Earth Island Books – 8th December 2023
Christopher Nosnibor
When it comes to what has become the divisive issue of wokeness, I’m absolutely with Kathy Burke all the way: “They’re calling you ‘woke’ if you call out bad things, basically. If you’re not racist, you’re woke. If you’re not homophobic, oh, you’re woke. Be woke, kids. Be woke. Be wide awake and fucking call it out.” She tells it straight. Ironically, many of those who position themselves as anti-woke will claim that they’re the ones telling it like it is, instead of pandering to pussies.
As many sources will inform, the term “woke” originally comes from African-American culture, meaning being alert to racial prejudice.
So, just as Trump says that ‘antifa’ are the enemy – and to unpack that, antifa is anti-fascism, so to be opposed to antifa is to align oneself as pro-fa, or a fascist, to use ‘woke’ – a position critical of racism, sexism, homophobia – as a pejorative, is to essentially state that you’re a racist, sexist homophobe. As such, there are reasons I feel somewhat uncomfortable with the pitch for James Christie’s memoir.
He is 100% “anti woke, anti snowflake and 100% anti f***ing politically correct” as he puts it (“Hell, if you can’t poke fun at yourself and then poke fun at the shit people that blight society, there’s no point in having fun at all”). It’s a biography. It’s a diary. It’s a music history lesson. It’s all three things wrapped up and more. Added with savage, sarcastic humour, this is the story of a former punk as told from a non-Caucasian alternative point of view, his time involved in London’s punk rock scene and abroad throughout the entire 1990’s and up to the early Noughties. How there was, despite the fun and laughs, a more sinister side which is never mentioned, along with the hypocrisy and the occasional violence that tagged along with it. No holds barred. Warts an’ all. It will shock. It will be disgusting. It will make you laugh and then it will leave you emotionally detached. WARNING – some material will be likely to offend.
Again, ironically, the biggest snowflakes tend to be the right-wing defenders of free speech who will defend free speech to the hilt until they don’t like the speech they’re hearing because it’s critical of their position, at which point they’ll take their ball and go home, like Lee Anderson abstaining from voting on the Rwanda bill because he heard some Labour MPs ‘sniggering’. For a tough-talker who reckons asylum seekers should fuck off back to France, he’s clearly not so tough when it comes to standing by his own principles.
I don’t truly believe that Christie is that anti-woke or anti-PC, given how his book regales us with countless instances of casual – and not so casual – racism, having been born in South London in 1969, raised by a mum and dad who’d both met there in the early 60’s, and ‘says, when some twat asks him “Where do you really come from?” or even “Where do your parents come from?” his answer is still London.’ James’ book is an account of the strife, trials, and tribulations of being a black, British-born adherent to a predominantly white scene, and it’s harrowing at times, to read of the abuse he’s endured over the years. It’s also – and this is where his strength of character shines through – remarkable to observe his strength in saying ‘fuck you’ to all the twats and placing his love of the music above all that.
What we’re really looking at is a book that tells it like it is – not so much calling a spade a space, but calling a cunt a cunt. And there are plenty of them around. In chronicling a long and challenging battle against racism – being a part of a scene that’s supposed to be a broad church, inclusive, but evidently isn’t all that inclusive – this book is arguably the definition of woke. But Christie isn’t into that position.
I think it’s hard for anyone who hasn’t had to endure racism to fully appreciate just how prevalent it is, and how much it can impact the daily lives of those on the receiving end. I’m fortunate being a middle-class white guy living in an affluent part of an affluent and extremely white city, and for this reason, reading Dark Chronicles: Punk Rock Years did shock me, and frequently.
The Dark Chronicles has its moments, and I really did want to like and get behind this book. But I simply can’t get on board with its wrongheaded and frankly bizarre anti-woke agenda, and the trouble is that it comes to dominate the narrative to the point that many of the anecdotes are shifted to one side to make room for anti-woke ranting. It’s not so much an opportunity missed as a massive misfire.
Aural Aggravation 