There’s a phenomenon in architectural history whereby great empires build their grandest monuments just before they fall. The Parthenon was completed just before Athens embarked on the devastating Peloponnesian War. Manhattan’s most celebrated skyscrapers went up on the brink of the Great Depression. The British inaugurated the imposing government buildings of New Delhi 16 years before the end of the Raj. I won’t say that this will definitely be the case with the £2bn stadium designed by the Mancunian Norman Foster for Manchester United Football Club, but it’s striking that it’s proposed at a time when the club has closed its staff canteen and made redundant hundreds of workers to cut costs.

Every good thing is promised. It is to be “the world’s greatest football stadium”, iconic AND sustainable, with both rainwater harvesting and a “trident” of 200m-high masts visible from 25 miles away. There is to be a “public space” twice the size of Trafalgar Square and a “mixed use mini-city” around it. There are things to like about the plans, including an attempt to avoid the fortress-like exteriors presented by most stadiums in favour of something more open and lively. But they’d probably do well to concentrate on doing fewer things as well as possible. Otherwise, the building might be like one of those football teams made up of extravagant signings who somehow don’t gel.

Exit stage right

You can only feel heartened by any sign of resistance to the onslaught of vandalism and cruelty wrought by the Trump administration, as when the audience in the Kennedy Center in Washington DC booed the vice-president, JD Vance, when he turned up to a performance of Shostakovich and Stravinsky. This was entirely justified, given that Trump had fired the centre’s chair and 13 trustees, installed himself to preside over the board, and appointed his stooge Richard Grenell as president of the centre (all with minimal complaint from conservatives who allegedly oppose excessive government intervention). On the other hand, one imagines that Vance might have been quite happy with the way this spectacle played out. At least some sections of his base will delight in the outrage he has caused to concert-goers in the nation’s hated capital, paying upwards of $100 a seat to hear music that Vance fans find baffling. Of course, America should be big enough for every kind of culture but – as we’re all finding out – one of the worst things about relentless aggression is that it can be hideously effective.

Moving blues

The renowned art critic Brian Sewell, at a time when he and I both worked for the Evening Standard, lamented the stresses of moving himself and his art collection to a new home. “You know what they say,” I said, “it’s the third most stressful thing after death and divorce.” “Oh no, no, no, no,” fluted Sewell, who suffered from a serious heart condition, “I have been close to death three times, and I can tell you that moving house is far, far worse”. As one who is currently vacating the place where I have lived for half my life, with all the logistical and emotional complexities involved, I am beginning to understand how he felt.

Freudian blip

Owen Hatherley’s The Alienation Effect, a book about the contributions to British culture of refugees from fascism, which I write about in New Review, contains some helpful reminders that hysterical press reaction to immigration is nothing new. One gem is a stern warning from the Daily Express, in 1938, that “Psycho-Analysts” were “overrunning the country”. Somehow, the nation survived.

Rowan Moore is the Observer’s architecture critic

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