Quench - Issue 39

QUENCH.GAIRRHYDD.COM > VOL 3.39 > MAY 22 2006

THE SPINTO BAND

IA N GUA RD NT E D U ST Z I NE M A GA E T OF H R A E Y

THE NICEST GROUP IN POP?

DOCTOR WHO

“GOD BLESS GAIR RHYDD” AND OTHER GEMS FROM RUSSELL T DAVIES

T T A M R D k c a b s strike

WITH HIS HIS ALL-TIME ALL-TIME GREATEST GREATEST MOVIE MOVIE WEAPONS WEAPONS WITH

DIARY QUENCH MAGAZINE

CARDIFF UNIVERSITY

the gair rhydd magazine

04 06 07 08 12 14 16 18 23 24 30 37 38 42 44 45 46

Best Student Publication 2005

Best Student Magazine 2005

OTP: Likes Words, Loves Beards Mr Chuffy: Listens to Rod Hull Debate: “Duncan I can’t see man” Interviews: Who are they?

Fashion: Drop Fred Gorgeous Food: Thai rack Travel: Bjorn in the USA Features: Get filthy Reviews: Bricking it Film: Kill you with the Best Weapons Ever Music: Oyster Marmalade Digital: As in ‘with your fingers’ Books: Foreign stuff Arts: Yes Sport: Forty years of hurt Cult Classics: He’s dead. Deal with it Television: Lottery’s number’s up

Editor Will Dean Executive editor Tom Wellingham Assistant to the Editors Elaine Morgan Sub-editors Sam Coare, Chris White, Graeme Porteous Arts Kim O’Connor, Rebecca Child Books James Skinner, Daisy Beare Columnists Gareth Paisey Cult Classics Matt Turtle Debate Soph ‘the loaf’ Robehmed Digital Sam Curtis Fashion Charlotte Howells, Clare Hooker Features Tom Howard, Helen Thompson Film Catherine Gee, Ryan Owen, Si Truss, Ewen Hosie Food Sian Hughes Interviews Amira Hashish Mr Chuffy Andy Johnson Music Sofie Jenkinson, Mike Richards, Will Hitchins OTP Geordie Photography Luke Pavey, Adam Gasson, James Perou Travel Bec Storey, Amy Harrison Contributors Caleb Woodbridge, Kayleigh Excell, Jason Jones, Jennifer Dunkerly, Gemma Green, Bjorn Agane, George Tsangaris, Andrew White, Jess Best, Alana Lewis, Rosie Powling, Annika Henderson, Dr Matthews, Sian Miguel, Andrew Mickel, Harry Rose, James Rendell, Emily Kendrick, Steve Dunne, Theolonius Gunt, Skip James, Alex Wallis, James Meredith, Ellen Waddell, Zoe Efstathiou, Stephen Church, Tasha Prest-Smith, Tim Lewis, Tom Brookes, Scout Springs Proof Readers Jess Anderson, Robert Knowles, Chris Clear, Sophie Robinson Cover design Graeme Porteous Thought of the week: “Revision is a lot harder then I seem to remember” TV Willy

QUENCH@GAIRRHYDD.COM

QED Ever been in a bad audience?

You know what we mean, you go and see a band/comedian/whatever and the performer says to the crowd after about seven songs, “I was in Rhyl last night, those guys were quiet! Not like you guys, you guys rock!” Or something to that extent.

Does anyone ever think that after they’ve paid their £20 to see, I dunno, Muse blast out the hits, they’ll be getting slagged off the next night at the Brighton Dome?

Probably not, but oddly, over the course of one weekend I sat in two crowds where I had a feeling that the next night the performers would be whinging about it to a different set of punters.

First was Dylan Moran at St David’s Hall. Admittedly the Irishman did retell a few jokes from his old DVD but only because he forgot what he was saying. So the clever sod who shouted ‘got any new jokes?’ didn’t do anyone any favours and ruined the comic’s mood and the rest of the show.

And what else? Springsteen.

Quench trekked up to Manchester to see its own pop idol in concert only to be sat next to a load of comatose 50-year-olds who were only there to hear Born To Run. Which, of course, he didn’t play because the show was, as advertised, there to promote Springsteen’s new collection of folk covers. It was more fun than it ought to be but most people aren’t happy unless they get standard ritualised gigs, especially from artists past their commercial peak.

Why bother paying extortionate amounts of money to go to something if you’re going to whinge/look glum throughout the proceedings?

Don’t give me this, ‘I don’t know this song’, rubbish. That’s what gigs are for. Enjoy yourself.

Anyway, enough moaning. This is the last normal-sized Quench of the year. Because of our dust-jacket’s decision to go Hamburger-sized (or something) we are being stretched a bit into something the same size as the G2 supplement in the Guardian.

Which should be interesting. So look forward to that, and good luck with the exams etc.

You’ll need it.

THREE

QUENCH MAGAZINE ONE TRICK PONY Time to get a little bit serious, folks.

Don’t look at this site if you’re easily perturbed: it can get a touch grim. It’s run by an anonymous Iranian, who uses holycrime.com to catalogue the judicial excesses of his country’s government: the lashings, stonings and hangings used to punish those found

guilty of offences under Islamic law.

Among the more harrowing is the 17-year-old woman, Nazanin, who was sentenced to death for defending herself against three potential rapists the irony being that if they had succeeded in their crime, she would have been stoned as an adultress.

www.holycrime.com

STOP: This execution is not ready

webwatchatquenchdotcom

e week Snap of th

I.Q.

BY CHRIS WHITE

As the World Cup’s less than a month away, and all bodypaint is going to be used for is England flags, we’ve decided to show you what can be achieved by the right hands. Sadly we’ve lost the pictures of my slightly ‘special’ mate decked out as Groucho Marx.

(OVERRATED) THE RED HOT CHILI PEPPERS I’ve been listening to their new album, with the intention of reviewing it for Quench’s music section. It was about half an hour into the record that I questioned whether the band was even on a different song. This monotony continues well into the second disc, when finally it changes. They’ve been making exactly the same music for a decade. Please stop now.

INTELLIGENCE QUOTIENT what we know and what we’re not quite so sure about

HOT !"HOMOEROTICISM According to Music Ed. Greg. And the Greeks, who believed man-onman love was the best. Up yours, Popey! !" HUMA Riddell saysN RIGHTS - Mary Princess Toniwe have too few. many. Ridde says we have too ll is right. enough for a !" TREES - Good to fall asleep in nt de stu er est Glouc .

- 100 ft up

!"PANTS - Hotpants. Geddit?

Hurr hurr hurr.

FOUR

!"OXFORD - Got a little surprise coming your way.

Watch this space. he has UEEN - Sre edy g !" THE Q e ays, th two birthd have to take the moo, and Ie off work - unpaid. second on

!"THE ORDINARY BOYS Who decided to hoof over a stack of newspapers outside our office. Whyioughta! !"WEST HAM UTD To be fair, they were unlucky in the cup final.

Much to my delight, and my mother’s chagrin.

GROT

BIG WORDS Our favorites are: floccinaucinihilipilification (worthless); antidiestablishmentarianism; supercalifragilisticexpialidocious (not actually a word); sesquipedalianism (the practice of using words a foot and a half long); and beleaguered (cos it contains a league innit). I jest, on the last one, anyway; but long or ‘highbrow’ (phrenic) words are an essential part of English: why use four small ‘uns when a whopper will do?

(UNDERRATED) QUENCH@GAIRRHYDD.COM

ONE TRICK PONY QUENCH MAGAZINE

0, 19, 56, 48, 3, 13, 45, 69, 600, 75, THE350, MAGIC 3873, 412,NUMBER 7, 2, 35, 26, 475, 9, 3, 24: The number of ways the letters of the word 567, 3783, 34623, in3,which 7, 585, 60, 38, ‘meat’ can be arranged and still make an actual word. We’re 16, 4638, 97, 59, 34 not telling you11, what 373, they are 789, - work it12, out for yourself.

all this rubbish online

quench.gairrhydd.com

WE’RE FED UP OF BEARDS! The winner of Beard of the Year 2006 is Psychology postgrad Joni. (You don’t actually win anything Joni. Sorry.)

KEV ONETRICKPONY@GAIRRHYDD.COM

HATES HOUSE POLITICS

S

o I head downstairs, into a kitchen of unwholesome affairs. I say ‘hey good morning’ to which my housemate replies in kind. My mate is cooking a proverbial treat of bacon and beans.

So I say to him: “Combineth the two and see where it leads and whack in some toast it’s like money for free.”

“Good thinking my man,” says my housemate. So there we have it. A stonewall case of good relations in a house. It may not be quite to the level of manic group hugging and cozy house nights in that take place in James Skinner’s (See Q38) house but it still stands at a good level.

Likewise, it contrasts sharply with the isolated nuclear detachment prevalent in Greg Cochrane’s.

Your housemates probably don’t like you However, sometimes the whole process gets subverted in a single moment. An example can be found in a recent dispute over a bowl. Debate began because it was, in fact a soup bowl, rather then a nice shiny deep Ikea bowl.

Are they big enough to eat your breakfast out of? Yes, no, maybe, who bloody cares! Does this debate conceal underlying tension? Probably. I’m going outside for a fag.

There were plenty of those other kinds of bowls around.

Some lying with filth encrusted just under the rim, bits of bran flake or Coco-Pop everywhere, lazily splayed out on the microwave or on the floor. Did anyone wash them up? No. Is there a moral to this story? Yes. Keep an eye on your housemates, they are shifty two-faced fuckers who probably don’t like you and start a fight over something as menial as a bowl. My housemates are alright though; I love them really.

the guest column the guest column the guest column the guest column the guest column

BEARD OF THE YEAR 2006 !

R E N N I W

MATT TURTLE

FIVE

QUENCH MAGAZINE ONE TRICK PONY

Warning Human Rights legislation raped my gerbil

T

Mr Chuffy Investigates...

The Emu rock revolution

he hit parade had only popped out to the ‘Black Boy’ for a swift Tia Maria and orange.

Whilst leaning on the bar to purchase some pork scratchings, and unbeknown to the weekly list of bestselling pop records, rohypnol juice was inserted into its vestibule of rum. The chart rundown awoke to bleeding orifices and an insanely grinning ostrich impersonator. Emu had arrived and music would never be the same again.

Emu (abbreviated to a shorter version from Emulation Rock which was not as long as the aforementioned title) is a genre-defining genre which fuses teenage angst-ridden rock of the 1980s with teenage angst-ridden rock of the 1990s alongside the mating grunts of a flightless three-toed Australian bird. Foetus Binliner, journalist for weekly music rag the P.F.I.L.E. (the Pop Fanzine Industry Latest Express), has likened the sound of Emu to, “Saudi Arabia wearing clogs in a gangster’s japseye.” The magazine predicted that within 12 minutes all other forms of music would be aurally redundant. Such foresight was foresight indeed as folk can now be seen pushing trolleys around ASDA car park and rap regularly spanks off old queens just to afford scraps of bling.

The genre has caught the imagina-

“

Uniting those mildly perturbed by bedtimes and self loathing tion of the disaffected youth, uniting those mildly perturbed by bedtimes and self loathing. Chart-toppers Gibbon at the Gallows are leading the Emu rock revolution with their unique brand of angst-ridden rock. The band, who all have beaks and do a fair bit of screaming, sparked unanimous adulation from music hacks when they released their debut album on real SIX

tears. The sound quality was poor but critics were forced to concede that the LP tasted really salty. Columbine Raaaaaa (real name Phillip Hargreaves), who formed Gibbon at the Gallows after his parents wouldn’t buy him a car, is viewed as a catalyst in the Emu revolution. “Mimi punda rafiki,” Hargreaves pretentiously told Quench in Swahili. “Now I can buy my

ROD: Fell from roof sans badgers while digging own car, go to bed when I want and eat all the sweets I desire without worrying about spoiling my appetite.”

These primate executioners caused controversy stateside when the band performed a gig during a sports lesson in Handgun High, Tennessee. The teacher was forced to shout quite loud, and at times, even use a whistle. “It’s about time we stood up to the Jocks,” Hargreaves later told Horse & Hound magazine. “They get all the women, but we are interesting people too. I like the internet.”

The spirit of Emulation Rock is not a new phenomenon, with passages from St Peter’s Gospel describing Jesus petting Mesopotamian sand emus with some vigour.

Archeologically retrieved handkerchiefs suggest that for some time Edward VI was a bit petulant and furthermore, anthropological big-brains believe that the Suffragette movement may have been at least partially motivated by Emmeline Pankhurst thinking ‘my life’s so rubbish, I hate my parents, everybody hates me, it’s so unfair’.

Musically, the Bad Uncle of Emu rock, Rod Hull, had been banging out teenage suicide aids in his Pink Windmill from as early as 1984. Hull’s life though was tragically cut short when he fell from his roof while digging for loft badgers. His flightless companion was left in musical limbo and for over a decade found his feathery self in and out of rehab following a prolonged caterpillar habit and aggression issues. Emu’s resurrection emerged from an unlikely source when the puppet teamed up with arch nemesis Grot Bags and BBC Royal correspondent Nicholas Witchell later forming the popular rock act Nirvana.

The Emu brand has now become about more than just the music; transcending fashion and charity, it has become engrained in our psyche.

Walk down any British high street on a Saturday morning and it is impossible to miss incontinent gangs of Emu kids in tight jeans, beaks and feathers. Some will rabidly squawk at you, others will just look a bit dour. In July Bob Geldof plans to organise ‘Live Freight’, a live music festival in the Forest of Dean aimed at pressurising governments into halting the practice of transporting live emus around in aeroplanes. Once landed, the flightless bird experiences intense dizziness, often falling over.

COBAIN: Before the drugs With Emu here to stay until the bird flu cull, three questions remain. Is sitting in a darkened room and listening to emu rock whilst crying detrimental to our children? Why don’t they all cheer up? How does one answer a rhetorical question?

CHUFFY@GAIRRHYDD.COM

North vs South

DEBATE QUENCH MAGAZINE

Resident Northerner, Geordie goes head-head with shandy boy Sam Coare, in this heated debate as to who rules the British Isles

Pro-North

Pro-South

Chris White Northerner

Sam Coare Southerner

F

FINANCE: Southern

E

verything that foreign people hate about ‘the English’, they actually hate about southerners. Think about it – it’s true. Would the people of Ireland have accepted Jack Charlton as manager of their national football team if he’d been a southerner? Not a chance.

But we in the North have historically been as shafted as our Celtic neighbours. (Oh, alright, not quite…) My place of birth, County Durham, was the last part of England to be conquered by William of Normandy, and, as such, is absent from the Domesday book. The area only acquiesced to Norman control with the proviso that the Bishops would have a large degree of control: hence Durham is known as the land of the Prince Bishops.

And in the wars that Southern people started against Scotland, the North of England was (obviously) the front line, its people first called into action, its cities the first to be sacked in retaliation. And it has made us hard. No; not hard: resilient.

And you’d have to be to work in a mine, and to provide, along with the Welsh, the majority of the country’s coal. That the coalfields happened to be in the north is an accident of geography, but can you imagine Boris Johnson, the epitome of all things Southern, grafting in a pit for twelve hours a day? (Yeah, yeah; southerners do all that fancy financial malarkey. It can’t be that hard.)

Or how about two of the greatest football teams of the last thirty years, Liverpool and Manchester United? Music: Sting, Dire Straits, the Beatles, Oasis, the dirty one and the ginger one from Girls Aloud. TV: Byker Grove (infinitely better than Grange bloody Hill), Auf Wiedersehen Pet, The Royle Family. Film: Brassed Off, The Full Monty. Comedy: Reeves and Mortimer, Roy ‘Chubby’ Brown, Victoria Wood. Food: Black pudding, Yorkshire puddings, Newcastle Brown Ale. These are a few of my favourite things. (Julie Andrews wasn’t Northern. Thank g*d.)

But the best thing about being Northern is Not Being Southern. Not being a member of the most exploitative, snobbish, and downright poncey people in the c(o)untry.

Let’s face it, South: if it came to a war, we’d have you.

DEBATE@GAIRRHYDD.COM

irst off, lets just set the record straight. This debate is meaningless. Pointless. Without worth.

It’s not because having a good bit of light-hearted chat about the relevant benefits (The South) or disadvantages (The North) of where you live isn’t worth a few pints and a laugh. Because it is. But that’s where it need be left. Commit anything to paper like we are here, and it’s debate over – The Northerners can’t even read it (See: ‘Illiterate’ in Me First Big Pop-Up Book ‘Boot Words, Like) It’s not that illiteracy, theft, mushy peas and general pikeyness don’t have a place in the world. We need somewhere to put all this (See: ‘Manchester’ in aforementioned book. See: ‘Aforementioned’ in The ‘Ey, Worra He Say?’ Book ‘Boot Big Words). We’re never ten yards from a rat in London because even they’ve given up on the grey skies and even greyer living. It’s a good thing they’re colourblind; we wouldn’t want the poor fuckers dying of shock upon being greeted by something green.

It’s not even that the north doesn’t have its worth.

Regular forays to watch Liverpool are full of charm and cheap beer (Ever seen a Bargain Booze darn sarf?), although they’re marred by the pre-match slalom from pub to ground as some scally tries to steal anything off you. It took three months to figure that waving an iPod, sounding your ringtone or flashing a torch scares the poor blighters. Batteries and electricity and all that. (NB For all you reading this out loud for the benefit of your northern housemate, you might want to repeat the bit about rats and ‘green’ for added understanding.)

Even good ol’ Aunty Beeb can’t help but poke the big stick of fun their direction with the ‘It’s\\ Grim Up North’ series. However, if there is one thing they can take solace in (albeit in daylight hours, see: Electricity, Lack Of), it’s the fact they aren’t Scottish.

MINING: Northern SEVEN

QUENCH MAGAZINE INTERVIEWS

LOOK WHO’S TALKING

Caleb Woodbridge meets Russell T Davies, Billie Piper, David Tennant and the team behind Wales’s TV-superhit, Doctor Who

S

omething strange has been happening to Cardiff. In recent months we have seen the city transform from the Highlands of Scotland to a space station in the year five billion. The cause of this phenomenon is the return of Doctor Who to our television screens, filmed in and around the capital by BBC Wales.

Star of the show David Tennant has enjoyed filming in Cardiff. “It’s been great,” he told the hordes of journalists that assembled to cover the launch.

“In London people are so hacked off with film crews, but everyone in Wales is so pleased to see us.” Billie Piper was just as enthusiastic. “Someone even brought us home-made Dalek cakes to the set when we were on Florentia Street.”

Might they be tempted to leave Britain for the sunnier climes of Hollywood? “Maybe if the right project came along,” says Billie. “but there’s some great telly about at the moment, and I’m excited about what’s happening here.”

David is similarly not struck by the lure of movie stardom. “I’ve never had a Soviet five-year plan for my career!

Television is taking over… people like Russell T Davies, Paul Abbott, Andrew Davies and Tony Marchant are writing some amazing stuff.”

The stars of Doctor Who may love Cardiff, but why has the new series exchanged London for South Wales as the aliens’ landing ground of choice?

EIGHT

Show-runner, Russell T Davies, has the answer.

“Hooray for gair rhydd!” he boomed when approached, as he began reminiscing about his days doing postgraduate study in Cardiff. “You never know,” he says. “You can study in Cardiff and end up writing Doctor Who!” The Swansea-born writer was the brains behind such critically acclaimed dramas as Queer as Folk, The Second Coming and Casanova, and was recently awarded the Dennis Potter Award for Outstanding Television Writing at the BAFTAs. So why was Doctor Who revived in Cardiff?

“That was me, partly. I knew Wales, and I knew Julie Gardner, and I wouldn’t have necessarily been happy making Doctor Who in London,” he revealed. “The BBC has also been pushing production out of London generally.”

A new drama empire is emerging under Julie Garner, Head of Drama at BBC Wales, one of the fruits of the BBC’s efforts to move production and investment out of London and into the nations and regions. As well as producing Doctor Who, her network commissions for BBC Wales include high-profile dramas such as Life on Mars and Casanova.

More shows are on the way from BBC Wales, including Torchwood, a post-watershed science-fiction crime thriller spin-off (try saying that three times fast) from Doctor Who, featuring

Captain Jack, played by John Barrowman. It’s also the reason the TARDIS will not land in Cardiff this series of Doctor Who. The Torchwood team will be based in Cardiff Bay, so “we can show off the city with Torchwood!”

To house these new developments, BBC Wales has just built Camelot, a new studio complex which will be home for Doctor Who and Torchwood with plenty of room to spare. The studios have facilities for production, post-production and filming all on one site, and is a long-term investment in Welsh drama.

The revival of Doctor Who has achieved many things. But Russell T Davies wants the show’s contribution to Wales to be celebrated. “I’m proud of it!” he said. “It’s a huge industry now.” BBC Wales are busy nurturing new talent, he said, “giving eight placements to do twelve months in the design department.” Of all Doctor Who’s achievements, it’s the show’s contribution to Wales that he feels is most undervalued. “It’s created work for hundred of people in South Wales.

Literally, hundreds. Seriously, I think that’s amazing and I don’t think it’s recognised enough.”

With Torchwood hitting our screens in October, series three of Doctor Who already commissioned and a commitment to developing new talent, you don’t need to travel by TARDIS to see a bright future for drama in Wales.

INTERVIEWS@GAIRRHYDD.COM

INTERVIEWS QUENCH MAGAZINE

MEET. . .

d n a b o t n i p s the see you nice to see you, to SPINTO: Nice

Polite? Courteous? Well-mannered? Greg Cochrane exchanges pleasantries with the friendliest new-comers on planet indie - Deleware’s Spinto Band

N

ice - like a hot water bottle.

Nice - like a comforting arm around the shoulder and nice, like lying in bed listening to the rain or swinging on swings. Willington, Delaware’s the Spinto Band are, well, nice. Quench joins them tasting foreign treats from their travels.

“Would you like a Prez?” Thomas Hughes, (vocals and bass) wafts a coffee flavoured stick in our direction, “and this is prune juice,” yelps Sam (keyboard) “it’s really good, looks like it should be from Japan but I got it in Liverpool.”

This is just the kind of youthful glee that the six youths of the Spinto Band have bottled and preserved in the form of one of this year’s liveliest albums in Nice And Nicely Done (out later this month - their first large scale release, but also, remarkably, their seventh). Tom smiles, “The others were pretty much recorded in our basement at home on a four track,” but “those were never really released we just gave them to our friends… it was just another hobby.”

“A lot of the album was recorded

INTERVIEWS@GAIRRHYDD.COM

whilst we were still studying at Uni,” interjects a baby-faced Joe Hobson, (guitar).

It’s an album that looks, smells and feels well looked after. Caring appears to be what they do best - not like tucking pensioners in at night - but making sure every note on every song and every brush on artwork is considered and loved. “We used to have a seventh member for a while but he’s sort of taken over the art department,” enthuses Joe. “Most of the stuff he does is pretty cool, we’ve known him since we were kids.” So you know him well? Tom and Sam exchange amused glances, “well, yeah, in fact he’s our step-brother.”

Along with the anticipation over the album it’s already been a busy year for the upstarts, including a Stateside jaunt with a certain Sheffield foursome. “The Arctic Monkeys tour was pretty wild,” gleams Tom. “It was hectic though, a lot of us got sick, in the middle we played SXSW with two shows within 15 minutes of each other.”

“One of us ended up in hospital,”

chuckles Joe, “I just had to get a shot to sort it out though.” The familiar aches and pains of the road are starting to show then? “Not really, it’s easier over here (in the UK). Back home we take turns to drive the van whilst we’re all falling around in the back,” quips Sam. And what of Alex Turner and co?

“Yeah, they’re really nice guys, I think they’re just amazed at the attention they’re getting,” remarks Joe rocking gently back on his chair. “They were definitely trying to distance themselves from any kind of media hype they could, which makes sense to me,” smiles Tom. Joe – “I think their music is similar to ours though in the sense that people just have fun.” At the same time he produces a magical, naïve grin.

And fun both the Spinto band and their ever-growing following have been having. Proof that there’s a place for decent manners in rock ‘n’ roll and that nice guys don’t always finish last.

NINE

QUENCH MAGAZINE INTERVIEWS

RUTH JONES’S DIARY

Acclaimed Welsh actress Ruth Jones is best known for her roles in Nighty Night and Little Britain.

She’s making her stage debut in Educating Rita.

Kayleigh Excell talks to the actress

Q: Firstly, you are starring as Rita in a theatre production of Educating Rita.

For those who don't know, tell us what it’s about.

RJ: The stage play was written by Willy Russell in 1980 and subsequently made into a film starring Julie Walters and Michael Caine. It tells the story of a hairdresser who wants to ‘know everything’ and who embarks on an open university course in English literature. Her quest for knowledge leads to an inevitable change in her attitudes and how she views the world. Her tutor Frank embarks unwittingly on his own journey of discovery as a result of meeting Rita and by the end of the play both characters’ lives have been significantly changed.

What is Rita like as a character, is she fun to play?

The film of Educating Rita is one of my favourites and I was a bit worried that I wouldn’t be able to get Julie Walters’ performance out of my head. But because we’ve decided to make the character modern-day and also from Cardiff, not Liverpool, it feels like we’re creating a brand new Rita.

She’s a great woman – got such a big heart and is very funny and although she’s really keen to learn she’s also irreverent and unafraid of speaking her mind. She’s the sort of woman I’d really like to have as a TEN

friend – fiercely loyal and eternally optimistic, with a wicked sense of humour.

Educating Rita is set in the Open University. What fond memories do you have of your student days at the University of Warwick and later at the Royal Welsh College of Music and Drama in Cardiff?

I loved my time as a student – Warwick is a campus university and I know that’s not everyone’s cup of tea but I liked the fact that we all lived in our own little world. The only sad thing was that the three years were over too quickly! It’s horrible when it’s all over because you have to sort of grow up.

Going to drama school was a bit of a shock because I realised my 15 hours of lectures at Warwick was a breeze compared to a 40-hour week of rehearsals, voice classes, dance and stage combat lessons.

Incidentally, I was rubbish at stage combat. Hardly surprising.

Who inspired you to become an actress?

I’m afraid I don’t have any romantic tale to tell about being inspired to become an actress. I always got involved and enjoyed doing school musicals and youth theatre and stuff but I never really thought I’d be any good at it professionally.

To be honest, I left drama school

pretty unconfident about the whole thing… I even thought about becoming a solicitor!

But a friend of mine from Warwick, Dominic Cooke, who’s now the artistic director of the Royal Court Theatre, was putting together a theatre company called Pan Optic and doing a middle scale tour of The Marriage of Figaro which he asked me to be in. He was very encouraging and he later got me into the RSC when he was working there.

He was definitely an inspiration.

You play salon assistant, Linda in the BBC comedy Nighty Night. How did you come up with her crazy character?

The ‘look’ of Linda was actually based on a Cardiff shop assistant – the buns and the goth make-up… she should really have had Nana Maskouri glasses as well, but they would have got in the way. Julia Davis and I did a lot of improvisation to come up with the character and story line. We just both liked the idea of having a beauty salon assistant who was really BAD at her job – because normally they’re so good at what they do, confident and clean and efficient, playing relaxing pan pipe music as they massage away your troubles. Linda conversely is really grubby, eternally nervous and the only music she likes is Judas Priest. She’s definitely one of my favourite characters.

INTERVIEWS@GAIRRHYDD.COM

QUENCH MAGAZINE INTERVIEWS Most people will recognise you as Myfanwy from the Little Britain sketches. Little Britain has become such a huge success, what was it like working with Matt Lucas and David Walliams on the show?

They’re great. Really good fun as well as very professional and hardworking.

I’m looking forward to filming the live show DVD with them in Blackpool.

You have done a variety of work including theatre, film and television drama and comedy. Which for you is the most enjoyable?

There’s been nothing really that I haven’t enjoyed. I suppose favourite jobs include the second series of Nighty Night mainly because we were filming in Cornwall in gorgeous sunshine by the sea and I just love working with Julia because we laugh so much. I also loved doing East Is East.

I haven’t actually done any theatre now for eight years and am terrified but excited at the prospect of going on stage again. I think doing a live performance will be thrilling.

Did you enjoy writing an episode of Fat Friends? Are you planning on writing more?

The episode I wrote for Fat Friends featured in the final series and it was made doubly enjoyable because by then I knew the actors/characters that I was writing for.

“

I left drama school pretty unconfident about the whole thing.

I even considered being a solciitor Fat Friends was a great show to work on – I made some really good friends on it. Sadly I don’t think there’ll be any more though. I have just written an episode of The Chase which is Kay Mellor’s new project and it’s about vets. My story line involves a swollen boa constrictor and two gay tortoises. Kay Mellor is very encouraging of new writers and I learned a lot from her.

NIGHTY NIGHT: Don’t give up the day job Ruth

Sherman Theatre?

Yes, I’m really really looking forward to it though Steve Speirs and I are both terrified as neither of us have been on stage for so many years! I did perform at the Sherman when I was in the National Youth Theatre of Wales, in 1984 - but it’s great to be doing something there professionally - albeit 22 years later! I think it’s a terrific theatre and I’m really looking forward to working with artistic director Phil Clarke. * To be in with the chance of winning two VIP opening night tickets to see Ruth in Educating Rita at the Sherman theatre on June 1 see this week’s competitions page.

You have worked with lots of great comedians, actors, actresses and writers. Is there anyone in particular that you would love to work with in the future?

I loved working with Alison Steadman who played my mother in Fat Friends and hope to work with her again some time. I’ve also recently enjoyed working with Steve Coogan playing his girlfriend in his new series Saxondale – I was quite nervous about working with him but he was so lovely – and a real comic genius! Julia Davis and I would really like to write and be in a film together so that’s definitely a dream of mine, and my colleague and friend from Fat Friends, James Corden, and I have written a six part comedy series which films in the autumn.

Ruth’s seen better days INTERVIEWS@GAIRRHYDD.COM

This is your Welsh theatre debut. Are you looking forward to the opening night in your home town at the

RELAXED: Looking more normal ELEVEN

QUENCH MAGAZINE FASHION

Jason Jones goes undercover to find out the problem with pants

W

hat is the problem with pants? Why do so many men get it so wrong when it comes to their under-kecks even after the Great Calvin Klein Revolution that supposedly overhauled the global male knicker market?

Are we so stupid that we can't see - even though it's an exercise in abject futility - at least we can attempt to become an aspirant Freddie Ljungberg, Klein's current advertising hooker? And while we're in the question-positing mood, why do loads of the other words associated with pants also begin with 'P'? Peacock, parading, poser, padding?

Say the word 'padding' and 'pants' together in the same sentence in relation to the world of the male undergarment and men would quickly point out with much machismo and bravura they were hung like a particularly wellblessed Derby winner and tell anyone who'd listen they didn't need any help in the downstairs department thankyouverymuch! Well, if we're all closet cock-monsters, then how come US brand C-IN2 which uses, not padding exactly, but a ‘unique sling-support TWELVE

system to lift and improve the male silhouette’ was such a hit when it arrived on UK terra firma at the tailend of last year? The reason being is that we don't want to let the girls have all the padding action and, let's face it, a couple of extra inches (as the name suggests; C-IN2, geddit?) doesn't harm anyone's side profile, no matter how horse-hung you are.

LJUNGBERG: First place at the derby Hello boys, indeed.

Aside from these brief enhancers, this summer there's a plethora of similarly passion-inducing pouches for privates. First up - so to speak - is the new line from American designer Andrew Buckler, the man behind the cult low-rise Sexy Bastard jeans favoured by man-masterpieces Tommy FASHION@GAIRRHYDD.COM

FASHIOBN QUENCH MAGAZINE Lee, Lenny Kravitz and Gael García Bernal. Intended to compliment the jeans, Buckler’s smalls (perhaps not such an appropriate term for men’s lingerie as it is for ladies) are suitably low-slung, allowing for maximum hip-jutting and waistbandrevealing. Featuring a cute, riveted pocket on the rear, the range is nothing if not pneumatic, making the most of the masculine form.

Also jockeying for cockiest pair, Calvin Klein’s palm-printed pants prove that tropical is topical for spring/summer 2006 and look simultaneously raunchy and retro; all very ‘70s porn star.

Performance is, of course, another area of consideration when perusing pants. The essence of which is captured by the new Essence line from aussieBum, the über-undiemeisters from Down Under. On a sportier note, for the first time an organic substance called Acerole has been microencapsulated (whatever that means) within the fabric of the pants. It’s a plant extract rich in Vitamin C which promises to promote vitality and help stop sweaty Bettyness and jock rot. Yeah, right! They do look and feel saucily good, though, and that really is the whole point.

Finally, high-fashion, in the shape of John Galliano, Dolce & Gabbana and D-Squared are perfect for beauty -pageanting the chic pieces.

Playful and classic, Galliano’s newsprint briefs and boxers are designed to be put on display poking nonchalantly and sexily over a pair of baggy skater jeans. D&G’s Vacanze Anni vintage-inspired underwear is hotly rakish, snugly cut and madly patterned. And if anyone should know about serving up your schlong to its best advantage it’s the D-Squared duo. Their latest collection is cut short on the pouch, promising an enticingly perky-looking handful and stops your tadger being tossed around like a dingy on a stormy sea.

And if you’re still shoving your man-meat into a pair of Y-fronts that look as if you’ve cleaned the windows with them and smell of rotting camel then it’s high time you got with the pants programme. They may be called smalls but they’re a huge-hung deal, because unless you get a decent pair of pants how are you ever going to get someone to indecently rip them off?

FASHION@GAIRRHYDD.COM

Wardrobe detox Jennifer Dunkerly helps you step out of the clutter and into summer style

M

y wardrobe used to resemble a jumble sale. Clothes exploded out of the shelves and drawers. Dresses hung on every available door, handle and hook. What I couldn't hang up, I draped - or mostly flung - over chairs or bulging drawers, prised opened specifically for the purpose. Yet I still fed my shopping habit and indulged in new fashions and high street trends, adding to the array of fantastic items I would surely wear only once but hoard for years and years.

Does this sound familiar? If you, too, open your clothes cupboard and shudder in horror and frustration, it may be time, as I discovered, to give your wardrobe a break.

Ask yourself seriously, when you last gave your wardrobe a real thorough detox. I mean a major, ruthless overhaul.

Like us, our wardrobes change with the seasons - and with the shops full of all the newest summer styles, it's time to work out what to buy, what to chuck out and (most ruthlessly) what actually is left to keep.

Now you may not think this applies to you but I beg to differ.

Fashion is a fickle business and I'd argue that even the least likely fashionista has something resembling a wardrobe. Every time you open your wardrobe in the morning you are making a conscious fashion decision. And with summer officially on its way do you really want to wade through all of last years jumpers to get to that all important T-shirt? Why not make it easy on yourself and clear out the clutter?

WHAT TO BIN, RIGHT NOW: • Anything that has shrunk or has holes • Slogan T-shirts (as dated as ‘Kiss

me quick’ or ‘Good FCUK!’) • Hot pants • Low-slung jeans that reveal thong elastic • Old socks • Pants, especially thongs that are over a year old • Combat pants (Spice who?)

• Wraparound cardigans • Warrior-style belts • Gipsy skirts (save for beach holidays only) WHAT TO KEEP • A properly fitting bra (I hate to sound like your mum but these are like gold-dust no matter what your shape/size) • Your skinny jeans, they're sticking around for a while yet.

WHAT TO BUY • Ballet pumps, we like this soft low-cut pair from Asos.com – only £18 • A great waist-cinching belt, can accessorize any outfit, such as this Jocasi Westend leather belt £55 from Asos.com • Summer T-shirt – such as this stripped one with classic capped sleeves from Warehouse, £22 • Summer dress, whether skimpy, chic or bohemian a soft summer dress is an essential holiday item. We like this white box dress from New Look, only £25.

• Invest in some good sunglasses – a good quality must-have item will last through the seasons, look cool and protect your eyes.

Vintage specs have exploded over from last summer in the celebrity-style, check out Linda Farrow Vintage to see what the likes of Kate Moss and Victoria Beckham are wearing. We like these Fiorelli striped specs, only £38 from Asos.com THIRTEEN

QUENCH MAGAZINE FOOD

A TASTE OF THAILAND Why not add some culture to your cooking? Gemma Green gives us some flavoursome ideas from Thailand

T

hai food has become increasingly popular in Britain. Ten years ago, London boasted only a handful of Thai restaurants.

Now they are almost as common as Indian and Chinese restaurants which are renowned British favourites.

Although English Thai food has developed rapidly, it does not compare to the real thing.

A British Thai green curry, probably the most celebrated dish, differs greatly from the genuine culinary delight. The real thing is much hotter and more aromatic.

On first arriving in Thailand, the spicy aromas from the numerous street stalls invade the senses. These stalls exploit the real flavours of Thailand in the cheapest way - dishes are as cheap as 30p.

Although not quite as cheap or easy to reproduce in Britain, authentic Thai food can be recreated with fresh ingredients and some experimentation. Most ingredients can be bought in major supermarkets.

If you struggle to visit Tesco Extra, however, supporting local trade is

FOURTEEN

quick, easy and efficient. The Veg Rack on Crwys Road sells fresh fruit and vegetables, including chillies, which are essential to Thai cooking. This local shop also sells fresh herbs that can be ordered as late as the day before you visit. Coriander and basil are particularly relevant in Thai food.

Basil adds the essence of Thailand and is a major ingredient in many recipes.

Another useful shop is Cardiff Korean and Japanese Foods on Woodville Road. They often sell lemon grass, a fragrant herb which, although rather woody, can be flattened down to release mouth-watering aromas. They also sell rice noodles, the main ingredient in Pad Thai, a famous noodle dish. Zem Zem’s Continental Food (Mundy Place) also sells lemon grass, chillies and rice noodles.

The above ingredients can be used to create the different flavours of real Thai food, such as a hot, sour, sweet, salty, bitter and aromatic.

PAD THAI: Yum FOOD@GAIRRHYDD.COM

FOOD QUENCH MAGAZINE

Chicken Soup with Lemon Grass Serves four Preparation time – 30 minutes Cooking time – 15 minutes 500g chicken breast fillets 2 tablespoons oil 3 small fresh red chillies 2 stalks lemon grass 5 cm piece fresh ginger 3 kaffir lime leaves 2 medium-sized tomatoes 750ml water 4 tablespoons lemon juice 4 tablespoons fish sauce 400ml coconut milk fresh coriander, to garnish

.

5. Add the water and bring back to the boil. Add the chicken and tomatoes and simmer for a further five minutes.

6. Divide the chillies, lemon juice and fish sauce between four individual soup bowls. Pour the hot soup into bowls, garnish with coriander and serve with a separate bowl of rice.

NB. Lemon grass is only used for flavouring, as it is too woody to eat.

Ginger may also be removed after serving.

1. Cut the lemon grass into 3cm pieces. Thinly slice the ginger. Cut the kaffir lime leaves into quarters.

Serves four Preparation time – 20 minutes Cooking time – 15 minutes 500g chicken breast fillets 2 tablespoons oil 1 medium brown onion, finely chopped 2 tablespoons finely chopped small fresh red chillies 80g shredded fresh basil leaves 2 tablespoons fish sauce 1 teaspoon chopped fresh coriander 1 teaspoons sugar 250ml coconut cream 1. Remove excess fat from chicken, cut chicken into 1cm strips.

2. Cut the tomatoes into quarters.

Thinly slice the chillies into rings.

Cut the chicken breasts into thin strips approximately 1 cm strips.

2. Heat oil in wok, stir-fry onion and chilli until onion is soft. (Yes, the chilli does cause lots of coughing - warn your housemates)

3. Heat oil in wok, stir-fry chicken 4. Heat the coconut milk in a large saucepan. Add the lemongrass, kaffir lime leaves and ginger. Boil the coconut milk over a medium heat for about two minutes

Chilli Chicken with Basil and Coconut Cream

TOM KAH GAI: Mmm, lemony

3. Add chicken, stir-fry until chicken is tender. Add basil, sauce, coriander and sugar, stir-fry for one minute.

4. Add coconut cream, stir until mixture is hot.

KOH PHI PHI: Better than Cathays FOOD@GAIRRHYDD.COM

FIFTEEN

QUENCH MAGAZINE TRAVEL

ON

D A O R THE

in the

USA

Following in the footsteps of Jack Kerouac, Bjorn Agane sets out an epic adventure across America by bus

I

t’s Tuesday July 2 and I’m in Boston. My blind date from Los Angeles says to me on the phone, “So why don’t we meet up in Chicago on Thursday?” I reply with, “I’ll see you in Chicago”.

Coming down from my high, I now had a problem: How would I get to Chicago (1,200 miles away) with a small budget, in two days?

My first thought was to check for flights on the internet. Yet two days before Independence Day, flying was not an option for my student budget.

Too young to rent a car, the only remaining option was the bus.

The next morning I found myself On The Road, watching the sights blur by.

I was feeling like Jack Kerouac in his famous novel from 1957.

There is this certain feeling of absolute freedom when you are on the road. I was excited, afraid, but looking forward to see what I might encounter next.

Everyone you can imagine besides the US jet-set - will take the bus sooner or later in their lifetime.

You’ll gain insights into the diversity of the everyday American culture and get away from the ‘tourist thing’.

If you are travelling on your own, the bus is a great opportunity to hook up with other travellers from all over the world. You never know if that strange someone sitting next to you might become a best friend for life.

The bus is the only public long distance transportation in America for backpackers. It is affordable and gen-

SIXTEEN

erally available even if you want to catch one the same day. Yet planning ahead, watching out for promotion offers and avoiding holiday-weekends, will certainly save a lot of your money.

I paid roughly £100 ($179) for my 1,200 miles round-trip from Boston to Chicago. You can always pay cash on the spot, but for long trips it is recommend to buy a ticket ahead. Pay online or via credit card.

Big bus depots will have ticket booths but they are generally not open 24 hours a day. Or you might want to get on a bus in a small town on the road.

The buses travel to nearly every possible destination in North America. The only down point is that you might have to change buses in the middle of the night and might have delays. The drivers will kick you out, no matter what.

The biggest plus for riding by bus is that you don’t have to stick to schedules. Whoever comes first, rides first. This means that you should show up at least thirty minutes before departure or you might find you have a wait for the next bus.

On the other hand you have the opportunity to get off any time and continue your ride later on in case you’ve made new friends along the way. And you don’t have to pay extra.

For more information on the Greyhound bus services visit www.greyhound.com

Top Tips for travelling on buses DON’T USE THE BUS TOILETS The toilets on the back of the bus are a breeding ground for bacteria.

It is definitely worth controlling your bladder as the bus drivers are forced to stop every three to four hours at truck stops where the toilets are far less offensive.

PACK YOURSELF SOME LUNCH America is a big country and journeys are long so you don’t want to end up hungry en route. The nostalgic road cafés in films are now few and far between so stock up on some home-made sandwiches.

FOOD FOR THE SOUL Top up your iPod with some new tunes and grab that book you never got round to reading. Watching out of the window or talking to your strange looking neighbour is fun for a while, but then there might be still 25+ hours left to ride.

WATCH YOUR BELONGINGS. Don’t carry an awful lot of cash around with you and keep your passport and other vital belonging close to your body as possible.

Don’t leave valuables in your backpack as these are stored under the bus and the bus company does not take responsibility for losses..

TRAVEL@GAIRRHYDD.COM

MOSCOW:

TRAVEL QUENCH MAGAZINE

‘a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma’

R

The Moscow metro itself is a landussia is a super-state stretchmark. Some lines were purposely coning from the borders of the structed deep underground in order to European Union, past the Ural Mountains, deep into Siberia, bypass- provide protection from a nuclear attack during the Cold War. That ing Mongolia and China and reaching aside, the metro is more like a musethe tips of Japan’s islands, almost um than a mode of transport with touching Canada. chandeliers, ornate paintings on the Russia is enormous, but one city in ceiling, arches, marble-clad walls, particular captures this land perfectly: mosaics, statues and wall-sculptures.

Moscow. A city so romantic and ruthApart from the underground, nine milless, it captivates the imagination lion Muscovites use the bus. You can with its haunting history and its modbuy a book of 10 tickets for 35 rouern-day madness. bles.

Moscow regained its capital status Moscow has the most extreme and by chance when Lenin, fearing invadiverse nightlife; from underground sion, moved the government from St clubs to penthouse wine bars.

Petersburg. Since its re-creation as Moscow has more casinos than the capital, Moscow witnessed the rise whole of Europe combined. If you’re and fall of the communist regime with into the arts then you should visit the its development as a literary and culBolshoi Theatre. And of course there’s tural capital, the hosting of the 1980 vodka… vodka… vodka.

Olympics and now the rapid growth of its economy. Moscow is so busy with change. It hasn’t had time to look back, nor does it want to.

Gone are the days of red-raw communism and perestroika. It isn’t the land of drunken politicians and food rations but is, in contrast, a land of chic-styled youths, with Moscow boasting more billionaires than New York… and they say the Russians lost the Cold War. There are even plans to build a millionaires’ city on a bend on the Moscow River, twice the size of Monaco and able to house over 30,000 people.

SEVEN SISTERS: Moscow is the most expensive city Non-phallic in the world after Tokyo with prices constantly varying. For the average Muscovite, a taxi ride from the airport will cost around $15-20, whereas the tourist will pay up to $60. To avoid this charge you could take the shuttle to the closest metro station for $0.50.

“

Moscow isn’t the land of drunken politicians and food rations but is rather a land of chicstyled youths and more billionaires than New York

TRAVEL@GAIRRHYDD.COM

There are even more things to see during the day. The Red Square is probably everyone’s principal visit. The Kremlin is the residence and seat of the central Russian government.

Within the walls you’ll find three Cathedrals and countless towers.

At the Red Square, you can see the Tomb of Lenin. His body lies perfectly preserved in a open-casket. Between 1924 and 1972 over 73 million people visited Lenin’s Tomb. If you wish to see him too, then catch him between Monday and Friday 9am-1pm.

Moscow’s Seven Sisters were built on the orders of Stalin and is one of the most drastic architectural projects ever conducted in order to rival the USA’s skyscrapers. Unlike phallic American skyscrapers, the Seven Sisters were designed in a ‘wedding cake’ style, with the main tower as the centre. They can be seen across the Moscow skyline and include the Moscow State University, (once Europe’s tallest building), ministries and grand hotels.

The main shopping street, The Arbat, once a suburb of Moscow was the focus of Russian intelligentsia and artistic community, with legendary poet Pushkin living at Number 53 and Tolstoy living on the adjoining street of Kaloshin Lane.

Nowadays, The Arbat plays host to souvenir shops, art stalls and cafes while still retaining its bohemian atmosphere.

Churchill’s description of Russia, a ‘riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma’ is undoubtedly true. But this depiction fiercely becomes reality in the palaces and bars, museums and people, streets and avenues that make up the city of Moscow.

George Tsangaris SEVENTEEN

QUENCH MAGAZINE FEATURES

Party politics

Andrew White investigates Space Hijacking, an anarchic movement that holds parties on tube trains and views politics as a game of cricket.

Pole dancing...

those who own or run it…” One of their projects - The A-Z of Retail Trickery - illustrates this concept of manipulating space perfectly. The techniques employed by retail chains to make you buy more than you otherwise would are incredible. The smell of fresh bread in more supermarkets than you would think is completely artificial. All the baking is done first thing in the morning before the shop even opens. That’s assuming they even bake the bread in your local branch.

Tiles on the floor in some shops are sized so that they are smaller in the more expensive aisles. This may seem strange at first, but according

I

n 1999, a group calling themselves the Space Hijackers held a party in the carriages of a Circle Line train on the London Underground. The driving force behind it was to change the users’ preconceptions about how the Tube carriages should be used.

The original Circle Line Party concept involved the idea that party–goers should dress as commuters, with fancy dress underneath the surface, in order to avoid alerting London Underground employees, or indeed the British Transport Police.

Between stops the costumes should be revealed and the carriages decorated, and real commuters made to feel included. A banner on the third CLP proclaimed: “If you think they are here by mistake then why haven’t you given them a beer yet?”

Unlikely looking grey–suit–wearing commuters have been known to join in with the revelry during Circle Line parties, drinking tequila for as many laps of the line as possible until the Underground has closed. Later parties have included pole-dancing using handrails, samba bands, knitting, nudity and general chaos, including police, suspension of train services, and the closure of a station.

According to their website, the Space Hijackers “oppose the way that users of space are being put under increasing scrutiny and control by

EIGHTEEN

partying... to Robin Priestley (who took shoppers on a tour around the Birmingham Bullring demonstrating the techniques), as you push your trolley around the aisles, the wheels click at a certain rate. As soon as you enter an aisle with smaller floor–tiles (and more expensive items for sale) the wheels click faster, subconsciously you feel you are going faster, and your natural response is to slow down, spending more time perusing expensive items.

These things may seem shocking, but it is common practice. Obviously you aren’t told because it would completely remove the point of the exercise.

The Space Hijackers represent the lighter side of anarchism. Realising that preaching at people, going to protest marches and handing out leaflets rarely achieves anything useful, their projects tend to be fun and, as with the Circle Line Party, engage the public – hopefully without them realising they are actually participating.

“

Unlikely looking grey–suit–wearing commuters have been known to drink tequila for as many laps of the line as possible Space Hijackers isn’t strictly one unit in the manner my description might suggest. In fact what makes them a bit special is the way in which Space Hijacker agents are encouraged to create their own manipulation of their local public space without everything being dictated by a leader or core group. Anything an agent does independently can be sent in for inclusion on the website, after all. A Space Hijacker is merely a person who liberates public space.

The term ‘Anarchitecture’ has been coined to describe their field, and the Space Hijackers call themselves ‘Anarchitects’ to highlight their rejection of the control that architects and town planners try to impose upon them.

...and cider. What more do you need?

FEATURES@GAIRRHYDD.COM

FEATURES QUENCH MAGAZINE Part of the obsession with public space stems from a realisation that up and down the country (and around the world), towns are becoming scarily similar with local shops being replaced by chain stores, town squares being commercialised, and Starbucks driving coffee shops and tea rooms out of business. Queen Street in Cardiff could be from any town in the country, for example.

On the May 1 2005, the Space Hijackers gathered on Parliament Square - next to the Houses of Parliament - having delivered a letterto each Member of Parliament challenging them to a cricket match, and accusing them of behaving in an ungentlemanlike and dishonourable manner. This behavior consisted of putting the wishes of corporations over the needs of the public or environment; obscuring the real motives for going to war in Iraq; ID cards; forcing through legislation banning protest wherever possible.

This last point was particularly apt.

Before the match, the Space Hijackers were contacted by the

Authority figures, apparently

Greater London Authority telling them that their match would “…be in breach of the Trafalgar Square and Parliament Square Garden Byelaws 2000 and [the Space Hijackers] may be prosecuted.”

A legal professional advised the Space Hijackers that this was rubbish, an empty threat, and that the cited sections of the legislation did not apply in their case. “It isn’t a protest, it’s a cricket match.

“

The Space Hijackers delivered a letter to each Member of Parliament challenging them to a cricket match "A decline of our challenge will be seen by us and the entire British Public as acceptance that you are the morally and honourably corrupt government that we suspect. We shall see you at the pitch." Cricket had been chosen as it was seen to be honourable, unlike, according to the Space Hijackers the Government’s behaviour: “Going to war in Iraq was ‘Not Cricket’.”

Out of over 600 MPs contacted, 10 Labour MPs, 5 Conservatives and no Liberal Democrats replied. None of them were writing to accept the challenge. Some of the MPs at least wrote amusing replies, which can be read online.

On the day, no MPs turned up. The Space Hijackers didn’t let that get in the way of making a point and having a good time. A pavilion was assembled, tea and cucumber sandwiches served to members of the public, a rather large quantity of Pimm’s con-

Not cricket, but crazy golf played in the streets will do just as well sumed (so much for anti–consumerism), and cricket played, sometimes in the form of anarchist cricket, which can be played with no score and no umpire. The police did turn up at one point, only to have a short conversation before disappearing again.

As with many other of the Space Hijackers’ events, the afternoon faded into an alcohol–induced haze. Typical of their relaxed attitude, their planning meetings are held in a pub, which may explain a lot of the slightly unorthodox ideas they come up with for events. The Space Hijackers are unlike anarchist groups along the lines of the Wombles, with members going to protests seemingly with the aim of beating policemen and being taken into custody. Instead you will find a welcoming group of people who have sound ideas behind their actions yet want to achieve sustainable change reasonably within the confines of law and decency.

Becoming an ‘Anarchitect’ - The Space Hijackers were set up in 1999, as a group that opposes the ‘hierarchy that is put upon us by architects, planners and owners of space.

- You can apply to become an official space hijacker agent at www.spacehijackers.co.uk. Successful applicants gain access to private sections of the site involving information on equipment, files and events.

- If you fancy taking part in a Space Hijackers event, you might want to attend “Brighton to London Crazy Golf,” on the 1st of April (despite the date, it isn’t a trick). More information on events can be found on their website.

FEATURES@GAIRRHYDD.COM

COMMUTING: It would never be dull again NINETEEN

QUENCH MAGAZINE FEATURES

A Summer of love

With Glastonbury off the festival calendar and the Carling Weekend already sold out, Features investigates the world’s alternatives...

The Welsh Options: The English Options: The Full Ponty Truck Festival Escape Into The Park PONTY BRIDGE: New festival = No pictures

ESCAPE: The dance festival

I

f you prefer hard house to heavy metal, and would consider yourself a more sophisticated mover than a mosher, then Escape could be the festival for you this summer.

The pride of Welsh dance fans, Escape will be a twelve-hour extravaganza held in Swansea’s Singleton Park on Saturday June 17.

The main stage will play host to headline act Goldie Lookin’ Chain and huge dance acts Deep Dish, Mylo and Shapeshifters. But that’s not all, a further five arenas including the Radio 1 stage, the Polysexual Extreme Euphoria Arena and the Raveology Arena offer genres from drum and bass to funk, hard house to R’n’B. With involvement from Radio 1 and her sister station 1Xtra, Escape provides an alternative for those who want to party hard, minus all the camping hassle. Falling conveniently at the end of the exam period and only an hour up the road, it could be a perfect way to start your summer.

Jess Best Location: Swansea.

Cost: General entry: £34.50 VIP entry: £49.50 Date: Midday to Midnight, Saturday June 17

TWENTY

KEEP ON: The back of a bloody truck; at bloody Truck

F

estival-lovers need not venture far this summer with the arrival of the Full Ponty festival, set to take the May Bank Holiday weekend by storm.

Pontypridd’s Ynysangharad Park play hosts to two days of great bands in an indoor tented arena, with special late night comedy, DJ sets and unplugged sessions.

The hugely popular Delays are to appear with Feeder, Goldie Lookin’ Chain and the Automatic on Saturday May 27. The Heights and the Poppies, one of Britain’s best unsigned acts, complete the first night’s line-up on the main stage.

Biffy Clyro, Fightstar and Bring Me the Horizon will all perform on the Sunday’s more rock-oriented event, headlined by Funeral For A Friend.

The accompanying Fringe Festival features an impressive array of eclectic world music artists and street entertainers, together with some of Wales and the UK’s top and upcoming alternative comedians, and is sure to round the weekend off in style.

Alana Lewis.

Location: Pontypridd.

Cost: Saturday Ticket: £22.50 Sunday Ticket: £19.50 Date: May 27-28

T

he main stage is actually in the back of a truck. That’s so wicked. My love of Truck festival stems from the three absolutely mega times I’ve had there.

It’s a really small festival, which nobody knows about, in Steventon just outside ‘posh-central’ Oxford. The farm lets us madheads take it over for one weekend a year and gets some mental bands to entertain us.

I’ve seen everything from Buck 65 to the Shit, who was totally shit but he was a right sound geezer. Truck has nothing corporate and is completely for the kids and anti-establishment. Even the local vicar is there, selling ice-cream to raise money for the fucking church. Nuts.

The barn stage is metal by day and ‘mental’ by night when they get the hard-house in and have a ruck for the boys. Then everyone continues in the campsite for the rest of the night.

It’s grown in the last few years and will only go from strength to strength, so strike while the metaphorical iron is allegorically hot and GET INVOLVED!!

Harold Shiel Location: Oxford.

Cost: £35.

Date: July 22-23 FEATURES@GAIRRHYDD.COM

FEATURES QUENCH MAGAZINE

HI-FI: Da-pod

Photo: Rosie Powling

Hi-Fi Festival

The European Option: Haldern Pop festival Photo: Annika Henderson

The American Option: Burning Man Festival

HALDERN: Pop!

BURNING MAN: Burn, burn, burn

H

ailed as ‘the festival for the iPod generation’, Hi-Fi debuts this year at two sites on May 27/28.

Hi-Fi North will be a one-day event in the grounds of the Northumberland National Park with big names on the live stages including Ian Brown, Newcastle lads Maxïmo Park, exLibertine Carl Barat’s Dirty Pretty Things and the Subways.

Hi-Fi South is set to be a full weekend event, with the obligatory camping experience available at the Matterley Bowl venue in Winchester, for those that camp.

Live acts here include headliners Hard-Fi, Super Furry Animals and the Go! Team. The event’s USP is that it gives dance and rock artists equal exposure in its attempt to embrace an ever more eclectic generation of music lovers and both sites will also feature top dance acts Paul Oakenfold, Erick Morillo, and Pete Tong, plus many more.

Away from the music, Hi-Fi offers a wide range of weird and wonderful stuff. Whether it’s fairgrounds or a chill-out village, break dancers or body poppers, graffiti artists or a VIP area hosted by Hed Kandi that takes your fancy, Hi-Fi’s 2006 debut looks set to spoil you for choice.

Jess Best Location: North: Northumberland South: Winchester Cost: North: £58 for the day South: £99 for the weekend Date: North: May 27 South: May 27-28 FEATURES@GAIRRHYDD.COM

F

or one week only in August, the bare Nevada desert becomes Black Rock City, USA: a bustling community of artists, nudists and hippies called Moondancer.

It’s an arts festival that ranges from immense ice sculptures to the largest see-saw in the world.

Alongside the sharing community, live music, desert nightclubs and unbelievable range of art, there’s lessons available in just about everything you can think of (eg yoga, massage, pole-dancing, Capoeira, aerial silk).

A welcome change: there’s no commerciality and no being raped of your money because the entire festival works on a gifting economy and the only things you can buy are ice and hot drinks. Hundreds of people open up bars and serve free alcohol all night; last year one guy flew from Israel to cook pancakes for everyone every morning.

Add to this living in desert heat, not having a shower the entire time, the frequent dust-storms and the ridiculously embellished nature of the Yanks (you’re boring to live in a mere tent, some people build wooden houses or set-up their entire living room outside), providing you can sufficiently open your mind, Burning Man will be one of the best and most unique weeks of your life.

Rosie Powling Location: Black Rock Desert, Nevada.

Cost: $250 Date: Aug 28-September 4

W

aking to the sound of birds singing, the smell of freshly baked goods and the distant echo of sound checks, only to find you are having your face licked by one of the local residents.

No, I don’t mean by a friendly German, but a warm greeting from a local cow, which has escaped from its neighbouring field and trampled its way into your tent with a bottle of Diebels beer between its hooves. Now that’s what you call a good wake-up call.

Welcome to the Haldern Open Air Festival, one of Germany’s more alternative festivals where such greetings are just part of the experience. With only around 8,000 visitors, it prides itself on its friendly, intimate atmosphere.

Don’t assume due to its size that it doesn’t manage to rope in the big acts. Past line-ups include the likes of Patti Smith, Muse, Bob Geldof, Kaiser Chiefs, Franz Ferdinand, the Cooper Temple Clause, Belle & Sebastian, Reef, the Coral, Kings of Leon, Paul Weller and Supergrass.

If you’re lucky, you might catch a band with their trousers around their ankles, preparing to plunge into the mouth-watering, crystal clear, blue lake located backstage at the festival; the perfect way to cool off between the acts.

Annika Henderson Location: Haldern, Lower Rhine.

Costs: 47 Euros.

Dates: August 3-8 TWENTYONE

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FILM QUENCH MAGAZINE

IN REVIEWS THIS WEEK

!"Books see the sights of Thailand and indulge in some foreign literature !"Film Brick’s it When A Stranger Calls asking to crack The Da " Dylan Moran in Arts ! Digital gear up for the World Vinci Code !"

Cup with a football double-header !" Pearl Jam and Tool teach the " NME New Bands a thing or two in Music !"

BRICK: He’ll be brickin’ it shortly BRICK Dir: Rian Johnson Starring: Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Lukas Haas, Emile de Ravin, Matt O'Leary, Nora Zehetner, Noah Segan Out 12/05, 110 mins

O

ne suspects this is going to be one of those films that causes division amongst people.

Mainly people and tards. The latter shouldn’t bother, this is cinema gold.

We open to Brendan Frye (Joseph Gordon-Levitt, fame of 3rd Rock From The Sun) squatting next to a stream with his head in his hands. Curious as to what he is looking at, the camera fixates itself upon the dead body of a young female. We are then taken two days previous, where we follow our protagonist Brendan around high school. A note in a locker and a phone call later, Brendan’s normative life is disrupted, leaving him to pursue someone in some situation he knows nothing of.

This is one of those films that keeps you involved from the offset but distant enough to ensure mystery.

The director, Johnson, does not feel the need to hint at what could happen, what will happen or who we should think is up to what shenanigans; instead he subjectifies you to the protagonist’s perspective who is FILM@GAIRRHYDD.COM

w Reviehe Of T k Wee unclued.

The odd-ball characters are straight out of Raymond Chandler’s pulp fiction of the late 30s and 40s. Some people may label these characters as stereotypes as they comply to what is understood as conventional characters, but they are wrong, and more importantly, missing the point. The archetypes are so engrained into our consciousness, we grasp who these characters are straight away.

“Chinatown in a high school sprinkled with the mystery of Twin Peaks” For instance, we see the archetypal detective/PI Brendan Frye searching for a girl in world of mystery and scum. He is ever-enticed by the richkid femme fatale with ambiguous motives (Nora Zehetner); endlessly beaten up by the muscle (Noah Fleiss); constantly helped by the friendly but geeky brain (Matt O’Leary); exploited by the reserved and threatening mobster (Lukas Haas). And most importantly, incessantly drawn to solving the murder of the dead girl (Emilie de Ravin).

The characters are memorable, using smart and quick paced dialogue associated with hard boiled detective thrillers in the 1930s/1940s.

The predictable manner in which

the story unfolds also has its roots in Noir. For instance; pretty girl dies, guy who has crush investigates further, guy gets his ass kicked, guy delves into underworld and reveals a secret or two until all is solved.

It’s as if someone had made Chinatown in a high school and sprinkled it with the mystery of Twin Peaks.

Within this amoral teenage world, Johnson abandons the Noir aesthetic and adopts not so much an anonymous look but a stylism that is reserved and lacks a self-indulgence so non-prevalent within cinema.

Furthermore, Brick self-consciously mocks Noir with the characters sipping on OJs as oppose to morally-corrupt teenagers swigging malt whisky.

The only thing that lets down Brick is the pacing, in that it’s a tad slow but then again it was never meant to be a Tony Scott cinematic abortion.

This is an immense achievement (not a word to be associated with Domino) considering Johnson is a first-time director, with a highly complex script. It has been compared with Donnie Darko, but that tag doesn’t do it justice. The only thing it has in common with the aforementioned is a fantastic script, executed to almost perfection on the silver screen and requires multiple viewings for full understanding. There are no six-foot bunnies here, just a lot of mystery.

Ryan Owen TWENTYTHREE

QUENCH MAGAZINE FILM

gair rhydd’s former agony uncle Dr Matthew gives us his pick of film’s best screen weapons

I

f we remember that warfare is premised upon rich people being bored, we must too recognise that weapons are what happens when poor people get bored of slapping other poor people about the ears.

And if we then consider that ever since the invention of Lynx deodorant and drainpiping and newspaper bins on fire – that people have been looking for ever more resourceful ways to

Mindlessly Perilous Weapons WEAPON: The Railgun FILM: Eraser Fires particularly relativistic beams of human-boffing light. Unfortunately illegal. Fortunately capable of being single-handedly fired by excessively bestial men with funny chins.

WEAPON: Tachikoma FILM: Ghost in the Shell Endearing, intelligent and tremendously be-cannoned wheeled tanks with cloaking devices. Also happy to issue accommodation for animé breasts.

Hand-Held Arsenals Very Apt for Propellant Facial Besmirching WEAPON: Absurd Aeronautical Spheres FILM: Phantasm The Tall Man’s weapon of choice – spiky silver balls that CONTAIN SMALL BRAINS, fly very quickly and with much ado drill people’s heads off.

WEAPON: Circular saw blade FILM: Commando Arnie’s spectacular deployment of a saw blade in the frequently censored Shed Scene is memorable for many reasons. Clever at maiming, even better at moving dangerously.

TWENTYFOUR

despoil their foes in the face – where better might one look for inspiration than in the powerfully irresponsible world of film?

Here, then – categorised for your interpretative discomfort – are the most turbo-brilliant weapons to have ever inspired Iranian foreign policy, happy slapping and Peter Gabriel’s latest album, simply by being in a film.

WEAPON: The Destructor FILM: Ghostbusters A space-demon-monster-beast, the Destructor is presented by a bonkers woman called Gozer who tells the Ghostbusters to choose the harbinger of Earth’s spacking-up.

WEAPON: The Japanese Navy of 1941 FILM: Pearl Harbour Michael ‘Never-You-MindInsurance-Blow-It-Up-AtOnce’Bay presents some people in planes, blowing most things up. Likely to demolish the RNLI if given the chance. And a time-machine.

WEAPON: Guitar cases FILM: Desperado Guitar cases featuring in-built machine guns. Hilariously witty!

PEARL HARBOUR: Big fire

Are you talking to me? Not particularly, Robert. You have a stupidly cruel weapon strapped to your arm.

WEAPON: Predator’s Shoulder Cannon FILM: Predator If you get three laser-dots on your chest you ought to duck, because Predator is a) displeased and b) about to make you blow up.

WEAPON: Travis Bickle’s Slidey-gun FILM: Taxi Driver An inventive way to ‘Do the Wolverine.’ Wouldn’t work with a T-shirt but there we are.

COMMANDO: His gun is bigger than your gun

FILM@GAIRRHYDD.COM

FILM QUENCH MAGAZINE

World-bendingly Potent Armaments WEAPON: Goldeneye Satellite FILM: Goldeneye The Goldeneye satellite is one of those brilliant guns that live in space. When it fires WATCH OUT because it largely ruins everything it happens to set on fire before ionising. Seen to good effect when blatting a snowy place called Severnaya off Russia.

TRANSFORMERS: Big-ass robot

Not Altogether Projectiling (yet Righteous) Weapons WEAPON: Lawnmower FILM: Braindead The bloodiest scene in, as far as I’m aware, history. Exactly what it would look like if you took a strimmer to a playground and threw it about a little.

WEAPON: Machete FILM: Apocalypse Now Not necessarily a favourite of vegetarians, this, but pleasingly sharp, outstandingly non-vegan and curiously bloodless. And probably the only weapon here that doesn’t rudely smite a person.

WEAPON: Chainsaw FILM: American Psycho The ubiquitous chainsaw has surFILM@GAIRRHYDD.COM

WEAPON: Deathstar FILM: Star Wars The equivalent of a football, only monstrously big and pointy and lethal.

Performs exceptionally well during missions involving GALAXIAN VILLAINY but is far too full of exhaust vents to do anything superlative like not blowing up when petulant militants fire ‘torpedoes’ into its bowels.

WEAPON: Mars FILM: Independence Day When most of Mars arrives to waffle America in this film about democracy only one or ten people can do anything about it. Most of Mars does however cause some of the best scenes a film has ever offered – not least heroic leaping dogs and Will Smith having a wee in a nice vest.

WEAPON: Unicron FILM: Transformers the Movie Unicron is precisely the sort of weapon you’d want to throw at buses. Unicron, you see, is a colossal robotic planet, that, er, eats other planets. It also makes baddies like Megatron into SUPER BADDIES called Galvatron (!) and is generally dreadfully misanthropic and mean.

WEAPON: The OntologicallyChallenged Bomb FILM: Dark Star A crew of bonkers-hair-wearing astronauts convince a planet-vapourising bomb of its existence, but simultaneously manage to persuade it into questioning the point of everyone and everything else. As such it says some clever things before blowing up and killing everybody. Wicked.

faced as entertaining in many films. None of those films, however, feature what amounts to a laser-guided chainsaw falling down a stairwell. Into a woman.

WEAPON: Hammer FILM: Misery It’s just the worst thing I’ve ever seen.

WEAPON: Invincibility Sword FILM: Highlander ‘There can only be one!’

‘You’re lying.’ ‘Fight me!’ <removes head> ‘THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE!’ ‘You’re lying.’

‘FIGHT ME!’ <removes head>.

Highlander honestly features the mostl silly beards imaginable. And lots of sorcery and decapitating and all sorts. The swords are well good mind.

HIGHLANDER: Pardon our French TWENTYFIVE

QUENCH MAGAZINE FILM

IF WE KNEW YOU WERE COMING...

Sian Miguel pays a visit to the set of Gareth Lewis's new Welsh-filmed comedy and South Wales, and caught up with actor brother Damian Lewis on set...

I

rolled into the pretty little village of Grosmont, Abergavenny, on a sunny Saturday afternoon. ‘Little’ is the operative word here, as Grosmont is pretty much comprised of one street, a few houses, a sweet shop and a quaint little pub. If I blinked I would’ve missed the cosy film set, and I almost did.

Chatting with PR manager Lisa Towey, we find out about the local involvement. “We’re bringing the industry to Wales.” The Baker has employed the skills of many local Welsh talents.

“You can’t really come somewhere and bring all your own crew. You have to support the local industry,” Towey adds.

The film was shot over a tight six week period. When asked if this had been enough time for the cast and crew to really build up a rapport, Towey gushed. “Yeah, it’s like we have known each other for ages. It is quite a small crew and we have become this little family.” This isn’t surprising really considering that the film literally is a family affair.

The comedy stars Damian Lewis in the title role and is the directorial debut of his younger brother Gareth.

In-between takes Lewis lets on what it has been like to work with his younger sibling: “It’s absolutely brilliant.

We always had this romantic idea that we should do the film together,” he says beaming with pride. "I love working with him because of the sentimental angle, but I think he’s really talented.”

TWENTYSIX

Lewis might be best known for his role in WWII mini-series Band of Brothers, so the 35-year-old is no stranger to running around shooting people. In The Baker he plays a disenchanted hitman, Milo, who suddenly has a bout of consciousness and after bailing on a job escapes to a remote Welsh village (think Waking Ned meets Grosse Pointe Blank). He is mistaken for the new baker by the local villagers and is forced to assume the role of master cake-baker to maintain the cover. To his surprise what he discovers is nothing short of a revelation – when he bakes, all his worries seem to disappear.

“

think Waking Ned meets Grosse Pointe Blank Sian Miguel on The Baker

To add a touch of romance to this otherwise comedy of errors, The Baker throws in a love story between Milo and Rhiannon the beautiful local vet, played by Kate Ashfield (of Shaun of the Dead fame).

For a first feature the film has a pretty impressive cast: as well as Lewis and Kate Ashfield, The Baker also costars Danish actor Nikolaj CosterWaldau (Kingdom Of Heaven) and Michael Gambon (Layer Cake, Harry Potter). “It’s a low budget film and we have an A-List cast. They’re all here because they love the script.”

So would he really be making this movie if it wasn’t for his brother?

“Yeah, no question. If I’d been handed the script I would’ve definitely done it.

Whatever. I think the script is genuinely funny, witty and very original.” He does add, whilst laughing: “Next time it would have to be doubly good.”

The film is set to be released in spring 2007 and could do a lot for the Welsh film industry. In a cinematic world where more and more countries are trying to compete with Hollywood, a system where blockbusters and associated promotional costs wipe out any other genres and nations, it is possible to say that there has been little or no room for exporting Welsh films or films made in Wales. However, according to Penny Skuse, Information Manager for the Wales Screen Commission, this is beginning to change.

“The Wales Screen Commission is enjoying its busiest period since it was established in 2002, spending around £17m.”

Lewis is pleased that the film is being shot in Wales, which helps him stay close to his roots. “I’m loving working in Wales. We’ve both got a very engrained sense of Welshness and we were never allowed to forget that we were half Welsh.”

Director Gareth Lewis concludes “It’s been a long journey to get to this stage, so to anybody who’s thinking of giving up after a year... don’t! Keep going, it’s worth it.”

FILM@GAIRRHYDD.COM

F I L M

N E W S WEITZ BACK ON NORTHERN LIGHTS

FILM QUENCH MAGAZINE

film@gairrhydd

By Ewen Hosie Film Editor

Shopgirl director Anand Tucker has pulled out of directing duties on the s I write this, my first editorial, first installment of Philip Pullman’s His course deadlines loom enorDark Materials trilogy leaving room for mously like the black cloud of American Pie ‘visionary’ Chris Weitz to a nuclear fallout. take over. Beware.

Despite this, I press on gallantly, happy in the knowledge my contributions to Quench Film provide me with WHAT’S GUILLERMO UP a sense of satisfaction my course TO? Guillermo del Toro is a director with struggles to replicate.

I am in a state of infancy, a naive a wonderfully warped imagination, and the consistent rumour surround- monkey for battle-scarred editors who know the score. Within the confines ing his involvement on the adaptaof this glorious office space, I smile tion of Halo is subsiding. inside (and out), safe in the knowlBetter suited to his imagination edge I’m able to contribute to a comis the dark Spanish fairy tale Pan’s Labyrinth, due for release at the end passionate love of film in a new way.

Film news for this issue details of the year, which is shaping up to both sides of the film-making specbe everything Gilliam’s Brothers trum. Michael Bay’s no-doubt (literal) Grimm should have been. car-crash adaptation of Transformers proves equally intriguing to Guillermo Del Toro’s art-flavoured Spanish fairytale Pan’s Labyrinth.

There is a great deal of excitement to be offered by cinema, an artform that continues to offer new experiences and shining beacons of originality (see Brick) in a sea of stagnant remakes and sequels that can sometimes sully the Summer schedule (see Bay et al). This is not to say that such increasingly common Hollywood staples as the aforementioned cannot provide a great deal of enjoyment and thrills for a thirsty thrill-seeking audience, but it is becoming increasingly easy to assume that such gems are the exception to the rule. We here will continue to provide room for both sides of the cinema coin.

A

Toys BAY DOES TRANSFORMERS

Michael Bay is not a favourite amongst the critics, but it is undeniable that he: A) blows things up really well and B) has some really cool car chases, so news that he is directing the cinematic adaptation of Transformers for a summer 2007 release is welcome.

The cast is likely to include John Turturro, Jon Voight and Shia LaBeouf.

Whether the original voice cast are returning is in contention but if not, expect much detriment and wailing from the fanboy communities clutching their Optimus Prime action figures.

IT’S COMING!

Just thought we should remind you.

Samuel L. Jackson. Snakes On A Plane. August 18. Film of the Year.

M ORE Cool trailers

Pan

They whet anticipation for Summer blockbusters that usually fail to deilver anyways. It’s the exciting parts condensed for your convenience.

Piracy adverts on DVDs

Patronising to the extreme and laughably executed. Nadir is the ‘piracy funds terrorism’ doozy.

L ESS

" The New World !

Out on DVD this fortnight: !" " Walk the Line !" " Memoirs of a Geisha Mirrormask !"

Out at cinemas this fortnight: Brick ! Waiting... ! Once in a " The DaVinci Code !" " When a Stranger Calls Lifetime !"

FILM@GAIRRHYDD.COM

Coming soon...

Designed to get you sweating at the mere thought of their arrival: Marie-Antoinette (08/09/06) Sofia Coppola’s contemporary take on the misunderstood royal played by Kirsten Dunst. Jason Schwartzmann plays Louis XIV. Southland Tales (15/09/06) Richard Kelly’s bizarre sci-fi musical comedy follow-up to Donnie Darko starring The Rock and Sarah Michelle Gellar. Should make up for his Domino script TWENTYSEVEN

QUENCH MAGAZINE FILM WHEN A STRANGER CALLS Dir: Simon West Starring: Camilla Belle, Katie Cassidy, Derek de Lint

Out Now, 87 mins

S

imon West, the director with such pedigree as Lara Croft: Tomb Raider, has implausibly been allowed to make another film.

A remake of a 1970s slasher, in which a babysitter, Jill, is harassed by some prank calls in a large, secluded house.

There’s a lot of banging, which inevitably transpires to be the cleaner, the cat or, at one particularly stretched point, the icemaker. She’s eventually chased around for fifteen minutes, the credits roll and everyone goes home.

That’s it; there’s not even a feeble twist, outrageous gore, or any nudity to keep you entertained. The thing is so sanitised it will probably end up on heavy rotation on CBeebies before the year is out.

The cast has evidently been put together from the most glassy-eyed folk that the director found loitering on street corners. Jill (Camilla Belle) has done the impossible, playing a B-grade Jennifer Love Hewitt. Her visiting Tiffany-Amber friend has ‘Stab Me’ pinned to her back; no one else has more than five lines. And the music is consistently kept at such unrelenting, highly-strung tension that the composer has probably since been hospitalized with a hernia.

Still, I always try and find good points in any film. These are literally all of them: 15 mins: We get to see the house the film is set in. It’s like Kevin McCloud’s wet dream, with Architectural Digest features as far as the eye can see. Is that hardwood walling? Recessed bathroom fittings?

Cantilever staircases? Why yes, it is.

House porn is the one redeeming feature of the film.

35 mins: Jill eats a popsicle. I like popsicles.

60 mins: Jill runs into a tree.

75 mins: Jill falls out of a tree. Jill is not proficient at trees.

87 mins: The ‘film’ finally finishes. A cinema rejoices.

Andrew Mickel

TWENTYEIGHT

WHEN A STRANGER CALLS: Just hang up

“T

ONCE IN A LIFETIME: THE EXTRAORDINARY STORY OF THE NEW YORK COSMOS Dir: Paul Crowder Starring: Matt Dillon, Rodney Marsh

THE DA VINCI CODE Dir: Ron Howard Starring: Tom Hanks, Audrey Tatou, Paul Bettany

Out 19/05, 98mins

Out 19/05, 149mins

hey said he was the white Pele,” quips a veteran US sports writer. “No,” says the man in question: “Pele was the black Rodney Marsh.”

Looking back – through this smart, funny, and hugely entertaining documentary about the briefly massive, yet ultimately fated, New York Cosmos football team – Marsh could be forgiven for only half joking, such was the hyperbole surrounding stars of the ‘global game’ in a fad-happy 1970s America.

The great Brazilian himself appears only in archive footage. Even at 34 his talent was quite something.

Star of the show however, is Giorgio Chinaglia – a man with all the egomania you’d expect from an Italian striker. “Pele was alright,” explains Chinaglia, “but he wasn’t giving me good enough service!”

There’re a few odd moments; about thirty seconds of social context (Son of Sam, power cuts); and there’s one out-of-nowhere shot of a semi-erect cock. However, this is a slickly put together documentary with a great soundtrack and a fun story to tell.

Bring back the cosmos.

Harry Rose

S

o here should be a review of The Da Vinci Code. You know that massively over-hyped film that only a person who’s spent the past couple of years living inside the arse of a giant tortoise could have missed.

But, sadly, here does not lie the review. And why is that? Did we forget? No. It’s because Sony Pictures Releasing are so swept up in this whirlwind of publicity that they’ve convinced themselves that Ron Howard’s ‘masterpiece’ is too important to warrant any press screenings bar the one that’s in London. That’s full up anyway.

I have a sneaking suspicion that, regardless of what the film is actually like, the critics will tear it shreds. It probably will have far too much of Hanks’ serious face and either have not enough or complete overuse of Bettany’s demonic stare. It’ll also probably be self-indulgent wank. But then I DON’T KNOW, do I? So, I’m afraid, no luck. If you want to read about how over-pretentious this overblown nonsense is then you’ll have to look in one of those profitseeking publications. You know, like the News of the World or the Sun. Catherine Gee FILM@GAIRRHYDD.COM

QUENCH MAGAZINE FILM WAITING...

Dir: Rob McKittrick Starring: Ryan Reynolds, Anna Faris, Luis Guzman Out 19/05, 94 mins

S

o here it comes again. Middle America’s younger generation are suffering from various levels of dissatisfaction at being stuck in their minimum wage jobs.

Hear that faint sound of déjà vu in the distance? Waiting… is a grand amalgamation of Clerks and Empire Records with a bit of snotty American Pie-style teenery thrown in for some good-looking measure. In fact, the restaurant in question looks like the producers of The OC vomited all over it. We couldn’t possibly have realisticlooking waiters now, could we?

The characters are all standard teen-disillusionment fare. Van Wilder

The DVDon

Reviews you can’t refuse WALK THE LINE Out May 22 Joaquin Phoenix plays country star Johnny Cash to grizzled perfection in Walk the Line, a poignant biopic of the Man in Black's struggle with love and loss. Reese Witherspoon exceeds all expectations in her Oscar-winning performance as sweetheart June Carter, without ever proving too sentimental or schmaltzy. It also offers a less sprawling alternative than the epic Ray and more heart than the cold distance of Capote.

The Don says “I revitalised the flagging career of young John Cash by entirely legitimate means. At one time, his girly arms were too weak to even hold his guitar anymore, so I grafted him the arms of a bodybuilder in return for his spleen, which I relished. The Don owns you.”

FILM@GAIRRHYDD.COM

plays the Jason Lee-cum-Stifler-like character who’s ridiculously pretty for a waiter and got the chilled, macho, ‘I’m a bad-boy, me’ act down to the eatery floor. Typically, the staff are populated with the slutty-looking gobby girls, the crude, near-middleaged chefs and a couple of sensitive souls just trying to figure out their lot in life. And what teen-flick would be complete without their very own lukewarm Jay and Silent Bob? Except this time the fat fuck ain’t so silent. Take your time to marvel at the clichés of white, wannabe gangstas.

Of course, no film like this would be complete without its ‘quirks’, which manifest here as the ‘Dick Showing Game’. Yes, if a male colleague manages to flash his genitalia at another then the recipient gets called a ‘fag’ and is given a kick up the arse. If you squint you can see the testosterone dripping from the walls as each ‘man’ livens up the day’s dull proceedings. ‘Lad culture’ has a lot to answer for.

We’ve all seen this type of film before. Some, like Clerks, do it to perfection; back when it was still vaguely original. Others are less adept. The closing credits even include a thanks to Kevin Smith and a commendation to the character Randall for their inspiration. Plenty of waiters and waitresses around the world will no doubt identify with the subject matter here but this film still isn’t anything like as clever or witty as it thinks it is.

Catherine Gee

MEMOIRS OF A GEISHA Out June 5 Visually-orgasmic drama courtesy of Chicago-helmer Rob Marshall which nevertheless fails to pluck the heartstrings. The film is certainly deserving of its Oscars for art direction, costume design and cinematography, lenser Dion Beebe’s stunning images reminiscent of Christopher Doyle’s work for Wong Kar Wai and Zhang Yimou in his use of colour and motion.

The amazingly attractive Zhang Zi Yi (a Chinese actress playing a Japanese geisha, to the dissent of some unimaginative fans) does well in her first major English language role but it fails to match the laurels reaped upon the book it’s based on.

translates successfully through the medium of CG, at the sufferance of the confused story of 15-year-old Helena’s quest to find the Mirrormask to save a troubled kingdom. The film still makes for interesting viewing on the basis of its visual achievement, however.

The Don says “Yakuza leaders once tried to appease my wrath with a bevy of geisha girls. Unfortunately, due to miscommunication and consumption of too many poppy seeds, I realised they were midget men in kimonos. I loved them upside down and inside out regardless. I’m the Don.” MIRRORMASK Out June 5 Dave McKean, artist for comic milestones such as Neil Gaiman’s Sandman series takes the reigns in his visually stunning directorial debut, Mirrormask. In the vein of The Dark Crystal or Labyrinth, McKean’s art

WAITING: Clutching at straws

The Don says “Mirrormask is better than Godfather III and that’s no lie.

The Don has spoken.”

This week the Don was talking to Ewan Hosie

THE CANNELONI SPECIAL THE NEW WORLD Out May 22nd

T

errence Malick’s first film in seven years is successful in its recreation of South American vistas. The tale of John Smith (Colin Farrell) and his love for young Pocahontas (Q’rianka Kilcher) amidst the struggle between Native Americans and English settlers is given a slow treatment by Malick but it is a rare entry from a master American filmmaker regardless.

Ewen Hosie The Don says “My preference is for the Disney version, I like to sing Colours of the Wind whilst peeling the skin of my enemies. Dontastic.’

TWENTYNINE

QUENCH MAGAZINE MUSIC

ED HARCOURT The Beautiful Lie EMI

Don’t get your Hair-Court

TOOL: Hammering On

TOOL 10,000 Days Volcano

A Bunch of Spanners IT’S BEEN A LONG five years since Tool’s last triumphant masterpiece Lateralus. But for Danny, Maynard, Justin and Adam it’s been a productive one.

The technical metallers 10,000 Days blows all expectations into the stratosphere. As far as the sound is concerned, this record is not as heavy as its four predecessors and the standard verse/chorus has been warped into a divine entanglement of progressing movements.

WOLFMOTHER Wolfmother Island Records

Wolf in Leather Clothing THEY SAY NEVER judge a book by its cover. This also applies to compact discs. The cover of the Wolfmother self titled album

PROTEST THE HERO Kezia Vagrant

Me doth think too much...

WHERE TO START? This is an annoying, predictable and clichéd album.

For kick off, would the singer just THIRTY

On each record Danny Carey has shown his worth as one of the most spectacular drummers of all time, but here he surpasses himself. On his huge kit or the trippy-as-fuck bongo set-up, he rips out time signatures as weird as a journey through Salvador Dali’s imagination in a flying shoe.

10,000 Days is unbelievably strong throughout. The Pot and Rosetta Stoned are guaranteed to become Tool classics, but check out Intension and Right in Two for a real glance at genius.

Oh yeah, and the packaging of the album is THE best thing I’ve ever seen. Buy it and you’ll know what I mean.

9/10 Mike Richards

ED HARCOURT is yet another of pop’s busy-bodies, releasing his fifth album in six years.

You may have your Josés and your Jacks but Ed has been doing it longer and he’s so much more depressed than them. Well, probably. A couple of cheerier numbers such as Visit From The Dead Dog makes this not quite such the slit-your-wrists fun it could be.

Since Strangers I’m sure we’ve all been crossing our fingers avidy, hoping beyond hope that Ed can pull another heatbreaking masterpiece out of the bag... he hasn’t quite.

In fact if anything the album is bridging on the upbeat, Revolution In My Heart even has ‘sha-na-na-na’s.

Well, alongside a dedication to prostitutes, whores, fools, rich people and all the other bad bits of society. As that fades and as Until Tomorrow Then kicks in you wouldn’t be blamed for thinking Harcourt was channelling Jeff Buckley’s soul.

Yes, there’s still plenty to mope about but, to be honest, I always preferred Tom McRae. 6/10 Catherine Gee

screams 80s perm-metal. Luckily, this is not the case.

From the outset the record is heavy and uncompromising. A raw wail to kick things off and then straight into the riffs. The album chugs along, rolling on a meaty guitar and rhythm section which has a blinding amount of depth.

But the vocal is maybe a little too Ozzy to get away with it. Then track six begins and everything changes.

All of a sudden the whole sound of

the album is different and Wolfmother are a punk band. And a good one.

Two punk songs later and we’re back in the realm of slow and heavy metal, listening to one of the album highlights, a song called Colossal.

It’s a good album, but I know I’m not the only one who would be embarrassed pitching up at the counter of HMV and buying a record with songs on it called Where Eagles Have Been and White Unicorn.

7/10 Mike Richards

hold one note; he sounds like Ms Christina Aguilera with a cactus up her arse.

And why is it necessary to harmonise every note and riff in the whole album? Strange you might say for a band who is meant to be in the ‘hardcore’ scene. They have more in common with Cliff Richard, with their screaming having such a lack of energy and power. You’d be more intimidated by charity workers. Oh and the

lyrics...

The concept of deep lyrics does surely not come to mind with such beauties as, “I’m a parrot in a cage saying prayers to belong to a textbook of me crying”. Everything you hate in a ‘heavy’ album you’ll find in this CD. And then some.

A clichéd piece of turd so you know it’s going to be huge. How frustrating.

2/10 James Rendell

Pick e h Of T ek We

MUSIC@GAIRRHYDD.COM

QUENCH MAGAZINE MUSIC

HOT CHIP The Warning EMI

Savoury HEADED UP BY songwriter/producers Alexis Taylor and Joe Goddard, Hot Chip are a defiantly unique musical proposition, recalling over the course of their second album everything from Prince through LCD Soundsystem.

Opener Careful kicks off proceedings thunderously, swathes of synthesize strings quickly displaced by cutup beats resonant of Aphex Twin and shouty female backing vocals a la MIA, before standout track and recent single Boy From School manages the neat trick of being a stately, melancholic pop song while also a potentially bust-tastic dance-floor tune, such is itspounding, rhythmic backbone. The myriad of influences Hot Chip revel in – Donna Summer, R Kelly, Madlib and Kraftwerk all played their part in shaping this album, apparently – defy their basic appeal as a bright, innovative pop group. And when this album hits its stride, such as on pulsating single Over and Over and touching ballad Look After Me, they’re fantastic.

8/10 James Skinner

offerings from Franz, Mystery Jets and Test Icicles are cut and paste jobs by sexless hooligans. Alex Kapranos sounds not too dissimilar to Bugs Bunny, and What's Your Damage? is buggered to a slow jaunt of former glory. By the finale, the Clash chime London Calling, a welcome reminder of pre-information age perfection: mind you, roll on the Grindie revolution 5/10 Emily Kendrick

SCOTT WALKER The Drift 4AD

Crisp THERE'S A FINE LINE between genius and madness, and Walker knows it.

He just doesn't know where it is.

Those expecting the crooning orches

tral pop of the Sixties icon’s classic years will be left shell-shocked by the dense blocks of sound and even denser lyrical opacity. His rich baritone has been usurped by a thin warbling tenor, whilst lyrical concerns have shifted to a sparrow “trapped in the attic and banging its bloodied head against the window” and, on Jesse, comparing 9/11 with Elvis's stillborn twin.

The music 'drifts' (clever, eh?) even further 'out there' as droningsound sculptures meander before being torn apart by piercing orchestral screams and often bizarre sound effects (including the most shit-your-pants-scary Donald Duck impression you'll ever hear), to produce a claustrophobic, deeply unsettling experience.

Walker has reset musical boundaries; violently dragging the listener out of the comfort zone and forcing them to re-evaluate the role of music as Art. 9/10 Steve Dunne

PEARL JAM: Heroic

FABRICLIVE Evil Nine

Fabric Records

PEARL JAM Pearl Jam Sony Numerate BOASTING UNCONVENTIONAL breakbeats, Evil Nine peddle their wares like a cloaked magician- revealing hints of hip-hop, electro and indie, vaguely sniffing at scratching.

Essentially the beats should provide enough funk to make Bootsy Collins salivate but the compilation barely takes off. At times they appear to go Casio-poking mad and shoddy dog barks are thrown in for good measure.

The peak of this is in Digitalism's remix of Daft Punk's Technologic; a reworking that bleeps and sparks like a microwave electro-loving your toaster. Sadly though the use of indie MUSIC@GAIRRHYDD.COM

Pearl Necklace EVERY NOW and again, the rare Pearl Jam fan will be seen in daylight hours. Bedraggled hair, ripped jeans and hunched-back, such excursions are normally a result of food depravation, the need for a change of bedding, or, as in this case, a new release from Vedder’s finest.

To witness one is as humbling as this eponymous release, a back-totheir roots display of boldness, all guns blazing as they try to shoot their way through a world that’s left them behind. Severed Hand shreds guitars to make Bill, Ted, Garth and Wayne

look amateur; opener Life Wasted rocking out with its cock out with none of the shame to add.

It’s a ballsy (honk!) move, but one equally undone as easily as a Parachute or Come Back is wielded.

It’s the disappointment felt when, having looked up to your elder sibling for the first ten years of your life, you realise he’s the school-bus gimp.

It’s not as if Vedder can’t pull off the softly-softly approach (Vitalogy’s Better Man springs to mind), but, much like the Pearl Jam fan scrambling round the busy mid-afternoon high street, it’s a guilty pleasure; a mixture of enjoyment at what you’re seeing, and the languishing feeling of sympathy for what he could achieve.

Now, put me back in my basement until Reading; the sunlight’s hurting my eyes. 7/10 Sam Coare THIRTYONE

MUSIC QUENCH MAGAZINE

D es

Beginners’ Guide THE DESERT SCENE was born in the Palm Springs High Desert, California in the late 80s, when four high-school students formed the band Kyuss, and a new genre with it.

They tuned down their guitars and combined the heavy sound of metal bands like Black Sabbath, with their own groovy blues and lazy but imaginative style.

The band made a name for themselves around the Palm Springs area and became local heroes due to their legendary sunset-to-sunrise performances in the desert. Kyuss were unleashed on the world of rock-proper in 1991 and cut another three records until their ugly break up in 1995.

Each of the band members went their separate ways and the scene started to flourish. Bands such as Mondo Generator and Slo Burn emerged, putting their own twist on the old Kyuss vibe. But the biggest success story was that of guitarist Josh Homme.

After years refusing to touch a guitar, he moved back to California and formed Queens of the Stone Age. Although it wasn’t until their third album on drums, that they hit the mainstream.

The fame of the Queens has brought more attention to the rest of the Desert family, as well as an influx of new records and innovation. Mike Richards

5

Drum and Bass which isn’t drum and bass, but is, and isn’t and is. Enough, this could go on indefinitely. It’s loud and it’s scary. Run...

The boys bring their dark, dingy, nightmare electronica to Cardiff. Though THIRTYTWO

t

R oc

me o c e B pert x e n a £50 h t i w QUEENS OF THE STONE AGE

Queens of the Stone Age This is the first outing for the new Kings of the Desert. It combines some raw Rock twisted and moulded by techno-style beats and other electronic influences.

DESERT SESSIONS

Volumes 9 & 10 After the split of Kyuss, guitarist Josh Homme and Earthlings’? masterminds, Fred Drake and Dave Catching, started to record a series of improvised albums, each one written and recorded in a week with other stars of the scene. This is the latest collaboration, avec Miss PJ Harvey.

KYUSS

Welcome to Sky Valley This is the definitive Desert album.

The recipe for all the other pies.

k

Heavy. Seductive. Blues. Funk.

Metal. Delicious.

FU MANCHU

King of the Road A cool collection of riff after riff that belongs on four wheels. Kind of makes a quid a litre, or what ever it is, worth it.

CHE

Sounds of Liberation The only album from a neat little side-project by some of the Desert’s big players. Some good old-fashioned lazy grooves.

EARTHLINGS

Human Beings This one’s just fucking weird to tell the truth. These veterans of the Desert have thrown together some impeccable songwriting amongst a lot of crazy.

FIVE ARE-LIVE . . .

The top five gigs you’d be a numpty to miss...

When: Friday May 22 Who: Lightning Bolt Where: The Point

When: Thursday May 24 Who: 65 Days of Static Where: Cardiff Barfly

er

unfortunately not for 65 days, just for the one. Heartbreaking.

When: Thursday May 25 Who: Jim Noir / Halflight Where: Cardiff Barfly

The ‘twee indie cup of tea’ that is Jim Noir arrives at Barfly ready to make us all smile again. Plus Halflight... she’s very lovely. Go kiss her. Now.

When: Sunday May 28 Who: The Howling Bells

Where: The Point

Having just stolen our hearts at the NME New Music tour, the fabulously lovely lady fronted band hit up everyone’s favourite insect-named club.

When: Friday May 30 Who: Grizzly Bear Where: Buffalo Bar

Last week we had Polar Bear, now we have Grizzly Bear. We’re not obsessed with bears or anything, just fond.

MUSIC@GAIRRHYDD.COM

Polar system

QUENCH MAGAZINE MUSIC

Quench’s very own jazz maverick Will Hitchins meets Mercury-prize nominees Polar Bear

M

usical sweethearts of the Mighty Boosh’s Julian Barratt they may be, but unfortunately sure as night follows day or the fact that anchovies are crap on pizzas, it’s a universally accepted truth that no jazz band will ever win the Mercury award, however ruddy bloody good they are.

Polar Bear are such a band, but it’s no skin of their teeth, as Tom Herbert, the Bear double bass man says, “It’s really hard to say who’s going to win those things, maybe it’s slightly less likely for a jazz group to win something like that but it’s unpredictable really… I think all the bands were pretty good actually”. Polar Bear are, annoyingly for this reviewer, one of those bands it’s just too damn hard to define; part jazz, part electric acid trip weirdness. Like any jazz outfit you won’t be hearing them too much outside the occasional jazz show, but as saxophonist Mark Lockheart quipped,

PRIMAL SCREAM Country Girl Sony BMG

After sinister electro and dodgy duets with Kate Moss, Primal Scream revisit a forgotten friend in the form of fun, rousing rock songs.

This is another classic in the making. 8/10 TB

TWO GALLANTS Steady Rollin’ Saddle Creek

Two Gallants are like two drunken cowboys playing punk and lyricallypossessing the narrative talent of a well travelled hitch hiker. Steady Rollin’ is like an audio version of Kerouac’s On the Road. 8/10 MH

UNDERCUT Doing Fine Distiller

A promising intro led me to foolishly expect Undercut to deliever something extra to the UK garage scene, but then the chorus kicked in.

Rubbish melody, rubbish lyrics, rubbish song. 3/10 WB

MUSIC@GAIRRHYDD.COM

“Its not necessarily going to be everyone’s cup of tea”. Indeed.

Despite maintaining that he hates jazz, ‘Leaf Cutter John’ positioned behind his spotless white iBook, controlling his horror movie-esque sound samples with a Playstation controller (or was it a Game Cube?), adds the ‘Oh wow, that’s really rather good,’ to Polar Bear’s sound. It’s this spitting in the face of the traditional ‘spirit of jazz’ that separates them from your straight-up heroin-shooting less ambitious contemporaries. “We all have our own influences and that’s sort of what makes the band unique in a way, all coming into the music at a slightly different angle,” says Lockheart.

I mean, who would have thought Seb Rochford, the drummer and helmsman of the good ship Polar bear, started off playing grind-core and metal? And oh how pleased I am he saw the error of his ways. Gracing CF10 on Friday night is just one of a

POLAR: Smarter than your average bear number of dates on this mini-tourette in which the band have played a variety of different style venues.

“We reach a very varied audience.

We do gigs and sometimes there’s teenagers in the audience and then there’s like really old people there as well… it seems to attract a real range of people, I think we’re doing something right.” With the ever-so-happy chu-chu-chu-ing Latin rhythm of To Touch The Red Brick it’s hard to disagree; and so Seb Rochford takes to the stage and begins to lead his boys like a crazy drumming jazz robot from outer space. It’s jazz Jim, but not as we know it… Will Hitchins

STUART A STAPLES That leaving Feeling/There Is A Path Beggars Banquet

Ex-Tindersticks vocalist Staples is back to his understated best. Brutally dark as it is exquisitely beautiful, both tracks are perfectly involving.

Mmmmm 9/10 MR

CLAYHILL Halfway Across Eat Sleep

Humm… Clayhill, is it a place? A man’s name? Or perhaps a mound of raw material? Doesn’t matter really.

With poppin’ blues/folk guitar and a great vocal melody, I couldn’t care less.

8/10 WH

STORY OF THE YEAR Take Me Back Maverick

Take Me Back to HMV and place me back on the shelf. Possibly take time out to advise others against my purchase. And wash your hands young man… 2/10MR

Playlist In association with Xpr ess Radio THIRTYTHREE

QUENCH MAGAZINE MUSIC

TOTALLY FOURSOME It’s not even a wall of sound, it’s a 15-mile wide, impenetrable, purple concrete breeze block of unrepentant cubic noise, and we’re all trapped inside – technically it’s an extreme sport, and it’s brilliant.

¡Forward Russia!

Leeds’ melody-terrorists , are something extremely special, right from the sophisticated beats of their skin-slapping mouthy blonde miss drummer through to the aptly named Whiskers – a beardy man who creates sheets of bowel-trembling jagged guitar as if he’s stacking shelves in ASDA. It’s a scary experience, like tackling a rope-bridge over Death Valley hopping on one leg, but knuckle-gnawing rides such as singles Nine and Twelve are worth queueing for again and again. Greg Cochrane

Homecoming gigs are so often disapointments - but nan usually gets to see you and comment on the precarious nature of throwing yourself into the crowd and dad can finally play air guitar along with you in the room.

However, Cowbridge fun-pups The Automatic seem like they’ve just necked a pint of orange Skittles, followed by an amphetamine pizza in order to prepare. The results? Well they’re up for the fight. Previously, where their pop songs bobbed along, they now bomb along threatening to crack the ceiling. New single Monster sounds bombastically refined, whilst Raoul stimulates the first mass sing-along of the evening, electric keyboard stunt-man Pennie drives in the crowd to finish. Home territory conquered.

Theolonius Gunt.

I wondered whether it was just lust with the Howling Bells or whether I was really in love, but after tonight’s performance I can safely say its the latter.

Juanita Stein’s voice is sublime. It cuts through everything, sliding you gracefully from grunge soaked choruses through to the harmonies which dance around them.

She’s the kind of woman who’d break your heart before you broke hers, but you’d always go back for more.

They ooze with the sort of confidence that only comes through a wealth of life experience, and it’s sexy as hell.

Singing us into a trance and then having her wicked way, it feels dirty... but it feels great.

This is what rock’n’roll must’ve felt like.

Sofie Jenkinson

Boy Kill Boy

swagger onto stage with their expensive haircuts, sideburns bigger than many slums in Blackburn, all suited and booted garishly in the current indie trend, whatever that jazz may be.

Interestingly, they are the headlining band, the interesting part being that they are epic wank. However don’t take it from me, whoever NME depicts as the new upcoming bands are no doubt the greatest thing. After all, they can’t be wrong, Boy Kill Boy have a keyboard.

Take it from the people who brought us Nu-Metal, I can’t wait for the music scene to revisit that glorious past.

Ryan Owen

Pennie (The Automatic)

NME NEW MUSIC TOUR Great Hall Sunday May 7

“Forward Russia have

been amazing; discoey, angular and noisey - my kind of band.

At one gig we’re gonna wear their T-shirts. We’ve been having a great time with them, the other day we just had beer and water pistols on our rider, it was ace!”

Thomas (Forward Russia)

“I

thought

the Howling Bells were fantastic, and the Automatic have been great to watch every night. We’ve written the new world cup anthem together, it involves a lot of shoutiing and banging walls!”

THIRTYFOUR

MUSIC@GAIRRHYDD.COM

MUSIC QUENCH MAGAZINE

LOS CAMPESINOS! Solus da Mon y May 8

MYSTERY JETS CF10 Friday Ma y 12

“STEVE LAMACQ JUST bought me a drink! Oh shit, I've just walked into the gents'," screams an excitable young lady as the Victorian English Gentlemen's Club finish their set.

There's definitely an air of absurdity about this 6Music-plugged gig. But whether it's the greasy spoon-by-day surroundings, the presence of some of Auntie's best DJs, the excellence of the bill or just the lingering smell of bacon, Quench isn't sure. But it's fun all the same.

Local lad and lasses the TVEGC are an awful lot of that fun stuff too.

Can't tell a word they say mind.

Further investigation reveals the song we thought was called Bandages to be Ban the Gin. Ah well, heads bounced nevertheless.

Quench favourites Battle are as good as ever. Coming from playing to about eight people last spring, the amount of people mouthing along to Jason Bavanandan's deceptively dark musings hints that they might be about to crack it. Here's hoping.

Finally, NME Tour veterans, the Mystery Jets. Despite one of their

IT TAKES SOMETHING really special to get me this excited about a band after hearing them just once, in a sweaty little side room at factory with muffled sound. Something really fucking special.

Fabulously beautiful post rock intros that take you gently by the hand like a timid child and lead you into a sunny, Sub-pop enduced garden of daffodils and rabbits.

It’s really hard not to be totally and completely consumed by this performance, because they’re all having such a great time. They have an amazing stage presence; the kind worthy of a band who have been touring and making records for 20 years. It is clearly based on an undeniable respect and genuine love for what every other member of the band does. And then they rock the fuck out of each other.

They are the indie power rangers, each one dressed in an incredibly bright colour and each with their own special power. SING-A-LONG power! VIOLIN power! RUSSIAN POETRY power! GUITAR power! MELODICA power! What more could you possibly want? Sofie Jenkinson MUSIC@GAIRRHYDD.COM

PHOTOS: James Perou

fruits

we Jo e Ho

THE YOUNG KNIVES look like the sort of men David Cameron is trying to distance the Conservative Party from. Strange times, these, when sensible looking, bespectacled chaps like TYK are making a beeline for Top of the Pops while Adam Rickett is heading for the House of Commons (this is not a joke – he’s on the Tory ‘A list’).

The Knives’ brand of shouty everso-English new-wave goes down well, but they should be wary of becoming a kind of posh pantomime Futureheads. We really don’t need a post-punk Darkness.

The Rakes are usually portrayed as beery, disgruntled ex-office workers, which is probably about right. They are, however, bloody good. Alan Donohoe jerks around the stage – all faux-ADHD – as his colleagues race through a set made up, predominantly, from last year’s debut long-player Capture/Release.

They combine bits of Jam guitar with Blondie bass, then throw in often painfully well-observed lyrics about hangovers and trying to pull. Terror and Work, Work, Work (Pub, Club, Sleep) are, as ever, highlights. New song The World Was a Mess But His Hair Was Perfect suggests more of the same is on the way. Harry Rose

nge UB: Stra V.E.G CL

O: PPHOT

THE RAKES/ THE YOUNG KNIVES Solus sd Thur ay May 11

BLAINE: Mysterious

road crew pushing in front of Quench at the bar and justifying it with "It's okay, I'm with the band" (no it's bloody not), they are, again, mighty good fun. With more sing-a-long tracks then a relatively new band deserves it's hard to not imagine them climbing pop's greasy pole into the Kaiser Chief pop-stratosphere territory. All together now: “Oh Cairo!

Where did you go?" Will Dean

O WATCH LEVI’S ONE T ST LIAM FRO Barfly May 13 Saturday LIAM FROST may well be the main name on the bill but the floor is packed to see one act tonight; the man who sounds as good as he looks. Matthew “you-know-you-wantto-kiss-me” Hitt.

You can see the girls in the crowd begin to shake with excitement as he takes to the stage; a Welsh Adonis with guitar in hand; it would take one stony hearted bastard not to be touched by this man, and what a man… As the final note of Promises Sweet rings out through the crowd, there’s not a dry eye in the house.

Next enter Jeremy Warmsley hopping from guitar to piano, pedaling brilliantly his particular brand of Ed Harcourt inspired wares.

Then finally, a bit too similar to good old Conor Oberst he may be, but Liam Frost plays out his ditties with feeling and gusto. But it seems the night went to one man. Guess who?

Skip James THIRTYFIVE

QUENCH MAGAZINE MUSIC

SNOW PATROL/ SPINTO BAND Great Hall Wednesday May 3

GARY LIGHTBODY: Heavy Rocker

PHOTOS: Adam Gasson

OK, SO ARE YOU ready to feel really fucking happy?

Because some up in your face hip and happenin' kids (the Spintos) that seriously know how to hold a tune are ready to take you on the fabulous journey they've been fashioning for years.

A mix of cracking little chart-worthy numbers to 'screw it let's go to the beach' type songs with not even a whiff of any grubby surf rock types. Oh! This makes me want to grab the nearest stranger by the hand and dance the night away with them until someone knocks me out with their kazoo.

Which brings us swiftly, so it seems, onto the mighty Patrol, who have fancy stage lights that scream ‘look how successful we’ve become!’ They seem to have had to grow into the role that the sucess of last year’s Final Straw suddenly shoehorned them into. They just seem genuinely chuffed to finally be in this position.

The best response from this, let’s be honest now, Radio 1-enduced crowd, comes with new single You’re All I Have, so do you trust this crowd? Because I don’t... plus the person next to me keeps jumping.

The slow songs are where Snow Patrol shine, giving Lightbody’s lyrics the time they deserve. How to be Dead, as always, illustrates this perfectly. But they are pretty damn acomplished at the big shiny anthems too. The people that matter adore it, and that’s the point right?

Sofie Jenkinson

SPINTO: See page nin e for Spintoview

THE STREETS Bristol Colston Hall Thursday May 4 “I’D RATHER DRINK BEER or do ecstasy than serenade girls” hollers Mike Skinner, blowing kisses to the beauties on the balcony before whipping his belly out but, “you make me wanna get naked Bristol.”

From bedroom balladeer to superstar lout, luckily there’s still a glint of the Birmingham boy who cobbled together a masterpiece in Original Pirate Material, amidst the booze, women and ‘prang’ of now.

In front of huge video screens he courteously sips a cup of tea, and hands vodka out to the crowd.

Meanwhile the music is ace, beefed by a whole band; Blinded By The THIRTYSIX

Lights is an ecstatic kaleidoscope and Fit But You Know it, a carnivalesque romp whilst Never Went To Church provides a new touching sombre moment backed by soulful vocals and aching heart strings.

Despite his highs and lows, Mike Skinner is still unequivocally the voice of The Streets.

Greg Cochrane

GET CAPE. WEAR CAPE. FLY. Clwb Ifor Bach Thursday May 11 FIRST THINGS FIRST, this is a great name for a band. Except it’s not a band, it’s a dude called Sam, a guitar and a laptop.

This combination provides us with a splash of acoustic emo-rock actionwith a degree of melancholy worthy the struggle of growing up. All drenched in beautiful morning sun.

Sam is something who appears to have noticed the difficulty in the small things and in fighting to do what is right. He makes you feel like it all matters.

This is heartstring pulling without any over egging or requiring a cheesey boyband stool. He’s singing about real things; politics, society, fair-trade and not just whinging on about love and rejection like every other sodding artist on the planet.

Having recently signed to Atlantic Records and with an album in the pipeline, I think we are going to hear a lot more from Sam, and I for one am intrigued to say the least.

Sofie Jenkinson MUSIC@GAIRRHYDD.COM

DIGITAL QUENCH MAGAZINE

It’s a game of two halves FIFA’s (wahey) Digital

presents shameless cash-in and a caffeinated nod to those pulling all-nighters...

FIFA 2006 ROAD TO WORLD CUP EA Formats: Everything Ever

A

Cash-in

nother World Cup has come around and it’s joined by another version of FIFA. Following FIFA 2006 and FIFA Street 2, EA Sports has come up with the inspired FIFA Road to World Cup. There is the familiar commentary team of ITV’s Clive Tyldsley and Andy ‘Tactics Truck’ Townsend and their accompaniment to the action is smooth and insightful. Along with all the details of licensed sponsors, kits, players and an array of decent cut scenes; EA Sports can boast an authentic World Cup experience.

Passing is crisp, and player movement gives options on the pitch and team mates with space raise their hand to encourage you to pass to them. There are a number of skills and touches on offer with a jiggle of the analogue sticks and three different game speeds add flexibility.

However, once you start hitting long balls or crosses it feels like playing

FIFA STREET 2 EA Formats: Everything Except Xb360

T

Dementing

his game and its predecessor should be great. They have the world’s best players looking cool, playing fast-paced ‘street’ football in various underground locations with skills you and I could only dream of. But, sadly, it is dementing.

New touches like keepie-ups and the other such skills, coupled with more arcade-style features are nice, but not enough. The old problems linger, all too high in the mix.

When, having skillfully beaten each

DIGITAL@GAIRRHYDD.COM

WORLD CUP: Not for England! golf, such is the lack of realism in the float, bounce and ball speed. Players only seem to use the side of their foot when shooting, and successful tackling is based on luck rather than timing.

Aside from the World Cup qualifiers, group stages and knockout, it’s possible to customise your national squad from a pool of players, and to enter your team into ‘The Lounge’, where you can create a mini-league with other players. In addition, depending on match performance, you complete objectives, yielding points of the opposition players, I am peppering the opposition goal with well constructed and intricate crosses, resulting in vicious, ‘unstoppable’ shots, the goalkeeper manages to perform superhuman feats. The opposition then walk down to my goal and stroke the ball past my nigh-on disabled keeper. How can this be? One minute it is all going my way, then I can’t even move the right player.

Fuckers!

This might sound like the bitter mumblings of a crap player but either way… you can fuck off; this fucking game drove me to the edge with its lack of fucking continuity and shit graphics, clearly made by cu... (That’s enough - Ed.) The tackling is unwieldy and the skills all too often look crap.

There… I’m not bitter at all. Bastards.

Harold Shiel

and ultimately unlocking features.

After one game the computer said rather patronisingly, ‘congratulations, you have: beaten Kazakhstan, won by three goals, had two different scorers…’ There really is no need for this kind of incentive if the football is sufficient.

FIFA Road to World Cup is entertaining, and can claim to be the best World Cup replication on the market.

However despite the authentic experience I can’t shake the feeling that this is a poor attempt to dress up a limited game. Alex Wallis

FIFA STREET 2: Skills you can only dream of All games provided

by CEX near Cardiff Station. The place to buy, sell and exchange games and gadgets.

WWW.CEX.CO.UK THIRTYSEVEN

QUENCH MAGAZINE BOOKS

BOOKS’N’SHIZZLE: Plenty of treats for you in this most wonderful of sections, including the wonderful Sightseeing (see below) next issue we’ll be interviewing Lapcharoensap himself, and giving away the book. Lawks, how exciting! Also!

Russian, Nigerian, and Japanese fiction all feature, including The Icarus Girl (written by Oyeyemi during her A-levels) and Ryu Murakami. Enjoy y’all.

SIGHTSEEING Rattawut Lapcharoensap

THAILAND: Sprawling. Sunny.

Atlantic Books

Debut collection of short stories by hugely-promising ThaiAmerican upstart SIGHTSEEING IS FANTASTIC. Okay, there, I’ve said it. The debut collection from Thai-American Lapcharoensap (written in his early twenties), sees him take on a variety of narrative voices – young and old, male and female – culminating in seven beautifully written, profoundly moving tales set in a Thailand at odds with the one offered to us by the tourism industry.

The Thailand explored here is both vibrant and poverty-stricken; a depiction remarkably vivid and real. Yet, for all the praise this portrayal deserves, Lapcharoensap’s greatest strength lies in the nuances of the stories themselves, which, although situated in a particular culture, transcend this through their decidedly universal themes.

These are, principally: loss of innocence, bereavement and family ties.

While this may sound a little gloomy, it is to Lapcharoensap’s great credit that his stories are infused with hope and humour, cinematic in description and strong in characterisation.

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Stories infused with hope and humour, cinematic in description and strong in characterisation

Opening tale Farangs (the Thai name for ‘tourists’) is an easy introduction, the story of a young ThaiAmerican who works at his mother’s hotel on one of the country’s picturesque islands. Much to his mother’s dismay, he embarks on an ill-fated affair with Lizzie, an American guest THIRTYEIGHT

(much as he has done many times previously), only for her to return to her braying, insufferable American boyfriend.

With a pet pig named Clint Eastwood, a skewed command of English and a habit of falling in love at the drop of a hat (“I knew it was love when Clint Eastwood sniffed her crotch earlier that morning”), our unnamed narrator of mixed descent makes for wonderful reading, and the interplay between him and his mother (abandoned by her US Army husband many years earlier) is a joy to behold: “Pussy and elephants, that’s all these people want,” she laments.

Indeed, trying to take a bikini-clad Lizzie on an elephant ride is met with consternation by his uncle: “Need I remind you, boy, that the elephant is our national symbol? How would she like it if I came to her country and rode a bald eagle in my underwear, huh?”

As good as Farangs is, the remainder of this set more than matches it.

Cockfighter closes the book, a novella-length story dealing with a father who gets on the wrong side of a local warlord, poignantly narrated by his younger daughter, and Don’t Let Me Die In This Place is ambitiously told from the viewpoint of an old, wheelchair-bound American relocated to Bangkok by his son who has married locally. Both are evocative, weary but uplifting. The touching title story is perhaps the centrepiece here though, where a mother and her son holiday in their home country (“we’ll be just like the tourists!”) as she gradually loses her vision.

Throughout this collection Lapcharoensap’s command of language and dialogue is admirable, belying his tender years. Perhaps the greatest compliment you could offer this book is how it lingers in the imagination long after putting it down, as the best fiction should. A wholly accomplished debut that suggests the arrival of a major new force in literature. 9/10 James Skinner BOOKS@GAIRRHYDD.COM

BOOKS QUENCH MAGAZINE

NOTES FROM A TURKISH WHOREHOUSE Philip O’Ceallaigh

TURKISH: Though probably not a whorehouse

Penguin

More short stories, yay!

THE TITLE OF THE book is deceptive as the majority of the stories take place in Romania where O’Ceallaigh now resides, however his Irish roots have also clearly influenced his writings. He writes with a flagrant sense of pessimism about relationships and in particular the failings of males; it would be easy to assume that his own experiences are portrayed through some of the eccentric characters we meet along the way.

In his debut novel O’Ceallaigh writes with a real air of confidence about people’s struggles for emancipation from decaying neighbourhoods, depressing lives and relationships, juxtaposing this in places with empathy and sincere humour.

The opening story Taxi brings together a brash and chauvinistic taxi driver and his heartbroken passenger whose partner fails to meet him at a train station.

The longest of the stories, In the Neighbourhood depicts life in a run down block of apartments in “a world of burst pipes, rising bills, falling standards and children with foul mouths”. There is a real sense that society has let these people down and that O’Ceallaigh wants the reader

HEADCRUSHER Garros, Evdokimov, Bromfield (trans)

to empathise with the characters as they struggle and finally “triumph over substantial obstacles.”

“

Confident... compelling and at times pretty damn funny There are perhaps echoes of O’Ceallaigh himself in this collection as the characters themselves only appear to have found some mild form of happiness and content when they are travelling or writing.

Vintage

Cult Russian psycho-thriller translated. Yay! THIS BOOK IS impossibly cinematic and very, very angry. Headcrusher has all the elements that resulted in the celluloid adaptations of Fight Club and American Psycho gaining such iconic status.

Vadim is our main character here, a mid-20s office worker stuck in the mundane rut that is life, his only outlets being a rather odd computer game and writing offensive emails to BOOKS@GAIRRHYDD.COM

HEADCRUSHER

Indeed in the title story we meet a Greek waiter writing his own “comic story… notes from a Turkish whorehouse… I thought good title… worth making a story just for a title like that. Might use it myself.”

This is an original book for its time. Comparisons have been made by others to Hemmingway and Dostoevsky but it seems that there are many personal touches in these short stories that make this novel both compelling and at times pretty damn funny.

8/10 James Meredith his superiors that he will never send.

Eventually, Vadim’s boss catches him at these emails, and enrages Vadim so much that he murders him right there and then.

This is where the book becomes swept away with action and intensity, and you can picture every scene as if it was a blockbuster, with every line spewing vivid descriptions, quirky one liners and dark yet funny metaphors.

Although the beginning is a tad slow, and at times the writing is a little overly dense (the descriptions occasionally detracting from the storyline; although props to Andrew Bromfield for what can’t have been an easy translation), this book is very raw and jammed full of massive twists that will keep you gripped to the end.

8/10 James Rendell THIRTYNINE

QUENCH MAGAZINE BOOKS

THE ICARUS GIRL Helen Oyeyemi

OYEYEMI: She’s only 22! Yargh!

Bloomsbury

Oyeyemi wrote this novel while doing her A-levels, and is currently at Cambridge THE ICARUS GIRL is a fantasy story dressed up as a thought provoking look at cultural confusion. It focuses on Jessamy Harrison, an incredibly sensitive and imaginative eight year old girl and the restless spirit she unwittingly befriends called Titola.

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Fresh angles on the role reversals in child and parent relationships Jessamy is of English and Nigerian descent, and is caught between two opposing cultural identities. When she first encounters Titola in her

mother’s homeland of Nigeria, she clings to her hoping at last to have found a friend as confused about her placing in the world as she is.

However Titola begins to cause havoc in her life, leaving her father doubting her sanity and her mother becoming convinced she is a witch.

GIRLS Nic Kelman Sepent’s Tail

Written when Kelman was 28, on a Creative Writing Masters course in the states THE 19TH CENTURY witnessed audacious writers such as Hardy and Elliot proposing that the sacred institution of marriage was perhaps not the perfect solution to the discontent of the individual.

Yet now, in the 21st Century, writers such as Nic Kelman expound extreme depictions of social dissolution. The 21st Century protagonist is not only discontent with marriage but in total flux with society itself. Girls is a 215-page-long chronicle of 21st century apathy and its manifestations; from promiscuous affairs with underage girls to paying a store clerk hundreds of dollars for the privilege of eating a bagel despite the store’s no food policy.

Kelman contrasts random generic snippets of yuppie despair with extracts from The Illiad in a pseudointellectual attempt to illustrate the transcendence of sadness. He also feels compelled to relate the etymology of the words ‘cunt’ and ‘cock’.

Kelman’s protagonist is a wealthy investment banker with a penchant for FORTY

KELMAN: “Check me out. I’m an author” perverse sexual encounters.

Girls is written in disjointed extracts of soulless prose. Although this reflects the lifeless consciousness of the individual, it also serves to render the book completely inaccessible and drab. Bret Easton Ellis pioneered similar subject matter and style through his novel Less Than Zero and later, American Psycho.

“

The story is narrated in whole by Jessamy, causing many pitfalls in the understanding of the themes and messages Oyeyemi is trying to get across, partly due to the fact the language and perspective is from that of a naïve young girl.

The small benefits are that there are fresh angles on the role reversals in child and parent relationships Jess frequently wonders why she is continually lying to comfort her mother. But the reader is never sure of the underlying problems in this dysfunctional family which may have caused Jessamy to become psychologically unhinged which Oyeyemi only hints at.

Once you get the feel it is going to become a memorable exploration of cultural confusion in the family unit, Oyeyemi switched back to insinuating that Titola is a real entity not an outlet for Jess’s anger, resulting in a memorable novel become a confusing and inane one.

5/10 Ellen Waddell relate to but he was a subversive, deranged serial killer underneath his façade of normality. The book was original and shocking for its nonchalant contrast of descriptions of outfits and restaurants to descriptions of mutilation and rape.

Kelman attempts to meet the calibre of such brat pack predecessors yet doesn’t even come close. The book is a weary diatribe against 21st Century soullessness, yet it feels that through producing such a laborious complaint, the writer has fallen into the clutches of what he despises.

3/10 Zoe Efstathiou KNIGHTLEY: She’s a girl

Laborious...a weary diatribe against 21st Century soullessness However, Ellis’s protagonist in American Psycho may have been vacuously detached and impossible to

LONGORIA: She is too!

BOOKS@GAIRRHYDD.COM

BOOKS QUENCH MAGAZINE

IN THE MISO SOUP Ryu Murakami

LITTLE GIRL FROM BATTLE ROYALE: Scary

Bloomsbury

Japanese novelist tours Tokyo’s seedy nightlife THE LAST DECADE has seen Japan bound up the cultural radar. Be it the gore of films like The Ring and Battle Royale, the fiction of the likes of Haruki Murakami (no relation) or US takes on Japanese culture like Arthur Golden's Memoirs of a Geisha and Sophia Coppolla's fabulous Lost in Translation.

Murakami (Ryu, that is) takes this baton and runs with it. In Miso, we meet Kenji, a local tour guide who takes foreigners (gaijin) through Tokyo's seedier nightspots looking for evening pleasures.

“

A tasty insight into the grubbier side of Japan Straight away Kenji meets Frank, an American with a resemblance to Ed Harris (presumably this description is Murakami pre-emptively casting the film adaptation). Frank is a liar and this, allied with stories in the paper about murdered school-girls leads Kenji to believe that this American sex-tourist might be his scariest customer yet. And, sure enough, we follow Kenji as Frank drags him into his nomadic world of senseless killings.

It works reasonably well, but the

novella size of the story constricts further details about Japan's fascinating capital. Basically, we meet Frank. We suspect Frank is a bit nasty. Frank proves it. The end.

It's not until Frank explains his actions in the last third of the book that we get anything of substance.

Frank tells Kenji that the reason the Japanese are so insular as a nation is that, like the US, they have never been invaded and had to accommodate the ways of others.

That's the problem here really, the book, excuse the pun, loses something in translation. Do we need the word 'wanker' translated back into English? It makes the book sound

flat-footed. The descriptions of Tokyo are also brief; because the original Japanese audience don't need telling that the Roppongi and Kubuchi-ko districts are the heart of the city's seedy nightlife – ie an English novelist wouldn't describe Soho in vivid detail.

Don't let that put you off completely; In the Miso Soup is a tasty insight into the grubbier side of Japan and worth the hour or two it will take you to read it.

6/10 Will Dean

JAPANESE NOVELS: Rad

SPIRITED AWAY: Trippy BOOKS@GAIRRHYDD.COM

FORTYONE

QUENCH MAGAZINE ARTS

Don’t look now DIVERSIONS NEW THEATRE MAY 3-6 Let’s dance

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eturning with their new Triple Bill for 2006, Diversions Dance Company’s strongest quality, and probably the reason why audiences return year after year, is their fusion of contemporary dance with just about anything you can think of.

In this performance we find that

DYLAN MORAN ST DAVID’S HALL MAY 6

COMEDY NIGHT CF10 MAY 2 Chuckle vision

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he Comedy Club’s charity night in aid of Save the Children started with Dan ‘specs offender’ Mitchell warming up the audience.

Bizarrely, his trousers ended up around his ankles, whilst singing to an increasingly nervous-looking girl.

The first act, Kevin Coleman, began by swearing regularly as he strutted around the stage discussing Cardiff locals.

In contrast, mild mannered Dean Burnett, barely moving from the vicinity of his mic stand, discussed the size of his genitals. Both were received well, but their gags on ‘sensitive’ issues probably did not yield the laughs they would have liked.

Penultimate act Jeff Barker took to the stage, pint in hand, and to the audience’s delight questioned religion and the logic of hippies bearing ‘peace’ logos on German produced Volkswagen ‘Camper Vans’.

He was marginally outshone by final act Wes Packer. The ‘Valley boy’ produced a foul-mouthed, but entertaining, analysis of dogging and Glamorgan students.

The Comedy Club proved to be full of laughs and entertainment well worth the entrance fee.

Stephen Church

FORTYTWO

‘anything’ includes sheets of metal, those big exercise balls that are supposed to make your tummy muscles wonderful, and the alphabet.

Each dance in the hectic bill is infused with a distinct sense of humour and it is this that keeps any vague impulses of pretention firmly under control.

If you’ve never seen a dance performance before, Diversions are a great place to start. Beautiful to watch, surprisingly quirky and unfailingly creative: you won’t be disappointed.

Kim O’Connor

PAINTINGS AND DRAWINGS MARTIN TINNEY GALLERY MAY 3-6 A design for life

“...with a trombone!”

B

ernard Black is the alter-ego of a talented Irish comedian. In his sitcom Black Books, Black is a misanthropic, chain-smoking, heavy-drinking grump.

Dylan Moran is a talented Irish comedian. He is the alter-ego of Black Books’ Bernard Black. He is also a misanthropic, chain-smoking, heavydrinking grump.

He is also in the habit of repeating himself. At least he is according to one mardy heckler.

You see Moran goes round in circles so much with his routines about the things he hates (mainly selfimprovement and children) that when he loses his spot, as frequently happens, he tends to revert to jokes that are firmly in his memory bank (ie the ones off his DVD).

So when he loses it completely and asks the floor for questions, it spells trouble. What results is Moran looking hurt and then dissecting the student wally who asked “got any new jokes?”

It’s a shame because it ruins the show. When Moran gets going he, despite the muffling sound of the venue, has the audience enraptured.

He’s grumpy, but he’s lovely. He just needs to remember where he’s going.

Will Dean

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orn in 1929, Evelyn Williams is still working now at the age of 77. This impressive collection showcases 40 selected paintings and drawings from the past 20 years, and has a distinctive style and mood. The paintings are raw, sparse and simplistic with a sombre, almost depressive tone.

The selection poignantly charts the human lifespan, from infancy to old age. The felicitous rubs shoulders with the sorrowful; the intimate togetherness in Loving and Baby Playing with Mother is juxtaposed against the dark, depersonalised couple crying in Grieving, and the loneliness and fear inherent in Seeing the Light, portraying an old woman sitting alone in a bare room. Migration depicts a mass of people running with outstretched arms and open mouths, revealing the desperation often associated with modern immigration.

Perhaps Williams’s most credible feature is her ability to avoid romanticising people, as she reveals their plainness and signs of age. Most striking is how she strips her subjects to a basic humanity, challenging the binary opposition of male/female by incorporating androgyny in her work.

Tasha Prest-Smith ARTS@GAIRRHYDD.COM

QUENCH MAGAZINE BACKCHAT

Teenage dreamers, hard to beat While we worry about finals, some young athletes have to cope with carrying the hopes of millions on their shoulders

By Tim Lewis

W

hile most of us are stressing out over exams and essays, it’s hard to imagine what youngsters like Lionel Messi and Theo Walcott will be feeling this summer.

At 19 and 17 respectively, they will have the weight of their home nations resting on their shoulders at the World Cup this summer.

But in sport, age can become irrelevant. If Messi, Walcott or any other of the teenagers due to play in this year’s World Cup fail to perform on the big stage they are likely to be vilified back home.

Mistakes will be criticised and wrong decisions scorned at, yet most people are quick to forget that for most 17-year-olds the main worry is passing A-levels and getting your father to let you borrow the car.

The pressure put on young footballers by the media can only serve to have a negative impact on the way they are going to perform.

Professional footballers or not, at such a young age it cannot be easy to ignore the media and the things which are being written about you.

It has long been said the British media have a tendency to build up young stars only to quickly knock them down at the first opportunity; let’s hope this isn’t the case with Walcott.

Like Rooney, it would appear Walcott is something special: the scramble over his signature last January would suggest that this is no ordinary 17-year-old. But loading the pressure onto teenage prodigies is nothing new in this country, just ask Jermaine Pennant, and look what happened there.

Okay, football is not the only sport to exert immense pressure on to young sports stars barely old enough to leave school.

In 1985, Boris Becker won the men’s singles title at Wimbledon at FORTYFOUR

“

Most people are quick to forget that for most 17-year-olds the main worry is passing A-levels and getting your father to let you borrow the car just 17, ten years younger than his opponent Kevin Curran. It quickly propelled him to superstar status and from then on every tournament of his career was under the spotlight of the media.

This is nothing compared to Swiss tennis player Martina Hingis, who made her professional debut only two weeks after her 14th birthday. By the age of 15 she had won a Wimbledon doubles title and claimed her first Wimbledon singles title at 16.

In winning her first Wimbledon singles title she become the youngest female to win the tournament since

Lottie Dod won aged 15 in 1887.

At 22, Hingis announced her retirement from the game after a series of injuries and complained of feeling ‘burnt out’. However, she did eventually make a professional comeback to the game at the relatively young age of 25.

At the Olympic games it is not uncommon to see athletes as young as 14 taking part in gymnastics events. At the 2004 Olympic games in Athens, 16-year-old American Carly Patterson took gold in the women’s individual all-round event in front of an estimated two billion television viewers. The 2004 games also spelled the end of the career of Russian gymnast Svetlana Khorkina’s career. She retired at only 20 years of age after failing to win the women’s individual all-round event for the third games in a row.

So whatever Walcott is feeling will be nothing new as a young athlete, but it doesn’t mean it will make it any easier.

The potential World Cup audience is in the billions of viewers and even the most experienced of professionals will be feeling nervous. As hard as it, may be everyone must try to remember these youngsters are only human and mistakes are only natural.

We can only hope that Walcott is given a fair trial by the media at the World Cup and treated with the understanding that should come with being only 17 years old. My fear is, he probably won’t.

HINGIS: Burned out SPORT@GAIRRHYDD.COM

BACKCHAT QUENCH MAGAZINE

This week US literature about killers and cleptomaniacs with propaganda entwined as their names attack. All is lost but something is won in their games of cat and of mice and men

JD SALINGER CATCHER IN THE RYE

Catching your eye

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ell, what can you say about this book? Its influence is enormous, to the point where it is touched upon by everything from obscure Green Day songs to The Sopranos, and spoken of in the same breath as every novel written from the viewpoint of a frazzled young adolescent, ever.

It is also clouded in controversy.

Banned in America upon its release (the word ‘fuck’ is featured four times), never spoken of by its reclusive author, it was also found on Mark David Chapman’s person following the assassination of John Lennon and obsessed over by Ronald Reagan’s would-be murderer.

But focusing on these things detracts from why it looms so large in popular culture.

“

Liked drugs, hates ether binges

F

ew, if any, have personified ‘cult classic’ quite as well as Hunter S. Thompson. He was everything you could want in a great writer, humorous, intelligent and not afraid to take risks. Take a look at Hells Angels or the now seminal Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas.

His writing became a touchstone in gonzo journalism. Writing in a highly personal style, Thompson became more interesting than the stories he was covering whether it was sex, sport, drugs, politics or rock and roll.

Disillusioned, sarcastic but ultimately compassionate The story of 16-year-old Holden Caulfield, it follows a turbulent three days in his life after he is expelled from prep-school and wanders New York, exasperated by the painful and, well, phony nature of the adult world of which he stands on the cusp.

Disillusioned, sarcastic, but ultimately compassionate: Salinger’s characterization of Caulfield is iconic, skilful and without a doubt the reason this novel has been so fervently embraced by the world. In the 60 years since its publication, nothing has surpassed it. No kidding.

James Skinner

CLASSICS@GAIRRHYDD.COM

SAUL BELLOW AUGIE MARCH

HUNTER S. THOMPSON FEAR AND LOATHING IN LAS VEGAS

Canadian smooth operator

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merica – unlike, say, Britain but a bit like, say, France – is more than a nation, it’s a set of ideas. A novel can, therefore, be American even if its author, as with The Adventures of Augie March, is – in a technical sense – Canadian.

What’s more, Saul Bellow’s masterpiece is as richly American – in its themes, its scope and its values – as all those ‘great American novels’, some of which also carry the prefix The Adventures of…

‘I am an American, Chicago born’, states Augie, at the outset. What follows is the life story of a man who drifts from job to job – salesman, butler, dog-walker, union rep; who reverts, when needs must, to theft; and who all the time wants to study and learn. He is determined to be free, not to be ‘domesticated.’

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He’s determined to be free, not to be ‘domesticated’ HUNTER S: Tripping A man who never changed, his writing style, his lifestyle and his outlook on life always remained anarchic, right until the day he decided to take his own life. But even in death he never changed, his last wish? To have his ashes placed in a cannon ball and blasted into the air. Much respected, often imitated and sadly missed.

Tom Brookes

Augie speaks of the “universal eligibility to be noble” – as succinct an expression of the American dream as you’ll get.

He doesn’t really achieve the dream but then, as the writer Christopher Hitchens has noted, ‘it’s an ideal, not a promise’. He lives, furthermore, a life of opposition, adversity, and independence, all of which, by the end, seem far more to the point.

Harry Rose

FORTYFIVE

QUENCH MAGAZINE BACKCHAT

Tunnel Vision

By TV Gareth Lottery funding supports this national charity

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here are probably several good reasons to critique the National Lottery. Is institutionalised gambling a good idea? Is there really any point because you’re never going to win? Why the fuck is something that could be over within two minutes given 35 minutes of tedious air time, involving premier chunker Eamonn Holmes?

I know some people wish for the days of the old variety shows, where Saturday evening would mean a wholesome bit of light entertainment with singing and dancing and jokes and general merriment. What most people don’t realise, (and if they don’t then they are very lucky), is that the farcical circus act that is the National Lottery is pretty much what they’re looking for. In 1994, the Lottery was unveiled by the Conservative government and hailed as "the most successful innovation of any government for years". If this is really to be believed then sadly we’ve pretty

LOTTERY: It’s not you, again FORTYSIX

much elevated Fatty Holmes to the position of cabinet minister.

Now, please don’t think that my criticisms here are even slightly politically or morally motivated. I’m not intelligent enough, nor do I care enough to genuinely think about the implications. This is the critique of somebody who knows full well that when they are older they will be Jim Royle. I don’t like the lottery program because it’s rubbish.

Show me the numbers, prove that I’m still not a millionaire and then fuck off.

Don’t make me sit through Jetset and have to watch some smug bastard win a trip to the Congo or wherever it is they send them. And don’t make me have to watch some girl who used to be in Atomic Kitten sing her new single. Tell you what, make it a little more interesting, make her have to sing the numbers as they come out? There are so many reasons why this program is completely bad.

It has real people on it. This is always a negative. There are loads of actors so get them on the program. At least they can probably hold a sentence together, or at least read an autocue. It works okay with reality TV because people are left to their own devices. They can do what they want but in this sort of gameshow environment there is a plan to be followed and more than aware of the fact that they are on television, people take the opportunity to try to be clever or funny. They’re at an advantage due to the fact that trying to be funny next to Blobby Holmes is very similar to me standing with Russell Brand in an attempt to seem less like a prick.

But still, they fall short. On being ejected from the game, (usually on the basis that they are a complete imbecile), you can nearly hear them thinking, “I’m on TV. I must be funny”. What comedy gem can they impart to us before they have to leave

Eamonn TV, no really...

the screen? But in the end they settle for clearing their throat or something.

And it’s never a good idea to do live links with someone who you’ve sent to ‘jetset’ their way a zillion miles from the UK in some country that has seemingly only just got electricity. Big Boy Holmes just gets more and more irate as the contestants, (inevitably dressed up HILARIOUSLY, in the national attire of wherever they’re being tanned), stare intently at the screen as if that’s going to help them hear what he’s saying. And then if they finally do hear his question, by the time they answer it the delay has caused them to start speaking over his next sentence. And he doesn’t like that. He doesn’t really like anything.

“

Trying to be funny next to Blobby Holmes is similar to me standing with Russell Brand in an attempt to seem less like a prick And then comes the draw. Normally by this stage, I have to remind myself I’ve not just won a holiday. I wait for the Super Mega Alpha-Draw. Then it’s the Coleman’s Mustard über-draw.

Then the Pygmy Only Draw. And then it’s the proper one. The ACTUAL lottery. And then I remember I don’t even play the lottery and haven’t got a ticket but have just sat through all that bollocks. And that’s why I’m sad.

TELEVISION@GAIRRHYDD.COM

BACKCHAT QUENCH MAGAZINE

Vinyl Resting Place

with Scout Springs

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Scout Springs Quiet Girrrl

ad’s away this week, so I’m fillin g in. You’ll be pleased to hear how ever that malcontent and omnipotenc e are hereditary so prepare this week to have two more slabs of prime shit-indie-disco mea t diced and tenderised with a touc having one of those spazz outs whe h akin to Jamie Cullum re he mistakes his piano for a set of bongos.

Indie discos are an experience of conflicting emotions for myself. As a girl, it’s so much more difficult to convince people that I don ’t like the Killers because standing in the corner looking miserable and feeling superior is gene rally just mistaken for being men strual or stood up. And, I mean, surely I must? Because Brandon is so hot? No he’s not. He looks like Julian Clar y. Idiots. My male friends can pull out the tried and tested ‘fauxmosexual’ dance mov es, timing a thrust of the groin to ever y pound of the bass drum, and you’re going to know of their disd ain. If I do that then you just perceive it to be a mating ritual and before I know it I’ve got “I’M MR BRIGHTSIDE!!” bawling in my ears and a sticky hand groping at my side. This is an adventure thro ugh the two ends of contemporary guitar sing-along. Your wussy, alcohol-induced emotion of balladry and your foot to the floor, fist to the sky, head to the ground (with any luck) ‘rocker’.

Record No. 34 - The Kooks - Naïve Crime – Girlfriend Music

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usic for girlfriends if ever I heard it. Now, as your typical post-teenage, angst ridden, footless-tighted indie whore, I’m more than partial to a pretty, lank-haired, streak of piss post-Libertines tosspot in an ironic hat, but there are times when the line has to be drawn.

I’ve decided that the aforementioned mediocre-indie superstar looks, from the shoulders up, like Doctor Mephisto got hold of Princess Margaret and Leo Sayer.

What few people seem to have realised is that this song is essentially a slightly better version of Razorlight’s Golden Touch, (NB. that’s not a compliment. It’s like

T

GROHL: Cum Face

saying cancer is better than AIDs), way through this like Vic Reeves club-sing-a-long but the fact that it’s better makes it with the hiccups, really Kooks the If all the worse. attempting vocal wanted to work on improving a rubflourishes that tried have should they bish song, most probably doing it on one of their own, so we sound like Mariah this of more with addled wouldn’t be Carey with Downs sub-Borrel shite. So we’re left with Syndrome. He’s in just anthem ie another cack-ind whining on about time for Jo Whiley to not have to some girl or the of ‘song her who panic over something, like summer festivals’ nod is inevitably EVERY SONG KOOK: Little fieldthe all and to going to go Teapot EVER does and it’s dwelling turds can get excited about she wonder no bands the at back lyrics singing the fucking left him. as the BBC cameras pan around to I’d leave him. bury.

Glaston at faces their shitty The one that looks Record No. 35 – The Foo Fighters - All My Life like a horse drawls his

his is the musical equivalent of going travelling in your gap year and then coming back a Buddhist and preaching to all your old friends about it.

Except it goes more like “Hey guys, I’ve been playing with Queens Of The Stone Age all summer, and they really ROCK, so lets do more stuff like them, yeah?” They should have said ‘no’. Except he probably didn’t ask but just turned up to practice in his Nirvana hoodie so they knew who was boss. This is perfect

Crime – Filthy Boring Perverts

Fun Factory fodder. Spin it late when everyone’s drunk enough to be in the mood for some angry singing and you’re on to a winner. What’s most disturbing about this song is Grohl’s attempts to come across all sexual but resultantly just sounding like a dirty perv’. It can work.

Jarvis Cocker has the kitchensink-sexmovie trick down to a tee, but it’s not an easy thing to do and I suspect that most people who attempt it would end up writing the song that the ‘Foos’ have. Which is apparently about wanking yourself off

into a woman’s mouth or something equally seductive. It takes a lot of analysis to realise this though because of such clever lyrics like “Hey, don’t let it go to waste. I love it but I hate the taste,” barely suggest at it. Which is why it’s so forgivable to see a dancefloor full of cockheads bobbing their heads up and down as if they’re trying to mosh while doing an impression of Quasimodo as Grohl phlegms “done, done and I’m onto the next one.”

No clever prefix, just boring, boring rock.

Anyone who can think of a worse idea than Wolfmother, please furnish me with details. bastian@gairrhydd.com BASTIAN@GAIRRHYDD.COM

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