Room Full of Mirrors

2010-09-04T12:31:00.000+01:00

An average Portuguese fish market

and some sun...

2010-09-02T15:40:00.000+01:00

Endorsement right there!

2010-06-29T17:44:00.001+01:00

/// GLASTONBURY ///

Wow, so that was that, Glasto 2010. One of the most chilled and beautiful few days of my entire life. We arrived late Wednesday evening to surprisingly little traffic, and got under way with lugging the tents, bags and crates to the gate, then on to find a suitable camping spot. Everyone had seemed to pack light and brought equally manageable tents to put up, except for me - I'd brought a mansion of a tent with two wings, and was hammering away well past sunset whilst the others cracked into the ciders.

Thursday morning we woke in an unbearably hot tent at about 8am. This was the norm by Sunday as the festival was blessed with weather more akin to Rio than Somerset, but there were precious few hours of sleep and by Sunday it was taking its toll on everyone. With little musical offering on the Thursday, we took a chance to soak up the atmosphere. Green found the cider bus and duly remained there for the entire weekend. He'd somehow gravitate towards it and if ever anyone was lost, that made the perfect, if messy meeting point. Also found out on Thurs that Herbal E's and flares are two things that simply don't work.

Friday and the tunes kicked off. We saw the legendary 80 year old Rolf Harris open the weekend with some classic aussie sing alongs, but kept stopping to explain each and every line and also invited ooo's and aww's from the crowd, more cringe panto than glasto. Went over to the BBC introducing stage to catch a couple of teasers from Mumford & Sons, then over to the Stranglers at West Holts. After getting lost in the Shangri-La and Block 9 we set up camp at the Pyramid to see, to everyones amazement, Snoop Dogg giving one of the most memorable Glasto performances ever. Having polished off the mini Pimms and Soco cans, Dizzee came and left, and we quickly tired of Gorillaz' languid performance and met the rest of the guys at the Acoustic stage for the Bootleg Beatles, the biggest Beatles tribute band who topped of Friday's antics perfectly.

By Saturday I was smashing everyone on the tanning front (not surprising) and Bailey not only managed the classic t shirt tan mark, but also a rather distinct forehead tanline where his little fringe flopped over. The heat soared, and we saw Lightning Seeds open the day, yet 'Three 'Lions' seemed unconvincing. Jackson Browne was a class act not to be missed, but the highlight of my day was Dead Weather, Jack White's latest side project who've already notched a couple of hits in two years. They closed their set with 'Will There Be Enough Water?', an apt one for the conditions, which was probably the loudest and piercing thing I'd ever heard in my life, and, sounding nothing life the album version or any live version previous to this one, a real nugget of musical history in the making. Regrettable, or so I thought, I missed The Cribs and Steve Harley & the Cockney Rebel because they both clashed with Shakira. As Gabby had sat through plenty of artists she'd never heard of, it was only fair I watch something she actually wanted to. It was an impressive sight though, the entire crowd facing the Pyramid stage (except me and Bailey!) trying to shake the ol hips. It was surprisingly easy to find everyone when we'd gone our separate ways. By the final days phone batteries were dead and buried - although there was the Orange chill and charge tent, which acted as a microcosm of city life, an unwelcome reminder of our reliance on phones, facebook and technology. After witnessing two women fight over an Iphone charger, I was bored and we soon found that 'the bit by the pyramid stage by the hill', which sounds painfully vague, was a successful meet up point, as was the cider bus, rendering phones redundant. After stocking up with beers and Sainsburys own brand dry cider from the tent, we got a bit of Jamie T at the John Peel Stage and went onwards, to the cider bus, getting a giant yorkshire filled with mash and gravy on the way.

Sunday, and everyone had pretty much ran out of money and beers and energy, except from Clarke, whose beer fags and tits diet kept him polishing off a wine box at 9am ready for another session. He is our representative of the Keith Richards gene. The footie was an unwelcome distraction in the heat. The football field was a field, with no shade, and the tiniest of screens. After seeing Germany smash 3 goals past a sorry looking England, we got back to business with Ray Davies. Dedicating his set to Peter Quaife, his former Kinks bandmate and friend who'd only passed away a few days earlier, it was a poignant moment. Playing Sunny Afternoon, the track that was number 1 when England won the world cup in 1966, blunted any bad feeling from the match as we all just chilled, soaking it all up. Jack Johnson seemed the perfect follow up, as the sun beat down on the bank overlooking the pyramid stage. With the weekend drawing to a close we headed to the West Holts stage to see one of the acts I'd been looking forward to for days, Toots and the Maytalls. Clarke ordered in a goat curry while we skanked into the sunset. At this point, I had to test out the long drop. As we were camped relatively close to the pedestrian gate, we'd managed all weekend to go for team shits at the veritable shrines that were the portaloos on the way to the car park. Miles away from our favoured loos here, I bit the bullet and thought of England.

Then to Stevie. Words cannot really describe the motown god...Crowds stretched back as far as they eye could see for his debut Glasto appearance. Some amazing moments when he did my favourite cover of all time, The Beatles' 'We Can Work it Out' from a 'Motown does The Beatles' album i came across years ago, and when he launched into Superstition, with people launching flares as if it was the Milan derby.

A truly amazing weekend. No sure if it was the banter, the drink, the sun, the friends or the music, but everything clicked to make it one of the most memorable occasions of my lifetime - and I'm sure it's the same for everyone else who attended. It's amazing this quaint somerset farm 40 minutes down the road turns into an epic city for everyone once a year.

Photos - Josh Moore

2010-06-08T22:29:00.002+01:00

As I sit here writing this, I have approximately 10 days until the 'expiry' date on my student card. Does this mean, in 10 days time, my tenure as a student will have expired. Come this magical date will I have a salaried job in the real world ready and waiting, which I'm expected to assume and start the rehabilitation into responsible, tax paying citizen submitting to the higher powers of authority and capitalism? I'm not saying life as a student is debauched lawless mayhem, by second year most will realise that there are deadlines, rules and expectations to meet as in the real world - the caveat for this of course is proceeding from first to second year, which amazingly some still fail.

But what is there to do when University is finished? The industrious and organised will have sorted one of those elusive and deceptive 'graduate placements' or 'jobs' where the salary is given to reflect the employee's academic achievements rather than difficulties of the job - but still, it shows your more important than the average numskull who didn't do a degree right? Or maybe student life doesn't finish, and provided you can find the financial aid, a postgrad course waits in the wings. With my degree being in English Literature (a fairly classic degree i might add) the chances of me getting a job anywhere (a job exclusively for Eng Lit students that is) is zilch. Partly because of the lack of jobs in the real world where my academic prowess would translate into anything useful - Primary/ Secondary school teacher, or journalist are the only two that come to mind.

This leads me onto my next point, Internships. The way to 'get a foot in the door' and show how passionate you are about that certain field. Let's say in this instance it is journalism. Most publishers, magazines and newspapers would expect the average applicant to have a degree, but also a hefty portfolio of written work stacked with various internship experience, a week here at a local newspaper, two weeks there at a magazine etc etc. Now this sounds reasonable right? The rise and rise of people going into higher education means a higher output of those applying for higher level jobs, so one has to sort the wheat from the chaff. This would be fine if the whole idea wasn't centred on this one principle - doing a job someone else doesn't want to do for free. I've no problem with working for free, getting myself out there, showing my enthusiasm and all that bullshit, but logistically it might not even be possible. In that 'break' between second and third year I should've been applying myself better apparently, yet I was working, like I had been throughout my second year, to pay for the basics - rent, for example, a considerably more demanding feat in London - which my parents haven't the luxury to pay on my behalf. How then would I be able to take an unpaid position once I graduate? How can I afford not to have a full time job doing something I hate to earn the basic rights to shelter and food? It does seem still that those with privileged backgrounds get first dibs at those media circle jobs, and I'd imagine it's the same with finance.

Still, rant over, I can now talk about what drove me to writing this. Sean Penn's 2007 film Into the Wild based on a true story and the book of the same title written by Jon Krakauer, starring the talented Emile Hirsch, follows the story of Christopher McCandless as he graduates Emory University and gives the 25000 dollars set aside by his parents for Law school to Oxfam as he begins a trek into the unknown and into the wild. After leaving his car by the sea, McCandless renames himself Alexander Supertramp, and there are immediate parallels with his story and Kerouac's wilderness driven Dharma Bums, and the anti capitalist epic poem Mexico City Blues. The bright young Supertramp's restlessness and abhorent distaste for the 21st century strike a chord with me, the Lit student who just finished University at the worst time possible (recession et al) and his selfish but brave journey is one I'd one day hope to experience. The arbitrary rules he faces for example when wanting to paddle down a river ( he meets a guard who says he needs a permit, for which there is a 12 year waiting list) are apparent in every facet of society, yet he ignores the more sensible advice and just goes, on his own whim. McCandless eventually died in Alaska, after being poisoned by the wild potato seed. This perhaps shows the undeniable superiority of nature, and indeed McCandless's naiveity, but the fact he died isn't the point. The search for truth (or dharma in Kerouac's case) is clear throughout the film, and I think there is a stage in every young man's life where the urge to explore and grow kicks in. When asked in the film where he is heading, he retorts 'No, man. Alaska, Alaska. I'm gonna be all the way out there, all the way fucking out there. Just on my own. You know, no fucking watch, no map, no axe, no nothing. No nothing. Just be out there. Just be out there in it. You know, big mountains, rivers, sky, game. Just be out there in it, you know? In the wild.'

There is something more to this than a simple yearning of man to be with nature, with the wild. It is to find himself, and find a higher sense of truth and purpose lost in modern society. The rat race of life, the complex rigamarole of how to get to somewhere thats comfortable first of all seems to be difficult enough, let alone filthy rich or famous or important. Life is difficult, and rightly so, but too many people have lost touch with what is important. It's not cars, credit cards, celebrities, clothes, TV's, the new I Phone, Starbucks, the West end club and the Belvedere on tap - It's not things, or looks or popular opinion. It's not the salary, the mortgage, the catchment area for the kid's schools - What it is though ladies and gentlemen, I don't know, but 'rather than love, than money, than faith, than fame, than fairness... give me truth.'

Hirsch in the film poignantly remarks 'Mr. Franz I think careers are a 20th century invention and I don't want one,' and maybe I don't either. If only I had your balls McCandless, to escape into the wild, and be free.

2010-05-29T18:33:00.004+01:00

Wow, so I'm a graduate...well nearly, not really sure how it works. I've finished University put it that way, and now I face an agonising month long wait for my results. A lot has gone on in the past few weeks, we have a new government, new premiership champions, a new friday night headliner for Glasto...and the world cup is under two weeks away. All of these I'll find time to write about over the coming weeks.

For the moment, I've been busy carrying on with taking photos where I can, and starting to think about other creative projects now the post last exam buzz has died down. Getting some medium format (120mm) film ready for Glasto (was considering a cheapo super 8 camera and getting into that area for a little bit, but as I'm struggling to pay rent the plan is being put on hold for a couple of months - but keep checking back over the next few months, I aim to get some sort of film together by the end of summer)
Writing as I always have, and now pushing the music angle once again, now I'm a bit more of a free man.

Anyways, here's what I've been up to over the past few months. xx

2010-05-29T17:38:00.003+01:00

In my last dissertation excerpt I discussed the importance of Kerouac's On The Road as image lead writing, the acerbic vitality of his prose that translates Robert Frank's iconic photographs into prose so effortlessly. This time I'm going to look at the spirituality of Beat writing (again, mainly Kerouac's). Much is said about the Buddhism, or rather phony Buddhism that Kerouac, Ginsberg and Snyder were into, yet it is all too easy to dismiss their spirituality lead work as grounded on weak understanding of religion and philosophy.

John Clellon Holmes asserts that what made the Beat generation different, ‘what made them beat’, was ‘Kerouac’s insistence that actually they were on a quest, and the specific object of their quest was spiritual.’ The Beat Generation, according to Kerouac, was essentially a ‘religious generation ’.

‘Like pilgrims to Lourdes or Mecca, the beats were liminal figures who expressed their cultural marginality by living spontaneously, dressing like bums, sharing their property, celebrating nakedness and sexuality, seeking mystical awareness through drugs and meditation, acting like ‘Zen lunatics’ or holy fools, and perhaps above all stressing the chaotic sacrality of human interrelatedness or communitas over the pragmatic functionality of social structure. ’ - Stephen Prothero

Yet there is no Lourdes or Mecca for the Beats , no definite place to go to, suggesting that the act of travel is a permanent condition in itself, with no place of rest ever able to satisfy. Kerouac’s road, the American bop night, Times Square back alleys, the Chevy and the gas station are the Beats’ sacred shrines once they reject American established religious practises and spiritual norms.

Yet one religious tradition managed to attract and inspire the Beats: Buddhism, particularly Zen. Burroughs objected to Buddhism being used as ‘psychic junk’, or a ‘final fix’ in itself (preferring to search for a narcotic fix), but urged Ginsberg and Kerouac to ‘dig’ Tibetan Buddhism. This interest inspired many works, most notably Kerouac’s collection of Buddhist poems, Mexico City Blues and his novel, The Dharma Bums, whose protagonist is Japhy Ryder, a fictionalised version of Beat poet Gary Snyder. Kerouac promotes Snyder as the Beat movement’s spiritual guide. Snyder’s Zen values and way of life in the West Coast mountains set the tone for the hippie movement of the 1960s, and The Dharma Bums outlines these romanticised Zen Buddhist ideas.

‘I see a vision of a great rucksack revolution thousands or even millions of young Americans wandering around with rucksacks, going up to mountains to pray, making children laugh and old men glad, making young girls happy and old girls happier, all of ‘em Zen Lunatics who go about writing poems that happen to appear in their heads for no reason and also by being kind and also by strange unexpected acts keep giving visions of eternal freedom to everybody and to all living creatures ,’ -Dharma Bums

Ryder, the narrator, here dreams of an American youth revolutionised by poetry and spirituality, not subscribing to ‘all that crap they didn’t really want anyway such as refrigerators, TV sets, cars, at least new fancy cars, certain hair oils, and deodorants and general junk you finally always see a week later in the garbage anyway, all of them imprisoned in a system of work, produce, consume, work, produce, consume,’ (p.83) in favour of something higher and more truthful. Aside from the drug-induced wild, sexual bohemian hedonism Cassady and On The Road became famous for, the search for truth, or Dharma, seems the Beat writers’ biggest preoccupation.

This perhaps derives from the religious eclecticism offered by the three major Beat writers: Jack Kerouac, a French-Canadian Catholic from Lowell, Massachusetts; Allen Ginsberg, a Russian-American Jew from New Jersey; William Burroughs, an Anglo-American Protestant from St. Louis . Their collective dissatisfaction with the orthodox religions they had grown up with leads to a yearning for an alternative, more relevant religious meaning.

Kerouac's epic poem Mexico City Blues, consisting of 242 choruses, approaches Buddhist ideas of Sunyata and Dharma with the familiar bop flow found in On The Road. He notes at the beginning of the poem: ‘I want to be considered a jazz poet blowing a long blues in an afternoon jam session on Sunday. I take 242 choruses; my ideas vary and sometimes roll from chorus to chorus or from halfway through a chorus into the next. ’ Kerouac wanted his ideas to convey the ‘structure of his passing thoughts ’ with the Jazz based techniques he had evolved with his prose, whilst preaching a particular religious message.

The idea of sunyata, to realise enlightenment through emptiness and freedom from unsatisfactory attachment seems to be Kerouac’s primary religious doctrine. He notes in the 7th Chorus that the greatest is ‘He Who is Free From Arbitrary Conceptions of Being or Non-Being’ (p.7), and in the 183rd Chorus that to accept truth, one must ‘awake to Universal Mind, accept everything, see everything, it is empty’ (p.183). Kerouac’s understanding of Buddhism directly opposes the middle-class consumer values of 1950s America.

‘Love not of Loved Object

Cause no object exists,

Love of Objectlessness,

When nothing exists’ (p.157)

We see here a spiritualism founded on discarding objects and unnecessary things to achieve enlightenment or dharma through nothingness, deliberately set against the norms of American materialism. These principle beliefs flowered in the 1960s with the hippie movement discarding material objects and seeking a new path of freedom from societal constraints and restrictions. Yet Kerouac shows anxiety about his religious message being misunderstood – ‘How solid our ignorance – how empty our substance’ (p.128) He also questions the legitimacy of his own Catholic upbringing with an illuminating aside – ‘A sinner may go to Heaven by serving God as a sinner’ (p.236).

Mexico City Blues however does end positively with the 239th Chorus introducing ‘Charlie Parker’, who is worshipped over three choruses. We see Kerouac embrace a new spiritual direction shaped by Buddhism over these 242 choruses, whilst ‘retaining the spiritual structure of the quest despite his questioning of traditional religious values ’ When he returns to his beloved Jazz we see a celebratory Kerouac, championing Parker as the chief influence on his writing. He states that Parker ‘Was as calm, beautiful, and profound/ As the image of the Buddha’, ‘A great musician and a great creator of forms’ (Chorus 239, p.241) and ‘Musically as important as Beethoven.’ (Chorus 240, p.242) There is a sense that whatever Kerouac’s ultimate religious or spiritual view was, he found it, or rather heard it, most clearly through Parker, the saxophonist and ‘perfect musician’ (Chorus 239, p.241). So Kerouac wasn’t a Buddhist preacher urging America to discard unimportant objects in favour of a higher understanding of being, he was a beatific devotee to 1950s America, to the road, the American bop-night and Parker, Cassady, sexual hedonism and ultimately, to freedom. In its essence, his teaching was ‘Be in love with yr life. ’

Unfortunately Kerouac was not able to love the life he’d so ardently documented throughout his literary career and grew increasingly perturbed by people’s perception of him and his literary vision. The angel headed hipster, champion of the Beat generation, showed a ‘critique of America and its values’, yet offered a resolution with his spontaneous bop prosody and poetics and yearning for dharma, a ‘romantic potential achieved in art. ’ His love for America and a particular way of life was clear, yet as a man he still struggled with the loss of his brother Gerard, and his newfound celebrity status, brought by On The Road. The footnote to his ninth novel Big Sur (1962) reveals his wish to reach old age and ‘die happy ’. However, Kerouac returned to his mother’s home in Lowell and died an alcoholic’s death of cirrhosis of the liver in 1969. Neal Cassady also met a premature end in 1968, collapsing on a railroad track after a party in Mexico. The fortunes of Kerouac and Cassady differ greatly to Ginsberg and Burroughs. The latter became critically revered for his later works such as the Cut-Up trilogy, and was hailed by J.G Ballard as ‘the most important writer in the English language…since the Second World War ’. Burroughs’ initial search for the ‘final fix’ may have been a wrong turn in his search for a higher truth, yet ironically Naked Lunch reveals its author growing with sanity, clarity and mastery over his work, where Kerouac by contrast grew mad with depression. Kerouac and the Beats were responsible for revolutionary advances in literature, spiritual and religious understanding and popular youth culture. ‘Like Thoreau, they insisted on the sanctity of everyday life and the sainthood of the non-conformist, ’ and their intelligent and committed recording of the 1950s not only deserves a canonical place in literature, but in religious study also.

2010-04-24T18:06:00.002+01:00

Still not back up to speed in terms of photography and writing for my own pleasures...alas, hand in day is near and I'm at a very good place in terms of work finished > work to be finished. Not long now, and university will be a long and distant memory, sob. Something strange has happened, as you will all know thanks to the plethora of facebook status's devoted to Bbq/Park/Outdoor mania - the sun has shone, non stop for over a week. Unheard of in Britain before June i know, let's hope this carries on till my 21st celebrations next week. Took a bit of time out a couple of days ago to sit on Goldsmiths field and also my poor excuse for a garden. Saw a bird, topped up the tan a bit, heres the results. X

2010-03-30T02:11:00.001+01:00

Of course, it's dissertation time. I'm delving deep into Beat literature, into Kerouac, Ginsberg, Burroughs, Bob Dylan and everything beatific and 1950's. Most people have heard of Kerouac's famous On The Road, and whilst it's not (in my eyes at least) his most accomplished work, or even critically acclaimed, it remains there on the American literature radar as an unequivocal classic. Here are a few of my thoughts of it's resemblance to the photograph that I, in true Neal Cassady style, just ran with....

Vigour and energy is crucial to On The Road, and moreover the Beat generation, keeping alive the wider spiritual quests and rendering the movement as a meaningful positive protest for rather than a mere revolt against something. The best example of this rush of energy comes in Chapter 9 of On The Road, when Dean drives a Cadillac with Sal from through Nebraska.

‘We had come from Denver to Chicago via Ed Wall’s ranch, 1180 miles, in exactly seventeen hours, not counting the two hours in the ditch and three at the ranch and two with the police in Newton, Iowa, for a mean average of seventy miles per hour across the land, with one. Which is a kind of crazy record.’ (On The Road, p.137)

Kerouac manages to convey the America he loves through an archaic and sweeping sprint on the open road, the cause of some concern for Sal – ‘”Dean, don’t drive so fast in the daytime.” “Don’t worry, man, I know what I’m doing.”’ (p.233). There is a constant restless ache within Sal and Dean to constantly keep moving at whatever pace, and indeed the archetypal exploration of America is perhaps Kerouac’s great theme.

On The Road is image led writing, and the main aim of Kerouac’s prose is to create a ‘narrative that derives from image and always leads to image.’ (C Blinder, A Kind of Patriotism) The veritable slideshow of the American open road showed throughout the novel clearly indicates Kerouac’s love affair with image and photography. The photograph to him possessed everything he wanted his writing to and his aim with On The Road is to write text akin to a photograph, that ‘transcends symbolically, in the torn flags and neon signs, and in the individual’s actual experience of that culture. In this lies an impossible desire; the desire to eliminate the dichotomy between actual and lived experience.’ (Blinder)

Kerouac’s clear and devoted love for a particular America he saw through his eyes, and in Robert Frank’s photographs (to whose collection The Americans (1959) Kerouac wrote the introduction) is clear in all of his writing, not just On The Road.
‘Because he [Kerouac] really did love America in a very simple and direct way, and in a quiet way.’ (Robert Frank, 1988)
Kerouac’s love for a particular America, his America, makes On The Road so visual, precise and acerbic with American imagery that belongs to the restless youth, to the Beat generation. Kerouac renders the physical landscape as godly, like Whitman and Cassady, with the sacred either becoming an actual image, or interpreted in text.

‘Drain your basins in old Ohio and the Indian and the Illinois Plains, bring your big Muddy rivers thru Kansas and the mudlands, Yellowstone in the frozen North, punch lake holes in Florida and L.A. Raise your cities in the white plain…bedight the west with brave hedgerow cliffs rising in Promethean heights and fame…America –we’re going home, going home .’ (Jack Kerouac, Introduction to The Americans, Robert Frank, 1959)

This particular passage, full of Whitman-esque indexing and semblance of spiritual grandeur could be taken directly from On The Road:

‘It seemed like a matter of minutes when we began rolling in the foothills before Oakland and suddenly reached a height and saw stretched out ahead of us the fabulous white city of San Francisco on her eleven mystic hills with the blue Pacific and its advancing wall of potato patch fog beyond, and smoke and goldenness in the late afternoon of time.’ (On The Road, pp.169-170)

Kerouac adopts a ‘photographic stance ’ with his novel, and in creating a visual text, in mapping the America that he sees, he creates a certain type of America, an America of the Beat generation.

2010-03-28T04:44:00.003+01:00

2010-02-19T16:31:00.003+00:00

A brief sojourn to the Thames yesterday, and I managed to capture the doom and gloom of London in February in all its splendour.

The trick i reckon with B&W is heavy on the contrast and on the over exposure, bigs up that grimey feel.

The recent (mis?)use of section 44 by police officers (which allows them to stop and search anyone in. or in this case taking photos of, a specific area without having caused an offence) made me feel slightly perturbed as I ambled along the river bank fiddling with my camera snapping buildings with apparent fanatic enthusiasm. The possibility of being stopped and made to justify a mere artistic endeavor isn't something that should be accepted in the 21st century, end of.

http://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/home-news/warning-do-not-take-this-picture-1833127.html

- Photos: Josh Moore -

2010-02-02T15:51:00.002+00:00

I was lucky enough to be gifted another toy last week, a Nikon SB24 flashgun. As big, brash and wonderful as it looks poised on top of my camera, making me feel like a proper little professional, it's pretty old school and doesn't enjoy the idea of syncing with the camera itself...meaning that after gauging a competent grasp over the SLR's manual controls, I had to deal with the many intricate little settings the flash had separately - none of which I understand at all. Anyways, my employers Jack Wills held a store event and asked me to take some snaps, so I tried it out..

- Photos: Josh Moore -

2010-01-26T18:53:00.005+00:00

Heres a bit of coverage for my man 'Face', get his mix on DNBSHARE.COM and let me know what you all think - http://dnbshare.com/download/FaceMix.mp3.html

- Photos: Josh Moore -

2010-01-17T22:30:00.007+00:00

The past year or so has seen a number of bands regroup, rework and rehash material in an attempt to exploit the crumbling music market and basically relive the good ol days...Blur and the Beatles come to mind as two of the most successful and credible outfits to have squeezed every last penny out of their prodigious past. Blur regrouped around this time last year, with a headline Glasto slot confirmed, they played a warm up gig at my dear Goldsmiths' very own S.U. They were never any good live (in comparison to Oasis anyway) and it seemed nothing had really changed at all. It could be argued that Oasis have been just as bad with their clinging onto the 90's well into the late noughties, but in all honesty they have grown with age, touring incessently and despite what you may think, releasing new and GOOD material -Lyla and the Importance of Being Idle would be much more critically revered if listened to alongside the rest of its 2005 brethren rather than straight after Definitely Maybe.

The Beatles, namely Paul and Ringo, did their best to butcher their credibility with the Beatles branded version of the game Rockband, which coincided with the re releasing of their back catalogue - now I'm not one who'd ever dream of decrying the Fab Four, but the remaining fab two are clearly in need of the cash. In all fairness though, think back to 2006 when LOVE was released - Sir George Martin managed to produce an amazing album of reworked chunks of Beatles songs, so for this they are duly forgiven.

I digress. The point of this is to bring up something that is to me at least, very important. March 9th sees a new album of old Hendrix material released to honour the 40th anniversary of his death. This may scream as the estate/family cashing in with an appropriate milestone around the corner, but they should be criticised for waiting this long. The album, working title being Valleys of Neptune, comprises of 12 songs taken from sessions at London's Olympic Studios and New York's Record Plant in 1969, which have finally been mixed down into album worthy tracks. It being billed as the intended follow up to Electric Ladyland can be dismissed as hyperbole, but I have a feeling it won't dissapoint. With new tracks, new versions of Fire and Red House, and a studio recording of Hear My Train a Comin' (which until now has only been heard on a relatively poor sounding 12 string acoustic), this is a revival to be excited about.

Jimi's long gone, but his legacy isn't - there is a plethora of unreleased material out there even after this album, with a rumoured stack of Dylan covers under lock and key. This I pray, is the first of many...

- Photos: Josh Moore -

2010-01-06T21:09:00.009+00:00

Right, my sole NY resolution is this: To add one new post to the blog AT LEAST every week. It may be one little photo, or a massive feast of creative energy for all of you to feast on. I say all of you, yet I have a dismal 3 followers - something I wish to rectify with the regular updating of my outlet. Here's some pictures of snow to start things off.

- Photos: Josh Moore -

2010-01-06T20:43:00.016+00:00

Im obsessed with people. My family and friends are the best subjects in the world. Im constantly looking for someone with a 'subversive attraction that might just contain a concept, with the added mystery of being hard to define.' I am in debt to all of you marvellous creatures.

Males.

Females.

- Photos: Josh Moore -

2010-01-06T20:26:00.011+00:00

I've been away for awhile. Lack of internet and xmas period aside, problems have been rectified and I'm back on the blogging bandwagon. Here's what I've been busy with snapping wise over the last couple of months; I've been lucky enough to have been gifted a beautiful Nikon SLR and these are the early results of my 'playing':

- Photos: Josh Moore -

Bonjour

2009-10-29T14:14:00.010+00:00

Why is it that essays bring out the worst in me? Strictly speaking they don't, but I've had all summer to write as much as I please on this little blog, but when I sit down to start my first 3rd year essay, I find myself distracted ever so easily. Maybe this blog isn't the outlet for my creative pursuits I'd first envisaged, but a tool of procrastination. Aa well the less I dwell the better. I've been excited by a lot recently. Photos of the 1930's depression, Dorothea Lange especially, she's an amazing photographer with a keen eye for desperate resignation; The haiku - A Japenese verse of 17 syllables - I've tried to write a few recently. It's difficult as with poetry I tend to follow Kerouac's dictum to 'remove literary, gramatical and syntactical inhibition', yet they're fun none the less; Films - or French films to be more precise. The past week I've binged on films, and three stood out to me that I'd like to talk about.

The first is one that I actually watched for the first time last year, but took time to give it another viewing this week, is Jean-Luc Goddard's 'A Bout de Souffle', or Breathless to you and me. One of the inaugral films of Nouvelle Vague, Goddard's masterpiece epitomises 1960's European culture. Jean-Paul Belmondo plays the protagonist Michel, who on styling himself on Humphrey Bogart, steals a car, shoots a cop and plays out the rest of the film on the run from the Police with his girlfriend Patricia played by Jean Seberg. Fast, witty and painfully cool, it's an iconic film admired as much for its look as its substance.

Fastforward a decade to the 70's, and we have another masterpiece Les Valseuses. It is the film that shot Gerard Depardieu to stardom, and his performance is exceptional. Basically it is uninhibited sex and violence, conveyed through two big brutes who constantly fuck, terrorise and steal from the French bourgeoisie. They hit a brick wall with Marie Ange played by Miou-Miou, a girl they 'steal' from a wealthy pimp who despite their best efforts, cannot come. It is her search for unattainable sexual pleasure that emasculates our two thugs. Les Valseuses does verge on porn, yet it's the casting of Depardieu that makes it so memorable. A throwback to the decadence of the fin de siecle, a sexual deviant and true Libertine for the nouvelle generation.

That moves me onto my next film, from a slightly different mould of the previous two, but arguably as innovative, intelligent and 'French' as the other. La Haine, written and directed by Matthieu Kassovitz, shows one day of life in the Parisian banlieues in the aftermath of a riot. Vincent Cassel (above - you'll know him as Toulor in Oceans Twelve and Thirteen) plays Vinz is a Jewish teen -part of the group of three the film focuses on- who models himself on Travis Bickle from Taxi Driver, and and vows to kill a cop if their friend Abdel (in a coma) dies in hospital. The film as a social commentary is powerful, pinning down the underbelly of Paris in the 1990's through the eyes of those seen to be the problem. Yet it is the cinematography that strikes me as the most illuminating facet of La Haine. There are some shots of genius that show the true ability of cinema as it moves toward the 21st century. The most memorable part for me has to be the 'Cut Killer' scene (below)...The characterisation is superb, the realism emphasised with the entire film being shot in black and white, the soundtrack is quality and the ending is masterful. In essence the film embodies hip-hop and it's acute understanding of racial and social tensions conveyed through American and French hip-hop consciousness make this a masterpiece I urge you to watch it and see for yourself.

(Disclaimer - Not own images)

Summertime

2009-08-31T16:22:00.015+01:00

The British Summer. A veritable mountain of tumultuous weather and disappointment. Admittedly I've not been on here for a while and I'm now feeling the need to start up regular blogs again as I'm definitely at risk from intellectual atrophy. In short, I escaped my small home town of Keynsham, Bristol for Venice at the start of June with Gabriella before getting involved in a bit of summer work at the trendiest of trendy retail stores 'Next', then onto a place in Portgual named Tavira, followed by a weekend at Reading for some festival vibes, of which I've just returned. Here are some fisheye moments that came out reasonably well...

....Venetian scenery wide angles

Venice was unreal. The architecture of the place is astounding. We stayed on the nearby Lido, which was a million times cheaper than the main tourist part of Venice. Being made up of little islands connected by marshland, it's necessary to travel by waterbus, which went through the Grand Canal. Avoided the gimmickry of the gondolas at all costs, but I did want a blue striped t shirt.

A moped, Catholic mural and Mudances poster in the quaint Portugese town Tavira near Faro on the Algarve....Amazing food, scorching temperatures which left me sweating well into the late evening. Sitting down to meals outside in an alleyway, buskers would come along to try and get a few cheeky euros from willing tourists...Obviously we obliged, which is a shame because i wouldn't have minded were we offered some sort of traditional Portuguese music, instead we get on two consecutive nights, a husky voiced acoustic guitarist singing Hotel California, about four times over. The most notable thing about Tavira was the dogs....The square directly outside our apartment complex would be littered with dogs, most of which had no sort of owner walking them...a strange sight to a Brit indeed.

Reading was an experience from start to finish. I was in food heaven, having a burrito and a hog roast, but to my dismay i forgot to get any corn on the cob. Drank way too much, lost gabby in Fall Out Boy only to find her sulking watching Florence and the Machine by herself...Kings of Leon were good, but moaned that we were too quiet, slightly full of it eh?! The night ended i think with me telling some stupid passer by why he's a massive idiot for thinking John Mayer's cover of Hendrix's Bold as Love is worthy and even better than the original. Dear o dear.
Aside from Reading, Britain's offered me very little this summer, yet the trips I've taken (despite each one being too short) have made my year...Now I'm looking forward to getting back to New Cross to start learning again.

(All images taken by Joshua Moore 2009)

Tales of Xenophobia

2009-05-19T16:00:00.012+01:00

Ross Kemp is a living legend. Looking back on my youth, it's clearly punctuated with four episodes a week of two Right Said Fred wannabe south east Landan 'ardmen. It's strange to think one half of this diabolically poor duo as doing something constructive with his time...But 'Ross Kemp on Gangs' serves one of the most enthralling pieces of journalism of the past ten years.

The premise is simple, a white, bald, built like a brick shitouse ex actor roams through some of the world's poorest areas in search of their 'gangs'. Whilst revising last week, courtesy of Lovefilm i was sent the first series of the show to aid my procrastination. It was nothing mind blowing really, the majority of the episodes featured Kemp roaming around the poor neighborhoods of El Salvador, South America, L.A etc. chatting to the feds, lurking around the prisons from which gangs are usually operated and talking to the gangs on the streets. These gangs are predominantly Hispanic, Afro-American or African and are formed out of the poorest demographics of the countries. Drugs, robberies, murder and every other little bit of crime which goes hand in hand with the 'wrong neck of the woods' is covered. All in all we are given a bleak yet unsurprising view of groups of violent ethnic minorities neglected by the government. Yet one episode shocked me more. Fast forward Russia.

In this episode, Kemp looks at the Neo-Nazi gangs that inhabit Russia. Big white bald men (ironically who look a lot like Kemp) who follow the doctrines of Hitler and his Nazi chums. The point that Hitler's plan for the 'Great White Race' didn't involve Russia at all - he despised them - is irrelevant. They share the same racist ethic. Russia is a scary place from the outside. The reality of the Russian Neo-Nazi's is this...Once the USSR collapsed in 1991, the countries surrounding Russia - Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Georgia, Turkmenistan, Tajikistan, Armenia etc - all became separate countries in their own right. With the collapse of the Soviet Union however, came economic crisis, and Russia declared their desperate need for labour. Inhabitants of the previous Soviet states migrated to nearby Russia for better job opportunities.

The Neo-Nazis believe in Russia for the Russians, and practice racism, xenophobia and violence towards anyone they deem 'Non-Russian', usually darker skinned Russians with Muslim backgrounds. Kemp begins his journey with a visit to the far right 'Russian National Union'. This legitimate political party (much like our very own BNP) staged training sessions in abandoned city infrastructure. They go through rigorous training regimes aimed at defence and military combat. Kemp goes through the ritual initiations and tests of character in order to win their trust, but the scary truth seems apparent early. These aren't the actual Neo-Nazi's, but a political party. Once he's become more associated with the Union, they invite him to a meeting of minds two hours outside Moscow. Here we meet the actual Neo-Nazi's, who seem closely (but not officially) affiliated with the Russian National Union. We are then shown clips of 'non-white' Russians, or immigrants, being brutally beaten on the tubes, buses and streets in broad daylight.

These gang attacks are rooted in a deeply racist ideology, which is not helped by the Police, who seem to be a huge part of the problem. After one attack, it is reported an young Armenian begged the Police for help, and they merely told him to "use a pay-phone like everyone else." Putin didn't do much to dispel any myth that the Russians were on the brink of world war three in his tenure, and people are right to be worried.

It is comforting that far right parties like the British National Party merely invite ridicule in the U.K. I firmly believe that we are one the most culturally diverse countries in the world, and much better because of it. Because of the countries acceptance to the undoubted positive affect of different races and cultures in the U.K, we can easily criticise racism and xenophobia when it's not on our patch. Although the problem still exists, it is minor, and certainly not rooted in countrywide beliefs.

But be afraid. The news in this morning is that the BNP have won two seats in the European Parliament for the first time in it's history, with the far right party's leader Nick Griffin describing thew result as a "great victory". This leap forward for the BNP party has sent shock waves throughout Parliament, with cabinet minister Andy Burnham exclaiming today as a "sad moment for British politics", and that the BNP's rise is "deeply uncomfortable". Whatever Griffin says about the damage cheap Polish labour is doing to our country, or the apparent rising threat of more Turkish immigrants, it has seemed to strike a chord with an angry few.

Yet that angry few are increasing in numbers. Worryingly, the economic downturn has resulted in many people in the U.K without a job, which has left the majority of us angry at a bumbling Government. Instead of uniting for the benefit of our well being, we are becoming increasingly divided. But let's not forget that we are a nation of immigrants. The influx of Eastern Europeans today began with the Romans 2000 years ago, then onto the Vikings, Saxons, Normans, Irish and Jews fleeing persecution. This party haven't a leg to stand on. Their key policies are contradictory and above all baffling to the those in this country with their heads screwed on.

So if we start to see the BNP's fuhrer holding military combat and defence sessions for those aspiring racists and fascists out there, then don't worry ladies and gentlemen; all we'll do is send in Kempy!

(Disclaimer - Not own images)

London's Fuming

2009-05-08T14:09:00.006+01:00

Well well well. My prediction was right after all! What a savage night. Got to 'The Elk' just in time after having a bite to eat and got a few drinks in...The it all kicked off. Essiens thunderbolt volley sent cider all over Gabby's head...what a moment!

But of course, the game wore on. Within the first 45 we could see clearly the contrast to last weeks performance. We attacked ferociously, as Barca's makeshift defence struggled to contain the Drog and Anelka. They were forced into making mistakes and poorly timed tackles...not to mention the handballs. There were two penalty claims before the half time whistle, one of which was stonewall. Into the second half, Barca upped the tempo and pushed us back, but as time went on, they still hadn't managed one shot on target. Our parking the bus in front of the goal last week had now turned into superbly resilient and organised defending. They looked ok on the ball, passing, moving and weaving about. yet it was all outside the box. Lack of penetration turned into hope.....

Half time turned into 50 minutes, 50 to 60, 60 to 70, 70 to 80 and before i knew it, we were into injury time. Watching through squinted eyes, all we had to do was hang on. Then in the 93rd minute, Essien's poor clearance fell to Messi, who gave the ball to Iniesta, who for that split second, seemed to have all the time in the world...We just let be what be, and as he struck the ball, it was only going one way.

What followed were the most undignified of celebrations I've ever seen. Barca were a hell of a lot more than lucky...The conspiracy theory has been mentioned - that UEFA (especially Platini) would do everything in their power to avoid a repeat of last years final - But that's just speculation. Barcelona may be one of the most attractive teams to watch in the world, but they got through in the ugliest of ways. To add insult to injury, their surge of celebration in front if the Stamford Bridge faithful was provocative - almost knocked over Hiddink twice (bless him). After the goal, Chelsea had one last chance, and so did the ref in many ways. One last chance to atone for his sins and award something.

As the final whistle went, the disgustingly poor refereeing, the undignified arrogance of Barca and our momentary lapse of concentration all added up to a poignant mix of disbelief with anger. This was Terry's penalty in last years final, but a hundred times brutal. I stick firm with many other fans who said 'I'd rather they'd smashed us convincingly'. Because this game will be remembered for one thing...Controversy.

The riposte at the end WAS justified. Drogba's tirade was not unbelievable for a man who slapped a big Serb defender last year in the dying moments of a cup final - this was tame. I'd rather he did a Cantona and actually kick someone right in the mouth. But his shouting of obscenities at the camera was classic. For Chelsea, this is what the season will be remembered by. Even an FA cup won't salvage anything.

If last week taught us anything, it is that the game is always greater than the prize. Unfortunately, the team who play with all that flare and panache are one step closer to that prize after playing the most unconvincing and unstylish of ties. The best game of this season was by far the second leg of Chelsea v Liverpool about a month ago. No Barca/Arsenal spectacular trickery, just fantastic action from start to finish, irony being they fight for the crown of most boring team going. However, the final is the quintessential dream final. The neutrals final, the fans final, the games final. If the game is greater than the prize - and it pains me to say this - then the game has won.

I hate football. Nobody remembers the losers of the final - even less people remember the loser of the semi's. This article will be full of contradictions....because i can't really quite believe what happened, actually happened. The great thing about Chelsea however is that everybody hates them. The horribly poor refereeing wasn't headline enough, and the Drog decided to take it upon himself to make this a semi final that won't be forgotten.

(Disclaimer - Not own images)

A Lesson in Total Football

2009-05-05T22:45:00.007+01:00

Arsenal are out of the Champions League. After a relatively anti climatic 3-1 win by Man Utd. (4-1 Agg.), people will start to wonder exactly what is next for the once unstoppable Wenger. Arsenal fans annoy me, a lot. Wenger is undoubtedly one of the U.K's great football imports, and the only main rival to the mastery of Ferguson since the re branded top flight began. Yet another season without silverware, that final champions league spot was in danger of not being filled by a 'top four' for the second time in the past 3 years. It was Liverpool then, being displaced by Everton...yet they sacrificed their league position for a Champions League trophy. Pundits on tonights ITV coverage talked of how Arsenal have fought back against Villa to basically regain fourth spot in the league, as if it were an achievement, albeit one on a different level of the three clubs sitting above Arsenal as we speak.

Tonight Arsenal were met with Man Utd, the champions League holders, who guaranteed their place in the final for the first ever defence of the European Cup since it's been named the Champions League. The neat passing and sublime skill of a team capable of beautiful football, were silenced early on by Park. Then came a frighteningly quick free kick from Ronaldo, who then contributed another goal which epitomised Utd this year. If last year they were the worlds best team, then surely nobody told them as they only get better and better. With all the media circus surrounding Ronaldo in the summer and his slow start due to injury, critics have hushed the superlatives. With the arrogance of Ali in his prime, he scored his 'best ever goal' a few weeks ago against Porto, then two more equally outstanding efforts this evening, he is seemingly getting only better and better. Todays Guardian revealed Utd's plans to use the money from the release of Ronaldo to pay for Ribery in the transfer window this coming summer. With the conquest of an unprecedented 5 trophies being ruined at the hands of Everton a few weeks ago, the unthinkable challenge for 5 trophies next year can start to become a reality. After tonights display, getting rid of Ronaldo is not on Fergusons mind at all.

I still can't think if last years Champions League final without cringing slightly. As a lifelong Chelsea fan, everything was perfect. John Terry stood up to take the 5th penalty, Mr Chelsea to win it for the blues. But thats history.
Arsenal fans love Barcelona. They are Arsenal in 4 years time, when the youngsters have come good. And they, like the rest of the football loving nation, were outspoken in condemning Chelsea for parking the bus in front of their three pronged attack. The terms 'bully boys' and 'anti-football' have been thrown around. The reality is, that Barca have possibly the most dangerous attacking force in the world. The three strikers have more goals between them than the entire Chelsea contingent this season, but then again, they do play in La Liga.

The modern game requires tactics for two legs of football, which doesn't necessarily make for a spectacle. Yet it is not a coincidence that there have been 3 English teams in the semi finals of the Champions League this year and last. Barcelona complained about the physicality of Chelsea last week, but that is the truth of the Premier League...which is now considered the best league in the world.

You can't gauge much from press conferences. Yet Barca, depsite their anger at not being able to score last week in front of their fans, seem content and confident. Chelsea seem worryingly defensive with their tactics, which I'm hoping doesn't rub off tomorrow. Adding to my doubts is every sodding pundit, even Fergie, saying Chelsea will go through to the final. If Barca win, we will have possibly one of the greatest finals ever, with the two greatest teams of recent years going head to head. Both with scarily dangerous attackers, and the possibility of the two greatest players in the world - Ronaldo and Messi - squaring up. Worryingly, everything in my head points to this final, a box office classic... And tomorrow is Man U v Arsenal 2.0. Utd fans are hoping for Chelsea, because the prospect of Barca means that the possibility of the silverware that more difficult...and Arsenal, like the rest of the neutrals, are for Barca, the team they try so tirelessly to emulate. Yet Chelsea have world class talent to fill every position. Even Drogba, who divides opinion - even mine when he went one step too far in last years final - is pummeling through defences and finishing with touches of audaciousness.

My prediction is Barca to nick it, and face Man U later this month. But I'm just saying that not to Jinx it.....COME ON YOU BLUES!!

(Disclaimer - Not own images)

House Party

2009-05-04T15:50:00.011+01:00

Nothing intelligent to add here. Last Thursday i marked my 20th birthday with a house party in Islington. I'm not really familiar with house party protocol...I bought a very generous amount of Carlsberg, Carling, Wine, Spirits etc for peoples consumption, but was immediately criticised for the lack of 'snacks' provided.

Award for 'best dressed' has to go to this lad and his barnet.

People arrived in various little pockets and disappeared as frequently...

Highlights were my mates Purnell and Fez turning up from Bristol to surprise me- with a Wales flag and a bottle of Havana Club-both of which held on to for dear life for the next few hours. The guys from Brizzle who came up in a big group, 2 of which came with a blow up double bed for late night spooning.

I was amazed by the efforts made by my mates from various corners of the U.K to get here, with one lad bringing me a present of 2 shots of a concoction that was apparently 95% alcohol....madness.

I drank as much Scrumpy and Blackthorn as my bladder could handle, but some people got a bit carried away having to be put to bed early (You know who you are!!

Someone's random little chihuahua named 'Juicy' (after Juicy Couture - don't ask) made little cameos from the bag it/he/she? was contained in upstairs.

Clarkey played guitar to anyone who would listen. The living room turned into a refuge camp in the early hours, and the majority of people left over hit the sack.
In the morning, a lady who came round to make a complaint was met by one of last years Apprentice contestants in a suit who'd just bought everyone ice creams and bread.

To be honest, i doubt anybody wants to know any of this, but it is an excuse to show the pretty pictures i took, and the sheer arbitrariness of the events which took place. For now, I'd better think about the coursework portfolio i need to hand in tomorrow, and my first exam in exactly 6 days. Lovely job!

(All images taken by Joshua Moore 2009)

Fisheye Experiements

2009-04-24T13:20:00.008+01:00

Heres some snaps I've taken over the past few weeks with my Fisheye instead of lots of words...

...Some light streaks in Islington.

...Stencil of a dog on a small wall en route home. Spent around an hour convincing a stray it was real.

...He's never looked so cool.

...was this your card? No?

...'You might as well do the white line'

..Isn't she lovely!

(All images taken by Joshua Moore 2009)

SUNny day for a protest!

2009-04-03T00:49:00.000+01:00

I like the Sun. I'll unashamedly admit, that I liked it. Or at least i used to. In the close of the footie season, the transfer period takes headway, and the Sun is the bible for transfer gossip. It's tolkien-esque narratives places the most arbitrary of deals in our minds, and leaves us with a daily novelette for three odd months of the year. Yet that is all it's good for. Reading today's publication, i was greeted with 3 double pages of the England match. The one we beat Ukraine, albeit slimly, a distinctly average 2-1. But i get a load of shit about Rooney, one tackle he could've been given the red for, when nothing was given, and Crouch's goal, and Terry's goal...I saw it, apart from Crouchy pullin out the rope i couldn't really give a shit!

Aside from it's brilliant transfer plots, the Sun is as far from the 'Yoof' of today as could possibly be. Yesterday, the 1st of April, was the day of the G20 protests. Rocknroll star Obama comes to town and everyone goes mental... Yet the day will be remembered for the protests which took place at Bank and around the financial district. There were thousands of people out in force making their voices heard.

Not just a bunch of hooligans, 'foaming at the mouth and smelling of stale cider', the 'rent a mob' are compared to the noble Old Bill as 'lost ex-public school kids and university dropouts'. I was there, like many others, not fitting this blinkered criteria. Tragically, a man died from a heart attack at the protests yesterday afternoon, and it is even more unfortunate that some people contradicted the message we were all trying to get across by pelting the police that were trying to help him, with missiles.

The Police are not the problem, they never were. Unfortunately the jurisdiction of their employment ties them to services against disorder whether justified or not. Yet even in the reporting of this man's death, the Sun's respectful obituary limited him to a sentence, described as a man, 'shaven headed and wearing a Millwall FC top with a grey t shirt over the top.' Decency goes out the window on both sides as the lines become increasingly blurred. There are massive contradictions on all fronts. Each and every protester is probably linked in some way or other, to someone who works in an area of finance affected by or affecting the current economic climate. Yet the Bankers dangling wallets full of cash above the heads of the masses of course shows a defiant audacity, but to be honest it only goes to antagonise a rowdy mob who's views are probably the same. Are we 5 years too early maybe? Would the next protest of this sort contain those very bankers, turning on the country as more and more become victim to a country on its knees. The people condemning the protesters should have a little re think.

However much we are made to believe by the media that the problem was the rabble of drop outs smelling of stale cider, one fact we cannot ignore is that there were a lot of people. A lot of fucking people, pretty much because the ex RBS boss fled the company he dicked over whilst claiming a substantial pay off. Many people saw this as the epitome of the Bankers' greed which has marred the past 16 months. A lot of people gave a shit about this...If this county carries on pisses the everyday folk off with greed and contradictory policies, then more and more people might start taking notice. Thats if anyone can be assed to get up, especially when Sky News just gives you all the whole shebang...your basically there anyway, why get up?!

People can paint as many pictures as they like. This honorable country's constabulary stood firm against a few jaded lot whose views are little more than anarchic, for example. Yet a lot of people care on both sides, and the less we take sides against each other and rather demand change like America has, then we could maybe get somewhere.

Ill finish up by drawing attention to the front cover of today's sun, April 2nd. Under the headline 'TWO FACES OF BRITAIN 2009', we have two images. One is of our Majesty the Queen, who holds possibly one of the most pointless and defunct job titles in our country. Next to her is the newly crowned first black U.S President Barack Obama, who is simply on 'the steady march of seemingly impossible accomplishments'. Never before has a such stark and contrasting dichotomy been displayed so abundantly clear in front of our eyes. Juxtaposed with this picture, we have a G20 'rioter' putting his foot through the window of the RBS building. From one extreme of the monarchy headed by an OAP to a scaremongering snapshot of 'anarchist thugs' hardly speaks for many of the nation.
It seems this paper has got the picture of it's demographic disappointingly wrong.

Anyone for a Blogging?

2009-04-02T16:09:00.001+01:00

Music blogs are going from strength to strength. Peer to peer sharing programs such as Napster, Kazaa and Limewire from which you can download a plethora of tracks from a seemingly infinite list of artists, albeit illegally, have seemingly died a painful death. But with death comes new life, and thus the music blog was born. Taking advantage of the unique attributes of the internet, and using it what it is good for- connecting and interacting- blogs post a multitude of tracks, remixes and videos free of charge. In times of economic hardship, we can be forgiven for jumping on the bandwagon.

However, this is not a mere backlash at the record companies swindling us out of our hard earned coppers. Nearly every blog’s disclaimer pledges support to the artists they publicise by urging us to essentially buy what we like. To quote Electrozoo, “support your favourite artists. Buy their damn records!”It seems a genuine love of music and what it stands for has prevailed. A source from the popular electro blog Allez-Allez wrote to me decrying DJ’s who merely take music for granted. “(We) started Allez-Allez because we were tired of playing DJ sets to people who didn't care or pay any attention, and if they did pay you any attention, it'd be only to ask you for a request or to tell you that what you were playing was rubbish... Allez-Allez was dreamt up as our utopian club in the digital ether, where we could play whatever we wanted without fear of repercussions or a swiftly emptying dancefloor, and with the hope that like minded people might come across what we do and get some enjoyment from it.”

Blogs span every conceivable genre. For every blog it seems a new genre is concocted. But the growing trend in blogging offers an invaluable output for unsigned artists. It is often the case that the best publicity for a new band trying to break through into the mainstream is to have their single remixed, which can be more popular than the actual track itself. Bands and DJ’s alike have cottoned onto this and there is now enough to meet everyone’s specific niche taste. The frontrunner of this craze is almost certainly techno electro site Fluokids. Virb claims they are the best mp3 blog on this side of the planet, and it’s not difficult to see why. Set up by Pharrell (real name Francois, not to be confused with the Neptunes bloke), maintained by a select few contributors (who contribute the likes of Simian Mobile Disco, CSS, Duke Dumont and even a remixed Roxy Music track) and punctuated by pretty pictures of pretty people courtesy of lastnightsparty.com, it’s easy to see how this online community has attracted so much attention. Yet finding a blog that caters to your specific taste does take patience. Aimed at the slightly more mainstream alternative/indie crowd is Indiekrush. When browsing through I thought it’d be a welcome change to the vast amount of electro and indie remixes that populate many of these blogs, but it is, like many others, annoyingly still in the Fluokids bracket. The majority of these blogs are not just about the music, they incorporate art, nightlife, fashion and ultimately lifestyle. Finding a genuinely raw sound in this electronic medium can be difficult, yet I found a blog named garage hangover which surprised me. Set up by garage enthusiast Chas Kit originally as a medium for him to share some of his favourite songs with his friends, it has grown into something special, a goldmine for 60’s garage, and through utilizing the characteristics of the internet, innovation in music has truly been realised.

My favourite blog has to be Awesome Tapes from Africa. There are no videos or remixes here, just free mp3s of obscure African music. I get the feeling that this is what the internet was made for. From the brief half hour I spent on this blog listening to a few of the recent tracks that had been posted, I’m given an insight into a culture I was previously ignorant to. This blog almost sums up the genius of the whole concept of blogging; through music an otherwise separate and unheard entity is undeniably easy to access. Not so long ago the solitary purpose for music was story telling, it was, and remains to some extent, an elaborate form of oral history. Music is something intended for the ears and minds of all; it is art that anyone can find meaning in and in which everyone is welcome to participate. More so than ever before in history music is available worldwide, at the click of a button.