Amy Rose Dawson

Back To Basics With A Macrobiotic Diet (Metro Feature, Jan 16 2012)

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Fallen off the diet wagon already? Maybe it’s time to think about an overhaul. A macrobiotic diet takes you back to basics and is easier than you think.

‘Some people hear the word macrobiotics and worry they’ll come here and be eating bark with their leg over their head,’ says Bill Tara, the course teacher at Penninghame House, a Scottish macrobiotics centre. ‘But it’s not like that at all.’

I admit, I’m not sure what macrobiotics actually means, beyond a vague association with Gwyneth Paltrow and mung beans. But, as I learn on Penninghame’s Ultimate Health Experience programme, it’s an approach that draws on thousands of years of experience in Asia, viewing the body as a self-healing organism that will stay healthy when treated well.

Penninghame, in Dumfries and Galloway, offers a selection of courses and the Ultimate Health Experience is a week-long programme designed to teach guests about the benefits of a macrobiotic diet. Between lectures and cooking classes, you can enjoy a number of relaxation sessions and detoxifying treatments.

A macrobiotic diet has an emphasis on wholegrains, beans, pulses and vegetables and avoids meat, dairy, sugar and processed foods. Alcohol and caffeine are also out. Eating sustainable, local and organic produce is also encouraged.

Foods are classed within a yin and yang philosophy and for their alkaline or acid properties, with meals being balanced accordingly. The eating of sea vegetables and fermented foods is also favoured.

While this might not leave you drooling, it closely matches World Health Organisation guidelines about what we should be eating to guard against conditions such as cardiovascular disease, diabetes and certain types of cancer. It’s claimed that a macrobiotic diet might help to prevent these diseases and alleviate a range of common complaints such as irritable bowel syndrome and eczema.

Ian Fraser, a semi-retired TV and film producer who tried macrobiotics to help with his Type 2 diabetes, tells me: ‘After one week I was able to reduce my insulin and some of my tablets.’

According to a study funded by Cancer Research UK last year, 43 per cent of cancer cases in Britain are caused by lifestyle factors and while smoking and alcohol are key culprits, diet plays a major role, too. Many macrobiotic practitioners are vegans but I’m told that it’s up to each individual to decide whether to take things this far. Nevertheless, government advice suggests we eat less red meat to reduce cases of bowel cancer, the third most common in Britain.

My teachers at Penninghame assure me that we can get ample protein from non-animal sources such as nuts and beans. So, while the health benefits seem manifold, how practicable is a macrobiotic diet for a normal, working person?

On arrival, I’m given a personal consultation by Tara’s wife, Marlene, a no-nonsense bundle of warm energy who assures me I’ll be bouncing about like a fresh-faced supermodel if I follow the programme for a few weeks when I get home. From beetroot gratin to buckwheat pancakes, the food is utterly delicious. However, I have no idea how addicted I’ve become to tea and coffee. By day two, I’m shuffling about like an extra from The Walking Dead.

This passes and I find it’s very easy to enjoy dishes such as chickpea tabouleh when they’re whipped up for you by an expert chef. However, it’s much harder to be macrobiotic back in London. Marlene issues me with a big wodge of personalised advice but I sadly just don’t find time for adzuki bean tea or seaweed baths.

But once I’ve stocked up I get quite inventive with new ingredients, such as kale and tahini, and I find that my moods and energy levels feel much more stable and all my cravings disappear.

I talk to various nutritionists who all seem to agree that the diet is largely very healthy but urge caution as it eliminates entire food groups. Shona Wilkinson, head nutritional therapist at The Nutri Centre, says the macrobiotic diet emphasises extremely healthy foods. ‘However, great care should be taken to ensure you are getting enough of certain nutrients,’ she says. ‘If someone avoids dairy, they can still obtain calcium from sources such as green, leafy vegetables.’
I’m also confused by some aspects of the advice given to me, such as: ‘Sugar must be removed from your diet to allow the body to detoxify and clean up the mucus from your blood.’ When I query this with Wilkinson, she tells me: ‘Refined sugar is void of any nutrients, so to avoid it can only be a good thing. But I have never heard of mucus in the blood and can’t imagine what is meant by this.’

Perhaps, as with every diet, it’s important to approach macrobiotics with a sense of moderation and a questioning mind. Rather than a faddy diet, macrobiotics seems like a sustainable template for long-term healthy living that you can adapt to suit your own likes and lifestyle. So I’m getting my whole grains and going easy on the steak –but I’ve given up on miso soup for breakfast. And for that, I think all at Metro Towers will thank me.

Dickens And London/A Hankering After Ghosts (Metro double exhibition review, Jan 11 2012)

2012-01-11T02:56:00.000-08:00

Pic: Petkenro Flickr

If you say ‘bah humbug’ to Dickens then you might need a bucket of sand to stick your
head in for the rest of 2012, which is set to be a veritable Dickens bonanza on the 200th anniversary of his birth. There are currently two exhibitions devoted to the author taking place in London and both wisely choose to examine his eventful life and sprawling fictional universe with a very specific focus. By far the more substantial show is Dickens And London, which explores the writer’s relationship with the city he called his ‘magic lantern’. The insomniac novelist would often stalk the streets at night, mapping out plots in his head. At the exhibition’s centre, a cluster of hazy sounds, misty projections and dangling letters evoke the workings of the city upon his creative process. Elsewhere, it features contemporary
photographs and oil paintings depicting Victorian London,which, as Dickens was aware,
was a booming metropolis and the site of festering injustice. There’s an arresting desperation to Luke Fildes’s large, murky work Applicants For Admission To A Casual
Ward, for example, depicting hungry crowds outside a workhouse. However, the ephemera on show varies in fascination, for while it’s a treat to see Dickens’s spidery scrawling on the rarely shown Bleak House manuscript, does anyone really need to see his soup ladle? Nevertheless, this is an inventive, interesting display with a good balance of information and curiosities. The British Library’s exhibition
delves into Dickens’s treatment of the uncanny, from Marley’s ghost to Oliver Twist’s clairvoyance and includes absorbing context about the relevant scientific and philosophical debates of the day. While Dickens believed firmly that rational explanations lay behind every seemingly spooky manifestation, he recognised the mass appeal of the domesticated Gothic, and he was also drawn to the pseudo-science of mesmerism. Mostly showcasing rows of original editions and contemporary literature, this is perhaps a drier offering that’s more for aficionados than the casual fan but
it still makes for a compact and intriguing outing.

Dickens And London, until Jun 10,Museum Of London.www.museumoflondon.org.uk
A Hankering After Ghosts: Dickens And The Supernatural, until Mar 4,British Library. www.bl.uk

Will resurrecting an extinct species become possible in the future? (Metro In Focus feature, Dec 22 2011)

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Read the article online here.

(pic: www.digitalbusstop.com)

Could an extinct species come back from the dead? It may sound like something from the realms of science fiction but a team of scientists has decided to give it a go.

The group, from Russia’s Siberian Mammoth Museum and Japan’s Kinki University, want to clone a woolly mammoth using marrow cells discovered in August in a well-preserved thigh bone.

If they succeed – and they hope to do just that within the next five years – it will raise the possibility that other bygone beasts might be brought back to life. So how probable is it that we could ever visit a real-life Jurassic Park?

Cloning animals involves inserting DNA from the individual you want to replicate into eggs from another. However, the team cloning the mammoth will be using eggs from an elephant, which is an entirely different species, although technically from the same family.

There have been previous failed attempts to bring the woolly mammoth back to life. But in 2008, a mouse was cloned from another that had been frozen for 16 years. It is hoped this breakthrough could have positive implications for the project – although it wouldn’t be the first time an extinct animal has been cloned. In 2009, Spanish scientists recreated a Pyrenean ibex using a domestic goat egg and an ibex-goat hybrid. However, the creature was born with defective lungs and only survived a few minutes.

Experts from The Roslin Institute at the University of Edinburgh, where Dolly the sheep was cloned, have several concerns about the new project. They point out that although an elephant would be the best biological fit to host the new creature, its size might make full-term gestation impossible. In addition, Somatic Cell Nuclear Transfer – the technique used to clone adult animals – calls for an intact nucleus with functioning chromosomes. In other words, DNA on its own is simply not enough.

Only one per cent of all attempts to clone normal livestock work and we have no idea how much harder it would be to create a mammoth. Certain species – such as rabbits and rats – have proven incredibly hard to clone, for reasons that are not fully understood.

Dr Keith Campbell, professor of animal development at the University of Nottingham and part of the team that cloned Dolly, said: ‘We’re talking thousands of years here, and we don’t know what has happened to those cells along the way. And physiologically, we don’t know just how different mammoths might be from elephants.’

Despite these obstacles, palaeontologist Dr Michael Montenari of Keele University said the plans were ‘very exciting’. He said: ‘It could give insights into how this prehistoric animal behaved and perhaps even one day pave the way for a Jurassic Parktype project exploring how this might be done with more ancient creatures.’ However, when it comes to dinosaurs, it doesn’t look like we’ll be jumping into Jeeps for a stegosaurus safari any time soon.

According to the Roslin Institute, there is simply no modern recipient big enough to successfully carry a dinosaur clone to full-term. Woolly mammoths are unusual among prehistoric animals in that their remains are often not fossilised but preserved because of the frozen climate in which they lived.

They are therefore one of the best-understood prehistoric vertebrates that we have.
Ultimately, as Dr Campbell says: ‘Some things are improbable but nothing is impossible.’

So while the cloning team have plenty of hurdles to surmount, don’t rule out a mammoth resurrection...

Are Men And Women Stuck In An Eternal Communication Impasse? (Metro Feature, Dec 19 2011)

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Link to article online

(Men 'duel'...: www.stylehive.com)

If you find a copy of John Gray’s Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus in your stocking this Christmas, you might feel tempted to lob it on the fire alongside the roasting chestnuts. That approach, pitting men and women as alien species doomed to a lifetime of misunderstandings, seems pretty outmoded. Yet, although it’s a tricky phenomenon to provide hard evidence for, there’s no denying that the sexes often seem to approach communication in bafflingly different ways.

In his book Duels And Duets: Why Men And Women Talk So Differently, John Locke argues that the big disparities between male and female speech can be entirely explained by evolutionary biology. It’s an intriguing idea but, surely, social conditioning and upbringing play just as significant a role?

Locke, a professor of Language Science at Lehman College, New York, maintains that men are hard-wired to compete with each other verbally, often in a playful or humorous manner, and this has developed into the modern male banter that you can see everywhere from football terraces to the House Of Commons. Because men evolved to hunt and protect, he claims, their aggression could prove dangerous, so they developed verbal rituals that would act as a hostility-reducing safety valve in place of physical fights and publicly showcase their masculine qualities to potential mates.

On the other hand, he maintains, women became predisposed to verbally harmonise, to gossip and to chat, in order to form and consolidate intimate relationships and to conspire against potential rivals. He also believes that, with the majority of our social conversations occurring within same-sex friendship groups, we’ve never really developed a third, ‘inter-sex’ way of talking to each other.

Such sweeping conclusions might seem hazardous but, according to Locke, it’s possible to observe very similar disparities between the speech of the sexes both across the globe and right back into history, everywhere from ancient Nordic sagas to present-day African village gossip.

‘You’re always going to have generalisations but you can fairly confidently find patterns across the world and throughout time,’ he says. ‘When you start to see similar patterns across all different societies, including within isolated peoples, you start to think there must be something close to universal. And, although clearly there are variations from culture to culture, I do consider that the fundamental impulse to speak is, in a certain way, hardwired.’

So are men and women stuck in an eternal communication impasse? As Locke sees it, we may not have been made alike but we might just have been made to like each other.

‘Men and women have complementary, although different, strategies that can help us mesh in a partnership,’ he says. ‘The sexes can face difficulties communicating with each other but men can also have problems talking with other men, and women with other women. Everyone needs to be considerate and to listen.’

While this at least seems sensible, Locke’s claims have met some serious criticism. Dr Robert Lawson, a linguistics lecturer at Birmingham City University, says: ‘He’s very selective with the work he chooses to support his case, ignoring research which argues that women can be competitive in conversation, or that men can be co-operative and gossip. And he fails to take into account work in socio-linguistics, which has shown that the behaviour of men and women is far more similar than it is different.’

In addition, Lawson worries Locke’s theories risk enforcing and perpetuating the widespread social dominance of men in arenas such as politics, by seeming to suggest women are naturally less suitable for such careers. ‘He argues the reason there are more male debaters, politicians and public speakers is because men are genetically and biologically predisposed to the duelling-type behaviour that characterises these arenas,’ says Lawson. ‘It’s folly at best and wilful ignorance at worst.’ While there’s clearly room to debate how much of a difference there really is between the way men and women speak, and why this might be, how should we approach the impending season of goodwill in the meantime?

Dr Cecilia d’Felice, a relationship expert from Match Affinity, says: ‘When we are able to communicate with emotional understanding, Duels And Duets will become outmoded forms of expression. When we can face each other, speak to each other and truly understand each other, then we will have started to get somewhere.’ Basically, it’s time for all of us to get talking over that turkey.

The Best Coffee Table Books Of 2011: Metro feature, Dec 7 2011

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Imagine what you might include in a definitive collection of global art, unrestricted by all physical and economic concerns: Leonardo Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa; Tutankhamun’s death mask; the Bayeux Tapestry? All these and many more are drawn together in The Art Museum (Phaidon, £125), a landmark publication that’s been ten years in the making. More than 100 experts were consulted about what should go into this 8kg survey of painting, video, performances, screens, woodblock prints, sculptures, ceramics, mosaics, frescoes, friezes, stained-glass windows and photographs from across the ages and around the world. It should provide an ultimate source of inspiration and reference for years to come, although you’ll need a sturdy coffee table. This festive season’s other most covetable book is surely Magnum Contact Sheets (Thames & Hudson, £95), edited by Kristen Lubben. In the days before digital photography, contact prints were made as a means of reviewing an entire roll of film on a single sheet. Spanning more than 75 years, this informative and lovingly curated compendium selects 120 contacts from the famous photo agency’s archives and pairs them with finished prints. Each entry reveals the shots taken before and after the decisive moment, offering an insight into the individual working methods of the likes of Robert Capa, Elliott Erwitt and Eve Arnold. And if you truly want to treat someone, a collector’s edition has also been released. Edmund de Waal’s The Pot Book (Phaidon, £29.95) is the latest publication from the ceramics expert and artist behind surprise hit memoir The Hare With Amber Eyes. It showcases the range and versatility of the 30,000-year-old ceramic medium in a clear A-to-Z format, from ancient Greek amphora and Soviet revolutionary kitchenware through to a pink Cindy Sherman soup tureen and works by Turner Prizewinner Grayson Perry. Chanel: The Vocabulary Of Style (Thames & Hudson, £65), by Jérôme Gautier, is a sumptuous celebration of Coco Chanel and her iconic fashion designs. It mingles graceful vintage photographs taken by greats such as Man Ray and Cecil Beaton with images from fashion photography’s later stars, such as a Mario Testino picture of Kate Moss in tweed Chanel coat and hat. Gautier balances an abundance of chic, glossy photos with a detailed exposition of the fashion house’s history, using an elegant mishmash of old and new imagery to highlight the enduring legacy of Chanel’s visual code. From the essence of feminine chic to a director who delves into machismo, masculinity and violence: Scorsese On Scorsese by Michael Henry Wilson (Phaidon, £45) is a comprehensive tribute to one of the most renowned film-makers of all time. It was produced in close collaboration with Scorsese himself and is based on a series of conversations he had with Wilson, a good friend, which date back to 1974. Film buffs will lap up the combination of revelatory interview, memorabilia, film stills and shots of the director in action on the sets of movies including Taxi Driver and Raging Bull. Guys, girls, glamour and gowns all combine in Chantal Regnault’s Voguing(Soul Jazz Books, £25). Drag masquerades were taking place in Harlem as long ago as 1869 but the concept exploded in popularity in the mid-1980s, drawing together gay and transgender African-American and Latino communities to strut, dance and flaunt their fabulous costumes in competition with each other. Mixing totally flawless posed portraits with electrifying snapshots, this is a lovingly documented record of a stylish, subversive and special era in the underground scene of New York. Armchair travellers and architecture aficionados alike might be captivated by David Adjaye’s Africa Architecture (Thames & Hudson, £65), a survey of metropolitan structures on the continent that sweeps from the mosques of Khartoum to street-market awnings in Kampala. The Tanzanian-born, London-based architect has spent a decade visiting 53 major African cities for this seven-volume, slip case edition. The book is a fresh, accessible record of an architectural subject that has been somewhat neglected in the West, and is a monumentally ambitious personal project. Although Herbert Ponting was the official photographer for Captain Scott’s ill-fated Antarctic expedition, the explorer also took a number of pictures of his own, and Dr David M Wilson’s The Lost Photographs Of Captain Scott (Little, Brown, £30)arranges all those that survive in a new volume to treasure. Ranging from action shots of errant ponies to beautiful, otherworldly glacial landscapes, the photographs lay unrecognised in an archive for nearly a century. While they can’t quite match Frozen Planet’s high-definition drama, there’s a poignant thrill in seeing a collection that was so very nearly lost forever.

Taylor Wessing Photographic Portrait Prize at National Portrait Gallery (Metro exhibition review, Nov 14 2011)

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For the fourth year running,judges have rifled through more than 6,000 anonymous submissions to choose the image that represents the most exciting example of photographic portraiture today – and they’ve plumped for a girl holding a guinea pig.
Jooney Woodward’s Harriet and Gentleman Jack depicts a 13-year-old steward at the Royal Welsh Agricultural Show, gazing austerely at the camera in a clinical white coat. It’s a fresh, crisply composed image in which the russet of the girl’s hair
echoes the shade of the animal’s pelt. It makes for an unfortunate quasi-recall
of last year’s somewhat more dramatic winning picture, of a redhaired girl with a dead deer draped over her chestnut horse, David Chancellor’s Huntress With Buck.
While it’s hard to feel Woodward’s entry truly signifies the pinnacle of contemporary portraiture, but the display as a whole proffers a wealth of entries that often seem more arresting than those chosen for the shortlist.Entries range from editorial, advertising and fine art images, taken by both professionals and gifted amateurs. The result is a pleasantly scattergun approach to style and theme, which means that a wander around the show is filled with surprises and thrills.
Jonathan May’s picture of two huge,tattooed men, The Embrace, brims with tenderness, while Mark Johnson’s soft-focus portrait of benignly miling 60-year-old Leo Gormley, facially burned in an accident at 14, is as much an evocation of personality as it is a challenge to prejudice.

20 Years of Dazed & Confused: Making It Up As We Go Along at Somerset House (Metro exhibition review, Nov 8 2011)

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(Alex Epidemic flickr)
Dazed & Confused was founded in 1991 by journalist Jefferson Hack and the celebrated photographer Rankin, and has been at the forefront of experimental creativity and underground style ever since. This exhibition is based on a book released to celebrate its 20th anniversary, showcasing eradefining photography by the likes of Nick Knight, Sam Taylor-Wood and, of course, Rankin himself. The show has been brilliantly curated by Hack and photographic director Emma Reeves in the nicely contrasting, period surroundings of Somerset House. Every past Dazed cover is mounted
in light boxes lining the corridor, and longer photo stories are displayed on mirrored sculptures. Two very different final spaces are given over to a celebration of the sadly missed, long-time Dazed collaborator Alexander McQueen. Saló transforms a shoot directed by the fashion designer in 2001 into a dark, multisensory experience, while the next room features a crisp and bright display of the fashionable series he conceived of disabled models in bespoke styling, with photos taken by Knight. Far more than a self-congratulatory hipster slap-on-the-back, this is a genuinely exciting collation of imagination given free rein, in which the works from two decades ago feel as fresh and original as the most recent.

Wilhelm Sasnal at The Whitechapel Gallery (Metro exhibition review, Nov 1 2011)

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(everydaylife.style flickr)
This mid-career survey is the first major British exhibition for popular Polish rtist Wilhelm Sasnal. His inspiration veers from mass-media images to 20th-century history, his style shifting between pop and graphic techniques to near-photorealism.
This flexibility and scope recalls Gerhard Richter, currently having a major etrospective at Tate Modern, but the comparisons can only go so far. While Richter is a master of both style and substance, Sasnal’s sometimes (however intentionally) basic-seeming paintings can be underwhelming,only invested with a fuller significance by a knowledge of their context. For example,Agathe seems like a pretty
mediocre, slate-hued portrait of a beautiful woman but a caption revealing she’s been implicated in the 1994 Rwandan genocide gives the image a certain unsettling, dislocating impact. Most interesting, perhaps, is a room of earlier works in which Sasnal interrogates his homeland’s role in World War II. He reinterprets scenes from Art Spiegelman’s famous Holocaust comic Maus by stripping frames from it of all narrative elements, revealing how deeply certain images are embedded into our collective consciousness. Ultimately, while Sasnal’s commitment to addressing
contemporary history and his ability to find a kind of beauty in the most banal of images are both appealing, those led to this exhibition by the force of his reputation might find themselves underwhelmed by what they discover.

Justice: Audio, Video, Disco (Metro review, Oct 24 2011)

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(Image: Kool Kids Flickr) Hirsute Parisian hipsters Justice seem to have been struck down – not just by difficult second-album syndrome but by a touch of premature midlife malady. On this much anticipated comeback, they mostly (but not entirely) forsake the sexy, colossal and berserk electro of their seminal 2007 debut for a proggy 1970s dad rock vibe. Instrumental Horsepower kicks things off in familiarly overblown and rumbling style but morphs into a swashbuckling rock opus that is very Jeff Wayne’s War Of The Worlds. Lead single Civilization, featuring vocals from Ali Love, is camp and catchy but the stomps and claps of Parade are pure stadium cringe. A muddled return, Audio, Video, Disco is saved from washout status by a few banging moments and the audacious wilfulness of their bad taste

Don McCullin: Shaped By War at The Imperial War Museum (Metro photography review, Oct 17 2011)

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Itish Homeless by Don McCullin (Okrakaro Flickr)
This moving, fascinating and wonderfully mounted exhibition is the biggest British retrospective to date dedicated to distinguished war photographer Don McCullin. It traces his career through unflinching black and white conflict photography taken in places such as Vietnam, Cyprus and theMiddle East, through seminal colour photojournalism work to the composed still lives and landscapes that McCullin has turned to in later years as a form of ‘medication’. War photography inevitably exists in a cloud of moral complexities and the show doesn’t shy away from this, weaving McCullin’s keen and eloquent appraisals about the ethical purpose of his craft throughout the images. While so many of his pictures are beautiful, the artist doesn’t over-aestheticise the horrific realities of war. And while he recognises military honour and bravery, as in the astonishing image of a huge Victoria Cross tattoo covering the back of Lance Corporal Johnson Beharry, he also focuses intensely on ordinary people whose lives are ravaged by war. The photo pictured) of a Turkish Cypriot woman mourning her husband in 1964, is a human and harrowing portrait of utter desolation.

Lazarides: Minotaur at The Old Vic Tunnels (Metro exhibition review, Oct 14 2011)

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(Doug Fouster: annar_50 flickr)
Minotaur marks the second in a trilogy of subterranean exhibition experiences at The Old Vic Tunnels curated by Steve Lazarides, the dealer dedicated to street and ‘outsider’ art. Following last year’s Dante-inspired Hell’s Half Acre show, a variety of artists have created specially commissioned works for the labyrinthine space, all inspired by the myth of the Minotaur. As you explore the 50,000 square feet of disused railway tunnels, the pieces on show range from the sublime to the
truly grim. Douglas Foster’s video installation Chimera symmetrically mirrors sea-hued, softly curling patterns created by liquids dropped into water, which are bewitchingly reflected on a dark pool underneath. However, you really wouldn’t want to bump into David Falconer’s Vermin Death Star, a seething ball of plaster rats, in the gloom. Zak Ove has fashioned a beautiful installation in circular coloured
glass, while Ian Cox’s nail-studded, crucified bull Minotaurus (pictured) is a dark talking point. The centrepiece is a labyrinth created by Radiohead’s official artist, Stanley Donwood – a maze of corrugated iron bedecked with playing card-style signs covered in mysterious markings. As you wend your way around, music by the band’s Thom Yorke rumbles on beneath your feet. An event that’s timed to coincide with London’s well-heeled art fair extravaganza Frieze, Minotaur showcases an alternative and grubbily cool art underworld.

Tacita Dean: Film at Tate Modern (Metro review, Oct 13 2011)

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(Image: chrisjohnbeckett flickr)
The 12th commission to take over the Tate Modern’s cavernous Turbine Hall sees British artist Tacita Dean presenting a mesmeric monument to the declining magic
of analogue film. Made on a cinemascope lens turned 90 degrees, Film is screened on a 13m-high vertical slab, tramlined with negative sprockets. The 11-minute, looped
silent feature is a non-narrative piece in which Dean has used deliberately old-fashioned, low-fi cutting and painting techniques to create a warm, soothing and
wry medley of images. Mingling black-and-white footage, grainy textures and rainbow-tinted saturations, she depicts a mixture of organic scenes and mechanical imagery.
Tumbling waterfalls morph into rising escalators, a Hitchcockian eye blinks inside a circle and a slab of rock atop a cloudy floor inside a room recalls both surreal
Magrittian paintings and the old Paramount Pictures logo. Film is unlikely to prove a
crowd-pleaser in the same way as last year’s commission, Ai Weiwei’s Sunflower seeds, and perhaps also fails to make the most of the space available. But it provides an absorbing way to spend a few contemplative minutes.

UN World Food Day: Rwanda Report

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Pic: Will Boase
Hunger kills more people than Aids, malaria and tuberculosis combined. Metro's Amy Dawson reports from Rwanda, where food prices are tipping many more into a fight for survival.
I’m the laughing stock of an entire African farming village. I’ve asked to pet an adorable-looking piglet but it begins squealing at a traumatising pitch the moment I approach and I lurch away ungracefully in panic.

At this point I’m grateful not to be getting up close and personal with porky as it begins to urinate in terror, or perhaps disdain. The animal belongs to Josephina Mukakayonga, a 35-year-old farmer from Gasuba village in the Nyamagabe district of Southern Rwanda, who has been telling me about the daily struggle she and her husband undergo to find enough food for themselves and their four children.

‘My husband and I farm a small plot of beans, sweet potatoes and cassava,’ she says. ‘We usually eat once a day.

I’m in Rwanda with the charity Tearfund, talking to locals about living with food insecurity. You’ve probably noticed the cost of groceries gradually increasing in Britain. However, in developing countries where families spend a much higher proportion of their income on food, millions are being pushed to the brink of starvation as prices go through the roof. This year, global prices hit their highest peak since records began in 1990 (accounting for inflation).

Sunday marks UN World Food Day, when its Committee on World Food Security meets to discuss how to stabilise the situation. According to Paul Cook, Tearfund’s advocacy director, it mustn’t just be another case of talking shop.

‘Governments around the world must step up to the plate in Rome next week,’ says Cook. ‘They must agree a plan to address high food prices and to invest in small-scale agriculture longer term. This will help the poorest to cope with the high cost of food and to be prepared for the next drought.’

Beans are the ultimate basic food in Rwandan households but Mukakayonga’s last harvest was poor. ‘We’ve run out of beans,’ she says. ‘I’ve tried to get some more to bulk out my children’s meals but the price is so high I need to work on someone else’s farm to find the money. I was sick last week and you have to turn up early at the farms to be in with a chance of work.’

Perhaps inevitably, my perception of Rwanda had always been dominated by the horrors of the 1994 genocide. Yet, as I’m discovering, the country has recovered from a state of apocalyptic decimation to an extent that perhaps has to be experienced to be believed. It’s now tipped to become the first African country to achieve the UN’s Millennium Development Goal One – eradication of extreme poverty and hunger.

Nevertheless, 60 per cent of the 10.2million population still live below the poverty line and although Rwanda is being spared the devastating famine afflicting parts of the Horn of Africa, climate change and escalating food prices are affecting the 90 per cent of the country’s population who work as subsistence farmers. Erratic rainfall and frequent droughts are destroying crops but the high costs of staple foods makes it difficult for families to afford what they need to survive when harvests fail.

We drive south towards Mukakayonga’s village through green, rolling hills, on roads stained a deep, rusty brown. Yet the lushness of the landscape is deceptive because the earth is stripped of nutrients through overuse in this small and densely populated country. The soil is also problematically acidic in this, the Nyamagabe district, a historically famine-prone area where the people are some of the most deprived in the country.

Mukakayonga bought her unexpectedly intimidating piglet with a loan from a cooperative savings scheme, an initiative instigated in her village by Moucecore, Tearfund’s main partner in Rwanda. Moucecore has implemented a series of community projects that enhance and extend the work being done by the Rwandan government. Rather than handing out cash or food, it helps people recognise and address their problems using resources they already have. For example, Mukakayonga has learnt about making compost, channelling rainfall for irrigation and choosing the best seeds to maximise production on her small plot of land. Those who have been through the training pass the skills on to their children and neighbours.

‘Times are changing now we’ve learnt the new techniques,’ says Mukakayonga. ‘I’m hopeful now that things will get better every year.’

www.fao.org/getinvolved/worldfoodday/en; www.tearfund.org

Gerhard Richter: Panorama at Tate Modern (Metro exhibition review, Oct 10 2011)

2011-10-10T12:41:00.005-07:00

(Image: everydaylife.style flickr)
Gerhard Richter is arguably one of the world’s greatest living artists, yet the quintessence of his endlessly evolving output is not easily defined. Most famous for his blurry photo-paintings, he has turned an equally masterful hand to landscapes, olour charts, grey monochromes, glass sculptures and huge squeegee abstracts. All these and more are present at this major retrospective,which takes a broad view of Richter’s five-decade-spanning career. His adaptability is astonishing but Richter never spreads himself too thinly. Instead, each new creative direction seems a reinvigoration. He deals with the personal and political,poignant and banal, figurative and abstract, addressing both the troubled history of his native Germany and significant international events. Two series included here exemplify this versatility: 18 October 1977 is a murky,ambiguous and fragmented sequence depicting the Baader Meinhof group,while the 2006 Cage paintings are meditative and monumental abstracts. Indeed, the whole exhibition acts as a riposte to the oft-repeated argument that, in the age of photography, painting has come to the end of the line.
Whether photographing a single grey brushstroke from 128 angles or painting
enlargements of oil paint swirls, Richter combines the two disciplines and pushes
them both to their limits. His is a godless universe but a walk around Panorama
might fill you with an uplifting sense of human scope.

John Milton: Apocalypes at Tate Britain (Metro exhibition review, Sep 27 2011)

2011-09-27T07:44:00.000-07:00

The Destruction of Pompeii and Herculaneum by John Martin (Martin G Conde Flickr)

From Babylon to Blade Runner, apocalypse has long inspired the human imagination. At the peak of his fame, John Martin’s dramatic depictions of biblical catastrophe were the painterly equivalent of arena tours and blockbuster movies. His epic panoramas, such as Belshazzar’s Feast (1821), were mustsee spectacles that toured to millions across the globe. Yet Martin was largely dismissed by the establishment as an unskilled sensationalist and fell out of fashion in the early 20th century. This exhibition, the largest display of Martin’s work since 1822, aims to resurrect his reputation. But painful as it is to agree with his snobby detractors, Martin isn’t a truly great painter. Most works depict tiny human figures engulfed by wild landscapes and are undeniably stirring at first sight. Yet his lurid scenes are too cartoonishly melodramatic to inspire true fear. Still, this is a superbly mounted and astonishingly full survey. In addition to his large oils, there are his lucrative 1823 mezzotints for Milton’s Paradise Lost and plans for his various ambitious engineering projects. It’s a treat to see The Destruction Of Pompeii And Herculaneum (1821) restored and on show for the first time in almost a century after being damaged in a flood. There’s also a sound-and-light show that animates Martin’s triptych comprising The Last Judgement, The Great Day Of His Wrath and The Plains Of Heaven, getting you into the spirit of Victorian spectacle.

Corrine Day: The Face (Metro exhibition review, Sep 6 2011)

2011-09-06T09:41:00.000-07:00

(Kate Moss In A Telephone Booth by Corinne Day: TetraktysMag flickr)

Just over a year ago, the art and fashion worlds mourned the death from a brain tumour of 48-year-old photographer Corinne Day. This exhibition showcases images taken by Day for the zeitgeisty, now-defunct style magazine The Face in the early 1990s, and while it includes shots of the Red Hot Chili Peppers and model Rosemary Ferguson, is overwhelmingly focused upon pictures of the young Kate Moss. As photographer and muse, Day and Moss changed the game for fashion photography, shifting the dominant aesthetic from the powerful, sleek glamazons of the late 1980s towards a kooky, gritty and refreshingly ordinary kind of beauty. The images on show from Day’s The Face series in Borneo, for example, portray Moss in snorkel and flippers, or messing around with local children, subverting the stereotypical travel
fashion scenario depicting a glamorous model lounging in an exotic location. Day was not without her detractors: she was condemned by many after an infamous 1993 Vogue photo-shoot with a waif-like Moss for propagating the so-called heroin chic. Yet what comes across more overwhelmingly in the pictures chosen here is a real sense of
raw, youthful joy. In an age in which children are having spray tans, there’s something truly lovely about the goofy, fragile teenage femininity displayed in
Heaven Is Real, which shows Moss and model Lorraine Pascale leaning, holding hands
and grinning. However, there are just not enough images on display to make this a truly substantial exhibition. And while it’s good to see some lesser-known examples of Day’s work, it’s equally a shame that some really epoch-defining photographs, such as The Face’s July 1990 Third Summer Of Love cover shot, featuring Moss wrinkling her nose in a feathered headdress, aren’t also on offer.
Until Oct 1, Gimpel Fils, Mon to Fri
10am to 5.30pm, Sat 11am to
4pm, free. www.gimpelfils.com

The Museum Of Everything #4 (Metro exhibition review, Sep 5 2011)

2011-09-05T09:06:00.000-07:00

(Image: Flickr)
The institution dedicated to untrained and undiscovered artists returns in its fourth incarnation, with an exhibition displaying works made by more than 50 individuals with developmental issues in progressive art studios all over the world. Such studios,including California’s Creative Growth, do not provide art therapy but simply enable those who struggle with social interaction to express themselves artistically. While the terms art brut or outsider art may spring to mind, such phrases seem too loaded and prescriptive to describe the warm, diverse and original results of the workshops as collated here. The admissions from Japan’s Atelier Incurve are especially striking, particularly the largescale figurative animations
of wrestling fan Takashi Sakamoto, crafted from curving patchwork blocks of bright colours. Many of the entries are charmingly inventive. Manfred Henke peppers atlases and maps with endless musical notes and drum kits, while Mario Jambresic populates the wall with paper talismans (pictured). Small videos depicting life in the workshops make an interesting and helpfully contextualising addition, and the Ultralounge level display extends into the huge Selfridges front-window. The show is more appealing for its guileless creativity than the artistry of its execution. But these contemporary artworks still exude an eclectic, cheering charm.
Until Oct 25, Selfridges,Mon to Sat 10am to 8pm,Sun 10am to 6pm, free.
www.museumofeverything.com

RCA Black (Metro exhibition review, Sep 1 2011)

2011-09-01T07:54:00.000-07:00

Pic: www.aacdd.org
The Royal College Of Art has hothoused some highly lauded creatives of African and Afro-Caribbean descent(including Turner Prize winner Chris Ofili, who was scheduled to appear here but withdrew his contribution)but it’s still seen with some justification as an overwhelmingly white institution. With an intake of more than 4,000 students in the past five years, just 85 have been black. With this in mind, this exhibition showcases work by 22 black RCA alumni from the past 60 years. A
multidisciplinary show, it ranges from the sharp tailoring of Charlie Allento to
the colourful textiles of Althea McNish,who was commissioned by Liberty the day after her 1958 graduation. Representations of race preoccupy some of the artworks, as with Catherine Anyango’s evocative illustrations for a graphic novel version of Heart Of Darkness. However, the highlights are Frank Bowling’s unsettling paintings
The Abortion, which emits a Munchlike expressivity, and Two Figures On A Bed. The first black British artist to be elected to the Royal Academy, Bowling famously refuted the existence of ‘black art’ and the grouping together here of such disparate works on the grounds of racial heritage might perhaps seem a troublingly marginalising, even reductive, move. However, RCA Black is ultimately and most importantly an enjoyable celebration of originality and talent.

Until Sep 6, Royal College Of Art,
Kensington Gore, daily 10am to 6pm, free.
Tel: 020 7590 4444.www.rcablack.co.uk

Finding The Courage To Speak Up About Child Abuse (Metro feature, Aug 31 2011)

2011-08-31T04:30:00.000-07:00

Metro's Amy Dawson investigates child abuse and why four ChildLine centres face closure today.

Police in England and Wales recorded a child sex crime every 20 minutes in 2010, according to the latest crime statistics. But what is perhaps even more troubling is how many more incidents of abuse go unreported because a victim is too confused, isolated or frightened to tell anyone what’s happening to them.

Research indicates three-quarters of sexually abused children will keep it secret at the time and nearly a third of victims still won’t have told anyone by early adulthood. Children need to feel encouraged to inform someone if they’re being sexually abused but how best can this be done?

For nearly 25 years, ChildLine has provided free and confidential advice for scared and lonely children facing all kinds of worries. Last year, about one in 12 of the children it counselled made contact about sexual abuse.

The organisation now receives 1million calls a year but four of Britain’s 14 ChildLine centres in Exeter, Leeds, Swansea and Edinburgh are due to be shut down today. It has also been announced it will lose one in five of its trained counsellors.

ChildLine costs £26million a year to run and was taken over by the NSPCC in 2006 after facing bankruptcy. Although the government has pledged £11.2million to help over four years, it is struggling to stay afloat.

The centres in Leeds and Swansea won’t be lost entirely but instead relocated and reserved for online services only. In recent years, web support for child sex abuse victims has expanded considerably.

Elena Martellozzo, a lecturer in criminology at Middlesex University, has just written a book about child protection in today’s multimedia world. While she believes the anonymity and accessibility of online resources might help the younger, internet-savvy generation, she warns: ‘Nothing can replace personal support and one-to-one communication but this costs money.’

It’s also crucial concerned adults feel supported if they suspect someone they know might be a perpetrator.

In an NSPCC poll, almost half of adults who had been worried about a child admitted they didn’t act immediately because they didn’t know what to do or who to call. Many were anxious about making a mistake, some feared retaliation and 12 per cent feared being overheard.

Earlier this year, the charity launched a text service which provides a simple, free and quick way for adults to report suspicions of sex abuse.

Educating children so they realise they should speak up in the first place is another issue. Jill Starishevsky, an assistant district attorney from New York, has dedicated her career to seeking justice for victims of sex crimes. She is the author of My Body Belongs To Me, one of several picture books that aim to encourage children to tell an adult if they are abused.

Starishevsky says: ‘Children respond well to it. As adults, we tend to bring our own baggage to the conversation but they take it the same way as they would a lesson about crossing the street.’

Nevertheless, she recognises that although some parents would find this useful to read through with their children, it’s even more important to cover the issue in schools, as sexual abuse so often takes place in a child’s own home.

Although sexual abuse can be raised as a topic within primary school lessons, it is currently a non-statutory element of the national curriculum, so it’s at the discretion of each school to decide whether to cover it.

Ultimately, the sexual abuse of children is not something most of us want to discuss. Nevertheless, we need to try to bring down the high proportion of victims who continue to suffer in silence.

In the spirit of speaking up, the last word should perhaps go to Starishevsky: ‘People bury their heads in the sand when it comes to this subject. Everyone recognises that it’s a problem but often parents are in denial, thinking it could never happen to their child. However, it’s happening to someone’s child, so we all need to start talking about it.’

NSPCC Helpline: 0808 800 5000. www.nspcc.org.uk

Ryan Gander: Locked Room Scenario (Metro exhibition review, Aug 30 2011)

2011-08-30T06:47:00.000-07:00

(Pic: Artangel.com)

Strictly by appointment only, Ryan Gander’s Locked Room Scenario invites you to an exhibition in a derelict Hackney warehouse – but once you get there, you won’t find a particularly warm welcome. You’ll be met by a frustrating succession of locked doors and dead-end corridors, only able to glimpse fragments of a seemingly abandoned art show through the slats of venetian blinds. An ambitious installation, it’s one of three new projects this autumn from visionary art commissioners Artangel.
The situation forces you to become a participant in the artwork, playing detective as you explore the building at your will. It becomes difficult to know what’s real and what’s part of the piece, although the obnoxious pair of Hoxtonites barring the way up the stairs and munching on chips were hopefully part of the performance. At times it’s an unnerving experience, as unknown figures press themselves against frosted glass or sawing sounds pipe through a vent and it becomes apparent that something sinister might well have occurred. A conceptual artist who works in an
inventive variety of mediums, Gander has created an impressive attraction that will thrill and enthral, even if it doesn’t challenge our conceptions of art and display in quite the way it sets out to.

Until Oct 23, Londonnewcastle Depot,
Tue to Sat noon to 8pm, £4, booking
essential. www.artangel.org.uk
Tube: Angel/Old Street

Escaping The Cycle Of Abuse At Home (Metro Feature, Aug 23 2011)

2011-08-23T09:56:00.000-07:00

Legislation that will put those with a history of domestic abuse on a national register, dubbed 'Clare's Law' is being considered but does it go far enough?

Every week, two women in England and Wales are killed by a former or current partner. In Scotland, ten women are killed in the same way each year.

Clare Wood became one of the victims in 2009 when, aged 36, she was strangled by her boyfriend, George Appleton, a man with a history of violence and known to the police, who she met on the internet.

Now, her father, Michael, is backing the introduction of ‘Clare’s Law,’ under which police would be able to warn women if their new partner has an abusive past.

Former Labour minister Hazel Blears and independent victims’ commissioner Louise Casey are leading the campaign, while home secretary Theresa May says she is considering the proposals.

Appleton used social networking sites to make contact with women, meeting Wood on Facebook. While Clare’s Law would not be intended exclusively to protect those finding partners online, the growth of online dating and the relatively recent launch of a national police database has led to wide discussion about the best ways to prevent violence within relationships in the modern age.

The specifics of how the law would work are still unclear. Information could potentially be released to concerned individuals upon request, similar to Sarah’s Law, the child sex offender disclosure scheme named after murdered schoolgirl Sarah Payne that was recently rolled out on a national level. However, police might also be able to notify someone if their new partner has a violent history even if they haven’t asked. The proposals are controversial, not least because it’s unclear how the relationships of perpetrators would be tracked.

At the recent Empowering Women Awards, organised by Avon and the domestic violence charity Women’s Aid, victims of abuse were recognised for their bravery and commitment to helping others. While plenty of tissues were passed about, there was also an amazingly positive atmosphere, as those commended shared shocking but ultimately inspiring stories.

The recipient of this year’s Grass Roots Hero award was Val Corbett, a South African-born journalist and broadcaster who grew up in a household dominated by her violent father. In 1975, she founded Dacorum Women’s Aid in Hertfordshire, only the second refuge in Britain.

She still works tirelessly for the struggle against domestic abuse and to support women who experience it.

‘I live for the day I can eradicate domestic violence – and after that I’ll tackle the problems in the Middle East,’ quips Corbett.

I ask her what she makes of Clare’s Law, and she’s cautiously supportive. Corbett believes while it could be one step closer to reducing domestic violence, she says what is truly needed are referral programmes for changing the behaviour and mentality of the abusers.

‘I call it the leaky roof problem,’ she says. ‘You can put buckets down to catch the drips but at some point you need to get up there and fix the cause of the issue.’

Corbett concedes there are various unresolved issues surrounding the plans and how the law might be implemented.

While it might stop some individuals from entering into a relationship with a violent partner, it could be of little benefit to the thousands of women who are already being abused. In addition, Corbett says government funding cuts to local services, housing benefits and Legal Aid will make it more difficult to tackle domestic violence and offer support to victims.

Furthermore, a scheme involving the disclosure of information by request seems unlikely to be taken up by many women, when so few currently turn to police after their partner starts showing signs of violence (that figure stands at just 23 per cent).

Many women become so emotionally entangled in a relationship or trapped by commitments and economic restraints, they don’t leave the home or end the relationship even if their partner has become abusive. Even for those who seek help, the support they need is often lacking.

In Wood’s case, Greater Manchester Police has been criticised for the way it handled previous allegations of assault, harassment and threatening behaviour carried out by Appleton (pictured above). As with any system involving names and computer databases, there is also the question of mistaken identity.

Deborah McIlveen, policy and services manager for Women’s Aid, says: ‘Measures would have to be put in place to prevent the public from carrying out vigilante-type activities following the disclosure of a perpetrator.’

However, Blears has emphasised she is backing plans for information to only be disclosed after approval by various agencies and says any database would not be readily available to the public.

Clearly, there are plenty of issues still to be discussed before Clare’s Law can be implemented and it’s not going to help every woman who is vulnerable to abuse.

Corbett says: ‘If it could potentially help just one woman, then we should get it on the statute books.’

Thin Black Line (Metro exhibition review, Aug 23 2011)

2011-08-23T01:34:00.000-07:00

In the early 1980s, artist Lubaina Himid marked the arrival of a radical new generation of young black and Asian female artists by curating three exhibitions in
London, including the seminal 1985 ICA show, The Thin Black Line. Part of the BP British Art Displays, this new Tate show revisits artworks from those exhibitions.
Several pieces, such as Maud Sulter’s photographic imagining of a cappella singer Ysaye Barnwell as creative muse Polyhymnia, relocate black femininity to the core of
artistic traditions. There’s an interesting range of mediums on offer, from colourful, storytelling cut-outs of Himid herself to Veronica Ryan’s sculpture, Relics In The Pillow Of Dreams. While there is anger and indignation on display here, it’s mostly a warm and satirical tone that prevails, although Sonia Boyce’s intense charcoal, the elaborately titled Mr Close-Friend-Of-The-Family Pays A Visit, While Everyone Else Is Out, is a seriously unsettling visual narrative. Placing black female figures in rural British landscapes, Ingrid Pollard’s lovely Pastoral
Interludes photographs epitomise the value of many of the works here. Appealing as a slice of recent history, they also subtly provoke questions that are still
relevant today.
Until Mar 18, Tate Britain,

John Cage: Every Day Is A Good Day (Metro exhibition review, Aug 22 2011)

2011-08-22T01:26:00.000-07:00

(John Cage: New Music Works Flickr)
Best known as a composer, particularly for the seminal ‘silent symphony’4’33’’, John Cage took up visual art in his mid-sixties. He applied the same chance-determined procedures to prints and drawings that he had with music, and this show’s curators have in turn devised a fitting mode of presentation. Each day, one work is randomly
removed and replaced with another, and the pieces are hung in arbitrarily chosen positions, a tactic used by Cage himself. Ten are also represented by empty spaced ‘silences’ which, though appropriate, might do little to combat Cage’s reputation for pretentiousness and inaccessibility. It’s an intriguing approach
commensurate with Cage’s radical, playful spirit but it makes a meaningful review of specific works problematic. The overall impression is of muted compositions dominated by pastel washes and abstract shapes. Cage’s methods aimed to shear the creative process of artistic ego and some of the resulting works have a meditative,
serene appeal, notably the Ryoanji series, named after a Zen garden, for
which Cage drew around the outlines of randomly scattered stones. The end result is that Cage’s work is interesting as an illustration of an enacted thought process but has a limited appeal when it comes to the images themselves. To pep things up,
the exhibition also offers the chance to listen to a range of Cage’s music and watch videos about his life. While ultimately a little underwhelming, it’s a good way to discover more about a true linchpin of the 20th-century avant-garde.
Until Sep 18, Hayward Gallery Project Space.

Signs Of A Struggle: Photography In The Wake Of Postmodernism at the V&A (Metro exhibition review, Aug 15 2011)

2011-08-15T05:10:00.000-07:00

Postmodern preoccupations with surface image, self-reference, irony and obvious artifice are all demonstrably at play in this exhibition of nearly 40 photographs, dating from the 1970s to the present day. Pieces by well-known figures include the famous 1989 image Untitled (Cowboy) by Richard Prince, the leading proponent of postmodern appropriation art. The picture exemplifies his strategy of taking advertisements and iconic images of the American dream, in this case the horse-riding Marlboro man, and re-presenting them without alteration or comment. There’s also a self-portrait by Cindy Sherman, in which the queen of reinvention appears as a furtive-looking, toenail painting starlet, although the artist’s knack for deconstructing the mechanisms of female identity by taking on multiple personas is somewhat lost when one work is shown isolation. Nevertheless, in general it’s the very variety of the works on display, and the multiplicity of photographers involved, that keeps the exhibition fresh and interesting. There is however one series of photographs, Clare Strand’s 2003 Signs Of A Stuggle, from which the exhibition takes its name. An eerie and ambiguous set of crime scene photos, masquerading as a found archive, they deliberately provoke questions about their origins and production. In the midst of the annual August art drought, this is a diverting taster before the V&A’s blockbuster Postmodernism exhibition, opening in September.

Today until Nov 27, The V&A, 10.00am to 17.45pm daily, 10am to 10pm Fri, free. Tel: 020 7942 2000. www.vam.ac.uk Tube: South Kensington
(Clare Strand, from the series Signs of a Struggle, 2002: www.vam.ac.uk)

Singles Of The Week (Metro Aug 14 2011)

2011-08-14T02:26:00.000-07:00

(Wretch 32: 1Extra Flickr)

Wretch 32: Don’t Go feat Josh Kumra (Levels Recordings/ Ministry Of Sound)

Tottenham’s metaphor man raps in stately, unhurried style over an Eastern-sounding female vocal hook and Josh Kumra’s soulful, melody. The antithesis of gangsta brag: like Wretch, this might make you feel ‘ever so emotional’.

Cloud Control: Gold Canary (Infectious)

Featuring droning, madrigal-style harmonies and a fair load of whooping, this isn’t the best track by the Blue Mountains psychedelics but it’s still pretty blissful.

Tribes: Sappho (Island)

In the same vein as The Kinks’ Lola, the Camdenites’ rock’n’roll story about an irresistible, home-wrecking lesbian is a mischievous singalong that builds to a massive, multi-voiced chorus.

Alex Metric and Charli XCX: End Of The World (Positiva/Virgin Records)

A lovely, restrained piece of melodic electro pop from the London DJ and producer, with rising guest star Charli XCX flipping between little girl singsong and yelping vocals over reverberating synths.

Battles (feat Gary Numan): My Machines (Warp)

Having lost their frontman, Battles drown out the Cars singer here with scurrying, scattergun guitars, walloping percussion and sliding synths. A crashing electro cacophony, it’s a frustrating and suffocating listen.

Link to online article.

Camelot (Metro dvd review, Aug 9 2011)

2011-08-10T01:43:00.000-07:00

From the makers of the Tudors, this reworking of the Arthurian legend comes with all the hammy acting, flagrant anachronisms and gratuitous raunch you might expect.Set in an alternative ancient Britain, where women wear Urban Outfitters-style festival gear, it stars a bland and pouty Jamie Campbell Bower as an ordinary lad who takes the throne after discovering he’s the son of the murdered king. He has the hots for his best friend’s wife Guinevere ( Tamsin Egerton), who sports the best line in anguished, love triangle-fuelled expressions since Katie Holmes in Dawson’s Creek. A tattooed, baldy Joseph Fiennes plays a wild-eyed Merlin but the star of the show is former Bond girl Eva Green as Arthur’s ruthless and batty half-sister Morgan, despite a wobbly accent. Fresh out of a nunnery, she storms about indulging in scheming, shape-shifting and borderline sadomasochism. Camelot has been axed after one series but this is a brilliantly ridiculous rompathon.

Image: Starz Entertainment
Metro link

High Arctic at The National Maritime Museum (Metro review Aug 8 2011)

2011-08-08T06:55:00.001-07:00

Not every exhibition hands you a UV torch on arrival, but High Arctic is less a traditional display than a quirkily distinctive, interactive sound and light installation. The admired live design collective United Visual Artists, who have worked on spectacular shows for the likes of The Chemical Brothers, have collaborated with the arts-meets-science group Cape Farewell to create an imaginative response to an expedition UVA’s Matt Clark took to Svalbard in September 2010, investigating the impact of climate change. Set a century from now, the show invites you to explore an abstracted conception of a disappearing Arctic landscape, and is designed simply to get you thinking rather than to teach or inform. A darkened room is filled with thousands of white columns, clumped into archipelagos; each represents a glacier, and shining UV light on top reveals its name. Various monochrome graphic floor displays respond to the beam of your torch, while the space is awash with the sound of a creaking ship and the words of poet Nick Drake. You feel a bit like Dr Who with his sonic screwdriver, but the fun of the trick only lasts so long, and it’s debatable whether such an abstract display is truly going to encourage any real thought about global warming. While it’s admirably unpreachy, the lack of informative material might make you feel quite cheated for your entrance fee, although there are two interesting films about the 2010 trip screened outside. Nevertheless, taken simply as an artistic display, High Arctic is diverting and memorably original.
(Image: flickr)

Blood Orange: Coastal Grooves (Metro review, Aug 8 2011)

2011-08-08T06:39:00.000-07:00

Dev Hynes, ex-Test Icicles frontman, aka Lightspeed Champion, has swapped alt-folk for sultry funk-pop (and that trapper’s hat for a baseball cap) in his new incarnation as Blood Orange. The album is smooth and stripped-back, melding bassline grooves with electric guitar lines and Prince-style vocals. Most tracks, including opener Forget It, embrace Far-Eastern riffs, and songs such as the propulsive I’m Sorry We Lied feel like a night-time taxi ride through a humid Asian city. The mellower Can We Go Inside Now? has a spaghetti western-style theme, while Champagne Coast is an uplifting, slow-burning finale. Though at times it can seem like trendy background music, Coastal Grooves is an idiosyncratic slice of brooding retro pop.

Metro Link

(image: flickr)

Submarine (Metro dvd review, Aug 2 2011)

2011-08-02T09:22:00.000-07:00

Best-known for playing The IT Crowd’s ultra-geek Maurice Moss, Richard Ayoade’s directorial debut is a sweet, gently humorous but mildly disquieting film. Adapted from Joe Dunthorne’s novel, it stars a perma-stunned Craig Roberts as Oliver Tate, a self-involved but essentially lovable teenage oddbod growing up in 1980s Swansea. His major pastimes include reading the dictionary and fantasising, but life is complicated by his first love, cynical pyromaniac Jordana (Yasmin Paige). All the leads put in convincing and understated performances – except for Paddy Considine, who’s fantastic as the be-mulleted new age guru Graham Purvis. Ayoade directs with a cool flair but a knowing self-consciousness stops the whole thing feeling too derivative of other nostalgic, coming-of age indie Brit flicks. Arctic Monkeys frontman Alex Turner provides an original soundtrack. Extras: Limited-edition postcards, audio commentary, deleted and extended scenes and interviews.
Picture-Craig Roberts (Rex Features)

Azari & III: Azari & III (Metro album review, Aug 1 2011)

2011-08-01T09:11:00.000-07:00

A two-producer, two-vocalist Torontonian quartet, Azari & III reimagine old-school Chicago house in a similarly debauched, glamorous and soulful style to Hercules And
Love Affair. With its theatrical diva chorus and dinosaur-deep chant, single Hungry For The Power is a fabulously brooding dance-floor classic. The group expertly work
the membrane-thin boundary between euphoria and melancholy that characterises so much classic dance music. While the glimmering disco grooves and silky vocals of
Into The Night and Reckless (With Your Love) are uplifting, songs such as Tunnel Vision and Infiniti feel darker and wonkier. The mood subtly evolves: the bassline of Indigo approaches like Jaws but a piano hook soon breaks out. It’s no simple
summer listen but Azari & III’s debut is deliciously hedonistic dance-floor fodder.

Arrietty (Metro film review, July 29 2011)

2011-07-29T03:58:00.000-07:00

(Picture: Haiku Girl Flickr)
This latest animation from Studio Ghibli, the revered Japanese makers of 2002 Oscar-winner Spirited Away, is inspired by The Borrowers, Mary Norton’s classic British children’s books about a race of tiny people who survive by ‘borrowing’ items from unwitting humans.

Transplanted from 1950s England to present-day Tokyo, the plot sees a boy called Shô come to stay at his great aunt’s house while he awaits an operation for his chronic heart condition. Here he meets Arrietty (Hanna star Saoirse Ronan), a miniature 14-year-old Borrower who lives secretly under the floorboards with her parents, Pod ( Mark Strong) and Homily (Peep Show’s Olivia Colman).

Studio Ghibli co-founder Hayao Miyazaki, who has directed some of its most iconic films, here takes a partial step back to act as co-writer and producer for young, first-time director Hiromasa Yonebayashi. It’s a much more straightforward, less fantastical offering than many previous Ghibli works but Arrietty happily continues a lineage of sparky and sensitive heroines.

With its simple, painterly animation and earnest emotions, this is not the place to come for Pixar-style visual wizardry or knowing gags. However, the film is gorgeously drawn and the sound work is incredibly effective; the scene in which Pod scales a table leg using double-sided tape is particularly classy. Enchanting, touching and stylish stuff.

Metro Link

Harnessing Your Sexual Energy (Metro feature, July 18 2011)

2011-07-18T01:30:00.000-07:00

Power boost: Could learning to harness your sexual energy make you more powerful at work? Amy dawson finds out.

Chances are you’re reading this on your way to work. Feeling a bit groggy? Not sure how you’re going to handle that 9am presentation?

Most of us would just reach for a double cappuccino. However, personal transformation specialist Lisa Turner believes we should instead learn to harness our sexual energy to become more productive, creative and powerful in the workplace.

If you think this just means wearing a low-cut top when you go to ask for a promotion, you couldn’t be further off course. According to Turner, common problems such as a lack of concentration or fatigue can be down to the fact that most of us are ‘leaking’ sexual energy. In addition, she believes both sexes often suffer from an imbalance of the male and female sexual energies (loosely representing logical and creative thought) that she says coexist in every individual. Too much male sexual energy might make your thinking rigid and inflexible, while too much female could make it chaotic.

I’m slightly perturbed by the idea that I might be leaking sexual energy without my knowledge and ask Turner (pictured above) to elaborate. Ladies are in luck here, because while she believes men lose sexual energy when they climax (though they can learn to retain it), women will gain energy if they have the ‘right kind’ of orgasm (although they do lose much more during the monthly cycle and childbirth). And while Turner’s method certainly isn’t about loose sexual morals, she doesn’t advise abstinence either.

Instead, her theories are influenced by the tantric tradition, focusing on transmuting sexual energy up and around the body. Once mastered, experiences such as a ‘full body’ orgasm should release a higher form of energy that can make you appear more charismatic, feel more driven and ultimately become more successful. However, harnessing sexual energy is apparently a full-time job, not just for those ‘special moments’.

‘We need to learn to be aware and in control of the sexual energy moving in the body constantly, and not just in terms of arousal,’ explains Turner.

Harnessing this power can supposedly also help you find a fulfilling and lasting relationship, because you’ll start attracting others who are working at a higher level, rather than those who are just after one thing. The concept of transmuting sexual energy to improve your life is certainly nothing new. It’s a central tenet of ancient East Asian Taoist philosophies. Indeed, I speak to Taoist teacher Uta Demontis, and her ideas don’t seem so far from Turner’s. ‘Taoist sexual practices cultivate sexual energy, which can then be used for any endeavour you choose,’ she says.

Turner blends elements of ancient traditions such as Taoism and tantra with modern psychological methods such as neurolinguistic programming. She also runs short courses where she teaches clients to harness their sexual energy.

‘There are a few who have never learnt to transmute but kind of “get it” anyway but it’s a heck of a lot easier to get help,’ she says. Essentially, Turner advises a course of development that includes opening up energy channels through a process such as reiki, learning to surrender the ego, getting rid of dark emotional memories and plenty of sexual ‘practice’.

I try to keep an open mind but this all sounds a bit New Age for me. I also can’t help thinking that this approach risks turning one aspect of life that should be about fun into yet another thing to worry about. I speak to various people who work in the field and although not all go so far as advocating adopting Turner’s methods and learning to transmute, some suggest that the endorphin-releasing aspect of sex can make it a perfect opportunity to practise a spot of positive visualisation.

Energy practitioner Nicolas Aujula (pictured) says: ‘Next time you’re having that amazing orgasm, why not imagine yourself working towards that coveted promotion?’ Frankly I think this sounds like a bit of a passion-killer. I also speak to sex expert Tracey Cox, who reassures me by sharing my reservations. ‘The pressures of life drain our sexual energy,’ she says. ‘Quite honestly, you’re better off keeping it for sex rather than using it elsewhere.’ Additionally, while Turner states her arguments with conviction, the whole premise behind them seems vague and unsubstantiated. She claims a 95 per cent success rate in turning people’s lives around after teaching them to harness their sexual energies. However, citing understandable privacy issues, she’s unwilling to put me in touch with any clients.

I’m interested to discover that Turner, who’s been working with sexual energy for five years, is also a PhD-level academic who used to lecture in automotive engineering. She also believes that there needs to be less ‘woo woo’ in the field of personal development. Nevertheless, she is happy to admit she has no scientific proof. ‘It’s just an experiment,’ she says. ‘But it’s one that works.’

LMFAO: Sorry For Party Rocking (Metro album review, July 17 2011)

2011-07-17T09:41:00.000-07:00

The LA duo comprising one Sky Blu and his uncle Redfoo (son of Motown founder Berry Gordy), LMFAO follow their 2009 debut, Party Rock, with an interchangeable procession of rap-pop party anthems. Dolloped with naff electro hooks and quasi-dubstep wibbles, it’s like a cross between a neutered Beastie Boys and (latter-day) Black Eyed Peas. Ubiquitous lead single Party Rock Anthem is more likely to have you stuffing your ears to escape its unremitting synth hack than stacking up the shots, while the Auto-tuned screech of Champagne Showers will have dogs whimpering for miles around. Nevertheless, it’s not all awful; the Busta Rhymes-guesting basketball track, Take It To The Hole, has a catchy, kicking beat, the title song is slickly bouncing, and Dr Hook meets Right Said Fred in the ticklesomely puerile Sexy And I Know It.

Metro link
(Pic: Rex Features)

Twombly And Poussin: Arcadian Painters at Dulwich Picture Gallery (Metro exhibition review, July 13 2011)

2011-07-13T11:14:00.000-07:00

At the age of 30, both Nicolas Poussin and Cy Twombly – who died last week – emigrated to Rome. However, they were chasms apart stylistically: while Poussin was a 17th-century French master, the American Twombly’s abstract canvases frequently featured dribbling paint, hand prints and scrawling. Dulwich’s juxtaposition of the two may seem bizarre at first, and although Twombly openly declared his debt and devotion to the older artist (he was involved in every stage of this show’s planning) it’s hard to know what the cool, classical Poussin would have made of the pairing. Nevertheless, their parallel obsessions with classical myth and legend as artistic subject matter provide a solid basis for a vibrant and unusual exhibition. Rather than crowbarring in clunky direct comparisons, the show sets up a shifting, absorbing discourse between the two artists over a series of themed rooms. It concludes spectacularly with Twombly’s large-scale, animated Four Seasons canvases, although it’s sad that Poussin’s corresponding quartet couldn’t be moved from the Louvre to join them. However, this offers the chance to see all surviving canvases from his superb Sacraments series. Ultimately, while it’s an exciting idea to uncover the links between two such apparently disparate artists, the friction doesn’t always create a positive spark. Twombly can be breathtaking on his own terms, for example with his 1985 painting Hero And Leander (pictured), and in part this show serves (albeit unintentionally) as a beautiful goodbye to the artist. However, the tortured automatic scribbles of his 1955 Untitled drawings suffer here for their positioning, flanking Poussin’s exquisite Joshua’s Victory Over The Amorites.
(Twombly's Autumn: Eglantine Flickr)

Tracey Emin: Love is What You Want at The Hayward Gallery (Metro exhibition review, May 18 2011)

2011-05-18T12:50:00.000-07:00

In 1997, Tracey Emin made a drunken, sweary appearance on television. The following year she exhibited her notorious installation piece My Bed. Fast forward to 2011 and the original YBA has become a national treasure, with her first major retrospective in London a highlight of the Southbank Centre’s Festival Of Britain 60th anniversary.

Both the bed and the infamous Tent – destroyed in a warehouse fire – are notable absences in a show that otherwise makes a very full survey of Emin’s work since the early 1990s, from embroideries to neon signs, and also includes new outdoor sculptures.

Relentlessly self-memorialising and sexually explicit, Emin includes multiple depictions of her genitals and even her own ‘Death Mask’ here. Yet she rises beyond scandal-baiting solipsism through the quality of her Egon Schiele-style draughtsmanship and the palpable, authentic
conviction of her art.

The most visually overwhelming room in the show is filled by Emin’s partially collapsed wooden pier, Knowing My Enemy. Twelve of her multicoloured blankets line the walls, sprawling with images and wilfully misspelt scraps of memories.

While it’s easy to baulk at the hysterical tone and the abundance of appliqué sperm, there’s also something brave and uniquely poignant about her acutely feminine expression of dark and very real fears, as in 2002’s I Do Not Expect To Be A Mother But I Do Expect To Die Alone.

Whatever your opinion of her artistic merits, Emin’s willingness to give so completely of herself makes her retrospective undeniably affecting.

It can be draining but the 1995 film, Why I Never Became A Dancer, detailing the artist’s abused teenage years in Margate but concluding with a defiant, solo disco dance, exemplifies the raw, heartening core of Emin’s artistic output.

Today until Aug 29, Hayward Gallery, daily 10am to 6pm (Thu and Fri to 8pm), £12. Tel: 0844 875 0073. www.hayward.org.uk Tube: Waterloo/Embankment

(Picture: Rex Features)

The Walking Dead: The Complete First Season (Metro review, 16 May 2011)

2011-05-16T05:44:00.000-07:00

Based on Robert Kirkman’s cult graphic novel serial, The Walking Dead is the latest hit US series to kidnap a British television star, featuring puppy-eyed Andrew incoln (yes, Egg from This Life) as we’ve never seen him before. A Sheriff’s deputy in a small Georgian town,Rick Grimes awakes from a coma to discover the world’s been
ravaged by flesh-eating zombies. While its ‘plucky band of survivors in a post-apocalyptic landscape’ set-up hardly breaks new ground, this is an unusually classy and compelling series that asks some big questions about human society (although an
abundance of dangling entrails makes it one to rule out for DVD dinners). Frank Darabont (The Shawshank Redemption)provides some cinematic quality direction, and the initially languid pace allows you to build up a genuine interest in the characters. Nevertheless, the gut-bustlingly exciting finale of this six-episode teaser series will leave you champing like a rabid zombie for more.

Image: dancingmonkey flickr

The King's Speech (Metro dvd review, May 10 2011)

2011-05-10T11:21:00.000-07:00

A tale of triumph over adversity that’s cocklewarming without being twee, this multi-Oscarwinner tells the story of George VI (Colin Firth)and his struggle to overcome a
debilitating speech impediment. He starts the film as plain old Prince Bertie, who’s given up hope of curing his lifelong stammer until his wife, Elizabeth (Helena Bonham
Carter), arranges for him to see an unorthodox Australian speech therapist, Lionel Logue (Geoffrey Rush). When Bertie comes to the throne in 1936 with the country at the brink of war, it becomes ever more important for him to communicate with his people. While this is a well-made film, with subdued but artful direction by Tom Hooper, it’s not a nail-biter. Essentially boiling down to two middle-aged men in a room, talking, what makes The King’s Speech special is the strength and complexity of almost every performance. Firth was a deserving Best Actor winner for his portrayal of a repressed, short-tempered but decent-hearted king and the development of his arm’s-length bromance with Logue is captivating. With Kate’n’Wills mania still in full force, this release will inevitably go down like the punch bowl at a garden party.
(Colin Firth and Helena Bonham-Carter: Filmonix Flickr)

Kissy Sell Out: Wild Romance (Metro album review, May 6 2011)

2011-05-06T11:01:00.000-07:00

(Pic: Rex Features) As anyone who’s experienced one of his theatrical, four-deck sets can attest, 25-year-old Radio 1 resident Thomas Bisdee (aka Kissy Sell Out) is one of the most inventive and entertaining electro DJs around. While his debut record revisited his Essex adolescence, Wild Romance is a brash and bouncy sophomore album. A succession of masterfully manipulated builds and breakdowns, it’s peppered with eccentric noise and classical sounds, as on the oboe-sampling Little Angel. Big club tracks such as Wild In The Warehouse, climbing from tribal chants towards an almighty, siren-introduced drop, contrast with the poppier Homesick. An instrumental-heavy dance album can become tedious outside a party environment, but there’s an exuberance channelled into this that could raise a grin anywhere.

Freegan Foraging (Metro feature, May 4 2011)

2011-05-04T13:04:00.000-07:00

Pic: Jenny Reilly

It’s midnight, and I’m skulking in the dark around the back of a South London supermarket, rooting through its bins. No, times at Metro haven’t got quite that hard-I’m here to find out what it’s like to live as a freegan. Freegans are people who choose to eat food that supermarkets and other retailers have thrown away. Although no official statistics exist, it seems to have been on the rise in Britain for some time.

But why would anyone want to dine out of a dumpster? While the recession has probably played a part in encouraging people on tight budgets to take up freeganism, many more do it as an act of protest. This is certainly the case for Tristram Stuart, a freegan author and activist who I meet a few days before I begin garbage gathering. Over a (shop-bought) coffee, he tells me: “Freeganism for me is about making a point. I’m perfectly able to buy food, and I don’t have a problem with anyone buying food. For me, it’s a way of protesting about the injustice of food waste and highlighting the quality of what’s been thrown away.”

Every year, British shops throw away around 1.4 m tonnes of food waste , much of it in perfect condition or just slightly out of date, although much more is also squandered in our homes and at every level of the supply chain. Food that gets thrown away represents not only a waste of vital potential nutrition in a world where so many go hungry, but squanders land, water and other resources during its production, packing and transport. Current estimates state that the global population will rise by more than 2 billion to 9 billion by 2050 , meaning that these are only going to become more scarce and precious. In addition, all the food dumped in landfills rots anaerobically and emits methane, the powerful greenhouse gas that contributes to global warming.

While all this is enough to convince me that eating something fished out a bin is, in principle, less disgusting than letting it go to waste, I must admit that my stomach still churns a bit at the thought. However Stuart assures me: “In 15 years as a freegan, I’ve never once been ill. There’s so much high quality stuff out there, usually still in its packaging, that there’s no need to eat anything remotely dodgy.”

There are many reasons why we’re all frittering away so much food, but most of them could be avoided with a bit of cooperation and effort. Supermarkets want to make sure they give customers an abundance of choice, even if they come in late at night, so they tend to order much more from their suppliers than they can actually sell. The cost price is usually so much lower than their shop price, that they don’t mind if they have to throw lots away. Buy-one-get-one-free offers encourage us to buy more than we can eat, and at home, we tend to get rid of perfectly good food because we mistake best-before guidelines (which just suggest when food is tastiest until) for use-by dates.

Things seem to be getting steadily better, although there’s still a long way to go. Organisations such as Fareshare specialise in collecting quality discarded food and redistributing it to vulnerable people. According to Tristram, many companies are now stepping up their act-supermarket donations to Fareshare have increased, while several high profile shops now give a certain amount of unsold stock to the homeless.

There’s also been an important shift in public awareness, particularly as a result of high profile media campaigns by people like Arthur Potts Dawson, who served up meals crafted from discarded groceries in his People’s Supermarket.

Nevertheless, In 2009, the United Nations Environmental Programme reported that more than half the world’s food is lost or wasted at some point along the commercial chain. Freeganism is clearly not going to solve such a huge global problem, but it seems a harmless enough place to start. Nevertheless, freegans can technically be prosecuted under the little-known law of “theft by finding,” and recent high profile cases suggest their lifestyle might be under attack from the law.

So how do I fare on my own freegan forage? I’ve heard from the experts, but for days I find it impossible to work out how to get at any supermarket skips, though I go on several (literally) fruitless missions. Eventually, I find a kindly bin buddy who agrees to accompany me but by the time we make it to our chosen hotspot, untied bin-bags and slim pickings indicate that other freegans have got there before us. But as I’ve found out, there’s more than enough rubbish to go around, so I wish them Bin Appétit.

Singles Of The Week: April 25 2011 (Metro)

2011-04-25T03:24:00.000-07:00

Nero: Guilt (MTA)

The duo (pictured) who give dubstep the same commercially friendly electro-rock buffing that Pendulum do for drum’n’bass meld a feathery female vocal with a low-slung, wibbling beast of a chorus that should steamroller through stadiums.

Elbow: Open Arms (Fiction Records)

This is probably the best lighters-aloft anthem about a parish hall in Manchester that you’ll ever hear, although its cockle-warming powers are tepid in comparison to Elbow’s track One Day Like This.

Jack Beats: All Night (feat John B)/Elevator Music (Cheap Thrills)

A bouncy, fidgety rework of John B’s trance’n’bass original, followed by a track that’s like no lift musak we’ve ever heard. Starting with alien, eerie glitches of noise, it winds up into something wobblier than a fortress-sized inflatable castle.

Soloman: Call Me Al (Rhythm Riders)

The British artist gives Paul Simon’s 1986 track a ragga-rap twist, taking a guilty pleasure and making it so much guiltier that we’re pretty sure it’s swung right back round to credible.

The Sound Of Arrows: Nova (Geffen)

Soaring electro pop with a camp, clubby chorus from the Swedish pair that sounds a bit like a lost soundtrack to a 1980s children’s fantasy film. Things get even more Euro-cheesy with a trance-tastic remix from Tiesto.

(Metro Link)

Picture: Elbow's Guy Garvey (Rex Features)

Speed Hating (Metro feature, April 18 2011)

2011-04-08T01:23:00.000-07:00

Hate dating: Being as mean as possible to your new date could be the key to an everlasting love affair, as AMY DAWSON finds out:

‘When my last relationship ended, I put my partner’s Yorkshire terrier in the blender. What over-the-top vengeance will you take on me when I dump you?’ Slightly petrified, I’m perching on a stool in a three-woman line-up, being posed this question by a young man in a blindfold. I wouldn’t normally accept quite such intense and menacing behaviour from a potential suitor (at least, not until they’d bought me dinner). However, tonight I’m participating in Blind Hate, one of the shenanigans on offer at the alternative singles event, Down With Dating.

Down With Dating is the invention of Mike Toller and Carl Hill, who run Feeling Gloomy club nights in London, New York and Berlin. While his moodily titled projects lead me to expect Hill will be a sombre character, he turns out to be perky and friendly. He explains that his dating event is not designed for bitter cynics – ‘it’s for people with a sense of humour’. Although I’ve never tried any kind of organised dating before, I’d rather date an ex-con than someone who didn’t make me laugh, so this sounds promising.

Hill was motivated to create a more laid-back alternative after dabbling in traditional speed dating. ‘I’ve been to one of those huge dating events but it was very impersonal and full of people getting herded about,’ he says. ‘I just got bored out of my mind. It seemed to me there had to be more fun way.’ Down With Dating was born and it’s been going strong since 2007. While the duo are keen to keep the events as intimate as possible, they’re also planning to appear at various music festivals this summer. Their Speed Hating concept has proved so popular they’ve had anti-daters travel from as far away as Belgium to take part. ‘I hope he found someone,’ says Hill, ‘otherwise that’s one expensive Eurostar trip.’ When I arrive at the bar where Down With Dating takes place, I’m given a fake name, Bertha, and asked to draw a picture of myself for the ‘wall of shame’. Then things kick off with a round of Speed Hating. If both parties agree to it, this can mean spending three minutes hurling insults across the table. While playground lore dictates that anyone who teases you probably fancies you, the prospect of being abused by a stranger while having to try to be witty doesn’t exactly put me at ease.

Luckily, however, Toller and Hill advise us to discuss pet hates instead and provide prompt cards for when we run out of ideas. About 25 people in their twenties and thirties have shown up and although things initially feel stilted, the atmosphere starts to thaw as our comperes introduce silly games (and encourage more visits to the bar).

Despite the emphasis on hatred, everyone is incredibly friendly. The fake names make it easy to be confident and discussing pet hates is definitely a good ice-breaker (although the repetitiveness does start to get a bit draining – and I’m blindsided by a man with a bafflingly specific aversion to ‘pubs without cats’).

While many of the women seem to have come in pairs, most of the men I chat to have come alone, although it’s interesting that almost all of them ‘know the organisers’ or ‘had agreed to come with a friend’ who never showed up. Most people stay to mingle after the organised fun is over, when you can pop a note on to the picture of whoever you most loved-to-hate.

I can see how Speed Hating could work. While it’s always good to discover a shared penchant for pickled ginger or dubstep on a date, there’s also nothing like bonding over something you both loathe. And if you’re interested in meeting someone but would rather scrub your face with a dead hedgehog than endure a round of conventional speed dating, Down With Dating seems like an entertaining and less intimidating alternative. As broadcast journalist ‘Monty’ tells me: ‘I love the amount of effort and imagination they’ve put into this. Even if you don’t meet anyone in particular, it’s fun to try something completely different.’ And do I find that, like Shakespeare’s Juliet, my only love springs from my only hate? In the spirit of Speed Hating, I’m just going to have to be a tease and keep you guessing.

Singles Of The Week: April 4 2011 (Metro)

2011-04-04T13:57:00.000-07:00

Katy Perry (Rex Features)

Entrepreneurs: Bubblegunk/F**k Tactics feat FOE and Ghostpoet (Fear & Records)

Adam Crisp lobs crashing drums, freaky sax, newcomer Foe’s warped female vocals and Ghostpoet’s drowsy rap into the musical equivalent of a cement mixer on this double A-side. But somehow, the pandemonium pushes all the right buttons.

Tim & Jean: Come Around (Publica Records)

With some squeaky synths and falsetto, the debut single from this Aussie teen twosome is a sunny streak of gently piping electropop. It’s cute enough but you’re better off listening to Passion Pit – as, indeed, it seems the boys have.

Katy Perry: ET feat Kanye West (Virgin)

We’re told this ‘combines Katy’s fascination with love with her curiosity about the cosmos’ but it sounds more like overheard phone sex between Trekkies. With glitchy beats and pounding synths, it’s worth it to hear Kanye try to rhyme astronaut with ‘gets ass a lot’.

Unkle: Only The Lonely (Surrender All)

This five-song EP of goosepimple-guaranteed indie-electronica is headed up by the bluesy cowboy rock of Take The Money And Run, a collaboration with Nick Cave.

Jodie Connor: Bring It feat Tinchy Stryder (Polydor)

The Mancunian trails her forthcoming debut album with a slice of rave’n’b that samples Tinchy seemingly on rap autopilot. A layer of processed cheese is OK but not when the tune lacks beef

The Cult Of Beauty at The V&A (Metro Exhibition review, April 4 2011)

2011-04-04T11:04:00.000-07:00

In light of recent arts funding cuts, ancient (and essentially unanswerable) debates about what art should be ‘for’ are raging as fiercely as ever. For the Aesthetic Movement, reacting against the mass commercialisation of the Industrial Revolution and buttoned-up Victorian morality, art needed purely to be beautiful. Spearheaded by Oscar Wilde, from its roots within a small circle of bohemians, it came to encapsulate an entire lifestyle approach: this exhibition displays everything from dandy fashions to furniture decorated with lilies and peacocks, the prevalent aesthetic motifs. The V&A has brought together an impressive collection of contemporary paintings ranging from Pre-Raphaelite works, such as Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s wistful The Day Dream, to the loose canvases of the maverick artist James McNeill Whistler. Alongside this, there’s sepia photography by Julia Margaret Cameron, iconic William Morris wallpaper designs and the stylishly macabre monochrome illustrations of Aubrey Beardsley. Even if the era’s art doesn’t appeal to you (and alongside gems such as Frederic Leighton’s luminous portrait Pavonia there are some pretty lurid Pre-Raphaelite horrors), the exhibition’s curation is inspiring. Moving through thematic segments with differently coloured walls, which staggers the show nicely, you encounter light projections, poetry piped through the air and imaginative recreations of spaces such as Rossetti’s sitting room. While the Aesthetes advocated art that existed only for its own sake, beyond morals or propaganda, they were also often radical social innovators. Morris was a Marxist who wanted to bring beauty to the masses, while the big-haired splendour of Pre-Raphaelite models was utterly opposed to sleek Victorian ideals. Enjoying this show is a wonderful way of living out the Aesthetic philosophy that life is short, so we should chase our own interpretation of beauty in every aspect of it, and appreciate it while it lasts.

Sick Puppies: Tri-Polar (Metro album review, April 3 2011)

2011-04-03T13:35:00.000-07:00

(Pic: Rex Features)
Aussie trio Sick Puppies’ profile was hoisted when their earnest emo song, All The Same, soundtracked a phenomenally popular viral video for the Free Hugs campaign.
But these aren’t Andrex puppies – there’s also a lot of bite in these nu-metal-tinged dogs, albeit a very commercially friendly, Nickelback-sounding aggression. War, with its seething guitars and screams of ‘Fight!’ appears on the Street Fighter IV videogame, while the rumbling, quick-paced You’re Going Down has been used as WWE entrance music. Less heart-on-sleeve than beating-heart-pinned-to-forehead, their British debut is never going to be your bag if you don’t go in for angst-riddled post-grunge. But there’s plenty to enjoy for those who do, including Maybe, whose anthemic chorus is sure to set thousands of directional fringes swaying in unison.

Lykke Li: Wounded Rhymes (Metro album review, Feb 27 2011)

2011-02-27T11:10:00.000-08:00

(Lykke Li: Rex Features)
Swedish songstress Lykke Li has found a cure for a bruised heart and it isn’t chocolate or a new haircut – it’s a truckload of epic, thumping percussion. Written after a trip into the Californian desert, the fey-voiced Li comes over like a foxy shaman for her second album, produced by Björn Yttling (Peter, Björn & John). It opens with the pounding drums and queasy pipe organ of Youth Knows No Pain, before I Follow Rivers swings forward with Gospel propulsion. Lead single Get Some features boldly provocative lyrics but Li always comes across as playful and intelligent. The sparse and lovely I Know Places and Love Out Of Lust provide more tender contrasts, although some of the other slower tracks, such as Unrequited Love, can risk sounding droney. But overall, this album is big, beautiful and badass, often all at the same time.

Yuck: Yuck (Metro album review, Feb 20 2011)

2011-02-20T07:21:00.000-08:00

(Pic: Rex Features) This young London four-piece may call themselves Yuck but their self-titled debut is actually pretty Yum. Fuzzy and pleasantly scuzzy, it makes gratifying nods to a number of early 1990s US indie bands but they have the tunes to lift them beyond the wash of reverb, nostalgia and hype that surrounds them. Tracks come in an array of shades, from the mosh-ready Holing Out to the sunny, jangling Georgia. A band called Yuck who name a song Suck are never going to get too serious - but Sunday and the lovely Shook Down showcase their quieter and lyrically poignant credentials. With a knack for catchy melodies and gnarly basslines alike, Yuck have hit the slacker rock jackpot with their stonewashed, sun-drenched sound.

Eat Pray Love (Metro dvd review, Feb 7 2011)

2011-02-07T05:56:00.000-08:00

(Pic: Flickposter)
Based on Elizabeth Gilbert’s best-selling memoir, Eat Pray Love stars Julia Roberts as a successful writer with a devoted husband, who is nevertheless irked by an unspecific sense of dissatisfaction.

She jacks it all in, briefly shacking up with a gorgeous young yogi (James Franco) before jetting off on a tripartite voyage of self-discovery.

Roberts nourishes herself in Italy, finds spiritual enlightenment in India and learns to love again in Bali – or, in other words, indulges in lots of gastro porn, navel-gazing and beach hut bonking with Brazilian divorcé Felipe ( Javier Bardem). And who wouldn’t, given the chance?

But therein lies the problem. While Roberts still radiates a megawatt charm few other actresses can match, her self-absorbed character seems such a preternaturally blessed malcontent that it’s hard to truly care what happens to her or see her as any kind of inspirational everywoman.

Although she encourages her friend to dig into pizza and embrace her muffin top, both remain whippet-thin – these are clearly muffins baked by The Borrowers.

Most of us have bills to pay that stop us skipping off to sunny climes and the film flits over the fact that Gilmore had already secured a book deal before she set off on her trip. Still, it makes a pleasant change to watch a ‘chick flick’ that celebrates female independence and adventure

The Streets: Computer and Blues (Metro album review, Feb 6 2011)

2011-02-06T13:46:00.000-08:00

Lock down your aerial, you’re listening to Mike Skinner’s final album as The Streets.

After two disappointing records, Computer And Blues almost matches the magic of his game-changing debut.

It opens in a scuzzy whirl of electronica but is mostly an upbeat (if bittersweet) set of UK garage-infused pop.

While he is famed for confessional lyrics about drugs, high streets and heartbreak, this is the work of an older, more knowing artist.

Hedonism is still there, couched in an ambivalent nostalgia, while Blip On A Screen expresses a mix of wonder and trepidation at imminent fatherhood.

The alphabetti spaghetti wit of ABC showcases his verbal dexterity, while Trust Me is vintage The Streets. Featuring Clare Maguire, the lolloping Lock The Locks is a soulful, elated goodbye to a decade-defining act

Gossip Girl: Seasons 1-3 (Metro dvd review, Dec 20 2011)

2010-12-10T14:03:00.000-08:00

(Pic: Rex Features) A soothing drip-feed of escapism that’s as easy on the eye as it is on the brain, Gossip Girl details the debauched antics of a group of seriously moneyed Manhattanites. The identity of Gossip Girl herself is unknown but she spies on the other characters and manipulates them by spreading malevolent internet rumours, like some kind of Park Avenue Saruman with a smart phone. The drama is kicked off by the return of the enigmatic and impossibly glossy Serena ( Blake Lively), who had fled to boarding school after a mysterious scandal. However, all the best lines belong to her best friend and sometime rival, the Hepburn-styled, Machiavellian Blair (Leighton Meester), and her on-off love interest, sexy bad boy Chuck Bass (Ed Westwick). It’s shallow, often schmaltzy and by series three you’ll be staggered by the increasingly ludicrous plotlines and the ever more industrial levels of eyeliner sported by little Jenny Humphreys (Taylor Momsen). Nevertheless, in the words of Gossip Girl herself, you know you love it.

Flowfit Boot Camp (Metro feature, Dec 3 2011)

2010-12-03T12:39:00.000-08:00

(METRO)

It's a bitterly cold afternoon, but I'm eagerly waiting to launch myself down a hill of freezing water flowing at 30mph. I'm preparing for the winter sports season at the new Flowfit boot camp in Cornwall, home of Britain's first outdoor Flowrider.

What is a FlowRider? It’s a 12m-wide slope pumped with artificial water rapids down which you can bodyboard, surf or just throw yourself head first. Mixing this with a variety of other activities, the camp focuses on building your balance and the core and leg strength essential for performing to your best on the piste.

I discover very quickly, however, that flowriding is a lot harder than the staff at Retallack Resort make it look as they casually showboat with a series of tricks. Chief instructor Karl Fice-Thomson asks me to jump in with a bodyboard but I’m utterly unprepared for the force of the water, most of which goes straight up my nose. He tells me to try carving gently back and forth before jumping up on my knees, at which point I completely lose control and I’m shot back up to the top of the slope, limbs akimbo. Luckily it’s nearly impossible to hurt yourself on the ride, which feels like a bouncy castle when you hit the bottom.

After a few more attempts I’m ready to try standing up. The shape of the board, plus the technique required to keep upright and control it, reminds me of snowboarding. Ex-Harlequins rugby player Jason Keyter, who runs Retallack with his wife Amy, agrees. ‘The feedback we’ve had is that flowriding feels a lot more like snowboarding than anything else,’ he says, ‘much more so than surfing.’ All board sports call upon your core muscles and I can feel mine yelping as I struggle to stay vertical.

The rest of the four-day course is spent on a kind of amphibious circuit training schedule, rotating two minutes of exercises on the FlowRider with spinning, aqua aerobics and a session on a wobble board. While I’m not sure I quite master Fice-Thomson’s ultimate move, the brilliantly named extreme flow squat, it’s the most invigorating workout I’ve ever had and the resistance in the water makes my muscles work extra hard. However, holding hands and squatting on the balance board with a young male instructor is perhaps a smidge embarrassing, especially when wearing a wetsuit, which, by the way, gave me the biggest workout of the week just to peel off.

FlowRiding began in Texas in 1991 and although there are now more than 100 of the Flowfit machines globally, it’s still relatively unknown and perfect for outdoor sports junkies looking for a new thrill. It’s also such addictive fun that toning up for the slopes doesn’t feel like a punishment.

Fice-Thomson, who possesses utterly infectious enthusiasm, tells me: ‘I like to treat exercise the way Montessori schools do education, getting people to improve through play.’ I definitely feel motivated to work much harder than if I was on my own, staring at a gym wall or plodding around a rain-soaked park.

Although Flowriding is my favourite part of the course, it’s not the only element. Driving to Constantine Bay for a morning beach workout, we are reliably informed by Fice-Thomson that ‘people have vomited’ on completing the course. Thankfully we all escape this fate and although the sandy surface does make the combination of running and circuits extra tough, the stunning Cornish coastline spurs me on. We also complete a vicious ab-attack session, a spinning class and yoga – another activity brilliant for improving the core stability, balance and flexibility needed on the slopes. Positions that are normally no trouble feel almost impossible to reach, proving how important it is to keep those muscles stretched when working them hard.

The camp takes a holistic approach to health, incorporating a meeting with a nutritionist and lifestyle coaching into the exercise programme. I’m sceptical at first but the life coach advises me about freeing myself from self-limiting beliefs, which makes perfect sense, and the importance of a confident outlook needed for snow sports. Retallack’s emphasis is on boosting your long-term health rather than seeking any short-term solutions and this isn’t the kind of place that tries to palm off a cup of hot water as a satisfying meal. Instead, chef Stephen Lloyd rustles up utterly delicious but healthy meals, including locally sourced mussels.

By the end of Flowfit I’m walking like a robot that’s been left out in the rain but I do feel energised, motivated and as if I could crack a coconut between my thighs. Standing up on the FlowRider is still tricky but by the last day I’m attempting forward rolls on the bodyboard. It’s been fantastic to try a new sport but I’m itching to get up a mountain, hoping my skills have a bit more flow on the slopes.

SATC 2 (Metro dvd review, Nov 29 2011)

2010-11-29T14:20:00.000-08:00

(Image: Rex Features)
Flogging the dead horse of the Sex And The City franchise until it starts to resemble an unappetising mince, this redundant sequel is sadly bereft of the warmth and wit of the original TV series. Always self-involved, Carrie is now a nightmarish ingrate, while Charlotte is the kind of mug who bakes cupcakes wearing cream-coloured Valentino then has to lock herself in the pantry to weep when her daughter gets jam on it. Saddest of all is the loss of the once fabulous and utterly hilarious Samantha, who has degenerated into a desperate, vitamin-popping harpy.

An undernourished plotline about a PR trip transports the four friends on a seemingly interminable jolly to Abu Dhabi, where they coo in stereo over the Vegas-style opulence of their hotel. They get to do the strident walking-four-abreast thing in the desert this time but mostly keep themselves occupied committing cringing cultural faux pas or whingeing about how tough their privileged lives are.
The scene in which a scantily clad, borderline-deranged Samantha lobs condoms around a souk, pumping her hips and screaming ‘I have sex!’, must be one of the least funny and most misguided scenes ever committed to cinema.

There are a (very) few laugh-out-loud moments and they’ve had a brilliantly bonkers Patricia Field day with the costumes. But watching this film ultimately feels like meeting up with a loved old friend and discovering she’s given herself partial lobotomy with a Manolo heel.

Downton Abbey: Series 1 (Metro dvd review, Nov 8 2010)

2010-11-08T13:10:00.000-08:00

Created by Oscar-winning Gosford Park writer Julian Fellowes, this three-disc box set of ITV’s latest Sunday night corset fest portrays life upstairs and downstairs at an English stately home. It starts in 1912 when the Titanic has just sunk, killing two male heirs to Lord Grantham’s estate, and the plot leisurely unfolds around the question of his inheritance. A sterling cast, including Hugh Bonneville, Penelope Wilton and Dan Stevens, is headed up by a witheringly imperious Dame Maggie Smith as the Countess of Grantham, constantly looking as if she’s sucking on a sour gobstopper. There are a few juicy moments in the form of some footman-on-gentleman action and an episode with a ravishing, ravaging Turk but the series is also lovely at evoking slow-burning emotional connections. Social issues and psychological epiphanies are sometimes signalled with about as much subtlety as a neon sign but Downton Abbey’s lolloping pace and sumptuous escapism are just right for whiling away dark, autumnal evenings.

(Image: Rex Features)

Diaghilev and the Golden Age of The Ballets Russes at the V&A (Metro exhibition review, Sep 28 2010)

2010-09-28T10:56:00.000-07:00

Volatile impresario Serge Diaghilev presided over a radical ballet company that left the upheavals of pre-revolutionary Russia to settle in Western Europe. The collaborative mastermind – variously described as an ogre, a paternal benefactor and a genius – drew talent towards him with the gravitational pull of a neutron star and his Ballets Russes became a focal point for artistic innovation.
Featuring rarely shown V&A stock as well as spectacular loan items, this exhibition offers a feast of ballet ephemera, ranging from Jean Cocteau’s huge art deco posters to costumes by Coco Chanel. Léon Bakst’s bejewelled costume sketches are exquisite works of art, particularly the iconic design for legendary dancer (and Diaghilev’s one-time lover) Vaslav Nijinsky in L’Après-midi d’un Faune.
The climax is Pablo Picasso’s vividly hued front cloth for Le Train Bleu, the largest single object owned by the museum. The exhibition successfully deconstructs the disparate elements of performance, showcasing jerky footage of ballerina Tamara Karsavina and piping stirring music from composers such as Debussy and Prokofiev.
This multi-disciplinary approach and the atmospheric design of the galleries, darkly lit like the backstage of a theatre, means there is little chance of developing museum fatigue, even though the exhibition packs in a lot of material.
Now seen as pivotal in the development of modernism, the Ballets Russes 1913 Paris premiere of The Rite Of Spring inspired riots and fights in the aisles. This show not only offers artistic treats but conveys a real sense of the company’s brutal discipline, furious creative energy and lasting artistic legacy.
(Image: Phaidon.com)

Snake Charming (Metro feature, Sep 14 2010)

2010-09-14T12:19:00.000-07:00

(Pic: Matt Leete) (METRO)

Everyone needs a hobby; but snake charming was one of those things, like cage fighting or swimming with sharks, that I’d always thought was best left to the professionals.

So when I met belly-dancing grandmother Snakey Sue, at first she wasn’t really what I was expecting. With nearly 50 snakes at the bottom of her garden in Leytonstone, east London, Snakey Sue, aka Sue Coleman, is renowned as a serpent whisperer.

The nearest I’ve ever got to a reptile is playing Snake on my mobile phone, yet somehow I found myself heading off to meet these slithery creatures to find out just how hard it is to tame the beast.

Snake charming originated as a sacred tradition in India, where it has now been illegal since 1991 – although thousands still continue to perform. It is also common in other Asian and North African countries and typically involves entrancing a venomous hooded cobra by playing an instrument. Although snakes are deaf to ambient noises, they are hypnotised by the shape and movement of the flute and can’t help wanting to mimic it.

This time-honoured tradition is having a renaissance on screen – it was featured in the remake of The Karate Kid, in which Michelle Yeoh used crane-style kung fu to control a cobra, and more recently in Prince Of Persia: The Sands Of Time starring Jake Gyllenhaal.

In contrast to the old traditions of snake charming, Coleman’s snakes are non-poisonous constrictors, which she charms through her own interpretation of traditional Eastern dances. Each performance is original and spontaneous, drawing inspiration from the snakes.

Although her Scottish ancestry is far from exotic, Coleman has been belly dancing all her life. She introduced snakes to her act in 1992 to give it an edge and her passion escalated from there. Thus Charm school was born.

Coleman begins by showing me how it’s done, performing an elegant belly dance with an albino American corn snake called, of all things, Freckles. She then flips open what looks deceptively like an ordinary picnic hamper and starts to coax out a custard-yellow beast called Ra – an 18kg, 3m Burmese python.

Despite knowing that Ra is non-venomous, I’m more than apprehensive. However, Coleman assures me he is completely docile and says snakes would never harm a human unless they felt under threat. I certainly have an effect on this one as, when Ra swings his head round and starts flicking his tongue in my face, I’m told he’s actually trying to kiss me. ‘Lucky you,’ laughs Coleman.

Now it’s time to attempt a charming dance. I’m hoping to channel a vibe similar to Britney’s when she performed Slave For You with a python but it doesn’t quite work out. Although I’m instructed to ‘become one with the snake’, I’m simply too nervous, baulking under the weight of both Ra and my own fear. This is less sinuous, more strenuous. While it might be nice to feel your dance partner’s rippling muscles, with a constrictor I’m not so sure.

Eventually Coleman announces that Ra can sense how tense I am and wants to come back to her. Apparently it’s difficult to dance with someone else’s snake as your energies won’t mesh properly. This seems as good a reason as any to blame for my inability to charm my slithery friend.

With Coleman’s snake hamper beginning to seem more like a disturbing version of Mary Poppins’s carpet bag, the next introduction is to Moses the boa constrictor and Silka, a beautiful royal python. These are just some of the snakes that live in Coleman’s sanctuary near her ‘understanding neighbours’.

All her snakes have been abandoned, often by people who bought them as pets without thinking about how long they live – Ra, for example, could live for up to 40 years. Coleman racks up huge electricity bills keeping the cold-blooded reptiles warm and feeds them on frozen rats from a special wholesaler.

Ra knocks back a weight-watching 12 rats a month. I’m impressed when Coleman tells me she went on Britain’s Got Talent with a 2m python called, appropriately enough, Simon, and astonished when she tells me they said her snake was too small.

Even if Simon Cowell didn’t think his namesake was giving 110 per cent, there can be no doubting the dedication of Snakey Sue, who hasn’t had a holiday for 16 years because of her family of prince charmings.

Bastokalypse (Metro graphic novel review, Sep 14 2010)

2010-09-14T06:47:00.000-07:00

Pic: Amazon.com (THE METRO, AUG 12 2010)
A wry vision of the apocalypse, Bastokalypse (Scheidegger and Spiess, £30) is the result of a decade’s collaboration between Swiss graphic artists M.S. Bastion and Isabelle L. Reproducing 32 original canvases in a concertina format, the pages can be unfurled into a long, continuous image. Extending to over 50 metres, the monochrome sequence depicting various daily media horrors is certainly affecting, if not exactly a great read for the Tube. Critic Konrad Toblerwith’s illustrated essay about the apocayplse as a prevailing artistic theme is printed on the reverse side, referencing creative figures varying from Hieronymous Bosch to George A Romero. The rendering of portentous imagery in a cartoony style, including comic style speech bubbles, gives Bastokalypse a fresh edge on a classic theme. However the claustrophobic busyness of the designs, coupled with the book’s long length, means that its overall effect is perhaps too overwhelming and undifferentiated to be properly absorbing. Nevertheless this is still a very cool and unique piece of graphic design-a book about art which is a piece of art in itself.

David Bailey: Then (Metro review, Aug 9 2010)

2010-08-09T10:04:00.000-07:00

Picture: Rex Features.

After displaying his colourful,unsettling series of skull and flower compositions in Now, Hamiltons Gallery has gone back to trademark David Bailey with follow-up show 'Then.' In contrast, the new exhibition offers exactly what we expect from Britain’s most famous chronicler of Swinging Sixties London – the bad and the beautiful, simply shot in black and white. However, there is a twist. Instead of displaying final prints, previously unseen contact sheets are blown up on the wall, offering us a chance to experience Bailey’s photography as a process rather than a product. There’s Mick Jagger managing to maintain a broody glamour while prepping his pose in a fur-lined parka, a Kray brother blinking at a flash, and Lennon and McCartney joking about. It’s a fascinating insight into the shaping of the final images, some of which have become iconic. However, while a snapshot of Michael Caine in his glasses cuts a figure easy enough to recognise, the presence of some titles and context labels might make the trip to this small show more rewarding. The test shots of Catherine Deneuve have an enduring, appealing chic but take on an extra dimension when you know the French actress was the second of Bailey’s four wives, whom he said he married ‘on a whim’. Ultimately, though, this is worthwhile because it highlights the exact feature that makes Bailey’s shots so enduring: his knack for coaxing out and capturing the charisma of his subjects.
Until Fri 13 Aug 2010, Hamiltons Gallery, 13
Carlos Place, 10am to 6pm, free.

Plan B at The itunes festival (Metro gig review, July 26 2010)

2010-07-26T02:27:00.000-07:00

(Image: Rex Features)
In a staggering volte-face, Plan B has morphed himself from a bruising purveyor of explicit, gritty rap into a suited and booted soul singer. The retro, blue-eyed soul sound is nothing new and Plan B could risk sounding like a post-Winehouse Fauxtown pastiche. However, this emotive performance proved him to be much more than a male Duffy. His unexpectedly high, crooning voice made an effective contrast to a tight band and grittier rap interludes. Hit ‘Prayin’ got a nice reggae twist, but the highlight of the night was undoubtedly the innovative finale. Think you don’t want to hear a live dubstep medley mashed into Seal’s ‘Kiss From A Rose’ with genius beat-boxing from Faith SFX layered on top? You actually do. It will be interesting to see which genre the East Ender turns his hand to next.

Underworld at The itunes Festival (Metro gig review, July 17 2010)

2010-07-17T12:37:00.000-07:00

(Image: Rex Features)
After two decades recording together, Underworld have an incredible back-catalogue to showcase. The quality of the set was relentless, with 1993's ‘Rez’ providing a particularly blissful moment, and the gig was much more than a nostalgic treat. More recent tracks such as ‘Squiggle,’ the collaboration with drum’n’bass producer High Contrast, showed how successfully Underworld have evolved while retaining their signiture sound. The pummelling energy never lagged as Karl Hyde pogoed, strutted and skulked all over the stage like a man possessed. His lyrics are a patchwork of poetic scraps and inane fragments, but the crowd still joined in word-perfect unison to the anthemic drawl of ‘Born Slippy,’ surely one of the best dance tracks of all time. With a stage-presence that few other dance acts can muster, Underworld fully justified their weighty reputation.

The XX at The itunes Festival (Metro gig review, July 14 2010)

2010-07-12T06:51:00.000-07:00

Picture: Rex Features

South London trio The XX recorded their eponymous debut album in a small garage, often late at night, while they were still in their teens. They sustained the intimate minimalism of the resulting record in this performance, but ramped up their sparsely layered sound to fill the smoky, darkly lit Roundhouse to perfection. Sultry elodies and single note riffs reverberated over a tidal wave of rumbling bass, picked out by the husky voiced front-duo of Romy Madley-Craft and Baria Qureshi, while the band’s beat-master Jamie Smith provided a satisfyingly solid backstop behind them. Although the trademark black garb and drowsy composure were in place, there was an endearing bashfulness in the performance of the band, who seemed genuinely delighted with the crowd’s almost rapturous reception to tracks like Heart Skipped A Beat and Islands. The simplicity of The XX’s sound benefits from the exposure of a larger space, allowing their quietly emotive lyrics on modern love and loss to resonate with a glacial clarity. A difficult act to categorise, the band’s reliance upon throbbing beats and bass nods heavily towards the influences of urban music, and they have become renowned for their downbeat covers of r’n’b artists like Aliyah. This time they opted for a playful but lovely version of Kyla’s Do You Mind, transforming the Funky House track almost beyond recognition. Finishing with an almost euphoric rendition of Stars, The XX put on a unique and poignant show: bittersweet, beautiful and resolutely nonchalant.

Top Of The Pop-Ups.

2010-07-01T14:10:00.000-07:00

(Picture: Flickr)
It’s the decade’s first day of British summer time, in a packed pie’n’mash shop in Hackney’s Broadway Market. Under the watchful gaze of a Princess Diana memorial poster, Paul Allen and Polly Cliffton are hosting their monthly pop-up lunch residency Walbrook and Avon, where the jellied eels make way for raspberry bellinis and homemade chilli jam.

When the recession took hold a vogue for all things pop-up truly bubbled over, as the glut of empty shops got put to imaginative re-use and the downturn forced would-be entrepreneurs to come up with new ways of doing business. Pop-ups provide a way for people to pursue their passions on an ad hoc, affordable basis, testing their potential for success without the enormous financial outlays of starting up a complete business. As Polly puts it: “The recession has forced people to re-think. It’s just not so easy to get bank loans and people aren’t so prepared to gamble financially. Pop-ups are a great way to try out ideas in financially difficult times.”

The most significant development in pop-ups has been in the reclamation of boarded-up commercial property. High-street stalwarts like Woolworths have disappeared and it’s been estimated that one-in-six UK shops now lie vacant, with about 1,000 high-street businesses closing every week. This has left a plethora of landlords who are desperate to fill empty properties and a number of agencies have sprung up to help them.

In November 2009 when the Space Makers agency started work at Brixton’s Granville Arcade it was a haunted corridor of empty shops, a dead corner tucked inside the borough’s famously vibrant and thriving market. Now it has been brought back to life and Brixton Village offers the largest, most successful example in the UK of the creative reimagining of space left stagnant by the recession. The 1937 arcade, previously destined to be turned into flats, has now also won recognition as a Grade II listed building.

Julia Shalet leads the Space Makers project at Brixton Village. After site-owners London Associated Properties were persuaded to offer spaces rent-free for an initial three months more than 100 applicants competed for the chance to start a pop-up venture in the old arcade.

Julia is adamant that despite their fleeting nature, pop-ups are far from a temporary fix. Instead by reenergising a forgotten space they can test the potential for long-term trade and investment: “If you showcase what a property can do, you can attract permanent business.” Of the 20 empty shops which once lined Granville Arcade, 13 are now permanently filled with rent-paying tenants, running community-driven businesses and creative projects. Some pop-up spaces are still available on a rolling basis, to those prepared to dive in at seven-days’ notice. This is certainly a challenge, but as many as 25 new entrepreneurs offer their ideas each week, keeping Brixton Village perpetually fresh.

The arcade is now a bright and lively space throughout the week, but on Saturdays it becomes crammed with pop-up performances, exhibitions and events. On Thursdays there’s a bring-your-own-bottle night market with a weekly theme, where visitors can sample food from around the world and try anything from rockabilly dancing to ‘speed hating.’

Pop-ups might seem a natural darling of the chattering classes, but they truly can help to revive local business fortunes at a grass-roots level. Space Makers are very careful not to use the thorny word “regeneration.” Julia makes it plain that the success of the project is down to the long-term dynamism of Brixton and its market: “We’re just drawing on the spirit of something that’s already there.” The market-traders as a whole, not just in Brixton Village, have noticed a bump in profits since the project started.

Keeping money circulating within individual communities has been a key concern of councils attempting to fend-off the recession-and the Brixton Village project relies upon grass-roots collaboration and local trade. But the pop-ups don’t just offer retail therapy. Thursdays and Saturdays at Brixton Village supplement what the shops are offering, turning the once moribund space into a hub where people come not just to buy but to socialise and be entertained. Julia is confident that using pop-ups to bring dead spaces back to life can help local areas through the recession and beyond: “There will always be empty properties and this is about a completely new way of approaching that space.”

Localism and informality have become the buzzwords of the 21st century small-business model. Even global monsters like Starbucks and McDonald’s have been making significant moves to render individual branches more community-specific. Rosie French and Ellie Grace run Salad Club, a pop-up Brixton restaurant which has appeared in the market, where they buy everything they need for their moveable feasts. Ellie happily admitted that it would be wrong to market pop-up restaurants as offering budget dining for the downturn: “As one journalist put it, you could have a cheaper meal at Strada! It’s not as if we offer meal deals and family buckets.” However, the pair do offer lovingly prepared, locally-sourced food for a decent price-an attractive prospect for many middle-class professionals. Indeed, pop-ups seem to offer something for every social strata, with blink-and-you’ll-miss-it boutiques the shopping experience of choice for the hype hungry recessionista crowd.

The pop-up business model is valuable in a recession because it can stimulate spending, even when consumer confidence is low, by creating an aura of urgency. Even mainstream high street brands like HMV, which opened 10 temporary shops last Christmas, are using pop-ups in an attempt to grab consumer attention and to test new ideas, products and concepts. Although a retail market populated entirely by pop-ups would clearly be far from ideal, on a localised scale they can provide a refreshing contrast to the predictable chains that can make every British high street, strung with a Boots, a Smiths and a Marks and Spencers, seem exactly the same. Pop-ups are not free of challenges and risks for would-be entrepreneurs and they can’t provide a cure-all for Britain’s ailing high streets. However, a well-executed pop-up project can take a backdrop of instability and morph it into something fresh and exciting. That’s surely something to treasure.

X Factor: November 8

2009-11-08T12:49:00.000-08:00

Week after week Jedward perform in an off-key quasi-bark, occasionally pausing to deliver a spoken interlude in an excruciating American-Irish mid-Atlantic twang. This week the theme was movie soundtracks and the pair yelped out Ghostbusters in matching boiler suits in a manner which was certainly entertaining, albeit somewhat disturbing. Louis Walsh should perhaps be videoed banging his head on the table or clawing his own face in Frankenstein-like horror at the monster he has unleashed on the general public. Instead he grins and bounces along devotedly to their every faux-rap and shimmy.

The goonish charm of the twins perhaps lies in their utter lack of self-awareness and seeming immunity to ridicule. They dance like a particularly sheltered pair of 7-year-olds in a school play, out of time both with the backing music and each other. They’re Teflon-coated toddlers.

Lucie is without doubt several thousand leagues above Jedward in the talent stakes. She’s a beautiful, harmless girl with a lovely voice- but boring to watch. It was her generic vanilla to the twins’ nauseating tutti-frutti and bad-taste won the day. Lucie’s rendition of a Disney song about finding your destiny was technically good but perhaps just a bit too sincere and low-rent Miley Cyrus for the average cynical Brit. We just want to see if the twins can ever top the red PVC catsuits.

Nevertheless, if anyone had to go, it should have been the abominable Poundland Lenny Kravitz that is Jamie. Lucie was unflinchingly gracious in defeat, insisting the twins deserved their success without overt sarcasm. Her mentor Danni Minogue pulled her into a hug with a muffled bleat that she blamed herself. Underneath her bizarrely lop-sided lego-man fringe there was clearly a serious mea culpa situation going on, but as ever it was hard to gage anything from her perma-frozen facial expression.

Steve McQueen's Hunger

2009-07-01T14:11:00.000-07:00

(Rex Features)

As Steve McQueen takes over the British Pavilion at this year’s Venice Biennalle it is worth looking back at Hunger, the 2008 film which won him the Caméra d’Or at Cannes, propelled him into the mainstream public consciousness and rendered him a regular in the weekend supplements.

The film focuses on the dirty protests in Northern Ireland’s infamous Maze prison and IRA man Bobby Sands’ 1981 hunger strike in demand of political prisoner status. Trudging through a downpour after the premiere at The Renoir cinema, I felt as if some of my internal foundations had been gutted.

Hunger refuses to glorify either the passive-aggressive self-flagellation of the terrorist or the brutal violence of the prison guards. It rejects polarities, instead admitting the incurable complexity of not only the troubles but human identity itself. Sands’ determination is one half tragic stoicism, another part blinkered obstinacy. A vicious prison guard is privately vulnerable and lonely. Hunger has no hero, and no villain. At its core is a complete absence of moral certainty, bravely confronted.

Turner prize-winner McQueen works largely in video installations. His allegiance to the art world is palpable in Hunger’s careful, acute use of the visual image. Long, quiet shots are so exquisitely composed, however horrific, that they become almost brief, breathing paintings. However the direction is not over-aesthetic, the images of coagulating blood and shit daubed on cell walls are visceral and gut-jerking.

If the best art extols the Chekhovian maxim to show, never tell, McQueen’s film epitomizes the power of this approach. Hunger is almost devoid of dialogue apart from an intense 22-minute conversation between Michael Fassbender’s Sands and Liam Cunningham’s sharp but ultimately powerless priest, captured in one continuous shot. Both actors are capable of enough nuance of expression to capture the fluctuations of morality and feeling which wind throughout the film on their faces alone.

The press has focused upon Fassbender’s self-disciplined starvation for the role and his ultimate emaciation is almost unbearable to view. Yet the depth of his performance plumbs far below a scandalous appearance. Hunger is often shocking, but never vacuously so. Since the recession the astronomically expensive contemporary art scene has largely imploded. Winner of the 1999 Turner Prize, McQueen perhaps now comes into his own as a successful modern artist who has shunned the hysteria surrounding the YBAs to follow a resolutely self-determined path. This stocky, bespectacled black Londoner is on the surface very different to ‘the king of cool.’ But there are now two Steve McQueen’s who have made cinematic history.

Autumn's art fairs and the crunch.

2008-10-19T14:53:00.000-07:00

Although the rest of the chattering classes are bunkering down and establishing neighbourhood turnip-growing alliances (or so the Sunday supplements would have us believe) the impervious hedonists of the art world are still out schmoozing in a style that would put Gatsby to shame. The biggest names in the contemporary British art scene have been chinking fluted glasses with the likes of Gwyneth Paltrow at Frieze, a money-churning monster of a fair. Shuffling around the crushing maze of stalls at Zoo, Frieze’s satellite event which showcases the collections of lesser established, up-and-coming dealers and galleries, it was sometimes hard to distinguish between a provoking piece of art and the debris from a coffee break. Although art cannot exactly be claimed to be recession proof in the manner of say, toilet paper, it has nevertheless been hyped, like gold, as some sort of magic money-hoarding bunker impervious to the tempestuous financial climate. Yet the astronomical rise and rise in the market value of contemporary art seemingly reached tipping point at Damien Hurst’s bonanza Sotheby’s sale on September 15th, the very day of the Lehman Brothers downfall. Reports of slumping sales at this year's fairs suggest perhaps that although Roman Abramovich and his ilk might not have exactly fallen on hard times, they might be reigning in their spending. Every recessionista worth her seasonal investment piece knows that conspicuous consumption is out, even if they aren’t experiencing true economic hardship first hand. Ultimately, it might seem a good plan to channel the current craze for making do into more creative channels. If anyone happens to spot me freezing blood or pickling a spliced animal, please don't panic. It's just me keeping calm and carrying on.

'This is my Church' The Streets and Exit 2008.

2008-07-11T14:33:00.000-07:00

After a captivating performance on Exit’s main stage, The Streets’ Mike Skinner blogged on 11th July, “I couldn't string a sentence together for stalling and welling up. It is truly a unique place the EXIT festival. Reminded me of Rome during the Pope's funeral if that doesn't offend any of our more religious fans.” Never having been in the emotional grip of a city in mass-mourning for a religious figurehead I can’t personally vouch for the second half of Skinner’s statement. Yet it would seem that Britain’s acceptable public face of everybloke emotion is certainly onto something. The high quota of “boutique” events amongst the current plethora of festivals might seem to undermine floating claims for 2008 as the third summer of love. Yet the exceptional atmosphere at Exit, which has sustained a positive credibility since its genesis in the millennium as a 100-day anti-Milošević protest party, is the closest many Britains who ‘Never went to Church,’ will come to the raised-arm euphoria most only ever encounter flicking past the God Chanel on Sky. And perhaps most would concur with Skinner’s quip at the start of that song, his masterpiece of restrained poignancy: “I know which one I prefer.” Whilst to say that ‘God is a DJ’ is clearly pushing it, Laurent Garnier’s dawn set certainly generated goosebumps and outstripped any formulaic Church of England service in the spiritual sensation stakes. Whether or not their joy is artificially assisted, to see thousands bobbing happily in the warm wash of sunrise is an awesome phenomena, especially in a country which has seen as much fracture and devastation as Serbia. Of course, the dance arena was not populated solely by neon-elmos and on several occasions lairy revellers were restrained with jolting violence by the security staff, who at other times almost blended with the crowd, snapping pictures on their phones in fleuro- jackets and whistles. Skinner himself repeatedly records the flipside of euphoria, wryly acknowledging in ‘Weak become heroes’ which documents the enthusiastic rapture of a first-timer that rave culture holds no real or lasting solutions: “imagine the world’s leaders on pills/ then imagine the morning after.” Although someone before me in the shower clearly mistook it for a portaloo and my friend’s hair was singed by shrapnel from a well-intentioned Serbian firework, Exit 2008 nevertheless exemplified the way in which the confused, dirty upheaval of a festival experience can involve spikes of happiness, humanity and seeming solution that are invaluably rich despite their temporality. During his set Skinner demanded that each person in the enormous crowd crouch down low, turn to someone they had never met, give them a hug and show them some Exit love. The man next to my group of friends turned out later to have been pitched right next to us in the campsite. Perhaps not a coincidence of world-changing proportions, but nevertheless a little modern miracle, the like of which most of us could do with more of in our lives.