A Perfect Education
A story behind the Saint Martin's School of Art building on Charing Cross Road
Where were you the first time you heard that one song? The song that has stayed with you ever since, weaving itself into your sense of self, capturing the essence of a moment or your feelings about the world? Music has that power—the ability to mark the passage of our lives, to define who we are at specific moments. If you’re reading this, you probably know what I mean. We all have that one song.
For Mike, that song is “Common People” by Pulp. This piece is about what that song means to him, its significance in popular music, and why it might just be the finest pop song ever produced. Also, what it means for a building on the very edge of Soho on Charing Cross Road. Common People presents the listener with a masterclass in storytelling, that delivers a timeless commentary on class politics. Jarvis Cocker’s delivery builds from a detached conversational tone to impassioned anger that is matched by music that builds in intensity and tempo. This is an anthem of frustration and defiance. It makes you think, dance, and feel in equal measure.
There’s a touch of creative brilliance to this song, that not only tells a story of class divide and social alienation, but reveals a story about art schools and how they provide a distinctive character to Britain’s popular music. Biting lyrics, brilliant musicianship and inspired production all conspire to elevate this song to greatness. But one thing makes this song unique, the best, unequalled. That one thing is: the sniff.
It was late August 1995, and the heat of the Italian summer still clung to the streets of Bologna. Mike lay on the bed in a modest hotel room, tired and hot from a day of sightseeing. The room was cool, thanks to an ancient ceiling fan lazily whirring above. He was reading a book, with MTV playing idly on the TV. In a week’s time, he would start his new job at Sheffield’s art and design school, where he would meet the woman who would later become his wife. Then the video came on. He put the book down.
She came from Greece she had a thirst for knowledge,
She studied sculpture at Saint Martin's College,
That's where I caught her eye.
She told me that her Dad was loaded
I said "In that case I'll have a rum and coca-cola."
She said "Fine."
Never has a lyric expressed so much detail with such an economy of words. And rarely has a lyric located itself in an art and design school. These were two things that pulled him into the song from its very start. That and the bloke singing it. Mike had never seen or heard the singer before with his sharp and witty storytelling, conversational in tone, all delivered in a Sheffield accent. This was Jarvis Cocker. This was Pulp. And this was pop perfection.
The two characters are vividly drawn within the constraints of a pop song, their story centering on ‘poverty tourism’ but essentially being about social class—a theme that resonates throughout popular music history. If we think of the roots of all the music we listen to today - the blues was the music of the African American working class, country and western was the music of the white American working class, the music hall tradition that The Beatles, The Kinks, Blur, Ian Dury and others drew on was the music of the British working class, UK Rap and Grime are musics of black British working class. Which of course is not to say that all those who perform that music are from that class. The Rolling Stones were well educated middle class boys, and The Clash’s leader and mouthpiece for their political rebelliousness, Joe Strummer, was the son of a diplomat who went to boarding school. When “war is declared and battle come down” in music it is usually between the authentic voice of the working class and the young pretenders. Stones vs Beatles or Blur vs Oasis - it’s all about class. Karl Marx correctly wrote “all history is a history of class struggle”. He was writing about dialectical materialism, but he could equally have been writing about Britpop.
I took her to a supermarket
I don't know why but I had to start it somewhere
So it started there
I said, "Pretend you got no money."
And she just laughed and said, "Oh, you're so funny."
I said, "Yeah
Well, I can't see anyone else smiling in here
Are you sure?
The political grit in the oyster of British popular music arises largely from a unique Victorian invention: the art school. It is an invention that rather improbably was the idea of a Conservative Prime Minister. Indeed it is probably the only good idea to come from a Conservative Prime Minister. In 1842, Sir Robert Peel, best known as the founder of modern policing, stood up in parliament to berate the quality of British textiles in the face of what he saw as the superior quality and design of French textiles. The lack of skilled designers and the poor quality of British design were seen as significant drawbacks for British products in international markets. Something must be done.
That something had the aims of elevating the taste and discernment of British consumers and improving the design skills of British industry. To achieve the former, a museum was to be established to showcase ‘good design’. This later became the Victoria & Albert Museum. To achieve the former a Government School of Design was set up close to the museum. The school eventually became known as the Royal College of Art. Peel’s government supported the expansion of similar institutions across the country. These schools provided accessible art and design education, particularly to those involved in the industrial sectors. Schools specialised in the specific needs of local industry. In Birmingham it was jewellery, in Sheffield it was cutlery and metal trades, in Stoke it was ceramics. By the mid-19th century, there were art schools established in major cities throughout the country. In London, one school was founded near the church of St Martin-in-the-Fields which provided sponsorship. Originally in Shelton Street, Saint Martin’s School of Art moved to Charing Cross Road in 1913.
During Soho’s ‘golden years’ London’s art schools provided continual input to the neighbourhood’s musical culture. Charlie Watts would struggle down from Harrow School with his drum kit on the tube. Sandy Denny would finish her life drawing classes over at Kingston and make the long bus journey up for her set at Les Cousins. Keith Richards took the train from Sidcup Art School, while Pink Floyd could walk down from the architecture department where they all studied at Regent Street Polytechnic. A band of architects was never going to end well.
The educational experience of UK art schools is unique. According to Kim Howells, former Foreign Minister in the Blair Government, and one of the leaders of the Hornsey College of Art sit-in of 1968, "it was somewhere you just spent all your time: painting, arguing about why you liked David Hockney, learning how to weld. Looking back on it, it was a perfect time, a perfect place, and a perfect education".
You'll never live like common people
You'll never do whatever common people do
Never fail like common people
You'll never watch your life slide out of view
And then dance, and drink, and screw
Because there's nothing else to do
For those of us whose lives are marked by music, the art school system provided the perfect education. It produced far more creatively educated individuals than the economy could ever put to work. So, they made their own work. They made our culture. Graduates of our art schools certainly helped create competitive, well-designed products like the Apple iPhone, the Dyson vacuum, Habitat, and a whole wardrobe of brilliant fashion. They also developed the creative and craft skills that we see on screen in franchises like 007, Harry Potter, Doctor Who, and many other blockbusters.
But it’s in music where our art schools truly excel. Their influence can be seen in various ways, from fostering creativity and experimentalism to creating a cross-disciplinary environment that encouraged the blending of music with visual art, fashion, and performance. They provided an environment where students were encouraged to think beyond traditional boundaries, fostering a spirit of innovation and artistic vision that translated directly into the music produced by their students.
The avant-garde atmosphere of art schools encouraged students to experiment with new forms of sound and to merge different artistic disciplines. This approach led to the creation of music that was not only sonically innovative but also visually and conceptually engaging. Musicians often created strong visual identities influenced by their art school backgrounds, such as Freddie Mercury’s graphic identity for Queen. Art school alumni like Peter Blake (who designed the cover of The Beatles' "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band") and Storm Thorgerson (of Hipgnosis, based on Denmark Street, who designed album covers for Pink Floyd) played key roles in making album artwork an essential part of the music experience.
The influence of art and design schools extended into fashion. David Bowie, while not formally attending art school, studied art and design at Technical School and used that knowledge to craft a series of unique visual personas. This integration of fashion with music contributed to the creation of iconic styles, such as glam rock, that were distinctly British and globally influential.
The emergence of multimedia and performance art within British popular music can be traced back to art school environments where boundaries between different forms of artistic expression were blurred. Bands like Roxy Music (Bryan Ferry studied Fine Art at Newcastle, and Brian Eno at Ipswich), with their highly stylized performances and integration of visual art into their shows, exemplified this. Vivienne Westwood and Malcolm McLaren famously brought art school ideas, sensibilities, and provocations into their work with the Sex Pistols. The band’s first performance was in the student bar of Saint Martin's School of Art on Charing Cross Road.
McLaren’s embrace of Situationist theories, which underpinned the entire concept of the Sex Pistols, came from his time at art school. In fact, he attended five of them, including Goldsmiths, where he claimed to have burned down the library in an act of Situationist provocation. The exposure to critical thinking and the cultural commentary that art schools provided enabled British musicians to infuse their music with political messages, making it not only entertaining but also thought-provoking and globally distinctive. The politics of this music was not always class-based. Pete Townshend of The Who (Ealing School of Art) created challenging, innovative, performance-based work over three projects (Tommy, Quadrophenia, and Lifehouse/Who’s Next) that were highly accessible while addressing issues of power and corruption, war and trauma, child abuse, conformity and rebellion, control and freedom, and—on the upside—spiritual awakening.
Viv Albertine, guitarist in The Slits, used creative politics to express ideas on gender and identity. Coming from Chelsea School of Art in the 1970s, she brought a fiercely confrontational spirit to her work, addressing issues of sexuality, power, and autonomy. Beyond her music, Albertine's memoirs and visual art continue to explore these themes, making her a significant figure in the dialogue around creativity as a form of political resistance.
M.I.A. (Mathangi "Maya" Arulpragasam) studied fine art, film, and video at Central Saint Martins. Her art education provided her with the tools to craft powerful multimedia statements that address issues like immigration, global conflict, and identity. Songs like "Paper Planes" and "Borders" tackle the exploitation of marginalized communities and the impacts of global capitalism. Her voice is a very direct expression of political commentary.
Bowie's music was often political, though not always in a direct or traditional sense. He used allegory, character, and narrative to explore and critique power structures, identity, cultural imperialism, and societal norms. His song "China Girl" is probably one of the most brilliant and direct songs on cultural imperialism ever created. The song reflects advice given to him by John Lennon, who attended art school in Liverpool. As Bowie recalled: “He said: 'It's very easy—all you have to do is say what you mean, make it rhyme, and put a backbeat to it,' and I keep coming back to that principle as a writer.”
You will never understand
How it feels to live your life
With no meaning or control
And with nowhere left to go
You are amazed that they exist
And they burn so bright whilst you can only wonder why
Jarvis Cocker grew up in Sheffield, raised by his mother, and formed the band that would become Pulp while he was still in school. Though he was dedicated to making music, the 1980s were a period of struggle and persistence for him. Pulp bridged indie rock with synth-pop, delivering Cocker’s sharp observational lyrics, but the band struggled to gain attention during this time.
In 1985, Cocker fell out of a window while trying to impress a girl. Several months bedridden gave him the opportunity to rethink his direction, and soon afterward, he applied to Central Saint Martins School of Art. He was accepted to study film and video. As he later said: “Coming to London and meeting people from completely different backgrounds, it just opened your mind… it had a very positive effect on me.”
He arrived in London as acid house was taking off, and the experience greatly influenced both his creative output and the direction of Pulp. Reflecting on the value of his time at art school, Cocker noted:
“Traditionally, art schools were places where academic qualifications were not so important; you had space to think about things and space to have ideas. You can’t expect an instant result. Take this film that I made nearly 30 years ago. Suddenly, we decided the idea was going to be used. I mean, an economist would say, what a terrible waste. It’s taken you 30 years to use that idea. That’s not economically efficient of you. But that’s not the point. It’s more that at an art college, you are exposed to ideas, and that way of thinking stays with you for the rest of your life. It’s not something that you cash in; it keeps giving. I worry that these days, colleges are turned into businesses. I don’t see why human beings have to see everything as a transaction. That said, I believe that human creativity is very tenacious and will find a way to express itself.”
Pulp’s 1995 album Different Class was quintessentially radical—arriving at the height of Britpop, it was perfectly timed. Cocker and the band took listeners through stories of love, sex, class, and drugs with peerless wit, irony, and detached sarcasm. The final song on Different Class finds the singer in Soho’s iconic Bar Italia after a night out: “If you can make an order / Could you get me one? / Two sugars would be great / ’Cause I’m fading fast and it’s nearly dawn.” As Cocker has often explained, it was the combination of Soho and art school that gave the band and its songs their edge and insight.
Like a dog lying in a corner
They will bite you and never warn you
Look out, they'll tear your insides out
'Cause everybody hates a tourist
Especially one who, who thinks it's all such a laugh
Yeah, and the chip stain's and grease will come out in the bath
It’s stories. Those are the things that pull us in, that make us listen, that make us think. A story that rhymes and has a backbeat to it—such a simple idea, really. So simple that you’d think there would be many more brilliant ones. "Common People" tells a story of lust and class politics, set in an art school bar and a supermarket. It’s brilliant in its observation, wit, and passion. The melody is simple but achieves that classic pop song quality of being anthemic, packed with a powerful sound.
The song was recorded on 48 tracks by Chris Thomas, who also produced for Roxy Music, The Sex Pistols, and many others. He used every single track on the mixing desk to give the song a punch equal to, if not slightly more powerful than, Phil Spector’s Wall of Sound. (Listen to both this song and Ike & Tina Turner’s "River Deep, Mountain High" for a comparison.) But the true brilliance of "Common People" lies in its build-up to an epic climax.
It starts with a simple riff on bass, keyboard, and tambourine. Drums and a guitar join in after one minute, and for the next 45 seconds, other instruments gradually layer in. Then, at 1:45, a violin, additional keyboards, and guitars join in, and the tempo accelerates. Part of the joy of the song is how it speeds up, slows down, and then gallops toward an extraordinary climax. The Faces were a band that always played fast and loose with tempo ("Stay With Me" being a fine example), but nothing comes close to this song.
And then there’s the sniff. You don’t hear this in the video version, which is based on the radio edit—it’s only in the album version. At three minutes and forty seconds, you hear it:
"'Cause everybody hates a tourist, Especially one who thinks it's all such a laugh.... SNIFF…. Yeah and the chip stain's grease, Will come out in the bath."
It’s not a slight or accidental sniff—no, it’s a snotty, deliberate sniff, indicating a fair degree of nasal congestion. It’s probably the most political statement in the entire performance. It’s an act of genius.
Wanna live with common people like you
Wanna live with common people like you
Wanna live with common people like you
A la la la la la
Ooooh, la la la la
Ooooh, la la la la
Ooooh, la la-la-la-la la, oh yeah
I’d been at Sheffield for five years when I was asked to show around the new artist-in-residence. We toured the studios, the workshops, the video suites, and the plaster room. As we walked, she asked, "What famous people graduated from here?"
"Nick Park," I replied, "of Wallace & Gromit fame," and then I mentioned a few lesser-known industrial designers.
"Anyone connected with music?" she inquired.
I wracked my brains. The art school in Stoke where I’d previously taught had Godley and Creme as alumni, and I had a well-rehearsed story about how they moved from graphic design to Hotlegs, then to 10cc, and eventually to a series of brilliant yet underrated albums before directing some of the most inventive videos of the MTV age.
We were standing in a room full of computers when this conversation took place. Suddenly, I remembered. "Well," I said, "they weren’t exactly students here, but their audience was definitely here. This room used to be the student bar before the smoking ban effectively closed it down. See where the printer is over there? That’s where The Human League stood when they gave their first performance."
Her eyes lit up. A week later, she installed a blue plaque.
There’s something brilliant, wonderful, and subversive about Britain’s art schools. They challenged and provoked. They married hedonism and idealism. They provided ideal conditions for nurturing creativity. They offered a perfect education for common people.
I enjoyed that muchly - another excellent read (I wouldn’t have been able to resist putting “Do you remember the first time?” in that opening paragraph.)
I distinctly remember listening to Different Class for the first time and wondering “how can an album be *this* good?” Bar Italia is one of the great final tracks, so simple yet universal. I found myself wandering into Bar Italia at 4am not long after moving to London in 98. Didn’t realise it actually existed until that point. Felt like magic. They have a plaque to John Logie Baird, whose TV lab was upstairs. But they need one for Jarvis too.
Thanks for these articles. Brilliant stuff.
This is one of my favourite’s. An absolute pleasure to read and a sentiment that I am 100 behind. Art schools are so important and need so much more investment.
Thank you, I’m off to listen to Common People.