Tag Archives: bookshops

Which arts centre took its name from Buddhist philosophy?

 

This year marks the 40th anniversary of the setting up of the Third Eye Centre in Glasgow.

A multi-purpose centre of art gallery, performance space and bookshop within Alexander “Greek” Thomson’s imposing Grecian Chambers, it was a formative location in my artistic education during the 1980s. Its shop-front space without an overbearing staff presence meant that you felt you could call in on a whim and stroll around for ten minutes at a time without self-consciousness.

Its front bookshop was especially enticing, crammed with newspapers and magazines covering all aspects of the arts, culture and politics as well as a wide range of fiction and non-fiction. This old photo ignites nostalgia.

I must confess that my clearest recollections of visual art shows there are of a couple of crowd-pleasers, one of Peter Fluck and Roger Law’s puppets from Spitting Image, the other an exhibition of the new fashionable young Scottish painters like Steven Campbell and Adrian Wisniewski. But the online archive prompts recall of others from its eclectic history like Alexander “Greek” Thomson,  multi-media artist George Wylie, photographer Oscar Marzaroli and Glasgow pigeon lofts (yes!)

The music concert at the forefront of my memory is Richard and Linda Thompson, but Max Reinhardt on Late Junction has just prompted my recall of the wonderful acappella of the Mint Juleps one Mayfest.  I also remember the reading by Seamus Heaney which was preceded by traditional singer Ted Hickey, and a performance of another kind in the stand-up comedy of Simon Fanshawe and Jenny Eclair.

This was a golden age of touring theatre and the Third Eye was, alongside the Tron and the Mitchell theatres, an important Glasgow platform for small productions. While there were many I read about with interest and missed with regret, the only one I actually saw was a double bill of short Beckett plays by a tiny local company called the Great Western Theatre Company.

The Third Eye was a major partner in at least two Glasgow festivals of art and culture from Russia and eastern Europe as the continent redrew boundaries at the end of the 1980s. These events were successful artistically but not always financially, and this latter fact led to the closure of the venue around 1990 or 1991 – at the very time of the European City of Culture success towards which it had been such an important contributor.

When the building reopened a year or two later, its new name, the Centre of Contemporary Arts, sounded so plain, so half-hearted, that its future seemed unpromising. Yet, as it has turned out , the life of the CCA has been longer than that of the Third Eye Centre. Refurbishment included expansion into adjoining premises, arts events of varying kinds were presented and thrived. The spirit of the Third Eye Centre has lived on…plus it has an excellent cafe/restaurant  of the classic arts centre type with an arty name!

It was great to find further archive material from the web-site of the short-lived Glasgow Miracle Project.  More forthcoming from other sources one day, perhaps.

 

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Of music journalism, especially Steve Peacock

 

An often-repeated question : is the internet (or more specifically the world wide web) the modern equivalent of a great library, full of erudite learning on dozens of subjects? Or is it more akin to a newsagent, stacked with up-to-date titles, catering superficially for the narrowest of niche tastes? Or is it  perhaps a cavernous second-hand bookshop, reaching  all parts of the reading public, like the former railway station in Alnwick  or the several multi-roomed castles in Wigtown?

You can decide for yourself which category best suits articles from now defunct music publications.

Like many, especially male readers, I have spent a certain amount of time listening to various types of pop, rock, folk and jazz music and also reading newspapers and magazines associated with these. One music paper I bought regularly for a time in the 1970s was Sounds, and I can still recall the names of some of the journalists who wrote for it, and even to what extent their tastes accorded with my own.

One name which  I recall was Steve Peacock. Peacock appeared to have a taste in rock music which seemed particularly cool (since this adjective has continued in vogue unchanged in meaning into the 21st century, I can’t immediately think of a better one):  Van Morrison, Captain Beefheart, Little Feat, the jazz-influenced experimenters like Soft Machine, certain members of the folk-rock school like Fairport Convention and the Incredible String Band, reggae. He seemed to share many of the tastes of the late John Peel who was at that time a columnist and occasional singles reviewer with the paper.

In the later 70s, Peacock left Sounds along with a number of colleagues and joined another, short-lived, publication,  Streets Ahead, which appeared to cover other arts, current affairs and sport as well as popular music. After that, I never saw his by-line again.

Until thirty years after that, when the internet had arrived, and, one day, I came across the web-site of one Steve Peacock, a journalist and broadcaster who appeared to specialise in agricultural and countryside matters. The web-site suggested  that he had spent some youthful years in music journalism, so it did seem to be the same man. However, it appeared that, in contrast with some of his contemporaries who had continued their coverage of  popular music into the glossy magazine world of the 1980s and 1990s, or on radio or TV,  music had been only a temporary part of Peacock’s professional career.  For the subsequent  thirty years he ploughed (to use an obvious and lazy pun) an entirely different furrow.

Some of Peacock’s pieces on such  luminaries as King Crimson and Roxy Music feature elsewhere on the internet, but this story serves for me as a reminder that something that seems important and long-lasting when you are young, may become, if you are lucky enough to live longer, only one short adventure among many.

In the light of Peacock’s range of expertise, it is probably appropriate that one particular snippet of his music journalism which sticks in my mind has  a wider resonance. When Bad Company, whose members had enjoyed success with other bands,  released their first album in 1974,  Peacock felt that it was a bit predictable. “It is a manifesto, a policy statement,” he wrote, “and, like all such things, it tends to state the obvious and let the finer points slide.”  I thought then that it was a clever thing to say, and, ever since, it has seemed an observation which has remained very relevant and applicable to manifestos compiled by other people.

 

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