This blog emigrated.

2010-07-25T22:33:00.001+01:00

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I have moved

2010-07-23T23:34:00.001+01:00

For the purposes of tidier formatting. Find me on Tumblr.

Tom of Finland

2010-07-12T00:35:00.004+01:00

Image by Tom of Finland

My dad, in all sincerity: 'I think you should bodybuild. You need to bulk up'. In the same way he'd say 'I think you should wake up before 11am'. But I'd have to do it perfectly. And I don't think I'm genetically predisposed to perfection, because this is perfection:

These guys are so big, you just know the only thing they can't screw is a lightbulb.

Has Lindsay Lohan proved the Scientologists right?

2010-07-09T01:49:00.005+01:00

For the armies of fans obsessed with Lindsay Lohan's every film, song, television appearance, stumble, court appearance…it's become increasingly difficult to justify our idolatry of her and her behaviour. Fans and lusty-gazed admirers don't want to see their idol fall from grace so dramatically, and this case of a woman who's flown too close to The Sun and its brethren has disappointed many.

It's discomforting to know that the same girl who charmed so many of us in The Parent Trap and Mean Girls went on to DUIs and rehab stints. Much of the criticism heading her way inflicts the pain of a double-edged sword as she is so frequently compared to Paris Hilton. The two are 'treated' to the same press attention, but Paris Hilton's forays into work, for all their capital gains, have been flippant; the heir to a millionaire's fortune doesn't need to lift a finger. Whereas Lindsay has been working since she was 3 years old. Her pushy stage mom wasn't only there for the fame, but as far as the reports show, after being ditched by shifty father Michael, the family kinda needed the money, yeah?

In the discourse of female celebrity, we find it all too easy to compare disparate people. No female cook can crack an egg without an instant juxtaposition with Nigella Lawson, no female singer can claim independent sexuality without comparison to Madonna. When regarding the case of Lindsay Lohan, we can't shift our relativism to accommodate her talent instead of her crimes. We won't analyse the similarities between her and Winona Ryder, another skilled actress gone wayward, but we will gladly box her in with Paris Hilton, another female socialite who's had a DUI.

When Paris was packed off to Lynwood, I didn't get in this much of a fuss. This is because, from a background with so much money that the sense would have to be on steroids to catch up, Ms Hilton was always destined for some sort of tragedy. You can't fall that far when your highest point was on a hotel bed as your shifty boyfriend filmed you blow him in night vision.

Although it would be facetious to insist that Lindsay deserves no jail time, let's not pretend that she had no potential as a bona fide actress. Tina Fey's stamp of approval, along with the praise Robert Altman and the cast of Prairie Home Companion bestowed upon her, are proof of this beyond her subjectively-judged filmography. Where did it all go wrong? If written by the less homophobic of its staff, a Daily Mail report would state that a 'tragic cocktail of drugs and booze' was directly to blame for the criminal offences. Maybe her dwindling fortune was spent on as many grams of coke as it was on items from Cavalli. Though, as a recent graduate, I know oodles of people who, if followed around daily by packs of paps, could be painted out as drug addicts, alcoholics and more. Wasn't Lindsay just doing what every young woman with a leetle too much money and a lot of free time does?

Not quite. There's something more at work here. There are problems which warrant not only 90 days in jail but a further 90 in rehab. I'm not denying the addictive qualities of drink and drugs, but Li-Lo's SCRAM bracelet didn't pick up on either, and as rough as she looks, she's not gone through cold turkey. Girl's got a problem with something else..

What Lindsay, like Casey Johnson before her, has a clear problem with, is legal. Legal at all ages in the US. Adderall. And Ambien. And Dilaudid. And more. I don't know what all these things are, and I don't think I should do. Should a healthy young, successful person ever know the literal highs and lows of prescribed medication? Perhaps not, but the heaving medicine cabinet comes as standard in the Hollywood hills; fitted in Heath and Brittany's bathrooms, too.

Now I know Tom Cruise is nuts. I doubt the Presleys' motives. And I completely question the veracity of a religion which allows through its hallowed kitschy gates the todally serious offspring of one Mr. Robert Geldof, who's like, todally named after a fruit. Yet, when the religious poodle that is Scientology damned prescription drugs, it wasn't barking up the wrong tree…

Night Talk #1

2010-07-07T00:20:00.002+01:00

Me

dongle

you know when you meet someone

and at the time

00:12Dolly

yes

00:12Me

you're looking through the crowd at them

and it's all a bit like this

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tOjuzvLcsos

then you tell them they're beautiful

and you introduce yourself by first name only

and you get their number

and then three days later, you cannot remember their face AT ALL

and the more you try to remember their face the less you remember their face

so all of a sudden you're stuck texting an 18 year old Canadian who is actually slightly annoying

searching for an appropriate time to meet up whilst holding in mind all the plans you have for the next three weeks.

Peaches, Kelis and Perez at the IndigO2

2010-07-05T21:49:00.007+01:00

You know it's been a good night when you wake up with a peanut butter jelly sandwich in your bed and the bleak realisation that you were too forward with Peaches comes over you.
I went to Perez Hilton's One Night In...London thing thanks to Best Buy, who sell cameras and bits and bobs.
Freebies are always wicked, but when I end up seeing Kelis and Peaches performing at an event which has been so poorly promoted that it's filled to a fifth of its capacity, I've got to feel smug about it. The journey to the front of the crowd was the easiest I've ever embarked upon, to the point where it wasn't even necessary to employ the same bargery techniques I learned from erstwhile Slipknot gigs. I still did, though.
Peaches was spectacular. Helping the surprisingly tiny woman crowdsurf is one thing, helping her crowd-walk a few years later is something everyone should do. Although the crowd didn't know her that well, she won them over with her glittering, sparkling vagina light (see below)
Kelis wasn't so interactive with the crowd, but her dancing and singing were both so spot on that I couldn't tell if she was lip-syncing or not. When Milkshake spliced into Major Lazer's Pon De Floor, my little plastic glass of gross house white went everywhere.
The VIP area, like everything else in the O2, lacked personality. We were told that people were going mental on cocaine in the toilets, but when we went in and barked 'Does anyone have any cocaine?' no-one responded. So nobody was doing any cocaine. Perez himself was drinking (full fat) Red Bull and wouldn't give us the time of day as he was too busy looking like he was the camp kid from My Super Sweet Sixteenth who promises to compere his whole birthday but eventually realises that no-one's going to come and then ends up being consoled by his overbearing mother before kicking over the cake-stand.

[Photos: Lynsey Martenstyn & Sophie Wilkinson]

Big Brother's still got my vote

2010-06-28T19:27:00.000+01:00

Big Brother’s old news, right? Its novelty has long worn off, and we’ve better things to do on a Friday night than watch a televised freakshow beg us to run up extortionate phone bills.

But....[click here for the full article]

The Great Shame of Christina Aguilera

2010-06-06T02:31:00.000+01:00

It's a shame that Christina and her management have placed her sexuality so centrally to her music. To add insult to injury, this slapper-tastic imagery and rhetoric has been justified as a sort of feminist empowerment. A kind of 'anything you can shag, I can shag better' mentality, which has only contributed to empowerment for women in one way: by defining where the feminist movement has gone wrong.

What makes it even more of a kick in the face for music fans is that her vocals are so brilliant.

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This was originally written in response to Alexis Petridis's damning review of Christina's new album, Bi-On-Ic.

The suit on Liverpool Street

2010-06-02T01:06:00.007+01:00

The apex of urbanity is too oft regarded as universal expedience. All we've wanted since the beginning of the industrial revolution is to have it all, and to have it quickly. As I make my way to central London for evening drinks, I am surrounded by hordes of besuited people. Avoiding eye contact, as all seasoned users of the Underground do, I only understand the travails of an city banker's day when a heavy lapel wafts into my face, or when a damp shirt presses against my hand as I keep a firm grasp on the rail.

Just as high fashion filters down to high street, by the mid-90s, spending like a mid-80's banker was par de course. So we clamoured for logo t-shirts, for name-dropping and the accolades of popularity we'd gain from becoming walking adverts for our favourite brands. In the late 90s into the early 2000s, we turned to minimalism for minimalism's sake. We dressed how old films perceived the post-apocalyptic future. Robotic, dull, wipe-clean man-made fabrics and two-tone, spiky hair, as if the looming Y2K disaster was a mandate to adorn ourselves with celebrations of technological disaster. The boho look was a flirtation; with pathetically loyal Sienna Miller and anorexia-inducing Rachel Zoe credited as pioneers of this look, the gypsy outfits and their ideologies were insincere . The freedom of the draped fabrics were throwbacks to the liberating late 60's, but discredited women and fashion alike by being exclusively created for the fairer sex, blockading much development of male couture beyond a Hedi Slimane suit.

Now, thankfully, men's couture is just as relevant as women's. We're retching at logos and shiny synthetics, real fur and flares. We're choosing sleek lines, neat and sturdy tailoring, natural fabrics used with increasingly more ecological responsibility. All of this serves to not only recapture classic beauty, but to maintain its timelessness. To be cutting edge now is to pay tribute to everything good that has come before, not to create from a vacuum. We're Dali these days.Each item is perfectly formed, but the combinations are where we break the rules. Summoning the most highbrow of postmodern referencing, we are coming home to ourselves in brogues and trenches, ankle boots and blouses. Short backs and sides and quiffs, shirts fastened and never any factory-made wear and tear.

Fashion flourishes in urbane environments: London, Milan, Paris, New York, because this is where people come together for ideas to accelerate. Compressed, we are saturated with inspiring imagery. But when we are literally pushed underground to make our high-tech conurbation easier to traverse, given less space than the average battery-farm chicken, our preening must be sacrificed. Clothes become hindrances, obstructions in the furious race from A-B. If this commute is a quotidian requirement, it is all too easy to desire practicality over beauty.

This movement towards unrelenting progression isn't to be desired. Not only is the applicable to our cities, but our selves. We are pushed so hard to compete that we forget to take time to look around, to enjoy what our eye beholds. The difference between a street and a road is that the street has its obstacles. Obstacles, in all aspects of life, provide character.

On London's street level, our urbanity is palimpsest; blitzing, fires and boom-time development means that no one street is constituent of one form or aesthetic. And this is reflected in people's sartorial choices. Out of the commuting mindset of unfettered achievement, we can not only breathe, but idle our eyes upon the most silent, yet most beautiful forms of self-expression; clothing. It's not that the suits don't look good, it's just that the context stinks. A suit on a Monday on Liverpool Street reeks of greed. That same suit on the same street on a Saturday is suave.

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This piece was commissioned by a London College of Fashion magazine, title TBC

Greenwich: A Shopping Guide

2010-05-26T00:52:00.006+01:00

Greenwich, much like many other places in London, is a town of contradictions. High rise sink estates are nestled between leafy gardens and double-fronted houses. Tracksuited teenagers sit next to well-heeled professionals on the buses and trains. What makes it different from any other area of urban development in the city, is its historical importance.

Its astrological, royal and maritime legacy is enough to make it eligible for the starry accolade of an official venue of the 2012 Olympics, but the steep hierarchies of personal income are all too visible to anyone who strays from the town's neatly gentrified marketplace. The niche boutique shops and provisions for yummy mummies hide the surly underbelly of the town, where graffiti is spattered over derelict houses and status dogs are paraded down littered streets.

It's all too easy to suggest that the influx of affluent residents in search of an easy commute to the greedy metropolis of Canary Wharf would improve the quality of life for all Greenwich residents. But the clear divide between rich and poor serves to magnify the poverty seen in the east end of the high street. Convoys of yummy mummies in 4X4s and smarmy bankers flashing cash in microbreweries don't make the abandoned office buildings any more pleasing on the eye. The cost of housing makes even less sense when one passes the site of Greenwich Hospital. The concrete building, once a vital service to thousands of people, was demolished in 2006. The enormous site has remained boarded up and empty.

But, away from the hordes of day-tripping tourists and school groups idling around the Observatory, yet not so far from the inexcusable urban decay, there is hope. Trafalgar Road is rumoured to be the most polluted road in London, but beyond the toxic fumes of the trundling engines is a strip of shops to put any generic high street to shame. Polish and Italian delicatessens stand next to Afro-Caribbean hair salons, authentic meze kitchens, independent motorcycle shops and old-school launderettes.

Thanks to nationwide homogenisation, a list of the commercial outlets in a town wouldn't usually be cause for much interest. It could even be tasteless to suggest that the average high street represents or adequately provides for its actual surrounding community. However, east Greenwich's shopping parade is an emblem of capitalism at its most mutually beneficial. It's also the signifier of realistic diversity we rarely see in London.

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This piece was originally written as part of a job application.

How To Party With The Coalition Party

2010-05-20T17:40:00.005+01:00

After months of political in-fights and bitching, we've got a boiled ham for Prime Minister and a Cabinet who no-one really voted for. And no amount of pseudo-anarchic Facebook groups are going to change the situation.

So here are 5 reasons why this government will do right by clubbers.

1. No ID cards. The 'Con-Dem'-ed coalition agrees on this above all. This paranoid, Orwellian style of monitoring baddies and scaring the living daylights out of the good, law-abiding citizens was always going to have its problems, especially amongst clubbers. How often do we lose our stuff on a night out? Calling the bank at 3am for the third weekend in a row to get your cards cancelled is one thing, but having to call up the home office each weekend? Spare us the hassle.

2. Greg Knight. As MP for East Yorkshire, Greg may, at first glance, have precious little effect upon clubbers nationwide. But this chap is at the forefront of the 'Save Our Pubs & Clubs' campaign, which is requesting that the smoking ban be relaxed in order to keep booze Britain alive. If successful, clubbers could go back to those halcyon days of smelling toxic tar, tobacco and burnt formaldehyde in their favourite jaunts, instead of beer and puke.

3. Cuts to universities. Seriously, a brilliant idea. How amazing would it be to turn 18 without the pressure of having to spend another three years getting a degree which employers find entirely irrelevant? All of that money spent on student digs can now be spent on going out a lot more and listening to a hell of a lot more music.

4. Even if the new government takes a turn for the worse and repeats all of Thatcher's mistakes, we'll get some great music out of it. Some of the biggest pioneers of dance music were inspired by the Iron Lady's fuckups. In the early 80s alone, New Order's Blue Monday was all about the Falklands War, Bronski Beat wrote a whole album dedicated to overturning homophobic statutes and the New Romantic scene was all about escaping the dire realities of Thatcherite Britain.

5. The extremist right-wing nut jobs who are out to ruin everyone's fun (see: Norman Tebbit kicking a kid in a dragon costume up the bum during Chinese New Year festivities) will feel so disenfranchised by a government that doesn't charge four year olds for milk money, that they'll up and leave, making Britain a friendlier place for all people, including clubbers.

--------

This piece was written for the Ministry of Sound blog.

Ten

2010-05-19T22:53:00.006+01:00

This was taken when I was 5. I wasn't so cute when I was 10.

I found this whilst fishing around in my old school books. It was an exercise undertaken on the 6th September 1998, where I was required to describe myself. Looking back, it tells me more about myself than I could have ever imagined.

"My name is Sophie Wilkinson, I am 10 years old, I am a girl. and I go to Blackheath High school. My mum is called Mandy Hitchcock, and she used to be called Amanda jane Speigel, she is ~~weird~~ nice and funny. My dad is called Roger Wilkinson, he is very clever and always knows everything about anything. My eldest sister is called Sarah Hitchcock, she is 18, she is tall and skinny. My elder sister is called Laura Hitchcock, she is 14, but all her friends are 16 15 and ver, so she behaves like a 17 19 year old. My best ~~friendsi~~ Friends are my cat, Max (~~Catsuny~~ Catzunjuma 7 13* 9 ~~Sammy~~ Samantha Hawkins, 10. and basicly everybody!

I am ~~tall~~ ~~medium~~ have got and average height of 144cm (4'9") and a weight of ~~5 and~~ 33kg (5 1/2 stone) or 66 pounds) I have never had a broken bone. (except from breaking my teeth), and I have never had illnesses except chickenpox, bronchitis and the common cold. I have ginger, shoulder-length hair, brown grey eyes, a forever changing nose, as last year it flicked up like a ski slop, but now it has le elongated, and calmed down a bit at the end of it. my m My mouth is quite small except I can grin halfway fromear to ear. I am quite funny, as I can put my hair up and look like one person, and put my hair down and look like another!

I am a can be very critical sometimes and then I could be fun-loving another time. I sometimes think very hard about why I am here, in this body, with ~~the~~ ~~this~~ these legs, and those eyes, which always leads onto the meaning of life, and what job we are meant to do here on this planet, and where the universe ends. I hink that, past the universe, is reancartion of everybody, and, we would all be free of war, ~~and~~ disease and death, but I have only one querry about this, as if there werent any of the latter, we would be bored out of our skulls. I do not belive in one religion, I belive in several."

The 2010 Election. My last word.

2010-05-03T22:45:00.011+01:00

Forgive me for another political blog post. Social networking frenzies, televised debates and the prospect of submitting my first general election vote have made me very excited. Well, apart from in the past few days. No, since the last leaders' debate, I've felt quite petrified.

I really shouldn't be. I am confident that this country has enough altruistic souls to vote for MPs who won't cut vital public services. I am confident that this country is mostly made up of people who want all to be treated fairly. I am confident that the people of this country want to see the world flourish. And I am confident that this country is made up of accepting, peaceful people, with the maturity to invest their precious vote in a party who will restore a sense of dignity to our parliament.

So what am I scared of? I'm scared that I'm hoping for too much. I'm scared that all of these brilliant, important and very worthy voters are being misled not only by the presumed safety of familial voting traditions, but by certain members of the mainstream media.

As the papers have shown their support for parties, you'd have to have been living under Eric Pickles' blubber for decades to have been shocked at any alliances.

Also, you'd have to be similarly incapacitated to not realise that many of these publications have been willing to disproportionately represent incidents on the campaign trail long before they pledged their allegiances . Charlie Brooker's column this week begins with a nod to just one example of how skewed the media's representation of this election has become.

And another more serious example of warped press has been highlighted by Benjamin Cohen of Channel 4 news (and founder of PinkNews). This is the recent non-story of gay-curer Tory candidate Phillipa Stroud who has sent Twitter in a frenzy, yet will never receive as much media lampooning as Brown did during Bigot-gate.

The leadership debates provided the media with another opportunity to manipulate voters. We've been encouraged to pick apart leaders of the party instead of looking to our own local candidates' policies. This would be great if we voted in a presidential system, but we don't. Obama's name has been dropped in this election run-up more times than Katie Price's knickers, and it is useful to compare the US and UK. The pertinent dissimilarities are that we don't vote for our leader, and we're a tiny island. But these just make the similarities all too eerie: we have just as many issues, a similar gaggle of nutcases running for office, and the same media fatcats in charge of our press.

I'm not disillusioned with politics, but I'm concerned that we're looking to partisan news sources to tell us about the three men most of us will never have the chance to vote for.

The 2010 election is one where we have never before had so much information readily available to us. But be careful where you get it from.

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*In case you don't know, this latter incident is when Brown called a spade a spade. I think he should have just called her an idiot and left it at that. If you were to meet the Prime Minister, a man with a fancy education and a right nice suit, with the BBC filming you, you'd surely not think to say something so crass as: 'These eastern Europeans, where are they all flocking from?'

** I put a photo of Paris Hilton up top so you'd pay attention to what I write.

MIA - Born Free

2010-04-28T17:10:00.006+01:00

To a lot of British viewers, the controversial video to MIA's Born Free may resemble a Catherine Tate sketch gone wrong. It's not a tasteless joke at gingers' expense, though.

Ginger is being used to show how arbitrary hatred and violence is applied in violent regimes across the world. The clip is shocking not only because the gingers are obviously different to the white consensus of 'us', but so closely follow its definition. In the Venn diagram where one circle is labelled 'white' and the other....'other', gingers are placed in the overlap. This accessibility improves the video, because the west is saturated with images of suffering people. Suffering people with different skin colours in faraway lands. Would we have taken as much notice to this video had the gingers been replaced with, say, men with darker skin, hair and eyes and dishcloths on their heads? No, we would've thought it was ITV News.

In light of the obvious analogy, brusque US commentators have suggested that it's concerning recently-introduced laws in Arizona allowing the police to hold suspected terrorists indefinitely. This just shows how parochial some Americans can be. It only takes a little read through MIA's Twitter to realise that this video was definitely intended to represent the treatment of Tamils in Sri Lanka. I wouldn't have a clue of what's going on over there, as so much news of its Civil War is being censored. So, enjoy the song.

I think it's a banger. Masterminded by a whole bunch of Mad Decent, and banned by YouTube, it's getting more attention than Lady GaGa and Justin Bieber put together...

M.I.A, Born Free from ROMAIN-GAVRAS on Vimeo.

Let's go round again

2010-04-20T20:32:00.016+01:00

I really like rounded glasses at the moment. Now that Harry Potter's a distant memory to me, they serve as items of beauty as opposed to reminders of hammy child actors. Chuck out your Rachel Zoe-endorsed bug-eye-glasses, smash up your WAG-inspired frames, and say hello to titchy circular frames. You don't have to be a boy wizard to do it, as all of these ocular icons will prove:

To the exclusion of The Machinist, where he dropped to about 110lbs, Christian Bale is sexy in anything he stars in. In American Psycho, he plays Patrick Bateman, whose whole existence revolves around successfully fitting into homogenised 1980s banker aesthetics whilst his morals asphyxiate in his rotting soul. The Dorian Gray of the Reagan years, I think a lot of his charm is down to his tortoiseshell Oliver Peoples.

I know, right. I'm hardly the first person in the past few years to point out that circle-rimmed glasses smaller than one's own head are where it's at. Michael Kors, Ralph Lauren and Dries Van Noten both showed these anti-Raybans back in SS 2007. Caroline Herrera did the same and this was lauded by some as the return of the circle-lens, but I think the magic of this 'new' shape is that they don't fool anyone. Whereas any fat yob can be redeemed by a pair of what we've come to know as 'aviators', it takes grace to pull off circle lenses.

Maybe it's a continental thing. Jean Reno starred in Leon back in 1994. Playing a stoic, mysterious assassin, the glasses helped to maintain his inscrutable demeanour.

If you've watched Amelie, or even pretend you're Amelie as you make Hummingbird Bakery cupcakes and wear twee socks when you do your daily cycle through Hackney, you'd love A Very Long Engagement. Not only is it directed by the fabulous Jean-Pierre Jeunet, but it stars Audrey Tatou, features a pitch-perfect cameo from Jodie Foster and is all about the absolute futility of war. I won't tell you what Marion Cotillard does with the glasses here, but it's brilliant.

I have never fallen in love with a film like I have with Benjamin Button. Amongst his extensive back catalogue, David Fincher directed Madonna's Vogue. He presents nostalgia with the perfect balance of realism and romanticism. And with Brad Pitt, Cate Blanchett AND Tilda Swinton on board, the film was worthy of all praise and accolades. Benjamin wears a few sets of glasses in this film, and although he looks disgracefully pretty in the scene where he's all decked out like George Michael in the Faith video, I really hope Brad Pitt ages into this man. Nice bloody coat, too.

I'm afraid to say I find John Lennon almost as annoying as Paul McCartney. In the case of the former, it's not his fault. It's the Gallagher Brothers'. I remember in 1996, I bought myself a pair of John Lennon sunglasses. But the only reason they were being produced at that point was because of the success of 'Britpop', a cultural phenomenon which was actually invented by Tony Blair so as to get people on his side. A bit like WMD's.

This is taking the essence of everything that's good about Tim Burton films, and condensing it into one pair of macabre, quasi-surgical glasses. There's this movement of people called Steam Punks, who are really into the aesthetic of steam-powered machinery. As a concept, I like this. The latter half of the 19th Century is full of some of my favourite literature, and there is something unquestionably romantic and simultaneously scary about a time before electricity. However, most Steam Punks have unsightly facial hair and like things like Download festival.

I think Lady GaGa could be the catalyst behind the most recent resurgence in circular glasses. Apart from dressing like a slag, not many of her looks have made it into the mainstream. I don't even think GaGa deserves credit for women dressing like slags; as long as Newcastle exists and stupid men get paid too much, women will dress like slags. Most importantly, if there's anything we should copy from this woman, it's not the lobster shoes, it's not the firework tits. It's these glasses.

------

Style is such a subjective entity. I don't profess to have much authority on it. If you're looking for that you should probably go somewhere else.

The sky over London through the ash

2010-04-16T00:31:00.004+01:00

On the days when I'm not working, and it's not overcast, I go to see the sun set in Greenwich Park. Other than the Docklands there aren't a great deal of sights to make out, but, at sunlight one can feel at peace whilst overlooking the most anonymous of metropolises.. Some people who I love dearly are living thousands of miles away, and it's affirming to know that there's one thing that we all have in common. And for those I cohabit this grubby little city with, it's nice to know there's something bigger than all of us.

Today the sun was extra special. It can't be seen on here, but the cloud of volcanic ash blowing its way over from Iceland had a noticeable effect on the seeming diametre of the sun. It was so wide and expansive. Yet it wasn't any hotter, in fact it was disproportionately cold, just adding to its eeriness.

[I took all of these photos on my iPhone. And I know I've done something like this before, but no two sunsets are the same, now are they?]

Insure? Sure

2010-04-12T22:15:00.003+01:00

Hearing a brilliant remix of an unlikely track is encouraging. There are a few songs which are just crying out for remixes, and I wish I had the patience, talent and Ableton to do this. In the meantime, I'll settle for gems like this.

[via my good friend Steph]

We're All David Cameron's Fags

2010-04-08T12:34:00.013+01:00

When I first voted, I wasn't really concerned about who was going to be in power. I went for Labour and Lib Dem, because I fit the demographic perfectly, and my parents, who are both now Conservative-leaning, used to be very liberal back in the day.

But this time round, there's no way I could justify voting for Gordon Brown's government again, after the mess they've got us into. Even though the banks which plunged us into economic doom were much more part of Tony Blair's blinded optimism, or even a throwback to Thatcherist greed, Brown's a washed-up gravelface with little charisma and a glass eye.

In comes David Cameron, so shiny and cherub-faced. So warm, so outspoken, so keen on 'change'. He is charming. So bloody charming, in fact, that it has taken me until now to decide that I cannot and will not vote for him to lead this country. He's got a convincing argument, claiming that he's fighting the election for the 'Great Ignored', a catch-all term for any disenfranchised people in the country. But he's lying. He does not give two figs about those outside of his own niche of society. And here's how I know:

I identify as LGBTQ, an ever-increasing acronym which truly reflects how Western society is accepting enough to allow an increasing amount of people to realise that they identify as something other than heterosexual. I know we've got many pressing matters to deal with this election: economics and the war especially. But I've paid attention to party leaders' stance on gay rights. I'm not going to warble on about the B+B which refused two men a night's sleep. This incident is more a discussion of whether a B+B is a business or a home, under the jurisdiction of the homeowners or business law. But I will explain how Cameron's negligence of gay rights spells trouble for all of us, and by 'us', I mean every person on this little island.

Back in 2008, aaall that time ago, David Cameron voted on Section 28. Along with William Hague, he voted against the 'promotion' of LGBTQ issues in school. He voted against vital education resources for young people who are struggling to come to terms with their sexuality, refusing to acknowledge that young gay people need sex education as much as their straight counterparts. Even though gay teenagers are as much at risk of STIs and sexual abuse as their straight counterparts, it seems that straight sex-education is allowed because, well, not because DC wants teen pregnancy, it's just that it's a visible problem. But this was all years ago. Why am I complaining now? Because he's just gone and said that 'gay' people are part of his 'Great Ignored'. Based on his past vote against gay sex education, his refusal to use his jurisdiction in Europe to stop homophobia and his inability to coherently explain his stance on gay rights, it's clearly a lie.

This graph details how the Tory and Labour cabinets have voted on gay rights For more statistics, click here.

An article highlighting this on the Guardian's Comment is Free site shocked me. Well, not the article itself, written by Tamsin Omond, but the comments. A usually liberal readership responded with the usual Daily Mail responses. Many of the highest-rated comments went along the lines of: Dave Cameron's weak on gay rights, but what's that got to do with me? Haven't we got gay rights already? Why do gay people need all this representation?

Well, here are your answers:

LGBTQ people, as with other minorities, need special recognition because theyare still disregarded, stereotyped and marginalised. Heteros won't necessarily be as aware of this as LGBTQ people are, and even if one is not 'actively' homophobic, by refusing to acknowledge this particular need for representation or by refusing to be upset about discrimination, one contributes to the problem of homophobia.

And yes, it is a problem. People in this country are denied employment, bullied, bashed and even murdered because of their sexual orientation. And it's not only a problem for LGBTQ people, as it's being endorsed by Cameron and his party. It's indicative of the way the Tories feel about all marginalised groups.

Discrimination against LGBTQ people is being condoned by David Cameron, and his top party members. At the moment, it may seem that this isn't too bad, that it won't affect the great majority of 'us' if the Conservatives come to power. But why does anyone who's not a whiteboy from an Etonian background living in south-west London with a 2.4 family think that they're safe from Cameron's ignorance, inconsistency and negligence?

Lindsay Lohan Is Human(itarian). Wowz.

2010-04-02T01:18:00.009+01:00

Lindsay Lohan’s Indian Journey wasn’t highbrow, not enough experts were consulted, and, at some points, our presenter seemed very ignorant. For the Guardian’s comment section, the fantastic Marina Hyde's review missed the point in this article: Lindsay Lohan's child trafficking film: DVD extras.

I responded:

Didn't anyone realise the juxtaposition that BBC3 were trying to employ by having Lindsay Lohan as a presenter?

It seems as if the biggest challenge in the process of the evaporation of child trafficking is changing social expectations. Lindsay spent a lot of her time in the documentary frustratedly wondering why the practice seems to be culturally acceptable. Those who use child labour directly obviously don't care, the police turn a blind eye, parents willingly send their children away to work, and the children themselves are conditioned into complicity.

In a very similar way, Lindsay's been working in the public eye, and under much scrutiny since she was three years old. Her career, according to us onlookers, has been undoubtedly more glamorous, rewarding and creative than those of the trafficked children. But she's been poked and prodded by millions of strangers, held up as a scapegoat, a mess, and simultaneously a sex object for fantasies to be projected onto. She’s rich, she’s famous, but tt would be ridiculous to suggest that she hasn't been exploited.

During the programme, a girl who'd been trafficked into prostitution told how she arrived at a brothel. She only realised where she was when she saw girls wearing short skirts, smoking and drinking. That hit a nerve with Lindsay, who we know does all three. And surely it hit a nerve with many women watching at home, who, as well, do all three? It was clear that presenter, subject and audience were all meant to align, despite their different social standings: "Kids have this innocence – when it's taken away, it's so hard to get back" - hands up who disagrees?

Just as child-trafficking is socially acceptable, the western media's persistent humiliation of and titillation at the expense of a young woman with too much money and not enough sense is socially acceptable. It's therefore not entirely facetious to compare these two culturally-sanctioned problems.

If this juxtaposition was the BBC's intention, then hats off to them. Firstly, they proved that exploitation can and will happen anywhere. Secondly, it proves that we, as humans, will trouble ourselves by falling into patterns that we do not question. Thirdly, it proves that the BBC, for all its institutional failings, does have some clever people within its ranks.

They could've picked many people to present this programme, but they picked someone who would give the cause attention. Running with their theme of fronting programmes about young women with young women, they picked a young woman. They also picked someone who is such a grade A flake who would bawl. And when she did? It was human. If it's any consolation for those who feel she should've remained stone-faced listening to tales of child slavery and abuse, she was embarrassed when she cried. Cut her some slack, because she wasn't only empathising, she was remembering; she herself suffered years abuse at the hands of her father.

Her uncontrolled, emotional response worked for a BBC3 audience - 16-34 year olds, many of whom would literally only notice a documentary if it stood up in their eye-line and shouted 'GIRL WITH TWO HEADS. SRSLY!' Her initial ignorance to the subject also worked. The audience would align with her easily, as she knows no more than your average 23-year-old who loves to shop. In this type of documentary, an exploratory one, I’d much prefer a genuine broadcaster than one who dumbs down to seem likeable, or one who is too wrapped up within the subject matter to relate to.

And for those who are a scrape older than the intended demographic, or perhaps more sophisticated for a programme fronted by a former child star, (I may mean you, Marina), maybe you could've noticed this comparison. Hopefully, outside of columns which simultaneously nit-pick yet thrive upon celebrity nonsense, this documentary will have attracted some serious debate about the horrors of child-trafficking, and furthermore, a consideration that no culture should justify the exploitation of previously innocent people.

_________________________________

I find Lindsay Lohan infinitely attractive and hilarious. This may help me to defend her, but, more positively, this is an exercise in defending someone who is almost impossible to defend. Scraping the barrel, if you will. Proving that I could argue my way out of a 30foot hole rapidly filling with ammonia.

Dystopia

2010-03-29T21:23:00.005+01:00

I decided to read the four most influential dystopia books of the 20th century all at once:

1984, Fahrenheit 451, Brave New World and The Handmaid's Tale. All have their merits. All are depressing, but the tragedies of each of them: government-sanctioned oppression, rape and murder, the loss of intellectual debate and discourse, are all the more convincing when the dystopia created is coherent and structured.

The harsh regimes are scariest when the author describes them as meticulously crafted, or created from (misunderstood) logic or misinterpreted verses. Most of the order in each story is about keeping people within certain social tiers and also ensuring reproduction is done accordingly. Eugenics is a common theme of the novels, even if only faintly so in the case of Fahrenheit 451. With the exception of Brave New World, which eerily foresees Nazi ideals, all of the books were written after the Holocaust. To me, the scariest part of the Holocaust was that, in the early 1930's, Germany was technologically advanced. To Hitler and his followers, who democratically elected him, the final solution wasn't a last resort, it was a culmination of the industrial revolution. Hundreds of years of scientific enterprise and human achievement were being used to systematically destroy millions of people. We can create gadgets, machines and all sorts of electrical devices, but we're still violent savages.

Echoes of this sentiment are present throughout all of the books, but each focus on more specific elements: The Handmaid's Tale is concerned with sexism whereas 1984 is occupied with restrictions upon privacy and freedom of surveillance. But this factor should not demarcate which book is more relevant. If I've learned anything from these books, it's that when a specific demographic is oppressed, the whole community, even those outside of those being directly oppressed, is oppressed.

Glee: Keep Me Hanging On

2010-03-23T21:53:00.009Z

I've been watching Glee religiously. Unlike other 'girls' around my age, I didn't start watching the musical series because I'm interested in High School Musical, or teen comedy-dramas. Those ended for me when Marissa died; I've still to watch a full episode of Skins. I was initially drawn to Glee because of creator Ryan Murphy. He worked on two of my most favourite series ever made: Popular and Nip/Tuck. And like these programmes, Glee contains hilarious surreal tangents, flashbacks and witty dialogue.

Yet Glee ultimately fails in two places where its predecessors reigned: it lacks any sex appeal and fails to approach (or mock) any issues of moral panic, instead opting for incredibly conservative story arcs. Whereas Popular would look at eating disorders, and Nip/Tuck would introduce viewers to such ethical minefields as the possibility of letting Catherine Deneuve have her husband's ashes put into her breast implants, Glee doesn't get too specific on its issues. Or the way they're handled.Have you noticed that whenever a woman is pregnant on a FOX-syndicated TV series, she'll either have the baby or die herself? Funny, that.

The didactic nature of the programme slows its progress, but I take great comfort in watching a complete season of a series. I hated Ugly Betty, but insisted on watching to the end of season 1 before forgetting all about it.

However, there is something brilliant about the songs on Glee which may well keep me hanging on. As they are covers, the songs introduce the audience to a whole new world of genre and possibility. For example, the recent cover of You Keep Me Hangin' On. In ascending order of brilliance.

5. The Glee version. The shit version. It's got as much soul as a melting ice cap.

4. The 60's psychedelic version - Vanilla Fudge

3. The 90's country/house genre-bender - Reba McEntire

2. The 80's synthpop version - Kim Wilde

1. The astounding, 1960's Motown version - Diana Ross and the Supremes (although it was argued that Flo Ballard sang most of this track...)

Gordon Brown Loves Mephedrone

2010-03-17T22:32:00.019Z

MEPHADROZ

Mephedrone is everywhere. On toilet seats, mirrors, keys, cards and notes. In students' noses, down raver's throats. Most importantly, for the future of this country, it's in our Prime Minister's head.

Two young men from Scunthorpe died on Monday. Mephedrone's been cited as the foremost cause. In each article you will read on this, buried somewhere beneath the fourth or fifth paragraph, there's mention that the guys had been drinking heavily and also taken methadone before they died. Without delving into the scientific specifics of these substances, meph is an upper, meth is a downer. People take uppers before they take downers. A property which the two drugs share, is that, unlike booze, MDMA or ketamine (etc), they affect the user immediately. Thus follows that many people are blaming the breakfast for what essentially was the dinner's fault.

So why meph and not meth? Because meph is new and intriguing. It's the toyboy to heroin's geriatric. And we're all cougars. And that's an analogy too far. What I mean is, if you're in the newsagents buying some ciggies and you're faced with a headline as ridiculous as 'Meow Meow Raver Drug Kills Kids', and you (rightfully) don't know what it means, and you get some change back for your cigarettes, you'll happily pay a couple of quid to find out what The Daily Twat even meant by that headline. On the very basic principle that new news shifts papers, mew mews will bring profit to tabs and broadsheets alike.

Gurndon Brown

I am not rushing to the defence of mephedrone. Anything intoxicating enough to work as a get-out-of-school-free card for up to 180 kids needs to undergo testing. And it goes without saying that the government is responsible for any restrictions imposed upon a substance. So jolly good then, that Peter Mandelson has piped up. Yes, Peter Mandelson. The man who resides in the cabinet as Business, Innovation and Skills Secretary. He's said that he'd never heard of meph before, but that his cabinet will: "take any action that is needed... to avert such tragic consequences occurring in the future". Well that's awfully nice of you, Mandy, but who overdosed and made you Health Secretary?

"Aaand pinch...aaannnd sniff.."

Why isn't Alan Johnson, the actual person in charge of Health policy, talking about mephedrone after these two deaths? He's had "grave concerns" about the drug for at least a month, but he's keeping schtum for now. Maybe he doesn't want to face the inevitable double embarrassment that I'll endeavour to illustrate in the next two sentences. Firstly, mephedrone's been available in the UK for long enough for it to filter down to kids aged 8. It must be incredibly easy to manufacture as it's selling for as little as £7 a gram in some places. Secondly, Johnson's drugs advisory council has been made up of many people with no scientific expertise since he sacked Prof David Nutt. Why did he sack Prof Nutt? Because Labour's up shit creek and to have a scientist with a calm, rational approach to what really causes danger to our society on your side isn't going to win those pesky contested seats.

Peter Mandelson's a stumbling block for many voters. We haven't actually voted for to be in our present government, yet he's literally Lording around Westminster with a phone directory's worth of titles and a place set for him at nearly every committee and subcommittee going. By attaching 'Mandelson' to stories about the government restricting a 'killer' substance, he's mincing into many voters' good books.

MM-Cat

It is also worth noting that meph is getting a bad rap (ha) because it isn't a controlled substance, but meth is. Meth is used as part of drug addiction rehabilitation, as a substitute for heroin. It's given out by the NHS to ex-junkies trying to wean themselves off of the juice. How these boys got their hands on meth will inevitably lead back to a story of government-sanctioned ineptitude. Whether it's a crooked pharmacist, inconsistent customs officials, or even a dodgy policeman, whoever's to blame for the drug which actually killed these boys is working in the public sector, at the taxpayers' expense.

Blaming meph also saves face in another way. Scientific tests will inevitably show that it's dangerous enough to be banned, so it's the perfect battle for Labour to play. As ITV1, televised debate and smear campaigns steer voters to judge party leaders by their personalities instead of their promises, shiny Cameron emerges as the frontrunner. What will work in Brown's favour, though, is if he can convert voters' many fears into effective policy in the run up to the election, as this is the only realm where he can outdo Cameron.

________________

Note: This article was edited the morning after I wrote it just for a little clean-up

My Family and Tracey Emin

2010-03-16T23:33:00.009Z

Tracey Emin - I've Got It All (2000)

My mum, who studied Fine Art and trained as an art therapist, has always wanted to expose me and my sisters to as much art as possible. She could better explain the specifics of her work, and she'd prefer if I didn't go into detail of the politically-charged depictions of genitalia she etched in the 1970's, but it goes without saying that my mother feels at home with modern art.

My dad is somewhat more conservative in his tastes, he preferred to take me to museums and stately homes at weekends. Yet I remember standing on the South Bank at twilight as he pointed out the site where the Tate Modern was being built. When he told me it would only be done in 2000, I thought it was a really long way away. Its opening caused much hyperactivity in my household. When friends from around the world came to stay, the first port of call, after the now-diffused Cutty Sark, was the Tate Modern.

There's one exhibition which helped introduce the new Tate to Britain. But I wasn't allowed to go. It was Sensation. My oldest sister and my dad told me all about it, though. And it fascinated me.

Marcus Harvey - Myra (1995)

After being exposed to more of the YBA's work, particularly Tracey Emin's, I've realised that she really isn't more warped than the next person, she's honest and surprisingly innocent. Her tent wasn't about sex, it was about intimacy. Her bed wasn't about mess, it was about sustenance. It is only when you approach her work with a cynical, disapproving eye that you find her work crass and unsightly. Maybe everyone else has realised this: last year, at the Royal Academy's summer show, her picture of a teddy bear astronaut almost disappeared under the red stickers.

Tracey Emin - My Bed (1997)

The confessional nature of her art is what I find most intriguing and beautiful. She creates work inspired by the harrowing events of her life: abortion, attempted suicide, rape, near-alcoholism as a form of catharsis. But not just this; she also creates work inspired by the joys in her life. Her permanent grin is not smug, but a mixture of hopeful, wistful and, at 47, expectant.

Tracey Emin - All The People I Have Ever Slept With 1963-1995 (1995)

Mark Lawson recently interviewed Tracey.

The only flaw of this interview, I felt, is concerning the point at which Mark asks her what she think any idiot could do what she does. She agrees with his suggestion that she's an artist because she is the first person to decide to put her work in a gallery. I feel I must point out that, if one must argue with her defence, that she's just been lucky, then maybe consider that she has been selling work for over 15 years. If the first pieces were flukes of luck, there is no way she'd be able to make any more work without freaking out. She has methods, and this is what those who appreciate her can see. She's also confident enough in her creativity to maintain the standard and value of work long after she left the zeitgeist.

Tracey Emin - Her Soft Lips Touched Mine And... (2008)

Her description of art as providing a modern spirituality is spot on; where else do people congregate in silence to reflect these days?

The video will only be kept online until the 21st March, so here are my favourite Tracey quotes:

"A couple of years ago I didn't drink for eight months. And I was the most boring person in christendom."

"I would've gone into the rag trade, and, no pun intended, I wasn't cut out for it."

"There was a serious discussion between myself and Charles Saatchi about what we were gonna do about the condoms!"

"I'm certainly not going to vote for a government which has put this country in such turmoil over this stupid war. This unnecessary war."

"I need my energy for my art. I need my energy for myself. If I start retaliating on every tiny battle, I would never win my war with myself as being an artist...I can't go around fighting all these battles with people."

"My art is what I should be doing. That's my children, and that's what I'm going to try and be as content with as possible."

the sky over london at sunset

2010-03-05T18:16:00.010Z

These photos were taken on an iPhone in Greenwich Park.

Hurts and Crop Tops

2010-02-27T23:50:00.010Z

You know how girls are wearing crop tops again? Well, they’re still as impractical as ever. It's not that the bastard child of a t-shirt and a sports bra has changed. We’re the ones who’ve changed. Ten years ago, our only logical explanations for wearing a crop top would be either a sudden growth spurt or the new professional name of ‘Krystal’. But now, we gaze upon crop tops as throwbacks to erstwhile glamour, the kind of trashy early 90’s look that we spent a whole decade running away from, just to return to its acrylic-taloned clutch.

In a similar way, I think we could all do with changing our attitudes to Freestyle. It’s just as trashy as crop tops are, but it’s been left behind in the cold. With only its crop top to keep it warm. I’m hoping that Hurts will bring it back. Most hype about the band Hurts discusses how they’re arty and aloof and European. But not many people have got to the heart (yes, there is one) of what makes them great.

The two tracks floating around the ether are both sombre pop-opera affairs laden with hyperbole over a synth backing. The differences are very telling. They’re either going to stick with the Disco Lento (literals, ‘slow disco’) of ‘Blood, Tears, Gold’ and be shuffled into the neverending pile of sing-a-long-a-synthpop, right next to OneRepublic and Timbaland. Or they’re going to aid a Freestyle resurgence with more songs like ‘Wonderful Life’.

This isn’t proper Freestyle, but it contains elements: syncopated beats, slap bass, subtle falsettos and a naughty touch of brass. This makes it pretty sassy, and something that people who aren’t white might enjoy.

Freestyle found its feet as part of Latin pop in the late 1970s. It soon developed as an alternative to Disco, bringing listeners back to dance music during a lull in the early 80s. Freestyle lyrics are all about people upset about a lost love, or striving for more. It’s all quite tragic. It’s called Freestyle not only because of the dancing, but because beats were so syncopated that DJs had to switch their mixing styles FREE-quently. Or something like that.

If crop-tops have made their way back into fashionistas’ hearts and onto cold-stomached shoulders, then why can’t Freestyle wriggle back towards our ears? People want to look like 1980s Miami Latinas, adorning themselves with pale denim shorts and trashy piercings, snarling around East London with curly tendrils… maybe they should have a worthy soundtrack. What do you think of Freestyle?

Hurts – Wonderful Life (Arthur Baker Remix)

Santa Esmerelda – Please Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood

Nayobe- Please Don’t Go

Shannon – Let The Music Play

C Bank with Jenny Burton – One More Shot

Planet Patrol – Play at Your Own Risk

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This piece was originally written for the Chew The Fat! blog.

Loads of 'sleb goss

2010-02-27T23:36:00.004Z

During what has been a shocking hiatus from blogging, this is what I've been writing. It's been tricky, as I am incredibly adept at remembering useless celebrity facts, but I don't agree with slagging people off without knowing them, or spreading rumour without a basis in fact.

As of this week, there will be no glorification of famous-for-being-famous types. More details to come...

REVIEW Rihanna - Rude Boy

2010-02-26T00:44:00.004Z

Her album, Rated R has been credited as Rihanna’s exodus from pop into a rockier, edgier sound. Rude Boy isn’t rocky in the slightest, and is all the better for it. This summery track takes the singer back to her Caribbean roots with ragga and dancehall influences. The catchy backing has a steel-pan freshness, and the sultry pacing compliments this with a semblance of tongue-in-cheek indifference. The lyrics are definitely sleazy: 'Come here rude boy can you get it up/Come here rude boy, is you big enough?', but Ri’s monotone delivery is less begging, more indifferent; it’s the aural embodiment of a moody pout.

Up until a month ago, promotion involved Rihanna persistently faced with the looming spectre of the domestic abuse debaucle. With its strong sexuality, and an artsy promo video, Rude Boy confirms that she won't remain a poster-child for victimhood, or dwell moodily on her past, but re-assert herself as a powerful, and somewhat cocky young woman.

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This was originally written as part of a brief for a job application.

Music #753

2010-02-09T00:45:00.008Z

Our senses have been completely saturated with mass-marketed talent, to the point where we don't really recognise what true talent is anymore. The very word 'talent' has been hijacked by a series of music and television execs who probably don't realise the devastating impact they're having upon the world as they're too busy counting their money, all of which they've made by exploiting said 'talent'. Yadda yadda yadda.

It would be all to easy to continue in this vein. To dissect the horrors of Jedward's return to the British public's consciousness through endless promotion of a Queen bastardisation set to send Freddie Mercury's long-deceased body in a spin. Or to analyse why Susan Boyle has been adulated and mocked to such extremes, despite being pretty average on all counts. I understand that the more examples I place here, the less my eventual point, (that we should ignore these Cowellistic visions of unstoppable fame, glory and musical purity), will actually mean. But I've started to realise how enjoyable it is to have a growing readership, and search engine optimisation is one way of improving my page-clicks. Additionally, I wanted to have a legitimate way of dropping into this post that life does have oddly recurring moments. In an interview with VH1 in the early 'noughties', Vanilla Ice retrospectively commented on his debut album: "I would have licked my own mother's asshole for a million bucks"

Maybe there's something to be said for biting one's tongue. No, seriously. As much as it's the gut reaction of many to counter the mainstream, isn't it quite graceful to hold back the venom? To instead appreciate good music? Having an opinion on the latest tabloid limpet will keep one relevant, but if it's just for the sake of relevance, then it's not going to help one be interesting. Similarly, liking music simply because it is contrary to the mainstream is the reason why I attended a Slipknot concert aged 14 and came face to face with a man in his mid-fifties who was dripping with blood which was pouring out of a hole where most people keep their noses. Here are some songs, all of which I've been enjoying a lot over the past week. They are neither very left-field or (too) overexposed. But I like them.

Massive Attack -Paradise Circus (feat. Hope Sandoval) (Gui Boratto Remix)

I Blame Coco - Caesar ft. Robyn (Diplo Remix)

Simian Mobile Disco ft. Beth Ditto - Cruel Intentions (Joker Remix)

Shy Child - Disconnected (Anoraak Remix)

Honestly, I love this last one. It'll take approximately 27252342 years for this it to leave my mind.

Penultimately, I would like to add that if you listen to Christina Aguilera's 'Fighter' whilst watching the music video to Lady Gaga's 'Bad Romance' (the latter on mute), good and unexpected things will happen.

And finally, if you think the Helping Haiti song is good, buy it for £1.98. If you think it's shit, go to the Disasters Emergency Committee (DEC) and donate at least £3.96 to Haiti.

Chris Morris - Four Lions teaser

2010-01-26T17:46:00.003Z

About a year ago, Popbitch reported that Chris Morris was going to make a TV series about some jihadists who set about blowing things up. Which was exciting enough. But plans have changed and now it's going to be a feature film. Which means it'll probably get a lot more hype, but could be allocated many fewer screens. Regardless, it looks amazing. It's still got Chris Morris' dark humour, but it incorporates a more contemporary comic timing and format.

Sorry.

2010-01-19T00:59:00.005Z

I’d given up applying advertising grad schemes, because, firstly, I’ve been doing it for too long, and secondly, the resulting jobs seem more organisational than creative. But then I got word of the Saatchi & Saatchi Summer Scholarship. I figured it’s such a massive company that I’d be a fool not to apply, especially considering that the Scholarship offers creative roles.

In order to apply, I was told to join the Facebook group. Then I was sent this:

“Welcome to the Saatchi & Saatchi Summer Scholarship 2010. Over the coming weeks we will be setting a series of briefs that have been specially designed to test the various skills and attributes you will need to work here. Each brief will be fun, but challenging – that’s the point. It’ll be a bit like The Apprentice meets Big Brother meets The Blair Witch Project. Actually scrub the Blair Witch bit.

As the scheme progresses some of the best work and ideas submitted will be posted for everyone in the group to see and comment on. We will also post important notices here on the group page and message you as well. So make sure you check your emails regularly.

The first brief will go live at 10am, Monday 18th January. So brush your teeth, comb your hair, put on clean undercrackers and get ready to rumble.”

There were some T’s and C’s, but that was the crux of what was to come. The HR team already seemed like a bunch of wankers, but, it's Saatchi & Saatchi, and I've done so well on previous grad scheme applications.

So I waited until today, at 10am, when I received this:

“Brief 1.
This will test your originality, creativity and ability to connect to a mass audience.
Create a new Facebook group. The objective is to get as many people as possible to join your group. The top 50% of all the groups will go through to the next round. Simples.

You must:

1. Set up your group and leave it ‘open’.
2. Then add Saatchi Recruiting as a friend.
3. (Once accepted) Invite Saatchi Recruiting to join your group.
4. Then copy and paste your group’s URL to the link below:
http://fbanalyzer.appspot.com/
(There’s a picture of how to find the URL if you don’t know)
Deadline: 6pm GMT, Sunday 7th February.”

I created a group asking for people to get ‘Don’t Stop Believin’’ to number one. I invited all of my friends, embarrassing myself a bit and giving myself a touch of RSI in the process. Then, with 30 members, I sussed out the competition. The Saatchi & Saatchi HR team have, on all accounts, neglected to make their recruitment process watertight. In order to appeal to a mass audience, people have created some really snide groups. ‘London 2012 – JOBS’ has over 1500 members. ‘Summer 2010 Music Festivals! Buy Tickets Here!’ also has a couple of hundred members. Both are peddling lies.

I wouldn’t usually start hammering on about stupid Facebook groups, because I like to get on with other things. But Saatchi & Saatchi’s HR team are encouraging candidates to mislead and lie as part of their application, which is pretty novel if you think about it. Every piece of careers advice tends to actively discourage lying on an application form.

The team have already whittled down many candidates by introducing rules too late into the game so as to stop ‘cheating’ (e.g. becoming an admin of a large, established group, people creating more than one group). What would happen if I’d made a group called ‘Advertising is probably evil’? Even if it got 3million members, the team would have to question it, right?

Call it sour grapes, but I don’t feel comfortable lying to gain popularity. Otherwise my group would’ve been called ‘FREE PORN ON FACEBOOK’ or something else equally spammy.

So I must apologise on five different counts. Firstly, I apologise for creating the group asking for ‘Don’t Stop Believin’’ to get to number one – two versions occupy spots 4 and 5 already, let’s allow something new to dominate, even if it is Ke$ha.

Secondly, I apologise to Journey and even the cast of Glee for stealing your thunder and trying to tag onto your talents in order to self-promote my shitty Facebook group.

My third apology is for inviting every single one of my Facebook friends to a shitty Facebook group. Fourthly, I apologise to myself for wasting a lot of time creating and subsequently checking a shitty Facebook group.

And finally, I apologise to anyone else who remains in the competition. Because, as much as I may complain about the recruitment process being dodgy, it’s only a snippet of what’s to come. An advertising company’s application requires candidates to lie and mislead because that is what advertising has become. The application is to the career what the toy gun is to the uzi. The pressure to lie and mislead will only increase with every day someone spends working for an ad company, and I’m sorry to and for whoever doesn’t cotton onto that.

Donate to help Haitians.

2010-01-14T15:50:00.007Z

About 9 months ago, I discovered this video.

It's fucking hilarious. I showed it to all of my friends and it fast became a chantable in-joke. What we failed to realise, however, is that the reason they're all wearing jackets is because they were asked to by their producer, who wanted to smarten up the show. Why did he want the show to smarten up? And why does it looks so cheap in the first place? Have a look at the map. It's Haiti. It's a shithole of a country, where most people live on under $2 a day. I thought I'd show the video so that it's not just another in a series of countries experiencing hardship. Maybe this is a way of stopping this disaster just being another tragedy, accompanied with another photo of a crying, devastated black kid. The country has been positively blighted for hundreds of years, not only by natural disasters, but by horrible social, economic and political situations.

Tens of thousands of people are feared dead, and the shitty infrastructure of the country means that it's doubly hard to get aid to those who so desperately need it. Please donate.

Your Local Chinese Supermarket Needs YOU

2010-01-08T00:33:00.008Z

Ok, it probably doesn't need you. It'll do fine without you. Rick Stein is always banging on about how you can find tamarind at 'your local Chinese supermarket'. I always think 'what a dick'. Yeah, because he lives in Padstow and I suspect, from my experience of eating Chinese food twice in Exeter and once in Warminster, that wherever the Chinese population is low, that's where there are no Chinese supermarkets. It's pretty mean of Rick to advise people from counties as white as his to guzzle loads of gas getting to a Chinese supermarket 40 miles away. Especially when Chinese food is referred to under the umbrella term of 'ethnic foodstuffs'. Mr. and Mrs. Whitebread will get all the way to Swindon and then discover they're in a Japanese shop. I'm not even talking about Chinese food. I'm talking about Cantonese food, but I'm not about to split hairs when every Bamboo Garden and Golden China I've encountered outside the M25 has had deep-fried saveloy on the menu.

My local Chinese supermarket is a cash and carry, and it's actually closer than my local Sainsbury's. I haven't been in it for years, but I went back two days ago and it's better than I remembered. It's as disorienting and as smelly as just the department store in Singapore's Chinatown, which is, I'm ashamed to say, the closest I've got to China. AND they were playing Lionel Richie's 'Dancing on the Ceiling' as I was there. And outside, there were little speakers playing...Lionel Richie's 'Dancing on the Ceiling'. How brilliant is that? Especially when you consider how Sainsbury's and Tesco don't play any music, and Co-Op radio is pretty much Radio 1.

It's remarkable to see how cheaply speciality food can be imported for these days. Of course, all restaurant fare is more expensive than home-made grub, but speciality food takes it to ridiculous levels. For the same price I'd buy two gyoza in Gerrard Street, or five gyoza in any Wagamama, I bought FIFTY at See Woo. I also bought some Nasi Goreng paste and some chili oil. I've eaten pretty much nothing else since.

1. Dumplings with soup noodles (keeping it casual, this was minimum effort, bit of chili, garlic paste, ginger and lemongrass in with packet noodles, dumplings on top)

2. Nasi Goreng (egg on top, fried shallots - Rick Stein's recipe, except I didn't use spring onions/shallots in the rice and I used this hectic MSG-laden curry paste and substituted sugar and soy for kecap manis)

3. Dumplings on Nasi Goreng (the 'Best of Both Worlds' - check the sp00n)

I predict...

2009-12-30T23:34:00.003Z

I hate to make predictions, because as soon as expectations are created, people don't work hard to affect necessary change, or to help the expected result glide into place. Simply put, people weren't going to vote for Joe McElderry to win 2009's X Factor because he was odds-on favourite to win. There are some things I am willing to hazard a guess at, either because they are so abundantly inevitable, or because they are so whimsical that I don't care if I look back at this post and see that I'm wrong.

1. David Cameron and the Conservatives, for better or worse, will be our Government.

2. Shutter Island will freak a lot of people out.

3. Everyone will forget how pesky it is when it snows. Likewise, by December, everyone will forget how pesky it is when humidity disrupts a comfortable night's sleep. And it will rain at Glastonbury.

4. Further unemployment in Britain.

5. People will finally, finally start treating sesame oil as a common household ingredient instead of cooking stir fries with olive oil.

6. Michelle De Swarte will gain significance. Peaches Geldof will lose significance.

7. Barack Obama will do something to justify his Nobel Peace Prize.

8. Cheryl Cole's hair will 'grow' back.

9. Legislation, regarding the clearer labelling in adverts of models who have had their images surgically or digitally enhanced, will be taken on board by the better agencies.

10. Channel 4 will do something astounding.

I resolve to...

2009-12-30T23:18:00.003Z

1. wake up before 9am every day unless I have been out later than 11pm the night before.

2. stop blaming the recession for my setbacks.

3. stop blaming.

4. eat a bit more fruit.

5. start a postgraduate course in Journalism.

6. watch at least three films per week, read three books a month and make two CDs of new exciting music a week.

7. date older women.

8. date younger boys.

9. write on this bloggy a lot more!

10. stop getting the bus back from nights in VIP lounges.

2009 in musics

2009-12-28T23:45:00.012Z

I wanted to do a neat list compiling my favourite releases of this year. However, having bought one full album this year: Florence and the Machine's Lungs (twice), I am in no position to make a comprehensive list of anything apart from the ways in which I contribute to the demise of the record industry as we know it. But I'm going to give it a go, because this is my blog and I'm allowed to put whatever I want here. I could even write 'tinky' over and over again. Or start impersonating the writing style of one Charlie Brooker...hm. Anyway.

Best Album:

Florence and the Machine - Lungs

Best 'Grower':

Cheryl Cole - Fight for This Love

Best Music Video:

Lady Gaga - Bad Romance

(La Roux - I'm Not Your Toy gets an honourable mention)

Best Remix:

The Police - Message in a Bottle (Fresh Direct Remix)

Best Comeback:

Peaches - Talk To Me////Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Heads Will Roll

Most overplayed remix*:

La Roux - In For the Kill (Skream's Let's Get Ravey Remix)

Most overplayed song*:

Major Lazer - Pon De Floor ft. Vybz Kartel

Cutest, purest song:

Mumford & Sons - White Blank Page

Best Live Act:

Have remembered now (12/01/10) and there are a few.

La Roux at Exeter Cavern

Fever Ray at Melt

Phoenix at Camp Bestival

Micachu and the Shapes at Field Day

Florence and the Machine at Bestival

putting paid to the fact I really love girls.

Best Change of musical direction:

Shakira - Shewolf

Most frequently seen act:

Erol Alkan

Best place I've played:

The Thatch Party (in-jokes all around)

Band I'd most like to see doing well in 2010:

Chew Lips

Band which will do well in 2010:

The xx

Best TV Talent competition contender:

Danyl Johnson/////RACHEL ADEDEJI

The song which most evokes memories of having no responsibilities:

Deadmau5 ft. Cascada - I Remember (Caspa Remix)

Best fad I've been turned around to liking after realising it is not directly linked to violence:

Dubstep.

*These songs are still bangers.

Brittany Murphy 1977-2009

2009-12-21T16:37:00.005Z

Brittany Murphy died yesterday morning at the tragically young age of 32.

Many news sources have attributed her death to drug use. I would not wish to comment on the possible causes behind Murphy's death, as the coroner has not yet given a report. Perez Hilton has placed a ticker across the top of his gossip blog, reading 'BRITTANY MURPHY DIES! DID DRUGS LEAD TO HER DEMISE????' You would think that Hilton, who so recently called for Jan Moir's resignation after her awful commentary on Stephen Gately's untimely passing, would be a bit more sensitive and appropriate. The Guardian have run a piece on Brittany Murphy and referred to her many film roles as disturbed young women as mirroring her own 'troubled life', indicating her personal life to be full of struggle, instead of commending her talents. The press reaction to the discovery of events surrounding Murphy's last few days, weeks, years, perhaps, will be very interesting. As a talented young actor, who took herself away from the paparazzi-teasing lifestyle she could have easily resided within, will she be afforded much privacy or respect, like Heath Ledger was? Or, as a woman, will her body be commoditised, every detail of her passing meticulously pored over and publicised? 2009 has not been a pleasant year for many, and the coverage of celebrity deaths has been revolutionised since the media frenzy of Jade Goody's passing.

I have always respected Brittany Murphy's work, her giggle was infectious and so charming, and her beauty was true, but different. Her roles were of utmost importance to so many girls who found themselves looking to relate to someone with some substance, someone who is kooky, but not ethereal. Someone funny, but still sexy. Unfortunately, YouTube is all too clogged up with people of no importance babbling on about Brittany's passing. Hm. So here I've collated the clips I can get of Brittany's best works. Some news sites are showing clips of her work, but the following are my favourite performances of hers. Some clips may seem distasteful, considering the rumours surrounding her passing, but this shows how true an actress she was, how she had the passion and the soul of someone pursuing a career as an artist as opposed to seeking fame for fame's sake. May it be appreciated that she committed so many great performances to celluloid.

Clueless, 1997.

Girl Interrupted, 1999.

(brilliant film all the way through, but get to 5.47 on here)

Drop Dead Gorgeous, 1999.

Riding in Cars with Boys, 2001.

Sin City, 2005.

GAGA OH LA LAAAA

2009-12-10T02:33:00.008Z

Every night before I sleep I try to watch the video to Lady GaGa's Bad Romance. It kind of shows how brilliant she is that even though I'm scraping by, she has no sympathy and has a stupidly expensive music video. It's also testament to her brilliance that I still like her, even though I am aware of an alarming disparity between our pay packages and our eerily close proximity in age.

Here are some nice remixes. Lady Gaga remixed by Starsmith and Grum.

I am waiting for someone to play with a sample of the second verse, but my favourite interpretation has to be my good friend Dolly's drunken rendition at 9.30am last Saturday morning. She wore a leotard and everything.

Let The Music Play

2009-12-08T15:41:00.008Z

In the case of Jordin Sparks, I've always had a soft spot for 'Battlefield'. The lyrics are so emotional and hyperbole, in a way reminiscent of everything good Phil Spector did. And the mid-tempo, yet euphoric nature of the song is actually pretty similar to most of Florence and the Machine's album. By disguising good music as shitty R'n'B, Jordin's doing really well. I don't know where the hell she's come from, I'm guessing it's an American talent show competition...

There we go. I just wikipediad (sp?!) her, and she's the winner of the sixth American Idol and looks a fair bit like America Ferrera.

I've recently become partial to latin freestyle music, starting with Nayobe's 'Please Don't Go'. Not only do I like the idea of going to Mexico in the 1980's to score, I really like women with strong voices barking on about their weak souls and wildly romantic dispositions. When I discovered that Jordin's 'S.O.S. Let the Music Play' uses a sample of Shannon's 'Let the Music Play', I jumped up out of my seat. I've been a fan of Shannon's 'Give me Tonight' for a while, but apparently it was nowhere near as commercially successful as her debut single, 'Let the Music Play'. The latter pushed dance music to a new place, and is a credited as a revolutionary song, putting dance music back in the mainstream, when so many had shunned disco that it had spent the past couple of years hidden away in the exclusive gay clubs of the big cities (Paradise Garage, Chicago Warehouse etc).

Shannon - Let The Music Play

A little more exploration has informed me that there are loads of remixes of Shannon's 1983 hit, but they are all abominations to the ears, and are most probably heard in the less glamorous Mediterranean holiday resorts. Jordin's sampling is very splendid, though. Just like old-school Xenomania, the producers and writers have crammed in a brilliant middle 8, and as many melodies as they can get their grubby mitts on. Embedding is disabled by request, so there you go.

ENTP

2009-12-03T00:21:00.005Z

When I'm feeling a little wayward, I turn to a higher being. Like astrology. I definitely believe that your star sign affects your behaviour, but I cannot prove this in any way, shape or form. When people question my (often hidden) appreciation for astrology, I mumble something along the lines of 'Well, planets have magnetic pulls on other planets and that must affect the neurons in your brain as you are gestating...' It's all codswallop, though. I know this. More often than not, a horoscope's content is structured like spaghetti. With an egg in, to bind it. And some glue. And stickers. You either must work hard to entangle its meanings, or condemn yourself to forgetting what Justin Toper has to say about you and the millions of other people who share the arbitrary 29 day window you were born within. Maybe horoscopes are made to be so confusing that you must subconsciously project your own anxieties onto the words you are not understanding. So that instead of reading generalised waffle, you end up personalising your horoscope. Your interpretation is key to how you're going to behave today. We must waste a lot of time and money on the presumed necessity of an authoritarian figure telling us what to do. Especially when this figure isn't even doing the work, instead serving as a mirror by which we may vicariously instruct ourselves. Maybe horoscopes are made to be so confusing that the reader ends up feeling guilty and woeful after wasting time and money reading the indecipherable blurb, and thus begins a cycle of self-loathing that can only help to stimulate more money into the pockets of THE MAN.

Due to working on minimum wage, the cold weather and a lack of true independence, I'm feeling a bit wayward, so I've turned to Jung. I don't know much of what he's said and done, by any means, apart from have some involvement in the Myers-Briggs typology charts. Now that I understand I am definitely an ENTP (Extrovert, iNtuitive, Thinking Perciever), I have a better idea of who I am and how I best work. I was going to sit down to a psychometric test, but I think this gives me a better idea of what to do in the future. If you're feeling a bit lost, wayward, in need of some definition, or just incredibly bored, have a google of 'Myers-Briggs' and see what you are.

Interestingly enough, ENTPs make for great psychologists.