THE LEEDS DEBACLE

leeds

issue 12 - ÂŁfree

jul - sept 2013

.

..

..

.

M u s i c S u m m e r S t o r i e s

A r t P o l i t i c s P o e t r y

S h o p p i n g F i l m R e v i e w s

Literature Conspiracies B l o g s

.

..

..

.

/ Nicola Stewart

uk summer E

verybody has a summer they remember.

An amazing holiday, a summer romance, finishing exams…None of these stories are necessarily that original, but to the individual, they are happy, memorable, significant even. Summer memories always feel special. If I had to pick my story, it would be last summer, when I moved back to my home city, Leeds. After leaving for University when I was 18, I had returned only for the holidays, and then I left for good at the age of 22, for the seductive bright lights of London. I’d visited of course, but not as often as I should have.

My memories and experiences of the city were those of a teenager.

I felt out of touch with my city, like a stranger almost. In short, I felt like a Londoner.

I felt apprehensive, but I had only come back for a few months - it was always meant to be temporary. I needed a break from London life, and to figure

2_TheLeedsDebacle

out what to do next. So because I wasn’t sure what would happen, or how much I would enjoy my time in Leeds, I treated it like a University holiday - the hard work in London was over and it was time to have a few months off, free of responsibility and full of fun. I found a job, rather than a career, and for the first time this wasn’t worrying me. I had no responsibilities, and I didn’t really want them. I made a new friend, someone who wanted the same, and we joined our summer stories together. Hers was just finishing University, and mine was living it up feeling like I was.

And then, even more unexpected than the sudden move and the sudden friendship, I fell in love with Leeds. The city was giving me exactly what I wanted. It was fun!

People partied all night, drinking fantastic cocktails, served up by good looking bar staff. The coffee shops were independent, the shops stylish, and the Loiners

were friendly. The city felt small enough to have a sense of ‘community’, but it was big enough and fashionable enough to offer what I’d been used to in London. I was impressed! I shed my London city girl standards (well, dropped them, slightly) and loved life in Leeds instead. I went out every Saturday, danced all night, and then went home on the Sunday, I bonded with new friends, explored the city. There was Olympic fever, the Jubilee, even a visit from the Queen, I was happy, everyone else was happy…This was a great summer to be in rainy old England, and in Leeds, and the possibilities seemed endless. And although it’s hard to pinpoint what makes a great summer, ultimately for me this is it - the possibility, the anticipation, the hope, it’s that feeling that summer will change things, the sun will come out, and something amazing is going to happen. Enjoy your summers, make stories, and I hope it’s your best one ever.

His Love Is Strange / Jaiwantika Dutta Dhupkar His love is strange.

It disappears like the late-morning mist when the sun is high.

His kisses from the last night like never-settling dewdrops remain an evaporating memory of him, but he is awayworking-sailing-golfing-losinghisphone leaving me to remorse.

I wouldn’t care to call a dog otherwise but a week later, I mutter curses, and do.

Study of a bachelor. / Matthew Stoppard This one needs mothering all over again before he looks at another woman, finding himself facedown in a litter tray following an evening when he’d caught his true reflection in a vomit puddle.

Cheap hotel hallways set aflame leading someone to a room after wooing them with a bouquet of carnation spray once tied to dual carriageway railings.

He would climb the highest ladder on any pair of tights, every time burying his nose in the gusset of a goddess’s swimwear, when all he had really done was snort up a decoy for love. It’s no more than a toffee hammer rap on your pubic bone when he wriggles atop you, a fleabitten mongrel grinding out emotions, thinking he has covered the scent of his competition by pissing up a shop door.

Never finding solace at the end of lapdances and tugging at limp rope in the dark, alone, when nights end. He awoke staring at cat turds, wondering: was that fidelity or kittens picking at his bones?

Happy the child with dispersed white light / Gareth Durasow But her mum and I, we need to tighten our belts, so for what remains of the poem she’ll only be seen by the lights of her eyes floating back and forth upon a matt black screen representative of toilet trips in the night, overseeing a sloeblack Sylvania where everyone says hello to everyone, releases fairies with all legs accounted for and describes the book I’m reading as being too fat.

TheLeedsDebacle_3

/ john barran & glen pinder

live at leeds GP: The start of Summer has arrived and festival season is upon us, all hail the joy that is Live at Leeds.

JB: Despite, or perhaps because of previous experience, I am drinking lager in the morning.

Don’t try this at home kids, it is not to be condoned and will almost definitely lead face-first towards embarrassment, amnesia & never-agains. But, if your home town will insist on hosting all-day music festivals on sunny bankholidays, it would be rude not to.

college of music, armed with a voice that ranges from soft and sweet to a southern soul rasp all in the same verse, she soon has the ever growing audience swooning and eating out of the palm of her hand. Only one act into the day and already we may be seeing the future roll out before us.

JB: So, as afternoon strikes, Milo is supposed to ease us in gently with two fine Leeds troubadours, Lone Wolf and Sam Barrett. Except the venue is immediately packed and the former’s atmospherics

it, hailing from Leeds though based in Manchester, they are one of my surprise packages of the day, bringing huge songs and aloof charm. Each band member looks like they’re from entirely different groups, especially the Zac Starkey like drummer who looks as if he’s playing the last gig on earth, such is the energy and flair in which these guys play.

Closing song ‘Don’t Ever Say’ is a Walkmen-esque future anthem in the making; ones to watch indeed.

JB: Quite the opposite approach at an overcrowded Academy, The Pigeon Detectives are shallow, unoriginal, easy to criticise and bloody enjoyable. Typically leaping and kicking, their infectious energy rouses the rabble and more than a few cool kids accidentally catch themselves joining in with the terrace singalongs.

GP: Charlie Boyer and the Voyeurs at the Refectory sees the first big hyped band of the day, these press darlings already grabbing the headlines are somewhat of a let down. A mix of psyche glam pop coming from a rather bored looking bunch, never quite hitting their stride or capturing the giddy punch their early singles promised.

‘I Watch You’ being the only sign of the Glam pop brilliance they are renowned for, truly a shame.

Georgina Thursting

JB: Saturday begins for many with hangover already in full flow, Live at Leeds having opened the night before with The Unconference and a trio of gigs from local garage-gothers Black Moth at The Wardrobe, homegrown goodtimers Hope & Social at Brudenell, and teenage 60s impersonators The Strypes at The Cockpit.

GP: Starting my day at Nation of Shopkeepers the first act I see is Georgina Thursting a new soul sensation coming out of Leeds 4_TheLeedsDebacle

are less a polite introduction and more a brooding and rousing wake-up call.

JB: Continuing the theme is Harry George Johns at Holy Trinity. A man of many a kick-ass heavy band, Johns alone is infinitely quieter yet equally raw. His heartbreaking human tales are openly touching and made all the more cathartic in this ideal church setting.

GP: Heading into Leeds Met stage 2, I come across The Covelles, a band, dare I say

JB: Next, Post War Glamour Girls prove why they have a strong Stylus home crowd behind them with a set wound tight by creepycatchy tunes and menacing eruptions in a half-hour that blasts by.

GP: From there a sprint is in order to catch ‘Witch Hunt’, a duo with such power and ferocity that I am taken aback a little, which can only be a good thing. The menacing guitar lines and vocals on songs like ‘Crawl’ and ‘Basements’ lend an eerie sensation to proceedings, like the feeling of walking through a cobweb and not knowing where the spider went. The gig ends in a flurry of frantic drum bashing and screeching feedback, how easy it is to fall in love on days like this another truly great band from the Leeds cannon.

The 1975 JB: At the Met, newly-hyped London Grammar are an icy presence that wrap an anticipating audience in the warmth of their slowly-building songs. Impressive vocals keep their dangerously sparse approach enchanting and appreciated.

JB: The buzz only increases at The Cockpit where The 1975 draw an astonishingly huge crowd that surprises even themselves. Those that get past the queues become a sweating surging mass treated to a passionate pop performance I cannot see.

GP: On next to Savages, having just released their debut album ‘Silence Yourself’ the anticipation in Stylus is almost palpable, and to my surprise they do not disappoint. Coming on with 21st century Joy Division bass riffage, singer Jenny Beth (looking not unlike Ian Curtis) grabs hold of the rapt audience and doesn’t let go

for the entire set. ‘Shut Up’ and ‘City’s Full’ are a true revelation from a band that at times sound like the entirety of your new wave back catalogue but never fall into pastiche, flexing muscles and musicality that most of the bands today would give their skinny jeaned left leg for. On a day of revelations like this, this all girl four piece may be the cream of the crop and evidence that the ladies might just be taking over the indie rock market, and about time too.

JB: A more predictable rush back to Stylus to see the next big thing, or the last big thing, punk-grrls Savages. The edgy atmosphere intensifies when the sound repeatedly buggers up.

Fortunately, this makes an angry band angrier and potential disaster beomes a unified rock’n’roll riot.

JB: I miss current big things Alunageorge & Rudimental at The Academy because hours The Walkmen of lager & loudness in darkness & daytime make a head woozy & a curry necessary. Apologies to all offended by my subsequent stench, although the day’s various dubious odours by now overwhelmed everywhere.

GP: Cockpit headliners Peace are somewhat in the same vein as Charlie Boyer, huge hype and pop singles generating a huge noise around themselves and yet again I find myself left slightly disappointed, standing ankle deep in

discarded bottles and plastic glasses. The pop rush of ‘Love Sick’ is undeniable, a frenetic two and a half minutes of teenage lust and thrust, but beyond that, the early Nineties guitar twang wears a little thin, coming across more indie by numbers rather than the new youth sensation they’ve been championed as. I may be being a tad harsh as the record is a breezy rush, but tonight seems strained and a little contrived.

JB: In an array of excellent headliners, I catch the start of The Walkmen’s wonderful garage sermons then join the Refectory throng for Everything Everything’s jittery rhythms, complex structures and sugarrush harmonies. The day ends suitably dancing badly & grinning moronically.

JB: Complaints of queues & clashes are inevitable at such an event and, it could be argued, add to its vitality. With surprise shows at shops & cinemas, Sunday’s Millennium Square concert, Monday’s football tournament and Saturday’s showcase, Live at Leeds has once again proved itself to be an inventive, eclectic, organised and continually growing success. Well worth drinking in the morning for.

GP: And that’s it, the end of a long and beautiful day, Live at Leeds has yet again surpassed itself in bringing the great, good and otherwise to our streets. Long live Live at Leeds and long live Rock ‘n’ Roll.

Leeds, we salute you.

TheLeedsDebacle_5

Friday, 5th July: The Ukrainians Saturday, 6th July: The Temperance Movement Wednesday, 10th July: Martin Stephenson Sunday, 14th July: Japandroids Monday, 15th July: Youth Lagoon Thursday, 18th July: Hayashi Monday, 22nd July: The Thermals Sunday, 28th July: Six By Seven Wednesday, 7th August: The Dead Pets Friday, 9th August: Bad Manners Tuesday, 27th August: Crocodiles Thursday, 29th August: The Rutles Monday, 2nd September: Matthew E. White Saturday, 7th September: Nick Harper Friday, 13th September: Jon Gomm Monday, 16th September: Junip Thursday, 19th September: Wire Saturday, 21st September: The Smyths Wednesday, 25th September: The Primitives Friday, 27th September: The Duckworth Lewis Method Saturday, 28th September: Gang of Four Monday, 30th September: Tim Burgess Friday, 11th October: Lanterns On The Lake Tuesday, 5th November: Phosphorescent Wednesday, 20th November: Low

tim chapman \

waiting room N

early two hours in the waiting room and he’d counted each row and column of the chequered floor and observed the pictures on the wall of Mediterranean beaches and old photos of the city a hundred years ago. He’d listened to the two clocks ticking in and out of rhythm like some diabolical score by Steve Reich and the interminable clacking of the receptionist on the typewriter punctuated by the occasional sipping from a glass of water. How many hours? An old timer in a top hat picked his teeth with a cocktail stick and stared at the door, lost in some internal process and next to him, presumably his wife, who read a gossip magazine from behind thick rimmed spectacles and picked at her giant red bouffant.

Looking back over at the typist he realised she’d begun to stand and after another sip of water she announced with the wave of her hand: ‘Mr and Mrs Hesse, please; the Doctor will see you now.’

Damn it. He got up and walked past the couple as they left and snatched a car magazine from the pile on the table. After another thirty minutes it was his turn.

The office was too warm. With a

wide grin beneath a heavy rodentlike moustache the Doctor greeted him, putting down his pipe and extending a large hand.

cannot offer its inhabitants agreeable employment opportunities, but these are not matters for medical intervention.’

‘Nice to meet you Mr…’ ‘Doctor,’ he butted in, ‘I have a most terrible problem.’

‘But Doctor, you are a man of experimental genetics and microbiology, and what not… you can surely understand the apparent complexities of the human condition, the intricate brain and seat of consciousness et cetera? The conflict that still affects the world of nature and mankind, the genocide, the mutilation – the bloody road to perfection soaks the golden kingdom, Doctor!’

The Doctor retracted his hand and sat down slowly, eyes squinting behind thin metal glasses.

‘My ailment is gross and stupendous; a hereditary affliction causing terror and impotence. You see,’ He sat down facing the Doctor, ‘I feel unequipped to function as a proletariat. My resources have been quelled psychically by the ancestral trauma of humanity through its progress through the ages. Wars, famine, destruction.

The carnage of our own species; its sadomasochism has poisoned our being and thus I am maimed and can do nothing but lament in music, art and writings.’

He raised his arms to shrug and the Doctor popped his pipe between his teeth.

‘Mr. Ranzino, this affliction you speak of is one shared by many workers of such trade. It is unfortunate when a social network

‘Mr. Ranzino, it… ‘ ‘No, wait! Doctor, don’t you see?

The impact of these centuries of slaughter has grown into a huge snowball. Even in our own lifetime all can account for perceiving actual war, if not actively participating! Even our economic structures lead each citizen to inadvertently fund war and atrocity. How can I continue to support this? Dear Doctor, you know all too well my meaning, and I see the cloud in your vision still – this is the way of it. My function is obsolete and I cannot carry the emotional burden of participation.’

‘Well what do you propose, Mr. Ranzino?’

TheLeedsDebacle_7

/ Matthew riley

jumping ship

nerationally politically and ge

I

come from a background pretty typical of someone of my age and from my town: wholly northern, Labour-voting and with mining heritage in the family. Indeed, my dad’s dad worked for the coal board, and several uncles worked ‘down the pit’. Although not all have explicitly said so (apart from my parents and brother), it’s pretty clear that my family has predominantly and quite consistently voted Labour.

Voting Labour was something which naturally always went hand-in-hand with being involved in the mining industry, or working in certain other areas, be it confectionery production, other manual labour or retail work. The people working in these fields were always Labour’s classic support base, dependable for their overwhelmingly red vote come election time. As the dominance of this type of work prevailed in the industrial North through the twentieth century, so did the socialist voting tradition. Labour was the party of the working man, and its policies and standpoint largely embodied the values of its core voters: concern for the working man, opportunities for all and state help for anyone who needed it, but also a particular strand of social conservatism, characterised by wariness of immigration and some moral discomfort with wholly equal rights for homosexuals and other 8_TheLeedsDebacle

minority groups. In short, it was all about the promotion and preservation of the traditional working ways and ethics of the working-class family man. Classic Old Labour stuff.

But of course we all know that this isn’t the picture today.

Labour post-Thatcher – New Labour – is a greatly different party to that which existed prior to this rebranding. It’s not as simple as ‘Working-class? Vote Labour. Middle- or upper-class?

Vote Conservative’ any more.

The phenomenon of the ‘floating voter’ is something almost everyone can relate to, if not claim to be part of. However, generational voting traditions still exist and are very significant.

The rural areas of the country are still overwhelmingly blue, the urban areas overwhelmingly red.

Sure, there are islands of Liberal Democrat gold and minor parties’ colours here and there, sometimes in unexpected places, but the old ways still dominate throughout much of the UK. My area, Wakefield, is a clear example of this. You can’t deny the Labour-voting tradition I talked about beforehand is still here.

It’s undeniable also that there are areas where Labour doesn’t exactly dominate here, especially in the more prosperous western half of the district. But Wakefield is by no stretch of the imagination a Middle England district which

swings between parties. 52 of the district’s 63 councillors are Labour councillors, the other 11 being Conservatives. Overwhelmingly, if people in Wakefield don’t vote Conservative, they vote Labour.

It’s a kind of ‘Well my dad always voted Labour, so I do too’ sort of mentality which is to be found all over the district. These younger voters who carry on the tradition add to the great bulk of the ageing Labour vote, the generations which worked down the pit and such, and largely only ever voted red. It’s obviously not the case entirely: many disaffected Labour voters now ally themselves to the BNP or UKIP, for example, come election time, but, ultimately, Labour is still the party to (try and) beat in Wakefield. And the same complicated state prevails across the great majority of the rest of Labour’s former Northern heartland.

It’s probably clear that I hold this electoral status quo in some contempt, but I’d readily admit I fell victim to it myself. As a vehemently anti-Conservative and inherently left-wing 16-year-old living in Pontefract, I pretty much defaulted to the Labour Party as the party which embodied my feelings and outlook. Note how I used the word feelings. It was, to be frank, quite a reactionary thing. I joined the Labour Party because the Tories enraged me and the Liberal Democrats were, I knew, very much a minor party

in my home patch. As I’ve said, in Pontefract it’s usually the case that if you’re not Tory, you’re Labour. I fitted the mould perfectly, and I was very happy indeed to join Young Labour in the autumn of 2010 and go out campaigning for my party, thank you very much.

A couple of years passed, during which time I did quite a bit of local election campaigning, In September 2012 I went to university and by this my life circumstances were so very different to what they were when I first put on a ‘Vote Labour’ sticker and marched around doorknocking in Pontefract. Along with starting university had come the meeting of new people and the quasi-realisation that there are people out there who hail from backgrounds different (in some cases more different than you’d appreciate) from your own and with views and beliefs different to, and sometimes considerably opposed to, your own. Last month I met, and struck up a relationship with, a Politics student. We would spend lots of our time together discussing politics: not just current affairs but also some of the more deep, theoretical stuff. I admired him greatly for his political astuteness, which manifested itself so well in our little discussions and debates with each other. Of course, he had his own political biases (he described himself as socially progressive and an economic neo-liberal, and said he voted either Lib Dem or Green), but I always felt his opinions were well thought-out and reasonable, not to mention mostly in agreement with mine.

We got to a point where we could be pretty honest with each other when it came to politics, and through this mutual openness, my boyfriend opened my eyes to my past rashness. I began to think about my decision to join the Labour Party over 2 years previously, and about how my views had changed and become

more informed, chiefly by virtue of the mind-broadening nature of the university experience up to that point, in the intervening period. I thought about how my boyfriend would denounce Labour’s rudderless leadership, its increasingly authoritarian policies and its hopeless apparent struggle to combine democratic socialism with post-Thatcherite consensus politics and economics. I began to get this creeping feeling I was in the wrong party.

I did some research into the given my interest in finding out where I really belonged politically, if, as seemed likely, the Labour Party wasn’t the place. Having toyed with the idea of joining the Liberal Democrats before joining Labour, the former party seemed the logical first-choice alternative. I looked into the party’s policies and philosophy and found myself agreeing with so many more of their policies than those of Labour. The importance they place on electoral reform to create fairer, more democratic election outcomes. The priority their policies give to mitigating the effects of climate change and investing in a ‘green economy’.

The dedication to human rights and liberties, which flew in the face of Labour’s authoritarian ideas (national ID cards and the like). They all appealed to me greatly. It felt like a relief. And so I decided to join the Liberal Democrats, and did so later on in March, resigning my Labour membership. It was exciting to be part of something new and which I could legitimately say was right for me, having looked at the nittygritty of policy and ideology. It’s not the case that I’ve simply had my thoughts swayed by someone I was emotionally involved with.

Rather that that person was the reason for me questioning my own quite entrenched beliefs and going on to become more enlightened and, as a consequence, make a logical change to my political allegiance. It’s something I’d thank him for.

It would be nice for this to happen to many more people of my age and from backgrounds where there is a largely unquestioned voting tradition. It’s important to me that youth is about self-discovery and maximum enjoyment and fulfilment, and I feel that joining the party that’s right for me (despite going against the grain in doing so) is completely right and something which concurs with this idea of youth. I know not all young people are like me: most have little to no interest in politics or would know exactly how to cast their vote. But my main message would be, don’t be a political sheep. Don’t follow the crowd just because it’s the done thing.

Breaking with tradition and finding your true political home can be refreshing, enlightening and invigorating (and is totally worth the reading you have to do…). It’s just a shame that political parties are the ones who have failed to engage properly with voters over the years, taking for granted their votes from certain areas and neglecting to put in the work to earn the right to represent people.

It’s also unfortunate that political parties are the organisations that are in one of the best, if not the best position to re-engage with the electorate and make politics popular again.

A more informed and engaged electorate can be no bad thing, but think about it: if you’re a Conservative Party member somewhere in the Tory south, for example, do you really want people awakening to their true political leaning if it means they might desert your party? It’s highly doubtful.

Only the future will tell what happens to political and electoral traditions across the UK, but one thing I do know: I’m no longer a part of mine, and I feel much better for it.

TheLeedsDebacle_9

the squizzle L

eeds author Donna Iliffe-Pollard combined her passion for poetry and the solar system to create short children’s story ‘The Squizzle’ which has been selected for the ‘People’s Book Prize Awards’. Here is an extract from the educational adventure, which you can vote for at www. peoplesbookprize.com.

He kept a little journal to take back for General Zatt, By logging all the planets, what they’re made of, where they’re at; He whizzed around at quite a speed, reporting where he’d been, And in between each solar stop he’d write of what he’d seen.

It read...

Log Entry Number 1 Earth’s Solar System’s made up of a star which is the Sun And planets that surround it, I’ve observed them one by one.

I’ve also checked out asteroids, dwarf planets, comets, moons, Whilst trying to avoid those nasty big Black Holes of doom !

Log Entry Number 2 My first stop is the Sun… it’s just one big hot ball of gas That’s full of heat and energy and shoots out solar blasts!

They’re like big flares that travel quite a long way into space It may well be the Earth’s own star…no way a landing place.

Log Entry Number 3 And now I’m here on Mercury, no water, cliffs so high, With dangerous radiation, hit with meteors from the sky.

It’s called „The Speedy Planet‟ quickly orbiting the Sun It’s four times faster than the earth, with craters, that’s no fun.

Log Entry Number 4 Today I flew to Venus, wow that place is hot, hot, hot!

Volcanoes like you’ve never seen and poisonous air it’s got.

There’s hurricanes and lightning storms, a sticky atmosphere, It’s also spinning backwards so three days feel like a year.

10_TheLeedsDebacle

Log Entry Number 5 With still no luck I thought I would give planet Mars a try, Grand canyons, big red deserts, but its freezing cold and dry.

It has a large volcano and some polar ice caps too, But it’s full of iron oxide, poisonous air for me and you.

Log Entry Number 6 So now I’m here at Jupiter, the giant of them all, It’s thirteen hundred times as big as Earth... that’s one big ball!

With water and ammonia both swirling round its skies A red spot shows a raging storm that never ever dies.

Log Entry Number 7 Onwards then to Saturn, that’s the one with sparkling rings, They’re made from chunks of ice and rocks there’s thousands of the things!

With hydrogen and helium, a nasty gassy sky, But lit up rather pretty like a lemon meringue pie.

Log Entry Number 8 More flying time to Uranus and what confusing stuff, Its core is super-hot and yet the outside is quite rough, With ice and rocks and freezing winds, it’s tilting slightly too!

One season lasts two decades and the Methane, makes it blue!

Log Entry Number 9 Whoa! Neptune is a cold dark place with winds all supersonic!

The oceans there were boiling hot, conditions are quite chronic.

It takes sixteen point five decades to orbit round the sun!

This planet’s two main gases, Hydrogen and Helium.

Log Entry Number 10 This week I’ve searched all five of the dwarf planets … that’s a ‘No’, I tried to land on Ceres, even Eris and Pluto And Makemake looks just like a ball of floating deadly ice, Then Haumea, shaped like an egg, I flew around it twice!

----------Squizzle tucked his journal safely back beside the map Being well on track for planet Earth he’d need a power nap.

TheLeedsDebacle_11

12_TheLeedsDebacle

emily ward \

northern art prize T

he Northern Art Prize, now in its 6th year, champions artists from, well, the north.

Covering Yorkshire, Durham, Teeside and Lancashire it is open to artists of any age and at any stage in their career.

Artists are nominated by curators and a long list is whittled down to a shortlist of just four.

This year’s line up consists of Margaret Harrison, Rosalind Nashashibi, Emily Speed, and collaborators Joanne Tatham and Tom O’Sullivan. On the evening of the 23rd of May, at Leeds City Gallery, the winner of the £16,500 prize was announced as Margaret Harrison. Margaret also won the public vote.

Originating from Wakefield, her career has spanned 50 years. Her specially created work for the NAP is centred around an installation based on the perimeter fence at RAF Greenham Common, where a group of women in 1981 protested against nuclear weapons testing.

This piece is set against a large mirror, a powerful way to reflect the piece and you as the viewer.

The fence is covered with personal items, clothes, photographs,

children’s shoes and stands as a reminder of protests in general and their motivations behind them.

fantastically achieved by curator Sarah Brown. Photography, film, painting and sculpture all feature in a maze of artwork.

In her acceptance speech she championed the art schools, announcing their importance, and referring to the art school movement in the 60’s and 70’s.

She also commented upon the closing gap between the north and south in the art world. A decreasing gap helped along by the arts prizes such as the NAP.

Leeds City Art Gallery yet again proves that there can be a relationship between the traditional paintings and contemporary art in the same space. Despite some of this years entries being very contemporary, in particular a performance piece

by Emily Speed which may have gone over a few peoples heads, a piece about architecture and the body and beautiful nonetheless.

The usual array of speeches commenced thanking all of those involved with this years prize, and an admittedly difficult decision by the panel of judges that consisted of Sarah Brown (curator), Tomma Abts (artist), Margot Heller (Director, South London Gallery), Jennifer Higgie (Co-Director, Frieze) and James Lingwood (CoDirector, Artangel). The remaining shortlisted artists still walked away with £1,500 each and great publicity, not a bad result.

The exhibition itself is a mixture of all mediums and contexts.

A difficult one to curate but

An enjoyable and interesting night with a great turnout enjoyed by all (the free drinks may be a contributing factor).

Despite its great publicity, and its awareness growing each year, I can’t help but still feel more could be done to reach to a wider audience, to add to the usual turnout of directors and wellestablished people in the arts industry. Nonetheless, any event that prides itself on the talent of the north is a winner.

TheLeedsDebacle_13

brew records After 6 years and 27 releases, excellent Leeds label Brew Records recently announced they had decided to call it a day. The Leeds Debacle interviewed Brew co-founder Simon Glacken.

TLD: Tell us about how Brew began and the idea behind it.

BR: I guess the idea of setting up a label was something I’d wanted to do for a good few years before we started in 2007. When I was in my first year of uni over 10 years ago we were all asked what we wanted to be doing after we left.

At the time I was pretty obsessed with U.S punk rock music and blurted out that I wanted to set up a ‘punk rock record label’. Most of the people in the room looked at me funny and weren’t sure what it actually meant but for me that’s when the initial desire to do this first came up.

Tom, the other founder of Brew, started chatting to me in early 2007 about how he wanted to set up a label and he’d applied for a grant. I’d built up a few contacts from being in bands so I guess I brought a little bit of music industry knowledge to

14_TheLeedsDebacle

the table. I will say it was really really really limited but I did have a big spreadsheet at the time which seemed to impress Tom. So with the grant money and a spreadsheet we decided to give it a go.

The main focus was simple really.

Just to release music by bands we’d seen who we thought were amazing. Our first release was a 16-track compilation CD featuring some of our favourite bands from the Leeds/West Yorkshire area. It was a statement of intent really saying this is the music we like and you should like it too. It included The Plight (RIP), Year of the Man (RIP), i Concur (RIP), Chickenhawk (now Hawk Eyes) and some bands that I’m pleased to say are still going, such as Vessels, Humanfly, Cowtown, Glissando and These Monsters.

TLD: What have been your favourite/most memorable moments/bands/releases?

BR: There have been quite a few for sure. When we released the first compilation we also put on a launch show at the Brudenell Social Club and 5 of the bands on the record played. About 150+ people showed up and it was an amazing night so it felt like we had some great local support from the offset.

Kong’s ‘Snake Magnet’ was the first album we released in 2009 and it was one of our most ambitious efforts, since it also included a DVD featuring a sort of film/documentary on the band. I guess finally releasing a proper album made us feel like we were becoming more of a proper record label and with all the great press it got we felt like we’d really made a bold statement releasing such an amazing record. In my

mind, while every album we’ve released by Castrovalva, These Monsters, Humanfly, Hawk Eyes, Blacklisters, Nine Black Alps and Holy State have been top notch, Kong’s is probably the best.

I also got the chance to go on tour with Kong when they supported 65daysofstatic around Europe so that whole period was a memorable/blurry moment in my life. I’d just taken voluntary redundancy from my ‘real job’ and literally went straight into the tour. Rock n roll.

TLD: What difficulties do smaller labels like Brew encounter and can these be overcome?

BR: There’s always the usual problem of illegally downloading.

It’s pretty much impossible to stop this happening, though we made a conscious effort to make sure that our releases on CD and vinyl look and feel good as well as sounding ace. I think if you can make a desirable product then fans will still pay money for it, though this number of people is clearly less.

To make up for less money coming in from music sales you can look at selling other items and more general merch like shirts, hoodies, fridge magnets, posters etc. We’ve sold a few items like this but, while I think it’s great that they can generate money for a label, it can also feel like you’re running a clothing company too, which is something we never really set out to do. We just wanted to release records.

When taking on a band you have to really think long and hard about

whether you think they are going to sell any records. When you’re such a small label you can’t afford for a record to flop as it just takes one release to not sell too well and it’s enough to financially kill you off. There are lots of bands we’d loved to have released records by but we just couldn’t justify it when it came to money.

TLD: How do you think Brew made a difference?

BR: We just released some really fucking ace records and I personally feel we helped show the heavier side of Leeds to the rest of the UK. I think when it comes to progressive, experimental, noise rock then Leeds has one of the best scenes going and we were able to show some of the bands to the world.

We never worked with a band because a certain type of music was hip or cool. We just released what we wanted because we loved the band and felt it could work and never wanted to really pigeonhole ourselves under any special genre.

Though Brew was very much a ‘rock’ label. But that’s as far as I’d go with ‘labelling’ the label, so to speak.

We’ve seen new bands and labels pop up over the years who have been directly influenced by the records we’ve released so just by being active in the scene over the past 6 years has had an impact.

I just spent the weekend at Long Division Festival in Wakefield where we had Nine Black Alps, Humanfly and Blacklisters playing and I ended up speaking to a good

few people who were sad about the end of Brew. These were people I’d never met before so it was a nice experience.

Without getting too cheesy, we’ve made a difference on the lives of the bands. We’ve helped get their music out to the wider world and you can see the impact this has when you take a band that people aren’t really aware of who haven’t toured much and then a year or two later they are playing major festivals, getting played on the radio, featured in magazines and touring with big bands.

TLD: Which labels should we look out for instead of Brew?

BR: Nottingham label Gringo Records is up there as one of my favourites. They’ve released stuff

by That Fucking Tank, Hookworms, Polaris, Vision Fortune, Bilge Pump and so much more. They’ve been going 15 years now so you have to respect and admire that.

TLD: Was it all worth it?

BR: Yes of course! The whole experience has been a massive learning curve but we achieved so much and done so many things I never expected to do. You can’t put a price on that really.

TLD: What next?

BR: A couple of us have a few irons in the fire so I imagine we’ll all be popping up again before the year is out. I also run a music and event PR company called I Like Press so, as that’s my day job, I’ll be sticking with that. Keep your eyes peeled!

TheLeedsDebacle_15

gareth jones \

small pox, cherry coke, mongolia They fell out of a van and onto the road, nowhere near their intended postcode. Bought on eBay and heading for Spain, the box fell open in the fast lane. Out of the box came a cherry coke can, who danced to the curb in need of a plan.

Germs filled the air and there was no evasion; the man was Mongolian so he was still Asian. The dancing cans caught his disease, as the Mongolian man did a big sneeze.

Unaware they carried small pox; they continued to dance as they heard a boom box.

The cans had just danced in a big loop, so it was easy for the factory to make the scoop. The crushed cans were bashed back into shape, their headphones secured with sticky tape. The five cans were packaged and sent to Spain, not in a van they were put on a plane.

He signalled the others like a game of charades, wearing his headphones and bright yellow shades. A Coke, a Fanta, Sprite and a Lilt crossed the road but drink was spilt. The Lilt was crushed and so was the Sprite, the Coke had no fizz and gave up the fight.

The factory in China got an email from Spain; a man called Juan wished to complain. He wanted to track his dancing cans; as he longed to have them in his hands.

The complaint was passed to the main bureau, as Juan had paid fifty euro.

The package arrived at a flat in Madrid, Juan got a knife to open the lid. He started to cough as the air hit his throat, the small pox invaded like a rat on a boat.

The cans were all bashed and had clearly been used, not BNWT he sat there confused.

The package had gone missing in Mongolia, the bosses face turned magnolia. It had fallen out of an old white van; saving on postage had been the plan. ‘It will all work out,’ the boss reassured, aware that the cans were not insured.

He was rushed to hospital with an unknown disease, the cherry coke can danced by his knees. You shouldn’t buy toys from places in china; you could catch a disease or end up with angina. I know it’s a cheap way of trade and livery, but they will always kill you on delivery.

The surviving drinks had to think up a plan, the Fanta stood next to the Cherry Coke can. They danced on the pavement and picked up a beat, off the main road they danced down a street. They passed a man on his knees, who looked Chinese as he coughed and wheezed.

The cherry told Fanta to go on a diet; they both stopped dancing as it fell quiet. Powered by batteries and processing noise, the cans were collectable antique toys.

They were back at the side of the main road, where hours before the traffic flowed.

www.facebook.com/theImaginariumbook

TheLeedsDebacle_17

/ rebecca jackson

your alternative weekly shop The dreaded supermarket shop.

While it may be useful for bulk buying, I can’t think of anything that is pleasurable about the experience.

Screaming kids, crowded aisles, dubious quality and money ‘saving’ deals that don’t always do what they say on the tin. These are just a few things I associate with the experience.

The only way to survive peaktime mayhem is to get in to dogeat-dog mode. Everyone driving a car fights it out over the parking spaces near the entrance. For some reason we decide this is easier than parking a little further away. And I, a passenger sat beside my friend as he curses and slams his hands repeatedly on the wheel, can’t help but think battling it out over supermarket car parking spaces has become a sort of sad modern-day equivalent to when our ancestors battled it out over dwindling meat sources during a long hard winter.

Times have changed since the days 18_TheLeedsDebacle

when missing a meal may have led to extinction, not hunger pangs.

Since then we have developed into a society of consumers with changing habits and increasingly high expectations. We have more choice over where to do our weekly shop than ever before, with supermarkets constantly trying to outdo each other. But among the glossy marketing campaigns and supermarket price wars, there hides a thriving independent food scene in our city centre.

Buy produce from the market and you are guaranteed a fresher and cheaper product and, some may argue, a better shopping experience. And if you look a little deeper you will find exotic food products rarely found inside a mainstream supermarket. Asian and European supermarkets all specialise in food products to make authentic cuisine. So why aren’t we all sourcing our ingredients from independent shops? The answer is simple: time and convenience.

However, if you are tired of the same old supermarket shop, there are some excellent alternatives within the city centre.

Kirkgate Market is without doubt the most obvious independent food place within Leeds city centre. The market sells a wide range of food products from exotic to mundane. A large number of the food places mentioned in this article are based inside the market because, amongst local meats, fish, fruit & veg, it sells food from just about every continent.

If you love the fiery flavours of the Caribbean, you can get fresh, dried and preserved goods from any of the three Caribbean stalls, all within the same area inside Kirkgate Market. You can also pick up many of the herbs and spices required to make a South Asian curry. Common and rare ingredients useful for cooking complex dishes can be found at A.J Afro Caribbean. You can also pick up unusual chillies, plantain

and dried fish. Spice Corner and Neil’s Fruit and Veg offer the same type of produce at a steal compared to supermarket prices.

Stay in Kirkgate Market for Polish food produce. At Continental Foods Cooked Meats you can buy meats ranging from hams to sausages originating from Poland, Italy and Germany. Walk further down and you will find Russian and Polish Delicatessens and Polskie Delikatesy, one of the larger Polish supermarkets in Leeds City Centre, selling kielbasa (Polish sausage) instant barszcz (soup) and an extensive collection of pickled gherkins. Step outside to Magdalenka Polish Mini Market where you can pick up fresh vegetables.

On the edges of Kirkgate Market you will find the compact Oriental Supermarkets Nong Fern Thai and Tian Tian Chinese. These are

small stores, but they pack a lot into the shelves. Walking further towards the centre is Wing Lee Hong, one of the largest and best Chinese supermarkets in the city centre that also sells fresh ingredients. You can also pick up foreign newspapers and home goods. Opposite Wing Lee Hong is Asia Express. It’s nowhere near the size, but it sells Japanese food products and delicious green tea ice cream.

Nearby, Millies is one of the largest health food shops in the city centre. The store sells fresh and organic produce, ranging from locally sourced meats to lunch from an award winning deli counter. Besides health food products, Millies also provide a beauty service in the salon upstairs. Out Of This World offer a great range of fair-trade, whole and organic foods. You can stock

up on fresh as well as frozen goods and there’s a wide range of healthy teas and drinks. Along with selling the basic health food products, The Health Food Co. sells herbs, spices and cordials.

To buy straight from source Briggate Farmers and Craft Market runs every 1st and 3rd Sunday of the month. Here you will find goods from independent manufactures across the city and its surrounding areas. Among the drifting smells coming from Linley Hog Roast, you will find cheesemongers, bakers, butchers and greengrocers all selling quality, local, fresh produce. Artists and craft makers also set up stalls here.

So, with all that and more on offer, what’s stopping us? Try it.

You might like it.

TheLeedsDebacle_19

/ Caleb Parkin ..... www.skylabstories.net

the trailer tent

Verbal-vomit reviews of the promo machine from a marketeer’s dream.

We Steal Secrets: The Story of Wikileaks

Hovering night-time Washington, Hillz Clintz says ‘Disclosures like these tear at the fabric of responsible government’ - grey haired White House people, grainy newspaper shots. ‘The biggest leak in the history of the planet’. Sounds messy. *FILM FESTIVAL LOGO* Drama-drums, news footage, war footage.

Electro-backing, montage of people on transport on laptops, looking pensive. Elusive Assange: ‘I have never said this is a honey trap, I have never said this is not a honey trap.’ Storming out of an interview; not Assange-skewed then. Expert saying: ‘Nation States need to be secret to be successful… We steal secrets’.

Feels like a thriller - production looks slick, neat and balanced - I’d give this a go.

20_TheLeedsDebacle

The Conjuring

Pain and Gain

Expecting The Rock and Mark Wahlberg distressingly veiny and steroidal. Wahlberg ‘believes in the American Dream…if you’ll only do the work, you can have anything’ - Miami, him in pool with alarming arms. Michael Bay directing (urgh). The Rock sans neck. They’re robbing a crimelord, blinkered by over-muscled eyebrows: ‘I’ve watched a lot of crime movies, Paul, I know what I’m doing’. Signs of wit. Kinda.

EXPLODEY-FIGHTING MONTAGE. Ear-bleeding pseudo-dub-step.

‘Chicks’, muscles, explosions.

Wahlberg stressed, ‘needing to pump’ while The Rock impassively recites motivational slogans at his bicep-mountains. Could be funny, could be terrible - hard to tell from 30second montage blast but some good chemistry and they MIGHT make enough fun of being massive misguided muscle-morons to diffuse the horror of it. A bit.

Monochrome Warner Bros logo: horror, obvs.

Vintage-looking jumpers and headphones, torchlit, ‘going down into the cellar…’

THERE’S SOMETHING BEHIND THEM - Vera Farmiga from Source Code. ‘Based on the true story of the Warrens…There was one case that was so disturbing…’ Palelooking lady: ‘There’s something horrible happening in my house’…

Night time, clock-ticks, girl pulled from bed by a GHOST. Screaming! The Director of Saw (URGH!) and Insidious (Hmmm).

Vera being psychic: ‘Something awful happened here, Ed…’ Evil ghost-girl jumping off the top of wardrobe! FAST-CUT SCARED PEOPLE AND SCREAMING AND LOADS OF BIRDS AND THEN SHE’S GOT A SCARY OLD LADY BEHIND A CREEPY MUSIC BOX! Yes, I went into caps lock: looks like great 1970s horror-haunting schlock fun - sold.

The Lone Ranger

The Wolverine

Wasn’t dead keen on nondefinite-article ‘Wolverine’ …Jean Gray nightmare, beardy Wolfy somewhere remote. Someone’s been trying to ‘find the Wolverine for over a year now…’ Bar brawl where he can cut someone’s gun in half or some such. Oh no, a Ninjagirl cuts the legs off bar stools.

JAPAN MONTAGE: ‘My employee wants to thank you for saving his life all those years ago…’ Have they brought Hiroshima into it?

Questionable.

Wolfy fighting Samurai-types, hanging off the side of a train fighting Yakuzatypes. Fighting fighting fighting and - OOH - fighting a giant robot Samurai (novel). Only for die-hard fans of clawy-fighting, Japanese stereotypes, mutant-novelty and cheesy lines about immortality (for which you could also watch Highlander).

Wild west, big canyon, Jonny Depp in cod Native American get-up with the Ranger: ‘You want me to wear a mask?’ Duh. (I want the old radio announcement style intro!)

First-Nations Depp saying, ‘Justice is what a man must take for himself.’ Bandit, old trains, good Wild West costumery, the Pirates of the Caribbean lot (Hmm).

‘This 4th July…Witness the Rise…

Of an American Legend.’ Steam train falling into a ravine. Gun fights, gun fights, jumping about.

OOH, Helena Bonham-Carter with GUNS IN HER HEELS. Cool. Armie Hammer? That’s not a real name, sonny. So it’s Marvel-type action, with Stetsons. Won’t be galloping to it, but won’t be jumping into a ravine to avoid.

Planes

It’s Pixar’s Cars in the sky: replace tyre jokes with wing jokes. Big racing circuit, eyesfor-lights cars in audience to watch planes racing. METAVEHICLE ANTHROPOMORPHISNG WEIRDNESS like Top Gear on acid: Spitfire with a face; forklift with a face; airship with a face. Here’s underdog Dusty Crophopper (a crop-duster) and other nationalstereotype planes-with-faces: Tally-ho the English one; Mexican one in wrestling mask. Planes fancy the wing-flaps of other planes, apparently.

WRONG. There’s the baddie, Ripslinger (cocktail?). Quest adventure bit - CAUGHT IN A STORM, knocking over portaloos, avoiding train through a tunnel etc. If you’re 8 or under, or with some sprogs, looks like passable Disney-flyin’ fun. If without kids, wait for DVD, Christmas, booze. Or see a grownup film, you manchild, you.

TheLeedsDebacle_21

eli allison \

skin for sale The price is double.

He stretches his fingers out towards Rhea indicating that he wants the bag, snapping his fingers when she fumbles it. She holds it out for him but it’s only the size of posted note and he’s already done so much, he keeps misjudging the distance. After a couple of half attempts she finally shuffles towards him on the bed.

Taking hold of his left hand she places the plastic bag in his palm, tucking the straw into the top of it. He grunts at her and then jabs the brightly coloured plastic up his nose, sinking backwards after an aggressive snorting sound.

She leaves him there for a few minutes just a middle aged man of sighs and flickering eye lids.

Rhea thinks about joining him and having another hit, but when she checks the time it’s close to four and he has to go in an hour, so instead she slides out of bed.

Catching sight of herself in the mirror she moves towards it. A crack runs from one side to the other, slicing right though her reflection. She slowly runs her finger across the surface, pushing her fingertip right to the edge of the break, she tries to remember when the damage had happen, but when her mind draws a blank, she shrugs it off. She thinks to herself; soon she would be able to buy a new mirror; one with a frame as big as her, instead of this naked cheap square she’d nicked from the market. Rhea tilts her face to the left, to catch the light; the bruises were all already starting to show, all down the right side of her face. Red feathers of burst 22_TheLeedsDebacle

blood vessels, swelling around her eye, tiny cuts from his wedding ring, she looked a mess. She shakes her hair loose, pulling her curls over her eye but they bounce back unwilling to help, she sighs wondering where her makeup bag was. She knows he’ll want a drink when he surfaces so she starts digging around the dozens of brown and green empties that litter her floor. It always ended up a tip when Virgil visited her, at least he hadn’t pissed in the corner like he had last time. She spots a half full vodka bottle across the room, and as she tiptoes over the huddled bottles, it makes her think of a tiny glass forest at her feet. When she reaches the other end of the room she takes the surviving vodka and leaves it next to the bed for Virgil. She picks up her dressing gown and starts wrapping it around herself, but when she catches sight of his shoes she stops, and instead lets the tawdry fabric hang lose as she fishes around his trouser pockets for his cigarettes.

When Virgil finally surfaces she is sat on the edge of the bed, smoking. She’d hidden her face under two layers of thick foundation, the kind she always had to wear after Virgil’s visits, and her lips are the same shade as her dressing gown. He pulls himself up against the headboard and indicates for her to come closer. She crawls over his legs working her way up the bed; she swings her hips low and wide, the fag hanging fat from her lips. Virgil takes the white stick from her

frowning at the red ring marking the paper where her mouth had been. He pulls his head back, slowly looking her over finally he says; “Every time I see you, you’re always wearing that... tacky robe.

Why do I pay you double what the other girls ask, if you still look as nasty as them?”

He punches his words out though stained teeth, thick strings of spit latched to the edges of his mouth. She digs her fingers hard into the sheets, staring at him.

The cigarette ash no longer able to hold its own weight, collapses down his fingers and scatters itself over the mattress. She remembers why she’s here, and forces a smile as she climbs off him, the inside of her thighs sticking to the clammy folds of his stomach fat. Settling in next to him she shifts her body so that her head is resting in her hand, running her other hand up his leg she says; “Whatever you want baby, you like the red though, right?”

Virgil doesn’t respond her fingers are brushing up against the inside of his thigh. She can feel his hips relax as he finally lifts up the dying cigarette to his lips and draws deep. As he blows the smoke into her face stinging her eyes, he grunts for his drink. She stretches her smile, showing even the teeth normally hidden away and thinks to herself, it’s going to be a pleasure blackmailing this guy.

TheLeedsDebacle_23

greedy pig A sandwich shop with a difference.

A sandwich shop with a difference.

Roasting, Baking, Bottling and Roasting, Baking, Bottling and Beyond....

Beyond....

Follow Twitter @The_Greedy_Pig @The_Greedy_Pig Follow us us on on Twitter and Find us on Facebook and Find us on Facebook

58 Leeds, LS2 LS27PN. 7PN. 58North North Street, Street, Leeds, 0113 3596 0113 245 3596

hannah dawson \

holiday reading I

f last summer you were lucky enough to spend a week or two on an exotic getaway, a quick glance around the poolside may well have returned with the sight of sunbathers clutching the paperback hit Fifty Shades of Grey. By August 2012 the Fifty Shades trilogy had sold over 12 million physical and digital copies in the UK, holding its place throughout the summer months as the choice of reading for sun seekers from the Algarve to Lake Garda. So which novel will return to the UK in September faintly smelling of sun cream and hosting a few persistent grains of sand? This year, hopefully, from our deckchairs we will see our fellow travellers indulging in some slightly more interesting literary works than E.L James’ cringe worthy prose, with plenty of exciting new releases dazzling the shelves of bookstores nationwide.

historical novel Wolf Hall this latest release similarly follows the rise and fall of Thomas Cromwell; in particular Mantel explores the antagonised relationship between Cromwell and Anne Boleyn in the face of her impending expulsion from Henry VIII’s court in favour of Jane Seymour. Mantel has been praised no end by critics for Bring Up The Bodies, and rightly so, as her writing acts as a renovation of such historical events, transforming the Tudors into a fresh and exciting narrative.

If historical fiction appeal then Dan Brown’s may offer a better read fans of thrillers. Inferno

New fiction is always exciting, and ideal for holiday reading, yet often the resurrection of a modern classic can prove an even more interesting read; the novel currently re-circulating amongst

doesn’t Inferno for the follows

Hilary Mantel’s Man Booker Prize winner Bring Up The Bodies

made its paperback debut in May, ideal for saving that little bit extra suitcase space in lieu of its hardback predecessor! As the follow up to Mantel’s 2009

to be an ideal ‘easy read’ for a lazy beach day.

protagonist Robert Langdon, of Angels & Demons, The Da Vinci Code and The Lost Symbol fame, and charts a similar trail of riddle solving and thrilling action that occupies the previous three novels, all taking place against a Florentine and Venetian backdrop.

Although Brown’s writing has been met with some criticism in the past, Inferno currently holds the enviable top spot on the New York Times best sellers list and proves

readers and leading the trend for all things 1920’s is F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby.

Despite having been taught on A-Level courses for years, The Great Gatsby is only now making a reappearance in popular culture due to the summer blockbuster adaptation starring Leonardo DiCaprio. If you have not yet seen the film adaptation then reading the book is a must; the opulent narrative of a hot Long Island summer which unfolds around a tragic love story is an ideal read for any lovers of literature. The depiction of Jazz Age New York and the excessive lifestyles of Fitzgerald’s characters provides a nostalgic and lively read, and short, at only 230 pages The Great Gatsby can be read in a couple of afternoon’s worth of poolside lounging.

TheLeedsDebacle_25

/ matt charlton

My Progressive Relationship With David Icke: A Brief Reflection On My Changing Attitude On Conspiracy Theorists

I

t is over nine years ago that the name of David Icke came to my attention.

Until this point I was aware of conspiracy theories in the sense of entertainment and found them to be satirical. His name just was tagged along with dozens of others, it seemed bizarre that on further research, he once played in goal for Coventry City as a youth and reached further heights as a face of the BBC’s Grandstand, but awash in a sea of omens, mind control and extra terrestrial trickery, these facts became the only thing that could be proved certain.

I initially found his theories engaging He was an amazingly inspiring and insane narrator. I noticed his infamous appearance on Wogan that publicly transformed him from Grandstand sport pedlar to New Age prophet on various countdown shows of television’s most shocking meltdowns. He was certainly committed to his cause; there was no doubt about it. I don’t remember ever believing a single statement that came from him, because the things he talked about since his drastic career change would in more ways than one resemble a Saturday morning cartoon. Cynics out there have dared to mention the ‘V’ cartoon series has enough in common with Icke’s theories to dismiss them as complete nonsense. I tend to agree with them, no matter how much Icke may plead me to notice his dossiers of ‘evidence’ and mythology. Consider how many times more amazing politics 26_TheLeedsDebacle

would be if political figures were not simply just money chasing, lying, cheating, boring, bloated and corrupt, but shape shifters, lizards, from space. Even our dusty old Queen.

Some people of course take a much more serious look at conspiracy theories to varying degrees.

I suspect the more avid the believer, the more likely they are to be completely removed from the world at large, and therefore for the sake of this argument, don’t exist (which I think they would probably appreciate anyway). A few years ago I was invited to attend a seminar in London headlined by Icke. At this point I had started to grow tired of his torrents of woe. The girl who had asked me to go with her had done nothing but report to me in perpetual astonishment the latest conspiracy she had absorbed from god knows where. It was all now white noise. Despite my laziness and complete apathy for every single aspect of this weekend, I went anyway.

For almost nine hours we sat and listened to David Icke and others relay facts, figures, dates and prophesies. Through a hail of hundreds of power point slides Icke commands the stage and with a hint of dry wit, drops pipe bomb after pipe bomb of sensational information. The audience around us was genuinely charged and frighteningly impressionable.

As much as I strained to listen I didn’t hear one voice of dissent around me or in conversation

with any of the other members of the audience. A common but miniature critique was that quite a bit of his material was old, but that seemed to be all.

My prejudice levels are constantly low for obvious and decent reasons, but I found myself studying other members of the audience, asking myself the question is there anything that commonly distinguishes somebody who possibly believes in these theories. Of course the answer is there wasn’t, obviously. There was a large contingent of stereotypical new age hippy characters, but were by no means a majority.

There was a complete cross section of society around us.

Varying ages, races, and as I later found out smoking cigarettes, professions and nationalities.

The entire day was a bizarre experience as far as the content was concerned, but as I became more and more infatuated with the audience, this became irrelevant.

After the closing speech there was an emotional and satisfied sense of tiredness from the room.

People seemed lifted but sinking as their faces drooped around their smiles. We were picked up by a group in the foyer presumably because of our mutual youth. It was a friendly group made up of two couples from Newcastle, all aged within 18 to 20. We bought two bottles of whiskey and slipped back to my hotel room. In the subsequent hours, based off this random sample of people in an eclectic auditorium, I developed

a simmering distaste for David Icke, or more concisely, what he claimed to stand for.

around his ideas. These do not include the one he wrote about football.

Surrounding me at this moment was not a group of paranoid fantasists. These people were a group of dreamers. They were searching for the answers all of us seek at one time or another.

They talked about mythology and science fiction in factual terms.

We talked about spirituality, and the beauty of life. Not once did anybody mention some of the more brutal tales such as false flag policies or mass genocide until I brought it up, which suggests to me that they didn’t want to push heavy doctrine on to someone who was obviously a cynic, which was nice.

The next day we all separated at Leeds train station and that was effectively the end of the weekend. I drew the following conclusions on conspiracy theorists and David Icke.

Another reason as to why it wasn’t mentioned is that mentioning September 11th in this stimulated environment proved to be like lighting a violent firework in a very small room...a travelodge room as it happens. It was an extreme buzz kill. Attention turned to government manipulations and dynasty links across the planet.

Lively debates over photographs, oil and missing debris raged on until I found a way to steer the topic back to anything else less tragic. The moon landing seemed appropriate until it was linked back to American Militarism. The kids were well versed and knew their gospel scripture and verse.

Between us in the room, David Icke and his production had taken approximately £200 from us collectively. Value for money per head if you’re really into this and have a spare 9 hours. There were however many places you could purchase items from t-shirts to literature; of which he plugged, I might add, throughout the day.

The average cost of one of his books was roughly around £15.

Some were as high as £20. It struck me as odd that such vital valuable information should cost so much money. The five people sat with me in the room owned and read most of the books between them.

To date, he has written 17 books

Conspiracy theorists are not weird, eccentric, kooky or mentally unstable, broadly speaking.

Random samples accepted, these people were

whole conspiracy angle. He is not a conspiracy theorist, and shouldn’t be referred as one ever again.

He consistently publishes books and other media which he insists everyone should read in order to stay informed. His ideas are usually recycled myths, rumours, folk law and the social equivalent of quackery, with an unusual dash of common sense thrown in for good measure. (The parts about dynasties running politics are hardly ever going to be either a coincidence or a conspiracy now is it?).

dreamers. The world around them is violent and injustice lurks in every damp corner. Human beings commit unspeakable acts against one another and against nature. The most effective way this group sought to justify the horror of everyday life was through escapism. Inhuman acts committed by inhuman beings.

Senseless terrorist attacks explained by the lust for oil. They refuse to believe the real world is far uglier. Often more mundane.

They dream of other beings, advancement of medicine, fairness and equality for all. They don’t avoid tap water or hold their breath under plane vapour trails, no matter how mind controlling they’re believed to be.

Icke is a businessman, a successful author and a hindrance to human psychological evolution. To apply lessons from the moral sat nav that is South Park, with people like this around, we will never find any of the answers we all seek. Transmitting misleading and false information will only delay this process. In the pursuit of these answers we as a species must be all pulling in the same direction. Fear mongering and savvy business such as conducted by the aforementioned will only hinder this process. Even if a small group of people buy into this logic, it takes minds away from discovering something more wonderful than any paranoid and counter-productive theories.

Then there is Icke. He is of course just one of many and he has taken the full brunt of my disdain for the

Declare your books as fiction and let’s move on.

TheLeedsDebacle_27

28_TheLeedsDebacle

ian gant \

old codgers commentary It’s strange how the world turns; When I was of an age when I needed to borrow money the interest rates reached a staggering fourteen percent but now I am living on my hard earned and sometime inherited savings I can only get 2.55. It’s a realisation that what goes around comes around and that the sins of the fathers are visited upon the children.

My great grandfather was a usurer of the higher order; he had seen hard times but had still accumulated some modest amounts of cash. These he loaned out at excessive rates but with no presumption of violence if he didn’t get his capital and his ‘VIG’ (look it up) back. The strange thing was that everybody loved him, for unlike the anonymous bankers of today, you knew who you were dealing with and exactly

who it was that was robbing you blind.

You could sit in his café, discuss the world over a cup of strong coffee, arrange your loan and, without any paperwork, walk away content with what you needed. You could also be certain that old Sylvestro would be sitting in his booth everyday and, if you needed shoes for a child or food on the table, there would be half a sovereign to tide you over and with a repayment that was just about affordable.

He was, as I said, a usurer and he made a good living at it. However, I feel even he might have found issue with the morality of modern Pay- Day lenders who will happily charge 3000% to the poor the desperate and the vulnerable.

Sylvestro is long dead and his family lived well through

his commercial brain and his notable social acumen. After his death there was enough cash to survive the great depression and his immediate family lived comfortably on his property portfolio until all that generation were back in his arms.

I don’t hold any brief for unregulated moneylenders and different times breed different solutions but Sylvestro, with all his faults, had a ready purse and helped where no one else would, taking only what was due to him by time and tradition.

This cannot be said of the television savvy Shylocks of today or the rank and rancid money traders who brought our banking system to its knees.

By the way did you here about the Banker that got to heaven? No? No surprise there then!

The Crimes of Jimmy Saville / Ian Pepper Well you ran a nightclub and wrestled a bit but you had ambition, charisma and wit.

And all of that money you raised on the run, so what does it matter if they are so young?

Your gurning face on Top of the Pops, watching the kids dance, licking your chops.

Waiting in the caravan with a coke with a kick.

You don’t know who’s watching so you’d best make it quick No-one could touch you with your medals of gold.

You had us all fooled til you lay still and cold.

With your rattling jewelry and your wandering hands you could do what you liked, you could make your demands.

You were hiding in plain sight with Louis Theroux.

You gave him a hint, but he didn’t have a clue and now that the papers are causing a stink one has to wonder what would the Duchess think?

Of course there were rumours but not about that.

Good job the Beeb always covered your back.

Now the press want to slaughter your sacred cow Not even Sutcliffe’ll vouch for you now

TheLeedsDebacle_29

/ Gabrielle Owen

B

eing a Loiner born and bread and having many years as a shoppy (I always hated that title but I suppose shop tart is worse) Leeds to me has always had a bit of an inflated ego and, with the likes of Harvey Nichols and Trinity, it has certainly been fed in recent years. But isn’t it time for something a little more homegrown? Something individual?

Let’s go back.... way back in time to the place that brought us the Coconut Grove, and who remembers Ricky’s on a Wednesday night with its glow in the dark burners that my friend Justin sprayed lovingly through the day (I would take him in sarnies in that dark bottomless pit to keep him going) and end up getting high on the fumes?

And what about The Gallery, up on the bar in my hot pants with zero cellulite and a white dove

30_TheLeedsDebacle

handpicked hall

confidence. I’m talking about that classic dinosaur the Grand Arcade, which is about to have some much needed new life breathed into it by a company called Handpicked Hall.

I met the owner and visionary Anthony Blackburn some months ago and found an ethical businessman who has seen the potential in such a beautiful building. Handpicked Hall is getting together artisan craft people from all areas and putting them under one roof. Already with other branches in Ripon and Skipton, Anthony is extremely animated when talking about Handpicked Hall coming to Leeds, is very infectious and escaped my bullshit detector!

This intends to be a totally different shopping experience to greedy consumerism. The

idea is to create an oasis where people can kick back, listen to live music, sample food and be able to leisurely meander round the independent stallholders. For the businesses, this is a place to get started into the world of commerce with more affordable rates.

The only negative thing about the location is the dreaded footfall.

The Grand Arcade has had a ghost like quality to it for many years, even though there are still some established retailers and cafes like Root and Fruits and the good old trophy shop. Hopefully this different flavour and something new will put the Grand back into the Grand Arcade!

Gabrielle Owen & her partner Tracey Roberts run Strawberry Pie in Handpicked Hall, open now!

philip regan \

exploitative entertainment E

ntertainment has always been a traditional mainstay of the television schedules.

Unfortunately, it is glaringly apparent how those values have changed for the worse throughout the past fifteen years.

The increase of fly on the wall documentaries, reality television and talent shows have viciously eroded standards. Attempting to label the present day as ‘family friendly’ represents a half-hearted nostalgia for a golden, innocent time when quality comedy writing was king. Nowadays, unscrupulous media companies take advantage of vulnerable individuals and groups for financial gain. This is undoubtedly exploitative entertainment.

The recent, controversial channel four documentary Skint got my attention, for all the wrong reasons. Set in Scunthorpe, this depressing examination of life on the Westcliffe estate delivered a healthy dose of stereotyping.

Left wing writer Owen Jones would probably argue this and similar programmes are partly responsible for the ‘demonization of the working class’.

Audiences who stuck with the series witnessed four grim yet uncomfortably compelling episodes. Drug, alcohol and gambling addictions blended with prostitution, criminality and an unfortunate lack of birth control. Some may have viewed the abject poverty and generally apathetic attitudes as shocking, sensationalist escapism that made them better appreciate their own lives. Others may have questioned the ‘creative treatment of actuality’, if you acknowledge John Grieson’s definition of documentary itself.

It is hard to define what is meant by ‘truth’ in documentaries but in Skint the omissions were just as important as the presented product. There seemed to be a limited attempt to show the aspiration and general ‘goodness’ of the inhabitants. Rich television producers once again presented the working class as folk devils through a poisonous narrative.

In these times of austerity, this cannot be acceptable and sets a worrying trend.

Other notable offenders include Britain’s (or should that be

Hungary’s?) Got Talent and to a lesser extent, its rival The Voice. Both offered fame-hungry, sometimes deluded individuals the chance of a recording contract or a performance in front of her majesty. For the few who make it, the rest are chewed up, spat out and forgotten by a cruel heartless industry. Never mind, we can laugh at the young and old talentless ones along the way for our own amusement.

Despite Simon Cowell’s insistence that he feels ‘uncomfortable’ about some aspects of his talent competitions the X Factor machine seems set to roll on as the days get shorter - right on time for that predictable attempt at Christmas #1 once again. Before then we will have Happy Families, a Gypsy Weddings variant and Prison Lives to spread more social untruths. I wonder how many people would watch ‘My Big, Fat, Expenses Fiddling MP’ or ‘Cover up Cops’?

Chance of the establishment giving the proletariat what they want? Slim to none. The conveyer belt of point and laugh seems set to continue until a viable alternative exists. When pigs fly.

TheLeedsDebacle_31

/ jonathan eyre

i’ll tell you about M.E. W

rite down your dreams, your aspirations, on a sheet of paper, Done it?

Write your aspirations down.

One or two of them, maybe the deeper ones?

Done it?

Now tear it up, Tare-up the sheet of paper with your aspirations written down on, tare the sheet of paper into tiny pieces and throw them to the floor.

Commit littering where you are now, don’t hold back!

Done it?

Do this every day, every hour, in the street, in your seat, in your car, in your kitchen, in your bed, do it where you stand, where you cook, where you think, at the work desk, on your computer.

Not just mentally but in this physical representation of your personal dreams for a future.

This is the process of M.E. Torn dreams, aching limbs, and an exhaustion that strips you of your souls desires, strips you of your simplest objectives in life, Tares even the thoughts you are having at a moment in time, Tares the conversations from your mouth as you are trying to have them, Tares them into shreds.

So you make your dreams smaller, I’ve read the books, done the Cognitive Behaviour Therapy ‘patient sufferers’ course.

You make your aspirations easier to achieve, To go and post a letter To read the next few pages of a novel To say hello to a friend…

32_TheLeedsDebacle

………And I can see you have not got it.

Go on, write these smaller dreams down on a new piece of paper Now tear them up throw them to the wind, these simpler dreams, Do this every hour; train your mind to accept this To accept that even the shadows of your deepest dreams are torn to shreds, Rendered into a fatty deposit that sinks to the bottom of the latrine of your aspirations.

That there is around you the smell of festered and decomposing dreams……

Your life is not broken, it is torn over and over and over again, Thrown as confetti the day you became shotgun wedded to this disease And you now find these torn pieces hidden in the clothing of your personality, the folds of you character Turning up as decapitated words and torn individual letters On thousands of pieces of torn sheets of paper; Shards spirited away by unseen underground rivers of illness, And I see you might be getting it.

The enormity of this incurable disease that cheats on the body, steals the mind and toils the soul….

So now that you are working it out, write these thoughts down on a sheet of paper and tear them up to smaller pieces and send these to your friends I have no need of them, I have too many of them of my own.

TheLeedsDebacle_33

something to do every day..

JULY 1st Ghost Mice (Wharf Chambers) 2nd Jewish Artists In Yorkshire (Uni Library) 3rd Carmen (Carriageworks) 4th Pissed Jeans (Brudenell) 5th Yorkshire v Lancashire (Headingley) 6th Garforth Arts Festival (Garforth) 7th Sky Ride (city centre) 8th Contested Ground (Art Gallery) 9th Yorkshire Artists (Leeds Gallery) 10th Dennis Flannery (White Cloth) 11th The Mikado (Harewood House) 12th Modest Mouse (Cockpit) 13th Cocoon In The Park (Temple Newsam) 14th Run For All 10K (Headrow) 15th Churchill (Carriageworks) 16th Jurassic 5 (Academy) 17th Joseph & the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat (Grand) 18th Playboy of the Wide World (Seven) 19th Leeds Rhinos v Wakefield (Headingley) 20th Beer Festival (Wharf Chambers) 21st U.Dance (various) 22nd Through The Magic Mirror (City Museum) 23rd Ceramic Plus (Craft Centre) 24th Bruce Springsteen (Arena) 25th CBBC Live (Millennium Square) 26th Championship Dog Show (Harewood House) 27th Opera In The Park (Temple Newsam) 28th Party In The Park (Temple Newsam) 29th Midnight Tango (Grand) 30th Playing Out (Armley Mills) 31st Kill For A Seat Comedy (Seven)

Hannah Trigwell

34_TheLeedsDebacle

Sir Bruce

AUG 1st Jon Richardson (Library) 2nd Summer Jousting (Armouries) 3rd Leeds Pride (city centre) 4th Rolls Royce Rally (Harewood House) 5th Age of Innocence (Art Gallery) 6th Menzingers (Cockpit) 7th Indifferent Matter (Henry Moore) 8th Salt Water Brothers (Milo) 9th Bad Manners (Brudenell) 10th Andre Vincent (HiFi) 11th Beekeeping Taster Day (Harewood House) 12th Duffy Collection (White Cloth) 13th Alberto Giacometti (Henry Moore) 14th Seven Eggs (Harewood House) 15th Hannah Trigwell (Wardrobe) 16th Beacons (Heslaker Farm) 17th Leeds Utd v Sheff Wed (Elland Road) 18th VW Festival (Harewood House) 19th Harry Seaton (Northern Monkey) 20th Duty Calls (Lotherton Hall) 21st Die! Die! Die! (Oporto) 22nd Fate & Fickle Fortune (Abbey House) 23rd Fosters Comedy Live (Highlight) 24th Leeds Festival (Bramham Park) 25th Garden Party (Faversham) 26th Northern Life & Landscape (Temple Newsam) 27th Dressed For Battle (Lotherton Hall) 28th Hairspray (Grand) 29th Polychromies (Art Gallery) 30th Geoffrey Oi!Cott & Crashed Out (Fox & Newt) 31st Unique Gift Fare (Corn Exchange)

Junip

SEP 1st Bert Kaempfert Gala Concert (Varieties) 2nd Bingley Music Live (Myrtle Park) 3rd Defeated Sanity (Library) 4th Elton John (Arena) 5th Leonard Cohen (Arena) 6th England v Australia (Headingley) 7th John Parish (Hyde Park) 8th Triathlon (Roundhay Park) 9th Leeds International Beer Festival (Town Hall) 10th Fictions of Every Kind (Wharf Chambers) 11th A Midsummer Night’s Dream (WYP) 12th Fuck Buttons (Brudenell) 13th Kaiser Chiefs (Arena) 14th Halfway To Paradise (Varieties) 15th Big Leeds 100 Bike Ride (Roundhay Park) 16th Junip (Brudenell) 17th Jumpers For Goalposts (WYP) 18th Motionless In White (Cockpit) 19th Bill Oddie (Varieties) 20th Craft Convention (Fabrication) 21st Mint Festival (Lotherton Hall) 22nd Discount Comedy Checkout (Adelphi) 23rd 1975 (Stylus) 24th Rod Stewart (Arena) 25th Primitives (Brudenell) 26th Sweeney Todd (WYP) 27th Miles Kane (Academy) 28th Deli Market (Kirkstall Abbey) 29th Love Arts (various) 30th Tim Burgess (Brudenell)

TheLeedsDebacle_35

like faceboo

tweet @t h

i s s uu . co

e

m edebacle

e b a cl e

leedsdebac le

dsd

/th

e le

m/ co

k.

read

http://theleedsdebacle.blogspot.co.uk

Issue 12 of The Leeds Debacle is: John Barran - Ross Newsome - Glen Pinder - Nicola Stewart Jaiwantika Dutta Dhupkar- Matthew Riley - Eli Allison Tim Chapman - Rebecca Jackson - Matt Charlton - Gareth Jones Caleb Parkin - Matthew Stoppard - Hannah Dawson - Ian Gant Emily Ward - Jonathan Eyre - Philip Regan - Donna Iliffe-Pollard - Gareth Durasow Ian Pepper - Gabrielle Owen - Keely Brightmore

thank you for reading The Debacle to contribute to issue 13 please contact: thedebacle@hotmail.co.uk