Weird Nationalism - Corbin Shaw's art at 'Clubnite' review

The Jaded cosmopolitan multiculturalists long for the orientalised pseudo-monoculture of ‘the north’, and what they come up with is “Club Nite” at Village Underground. This is not so much a review of Clubnite as a club night; Olivia Twist turns her attention to the club decorations, courteously provided by the so-eminently-crap-it-almost-goes-without-saying artist Corbin Shaw. What was the deal with this ironic nationalist boy’s club of a club night? - HSR

It's not often that people actually talk about the decoration of clubs anymore, since unfortunately we as a culture have succumbed to the plain black quasi-warehouse: boring bland and industrial. The idea that an artist would collaborate with a club night to decorate their walls is therefore an appealing idea. However, the delivery makes me wonder whether its worth even hoping for good things to happen. To think! at the time, the world cup was still a month away.

A note on the aural/oral before we get into aesthetics. The sets were good and fun: Mysrry (DJasianbarbie) made her debut set. A big highlight was Taylor Richardson’s featuring a mix of esoteric computer guided remixes with cassö, RAYE, D-Block Europe - Prada (STAR SEED & PIERCE Remix) and an EsdeeKid-4 Raws Budot edit, Rihanna Hit List (Bassline Remix) and I have Nothing, Big G. Drunk in Love Diplo Remi; Lancer Victorious Honey Buns; Murder Club Nirvana & Cardi B Remix, a set list rooted in the online, or as he likes say: “I just play music”. Big up Paritos’s set and organisational verve.

This was promptly followed by BoyPillow (1 of the three founders of premier e-girl and -boy clubbing event, Maxxxing) who downed a bottle of Henny while playing his signature High BPM High bass tracklist. The eminent if-you-know you know Bailey Holmes Music’s USB was corrupted, so the same track kept running back, over and over again, until he MC’ed over Jenny Spark’s dope two-hour set. The act of inviting memes like OGMeathead (who didn't even turn up) and mixing them with other artists smacks of this weird exotica-approach that people from London have about Bradford MC type music. It’s annoying.

I have been to insanely good MC type nights. I have seen Marky B kick the soundguy in the face after only one song. But these kinds of things do not happen in hipster-adjacent spaces.

So yeah, the Corbin Shaw Flags. The club was filled with them. One huge one behind the decks that said “Clubbing” then a bunch of others dotted throughout Village Underground emblazoned with phrases like “tart”, “Filler”, “2014” and “Klarna”. It was unclear if the DJs got briefed that they’d be playing beneath twenty St. George’s flags during a historic upswing of the Xenophobia-fuelled Reform party that is threatening to ‘deport’ or exile hundreds of thousands of our loved ones.

Corbin’s flags remind me of those nihilistic affirmation instagram accounts littered with phrases like “my country is so psychologically stable” or words like “lit” overlaying AI gen rainforests and squashed pics of Ed Sheeran. AI’s evolution from the visuals of DALLE-1 to realistic deep fakes relegated these affirmation pics to the internet graveyard. But these flags summon them back, reading similarly to Corbin’s recent AI-influenced campaign poster for SXSW festival that reads “REEL LIFE” over an image of Stone Henge filtered through the “impressionism” prompt on Adobe Express. They give nostalgia for recent years swiping at instagram affirmation images on an iphone 5c fused with some kind of affirmative pseudo critique painted on a crusader knights shield.

“Nobody knows what it means, but its provocative.” – Blades of Glory

What is more provocative is perhaps the feeling of being on drugs in a club with sexy people, in a sexy environment. Instead we were mired within empty, basic irony because of the flags, which people kept looking at, feeling weirded out by.

Exemplary of the power of instagram to give soft power to the most shallow and unresearched work, it sanitises the violence, suffering and anxiety endemic to contemporary British life. Shaw smoothes down anger into the barest of worded signifiers. Using the same dumbed-down visual language of his object of critique speaks to Corbin Shaw's poverty of imagination, that starves the brain like a nitrous oxide balloon, except in a bad way. In his world, we are fed only the rehashed codes of an easy liberal target: ‘nationalism’. Whatever that means for England, satellite state of Palantir.

It doesn’t help that Village Underground has the shape and feel of a WW2 bunker.

Not to labour the point too much, but it felt ketty-fascistic.

I love tarts and I love clubbing. Clubbing tarts should have far more power in this country. As concepts they shouldn’t be sloganised and put on a crap piece of bonehead art.

Superstar leaves you with two messages: Justice for my tartiness! AND, let’s respect clubbing! Leave St George out of it.