tn2 magazine issue 7, 2012-13

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CONTENTS

TN2MAGAZINE.IE // 3

“YELLOWISM IS PERMANENT, BORING, INERT, HOMOGENOUS, FLAT, ‘DEAD’ MASS. ALWAYS WAS AND ALWAYS WILL BE. LIKE IN THE FOREST WHERE ALL THE TREES ‘LOOK’ THE SAME – WHEREVER YOU GO YOU ARE IN THE SAME PLACE ANYWAY. A THOUSAND KILOMETRES LEFT, TWO ME-TERS RIGHT OR BACKWARDS – YOU ARE ALWAYS IN THE SAME PLACE”

THEREGULARS

THEREVIEWS

THEFEATURES

Editor & Creative Director Aaron Devine Deputy Editor Henry Longden Copy Editor Eoin Tierney Online Editor Ciar Boyle-Gifford

Editorial Staff Gabija Purlytė // Deirdre Molumby // Declan Johnston // Paige Crosbie // Hugo Fitzpatrick // Paul Casey Alison Connolly // Jenny Duffy // Alana Ryan // Tara Joshi // Katherine Murphy // Fionnuala Gygax

Isabella Davey // Ciaran McGrath // Claudia Carroll

Photo Editor Matthew Wilson Staff Photographer Michael O’Hanrahan Illustrator Alice Wilson Creative Consultants Dargan Crowley-Long // Éna Brennan

Special Thanks Damien Carr, Matthew Taylor and the Trinity Publications Committee // Gemma at Border Community // Ronan Burtenshaw Nora Eastwood // Gabriel Beecham // EPB Dept of TCD Library // Staff at Vintage Cocktail Club

- Marcin Łodyga, Yellowism co-founder // 15

OPENERSHOMEGROWN

THE ODD COUPLE THE CITYGUIDE

FACESUNTIL NEXT TIME

THE FINAL SAY

AT THE FINISHING GATEBEST BEFORE

OUT OF THE FLAMES YOLO

MEN’S NEEDSKEEPING BEES

MIXING MODES

4222627283738

8101215182023

FILMGAMES

FOODBOOKS

FOODBOOKSMUSIC

FILM

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Mark Rothko’s Black on Maroon after being defaced by Vladimir Umanets, Yellowism co-founder.

COVER ART by Alice Wilson and Éna Brennan

4 // TN2MAGAZINE.IE

OPENERS

DESIGN To an outsider’s eye, the traditional shopfront is one of the defining features of Irish cities. While many of the original eighteenth and nineteenth century façades today are compromised by standardized “modern” signs, or completely replaced by tacky plastic shells, Price’s Medical Hall at 26 Clare Street has maintained its charming Victorian demeanour. It carries on with the formula which congealed in the eighteenth century, when a good knowledge of the clas-sical orders was considered essential in architecture. The shopfront is framed by beauti-fully detailed Corinthian pilas-ters, supporting an entablature

whose frieze is remarkably suited to the name of the shop, rendered in gold letters ac-cording to the fashion of its time. The sculptural decora-tion of the cornice is taste-fully restricted to a modest but strongly classicized dentil

course. While paying respect to a long-established tradition, though, this façade belongs unmistakably to the Victorian era. Its gently bowed window is composed of plate glass sheets, only available from about 1850, held in place by mul-lions which pertain to a Gothic idiom, along with the metal cresting that crowns the whole. Perhaps the most original as-pect is the seamless, organic juncture of two architectural styles which would have been seen as diametrically opposed before the eclectic tastes of the nineteenth century. Apparently, Yeats composed the poem “The Lake Isle of Inisfree” while gazing

at the colourful bottles in this pharmacy’s display window. If you go to contemplate it your-self, you might find the card-board packages stacked behind the glass today just as inspira-tional – who knows? Gabija Purlytė

FLYING WITHOUT WINGSFILM Wandering around the IFI Film shop, I was pleasantly surprised to find a selection of clas-sic film posters on sale. This issue’s poster is avail-able instore and depicts Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, a martial arts and “wuxia” film which gives similar if not heavier weight to its romantic, poetic content as to its stunning fight sequences. Unlike director Ang Lee’s most recent film, Life of Pi, which wows the audience with its CGI, Li used no computer effects in Crouching Ti-ger other than to remove safety wires in the fight scenes, thus giving the impression that the char-acters are flying as they battle. The depiction here

of the Gobi desert, which serves as the backdrop for the young lover protagonists’ (played by Ziyi Zhang and Chang Chen) passionate affair, is also a genuine artefact. In spite of this naturalism, the film has an immersing, dreamlike quality. Its combination of melodrama, astound-ing action scenes and touching romance meant Crouching Tiger had universal appeal – it remains one of the most commercially successful foreign language films of all time. Interestingly, the poster here (the Chinese edition) is the most sought-after version of the film poster. Deirdre Molumby

LITERATURE The Wan-derings of Oisin and Other Poems was WB Yeats’ first po-etry collection, published in 1889. It includes several of his most famous poems – such as the haunting poem The Stolen Child (“Come away, o human child!/To the waters and the wild”) and Down By The Salley Garden, now a popular ballad. Many characteristics of Yeats’ early work can be seen in this collection – the place names in The Stolen Child are references to Sligo, and many of the po-ems (including that of the title) show the mythological themes of his early work, and his com-mitment to the Irish Literary Revival. Yeats also wrote fiction and drama, but it is his poetry

for which he is most celebrated.The National Library has an excellent permanent exhibi-tion on WB Yeats, including a recording of the poet reading The Lake Isle of Innisfree (“I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree”), one of his best-known works, which is featured in this collection. Yeats one said poets should “write for the ear”, so to hear him reading one of his own poems is a very special experience. The Yeats family were remarkably creative, and the National Gallery currently has an exhibition of the sketch-books of Jack B Yeats, the poet’s brother. This book can be found and ex-plored in the EPB Department of TCD Library. Jenny Duffy

“SANG OF FAERY AND MAN”

HIGH ON VICTORIA

6TH FEBRUARY 2013 // 5

OPENERS

FRONT SQUARE FASHION

STYLE The only person I have ever met (and most probably will ever meet) who can pull off this half-Jimi Hendrix, half-Russell Brand hairstyle is SF English and Drama student Colm Lennon. On top of this, wearing a shirt and tie with jeans could possibly be a disaster, but here it is more of a Vivienne Westwood attitude-meets-Jonathan Saunders carefree style. What can I say? The man can do no wrong. Alice Wilson

COOKING UP A STORM

FLYING DOG’S SNAKE DOG IPA

LIME AND CORIANDER PORK

FOOD

MUSIC Forget your Chesney Hawkes and your Men Without Hats, because nobody did one-hit-wonders like the artists of the 60s. For example, take four young upstarts from Liverpool known

as The Beatles. These chancers were thrust from relative obscurity on the release of their career-defining single Please Please Me. The song rocketed to the top of the UK Singles Chart, and had all the coolest cats shimmying and otherwise jiving for the best part of a fortnight. Of course, we all know the rest

of the story: guitar bands were on the way out, and there simply wasn’t enough room on the market for another Rolling Stones. Dónal Kennedy

JUKEBOX FLASHBACK

1. Combine all the ingredients for the marinade and mix thorough-ly. Add the pork and leave to marinade overnight or for at least 6 hours.2. To make the salsa simply chop all the ingredients and mix well.3. Preheat the oven to 200C/gas mark 6.4. Bring a grill pan to a high heat and sear the pork for about a minute each side.5. Once seared, place the pork in an oven dish and cook in the oven for 15-20 minutes. 6. Serve with the salsa, some extra coriander and crème fraiche.

FOR THE PORK MARINADE500g pork

Juice of 2 limesTsp ground coriander

1 small chilli1 clove garlic

Half tsp ground ginger500ml rapeseed/sunflower oil

Paige Crosbie

FEBRUARY 1963DRINKS Flying Dog’s Snake Dog IPA may be the best American pale ale out there. When you’re competing with such classics as Odell’s IPA and Sierra Nevada’s Torpedo, this is high praise. Like many of Flying Dog’s brews, it is distinctive in taste. Snake Dog has the kind of citrus high that should pull in fans of wheat beers, disguising its 7.1% and resulting in powerful inebriation. The Snake Dog approaches unseen and bites down. Divert them with sweet promises and then blast them with vicious fever. This is after all the Gonzo spirit that informs the history of the company. Hunter S Thompson’s long-time collabo-rator Ralph Steadman still provides the visual iden-tity of Flying Dog, which perfectly expresses Snake Dog’s character. Good when you need to get down to serious work. Paul Casey

FOR THE SALSA1 red pepper

1 onionHalf a cucumber

2 tomatoes1 chilli

1 clove garlicJuice one lime3 tbsp olive oil

Large handful coriander leaves

6 // TN2MAGAZINE.IE

OPENERS

GAMES Leigh Alexander is the news director for Ga-masutra and a prolific writer on video games. Save Merlin

the Pig! A Rescue Quest of Du-bious Proportions is Alexan-der’s extremely amusing stab at a choose-your-adventure game. If David Sedaris should ever get the urge to wet his sardonic toes in the area of interactive narrative it would probably look like this. You are hungry and you decide to take a trip to a restaurant with Jarvis your partner. Here you discover a board advertising a pig named Merlin. Merlin has his own twitter account. A quest ensues to rescue Merlin from his farm. Gone the way of the choose-your-own-adventure books, text-based games today seem antiquated. Experiments like this however remind us

that there is still room for their ability to engage the player. There is no need to pull out the old “Use your imagination!” card either. Alexander’s words

pull their weight and encour-age the player’s collusion in a ridiculous abduction, or aban-don such an outrageous idea

and play Castlevania instead. Some may question whether this kind of thing should even qualify as a game, but a closer look will reveal such familiar elements as branching paths and fail states. This could be easily visualised as a point-and-click adven-ture, but then it would lose some of its linguistic charm. As open as indie game devel-opment is today, the potential for these kinds of text adven-tures to bring in different tal-ent is great. Save Merlin the Pig! may appeal to a different slice of humanity than con-ventional video games – some-thing good. More importantly though Save Merlin is damn funny and worth your time.

Save Merlin The Pig! a Rescue Quest of Dubious Proportions can be found at http://writer.inklestudios.com/stories/2rbj Paul Casey

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THE SHOW // HOUSE OF CARDS // NETFLIX // Produc-tion costs amounted to nearly $100 million for Netflix’s ambitious remake of the BBC classic. Kevin Spacey is cast in the lead role and explores the interpersonal intrica-cies of the American political system. The pilot is free to watch, and the rest of the series will be available exclu-sively online too.

TAKE FIVE // NUMBER 7

THE MIX // LUCKY ME + RINSE FM // RYAN HEMSWORTH // A two-hour set from the Canadian pro-ducer explores his background in hip-hop production, prolific remixes and guitar music, and provides a well-balanced eclectic mix. Available at https://soundcloud.com/luckyme

THE FESTIVAL // SONAR BARCELONA 2013 // €115 NIGHT PASS // Summer plans have become the entry point of any awkward conversation, so it is time to look through the plethora of European festival line-ups. So-nar festival is offering a lot: billed as an arts festival, it brings a rare performance from Kraftwerk, while having a multimedia-orientated theme during the day.

THE TICKET // DARIO MARIANELLI // NATIONAL CONCERT HALL // 19TH FEBRUARY // One of the great composers of our generation comes to Dublin to play a program including music from his Oscar-winning score for Atonement. Tickets from €15.

THE APP // RESTAURANTS.IE // This free iPhone app allows you to search for restaurants close to you around the city. You can even view restaurant menus, price range and a rating, so you won’t end up embarrassingly making your exit after the waiter brings you bread and water.

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Compiled by Henry Longden

PIG’S CHANCE IN HELL

TN2MAGAZINE

www

IENEW WEBSITE COMING

VERY SOON!

STAY TUNED ON FACEBOOK AND TWITTER FOR UPDATES

8 // TN2MAGAZINE.IE

FOOD

REACHING THE END OF

THE ROADn my experience the most interesting – and quite often the best – restaurants are owned by those who don’t consider themselves at work in their kitchens. And so it is with Ghan-di Mallak and Basil Ziadeh at Damascus Gate on 34 Camden Street Upper. Smiling, they bring up the word “adventure” in preference to work throughout our interview. Their journey to Damascus Gate has been an adventure in itself. Mallak is originally a lawyer from Damascus, Zia-deh an engineer from Ramallah. They ended up in Ireland twelve years ago. Leaving Palestine is a definitive decision – you don’t get a right of return. Like millions who have left the Levant behind, they have made a home from home. As Mallak explained, “For Irish people, when things are diffi-cult, they can say we’ll go home. We don’t have this. We are home. Dublin is home. Dublin has facilitated us despite the difficult times, to earn our money and to raise our families and give them an education and we appreciate it very much. And we always try to do our best to create jobs and pay our contributions to the society which welcomed us.” Damascus Gate is the main gate in the walls of the Jerusalem old town; the restaurant is appropriately named: it is the entrance to their new home. The adventure has been remarkable. It’s clear from the outset that Mallak and Ziadeh are remarkably close. Ziadeh became a restaurateur the mo-ment he left Palestine. Realising he didn’t have the language to continue teaching engineering when he emigrated to Germany, he turned his hand to becoming a chef to earn his daily bread. After a period in Italy (via a Greek restaurant)

he turned up in Ireland with a diverse repertoire of culinary skills. After working for a while, he opened his own restaurant, Little Je-rusalem, in Rathmines. While at work, he first became acquainted with Mallak, who was a kitchen porter. I ask what it was like to have Ziadeh for a boss. Ziadeh smiles and knowingly looks down at the table, while Mallak quips “He’s still the boss! Since I was a child, I used to get a clip on my ear for messing in the kitchen, but I never succeeded there as such until I met Basil. Basil was the boss who put me on the right track. He was very tough. When I look back now though, I’m grateful for I what I learned from him.” The two have a mutual understanding which allows them to realise what is in their heads. Ziadeh is in charge of the cooking operations; Mallak man-ages the restaurant. Their skills complement each other nicely, and the sum total of their collaboration is impressive. Walking through the restaurant is akin to following a tap-estry. There are many threads of the same larger narrative at work and the longer you look, the more details you notice. I’ve been lucky enough in my life to eat in restaurants in Jerusalem, Amman, Da-mascus and Beirut, but Middle Eastern restaurants in Europe have tended to fall flat for me. What makes any Middle Eastern restau-rant is not just the food, but the story, the atmosphere. It is impos-sible not to feel the weight of history, and the food forms a living link between the present and the past. Damascus Gate is a charmingly, authentically Arab restaurant, but one with the owners’ distinctive touches. It has its own story. The pace of life in the restaurant sud-denly slows to a pleasing mellowness, as the staff ferry cups of coffee back and forth and you catch sight of the shisha room at the back,

We send Food and Drinks Co-editor Declan Johnston to hear the fascinating story of the owners of Dublin's newest Middle-Eastern restaurant


FOOD

which Mallak helpfully describes as “Almost inside!” It has tradi-tional recipes served through Ziadeh’s interpretation. As he says, “I wanted to do it so European people would accept it. I mixed the food between our food, and the food you taste and accept. It comes from my head.” Mallak fills in the gaps of Ziadeh’s modesty: “There are traditional meals, which we have known for generations, but Basil added a little bit of his own touch and he’s done an awesome job. We didn’t follow a book or anyone’s granny.” Ziadeh also has exacting standards. Grinning, Mallak tells me about his colleague’s stubbornness: “Up until now, he didn’t even allow me to pick out the meat. It has to be halal and he has to see it being cut, ground and mixed himself. He wouldn’t let me or his own brother who works in Little Jerusalem do this. He has his own little red lines.” Both men put this dedication down in some part to their Bedouin roots. Mallak explains how he sees this Bedouin heritage

everyday in the work of his business partner: “[The Bedouin] have this dignity and heritage and passion and they are fussy and they pay attention to the details and to their guests. All of this is pre-served somewhere in the back of [Ziadeh’s] mind and helped him to appreciate the details. If there is coffee, he has to look at every coffee bean. He is always here in the kitchen sweating bullets and he only relaxes and smiles when I come in and tell him, someone said this and that and they praised the food.” The food they have produced is nothing short of excellent. When faced with the perennial dilemma of whether to adapt to na-tive cultures by placing all of the meal on one plate or to serve a communal meal, they have come to a neat compromise. Ziadeh has created three mezze plates: a Jerusalem mezze, a Sham (an anti-quated name for Syria) mezze and a Beirut mezze, each one reflect-ing the culinary heritage of their namesake. On one plate, an excit-ing, diverse and delicious set of Middle Eastern dishes coexist and are executed with care and attention. The food stands for itself.

They are eager to tell their story and it is hard not to be won over by their endearing tales of restaurant renovation. The restaurant’s genesis seems to reflect their odd but effective working dynamic. Mallak explains, “I was just passing by his place one day. But Basil said to me, ‘Go and find me a place.’ Seriously, that was all. That was the moment. He knows that if I go to do something, I’ll do it right. I disappeared for three days and I came back with a list. He said, this is the one. We didn’t talk money, we didn’t talk time, that was it. You need adventures. God knows we have been through it all.” Within a short period they turned the former café into their vision. One of the most striking aspects of the restaurant is the long, golden facade on the wall behind the bar. “We didn’t know what to do here,” explains Mallak, “We asked many people: design-ers, head cases. People love to talk. We went to Balbriggan market. You know the brass boxes your granny used to keep coal in? We paid

a fiver here, a tenner there and we got a truck load of them and Basil did this awesome artwork of boxes.” It’s the perfect reflection of the restaurant’s story: the coal boxes could be from any hearth in Ireland, yet their agricultural and biblical scenes embossed in brass seem as at-home in this little island of the Levant as anywhere else. Now that the restaurant has just opened, you definitely get the feeling that the adventure is beginning rather than ending. Mal-lak doesn’t hesitate when I ask him about the best moment so far: “The first Saturday. We had spent a lot of time, money and effort. Our families had paid for it, we were all short of sleep. And then I saw the place was full and I ran to Basil and I kissed him from my heart.” He suddenly becomes very serious though when he explains their ambitions. “We want to make the restaurant famous. We have lots of ideas, we haven’t put them on the table yet, but I promise you this, you will be surprised.” Mallak and Ziadeh have succeeded in their vision so far. It’s difficult not to be excited by the next stage of the adventure.

PHOTOGRAPHYMatthew Wilson

“WE WANT TO MAKE THE RESTAURANT FAMOUS. WE HAVE LOTS OF IDEAS, WE HAVEN’T PUT THEM ON THE TABLE YET, BUT I PROMISE YOU THIS: YOU WILL BE SURPRISED.”

10 // TN2MAGAZINE.IE

FILM

ith Irish-produced films Irish Folk Furniture and The Summit both recent winners at the Sundance Film Festival, and our own Irish Film and Televi-sion Awards (IFTAs) broadcasting this weekend, much attention has been given recently to Irish

film. And what a year it has been: What Richard Did has been one of the most talked-about films of 2012, and we have also received international acclaim for comedies such as Grabbers, the historical drama Shadow Dancer and another award winner on the festival cir-cuit, Death of a Superhero. Our own local Irish Film Institute, which plays an indis-pensable role in the exhibition and preservation of early Irish films, will now, with the support of Culture Ireland, be involved in a huge initiative to promote Irish film through a number of programmes across Europe in the coming months. These programmes will in-clude a retrospective based on Irish director Jim Sheridan (My Left Foot, In the Name of the Father) and a screening of 1926 feature film Irish Destiny accompanied by live music, both held in Brussels with the latter presented on St Patrick’s Day, as well as the Irish Film Fes-

tival of Oulu, Finland, also in March, and an Irish Film Festa on Irish Animation held in Rome. With its great urban and rural locations, and attractive tax relief and funding incentives from the Section 481 Tax Relief and Irish Film Board, Ireland is quite an inviting country for the production of international films too.

With such accomplishments in mind, it is worth taking a step back and analysing the Irish film industry with perhaps a less assured and more realistic approach, examining the hardship that comes with producing a film in Ireland and how our industry can improve. Subotica Films Ltd., founded in the late 90s by Irish pro-ducer Tristan Orpen Lynch, has been involved in a number of Irish and international film and television productions, the company’s best-known hit probably being Song for a Raggy Boy (2003). Re-cently, the films that Subotica has worked on seem to all be pointing towards an ever-growing trend in Irish film production: co-produc-tions. These more recent productions include El Juego del Ahor-cado, a Spanish-Irish film; Perfect Sense, starring Ewan McGreggor and Eva Green, and produced between the UK, Sweden, Denmark and Ireland; and the upcoming All Is By My Side, a drama based on the life of Jimi Hendrix, with Andre Benjamin (Outkast’s Andre 3000) as the lead. The latter began filming in Ireland last summer and will be produced by Ireland alongside the UK and USA. Aoife O’Sullivan, who worked as Research Officer for the

Irish Film Centre and has worked in Irish film for over a decade in both the creative and production side of the industry, is a key player in Subotica. She explains that it was understood from as early as the founding of Subotica that they would be dealing largely in co-productions: “It was always envisaged that for productions you’d

“PEOPLE WHO DEVELOP PROJECTS SHOULD ALWAYS HAVE THEIR AUDIENCE IN MIND AND

BASICALLY NOT WASTE THE TAXPAYERS’ MONEY”

W

Awards season is well and truly upon us, so we take the opportunity

to consider the state of theIrish film industry

WORDSDeirdre Molumby

LET’S STAYTOGETHER


FILM

have to source finance from different countries. That’s just the way it is, and it has been this way for a long time.” Speaking with Aoife is refreshing and informative. Rather than looking back at what we have achieved in film in Ireland, she takes off rose-tinted glasses and observes what can be improved. Of-fering thoughtful insights into the less visible goings-on in the indus-

try, Aoife speaks with such clarity and judgment that you know that this is someone who knows what she’s talking about. When asked about the current state of the Irish film industry, she admits that “It could do better” and explains how Irish film is at its weakest when it comes to marketing. “I think because we have quite an amount of state funding, which is good, through the tax incentives, state aid, the film board and BAI [Broadcasting Authority of Ireland], there can be a little bit of laziness when it comes to the commercial side of things. I think that should be more rigorous. People who develop projects should always have their audience in mind and basically not waste the taxpayers’ money. I think a lot of films that come out in Ireland don’t have their market properly thought out . . . That’s something that American films wouldn’t even consider going ahead without.” When asked about working as an Irish producer, she ac-knowledges that it can be difficult with Ireland being such a small country, and that there is particular competition, naturally, from the UK for the investment of foreign finance in co-productions. Asking

her whether the future of Irish film will rely on such co-produc-tions, she answers affirmatively, stating, “We’re too small to sustain this business ourselves.” But do co-productions mean there is no longer a pure Irish cinema? “It depends on what way you’re coming at it,” Aoife says. “Creatively there can be a pretty pure Irish cinema . . . You can have a purely Irish story but maybe you do your post [pro-

duction] in Denmark, or you shoot some interiors in Spain, or what-ever it is you need to do to get your finance. It works the other way around as well. You can have stories from other European countries that are [filmed] here. It’s nothing really to do with Ireland per se.” She concludes that “there is an indigenous Irish film industry and indigenous Irish stories, but they often get funded from elsewhere. They usually do.” This is an important reminder that our industry is quite a co-dependent one, something we need to keep in mind when we’re patting ourselves on the back in such celebrations as the IFTAs. With such negativity in the news at the moment and so many industries collapsing, it is nice to know that the Irish film in-dustry is alive and kicking. Whether they are a representation of our history, a sincere reflection on contemporary times, or simply es-capist entertainment, movies are the products of the care and labour of the Irish people. Cinema also allows us to be a part of the wider, international community. It is a co-operative, exalting industry, but one that could certainly use some more investment.

“THERE IS AN INDIGENOUS IRISH FILM INDUSTRY AND INDIGENOUS IRISH STORIES, BUT THEY OFTEN GET FUNDED FROM ELSEWHERE”

MUSIC


BEYOND THEcenes of smashed windows, looters and misguided criminality blazed across our screens in the Summer of 2011, as the London riots pro-vided an outlet for a generation deprived by economic austerity and social divides. Whatever the sociologists attest to as the cause of the troubles, the victims were more than big business and government. The effect was felt in the smallest corners of the entertainment in-dustry. In Enfield, North London, a passer-by remarked upon the crowds of youths emerging from the smoke of the Sony Warehouse with PlayStations cradled in their arms. However, the nature of the entertainment industry saw the attack spread to those who struggle to weather such harm, especially the Independent distributor PIAS, who handled record catalogues for labels such as WARP, Domino, XL, and perhaps the most remarkable of them all, Border Commu-nity. For those unaware of their significance, Border Commu-nity is the brainchild of British electronic music visionary James Holden, encompassing a rich array of quality names such as Nathan Fake, Luke Abbott and Fairmont. Their recovery from this setback illustrates the difficulty and dedication required to sustain inde-pendent labels. How come? It is run solely by Holden and his girl-

friend Gemma. With the label celebrating their ten-year anniver-sary, James Holden explains the inception of the label and its unique structure within the industry. I ask him how it all started: “Before Border Community, when I started, I just played a demo to a label but they turned out to be total shits who tied me up in a contract that I had to fight to get out of – Border Community for me is where I start count-ing.” Breaking through with British progressive trance in the 90s, he signed to Silver Planet and spring-boarded into his career. I ask him whether the music industry was pushing artists in certain directions: “I was complicit, I wanted to get a record out like a lot of other 20 year olds – it was the most important thing at the time for me. But then I’d seen a little bit of the industry and didn’t really like it, espe-cially at that time. There was a lot of bullshit and the dance music industry was all about squeezing as much money out of people as possible.” So Holden up and went, he had signed away his complete name to the label but fought to go it alone as “Holden”. “We felt if we do it ourselves no one

BORDERS

Founder of Border Community Recordings and all-round electronic music hero James Holden speaks to tn2 on the label's tenth anniversary about the tumultuous nature of the music industry, while one of thelabel's most acclaimed acts, Nathan Fake, tells us what makes Border Community such a unique enterprise

WORDSHenry Longden

MUSIC


can tell us to ‘put out a record like that’ or ‘it’s wrong to change di-rection’ – no one can lay down that bullshit wisdom on us.” After one year and with just one release from the label, Holden was to strike platinum when a demo arrived in his inbox

from a nineteen-year-old Nathan Fake. When we caught up with him before a Dublin show last month, Fake explained his introduc-tion to the label: “I was on the same forum as James on a label he used to be on. That was the initial connection: I was a fan. I made a demo version of Outhouse, I emailed it to James and he asked me to send him the finished version. He was already kind of big, I didn’t re-ally follow that trance scene: I was into Aphex, Orbital and WARP’s stuff. I thought James had that WARP-y kind of sound. For me it was like techno.” In fact, Holden’s freedom within his own label let him shake the dying sound of British trance. He explains his develop-ment and survival: “When we started off British Progressive House was dying off and the British Domination had died. At that point you were either DJ Mag or NME . . . we just did the music we were interested in.” British dance music did not die with trance though; an interest in lower tempo rose out of the ashes of the rave culture, but few DJs rode the transition. Holden, however, was one. “A mid-dle ground in the last ten years has grown. If you look at Caribou or Gold Panda and the stage they are on: not out-and-out, pills-every-Saturday ravers, but not squares who go see a four-man guitar band either. There’s a new area to exist in.” Just as the label provided Holden with the freedom to pro-gress, he wished to provide the same for his artists; Border Com-munity moves with their artists instead of checking them. “After my shitty experience we were very firm that we didn’t want to tie any-one up in a contract – we’re not tying them up for the future.” Holden’s creative process invokes the routes of electronic, blurring the boundary between man and machine such as Derrick May did in post-industrial, or Kraftwerk in northern Europe. Fu-turist concepts and technological advancements seem to bridge his

creativity and output. “It’s about what I’m interested in at the mo-ment, but also with abstract ideas . . . for my new album the starting points were technical – maybe I can use my computer as part of a modular thing, turn it into one big living computer, sort of artificial

intelligence – ‘Where can I go from with that?’ These things aren’t really connected with style or meaning.” The same license to develop is afforded to Border Com-munity’s artists. Fake describes the special atmosphere: “None of it is planned, it just is how it is. I think people are fascinated by the way Border Community comes across as this small, really friendly group of people who make tunes. We’ve never been a hard sell – that’s what appeals to people. It’s quite unique for the size of it – literally just James and Gemma – that compared with the reputation that it’s got is quite wicked.” Holden sees this small community as a way to isolate themselves from the pressures of the public, to protect the music and creativity from the sales and demand. “Having Nathan and Luke [Abbott] on my side gives me the strength to not have to fit in with the scene. Having the crew as tight, it’s enough to set you free. When you do something wacky and are able to play it to someone you to-tally respect musically, if they get it, then you know it’s fine. It helps us move forward.” Border Community is a testament to the potential for a post-Pirate Bay industry, where products are intricately crafted by carefully selected artists with as much time as needed. Neither the public nor elites are allowed to dictate the sound. Success tran-scends the vacillations of taste and scene. The intricate process that the label is committed to lends itself to disparate releases from all involved. Holden speaks of his own process as committed to the art over and above the market or demand: “I feel like you shouldn’t let the market, the free-market, influence you and your music.” Border Community has provided a creative space for its artists by rewriting the rules. The label is no longer the dictator nor the exploiter.

“WE FELT IF WE DO IT OURSELVES NO ONE CAN LAY DOWN BULLSHIT WISDOM ON US”

“NONE OF IT IS PLANNED, IT JUST IS HOW IT IS”

MUSIC


Without the profit motivation the records are given all the time needed, nothing appears to boost profile or to sell a tour. Artists stay and develop; they don’t process and burn. Holden explains how this works for fans as well as artists: “We’re also being respectful for the people who buy the re-

cords. Not short-change them or put too little on the release – not just shit out records. We only release things when we really love them and it takes as long as it takes.” Holden is passionate on this point, and reiterates it when I ask him when his upcom-ing album will be released. “We won’t set a release date until every piece is in place. Also, I just don’t care anymore about those sorts of things, like my career and what I should do to maintain my profile. All I really care about is doing it properly, being happy with the music.” Border Community’s ideal artistic space is achieved by the sacrifices made by those without the profit motivation of the big labels, and in this way is able to weather any obsta-cles. The riots in London was not a freak external shock to such ventures. Holden explains the constant struggle inherent in the business: “It is hard work, the government would prefer it if everyone worked for a big business. They don’t make it easy for you. It is shit and boring.” Such hurdles have been a hindrance. “It’s only me and Gemma and we want to do it properly. You have this family of artists; at one point they were all like mouths at tea, waiting for attention. It ended up taking me away from my music at one point. I had to fight back and reclaim my own personal time in the studio.” Considering such effects, I ask him whether it has been worth it, have the ten years really given the best results for him and his music? “We have to do it. It’s worth

all the work – if I hadn’t had a label I might have had more time in the studio . . . but what would have been the point of it.” For such a liberal and creative enterprise, it has not been all freedom and development. At times Holden has been forced to accept the “shit” in the industry: “We felt we could re-write the rules . . . and then when time goes by, your distributor goes bankrupt and you lose all the money you ever made, or your warehouse with all your back catalogues burns down in a fire. These are things which make you understand why the rest of the industry is so shitty.” Through the smoke of the burning catalogues, the bureaucracy of small business, and the sacrifices made on his own career, Holden’s label is a symbol and product of his crea-tivity; the space he provides for individual development is as much an extension of himself as his decks. He reminisces on his moments of success, which are as far away from commer-cialism and rock’n’roll as his music in the 90s. “Me and Gemma standing at the back watching Nathan play live – I remember his launch party – just thinking, ‘We’ve done this’. It’s worth all the effort. It’s those sort of moments . . . the whole thing was worth it.”

“YOUR DISTRIBUTOR GOES BANKRUPT AND YOU LOSE ALL THE MONEY YOU EVER MADE, OR YOUR WAREHOUSE WITH ALL YOUR BACK CATALOGUES BURNS DOWN. THESE ARE THINGS WHICH MAKE YOU UNDERSTAND WHY THE REST OF THE INDUSTRY IS SO SHITTY”

“WE’RE RESPECTFUL FOR THE PEOPLE WHO BUY THE RE-CORDS, NOT SHORT-CHANGE THEM, NOT JUST SHIT OUT RECORDS. IT TAKES AS LONG AS IT TAKES”

ART


ellowism: it’s a hashtag word of 2012. It came into the me-diascape with a bang after 7th October, when the self-pro-claimed co-founder and leader of the Yellowism movement,

Vladimir Umanets, marked in black paint the corner of a Rothko mural with the inscription “Vladimir Umanets ’12 a potential piece of Yellowism.” The court refused to see this action as anything else than an act of vandalism, and sentenced Umanets to two years in prison. To put the seriousness of Mr Umanets’ “intervention” into perspective, the tagged 1958 painting Black on Maroon belongs to one of Mark Rothko’s most famous series, the Seagram murals, which were hung last year in Tate Modern’s newly opened Rothko Room. It is estimated that restoration of the painting could cost around £200,000 and take about eighteen months. Another work by Rothko, titled Orange, Red, Yellow, was auctioned last May for £53.8 million, making it the most expensive piece of contemporary

art ever sold at an auction. Needless to say, Yellowism has become a highly controversial topic, and has attracted reactions ranging from enthusiastic approval to “You should rot in hell.” There is also quite a bit more to it than just reckless damaging of property, which makes the matter at once more problematic and more interesting. So what is it, exactly? Well, it is the brainchild of Russian-born Umanets and his partner Marcin Łodyga. According to the au-thors, “On 15th Nov 2010 in Cairo, in the Natalia Vodianova Yellow-istic Chamber was opened the first exhibition of Yellowism called ‘Flattened To Yellow’, on which, for the first time, the Manifesto of Yellowism was presented . . . The opening date of this exhibition is considered as the beginning of Yellowism.” The movement now has an official website, thisisyellowism.com, a Facebook page, a You-Tube channel and a Twitter account, and has recently held its third exhibition. Here is the philosophy: Yellowism is neither art nor anti-

AND

IT WASALL

YOne of the leaders of controversial new art movement Yellowism explains what their work is all about.

We will leave it to you to make your own mind up . . .


ART

YELLOW

the reduction of all possible interpretations to this single one “flatstruction”: “Yellowism is permanent, boring, inert, homogenous, flat, ‘dead’ mass. Always was and always will be. Like in the forest where all the trees (meanings) ‘look’ the same – wherever you go you are in the same place anyway. A thou-sand kilometres left, two meters right or backwards – you are always in the same place.” The sphere of Yellowism exists autono-mously and completely separate from the spheres of ordinary reality and art. In fact, as Marcin tells us, “These two contexts need the third context: Yel-lowism. Yellowism can be a flat mirror for art and for reality. The culture needs the new mirror. Art used to be a mirror for reality, but is not anymore. Now not only reality but also art needs a mirror.” To a sceptical eye, all that Umanets and Łodyga are doing has been done before, if in a slightly different form. Manifestos are quite a standard feature of modern art groups since the Futurists in 1909. Transcending the boundaries of art was in the agenda of Dada, Situationists, Fluxus and others. The authors acknowledge outright that their movement derived from contemporary art, as a reaction to it and a move away, a resignation from it. In a milieu of post-modern sensibilities - which deny all hierarchies of interpretations and where any form of “correct”, fixed meanings are impossi-

WHA

T TH

E MAN

IFES

TO S

AYS

“Yellowism is not art or anti-art”

art, but “an autonomous phenomenon in contempo-rary visual culture”. Its characteristic feature is the lack of a creative element. Pieces of Yellowism can only be presented in a yellowistic chamber, which is an enclosed space whose walls are painted violet and which is not an art gallery. Any object placed in a yellowistic chamber becomes an expression of yellow, literally “a colour like that of egg yolk, ripe lemons etc.”, in the process losing any other mean-ing or interpretation. Why single out the Rothko mural as a “potential piece of Yellowism”? With Umanets cur-rently in jail, I interviewed his collaborator Łodyga. He explains: “Rothko expressed his emotions so well – Rothko wanted to express not only his per-sonal emotions but also universal human emotions. Vladimir chose the Rothko painting because all the emotions ‘closed’ in the Rothko painting can be flattened to yellow, ironed, in the context of Yellow-ism.” The authors clarify that pieces of Yellow-ism are not necessarily yellow (indeed, they usually are not). “Yellow is the intellectual matter (meaning, interpretation),” says Marcin. “Violet walls stress the fact that we don’t talk about visual yellow, we talk about meanings. Walls are violet to show that we are not interested in the visual aspects of yellow. Pieces of Yellowism are about yellow. We actually don’t like yellow colour (visual yellow).” They call

WORDSGabija Purlytė

“Pieces of Yellowism are only sometimes visually yellow”

“Yellowism is only about yellow and nothing more”

“There is no evolution of Yellowism, only its expansion”

“We believe that the context for works of art is already art”

“THE SPHERE OFYELLOWISM EXISTSAUTONOMOUSLYAND COMPLETELYSEPARATELY FROM THE SPHERES OF ORDINARY REALITY

AND ART”

ART


YELLOW

the same time, everyone seems to have their own individual idea of what is and is not art – a great deal of people today refuse to accept post-modern art, which has been around for more than 50 years now, as being art at all. How many people then are likely to recognise Yellowism as something of inter-est to them, let alone a separate sphere of visual cul-ture altogether? Another problem is that while Yellowism seems to offer an almost Marxist levelling of both the practitioners – the yellowists – and the audi-ence, its content appearing deceptively simple and accessible to everyone, yet, as Łodyga says him-self, “the yellow mass is not for the masses”. There would be no Yellowism without contemporary art, and the promised escape is only an illusion. There is no way to understand where yellowists are coming from without a rather deep awareness of today’s art scene in all its complexity and theoretical under-pinnings, and there is certainly nothing anti-elitist about that. Moreover, as Julia Halperin of artinfo.com notes, an awful lot of Yellowism seems to be about beautiful women in scant clothing. Keeping in mind the advances that feminism has made in both art and art history, a suspicion arises that Yellowism may just be a convenient excuse for the men to dis-play and enjoy images of objectified and sexualised women which perpetuate the patriarchal structures of society. All accusations can be denied by claiming

that such interpretations are impossible in Yellow-ism: you are supposed to think about nothing but yellow in a yellowistic chamber. Nothing new under the sun: nudes in art are never about themselves, otherwise they would be called pornography – out-rageous! Umanets’ “intervention” in the Rothko mural accomplished exactly what it was meant to: it drew attention to the yellowists’ cause. In Decem-ber 2012, Harper’s Magazine published five texts by Marcin Łodyga as an introduction to Yellowist philosophy, and in June 2013 Marcin Lodyga will be one of the speakers at Learning Without Frontiers World Summit in London. At the moment, Yellow-ism sounds to me most like a game we can agree (or disagree) to play. When asked about his thoughts on such a description, Marcin makes a slight rhetorical detour: “Yes, it is a bit like a chess move, Duchamp did one move (the shift from the context of reality to the context of art), we do another move: from art to Yellowism. To do the next radical move you have to define the piece of land where you can move it.” In any case, the exact place that Yellowism will re-ceive in the annals of history remains to be seen.

ble – Umanents and Łodyga go much further back than Roland Barthes’s announcement of “The Death of the Au-thor”, beyond even the Renaissance cult of the individual creative genius. They propose a situation similar to that of the Middle Ages, when the artist always remained simply an anonymous craftsman, whose role was to express an un-questionable ideology divinely handed down from above. Yellowism offers a kind of ontological security, a simple and stable truth, a “totalitarian freedom”, as they call it. It seems to have many aspects of a religion, though Marcin stresses that Yellowism is not a religion and certainly not a manifestation of God. Still, the ritual of contemplating yellow in designated “places of worship” could, in a way, fulfil the perennial human need for collective faiths. The philosophy of the movement is surprisingly sophisticated in its simplicity. And yet, it has some essen-tial caveats which could undermine the endeavour. Most importantly, the authors may claim as much as they want that it is wrong to see Yellowism in its entirety as a work of art. However, the invention of Yellowism as an idea has all the features of a conceptual artwork – and a very good one at that. Dada, the great revolt against art, was later happily incorporated as just another chapter in the history of art. The problem is that art, which has been inseparable from human existence since the very beginning of humankind, has proven immune to an exclusive definition, subsuming an ever-diversifying range of practices under its guise. At

“AN AWFUL LOT OF

YELLOWISM SEEMS TO BE ABOUT BEAUTIFUL WOMEN IN SCANT

CLOTHING”

MUSIC

INHALERS &ROCK ’N’ ROLL

SEX &

Deputy Music Editor Tara Joshi talks to The Cribs aboutsurviving outside of a scene, their latest influence from American

producer Steve Albini, and their rock 'n' roll lifestyle on tour

MUSIC


and kept them with a secure and ever-growing fan base, but in gen-eral there’s been a burgeoning perception lately that guitar music is on the decline. “It doesn’t really affect me and my brothers”, Ross admits. “Even back in 2007 we could see that ship was gonna sink, you know, but I think we’ve always been a bit distanced from that. I mean, our last two records have been the most successful ones we’ve put out.” He makes a valid point: The Cribs’ last two albums have both made it into the top ten in the UK charts, which would cer-tainly suggest that guitar music is not quite as dead as music critics and bloggers presume. Then again, does chart success really mean anything to bands with an indie background such as themselves? “I mean, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t care where it ended up . . . It feels like more of a victory for us because we haven’t necessarily got a top ten record on the basis of most other artists up there – we don’t really get all the media channels and the promotion or that much radio play. We must’ve played, like, pretty much every venue on the way up to the ones we’re doing now – we’ve been going for ten years now, and that’s helped build some solid foundations.” He seems tentatively proud as he says, “We’ve done it in our own, inde-pendent way and it’s really rewarding.” In the Belly of the Brazen Bull is their most recent album, full of lo-fi, almost shoegazey garage, recalling 90s American alt – not entirely a conscious thing, Jarman says, though he tells me that none of them were ever really interested in Britpop when they were growing up, instead citing American alt as more of an influ-ence. Gary Jarman’s recent move to Portland may also have played a part in the more American sound to the album, though Ross says that grunge bands such as Nirvana have always ranked among their favourite bands. This must have made it particularly exciting working with producer Steve Albini on this album, given that he’s the man behind In Utero. “Yeah, he’s definitely a character is Steve. He’s been someone we’ve always wanted to record with – we were talk-ing about it even for the first album.” Jarman speaks quite plain-ly and professionally about the whole thing, suggesting that The Cribs aren’t the sort of band to get too phased by big names. “He’s got this thing where he doesn’t care what band or what label it is – he just does his thing. We’d already recorded, like, the bulk of the album with Dave Fridmann [another seminal Amer-ican music producer] and we had some leftover stuff lying around on the cutting room floor – you know, bits of songs that were lefto-ver and we didn’t know what to do with them. Then we just kind of had the idea, as they were quite raw kind of things which we thought would work with Steve Albini’s sound.” Ross is in fact in Norwich when I speak to him, getting ready for the third night of The Cribs’ lengthy European tour af-ter the long summer of 2012 spent playing festivals. When I ask about what he’s been listening to lately he speaks very highly of their supporting acts for the first half of the tour: Mazes, and fel-low Wichita-signings, Cheatahs, both of whom he says he’s “really enjoyed so far”. He recommends local support act for their Dublin show The September Girls too, referring to them as “good friends of ours”, saying they used to play together in the early days and that “everything they’ve done we’ve really liked”. Before I let him get ready for the night’s gig, I ask if tour-ing really does live up to the rock’n’roll clichés of a massive drink and drug fest. “We’ve been doing this a long time now,” he replies, thoughtfully. “I don’t know, whatever you end up doing you’re naturally gonna become bored, you know. You can’t keep things up for that long, I guess, whatever it is. This tour’s not been too wild, though I guess we’re only three days into it – I mean, I think the only drugs we’ve been doing on this tour is Ryan taking his inhaler every night . . .”Payola, The Cribs’ singles collection, is out on 25th February.

en years ago a trio of brothers from Yorkshire started a band and, on the back of an exciting demo and pur-portedly explosive live shows, it wasn’t long before they were being lumped in with the likes of The Lib-ertines by a music press desperate to find this side of

the pond’s answer to The Strokes. Fast-forward to the present day and The Cribs have outlived all the questionable labels, can casually cite Johnny Marr as an ex-member, and somewhat to their own surprise, find themselves at the forefront of the UK’s guitar bands. On the question of whether they considered being likened to that particular “revival of British rock” music scene as a fair comparison, drummer and youngest brother Ross Jar-man is contemplative, as he hesitates before saying, “Ever since we’ve started, people have always tried to lump us in with dif-ferent scenes, whether that be Yorkshire or London with The Libertines . . . but people seem to find it hard to put a finger on what exactly we are. We did come around in that era, and we played shows with them guys in the early days, so people maybe thought we were from the same cloth, but I think we’ve got a different sound.” Certainly, The Cribs’ jangly garage vibe has endured

T


LITERATURE

“YOU ARE NOT FULLY

ORDINARY, BEES”

WORDSJenny Duffy

ILLUSTRATIONAlice Wilson


LITERATURE

ean Borodale is a rising star in the poetry world, his debut collection Bee Journal having been shortlisted recently for the Costa Book Awards and the TS Eliot Prize. As its title suggests, Borodale’s first collection takes on a journal format, following his experiences of keeping bees over a period of two years. Borodale has used a documentary style in his work previously. Notes for an Atlas is a 370-page poem written while walking around London, a poem which he says was “an attempt to strike similes and descriptions whilst simultane-ously abandoning the development of each footfall’s ‘poem’. I wanted to slow down this process to stay with the place; writ-ing scriptive poems on location – I called these ‘lyrigraphs’ – an experimental or hybrid form; spirited maybe by an in-terest in the captive processes of film and other time-based media. There’s no reason why a poetic process can’t operate as a time-based media. Bee Journal descends from these ap-proaches.”

Bee Journal is a living project. Borodale wrote while at the hive, observing the bees: “The stains of wax, pollen, bits of bee among my notes stands as testimony.” Borodale speaks of painters such as Turner and Vermeer having had an influ-ence on his work; he works in a very painterly way himself. Considering the notes with drops of wax, and his other poetry written when walking or outdoors, he is like a plein air paint-er, capturing the surrounding world. In one of the poems Borodale writes, “I ask the box to speak about its bees.” He certainly makes the box, and the poems, speak about these bees, bringing them to life for the reader, while infusing his account with the issues of time, mortality and the cycle of na-ture. Borodale’s work has a remarkable array of influ-ences, across a variety of media, which he lists: “Auteurs such as Tarkovsky and Herzog; photographers such as Don Mc-Cullin; the different kinds of scrutiny found in say Vermeer’s paintings and in the ecstatic flickery energy of Turner’s later works; Coleridge’s notebooks and the fusion of wildness and domesticity found in Dorothy Wordsworth’s journals; the short stories and dramatic monologues of Samuel Beckett; Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass; Paul Virilio’s writings on technology, speed, time and urban context; Hugh Brody’s an-thropological study, Maps and Dreams, which follows eight-een months spent with a small group of Beaver Indians in the Canadian sub-arctic.” These influences combine to create a style that is vivid in terms of imagery and voice. The journal format enables a sense of growth through the collection, as Borodale charts his experiences with the hive. There are successes and losses, discoveries and births, deaths and stings. Yet this is not about Borodale. The beekeeper is a curiously anonymous figure in the poems: “Gauze, visor again, veil, /The white suit, until I, anonymous.” The bees, or in Borodale’s words, “the citizens”, come to the fore. They are imbued with personality, aware of their place

in the hive and the service they must pay to the Queen Bee: “Different colonies have different personalities, I wouldn’t have guessed this, nor the affection which grows for them.” Speaking about how the project started, Borodale says, “I thought I might write a poem or two; however, from the first instance, surrounded by flying insects in the evening light, I knew it was going to become an obsession. The sud-den shift of scale, the intensifying air, these tiny creatures, the sheer mass of them, was electrifying.” This obsession mani-fests itself in a collection of poetry that is both beautiful and powerful. It is about bees, but it is also about so much more – nature yes, but also life and death, the passing of time and mortality. As Borodale cautions, “The title, and the context, might give the false impression that the book is simply about bees: it is not.” The poems go beyond the hive, even beyond nature. Borodale speaks of bees in this work as “an underlying context, rather than overarching theme.” The bees are pre-sent, in the transience of nature, in the changing seasons, the beauty of the natural world. Borodale’s work is hugely evocative: “The presence of (vegetative) decay is high; what interests me is the way life lives on the dead and moves through the framework of the dead: bodies of vegetation, insects and animals litter the land-scape. Out of this black slime and crumbling cellulose comes the sweet nectar-bearing flower bees harvest for honey.” The potency of the landscape comes through in Borodale’s rich poetry. His descriptions of the hive are jewel-like: “Black honey in its dark brood cells/is a wild liquor of ecstatic work.” The sense of time and mortality is also strong: “Time very ar-thritic: the clock’s joints ache,” and “Light’s skeleton puts back its fingers and flicks/ the spectral end constant.” But is Borodale still keeping bees? “I still keep bees, not far from our house; they are an ongoing part of our life which steadies all other things – I don’t intend to give them up.” And what’s next for Borodale? On the nominations he is appreciative – he says he hadn’t expected such a response, but hopes it will not alter the voice of his work. He is positive about the outcome of both awards – honoured to have been shortlisted, and ready to move on: “I’m very happy to have been nominated for both awards and not at all upset or sur-prised that I didn’t win.”

Responding to the results of the TS Eliot prize he says, “Suddenly the room felt uncluttered again and I felt a sense of what I want to work on now.” The quote in this ar-ticle’s title could easily be applied to Borodale too – he is not fully ordinary. There is something exciting and fresh about his work. Now, Borodale is working on another collection, and he has a documentary poem on cattle markets coming up for radio. “I couldn’t say precisely what will take shape next but hope to work more with voice, in dramatic terms.” Sean Borodale’s Bee Journal is available now from Cape Poetry

TS Eliot Prize and Costa Book Award-nominated poet Sean Borodale talks to tn2 about bees, the beauty of the natural world, and the merits of the journal format in writing poetry

S

“I THOUGHT I MIGHT WRITE A POEM OR TWO; HOWEVER, FROM THE

FIRST INSTANCE, SURROUNDED BY FLYING INSECTS IN THE EVENING LIGHT, I KNEW IT WAS GOING TO

BECOME AN OBSESSION”

“WHAT INTERESTS ME IS THE WAY LIFE LIVES ON THE DEAD AND

MOVES THROUGH THE FRAMEWORK OF THE DEAD: BODIES OF VEGETA-

TION, INSECTS AND ANIMALS LITTER THE LANDSCAPE”

MUSIC


When I ask Dublin-based duo I’m Your Vinyl how they would describe their sound, it is with a certain amount of trepidation because, honestly, I’m having trouble pinning it down myself. Atmospheric sounds with elements of frantic rock, pretty pop and soaring electro, all topped off with female vocals in that bril-liant wispy-but-powerful Cardigans-esque vein: it seems very difficult to categorise their music into one specific genre or scene. I ask if they see themselves as part of an Irish scene, or even among the rising number of boy-girl duos. “We don’t really see ourselves as fitting into any particular scene; we’re not really striving to be part of anything,” muses enthusiastic singer Dana Donnelly. “Of course we identify with being an Irish band, but we’ve always thought of spreading our wings beyond that – obviously we’re very grateful for our Irish culture and we don’t take it for granted.” “It has influ-enced us,” agrees multi-instrumentalist Ken McHugh, “because it’s where we’re from. But at the same time there are a lot of distinctly Irish sounds, and I don’t think we’re part of any of that. We’re just kind of doing our own thing.” Their desire to go beyond the Em-erald Isle certainly seems feasible given that they were in New York a few months ago. As McHugh informs me, with a tangible sense of excitement, “Everyone’s just waiting for the album to come out now.” There have been two parts of said album already released, with a third to come in early 2013. Explaining this unusual approach, Dana says, “Well, there’s four songs on each. They’re just kind of tast-

ers – or EPs, really – before an actual album later this year. We’ve been working together for about two years, building our sound, and over each part you can see how we’re pro-gressing. With part one it was a way of get-ting feedback for our sound too, and that might have given us some ideas for how we approached part two.” “Playing live changed things also,” interjects Ken thoughtfully. “We had a bunch of songs, but it was only after releasing part one of the album that we started gigging properly. We’ve been gigging a lot over the past year, which means we’ve got a better gauge of what our songs actually sound like, and what reception they get, so after that we started writing a lot more. We have darker songs too, and there are still elements of that, but in the process of refining and choosing songs for each part we’re going for a more up-lifting, cinematic sound.” Do they think the album is a rel-evant format anymore, in the age of mp3s, with a now defunct HMV? “Singles are selling a lot better,” Dana concedes, “But I think from an artistic point of view you want a cohesive

body of work for it all to make sense.” “It’s still the dream of every artist, even if audiences are cherrypicking mp3s from iTunes,” says Ken. “We’re still gonna be putting out releas-es on vinyl, I mean it’s in our name. For us that’s as much a part of the art.” Still, making music in the current environment must be difficult? “Everyone keeps telling us, ‘Oh wow, keep doing what you’re doing,’ and it’s like ‘Oh God,’ but it’s true enough advice for everyone who wants to be involved in music,” Dana says with a laugh. “It’s not the easiest thing in the world – if it was, everyone would be doing it,” says Ken, “But for me at least, this feels like a vo-cation.”I’m Your Vinyl play a headline gig at the Twisted Pepper on 16th February at 8pm. Support on the night by The Ikonics. En-trance €8 including free access to late club

HOMEGROWN

WORDS TaraJoshi

Ken and Dana from I'm Your Vinyl talk to tn2 about the unorthodox format of their album

release and how music is a true vocation

PHOTOGRAPHYMichael O’Hanrahan


STYLE

MIXING

MODE

S

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Our first editorial photo shoot takes us to the Vintage Cocktail Club in Temple Bar. Across these three pages we allow fashion and cocktails to collide and speak to

the renowned mixologist who is setting the standard for drinks in Dublin


STYLE

De Loup “Wing and a Prayer” Sheer Batwing Dress (underdress not shown), €80, Tamp & Stitch, Essex St, Temple Bar.Red & Diamond half-drop print shirt, €20, Find, Cows Lane, Temple Bar.De Loup “Hevvi” Graphic Chain Necklace, €28, Tamp & Stitch.

Dirty Wizard - This is one of the VCC’s signature drinks (cre-ated by Gareth Lambe himself) and is as delicious as it is beautiful. Fresh raspberries and crème de mure are mixed with a house-infused chilli vodka. Served in a glass wreathed in gingerbread, pasteurized egg whites give a delicate frothy-headed finish to a drink in which tangy sweet rasp-berry is countered with the deep warmth of the chili vodka. T

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tepping into VCC (Vintage Cocktail Club) is like stepping back in time. With no signage and a plain black exterior

you’d be fooled into passing by this establishment. But that would be a huge mistake. The interior is sumptuous, with leather bar stools and velvet armchairs swathed in pillows. It is a perfect set-ting for the beautifully crafted and delicious signature cocktails on offer. Gareth Lambe, the manager and mixologist behind the menu and many of the cocktails, says that his own cocktail bar was a natural transition for him. “I’d been working in bar’s

since the time I was twelve, north of the river, south of the river. All over.” He explains that unlike before, people now know what they want to drink: “The people that come in here don’t want to be crushed in a crowded bar. We get all sorts from burlesque dancers to first dates.” When asked if he gets angry when customers order the now ubiquitous mojito he replies hesitantly, “No . . . it makes me mad when people don’t read the menu.” Indeed, this is under-standable when you see the work and consideration which obvi-ously goes into every cocktail. Each one is created using a flavour

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23RD JANUARY 2013 // 25

DRINKS

Trudy Feighery Screen Print Silk Top, €120, Atelier 27.De Loup “Icicle” necklace, €40, Atelier 27.Green Emerald Ring (partly-visible), €15, Shotsy.Black & Silver droplet necklace, €28, Om Diva.Mint Green necklace worn as headpiece, €31, Om Diva.

Twisted Pepper - Light and fragrant bison grass vodka provides a base for a herbaceous combi-nation of cucumber, apple, basil and a bay leaf-in-fused elderflower liqueur. Made in house, tumbled over a tall stack of ice, the freshness is enhanced by a final twist of aromatic black pepper.T

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PHOTOGRAPHYMatthew Wilson

DIRECTOR/STYLISTIsabella Davey

STYLE ASSISTANTAlice Wilson

WORDSPaige Crosbie

MAKE-UPNora Eastwood

MODELSThaliaSophieCarys

profile, tested and reviewed before being put on the menu. “We wanted our menus to be designed, not just created by drinks companies and distributed to bars,” Lambe shares. Jordan, who prepared our cocktails, ex-plains, “We train every Tuesday, suggest things, look at new options and design the menu.” It certainly seems like a business in which a sense of the dynamic would work in your favour.

“WE GET ALL SORTS IN HERE, FROM BURLESQUE DANCERS TO FIRST DATES”

SEX/OP


THE ONE WITHTHE SHARP OBJECTS

OP

SIX GAMERS IN SEARCH OF AN AUTHOR

It seems that with Oscar season upon us, the familiar movie illuminati of Hollywood are trotting out their wares in hopes of once again appealing to the academy. We can all recognise another eager Daniel Day-Lewis performance or wittier-than-thou Tarantino piece. Authorship is what’s at play here. The personal signature, the familiar stamp left on these pieces by their creator appeals to us as the potential audience. It adds a pedigree, provides us with a frame of reference for what we are about to get into. Authorship is important in most forms of media, but it is noticeably absent from games, almost certainly to the detriment of the medium.

Understanding how something gets made is the first step in appreciating its creator. Music is all about authorship. Very little separates what the musician is doing (playing an in-strument) to what you hear (music). Likewise with literature and design. As the consumer, we comprehend with ease what it took for our chosen piece of media to be made. The creation of games, however, seems to exist in this nebulous realm of committees and programmers. It is rarely exposed and often glossed over. Discernible videogame designers are a rarity, and non-existent to those not heavily invested in the medium. So what? Games have progressed like this for the last 30 years. That, in fact, is the problem. At this stage the audi-

ence is ingrained in its preferences. Knowing that you like a particular author’s style can expose you to different areas of the medium. Take the recent release of Django Unchained. The Tarantino name has drawn many viewers who would oth-erwise have given the western genre a miss. This is what vide-ogames are lacking: no figureheads to lead the mass audience to new experiences. Will the Call of Duty fans purchase the next game from Respawn, a studio founded by those who cre-ated Call of Duty in the first place, with the same fervour they currently do? Zealous followers of the videogame industry will ar-gue against the lack of auteurs. There are names and faces that many in the know recognise and admire. But a fan will always admire their idol. Authorship in games needs to transcend the realm of need-to-know into household name. There needs to be a more human connection to the videogame industry for the everyday player. Pixels are no longer enough. Hugo Fitzpatrick

SEX

MONDAYThe first and only disagreement we’ve ever had was over the aesthetic merits of glamour model and Big Brother contestant Chanelle Hayes. Perhaps it was to be expected that our second would be over a topic similarly celebrated by Zoo magazine: “Fucking darts?” I have no idea what to say: “Yes, darts.” She’s not usually one for shouting, and plucks my darts out of the board (T20, T1, 1), viciously throwing two at a post-er of Chanelle (chin, left boob) and one at Stevie Nicks circa 1982 (top hat). “I didn’t even know it was on Valentine’s Day when I entered.” She stops and breathes: “I don’t give a flying fuck about Valentine’s Day but you said you’d go to this society night with me.” She pulls the darts from Chanelle and Stevie and puts them in my hand: “I’m sorry.”

TUESDAYShe always texts (20, 5, 20). No word (20, 1, T5). I text (T1, T20, 20). She always texts back. “Good dahhhts,” I say, as Stevie Knicks sings to me. No word back. I text again, though leaving it long enough so that, in my head at least, I don’t seem needy. I practice. I am needy, in need of practice. WEDNESDAY“But I registered a month ago,” I say, “How could I have known?” “It’s the same fucking date every year,” she says, “When I said, ‘Valentine’s Day Ball’, you knew, surely, unless you’re some sort of gobshite. Too much Burroughs, that’s what I always said about you; too much Joyce. But now it’s too much darts.” There is literally a minute’s silence. She sits on my bed: “You haven’t been to college in a week.” She stares at Chanelle. “Not true,” I say, “Wasn’t I at that Tarkovsky thing on Monday?” I hit 1, T20, 20. “That was two Mondays ago.” THURSDAY“And if you don’t love me now,” I sing with Stevie, “You will never love me again. I can still hear you saying you would never break the chain.” I throw T20, T5, 20. She stares at Chanelle, and asks, “Can I come to your darts tournament?” I splutter, T3, 6, Bull. None of these are intentional. She’s lovelier than Chanelle. “Are you for real? What about the ball?” She takes the darts: “I don’t give a shite about the ball.” Her slightly freckled right hand throws a 20: “I would like to see you throw darts outside your bedroom.” She flicks her strawberry-blonde locks back over her shoulder and throws another 20: “So get the fuck out of your house.” Chanelle gets it in the right eye. FRIDAY“Listen to the wind blow,” and duck in out of the cold from the arts block ramp. Chai Latte. Shaking. 10.55AM. Early. Seminar on David Foster Wallace: literally every single person that speaks is a total cunt. Brought to the basement of the library by hand. She hitches up her skirt, which is lined with tinsel since Christmas. We haven’t had sex since the Tarko-vsky lecture. We haven’t even kissed. She’s saving our relationship by bringing us down here. “Fuck off,” she shouts. I assume the library door has opened. I’m mostly thinking about darts.

GAMES

“SEMINAR ON DAVID FOSTER WALLACE: LITERALLY EVERY SINGLE PERSON THAT SPEAKS IS A CUNT. BROUGHT TO THE BASEMENT OF THE LIBRARY BY HAND. SHE HITCHES UP HER SKIRT, WHICH IS LINED WITH TINSEL SINCE CHRISTMAS. WE HAVEN’T HAD SEX SINCE THE TARKOVSKY LECTURE. WE HAVEN’T

EVEN KISSED.”

“AUTHORSHIP IS IMPORTANT IN MOST FORMS OF MEDIA, BUT IT IS NOTICEABLY ABSENT FROM GAMES,

ALMOST CERTAINLY TO THE DETRIMENT OF THE MEDIUM”

“THERE ARE NAMES AND FAC-ES THAT MANY IN THE KNOW RECOGNISE AND ADMIRE, BUT GAMES NEEDS TO TRANSCEND THE REALM OF NEED-TO-KNOW

INTO HOUSEHOLD NAME”

TRAVEL

3 GREAT FREE ACTIVITIES IN STOCKHOLM• On Friday evenings the Modern Art Museum is free to the public, and always has interesting and informative tempo-

rary exhibitions on top of a great permanent collection. The museum is also on a lovely “museum island” which is good for a walk around at any time of the year.

• Stockholm has a number of great food-markets, and although they’re not free to buy from, they’re very generous with samples. You can definitely spend an hour or so nibbling from the stands while gawking at traditional rotten fish and intricate pastries.

• Stockholm has many amazing interiors shops, where you can pick up fine bone china bird skeletons and personalised sofas. However, with Stockholm being so expensive, stick to window-shopping: many places offer free water, tea, coffee, and hot chocolate, with luxurious catalogues to browse through and comfortable sofas to sit on. No-one bats an eyelid if you take advantage of this. If you have any interest in design this will occupy you for a while on a cold day and give you somewhere to rest your feet after all the walking.

TIME TO There’s no denying it. Stockholm, capital of Sweden, is an expensive city to visit. However, with Ryanair, flights are cheap, and the beautiful archipel-ago setting means your trip will be worth every cent (or Öre). This is one of the most unique cit-ies in Europe, so venture below for some ideas on how to spend your time there . . .

• Even if you don’t think you’re interested in ships, or ship history, The Vasa Museum is not to be missed. Two visits in and I would go again. Displaying a seventeenth century ship that sank 10 minutes into its maiden voyage, the museum is much more promis-ing than its premise suggests.

• As a Northern European city, ice skating is huge in Stockholm. Public squares are changed into rinks for the winter season and most residents own their own skates. Overcome the inevitable embarrassment and take to the ice, safe in the knowledge that within an hour you’ll be taking a trip out into the centre of the rink with the more inspiring professionals.

• Fotografiska is Stockholm’s world famous waterfront photography gallery. There’s no telling what they’ll be showing by the time you visit, but their exhibitions are always worth a gander, and it’s big enough to justify the entrance fee. Plus there is a bar that frequently features live local music on the top floor.

Hermans Vegetariska Restaurang & Trädgårdscafé

Fjällgatan 23 B, 11628 Stoccolma Vegetarian buffet where you can gorge yourself. It works out as good value if you have a valid student card and also

feels extremely healthy!

Fried HerringStreet Vendors

This is a local Stockholm speciality, available from street vendors across the city. As Inexpensive as it is delicious,

this is a truly unique snack.

WHERE TO EAT . . .

WORDS Cat O’Shea

SAGE ADVICE

Do not buy a metro ticket! Stockholm is much smaller than you might imagine, despite its islands and bridges. Besides, walking about and absorbing the old architecture and styl-ish inhabitants is half

of the fun.

WHAT TO DO . . .

COMING INISSUE 8

MUNICH

Slakthuset Slakthusgatan 6, SE-121 62

This trendy nightclub, full of ac-tual Swedish twenty-somethings, ensures quality music in a nice setting. The bouncers may be less than amenable to the usual Irish craic, though. It’s near a met-ro stop (which runs 24/7) so you’ll

have no trouble getting home.

WHERE TO DRINK . . .

TAKE STOCK

F A C E S

PROFESSOR TONY KAVANAGHGENETICIST AT SMURFIT INSTITUTE, TCD

FEATURING WARM BODIES BY OLIVER NOLAN

R E V I E W SFILM // GAME S // FOODMUSIC // LITERATURE


REVIEWS

II.2FILM An adaptation of Isaac Marion’s novel, Warm Bodies marks 50/50 director Jonathan Levine’s step up into high-concept terri-tory. Depicting a city recovering from the aftermath of a zombie apocalypse, the film focuses on a young zombie who can only re-member the first letter of his name, R (Nicholas Hoult). Through voice-over, R explains his world to us: the last remaining humans occupy a green zone surrounded by a large brick wall, while he and the rest of the undead occupy the “dead-zone”. The zombies, known as “corpses” to the human resistance, need to feast on human flesh to survive, but are shown to be a misunderstood sort, cast out by a society unwilling to treat them as curable. The true threat is in fact the “bonies”, corpses who are “Too far gone” and will even eat other corpses to survive. Inexplicably, they can run incredibly fast, while the corpses shuffle along pathetically, with R at one point observing, “God, we go slow.” The plot kicks in when a hungry R meets and falls in-stantly in love with a woman, Julie (Teresa Palmer), but not before swiftly doing away with her boyfriend Perry (Dave Franco making an early exit). Bringing her back to his “home” in a disused airplane, we discover that R was also something of a hipster in his past life, as evidenced by his penchant for vinyl (“Sounds . . . better”). R is able to glean memories from Perry’s past life by eating his brains, and forms an attachment to Julie through these flights of fantasy. From here, the plot becomes something of a love-across-boundaries tale as R’s “condition” begins to improve, leading Julie to revoke her father/resistance leader’s (John Malkovich) view on the corpses. Following the occasionally profound 50/50, Levine’s lat-est film skews more towards the young-teen market than one might

expect, and anyone hoping for a remotely edgy or bloody tale will be disappointed. The corpses themselves are easier on the eye than most zombie incarnations, and the romance-driven narrative be-tween a brain-eater and a troubled teenage girl occasionally feels more than a little reminiscent of another popular teen novel adapta-tion. Comparisons become even harder to avoid given the fact that Palmer has a tendency to emulate a certain Ms Stewart through her bedraggled, lip-biting acting style. Indeed, one can’t help but feel that Warm Bodies must have represented something of a safe bet for Summit Studios in the wake of the Twilight finale, but such damning comparisons are not to completely denounce the film. Hoult does relatively well in a role where he spends the bulk of the film barely capable of emotion, and his big, expressive eyes serve to offset the necessarily wooden nature of the perfor-mance. Yet the overuse of voiceover proves grating as we enter the second act, and you’re left wishing he’d hurry up and get better quicker. What is a great (and probably expensive) soundtrack mixes Bruce Springsteen with Bon Iver, but you cannot help but feel the film would have benefited from shelling out a bit more on improving the awful CGI used for the bonies, whose lack of menace or defin-ing features leaves the impression that they have been lifted from a failed PS2 title. There occasionally are inspired moments, such as R receiving some very blunt advice on the opposite sex from best friend M (Rob Corddry), and the film’s superior third act rescues it to a certain extent. But Warm Bodies suffers from the script’s will-ingness to comply to generic expectation, with an overly melodra-matic tone failing to do justice to its inherent potential. Oliver Nolan

WARM BOD I E SJONATHAN LEVINE


REVIEWS

GAMES The Cave is developed by Double Fine Productions. It is also immediately recognisable as a Ron Gilbert game. From the ab-surd, cynical narration to the significant use of a primate, it is clearly from the same mind as Monkey Island. It is a colourful experience and full of characters located halfway between goofy and evil. The Cave is easily understood. It is a puzzle game which utilises three characters at a time. There are seven to choose from. I chose The Scientist, The Adventurer and The Time Traveller. Gil-bert’s Maniac Mansion did this too, but the most obvious compari-son is with Blizzard’s Lost Vikings. Like that game you can switch between characters at any time and certain puzzles require different abilities. Unlike Lost Vi-kings, combining abilities is not required. Each character has a sec-tion unique to their abilities, as well as sections which are common to all. This makes the puzzles a simple affair. It also takes a lot longer to complete these tasks than it does to figure out what to do, which is The Cave’s main fault. Movement is more frustrating than it needs to be. Climb-ing ladders is horribly sticky, and attempts to speed things up often result in ridiculous deaths from short falls. There is no real punish-

ment here, so it seems pointless to stymie the player for not wanting to spend 20 minutes arsing about on ladders. Each character can carry one item, and discovering that you do need that femur bone after all is severely frustrating. One look at how Telltale Games removed the grief from these kinds of item-combination puzzles make parts of The Cave seem needlessly old fashioned. The co-op mode for two and three players is highly recommended as it involves less pointless back-tracking. Luckily The Cave involves ludicrous tasks. You will go back in time to erase a work colleague from history, and stuff a chimp into a nuclear missile. The art design contains both cartoonish buffoon-ery and gorgeous backdrops. The script by Ron Gilbert and Chris Remo is gently amusing, with some good visual jokes. The silent nature of playable characters means that most of the verbal humour is delivered by the narrator, and there are some funny lines. The surreal and destructive nature of the goals, and the peculiar details of the world are the more successful aspects of the game. The Cave has obvious flaws but its unusual imagination and comedic spirit make it a worthy release. Paul Casey

II.I

II.2

THE C AVEDOUBLE FINE PRODUCTIONS

FOOD Tuesday night is date night. We make the five-minute walk to a pub in Harold’s Cross, an unassuming spot that we’d passed 100 times. Tonight, we walk through the doors of The House That Jack Built, into what can only be described as a kitsch-hangout-spot/gas-tro pub hybrid. Bicycles, poker tables, and old board games provide a vibe not dissimilar to other slightly off-centre venues like Cassidy’s or the Bernard Shaw. We find a bar man who hands us menus and tells us to find a seat. Looking round this vast and empty pub, we settle into a discrete leather sofa in the corner and thumb through the greasy menus. My eyes hovering over the salads, I’m suddenly relieved my companion is my housemate and not some guy that I’m trying to impress. My eyes flit straight past the salads and €4 soup & sand-wiches; straight to the seven or eight typical pub meals. My hopes for a decent, filling dinner are satisfied when my housemate suggests we share the rocket and parmesan gnocchi as a starter, then orders

herself the battered cod and chips for main. I ask the barman-cum-waiter what the fish is like, whose easy response (while mounting a swivel chair and spinning), is a gesture indicating the size of the fish I might expect. Turns out he’s not a fish fan. Still, taking his advice I order the burger and double-cooked chunky chips. We ask for the wine list, but our boozy inclinations prove futile when the prices fail to live up to the student-worthy menu. Drinks disappointment aside, the gnocchi arrives swiftly, not alto-gether homemade and certainly not extravagant, but hot and tasty. Mains arrive with our starter still going and, looking at our large and greasy portions, we realise that this isn’t food which is going to knock us senseless, the burger being pleasant but forgettable. It ishowever, simple, good pub grub, served in a charming setting, by an extremely chilled barman/waiter. We leave full and content with enough time to run to the off-licence for a bottle of cheap wine. Magnolia Scott

THE HOUSE THAT JAC K

BU I LT69 HAROLD’S CROSS ROAD


REVIEWS

II.I

MUSIC Local Natives are an LA-based folk-rock five piece whose diverse influences range from Talking Heads to Crosby, Stills and Nash. The striking, boisterous rhythms and rich harmonies on 2009’s Gorilla Manor added up to a sound that was both glorious and intense. However, in spite of its catchiness, their debut seemed over-ly eager to show off its lineage. The sudden transition from math-rock-style guitars to more subdued atmospherics over the course of a single track would feel somewhat forced and unnatural. Hummingbird, on the other hand, sees Local Natives re-taining the key elements that made Gorilla Manor so enthralling, while managing to blend their influences in a seamless, cohesive fashion. The record abounds in mellifluous harmonies, yearning lyr-ics, and frenetic drumming. In contrast to their debut, the produc-tion on Hummingbird is quite refined. You and I, the opener, is a del-icate combination of sustained piano chords, groove-locked drums, and pulsating bass lines – a prominent arrangement throughout this album. The central vocal hook indicates the band’s struggle to push into new sonic territory: “The closer I get, the farther I have to go/to places we don’t know.” Similarly, the track Bowery sees the band offset an otherwise dreamlike atmosphere with up-tempo bass to subtly heighten the song’s intensity. Black Balloons, a standout track, also displays the band’s ability to successfully combine slightly abrasive guitar hooks with quieter instrumentation, pipe organ in this case. The jarring in-terplay between the guitars is reminiscent of Television, while the song’s wildly fluctuating dynamics make it both strange and memo-rable. This effect also adds to the raucous, Battles-esque verses of

the song Wooly Mammoth. The melodies on this LP are lilting and infectious, particu-larly on Heavy Feet, which contains a brilliant melismatic vocal line. Also, the fantastically catchy lead single Breakers contains an un-forgettable chorus that consists of plaintive, richly harmonised vo-cals. The song’s sporadic drum rolls and chiming, syncopated guitar parts provide a great counterpoint to the vocal, calling Deerhunter to mind. The group’s developed vocal skills are never more evident than on the track Three Months which showcases gorgeous falsetto. The understated Colombia displays Local Natives’ ability to juxtapose tenderness and edge to breathtaking effect. At the men-tion of “a hummingbird” in the lyric, a slightly distorted, tremolo-picked guitar motif enters, acting as a vivid, effective contrast to the soaring vocal melody. The song’s central mantra is introspective and uncertain: “Am I giving enough/Am I loving enough?” When cou-pled with an ascending vocal line this conveys palpable anguish and desperation, a testament to the band’s developed emotional range. Hummingbird’s consistently lush melodies and captivat-ingly unusual instrumental arrangements are let down by the odd vague, unfocused lyric: “After everything/left in the sun, shivering.”

Further, the track Black Spot is characterised by a tense, intriguing piano build-up that goes nowhere, frustratingly, as its frenetic con-clusion falls flat after what went before. Overall, though, this album is a very significant step for-ward for Local Natives in terms of its coherence, melodic inventive-ness, and quality production values. Oisin Leonard

LOC A L N A T I V E SH U M M I N G B I R D

INFECTIOUS RECORDS

DUCKTAILS // THE FLOWER LANEAlthough Matt Mondanile is better known for his role as guitarist in Real Estate, his one-man Ducktails project has been around for almost as long. This third offering is a quirky collection of infectious, left-field guitar pop songs with contributions from a diverse range of guest musicians. The album is characterised by jangling, Smiths-esque guitar sounds and Mondanile’s very deadpan vocal delivery, most noticeably on the great open-ing track, Ivy Covered House. Ducktails is a longtime adherent of the 80s aesthetic and this is evident on the catchy Assistant Director, which includes some bizarre synth sounds and an elastic, Chic-style bassline. The echoing guitars and stripped-down arrangement of closer Academy Avenue make it compellingly dreamy and atmospheric. While it isn’t a very consistent album, with certain tracks collapsing under an overly ambi-tious blend of instruments, The Flower Lane is an interesting throwback to a decade past, and certainly worth a listen. Oisin Leonard

BIFFY CLYRO // OPPOSITESScotland’s hardest-working band return to the spotlight with a record which won’t win back any old-schoolers pining for the post-hardcore eccentricity of their earlier work, but which ought to keep them on course towards becoming a household name. Biffy chose not to use the extra running time afforded by a double album for experimental flights of fancy, opting instead for simple song structures and chorus after stadium-filling chorus. The sound is consistent throughout, as is Simon Neil’s sharp lyrical wit, but disc one comfortably outperforms disc two in almost every category. Album highlights The Joke’s On Us and A Girl and His Cat appear relatively early on, although the wonderfully sunny Pocket is reason enough to tackle the latter 40 minutes. The thing is, Opposites’ best moments invariably come when the keyboards, strings, brass and mariachi bands (seriously) are left aside and a really great rock band simply plays re-ally great rock music. Dónal Kennedy


REVIEWS

I

FOOD It has been a while since I found myself properly enthused and excited at the thought of Indian food, Lebanese and Moroc-can having taken its place when I’m in need of aromatically-spiced dishes. So when Dhaba was recommended to me, I was hardly ex-cited. Although tapas hold a special place in my heart, I failed to be aroused by the thought of sharing a Tandoori chicken and a few bahjis with Bollywood’s greatest hits in the background. Hunger and curiosity however led me down an odd set of steps on Anne’s Lane and into Dhaba. Tucked down the side street of a side street, and buried in the basement of what appears to be an office building, this Indian restaurant and cocktail bar isn’t something you stumble upon. But search and you will find. We were seated in a covetable corner table of a large and buzzing dining room. The menu is huge and a guided tour by the extremely helpful waitress is certainly a must, with dish-es ranging from classic tandoori to an intriguing sounding “Large Plate” containing lamb’s brain and milk. My suggestion that this was something to be experienced was shot down with a withering look from my companion. Obviously the spirit of adventure I felt by just finding the place hadn’t rubbed off on her. Food is served as it’s prepared, and so our steady flow of dishes is kicked off by Nanozza, which appears to consist of flat-bread with a cardamom-scented mixed vegetable sauce, melted mozzarella, and olive tapenade. This take on the pizza filled me with trepidation. Uninspired and oddly textured, I began to worry that my adventurous spirit had led us out of the lamb brains and into the fire. Thank god then, that our next plate was one of the most interesting things I’ve ever eaten. Golgappa is described as a durum wheat puff, with a spiced potato filling. It arrives at the table on a huge glass platter, accompanied by a tiny teapot filled with a salted tamarind dressing. This dressing is then poured directly into the tiny parcels, which are eaten whole for a texture and taste which is beyond my capacity of description. A sense of excitement followed the arrival of the Gol-Gap-

pa. The potato spaghetti-wrapped monkfish placed in front of us was quickly taken care of. The charred wisps of spaghetti snapped against the firm monkfish, which was perfectly cooked and beauti-fully seasoned. The small salad served with it was just as delicious, a sign of Dhaba’s acute attention to every aspect of the meal. There wasn’t a shortage of attention on us either, with no less than four waiters plus a manager stopping to ensure that everything was to our taste. And it certainly was. A small argument erupted as we took sides over which of the main courses was better, me on the side of the monkfish, my cohort fighting the corner of a Tandoori Banbury duck with kumquat chutney, which she stated with a tinge of sad-ness, “Has ruined me for all other duck.”

Big brother décor and oddly soggy pizza nan aside, Dhaba came close to being one of the best meals I’ve had in Dublin. The food is deliciously seasoned, complex without being pretentious or expensive, and the atmosphere is as fun and warm as the numerous staff. As I emerged onto a chilly Annes Lane, all I wanted to do was turn tail and stay there for the evening nibbling on goats cheese and fig nan bread, hiding from the real world. Paige Crosbie

DHABAOFF SOUTH ANNE STREET


REVIEWS

LITERATURE I have often bemoaned the fact that I wasn’t alive in the 1980s. Growing up back then just seems like an awful lot of craic. Picking up The Fields by Kevin Maher, I expected to be greeted by a cast of loveable misfits, all decked out in Doc Martins and leather jackets, hanging around waiting to emigrate. By all accounts the 80s were, my reliable sources (like my dad) expound, a decade of mass emigration, weeping mammies, and a slow realisation that contraception wasn’t the work of the devil. My proof copy had an electric blue cover so I was pretty content with my initial expectations. The first few chapters didn’t disappoint (which is not to say the remainder disappointed – far from it. Just in case anyone was getting worried). We’re introduced to a medley of “madsers”, all with variations of the name Mozzo. Authors who introduce characters named Mozzo are playing a dangerous game: that’s hit-and-miss stuff. I was initially wary of Mozzo, who plays the archetypal bully to our lovely protagonist, Jim Finnegan. This could have quite easily become a cracked version of a buddy-cop comedy: poor Jim trailing after Mozzo as he fearlessly rids the estate of “gays” while always aware his good fortune and Mozzo’s fragile allegiance could change in moments. The plot veers that way a little at the beginning but soon rights itself. That’s when the story gets going. Jim is the youngest of five sisters and trying to grasp the intricacies of being thirteen years old in Dublin. Fancying girls who are off limits, being slagged by his dad at the kitchen table, having no luck in school, and being battered a bit by the monks

TH E F I E LD SK E V I N M A H E R

LITTLE, BROWN BOOK GROUP

MUSIC There are numerous bands whose sound suits the festi-val circuit, but there are few who can truly capture its spirit. Foals are a band that consistently lay claim to writing music which en-capsulates the aura of these gatherings: on their first outing, Anti-dotes, we heard the raw and ephemeral Skins-party sound, while Total Life Forever suited the otherworldliness of such outdoor events. With their third album, Holy Fire, it seems that they have found a medium between ethereal music and pop sensibility, a melange of the weird and wonderful, equally accessible and auda-cious. Foals have maintained their distinctive math-rock stac-cato guitars throughout their eight-year existence; however, Holy Fire begins in darker, more ominous territories than previous work. Nevertheless, the heavier undertones are only a foundation for their unconventional composition style, enabling the sound to find its space to bloom into breath-taking symphonic euphoria. As songwriters, they now have much more in common with the Malian duo Amadou and Miriam, or Congo’s Staff Benda Bilili, than with Britain’s vast indie wasteland. Initially the casual listen-er might mistake Holy Fire for the contrary and dismiss Foals as the typical glitch-laden guitar group. On closer inspection howev-er intricately woven melodies reveal themselves, culminating in an offbeat pop sound which distinguishes them from their peers.

FOA L SH O L Y F I R E

The album contains clear nods in the direction of eve-ryone from Fela Kuti and Tony Allen, to cult disco pioneer Arthur Russell, Krautrock, and that ubiquitous beacon of experimental sounds David Byrne. Despite shamelessly wearing these influ-ences on their sleeve, it is on Holy Fire where Foals forge their own distinct identity through an amalgamation of styles from a

TRANSGRESSIVE RECORDS


REVIEWS

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FILM Gael Garcia Bernal’s latest casting sees him take on a more sombre and serious role as an advertising director in 1980’s Chile. No is Pablo Larrain’s latest historical biopic tracing the downfall of Pinochet. It largely ignores any grassroot opposi-tion while accentuating the impact of a materialistic democracy which sold an alternative to the public. Bernal plays a rather mo-rose single father (Rene), who gets entrenched in promoting the anti-government “No” campaign for the 1987 plebiscite for the continuation of authoritarianism. Rene promotes a commercial, materialist style of campaign that sells the happiness and life-changing outcomes that would hypothetically result from the removal of the military rulers. This is against the grain of those who have personally experienced the cruelty, torture and disap-pearances of the regime; the communist opposition oppose the capitalist approach accusing it as a silence on what has gone be-fore. Rene’s skill is his ability to tune into the abstaining voter, those who have been unaffected by personal tragedy and

is caught up in false optimism for the economically successful regime; he panders to their rational self-interest, offering an al-ternative happiness, not a reactionary emotional attack. The film focuses on the dichotomy between societal ideals, and a rather less clear optimism for the individual. For those in the middle-class, the implications of a post-Pinochet Chile are less than clear; their decisions illustrate the ability of the free market to distort ones desires and expectations, eventually bringing down those who fought to impose capitalism. The retro lens used in filming gives a genuine feel that the film is actually from the 80s, particularly showing up the Hol-lywood gloss seen in Argo last year. The only drawback of such impressive aesthetics is the inability to differentiate between real archive footage and the film itself. For some this will be a posi-tive. Bernal once again gives an impressive performance, cement-ing himself at the top of the world’s actors in a mature perfor-mance for the 34-year-old. The screenplay, however, is wanting in political substance. Although it pointedly abstracts itself from documenting the horror of Pinochet’s dictatorship, more would be preferable on the background between Allende and the mili-tary junta; this would highlight the importance and disgust of the Communist bystanders at the attempts to sell freedom. The film will prove to be as successful here as it has been in America, and its style, acting and concept make it deserv-ing of its Academy Award nomination. Henry Longden

PABLO LARRAIN

are all par for the course. But all is not what it seems. Or maybe all is exactly as it seems. In a Dublin where the Catholic Church still puts the fear of God into your Mam, and where being an alter boy is the ultimate in familial recognition, the novel’s underlying themes say a lot about the state of the country at the time. Maher’s characters are incredibly likeable. The relation-ship between Jim’s parents, his sisters and the family dynamic as a whole is well handled, drawing in the reader. There is a truth-fulness present which Maher manages to capture. This is a book where you might adore a character in one paragraph and despise them in the next. It’s a book where the drama of adolescence is played out on hockey pitches, church retreats, and during rebel sing-songs in a neighbour’s house. The Fields isn’t what it initially appears; I’ll happily admit I was wrong on that front. While it’s funny and offbeat, there is a darkness in the novel that progresses from chapter to chapter. It’s never so dark as to render it unrelat-able, and Maher keeps the tone humorous, even if the situations aren’t. This is lucky, as some of the storylines are as dark as they come. Much of the light relief in the novel comes from Jim, who is self-deprecating and honest; The Fields is his story, but Maher manages to tell some other important ones at the same time. Not bad for a debut. And there’s just enough references to Doc Mar-tins to keep everyone happy. If you enjoy reading this try: Skippy Dies – Paul Murray – Hamish Hamilton – 2011Skippy is a student in a prestigious all-boys school in Blackrock. As the title suggests, Skippy meets his untimely end in the first chapter of the novel. Suffice to say the fun doesn’t stop there: Murray paints an enthralling, hilarious and terrifying portrait of lives intersected. Alison Connolly

II.I

variety of cultures. The quintet lack almost any trace of English-ness: Holy Fire sounds more like the product of a New York group such as Talking Heads or Konk, a far cry from their Oxford roots. The first standout moment is the albums leading sin-gle, Inhaler. By slowly building on Prelude’s intense instrumental collage, it reveals its juggernaut sound gradually, emerging from within a Talking Heads-style opening. The listener is taken aback by the colossal, distorted guitars and howl of Yannis Philippakis during a chorus that could fill the Grand Canyon, increasing in intensity before finally retreating into a serene coda similar to PJ Harvey’s Let England Shake. My Number could easily be from Antidotes, offering a basic tune that almost stumbles, instead of acting as intended relief after the monstrous roar of the preced-ing track. Worryingly enough, the album veers dangerously into pedestrian Temper Trap terrain, but this brief lapse vanishes with the arrival of two astonishing tracks: Late Night, and Milk and Black Spiders. Late Night is a shining crescendo of disco and guitars reminiscent of Staff Benda Bilili’s tin can Satonge. Milk and Black Spiders is a definitive festival anthem and without a doubt the album’s kaleidoscopic highlight. The album maintains its recov-ered momentum, bringing up different surprises with each twist and turn; notably Providence, which delivers a warped rock ‘n’roll ride opening with a Kinksy riff before going into psychedelic hy-per-speed. Eventually the album climaxes in a tranquil pulsating, our long journey comes to an end with the satiating track Moon drifting off into space. Despite the early stutter, Holy Fire is a pow-erful evolution for the band, embracing atmospheric electronics, world music, and pop hooks. The myriad facets will surface with repeated listening, proving that there is plenty of material on the album that is utterly compelling. Michael Lanigan

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UNTIL NEXT TIME ...... SOME EVENTS AND ACTIVITIES TO FILL THE CULTURAL VOID

Wednesday 6th FebruaryMUSIC Bear’s Den // Upstairs in Whelan’s20.00 // €8

Friday 8th FebruaryFOOD A Taste of China // Various events as part of Dublin Chinese New Year FestivalUntil 23rd February

Thursday 7th FebruaryDRINKS Cocktail demonstrationPowerscourt Center 19.30 // €20

Saturday 9th FebruaryFILM Blazing Saddles (1974)IFI 18:00

Sunday 10th FebruaryART Basil Blackshaw // Blackshaw at 80 // Royal Hibernian Academy Until 24th February

Monday 11th FebruaryFOOD 777 // South Great George’s St // Two Margheritas for €12 // Booking Advised

Tuesday 12th FebruaryMUSIC Bloc Party // Olympia Theatre19.30 // €33.50

Wednesday 13th FebruaryMUSIC 12 Points Festival19.00 - 24.00Until 16th February

Thursday 14th FebruaryFILM Jameson Dublin International Film Festival // Various eventsUntil 24th February

Friday 15th FebruaryART The Sketchbooks of Jack B. Yeats // National Gallery of Ireland Until 5 May // FREE

Saturday 16th FebruarySTYLE Ha’penny Flea MarketGrand Social12.00 - 18.00 // FREE

Sunday 17th FebruaryFILM Anime at Exchange 14.00 - 19.00

So, the global financial crisis has claimed yet another victim with the loss of the 91-year-old music chain HMV from our streets, taking with it 4,500 jobs, 293 of these from sixteen Irish stores. Obviously it is terrible when anyone loses their job, and there have been huge is-sues with staff not receiving wages owed from the receiver, sparking sit-ins across many stores, as well as the slightly more “first world problem” of HMV not honouring that gift voucher your aunt gave you for Christmas. But aside from this, do we actually care? I honestly cannot remember the last time I walked into a shop and came out with a bag containing a plastic disc. The idea seems almost as quaint as the gramophone in the logo. The way people consume media has changed vastly in the last decade. Most of us grew up in the age of iPods, and are now used to obtaining media instantly and incredibly cheaply (or free). When a show airs in the States we’ve all watched it by the next evening, and the number of YouTube views is a far better marker of an artist’s relevance than their place in the charts. The advent of services such as Spotify and Netflix, along with online catch-up services for most TV channels, has also shifted consumers to online advertisement and subscription-based business models. For the price of one CD from HMV a month, you can basically listen to nearly all the music in the world on Spotify; how could the high street chain possibly compete with that? Along with losing customers to online downloads and streaming, HMV was also haemorrhaging money to large supermarket chains and Ama-zon who could sell physical products at a huge discount. As a result, in recent years HMV was noisy, tatty and overcrowd-ed, trying to be all things to all people by selling One Direc-tion T-shirts, more books about John Lennon than anyone would ever want to read, and cheap DVDs of truly horrible Hollywood films. Another fatal flaw was the devotion of space to selling Apple products. Although they looked lovely and shiny and pulled people in who wanted to tap away at iPads, with every sale they would drive yet an-other customer straight onto the iTunes ecosystem, which

was clearly unsustainable. More space was devoted to premium items such as Beats by Dr Dre headphones, which seemingly exist more to be another expensive accessory to be seen with in the 24-hour study room, along with your MacBook, takeaway coffee cup and Jack Wills hoody, rather than extract high sound quality from those dodgy mp3s that you’ve probably sourced from somewhere less than legal. However, although maybe not necessarily a huge blow to the consumer, the loss of HMV will have a huge impact on artists and the record industry. HMV accounted for 38% of physical music market; it is hugely unlikely that another competitor will replace this, and even more unlikely that this will be made up by online sales. Although services such as iTunes do generate fair revenue, royalties from Spotify can be as little as $0.004 per song played to the artist once everyone else has got their cut. This has led some musicians to change to a model where they generate more revenue from touring and merchandise sales than from sales of their latest album. It isn’t just music and films that have seen a sea change in how they are consumed. Physical sales of newspapers and increas-ingly books are also falling victim to the internet. Newspapers are trying to combat this at varying levels of success with the implemen-tation of paywalls, and it is becoming clear that ad-based, premium-subscription models do seem to be the way the wind is blowing. With the advance of e-readers and tablets, it is possible

that we could see books head-ing in the same direction as CDs, the loss of Waterstone’s (a sister company of HMV) from Dawson Street highlighting this. Of course, there will always be a niche market for those who prefer to buy records and other media from independ-ent stores. People will always be willing to pay a little extra if they feel that the service and knowledge from staff is worth it. Maybe in the future, the internet will be the realm of “pile it high and sell it cheap” and our streets will be where a more interesting, personal ex-perience can be found. This is a more hopeful thought than it all turning into a barren waste-land anyway.

THE FINAL SAY

Neasa Conneally

HIS MASTER’S VOICE -- BUT WAS ANYONE LISTENING?

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