The ugly buildings we secretly love

 When news came last week that Liverpool’s Metropolitan Cathedral of Christ the King – colloquially known as “Paddy’s Wigwam” – had been granted Grade I-listed status, it marked a long-awaited vindication for a building that has weathered its fair share of criticism.

The design by Frederick Gibberd, selected from 300 entries worldwide, took shape over five years (1962-67) and sits atop Mount Pleasant, overlooking the city with views stretching to the Mersey estuary beyond. Built quickly and cheaply – as many post-war buildings were – it has been described as “a gargantuan concrete aberration from the Apollo space programme”. Even as recently as 2013, CNN named it one of the world’s ugliest buildings.

Inside, of course, the story is different. Bathed in coloured light from the kaleidoscopic stained glass, the cathedral is an extraordinary space – one that has come to be cherished by Liverpudlians, Catholic or not.

It is the latest in a long line of buildings that, though they didn’t receive universal acclaim at first, have endured none the less.

Scottish Parliament Building, Edinburgh

The 1997 vote for Scottish Devolution meant a new parliament was needed, but its birth was, to put it mildly, a car crash. Ten times over budget and years behind schedule, Holyrood’s construction became a dream story for the press but a nightmare for MSPs and civil servants, whose mistakes were broadcast daily.

The image of the dour, thrifty Scot clashed with the flamboyance of the building’s cost and design, hardly endearing it to the public when it opened in 2004. Questions were also raised about the practicality of the joint design by RMJM – one of the world’s largest architecture and design firms – and Barcelona-based architect Enric Miralles, who avoided much of the controversy by passing away midway through the project in 2000.

Yet opinions shifted after it won the 2005 Stirling Prize, the highest honour in British architecture. Scots, embracing a new era free from Westminster’s control, came to see the building as a symbol of a renaissance north of the border. Today, visitors flock to marvel at its outré design.

Hillingdon Civic Offices, Uxbridge

Hillingdon Council’s Ford Granada-driving apparatchiks wanted a new HQ, and what they got ended up defining more than a decade of suburban style in Britain. If the Hillingdon Civic Centre reminds you of a supermarket, you wouldn’t be far off – this became the signature look of Tescos and Safeways across the south.

The bulky Civic Centre was designed by Andrew Derbyshire of RMJM and opened in 1979. “Like any suburban orgy, it was more comical than sexy,” said the architecture journalist Jonathan Meades. “It was the architectural equivalent of Benny Hill or Sid James: coarse, matey, blokeish, undemanding, unthreatening, accessible.”

This building felt like the starting point of a backlash against the progressive and exciting modernism that had flourished during Britain’s “Les Trente Glorieuses”. Over the following 30 years, there was little but disdain for modernist achievements and a widespread retreat from ambition, with brick vernacular becoming especially fashionable in this new, cautious era.

Nowadays, modernism and postmodernism have found a warmer welcome. While Hillingdon Civic Centre might not immediately evoke the wild, pastel-coloured tropical postmodernism of John Outram and others, it’s certainly an uncle to those buildings. Now listed, it enjoys a bit more affection from the people of Uxbridge.

University of East Anglia, Norwich

The serpentine teaching block, dubbed the Lasdun Wall, snakes along a ridge where University of East Anglia (UEA) students study, while the eye-popping ziggurats tumbling down towards the river Yare are where they sleep.

Space-age chic seems entirely at odds with sleepy Norfolk; architectural historian Elain Harwood called it “the boldest architecture of any new university”, and it became the backdrop to Malcolm Bradbury’s novel The History Man.

It’s heartening that, despite the UEA’s stark 1960s campus, it has gained more fans as it has reached middle age. It’s not without problems – issues with the fireproof reinforced autoclaved aerated concrete (RAAC), widely used as a cheap material especially in roofs, have led to the closure of the ziggurats during remediation work. Meanwhile, new extensions to the university have sparked thorough debate.

Architecture fans visiting can also explore the Sainsbury Centre next door. Designed by Lord Foster, it opened in 1978 and was hailed as revolutionary for its lightweight, high-tech design, influencing many airports and office buildings throughout the 1980s and 1990s.

Southbank Centre, London

London’s Southbank Centre has long been at the heart of various culture wars. When Churchill’s Tories won the autumn 1951 snap election, they sought to dismantle the remains of the Festival of Britain, viewing it as a thoroughly socialist project by Labour’s Herbert Morrison – which, of course, it was. The futuristic Skylon was removed, but the Royal Festival Hall survived.

The Southbank Centre was expanded in a brutalist style during the 1960s. Its maze of passageways and high walkways confused visitors, while its gruff exteriors offended many sensibilities. In 1988, the then Prince Charles famously likened Denys Lasdun’s National Theatre (NT) to a nuclear power station.

Today, attitudes have shifted. We now recognise the stark beauty in its complexity and surreal sculptural forms, and the restrained harmony of the theatre complex in particular. John Grindrod wrote in his 2013 book Concretopia that “Lasdun’s interiors have a rather cosy aesthetic,” echoing theatre critic Michael Billington’s 1976 view that the NT is “a superb piece of sculpture”.

The entire Southbank complex was designed the way it was because planners insisted on roads and car parks, and even proposed building a heliport next door – hence the Queen Elizabeth Hall’s thick, austere walls. Today, the terraces are bustling with diners, while the undercrofts have become a beloved haunt for skateboarders.