Perpetually divisive, Brutalist landmarks around the world are disappearing fast. A massive 716-page book called “SOS Brutalism – Save the Concrete Monsters!” aims to archive as many of them as possible – and hopefully, inspire public passion to save them before they’re demolished.

Two projects featured in the book were destroyed during the publishing process – London’s Robin Hood Gardens, designed by Alison and Peter Smithson, and New Delhi’s Pragati Maidan, designed by Rewal and Mahendra Raj, both completed in 1972. Since the book came out in November 2017, there have likely been additional losses.

Often described as ugly, cold, imposing and out of scale with human life, these buildings are increasingly considered eyesores, but proponents argue that they’re historically significant and should be preserved. Whatever our personal feelings about their aesthetics may be, they stand as stark representations of the time in which they were built. Many of them represented independence and cultural progress to their communities at the time. Contrary to popular perception, a large number of these structures and other concrete monuments of the era were designed and built as local efforts, not by authoritarian governments.

The book, which comes in both German and English editions, is a global survey of Brutalist architecture from the 1950s to 1970s.

“Some 100 contributors document 120 key buildings from this period, including many previously unpublished discoveries that are in acute danger of loss through neglect of intended demolition. Moreover, the book features overviews of Brutalism in architecture in twelve regions around the world. Case studies of hotspots such as the Macedonian capital Skopje or New Haven, Connecticut, and essays on the history and theory of Brutalism round out this lavishly illustrated book. The supplement collects papers of an international symposium on Brutalism in architecture held in Berlin in 2012.”

The book is part of the larger #SOSBRUTALISM project, a growing database that contains over 1,800 Brutalist buildings.

“The buildings in the database marked red are in particular jeopardy. This is an unprecedented initiative: #SOSBrutalism is open to everyone who wants to join the campaign to save Brutalist buildings! It is a powerful tool that allows fans of Brutalism to communicate with one another across Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Tumblr etc.”

Anyone can contribute images, information or texts to the website or use the hashtag #SOSBrutalism to highlight a building that might be in danger. The site also encourages the public to join in on current rescue campaigns, and you can browse galleries, maps and timelines of Brutalist architecture around the world.

Japanese architecture may be most closely associated with natural, lightweight materials like wood and paper, but Japan is also home to some of the world’s most incredible concrete architecture, and the two styles aren’t as disparate as they first appear. The nation’s love for a seemingly cold, unyielding material evolved out of resilience after war and natural disasters, and though the character of concrete contrasts with the organic sensibilities of tatami mats, shoji screens and hand-hewn timber, it’s not necessarily at odds with it.

Buildings in Japan are often engineered to be disposable, with an average lifespan of 25 years. Frequent earthquakes and high humidity take a heavy toll on architecture, without a doubt (though this limit was actually imposed by the country’s Land Ministry to boost the economy). Of course, not every building in Japan is razed for a new beginning after a seemingly arbitrary period of time – but the high turnover does increase demand for young architects, stimulating creative experimentation.

Japan first turned to concrete after the 1923 Great Kanto earthquake, in which 447,000 wooden houses burned. Depending on how it’s built, concrete isn’t necessarily more earthquake-proof than other materials (and earthquake building codes are still evolving today) but at least it won’t go up in flames. As it turns out, concrete is particularly well-suited to the region, offering thermal mass, resistance to moisture and versatility of form.

The devastation and subsequent Westernization of World War II ushered in a new wave of concrete while irrevocably changing Japan’s society and culture. Outside influences like the budding Brutalist architectural movement came crashing in, colliding with Japanese traditions. Le Corbusier’s National Museum of Western Art in Tokyo (1959) – his only building in the Far East – was completed with the assistance of Japanese apprentices, including Kunio Maekawa and Junzo Sakakura, and helped shape the more radical concrete architecture that was soon to come. Maekawa himself designed concrete landmarks like the Fukushima Education Center (1956).

The 1950s and 1960s brought a cascade of concrete wonders by outsiders and native Japanese architects alike, including Kenzo Tange’s Kurashiki City Hall (1957), Kiyonori Kikutake’s Sky House (1958) and Antonin Raymond’s Gunma Music Center (1961). It also saw the rise of Metabolism, Japan’s own Modernist answer to post-war rebuilding, which famously produced gems like Kisho Kurokawa’s Nakagin Capsule Tower (1972). The Olympic Games in 1964 further transformed Tokyo as scores of new buildings were commissioned, chief among them Tange’s sweeping Yoyogi National Gymnasium.

Critics of concrete architecture might say that its popularity during this period began to erode Japan’s cultural and religious connection to nature, citing particularly “harsh” examples like Toyo Ito’s windowless White U House, but others see it in a different light – literally. Early Japanese Modernists noted the way concrete retained the wooden imprint of its formwork, and how its sculptural qualities allowed them to frame natural surroundings and play with light and shadow in entirely new ways. Its simplicity implies a certain purity associated with Shinto philosophies.

This connection is clear in the work of Osaka-born self-taught architect Tadao Ando, who built on the metaphorical foundations of Kenzo Tange’s legacy. A master of concrete, Ando skillfully sets its rawness and asceticism against the stark brilliance of natural light. Even when a structure doesn’t seem to be part of the natural world, nature can be embedded deeply within it, especially when it acts as a cathedral to hold, uplift and celebrate it. For Ando, who blended the simplicity of concrete with Japanese traditions like tatami module layouts, it’s not unlike clay in the hands of an artist, achieving forms that simply aren’t possible in wood.

That same experimental spirit flows through contemporary concrete structures. Today, concrete enables architects to continue playing with unexpected shapes, unconventional layouts and dramatic cantilevers in spaces of domestic intimacy and somber reflection. From Ryue Nishizawa’s plant-framing Garden & House to the futuristic House in Abiko by Fuse-Atelier, the material continues to shine even in all its supposed dullness.

For more concrete wonders in Japan, check out the Concrete Tokyo Map by Blue Crow Media, which identifies 50 standout structures (including a few oft-overlooked examples.)

Top image: Shinjuku Ruriko-in Byakurenge-do by Kiyoshi-Sei Takeyama + Amorphe

Some of Ukraine’s most stunning Soviet Modernist landmarks are at risk of demolition, including the State Scientific and Technical Library, better known as the ‘UFO Building.’ Grandiose and imposing, these concrete wonders may be fascinating to many of us who live outside of former USSR territories, but they can also be a reminder of a painful history, and to some, not worth maintaining. Many of these structures have already begun to crumble, nearly overtaken on all sides by slick modern malls and other developments.

A new short film called ‘Soviet Modernism, Brutalism, Post-Modernism: Buildings and Projects in Ukraine from 1960-1990’ takes a closer look at the Soviet-era gems found in cities like Kiev. Inspired by a book of the same name, which is due to be published this October, the film examines the architectural importance of these structures, particularly those built in the 1960s.

“They symbolize the global idea of the ‘60s – the youth of the world,” says filmmaker Oleksiy Bykov.

Ievgeniia Gubkina, co-author of the book, notes that “modernism is about the way of thinking. Ukrainian architecture of modernism of both waves, postmodernism and contemporary architecture in particular, I realized that there is no continuity in generations of architects. Each succeeding generation does not just reject the previous one, but does not notice it at all, is not even aware of its existence.”

Brief as it is, the film offers a unique analysis of architecture that may soon be lost to history, its removal shifting the cityscape just as dramatically as did its arrival decades ago.

Top photo by Rob Schofield/Flickr Creative Commons

Taking inspiration from La Flaine Hotel by Marcel Breuer and the Glenkerry House in London by Erno Goldfinger, these ‘Cuckoo Blocks’ by artist Guido Zimmermann use iconic Brutalist architecture to make a political statement. Structures like these were once built as affordable housing, but now many of them are far out of reach for the middle class, housing luxury residences instead.

Zimmerman creates an unlikely contrast by pairing their stained, drab and blocky proportions with the classic cuckoo clock, long considered a symbol of prosperity.

“The updated version, a prefabricated panel construction (“plattenbau”) reveals today’s urban and social life in residential blocks,” says the artist.

“The hull is new, but the soul, a clockwork with a cuckoo, is still an old one.”

While there’s definitely something a little absurd about the pairing, it works. These miniature faux concrete buildings are just as interesting to look at as the original ornately carved wooden versions, and it’s fun to peer into the windows to try to catch a glimpse at what’s inside. They’re especially cool after dark when the lights come on.

Zimmerman also extended the series by turning one of his mini Brutalist wonders into a birdhouse.

“The prototype, a model of a social housing building from Catania/Sicily, was quickly inhabited by a pair of titmice,” he says. “The three nondescript birdhouses next door remained uninhabited. Perhaps it was the small satellite dishes which convinced the bird of the ‘social bird housing.’”

The controversial Brutalist Pirelli Tire Building in New Haven, Connecticut was saved from demolition by a compromise with IKEA back in 2002, and now the Swedish retailer is reportedly considering a new use for the structure. Designed by Marcel Breuer, a master of Modernism whose monumental concrete creations remain divisive to this day, it’s one of the most important Brutalist buildings remaining in the United States. Now, if the rumors are true, it could be transformed into a hotel.

The building was initially built to serve as the headquarters of Armstrong Rubber in 1969. Consisting of a massive monolithic rectilinear volume of offices floating above a much longer base of research and warehouse space, the structure is nothing if not imposing. Many residents of New Haven found it ugly and villainous-looking, and once it was no longer in use, wanted to see it torn down. But it’s historically important, and advocacy groups pushed to keep it intact. IKEA proposed building a major new store on the site, but that required tearing down a substantial part of the building for the store’s parking lot.

After the sale went through and the structure was modified, many assumed IKEA would find a use for the remainder of the building – maybe for administrative purposes, as it was originally intended. But it has remained forlorn and empty, occasionally draped with a banner advertising a sale. It looks like that might finally change. The New Haven Independent newspaper reports that IKEA is “in talks” with a New England hotel developer.

While IKEA refuses to comment on any new plans for the New Haven Pirelli building, the city’s Economic Development Administrator, Matthew Nemerson, says the good news is “it is going to be preserved.” Would you book a night to experience this classic Brutalist building up close and personal?

Top photo by Gunnar Klack/Flickr Creative Commons