The Ferret
The EnWightenment
Armed with this information, I confidently predict a fine year for Ferrets, which kind of brings me on to this month's subject in a round the den and up the garden shed kind of way. For January is the perfect month for making predictions and, putting my best paw forward, this month's column aims to do just that.
To start with, any soothsayer worth the price of a rune must be able to predict the next scene - the scene is dead, long live the scene.
In it's own way, 1997 was a good year for both music, films and literature, but perhaps it's most significant aspect was the final death bell for Britpop. Some might argue that this is a good thing, but I don't think the importance of this movement can be denied. Britpop made it alright to celebrate our own Englishness again; to explore it, glorifying it and use this as a unique selling point. But perhaps Britpop's most important contribution to culture is that it spawned a whole host of other sobriquets to do with being British.
There is now the Britpack, (as opposed to the Bratpack and Ratpack) a loose collection of young British actors on the verge becoming worldwide stars, such as Robert Carlysle, Kate Winslet and Ewan McGregor. There are Britfilms like Trainspotting, The Full Monty, Twin Town and the soon to be released Up'n'Under, each of which have a parochial Britishness as their central theme.
Britart is a label applied to a bunch of chancers masquerading as artists, that includes the like of Damien Hirst, Tracy Emin and Racheal Whiteread (who famously won both the Turner prize for best art and the KLF's prize for worst art a few years ago - with the same pile of bricks). At the Sensation exhibition last year, each of these had work displayed, plus a whole host of other young bucks, which was supposed to mark the dawn of a new era in British art - allegedly. I could go on, but I think the point is made.
The thing about all these movements is that they seem to have transcended the original Britpop ideal, in that it's not so much the subject matter has to be particularly British anymore (though in the case of the films, that remains true, to some extent), but merely the protangonists themselves. That is sufficient and it's basically the one thing that unifies all the people who are described in these categories. One could argue that is why Britpop as a musical scene has now become obsolete - because the label became too parochial and restrictive, ironically enough. It was always questionable what bands like Pulp and Oasis had in common other than their shared Northern origins. For me, then, this looser definition is more meaningful.
Now at this juncture you might be busily collecting as much noise-making equipment that you can lay your hands on, in order to proclaim the word 'arse' as loudly as possible. So be it. Arse away. But attaching labels to who people are and what they create is much like finding a spoon in the fork draw, possessing matted fur, watching Noel Edmunds on television and having a red-hot poker placed up your bottom - a pain in the arse, but essentially inevitable. (I know what you are thinking, but if every chair in your house were constructed of red-hot pokers . . .)
I don't like labelling either - polecats prefer drier areas than the ferret and are the larger member of the vermin family, so being called one is both inaccurate and indeed, libellous, given that they have no sense of decency when it comes to toilet matters. However, either through laziness or just because they can't cope with something outside of their experience, people tend to place labels on you, so all the above BritishisandBritthat is just the way it is and will be.
OK, I've taken you around the den. It's time to see my shed - the prediction. The reason that I have mentioned the Brit thing is that I see a parellel. And my prediction is that it will be the next big thing - The EnWightenment.
Laugh at your peril. Chortle and choke. Start getting your tonque around it, though, because I firmly believe that something is happening on the Isle of Wight that justifies this neck-on-chopping-board scenario.
It isn't necessarily about using the place as subject matter, though there is an element of that involved. Rather, as with the movments listed above, The EnWightenment represents a loose confederation of creative people, sharing the same origins and being part of something that I'm sure will prove to be very important. This applies to both the Island and, in time, the rest of the nation.
We already have Wightrock, which is more than just a website. There are bands like the Jones' and The Wayward Sons, along with organisations like Music Machine and musicians like Adam Kirk, who contribution to the Islands' music scene is influential and who are attempting to expand this beyond these shores.
Vaguely Sunny Promotions are a trio of visionaries, who are proud of where they come from and are keen to encourage and publicise the creative potential that is increasingly coming to the fore on the Island. The Ferret Theatre Company shares this view wholeheartedly and the Ferret himself (lest he should ever lose his ability to incorporate a twelve piece horn section, parping loudly to the tune of "Ferrets Are Marvellous") is dedicated to showing the widest audience going, that there is a reserve of talent on the Diamond Isle and that we can hold our own with any mainland equivalent.
There are too many people and organisations to mention. Suffice to say, a very healthy cultural life is blossoming here. It just needs watering - something the admirable Minghella, amongst others, seems keen to do. And if anybody is responsible for kicking this thing off and showing the rest of us what can be achieved, then he's the man. The Godfather of the EnWightenment, if you like.
So, along with Wightrock, it's not so far-fetched to talk in terms of Wighttheatre, Wightdance (Xena, Sirius and Pulse are three clubs that are promoting Island DJ's) even Wightfilms (Check out Life As Text productions' new film at the Quay Arts Centre in February). Add to this the forthcoming WightTV, and my prediction is perhaps not such a pie in the sky. More a crust worth baking.
Like all prophets, I'm prepared to be stoned if I'm wrong. But I'm telling you:
The Ferret