‘Bev Turner’s Political Journey into Right Wing Populism’ by Rob Miller—guest blogger

Bev Turner once seemed an unlikely figure to become a darling of Britain’s populist right. A respected sports broadcaster in the late 1990s and early 2000s, she built her reputation in mainstream journalism: ITV’s Formula One coverage, lifestyle shows and a book exposing sexism in motorsport. She was, by most measures, part of the liberal-minded media establishment.

And yet, two decades later, she sits at the centre of GB News, hosting programmes that echo talking points from the populist right and railing against the very institutions she once worked for. How did this shift happen?

Turner’s early career showed flashes of independence, but not ideological extremism. Writing about Formula One in The Pits, she cast herself as a feminist critic of a macho culture. Later, on BBC Radio 5 Live, she fronted shows about pregnancy and family life, offering support and solidarity to women navigating new parenthood. It was work that placed her firmly within the mainstream of British broadcasting.

The turning point came not in the 2000s, but during the Covid-19 pandemic. As the government imposed lockdowns, promoted vaccines and tried to steer the public through crisis, Turner positioned herself as a sceptic. On This Morning and Jeremy Vine, she clashed with colleagues and public health experts, voicing doubts that resonated with a minority audience but also spread confusion. This was the opening right-wing voices had been waiting for.

Turner’s scepticism did not exist in a vacuum. During the pandemic, a well-organised ecosystem of right-wing commentators, YouTubers and media outlets amplified dissenting voices and encouraged them to push further. Anti-lockdown platforms welcomed Turner with open arms. Social media algorithms rewarded contrarian soundbites. In this climate, Turner was not merely offering “balance” but was being drawn into a feedback loop: validated with attention, booked as a guest, and soon indispensable to outlets keen to exploit Covid as a wedge issue. Her move to GB News was the logical endpoint of this process: a network that thrives on converting dissent into a culture-war brand.

Turner herself insists she has not changed—that she simply stands for free speech in a censorious age. But this framing misses the point. The right-wing media machine thrives on recruiting formerly mainstream figures, presenting them as brave dissidents, and using them to launder fringe positions into everyday debate. Turner is a textbook case. What began as scepticism about pandemic policy has morphed into a steady stream of culture-war commentary, closely aligned with populist talking points.

Turner’s journey from respected broadcaster to GB News provocateur is more than a personal evolution—it reflects a pattern of political repositioning. The pandemic created fertile ground for distrust, and right-wing media actors seized the chance to encourage sceptical broadcasters and integrate them into their ecosystem. 

Bev Turner’s shift to the right is not just her own story—it is a cautionary tale. It shows how quickly respected voices can be absorbed into the machinery of outrage, and how a public health crisis became the staging ground for Britain’s ongoing culture wars. Turner may believe she simply stood still while the world moved. The truth is more troubling: she was drawn in, validated and encouraged by right-wing media actors eager for credibility and controversy. 

'How Nigel Farage Was Seduced by Right-Wing Populism' by Rob Miller—guest blogger

Nigel Farage is widely recognised for his leadership of the Brexit movement and for transforming UKIP into a significant political force. The development of his messaging, particularly on immigration, reveals a nuanced story: his initial focus on economic Euroscepticism evolved to incorporate culturally charged themes. This shift can be understood as a process influenced by exposure to a range of political actors and ideas, both in Europe and the UK.

In the 1990s, Farage’s political focus was primarily economic. A commodities broker by trade, he often campaigned on the premise that the European Union was a bureaucratic impediment to British sovereignty and prosperity. At this time, his criticisms of immigration were largely framed in economic terms, such as concerns about labour market dynamics, pressure on public services and housing supply. Cultural or identity-based arguments were not a central part of his platform.

A notable change in tone began during his time in the European Parliament. Farage formed alliances and collaborated with parties widely regarded as advocating right-wing populism, including Italy's Lega Nord, France's National Rally and Germany's Alternative for Germany (AfD). These connections exposed him to a form of anti-immigration rhetoric that extended beyond economics, emphasising issues of national identity, cultural cohesion and border control. These European experiences later informed his domestic strategy.

Farage’s public support for Marine Le Pen in 2017 and his appearances before the AfD youth wing are examples of how European right-wing populist narratives could be integrated into UK politics. Critics argue that these interactions provided a blueprint for blending economic arguments with cultural-nationalist themes.

Back in the UK, some early UKIP members and sympathetic commentators brought nationalist perspectives into the party's strategy. While Farage maintained a distance from extremist groups, these individuals arguably helped frame immigration as a matter of Britain’s “social fabric” and national identity, in addition to being an economic issue. Media appearances and campaigns amplified this effect, translating abstract economic critiques into more visceral stories about community and security.

This process can be seen as the incremental shaping of a political platform. Rather than occurring suddenly, Farage's messaging evolved step by step through selective engagement and the strategic integration of new ideas. He maintained control over the narrative, but his rhetoric was increasingly shaped by the themes he encountered through these political networks and by domestic voter sentiment. By the mid-2000s, immigration had become a central pillar of UKIP's campaigns, blending economic criticism with cultural and nationalist appeals.

Nigel Farage’s journey from economic Eurosceptic to cultural populist is a case study in how political messaging can evolve. It illustrates that ideas often permeate mainstream politics not through abrupt radicalisation, but through incremental influence and the reframing of existing arguments. His story highlights how political figures can be shaped by networks, allies and domestic pressures, leading to a messaging style that combines economic critique with a cultural rallying cry.

‘Parallels Between Trump’s Immigration Policy and Hitler’s Pre-Camp Approach to the Jews’ by Andrew Davies—guest blogger

When discussing state policies toward unwanted or marginalised groups, history provides sobering lessons about how governments define, target and remove communities deemed “alien” or “undesirable”. While Donald Trump’s immigration policies in the United States and Adolf Hitler’s early anti-Jewish measures in Germany emerged from vastly different historical, cultural and moral contexts, there are significant structural parallels in the emphasis on surveillance, policing and forced removal—before more radical “solutions” were considered.

In Trump-era America, the Immigration and Customs Enforcement agency (ICE) has become the symbol of a hard-line immigration policy. It is tasked with locating, detaining and deporting millions of undocumented immigrants, often in high-profile raids that carry heavy symbolic weight.

In 1930s Germany, long before the machinery of extermination was set in motion, Hitler’s government sought to isolate Jews from the rest of society through registration, surveillance and restrictive laws. The Gestapo, along with local police, became the enforcement arms, identifying and monitoring Jews in preparation for removal from German life.

Both cases reveal the state’s use of bureaucratic enforcement tools to target populations based on identity rather than criminal acts.

Trump frequently speaks of deportation as the central mechanism of immigration policy; an effort to purge the country of those defined as outsiders. Under his administration, deportations have been ramped up and family separations at the border have created an atmosphere of fear and dehumanisation.

In Nazi Germany during the pre-concentration camp years (roughly 1933–1939), deportation was also the central strategy. The government sought to pressure Jews into leaving the country voluntarily through harassment, boycotts, job restrictions and violence (most notoriously, Kristallnacht in 1938). For those who did not leave, forced deportations soon followed, sending Jewish populations to neighboring countries already straining under refugee crises. Deportation, not mass murder, was initially envisioned as the “final” solution to the so-called Jewish Question.

Trump consistently frames undocumented immigrants as threats (criminals, rapists or invaders) whose presence weakens the United States. This narrative justifies the mobilisation of ICE and the spectacle of raids and deportations.

Hitler’s rhetoric against Jews was even more virulent, but structurally similar: Jews were depicted as parasites, criminals and corrupting influences undermining Germany’s purity and strength. This language of threat transformed entire communities into legitimate targets of state power, removing the distinction between individuals and groups.

Here lies the most important historical lesson. Hitler’s policies of exclusion and deportation created the bureaucratic and psychological groundwork for the later leap into genocide. Once a state apparatus is built to monitor, round up and expel groups of people defined by ethnicity, religion or nationality, the escalation from deportation to harsher measures becomes frighteningly possible.

While Trump’s immigration policies stop firmly at deportation, the resonance with Nazi Germany’s earlier stages should not be dismissed. Both show how a government can normalise the identification, policing and removal of entire populations under the banner of law and order.

The comparison does not seek to equate Trump with Hitler or America with Nazi Germany, but it underlines how states build incremental systems of exclusion. Deportation, in both cases, was presented as a rational, administrative solution to a problem framed as existential. History demonstrates how quickly such solutions can evolve into something darker when fear, prejudice and power converge unchecked.

‘Why Western Countries Are Often Seen as Shielding Israel from Accountability’ by Ryan Soames—guest blogger

The Israeli-Palestinian conflict has been one of the most enduring and controversial geopolitical crises of the modern era. Among the most contentious aspects of this conflict are the allegations of war crimes committed during Israeli military operations in Gaza and the West Bank. International bodies, such as the United Nations and human rights organisations, including Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International, have accused Israel of violating international law—particularly regarding its treatment of civilians, settlement expansions and use of force.

Yet, despite mounting reports and calls for accountability, Israel has rarely faced significant consequences from Western powers. This raises the question: Why do Western governments, especially the United States and key European allies, appear reluctant to hold Israel accountable for these alleged violations?

Reason 1: Historical and Strategic Alliances

One of the most important reasons lies in the strategic alliance between Israel and the West, especially the United States. Since its founding in 1948, Israel has been seen by the U.S. as a key democratic ally in a volatile Middle East. During the Cold War, Israel was viewed as a bulwark against Soviet influence. Today, it remains a partner in intelligence, military technology and counterterrorism.

This alliance has translated into extensive U.S. military aid—more than $3 billion annually—as well as consistent diplomatic support. The U.S. has used its veto power at the UN Security Council dozens of times to block resolutions critical of Israel.

Reason 2. Domestic Political Influence

Pro-Israel lobbying groups such as AIPAC (American Israel Public Affairs Committee) play a powerful role in shaping U.S. foreign policy. They maintain strong bipartisan support in Congress, and politicians who express strong support for Israel often face fewer political risks than those who criticise Israeli policy.

In many European countries, particularly Germany, support for Israel is also influenced by the legacy of the Holocaust and a deep sense of historical responsibility.

Reason 3. Framing of the Conflict in the West

Western media and political discourse often frame Israel’s actions through the lens of self-defense against terrorism, particularly in response to attacks from Hamas, a group designated as a terrorist organisation by the U.S. and EU. This framing shapes public perception, making it harder to discuss Israeli military actions in Gaza as potential war crimes, even when they result in large numbers of civilian casualties.

On the other hand, Palestinian resistance is frequently portrayed as terrorism, without equal emphasis on the occupation, blockade and human rights abuses endured by Palestinians.

Reason 4. Selective Application of International Law

Critics argue that international law is applied inconsistently, depending on geopolitical interests. For example, Russia’s invasion of Ukraine was swiftly met with widespread sanctions and international condemnation, including charges of war crimes. In contrast, similar calls for accountability in the Israeli-Palestinian context often stall due to political pressures from Western governments.

The International Criminal Court (ICC) has launched investigations into possible war crimes by both Israeli forces and Palestinian groups. However, the U.S. and Israel reject the ICC’s jurisdiction over the occupied Palestinian territories, undermining efforts for impartial legal accountability.

Reason 5. Fear of Antisemitism Accusations

Criticism of Israeli government policy is often conflated with antisemitism, especially in the West. This makes some politicians and institutions hesitant to speak out, even when human rights organisations raise legitimate concerns. While antisemitism is a serious and ongoing problem that must be addressed, conflating it with criticism of state policy can stifle legitimate debate and accountability.

Reason 6. Economic and Military Interests

Israel is a hub for defense technology, cybersecurity and innovation. Western companies and governments have extensive trade and defense relationships with Israel. These economic interests can influence foreign policy decisions, making governments less likely to take strong stances against Israeli actions.

The perception that Western powers allow Israel to act with impunity stems from a complex mix of strategic alliances, political influence, historical guilt, media framing and inconsistent application of international law. While legitimate security concerns and geopolitical realities shape policy, the lack of accountability for alleged war crimes has serious implications—not only for Palestinians but also for the integrity of the international legal system.

Calls for consistent enforcement of international law—regardless of political alliances—are growing louder, particularly from younger generations, human rights advocates and global South countries. Whether or not Western nations respond will significantly shape the future of global norms on justice, accountability and human rights.

'The Reform Party's Austerity Plan for the UK' by Rob Miller—guest blogger

If The Reform Party were to form the next government, the UK would enter a period of austerity reminiscent of the one that defined the David Cameron and George Osborne era. While the party's rhetoric often focuses on a "common sense" approach and cutting "waste", their economic policies reveal a commitment to major spending reductions that mirrors the fiscal tightening of the 2010s.

The Cameron-Osborne government, elected in 2010, made a conscious decision to tackle the UK's deficit, which had ballooned in the wake of the 2008 financial crisis. Their mantra was that the country could not continue to live beyond its means. The chosen method was a program of austerity, with the vast majority of deficit reduction coming from spending cuts rather than tax increases.

Reform's platform, while presented with different branding, operates on a similar principle. They have proposed a range of significant tax cuts, including lifting the income tax threshold and reducing corporation tax. To pay for these measures, they plan to slash government spending. Their manifesto outlines a goal of saving tens of billions of pounds a year by cutting "wasteful spending", reducing the size of the civil service and reforming public services.

The Cameron-era austerity had a profound impact on public services and welfare. Budgets for local government were severely reduced, leading to cuts in services like libraries and youth centers. The Welfare Reform Act of 2012 introduced the "bedroom tax" and a benefit cap, and froze most benefits for a number of years.

Reform UK's proposals will follow a similar playbook. While they talk about protecting "frontline services", independent analysis, such as that by the Institute for Fiscal Studies (IFS), suggests that their proposed cuts would be so substantial that they would inevitably require a significant reduction in the quantity and quality of public services.

For example, the party has proposed a major overhaul of the welfare system, with a strong emphasis on getting people back to work and withdrawing benefits for those who do not comply. While they have promised to scrap the two-child benefit cap, this is dwarfed by their broader plans to reduce welfare spending by getting people off benefits and tightening eligibility.

The economic legacy of Cameron's austerity is a matter of fierce debate. Proponents argue that it stabilized the UK's finances and laid the groundwork for a return to growth. Critics, however, contend that it stifled economic recovery, led to a "lost decade" of stagnant wages and low productivity, and disproportionately hit the poorest in society.

Reform's economic plans face similar questions. The party believes that their combination of tax cuts and spending cuts will "re-energise the economy" and spur growth. However, economists warn that the scale of the cuts needed to fund their tax plans would be unprecedented and could lead to a severe contraction in public spending, with uncertain consequences for the economy and for society.

While Reform is a new force in British politics, their proposed economic policy echoes a familiar chapter. Their commitment to deep spending cuts to pay for tax reductions bears a striking resemblance to the austerity program implemented by David Cameron's government. 

'Why Modern Capitalism Is a Factor in Mass Shootings' by Robert Miller—guest blogger

Mass shootings are among the most shocking and tragic manifestations of violence in modern society. While the availability of firearms and individual psychological factors are often cited as primary contributors, it is increasingly clear that the social and cultural environment created by modern capitalism can also play a significant role in shaping the conditions that make these events more likely.

At its core, capitalism emphasises competition, personal achievement and status. In societies where success is measured in wealth, career advancement or social recognition, individuals who feel marginalised, unsuccessful or humiliated may experience intense resentment and isolation. Some critics might argue that these feelings of humiliation often exist long before economic or professional pressures become a factor. While this is true, capitalism can amplify those pre-existing vulnerabilities. Constant exposure to social comparison, economic inequality and the glorification of high achievers can intensify feelings of inadequacy or failure. In other words, even if resentment exists beforehand, capitalist structures can exacerbate it, increasing the risk of extreme reactions.

Some might argue that the real driver is not capitalism itself but the human desire for material things, combined with each individual’s perception of success or failure. That objection is valid: what matters most is often how a person interprets their circumstances, not the objective reality. Yet capitalism intensifies this dynamic by constantly surrounding people with symbols of wealth, status and acquisition. Even if the perception is distorted or exaggerated, the culture of comparison created by capitalist systems provides the backdrop against which those perceptions gain force, sometimes pushing vulnerable individuals further toward resentment or despair.

Economic stress is another contributing factor. Job insecurity, housing pressures and growing income inequality create chronic stress and feelings of powerlessness. Chronic stress and frustration can exacerbate emotional dysregulation, making extreme reactions more likely. In other words, people under constant social and economic pressure may be more susceptible to acting on violent impulses, particularly when they feel they have few other outlets for their grievances.

Isolation and the erosion of community bonds, also common in highly individualistic capitalist societies, further compound the problem. Without strong social networks, individuals have fewer opportunities for intervention, support or guidance when their anger and frustration escalate. Loneliness and social fragmentation can leave grievances unchallenged and unmoderated, creating a dangerous psychological environment.

Modern media culture, heavily influenced by capitalist incentives, glorifies notoriety and sensationalism. Stories of mass shooters are widely covered, often emphasising the perpetrator’s planning, violence and infamy. This creates a perverse incentive for individuals seeking recognition or a sense of significance: violence becomes not only a way to express anger or seek revenge but also a method for achieving attention in a society that rewards spectacle.

Finally, while capitalism does not directly supply firearms, in societies where gun ownership is relatively easy, these psychological and social pressures intersect with lethal tools. The combination of grievance, alienation and access to high-capacity weapons dramatically increases the potential for catastrophic violence.

In short, modern capitalism does not “cause” mass shootings in a deterministic sense. Yet it fosters social conditions (intense competition, isolation, economic stress and a culture of notoriety) that can amplify pre-existing psychological vulnerabilities, creating an environment in which extreme acts of violence are more likely to occur.

Poetry and Song Are the Same Artform

The debate over whether poems and songs are separate art forms or simply variations of the same aesthetic expression has a long history. At first sight, the difference seems obvious: poems are primarily meant to be read, while songs are experienced as sound, with music and vocals creating a listening experience. This distinction is often taken as self-evident, determining how audiences approach and categorise these forms. Yet this superficial difference overlooks deeper questions about how each affects us emotionally and cognitively, and about the complex ways in which language, sound and rhythm interact to determine artistic experience.

One significant difference is in how we experience rhythm. Poems rely on rhythm, rhyme and line breaks built into the written text, engaging the reader’s “inner ear” as they mentally hear the flow while reading. This internal auditory experience is an imaginative process, determined by linguistic background, prior knowledge and personal interpretation. Songs, on the other hand, deliver rhythm externally through melody, instrumentation and vocal performance, creating a direct auditory impact. The physical presence of sound waves and the nuances of timbre, pitch and volume give songs a sensorial immediacy that written poetry lacks. The performative element (the singer’s voice, the arrangement, even the listening setting) adds layers of meaning and emotion beyond the text itself.

Critics sometimes suggest that poems and songs invoke fundamentally different responses, yet much of this originates from cultural expectation and setting. In many traditions, songs belong to communal gatherings, rituals and celebrations, engaging listeners through shared sound and movement, while poetry is more often associated with solitary reflection or intellectual engagement. Reading a poem draws on the “inner ear”, determining rhythm and tone through imagination, whereas hearing a song delivers these qualities directly through melody, repetition and performance. In both cases, response is determined not only by the work itself but by the way it is encountered: in private or in company, in silence or in sound, in memory or in the moment. The boundary between them is fluid: many songs contain poetic language, and many poems have been set to music, underscoring the interplay between the two forms.

Despite this, the difference between a poem read on the page and a song heard aloud is less absolute than it seems. Poetry, when read, activates the imagination and inner hearing, drawing us in through patterns of sound and rhythm in the mind’s ear. These sonic qualities can evoke emotion and meaning much like music does, even in silence. The pauses between lines, the visual layout of stanzas and the typography of the text all shape its rhythm and pacing, producing effects that songs sometimes echo but cannot fully replicate. This internalisation of sound allows poetry to transcend the limitations of the printed page, creating a deeply personal and intimate experience that varies widely between individuals and contexts.

Whilst formal distinctions remain (poems are lines on a page, songs combine lyrics with melody and instrumentation), both share a common aesthetic foundation of sound, rhythm, voice and emotional resonance. The difference between them lies more in context and expectation than in essence.

Neuroscience corroborates this connection, demonstrating that reading poetry and listening to music engage overlapping brain networks, particularly in processing rhythm, sound patterns and emotion. Brain imaging shows that both activities stimulate regions linked to auditory perception, emotional regulation and pattern recognition; whether the rhythm is imagined through the reader’s “inner ear” or carried to us on waves of melody and instrumentation. At the same time, each form also draws on specialised circuitry: poetry on the page largely utilises language-processing areas, while song largely utilises pitch and melody-related regions. This blend of shared and distinct activation suggests that the mind responds to both with a common aesthetic framework, yet determines that response to match the sensory pathway (silent reading or audible performance) through which the art is experienced.

Ultimately, the difference between poems as read experiences and songs as heard experiences shows how context, perception and mental engagement determine our experience of artistic expression. Recognising their shared aesthetic roots and the fluidity between reading and listening gives us a broader appreciation of how rhythm, voice and sound create meaning: whether imagined in the mind or heard through the ears. The borders between literary and musical arts, therefore, are permeable, shifting with culture, history and individual perception.

Being Stuck Inside Your Old Self

Time travel has fascinated human imagination, often depicted as the ability to physically travel to the past and change history. But what if time travel isn’t about moving your body through time, but rather about your consciousness slipping backward to inhabit an earlier version of yourself? This concept departs radically from traditional ideas and opens new philosophical and emotional territory.

Imagine a person in 2025 able to transfer their awareness into their 1990 self. Unlike classic time travel, the 2025 consciousness cannot control or influence their past body; the 1990 self acts exactly as it did then. The traveller experiences everything the earlier self senses (sights, sounds, touch, taste and smell) but not their thoughts or feelings. They become a passive passenger inside their own history, witnessing life replay without control or emotional involvement.

This form of time travel carries profound implications. The present consciousness is cut off from the inner world of the past self. It can see the younger self in love, enjoying moments once cherished, yet remain disconnected from the emotions that made those moments meaningful. What the past self feels remains a mystery; the traveller can only observe from the sidelines: unable to experience the visceral passion and spontaneity of lived experience.

This dynamic transforms what might seem a nostalgic escape into a psychological ordeal. The traveller hopes to relive joy or love but instead confronts a hollow shell. The vividness of sensory input contrasts sharply with the absence of feeling, making the experience alienating and sometimes torturous. The very qualities that imbue life with meaning (control, emotional engagement and choice) are missing. To observe oneself without being able to participate is a kind of imprisonment.

Adding to this burden is the unyielding passage of time. The traveller must endure the entire span of their past self’s existence as it unfolded, unable to pause, skip or alter events. The mundane routines and frustrating moments become an unrelenting background to a detached awareness, amplifying feelings of boredom and helplessness.

Beyond individual experience, this model of consciousness time travel prompts broader questions about identity and self-hood. If a future self can observe a past self in this way, it suggests that at any given moment, we might be being silently watched by versions of ourselves still to come. This infinite regress of selves watching selves forms a temporal network of silent witnessing, raising questions about privacy, free will and the nature of consciousness itself.

Intriguingly, this framework could offer an explanation for phenomena like déjà vu. These fleeting sensations of “having been here before” might be subtle leaks of future awareness into the past self’s consciousness. In this way. déjà vu becomes not a mere brain glitch but a faint echo of temporal selves overlapping, a "whisper" from the future observer to the present experiencer.

Basically, this vision of time travel is less about adventure and more about the limits of human experience. It reveals that the past, no matter how vividly recalled, cannot be truly re-inhabited without its essential emotions and choice. Thus, nostalgia risks becoming a trap, like a prison where the present self longs for a feeling that can never be recaptured.

This idea turns the usual fantasy on its head, showing that the desire to revisit the past might be fraught with alienation and pain. It forces us to confront the profound truth that life’s significance lies not just in moments themselves but in our active, emotional engagement with them as they unfold. The past remains a place to remember, but not to return, I recall hearing once.

'An Insider’s Damning Testimony of the Restart Scheme' by Andrew Davies—guest blogger

When the UK government launched the Restart Programme, it was sold as a bold initiative to help the long-term unemployed back into work. Providers would deliver tailored, compassionate support; the kind that understands barriers, builds confidence and matches people to sustainable jobs.

But according to one former employee of Seetec, a major Restart provider, the reality is far from the marketing brochure. In a candid Reddit post, they describe an environment that’s toxic for both staff and participants, and driven almost entirely by money. See:

https://www.reddit.com/r/DWPhelp/comments/16ct4ta/inside_of_the_restart_programme_during_my_time_5/?utm_source=chatgpt.com

The ex-employee paints a picture of a workplace ruled by intimidation. Advisors are overworked, underpaid and micromanaged to a degree that borders on absurd. From assigned seating to being told not to talk to colleagues outside your “team zone”, it’s a rigid, joyless environment.

Team leaders, they claim, don’t lead; they use their hardest-working staff to prop up the rest, with no extra pay or recognition. Those who raise concerns about workloads or stress are met with hostility, not support. HR, in practice, doesn’t exist. Complain, and you’re out.

Perhaps the most disturbing detail is how participants are treated. Far from tailoring support to people’s circumstances, management allegedly views each person as nothing more than a “job outcome” target, worth up to £3,000 in payment once they’ve earned £4,000 in wages.

According to the whistleblower, this leads to:

1. Pushing people into unsuitable, full-time work, regardless of health conditions or caring responsibilities.

2. Threatening sanctions to force compliance, even on claimants approaching state pension age and those clearly unfit for work.

3. Pressuring participants to travel long distances for irrelevant job starts, simply to get them “off the books”.

They claim management even encouraged threats against participants’ families to intimidate them into taking jobs. And that the Jobcentre forces people into the scheme, and the Restart process often leaves participants more stressed and demoralised than when they began.

Some, they note, start the programme full of hope and confidence, only to emerge months later with their mental health in tatters. Others turn to their GP for sick notes or apply for disability benefits just to escape the pressure.

One of the most alarming allegations is the open sharing of participants’ sensitive information in office meetings. Health conditions, criminal records and personal histories are apparently treated as casual gossip fodder, an outright breach of confidentiality rules.

The post describes a constant churn of staff, with one resignation notice per week being the norm. New hires are often people with no relevant experience, sometimes from completely unrelated careers, given minimal training before being unleashed on vulnerable participants.

At the heart of this testimony is the claim that the Restart Programme is driven by financial incentives, not genuine support. Once a participant hits that magic £4,000 earnings milestone, the provider gets paid and loses all interest in their wellbeing. Whether the participant stays in work or ends up back on benefits is irrelevant.

The post claims that DWP is already facing growing complaints and may remove Seetec’s contract in the future. Whether that happens or not, it’s clear from this insider’s account that the Restart Programme (at least in some places) is failing to deliver the respectful, tailored support it was supposed to provide.

If the allegations are accurate, then Restart isn’t just broken, it’s actively harming the people it claims to help. And that raises a bigger question: when welfare-to-work schemes are built on targets and payments, can they ever truly put people before profit?

What Happened to Bold Street?

Bold Street was once one of Liverpool’s eclectic shopping streets, where independent retailers with a creative spirit thrived. Now, those independent outlets have been drowned out by an avalanche of expensive bars and chain cafés, most with outside seating that takes up large areas of pedestrian walking space.

Streets evolve, of course, but the issue is not whether shop units are full, it’s what replaces long-standing independents, and how that changes the street’s role in civic and cultural life. A full street isn’t automatically a healthy street if the mix of uses narrows and public space becomes more privatised.

One of the casualties of this shift was Rennies Arts & Crafts, which traded on Bold Street for 42 years before closing. Its departure was described on Facebook as a “huge wrench”, a sentiment shared by many who valued the knowledge, artistry and sense of place that such businesses brought. While a few independents, like the radical bookshop News from Nowhere, still survive, they are increasingly surrounded by drink-led businesses charging inflated prices for pints.

Supporters of the changes point to the street’s current bustle and cosmopolitan food scene as proof of success. Or that independents can simply move elsewhere, to side streets or cheaper areas. But a street can be bustling and still lose cultural variety. And while relocation might keep them alive, it strips them of the visibility and civic presence they had in the city centre.

This transformation has prompted considerable debate, with news articles and social media posts questioning whether Bold Street is reinventing itself or simply succumbing to corporate homogeneity. For many, the answer seems to be the latter. This concern is not simple nostalgia, but about the erosion of the unique character, local knowledge and artistry that independent businesses like Rennies provided.

Plans to breathe new life into the area seem to have been ignored. One online forum comment suggested that the potential of Bold Street is being wasted, and called for pedestrianisation, public seating, art installations and tree-lined thoroughfares to be established in it; and expressed frustration regarding the licences issued by the council, which reportedly enable an “army” of street charity collectors to harass passersby.

Meanwhile, the prominent Lyceum building, originally built in 1802 as England’s first subscription library, is symbolic of this lost ambition. It was once a respected public space, but now houses a restaurant offshoot and a mini-golf-bar hybrid, showing no signs of genuine mixed-use or civic engagement.

Liverpool has shown in other places (from its markets to its creative districts) that economic vitality and cultural richness can co-exist. Bold Street could embody that balance again, if planning and licensing decisions made space for more than just the most profitable retailers. 

Bold Street now stands at a crossroads in its long and respected history. It is no longer the thriving, imaginative place it once was, yet it still clings to remnants of its past. The shift from independent enterprise to corporate hospitality has blunted its creative edge, replacing character with commercial blandness. Unless the city takes meaningful steps to prioritise cultural preservation, public space and genuine community use, Bold Street risks becoming just another generic high street.

'GB News Overrates its Ratings' by Andrew Davies—guest blogger

GB News is claiming a "seismic moment" in British broadcasting. Why? Because in July 2025, it barely managed to edge past the BBC News Channel in average daily viewership. But behind the chest-thumping, the reality is far less impressive, and far more revealing.

According to BARB, GB News averaged around 80,600 daily viewers last month, edging just ahead of the BBC News Channel’s 78,700. That’s a lead of fewer than 2,000 people. GB News has also announced strong performance in key time slots like breakfast and weekday evenings, framing it as a transformative moment in UK broadcasting. But dominating a few hours in the day on a low-reach channel like GB News doesn’t make it a media powerhouse—it simply confirms its status as a niche outlet with a loyal, if limited, audience.

GB News has always styled itself as the underdog ("the channel for people who feel unheard") but what it really offers is a steady diet of manufactured grievance and culture war talking points. If it’s drawing in viewers, it’s not because of journalistic rigour. It’s because it knows how to serve outrage with breakfast and paranoia with the evening headlines.

And yet even within its own narrow definition of success, the victory is hollow. When we look at the broader picture, the BBC remains overwhelmingly dominant.

GB News might have edged a daily average, but the BBC News Channel’s weekly reach still far exceeds it—often more than double. That means more people across the UK are watching the BBC, even if only briefly, while GB News relies on a smaller base of habitual viewers. That is not really growth, but more like saturation.

Then there’s the rest of the BBC's output, which dwarfs anything GB News could hope to match. BBC One’s Breakfast, Six O’Clock News and Ten O’Clock News still reach massive audiences. None of those numbers are included in the News Channel’s BARB figures. And that’s before we even include iPlayer and the BBC’s website and app, which together draw more than 40 million users. GB News online just draws over 10 million.

And radio? The BBC’s network of national and regional stations delivers news to millions more every day. GB News, by contrast, doesn’t even try.

So GB News, despite its claims of speaking for "the people", still trails badly in that department. You can game viewing figures for a time, especially when your programming verges on the sensational, but you can't manufacture credibility.

If anything, this supposed breakthrough shows the limits of GB News. It’s carved out a niche. That’s all. A vocal, partisan slice of the public is watching more intently, but that doesn't mean the channel is reshaping British media. It means it's doubling down on its core audience while alienating the rest.

So despite all the noise GB News makes, it’s still playing catch-up.

Is Liverpool’s Baltic Triangle Losing Its Soul?

Once a forgotten patch of derelict warehouses and post-industrial decay, the Baltic Triangle in Liverpool rose like a phoenix from the docklands’ ashes to become one of the city’s most celebrated cultural and creative districts. Artists, designers, musicians, tech start-ups and independent businesses found a home there, giving the area a reputation not just for reinvention but for authenticity.

In 2025, however, some are asking whether the Triangle is still a haven for creative independence or whether it has become a lifestyle brand for a different kind of consumer. Creative independence isn’t just a nice phrase. It means people having the space to experiment, take risks and shape the character of a place from the ground up—without being priced out or reduced to background decoration for someone else’s marketing campaign. The Baltic once offered that: messy, yes, but alive in a way that didn’t revolve around selling a curated “experience” to outsiders.

The Triangle’s early appeal lay in its rough edges. You could host a club night in a disused garage or start a street-food pop-up without crippling rents. Venues like Camp and Furnace, 24 Kitchen Street and the Baltic Market reflected that DIY ethos, and the art spilled onto the streets in murals and graffiti. No one is arguing the area should stay locked in romanticised dereliction. Investment has always been part of the story: from European funding that seeded Baltic Creative CIC, to private ventures that brought in new businesses and infrastructure. Growth is necessary. But there’s a difference between growth that builds on grassroots culture and growth that displaces it.

As the Triangle’s profile rose, it drew developers, investors and a wave of affluent newcomers. New apartment blocks appeared, workspace rents rose, and in some cases, the culture that made the area attractive began to be flattened into a branding tool. This is the familiar pattern seen in Shoreditch, Manchester’s Northern Quarter, Berlin’s Kreuzberg and beyond: artists create the buzz—the buzz attracts capital—the capital remakes the place—the artists leave. Polish isn’t the problem. But when “polish” comes at the cost of affordability, spontaneity and space for experimentation, a district risks becoming efficient but hollow: a place to consume, not create.

A city that balances growth with cultural depth and local input can produce something far more lasting. This doesn’t mean endless committees or blocking development until nothing happens. It means deliberate consultation with local creatives, residents and businesses so new projects respond to real needs; whether that’s workspace that stays affordable, public areas genuinely open for community use, or housing that offers a mix of price points, not just high-yield apartments. Liverpool has done this before. Baltic Creative CIC showed how targeted investment, combined with local initiative, can turn a neglected area into a thriving hub. The challenge now is to keep space in the Triangle for grassroots energy, not just as a starter phase before the next upgrade, but as a permanent part of the city’s DNA.

The Baltic Triangle still has genuinely independent spaces, but its future isn’t guaranteed. If it evolves into just another polished playground for rich digital nomads and cocktail tourists, it will have lost not only its edge but also its meaning. The question isn’t whether the Baltic should grow, it’s whether that growth will leave room for the kind of creative independence that made it matter in the first place.

Whatever Happened to the Tramp?

When I was a teenager in the late 1970s, tramps were a familiar sight. They nearly always dressed in the same “uniform”: a long, shabby overcoat with string-tied boots and a straggly beard. Yes… I know that sounds like a stereotype—but I saw them dressed like this.

They could usually be seen either sleeping on park benches or gathered in groups chatting and drinking on the steps of disused buildings etc.

They weren’t homeless in the modern sense of systemic failure and desperation, but part of a now extinct subculture, with its own unspoken rules.

The word “tramp” has largely vanished from modern vocabulary. We now speak of the “homeless”, a term that covers a wide and shifting range of circumstances: people living in tents, hostels, cars or sofa-surfing. Many are young (under 40), affected by addiction, mental health issues or a system that has failed them. They are often seen sitting outside banks or in sleeping bags in shop doorways. But they are not tramps, not in the older sense.

“Tramping” was a way of life: itinerant, solitary and based on a sort of freedom. The tramp of old was usually an older man (though a few women tramps did exist), sometimes an ex-soldier or labourer, who had dropped out of ordinary life through choice.

He would sleep most nights in the “spike”: the local workhouse-style “doss house”, where you were allowed a bed for one night in exchange for chores. George Orwell wrote about spikes in Down and Out in Paris and London, describing the indignities of the places from firsthand experience.

This subculture also had its “infrastructure”. Certain cafés, park shelters, hostels, church halls and quiet parts of railway stations were its hubs. Some cities had what might be called "tramp cafés", often in poorer areas, where for a few pence you could get a mug of tea, a badly-made sandwich and sit unbothered for hours. Ralph McTell in Streets of London mentions these. There was one in Berry Street in Liverpool, that I would go to occasionally with a school friend out of a sort of fascinated curiosity.

Sometime in the 1980s, tramps vanished from our streets. One reason for this is that spikes were abolished and city centres became cleaner, more policed and more commercialised. Loitering was outlawed. And being visibly poor became unacceptable.

Another reason is that the very idea of dropping out lost its romantic cultural acceptance. The tramp of old was seen as a figure of a bygone era; romanticised in literature and folk songs as a sort of wise old philosopher. Today, the idea of living outdoors, without possessions or ambition, is no longer viewed as eccentric, but is seen as a problem to be solved.

So tramps have disappeared, not because they chose to, but because society made it impossible for them to exist.

Scents Before Modernity

I was a young child in the late 1960s and early 1970s, and the world I grew up in was saturated with everyday scents that were distinctive and ever-present. These smells, like the pop music of the time, formed the background texture of my life. Most have vanished. Some for good reason: safety, health and progress. Others were lost due to modern manufacturing processes and production methods.

The most noticeable absence is tobacco smoke, especially from pipes and cigars. Those two had a richness I associated with sophistication and gentility. I don’t advocate smoking, and I’m glad it’s gone. But I miss the smell, at least from pipes and cigars. Cigarettes didn’t smell as nice.

Other scents I miss are: petrol fumes, coal fires, the smell of woollen school blazers and caps, the real leather of school satchels, chalk dust, wax crayons, freshly sharpened pencils and rubbers (erasers). Wellington boots also had a smell. So did the diesel from buses, trains and ferries. As did sweets (candy) with their variety of aromas. And bookshops smelled of paper and cardboard.

Everywhere had a smell! Now, virtually nothing has!

Clean air. Sanitised surfaces. Air-conditioned buildings that emit nothing at all. Supermarkets are scentless. Public transport provides no odour, unless something has gone wrong. Homes are heated by scentless electricity, not by gas or paraffin heaters, that had “cosy” aromas.

This isn’t just nostalgia. Something has been lost; faded away without mourning. Smell is the oldest sense we have, wired directly into memory and emotion. The scents of childhood shaped us, or they did so for me. They fashioned a world rich in texture and associations, that you carried with you. Today, we have replaced scent for sterility. 

I miss the world when it smelled of life.

‘The Poetics of Ambiguity: Romanticism, Empiricism and the Modern Mind’ - free ebook

The new ebook from Argotist Ebooks is ‘The Poetics of Ambiguity: Romanticism, Empiricism and the Modern Mind’ by Jeffrey Side.

Description: 

“This book began life as a doctoral thesis written between 2000 and 2007, a period during which I became increasingly disillusioned with the dominant aesthetic assumptions underpinning both Romantic and contemporary mainstream poetry. At the heart of my research was a single question: why did so much poetry—even that which purported to challenge cultural norms—remain epistemologically conservative? Why did it continue to treat language as a transparent medium, perception as unmediated access to reality and the self as a stable, expressive core? The answer, I gradually came to realise, lay in the unexamined legacy of empiricism. What I found in Romantic poetry—especially that of Wordsworth, Coleridge and their successors—was not the radical inwardness or imaginative freedom often celebrated in literary histories, but rather a poetics that remained fundamentally tethered to an Enlightenment faith in perception and observation. Far from breaking with empiricism, Romanticism often perpetuated its core assumptions, reconfiguring them within a poetic vocabulary that lent affective weight to what were essentially epistemological structures of the empirical gaze.” 

Available as a free ebook here: 

https://argotistebooks.blogspot.com/2025/07/the-poetics-of-ambiguity-romanticism.html

'Reassessing "The Boys from the Blackstuff" in the Context of Today’s Welfare System by Andrew Davies—guest blogger

The Boys from the Blackstuff is regarded as a landmark of 1980s British TV drama, praised for its uncompromising portrayal of unemployment and working-class hardship during the Thatcher years. The series gave a human face to the economic devastation caused by deindustrialisation and mass unemployment. Yet, in its aim to expose social suffering, it used a level of dramatic licence that sometimes overstated the harshness of the welfare system, which—compared to today's—was far less punitive, even under Thatcher.

The drama focused on unemployed Liverpool dockworkers, dealing not only with joblessness but with the loss of dignity and community. This portrayal powerfully captured the emotional and social impact of economic decline. However, it often implied that the benefits system was punitive and inadequate—an impression that doesn’t fully align with the welfare environment of the time. In reality, the system was comparatively generous and less conditional, with no strict requirement to prove active job searching in order to claim support.

While the series depicted a system that appeared harsh, the reality of the early 1980s welfare state was more complex, and, in some respects, more supportive than today’s. Contrary to the suggestion of near-total institutional indifference, claimants could access additional help beyond regular weekly payments, including for essentials like furniture and heating.

Support was available through Supplementary Benefit, the main means-tested system in place throughout the 1970s and early 1980s. Under this scheme, claimants could apply for Exceptional Needs Payments to cover urgent or irregular expenses, such as beds, cookers and other basic furnishings. Those with special circumstances (such as illness, disability or caring responsibilities) could also receive Additional Requirements Allowances to help with higher living costs, including heating during colder months. Though discretionary, these payments reflected a genuine commitment to poverty relief that is largely absent from today’s system.

Claimants were required to sign on only every two weeks, with no obligation to demonstrate active job hunting. There were rules about working while claiming, but no digital surveillance, mandatory job applications or routine sanctions of the kind now embedded in the benefits system.

What the series captured with emotional force may have overstated the cruelty of the system itself. Even under the tightening social policies of the early Thatcher years, the welfare state still provided a relatively humane safety net—one that recognised need and made provision for basic dignity.

The depiction of a relentlessly harsh system overlooked this reality. Instead, the drama focused on the psychological and social fallout of unemployment, which was indeed severe and deserving of attention. Yet by conflating the trauma of joblessness with a draconian benefits regime, it contributed to the impression that state support itself was a source of suffering—something that is truer today than it was then.

The series also highlighted the risks faced by those caught “moonlighting” while on benefits: characters who took informal work to supplement their income, only to face sanctions or loss of support. While this reflected a real anxiety, the need to moonlight was arguably less about systemic cruelty and more about claimants striving to maintain self-respect and meet needs that went beyond the scope of benefits.

Compared to today's benefits climate, the contrast is striking. Modern support is far more conditional, closely monitored and punitive, with frequent assessments and sanctions that make claiming both stressful and uncertain. By contrast, the 1980s system prioritised financial support over enforcement.

In this light, The Boys from the Blackstuff was both a product and an amplifier of its time: a dramatic work that rightly spotlighted the human cost of economic upheaval, but which arguably overstated the cruelty of the benefits system. Its powerful emotional truths remain compelling, but its depiction of 1980s welfare needs historical perspective. The system it portrayed as oppressive was, in fact, a comparatively generous support network—one without which the hardship of the era would have been far worse.

Ultimately, The Boys from the Blackstuff is best appreciated not as a literal account of welfare policy, but as a dramatic exploration of the social and psychological toll of unemployment, set against the backdrop of a welfare state that, while imperfect, was more accessible than its reputation, or its screen depiction, might suggest.

'The DWP Restart Scheme Exposed: The Secret Job Searches and Sanction Threats Unveiled by an Insider' by Andrew Davies—guest blogger

Recent insider disclosures from an Employment Advisor (EA) working within the UK government’s Restart Scheme, shared openly on Reddit (see link at the end of this article) in 2023, reveal unsettling realities about how the scheme operates. These revelations highlight the significant power EAs hold over claimants and raise important questions about fairness, transparency and the true purpose of Restart.

The EA explained on Reddit that their role goes beyond simply advising jobseekers. They are actively responsible for securing job starts and outcomes, with their performance closely monitored against strict targets set by the Department for Work and Pensions (DWP). The EA stated, “Part of an EA’s job is to get you into work, we are targeted on job starts and outcomes”.

This performance pressure leads to intensive management strategies designed to move participants quickly into employment, often regardless of job suitability or quality. The EA also revealed they have access to the “hidden job market”—vacancies not publicly advertised—and personally conduct job searches and “reverse market” by contacting local employers directly. “I do job searches myself for all my participants and send through jobs, I will also reverse market and ring local employers to find out jobs on the hidden job market i.e jobs that are available but not advertised in the usual places”, the EA wrote.

While this insider access may seem beneficial, it means claimants may be offered jobs without prior knowledge or choice, potentially being pressured into poor matches, sometimes at considerable distance. The EA admitted they hold sanction powers for non-engagement or refusal of suitable jobs, cautioning that sanctions can be cumulative: “602 [sanctions] is not the main focus, but for someone who is deliberately not engaging it can be a good shot across the bow to show how bad things can get, you can be under multiple sanctions in theory”.

The advisor made clear that their own job depends on meeting targets: “If my job is going to be put at risk by not being able to hit targets then I am going to use every tool I have to enable me to hit those targets”. Although supportive of participants with genuine barriers, the EA expressed a clear intent to push “work ready” individuals into employment quickly.

This insider perspective shines a stark light on why many claimants are wary of Restart, especially older people or those with alternative plans like education. The scheme’s design—focused on rapid placements rather than individual suitability—can coerce participants into accepting unsuitable roles, under threat of sanction.

While Restart offers access to exclusive job leads and active advisor support, the power imbalance and sanction pressures mean claimants should carefully consider whether engagement suits their circumstances. Awareness of this inside information, now available publicly thanks to the EA’s Reddit post, may help individuals navigate their options more strategically or decide that avoiding Restart altogether is the safer path.

Link to EA's Reddit post

https://www.reddit.com/r/DWPhelp/comments/12fo3bc/comment/jfxhk0p/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

'How the DWP's Restart Scheme Funnels Welfare Money to Private Firms' by Andrew Davies—guest blogger

The UK government claims to be cutting back on welfare spending: tightening eligibility, toughening work requirements and cracking down on so-called “benefit cheats”. But behind the scenes, billions are being quietly diverted into the coffers of private employment firms via schemes like Restart. These firms are paid not for helping people, but for simply tracking them.

What’s happening is not illegal. But it’s a system designed in such a way that providers can profit handsomely with minimal effort or accountability. In effect, the Restart Scheme turns Universal Credit claimants into data assets. If you’re referred while on UC, and you later go on to earn a modest income (even if entirely through your own efforts) the Restart provider gets paid by the government.

Restart providers are paid in stages, according to a commercial model buried in the DWP's contracts. Once a Universal Credit claimant is referred into Restart (via the PRaP system), a clock starts ticking. For the next 547 days (about 18 months), the provider is eligible to claim job outcome payments if that claimant hits certain earnings milestones:

£1000 earned: First outcome payment

£2000 earned: Second outcome payment

£4250 earned: Final “sustained employment” bonus worth up to £3,000

These earnings can be cumulative, across multiple short-term jobs. And here’s the thing: the job doesn’t have to be found with their help. If the claimant gets work on their own (or even returns to a job they already had lined up) the provider still profits, as long as that PRaP referral is in place.

This is not about employment support. It’s about monetising unemployment. Once you're tagged in the Restart system, your financial movements are monitored for 18 months via real-time data sharing between HMRC and the DWP. This continues even after you close your Universal Credit claim, with earnings still reported for six months.

Restart doesn’t exist to help people into work. It exists to ensure providers get paid when people return to work anyway. That’s why Work Coaches are under pressure to refer as many people as possible.

These outcomes are funded through the Department for Work and Pensions. Restart is part of a vast ecosystem of outsourced welfare services, built on a logic of per-capita capture, automated tracking and staged monetisation.

The public is told that tough love and strict rules are saving money. But the truth is that a significant portion of the welfare budget is quietly redirected into opaque private contracts that are rarely scrutinised and often rewarded for doing little more than watching you earn.

There’s no fraud here, just an exploitative business model that feeds off claimant data. It's technically legal, politically useful and financially lucrative. But it’s also profoundly cynical.

At the same time claimants are harassed, sanctioned and made to jump through hoops for support, Restart providers are cashing in on their efforts, even when they contribute nothing at all to those outcomes. This is the hidden cost of welfare outsourcing. And it’s time more people knew about it.

The Evolution of the Western Film Score

I first came across the music of Aaron Copland in 1989. I already knew that his work had influenced the sound of Hollywood Western film scores, most notably Elmer Bernstein’s The Magnificent Seven. I had assumed Copland had been the only influence behind this kind of music. I didn’t realise that what we now think of as “Western” film music had developed over time, influenced by several composers before Hollywood adopted it as the sound of the cinematic American West.

One of those earlier composers was Ferde Grofé. His Grand Canyon Suite came out in 1931, before Copland produced a similar sound with Prairie Journal in 1937. Though not written for film, its sweeping orchestration would go on to influence Hollywood composers during the 1940s.

While Grofé wasn’t a film composer himself, his orchestrational style gave Hollywood composers new techniques for evoking the American West. This can be heard in Max Steiner’s score for They Died with Their Boots On (1941), which has strong similarities to Grofé’s Grand Canyon Suite.

Before the 1940s, the Western genre had no fixed musical identity. Early Westerns relied on film orchestrations that followed general film music conventions, without any attempt to sound specifically “American” or “frontier”.

That changed with composers like Dimitri Tiomkin and Jerome Moross. Tiomkin’s scores for Red River (1948) and High Noon (1952) incorporated folk melodies, hymns, guitar and harmonica. And Moross’s score for The Big Country (1958) had a spacious feel that matched the landscape.

So far, we’ve looked at how this musical style evolved through Grofé and the film composers he influenced. Now we will look at how Copland’s music fits into this evolution.

As mentioned earlier, Copland’s first foray into the kind of sound we now associate with the American West came with Prairie Journal. While this was not written with Western tropes in mind, it used many of the musical elements (open harmonies, folk-like melodies and a sense of spaciousness) that, as we have seen, would later become associated with cinematic depictions of the American West.

The following year, Copland’s ballet, Billy the Kid (1938), marked a turning point. It used cowboy songs, square dance rhythms, and a more minimalist style of orchestration. Although it was written for the stage, it would define how the West sounded in film, especially by the 1960s, when Elmer Bernstein drew heavily on it for his score for The Magnificent Seven.

Interestingly, though Copland had written a score for the 1948 Western, The Red Pony, it had no influence on Western film music in the '40s and '50s.

What emerges, then, from this brief history is not one clear origin point for Western film music, but two separate paths developing alongside each other. One came from Grofé (lush, grand and pictorial), which dominated the Hollywood Westerns of the '40s and '50s. The other came from Copland (minimalist, folk-based and direct), which became predominant in the 1960s and thereafter.

Exposing the Flaws in the Observer’s Salt Path Critique

A recent article in The Observer called ‘The real Salt Path: how a blockbuster book and film were spun from lies, deceit and desperation’ has caused some controversy. It presents a damning investigation into Raynor Winn’s bestselling memoir The Salt Path, calling into question its truthfulness and suggesting that Winn and her husband “Moth” built their public image on a foundation of legal trouble, financial misconduct and selective storytelling.

While the article presents serious claims, and cites multiple sources to support them, its tone, framing and rhetorical style raise their own questions, about journalistic bias, assumption-laden reporting and what truth in memoir really means.

From the headline alone, the tone is set: “spun from lies, deceit and desperation”, is not neutral language. It prepares the reader for scandal before the evidence has even begun. This isn’t unusual in click-bait media, but in investigative reporting, such language can subtly (or not so subtly) shape a reader’s judgement.

Throughout the article, sources who speak critically of Winn (especially Ros Hemmings, a former employer’s widow) are presented as credible and emotionally grounded, while Winn herself is largely silent, represented only by a short legal statement. The article makes no serious attempt to balance its narrative with a fuller version of Winn’s perspective. The effect is to turn one side of a complex story into a presumed truth.

The article depends heavily on Winn’s past legal and financial troubles, most notably an alleged embezzlement case from 2008, settled out of court with a non-disclosure agreement. It’s a serious allegation, but the reporting treats this as a smoking gun that discredits The Salt Path entirely, without acknowledging that memoirs often include omission, thematic shaping and selective focus.

Similarly, the article notes that Winn and her husband owned property in France during their supposed "homelessness", and later refers to it as "uninhabitable". But this key context is folded into a paragraph mid-article, with little exploration of what "uninhabitable" actually meant in practice. The framing leans toward suspicion rather than clarity. If the property was uninhabitable in the sense that it could not be lived in, then Win and her husband were indeed homeless. The lack of clarity about this in the article, allows for the implication that they had options that they hid from readers. That might be technically true, but without examining the real condition or accessibility of that French property, the reporting veers into insinuation.

An assumption running through the article is that because Winn omitted parts of her past, she must have intended to deceive. But memoir is not autobiography. It’s an inherently selective genre, based around emotional truth and narrative arcs, not exhaustive chronology. Many people who write memoirs, write under pseudonyms, simplify time-lines, or emphasise thematic resonance over literal precision.

The article also assumes that because some readers were moved by the story, they might have acted on it in misguided ways, and that therefore Winn’s alleged misrepresentations could cause “real harm”. That claim is speculative and unsupported by evidence. It functions as a rhetorical device, not a documented consequence.

One of the strongest challenges raised in the article is over Moth’s diagnosis of corticobasal degeneration (CBD). Several neurologists are quoted expressing scepticism about the longevity and reversibility of his symptoms as portrayed in the book. Yet even here, the article admits there is nothing to disprove the diagnosis. It also acknowledges that medical anomalies do happen.

Ultimately, the article tries to draw a hard line between fact and fable in a literary form that has never been that tidy. The claim that The Salt Path misrepresents Winn’s life might have merit, but does that invalidate the emotional and symbolic journey that so many readers found meaningful?

The article suggests that Winn’s supposed deceptions disqualify her from telling a redemptive story. But that’s a moral judgement, not a literary one. The uncomfortable reality is that flawed people can write true things, and inspirational books don’t have to be written by saints. Of course, redemptive arcs can be misused or feel too convenient—but that doesn’t mean they’re always inauthentic, or that "flawed" narrators can’t earn them.

The article raises serious questions. It uncovers contradictions, omitted facts and unresolved tensions between the private past and the public story. But its tone is adversarial. 

It’s worth noting that the journalist behind the Observer piece, Chloe Hadjimatheou, was previously found by the BBC’s own Executive Complaints Unit to have breached editorial standards in a separate investigation—specifically, a 2021 Radio 4 documentary that included false claims and unsupported insinuations. The BBC later admitted the programme failed to meet its accuracy standards. Given this prior finding, it’s reasonable to approach her current reporting with caution—especially when it relies heavily on implication and selective framing.

This kind of history suggests a need for caution when weighing reporting that relies heavily on implication and selective framing.

Good journalism should probe. But when it loses sight of balance, it can resemble the thing it critiques.