The Western Gate

Clothes,Clothes,Clothes,Music,Music,Music,Boys,Boys,Boys
Viv Albertine
Faber & Faber

What possible reason Mr Dagenham Dave is there for an autobiography to be reviewed in a blog that is mostly all things esoteric, witchcraft and occult especially as ‘Viv Albertine’ doesn’t mention at all this wyrrd craft.
Firstly to empathise somewhat with the ancient quest of the divine feminine Viv Albertine’s journey is fraught with all the reasons the patriarchy needs demolishing and not because she strangles us with man hating banshee screaming demands, she doesn’t, she just tells us her life story, the good the bad and the ugly and we hate mankind as a result.
Secondly, it’s my blog and I’ll write what I like.

I should add, I will definitely digress in this review as I ramble on to no-one who wants to hear.
For a lesson in how to write ‘a magical diary’ I would consider this a perfect example, in between the would-be book of shadows silly entries of burning a red candle dripped in rose oil because you are so obsessed with some pathetic notion of a ‘soul mate’, of more value is the life experience, that moulds us and confirms or challenges and makes us realise the difference between intuition and prejudice.

There is an iconic picture of a group of women, renegades perhaps, and while most fawned over Debbie Harry (Blondie… well that was the name of the band but accepted she is always referred to as such) I found myself looking at Viv Albertine with a strange mixture of fascination and teenage ‘crush’, I don’t know why because The Slits were not really a band on my radar. I loved X-Ray Spex because Poly styrene was so normal looking, so anti- pop-star and passionate. I liked all the women and their music in the picture but was drawn to Viv Albertine, and what’s weird is, this gentlemen (spotty teenager at the time) didn’t prefer blondes, in fact I loved Red hair. Also, irony of ironies I assumed she was middle-class, and I am an inverted snob, though she has since commented how she found loving Kate Bush a betrayal because Kate was middle class, eh? so have I got that wrong? Viv Albertine came/raised from Muswell Hill area, for me, from Dagenham, that’s definitely middle class, but as I say I’m an inverted snob, an idiot. Even so, Blonde hair, middle class everything I would steer clear of as a formative bag of testosterone, what is it about her ?

She writes almost in bite sized pieces, like a song, or snapshot news articles, there’s no word salad or long drawn out yawn inducing memories.
I am vindicated in my intuition of what I ‘loved’ about Viv Albertine, she reveals how much she loves Yoko Ono, that pariah of everyone who believes their own and other peoples bollocks, she read Yoko’s book – Grapefruit, which I remember reading and absolutely loving the ideas, the messages and again another book of essential reading and influence for anyone writing their ‘magical book of shadows’, one sentence/idea can command a page far more than a long drawn out monologue delivered by a hand that sounds like a lonely frustrated vicar.
Viv never really learnt guitar or scales, ditto ! and didn’t care either developing her own signature on that fretboard. I have since been to a couple of guitar teachers (after 40 years of playing) and like Viv found the berating of being out of time and positioning of hands and other such nonsense limiting and destroying my own soul. You must do this ! So I deliberately don’t, even if it means I go the long way round, the weird walk, the crooked path.
Viv Albertine’s life is of course available for all to read in memoirs, Wikipedia, and such such but this book delivers a life story that is both relatable and, honest. Warts and all. There’s quite a few triggers and traumas,heartbreak and misery and what really shines is when she reaches epiphany, calls the creative urge, goes back into the studio, writes songs, gets another guitar, gets creative.
The Orphic path is probably not the right term, it is essential for everyone to indulge in something creative, music, song, art, making your own book of shadows by hand- bookbinding, fashion accessorising, writing journals, blogs, film, photography- how can these be consigned to old pastimes in favour of siting in front of the TV watching soap operas of people parodying life?
I was further vindicated in my ‘intuition’ that Viv Albertine was someone special when she released The Vermillion Border LP one of my favourite albums, yeah, I thought, I knew it.
I’d like to say the book is shocking, but growing up in London, we all relate to the stories, as bad as some of them are, and I found myself calling her oppressors “cunt” many a time reading.
They say you should never meet your idols, and I will never meet Viv Albertine, but the closest I can get is to read this, looking back at the photo that stopped me in my tracks and made me feel all warm inside, its perfect that she wasn’t some diva, out of reach, distant, but so close to home, even though Muswell Hill and Dagenham are worlds apart, though she now lives in Hackney, or Acne as we call it. And anyway, in a quirk of fate I’ve been in exile these last 15 years in W10, albeit in the dread Avenues and Alleyways so how can I be an inverted snob.
There were a few other females from my meandering wanking musings, and they all have failed me, by listening to their interviews or testimonies from people who met them and even a couple I actually met myself, curveballs or where the crooked path lies, those tracks which you think are really out of your way, in fact when the book is read it’s like being home.
I’m no psychologist or pencil tapper on my bottom teeth to be able to analyse and sum up Viv Albertine, I hope she’s still creating something, even if it’s painting eggshells, I would say, and apparently Wikipedia seems to aye, she is autistic, I ‘failed’ the autism test, no ! I demanded, I’m not autistic, just creative even if I’m not very good at all the things I do. Stupid tests. Stupid pigeonholes. She’s Viv Albertine.

Header Image: No idea why I’ve chosen Marie Antoinette by Elisabeth Louise Vigée Le Brun (1778) I guess because she just wanted fun, cake and fashion and society wanted her head for it. Cunts.