Merton Abbey Mills
As a gay man present at Merton Abbey’s second annual Dark Mills celebration of all things Gothic and Alternative last weekend, I was very aware that among the various subcultures which compose the Goth lifestyle, none is identifiably queer. When it comes to politics, religion or sexuality, Goths seem to exercise not so much tolerance, as neutrality, as if the devil and all his works were Swiss.
Patricia Quinn, the festival’s leading patron ( think pretty Bride of Frankenstein), spoke in the programme of a thriving but misunderstood artistic scene, whose contributions range from “Tim Burton to Vivian Westwood to Siouxie Sioux”. She then advocated giving oneself up to sexual abandon, while the main arena proclaimed a “Festival of Sins”. The bands and the music provided a focal point, around which fashion designers, gothic artists, and movie set innovators swirled in a sea of black robes and purple basques. The costumes alone should make this a magnet to gay taste, so how does it remain so irredeemably straight?
When English rock band Bauhaus formed in 1978, who could have guessed that they would evolve and combine elements of glam rock, punk, and sundry other influences to provide the mournful gothic rock that served to fill the vacuum of punk’s collapse? A Goth sea parted as I made my way to sample newer talents like Gabriel Kain, Cryogenica, A Terrible Splendour, and Beautiful Deadly Children. The latter group is noted for its decadent costumes and vampiric flavour.
The insistent theme of horror and vampirism makes it even more puzzling that the culture remains so heterosexual, if we recall the proven historical links between gay history, the romantic movement, and the gothic imagination. Ridley Scott’s classic film, Alien (1979) had an open air screening at the festival, impressive on many levels, but chiefly for its stunning artwork and sharp visual style, merging the organic and metallic in startling ways.
Dark Mills festival
Goth fashion reflects this, especially in the almost mandatory wearing of high, chunky boots (think Terminator, or as might be worn by the crew of the ill-fated Nostromo). An eclectic mix of clothing from traditional punk to Rocky Horror drag was on display. Many couples looking as if they had found themselves, like Dante, in a dark mid-life wood, “gone from the path direct”, wore top hats, cloaks or charity shop jackets with black feathers, and even monocles.
It struck me they were Mr. and Mrs. Normal being daring and uninhibited for a weekend. A male pirate in a salmon silk blouse with dark hugging trousers, white-faced girls on elaborate stilts, tall men with fabulous long hair, and others showing the ravages of persistent bleaching and colour changing., added to the mix. More than anything, it struck me as I looked beyond the surface fripperies that Goth is, despite its pretension, a scene of impoverishment. The Goth pound has never had the power and resilience of the pink pound, and this is the key to its separateness from the gay scene. Despite being well-organised, with a wealth of stalls selling related merchandise, I later heard the event was a financial failure. Though the hand of reccession still haunts many pockets, I wasn’t really surprised.
There wasn’t any of the joy of a gay parade, and I felt like giving some of the gloomy wizards a hug. One friendly young guy told me he had completed his Swedish military training when he was struck by an attractive vinyl picture disc with gothic artwork. It was his spur to adapting to the Goth lifesyle; he was a vegan, and wore a symbol of the Theosophical Society around his neck - the Victorian movement much influenced by the mysyical Madame Blavatsky. Goths in general tend to take their philosophies seriously, drawing from the most diverse sources. Another guy said he supervised those who designed computer robots (of the type used in the Picasso car ads), and there is evidence of a more technical bent among devotees.
This being a special occasion, the 13th century Chapter House was open to viewing. The partly excavated archeological remains of the former Abbey are a revelation, Merton’s own mini Pompeii hidden beneath a subway. If Arthur himself had wanted a quiet spot to sleep, this could have served him down the centuries. I stood in a cavernous, semi-illuminated space, by what had been the site of the High Altar, reflecting that Thomas a Beckett may even have offiiciated there. Strung around and above me were paintings of semi-clad females in futuristic settings by exhibiting artists. Goth imaginings seemed inconsequential within this time-hallowed place.
On YouTube can be seen a “freaky” gay Goth boy at an American fashion show, freaky because he’s a statistical oddity, and the most that can be said of his sales pitch is that his look involves a crossover from gay bondage wear. Even so, Dark Mills couldn’t afford him.
By John Hartley
(c) Copyright 2010. All rights reserved.
