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The Walkie-Talkie skyscraper, and the City's burning passion for glass The Walkie-Talkie skyscraper, and the City's burning passion for glass
(14 days later)
It has been trumpeted as "the building with more up top"; a swollen pint glass of a tower that bulges out as it rises to pack in more offices at the lucrative higher levels, with a Babylonian sky-garden up above. What its developer might not have bargained for is that, like every Bond baddie lair, the Walkie-Talkie building would also come with its own death ray.It has been trumpeted as "the building with more up top"; a swollen pint glass of a tower that bulges out as it rises to pack in more offices at the lucrative higher levels, with a Babylonian sky-garden up above. What its developer might not have bargained for is that, like every Bond baddie lair, the Walkie-Talkie building would also come with its own death ray.
News this week that 20 Fenchurch Street, designed by Uruguayan architect Rafael Viñoly, "melted" part of a Jaguar parked beneath its bulbous mass, only adds to the impression that the building is the ultimate symbol of everything that is wrong with the City of London – a physical monument to capitalism destroying itself.News this week that 20 Fenchurch Street, designed by Uruguayan architect Rafael Viñoly, "melted" part of a Jaguar parked beneath its bulbous mass, only adds to the impression that the building is the ultimate symbol of everything that is wrong with the City of London – a physical monument to capitalism destroying itself.
Despite being bitterly opposed by Unesco and English Heritage – which described its "oppressive and overwhelming form" as a "brutally dominant expression of commercial floor space" – the Walkie-Talkie was cheerily waved through the planning process by Peter Rees, who since 1985 has presided over the wealth of novelty silhouettes that now choke the London skyline.Despite being bitterly opposed by Unesco and English Heritage – which described its "oppressive and overwhelming form" as a "brutally dominant expression of commercial floor space" – the Walkie-Talkie was cheerily waved through the planning process by Peter Rees, who since 1985 has presided over the wealth of novelty silhouettes that now choke the London skyline.
London's chief planner has admitted that he thought the site on Fenchurch Street, a way to the south of the City's cluster of towers, was the wrong place for a tall building. But he was soon convinced by the lure of a "public" garden at its 160m-high summit. "We came to think of it as the figurehead at the prow of our ship," he told me last year. "A viewing platform where you could look back to the vibrancy of the City's engine room behind you."London's chief planner has admitted that he thought the site on Fenchurch Street, a way to the south of the City's cluster of towers, was the wrong place for a tall building. But he was soon convinced by the lure of a "public" garden at its 160m-high summit. "We came to think of it as the figurehead at the prow of our ship," he told me last year. "A viewing platform where you could look back to the vibrancy of the City's engine room behind you."
It is a figurehead maybe, although one that is less svelte mermaid than bullying bouncer. Clad with vertical solar fins designed to protect the interior offices from glare, these silvery slats are stretched open as the building swells upwards, giving it the look of a broad-shouldered banker bursting out of his pin-striped suit – now with deadly laser beam eyes.It is a figurehead maybe, although one that is less svelte mermaid than bullying bouncer. Clad with vertical solar fins designed to protect the interior offices from glare, these silvery slats are stretched open as the building swells upwards, giving it the look of a broad-shouldered banker bursting out of his pin-striped suit – now with deadly laser beam eyes.
Throughout the planning process, the building's neighbours fervently fought for their right to light, which this hefty hulk would block. It now seems they have more light than they could ever hope for – if in concentrated, lethal form.Throughout the planning process, the building's neighbours fervently fought for their right to light, which this hefty hulk would block. It now seems they have more light than they could ever hope for – if in concentrated, lethal form.
Leaning out as it climbs to 34 storeys, the concave shape of the building's southern elevation is described by Viñoly as a deferential "bow" towards the river. That the curvaceous curtain wall has the simultaneous effect of converging the sun's rays into a magnified beam of heat, capable of melting cars, might be seen to be a fluke byproduct of this architectural flourish, an unfortunate consequence you could never predict.Leaning out as it climbs to 34 storeys, the concave shape of the building's southern elevation is described by Viñoly as a deferential "bow" towards the river. That the curvaceous curtain wall has the simultaneous effect of converging the sun's rays into a magnified beam of heat, capable of melting cars, might be seen to be a fluke byproduct of this architectural flourish, an unfortunate consequence you could never predict.
And yet, remarkably, it has happened before – in a project by the very same architect. The 57-story Vdara hotel in Las Vegas, a trio of curving glass towers, was the pride of its owners, a gleaming citadel of 1,500 rooms, clad in 3,000 "double-pane acid-etched spandrel glass panels for energy-efficient heating and cooling". Until, that is, they realised this special glass was in fact burning their guests as they lounged by the swimming pool beneath the soaring mirrored facades.And yet, remarkably, it has happened before – in a project by the very same architect. The 57-story Vdara hotel in Las Vegas, a trio of curving glass towers, was the pride of its owners, a gleaming citadel of 1,500 rooms, clad in 3,000 "double-pane acid-etched spandrel glass panels for energy-efficient heating and cooling". Until, that is, they realised this special glass was in fact burning their guests as they lounged by the swimming pool beneath the soaring mirrored facades.
"I'm sitting there in the chair and all of the sudden my hair and the top of my head are burning," guest Bill Pintas told ABC News. "I'm rubbing my head and it felt like a chemical burn. I couldn't imagine what it could be.""I'm sitting there in the chair and all of the sudden my hair and the top of my head are burning," guest Bill Pintas told ABC News. "I'm rubbing my head and it felt like a chemical burn. I couldn't imagine what it could be."
Once again, the concave, glazed form of the building was channelling the Nevada rays like a magnifying glass, to the extent they were melting the plastic poolside loungers and burning holes in guests' newspapers. "Yeah we know," Pintas recalls the hotel staff as saying. "We call it the death ray." Costly modification – as well as a string of personal injury claims – soon followed. After the Vegas catastrophe, might Viñoly have learned that south-facing curved glass facades aren't always the best idea?Once again, the concave, glazed form of the building was channelling the Nevada rays like a magnifying glass, to the extent they were melting the plastic poolside loungers and burning holes in guests' newspapers. "Yeah we know," Pintas recalls the hotel staff as saying. "We call it the death ray." Costly modification – as well as a string of personal injury claims – soon followed. After the Vegas catastrophe, might Viñoly have learned that south-facing curved glass facades aren't always the best idea?
Back in the City, Richard Rogers has also fallen foul of London's uncharacteristically sunny summer. His new Cheesegrater tower leans back from Leadenhall Street in a graceful wedge, to avoid blocking views of St Paul's dome. Yet in doing so it presents an angled mirror-polished cliff face of glass, which has been reflecting the sun straight across into the Lloyds offices across the road – the seminal "inside-out" machine that Rogers designed 30 years earlier – much to the ire of its tenants. On top of spiralling maintenance costs, might it be the final straw that sees the insurance giant leave the grade-I listed building?Back in the City, Richard Rogers has also fallen foul of London's uncharacteristically sunny summer. His new Cheesegrater tower leans back from Leadenhall Street in a graceful wedge, to avoid blocking views of St Paul's dome. Yet in doing so it presents an angled mirror-polished cliff face of glass, which has been reflecting the sun straight across into the Lloyds offices across the road – the seminal "inside-out" machine that Rogers designed 30 years earlier – much to the ire of its tenants. On top of spiralling maintenance costs, might it be the final straw that sees the insurance giant leave the grade-I listed building?
With a slew of yet more novelty glass shapes on the way – from a building shaped like a can of ham, to another resembling a knife and a rolled-up napkin – it seems the City might be facing many more years of singed bumpers, scorched bonnets, glaring offices and the law suits that will follow.With a slew of yet more novelty glass shapes on the way – from a building shaped like a can of ham, to another resembling a knife and a rolled-up napkin – it seems the City might be facing many more years of singed bumpers, scorched bonnets, glaring offices and the law suits that will follow.
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