The grave music, the profound sorrow of the critic, the terrific explosions, the fall of the unlovely buildings, the rise of the dust clouds, the sheer horror of it all: modernism…

While listening to stuffy Scruton, notice how he fails to mention the economics of anything. As you should know by now, a discussion about beauty that excludes economics is empty, worthless, nothing more than words dissolving in the air.

Charles Mudede—who writes about film, books, music, and his life in Rhodesia, Zimbabwe, the USA, and the UK for The Stranger—was born near a steel plant in Kwe Kwe, Zimbabwe. He has no memory...