Trace Magazine

STYLES AHEAD

Beirut Serbia Mali South Africa Chinatown, NYC Diane Birch Otto The xx KELIS

us $5.99 can $7.99 uk £3.95 Fr €5.50 Photography RANKIN

produced by Transcultural Styles + Ideas

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photo_Fabrice Mabillot

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MASTHEAD

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CONTRIBUTORS

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EDITOR’S LETTER

CODE

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Terrace Beirut, Confidential Scouting the exploding artistic scene in the Lebanese capital

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Tribute Royal Tragedy TRACE pays tribute to the fashion visionary and designer extraordinaire Alexander McQueen

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Beautiful Fresh Face Marc Baptiste captures emerging model Ava

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Code Mode Head in the Clouds Newcomer R’el Dade heats up Brooklyn

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Love Deluxe New York City’s Push Culture Street surfing on concrete waves

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Sporting Life The Greatest “Playa” Behind the scenes with tennis star Jo-Wilfried Tsonga

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Next Level The Red Rooster Chicago Bull’s forward Joakim Noah unveils his latest shoe from Le Coq Sportif

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Music Uncommon Mangue Beat in Alphabet City TRACE sits down with Brazilian pop star Otto

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Backstage The xx Affair Rising London pop stars light up the stage

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Up All Rell Break Loose Bronx-born DJ Rell on his passion for the turntables

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Scene Sons of the Morning The making of Serbia’s EXIT music festival

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Art Eternal Empathic Tendencies Artist Saya Woolfalk takes us on a journey to No-Place

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Gallery Behind the Runway Famed casting director Daniel Peddle illustrates the models and mayhem backstage at Fashion Week

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Next Gen Life As She Sees It A father’s tribute to his daughter

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Locale Uncommon Ground Alessandro Zuek Simonetti documents New York’s Chinatown

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Insider Mali Mali Fabrice Mabillot’s inside perspective on this Sub-Saharan gem

photo_Emmanuel andre

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Intro Full of Life

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Back with a Vengeance TRACE cover star Kelis opens up about her pregnancy, collaborating with David Guetta and the evolution of her career

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Ubuntu Emmanuel Andre’s visual portfolio of TBWA’s Room 13 in South Africa

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Eyes Wide Open Nadia Bettega sets out to define human rights issues through vivid portrayals of 60 individuals

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North of the Bible Belt Photographer Marc Baptiste captures soulful songstress Diane Birch

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Flash! Style Week Jamaica The freshest faces straight from Kingston

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Lucky 7 Amerykah, New Q&A with Erykah Badu

ISSUE No.

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masthead #87 Chairman & Editor in Chief_Claude Grunitzky Editorial Assistant Editor_Mikaela Gauer Editor at Large_Stephen Greco International Editor_AnicĂŠe Gaddis Editorial Assistant_Audrey Guttman Staff Writer_Fleur MacDonald Art Art directors_Andy Li, Crayon Lee Assistant to Art directors_Kyn Fashion Director_Christine De Lassus Fashion Market Editor_Robyn V. Fernandes UK Editorial UK Editor_Pardeep Sall Print and Production Manager_Kelly Goddard Fashion Editor_Davina Mashru Editorial and Fashion Assistant_Melissa Simpemba Art Assistant_Simon Auckland

KELIS

photography_Rankin fashion_Paula Bradley & Rodrigo Otazu hair_Anthony Dickey & Miesha Oliver makeup_Kathy Jeung

Contributing Writers_Khalilah Clelland, Nathalie Herring Contributing Photographers_Alessandro Simonetti, Christian Witkin, Emmanuel Andre, Fabrice Mabillot, Jiri Makovec, Marc Baptiste, Nadia Bettega, Patrick Ibanez, Rankin, Sebastian Lucrecio Advertising Representative_Damaris Taylor Blog Editor_Sigourney Salley Trace UK is published by Reactor Media UK Publishing Consultant_Ben Martin Sales Manager_Christopher Keeling UK Interns_Marquita Harris, Michaela Nessim Join the Trace Magazine group on Facebook and read the Trace blog at http://blog.trace212.com Š2010 TRACE MAGAZINE

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W E L C OM E tO OU R WOR L D

© K EITH H A RRING FOUNDATION. USED W ITH PERMISSION.

“UNTITLED (FROM AGA INST A LL ODDS)”- GOUACHE A ND BL ACK INK ON PA PER- OCTOBER 3RD, 1989

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CONTRIBUTORS

Alessandro Zuek Simonetti graduated from The Academy of Fine Arts of Venice, Italy in 2001 and has since gone on to become a professor of photography at The Institute of Arts in Padova. His work has been featured in Tema Celeste, GQ, Lodown, Rolling Stone, Variatio, Arkitip and numerous other international publications, and has been part of campaigns and art projects for a variety of global brands. For over a decade, his use of avantgarde methods of photography, such as capturing the layers of cultural nuance beneath the surface, has established Simonetti as a boundary-pushing pioneer.

His latest project, “The Last Neighborhood Standing”, was presented at the Leica Gallery of New York. His work has also been shown at Jarach Gallery in Venice, Viafarini in Milano and the Tate Modern in London.

Emmanuel André was born in France and partly raised in America. Since 1993, he has pursued a career in advertising, which led him to travel all over the world and to settle in New York, Paris and Hong Kong. Outside of his dayto-day work, André specializes in portrait photography and has photographed hundreds of subjects from all walks of life. In June 2009, André exhibited a portfolio entitled Terra Nova at the Lio Malca Gallery in New York. Most recently, he exhibited the Ubuntu portfolio at the Austrian Cultural Forum in New York, at the MUBE in Sao Paulo, as well as in Sydney and Melbourne in Australia, and has plans to travel to many other cities in 2010.

Fleur Macdonald was born in London, UK and has lived in both Paris and New York. She graduated top of her year in French and Latin literature from the University of Oxford in 2008 and continues to pursue these two subjects with a passion. Since 2008, Fleur has interned at the Louvre and the Guggenheim NY and joined the Trace team in 2009. She is currently setting up a the Omnivore, a website which aggregates press reviews for books, film and theatre and is about to launch live events. She enjoys hanging out in East London (and her hero is Eric Cantona).

Izumi Chiaraluce is an artist from a Japanese and Italian background.

She lives and works mainly in Italy and New York. She enjoys experimenting with different media such as drawing, painting, installation, short film and animation. She has exhibited in group and solo exhibitions internationally in museums and galleries including the Galerie du Jour Agnès b. in Paris, MACRO (Contemporary Art Museum) in Rome, MAMCO Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art in Geneva, Recoleta Museum in Buenos Aires, and the Annina Nosei Gallery in New York.

Christian Witkin was born in Manchester, England, to an American father and Dutch mother. He lived in Amsterdam until 1984, when at age 17 he moved to America to pursue his education at Syracuse University and graduated with a B.A. in Fine Art and Photography. In the summer of 1993, Witkin launched his professional career, and since, has photographed portraits and fashion for editorial clients such as Vogue, W, Harper’s Bazaar, Vanity Fair and the New York Times Magazine. The recipient of numerous awards, he has also created memorable campaigns for IBM, American Express, Microsoft, Calvin Klein, Levi’s, Nike and Gap. In 2006 He began experimenting with moving pictures which translated immediately into short films and commercial directing. Witkin’s personal work has been exhibited in New York, Amsterdam, Tokyo, and Paris since 1991.

Jiri Makovec lives and works between New York, Prague and St Gallen. His work has been exhibited at the International Center of Photography, Phillips de Pury & Company Auctions, the ChobiMela International Festival of Photography in Bangladesh, and the Kiyosato Museum of Photographic Arts in Japan.

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ISSUE No.

STYLES AHEAD

EDITOR’S LETTER

Our raison d’être text_CLAUDE GRUNITZKY When Ghana lost the match against Uruguay after that unfair penalty kick last month, I posted a short comment on Facebook, saying “This World Cup Sucks.” Needless to say, many people empathized with my disappointment.

What I meant, really, was not that this world cup sucks, but that, as a native African, it hurt to see our last men standing exit the game in such an unfortunate matter. I know, from speaking and texting with my fellow Africans on that day, that the pride of the entire continent was on the line. It really would have been great to finally see an African team in the semi-finals.

In reality, it was obvious from the blaring, cacophonous sound of the vuvuzelas in the stadiums, and the minor riots in some Brooklyn sports bars, that just as many non-Africans were rooting for the Black Stars. It looked to me as if our generous African spirit - and legendary hospitality - had somehow lifted the pessimistic, recessionary mood of the day, and African love was being transferred onto the Black Stars with the same fervor that had been displayed towards the hosts, those endearing Bafana Bafana underdogs.

This really is the year of Africa, and post-apartheid South Africa, the economic engine of the continent, is clearly an integral part of our summer “Styles Ahead” issue. Starting with Emmanuel André’s photographic portfolio “Ubuntu” (page 92), which follows our successful January 25th “Ubuntu” exhibit at New York’s Austrian Cultural Forum, all the way to the picture on this page, we wanted to celebrate South African writer John Hunt’s imperative of “Africa Rising”.

This picture, taken in 1964, is part of the Jewish Museum’s South African Photographs: David Goldblatt exhibition of 150 black-and-white silver gelatin prints taken by Goldblatt between 1948 and 2009. To me, it encapsulates the reality of the loving, transcultural Africa around the world many have come to love. David Goldblatt has used his camera to explore South Africa’s mines; the descendants of seventeenth-century Dutch settlers called Afrikaners who were the architects of apartheid; life in Boksburg, a small middle-class white community; the Bantustans or “puppet states” in which blacks were forced to live; structures built for purposes ranging from shelter to commemoration; and Johannesburg, the city in which Goldblatt lives.

The photographer once wrote, “I am neither an activist nor a missionary. Yet I had begun to realize an involvement with this place and the people among whom I lived that would not be stilled and that I needed to grasp and probe. I wanted to explore the specifics of our lives, not in theories but in the grit and taste and touch of things, and to bring those specifics into that particular coherence that the camera both enables and demands.” More than ever, words and pictures like these are part of TRACE magazine’s raison d’être.

South African Photographs: David Goldblatt is at the Jewish Museum, 1109 5th Ave at 92nd St, New York City, until September 19th www.thejewishmuseum.org

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TERRACE

BEIRUT, CONFIDENTIAL Scouting the exploding artistic scene in the Lebanese capital text and photography_AUDREY GUTTMAN

A cosmetic store looms over a gently decaying townhouse; a lavish club stands erect next to remnants poking out from the waste ground of old city pipeline – there is a clash in Lebanon, and it’s not the one you think. To a newcomer’s eye, it’s tempting to view Beirut as an exceptional convergence of old and new, the product of a culture that’s already disappeared, as well as a fair caricature of America’s excesses: women in micro-skirts, impeccably painted nails and peroxide hair, call to mind an aspartame sweetness that is part snobbery, and part escape from a tense reality. It’s hard to avoid the myriad of nail salons, beauty lounges, makeup institutes, hairdressers, permanent tattoo parlors and botox clinics that all attest to an obsession with physical perfection. And now that the old city center has been rebuilt as a miniature-shopping mecca, patronized by the Saudis, the buildings that remain are sleek and modern, mostly showcasing European luxury brands. But look in nearby streets, and arabesque Ottoman buildings are still the keepers of the city’s soul. Little by

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little, the cartoon crumbles, as one uncovers the disconcerting kindness behind the exotic glaze, the tolerance between the various communities, and an openmindedness that knits society together.

By all means, surprises abound in Beirut. Its motley crowd of cultural and ideological identities makes for a thriving creative scene, with a taste for the underground, and the unconventional. The pulse of this city is beating fast, with constant renewal in its cultural life. But staying in the Lebanese loop is a challenge without friends in the know, who might casually drop, “oh, something’s going on tonight at the Walimat”, or a friendly stranger who tips you off about an impromptu concert. (It is with the neophyte’s joy that you become, in turn, ambassador to the powerful mouth-to-mouth resuscitation). This taste for confidentiality was harnessed by the organizers of Cotton Candy, a guerilla party concept which, like old school raves, changes its venue each and every

Its motley crowd of cultural and ideological identities makes for a thriving creative scene, with a taste for the underground, and the unconventional. time, ending up in abandoned movie theaters and parking lots. Now it attracts one of the hippest and most diverse underground party crowds imaginable, as an alternative to more popular clubs like the Bernard Khoury-designed Bo18, an underground bunker whose roof slides over at sunrise, a surreal experience that defies our notion of clubbing. And then there is the Sky bar. ‘The best bar in the world’, according to its eponymous website: a 1500-people festival of plastic and debauchery – if you can get a table. The city by night resembles an amusement park planted in post-apocalyptical scenery. Everyone rubs shoulders in the 180 square miles capital: golden bimbos, businessmen, punks, kids on ecstasy, gays, transsexuals – a nocturnal intensity that echoes the frustrations due to the war and religious dogmas. In truth, partying is probably the only thing that you find as is when you come back to Lebanon, and this is no mere consolation considering that all the rest – the government, the state of reconstruction, the name of the new hotspot – is as unstable as a peace period.

That day-to-day way of life, that taste of the absurd (the same that exists, ironically, on the other side of the Israeli border) is a catalyst for musical bombshells such as Mashrou’ Leila, a band whose live performances actually allow you to catch a glimpse of that magic. As the lead singer, Hamed Sinno, speaks of incoherent sexuality, the war (one song is a twist on a popular children’s song, interrupted by an unfamiliar line “tic tic tic boom”), power struggles, and gossip (a national recreation), one understands why their CD release party gathered the largest audience ever for an underground act. Says Sinno, “we love Beirut because it is always full of energy. People here are often confronted with a sense of fatality given the political tensions, and at the same time, you have the polar opposite: thirty different kinds of religious or political moralizations slapping you in the face every two seconds, at lease one huge conflict on a yearly basis, and a lot of music and arts production going on throughout. It’s pretty intense.”

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“We’ve inherited from the war a feeling of urgency, a thirst to live that urges us to party and launch projects” – Khaled Mouzanar

One must experience Beirut first hand to feel its contagious raw, electrified energy: this vibe flows through most of the creative forces behind the city. Take Yasmine Hamdan. One half of the alternative band Soap Kills, she has risen from the Lebanese rock scene to team up with Mirwais, Madonna’s producer, introducing Arabic vocals to dance floors around the world. Or jump to fashion, where fresh blood is taking over after the generation of Elie Saab and Zuhair Murad, both of who make glamorous gowns for movie stars. This year, the John Galliano-trained designer, Yasmeen Borro, 25, opened the first vintage store in the Middle East, along with her own avant garde creations. Last year, Krikor Jabotian got his start with the help of Rabih Kayrouz, the founder of the Starch project, a downtown concept store that rotates the debut collections of his protégés. The youngest Lebanese designer at 23, he is perhaps the fastest rising, too. In his showroom, a luminous space tucked away in a traditional building, he states: “Beirut is a fashion city: it’s a real advantage for me. But

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Lebanese people are good at everything they do, anywhere in the world. It’s part of our nature!”

Historically, it was commonplace for Lebanese citizens to emigrate in search of economic prosperity, and this tradition stretches back to Lebanon’s role as a “gateway” of relations between Europe and the East. Today a rough half of the Lebanese population lives in exile. The country’s population is about four million, with even more dispersed around the rest of the world. As a result, its population is constantly leaving and coming back, creating a transient feeling of belonging that, perhaps, is a reason for this formidable energy created when the golden youth reunites to party on their ground. The art world was yet another casualty of Lebanon’s repetitive cycle of political unrest and fragile truces, even though circumstances have changed. The recently inaugurated Beirut Art Center has all the hallmarks of art centers and kunsthalles around the

world – screening and performance rooms, a mediatheque, a bookstore, and small designed objects on sale. With graffiti outside, visible through its glass wall, and the hipster-like young man holding the front office, you could easily be in Brooklyn or Berlin.

But the absence of an established art scene in Lebanon prompted many artists to move to Europe, notably France. They are now internationally recognized and several of them, including the photographers Lamia Joreige and Akram Zaatari, were chosen for the first ever Lebanese Pavilion at the Venice Biennial in 2007.

Their work, although diverse in medium and style, often depicts deracination and war, and speaks to anyone who’s ever had to adjust to a foreign culture.

For a recent Paris show, video artist couple Joana Hadjithomas and Khalil Joreige created a series of superimpressions of Beirut views taken from slightly different angles and at different times. The resulting image is blurry, incoherent:

nothing is really certain here, but it’s this very opacity that can make it feel terribly real.

When the movie Caramel was primed at the Cannes Festival a couple of years ago, Khaled Mouzanar, the author of the soundtrack, said: “we’ve inherited from the war a feeling of urgency, a thirst to live that urges us to party and launch projects”. But don’t call the rise of art and music talents in Beirut a creative boom, or you’ll take the risk of being assailed by artists, stylists and musicians alike, to cries of: “well, it’s not like we were ever creatively stunted”, or “I think ‘creative boom’ is bit out of context here. Lebanon has always been a cradle of exchange. You might have just noticed us, but we’ve always been there singing our lungs out to the Gods so they can dance to our beat.”

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TRIBUTE

Royal Tragedy TRACE pays tribute to the fashion visionary and designer extraordinaire Alexander McQueen. text_FLEUR MACDONALD

photography_KCD

Verbal hooligan, artistic provocateur and self-proclaimed “pink sheep of the family”, Alexander McQueen’s wit was as razor sharp as his tailoring. Drolly caustic in conversation, his one-liners were infamously cutting. “Vainer than the veins running through my dick” was his character assassination of David Beckham. Or his wry choice for the ultimate dinner guest: “Jesus of Nazareth...

Or Mel Gibson, to be there if Jesus wasn’t true.” As for his thoughts on his sexuality: “I went straight from my mother’s womb onto the gay parade.”

Born in 1970, in the East End of London, McQueen left school at the age of 16 to train on Savile Row at Gieves & Hawkes, where he allegedly embroidered the words “I am a c**t” into the lining of the Prince of Wales’ suit. In 1991, the stylist Isabella Blow’s purchase of his entire Central St Martin’s graduation show heralded both the start of his career and an intense friendship tragically cut short by her suicide in 2007.

McQueen was contentiously named as John Galliano’s successor at Givenchy in ‘96. Despite admitting to Vogue that his debut show was “crap”, four years of memorable collections ensued. His exquisite couture courted controversy with shows featuring car-robots spraying paint over white cotton dresses and double amputee model Aimee Mullins striding down the catwalk on intricately carved wooden legs.

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“He may have been a fan of controversy, a cockney ‘oik’ who slept under a giant portrait of himself, but he was also deeply sensitive and fiercely intelligent.”

When this “contract - which he blamed for “constraining his creativity” - ended” he moved to the Gucci Group to focus on his own brand. McQueen’s growing commercial nous did not sacrifice critical acclaim. New stores opened in L.A. and Abu Dhabi. In addition to winning the Men’s Wear Designer of the Year Award in 2004, he was named British Fashion Awards’ British Designer of the Year four times. In 2003, he received the CFDA Award for Best International Designer and was honoured with a CBE from Queen Elizabeth II for services rendered to the fashion industry.

He may have been a fan of controversy, a cockney “oik” who slept under a giant portrait of himself, but he was also deeply sensitive and fiercely intelligent. An aficionado of the 16th century Flemish realists, of Victoriana, of Le Corbusier and of Philip Glass, he was also a keen deep sea diver and an avowed Republican who upon receiving his CBE said he “locked eyes with the Queen and it was like falling in love”.

On February 11th 2010 Lee Alexander McQueen took his own life. The strain of a relentless battle with depression and the recent blow of his mother’s death have been held accountable. He was only forty. One can’t help but recall the interview featured in the Guardian in 2004: when questioned by his mother, Joyce McQueen, on his greatest fear, his answer is now invested with poignant resonance: “Dying before you.”

Responsible for the low cut bumster, which revolutionized the proportions of tailoring, and the ubiquitous skull print, McQueen should really be remembered for including the first Indian models on the catwalk or for his final triumph, the impossibly sumptuous ’10 A/W collection which was embroidered and printed with Botticelli angels and Bosch visions of hell. Many epithets have been bandied around - enfant terrible, creative genius, a fashion innovator on par with Chanel – but it’s perhaps best to leave his legacy, his clothes, speak for themselves.

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BEAUTIFUL

Fresh Face photography_MARC BAPTISTE

What is Beautiful?

“Morality”

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model_Ava @ Next Models hair_Jamal Hodges @ B Agency NY for L’Oréal Professionnel Texture Expert make-up_Renee Garnes for Lancome @ ArtistS by Next 19

CODE MODE

Head in the Clouds Newcomer R’EL DADE heats up Brooklyn in a collision of texture and color photography_sebastian lucrecio

bodysuit_TOPSHOP necklace & rings_PAMELA LOVE 20

fashion_Robyn Victoria Fernandes

tank_ALEXANDER WANG leggings_HELMUT LANG earring & bangles_PAMELA LOVE ring_GARA DANIELLE 21

corset_ELIZABETH & JAMES leather bloomer shorts & belt_D & G all jewelry_PAMELA LOVE Photographed at THE GUTTER BOWLING ALLEY & BAR 200 North 14th Street, Brooklyn N.Y. 22

top_GAR-DE leather pants_MATTHEW WILLIAMSON shoes_DSQUARED2 earring & bangles_ALEXIS BITTAR ring_JESSICA KAGAN CUSHMAN ring_GARA DANIELLE Photographed at THE CARIBBEAN SPORTS BAR 244 Grand Street, Brooklyn N.Y. 23

jacket_ETRO top_MATTHEW WILLIAMSON cuffs & rings_JESSICA KAGAN CUSHMAN rose gold bangle_PAMELA LOVE earring_ALEXIS BITTAR Photographed at THE CARIBBEAN SPORTS BAR 244 Grand Street, Brooklyn N.Y. 24

bandeau_MARY MANVONG pant_ALEXANDRE HERCHCOVITCH earring & bangles_ALEXIS BITTAR necklace (worn as a ring)_PAMELA LOVE ring_GARA DANIELLE artwork_ CAMERON MICHEL AND VASHTI WINDISH FOR LIVE WITH ANIMALS GALLERY BROOKLYN Photographed at GLASSLANDS GALLERY 289 Kent Avenue, Brooklyn, N.Y.

model_R’EL @ Marilyn NY hair_ELSA for Kerataste Paris @ www.elsahair.com make-up_SHERI DARLYN TERRY for Smashbox @ Artists by Next fashion assistant_JOANNE PETIT-FRERE Special thanks to Malisa Masala, Mikey Weiss and the management and employees of all of the venue locations.

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LOVE DELUXE

New York City’s Push Culture: Street Surfing On Concrete Waves Longboarding enthusiast Nathalie Herring tears up the urban landscape of New York City text_NathaliE Herring

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photography_STEVE ALEXANDRE; ANNAH ROWE; LISA CHO

The phrase “Push Culture” is used to describe the diverse community of longboarders, most noticeably in New York, whose style of skateboarding is mainly spotlighted in the streets, amongst traffic and boundless in terrain.

The sole of my worn down Converse sneakers thrust forward repeatedly against the pavement underneath me. I look down towards the long stretch of road ahead, glistening amid streetlights, revealing the way through the night. My only impulse is to ride in the midst of it all and since I don’t have a definite destination in sight; the city is mine for the taking. Left to right, right to left, my movements, reminiscent of surfing a perfect wave to shore, are in sync with the flow of the metropolis surrounding me. A downhill street along my journey has finally entered the picture and without any hesitation I balance both feet atop my vehicle, tuck low and begin traversing the span of a concrete wave. The traffic light at the bottom of the hill is seconds from turning red; I grab hold of the car in front of me and virtually unnoticed by the driver, I’m pulled halfway across the intersection, beating the light. Shortly afterwards I let go, but still immersed in motion; I take a deep breath, stretch out my arms in a bird like stance and for a quick second my eyes close in appreciation of the moment. My name is Nathalie Herring; I’m a longboarder, and shredding the streets of New York is my lifestyle.

In the mid 1950s, longboard skateboarding became popular alongside the booming surf culture on the west coast. The rolling hills of California were the ideal location for skateboarders and surfers alike to recreate the wavelike maneuvers of a surfboard on harder ground. The longboard, unlike traditional skateboards, was ridden by those with a need for speed and most importantly, a desire to go further in distance without any limitations. This revolutionary style of “surfing on the sidewalk,” first developed by Karina Keelio, would provide the fastest, smoothest ride possible on a skateboard. Fast forward 50 years later to the East Coast and the streets of New York City has become the most unique location for “street surfing”, or what’s largely known as longboarding.

A longboard is ideal for anyone looking for a more eco-friendly and cheaper method of transportation, especially in urban areas. The average longboarder in New York City can exceed speeds of 20mph and above. The phrase “Push Culture” is used to describe the diverse community of longboarders, most noticeably in New York, whose style of skateboarding is mainly spotlighted in the streets, amongst traffic and boundless in terrain.

The longboarders in this scene are no strangers to experiencing their share of dodging ruthless taxi drivers, falls on broken pavements and crashing into jaywalkers oblivious to the new wave of transportation in the streets. Whenever I longboard, no matter where I am, being alert in my immediate environment is to my advantage. You must be ready for anything and everything, especially in New York. The urban landscape that is the foundation of “the city that never sleeps” is quite honestly, “a force to be reckoned with”. Only a few of the most daring skaters attempt to skip the delay of the MTA and “street surf” to their destination. Longboarding is a predominantly male sport, but a few females, like myself, are breaking down barriers and surfing the streets alongside their male counterparts.

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My mother, a Jamaican born woman with traditional values, wasn’t excited about my new endeavor because of the risk involved with seriously injuring myself and would often tell me, “You’re trying to kill yourself!”

I grew up in the borough of Queens and like most New Yorkers I’ve been exposed to a diverse community of people. A ride on the subway is proof of how people of all ethnicities share the same characteristics; we all are going somewhere in life. Before I began longboarding I was bored with the repetition of my life, always knowing what would happen next, never wanting to venture out into the unknown, simply because of fear. Many times I’d find myself gazing out of train car windows viewing the world from the outside looking in and never feeling a connection. It wasn’t enough to just exist in the world anymore, but instead I needed to feel alive inside of it. In 2004, while attending Barry University in Miami, I glimpsed my first longboard and I remember clearly how captivated I was by the fluid motion of the student riding atop the board cruising through campus. At that very moment I knew that this sport would take me to the higher level of living that most people would never seek to attain in their own lives. Shortly afterwards, I returned back home to New York, bought

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a Sector 9 longboard and began my journey into the longboarding scene. My mother, a Jamaican born woman with traditional values, wasn’t excited about my new endeavor because of the risk involved with seriously injuring myself and would often tell me, “You’re trying to kill yourself!” But the truth of the matter was I had nothing to lose, but everything to gain, so I embraced the longboard culture with an open mind.

There is no greater feeling than cruising down a street on a longboard. Knowing that if I push my longboard harder and faster than the cars beside me on the road, it will ultimately determine how uninterrupted the course of my skate will be. It’s an awakening sensation I get whenever I’m street surfing, because it’s fueled by the freedom of the ride. The longboarding culture is not about the competition, nor the emphasis on skill, but instead it’s geared towards how we as individuals connect with our environment. I view the city as my canvas, my

“The longboarding culture is not about the competition, nor the emphasis on skill, but instead it’s geared towards how we as individuals connect with our environment.”

longboard is the brush, I’m the painter and every day I create a masterpiece of motion. Many times throughout my life I’ve walked down Times Square and like everyone else, felt inspired by the bright lights beaming down Broadway.

But I can honestly say that nothing compares to experiencing the energy of this neighborhood than seeing it from a longboarders perspective. Whenever I street surf I begin to hear sounds more clearly, the scenery becomes more vivid and all the worries of the day aren’t the most important thoughts on my mind. A typical skate for me begins from the top of the hill at Columbus Circle and stretches all the way down Broadway to 34th Street & Penn Station.

Longboarding down Times Square is the brightest wave in New York City.

People on the sidewalks are usually unaware of anything happening around them, but I’ve noticed that every time I longboard, curiosity fills the air. Some take a few seconds from their lives to watch as I breeze pass them and many fixate their camera lens on the girl unafraid New York’s toughest streets.

Longboarding isn’t only restricted to the streets of New York City. The most one of kind locations are available for skaters to turn asphalt into liquid waves.

One of my favorite spots for longboarding is Prospect Park in Brooklyn, because it’s less crowded, the pavement is smooth as ice and I get more opportunities to do slide maneuvers on my board while bombing down the hills. The bike path along the Westside Highway is the route I normally skate on nights as I’m headed uptown towards Harlem. The background scenery along the Hudson River and parallel to New Jersey is picturesque, especially while skating by the Intrepid Museum. My most favorite location to longboard is Central Park because it offers the most versatile longboarding experience,

because of its vast hilly landscape and the larger longboard presence in the park. Race events throughout the longboard community are being organized in order to satisfy the increased interest in our Push Culture discipline. This year’s annual Broadway Bomb Race 2009, the most anticipated longboard race in the country, attracted over 300 longboarders from all over the nation as well as skaters from outside countries. The slogan often associated with this event is “You Could Die” because it involves 10 miles of outlaw skating, illegal in the streets, which could lead to an arrest if you’re not careful.

The sport of longboarding in New York and on the east coast is gaining popularity as the years progress. In June 2009, I was approached by Overbored.

Org to join the cast of an upcoming film project documenting a crew of NYC longboarders skating over three thousand miles across the Unites States and taking initiative in various communities, promoting eco-friendly alternatives to environmentally hazardous lifestyles. BUSTIN BOARDS, a NYC based Longboarding Company that makes original, high quality boards for unique people all over the world, was the first company to sponsor my involvement in the film. Now an official “Bustin Team Rider” I’ve teamed up with fellow riders Jenica Davenport and Micku Murgolo to form BUSTIN’s first all female skate division in NYC. Recently, I sat down for an interview with Fabrika Productions, an Indie film company documenting the longboarding scene in New York, which will be released next year. I can honestly say that after four years of longboarding the streets on New York, our culture is definitely setting the trend for the future of this sport.

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SPORTING LIFE

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“The Greatest” Playa Behind the scenes with tennis star Jo-Wilfried Tsonga text_FLEUR MACDONALD

photography_Christian Witkin

When the unseeded French tennis player Jo-Wilfried Tsonga smashed Rafael Nadal in straight sets in the semi final of the Australian Open in 2008, the world realised there was a new kid on the court. The basketball player Tony Parker was reportedly so excited by his compatriot’s tour de force that he couldn’t sleep during the last days of the Open. Since then the twenty-four year old has been a regular fixture in the latter rounds of the major Championships, winning his first career ATP Masters Series championship at the Paris Masters in November 2008, well over four million dollars in prize money to date and a sponsorship deal with Adidas.

Part of a new generation of French tennis stars, Jo-Wifried Tsonga and his friend, the half-French half-Guadeloupian Gaël Monfils (who has reached number nine in the world), are the heirs of half-Cameroonian Yannick Noah, the 1983 French Open winner and soul singer. In a notoriously white, elitist and competitive sport, they remain conspicuous not only for their less privileged backgrounds and dark skin but also for their enduring friendship. Jo and Gael used to spend hours on the tennis court together trying to imitate Andy Roddick’s serve.

Sign of the affection - and apprehension – felt in the locker rooms, Tsonga’s mixed race descent, 6ft2 frame and powerful game have earned him the nickname “The Mohammed Ali of Tennis”. He modestly admitted “I don’t have any poetic sayings,” but countered it with “My dad told me the stories about Ali and the fight in Kinshasa [the famous 1974 “Rumble in the Jungle” against George Foreman] that he witnessed.”

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Tsonga’s mixed race descent, 6ft2 frame and powerful game have earned him the nickname “The Mohammed Ali of Tennis”.

Jo’s black Congolese father, Didier, met his white French mother, Evelyne, after moving to Europe in the seventies to pursue a Chemistry degree. Sporting success seems to run in the Tsonga family: his father was a former international handball player; his brother Enzo, is a junior in the French basketball programme and his cousin plays for the British soccer club Wigan Athletic .

Recently the soft-spoken athlete was quite unintentionally the spark for a media furore. In early 2009, the former British prime minister’s daughter Carol Thatcher was fired from the BBC because of backstage racist remarks made by her about the tennis star. His reactions to racism are philosophical: “At the end of the day, stupidity cannot be controlled. You can only hope to contain it.”

His modesty and lack of pretension are endearing. He still borrows his mother’s car at home and hopes to use his celebrity not only as mental ammunition on the court but also to promote sport in a potential talent goldmine: Congo.

Once number two in the junior rankings and winner of the 2003 junior US Open, Tsonga’s early promise was derailed by a plague of injuries. He only played in eight tournaments in from 2006 to 2008. Painful moments have been plenty: a herniated disc, back and abdominal ailments, two right shoulder injuries, the re-injuring of an abdominal injury and doctors’ dismal prognostics.

But now a highest ranking of 6th in the world and a top ten position for two years running are confirmation that the twenty-four year old is finally fulfilling his potential. It looks like Tony Parker is going to have a few more sleepless nights.

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NEXT LEVEL

The Red Rooster Text_Mikaela Gauer

Photography_Oscar Einzeig

Chicago Bull’s forward Joakim Noah unveils his latest shoe from Le Coq Sportif at the Rodan Lounge in the heart of the Windy City.

As the son of Yannick Noah, the famous French tennis player, and grandson of Zacharie Noah, the former Cameroonian football star, Joakim Noah was born to be an athlete – as the nearly seven-foot tall forward steps out on the court for a late season Bulls vs. Cavaliers match at the United Center, everything seems to come quite naturally for the star player. However, as we wait for the game to begin, Joakim’s mentor and former coach Tyrone Green leans over and admits, “Back in the day, he was terrible. Couldn’t chew and walk at the same time, just terrible.” He leans back to survey the cheering crowd as Joakim emerges from the wings, long and lean with a dance in his step. “But what impressed me was that he worked so hard. That’s why he’s so successful. Cause he wants it. He’s the real deal.” When Joakim walked into the infamous Adidas basketball camp before his last year of high school, he had two college basketball offers on the table. When he left the camp, he had over two hundred and fifty. “He outplayed Dwight Howard, John Smith, a bunch of those guys. He was the number one

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player at that camp,” Green remembers. His father Yannick agrees: “He’s a competitor, he knows how to win, and he loves winning.”

Joakim is a unique character, and anyone who knows him well can attest to that.

As a kid, he straddled the Atlantic, shipping back and forth between New York City and France and is fluent in English, French, and Swedish, (he can thank his mother Cecilia, a former Miss Sweden, and his father for the early language lessons). His sister Yelena describes their childhood growing up in New York: “Going to a multicultural school was the perfect continuation of how we were brought up. Our friends were Moroccan, Senegalese, Italian, French, from all over the world. It was a continuation of that openness of cultures and differences.” Joakim agrees that his ability to travel from such a young age shaped his perspective: “All of the experiences you go through in your life, good or bad, make you who you are…and all of these things give you an appreciation for what’s going on in the world. It’s something that has made me who I am today”.

“He’s a competitor, he knows how to win, and he loves winning,” – Yannick Noah Earlier that day at the Rodan Lounge in downtown Chicago, Joakim joined his mother Cecilia, sister Yelena, Tyrone Green, and a few of his closest friends and teammates to unveil his latest shoe from Le Coq Sportif. Towering over everyone else in the room, Joakim seemed much more like a friendly giant than an intimidating NBA star, chatting casually with journalists and friends alike.

Joakim explained his collaboration with the French athletic brand: “We actually took an old tennis shoe and designed it into a modern-day basketball shoe, so all the insides are from a modern basketball shoe but the outside has that vintage look and that’s what I like about it”. Joakim has had a long-standing relationship with Le Coq Sportif, as his father was sponsored by the brand when he won the French Open. The brand is as individual as Joakim: “Everytime I’m on the free-throw I can tell all the other players in the NBA are looking at my shoes like, “what the f*** is that?” I think that’s kind of cool. They’re all wearing the same shoes but I have a different shoe.”

That day, Joakim gave away a few dozen pairs of his new shoes to some of his biggest fans – basketball-obsessed kids from the inner city of Chicago. Kids and sports have always been close to Joakim’s heart, which is why he established the Noah’s Arc Foundation in order to empower kids through sports and art. “He’s always giving back”, Green says. “Not like some of those other guys who make it big and then forget about everyone else”. Joakim’s heart for others and good nature developed from an early age – his parents encouraged him to work hard for the love of the sport, rather than the pursuit of money or fame. It’s evident in how he handles himself both on and off the court, and with his chill attitude, strong work ethic and raw talent, it’s a guarantee that this young NBA star is in it for the long haul.

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MUSIC UNCOMMON

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Mangue Beat in Alphabet City TRACE sits down with Brazilian pop star Otto text_FLEUR MACDONALD

photography_Sebastian Lucrecio

Hailed by Brazilian critics as the best album of 1998, Otto’s solo debut Samba Pra Burro was an innovative take on classic Bossa Nova. Billboard’s Overview on the 9th of October 1999 evokes a scene as nineties as it gets, calling the album: “a cult hit even in London, where members of Oasis and Spice Girls have hit the dance floor to tracks from the CD”. Now Otto, who once played CBGBs with Mundo Livre and Chico Science, is back in New York more than a decade later with a new band and a third album showcasing yet another fresh sound.

Bursting with the energy of Mangue beat, Otto, the Brazilian pop star, bounds into Nublu in Alphabet City and promptly cracks open a beer, forgetting to offer me one. Tall and well-built, with a mane of copper curls and a messily cropped beard, Otto resembles more an over-grown Tigger than what he actually is: a musician who has been part of some of Brazil’s most influential bands. He’s now ready to take on the world - starting with New York - but this time he’s going to do it all by himself.

I wanted to believe in myself and today I do. On your own it’s easier to believe but harder to achieve. When you have an artistic vision and you throw it out there, all these people latch on and try to get involved. But I want to protect it so it gets to its end, true to its beginning.

A play on the opening line of Kafka’s classic, the title of his independent debut Certa manha acordei de sonhos intranquilos (One morning I woke up from unsettling dreams) reflects a liberating metamorphosis for the singer, songwriter and multi-instrumentalist: I practically died to be independent. I rejected everything. I’ve been a free man for five years: no manager, no label, no money! But it costs nothing to dream.

The album takes its listener on a journey from folksy small town poetry to contemporary urban beats chronicling the maturation of an artist who might be huge in South America but is still the opposite of blasé.

But back to the point again! I’ve got to a stage in my life where I feel judgement is irrelevant. I try to see things as they are. But at the same time I like to intervene and make a difference. Music belongs to the world, one that’s speeding up with technology and all it brings - there are so many influences.

I adore the groove... Imagine if I spoke English - we would be here forever!

A member of early 90s legendary Mangue-bit bands Mundo Livre and Chico Science, Otto is an original “Caranguejo com Cérebro” which translates, rather bafflingly, as “a crab with a brain”. The mangue-bit sound and its 1992 manifesto spawned a new philosophy based on imagery forged from the nature around them. Artists were likened to the crabs scuttling over the bogs of Recife’s dire economic and cultural stagnation. The fusion of funk, hip-hop and electronica with maracatu and other traditional sounds was their musical contribution to wider cultural change. Fascinated by technology and the immediate access to global culture it offered, they pictured the movement as an antenna stuck in the mud receiving signals from all over the world. With his global vision and rock infused rhythms Otto would still seem to be firmly part of the crustaceans’ camp.

But I never was. No, actually I take that back! I always will be because I was part of a movement of great musicians. Chico Science, Nação Zumbi, Mundo Livre, Recife punk. But I never had to follow fashion! I always wore orthopaedic-looking boots and had my ass hanging out of my pants, so when it became cool I didn’t even have to try. It was the same with music.

So does prevailing fashion affect his creative decisions?

His blunt features break into a grin accompanied by vigorous nodding. He speaks in Portuguese, decorating it with English when he can and a smattering of French, learnt off a girlfriend whom he followed to Paris for a year when barely out of his teens. With an army of translators as a US escort, he struggles gamely with both the language barrier and an overload of ideas.

You can’t go out of the house naked so you have to think about what you put on. Who doesn’t like to put something on? Speaking of Mangue, I was very rebellious then – everyone’s hormones were pumping and it was at the same time as grunge. It was a movement of revolt which raged with the anger of

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Seattle. We all live under the same sun! Ours is a city built on mangroves - as is Seattle. And there, they were also crabs with brains!

Wrestled from the swamps of Recife, Otto‘s openness to and appropriation of international music are part of the Mangue-bit philosophy as well as a larger trend in Brazilian culture. Antropofagia, coined in a 1928 manifesto by the poet Oswald de Andrade, pitches the Brazilian artist as a cannibal practising ritual sacrifice, devouring native and colonial influences and digesting them to produce a voice which is entirely their own. Initially a strategy to subvert colonial supremacy and restore indigenous culture to an equal standing, it has since been assimilated, producing the distinctly outward looking flavour of Brazilian culture. The Mangue-bit movement shares that same self-reflexivity; it too formulated a manifesto which took into account the accelerating influence of technology on the globalization of culture. Otto’s music has a similar perspective, melding both the traditional sounds of Pernambuco, in the North East of Brazil (where he grew up) with the sound of Rio (where he later moved) and colouring it with a more global feel (where he’s going). If music was not necessarily in his DNA, it was always part of his life: I didn’t have that many musical influences in my life; my father’s a judge and my mother a teacher – I had the privilege of growing up surrounded by books.

Music just came to me. I don’t know why. When I wasn’t singing, I was dancing, making love, or drinking or smoking!

I keep the traditional music I heard as a child within me but it lies dormant.

But with my music, I want to say something that is contemporary but is at the same time like a hug from an old friend. My music is like a grandmother hugging you from behind! But I’m always looking towards the future.

At this point Otto thrusts forth his arms. The titles of his first two albums have been tattoo-ed on his forearms. The location of the third is anyone’s guess. The words “the moon” are scrawled on his knuckles and the number 1 marked on each finger – “My next album” he giggles, a mental step ahead in his discography though he’s only embarked on the promotion of the last. Always with one foot in the future, he seems ready to leap into the New York way of life: riding his bicycle in the East Village, jamming with musicians, philosophising breezily about his relationship with the city:

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The first time I came here it was my birthday and I played with Mundo Livre at CBGBs and that had a huge impact. It was a long time ago – I was 28 and now I’m 41. I have a special relationship with New York - like everyone.

There’s a legend where I’m from that the Dutch colonization Pernambuco for 20 years in the fifteen hundreds. The 16 Jewish Dutch families who lived there were kicked out and briefly imprisoned in Jamaica by pirates. They stopped in the bay of Manhattan and they bought the island with 8 golden coins. They might be related to me! And I feel like I’m colonising New York all over again. After all, New York’s a jungle. I love it!

Until now, Otto’s been practising with players at Nublu and as he prepares for an intimate session ahead of his performance at the Lincoln Centre, I asked him one last question. What would you like to be asked? Otto all over, this sparks off a train of thoughtful imagination: At gigs I always love to ask my audience questions. Charisma – something I’m very lucky to have a lot of – is about knowing your audience and your audience knowing you.

So once, I decided to ask them “What’s the worst thing in the world?” And then I realised – God, I have no idea! So I sang another song and I was thinking about it the whole time and all these bad thoughts were coming into my head. I don’t know what had possessed me to ask that - and the audience didn’t know either! And I realised that the worst thing in the world is to want to know what the worst thing in the world is!

He laughs mischievously, before adding, But I want people to smile when reading this interview!

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BACKSTAGE

The xx Affair Rising London pop stars light up the stage text and photography_Mikaela Gauer

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They weren’t quite what I was expecting from the most talked about rising stars on the music scene, whose self-titled album placed #9 on Rolling Stone’s “Best 25 New Albums” just weeks after release. They had just finished their set, and the sound of ecstatic fans screaming from the crowd trailed behind as we shuffled backstage to a red-lit room in the rear of the Commodore Ballroom.

The stark contrast between the pop-punk-dance neon lightshow commencing on stage courtesy of the Friendly Fires, and the calm demeanor of the xx – three barely-legal London rising rockstars – became apparent immediately. It dawned on me as Romy, the female lead singer-guitarist with her pixie hairstyle and sensibly cut nails, asked “Do you want something to drink?” in a strong English accent, her voice soft even in the quiet room – these kids didn’t have the faintest idea of how cool they really were!

Hailing from southwest London, Oliver Sim and Romy Madley Croft met when they were four years old – too young to even remember their first encounter. In a classic tale of childhood friendship, Oliver and Romy jammed every summer, covering their favorite artists (they’re more recently known for their rendition of Aaliyah’s “Hot Like Fire”) and eventually writing their own lyrics. The two linked up with producer/genius Jamie Smith at the tender age of 11. “At first, I was making tracks for them but didn’t want to be on stage”, Jamie says. Not surprising for the low-key producer who, along with his musical counterparts, seems to seek the shadows instead of the limelight. As their sound grew, the opportunity arose to work with producers like Kwes, James Rutmidge, Diplo, and Lexx – an impressive list, but somehow “the result never ended up sounding like what we wanted it to sound like”, Jamie says. So, they just did it themselves, and now Mr. Smith backs his friends on the keyboards/drums/synth/ loops both on-stage and off.

Nearly all of the tracks on the xx’s debut album reflect the true nature of their unique collaborative process. Romy and Oliver’s “he said, she said” sultry narratives lace almost every track. “Sometimes, I still need you” Oliver sings and Romy echoes “Sometimes, I still need you” on “Hearts Skipped a Beat”. When I asked them about the creative process, the pair admitted that they like to split into separate rooms to create their verses, but when their lyrics unite it’s as if they were writing on the same page. Perhaps it’s only natural after years of friendship. Their flow is seamless; the result is a haunting collision of unadorned melodies and minimalistic arrangements, soft synth and hard bass.

But don’t be fooled by their simplicity – although slow and seemingly understated, their high-quality sound is packaged with emotion and intellect, which speaks to the fact that they are one rising pop group that is definitely not trying to be anything – they just are. It’s no wonder that Rihanna’s name appears next to The Cure on their list of influences – their sound is catchy enough to gain mainstream radio attention and appear on AT&T TV commercials, and yet underground enough to maintain alternative cult status. However you may try to categorize their sound (Jamie claims soul records from his childhood, the Jazz Crusaders and hip-hop as his central influences), the xx is clearly creating something entirely new.

If there is one thing that the xx are really good at, it’s creating atmosphere.

There are no Gaga-esque costumes and no choreographed dance numbers, and yet the three youngsters have the ability to capture the attention of the entire room, whether playing for 300 or 3,000, mesmerizing the audience until the final note. Even as they quietly exit the stage after their performance, the fans beg for more. They may sing “I think we’re superstars” on hit-single VCR, but they don’t seem to have internalized this yet. For now, the group is looking forward to wrapping up their world tour and head back home to London town, where they will go straight into the studio to record their next album.

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“It’s no wonder that Rihanna’s name appears next to The Cure on their list of influences – their sound is catchy enough to gain mainstream radio attention and appear on AT&T TV commercials, and yet underground enough to maintain alternative cult status.”

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UP

All Rell Break Loose Bronx-born DJ Rell on his passion for the turntables text_Claude Grunitzky

photography_Jiri Makovec

DJ Rell, a rising star from Hollywood via the Bronx, South Carolina and Long Island, had originally intended to become a recording engineer. Born into a family of hardcore music lovers, and having lost his music-loving mother at the age of 5, he only started connecting the dots around the broader hip hop art form the day he walked into a recording studio with his cousin and saw Grandmaster Flash on the decks. After that transformative experience, he took up scratching, a serious hobby which quickly led to a passion for DJing. “I saw how you could control the crowd with a mix and went headfirst into it,” he revealed during a recent interview session. In 2005, he moved to the West Coast to be close to his sister, the model Tomoko Fraser, who hired him as a DJ for her frequent house parties and helped to introduce him to the greater Los Angeles creative community and influential, eventdriven organizations like the Jada and Will Smith Foundation. Shortly after relocating to Los Angeles, Rell became a student at the Scratch DJ Academy.

He took pretty much every class he could take, and rose to become a teacher’s assistant there. Simultaneously, he also enrolled at the Musician’s

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Institute and was able to finally train as a recording engineer. In September 2007, DJ Rell released his first mix tape titled “That Vibe,” a soulful, seamless celebration of his various musical influences, which range from Motown Marvin Gaye classics to Tribe Called Quest nineties hip hop to the harder party beats that tend to rock the younger crowds. These days, Rell spins at some of the biggest Los Angeles clubs, “because I want to give LA that New York lounge feel,” at corporate parties for fashion companies Bloomingdales, H&M, Calvin Klein and magazines like GQ and Trace. As one of the more versatile members of the DJ collective Spin Addicts, he jumps at every opportunity to hang out – and control the crowd - with fellow process-driven turntablists. Beyond the DJ battles, DJ Rell is inching ever closer to his teenage dream, which can best be defined as global virtuosity.

DJ SPOOKY iPhone APP OUT NOW!!!

FREE REMIX THE UNIVERSE available from www.djspooky.com and on the iTunes App store Take your iTunes playlist, make mixes, and DJ like a pro from your phone to any sound system

SCENE

Sons of the Morning The Making Of Serbia's EXIT Music Festival text_K.I.CLELLAND

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photography_Exit Photo Team

“It was the summer of 1999, in the last days of the regime that pushed NATO to send bombs reining down on the citizens of the Republic of Serbia. As buildings and bridges were still smoldering from the attack, three students at the University of Novi Sad, Dusan Kovacevic, Bojan Boskovic, and Ivan Milivojev, decided to organize 100 days of music, film, theater, and visual arts, as well as workshops and roundtables on political issues.�

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Ivan Milivojev and Milos Ignjatovic make up half the organizing team of Serbia’s EXIT Music Fest. Within seconds of meeting Milos, he’s pressed an algae green VIP sticker to my chest, and hustled me through a snaking stone tunnel, a series of barricades, up a metal staircase and onto small scaffolding. “This is the Dance Arena?” I ask. Ivan would later describe the Dance Arena as “a festival within a festival” and “a world of its own”. All I saw was a little makeshift room, the size and ambience of a SoHo penthouse party populated by a couple hundred fashion and music industry types. I could hear crowd roar, though.

Feel the pulse and boom of techno beneath my feet. “Do you want to see the crowd?” Milos asks, offering his arm. I’m lead to the railing. The colossal stage to our right dwarfs the two dark haired Swedish DJ’s standing on it.

They’re surrounded by a multiracial group of four dancers in pink sparkly tutus and blonde Afro wigs, a scene straight out of The Wizard of Oz, Redux. And below is a massive crowd of tens of thousands of festivaliers, hands raised in salute like legions of loyal subjects to their child kings. Later, I ask Ivan if he’d envisioned this ten years ago, as a university student organizer at the tale end of the Balkan War. He doesn’t look up from lighting his cigarette to answer, “This? It’s just the beginning…”

Ivan is the music man. Production manager is his official title; charged with booking acts from around the globe for the four-day festival that draws nearly a quarter of a million vibe-loving Euro-American youth to the northern Serbian city of Novi Sad each July. Perched on the riverbank like an amethyst in platinum settings, the 400 year old Petrovaradin Fortress houses galleries and the ateliers of government subsidized visual artists, an archery, stylishly goth

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nightclubs with brick walls and live music, as well as countless barbecues and get-togethers, 361 days of the year. “So many wars and battles,” says Ivan, “and the Fortress has never been conquered. Until EXIT!” By Ivan’s calculation then, over the last 10 years there’s been a virtual pantheon of cultural warriors to blame for this awesome historical turn – Atheist Rap, Goldfrapp, Lauryn Hill, Snoop Dogg, Robert Plant, Tricky, Billy Idol, Ladytron, Korn. Patty Smith, Green Guerilla, Dizzee Rascal – a list as long as the Danube itself.

So when asked what his favorite performance of all time is, Ivan’s answer comes quick, and sure, points directly to what makes EXIT a unicorn amongst festivals: “Max Romeo”. This Rastaman singer/songwriter became a roots reggae legend almost entirely off of one lyric: Lucifer son of the mourning, I’m going to chase you out of earth. An answer both inspired and apropos, given EXIT’s origins as the only festival to have sprung directly from the grass roots of political protest.

Not even Woodstock can claim it.

It was the summer of 1999, in the last days of the regime that pushed NATO to send bombs reining down on the citizens of the Republic of Serbia. Buildings and bridges hit likely still smoldering from the attack, three students at the University of Novi Sad, Dusan Kovacevic, Bojan Boskovic, and Ivan Milivojev decide to organize 100 days of music, film, theater, visual arts as well as workshops and roundtables on political issues. Firmly democratic, liberal, and so pro-Europe, they earned funding from the European Union itself, EXIT was to culminate in a massive youth voter drive that coincided with a scheduled national election – the last gasp of Slobodan Milosevic’s regime.

Predictably then, the first EXIT nearly didn’t happen. Ivan, Bojan, and Dusan were hauled into the police station and held for questioning during the planning stages. “They confiscated all of our promotional material – posters, flyers, schedules, records,” Ivan says, shaking his head at the memory. Being interrogated by collaborators of the man credited with presiding over “the worst genocide since the Holocaust” should have been terrifying enough for the quartet to abandon their plans for what was to be, in effect, a 100-day protest. “We’ve always liked extreme sports,” Ivan laughs, and I get a glimpse of the wily, precocious young men the EXIT founders must have been back then. But also, how little they had to lose.

The original title was “EXIT out of ten years of madness.” But turn of the century Serbia was worse than madness. Ivan does not like to talk about the past but when pressed, “Paint the picture. What was Serbia like then?” He answers, “Just imagine 15 years of nothing. Everything just completely stopped.”

“We’ve been through so much for EXIT,” Ivan explains. “First, we were arrested during the initial planning. Then there were some years we lost a lot of money.

We’ve had problems with both political parties here. Then our President was assassinated and we got arrested again” – this time in the summer of 2004 on suspicion of embezzlement. But coming in the wake of democratic, progressive President Zoran Dindic’s assassination, Ivan and crew came to see their growing global jam as vital, with even more at stake than there had been during the time of Milosevic. “The music is first. But we are also a social force. We were the first to start connecting people from the Balkans again. We were

like a symbol for reconciliation”. The EXIT founders became everyone’s golden children… who’ve also been picked apart and chastised like wayward children when they haven’t followed script.

In 2005, the EXIT four signed a deal with the newly elected right wing mayor of Novi Sad that guaranteed use of the fortress as well as a subsidy worth almost $200 million dollars. And as the festival focused in on music, leaving visual and theater arts by the wayside, MTV set up camp and the sponsors became more and more of a multinational corporation ilk, the left (both nationally and internationally) started questioning whether the “change” in EXIT’s original “Art for Change” premise referred to transformation or cash.

As early as 2008 California-based global entertainment conglomerate LiveNation was rumored to have offered to buy the founders out for what I like to call, “new media millions”. Ivan denies the offer was ever made, but adds, “In Serbia, everything is for sale. But with EXIT there is nothing to buy. We don’t own the fortress, or the acts. We rent all of the equipment. There’s just us. And we’re not for sale. It’s all just part of a campaign to stop us.”

Political machinations aside, Ivan insists, “We’re not political. We’re for the youth.” By 2007, EXIT was a card-carrying member of Yourope, the association of Europe’s largest music festivals, and was publicly voted the Best European Music Festival. With the recognition came the Erasmus set, as well as 30-something adventurers looking to holiday off the beaten Mediterranean path. EXIT had helped put Serbia back on the map of desired destinations.

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But Serbians still couldn’t travel freely. Schengen Visa regulations had kept Serbians isolated since the break up of the former Yugoslavia in the 1980s.

“You had young people who had never in their lives been outside of Serbia.”

Therein lay the next dragon to slay.

In a shrewd, strategic move, Olli Rehn, EU Commissioner for Enlargement, was invited to the festival’s opening ceremony where he spoke on the subject of European Visas. They even managed to make Rehn an honorary citizen.

Fast forward to December of 2009: Schengen visa regulations are dropped, and Serbians can now travel freely through EU territory without having to spend three weeks and hundreds of dollars to obtain a visa first. Not bad for a decade’s work.

If all this is just the beginning, then, what’s next? The foursome also produces Cinema City, an international film festival held in Novi Sad each June, coming into its third year running. Cinema City 2009 welcomed Mexican film director, Guillermo Arriaga (Babel, 21 Grams); 2010 brought Juliette Lewis, who opened the festival with university tutorials, a press conference, and a performance with her band, the New Romantics. “For years the film industry here was down.

Even our cinemas were shut. We just want to bring culture back, and expose all our artists – we have so many – to an international audience”. Year round, the EXIT founders are involved in co-sponsoring concerts all around the region, including Madonna and Santana last year. Sunny Brit-pop sensation Mika, The Chemical Brothers, and Missy Elliot were on deck for EXIT 2010. “We are a very young festival,” Ivan confides, “so the only main stage act we’ve ever repeated was Prodigy last year. We want to be like those festivals that are around for 40 or 50 years. So we keep it fresh.”

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Outside of the Dance Arena, the liveliest scene of the festival is at Tambourisi, one of the Petrovaradin nightclubs dedicated to traditional music. It seems that all Serbians are concentrated here just past midnight as a local band takes the outside stage. More than once I’m pulled aside to be schooled on the meaning of some centuries-old song, or simply to be taught how to move to the festive, frenetic pace of the Roma-inspired rhythms. Old and young, pierced liberals and buttoned up conservatives; even the Prime Minister of the region is here with his family. They greet me in perfect American-accented English. Just like the Dance Arena, this too is a world unto itself. More than a mere symbol, it’s a living, breathing example of what can happen when traditional pride and progressive energy meet halfway.

What’s next for these guys is not just about building an entertainment empire.

It’s something much more ordinary. “I have a wife and kids,” Ivan tells me, barely able to believe it himself. “I have a wife and two kids. Here in Serbia! Ten years ago, I never would have thought this life was possible.” I realize the true accomplishment of the EXIT four is not the festival, but the very act of having created something out of nothing.

“ ‘The music is first. But we are also a social force. We were the first to start connecting people from the Balkans again.

We were like a symbol for reconciliation’ - Ivan”

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ART ETERNAL

Empathic Tendencies text_FLEUR MACDONALD

photography_MIKAELA GAUER

To misquote Roland Barthes, the virtue of performance art is that it’s a spectacle of excess: excessive minimalism or outrageous pantomime. Logical progression is immaterial, the immediacy of juxtaposed meanings is vital. So suspend your disbelief and engage your synapses when Saya says: “Hello, I’m an Empathic and I’m here to take you to the Future of the Future through the medium of dance”.

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“Using painting, performance, sculpture, and video, she’s built up another world which, fusing Judeo-Christian imagery, Asian ritual and sociological philosophy, is uncannily similar to ours.”

Two easy misconceptions plague New York artist Saya Woolfalk. But she’s hardly crazy and she’s no hippy. Crochet, needlework and craft may be her building blocks yet the imaginary land “No Place” she’s been constructing over the last few years is in fact a quasi-scientific, critical dissection of the mores and representational structures that form society and ethnic groups.

Brown graduate, Fulbright scholar and former artist-in-residence at the Studio Museum in Harlem, Saya Woolfalk is part of a new generation of hip young mixed-race artists with all of the qualifications and none of the ghetto hang-ups.

Using painted egg cartons and pastel coloured dolls to explore the ideas of a patron saint of semiology, Roland Barthes, or the father of modern ethnography, Bronislaw Malinowski, could be deemed wilfully irreverent. Labelling it ironic would just be too easy. Saya Woolfalk is deadly serious.

Clad in black, shiny leggings and a jaunty trilby carefully perched, the figure strutting purposefully towards me on West 53rd Street looks more fashion editor than magician, more Anna Wintour than Willy Wonka. We travel up to the second floor in a prison-like elevator and through interminable narrow corridors, and then Alice enters Wonderland. Her studio is box-like, painted a clear sky blue and two life-sized figures are propped amongst sewing machines and containers overflowing with stuffed felt flowers, fungi and the jungles of alternate worlds. Two totems, they’re guardians of the Future of the Future.

Today they’re teenagers, buds and seeds sprouting from their heads; tomorrow, as she readjusts their growths, appendages and form, they’ll transform into other members of her intricate society.

Welcome to No Place, a direct translation of Utopia, in homage to sixteenthcentury British humanist Thomas More’s cynical riff on the Greek for “good place”. Saya has lived there for four years now. Using painting, performance, sculpture, and video, she’s built up another world which, fusing Judeo-Christian imagery, Asian ritual and sociological philosophy, is uncannily similar to ours. With figures that morph between human and plant, she explores the “representational systems that hierarchically shape our lives”.

In other words, it is a look at the ways in which we both perceive not only ourselves but others in terms of gender, race and a multitude of other

subjective categories. These concerns are often current in work by black artists and Saya, though she’s wary of the generalization black art, is proud of the distinct perspective her mixed-race ancestry provides: “I do think that an attempt to address race, class, gender, and sexuality in a single artistic practice has been common in black artistic practice. I hope that my work can poetically consider these elements in a contemporary way.” Her “poetical” approach to the question of race is far from a sell-out. It is arguably more sophisticated and imaginative than many of her better-known – and wealthier – contemporaries.

Her approach is in keeping with the subtleties of her heritage. As a little girl, Saya would spend her summers in Tokyo with her mother’s family, learning how to speak Japanese and sew with her grandmother. She would play with the other children, catch up on Anime cartoons and, by the end of her holidays, start dreaming in Japanese. Then in September, she would fly back to the US and re-join her other life. This cultural split informs the psychedelic world she has created; her cartoonlike drawings in turn reference Candyland, Lewis Carroll or Hayao Miyazaki.

Part of a broader globalisation of race and the fruit of serendipity, her background is a favourite talking point: “My mother was sixteen and at Kao High School and my father was a foreign exchange student from Notre Dame when they met, but they’re still together! He was studying East Asian studies, decided to take a semester abroad and they were in adjoining dormitories.

Mum came to the US after he left to go to junior college and she professed her love to him, and then told her parents. She was disowned. My father is half black, half white, so he looks very ambiguous. It was more about him being American, you know, in post-World War Two Japan. I only have one photo of my grandmother because her house burnt down, after it was bombed...”

Naturally, she was never going to see racial stereotype as black and white.

Woolfalk’s work has evolved from simplistic symbolism – “a woman’s body can be represented by breasts and a vagina, an African American can be represented ... by a collectible” – to a more complex examination of the wider discourse surrounding race. Two years spent in Brazil with her anthropologist husband were instrumental: “Anthropologists think about language and culture, lived existence, and how humans coexist in this space between representation and

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“Her studio is box-like, painted a clear sky blue and two life-sized figures are propped amongst sewing machines and containers overflowing with stuffed felt flowers, fungi and the jungles of alternate worlds.”

being.” In South America she met Rachel Lears, a NYU ethnography student doing fieldwork for her PhD. In 2006 they began to collaborate on engineering the parallel world No Place and its inhabitants No Placeans.

Saya documents the expedition through her alternate universe in “Ethnography of No Place, 2008” a video that follows a field ethnographer who sails on a ship floating on a sea of primary colours to a place which is yet to be. Part naive nature documentary, part pre-school science programme and intimate diary, it portrays the ethnographer on a journey, prey to as many human passions and prejudices as her subjects. Mating, rites of passage and death ceremonies are documented in a fashion which seems strangely familiar – and all the more ridiculous for it. A large phallic stamen extends from a blank-faced No Placean as she sways and writhes, flowers and foliage attaching and detaching from her sensuous body. Its sheer absurdity coupled with an uncomfortable feeling of identification is deliberate: “The lack of individuation is about constructing systems where people can project themselves into blank signifiers.” Through a parallel world she explores how we define ourselves by what we are supposedly not, what is different, what is foreign: the Other. It is a way of constructing an opposite to provide a more simple definition of ourselves. But are No Placeans simply the Other?

For all its familiarity, the premise of No Place is complex. It is the projection of inhabitants of the Future who try to recapture their humanity by creating the Future of the Future. In the Future people have literally given up their flesh to consumerism and organic material is regenerated in biodromes by Pleasure Machines. There is still hope: the Empathics, a group of No Placeans, are working on bypassing the industrial horrors of the Pleasure Machines, passing directly from the present to the Future of the Future. Thus her narrative: “is about hybridization of culture. It’s about citing and pulling from representational systems and creating a new amalgam, and doing it by talking to other people and thinking about the lives of others, almost like a contemporary folk story or fable.” Social science and science fiction interweave: Malinowski meets the Wachowski brothers.

Saya references Barthes and Bronislaw alongside seventies sci-fi novelist Olivia Butler, engaging new potentialities in an articulate brew. You can see the intellectual tussle occurring within, as she leans forward, trying to give serious academic backbone to her stuffed and stitched flora and fauna. She rejects that she is simply replacing masculine, white hegemony with an alternate feminine narrative, more at home in the current culture of politically correct relativism: “I

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think there are so many narratives right now that it is hard to figure out one is dominant. There’s no strategy of replacement. I’m not trying to become a mega narrative; ideally this narrative can change. There is this strong desire in my work to completely relativise everything... Hence I’m struggling right now in my practice, trying to figure out how to have cultural relativism while you have stakes in the world: principles, human rights, values.”

From her box-like studio, Saya tackles the world, avoiding the easy complacency of relativism by constant auto-interrogation, each issue opening up another problem. But when it comes to the narrative of black art - despite the difficulties of defining such a concept – Saya accepts that: “It is relevant as a community designation. Artists have always had artistic movements they considered themselves to be a part of. Being a black artist, especially with the work of the Studio Museum, creates a group of artistic peers who often consider certain conceptual objectives that I find important, as a part of their artistic practice.”

Friends with Rashid Johnson and Mickalene Thomas, collective inspiration is evidently important for her. She’s currently working on a dance sequence with a group of female dancers: the ritual of the Empathics as well as preparing for a solo show at Hartford in the fall with a psychoanalyst, an urban farmer, a local senior centre and her troupe. She explains that it’s not so much the result but the process of collaborative choreography which has caught her attention: “It’s reminiscent of a social movement. We need things to organize around that aren’t just about purchasing goods and other products. It happened around the Obama campaign. I mean ‘Yes, We Can’ had incredible power”. She laughs, “Although, now the question is: ‘Do what?’”

Fall promises to be busy; a group show at the Contemporary Art Museum Houston will move to the Philadelphia Art Alliance, through Nashville Tennessee, finishing up in Canada. On the horizon, the ultimate in sibling games: a project tracking her sister as a biological amalgam of plant and human. But even when Saya and her Empathic dancers revealed their dance sequence at Performa 09 in New York, bridging the gap between two worlds, there was already a possibility that anything might happen. Her opening gambit was a warning for the engagement her work demands: “They say that you don’t understand No Place until you’ve done the Empathy Ritual.” But, with Barthes and a whole army of cultural theorists behind her, you’d be stupid not to join in.

“ ‘It is about hybridization of culture. It’s about citing and pulling from representational systems and creating a new amalgam, and doing it by talking to other people and thinking about the lives of others, almost like a contemporary folk story or fable.’ ”

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GALLERY

Behind the Runway Famed casting director Daniel Peddle illustrates the models and mayhem backstage at New York City’s Fashion Week text_MIKAELA GAUER

artwork_DANIEL PEDDLE

Daniel Peddle has always had an eye for talent. After completing a degree in Anthropology at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, Peddle made his way to the Big Apple to pursue a graduate degree in film at NYU. As he often needed actors off the street to participate in his student films, Peddle developed a distinctive eye for who would shine on camera. The streets offered a flurry of fresh talent, and soon Peddle found himself snapping Polaroid’s of young beauties for big-name agencies as a parttime gig. So it made sense that it was here in New York, one of the world’s four fashion capitals and birthplace of Fashion Week, where Peddle began his career as the casting director and founder of his own company, Daniel Peddle Casting.

In addition to hand-selecting original talent for international clientele, Peddle spends his time documenting the frenzy of the fashion world. However, unlike the usual hoard of photographers elbowing their way through the coat racks, Peddle shares his insider perspective through his first love – painting. His fluid, watercolor brushstrokes mimic the mood and the motion of backstage preparations for some of the biggest shows in the industry. Despite the often chaotic environment, Peddle seeks to capture the essence of the ritual. His subjects are described as offerings for the fashion gods: “Grooming tools are wielded like weapons; hair and make-up teams turn demonic, floating mirrors capture glimpses of reflected mayhem like washes over an emulsion plate. The viewer is thrust into a mercurial world where figures intersect awkwardly to form genderless chimeras and cluster by the runway exits for their turn to poke and prod and finally dispatch the model to the proverbial ‘altar’.” The combination of Peddle’s industry experience and raw artistry offer a refreshing perspective on the moments just before the models stomp out on stage.

To view the complete series of portraits, visit www.danielpeddleart.com.

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NEXT GEN

Life As She Sees It text and photography_Patrick Ibanez

artwork_Maxine Ibanez

A father’s tribute to his daughter To write a short story about your child is a mission with a great reward. Afterwards, it is quite certain that your child will read about what you say about them. I know that I’m very lucky, from the bottom of my heart, because it won’t be hard to write my feelings about my daughter. As you’ll notice while browsing the next few pages, my daughter Maxine has certain capabilities. One of them is to express herself on paper, especially through drawing.

To witness her creative process is truly remarkable - she’s constantly on the go - it’s frantic, admirable and passionate. With no hesitation, she allows her ephemeral thoughts to flow, sketching life as she sees it, page after page after page. And then, uninhibited as always, quickly moves on to her next idea. Amazingly, I’m learning about the forgotten inner workings of the childhood mind. She is so free, straight to the point - create now, ask the questions later.

Maxine is bright. She’s a wonderful daughter, and I love her very much. I am deeply proud she has chosen me to be her father!

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Q: What’s your Name?

A: “Maxine Lillian Ibanez.”

Q: Where are you from?

A: “I was born in Manhattan, New York.”

Q: What’s your star sign?

A: “Pisces.”

Q: Describe yourself?

A: “Dreaming artist” Q: What’s your favorite color?

A: “Any kind of blue.”

Q: Do you remember your dreams?

A: “Yes, all of them.”

Q: What’s your favorite object?

A: “A book” Q: What was the last book you read?

A: “Helen Keller - From Tragedy to Triumph.”

Q: What’s your favorite thing to do?

A: “Drawings, I love to spread my imagination out on paper.”

Q: What is your favorite music?

A: “Michael Jackson, The Beatles, Massive Attack, David Bowie, James Brown, Wild Beasts and many more!”

Q: What’s your favorite song right now?

A: “Paradise Circus by Massive Attack.”

Q: What was your greatest adventure?

A: “When I went with my Dad to Mexico, I got to travel around and see Mayan temples.”

Q: If you could go anywhere tomorrow, where would you go?

A: “I’d go to Africa, China, Mexico. I’ve been learning about these countries at school. I would love to study their culture.”

Q: Who’s your favorite artist?

A: “Picasso, he’s very inspiring to me.”

Q: If you could draw a perfect setting for you, what would it be?

A: “It would be whatever my mind and my hand are taking me to.”

Q: What do you want to be when you grow up?

A: “I can’t decide for now…”

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LOCALE

Uncommon Ground People Still Live Here text_Anicee Gaddis

photography_Alessandro Zuek Simonetti

If you are fortunate enough to walk the streets of Chinatown in Manhattan, one of the first things you will notice is an invisible electricity lighting up the senses. It is a tapestry of sights and sounds, a sonic mash-up of Mandarin and Cantonese and car horns and children’s laughter forming a many-layered urban sonata. It is often crowded and it is sometimes dirty and it is always colorful and it is constantly alive. It is an oasis of its own arrival located on an island of more than eight million. People still live here and it is still a place made by its people. It is a place where generations live in the present, defying the norms of the epicenter that surrounds it. Dubbed “The Last Neighborhood Standing,” New York’s Chinatown is a rare haven that preserves its cultural identity and centuries-steeped history as it continues to locate its destiny in the larger metropolitan and global flux. Photographer Alessandro Zuek Simonetti documents the subtleties and nuances of this neighborhood with an eye toward the unexpected. Through his images of buses, birds, silhouettes and street signage, The Last Neighborhood Standing becomes a surprising canvas of the everyday. More than just a state of mind, New York’s Chinatown is revealed as an essence of being, as an enigma of infinite awakening.

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INSIDER

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Mali Mali text and photography_Fabrice Mabillot I always thought that sub-Saharan Africa looked like the pictures in the geography books from my childhood. A burnt land under a blazing sun; a dry, hostile continent with insects and wild animals who wouldn’t hesitate to eat me alive in one gulp, like in the old Tarzan movies with Johnny Weismuller...

However, it is entirely different from what I had imagined.

I am about to go on my tenth trip to Mali, more specifically to the Dogon region to meet up with Moussa, Hawa, Fatoumata and all the friends that I have there.

To rediscover this infinite skyline, the red color of the earth, the smiles, the stares, the luminescence of the moon and the millions of stars, the sweltering heat and the coolness in the shadow of the baobab tree, Leon the hunter and his millet beer, the perfumes of Mopti, the tranquility of the Banni river, the tea which is always too strong, the women singing, the dancing into the night, the view from the top of the Bandiagara cliff...

To rediscover this welcoming land... that is truly unlike any other.

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Full of Life text_Stephen Greco

artwork_CRAYON LEE

“I was pregnant while recording – I could feel life and feel full of it – it takes you on a ride. I tried to capture what I was feeling with Flesh Tone.” – Kelis Was Kelis singing for two when she recorded her album? Sure. But the point is that she was singing for all of us.

The lady is full of life – that’s what it means to be an artist. And that’s why, aside from the fancy houses and cars, we aspire to be like artists. At Trace, we have always endeavored to bring you not only the so-called “hottest” artists, but the most honest ones – cultural, political, and social figures, who are both newsworthy and brimming with life’s most positive, progressive energies.

Paying attention to these folks helps help make us full of life, too—or, to reference a classic Buddhist concept, truly awake.

This issue represents our latest collection of life-force bursts from several continents, including the students of the Room 13 project, pictured in Emmanuel André’s “Ubuntu” art show; the American singer-songwriter Diane Birch, who grew up in Zimbabwe and Australia; artist Saya Woolfalk who focuses on race, gender, and sexuality; Congolese-French tennis star Jo Wilfried Tsonga; and the vibrant people and places of Mali, via the Polaroid camera of photographer Fabrice Mabillot. And we’re thrilled to be able to include a moving tribute to the late, great fashion designer Alexander McQueen, whose legacy continues to supply the planet with tons of lively, doze-defying ideas.

Take it from us: this issue is vital, in the most literal sense of the word – which is kinda the way we expect every day of our lives to be!

ISSUE No.

STYLES AHEAD 82

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Back With A Vengeance Kelis won’t take shit. She won’t let anything slide.

And two, apparently, can’t play at that game. She’s a defiant interviewee who dissects the question and spits it back in your face, blood, guts and all. This is the same woman who scorched on to our screens more than a decade ago with her sit up and take note debut single Caught out There. It’s safe to say that she hasn’t mellowed. text_FLEUR MACDONALD

photography_RANKIN

artwork_Izumi Chiaraluce

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“‘There is an indigenous femininity in the way that I portray myself on the record. I incorporated all elements into the ‘Acapella’ video: African, Asian, Native American cultures, headdresses, Spanish cultures. It’s all about being a human being, and what a human looks like.’ ”

Back with her new single Acapella, a collaboration with David Guetta, Kelis is consistent in her ability to surprise. The catchy dance track is vintage Miss Rogers - it’ll forcibly throw you on the dance floor - but her feathery electro sound, despite Gaga-jaded airwaves, feels fresh. It’s perhaps less of a sexually provocative first single than we’ve come to expect from Kelis. She doesn’t agree: “I don’t think they’ve been sexually explicit.” Period. The silence crackles. It seems slightly disingenuous from a woman whose single exploring the virtues of blindfolded sex wasn’t considered suitable for release in the US. So McDonald’s isn’t going to be using Milkshake anytime soon to sell McFlurries.

And Bossy might be about female empowerment but those gulps of air could only be post-coital. Kelis feints a retreat: “I mean look at my back catalogue – you have Lil Star; Young, Fresh ‘N’ New; Caught Out There. People don’t look at my whole body of work.” It certainly does tackle a variety of issues: from cheating and break-ups to friendship or crime. She articulates further: “They’re sexually suggestive.” The success of Milkshake was in part due to its ambiguity. When Kelis has a point, she nails it.

The different mood of the album is partly due to the recent birth of her baby boy, Knight: “I was pregnant while recording – I could feel life and feel full of it – it takes you on a ride. I tried to capture what I was feeling with Flesh Tone.

Although ironically it’s a dance record and although I didn’t dance that much as I was pregnant!” There’s a deep raspy chuckle.

The idea of collaboration with French DJ David Guetta wasn’t a strange spawn of some A&R committee. Kelis explains, “It was extremely organic, not music industry at all. I have a friend from London who knew David Guetta. I wasn’t signed at the time and they asked me if I would be interested in being on a song on his album. They sent me a beat and a track, and this beat jumped at me immediately; I saw that it had a hard tribal feel to it, and then this melody came to me. I have always had this thing for words or phrases. ‘Acapella’ was a word that I had written down. I ended up recording the album in my home studio. I was pregnant at the time and Guetta came over – I’d met him in passing at social gatherings – and it really came together.”

Notoriously difficult, she remains prickly in front of the media. Awkward The album’s DIY development marks it out as a labour of love and an emblem silences and frosty answers intersperse the interview though she’s meant to be of her prized independence: “There was no budget, no A&R. I was pregnant, promoting Flesh Tone, the album that she released earlier this month. there was so much happening around me. Everybody worked on spec. I got the album made by making lunch for everyone every day.”

Acapella, the opening single, showcases a different sound: “It’s a lot more of an electro dance record – I’m really excited about that. It’s definitely my new But her new sound also echoes a wider trend - the US urban scene’s growing direction. I just knew I wanted to do something different. I picked through a appreciation for Euro-pop, electro-inspired sounds shown by the success of bunch of records I recorded ...and I really fell in love with stuff with a different Taio Cruz and Mr Hudson. Admittedly, after the post-Sonique overload in vibe... I knew what I didn’t want to do – what I’d done before.” Kelis loosens up the mid nineties, big dance tracks risk being a little tacky and Guetta’s latest as she relaxes into PR spiel (Google “Kelis Interview” for the complete script) single featuring Kelly Rowland comes close. When asked whether she’d heard but as her tone changes from guarded to animated, it’s obvious that she’s When Love Takes Over before working with Guetta’s beats, Kelis’ response is genuinely excited. typically brusque: “It hadn’t come out then”. But Acapella doesn’t open with the clichéd piano beats; instead, a thumping bass introduces a shimmering

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“Kelis, with her rainbow coloured curls, tattoos and fashion independence, eased us in to the tidal wave of female artists who would generate headlines as clotheshorses and snicker at the thought of musical categorisation.”

tune, with breathy vocals verging on husky alto, that doesn’t stint on a big fat chorus. Try getting that out of your head. The video blends futuristic Avatar inspired scenes with more traditional tribal images and a fair bit of fur, exhibiting once again a mischievous sense of detail and magnificent self-confidence.

Still, comparisons with any second grade Beyoncé apparently aren’t welcome.

Period.

She’s also reticent to reveal where she sources her outfits for both shoots and videos: “I can’t tell you”. An industry secret apparently. However, fashion is vital to her sound: “There’s a real tribal element to the record and it’s really going back to basics. Fashion and music are really interlinked. Both are constantly evolving – I am a sponge and I soak up things around me.”

“Being pregnant, there is a strange intensity about motherhood. There is an indigenous femininity in the way that I portray myself on the record. I incorporated all elements into the ‘Acapella’ video: African, Asian, Native American cultures, headdresses, Spanish cultures. It’s all about being a human being, and what a human looks like.”

Despite tentative probing, she remains ferociously tight lipped about the father of her child. A worried assistant before the interview warned me to stay away from any subject that might concern a certain rap star. The verbal freeze is perhaps understandable given the consequences of their previously relaxed stance with regard to the press. TRACE once described their naive openness as a breath of celebrity fresh air – it seems that air has now turned stale.

Given she’s in the middle of a court case trying to secure the child maintenance needed to support both her son and her lifestyle her silence is understandable.

Figures have been tossed like one-dollar bills, from 55 to 90,000 dollars a month which reportedly culminated in a 200,000 dollar fine awarded in favour of Kelis. Court battles, claims and counter claims, sordid laundry aired: it might be a typical divorce, but this ain’t just any hell hath no fury. This scorned woman is Kelis. Six months into the pregnancy, she was brave enough to

end their relationship due to “irreconcilable differences”. And unlike a certain rapper’s recent collaboration with Damian Marley, her wrath hasn’t translated into her record.

Domestics aside, Kelis is hardly shy about broadcasting a grievance; her justifiable – and hilarious - rant at flight attendants over lost luggage made its way on to her Twitter feed: “It’s the person behind the counters indignent (sic) attitude as though I’m the horses ass for wanting my stuff back. Or excuse me niaevly (sic), blindly optimistically expecting my trunk filled with treasures to come barrelling down. That is not the case here. I am too tired to even weep over the loubiton (sic), Westwoods, etc that will not be going home with me this morning. Urgh, not happy.” Her tongue in cheek response to PETA’s personalised letter was perhaps the best weapon against self-righteous hippies: “I eat meat, and in fact my mouth salivates as I type the word meat!

And the paint throwing that’s just ridiculous! What if I was hurling Loubitons (sic) and Pierre Hardy’s at every sad poorly dressed person on the street?” But the thought of Kelis on the streets of Harlem assaulting poor passers-by with her ten-inch pumps isn’t so far-fetched.

Never loath to step on toes, Kelis’ assertion in 2008’s Bossy isn’t a joke: “You don’t have to love me. You don’t even have to like me”. But that’s precisely where her appeal lies: she is unapologetically who she is: you can take it or leave it; she’s hot but not a black barbie; she sings but her vocals are never over-produced. Best of all, she’s smart; lyrics and videos oscillate between hip hop convention and ironic reflection – Bossy is the ultimate parody of the female hip hop stereotype and the sharpest come-back possible to 50 Cent’s taunting couplet. Her tracks ooze single potential: she’s a master of the hook, the big beat and the chorus that stays with you without seeming tired on a second hearing.

So why isn’t Kelis a household superstar? She’s not the pliable celebrity that’s a record man’s dream. Commercially she’s difficult to classify. She swerves from dirty hip-hop to reggae so there’s no facile nook in the CD rack beside

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Kelis the counter. It is also perhaps the irony of emerging too early. Kelis, with her rainbow coloured curls, tattoos and fashion independence, eased us in to the tidal wave of female artists who would generate headlines as clotheshorses and snicker at the thought of musical categorisation.

Her unrepentant professional independence in part explains the label difficulties that may have plagued her career but now seem to be ending. On listening to Caught Out There more than ten years ago, Sylvia Rhone (then at Atlantic Records) passed on the Neptune’s protégé but Kelis is philosophical: “After the fact, she came back to me and said we should do something together, but I had already signed with another record label. This time around I went to her first, because I respect her immensely. But it didn’t happen.” However in 2009 she was signed on to Interscope Records under will.i.am’s directive.

It’s an interesting move for a woman who not so long ago swore that she would never sign to a major record label again. After a lengthy battle with her first label Virgin, she joined Pharrell Williams and The Neptunes at Star Trak releasing Tasty in 2003 – the boys had already produced tracks on Kaleidoscope and Wanderland. As her first album released with Jive Records, Kelis Was Here didn’t feature the Neptunes’ input. However her relationship with Jive didn’t run smoothly and, after she managed to be released from her contract, the label unforgivably released a greatest hits collection without her permission.

Now will.i.am is turning the PR machine up to eleven, marketing an artist who has been with us for more than a decade as “Hip hop’s best kept secret”.

Back in the game, Kelis loves her new team: “It’s great – exciting times! Will is a global encyclopaedia of musical and cultural references... he was on my last album. I think he’s brilliant, a real guy. He’s one of the few people in music who’s a real music lover. A lot of producers don’t have a real love of music, but

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he really does. Everything happened so naturally, nothing was orchestrated, and it came together so divinely.”

Her three-year hiatus has been stop-gapped by the appearance of acts like Lady Gaga and Rhianna who have jumped on that shock-fashion-pop-music bandwagon. Even Beyoncé has wandered onto the scene. It means that things are not going to be easy. Her edge has been blunted and pictures of her wearing McQueen’s ten-inch stilettos no longer guarantee the forefront of cool.

But she remains idiosyncratic, courting the perils of auto-styling. Her look isn’t as soignée as RiRi nor as anally polished as Gaga: she’s a real woman whose look isn’t a disguise but a personal expression.

Kelis is at a turning point in her career; what she does next is always unpredictable. It is constantly a new beginning: “To be honest, I don’t really listen to my stuff when it’s done. I go through the album cycle, I perform and promote and I move on. I do remember what I was wearing on the album, though; and also what I was thinking at the time.” She may continue her musical metamorphosis or give it up to concentrate on her passion for food, having trained as a Cordon Bleu saucier whilst on her four-year break. However as she slips towards the mainstream – which she flirted with by taking an illadvised step into reality TV – she’ll have to stay on the ball.

Somehow, it’s certain she will. Her career has now spanned over a decade and she represents what has been a continuum throughout TRACE’s history: fierce and utterly determined not to compromise her identity for anything. And she won’t suffer fools gladly. Kelis, there are only two things to say. Firstly it’s spelled Louboutins. Secondly, Kelis, you may not need us to love you, but, hell yeah, we respect you. Period.

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Ubuntu “A traveler through a country would stop at a village and he didn’t have to ask for food or for water. Once he stops, the people give him food, entertain him. That is one aspect of Ubuntu but it will have various aspects. Ubuntu does not mean that people should not enrich themselves.

The question therefore is: Are you going to do so in order to enable the community around you to be able to improve?”

- Nelson Mandela text_Mikaela Gauer

photography_Emmanuel andre

In December of 2007, photographer Emmanuel Andre traveled to South Africa to capture the initiative of TBWA\’s Room 13, a project that was initially launched in 1994 by two 11-year old girls in Scotland in order to help schoolchildren obtain sponsorships and grants in order to create art, exhibit their work and ultimately sell their creations. Due to the assistance of TBWA\, the Room 13 project has expanded to over 20 studios worldwide in order to foster creativity and provide young artists with opportunities to exchange ideas, develop creative skills and receive guidance from adult artists-in-residence. Andre visited two Room 13 classrooms - Mmulakgoro (Botshabelo) and Room 13 Sapebuso (Soweto) - to conduct photography workshops with the children and document their process.

The trip resulted in a beautiful photography book, entitled Sharp, along with an exhibition and auction for the benefit of Room 13.

After the success of Andre’s first exhibition, he returned to South Africa in 2009 to “make the world discover the amazing artists and their work”. Andre created a portfolio and entitled the work “Ubuntu”, a word rooted in the Bantu languages of southern Africa that has no perfect translation in English. Archbishop Desmond Tutu explains ubuntu as “the essence of being human”. A humanist philosophy deeply significant to South Africa as the country has struggled to heal postapartheid, “Ubuntu speaks particularly about the fact that you can’t exist as a human being in isolation. It speaks about our interconnectedness. You can’t be human all by yourself, and when you have this quality - Ubuntu - you are known for your generosity.We think of ourselves far too frequently as just individuals, separated from one another, whereas you are connected and what you do affects the whole world. When you do well, it spreads out; it is for the whole of humanity.”

Andre’s portfolio, which exhibited in January in New York City at the Austrian Cultural Forum, presents the brilliance and creative energy of these incredible young South African talents, connected through their love of creative expression, hope for a brighter future, and the true spirit of Ubuntu.

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Eyes Wide Open One bold photographer sets out to define human rights issues through vivid portrayals of 60 individuals. text_Mikaela Gauer

photography_Nadia Bettega

As a part of her mission to encourage marginalized groups to share their experiences, Nadia Bettega developed a photography project entitled “Changing the Face of Human Rights”, a collection of portraits which explore what human rights mean to the lives of 60 individuals living in Britain today. Her subjects range from activists, artists, and public figures to minorities, disabled people and the homeless. Her subjects do not sit idle, however – they each have an important story to tell.

In partnership with the British Institute of Human Rights (BIHR), an organization that seeks to create awareness, promote public discourse and provide information regarding human rights, Bettega’s project explores the complexities of these issues as they arise in various groups and communities, while providing disadvantaged or vulnerable people with the chance to realize their rights and improve their lives.

SALLY LEIGH I work for an organisation called Housing Justice. We represent homeless people and those with inadequate housing.

My mum told me that I should never make anybody else’s mistakes for them; that I should go and make my own. I have always thought that it is important to stand up for what you believe in and do something about it, whatever the cost, and I think that it’s important to follow your own beliefs.

I want to help make my country better. I love England and I don’t like the journey that it’s taking at the moment. We have lost touch with the most vulnerable people, and they are the ones who often have the answers to our community.

I chose my allotment and a handful of earth as representative of human rights.

We were all made of soil and we will all return to dust, and I think it matters what happens between those two ends of time. At the end of the day when you return to dust, what did that piece of dust mean to the world? Did you really try and change things for people? Or did you just let things pass you by? At the end of the day, when I become dust, I would hope that that piece of soil made a difference to somebody. The earth should be for all of us, to enjoy and prosper in, but not all people do.

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KRYSTYNA NEGUS

RUTH GABRADASIL

My name is Krystyna Negus, I am 28. At the moment, I am doing work experience at a café in my local area. I chose an apron as my object together with the “jobs” section of the newspaper.

I am 11. I live at home with my mum and dad, and we are eight children.

I chose this because I would like the opportunity to work, to earn my own living, and to support myself. It represents the right to employment.

In the past, employment opportunities for people with learning disabilities have been limited. This has been due to a number of reasons, from misunderstandings about the abilities and skills of people with learning disabilities to a lack of support for the learning disabled in setting out and following an employment route.

At the moment, less than 10% of people with learning disabilities are in paid employment. There have been efforts to promote employment opportunities and increase support for people with learning disabilities who are seeking employment. I hope this will mean that I too can have a job in the future.

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I have a British passport. I was born in England but my mum and dad came here many years ago from Sudan. They had to leave their country. Their family and friends came here as refugees because at the time there was a lot of fighting between groups of people – they treated them differently depending on what religion they had and there were also some government problems. I have never been to Sudan. Maybe one day I can go there if things get better.

My object is a mirror and I chose a mirror because I believe that everyone should have the right to be themselves. I’m not sure what I want to do with my life but I think something creative, something to do with arts. Maybe a writer, or an architect.

HAZEL BLOOR

DANNY PURESH

I work with an organisation called Bishop Creighton House – founded in memory of Bishop Mandell Creighton in 1908. We work with isolated older people and often come across examples of poor care delivered to older people in hospital, primary care and residential settings. I am also often frustrated by lack of action when this poor care is highlighted, and am really interested in developing a rights-based approach to our work with older people – creating more awareness amongst the public, and empowering older people to demand better care, with the support of the community.

As a disabled person, I face barriers every day. I could get on with my life, until after university. Going into the big wide world of having to source a job, moving out of my family home, and developing my own future, I started experiencing difficulties that prevented me from doing things.

The thing I feel most strongly about at the moment is the fact that national government and local authorities do not put aside enough money for good quality home care for older people who need personal or domestic care: they end up with a caregivers who rush in and out, do the basic minimum and do not develop caring relationships with their clients.

I would say the most important human right is that of equality. I am a Disability Equality Consultant and Company Director. It is my personal passion to increase equality for disabled people within society; I find a great deal of satisfaction in what I do.

I chose two objects. The main object was a person, my personal assistant Simon who gets rid of the barriers for me and helps me to get on with my life.

The second object was my Blackberry, which represents the need for me to communicate effectively.

I feel strongly that care work is missing kindness and quality time, and the government needs to resource it properly. We all have the right to be treated with kindness and given time by others. My object is a clock to represent having time for others.

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ANGELINA NAMIBA I work for an organisation called Positively Women. The most rewarding thing about this is seeing HIV positive women move from isolation to involvement, enabling them to have a voice locally, nationally, and internationally, and to influence policies that affect our lives.

I speak out about issues affecting these people and in doing so, educate and challenge the stereotypes of how HIV positive people are perceived in society. We know our rights, we get the information and we claim our rights.

We cannot just sit around and wait for them to be given to us!

The object I chose was my daughter’s scan. This reflects my interest in the sexual health and reproductive rights of women living with HIV. I strongly believe that we have a right to choose whether or not to have relationships and/or children. And if so, how to do it safely, and without being judged. I hope to inspire other people by being visible.

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CHRIS CHANG

MHRET BERHE

I am an investigator at the Guantanamo team at Reprieve – an organisation that represents over 30 prisoners held in Guantanamo.

My name is Mhret. I am 31 and come from Eritrea. I am married and have two children; one is two and the other is four. I came to London from Eritrea. We had to leave our home country because there were bombs everywhere. My parents could not come with us when it was time to go, so I left with my sister who was older than me. I was 11, she was 13. Coming to England in the beginning was terrible. I was put in a home, did not have my family around me, and this was very difficult. It was like being in a prison.

I am passionate about civil liberties. Everyone should have the right to be represented. It stems from being inspired by people who give a voice to the voiceless. We are entering a period where certain classes or races of people are becoming less important than others. Their liberties and freedoms are seen as less important. That is a dangerous thing.

For me, some of the biggest rewards have been really small things. For example, a prisoner who is released who chooses to call me first and say thank you. It’s immeasurable; someone going home, someone going free, someone going to be with his or her family.

Many people who come as refugees or asylum seekers are often put in places that are like prisons. They call them detention centres. Even children are put inside these places. The UK now has one of the worst records in Europe for detaining children. The effect that this has on people is very bad – psychologically and emotionally.

I chose a key because it represents freedom. The key symbolises opening a door, because that is what I am trying to do with my work. I am trying to be that key that opens a door for someone to come out.

I am now settled in England and go to the Baytree Centre in Brixton. I have classes there every week and have made a lot of friends from all over the world.

It feels good to go there and I feel free.

I chose to hold a handful of chains to represent the right to freedom and as a symbol of support for those who are still inside.

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REFKHA GABRASADIG

THOMAS BARKER

My name is Refkha. I am nine and I chose to be photographed in my communion dress. I chose this to represent the right to religious freedom. I think that people of all religions and traditions should be able to practice them, even though their beliefs and/or practices may seem strange to others. In Sudan, where my parents are from, many people who came from Christian and traditional homes were made into slaves and tortured due to their religious beliefs and practices.

I live in Acorn Lodge in Tolworth. Once a month I go to the Down 2 Earth club in Teddington. I love going there because I have a lot of friends in the group.

I think people should respect the rights of persons of all faiths to coexist in peace together without oppression or discrimination. People should have the right to follow God in the way that they want to.

I think it is an important human right to be able to travel around independently. I have a Freedom Pass, so that I can travel on buses and trains. I also have a taxi card, which allows me to travel in taxis on my own. I am holding my taxi card in my photo because it is very important for me. It allows me to travel on my own and to be more independent.

Being able to communicate is important for me. I think we should all be aware that there are great differences between people, but we should try to treat everybody equally.

AMELIA CAVALLO

SILVIA PETRETTI

I am visually impaired and am a member of Cirque Nova – a not-for-profit contemporary circus and street arts organisation.

I was first diagnosed with HIV in 1997 in Rome. I was shocked by the result, which came back positive.

The aim of the group is to promote personal and social development and enhance the lives of disadvantaged and disabled people through the culture and spirit of circus arts. I came across the group and have since done acrobatic performances with them all around London. Sometimes people don’t think that those without sight are able to do the same things as those with sight. Cirque Nova celebrates that this is not the case.

I wanted to do something meaningful with my life. I came into contact with Positively Women who offered me psychological and social support and many of the services I had not been offered at the time of my test. I now work for the organisation as a community development manager. Women are often still not taken seriously and there is not enough support out there. Stigma, discrimination and gender roles make women more vulnerable.

I chose a white cane as my object as it allows me the freedom to move and a sense of independence. It is an essential part of my everyday life.

I chose to be photographed with my medication because I believe everyone has the right to health and a sense of well-being. Not everyone who is HIV positive has access to ARV treatment. We are all human and it is important that we know our rights, demand them, have a collective voice and feel connected to a community.

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CARMEN GONZALEZ

TERESA REIMANN

I work with deprived communities in Haringey, North London. HAVCO is about helping people to help themselves, to adapt to a new country, to empower them to face their challenges, and to have fulfilled and happy lives.

My name is Teresa Reimann, but my family and friends call me Tessy. I am 28 and live at home with my auntie. I have a big brother Jacob who is 36. He is married and I often go to stay with him and his wife Helena who is one of my best friends. I also have a dog named Hugo. My best friend is Krystyna, who lives not very far from me. We go to the DSA meetings together and then stay at my home afterward and have tea and play games.

I chose a handful of shoes. It is easy to talk about human rights and think we are doing our bit. Something we can all do is to care more. Getting into someone else’s shoes represents caring. It is about making an effort to get out of our own space and explore the worries and concerns of those around us. We cannot all be campaigners, or writers or politicians or community workers, but we can all care! We can all try to understand and forget about ourselves – our failures, moods and problems. We should all challenge ourselves to make the days of others better.

I love arts, crafts and music. I love poetry and train at “Poetry in Wood” near Whitechapel, and I go to a drama class near home as well. Last year, we put on a production of Romeo and Juliet. I also participate in Flower Arrangement Day at Southgate College. I don’t read or write very much, but my aunt reads with me every evening. I love books about birds and animals, how to grow plants, and stories about other people.

I chose a big ear as my symbol because I believe that myself and other disabled people have the right to be listened to when others make decisions concerning our lives and the way we want to live.

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MARGARITA SÁNCHEZ DE LEÓN AND FRIDA KRUIJT My name is Margarita (pictured left), I am from Puerto Rico. I am a minister of religion and human rights activist. My name is Frida Kruijt (pictured right), I was born in the Netherlands and work for Amnesty International. Our family has recently expanded to include Oshadi Marinke Carmina Sánchez-Kruijt (left) and Siboney Dimas Bert Sánchez-Kruijt (right), born from our love here in London in January 2010.

We chose our children’s birth certificates to represent human rights: the right to establish a family. Oshadi and Siboney are two of the first children in the UK that were issued birth certificates that fully recognised both their female parents. A simple and common thing for a parent like registering your child’s birth is a right that we as women in a same sex relationship only gained in 2009.

We are very aware that our rights and those of all lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender people are fragile and need constant advocacy and protection.

Human rights in general are not set in stone; they are hard to be gained and easily lost. Gay rights are usually last to be gained and first to be lost. Affirming what we are – a family – may be a private matter, but especially in our case it is a way to raise awareness about LGBT rights and those of our families.

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print multicolor vest_ Michael Angel fringed pants_Vintage lucite and leather belt_Maison Martin Margiela black tights_FALKE suede woven heels_Barbara Bui rings_JUSTIN DAVIS

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Marc Baptiste captures soulful songstress Diane Birch photography_MARC BAPTISTE

fashion_Christine de Lassus

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black chiffon dress with chain detail_Maison Martin Margiela black ankle boots_Maison Martin Margiela at IF Soho black spandex bra and black tights_Top Shop

black leather jacket_Rick Owens at If Soho sequin print dress_Osklen cotton distressed tank_Raquel Allegra floral print leggings_Future Classics vintage combat boots_Diana’s own skull necklace_Arielle De Pinto feather pendant necklace_Goro rings_Justin Davis vintage bracelets_Diana’s own

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silk print asymetrical top_Top Shop distressed cotton tank_Raquel Allegra vintage 70’s pants_Diana’s own pantyhoses_FALKE shoes_Barbara Bui rings_Justin Davis vintage bracelets

print multicolor vest_ Michael Angel fringed pants_Vintage lucite and leather belt_Maison Martin Margiela black tights_Falke suede woven heels_Barbara Bui rings_JUSTIN DAVIS

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black cotton tank top_Rick Owens at If Soho chain top_Maison Martin Margiela purple organza print skirt_Top Shop net leggings and ankle boots_Maison Martin Margiela at If Soho rings_Justin Davis

leggings_Maison Martin Margiela at IF Soho rings_Justin Davis

fashion assistant_Camille Zarsky fashion intern_Dana Jordan hair_Jamal Hodges @ B Agency NY for L’OrÊal Professionnel Texture Expert make up_Yuko Takahashi for Make up forever

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On July 9-11th, TRACE attended Style Week Jamaica in search of the freshest new faces straight from Kingston. Hosted by renowned agency SAINT INTERNATIONAL, the three-day fashion event boasted some of Jamaica’s rising design talent and gorgeous young models. Among the dozens of long-legged gazelles strutting the catwalks, a few girls stood out, (including our last cover star, Sessilee Lopez): Chantel Lee, Sosheba Griffiths and Georgie Baddiel. text and photography_ Mikaela Gauer

Style Week JAMAICA 2010

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LUCKY 7

AMERYKAH, NEW text_MIKAELA GAUER

photography_Kenneth Cappello

She’s never been one to back away from controversy, or as she likes to put it, shy away from showing America “her butt-naked truth”. Erykah Badu, who was recently charged with disorderly conduct after publicly shedding her clothes in her latest music video Window Seat, is at the top of her game with her latest studio album New Amerykah Part Two (Return of the Ankh). Between wrapping up her “Out of My Mind, Just in Time” tour, raising three children, and spending time with beau Jay Electronica, the soft-spoken, neo-soul songstress managed to squeeze in a call with TRACE to chat about what makes up her Lucky Seven.

1) It’s no secret that you’re a vegan. What’s your favorite recipe?

My coconut milk pasta, but the recipe is a secret.

2) Which item in your closet could you not live without?

My gold ankh ring.

3) What do you love about your body?

I like… the palms of my hands and the arches of my feet… it’s very feminine.

4) Which artist is emerging on the music scene that we should be paying attention to?

Janelle Monae – I’m currently on tour with her. And Georgia Anne Muldrow – she co-produced “Out of My Mind, Just in Time” on my latest album.

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5) What’s one piece of advice you’ve received that you’ll never forget?

My grandmother told me: “Keep living, it will come to you.” For every question, she gives the same answer.

6) What are you reading at the moment?

“Notes from Underground” by Fyodor Dostoevsky. It changed the way I write because it’s so descriptive and it’s very honest.

7) What is your dream for the next generation?

That they live with less fear and more compassion.

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