http://acollegemiscellany.com/PDF07/2006-07_TNT_02-05

David Kitt talks to Catriona Gray about his latest album p3

Simple Kid looks back over his career to date with Niall Kelly p10

TRINITYNEWSTWO 2

The behind the scenes story of Tubridy Tonight revealed inside, p19

Win ticke t The T s to herm inside als !

“Modern woman.

We got the vote. We even got jobs.

Somewhere along the way we lost cooking.�

Joey Facer p16

ISSUE

Inside: The Immediate on their continuing rise to stardom

A certain amount of respect is always due to those who achieve success on their own terms. This success does not necessarily mean the bright lights of Hollywood or the excesses of an arena rock tour. It often means taking your own angle and finding an audience who share that viewpoint.

In this issue we have talked to two of the best examples of people who have done things their own way in the music industry. David Kitt, a Trinity College graduate, and Simple Kid, aka Ciaran McFeely, show that you don’t have to play the usual record label games to get ahead. In a candid interview on the road with his current tour Kitt tells us how music is his natural calling while McFeely talks in depth with Niall Kelly about the ups and downs of his particularly unusual career path.

In Silverscreen, the final cut of Blade Runner shows the benefits of continually endeavouring to maintain your artistic vision. As the review of The Last Kiss shows, there is a vacuous flipside to this argument too.

On another note this editor was lucky enoughto see one of the last performances of the production of Festen that is reviewed in Backstage. This was a powerful experience and the drama never failed to shock and disturb. Feeling uneasy at the interval as to whether I wanted to sit through the second half has never been so positive an experience.

Focusing on child abuse and its destruction of a family the play was visceral and honest, and a testament to the continuing quality of Irish theatre productions.

POSTCARD

Gearoid O’ Rourke

David Kitt talks to Catriona Gray about his newest musical departure, p2

Inside this issue...

2

Editor’s Notes

Simple Kid Niall Kelly discovers the joys of keeping things simple

Pack those trunks: Brave Fashion Editor Kerrie Forde asks College guys to drop their trousers for TrinityNewsTwo, p14

Chitchat: Hannah Scally takes a look behind the scenes at Tubridy Tonight, p19

Salut!

The first few weeks of college have be amazing highs and en a varied spectru lows. To be honest, m of I perhaps ought to myself more than a ha ve week to apartment given hunt in this notorious and exclusive city. ly expensive Luckily, an old frien d from school is w mute to the fringes orking a half hour’s of the city in the subu comrbs for her year out almost comfortable an d sofa bed. has an My first weeks real ly showed me the then, the bit the tour residential part of ists never get to see.

Paris, Apartments are let ly different way he in a slightre, and I am now su bletting a loft (com own hot-plate) from pl et e with its a bilingual journalis t (no joke) for a redu the condition I work ced rent on ten hours a week as her personal assista nt.

The Parisians in co llege aren’t the frien core of newbies for dliest, but there’s a cushioning. The co good lle ge itself is highly un the student life (and in vo lv I thought Trinity was ed in bad!).

Conversely the win e has never been so croissants are divine good (read: cheap) and the Eiffel Tower , the , well, it’s just dow from college- sacré n the road bleu!

Rosalin x o x o

e c n a Fr

Paris, France.

Words: Catriona Gray

David Kitt deserves a break. Not in the two weeks in the sun kind of way (although after releasing five albums in six years one would imagine he would need some kind of holiday) but rather it is time for this musician to enjoy the success that has eluded him for so long.

Not Fade Away is an aptly named album. David Kitt is making it clear that he is not going to fade away, and says that survival was one of the themes behind the new album. He was dropped by Warner Records in 2003 when Square 1 failed to achieve the international success that was promised by The Big Romance. He reacted by releasing a covers CD, The Black & Red Notebook, which, unsurprisingly, did nothing to redeem his career.

Battered, but not broken, Kitt has made a strong comeback with this experimental, yet commercially attractive album. David Kitt has always made music, playing his first gig in primary school, at the tender age of 11. He says that “music has always been part of my life; I’ve always done it, it’s as natural to me as anything else, like going to the toilet.”

The title of his new album, Not Fade Away was derived from a Buddy Holly song of the same name, the same song that gained the Rolling Stones their first chart hit when they covered it in 1964. Kitt claims that the Stones had nothing to do with his choice, instead citing the Buddy Holly original as his source of inspiration. “There was something about the spirit of that recording that really inspired me.

This was from a man, living in the middle of America, 21 years of age, playing music that had never really been played by white men before. It had a sense of excitement, something that I try to create in my own music.”

David Kitt knows Trinity well, having studied

“

Music has always been part of my life; I’ve always done it, it’s as natural to me as anything else, like going to the toilet

”

INTERVIEW

Having kittens

Economics followed by a postgraduate degree in music technology. So what were his opinions on studying at the 28th most prestigious university in Europe? “I was too busy having fun for the first three years. Then I took a year out and in my final year I did a bit of work. But the music technology course was great. Everyone had a real interest in music and I learnt as much from the people in my year as from the lectures.”

Upon hearing of the demise of the Buttery bar, Kitt remarked “It’s a shame it’s closed, but they never really did anything with the place. It was an extension of the more corporate end of what college is about. Now, Trinity seems to be more like a tourist attraction.” If anyone is looking for a new watering hole, Kitt’s personal recommendation is the Royal Oak in Kilmainham.

Although his music has a wide range of influences, David Kitt tends to get put into the singersongwriter box that is presided over by Damien Rice and David Grey. Take the product description for Kitt’s album Square 1 on

Amazon, as a prime example.

The review opens with the words “Looking for the new Damien Rice? Need a David Grey substitute? Then the search is over… welcome to David Kitt.”

Such glib generalisations have prevented people from taking Kitt as seriously as they might have otherwise done. The upside of Kitt’s battle against these stereotypes has been the considerable development of his music since his first album. “It’s been a bit of a problem alright, much more of a hindrance than anything else” he says, “But I feel like I’ve honed my craft and learnt a lot over the last six years.”

David Kitt’s career unfortunately coincided with the singersongwriter craze led by Damien Rice and Mundy, but hopefully, with the release of Not Fade Away, people will realise that Kitt is the genuine article. When asked whether he ever had any ambitions to follow in the footsteps of his father, Tom Kitt, and become a politician, he simply replied “I just always wanted to be a musician.”

3

4 Immediate Success Words: B e n K i t c h e n

AUDIOFILES

Well lads, what's it like to be in the band Intimate?" was my first question - and wow was I off to a good start by getting their name wrong! This wasn't quite the job I was used to, but having said that, interviewing The Immediate was quite an experience in its own right. Having no clue who the hell they were, it was to be more of a bluffing task than a journalistic one!

After entering the Buttery and observing the lack of beer odour from the deceased bar, I witnessed the band in full swing strutting their stuff on stage during the sound check. I was impressed.

Not being a music snob I didn't quite know what to expect from an “upcoming" band. I met Dave, the lead singer, and we started to talk over a cigarette. He informed me that they had just come from a radio station’s recording studio where they where recording an acoustic version of one of their tracks.

"Who the fuck are you?" was my initial question and to my surprise I received quite a polite and fulfilling reply. "Three school boys who met and didn't know what to do. Liked music, begged their parents for guitars and that's who we are." Right. But what makes them any different to any other wanna-be group? It's their music. They really are very good, perhaps the new up-coming Killers, but maybe with a slightly more sophisticated angle of music.

Living out in Malahide on an old estate given to the band by an ex horse breeder, they have plenty of space to let loose and play new music and party. When asked about their home Dave emphasised that the joy of having fields around their house was that they could run around naked and nobody would know. Whatever floats your boat Dave. He tells me kids aren't his thing as he would-

“

Three little school boys who met and didn't know what to do, liked music and begged their parents for guitars.

That's who we are.

n't like to inflict them on society(!).

"Dave, Trinners girls, sex on two legs or beasts on two legs?"

"Oh Christ, looking at all the fit college girls, definitely sex on two legs."

Stressing that he associated Trinity with being Protestant took me by surprise but as I continued to speak with the band I came to realise that they were really down to earth, relatively talented and a bit of crack. Having set up the band three years ago when they were around twenty years of age they have had quite an interesting career. They have toured with well known bands such as The Magic Numbers, The Flaming Lips and The Doves and have just released their latest album "In Towers and Clouds". They have toured all over England and have even hit the red lights of Amsterdam, having played in the

Olympia and the Ambassador.

So they really are quite a big deal.

Have you ever had a girl throw her thong at you? I ask.

"Sadly or luckily no -which ever way you look at it. But there was this girl with quite a boastful chest on her who photocopied her triple D's one hundred times and decided to throw them out of the multistorey building down on the band during an outdoor concert. That was fun!' Did you keep a copy?

"No!" To be honest with you I didn't get a raving lust to go and see this band at first, but as time passed it became clear that Immediate do play a good gig and certainly know how to get a crowd going. They frequently play in venues around Dublin so keep an eye open for them in months to come they're well worth a watch.

Sugar and Spite

Smoke & Mirrors

Uncle Bob

The Datsuns

Songs from the Deep Forest Duke Special

This debut album from Scottish band Unkle Bob is, in a word, mediocre.

To be fair, that which Unkle Bob do, they do pretty well. However there is nothing original about their sound and I found myself constantly thinking of other bands or songs as each track played. Despite citing such singer-songwriters as Nick Drake and Bob Dylan as influences, the first three tracks of this album, in particular 'One by One', are distinctly reminiscent of Aslan.

The remainder of the album comprises Rick Webster’s bland vocals laid over acoustic guitar and banjo lines which - combined with light percussion and subtle string arrangements - leads to explosive crescendos. This sound constantly recalls the likes of Damien Rice and The Frames.

The album is well produced: each track is finely polished, but it offers nothing that hasn't been heard before.

'What Do I Know?' the most prominent track on the album is hardly compelling itself.

In short, this insipid album did not live up to any expectations I had and is most certainly not the folk-pop gem it claims to be. It lacks any distinction and - to quote the lyrics of Webster himself - it's just the 'same old, same old.'

Fiona Hedderman

Picture this. It's 2002 and retro becomes cool, so a New Zealand band release an album that is essentially a bad imitation of AC/DC and Led Zeppelin. Unlike the Darkness, Jet or even the Hives, the Datsuns don't immediately become famous, so what do they do? They release another album, also full of mindless, unoriginal 70s knock offs.

Alas! Fate is unkind! Once again, they fail to capture the hearts and souls of the general public, although admittedly they do have a certain appeal to both the very young and the very inebriated. But the Datsuns are nothing if not persistent. They bide their time, they carefully listen to every new rock or indie band that finds mainstream success, and now, in 2006, they strike again with ‘Smoke & Mirrors’. Is it third time lucky for the Datsuns? Somehow, I doubt it.

Catriona Gray

The Information Beck

Apparently, Duke Special is 'hobochic' (a term that evokes images of 'Derelicte', the fashion line launched

by Will Ferrell's Jacobim Mugatu character in Zoolander, inspired by the lives of 'the homeless, vagrants and crack whores').

Immediately upon listening an obvious reference point for the orchestral pop to be found on Songs from the Deep Forest is Rufus Wainwright and although Peter Wilson may not have the vocal talents of the Canadian, neither does he claim to. His Belfast accent accompanies a collection of rich, detailed piano-led ballads that surprise in their immediacy and varied nature.

A few songs from an earlier collection of EPs (last year's ‘Adventures in Gramophone’) are lincluded on this, the Duke's major label debut for V2; one of those two songs, ‘Last Night I Nearly Died’, stands out in particular.

Elsewhere, ruminations on love, loss and the like stretch out over a reasonably pleasant 40 minutes; ‘Songs from the Deep Forest’ also reminds the listener a little of Damon Gough, in itself no bad thing at all.

Mark Rodgers

AUDIOFILES

In Review:

Bottoms of Barrels Tilly and the

Noise Floor Bright Eyes

With the new Bright Eyes studio album not due until the start of next year, Saddle Creek have opted to release this stop gap of rareties, ranging from bare-bones bedroom recordings to the polished and restrained productions of the band’s present day incarnation.

For fans this album is a must, charting singer-songwriter Conor Oberst’s tragectory from lo-fi personal diarist to the more professional sociopolitical commentary of recent releases, More casual listeners may find the skip button essentisl for some parts of the record. A fascinating document regardless, and a great insight into Oberst’s creative development.

Steve Clarke

In the years since Beck's breakthrough album 'Odelay' the chameleonic Californian has struggled to cast off the image of genre-bending innovator that so distinguished him from the mid-90s music scene, rejecting the expectations that he might be the figure to reconcile the increasingly divergent hip-hop and rock scenes.

Laudable though Beck's determination to remain faithful to his own peculiar and fluctuating artistic temperament is, the albums reflecting this commitment just haven't been as much, well, fun. The Information is a success because it is determined to innovate .

The dominant theme of the album is electro, most perfectly realised in 'Cellphone's Dead', a wonderfully fluctuating slice of robot-dancing, cowbellclinking genius. Yet elsewhere lie both beautifully uncertain love-songs ('Think I'm In Love'), and inspired pop hooks ('This Girl That I Know').

The Information is a little long at over 70 minutes, but the ambition and scope of the record compensates for the few expendable tracks. Don't let it become a lost classic.

Ben Eastham

Wall

Formed in 2001, Tilly and the Wall have garnered much critical attention, as often for their idiosyncrascies as their music. For one thing, they have no drummer, instead opting for a tap dancer to provide percussion. Add to that eccentric live shows and a childlike aesthetic and the band were always going to form something of a spectacle.

Far from being a mere novelty act however, Tilly and The Wall are actually an accomplished indie-pop act, and this second album sees them honing the talent evident on 2004’s debut Wild Like Children. At times recalling bands as diverse as Arcade Fire, Death Cab for Cutie and the New Pornographers, Bottoms of Barrels is an eclectic mix of melodic foot-stomping and hand-clapping optimism.

With stand-out tracks like Rainbows In The Dark and The Freest Man, Bottoms of Barrels is bright and infectious, vibrant and ambiguous.

Steve Clarke

5

6

Fall Guy Words: Nick Hamilton

AUDIOFILES

It is rare for The Fall to be mentioned without some reference being made to a combination of the following: the length of the band's career (they formed in 1976), their prodigious output (at least one studio album, and many more live ones, each year), the quarrelsome frontman, the on stage bust-ups, the fact that Mark E. Smith is the only remaining member of the original line-up, and that he has seen off at least 49 other band members.

The Fall's gig at the Village this October (thanks to the inaugural Heineken Green Synergy festival) seemed to provide the opportunity to peer behind the many legends that surround the band. However, as it happened, many of the clichés rang true - Mark E. Smith is a strange curmudgeon, and it is a wonder that he manages to keep his band together for the duration of a gig, let alone an entire tour, and it was easy to see why his

infamous temperament often dominates discussion of the band.

Allowing the rest of the band to take to the stage before him to knock out the first few bars of opening track, 'My Door', the audience had to wait before the ominous presence of Mark E. Smith emerged from the shadows.

Starting as he meant to go on, Smith growled his way through the first song while malevolently staring down at the crowd. Paying little attention to his band, he wandered about the stage fiddling with their amps, and towards the end of 'Theme From Sparta F.C.' showed his keyboard playing wife how he thought the song should be played.

Nevertheless, the more he ignored the crowd (and traditional pleasantries) the more they cheered and danced to the band's unlikely dance music. Smith has not made his reputation by breaking his back to be nice or friendly to people, and it was clear that

the audience wanted to sample his notoriously sour humour and not the antics of a Robbie Williams-style crowd-pleaser. And perhaps they had a point; at a time when record companies go to great lengths to give their clients 'attitude', Smith has it in spades and it is both refreshing and entertaining to see it played out.

Perhaps no other band has a more extensive back catalogue to choose from than The Fall, but their setlist stuck primarily to material from their two most recent and acclaimed albums, 'Fall Heads Roll' and 'The Real New Fall L.P.'. The band, including a new and unidentified drummer, perfectly reproduced the sound that has re-invigorated The Fall on the last two albums, and their no-nonsense approach squeezed the twelve-song set into under an hour. Smith's often impenetrable 'vocal style' has an even more pronounced effect

when seen live, but the energy of the band alongside the audience’s enthusiasm ('Theme From Sparta F.C.' and 'What About Us?' both turning into full-blown sing-alongs) kept things swinging along nicely.

Older songs were greeted with similar enthusiasm, the early eighties hit 'Mr Pharmacist' prompting cheers from the audience and a pumped fist from Smith.

Despite the unexpectedly generous inclusion of an encore (new song 'Systematic Abuse'), the evening's entertainment ended even less ceremoniously than it had begun, when the band downed tools and filed out without a word or even a nod to the audience. But who would have wanted it any other way? People would only have felt cheated if Smith had turned around to say thanks, or gush that Dublin is his favourite city to play in. Thankfully, even 30 years in the industry hasn't dulled his complete disdain for just about everything.

Competition: Win a pair of tickets The Thermals!

Currently touring their third LP, The Body, the Blood, the Machine, Portland’s The Thermals, have been producing infectious distorted pop-tunes worthy or the Ramones since their formation in 2002. With a Irish date in the Voodoo Lounge on November 30th, Trinity News have a pair of tickets to see the Sub-pop signed band. To be in with a chance of winning, all you have to do is answer this simple question: What was the Thermals’ second album titled?

Send your answers to competition@trinitynews.ie before Friday November 3rd.

Top ten strangest music videos Words: Catriona Gray Basement Jaxx: Take Me Back To Your House Dancing bears, dwarves, Russian forests, a mystery Soviet military man driving a tank- what more could you expect from the reigning monarchs of the bizarre music video?

Sunn O))) Words: Rahul Bery

I don't really know how to describe this. I know it's always difficult, if not impossible, to recreate music with words, but in most cases you can at least say something about the rhythm, even if it's no more than 'they have off beat rhythms'. However, it is quite possible that the words don't exist to describe SUNN O)))'s live performance, let alone their music.

“

The onslaught is as unabating as the miserable suffering we call existence

”

I came here mostly out of curiosity, to see if SUNN O))) truly were 'the heaviest band in the world' and 'the musical equivalent of an industrial dose of Largactyl' These questions are irrelevant. After filling the room with smoke, glowing malevolently in the strobe lights, the band enter slowly, the guitarist waving his Guinness like an incense burner at a black mass. They are all dressed in black robes, though

they are hard to see amongst the smoke, which is continually pumped into the venue throughout the set.

When they start, I notice that they have no drummer and a Moog, odd choices for the heaviest band in the world. After a while, such trivialities are as irrelevant as my own pathetic existence. What starts as wail of feedback soon builds up into a crushing and hypnotising noise, that envelops the mind and soul like a forcefield cast by the most powerful of necromancers. Meanwhile, from behind a haunting mask, the singer seems to be retching up his damned soul to the sounds of excessive torture. Through the smoke the band look like they have been invited from hell to describe to an enthralled audience what it's really like down there. I start to doubt everything, and at the same time see the appeal of the dark side. Who am I, and what have I done? There are no songs, or at least no discernable breaks between them, and the onslaught is as constant and unabating as the miserable and unending suffering we call existence. Can anything halt this blind and idiotic cycle? Even if it means the loss of my humanity?

Mercifully, the set is not quite long enough for me to entirely supplicate my soul to Grishnack the malevolent, he who does not die and who spares no mortal, consumer of souls and destroyer of the weak. Despite how horrible I have made this gig sound, it was one of the most awe-inspiring experiences I have ever witnessed, and completely reshaped my perception of how a stage can be used, and the truly demolishing effect that music played at a very loud volume can have on a person. For those with a shard of hope left in them, or a sensitive aspect, perhaps SUNN O))) should be avoided, but blackened and merciless souls such as mine should, and must, flock to these saviours of doom.

Aqua: Bumble Bees They tried to recreate Barbie Girl's success by compromising their dignity even further. It doesn't work. René take note: dressing up as an enormous bumblebee is in no way sexy.

The Monkees: Gonna Buy Me A Dog In typical 1960s low-budget style, this entire video consists of the Monkees capering about with a pack of assorted dogs. The best bit? When an Alsatian gets overexcited mid-way through the song and begins to savage Davy Jones. Priceless.

213: Groupie Luv The morals behind this dubioussounding track are as shallow as a paddling-pool. The video is even worse, with Snoop Dogg and Co combining egotism and sexism in one sleazy four minute outburst. It is disgustingly male chauvinistic. It takes superficiality to a whole new level. It's my new ringtone.

Elton John: Nikita So wrong, on so many different levels. The 1980s filming, the pathetic attempt at Cold War

glamour, Elton's unconvincing heterosexuality, Nikita's alarming androgyny…the list is endless.

Gorillaz: Rock It. I don't understand the function of so many severed heads. Or the talking statue. Or the whole concept of Gorillaz. Who are they?

What are they? If this video is anything to go by, it might be better if we never found out.

Doctor And The Medics: Spirit In The Sky What makes this video so bizarre? The psychedelic black and white stripes? The backing dancers with knee length hair?

The faintly disturbing sight of a large, eccentrically dressed transsexual scaling a wall? Whatever the reason, the overall effect is undeniably strange.

Dexy's Midnight Runners: Come On Eileen What makes this music video so especially odd is that all the characters are wearing dungarees. All of them. Even Eileen. Why???

AUDIOFILES

In Review:

Pink: Stupid Girls Psychologists everywhere must have had a field day when Pink released this video. By impersonating the so-called 'stupid girls' she is in fact making herself look even more stupid, by not only doing what they are doing, but doing it worse, with no selfrespect whatsoever, while claiming at the same time that she is above such degrading publicity stunts. Interesting.

Jethro Tull: The Whistler Ian Anderson's facial expressions have to be seen to be believed.

His wide-eyed girning is an exquisite hybrid of village idiot and religious fanatic. Modern music offers no such phenomena. It's on YouTube. Watch it.

7

8

Cordon Bleu

BACKSTAGE

Words: Kathryn Segesser

It’s not every day that you find yourself sat in a theatre on Drury Lane watching three grown men (who should know better) dressed all in blue belting on some drums.

Then again, it’s not everyday that you find the rarity that is The Blue Man Group, performing at the New Theatre, London.

In one of those rare, ‘does exactly what it says on the tin’ moments in West End Theatre, The Blue Man Group is a collective of performers who, dressed in what look like stretched swim hats, perform a piece that is both hard to define and hard to forget.

Hailing originally from the States, the performers came to London recently and have since established themselves in a niche that breaks away from the traditional musical collectives that are on the rise and seem increasingly to make use of generic pop songs.

Give them a few more years and we may see the opening of “Boyzone: The Musical Life.”

In writing a review of

Festen at the Gate Words: Eimear Crowe

their performance it is hard to say much without giving away the entire gimmick. Their set piece consists of mainly drum-based rhythms that are incredibly catchy and performed upon a series of seemingly mundane items – plastic piping a particular stand out.

Their music pieces are interspersed with sketches that are almost circus-like in their conception. A particular favourite was one involving catching paint balls in their mouths. Sounds strange I know, but then again this is London, and anything can be caught in the mouth on stage nowadays.

Their costumes add to the impression that these performers are from a distant place where unusual feats are merely generic.

There is no real plot and no real story. The Blue Man Group amuses because it is precisely that which is wholly alien to modern day theatre – namely a series of pieces that are clever, amusing and different to anything else on

the stage.

They are also big on audience participation, involving certain members on the stage and making a show of any latecomers.

At one point a hand held video camera was even produced, making audience participation a new reality. Taking their cue from, presumably, Lloyd Webber’s ‘Cats’ they also descend through the audience at some point, getting really involved and using the layout of the theatre to their advantage. Lets just say that no visit to London is complete without a blue face staring at your from approximately 2.5mm away followed quickly by an avalanche of toilet paper.

Everything about The Blue Man Group involves the audi-

ence and tries to break new ground. Their use of lighting focuses on neon colours and makes everything seem even more surreal. I especially liked the positioning of the band in the air above the stage, lit by body suits that seemed to glow in the sudden dark.

In short, The Blue Man Group pushes the boundaries of ‘entertainment’ theatre. It is new, funny, big on audience participation and performed by some of the strangest players ever to grace the London stage. It is impossible to describe. You walk away blinkingly into the sun a little unsure about what you just witnessed.

Nonetheless, do not miss this unique chunk of stage magic.

To translate a work from stage to screen is an arduous enough task; to translate a work from screen to stage seems nearly impossible.

However, this is exactly what David Eldridge attempts in his dramatisation of the 1998 Cannes Prize Winner.

If one bears in mind that Festen was the first offshoot of the Dogme 95 film-making movement, whose manifesto insists that its films dispense with all cinematic illusions, then this task appears altogether less daunting. Indeed, Eldridge’s stage adaptation, with its scope for elaborate set design and even melodrama, seems to be more of an expansion of the film than a contraction.

Festen is the tale of a family gathering, a Danish patriarch’s sixtieth birthday party. The themes it deals with, Chekhovian family divides and Ibsen-like revelation of truths, are well-trodden theatrical territories. It is the content of these, the consequences of domestic sexual abuse, and the utterly frank way in which it is dealt with, which is fresh.

The cast of Festen, under

the superb direction of Selina Cartmell, engross and astound.

For the majority of the play the actors sit at a banquet table, facing the audience. As each truth is revealed and as the tensions between family members mount, the actors’ subtle responses angry, pained and uncomprehending facial expressions - draw the audience into the feast. The effect of all this is that the audience feels like an uncomfortable guest at this unhappy celebration.

A family friend perhaps, unwillingly caught up in this tragi-comedy.

In particular, Owen Roe succeeds superbly in his psychologically complex performance of the patriarch, Helge.

Giles Cadle’s set design aids this absorption of the audience into the play’s action: the set literally moves towards us during the pivotal banquet scenes. The dynamic set is utilised optimally by the actors throughout the play; particularly during the opening act when, through the use of filmic split-screen methods, each family member occupies the one eerie hotel room set on stage. The ten-

sion achieved here is almost unbearable as we see the effects of loss and abuse on each character.

It is Elridge’s script which somewhat fails this impeccable cast and set. The mounting tension which is established so brilliantly in the opening act never seems to reach an equal momentum following the interval. This means that the feeling conveyed in Vinterberg’s film that this is a long day’s journey into night never quite translates onto the stage.

There is an even more vital element which is lost in Elridge’s dramatisation. According to the assertion of one character early on, this family hotel/home is “filled with ghosts”. However, the sense of the characters being haunted ends with this line.

Specifically, the presence of the deceased daughter, Linda, is never fully felt.

As intimate as the Gate is, it seems as though no theatre could produce the intimacy required to feel the presence of the family ghosts so integral to the plot of Festen.

Words: David Lydon You can say what you like about ‘going mainstream’ and selling out, but there’s nothing quite like a big ol’ musical to get the theatrical juices going. Like the opera, or a classical concert, a musical is one of the few remaining opportunities in life where going to a performance event still feels like an occasion. Consequently, upon arrival at the Gaiety, I was pleasantly not surprised to see men in tuxedos and women dressed to impress taking their places in the opening night of West Side Story, Arthur Laurent and Leonard Bernstein’s seminal retelling of Romeo and Juliet, set against the backdrop of a New York divided by racist tension and gang warfare. With finger clicking. Lots of finger clicking.

You’d have to have been either living under a rock or culturally devoid to have never heard of this show, so the Gaiety have cleverly aimed the show at an audi-

“

Its about a New York divided by racism and gang warfare.

It is a pleasing feature of the production that all of the serious issues of racial tension and the tragedy that ensues, are all present in an otherwise audiencefriendly show, proving that mainstream theatre doesn’t have to water down the hard stuff in the name of commercial success. And anyone who sees the ending of this particular production will agree that it is far from rosy.

There are, as with every new run of a famous show, some ‘experimental’ moments included in the name of originality. One particular clanger was an overly symbolic dance interlude following the interval, which itself was oddly timed. As a result all of the suspense and drama that the audience were left with following the end of the first act was immediately lost within the opening scene of the second.

However, a conveniently placed sing-along was placed directly afterwards, keeping both the director and producers satisfied. By the time the climactic final scene is reached, the audience were so enthralled by events onstage that the tense outcome was greeted with a mixture of shocked screams and relieved laughter, a reaction not entirely befitting of the occasion, but emotive nonetheless. The show concluded with an effective, montageesque curtain call featuring stills of the various gangs, reminding the audience that there is more to this seminal work of musical theatre than finger clicking and shimmying. All in all, an occasion not to be missed, fully utilising the Gaiety’s excellent showcase facilities.

BACKSTAGE

An American Dream

ence willing to see a new interpretation of a timeless classic. Using a set that constantly adapts to different settings, (unlike the everchanging stages of the West End, for example) the show runs smoothly and retains coherency despite transforming from bedroom to gangland in a matter of seconds. The somewhat traditional set is brought to life by complimentary lighting, accentuating the love scenes between Tony and Maria, whilst adding a certain intensity to the famous dance-off fight scenes.

In a show that often leads to impromptu participation from audience members, the more famous numbers (“I Feel Pretty”, “America”) are surprisingly, and effectively, underplayed. This gives the other, less sing-along songs a chance to shine through, and slick choreography enhances this effect. On the topic of choreography, it must be said that the opening dance number satisfies any anticipation prior to the curtain rising, and the ensuing spectacle is well worth the entrance fee.

One of the reasons that West Side Story has proved to be such a lasting success is surely the characters who provide the familiarity of the plot. From the toughtalking rogues to the love-stricken broads. I mean, how can anyone dislike teddy-boy Riff, whose opening line is “Hey, Cool, Easy, Sweet!” upon arriving at the local dance. Of course, the accents can prove to be a little suspect, but the lead and supporting characters all make up for any shortcomings such as the occasional ‘New Yoik” accent.

9

COVERSTORY

10

The kid done good When it comes to competition in the business world, the music industry is about as fierce as it gets. Billions of potential listeners, from kids in search of the latest Teletubbies soundtrack to the stalwarts of Daniel O’Donnell’s octogenarian fanbase, represent only one thing to industry executives –an infinite amount of unexploited potential earnings. It makes perfect business sense that the music industry should constantly reinvent and revolutionise its production process and standards in an attempt to hoover up every last crumb.

Unfortunately, this often necessitates the sacrificing of a ‘backward’ or ‘disposable’ element which music fans hold near and dear. First on the list to go was vinyl, so beloved of fans, collectors and aficionados alike. But, like ‘Star Wars’, that issue is so 1970s. Now it’s ‘loudness wars’ that we’re interested in, as sound engineers jack up the volume of master recordings, gleefully mangling the original work into a processed, noisy shadow of its former self.

At a time like this, when musical integrity is yet again shamelessly sacrificed to commercialism, it is reassuring to see that some people have not lost sight of the bigger picture. Step forward, Ciarán McFeely, a twenty-something native of County Cork who, under the moniker Simple Kid, is single-handedly on a mission to restore our faith in music.

After walking out on his first band ‘The Young Offenders’ with a one-finger salute to the ‘processed’ music industry, McFeely broke onto the Irish music radar in 2003 with his debut solo offering SK1. Good reviews followed, with the Corkman’s quirky brand of lo-fi electronic alt rock leading to inevitable comparisons to Beck, his songwriting skills flatteringly compared to Dylan. Eager to build on this positive reaction, Simple Kid hit the road, selling out countless smaller clubs and venues around Ireland and Britain, soaking up the atmosphere on the festival circuit, before attempting to crack the American market with his Kinksian tales of love, drugs and working-class zeroes.

Fast forward three years: the word is out - Simple Kid is back.

Interviews are lined up, reviews are prepared - there’s only one problem – nobody has any idea what McFeely has been doing for the last three years.

When details of what is now referred to as ‘The Great Hibernation’ emerge, it would seem that the truth is undoubtedly stranger than fiction: working in a video shop, filling his days watching Weird Science and Werner Herzog movies, his music equipment gathering dust in a locked storage room. “It was a weird,

“

I don’t have a particularly resonant voice or anything, it just sounds quite nice and rough

”

really braindead two years. I wouldn’t say I enjoyed it, but it was really relaxing. I just kinda wondered about lots of things, but not really thinking too hard about them. It was only when McFeely’s duplicity caught up with him that that his hermetical existence was brought to an abrupt end. Over a few pints one evening, he casually mentioned to his manager that he’d been working on some songs during his time off. A few days later, the phone rang – his manager, eager to document whatever musical acorns McFeely had squirreled away, had booked him some studio time. And with hardly a second to catch his breath, the career of Simple Kid was relaunched, just like that.

The resulting collection, simply titled SK2, is one of the better efforts to emerge from a male solo artist (McFeely hates the term ‘singer-songwriter’) this year. Sonically, the album sees McFeely stick to what he knows best. The crackled din of opener ‘lil' King Kong’, interspersed with swirling guitar and canine barks, will undoubtedly leave many an unsuspecting listener scrabbling frantically at cables and connections in an attempt to improve the distorted racket emanating from their speakers. Eager to avoid the creative rut that has beset

many a man-with-guitar in the past, McFeely varies this lo-fi approach very effectively throughout the album. At the louder end of the spectrum is ‘Mommy‘n’Daddy’, a pulsating bluesy lament which may well have been lifted from Jack White’s trashcan.

In truth, it is McFeely’s novel approach to recording that makes him stand out from the masses. As with SK1, the majority of the album was recorded initially onto old C-60 tapes by McFeely in his bedroom. Anything that was recorded in a studio environment was later fed back through the cassette player to give it the distorted, crackling sound that has become Simple Kid’s trademark. “I don’t have a particularly resonant voice or anything, so with this cassette tape, my voice sounds as good as it will. It just sounds quite nice and rough or whatever. I’m just really comfortable on that eight-track.” At the same time though, even he will not deny that there is a nostalgic element which colours his rationale. “Everybody knows that tape sounds better, though cassettetape doesn’t really sound that good.

Recording into a computer, you’re looking at a screen and all this information.

And I just like with the eight-track, you can’t see anything and you’re just using your ears. With these old machines, you turn it on and the lights come on and the tape is running. It’s just a really nice thing … it’s almost enough in itself to get you recording!”

Interested to see how all of this might translate to a stage show, I popped along to see Simple Kid on the Dublin leg of his nationwide tour.

McFeely wowed a packed-to-capacity crowd who, much to his modest surprise, didn’t seem too unfamiliar with his music. “It’s quite freaky really. People have obviously been listening while I was busy doing nothing – burning CDs and giving them to their friends or whatever. There’s a lot more singing and stuff going on … sometimes you don’t really have to be there, they’re just happy to sing.” Encouraging as this reception must be, McFeely claims he was slightly taken aback by it at the tour’s beginning.

“The Irish audience are kinda loud. It’s a good thing when you’re prepared for it, but it caught me off-guard the first time. I had this set with more quiet songs, and there were people heckling, and I was like ‘shit, this is a rowdy crowd’. So, I’ve kinda sorted that out, and last night was the first night that I’ve finally got it together.”

As our conversation wears on, it becomes apparent that it is these quieter songs which provide McFeely with an outlet to express and explore more

personal themes. “Th more characters and working. On this one relationship nonsense illustrates the heartach ed love, characteris desire to be there f about. Meanwhile, ‘L (pt II) is much more f cisms, berating a love real as fake tan’ for caused.

It seems like ‘The G may have been a lot tially sounded. McFee ever to attribute his in ic events or periods. know where your id You’re terrified to think stuff, you just pray fo instead of analysing from. The time you spe it is almost time that s ing a song; they’re kin He does however pro insight into the inspira pleasing single, “The John”, a bitter satire McFeely’s keen eye fo as sharp as ever. “It’ braindead songs I’ve p ten in some ways. Th switch on the TV and ty wankers’. I did liter gover and turn on the some fucking Celebri on. It was just exactly then later on the Elton in, because I’m a hug stuff. I just used him as of the dangers of cele With critic heaped on the album, here to stay this time ably do a little bit of Actually, I’ll probably couple of years, and t that”. And after that, confine the career of annals of history? “W sixteen, my friends all stars, me included … fancy being a rocksta of friends who do diff interesting things. So there are lots of other are amazing to do. It’ is such fun making m time I’ll get up off my thing else is when I fi cannot do this any lon interested”. On that strength of his latest appear that we may n last from Simple Kid.

he first album has is literally about e, there’s a bit of e in there. ‘You’ he of unreciprocatsed by a simple for one you care Love’s An Enigma forceful in its critier who’s ‘about as the hurt she has

Great Hibernation’ less fun than it inily is reluctant howspiration to specif“It’s really hard to deas come from. k about that kind of or songs to come where they come end thinking about hould go into writnda similar things.” ovide me with an tion behind crowde Ballad of Elton which proves that or social criticism is ’s one of the most probably ever write first lyric goes ‘I see all the celebrirally wake up hunTV, and there was ty Colostomy Bag y as I saw it. And n John thing came e fan of his earlier s a classic example ebrity cal praise being surely McFeely is around? “I’ll probhibernation soon. y do a fair bit, a then we’ll see after , if he decides to Simple Kid to the Well, when we were wanted to be rock… and I still quite ar. But I’ve got lots erent things, really o I’m aware that r things in life that ’s weird though - it music that the only ass and do someinally realise that I nger, that no one’s basis and on the offering, it would not have heard the

COVERSTORY

d

11

12 80s Classic Reborn

SILVERSCREEN

Words: Conor O’ Kelly

Blade Runner was a flop. When this big budget sci-fi production was released nationwide in US theatres on June 25th 1982 it both confused audiences and divided critics. The production had cost in excess of $28 million, the opening weekend took just $6 million, and revenue declined every week thereafter. It didn’t help that it was competing that summer with Steven Spielberg’s sci-fi smash hit ET. It wasn’t meant to be like this; the film’s director was Ridley Scott - a rising star by virtue of the success of his sci-fi blockbuster Alien and starred Harrison Ford, a bankable leading man with both Star Wars and Raiders of the Lost Ark under his belt. Given the high profile financial disaster this film had become, it wouldn’t have been surprising if it had sunk without a trace.

Fast-forward ten years to 1992 and Blade Runner is rereleased in US theatres but in a ‘Director’s Cut’ version, this time it is a critical and financial success.

Four years later Blade Runner is one of the first films released on the new DVD format. Fast-forward another ten years and this month sees the ‘Director’s Cut’ re-mastered and re-released on DVD. It doesn’t stop there though. This month’s release is available for only four months before a new ‘Final Cut’ will be released to theatres worldwide to be followed later in 2007 by a DVD box set comprising the original release, the international release, the 1992 ‘Director’s Cut’ and the forthcoming ‘Final Cut’. Which begs the question: what on earth merits all this hoopla?

Blade Runner is set in an imagined Los Angeles of 2019.

The city and its inhabitants are suffering not so much from global warming as putrefaction. The acid

“

Blade Runner, it is an intelligent story, well acted and visually stunning.

”

rain never stops and the sun never comes up. The architecture is an unrelenting mix of metal and concrete, old decaying relics beside modern skyscrapers, all lit by the sort of neon advertising hoardings that would make a Tokyo salaryman blush. The abject state of planet earth has led to the establishment of ‘off-world’ colonies and this frontier project is aided by a workforce of ‘replicants’ – advanced androids who are described as more human than humans themselves. Rick Deckard (Harrison Ford) is a retired Blade Runner (replicant hunter) who is forced out of retirement to hunt down a group of four renegade replicants who have come to Earth to find their creator and to have him increase their inbuilt lifespan of just four years.

The seeming simplicity of the film’s plot is complicated by the question of what it means to be human. In the course of the

hunt Deckard meets and falls in love with Rachael (Sean Young), a new experimental replicant.

Equipped with emotions, and memories transplanted from her creator’s niece, she herself does not realise she is not made of flesh and blood. Deckard dispatches the replicants one by one, but in the film’s climax he is ambushed by their leader Roy (Rutger Hauer), who chases him onto a rooftop. Deckard finds himself hanging by a broken hand from a precipice several floors up. Roy, however, in a very human display of empathy, saves Deckard’s life and delivers a moving soliloquy before closing his eyes and shutting down. His four years are up.

If you enjoy sci-fi it is hard to find fault with Blade Runner. It is an intelligent story, well acted and visually stunning.

Two test audiences who saw it before public release in 1982 were not so positive however.

While the reactions were generally good, a significant number of the audience found it hard to understand and depressing. The studio made two major changes.

Narration by Harrison Ford’s character was added to help explain the story progression and a more upbeat ending was tacked on.

While the narration was something Ridley had considered a possibility (and could be considered in keeping with the noir / detective style of the film) the upbeat ending was distinctly jarring, featuring Deckard and Rachael riding off into a lush pastoral sunset. This then laid the ground for Ridley in 1992 to strip the film of narration and happy ending, and to add an implication that Deckard himself is a replicant.

The film’s fanbase grew and grew through the 80s and 90s. It has been described as metaphysical and post-modern by sci-fi fans and in academia long before The Matrix Trilogy was even a twinkle in the Wachowski brothers’ eyes. Ridley has said that the 1992 ‘Director’s Cut’ was a rush job, all the same it is an excellent version, and this month’s re-release on DVD should whet the appetite for next years big screen ‘Final Cut.’

The

Final Cut

Perhaps the film industry has a name for it, or maybe it doesn’t, but this year I’m christening the filming season from November onwards as “The Oscar silly season”. Because, as most people are aware, from about now onwards, the studio ‘film prostitution charade’ begins, and instead of people taking a step back and considering the best movies and performances of 2006 from a distance, the studios, in their esteemed wisdom and understanding, decide to make that decision for us.

“Buzz” is built up around certain films and performances. The Oscar mill gets up in motion and ends up culminating in a whimper come February. Look at the actual ceremony for further details. If anything is further proof that the Oscars are completely out of touch with what is cinematically and culturally important, it is the fact that Martin Scorcese, one of America’s greatest directors,has never won an Oscar. To think that this man has been behind some of the most culturally important films of the 20th century: “Raging Bull”, “Taxi Driver” and “Goodfellas”- and still he has been shunned every time. To put this in perspective, “Chicago” won best picture in 2003.

It is becoming ever more apparent, with every studio hyped film and every overblown Oscar ceremony that it is the Sundance Festival, Independent Spirit Awards and other such events that are really recognizing the best in cinema each and every year.

“The Squid and the Whale” was nominated for a host of awards in both of the above festivals/awards ceremonies last year. Jeff Daniels gave perhaps the performance of the year as a washed up intellectual broadcasting his character failings onto his children. Yet, come last year’s ceremony Daniels name was nowhere to be seen. This year, instead of rooting for one of the many apparent shoe-ins, I’m going to be rooting for Sacha Baron Cohen in “Borat”, a film which positively doesn’t give a hoot what anyone else thinks. If Adrian Brody kissed Halle Berry when he won back in 2003, just imagine what Borat, everyone’s favourite Kazahkstani, would do if he won the accolade. The buzz for “Borat” starts here.

Let them eat cake Words: Hana Chelache

In choosing to film the life of Marie Antoinette, Sophia Coppola has made a brave decision, asking us to feel sympathy for a woman often seen as a spoiled brat, who, it would seem, got exactly what she deserved when her appointment came with the guillotine. It is like asking us to admire Paris Hilton.

However the film is too seductive to disgust anyone who appreciates aesthetics. Staring at the screen you simply can’t get enough of the costumes, the sets and the magical cinematography.

The film also redeems itself by starring one of Hollywood’s most lauded young actresses, Kirsten Dunst, in the title role.

This historic romp distinguishes itself from other opulent period dramas. The film has been heavily criticised for its New Romantic soundtrack and Dunst being styled in a way that probably wouldn’t have been appreciated during the Rococo period. But this postmodern edge works because Coppola knows when to stop. Although Marie Antoinette’s life is presented in a way that the MTV generation

can relate to, she knows that you can’t make everything about the court of Versailles look cool, no matter how much New Order you throw at it. You are appealed to the by the endless little dogs, cakes, shoes and frivolity with a gluttonous eye particular to an audience from a consumerist age.

The film is not perfect. Steve Coogan’s talents are wasted in a part that could have been played by any male actor his age, whilst Marie Antoinette’s attempt to get back to nature by dressing up as a milk maid seems as vulgar and insensitive as the rich kids of today putting on working class accents.

Although BBC film critic Mark Kermode referred to this film as being a “meringue”, deliciously entertaining but with no centre, there is some substance to the work. For one thing Kirsten Dunst is more than a clothes horse, and is as utterly convincing as an innocent fourteen year old Princess as she is as a disillusioned woman, disappointed by her loveless marriage, slowly coming to realise that the privileged life she’s been

given isn’t her own to live. Unlike the it-girl we expect, she is as gracious as she is extravagant, a loving mother who we imagine trapped and lonely in the vast palace of Versailles. One feels Antoinette’s tedium as she endures endless rituals and genuinely humiliating ceremonies. Versailles is a strange, insular community where relationships seem to be based on the pursuit of power, rather than affection, and the young Princess finds herself surrounded by bullies, gossips and manipulative back-biters. Although Marie Antoinette is rich beyond her wildest dreams, you can’t imagine wanting to be her.

Perhaps it’s hard to sympathise with the Marie Antoinette of popular rumour, but Coppola’s portrait of a young girl striving after the real experiences she is lacking in her life is genuinely touching.

various ageless states of man. So, we have the black-haired one, whose marriage is on the rocks, the blonde, slightly stupid one who's mired in self-pity and the long-haired one who likes having lots of sex. Each of the characters convey the film's fundamental message: that women wish either to marry men or to break their sensitive hearts or, preferably, both.

Yes, The Last Kiss is a deeply misogynistic piece of work.

This is, after all, a film wherein the major dilemna facing the protagonist is whether to cheat on his pregnant girlfriend or not. His discontent is difficult to sympathise with. He has a nice car, a lucrative

office job and an attractive, intelligent girlfriend (she has a dissertation to write, don't you know - it's nice to see women expanding their minds). Maybe there will be no more surprises left in his life once he has had a child, but, hey, at least his face hasn't been mangled in a horrible car accident.

One might argue that The Last Kiss is a candid look at what it's like to be a man. In this sense, the movie is unashamedly honest. In fairness, if Summer from the OC told you that she wanted to "make love to you all night", what would you do? However, just as the film doesn't really know what it's trying to say,neither can it decide what audience it wants to appeal to. At times, it's high drama, at others it's a sex comedy. It's just not very convincing. Performancewise, there are no major revelations.

Ultimately, The Last Kiss might have posed some interesting questions regarding fidelity and responsibilty, but instead bails out in a cloud of cliche and inappropriate fart jokes. Avoid.

Kiss of death Words: H u g h McCafferty

So, having given €6.50 of my hard earned cash and two hours of my life to The Last Kiss, what is there to say? Well not much, to be honest. In blunderingly attempting to figure out exactly what it is trying to say, this film ends up saying nothing at all.

Zach Braff plays a character whose name, much like the movie itself, I couldn't be bothered remembering. We learn early on that Braff's girlfriend is pregnant, which (SHOCK) strikes fear into our hero's heart. Needless to say, he is flanked on both sides by a number of buddies, each one the

SILVERSCREEN

n’s o s n i Rob n o s Ja

13

14

What is his underwear really saying?

Words: Kerrie Forde

HIGHSTYLE

There were no sponsors for the underwear shoot. These four regular Joes from the arts block were simply selected for their masculine prowess. We had no idea what was under the baggy jeans and polo shirts; our mission was to find out. Our hypothesis: in terms of semiotics underwear signifies a specific outward manifestation of someone’s personality or mood. You may notice from the pictures of our willing participants that there is no sign of haute couture undergarments, tighty-whities or dare we say, thongs. However, despite our boys not falling into these general distinctions a lot can be said about their choice of underwear on this day.

Lets take boy number one, distinguishable by the stripy, multicoloured boxers. If you were to find yourself in close quarters with this pair of pants there are many things you can deduce from not only the style but also the choice of colour. One phrase comes to mind as we critically access this boys choice in lingerie and that is, in our humble opinion, lovable rogue. This is accentuated by our model’s choice in pose. Raised arms and arched back are testament to his winning charm in the bedroom.

Now for boy number two. He is like a breath of fresh air in his immaculate white boxers. We can only guess that this boy is not only clean, (which is always a bonus), but also a nice guy.

He displays a pleasing boyish charm but the nice guy act can wear thin.

Now to our penultimate model, the one model who had the audacity to show up in scarlet red boxers. Be warned, a man who chooses to wear this colour is most definitely of the predatory type. Ladies and gentlemen, yes you may be drawn to the drama and passion, which this colour inspires, but be cautious when igniting this man’s fire for you may suffer third degree burns.

Finally to our all-rounder.

Possessing an air of confidence in pose and boxer choice, this man is neither flashy nor cheap. He inhabits that middle ground everyone searches for. Yes, the other underwear may indicate elements of fun, danger and comfort but these pants suggest in their calming blue and neutral pat-

terns a man of considerate and charming nature, the pose insinuating a positive sexual undercurrent.

As our models are but lowly students our survey is lacking in terms of a wide range of styles. Consequently for your reading pleasure we have added a few helpful hints should you be faced with underwear not seen on this page.

Tighty-whities: show guys at either end of the spectrum. These jocks are sported by both the physically inept and those almost too proud of their masculine form. The latter is probably frisky and fun loving and in pretty decent shape. The former is a man most likely to be compared with Mr. Muscle. It is also the habit of Mediterranean men to sport such underwear. This is a cultural phenomenon that is beyond our understanding but may have something to do with the climate.

Thongs: Over-promotion of the package, in our opinion only fit for strippers.

Models: Peter McFeeley, Paul Devlin, Henry Tindal, William Clive Stoker

Words: K e r r i e F o r d e Sophie Lally En route to the Hamilton building to document fashion disasters, we were distracted by several students showcasing hot current trends and styles which often frequent the Arts Block. The fine weather was clearly embraced by students sporting sunglasses, with notably large lenses, a look which first became popular about three years ago and has remained in fashion. The appeal with these glasses, usually the choice of the celebrity, can be attributed to their ability to make a statement. In my opinion they have a distinct urban appeal. One of the students we spotted, modelesque Sonne (top left), really highlights the affect accessories can have on a simple outfit. Cleverly placed and layered accessories encourage you to look at her ensemble ‘length wise’- nine out of ten times you wouldn’t naturally do this. Messy hair and lack of earrings is also the way forward, it’s convenient for students and looks youthful. There is a Bohemian vibe to the outfit, a style which is usually associated with a free-spirited, independent frame of mind. The beauty about Bohemian fashion is that nothing needs to match. It’s a relaxed look. Ida Fottland’s (bottom left) outfit stood out because to me it seems like a clever and interesting manipulation of the ‘allAmerican’ look. The collaboration and emblematic sash with indieinspired skinny jeans is both simple and effective.

The preppy look is a big hit in the Arts Block, often modelled by those who like to embrace their public school roots. The style has long been associated with the lifestyle of the privileged and wealthy. Think country club members, yacht owners and croquet players.

The average male preppy outfit might normally consist of light coloured clothing, for example, khaki and pastels.

Men often embrace shades of pink, lime and yellow. We noticed that Anthony, a fourth year student who describes his style as ‘wholesome’, appears to be aiming for this look.

There is one main rule to the preppy look: clean. However the preppy look has infiltrated the main stream clothes market for some time now.

Companies like Abercrombie and designers such as Tommy Hilfiger have given it a modern twist. It is a style which has been made über-cool by hiphop artist Kanye West and catapulted the cardigan to the forefront of almost every major men’s designer 2006 Autumn line. Contradiction works, its cool and subversive, that’s why hardcore hip-hop artists revel in the look. It’s different from American style, there is something classically British about the preppy look. The contrast between Alan’s outfit, top right, and Anthony’s illustrates perfectly the diversity of styles circulating the Arts Block.

HIGHSTYLE

Photos: Martin McKenna

Arts Block Fashion

15

16 Microwave

whores

FOODDRINK

Words: Joey Facer

Modern woman. We got the vote.

We got the right to our other halves’ property. We even got jobs.

Somewhere on modern woman’s epic journey, we lost cooking.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not going to pretend I don’t epitomize this modern woman. I can’t cook. Heck, I can’t even make toast. (Hilariously exampled the first morning I attempted to dine my other half and the toast was damp. Damp toast. Classy.) But that doesn’t mean I can’t deplore the state of things.

Today’s woman is pampered by the conveniences that crowd her: in a land of minute meals and McDonald’s, coupled with ever more demanding working hours, we can hardly blame her for ordering out yet again. Plus, when children come into the equation, cooking is even further sidelined.

And at the same time, we may be being over-indulgent in propelling such information-or misinformation. Those precious few hours of leisure time at the disposal of Ms Modern are rarely used for anything more productive than staring at the TV screen. Or else, if the tabloid tales are anything to go by, drinking herself into a stupor. Could it not be possible to power on, in our ‘free-time’, plodding bravely on the home-bound trek, like our mothers’ mothers, and start to set some standards?

Besides, the expanding waistline of potentially little-flawed women everywhere (of which more, another time) ought by now to have convinced Ms Modern that ready meals are just not worth the calories. Our skin, hair and nails all suffer from poor vitamin intake. Not to mention the feeling of constantly having your energy sapped, coupled with crushing sleepy low periods in the late mornings and late afternoons,

“

The first morning I attempted to dine my other half the toast was damp.

Damp toast.

Classy

”

after the sugar kicks we ingest in their plethora of packaged forms, have worn off.

I will desist in advocating Gillian McKeith eating methods. These are fun for no-one and entirely dubious at the best of times. My ancestors would not have been able to tell quinoa from a hippo calf, yet they flourished to the extent that a lineage survived. At this rate, with career taking the prime position and children ever longer put off, we may be stalling our entire species for the sake of convenience. Microwave, what have you done to us?

But the world and its generations to come can yet be saved!

Ladies, don your aprons. Get up off the sofa, preheat the oven and grease the baking tray.

Grill some meat, boil some potatoes, peel some vegetables. It sounds simple, it may even be simple (for all I know), but I have no doubt it is worth it. Good, solid food.

Time spent in focused endeavour, as compared to idling. Becoming a person who does, rather than one who will do later.

This, ladies, will inspire your man to rush off and get himself a good job, at which he will work

hard, to buy you gifts as a reward. (For whatever they tell you now, and I have Ms Sylvia Plath to back me up on this one, they will one day expect their meat and two veg daily, six on the dot, please.) Which will also mean, as he will work so much more, you can work so much less outside of the pleasing confines of the home. And as a result, spend more time in the kitchen. Where, of course, you have always belonged.

Salamanca 1 St Andrew's Street, D2

Mr. Darcy does Dublin

Words: Emma Timmons

What hungry student would not be thrilled at the idea of a three course meal for a mere €10.95?

Well that’s exactly how I felt as I entered Salamanca to avail of its lunch special (offered 12 – 4 weekdays). Yes, I know, I should have been wary. You get what you pay for after all in this day and age. However, I was eager-eyed and naïve. This atmospheric tapas bar and Spanish restaurant has a warm and bright decor, with interesting Spanish details to enjoy which helped pass the time as the cold service staff wandered past chatting amongst themselves, ignoring our hungry eyes.

Getting to grips with the fact that €10.95 was not going to deliver the best quality, I was happily anticipating the feeling of an uncomfortably full stomach after three courses. I still feel betrayed and hurt by the deception that I experienced that Wednesday afternoon. The three courses which enticed us in to Salamanca were in fact a dinner, desert and… tea or coffee? (A drink!). Surely, this is fraud.

Determined to plough on with this dismal afternoon lunch, I ordered the salmon. It was a downsized Dining Room special, rubbery and lacking in flavour.

The four miniature potatoes, which accompanied it however were of excellent quality, although not exactly filling.

After a lot of exhaling and eyes rolling, we were finally offered to choose from the two piece desert menu. My friend ordered the ice cream (two miniscule scoops of Tesco Value) and I was intrigued by the exotic ‘Chocolate Pear’. To my dismay, it was exactly what it said on the tin – and I am certain that the pear actually came out of a tin – a whole pear drenched in what can only be described as ‘mockolate’.

The cappuccino was quite nice and the tea was apparently divine.

This lunch menu is certainly not as good as value as one might expect, but bear in mind, apparently it is incomparable to the dinner menu.

I have to say Salamanca left me with a bad taste in my mouth and hunger pangs in my belly so my own self designated fourth course went down a treat – a delicious Centra roll.

Salamanca? More like Salamanky.

Words: Beth Armstrong Emma Timmons

FOODDRINK

InReview:

A month into college and work has vaguely started. Obviously this leaves plenty of time for the pivotal activity, which every student likes to partake in - daydreaming. Jane Austen’s texts fill many an English student’s reading list, and on a drizzly disgusting winter day, when faced with the prospect of evaluating the theme of female oppression in the regency times the mind can start to wander… what would happen if Mr Darcy was alive and living in Dublin today?

The perfect romantic hero, Darcy’s choice of ways to wine and dine in Dublin would be vast. Obviously, a romantic night begins with drinks. Not Captain America’s 3 Euro student cocktails and pints for Darcy, however.

Instead he would whisk you off to the den of sophistication that is Café En Seine. Situated on Dawson Street, the bar is designed with an art-deco theme.

Soft lighting from the many chandeliers and music from the grand piano transport you back to the heady days of early 19th century Paris. The perfect setting to start the night on a romantic note.

Next door and the next stop on Darcy’s tour of Dublin would be Ron Blacks – where

Ireland’s first champagne bar is located. Serving a heady array of champagnes, starting at €10 per glass, the upward spiral of elegant and sophisticated bubbles is astounding. With its comfortable lounge feel and low candle-light throughout, the bubbles aren’t the only thing that recommends this place.

Next – dinner. A starryeyed stroll to South Frederick Street brings you to Dunne and Crescenzi - you are transplanted to Italy when you walk through the door. Owner Eileen Dunne describes it as a "typical Italian enoteca, where you can have a glass of wine or antipasti all day."

That modest description does not do justice to this cheap, unpretentious winner – really two restaurants on the same street - where staff are beautiful / nonchalant and the customers are a mixture of Trinity students, tourists, actors and struggling writers. The amorous atmosphere of the restaurant, combined with the excellent food makes it easy to see why Darcy would choose such a place – not just because of the fact it has been voted one of the hundred best restaurants in Ireland.

The morning after the night before Darcy wouldn’t slip

out of your bedroom without a word. Instead he’d continue the romance by brining you for a heady brunch in Er Buchetto in the leafy suburbs of Ranelagh. This gold nugget is the perfect place to argue over the Sunday papers.

Reasonably priced (not that Darcy would care)- the hot chocolate is a must for only €2.80. A wide array of pastries, served by Italian stallions with mood music in the background, Er Buchetto is the perfect place to make another date.

Every girl knows that the perfect date can only happen in your imagination, but realistically knowing you can win a girl over by showing her a bit of old-fashioned charm on a minimal budget means that Mr Darcy may not have to be a daydream for every Trinity girl. Boys take note!

InReview:

those of us up from the country will easily remark. With soft lighting and plush, modern and comfortable furniture, Russells’ interior is particularly easy on the eye, and whether you’re in the mood for a chat in a quiet corner or a rowdy night out with your mates, Russells’ layout offers both. The clientele is a mixture of students, ex-students and professionals which provides for a great atmosphere especially on Wednesdays and Thursdays.

A section upstairs is often converted into a dance floor if you’re feeling restless, with a DJ playing at least two nights a week.

For smokers, Russells has one of the cosiest beer gardens in Dublin.

With cold winter nights fast approaching, the beer garden on the top floor has four gas heaters

to keep you warm and a great view of Ranelagh village. Russells was also renowned amongst our parents’ generation for being one of the first pubs to show live sport on colour television. Even if the event you want to watch is not being shown on the big screen downstairs, simply ask the bar staff and they’ll put it on for you upstairs on a smaller television.

There is also a bar food menu which is pretty ordinary, but after a few drinks it will taste great!

Finally (and most importantly, we are students after all) Russells is pretty cheap, with pints of Fosters at €3.10 and all other drinks prices slightly down on city centre prices. So hop on a Luas and make your way out to Russells of Ranelagh. You won’t regret it!

Russells, 60 Ranelagh Road, D6.

Words: J a m e s O ’ D o w d Looking for an alternative to the chaotic city-centre nightlife? Or just looking for somewhere to have a quiet pint? Russells of Ranelagh comes highly recommended. One of the most striking aspects of Russells is the friendliness of the staff; a rarity in Dublin pubs as

17

18 Riding in

cars with boys Words: Frasier McKeown

lem was – where to have our little rendezvous?

My parents were intent on enjoying a good night in and my sister was nosing around – so my place was simply out of the questions. He had a similar problem. So as if things weren’t quite sleazy enough we were forced to play our silly little games in the back of a car.

After I had hopped in to his little Mazda and we started racing down the road, the excitement began to grow. He came to a skidding stop at the gates to a nearby quarry. The rain was pelting down on the already foggy

The morning after

“Drink sir, is a great provoker...

Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unprovokes; it provokes the desire but takes away the performance” (Macbeth; Act 2, Scene 3).

I remember my sixth year English teacher hastily telling our class of 17 year old girls to remember the above quote, as we thumbed through ‘Macbeth’.

Alcohol and sex do not go well together. This is what passes for sex education in Irish second level institutions- but that is a different article.

The fact is we are all familiar with alcoholic sex or sexual alcoholism.

After the fourth pear kopperberg in the pav, one falls into a sweaty heap with the guy who sits in the back of one’s economics class with the cute smile but broken pencil.

What follows is a sloppy, loud and uncomfortable sexual encounter in which

SEXLIVES

The idea of sex in a car can evoke quite a romantic image. Picture that boy of your dreams, driving Daddy’s 5 Series Beemer. The two of you on a cliff over-looking the city. As the windows start to steam up, he moves to turn down the iPod. He reaches over cupping your cheek in his hand and slowly moving the other…. And I guess it goes from there. But that’s all a bit too ‘O.C’ for me.

Back home for the weekend, I got a ‘booty call’ from a friend. With nothing to do and Tubridy Tonight on the TV, I was adamant not to miss out on this great opportunity, the only prob-

Words: Sorcha Lyons

window. He leaned over and our lips began to touch - and suddenly the horn let out a beep. He jumped back with a look of fear on his face and awkwardly fumbled around. As we began to get a bit more intimate there was another interruption.

Headlights in the distance began to get closer. We quickly sat up hoping that someone wouldn’t shine a light on our sexual deviancy.

As he moved from base to base, things became a bit more difficult. I hit my head on the steering wheel, he put his back out and my hand nearly smashed through the windscreen –a dangerous experience.

Even though there was no condom or lube, he insisted on making an attempt for goal. Like a wannabe Keith Wood aiming for that last try, he lunged for glory but was stopped short by a stout defence – Thank God. After that wonderful experience we attempted to tidy up his sister’s Mazda.

Unfortunately there was no tissuepaper on hand,not evena copy of the Dubliner to clean up with He dropped me home bruised, scarred and sticky at the door of my house. Perhaps car sex isn’t all Hollywood makes it out to be.

you fall from sex goddess to sleeping mess pretty quickly. To be avoided at all costs. My English teacher was right. However, what she and Shakespeare himself failed to mention is the delicious pleasure of hangover sex. Drunk sex is like disgusting fast-food you eat at the end of a night out. At the time, you want it, you need it more than anything in the world. But once you’re half way through your hotdog, you realize that you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. Conversely, hungover sex is the foie gras of the sexual world. There is nothing more satisfying then waking up, blearyeyed and bug faced, turning to your partner looking for sympathy, when you realize that sympathy is the last thing he wants to give you.

After a rough night, your body is at its most sensitive. Heightened sensitivity equals heightened pleasure.

Gentle movements are escalated, your head spins, the slightest touch takes your breath away.

Sex is the most effective hangover cure. My advice is to skip the drunken binge, save your appetites for the morning, when you’re sensitive and starving. Roll on lechery and skin-tingling passionate hungover sex. Try it yourself.

The secret corner The hottest place to have sex on campus at the moment is the boathouse. Situated at the back of campus, near the rugby pitch and the student health centre, the boathouse is frequented by strong rowing men and suave surfer chicks.

They are all getting it on in the boathouse- it’s the perfect way to unwind after a hard day on the waves. Despite the derelict building, the boathouse has a lot to offer. Decorated with pictures of naked girls (both real and imaginary) it has a sofa, a box of condoms and all the rubber suits you could want. Negative points include the mould on the ceiling and a broken window. It’s not too bad though, the breeze gives the impression that you’re out at sea.

Grab yourself a windsurfer and get down there now.

Words: Darren Kennedy YouTube is one of the fastest growing websites on the internet at present and has become a host to a huge variety of popular television programs. According to a survey carried out in July 2006, 100 million clips are viewed by its visitors every 24 hours and a further 65,000 video clips are uploaded onto the site on a daily basis. For this reason it is no wonder Google decided to initiate the much publicised takeover for the staggering price of $1.65 billion.

YouTube have a policy put in place that prohibits its members from uploading of copyrighted video clips. They even have a 10 minute maximum duration for all uploads in an attempt to curtail unauthorised material, but this attempt to stay true to their policy has proved to be futile. Uploaders are simply segmenting all unauthorised uploads that exceed 10 minutes in duration, into different parts.

Another one of YouTube’s policies is that they remove any unauthorised videos when a complaint has been received about them. Recently, a Japanese Entertainment lobby group succeed in having 30,000 copyrighted video clips removed from YouTube’s website that were infringing on copyright laws.

However, other companies such as NBC Universal and CBS Paramount have began to embrace YouTube and have recognised it as a profitable stage to promote both their shows and their network. Warner Music Group and EMI have also expressed an interest in partnering up with YouTube with the view to making every music video ever created available free of charge within a year and a half on YouTube.com.

With changes such as these on the horizon we may just be beginning to witness a huge slump in TV’s popularity.

Chit-chat Words: Hannah Scally Above our heads hundreds of black lights hanging at various heights look unsettlingly like little alien-bots about to descend upon us. There’s about a metre of space in front of me, into which I have extended my legs in a casual fashion. Down below us a strangely disjointed vista of Dublin is visible between the old-looking books and leather furniture, and nobody is allowed to leave the room. I am going to be in a studio audience.

As a young teenager I used to watch the Graham Norton show, with regular pangs of envy. Mild ones, but pangs nonetheless. I watched it with a sort of longing, because here’s the thing: I really, really wanted to be in the audience of that show. It looks extremely fun.

Tonight is my chance to participate in the weekend chatshow phenomenon. But not, alas, with the trendy boisterousness of Friday Night Project. Nor the solid confidence of Jonathan Ross. Not even the bolshy novelty of Charlotte Church. I know better than to expect this when I am offered last-minute tickets to The Late Late Show’s arrogant young nephew, Tubridy Tonight. Ryan Tubridy.

Darling of RTE. Enthusiastic newcomer to the inner sanctum of presenters that rotate around the shows on that station.

My interest in Ryan Tubridy is roughly reflected in the number of times I’ve watched his show, which is somewhere around four halves, including the times I left the TV on when I went to make tea. I go anyway.

The first thing I notice upon entering the studio (it’s not until later that, with a start of hor-

ror, I see the menacing lights above us) is that it’s rather nice. By this I mean that it is in fact not the gaudy orange and purple that it appears to be on TV. I wonder if this is the case for all nasty studios.

A little bit before we go live, the floor manager and the lead guy in the Camembert Quartet, Turbridy’s house band, come out to get us all warmed up.

“Everyone take two fingers, put them to your neck…and if you feel a pulse, you’re not the Late Late Show audience.” This not being The Late Late Show, in fact, continues as a popular joke theme during all of the ad breaks right until the end of the show. The warm-up continues with some singing, descending into a compulsory singalong bordering on bullying, and, horribly, a grim insistence that everybody stand up and sway their arms in the air to Daydream Believer.

At this point survival instinct kicks in: I know of only one way to handle enforced arm-swaying with a group of strangers.

Accordingly I find myself laughing insanely, singing along, and before I know it, clapping like a maniacal Tubridy fan when Ryan himself bounces onto the stage to greet the audience before the show. “Anyone here from Galway?” he asks. “Cork? <generic Cork joke>!” A few more minutes of banter and we get ready for the show to start: everyone has to start clapping when the countdown reaches six.

Throughout the show, the guests are rolled on and off screen with a peculiarly tedious rapidity: Ainsley Harriet (even camper in real life)

”

blends into Paul Burrel.

Throughout it all the lights above us shift on and off according to an intricate code, occasionally turning their full blinding gaze on the audience when the camera decides to swing in our direction.

The most exciting, but ultimately, vanity wounding part, is when the girl in front of me in the audience is interviewed. She's right in front of me. I think I'm one of those people behind that I always look at instead of the one being interviewed. Gaah. The camera looks like it's angled away from me, but I don't want to look at it to check in case it's not. I concentrate on arranging my face to look like I don't think I'm being filmed. Does it look like I just arranged my face? Smile at joke and act as if am having a good time. I later confirm that I was in fact the only other person in the shot, and looked terrifyingly pale with a vacant gaze.

It turns out the audience member is about to win us all a weekend away, and I make one further appearance, according to witnesses, whooping and screaming "like a Jerry Springer audience member," though I don't remember being quite that excited. After the show is eased out to the gravelly growls of Ray LaMontaigne, Tubridy says a quick goodbye and grants a photo to an audience member whose birthday it is. The audience files out of the building, collecting their not-so-swanky holidays, and we emerge into the rain on the Stillorgan road to get the bus home.

THEBOX

“

The new tube

Anyone here from Galway?he asksOr Cork? <insert generic Cork joke here>

19

Faceoff Hilton V Clinton

20

Words: Joey Facer

ENDNOTES

If ever a mere mortal could manage to shift God’s own adjective onto themselves it is this lady-she is ubiquitous. In nearly every party photo we see dear Paris snapped, hilariously, on her cell, talking to whoever is at the next party. She is one celebrity who, by rights, could be known by first name only; but the money breathed into her surname proves just too hard to relinquish. We never want to forget that here is a woman who defies the American Dream: I can do anything! scream her accomplishments, because I have Daddy’s credit card.

And what are those accomplishments that have earned Ms Hilton global admiration?

Wikipedia lists her occupations as severally “socialite, singer, actress, fashion model, author” and “heiress”. From the success of her TV series “The Simple Life”, to appearances in “The O.C” as well as a starring role in the deplorable “House of Wax”, Hilton has modeled for the likes of Tommy Hilfiger and Christian Dior. She has her own record label, Heiress Records (a subdivision of Warner Bro’s Records), her own record, and her novel “Confessions of an Heiress” was on the New York Times bestseller list. She has designed clothes, accessories and perfume, and owns a string of nightclubs.

But I’m not convinced. Paris Hilton was as famous before all this as she is now. She needed to do nothing but be born not entirely ugly to be propelled to the heights of the A/B list. Sure, the sex tape upped her status, but then, who doesn’t love a rich girl who’s not afraid to be a hobag?

Paris, ah Paris: keep dying that Barbieblonde, empty head of yours, and being the most inanely dull person in popular culture. You have my vote. Why? Because everyone loves a person cocky enough to love themselves. We like feeling superior to ditsy Paris, yes, but also, we love how dirty our love for her feels. A love based on nothing of substance, just a whole-hearted admiration for the persona she has created from air and made everybody believe: I am Paris. I am, if no one else in the world is, FABULOUS.

In this day and age, it ought to be something less of a shocking proposition that a woman govern the most powerful state on our globe. And yet the gossip-ful speculation about Mrs Clinton’s potential presidency is unprecedented.

It is women like Paris Hilton who make it inconceivable, in a still largely patriarchal society, for a woman to be in the White House.

It is a vapid culture that we bow down to.

Style is not substance, celebrities are not substance, God knows TV and the world media are not substance. Hilary Clinton, conversely, is the real deal: flesh, blood and brains.

The daughter of a small businessman and traditional homemaker, Clinton’s origins are a far cry from heiress Hilton’s pampered upbringing.

Clinton was driven, after attaining her post-graduate degree, to become a highly successful property lawyer, also exercising her giving hand in taking on child advocacy cases for no fee. In 1993, Hilary became the first “first lady” to possess a postgrad. Not only that, the continusous expression of her political opinions led she and Bill to be labelled “Billary” by selected press, an interesting amalgam when paralleled to more lately esteemed celebrity power couples, and one which highlights the demographic shift in our society’s preoccupations.

In standing by her famously exposed cheating husband, it would be easy to quickly dismiss Hilary Clinton as not propelling the female cause, not being a real feminist. Clinton was never a “real feminist” in this sense, but a realist feminist. In upholding the traditional conservative value of an unbroken, though arguably scarred, home, Hilary has kept the Democrat punters on her side. Her forthcoming campaign is tipped for success, and her career ambitions are largely untainted by her private life.

Clinton is very far from being an incapable Barbie doll whose hedonistic lifestyle influences young people to be similarly self-indulgent and flippant. Sheis an adult, a woman, and one who may soon become a political force to be reckoned with on an international scale.

Noticeboard rink Food and D liet Ju Romeo and all B n Hallowee ct O st 1 3 Tues :30pm 8 ne La e m 4 Da €5/€7

Mylo Temple Bar Music Centre Sat 11th Nov €20

Fancy some Beeth Elagar?

Orche oven?

St Patr stral Socie ty ick’s Weds Cathedra l 29th Nov 8pm

f Natural Museum o History l Children’s ia c e p S Tour, Halloween age 7+ 11:30am 2nd Nov

HOT Heels. Bin the flats.

They’re cobbles, not hot coals.

Hat, scarf and gloves in the library-it’s already hotter outside.

French Erasmus Students

The phrase: “you’re such a Brit abroad”.

That means you Team England.

Islamic fundamentalismso last year.

School disco nights-we’ve just left school, guys, leave it alone

On a similar topic-having sex in nightclubs. A little more Jane Austen courtship would get you guys a lot more action.

The Hallow Phil Citi B een Party ar (D Tues 3 ame St) 1 10pm st Oct till Late €7

allery National G Nov th 4 Tuesday 1 e Th : m a 10:30 lothes C f o e g a Langu 0 1700-190 e fe o N

Compiled by: Joey Facer

Dressing up your cat

NOT