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This is a question Pretentious bollocks

Possibly the worst event I ever went to was an evening of turntablists in London. The lights went down, the first guy put a cymbal onto a turntable, dropped the needle on it and left it making screeching noises for ten minutes.

When the lights came up, half the audience had snuck out.

What's the most pretentious rubbish you've ever been to see in the name of art?

(, Wed 28 Sep 2005, 14:19)
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This question is now closed.

Anything in Tate modern
But I think the glass of water on a high shelf takes the biscuit.
(, Sun 2 Oct 2005, 11:21, Reply)
You voluntarily go to watch Shakespeare?

You pretentious cunt.
(, Sun 2 Oct 2005, 11:14, Reply)
...Which would make all of Scotland pretentious twunts? Don't be daft man! It's only Laurie Anderson who's pretentious, and we take no responsibility for her whatsoever.
(, Sun 2 Oct 2005, 8:40, Reply)
Artistic Twaddle at taxpayer's expense
Some chick here got a $5000 government grant to put on ten twenty minute "performances". Her performance consisted of her swinging several lengths of ribbed agricultural pipe about, so that a sound was created. She called it something like "the song of the Whirly" and it even made the paper.

Another Brisbane guy got a huge grant, made a dozen or so small pure gold "works" and hid them around the city. If people found them, all to the good. He hid them in places like wall grates, suspended from the bottoms of bins etc. He made the paper too, along with the Whirly woman, in an article about the waste of money taxpayers forked out for Student Arts Grants. Un-watermeloning-believable.
(, Sun 2 Oct 2005, 2:01, Reply)
Laurie Anderson performance artist
Anyone who thinks drum 'n bagpipes is a good musical concept is certainly pretentious. And clearly a bit of a twunt.
(, Sun 2 Oct 2005, 0:58, Reply)
"Seminal breakcore artist"
.. as he describes himself, and going by the does-what-it-says-on-the-tin name of "Shitmat".

The biggest load of utter twunty arse-bleeding bollocks you will ever hear. Random noises flung together with the seeming sole intention of confusing and swiftly angering the unfortunate listener.

Typical track title: "That goats [sic] skull ain't no good for psy-trance workers".

No really
(, Sat 1 Oct 2005, 22:52, Reply)
Oh, and
Marylin Fucking Manson. Don't get me wrong, I like some of his music, it's just... bleh. And him "concentrating on his other creative shtuffs". GAH.

/finish rant
(, Sat 1 Oct 2005, 21:53, Reply)
I was pretentious once.
Many years ago when I was a pimple ridden piss taking fourth former, I decided to write a poem for the school magazine. First line was 'When John left he left the left gate open', followed by several lines of meaningless twattage, and ending on 'like Adolf Hitler in the bath'.

And they published it. Love it when you take the piss and nobody notices.
(, Sat 1 Oct 2005, 19:58, Reply)
Oh. My. Gawsh. >__<
I've just been reading some unsigned bands forum thingummyjig... I found this band called "King Lifting". This is what they had to say for themselves:

this is our one mainly about tog trumps(tha playing cards, with monsters and shit):

"And I swear,
they stole the shoes he died in.
They robbed the grave he layed in.
Oh so sad.

I’m big, I’m gonna rip your sole out
and push it up my…
I eat suits for breakfast.

I. Sniff. Blood.
They stole the shoes he died in.
They robbed the gold he lied with.
Oh so, sad.

Makes me wince / you see medieval waiters; their skin is a downside
Their skin is a downside.

Hangman dreams of ropes. His killing power is a staggering 78
Granite man is crying, even his tears crush the world
Werewolves wonder what the fuck they're wearing, they’ve no em-pa-thy to speak of.
Physical strength for these clowns is a colossal
95, that’s 90 too many. I learnt the hard way.

Horror rating, 1000. Guess who?

The incredible melting man. Christ doesn’t visit
earth due to this creatures face. Like an action figure
left on the radiator. Like a doll manipu-
-lated by a, blind child:“I wish I was dead” show your self

And I swear,
they stole the shoes he died in.
They robbed the grave he layed in.
Oh so sad.

I’m big, I’m gonna rip your sole out
and push it up my…
I eat suits for breakfast.

I. Sniff. Blood.
They stole the shoes he died in.
They robbed the gold he lied with.
Oh so, sad.

Makes me wince / you see medieval waiters; their skin is a downside
Their skin is a downside.
Hangman dreams of ropes. His killing power is a staggering 78
Werewolves wonder what the fuck they're wearing.
You stink like corpses. You keel over in the grave
like wet spaghetti.

Elemental and the Demon buy their jewellery

Firedrake has the last word constricting ‘round branches
That night all fear factors across the land rose
into the high millions. Word has it there were
50 drakes to every soul. fuck you all"


I ask you.
(, Sat 1 Oct 2005, 18:56, Reply)
Shakespearian humour
Those pretentious twunts who pretend to find Shakespeare's 'jokes' rib-burstingly funny.

I know where the intended humour is and I understand the jokes, but they're just not funny...

It's one of my favourite games to go and see Shakespeare, titter in the places where no humour was intended and seeing how many people join in. It's really shocking how many people do - in one performance I had almost half the audience giggling, and the actors looked seriously perplexed...
(, Sat 1 Oct 2005, 18:17, Reply)
It's in Devon. You'll know why if you've ever been.
(, Sat 1 Oct 2005, 16:52, Reply)
tate modern
As an art student,I see possibly more than my fair share of pretentious bollocks....my mate (probably not my mate anymore) made a video in media last year, for his final proect....there was no sounds I could hear, but it was basically some skinny guy with make up on running around a cellar or something, a load of random smelly goffic types (and apparently the guy out of Torsohorse)....and a guy with long hair, running around a field, wearing a t-shirt and white pants (y-fronts, perhaps), holding an inflatable sheep. Dunno about pretentious, but it made me piss myself. Also, in reply to The Beast with the cold, you don't pay to get into the Tate Gallery (at least you didn't when I last went), so what are you bitching about? You don't even have to go in there, if you don't like it..... *likes the Tate*
(, Sat 1 Oct 2005, 15:38, Reply)
fashion wank
designer clothes and the prices that the label queens will pay to wear them.

a dress with ragged, unsewn edges (gussied up with wanky little beads) - AUD$800

a plain, lined corduroy jacket - AUD$750

pretentious twats happy to pay to wear someone else's name plastered over them
(, Sat 1 Oct 2005, 14:01, Reply)
I have a high threshold-
went to v. pretentious London architecture school, recent Tarkovsky season at NFT made me wee myself with happiness and I quite like Joseph Beuys. Or his artwork at least

Unfortunately I did once see a production, nay British Premiere, of a completely opaque and screechy Japanese avant-garde opera based on King Lear, which was THE most dire thing ever. Sets were really good though...*

okay, I designed them...
(, Sat 1 Oct 2005, 12:06, Reply)
Yes, but is it art?
Having come from a very good all-girls (steady) high school, and a college doing media and film, I have witnessed (and taken part in for a laugh) all kinds of pretentious, twatty bollocks.

Best ones? GCSE art exam, girl few tables behind me proceeds to lift one breast free of bra, dunk in red acrylic (don't know why I remembered that) paint and plonk it on the big sheet of paper, then left, looking smug. She was bastard odd anyway, and used to smoke silk cut.

And I made a film once (and got a B+) for my film course (funny that), which consisted of a 5 second piece of footage of my friend Luke hitting himself in the head with a lunch tray, repeated lots of times. 340 I think. It was called 'Le Petit Dieu' (the little god), and I was pushing my luck and seeing what I'd get for it. That b+ is what saved me from getting a U in the end as well. Tarts.
(, Sat 1 Oct 2005, 12:04, Reply)
1st year of Bachelor of Communications Design Degree
The degree it's self was really just a big pretentious wank and diden't lead to any type of gainful employment, but you should have seen the lecturers.

One in paticular came from amsterdame and worked in his spare time as a visual artist, getting well liquored up an then sticking random stuff onto canvas. He was married to some random japanese woman (also an artist) and had a picture of them both in kimonos on his macintosh laptop. Still he was pretty hot looking, bit of a show pony really.

Another one I had for a subject called creative writing. She was a big fat hairy lesbian feminist and had Won some literary prize for writing a book about a woman getting raped at diffreint stages of her life by her father, brother and husband. Real quality there.
(, Sat 1 Oct 2005, 11:28, Reply)
Wedding Photographers
My brother got married a few weeks ago. Compared to mine and Mrs Doktorrob's wedding (£97.50, registry office), they paid around £5K to get married at High Melton (it's part of Doncaster College), of which £900 was for the photographer.

He turned up, wearing a black turtleneck, with a dinner jacket. He had a silly little goatee. All he was missing was the beret. He lived up to it as well, taking 1,485,587 photos, moving people around to 'catch the moment'.

The best bit was when my 13-month old son managed to embed his camera in the grass by pulling his tripod over. I have never seen anyone move so quickly.
(, Sat 1 Oct 2005, 9:07, Reply)
Heston Blumenthal
Nuff said.
I had the pleasure of meeting one of his chefs. The guy was so proud that he worked in the lab inventing new ideas. I mean, he's just cooking!
Anyway, took great delight in asking him if he could actually cook, and what, if any, transferrable skills he hoped to take from his current job.
He wasn't impressed.
(, Sat 1 Oct 2005, 8:03, Reply)
Vincent Gallo
Not sure if I'm repeating someone else's nomination of this self absorbed, narcissistic twunt. Take your pick, be it his films or his 'music', it's all toss.
He could have saved me an hour or two of my time if he did the decent thing and just stayed at home masturbating in front of a mirror. Instead he had to share his vision with the world.
(, Sat 1 Oct 2005, 5:17, Reply)
Jon Norris
Nice story, but where's the "pretentious bollocks" element...?
(, Sat 1 Oct 2005, 3:56, Reply)
Guy Ritchie's Revolver
I've just seen Revolver and I'm very pissed off about it. Mr Gold, my friends have patiently explained, is a concept - a man who lives in your head and makes you do naughty things for no real reason. His greatest trick is making you believe you're him. So how did he get there?

Plus it fucks up the rest of the film, which was alright, actually. Examples:

So the American guy is buying a load of crack from the Chinese, right? And he needs all the crack for a deal he's doing with Mr Gold. But if Mr Gold is all in his head, what the fuck is he leaving a big pile of drugs in his casino safe for? Surely he knows that there's no point in buying it? Mr Gold isn't real, but that crack certainly is.

And if Mr Gold isn't real, then who the fuck is the Yoko Ono lookalike who keeps popping up and doing things for him? She can't work for somebody who's not real. In fact, I doubt she gets an entourage of sixteen people and a mansion-like house from having an employer who isn't fucking real.

I don't mind films being used as metaphors, but what the fuck is with this guy? It's entirely inconsistent, utterly rubbish, and mostly not even that well directed.

Just to top off the pretentious bollocks, the ending is an entirely blank screen with a load of slow piano music playing. It doesn't tie anything up. It's just a piano playing a vaguely sombre thing.

And what's the deal with the CGI bits? If I wanted to watch CGI people shooting each other I'd stay at home and play Quake.

And who's the guy who decides to shoot everybody? What's his story? Why's he go and decide to do that? Did anyone pay him to do that? If not, why did he do that?

And what happened to the chinese guy? Did he get shot by the mental bald chap, or did he get tortured to death by the Americans at the end? If he didn't, who DID get tortured at the end?

Guy Ritchie pretends to be all arty and independent and British but all his film did to me was confuse me and make me go "Wayhey!" when people shot each other. Repeated scenes of chessboards and men spouting philosophical nonsense doesn't make a good film.

Why the fuck call a film Revolver if it's not REALLY about people getting shot, anyway?

I'd say sorry for length and spoilers but I don't actually care.
(, Sat 1 Oct 2005, 0:36, Reply)
Not in the name of art..
But my friend John has some friends in the higher echilons of society around where I live, as a result we were invited to the 21st Birthday party of some aristo in West Sussex (for anybody who knows the area, it's the people who own Borde Hill). It was fancy dress, so we went as Slipknot, using overalls my other friend Dan had nicked from work and 99p Haloween masks. For an idea of how much effort we put into our costumes, here is John and Dan with some of the lovely ladies at the party -

We took advantage of the free bar, to the extent where we took 5 litre bottles of Smirnoff and hid them under our car so we could get them later. This is me sneaking about behind the free bar getting the bottles -

Everything started going a bit pear shaped when we decided to go for a wander, I pissed in the swimming pool, John and Dan found the car park and started letting tyres down. I was stood off to the side of the car park gathering my thoughts when I heard somebody yell "What the fuck are you doing?!" and saw John and Dan sprinting into the bushes, so I dove into the nearest foliage, twisting my ankle in the process. I hid there for a bit, then walked back to the party, but couldn't find John or Dan anywhere. I ended up chatting to the birthday girl's father for about 45 minutes about how wonderful his patio heaters were, then got a call from Dan saying "We're in big trouble Norris, abort, abort, meet us back at the flat!" so I walked down the drive calmly and phoned for a taxi back the their flat.

As I was waiting for the taxi 3 BMWs screeched to a halt next to me and three rather large rugby players jumped out, and one of them grabbed me by the collar, and started yelling at me to tell him where John and Dan were, luckily I was drunk enough not to be shit scared, so I chuckled a bit and said I hadn't seen them for about 2 hours, and he was just about to hit me when his mate pulled him off and said they should go and keep looking.

By this time it was about 4am so I just got the taxi home and slept. When I finally caught up with John and Dan the next day, it turned out they had been chased through woods and over fields by angry posh people, Dan also twisting his ankle in the process (but a lot worse than mine, it was about the size of a basketball), but luckily hadn't been caught.

A few days later we snuck back into the car park to retrieve our car, and, lo and behold, the bottles of vodka were still there!

I have a load more pictures somewhere, I'll see if I can track them down and post them.
(, Fri 30 Sep 2005, 22:53, Reply)
nuff said
Stomp! What the fuck is that all about?! What, is it ment to symbolise the music of the streets? Last time i smacked a pair of bin lids together i was pissed and insted of people clapping some big fuck off black man tried to deck me!

Oh and everything Sinead o Conner has ever said. You know if she grew her hair and wore a nice dress she'd make a nice wife for a lucky man
(, Fri 30 Sep 2005, 22:52, Reply)
People who work "In the City" and talk loudly into their mobile phones as loudly as possible.

They go away to their "place in the country" at weekends.

They never pay with anything smaller than a £20 note.

Never say please or thank you.

I'm getting away from the qotw now, but I hate Home Counties wankers.
(, Fri 30 Sep 2005, 21:37, Reply)
Notably the ones in the 12-17 age bracket, who are forever going on about how depressing life is, and how the cut themselves to relieve the pain. This despite the fact school really is one of the easiest times of your life, andthey are NOT fucking depressed to start with.

Attention seeking pretentious cunts.
(, Fri 30 Sep 2005, 21:36, Reply)
Derek Jarman's film "Blue"
A feature length film of a blue screen and a bloke talking. That's it ...just a blue screen...for over an hour.
(, Fri 30 Sep 2005, 21:25, Reply)
Mmm. . .pretentious. . .
Food as edible 'art'. Can it get any worse than Richard Blais? Jesus Christ on a biscuit,I hope not.


Vanilla mashed potatoes. Gelled Tang. Black olive ice cream. A side of 'frankincense aroma',whatever the hell that is supposed to be. . .and the topper?
Foie Gras Milkshake. No fucking joke.
(, Fri 30 Sep 2005, 20:55, Reply)
art and injuries
Otopski wishes he could toast bread with his mind, i saw that shed, and also smacked my head off the top of the door.
however cool they were i never really got the giant pin things (you know, the one that trent reznor presses his face into in the video for Only. NB not a goffic). they were bigger than me, and you could leave an imprint of your whole body in it.
the thing is they smelled really, really weird, not right at all. im 100% sure i want to know why.
(, Fri 30 Sep 2005, 19:49, Reply)
I'm a sporadic visitor to the Gallery of Modern Art in Glasgow, and occasionally there's some fantastic gems in there - The David Mach exhibit was astonishing, do a google search or something.

However, the last time I ventured into the building, I came across a small church-shaped shed, on its side, painted red. Walking into this shed, I found a sideways pew, and a TV screen. Upon this screen was a naked man, sitting facing away from the screen. He was singing indeciferable hymns and had a tattoo saying "Sorrow".

I laughed so hard I smacked my head off of the door and tripped over on the way out. Smooth.
(, Fri 30 Sep 2005, 17:59, Reply)

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