[smiths] the freshers issue #68

alexis hunter & jo spence at the richard soulton gallery

greasy breakfasts: goldsmiths cafe vs. the rising sun vs. delicious what if genetically modified meat was available to the public?

contents

editors’ letter

A new year, and a new [smiths] This is your Freshers issue. A small version of the magazine, but with a lot of hard work put into it.

We’re so excited to be editing the magazine and continuning its’ legacy. We’re looking forward to seeing how the magazine evolves with new sub-editors, designers and writers.

But we can’t do it without you. So get involved, write, design, photograph. Get online on the brand new website (www.smithsmagazine.co.uk), and tell us what you want from your publication.

Let’s make [smiths] better than any other student magazine; this can be a stepping stone for all sorts of great things.

We’re looking forward to a brilliant year.

-Lucie AND Charlie

FREE STUDENT GIVEAWAY Want the chance to win Palgrave Macmillan’s University Survival Bundle? Inluding three books: The Study Skills Handbook, The Palgrave Student Planner and the Student Brain Food cookbook, these could prove invaluable to university life.

Send an email to smiths.gsu@gmail.com with your own cheap student recipe to win!

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freshers edition 2013 4 literature

Death of a Naturalist

Love in Deptford De-Cameron

7

politics

Broken Promises

8 travel Zar

9

food & drink

Deep-Fried Hedonism The Quarter-Million Pounder

12 fashion

Return of the 1461’s

13

art & culture The Feminist Camera

14 music

Red Wedge

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literature

literature

Death of a Naturalist

Giorgia Cowan considers the writers’ response to Seamus Heaney’s death in a small homage to the prolific Irish poet.

‘Now, to pry into roots, to finger slime, To stare big-eyed Narcissus, into some spring Is beneath all adult dignity. I rhyme To see myself, to set the darkness echoing.’

Personal Helicon, Death of a Naturalist On the 2nd of September we buried an Irish poet. Newspapers and internet blogs everywhere were interspersed with articles about the death of the honoured Nobel Laureate, Seamus Heaney. I have seen articles almost entirely composed of quotes as writers struggle to express in their own words the value of this man, his poetry, and what his loss represents to people. So far no one has mentioned his odd obsession with flax.

I admit I too am tempted to borrow the accounts and praises of others.

What capacity can I have as someone who did not know him, as a young, English writer, to express the significance of his life’s work?

I sometimes have a cynical fear that at least some of the faces at funerals and some of the messages left in honour of the deceased are due to emotional confusion and a sense of obligation to show respect. People always seem to respond to death in a similar way in our modern society. There is a scramble to capture every shred of their existence: the pictures, letters, emails, every single word they can be remembered saying, and a pervading sense of incomprehension that they no longer exist outside of these things.

For writers such as Seamus Heaney every poem is entombed. He can no longer write or speak another word to illuminate his meanings or add to the landscape he painted. Admirers who have been moved by his art are left with a still image of his now complete life and works. It seems that everything left after the death of an author belongs to the living.

Seamus described the simple beauty and brutal horror he had experienced with clarity and honest emotion. He had

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Love in Deptford

an uncanny talent for exposing the complexities of these experiences and communicating them through words.

Whether he was recalling memories of beautiful moments from his childhood, or imagining the atrocities suffered by people a thousand years ago, he expressed them with a conviction and lyrical elegance that moved millions.

According to Seamus’s son, his last written words were a poetic consideration on the feelings of those he was leaving behind. Sent in a text to his wife, he wrote, ‘Noli timere’, don’t be afraid.’ This too will be added to Seamus’s canon, and could be considered a beautifully fitting end to his poetic career.

By Giorgia Cowan

they trail the rubber slap of my sandals upon a pavement anointed in the cream of sour melons tracing the corners of my lips as I say hello my mouth full in the freshness of the Indus I rivered from, here- to walk the streets of smoked fish their glazed eyes glued in suspicion. the old men, the young men and the men with a million stories to tell shout through the drapery of turquoise silk Where are you from?

I love you come back I love you as I stride with the water of the Indus in my eyes squinting at the sound of their chuckle their teeth like ancient tobacco cackling like rolling dice as I laugh away into the cavern of a market carrying the dimness of their smiles in my diaphragm too afraid to shout back I love you too.

- Momina

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politics

literature

The De-Cameron

Will Jamieson paints a picture of the Prime Minister getting a taste of his own medicine.

He sits in a swivel chair inside the make-up trailer. He rolls up his navy blue tie and watches it quickly unravel.

The experts talk him through it, assuring him as they hand him a shiny white hard hat. The make-up artist darts across the mirror in front of him.

-Morning Mister Prime Minister, how are we today?

- Absolutely super, if you can make me look vaguely human.

Smiling, he raises his eyebrows, leaving a polite gap for her reaction.

She flushes a chuckle from her nose and wipes away the remains of his grin with her foundation brush.

-Ten minutes, Prime Minister!

He fidgets. He wonders if waxing the area was entirely necessary, but Ed had said: -It’s the extra mile David, it’s demonstrating your mettle as a leader, solving the domestic energy crisis.

If it’s good enough for the Prime Minister etc.

Still, it made everything so unseemly.

Though Samantha seemed to like it.

Balcombe isn’t the Alaskan North Slope, thank God. -All done, pet.

She’d got it all wrong. Looks different under the glare of the cameras, they tell him.

Why couldn’t they get Nick Clegg to do it again?

- Five minutes, Prime Minister!

He breathes in deeply and looks in the mirror. This is the very stuff that leaders are made of.

-It’s time, Prime Minister. Good luck, Prime Minister.

David Cameron stares ahead at his tie flapping in the Sussex breeze. An orderly lowers his trousers. The wind has a cooling effect on the hairless skin of his scrotum. The downwardfacing harness suspends him above the ground. He can barely make out the tittering and guffawing of the press at the minimum fifty-foot distance. Very soothing, these fields. On each side of him are an equal number of medical and engineering professionals wearing facemasks and giving a thumbs-up. He winces as a metal speculum is inserted into his anus.

-Please relax, Prime Minister -It’s cold -Just relax, Prime Minister, the fracking fluid has been warmed to body temperature.

-I appreciate the thought.

-It helps if you cough.

-Right.

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David Cameron clears the back of his throat as the speculum is widened.

Whispering. Occupational or salacious?

Students handed another set of broken promises

-Is it too wide for you sir?

-No, no it’s absolutely fine; you guys are doing a great job.

-Thank you sir. That’s wide enough.

Bring the fracking fluid!

David Cameron announced a coalition government when he came to power.

With opposition leader Nick Clegg at his side he promised to ‘repair (the) broken political system’ that was the result of what he called ‘chronic shorttermism’. Ironically, the tripling of university tuition fees is exactly that.

The annual average tuition fees for 2014 have been calculated at £8,647, with three quarters of universities charging the maximum of £9,000 a year. Encompassing living expenses, students are looking at around £26,000 a year for higher education. One would assume that this rise in costs would translate in a university education becoming more and more for the elite middle class.

A large blue hose with nozzle is hauled across the field. A doctor sprays disinfectant into the anus of David Cameron while an engineer measures the circumference. The speculum is removed and the nozzle is affixed to David Cameron’s body. Somebody behind him nods. A murmuring warmth spreads inside, excess fluid spills out onto his white feet.

Fracking wasn’t so bad after all, thought David Cameron.

David Cameron has recently expressed his support for hydraulic fracturing, or ‘fracking’, the process of drilling and injecting fluid into the ground at a high pressure in order to fracture shale rocks to release natural gas inside.

By Will Jamieson

Tedros Getatchew brings us up to speed with the coalition government’s time in power and impact that it has had on students.

However, the universities minister, David Willets MP, has stated that ‘the proportion of disadvantaged English 18 year olds applying to university is at the highest level ever.’ This is supported by a recent study by the Independent Commission on fees. So where is the problem then? Well firstly, in the current job market, finding a wellpaid sustainable job that can support

a family is near impossible without a university degree, thus it only makes sense that the proportion of 18 year olds applying is at an all time high.

Secondly, the issue lies in the fact the PM told us he was going to fight ‘chronic short-termism’. The increase in university fees could result in a decrease in university applications in the long run, as most students are at university need loans. Those paying out of pocket are few and far between. The increased amount of money heading into these institutions’ accounts is only a short-term benefit.

In the long run, it could be argued that the curve of applicants will dip and the overall benefit to society will follow suit.

Chief Secretary to the Treasury, Danny Alexander, has recently confirmed that they are selling off the student loan book to the private sector. This will inevitably lead to an increase in the interest rates of student loans; thus making them unattractive to the poorest members of our society.

Additionally, there has already been a 7

14% drop in applications from mature student since 2010.

Especially during an election year, the government could benefit from the positive press surrounding their sale.

This is because the student loan book is part of the public debt, and what looks better than saying ‘we reduced public debt’? Call me a hopeless socialist, but I believe that it is the Government’s responsibility, not the private sector’s, to facilitate the education of the population. One must be skeptical of whether society can trust businesses and banks to do it.

David Cameron promised us that we would be fighting for a better tomorrow and not an easier afternoon.

And as the ailing Nelson Mandela famously said, ‘Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world’. The UK education system is already one of the most expensive in the world; must the price of knowledge rise even further?

By Tedros Getachew

travel

food & drink

Deep-Fried Hedonism

Adam Morby takes a wander round New Cross to try out the best of the greasy spoon breakfasts the area has to offer.

In the aftermath of the Arab spring that is still wreaking havoc in many parts of the Middle East, Marta Portocarrero takes a closer look at the re-emergence of Zar – trance-like music that acts in contrast to the violence experienced in Egypt.

Hands are clapping, feet are following the beat, and minds are both focused and relaxed. It seems a long way from the sounds of people screaming and Molotov cocktails exploding, but Tahir Square is only a few blocks away where the aftermath of the Arab spring continues to cause destruction. Here, in Makan – the Egyptian Centre for Culture and Art in the heart of Cairo – each week people spend time simply listening to music.

Today is Wednesday and as usual the sound of the tamboura, the six-string lyre, and the mangour, a leather belt sewn with goat hooves, can be heard.

The showroom is full of people.

Egyptians and foreigners listening to the same music. There are nine people playing and singing. The group is called the Mazaher Ensemble, and every weekly performance is valued, as it is never known when it could be the last.

Zar, the type of music the Mazaher Ensemble play, originated in Ethiopia during the eighteen century, and spread to Eastern Africa. It is ‘a kind of healing ritual in which people participate to feel relieved and relaxed through music

and percussion’, explains Ahmed el Maghraby, director of the centre in Makan. Maghraby opened the centre back in 2002 in an attempt to preserve the dying culture of Egyptian traditional music.

generations are interested in continuing with this ritual, and, if they are not, Zar will die in Egypt. ‘Maybe they can follow and learn the lyrics,’ Sameh says, sat in a chair and dressed in a traditional black dress, after one of her shows.

His beliefs are that because of Zar’s insistent and varied drum rhythms, communication with unseen spirits is enabled and can lead to an altered state of consciousness, and even trance.

The ritual has a bad reputation and is often seen as a form of exorcism. The music and the songs have survived in their original form without any major interference, but Maghraby says that the Mahzer Ensemble is the only Zar group in the whole Egypt now. ‘There are only 22 or 24 musicians that know how to play Zar.’

Maghraby thinks that when the turbulence that Egypt is facing is over, culture has to be ‘society’s locomotive […] especially in these days when we have this Islamist current leading Egypt, which goes against culture and diversity.’ He pauses. ‘But, there are people interested in Zar and I think it will continue,’ he concludes.

In the Mazaher Ensemble, women have the main role. This is uncommon in its self, and can be perceived as a small step forward for gender equality in Egyptian culture. Umm Sameh, the lead singer, learned to sing in a rare Arabic dialect and to play Zar from her mother, who learned it from her grandmother, and so on. But now she is not sure if young 8

Molotov cocktails will probably also continue to explode in Tahrir Square.

But, hopefully one day it will all be over, and the Mazaher Ensemble will still be performing.

By Marta Portocarrero

GOLDSMITH’S CAFÉ, 25 Lewisham Way. ATMOSPHERE 5/5 FOOD 4/5 VALUE FOR MONEY 4/5

THE RISING SUN, 275 New Cross Road.

ATMOSPHERE 3/5 FOOD 4/5 VALUE FOR MONEY 3/5

Goldsmith’s is certainly the best allrounder. The breakfasts are big, the prices are low, the toilets are in pretty good shape and the place is adorned with unintentional kitsch. The outside area is spacious and proper, and a few pieces of old fence effectively keep away the heavy traffic. It’s a pleasing environment, reminiscent of a cheap Mediterranean holiday.

Given that I was reviewing three breakfasts in one morning, I strategically ordered a selection containing two eggs, one sausage, bacon, beans and toast, but instead they gave me two sausages rather than one. It was the sausages that I was most afraid of, and there was no way that I was going to eat six of the bastards in one morning. All the sausages I ate that morning were cheap and dirty, but I was there for a budget fry-up so I wasn’t going to get free-range organic, nor should I have been naïve enough to expect any.

The waitress examined my plate and told me that they’d accidentally given me a free sausage. I was then forced, of course, to demonstrate my gratitude by eating the lot, which threw my strategy out the window.

Entering this café I already felt a little miserable. That feeling of doing something until you can’t do it anymore, rowing a boat, having sex, anything, and then having to do it twice more.

For £4.50 I ordered a pick-and-mix DIY breakfast. Egg, sausage, bacon, tomato and mushrooms. But it began to take a little while, until finally I noticed one of the employees sneak through the door with a slightly conspiratorial look on her face and a pack of tomatoes under her arm, which is why, I imagine, the tomato came sliced, charred, unseasoned and undercooked in the middle. With the breakfasts so similar, you’ve got to look out for the little things.

The café was clean and more upmarket than the other two, but not really any better for it. Although the sausage had little slits in it and the mushrooms were fresh and nicely cooked, the portion certainly wasn’t as large as Goldsmith’s, and with no outside seating it seemed like we already had a front-runner.

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DELICIOUS, 363 New Cross Road ATMOSPHERE 4/5 FOOD 3/5 VALUE FOR MONEY 5/5 At £4.30 with tea or coffee included, Delicious was the cheapest of the lot.

Their breakfast was the same but for a strange taste to their sausage, which I suspect came from frying it in some dodgy oil.

The décor was mismatched and tacky and the entire shop-front was opened out, allowing the cigarette smoke to pour in, giving the place a wonderful hint of greasy 90’s breakfast-time hedonism.

But this is where my journalistic endeavors come to an end, for I was incredibly full. As oxymoronic as it sounds I was a bloated waif. It was awful, the kind of bloatation that feels somehow irreversible, as though I would never recover. I was sweating and in the toilet mirror I could see that my face was a deep red and that I seemed to be weeping vegetable fat.

As I went to leave, the guy behind the counter spotted my half-empty plate and asked ‘everything alright boss?’

‘Fine, thanks, I’ve just got a massive hangover,’ I told him. Which was actually very true.

food & drink

food & drink

The Quarter-Million Pounder

Will the test tube burger be the next big thing in the culinary world? Joanna Rowse investigates.

Perhaps the biggest food news story of the summer is that of the £250,000 burger, created not in the traditional way of raising, feeding and slaughtering a cow, but via a scientific process of culturing animal stem cells. The burger was touted as an environmentallyfriendly alternative to the current methane-releasing, land-occupying, energy and water-rich method of rearing meat, as well as being an arguably more ethical choice.

Discussed less in the mainstream reporting of the test-tube burger was the widespread disgust it generated.

Although on one hand Dr Mark Post’s work is truly amazing – it could change the world, and end the suffering of millions of animals every year – the idea of growing real, red, plump, bloody muscle fibres from a bunch of stem cells is somewhat unsettling, both for the stomach and the mind.

The unnaturalness of the meat is something that Phillip Matthews, owner of the Hampstead Butcher and Providore, feels strongly about. He warns ‘it’s not going to be good quality meat– if it doesn’t look right, doesn’t smell right, it’s not going to taste right.’

From a vegetarian perspective, however, the idea of ‘torture-free’ meat is more appealing. Josh Hobson, a life-long vegetarian, feels that it is a ‘happy compromise where people can get what they want without animals having to suffer.’ However, he admits that he’s not sure he could stomach it. And he’s not alone, The Vegetarian Society have been running a poll on their website, revealing that 80% wouldn’t eat it.

So what does the future hold? One can imagine a dystopian black market, where people hungry for ‘real’ meat, would gather and make illicit exchanges to get their hands on meat cultivated in fields and not petri dishes. Of course, that might be getting a little ahead of ourselves; should this stem cell meat really take off, the transition from farming to culturing stem cells would not be immediate. With both options on the shelves in Sainsbury’s, would test tube burger eaters look down upon the ‘real’ meat eaters? Which would be more expensive? Could it become a ‘class thing’?

with meat, and what this new farming method might mean for them. It’s interesting that so many people are repulsed at the thought of growing flesh in a laboratory, but seem unfazed by the meat industry, which can actually be truly revolting. After all, eating animals has to be normalized for children after their initial horror at finding out exactly where their chicken nuggets come from. It will be a long time before these chicken nuggets are made in petri dishes, but when they are, it will be very interesting to see how people examine their social relationships with meat.

By Joanna Rowse

When I first thought about test tube burgers, I considered the relationships certain societies and religions have

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art & culture

fashion

Return of the 1461’s

Taylor Mcgraa ponders the rise of the ultimate boot – Dr. Marten’s are back in.

The Feminist Camera: The Work of Alexis Hunter and Jo Spence Last night I came home from work and it was dark. Thus, autumn is upon us, along with a whole new season of trends. And I for one am very excited.

with their oil/fat/acid/petrol resistant souls keeping you in good stead.

In the nature of any other timeless shoe, the DM 1461’s go with pretty much anything. Pair with jeans and a jumper, or even a skater dress, to transform yourself into the ultimate Agnes Deyne lookalike. I’m particularly looking forward to wearing mine with some comfy Christmas socks and Levis jeans.

Although girlish hues and pastels are a heavily predicted trend for this season, so is the classic too-cool-for-you punk aesthetic. After all, what better way to keep yourself warm this October than with a flannel shirt and leather studded jacket?

Noticing this upcoming trend, high street shoe suppliers such as Office have began to expand their range of Dr. Marten accounts, in order to make some of these more classic DM styles readily available to the public. I am in full support of this decision.

With familiar faces such as Cyrus and Delevigne covering our magazines and instagram feeds, recent pop culture has just been oozing androgynous visuals.

Beanies, oversized sweaters, and now, the classic Dr. Marten, once sported by policemen and milk men alike.

So slap me in the face and call me silly if I’m wrong, but don’t be surprised if soon enough there are mini Sid and Nancy’s everywhere this season. And yes, I will be one of them.

Last Winter, I couldn’t look to the ground without seeing a pair of DM boots, or an ‘Airwair’ tag staring blankly at me; so being the ultimate non-conformist that I am, I bagged myself a pair or Dr Marten originals – the 1461’s to be exact.

By Taylor Mcgraa

With the 1461’s being the ultimate man shoe, I purchased mine in the classic black leather - although the oxblood pair did cry for my attention. Chunky and clunky, I ensure you that these shoes will keep you going for not only one winter, but a long run of them,

Priya Shemar visits the Richard Saltoun gallery.

A typist toys with a globe-shaped sharpener. The blade cuts the fingers and the hand drips with crimson blood.

Secretary Sees The World (1978) encapsulates the disdain towards the conventional role of women, creating visual horror in monotony.

These feminist themes are explored throughout the Jo Spence and Alexis Hunter photography exhibition at The Richard Saltoun gallery. These radical artists explore the depiction of the female body as a political symbol, with images spanning from the late 1960s to the 1980s.

In contrast to the whitewashed walls, the photography presents concepts that are less muted. Large close-ups of feminine hands, Hunter’s signature, loom throughout, reducing women to mere function. In The Marxist’s Wife (still does the housework) (1978/2005) the neat portrait of Marx never appears whole – the female hand consistently prevents a full view of his face. Her inkstained hand wipes away flaws on the portrait, and thus the piece epitomises Hunter’s advocacy for the recognition of women.

Moving towards the second room of the exhibition it is clear that Hunter scrutinises the representation of women in class and labour issues within the media and society.

Jo Spence explores similar principles, with a somewhat confrontational response. Focussing highly on portraiture, Spence becomes the

Jo Spence and Dr Tim Sheard, Narratives of Dis-ease (1990)

subject of her work, where a number of outfits synonymous with masculinity or femininity are worn. From Libido Uprising: Beauty Work (1969) shows Spence awkwardly swaying in a staged pose, wearing fishnet tights and red stilettos as she attempts, and fails, at applying false nails. In a less humorous approach, there is a striking series of pictures in which her naked body desperately clutches a teddy bear. She conveys through facial expressions hatred, fear and sadness, in an uncomfortable display of the female form in From Narratives of Diseases (1989/90). Spence’s portraits throughout the exhibition challenge the viewer to reconsider how the female body becomes an object of male desire, and whether the body is inhibited by gender stereotypes.

The interesting juxtapositions in the exhibition, intimacy versus distance and playfulness versus confrontation, succeed in crystallising the complexity of women’s issues. The unique approach to photographic art and strong appeal justify the influence of the artists on future generations, in this rarely seen exhibit of feminist work.

By Priya Shemar

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music

music

Red Wedge

Ella Daniel-Lowe takes us back to the politically charged music days of Red Wedge.

In the eighties, similarly to today, the majority of poorer people were having a generally miserable time as the result of brutal cuts made by Margaret Thatcher’s Tory government. As a means of gathering more support for the Labour party (who were far more left-wing then than they are now), a group of UK pop musicians from a wide swathe of genres including ska, mod, electronic pop and punk joined together, with a common objective of getting the Tories out, and Labour in, during the 1987 election. They also aimed to stir political awareness and interest within the younger generations.

Rock Against Racism and the iconic punk movement of the seventies, encompassing its feisty spirit with a more finely honed version of its rebellious take on musicality. These qualities were fused seamlessly with the left-wing views of the musicians involved, while maintaining a sound that was impressive enough to win the hearts of many.

Musically, the bands of Red Wedge varied: from Paul Weller’s mod and soul-influenced Style Council and the protest folk of Billy Bragg, to the reggae-influenced ska-pop of The Beat and, the very out and very left wing Bronski Beat – with their proto electro beats topped by the piercing falsetto of Jimmy Sommerville.

This collective called themselves Red Wedge; named after a piece of Soviet propaganda titled ‘beat the whites with the red wedge’, which also inspired the movement’s emblem. The ‘whites’ referred to the anti-Bolshevik, white Russians, and was changed to ‘beat the blues’, in reference to the Tory colours.

Red Wedge followed the success of

Papercut interpretation of the original Red Wedge logo designed by Neville Brody.

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Many of the bands of Red Wedge, which varied across a spectrum of pop styles, were featured in the UK Top 40 during the eighties. It seems that there is a lot less variety and little political

content within the charts today, despite the similar austerity of societal circumstances. However, if you delve a little deeper within genres it quickly becomes clear that similar-minded bands certainly are still very much alive and kicking. It is merely that their widespread popularity has declined.

Nowadays artists tend to focus on single-issue campaigns, as witnessed recently by the support for Russia’s jailed femo-punksters, Pussy Riot, by stars such as Adele, Madonna, U2 and Red Hot Chilli Peppers, amongst many others.

Although the members of the Wedge were unsuccessful in their attempts to oust the Conservative government, they certainly did succeed in inspiring the younger generations to take action. The idea of engaging younger generations with politics that previously bored them through the medium of music was simple, but clever. After all, what engages teenagers more than music?

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The eighties were ultimately riddled with protests and occasional riots as the result of a consistently acute sense of unrest within working-class Britain.

Although contemporary circumstances bear many similarities, it seems that the young adults of today – our generation – have a much greater sense of apathy.

It is unfortunate that such a movement does not exist currently and looks unlikely to appear any time soon. The inspiration of famous musicians may well be what is needed to change the current political standing of Britain today, but it is difficult to locate a starting point when the majority of the popular music industry now consists of catchy club anthems or soothing indiefolk. Perhaps it is time for a change, as we’re given another opportunity to beat the blues.

By Ella Daniel-Lowe