THE LEEDS DEBACLE

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Music Fashion Art Film Stories Interviews Students Sport Drugs Poetry Riots Blogs Reviews

Students

/JOHN BARRAN

I

write this from the perfect sniping point. A world where we can have a pint without fear of being nudged by a student.

Looking down from Headingley’s Arcadia at the gaggles of irritants outside in their fancy-dress, if dressing fancy nowadays is defined as wearing a vest with 118 written in felt-tip on the front. On the door of this venue is a sign advising these easily-pleased Otley-runners that they are not welcome in here.

The gormless gits enter anyway and I smile as they reappear outside with an ounce of smugness removed and a din of locationless Southern expletives. Something about facking boring anyway.

I lick the ale foam from my beard, stroke the dog and settle back to my crossword. What do they know about boring? Twelve across: a failed summer footwear.

Four-four. Flip-flop. A clue that says more than it knows. For The Guardian may only be linking flop to failure and be literal to summer, but move to Headingley and this is a fashion for all-seasons and undoubtedly a failed fashion.

When did it become sexy to clomp ungainly along with ugly feet, hairy ankles and ill-fitting grey joggers? In the rain.

I am distracted from fourteen down by the arrival of some oldfashioned uni-types, seemingly disguised as Fleet Foxes. For this establishment is not anti-student, of course, it is merely antiidiot, it’s just sometimes hard to decipher between the two, and this less-obviously-annoying 2_TheLeedsDebacle

“Sorry lads, followed through in the white shorts” student-hating student often slips under the radar. Hiding ignorance in their beard and baldness in their straggly strands, I listen to their pretentious mumbling waffle about nothing as they prepare for a life of eternal soap-dodging and tax-robbing. Façade, fat arse, façade!

Well, at least they have the humility not to shout about it.

Tomorrow, fag-hag voices will be croaking loudly about being so pissed on mouthwash it was hilarious, with a misplaced question mark at the end of every sentence of drivel whilst blocking the way, buying a Subway with a credit card before slobbing back into mummy’s money with a cocksure swagger that defies the fact that all you’re doing is carrying a bin you’ve just bought from Wilkinswines to a badly cared for, overpriced house.

A house that was once owned by a family who once lived in a community, a community slowly drifting apart through the gradual omni-presence of Mr Landlord buying up previously impressive buildings one by one until entire streets are dilapidated and every family’s neighbours are kids up all night blasting Lady Gaga through the walls until dad has to go to work and lose his job for falling asleep just at the point the markets crashed so the business went under and now we all live in Wilkinswines bins, blocking the way and drinking mouthwash in stained vests, grey tramp-tracksuits, failed footwear and straggly beards, loud-talking about not being able to buy a Subway because we have no credit, and being turned away from Arcadia for looking like 118.

It was all your fault.

“Is there a problem?

Yeah, you!

Why? You’re a student!” (Paul Calf)

BloodyStudents…

/GARETH TANTRAM

We’ve heard it all before – ‘tax dodgers’, ‘the great unwashed’, whatever you want to call them (myself included); students are an important component of life in Leeds and I imagine will be for many a year to come. I have lived here as a student for two years now and have spent both of my summers (traditionally nonstudent months) in this fair city so feel reasonably well-placed to comment on Leeds both with and without my comrades. When I’m not listening to the Levellers I do my best to get out and soak up everything this wonderful place has to offer and this is just a little of what I’ve come up with…

First things first: students appear to make up a pretty hefty proportion of the population of central Leeds. As a result the summer months give Leeds city centre something of an eerie quietness when compared to the University season where you can’t move for us. This has a knock-on effect on a number of things. Students (or perhaps more accurately, their loans) put a hell of a lot of money through the tills of Leeds’ many shops, bars and clubs, lining the pockets of many a business person.

Summer by comparison must feel spectacularly lean and I bet these people welcome the return of the students each September with open arms. More important to me though as a resident is the contrast and change in atmosphere and feel of the place between the summer months and term-time.

The past couple of months have been splendid for me. Leeds in the summer has a more laid-back feel and relaxed pace. Places like Call Lane on a Saturday will always be busy but the rest of town seems to quieten down a little and day-today life slows to a pleasant speed.

I found this summer provided me with a little much-needed respite from being constantly on the go and it has been a joy to behold.

However, three months in, I am rested and match-fit, itching to get going and more than ready for the return of the student. What do they bring to the table you may ask? Well here are some of my personal highlights: • At least a couple of good options for nights out seven nights a week.

I feel I must point out at this juncture that I don’t include the truly awful Oceanas of the world in this number. I like to class myself among the more discernable students who enjoy good music and tend to pass on bottles of mouthwash-flavoured VK. For my taste HIFI in particular returns with a flourish from September onwards and puts on fantastic club nights almost every single night of the week. Other notable mentions include Baby Jupiter, Wire, Nation of Shopkeepers and of course the Dry Dock for those sunny, autumnal daytime beers. And for those too grumpy to join in, you can’t deny enjoying an occasional sneaky peak at an attractive scantily-clad student.

• Keeping the credit crunch at bay. That’s right, the housing market is collapsing all around but Headingley and Leeds’ studentdwelling suburbs survive thanks to a constant rental demand due to the yearly arrival of yours truly.

Landlords’ pockets are nicely lined and residents’ house prices stay nice and inflated for sell-on value.

• A noticeable improvement in the upcoming gig calendar. It is no coincidence that most of the year’s best gigs coincide with the presence of the students; I for one can’t wait to see The Rapture at the Cockpit, Brainwash at Brudenell, The Horrors at the Met and Constellations at the Uni this autumn.

• A plethora of decent shops. OK, so the student loan may not stretch far enough to be responsible for

the presence of Harvey Nichols, but vintage and record shops are something which Leeds does extremely well and I do believe that this is very much to do with having such a fashion-conscious student customer base. In the last 12 months alone I can count a good three or four new vintage shops popping up around town, each with something different to offer.

I can’t bloody wait to buy myself a new jumper or three ready for the West Yorkshire winter! And in the so-called ‘digital age’ of music we can all be thankful that independent record shops are still in business. Of course it’s not just students who buy the lovely vinyls and CDs from Jumbo and the like but they certainly do their bit for these fine establishments.

So there you have a few of my suggestions for why I think students are good for this marvellous city.

The more pessimistic studenthating amongst you will probably already have said that students aren’t responsible for any of the above and the locals are more deserving of my praise. You cannot argue however that students don’t a great job of putting money through the coffers of the local businesses. What I’d also like to point out is that it is because of the students that Leeds keeps on pushing forward and will never become stagnant or behind the times. Each September a new batch of fresh-faced teenagers hit our shores with new ideas for club nights, different takes on fashion and bringing word on a new band from (dare I say it) ‘down south’.

And I for one think this is bloody brilliant and means the city is ever-evolving.

Agree with me or disagree; it’s a debate and doesn’t really matter, but to be fair I’m probably right.

Anyways, I must dash I’m late for an Otley Run…

TheLeedsDebacle_3

gging.... the tabloid hu

port

SubjectCitizen Re

And so it is.

Unbelievable news followers.

But believe it you must, I solemnly declare I have told you no lies to date.

As promised I have made it to the Promised Land. I’ve touched it with my fingers. The search, the mission, the quest is over.

Welcome Britons for the final time to the Subject Citizen Report.

We’ve been on a magical journey to discover how to transform from a faceless busking ornament into a beanstalk climbing doctor of musical achievement. And up that very beanstalk is where you find me now.

From the Subject Citizen HQ I receive many complimentary emails regarding my effervescent talent, genius, originality etc but one morning, an unusual request, an invite to a national exhibition of musical mastery known all around the world.

I greedily top up the tan as I’m due to perform right at the very end of the day, saving the best till last I expect.

As with any mission involving a young music genius, I am of course, armed to the teeth. No less than 7g of delicious plant food as to keep me on my toes. By the time the sun has moved all the way across the North English skyline I have effortlessly destroyed 6 of these as the producers usher me into make-up. By this point I would probably be sweating if I was naked in the snow.

“2 minute warning.”

I’m ready, hope Barlow is too.

Going on his solo career, I can’t fail surely, can I? “Subject Citizen,” she speaks.

“It’s time.”

Yes it is indeed, album launches and cocaine midgets from here on in. A producer subtly takes me to one side, no doubt to remind me not to mention Barlow’s solo career and which camera to look into etc, she opens her mouth…

No narcotics in the make-up area??

What would Jim Morrison or John Lennon have made of all this?

At the potential freak show there would be hundreds of acts.

One of which worth noting is a group ironically named “Intrigue” fronted by the sexiest man/ woman I’ve ever seen, left me in a state of intrigue, let’s leave it at that eh?

Judging the musical cattle market would be the greatest songwriter of our time, you guessed it folks, Gary Barlow, and would be broadcast on national TV. It’s a long painstaking process as is with most televised events with things 4_TheLeedsDebacle

like walking into a room needing to be repeated several times, but luckily the sun screams in the sky helping the boredom subside minutely.

MCAT burns, but works nevertheless. I check for evidence in my nose holes by doing an impression of a pig in the over-lit mirror. And proceed to run through the track designed to win over the fat dancer from Take That.

Encouragingly, the make-up room is exactly what one would expect.

A large mirror surrounded by 30 or so individual bulbs and thousands of dollars of make-up and perfumes. It’s obvious to me that the make-up I’m already wearing will suffice so I take advantage of this alone time to pursue my own pre-match rituals. A tactically placed camera hangs from the roof in the corner of the room, so with the cover provided by my anonymous back, I construct a zigzag on a table of the Japanese powder.

“Mr. Subject Citizen,” she’s not happy, but it’s been a long day for us all.

“You were witnessed on hidden camera snorting cocaine.” It’s not about the length of her day.

“It’s a class-A substance and we can’t tolerate it, you must leave immediately.”

“Actually…” I start to correct the fool about the substance in question but quickly stop myself and lower the foot from my mouth.

“I see…” I’m buying time, maybe she’ll die or perhaps it’s a test they do to everyone.

“SECRET cameras you say?”

“Yes Subject Citizen, behind the mirrors.”

“I see…”

That big, lovely fucking mirror you bastard. My brain goes back to the room where I casually make a ridiculous line in front of the bastard mirror, before stretching my nostrils in front of it and saying something cute like “bring on the Barlow” or “take this Barlow”.

I bet the crew couldn’t believe their sneaky little eyeballs. Who puts cameras behind mirrors besides the police? Surely it’s not legal (neither is possessing and using mephedrone) but still, have I no privacy, no human rights?

It appears not as I’m ushered out of the arena by two Bears with ‘SECURITY’ on their massive backs. For fuck’s sake it may as well have said ‘DRUG SQUAD’.

No narcotics in the make-up area?? What would Jim Morrison or John Lennon have made of all this?

As the gates slam shut, as if the industry has closed to me and putting up pictures with the word CUNT underneath it, it occurs to me, the mainstream requires a type of person, a certain breed, and if I’m certain about one thing, it certainly isn’t me.

Barlow’s missed out, no doubt he’ll be gutted.

Hidden cameras? The clown didn’t even know what product I was using.

I hope your journeys have been as eventful and successful as my own, for now my valued friends I sign off.

It’s not the end of the world; it’s not even the end of the day.

F

TheEndOfSummer Fashion Show

ashion is a form of ugliness so intolerable we have to alter it every six months.

One has to be very grateful for fashion. Whether you agree with Wilde or Nietzche, there’s no arguing with Coco that fashion is in the sky, the streets... the way we live, what is happening. And there’s plenty of what is happening in the sky and streets of Leeds for those who live not according to reason but according to fashion, with fares and shows catwalking their way from every decade to every suburb. Bringing together the best of Leeds’ fashionistas, The End Of Summer Fashion Show at Left Bank showcased collections from twelve upcoming designers: Pop Boutique - Established label with shops in major cities, including Leeds, providing vintage alongside their own designs.

Tonight sees boys in corduroy and girls in leather clash oddly successfully in a Christmas jumper middle.

Victoria Rosso - Founder and producer of the show presenting her own vintage-inspired range.

Bold and bright 60’s and 70’s prints and patterns on a skillfully styled range of dresses, blouses and minis.

Gwen Reid - An array of colours splash from fashion design graduate with a previous collection for Toni & Guy. Strapless and mixed-length selection with a summer holiday vibe available in Harrogate’s The Stalls.

Helen Barran – Eye-catching collection from recent fashion graduate described correctly by the show itself as ‘a modern interpretation of Victorian elegance’. Autumnal tones on fabulous floor-length evening wear if you dare.

Jamilia Designs - Bright and ethical hand-made knitwear made from materials such as mohair and fun-fur from London-based designer. Long cardigans remain feminine by using shape and colour for a collection that is at once cosy and beautiful.

Loela - Design graduate with a shop in Manchester’s independent boutique capital Afflecks Palace.

Hand-making unique items in an inventive variety of colours and mixed prints for a pretty and practical collection of patchwork dresses.

Cross Culture Project - Blending various world cultures into everyday urban streetwear, the current influence is Ghana.

Combining its kente fabric with contemporary art for a multicoloured and individual display of t-shirts.

materials to hand-make beautiful and wearable dresses. Lace, silk and floral impress in a feminine and cool 60’s inspired collection available in Headingley’s All Urban Vintage.

Naomi Ding - Running Manchester design company and now setting up her own brand - the Germination - mixes traditional skills with modern technology for a natural, deep, luxurious collection of evening dresses.

Roc And Doll - Described as ‘beyond tailoring with a twist’, a darkly sensuous collection of blacks and reds, cloaks and dresses, and skin. Modern, edgy pieces available in several stores, including Leeds’ Hidden Wardrobe.

Crystal Padmore - Ethical, natural new label using unusual materials like bamboo from the winner of Topshop’s fair trade competition.

Panelling and layering used expertly to c r e a t e

classic a n d flowing silhouettes.

Kee Boutique Leeds-based designer using pretty fabrics and vintage TheLeedsDebacle_7

Kee Boutique

W

e meet the girl behind Kee Boutique, designer of beautiful, affordable handmade and vintage clothing.

TLD: So, how’s it hanging?

KB: Good thanks. Everything’s hanging on dismantled rails going from show to fare!

TLD: Sounds like a busy time.

KB: It’s definitely the busiest time of year, especially in Leeds.

Students are here and I think my clothes are really suited for girls that age. I’m non-stop sewing to keep up with their interest, plus loads more events come up. I think everyone likes students really! It’s also the change of seasons so little summer outfits are replaced by big winter warmers. Although I still like to sell pretty dresses in the cold!

TLD: So we saw at The End Of Summer Fashion Show. Some designers were showing woolly cardigans and Christmas jumpers whilst you had the models in lovely but little dresses.

KB: Ha! Maybe I took the ‘summer’ more than the ‘end of’. I do get vintage jumpers and fur coats for winter but my handmade designs are more feminine. They’re really practical and can be easily accessorised for all weathers. People don’t start wearing ugly clothes just because it’s cold!

TLD: What made you start designing, making and selling these clothes?

KB: I’ve always been creative and used my mum’s sewing machine as a child. I started customising vintage clothing and selling them online then it grew into creating more of my own designs. Since I’ve done it full-time and become Kee Boutique I think my handmade

www.keeboutique.com

items have overtaken the vintage, although I still like to do both.

TLD: Do you sell in shops then or is it all online?

KB: I had a shop in Birds Yard, which was a great way to start and just across the road from where I live in Leeds. I only moved out of there recently for time to produce more items to expand into more places. I have sections in other stores like All Urban Vintage in Headingley, and other cities, like Afflecks Palace in Manchester, but a lot of it has to be online nowadays.

TLD: Do you think that the importance of online sales is a sign of the times?

KB: I can’t say how much of an effect the recession has had as I started Kee Boutique only last year after graduating from Leeds Met. I was slightly doubtful about setting up in fashion in this climate but it’s what I do, making clothes, and it seems to be going ok. So far, if people like something, they seem to still be able to afford it!

TLD: What are the best parts of working in fashion?

KB: There are lots of exciting things like fashion shows and photoshoots. I did Next Top Model and have worked with some great creative people. I like nothing better than rooting through flea markets for hidden gems and creating something new and beautiful from it so to do it for a living is amazing. But I think the the best feeling is seeing someone in the street wearing something that I’ve made and looking fab in it!

TLD: You mentioned living in Leeds. Does the city influence your work in any way?

KB: I’m originally from countryside and love the nature and beauty of that, but my favourite places are all big cities – Paris, London, New York – I love the buzz. Being around a fashionconscious city with like-minded young people probably affects my designs without realising. It also helps that I can cross the road and find lovely materials to make things out of.

TLD: What are your favourite vintage eras and who are your style icons?

KB: I try to take the best styles of all eras, from the 20’s to now.

I like the elegance of the 40’s though my clothes are probably most similar to the 60’s and would say Bridget Bardot as one of my style icons. Her and Kate Bush and lots more! I also adore the French style, like Lolita.

TLD: So, what can we expect from Kee Boutique in Leeds in future?

KB: Lots more sewing! I have a new website now and will be putting more and more designs on sites like asos. I will be doing loads of vintage fairs and hope to put one on myself. Hopefully my clothes will be available in more shops in and out of Leeds, including an exciting possibility with a well-known national store which I better not say any more about!!!

TheLeedsDebacle_9

/GARETH JONES

A Squirrel,LootingAndThe Films OfAdam Sandler Adam Sandler lay down in a tree, but not the actor from TV. Adam was the name of a local squirrel that moved to Leeds from the Wirral. He spent most of his time around Hyde Park; the centre of town was a question mark.

Every week he had a paddy, “You’re not going to town!” said his ‘Big Daddy’. Adam wasn’t content with his ‘Bedtime Stories’ so dreamt of town and all its glories. He wanted to visit an entertainment store; Conker’s Bad Fur Day was becoming a bore.

HMV had Sandler’s full film list, and being his namesake he couldn’t resist. The problem was paying, all he had were ‘Mixed Nuts’ and in terms of stealing, he hadn’t the guts. It was then that he heard some chavs in the park, talking about looting as it got dark.

He knew that his plan was dangerous and tricky, so he asked his good friend ‘Little Nicky’. ‘The chavs in the park are planning a riot; “I’m going to steal films so keep it quiet!” Little Nicky wanted to help his friend; he was bored of the park and at a loose end.

HMV had already been trashed; prices on everything had been slashed. ‘Happy Gilmore’ was £3.99, but now it was free which for the Squirrels was fine. They put lots of films in their bag, to the point it was heavy and hard to drag.

The two squirrels planned their attack, with a bag of pistachios as a snack. The ‘Grown Ups’ were all in bed, as they gave their plans the go-ahead. Tomorrow they were heading for the shops, armed with pistachio shells to throw at the cops.

It was then they saw Zohan the evil tabby, a cockney cat from Westminster Abbey. He sat on an Xbox wearing dark glasses, looking like he needed ‘Anger Management’ classes.

The squirrels were lambs for the slaughter, but luckily Adam had a bottle of water.

The whole of town was in a pickle, as a brick smashed the window of Harvey Nichols. The Victoria Quarter was up in flames, as chavs escaped with clothes and games. Adam and Nicky headed up Thornton’s Arcade, midway through their looting crusade.

They stirred in the park carrying bats, talking about London and copycats. “London is awash with crime, people are stealing, not paying a dime.” The city of London had been disgraced, “I need some new jeans 34” waist”.

‘It’s up here according to Google maps,’ Adam had downloaded in iTunes apps. He had stolen an iPhone on the bus, finding the map was an added plus. Stood before them was HMV, Adam and Nicky looked on with glee.

Adam sat in the tree listening in on their plans, liking what he heard he rubbed his hands. He had always wanted to watch ‘50 First Dates’ and could take it while Leeds was in dire straits.

The chavs would keep the street police busy, the thought of taking DVDs made Adam dizzy.

Both dressed up like the Mask of Zorro, they ran to the shop like no tomorrow. Throwing nuts at angry Police, then a poster of Danny Zuko from Grease. The squirrels found the street really frightening, so jumped through the poster like Greased Lightning.

10_TheLeedsDebacle

O

“Use the ‘Waterboy’,” Nicky squeaked, a jet hit the cat who totally freaked. “Don’t mess with the Zohan,” what a joke, as he lay on the floor having a stroke. Adam started to sing like a ‘Wedding Singer’ as they got the last film starring his dead ringer.

They made their way back to Hyde Park, and climbed up their tree gripping the bark. Adam got the remote and started to ‘Click’ as Nicky opened a film and was nearly sick. The box was empty, there was nothing there, Adam choked on his ginger hair.

They opened the films one by one, each was empty, they had been done. All they had was a collection of plastic; not worth their effort which had been drastic. The last box they opened was ‘Mr Deeds’, Adam looked to the sky, “Fuck you Leeds!”

ur resident word-smith takes on three reader suggested topics... Send your ‘three thing’ requests for issue six to thedebacle@hotmail.co.uk - whoever’s suggestion Gaz uses will win a copy of his book Semi-Detached!

Marvin’s MoneyTips /MARVIN LOOPISS

www.moneysavingtwerp.co.ck

1: On bath night, don’t waste leccy by sticking t’ mersion on, why not use left over spud water from tea, topped up wi’ sprout juice? Three minutes per person and there should be enough boiled council pop for t’ whole family to have a scrub.

2: £1 Bryanair flights! Go to somewhere you’d rather not without luggage or service or joy.

Return sunburned and angry. Complain. All for £1! (ish) 3: Free iPhones! Free trackies! Free Reebok Classics! Check social networking sites for details of future looting evenings to receive a free criminal record!

4: Give personal and financial details to Burkino Faso Bank foreign operations manager Hon. Dr. Usman Ibrahim. Marry his daughter Mettle Ismaila.

Deposit £750 every month until he retires and she moves to the UK. Remember to close the account on 11th March 2028 and receive a free Head rucksack.

5: Finally and importantly, always wear trousers with deep pockets. Keep arms short.

Lose friends, keep cash.

TheLeedsDebacle_11

THE WAR ON DRUGS With the release of this year’s Slave Ambient, The War On Drugs made what sounds like their classic album. Refining a sound described as ‘Dylan in space’ into 12 tracks of feedback, hypnotic rhythms and pretty melodies the band have created a record that feels both widescreen and personal. Bringing this sound to Leeds’ Brudenell, a hip crowd sense something special.

Leader Adam Granduciel shuffles onstage, a charmingly uneasy stage presence until opener Best Night engulfs the venue with a dark comfort: “in a dream you point a knife, in another dream you die”. Oddly throwing away single Baby Missiles before the crowd are ready to fully jig along to the Arcade Fire do Springsteen romp ends up merely highlighting the strength of the rest of the album. With a couple of older tracks more than holding their own, heads increasingly nod as the psychedelic chug and swirl grows into our leader’s “favourite War On Drugs song” Brothers and epic centrepiece Come To The City: “drinking up all the sweet tea, it was made just for me”. For droning songs that rarely move from beginning to end, this was one hell of an exhaustive, emotional, extremely enjoyable journey.

THE HORRORS Jolting onto NME covers with the tightest pants, darkest bowls, snakiest hips and greatest pseudonyms, The Horrors were hard not to hate. Lack of songs and musicianship emphasized style over substance and the critics mocked, ignoring the raw energy of debut Strange House, to instead denounce them as charlatans. Yet nothing could’ve been further from the truth as this young fivepiece were merely relaying the melodrama, wildness and fun of the obscure garage records they were immersed in.

Album number two received the same derisory reaction upon news that the band had swapped their late 60’s punk thrashings for early 80’s shoegazing. Only this time people bothered to listen and Primary Colours was lauded with surprise that combining impeccable influences could create an album to stand alongside them. And so it is with album number three, Skying. As The Horrors remove the Rotters, Von Grimms and Spiders and move forward another decade into indie-glam, they have once again moulded a fine record that brings nothing new to what has been done plenty before. Pulsing pounding rhythms, simple soaring keyboard, crunching crippling guitar and menacing melodic vocals create an atmospheric sound perfect for an ever-exciting live show which they bring to Leeds twice in two months. Added to short bursts of static cool are dancing beats (Moving Further Away) and epic choruses (Still Life) sure to get their now bizarrely mixed following of goth girls and midlife men moving.

12_TheLeedsDebacle

TAG TEAM PREACHER Tightrope walking from Northern England to Southern America is rarely a pleasant stroll. Lurking beneath await an array of disastrous dangers, from the embarrassing Beady Eye on one side to the fauxcountry Eagles on the other. That Tag Team Preacher have completed this journey on their debut ep Sell It To Me largely unscathed is quite the feat. Taking the laid back folk and country of the laurel canyon without removing their Yorkshire heart produces a warm and open record. The perfectly-paced titletrack sets the tone with an intricately woven story over a lovingly simple jangle, a formula continued on the jaunty Delia and pleasant Back To Mine. As the title suggests, Pact With The Devil hits bluesier and harder and ensures the band don’t veer too close to easy-listening. Final track You Could Be Forever Chasing The Sun is a crowd favourite at their 360 Club live launch, where the ruffians behind the sweetness energetically wins through, and the boy-girl duet highlights the mixture of longing and hope that make Tag Team Preacher so lovely.

WOODEN SHJIPS This was one of those gigs where you can tell, at first, only about half the crowd are getting it, happily nodding, bobbing and bouncing along, while the other half stand motionless.

And I’ll gladly admit that I’m in the former camp. The gig starts with Leeds’ own Hookworms and their take on psychedelic stoner rock, just with added screams and wails from the frontman and a more up-tempo keyboard led, almost nu-rave sound. That tag doesn’t really compliment, but they are a worthy support act and definitely ones to watch over the next year.

The main act Wooden Shjips are at the peak of their powers, fresh from recording new album ‘West’. The music throbs and swirls from the amps while tiny lights flash and sparkle. That’s it, the rest of the crowd are in, sucked into the vortex of propulsive, non-stop, west coast sounds. Older songs Motorbike, Down By The Sea and Fallin come on like the crashing waves of the pacific ocean in high tide, everyone is now on board with Wooden Shjips and sonically soaked in the wash. This is the most primal of rock, lost in repetitive motion, forever moving forward, mantra of the road and searching for new horizons. By the end of the encore we’re all in a mesmerised trance. With songs like Black Smoke Rise and Home and Flight, the new material more than stands up and expands the sound to a more crisp, even poppier direction. If pop songs were 7 minutes of guitar freakout.

TheLeedsDebacle_13

Shut Up,KickAss!

/ROBIN JAHDI

Y

ou may or may not be aware of a recent film called Super. Not Super 8, the Spielberg/Abrams attempt to resurrect the decomposed cadaver of the 1980s family action adventure with loads of added and unnecessary swearing. I’m talking about Super, the rather low budget ($2.5 million is more than I’m likely to amass in one go, but it’s a pittance compared to the kind of wedge that can be hurled around the place in Hollywood) super hero effort. With loads of somewhat necessary swearing.

I wonder how much of that two and a half mill actually got spent on making the film, considering it stars Kevin Bacon (Tremors; Footloose; Mystic River), Ellen Paige (Juno; Juno Goes To The Roller Derby; Juno Goes Into People’s Dreams With Charles Bronson And SproutFace DiCaprio), Liv Tyler (Armageddon; marriage to Loiner Royston Langdon) and Rainn Wilson (American Office; err… The Rocker?). Perhaps they worked for free. On the other hand, having seen the production values, perhaps they didn’t. *** If you don’t want to read any spoilers, skip the rest of this article til you’ve seen the film. *** Super is about a normal (if dorky) bloke who decides he should become a super hero. He doesn’t have any super powers; he just decides to make a costume and beat up criminals and general nogoodniks. He even comes up with a catchy slogan: ‘shut up, crime!’

Sounds kinda like that other recent film Kick-Ass, no? That is indeed the conclusion a number of people have drawn: Kick-Ass rip-off. It’s not hard to see the similarities.

Lest we forget, that film concerns a normal (if dorky) bloke who decides he should become a super hero. He doesn’t have any super powers; he just decides to make a costume and beat up criminals and general no-goodniks.

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But that’s kinda like saying Miller’s Crossing is a Godfather rip-off on account of both films feature organised criminals in suits. Kick-Ass is good, but a super-glossy take on the subgenre. Our protagonist, played

by Aaron Johnson, is sort of nerdy in that he’s not the high school quarterback, but he’s still very Hollywood presentable. Rainn Wilson, on the other hand, is pugfugly. He looks like the offspring of Sam Allardyce and a salamander. You can believe that he is socially maladjusted just by looking at him.

Then we have the sidekick, which is where the true ordinariness of Super kicks in. Kick-Ass’ tagalong is a trained-from-birth 12 year old killing machine (both bare hand and firearm) and her pseudoBatman, ex-cop dad Nic Cage. The Crimson Bolt (for he is our hero in Super) just has Juno in a strangely alluring costume. It hides her slightly large forehead, for a start. But she’s untrained. She’s just a facetious girl who works in a comic book store.

Super, despite its far from realistic premise, is weirdly naturalistic in how it deals with an ordinary man trying to be a super hero. While Kick-Ass features an armoury containing a bazooka, throwing knives, body armour and jetpack with chain gun attached, The Crimson Bolt attacks hoodlums with wrenches, his car, righteous indignation and general insanity.

This is where the major difference between the two films lies. Kick-Ass’ eponymous hero is a genuine good guy. He gets the girl, saves people, only fights out-and-out bad guys and hates bullies. We like him, and all he stands for. The Crimson Bolt is – which becomes clear as the film goes on – psychotic. He’ll batter people to states of near-death

just for pushing in the queue for the cinema. He obsesses over people and relationships like a stereotypical serial killer would.

What is initially a sympathetically down on his luck oddbod is gradually revealed as a dangerous man who seems to lack insight as to what he is really doing. It’s rather like the way authorities portray heroes in your Marvel or DC films, where the audience knows what they’re really doing is the right thing.

And the makers of the lowerbudget film aren’t messing about with the portrayal of the violence.

Kick-Ass features lots of Kill Billstyle cartoon bloodshed and limb loss, but Super shows the ‘lucky’ audience some brutally visceral assault, and a far more realistic portrayal of gunshot wounds.

It’s all rather more Oldboy than X-Men. Indeed, though bad things happen to good people in KickAss, Super transitions from quirky low-fi hero film into a really emotionally impacting piece of work. People die, and it’s actually really sad. Granted, that’s partly because it’s someone other than Nic Cage, but Super is really wellwritten, and offers the biggest tonal shift from start to finish since Valhalla Rising looked like it was going to be a new 300, and ended up being more like Inland Empire with barbarians in.

This article is not trying to say Kick-Ass is a bad film, or that you shouldn’t see it. It is a quality piece of work, and a fine addition to the trashy fun recent cinema scene along with Whip It, Jennifer’s Body and the infinitely superior Scott Pilgrim vs The World (not included in this piece because it’s about a boy who doesn’t realise that he is super, rather than a normal dude attempting to impose super-ness upon himself).

I’m just all too aware that Super might either fly under your radar, or you might write it off as a poor distant relation to a more famous film: a Deep Impact to Kick-Ass’ Armageddon. It should be pretty cheap on Blu-Ray or DVD, so give it a go. Looking at Wikipedia, it’s grossed a third of a million dollars, so it needs all the help it can get…

The DayThe Music Died

/APPYMAN

O

n the 25th of October 2004, in the Inca city Cusco, Peru, John Peel had a fatal heart attack whilst on a working holiday, aged 65.

His untimely death shocked the British music scene.

As a major influence and nightwatchman of the contemporary British music movement, John played music that others eventually and reluctantly followed, with many of these acts and genres becoming huge in worldwide appeal, from Punk to Hip Hop to Dance, and much more.

Bands and artist owe him kudos to the fact he championed them with his short rambling, no nonsense style of broadcasting and humility, he just seemed to enjoy playing the various tracks that came over the airways to many an avid listener – I as a student was one.

But not only did I learn from my studies, I learned to open my mind to music’s influence and develop an eclectic taste.

One of his benchmarks was the Peel sessions, where a new talent would have the opportunity to perform a set at the BBC’s studio. This was, for many bands, their launchpad

into the eyes and ears of many a music journo, who would follow the artist’s profile, gain fans and create a buzz in an age where there was no ‘like’ button to simply click or free MP3 to download. If you were into a band you sought them out, it’s easier now yes, but back then you got your finger out to support them.

John also put his money where his mouth was, in setting up Strange Fruit Records with Clive Selwood, releasing albums from the Peel sessions whilst also having further involvement within the music industry. He admitted he was no businessman, rather that he was releasing material for its own sake and not for financial gain, a view that nowadays would be considered naïve.

Peel had often spoken wryly about his death, that he’d probably die by driving into the back of a truck while trying to read the name on a cassette, and people would say, “He would have wanted to go that way”. Well, I want them to know that I

wouldn’t! After the initial grief at John’s passing, came the recognition by friends and fans within the industry. Michael Eviss famously changed the stage known as ‘The New Bands’ Tent’, to the ‘John Peel Stage’ at Glastonbury as a posthumous tribute to him, and that alone is a legacy based on what new music meant to John, as it was well known that, when he was there, he wouldn’t be going to see the artists who had made it to the Main Stage, he’d be off looking for the next up-andcoming new band.

The BBC announced, in 2005, that to mark his last ever broadcast, October 13th would be the first John Peel Day. The BBC encouraged as many bands as possible to stage gigs on the 13th, and over 500 gigs took place in the UK and as far away as Canada and New Zealand, with bands ranging from Peel favourites New Order and The Fall, to many new and unsigned bands. A second John Peel day was then held on 12th October 2006, and a third on 11th October 2007. The BBC had originally planned to hold an annual John Peel Day; however Radio 1 has not held any official commemoration of the event since 2007.

Despite this, a number of gigs still take place around the country to mark the anniversary. As this goes to press there are already a number of gigs in Leeds around October where more than a nod will be given to a humble player of music and as for me, I will forever

TheLeedsDebacle_15

BEAUTY TRUTHS NOT

UGLY LIES

/RACHEL GARDNER

http://beautytruthsnotuglylies.blogspot.com For the people of Leeds September signifies the mass decent of fresh-faced students into the city. While the working population face that stagnant time when summer parties are distant memories and festive celebrations are months away, the student masses are gearing up for a couple of weeks of ultimate hedonism. Whichever group you fit into by the end of the month you will probably be looking pale, pasty and far from pretty. Don’t fret though, I have found the best products for both sexes to get you back to your best.

For her: Blistex Raspberry Lemonade Blast £1.75 is packed full of quality ingredients that are proven to make your lips look, taste and feel great all day long. With moisturising ingredients and added SPF 15 to give extra protection, it keeps lips looking fabulous.

For her: Anatomicals Tanatomicals The Holy Grail For The Deathly Pale Instant Tan Mousse £5.50 featuring a streak free, tinted formula, the lightweight mousse glides on to skin to give a soft tinted glow whilst the colour continues to develop over the hours for a natural looking tan, containing moisturising properties, the mousse is softly scented and is suitable for all skin types.

For her: Nip + Fab Eye Fix £10.25. Give the skin around your eyes a softer, fresher, more radiant appearance with this 2-in-1 eye cream + concealer. This clever eye boosting cream will instantly hide imperfections and dark circles with light reflecting particles to leave you looking younger, brighteyed and ready to face the day.

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For her: Pond’s Hydro Nourishing Cream £3 is a light cream specially formulated to moisturise and nourish your skin at the same time, to leave it feeling beautifully soft, smooth and replenished.

For her: Benefit Refined Finish Facial Polisher £17.50, which beautifully brightens the complexion, gently exfoliating to purify the skin and help minimise the appearance of pores to reveal the skin’s natural radiance.

For her: MÁDARA Organic Deep Balance Facial Toner £12. MÁDARA balances oily and dry areas of your face and helps tighten pores, also removes last traces of dirt and make up.

For him: Sleeping too little? Hide those dark circles under your eyes with a touch of Liquid corrector, Myego Cover Select Liquid Corrector £14. Light reflection pigments target dark shadows and puffiness, reflecting light away from those areas leaving a soft flawless, fresh look.

For him: Does your morning routine consist of splashing your face with cold water? Brighten your skin and unclog pores with Menaji Face and Body Scrub £18.95. A refreshing polishing scrub that exfoliates and deep cleanses, removing dead skin cells for clean and clear skin

For him: Too much alcohol and too many chips can leave your skin greasier than a kebab and spottier than a leopard. To combat this use Murad’s Oil-Control Mattifier SPF15 £33. It reduces shine on contact and keeps skin free of excess oil by up to 78% for 8 hours.

For him: Dehydrated skin looks dull and grey; it’s a problem that is easily solved with daily moisturising. Rehab Morning Glory Moisturiser £14.95 for normal to dry skin will nourish and protect to leave skin smooth and balanced, and won’t leave any nasty residue on the skin.

For him: Hot sun and hotter girls can leave your lips dry and cracked. Heal and soften your lips with Menaji Lip Balm Agent £5 to give you back your kissing appeal. An enriched natural lip balm with SPF 15, protects, soothes and nourishes lips all day long.

For him: Keep the summer glow for longer by using He-She day-to-day gradual tan £14.50, a 3 in 1 self tanner, tan extender and moisturiser. This triple action lotion evens out skin tones, to gradually build a light bronzed complexion.

TheLeedsDebacle_17

An Incomplete Guide To SurvivalAt Leeds Fest

/GEORGE QUINN

I

n order to come out of the other side intact and still alive, here is a list of essential items you need when tackling Leeds Fest head on.

1. 5 or 6 cases of premium lager – The most important item of all. Without this you have to pay a small fortune for warm, watered down piss. Booze helps to lubricate the wheels of fun, although too much lubrication will ensure that the wheels will fall off, this will happen at least once a day, ride it out.

2. More booze – At some point the lager will either stop working or you will become so bloated by it that it won’t stay down. When this happens, substitution to spirits is advised. I suggest Jager, whiskey, gin or rum, preferably all of them (try not to get these hoochies in your eyes).

3. A good friend – You need at least one of these, they are there to help, lean on, fight with and spoon when you’re completely hammered.

4. Sanitary supplies – Toilet roll, Bongela, toothpaste, baby wipes, bottled water, plasters. It’s important to try and keep clean as much as possible - disease is rife in places like this. You can’t avoid getting filthy, but these will stop you looking like you’ve crawled out of a bin, even if that happens.

sleeping bag too.

7. 2 pairs of sunglasses – Not for protection from harmful UV rays, but to partially cover your battered train wreck of a face from public view.

8. Easy food, vitamins and painkillers – Anything you can pour boiling water into and eat, or put on a fire and cook in a tin is all you will be able to handle. Any other food items will go off, get thrown and scattered everywhere, or will be wasted some other way.

Vitamins keep you healthy! Vit C in the shape of oranges helps fend off scurvy and can also be injected with the spirit of your choice, for hassle free transportation into the arena. Multivitamins to keep your paranoid mind at bay.

9. Tools – A torch, batteries, multi tool (this can be confiscated, so beware) knife and fork, gaffer tape, beer bong. These will be needed, either by you or some other lost soul.

10. An open mind – Anything can happen at festivals, when there is a will there is a way.

5. A good pair of boots and waterproofs – They keep you dry, they can be disposed of at the end.

Even with a dictaphone, little can be recalled from festivals in general. Most of what you record or remember ends up being nothing more than useless gibberish and distorted echoes.

The most reliable source of what happens comes from the biased viewpoints of friends or newly met acquaintances. Here is another list of what my strained and scattered memory can still recall.

6. Some kind of shelter – Either take a tent or find some poor sap to put you up, you will need this when you tipple off the face of the planet, fall down a black hole or the sky starts imploding. Take a

1. Getting in free – This year I acquired a pass thanks to my good friend Giles who is a sound technician. He got me a job as a guitar tech for the band Heartships - many thanks to them.

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Down the line I have become adept at getting in free. It has been many moons since I paid more than a tenner for a ticket and those years have seen me blag it backstage numerous times using a wide variation of jibs. Dodgy scousers have been bribed, ladders have been used, and random girls have put me on lists and escorted me. One year I found some crutches in a bush and limped through the guest area backstage, met Pete Doherty and then did an interview with Look North news, all completely out of my mind (the footage exists somewhere in the YTV catacombs).

2. The bands – The pick of the bunch were Muse, The Strokes, Madness, Seasick Steve and Pulp.

I can’t remember seeing much more. Muse had a light show that cost £1,000,000 a night and played all of Origin of Symmetry, before firing out loads of hits. The Strokes were back, on form and had their new album ‘Angles’ to push. Madness did exactly what was expected, getting the party started and the masses skanking like the inmates of bedlam.

Seasick Steve, now signed to Jack White’s Third Man Records, played a blinder of a set, complete with John Paul Jones on bass, who also played just about every other instrument under the sun.

The second time I’ve seen Pulp and they still haven’t lost their magic. They finished the festival off with a set that no-one could ever forget. Jarvis Cocker can manipulate a crowd in a way that no other can, swooning, sleazing and gyrating from the stage into the night sky. It seemed somehow to mark the end of summer.

3. My friend and his leather pants – Although he will almost certainly have forgotten or will be trying hard to forget what he got up to

on Friday night, photos (those who have seen them know which one I mean) far too pornographic for inclusion don’t lie. Neither do the scarred accounts of hundreds of broken young girls who will have since told therapists about their nightmares of a drunken lunatic dressed in lederhosen. Nice, I for one salute you.

4. Losing my Saturday All Access Pass and subsequently failing to interview Henry Rollins – Forgetting that I gave my Pass to Giles, who in turn gave it to his nephew, I was accosted by security when I tried to get to Henry Rollins backstage.

A half hour drunken argument with a nice lady who was manning a check point ensued, it got me nowhere. The most annoying thing about it, apart from the fact that they didn’t believe me, was when I saw Rollins get into a car and drive right past me. Fail.

5. Getting blinded by Giles – After the disappointment of missing out the interview I was in a foul mood and had a go at Giles for relieving me of my credentials. Lovingly, in the only way an oaf knows, he poured half a bottle of spiced rum into my eyes. I was completely blinded for about five minutes and you can imagine the scene of a wasted idiot trying to punch the lights out of his friend whilst staggering around the backstage bar. It’s a wonder that we didn’t get booted out, I’m sure people were thinking about it.

6. My eye patch – My left eye swelled to the size of a golf ball and the vision was bad in it for a couple of days after. A big thanks goes out to the guy who made me a makeshift eye patch out of a guy rope, some cotton wool and part of a bear box. The experience of the last few hours had soured my day and although I forgave Giles (we always end up fighting at some point), when he suggested we go and see Beady Eye, I through the bat and ball down and went to bed.

7. Almost missing Heart Ships, the reason we were there for free – We would have missed it by ages if someone hadn’t have said, “hey aren’t you guys supposed to be sound engineering right now?” What followed was a mad dash through the mire that is the festival, both of us ruing the day.

8. Endless nonsense of the last night – By this time minds had been warped, faces looked like melted burnt out candles and hysterical fatigue had set in. The most memorable phrase came from Giles’s nephew Noah and his twisted theory of evolution.

“If babies kept being born out of aeroplanes would they eventually evolve wings?” was one of the questions he put to two science teachers we were with. Good question, I thought. Later, in a drunken stupor, hours before we were to set of home, we fell down a hill and couldn’t get back up.

That is about all I can remember.

Things you will need when you get home.

1. A shower the very second you get in and before you fall into a coma.

2. A takeaway, which will hurt like hell, but is completely necessary.

3. Football, comedy or something to help you cabbage.

4. A good friend or two. From seeing 50,000 people to being by yourself is not an option.

5. A lot of something good to smoke.

6. Any booze that you managed to salvage on your exit from the weekend.

7. About 2-3 days of recuperation time.

8. A blanket (to hide under).

9. Patience with each other.

10. And finally a hammer. This is to induce a coma if you can’t sleep for whatever reason.

“It’s my turn to be Jack Sparrow” TheLeedsDebacle_13

My life as a dodgem car / Dave Barlow I think someone has used this body, before me. It`s showing the signs of far more wear and tear than it`s possible to inflict in the relatively short time I`ve had it. It must have been like this when I got it. Like a child eagerly clambers for the nearest bumper car, in fear of missing the ride, too entranced by lights and music to notice the scuffs and dents. As I survey the damage in the mirror, which impartially reflects with an honesty I really don`t care for these days, I can`t help but wonder how many reckless spirits have bumped this old frame round the track? How many toffee appled hands and candy flossed fingers have steered?

How many slyly smeared bogeys, dog shittened trainers and excited involuntary farts, spat out gum and brandy snap-garnished spew has been wiped from it before I got in? I will choose more carefully, next time.

1908 / Adam Lee Jones White is the colour that suffocates this room, carrier bag white, ironically. On the walls are white paintings, white fixtures and white fittings.

If you were to open the cupboards you’d find white labelled products on an equally white shelf. The soundtrack to my room is that of a white fridge pleasantly humming, inside it stores milk, bread, fish, chicken and mayonnaise, each sharing the same sickening colour. In usual circumstances this kind of life could cost you an absolute fortune. I tell myself every day how lucky I am, to be able to live in a world of comfort, fully furnished. I wonder, how many of you envy my pristine life, complete with padded walls?

Our betters / Steve Lunn David Cameron is all superior and posh He inherited all his dosh And he loves to give the poor and disabled A jolly old bish-bash-bosh

Nick Clegg is all superior and posh He inherited all his dosh Man of the people Clegg?

Pull the other leg

Boris Johnson is all superior and posh He inherited all his dosh He loves to gorge on his Eton trifles And dreams of shooting the poor with rifles

The Queen is all superior and posh She inherited all her dosh She loves to think she’s a cut above She’ll shake your hand, But only with a glove

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Evil Hands / G.A.Pinder I see a lion sleeping Beneath the stars, I see it gently weeping She can not hide her scars.

I see a dolphin swimming At one with itself, Trawlers come nets brimming To fill supermarket shelves.

I see an eagle flying Over scorched barren lands, I can see it trying To escape from evil hands.

I see the world around me Some things are a disgrace, I see this planet’s obituary, One failed human race.

Hyde Park, 5am. / Damien Knightley To waltz blindly into madness.

To rest uneasy on my tangled and knotted guts.

She comes to me in waves, a beautiful tide.

The deviant mirrors that are her deviant eyes.

The sun is a bored yellow apple waiting to be picked.

I am a Coke can waiting to be kicked.

Sharing the company of no one.

I slip on fruit skins and swallow bird song.

She is benzene she is nitrosamine she is formaldehyde she is hydrogen cyanide she is Luperox she is alcohol she is cocaine she is L.S.D. she is M.D.M.A. she is D.M.T she is ketamine she is amphetamines She is my cracked open blurry-eyed stare at morning madness she is bird song and siren and I am sadness.

The only problem with Leeds is... / Emily Hallewell Soft grass? No, it’s sharp and itchy, but fragrant and warm.

A waft of nostalgia carried by light rays, reflecting off the vegetable stall and dancing undetected into the waiting mind.

Heart beats in a painful pulse of remembering, rose tinted fells and becks; Strolling determinedly up, picking safe steps through shifting rocks and dirt.

But recalled to the present, I am undone.

What was stimulating lively bustle; bright colours, brighter personalities, is now lifeless, dusty and without scent.

I cannot be satisfied with city dreams, lights and sounds and opportunities; I long for the peace of a summer’s day, spent away from engines and exhaust in reading, writing, drinking, talking: it matters not, but that I am there.

Heart keeps on beating, feet keep on walking, mind shifts forward to the city tasks ahead.

TheLeedsDebacle_21

The Colonel

/JOHN BARRAN

I went to Kentucky when I was sixteen I saved up my money to fulfil my dream I woke up dead early. Or did I not sleep?

The mud of excitement was getting knee-deep I’d heard of the legend, he became my whole Emblazoned my heart and enveloped my soul Entangled my stomach until I felt sick At breasts I will gorge and at fingers I’ll lick The beep of the taxi, a glorious sound Deliver my hope unto where it is bound The smell of the city, the vigour of sin Rip open my body, devour my skin The queue was expanding and twisting and all Impatient, unending, knee-trembling to fall Until came the moment my foaming mouth shouts “An 18-piece bucket for one to take out!”

And that was the start of what I must confess You’d call an addiction, folks murder for less I’d call it a passion, a soulmate, a love A tasty affair with the colonel above But now that I’m 30 I hope that I’ve learned The error of chicken has sickened and burned At least when I’m sober I know not to go To visit the colonel on early-death row Still when I’ve been drinking and wake up still drunk Or hugely hungover or mentally sunk There’s only one craving, I know you’ll agree The only three letters are K, F and C.

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The Dope Show The Debacle does not condone the use of soft drugs...

Canada – home of CANROCK, maple syrup, moose, hockey sticks, snow, beady eyes, flappy heads and passive aggression. You can easily forget that this is part of the same rock. News headlines about earthquakes, civil wars and financial crisis are all unhanded by “Take My Trash!: Locals demand bi-weekly collection be scrapped” or “My Head, My Rights!: Locals battle courts of right to wear helmets when cycling”. Jason Rouse described Canadian news as an obnoxious inbred idiot screaming about his wood being gone, as a nation that continually supports Nickleback, I will have to hold my hands up, dear reader, and admit that all stereotypes are on the table. But one part that the faithful non-Americans have got so very right is the transition of seemingly illegal substances. In Leeds you are treated to the usual crap service from the local diala-dealer where you can buy some of the worst damp green muck in a tiny bag for 20% of your dole check. In Canada, it’s a different experience.

Three doors down from my office is the New Amsterdam Cafe, which sells all kinds of Mary Jane devices and freely allows folk to “BYO-Weed” as long as you have the decency to buy a coffee or cake. I was able to get a number from a colleague that came with instructions, I was to call the number but wait for the answer machine, then hang up. I laughed that it all sounded a bit too Mission Impossible and I was concerned my phone would explode... Canadians do not find observations funny, they take everything literally so are convinced that I am a paranoid disillusioned Soviet. On my way home I call the number which does indeed go straight to a rather corporate sounding answering machine that says “we have your number” and that I should hang up and wait. A few minutes later

/KYLE JAMES-PATRICK

I get a call from a polite man who strongly demands to know where I got the number from, so I give him all of my colleague’s details: name, address, hobbies, interests, visual description, number, family ties. They tell me they just needed the number but it was nice of me to share – the polite man hangs up and tells me I’m being verified.

I trudge home not knowing if I should feel elated or terrified.

After a while I receive a call in a much more jolly tone announcing that I have been verified and am free to arrange a delivery, I am then told that I will be called in 30-45 minutes by one of their employees who will meet me at my address. The efficiency of the service is impeccable, after 30 minutes I get another call apologising for the delay and that they had to resupply due to the demand that night – but I was not to worry as I would get a full selection upon arrival. All of these words baffle me. I’m used to, “Sup man, you working? 45 minutes? Nice one”. In England there is a strange time zone known as ‘dealer time’ which is a simple equation of whatever they say, times it by 3 and you might get it sometime around that. The amount of times I was in Leeds and due to go out at 7pm but was stuck in dealer limbo despite his 5pm promise... well, let’s just say that I didn’t get a First in my degree.

I get the call from a man who asks for me by name, someone I have never spoken to before.

He pulls up in a smart saloon car that literally has no descriptive features other than it being the exact same colour as the night sky. He waves to me as he moves around to the boot and pulls out a black briefcase. All I can think about is Pulp Fiction...

He comes into the house and is as warm and pleasant as a man

who has come to quote for turning your house into gingerbread and other assorted candies, but not without the sex offender under current. I keep asking myself inane housekeeping questions like “do I need to fix him a drink?

Would he trust a drink? Is this man technically a dealer? Do I deploy dealer etiquette?”. He pops the clasps of the briefcase and all my thoughts wash away.

Inside the velvet lined briefcase are 6 jars with hand written labels with such names as Ugly Betty, Jack & Berry, Haze, Nova, and Old Dog. This is the dope show.

He talks me through each herb as I begin to froth at the mouth, nodding along to everything he says like a child who has just learnt what the word “buffet” means. He explains that I can buy by the gram or, depending on how much money I have, I can get a little bit of everything. He lets me smell each plant and tells me what type of high to expect from them, and what he considered to be good for certain tasks. I tell him that I like to function enough to be able to talk and remember the movies I’m watching, he promptly takes the Nova out of my hand.

I explain how amazed I am with the quality of service and the completely stress free experience and the man has a slight chuckle to himself and says, “you haven’t been in Vancouver very long have you?”.

Weed is a drug, so is caffeine, alcohol and Lemsip. Like any stimulus, it does hold the capacity to take over your life but only if you let it - but this is no different to being hooked on Big Macs. The type of service I received tonight was that of beauty, something delivered to your home to be enjoyed in your home. A controlled society isn’t one that is repressed at every corner, but one that has the freedom to choose. I chose the magical man and his briefcase of joy. I have to stop writing now as the mix I was given is causing me to laugh so hard tears are spraying from my ears.

Jolly good.

TheLeedsDebacle_23

5.60

/TOM E. TWISTED

I can feel the weight of a normative society crunching down on my spinal cord. It’s aching, an on-going dull throbbing pain in the back of my head, the kind of pain that wears you down, makes you cry yourself to sleep. I’m working hard, doing all the right stuff and still things aren’t getting any better. It’s making me so tired!

The groundwork is in place, I think, but hell, what do I know? I have no idea what I’m doing.

See, my line of work doesn’t have a ready planned road map neatly set out for me to follow, much like the rest of my so called ‘rock ‘n’ roll’ lifestyle. Though I have to point out that my fluffy slippers and good supply of tea ‘n’ biscuits kind of sums up most of that rock ‘n’ roll. This job can make you feel like a fuckin’ rock star if work is hot, like a bad ass, don’t-fuckwith-me type of faggot, that is messing with society from its darkest roots up to its swankiest hotel rooms. But when work is slow and the punters are shite, well, that’s a whole other story - especially if you’re just starting out like me it seems.

Because obviously doing a 4-hour shift and only earning £5.60 means that the end of the world is nigh and that I should just give up and join the straight-laced 9 to 5 working world right? Hell, I’ve been tempted to give up on carving my own way through the world a few times. When it gets to 1am and you’re having a bad night it’d be so easy to give up on being yourself, wondering if you are

24_TheLeedsDebacle

in fact even being yourself. But somehow we connect, we regrow our roots in the big queer family tree. We rant, we rave, we riot, we create.

And we keep doing it over and over again, our spirits lit like a sparkler that never burns out or fades. We build ourselves, we add layers, build communities, create new families that make us strong.

These are the things that keep me going, stop me from buying a one-way ticket into a white collar word, the so called ‘easy lane’.

These are the people that keep me firmly rooted in the beautiful underground. Keep me being the person I love being, doing the things I love doing, fucking people I love to fuck - all in all, create a world I love to live in!

So yeah, so what if I only earned £5.60 tonight, there’ll be nights when I earn a lot more, nights when I earn less. There’s days I can write out entire stories, when I can perform and wow a crowd of perverts. But there’s days too when I’m so tired I can barely think and I cry to myself from the stress. “Just swings and roundabouts ain’t it?” were FemmeDaddy’s wise words about this to me. And that’s who I am, who we are. We hold onto each other when we feel like giving up and we keep holding each other when we’re strong and feel like we could take over the world.

So here we go, this is me reenforcing my belief that this life needs to be lived as if I could die

tomorrow and that I should learn as if I’ll live forever. Reminding myself that this is how I am. With the innocence and raw energy it takes to truly say, “fuck you” to conformity. To stand up and NOT be counted as one of the masses but to scream, yell and cause as much havoc as possible to stop people being counted. Yeah this is how it’s done, this is how life deserves to be lived. Every action I take is the embodiment of resistance, of creation, of not conforming to what they would have me be. I’m saying no to the straight-laced acceptable world they would have me believe is the best way to live my life. I’m doing it another way and I’m not afraid to keep doing it another way. I don’t want to settle down, I don’t want to give up.

This isn’t just a spark of youth in revolt, this is me and always will be, because hell I’d rather go through life having no clue what the fuck I’m doing, being held up by and holding up a bunch of misfits and renegades in each arm because yes I maintain that this really is the way to live, to not have my mind numbed by the next passing fad, to not “get a real job” and get a mortgage and marry and do what’s expected, because the expectations only serve to make us feel guilty for our adventures. Adventures that shape us and drive us to be the beautiful humans and creatures we are. Fuck you straight-laced 9 to 5 world, YOU CAN’T HAVE ME! So fine, I earned £5.60 tonight and I’ve never been so proud of a day’s work.

AWaste of a Good Meal /JOSEPH JAMES WOOD

His stomach was wrapped around itself and it twisted tighter every time he smelt the aroma of the lamb steak and the sweet potatoes and the lettuce, tomatoes and vinegarette dressing arranged artfully on the plate in front of him.

He had cut a piece from the meat and it had sat on his tongue for a second until his jaw had started to quiver and his throat had begun to contract and he had spat it into a napkin. If his nerves would have allowed him to, he would have eaten the meal slowly and patiently but the bile creeping up his throat made it impossible to even consider it. Not that he had any inclination to consider it, though; his concentration was wholly devoted to the performance he would soon have to give.

It would be his first time on a stage, his first time with a crowd of eyes looking up at him. They had paid their money and they deserved to be entertained. He had never been that elegant type of person that could take to a stage with the confidence to rouse an audience to tears or laughter or applause.

As he ran through the performance in his mind and imagined the disappointed audience, the scent of his meal overwhelmed him suddenly, caused his mouth to dry out, his stomach to wind tighter, his hands to shake so violently that he had to sit on them and then his leg started jerking up and down, his heel rapping on the concrete floor.

He was afraid he would trip on the stairs to the stage, or that his hands and legs would be shaking too much for them to get the straps round, or that with the hood over his eyes he wouldn’t be able to get his head in the noose.

The crowd would be booing and throwing stones and he’d be crying and they’d see him as a stupid, pathetic fool. Then they’d be laughing at him. And he’d have to go on with it, he couldn’t rush off and hide, he’d have to stand up from the trip on the stairs or wait while they struggled with the straps or work with the man as he tried again and again to get his head through the rope, losing patience with each failed attempt and the crowd becoming more irate. And then when he did drop...

He had heard about death spasms and evacuated bowels, even the idea of such humiliation made him almost choke. He could imagine the crowd’s laughter, loud enough to drown out the church bells that rang nearby. What he feared most, though, was Angel Lust.

He pictured himself, his leg kicking, numb except for the warm, creeping trickle that leaked out from behind. And in front he would become engorged and one woman would see it immediately and point and shout out above the laughter ‘he’s got a stiffy!’ and the laughter would come again louder, like hot thunder or like an enraged wave.

Metallic rattle and scrape of a key sliding into the door. He dried his eyes on the back of his sleeve.

That he hadn’t been sick already was some small condolence at least; walking out in front of the crowd with vomit down his shirt would have been mortifying.

He was a clumsy kitchen porter who had dropped and spilt more meals than he had served in his short employment.

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It’sTough Being a 90’s Kid

/JO WATSON

The other day, I let my mind wander, to a time when life was simpler. I didn’t have a job, or bills to pay, or any other form of responsibility. The toughest issue I had to deal, with was trying to get home before my older brother did, just so I could spend an hour or two on my own, with the Mega Drive.

For those of you who were lucky enough to have their own bedroom, or maybe didn’t even have an older brother, you will not be able to share and understand the pain. For the rest of us, especially all you younger brothers out there, you’ll know exactly what I mean.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure there were kids my age who were worse off than me. But I ain’t talking about them, so they can pipe down.

You see, when you share a room with your older brother, he pretty much rules the roost. If he wants to play Premier Manager 95 ,with his mate Johnny, ALL day on a Sunday, then I had no chance of ‘having a go’.

And don’t even get me started on the whole ‘Ha! You died already, so it’s my go again now’ arguments.

What a bastard.

Anyway, I know this is very cliché, but it has to be said. The youth of today have it so easy these days (in many ways), none more so than when it comes to the range and ability of all the next gen consoles on offer. If you told a 14-year-old gamer today that you had to ‘blow into Chuck Rock to get it to work’, they would probably run to their parents and have you arrested.

This was just one of many small glitches that made gaming somewhat frustrating.

Trying to have a two-player game could also turn into a nightmare.

Especially if you wanted a decent one. A perfect example of this, was Zero Tolerance.

also one of the only first-person shooters on the Mega Drive, AND it had a 3D environment! OK, maybe it was only limited to a fraction of the screen (due to the 16-bit processor) but we didn’t care.

It was awesome (it’s also worth bearing in mind that we had never played Doom or Duke Nukem before, so this was like playing with the big boys).

The question was though, how could we possibly make this even more enjoyable? Watching other people play games is not my idea of fun, and when you’ve been doing so for hour upon hour (because you’re the youngest) it really starts to bore the hell out of you.

The only way to make this game better is if it could be have been a two-player. That would have been awesome. We could have hunted

When this game came out, it was the first proper ‘mature’ game that we had ever played on before.

It was

This was in 1995 too remember. So there were no memory cards or saving. If you had to take a break, you would simply pause it. And if (god forbid) mum would shout up to tell us that dinner was ready, it would just stay on pause for the duration of the meal. Basically, it was my turn when our Lewis got bored. So you could see that the fairness ratio was pretty off balance.

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Mega Drive porn

each

other down in the huge crazy, 3D maze-style levels, and tried to kill each other.

Well guess what? You could! All we needed was ‘just’ another TV, a second Mega Drive, a special link cable, oh, and another copy of the game!? Yeah, that’s right. No worries, I’m sure Mum would have gladly coughed up another £500 to duplicate what we already had, just so we could have enjoyed a ‘proper’ two-player game.

Really, come on now. If that’s not proof of how hard we had it back then, I don’t what is. To this day I have never heard of one person (ever) talk about how awesome a two-player game on Zero Tolerance is. It just never happened.

So, the next time you’re on Xbox Live, playing people from around the WORLD (a concept which would have blown my mind 15 years ago), just spare a thought for myself, Lewis, Jim and Johnny (along with countless other lost souls from the 1990s) and how hard we had to battle, just to enjoy a decent hour or two of quality gaming. You’ll soon appreciate what you have now.

Even if it’s just a Wii.

FILM The Guard “Fucking posers” begins The Guard as NERD beats over Irish countryside introduce us to another installment of the McDonagh familly’s growing juxtaposition genre.

Following brother Martin’s triumphant In Bruges, John Michael’s impressive impersonation uses the same contrasts for similar rewards.

Stealing his sibling’s clashing recipe of Hollywood gangster mixed with British buffoonery somehow creates another comedy thriller where the one never dilutes the other.

Once again, Brendan Gleeson is cast as comic cop in small town with big crime and his potentially unbelievable pillpopping, whiskey-drinking, hooker-shagging gentleman is played with a charisma and humanity that holds the potentially ridiculous plotline together. Expertly providing the set-ups is straightman US big city cop Don Cheadle, brought over to tackle a trio of drug-smuggers who, rather cloyingly, discuss philosophy and literature inbetween murdering, although the clever-clever dialogue thankfully falls just the right side of Tarrantino.

The characters are cliched: old-school cop, new world buddy, pretty widow, dying mother. The story is messy and unoriginal: baddies kill and bribe then have a shoot-out with our two heroes. Yet The Guard fizzles with a knowing wit and energy that improbably makes a successful mix of Don Corleone and Dougal McGuire. As the film says: I can’t tell if you’re really motherfucking dumb or really motherfucking smart.

TV This Is Jinsy With an in-vogue director and links to seemingly every worthwhile British show of the last decade, new Sky Atlantic comedy, This Is Jinsy, was ticking so many boxes in advance that it was already lifted to a pedestal by those one step ahead and already knocked off its perch by those two steps ahead.

Refusing to join in that circular motion where no-one knows if those so far infront are actually trailing behind, I ignore the hype and watch the eightpart series with an open, soon to be confused, mind. Set in the fictional town of Jinsy, the show follows Arbiter Maven and Operative Sporall, played by its writers Justin Chubb and Chris Bran, and Jinsy’s 791 eccentric residents as they go about their small-town lives. Explaining anything beyond that gets complicated. Episodes flit between one main surreal narrative and countless surrealer, vaguely-linked clips, songs... anythings. This mish-mash of ideas could be a mess but behind the childish playfulness is a studied expertise ensuring each scene is perfectly played, holding the whole together with surprising ease. Ridiculous stories include a wardrobe salesman convincing the town he is ‘The Great He’ to sell more wardrobes, and beard-nibbling chaos at an annual facial fur celebration. Crazy characters include a damp cave-dwelling lawyer and a short-sighted, bunny-boiling handywoman mistaking vegetables for tools. Eclectic but fitting guest stars have a ball as, amongst others, Harry Hill dresses up, David Tennant camps up and Peter Serafinowicz laps up. Influences are many and obviously apparent, with the randomness of Monty Python, dark touches of The League of Gentlemen, Mighty Boosh’s cult cool and the town itself resembling Father Ted’s Craggy Island. This Is Jinsy may not quite reach the heights of those shows but it has moulded them and much more together into a freshly inventive, lovingly created oddball world which is a pleasure to visit.

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BOOK Uncommon To a person who has never heard of the band Pulp, this book is just a collection of words. A detailed ‘essay’ of Pulps rise to their 15 minutes of forgotten fame with descriptions and explanations of songs and albums, all encased in 132 pages of delightfulness with wonderful little etchings from Lisa Craddock, ‘Uncommon’ by Owen Hatherley is a must read for any Pulp fan, new or old. Pulp have been my favourite band for as long as I remember, but something I discovered from reading this was that I am far from a fan. There’s so much more to discover.

What Hatherley does is take you on a journey, not necessarily an autobiographical one (which he states at the beginning and gives the reader the couple of alternative titles to look into), but an explanation of the position of the band, the people involved and economic status of the country during Pulps stint. Especially to the kids of the 90’s (me included) who only got to know Pulp through their parents and their most famous album ‘Different Class’, it gives a fascinating look into the music and rivals at the time, describing where they went wrong. Or right.

It also brings back a sense of nostalgia. Depending on which generation you are from, there’s a little something for everyone, including the infamous cover slot at Glastonbury 1995, the Michael Jackson performance at the Brit awards to Top Of The Pops. There are lots of hidden gems for the reader to look into after and almost rediscover the band, explaining in detail the meanings of the songs. You can clearly see the transformation from a band writing risqué songs, catching peoples attention, to a band winding down reflecting on their career. For the long time fan, Hatherley adds the odd lyric in context to what he is writing, highlighting the lyrical genius that is Jarvis Cocker. Songs about sex, drugs and the fantasies no one wants to admit, Jarvis was, and still is, one of a kind. Social classes and music rivalry are explored, which explains a lot about why they were classed as a ‘Britpop’ band. While you read on, you discover they were far from that genre as they continued to experiment and push the lyrical boundaries.

Ending on the bands recent revival, it would be interesting to read this book again in a couple of years after headlining this years festivals. As music is increasingly about the money, there are few bands who become well known through serious hard work and years of touring the tiniest of venues in the most obscure places. What Pulp did, in their own way, was create a path, maybe a very thin, winding path covered in hurdles, but a path nonetheless. Do you remember the first time? / EMILY WARD

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[PIAS]

B

etween the 6th and 10th August 2011 some people in some places in the United Kingdom rioted. Some of the people were sidelined underclasses lashing out at authority, some of the people were moronic amoral criminals. There were lots of words said, reactionary and bigoted, reflective and revealing.

It was a frightening time for many but for most it wasn’t the end of civilisation, it wasn’t the beginning of inhumanity. Yet, for some, beyond the media brushstrokes and stereotypes, there were real lives affected and real livelihoods destroyed.

The devastating deaths of three men protecting their property or the 140-year-old family business burned to nothing have been rightly well-documented, but one fire to cause less immediate heartbreak is having widespread effect.

Around 4am on the 9th August, a Sony warehouse was burned to the ground. Sympathy does not come quickly for such a giant company, but, in fact, the building was home to the UK’s largest distributor of independent music, PIAS. XL, Warp, Rough Trade, Sub Pop, Ninja Tunes and Soul Jazz were just some of the more recognisable of over 150 labels keeping the music industry alive without profit enough to recover easily from such an attack. With over 12,000

titles instantly wiped out, cash flow is suddenly halted in what is a turnover-heavy industry and many of the smaller labels are unlikely to be able to stretch their credit far enough to continue, let alone afford to remanufacture lost titles.

Insurance remains unclear for many involved and does not necessarily provide the solution, even if paid out. The larger companies will take priority, meaning a long wait for funds for the smaller, hardest-hit labels, and this time without income could prove fatal. Another insuranceinduced nail is that payments could potentially be per unit and not actual production costs, which would be higher the less copies

pressed, and are a lot higher for vinyl, something smaller labels tend to specialise in. After former independent distributors Pinnacle recently went bust, losing the label’s hundreds of thousands of pounds worth of stock, this second setback is something they may struggle to return from.

But it isn’t just the record labels affected by the attack. The independent record shop, already an endangered species, suddenly has a lot less records to sell and, subsequently, a lot less sales. With falling physical sales already and at a weak time of year, this could knock over the more fragile. As for the artists themselves, this may be little more than a nuisance, as record sales make up a tiny amount of their income in the current climate, but again it is likely to be those starting out, those hoping to get signed and those recently signed, who could be left behind. If labels and stores fall, jobs are lost throughout, and the reported decline of the music industry is fast-forwarded.

There remains hope. Most labels will have stock in various places so have not lost its entirety. If insured, money can be invested in future projects, as opposed to poorly-selling back catalogues.

The music-buying public has rallied and supported the industry by buying digital releases direct from those affected, as well as snapping up surviving copies from struggling independent stores.

The independent music industry is made of stern stuff thank to obsessive insiders and will continue long after London’s kids have been punished or reformed.

This is not the end.

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Hepworth

/LISA DARBYSHIRE

It is generally accustomed at this time of year for Leeds to be awash with Freshers embarking on their uni journey and generally spending the entire week of Freshers either hungover or out partying somewhere, so when the hangover subsides they might also find that they have moved to a county which is being labelled as the ‘Sculpture Capital of Europe’. With the already established Henry Moore Institute and its current exhibition of Mario Merz’s work in Leeds City Centre, Yorkshire Sculpture Park only a stones throw away, and new kid on the block The Hepworth Wakefield, art lovers are spoiled for choice. And it is the Hepworth Wakefield which is really sending ripples through the art world.

A purpose built £35 million pound gallery, the largest outside of London, the Hepworth has been created to house the work of arguably one of the best female sculptors of all time, Barbara Hepworth.

With renowned architect David Chipperfield designing the building, you can only imagine the remarkable spaces for Hepworth’s works and a seasonally changing contemporary gallery space. On the 22nd of October it is time for the second exhibitor of the contemporary space: painter Clare Woods, who has been commissioned by the Hepworth to create works which “respond to the architectural scale of the gallery spaces”. Woods, who graduated from Goldsmiths College in 1999, painstakingly layers enamel paint on aluminium to create images of vegetation, landscape, and natural forms.

The latest pieces created for the exhibition will be from images taken of nearby Brimham Rocks and the remarkably beautiful Ilkley Moores, and given the gallery’s setting overlooking the River Calder, the exhibition looks set to be an extraordinary combination.

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What really appeals about Woods’ work is the sheer scale and magnitude of the pieces, some as large as 10 metres long and 6 metres high, her work depicts often deep woodland, twisted brambles, or swirling rock pools and when witnessed on such a large scale you become lost in the mystery and awe of the pieces.

The lengthy process of layering enamel paint upon aluminium offers a unique reflective quality to Woods’ work and continues with the curious and intriguingly mystical nature of Woods’ work.

On a particularly miserable winter’s day I would imagine exploring the gallery space, with the tempestuous River Calder as a backdrop, and being consumed by these abyssal, abstract creations.

The choice to have Woods as the next exhibitor is a spirited yet highly intelligent choice as both herself and Hepworth are abstract, female artists yet their work is aesthetically dissimilar, what is certain however is that this exhibition could quite possibly be a stroke of pure genius given its strong foundations.

And Clare Woods isn’t the only exciting talent to be exhibiting in the sculptural capital of Europe, The Hepworth recently announced that it would be exhibiting the work of Turner Prize winner Richard Long as part of the Artists Rooms 2012. So when the hangovers have worn off and that tenth Jagerbomb doesn’t seem like such an impressive prospect, why not challenge yourself a little by visiting one of the many galleries situated in Yorkshire, and, who knows, maybe getting lost in a ten-metre painting might actually be pretty impressive.

THE SEASON SO FAR SOUTHAMPTON V LEEDS UTD The hum of anticipation of a new season is a very quiet one when I foolishly find myself in a M*nchester pub waiting for the local egg-chucking to end before they’ll turn over the telly. My iphone rudely advises me we’re 3-0 down so I don’t bother complaining to the bar staff when they sympathetically fail to change channels.

LEEDS UTD V BRADFORD CITY Twitter rumours that Leeds is joining in the riots because people have seen police on horses in the city centre.

People have forgotten that Leeds Utd are playing Bratfud City. No broken windows, just broken pride as we fall twice behind. Fortunately, banned-twatterer Ramon Nunez puts the record straight.

LEEDS UTD V MIDDLESBROUGH First game I bother to go to and my non-winning streak continues. Regular readers may be aware that I marched on together and failed see a win in 16 live attempts last season. It’s only a matter of time I insist but the waiting goes on in a dire display and a feeble defeat. Captain Ken Birdseye’s cash-keeping plans seem to be going as expected.

WEST HAM V LEEDS UTD You will not be surprised to read that I missed the Hull victory but see glimpses of the lesson we gave the ugly city in this fine footballing performance. England’s Scott Parker survives a clear penalty against England’s West Ham managed by England’s Sam Allardyce before Adam Clayton earns a well-deserved last minute point. What do you mean they should have had a penalty aswell? Biased, moi?

LEEDS UTD V M*N UTD Michael Owen is a tosser.

BRIGHTON V LEEDS UTD Watching two matches at the same time is a tricky business but one that provides great pleasure when United’s second goal flies in with Rhinos second try. Too good to last, we are soon 3-2 down with some bewildering defending, even for us. As I concentrate on a near equal collapse in the rugby, the pub roars, the net bulges and a point is gained. A 1-0 win would be nice please.

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Oct 1 – Harry Sandon Antiques Roadshow (Seven Arts) 2 – Damien Hirst (Art Gallery) 3 – Recorded/Reproduced (Bowery) 4 – Mario Merz (Henry Moore Institute) 5 – The Ian McMillan Orchestra (Clothworkers Centenary Concert Hall) 6 – Gruff Rhys (Cockpit) 7 – Light Night (various) 8 – K-Klass (Bar Seven) 9 – L’Invitation Au Voyage (The Venue) 10 – King Lear (WYP) 11 – Neil Mullarkey is L Vaughan Spencer (Stanley & Audrey Burton Theatre) 12 – Shakespear Schools Festival (Carriageworks) 13 – Ian Rankin (Morley Town Hall) 14 – Mickey Hutton (Highlight) 15 – Brainwash (Brudenell) 16 – Vintage Fair (Town Hall) 17 – Apparat Band (Wardrobe) 18 – Bonnie and Clyde (College of Art & Design) 19 – Speechless (WYP) 20 – The Queen Of Spades (Grand) 21 – Bardo Pond (Brudenell) 22 – This Is Northern Underground Warehouse Party (Eiger) 23 – Lucy Ward (All Hallows Church) 24 – Leeds Loves Shopping (various) 25 – Howard Marks (City Varieties) 26 – Ugly Ducklng (HiFi) 27 – The Clean (As Possible) Comedy Show (Carriageworks) 28 – Hessle Audio (Fav) 29 – Halloween with Fucked Up (Shopkeepers) 30 – Antony Gormley (Harewood House) 31 – Angels and Demons (Lotherton Hall)

Something to do every day...

Nov 1 – Roger McGuinn (City Varieties) 2 – The Melvins (Irish Centre) 3 – Pure X (Shopkeepers) 4 – Phil Cool (Stanley & Audrey Burton Theatre) 5 – Bonfire Night (various) 6 – Farmers Market (Kirkgate Market) 7 – Doom (Academy) 8 – Digital Festival (various) 9 – Paul Merton’s Silent Clowns (Town Hall) 10 – Bon Iver (Academy) 11 – Christikindelmarkt (Millenium Square) 12 – Constellations (Uni) 13 – International Film Festival (various) 14 – The Low Anthem (Irish Centre) 15 – Dum Dum Girls (Brudenell) 16 – Anna Calvi (Cockpit) 17 – Billy Bragg (Uni) 18 – The Lion The Witch & The Wardrobe (Carriageworks) 19 – Thought Bubble (Saville’s Hall) 20 – Abbey Dash (Town Hall) 21 – Oysterband & June Tabor (City Varieties) 22 – Suffokate (Well) 23 – Moroccan Market of Handicraft (Kirkgate Market) 24 – Retox (Well) 25 – Black Lace (Brudenell) 26 – Deli Market (Kirkstall Abbey) 27 – Courtyard Comedy Club (WYP) 28 – Black Stone Cherry (Met) 29 – We Will Rock You (Grand) 30 – The Drums (Met)

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Dec 1 – Fleet Foxes (Academy) 2 – The Lemonheads (Uni) 3 – The Beat (Brudenell) 4 – Affordable Vintage Fair (Corn Exchange) 5 – Death In Vegas (Cockpit) 6 – Desert and Wine Matching Evening (Seven Arts) 7 – Top Hat (Grand) 8 – The Magic Band (Irish Centre) 9 – The Undertones (Cockpit) 10 – Christmas Concert (City Museum) 11 – Leeds Carnegie v Cornish Pirates (Headingley) 12 – Steve Harley & Cockney Rebel (Cockpit) 13 – Jack & The Beanstalk (WYP) 14 - Film For An Abandoned Project (Lyric House Cinema) 15 – A Christmas Garland (Temple Newsham) 16 – Earthtone9 (Well) 17 – Leeds Utd v Reading (Elland Road) 18 – Carols at the Abbey (Kirkstall Abbey) 19 –Totally Tropical Christmas (Tropical World) 20 – Shed Seven (Academy) 21 - Totally Tropical Christmas (Tropical World) 22 – Beauty & The Beast (Grand) 23 – Aladdin – The Rock’n’Roll Panto (City Varieties) 24 – Annie (WYP) 25 – Christmas Day (mums) 26 – Boxing Day (pub) 27 – Comedy Cellar (Verve) 28 – Kill For A Seat Comedy (Seven Arts) 29 – The Rob Dylan Band (New Roscoe) 30 – The Wedding Present (Academy) 31 – New Years Eve (out of mind or in with Jools)

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Issue five of The Leeds Debacle is: John Barran Ross Newsome Tom Dean Glen Pinder Emily Ward Danny Egan George Quinn Lisa Darbyshire Joseph Wood Gareth Jones Tom E Twisted Appyman Gareth Tantram Rachel Gardner Jo Watson Emily Hallewell Adam Lee Jones Robin Jahdi Kyle James-Patrick Damien Knightley Steve Lunn Dave Barlow

THANK YOU FOR READING THE DEBACLE TO CONTRIBUTE TO ISSUE 6 PLEASE CONTACT THEDEBACLE@HOTMAIL.CO.UK