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GRAPESHOT VOLUME 8: ISSUE 3: BEAT

ISSUE 3: BEAT

CAMPUS NEWS & LIFE | ARTS & CULTURE | STYLE & SUSTAINABILITY | REVIEWS | & MORE

CALENDAR

APRIL / MAY MONDAY

TUESDAY

WEDNESDAY

Session 1 Resumes ANZAC Day

Student Election Vote Counting

THURSDAY

Last Day to Withdraw Unit(s) Without Academic Penalty

World Wish Day

Stay Up All Night Night

17 Internatoinal Day Against Homophobia and Transphobia

SATURDAY

SUNDAY

1 World Laughter Day Event (Bondi Beach)

Student Election Voting

Taming of the Shrew Riverside Theatre (Parramatta) 7.30pm

International Starwars Day (May the Fourth Be With You)

FRIDAY

8 Mother’s Day

Sydney Writers’ Festival Commences

Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week Commences (Eveleigh)

Reel Sydney Festival of World Cinema (Sutherland Entertainment Centre) 7.30pm

Do you have an upcoming event? Let us know and we’ll do our best to include it in our calendar. Email grapeshot@mq.edu.au

DEPUTY EDITOR’S LETTER Amy Hadley

Can you spit a mad rhyme over a beat? Is ‘Beat It’ by Michael Jackson your jam? Are you a deadbeat? Whatever beat is to you, we’re on board. We’re edging closer towards the dreaded exam and assessment period, so now is the time to release some stress. We recommend hitting up a boxing class and playing some pump up tunes (see music reviews, p. 48). Instead of banging your head against your books, check out the scorching debate between meat-

eaters and vegetarians (p. 20). Which side of the food fight are you on? Regardless of your ideological stance on food, flip to The S-Tunes (p. 44) for this month’s bar reviews. Trust me - you don’t wanna be caught in a bar with a bad vibe. If you’re having trouble finding motivation, turn to page 30. Learn about one family’s eco-adventure across Australia from the author of The Art of Free Travel, Patrick Jones. Variation is the spice of life, so we’ve mixed it up and included stunning 35mm film photography into Creatives this month. Head to page 37 to view images captured by Amanda Burgess. Do you have an idea of what’s going on with Australian politics at the moment? WTF is a double dissolution? Why is it important? Get a grip on what’s happening in Australia’s political landscape on page 9. Now, make yourself a cuppa, sit back, and get your head out of your unit guides for a moment. Enjoy!

EDITORIAL & CREATIVE PRODUCTION EDITOR IN CHIEF Regina Featherstone DEPUTY EDITOR Amy Hadley FEATURES EDITOR Yehuda Aharon NEWS EDITOR Anna Glen REGULARS EDITOR Phillip Leason COPY EDITOR Rebecca McMartin WEB EDITOR Angela Heathcote WEB DEVELOPER Andrew Rasheed CREATIVE DIRECTORS Hussein Nabeel and Caitlin Thom MARKETING TEAM ADVERTISING MANAGER Ellen Barrett MARKETING MANAGER Aura Lee OUR AWESOME CONTRIBUTORS Sarah Basford, Amanda Burgess, Vanessa Capito, Cameron Colwell, Madeline Cox, Rowan Cravey, Matthew Daniels, Roseanna Dertadian, Jessica Dinh, Josphine Fenn, Toby Hemmings, Max Mahood, Isabelle Messenger, Irene Phan, Raveena Randhawa, Emily Redknap, Erin Russell, Annie Tong, Mikhayla Trop, Charbel Zada EDITORIAL REVIEW BOARD STUDENT MEMBERS Sarah Basford, Shantell Bailey, Kris Gilmour, Sarah Li Lee Lien, Yi Wong, Timothy Zhang COORDINATOR Melroy Rodrigues PUBLISHER Kim Guerin

Grapeshot would like to acknowledge the Darug people as the traditional custodians of the land on which we work, and pay our respects to their elders, past and present.

Macquarie University Law Society magazine Edition 1, 2016 (Volume 22)

Edition 1, 2016 | 1

Stayraont tthoef fo r ef law the www.muls.org/ the-brief

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www.facebook.com/ thebriefmagazine www.issuu.com/ muls

I SS U E 3 : B E AT

CONTENTS 5 NEWS

15 REGULARS

25 FEATURES

37 CREATIVE

6 NEWS FLASH

16 GRAPESHOT FASHION:

26 BEATDISC

38 PHOTOGRAPHY:

8 OFFBEAT POLITICS:

AN ODE TO BOWIE

28 THEY CALL IT

AMANDA BURGESS

DOUBLE DISSOLUTION

18 QUESTIONS WITH PAUL

PSYCHOSIS

40 WHITE

EXPLAINED

STILLEN, TATTOO ARTIST

30 THE TECHNICAL

42 DISSONANCE

10 SAFE SCHOOLS DEBATE

20 MEATS VS. BEETS

ANIMAL: AN INTERVIEW

14 SUIT & TIE-DYE: LIFE

DEBATE

WITH PATRICK JONES

‘AFTER BOB’

22 GYM CLASS ZEROES

32 WANDER WOMAN

24 FAKE ADVICE: DR DRE

34 BORSCHT 36 ART THERAPY

43 REPEAT OFFENDERS 44 THE S-TUNES 46 REVIEWS 50 HOROSCOPES

NEWS

LESS THAN ONE PERCENT OF SYRIAN REFUGEES HAVE BEEN RESETTLED WORDS II SARAH BASFORD

CHANGES TO HIGHER EDUCATION FLAGGED IN UPCOMING MAY BUDGET WORDS II ANNA GLEN

Fewer than thirty refugees have arrived in Australia out of the Abbott Government’s promised 12 000 person intake from Syria and Iraq. Immigration Minister Peter Dutton gave no estimate for the resettlement of the remaining figure, but explained that the process was underway.

The Turnbull Government is likely to include a number of significant policies on higher education in its budget to be delivered in early May.

“About 9 000 people have been interviewed and assessed and are being processed through health, security and character checks,” Dutton said. The Government has said that it would prioritise persecuted groups who have little-to-no chance of being resettled in their home countries over groups that have a higher chance of being successful in returning. This means that nonIslamic minorities like the Yazidis are likely to be processed over Sunni refugees.

Some of the policies speculated to be under consideration are raising the caps on student fees from 40 per cent to 50 per cent, lowering the repayment threshold forcing graduates to pay back their debts sooner, and abandoning the federal funding to private colleges. One of the more controversial measures – which was backed by Christopher Pyne during his time as Education Minister– is collecting HECS debts from the dead. Labelled as the “death tax” by the Labor Government, this measurewould result in a saving of almost 800 million dollars per year. Significantly, despite the fierce opposition and the ‘$100 000 dollar degree scare campaign’, deregulation and the proposed 20 per cent cut in funding remains an official policy of the Government.

ALARMING SUICIDE RATES AMONG WESTERN AUSTRALIA’S INDIGENOUS COMMUNITIES WORDS II SARAH BASFORD

TASMANIAN FASHION STUDENTS MAKE SANITARY KITS FOR GIRLS IN DEVELOPING NATIONS WORDS II EMILY REDKNAP

Western Australia is facing a human rights crisis with increasing rates of youth suicides among remote Indigenous communities. In March 2016, a ten-year-old girl living in a remote Indigenous community committed suicide after being prohibited from going to a friend’s house. The WA Minister for Mental Health Helen Morton said that the girl was being monitored by the Department of Child Protection, but had, unfortunately, fallen through the cracks.

TasTAFE teacher Willy Priestley and her students worked to put together sanitary kits for girls in developing countries after learning that girls can often take off up to a week of school during their menstruation period.

A report headed by suicide prevention researcher Gerry Georgatos had found that the leading cause of death forIndigenousyouths between the ages of 15 and 35 is suicide. “The further west you go on this continent the worse it gets…Western Australia is the mother of all those statistics,” Georgatos said. The Government has responded by injecting $1 million into the Indigenous suicide criticalresponse unit which is currently being trialled in Western Australia. The critical response unit will offer ‘on call’ services to Western Australian Indigenous communities who have been affected by suicide or traumatic events.

Priestley discovered the organisation ‘Days for Girls’ at a craft fair in 2015 and introduced the idea to her curriculum. The school spent a week making these kits, sewing up 320 liners, 80 shields and 40 bags; these will last the girls three years. She states that she “thought it would be a good project for my students to do something real and get their quality standards up.” One student said the bags let the girls know that “someone made them with love” with another saying “The first things we learnt to do in class were on bits of fabric but this is a real thing that’s going to last so you have to make sure you do it well.” The Days for Girls team leader, Susan Hutchinson says that the kits will be sent to Cambodia along with a large container of other supplies to places where they are needed.

Offbeat Politics: Double Dissolution explained Words II ALANA TINDALE

On Monday April 18, Prime Minister Malcolm Turnbull announced a double dissolution of the Senate after they did not pass the Australian Building Construction Commission Bill. The legislation seeks to re-establish the Australian Building and Construction Commission (ABCC), a building industry regulator.

By making the ABCC a centre-point of any election, the Liberal Party are able to focus on Opposition Leader Bill Shorten’s ties to unions, and alleged union corruption. However, polls suggest that the legislation does not resonate with most voters. The legislation itself is less relevant than a desire to go to an early election.

A double dissolution can only be called if the Senate refuses to pass a Bill in the same form twice, creating a deadlock between the House of Representatives and the Senate. The Prime Minister can then ask the Governor General to dissolve (or in other words, disband) both houses of parliament and call an election.

So why does Turnbull want to go to an early election? He may hope to have a better control of the Senate by getting rid of resistant minor party and Independent Senators. In addition to compromising with ‘rogue’ Senators, Turnbull (who is part of the Liberal party’s ‘moderate’ or centre-right faction) must also placate the extreme right faction of his party. Senior Government Minister Arthur Sinodinos admitted in March, “a returned government with Malcolm Turnbull at its head after the election … will have the capacity to stamp its authority on all sorts of issues”.

As Turnbull himself noted, “the reason [a double dissolution] is special is because all of the senators go up for election instead of just half”. If an election is called, many current minor party Senators’ jobs will be on the line, particularly in light of the senate voting amendments passed by the Greens and Liberal National Party (LNP) on March 18. Prior to these amendments, voters were required to either vote for only one Senator (‘above the line’) or order each Senator by preference (‘below the line’). Most Senators are affiliated with a party, ranging from the main parties (Labor, Liberal, Greens) to very obscure ones (such as the Motor Enthusiast Party). Parties could then distribute votes (or preferences) to other Senators for ‘above the line’ voters. These are called preference deals, and they allow Senators with very small primary votes (such as Motor Enthusiast Party’s Ricky Muir on 0.5%) to be elected to the Senate. However, after the passing of this new Senate reform bill, voters can now order up to six Senators ‘above the line’, or twelve Senators ‘below the line’. This reduces the chances of minor parties being elected to the Senate, and means that some current Senators (such as Ricky Muir) are unlikely to be re-elected. If a double dissolution is not called, these Senators will remain in power for at least another three years because only half a Senate will go up in the next election. However, many Senators refuse to pass the ABCC bill on various grounds, even if their jobs are at risk.

Basically, being a legitimately elected leader may increase the Prime Ministers standing in his own party, reducing his need to pander to the extreme right conservatives. On the other hand, if – as some polls predict – he has a smaller majority in the Senate, the extreme right faction may have more influence in the party. Some political commentators have suggested an early election would be a reaction to waning popularity. Political analyst Michelle Grattan has suggested that economic predictions for the future are poor, particularly because of a possible ‘burst’ in the housing bubble. Perhaps Turnbull wants to go to the polls before the economy flops (which may be blamed on the government), or while it remains, in Turnbull’s words, “the greatest time to be an Australian”. Despite Turnbull’s optimism, there are risks in calling a double dissolution. In 1983 Malcolm Fraser lost a double dissolution election he called, after the Labor Party (ALP) swapped leaders from unpopular Bill Hader to Bob Hawke. Similarly, in 1987 Hawke himself called a double dissolution but failed to gain control of the Senate anyway. The election is expected to take place July 2.

Two very different views On the Safe Schools Coalition Background: The Safe Schools Coalition is an anti-bullying program that seeks to prevent discrimination against the LGBTQIA+ community. The program was conceived by the Labor Government and officially launched by the Abbott Government in 2014. Since then it has been rolled out to over 400 schools, mostly in Victoria. The policy was instigated due to the high rates of mental health problems experienced by the LGBTQIA+ community and reports of abuse and discrimination. The Human Rights Commission has found that LGBTQIA+ young people report experiencing verbal homophobic

abuse (61%), physical homophobic abuse (18%) and other types of homophobia (9%), including cyberbullying, graffiti, social exclusion and humiliation. Beyondblue has also found that LGBTQIA+ people had the highest suicide rates of any population in Australia. However, in the past month the content of the Safe Schools program has faced fierce criticism from the right-wing backbench of the Liberal party, prompting Malcolm Turnbull to call a review of the program that has resulted in a revised curriculum as well as parental permission for all children involved. It was thought that the content was too ideological and went beyond

I am Not a Victim Words II Rowan Cravey Now this is why I draw attention to my sexuality: the Left would have me believe that because of my sexuality and minority status, I am a victim in society. Someone who endures mistreatment and hate everywhere I look. A person who, no matter what I might say, will always be seen by the Left as the representation of fragility and victimhood. There is little else that is as patronising, arrogant and condescending as this attitude. Yet so many on the Left believe themselves to be the advocates and best friends of ostensibly oppressed minorities or denominations. I am not usuallyone to drawattention to something as boring and inconspicuous as my sexuality, but for this argument, seeing as though the Left love identity politics, I’ll bring it up. I’m a gay man on the Right side of politics – a minority. I see myself as successful,with a good job, a good home life, loving friends and family, and all that.

I had a tutorial just recently at uni where Safe Schools was the majority of the discussion. There was much ado about how it helps kids. About how without it, gays would be predisposed to suicide, or at the very least, suffer immensely. Now, I’m the first to accept that there would be many out there who would bully another person for being gay. As a Liberal Party member, there is

indeed a multitude of opinions I find based ine totally misinformed and ignorant foolishness that makes me roll my eyes to no end. But I also know that children are being teased for being ethnic. For being tall. For being short. For being any number of things based on ridiculous reasons. Most often because the bullies get off on the feeling of power and being in control. But therein lies the oddity that is often not really talkedabout.WhydoesSafeSchoolsdealexclusively with the sexualityand gender-related issueswhen there aren’t any other similar programs for other forms of bullying? Some might saythat it’s because young peoplewho are gay, bisexual ortransgender have a greater occurrence of self-harm or family troubles. Even though this is the case, I am skeptical of the assertion that being gay is some awful curse upon a person. However, for all the times we hear Bill Shorten or Daniel Andrews or any number of people say that Safe Schools is all about anti-bullying, here’s something that will make any lefty roll their eyes: it’s not. “But of course it is!” they scream and shout at me when I say this. Well, yes, it is definitely presented as an anti-bullying program, very ostensibly. However, it is not. Now don’t take my word for it. Don’t even take Cory Bernardi’s word for it. Take the word of the woman who wrote the program, Roz Ward, a writer for the Red Flag, and a self-professed Marxist. At a Safe Schools Symposium two years ago, she said these very words:

“[It’s] not about celebrating diversity; not about stopping bullying,” Ms Ward said. “[It’s] about gender and sexual diversity. About same-sex attractive, about being transgender, about being lesbian, gay, bisexual — say the words — transgender, intersex. Not just, ‘Be nice to everyone; everyone’s great’.” Another point raised in the tutorial was that because parents may not approve of this program, they might not sign the now mandatory parental permission slip. One man said something to the effect of “Childrenwho need the program are often

the children who don’t have the parental support at home”, and therefore parental permission is inappropriate.That is theverylogic that the project managerof Safe Schools, Joel Radcliffe espoused at the same event Ward spoke at:

“Parents … seem to have a lot of power [in] schools,” he said. “Parents don’t have the power to shut this down.” The main point of what I’m saying is that the Safe Schools program isn’t just about stopping bullying. It isn’t about supporting gay people or bisexual people or transgender people. It’s about making victims rather than empowering those people to stand up for themselves. And before you pass me off as some psychotic and ‘homophobic’ Conservative of the right-wing of the Liberal Party, I’m a Libertarian gay man who butts heads very regularly with the Right of the Party, who is tired of being cast as some pathetic weakling who needs to have a Marxist write some policy that infantalises me and people like me. When I went through school, most of it without Safe Schools in place, I came across no bullying that was greater than usual for other kids for their own reasons. I went to public school in Campbelltown for goodness sake, and there was nothing extraordinary. The attitude of those in that tutorial and the rest of those who see themselves as the guardian angels of minorities are the problem. They see gays, bisexuals and trans people as quivering sacks of anxiety with precious, snowflake-like feelings and emotions that need to be tended to like a delicate flower. There is no attitude to take a tough love perspective. There is only this idea to coddle and patronise children if they have hurt feelings. Does anyone really think that telling children that they’re all perfect will result in resilient people who can take a nasty word here and there? Quick answer: it won’t.

* The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect those of the Grapeshot editorial team.

continued... Please Can The Homophobes Give It A Rest For A Moment, I’m Getting Bloody Tired

Please Can The Homophobes Give It A Rest For A Moment, I’m Getting Bloody Tired: Some Thoughts On The Safe Schools Coalition Words II Cameron Colwell Trigger warnings: Mental illness; Homophobia; Queerphobia; Pedophilia The time is October 2015, the place is Newcastle’s United Service Club, and I am attending a panel on Australian politics, featuring Tom Ballard and Labor Senator Sam Dastyari. In my chair, sipping my cider from the bar, I’m thinking about how bloody furious I am at the Australian Labor Party. Among other things, I’ve just caught wind that, despite their progressive veneer, they’ve blocked something that would enable marriage equality: A ‘plebiscite.’ I don’t know

the specifics, but I’m tired, it’s embarrassing I can’t marry a future partner, and the LGBTQIA+ community has bigger and more complicated fish to fry. But I came out of that panel firmly against the plebiscite. Sam Dastyari predicted that a) the reignited marriage equality debate would unleash a Pandora’s Box of homophobic discourse onto the public, as we saw in Ireland, and b) probably wouldn’t get much done, anyway. The former has come true, sort of: The Liberal Party has sniffed out The Safe Schools

Coalition (SSC), and has, in recent weeks, launched a verbal assault on the program, and has succeeded in killing its funding. Meanwhile, every vile homophobic rhetorical trope in the dustbin of history has been dredged out and given a new brand: that all of this anti-queer rhetoric is for the good of the children. Here, then, a quick run-down of the highlights: TonyAbbott has decried that teaching high school students that the Gays exist is “social engineering”; some Liberal Party necromancer has raised John Howard out of the pit of political irrelevancy so he can, in one breath, tell the world that the people supporting SSC are out of touch and that the everelusive Middle Australia (probably the true-blue Aussie battlers with six houses worrying about negative gearing, mind you) are concerned about the content of the SSC program; Cory Bernardi has suggested that a program which tells LGBTQIA+ kids it is okay to be who they are automatically means heterosexual students are being bullied into homosexuality; and, apparently getting his queer theoryfrom a 1960s textbook, George Christensen likened the program to paedophile grooming. Writing this article has been a wild ride because, everytime I do mydailynews-check, some newact of Australian homophobia is getting a headline. This is what Dastyari was warning about: now that the floor is open, all the homophobes have been given a licence to express shitty, damaging sentiments about queer people. Seeing all this vitriol in the news is bloody exhausting. Every grey, stern-faced dinosaur in Parliament who needs to share his take to the world at large is adding another stone to my load and that of my friends. What’s particularly insulting about this discussion is that it is being framed as a ‘debate’, but a closer analogy would be a group of monkeys flinging shit at something they don’t understand. It comes down to a continuation of the grand old Australian conservative tradition of seeing something progressive, and bright, and helpful, then blindly cutting it down. God knows none of them are reading up on the kids who’ve been helped by the program. I, for one, know my years of on-and-off sexuality crisis spent in and out of a closet within a revolving door could’ve been a lot better had I had the terms with which

to understand myself, so I think the Safe Schools Coalition’s initiative is a brilliant idea. I suspect my detractors, particularly of the rightwing variety, will think I am being indulgent, that homophobia is over. To that argument, I say that the effects of oppression are more deeply felt by those who experience hardship in other areas: the mentally ill, the financially struggling, those without a happy supportive family. If you’re gay and think the Safe Schools program is too much, I’m willing to bet you didn’t get bullied, or experience rejection, and have the very select privilege of a supportive family environment. To be frank, you’re probably white, cisgendered, and wealthy. The requests from the inquiry saying parental consent should be sought are staunch evidence of the ignorance in privilege: I know heavily-closeted thirteen-year-old me wouldn’t feel comfortable asking for permission to attend one of these sessions. Quite frankly, the men I referenced earlier don’t have a clue what they’re talking about. What they know of queerness is informed by lifetimes spent in homophobic echo chambers. None of these men have ever been a fourteenyear-old questioning the political ramifications of holding his boyfriend’s hand in public; none of these men have had to wonder to choose truth or safety when a well-meaning doctor asks if they have a girlfriend; none of these men have to put up with homophobic abuse hurled out from strangers sitting in passenger seats. I doubt they’ve even had a civil conversation with an expert on queer genders and sexualities. To maintain a narrative of the present discourse being a debate creates a false equivalence – it simply does not make sense. I choose, perhaps optimistically, not to interpret the current fracas as a sign of more and more queerphobia to come, but as the death throes of a line of conservative thought. In short: “We’re Here, We’re Queer, We’d Like You To Please Think About What The Vile Things You Keep Spouting Are Doing To Our Community’s Youth.” * The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect those of the Grapeshot editorial team.

Suit and Tie-Dye: Life ‘After Bob’ WORDS II TOBY HEMMINGS The world’s first Green party was founded in Tasmania over 40 years ago with the Party rising to prominence against the Franklin Dam in the early 1980s. It was founded by activists who took a stand on unpopular environmental issues, people who frequently protested and risked arrest for their beliefs. This year will mark two decades since the first of those activists, Bob Brown, was elected to the Federal Senate with less than 350,000 votes. In the years since, the Greens have, at their peak, won around 1.7 million votes and many more Senate seats along with a critical place in the House of Representatives. Brown’s unflagging belief in the Australian Greens and their cause has helped the party to remain resilient, and rise in the polls. Contrast this with the other minor parties, such as the Australian Democrats, One Nation and the Palmer United Party that have never attained the longevity or stability of the Greens. Butwe nowexist in a time ‘AB’:After Bob. It’s a new age for the Greens, replete with stylish skivvies. The appointment of former GP Richard Di Natale as federal leader is a move to change the public perception of the party. A recent interview with GQ proved this when Di Natale made headlines for acknowledging that politically he remains open to doing deals with everyone – including the Liberals. Why this made such a stir comes down to how the mainstream media paints the Greens. They are frequently portrayed as the leftist extremists who don’t understand “how society works” believing in unrealistic radical policies and placing ideology above practicality. They’re the villainous spoilers of Australian politics according to the Murdoch papers.

It is true that many Greens supporters have traditionally held strong ideological views. But the federal leadership of the party has made moves to expand their appeal to other voting demographics. Consider the rise of Peter Whish-Wilson, who formerly worked for Merrill Lynch on Wall Street and Deutsche Bank in Hong Kong. He brings credibility to the party’s economic policy, something that those who have tried to paint the Greens as a single-issue party have long derided. Think also of Adam Bandt, who spent a decade working at Slater & Gordon and who has a PhD in law and politics. If we relied on media stereotypes alone, these people would not be seen as Greens voters, let alone Greens parliamentarians. The activist heart of the Greens still beats strong, but there is a new sense of political deal making and canniness that accompanies it. A gradual shift in the national consciousness regarding climate change, marriage equality and renewable energy has transformed their policies from ideological pipedreams to both realistic and favourable. Over time, the Greens have come of age and now they look to broaden their audience. Whether the party can connect and sell the idea that the Greens are a viable political party for people of all walks of life to support, not just inner city bohemians and aging hippies, is the biggest question coming into this election. The Greens support humane pragmatic policies that are forward thinking rather than based in tradition. What remains to be seen is if they can get the votes to put them in place.

REGULARS

“Offstage I’m a robot. On stage I achieve emotion. It’s probably why I prefer dressing up as Ziggy to being David”. David Bowie, the celestial vagabond, of the unofficial genre of obscurity, implores us to never stick with the status quo. ‘Like a cat from Japan’ standing tall in the styles of Kabuki, to the solemn aesthetic of The Thin White Duke, Bowie personifies our need to transform. With a legendary pantheon of alter egos, from Ziggy Stardust to the Goblin King, each of us continue to keep a piece of the Star Man close to our hearts in the post-Bowie apocalypse. Here, social standards are not a good starting point, and they never have been for this column. With racks upon racks of satin organza, nylon and clothing with inappropriately placed gaps in fabric left over from Mardi Gras, there has never been a better time than now to embody The Man from Mars.

Grapeshot Fashion: An Ode to Bowie WORDS II ANGELA HEATHCOTE

The year is 1972 when a bisexual alien, decorated in a kaleidoscope of colours, comes to earth with messages of peace and love. With a transformative shell in variations of primary colours, carved to form super galactic shapes, the ones we picture in our heads when we think of extra terrestrial silhouettes, lurking around our rooms, ready to abduct, Ziggy Stardust came to define the times. The knitted jumpsuit, decorated in rainbow zigzags worn throughout the Ziggy Stardust and Aladdin Sane tours, belatedly appealed to the eccentrics of the era to come. Take a class in jewellery making at the coveted Art & Life Workshops, fashioning earrings, chokers and pendants from moonstones, or experiment with colourful resin in a jewellery masterclass. More boldly, disrupt the lines with rhythmic stripes and offthe-shoulder asymmetrical one-pieces. This is where the legacy of Ziggy lies: in a forewarning to never stay within the lines. Sound it out, a Lad Insane - the appropriately titled second instalment in the episodic fantasy starring Ziggy Stardust. An ode to eccentric East Asian designs, the aesthetic of Aladdin Sane was otherworldly. The ebb and flow of the Kimono silhouette, graffitied by provocateurs like Kansai Yamamoto and Yacco Takahashi, an authority on Harajuku style, remain the unspoken heroes of Bowie’s fascination with Japanese forms. C’s Flashback, just off the infamous Oxford strip, is the official rocket launch pad for our endeavour to imitate the covetable style of Aladdin Sane. A cache of flashy eighties prom dresses, a vast collection of gender-bending glam-rock regalia and chromatic one pieces line its passageways. You can be hopeful in your pursuit to unearth something similar to the hypnotically striped

body suit of the 1973 Aladdin Sane Tour, or perhaps a kimono made from oriental fabrics, decorated with Japanese iconography. Bare witness to the silken skin the sultan donned during his performance at London’s Earl Court, printed in Japanese flora. It’s the kind of get up that defines the modern mid life crisis – you know, when your parents transform your room into some kind of new age chantry and walk around in Thai silk two pieces. This perennial longing to stay wrapped in one’s nightwear urges us to truly “live our dreams”. Oriental silks and retro sneakers are an unlikely match made in heaven. So, for those restless sleepers, dig your way through the men’s pyjama department of each and every recycling depot. On the magnetism of the Thin White Duke persona Bowie says, “I’m Everyman. What you see on stage isn’t sinister. It’s pure clown. I’m using myself as a canvas and trying to paint the truth of our time on it...” Cultivating his final sci-fi persona alongside the release of Station to Station (1976), a more inconspicuous interpretation of the man from Mars had landed. Vastly different from Bowie’s affection for everything out of this world, he makes his way back to the rudiments of our everyday lives. His mere mortal camouflage in The Man Who Fell to Earth (1976), which tells the story of a humanoid alien travelling to earth in search for water, parallels this shift in aesthetic. Romantic gestures of ill-fitted white dress shirts eclipsed by collars in classic variations, widebrimmed felt fedoras and simple, sleek black trousers - a pared back creative, returning to the basics. The romantic garb of The Thin White Duke persona stands to be the most attainable. No emphasis on cut, make or tailoring necessary.

QUESTIONS WITH PAUL STILLEN | TATTOO ARTIST WORDS || ANNIE TONG There are two things common to hip-and -happening’ city districts; street art and a hell-uv-a-lot of tattoos. Both are gaining more recognition as legitimate art forms, but they remain contentious. Our appreciation of graffiti is often limited only to commissioned murals, but what about the sprawling works on private property and public transit? Tattoos are more commonly accepted in the workplace, but are they still denoting stereotypes about the person wearing them? One common strand running between these two practices is that they are open to public gaze. They’re on display for public critique, despite being art forms which express personal meaning for individuals or subcultural communities. As an outsider looking in, these meanings can be lost or miscommunicated. So - what better way to find out more than to talk to someone who has moved within both practical spheres? I had a chat with Paul Stillen, Melbourne-based tattooer, about his experiences as a former graffiti artist and his ideologies around tattoo culture.

Could you start by sharing how you initially became involved in graffiti culture? It was pretty much when I started doing work experience in the City, I didn’t get to go there often since I lived in the ‘burbs. I started working in this converted warehouse space and there were tons of graffiti on the outside. I came across this internet forum where people talked about graffiti, and from there I started meeting people and going to shows and whatnot. I

was only 15 at the time, but it was a good way to get out of my suburban upbringing. There were younger and older people all coming together and converging in the city. There were accumulative elements about graffiti that I liked, particularly the anti-authoritarian and anti-law aspect of it. But I think I liked the culture and community around it the most, [laughs] I was never really that good at the actual act of graffiti.

I feel like there’s this tendency to discredit graffiti as ‘real’ art. What are your thoughts on how we construct ideas of ‘high brow’ and ‘low brow’ art? I think it’s got a lot to do with capitalism. What is ‘high brow’ art? It’s commercially viable, it sells for lots of money, it can be collected and traded in an economic sense but anything that doesn’t fit into that is labeled ‘low brow’ art… which I think is bullshit. Art is just pure forms of expression. Graffiti is looked down upon because it doesn’t fit into these neat institutions and it’s not profitable. It’s like, anti society - it’s not out to impress you.

You’re a practicing tattoo artist now, was there are kind of link between your interest in graffiti as a counterculture, and tattooing also as a form of counterculture? The anonymity of [graffiti] meant that I didn’t push myself to be better because it just didn’t matter. I really like that one-on-one personal dynamic, and you can’t get more one-on-one than tattooing. You’re creating art for someone who’s going to wear it for the rest of their life, it’s all on the line… There’s no anonymity.

Why did you get started, and how has your tattoo philosophy developed? I feel like as a kid, I had a vague interest in tattoos like most people do. They’re esoteric - so they’re visually striking, but unless you’re part of the community in which it’s made, it feels off limits. Tattoos invite people to look, but also turn people away because they’re private and people are scared to ask stupid questions. People often come across traditional Japanese

tattoos… or Russian criminal tattoos… or tribal tattoos and think, “yeah sick, I want that too!” What I learned early on is that, yeah the tattoos are cool but it’s because they whole heartedly represent specific people and their culture. You can appreciate their aesthetics, but it only looks awesome when the person wearing it truly is wearing it. My tattoo philosophy comes a lot from being raised in a post-migrant family in Australia. We don’t really have a sense of real national identity or any ongoing tattoo culture, because we are very multicultural. When someone’s like, “I want Russian criminal style tattoos” (something that’s very heavily loaded with historical and socio-political factors) they can cheapen the significance of the style because they’ve never lived that lifestyle. For anyone looking to get a tattoo, I start by searching through visual vocabularies within their own life to find something personally meaningful to communicate.

Would you draw the line if someone came to you asking for a specific cultural tattoo? Yeah, but they can just go to someone else. Tattooing is interesting because it’s like a trade slash art form - it’s both things at once. There are people who would say, “Nah, that’s disrespectful,” but there’s also a trade element of it that’s like, “Yeah cool, that’s money, you’re the customer, I’ll do what you want to the best of my ability.” Personally what gets me off about other tattoo cultures is that the person wearing it within that context gives it power, but taking it outside of that context devalues the style. I’m more about the empowerment of individual self-identities, and I want to facilitate that. I think that these questions have cropped up because tattoos have gone from being a secretive trade to being really mainstream. TV has definitely had a lot to do with the accessibility of tattoos, and Instagram makes it easier to find artists who specialise in certain styles - it’s an auspicious time for tattooing.

Meats vs. Beets - The Vego Debate Meat Eating II MADELINE COX Carnivorous tendencies seem to have become something of a cultural staple in Australia; from ‘throwing another shrimp on the barbie’, to ordering a T-bone the size of a toddler at the local pub. However, while the stereotypes may insist that meat is always on the menu around here, there has been a vocal movement towards vegetarianism and veganism in recent years. Before you let yourself be guilted into skipping your steak, though, you should consider a few of these points. The most frequently touted myth about meateating is that animal consumption equates to animal cruelty. Although there are still issues surrounding the processing of animal products, it’s not quite fair to say that vegetarianism is the only compassionate approach. Over the past few years the conditions in the production of animal products have been given quite a bit of media attention, and the market for free-range products has grown drastically. If you’re buying your animal products from the correct sources, you are not condoning animal cruelty. And it is perfectly possible for an animal to live a calm and stress-free life, and end up on somebody’s plate with a side of mashed potatoes. That’s not cruelty; that’s nature.

Furthermore, meat is incredibly beneficial to the human body; rich in protein and iron. Meat is one of the most convenient sources of these nutrients, especially when you consider that to get the equivalent amount of protein in one can of tuna, you’d have to eat almost half a kilo of tofu. Additionally, iron deficiency is one of the most common issues in young women, and as someone who is iron deficient myself, I can vouch for how crappy it is. You are constantly tired, easily distracted and just generally feel lousy. Upping your meat intake is one of the easiest and most natural ways to balance out your iron stores. Lastly, let’s talk economics. Agriculture and related processing accounts for 12 per cent of Australia’s GDP, making it a billion dollar industry and a hugely significant source of income for a lot of Australians. Farmers, butchers, sales people, even the McDonald’s marketing department all rely on the consumption of meat for a living. Every time you eat meat, you are supporting these people, and that’s pretty great. To summarise, eating meat doesn’t make you ignorant, apathetic, or supportive of industries that harm animals. It’s delicious, nutritious, and economically sound. So, with that in mind, go treat yourself to a nice steak.

Beet Eating II PHILLIP LEASON I have to begin by saying, I’m a lousy vegetarian. I try, but over the last year I’ve found myself often failing to maintain my meat free diet. Meat is tasty and meat is convenient. Even when I was consistent, I didn’t think that being a vegetarian made me a better person; just like the nan who brings cloth bags to the supermarket isn’t necessarily a better person (she’s probably a homophobe). That said, I strongly support vegetarianism and veganism, and as many times as I fail, I’m going to keep on trying to avoid meat.

We’re animals, it’s the cycle of life! Yeah, we are animals, but if I chose to take a shit in a public park somebody is going to call the cops. We’re no longer a part of the natural environment. We humans, at least in developed societies, have removed ourselves completely from natural biological order with social and technological developments, and a conscience. Nothing about progressive humanity reflects our biological origins in the animal world, and nothing about our consumption of meat reflects ‘the cycle of life’. When there are countless other food options, mass farming and slaughtering animals for meat is always going to be cruel. One of the beautiful benefits of developed society is equality. Admittedly we’re still struggling to get there, but that’s what we’re

aiming for. Equality is the goal of vegetarianism and veganism as well: why should it end with humans? Who’s to say that in decades time animal equality won’t be the next frontier.

Do you hate farmers? They’re the backbone of Australia. Equality aside, the environmental impact of Australia’s meat industry will, over the next 20 years, contribute more to global warming than all of our coal fired power stations combined. Meat may contribute to Australia’s economy, but so does coal. It’s as regressive to continue supporting the meat industry in favour of sustainable eating for the sake of our economy, as as it is to reject sustainable energy for fossil fuels. Not to mention how much more food could be produced and conserved if we weren’t eating meat.

How do you tell if somebody is a vegetarian? You wait for them to tell you. We’re meant to be the preachy ones, but every one of the countless arguments I’ve had about meat eating has been started when somebody asks why I’m a vego and then tries to poke holes in my values. Maybe you just think I’m an idiot with a hippie agenda and an inflated ego. That’s fine, I’m probably not going to change your opinion, and I’m definitely not going to lecture you. But if you tell me, for the thousandth time, that ‘Hitler was a vegetarian’, I’ll go for your jugular.

Fitness culture, it’s not for me Words II VANESSA CAPITO When I think about the gym, I go through a range of emotions. Some are positive, but for the most part these emotions fall into the negative category: “I don’t care enough about my body shape,” “It’s boring and lame,” “Blah,” and “Vomit.” I’m so incredibly reluctant to go to the gym, I was even reluctant to start writing this piece, because it was about the gym. Can you feel my vibe? Now, before we get off to a bad start, I’m not hating on the gym per se, or those who go to the gym. Although if you’re one of those people who wears their hair out, or wears make up, I can certainly conclude that we’re very different people and we’d never be friends (but I need to know what setting spray you’re using that means you’re not sweating your face off.) And if it looks like you’re taking a shit ton of steroids: eugh (condolences for the loss of Stereosonic festival though). But my experiences with the ‘personal traineractive-wear-fitness-health food’ cult side of the gym has put me off, all but entirely. Now I find myself constantly wondering why people are obsessed with working out, putting themselves on strict diets and spending huge amounts of money on gym clothes, which they wear even when they aren’t at the gym. While I was working as a chef I would go to the gym at least four times a week; it became a habit, part of my routine. It wouldn’t even bother me waking up early to go before work. But when I started to notice my body getting more and more fatigued from working such long hours, I decided to use a personal trainer to help me strengthen certain parts of my body. This was when things got weird.

to my trainer why I had to cancel our next session, he got pushy, and asked me to come in anyway so he could help work on it. I’m not sure what it was exactly, but I started to feel the creep factor crawl out of him. Mind you, he had recommended I take my clothes off so he could get an accurate measurement of my body. Fucked up hey? (For the record, I said no to that). I stopped answering his phone calls and text messages altogether, and he sent me a message saying, “What happened to us?” – major WTF. A few weeks and numerous Arnold Schwarzenegger quote-related text messages later, I still hadn’t been back to the gym, and had absolutely no desire to go back. Luckily I wasn’t locked into anything with him, and I eventually managed to cancel my contract with that gym altogether, but it doesn’t mean that I’m not still haunted by the fear that I might see that trainer any time I go to Chatswood. Trying to put this experience behind me, I booked another three months of personal training sessions at a different gym because I decided that I wasn’t ‘focused enough on my fitness goals’ (my internal monologue actually featured the phrase ‘fitness goals’.) After forking out $288 a week for two 50-minute sessions, I realised how stupid this was.

Why, as a student, was I spending half of my pay cheque on working out when I was just spending the other half on food and alcohol anyway? It was the worst case of breaking-even possible. Walking into LuLu Lemon to find that it was $70 for a pair of workout shorts, was the final nail in the coffin. Despite my best efforts, I will never have a perfectly flat stomach, nor will I have a wardrobe made up of gym clothes that cost more than my tertiary education.

A few weeks in, I injured my right shoulder, a combination of overusing it at work, and overworking it at the gym. My doctor referred me to a physio and suggested I take a week off work to keep it rested. When I explained

Advice from Fake Dr. Dre WORDS II CAMERON ROSE

you form your own group I have a suggestion: friendship chains. It’s fresh, unique and you can wear them around your wrist instead of your neck which is a mint bonus. Chains always gave me pinch marks on my neck anyway. There’s a regulatory board and they have the potential to shut you down if you aren’t dope enough. Some fool in my posse got caught out the other day, he lost his certification because he didn’t have his jeans at the minimum six inches under the waistband of the boxers.

Hi Dr. Dre, I’m studying music, but I keep losing artistic vision. I’m struggling to find my musical passion, can you give me any pointers to finding my beat? -Stanley

Sup Stan, The first step to finding your beat is Beats™. With quality there can’t be no compromise, that’s why I always insist upon the Beats X Fendi Pro Headphones. They are perfect for the enterprising artist and bring out the best of your talent and your wallet. There’s a reason why you see everybody using Beats™: they are the latest, greatest device of rap brilliance, and I made them available to the world because I know everyone needs the opportunity to feel the beat. Beats® are manufactured to the highest of quality, at the cost of $14 per pair, in China. So you got the Beat(s™), have you got the look? I gotta warn you, things are a bit more up tight in rap nowadays. Now listen, there are of course the essentials like your chains, but you gotta find your own unique way to wear chains. If

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Finally Stan, you have to get yourself a piece and strap yourself. There’s mofos who don’t appreciate your creative purity, and there’s nothing better to make sure they see eye to eye with your talent. You’re in suburban Sydney, an actual weapon isn’t necessary or appropriate Nerf guns do a great job, and they make for a fun time studio break. But as a word of advice, tuck that piece away from the front of your pants, there’s a reason Eazy-E’s voice was the highest. Music now is all shallow, you gotta have the passion, you have to find it. If you’re lost, try just talking to your diary, it works for me. And blast The Chronic through those Beats™ so loud everybody on your train carriage can hear it. It’s just what the Doctor recommended. Peace Stan Dre Out

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hen one thinks of record stores, people tend to picture a bespectacled hipster, riding around on a fixed-wheel bicycle through the streets of Surry Hills. But let’s not stereotype. The people who you might find in a record shop are simply music lovers of all tastes, ages and jeans variations. Take Beatdisc Records; a small, independent record store in an old sixties-era arcade, which has been running for over 20 years in Western Sydney. The shop is owned by Peter Curnovic, who has been working at Beatdisc since 1999 and is jointly staffed by Tom Houlahan. The shop itself is the size of an average suburban lounge room, with records and equipment filling every available space. Thanks to the recent revival of the vinyl record, their Facebook page has over four-and-a-half thousand likes. As of last year, Beatdisc began stocking various audio equipment - from sprays to clean your records, to complete phonograph sets. The clientele is a smorgasbord of music lovers. Visitors include Baby Boomers, right down to younger kids getting into records for the first time. While they have a healthy selection of punk and hardcore records, Beatdisc also has a broad array of genres from comedy records to artists like the Beatles, who some might consider a genre in their own right. The second-in-command at Beatdisc, Tom, tells me “people only find out about us through word of mouth… small independent record shops have a ‘family’ feel, which is a rarity these days”. As a member of Beatdisc’s ‘family’, I have been a semi-

regular visitor since 2010. The first record I bought from here was a Blondie record for only $5. The thing that I remember most is how great the quality and selection was and continues to be, considering that in some cases records are more than 30 years old. As an institution, a family of sorts, Beatdisc is much more than this – they hold live music gigs about once a month. The walls are decorated with vinyl, with everything from Violent Soho’s new album, Waco, to an old seven-inch copy of Joan Jett and The Blackhearts’ I Love Rock ‘N Roll. Posters line the ceiling of the store in a rough, artisanal style which have the same common line-drawn theme to them. This is also reflected in the merchandise that they offer; a certain punk sensibility, if you like, with prices reaching $300 for a Star Wars box set, to the $1 and $2 bargain bins filled with dated seventies and eighties records in questionable condition. Indeed, some are of questionable musical merit, but as everybody knows, music is subjective. These small stores, especially Beatdisc, have a theme that riffs (no, I don’t apologise for that pun) on the idea that these independent record stores congregate feelings of an independent community.

Speaking with Tom, He mentions other record stores, “… like Blackwire and Repressed Records, we all help each other out – usually with things like extra sleeves or packaging”.

in large by younger people, and that by rediscovering their parents’ records, they’re opening an auditory treasure trove of (to reference David Bowie) sound and vision.

Much like their inner-city counterparts, once a month or so, the people behind Beatdisc move all the record shelves outside to make room for an instore gig. This usually turns into an impromptu block party, giving a place for local bands a chance to have their music heard by an appreciative audience, as well as an outlet for local bands to sell their music. Because of this grassroots culture, some local bands have even started releasing music on cassette tapes; purely because tapes are cheap, easy to produce and have been almost entirely forgotten by the general public.

And the live performances? That idea came from a conversation between Pete and a friend, deciding that it would be a great idea to get local bands’ music heard. I also poked him about the possibility of a record label in future. He chuckled, saying it was “on his bucket list”.

When I visited a couple of days later, I managed to have an audience with Peter, the owner of the shop. I asked him about the history and what it was like when he started working there in 1999. Peter explained that there was a bit of everything, including photos – but there were far more CDs…this was the nineties, after all.

“People only find out about us through word of mouth… small independent record shops have a ‘family’ feel, which is a rarity these days” Beatdisc Records has been around for the last 20 years, and is the last record store in Western Sydney. Beatdisc is something very special to me and to many of others – providing great music and friends. One of the hopes that came out of the twentieth anniversary party last year was that the good work that has been done over the last 20 years will continue for as long as it can.

So I asked him, Why the big shift to records? He Beatdisc Records is located at Shop 11, 181 Church explained, “a lot of people are getting into records Street Parramatta, inside the Queensland Arcade because they’re rediscovering tangible goods”. It’s clear then, that the modern vinyl revolution is driven Tell them Max sent you!

THEY CALL IT P S YC H O S I S WORDS || ROSEANNE DERTADIAN

hen you are young, there is this sense of endless possibility. When you have been diagnosed with schizophrenia at age twenty-one, it is easy to see how that feeling could slip away. It is both as easy and difficult to understand that one day I simply woke up and my mind wasn’t there. I had lost it and I have spent every day for the last five years trying to find it again. They call it psychosis. Psychosis feels like you are dying. It feels like your mind is slowly peeling away, like mandarin skins being tossed into a deep, dark bin. On the bad days it feels like you will never get yourself back. It feels like every day is the last day that you will be alive, because there is no way a human organ could withhold so much stress and distortion without imploding. On the in-between days it feels like your synapses are frazzled and the thoughts won’t connect, like you are trying to send an email that keeps returning to your inbox with the message: “Recipient not found”.

And on the good days, you feel like the luckiest person on Earth because you survived it again! And you live like it is your last day alive, because in a way, it could be. You could be gone again in an hour, in a day, in a month. And you MUST not lose this sense of gratitude for this momentary silence. Because in the end, itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s all you have. You spend your nights Googling famous people with schizophrenia, and come across some interesting theories on support forums for people with psychosis (like how schizophrenic people see reality the way it is, while the sane in society are living in an artificial reality which totally imprisons themâ&#x20AC;Ś) Of course, there are things that can be done: medication, a structured meal plan, therapy. But, the medication has side effects like weight gain, drowsiness, anxiety, and anhedonia. And five years later, you find out you will now die 10-20 years earlier than you would have done because the medication you take daily is rotting your liver. And the therapy they make you go to is about restructuring your life around your illness, adjusting your hopes and dreams (realising you will probably never live up to your lifelong fantasies of your future self). But thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s okay, because your schizophrenic brain has taken you to some interesting places, and in a way that makes you feel remarkably, incredibly alive.

The Technical Animal: An Interview With Patrick Jones

WORDS || CAMERON COLWELL

n reading environmental activists Patrick Jones and Meg Ulman’s book, The Art of Free Travel, I was consistently struck with a thought that runs, more or less like, Oh, wow, somebody is actually being optimistic about all this. By ‘this’ I mean climate change, peak oil, mass deforestation, and the other environmental issues caused by human overuse of nonrenewable resources, the existential barrel our generation is staring down. Patrick and Meg are permaculturalists, that is, they live a philosophy of communalsustainability, minimising their harm to the planet. Over a Skype interview, I sat down with Patrick to discuss the book, the environment, and the role of activism. What I’m talking about here is Patrick and Meg’s 400 day journey on the roads of Australia’s East Coast, almost-entirely without petrol, together with their two sons, Zephyr and Woody – or if you want to refer to the whole collective, they are ‘The Artist as Family’.

First, we start discussing Daylesford, the Central Victorian town Patrick and Meg called their home. Here, they commit to a lot of work: Communal gardens, environmental projects and advocate for better bicycles access in the shire. This lifestyle provided the foundation for their trip, which was largely carried out on bicycles. The town is about a 90 minute drive from Melbourne, two hours by public transport, and four days on foot – “I know, because I’ve walked it,” Patrick tells me. I ask him a question a lot of people asked me while I read it, whether he felt unsure about having three-year-old Woody and twelve-yearold Zephyr on the trip. “Yes, we have to bring our kids. It’s impossible to not bring your kids, to not bring everybody for such a long adventure. They learned a lot, especially Woody.” Certainly while reading the book, I was struck by the independence of these kids. There’s a particularly striking photo of Zephyr looking very ‘Bear

Grylls’ after constructing a cubby on a beach out of she-oak. Patrick wants his children to have an ‘autarkic’ education – an education in selfsufficiency. He does stress the importance that Zephyr, on the verge of teenagerhood, has a sense of autonmy: “We’re not purist, but we are strong in our values, and naturally, that’s something he can rail against.” From the personal, we went to the largescale, in a discussion about permaculture – the development of agricultural ecosystems that are sustainable and self-sufficient. Crucial to this is the attitude of stewardship, both of the land and resources. Throughout their journey, The Artist as Family, relied on the wild for food, or else bartered skills for it, developing small ‘economies of regard’ with the communities they met. While reading, I had the thought, They choose to live this way, but soon it won’t be an option for us. Patrick agrees with the idea, stating “There’s almost no food cellaring in the modern world nor skills to grow or forage food.” One point in the book particularly stuck with me, where Jones spoke to an eco-futurist who argued that the future problems of humanity can be dealt with by science, like through colonising the solar system. So when I ask him about the hope of technology, Patrick laughs and relates my question to the analogy of Prometheus, which he believes is a good tool for understanding Western ideals: “Prometheus, the god of total mastery, who stole fire and gave it to humans... It’s given us incredible benefits to cook meat, allowing our brains to expand to incredible size. It makes us godlike.”

Woody and Zaymon, the grandson of Hope Vale elders, are linking hands. Patrick, tears up at the sight and talks about how non-indigenous permaculturalists should look to traditional ways of coexisting on country. He likes the example of William Buckley, an escaped convict who became a fully initiated member of the Kulin nation. This was the spirit his family shared in Hope Vale, making food and medicine brews with other people and sharing knowledge – all in the intimacy of a kitchen.

“non-indigenous permaculturalists should look to traditional ways of coexisting on country” My last question to Patrick asked whether he had a sense of optimism about his activism. He tells me he now does: In his early days as an activist, his actions came from a place of desperation and pessimism, or, in his words, “Hopelessly banging on the doors of power.” Of course, he still does plenty of that, but also he has integrated his activism into a generalist, selfsustaining way of life. This he says has rescued him from the anxiety and negativity that drove him to burnout and has instead empowered him and allowed him to live according to his values.

So while technology has been advantageous, nobody, Jones tells me, remembers Prometheus’s brother, Epimethus, the god of forgetting. What eco-futurists, who he now calls ‘techno-cults’, are forgetting is the damage that technology has caused. While science has led to the erasure of polio and countless other disasters, paired with industry, it has also brought about much disease, resource and lifestyle problems – both to people and the environment. His tone gets personal as he tells me Americans are now being buried in concrete caskets, to prevent the chemicals in their systems from leaking into the earth. I ask him about a photo taken while The Artist as Family were staying at Hope Vale, an Indigenous community in Queensland: In it,

WANDER WOMAN WORDS || ANGELA HEATHCOTE “I’m not sure how I feel about you going by yourself” is the most tiring phrase drawn from the manual of spectacular, guaranteed to pay off parenting. Some of my audience may be thinking, I’m not sure I follow? while you may be breathing sighs in anticipation for what’s to come. I offer you, the girl who once approached her parents about a spontaneous trip to the yonder lands of Africa, or perhaps the girl who prefers to frequent gigs by her lonesome, and especially to the girl who simply likes to ‘walk it off’, an official, bona fide refusal of fear. At eight-years-old, a neighbour and myself ventured to a park approximately three streets away from my own home. We played on slides for hours and easily came to lose track of time. As we shuffled along the gravel towards home, from a distance it became clear that we’d caused an unnecessary amount of commotion. We were met with two police cars and deeply distressed parents. “Is that the one?” the officer pointed to my accomplice, and her parents shrieked, while my own father said, “We weren’t worried about where you were, we just weren’t sure if she was with you”. I have always felt like I have had the freedom to wander: a deep believer in ‘walking it off ‘ as the world’s best offer of panacea. But many women do not feel like this basic freedom is open to them. Traditionally we have been misunderstood as immovable, comfortable or without need for journey. Journey – almost always the rejection of repetition, the rejection of stability in favour of a life lived on the road, out of touch and incompatible with the realities of a housewife, the child bearer. But the hedonistic heroines of the road are yet to be paid their dues. Erotica, self-indulgence

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and rejection of the life laid out for them in favour of uncertainty. These are the stories of women. However, these stories only ever manifest alongside those of the male protagonist. Into the Wild, despite being a more than reputable text, could not possibly continue as the most crucial narrative of the enigmatic female wanderer. In the last decade these stories have gained serious furore, and women are beginning to tire of the same old stories. Becoming increasingly frustrated with the lack of roles offered to women over 30, Reese Witherspoon, along with Australian producer Bruna Papapandrea, launched Pacific Standard and within two years we have Gone Girl and Wild. Both titles, adaptations of widely successful books, feature restless women – unsettled and determined. Take Cheryl Strayd’s Wild: From Lost to on the Pacific Crest Trail which is absolutely transformative: “I knew that if I allowed fear to overtake me, my journey was doomed. Fear, to a great extent, is born of a story we tell ourselves, and so I chose to tell myself a different story from the one women are told. I decided I was safe. I was strong. I was brave. Nothing could vanquish me.” Still, the massive body of literature that reinforces this regressive world view remains and is taught in universities and schools. These stories are most recognisable in the likes of Jack Kerouac’s On the Road –“Nothing behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so on the road” is totemic of the unease of the forties to fifties. Those idealistic writers and artists that dreamt of bloody feet and scorched skin in the name of finding one’s self, are now known as the Beat Generation. A lack of morale in the aftermath of World War II, blindly leading a gag of male vagabonds into the unknown. SPOILER ALERT: The semiautobiographical character of Jack Kerouac’s ‘Sal’ reflects upon his life in old age, satisfied that he has experienced an America only revealed to the most fearless. Despite what popular culture may tell us, this is not a uniquely male restlessness, nor was it all those decades ago. The satisfaction of Sal’s old age selfreflections, today, is something we all covet. Take for instance, the ultimate Manhattan Beatnik Diane di Prima who was almost routinely harassed by

the authorities for the vulgarity of her poetry. She, regardless of her times, wrote Memoirs of Beatnik, an honest recollection of a hidden bohemia not yet entirely on the offering plate for women. Later on, culturing students at the Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poets alongside Ginsberg and the infamous William Burroughs, di Prima remains a beacon of light.

“Fear, to a great extent, is born of a story we tell ourselves, and so I chose to tell myself a different story from the one women are told. I decided I was safe. I was strong. I was brave. Nothing could vanquish me.” There has been no better time than now to reinforce these lessons. Prabha ArunKumar – stabbed in Parramatta Park last year after deciding to walk home from work. Masa Vukotic – stabbed in Melbourne’s Doncaster Park last year. An inspector said, “This is part of her routine... Like a lot of us she’s just out there walking and trying to stay fit. It’s just tragic you can’t do that today.” Even more reprehensible is the case of Jill Meagher who, in 2012, was brutally raped and murdered walking home from drinks with a few friends. In the aftermath, a prominent Melbourne priest conceded that had Jill Meagher’s faith been stronger, she would have been “home in bed” and not walking the streets. Fear and inadequacy continue to weigh on our ability to walk along our own paths, rather than the one forged from centuries of misinterpretation currently being reinforced by the violent realities of Australia. This kind of ultimatum, here foisted by a prominent figure of the Catholic Church, has been repeated to a point of nausea. This kind of undisturbed inertia simply doesn’t exist for we all, at some point in our lives, desire to move between places. This is by no means a total disregard of feelings for structure and homeliness, because naturally these also exist, but since that side of the spectrum hardly lacks consideration, this piece is a permission note with a forged signature. Lately, I find myself looking over my shoulder more, frightened by my own shadow. My own friends have grown accustomed to this idiosyncrasy, no longer offering me rides home when they catch me walking late at night, however with the slightest snap of a twig I’d wish they were near.

BORSCHT WORDS || YEHUDA AHARON

hen I boil borscht, it all seems so familiar. The sweet and sour smell, the broth, the warmth and satisfaction - yet I have only had it once before. It’s a food I’ve read about, heard stories about but never known. Many people from an immigrant background experience their culture through food, but it’s with a sense of despair that I realise I have no idea how to reproduce it. My mother knows the landscape of food that I want. She grew up speaking Yiddish and swearing in Russian. They had borscht on Wednesdays and ate their bread with schmaltz – but I grew up on plain pasta and beans. We ate cereal for breakfast and packed bland sandwiches for lunch. I don’t have any schoolyard stories where I was picked on for my strange foods. I wish I did. There was nothing special about our diet and while my maternal grandfather used to set milk out in the sun for a day and serve it with boiled potatoes, my dad never grew up with that. He preferred the bland English food that 34 6 || Contents

cannot decipher it. Instead I look up a recipe on the internet. Borscht is a Russian staple. It’s popular because of its rich taste and easily attainable ingredients. On Google, there is little mention of anything Jewish. There is no mention of rich merchants feeding paupers borscht on Passover, nor Herschel of Ostropol, a beggar who made borscht from a stone. Borscht from a stone? Herschel was a cunning beggar and vagrant whose stories have entered Yiddish folklore. “It’s coming along very well”, he told his stingy hostess, “it just needs some salt.” How could she deny him that? Salt costs almost nothing and he was making borscht from a stone. his mother adopted, hoping her children would never be identified as Jews in the event of another Holocaust. Still, there was no hiding his history from him and when his yearning came he delved into the world of the Hasidim, donning a black hat and growing his beard out. Much like my father, I left all that behind. I took my hat off, I ‘forgot’ to tell the barber that he should not cut my peyot. Eventually, I learnt about non-Jewish music, dressed in denim and did everything like everybody else.

Now, the morals behind the stories seem so outdated, but I still want to know the food so that what little remains of my identity doesn’t disappear into the aether of meat pies and pavlova. My late grandmother’s recipe book is no easy thing to follow. The writing is scrawled in a manner that looks so archaic, on paper faded, splashed with broth and tea and love but still I

“Yes, yes.” He would say, “I can really taste it, but maybe if it had some onions, it really needs some onions…” She gave him the onions. When I make the sloppy soup in the kitchen, I have the radio on. I don’t sing their songs, I don’t wear their clothes and I follow a recipe from the internet, but I add a little of my grandmothers habits in. I use “some cabbage” instead of a quarter, I put in two or three beetroots. My grandmother’s recipe says “maybe tomato?” and who am I to question that? To finish things off I put in freshly chopped dill and a large dollop of cream, because if my grandmother was richer that’s exactly what she would have done. My mother comes into the room and tells me it smells like her old home. She doesn’t spring out the Yiddish because we wouldn’t understand, but I bet she’s thinking it. We both take a taste and I’m really impressed with myself. She tells me that it is too salty, too fatty and that she has to watch her cholesterol. Still, my mother tells me, her mother’s was better.

Art Therapy with Hussein Nabeel

CREATIVES

ARTIST STATEMENT I have been shooting with 35mm film for almost a year now. Two things influence my work as a photographer: the hardcore music scene and the close bonds I have with my friends who live interstate. I aim to create an element of nostalgia within my photographs – moments don’t last forever, but your film negatives do. I shoot with film because it truly captures the moment as it unfolds and, unlike DSLP photography, the process of carefully selecting what to photograph, and how to shoot it, gives each picture a substantial amount of meaning. Anyone can take a good photo of a digital camera. Film isn’t easy, that’s why I shoot with it – to add value to what I’m choosing to photograph. It’s very DIY and unconventional, and that’s what draws me to it. By going to hardcore shows, I’ve met so many creative people who shoot with film and they have influenced me immensely. Hardcore music and the people involved in the scene are a constant inspiration and the positive mental attitude is what keeps my artistic process alive. Go to an op shop, buy a $4 camera, take photos of your friends (and listen to your local hardcore bands). WORDS || AMANDA BURGESS

WHITE WORDS || ISABELLE MESSENGER

All he knew was whiteness. In waking, it enveloped him, smothering his thoughts and leaving him stark and empty. In his dreams, it was there still. Behind closed eyelids, alarming whiteness stole over the usual black. Always, it was there, restricting and ridding him of any part of himself. There were other colours once. He remembered them, though did not know them anymore. Far, far away, in the extremities of his mind, were faint impressions of them. The soft blue of a baby’s blanket, a yellow flower petal, a peach dress. There were the colours that he did not like to remember. Violet. Deep crimson, engulfing him. Flashing red, then navy blue, and complete, sterile grey. These colours were not warm like the others, but bold and sharp and painful. And he knew that the whiteness always followed them. There was a beeping noise. Footsteps approached him, and he sensed someone there, bending over him. Voices, muffled. A brief stinging sensation. Then he was left alone again with the whiteness. Time passed, and thoughts stirred lazily about in his head. The whiteness, he thought, was not actually so white.

Was it ivory? Cream? Vanilla? He couldn’t pin it down, this white was elusive. It flitted about, shifting and changing. Now it was pearl, beige, magnolia white. But then shapes began to form in the white, and he grew anxious. The palms of his hands became sweaty, and his heart thumped in his chest as the shapes grew clearer. Moving viciously in an attempt to be rid of them, his sluggish muscles strained with little progress. He could not move, he realised, because he was bound. A smooth, leather cord stretched across his arms and legs. Confusion at this only spurred him in his thrashing. “Relax. We’ve put you on strong sedatives. But you’re waking up now.” The voice pierced the retreating whiteness, sounding strange and alien. He stopped thrashing. The shapes were sharpening now, coming into focus as his vision cleared. Chairs and a table. No windows. Everything neutral in colour. People in white lab coats stood looking down at him. He tried to speak, but no sound came from his dry throat. “Vincent, can you hear us?” It was an older man who spoke, a serious expression behind his silver beard and bespectacled face. Again, Vincent tried to speak, and this time, he succeeded in some unintelligible croaking.

“Thank you for that.” Said the man. A red-haired woman scribbled something on a clipboard. “Now, you’re probably very confused,” continued the man, all the time speaking slowly and carefully. “But you needn’t worry. We’ll look after you, and be with you every step of the way.” This only aided Vincent’s confusion, and he now thrashed and strained more wildly than ever. Spit trickled out of his open mouth. The people in the room moved too, a young woman going to the table and returning with a syringe. Vincent felt the sting on his arm as the fine tip broke his skin, and once again the people in the room faded, dissolving into whiteness. The dreaded whiteness! It clouded his vision. Clouds are white. But his mind did not feel soft and fluffy like a cloud – no, it hurt now. Not like before. Vincent drifted. He was awake sometimes, and asleep at others. Memories began to swim back to him, not just the colours, but other things too. He remembered being a little boy, riding his green bicycle in circles on the tarmac. He was a young man, a woman, smiling, was at his side. Vincent felt content at these memories; they were so soft and familiar, yet at the same time distant and incredibly delicate.

There was sadness. The woman was crying, her pretty face streaked with tears. He felt numb and empty. She yelled at him, and he stood silently while she sobbed. The scene changed. He was talking to her. “We’re not safe.” He said. His voice was scared and urgent. It was funny to hear it again. “Come.” He reached to grab her arm, and she shrunk away from him, wide-eyed. Then the scene was different, yet again. Anger – hot, smoldering anger – coursed through his veins. He punched the wall, not her. And then the sadness rolled over him again. This time, it overwhelmed him. He was surrounded by blood, his blood. Men came, rushing, tried to restrain him. He resisted, clawing and kicking. His fingernails dug into flesh. Finally, he was in the present, lying restrained and awake, in the bed. He felt calm. There was a tentative knock on the door. A young woman entered, soft honey curls framing a face that was pale and lined. She stood, watching him nervously, wearing a peach dress and clutching a small bunch of lavender wrapped in foil. Vincent sighed.

After Vincent had processed such memories, newer ones came to the surface.

“Rose.”

Dissonance WORDS || IRENE PHAN

I’m sprawled on the grass with an empty bottle in one hand and my mind a million miles away. I can feel the grass pushing against the back of my thighs, trying to keep me tethered to this reality, but I so badly want to cut it all loose and just float away into the darkness and join the stars above me. I look up at the sky; a never-ending, all consuming expanse. I can feel the tears slide off the sides of my face and I let out a laugh. A shadow of a laugh anyway. Everything about me seems to be a shadow of what I once was and a part of me wants to become whole again, to be the Laia everyone could depend on. But in all sincerity, I’m not sure where or who she is anymore and whether or not she’s worth saving. My eyelids start to droop and I welcome the tug of sleep. It’s the only time my thoughts are less loud. I’m halfway there when a trail of light cuts across the night sky. I fight the fog clouding my brain and squint into the darkness. A shooting fucking star. There’s a voice inside my head telling me to make a wish. I think it’s the old Laia. Most of the time, I drown her voice out, but I figure it couldn’t hurt to listen to the old me once in a while. So I squeeze my eyes shut and pour all of what’s left of me into this wish. I pour all the heartache and pain and tears into this star, hoping that wherever it soars to, my wish will come true. When I’m done, I stay where I am a little longer. I start to wonder if I’m an idiot, wishing upon what is probably a meteorite – something that would hit the earth and destroy whatever’s in its proximity without a care for anything. Something awfully like me.

REPEAT OFFENDERS

THE S-TUNES REVIEW || PHILLIP LEASON The most vital thing about a bar isn’t the booze – you can mix a drink at home for half the price. It’s the vibes. Nothing sets the tone of a casual drinking spot like the music. And it’s the choice of music, how well it fits with the bar’s décor and clientele, that is make or break. I visited a few small bars around Sydney and assessed how well the tunes go down.

THE DOCK

182 REDFERN ST, REDFERN Mon-Sat: 3pm- midnight, Sun: 3pm-10pm “If you can’t draw a crowd draw dicks on the wall.” Well, the walls, and ceiling, of ‘the smallest bar in Redfern’ are replete with dicks – they’re all chalkboards. With a limited list of cocktails and just two microbrew beers on tap, The Dock feels humble and friendly, but it’s not for everybody. The catch is their playlist: a mix of guilty pleasures and cringeworthy hits from the nineties and noughties. The rousing, full bar rendition of ‘My Heart Will Go On’ I experienced in my visit was equal parts the best and worst thing I’ve witnessed on a night out. This is what happens when irony goes a step too far and the reason that the gentrified ‘hipster culture’ of areas like Redfern is mercilessly mocked. But it’s beautiful, in a strange, loathsome way. So if you’re willing to run the risk of hearing ‘Pretty Fly for a White Guy’, this place worth a visit. 3.5/5

CHING-A-LINGS

1/133 OXFORD STREET, DARLINGHURST Mon: Closed Tues & Wed: 6pm-11pm Thur-Sat: 6pm-1am Sun: 5pm-10pm Ching-a-Lings is a low key hip hop joint, with a bustling balcony space, a small bar area and hundreds of burned out light bulbs hanging from the ceiling. They serve classic cocktails and iconic hip hop drinks, and have regular appearances from turntablists: it’s a good time for any beats fan. So you can sit in the corner booth with your crew, sippin’ $5 gin and juice and free-styling over the phre$h beats, watch old hip hop-umentaries projected on the wall inside, or wiggle your toes on the balcony. It has a tendency to be hit-and-miss though. A few times I’ve found myself the only one in the empty bar, gin and juicing in awkward silence, so make sure you check their upcoming events and go on the right night. 3/5

SHADY PINES SALOON

SHOP 4, 256 CROWN STREET, DARLINGHURST Mon-Sun: 4pm-midnight Tucked in the laneway behind American Apparel, with a discreet whitewashed door, Shady Pines Saloon is a hipster’s wet dream. Inside is a low-lit wooden space that Ace Ventura fans would label “a lovely room of death”. What must amass to literally tons of taxidermy hang from the walls with peanuts, in the shell, sit at the bar. It typifies the classic Western saloon. Americana, blue grass, and all around bumpkin goodness is constantly blaring through their speakers; the music fits perfectly. Make it on a Sunday and you’ll catch this all being performed by live bands. They have a list of quirky cocktails that rotate seasonally, and loads of whiskeys and bottled beers to choose from. The only drawback is it gets packed, and the mood music is at times a bit too loud. 4/5

FILMS EYE IN THE SKY REVIEW || CHARBEL ZADA

be consumed in moderation), but it definitely does justice to the original. It’s enjoyable regardless of whether you’ve seen the original or not, but it’s sometimes sentimental to a fault, and won’t offer much if the first film didn’t interest you. 3/5

ZOOTOPIA REVIEW || ERIN RUSSELL Eye in the Sky is a wonderfully claustrophobic thriller about drone warfare in South Africa and the moral, ethical and legal consequences. Aaron Paul, Alan Rickman and Helen Mirren headline this clever film that meshes the two storylines of British Colonel Katherine Powell (Helen Mirren) and a young Kenyan girl named Alia (played brilliantly by young actress Aisha Takow) selling bread in the kill zone. The film traverses both stories to prop up the moral dilemma of drone warfare. This is not a black and white story with clear cut heroes and villains: it’s about people operating in all different shades of grey, where the costs are just as great as the benefits. Ultimately these two storylines heartbreakingly converge, and the audience is confronted with the moral question: Are we prepared to live with the costs of collateral damage for the greater good? 4/5

MYBIGFATGREEKWEDDING2 REVIEW || ISABELLE MESSENGER

It won’t not win any Oscars, but if you’re in need of light, goodnatured entertainment, then the long awaited My Big Fat Greek Wedding 2 won’t disappoint. Set some years after the original, the film follows the now middle-aged Toula (Nia Vardalos) and her husband Ian (John Corbett), and their larger-than-life Greek family. It doesn’t stray far from the first movie: there are plenty of cringeworthy moments, some classic Windex jokes and another big fat Greek wedding, but there’s an added coming-of-age element, as Toula’s disgruntled teenage daughter Paris (Elena Kampouris) comes to terms with her invasive family while dealing with young love.

My Big Fat Greek Wedding 2 doesn’t do anything revolutionary or raise many big questions (except whether baklava can ever

Although cartoons are traditionally seen as children’s movies, Zootopia is anything but. Under the guise of a children’s comedy it explores issues around race and class, with anthropomorphised animals to keep the kids (and more juvenile adults) entertained. The movie follows diminutive police rabbit, Judy Hopps, the smallest member in her squad of rhinos, elephants and lions, on a mission to find a lost otter which leads her into the middle of a state-kept secret. The animation in Zootopia is stunning, it’s packed with zany one liners, and there’s a tiny mafioso shrew in the Godfather role; what more could you want from a film? In fact I have no complaints about it at all. It’s a movie of determination and friendship, and a reminder that even the smallest bunny can make the biggest changes. Zootopia has something for everybody. 5/5

BOOKS AMERICANHOUSEWIFE HELEN ELLIS

REVIEW || JOSEPHINE FENN While all of the stories are entertaining, there are two that stand out to be particularly brilliant. The first of these, ‘The Wainscoting War’, chronicles a relatively mundane email conversation between two housewives about the redecoration of a shared hallway between their apartments. The story grows manic and murderous, and it’s guaranteed to have you doubled over in a mix of shock and laughter. The other, ‘Pageant Protection’ resonates with everybody who has ever seen an episode of Toddlers and Tiaras. It follows a woman kidnapping (or as she calls it, ‘rescuing’) children from the clutches of their deranged Southern pageant moms, and bringing them to New York City to experience a life free from sequined dresses. The story crafts itself around the phenomenon of missing pageant princesses, and highlights not only on the protagonist’s insane form of philanthropy, but the industry’s ridiculousness. This story, much like the others, will have you both chuckling and raising your eyebrows in horror. Perhaps the most endearing aspect of the collection is the fact that it is dominated by women; something largely unseen even in modern literature. Ellis inverts the traditional patriarchal narrative with housewives as the lead characters and the men in their lives playing supporting roles. It may seem as if Ellis is looking to critique the frivolous nature of American housewives, but in allowing the plot to rest so heavily on these women she instead comments on the complexity and intricacy of their existence. Ellis provides voice, duality, and substance to the types of women who are so often dismissed as lacking such qualities.

Helen Ellis’ recently released short story collection, American Housewife, features 12 brilliantly honest yet bizarre accounts of womanhood in the 21st century. The stories included in this eclectic compilation float through genre, and encompass an array of anecdotes, ranging from one woman’s experience competing in a reality television show called Dumpster Diving with the Stars, to the struggle of an author attempting to reach deadlines for a novel endorsed by Tampax. The one common element across all of the stories is a deconstruction of a well sculpted façade, providing insight into the elusive, complicated lives of the American housewife. This hilariously twisted collection is easily devoured, and it will leave you wanting more of Ellis’ deranged wit.

The collection is skilfully crafted and wickedly funny, but, given the eclectic nature of the 12 stories, there’s bound to be at least one that isn’t to the particular of an individual reader. This is a common critique of compilations covering such a diverse breadth of topics and genre, but even if one or two of the stories aren’t to your liking, the brilliance of American Housewife lies in the fact that there is a story in there for almost every reader. Overall, this hysterically clever compilation is absolutely transformative, and I recommend it not just to women, but to every reader looking to broaden their understanding of modern women and to laugh while doing so. 4.5/5

MUSIC

PRIMAL SCREAM CHAOSMOSIS (ALBUM) REVIEW || MIKHAYLA TROP Knowing little of Primal Scream’s extensive back catalogue, the process of appreciating and reviewing Chaosmosis wasn’t really straight forward. On first impressions, the album is shiny, maybe a little bit superficial – perhaps a tad safe. If I didn’t know the whole range of circumstances behind the album I would’ve been tempted to just write it off as reliable but not sensational. Some understandable choices were made for a newer audience, like teaming up with Sky Ferreira on ‘Where The Light Gets In’ (she’s got that preppy-pop thing nailed in a really subtle way). It’s a great strategic move, and both Ferreira’s and vocalist Bobby Gillespie’s apathy save the bright eighties’ pop from being overpowering. As a whole, Chaosmosis is well balanced in this way, like what Primal Scream has produced in the past - ranging from hostile acid dance music to psychedelic sixties’ pop, always with a solid rock influence. I came to appreciate some of their more folky songs with a little more substance, you could say that same upbeat brightness was evident in ‘Trippin’ On Your Love’, but not really present in much else. The eerie, Nine Inch Nails style synths I expecting pop up now and then, particularly on ‘When The Blackout Meets the Fallout’, but at just 1:48 in length it feels a little inorganic, like it’s been shoved in just to create a brief spell of darkness. At the end of the day, Chaosmosis didn’t blow my mind, but it made for easy listening. Pristine, predictable beats with some well choreographed cohesion always leave me with some sort of satisfaction, but the tidiness and restraint got a little tedious. So, my first assessment stands: reliable but not sensational. My preference definitely lies with their last release, More Light.

SUFJAN STEVENS ILLINOIS (10TH ANNIVERSARY ‘BLUE MARVEL’ REISSUE) (ALBUM) REVIEW || PHILLIP LEASON There were a lot go huge albums released this month, but the one I deem most worthy of mention is actually 10 years old. April 1st marked the official 10th anniversary reissue of Sufjan Steven’s lIllinois (or Sufjan Stevens Invites You To: Come On Feel the Illinoise). The 74 minute epic blends humble folk tunes with sprawling orchestral arrangements to craft 22 enthralling songs. It’s tragic and comical, grandiose and catchy as hell, and the original lo-fi recordings have been spruced up with tasteful re-mastering. Through his prolific 15 year output, Sufjan has proven difficult to connect with emotionally. His lyrics have been masked by his anecdotal narratives, distracting metaphors and obtuse song titles. He established himself as an intellectual and musical monolith, and not the musician to rely on to commiserate your times of struggle. That was until last year when he released Carrie & Lowell, a tribute to his, now deceased, estranged mother. The album, and series of interviews he did in the lead up to its release, detailed his peculiar upbringing, fractured family relationships, and fraying emotional wellbeing, and lifted the veil from his back catalogue. All of the metaphors fell into place. So, 10 years on, there’s never been a better time to appreciate the complex narratives in his personal and historical tribute to the state of Illinois. Even if you weren’t one of the lucky ones to grab a vinyl reissue (there were only 10 000 copies pressed), this is your reminder to set aside 74 minutes to Feel the Illinoise, be it for the first time or the 100th. 5/5

GAMES || APPS THE DIVISION

TRIPVIEW- SYDNEY

REVIEW || MATTHEW DANIELS

REVIEW || AURA LEE

Tom Clancy’s The Division is the dankest co-op experience I’ve played in quite some time. If you have a group of friends that play games together you need to get The Division. If you like to play games online with a group of strangers, you need to get this game. The Division is the perfect blend of a cover based shooter and an MMORPG with its smooth and intuitive cover system, random loot generation, and elite/ heroic enemies. The Dark Zone is the PvP area of the division; it’s where to go for the best loot. If you have a group of up to four players who have decided to work together, there could be up to seven more groups sharing this same space. You have to compete for resources, which leads to some interesting interactions with other players. For instance you could be fighting together with another group against a wave of NPCs, when suddenly the other group decides to start shooting at you. Now you’re fighting on two fronts and it’s a madcap battle to try and keep your group alive. This isn’t to say the game doesn’t have its flaws, the Ubisoft servers need a serious upgrade as there tends to be massive lag spikes at least four times a day. These lag spikes can cost you an hour or two of progress if you die in the Dark Zone. Additionally, the dialogue in missions spoken by random NPCs is pretty bad. It can be a bit jarring, especially since the rest of the game has such a good aesthetic with a lot of attention to detail when it came to recreating Manhattan. I personally had been looking forward to this game for quite some time and I wasn’t disappointed. With such a high emphasis on co-op gameplay and three major content updates slated for this year, I won’t be putting down The Division for a long time. 4/5

I know all you public transport travellers know what this app does but the question is, do you have the full or lite version? Are you entering your trips manually, every single time? If so, I feel bad for you, son. Now, I know the thought of forking out $4.49 on any app is horrifying: it’s usually free or fucking nothing, but I assure you that you need this in your life. Unlike the lite version, the full version of TripView saves your trips. That’s it, the only difference. It’s a swindle, but you’ll never again have to waste time whilst running to catch your train to stop and gauge whether it’s actually worth sweating it (it isn’t). 5/5

KENDALL AND KYLIE REVIEW || RAVEENA RANDHAWA Kim’s app is better. There, I said it. As soon as Kendall and Kylie’s characters were introduced on Kim Kardashian: Hollywood, fans were hoping the sisters would get an app of their own. The story is incredibly similar to Kim’s game. You start from the bottom and work up to become a celebrity. The only differences are communication through texts instead of calls, and gaining followers on an Instagram-like platform, rather than Twitter. The best part about this game is the edgier clothing, and hair options that scream Kylie Jenner, which I’m sure fans appreciate. Unfortunately the interface of the app feels clunky and there’s lots more product placement. It feels like a cheaper version of Kim’s app, which is no easy feat considering they’re both free to download. However the app is still fairly new, I’ll check back in once they fix the software bugs to reduce lag and improve quality. I dropped my Kendall and Kylie avatar like last season’s Givenchy but I’ll never give up on my Kim Kardashian game. 2/5 Kardashians

HOROSCOPES WORDS || VANESSA CAPITO

TAURUS

Make sure to keep hydrated this month, not for any particular reason, though. Live the rest of the month with this philosophy. Just be sure to keep ya pants on when you leave the house.

GEMINI

Feel like dropping some sick beats, but don’t have any cold virus left in you to spread? Don’t worry, I’m sure someone else somewhere is sneezing without covering their mouth.

CANCER

Remember when you got lost, deep on YouTube? I bet you do Cancer. You’re dirty little habit needs to stop, or does it? I don’t know to be honest.

LEO

You should feel slightly bad for the kid you made fun of for running to class. It’s okay to be keen about life, Leo, especially if it’s about the new all day Macca’s breakfast.

VIRGO

Go ahead and get a plastic bag, go ahead and pick up all the cash, you danced all night girl you deserve it. Or do you? Your arabesque was shocking. Work on that.

LIBRA

Yes, you share the same name with a sanitary product brand, but come on, you save the day for all girls everywhere. Soak up the negativity in your life.

SCORPIO

Already missed the first 203589 quizzes for this semester? Join the club, but don’t let it set the tone for the rest of your semester. This is the semester of Scorpio. Do you!

SAGITTARIUS

An apple a day keeps the doctor away so don’t spare on the red little gems of life. And don’t spare on the green either. It’s about the inclusion. Just not with your doctor.

CAPRICORN

If you know who Cameron Dallas is, shame on you, but fair. That shit excuse for a song is catchy as fuck. Speaking of catchy, don’t beat around the bush without protection.

AQUARIUS

Thinking about going for a swim this month? Go for it! It’s in your nature Aquarius. Just be careful; take some floaties or an inflatable swan, it’s c00l now.

PISCES

That cutie you were checking might not be looking your way but don’t put all your eggs into one basket. Share your love around and spice up a life, but only if you want.

ARIES

As you get older, you might find the dairy is no long your friend. You might also find that a lot of things are your friend, like tequila, or gin or vodka.

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