I seldom venture into Newcastle these days. Today, however, I had a lot of time to waste. I must have walked several miles around the town centre; Eldon Square shopping centre; Newcastle University Campus; the Quayside and across onto the Gateshead side. I visited museums and art galleries, shops, restaurants, markets and back allies. To my surprise it was a vexing experience.
Firstly, there just don’t seem to be any interesting shops. No hidden gems lurking down dark walkways. No antique shops or stylish boutiques. Just the same dull selection of chain stores that you would find on any other high street. Subway, McDonalds, Carphone Warehouse, Starbucks and the like. Where is the imagination? Where are the one offs, the independents, the quirky little arcades that give a city life and vibrancy? Everywhere there are sad vacant stores with their Sanderson and Wetherall boards hanging forlornly outside. Waiting for the an upturn in the economy or the next big international conglomerate to annex them to its bloated empire.
As for culture, that seems to be taking a holiday this week. The Hancock Museum of Natural History? Closed for redevelopment. The Museum Of Antiquities? Closed until it moves into new premises at the Hancock. The Central Library? Closed whilst new premises are being built. The Side Photographic Gallery? Closed whilst a new exhibition is prepared.
The Literary and Philosophical Society’s Library sparked my interest a little. The building itself is everything a proper library should be - towering shelves of books, arranged around galleries, with movable wooden ladders, a proper card indexing system in little wooden drawers and the dewey decimal system displayed at the ends of the isles. Most welcome though was the utter absence of conversation. Just the firm thump of the librarians' stamp and the rustle of newspapers. Oh bliss. How many times have I longed for that silence. That childish expectation of a sharp “Shhh!” from a stern faced librarian wearing horned rim spectacles. That church like sanctity which is so lacking in modern libraries. Modern public libraries are no longer places of study, but “community meeting places”, and they are very much the worse for it.
The Lit Phil experience, however, did not entirely succeed in nourishing my soul. Whilst the building was marvellous, it’s stock of books did not greatly impress me. I had hoped for rare and exotic tomes filled with mystery and magic. Instead I found much the same selection as any other library with the added irritation of an £89 subscription fee to become a member. At least now I know where there is a place I can go to write or study in peace. It is just yards from work as well!
The Laing Art Gallery was open, but I found little solace there. A few of the permanent features I found interesting, but then I have seen them numerous times before. There was an interesting installation entitled “Gone With the Wind” by Claire Morgan. Ten thousand dandelion seeds suspended on fine strands, with a stuffed kittiwake posed as if in flight, forming a vortex through the seeds. Apparently the work represents the individual fighting their way through a crowd. That I quite enjoyed. However, most of the remaining exhibitions were poor - unfathomable works by an obscure Chinese artist and the like. The kind of thing that art galleries are fond of exhibiting, but which you are unlikely to see gracing any sitting room wall.
It was a similar storey at the much vaunted Baltic Gallery of Contemporary Art. Six floors in a vast, empty cavern of a building, of which only two were actually exhibiting anything. The other four were - you guessed - closed whilst the exhibits are changed. The two displays which were available to view were both by obscure Japanese artists. Amateurish and childish. The sort of thing you might see in any six form art students sketch book. The whole place seemed to me to be one vast temple to ego, where vanity triumphs over talent. Instead of feeling inspired and illuminated, I left feeling cheated, and depressed by the cold, soulless experience.
I briefly considered wandering over to the impressive looking Sage music and performing arts centre, but frankly I couldn’t face another disappointment. Still, at least the view from the observation deck of the Baltic was worthwhile. And crossing the Millennium Bridge instils a small measure awe, by virtue of the engineering ingenuity which went into its construction.
Looking out over the vista of Newcastle and Gateshead, I was impressed by the architecture of the place, both old and new. The neo classical grandeur of Dobson and Grainger snuggles up against Victorian splendour, whilst twenty-first century chrome and glass structures tower over all. The luxury apartments that line the riverside reek of opulence, but I wonder who apart from footballers and upmarket prostitutes can afford to live there.
The whole visage is a front. A thin veneer of culture and sophistication. Beneath the surface there is nothing. No heart. No soul. It is all designed to impress by appearance, but there is no substance. There is no community. It’s all just a monument to the spending power of a lost generation.
Newcastle is not all bad. As a place to go for a night of drunken student revelry it is unparalleled, with literally hundreds of pubs and bars, many of them of the new trendy (which is to say overpriced) variety. There is a staggering array of the new style coffee lounges, a la Starbucks. For the discerning man about town there are casinos and “gentlemens clubs” (Unfortunately, not the Garrick or the Carlton. More the Peter Stringfellow variety.)
There are the cinemas. I use that term advisedly. Where once Newcastle was filled with majestic movie palaces, we now have just the Tyneside Cinema, an anachronistic art deco temple to art house cinema, and the truly awful cramped excuse for a multiplex that is The Gate. Meanwhile, the cavernously grand Odeon Cinema on Pilgrim Street slowly decays like everything else that once meant something in this city.
There is a wide range of eateries, with a Greggs the Baker on practically every street corner. Sadly our restaurants leave a little to be desired. There are dozens of pizzeria and tandoori or chinese buffets, but little that is innovative or unusual.
For those whose pallets extend beyond fries and a coke, the choice is a little more limited. There is Malmaison, and I did see a Mongolian diner, which struck me as unusual. Or there is Fujiyamas for those brave enough to seek out a taste of Japan, north east style. We have a long way to go to educate our pallets though. Hell, we think we are cosmopolitan because we’ve got a new Wagamamas and a Waitrose in the city centre.
Perhaps it is just me. Maybe there is something wrong with me. But I don’t think so. I found the city to be dull and lifeless. A drudge and a bore. The husk of a once great place. That shouldn't be. It should be vibrant and inspiring, filled with the whirl and rush of humanity. Perhaps it is the outward sign of a sick and decaying society.
