FUCK IT, I'LL BE A BARBER

Words Louis Beneventi

@louisbeneventi

Louis is a content creator based in London. Along with being a master barber, Louis also finds time to drink excessively large glasses of wine -apt, considering he, unfortunately, happens to be a Chelsea fan.

I’ve been writing these columns for a few months now, and when Beth told me to try and write something about finding light from dark I thought there was only one thing I could write about. And it’s something I’m asked often.

“How did you become a barber, and why?” Well strap in kids. You’re going to find out. Let’s bring it back first. The why. Truth is, I just loved the vibe in a barbershop. Growing up, I’d got it cut by my dad’s hairdresser under some very specific parameters because of school: Above the ears, off the collar, no fades allowed and a specific one from my dad, don’t cut into the cows lick. Now, I get my dad’s angle. It was the small detail he really liked and that’s fine. But I never stood the dynamic from my school where apparently it was unprofessional to have a decent trim. Maybe they thought that if I got a skinfade, I’d steal a car, hold up a petrol station and get a five star wanted level on the streets of Los Santos.

Anyway, turns out that’s not the case, and the first thing I did once I’d moved to a different school and tried to catch-up with the Justin Bieber flick by growing my hair out and failing, was go into the barbershop for the first time.

I’d walked past it so often, but had never gone in. I’d always loved the big neon Coca-Cola sign, old school leather barber chairs, and the idea of the opportunity to have a free can of coke and a crack at FIFA whilst I waited for a trim at 14. The chance to try out Eminike and McGeady’s skill moves was just too tempting.

Anyway, I sat in the chair and the first attempt was an Elvis pompadour with sideburns… Well, attempted burners. Puberty had only just started and the bumfluff was yet to turn into hair. But the experience I had, allowed me to find somewhere I felt I belonged, and I walked out feeling good. It’s such an important part of any teen's life where you start to figure out who you want to be, and I’ll always be grateful to Farg’s Barbershop in Tunbridge Wells for helping me on that journey.

Cut to a few years later and I’m ending up sitting in the shop for hours whilst waiting for a trim and chatting with the boys about anything and everything, and appreciating a barbershop for what a great one can be. But with uni rolling round, I moved away and needed to find a new place, where I very quickly discovered that not all shops have the same quality. Apparently a short, back and sides is a Peaky Blinders undercut to some barbers, so I made an emergency trip. Back in Sunny Tunny on the Costa Del Kent, I’m back in the original shop and the lads have all gathered round to discuss how to fix the mess. Mum wasn’t happy, but the fat Eden Hazard was an important stage of my hair styling career. But the big thing, was being reminded of that safe space. As much as I got a ribbing for the Tommy Shelby, they spent their time making sure we could get it fixed. So, for the next three years I travelled back from London for a trim. That awesome feeling when you find YOUR barber is unmatched, and in that period, he made me look and feel good on people’s screens with his tri-weekly pick-me-up.

It was an important part of my routine, and really helped me when I was low. As time went on with my content creation, I was feeling it going stale and wasn’t enjoying it as much as I had done in the past. It was a nice escape from workplace politics, boring unnecessary drama and repetitiveness which were really getting to me, and eventually I had to stop. In all honesty, I was a bit lost though. Since 16, I’d put myself on a trajectory to go into the world of football and I wasn’t sure where to go.

I’d decided to have a clean break, move out of where I was and into my new place in June 2021. I was back in Wembley, it was hot, my hair was getting all over the place and I’d considered shaving my head at least 321 times. My barber back home had packed it in because of COVID, and I was feeling lost and miserable after fighting battles with landlords and not being sure what my next steps were. Then it hit me as I was unpacking my last bedroom box. I remember it vividly. I’d just stubbed my toe dancing about and putting off the unpacking process scrolling through TikTok and feeling sorry for my little toe. You know those moments? When you sit there and your brain just… Clicks. The sparks fly, your eyes widen and an idea just brings you to life. After panic attacks, being lost and not knowing where to go I’d found my way out. Wembley needed a barber like Gotham needs Batman. I called my dad, just to see what he thought. I’ve had enough harebrained to make Del Boy look like an amateur, but this one. This one was a stroke of genius. We spoke about it for a solid hour, seeing how it could it work, if it was the right decision, but it fit.

Two weeks later, after not picking up a pair of scissors in my life, I was staring at a mannequin head beginning my journey as a barber, and I haven’t looked back. Sure, it’s not been smooth, but re-training is the best decision I’ve made. When I was at one of my lowest points, it lifted me up. When I felt bad, a barber made me feel better, and then, I decided it was my turn to return the favours.

Sometimes, “fuck it,” really is the best policy.

It was a typical premiere day in London. It was the thirteenth of July. Leicester Square was awash with a thematic black carpet and the barrier around the Odeon heaved with excited fans eager to catch a glimpse of the star-studded cast of Christopher Nolan’s latest epic Oppenheimer. Nolan, in the good company of Cillian Murphy, Matt Damon, Florence Pugh, Emily Blunt and the rest of his motley crew, earnestly greeted the hankering press and fans, proudly talking on their electrifying experience bringing to life this motion picture maverick. Those with tickets ushered inside the infamous art deco screen, sold out to its capacity of nearly nine hundred, when Christopher Nolan stepped out to introduce the film alone.

Within minutes, the theatre was bustling with murmurs - speculations which had shadowed the evening like the dull British rain itself were soon recognised to have become true and Nolan confirmed it himself: “You’ve seen [the cast] here earlier on the red carpet. […] They’re off to write their picket signs for what we believe to be an imminent strike by the SAG, joining one of my guilds, the Writers Guide, in the struggle for fair wages for working members of the unions. And we support them.”

The unification of the Screen Actors Guild

(SAG-AFTRA) with the WGA (Writers Guild of America) in strike action had felt, up until a few days prior, remote. There had been murmurs of the potentiality of a dual strike across the pond but over in the UK, swept up in the Summer film premieres and with most productions on Equity contracts as opposed to SAG-AFTRA, the political breakdowns were pretty much a detached entity to us. By the time the Oppenheimer cast had departed Leicester Square, however, Fran Drescher’s explosive speech ignited a fierce call for total shutdown that, still now some three weeks later, has left a haze of uncertainty over both American and British filmmaking.

Ridley Scott’s colossal sequel to his 2000 best picture winner, Gladiator, shut down operation in Malta with stars Denzel Washington and Pedro Pascal flying home to Los Angeles. Disney’s Deadpool 3 and Warner Brothers’ Beetlejuice 2 also came to a halt. Press circuits were cut short as actors are bound by strike rules not to engage in promotional content during this time, putting a full-stop ending to the summer of Barbenheimer madness. Fall film festivals found themselves in free fall, with many much anticipated releases from struck studios removed from programmes until the cast are able to walk the red carpet again — Amazon’s Luca Guadagino directed Challengers starring Zendaya was

“BY DAY CRACKING. OF THE LARGE. FUCKED

DAY 72 OUR SOULS WERE CRACKING. THE DISTANT HORIZON THE STRIKE LOOMED LONG AND LARGE. BUT THEN THE AMPTP FUCKED UP.”

THE PROBLEM STOPS THERE, AND MOST BE AT THE PILE WHEN THE ISSUED.

“EVENTUALLY THE

“MOST ACTORS AND MOST WRITERS SEEM TO BE AT THE BOTTOM OF THE PILE WHEN THE

“EVENTUALLY THE PEOPLE BREAK DOWN THE GATES

“THERE’S BEEN UNCHECKED

OPPORTUNISM

JUST SPIRALLED CONTROL AND GOES ACROSS OF THE INDUSTRY RIGHT NOW.”

WORDS & INTERVIEW BETH BENNETT

Photography Richard Kelly

Richard Kelly has made a name for himself in the sprawling British music scene photographing the best of British talent over the past twenty five years. From being the official photographer for the Arctic Monkeys and the first person to take a media shot of Florence and the Machine before they rocketed to success, he prides himself on capturing the very essence of upcoming talent. Now, he’s put these shots up along with some neverbefore-seens in the Kimpton Clocktower Hotel in Manchester so we hitched a ride down the motorway and caught up with the man behind the camera…

EJ When/How did you start out with photography?

RK I first got into photography when I worked at the Manchester Evening News as a messenger when I left school at 16. I used to see the photographers coming in dressed in their own clothes, no suits like everybody else. And their jobs would be something different every day; they’d go from shooting Oasis to Alex Ferguson at Man United and having that freedom really appealed to me. From then, I started going to night school and was awarded a City & Guilds diploma in Photography which led to working in film labs and photography printers. Then, I pursued higher education and got a degree in Documentary and Fine Art Photography where I started to shoot up and coming bands for a bit of money and worked as an assistant for bigger photographers who took me on location around the world. The experience of those was priceless. I feel like the technical skills I learnt with them, alongside my work in labs and darkrooms, taught me a huge amount about the craft and really gave me a solid foundation before striking up on my own.

EJ How did you begin to develop your individual photographic style?

RK There were two photographers in particular who I worked with, Gary Steer and Mary Scanlon, who taught me a lot about interacting with the subject of the photograph and how to make them feel comfortable and really get the best out of them. Their tutelage was really integral to informing my own personal practice.

EJ Can you talk a little bit about the relationship you have with music and photography?

RK When I was growing up, I was always drawn to iconic shots of musicians and they’re what I really remember when I think about photography in my early life. The photographs of The Beatles and Rolling Stones by David Bailey and then Oasis by Jill Furmanovsky, they’re like ingrained into my memories. So I’ve always had this very raw association of bands and their aesthetics/presentations. Then, as I got into photography myself I was drawn to going to raves in Manchester and shooting the club scenes, really leaning into that documentary style that captures the unified euphoric experience of live music. This led to me getting work for Mixmag and other magazines which gave way to shooting more of the indie and upand-coming bands in the North and, then, Britain as a whole.

EJ So can you talk a bit about the way you approach photographing talent then?

RK I approach talent the same way I approach anyone I meet. I think the worst thing you can do when preparing for a shoot and then during that shoot is to get in your head about it and be thinking, "Oh this person is…". They’re just a person with a job. I think a lot of people, especially those who’ve got a bit of fame, they’re used to meeting people who want to know everything, or want to be a part of the world and be involved in the scene and see these meetings as a way to get in, so it can be quite overwhelming and alienating for these musicians and artists. And as well, I think, there’s a level of a parasocialism, particularly with musicians, when people have shared all the different moments of their lives through their songs that invites a level of familiarity that obviously isn’t reciprocated. You never want to go to a shoot acting like you’re someone’s best mate or even with the intention to become their best mate. It’s good to be friendly and get to know each other, of course, but at the end of the day, we’re all just doing our jobs that pay our bills. What I like to do is spend a bit of time talking through the shoot, even if it’s just five or ten minutes, throwing my ideas out there and allowing them to get a general feel for what we’re going to do. It helps create more of a two-way process where the person can communicate what they want out of the shoot as well and, ultimately, everyone is comfortable going into it.

EJ What’s your advice for ensuring you can completely capture the personality of a person/subculture?

RK Like I said, it’s a two-way process, so being open to the collaborative aspect when someone is sharing their ideas with you…it shows a side to them that’s really quite lovely to capture. Of course, sometimes you’re working with someone and you may not have enough time to properly chat and have these moments, or maybe they’re not that open to some of your suggestions but as long as you’re making sure that they’re comfortable enough during the shoot, even with the little details of how you approach certain positions or angles, you’re going to see their character on the photograph. Documentary photography is easier almost in that regard because you can blend into the moment, like a fly on the wall, and you’re seeing people with their guard down in moments of proper joy so as long as your settings are all good, all you have to do is press the shutter.

EJ I suppose my final question then is what drew you to the title ‘A Time and A Place’ for this exhibit?

RK When Kimpton Clocktower Hotel approached me about the exhibition, we agreed that it was to be celebrating the musical heritage and prospective future of the music scene in Manchester. What

I wanted to do was use my platform to feature and then raise the profile of upand-coming talent in this scene. So using my historical shots of the Arctic Monkeys and Amy Winehouse was really a bit of a lure in getting people to look at the recent portraits I’d done of the likes of Antony Szmierek and Akemi Fox who are Manchester locals that are on their way up. In a way, it’s likening these newer artists to those that we now regard as British music royalty. It’s really about capturing people at a time and a place in their careers and reminding people that everyone has at this level once. Hopefully it’s introduced people to these new artists and they’ve left with some new tracks in their Spotify playlists.

During the opening scenes of the sophomore season of The Bear, the ever-volatile Richie (Ebon Moss-Bachrach) stops head chef Carmy (Jeremy Allen White) in his tracks with one, oddly reflective question; “Yo, you ever think about purpose?” “I love you, but I do not have time for this,” is his response, shortly before admitting (or fibbing) that he does in fact have time and settling into a discussion about the changes they’re all facing and Richie’s place in those plans. Picking up exactly where season one left off, we find the team behind The Original Beef of Chicagoland preparing for their new venture, The Bear - a high end restaurant with its sights set on a Michelin star - funded by the cash loan previously concealed in cans of pulped tomatoes from their walk-in.

This conversation succinctly introduces the two fundamental themes of this season; purpose and time. Where the tomato cans once made their mark, hiding in plain sight throughout the show’s first run, clocks now permeate the visuals, acting as an ever-present reminder of looming deadlines and the balancing act of life’s many commitments. The neat trick this season plays is how it expands the canvas on everyone, allowing us an insight into each character’s individual struggles with that ticking clock. Marcus (Lionel Boyce) chooses to prioritise perfecting his craft over sitting by his mother’s hospital bed; Tina (Liza Colón-Zayas) and Ebra (Edwin Lee Gibson) are sent off to culinary school, with Tina electing to go full speed ahead at her new pursuit while Ebra draws out his days in protest; Natalie’s (Abby Elliot) pregnancy places a time bomb on her life while she grapples with the relationship she has with her own mother (a scene-stealing Jamie Lee-Curtis); the failures of Sydney’s (Ayo Edebiri) past haunt her as she chases a future dream.

For Carmy, these themes manifest themselves the most when he reconnects with an old friend, Claire (Molly Gordon), a bright-eyed medical student who sees him for more than just his successes but also threatens the very fabric of what has made him great. Pair that with a flashback episode based around a Berzatto family Christmas, that twins in tone with the stand-out, one-take seventh instalment of season one, it’s clear to see that Carmy has a lot on his plate to manage; to give his time to.

All these trials and tribulations, however, make way for excellent performances all round. The show is peppered with sharp yet subtle acting, as well as authentic moments that can only be conjured by a cast who are as much of a family off-screen as they are on. Matty Matheson, professional chef turned actor, effortlessly helps to keep the tone light, while Ebon Moss-Bachrach fully commits to a character arc that steals the show and leaves you itching to scream Taylor Swift's Love Story at the top of your lungs as you drive home from work.

Despite its short run-time, the show itself is generous with its minutes. Small delectable moments between two characters are savoured and montages of Chicago city life are as prominent as ever, taking the screen time needed to firmly re-establish the show in its gritty, midwestern setting. It has all the chaos and charm as season one while asking some very pertinent questions about work, relationships, generational trauma and finding your place in the world. For the music fans, the soundtrack is as electric as ever, featuring old favourites Wilco, Counting Crows, Bruce Hornsby and R.E.M, as well as finally giving us the explosive drop of Refused’s New Noise after starving us of its impact for the past year.

Given more time (and space on the page), I could go on and on about the intricacies of what makes this show great. Following up on season one was always going to be a hard task but Christopher Storer delivers an outstanding second course to what we hope will be a slow, indulgent feast that makes every second count. Bring on season three.