Something strange is happening among the pinstripes and pink pages of the
Square Mile. All over the City of London, hyper-busy men and women are
barking into mobile phones and tapping feverishly on laptops and
BlackBerrys. No change there, then — until you realise that the deals these
high-flyers are discussing so enthusiastically don’t involve takeover bids
and mega-mergers, but screenplays and demo tapes.
The City is no longer populated exclusively by former public-school boys and
Essex wide boys. For a new generation of whiz-kids, the rewards of a
big-money job are a handy way to subsidise their more offbeat projects —
and, thanks to technology, “creative slacking” is booming as never before. With
the advent of Wi-Fi, previously stressed-out bankers, accountants and
lawyers can be seen enjoying long, contemplative lunches and coffee breaks
summoning the muse, still within “pinging” range of news about crucial
leveraged buyouts.
This type of moonlighting has become so prevalent that a group of lawyers has
set up Meshminds.com, a MySpace-type community for City creatives. “We
wanted to establish a networking community, where people could discuss their
creative projects confidentially in a members-only environment,” says Kay
Vasey, a co-founder of the initiative.
But why wouldn’t City traders just log on to MySpace to promote their music
like everyone else? “We’re offering people a forum to discuss the logistics
of pursuing their dreams while keeping the day job,” Vasey says, with a
lawyerly firmness. “A trainee solicitor who’s moonlighting as a DJ obviously
has different concerns and issues from those of an 18-year-old who’s doing
the same thing.”
No kidding. These new professionals Creative second-lifer Sara Wax tiptoe out
of stultifying City boardrooms and reject boring wine-bar soirees to follow
their dreams. They long for the spirit of the East End — the promised land
of warehouse parties and gallery openings.
I first met DJ Beth, one of the “meshheads”, after a massive night out at a
Dalston warehouse party. Seated in her Bethnal Green flat, loafing in
pyjamas, she absently watched the evening news through eyes puffy from the
night before. With her short bob and sharp fringe, raffishly mussed, she
oozed hip. The weekend had been big. You might even say “phat”. But the next
time I wanted to speak to Beth, I had to go through her rather plummy
secretary.
“Basically, we want to bring together all the cool people in the City,” Beth
says. “We know there are a lot of people like us, people who have worked
damn hard to get where they are, but who really like experiencing different
creative things, be it art or music. There’s a lot more stuff around for
media types, because that’s the business they’re in, but because we have
long working hours, we’re not necessarily exposed to those things.”
Sara Wax is a partner in a City law firm, as well as being the keyboardist
with King Rat, a band cutting its teeth on the ruthless London gig circuit.
She believes that she is part of a burgeoning new community, reflected in
websites such as Moretolaw.com. “I’ve chosen to balance a career I enjoy
with my musical interests. Each is creative and challenging in its own way.
I just have to be ultra-organised with my time and get less sleep.”
Clearly, a peculiar frisson arises from the clash between these two different
worlds. “Performing live is such a fun thing to do,” she says. “I can be
sitting in a long completion meeting arguing with board directors, and in
the back of my mind I will know that in four hours’ time, I will be stood on
a stage wearing a miniskirt. And, likewise, the other way round, when I am
in a rehearsal room arguing with the guys about whether the C-major or
C-minor chord is actually going to change world history, I know that the
next morning I’ll be negotiating a sensible sale and purchase agreement. I
don’t think I could do just one or the other for that very reason.”
But all this raises a big question: doesn’t true art demand total commitment
and a struggle, both personal and financial? And doesn’t that struggle
itself inspire some of the best creative work? It’s hard to imagine what
Tracey Emin or the Arctic Monkeys would have produced had they been earning
a six-figure salary at a merchant bank.
With complete confidence, Wax claims she sees no contradiction. “I don’t write
songs about conveyancing,” she says. “It’s not like my work influences my
music. The last song I wrote was about refugees in Ireland.”
It’s not just creative inspiration that’s an issue. Time is clearly a big
problem. Jon, a City analyst and film-maker, tells me he sacrifices every
weekend to creative projects, while Andrew, a lawyer by day and professional
scratch DJ by night, admits his dual existence takes it toll on his free
time. “Most nights, I work until 3am,” he says, “but you just make the time,
and you do have to make sacrifices — I don’t watch TV and I don’t have a
girlfriend. But it keeps me sane.”
For most of these creative second-lifers, however, the name of the game is
balance, rather than plotting an exit strategy into a more interesting
career. “It’s a lifestyle choice,” Wax admits. “I work for a firm that
encourages us to pursue extracurricular interests.” Rather than join the
City drain and start an organic farm in Wiltshire or, even worse, burn out,
she has struck a balance that works for her.
But what has changed to allow these fiercely creative individuals into the
City — and why do they stay there? Some people argue that a change in City
culture, a breaking down of the old order, is making these subcultures
possible. Others look to the new influx of young professionals who have
fallen into banking, but bring with them an artistic restlessness.
The real answer, though, may be far simpler. It’s money. The City creatives
all enjoy making money. What is there to be ashamed of? Long gone is any
vestige of guilt surrounding the accumulation of cash, and with it, the
romantic figure of an impoverished artist living in a bedsit. Money
subsidises their creative endeavours. These people have the freedom to make
the kinds of films and music they want, without having to worry about
commercial constraints. It sort of makes sense.
But can you really launch a quest for pop cultural stardom from behind a desk?
Somehow it seems a bit noncommittal, a bit safe. And nobody ever set the
world on fire by being safe.
