Issue 7

GRAPH A

HILLS

GRAPH A

HILLS

AMSTERDAM

AMSTERDAM BERLIN

BERLIN ROME

ROME

PARIS

PARIS ST PETERSBURG

ST PETERSBURG PRAGUE

PRAGUE

BRNO

BRNO

VIENNA

VIENNA SHEFFIELD

SHEFFIELD

BARCELONA

BARCELONA

BUDAPEST

BUDAPEST

Article

article issue 7 summer 2009

BARCELONA

BARCELONA

SHEFFIELD

SHEFFIELD BUDAPEST

BUDAPEST VIENNA

VIENNA BRNO

BRNO

ST PETERSBURG

PRAGUE

PARIS

ST PETERSBURG

PARIS

ROME

PRAGUE

ROME

BERLIN

BERLIN

AMSTERDAM

AMSTERDAM

GRAPH B

GRAPH B

THE ARTICLE “COOL” REPORT. Cycling is cool. Hills are bad for cycling. Hills inhibit coolness. Here, with negligent methodology, we present the world's "coolest" cities with our original flatness-to-coolness ratio.

Graph A: Relative topographical inclines of arbitrary world cities.

Graph B: Gradients plotted with level of highest possible cycling conditions (y-axis). Hatched area below line is proportional to ease of cycling.

Graph C: Data from Graph B. Big Hands say "yes!" or "no!"

Conclusion:Sheffield is cooler than Barcelona

VIENNA

VIENNA

SHEFFIELD

BERLIN

BARCELONA

PRAGUE

BUDAPEST

BRNO

PRAGUE

BERLIN

ST PETERSBURG

BARCELONA

ST PETERSBURG

PARIS

BRNO

PARIS

ROME

BUDAPEST

SHEFFIELD

ROME

AMSTERDAM

AMSTERDAM GRAPH C

GRAPH C

Designed and Produced: Alasdair Hiscock and Ben Dunmore Photography: Bobbin, Lucy Dunn, Felix Kirsch, Francis Lopez, Alasdair Hiscock, Ben Dunmore Issue 7 was indirectly paid for by Mike Forrest, Tom Banham, Laura Barton, Adam Smith and Bungalows and Bears. Cheers.

Printed by Juma 1/200

Militant Pedestrianism James Andow

The Decline of Film Tom Bobbin

I Bring What I Love Alasdair Hiscock

Public Art Lucy Dunn

A Morris Minor Tom Cubbin

Blue Sabbath Black Fiji Ben Dunmore

Regeneration Laaaaa Joe and Will Ask? visit www.articlemagazine.co.uk Orla Foster Ed Lawrence Trotter contact@impursuit.com

Telepathe Felix Kirsch

Art icl e

militant pedestrianism.

CONCLUSION.

PREMISE. Traffic is a horrible.

bit

PREMISE. Frustrating (synonym: exasperating) and frustrated (synonym: thwarted) car journeys discourage future journeys

Frustration (both senses) of driv ers and their plans is something we should attempt to achieve

Don’t get me wrong, I am no altruist! I don’t want to abandon fossil fuels. I don’t want to bring down capitalism. I am no anti-monarchic anarchist attempting to obstruct HM’s highways (I love queeny-babes!) I don’t want to disadvantage the relative rich who can afford cars.

It is a matter of Hierarchy and Aesthetics; a proactive exercise in Narcissism.

Sometimes, when I get out of bed, I want to go to town.

Sometimes, to saunter down to Uni. Sometimes I simply wish to go for a walk in the park with my Anglo-Catholic guilt. Wherever I go, I walk. Wherever I walk, it is expected that I give way in the face of Traffic. It is as if some rule in the fabric of the universe dictates that metal boxes are more important than I am. I have to wait for some driver to have the courtesy (!) to stop for me in order that I may cross the road outside of my own house. Or at least so it was. Until, that is, I adopted Militant Pedestrianism. Whence upon my natural position has been restored.

Although to give you any rules is hard—it is more a matter of attitude, a matter of reaffirming dominance over the motor-vehicle—a putative set of rules might be as follows:

Always cross the road when, and at as slow a pace as, you desire.

Actions which are thus allowed include: Stepping out in front of a car so that it has to stop in order to let you across the road, even if the road behind it is completely clear; Crossing the road in front of any vehicle at a standstill, especially if it misses a gap in the traffic which it would have otherwise moved out into; and, Doing any of the above before deciding that you don’t want to and returning to the kerb ready to do it to the next car.

Always push the button on pelican crossings.

Whether or not you wish to cross.

Particularly recommended is pressing the button, waiting a full cycle of the lights until the traffic are just starting to move, then walk. A little fantasy of mine is to gather enough people that, walking in a circle around a signal-controlled roundabout, we could block traffic at every exit A connected activity is flagging down taxis and buses before denying outright any such actions when the driver begins to shout. This brings me to my last putative rule.

Always react atrociously to any negative feedback.

My favourites are bus drivers. They

become irate and start mouthing-off at you in front of their passengers, while you make your way slowly in front of their vehicle causing them to miss a green light. At this juncture one stops dead in one’s tracks—long enough that they miss another green light—and stare into their eyes. In my experience, abject pity is most satisfying, accompanied by an astonished disbelief that they would expect anything else from pedestrians.

(If you feel you cannot communicate such feeling in a simple stare, you are out of practice) Slow waving, tapping on windscreens, dancing inanely (or insanely)...

Anything which communicates your disparaging attitude towards traffic, highly recommended. (More protestant followers may adopt the maxim: always lie down on any zebra-crossing you desire).

Go out and savour the satisfaction that the Militarisation of your pedestrian activities can give you. Don’t show off about it, this is a lesson in self-improvement.

Breathe deeply, step out, and reclaim your dominance over metal boxes.

OPINION

For its own sake

PUBLIC ART Britain Why is really good public art so rare? This question is hammered home to me every time I have to walk past one of the most insipid and timidly inoffensive-to-the-point-of-offence sculptures in London, Eye-I on Broadgate. It’s not so much the shape, but the colours: spindly pipes painted in a mix of primary colours, pink and turquoise that make it look like a picture from a 1980s French textbook.

Occasionally public art makes an interesting change to a square or street. Sometimes it causes outcry.

But more often than not, it is roundly ignored, just another piece of street furniture to sidestep.

The placing of large abstract sculptures in public spaces began in the 1950s as an extension of the gallery, with the aim to educate ‘the public’ about the avant-garde art of the moment. But avantgardism implies work which is beyond the level of everyday understanding, so it is not surprising that many of these pieces were not universally cherished, and gained the cheery derogative ‘plop art’: the name for sculptures shoehorned into a space with no consideration of the character of the local environment.

Banks are particularly keen on this kind of art. A fun game to play in any financial district is to go on a cultural tour of lobbies and reception areas. If banks and office complexes want to pretend they are art galleries, then treat them as such. Go and stand in approving contemplation in front of every wall mounted relief or bronze dolphin you can find, and make sure to check if postcards or catalogues are available. Photography is probably not permitted, though there will be a lot of CCTV. If these places do not welcome such behaviour, the meaning behind the siting of such works becomes explicit: that ‘public’ art is only there to prove that the business is wealthy enough to afford it.

Recently Sheffield’s new Electric Works have gone one better, placing a large slide in the middle of the building, apparently as a statement about risk-taking. This installation even avoids the pretense of being for public benefit, since the slide is only accessible to those who rent the office spaces.

Art in public spaces only works if there is a level of site specificity. This does not mean a nod to buzzwords like ‘community’ and ‘local diversity’, but a thorough engagement with the space. Public art can draw out the interesting features of a site, such as Richard Wilson’s Turning the Place Over in Liverpool, but more often than not it is used to accessorize a space in the hope of smartening it up.

These commissions end up standing in for regeneration, rather than being part of a process.

Far worse than monumental avant-garde plop art are the smaller, less intrusive versions of bigger ideas for which many councils are fond. Those ubiquitous shiny silver balls are ripped off Anish Kapoor.

Rusting ‘urban interventions’ like Sheaf Tree in Leeds are a poor man’s Richard Serra. This kind of work, which has neither charm nor the impressive dimensions or siting of the originals add little to an urban space except clutter.

At the moment public art seems to be following architecture and going for spectacle in size and technological skill. Notwithstanding a society in Utah who are gearing up to build a statue of Responsibility on the West Coast to ‘balance out’ the Statue of Liberty, most new commissions are visually stunning rather than moralizing. The need to describe all public art and major buildings as iconographic has started to get a bit wearing, but there is hope that the sheer scale of works like Mark Wallinger’s Horse in Kent (planned to stand at a colossal 50 metres) will be able to transcend the bland timidity most public art. Either that, or plop art is set to make a very big comeback.

(A)

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01 Sheffield Electric Works Helter Skelter 02 Leeds Sheaf Tree 03 Big Fucking Horse 04 London, Eye-i Captain 05 Leeds, Art on Bank 06 London, Turning the Place Over 07 Ubiquitous Wet Ball

02

What Sheffield Public Art Needs 01 Commission work from someone with an Umlaut in his/her name. This will make Sheffield appear to be a much more happening place.

02 Cling to past glory and avoid looking forward by erecting bronze cast statues of famous musicians of Sheffield's past.

Life size figures of Jarvis Cocker, Richard Hawley and Joe Elliot sitting on public benches will allow passers by to reflect of how great Sheffield were.

03 Multilingual voices on tramlines in Sheffield will have the dual effect of welcoming stylish tourists from East Berlin and teaching local hoodlums German.

04 Use dynamite to flatten Crookes 05 In addition to street lighting and decorative bollards, a publicly funded scheme encouraging beautiful people to stand around on city centre pavements will greatly improve the city’s overall ambience.

06 Outdoor cinemas make any city more French.

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I arrived there on a langorous afternoon, having followed the paths I remembered from adolescence. Liverpool’s Chavasse Park had been a glory in its time. An expanse of pale, arid grass, inhabited almost exclusively by scores of soap-fearing teenagers. As the back garden of the Crown Courts it served one function only: a meeting ground for displaced youth. This had been their space and they had appropriated it and misappropriated it, but, staring around me now, I began to feel that I had dreamt the whole thing.

Instead of wasteland, I stood at the border of a neatly manicured square of lawn offset by an enormous set of steps. Instead of Korn hoodies I was surrounded by dead-eyed young women racing from outlet to outlet. The only suggestion of leisure was embodied in weary shoppers assembled upon the steps, reviewing and regretting their purchases.

Had I taken a wrong turning?

My suspicions were alleviated at the sight of the swarthy policeman I had pilloried for help. Dismounting from his steed, he gave a small salute and approached.

“You’re here about the old park, then?”

He unsheathed a yellowing parchment.

“This is a survey we got the kids doing a few years back.”

“So you were interested in their survival at the time?”

“Well, we did our best to cooperate. As you’ll see, they weren’t quite reciprocal.”

Assailed by a muddle of statistics, I tried to make sense of the general mindset of the Chavasse population. 11% claimed to have “nothing better to do” than go to Chavasse Park. A further 32% “wouldn’t consider alternatives”. 7% griped at the police for “harrassing us”, whilst 71% played it safe with the complaint of “scalls fighting us”.

My memory flickered back to the bygone roars of “SCALL WAR!” and “BIZZIES!” which preceded bouts of rampaging through the streets.

Ordinary jurisdiction hadn’t applied to these stampedes, nor to any aspect of Chavasse life. Pipsqueaks blithely handed over their pocket money at Eurowines, renegades stayed out past dinnertime, daredevils skateboarded atop self-assembled blazes, stoners fell into stupors, and ambulances pulled up at the site with grim regularity.

Yes, this had been their bull-ring. Here the significant battles were played out. Here they had cadged cigarette butts and swallowed vodka at ten in the morning. It was a landscape for romance, for lavender goodbyes and libidinous tussles upon stretches of concrete. It was a chance to meet folks outside of the classroom. Strangers were molested with familiar whines of “I need hugs!” from over-friendly souls, usually with the epithet “Random” prefixed to their names.

I toyed nervously with my pince-nez.

“But where did they all go, officer?”

7% Harrassed by police

11% Nothing better to do

32% Wouldn’t consider alternatives

71% Scalls fighting us

He laughed a gristled, food-processor’s laugh.

“That’s what we’re stuck on, lady. Never thought we’d shift them at the time. Then the bulldozers pounced down, the shoppers arrived and we haven’t heard a whisper since.”

“Yes, but the bulldozers were around even then and nobody believed it would change anything. I remember one fellow, Bullshit Chris, who swore down he could grind the machinery to a halt simply by glaring at it.”

He winced. “Let’s not forget that this Chris you speak of also used to perform certain acts on butchers’ wares – I won’t repeat what – in exchange for alcohol. We received more than one call concerning the welfare of a pig’s head.”

Of course. A good thirty months older than his peers, Bullshit Chris had formed a notorious part of the scenery. He wore a long trenchcoat and would linger near shivering girls until, dropping their guard, they failed to protest when he draped it around them. At this juncture he would knot the sleeves and make a lunge for his victim.

Further mating techniques fell to his imagination; he was a self-professed Mafia member and used to rhapsodise over his dab hand with an underwater flamethrower.

If that didn’t reel in the ladies, well, he didn’t have much else.

I recalled another boy who had traipsed the streets with an old lemonade bottle, into which he would empty the contents of abandoned pints and call it a cocktail. He would hunt and gather neglected chip dinners then pop them into the microwave once he got home. Willowy limbs that one had.

More and more forgotten scenes sprang into focus; a frantic duel fought with several splattered mackerel that had been on offer at Tesco. Endless pairs of childrens’ fairy wings recycled on great strapping girls of sixteen.

“It was a resourceful community,” I mused. “Hardly surprising they didn’t survive the regeneration.”

“This is it, you see, sweet cheeks. The council doesn’t want vermin clinging to their thrifty little days on the grass. We want shops and restaurants that are recognisable all across the country, we want money changing hands, we want stylish punters who would previously have headed to Manchester.”

“What about Chavasse himself? What would he have wanted? Who was he?”

“Noel Godfrey Chavasse was an army officer honoured with two Victoria Crosses, doll face.”

Two V.C.s and a park to aid the city in recollecting him ever after. Now his name represented nothing more than an addendum to a £1bn shopping centre, albeit one sanctioned by Steven Gerrard’s spouse.

Perhaps this was the way of things. The black-clad youths didn’t think of 1916 heroics while they were slaughtering the opening chords of ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ over and over and over on a cheap acoustic, or while they were busy crashing antlers to Cradle of Filth. And they in turn were forgotten as moneyed denizens began to plump for translucent apartments and gold headbands chez Urban Outfitters. Both Noel Chavasse and his metal’ed minions were well and truly extinct.

The policeman must have noticed a certain level of moisture accrue in my eyes.

“Come on now, don’t let it upset you, cutie patootie” he murmured, with a tweak to my nose. “I’m sure they’ve gone to some better place up in the clouds.”

“Oh, it’s nothing! Nothing! Just a bit of grit in my eye. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a mocha frappuccino to catch.”

Across the walkway I bristled, past glass-fronted palaces, symbols of visibility and pride, through which I could spectate upon the ruthless customers as they whipped out their wallets; beating on, I stomped, borne back ceaselessly into the past, humming ‘Where Have All The Flowers Gone’ as the tears caught in my throat and strains of “Awww mate gorra cig” fell upon deaf ears.

Film photography is regrettably declining in popular use. From its position at the top of Christmas lists, the film camera has been forced into the specialist realm by digital photography. It used to be the case that most families would own a film SLR or at the least an automatic camera of some sort. Now such items signal artists and poseurs. There are obvious advantages to the rise in digital photography, but as it eats away at the film photography market, perhaps this digital dominance needs to be questioned.

The popularity of digital cameras has had a few devastating effects on the film photography industry. Specialist shops such as Jessops are aimed almost entirely at digital camera users, stocking little film-related equipment at an increased price - even the film processing departments have been pared down. Of course markets, by their very nature, are fueled by demand, and shops are unlikely to sell much film equipment while appetite is low.

However it is the retailers who decide which direction the market goes in. No one woke up with the sudden desire for the digital camera one day in the 1980s; rather, the manufacturers created their product, and persuaded us we wanted in. And more than this too; they told us we that digital was replacing film, that it was cheaper, that it was superior. In order for the market to be revived, the film camera must be promoted as a genuine alternative to digital, not as a more expensive option better left to the professions. By limiting the film photography market in this way, the shops not only force those who use film to pay more and more, but they are also manipulating the death of film photography entirely. Polaroid film is now no longer produced, and it can’t be long before all film photography is pushed out by its digital counterpart.

One of the greatest misfortunes in the decline of film photography is that the quality of mass market digital cameras pales in comparison, producing flat, two-dimensional prints rather than deep, full colour photos. At the forefront of this is a shift in what is actually perceived to be ‘quality’ in a photograph. As digital photography’s development tends towards greater resolutions and noise reduction, it is almost becoming too

precise for real life, akin to those paintings so staggeringly realistic they seem to lose any sense of expression. In contrast, film produces much more authentic looking images; even the slightest change in light and timing can produce an entirely different photograph. Digital cameras may offer the chance to view any photo seconds after being taken, but little compares to collecting a film roll 3 days later to find a beautiful accident produced from a slip of the hand, or a slight fracture of sunlight. This authenticity and uniqueness goes beyond the photographs, too; to the sensation of holding a perfectly crafted, weighty metal piece of equipment rather than a mass produced cheap plastic tool, or to carefully adjusting the focal point, aperture and shutter speed instead of letting your camera do it for you. Quality, however it be judged in photography, should go beyond accuracy and realism, beyond mere ease and efficiency, and into something altogether more expressive, something that captures a feeling or sentiment rather than merely a two-dimensional scene.

The expansion and development of the digital photography market has meant that, after the initial price of a camera, photography is essentially free. Gone are the days when a single photograph actually costs money; consequently, a digital camera owner can take photos like there's no tomorrow. There is no problem with something suddenly becoming free, of course; the transition of any product into the affordable mass market prevents them being limited to the wealthy. What this transition does mean, however, is a transition in the meaning of photography as a concept.

Consider the Polaroid; at £1 a pop, it is perhaps the epitome of expensive photography. As a consequence any Polaroid camera owner with half a brain is extremely careful who or what they photograph. A treasured moment or special occasion. And if someone is blinking, that's tough - it captured the moment, now move on. Digital photography need not remove this process entirely; professional photography has seen an interesting leaning towards a post-capture selection procedure, where countless photos are taken but this figure is greatly filtered down as the photos are re-valued on a larger screen.

However, this just doesn’t seem to be the case in mass market photography, no doubt in part because while this selectiveness is an option, it is no longer necessary; no one is out of pocket by a few duplicate photographs.

As a result what is special about photography is lost. Rather than remaining a considered attempt to capture a certain moment for a particular reason, photography is now a repeated action undertaken carelessly often for no real reason at all. Today’s photos don’t go into photo collections or on walls; they go into endless Facebook albums, to be glanced at once and never viewed again.

Finally, the film camera as an invention, too, is one that should not be constrained within the walls of photography museums. The first photograph was taken in the early 1800s, and the next two centuries saw a continuous advancement in cameras, the flash bulb, and of course the film used to capture photos. The history of the film camera is metaphoric of the human striving for perfection and excellence; the refusal to be satisfied with anything less than the superlative. Given the first digital camera was invented in the 1970s, it represents only a small part of photography’s story, and much of the progression now seems more interested in practicalities, such as size, accessibility and speed, rather than the photography itself. If this decline continues, the film camera will inevitably soon be confined to a permanent position behind display glass, appreciated only as a precursor to the digital age rather than as one of the most ingenious, influential and incredible inventions of all time.

The rise of the digital camera is something that should be appreciated; it has brought an art form away from the rich and to the masses, giving everyone the opportunity to enjoy photography. However, it is clear that digital photography is no longer being marketed as an alternative to film, but as its replacement. While the benefits of digital cameras are significant, their development has come at the cost of film photography, and a truly great art form is being lost.

A MORRIS MINOR Summer is nearly here! It’s time to take up smoking again and sit on benches drinking cider, watching improbably thin shirtless idiots parade around with their crap friends and occasionally eat salad. In fact, I often find the summer so innocuous that I long for everyone wrap themselves up in scarves and return to the grey genderless days of winter when it’s easier to concentrate on things other than people’s arses and weird tan lines. At least it gives me some time to escape the country and head to northern Europe where people don’t suddenly turn into complete idiots when the temperature gets above 15 degrees.

I often think back to my childhood summers when we hardly ever went abroad. I was dragged from pub to pub by my parents being forced to stay up late listening to loud repetitive music, often spending weeks on the road whilst their friends fed me far too much beer for a ten-year-old. Having spent most of my teenage years hiding the photographs whenever my friends came to visit, I will now admit proudly that I was a Morris dancer, my summers spent at folk festivals with men with beards.

The winters were spent practising in a small village hall with creaky floorboards, whilst each week from May to September we would dance at a different pub. The choice of pub was extremely important, as Morris men are very fussy about their ale – much as the glitterati object to a badly made cocktail, a Morris man will never return to a pub where he was served a bad pint of beer.

At the summer festivals the rivalry within the Morris dancing world is ritually enacted.

Seeing large groups of Morris men congregate is an interesting sight. Firstly, there is little dialogue between those who dance different styles. Border Morris dancers (the ones with rag coats and blacked up faces who run around shrieking) are looked down upon by the more elegant Cotswold dancer – just as a baroque architect would look down on his simpleton gothic predecessor. Morris groups normally belong to one of two organisations. The Morris Ring (the more mystical free-mason style association) does not permit women, although blacks and people with disabilities are allowed, as long as they have adequate testosterone levels. The more forward thinking Morris Federation allow women, although some sides only let them play music, as women may get confused during an intricate stick dances and may get their fingers broken (this is actually a very common Morris dancing injury – I’ve seen it happen on several occasions). Then we have micro-regional differences, especially sides from Oxfordshire who dance their individual traditions, although altercations are good natured, there are some heated debates about the ‘proper’ steps involved in certain dances.

Having said this, Morris dancers are all on the same side, it’s not until you meet north west clog dancers that you begin to get real football club style rivalry. The terrifying Rivington Clog dancers have their footwork drilled in the military style in order to create the austerity of life in t'mill from where that particular tradition originates.

Once, many years back I heard a story of some dancers camping at a festival and they could hear loud sex noises coming from one of the tents. And so the Morris dancers (in costume) gathered around the tent and started to shout encouraging advice to whom they thought was their friend. Imagine the dismay of the poor innocent camper who had taken his girlfriend for a romantic weekend in the countryside, upon sticking his head out of the tent sees the men in bells and ribbons offering him sex advice. Being sexy (incidentally) was the whole point of dancing during the Morris revival in the 1960s.

Though today associated with an older demographic, back then (according to my mother), girls were very much attracted to Morris dancers jumping around and waving their big sticks in the air.

So why has Morris dancing become so uncool? As my parents always said to me as an embarrassed teenager; “It could be worse. We could be nudists. Or Morris dancing nudists.” It was revived along with folk music in the 1960s, but whereas folk music developed, few Morris dancers dared to ‘go electric’ along with Bob Dylan. As Vice magazine tells us, handkerchiefs, ribbons, rosettes and bell pads are no longer the height of fashion (although if you go to Berlin, wearing denim jackets as trousers is a must). This is an issue which some sides have tried to address, such as Southend-on-Sea’s S&M style ‘biker Morris’ who wear leather and prefer to clank spanners rather than sticks. But is Morris dancing any more ridiculous that hip-hop street dancing in baggy clothes? Or ballet, where you can’t even get drunk. Or boring bloody line dancing. Or the bloody boring bloody Irish dancing of pre-pubescent girls made to look like prostitutes by their ever pregnant mothers? The correct answer to these rhetorical questions is no.

Having spent much of my childhood driving across the English countryside with middle-aged men sampling beer and cream teas, it is sad to see it in decline. Many of the dancers are getting older and Morris dancing is surprisingly energetic; most dances being composed of a series of leaps and jumps. Arthritis is taking over and the younger generation is reluctant to take its place. Which is understandable, as Morris dancing acts rather like a nuclear deterrent: It’s comforting to know it’s there, but I don’t actually want to get involved in nuclear war. As summer is approaching and the Morris dancers will shortly be donating their handkerchiefs to local heritage museums, why not head out to a pub, buy a pint of what you know will be good ale and enjoy the most English of English traditions before it’s too late. And if you’re feeling really enthusiastic why not start a new revival. Or a revolt. Or an uprising. Or a revolution....

joeandwillask.com Kitsune and Gulp Communications

JOE A ND W IL L ASK?

Whether it s the creative use of punctuation in their name, their splendid remix work or the genre-hopping scope of their original productions, it s clear that something about Joe and Will Ask? has caught the imagination of the electronic underground. The combination of Joe Ashworth, whose puppy dog looks bear a glancing resemblance to teen-flick star Michael Cera, and Will Green, who looks like he d be more at home on a catwalk runway. Oh, wait… He s already been there and done that. Before Joe and Will ascend forever into the dizzy heights of electronic stardom, we thought we d bring them down to earth for a second to join us for a pint in Sheffield s favourite indie boozer, Bungalows and Bears.

So firstly and perhaps most importantly, what is the origin of the question mark in your name? How did that come about?

J: Well it used to be an actual question…

W: We didn t want to come up with one of those cringeworthy sort of names that we d end up regretting so we just thought Joe and Will then Ask , as in "Joe and Will ask what is electro? And for some reason it stuck.

J: At the time electro was all like Le Tigre and stuff and we thought What the hell? That s where it started and now we always seem to have these really awkward conversations with people. And we never even play much electro. It s kind of ambiguous.

W: Actually you re the first people for a while who ve spelt our name right with and instead of the and symbol and put the question mark on the end.

J: You know what? You d be surprised. Even Beatport got it wrong.

How did you guys meet then?

W: Joe was living with my best friend in London, and I moved there a year later.

At that time I was living in Tooting in South London and they lived in Camden so I just spent six days a week at their flat really. We used to go to Koko every Friday.

J: We used to go jump around to the Kaiser Chiefs.

W: Yeah, mosh to Kaiser Chiefs.

Speaking of production, how did the La Roux remix come about? That s been hugely popular lately.

J: Well we kind of noticed them very early on and I sent an email to them just asking if they d like a remix done of one of their tracks. We didn t hear back from them for ages until their management got in touch saying that they needed another remix doing and asking if we d do it.

Well it definitely sounds very spiffy.

W: Spiffy? Is that what the kids are saying on the street these days?

Well I m from the countryside really so it s not really street-slang W: Like, country lane slang?

You ve been involved with the Kitsune crew then, how was that? Is there actually a Kitsune maison? Like, in the woods full of kids in skinny jeans, like a hipster Playboy mansion with loads of really cool DJs? W: Well we just bought out one single with them, but it was a good step for us.

J: Y know we just bought out one 12 with them and then I think we ll bring out the next one on our own and then after that I think, like, Ministry of Sound.

Seriously?

W: Nah, some blog wrote something about it last week…not much to it.

I BRING WHAT I LOVE

www.ibringwhatilove.com A film about singer and icon Yousssou Ndour, directed by Elizabeth Chai Vasarhelyi

I Bring What I Love is a documentary about Senegalese singer Youssou Ndour. It follows the release and tour of his acclaimed album Egypt, which was a huge international success, but was hugely controversial upon its release in Senegal. In seeking to celebrate his strong Muslim faith, Youssou faced strong criticism at home for mixing religion together with pop music, to the extent that his records were withdrawn from sale.

The man himself comes across as somebody personally committed to a great number of causes, and the film sees him dealing with his position as somebody who is simultaneously national hero, international statesman, family man and musician.

The film premiered in the UK at Sensoria, Sheffield, where we spoke to its director Elizabeth Chai Vasarhelyi.

This is a film that could have been a very general overview of a musician travelling the world, given the huge range of places and people involved, but actually brings out the depth of character behind the music.

I hope it's a universal film. I think that it does have a rather universal audience and that the story is why I made the film. For me, as an American film maker, the point is that it changes how people see things. I think that films should have political agendas - every story has got a political idea behind it, and for me just telling this story as non-dogmatic, the experience and enjoyment of it will change how you look at it.

What's so interesting about what Youssou was doing within his own society is that he was doing it at once, flying around the world and showing a different side of his life. In his own society he ended up negotiating very real issues and challenges of what the idea of moderation and diversity is.

Did you originally come to it as a religious or political film?

I thought the story around what he was trying to do which, at the time - just shortly after 9/11, was something that was important and spoke to contemporary issues. I also thought that there's so many very good but also really pessimistic stories coming out of Africa. I think that those things are real, and they're important, but Africa also has a lot to bring to the table, and this is a very good example of how maybe if we looked at other parts of the world, then that can change and form how we see things.

For western audiences, do you think the category of 'world music' marginalises things in some way, particularly when it appears to mean that the musician has to be spokesman for a nation?

With the film aspect, all of the celebrity activism I think is important. People draw attention to issues and, sadly, people do pay attention to celebrities. There's a great tradition of music that matters, be it Bob Marley, Bob Dylan... but in my personal opinion we've got really far away from it in our pop culture. When you understand what Youssou is in his own language, his own world, you understand that he still is one of those people to whom music matters.

Film and music are very powerful means of communication and so I think that just allowing him to be in the frame, in a movie theatre or in front of American audiences or Arab audiences is... hopeful, because it shows you a different story.

When we often talk about 'world music,' which is how people might think of him, we perhaps don't realise its origins and the importance it has in its own culture?

Youssou's response to world music is: isn't everything world music? Show me something now that isn't. I think it is a category with limitations and I think that Youssou certainly defies that category. This idea of categories, nationality, boundaries, like the nationality of a production, has been something that we have encountered everywhere. I'm an American director, the film was filmed primarily in Africa and Europe. It was financed by Americans of every single religious background, 70% of whom had never heard of Youssou before.

Last weekend someone said to me "he doesn't look like a real Muslim" and I don't really know what to say to that, but at the same time - thank you for coming and please tell other people to come and see it because that's the point it's supposed to challenge our ideas and the stereotypes we see in the media. I like world music, but I think that everything is kind of world music.

It's certainly not World Cinema though! Cannes would never accept it as world cinema, they'd say it's an American Hollywood production, even though it's not. At all. It's funny, they say it's not an African film either, whereas the African film festival wants it and calls it an African film.

B L UE S A B B AT H BLACK F I JI

In the most un-necessary terms, what genre are you?

myspace.com/telepathe 'Wolf Mother' is released on V2

Blue Sabbath Black Fiji are a big warm polyester blanket: cuddly and shocking. Rising stars on the international noise scene, the French duo of Janin and Charles are currently based in Glasgow. With an arsenal of fx pedals, two guitars and a knackered drum machine, the two make overwhelming waves of noise and melody that swing with willed bipolarity between the ambient and aggressive. http://myownspace.fr/254

J. I always say it s noise.

C. Me too noise. Annoying term would be noise rock, I hate that one, just say it s pussy noise J. Or grabinthetoiletmyfluffyshitpussynoise,

You and most people in the noise scene seem to release the majority of their stuff on them. So, what's the deal with cassette tapes?

J. They will last longer then cdrs and they sound different too. There is a fashion going on with cassettes and people start to do bring out on cassettes again.

C. They ve got a nice size and I like the sound on tape, sounds romantic to me, even just thinking about having a roll of tape is romantic for me. It has that object feeling that you don t get with a plain cdr and they can get pretty lovely with nice artwork.

Listening to your music is strangely calming, considering it is utterly manic. How do you go about making it?

J. Usually we record it live, at home, through a mixing desk with headphones. It s funny to hear that it s strangely calming, why not. There are people listening to grindcore to relax as well.

C. Yeah do you mean that hippie feeling in the background? I noticed it too the other day, actually it scared me! But i think it s because we can keep it funny and entertaining even when we are mental or aggressive, we like to try different sounds which makes it quite colorful, it stays open you know, not monolithique or oppressive in that way.

If tracks are improvised, how do you keep any continuity between sets and records and stuff?

J. We have some themes or even kind of songs we play live more or less, this depends a lot on the sound of a venue and what we are up for in that moment. We make plans about a set list every time we play, but then usually it happens that we do something else.

C. Yeah, kind of themes, like playing repetitive simple things sometimes, like with a particular drum machine pattern, or say a freakout part where we have no plans, or we just say ok dual screaming time or guitar / hand drum machine or something. It is just like saying in the big lines, nothing too definite, the improvisation stays at the core, but we got to have these lines we can follow to not get boring, it s kind of like accelerators or like bumpers, but it s not like having a rigid set at all, nothing too professional here.

Sometimes your tracks verge on ambient. They aren't overpowering, but they are sort of surrounding and overwhelming. I guess the only way to describe it is as aggressively ambient! how much do you think places influences your sound? Is this what walking down a street in Glasgow is like? Or is it somewhere else?

J. Isn t all music ambient? If it would have to be somewhere it would be on a field under the sun on a windy day.

C. Hmm, I don t see it as ambient but I guess you could listen to it that way and if you have visions of places to it then it is cool.

J. Yup, I see ambient also more as a music dealing with non-places, like airports or elevators. If there is a space influencing me it would be maybe my workplace, kind of toytown, I fear that this would make it even more childish, but I can t help it.

There seems to be a really interesting mix of organic and synthetic moods in what you do. Artificial delay pedals creating angular synthetic noises, but in rhythms that build like winds and waves. Is this something that you are conscious of when you make your music?

J. Wind and... haha, sounds like feng shui! No, not really, I guess that happens naturally, as we step on the 'synthetic' pedals with our 'organic' feet and we don t pay much attention about playing squared. Besides it s so much fun to step on pedals, one of my interests is the different quality of sound - from really cheap to (more or less) classy, to overloaded. Its also good if I manage to surprise myself, e.g. when its really nicely getting wild or danceable.

C. The mix you perceive is probably due to our mix of real cheap digital pedals and more analogue ones like old school fuzz. I feel totally conscious of this in the music and I like it a lot! I feel it widens our sounds. It doesn t get too generic like this.

myspace.com/telepathe 'Wolf Mother' is released on V2

TELEPATHE Telepathe are Melissa Livaudais and Busy Gangnes, a pop duo emerging from Brooklyn s new electro avant-garde. From the borough s industrial abyss of Bushwick, they released their debut album earlier this year on V2. Dance Mother was produced by TV on the Radio s Dave Sitek.

Always out to straddle the lines between weirdness and pop, Telepathe come along with a brand new beat that doesn t really sound like anything you ll have heard before. It is a sprawling, deranged, yet glorious mess of sound that manages to go from spheric electronica or droney shoeagaze to frontal club rap within a single song, or as they describe it themselves, sounds like nothing and everything at the same time.

Article: Hello Melissa and Busy, tell me what to expect from the gig tonight!

Melissa: We ve always seen ourselves as producers first, then performers, so the live side of the band was always kind of patchy, but over the last few months we ve found a way to make our music come to life. We can recreate what we ve done in the studio which took us a long but we sound really dynamic now. We have a really awesome sound person with us now, and have been much more confident lately, for us it is great fun to play these days.

Your music is some sort of futuristic dance that no one really understands yet, but how would you best describe it to some one who hasn t heard it?

Busy: I hate the term electro, I d leave it at Pop. Melissa: It s different for different people, a couple of hip hop producers really like it, which makes us really proud. It s pretty genre crossing and that s something we always wanted it to be, and I like that description the most.

How do you feel about being called avant-garde, does it mean anything to you?

Busy: Not really, we are not avant-garde, we are weird.

Our music is supposed to be accessible, and avant-garde is not.

Let s talk about Dave Sitek. While working with him, could you figure out why he s so highly regarded?

Melissa: Definitely. Working with him was amazing, he made us feel comfortable from the beginning, and he has so much energy! We d work at his studio in Williamsburg, it s a mess there, meet him in at 4 work till 4, get coffee, walk through empty Williamsburg at 6 in

the morning, getting new ideas all the time.

Busy: we had written all the songs before we came to the studio but he s been a great help. We are huge nerds when it comes to sounds, and working in his studio, with his collection of synths and all, was a great experience.

So what s Williamsburg like, supposedly the centre of the hipster universe- I know you re friends with Effie Briest and Animal Collective and all that but do you feel part of a scene?

Busy: Williamsburg s crazy, easily one out four people s in a band, a lot of our friends are musicians and it s really helpful, it s all a big community.

Melissa: We feel like we should step away from it though.

We ve given up our homes and are moving when done touring. Where to we don t know. Maybe Berlin?

What about the lyrics, the album s themes all seem very creepy and dark?

Melissa: Yes! Real life inspires us, and that s just what comes out, the news, our country s wars, the (former) dark administration, dark times, and the gun shots we hear at night in Brooklyn. Me and Busy always hand a note book back and forth, we collaborate both on music, and lyrics, and work out ideas, always very democratically.

Busy: We also get inspirations from books we read, like Nabakov and Poe and take phrases we like and give them our own twist. I m also fascinated by 90 s dance hits lyrics, really simple and graphic ones.

There s one particular song on the album, that s really graphic, Michael (about a boy getting a blow job in the woods and being killed afterwards).

Melissa: Yes, we made that one really fast, we had watched this horror movie the night before and that s where we got the idea from.

Finally, what will the future bring for Telepathe?

Melissa: We re touring throughout Europe and Japan till fall, but then we ll work on our new album! We collect ideas for it all the time, it ll be dance orientated and a lot more poppy. Ever since we ve started, we ve come into writing with a pop structure more and more and this is we are heading song-wise. It used to be all very loose and improvised, and now we have been tidying up our way of writing.

Busy: It ll be about melodies! And we really can t wait to go back to the studio and record.