Non-sequitur

UK peeps, seen this ad on telly recently? I hate it. HATE IT.

Putting to one side the awful green-tinted drabness and unimaginative script ("Harrison!") for a moment, the main problem I have with this advert is that I have no clue what it is about.

I mean, obviously the advertiser is Specsavers; the ad works at least insofar as it's a creative device for shoehorning as much branding into 30 seconds as possible. But why? Why is the shouty man so determined that 'Harrison!' get rid of Specsavers' advertising? What is this nameless corporation he's heading up? I would get it if they looked like a rival opticians - visual cues such as eye charts or white lab coats, while not that imaginitive, would at least give some context - but they look like a bunch of tax accountants in Next suits.

Maybe the green-tinted drabness, the catalogue office furniture, the dough-faced complexions and Next suits are all supposed to lead us obliquely to infer that this is a corporation that hates eyes. Certainly when watching it the question, 'what have my eyes done to deserve this?' crossed my mind. Perhaps that's the deeper meaning within this total non-sequitur of an ad.

Another question: oughtn't the client who signed this off go to Specsavers themselves...?

The Kennel Club is like the KKK. Really, PETA?

Okayyyyy, so now the People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, better known as PETA, are comparing the American Kennel Club to the KKK because ‘they both believe that pure bloodlines are superior’.

This shows that not only are they an organisation who actively seek out and embrace controversy, (i.e. approach with massive doses of salt) but also that they have no problem exploiting women to push their agenda, which by their own logic makes them what? Pimps? And now they’ve co-opted eugenics as a platform for their message. Just because they come down on the ‘eugenics is bad’ side of the debate, that doesn’t mean it’s not sick of them to leverage it. That’s like saying you hate rape because it leads to more abortions, or something.

With each word I devote to writing about PETAs shameful tactics of self-promotion, a little bit more of me dies. Before I expire completely let’s reassure ourselves that we’re not taking crazy pills, and take a look at how ridiculous their assertions that dog breeding is as bad as the racial purity ideologies of the KKK really are:



1. Dogs are not people. This one is obvious but I feel that it bears repeating because this is where PETA keep missing the point, in my opinion. Dogs are not people; animals are not people, they don’t have the same problems as people so stop anthropomorphising them like they cry themselves to sleep at night because Bambi’s mum got shot. Harpooning endangered species is not cool, but if I want to eat a steak then I can without remorse. A lion can have a steak whenever it wants; are Lions assholes? No, they are animals (with great haircuts I might add).


2. The purer the bloodline, the more stupid the breed. I know that that is kind of PETA’s point but dogs don’t know they’re stupid, neither do stupid people - that’s why they’re stupid. You know who’s stupid? The KKK. You know why? Because they are inbred. The KKK want to control racial propagation but they are too stupid to recognise that you can’t mess with nature. The very fact that the KKK exists at all is a great example of natural selection at work. In a couple more generations they’ll be dribbling in trailer parks on the outskirts of towns, with too many fingers and heads that are too big for their silly hats.


3. Dog breeders want to control the genetics of a breed. Not because they believe in the supremacy of that breed, or because they believe that only pure breed dogs should have executive power and civil rights, but because they want to show off their pretty dogs to each other.


4. The KKK lynches black people, the AKC doesn’t.


URL to article on Don't Panic's site here: http://www.dontpaniconline.com/magazine/politics/kennel-club-the-next-kkk

The Essential Metalheadz

Quite possibly the best drum and bass label there has ever been. Founded in 1993 by Goldie, Doc Scott, Storm and the much-missed Kemistry, Metalheadz has come to be known as the most pioneering label in drum and bass.

The seminal Metalheadz Sunday Sessions at London's Blue Note have become the stuff of scene legend and their Platinum Breaks compilations helped to win over those who assumed all drum and bass sounded like lorries reversing by showcasing a side of the music that was not only sophisticated and intricate but also representative of the creativity and innovation found amongst the UK's most talented producers.

The mighty imprint is 15 years old this month and is celebrating by releasing a compilation of some of the label's finest moments on 15 Years of Metalheadz. Kmag is in turn celebrating by picking our own finest moments from Metalheadz and inviting you lot to do the same in the comments section below. Here we go...

1. Adam F – Metropolis
This came out in 1996, people, 1996! Can you imagine, knowing what you know now, what it would have been like to hear this for the first time back then?? The drums are executed with a kind of psychopathic precision and just like Fritz Lang's film, Adam F's Metropolis is foreboding, futuristic and spooky.



2. Alex Reece – Pulp Fiction
I have two words: Bass Line. Understated and simple, laid-back, grown-up, and a bit dark... This is the little black dress, the Tom Ford, the Audi of drum and bass tunes. Its minimalist arrangement makes it timeless, I can't imagine this ever sounding dated. A true classic.



3. Doc Scott – Swarm
Pure dark side drum and bass. How did such a big tune manage to evade any mention on Google other than links to mp3s? And why has it got only just over a thousand views on YouTube? Talk about being underground. If someone asked me what the difference between jungle and drum and bass was, I wouldn't be able to tell them but I'd probably play them this.



4. D Kay and Lee – Wax'd
Wax'd shows the more mellow, slightly warmer and melodic side to Metalheadz. This smoother sound of drum and bass has become a signature style in Headz ambassador, DJ Lee's sets, and tempers the moody intensity of some of the stable's other releases.

5. Optical – To Shape The Future
Glitchy and minimalist, To Shape The Future delivered on its name by becoming pretty much the catalyst for the whole neurofunk movement, and should be given massive credit for being so directional. Not only that but I heard that because of complaining neighbours when Optical was writing it he had to judge the level of the bass by feeling the vibration of the speakers while they were turned down low. That must have been HARD. Big skill.



6. Rufige Cru – Terminator
'Whistle crew make some noise!!' Oh my god, this was before even my time but it is so, so sick. Reminds me of being 13 and listening to tape packs in my bedroom. Seminal and pioneering, Terminator was among the first new wave of jungle tunes to come out of hardcore and paved the way for the Metalheadz legacy.



7. Dillinja – Angels Fell
Harks back to a time before the genre became ever more fragmented, when it was okay to do stripped back drums instead of the 2-step template that limits so much of dnb output today; a time when forums didn't erupt in acne-popping apoplexy if someone so much as removed a snare. The good news is that we're seeing a shift in trend back towards this kind of fluid production; not sure anyone will ever be able to do bass quite like Dillinja though.



8. Ed Rush – The Raven
Dirty as a dustbin full of torn bum holes. The paranoid and tense The Raven was arguably the genesis of the idea for the fantastic Locust - which came a couple of years later - with its grumbly Reece bass line providing the hook and its idiosyncratic hi-hats. As dark and sinister as any Edgar Allen Poe story. Not so much 'nevermore', as 'more!'



9. Noisia – The Bells
Right, back to the future now with one of the most recent releases. In The Bells we see a return to the label's experimental form with Noisia's interesting precise, minimal sound. This tune makes the list for having balls and for being a very positive statement of intent for Metalheadz as it enters its 16th year.



10. John B – Up All Night
This tune was probably the first time we were ever introduced to the term 'trance and bass'. Some people weren't sure at first but the foresight of Metalheadz A&R has long since been vindicated by the fact that seven years on it is hailed as one of the hugest dance floor dnb tunes from that era and John B is now one of drum and bass's most commercially successful artists. The atmospherics, pitched-up vocals and piano riffs referenced early nineties rave, while the dirty Reece bass line kept the tune rooted in the contemporary. Big and brilliant.



URL to original article on Knowledge's site here: http://www.kmag.co.uk/editorial/features/848

Blu Mar Ten - Natural History

Blu Mar Ten's album, Natural History, was released yesterday. It's very good, I suggest you go buy yourself a copy. You might also want to read the interview I did with the guys here:

None of the usual fluffy rehearsed interview rubbish for the Blu Mar Ten guys. Five minutes after sitting down with them, we're debating the existence of art for art's sake and the role of audience in giving it validity. Not your usual, 'how did you guys get into drum and bass' conversation.

But Blu Mar Ten are not the usual. Keeping up with them is tricky, the trio have a way of finishing each other's sentences and pre-empting each others' points, which betrays not only the amount of time they've been together but the amount of time they spend together.

Each has carved out their own defined role to create a group dynamic that, judging by longevity and consistent quality of output, obviously works. I'll be honest, it's weird. I know married couples who don't get on as well as these three do. And I'm actually a bit jealous; I wanna be in their gang.

We kick off the interview by talking about their wildly differing collective and individual motivations to keep making music together – a subject apparently no nearer being understood or reconciled despite being under their constant scrutiny.

"If you ask us the question 'why do we do it?', for me it's about showing off. Whereas he just enjoys the process," says Chris, nodding in Michael's direction.

Does he mind being answered for?

"Well, I'll see what he says and whether I disagree with it," says Michael.

"If we never released another record Michael wouldn't care," Chris goes on, "but for me [music] doesn't exist until there's an audience for it."

"I guess somehow it's enough for me to just write music and have it there," agrees Michael.

"Chris always has the bigger picture," adds Leo. "He's the strategist, he's the leader."

So what role does Leo play then?

"He's somewhere between me and Michael," says Chris. "He enjoys the process and all of that but he does like seeing his record in the shops as well."

"I'd agree with that", says Leo. "I went to the cinema last night and I heard one of our tracks being played in the lobby. That's a nice sort of validation, but even if there was no such validation, the idea of just playing around with sounds is endlessly attractive."

The idea that these three just 'play around with sounds' is as inaccurate as it is attractive. Probably closer to the truth is they agonise over every aspect of the production process; as Chris puts it, this album has cost him one girlfriend, a social life and lost sleep. But the time dedicated to this perfectionism is just what has made their latest album, Natural History, so bloody excellent.

That's not to say that they are rigid in their approach to writing; completely the opposite in fact. For them the key seems to be to surrender control over the music just as they seem to have surrendered themselves to it.

"We were talking about The Grid, the production forum on Dogsonacid.com, and I was complaining about how there's so much of a desire to control and master every aspect of the music they're trying to write on there", says Chris.

"And we were talking about the way we write music which is very... not exactly zen like but you have to allow yourself to surrender enough control to let interesting things happen, recognise when you need to grab it and guide it, and then stop and let it do its thing. Probably very much like raising kids I imagine."

"That's something a lot of people would agree with though, that good tunes write themselves," adds Leo.

"Yes, but you've got this whole subculture of people who are desperately trying to control it."

"But if you look at the greatest songs," continues Leo, "the essence of them came about by opening up to a kind of random behaviour."

Working in this way must require a great balance of intuition and experience in order to know when to put the brakes on. At those points I wondered, do they have their audience in mind and does that steer the direction in which they guide the track?

"There's a degree of that," says Chris. "We've genre hopped a hell of a lot, but recently everything we've written is drum and bass and Natural History is our first all drum and bass album. All the sketches we've been working on for the past two weeks don't sound like drum and bass, and we're finding ourselves having to crowbar ideas, which maybe three years ago we would have put in a down-tempo or house track, into this drum and bass template, it's really valuable to be able to take that template and stretch it."



"Drum and bass is nothing but a tempo, that's the only unifying thing," Chris says. "When you start talking about whether it's liquid or neuro, I switch off at that point. I think once you start acknowledging that level of difference, you're into this very obsessive, male, geek territory which is all about categorising. Does one club night every 12 months with 20 guys off the web really make a sub-genre? Instead we should just say 'drum and bass is that speed and beyond that the genre is completely elastic'."

Having to stretch non-drum and bass ideas to fit within a drum and bass framework can produce much more interesting stuff but in doing this, and by leaving the creative process open to serendipity as much as they do, are the three ever conscious of trends and whether they are referencing them enough to appear current?

"We are conscious of trends even if only insofar as we decide to buck them," says Chris.

"We talk about that a lot", adds Leo. "It can focus your attention on certain things. Like the whole abstract, less beats driven instrumental type trend versus the smacked out Pendulum sound of a couple of years ago. That's quite a fundamental trend difference in the last few years; there's definitely a movement that's dubstep-like and fairly ambient, almost drumless at times. And that makes you think about things differently because it's not like we're out to copy everyone all of the time."

"To some extent you could link that with the whole MP3 movement," says Michael. "Because there seems to have been some kind of shift away from being dictated to about what's going to sell. For a long time the dance floor oriented tracks were the ones that were successful so that what was everyone aped. But now people seem to have lost faith in the ability to sell music through the usual channels so they just get on with making what they want and it's somehow freed them up.

"The kind of music we make does require attention. You can't just flick it on and immediately get it. I think it's because drum and bass music is quite indirect anyway," continues Michael.

I remember talking to the director Ross Casswell on the set of the video for Believe Me about how he came up with the idea for the film. He said he found that drum and bass tunes never seemed to get anywhere, they were more like a journey that never reaches its destination, and that's what he wanted to reflect in the video – giving no explanation or payoff. Does removing drum and bass from the context of the club make it less coherent, and a bit aimless? Does that matter?

"This idea that it's dance music is a bit strange," says Chris. "I don't know what the statistics would be but I'd be willing to bet that 90% of drum and bass is listened to outside of a club – on computers, in cars, in bedrooms... What proportion does it have to work and be heard in a club to be classed as dance music?"

"There's no elevator pitch for drum and bass!" adds Leo.

"But one of the things I always liked about it was that there was a surrendering of the ego and there was this understanding that there was lots going on at the same time and what you were doing was making small, attenuated changes within something that was much bigger," Chris says.

"And each one of your attenuated changes didn't mean that much in isolation but taken as a whole, all those tiny changes to an idea, all marches forward in unison, so from track to track it all might sound the same but within a year or five years' time, that idea sounds very different because it's grown organically."

True to type, as Chris describes the bigger picture Leo adds his mediator's levelling diplomacy: "Morally I find that a very attractive idea because it's inclusive".


URL to orginal article on Kowledge's site here: http://www.kmag.co.uk/editorial/features/764

Harking back to the days when it was OK to do eyes AND lips

Guy Bourdin...

http://www.bonesmagazine.co.uk/?p=389

No Worms

The Book Club had their launch party lastweek at what used to be the Home Bar - a gorgeous, two storey Victorian warehouse in the heart of Shoreditch. Coco Sumner and Matthew Stone christened the decks, breaking them in for the procession of special guest DJs lined up to appear at the new venue over the next month as part of its programme of workshops, talks, cultural showcases, and parties.

Bringing together wit, wisdom and enough food and drink to see you through from breakfast to last orders at the bar, The Book Club presents an eclectic mix of events and social activities in art, philosophy, film, fashion, music, science, and even the odd spot of DIY, and fuses them with the tried-and-trusted formula of 7 days-a-week late-night drinking.

Just like your house, The Book Club is as conducive to chilling with your lover over coffee and Sunday morning papers as it is to setting the world to rights with friends over a bottle of wine, or swinging from the chandelier on your birthday. There are newspapers and second hand books lying around for reading as well as a menu of cocktails and comfort food. Dining is informal and communal and the kitchen has a counter service so you have to take your plate up to the front and ask for more, like Oliver Twist.

Over the next couple of weeks Jocks and Nerds magazine will be hosting a night of Philadelphia soul and the like, with a competition for ‘Best Haircut’ and ‘Best Poseur’; the Drinking and Thinking workshops will feature guest speaker Richard Osbourne discussing philosophy; and kitsch collective, Girl Core will be celebrating their favourite B movies. There’s also a workshop on uber fashion with uber fashion label, PPQ; a Carousel Cabaret; a short film night; a death drawing workshop; and a science fair on the third Monday of every month. See you there but I shotgun the big sofa.

For full programme listings, check www.wearetbc.com.
100 Leonard St, London, EC2A 4RH

Trying to join the BNP

The guys over at Don't Panic have teamed up with Ctl.Alt.Shift to make this film about the BNP. On the day that the BNP became legally obliged to allow people of all ethinic origins to join their party, the film crew turned up to an open-invite BNP meeting in East London with 10 British, 'non-white' friends and were refused entry on the basis that they were non-white, basically. The non-British, but white Swedish immigrant was allowed to stay, though and they even offered her some 'BNP cock'. See, they are friendly to immigrants.

Check it out here:

http://www.dontpaniconline.com/magazine/social/joining-the-bnp

Are the MOBOs still relevant?

Last night the MOBO awards were held at the SECC in Glasgow, rewarding producers and performers for their achievements in Music Of Black Origin. According to the Guardian today, the event was 'dogged by claims that top British and US performers were unwilling to appear because the awards were in Glasgow. Music industry figures said performers were put off by the location, the cost and the view that Glasgow is "too white".'

Is there a place in British culture any more for an event which fuels a debate around whether people in Glasgow are too white to host an awards ceremony appreciating 'black music'? Is it possible that there would be no such debate if the MOBOs stopped using self-limiting differentiators like, 'black music'? And what qualifies as 'black music' these days anyway?

When you look at the winners, you have to wonder whether this issue of provenance is becoming a bit outdated, and even irrelevant. The X Factor finalists, four piece boy band JLS, won the MOBO for best song last night for their single 'Beat Again'. Listen to it yourselves if you must, or save yourself the agony and just take my word for it when I tell you that it sounds like a male vocal version of ANY Lady Gaga track written ever. Is Lady Gaga's output black in origin, or were JLS simply being rewarded for (brace yourself for controversial opinion) being successful and black?

Likewise N Dubz, who won Best UK Act and Best Album - was there ever a more vanilla iteration of urban pop? They're like East 17 except one of them has a vagina.

Take drum and bass for example, a genre so fragmented it's no longer really true to claim that every extension of it is black in origin. A band like Pendulum, or an artist like Subfocus, have a sound which has evolved from drum and bass to incorporate elements of hair rock, euro electro and even chart pop - arguably NOT styles of music which are black in origin according to the MOBOs schema.

Conversely you could argue that every musician over the past 25 years has been inspired by a black artist even if they didn't know it - Michael Jackson.

Cultural signifiers and memes belonging to one niche genre of music are now so frequently co-opted, traded, adopted, and disseminated by cousins of that same genre, we're now in a place where the idea of 'ownership' of any one particular style is a slightly old fashioned one. Audiences are as likely to enjoy dubstep as they are Calvin Harris, who isn't sounding so very different from Dizzee Rascal these days.

At what point does music stop being derivative and just become really great music? How far can you credibly stretch the provenance issue before it becomes so wide it's no longer exclusive enough to self-identify as 'other'?

Wherever that point is, the MOBOs have reached it and have gone beyond it, which is actually an indication of huge progress in terms of the variety of breakthrough artists, the innovation in new music and more broadly, issues of racial identification amongst generation Y-ers. The MOBO brand needs to continue to recognise this while reflecting the fact that it doesn't matter where you're from, it's what you do that counts.

URL to original article onKnowledge's site here: http://www.kmag.co.uk/editorial/blogs/rinse_and_repeat/are-the-mobos-relevant

Hotel, Motel, Holiday Inn-trusive

Check out the email I got from lastminute.com this morning. The subject title was, 'Celebrity hotels: who will you run into at breakfast?'. Seriously. What. The...? Lastminute are trying to sell hotel rooms based on the fact that famous people may or may not have stayed, or currently be, staying in them. They might as well have said, 'Scrape Bono's matted hair from the bath plug', or, 'Sniff Cher's soiled sheets'.

A little creepy, no? Assuming your customers are so lacking in taste and dignity that watching a crumpled Will.I.Am from the Black Eyed Peas spoon porridge into his face at breakfast is a reason for them to want to part with their hard-earned money.

Lastminute.com, is your time up?

The future of Content Sharing

So the government have once again proved they are about five years out of date with Peter Mandelson's recent proposal to disconnect the broadband of those who are found to be file sharing. Hey, Pete! The horse is already half way to China, I wouldn't bother bolting the stable door if I were you, but welcome to the 21st century anyway.

It's impossible to enforce a ban on file sharing, so we should stop trying. That's not to say that it's now legal. Making copies of music has changed a lot since the days when kids swapped cassettes and crappy recordings deteriorated with each replication, copying MP3s is super easy and while it may not be stealing in the sense that you are depriving an owner of a piece of his or her property, what's being stolen is that owner's right to copy and distribute their work.

To the music industry in general, and small labels and independent artists specifically, digital has long equalled 'bad' and 'to be avoided'. So far the response in the drum & bass scene has been to adopt a defensive stance of aggression and denial – to everyone's detriment. Instead of standing on the beach like Cnuts (yes, Cnuts – look it up), trying to hold back the tides, the music industry needs to adapt to the new market.

Speaking of China, over there Google has displayed impressive foresight, sadly lacking in our own Secretary of State for Business and 'Innovation', by purchasing a blanket license to distribute music in that territory for free. Their rationale? That the content sharing landscape is changing so rapidly it's impossible to police, so might as well at least control the access to it as a loss-leader and wait for a money-making business model to emerge once it all settles down.

As Google have accepted, the record label 'command and control' model is becoming rapidly outdated, now the culture is all about cooperation and cultivation. Sharing is the key driver for listeners and so attention has become the new currency. While content providers and hosts are still figuring out how to handle the transition from disconnected to connected consumers, the opportunities for identifying new revenue streams are abundant.

Access to a format which holds that content is the most obvious place to start charging – licensing, internet tax, micro payments – all rich territories for growth. The majority of internet usage will be mobile in next five years and so interface is key – something iPhone and Spotify have very smartly delivered. London Elektricity's own iPhone app. is another great example of hooking attention by trading in access and then banking that attention in revenue once the listener is further into the London Elektricity 'brand'.

That's what services like apps do so well and what labels like Hospital are so good at doing, which is to treat content as an experience first, a product second.

URL to orginal article on Knowledge's site here: http://www.kmag.co.uk/editorial/blogs/rinse_and_repeat/the-future-of-content-charing

Tracie Egan

I interviewed one of my favourite bloggers and writers, Tracie Egan for Don't Panic. Read it here:

It’s kind of hard to define contemporary feminism. The bra-burning railing-against-the-patriarchy of old has been replaced by something subtler, more integrated. As well as the more traditionally serious, chin-strokey feminist issues such as planned parenthood, abortion, sex trafficking - the political issues, if you will - there is now as much of an appetite among feminists for discussion around more social issues, with sexuality, gender stereotyping and body image all requesting equal billing. Consequently the feminist movement has found itself fragmenting into sub-genres, and in response women’s websites such as Jezebel, Slated, Feministing and XX, have sprung up all over the web, each catering for a different ‘flavour’ of feminism.



By employing writers who are not afraid to show themselves as three-dimensional, clever women with personalities and senses of humor, these sites have helped to keep the debate relevant and give the movement bigger balls than ever. One such writer is New Yorker, Tracie Egan. An editor at Jezebel and former anonymous, since ‘outed’ blogger of One D At A Time, aka ‘Slut Machine’, Egan has written in disarmingly frank detail about her one-night stands, excessive drinking, fights with boyfriends, and sexually transmitted diseases.


“I was always more interested in celebrating the more fun aspects of liberation”, says Egan. “So that’s why I wanted to write about sex. I wanted to be as honest as I could. If people think that women who have sex are sluts then I guess that makes me one. Which isn’t a bad thing. It’s kind of like a Rorsach test for sexuality. Anyone who is uncomfortable with themselves and their own sexuality would get uncomfortable with any sort of honesty or reality about sex.”

For many, a lot of Egan’s contributions to the feminist conversation come from a challenging and uncomfortable place and this has won her as many fans as it has detractors. Speaking of the comments posted on One D At A Time, she says;

“I didn’t care when some stupid guys would say ‘you’re so disgusting, you’re such a pig’ or whatever, what bothered me was when women who are otherwise intelligent and would describe themselves as feminists got really pissed off at what I wrote. Not that they have to find someone else’s sex life endearing and funny, but I thought that they would at least be able to see the purpose in writing about something like sex and they could at least see the humour or entertainment in it. It doesn’t mean that someone who writes about their sex life isn’t as much of a feminist as they are. By being critical of another woman getting attention for speaking her mind they’re being critical of women speaking their minds full-stop.”

It would be easy to mistake, or even dismiss Egan’s online persona as that of provocateur, but to do that would be to miss the point. Egan managed to oxygenate the debate surrounding all such double standards and female sexual guilt in a piece she wrote a couple of years ago for Vice magazine titled ‘One rape please (to go)’ about her recruitment of a male escort to ‘rape’ her.



Understandably, the piece hit a few nerves and Egan drew criticism for being an irresponsible rape apologist. The obvious intellectual defence was to say that by orchestrating her own 'rape' she was making a statement about reversing the locus of power and control in a scenario that is almost always about a man wielding power and control over a woman. But the shouty caps lock brigade slightly overlooked the real point of the piece, which was that Egan was daring to admit to something that hundreds of thousands of women would falsely deny for fear of appearing un-feminist; that she fantasised about rape. What Egan asserted was that as an autonomous sexual person, she was entitled to take ownership of that fantasy and even act it out if she wanted - a freedom of choice and sexual expression perfectly in keeping with feminist principles. Unfortunately in the event, the escort didn’t quite manage to deliver and instead asked her out on a date. Egan declined.



What feminists like Egan do is to not only call out double standards between men and women, but also call out double standards within feminism. Despite identifying as feminists, women can still perceive falling for the wrong person, not using protection, drinking too much, having sex on a first date, and hating their bodies as signs of failure, as if somehow to be fallible is to be ‘un-feminist’.



“I don’t think that women should always have to strive to be altruistic, do-gooders, nurturing, peace loving vegetarians or whatever”, says Egan. “It’s not about being a better person than men, it’s about proving you’re a person, the same as everyone.”



Of her blog, Egan says;

“I wasn’t trying to be all ‘Look at me’, it was more about ‘Hey, does anyone else feel weird about putting a tampon in and then having to poop immediately afterwards?’ ‘Am I going to ‘deliver’ it if I push too much?’ I just wanted to be able to relate. I mean, that’s what the internet is for: porn and connecting. Like, I would write about having herpes and a girl would email me and say ‘Thank you so much for writing about it because I felt so gross and disgusting and like no one was ever going to marry me’, and I was like ‘Wow you really thought no one was going to marry you?’ I mean herpes is just like a form of Chicken Pox on your vagina, if it happens, it’s going to be ok.”



For a movement whose discourse has always been about proving women’s strength and equal capability to the patriarchy, examining the flaws of our gender is bound to make some feel uncomfortable. But the danger then is that feminists are holding themselves to higher standards than they would impose on men.



“It’s like the thing with Sarah Palin”, Egan says. “I understand why she would be hated for her stance on abortion and rape kits, but I disliked that people were saying, ‘She’s only popular because she’s pretty, she’s so stupid’. We won’t have true equality until a woman as stupid as George Bush could be president. Why do women have to achieve so much more than men just to be equal to them?”



“I think overall if there’s one mission or goal for feminism across the board it’s about achieving equality through being people rather than superwomen. If I were the boss of feminism it would be about having choices and not about dictating what those choices should be or judging women for what the choices they make are.”


URL to original article on Don't Panic's site here: http://www.dontpaniconline.com/magazine/arts/is-tracie-egan-feminist

Reality Check

I work in advertising, so I am allowed to slag it off. It's like with family. You can bitch and moan about them to all who will listen, but if anyone not related to you dare criticise your own flesh and blood...well, that's totally out of order. I can slag off advertising because it has had the best years of me, it has had some of my best ideas, it has had more waking hours of my life over the past few years than any of my friends or family have. Anyone who doesn't work in advertising yet slags it off is undermining those past 7 years of my life, reducing them to the subjection of disdainful regurgitated mis-quotes from Bill 'If you work in marketing you should kill yourself' Hicks, a man who incidentally was ultimately killed by a brand's marketing. Marlboro, anyone? And who's dead now? Not me! Cock.

Anywayyy, I digress. Not to put too fine a point on it, advertising is about selling things to people and [the ambition is that] creativity is the guile with which advertisers do this. It takes some skill to be creative, admittedly, but one should never ever kid oneself that advertising is anything other than making things look pretty and then putting them in the place where they will get noticed the most. Nineteen year olds in provincial towns have been trowelling on slap, Lynx, hitching up their skirts, unbuttoning shirts and standing in clubs and bars looking easy for decades. They don't need Oxbridge degrees to tell them that a person is more likely to take something (someone?) home with them if it looks good, and is readily available.

The problem with advertising is that it is its own victim. It believes its own lies, which I suppose is an endorsement, in a sick kind of way, of its genuine-ness. In order to create good advertising, it is necessary to become completely immersed in and obssessed with, the product you are selling. So convinced are those in the advertising industry that every brand and client (read: hand that feeds) they work with has been shat out of the anus of the Lord Jesus Christ Himself, that by osmosis they come to believe it of themselves as well. I've worked at some of the best advertising agencies in the world and have not yet managed to cease being amazed at the delusions of grandeur, and what are nothing short of God complexes, demonstrated by those at the very zenith of the industry.

And it is just these such people who are selected weekly by industry magazine, Campaign, to deign to enlighten the lowlier reader with fascinating insights into their brilliant, brilliant, witty and brilliant minds, by answering Campaign's equivalent to The Guardian Q&A; The Hot Seat.

As a regular reader of this feature I began to notice some disturbing trends. 1. That nearly every single interviewee was a man and 2. That they nearly all had some weird perception of themselves as intrepid and pioneering and consistently identified with famous explorers or royalty.

Remembering that some among these men have been responsible for such cultural contributions as Barry Scott in the Cillit Bang ads and McDonalds' I'm Lovin It, just look at the following examples of real responses given to the question:

- Which historical figure do you most identify with and why?

(out of cowardice and self-preservation, names have not been given in case I ever happen to apply for a job with their agency in the future!)

Men:

"Ernest Shackleton on his polar expedition - particularly the ocean voyage in an open boat in winter to seek rescue. A resolute but flawed leader, but much-focused on keeping his men well fed. His insight in this regard I find evocative and compelling."

"Captain James Cook. We both left Whitby at a young age to explore the world. Well, he did. I ended up in Ilford, but I do travel a bit now."

"Attila the Hun."

"Hannibal. Not Lecter. The other one. Because he took on the impossible and did it in the Alps."

"Christopher Columbus. He too came back from America very excited about life."

"King Arthur."

"Captain Cook. Great seaman." [ho ho]

Tellingly, the most successful and highly lauded of all interviewees responded thus:

"My high school teacher, Con O'Haplin, who taught me history isn't about the past. It's all about the future."

Proving that humility is the best USP of all.


I could only find one woman interviewee on their archives. Hopefully that's because there are no more out there like her; she sounds like a right royal pain in the behind:

- Which historical figure do you identify with and why?

"Elizabeth I, because she was Queen and she kicked arse."

Money Shot

No, the gaping, blank expression isn't her imitating a blow-up doll passively awaiting seven inches of hot meat in her mouth; she is in fact bored shitless and yawning at the tedious fucking sexism, stereotyping and god-awful sexual innuendo which has become an advertising horse as dead and flogged as the one inside that burger bun.

John 'Hoppy' Hopkins: Against Tyranny

Check out my review of his retrospective exhibition:

Nuclear scientist, squatter, trans-Siberian hearse driver, raver, convict, photographer and founder of the first sub-culture newspaper (the International Times), John ‘Hoppy' Hopkins in all his varied incarnations is exhibited currently at the Idea Generation gallery with his retrospective collection Against Tyranny.

‘Hoppy's images pull no punches and show an empire in decline,' says the blurb from the gallery. The way most people speak of the 60s, it is painted as quite the opposite of a decline; it was a period of ascent out of the cultural stagnancy of post-war gloom towards a vibrant era of music, youth culture and copious drug use, wasn't it?

Not so, say Hopkins' pictures of the slums. In one photograph titled ‘Poverty', a woman sits in her one-room makeshift bedsit, eking out the rest of the time she has left before the bulldozers come to clear the path for what will become the Westway. Behind her on the wall, two painted dancing figures contrast with the impending devastation of not only a building but also her life possessions, in what seems a cruel mockery. It's a powerful reminder that London was actually pretty shit back then. Just watch Withnail & I (again) if you want to see evidence of a decade that was more about wrecking balls than good vibes.

CND, the Vietnam war, the US civil rights movement and the UK's first wave of immigration dominated the social agenda. As a documenter and activist of the protest movement, Hopkins brought a very 60's perspective to the cause; LSD. "The effect is to kick your frame of reference and give it a good shake," Hopkins said of the acid experience. "[Taking it] helps us recognise we're all part of the same tribe".

His candid documentary-style photographs of street protesters seem naive in retrospect. Back then whole movements were borne out of protest, in contrast to modern protests that look more like art festivals.

A sign of quality in art is when it can be enjoyed without knowledge of the meaning. Hopkins' studied portraits (of Malc X, MLK, Lennon and Burroughs to name a few) are strong even without the knowledge of the personal relationships he had with his subjects. Yet somehow, while knowing his history with Burroughs, Ginsberg et al doesn't detract, it doesn't add anything either as you may have thought it would. Possibly because Hopkins' own role as protagonist imposes to the point of being dominant.

His opportunistic snapshots (Smackhead, Prostitute) are much more visceral and allow his talent as a photographer to breathe without the dulling layer of explicit socio-political comment. Couple, 5am is a beautiful, working class evocation of Robert Doisneau's Kiss by the Hotel De Ville.

The Psychedelic posters are impressive artefacts of graphic design, but the style has been ripped off so many times that they look like pastiches. Thanks a lot Austin Powers.

The spectre of the future casts a shadow over the whole exhibition. CND didn't really achieve it's goal; Vietnam is Iraq; we can see live pictures of US journalists being beheaded by insurgents on Youtube. Black and white photographs of protest marches for immigrant equality inspire a nostalgic hope that you can't help feeling is a little false, knowing that we have just elected the BNP. Knowing what we know now about the modern world, Hopkins' images feel quaint. But on the other hand they capture a spirit and optimism, a rare determination to effect change. At a time when the sentiment of this exhibition should be more relevant than ever, it throws into sharp relief the modern apathy towards those same issues that remain today. Perhaps what the world needs is more LSD...

URL to original article on Don't Panic's site here: http://www.dontpaniconline.com/magazine/arts/john-hoppy-hopkins

The Bunker at the Centre of the Universe

This week I went to look at some art underground...

n an inconspicuous car park entrance next to a shopping mall on Kingsland Road, an abandoned post-war bunker spreads out underneath Dalston, East London. You didn't know that did you?! This outwardly unidentified space has been empty for years, unusable due to lack of electricity or any other utilities. The Bunker is only yards away from a busy high street but once inside, it is another world altogether – cold, damp, dark and eerie.

Catherine Borra of the nomadic art space collective known as The Centre Of The Universe, has had designs on The Bunker for a while and with the support of the Embassy of Switzerland, has now managed to realise her vision in this venue.

Undeterred by the challenges of the environment, Borra has curated an exhibition that is a response to the space it inhabits, and to the arcane and troubled history it recalls. “I wanted to try to juxtapose something positive with this structure, which is so austere”, explains Borra. “It has this Second World War modernism which is very cold and formal, yet on the other hand its whole reason for existing was to protect people”.


Sheltering within The Bunker’s walls are works from three different artists – Justin Gainan, Jenny Moore-Koslowsky and Pim Conradi. “We chose these artists because of the way they relate their work to their environment," says Borra. “They go beyond simply creating artworks to something which is much more functional."


Moore-Koslowsky and Gainan are both completing MAs in Fine Arts at Goldsmiths, while Conradi is currently artist-in-residence at Area 10 in London. The Bunker is his first public appearance. The inexperience of all three is evident. Although in concept and execution they are very different, there is a common theme of uncertainty around how to position themselves.


Conradi is candid about the fact that what he calls his ‘visionstructures’ are constantly evolving as he analyses “the relationship between human life and the biosphere”. In what you could call the 'main room’ of the bunker, Conradi’s timber dome dominates. It looks geodesic but in fact none of the supporting struts are straight lines – every part of the dome is curved in a sort of rebellious two-fingers to the convention of construction and also to The Bunker itself with all its linear right angles.


This confrontational spirit is carried through into the rest of the exhibits. Gainan’s minimalist sculptures are sincere and without irony. They are almost accusatory – challenging the onlooker not to take them seriously. Moore-Koslowsky’s work echoes Russian socialist propaganda aesthetics in the register of Rodchenko, yet by removing any reference to political ideology she preserves only the pioneering energy of propagandism and proposes neutrality as a different type of activism.


It’s a brave effort from Borra to create a positive and progressive event in such an inhospitable space. However, ultimately it is the space itself that is the most engaging, eclipsing the artists’ work within. That’s not to say she has been unsuccessful, it is thanks to The Centre of the Universe that this fantastic space has been given the chance to be the centre of attention.


URL to original article on Don't Panic's site here: http://www.dontpaniconline.com/magazine/home/the-bunker

Fewwwwwwd

Last Sunday, The Guardian's Gaby Wood interviewed the USA's answer to Gillian McKeith - a similarly sinewy, hungry blonde named MeMe Roth. MeMe, or Meredith Clements to give her her full-fat title, has made a name for herself by calling people obese. Her victims are often celebrities, but are almost always women.

Roth is president of the National Action Against Obesity, but that doesn't hold an awful lot of weight (ho ho) because she is the only member. Her strategy is to attack high-profile fatties and hope that the shame spiral eddies downwards and drills into the consciousness of the heavy masses.

This is straight up body fascism by any other name, only the guile under which Roth executes it is philanthropic concern. To her credit, Wood gives little sympathy to Roth's cause, challenging her to explain her evasion of the issue surrounding fast food companies - whom Roth doesn't target as part of her campaign. Roth doesn't do corporate, she does personal.

"Two basic facts behind the rise of obesity are that high-calorie foods are cheaper than fresh fruits and vegetables, and that the food industry is big business", writes Wood. "Yet when I ask Roth who are the really bad guys in this situation, she replies: "High fructose corn syrup", as if these larger factors were not even part of the picture."

Wood also explicitly, and quite rightly, questions the sanity of some of Roth's formulations, especially the one where she likens unhealthy eating habits to rape.

"The defence has been made in the case of sex criminals that there is pleasure on the part of the victim. The same is true with what we're doing with food. We may abuse our bodies with food, but it's incredibly pleasurable. From a food marketer's point of view, when your quote unquote victim is so willing and enjoying of the process, who's fighting back?", babbles Roth, her brain obviously lacking nourishment.

The argument is so ridiculous and offensive it warrants a whole separate article of its own, yet on the other hand you feel it doesn't deserve crediting with a dedicated response - perhaps Wood felt the same way and that's why she decided to let the remark go almost unchallenged in her piece. It's a long enough bit of rope for Roth to hang herself with without Wood tying the noose. And that is true of the rest of the interview too. Roth's true colours are revealed and her insecurities are thrown into sharp relief - she's an (arguable) anorexic who hates fat people because they scare her. There's a whole backstory of obese parent issues that are too dull to go into, suffice it to say that she's dedicated her entire life to not turning into her mother.

For me, where Wood disappoints is her failure to call Roth out on the glaringly obvious hypocrisy of her efforts.

"Love it or hate it, whatever socio-economic category you're in, we are a People-magazine society. So if you get it right with Angelina Jolie, the kids will listen and everything will change", says Roth.

Hang on. Isn't it exactly this kind of scrutiny - played out in the weekly gossip rags, whereby female celebrities' bodies are forensically commented on from every angle - which is contributing to the rise in anorexia, bulimia and general body issues and self-loathing amongst young girls? Is that not just Roth's lesser of two evils (the bigger being obesity) - make girls feel guilty and ashamed about being fat by holding up impossibly unattainable photoshopped images of female stars and propagate a body image that, while at the other end of the scales, is just as unhealthy?

Where's the benefit in that? There is none as far as I can see, not for individual health or the collective spiritual health of society.

After all, the best advocates of change are those who practice what they preach and in this area, Roth is plainly deficient.

"So how about lunch?", writes Wood

"She squirms visibly. "You're taking me where I don't want to go ... What works for me doesn't work for a lot of people."

Well, you've said that, I insist, so taking that into account: lunch? Roth hesitates. "I discovered when I was in college that I work best when I get a workout in and eat after that. Sometimes I'll delay when I eat until I get a workout in. But I don't let a whole day go by without running four miles."

OK, I go on, but supposing you couldn't work out until four o'clock in the afternoon - would you not eat until after that?

"I might."

I look at my watch. It's 3.30pm. Alarm bells start to ring in my head. How about today, I ask. Have you eaten at all today?

Roth is a little quiet.

""No," she says."

There is a pause.

"But I feel great!"

http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2009/may/24/meme-roth-obesity-nutrition.

http://jezebel.com/5269464/anti+obesity-activist-meme-roth-compares-eating-to-rape.

Pictures at an Exhibition

Check out my review and interview with the choreographer of the Young Vic's latest production here:

his week The Young Vic and Sadler’s Wells team up to create an exciting dance theatre production called Pictures from an Exhibition based on the torrid and tragic life and works of the 19th century Russian composer Modest Mussorgsky and his piano suites which were inspired by the paintings of his dead lover, artist and architect Victor Hartmann. It’s an admirably ambitious project, crossing genres by combining dance, movement, live music, poetry and dramatic theatre.

Director Daniel Kramer has been very successful in creating an uncomfortable sense of claustrophobia. The resulting unease is felt throughout the piece - James Fenton’s minimal verse helps to heighten the feelings of isolation felt by Mussorgsky (played by Edward Hogg) as he sank further and further towards rock bottom. However, Fenton’s contributions are let down somewhat by the acting which veers dangerously towards melodrama at times and jars with the surrealism of the dance-only sections.

Frauke Requardt uses her dancers to great effect, mixing minimalist modern styles with twists on the classically infused with influences from traditional Russian folk. She tackles the sinister depiction of Mussorgsky’s abuse suffered as a boy at the hands of his piano teacher using the character of a demon clad in neon green and orange as narrator and provocateur of Mussorgsky’s buried memories.

For the scene, Hogg wears a flesh-coloured jock strap with a baby’s milk bottle attached in place of his genitals. Either side are ping pong balls, placed as testicles. In one grotesque sequence, a female dancer dressed as a nurse cradles him like an infant as the demon reaches under his night shirt and detaches a testicle, putting it in his mouth. It is then revealed to be an egg as the demon turns towards the audience and cracks it in his mouth before spitting the contents into a bucket placed below the stage. The effect is powerful, especially for those in the front row.

Requardt’s blackly humorous choreography inspires brilliant performances by the dancers and is arguably the most compelling reason to go and see Pictures from an Exhibition. I caught up with her to talk about her involvement in the project.


What was it about this project that inspired you to be involved?

I love cross-art productions. You just learn so much about what the different art-forms are made to express best.

Had you worked with either Daniel Kramer or James Fenton before? How did you enjoy it?

I have never worked with either of them before and yes I enjoyed working with them tremendously. I bow down to James' intellect and knowledge. His poetry is just beautiful.


Being able to draw on Mussorgsky's Russian heritage must have had an influence. Where else did you look to for reference? Did you look to Hartmann's work?

Yes, we did look at Hartmann's pictures since that's what the music was written about, but we found that actually some of them were lost. James did an incredible amount of research, reading through Mussorgsky's letters and informing us about the artistic and political climate at that time in Russia. He always brought more information - paintings, letters, biographies - and he talked about Mussorgsky's contemporaries and the zeitgeist of that period. We wanted the movement to be big at times and looked at Russian soldiers dancing, but we also wanted really contemporary intricate parts that would express his suffering in a more poetic way.


How long did it take to create this production?

Ten weeks, and a lot of talking before that.

What are your hopes for Pictures from an Exhibition? How would you like it to be received?

I hope we created a meaningful piece that deserves to be in the world. I have a feeling that people will either hate it or love it, which is fine by me. I would like it to be acknowledged as the ambitious and daring piece of work that it is to me.


URL to original article on Don't Panic's site here: http://www.dontpaniconline.com/magazine/arts/pictures-from-an-exhibition

Alternative Miss World

Aside from simply supporting gay marriage (see today's furore over Miss California's ignorant display during the current Miss USA pageant) , what makes Andrew Logan's Miss Worlds alternative to the usual Barbie dolls is their poise, pose and personality. And the fact that they can be trannies, or even grannies...

Check out my interview with the organiser, sculptor and artist Andrew Logan up on Don't Panic now:


An Interview With Founder Of The Alternative Miss World Competition, Andrew Logan
(originally published online at dontpaniconline.com, April 2009)

In just under two weeks’ time, the next Alternative Miss World will be crowned at the Roundhouse in Camden and the collective dreams of frustrated pageant queens everywhere will be realised. For Alternative Miss World is a competition for everyman: housewife, teacher, taxman or indeed vicar; whether gay or straight; whether animal, vegetable, or mineral, each has a shot at the title. Previous winners have included a 75 year old Russian woman – (hobbies: smoking, drinking and dancing), and a robot.

The Pater Familias of the Alternative Miss World event, and general hostess with the most-ess, is the sculptor and artist Andrew Logan whose mission, he declares, is ‘to give enjoyment and pleasure to others through quirky, humorous and extravagant mementoes’. And boy, does he deliver on that mission. There is no memento bigger or more extravagant than the Alternative Miss World legacy. Since the first show in an old jigsaw factory in Hackney in 1972, it has grown into an event with an international reputation.

When asked why he started hosting the Alternative Miss World event Logan replies simply, “I love throwing parties”. He calls it a ‘surreal art event for all-round family entertainment’, which is fun and refreshing. While it may be accurate to describe the event as ‘alternative’, it is not niche or exclusive, nor does it have an agenda or mandate other than to show-off and have a bloody good time.

The inclusive spirit of Alternative Miss World means it attracts all types of contestants. “My sister has entered every one”, says Logan. “My brother’s done a few. I have a friend who entered the first one in 1972 and is doing it again for the second time this year. At the last one in 2004 we had Norman Rosenthal from the Royal Academy – he’d wanted to do it for years.”

In a recent piece in the Guardian, previous contestant Michele Hanson wrote of her experience as crowned runner-up, ‘Miss Ruislip’ in 1972: “In my horrid daywear overalls, knee bandage and grim giant swimming knickers, I felt fabulously confident and glamorous”, she writes. “I pulled my pink rubber gloves on and off, swirled my mop stylishly. There were no rules and no conventional standards of beauty, which meant that anyone, of any shape, could feel stunningly beautiful.”

The running order is loosely based on a beauty contest with the usual categories of daywear, swimwear and eveningwear with what Logan calls the ‘oh so important interview’ – “What I really want is world peace…”. But rather than measuring the contestants on their vital statistics and where they place on the fake-tan Richter scale of orange, the whole thing is judged on just three elements: poise, personality and originality.

Even without the liberal approach to scoring it’s hard to draw up any more detailed criteria for judging the contestants because until the curtain rises on the night, no one present – judge or audience member – knows what to expect.

“All I know about this year’s show is that Miss Donna Maria – the maypole queen of the UK – will be there with her troupe”, says Logan. “There will be a maypole there too and a performance based around the Mayday ritual and the rite of Spring.”


“That’s the joy”, he says of not knowing. “On the evening I’m as surprised as everybody else because there are no rehearsals. It’s important we don’t do any so they [the contestants] literally just arrive, the stage is already set, and they just walk on and do their thing.”

Consequently, it’s also a bit of a struggle to describe the qualities sought of a winning Alternative Miss World contestant beyond simply describing the previous victors and divining their key attributes – chief among which seems to be the fittingly ambiguous virtue of ‘individuality’.

“The reigning Alternative Miss World is a man who called himself ‘Miss Secret Sounds of Sunbird Rising”, says Logan. “For his eveningwear he had on this dress with a big cage with live birds in it and he sang falsetto – the most amazing song in this extraordinary voice. The night he won, there were a lot of very theatrical women on the judging panel; people like Pat Quinn and Amanda Barrie. So it can be thrown by who’s judging and what they’re looking for”.

The judges are all selected from a trusted circle of people who are involved in Logan’s life in various ways. “Sometimes I’ll get a phone call from an agent saying that a particular celebrity is interested in judging’, says Logan, “but I hate all that.”

“I prefer it to be people I know. So this year we have Richard O’Brien who has been a great supporter for many, many years; my great friend Zandra Rhodes and we also have Betty Mackintosh, who has been my bookkeeper and PA for almost 30 years. I just thought it would be nice to give her the chance to be involved, that’s what it’s all about. Julian Clary, who hosted the last event has agreed to come back this year as a judge, and my great friend from India is flying in as well.”

Despite the spirit of inclusiveness and frivolity, could it be I suggest, that things can, and do, get pretty competitive? Logan’s sister, Janet Slee (ex-Miss Handled), was quoted in Hanson’s piece saying that she had noticed that things had begun to get very serious backstage.

"We were told to stop giggling by another contestant”, Slee recalls. “We were spoiling his concentration. It changed then. It used to be all giggles and hoots. You used a bit of crepe paper, or whatever you had. Now some people spend huge amounts of money and time. The rivalry's quite intense, secretive, people don't speak to each other for weeks in advance. There are rifts in friendships. Andrew knows nothing of this."

“I’m sure it does get competitive”, says Logan. “But I stay well in the background.
I’m not really interested in winners or winning but I do like the ritual of the coronation.”

In his civilian incarnation as a sculptor, Logan takes great interest and care in creating all the Alternative Crown Jewels and winner’s thrones himself. Each event has a theme and the coronation baubles are created around it. The previous 5 events having been Water, Earth, Air, Fire and Void, this year combines them all under the umbrella of ‘Elements’. “I thought ‘well I’ve already made the Alternative Crown Jewels for each one, I can just use them all for ‘The Elements’ and I don’t have to do anything!’”, says Logan. “But then my friend Piers Atkinson who’s a contestant and organising the souvenir programme said ‘Oh no you can’t get away with that, you’ll have to do a whole new set’. So I did brand new ones for this year.”

What Logan and his team can achieve in a relatively short amount of time is staggering. Preparations for AMW 2009 only began in earnest in September and were halted for a 3-month winter hiatus in India. As we talk there are two assistants – fashion and textiles students – beavering away outside, sewing sequins and stitching fake fur trim onto the winner’s gown.

“Each time I do and Alternative Miss World, when it’s all over I say ‘never again!’”, laughs Logan. Presumably it was the same story after 2004’s event, so what changed his mind?

“The film”, he says.

Ahh yes, the film. During our interview I have been all too keenly aware of the camera lens trained on us. It follows Logan everywhere, throughout the preparations, documenting every detail down to the smallest rhinestone. What began as a much smaller project, with the intention of recording the 2004 Alternative Miss World party, has become a five-year investigation into the history of AMW as it relates to Logan’s work as an artist. It will begin with the 2004 Alternative Miss World event and follow Logan over the 5 intervening years, culminating in the AMW 2009. “I had to put on another one”, explains Logan, “otherwise there would have been no ending for the film!”.

The finished movie is slated for release in September this year and will do the rounds at the festivals. If you want a spoiler for the ending before that then get down to the Roundhouse on the 2nd May and find out who the next Alternative Miss World will be.

Alternative Miss World at The Roundhouse, Camden, Chalk Farm, NW1 8EH, 7pm, May 2nd.






http://www.dontpaniconline.com/magazine/democracy/andrew-logan---alternative-miss-world

Monsters Inked

My latest piece for Don't Panic is online now. This week I went to the preview night of Idea Generation Gallery's fantastic new exhibition, Monsters Inked. Scerryyyyyyyy......



With an enormous new commissioned work from Pete Fowler, and the first gallery showing of Rob Steen's Flanimals as part of their Monsters Inked show, we sent Emily Hobbs down to explore Idea Generation's lair.

Once upon a time (Tuesday night) in a strange and far away land (Shoreditch), a really not at all bad looking and thoroughly nice princess (me), clutching at a crumpled and torn map, followed the dark and labyrinthine alley-ways behind the Rainbow Sports Bar toward the unknown spot marked ‘X’.

Eventually she found the warehouse space containing the collection. Taken aback at such a comprehensive display of beastly incarnations the princess stood and pondered for a moment; what was the correct collective noun for a group of monsters? A scare? An ugly? A Cthulu? After some consideration she decided upon a scream of monsters.

Realising that the fairy tale conceit was at this point beginning to wear a little thin, and unsure how to convincingly keep it going for another six paragraphs, the princess switched back into the present tense to continue the article...

You know that the Monsters Inked exhibition is officially amazing when you can’t actually manage to see it. Its popularity is understandable when you consider that among those artists exhibiting were Rob Steen, the illustrator of Ricky Gervais’s wonderful Flanimals; the Godfather of monsterism, Pete Fowler; and artists including Thunderdog, Mick Brownfield and Ray Smith from the Central Illustration Agency all showcasing the best illustration and creative talent.

The exhibition includes 20 previously unseen illustrations by Steen which follow the translation from the draftsman board through to the finished image. Naked and pencil-drawn, the Adult Mernimbler's monstrous demeanour is somewhat lacking. However, the next frame affords a fully fleshed-out Mernimbler in all its colourful and grotesque glory, grimacing against a nightmarish backdrop of flora and fauna that makes you want to hide under a big duvet.

In the gallery's atrium there is an astonishing 800 square foot vinyl installation of Monsterism Island, created by Pete Fowler. The piece proves just how far an artist can take the concept of monster art. The eye is caught first by a sort of Jesus looking if he was John Lennon's younger brother and the whole world was made of LSD, before being drawn upwards to the demonic black fuzzy thing with antlers which is standing on his head, unabashedly displaying a humorously placed bone on what can only be described as (if monsters have such a thing) his crotch.

On the wall to the left as you go up the first flight of stairs there are some small, intricate studies drawn by hand in ink. Tom Jennings' illustrations feel more artistic and line-drawn than the bubble-gum style of some of his monster wallmates. One figure's face is comprised of two colourful birds.

Don't be afraid though, there's a big 'Awwww' factor at Monsters Inked too with the cute and cartoony Moshi Monsters - think Hello Kitty's genetically mutated cousin. My favourite part of the whole show is an interactive section where you can adopt one one of the Moshis or create your own monster using either digital design tools or good old fashioned pen and paper. If you feel you have a monster inside that you want to release, this is the perfect outlet. Someone might even want to take it home with them.


URL to original article on Don't Panic's site here: http://www.dontpaniconline.com/magazine/democracy/monsters-inked

The Power of Voodoo. Who Do? You Do?

My latest piece for Don't Panic online, reviewing the Leah Gordon exhibition of Haitian carnival performers is here:

http://www.dontpaniconline.com/magazine/ritual/leah-gordons-voodoo-carnival

And below without pics, so you'd be better off clicking the link really.

To most people, Carnival means music, sequins, feathers, glitter, girls in minuscule costumes and men in drag, but for the residents of the small coastal town of Jacmel in southern Haiti, Carnival, or Kanaval, means (unsurprisingly for a country where the principal religion is Voodoo) scaring the shit out of each other. And men in drag.

There are processions of children in rags and chains, blacked-up ‘slaves', representations of mass murdering prison guards, and home-made costumes adorned with animal teeth. What the Haitian carnival lacks in glitz and glamour it makes up for in home-grown surrealism and metaphor.

British born photographer and documentary film maker, Leah Gordon, has built an extraordinary body of work exploring the fascinating traditions and culture of Haitian communities since her first trip to the island in 1991. In this exhibition at the Photofusion Gallery in Brixton she explores the characters and performers of Jacmel's annual Kanaval procession.

Taking them out of the context of the event, Gordon's photographs focus on individuals from the various performance troupes in isolation. In a departure from her documentary style, her subjects are posed which in this instance affords them a kind of control over their own narrative - a conceit aided by the fact that beside some of the photographs are paragraphs of text taken from conversations with the performer featured in the picture.

Their costumes and characters are steeped in history - the slaves' revolt and ancestral memories, inspired by folklore both local and imported from Europe and Africa. One troupe portrays the medieval Christian story of the ‘Wandering Jew'; condemned to walk the earth indefinitely after taunting Jesus on his way to crucifixion, he is depicted wearing a top hat and carrying a stick to beat away anyone who tries to get too close to him, so accustomed is he to being isolated. "It helps to be big", says one performer who boasts that he is the best person to play the Wandering Jew because he is tall and can scare the audience.

One man captured front-on in a very fetching off-the-shoulder lace number explains how his gender-bending interpretation of the Devil as a transvestite came to him in a vision when he was working on a sugar cane plantation in the Dominican republic.

If you've ever seen the impossibly cheesy James Bond film with Roger Moore, Live And Let Die, you'll be familiar with the Vodou aesthetic. It's actually very much in evidence in Gordon's photographs - there are definitely one or two Baron Samedis grinning back at you from the black and white medium format (perhaps unsurprising as the character's name is shared by one of the Haitian Loa, or deities).

Scary, satirical, sentimental and spectacular, Jacmel's communal creativity is vivid. Gordon's exhibition includes a short film depicting some of the characters from the carnival, which is compelling and at once nostalgic and contemporary.

Leah Gordon's Kanaval is on at Photo Fusion Gallery until 24 April. Voodon't miss it. More info hereSee more of Leah's work at www.leahgordon.co.uk

Interview with author Pat W. Hendersen...

Here:

http://www.dontpaniconline.com/magazine/ritual/decade

And here:

A new novel about drug dealing and the Scottish rave scene, but it's not written by Irvine Welsh? Exploring a side of Scots culture that most St. Andrews undergrads will never see, Pat W. Hendersen spins an allegedly fictional tale of a major drug deal gone wrong.

To say that everyone has a past is a hoary old cliche. What it really means is that everyone has a naughty past, which is probably universally true. Look no further than any of your friends’ online photos and you’ll see evidence of such history in the making.

Very respectable and sensible businessman turned novelist Pat W. Hendersen has decided to fictionalise his own despicable exploits for his debut novel, Decade (originally titled Five hundred disco biscuits). The action is played out during the Scottish rave scene of the late 80s and early 90s. Published this week, Decade centres on the unlikely friendship of Martin and Colin and follows them as they haplessly navigate dodgy drug deals, football hooliganism and Scotland's underground rave scene.

Hendersen has protested in interviews that, although the novel is based on his own experiences, it is not autobiographical and the characters are entirely fictional. In an informal setting, I probed him for the dirt, the truth and the stories.



So, is 'fictional' just a tag for dodging lawsuits?



It’s like the start of Anchorman; “The book is based on a true story. Only the names, dates and events have been changed.” I can honestly say that the main event of the characters Colin and Martin meeting and all the major events of fighting, jail-time and drug deals gone wrong are complete fiction. Background events may have happened. The Cosmos & Rhumba clubs are all pretty accurately based on fact and the characters are definitely an amalgam of people I met but not to the extent that anyone reading would be able to say ‘That’s me, that is!’



Are you still in touch with any of the people you reference from you own past in the book, or have you re-invented yourself in a completely new life?



Yeah, I still have contact. I don’t live far away from Dundee now and still enjoy the odd night out there. Moving away in the first place wasn’t an attempt to re-invent myself. I’ve no interest in re-inventing myself and hope I never do!



You write under a pen name - is this because you wish to remain anonymous for safety reasons?



Trust me, I’ve no reason to fear my safety. Sure a few football casuals may be upset at their portrayals in the book but football casuals fall into two categories. There’s the proper nutters who won’t be offended in the slightest and who know me anyway and then there’s the bottle merchants who... Well, they’re bottle merchants, so what do I care.



There will inevitably be comparisons drawn between you and Irvine Welsh - how do you plan to answer those?



Firstly I should say I’m a fan of Irvine Welsh. I do however think that any comparisons are tenuous and based really only on the overt Scottishness of the stories. I actually think that it’s unfair to even compare Irvine Welsh with Irvine Welsh. By that I mean, compare books such as Marabou Stork Nightmares with Crime, for instance. Both are completely different stories with only the theme of sex crime really linking them. The marker for Welsh will always be Trainspotting though, won’t it? The difference between my stories and his is that Welsh injects more fantasy. You couldn’t really read Trainspotting as a story that might have actually happened. You probably could with Decade.



Why do you think there have been so many stories told about the Scottish rave scene and comparatively so few stories about the English rave scene?



Cue incredibly pretentious answer. Nah, not really. I didn’t sample that much of any particular English scene, but what I did sample was no less vibrant or vital. I think it’s more to do with the Scottish disposition to tell stories. Something we share with the Irish I think. Not to decry English literature but if you look at the size and population of Scotland that’s a hoor of a lot literature we’ve lent the world (Burns, Scott, Lois-Stevenson, et al). Equally it might well have been that English clubbers were too busy having the times of their lives to be sitting behind a word processor. Yeah… Probably that actually.



There is an element of anti-drugs moral to the story, was your intention to make a statement against drugs with this book?



Not anti-drugs, no! I couldn’t really do that, it would be a bit hypocritical. The drugs message in the book is that if you rip the tits out of it, expect repercussions.



You're already writing a sequel, right? Can you give any teaser as to where the story is going to go in the next book?



Funny, I didn’t intend to write a sequel. I sat down to write another novel using some bit part characters from Decade but now that it’s about four chapters from a finished first draft, I might as well admit to myself; it’s a sequel. Writing is like that though. It can take you to places that you didn’t necessarily intend to go. So the second novel starts with a policeman named Clover who was very much involved with one of the protagonists from Decade, Martin Bridges. Never having met the other protagonist from Decade, Colin, before, Clover realises that Colin is a partner. And so the chase begins. But expect twists, that’s all I’m saying.



Decade is out now via Phoenix Publishing. For purchase information, click here

Julian Yewdall's exhibition...

With lovely pictures here:

http://www.dontpaniconline.com/magazine/ritual/julian-yewdall


Or without pictures (and arguably, therefore, without point), here:

Back when Julian Yewdall was taking pictures of rock bands, being a photographer meant being a documenter, a chronicler; a diarist almost. Not an operator of some clinical tool for recording PR images. To mix my media similes, think Johnny Rotten on the Today show and then watch (if you can bear it) Donny Tourettes on Never Mind The Buzzcocks and shake your head in despair. Anyway, I digress.

For the past 40 years Yewdall has been working as a documentary film-maker and photographer and is primarily known for his early iconic images of Joe Strummer and The Clash. However, his latest exhibition, The Language Of The Eye, is a departure from his rock roots and although there is an inescapable candid authenticity, which gives a respectful nod to that period, this exhibition is much gentler and more passive than the aggressive posturing and live action of band reportage. Yewdall's documentarian eye is evident in the composition of all his pictures. From still life to portraiture, there is a sense of an implicit curiosity coming from behind the lens and a real affection for, and genuine interest in, his subjects.

The PR blurb for the exhibition is pretty concise generally, offering only the bare minimum of information about the photographer himself and entirely failing to include any mention of Yewdall's intention and ambition for The Language Of The Eye. Perhaps it has been left deliberately ambiguous because when viewing the exhibition, there doesn't seem to be any one unifying theme.

Instead we are presented with a kind of ‘collage' of images, which are simply studies of subjects that have pre-occupied Yewdall in the intervening years between his rock period and the present day. And those subjects are many and varied, spanning the breadth of Yewdall's imagination as his natural inquisitiveness propels him towards vivid colourful landscapes of blooming flowers in ‘Poppy Field, Greece', to anonymous black and white nudes, to gritty bikers in ‘Road Hogs, Rivington-Pike Free Festival, Lancs 1977', to the self-explanatory (and personal favourite of mine) ‘Geishas On A Train, Tokyo, 1986'. Some of the prints are grainy, unpolished, but you can forgive this because they are somehow made more tangible.

The Subway Gallery's intimate, subterranean space serves to bring cohesion to what is a quite disparate collection of photographs. Each image's proximity to the next helps to pass the baton of Yewdall's own narrative thread from the one to the other - as if they were distant relatives encountering each other for the first time and recognising their resemblances. The preview night in the small gallery is chaotic. Children weave in and out of the static adults, shrieking as they chase each other; everyone suspends their disbelief as one window of the gallery becomes a walk-thru burger kiosk - a prop in their boisterous game. Some of the adults join in, shouting orders through the glass slats. In the midst of it all stands Yewdall, unassuming and friendly, observing, recording but not disrupting; his pictures doing the talking.

The Language Of The Eye is on at the Subway Gallery, until 28 March www.subwaygallery.com

I give you... Derelicte!!!

Model turned designer Erin Wasson really ought to shut the hell up about poor people having the 'best style' and how the homeless are so, you know, like, chic. Not only because, coming from a privileged super model (or coming from anyone really, but especially a privileged super model) it's just offensive; but also because, as a designer about to launch her first clothing range in stores, shouldn't her ambition be to sell us clothes, not give us reasons not to buy them (reason 1 being that poor people will always be better dressed than people who can afford to buy her designer clobber anyway, and reason 2 being that the designer of that clobber is a patronising, vapid, idiot)?

In the Sunday Times Style magazine today she opened the vacuum inside her head for long enough to let the air rush in and displace this gem from her otherwise empty skull and into the tape recorder: "The poorest people have the best style — they don’t just walk into swanky stores and swipe."

Really Erin? So us poor recessionistas won't be needing to swipe any of your RVCA tat then.

http://women.timesonline.co.uk/tol/life_and_style/women/celebrity/article5838080.ece

And if you want to watch her hang herself with her own rope, read her feeble defence here (if you can manage to get to the end without your throat clenching shut in rage):

http://stylefrizz.com/200902/erin-wasson-on-homeless-chic-reloaded/

For Successful Living?

I know, I know, it's beyond trite and unnecessary to tread the well worn 'models are too skinny, blah blah blah' path. And it's oxymoronic to set out to criticise the execution of a poster advertisement and its exploitative denotation with a personal critique of the very subject it exploits. But let's examine the context in which this image is being presented to us.

As a study in photography it is powerful and arresting. Set in some kind of anonymous space against a bare backdrop, the model is presented to us in a semi-naked state and there is a sense of action, or is it reaction?, that the model's pose leaves deliberately ambiguous. The looming shadow is larger than life size and has taken on a more masculine silhouette. The effect is predatory and the register is that of a cult horror film. There is an implicit tension between the model and her oversized shadow; she appears vulnerable and under threat. Her shadow becomes a canvas on which the viewer can project their own interpretation - does it represent the malevolence inherent in an industry obsessed with appearance? Or does it represent the irrepressible spectre of old age, weight gain and therefore, ugliness?

Whatever the inference it is not that I should buy some new jeans from Diesel.

When the image is viewed in the context of the artifice of an advertising campaign it is somehow undermined. By badging it with a denim brand the model is stripped of her narrative and instead she becomes a paragon of a described lifestyle, an accessory to the message, not the message itself.

And what is that message? Diesel, by using this image, is looking to leverage its own equity through the halo of association. But those associations are discomfiting; they invoke ideas of vulnerability, prey, distress and exploitation. Whatever the brand may think that says about itself, I would question whether it's what most women would want to hear.

Root Ginger

So, redheads could be extinct within one hundred years. With no survival advantage to gingerism, it has been suggested that the gene may die out. Is that really the kind of evolutionary progress we want to see? Photographer Jenny Wicks has documented the increasingly elusive breed in a series called Root Ginger, and Emily Hobbs visited the Idea Generation Gallery to check it out.

Redheads are a pretty big deal. From naughty Eve in the Garden of Eden, without whom some might argue none of us would be here at all, to Britain's most renowned monarchs - Henry-the-serial-wife-killer and his daughter Elizabeth-the-virgin (perhaps some connection there), not to mention the recent Prince Harry-the-rascist. People have been singing ballads to readheads since time immemorial (especially the Irish). More recently there was Valerie, so lamented by The Zutons and Amy Winehouse in the song of the same name. Would the song worked if Valerie had been a brunette? It’s impossible to say. Yet despite their abundant tenacity, gingers receive a very bad press and have often found themselves the objects of ridicule and the victims of what remains in our society, apparently, the last acceptable discrimination.

It was a reaction to this type of discrimination that prompted the photographer, Jenny Wicks, to explore what it means to be ginger through her study Root Ginger, a film project complemented by a book of photographic portraits focusing exclusively on red-headed subjects.

When both her nephews were born with ginger hair and one of them was later diagnosed with Cystic Fibrosis, Wicks undertook an investigation into her family’s genetic history and discovered that there existed recessive traits for both the disease and red hair. It was this seemingly random allocation of DNA that inspired her to delve deeper into the subject.

“The book is a tribute to people with this hair colour," says Wicks, “but it is also an investigation into the genetic lottery that we all play… I was interested to explore the phenomenon of recessive genes as well as the human tendency to judge and make snap decisions about people who simply look different to them."

Wicks' photographs are beautiful and touching studies in gingerness, spanning the very young, the adolescent, and those who are approaching old age (ginger people don’t go grey, they go sandy then white). Beside some of the portraits are testimonials from the subjects; anecdotes about their experiences as people with ginger hair in a monochromatic follicular landscape.

“My mother’s reaction to being told her first-born was a ginger was to weep uncontrollably," says one man. In another, a young woman explains how no one in her family has her hair colour, except for her father, who had a head of black hair but a ginger moustache.

Wicks’ photographs invite the viewer to consider the social aspects of having red hair and how society views and treats a minority group. For many, discrimination against those with ginger hair, either by teasing or more aggressive measures, remains the last bastion against political correctness and the subjects’ anecdotes often prove this.

What is most arresting about the Root Ginger study is how viscerally lovely red hair actually is. The enduring feeling you’re left with as a non-ginger onlooker is that of being an outsider – the positions become reversed. Being ginger is not a signifier of ‘otherness’ but it is transformed into a membership pass to an exclusive and rare club. You want to be ginger too. You are envious.

But ultimately Root Ginger is a testimony to, and a celebration of, the wonderful diversity and innate gorgeousness of human beings.

A selection of images from the book Root Ginger: A Study of Red Hair by photographer Jenny Wicks will be exhibited at Idea Generation Gallery until 8 March 2009. Proceeds go to Cystic Fibrosis Trust. For more info, visit www.ideageneration.co.uk

URL to original article on Don't Panic's site here: http://www.dontpaniconline.com/magazine/progress/root-ginger

Nip Tuck

I was reading one of the free commuter papers we have here in London today and noticed this piece about a protest group which has been set up on facebook in response to the latest poster campaign from the Harley Medical Group; a cosmetic surgery clinic who regularly advertise on the London underground and buses. Their posters are usually comprised of 'before' shots depicting what, to any human female, should register as perfectly normal breasts, stomachs and thighs (although they're always shot in terrible light and stripped of any colour saturation so that the flaws are magnified and made to appear grey and lumpy); and 'after' shots where we see the previously disembodied, undesirable body parts now tightened, lifted and in context on their delighted and, as is inferred by the poster, now socially elevated owner.

The latest poster from the Harley Medical Group features one of their satisfied customers, Clare Thornton, who had a breast augmentation to take her from a 34B to a 34DD. On the poster she evangelises that 'Cosmetic surgery was the best decision she's made', which may be true. But was it not also the most personal decision she's ever made? The most intimate? There is something in the poster's sloganeering discourse on the subject of the alteration to the parts of Thornton's body, so inextricably linked to her femininity and identity, which for me, as a viewer and a woman, invokes a feeling of discomfort.

The facebook group named 'Somewhat Strident But Who Cares' features photos taken of the defaced posters by group members as they travel around London. In some cases the photographers are themselves the defacers, often they are simply recording the efforts of others. "Everyone is beautiful already" is scrawled in red over the poster in one picture - an affirming philosophy but slightly less helpfully is a sticker placed over Thornton's breasts bearing the words 'Sexist Shit'. SSBWC have developed their own slogans which are available for download. One such slogan says, "By women who hate women, for women who hate themeselves, YOU ARE NORMAL. This is not". It's unclear in the reporting exactly what the 'this' is referring to. Presumably cosmetic surgery, hopefully not Thornton herself.

Thornton has said that she finds the attacks rude and upsetting and that she is happy with the procedure she undertook and proud of the results. She seems to have become the unintended victim of a group incensed by the wider issue of the manipulation and influence over women's relationships with their bodies that is exercised by companies such as the Harley Medical Group. But is Thornton really merely collateral damage in this debate? The slogan "By women who hate women, for women who hate themselves" is internecine, and as an argument, ad hominem.

Thornton, as the poster girl for the Harley Medical Group, has become the face of all that SSBWC finds abhorrent about cosmetic surgery, and by association, she is therefore abhorrent and a target. It is her image which is being defaced and attacked in response to incitement by SSBWC. To attack the posters is to attack Thornton's right to make an informed choice about her body and her right to speak about it. That she felt she even had to make a choice and take a decision of this type in regards to her body is a wider issue that requires examination of our media, cultural and social expectations and punishment/reward systems for certain types of behaviours; all of which cannot and will not even begin to be addressed by vandalism on public transport.

If you are opposed to cosmetic surgery, the most effective way to dissent is to not have cosmetic surgery. In an ideal world, women would be comfortable with their bodies no matter their shape or size. However, in the world we live in some women feel unhappy enough about their bodies that they willingly subject themselves to surgical procedures to correct their perceived flaws. The good news is that in the world we live in, women have autonomy over their bodies and what they do with them and they are uncensored when it comes to speaking about it.

What do you think?

http://somewhatstrident.com/

Douchhhhhhe

Every now and again I'll read something by an author, like the one below by Amanda Maxwell, that makes me feel like I really just should never attempt to write another word ever again. A short story by her below:

Sometimes the world lets me in on its secrets. Not its important secrets, just its special little ones. The kind of secrets that help me to uphold a wonderful illusion of cleverness in the eyes of my friends and family.

For example, I know how to look amazing in photographs.

A little while ago I took a trip on an airplane. Sitting next to me on the airplane was a girl with long hair and curled eyelashes. She was reading a glossy magazine.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hi,” I said.

“Do you want to read this magazine?” she asked. “I’ve finished with it.”

I was grateful for her kindness, as it wasn’t the kind of airplane with television screens on the back of every seat and I had made a bad choice of paperback in the airport news agency.

“Okay,” I said. “Thanks.”

The girl passed me the magazine.

On the cover was a photograph of Scarlett Johansson. In the photograph Scarlett looked especially amazing. I looked at her for a long time without opening the magazine, and while I looked at her, I asked myself a question that I often ask myself when I am looking at amazing photographs of beautiful ladies: How come you look that amazing?

Her hair was all everywhere, eyes looking into my eyes, mouth doing that secret thing that model mouths do. It was amazing.

I couldn’t bring myself to open that magazine; for an hour or more I just kept looking at the cover. We had hit a little bit of turbulence and the girl beside me had turned white.

“I get so scared on airplanes,” she said.

“You’ll be fine,” I said and squeezed her hand. Then I went back to looking at the cover of the magazine.

Outside the sky was dark and empty. When the turbulence had settled down, the air hostesses came out with wine and lemonade. And then an eerie thing happened: I heard a sound. Not an airplane sound or the sound of a glass being dropped, but something like a whisper. It was coming from somewhere very close to me. I looked at the girl beside me. She was asleep. I heard it again.

“Shhh,” it said.

When I looked down I realized a very scary thing. The sound was coming from the glossy magazine in my lap. I picked the magazine up carefully and very slowly put my ears to Scarlett Johansson’s lips. And this is what I heard:

“Dooooouuuche.”

Just that single word.

“Did you say ‘douche’?” I whispered in Scarlett’s ear, but the sound was gone.

I drank my glass of wine in one mouthful. I wondered if this was what it was like to lose your mind.

Douche: a shower in French; not a shower in English.

I thought about an episode of Oprah that I’d seen a few years earlier. Oprah had been interviewing a gorgeous gynecologist who had just written a book on all things lady. The gynecologist was smiling and sharing fabulous feminine tips, more of which could be found in the book if you bought it. Suddenly, Oprah stood up and said, “You hear that, ladies? Don’t douche!”

And the crowd went wild. They joined her in a chorus of “Don’t douche, don’t douche, don’t douche.” Fists punching the air.

But on the airplane that day the memory seemed too good to be true and I couldn’t guarantee that I hadn’t made it up. Things were very strange.

The girl next to me was awake now and looked much better.

“Thanks for lending me the magazine,” I said and gave it back to her.

“You’re welcome,” she said. “Great cover isn’t it?”

“It is,” I said. And then I decided to be very bold. “Hey, can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot,” she said.

I lowered my voice to a whisper. “Well, it’s a bit of a personal question, but, you see, I’m doing some research for a health magazine and I wondered. Do you, um… douche?”

She looked at me in a sideways way and didn’t say anything. The photograph of Scarlett stared out at me from her seat pocket.

“Sorry,” I said. “Let’s pretend I never asked you that.”

“Okay,” she said, still looking at me in that sideways way.

“Okay,” I said. I pulled my eye mask on in a hurry and faked sleep. This is what it is like to lose your mind, I told myself.

Douche: a shower in French; not a shower in English.

I guess I drifted off for a while then, because the next thing I knew the girl was tapping me on the shoulder. I pulled off my mask and looked at her.

“I do,” she said quietly. “I mean, I have. I mean, I do sometimes.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, but only with Diet Coke after we, you know, do it.”

“We?”

“Yeah, dudes.”

“Diet Coke?”

“Yeah, so I don’t get pregnant. It kills sperm.”

In my head I said this to myself: The girl with long hair douches with Diet Coke after she does it with dudes so she doesn’t get pregnant.

“Thanks for sharing that with me,” I said.

“That’s okay,” she said.

“Will you excuse me?” I asked.

“Sure,” she said.

In the airplane bathroom I splashed cold water on my face and dried it off with a paper towel. I looked in the mirror and noticed that I had airplane hair. Oh well, I thought. My eyes were bloodshot too. Never mind. I tried out Scarlett’s pose, a sleepy-eyed pout, but couldn’t get the lips right. My pucker was more like a dog’s bum. “Things are very strange,” I mouthed, still watching myself in the mirror. “I think a glossy magazine just spoke to me, and all it said was the word ‘douche.’”

And that was IT. That was the epiphany. That was my moment of clarity. The big breakthrough. Eureka.

I said it again, “Douche,” and as the word took shape in my mouth my expression became the expression of a model. I had the perfect pout. Then it was gone. I tried whispering this time. “Douche.” Gorgeous. And again. “Douche.” Amazing. Now I had the secret. Never again would I say “cheese” for the camera.

When I got back to my seat the girl next to me gave me a conspiratorial look. She leaned over.

“You were gone a long time,” she said. “Were you, um, you know, in there?”

“Sort of,” I said. And with my newfound peace of mind, I let myself fall into a deep sleep.

When we finally touched down I was the third person off the plane. I remembered there being a photo booth in the airport terminals and bypassed the luggage carousel to look for it. When I found it, I ducked in, whispered the d-word four times for the camera, and found the results to be very pleasing. I looked amazing.

With the strip of pictures in my pocket and a lovely feeling inside, I made my way back to pick up my bags. I didn’t get far, though, before I passed a newsstand and stopped dead. On the rack before me there were thirty Scarletts midway through saying “douche” for the camera. Sophie Dahl was saying it. J. Lo was saying it. Even Gael García Bernal was douching. I felt myself blush and looked around to see if anyone else was seeing what I was seeing. There were people all around me, hurrying to and from airplanes, pulling luggage and children along with them. And not one of them seemed to notice.

And not one of them looked amazing.