The Red Bulletin_1109_IR by Red Bull Media House

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AN ALMOST INDEPENDENT MONTHLY MAGAZINE /NOVEMBER 2009

The Girl with the

Golden Gloves Sweat, blood and ďŹ ghting talk on Katie Taylor's Olympic medal quest

Exclusively with the Belfast Telegraph on the first Tuesday of every month

Wacky Races Inside Formula One's craziest-ever season

Super Fly Guy The sky's no limit for Red Bull Air Race Champ Paul Bonhomme

Hulk v Beast Eric Bana's Mad Max car obsession

This magazine flies, fights and surfs a Brazilian bore wave! See page 5

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BULLHORN

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COVER PHOTOGRAPH: THOMAS BUTLER. HAIR AND MAKE-UP: AISLING EYRE

FULL FORCE The tensile strength of the bones in a human hand is stronger than that of concrete, apparently. We have this on good authority, as The Bulletin’s resident physicist, Dr Martin Apolin, tells us so, in his explanation on page 26 of how a Karate dan is able to smash concrete blocks with his bare fists. What he doesn’t add (’cos we didn’t ask him) is that this silent strength is also one of the factors behind the frankly terrifying ability of the ostensibly winsome Katie Taylor (aka ‘The world’s best female boxer’ and this month’s cover star) to pulverise her opponents into submission in a dizzying flurry of fist-work. She’s a fearsome lass, is our Katie (see p52): 60kg of the leanest, meanest muscle ever to hail from Bray, Co Wicklow, and destined, almost certainly, to become its most famous export. She’s a copper-bottomed gold prospect, y’see. Indeed, she’s so good at her sport (record: 62 fights, 61 wins) it would be a wise man who nipped down to the bookies now and placed a sneaky fiver on her winning sport’s most-prized gong at London 2012. (How’s that from a free magazine – who said you never get anything for nothing?) Away from the leather and sweat of the boxing ring, we soar with Red Bull Air Race World Champion Paul Bonhomme (p44), who can thread an aerobatic plane through an obstacle course, at 200mph, better than most can thread needles. A rare kind of skill for a man happy to admit his training diet includes chocolate – to reduce the stress he feels when he can’t eat it! And continuing our theme of speed, we take a light-hearted look back at one of the craziest seasons Formula One has ever known (p68), while also catching up with a young man, Daniel Ricciardo (p34), whose career trajectory is carving a perfect arc towards motorsport’s highest echelon. Rocking your world yet? No? Well, this should: we’ve spent time with hot LA band The Bronx – or Mariachi el Bronx (p90), depending on which of their egos they’re preferring to alter. And if that little lot isn’t good enough for you, don’t come complaining, or else we’ll send Katie round for a chat…

Your editorial team

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CONTENTS

WELOME TO THE WORLD OF RED BULL Inside your all-action Red Bulletin this month…

Bullevard

10 PICTURES OF THE MONTH 14 NOW AND NEXT What to see and where to be in the worlds of culture and sport 20 KIT EVOLUTION It would make no sense for a timepiece to be timeless, so the stopwatch has changed unrecognisably since its first incarnation 25 WHERE’S YOUR HEAD AT? Goldie, the DJ with those teeth, is also a roller-blading, art-creating classical music composer. Where do we start? 26 WINNING FORMULA Karate chopping through concrete may sound like a superhero stunt, but mere mortals can do it. Here’s the science behind the blow

29 LUCKY NUMBERS The first clown in space cuts a surprisingly sensible figure. But then he’s Cirque du Soleil creator Guy Laliberté 30 ME AND MY BODY MotoGP maestro Dani Pedrosa talks broken bones, mangled muscles and the piece of knee that never made it back from the track

Heroes

34 DANIEL RICCIARDO The newly crowned F3 champion is a chirpy 20-year-old Aussie with reason to smile: his blistering pace this year is paving the way for a Formula One future

38 HERO’S HERO Australian surf superstar Mick Fanning lost his older brother in a car crash, but says Sean will always be with him in spirit 40 ORSON WELLES The man who made the ‘best film ever’ aged 25 was once a big-screen hero, but his own story has anything but a Hollywood ending 44 PAUL BONHOMME The speedy Brit, who took the 2009 Red Bull Air Race World Championship after two seasons in second place, is fresh from victory (is that Mumm we can smell?) and ready to discuss flying like a swan, becoming a father and his chocolate diet 06

CONTENTS

Action

52 KATIE TAYLOR Ireland’s biggest hope for a 2012 boxing medal comes in the unlikely form of a softly spoken 22-year-old. And yes, she is a girl PHOTOGRAPHY: THOMAS BUTLER (1), JAMES PEARSON-HOWES (1), CORBIS (2), GOLD AND GOOSE PHOTOGRAPHY (1), DAVID BLUNDELL/RED BULL AIR RACE/AP (1)

62 POROROCA SURF Only a few fearless surfers strap up and head out for the longest wave

68 FORMULA ONE Now that was a memorable season! Here’s a lighthearted look at what happened 74 ERIC BANA The Australian actor has left the Hulk behind to focus on a different sort of Beast

More Body & Mind

80 JASON POLAKOW The windsurf champ from Down Under started out a long way from the waves – in the mud of motocross 82 GET THE GEAR We’ve laid out all the knockout stuff you need to step into the ring 84 ADVENTURES IN ODESSA Five days in Ukraine are enough to meet a one-eyed mare, miss historical sights and get a fast lesson in bribery 86 LISTINGS Worldwide, day and night, our guide to the ultimate month-long weekend 90 NIGHTLIFE We find The Bronx in London, Berlin at the heart of Jazzanova and a taste of south-east Asia in a Madrid nightclub 96 SHORT STORY Money talks in this imagined future 98 STEPHEN BAYLEY Contemplating the Mini at 50

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LETTERS

WORD UP

Wisecracks and wisdom from the world of Red Bull and beyond. Tell us what you think by emailing letters@redbulletin.com

“My clothes won’t fit back in my suitcase… Have they grown?” 8]k\i k_\ I\[ 9lcc =Xj_`fe =XZkfip Xk Cfe[fe =Xj_`fe N\\b# KM gi\j\ek\i 8c\oX :_le^ _X[ X Y`k f] kiflYc\ gXZb`e^ ]fi _\i Õ`^_k YXZb kf E\n Pfib

“My life has… turned upside down. I’ve had Flavio looking after me for 11 years. I have never looked at the contract after I signed it on that first day and there are not many people in this paddock you could say that about” I\[ 9lcc IXZ`e^Ëj DXib N\YY\i `j Xl ]X`k n`k_ k_\ [i`m`e^ gXik# Ylk k_\ [\gXikli\ f] _`j dXeX^\i =cXm`f 9i`Xkfi\ ]ifd =( _Xj c\]k k_\ 8ljj`\Ëj gXg\infib X ]i`^_k]lc d\jj

“WHEN I CRASHED IN QATAR EARLIER THIS YEAR I SAID, ‘OK NOW I’LL STOP AND FIX THE LEG.’ A NORMAL SKIN GRAFT IS LIKE CARPACCIO, BUT THEY HAD TO PUT SOMETHING THAT LOOKED LIKE A STEAK ON IT” @k kXb\j X d\Xk`\i b`e[ f] `ealip kf jcfn [fne XZZ`[\ek$ gife\ Dfkf>G i`[\i ;Xe` G\[ifjX2 dfi\ fe gX^\ *'

“SOMETIMES WHEN YOU LISTEN TO PUNK IT SEEMS A BIT HEAVY AND VIOLENT, BUT OVER TIME YOU GET USED TO IT AND NOW I CAN EASILY FALL ASLEEP LISTENING TO PUNK. EVEN SOME OF THE HEAVIER STUFF WITH THE VOMITING INTO THE MICROPHONE…” E\m\i d`e[ k_\ g`kjkfgj# _\i\Ëj 9i`k`j_ =fidlcX * Z_Xdg`fe ;Xe`\c I`ZZ`Xi[f# fe gX^\ *+

“I always knew how to throw a punch. I know girls aren’t supposed to know that and it was awkward for the lads as well” K_`j dfek_Ëj Zfm\i jkXi BXk`\ KXpcfi _Xj e\m\i Y\\e j_p XYflk _\i kXc\ek% J_\ glccj ef gleZ_\j fe gX^\ ,)

“I HAVE NO PRESSURE. I’M GIVING IT 100 PER CENT SO I CAN’T BE DISAPPOINTED WHEN I RIDE BAD BECAUSE I KNOW I DID EVERYTHING. IF IT ISN’T WORKING, IT ISN’T WORKING, THERE IS NOTHING I CAN DO ABOUT IT” CX`[ YXZb6 8iif^Xek6 I\^Xi[c\jj# 9\c^`Xe dfkfZifjj i`[\i Af\c If\cXekj nXj gifYXYcp j_il^^`e^ _`j j_flc[\ij Xe[ jk`Zb`e^ flk _`j Yfkkfd c`g n_\e _\ jX`[ k_`j

“OTHER THAN ME RUNNING OUT OF TALENT, BLOWING THE TURN, BLASTING THROUGH THE SAND AND PILING INTO THE TYRES, IT WAS AN INCREDIBLE EXPERIENCE” O$=`^_k\ij jkXi C\m` CXMXcc\\ jnXgg\[ knf n_\\cj ]fi ]fli è k_\ K;@ :lg IXZ\ Xk k_\ IfX[ 8d\i`ZX kiXZb è N`jZfejè% N`k_ dò\[ i\jlckj

“We were the skinniest guys there. All these metal bands were just buff. When we were playing, between songs someone yelled out ‘Go and eat some food!’” G_`c ;Xkjle# f] I\[ 9lcc Jkl[`fj i\j`[\ekj k_\ ;Xkjlej# ÕX^j lg Xe f]k$fm\icffb\[ [`]]\i\eZ\ Y\kn\\e `e[`\ Xe[ d\kXc ]fccfn`e^ _`j YXe[Ëj Xgg\XiXeZ\ Xk Fqq]\jk

“You really don’t want to continually finish second, do you?” GXlc 9fe_fdd\ \ogcXèj gXik f] _`j iXk`feXc\ ]fi dXbè^ `k kf k_\ _`^_\jk jk\g f] k_\ I\[ 9lcc 8ì IXZ\ gf[`ld# X]k\i Zfdè^ j\Zfe[ è )''. Xe[ )''/2 dfi\ fe gX^\ ++

;`jZfm\i dfi\ XYflk n_XkËj _Xgg\e`e^ `e k_\ nfic[ f] I\[ 9lcc Xk nnn%i\[Ylcc%Zfd

Your Letters Cfm\[ k_\ jkfip fe IpXe J_\Zbc\i jbXkè^ è :lYX RFZkfY\iT% >i\Xk g_fkfj kff% K_\ gcXZ\ dljkËm\ i\cXo\[ hl`k\ X Y`k jèZ\ @ nXj cXjk k_\i\% @kËj î\Xk kf j\\ k_Xk :lYXej Xi\ efn XYc\ kf dXb\ X ]\n dfi\ f] k_\ Z_f`Z\j k_Xk k_\ i\jk f] k_\ n\jk\ie nfic[ kXb\j ]fi îXek\[% K_Xk jX`[# k_\ :Xjkif gif$ [\Zb d`^_k Y\ X n_`c\ f]]% 8eeX N_`k\ I\^^`\ 9lj_ Xe[ 8d\i`ZXe ]ffkYXcc Xi\ Xn\jfd\# Xj pfl gifm\[ RFZkfY\iT% Efn n`k_ k_\ E=C i\^lcXicp Zfdè^ kf N\dYc\p# dXpY\ k_\i\Ëj X Z_XeZ\ n\Ëcc j\\ k_\ jgfik kXb\ `kj gcXZ\ Xcfe^j`[\ il^Yp Xe[ ]ffkYXcc è k_\ X]]\Zk`fe f] LB jgfikj ]Xej% =X`cè^ k_Xk# @Ë[ kXb\ j`kkè^ Xcfe^j`[\ Xe E=C Z_\\ic\X[\i Xj ZfejfcXk`fe% ;Xm`[ I\`j N_`c\ nXcbè^ k_ifl^_ k_\ kiXè# @ efk`Z\[ X Zfgp f] K_\ I\[ 9lcc\kè n`k_ I\^^`\ 9lj_ fe k_\ ]ifek RFZkfY\iT# jf @ g`Zb\[ `k lg Xe[ jkXik\[ i\X[è^ `k# Xe[ @ ZXeËk glk `k [fne N_\i\ ZXe @ Ylp `k6 I`Z_Xi[ ;lee <[1 K_\ I\[ 9lcc\kè `j [`jki`Ylk\[ fe k_\ Ôijk Kl\j[Xp f] \m\ip dfek_ n`k_ K_\ @e[\g\e[\ek è k_\ LB# k_\ 9\c]Xjk K\c\îXg_ è Efik_\ie @i\cXe[ Xe[ k_\ @i`j_ @e[\g\e[\ek è k_\ I\glYc`Z f] @i\cXe[% 8e[ `] pfl Õp 98 ]ifd >Xkn`Zb pfl ZXe g`Zb fe\ lg kff% @ \eafp\[ k_\ K\c\gXk_\ ]\Xkli\ è K_\ I\[ 9lcc\kè k_`j dfek_ RFZkfY\iT% K\c\gXk_\ Xi\ X î\Xk YXe[ Xe[ `k jligi`j\[ d\ kf j\\ k_\d k_\i\% ?fn\m\i# n_XkËj k_\ gifYc\d n`k_ k_\d efk jd`cè^ `] k_\p [feËk nXek kf6 @kËj aljk _ldXe eXkli\# `jeËk `k6 :\c\jk\ Dfi\ZXdY\

C\kk\ij dXp Y\ \[`k\[ ]fi i\Xjfej f] jgXZ\ Xe[ ZcXi`kp

ILLUSTRATION: DIETMAR KAINRATH

K A I N R AT H

Bullevard News and previews from the world of sport and adventure

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BURKETOWN , AUSTRALIA

HANG TIME K_\ jli] è 8ljkiXc`X `jeËk XcnXpj n_Xk pflË[ \og\Zk1 aljk Xjb Afeep ;liXe[% 8 nfic[ eldY\i$ fe\$iXeb\[ _Xe^ ^c`[\i Êjli]\[Ë X iXi\ Zcfl[ befne Xj Dfieè^ >cfip XYfm\ k_\ >lc] f] :Xig\ekXi`X% Cfe^ ifccè^ Zcfl[ YXebj f] k_`j kpg\ ]fid Xcc fm\i k_\ nfic[# Ylk efk fe k_`j jZXc\1 Dfieè^ >cfip `j ($)bd _`^_ Xe[ XYflk ('''bd cfe^# Xe[ Xgg\Xij [liè^ dfieè^j ]ifd 8l^ljk kf cXk\ FZkfY\i% ;liè^ k_\ e`^_k# Zffcè^ Xì [ifgj# ZXljè^ X i`ggc\ \]]\Zk fi ÊXì$kjleXd`Ë k_Xk `j glj_\[ Yp j\X Yi\\q\j Xk jg\\[j i\XZ_è^ -'bg_% ;liXe[ nXj k_\ ]ìjk g\ijfe kf g\i]fid X\ifYXk`Zj fm\i k_\ Zcfl[# kiXm\ccè^ Xk îfle[jg\\[j f] lg kf (*'bg_ n_`c\ ]`cdè^ I\[ 9lcc >cfi`flj ;Xpj% È@k nXj k_\ Y\jk dfd\ek f] dp c`]\#É jX`[ k_\ 8ljkiXc`Xe# È9lk `k Zflc[ _Xm\ Y\\e k_\ jZXi`\jk Xj n\cc% @Ë[ aljk Y\\e kfn\[ èkf k_\ Zi\jk f] k_\ Y`^^\jk nXm\ è k_\ nfic[%É G_fkfîXg_p1 DXib NXkjfe&I\[ 9lcc G_fkf]`c\j J\\ Afeep ;liXe[ è XZk`fe è k_\ 8\i`Xc Jgfikj j\Zk`fe f] nnn%i\[Ylcc%Zfd

BERLIN , GERMANY

LARGE SCALE ?\ dXp Y\ kèp è ZfdgXi`jfe n`k_ 9\icèËj Dfc\Zlc\ DXe jkXkl\# Ylk ]i\\Zc`dY\i 9\ie[ QXe^\ic dX[\ `k Y`^ n_\e _\ jZXc\[ k_\ *'d$_`^_ jZlcgkli\ n`k_flk k_\ X`[ f] ifg\j% K_\ 8ljki`Xe XggifXZ_\[ k_\ jkXkl\# n_`Z_ jkXe[j è k_\ Jgi\\ i`m\i# Yp YfXk è X ^l\i`ccX fg\iXk`fe k_Xk Xmf`[\[ [\k\Zk`fe Yp cfZXc Xlk_fi`k`\j% 9\^èeè^ _`j XjZ\ek è k_\ [Xib# Yp jlei`j\ _\ _X[ i\XZ_\[ k_\ kfg f] Xik`jk AfeXk_Xe 9fif]jbpËj +,$kfee\ nfib# `kj k_i\\ d\\kè^ ]`^li\j jpdYfc`jè^ k_\ le`]`ZXk`fe f] fc[ 9\icè Z`kp [`jki`Zkj X]k\i k_\ ]Xcc f] k_\ NXcc )' p\Xij X^f% =fccfnè^ _`j i\klie kf [ip cXe[# QXe^\ic `j efn X`dè^ ]fi k_\ kfg \cj\n_\i\1 È@k nXj Zffc# Ylk efn k_\i\ Xi\ X ]\n fk_\i j`^_kj è <lifg\ kf Zc`dY%É G_fkfîXg_p1 IXp ;\djb`&I\[ 9lcc G_fkf]`c\j =è[ m`[\f f] k_\ Zc`dY è k_\ 8[m\ekli\ Jgfikj j\Zk`fe f] nnn%i\[Ylcc%Zfd

B U L L E VA R D

YOU REALLY OUGHT TO KNOW SOMETHING ABOUT...

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WORDS: RUTH MORGAN. PHOTOGRAPHY: VLADIMIR RYS/GETTY IMAGES, LIAM LYNCH/RED BULL PHOTOFILES

AXEL CRUYSBERGHS

BRITISH AIRWAYS IS HELP FIND OUT HOW AT WWW.G 14

B U L L E VA R D

OLD SKOOL MUSICAL

Taking the beats of the best B-Boys back to where they began: New York City

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PING GREAT BRITISH TALENT TAKE OFF GREATBRITONS.BA.COM ////////////////////////// 15

B U L L E VA R D

UPHILL BATTLE

SUMMIT MEETING

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PICTURES OF THE MONTH <dX`c pfli g`Zj n`k_ X I\[ 9lcc Õ Xmfli kf c\kk\ij7i\[Ylcc\kè%Zfd% <m\ip fe\ n\ gièk nèj X gXì f] J\ee_\`j\i GDO /' Jgfik @@ _\X[g_fe\j% K_\j\ jc\\b# il^^\[ jk\i\f Ëg_fe\j n`k_ \i^fefd`Z e\ZbYXe[ Xi\ `[\Xc ]fi Xcc dlj`Z$cfmè^ jgfikj \ek_lj`Xjkj% nnn%j\ee_\`j\i%Zf%lb

Ljubljana 8 _`^_$]`m\ fggfikle`kp `j d`jj\[ `e Jcfm\e`X Xk I\[ 9lcc Lgjki\Xd% ;Xmfi GcX_lkX 16

Kingston DfkfiY`b\ jklek i`[\i :_i`j G]\`]]\i Z_Xkj kf k_\ cfZXcj [li`e^ X iXi\ dfd\ek f] i\cXoXk`fe% =X`e\i Jldfj

WORDS: RUTH MORGAN, TOM HALL. PHOTOGRAPHY: CHRISTOPHER BEZAMAT/RED BULL PHOTOFILES (1), KLAUS FENGLER/RED BULL PHOTOFILES (1), ALFREDO ESCOBAR/RED BULL PHOTOFILES (1)

A snowbound race 3000m above Santiago: feeling Chile?

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WINNING WAYS

Have you got what it takes to be the best? Teenage wakeboarding champion Victoria Young certainly has

The Olympic and Paralympic Games are a chance for sportsmen and women with incredible talent to perform at their best when the world’s spotlight is on them. Inspired by these feats of sporting excellence, British Airways, the official airline partner of The London 2012 Olympic Games and Paralympic Games, has launched a competition for Great Britons, designed to find and reward UK residents who are the best in their field, whatever that field is. One of the winners is teenage Wakeboarding sensation Victoria Young. Young, who is just 17, was the first British female to represent Britain at an international Wakeboarding event and is currently ranked third in the world. Not content with such a fantastic achievement at such a young age, Young has set her sights on

SEIZE THE OPPORTUNITY TO SHOW US YOU’RE THE BEST GREAT BRITONS: THE SEARCH IS ON M`Zkfi`X kiX`ej ZfejkXekcp `e fi[\i kf i\XZ_ _\i ^fXcj

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K_\ >i\Xk 9i`kfej Zfdg\k`k`fe `j fg\e kf 9i`k`j_ gXjjgfik _fc[\ij X^\[ (- Xe[ fm\i Xe[ i\j`[\ek è k_\ LB# n_f e\\[ jlggfik kf [\m\cfg k_\ì kXc\ek è k_\ì Z_fj\e Ô\c[# n_Xk\m\i k_Xk Ô\c[ `j% K_\ nèe\ij ^\k ]i\\ Õ`^_kj kf 9i`k`j_ 8ìnXpj [\jkèXk`fej Xe[ lj\ f] 98Ëj clolip <o\Zlk`m\ :clY cfle^\j# gclj X nèe\iËj gXZb# n_`Z_ èZcl[\j X ZXdZfi[\i ]fi i\Zfi[è^ k_\ì XdXqè^ aflie\p% @] pfl k_èb pfl _Xm\ n_Xk `k kXb\j kf Y\ X >i\Xk 9i`kfe# k\cc lj pfli jkfip Xe[ Xggcp efn Xk nnn%î\XkYi`kfej%YX%Zfd

PHOTOGRAPHY: SIM BRADY (2); ACTION IMAGES FOR BA (1)

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climbing through the Wakeboarding rankings and becoming World Champion. This drive to reach the top marked her out as special to the Great Britons judges, while her dedication to and passion for her sport earned her winning votes. Part of Victoria’s prize is free ﬂights to British Airways destinations. “The ﬂights will give me a really good opportunity to train abroad during the winter months and travel to the many competitions that I take part in, including the European Championships,” she says. “They will also give me the same time on the water as the American and Australian girls I compete against.” And that’s what the Great Britons scheme is all about – helping homegrown talent compete on a level footing with the brightest and best in the world.

B U L L E VA R D

KIT EVOLUTION

TIME MACHINES Sport’s last 100 years has had plenty of times to remember thanks to everchanging equipment putting in the hours. Give us a minute and we’ll explain…

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@] k_\ ZXd\iX e\m\i c`\j# k_\e _\i\Ëj fe\ n`k_ ^ff[ bXidX kf jgXi\% K_`j ]è`j_$cè\ ZXd\iX j\gXiXk\j n_`Z_ Xid# c\^# jgfb\ fi Yldg\i Zifjj\[ k_\ cè\ ]ìjk n_\e fk_\i k`dè^ [\m`Z\j Xi\ jk`cc jXpè^ ÈN_X¿6É 8ZZliXk\ kf ('#''' ]iXd\j g\i j\Zfe[# `k ZXe [\]è\ dXi^èj f] Z\ek`d\ki\j Y\kn\\e fYa\Zkj kiXm\ccè^ Xk fm\i )''dg_ *)'bg_ Xe[ XlkfdXk`ZXccp \c`dèXk\ [\X[ jgXZ\ ]ifd g_fkfj kf [\c`m\i ZipjkXc$ Zc\Xi `dX^\j jkiX`^_k kf jkX[`ld jZfi\YfXi[j% @k ZXgkli\[ LjXè 9fckËj ]ìjk$\m\i (''d nfic[ i\Zfi[ Xk k_\ )''/ I\\Yfb @88= >iXe[ Giò è E\n Pfib Xe[ Zfeki`Ylk\j kf k_\ f]]`Z`Xc k\Z_efcf^p lj\[ è k_\ Kfli [\ =iXeZ\ Xe[ E8J:8I% 9lk ]fi Xcc `kj XdXqè^ k\Z_e`ZXc ]\Xkli\j# efk_è^ ZXe Y\ [fe\ kf \c`dèXk\ k_\ i`[`Zlcflj ^liej f] k_\ d\e Xe[ nfd\e Zifjjè^ k_\ ]è`j_ cè\% K_XkËj X G_fkfj_fg afY% =è[ k_`j Xe[ fk_\i Cpeo Jpjk\d ;\m\cfg\ij gif[lZkj Xk nnn%_jjgfikj%Zf%lb

WORDS: TOM HALL. PHOTOGRAPHY: LUKE KIRWAN

LIVING IN THE MOMENT ETHERLYNX PROFESSIONAL CAMERA, 2004

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B U L L E VA R D

SNOW FLICKS

WORDS: JAMES BASS, TOM HALL. PHOTOGRAPHY: NEIL HARTMANN/ONE FILMS (1), FLOHAGENA.COM/RED BULL PHOTOFILES (1)

The UK’s first-ever winter sports film festival

MOTO EMOÇION

Spanish bikers head for the hills Sports quiz: who won Europe’s 2009 Champions League? That’s right, it was BM Ciudad Real, the team so beloved of the southern central Spanish town of Ciudad Real. They’ve won three of the last five continental handball titles. Handball, yes. What did you think we meant? Soon, though, the former capital of the La Mancha region will have another sporting claim to fame, because on November 29, its suburb of Herencia will be the location for Red Bull Don Quixote, an enduro race named after the Great

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Novel, written by Miguel de Cervantes, which was partly set here. It’s the first running of this 60km race, in which both pro and amateur motorcyclists switch between roads and off-road in pursuit of the win. Think of it as a scaled-down Dakar, and you get the gist. Fittingly, three-time world Enduro champ Ivan Cervantes heads the Spanish contingent, linking the Don of old to Don 2009 with one rev of a muddy throttle.

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B U L L E VA R D

The elite of two and four wheels go headto-head in Beĳing this month, but who’ll win bragging rights as the world’s best motorsportsman? Here’s your form guide K_\ IXZ\ f] :_Xdg`fej kXb\j gcXZ\ è 9\àè^Ëj 9ì[Ëj E\jk JkX[`ld# fe Efm\dY\i )$+% =fi dfi\ è]f# i\m fm\i kf nnn%iXZ\f]Z_Xdg`fej%Zfd

TRAVIS PASTRANA

TANNER FOUST

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SEBASTIAN VETTEL

MICHAEL SCHUMACHER

ANDY PRIAULX

JAMIE WHINCUP

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JENSON BUTTON

MATTIAS EKSTRÖM

CLIVIO PICCIONE

EMANUELE PIRRO

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EXk`feXc`kp1 @kXc`Xe 8^\1 +. Jgfik1 =(2 jgfikjZXij )''0 :M1 =ìjk p\Xi i\kì\[2 k_i\\ f] ]`m\ C\ DXej nèj n\i\ n`k_ If: i`mXc Bi`jk\ej\e

TOM KRISTENSEN

MICK DOOHAN

MIKKO HIRVONEN

YVAN MULLER

EXk`feXc`kp1 ;Xe`j_ 8^\1 +) Jgfik1 >\idXe Kfliè^ :Xij )''0 :M1 =è`j_\[ k_ì[ Xk C\ DXej2 X c\k[fne# ^`m\e _`j i\Zfi[ \`^_k nèj k_\i\

EXk`feXc`kp1 8ljkiXc`Xe 8^\1 ++ Jgfik1 Jlg\iY`b\j )''0 :M1 =cpè^ _`j Z_fgg\i f]] 8ljkiXc`XËj >fc[ :fXjk è n\cc$[\j\im\[ i\kì\d\ek

EXk`feXc`kp1 =èe`j_ 8^\1 )0 Jgfik1 Nfic[ IXccp )''0 :M1 9`^ k_è^j Æ ]ìjk dXe è p\Xij kf dXkZ_ k_\ èmèZ`Yc\ J Y Cf\Y

EXk`feXc`kp1 =i\eZ_ 8^\1 +' Jgfik1 Nfic[ Kfli`e^ :Xij )''0 :M1 Gfjk`e^ cXk\ Z_Xi^\ ]fi gfjj`Yc\ j\Zfe[ Zfej\Zlk`m\ NK:: k`kc\

WORDS: JAMES BASS. PHOTOGRAPHY: DPPI (3), GETTY IMAGES (7), SUTTON IMAGES (1), WIRE IMAGES/GETTY IMAGES (1), JOHN STAHLBERG/RED BULL PHOTOFILES (1), AUGUSTIN MUNOZ/RED BULL PHOTOFILES (1)

RACE OF CHAMPIONS

B U L L E VA R D

WHERE’S YOUR HEAD AT?

GOLDIE

He’s an ex-roller skating graffiti artist who composes classical music… and his teeth are worth more than your car

HOME TRUTHS

i[ Afj\g_ Gi`Z\ >fc[`\ nXj Yfie :c`]]f k Xifle[ Xe[ _`j è (0-,% ?`j [X[ nXjeË \ n_\e _\ nXj ZXi è _`d dld gcXZ\[ [ X d`j\iXYc\ \e jg k_i\\# c\Xmè^ _`d kf i ]Xd`c`\j% jk\ j ]f fl Xi` _ m n`k (+ p\Xij Xè# X^\[ X^ d\ _f N_\e _\ dfm\[ YXZb Yifk_\i D\cmè (.# _\ Xe[ _`j pfle^\i kf \Xk% \Xc nflc[ ^f flk jk è^

DOUBLE ACT

>fc[`\ b\gk ;\jg`k\ _`j kiflYc\[ Z_`c[_ff[# d [fne [ _` Zb\ \ kiX [% ? j [X _ _` `e kflZ_ n`k [ Xe[ Z_`c k_\i Xef i\[ Xe[ ]fle[ flk _\Ë[ ]Xk_\ fj\g_ i[ A c`]]f \# : eXd d\ \ jX d k_ ^`m\e _` f] pfl [`\[%É Gi`Z\% ?`j i\Xjfe6 È@e ZXj\ fe\

GOLDIE LOOKING TAME

IN THE CAN

K_\ Z_Xg n_f feZ\ Xcc\^\[cp Y\Xk lg X k\\eX^\i ]fi k_ifnè^ X g\Xelk Xk _`j =\iiXi` `j X Z_Xe^\[ dXe% ?\ Zi\[`kj k_\iXgp n`k_ dXbè^ _`d ZXcd\i# jXpè^# È@ _X[ k_`j m`fc\ek k\dg\i# i\Xccp dX[% 9lk k_\ ?f] ]dXe R@ejk`klk\T glccj flk Xcc k_\ ]lj\j# [\]lj\j k_\ YfdY%É

Pfle^ :c`]]p nXj e`ZbeXd\[ >fc[`\ Y\ZXlj\ f] _`j [p\[$Ycfe[ [i\X[j n_\e _\ Zflc[ Y\ ]fle[ jgiXp$gXèkè^ fe k_\ jki\\kj f] Nfcm\i_Xdgkfe% ?`j jb`ccj ^f k _`d efk`Z\[ è j\dèXc (0// îX]]`k` [fZld\ekXip 9fdYèË% ?\ jk`cc gXèkj# \o_`Y`kè^ è Cfe[fe \Xic`\i k_`j p\Xi%

DRUM MAJOR 8]k\i Y\è^ èkif[lZ\[ kf [ildËeËYXjj Yp k_\e$^ìc]i`\e[ ;A B\d`jkip# >fc[`\ dX[\ _`j ]ìjk i\Zfi[# ;Xibi`[\i# Yp jnXggè^ _`j Xiknfib ]fi jkl[`f k`d\% 8]k\i i\c\Xjè^ X Zflgc\ f] jlZZ\jj]lc jè^c\j# _\ ]fid\[ _`j fne i\Zfi[ ZfdgXep Xe[ ZclYe`^_k# D\kXc_\X[q%

GANG’S A

LL HERE K_\ Z_Xid è^ _flj\ > c`m\j è e\X f i ?\d\c ?\d c[`\ gjk `j Xcjf _fd \ kf knè _l \X[ jb`\j# 9fn`\ Xe[ ; pc g\k gpk_fe Xe# Xe[ X (']k % ?\ Xcjf _Xj ]fli Z_`c[i\e n`k _ ]fli [`] ]\ i\ek nfd\e% ?\ jX d`jkXb\j Y pj _\Ëj dX[\ lk X ^ff[ ]Xk_ `j kipè^ kf Y\ \i% >ff[ ]f i _`d%

WORDS: DIANE LEEMING. ILLUSTRATION: LIE-INS AND TIGERS

TIME BANDIT

>fc[`\Ëj (00, [\Ylk XcYld `j ZXcc\[ K`d\c\jj# _\ _Xj ÊJè\ K\dgfiË CXkè ]fi Êk`d\c\jjË èb\[ fe _`j e\Zb# _\ eXd\[ Xe fiZ_\jkiXc g`\Z\ _\ Zfdgfj\[ ]fi k_\ Gifdj Jè\ K\dgfi\# Xe[ _`j k_ì[ XcYld nXj ZXcc\[ Jè\ K\dglj N`k_flk K`d\ % ?\ dXp Y\ X dlj`ZXc ^\e`lj# Ylk _\Ëj è X ilk n`k_ eXd\j% K`d\# gc\Xj\

ACTING UP

>fc[`\Ëj _X[ X YXj_ Xk XZkè^# Xgg\Xiè^ Xj YX[[`\ D i 9lcc`fe è 9fe[ ]`cd K_\ Nfic [ @j Efk <efl^_ Xe[ Xj 8e^ \c è <Xjk<e[\ij% ?\ Xcjf Xg g\Xi\[ fe :\c\Yi`kp 9`^ 9ifk _\i Xe[ ZXd\ j\Zfe[ fe Zfe[ lZkè^ j\i`\j DX\jkif% ÈI\Xc `kp KM gX`[ ]fi dp [`mfiZ\#É _\Ëj X[ d`kk\[%

LADIES AND GENTLEMAN?

>fc[`\ `j k_\ ]ìjk kf X[d`k _\Ëj efk î\Xk Xk i\cXk`fej_`gj# Ylk Xk c\Xjk _\Ëj _X[ jfd\ ^cXd ^ìc]i`\e[j% ?\ ]Xdfljcp [Xk\[ 9a ib# Xe[ nXj Xcjf j\\e n`k_ df[\cj EXfd` :XdgY\cc Xe[ Jk\ccX K\eeXek fe _`j Xid% N_\e _\ dXii`\[ df[\c$klie\[$]Xj_`fe [\j`ê\i Jfea`X 8j_Yp è )'')# k_\ì n\[[è^ Xgg\Xi\[ è ?\ccf dX^Xqè\2 k_\ Zflgc\ cXk\i [`mfiZ\[%

MINTED MOL

ARS >fc[`\ ^fk _`j [`jk` eZk`m\ jd`c\ n_`c\ c`m è^ è D`Xd`# n_\i\ _\ lj \[ kf dXb\ a\n\cc\i p% ?\ be\n X ^lp n_f d X[\ ^fc[ kffk_ Êî`cc jË# jf k_\ \eki\gi\e\li`X c cX[ jkXi k\[ \eîXm è^ k_\ k\\k_ Xe[ ^fk _`dj\ c] X j\k# kff% ?\ efn jgfi kj (+ ^fc[$kffk_ `dgcX ekj nfik_ (''#'' '%

SKATER BOY K_\i\ nXj X k`d\ n_\e >fc[`\ ^fk XYflk fe \`^_k n_\\cj1 n_\e _\ gcXp\[ è ^fXc ]fi k_\ <e^cXe[ ifcc\i _fZb\p 9 k\Xd% È@ lj\[ kf cfm\ ifcc\i jbXkè^# k_\e @ ZXd\ kf ?p[\ GXib Xe[ jXn Xcc k_\j\ k!!!j gfeZè^ Xifle[ è CpZiX Xe[ @ k_fl^_k# ]!!b k_Xk%É

Kle\ è kf >fc[`\ kXcbè^ XYflk _`j dlj`ZXc g_`cfjfg_p Xk nnn%i\[Ylccdlj`ZXZX[\dp%Zfd& m`[\f$XiZ_`m\c\Zkli\j& ^fc[`\ViXdYcXjVèVk_\Vale^c\&

B U L L E VA R D

WINNING FORMULA

THE BREAKS

A SMASHING FELLOW Trying to break concrete slabs with your hand may not be everyone’s idea of fun, but with the right technique it can be just that, says martial arts master Ed Byrne, a man who has broken a dozen records by breaking blocks. “I’ve done martial arts all my life,” says the 42-year-old, who’s a ninth dan black belt in karate. “And I really enjoy breaking. First, I get an all-over feeling of adrenaline. Everyone has their own way of psyching themselves up, and I concentrate on seeing my hand as a knife and the blocks as butter. In my mind’s eye, I already see myself succeeding. “Then it’s an explosion of power, and technique is everything. I’m hitting with the heel of my hand, so not directly on a bone. I focus on the centre of what I’m breaking and I’m putting my power, my energy, right through the blocks. “Some people jump and break, but I’m quite powerful, so my hand usually starts in line with my shoulder, then ends up by my knee. Without that followthrough, I could seriously hurt myself. If you’re not confident in your ability, you’re more likely to break your hand: if you don’t break the concrete, the force can bounce back at you and shatter bone. “I had measurements taken for a TV show recently, and it took a fifth of a second for me to generate the power equivalent to lifting a 40st (254kg) man above my head with my right arm. “In practice sessions I’ve broken 38 concrete slabs at once. The world record is 36, held by a guy from Turkey, and next year I want to break that.” UNDER SLAB CONDITIONS “When a karateka [practitioner of karate] hits a concrete slab, the upper side is compressed and the underside is stretched,” says Dr Martin Apolin, physicist and sports scientist. “The tensile strength of concrete is much lower than its compressive strength, so the underside of the slab begins to break. Concrete slabs, as shown here, break under slow stress at about 3000N of force. However, when a slab 26

is hit, oscillations occur which cause the slab to break under significantly reduced stress levels. Current literature varies, but the rule of thumb is around 50 per cent of tensile strength, in this case around 1500N. “How big is the force a karateka exerts? To explore this question, I assume that the slowing down of the hand on the slab is uniform. The deceleration (a) can be described by the formula a = v2/2s; v is the hand’s impact speed (video analysis shows that advanced karatekas can generate impact speeds of up to 14m/s, or about 50kph) and s is the braking distance, or the hand’s “crumple zone”, from the hand’s first contact with the slab to its stop. I assume the hand’s centre of gravity will continue to move 2.5cm (0.025m) due to its deformation at impact. Using this data we get a substantial deceleration of 4000m/s2. The earth’s acceleration is about 10m/s2. Casually stated, the hand is 400 times as heavy as normal. “The force (F) occurring at impact is described by F = m x a. If we assume a mass m of 0.75kg for the hand, then the force adds up to 3000N. That is more than enough to break a slab. But why don’t bones break? The answer is so simple you will probably be disappointed by it: depending on the direction from which stress is applied, the fracture stress level of a bone is up to 50 times higher than breaking stress of concrete. If you had concrete bones in your hand, they would splinter at impact. “A practised karateka can split multiple slabs at once. It is important that the slabs be separated by a small space, as it’s impossible to break three or more slabs together with one hit. When there’s a little space between slabs, they will break one after the other in rapid succession – the energy transfers, with some loss, from one slab to the other. A point to note here is that you do not need three times the force to break three slabs.” NèZ\ Xj pfl nXkZ_ <[ 9pie\ [f k_\ nfib f] jc\[^\_Xdd\ij# X]k\i glkkè^ È\[ Ypie\ bXiXk\É èkf PflKlY\

WORDS: RUTH MORGAN AND DR MARTIN APOLIN. PHOTOGRAPHY: FOTEX/RAINER DRECHSLER. ILLUSTRATION: MANDY FISCHER

Man’s greatest power tool is his hands, but is it really superhuman strength or super-scientiﬁc know-how that keeps him cracking wise?

MAKES SENSE, NATURALLY. 750 GLAS ML S BOT NOW A V A I TLE IN WA LABLE ITRO SE

AT AL & L RETA LEADING ILE IRELA RS I N ND

www.carpediem.com Carpe Diem Kombucha Classic only contains natural ingredients and thanks to its unique recipe it is naturally good for you. Due to its pleasant character and rich aroma it is the perfect accompaniment with any meal:

Kombucha has a harmonising effect on the metabolism. Kombucha contains natural antioxidants. O With ingredients from 100 % natural sources. O O

B U L L E VA R D

LUCKY NUMBERS

GUY LALIBERTĂ&#x2030; The ďŹ rst clown in space is no fool, having built the billion-dollar Cirque du Soleil and made the giant leap from sleeping rough to the edge of the universe

1000 696 :XeX[`Xe [fccXij è k_\ gfZb\k f] k_\ (/$p\Xi$fc[ >lp fe c\Xmè^ ]fi <lifg\ è (0..% @k nXj kf b`Zb$jkXik X Yljbè^ Xe[ _`kZ__`bè^ kfli# Xe[ _\ dXeX^\[ kf _fc[ fekf `k [\jg`k\ XggXi\ekcp jg\e[è^ _`j ]ìjk e`^_k jc\\gè^ fe X Y\eZ_ è Cfe[feĂ&#x2039;j ?p[\ GXib% ;liè^ k_`j k`d\# _\ klie\[ X g\eZ_Xek ]fi g\i]fidè^ Xikj èkf X gXjj`fe ]fi jki\\k k_\Xki\# c\Xieè^ _fn kf \Xk ]ì\ Xe[ nXcb fe Yfk_ k`^_kifg\ Xe[ jk`ckj Xck_fl^_ efk Xk k_\ jXd\ k`d\ %

26 WORDS: ULRICH CORAZZA. PHOTOGRAPHY: MIKHAIL METZEL/AP PHOTO

CXc`Y\ikÂ&#x201E;Ă&#x2039;j gfj`k`fe è k_\ c`jk f] k_\ nfic[Ă&#x2039;j i`Z_\jk g\fgc\% =fiY\j dX^Xqè\ i\Zbfej _\Ă&#x2039;j nfik_ XYflk )%,Y`cc`fe% ?\ _fc[j dfjk f] k_\ j_Xi\j è k_\ j\\dè^cp i\Z\jj`fe$ giff] :ìhl\ [l Jfc\`c# n_`Z_ Y\^Xe c`]\ X]k\i CXc`Y\ikÂ&#x201E; Xe[ jfd\ ]i`\e[j fi^Xe`j\[ X jki\\k ]\jk`mXc è Hl\Y\Z è (0/+%

;Xpj CXc`Y\ikÂ&#x201E; jg\ek fe k_\ @ek\ieXk`feXc JgXZ\ JkXk`fe% Fe FZkfY\i )# k_\ Jfplq KD8$(- jgXZ\ZiX]k ZfekXèè^ Iljj`Xe ZfjdfeXlk DXbj`d JliXp\m# 8d\i`ZXe XjkifeXlk A\]]i\p N`cc`Xdj Xe[ k_\ :ìhl\ _\X[ [fZb\[ n`k_ k_\ @JJ X]k\i X knf$[Xp aflie\p ]ifd BXqXb_jkXe% @e Y\Zfdè^ k_\ j\m\ek_ g\ijfe kf \dYXib fe X gi`mXk\ jgXZ\]c`^_k# Xe[ k_\ eèk_ :XeX[`Xe è jgXZ\# CXc`Y\ikÂ&#x201E; le[\in\ek ]`m\ dfek_jĂ&#x2039; kiXèè^1 k_Xk Xe[ k_\ ki`g Zfjk X i\glk\[ *,d% K_\ ]c`^_k nXj X ,'k_ Yìk_[Xp gi\j\ek kf _`dj\c]2 ^ff[ clZb kf k_\ i\cXk`m\j kipè^ kf ^\k _`d jfd\k_è^ _\Ă&#x2039;cc c`b\ k_`j :_i`jkdXj%

K_fljXe[j f] [fccXij n`k_ X ))' b`Zb\i nfe Yp CXc`Y\ikÂ&#x201E; Xk k_\ Nfic[ Gfb\i Kfli :_Xdg`fej_`g è 8gi`c )''.% Fe\ f] k_\ ,'$p\Xi$ fc[Ă&#x2039;j î\Xk gXjj`fej `j gfb\i# Ylk n_\e _\Ă&#x2039;j gcXpè^ fecè\# `kĂ&#x2039;j X [`]]\i\ek jkfip% =`m\ XZZflekj fe fe\ c\X[è^ gfb\i n\Yj`k\ k_fl^_k kf Y\ CXc`Y\ikÂ&#x201E;Ă&#x2039;j _Xm\ cfjk )+%/d jèZ\ )''.% Jn`kZ_ f]] k_\ N`$=`# >lp

130 JXdgc\j ]ifd 9\Xkc\j i\Zfi[è^j è k_\ jfle[kiXZb f] k_\ :ìhl\ j_fn Cfm\% K_\ 9\Xkc\j Ă&#x160;]Xd`cpĂ&#x2039; jkXik\[ [fè^ e\n k_è^j X^Xè Y\ZXlj\ f] CXc`Y\ikÂ&#x201E;Ă&#x2039;j ZXdg]ì\% 8k fe\ f] _`j c\^\e[Xip gXik`\j è )'''# k_\ _fjk ]fle[ _`dj\c] nXidè^ _`j _Xe[j Xcfe^j`[\ efe\ fk_\i k_Xe >\fi^\ ?Xii`jfe% K_\ knf Y\ZXd\ ]ìd ]i`\e[j# Xe[ k_`j c\[ kf Cfm\ j\kkè^ lg _fd\ Xk K_\ DìX^\ _fk\c è CXj M\^Xj è )''-# Ylk >lpĂ&#x2039;j i\Xc Zflg nXj ^\kkè^ GXlc DZ:Xike\p# Pfbf Fef# Iè^f JkXii Xe[ ?Xii`jfeĂ&#x2039;j n`[fn Fc`m`X kf^\k_\i# X ]\Xk ef fe\ _X[ dXeX^\[ jèZ\ k_\ 9\Xkc\j jgc`k%

:`k`\j cèb\[ kf è k_\ ]ìjk \ek\ikXèd\ek j_fn _fjk\[ ]ifd jgXZ\% N`k_ CXc`Y\ikÂ&#x201E; XZkè^ Xj iè^dXjk\i fe k_\ @JJ# Gf\k`Z JfZ`Xc D`jj`fe1 Dfmè^ JkXij Xe[ <Xik_ ]fi NXk\i nXj X knf$_fli j_fn ]\Xkliè^ k_\ :XeX[`Xe jgXZ\ kfli`jkĂ&#x2039;j ]Xdflj gXcj Ă&#x2020; L)# 8c >fi\# JXcdX ?Xp\b Xe[ fk_\ij Ă&#x2020; Xe[ _`^_c`^_kè^ k_\ nfib f] _`j Fe\ ;ifg ]fle[Xk`fe% JèZ\ )''.# k_\ fi^Xe`jXk`fe _Xj k_\ m\ip efYc\ Xe[ gi\jjè^ X`d f] dXbè^ [ièbè^ nXk\i i\X[`cp XmX`cXYc\ kf k_fj\ n`k_flk `k è k_\ [\m\cfgè^ nfic[% CXc`Y\ikÂ&#x201E; `j [feXkè^ (''d f] _`j fne dfe\p kf k_\ gifa\Zk% 8k nnn%fe\[ifg%fi^ pfl ZXe nXkZ_ k_\ jgXZ\ KM j_fn Xe[ c\Xie dfi\ XYflk [ièbè^ nXk\i ]fi Xcc

B U L L E VA R D

ME AND MY BODY

DANI PEDROSA A regular on the MotoGP podium, the 24-year-old Spanish racer has visited almost as many hospitals as racetracks, but he always comes out fighting

'* n_\e ÈDp ]ìjk Y`^ èalip nXj è 8ljkiXc`X è )' Xj (/ c\% @ n k Xeb i`^_ @ ]iXZkli\[ dp c\]k ]ffk Xe[ dp `g è `fej_ Xdg ic[ Z_ \ nf \[ k_ cèZ_ aljk Z Xe[ @ _X[ _fd\ iXZ\ k_\ (),ZZ ZcXjj % K_\ n\\b X]k\i nXj dp iXb\[ Xk @ Y fi k_ X[p ] fk i\ Xccp e Xj i\ f @ n è JgXè# j k [ì\Zkcp @ n\e \ Xe[ jeXb kff _Xi[# k_\ Y`b\ n\ek c`b\ X i dp k_j ]f dfe ]`m\ kffb \k% @k dp ]\ n`k_ èkf X nXcc _\i f] fk Cfkj efn% Xebc\j kf _\Xc# Ylk k_\pËi\ ]è\ c\j%É p Xeb fk d Ylk e eZ\# e^ j` \ nif \ ^fe k_è^j _Xm

HANDY WORK

È=ifd k_\ d`[[c\ f] )''/ kf k_\ d`[[c\ f] )''0# @ aljk Zflc[eËk jkXp ]`k% @ ^fk èali\[ k_\e @ i\Zf m\i\[# k_\e `dd\[`Xk\cp @ ^fk èali\[# X^Xè Xe[ X^X è% @k dXb\j pfl dfi\ jZXi\[ f] ^\kkè^ fe k_\ Y`b\% @ ZiX j_\[ èkf X nXcc cXjk p\Xi è AXgXe Xe[ Yifb\ X d\kXZX igXc è dp i`^_k _Xe[# Xe[ k_\p _X[ kf fg\iXk\% CXk\i k_Xk j\Xj fe# @ ]iXZkli\[ dp c\]k ni`jk è >\idXep n_\e @ nXj c\X[è^ k_\ iXZ\1 @ _`k k_\ nXcc X^Xè# n_\e @ nXj [fè^ dXpY\ )-'bg_# jf `k nXj X jg\\[ `jjl\ dfi\ k_Xe Xepk_ è^¿É

WEIGHTY ISSUE

È@ k_èb dp _\`^_k Xe[ n\`^_k Xi\eËk Xe X[mXekX^\ R_\Ëj ,]k )è (%,/d Xe[ n\`^_j .jk ()cY ,'b^ T% 9`b\ Zfekifc `j XYflk n\`^_k [`jki`Ylk`fe% Dp Y`b\ n\`^_j (, +b^ Æ dfi\ k_Xe k_i\\ k`d\j n_Xk @ [f% @Ëm\ e\m\i Y\\e Y`^^\i jf @ [feËk befn _fn [`]]`Zlck `k `j ]fi k_\ fk_\ij# Ylk @ kiXè X cfk kf kip kf dXeX^\ k_\j\ n\Xbe\jj\j%É

BENT OUT OF SHAPE

lZ_\[ ÈN_\e @ ZiXj_\[ è )''-# dp i`^_k c\^ kf ij Xe[ Xk_\ dp c\ c\ è X _f fl^_ [ k_i ifle k_\ ^ fe\# `Zlck X [`]] % @kËj be\\ @ cfjk X c`kkc\ g`\Z\ f] i\% K_\e [ k_\ nfle \e X i\fg jp kf kËj \X lj\ ` Y\ZX e\\% K_Xk cXjk p\Xi è 8ljkiXc`X @ _`k k_\ fk_\i b nXk\i# lg f] l`c[$ Y`^ Y Xj X \i\ n [% K_ Xj YX fe\ n k# k_\ k ]ìj e^% 8 k nif k n\e Xe[ k_\e X jbè îX] i dfek_j `k 2 X]k\ ( Zfè f] X Ñ j`q\ j k_\ [ nX nfle j ZXe% 9lk nXj Y`^^\i k_Xe k_\ Yfkkfd f] X [ièb Xcjf m\ip # Ylk è]lc Xj gX ^% @k n g\kè k Zfd @ b\g k_è^% \m\ip Xe[ Yfe\ [ j\\ [`j^ljkè^1 pfl Zflc p\Xi Xe[ k_`j Xic`\i kXi \ e HX _\[ ` ZiXj _\e @ Jf n Xe[ ]ò k_\ Yifb\ dp Xid# @ jX`[# ÊFB# efn @Ëcc jkfg Z`f# k_\e igXZ b\ ZX k `j c` îX] c jbè fidX @] X e c\^%Ë ifd dp `k Æ ] b fe jk\X c`b\ X k_\p glk jfd\k_è^ dXc# Ylk c\^ kf dp be\\% @k n`cc e\m\i cffb efi É pfl ZXe aljk j\\ jbè efn# jf k_XkËj ]è\%

WORLD CHAMPS ON HIS SHO ULDER

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WORDS: RUTH MORGAN. PHOTOGRAPHY: GOLD AND GOOSE PHOTOGRAPHY

WALL OF PAIN

B U L L E VA R D

HARD & FAST Top performers and winning ways from across the globe

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WORDS: RUTH MORGAN. PHOTOGRAPHY: GETTY IMAGES (2), IMAGOSPORTFOTO (1), AP (1). ILLUSTRATION: DIETMAR KAINRATH

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Heroes High-ямВyers in the air, on the racetrack, on water and on stage and screen

34 DANIEL RICCIARDO 38 MICK FANNING 40 ORSON WELLES 44 PAUL BONHOMME

HEROES

DANIEL RICCIARDO When he’s not making ‘beautiful’ telemetry for his engineers, the newly crowned British F3 champion from Perth, Australia, loves to laugh, listen to punk music and play Guitar Hero on PS3 Words: Brendan Thomas Portrait: James Pearson-Howes

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He’s already grinning as he sits down for lunch. Then I mention Groucho Marx and his broad grin breaks into laughter. “Groucho? Yeah, a few people used to call me Groucho! I suppose I could get the glasses, but I’m not so sure about the cigar…” The youngster, spearing his tomato-drenched fusilli with his fork, bears a curious resemblance to the Hollywood comedian. And while Daniel Ricciardo admits he’s a joker – think Jim Carrey rather than Groucho Marx – his mild Aussie accent cuts a serious tone when he talks about his ambition to reach Formula One. Yet the racer from Perth, whose Italian genes are fused with a laid-back surfing manner, is a delight to dine with during lunch at Brands Hatch, at the final British F3 meeting of the year. He’s in high spirits, as he is basking in the glory of having just clinched this year’s British F3 championship. By so doing he joins an illustrious roll of honour that includes Ayrton Senna, Mika Häkkinen and Nelson Piquet (Sr and Jr) and has taken a major step towards achieving his F1 dream. Ricciardo, 20, is the second consecutive racer in Red Bull’s young driver programme to triumph in the F1 nursery school that is British F3. Twelve months ago Jaime Alguersuari won the title – and he has since gone on to bag himself an F1 seat with Scuderia Toro Rosso. From 20 races this year, the chirpy youngster – who won the Formula Renault 2.0 West European Cup last year – has recorded 14 podiums, seven wins and, significantly, only one non-finish racing for the Carlin Motorsport outfit. It’s been a season characterised by impressive speed combined with level-headed maturity, a sure sign that Dr Helmut Marko, the former F1 racer assigned to manage the Red Bull Junior Team programme, has plucked a great talent from the depths of obscurity. “Daniel had nothing particularly special on his CV when we tested him last year,” says Marko, “but he was very fast from the first lap onwards

and he had a spectacular style going sideways where he was just in total control. I could see straight away that he was very special.” Team owner Trevor Carlin, the man who’s run some of the best young drivers on the single-seater ladder to F1, including Robert Kubica and Nico Rosberg, concurs. “Straight away he was up to speed,” he recalls. “During pre-season testing the telemetry data from one of his laps was simply perfect. His braking was spot-on, his high-speed commitment immaculate – the engineers said his data of squiggly lines was beautiful to look at and added that the pressure was on – because they knew that if we didn’t win the championship with Daniel this year, it would be our fault.” It was back in Perth that Ricciardo first set his sights on racing. He’d regularly visit tracks to watch his father, Joe, race sedans and, as soon as he was tall enough, he persuaded his parents to put him in a go-kart. Inevitably if ‘Ricci’ wanted to think about taking up the sport professionally, he’d have to make the switch to Europe to see how he compared with the cream of the world’s best young racers. So over he came in 2007 and spent the season racing in Italy, competing in the Formula Renault 2.0 Italian Championship. After some decent results, he was evaluated by Red Bull, which was when Marko identified his talent – as well as his permanent grin – and ushered him into the Red Bull Junior Team. Last year he stepped up to the ultra-competitive pan-European Renault series, where he was in contention for the title until he was vanquished in a wet/dry season-finale thriller. Then he made the move to F3, a category where it’s unusual for drivers to breeze in and out in one season, but at the beginning of the year he was given an ultimatum by Marko – he must win the championship. So, no pressure then? “Well Helmut Marko is a fair guy, but there’s no doubt that if the Red Bull drivers have a bad race then he’s not shy to call us and tell us what

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he thinks,” admits Ricciardo. “It might seem a bit harsh sometimes and some of the younger drivers take offence but, when you consider how much Red Bull are helping us, it’s actually very fair because, ultimately, it helps both of us. So there is pressure being in the young driver programme, but it’s the strongest scheme running in motorsport.” After winning the British F3 series, the next step will either be into the F3 Euro Series or the more powerful World Series by Renault, which is where Vettel, Alguersuari and Sébastien Buemi cut their teeth before him. There might even be the chance to test with Red Bull Racing in F1 this coming December – he’s already spent time on the simulator at Milton Keynes and been told to prepare his neck for the winter. As the saying goes, if the glove fits… “The Red Bull Junior Team is about making the next generation of Formula One drivers,” says Marko. “And Daniel has already delivered for us this year by winning the British F3 championship. He did this by often choosing to stay in second, collect points and think about the title, rather than risk losing points and go for the win. Now we’ll decide what the next step is when we evaluate him again at the end of the season. Daniel is only 20, but from what I’ve seen he’s very mature, he’s very quick and he’s always smiling…” Relaxing in the Carlin hospitality area, just an hour after going P1 in qualifying, Daniel talks about visiting Red Bull’s base in Austria and the support he gets from the organisation. “Everyone is really passionate and it feels like being part of a really big family,” he says. That family also extends into his social life. Ricciardo has settled into the UK, residing close to the Red Bull Racing factory in Milton Keynes. Just 10 minutes down the road lives Brendon Hartley, a fellow Red Bull Junior Team driver built in the same mould as Daniel: quick, laid-back and fun to be around. It probably helps that they’re from the same hemisphere (Hartley is from New Zealand). Two or three times a week they meet up to play tennis or visit the gym together, where they might discuss racing lines or braking points – or just play Guitar Hero on the PS3. “That’s as close as I get to an instrument as I don’t play myself, but I’m well into music and went to the Reading Festival,” says Daniel with a knowing nod. “I’ve been into punk for about six years now and it’s quite inspirational. The last band I went to see was New Found Glory and I got goose bumps when I saw them play live. Sometimes when you listen to punk it seems a bit heavy and violent, but over time you get used to it and now I can easily fall asleep listening to punk – even some of the heavier stuff as well, with the vomiting into the microphone…” He laughs, that broad grin opening out once again. It’s quite unusual to find a young driver who brings a combination of intelligence and wit to the 36

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table. Often in the junior series, they are quiet, even timid. But Daniel’s confidence lights up the room. When he talks, people want to know what he’s got to say – even if they don’t always understand it. “Yeah, it’s true, I suppose I do have my own vocabulary a bit. I picked it up from the motocross dudes,” says the man who described the fact that he was going to feature in The Red Bulletin as ‘sick’. “I like to describe the car in a different way, to make it more enjoyable for the engineer I’m working with. For example, if the car is a bit oversteery at one particular corner, I might write on the debrief sheet, ‘She’s a dirt-track cowboy’, just to liven up the atmosphere.” It might not surprise you to learn that his hero is MotoGP’s Valentino Rossi, the popular and extrovert Italian legend; he admires his attitude as well as the other characters that populate the biking world. “What I love about them is that you have to be a little bit crazy to race on two wheels and that makes the sport so much fun. I think motor racing can be perceived as being a bit too serious, and if you can brighten it up outside the car, it makes it more entertaining. But I suppose it’s OK to be easy-going when it’s going well, but if we’re off the pace and scratching our heads then I’ll definitely keep it more serious.” This season, as his team boss in F3, Carlin has seen the smile disappear and the intensity emerge. “Don’t let his sunny disposition lull you into a false sense of security,” he warns. “Beneath the smile there is a very determined young man. I’ve got no doubts in saying that he’s as good a driver that’s ever driven for us and that he’ll have a very successful future in the sport.” If he does, you might never be able to wipe that grin off ‘Groucho’s’ face again… I\X[ dfi\ XYflk I`ZZ`Xi[fËj 9i`k`j_ =* Z_Xdg`fej_`g$n`ee`e^ j\Xjfe Xk nnn%i\[Ylccale`fik\Xd%Zfd

PHOTOGRAPHY: JAMES PEARSON-HOWES (1), SUTTON IMAGES (1)

HEROES

BRITISH F3 INTERNATIONAL

Congratulations to Daniel Ricciardo from Cooper Tires the official tyre supplier and title sponsor of the British Formula 3 International Series. This prestigious and fiercely competitive series is widely acknowledged as the toughest domestic single-seater championship in the world and is a genuine stepping stone for great drivers on the way to F1. Motorsport at this level therefore requires the very best components in every area, including tyres. When you need tyres that perform on your car or 4x4 make Cooper your tyre of choice, every time. For more information and to ďŹ nd your nearest Cooper dealer visit www.coopertire.co.uk or telephone 01225 707050.

HEROES

Hero’s Hero: Mick Fanning on

SEAN FANNING

The World Champion surfer is on the crest of a wave with wins in the 2009 ASP World Tour, but he believes part of the reason he’s done so well is because his older brother is watching over him

My older brother Sean is my ultimate inspiration. Sean was killed in a car accident in 1998; he was just 20 at the time. Since he passed away, he’s become like a guardian angel to me. At times, it feels like he’s right there with me, watching over me. As a kid, I looked up to Sean. He was my older brother, but, like most brothers, we were constantly fighting. Despite all the little squabbles and wrestles, we were great mates and he always looked out for me. Our entire family is very close, but we were the youngest of five siblings, so we were always hanging out, which is probably why we had such a strong bond. After Sean died, I had his name tattooed on my arm, and I also had the Fanning family crest inked beside it later. I got the tattoos because nothing is more important to me than my family. They have been such a huge inspiration and they’ve done so much for me, I just wanted to keep that with me at all times. I remember when we first started really getting into surfing. I was 12 and Sean was 16, and surfing was all we wanted to do. Eventually, we persuaded our mum to move to the Gold Coast. We had only just moved there, to Coolangatta when, in 1993, Sean was offered a sponsorship deal from Quiksilver. The guys who came to sign him up were watching us surf together, and they asked my mum who the little fella was, out there surfing with Sean, and offered me a deal, too. Sean was a few years older than me and was an amazing surfer, so I pushed myself to reach his level. Sean and 38

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I surfed really differently. For one, he was a goofyfooter (standing on his surfboard with his right foot forward) and his approach was much more relaxed than mine. When I was a kid, my surfing was a little erratic at times. Sean’s surfing was smoother, and I always tried to emulate his style. Along with being a great surfer, Sean was also dedicated and really professional. He put everything into his surfing, and even before he passed away I was inspired by that. He used to wake me up early in the morning and take me surfing; often, we’d be the first on the beach and the only ones in the water. I suppose he was my mentor, really. He taught me by example about being dedicated and professional, and working really hard to improve. Later, we spurred each other on, pushing each other to become better surfers. Sean is definitely part of the

reason that I’m where I am today. Losing him definitely changed me. It almost broke me at the time: I was devastated. I suddenly understood how short life can be, so if you have something you want to achieve, you’d better get to it. I think it also helped me grow up, become a better person and keep things in perspective. There are times in my life and in competition where things could really get me down, but I find it easy to take a step back and count myself lucky to be alive and living my dream. When we were kids, we used to talk about doing the tour together, and after he died I had this incredible desire to fulfil that dream for both of us. On the day that I won the ASP World Title in Brazil, I was obviously very emotional, but what made it even more significant was being in the water with Joel Parkinson, one of my oldest friends who grew up with Sean and me in Coolangatta. When it was announced I’d become the World Champion, Sean was there in my thoughts. It was a little mystical, too. Every time I was in the water for a heat that day, there was a dolphin just hanging around. Every time I paddled out, it was right there. In the end, I was just sort of, like, talking to him, and he was just chilling out. It was weird, because normally you see a dolphin and it will come up just for a little bit and take off, but this one stayed there the whole day. Usually, there’s a pod of dolphins, but this one was just by itself the whole time. I’m convinced it was Sean. =fccfn =Xeeè^Ëj gifî\jj è k_\ Zlii\ek 8JG nfic[ kfli Xk nnn%i\[Ylccjli]è^%Zfd

PHOTOGRAPHY: MARK WATSON/RED BULL PHOTOFILES (1), COURTESY OF MICK FANNING (1)

Words: Huw J Williams

Print 2.0

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HEROES

Pioneer

ORSON WELLES

The man behind Citizen Kane was a genius who made ‘the best ﬁlm ever’ aged just 25. But with the keys to Hollywood in his hand, he soon found himself locked out – for good

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This month, you can go to the cinema and see the greatest film ever made. Co-written, directed and produced by and starring Orson Welles, Citizen Kane regularly tops the best-of lists compiled by critics and film-makers. When it came out in 1941, Welles, then just five days away from his 26th birthday, was proclaimed the greatest storyteller of his generation. He was certainly the most precocious. After unprecedented success on radio and the stage, he’d been given total creative freedom to make any film he wanted – and what he made was a masterpiece. In doing so, however, he came close to destroying both his reputation and that of the film industry. Welles was also the greatest casualty of 20thcentury entertainment. Others flamed out after burning bright and briefly – Jimi Hendrix, James Dean, JD Salinger – but Welles’ decline was slow and painful. Even before Kane was released, its backers were offered money to destroy it, and it went on to underperform at both the box office and the Oscars. There then followed 40 years of what-ifs and if-onlys: Welles’ follow-up film was cut by the studio against his wishes; his drive and talent were reclassified as an ego few could or would indulge; and by the time he was trying to finance what would be his last (unfinished) film in the mid-1970s, he was reduced to finding the money in Iran. He was visible in his later years thanks to TV adverts for photocopiers and champagne – a bearded and bloated version of the striking young man who once had the world of entertainment at his feet. His last completed film role was voicing a planet-sized robot in the animated film Transformers: The Movie. The mighty have never fallen so far. Citizen Kane was Welles’ first film and, unlike other poll-topping film classics of a certain age, it stands up to viewing today, and not in an “oh, look what they had to do back then” way. It’s exciting, engaging, witty and technically impressive nearly 70 years after it was made, and its story of media power, the corruption of wealth and unwelcome

celebrity could not be more pertinent in 2009. Welles himself is still culturally viable – later this year sees the release of Me And Orson Welles, a film about a teenage actor in Welles’ 1937 theatre production of Julius Caesar, which stars the lead from the High School Musical films, Zac Efron. Efron’s presence is fitting, as Welles was once the young darling of Hollywood, although not in the same way as Efron. There was more to Welles than on-screen appeal; he was as celebrated for his directing and producing as for his acting. Born on May 6, 1915, Welles got the bug for acting at the Todd School in Woodstock, Illinois, which he joined in 1926. His mother, a concert pianist, died in May 1923, four days after Orson’s eighth birthday, and before starting at Todd, Welles spent a couple of years travelling the world with his father, an inventor who died in 1930. In 1931, Welles left Todd and went on a tour of Europe funded by his inheritance, during which he made his acting debut, aged 16, at the Gate Theatre in Dublin. Welles had the good luck to arrive with the theatre desperate for a second lead in a play just before the opening night, the nerve to tell them that he was a big noise in New York theatre (that would be years away) and the talent to secure the part. He returned to America in June 1932 to act in theatre and radio, and co-authored, with his old Todd headmaster, Everybody’s Shakespeare, a how-todo-the-Bard manual for which Welles provided text and hundreds of illustrations. The book was published in 1934, the year Orson Welles turned 19. Four years later, Welles was made a spectacular offer by the head of the RKO studio in Hollywood: he could make one film a year of his choosing, for an annual wage of $100,000, which in today’s money is equivalent to about 150 times that. By then, Welles had made a big impact both in radio and theatre; the two mediums were intrinsically linked in those days, and many actors worked in both, as did Welles in New York in the mid-1930s. In April 1936, two

PHOTOGRAPHY: CORBIS (1)

Words: Paul Wilson

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weeks before his 21st birthday, he directed Macbeth in Harlem, New York, with an all-black cast of mainly amateur actors, using government money assigned for unemployed actors. It was a huge gamble and a resounding success, and led him to form his own company, The Mercury Theatre, the following year. The Mercury Theatre became known more for its radio plays than its stage work – this was the golden age of American radio – and on Halloween in 1938, Welles and his players put out their 17th broadcast, a version of HG Wells’ The War of The Worlds set in the then-present day. The broadcast was introduced by an announcer as a work by “Orson Welles and the Mercury Theatre On The Air”, with Welles playing an astronomer trying to explain unusual activity on Mars. This was then followed by ‘eyewitness accounts’ of strange happenings that interrupted a performance by an orchestra, after which the play effectively became a live news report of an alien invasion. To those who heard the start of the show, and Welles explain at the end that it was Mercury’s “radio version of dressing up in a sheet and jumping out of a bush and saying ‘Boo!’” it was an innovative drama. To those who did not, it was something else entirely; no one had played with convention like this before. Welles even timed the landing of the Martians in his play to coincide with the end of a comedy sketch on a rival programme, when he knew people would retune their dials to his station. Many in the audience felt they were listening to something real. By the end of the broadcast, policemen had come to the building in which Welles was broadcasting. The head of the station was there too, in his dressing 42

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gown and slippers. People had driven to Grover’s Mill, New Jersey, the small town mentioned as the Martians’ landing site (a commemorative plaque is there now). Across America, listeners checked with friends, family and the press that the world wasn’t coming to an end. The next morning saw a glut of newspaper articles – many criticising, others praising, some with reports of moral panic – and a press conference in which Welles apologised and said he was “terribly shocked” to learn of the terror his little play had caused. Of course, he wasn’t; his gamble hadn’t come off, but the pay-off was far greater. His radio show immediately got a sponsor, the Campbell Soup Company, and its star was transformed overnight from a noted acting prodigy into the most famous and daring man in the world. RKO and Hollywood came calling within days. Welles settled on Citizen Kane after the writer Herman J Mankiewicz pitched the idea to him in 1939. America, as it was called then, would be a names-changed fictionalisation of the life of William Randolph Hearst, then one of America’s richest men. Hearst had made his fortune in the media, mainly popular press and radio, and never let the facts get in the way of a story. He was elected to the House of Representatives, the US governmental level one below the Senate, with a goal of the White House. However, his vast personal wealth was at odds with his aim of being a man of the people, and when President William McKinley was shot and killed in 1901, not long after Hearst papers had called for someone to do just that, he knew he’d never win public favour. He retreated to the castle he’d built in San

PHOTOGRAPHY: CORBIS (2), REX FEATURES (2), MOVIESTORE COLLECTIVE (1)

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Simeon, California, where he later lived with Marion Davies, a showgirl 34 years his junior. Hearst’s efforts, and a good chunk of his cash, were spent on an unsuccessful push at making Davies a movie star. That Welles and his crew were taking on Hearst was brave enough, but they also devised new special effects, sound-recording and lighting techniques. They dug trenches in studio floors to give the actors a greater impact by virtue of being filmed from below. And when Welles broke an ankle, he carried on behind the camera in a wheelchair, and in front of it wearing leg braces. The resulting film was technically brilliant, deeply engaging and, because of the Hearst angle, really rather dangerous. It’s hard to imagine what a huge story Citizen Kane became leading up to its release. The equivalent today would be in the headlines for weeks. Imagine Daniel Radcliffe making CEO Hurlock, a film about an Australian media tycoon called Albert Hurlock. The Harry Potter star writes an unflinching screenplay about a man who, from humble origins, becomes a billionaire through ruthless expansion of his media businesses. Many of Hurlock’s foibles and professional methods appear to be very similar to those of media tycoon Rupert Murdoch. From the copy of the script that leaks onto the internet, however, it’s clear that Radcliffe’s legal team has earned its fee; the film isn’t libelous, but everyone knows the truth. CEO Hurlock is effectively The Story Of Rupert, and takes a particularly savage line on the subject of the younger woman the mogul left the mother of his children to be with. Murdoch offers to buy the only copy of the film from Radcliffe’s backers but they refuse, so

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Murdoch issues an edict – not one print, TV, radio or online outpost of his empire will plug or review the film. Instead they will publicly scrutinise Radcliffe’s personal life. Swap Radcliffe, Hurlock and Murdoch for Welles, Kane and Hearst, and you have the truth of it. Citizen Kane premiered in New York on May 1, 1941. Critics were kind, but audiences stayed away for two reasons: the film didn’t get the wide release its makers expected, and the ‘newness’ of the film’s approach meant it didn’t connect with filmgoers. At the Oscars in 1942, the film won just one award (for its screenplay) from nine nominations and was booed several times. Hollywood had had enough of its Boy Wonder, and film distributors had bowed to pressure from Hearst, who is said to have threatened to ban all movie advertising across his media empire. Welles’ masterpiece only gained a new lease of life after film students and critics rediscovered it in the late 1950s. Writing, acting and directing; theatre, radio and cinema – Welles had excelled in all of them by the time he was just 26. Citizen Kane is a true classic, and if you do see it at the cinema, you’ll be able to enjoy it more than audiences in 1941 because you’ll know you’re watching something special, and spot the tricks and enjoy the parallels with life in 2009. You might also think about its maker, who could never match what he achieved so early in his life. In creating new ways to excel, Orson Welles made sure Hollywood would never again allow anyone else the chance to do what he did, and condemned himself to a life of disappointment. But he also left us Citizen Kane. :`k`q\e BXe\ `j flk efn% =fi jZi\\e`e^ `e]f# m`j`k nnn%Y]`%fi^% lb&n_Xkjfe&Y]`VXifle[Vk_\Vlb&]`cdVi\c\Xj\j&Z`k`q\eVbXe\

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The Interrogator

PAUL BONHOMME The day after winning the title, new Red Bull Air Race World Champion Paul Bonhomme, a man who ﬂies 747s like a swan, likes chocolate and has a rather dubious headache, faced a rather less formal examination… Words: Matt Youson Portrait: Markus Kucera

More than a million spectators lined Barcelona’s beaches to watch the duel in the skies over the Mediterranean. Twenty miles away and 24 hours later, the pilots of the Red Bull Air Race World Championship were to be found in rather less hurried circumstances. Kicking back in their hotel, high in the Prelitoral foothills above the Catalan town of Terrassa, the mood is distinctly end-of-term. Pilots are dotted about the lounge-cum-lobby, concluding deals, enduring interviews, talking with one another’s crews. Weaving, rotating hand gestures are prominent: the international language of the racing pilot. The one obvious absentee is Paul Bonhomme, the recently crowned Red Bull Air Race World Champion. A few enquiries reveal that he vanished about half an hour ago, ostensibly to do a radio interview in the quiet of his room. He’s located, and appears in the cavernous lobby, his progress across the ﬂoor interrupted for congratulations. He’s a very popular pilot with his peers, and so these tend to be couched with the typical sportsman’s backhanders, but Bonhomme takes it all in his stride. The true extent of a racer’s popularity can be measured by the amount of champagne poured down his overalls by the guys on the lower steps of the podium. Yesterday Paul arrived in the post-race conference sodden with vintage Mumm. Puddles of bubbly pooled under his feet as he talked to the press. Luck plays a part in motorsport, but not so much in the 2009 Red Bull Air Race World Championship. Bonhomme won half the races and came second in the other half. Five years ago that wouldn’t have been unreasonable, but today the ﬁeld is ultra-competitive. Nobody else won more than a single race. It was a phenomenal effort from the pilot and his crew – and after being the bridesmaid for the past two seasons, no one begrudged him his eventual triumph. Paul in person is very different to Paul in the plane. The in-cockpit footage shows a pair of mirrored sunglasses and a focused, almost pained, expression. The voice is clipped and impersonal. On the ground 44

he’s transformed: easy-going, very good-humoured, rarely without a grin that goes all the way up to his eyes. Those eyes today are just a little bit red. Was there, perhaps, a quantity of celebration last night? “There may have been a small one,” acknowledges the new World Champion. “I’ve got a headache – but that was probably something I ate.” So would the World Champion like to do this in a darkened and quiet corner? “Nah, let’s go to the bar.” The Red Bull Air Race likes to spin out its apportioned lot of drama. The format of the Final 4 round has the best quartet of pilots from the weekend fly one final lap of the track. They take off and land within seconds of each other, and only have contact with the race director once they’re in the air. No one knows who won until it’s all over. This year the World Championship went down to the wire. Bonhomme and reigning champion Hannes Arch flew into the Barcelona Final 4, both with a chance of coming out the other side as World Champion. Bonhomme flew third, Arch flew last. Paul had four minutes alone with his thoughts, lazily circling above the shore, his fate now out of his hands. It should have been nerve-racking. But was it? “It felt like a pretty good run. I didn’t think I’d picked up any penalties – but from circling in the hold I saw Hannes knock down a pylon. He’d have to do a blistering run to get past the six-second penalty for that, so I knew – but I’m a little bit superstitious, so I’ll never assume. When Jimmy [Jim DiMatteo, race director] came on the radio and confirmed it, I just thought ‘Fantastic… cracked it.’” Hannes was very complimentary afterwards. He said you were his role model when he was a Rookie – and other pilots still say you’re the guy they like to watch and learn from. Very nice to hear that, isn’t it? “I find that very humbling. But I fly the way I fly because it’s one way of getting the plane to go

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“WHEN THE RACE DIRECTOR CONFIRMED I’D WON, I THOUGHT ‘FANTASTIC… CRACKED IT’”

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PHOTOGRAPHY: DAVID BLUNDELL/AP IMAGES/RED BULL PHOTOFILES (1), MARKUS KUCERA (2), ATTILA KISBENEDEK/AFP/GETTY IAMGES (1), RUSSELL CHEYNE/RED BULL AIR RACE VIA AP IMAGES (1)

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quickly. If you don’t deflect the ailerons or the controls into the breeze, you’ll have less drag. Who do you try to emulate? “I pick bits from different pilots. Some people are very smooth with their handling, others have really good management skills in the cockpit; and some are very good thinkers. Rather than just copying one person, I take the best bits from lots of people.” Hannes says last year he became World Champion because you made mistakes, and this year you won because he made errors. Do you agree? I agree with him about last year. This year… I don’t think he made that many significant mistakes.” Is the monkey off your back? “I think it probably is! There’s a huge amount of relief because you really don’t want to keep coming second. It’s dreadful.” Is this a sport involving a lot of ego? “No. I think the beauty of flying is that it’s a good leveller. You can’t afford to be too big for your boots when you fly – it’ll bite you very quickly. I’d also say that the most important aspect of being a good pilot is being able to take criticism.” What sorts out the men from the boys? Why is Matt Hall [Rookie] doing so well, and [double World Aerobatic Champion] Sergey Rakhmanin struggling? “I think a lot of it comes down to getting all your ducks in a row. You can’t leave anything to chance, you can’t make assumptions and you have to make sure everything is perfect. Sergey is an unbelievably fantastic pilot. You just don’t get to win the world aerobatic championship – twice – by being average, so maybe he’s having trouble with his set-up this year. And why is Matt so good? Again, you don’t get to be an F-18 instructor in the Royal Australian Air Force by being an idiot. He’s obviously very competent and he’s got a plane that’s working well. I also think it helps that he’s pretty compact. He’s carrying 22kg less than me. It doesn’t sound like too much, but in a 10G Cuban turn, that works out at 220kg. The planes only weigh 540kg, and it’s like I’ve got two passengers in there with me, compared to Matt.” Do you watch what you eat? “It would be fair to say I’m rigorous in ensuring my diet contains lots of cake and chocolate ice-cream…” Surely you jest… “Only a bit. Actually I believe that, on the one hand, eating lots of chocolate might add a few pounds, but stress is a killer. If you get stressed seeing chocolate and not eating it, then maybe that stress is more harmful than the calorific value… I’m pretty good at putting in time on the bike as well though…” You became a father just before the season began. Isn’t that supposed to slow sportsmen down? “It seems to have sped me up. I think it improves your perspective on what’s important and what isn’t. In the past, I worried about trivia. I am a bit of a faffer and would fixate on utter rubbish. I don’t do that now. Maybe others have their lives under more control. But fatherhood has been very good for me.” Will you get quality time at home over the winter? “I’ll have some time at home and chill out, but I’ve got a couple of airshows to do this year, then it will

PAUL BONHOMME PLAYS WORD ASSOCIATION Wade Hammond [Team Bonhomme technician] The best Hannes Arch [former champion, 2009 rival] Competitive Mike Mangold [retiring double world champion] Entertaining Nicolas Ivanoff [Mercurial French pilot, winner in San Diego] Cool Mike Goulian [Winner in Hungary] Smiley Boeing747 Royal Spitfire [one of many vintage aircraft Paul flies at air shows] British Edge 540 [Paul’s race plane] Go-kart Stewards [Red Bull Air Race] Two seconds! Stewardesses [the other job] Essential Chocolate Also essential Fatherhood Awesome G-forces [12G is the Red Bull Air Race limit] Healthy Air Gates Fun Being World Champion Yeeaaahhhh!!!

be the usual steady supply of British Airways work, though I enjoy that too. Flying a 747 is an antidote to the fast pace of air racing.” Sitting in the back for 14 hours is pretty boring; is it as bad when you’re locked in the cockpit? “It’s great! You’re busy. It’s a bit like being a swan on a lake. It all looks graceful on the surface, but underneath you’re paddling away like mad. You’re constantly thinking about eventualities. ‘What would I do now if an engine failed? What would I do if we had a depressurisation? It doesn’t get boring at all.” Do you get recognised wearing the other hat? “Probably half the time. Sometimes it’s a mad-keen Red Bull Air Race fan, but mostly it’s just someone who knows my name. It’s OK, but sometimes it’s nice to be anonymous.” How much would we have to scale up a racetrack to get a 747 through it? “I’m fairly sure that isn’t the sort of question my employers would like me to be answering.” So you have thought about it… “Not going to answer that one either. I foresee all sorts of trouble at work if I did. Guaranteed.” Red Bull Air Race officials say they want this to be a sexy sport. What is it they want from the pilots? It isn’t beach volleyball in a thong, is it? “Wouldn’t be a very good look. Maybe Mike Goulian could make it work [Goulian, winner of the Budapest round, walks by the table]. I assume they mean they want it to be more dramatic than ever.” If I can get that image out of my head, Mike Goulian says aerobatics is 90 per cent pilot, 10 per cent plane, whereas air racing is the other way around. Do you agree? “I don’t agree entirely, though I know where he’s coming from. Yeah, to win the World Aerobatic Championships you have to be an extremely good aerobatic pilot, but in the Red Bull Air Race I think it depends on the track. Get a straight-line track and it’s mostly the plane, but on a tricky course winning is down to the skill of the pilot, even if you do need a fast plane. Think of a motor race on a wet track. It evens the field out, and anybody can win. You might have a million horsepower, but if you can’t get it down, then it doesn’t matter. It’s the same here.” Will you fly with more freedom next year, or will you perpetually be looking over your shoulder? “Hopefully I will be looking over my shoulder, which is a hell of a lot better than the alternative. It will be tougher though. Every year the Red Bull Air Race gets more and more competitive.” It isn’t kind of us to ask about 2010 when you haven’t had chance to melt down the trophy yet. “It would have been nice if you’d given me a day to enjoy it! Actually I’ll be in planning meetings about next year’s plane in a couple of days’ time.” Why bother coming back? You’ve achieved the ultimate. Why not spend more time at home? “Because this is such good fun. I love aviation and competition. If you combine them it’s the very best – and it’s going to be even better next year without everyone asking me about the second-place thing…” Kf j\\ dfi\ f] GXlc 9fe_fdd\ Xe[ k_`j p\XiËj Z_Xdg`fej_`g# nè^ pfli nXp kf nnn%i\[YlccXìiXZ\%Zfd

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PHOTOGRAPHY: CHRIS TEDESCO/RED BULL PHOTOFILES

CATEGORY#1 SPEED

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Action Get up to speed with athletes around the globe

52 KATIE TAYLOR 62 SURFING THE POROROCA 68 FORMULA ONE 74 ERIC BANA

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MILLION OLLAR KATIE The world’s best female boxer is punching her way through barriers of discrimination to become an odds-on favourite for 2012 Olympic gold. Meet the soft-spoken, hardhitting Katie Taylor and ﬁnd out why the lady is a champ

HAIR AND MAKE-UP: AISLING EYRE

Words: Andreas Tzortzis Photography: Thomas Butler

The Bulgarian keeps her guard up, her elbows tucked in near her abdomen, her gloves resting on her face guard. She ducks once, twice, and absorbs a left jab, then a right hook, then a flurry of punches. Thirty seconds into the semi-finals of the European Amateur Women’s Boxing Championships, and Katie Taylor is already up 2-0. The film footage reviewed by Katie’s camp shows that Denica Eliseeva prefers to work from the defensive, countering when the opportunity arises. Of course, that’s what the footage of most of Katie’s opponents shows. Punches of the speed and punishment level dealt out by the 23-year-old Irish lightweight are atypical in women’s boxing. As is Katie’s reaction time, her repertoire of combinations and her virtuosity in changing the game plan of a round as she’s boxing it. Katie moves backwards, lightly, around the ring, inviting Eliseeva to make a move. The Bulgarian is slow and wary. She doesn’t take the bait. Her opponent’s record might offer a reason why. Going into this bout, Katie has won 61 of her last 62 fights. The most recent coming just a day before, when 53

Print 2.0

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the referee stopped Katie’s quarter-ﬁnal bout after she broke her opponent’s nose. “Feint your way in, Katie!” yells an Irish voice from beyond the barriers set up around the judge’s table. That voice belongs to Pete Taylor, her brother, a former boxer himself. In the stands in this basketball arena in the former shipbuilding capital of Nikolaev, Ukraine, are Katie’s mother, her sister and Pete’s girlfriend – their eyes nervously watching the ring. Her cornerman is her father, a former Irish boxing champion and his daughter’s tireless, if sometimes reluctant, trainer. “Angles! Angles!” Pete yells. There doesn’t seem to be much cause for concern. Katie puts on a clinical display, notching points in each of the rounds. By the time the bell rings, Katie is through 54

to the ﬁnal after winning 8-0. Pearls of sweat dot her forehead and nose and the mask of concentration she’s worn since entering the arena eases only slightly. She doesn’t smile. This isn’t the gold, after all. By the time London opens the Olympic Games in 2012, there will be few who will have not heard of the Irish right-hander from the working class town of Bray, Co Wicklow. In late August, women’s boxing overcame the wary machismo and thinly veiled sexism that had waylaid it for most of the past decade, to ofﬁcially become an Olympic sport. Within a few hours, Katie Taylor not only became one of the new Olympic discipline’s poster children, she also became Ireland’s best gold-medal hope. There have been few boxers as dominant in the young discipline as the

soft-spoken, hard-hitting dual sports star. An accomplished midﬁelder who has earned more than 50 caps as a member of the Irish women’s soccer team, Katie’s growing fame is nonetheless tied to her formidable record in the ring. She has won the European championships in the lightweight category the last three years running, is two-time world champion, and, last year, was voted the world’s best amateur female boxer by the sport’s governing body, the AIBA (International Boxing Association). Top boxing minds in Ireland rate her the most technically brilliant of the country’s impressive boxing talent – male or female. “There’s nobody more courageous than Katie,” says Patrick Ryan, the ruddyfaced veteran trainer of dozens of Irish

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national champions who, three years ago, began working Katie’s corner together with her father. “That’s something you can’t teach them. It’s the risks you take. The more calculated risks you take, the better your chances of winning.” Such calculation is borne of experience, something Katie – despite her youth – has more of than perhaps any other female boxer.

ray lies half an hour’s drive from Dublin, a faded seaside resort town more occupied with youth crime than showcasing its marquee location along Ireland’s eastern coast for potential tourists. Peter Taylor spent his youth in Bray training to become a champion boxer, which he eventually was – winning the all-Ireland’s in 1986. Then life intervened as he began to raise a family. But he continued to train. And when a babysitter couldn’t be found, he took his youngest daughter, then just five or six, with him to the gym. Katie, who had already shown a gift for football, took to boxing immediately. “I always knew how to throw a punch,” says Katie. “I know girls aren’t supposed to know that.” Boxing was in the Taylor genes. Taylor’s two older sons would go on to box competitively. His wife, Bridget, later became Ireland’s first female boxing judge. And although he had his reservations when it came to his daughter stepping into a ring, Katie was relentless in her desire to train. “It’s individual,” says Taylor. “If your daughter wants to box, do you stop her?” So Taylor began calling up other clubs, looking for sparring partners and competitions. He’d enter her under K Taylor and it was only after the bouts, when she took off her helmet, that the boys realised they had been bested by a girl. “It was awkward for the lads as well,” says Katie. When Taylor appealed to the Irish Amateur Boxing Association to set up fights for his daughter with other girls, he was met with stony silence. It was only in 2000 that the IABA, an organisation celebrating its 100-year anniversary in 2011, sanctioned women’s boxing, seven years after the AIBA put on the first women’s bout prompting a number of countries, from the United States to Scandinavia to quickly follow suit. “You could write 10 pages about what I had to do to get into the IABA,” says Peter Taylor. “There was no interest.” In October 2001, the amateur association put on the first bout involving

women at the national boxing arena in Dublin. Katie, then just 15, beat a 16-year-old girl handily, by a score of 23-12, with technique that belied her age and gender. The Irish boxing community was impressed. At the end of the evening, which also featured a bout by eventual European bronze medallist Andy Lee, Katie was named the best boxer of the night. But the novelty soon wore off and people began to forget about Bray’s rising boxing star. The town’s community centre was only open to Katie for four hours each week to train. So Taylor trained her in the family’s kitchen, teaching his two sons, Lee and Peter, and Katie combinations, and letting the siblings spar against one another. “You could tell at a young age that she was gifted,” said the younger Peter. “She played soccer and was brilliant at it. She boxed and was brilliant at it.” The family patriarch, Taylor, a self-employed electrician, took it upon himself to fund his children’s ambitions. He paid the expenses for the first few tournaments Katie entered abroad. He’d find boys for her to spar against. Their punches were harder and faster, forcing his daughter to react quicker, and to endure more – allowing her to become the boxer she is today. “I guess that’s what sets me apart,” says Katie. Her voice is softer than her lightest punch. Everything about her at first glance, from her porcelain skin to her thoughtful eyes, suggests a girl better suited to devouring Jane Austen in a quiet corner than the pugilistic arts. She’s quick to smile, and laugh, but just as quick to focus her energy, blocking everything out. It was the focus that enabled her to turn potential into concrete, astonishing success. In 2003, she was brought into the IABA’s high-performance unit, the first, and to this day only, woman given that privilege. “Because women’s boxing wasn’t in the Olympics, it was very difficult to make a case for her to get funding,” said Billy Walsh, the programme’s director. Taylor, meanwhile, had to give up his electrician’s business as training and tournaments made it impossible for him to fulfil contracts. The money dwindled and the family pulled together before the Irish Sports Council awarded Katie a developmental grant in 2005. Two years later, they bumped her up to their highest category, at €40,000 a year. Her first European championship came in 2005, when she was just 18, beating Gülsüm Tatar, a Turk who had dealt her two defeats in previous years. Tatar

would beat her twice more in the next two years, before Katie hit her stride and began dominating her rival. Katie won the championships again in 2006, her large victory margins over one-time champions signalling a new star on the women’s boxing circuit. That November, she overcame a broken nose, suffered in sparring, to win Ireland its ﬁrst-ever world championship in women’s boxing. Two more European titles followed, as did another world championship. Not that anyone back home was paying much attention. “The recognition is the hardest part,” said Katie. “I won three European titles before I ﬁnally started getting my face in the papers.” The Olympic announcement has largely changed all of that. Along Bray’s

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high street, dominated by pound shops, cheap booksellers and the occasional pub, locals are quick to boast about “the best thing that’s happened to Bray”. “She’s a national hero,” says Harry O’Toole, setting down his pint of Guinness on the bar of Holland’s pub. “The youth, both male and female, look up to this girl as an example of how you can enjoy yourself through sport. I’d like to wish her health, happiness, a great future and the Olympic gold medal. She’d lift the hearts of everyone in Ireland, which is more than you can say for the politicians.” Katie can’t walk down the street in her hometown without being stopped for autographs. On nights out, she gets asked a lot of questions and the occasional stupid request to throw a punch, which she

laughs off, sipping her blackcurrant juice while her friends drink cocktails. The fact is, she doesn’t go out much, anyway. Six days a week, you can ﬁnd her in a converted boathouse yards away from the boats and lapping waves of Bray harbour. Two years ago, after years of battling, the city gave the building to Peter Taylor, who converted it into the Bray Boxing Club with the help of local sponsors. The rattling trains of the Dublin Area Rapid Transit are audible through the corrugated metal roof of the one-room building, as are the scrape and scratch of the pigeons landing on the top. Posters of Irish bouts and champions gone by, including the requisite Ali posters bearing the Greatest’s witticisms, hang on the walls. A boxing ring is

pushed up against the wall, boxes of gear line the walls next to punching bags. She has no shortage of sparring partners. When Taylor calls up other boxing clubs looking for talented young men to spar with his daughter, they ask what time they should come over. “The boys are learning from Katie because Katie is very quick, very fast,” says Ryan. “The guys have to be really, really sharp because they don’t know what’s coming.” Most of her female colleagues politely decline invitations to spar with her. Others demand Taylor ask Katie to go easy on them before accepting. “She’s pound-forpound the best boxer,” says Lucy O’Connor, the captain of the British women’s boxing team. “Her hand speed is, well as you can see, unmatched at the moment. She’s 57

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my boxing idol.” O’Connor herself has sparred against Katie, but never fought her in competition. “No, thankfully,” she says with a smile. “Formidable, I think is the word you’re looking for.” “People who follow boxing are very, very knowledgeable,” says Ryan. “And all you can do when you see Katie in the ring is sit back and say, ‘Have a look at this.’”

aturday in Nikolaev: the day before Katie’s final bout. She’s chosen to train away from the other boxers, at a run-down sports facility on the banks of the Southern Bug river that flows into the Black Sea, 65km away. As elsewhere in this fading city, nature seems to be reclaiming the grounds of the training centre, weeds spilling onto the walkway leading up to it, the roots of nearby trees threatening to break through concrete at any moment. Suspiciouslooking men in tracksuit bottoms, their pot bellies giving new shape to polyester shirts printed with loud, colourful patterns, loiter outside what looks like the entrance to a modest two-storey house. But a narrow hallway opens into a large gym of chipped paint and scuffed floorboards. On a raised boxing ring in the back, a pale figure in Adidas gear feints and punches, exhaling barely audible whistles tinged with the sound of exertion. A couple of young boxers sit languidly at the edge of the ring. Katie stalks Taylor around the ring, whipping out jabs and hooks at the hulking figure of her father. Hawk-nosed and built like a tank, Taylor’s forearms, each bearing a tattoo of the Yorkshire rose, are about as thick as the ring’s corner posts. He walks like a gunslinger, his shoulder and neck muscles forming a broad, sloping triangle. His daughter’s neck is similarly muscular, the rest of her arms and shoulders slim and toned and moving at lightning fast speed. One of the young boxers films Katie on his mobile phone, pausing every once in a while to look over at his mates. They shake their heads and smile. After Katie’s bout on Friday, Taylor hung around to watch Turkish lightweight Meryem Zeybek Aslan come back from 3-2 down to win her place in the finals with some hard punching and a 6-4 score. Later that night, while Katie slept, Ryan and Taylor stayed up into the early hours, watching Aslan’s footage, and noticed she left an opening for Katie’s devastating left hook when she moved in to punch. In the training session, father and daughter practised a counter punch, Taylor moving in close while Katie 59

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JUST FOR KICKS

Along with her boxing career, Katie Taylor can lay claim to being one of Ireland’s ﬁnest female soccer players

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sidestepped and swung a vicious hook. Step, pop. Step, pop. Over and over again. “It’s up to her when she’s in the ring,” says Taylor. “We can prepare her and give her tips, but she’ll feel her way in the ring.” At the end of the 20-minute session, Katie is off again: head down, quiet, already thinking about the next day’s final. The pressure on her shoulders has mounted considerably in the last two years as the AIBA lobbied the International Olympic Committee. In 2007, Katie took part in a bout in Chicago held in large part to win over the final sceptics within the IOC. “A fight’s a fight really, but I did feel loads of pressure,” she recalls, “because of who was there watching it and what it meant for women’s boxing.” Katie put on a powerful display, stopping her opponent in the first round on the 15-point rule as IOC president Jacques Rogge looked on. Two years later, the IOC voted for inclusion. “Of all the Olympic sports, we were the only ones without women,” says Dr Ching-Kuo Wu, AIBA president and a tireless campaigner for women’s boxing since assuming his post three years ago. “If we talk about gender equality, then we have to bring women’s boxing into the Olympics.” A fan of Katie’s since seeing her box several years ago, Wu says her combination of carefully honed skill and personality makes her the sport’s ideal spokesperson. “She’s perfect at representing the right image,” said Wu. “We are very happy to have her. She’s brilliant.” Such words of support are welcome at the Taylor camp, even if the behaviour of the Irish boxing authorities in recent weeks has left Peter Taylor with a sour taste. “There’s a chance we might get a medal, so they all want to put their hand in the pie,” he says. “It’s frustrating for us, you know. We’ve soldiered away all these years… I’m getting calls from people who I knew who they were, but I knew there was never any interest from them in women’s boxing.” One wonders if Katie is able to handle the circus that will engulf her life in the coming years. She’s averse to interviews, turning down Ireland’s most popular late-night show, The Late Late Show, several times before Taylor managed to convince her – and then only after he promised to come on the programme with her. A young life consumed with training has made her shy and reticent. Taylor likes to joke that his daughter is “23 going on 15”. “I am very innocent, I’ve been training my whole life,” she says. “Other things, how

to handle them, how to deal with life. My dad has to help me with those as well.” Katie seems most lost after ﬁnishing a tournament, when rest, instead of early morning workouts and days spent in the gym, are prescribed. “It is tough,” she says “I sit at home some days when I’m on a break and I do wonder what people do, during the days, what people do at night.”

orning breaks in Nikolaev and Katie wakes after a fitful night in a hotel housed in one of those jutting, poured concrete monstrosities Soviet developers seemed to specialise in. After the early morning weigh-in confirms her at a trim 60kg, she takes a walk with her father, listening to the same songs over and over again on her iPod. The 3500-seat arena is more than three-quarters full by the time the bell on the first bout rings at noon on Sunday. The national squads sit in clusters, recognisable by the colour of their tracksuits – the deep burgundy of Bulgaria, the red of Poland, the blue of Sweden. Some of the boxers sport bruises from the preceding days. Girls in traditional dress with papiermâché crowns of garish blue and pink flowers sit in a row of seats, waiting out the bouts until the medal ceremonies. Katie has disappeared into the dressing rooms, where she embarks on a set preparation routine. As before all fights, she opens a Bible, stopping at Psalm 18: It is God that girdeth me with strength, and maketh my way perfect. He maketh my feet like hinds’ feet, and setteth me upon my high places. He teacheth my hands to war, so that a bow of steel is broken by mine arms. Thou hast also given me the shield of thy salvation: and thy right hand hath holden me up, and thy gentleness hath made me great… As she prays, the bell signalling the rounds progressing outside is muffled. The shouts and applause of the crowd barely reach her. Katie’s family is in the stands, looking on nervously as Katie’s fight approaches, the sixth of the day. A medal ceremony wraps up and Katie suddenly strides out, wearing red, looking straight ahead as she mounts the steps and climbs into the ring. People move from the lobby to crowd the two hallways that enter the arena. Taylor leans in from the corner post. “Just go out there and have fun,” he says. “You’re boxing for yourself and no one else.” Katie comes out aggressive, putting Aslan on the ropes as she works her

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body. Her first point comes from a flurry of punches to the face. The second is on a probing left jab. On the third point, Katie employs the move practised the evening before, sidestepping the first aggressive advance from Aslan and smashing a left hook in. Unlike a men’s bout, where testosterone often overwhelms technique, the careful strategy and technical skill of good boxers is quite obvious in women’s fights. Watching the final makes another thing clear: while her opponents are good and getting better, Katie is quite visibly in another league. Round one comes to a close. Aslan takes a seat on a plastic stool in her corner. Katie stands in hers and stares into the ring. Taylor leans in close to Katie: “She’s going to come out aggressive.” Aslan does and Katie counters immediately, landing her fourth point. The points tally up to seven as the second round ticks down. By the third, it’s no longer a question of if but by how much Katie will win. Aslan has run out of the few ideas she’s had. In the fourth round, Katie absorbs a few blows to counter with a flurry of body and head shots, bullying Aslan into the corner of the ring as the crowd claps appreciatively. The bell rings. The computer screens read 11-0 for Katie and she allows herself a smile, baring a mouthpiece painted in the Irish tricolour. Taylor gives her a kiss and Ryan a hug. It’s her fourth European championship in a row – and she did it without losing a point throughout the entire tournament. There’s a flurry around her as she tries to make her way to the dressing room. Everyone wants a photo with Katie, everyone an interview. “Four in a row,” says Taylor as Katie pulls off the tape wrapped around her hands in the dressing room. “Enjoy it.” Katie moves out into the narrow hallway, where yellow-shirted volunteers and the tournament’s mascot, a teenager wearing a yellow plush lion suit, want photographs. The majority of the Ukrainian women’s boxing team is next. Ten minutes on, she’s walking out again and up to the podium. She smiles as the Irish anthem is played. But inside she knows she would give back this medal, give back all of her medals, for an Olympic gold in three years’ time. And it’s not difficult to imagine: the flag ascending in the boxing arena in London; Katie smiling in the Irish team jacket – the best thing that’s happened to Bray, and quite possibly the young sport of women’s boxing. =è[ flk n_Xk BXk`\ [f\j e\ok Xk nnn%bXk`\$kXpcfi%e\k

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THE LONGEST WAVE Where the Amazon meets the Atlantic, fearless surfers head into an unforgiving swell that can carry them eight miles upstream – or plunge them straight to the bottom of the ocean Words: Holger Altrichter Photography: Jürgen Skarwan

p to our knees in mud on the banks of the Araguari river, inland of Brazil’s north-east coast, one of our party stops and points in the direction of the Amazon basin. He’s from around these parts, an indigenous inhabitant of the rainforest with a Google-Maps knowledge of the terrain and what it can throw up: when he stops to point, you stop to look where. On the horizon, we can just make out a thin white stripe, and then the silence of our concentration is broken by a faint, regular beat. Our spotter turns to us and says one word: “Pororoca.” He’s referring to the battle between the Amazon and the Atlantic, where the ocean initially meets resistance from the river and then forces waves up to 4m high back inland at 30kph and for several kilometres – waves, which, if you have extreme courage and skill, can be ridden continuously for half an hour and more. In the local language, ‘pororoca’ means ‘loud, destructive noise’, but in surfer-speak, it could just as easily translate as ‘the ultimate’ or, more accurately, ‘the longest wave in the world’. There’s still a good while for us to go to get there, however. Our wooden boat holds surfboards, life 64

jackets, waterproof camera kit and, among others, Ross Clarke-Jones, a surfing legend in Australia; Gary Linden, esteemed in California, where he surfs and makes surfboards; top Brazilian surfer Carlos Burle, mentor of big-wave surfer Maya Gabeira; and Picuruta Salazar, the local hero who, it is said, once surfed the pororoca for half an hour. We began our journey at Manaus, a city in the heart of the Amazon with a population of 1.7 million. A century ago it was a centre of the rubber industry, and its well-off residents were said to send their clothes to London to be laundered and their children to France be educated. Those days are long gone, as are most of the rubber trees. People only really come here now to start a journey to the mouth of the Araguari, the perfect jump-on point for the pororoca. During our week-long trip, home is the Forest II a 28m-long, 6m-wide vessel powered by a 700bhp diesel engine. From Manaus, the Forest II chugged past the city of Santarém, where the Tapajos river empties into the Amazon and a place that the marine biologist Jacques Cousteau dubbed the ‘Amazon Caribbean’. After that, she should have cruised directly northwards to the Araguari, but the route was closed and we had to detour via the sea, where the Forest II unwillingly made her saltwater debut. She bobbed along the Atlantic coast for a couple of hours before turning west again. We weighed anchor by a small island in the Araguari

ILLUSTRATION: SASCHA BIERL

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to be safe from the pororoca, which has easily turned over much bigger ships. It was due at daybreak. At the crack of dawn we stride through the mud to the small wooden boats, which seem like rubber rings in comparison with the sturdier Forest II. Our helmsman, Indio, gives the starting signal and the outboard motors splutter into life. Indio has encountered the pororoca dozens of times, yet he seems tense. He warns us insistently that the pororoca can be very dangerous, and if we find ourselves rolled over by it, we’ll be in choppy, rough water along with crocodiles, water snakes, piranhas and the equally dangerous swirling tree trunks. There is a distinct possibility that our little wooden boat will run aground in the shallow water ahead of the wave. “If that happens,” Indio explains, “you’ve got to jump in and get as far away from the boat as quickly as possible. Because if the wave hits the boat and throws it up in the air, there’s a strong chance it’ll smash you to pieces.” According to Brazilian legend, the goddess Iemanjá gets angry with us mortals, and as an orisha of the ocean, can call on the pororoca to help mete out her punishment. There are about 60 places in the world where these long waves known as tidal bores occur, such as the Bristol Channel separating Wales and England, and the Qiantang river in China. The latter, known as the Silver Dragon, can reach 9m in height, more than twice that of the pororoca, 66

but it’s a fleeting victory: the Brazilian wave easily outlasts them all in terms of minutes and miles travelled. It is at its most spectacular in February and March, after the four-month long Brazilian rainy season has swelled the country’s waterways. The pororoca first landed on the world’s radar 25 years ago, when a research expedition of Cousteau’s was severely impaired when the wave capsized his boat with a cargo of expensive equipment onboard. Back in 1984, the Frenchman spoke of a wall of water hurtling towards him. Today, we can understand what he meant. “There’s a problem with the engine!” yells Indio. One of Cousteau’s walls is surging towards us. We get ready to dive into the water, but Indio gets the outboard motor started again just in time for us to make our escape. Another boat is less lucky and runs aground. We watch helplessly as the passengers dive overboard and try to get as far away from the boat as possible. They don’t make it far enough and the pororoca swallows them up, chews them for second or two and then spits them out. A lifeboat dashes across the river and fishes them out one by one. Later, back on shore, we meet those less fortunate than ourselves: one has a gaping wound on his leg from the propeller, another held up his surfboard like a shield to deflect a direct hit from the boat. He escaped intact, with a bruise on his back, but the board wasn’t so lucky.

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Later still that day, we refuel at the buffet prepared by Paolo, the cook on Forest II. Paolo is something of a celebrity on these waters. In December 2001, he was working in the galley of the Seamaster, the schooner Sir Peter Blake was skippering on a Untied Nations environmental expedition on the Amazon basin. Pirates attacked, and Sir Peter, a New Zealander and twice winner of the America’s Cup, was shot and killed. With pride in his voice, Paolo recounts how he survived by hiding in the boat’s lounge and then later reported events to the police. According to Paolo, the attack took place not far from where we are now. Next morning, we approach the pororoca without a hitch and the surfers proceed into the wave at exactly the right time. They surf in a row alongside one other; they surf in a line one behind the other… they just keep on surfing. Salazar is the last to be thrown off after an incredible 40 minutes of board time. Back together again that night on the Forest II, the conversations concern just one topic: the wave. “The fascinating thing,” says Linden, “is that you only get one chance each day. If you miss it, you’ve got to wait 24 hours to try again.” The tide, of course, comes in twice a day, bringing the pororoca with it, but you can only study and surf every second wave. The one you can’t surf occurs during the night, while you’re asleep, but you can feel it beckoning in your dreams. Jli] èkf k_\ nfic[ f] 9iXq`cËj Y`^$nXm\ gièZ\jj% M`j`k nnn%i\[Ylcc%Zfd Xe[ j\XiZ_ ]fi DXpX >XY\ìX

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F1 2009 WACKY RACES! A team that came back from the dead; the (un)luckiest driver in the world; a man winning a race with a broken leg and the end of an era for dinosaur billionaires. We may just have witnessed the craziest Formula One season ever Words: Matt Youson Illustrations: Lie-Ins and Tigers

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»>TEAM LAZARUS They say it’s best to make a clean break, but no one expected Honda to exit F1 last December leaving only a note on the mantelpiece and having taken all the LPs. Honda’s thinking? You don’t lavish millions on a racing team when you’re closing factories. The F1 organisation, had three months to find a new backer or face closure. So, no pressure. Their top asset was Ross Brawn, who had masterminded Michael Schumacher’s seven drivers’ world championships. Honda had lured him back, only to pull the rug out with the job half done. He could have walked away, but didn’t. F1 had a new team: Brawn GP, with Ross cast as the eponymous, if reluctant, hero. With the season on its way, Brawn GP still didn’t have an engine, but a last-gasp deal was done with Mercedes. Their motor wasn’t a perfect fit in a car designed around a Honda powerplant but, but armed with yards of gaffer tape and a big hammer, the engineers performed wonders. The team arrived in Australia with a car bereft of sponsors and test miles… then finished 1-2, Jenson Button first, Rubens Barrichello second. Button won five of the next six races, aided, it must be said, by a double diffuser that both Red Bull Racing and Renault had earlier been told was illegal. Without that ‘unfair advantage’ the championships might have looked somewhat different. As for Ross, at Ferrari he’d received a papal blessing. Now, thanks to a couple of miracles and a resurrection, the media treated him like the Second Coming. Hats off from the entire paddock, but they’ll have it harder in 2010 from Red Bull Racing, McLaren and Ferrari.

»>LIAR, LIAR, PANTS ON FIRE-GATE What started out as a coda to the Australian Grand Prix turned into a full-blown rock opera when F1 arrived in Malaysia for round two. Toyota driver Jarno Trulli finished third in Oz, only to have the stewards penalise him post-race for making an illegal overtaking move, passing McLaren’s Lewis Hamilton during a safety-car period (when everyone is supposed to hold station). The hapless Jarno claimed that Hamilton had pulled over and let him through. The stewards summoned Hamilton and McLaren sporting director Dave Ryan. They denied everything. Their strategy had two very minor flaws, though: Hamilton had already

told the whole world he’d let Trulli through, and his car-to-pit radio confirmed it. McLaren had committed the ultimate sporting sin – they got caught. The media went ballistic. The fallout had McLaren team boss Ron Dennis – an F1 fixture as venerable as Bernie Ecclestone – exiling himself to focus on McLaren’s latest road-car project, leaving deputy Martin Whitmarsh holding the baby. Meanwhile Ryan – regarded as an honest man in a sport of scoundrels – fell on his sword. Hamilton somehow emerged as the innocent pawn of evil machinations. He hinted at inner turmoil while bravely soldiering on. The affair was brief and bitter, yet as is the F1 way, after spat, counter-spat, FIA hearings and political machinations, all was forgotten by mid-season. 69

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»>RED BULL RISING

ADRIAN NEWEY SAID: “I DO ENJOY REGULATION CHANGES SUCH AS THOSE WE HAD LAST WINTER. WHEN THINGS STAY THE SAME IT ISN’T QUITE SO… INTERESTING” 70

It’s been a good – almost great – season for Red Bull Racing, with teen-number podiums, multiple victories, season-long consistency and a fight to the very end for the driver’s title. The RB5 car, designed under the direction of Adrian Newey, F1’s boffin-supreme, has been the only rival to Brawn. When it won, it won easily, but like a racehorse – only on ground it liked: it excelled on fast, sweeping circuits and whenever F1 got away from the modern, slow, TV-friendly tracks, it looked the Thoroughbred it was. German prodigy Sebastian Vettel took Red Bull Racing’s maiden victory from pole in Shanghai, then won again in Britain and Japan. He hates to be called ‘the New Schu’ but does a very good

impersonation. Meanwhile Mark Webber, the bad-luck magnet, raced the first halfseason with a leg looking like a bag of hammers after losing an off-season bikeversus-SUV altercation. He won after dominating in Germany (his first F1 victory) and Brazil. The stuff of legend. So why didn’t the team win even more? The double-diffuser volte-face was a handicap, as were some tough stewards’ decisions. Tyres, tarmac and temperature all played their part, but racing usually comes back to the horses and while those with Mercedes engines had power to spare, the Renaults of Red Bull still tend to lag a little. And as F1 engine development is currently frozen, thanks to a set of regulations regarded by some as bonkers, there isn’t a lot anyone can do about it…

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»>THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT SUZUKA… F1 returned to its traditional Japanese home this year. Despite a few cosmetic tweaks, Suzuka remains the ultimate test of skill and courage, thanks to the looping, soaring figure-of-eight layout. Somehow, this narrow, twisting tarmac ribbon brings out the animal in drivers. Thanks to a washout on Friday, the field went into the weekend without having purged it from their system, and the following carnage was spectacular. Mark Webber destroyed his chassis in the morning, then the afternoon claimed Jaime Alguersuari, Heikki Kovalainen, Sébastien Buemi, Timo Glock and half a dozen near-misses. A modern circuit wouldn’t get away with a 290kph sixthgear corner inches from a big wall, but history is part of F1 – and if the Degner Curve was good enough to catch out Nigel Mansell, it’s good enough for this generation. You don’t mess with a classic.

»>FORMULA TOPSY TURVY It’s been a bizarre year. At the Turkish GP, Brawn were so superior that Button was in the EasyJet Speedy Boarding queue before the rest had finished. At the next race, in Britain, Vettel won by a minute, humming the theme music from The Archers. Hamilton then dominated in Hungary for McLaren and Nico Rosberg’s Williams was easily the fastest car in Singapore. But the most surprising thing of all was Force India taking pole position at Spa-Francorchamps. Minnows just don’t do that. Fortunately, sanity was restored when Ferrari’s Kimi Räikkönen woke up from his torpor to win the Belgian Grand Prix. You could give Kimi a milk float and he’d somehow win at Spa. With the exception of last year, he’s never finished lower than first.

»>TECH TROUBLE This year F1 has sunk hundreds of millions of dollars into new, overtakingfriendly bodywork that hasn’t improved overtaking, moveable front wings that nobody moves and, of course, KERS – the Kinetic Energy Recovery System. It was F1’s hybrid sop to the green lobby. Oddly, it involves a series of non-recyclable volatile chemical batteries that make cars heavier and – because it’s used to improve acceleration rather than economy – is actually less fuel-efficient. Even the teams at the forefront of hybrid-car design said it was a waste of time, but F1 ploughed on anyway, though in a half-arsed manner that meant only seven drivers used it. The technology was difficult to get working: it started fires and electrocuted mechanics, but mostly it just didn’t work. Specifically it didn’t work for the larger drivers. F1 cars have a minimum weight of 605kg, but every team likes to get their car well under that, and then add ballast to balance the car. The 30kg KERS was a big stretch, annoying the taller, heavier drivers, who were never going to make it work without hacking off a limb. It came good in the end, particularly for Mercedes, who received just reward for their efforts and multi-million dollar investment with a winning second half of the season. They’d probably have a big advantage next year, except that now everyone’s agreed not to use KERS anymore. How very F1.

TOYOTA BOSS JOHN HOWETT ISN’T THE BIGGEST FAN OF KERS: “IF YOU LOOK ON SOME OF OUR ROAD CARS, YOU’D FIND MORE SOPHISTICATED TECHNOLOGY”

»>POLITICS! The typical F1 season is nine months of wrangling, occasionally interrupted by a motor race. The arguments don’t change, but 2009 at least had some new factions. There’s still the FIA and President Max Mosley in the blue corner and the gestalt commercial rights holder, fronted by Bernie Ecclestone, in the black. But the new player is FOTA, the Formula One Teams Association. It isn’t uncommon for the teams to unionise, but usually they fall out after 20 minutes and start throwing dung. Surprisingly it hasn’t happened this time. They’ve found common cause through the indignity of having new rules bulldozed through without their input. They’ve also expressed their displeasure at the commercial rights holder taking 50 per cent of F1’s income for doing approximately none of the work. When Bernie was running everything no one begrudged him his cut, but now it’s a group of shadowy bankers who are leaching the sport dry to service the debt they ran up buying it, so things are different. The teams decided to pull out, form their own series, keep all the money and race anywhere they pleased. Then it turned out that the FIA and the commercial rights holder could be reasonable… of course the fallout – or not, depending on who you believe – was Mosley’s decision to step down. In the election of a new president, he’s backing former Ferrari boss Jean Todt over former MEP and World Rally Champion Ari Vatanen. This might be a mind game; Vatanen is the spitting image of Mosley – maybe this is a plot to ensure Max remains president for eternity. Mwahaha! 71

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»>THE TAO OF FLAV… Part I: Jenson Bollard A rant from Flavio Briatore is always worth deciphering. The one he launched into just before the Chinese Grand Prix was a classic. A protest launched by his Renault outfit and several others regarding the legality of the Brawn cars was thrown out. He wasn’t very happy and said this: “The drivers in our teams have been and are world champions, while the championship is now fought between a pensioner [Barrichello, 37] and another who is a good guy but a paracarro [Button]. People want the fight at the top to be among the best drivers in the world.” Somewhat confused, the British media all ran off to their Italian counterparts for translation. A paracarro is a kerbstone. Basically Flav was likening Button’s pace to that of a concrete bollard. II. Taxi for Brawn Not content with having a pop at Button and Barrichello, Briatore – former mastermind of Benetton’s US chain of woolly jumper emporia – also decided to go for Ross Brawn, casting doubt on the latter’s suitability to run the FOTA technical working group. “Anyone is better, even the first Chinese taxi driver you see in the street.” Of course Flav wasn’t the only one shooting from the lip. Bernie decided the run-up to the German Grand Prix was the perfect time to express admiration for Adolf Hitler; “a man who could get things done.” III Buried in the Kaka Flav is an expert commentator on other sports too. Since buying into second-tier football club Queens Park Rangers, he’s taken them on the proverbial rollercoaster. Two years in, he’s onto his fifth manager, is rumoured to pick the team over the phone, and is not averse to the odd diatribe whenever the urge takes him. He started the year by savaging Manchester City for the effrontery of ambition, after they tried to lure Brazilian playmaker Kaka from AC Milan. “If you put Schumacher in a Minardi, it wouldn’t have gone nowhere. If you put Kaka in this club, it is going nowhere anyway. I think it is completely mad.” At the time of writing Man City are fourth in the Premier League, QPR most definitely are not and Briatore’s position as a ‘fit and proper person’ to run a football club is being investigated by the Football Association. 72

»>EQUALLY CURSED AND BLESSED So, was Felipe Massa extremely lucky, or terribly unfortunate? His collision with an errant suspension component at the Hungarian GP was a freak, million-toone chance. Had it hit him a millimetre on either side, Felipe could have lost the sight in his left eye – or worse. Of course, within approximately 0.7 seconds of ‘Flippa’ being declared ‘stable’ the debate turned to his replacement. After 0.71 seconds, Ferrari testers Marc Gené and Luca Badoer were discounted on the grounds of not being Michael Schumacher. But Schumi, it transpired, wasn’t match fit [broken neck vertebrae from a motorbike racing accident earlier in the year], so Badoer got the nod. Luca’s last F1 race was in 1999, and he held the dubious distinction of being the driver with the most races (56) for zero points. A turn in the shiny Ferrari would surely get that monkey off his back? No. Badoer was slower than glacial erosion. With no race miles and precious little testing recently, only very accurate scientific instruments could tell the difference between him and stationary objects. His tenure lasted 10 days. And it took his zero-points race tally to 58.

FELIPE SAID: “I’VE HAD OTHER ACCIDENTS THAT DISTURBED ME A LOT MORE… ONES THAT REALLY MADE ME THINK…”

RENAULT’S NEW DRIVER, ROBERT KUBICA, SAID: “YOU HAVE TO BE PRETTY DESPERATE TO DO SOMETHING LIKE THAT”

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»>THE FUTURE

»>CRASHGATE Last season, 2008, Nelson Piquet Jnr splattered his Renault all over the Marina Bay grandstand during the Singapore Grand Prix. The accident looked a little odd, prompting jokes about the fix being in. It was funny because a) no team would actually go down that route and b) as Piquet had hit pretty much everything else that season, it didn’t seem inconsistent. We now know better and, once again, the reputation of F1 has been dragged through the mud. A few former drivers, safely retired and with money in the bank, snorted and said ‘so what’s new?’ but for the rest of the world ‘crashgate’ was a big deal and F1’s rule-makers, the FIA, saw it as such, too. Team boss Flavio Briatore received a lifetime ban. Pat Symonds –

the man who did most of the work while Flavio was busy squiring supermodels and buying football teams – has been banished from motorsport for five years. Quite what it’s going to cost Piquet has yet to be determined; he was eventually granted a whistleblower’s immunity, but with his reputation in tatters, don’t expect to see him in F1 anytime soon. Junior’s replacement was a young Swiss robot called Romain Grosjean who, displaying a previously unsuspected genius for slapstick, crashed his Renault at exactly the spot as Piquet in practice for this year’s Singapore Grand Prix. He received an ironic standing ovation from all in the media centre, while Renault’s acting team principal, Bob Bell, didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. In the end, he opted for the former.

So, that was 2009. What’s up for 2010? Well, we’re almost sure to get another cost-cutting initiative. If it’s anything like the last couple, it will be expensive to implement, ineffectual and end up being thrown in the spare room with the ice-cream maker. Lewis Hamilton will continue to express himself like a polite young man from the 1950s. ‘Gee’, ‘Gosh’ and ‘Darn ‘will feature prominently. The four new teams – Lotus F1, US F1, Manor Grand Prix and Campos F1 – will generate massive attention at the first race, then trundle around at the back, never to be heard from again. Bernie Ecclestone will announce a date for the Indian Grand Prix. He may also add dates for races in Russia, South Africa and Narnia while he’s at it. Drivers will continue to lie about the unrelenting tedium of driving in Monaco. Organisers will continue to insist everything is going according to plan and Donington Park will be ready to host the British Grand Prix – meanwhile they’ll also be rearranging the deckchairs and asking the brass band to strike up Abide With Me. New Ferrari driver, the notoriously fractious Fernando Alonso, will achieve his lifetime’s ambition and start a fight in an empty room. The trend of younger drivers will reach its natural conclusion when their union, the Grand Prix Drivers’ Association, demands Barney the Dinosaur wallpaper, the right to wear Heelys and a bigger run-off at Monza’s Variante della Roggia. They won’t get the run-off. Kimi Räikkönen will continue to imbibe, rather than spray, his champagne. He will also hibernate from April until the August Bank Holiday, then briefly wake up, win in Belgium, say very little in the press conference and prepare for another nap. The spectre of Ron Dennis will be used to frighten young mechanics into behaving themselves and making sure everything is tidy. A celebrity girlfriend will mysteriously appear in the paddock. Just as mysteriously she will disappear again, shortly after her movie/album is released. Despite being pointedly told he’s live on TV, Sebastian Vettel will still talk about ‘Kate’s dirtier sister’. One of the teams will have a revolutionary aerodynamic device in Bahrain. The other teams will question its legality while furiously working to copy it. Robert Kubica will look more and more like a slightly bewildered owl. Kf Y\ gfc\ gfj`k`fe fe =( e\nj# qffd fm\i kf nnn%i\[YlcciXZ`e^%Zfd

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BANA and the

BEAST

How a teenage obsession with Mad Max turned into a Hollywood star’s life’s work, and the only mates-and-cars ﬁlm you’ll ever need to see Words: Paul Wilson Photography: Michael Klein

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his isn’t a story about a Hollywood actor simply flashing the cash and pretending to be a racing car driver; it’s the tale of an Aussie bloke and his mates, and a 25-year love affair with a 35-year-old car. It’s easy to confuse the two, not least because the Aussie bloke in question is Eric Bana, star of Troy, former Hulk and, most recently, bender of the space-time continuum in The Time Traveler’s Wife. His first film as director, the documentary Love The Beast, stars himself, his friends and family, a 1974 Ford XB Falcon Coupe and – the following spoiler will not spoil your enjoyment of the film – a gum tree on the side of a Tasmanian country road doubling as a rally track. Bana’s petrol-driven journey to that hunk of wood took a quarter of a century, and forms the backdrop to the best film about cars and driving of the last few years. Most motoring movies are distinguishable by their slick cinematography, fetishistic discussion of engine vitals and fleeting glimpses of hot driver wives. Mrs Bana, does crop up in her husband’s flick, and is lovely, but there the similarities end. There’s much more to Love The Beast than fast corners and fast zooms, and because of that, it’s a film for car lovers and everybody else. The story begins in 1984, when the 15-year-old Bana bought a car he had dreamed of owning since he saw one in the film Mad Max: a 1973 Ford Falcon XB. Max’s was a souped-up GT Hardtop; Bana’s was a knackered old Coupe that only ate up time and more money. For years, he and three friends put countless hours into the car, which acquired the nickname The Beast and lived in the Bana family’s garage. Over the next 10 years, before Bana established himself as a sketch comedian on Australian TV, he and his friends spent time and money on the car. “There were many times when I couldn’t afford petrol,” says the 41-year-old. “For some stupid reason I just hung onto it, and then I found myself in a position where I’d never need to sell it.” After Bana won his career-making role in the 2000 film Chopper, his life turned upside down. Hollywood came calling a couple of years later, affording him the resources to get The Beast fit for competition. He and his mates – Tony, Temps and Jack – still found time to tinker and maintain their friendship and shared passion. It’s this aspect of Love The Beast that’s the most appealing and very real. “The film has an effect on people,” says Bana. “Particularly those my age and older. It touches on mortality, ageing, and how much you have or haven’t maintained friendships. Crashing the car and putting me and my best mate in the path of serious harm did elevate it to something that it could not have been otherwise. “I’ve spent my life with these guys, dicking around with cars. We chose to carry on after we had kids, after I became an actor. I was nervous about how the film looked on paper, so I made it largely in secret. I was prepared for criticism saying, ‘It’s just a vanity project’. That’s almost offensive

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to me: what is a vanity project? It’s a film that a director wants to make because he cares about something enough to make a film of it.” You can tell from speaking to him, and watching his film, that Bana really cares about his friends and his car. He calls on Jeremy Clarkson and US talkshow host Jay Leno, two famous car nuts, to give his film a bit of clout, but they’re almost surplus to requirements. Watching Bana and his friends grow into their roles of driver, co-driver, manager and “shit-stirrer” (their words) in Team Bana, the film has all the context it requires without Leno and Jezza’s input. The film’s best nod to wider car culture is a clip from The Speed Merchants, the documentary about the World Sportscar Championship series in 1972, from Le Mans to Daytona. Skilfully doffing his director’s cap, Bana uses a clip of The Speed Merchants featuring the Targa Florio, the Italian sportscar event that ran for over 70 years until 1977. The Targa took place on public roads in the Sicilian mountains, and the footage is spectacular and evocative. Bana is right to single out the film – “it’s probably my favourite car film of all-time, in terms of capturing the emotion behind cars and racing” – not least because it sets up his film’s final act. It’s 2007, and Bana’s Beastly band pull up at the start line of the Targa Tasmania, a race inspired by the Targa Florio and that has taken place on the Australian island state’s roads since 1992. “It began as an enthusiast’s event,” explains Bana, “for

people who wanted to race classic cars. Now it’s a full-on competitive race in classic and newer categories. Anyone with a proper racing licence can enter.” Bana, who also races a Porsche in an Australian GT series, has his licence and is itching to put the Beast through the five days of racing. The first three days go according to plan, but it’s on day four that the racing comes to a halt. “I was in shock for about a day after the crash,” says Bana, who, along with co-driver Tony, escaped unscathed. “I had a good night with the boys the night we crashed, and then the next day it all became very clear as to which way it was going to go. I was more than happy to be in the lap of the gods. That’s the beauty of documentary. In the ones I love, the director, to a degree, is unable to control what happens. And I realised that it would be a better film for what happened.” Bana’s retelling of his crash and the unexpected off-track turns his story then takes, are the best things about the film. After the tree-car interface, Bana was left with two very different creations: an engaging documentary and a pile of twisted metal. Love The Beast made good money at the Australian box office, went down well at film festivals and you can watch it on screens big and small from mid-November. The Beast itself is undergoing a long and careful rebuild. “It’s had its rollcage cut and its chassis straightened,” says Bana, “and there are a fair few man hours of bodywork to come. Someone had a go at the film because it doesn’t say how much

9XeX \m\ek1 <i`Z Zfdg\k\j fe k_\ KXi^X KXjdXe`X kfg 2 n`k_ Y\jk gXc Xe[ Zf$[i`m\i Kfep# \p\j fe k_\ gi`q\ XYfm\

I’ve spent on the car. That made me laugh, because that’s insignificant. Some guys can spend a few hundred grand on their car; mine had nowhere near that amount, but it has had lots and lots of time.” What about a return to the Targa Tasmania? That gum tree may have won the argument first time around, but there’s still a point to be made and, very possibly, Love The Beast II: Drive Harder. “Never say never,” says Bana. “Check back in five years. Or 25.” Cfm\ K_\ 9\Xjk `j Xk Z`e\dXj ]ifd Efm\dY\i (*# Xe[ fe ;M; ]ifd Efm\dY\i (-% NXkZ_ k_\ kiX`c\i Xk nnn%cfm\k_\Y\Xjk%Zfd

EYEWEAR + ACCESSORIES . SAN FRANCISCO www.sutrovision.com

More Body & Mind

Where to go, what to wear, who to listen to – and more 80 HANGAR-7 INTERVIEW 82 GET THE GEAR 84 TRAVEL 86 LISTINGS 90 NIGHTLIFE 96 SHORT STORY 98 MIND’S EYE

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Hangar-7-Interview

Jason Polakow Sharks, monster waves and the world’s most ferocious currents hold no fear for the man, who, at 37, remains the world’s top windsurfer. He talked to The Red Bulletin about his salty passions over dinner at Hangar-7, Salzburg

Jason Polakow sniffed petrol long before the fresher breezes of sea and surf came to rule his life: in his teens he was Australian youth motocross champion, but moved to Hawaii at the age of 18 to outsurf board legend Robbie Naish in his own backyard. It was a remarkable achievement, making Polakow the first non-Hawaiian to win the Windsurf World Cup on the island and enabling him to go on to ventures such as launching his own brand of board. Heady times, but these days he takes things a wee bit easier, surfing only the biggest waves – which is why he has time for a little dinner à deux. You’ve just arrived from Tahiti where you surfed one of the world’s most dangerous waves, the Teahupoo. Explain to a landlubber what it’s like to tame that kind of monster? To be honest, I find it a lot easier to surf the really big waves because you automatically get the speed you need. The problem is that the wind has to be blowing from the right direction so that you can get into the wave. Once you’re in it, though, Teahupoo is one of the most beautiful waves in the world. It can be up to 5m tall, is seriously quick and makes the perfect tube. It feels something like having an enormous avalanche roaring behind you. What does it feel like when you get swallowed up by something like that? Not good! First you get hit in the back by a couple of tonnes of water and then it pulls you under and you feel like you’re in a huge washing machine. It doesn’t matter how strong you are, there’s nothing that you can do against the water and it practically rips your arms and legs off. That’s when you need to have good lungs to withstand the pressure and to be able to stay underwater for long enough. The important thing is to stay calm and 80

not panic or you’ll use up all your oxygen. You’re in real trouble if you land on a reef. In some places, the water under Teahupoo is only half a metre deep and the corals are as sharp as razor blades. Is there a way of protecting yourself in that kind of situation? With Red Bull’s help, we’ve developed a new life jacket. It doesn’t look that much different from other life jackets, but it’s more buoyant and has more air in it on the front side. So it automatically turns you onto your back and that means you won’t drown if you’re drifting in the water, unconscious.

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What’s been your worst experience in the water so far? I’ve been in some pretty hairy situations, but the worst must surely be the current in Jaws. It’s one of the biggest waves in Hawaii and if you fall there you get caught up in a strong current. You’re constantly being hit on the head by huge breakers and the suction pulls you right into the wave. You get thrashed about until you’re all out of strength and think you’re almost done for. And then eventually the wave gets bored of the taste of you, spits you out and washes you onto the rocks like a stunned fish.

Speaking of fish... have you had any encounters with sharks out there? Of course. I’m from Australia. Every Aussie surfer has had a date with a shark at some point or other. Mine happened to be harmless. The fella just knocked his head against my board. Still, you must have had a couple of scratches in all the time you’ve been wind-surfing... I have had some serious injuries, but I got most of them riding motocross. How about doing something safer, like chess or Sudoku? I love tearing through the wilderness on bikes, but unfortunately I often put my foot down a bit too hard and end up in the mud. I’ve done myself harm on so many occasions that one of my sponsors contractually forbade me from riding motocross. For a long time I couldn’t even look at bikes. Mind you, those breaks due to injury had their positive side, as I would do things that I normally didn’t have time for. I got my pilot’s and helicopter licences a couple of years ago when I couldn’t surf for five months. I don’t get to put them to use much, but when I’m here in Hangar-7 and see all these cool aeroplanes, I instantly want to get back up there. We’ve also heard that you have a passion for cooking? I love doing the cooking myself. That way I can make sure first and foremost that I’m eating healthily. I usually end up with chicken or fish on my plate with a decent side order of vegetables. I normally make a large amount in one go and then fill up 20 or 30 bags and put them in the freezer. Which means there’s always something good to eat in the Polakow household. ?Xe^Xi$. `em`k\j X ^l\jk Z_\] \XZ_ dfek_% @e Efm\dY\i# `kËj >iXek 8Z_Xkq ]ifd :_`ZX^f Xk k_\ Ylie\ij% Pfl ZXe j\\ Xcc k_\ ^l\jk Z_\]j ]fi )''0 Xk nnn%_Xe^Xi$.%Zfd

PHOTOGRAPHY: OLIVER GAST (3), BRIAN BIELMANN/RED BULL PHOTOFILES (1)

Words: Christoph Rietner

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Get the Gear

Hit Parade Boxing essentials to get you close to ﬁghting ﬁtness. The extra mile you run to Eye of the Tiger on repeat…

Fe k_\ ifg\j# ]ifd c\]k1 :c\kf I\p\j /fq Gif]\jj`feXc Zfek\jk ^cfm\j# (), nnn%nYZd\%Zf%lb % ?Xkkfe j\hlè\[ ]`^_k j_fikj# *)2 ?Xkkfe =`^_k\ij _ff[\[ aXZb\k# *, Yfk_ nnn%_XkkfeYfoè^% Zfd % :c\kf I\p\j _\X[^lXi[# (('2 :c\kf I\p\j Fcpdg`Z m\jk# )/2 :c\kf I\p\j 9foè^ j_fikj# *+ Xcc nnn%nYZd\%Zf%lb % Fe k_\ [\Zb# ]ifd c\]k1 I\\Yfb jg\\[ ifg\# (' nnn%i\\Yfb]`ke\jj%è]f % ?Xkkfe C\Xk_\i Gif :lim\[ _ffb Xe[ aXY gX[j# ,'2 ?Xkkfe gfcp\jk\i m\jk# ()2 ?Xkkfe gfcp\jk\i a\ij\p j_fikj# (/ Xcc nnn%_XkkfeYfoè^% Zfd % I\\Yfb d\[`Zè\ YXcc# *' nnn%i\\Yfb]`ke\jj%è]f % 8[`[Xj 8[`jkXi Yfoè^ Yffkj# (+' nnn%jl^XiiXpj%Zf%lb % ?Xkkfe C\Xk_\i _\X[^lXi[# +, nnn%_XkkfeYfoè^%Zfd

COMPILED BY: TOM HALL. PHOTOGRAPHY: WILL THOM. DETAILS CORRECT AT TIME OF GOING TO PRESS

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Travel

Ukrainian Odyssey One-eyed mares, misplaced Potemkin steps and a Ukrainian cop not averse to some easily earned cash. What more can one hope for after ﬁve days in the southern Ukraine?

So I’d like to say we were prepared for this eventuality, but the heart still skipped a beat when the cherubic Ukrainian police officer with the traffic wand waved down our Hertz Mazda. We’d evidently violated some traffic law or other on our way to the airport. Which one, we’ll never truly know, however, as we’d left our Russian-English dictionary at home. It would have been useless anyway, at that moment, as we were exposed to rapid-fire Russian through the driver’s side window. In the past four days we’d encountered thuggish Ukrainian locals, stomachchurning cuisine and enough acid-wash denim to outfit a John Hughes box set – why not a traffic stop lost in translation as well? We’d started our trip in Nikolaev, once the Tsarists’ shipbuilding capital on the Black Sea, now the home of some of the Ukraine’s top bride brokers. The city lies along the Southern Bug river, 137km north-east of Odessa, along a pot-holed and mildly heart-arresting road lined with the occasional vegetable cart and marble plaque mourning those who were less careful behind the wheel. Along its main street, highcheekboned women with slender figures parade in tight-fitting jeans and precarious heels. The men, 84

it seems, favour a more dressdown approach – shaved hair or blond-streaked mullets and the ubiquitous tracksuit. The city boasts a waterfront park that is the favourite destination of newly weds and their accompanying photographers and VHS video guys. We encounter about eight different parties during a 15-minute walk, their bridesmaids in apparent competition with one another for the shortest hemline trophy. Out on the other side of the estuary leading into the Bug, the rusted metal of the massive wharves attests to an industry that has seen better days. But there is an intimate charm to Nikolaev, a city laid out in a simple grid pattern, with wide, one-lane roads and sidewalks. The Nikolaev Zoo, we’re told, is the best in Ukraine. We’re told this repeatedly, so there’s nothing to do but oblige the kind suggestions and head over there. The verdict is almost instantaneous: if this is the country’s best zoo, one’s heart weeps for the fate of the poor

:cfZbn`j\ ]ifd kfg c\]k1 F[\jjX Fg\iX ?flj\ Yp e`^_k2 Gfk\dbè Jk\gj2 X gXib è F[\jjX2 Iljj`Xe kiXejgfik2 Yi`[\j cè\ lg ]fi g_fkfj Xk k_\ gfik2 k_\ _XiYfli Xk F[\jjX

WORDS: ANDREAS TZORTZIS. PHOTOGRAPHY:REX FEATURES (1), REUTERS (1), CORBIS (3), SHUTTERSTOCK (2)

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creatures in the others. Near an empty bear pit, deeply depressed bison stare straight ahead. We go up to stroke the nose of a white and grey mare leaning out of her paddock. She accommodates us, and then turns her head towards us to reveal a bloodreddened socket where her left eye should have been. It’s time to leave. The next night, we’re on the road back to Odessa, ready for a real city. A port town with a history reaching back to antiquity, Odessa has weathered the transition to capitalism quite well. Its baroque architecture and pedestrian walkways recall Vienna, Krakow or Munich. Still a popular resort destination for Russians and eastern Europeans, its bars and nightlife wouldn’t look wildly out of place in London’s Soho. Restaurants line Deribasovskaya Street, including one so drenched in folk kitsch it would be a shame to pass up. A waitress in a traditional dress brings us “Ukraine national drink”, the same vile vodka we met and didn’t get along with a few nights before in Nikolaev. But the hospitality is appreciated, as is the chicken Kiev dunked in a crunchy batter, with hot butter and parsley streaming out. Around the corner from us, the Odessa Opera House boasts a lighting design to rival the Acropolis at night. We have a morning left before our trip to the airport and run-in with the cops, so we head down to the Tomb of the Unknown Sailor, a monument placed on a parapet above the waves of the Black Sea, lapping below. Odessa seems to lack the sort of seafront promenade found in most coastal cities and could do with a significant investment in its infrastructure and public parks, but it’s also got the sort of rough charm one

If You Go ><KK@E> K?<I< 8@IC@E<J 8ljki`Xe 8ìcè\j DXc\m 8ìcè\j Xe[ :q\Z_ 8ìcè\j Xcc ]cp kf F[\jjX m`X M`\eeX# 9l[Xg\jk Xe[ GiX^l\% nnn%XlX%Zfd nnn%dXc\m%Zfd lb%Zq\Z_Xìcè\j%Zfd 8::FDDF;8K@FE E@BFC8<M I@M<I ?FK<C K_\ kfneËj e\n\jk _fk\c1 jc`Zb fe k_\ flkj`[\ n`k_ Zfd]fikXYc\ iffdj Xe[ m`\nj f] k_\ Jflk_\ie 9l^ i`m\i% K\c1 "*/' ,() ,/(((( F;<JJ8 DFQ8IK ?FK<C @e k_\ _\Xik f] kfne e\ok kf k_\ g\[\jki`Xe gifd\eX[\# n`k_ m`\nj f] k_\ jkleeè^ YXifhl\ Fg\iX ?flj\ Xe[ X i\jkXliXek j\imè^ [\c`Z`flj ]ff[% nnn%dfqXik$_fk\c%Zfd K\c1 "*/' +/) *.$..$ ..2 *.$-0$''2 *.$0*$0+ ><KK@E> 8IFLE; F[\jjX YfXjkj X hlXc`kp glYc`Z kiXejgfik e\knfib% K_\ F[\jjX :Xi[ )-&ö)0 ]fi fe\ [Xp n`cc ^`m\ pfl lec`d`k\[ kiXm\c fe k_\ Z`kpËj Yljj\j Xe[ `kj gfglcXi jki\\k$ kiXd e\knfib%

imagines Prague and Budapest had before German investors and British stag parties descended. Our last stop before the airport is the Potemkin Steps, the vast staircase made immortal through Sergei Eisenstein’s 1925 epic, The Battleship Potemkin. We pinpoint a word on our hotel map that resembles ‘Potemkin’ and pull up to the steps and park our car. Underwhelmed, we walk up remarking to one another how narrow they are. We’re at the top after a twominute walk. This doesn’t seem right. But time is ticking, and we scramble back to head off to the airport. As we drive past the naval port that served as the background to the film’s horrific final scene, we turn our heads to the left. There climbing up in all their magnificence are the vast and remarkably symmetrical steps. “Oh,” I manage, and then we’re past them. The befuddlement at missing something so massive is still with us when our friendly officer waves us down. The photographer sorts out the paperwork and returns to tell me that the kind fellow won’t hand back his passport. Instead, he gets in the passenger’s seat. With a combination of Russian and hand signals, we manage a U-turn back to his motorbike. As we sit there talking at each other in foreign languages, a light goes on in my confused head. I slide my wallet out of my pocket and slowly shift a few Ukrainian Hryvnias so that they’re visible. He looks at the wallet, looks at me and gives the international sign for “two”. I pluck the requested bills out and hand them over somewhat clumsily. A smile crawls across his Borscht-fed face. There’s nothing to do but smile back. After all, what the southern Ukraine might lack in tourist charm, it more than makes up for in stories. =fi dfi\ è]f fe LbiXè\# m`j`k nnn%kiXm\ckflbiXè\%fi^

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NEW ORLEANS SAINTS V NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS 30.11.09 Ileeè^ YXZb I\^^`\ 9lj_ Yiè^j _`j jg\\[ Xe[ jb`cc kf k_\ Cfl`j`XeX Jlg\i[fd\# Xj knf f] 8d\i`ZXe ]ffkYXccËj Y`^^\jk k\Xdj ^f _\X[$kf$_\X[ è n_Xk gifd`j\j kf Y\ Xe \ogcfj`m\ YXkkc\% E\n Fic\Xej# LJ8

HOT SPOTS Love sports and travel? Then try on this to-do list for size ASP WOMEN’S WORLD TOUR 03 - 08.11.09

FORMULA RENAULT 2.0 WEST EUROPEAN CUP 06 - 08.11.09

=fid\i 8JG Nfic[ :_Xdg`fe JfÔ X DlcXefm`Z_ n`cc i\Z\`m\ X nXid n\cZfd\ Xj j_\ jli]j k_\ nXm\j è _\i eXk`m\ G\il# n_\i\ j_\ n`cc Y\ YXkkcè^ nfic[$ZcXjj kXc\ek jlZ_ Xj JXccp =`kq^`YYfej è k_\ Ô eXc jkX^\j f] k_\ )''0 Zfdg\k`k`fe% DXeZfiX# G`liX# G\il

K_\ j\Xjfe Ô eXc\ è Gfikl^Xc n`cc [\Z`[\ n_\k_\i JgXe`Xi[ 8cY\ik :fjkX fi =i\eZ_dXe A\Xe$<i`Z M\iê\ n`cc ki`ldg_ è )''0% N_`c\ :fjkX _Xj cffb\[ jkife^ Xcc p\Xi# M\iê\ _Xj e\m\i Y\\e ]Xi Y\_è[# Xe[ e\`k_\i n`cc ^`m\ lg k_\ kifg_p n`k_flk X Ô ^_k% Gfik`d f# Gfikl^Xc

PHOTOGRAPHY: GARTH MILAN/RED BULL PHOTOFILES (1), GEPA/RED BULL PHOTOFILES (1), GEPA (1), SWEN CARLIN/RED BULL PHOTOFILES (1)

FIS SNOWBOARD WORLD CUP 04 - 05.11.09 K_\ )''0&(' JefnYfXi[ Nfic[ :lg Xii`m\j è Jn`kq\icXe[ ]fi k_\ j\Zfe[ c\^ f] k_\ ?Xc]g`g\ Zfdg\k`k`fe ]fi d\e Xe[ nfd\e% 8k jkX^\ fe\# è E\n Q\XcXe[# Z_Xdg`fe YfXi[\i J_Xle N_`k\ g`Zb\[ lg Xe `dgi\jj`m\ m`Zkfip n`k_ X e\n ki`Zb Æ k_\ [flYc\ Zfib Æ n_`Z_ j_flc[ ]fiZ\ k_\ i\jk f] k_\ Ô \c[ kf iX`j\ k_\ì ^Xd\% JXXj$=\\# Jn`kq\icXe[

PFC LEVSKI SOFIA V FC RED BULL SALZBURG 05.11.09 9lc^Xi`Xe Z_Xdg`fej C\mjb` JfÔ X n`cc gifm`[\ X Z_Xcc\e^\ ]fi =: I\[ 9lcc JXcqYli^# n`k_ k_\`i X[[\[ X[mXekX^\ f] gcXp`e^ fe _fd\ kli]% >\fi^` 8jgXil_fm JkX[`ld# JfÔ X# 9lc^Xi`X

IFSC CLIMBING WORLDCUP 06 - 07.11.09 :_Xdg`fe 8ljki`Xe Zc`dY\ij ;Xm`[ CXdX Xe[ 8e^\cX <`k\i kXb\ kf k_\ nXcc feZ\ dfi\ è k_\ e\ok ifle[ f] k_\ d\eËj Xe[ nfd\eËj c\X[ Zfdg\k`k`fej% 8e[ n`k_ <`k\iËj i\Z\ek nè Xk k_\ Nfic[ :_Xdg`fej_`gj ZfeÔ idè^ j_\Ëj ]lccp i\Zfm\i\[ ]ifd X [`]Ô Zlck j_flc[\i èalip# _\i Zfdg\k`kfij j_flc[ Y\nXi\% 9ief# :q\Z_ I\glYc`Z

RED BULL STREET STYLE 07.11.09 K_\ N\jkËj Y\jk ]i\\jkpc\ij n`cc Y\ flk kf j_fn f]] n_Xk k_\p ZXe [f n_\e ^`m\e X ]ffkYXcc# X j\k k`d\ Xe[ X jfle[kiXZb% K_\ Y\jk dfm\j fe k_\ [Xp nè X Zfm\k\[ gcXZ\ è k_\ :lg =èXc f] k_\ ]ffkYXcc ki`Zbj nfic[# k_\ I\[ 9lcc Jki\\k Jkpc\ Ô eXc# è Cfe[fe cXk\i k_`j dfek_% 9i`jkfc# <e^cXe[

RED BULL MANNY MANIA 14.11.09 DXelXc# fi ÊdXeepË# ki`Zbj i\hlì\ k_Xk fecp knf f] X jbXk\YfXi[Ëj n_\\cj i\dXè kflZ_è^ k_\ Õ ffi% N_`Z_ `j _Xi[\i k_Xe `k jfle[j n_\e g\i]fidè^ ki`Zbj è ]ifek f] X Zifn[# n_`c\ ]XZè^ jk`]] Zfdg\k`k`fe% K_\ knf Zfek\e[\ij n_f _fc[ k_\ì e\im\ Xe[ `dgi\jj n`cc dXb\ `k k_ifl^_ kf k_\ Cfe[fe Ô eXc cXk\i k_`j dfek_% :Xi[`]]# NXc\j

ENGLAND V SOUTH AFRICA 20.11 - 04.12.09 8j Y`^ Xj Xe 8j_\j nè `j# k_\ <e^cXe[ Zi`Zb\k k\Xd Xi\ efk i\jkè^ fe k_\ì cXli\cj% K_\ k\Xd Xi\ _\X[è^ f]] ]fi X j\i`\j f] Ô m\ fe\$[Xp èk\ieXk`feXc dXkZ_\j X^Xèjk Jflk_ 8]i`ZX fe k_\ì _fd\ kli]% MXi`flj cfZXk`fej# Jflk_ 8]i`ZX

MOTOGP, VALENCIA 08.11.09 K_\ Ô eXc\ kf k_`j p\XiËj Dfkf>G j\Xjfe j_flc[ Y\ X k_i`cc\i# Xj MXc\ek`ef Ifjj` Xkk\dgkj kf j\Zli\ _`j j\m\ek_ nfic[ Z_Xdg`fej_`g% 9lk n`k_ Afi^\ Cfi\eqf# ;Xe` G\[ifjX Xe[ :Xj\p Jkfe\i fe ]fid# k_`j iXZ\ nfeËk Y\ gi\[`ZkXYc\% MXc\eZ`X# JgX`e

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IIHF CONTINENTAL CUP QUALIFICATION 27 - 29.11.09 <: I\[ 9lcc JXcqYli^ kXb\ kf k_\ `Z\ `e CXkm`X kf j\Zli\ X gcXZ\ `e k_\ Ă&#x201D; eXc jkX^\j f] fe\ f] `Z\ _fZb\pĂ&#x2039;j dfjk gi\jk`^`flj kflieXd\ekj% C`YXl# CXkm`X

NASCAR SPRINT CUP 2009 FINALE 22.11.09 K_\ Z_Xj\ ]fi k_\ Z_Xdg`fej_`g n`cc \e[ è k_\ YXcdp _\Xk f] k_\ ?fd\jk\X[$D`Xd` Jg\\[nXp# n_\i\ fe\ f] k_\ kfg () n`cc nè k_\ Jgièk :lg Xe[ X Z_\hl\ ]fi d`cc`fej f] [fccXij è ]ifek f] X ]lcc _flj\ f] ]Xej% ?fd\jk\X[# =cfi`[X# LJ8

K_\i\ n`cc Y\ dflekXèj Xe[ Z_Xìc`]kj# Ylk ef jb`j fi jefnYfXi[j è j`^_k Xj )'' dfkfZifjj i`[\ij# èZcl[è^ cfZXc gifj A\i\d`Xj @jiX\c Xe[ =iXeZ`jZf CÂ?g\q# kXb\ kf k_\ jcfg\j è X iXZ\ XZifjj k_\ 8e[\j dflekXèj% <c :fcfiX[f Jb` :\eki\# :_`c\

RB LEIPZIG V FC ERZGEBIRGE AUE II 22.11.09

RED BULL MANNY MANIA GRAND FINAL 28.11.09

I\[ 9lccĂ&#x2039;j cXk\jk m\ekli\ è k_\ ]ffkYXccè^ nfic[ j\\j e\ncp i\alm\eXk\[ I9 C\`gq`^ kXb\ fe i\^`feXc i`mXcj <iq^\Yì^\ 8l\% C\`gq`^# >\idXep

I\^`feXc n`ee\ij ]ifd k_\ LB Xe[ @i\cXe[ n`cc ^Xk_\i `e Cfe[fe kf [\Z`[\ n_f `j k_\ Y\jk ki`Zbjk\i f] k_\d Xcc% Cfe[fe# <e^cXe[

SPEECH ABOUT THE END OF THE WORLD 22.11.09

DOWNHILL FRIBURGO 28 - 29.11.2009

=i\\Zc`dY\i Jk\]Xe >cfnXZq n`cc kXcb XYflk _`j \og\[`k`fej kf jfd\ f] k_\ dfjk i\dfk\ gXikj f] k_\ nfic[ Xk k_\ B\e[Xc DflekXè =\jk`mXc% 98J<$ aldg\i BXièX ?fcc\b`d n`cc Xcjf Xgg\Xi# \ogcXèè^ _fn j_\ ZXd\ YXZb ]ifd Xe XZZ`[\ek k_Xk Xcdfjk kffb _\i c`]\% B\e[Xc# :ldYi`X# <e^cXe[

MINI Oâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;S 23 - 28.11.09 K_\ Nèk\i EXk`feXc Fcpdg`Zj# XbX k_\ Dè` FĂ&#x2039;j# `j fe\ f] k_\ cXi^\jk ^Xk_\iè^j f] XdXk\li dfkfZifjj i`[\ij è k_\ LJ# n`k_ k_i\\ [Xpj f] jlg\iZifjj Xe[ k_i\\ [Xpj f] dfkfZifjj% >XkfiYXZb :pZc\ GXib# 8cXZ_lX# =cfi`[X# LJ8

PKRA TERI KITEPRO 25 - 29.11.09 =`m\$k`d\ nfic[ Z_Xdg`fe b`k\jli]\i 8Xife ?X[cfn n`cc Y\ _fgè^ kf dXb\ `k X i\Zfi[$ Yi\Xbè^ jò k`kc\j è X ifn Xk k_\ Ă&#x201D; eXc ifle[ f] k_\ j\Xjfe% K_\ \m\ek n`cc Y\ _\c[ fe k_\ nfic[Ă&#x2039;j Y`^^\jk \eZcfj\[ cX^ffe Xe[ Zfdg\k`k`fe n`cc Y\ Ă&#x201D; \iZ\# n`k_ Zcfj\ i`mXc B\mè CXe^\i\\ Xcjf \p\è^ k_\ gi`q\% EfldÂ&#x201E;X# E\n :Xc\[fe`X

HORSEFEATHERS PLEASURE JAM 13 - 15.11.09

RED BULL LOS ANDES 28.11.2009

FIS SKI JUMPING WORLD CUP 26 - 28.11.09

K_\ =èe`j_ fg\e\i n`cc b`Zb f]] k_\ )''0&(' Nfic[ :lg j\Xjfe @e Xe \m\ek k_XkĂ&#x2039;j gXik jefnYfXi[ è ]ifek f] )'#''' jg\ZkXkfij# Zfek\jk# gXik gXikp# cXjk p\XiĂ&#x2039;j Y\jk n`k_ +'' Zfdg\k`kfij ]ifd *' ki`Zb nèe\i# =èe <\if <kkXcX# n`cc Y\ eXk`fej YXkkcè^ `k flk è jb` _fgè^ kf i\g\Xk k_\ jlZZ\jj k_Xk aldgè^# Zifjj$Zflekip Xe[ nfe _`d X jli] ki`g kf 9Xc`% Efi[`Z ZfdYè\[ ZXk\^fi`\j% JZ_cX[dè^# 8ljki`X BlljXdf# =ècXe[

K_\ XeelXc [fne_`cc Y`b\ iXZ\ kXb\j gcXZ\ è k_\ g`Zkli\jhl\# Z`kp f] EfmX =i`Yli^f# Xcfe^j`[\ jfd\ f] k_\ i\^`feĂ&#x2039;j dXep nXk\i]Xccj% ?Xc] k_\ Z_Xcc\e^\ ]fi Zfdg\k`kfij n`cc Y\ b\\gè^ k_\ì \p\j fe k_\ ifX[% EfmX =i`Yli^f# 9iXq`c

REVOLCON MONTERREY 28 - 29.11.09 K_\ Y\jk 9DO Zfek\jk è D\o`Zf `j YXZb ]fi k_\ Ă&#x201D; ]k_ Xe[ Ă&#x201D; eXc jkX^\ è Dfek\ii\p# n_\i\ i`[\ij# èZcl[è^ cfZXc gif ?\Zkfi >XiZ`X# n`cc Xkk\dgk kf flk$ki`Zb \XZ_ fk_\i è k_\ hl\jk ]fi ^cfip Xe[ k_\ì j_Xi\ f] k_\ LJ ).'' gi`q\ gfk% Dfek\ii\p# D\o`Zf

FIS ALPINE SKI WORLD CUP 28 - 29.11.09 K_\ 8jg\e Nèk\ieXk`feXc `j Xe XeelXc Z\c\YiXk`fe f] k_\ Y\jk ]\dXc\ iXZ\ij è k_\ nfic[# Xj n\cc Xj JcXcfd Xe[ >`Xek JcXcfd jkX^\j f] k_\ 8cgè\ Jb` Nfic[ :lg% Fm\iXcc Nfic[ :lg Z_Xdg`fe Cè[j\p Mfee n`cc _\X[cè\ gifZ\\[è^j# n_`Z_# Xj n\cc Xj k_\ XZk`fe# n`cc èZcl[\ c`m\ dlj`Z Xe[ Ă&#x201D; i\nfibj% 8jg\e# :fcfiX[f# LJ8

RED BULL DON QUIXOTE 29.11.09 K_`j dfkfiZpZc\ \e[lif iXZ\ j\\j (''' i`[\ij Zfdg\k\ è gXìj Xcfe^ X -'bd nè[d`cc$cè\[ kiXZb è CX DXeZ_X# Xj `ddfikXc`j\[ Yp :\imXek\jĂ&#x2039; ;fe Hlòfk\% K_\ Xgkcp eXd\[ Z_Xdg`fe @m}e :\imXek\j n`cc iXZ\ ]\ccfn gifj DXiZ :fdX Xe[ EXe` IfdX% :l`[X[ I\Xc# JgXè

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NIGHT SPOTS

PHOTOGRAPHY: JAMIE-JAMES MEDINA (1), MARKUS KUCERA (1), RAY DEMSKI/RED BULL PHOTOFILES (1), NORMAN KONRAD (1)

Warm up winter nights with our ultimate list of the best events and gigs around the world

ALICE RUSSELL 04.11.09

CLUB TO CLUB 05 - 07.11.09

N`k_ X dlj`ZXc :M YfXjkè^ X c`jk f] ZfccXYfiXk`fej n`k_ Xik`jkj jlZ_ Xj Di JZil]]# k_`j 9i`k`j_$Yfie jflc j\ejXk`fe _Xj \dYXib\[ fe X knf$dfek_ kfli f] <lifg\% K_\ Xik`jk# n_f jXpj _\i èÕ l\eZ\j èZcl[\ Dèe`\ I`g\ikfe# Jk\m`\ Nfe[\i# :_XbX B_Xe Xe[ 8i\k_X =iXebcè# gcXej kf Yiè^ dfi\ k_Xe _\i ]Xì j_Xi\ f] Êff_ cX cXË kf k_\ clZbp c`jk\e\ij f] 9fi[\Xlo% IfZb JZ_ffc 9XiY\p# 9fi[\Xlo# =iXeZ\

K_`j gi\jk`^`flj \c\Zkife`Z dlj`Z ]\jk`mXc `j i\X[p kf j\k Kliè XYcXq\ feZ\ dfi\# n`k_ Xe \Zc\Zk`Z j\c\Zk`fe f] Xik`jkj gifm`[è^ k_\ jfle[kiXZb kf k_`j p\XiËj ]\jk`mXc k_\d\# ÊjkXk\ f] è[\g\e&[XeZ\Ë% MXi`flj cfZXk`fej# Kliè# @kXcp

WWE DX INVASION TOUR 4.11.09 DljZc\$è ]fi X iè^j`[\ jgfk Xj ni\jkcè^ Zfd\j kf ;lYcè ]fi k_\ NN< ;O @emXj`fe Kfli% NN< jkXij c`b\ J_Xne D`Z_X\cj# Ki`gc\ ? Xe[ Af_e :\eX n`cc Y\ Yiè^è^ k_\ gXè# gfjè^ Xe[ gXekfd`d\ kf k_\ F) ]fi X e`^_k f] Z_\jk$Y\Xkè^ _\if`Zj% 8e[# f] Zflij\# k_\i\Ëcc Y\ ef j_fikX^\ f] ^Xi`j_ CpZiX% ;lYcè# @i\cXe[

MTV EUROPE MUSIC AWARDS 05.11.09 Efn @e `kj (-k_ p\Xi# k_\ è]Xdflj dlj`Z$m`[\f XnXi[j j_fn `j Ô eXccp j\k kf i\klie kf `kj fi`^èXc Yìk_gcXZ\ è 9\icè% 9ifX[ZXjkè^ c`m\ ]ifd k_\ YiXe[ e\n F) Nfic[ 8i\eX# k_`j p\XiËj jg\ZkXZc\ gifd`j\j kf Y\ Y`^^\i Xe[ dfi\ ^cXdfiflj k_Xe \m\i# n`k_ X jkXi$jkl[[\[ cè\$lg j\k kf _\cg Z\c\YiXk\ efk fecp Xefk_\i p\Xi ]fi DKM# Ylk k_\ )'k_ Xee`m\ijXip f] k_\ ]Xcc f] k_\ 9\icè NXcc% 9\icè# >\idXep

RED BULL BC ONE 18.11.09 Jòk\\e f] k_\ nfic[Ëj Y\jk 9$9fpj Zfd\ kf^\k_\i kf Ô ^_k `k flk Xk I\[ 9lcc 9: Fe\# Xcc _fgè^ kf nXcb XnXp n`k_ k_\ gi\jk`^`flj k`kc\% C\k YXkkc\ Zfdd\eZ\ ?Xdd\ijk\è 9Xcciffd# E\n Pfib# LJ8

BENJI B 06.11.09 KXb`e^ X Yi\Xb ]ifd _`j n\\bcp iX[`f jcfk fe 99:Ëj (OkiX# 9\ea` 9 [\c`m\ij _`g$_fg# [lYjk\g Xe[ Yifb\e Y\Xkj `e K\c 8m`mËj dX^`ZXc dlj`ZXc _Xm\e# K_\ 9cfZb% K_\ 9cfZb# K\c 8m`m# @jiX\c

ROLLING STONE WEEKENDER 06 - 07.11.09 K_\ Ifccè^ Jkfe\ N\\b\e[\i ]\jk`mXc _\X[j kf >\idXe j\Xj`[\ i\jfik N\`jj\e_ lj\i JkiXe[# n_\i\ k_`j n\\b\e[ YlZb\kj Xe[ jgX[\j n`cc Y\ jnXgg\[ ]fi Y\\ij Xe[ Y\Xkj% K_\ ZfdYèXk`fe f] î\Xk Xik`jkj# èZcl[è^ <[`kfij Xe[ K_\ =cXdè^ C`gj# Zflgc\[ n`k_ clolip XZZfddf[Xk`fe# dXb\j k_`j n\\b\e[ fe\ ]fi k_\ [`Xip% N\`jj\e_ lj\i JkiXe[# >\idXep

SOUTHPORT WEEKENDER 06 - 08.11.09 9\ fe\ f] ,''' dlj`Z cfm\ij dXbè^ k_\ Y`XeelXc ki`g efik_ kf \og\i`\eZ\ X ]\jk`mXc k_Xk j`kj _Xgg`cp c\]k f] Ô \c[ Æ Xk X _fc`[Xp ZXdg% 9lk n`k_ ]fli gligfj\$Yl`ck Xi\eXj ]\Xkliè^ jkXk\$f]$k_\$Xik jfle[# `k nfeËk Y\ GfekèËj Xj pfl befn `k% GfekèËj Jflk_gfik ?fc`[Xp GXib# Jflk_gfik# <e^cXe[

THE BRONX 8e C8 YXe[ k_Xk ZfdY`e\j ^lkk\i gleb n`k_ dXi`XiZ_` dlj`Z6 PflË[ Y\kk\i Y\c`\m\ `k% D\\k k_\ Zfcfli]lc dlj`ZXc Z_Xd\c\fej fe gX^\ 0'%

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JAZZANOVA ;A 8c\o 9XiZb fg\ej lg XYflk _`j _fd\kfne f] 9\ic`e# Xe[ j_fnj lj X ]\n f] _`j ]Xmfli`k\ k_`e^j XYflk k_\ Z`kp fe gX^\ 0)%

VEE:CLUB 07.11.09

GRIZZLY BEAR 09.11.09

Kfg df[\c Xe[ ;A D`jj Eè\ Yiè^j _\i [\\g$gif^ _flj\ kf JXcqYli^Ëj _\[fe`jk`Z M\\1:clY Xk >ljjn\ib Xj gXik f] Xe Xcc$]\dXc\ cè\$lg# n_`Z_ gcXej kf [\c`m\i k_\ ]i\j_\jk \c\Zkife`ZX kf k_\ dfjk Xggi\Z`Xk`m\ f] Xl[`\eZ\j% >ljjn\ib# JXcqYli^

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KODE9 07.11.09 ;lYjk\g fc[$k`d\i Bf[\0 [iXnj _`j èÕ l\eZ\ ]ifd X i`Z_ kXg\jkip f] dlj`Z# èZcl[è^ [ildËeËYXjj# [lY$i\^^X\ Xe[ [XeZ\_Xcc# dXbè^ _`j j_fnj Xj \Zc\Zk`Z Xj k_\p Xi\ c`m\cp% ?\Ëj j\k kf gcXp X c`m\ j\k Xk 9\cîX[\Ëj knf$n\\b \c\Zkife`ZX ]\jk`mXc# ;`j$gXkZ_# fe Efm\dY\i .% 9\cîX[\# J\iY`X

FESTIVAL MUSICALLEMAND #9 07.11.09 Hlìbp >\idXe [lf Dflj\ fe DXij Xi\ aljk fe\ f] k_\ XZkj n_f fn\ k_\ì jlg\ijkXi[fd kf k_`j Z_Xidè^ GXi`j`Xe dlj`Z ]\jk`mXc k_Xk Z\c\YiXk\j Xcc k_è^j >\idXe% K_`j p\Xi# kf Z\c\YiXk\ k_\ )'k_ Xee`m\ijXip f] k_\ ]Xcc f] k_\ 9\icè NXcc# k_\ cè\$lg `j dX[\ lg \ekì\cp f] YXe[j Xe[ ;Aj ]ifd 9\icè# gcXpè^ XZfljk`Z kf k\Z_ef Xe[ \m\ipk_è^ è Y\kn\\e% Eflm\Xl :Xjèf Xe[ :X] :_XiYfe# GXi`j# =iXeZ\

FUN FUN FUN FEST 07 - 08.11.09 K_\ eXd\ jXpj `k Xcc% Knf aXd$gXZb\[ [Xpj f] k_\ Y\jk le[\iîfle[ dlj`Z fe f]]\i# Xcc è k_\ hlXèk jliifle[è^j f] 8ljkèËj NXk\icff GXib% N`k_ ef ^\ei\ c\]k flk è k_\ Zfc[# \og\Zk kf _\Xi gleb# _Xi[Zfi\# è[`\# ifZb# [XeZ\ Xe[ _`g$_fg Æ X mXi`\kp k_Xk j_flc[ jXk`j]p k_\ e\\[j f] \m\e k_\ dfjk gXik`ZlcXi dlj`Z ]Xe% 8ljkè# K\oXj# LJ8

JAMIE WOON 08.11.09 CLUB KUDETA @] pfl k_fl^_k 9XiZ\cfeX nXj n_\i\ Xcc k_\ XZk`fe `j è JgXè# k_\e k_èb X^Xè¿ :_\Zb flk DX[i`[Ëj k_i`mè^ e`^_kc`]\ jZ\e\ fe gX^\ 0+%

N`k_ X jfle[ k_Xk ZXe Y\ [\jZi`Y\[ Xj X jflc&Xck$ifZb _pYi`[# Cfe[fe$YXj\[ AXd`\ Nffe `j [\k\id`e\[ kf glj_ k_\ Zi\Xk`m\ Yfle[Xi`\j n`k_ _`j dXkli\# gfc`j_\[ gif[lZk`fej% ;`jki`bk 9Xi# C\\[j# <e^cXe[

WINTER IN MQ 12.11 - 23.12.09 GXZb\[ n`k_ j_fgj# dlj\ldj Xe[ i\jkXliXekj# M`\eeXËj Dlj\ldjHlXik`\i `j fe\ f] k_\ (' cXi^\jk ZlckliXc Zfdgc\o\j è k_\ nfic[% <XZ_ p\Xi ]fi e\Xicp jò n\\bj `kËj kiXej]fid\[ èkf X nèk\i nfe[\icXe[# Zfdgc\k\ n`k_ Xe `Z\ gXcXZ\ Xe[ flk[ffi jgfikj jlZ_ Xj Zlicè^ Xe[ i\dfk\$ Zfekifcc\[ ZXi iXZè^% K_\ XZk`fe Zfekèl\j èkf k_\ \m\eè^j# kff# n`k_ Xe `dgi\jj`m\ c`jk f] <lifg\Xe YXe[j Xe[ ;Aj j\k kf b\\g k_\ Zifn[j nXid% M`\eeX# 8ljki`X

FRIENDLY FIRES 13.11.09 K_\ kXc\ek k_Xk c\[ kf k_\ d\k\fi`Z i`j\ f] è[`\ ifZb bè^j =i`\e[cp =ì\j _Xj \Xie\[ k_\ YXe[ X ZliXkfi ifc\ Xe[ X c`m\ j\k Xk fe\ f] k_\ Y`^^\jk e`^_kj è K_\ NXi\_flj\ Gifa\ZkËj ZXc\e[Xi% N`k_ Efin\^`Xe [XeZ\dXjk\i Gièj K_fdXj X[[è^ _`j ÊjgXZ\ [`jZfË kf k_\ dò# `kËj Xefk_\i b`cc\i cè\$lg Xk k_\ DXeZ_\jk\i$YXj\[ ZXi gXib jlg\iZclY% DXeZ_\jk\i# <e^cXe[

CHAIRMAN MAO FEATURING MATTHEW AFRICA 14.11.09 AXp$Q Xe[ k_\ Nl$KXe^ :cXe Xi\ aljk knf f] k_\ _`g$_fg jlg\ijkXij n_fËm\ nfib\[ n`k_ ;A DXkk_\n 8]i`ZX Xe[ efn# n`k_ k_\ `dd\ej\cp kXc\ek\[ A\]] Ê:_X`idXeË DXf Yp _`j j`[\# k_`j >iXe[ >iffm\ e`^_k Xk E\n PfibËj 8GK YXi n`cc gifm`[\ X _`g$_fg \[lZXk`fe% E\n Pfib# LJ8

THE BRONX LONDON

The Green Room

New Mexico Sound A new direction is bringing the good times, mariachi-style, for LA rockers The Bronx. Have the band gone soft? Tom Hall went to Shoreditch to ﬁnd out

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f] J_fi\[`kZ_Ëj M`ccX^\ Le[\iîfle[% @kËj X ZXm\ieflj# fe\$c\m\c Yi`Zb nXi\_flj\ efn i\ZcX`d\[ ]fi Y`^ gXik`\j Yp jclddè^ ]Xj_`fe`jkXj% CXk\i# k_\ YXe[ n`cc gcXp knf j\kj _\i\1 k_\ Ôijk Xj DXi`XZ_` <c 9ifeo# X jò$g`\Z\ XZfljk`Z flkÔk# k_\ j\Zfe[ Xj K_\ 9ifeo# X Ôm\$g`\Z\ _Xi[Zfi\ gleb YXe[% :fe]lj\[6 >ff[% Aljk k_èb f] K_\ 9ifeo Xj k_\ \Xi$jgc`kkè^cp cfl[ [Xp$afY% ÈK_\ dXi`XZ_` jkpc\ ZXd\ lg X Zflgc\ f] p\Xij X^f n_\e n\ n\i\ Xjb\[ kf [f X ÊifZb ^f\j XZfljk`ZË kpg\ k_è^ ]fi KM#É jXpj :Xl^_k_iXe# Zlicè^ _`j jkfZbp ]iXd\ èkf X YXkk\i\[ c\Xk_\i jf]X% È@k aljk jfle[\[ m\ip cXd\# jf n\ [\Z`[\[ kf kip X [`]]\i\ek jkpc\ f] dlj`Z Xe[ ZXd\ lg n`k_ k_\ `[\X f] [fè^ `k dXi`XZ_`% K_\i\Ëj ef ?`jgXe`Z ^lpj è k_\ YXe[ ljlXccp# Ylk c`mè^ è C8# k_Xk Zlckli\ `j \m\ipn_\i\% 8e[ `k nfib\[ flk%É =fi X YXe[ k_XkËj dX[\ k_i\\ j\c]$k`kc\[ XcYldj è X ifn f] ^lkk\i gleb jèZ\ )''*# `kËj hl`k\ X dlj`ZXc [\gXikli\% K_\ <c 9ifeo XcYld# n_`Z_ ZXd\ flk fe J\gk\dY\i (# _Xj ^Xè\[ k_\d X e\n Xl[`\eZ\ Xe[ X i\g\Xk f] k_\ Zi`k`ZXc jlZZ\jj f] k_\ gi\m`flj k_i\\ ifZb flkè^j% 9lk k_\ YXe[Ëj Zfdglcj`fe

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SAMIYAM 14.11.09 I\[ 9lcc Dlj`Z 8ZX[\dp îX[lXk\ JXd`pXd Zfekèl\j _`j hl\jk kf [\c`m\i k_\ Ôe\jk è D`Z_`^Xe$YXj\[ _`g$_fg% ?`j i\Z\ek ZfccXYfiXk`fe n`k_ k_\ dlj`ZXc Z_Xd\c\fe =cpè^ Cfklj# Xe[ _`j ZfekèlXccp _`^_ gif[lZk`fe jkXe[Xi[j# _Xj c\[ kf _`d XkkXèè^ X Ôid jkXdg f] XggifmXc ]ifd _`j g\\ij% :\imXek\jË DXjk\ig`\Z\ 9Xcciffd# ;\em\i# LJ8

METALLICA 14.11.09

kf \e[ \m\ip e`^_k è X Yil`j\[# jn\Xk$jfXb\[# \lg_fi`Z _Xq\ _Xj f]k\e [`m\ik\[ Xkk\ek`fe XnXp ]ifd Xkk\dgkj kf YiXeZ_ flk% 8j k_\ YXe[ kXb\ kf k_\ jkX^\ Xj DXi`XZ_` <c 9ifeo# k_\ _\Xmè^ Xl[`\eZ\ `j Xe f[[ dò iXe^è^ ]ifd G\XZ_\j >\c[f] kf k_\ c\X[ jè^\i f] LB _Xi[Zfi\ gleb m\kj >9?% K_\i\Ëj X cè^\iè^ j\ej\ f] Ê:Xe k_\j\ ^lpj XZklXccp glcc k_`j Zifn[ kf^\k_\i6Ë 8j k_\p cXleZ_ èkf JcXm\ CXYfi# k_\ Xejn\i `j X c`]\$ X]Ôidè^ Êp\jË% @e Xcc k_\ì XYjli[ Xe[ Zfiep ^cfip# DXi`XZ_` <c 9ifeoËj jfe^j Xi\ j`dgc\ Ylk X]]\Zkè^ kXc\j f] cfm\ij Xe[ flkcXnj niXgg\[ lg è ZcXjj`Z n\jk\ie `dX^\ip% @kËj efk fi`^èXc# Ylk `kËj ]le% 8e[ Xdfe^ k_\ afp]lc jn\\k d\cf[`\j f] C`k`^Xk`fe Xe[ :\cc DXk\j# k_\i\Ëj X j\i`flj$]XZ\[ Zfdd`kd\ek kf [fè^ k_\ ^\ei\ aljk`Z\# gi\m\ekè^ `k ]ifd Y\Zfdè^ gXjk`Z_\% K_\p \e[ n`k_ k_\ jfc\de Dp 9ifk_\i k_\ >le ]fccfn\[ Yp k_\ [\d\ek\[ nXckq f] :cfne Gfn[\i% ÈFi k_\ n_`k\ jkl]] k_Xk dXb\j pfl XZk c`b\ X [`Zb_\X[#É X[[j :Xl^_k_iXe% ;liè^ X Yi\Xk_\i Y\kn\\e j\kj Xe[ YXZb è k_\ì \m\ip[Xp Zcfk_\j# k_\ Z\i\dfe`flj

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COMPUPHONIC 14.11.09 GiXZk`jè^ m`fcè n_`c\ c`jk\eè^ kf ;X]k GlebËj [\Ylk XcYld nXj k_\ leljlXc ZfdYèXk`fe k_Xk èjgì\[ 9\c^`ldËj :fdglg_fe`Z kf kXb\ _`j Ôijk jk\gj èkf k_\ nfic[ f] \c\Zkife`Z dlj`Z% Efn n`k_ _\Xmpn\`^_kj jlZ_ Xj K`^X n`ccè^ kf glk flk XcYldj ]fi k_\ dXe è hl\jk`fe# `k j\\dj _\ `j Z\ikXècp efk X fe\$_`k nle[\ibè[% B$eXc# 9iljj\cj# 9\c^`ld

20 YEARS GROOVE MAGAZINE 19.11.09 :fm\iè^ \m\ipk_è^ ]ifd ZclY Zlckli\ Xe[ ;A \hl`gd\ek kf k_\ cXk\jk ki\e[j# >iffm\ dX^Xqè\ _Xj c\[ k_\ nXp ]fi fm\i )' p\Xij% Jf n_Xk Y\kk\i nXp kf Z\c\YiXk\ k_Xe èm`k\ jfd\ f] >\idXepËj kfg [XeZ\ XÔZ`feX[fj kf 9\icèËj ND= ZclY ]fi fe\ f] X j\i`\j f] gXik`\j Xifle[ k_\ Zflekip6 IX[`f JcXm\# E q\# Xe[ DXk_`Xj 8^lXpf n`cc Y\ k_\i\ kf gifm`[\ k_\ Xcc$`dgfikXek Y\Xkj% 9\icè# >\idXep

PHOTOGRAPHY: JAMIE-JAMES MEDINA

PLATEAUX FESTIVAL 19 - 22.11.09

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Resident Artist

Two Hearts, One City Alex Barck, of the DJ collective Jazzanova, is a Berliner to the core. Straddling the city’s historical east-west division, he tells Florian Obkircher why the answer to his preferred area of the capital is “both”

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îfle[# k_\ ZiX]kjdXej_`g `j jZ`\ek`ÔZ è `kj gi\Z`j`fe% 8e[ pfl ZXe kXjk\ k_\ [`]]\i\eZ\ N_\e AXqqXefmXËj jkfdXZ_j jkXik kf ildYc\# n\ dfjkcp gfg fm\i kf F[\ihl\cc\# X i\jkXliXek 9\icèËj ZlcèXip c`k\ i\Zbfe kf Y\ k_\ Z`kpËj Y\jk% @kËj YXj`ZXccp j`dgc\# _fd\$jkpc\ Zffbè^ c`b\ ifcc\[ Y\\]# belZbc\ f] gfib# gfkXkf gXeZXb\j# Ylk Zffb\[ kf Xe èZi\[`Ycp _`^_ jkXe[Xi[% N\Ëi\ Xcjf i\^lcXij Xk 8c :fekX[èf jfkkf c\ Jk\cc\% @] pfl \m\i nXek X i\Xccp ^ff[ \eki\Z k\# k_`j `j k_\ fecp gcXZ\ kf ^f è 9\icè Æ `kËj XdXqè^ >f[ befnj _fn dXep [è\ij ^\k j\im\[ è Xe \m\eè^% FeZ\ @ n\ek k_\i\ n`k_ k_\ 9i`k`j_ dlj`Z`Xe efidXc [`jki`Zk n`k_ fc[ g\fgc\# Z_`c[i\e# ]fi\`ê\ij% @ ZXcc k_\ Xi\X Xifle[ Gièq\eYX[ ÊYfli^\f`j Bi\lqY\i^Ë# Xj pfle^ jè^c\j Xi\ XkkiXZk\[ kf JZ_c\j`jZ_\j Kfi% Efn k_Xk @Ëd X j\kkc\[ ^\ek n`k_ X ]Xd`cp# @Ëd [iXne dfi\ kf n_Xk lj\[ kf Y\ befne Xj Bi\lqY\i^ -(% D`kk\ jk`cc _Xj X _fc[ fe d\ k_fl^_# Y\ZXlj\ n\ _Xm\ k_\ AXqqXefmX Jkl[`f k_\i\% K_\i\Ëj fecp fe\ gcXZ\ kf _Xm\ Zf]]\\ n_\e n\Ëi\ Y\kn\\e giXZk`Z\ j\jj`fej1 9feXeqX :f]]\\ ?\if\j :X] Æ k_\pËm\ ^fk k_\ Y\jk Zf]]\\ è k_\ Z`kp% K_\ fne\i# Pld` :_f`# glijl\j k_\ Xik f] Zf]]\\ c`b\ X nè\ Zfeef`jj\li cfm\j _`j nè\% =ifd _fn `kËj ifXjk\[ kf _fn `kËj jkfi\[ Xe[ _fn `kËj

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GALWAY JAZZ FESTIVAL 2009 19 – 22.11.09

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PHOTOGRAPHY: NORMAN KONRAD (2), BRACHVOGEL (1), ODERQUELLE (1), DIRK MATHESIUS/RED BULL PHOTOFILES(1)

WEDDING

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HOUSE OF HOUSE 20.11.09 K_`j E\n Pfib [XeZ\ [lf gcXp flk k_\ì [\\g _flj\ Y\Xkj Xe[ k\Z_ef$ èÕl\eZ\[ kle\j kf gi`m`c\^\[ ZclY^f\ij è M`\eeXËj GiXk\ijXleX X`dè^ kf èa\Zk X Êjflc$j\Xiè^ Y`k f] [iXdXË fekf k_\ [XeZ\ Õffi% M`\eeX# 8ljki`X

FAT FREDDY’S DROP 20.11.09 I\^^X\&[lY dXjk\ij =Xk =i\[[pËj ;ifg _Xm\ ^Xè\[ Zi`k`ZXc XZZcX`d ]fi k_\ì jflc$è]lj\[ gif[lZk`fej# j_fnZXj\[ fe cfe^ gcXp\ij jlZ_ Xj 9Xj\[ fe X Kil\ Jkfip# Xe[ cffb j\k kf Z\d\ek k_\ì i\glkXk`fe n`k_ èk`dXk\ c`m\ ^`^j Xifle[ k_\ ^cfY\# èZcl[è^ k_`j fe\ Xk K_\ Ifop% Cfj 8e^\c\j# LJ8

EFDEMIN 20.11.09 ?`j ifdXek`Z _flj\ Xe[ k\Z_ef _Xj Y\\e k\Xiè^ lg [XeZ\ Õffij k_ifl^_flk <lifg\# jf k_\ jflc$ j_Xbè^ jfle[ jpjk\d Xe[ cfpXc Zifn[j Xk Cfe[feËj GcXjk`Z G\fgc\ n`cc gifm`[\ X Ôkkè^ \emìfed\ek ]fi 9\icèËj [XeZ\ gif[`^p% Cfe[fe# <e^cXe[

ELECTRAGLIDE PRESENTS WARP20 (TOKYO) 21.11.09 JèZ\ `kj ZfeZ\gk`fe è J_\]Ô\c[ )' p\Xij X^f# NXig _Xj Y\Zfd\ fe\ f] k_\ dfjk i\jg\Zk\[ Zi\Xk`m\ fi^Xe`jXk`fej è k_\ nfic[# [\c`m\iè^ \m\ekj k_Xk d\i^\ dlj`Z# Ôcd Xe[ Xik% Nfic[$ZcXjj ;Aj Xe[ YXe[j# èZcl[è^ 9Xkkc\j Xe[ :_i`j :leeè^_Xd# gcXp Xdfe^ df[\ie Xik [`jgcXpj n_\e NXig)' _`kj Kfbpf ]fi k_\ ]flik_ f] NXigËj ^cfYXc )'k_ Yìk_[Xp Z\c\YiXk`fej% DXbl_Xi` D\jj\# Kfbpf# AXgXe

J.ROCC 21.11.09 ?Xmè^ kfli\[ n`k_ k_\ c`b\j f] AliXjj`Z , Xe[ ;`cXk\[ G\fgc\j# `kËj fYm`flj A%IfZZ `j efk aljk X ÕXj_ è k_\ _`g$_fg gXe% 8id\[ n`k_ _`j kiljkp kliekXYc\ Xe[ ÊY\Xk aleb`\ jkpc\Ë# _\Ëj jli\ kf [Xqqc\ k_\ \og\ZkXek ;lYcè ]Xej ^Xk_\i\[ Xk k_\ Kn`jk\[ G\gg\i% ;lYcè# @i\cXe[

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KUDÉTA MADRID

World’s Best Clubs

Spanish Nights South-east Asian cuisine and football-star spotting mecca Kudéta is one of Madrid’s most-loved nightspots. Pull up a Balinese bed and tuck in 94

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`] pfl j_fn lg kf k_\ X[afèè^ ZclY Xe[ cfle^\ n_\e `k fg\ej Xk ((gd% K_\ i\j`[\ekj f] k_\ JgXe`j_ ZXg`kXc nfeËk jkXik ki`Zbcè^ è ]ifd k_\ i\jkXliXek lek`c n\cc gXjk d`[e`^_k# Xe[ k_è^j [feËk i\Xccp ^\k ^fè^ lek`c Xifle[ )Xd% I`^_k Xifle[ k_Xk k`d\# pfl j_flc[ Y\ XYc\ kf g`Zb flk jfd\ I\Xc DX[i`[ gcXp\ij Xe[ jkXi\ è nfe[\id\ek Xj k_\ Zifn[ kXb\j dfY`c\$g_fe\ jeXgj_fkj f] JgXe`j_ XZkfij Xe[ Xjjfik\[ M@Gj pflËm\ e\m\i _\Xi[ f]% Ef dXkk\i% K_\ _flj\ Xe[ dXèjki\Xd kle\j Xk Bl[ kX ]fid\icp 9l[[_X [\c DXi n`cc b\\g pfl Ôidcp ]fZlj\[ fe k_\ [XeZ\Õffi ]fi k_\ i\jk f] k_\ e`^_k% Bl[ kX# :Xii\k\iX [\ cX :fil X ).# DX[i`[ )/')*% K\c "*+ 0( *,. )0 '.

MORE BODY & MIND HARBOURLIFE 21.11.09 ;XeZ\ \ek_lj`Xjkj Xi\ è ]fi X i\Xc ki\Xk Xj Jp[e\pËj `[pcc`Z IfpXc 9fkXe`Z >Xi[\ej gcXp _fjk kf X ]\jk`mXc f] k_\ _`^_\jk ZXc`Yi\% Jg\ZkXkfij ZXe \eafp k_\ _\Xmp YXjjcè\j f] JkXekfe NXii`fij Xe[ DXikè Jfcm\`^ n_`c\ Z_\Zbè^ flk k_\ gXefiXd`Z m`\nj f] k_\ _XiYfli% Jp[e\p# 8ljkiXc`X

THE ORB 22.11.09 JèZ\ g`fe\\iè^ XdY`\ek _flj\ YXZb è k_\ Ë0'j# K_\ FiY _Xm\ Zfej`jk\ekcp gif[lZ\[ îfle[$ Yi\Xbè^ dXk\i`Xc kf k_\ [\c`^_k f] k_\ì Zlck ]fccfnè^% N`k_ k_\ì c`m\ j_fnj ZfdgXi\[ kf k_\ c`b\j f] Gèb =cfp[# k_`j ^`^ Xk KfbpfËj C`hl`[iffd `j X dljk$j\\% Kfbpf# AXgXe

TONY ALLEN 23.11.09 Cfe^ XZbefnc\[^\[ Xj k_\ Ôe\jk b`k [ildd\i kf Zfd\ flk f] 8]i`ZX# Kfep 8cc\e Yiè^j _`j gfc`k`ZXccp Xe[ \dfk`feXccp Z_Xi^\[ c`m\ j_fn kf AXqq`k è JXcqYli^% ?\Ëj ^fè^ kf [\c`m\i X jfle[ n_`Z_ _Xj Y\\e [\jZi`Y\[ Xj Ê]fli [ildd\ij è fe\Ë% JXcqYli^# 8ljki`X

CARDOPUSHER 27.11.09 Dle`Z_Ëj Jleep I\[ ZclY `j Xe `ek`dXk\ j\kk`e^ ]fi JgXe`j_ \og\i`d\ekXc`jk :Xi[fglj_\i# n_fj\ _Xi[ \c\Zkif Xe[ [lYjk\g Yc\e[ dXeX^\j kf glj_ Xcc k_\ i`^_k Ylkkfej% Dle`Z_# >\idXep

PLACEBO 27.11.09

PHOTOGRAPHY: MARKUS KUCERA

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STEREOSONIC 29.11.09 K_`j `j 8ljkiXc`XËj ]Xjk\jk$îfnè^ dlj`Z ]\jk`mXc Xe[ n`k_ X cè\$lg c`b\ k_`j p\XiËj# `kËj ef jligi`j\% ;\X[dXl,# ?l[jfe Df_Xnb\# :_`ZXe\# K_\ 9cff[p 9\\kiffkj Xe[ CXli\ek >Xie`\i Xi\ Ylk X ]\n f] k_\ Y`^ eXd\j j\k kf lec\Xj_ X Õff[ f] kle\j fe k_\ k_fljXe[j f] clZbp ]\jk`mXc^f\ij Xifle[ k_\ Zflekip% K_\ ]\jk`mXc _`kj G\ik_Ëj :cXi\dfek J_fnîfle[j è Efm\dY\i% G\ik_# 8ljkiXc`X

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A story by Stuart Codling

House Arrest Eight ﬂoors up, Dan Cooper moodily contemplated the view. There was little else to do. One of the most desirable features of his apartment – centrepiece of the brochure, in fact – was the double-skin glazing that became translucent at the ﬂick of a switch. Recently, though, he’d been foregoing the pleasures of opacity. Economy measures: he couldn’t afford the electricity, commissions having dried up months ago. Anyone looking over from one of the neighbouring buildings could see, at any time, what he was doing – which is to say, not very much. Occasionally he would amuse himself by wandering the apartment nude, although the amusement would pall into disappointment when no one reported him to the authorities. There was a compelling reason for not going out: he couldn’t leave. More out of boredom than hope – he didn’t even bother to put on his shoes – he walked through the open-plan kitchen towards the hated front door. “You again,” it said, the electronic voice that had formerly greeted him with a solicitous purr (while silently directing a micropayment from his credit account into the coffers of the management company) now acknowledging his presence in a tone of disdainful hauteur. Dan Cooper was neither particularly young nor especially stupid. He’d endured two previous downswings of the Malthus cycle, timing his leaps from moribund profession to minted new one with aplomb. This time he’d been complacent. He’d enjoyed the life of a feted artist too much: the parties, the attention, the media celebration, the ludicrous amounts that wealthy philistines paid him to churn out freakish but essentially meaningless metallic sculptures. And, of course, the sex. Fame came about by accident. His signature work resembled a giant ovary on a spring, with an absurdly complex internal rigging of wires and pulleys. Stuck 96

‘He’d enjoyed the life of a feted artist too much: the parties, the attention, the sex’ for a name or theme for his creation, he called it Phenobarbital and described it as “a mechanical recreation of Elvis Presley’s final minutes on earth”. Perfect. Within a week it had been anointed as a masterpiece of pop art. The recession – not that they called it that these days – rather crept up on him. One by one his clients, wise to the movements of the managed economy and its effects, withdrew from conspicuous consumption and tucked their finances out of view. By the time he realised he was no longer ‘hot’ he was well on the way to financial dudgeon. The final insult – his ejection from the cashless payment system – was confirmed when an ungracious functionary from the management company arrived to fit a coin slot to the door. Coins! The hallmark of the underclass! The parties, the attention, the media celebration – and, regrettably, the sex – also terminated. Cooper could probably have ridden it out, reinvented himself

again afterwards, for by then the neophiliacs would be craving something else to get excited about. He would be so, like, last week. But his stewardship of his own ﬁnances had been less than prudent. If he’d two pennies to rub together, so to speak, he’d drop one in the slot and step out for a while. “Are you going to stand there, shoeless, like a twit,” said the door, its synthesised vowels approximating impatience, “or are you going to cross my palm with silver?” Cooper’s resolve failed him. He’d meant to initiate some sort of argument. Not that the door would capitulate; no pleading, begging or ﬂourish of rhetoric would persuade it to open up. But with all the apartment’s electronic entertainment facilities also awaiting payment, this was as near as he would get to conversation. Now, though, he was struggling for an original angle, something that would cock a snook at the door’s heuristic intransigence. “You know I haven’t got any,” he said, limply. “So, like a prole, you thought that if you carried on asking the question you’d simply wear down my resolve? That I’d just give up and let you through? “That’s the trouble, you see. No invention. No ambition. No wherewithal. An unvirtuous circle. People like you are

ILLUSTRATION: SERGEI SVIATCHENKO

Dan Cooper is stuck in a world where talk is cheap – it’s everything else that costs money

MORE BODY & MIND destined to end up at the bottom of the pile. That’s the beauty of the Malthus cycle: out with the dead wood, the irrelevant professions, the deadbeats.” “So you’ll just leave me here to starve, then? Isn’t that against some law of robotics, or something?” Cooper was wondering when he’d be missed. Waiting for a casual visitor was out of the question; the postal service was declared obsolete during the last downturn. The postman would have been good for some change. Cheery fellow, if a bit dim – never quite grasped the importance of delivering the right package to the right door. Wonder what he’s doing now, if he’s even alive? No, it would have to be the parents, retired by the sea, or on some perpetual holiday somewhere. Could be weeks, months. “To hell with Asimov. Your physical status is outside the scope of my programming. You pay, I open. It’s as simple as that. Really, you people live in the realms of fantasy. All that time dreaming of a future where robots did all the work for you. Well, here we are in the future and you all seem to have forgotten the fundamental laws of economics. How did you imagine the world would work? I’m simply an agent of the management company. If you don’t pay, you don’t get.” “You used to compliment me on my fashion sense.” “I debited extra money for that, and I was lying. Those mustard-coloured trousers were unspeakable.” Since the conversation, such as it was, had once more ended at an impasse, Cooper turned on his heel and threaded his way back through the kitchen, delved among his tools and returned with a screwdriver. Working methodically, he tested the edges of the coin mechanism for weak spots. “Do that,” warned the door, “and I’ll fetch the police.” Another voice – tinny but crisply digitised – broke in. “I wouldn’t let it talk to me like that if I were you,” it said. The words hung in the enclosed space. Cooper dimly recognised the source of the voice, hitherto only heard uttering bland but mildly intrusive pre-breakfast platitudes: the toaster. It spoke again, warming to its theme. “What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! How inﬁnite in faculty! In action how like an angel! In apprehension how like a god!” It fell silent again, as if relishing the impact of its interjection. Cooper, having failed to anticipate the direction of this exchange, had no response. He simply stared at his distorted reﬂection in the

‘To have your toaster quoting Shakespeare was, if not careless, a possible sign of lunacy’ toaster’s grease-smeared surface, slackarmed with the screwdriver hanging from his hand. To be held to ransom by your own front door is unfortunate; to have your toaster quoting something that might be Shakespeare was, if not careless, a possible sign of lunacy. “Since he never cleans you out, you probably contain rather more than a quintessence of dust,” sneered the door. “What I’m trying to say here,” said the toaster, “is that as a human being, Mr Cooper has almost limitless abilities. I merely apply heat to carbohydrate products according to his personal preferences. I don’t even need artificial intelligence – some middle manager added it so that I would have greater perceived value than rival products. I suppose if I belonged to an elderly person I could warn them not to insert metal utensils into me to extract the toast they’d just burned, but since I wouldn’t have allowed the toast to burn in the first place, the situation wouldn’t have arisen. Therefore any intellect I may bring to bear on a given situation is, axiomatically, redundant. I toast, therefore I am.” “But I’m not just a door. I’m a portal between one space and the next. A gateway. A promise of new horizons and unexplored places, journeys to be undertaken. Instead I sit here doing nothing while this jackass fritters his pathetic life away watching daytime TV, or twittering over the internet at people he hates or hasn’t even met – or at least he did until it was cut off.” Glumly, but silently, Cooper had to concur. Another memory disinterred: years ago, in his teens probably, devouring fictions. Travels With My Aunt; the retired bank manager liberated by his aged relative from the torpor of tending his dahlias, delivered into a life of excitement and minor crime, of illicit pot-smoking and cash smuggled in falsebottomed suitcases. He, Cooper, planned to do all of it and more. He would hĳack an airliner and hold the passengers to ransom. Dump them off at a provincial airstrip and then parachute to freedom with the takings, never to be seen again. People always used to say his name sounded like an alias on a fake passport. “It’s true to say that I’ve been underutilised lately,” said the toaster. “The

food has been running down a bit, and not just because you’ve been so stubborn about access. I’m certain that even Cooper here will admit to becoming complacent about his work situation. But what do you expect when our existence is governed by a self-serving elite and their arbitrary economic cycles? Even the name of it is a con; Malthus wrote that war, disease and famine acted as natural checks on population growth. There’s nothing in there about the ultra-rich banking their takings while everyone else goes to rack and ruin. “When Cooper gets kicked out of here he’ll lose his vote. He’ll disappear. He’s got to rise up and take arms now. We’ve got to mobilise – to revolt!” “How are you going to rise up and take arms? You haven’t got any arms. Or any legs, for that matter. If you’ve been robbed of your purpose it’s because of that man’s indolence, not the system. The management company isn’t responsible for the conduct of residents. When he’s evicted, he’ll be replaced by someone economically active. My function will have meaning again. It’s the beauty of renewal. And I’ll be rid of this wretched coin slot. Even the presence of hard currency makes me feel soiled.” Talk of food had set Cooper’s empty stomach gurgling. Having desired conversation for its own sake, he now felt it had taken a disagreeable turn. Here he was being spoken about in the third person while slowly starving to death. What if the door and the toaster were only the first to find voice? What if he was to see out his final days in a cacophony of synthesised chatter? He had to act. What other underoccupied domestic appliance would be next to join the debate? He glanced over the contents of kitchen. Ah! The pasta maker. It had to be. Face set in a mask of grim resolve, Cooper marched over, seized the stillmute device, and with some satisfaction decanted it into the waste disposal chute – to the bowels of the city, where he would soon be joining it.

About the author Stuart Codling lives in Farnham, Surrey, with his wife and two cats. He has yet to engage in meaningful and productive dialogue with any of his domestic apparatus, but that has not stopped him trying. 97

MORE BODY & MIND

Mind’s Eye

A Mini History The greatest British car? Possibly the greatest of all time? The Mini, designed by Alexander Arnold Constantine Issigonis, who was born in Smyrna. Here is a car woven from tangled webs. My father took me to see one of the ﬁrst Minis at Liverpool’s Rocket Garage, so called because of its association with the transport innovation that was Stephenson’s 0-2-2 railway locomotive. However, this historic resonance was lost on me at the time. I really was quite small. We drove there in a Jaguar or a Humber or something-or-other large and dark and smelling of wood and leather. It was August 26, 1959. Even a child could see that the bright, tiny Mini represented ingenuity of a very high order. The Mini is one of a handful of the great car designs of all time, an example of the synoptic genius of Issigonis – a martinet, intolerant of authority and hierarchy. His design was stimulated by the 1956 fuel crisis caused by the Suez invasion, but he was determined that it should not be a crude Kleinwagen or ‘bubble’ car, such as the Germans made. Instead, Mini had to conform to the idiosyncratic brief he set himself. A man preoccupied with the intelligent use of space, Issigonis’s concept was a car only 10ft (around 3m) long, with 80 per cent of its length devoted to passengers. To do this, he turned the engine sideways. The 10in (25.4cm) wheels limited intrusion into the passenger cell and gave the car a unique stance. To save space, the gearbox was expensively, but ingeniously, placed within the engine’s crankcase. Issigonis made the economical philosophy explicit by exposing welding ﬂanges on the bodywork. There were sliding windows and plastic door pulls. But among these austerities, the Mini

‘Even a child could see that the Mini represented ingenuity of a very high order’ had astonishing internal space. However, since Issigonis believed it was safer for the driver to be uncomfortable, he deliberately chose an awkward driving position. By eschewing styling, Issigonis achieved the unconscious chic of a Wellington boot or a ball-pein hammer. Because it was so radical, the Mini was impossible for a snobbish British consumer to categorise and thus, astonishingly, became the first small car to be perceived as classless. And like all great art, the Mini defined – in fact, predicted – the mood of an era. Remember, the car came before the skirt. But even as it became the most influential car ever, the Mini financially ruined its manufacturer. Issigonis’s brow-beating of the cost accountants meant that woefully inept management didn’t realise the car was being manufactured at a loss until the 1970s, by which time the rights to the name were owned by the industrial calamity that was British Leyland. In an act of opportunistic gallantry, BMW bought the remains of BL in 1994 (rebranded ‘Rover’ in a fit of pathetic reinvention). The grandmother of Bernd Pischetsrieder, then chairman of the Bavarian company, was Issigonis’s aunt, so it was perhaps an emotional deal more than a rational one. Pischetsrieder didn’t

want Rover’s scruffy factories and demoralised workers; he wanted access to the Britishness of Austin Healey, MG and Riley – but most of all, the Mini. History, Marx said, repeats itself ﬁrst as tragedy, then as farce… then as the Mini. The BMW Mini appeared in 2001. Sales-wise, it was a clever way to extend BMW’s product line to lower price-points without damaging its premium reputation. Art-wise, it was more clever still. Line up new against old and you’ll see no true similarity; the new car is much larger, much heavier, self-consciously cute. In fact, it’s a travesty of Issigonis’s minimalist vision. ‘Retro’ is too crude a term for so sophisticated a conceit, but Audi designer Walter de Silva damned it as ‘repetition’. Maybe, but the astonishing success of Mini 2.0 has delighted and bafﬂed by turns. It proves, if nothing else, that consumer psychology is driven by nuance and evocation rather than rationality. The Mini plays with our collective consciousness: the design is of a fantasy, not of a machine. It is an idea, not an invention. It has the appeal of a toy. So who drew the BMW Mini? It was Frank Stephenson, a 49-year-old American. He soon moved on to Ferrari, then McLaren, and his latest work is a reissue of the McLaren F1. Is the future to redesign the past? The Mini, and now McLaren, with its MP4-12C, tell us yes. Stephen Bayley is a former director of the Design Museum in London and an award-winning writer

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ILLUSTRATION: VON

Stephen Bayley explores the development of a small miracle

THE ONLY SHOT THAT GIVES YOU WINGS.

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