The Brutalist buy-out: what happens when concrete becomes cool?

It’s a hulking mass of brownish concrete. It splits opinion like it splits spaces; there’s one tower for utilities and one for living. As far as beauty goes, you can’t expect a final ruling. Eye of the beholder and all that. 

But one thing has been decided: cash value, and it’s a lot. A minimum of £2025 a month, to be precise, if you were thinking of renting a flat here. 

This is the Balfron Tower. It looms over you as you emerge from the Blackwall Tunnel, down the road from the old London Docks and the gleaming skyscrapers of Canary Wharf. The architect was Ernő Goldfinger, a proud socialist who also designed Kensal Town’s Trellick Tower (and who Ian Fleming named a Bond villain after).

The east London tower block has been courting controversy since it was built in 1967. Now it’s the Grade II-listed poster child for a very specific kind of gentrification – or regeneration, depending on whose side you’re on. Balfron tells the story of the brutalist buy-out: what happens when concrete becomes certifiably cool, and purpose-built social housing becomes a status symbol. 

Concrete en vogue

To get our heads around this all, first, we need to backtrack. Balfron is not the only block to find itself between a rock and a hard place – it’s a dilemma facing several UK council estates belonging to the architectural school of brutalism.

According to Dr Kate Jordan, lecturer in architecture at the University of Westminster, brutalism is a vague label which groups together buildings that prioritise simple, functional design over ornamentation. The ‘brutal’ part is misleading, though it resonates with many people who see this as something of a harsh style of architecture. ‘The name comes from the term “béton brut”, which means raw concrete,’ says Dr Jordan. 

Its French heritage goes back to Le Corbusier, the so-called father of brutalism who designed a Marseille housing development called Unité d’Habitation which opened in 1952. Architectural critics started to link his work to what British architects, designers and artists were doing in the post-war years, and in 1955, writer Reyner Banham coined the term in his article ‘The New Brutalism’.

‘From early on, the brutalist movement became linked to the vision for social housing,’ says Professor Christian Frost, expert in architectural research from London Metropolitan University. ‘It suggested a rawness and honesty of construction that matched the political vision for post-war social housing.’ 

Brutalism essentially became the architecture of the welfare state

After World War Two, Britain was rebuilding itself and the thousands of homes that had been bombed to smithereens. Renewal through housing was especially visible in London, thanks to the architects department of the now-defunct Greater London Council. ‘The post war vision of a better society was championed by this department, which became a finishing school for many architects of the time who went on to [build] housing schemes across the country,’ says Frost.  

Decorative designs were seen as frivolous, bourgeois – even decrepit. Architects were looking to clean, straightforward and practical planning. They saved space with sliding doors, maximised sunlight with large windows and built high, to spare more ground space for parks and playgrounds. Brutalism was the future.

‘There was a commitment to the idea that ordinary working people deserved high quality stuff,’ says Dr Griffiths. ‘It was meant to represent a new world of social democracy. In Britain, it essentially became the architecture of the welfare state.’ 

The future’s in the past

In the eyes of developers, London’s brutalist estates have a lot going for them nowadays. Many fall well within the bounds of what we’d now call central London (like Trellick Tower near Notting Hill), or in areas that have recently seen massive transport upgrades (like Robin Hood Gardens or Balfron in the docklands). The mid-century brutalist buildings tend to be made from higher quality materials than many contemporary blocks; they satisfy modern, minimal tastes without losing retro credentials and encapsulate a particular aesthetic which amasses thousands of likes on socials. They also tend to maximise light and space, making them more appealing than older terraced houses which can feel dark and cramped. 

Those in-the-know swoon over the Modern House’s Instagram grid, which is as much a design magazine as it is a buyer’s directory. Started in 2005 by architecture journalists, the estate agency specialises in upmarket properties for the design-conscious and has sold flats in some of Britain’s most iconic brutalist buildings, including the Barbican and Sheffield’s Park Hill Estate. ‘When we were first selling these homes, around 20 years ago, we were selling to a smaller group of people,’ says acting head of appraisals, Georgia Grunfeld. ‘The [properties] are definitely becoming more popular. They often have large windows and good amenity spaces because they were designed for every aspect of living – people are drawn to the contrast between the concrete and the green that surrounds it.’

Some buyers are on the lookout for flats that have kept original fittings from the 60s and 70s, such as light switches, sinks and cabinets. ‘Often those properties are curated almost like a museum,’ says Tom Hancock, creative director of property marketing consultancy Four Walls. ‘What’s happened with brutalism is that it’s developed a cult following and that appreciation has grown over time.’

But it’s not just about the design. People are also buying into what brutalism represents: futuristic but pragmatic spaces which are supposed to benefit the whole community. If you’re a socialist-sympathiser and design-lover, it’s a monument to an idealised past. ‘They were incredibly well-designed and relatively spacious: they set standards that everyone deserves, not just people who can afford it,’ says Dr Jordan. Of course, there’s an irony in something that started with such strong anti-capitalist ideology being absorbed into the capitalist system.

When cash crushes dreams

London’s most famous brutalist compound is the Barbican, which was never social housing in the traditional sense – though its neighbour, the Golden Lane Estate, still has council tenants to this day. It’s easy to see how almost 50 years later, well-designed, well-located buildings like these would appeal to wealthy creatives with a penchant for mid-century style.

Add to the equation a housing shortage and the fact that around half of the country’s councils anticipate bankruptcy in the next five years. London councils find themselves with more than 300,000 households on social housing waiting lists, estates in need of maintenance work and buildings that are eligible for high-value sales to the private sector. 

In 2018, Tower Hamlets Council approved the demolition of Robin Hood Gardens, a Poplar council estate which was the brainchild of Alison and Peter Smithson. Those names might not mean much if you’re not an architecture junkie, but the British couple were a big deal in their time, and this estate was their grand statement on modern, communal living. 

It was an attempt to build what the architects called ‘streets in the sky’, consisting of two blocks both designed wider than they were high, with aerial walkways running the length of each building and serving as shared balconies for all residents living on the same floor. It was Marmite in building form: simultaneously beloved and reviled. Like many brutalist estates, over the years it suffered from poor maintenance and instances of anti-social behaviour; its residents tended to have mixed feelings, with some passionately bonded to it and others more than happy to get out.

Despite a seven-year campaign led by Building Design magazine, supported by world-renowned architects like Zaha Hadid and Richard Rogers, Robin Hood Gardens was twice refused listed status. In 2018, demolition work began, part of a council project to replace the estate with a new development called Blackwall Reach: consisting of more than 600 new homes, of which around half will be ‘affordable for social rent and shared ownership’, according to the developers. One of the two Robin Hood blocks has already been knocked down, though the V&A bought a piece of it to display in the V&A East, which opens in Stratford next year. 

It was Marmite in building form

Meanwhile, Balfron Tower’s revamp has been led by a private developer, Telford Homes, in partnership with Poplar Housing, Regeneration and Community Association (HARCA). Rather than waiting for grant money from the government, councils often enter Planning Gain Agreements: council land is sold to developers who will ultimately make money from it, with a caveat known as Section 106, requiring them to ‘regenerate’ the land by adding something of value to the community. 

‘The developers say, if you let us turn this estate into luxury flats, we’ll build a park, a library, a children’s playground, a community centre,’ says Dr Griffiths. ‘It’s good PR for the developers. The councils are essentially selling their assets in order to have facilities built in the area’. 

But there’s a real danger in downplaying the sale of former council homes to a luxury market. ‘There’s lots of incentivisation for councils to socially engineer less problematic or more lucrative resident profiles,’ Dr Griffiths says. By that, he means people who can be charged higher council tax, who’ll spend more on the local economy and require less from social services. 

Scandal in the docklands

At the moment, councils are struggling to house people at all – never mind providing ambitious, spacious homes. The number of rough sleepers in the UK has doubled since 2010 and only 150,000 social homes were built in the 2010s, compared to more than 1.2 million during the 1960s. The National Housing Federation previously said the UK government had failed to fund new housing to replace homes sold off through the Right to Buy Scheme; meanwhile, attempts to keep residents on brutalist estates that need updating have started to go awry. 

The Barleymow Estate in Limehouse opened in 1968, a year after Balfron, housing a large number of council tenants. But after the Grenfell disaster, and the flurry of building safety reviews that followed, its cladding and reinforcements were ruled unsafe. The tenants were originally told they would not need to pay for the building works, but the council had to backtrack on that decision. In 2022, residents who didn’t have a spare £85,0000 to shell out for the repairs sold their flats back to the council for less than the market rate. 

150,000 social homes were built in the 2010s compared to more than 1.2m in the 1960s

Then, back in 2010, Balfron Tower residents received a notice to leave the building while refurbishment works took place. When the updated flats finally hit the market in 2022 – more than a decade later – Poplar HARCA said most former social tenants moved to HARCA homes in the same postcode and that they were never promised a right to return. Local blogs like Balfron Social Club tell a different story, in which residents were given the impression they would be able to return, only to lose their homes. Dr Griffiths didn’t sugarcoat his view: ‘What happened with Balfron was social cleansing.’

Telford Homes, the developers marketing the tower, reportedly failed to sell a single flat in the newly renovated Balfron. As of this year, it is managed by agents Way of Life who are renting out the units, though they have not disclosed the number of tenants currently in the building.

Speaking on the refurbishment, Alex Taylor at Telford Homes said: ‘Balfron Tower is a fantastic piece of post-modern architecture and we’ve opened a new chapter for the building by adapting it to provide what Londoners want from their homes in the 2020s. Responsibly bringing a building like this up to date in its fittings and amenities presents some challenges for a developer, but for residents it just means a chance to live in a beautifully designed icon.’

The one that got away 

Goldfinger’s other famous design, Trellick Tower, in North Kensington, has escaped the fate of its sibling – for now. 

Two years ago, its residents – many of which are still council tenants – campaigned to stop a construction project on Cheltenham Estate and Trellick Tower, which would have meant the demolition of communal walkways, a basketball court and graffiti walls that are integral to the community. The Residents’ Association, which has been going since the 80s, said the work would divide and fundamentally change the character of the estate. They submitted a petition in 2022 and held a block party to celebrate the tower’s 50th anniversary. 

‘There are more people committed to the values of social housing [now], not just people saying “let’s put the poor people somewhere and hope they don’t burn”,’ says Keith Benton, Chair of Trellick’s Resident’s Association. ‘I don’t think they can afford the uproar. Suddenly after Grenfell, they had to listen. They still have to listen.’ 

The council agreed to ‘pause’ their plans. Since then, residents have been involved in co-design workshops with Dr Pablo Sendra, an architect from the University College of London, which Benton hopes will lead to changes that actually benefit the community, rather than just paying lip service to it. ‘It’s important to remember that Goldfinger specifically designed these flats for ordinary working people,’ says Dr Jordan.

If you’re socialist-sympathiser design-lover, it’s a monument to an idealised past 

Some argue that the overarching issue has less to do with gentrification and more to do with the lack of high-quality alternatives to the first generation of brutalist blocks. Ultimately, though, it’s about the bigger picture: the mix of residents making London the vibrant city it is and their ability to continue living here. 

Trellick Tower offers hope that residents can hold onto their homes regardless of how concrete-loving tastemakers feel about them. But council tenants shouldn’t have to fight so hard to keep communities together. When brutalist blocks start carrying clout, they don’t stop being people’s homes.