Damon Albarn's band Blur and their fans felt London belonged to them. Photo: Rex
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Britpop: an insider’s tale of music’s last great gold rush

Twenty years ago, it felt like John Niven and his fellow indie kids had won pop's cold war. But then the madness set in.

It’s such an awful term, isn’t it? A genuinely dreary expression – Britpop. So bovine and literal, containing none of the wit or musicality of “punk rock” or “acid house”. Let’s face it, even “skiffle” – with all its onomatopoeic bounce and shuffle – was a better word to describe a genre than Britpop. Still, we’d best call it something if we’re to remain on the same page.

Exactly twenty years ago this month, in the spring of 1994, I moved from Scotland to London, renting a room from my friend John Kellett in a Georgian maisonette in Notting Hill Gate. John was the head of legal and business affairs at Go! Discs, which was enjoying huge success with Paul Weller and the Beautiful South and was getting ready to release the first Portishead album. I was moving from working at a tiny independent label in Glasgow to my first major job, at London Records, then part of the PolyGram group. Go! Discs was based in Chiswick, west London. We were in nearby Hammersmith. Most mornings that summer, John and I would race each other to work in our company cars, speeding along the Westway.

I wasn’t the only indie kid graduating up from the bush leagues that year. In the weeks and months following my move south, Blur released Parklife and Oasis put out Definitely Maybe: the two records that heralded the Imperial Phase of what would come to be known as Britpop, a movement that had been birthed a year earlier – albeit in a crude, forced, C-section kind of way – by a Select magazine cover featuring the Auteurs, Pulp, Suede, Denim and Saint Etienne. (Note to readers much under 30: Select was a kind of Q or Mojo for rave and indie kids whose existence exactly spanned the Nineties.)

Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive, but to be young, overpaid and living in London was very – well, heaven might be stretching it, but you certainly felt glad you weren’t in the Shetland Isles, or out in Hackensack, New Jersey.

Indie London of the Eighties had been a grim old place, a sad wasteland where you stared through your fringe at the June Brides or the Shop Assistants as they played in a brightly lit room above a pub, the carpet crunching beneath you as you frugged shambolically under the powerful spell of three Hofmeisters. In our world in 1988, to see a band like Primal Scream filling the big hall at Ulu (capacity: 700) was like seeing the Stones at Madison Square Garden in 1975. A few short years later this kind of gig would be a warm-up show . . .

By all means go ahead and cock your snook in the cold light of 2014, but it’s hard to overstate how exciting the early Oasis shows were, or the thrill of hearing Blur’s “For Tomorrow” in a speeding car on the Westway. Of hearing records you loved coming out of radios in offices and factories all over the country, rather than from the stereo in a sordid bedroom containing you and five of your mates. Suddenly the bands you liked were in the charts and you and your friends were working at major labels, and it felt like we had won the indie cold war of the Eighties. Suddenly you were in the VIP box at Maine Road, lurid with drugs and icy champagne. Suddenly watching Death by Milkfloat at the Camden Falcon felt a long, long way away as the capital came alive for us.

The street names I learned for the first time during that hot summer of 1994 are as sweet to me today as a litany: Westbourne Park Road, Ladbroke Grove, Camden Parkway and Old Compton Street. Of course, we were just doing what generation after generation before us had done – finding our feet in London and deciding it belonged to us and no one else. We painted it in our own colours: the gold of dawn, the chalky white of Ecstasy and cocaine and the bold red of New Labour.

We were in from the cold. And very soon we created an environment where Cast could have a double platinum debut album, where Blur and Oasis were discussed on the national news, where Leon from Northern Uproar could talk openly of buying a casino, and yet still aliens did not come and destroy our planet.

As you get older, you realise that every generation has its moment where impotence becomes prepotency. Where it gets its shot in office. The hippies of the Sixties swapped tie-and-dye and four-skin joints for velvet suits and gold coke spoons and ran CBS and Warner Brothers in the Seventies. The punk rockers of the Seventies wore Yohji Yamamoto suits and turned rebellion into money as they presided over the cold stream of synthetic pop music that we indie kids waged war against in the Eighties. And in our turn, in the Nineties, we untucked our Ralph Lauren shirts and talked about “having it” and “larging it” and we thought Audioweb not altogether a bad thing, and we dumbed it down and watched the cash pour in.

It was to be the last great gold rush of the music industry, when having a decent hit meant you were selling over a million albums at 13 quid a pop. As opposed to today, when you’re celebrating doing 100,000 at £7 per unit. We were selling ten times the volume at twice the price. It did not lead to reasonable behaviour or sane decisions. And, again like every generation before us, we eventually came to realise that our moment of dominance was hollow and riven with compromise. Cocaine destroyed you. We went to war in Iraq. Cast broke up. And, as John Harris sagely noted in his superlative study of the period, The Last Party, Leon from Northern Uproar did not get that casino.

As the decade drew to a close it all changed. Noel went into the kitchen at Supernova Heights one morning in 1998 to start the day with a lager and a chunky line of bugle and thought, “What the fuck am I doing?” In four short years we went from “you might as well do the white line” to Jarvis desolately singing “bye-bye” at the end of This Is Hardcore.

Britpop. Look upon its works, ye mighty, and, what? Sigh? Laugh? Shrug? Do not judge us too harshly. Like Francis Ford Coppola making Apocalypse Now – if you can picture Coppola snapping his fingers Manc-style in an untucked Ralph Lauren shirt and crocodile-effect Patrick Cox loafers – we were young, we had too much money and we had access to too much “equipment”.

And, little by little, we went insane.

John Niven is the author of “Kill Your Friends”, “The Amateurs” and “Second Coming” (all published by Vintage)

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Are smart toys spying on children?

If you thought stepping on a Lego was bad, consider the new ways in which toys can hurt and harm families.

In January 1999, the president of Tiger Electronics, Roger Shiffman, was forced to issue a statement clearing the name of the company’s hottest new toy. “Furby is not a spy,” he announced to the waiting world.

Shiffman was speaking out after America’s National Security Agency (NSA) banned the toy from its premises. The ban was its response to a playground rumour that Furbies could be taught to speak, and therefore could record and repeat human speech. “The NSA did not do their homework,” said Shiffman at the time.

But if America’s security agencies are still in the habit of banning toys that can record, spy, and store private information, then the list of contraband items must be getting exceptionally long. Nearly 18 years after TE were forced to deny Furby’s secret agent credentials, EU and US consumer watchdogs are filing complaints about a number of WiFi and Bluetooth connected interactive toys, also known as smart toys, which have hit the shelves. Equipped with microphones and an internet connection, many have the power to invade both children’s and adults’ private lives.

***

“We wanted a smart toy that could learn and grow with a child,” says JP Benini, the co-founder of the CogniToys “Dino”, an interactive WiFi-enabled plastic dinosaur that can hold conversations with children and answer their questions. Benini and his team won the 2014 Watson Mobile Developer Challenge, allowing them to use the question-answering software IBM Watson to develop the Dino. As such, unlike the “interactive” toys of the Nineties and Noughties, Dino doesn’t simply reiterate a host of pre-recorded stock phrases, but has real, organic conversations. “We grew it from something that was like a Siri for kids to something that was more conversational in nature.”

In order for this to work, Dino has a speaker in one nostril and a microphone in the other, and once a child presses the button on his belly, everything they say is processed by the internet-connected toy. The audio files are turned into statistical data and transcripts, which are then anonymised and encrypted. Most of this data is, in Benini’s words, “tossed out”, but his company, Elemental Path, which owns CogniToys, do store statistical data about a child, which they call “Play Data”. “We keep pieces from the interaction, not the full interaction itself,” he tells me.

“Play Data” are things like a child’s favourite colour or sport, which are used to make a profile of the child. This data is then available for the company to view, use, and pass on to third parties, and for parents to see on a “Parental Panel”. For example, if a child tells Dino their favourite colour is “red”, their mother or father will be able to see this on their app, and Elemental Path will be able to use this information to, Benini says, “make a better toy”.

Currently, the company has no plans to use the data with any external marketers, though it is becoming more and more common for smart toys to store and sell data about how they are played with. “This isn’t meant to be just another monitoring device that's using the information that it gathers to sell it back to its user,” says Benini.

Sometimes, however, Elemental Path does save, store, and use the raw audio files of what a child has said to the toy. “If the Dino is asked a question that it doesn’t know, we take that question and separate it from the actual child that’s asking it and it goes into this giant bucket of unresolved questions and we can analyse that over time,” says Benini. It is worth noting, however, that Amazon reviews of the toy claim it is frequently unable to answer questions, meaning there is potentially an abundance of audio saved, rather than it being an occasional occurrence.

CogniToys have a relatively transparent Privacy Policy on their website, and it is clear that Benini has considered privacy at length. He admits that the company has been back and forth about how much data to store, originally offering parents the opportunity to see full transcripts of what their child had been saying, until many fed back that they found this “creepy”. Dino is not the first smart toy to be criticised in this way.

Hello Barbie is the world’s first interactive Barbie doll, and when it was released by Mattel in 2015, it was met with scorn by parents’ rights groups and privacy campaigners. Like Dino, the doll holds conversations with children and stores data about them which it passes back to the parents, and articles expressing concerns about the toy featured on CNN, the Guardian, and the New York Times. Despite Dino’s similarities, however, Benini’s toy received almost no negative attention, while Hello Barbie won the Campaign for a Commercial-Free Childhood’s prize for worst toy of the year 2015.

“We were lucky with that one,” he says, “Like the whole story of the early bird gets the worm but the second worm doesn’t get eaten. Coming second on all of this allowed us to be prepared to address the privacy concerns in greater depth.”

Nonetheless, Dino is in many ways essentially the same as Hello Barbie. Both toys allow companies and parents to spy on children’s private playtimes, and while the former might seem more troubling, the latter is not without its problems. A feature on the Parental Panel of the Dino also allows parents to see the exact wording of questions children have asked about certain difficult topics, such as sex or bullying. In many ways, this is the modern equivalent of a parent reading their child's diary. 

“Giving parents the opportunity to side-step their basic responsibility of talking to, engaging with, encouraging and reassuring their child is a terrifying glimpse into a society where plastic dinosaurs rule and humans are little more than machines providing the babies for the reptile robots to nurture,” says Renate Samson, the chief executive of privacy campaign group Big Brother Watch. “We are used to technology providing convenience in our lives to the detriment of our privacy, but allowing your child to be taught, consoled and even told to meditate by a WiFi connected talking dinosaur really is a step in the wrong direction.”

***

Toy companies and parents are one thing, however, and to many it might seem trivial for a child’s privacy to be comprised in this way. Yet many smart toys are also vulnerable to hackers, meaning security and privacy are under threat in a much more direct way. Ken Munro, of Pen Test Partners, is an ethical hacker who exposed security flaws in the interactive smart toy “My Friend Cayla” by making her say, among other things, “Calm down or I will kick the shit out of you.”

“We just thought ‘Wow’, the opportunity to get a talking doll to swear was too good,” he says. “It was the kid in me. But there were deeper concerns.”

Munro explains that any device could connect to the doll over Bluetooth, provided it was in range, as the set-up didn’t require a pin or password. He also found issues with the encryption processes used by the company. “You can say anything to a child through the doll because there's no security,” he says. “That means you've got a device that can potentially be used to groom a child and that's really creepy.”

Pen Test Partners tells companies about the flaws they find with their products in a process they call “responsible disclosure”. Most of the time, companies are grateful for the information, and work through ways to fix the problem. Munro feels that Vivid Toy Group, the company behind Cayla, did a “poor job” at fixing the issue. “All they did was put one more step in the process of getting it to swear for us.”

It is one thing for a hacker to speak to a child through a toy and another for them to hear them. Early this year, a hack on baby monitors ignited such concerns. But any toy with speech recognition that is connected to the internet is also vulnerable to being hacked. The data that is stored about how children play with smart toys is also under threat, as Fisher Price found out this year when a security company managed to obtain the names, ages, birthdays, and genders of children who had played with its smart toys. In 2015, VTech also admitted that five million of its customers had their data breached in a hack.

“The idea that your child shares their playtime with a device which could potentially be hacked, leaving your child’s inane or maybe intimate and revealing questions exposed is profoundly worrying,” says Samson. Today, the US Electronic Privacy Information Center (EPIC) said in a statement that smart toys “pose an imminent and immediate threat to the safety and security of children in the United States”. 

Munro says big brands are usually great at tackling these issues, but warns about smaller, cheaper brands who have less to lose than companies like Disney or Fisher Price. “I’m not saying they get it right but if someone does find a problem they’ve got a huge incentive to get it right subsequently,” he says of larger companies. Thankfully, Munro says that he found Dino to be secure. “I would be happy for my kids to play with it,” he says. “We did find a couple of bugs but we had a chat with them and they’re a good bunch. They aren’t perfect but I think they’ve done a hell of a lot of a better job than some other smart toy vendors.”

Benini appears alert to security and the credibility it gives his company. “We took the security very, very seriously,” he says. “We were still building our systems whilst these horror stories were coming about so I already set pipelines and parameters in place. With a lot of devices out there it seems that security takes a backseat to the idea, which is really unfortunate when you’re inviting these devices into your home.”

As well as being wary of smaller brands, Munro advises that parents should look out for Bluetooth toys without a secure pairing process (ie. any device can pair with the toy if near enough), and to think twice about which toys you connect to your WiFi. He also advises to use unique passwords for toys and their corresponding apps.

“You might think ‘It's just a toy, so I can use the same password I put in everything else’ – dog’s name, football club, whatever – but actually if that ever got hacked you’d end up getting all your accounts that use that same password hacked,” he says.

Despite his security advice, Munro describes himself as “on the fence” about internet-connected smart toys as a whole. “Most internet of things devices can be hacked in one way or another,” he says. “I would urge caution.”

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Is all of this legal? Companies might not be doing enough ethically to protect the privacy of children, but are they acting responsibly within the confines of the law?

Benini explains that Dino complies with the United States Children's Online Privacy Protection Act (COPPA) of which there is no real equivalent in the UK. COPPA says that companies must have parental permission to collect personal information over the internet about children under 13 years of age. “We’ve tried to go above and beyond the original layout of COPPA,” says Benini, when describing CogniToys transparent privacy documents. Parents give their consent for Elemental Path to collect their children’s data when they download the app that pairs with the toy.

Dino bears a striking similarity to Amazon Echo and Google Home, smart speakers that listen out for commands and questions in your home. Everything that is said to Amazon Echo is recorded and sent to the cloud, and an investigation by the Guardian earlier this year discovered that this does not comply with COPPA. We are therefore now in a strange position whereby many internet of things home devices are legally considered a threat to a child’s privacy, whereas toys with the same capabilities are not. This is an issue because many parents may not actually be aware that they are handing over their children’s data when installing a new toy.

As of today, EU consumer rights groups are also launching complaints against certain smart toys, claiming they breach the EU Unfair Contract Terms Directive and the EU Data Protection Directive, as well as potentially the Toy Safety Directive. Though smart toys may be better regulated in Europe, there are no signs that the problem is being tackled in the UK. 

At a time when the UK government are implementing unprecedented measures to survey its citizens on the internet and Jeremy Hunt wants companies to scour teens’ phones for sexts, it seems unlikely that any legislation will be enacted that protects children’s privacy from being violated by toy companies. Indeed, many internet of things companies – including Elemental Path – admit they will hand over your data to government and law enforcement officials when asked.

***

As smart toys develop, the threat they pose to children only becomes greater. The inclusion of sensors and cameras means even more data can be collected about children, and their privacy can and will be compromised in worrying ways.

Companies, hackers, and even parents are denying children their individual right to privacy and private play. “Children need to feel that they can play in their own place,” says Samson. It is worrying to set a precedent where children get used to surveillance early on. All of this is to say nothing of the educational problems of owning a toy that will tell you (rather than teach you) how to spell “space” and figure out “5+8”.

In a 1999 episode of The Simpsons, “Grift of the Magi”, a toy company takes over Springfield Elementary and spies on children in order to create the perfect toy, Funzo. It is designed to destroy all other toys, just in time for Christmas. Many at the time criticised the plot for being absurd. Like the show's prediction of President Trump, however, it seems that we are living in a world where satire slowly becomes reality.

Amelia Tait is a technology and digital culture writer at the New Statesman.