I don’t know about other countries, but in Norway, if you ever visited an average home these past ten years, you’ve probably also had countless kitchen or bathroom encounters with the Henry Kloss Tivoli radio. Yes, countless. In fact, not to run across the very commonplace 1990′s icon would be no less than a major achievement.
Don’t get me wrong: It’s not that I resent them in any way. I mean, they’re quite lovely, both in terms of audio quality and design, and it’s not that I’m anti-mainstream for anti-mainstreamism’s sake. Contrary to how I once used to be, I actually quite like some of the phenomena that have become popular, but in the Tivoli case I must admit to a certain ambivalence, because it’s just too much, you know. Too much uniformity, a symbol of the unwitting, single-minded and pseudo-urban Masses™, taking the common would-be vanguard up on every little whim.
That’s pretty damned restricting, wouldn’t you say?
Me I’d rather like to visit a home one day, without having to risk running into a Tivoli radio, and you may have guessed by now that we don’t have one – even though we might as well. It’s not as if we’re deliberately avoiding consensus-design objects. On the contrary, I’m quite partial to minimalism. Take this very instance, for instance (yeah, yeah, yeah). One look to the left of my computer keyboard reveals this little whatchamacallit:
My brushed aluminium business card holder.
And let me assure you; the content is every bit as minimalistic. That’s right, I’m whoring. After all, my clients are Norwegian, hence: When in Rome… Apart from that, our house is in complete and utter shambles. We’re busy folks, you know. I do laundry every day, but don’t think that I fold each and every garment neatly. I throw them in a chair as I press on, taking care of my real, work-related chores. My wife, who’s severely struck by a paper and textile related hobby, occupies ¼ of the sitting room. We’re talking racks of paper and related paraphernalia here. The bookcases are a complete mess, the sink is brimming with dishes – and our daughter just loves to empty cases and cupboards all over the floor(s). Luckily my work and my hobbies fit into a briefcase – and my head, obviously.
In other words, our house bears very little resemblance with the generally agreed standard:
The average sitting room.
Yet, wherever I go, I run into these damned Tivoli radios, amidst Alessi accessories galore, of course, as a declared intent of at least aspiring to the above standard. Because, you know, that’s how we’re supposed to live — or so we’re told.
I’m a fairly visual kind of person, so I thought it only proper to write about something else, following my fairly rabid feminist rampage the other day, with something less provocative, and yet, here I am, slamming collective tendencies. I suppose writing without the element of nuisance is too much of a challenge.
Seeing as this all ended up a piece on living, as opposed to life, I thought I’d entertain you with an old 1970′s classic by The Tubes; My head is my only house unless it rains. Turns out the only version offered on YouTube is by Everything But The Girl, so I propose we just burn it down:
Sounds great on a Tivoli, too.
