern eyes, they shimmered in the glow of late summer. No Welsh Office impeded a prospect which, I felt sure, could not be bettered by the Tuilleries Gardens. And the broad avenue flanked by venerable elms, at its far end a magnificent white campanile, must shame even the Champs Elysees.”

Much infill had taken place by the time of Nairn’s visit and has taken place since. Furthermore his remarks in 1967 on the increased number of cars parked in the area since 1964 are apposite in that the avenues and the spaces between buildings are now largely filled with parked cars during the day. It remains, however, possible to stand in Alexandra Gardens at the centre of the park (where the unbroken ranks of vehicles are screened by hedges) and imagine that sense of space and of large, white buildings set amongst trees appreciated by Dewi Prys Thomas. Thomas is very much more appreciative of the individual buildings and a point which may be made in passing here is that he was a gifted architectural teacher and practitioner who perhaps displayed the talents that Nairn sought in a regional architect. His design of the headquarters of Gwynedd County Council at Caernarfon attests his skill and, moreover, both the humour and humanity that Nairn attributes to the Welsh. On the matter of urbanism it is also interesting that Thomas helped Alwyn Lloyd and Herbert Jackson in the development of the South Wales Outline Plan of 1949 (Lloyd and Jackson 1949). This also takes a very different view of Cathays Park to that expressed by Nairn and makes particular reference to the expanses of parkland in Central Cardiff, again a direct legacy of aristocratic landownership through preceding centuries. This is specifically referred to as ‘beneficial’ through “.. the incidence of what we should now describe as ‘zoning’ in the structure of its plan……Consequently the centre of Cardiff and the chief streets disposed around the castle escaped the mixture of industry with business and residential streets that so often mars the centres of other cities.”

The negative effect of such ‘zoning’ has perhaps been touched upon earlier by reference to the consignment of the area south of the railway to low quality housing and industry and this is dealt with at some length by Daunton (1977). By Nairn’s account Cathays Park “sealed off the city from its northern suburbs” and, whilst there is a distinct physical separation it is questionable whether this is detrimental to the northern part of the city. The city centre has, with the constraints imposed by the river and railways, remained distinct and, even within that perimeter, has experienced significant decline, change, redevelopment and resurgence. In that respect Cathays Park cannot be said to have had an adverse impact on the commercial health or vitality of the retail and business core of the city. A factor which Nairn observed in 1967 which has had more noticeable impact is traffic which has been effectively removed from the retail core but, because of the restrictions imposed by the river and parkland, is now channelled between the Castle/ Cathays Park and the retail core or supplements the barrier of the main line railway between the city centre and Butetown by its diversion to the south.

A few more points may be made on issues relating to Cathays Park. In his footnote to Nairn’s essay Owen Hathersley is more forgiving of the individual buildings but encapsulates in his choice of words the essential character of the place. By referring to the “..  single –use, monolithic authoritarianism..” of the ensemble Hathersley, perhaps unintentionally, underlines that it has become the economic  location of choice for filmmakers wishing to recreate the Berlin of the Third Reich.  Notwithstanding the prohibition on commercial use of the park, its accessible and available collection of fine Speeriod property seem to find a ready market for such use. We are thus treated to the darkly amusing paradox of the Temple of Peace doubling as the Pentagon or Reich Chancellery.  In this respect alone it might, by association, be seen to represent “…an utterly alien model for urban improvement” as Nairn suggests. 

That is, of course, guilt by fictional association and it would be interesting to ponder on what Nairn would have made of a building which is the real deal, the former Welsh Office, now Welsh Government building built in the 1970’s. Designed by the one firm singled out by Nairn for praise, the Alex Gordon Partnership (see above) it could be said that its architectural influences are truly international. A forbidding example of Cold War architecture squatting above an underground command centre it is a defensible structure which shares many design features with Kensington Barracks. The Architects Journal called it ‘a symbol of closed inaccessible government’, conveying an impression of ‘bureaucracy under siege’ (Newman 2004). (Some may see this as the embodiment of form following function.)

That building has, since Nairn’s visits, been supplemented by another in Cardiff Bay which is referred to by Owen Hathersley in his footnote.  It must be noted that the debating chamber of the Welsh Assembly – The Senedd- also echoes that dominant theme of Nairn’s essay which is the provincial lack of confidence in the commissioning of architecture and the persistent practice of importing an ‘established brand’. In this respect the selection of the (Lord) Rogers Partnership looked, to some, suspiciously like a foregone conclusion. (One very distinguished academic presciently remarking some time before the competition that the winner would inevitably be one of ‘the Three Tenors of architecture’). It also calls to question the earlier quotation from Sir Hugh Casson that “the British do not like rhetoric in their buildings” as it swept in on waves of it. Several architectural writers question the validity of claims that architecture can accurately represent the forms of government of those who inhabit it (Sudjic and Jones 2001, Vale 2008, Meades 2012). In this case it is debateable that the Senedd building represents an ‘open and democratic’ form of regional government for, as Owen Hathersley notes, to enter it one must negotiate ‘airport style security’. A more cynical observer might look below the superficial superstructure and note that the occupants administer second-hand-me-down power crouched underground behind walls encircled by tank traps.

We return then to the Bute influence on the city and ‘the glorious absurdity’ of William Burges’ Victorian fantasias of Cardiff Castle and Castell Coch. Again we can say that this has little to do with Wales and the Welsh. These are, like Cathays Park, a complete aberration and of a very different architectural stripe. They are, as Nairn suggests, the work of a joker but it is questionable as to whether their location in Cardiff was in any way influential in the design. The Third Marquess of Bute was reputedly one of the richest men in the world at the time and could afford extremely elaborate follies pretty much anywhere. It may be the case, as Jonathan Meades mischievously suggests that “Between them Bute and Burgess suffered religious mania, opium addiction and tertiary syphilis- the trinity of afflictions that made high Victorian architecture glorious. It was religious mania that determined that the styles that were acceptable. But it was in laudanum and venereally founded madness that determined the manner of their interpretation” (Meades 2012 p195).

This may be more plausible than any association with the High Victorian Gothic ideals of Ruskin and Pugin and adherence to the architectural principles they espoused. The third Marquess of Bute rented Chiswick House, the very epitome of the Palladian style, as a London residence and, later, St Johns Lodge in John Nash’s Regents Park. Both represent forms of architecture directly opposite those idealised by the promoters of the Gothic Revival.

Nairn makes passing reference to the “implacable Victorian gables” of Cathedral Road but otherwise makes none to the suburbs north of the city centre which evidence the influence of Bute and Burges on the appearance of the city. Where his father, the Second Marquess, had failed to impose a lasting order on planned settlement, the Third Marquess had a far more enduring impact on its character. Nairn states that the development along the eastern side of Cathays Park did not redress the balance of the architecture and there is indeed something of a disjoint. However the architecture of Park Place and Cathedral Road largely pre-dated the construction of Cathays Park and should be considered in the context of the Castle. It is necessary to see those buildings flanking what were then the castle grounds, now Cathays Park and Sophia Gardens. From the southern end of both Park Place and Cathedral Road one can still discern a hierarchy of later Victorian architecture, the grander buildings taking their cue from Burges’ Park House. 

As with the later Georgian form favoured in the time of the Second Marquess this may again be seen to be an alien or imported style. The larger and earliest of these buildings have a vaguely ‘Scottish’ character but this moves to something which has been called ‘Cardiff Gothic’ and the dominant features are those gables, bay windows, trefoil arches and other devices which one may associate with that (Edwards 2005 A, Edwards 2005 B). This evolves further and, through the imposition of a form of design coding by the Bute (and other major aristocratic estates to east and west) a uniformity of style and materials. These are, particularly on the Bute estate lands, imposed on a form of estate development which itself follows the hierarchy of earlier Georgian estate development based upon squares, gardens, avenues and streets. The larger houses incorporate all the features and the smaller less.

This then reached its apex in the prosperous Edwardian suburbs when Cardiff was at its peak of commercial prosperity relatively (Long 1993). There is still a remarkable degree of architectural cohesion in areas such as Roath Park and Penylan with fine variations in the detail between groups of houses but overall feeling of unity in materials and general style. As to whether this is a good thing is largely subjective. What may be noted here is that the character of Victorian and Edwardian Cardiff was dictated by the estate development policy of those landed estates, principally those of the Butes. Unlike other industrial cities there was little opportunity for individual architectural expression of the late Victorian and Edwardian nouveau riche. We then refer back, in conclusion, to Nairn’s observations on regional architectural identity with the suggestion that architectural patronage was constrained from the outset in an area which has been fruitful for innovation and development of individual style- the Commissioned House. 

Overall this may be offset by the amenity level afforded through the extensive parkland and smaller public spaces created through such estate development policy. As regards the beneficial aspects of such development the self-interest of the aristocratic land owners need not automatically be prefixed with the word ‘enlightened’. As Daunton (1977) explains there was an underlying commercial rationale in the creation of such amenity and Cardiff is exceptional largely by having one dominant landowner who inspired its development from the 1830’s and a few others who followed suit in its Victorian and Edwardian suburban development. Nairn very accurately reads the eventual impact and outcome of that regime in his visits to the city in the 1960’s and, as hopefully outlined, many of his observations remain relevant to this day. It is in this respect that greater familiarity with the subject matter of his writing on the built environment provides even greater appreciation of its quality and his perspicacity.

References

Brunius, J. B. and M. Harvey (1952). Brief City. London.

              

Daunton, M. J. (1977). Coal Metropolis Cardiff 1870-1914. Leicester, Leicester University press.

              

Davies, J. (1981). Cardiff and the Marquesses of Bute. Wales, University of Wales Press.

              

Davies, J. (1982). Aristocratic town-makers and the coal metropolis : the marquesses of Bute and the growth of Cardiff 1776-1947. Patricians, Power and Politics in 19thC Towns D. Carradine. Leicester, Leicester University Press: 18-67.

              

Davies, J. (2009). The Making of Wales, The History Press.

              

Edwards, J. (2005 A). Burges- Influence over the Victorian terraced house. Cardiff, Cardiff City Council.

              

Edwards, J. (2005 B). External Treatment to Vistorian housing. Cardiff, Cardiff City Council.

              

Lloyd, T. A. and H. Jackson (1949). South Wales Outline Plan. M. o. T. a. C. Planning. London, HMSO.

              

Long, H. C. (1993). The Edwardian house : the middle-class home in Britain 1880-1914

Manchester, Manchester University Press.

              

Meades, J. (2012). Museum Without Walls. London, Unbound.

              

Nairn, I. (1955). Outrage. London, The Architectural Press.

              

Newman, J. (2004). The Buildings of Wales: Glamorgan. London, Yale University Press.

              

Punter, J. (2006). Cardiff Bay: An example of design led regeneration. Capital Cardiff 1975-2020. A. Hooper and J. Punter. Wales, University of Wales Press.

              

Sudjic, D. and H. Jones (2001). Architecture and Democracy. London, Laurence King.

              

Thomas, D.-P. (1983). A Quiet Dignity... William Caroe and the visual presence. Fountains of Praise - University College, cardiff 1883-1983. M. Jones and M. Quinn. Cardiff, University College cardiff Press.

              

Vale, L. (2008). Architecture,Power and National Identity. London, Routledge.

              

GOODBYE JUMBO....

It's official! White Elephants are not a protected species in Wales.

The Minister for State Enlightenment, John Griffiths, today said that he did not propose to give the BBC Building at Llandaff listed status as it had no special historic or architectural interest.

Cadw had recommended listing the complex as "an exemplary modernist building" which had been sensitively designed by one of the leading Welsh architects of his generation, Dale Owen.

This was supported by the Royal Society of Architects in Wales and the Twentieth Century Society. The senior conservation officer of the latter stated that, in their view, these buildings should be listed and celebrated as a key part of Wales' cultural and architectural heritage.

The estate agents acting for the BBC commissioned no less an authority than Frank Lloyd George, Welsh National Architect, to write a rebuttal of such claims. In his opinion the building was certainly nowhere nearly as good as his work, should be razed to the ground and the land sold for an exciting new development for which he might make his services available as architect at a suitable fee.  Nice try Frankie!- but a fundamentally flawed attempt at self advancement. The best he can expect is a short series on Welsh architecture for BBC Wales and a couple of points towards the much desired appearance in the Honours List.

The deficiency in our National Architects reasoning is that, in stating his decision, The Minister took the view that Dale Owen was largely unknown outside Wales.  Welsh architects will not of course become known outside Wales if a) they persist in trying to find work solely within Wales and b) the Minster of State Enlightenment allows the best of their work to be demolished to make way for executive housing and yet another foodstore. 

What will be certain is that what replaces the existing structure will be worse.

And one must wonder how the reputation of Welsh architects is advanced when one of its more prominent practitioners is prepared to sell his birthright for a mess of cottages.

It is not unexpected that the Welsh Government should roll over and put its paws in the air as far as broadcasters are concerned as they are currently mesmerised by the promise of flourishing media industries sprouting up all over the province. 

"Minster announces X00000 new jobs in creative industries, takes it up the arse from Sherlock and Dr Who and ends up in Casualty*....

 Now over to Derek for the weather....."

That is about as much as the majority will want to know. As long as the BBC keep churning out programmes about baking Bread and filming Circuses and every Twm, Dic and Harri can afford a round in the Cameo Club all will be right with the world in Wales.

"And each day, in some small way, it becomes a place of lesser beauty."

The argument about preserving our 'cultural heritage' was always going to be pretty tenuous. Another work by the same architect rather ironically forms part of the Museum of Welsh Life . It is, to paraphrase Dylan Thomas perhaps  "a museum that belongs in a museum". 

I would imagine the clocks from the Cardiff Coal Exchange are already being packed ready for dispatch to St Fagans ahead of the de-listing and demolition of that part of our cultural heritage.

* Note. - The BBC have the only hospital that actually works properly in Wales. 

JUST LIKE LITTLE DOGS

I found this week’s press coverage* of people defecating in the streets of Swansea, and the subsequent discussion of it via social media, depressing for a number of reasons. The first is that there may be mass defecation in the streets, or more to the point, that the manner in which it is reported, amplified and broadcasted suggests that there is. Either way, it is a salutary lesson that satire has limitations as a medium of expression. It demonstrates that those of us who aspire to stimulate debate by exaggeration to make a point may be rapidly overtaken and surpassed by real events. In writing Under Plywood in early 2012 I sought to transpose Dylan Thomas’ characters to the present day and a climate of cultural degeneration. The purpose, as outlined in an earlier blog, was not to satirise Dylan Thomas but to use the characters and devices which he deployed to such great effect in what, I believe, was his masterpiece of social satire.  Under Plywood is therefore deliberately parodic with the intention that there be a clear and unambiguous link to the original work and, hopefully, assist in recognition that the latter was written by Thomas as a social satire and not a piece of sentimental whimsy produced for the benefit of the marketeers and cultural entrepreneurs who have now annexed it for their personal or corporate advancement.  Under Plywood has been described as ‘scathing’ and ‘caustic’ by reviewers and it was entirely intentional that it be so. Most of the behaviour in it may be fairly described as extremely unpleasant but at no point did it occur to me to go so far as to suggest that any of the characters were given to shitting in the street.

This then takes us to another problem with satire and that it is, by its nature, a parasitic medium. It is entirely dependent upon the host upon which it feeds. In this instance it is focussed on something which is noxious and it draws upon the poisonous body which, in this case, is contemporary culture. It may serve some purpose in drawing attention to the diseased body, like some ulcerating sore or canker, but is inextricably attached to the degrading body that it is feeding off. The latter part of Under Plywood is more specifically concerned with the urban environment and pursuing this line of reasoning is perhaps even more depressing. Wittgenstein made the observation that; “Architecture immortalises and glorifies something. Hence there can be no architecture where there is nothing to glorify.” 
In Under Plywood there may have been an instinctive rather than deliberate assertion of the belief that the manifested content of architecture lies fundamentally beyond architecture itself: that it is an expression of the hidden qualities and aspirations of society. The conclusion, perhaps more explicitly stated, is that the disappearance of quality from architecture may be caused by the loss of the spiritual or ideal dimension from a civilization. It is suggested in turn that the loss of the ideal image contributes to, or may even lead to, the decay of culture.

Such decay is a central recurring theme in Under Plywood, as is the contributory role of contemporary media. However, this can hardly be said to be a contemporary issue. Victor Hugo predicted that architecture would lose to a new media its status as the most significant cultural message. His conclusion was that it would be supplanted by the immediate, momentary and disposable. Victor Hugo’s prognosis was chillingly accurate in that ideologies, beliefs and styles have been commodified in the consumer society and architecture has been relegated to a clumsy medium for the public consumption. It was noted by Juhani Pallasma in the mid 1980’s that;

“The fundamental message of architecture speaks of integration and permanence, clearly in contradiction with strategies of consumer ideology based on momentariness, alienation and fragmentation.”

This was an implied rather than explicit theme within Under Plywood – the preoccupation of much contemporary architecture with commercially orientated image. The immediacy of an initial impact has become a priority in attracting the attention of citizens already overloaded with information in a materially abundant society. This is manifested in the disposable architecture most directly concerned with a consumer society itself – the scenographic facades and interior fittings of shops, leisure and tourism being an expression of the acceleration of architectural consumption. These are disposable environments employing ephemeral fashions. Their rejection may be as immediate as their provision, allowing a new cycle of consumption to replace the last. This is not- to use the branded name of another bandwagon- a sustainable practice.

We return then to the parasitic nature of satire and the inevitable way that it may display or reflect many of the characteristics of that which it is intended to attack. In this case we may see a curious bi modal symmetry in the dramatization of the language of architecture in an attempt to regain its status. The architectural fashion of post-modernism, for example, may itself be seen to make a cynically calculated use of humour, parody, irony, and satire. Thereby value and signification lose their central place in human consciousness to mere image, novelty, and consumption. Finally it may be added that, as the impact of image replaces sensory experience and quality, any image that has power can be exploited: images of decadence and decay are strikingly popular today. However this blog will hopefully confirm where a line has been drawn and that future performances of Under Plywood are unlikely to feature images of people shitting in the streets of our Almost City of Culture.

But, despite the fundamental problems of satire outlined above, it remains one of the few effective weapons of the weak and  - with apologies to those who have waded through the foregoing rant - I will end with a philosophical quote from Georg Henrik von Wright who succeeded Wittgenstein at Cambridge in 1947. He stated that;
 “…as the basis of value in civilization weakens and turns false, the philosopher’s task will be – in accordance with Nietzche – to ‘philosophise with a hammer’. The philosopher must preach a kind of anarchism as a condition for a new, sane society.”     

* http://www.southwales-eveningpost.co.uk/Woman-snapped-apparently-urinating-public-Swansea/story-20105300-detail/story.html#ixzz2lChH8dtE

Frank Lloyd George knew my father and my father knew......

What is Welsh Architecture? In Wales: Churches, Houses, Castles Simon Jenkins asserted that it is ‘buildings in Wales’. It is a claim which is difficult to contest and may be reinforced by his sequel, Wales: Chapels, Empty Shops and Rugby Grounds. The greatest of our castles and monasteries may be said to be French and our capital was built by the Irish for a Scot. Only the houses of the rural peasantry, the vernacular architecture of poverty, might be said to be truly Welsh. The notable exceptions to the rule that our public buildings plagiarize European precedents in their bastardized provincial Victorian and Edwardian interpretation of the Classical and Baroque ‘styles’ will be discussed below.

Driving in from Penarth on a nice sunny other day I chanced to glance across the sparkling azure waters of Cardiff Bay and marvelled at our achievement. From a distance, on such a day, our capital could be taken for Benidorm. In a chance conversation with a visiting academic from The University of Great Leighton, Treforest Branch (open late and weekends for takeaway degrees) he said that he had travelled down by train to the meeting at the proper university in Cardiff. “I think it’s marvellous what this university is doing for Cardiff” he said. “It’s like coming in to Reading now.” And in the shopping centre named after our patron saint you could be anywhere and everywhere. Global brands and local bland.

All that is good about the place in terms of a distinct character was largely built before we were born. All that is good about the place is slowly going.

Who will make the difference and start adding to places that truly inspire or revitalize a general sense of civic pride? Who can design and build a place which will truly instil such a sense? Who are the Percy Thomas’s, Dale Owen’s and Alex Gordon’s of our day? These were chaps who could knock up a building of distinction without tracing it from the previous months edition of the Architects Journal or downloading the latest architectural icon from the internet and getting a cheapo version flung together by a local contractor*.

Who may or may not qualify for the definition of Welsh Architect? Under the rules of International Rugby Union Football Frank Lloyd Wright would. We have exported several, most recently John Belle, the Welshman responsible for the restoration of many of New York's most famous landmarks including the National Museum of Immigration on Ellis Island, (coincidentally named after a Welshman who once owned it). He made the curious statement that "New York has become one wonderful big community ... unconsciously I may have found a place that is like home without realising it."

I am not sure whether he was referring to Wales as ‘home’. If so then he may simply be parroting that clichéd national sentiment which we call hiraeth. In my experience our adoration of the homeland is usually noisily expressed in a bar which is as distantly removed from it as possible. This hiraeth seems to chiefly involve getting maudlin about Wales in a place as cosmopolitan as Noo Yoik or singing about it where rugby is played in the sun. As to the former, the template was developed and patented by Dylan Thomas and rigorously followed by our performing artists ever since. Laugharne to London, Mumbles to Malibu, Holyhead to Hollywood.

Getting back to architecture I recently ordered a biography of John Nash from Jersey Marine’s principal antiquarian bookseller, Messrs A. M. Azon on the strength of their synopsis which suggested that Nash may have been born in Neath. It proved to be as accurate a claim as ‘next day delivery’ but he did have relatives there as it happens. An interesting bit of scuttlebutt which does not appear in other biographies is that he packed his first wife off to Aberavon from London and, by implication, then encouraged an acquaintance to service her to facilitate the divorce that he wished to effect. This is possibly the only recorded instance of some chap having to be induced to seduce in the Neath and Port Talbot district. It does establish that he shared with his principal patron, The Prince Regent and his current successor a rather cavalier attitude to first wives. He also built a lot of rather nice houses in Wales, the one at Rheola being one of the more pronounceable and accessible from our only motorway.

Another famous contributor to our pantheon of Welsh architects was the Northamptonshire born Clough Williams-Ellis. Three names and two houses is definitely thoroughbred crachach and the splendidly patrician and patronising Clough is most definitely a role model for the aspirant National Architect of Wales. Here is a chap who started from nothing. As he tells it himself in one of his several autobiographies there were times in his early career when he did not have the cost of a hansom cab to return home from a ball. But he pulled himself up by his bootstraps – or would have if he hadn’t been wearing spats at the time – and elected himself an architect. Portmeirion is perhaps his best known work, one that delves deep into Welsh history and stands as an elegant reminder that, before we were French, we were run by Italians for four hundred years.

That may well be the nub of the matter. There is no such thing as ‘Welsh Architecture’; perhaps there never has been and never will be. That may be a good thing as architecture as a self-conscious expression of regional cultural identity has often been suspect. However well meant or well executed it is, at best, contrived and at worst a manifestation of the Volkisch mentality that fuels rabid nationalism. We already have plenty of that and need not encourage its representation as The Word in Stone – or whatever that is in Welsh.

What we need are more buildings and places which are Original and Good and widely recognised as such. Structures which are not procured from the itinerant band of starchitects who roam the planet tossing up gimcrack ‘Iconic Buildings’ but emerge from a genuine understanding of place and are recognised as unique. Buildings which, when seen anywhere, are recognisable as being located in Wales…..

And are preferably not castles, chapels, etc etc etc……

• Note. This is a regrettable oxymoron. ‘Local’ contractors with any significant capability are now the wholly owned subsidiaries of French multi-national companies.

BROKEDOWN PALACE

"New ideas need old buildings" Jane Jacobs

The last blog about all the good places being gone took me to the box which had the picture of Ye Olde Pilot Inn, Tiger Bay, Cardiff. In it there was also this picture of The Ritz Ballroom, Skewen. Without stating the blindingly obvious this was taken before The Ritz was demolished to create a car park for the adjoining railway station. I do not remember taking the picture. There is an estate agents board on the building - I may even have contemplated buying it for sentimental reasons. It was originally a cinema but in the 60's fell to bingomania then became a 'club' and dancehall. A significant percentage of that part of my youth which was mis-spent but could not truly be said to have been wasted was spent there. It was the sort of place your parents warned you about.  In the mod phase you could down half a flagon of cider, take the bottle back for the deposit, go to the Ritz, snog on the dancefloor - or get your head kicked in- or be lucky enough to find yourself in the seats of the surviving balcony locked in exploratory fumblings with a companion of your choice, get chips on the way home and still have change from half a crown.
Cue the music from the Hovis commercial played by The Who and you get the idea.
The Who played there, and the Small Faces, The Moody Blues, Wayne Fontana, Manfred Mann (probably), Dave Edmunds in Love Sculpture and more local heroes - The Eyes of Blue, The Bystanders, Quicksand, Dream, The Iveys. It had a particular acoustic quality which, in the late 60's, made you forget you were only pretending to have taken some exotic recreational compound, man. You had to really pretend. The smell from the toilets would have snapped someone out of a heroin overdose.
It was a time of open experimentation in contemporary music, when anything went. Sometimes it went straight to hell but most of the time most of the bands seemed to have something new and original to say. And they had the opportunity to say it and play it. By that time there was a live band playing somewhere around Swansea Bay every night except, for some strange reason on a Wednesday. That was why it was wise to save most of the exotic recreational compounds until Wednesday. Otherwise it was Skewen Rugby Club on a Thursday where Thin Lizzy were once laughed off the stage. The Patti Pavilion on Friday which for a long period seemed to be dominated by the United Artists roster of British psychedelic and long forgotten prog rock bands. Then the Ritz on Saturday. Sundays, Mondays and Tuesdays there was a band playing somewhere between Bridgend (Klee Klub) and Llanelli (The Glen Ballroom). I saw bands play in the social clubs of a Clock Factory in Ystradgynlais, a Cardboard Box Factory in Melyncryddan and Pink Floyd in the sports hall of the Afan Lido in Port Talbot. 
Of the above only Skewen Rugby Club survives. Others have come and gone, some pubs and clubs still offer the opportunity for fledgling bands to build a following in front of people not a computer screen. I, for one, am glad I was born when and where I was and I could walk from my house to a place where The Who were playing.
The Council should put up a plaque.

AND NOW IT'S DEJA BAYVIEW AGAIN.................

At lunch in Cardiff Bay last week a good friend asked me why the place didn't seem to work. It appeared to be an oxymoronic question - we had, after all, taken the trouble to drive there, find a place to park, search around to find a parking meter that actually functioned then walk through the pouring rain to sit in a chain restaurant in Mermaid Quay. Ergo, it must have some attraction I sought to reason. Or perhaps we simply go on believing that the Bay has something to offer, that we accede to the blind faith demanded by the regenerators and marketeers. Constantly telling ourselves that what is there is better than that which it replaced does not make what is there good. 
Or perhaps in my case there is simply a lingering attachment to the Bay, nostalgia in the precise meaning of the word; " a sentimentality for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations".
I have fond memories of the Bay, a sense of affection for what it was. One of the reasons suggested by my friend as to why ' Cardiff Bay doesn't work' was that it still feels separated from the City. By my recollection that was precisely what made it attractive in my early teens. There was a very distinct separation, a sense of excitement down The Docks (or in Tiger Bay if you must) in a time when Cardiff really was a dreary, dull and dusty provincial town. Going under the railway bridge into Bute Street from Hayes Bridge Road was like going through the tunnel into Toontown in 'Who Killed Roger Rabbit'. Crossing the river from Grangetown on the old girdered Clarence Road Bridge had a sense of ceremony. 
Tubby Alexander's bike shop on James Street was a place of wonder, a tottering pile of crumbling masonry that looked as if it would burst and spill forth an avalanche of ancient  bicycle bits. There was a seamans outfitter who sold Levi's when they were still rarer than hen's teeth, the holy grail of the discerning mod. There were women who reputedly did unspeakable things for ten shillings but no one I knew had the courage or the cash to establish what those things were. They may have been the fat ladies with scars who took their clothes off at lunchtime in the New Haven or other clubs at lunchtimes.
Then later on there was the back room of the New Dock, well after closing time with the pile of policemen's helmets at the end of the bar as the afternoon shift from Butetown nick wound down. Packed to the rafters at 11.30 on a Saturday night then on to the Casablanca. There was one great warm summers night outside the Quebec, Vic Parker playing inside, when I thought 'this is how I imagined life would be'.The late Jed Williams, godfather of jazz in Wales, once told me it was the ultimate quest, to see a great band in a great venue. That was a privilege that one had to recognise and seize upon. Jed did that for us, got great players on the way up and great players on the way back down and put them on at Brecon and the Four Bars and, above all, The Coal Exchange. I walked past the shattered hulk of the Coal Exchange after lunch last week. That was possibly the best venue ever and I recognise what a privilege it was to see the bands that Jed, Mike Johnson, Alan Jones and others put on there. 
Even in relatively modern times it was worth the trip. Good people played at The Point until it was shut due to complaints about noise from the nimby scum moving into the 'luxury' apartments. Anywhere that you can see Richard Thompson or the surviving remains of Jefferson Airplane play should take precedence over the aural comfort of residents for an hour or so a week. Great bands beaten by the bland.
Then there was Buff's on a Friday lunchtime, with Harry Holland holding court in the corner and sometimes a dozen more artists and artisans arguing the toss long into the afternoon. Afternoons when, again, I would reflect that this is what I imagined life would be like, when Bohemia was a bus ride away. 

All of this is now gone. What we now have is a place which is corporate not cool. It could be anywhere and feels increasingly like nowhere.  What we now have in extensive areas of The Bay is public space with no public. Callaghan Square, for example, has the singular distinction of being, simultaneously, a square which is not square and a traffic roundabout which is not round. It is the largest and best appointed traffic island in Wales suitable only for skateboarding and sinister loitering. It was perhaps a deliberate insult to the second marquess of Bute that his statue was relocated to the 'square' which was to have borne his name. He gazes over the travesty that replaced his vision of a broad avenue and Georgian Squares. Admittedly that vision went to shit quicktime even then but at least he had it. The statue should be replaced by a monument to Jim Callaghan- a pile of uncollected rubbish or perhaps a seasonal snowman to immortalise the man who gave us the winter of discontent.
Lloyd George Avenue, which was originally intended to be the great avenue that connected the city centre with the waterfront ended up more aimless than Ramblas, our very own Chumps Elysees. There are plans to give the avenue another going over and those responsible could do no worse than look at the plans of the second Marquess of Bute and give it another go. However, it is doubtful that the Bay can ever again be what it was. The domination of gated apartment blocks make it very unlikely that a proper sense of community can prosper in such a place. That many of these have been sold to speculators and buy-to-let chancers means that neither owner nor occupier will become proper stakeholders in the place. It may remain no more than a transit camp for yuppies indefinitely. The Whine Bars and boozeramas of Mermaid Quay or occasional funfairs in the old West Dock basin do not a place make.
So its back to Pontcanna for lunch next time...............

THE HOUSE FOR THE FUTURE IS CLOSED FOR RENOVATION

Having recently visited the Museum of French Architecture at the Trocadero, Paris, the notion of having such a place in Wales was revived. We can, as always, learn something from the French. When you leave any of the major Paris museums you do not have to ask the question "Do the French have a word for chauvinism?". The Trocadero does not disappoint in this respect. Whilst the exhibits stop short of claiming that the Abbe Suger single handedly built the Basilica of St Denis using only French culinary implements they do not tire of reminding the visitor that before the term "Gothic" came into common use, it was known as the "French Style" . The principles of Opus Francigenum are applied to architecture as they are to other areas of culture. The history of architecture is given a resolutely French perspective; any inconvenient gaps being gracefully spanned and highlights breezily annexed. Just as their most famous local artist, Picasso, is celebrated in the Marais, Le Corbusier is given pride of place at the Trocadero. (The latter may in fact have better credentials as a Frenchman than the former. He at least made the effort to collaborate with the Vichy government). I cannot swear I saw a drawing labelled Franc Le Wright or a specific claim that Monsieur Lord Rogers had only ever built in Paris and Bordeaux but, hopefully, you get the general tone of the exhibition.
My proposition is that we could learn from this in setting out the history of architecture and urbanism in Wales by application of the reverse principle. For example, a hypothesis may be constructed on the fact that, under the Normans and Plantagenets, Wales was French. Ergo, the best of our castles are French, the remains of our great abbeys are French. We are not, as has been claimed 'Italians in the rain' but Fortified by the French. From this we might lay claim to some percentage of the overweening  self-regard of the average Parisian. This may appear to be an oxymoron as few, if any, Parisians would considered themselves average but therein lies the point. Civic pride is pathological, the city is celebrated, the concept of patrimonie ingrained. We need to get a bit of that in Wales. 
The most obvious place to do this is at the Museum of Welsh Life in St Fagans. Established by the great Iorwerth Peate in 1948 it offers an outstanding collection of Welsh buildings but does not, in its present form, tell the whole story. As part of a  £24m revamp of the main museum building, two new gallery/ exhibition buildings will be constructed and it is unclear what will be in them. Some may share my nervousness that the success of St Fagans as 'Wales' most popular heritage attraction' may be driving such investment and the agenda is about increasing its capacity as a wet weather visitor centre with capacity for weddings and conferences. Those who have heeded Banksy's exhortation to 'Leave Via The Gift Shop' may already be left wondering whether Wales has something more to offer than lovespoons and laverbread. Overall there is the feeling that a central part of our story, that of human settlement and building, is somehow being slowly subsumed, that entertainment takes increasing precedence over education. Such priorities may very well be an economic necessity essential to the well being of the National Museums and Galleries of Wales who, like all public amenities and services, face constraints and cuts at every turn. However, to see St Fagans fall to the curse of the Heritage Theme Park would be a very sad day for those who value the built environment and its history in Wales. On a grey day in the school holidays it is already appearing to be the premier suburb of Llandisney. 
If, as appears to be the case, we are faced with a relentless inevitability of dumbing down of our museums as we are in other walks of life, then it might be suggested that the new facilities be supplemented by an additional area which does tell the whole story of architecture and the built environment in Wales - one which educates, informs and entertains the visitor with that story. One which serves to foster and develop a greater degree of pride of place, that much vaunted sense of belonging - hiraeth - which is seemingly evidenced largely in foreign bars in the course of an international season. The construction industry and professions should see that supporting such a proposal would amount to no more than enlightened self-interest. The worst that could possibly happen is that their client and customer base becomes better educated and come to demand better places. This may have partially informed the House For The Future project at St Fagans some years ago, a worthy effort but, unfortunately, nothing dates faster than the future. It is clearly in the right place, having already become a museum piece. There is nothing remarkable about this.  In 1544 Yr Garreg Fawr was The House of The Future. 
Museums have to keep re- telling the story.