House of Terror Budapest: Review

60 Andrassy Avenue

The House of Terror is a grim yet fascinating witness to the victims of Budapest’s two terror regimes from the last century. Identifiable by its striking black borders, the very building that was once home to the perversions of ideological extremes is now a commemoration to its victims. Now in its tenth year since opening its doors to the public, the balance it strives for between memorial and museum makes for a conceptually flawed if beguiling experience.

As headquarters for the Arrow Cross Fascists and the Soviet AVO secret police that replaced them, 60 Andrassy Avenue bears a haunted past. Each room of the museum that now frequents the building has been conceived as a stylish installation, from a Soviet tank hulking by the entrance to the many faces of the regimes’ victims staring out from the elevator walls. The messages are boldly communicated, if not always so effectively. The building is somewhat awkward in its layout, asking visitors to move from top to bottom, with a confused chronological progression to the rooms and scant information in places. For English-speakers this can prove especially frustrating, as an accompanying sheet of text is sometimes the only English explanation available, and often not enough.

Votive candles

The installations that convey the message of each room bear some resemblance to the Franz Kafka museum in Prague, although lacking in its eloquence. Whereas the Kafka museum succeeds in conjuring a sense of tragic creative endeavour versus the banality of modern life, the House of Terror stumbles through its own story with rather less panache. Some rooms appear tailored more towards visual impact than the effective imparting of information, and one is left with the impression that certain areas of its history have been denied a more thorough exposure in favour of eye-catching but vapid showcases. Certainly, balance is shifted towards the atrocities committed under the Soviet regime, with only a little space dedicated to the Hungarian Fascists of the Arrow Cross that preceded it. This is a shame, as such an important topic surely deserves a fairer treatment.

As a concept, the House can’t seem to make up its mind about what it wants to be, switching every few paces from museum to memorial, through art exhibition to house of horrors. This awkward identity crisis lets in a few kitsch elements that cheapen the House’s nature as a memorial. Does it matter? Probably. The sheer number of votive candles lining the walls outside is enough to remind us of the reality of what the House commemorates, so its design should exercise proportionate taste in examining its past. Unfortunately, this is where the main problem lies. The sinister music that plays upon entering the house and later on in the museum certainly builds atmosphere, but is any of it really necessary when this is, after all, the very same place where all these atrocities occurred? That fact alone should be enough to set the tone, without the need for hyperbolic strings in the background. The slow descent of the lift towards the basement and the ‘reconstructed’ cells we find there smack slightly of bloody dungeons and ghost trains. Do we need the artificial excess of ambient lighting, ‘dirty’ floors and fake rainwater to appreciate the profundity of the setting? The designers, it would appear, think we do.

Victims' portraits

And perhaps they have a point, to an extent. This theatricality, built to stimulate many senses rather than just one or two, allows an immersive accessibility for a younger generation more in thrall with reconstructed realities. It is the younger generations that will benefit more from this type of museum, so perhaps it is right to cater towards their needs. It’s just a shame that the House of Terror must become a parody of itself – an exercise in cheap fairground thrills – in order to tell its genuinely haunting tales. Separating the memorial aspect from the museum may have been a more respectful and simpler solution. As it is, the building proclaiming ‘TERROR’ along its roof wears the portraits of its victims with a sort of morbidly shameless glamour: I did this, it says, look upon me and tremble. Sadly, this gratuitous need for hyperrealism is symptomatic of Western culture in general: a house of terror must needs look terrifying, independent of what makes it terrifying.

In spite of its shortcomings, the House of Terror is still very much worthy of a visit for anyone requiring a more historical tonic to their Budapest experience. Overlook its conceptual inconsistencies and blotchily-placed history and there is much of interest to be found. Not least are the video interviews with those who experienced the atrocities of the house and lived to tell the tale. The room listing the names of the victims, followed by a room listing the names of the oppressors – many with dates of death left blank – gives some long pause for thought. At the end of such a bleak tour it would have been nice if the museum ended on a more optimistic note, but the minimalist videos of Soviet troops waving goodbye in the final room fall sadly short of providing any great sense of closure. Is this history considered too recent to justify expanding upon? Detailing the end of the Soviet regime would have at least provided a more complete picture.

Amongst the Guccis and Armanis of Andrassy Avenue, number 60, with its harsh black borders and symbols of terror writ across the sky, boldly marks itself out as something different. Unfortunately, it seems undecided as to just what exactly that is. Anyone wanting to experience what it has to offer will undoubtedly leave disturbed, just not necessarily for all the right reasons.

Regime symbols

An edition of this article first appeared at 4Qplus.com on October 17th, 2012

Chiddy Bang: Interview

Source: fresh-grind.com

Chiddy Bang, comprising Chidera ‘Chiddy’ Anamege and Noah ‘Xaphoon Jones’ Beresin, are in a pretty upbeat mood, and they have every right to be. Describing themselves as “hip-hop for today’s ADD generation,” the group have ridden a wave of popularity that has seen them go from mere start-ups in 2009 to releasing their debut album ‘Breakfast’ in March of this year, selling 31,000 copies during its first week on sale in the US. So what magic took place in-between? In a word: the internet (all right then, two words).

The phrase ‘gone viral,’ oft-used to the point of gagging cliche, seems entirely appropriate in the case of the Philadelphia hip-hop duo. In the early days of 2009, when gigging at US universities, the group would often play to packed-out venues, their arrival pre-empted by John the Baptist style evangelising within student circles. Says Xaphoon: “universities all across America are little bubbles for sharing new music [...] we were nothing, but we would go to Middlebury [College] in Vermont, and because everyone there had just shared the music with each other, they all knew the words. We played for 600 kids, and 600 kids were singing every word to every song.”

Such a significant early response does not come easily, of course. Getting to that envious position of online eminence was a task in itself. Using the music blog aggregator Hypemachine, Xaphoon recounts how he would scour the site for blogs making consistently popular posts, before making speculative submissions of the group’s own work: “[we would submit to] a couple hundred blogs, and out of those couple hundred blogs, maybe twenty would listen to it, maybe five would post it.” But Chiddy Bang’s success is testament to nothing if not persistence, and the bushfire spread of the group’s popularity across campuses everywhere was an indication of things to come: “from those five, everything just started.”

In October 2009 Chiddy Bang released their first free downloadable mixtape, ‘Swelly Express.’ Telling the story of the group’s musical journey so far, Xaphoon was hopeful of the release’s success: “we expected to get 10-20,000 downloads if we were lucky.” Instead, the response was phenomenal: “we ended up getting 100,000 in the first month!” enthuses Chiddy. Their success did not go unnoticed. Having initially declined label interest in the US, Chiddy Bang signed with Parlephone Records in the UK and in February 2010 their first UK single, ‘Opposite of Adults,’ hit the mainstream like a small bomb.

Source: prettymuchamazing.com

Given the classic nature of the MGMT source material, the group were keen not to come across as too serious; “that could have ended us,” expands Xaphoon, “people could have just torn us apart. Taking one of the biggest songs of all time, stuttering it out and rapping over it...” Fortunately, no such musical faux pas came to pass and ‘Opposite of Adults’ entered the UK Singles Chart at no. 12. “It wasn’t top 10 but it was so fucking close.” That precious top 10 entry was achieved in the Australian Singles Chart when it peaked at no. 10. In fact, Australia appears to be Chiddy Bang’s prime territory for success: “we’ve gone platinum [...] we outsold Tinie [Tempah] by 150,000 records.” That particular achievement is still hard to grasp, highlighting the relative disparity between territories: “culture is strange,” muses Xaphoon.

And the UK? How has that been? “Amazing,” “fun,” they both agree. Having toured various UK cities with Tinie Tempah in 2010, Chiddy Bang appear quite at home on British soil. Indeed, ‘Air Swell,’ the duo’s mini-mixtape follow-up, draws heavily from UK artists for inspiration, sampling the likes of Ellie Goulding, Kate Nash, Gorillaz, and Hot Chip: “we were just listening to so much UK stuff.” This year the duo have appeared at a number of major venues up and down the UK as part of their current worldwide tour.

It’s clear to see the appeal of Chiddy Bang’s creative output: bouncy, colourful, erratic, and never afraid to poke about in the richly-lined drawers of music history. But how do they define themselves? The duo seem keen to come across as symptomatic of the listening habits of today’s younger generations: “today the lines of genres are being blurred out,” says Xaphoon, “people have iPods with hundreds of genres.” This diversity of taste is reflected in Xaphoon’s own intense cataloguing of musical influences. He credits a number of producers and artists in helping craft and evolve his sound: “Boi-1da, the Knocks, the Neptunes,” amongst many other mentions, “combined with a heavy dose of ADD.” “I don’t have ADD,” clarifies Xaphoon, referring to the attention deficit and impulsiveness of his target audience, “but the people I make music for do.”

So what next for Chiddy Bang? How about setting a new Guinness World Record for a start? In March 2011 at the MTV O Music Awards, Chiddy broke the record for longest freestyle rap, setting the benchmark at just over nine hours and sixteen minutes. Riding out the enormous success of debut album ‘Breakfast,’ Chiddy Bang are not short for work over 2012, and are currently in the middle of a comprehensive worldwide tour. On future projects the duo are coyly non-specific, but Xaphoon is ambitious: “Chiddy’s going to be writing with tons of pop artists and rappers, [...] I’m going to be producing with other artists and writing with them.” It seems the next stage in the Chiddy Bang viral strategy is to infect as broad a spectrum of popular music as possible: “spreading it out,” refines Chiddy. And if their success to date is anything to go by, Chiddy Bang will be invading our unconscious musical tastes whether we want them to or not. But what is there not to like? The incredibly charismatic ego-trip of single ‘Mind Your Manners’ sets out the Chiddy Bang formula neatly: cheeky, fun, and unstoppably infectious. This is audio breakfast. Don’t be skipping it.

Interviewed by Andrew Jackson

An edition of this article first appeared in 4Q Magazine, Issue IX, Sept 2012

A Game of Thrones: Worth the Commitment?

Source: Game of Thrones Wiki

So you’ve all seen it. No? What do you mean, no? Ah, I see. Because it’s on an obscure, subscription-only Sky channel. Well that’s fair, but you could always watch it courtesy of HBO Go (I feel there needs to be an exclamation mark on the end there, but never mind), the network’s free online service. What? That’s only available if you live in America? Curses! Well then, looks like your only option for getting a fix of first-rate fantasy serial Game of Thrones is to hold out for the DVD release. Or, you could just take the plunge and read the books. Daunted? You should be. The first instalment of George R. R. Martin’s epic ‘A Song of Ice and Fire’ weighs in at over 800 pages with four, equally large, sequels and a further two more in the pipeline. So is it worth the commitment? By all means.

Fantasy fiction suffers from an overload of Tolkien-wannabes flogging self-indulgent, sword n’ sorcery, Euro-centric, medievalist trollop. You’d think by my enthusiasm for A Game of Thrones that I’m about to say how originally original and refreshingly fresh Martin’s take on the genre is, but I’m not. No. A Game of Thrones ticks all of those boxes: it is unashamedly high fantasy, it is ridiculously epic, there are dragons, there is magic, there are a lot of swords. However, it’s about as far from fantasy-by-numbers that you can get.

First of all, let me just say something regarding the book’s age. It was first published in 1996 but (and having only been a recent convert myself) it speaks like it was written precisely for today’s market. The ideas it demonstrates through character, narrative, uses of mythology and intricate plotting feel impressively current even fifteen years on; this is mature fantasy writing that happily sits within the more recent trend for character-driven genre-fiction (sci-fi remake Battlestar Galactica springs to mind).

The narrative itself follows no less than eight protagonists. Each chapter is named after one of these eight, ranging from the bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark to the exiled princess of usurped House Targaryen, the duration of which is spent viewing the unfolding events from the chosen character’s perspective. This can involve a lot of lurching about as a simple chapter break can take us halfway round the world and weeks ahead in time. There can be a certain amount of feet-finding as the reader dusts themselves off, but Martin has a good estimation of his audience’s ability, never making it too hard for them to work out what’s occurred between chapters, even if certain details are missing, or are only ascertained through paying close attention to the  dialogue. In short, he makes us work for our story; knowledge is our privilege, and we feel almost a part of the intrigue as we spy from our perch above the page, piecing together what we know and trying to second-guess a character’s next action.

Source: 6aming.com

More often than not we are wrong footed as events take an unexpected turn, our judgements prove wildly incorrect, or someone dies. It should be made quite clear that A Lot of People Die. The fact that there is no singular protagonist means that absolutely no-one is safe. This strings a wonderful tension through the narrative that really makes the reader fear for their favourites. And I mean really fear. As odd as it sounds, you will probably experience genuine outbursts of emotion as you read this series: you will hate, grieve and rejoice with the type of authenticity rarely reserved for fiction. Characters that fit the typical heroic profile end up victims of their own honour, whilst assumed villains you are sure will prove the most antagonistic spend most of the narrative languishing in a dungeon. Instead, the unassuming, the untried, and the pragmatic take their places, and it is from these still-developing characters that we see the most intriguing conflicts of interest arise: alliances are formed and enmities are born on the backs of whims and rash decisions. The consequences are often severe and far-reaching.

This is symptomatic of a brutal honesty that runs through A Game of Thrones. Actions have clear consequences: characters either learn from them or suffer by them. There is a delightful moral ambiguity that all characters subscribe to, and while you may root for certain factions over others, that old tale of Good versus Evil is notably absent. This story is one printed in greys: tainted history, lust for power and stubborn honour are the roots of conflict here. Most characters are even-handedly drawn, and even those you will love to hate have reasons for their maleficence. War is painted in its twin colours of political instrument and moral depravity. For each scene of lords discussing the justifications for their warring, there is one detailing its gruesome flipside of rape, violence and devastation – more often than not it is the common people we see bearing its brunt. This is grim stuff, and the sense of foreboding is repeatedly enforced by the motto of the Stark family: ‘winter is coming’. In Martin’s world, where seasons can last years, it is no idle warning.

One glance at the convoluted family trees detailed in the book’s appendices will tell you Martin has lavished love and attention to fine-tuning the minutiae of his fantasy world. But don’t let the long list of Lord this and Ser that put you off. The only time you will really need to refer to these appendices will be because you have a genuine interest in learning more about the lordly houses. Martin cites the Hundred Years War and the Wars of the Roses amongst his influences, and the effect is to make his fantasy world all the more believable, its family feuds deeper ingrained and its politics more meaningful. Often an indulgence of fantasy writers, Martin keeps the magic of his world on a firm leash, drip-feeding its secrets so that we are kept hungry, never bloated. The amount of detail is never enough that it proves suffocating, and a pleasing hierarchy emerges where it is clear that characters and plot are put first ahead of background and lore.

All this makes for a gripping fiction, and whether you enjoy fantasy or not, the standard of the writing, the storyline and the sumptuously vast world that is envisioned should be reason enough to invest some quality hours in escapism. True, you could save yourself the time and wait for the DVD release instead (there’s something strangely compelling about Sean Bean in and of himself), but it’s not quite as rewarding as having your imagination shade in the faces and lands of Westeros in your own colours. And one final word: should you try it, you’ll find it hugely addictive.

An edition of this article first appeared at 4Qmagazine.co.uk on 6th Feb 2012