Quench Issue 10 - 15 March 2004

Edinburgh-illiant!

Interviews - Fashion - Gay - Travel - Music - Books - Digital - Film - Arts - Food - Going Out

Scottish fashion

Welsh indie

Cambodian war stories

Executive editor Tristan Thomas

Quench editor Alex Macpherson

Arts Lizzie Brown,Rachel Pegum Blind Date Kerry-Lynne Doyle Books Maria Thomas Columnists Riath Al-Samarrai,DCGates Debate Jessica Webb Digital Gareth Lloyd,Simeon Rosser-Trokas Fashion Caroline Ellis,Perri Lewis

Features Vicky Corbett,Rhys James Film Mat Croft Food Mari Ropstad Gay Ian Loynd Going Out Katy Davies,Jenny Duxbury,Lisa Walkley Interviews Will Dean,Louis Grover,Rob Plastow Music Jamie Fullerton,Anthony Lloyd One Trick Pony James Anthony Photography Gemma Griffiths,Anastasia Nylund Travel Tim Clark,Laura Tovey

Contributors Sarah Ahmad,Tim Alban,Gary Andrews,Hans Baumann,Anita Bhagwandas,Sam Coare,Greg Cochrane,Catharine Collingridge,Megan Conner, Sarah Cummins,Andrew Davidson,Lyndsay Davies,Jason Draper,Josey Gist,Holly Howitt-Dring,Craig Driver,David Ford,Janine Jones,Claire Lamswood,Hannah Langfield,Joe Latham,Eleri Lloyd,Gui Lopez,Hannah Perry,Cassidy Phillips, James Righton,Natalie Slater,Nathalie Southall,Alys Southwood,Rob Telford, Barry Thompson,John Widdop

Assistant to the editor Elaine Morgan

Cover design Mat Croft

Lex’s Law

hope you voted in the union elections last week,kittens. Idid,and just look at the quality of the winners! And in all seriousness,you probably didn’t; as of writing the turnout statistics aren’t yet available,but if it’s over 20 per cent I’ll be mildly shocked.

You don’t want to read any more about the union,though. Suffice to say that there are clear parallels between the apathy shown at this election and the wider political apathy which has gripped Britain for much of the past decade - and I don’t just mean apathy as in lazy good-for-nothings abdicating all political responsibility,but apathy as in vast swathes of the population who, despite being intelligent and aware,simply feel alienated from the process.

Iused to be more understanding of politicians; it’s a job which requires pragmatism,not idealism,and in which there’s a concession made for every principle held. That’s the nature of the beast,and to criticise any politician using the clichéd rhetoric that they’re “out of touch”,that they’re “not normal people” seems a tad naïve. Meanwhile, sneering at student politicians for playing a poor man’s version of the real game has long been a favoured pastime. Increasingly,though,it’s the real politicians who seem to be modelling themselves on the piddling NUS counterparts,endlessly debating tired,recycled lines and bluster which doesn’t even pretend to be meaningful.

The resultant stain of disillusionment runs deep: there’s no guarantee of trust,so virtually everything emanating from Downing Street is greeted with a low-level cynicism,a rolling of the eyes and a shrug. It’s expected,so it’s nothing to get worked up about. And despite the British media preeningly adorning itself with the sobriquet of ‘the unofficial Opposition’,its own agendas merely add to the smog of ennui.

And then we turn around to find the Hutton Report - about a transparent a whitewash as the Blair government’s paint scheme would allow - shoved in our faces,and Americans find that Bush is actually amending the Constitution to prevent gay marriages,and they don’t feel like the bodyslams which they are. It’s screwing us over,butI don’t feel screwed over. I don’t feel anything, merely sickened in a vague sort of way.

One Trick Pony

TAmber Duval Amber Duval

Reasons to be cheerful...Six,at this time of year.Nations,that is

hree years on,Cardiff men are still as charming,engaging and the passionate as they were when we first arrived as freshers. But for those of you lusting after something new and exotic,take advantage of the city’s greatest attraction, as each week scrumptious foreigners flock to the Millennium Stadium like marauding hoards,poised for the attack. Cardiff has opened its arms to Europe’s finest. And believe me,if this weekend is anything to go by you’ll certainly be ready to open your legs to them.

Going French may be a controversial choice. There is little transChannel love lost. And they did rather have the upper hand inside the Stadium this weekend. But don’t hold the sins of the nation against the individuals. Befriend Pierre,and you may soon find that you can breach cultural

differences and language barriers with a little tolerance and a whole load of vodka.

I spent a delightful evening debating the merits of French cinéma with a delicious bunch of Gallic guys. After a short time conversation turned to the subject of language,my friends and I were introduced to a broad selection of colloquial terms that would make a whore blush (next time you meet a group of French speakers I recommend telling them you speak little French but would quite like to try ‘touz’. See what happens).

As the conversation became more risqué and les français grew increasingly hammered,one of their party politely requested,in beautiful English,that I return to his hotel room,so he could give me some private instruction. Never one to miss an opportunity to learn I agreed,and was soon reminded of France’s greatest

( O v e r r a t e d )

Spuggy! Me eyes! I can’t believe we’re not sick of ANT& DEC yet. More to the point,why the hell aren’t they sick of each other? A recent Radio Times poll voted the pair top of a league of Britain’s best-loved TV stars. However,another poll showed that 70% of people didn’t know which was which. In a bid to avoid Generic Geordie confusion,whenever they appear on TV,Ant is always on the left,and Dec is always on the right. I was convinced these two were bum boys until Ant tried to chat my sister up in Harrods. Or maybe it was Dec. A spokesman for the charmless duo was reported as saying “Frankly,I’m surprised anyone cares” (probably).

GM MAIZE has been given the go-ahead,despite opposition from politicians on both sides of the political divide,members of the public,and The Soil Association. OTP wonders not just about the dangers of playing (god) with your food, but the potential reversibility of this decision. When it goes tits up and we’re left with strains of super-resilient bacteria, is there enough scope for the crops to be recalled,or will permanent damage be done? Is this the birth of an era of Frankenstein Foods,whose only logical conclusion is a situation mirroring that of Attack Of The Killer Tomatoes®(and to a lesser extent its sequel, Return…)? Almost surely.

export - their men.

Some stereotypes are just true. None of my French companions smoked,wore onions round their necks,or would admit to eating frog’s legs at every meal. But this guy - let’s call him Loïc (to spare his blushes)true to form,was the greatest lover since the Marquis de Sade invented kinkiness. Uninhibited,thoughtful and chauvinistically controlling in the best way,I had a fabulous weekend. I did let him leave the boudoir to watch the rugby,but he was soon back,and I was truly saddened when he returned to his native land.

This week I shall be mostly humming La Marseillaise and reminiscing about my brief encounter. However next week I shall be preparing for Braveheart and his motley Scottish crew to invade and ravage us lonely women - and I can hardly wait for the Italians. Vive la différence.

( U n d e r r a

Forget Jackass,and that shit that was on Bravo a while ago (I’ve forgotten what it was called,it was so shit). MTV have finally released the first series of DIRTY SANCHEZ on DVD, in two parts,complete with extras. MTV censored some stunts towards the end of the run,due to some big girl’s blouse complaining,no doubt. These are totally uncut certificate 18 beasties. They come with bizarre little postcards from all the boys,thanking you for your purchase. Presumably this is supposed to make you feel better for being rinsed out of double your cash for one series. OTP is a massive fan,even proudly sporting the original Pritchard vs Dainton video. Christ,I’ve wasted my life.

Cardiff has an ICE RINK. A bloody massive thing,with a 2,700 capacity,and no one ever goes there! The Winter Wonderland ice rink is only about for a few weeks a year,and everyone complains that they can never get tickets while completely ignoring the permanent rink. It’s right by the junction of Guilford Street and Bridge Street,or behind Toys R Us in The Hayes. It’s the home of the mighty Cardiff Devils ice hockey team,another vastly underrated element of Cardiff life,perhaps meriting an ‘underrated’ of their very own. The 2004 season ends in March,but consider yourself forewarned for next season.

( T o s s e r )

Coca Cola’s water is tap water! OK,that doesn’t quite have the same ring to it as,say, Soylent Green is people,but every word is true. Coke claim that the source of their sweet new scam is irrelevant, calling it a "lifestyle product".

It does in fact come from a tap, courtesy of Thames Water mains,in Sidcup,Kent. This means that before Coke so much as lay a finger on the stuff,it is already deemed perfectly fit for human consumption. Half a litre of tap water costs 0.03p. Half a litre of Dasani costs 95p – that’s a mark-up

of 3,166 per cent.

Coke has gone on a charm offensive with Dasani,to the tune of seven million quid. This involves a lot of verbal wank like "reverse osmosis" and "multi-barrier filtration."

Dunno if you’ve noticed,but Dasani is being sold all over our union in trendy blue bottles. OTP is currently investigating the plausibility of setting up a petition to get this product banned from our university. It is frankly disgusting to let a billion dollar corporation sell people free stuff at a 3,000 per cent markup.

"I’m sure that Dasani - being the UK’s first mainstream purified water - will contribute towards the clarity and focus that we all look for in our lives."

Brecon Carreg is the leading mineral water in Wales,originating from a source in the Brecon Beacons,combining what its website calls "values of purity from its remote location,and a mystical quality from ancient Celtic folklore."

This is what water should be like,and it’s been sold at the union for a while. Lets compare the origins of this water to Dasani,shall we...?

Brecon Carreg: "Owes its purity to the filtrations through the rock strata of milstone,basalt grit,and sandstone in aquifiers some 240 feet deep beneath the mountains."

Dasani: "Tap."

Brecon Carreg: "Carreg Cennen Castle crowns a remote crag,300 feet above the River Cennen. Although its origins are lost in ancient obscurity,the present stone castle dates from around 1300 and even incorporates the natural cave

"The day,water,sun,moon,night - I do not have to purchase these things with money."

-- Plautus

"They are gardeners and carpenters,they are not tomato men."

-- Tara (Return Of The Killer Tomatoes)

beneath the castle rock into its defences which can still be explored by torch light."

Dasani: "Sidcup."

OTP believes that Cardiff students reserve the right to consume Welsh water within Wales,not some manky old tapwater at 55 pence in Bute,price may vary elsewhere.

Jokes aside,bottled water is a serious business in Britain - Coke water has been selling by the bucketload in the US since 1999,and Coke has set its sights on similar UK domination. You can just imagine this concept arising in some board meeting: “Well,it seems we don’t have enough money. We’re just not fleecing enough people - what is it that people literally can’t live without...?” ( L e g e n d )

"Not all chemicals are bad. Without chemicals such as hydrogen and oxygen,for example,there would be no way to make water,a vital ingredient in beer."

-- Dave Barry

Chick lit

Attention,ladies! Does yet another Bridget Jones inspired novel fill you with despair or delight? Let the battle begin...

Kerry-Lynne Doyle

FOR Alys Southwood AGAINST

Chick lit is the chocolate of the literature world; it is comforting,sweet to the point of being sickly, and it always leaves you with a feel good factor. But unlike chocolate,it doesn’t make you fat. Maybe that explains why lots of the female population read it and why it has the potential to make big money (just think Bridget Jones’s Diary which is now something of a national institution). No,it’s not intellectually challenging. Yes,I’d prefer to read Austen,but that’s not the point of chick lit. Chick lit is about escapism; it’s sugar-coated happily-ever-afters and the feeling that other women understand what you’re going through.

Chick lit has constantly been shunned and scrutinised by the literary world. In Under The Duvet,chick lit author Marian Keyes describes the snobbery and savage criticism she encountered just because she wrote books for everyday women. But I think that’s unfair. Chick lit encourages women who may not have read since their school days to pick up a book and not feel frightened. It’s genuine,easy to relate to and,most importantly,creates the impression that someone understands. It’s fiction written by women for women and has a distinct sense of sisterhood with its tales of broken hearts and life’s disappointments. And at the end of the day,isn’t that what most literature is about? Bridget Jones’s Diary is based on Austen’s Pride and Prejudice; there’s definitely nothing trashy about that.

And don’t be under the impression that chick lit is the modern day Mills & Boon for women over 40. I,an English Literature student,am happy to declare that I’ve indulged in reading the odd chick lit novel. I don’t read them for intellectual stimulation; to me,chick lit is the perfect postbreak up or holiday read. I mean,who wants to lug War And Peace on to an aeroplane for light entertainment on a 10-hour flight? Chick lit is the perfect pick-me-up. We want quirky,over-neurotic heroines who angst over frivolous problems. We want knights in shining armour. And at the end of the day,isn’t what we want actually rather important?

All women want to be thinner and are obsessed with getting their hands on a good-looking,well-paid, ‘new’ man. Failing to do this they drink,eat chocolate and buy shoes. The only exceptions are nymphomaniacs,who work their way through as many men as possible – but still drink,eat chocolate and buy shoes. These clichés are littered throughout chick lit, depicting modern woman as a neurotic mess,who is constantly desperately seeking to be qualified by man. I take no issue with women writing for a female audience,but I object to this constant denigrating portrayal of woman. Even the name of the genre is patronising – ‘chick lit’: literature for chicks. Isn’t that every bit as offensive as women being called ‘skirt’ or ‘totty’ or ‘broads’? How did an entire genre miss the feminist movement?

Chick lit is easy,light reading. It’s accessible. It’s the literary equivalent of soap operas,but with a saccharine sweet ending. Specifically,it’s safe,formulaic and commercialised. It’s a stagnant genre. Same basic plot,same characters, same bright pink cover graced by either a quirky illustration or portrait of a model. There is entertaining literature out there that doesn’t involve a Kerry McFadden-like whining heroine bemoaning her lack of a man. Incidentally,have you noticed that all of these women are described as not being classically pretty,but having an inner beauty? Perhaps due to the number of readers who know they aren’t all that attractive,so are desperate for someone to notice their inner beauty? Just a thought.

Of course,it would be ridiculous to suggest that we confined our reading to ‘proper’ literature. I would rather gouge my eyes out than read Lawrence again,and don’t even get me started on Walter Scott. Besides,too much of the traditional literary canon is written by dead,white men. But there are funny,entertaining books that don’t belittle women the way that chick lit does. Read Jasper Fforde or Terry Pratchett or Monica Ali or Teresa Tomlinson. Stop the rot.

7 Blind date

An international affair?

Blind Date went international when we sent a Cardiff and a Canadian student for a date at

Girl’s profile:

Name - Claire Wild

Age - 21

Studying - BA Law and French

Claire on Nathan:

What were your first impressions of Nathan?

Good looking and friendly.

How was the date?

Good...

Were there any awkward or funny moments? No,not really.

How was the conversation? It was quite intense and interesting. Did you swap phone numbers? No.

Did you go out afterwards? No but he walked me home. Are you going to meet up again?

Probably not. I don’t know though. He lives down the road so we might bump into each

Kiss? Anything more?

Describe the date in a few words. Interesting, fun and thought provoking. Rate the date out of ten. 6/10.

Do you fancy free grub,wine and a date? If so drop us a line at grblinddate@cf.ac.uk or text/call 07800 916077. Just send your name, age,sexuality and details of what type of person you’d like to date and we’ll set it up. It really is that simple!

By Kerry-Lynne Doyle Blind Date Editor

Guy’s profile:

Name - Nathan Babcock

Age - 22

Studying - Taking a term off a Physics degree in Canada

Nathan on Claire:

What were your first impressions of Claire?

She seemed like a nice girl. She was very outgoing and had a good sense of humour. We found things to talk about.

How was the date?

Good,good. Really good. We had our meal,wine then got another bottle of wine. It was enjoyable. Were there any awkward or funny moments? Hmm. I’m a physicist so after a few bottles of wine I tend to go on. I don’t think I bored her but if I did she was a good sport!

How was the conversation?

Excellent. We discussed loads of topics like politics,travel because she’d been to France and even religion after the wine! It was quite good.

Did you swap phone numbers? No we didn’t. Did you go out afterwards? No but we stayed there for a few hours and had more wine. Are you going to meet up again? We didn’t swap numbers so I don’t know if we’d date again but I enjoyed her comapny. She lives close to me so I’ll probably see her around sometime.

Kiss? Anything more? No,I gave her a hug. Describe the date in a few words?

Good time with someone who was great. Great location and I’d do it again! Rate the date out of ten. 8/10.

Jumping jaxx

Dance supremos Basement Jaxx are in town! Alex Macpherson is granted an audience

Dance is dead? They’ve been saying that for years now.

Basement Jaxx have always functioned as a slap in the face to all premature obituary writersand especially so with last year’s Kish Kash LP,a grand,maximalist juggernaut of an album. Each track is a tower of components piled higher and higher until they explode under their own weight in a shower of glitter and sex and sensory overload. No style's been rejected - an electroclash riff here,a house break there,a disco interlude, an acoustic guitar strumming along, gleeful screams of joy,phat robobasslines,a tidal wave of soul.

"With this one the backing music was done less with the intention of clubbing in mind - it’s freer in a way," explains Simon Ratcliffe,50% of the Jaxx core. “We weren’t constrained by style or tempo or anything.”

It’s resulted in Kish Kash becoming their big,triumphantly pop record,but it’s an approach which requires caution. How do Ratcliffe and partner in crime Felix Buxton avoid turning their delicious melting pot of styles into an unappetising,overcooked broth? Ratcliffe pinpoints a surprising third party as their restraining influence:the record company. “It’s always good to get a second opinion,” he shrugs. “Doesn’t matter who it’s from,really.”

Possibly the most important progression is the use of heavyweight vocal collaborators: Siouxsie Sioux,Dizzee Rascal and JC Chasez among others. "(In the past) we always liked using people from our area who weren’t established," continues Ratcliffe. "The guest vocalist thing began when we heard that Lisa (Kekaula) of The BellRays was a phenomenal singer, that we should check out her bandand it just snowballed from there."

It’s an ingredient which has demanded a new way of approaching the music for Ratcliffe and compadre Felix Buxton. "The people we’ve worked with before haven’t been singers as such,

so we had to mould them a bit morebut people like Siouxsie Sioux and Meshell Ndegéocello just sound the way they sound; it’s almost like working with another instrument. It’s a lot easier in a way." And indeed,the results are musical chemistry of the most magnificent kind; the combination of the Jaxx production and their guests’ charisma aren’t so much irresistible force and immovable object as two irresistible forces colliding.

It’s all led to fevered speculation as to who might be next to have their magic corralled into the Jaxx sound. Ratcliffe promises that the use of guest vocalists will continue,before tantalisingly revealing that both Prince and Missy Elliott were among the artists intended for Kish Kash who never got around to laying down their vocals. “And there’s still a possibility that it might happen,” he teases.

So,dance clearly isn’t dead.

Basement Jaxx certainly seem relaxed enough about the genre’s future,even if Ratcliffe is somewhat scathing about its present:somewhat bizarrely,he claims that “a lot of dance music has become lazy - it’s been appropriated by the mainstream,I suppose.” It’s notable that he talks about dance in a way that distances Basement Jaxx from being pigeonholed in it,but at the same time taking a keen interest in it. “It’ll always produce new music - but in a way,it’s the end of a generation,the end of a phase,” states Ratcliffe in a tone which suggests that this constant quest for the new,the fresh,is precisely what will drive Basement Jaxx on to even greater heights.

Basement Jaxx play Newport Arena on Tuesday March 16.

‘Prophet and mosh

Lostprophets’ Mike Lewis talks to Jamie Fullerton Interview

Mike Lewis,bassist with Pontypridd nu-metallers Lostprophets,will tell you that he doesn’t really have a much interest in what the press say about his band. More specifically,he’ll tell you that "I really don’t give a shit about what the press thinks. Kids don’t care what Kerrang! thinks,don’t care what the NME thinks. They don’t give a shit. All they know is that they like good music."

So why then is he so riled about having just given an interview to a local radio station that "never gave a shit about us until we were big"? And why does he ask to extend his interview with Quench well into the scheduled soundcheck,stating that "this guy really fuckin’ hates us and he’s really having a go"? Truth is,Mike cares about what anyone,press or otherwise,thinks about his band. And he’ll exhaustively defend anything that remotely resembles a verbal challenge to his youthmetal assault,which was recently offered to the masses in the form of chart-fucking new album Start Something. Best let him get on with it, then. DING DING! Round one…

Sucker punch numero uno: with its gleaming production values,humungous tunes and a juggernaught marketing budget behind it,the ‘proph’s new album is the work of a mainstream pop band,right?

"No,not really. If you define ‘pop’ as popular,then yeah,but on our own terms. The record sounds old school,as in epic. As in big. There are a lot of new records now that are really lo-fi,as if it’s cool to record them up your fuckin’ nan’s arse,d’you know what I mean? We didn’t want that. We wanted to make an epic rock record,y’know,that’s why we got a fuckin’ orchestra on there,and everything else. Fakesoundofprogress (their debut album) sounds like complete shit compared to this record."

Well blocked. The kid’s got moves. Still,plenty more swipes to be dealt out. Face slap number two: Lostprophets dress like they’ve won a shopping spree in Topman followed by a Pop Idol makeover,cultivating an image less rock than water…

"I dress how I wanna dress. Ever since I was like,thirteen,I cared about fashion. I really don’t think that has anything to do with anything. Whether I was in a band,or whether I worked in fuckin’ Barclays Bank,I’d dress in exactly the same way as I do now. EXACTLY."

DING! Time out. Time to take a breather,and after a small bald man fishes the phlegm soaked gum shield out of Quench’s gob,explain to the nongoateed amongst you exactly who the hell Lostprophets are.

In 1997 the guys were school buds in Cardiff side-order town Pontypridd, when they formed Lostprophets. After their demo made half the Kerrang! office ejaculate into their undercrackers, the Visible Noise record label lassoed the boys and in July 2000 put out their debut album Fakesoundofprogress, which was recorded for the price of a packet and a half of Walkers crisps. The ‘prophs quickly built up a rabid fanbase of acne-faced adolescents through extensive touring,and in 2003 they decamped to Los Angeles to record their new album Start Something: the record that,as planned,has turned them from bright young hopes to blinding nu-rock gods,as well as bagging them a chart-raping top five in the album charts.

It’s a classic rags to rock-bitches tale; a tale of cocky young buckaroos grinding their way to the top by ignoring anything apart from their own gobby mouths and never contemplating giving up for a second.

"I don’t come from an affluent area," says Mike; "I come from a poor area. I’m from a family where my father worked from the bottom. If you’re from fuckin’ LA or London,from a rich background,then none of this matters. So many bands are middle class rich kids with fuckin’ trust funds and that. I couldn’t go to my Dad and say ‘can I have a £2,000 guitar?’ I had to fuckin’ work a job to buy a shitty fuckin’ £100 guitar,

‘cos I couldn’t afford one. I’m proud of my working class background. I’ve met a lot of rich kids,if you know what I mean. And it is different. Those kids are different. The music can be as real,but what I’m saying is,their attitude to certain things is different. Without a doubt."

Right,cool,fine,whatever. Time to get back in the ring and throw a few uppercuts at that goateed chin again. Well… maybe… but… thing is… when you actually sit down and wrap your ears round Start Something,you realise that it’s actually… quite brilliant: a pure blood‘n’bones rock record. Old school… as in epic,yeah. And tunes,yeah,shitloads of those too. And everyone likes tunes,right? Right. So actually,despite being the most chronically unfashionable band in the solar system,they quite simply do rock like motherfuckers. So it must be kind of annoying,then, when peeps write off the ‘prophs as sterile gleam-rockers strictly for the under-fives…

"So many people judge us. They’re like: ‘oh look at them,they’re a pop band,they have this image,they have that image,blahblahblahblah,they’re a boy band,blahblahblah,they’re shit, they’re shit,they’re shit. Look: shut the fuck up. Don’t worry about what you’ve heard,what your neighbour’s dog has told you about Lostprophets. Listen to the music. We’ve got the music to totally back up anything,or destroy anything that anyone wants to say about us."

Damn right. Mike’s at least poked this cynical pretentio-journo into giving the most rocking boy band in the world another spin. Not that he’d care,mind. ‘Cos he "don’t give a shit about what the press thinks",remember?

William Nicholson has written numerous novels for both adults and children and the blockbuster screenplay Gladiator, yet still claims that writing never gets any easier. "Sometimes I find it hard to get started,feel like I’m not in the mood,can’t think what to write,a general lack of inspiration. At such times my method is to tell myself all I’ll do is notes. In the early days you run on hopes and dreams,later you know you’ve done it before,so the chances are you can do it again.” And do it again Nicholson did,recently taking the Gold award at the 2003 Nestle Smarties Awards for his children’s novel The Wind Singer,which he states “has been an endless source of happiness for me".

Interview 10 William likes his smarties

Louis Grover faces the man behind Gladiator,William Nicholson

watching "peculiar films,pondering the meaning of life and writing rotten novels",early work that Nicholson now describes as "crap".

Nicholson has established himself as a successful novelist and scriptwriter and he says it is down to Shadowlands: "my whole career has

After a childhood enjoying activities like any other boy of reading,fantasising,eating sweets,building camps with friends and writing,Nicholson enrolled on a degree in English Literature at Cambridge University. And like most students he lived a typical life: "I hung out with friends, talked a lot,read,wrote for the university newspaper,screwed up my love life and then wept about it."

Nicholson also spent his student days

“I hung out with friends,wrote for the university newspaper, screwed up my love life and then wept about it.”

been built on that first success." He also has fond memories of The Retreat From Moscow,a play currently running on Broadway: "it’s the most truthful thing I’ve ever written". He adds: “When I write a script I’m working with other people,and have to consider their needs and views. That’s very healthy for me,but it does mean that I’m not writing my own voice. With a book I’m on my own. That’s scary,but it’s also the real me. That I love."

I wondered how someone who describes scripted writing as a "group thing,which can be frustrating" could juggle such a project with novel writing where "all the way you’re worrying that you’re mad,and no one will want the end result. Everything I do comes from the same place in me,the techniques vary. So the problem becomes one of pressure management." Like most students,Nicholson states he responds well to pressure: "having all the time in the world can be oddly dispiriting."

“I think all writers face the same major problem,which is knowing

enough about anything to be able to write. For that you really need to do a lot of living. Get out there and live. Do a lot of different things,meet a lot of different people. Then of course,read a lot,or see a lot of movies - and then get writing - and don’t stop. You will get better,I promise."

Such a lifestyle has raised Nicholson to great heights. He’s currently writing a children’s novel, Seeker,the first in a series called The Noble Warriors. "I also have a new novel about to come out in April called The Society of Others. It’s a very strange book,the publishers are calling it ‘a thriller about the meaning of life’."

Hard work is rewarded with success and Nicholson is no exception. Time off work revolves around his family, that’s if he decides to take a break. "My work is my joy and my hobby and everything. I only stop because I get tired,so I do a lot of horizontal meditation on the sofa."

Contact Nicholson at www.williamnicholson.com

Not gone but forgotten

Cambodia’s history is a complex and painful one. Rhys James hears a personal account of it

When I encountered Mr Aki Ra in Siem Reap,Cambodia,I could easily have been forgiven for having not looked at him twice. Standing in blue shorts and flip-flops,he grinned,bowing down to receive his young son,wearing little more than a faded yellow vest,running into his arms. Living with his young family,Aki Ra seemed thoroughly normal; as far as you can be in a country where only half the women are literate,and a quarter of children fail to see their fifth birthdays. This was,however,only as long as I neglected the thousands of defused land mines and unexploded ordinance that lay piled up around us. For Aki Ra is the founder of the woefully unknown Cambodia Land Mines Museum.

I,like so many others,was in Siem Reap to see its most famous attraction, the Angkor complex of ancient capitals and temples. I was lucky,however,to hear of Aki Ra's museum. Hiring one of Siem Reap's ubiquitous and thoroughly

terrifying tuk-tuks,I was raced and jolted to Aki Ra's,tucked away along a rutted and dusty farm track,just minutes from the town. Here I learnt of the reality of Cambodia,its spirit and hardships.

In order to fully appreciate the experiences and achievements of Aki Ra,we need to briefly consider the complex and dark recent history of his nation.

In 1969,despite the stated neutrality of his nation by its ruler,Prince Sihanouk,the American and South Vietnamese began to bomb Cambodia, hoping to destroy Viet Kong forces alleged to have been using the Ho Chi Minh trial. In reply to his protests the Republican US and South Vietnam backed the overthrow of Sihanouk,by General Lon Nol.

Such events populised the newly established,and anti-American,Khmer Rouge. A group of jungle rebels,they pressed the Vietnamese and American forces out of Cambodia,forcing Lon Nol to flee from Phnom Penh in 1975. Over

the next four years agrarian fanaticism, genocide,paranoia and sheer cruelty were to lead the deaths of three million people at the hands of Pol Pot’s regime. The calendar was turned to zero,to mark the beginning of a ‘new era’,and money was abolished. Although their meaning is not so well known,the Killing Fields of Cambodia are notorius world wide,synonymous with needless death and slaughter.

Although communist,the Khmer Rouge did not enjoy happy relations with the Vietnamese. The result of the ensuing conflict was that on January 11 1979,the Vietnamese army took Phnom Penh,leaving the Khmer Rouge fleeing to the jungles near Thailand. During the 25th anniversary celebrations of this event,while I was in the capital,there was some serious debate amongst the Cambodians as to whether

to describe the arrival as a ‘liberation’, or more of an ‘occupation’,for the Vietnamese forces remained for another 10 years. During this time, Cambodia’s resources were ruthlessly exploited. It is largely then that many of the relics of Angkor were taken - stolen to order. Also,as warfare between the Vietnamese and Khmer Rouge strongholds raged on in northern Cambodia, the Vietnamese were careful to send locals to fight before any of their countrymen.

When the Vietnamese finally withdrew in 1989,the Cambodian Army was left to fight on against the Khmer Rouge jungle fighters. This was to last until 1998,when Pol Pot died of malaria somewhere on the Thai border,finally ensuring the end of the Khmer Rouge. It is into this world of all engulfing conflict that Aki Ra was born,sometime in the early 1970s. He is uncertain as to when. His parents were sent to separate villages,while he was a baby. Like all,Aki Ra's father was seriously malnourished. When he became ill,the Khmer Rouge fed him wholesome soup. When he quickly finished the bowl they accused him of feigning his illness,and killed him. Aki Ra says that for long afterwards he was always too scared to tell anyone if he was unwell for fear of what would happen.

This was the only world that Aki Ra knew. A world of fear and struggle. One of his friends was killed for stealing some of the scraps from a pig trough. He was found out when they carried out their daily faeces check.

The many orphaned children,like Aki Ra,were ideal subjects for indoctrination by the Khmer Rouge. He recalls, “They had my innocence in their hands, and were able to warp it any way they chose. I thought that the whole world existed like we did and the brutality and hardship,the starvation and all the guns,became my normal world.”

Like so many others,at the age of 10 Aki Ra was given a gun,taught how to shoot and,crucially,to lay mines.

Although the Vietnamese army had taken Phnom Penh in 1979,it was four years before they arrived in Siem Reap, a stronghold of Khmer resistance. Each side occupied one part of the Angkor temple complex. The bullet and shrapnel damage to wall reliefs around these structures was generally caused not by a communist,Taliban-esque hatred of religious idolatry,but more often simply by the potshots of drunken boredom.

Within three years,the Vietnamese forces took the area,and Aki Ra was captured along with his village. Given the alternative of execution,he now found himself fighting against his old army. Though his uniform had changed, his life did not,still being marked by starvation,fear and struggle.

When the Vietnamese pulled out,in 1989,Aki Ra was again conscripted, still only around 16 years old,to continue fighting the Khmer Rouge for the Cambodian Army. This time,at least,he was able to begin to study.

No matter who Aki Ra was fighting for,he was forced to use simple deception to fight his opponents,in a conflict not typified by technical wizardry.

Such tricks include fleeing from enemy approaches,leaving behind a huge pot of soup. The victorious and starving troops would then celebrate this booty,unaware that it had been spiked. Soon falling ill,the ‘retreating’ forces could return and kill them.

When Aki Ra’s unit was forced to run

from Khmer Rouge troops,they dropped their ammunition on the ground. These bullets had been

treated with poison,so that when the guns were subsequently fired,they emitted a toxic gas.

On one occasion,Aki Ra was part of a Vietnamese unit camped in a village. Every night a band of Khmer Rouge would fire mortars into the buildings from the jungle nearby. By always moving around they were difficult to find. Aki Ra’s boss sent him and two others to destroy the band. By arming themselves with as many weapons as they could carry and making a lot of noise, they would appear to be,from a distance,a large unit. They crept around the Khmer Rouge,firing at them from many different places. Finally,coming upon them,Aki Ra killed all five,with a rocket. Returning,he told his boss that no one had been injured,and was rebuked. He then added that no one was injured because they were all dead.

By far my favourite trick of Aki Ra’s was the ‘smoking toad’. To protect his home he would catch a toad large enough to hold a cigarette in its mouth. He would fix the toad with a wire on his porch. As its moved and attempted to jump away,any potential attackers would be scared off by the burning cigarette moving in the distance.

Aki Ra has been blessed with countless lucky escapes in his lifetime. During one confrontation,he realised that he was firing at his own uncle. While he lowered his weapon,his uncle had not recognised him and continued to shoot. Aki Ra couldn’t explain his reluctance to his Vietnamese leaders, and so he kept firing just above his uncle’s head,until he ran away. The two met again in 2000. Realising what a close encounter they had had,according to Aki Ra,they ‘had a big laugh.’

Aki Ra was quickly reluctant to continue his daily job of moving mines he had laid the day before,causing the deaths of civilians,and the few cattle that they had. If a mine blew up a cow, the farmer would have to pay the Vietnamese compensation,since it was intended for Khmers,not his cattle. So, when he set out every day,he would simply bury his bag of 50,unarmed,in one deep hole,and then wait,before rejoining his unit.

With the arrival of the UN in Siem Reap,Aki Ra was recruited to use his experience to help clear the landmines that litter the country. For Aki Ra,this was a steep learning curve. He had never seen concrete buildings,only shacks and huts. When he first saw the paved roads of Siem Reap,he thought they were a mountain.

He was not alone. Throughout Cambodia many people were trying to come to terms with the past and start

out anew. The frustration felt by the people at the repeated delays of the UN trial of Khmer Rouge suspects was palpable. The arrival of peacekeepers and then tourists from the outside world has added a further culture shock.

Cambodia has not been able to make a simple transition to peace. The country is estimated to have some 10 million land mines littered around, unmapped. It is suggested that it will take between 50 and 100 years to find and clear them all.

In a nation where 75-80% of the population is employed in agriculture,land mines are a constant but unavoidable danger; a farmer must continue to work his land. The threat which they present, usually discovered through tragedy,is detailed in one story of Aki Ra’s.

In 1995 a couple and their baby child were travelling in their ox cart to collect

that Aki Ra had made safe,a chilling experience. Forget Hollywood myths of a few seconds delay or some clever use of weights. Had it been live,I would have lost a leg instantly. I would probably wouldn’t have died,however. Most small mines are designed to only render a serious casualty,thus occupying other members of the victim’s unit as a straight fatality would not.

As Aki Ra began to build up a collection of unexploded ordinance,mines and guns which he had made safe and collected in his work,he came up with the idea of the museum,which opened in 1999. He continues his de-mining work today,unpaid,and has also taken a

rice. The cart was unburdened and light on the outward journey. Returning home,loaded with rice,the cart was heavy enough to set of an anti-tank mine that it had earlier passed over safely. Both parents and oxen were killed instantly. The mother’s embrace of her child at the moment of the blast saved its life. They were catapulted into a mine field nearby,where locals could not reach the dead mother or screaming child. It was three days before they reached Aki Ra,who cleared the mines away to reach the baby,who had survived by suckling on his mother’s breast. The child is now five,and growing up in Aki Ra’s family.

One blessing in the matter of defusing mines is their simplicity. However, this lack of complexity also makes them very cheap,some costing just $5, increasing their use. I stood on several

number of orphaned mine victims into his home,looking after their upkeep.

I never got the impression that these are acts of remorse; I think Aki Ra is far too reconciled with what he did in the past,and the few choices he had. I think that his own experience of deprivation has led to a great empathy and kindness, in a man who has seen so much,despite being only a few years older than I.

Perhaps this is the point. This mildmannered,smiling man is not unique,in Cambodia; all of the country has been through so much. All of the nation’s many amputee beggars have a tale of comradeship and desperation. This horror continues to be written on the face of the nation with every new victim to the wars of the past.

It is appropriate that the first race of the 2004 Formula 1 season will be staged in Australia on March 7. For most,the place is now synonymous with sporting success. Enough words have been written about the 2003 Rugby World Cup not to have to mention why this association exists, but needless to say that it is a novel feeling to celebrate a home nation winning a major sporting tournament,and for that reason that rugby now enjoys the sort of nationwide popular appeal that has been strictly reserved for football.

Formula 1 briefly occupied this place in the public’s heart,most recently in 1997,when Damon Hill brought the spotlight back to Formula 1. He too won a Championship,picked up a BBC award and (not unlike a certain England captain) was quickly enlisted to help flog fast food. However,when

he failed to repeat the feat the following year,people lost interest and now Formula 1 resides somewhere in the back pages of newspapers. The lack of attention the sport receives is unfortunate,since motor sport consistently brings Britain the sort of success - and income; £5 billion a year at the last count - that ball games can only dream of. While driving success has been thin on the ground in recent years,of the 20 cars to line up on the grid in Melbourne for the start of the FIA F1 Championship,12 are designed and built in the Britain. Of the remaining eight cars,half - the Ferrari and Toyota entries - are the work of British technical directors,leaving only four cars without strong technical affiliations with the UK. Not bad for a country with an almost non-existent car industry.

It is difficult to explain why such a strong link exists between Britain and motor sport,especially Formula 1,but it may have something to do with the small number of enthusiasts in this country that tune and race anything

with an engine in it. For most it’s a hobby,but a few of these people will actually make a living from racing cars, be it behind the wheel or more likely working on some aspect of car design. Others will be happy becoming embroiled in some other aspect of motor sport; whether it is marketing, financing or running a racing team. There is something for anyone who wants to be involved with racing on four or two wheels and,with this in mind,the Institution of Mechanical Engineers launched Formula Student.

Formula Student is a competition devised to allow universities to build open wheeled formula cars and race them against each other. The inspiration for the event was the American Formula SAE competition,which began life in 1981 and continues to attract huge levels of interest. The rules for Formula Student are closely based on the Formula SAE template and as a result,simultaneous entries can be (and frequently are) made to both competitions. Since the event’s birth in 1998,Formula Student has continued

Racing on ahead

A need for speed is driving Cardiff’s Formula 1 student team to racing success,says Gui Lopez

to grow and now attracts teams from 18 different countries. Last year over 50 universities made the trip to Bruntingthorpe Proving Ground,south of Leicester,to take part in the 2003 Formula Student event. As in all levels of motor sport,some teams came with more support than others and rather gratifyingly,this was no guarantee of a strong performance at the event. Some teams were made up of students who funded the project themselves with little or no support from their university and others,such as the University of Delhi,beat the odds just to make it to the start line. In contrast,Toronto University team was run by staff specifically hired by the university to support the Formula Student programme.

The 2003 Formula Student event was also significant because it was the first time Cardiff University entered. Cardiff Racing was established in 2002 by a group of volunteers and final year engineering students who started designing a car around a reclaimed 600cc Honda motorbike engine. Fortunately,academic support was forthcoming and some of the work was recognised academically through the existing automotive design module. As the project gathered pace,a Class II entry was submitted for the event. Class II is reserved exclusively for non-running entries and the cars are judged solely on their basic design. Other aspects of the team are also assessed,such as the marketing and costing of the car,which leaves out only the on track events for Class I entrants. Entering Class II is an ideal way of introducing a new team to the event and so gain experience for the following year’s event. After a successful fact-finding mission and encouraging words from the judges,Cardiff Racing is now at the stage where a Class I entry is being prepared for the summer.

Testing can be carried out prior to the event to optimise the car for the different trials at the Formula Student event. In one particular instance, Swansea Institute rolled their car several times when it suffered component failure on a high-speed section of the track. While not an ideal way to measure the strength of the chassis,the team were relieved to watch their driver walk away from the wreckage with little more than an expensive repair bill to look forward to.

Accidents bring home the realities of motor sport and add extra responsibility to the team; the driver is not a professional but a fellow student,and more often than not,a friend. Safety

at the event is controlled by the low speed nature of the course and the lack of wheel-to-wheel racing that takes place. The latter has wisely been ruled out. As anyone who has been go-karting can testify, motor racing is hardly a non-contact sport. It may also result in a severely restricted supply of drivers, as potential competitors choose to spare themselves the dangers of racing against potential lunatics. Instead,points are scored in several events assessing the car’s acceleration, handling,nimbleness and fuel economy,which culminate in the endurance event.

This is the toughest event of the weekend,where mechanical failure is common and a comfortable ride to the finish rare. The whole event is designed to test the dynamic qualities of the car,rather than its straight-line speed or the qualities of the driver. Refreshingly though,it is widely acknowledged within Formula Student that drivers can make up for many deficiencies in the car abilities, which results in intense competition throughout the weekend.

The crop of students that currently make up Cardiff Racing have benefited greatly from the knowledge gained from last year’s entry. The team is working flat out to complete the car, which is strongly based on the 2003 Class II entry. Many obstacles need to be overcome,some which are out of the hands of the students.

Manufacturing many of the components for the car is a task currently being undertaken by one technician. The department simply cannot spare more resources for Formula Student. His progress is further hampered by demands on his time placed on him by other sources. The problem is exacerbated by the need for students to be supervised when working on the workshop,often negating the advantage of the extra pair of hands.

As with the vast majority of racing teams,Cardiff Racing relies heavily on the support and sponsorship of interested companies. Like most teams though,not enough support or

sponsorship is currently available. Companies often supply parts free or at vastly discounted rates,but support in other areas is also needed. Testing,team clothing,transport and accommodation are substantial costs which need to be covered from the already stretched budget. In the case of team clothing,it may be dispensed with altogether. This is something to be avoided,as it is vital to create a good impression at the event.

As mentioned previously,motor sport business creates great wealth for Britain,and ensuring the sector remains the best in the world affects the approximately 35,000 people currently employed within it. It is for these reasons that the entire university and not just the engineering school should get behind the team. Cardiff Racing represents Cardiff University,so anyone with an interest in the event can get involved. By helping Cardiff Racing make it to the start line,students can be part of something at which Britain is the world leader. So bear that in mind next time you flick through the sport pages and lament the lack of British successes.

To become a sponsor,or for further information on Cardiff Racing contact Gui Lopez at: lopezg@cardiff.ac.uk Or check out: http://www.cardiffracing.co.uk/motorsport.html

Cardiff University’s racy little number

Eleri Lloyd embarks on a journey of Cardiff’s many small cafés in search of truly tasty meat-free options

The veggie guide to Cardiff

It’s difficult being vegetarian in Cardiff. Unless you make the effort, you’ll be eating cheese and egg mayonnaise from now until graduation. In case you’re hoping that this feature will inform you of a secret vegetarian scene that has somehow remained elusive to you,we must inform you that,regrettably,this is not the case. However,it’s not for want of trying. Ian Young,manager of The Greenhouse,a vegetarian and seafood restaurant,has revealed that he used to run an exclusively vegetarian venture,but “didn’t feel the market would sustain a proper vegetarian restaurant”. Indeed,the word on the street is that Chapter’s cafe was also once meat-free.

It’s estimated that there are four million vegetarians in Britain,and Quench estimates that around six of them live in Cardiff,which might account for the fact that two vegetarian businesses (The Beaz Neez and Tomlins) have closed down in as many years. It’s therefore all the more crucial to support the few businesses that do consider the needs of vegetarians,rather than supporting Greggs et al. It’s time for some vegetarian solidarity,so get your asses out of Subway and try out some decent food.

For a Quick Bite: Sandwiched in the City

Location: Dominion’s Arcade,opposite Boots

Expect to pay (approx): £2.70 takeaway,£3.20 to eat in Menu includes:

- Houmous,carrot,coriander and lemon salad baguette.

- Guacamole,tomato salsa and cheese baguette.

This is the best cheap,quick,takeaway baguette shop in town. They have obviously considered their vegetarian options. It’s not the most comfortable place to eat in,but has a clean modern decor,with pictures of Cardiff landmarks scattered on the walls. It also has copies of the Mail, which can provide some comic relief while you eat.

For Cosy Atmosphere: Café Europa

Location: Opposite the Castle

Expect to pay (approx): £3.40 to eat in,approx £1.25 less for takeaway. Menu includes:

- Avocado,cream cheese and tomato sandwich.

- Spicy veggie sausage with mayo sandwich.

- Wraps with refried beans and chilli salsa.

The coolest café in town: sofas, books,artwork,alcohol license, decent music,fair trade coffee,vegan options,and the best toilet this side of The Ernest Willows. Jesus,is there anything wrong with this place? Only if you forget that this is not a fast food joint. They do it the old school way, by,like,making it.

For Welsh organic food: The Plan Location: Morgan Arcade,near Crumbs

Expect to pay (approx): £4.75 Menu includes:

- Wholemeal pitta with marinated aubergines,mushroom,houmous, spinach.

- Vegan salad with avocado,artichoke,olives,red onion and lemon.

OK,so it’s pretty pricey; the kind of place you might go to when your loan first comes through. However,all the food is organic,the eggs are free-range, and the food is from Welsh sources. Makes you feel quite noble to buy local produce rather than spending money in franchises. More morality for your money.

For Pretending You’re in The Good Life: Crumbs

Location: Morgan Arcade,near Spillers

Expect to pay (approx): £4 to eat in, between £2 and £4.50 for takeaway Menu includes:

- Vegetarian curry or chilli with brown rice

- Mixed salad; toppings of cottage cheese and pine nuts.

I believe the phrase is ‘earthy’. Your meat-eating sisters and brothers might not appreciate it. But the food is filling,and likely to make you feel like you’re doing yourself some real good. Unfortunately,it’s pretty expensive for us students, but well worth going to,since it’s the only veggie café in town.

For Welsh,organic,vegan,dairyand gluten-free food (phew!) : Cariad

Location: Inside Aveda Bauhaus on St Mary Street

Expect to pay (approx): £3.70

Menu Includes:

- Organic,vegan,dairy and gluten free soups,eg leek and potato

- Mexican wraps with kidney beans, peppers,chilli and organic mayo

It’s only recently opened,having previously traded under the name Graze. If you’re cultivating an überspecific diet,then either chill out a bit,or try out Cariad. And whoever said Mexican wraps and hair wraps don’t mix?

For If You’re Near Uni: The uni cafés

Location: On your scholastic doorstep

Expect to pay (approx): £1.65

Menu includes:

- Cannellini bean salad,sunflower and pumpkin seeds on malted bread

- Veggie stuffing with cranberry sauce

It’s only recently that the catering division has offered a vegetarian range,and it’s pretty good. Cheap and interesting food without stepping out of your department.

Unfortunately,another ethical dilemma now looms: all the soft drinks now available are made by Coca Cola,even the water. Gone is the ubiquitous Brecon Carreg bottle; now we’re endorsing a company so dodgy that it’s been boycotted by Dublin University (check on the web).

Location: Cathays Terrace/ Senghennydd Road

Expect to pay (approx): £1.80

Menus include:

- Mexican quorn

- Brie and cranberry

- Roast vegetables

Both have similar menus and are in roughly the same place. If you fancy a baguette rather than a sandwich, both have interesting quorn options, which are a lot better than the cheese and tomato baguettes lurking in uni cafes.

For Evenings: The Greenhouse

Location: Woodville Road

Expect to pay (approx): £13.95 for two courses

Menu includes:

The menu varies,but recent dishes include:

- Stuffed roasted peppers with fennel,wild mushrooms and sherry sauce and spiced polenta

A small and intimate restaurant with not one sliver of meat cooked on premises. The evening menu comprises of three options: one is seafood,two are vegetarian and it changes regularly. Why settle for

Cookery Corner 1: Garlic mushrooms on toast

By Gary Andrews

Heat some oil and butter together in a pan. Chop six large mushrooms and add to the pan. Fry until coated in the oil and butter mixture. Add some mixed herbs,garlic purée and more butter to the pan and continue to fry the mushrooms.

Meanwhile put two slices of toast in the toaster. Butter when done. Spread the mushrooms over the toast,grate a little cheese over the top and serve.

Cookery Corner 2: Stuffed roast peppers

By Gary Andrews

Take two large peppers,cut the tops off core and de-seed. Brush the insides and outsides with olive oil and sprinkle a few mixed herbs inside. Set the oven to 200°C, place on a tray and roast for 10-15 mins.

Meanwhile half fill a cup with couscous and just cover in water. Leave the couscous to absorb the water. Chop up half an onion,one garlic clove and some courgette. Dice the courgette. Heat some oil in a pan and sauté the vegetables for about four mins. Add the couscous and a small amount of tomato purée and fry for another minute. Take the peppers out of the oven and fill the insides with the vegetable and couscous mixture. Sprinkle some more mixed herbs on top. Put into the oven and roast for a further 10-15 mins. Meanwhile chop up two tomatoes, cucumber,red onion and some lettuce leaves. Drizzle salad dressing over and toss. Take the peppers out of the oven and serve with the salad.

For an information pack

Tel: 02920 359500 email: cardiff@victoriahall.com

A l likely T Tory

By Ian Loynd

The Conservatives – memorably dubbed the ‘nasty party’ –have an infamously poor relationship with gay people. In the run up to the next general election they will be keen to shed their out-of-touch image.

Under the new leadership of Michael Howard the Tories are making the reform of their policies concerning homosexuality a priority. Howard has already outlined his support for civil partnerships (see Quench 9) setting him far apart from his predecessors.

On March 29,the Conservative Party will host a parliamentary summit in Westminster entitled ‘Supporting Young Gay Men And Lesbians - The Way Ahead’. It will be led by Charles Hendry MP and is strongly supported by Howard and the Terrance Higgins Trust. The key issues addressed in the summit will include tackling homophobic abuse and leading healthy lifestyles.

Tim Yeo MP will open the summit. He comments: "We will be using the feedback to ensure that our policies reach out fully to the gay community –for too often,the prejudices and abuse that many homosexuals face are simply ignored by politicians. It is now time this changed.”

These are strong words demonstrating strong support for gay rights. However,the Tories cannot so easily escape their past of non-representative

traditionalism. The new Conservative ideals will be met with suspicion from a gay community historically stigmatised by the party.

Thatcher and Howard were key players in the introduction of Section 28 of the Local Government Bill,banning the promotion of homosexuality in schools. The clause,fashioned in bigotry,was even defended by Duncan-Smith during his reign as Tory leader.

Villains such as Baronesses Young and Blatch,stalwarts of the party,have stood firmly in the way of gay rights.

Janet Young opposed the parliamentary reform of Section 28,equal age of consent,adoption and employment rights as well as those of partnership equality.

Thankfully,she died in 2002 but Blatch has taken up the cudgels left by Young.

Can Britain trust the Tories or are they playing politics with gay rights? Their new found support for the gay community,in particular for young gay men and lesbians,is certainly a vote winner.

Stonewall,Britain’s leading gay rights political activist group,told Quench: "Stonewall is more concerned with the outcomes of each party’s policies and over the last five to six years there have been some positive changes in legislation affecting gay people. We are now anticipating the progress of partnership rights legislation through parliament and look for-

ward to this receiving the support of all parties".

Speaking to Quench,Charles Hendry MP,Conservative Shadow Minister for Young People,comments: "The Conservative Party has already travelled a long way in the way it relates to the gay community,but I accept we should be judged on our actions,not our words. In Parliament,we will be given a free vote on whether same-sex couples should be given the same rights in terms of pension and inheritance as married couples,and Michael Howard,as party leader,has indicated his support for such a move. Moreover, the summit next month will be a first for any political party,showing our determination to address these issues seriously and thoroughly.

"I want the Conservative Party to go into the next election as the party which represents all sections of our community and which wants to see them achieve their own aspirations. Next month’s summit is part of that process,but it is only the starting point. We have a long way to go before we can ever claim to have made serious inroads in helping young gays,lesbians and bisexuals. But let there be no doubt about our commitment to make it happen."

I trust that,whichever party is in government next year,we can anticipate exciting changes in our law to ensure the well-being of all gay people in Britain.

Snug as a bug in a scarf

The winter might be officially over but Cardiff is still pretty chillly. Lyndsay Davies hits the streets to discover the most stylish ways of wrapping up

The Once Over

This look is a classic and successfully bridges the generation gaps by being worn by grandmothers,adolescents and students alike. You can never falter to look good and keep toasty with this style. Perhaps a thick knit and vibrant colour would drag this look away from its potential to become dowdy and dull.

The Tight One

This tightly wrapped and well tucked in look achieves maximum warmth and is therefore ideal to wear with a hoody; this is definately when it looks

Well guys,with winter drawing to a close and spring bouncing into season,it is only natural to expect a decline in the influx of scarf wearing that became apparent throughout the frosty months. However, this is Britain,home of the pound,the Queen,The Beatles and of course,erratic weather patterns.

With this in mind Quench has decided to ignore those who have foolishly and recklessly discarded their woollen knits and fleecy wraps to the back of their wardrobes. Instead,we decided to investigate the increasing trend of spring scarf-wearing and suggest some alternative styles to help you don yours in style.

So,with last winter season bringing diversity and further choice to all scarf fans,even those pseudo-style conscious students had no excuse but to find the right functional yet fashionable neck accessory to keep the cockles warm. But what does it all mean? We stopped some male students out and about on an icy day in the ‘Diff to uncover some varying styles.

its best. Although be careful when crossing roads as the brace can become a bit of a hindrance when taking Mum’s advice to look both ways.

The Sweep

Oozing with student layabout confidence,this sweeping motion doesn’t prove too effective in gale force winds or even just on a blustery day. But you just have to forfeit practicality for fashion because it looks so good.

The Snug Loop

Essentially this is the instantly recog-

nisable and much favoured loop that was massive last year. By using a shorter garment it means there are no hanging tendrils,one of the key factors to this look. But the style is still great whether snug or hanging free.

However you wear your scarf,it’s all about having the confidence to know what you look good in,lads. So get wrapped up before the lambs start leaping. And besides,chicks dig it.

With Quench travelling to Edinburgh, the team went to see what Scotland had to offer the world of fashion

Highlife in Scotland

By PerriLewis Edinburgh Correspondent

Forget the influence of fine Italian architecture,rich Italian culture and Italy’s remarkable history of haute couture,this season Donatella has been mostly inspired by… Scotland. Versace have gone Scottish. One of the world’s leading fashion houses have looked to the traditional dress of the highlands to inspire much of their Autumn/Winter 2004 collection. It’s clear that last year’s punk rock chic has spilled over into their designs but many of the fabrics and cuts chosen by the couture house have a distinctly Scottish feel.

Last year we saw an influx of kilts

and tartan lining the high street but their absence from our stores this year suggested that the look was dead. However,judging by Versace’s Milan show it seems that we’re going to be seeing a lot more of this in the near future.

Many people underestimate the influence haute couture has on current trends. There is frequent backlash from shops who deny nicking designs from the catwalk,but ultimately the clothes we buy on the high street next season will be determined by what is designed by the couture houses last year. Just think about how many times the dress of the moment has been copied and flogged for 30 quid in a store near you.

Give it a few months and we’ll all be wearing tartan? Not quite. Versace have simply borrowed the basic traditional garments,experimented with patterns and cuts and really sexed it all up. They have transformed a the traditional Scottish look into something we all want to wear.

Of course we don’t all have Versacestyle budgets and there is no way that any of us could afford to fork out for one of these gorgeous outfits. The only hope we have is that the high street do their job and offer us some good quality copies with student-friendly price tags.

21st century boy

Robbie’s got one,so has Vin.Are you man enough to wear your kilt with panache,asks Perri Lewis

Outside of Scotland the kilt has always divided opinions. It is typically disregarded by many as simply a skirt for men and relegated to the lowest position in the hierarchy of fashion; all too often it is reserved for sporting events and weddings. Then came 21st Century Kilts.

The brain child of designer Howie Nicholsby,TFCK has completely revolutionised the previously tame world of kilt making. Although created in 1996,it was launched at London Men’s Fashion Week in 1999 and has maintained huge success ever since. The aim of the range is to bring the traditional garment into the new millennium,enabling it to be part of a man’s everyday wardrobe,a function for which it was originally inteneded.

As the son of a well-established kilt maker,Howie Nicholsby saw great potential in the kilt and begun to experiment with unorthodox fabrics and designs. Today,he offers a superb line which is available in two cuts and over 10 different materials. These include wool,silk and denim and for the more adventurous customer PVC and leather. His designs

have been tailored to suit the lifestyle of the modern man; hidden pockets are sewed inside the garment to carry cash,cards and mobiles and detachable combat pockets are available for those wanting more space. These kilts successfully mix practicality with style.

As a branch of the world-renowned Geoffrey (Tailor),TFCK has been born from a highly respected company. The family owned business have supplied many of Scotland’s elite and have personally created kilts for the likes of Sean Connery and Billy Bragg. Robbie Williams has also been a dedicated customer and can be seen sporting their contemporary and more traditional garments. More recently, the company also benefited from huge interest from those attending the MTV Europe Music Awards 2003 held in Edinburgh. They supplied Vin Diesel with the black leather kilt he wore for the ceremony and truly put a bit of rock into the time-honoured piece of clothing.

Yes,

But it’s not just celebrities who have been taking interest; TFCK can boast a wide range of clientele. Clubland has contributed to their rising sales and many DJs looking for something a little different favour their lines. But though all sorts of people,both young and old,can be seen wearing one of these contemporary kilts,Geoffrey (Tailor) believe that their customers have a lot in common. Most have to be individual to wear one of Howie’s designs,especially if it is bought with the intention of being worn in more casual situations.

Unfortunately,however influential TFCK have been,it is unlikely that we are going to see this design copied on the high street. Geoffrey (Tailor) believe it would be very difficult and economically unviable for stores to replicate the quality of the garments they create and it is pretty easy to see why. A full six yards of material is used to produce each kilt and over 30 years of experience ensures that all their items are tailor-made to perfection. As is so often the case, cheaper high street prices do not allow for such quality.

The stigma attached to kilt-wearing outside of the highlands will also prevent the growth of this look. Generally speaking,men who do not possess some kind of Scottish ancestry feel awkward wearing an item of clothing so laced with patriarchal connotations. One also has to question whether society is really liberal enough to fully accept a man wearing a garment so similar to the female skirt. Beckham might be able to get away with a sarong but it’s far more difficult to imagine hoards of male students sporting leather kilts on a Saturday night in Come Play. Whether mainstream fashion embraces it or not,the Quench fashion team love this look. With the pending balls we’d love to see some guys go for it and branch out into the daunting world of the contemporary kilt. The only question is,what would you wear underneath it?

TFCK also design a great line of hipster kilts especially for women. Visit www.geoffreykilts.co.uk for more details.

Howie and Robbie toast the success of TFCK

this man has adequate scarf wearing abilities

Northern exposure

Earlier this month Quench sent four reporters by two different forms of transport all the way to Scotland.Before it all degenerated into farce and Gonzo journalism they put together pieces about their experiences investigating long distance transport within the UK

Perri Lewis takes the high road

Walking through Talybont at 4.30am is nothing unusual for Cardiff students. So many of us have to admit to frequenting the halls in the early hours of the morning. What is particularly peculiar, though,is if you are actually on the way to catch a taxi to Cardiff International Airport. Costing around 20 quid,taking a taxi to the airport is the expensive way of doing it. Of course at 4.30am one doesn’t have much choice as the Cardiff buses tend not to provide services at such awkward hours.

However,during the more sensible hours of the day,Central Station offers a shuttle to the airport every 20 minutes,costing only five pounds for a return ticket. This service is also available at the other end of your journey and costs exactly the same.

Decked out with tartan

seats and authentic Scottish driver, the reception in Scotland is touristfriendly and an enjoyable introduction to the city. I highly recommend that you utilise these services if you can.

There can be nothing duller than waiting around for a train on a chilly,lonesome platform. By choosing to fly you totally eliminate this nasty experience and allow yourself the luxury of staying in Cardiff’s departures lounge; it may be small but it’s more than adequate. It can boast a small range of eateries but unfortunately you don’t get to splash out on duty frees. Which is a shame.

Living it up in quasi-comfy seats for a couple of hours at each end is just one of the many advantages that travelling by plane affords you. As BMIbaby allows you to take two pieces of luggage and a small bag,you are able to pack many more things than if you take the train; hauling a couple of cases around carriages all the way to Scotland is neither plesant or easy.

On both outward and return flights,we incurred a small delay. The first was particularly annoying as our seats were right at the front of the plane and we could have been sat in the draught of the open door for over an hour. Though this could have made our flight quite miserable,being offered alternative seats and given one of the host’s personal jackets displayed how hospitable the crew were and deflected any complaints we may have had.

At just over 60 minutes,the flight from Edinburgh ensured a prompt arrival in Scotland. You may have to wait around a little to retrieve your bags from the carousel but in comparison to an eight hour train journey,this small delay is nothing. For those wanting a speedy trip and who would rather be the hare than the tortoise,there really is no better way to travel than by plane.

Arriving by aeroplane makes a short break in Edinburgh feel like a visit to a foreign capital. This vibrant city,packed with history and fancy architecture,is more European than most of the places around Britain,but this is definitely enhanced by arriving from the air. As many people say,the holiday doesn’t start until the plane takes off.

You may be flying economy class but this really doesn’t matter on such a short flight; travelling with BMIbaby is definitely the most practical way to ensure that you get the most out of a weekend in Edinburgh. Spending half your time cooped up in a carriage when you could be exploring, having fun and generally larking about in bonny Scotland just isn’t right.

James Righton takes the low road

The night before the trip to Edinburgh a harsh reality dawned on me – I was about to wake up at 5am to take an eight hour train journey in a country renowned for its poor rail network. Not the most attractive of propositions.

On boarding the train the next day I immediately felt absorbed into the Virgin brand. As expected,Virgin take control of all your personal needs. I quench my first by downing a few Virgin Colas and Virgin Orange Juices. When I get bored on the Virgin train I can go to the Virgin shop in which I can purchase Virgin CDs; alternatively I can switch on my radio and listen to, yep you guessed it,Virgin radio playing all your favourite Virgin bands. All branded out,I decided to try and sleep instead.

To my surprise names and places rapidly flew past – Newport,Bristol, Cheltenham,Birmingham,Derby. The journey was going smoothly and it wouldn’t be inaccurate to say I was actually enjoying the trip so far. Slowly I was beginning to think that tales of a dismal British train service were merely lies. Perhaps a conspiracy between the vehicular and coach lobbies had intentionally planted media rumours of delayed trains and poor service.

Halfway through the journey I started to get itchy feet about my trip north,so decided to do a few laps of the train. After leaving club class I was immediately struck by how cramped, claustrophobic and unwelcoming the other carriages actually were. My experience in club class had created delusions of grandeur. I’d become a snob! I’d forgotten who I was and where I’d come from. It also made me consider how much less enjoyable this trip would have been had I not been travelling in luxury.

I knew things were going too well for me. God needed to punish me for my snobbery,and so he did. Just as I arrived back from my adventure into second class the tannoy rang out: "Due to technical difficulties with the signals there will be a delay.” 20 minutes and four Virgin Colas later,we eventually left our stationary position. My faith in the British train service was scarred but not permanently damaged.

My frustration,however,soon subsided as from the back of the carriage distant Scottish tones could be heard. The accent was harsh,incomprehensible Glaswegian,but the impact was profound. I was suddenly transported to a world of bagpipes,haggis and Mel Gibson historical films. The excitement was uncontrollable. I had to have another Virgin Cola.

Finally,around eight hours after our departure from Cardiff we arrived in Edinburgh. The t0rip was scenic,enjoy-

Going yourself?

If you’re planning to go to Edinburgh yourself,then before you read our own experiences here’s the lowdown on what’s worth seeing while you’re there.

Eating: There were many fine places to have a tipple which were a lot more interesting than your average joe, from Mexican to Thai breaded mongoose. It will cost you though - prices in the capital look jacked up enough without needing some Scottish or French waiter leering down at you for a tip - so maybe once will do before you go and find a chippy.

Accommodation: Book in advance as usual. We stayed in the Castle Rock hostel which was in the middle of everything and generally well catered for with big rooms,lots of space and a 30p pool table. But there are many more along the main drag,all of which seemed to have a good reputation.

Attractions: Edinburgh Castle is probably a

Travel

able and worthwhile. The real advantage of a train journey is that it gives you a real feel of the country. Geographic and historic sites are in abundance. From the Birmingham Bull Ring to the Millenium Bridge in Newcastle,from Durham’s spectacular cathedral to the sacred Lindisfarne, the passenger is treated to all that Britain has to offer.

The service was also excellent and although the journey was delayed by 20 minutes,overall that’s not that bad considering the length of the journey. So hop on a train and don’t forget to take advantage of those complimentary Colas.

must,though we gave it a miss. As one American admitted,after a while it’s just another room after room. For something different the Mary King’s Close was a genuine treat.

Drinking: We’re guessing that you can handle yourselves in this department - as always if you wander off and investigate from the Royal Mile to the many side streets then you’ll find something. If you’re a guy wear a kilt. If you can handle it being ripped off you,of course.

Gold star for Scotland for having NOLICENCE LAWS! so you will not get thrown out at 11pm like the dogs that we were. Although a few experiments later we found out how not to mix your drinks; as modelled by Australian Vinnie here,whisky and wine just don’t mix. +=

Travel 24 Travel 25

Bags unpacked and the kettle brewing, Quench took a gander at the capital of Scotland to see what 48 hours in Edinburgh could do to your mind and your soul

By

It’s Friday afternoon in reading week, and with all the advantages of avoiding a science degree taken care of we were arriving in Edinburgh after a surprisingly refreshing train journey. Once here though,we were curious about the reception that we would receive. Four English students in Scotland constitute a social mix which could make you feel about as welcome as the husband in a Tupperware party. Soon we found ourselves searching for,avoiding,and confirming all the common stereotypes. The Australian receptionist,the traveller who never leaves and the guys who are always debating either politics or religion regardless of breakfast,lunch or dinner. It left us with a smug grin across our faces,it confirmed all that we had expected and made me realise where I was. Cardiff was now a distant memory,university as vague as a relative you’d never met; we had opened a door and stepped into a backpacker world with all its familiar clichés without even blinking,and for two days that door was firmly shut behind us.

With the lodgings taken care of,we went to take a gander at Edinburgh and see what all the fuss is about. With the likes of the summer festival and

Hogmanay at New Year the city has acquired quite a reputation,yet it was hard to pin down what we were expecting. I was shocked to find that I felt as if I really was in a foreign country. The money was the same but different,the royal family had disappeared,and as far as architecture was concerned the city had adopted a ‘look but don’t touch’ approach. The result was that it retained all the charm of restoration London,and had an almost eastern European character. If it hadn’t been for the kilts I could have been excused for thinking I was in Prague.

Speaking of clothing of the man skirt variety,we didn’t see many being worn, but all the obvious shops were there,as with any big city,selling anything that might appeal to the Spanish,French or American tourists who come over to see where Great-Aunt Hilda once lived. In the end we didn’t indulge in any open plan dress codes,but took a fancy to the many small independent shops which you find all along the Royal Mile. It was refreshing to see no sign of any KFC crap anywhere near the old town; in their place were a string of locally owned pubs and restaurants which we nipped into before returning to the hostel to prepare for an ill-fated night on the town.

Two bottles of wine,two more,and an education in “crazy juice” (the cheapest, roughest Chilean spirit that we were recommended) I looked up to find that compadre James hadn’t simply taken over the pool table,but was organising the international “northern hemisphere vs southern hemisphere drink-a-shot-if-youlose“ pool competition. Nobody quite knew how it worked but there was no one standing by the end; after a frankly disgusting whisky and wine mix,the night degenerated into what September students do best.

The polite Aussie receptionist had turned into a raging beast; I asked for two cans of coke and she demanded that I fight her for them. Needless to say,a couple of seconds and a quick wrestle later she had a freshly date-stamped forehead and I had a big toe shot to shreds. I milked the sympathy for all it’s

worth,and later found that she ended up passing out in the shower. My thought processes,as shambolic as they were suddenly reminded me that this was supposed to be investigative travel journalism. Oh well - it’s all about the culture, which of course involves being called a “bloody fucking pom” by the same Australian who was later going to hug me and invite me to Inverness.

The night ended with me thinking that I hadn’t so much discovered Edinburgh as the front door,which was fraught with danger for the vertically challenged. But within the walls of the hostel I had found the travelling community of the UK which for so long had eluded me. The four of us were the only British people in the building,and it was fascinating to listen to stories about my own home country from a foreign perspective. For various reasons,“London’s shit”,“Portsmouth great”. Viewpoints so radically different from what I would have expected from places I’d dismissed because they sounded so familiar.

In particular,I loved one South African’s opinion that “Stonehenge is the biggest pile of shit ever,I mean,it’s just a pile of rocks,” a highly amusing comment on one of Europe’s most important landmarks. The night finally ended when the alcohol ran low and the adrenaline rush outpaced itself; I left the debaters to carry on till the morning,while I found that all important bed.

I'd never been to Scotland before.

Being woken from a mid-morning stupor by Tim Clark asking if I wanted to fly to Edinburgh did jolt me into action somewhat.

In the airport at 6am some 40 hours later,my companion and I lamented in realisation that we wouldn't benefit from the joys of duty free. We were flying. But to the same country? Was there any point in going? I am definitely a man who appreciates the pleasures of cut price Toblerone.

Leaving the airport bus,we emerged right in the heart of the city. Feelings of not going anywhere different evaporated instantly.

Admittedly,Waverley Station is monumentally ugly. Fine Victorian railway station it is not; more a sort of submerged plastic greenhouse,squatting in the valley between the stunning Georgian 'New' Town and historic Old Town. It's as if it was ashamedly trying to minimise its offence to the eye by sinking down into its foundations unnoticed. Yet the buildings surrounding this anathema are striking. You know you are somewhere else. Tall,thin,heavily ornamented structures straight out of fairy-tales stare down at you. Replace the station with a river,or the loch originally on the site,and you can see how Edinburgh is really 'all a bit Prague'.

and Burke hanged,when it emerged that they had been luring prostitutes into their lodgings,“in order to meet demand”. So it was with some irony that the next morning we breakfasted opposite the Hare and Burke Lap Dancing Bar.

One highlight of the weekend was The Real Mary King's Close. This consists of a warren of walkways and houses,originally tenements up to seven stories high,whose ground floor was retained and buried in 1753,used to form the foundations of the City Chambers. Concealed for centuries, since just last year you can visit the now underground dwellings,aided by costumed guides.

At 400 years old,our guide,maid Agnes,was in remarkable condition. The same can be said for the rooms there, especially an intact 17th century home and an urban cowshed.

It was a fantastic experience,giving a strong sense of the research going on there,piecing together the lives of former residents.

Hunting food,we quickly discovered The Last Drop Inn in the shadow of the castle,destined to become our preferred eaterie for much of the weekend. It is some while since I've wolfed down pasta and garlic bread for breakfast,but golly it was worth it. This experience was heightened by the background wailing of James Brown and all shades of funk and blues constantly playing in that fine establishment,otherwise a bastion of traditional publicanship.

Grooving and jiving back to the hostel,all this excitement took its toll,and I crashed out. I was confusedly woken by the sound of a Venezuelan arguing with someone about God's existence. I was pleasantly surprised to find it time to eat again.

Once more I ventured forth,once more Italian heard my call. Walking into Mario's Trattoria,I was approached by a short,black haired,olive-skinned man, evidently frustrated by my having distracted his attention from a televised AC Milan game. My order at the ready,I must admit to having been slightly thrown by his retort,“Wha cannae gyet ye?”

Quickly I learnt the ability of the Scots to amuse and bemuse,to add humour and generally throw a surprise hot neep and tattie down the sporran of all they meet. I read of Hare and Burke, who supplied bodies to medical research. In 1829 they were arrested,

I spent that evening climbing Calton Hill,eager to see the sunset. Surrounded by surreal 19th century pastiches of the Parthenon,I wasn't disappointed. The sky blazed above the castle rock and St Giles’ Cathedral,amidst the spires and turrets of the city. The snow-capped Cairngorms and Fife shone,as did the Forth Bridge. Clearly, the legions of tourists there were equally impressed.

However,I couldn't help but notice a swelling body of lone men ambling around in a somewhat anticipatory manner. They seemed curiously nonplussed by the visual feast,indeed perhaps even aggrieved by its popular inconvenience. It was only on reflection,and later enquiry,that I learnt what comes next on the Calton Hill itinerary,after the sun goes down...

I wandered back later that night, after ‘a few light ales' in the Halfway House,a pub so small that it felt more like sitting in someone's lounge (I resisted the urge to ask whether they minded if I smoked).

The city was alive with all the commotion of a Saturday night.

“Ah,the vigour of youth,” thought I, bypassing a pool of barely-digested kebab to which someone's stomach, doubtless wisely,had felt disinclined to prolong an acquaintance. Some things aren't so different,whichever city you may find yourself in.

By Rhys James, Features Editor

Tim Clark, Travel Editor

Photo: James Righton

The sun setting over the Royal Mile,Edinburgh. Photo: Rhys James

Social climbers

Krkonose

My Kung Fu

Just like overweight schoolchildren sneaking a Maccy D’s in at lunchbreak or recently widened first-time mothers: Mountain Men Anonymous need to have it big. They dribble and brood over electric storm clouds of scowling build,holding the insect jar aloft until it just gets too heavy,when

A Snow Capped Romance Roadrunner

Expert guitaring,bass heavy riffery and fantastic hooks are just a few of the things we've come to expect from this band. Although at times the constant caesuras and superflous metal guitaring proves a little excessive,theres enough layering and architected edges in this LP to

BONNIE PRINCE BILLY

...Sings Greatest Palace Music

Domino

Will Oldham muses that his “heart is full of woe” on second track Ohio River Boat Song,somewhat fittingly. Greatest Palace Music sounds like it was created in the same Deep South run-down shack as Oh Susanna and comes steeped in old time reverie for hillbilly days. Billy is more wrought than the Bible belt (the fiddle,slide and honky-tonk are juxtaposed with the gospel refrain of “God is the answer” on Pushkin), and more sacred than a thousand Lambchops. Rob Telford

THE CRIBS

The Cribs Wichita

they hurl it against the wall unleashing swarms of skin-scathing guitar stabs,crying ghost vocals,skydiving strings and at least once something that sounds like the foghorn of a manically depressed tugboat. If seeing Mogwai DJ at Journeys last Friday didn’t quench your craving for ear-bleeding soft/LOUD diaphragm shakers,you know where to fill your glass. Jamie Fullerton

create a soundscape gleaming in abstraction. Tracks like the Thursdayesque Kenai and hardcore masterpiece Cure Eclipse will inevitably prove to be soundtracks to dingy smoke filled rock clubs across the nation. Anita Bhagwandas

Misery Is A Butterfly

New York art rockers

Blonde Redhead know how

to tug at the heartstrings. Their fifth album is elegant and glacial,its piano-dappled landscapes indicating the direction trip-hop should have taken after its mid90s boom; a sense of inexpressible grief underpins Kazu Makino's vocals,but she's knowing enough to keep it firmly in check. Combined with the baroque strings and brushed drums which swirl around her,this only serves to reinforce her devastation. Alex Macpherson

As hard as the brothers of The Cribs try they always come off as nothing more than a dilapidated Libertines cover band. Insipid vocals bounce along to complacent melodies and nauseating composition. Imagine paying to see the Stones only to find out you've been lumbered with Ocean Colour Scene instead,and you're halfway there. How can people so young be so passionless and unimaginative? The problem remains thatthis has been done better and with more guts and bravado. Craig Driver

In Rotation

Innerground

A definite grower. From a vague start that appears to meander without much depth or direction,the momentum is picked up with the recognisable top 40 track LK. This track not only defines their ability as drum‘n’bass artists but also serves to turn up the tempo and pace of the album. With more lyrical involvement to follow and contributions from other artists,this debut album shows much promise,its only weakness manifesting in its occasional experimental tendencies.

Hannah Langfield

Love Track AndField

Retro thievery works: just look at the intergalactic success of serial-backpeddlers The Darkness and The Strokes. The Loves too are shameless magpies to the bone; so much so that every note of their debut LP is potential lawsuit material. Their era of fixation is the acid fried 60s,but rather than actually ripping off real bands of the decade,they siphon their inspiration from overblown Austin Powers-derived stereotypes: whirling fairground organs,bouncy castle riffs and vocals that sound like someone squeezing a Care Bear. The knives will be hurled for that,have no doubt,but formula issues aside The Loves write truly irresistible pop. As is their intention, each song feels like being smothered by pink fluffy

hearts: Chelsea Girl sounds like Belle And Sebastian’s own pastiche hit Legal Man, and is nearly as winsome, while only the most iceknobbed asexual would pass over the smoochy rollaround Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! You’d still take nothing more meaningful than a tshirt home from their gigs,but The Loves’ reliance on the Power of Pop is one to be applauded. The perfect soundtrack to ‘giving your flower’ to someone. Jamie Fullerton

Thanks to Sound Nation magazine for allowing the use of this review. Why not surf your way there? You won’t even get wet (well...) www.soundnation.net

Afterglow Arista

It seems that in todays Pop Idol saturated market,nothing is sacred. Since Sheryl Crow’s switch to the dark side of the top 20,Sarah McLachlan has held the flag for women’s rock,continuing to produce the same heartfelt,deep melodic sounds she has since her 1988 debut. Driven by collective and individual grief,the haunting lyrics of Afterglow lurk on dark corners,only for them to jump out and offer an understanding hand.

Albums 27

Whilst passionate writing of this kind is sadly a modern day antique,it proves some things,not even Pop Idol Michelle’s weight,will change. Sam Coare

Ctrl-S Dockrad

THE WILDHEARTS SKEP

The lazy option would be to listen to these Welsh language folks and decide, “hey,they're Welsh,they do pop,they must be like the Super Furry Animals.” Coincidentally,it's partly true: like SFA,they meld a wide range of styles into a radio-friendly,occasionally cheesy yet still original album. Skep are capable of standing on their own,however. Politically aware but equally happy writing songs called Disgo Ysgol,this is a fun but thought-provoking little CD. Cassidy Phillips

Fabric 15:Tyrant Mixed

By Craig Richards Fence

Forget the peaking highs and lollipop-lows of house music,these two CDs see Craig Richards take you on an intricate journey of

experimental,inventive dance music. CD1 consists of crunchy,clicky house, which still maintains that element of club music but with a toned down tempo. CD2 is more experimental and abstract with a punchy, acid garage feel to it. This self-expression,for all its inventiveness and creativity, does tend to veer towards monotony,and despite many brilliant tunes and tweaks becomes a bit repetitive. Hannah Langfield

Coupled With:B-sides AndRarities Gut

As you’re reading this The Wildhearts are probably kicking off another absinthefuelled bar room brawl, throwing chairs,whirling pool ques and nutting doors in,or alternatively cokin’ it up in some dingy Wolverhampton alleyway. They’re fighters, they’re bingers,they’re addicts,they’re… getting on a bit,and one’s even ginger. But hey,this is their rubbery rock story told in 20 itching, scratching,bleached tracks of Goliath riffs and shipshape melodies.

Greg Cochrane

The Loves: The erm, ‘future’ of music

DJ MARKY & XRS

THE LOVES

SARAH McLACHLAN

VARIOUS

Mr Hannon? Thank you for waiting, Quench will see you now

Absent Friends

Parlophone

Up until very recently,the urge to disfigure Neil Hannon’s face was incredible. To clench a fist,slowly draw it back, then BAM! Sock it to his chiselled indie features and watch the blood ooze from his beaky conk.

Here was a man who cultivated the image of an unforgivable snob: a man who tumbled out of awards ceremonies with a lord’s daughter on each arm; a man whose photo shoots had him spilling bank notes from the pocket of his tailor made pinstripe,a man who genuinely believed that every dusty book he read made his soul fundamentally purer than yours. What a fucking prick.

Hannon’s A Secret History… compilation showed off how he twinned this repellent attitude with innately wonderful songwriting: showcasing songs that would chug along like Roald Dahl in a choo-choo train,then throw open the blinds and scorch the retinas with ecstatic orchestral heart-grabbing. Lyrics like "guys less smart than I… the kind who always end up with the girls" set up this familiar pretension as an ever frustrating obstacle between the songs and the soul though,and the following effort Regeneration’s approach of 0dulling the

epic just bored.

So. 2004,then. Hannon is now a family man,and he’s sacked his band. Time to turn totally shit then,right?

Well, Absent Friends begins with the title track,and yes,it chugs along vibrantly like an old steam choo-choo. And yes, the blinds soon open with a flurry of delirious strings and a knock-over chorus. Then Oscar Wilde is namechecked, and things look bad. But then so is

He’s survived the musical curses and offered his heart along with his silver-tongued wit

Steve McQueen,in a concrete reference to The Great Escape: hardly a sly wink to a Hannon-approved black and white French art film. Sticks And Stones follows with a woodland creep string section,one of the loveliest bobbing choruses Hannon’s ever written,and sharply witty lyrics that never seem nasal-sent.

Come Home Billy Bird is the album’s first single: a narrative that unfolds to

Hannon’s acoustic train ride,with a cherubic chorus float courtesy of the simply lovely Lauren Laverne. It’s captivating as hell,and so far,it’s smiles all round. Further in, Our Mutual Friend is another churning narrative about an electric connection Hannon experienced within the space of one evening,an evening that we live through his tumbling words,perfectly timed and executed: we can almost feel the fizzling telepathy Hannon and his would-be-belle exchange,then shudder at the moment of heartbreak when he stumbles into the bathroom to find her "wrapped around another lover… is he our mutual friend?" Cough! Cough! Hold on,are we actually connecting emotionally with the Pretentio-Lord Hannon? We jolly well are. He’s done it,then. Survived the musical curses of domestic bliss,a best of compilation and public animosity,and offered his heart along with his silver tongued wit in a sun-sent career peak. So relax. Unclench the fist. Extend the arm. Offer a gentle but firm handshake. What the hell,go for the full continental kiss. We’re all friends here.

Jamie Fullerton

THE DIVINE COMEDY

Neon Music For Nations

Why do we Brits insist on classifying home-grown bands by there likeness to there American compatriots? Yes,Amplifier sound like anything Maynard Keenan has ever made,but their thunderous drumming and precise guitar riffs that drive mature,angelic growls combine to produce what should,come March’s debut,be album of the year. Sam Coare

Love Is Only AFeeling Must Destroy

"When climbing a mountain you don’t stop halfway and suck your own cock," Frankie Poullain said to me a while back. "You don’t record tuneless noodling that my Dad would genuinely enjoy,unlike your past singles,which he found slightly amusing," I replied. Some people never listen.

Jamie Fullerton

Look What You’ve Done Elektra

A departure from their usual fairground gut rock. This is a lazy and hazy sunday afternoon of a song. Nice enough,but you can't helping wishing they'd zip up their leathers,start their engines,and rip it up a little more. Craig Driver

ets of tequila. If you like the sound of such haphazard whimsy then The Keys are for you. Full of compassion and grace this single saunters effortlessly between sunrise and sunset. Craig Driver

Things Distinctive

With a beat reminiscent of Spiller's Groovejet, Lautrec's Things will put the sand between the toes of devoted Ibiza goers. Despite its simplicity and slight tinny sound,this still brings a little sunshine to a wet Welsh winter.

Nathalie

Southall

COURTNEY LOVE

Mono Virgin

So yeah,Courtney's back, norks out for every newspaper on planet Earth,and despite taking Second Coming-esque timespans to

Singles 29

create, Mono is pretty damn good,in a sounds-the-sameas-Hole-anyway kind of way. However,this is where Jesus comparisons end, because for all it's worth, this is inferior to Melissa Auf Der Maur's single,and that's a bit like losing out to Judas Iscariot. Never mind,eh? John Widdop

Five Colours In Her Hair MCA

It’s kinda like Busted,but this debut single has a lot more pop to it; most notably some pre-skate punk influences and a catchy bassline. Expect a million witty "back to the future" headlines in Smash Hits soon. Rob Telford

In The Middle Universal

It’s a frequently taught lesson that pop ate itself sometime in the mid-80s, but this notes-rubbed-untilthey-shine affair seems to have done this band no harm at all. Three-and-a-half minutes of slick pop finery.

Anita Bhagwandas

Love Will Come Through Independiente

A far cry from The Man

Who, but nonetheless a reasonable recording from Highlanders Travis. The subtle yet melodic sound of acoustics mixed with the sombre vocals of Fran Healy makes this a good one for those hungover days. Sarah Ahmad

From Tense,To Loose, To Slack Too Pure

Imagine if Nick Cave doused The Coral in buck-

Clwb Ifor Bach,Cardiff

Friday 5 March

kicked off with some melodic rock numbers. As the night progressed, their talents could be seen,as each of the three guitarists changed amongst themselves between bass and electric. A few acoustic numbers broke up the sound; the playlist was well set out. Thursday Morning Miracle had one of those classic rock riffs that we should have all screamed too,if we knew them. Ahem,I just mean the girls screaming. Recommended band to see.

The Cribs came on next. Actually, one guy came on with an acoustic guitar and a harmonica,explaining in depth where the rest of the band had gone: "They’ve fucked off." Great.

Still,his own acoustic numbers, though rather unimaginative,showed talent,plus his singing was spot on. The harmonica sounded strangely good with the songs (I should keep an open mind). However,after half an hour of short songs along fairly similar lines,I was glad to leave. Keep an eye out for The Cribs though,as there’s a thread of possible talent.

Barry Thompson

Local three-piece Red Pony set a high early standard with a fantastic set of what can best be described as ‘art rock’. Original and innovative,despite playing to a mere handful of people they still exude effortless cool.

The Tenderfoot fall somewhat short of this standard. Your typical upbeat indie band,they play proficiently and pleasantly,but sound like nothing you haven’t heard a million times before.

Eastern Lane are a league apart however. They’re being tipped as the next big thing,and for once the moniker is deserved. From the start they demonstrate variety and eclecticism,opening with a piano ballad, moving to all-out lo-fi rock,before set-

post-punk,tinged indie which marks singles Feed Your Addiction and Saffron. Their style is topped off magnificently by Derek Meins’ guttural,off-kilter vocals. The crowd may have been small,but it was very lucky indeed. David Ford

Barfly,Cardiff

Thursday 26th February

Was today national "Don’t Turn Up" day? And I’m not having a go at the audience. 10,000 Things came on as a four-piece band,the singer also playing guitar,yet from their website I had the impression there are six of them. I know the government lets anyone into uni now,but I can count. Anyway,they

Colston Hall,Bristol, Tuesday 2 March

Finally,37 years after being slated for release,the lost masterpiece Smile gets a public outing. Backing band The Wondermints are augmented by a nine-piece orchestra,providing the perfect ensemble for interpreting Brian’s Wall of Sound-derived vision.

For years Beach Boys fanatics adored unfinished Smile bootlegs, faintly confused as to how this was actually meant to sound. The answer? Indescribable. With barely a break throughout,each piece moves seamlessly into another as breathtaking seven-part harmonies weave through intricate orchestral movements,culminating with the astounding Elements Suite. Brian’s voice may not be as versatile these days,but even with a cold he performs as best as can be expected.

A perfunctory run-through of Beach Boys classics bookend the set. Great in their own right,they cannot touch the elegance and ambitious scope of the main feature. In a parallel universe, Smile did go head-to-head with Sgt Pepper’s and the world changed. Jason Draper

BRIANWILSON

CHIKINKI + KASABIAN

Clwb Ifor Bach,Cardiff

Monday 1 March

Tonight at Clwb,Leicester’s Kasabian take second billing to Chikinki due to a rotating headline spot. Fresh from playing a sold out Brixton Academy with BRMC,tonight must have brought Kasabian back down to earth with a bang. Singer Tom Meighan tries his best to get the crowd of 20 or so moving,but to no avail. This was undeserved as Kasabian’s sonic attack on new single Reason Is Treason is an exhilarating thrash and the chanty Alison sees Meighan dancing like a hiphop Ian Brown.

Electro-punks Chikinki take the stage to a slightly bigger and closer crowd, performing songs from forthcoming album Overflow. However,despite singer Rupert Browne’s enthusiastic charges,the crowd remains rather unmoved. A genre-bending mish-mash of styles,sees guitars reminiscent of Lynryd Skynrd juxtaposed with lyrics like "wave your hands if you like to fuck". Both bands exhibit great potential and with more enthusiastic audiences could emerge as contenders in 2004.

Will Dean

Clwb Ifor Bach,Cardiff

Saturday 21 March

With both Funeral For A Friend and the ubiquitous Lostprophets making Americanised chart forays in recent months and the Super Furry Animals and Gorky's Zygotic Mynci both seemingly on monotony hiatus,it's difficult to see where the new seeds of Welsh talent are going to find themselves planted – or more appropriately,if they're ever going to find themselves sprouting in an international Garden of Eden.

Mozz,tonight’s first victims,fall at the first hurdle by leaning on the button marked "we rock" far too prematurely and for far too long. Still fledgelings, the selfish Pink Floyd dirge falls hopelessly flat. And that's even before the lead guitarist dons his sunglasses and wields his axe behind his head. NEXT!

MC Saizmundo is a wholeheartedly more attractive propsition. Looking more than a bit out of place,the runner bean MC sparks as much fury and venom in his lyrics as necessary to counteract his less-than-spectactular

stage presence. Although with two percussionists and an arsenal of processed drumfire,there are more than enough beats to bolster the acidic rhymes.

Kentucky AFC look like wrongdoers, and do sufficiently enough wrongdoing onstage to justify most prementions. Think Idlewild at their least affecting,or The Ramones if they were actually shit, and you’re halfway there. Still,a few good moves and three good tunes.

The Texas Radio Band close the showcase,but not without a rousing set,ruined strangely by an overdose of percussion. Whilst the beat-heavy accompaniment works for MC Saizmundo,the clatter working alongside the Radio Band's indie-schmindie dawdling completely wrecks what was already a sinking ship. A C+ for effort, but still not good enough.

As far as tonight’s proceedings show,the jury's still out on new Welsh talent. Although unless some more sizeable opposition crawl out from the suburbs,we could easily see the spotlight on Wales waning rapidly.

John Widdop

Barfly,Cardiff

Friday 5 March

At about 3pm,my eyes started going square. On the Coke-soiled Mac screen the Sugababes seemed to be blurring into Neil Hannon. Hadn’t I seen this in a fantasy somewhere? My crotch began to vibrate. Had Fashion Desk just sauntered in,photographer in tow, for the self-posed Ann Summers special? No. I had received a text message. It told me I was going to see Super Furry Animals in a few hours. Naturally,my knees shot forward,I hit the deck and gave a few sporadic twitches of pleasure,much to the bemusement of Arts Desk,who had never really ‘got’ indie music anyway.

Fast forward a few hours and it’s rock o’clock in Cardiff’s grimiest basement – bopping skinheads providing the visual accompaniment,reflecting the glaring stage lights off their fully Gilletted scalps to psychedelic effect.

Gruff looks the fucking bollocks –rocking a hedgerow perm that would leave you scrambling for the clippers, were it anyone but Cymru’s coolest –one of the chosen few who get away wearing obscenely baggy trousers beyond the age of 30.

You know how bands ‘strip down’ their sound live ‘cos their label have confiscated their credit cards,and they end up sounding like the Walter The Softie Band? Well,with SFA stripped

down also means beefed up; the band shun soul-scorching epic for beefy muscle-music – you really have not rocked so hard since that nasty bout of stereotypy.

Thought Northern Lites was a calypso song? Nope,now it’s a burning flame of sliding guitar and stomp-rock. And Herman Loves Pauline? That punches the heart like a sledgehammer,nearly killing you. And so on and so forth.

Tomorrow here Supergrass will play a pretty darn rockin’ set of tip-top Britrock. But this? This is special.

Jamie Fullerton

TJ’s,Newport

Monday 23 February

Say what you will about club gigs – a way to connect back with the fans,or quick money making scheme,they’re a damn good idea. There is nothing better than getting up close and personal with a well-established band in the tight,sweaty environment of a small club. In this environment insanely heavy rock music is a must,which Winnebago Deal duly provide.

Consisting of only a guitarist and drummer,they sound nothing like the White Stripes and look like the bastard children of J Mascis and Tad Doyle with the same de-tuned dirty rock and prolonged noise emanating from their instruments.

So you go to a club gig,what do you expect? The hits,b-sides,rarities,every hardcore fan’s desire. So Ash begin with Girl From Mars and the crowd wet themselves as memories of 1996 come flooding back; all seems well as the fans prepare for the obligatory greatest hits set. Unfortunately this dream is shattered as Tim Wheeler utters the fateful words “We’ve got a new album coming out,and we’re going to play it all.” A pin drop could be heard,as could a small girl crying. The new album does see Ash return to their best though: smoth punk pop with a sharp edge.

Despite the disappointing set,Ash thrive in the small environment,tracks such as A Life Less Ordinary, Goldfinger and Burn Baby Burn reveal their true selves at blisteringly loud volume and the Ash boys relive their early days playing remote Irish venues. The most important thing though,is Charlotte Hatherley up close: hottest woman in rock. Anthony Lloyd

SUPER FURRY ANIMALS

ASH + WINNEBAGO DEAL

YO LA TENGO

GORKY’S ZYGOTIC MYNCI

St David’s Hall,Cardiff

Saturday 28 February

I enter St David's Hall and it hits me. Clean air. Where's the stale scent of cigarettes and spilt beer? Why aren't the floors sticky? These bathrooms are clean... Then I sit down in my assigned seat and begin to worry how these bands will sound in such a seemingly sterile environment.

The first few Gorky’s songs are mellow and gorgeous and summery and I

David's Hall make everything sound fantastic. Still,when the band finally brings out the electric guitars,it seems misplaced and awkward. Thankfully,they press on and soon it doesn't matter where you are because the music is amazing and you'll be damned if a stuffy concert hall ruins something this good. Like a Welsh porn star,Gorky's climax at just the right time and leaves everyone breathless,yearning for more.

Yo La Tengo play some of the best indie rock since the genre's conception and the crowd loves it.

Autumn Sweater and their cover of Sun Ra's apocalyptic classic Nuclear War stand out among a set already full with some of their best material. These Americans are gracious guests,playing an emailed song request and hilariously attempting to dance like Motown backup singers (complete with doo wops). In a memorable finale,Gorky's and Yo La Tengo take the stage together to play an amazing

The only bad thing about this

was that it had to end.

cover of Bowie's Rebel Rebel in honour of St David's Day.

gig

Hans Baumann

Gorky’s: mmm, nice

Photos:Tim Alban

Sega shenanigans!

Craig Driver and Joe Latham show us what the big blue has to offer on PS2 in a lively selection of all things shiny and Sega

Puyo Pop fever

Like playing Tetris in a factory full to the brim with Skittles this a game for those of a sweet and sickly disposition.

Based on Puyo Pop,the cult hit Japanese title of some 10 years ago, this game is initially simplistic and extremely fun. The game features single player and a highly entertaining multiplayer option captured by a mix of 2D and 3D graphic elements that become more prominent as you advance within the game.

There are all manner of unusual special effects on screen as the action speeds up,combined with a colourful,animé-esque graphic feel which complements the child-like

feel of the game:for example,it is interspersed with short and pretty rainbows and sugar plum fairies.

But the game only costs £19.99 so it’s a hell of a lot sugar for your money! Wow,this is actually turning out to be quite a good review isn’t it? Perhaps I should add some obligatory swearing and incandescent abuse to even out the balance. Here we go then: Shitshitarseshitnipplerectumtwat. All those who believe Linkin Park to be worthy of the guitar should be shot and disembowelled. Anyone who brought that Katie Melua album should cut off their ears and gorge out their eyes. Good game though, good game. Craig Driver

ESPN NBA Basketball 2K4

You turn on this game and it’s got the usual loud dynamics and smart intro screens that traditionally reek of Sega.

The first thing that struck me about the actual game was the graphics. The players have beautifully realised and detailed faces and bodies – their skin even shimmers with the sweat that such frantic sport inevitably induces. The animations are smooth and pretty damn realistic.

The matches play and feel like the classic Sega NBA game on Megadrive. The simplicity of the controls make it easy,but the high pace of the scoring causes blood pressure to rise and many swear words to be screamed. Awesome.

Free-throws are insane: you have to perform some kind of hand aerobics using the two sticks and a button,to come close to scoring. Most things have been thought of and covered in this update to the series. All the little things that are pretty inconsequential to the actual game,such as the crowd and the commentary,the stressy coach and the cool replays,all add up to give it a very finished and all round more accomplished feel.

Joe Latham

Web bucket Digital

www.pitchforkmedia.com

Given the precipitous decline in both the sales and quality of the traditional music press and the exponential growth of online music journalism,one would expect US-based indie web zine Pitchforkmedia.com to be at the forefront of the revolution. It certainly looks the part: updated daily with both news and reviews,it’s tidily organised and impressively professional.

The quality of the writing is a different matter. Pitchfork writers like to think of themselves as the equals of print journalists,yet for the most part are hampered by both their insufferably indiecentric view of music and breathtaking pomposity,both of which can combine to produce statements of unparalleled stupidity. From a review of Basement Jaxx’s Rooty,a mind-bogglingly way to

miss the point: "Their music is generally solid,but it's hard to tell if Basement Jaxx are taking the piss with their lyrics." On Northern State’s debut LP: "The falseness is soul-rending... Dying In Stereo displays no knowledge of hiphop history whatsoever." Because the point of NS’s goofy,irreverent cuts was clearly hip-hop history.

Kevin Blechdom,meanwhile - a woman with song titles like Boob-B-Q - is described as,er,“an intellectually honest take on Kylie Minogue”; the remainder of that review proceeds to demonstrate impeccably that other Pitchfork trademark,the criminal misuse of academic language.

The launch of the We Are The World project took missing the point to whole new levels. In August 2003,Pitchfork belatedly realised that - gasp - individual

Rathergood.com is rather good. Predominantly a spotlight for flash videos with little to say other than obscure stream of consciousness scenarios,creator Joel Veitch’s excellent taste has ensured that the site’s music in itself would be enough to keep you entertained in an idle lunch break.

Easy to find your way around,with handy side bar and regular new videos,Rathergood boasts a diversity of humour that most sites cannot match. Perhaps the most classic jux-

taposition is the dueling Viking kittens singing Gay Bar. Also amidst the mayhem are two versions of Destiny’s Child’s Independent Women. The first brilliantly interprets "I’ve got it" as "Alf Garnett",the second involves cats with flatpacks and fags.

There are written articles too,but they are mostly egocentric streams of consciousness which are too measured and pretentious to amuse quite as much as seeing Pavarotti’s eyeballs bulge at his love for elephants. Reader,beware of imitations; this is the genuine comedy website article. Rob Telford

tracks were as worthy of criticism as albums and - shock - chart pop could be as good as indie. Surreally tardy - "hey kids,there’s this song called Get Ur Freak On and it’s,like,really good!" - the only response any sentient being could muster was to roll the eyes and return to ignoring the strange indie people. Of course,they couldn’t keep it up; it wasn’t long before editor-in-chief Ryan Schreiber was declaring that "Britney's been accosting all of us too fucking long with her Disney-fried,sub-Abba teenpop". Oh dear.

Not all of Pitchfork’s staff are as beyond redemption as Schreiber; in particular,Dominique Leone and Nitsuh Abebe regularly produce lucid,wellthought-out pieces. Yet the site as a whole isn’t so much a force to be reckoned with as an irrelevance; it’s virtually guaranteed that you won’t care about 90 per cent of the albums currently on their front page,and nowhere do they succeed in convincing you that you should care. Indeed,the real online revolution seems to be taking place in the form of blog reviews,which allow for styles which are both more individual and more personal,including Freaky Trigger (www.freakytrigger.co.uk) and Spizzazzz (www.spizzazzz.com).

This game is better than you. This game is better than life itself. The mutt’s big,swinging nuts,if you will. It’s a big night out for your camp pooch,so give him a hand on. Check out that fresh music,too.

Oscar grouch

Fancy dresses,smug backslapping and little shiny men. Mat Croft rails against the Academy

Awards 2004

Jackson:smug

There’sJohansson:great

something so important about the Oscars that we have to watch it live between 1am and 5am. The thought of showing a pre-recorded version at a sensible time the next day is alien to the BBC, and unthinkable to us,the viewers. Still,it was alright for Mr Fancypants Johnny Depp,sitting out there in Hollywood looking buoyant at five in the afternoon, knowing he’d be home in time for dinner with Vanessa Paradis. Like the other stars,he slouched in his seat and clapped for his famous buddies and looked fabulous while we huddled with bags under our eyes and caffeine coursing through our veins, knowing that by the time the ceremony was over there’d be birds chirping in a new dawn and any chance of sleep would be lost.

And all this didn’t help the pattern of disappointment inherent in watching awards ceremonies. As with the BAFTAs,the bulk of awards went to films we hadn’t even seen yet: 21 Grams, Monster,etc. The former film caused a few shakes when Sean “I’ll be in anything so long as I get to be angsty” Penn got his hands on the little gold fella for best actor. There were cries of injustice for poor Johnny Depp because the Academy didn’t recognise his talent for impersonating Keef Richards,but the bigger tragedy was the dreadful look of disappointment on Bill Murray’s face,which was pretty hangdog to start with.

But the real boil on the ceremony’s ass was the tedious regularity with which Return Of The King won

everything. Sure,it can’t be faulted for special effects,costumes,set design and everything,but after it got the first five Oscars it had been nominated for,the usual debates which arise with each category were silenced. Watching one film win 11 separate Oscars has gotta be exciting if you made that film,but not for anyone else. Anyway,you only need to look at Peter Jackson to see he’s contented and fat and jolly enough already. And it’s hard to believe the best director in the world this year should be the guy who lets the first hour of his film go by without anything happening.

The morning’s ordeal was saved by the occasional glimpse of Scarlett Johansson and the jet-lagged tetchiness of the BBC commentators,but what’ll next year’s Oscars be like if they aren’t there? Who knows,just don’t expect me to stay up for it.

36 Film

After his Oscar defeat, Craig Driver makes Bill Murray feel wanted.For relaxing times, make it Murray time

Brill Bill

"Mrs. Crane! You're a little monkey woman." And thus begins Bill Murray’s comedic quest for greatness. Murray plays Carl Spackler,a hilarious,disgusting assistant greenkeeper on a task to kill "every gopher on the golf course.” Made with fellow cocaine rodeo stalwarts Chevy Chase and Rodney Dangerfield,this is drugfuelled comic anarchy at its most complete. The ultimate catchphrase movie,Murray has never been more wonderfully dishevelled.

In a sublime film premise,Murray’s weatherman Phil Connors is thrown into a time warp where he is forced to live the same day over and over until he learns to appreciate the sanctity of life. With lines ranging from the joyous “I met a girl. We ate lobster, drank pina coladas. At sunset we made love like sea otters” to the almost Nietzsche-like “I’ve killed myself so many times I don’t even exist anymore” Murray’s perpetual suicide comedy hits the brain as well as the heart.

This little gem of a film marks Murray’s gentle maturity. Murray plays Herman Blume,a local industrialist who somehow,through the veil of his own middle-aged angst,finds himself responding to the character of 15year-old acquaintance Max. With his dry throwaway humour Murray adds weight to his repertoire and creates his own category of stealth comedy. There's a sweet humanity about the picture,though it's anything but sentimental. It's odd,definitely odd.

The true blockbuster of the 80s,this is Murray’s film through and through. As Dr Peter Venkman,whether flipping out at librarians with such caustic lines as “Back off,man! I'm a scientist!” or ruling the school with such deadpan quips as “Hey! Make yourself useful!Go save a tree!”,this was the film that cemented Murray’s iconic status. Teamed up with fellow Saturday night live buddy’s Dan Aykroyd and Harold Ramis this is an all-star ghoul of a film with Murray at the helm.

This is not just another film about Amish bowling. While Woody ‘goitgimp’ Harrelson takes the lead, Murray steals the show as arch-bowling-nemesis Ernie McCracken with his four foot long comb-over. Full of arrogance and swagger this is Murray at his most physical and ridiculous. Given free reign by the Farrelly brothers Murray revels in the absurdity and brash humour of the surroundings. A cameo piece to be sure but when Murray is this good no one can stop him.

The film Murray should have won the Oscar for. As disillusioned movie star Bob Harris,Murray finds his true self through a chance encounter with Scarlett Johansson in Tokyo. As Bob says,“The more you know who you are,and what you want,the less you let things upset you.” Lost In Translation is a movie that goes after a feeling rather than a storyline and as such Murray gives the performance of his life combining humour,tenderness,and subtlety. How poignant that Murray’s most important line in his career is one that we will never hear.

Dir:Alejandro Gonzalez Iñárritu

Cast:Sean Penn,Naomi Watts,Benicio Del Toro

It’s said that we all lose 21 grams of mass at the exact moment of death,roughly the weight of a soul. This is the bitter and mournful message resounding through every fibre of Iñárritu’s masterful follow-up to Amores Perros.

The narrative of 21 Grams is a fractured,drawn-out tease which compels the viewer to reconstruct the storyline - an attention-riveting strategy that never descends to the arty convolutions of,say, Memento. The work of the three principals is compulsive,visceral acting at its most sublime.

Paul (Sean Penn),a maths professor in a failing marriage,is gravely ill and a candidate for a heart transplant. Jack Jordan (Benicio Del Toro), a born-again ex-con,now counsels wayward teens. A former druggie and party girl,Chris (Naomi Watts) is now a mother of two daughters,contentedly married to an architect. In the ingenious conceit of screenwriter Guillermo Arriaga (who also collaborated on Amores Perros),all three characters become fatally united by a tragic car accident.

As a man forced to confront his own mortality,Penn delivers an Oscar-winning turn,topping even his own best work (and winning in Venice

for Best Actor). Del Toro breaks your heart with his portrayal of Jack,a magnet for disaster no matter how hard he struggles to fight his past. He embodies the theme of retribution,pushing himself to self-immolating extremes and gut-wrenching emotional conceits. Watts,who has the most difficult scenes,is splendidly mercurial; what’s suprising is that the professional cinematic behemoths Penn and Del Toro are here as powerfully restrained as Watts is emotionally explosive.

In this film Iñárritu and his fellow artists have contrived something wondrous,a formally innovative fugue of a film filled with demons and despair that somehow comes down on the side of life and all its sanctity.

Craig Driver

Dir:Mehdi Norowzian

Cast:Joseph Fiennes,Elizabeth Shue

British director Mehdi Norowzian brings characters from James Joyce’s Ulysses into America. Their lives and stories twist and intertwine throughout the film while exposing the tragedies of life in the American South.

The film follows the potentially lost soul of Steven (Joseph Fiennes),and exposes his story through the books that he is writing. Steven has just been released from a 15 year prison

sentence and has a job at the grubby ‘Vic’s’ diner in Mississippi. This story is paralleled by the life of Mary Bloom (Elizabeth Shue),a housewife in claustrophobic small town America who suffers the tragic loss of her husband and daughter. On the same day,she gives birth to a son,Leopold Bloom. Mary sees her son as a result of her own sin and thus her mothering skills leave a lot to be desired.

The life of the young Leo is only coloured by his ability to write and his letters to a convict,Steven. As the story develops the ways in which they are related are cleverly revealed through this beautifully crafted plot. The deep psychological elements of Steven are well portrayed by Fiennes, and it can be safely said that this is his best film for a while.

It is Shue,however,who steals the film. Her portrayal of a dissatisfied and tormented mother is both disturbing and touching while always believable. This visually stunning film is reminiscent of American Beauty in its direction and unexpected feelgood factor. Through beautiful writing and excellent performances, Leo exposes the barrenness of modern living in the Deep South and fills it with a beauty of words and quality of life that allows an escape from its own tragedy. Claire Lamswood

Benicio Del Toro

Everybody knows it’s too cold to go outside.So why not curl up in your bed with a brand new book?

SCREENWRITING FOR THE 21ST CENTURY

Pat Silver-Lasky Batsford

The problem with books like this is that they don’t teach talent. When is someone going to write a book that instantly makes your typewriter (all professional writers use them – I saw it in the movies) churn out Fargos and Being John Malkovichs without any effort? In fact,this is 2004 and we should have robots writing films for us anyway,right?

Well Pat Silver-Lasky doesn’t think so,and after 30 years of writing for film and TV,she may be right. Her deceptively slim guide (it’s printed with two columns per page to fit more words in) answers every question the aspiring screenwriter could have,extending as far as copywriting your work and dealing with producers. The emphasis is on the method and structure of your writing,though Silver-Lasky places it in the context of the film industry. There’s so much information in here that

That said,the book lacks two things. The first is exercises for the reader to practice new ideas with. The second is that the book isn’t fun. There’s the odd dash of wit or the rare nugget of trivia hidden in heredid you know that Sam Goldwyn of Metro-Goldwyn-Meyer was really called Sam Goldfish? - but the rarity

ing and picking strawberries in California. It exposes truly shocking inadequacies in pay and working conditions. Finally, An Empire Of The Obscene looks at the history of the American porn industry (did you know that the American government originally tried to stop the sale of condoms because they were consid-

REEFER MADNESS

Eric Schlosser Penguin Books

As Schlosser says himself,“when much is wrong,much needs to be hidden.” This book contains three essays on the American financial underworld,and what lies beneath the country’s projected image. The first of the three is Reefer Madness, an exploration of marijuana trade and laws. Using specific case studies he why asks someone who is found guilty of drug trafficking (ie introducing people who have it to people who want it,without ever actually producing or seeing any of it) can be given a sentence twice the length of a convicted murderer. The second In The Strawberry Fields,is about illegal immigrant workers grow-

evasion),organised crime and exploitation. On the whole Schlosser reserves judgement,letting the reader make what they will of his findings. Occasionally he does comment – not so much that the book becomes his very own rant,but enough to make you wish that there were more people in the world like him.

I did not enjoy reading this book quite as much as I hoped to. However,I am gladder that I did read it than I expected to be. I’ll let you weigh up those two for yourselves.

Hannah Perry

Richard Morgan Gollancz

‘Conflict investment’ is the basis of Richard Morgan’s novel Market Forces Small wars around the globe equal money in this intriguing thriller,which focuses mainly on the conflict between the main characters involved with the most bloodthirsty investment company in the market – Shorn Associates. As Chris Faulkner discovers,there are only two rules that must be adhered to at Shorn Associates – drive hard and kill hard. ‘Blood on your wheels’ is the only way to drive in this new era of investment domination. With their top of the range racing cars,investors race to kill on the bleak motorways outside the city. Mercy is seen only as a weakness and a failure to complete the job at hand. This is the era where finance companies have become more powerful than governments and dictate the living standards and laws for ordinary people.

This novel is not just about the chase and the kill. It is a deeply moving tale of isolation and loss. To achieve money,fame and power,but mostly just to ensure his survival, Faulkner experiences a slow degeneration of his character and his mental stability as he gradually accepts and relishes his part in disposing of the competition. Bit by bit,Faulkner kills anything that stands in the way of his work – his colleagues at Shorn Associates,other company executives, his best friend and even his marriage.

Faulkner’s character shows what we are all capable of under certain circumstances and his complete personality transformation is shocking and vivid. The author deliberately entices the reader into having an attachment to Faulkner’s essentially well-meaning, affectionate,sincere and laid back character at the start of the novel in order to make his degeneration seem that much more distressing.

Faulkner’s degeneration as a character is reflected in the decaying nature of the world outside the investment epicentre. His wife Carla’s isolation leads her to seek comfort from her former politik father,Eric Nyquist. His life in the zones (the area of the city outside the wealth of the investment quarter) is appalling and it is through this relationship that the effects of the new and terrible investment utopia are made clear. Morals, ethics and livelihoods are all at stake in this novel and the choices made by

the characters usually turn out to be the wrong ones,as the reader can see as the story unfolds in the zones. Morgan uses a contemporary idea for his novel and reinvents it in a refreshing and innovative way. Any fan of John Grisham’s The Firm or of the film Devil’s Advocate will enjoy getting to grips with this engaging tale of individual and societal degeneration in the pursuit of gratifying ambition.

Josey Gist

MODERN

Books 39

word-thicket is a good book trying to get out. Collins’ subject is the eternally fascinating one of gender relations, with a historical slant. He charts society’s changing perceptions of sex roles and differences throughout the 20th century,by following the rise and fall of the concept of ‘mutuality’,put forward at the end of the 19th century by Edward Carpenter,“a self-proclaimed member of the intermediate sex”.

Marcus Collins has done his research and he wants you to know about it. Almost every sentence,without exaggeration,contains one or more quotations from some source or critic. His book is far too thickly sprinkled with other people’s words – if I handed in an essay like this,it would come back with the comment “over-reliance on other people’s ideas”. I want to take him by the scruff of the neck and shake him, although this would probably cause a shower of inverted commas to fly off him like water off a wet dog. It is a shame,because like the fat woman in all thin girls,inside this dull

There is plenty of detail and information here that would make this book useful for a student of history or sociology,but its style won’t win over the general public. If you do happen to try and read it as part of your course, drink plenty of coffee first. To be fair,it does get marginally better as it goes on,as it discusses the patterns established in the 90s and set to influence gender interactions today. One thing Collins does deserve credit for is his objective standpoint –he deals with facts and doesn’t let his own status as a male bias his opinion too much,but gives the viewpoints of feminists,lesbians and men’s rights movements as they were expressed at the time. This is partly because he never really ventures personal opinion, nor answers the questions raised – in fact,the whole book demonstrates that there are no easy answers,just ever shifting ideals and conflicts. It is an intelligent study that rarely resorts to generalisations,unfortunately written by a contender for ‘World’s Most Boring Man’. Laura Tovey

Marcus Collins Atlantic Books

LOVE

Hannah Perry introduces us to the joys of Jane Austen... Legends of the page!

Colin Firth,emerging from a lake, wet. Take that mental image and put it in a box. Now put the box back under your mum’s bed where it belongs – that is not what

this lady is about.

Miss Austen came into the world on December 16 1775 in the bit of the world near Basingstoke. Her work is commonly associated with Bath (the Jane Austen museum is situated there),but she only moved there at the age of 26,and left after four years. By the time she died in 1817 she had written seven complete novels and numerous short stories and fragments. She penned such wellloved classics as Pride And Prejudice, Emma and Sense And Sensibility. She also wrote her very own version of The History Of England. Though not the most factually accurate version of our history,it is quite possibly the most entertaining. It is prefaced with a note that “there will be very few Dates in this history.” If that won’t make you like her then I don’t know what will.

There are two things that make Austen’s work entertaining to read (you may not automatically apply the word ‘entertaining’ to something you may have been forced to study for GCSE,but take another look,I beg

you). Firstly,she understood people. It’s funny because it’s true. Secondly, well,it’s just funny. Her biting satires of the middle and upper classes in the early 19th century add an appealing edge to what could easily just be cheesy love stories. Her heroines have a spirit that is not associated with the era,and her imagination has created some of the most dashing young men known to fiction.

I don’t recall Basingstoke looking this nice...

...and takes us on a voyage through the varied work of Salman Rushdie

Iwould never have read anything by Salman Rushdie if my sister hadn’t decided to,in an attempt to sound impressive in literary conversation. Our first stop on the way to becoming well-read was his children’s book Haroun And The Sea Of Stories (because we thought that it would be the easiest). It has everything a good children’s story should. This,coupled with the how superbly it is written, meant that I was hooked and in awe of his writing ability after the first few pages. I had to read more.

Then came The Ground Beneath Her Feet; a reworking of the myth of Orpheus. Beginning in Bombay and ending up in New York via London, the book is a fantastic journey through different cultures and eras. It is frankly the best work of fiction I have ever read. You can’t fail to be astounded by the depth and breadth of his cultural knowledge. Other books such as Shame and Fury dis-

play the same skill for storytelling. Rushdie has a wonderfully downto-earth way of blending the mystical into a realistic story,giving the reader a distinctive account of the lives of his characters.

There is one book of his that I have yet to read,but I am sure that when I do it will live up to my expectations. Renowned as his best and most controversial work,when you hear the name Salman Rushdie, you think The Satanic Verses,you think fatwa. How many other authors have been prepared to risk their lives for their art?

Austen: Creator of dashing young men

Rushdie: Master of fiction

Arts Desk is

spring

cleaning this week,dusting away

those last traces of winter and welcoming the warmer weather with a preview of Mike Briscoe’s work at our favourite Cardiff gallery

GMartin Tinney Gallery

St Andrew’s Crescent

etting us in the mood for the heat and ice cream of the summer months is an exhibition coming up at the Martin Tinney Gallery. Mike Briscoe’s paintings,of which these are just a small selection,are in the gallery from March 24 to April 10.

His popular paintings have an atmospheric feel,reminiscent of childhood and days at the beach. What better way to escape the drizzle of March than to take a look at the show?

If you can’t wait that long,this week the Gallery is hosting an exhibition of Vivienne Williams’ work: quiet, completative pieces which take their inspiration from Tibetian Buddhism. Just the ticket if you are in need of a moment of refection and peace. The gallery is open from 10am to 6pm Monday to Friday,and from 10am to 5pm on Saturdays.

Heralding the summer

really knows what is going to happen until it does.

Aplay…without a script. OK,I can deal with that. But without characters? Or much apparent purpose? Welcome to the weird world of Theatre Anarchy Three,The Life and Times of… They couldn’t finish the title because they genuinely don’t know. This is improvised theatre where the audience intervenes,crucial decisions (such as who will take what part) are left to fate and nobody

This is improvised theatre where the audience intervenes and crucial decisions are left to fate

Don’t be fooled though,there is a structure – of sorts. The six actors have been practising their improvisation techniques for months and bring them together according to a loose plan. There is always a novelist,a screenplay writer and a director,as well as a host to guide things but who plays which character,and what their personalities will be,is decided right in front of the audience. The remaining two actors play whoever they like and they all wander in and of each other’s sketches at will.

The result is like an extended version of Whose Line Is It Anyway? But it is very,very funny. I found myself looking round to see who that weirdo letting out deep belly laughs was,until I realised that weirdo was me. This,of course,only applies to the night I saw the play – a different performance would be just that. The difference be better or worse,but I would have been happy to sit through every one of the six performances of the run just to see what madness the cast could create next.

This is not to say the production

was faultless. Things got off to a slack start when the host for the night couldn’t remember the order of events – not a big deal but for an audience who didn’t know what to expect this casual approach was unsettling. For some reason,most of the characters were foreign: people seemed to be striving to make their characters different,but they all ended up as Americans – and some of the accents were definitely variable. Often the characters became distinctly pantomime,but it was the ones who avoided this easy play for laughs that really shone. Highlights were Gerry the truly odd 8-year-old tap-dancer and a naïve country bumpkin.

Now in its third incarnation in Cardiff,Theatre Anarchy can no longer claim to be a truly original concept, but if you haven’t seen it before,it will challenge your previous conceptions of the theatre. Add to that some truly talented performers who can make you physically hurt with laughter,and you have a fantastic show.

Laura Tovey

Act One

Crwys Theatre

MIKE BRISCOE

In

line with the nature of this exhibition we sent two people along to give

their standpoints of what they thought the artists were all about.....

Points of view

POINT OF DEPARTURE

G39 Mill Lane

In exploring the reality of death,the artists exhibit their perceptions of what happens in between moments in time. Instead of looking at the consequences of actions,they focus on the action itself. Contrasting between prints of motor accidents and monochrome photographs of spontaneous combustion,with the use of cinematic techniques producing an alternative

medium,the exhibition collates the poignancy of death under all circumstances.

In depicting the moment as an extended experience,the artists prolong the initial shock of the reaction by stopping it. Instead of seeing death as part of the continuum of life, it is presented as an end.

The images are morbid in genesis but they exude peacefulness. They allow you to accept the stopping of time. In taking out the actions which occur simultaneously to death,you are able to focus on the fundamental image. You feel part of the situation.

The neutrality of the setting makes the images even more vivid,although they still do not make you scared. Walking across the wooden floors makes the silence of death even louder. For someone who fears sudden death the most,I felt very much at ease with the experience. It proposed the present as something we can never appreciate in reality,because once we have experienced it,it becomes the past. The present is depicted as an encompassing experience which can only be viewed externally. Natalie Slater

This rather curious three-tiered art exhibition left me with something to ponder; what exactly are they trying to get at? But is that not contemporary art for you,where non-convention is the new convention? The subjectivity involved in putting thought and feeling into solid expression leaves it up to the viewer to interpret their own meaning.

The first floor sees a collection of very dynamic and expressive paintings which create an enormous sense of movement within the room. The airbrush technique used here is very effective in highlighting the sense of collision depicted in all of these paintings,firmly establishing the mood and starting point of this exhibition.

The second floor needs the guid-

ance of the handout provided in order to try to engage with what you see. Without this you are simply in a dark room with a funny purple circle projected onto the wall.

Even still,this curious,séance-like presentation is better understood when coupled with the cinematography that is presented on the top floor,a brilliant and captivating piece of moving visual art which is presented on a small television screen. Using ‘old style TV reel effect’ to convey moving images reminiscent of the paranormal,a certain poignancy is achieved,heightened by the eerie vocals projected from the floor below.

There is then a series of photographic images on the back wall with printed words below. None of these

can be clearly identified,but all suggest the aftermath of destruction. An exploration into the existence of time and space for mankind – one senses that these artists are probing towards the afterlife to see what they can discover.

The three sections of the exhibitioncomplement each other brilliantly,all building on what has previously been suggested. It is an exhibition that asks you to exercise your imagination and to delve into what the artists have to offer with your sleeves firmly rolled up. Definitely worth a visit. Hannah Langfield

Respect in retrospect

THEBEACH

Alex Garland (1997) Riverhead Books

The Beach is a cool,slick and quirky novel that details an adventure which is both mysterious and disturbing. Some of you may remember it as the dodgy film starring Leonardo DiCaprio a couple of years ago,but the film does not in any way do the novel justice. The book is modern,enthralling and a real ‘can’t put it down’ read. It is a thriller that is sharp and fast moving; it really brings you into its world.

As a girl with a tendency to read quite feminine novels,I was really surprised to love The Beach. I picked it up as a holiday read,and now regard it as one of my all time favourite books. Published in 1996,it documents the journey of a guy called Richard,travelling in Bangkok. He hears a legend about a beach and goes on a quest to find it. The story then continues this adventure and Richard’s experiences and the relationships that he stumbles into. From page one it immerses you with fastpaced action and a story that gets more sinister as it unravels. The novel’s setting is perfect for anyone interested in travel or Thailand specifically,and forms the perfect backdrop for its gripping narrative.

What is so clever about The Beach is its portrayal of human relationships; it is stark,honest and is an amazing depiction of the darker side of human nature. Richard’s relationship with Françoise and Étienne is particularly interesting as it forms a subtle love triangle that becomes increasingly awkward as the sexual tension bubbles between Richard and Étienne. The Beach also cleverly builds up a sense of paradise,and the manner in which this paradise falls apart becomes very startling.

However,it’s not just the narrative that is gripping. Sandwiched between the main chapters in the novel are very dark illustrations that really emphasise the mood and tone that the novel is taking; they represent what Richard sees and encounters. In conclusion, The Beach is an absolute must read. It is edgy,different and the perfect thriller; it simply has all the makings of a modern cult classic.

Kerry-Lynne Doyle

DESTINY’S CHILD

The Writing’s On The Wall (1999) Sony

With Beyoncé shaking her butt and Kelly crooning on about life being stole,it seems everyone has forgotten about Destiny’s Child. While tunes like Bootylicious and Survivor might be regarded as the reasons the sisterhood hit the big time,it’s well worth rediscovering The Writing’s On The Wall if the girls’ music is to be done any justice.

Released five years ago,this album – the one made before LeToya and LaTavia threw a hissy fit and left,only to be replaced by Michelle – is actually Destiny’s Child’s second and by far their best. Featuring collaborations with Missy Elliott and Next,the album has a real R&B feel,with most of the tracks carried by the real ‘survivors’ of the band,Beyoncé and Kelly. Opening with a brief and quite unnecessary intro,the album really kicks off with So Good,a real ranter set apart from the more smoochy tracks by its kicking bass and staccato beats. Bills,Bills,Bills continues in this vein of female attitude,with more bass and cracking lyrics all aimed to set a certain “scrub” cheating a girl out of her money straight. Further tracks – Bug A Boo, Hey Ladies, Jumpin’Jumpin’, Get On The Bus and Say My Name – all follow this feminist ranting shape,using the formula of punchy,American ghetto lyrics backed by catchy tunes,making the album empowering for any feisty females seeking a bit of empathy and reassurance when it comes to men.

This is not to say that the album is by any means repetitive as each track,despite often being lead by Beyoncé,is distinctive and individual. Neither is it totally anti-men if the more chilled tracks like Temptation, She Can’t Love You and Stay are taken into account. Simply oozing sex,they live up to the reputation R&B has for being real sexy,bedtime stuff. All in all,this is a great album that’s definitely one for the girls,recommended to anyone who likes TLC or Christina Aguilera,with tracks you’ll recognise and love as well as some you wish you’d never missed. Megan Conner

MY NEIGHBOR TOTORO

For those of you whose previous experience of manga has been Akira –with a smattering of Legend Of The Overfiend –the opening third of Totoro will seem painfully dull. Two young girls move out to a rickety house in the Japanese countryside with their dad,and begin to settle into their new lives while awaiting the return of their sickly mother.

It’s not until the appearance of a pack of friendly –and,erm,adorable –Totoros that the film’s fantasy leanings come to the fore. In line with much of Miyazaki’s other work,the bizarre creatures themselves are a mix of childlike fancy and traditional myth: a troupe of wide-eyed bunnies,ranging from the miniscule to the gigantic,who perform rituals to bring the rain and tend to the life of their forest home. There’s also the unforgettable CatBus –yes,CatBus –which,though cute and possibly fluffy, is without doubt the stuff of nightmares. Oh God,I don’t want to think about it again.

Though not nearly as exciting or ambitious as some of Studio Ghibli’s other output like Princess Mononoke or the Oscar-nominated Spirited Away, Totoro might just be the most charming film of all time: simply look to the perfectly rendered tantrums of the film’s protagonists,or the earth-shaking yawn of a sleepy rabbit behemoth. And I don’t care if that makes me sound like a right old Susan,either.

Gareth Lloyd

Dir:Hayao Miyazaki (1988)

Studio Ghibli

Going out

Contrasting cuisines this week! Choose between a romantic Italian candle-lit restaurant or opt for funky rock memorabilia American style.

HARD ROCK CAFÉ

Old Brewery Quarter

The Restaurant: The Hard Rock Café is everything you’ve ever heard about it and more. It’s big,it’s bright and it’s on your doorstep. It’s well known,worldrenowned and definitely worth the hype. We went along on a cold Monday afternoon looking for some gorgeous food and something a bit different – we had high expectations of this place and they didn’t let us down.

Being both a bit indecisive and starving at the same time we asked a friendly member of staff for some advice on what to eat. Ever eager to oblige and make you feel welcome,the staff are chatty and well informed about what’s hot and what’s not. We were recommended the infamous Pig Burger, apparently the most popular dish worldwide. Also recommended were the hickory chicken and spare ribs combo. They were absolutely gorgeous,very messy and very big.

In fact,everything about the place is big,bold and brash. A Coke is not a Coke as we know it,it’s a massive pitcher. A starter is not a small starter; it’s a huge plate full. The puddings, meanwhile,are enormous! We are not complaining though,it’s not often you get value as good as this for your money! Prices for burgers and all the trimmings were about £7,big sandwiches were about £8 and the BBQ range is from £9.

The Bar: Despite the café being so popular for its generous and tasty meals in the restaurant area,it also functions as a very busy and stylish bar. The bar staff are highly trained and have an impressive cocktail menu,

which is frequently updated and revamped so you’ll never get bored. Titles include Pickled Tink,Bahama Mama and the Alabama Slammer. Their signature cocktail is the Hurricane, which contains white rum,dark rum and loads of other stuff thrown in. This cocktail is - you guessed it - huge,and costs £5.95. Shooters are about £4, while a wide selection of wines and regular beers and lagers are also available. There are loads of tables,stools, and seats,while the atmosphere is chilled and relaxed,partly due to the music channels played on huge plasma TV screens (programmable for your own listening pleasure). Meanwhile,the décor is amazing!

The Hard Rock Café restaurants also own 60,000 pieces of rock memorabilia which are rotated around the world. Currently in Cardiff you’ll find Elvis’s waistcoat,a Tom Jones suit,a signed Stereophonics guitar,Jimi Hendrix’s guitar,one of Ozzy’s black velvet jackets and a cuddly toy! They are also planning student nights with special drinks deals,happy hours and live music events. It’s definitely an experience worth trying! Katy Davies

LORENZA’S

Crwys Road

Just because Valentine’s is over doesn’t mean you can’t be treated to a nice meal out. Situated on Crwys Road the last thing you’d probably expect to find

is a quiet romantic restaurant,but it’s here! If possible sit in the secluded window areas where you can drift into a world on your own to have an intimate night with your friends,family or lover. But why bother going out for pasta? For most students,it’s our staple diet anyway! Lorenza’s do serve other types of food,but yes the majority of main courses (around £7 and very filling) are pizza and pasta. However,not many students I know cook their pasta with prawns or steak in such delicious sauces.

They offer a large choice of tasty starters; if you want to splash out go for the king prawns. And if you’re still not full after those two courses grab a pudding,they’re gorgeous!

It’s not a place to go for a cheap meal out but you can get a three course meal and half a bottle of wine for just over £20,and of course it’s possible to eat less than that. The service is pretty fast,but you won’t be rushed and can take your time soaking up the candlelit ambience. And if you’re hungry you can always nibble on the free breadsticks! Jenny Duxbury

Wow - we’ve had a great response, it’s amazing how students will do anything to blag a free meal or club entry! Only a few issues left, keep them coming. (Approx 200 words.) Email: grmagazine@cf.ac.uk

Picture: Lisa Walkley

Photos: Jenny Duxbury

Smells like team spirit

Football,rugby,cricket,whatever.

Bored. Passable forms of entertainment if there’s no paint you need to watch drying (except for cricket,obviously,the ultimate cure for insomnia - and that’s just if you’re playing it). Maybe fun if you happen to be in a park in the summer and want to move around without getting too,like,energetic (only a step up from Catch,mind,and definitely not as fun as frisbee). But as sports? To follow obsessively,to become passionate about,to elevate practitioners to hero status? They,and other team sports like them,simply don’t cut it.

The concept of viewing the team as the ultimate means by which to pursue sporting excellence is one which runs counter to everything that phrase should mean. Team sports don’t elevate talented sportsmen above the rest,but rather dilute the gifts of the crème de la crème and in many cases virtually ensure that exceptional talents are unable to achieve and accomplish results which befit their capabilities. David Beckham and Raúl,for instance,are widely acknowledged as two of the most gifted footballers on an international level - yet neither has even come close to winning the World Cup,the sport’s ultimate trophy,and it is entirely possible that neither will ever hold it. On the other hand, Christian Karembeu was on the winning French squad in 1998. First person to tell me anything remotely interesting about this man wins a very special prize. From gifted ball-strikers stuck in

teams mired in mediocrity to phenomenal talents hindered by a lack of support among teammates,playing sports in a group ultimately requires a level of dependence on others which cannot be taken seriously in what is essentially a pursuit of individual excellence.

It’s no surprise that sportsmen who excel have traditionally been deified for being able to perform feats which others

“The concept of viewing the team as the ultimate means by which to pursue sporting excellence is one which runs counter to everything that phrase should mean”

are unable to replicate; they are revered precisely because they embody a human ideal. And essentially,that ideal is something unquantifiable which can only ever be found in an individual:just watch Roger Federer play tennis,or Svetlana Khorkina execute moves exquisitely on the asymmetric bars,or Tiger Woods hit an unerring drive which must surely have been guided by a sixth sense. It’s impossible to deny the individual magic in each case. The closest parallel would be to an artistic genius - but really,that’s not a parallel at all; it’s one and the same thing.

The team,meanwhile,is an artificial construct,arbitrarily throwing sportsmen of varying degrees of talent together according to factors as meaningless as nationality; a situation which could never come even remotely close to producing any sporting ideal of perfection.

The idea of perfection is unattainable, of course,but important. Steffi Graf once declared that her ultimate ambition was to “play the perfect tennis match”; by her impeccable standards,she never achieved this. The point,though,

Critic of the year Alex Macpherson on why team sports are inferior to individual efforts

is that every time she stepped onto court she,and she alone,was responsible for how she played. Once an individual athlete is in the arena of performance,there is no one who can let them down other than themselves; conversely, there is no one available who can physically help them to win. There can be no abdication of responsibility; the challenge they face is pure,unsullied by the interference of others.

What kind of victory is it in the end if you can’t take full credit or blame? A shared victory,a diluted victory,an easier victory. There’s more courage and guts shown by one Russian teenage girl who steps out on to a tennis court by herself than by one of 11 football players secure in the knowledge that at the end of the day,win or lose,he’ll always have the support of the lads,that there’ll always be someone to empathise with. There’s safety in numbers - always a teammate to hold your hand,to pass the buck to - but sport should never, ever be about safety.

And finally - where’s the glory in having to share what should be the greatest accomplishment of your life with ten other people? Medal podia look awfully crowded when there’s more than one person standing on them; maybe this is why relay races aren’t taken as seriously as individual sprints. How will Marion Jones be remembered - as the dominant 100m and 200m runner of her generation,or as part of some relay team with three other girls? This is precisely why Anna Kournikova’s No 1 doubles ranking and Grand Slam doubles trophies count for so little when assessing her career. In the end,an achievement is that much stronger when accomplished by an individual; at root,it’s a question of having the guts to acknowledge that ultimately,it’s only what we accomplish on our own terms which ever matters.

Riath Al-Samarrai is away.

Steffi G Graf: individual g genius

Postcards from France

By Andrew Davidson,Grenoble

As discerning Quench readers already know,a recent skiing accident has allowed me an interesting insight into the French medical establishment. As I needed an operation to repair my knee, I was admitted into hospital not far from where I live in Grenoble. Having had similar sporting mis- fortune requiring a similar operation some years ago in the UK,a few differences between the French and British medical culture of pre-op patient preparation sprang to mind.

In the UK,I had to shave the area immediately surrounding my knee. Here in France,the country of apparent cleanliness and hygiene,I had to remove all hair from testicle to toe,and then have a nurse inspect my Gillette-sponsored handiwork, “in case I’d missed a bit”. This proved,incidental- ly,to be by far the most harrowing experience of the whole saga,as I’m sure any red-blooded male reader can empathise.

On then to the stinging experience of a post- shaving iodine bath. They didn’t do that in the UK.

But perhaps they should have. Not for the pleasure of the nurses get- ting to watch their patients wince like wusses,but to lower the risk of hospital infection. Think,how often is there the story some crisis hospi- tal bug splashed across the British press? In France this never happens. So for the cost of bot- tle of iodine per patient,a great deal of hassle could be saved. Before you ask,my knee is getting much better,thank you. Likewise,the afore- mentioned leg hair is regenerating just fine. Thus,no need to send in any of those “Andy the

Postcards from Sicily

By Sarah Cummins,Catania

Having not seen my boyfriend Ed for seven months we decided that nothing could be more romantic than meeting for Valentine’s weekend in Rome.

Our first sight of Rome was of what was to become fondly named ‘shit square’ - Termini bus station. The entire ground was covered in bird poo and so I would definitely advise a brolly or newspaper as protection should you ever find yourself in the vicinity - the stains simply will not come out from my coat!

Rome may be a romantic city but when England are playing Italy for Six Nations the day after Valentine’s the city becomes swamped with English tourists. And I hate being a tourist. But we figured it was alright because we were there to experience Rome - see the Colosseum,the Vatican,sit on the Spanish Steps: that was until we met my friend.

We’d arranged to meet for a drink before the game and on seeing her and five others in all their England shirted glory a guy offered myself and Ed two tickets to the game,how could we refuse?

We made our way to an English pub (the first and last I will go in) and as an English flag was painted on my cheek in true Banana Man style I was transformed from cultured Italian student to English tourist and rugby fan.

We jumped on an English-packed tram to the stadium where I watched my first rugby matchand I sang and roared with the best of them!

Itnever ceases to amaze me that being rich is not considered immoral. When I say this,I do not mean having enough money to live in reasonable comfort,I mean the aspiration to realms of wealth beyond any pretence of actually spending it all. The sheer avaricious grasping at the vainglorious tendrils of capitalism, the prostitution of decency to the getting rich. What’s so good about being rich? Money,after all,is merely a means to an end. It doesn’t do anything in itself. Money is exchanged for things,the value of which is generally of more importance that the means of sale itself. So why are so many people obsessed with making money? What’s the fucking point? It either gets spent or it doesn’t,and aspiring to have more than can be usefully exploited is just sheer greed. Get this into your heads,folks: Bill Gates (that’s the tycoon,not my brother) is a worthless parasite. Financial success is not a measure of moral fibre,sexual prowess or artistic merit. It simply an indication of the current level of inequality that has always blighted our collective existence… I’m sorry,readers,ranting on at you like this,but if I see one more money-dazzled fool confusing

wealth with a life that hasn’t totally sucked then I will actually take up homicide as a career option. It’s bad enough that international capital is governed by the whims of blazer-wearing gambling addicts dealing in hypothetical amounts of money,but to look up to these popinjays,these untermenschen? Jesus Christ! Get a grip! The world is fucked,and rapidly getting worse,and it will be our actions that determine our future. So let’s pose a question: when you are faced with the reality of your own impending death,can you honestly say that your life has been worthwhile? Can you? Or rather,think on this - it doesn’t mean jack shit being the richest corpse in the cemetery.

But hey - enough of this doom-mongering!

Sylvia Plath writes: Why? It’s not like you do anything else,you miserable bastard.

Ted Hughes interjects: You can talk, Miss “Life is a vale of suffering/blah blah blah death blah blah”.

Gates replies: These little interludes are really rather pointless, aren’t they? I really should stop.

Ah well. Whenever suicide

becomes a prospective lifestyle choice,I like to lie back and think about people who are fatter than me. And that’s quite a lot of people,really, even though I’m quite stocky. (A propos of this,the reason why I don’t have a byline picture is that my appearance warrants little or no comment,and I’m not exactly an oil painting. But I digress...) Or,failing that,a brogue,stamping on a human face, forever. Imagining the suffering of others,while not a worthy pastime,is nevertheless a great consolation in times of trouble. Feeling bad? Just think about that Geordie bloke whose skin was subject to tear off all the time,leaving him with useless stumps instead of hands and requiring constant medical dressings all over his body. Actually,don’t. He had a fantstic personality and a great sense of humour. He didn’t deserve such a horrible life. Try imagining pain,colossal amounts of it,inflicted on some bastard whose entire life has been a waste of our mutual oxygen. Jay Kay from Jamiroquai is a good starter, especially as a non-clichéd hate target. Plus,in some ways he’s actaully a worse person that little Georgie Bush. Never mind. I’ll stop being shit next week,pals.