I’m writing a book! It’s about Arts & Austerity between 2010-2019!
And I wanted to share part of the music chapter.
This Charming Man: Cameron's music tastes and the dawn of austerity 2005-2010.
David Cameron was a different sort of Conservative leader to his predecessors. He was young by politician standards, having only served as an MP for four years before becoming Leader of his party in 2005. He claimed that the Conservatives would pursue a green agenda and had less of the stuffy traditionalism of his grey precursors. In his Leadership victory speech, Cameron argued “we have to change in order for people to trust us.”
In 2006 when Cameron guested on the BBC’s Desert Island Discs programme, one of his choices was ‘This Charming Man’ by The Smiths. He said that Morrisey appearing on Top of the Pops with an NHS hearing aid was an “iconic moment for people of my generation.” Cameron is the grandson of Sir William Mount, who was a baronetcy and High Sheriff of Berkshire, and his father was a stockbroker and his mother a former Justice of the Peace. Still, something about The Smiths’ kitchen sink style chimed inside the young man. Like countless teenagers of the 1980s, Cameron fell for their forlorn songs of working class life and Morrisey’s both mournful and mocking lyrics. In 2013, The Smiths’ guitarist Johnny Marr commented "I do forbid him to like it. He shouldn't like us because we're not his kind of people."
A young Baby Boomer, Cameron wasn’t shy about his love for 1970s-80s pop and rock. He highlighted ‘Eton Rifles’ by The Jam as one of his favourite songs. Released in 1979 a few weeks after Cameron’s 13th birthday, ‘Eton Rifles’ presents a class war against the rugby-playing Etonians, armed with “loaded guns” and “untamed wit”. Ironically at age 13, Cameron started at Eton College following in his father and brother’s footsteps. In the song, The Jam’s Paul Weller sneers "what chance do you have against a tie and a crest?" in reference to the cronyism and class power bestowed by the boys-only boarding school.
Cameron insisted: “It meant a lot, some of those early Jam albums we used to listen to. I don’t see why the Left should be the only ones allowed to listen to protest songs.” Like Marr, Weller (who campaigned against the 1980s Conservative governments) criticised Cameron, saying “Which bit [of ‘Eton Rifles’] didn’t you get? It wasn’t intended as a fucking jolly drinking song for the cadet corp.” Weller added “It's a shame really that someone didn't listen to that song and get something else from it and become a socialist leader instead. I was a bit disappointed really." The Jam’s sharp, socially conscious youthful power pop kicking up against a system would be the exact same music I would listen to when heading off on demos against Cameron’s government.
On the 8th December 2010, before the vote to uncap Tuition Fees, Labour MP Kerry McCarthy ribbed Cameron during PMQs about Morrisey and Marr banning Cameron from liking their music. “If he wins tomorrow’s vote” she put to the Speaker, “what songs does he think students will be listening to, ‘Miserable Lie’, ‘I Don’t Owe You Anything’ or ‘Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now’?” Cameron leans against the dispatch box like it’s a Westminster bar, and confidently retorts that if he did turn up, he probably wouldn’t get ‘This Charming Man’ to the amusement of the House.
Why should the political and cultural Left claim tribal ownership of protest songs? Why are musicians, and fans, quick to act as gatekeepers to their music and say “this is not for you?” I genuinely believe if The Smiths and The Jam clicked with Cameron on some level, it’s impossible for me to deny his emotional connection to their songs. However in terms of these songs polarised as protest music, I think Cameron cannot lay claim to their unmuddied message. A protest song has a target. This could be a straightforward attack on a specific individual or policy. Or it could be more symbolic, an attack on a concept or ideology. In this instance, The Jam’s ‘Eton Rifles’ is a little of both. The target is, on a superficial level, the literal attendees of Eton. But it’s also a swipe at the institutions of power and the clique of privilege which Eton represents. Eton is a handy short-hand for summarising the centuries-old ideology of a ruling, upper crust.
And this is what gives a protest song it’s identity, and perhaps why Weller and Marr are quick to deny Cameron claim to their music. Protest music may have a broad appeal, and anyone can enjoy a piece of music, but I think we must acknowledge genuine sense of ownership over a piece of music. Cameron can listen to his copy of The Jam’s Setting Sons album, but fundamentally he is ensuring oppressive systems stay in place.
The anti-austerity music of the 2010s tried to be explicit in the targets. It pulled no punches in it’s message. It was not for the young Etonian, inspired by Cameron, May and Johnson, plotting their own career trajectory. It was not for racists blaming budget cuts on immigrant communities. Musicians ensured no Conservative MP, councillor or even voter could ever hold claim to these impassioned songs as theirs.
This was music for those tired of the power and privilege that money, Eton and Oxbrigde affords. Music for people sick of life at the bottom and angry at economic and class injustice. Music for those frustrated by millionaire politicians making decisions which affected the poorest in society, the same politicians who have never suffered a day in their lives. We are not, to invoke Johnny Marr, their kind of people.
As rapper Dave states on his 2017 track ‘Question Time’:
“You brought the heart of the nation to its knees
Underpaid, understaffed, overworked
And overseen by people who can't ever understand
How it feels to live life like you and me.”
