When I slipped the new album Gravity & Grace by The Tiny into my desktop, I had no expectations. I’d never heard of this self-released Swedish phenomenon, and I doubt that many of my British readers will have either. But I hope all that is set to change, because their third album is a stunning collection of songs from a couple who wear their hearts in their voices and melodies. When I heard that Leo and Ellekari would be playing in London I made it my business to get along and have a short chat with them.

Leo and Ellekari met in 2002, fell in love, moved into a house together and six months later started a band. It doesn’t get more idyllic than this surely? Well yes it does, despite setbacks and the temporary dissolution of the band a few years ago (it was relationship/band make or break time) the pair recently got married, reformed the band with renewed vigour, and are expecting their first child this summer. Why takes things by halves eh?

Both of them come from long musical backgrounds. Leo went to the Royal Danish Academy of Music in Copenhagen for a year before realising that he wasn’t quite cut out to play in a symphony orchestra and transferring to the Academy of Music in Gothenburg, where he could “make up my own education.” He may wield his cello with all the finesse of a classically trained musician but he insists that “it’s all bluffing really.” Ellekari (which is a Sammi name) learnt all sorts of brass instruments when she was younger and did stints as a jazz singer during her teens in her father’s big band before moving on to a series of punk and ska outfits. They both play bits of glockenspiel, synth, organ and piano as well. Between them they’ve worked extensively with some of the best contemporary Scandinavian musicians, including The Concretes, Peter Bjorn & John, Jenny Wilson, and Ane Brun. In the UK they’ve toured with the likes of Camera Obscura and Ed Harcourt.

The Tiny at the Union Chapel. Photography by Amelia Gregory.

I wanted to know what inspired their name and Ellekari tells me that she wanted it to sound the opposite of all those bands that say “we’re the greatest, the best… and it might fool people into thinking we’re pop.” Their first album, Close Enough “which doesn’t refer to our relationship but rather the fact that it took only two days to record” was released in 2004, followed by Starring Someone Like You in 2006 – both far sparser and less lush that their latest offering, all pared down cello and bare vocals. I don’t think anyone could mistake them for a pop band, although the jazz influence is clear. Leo confirms that this stripped down aesthetic affected their choice of name. “When we first started our music was very deconstructed and there was a lot of silence.” Ellekari has a distinctive quavering voice which at times sounds a bit like that other great warbling songstress, Joanna Newsom – whose vocals I happen to find highly grating. Not so with Ellekari’s offering, who has a far wider range and is capable of much stronger emotion and reach.

Much mileage is made out of The Tiny’s relationship in their songwriting and in latest single Last Weekend Ellekari clambers on top of a grand piano in a forest to bemoan the lack of commitment in their life. She wears an over the top wedding dress with huge feathered eyelashes whilst Leo saws at his cello in a tail coat and white boxer shorts, eyes blackened. “I could not stand to looooooose you” she opines. Soon they are both hacking the wedding banquet and piano to pieces and one can only imagine the conversations that happened behind the scenes before, during and after this song was made. For this couple at least it seems as though working out their relationship dilemmas through music has resulted in a happy ending, for they got married just as this video was released.

Since the beginning The Tiny have released all their own records with very little money behind them. “it’s always been very hard and lots of work, but no one else wants to do it!” says Leo, “but it has given us the freedom to do whatever we want to do whenever we like.” Most of their friends on major labels complain just as much “so I suppose there are always problems whichever side you are on,” says Ellekari. “It’s a nice way of life but of course we can’t do everything on our own, for instance we have no idea where to start in England!” They didn’t really have a plan to release Gravity & Grace in the UK but when they started to get booking agency requests they decided to go with the “tailwind”. They’re already popular in France so decided to release the album in conjunction with their French collaborator Almost Musique and UK mega distributor Cargo.

The Tiny at the Union Chapel. Photography by Amelia Gregory.

Do they think that the sudden rise in their popularity can be ascribed to the reach of the internet? “Definitely!” says Leo, who thinks that sites like Spotify and Myspace have been integral in spreading music, although he doesn’t really see the point of twitter. “We don’t twitter about what we eat. I don’t really know how to use it, I’m too old.” Rubbish! You can follow and encourage them here. I should have told him that the main demographic on twitter is 30-50 year olds. Because their other albums have gradually trickled out over the years their online presence has grown organically. “It feels as if we have grown into a new position with this album – and it definitely feels easier this time around.”

I wonder if having a baby has slightly thrown their plans to promote the new record (this is the first time their UK PR has heard the news). “Not really because we never plan too far ahead anyway. Music is spreading in a different way and in different time stretches,” says Ellekari. “We don’t feel we have to follow a set plan because we want to make music for the rest of our lives.” She does joke that her mum is already booked in to look after the baby, though it might be a push to make any of the festivals this year. “We have no idea how it will work,” concedes Leo.

At the Union Chapel in Islington on March 4th 2010 they play with fellow Swedes First Aid Kit for the first time, although they sang together collaboratively with Anne Ternheim on Summer Rain last year and have nothing but the highest praise for these talented sisters many years younger than themselves. Is the Stockholm scene comforting or claustrophobic? “Well, most Swedes tour a lot outside Sweden because there is such a limited audience there.” They enjoy touring in France because it’s pleasurable to play in nice venues where people are really into their music. What about the food I say, always thinking of my stomach. “Yes, good food helps!”

With that we finish on the very important subject of what Ellekari will be wearing for the concert tonight. She’ll be leaving her fabulous zebra print t-shirt in the dressing room and instead donning a long glittery vintage dress from the 70s that she found in Hungary for “next to nothing.” There must be something in the air, for both First Aid Kit girls are wearing vintage maxi dresses too.

The Tiny: Gravity & Grace.

It is with sadness that I will now admit that I missed The Tiny’s Union Chapel concert, but I did make it back in time to see headliners First Aid Kit, which you can also read about here. I really do hope that The Tiny decide the UK is as much fun to tour as France, even with a small baby in tow.

Steve Reich is a seriously cult figure for contemporary beats based music. Famed for his minimalist compositions from the 60s onwards he continues to be active today and even though I’ve heard he can be a difficult old bugger to interview, at 74 years of age he was charming and lucid when he gave his lecture to the students of the 2010 Red Bull Music Academy.

Red Bull Music Academy lecture theatre.

I skirted into the back of the packed lecture theatre just as he was starting – and I use the term ‘lecture theatre’ lightly because we are talking the most comfortable lecture theatre you ever saw. Designer arm chairs stuffed with colour co-ordinated cushions were orientated around a sofa interview area above which hung the distinctive Red Bull coat of arms, if you will. Emma “rabbit” Warren, who I’ve known since I was an intern at The Face over a decade ago, was tasked with asking the questions – over the years she has carved a niche for herself in this particular music scene and acts as a “team member” for the academy.

Emma Warren by Gemma Milly.

What follows is by no means a direct transcription of the interview, but an edited version that I hope will make sense to not only those who attended the lecture but anyone who is interested in finding out more about what makes Steve Reich tick. It was certainly an education for me.

Steve Reich’s musical career started with piano lessons and then the study of drums at the age of 14. This conversation began with his move to San Francisco in 1962 where he decided to become a cabbie so that he wouldn’t have to teach. Emma asked whether it was hard to make music around his day job. “Night job,” he corrected her. “Necessity is the mother of invention – I coulda taught harmony and theory in Nebraska but I’d had it up to here with the academic world.” He saw how his friends became beaten down. “In my time almost all the composers in the US were in universities because that was the easiest job to get but I’m sure that now even being a DJ will be turned into academic trash. But you need to put a lot of energy into teaching and I think if you can’t then that’s immoral, and if you do then you’re gonna be too wiped out to make music.” Surely a sage piece of advice to anyone considering juggling teaching with a successful artistic career. “I had a good time driving the cab and I wasn’t invested in it – it really fit me and was making more money than most musical professors too!”

Unfortunately he wasn’t a cab driver for long: “I inched forward and bumped into someone and ended up working in a post office.” Emma asked if this was an influential period – down amongst the sounds of the ’street’. “I don’t know how true that would be. All music comes from a time and place. I come from New York, the West Coast, during the 1960s and 70s.” New York was a noisy place to be. “I used to wander around with earplugs in.” He attributes his early experimentations with loops and phasing on a tape machine to such ideas being “in the air” during that period. “You are who you are and your music will bear evidence to the honesty of the situation.”

In the early 60s the Cuban Missile Crisis got everyone “kinda concerned… we felt the clock was ticking. The crisis passed but it made its mark.” In 1964 he recorded Brother Walter in Union Square preaching about the flood and created seminal work “It’s Gonna Rain” where he made use of the sounds without focusing on their meaning. “Do you hear the ‘wap wap’ in the background? That’s the wings of a pigeon, a pigeon drummer.” He described at length how he played around with the sounds, feeding them through mono into stereo and then back again, to offset the source material and create the pioneering phasing technique that has influenced many contemporary composers since. Because he cut the tape loops by hand there was always going to be a bit of drift, creating a “sense of direction”. He gleefully describes how the sound “slides across your testicles, it’s really creepy! You can feel the vibration, and then it gets to one ear sooner than the other.” He found it intriguing that he could splice things together to make sounds that resembled the beats found in African music. “I thought – what have I got here? Mechanised Africans!” The piece becomes progressively more spooky and paranoid in feel. “We’re in the ark, locking the door, it’s the end of the world… a betrayal in sound.” Lest we doubt this sudden moribund turn he confirms, “Yes, I was in a bad state of mind at the time and given what was going on in the world.”

Steve Reich & Emma Warren in conversation by Gemma Milly.

A trip to Ghana in 1971 to study music was a key turning point. “All music there was a religiously, politically or historically orientated part of everyday life.” Whilst there he managed to contract malaria by picking up 100s of bites on his sandalled feet, despite a dose of anti-malarials. He realised that music was a form of communication that families were morally obliged to upkeep, but laughed that he met a Ghanaian man many years later who was no longer interested in “grandpa’s music”. Tastes change all over the world.

But Steve was keen not to fall into the trap of trying to adopt African music wholesale. “Many people from my generation drowned in India – it’s like an ocean containing thousands of years of music and as an individual it’s hard to make any sense out of it.” He bought some gang gangs in Ghana – iron bells that are used to accompany songs with a beautiful rattle. “They’re not that big, and I bought six of them. I thought I would use them in my music, but I don’t have perfect pitch and I was like ‘what do I do? They don’t sound right, should I get out the metal file?’ But then I felt like they would be saying ‘hi, I’m a gang gang, pleased to meet you,’ if I used them in my music. I am not an African and they carry the weight of a culture that’s not mine – so I had to think about what I had learnt that could travel, and that was the structure.”

He returned keen to play around with rhythmical complexity of the kind that is used in jazz such as the big band classic Africa/Brass by Coltrane. “It sounds like elephants coming through the jungle for half an hour, there’s no harmonic movement and yet it’s definitely not boring!” He concluded that there was tension and intensity precisely because there was no change. “In Shotgun by Junior Walker you’re waiting for another section, but there is no other section. There was something in the air [during that period] and it was harmonic stasis – even Bob Dylan was experimenting with one chord. It was coming in from other sources outside the west; the structural idea of a canon as an empty vessel that can travel anywhere.”

1971 was also the last year that Steve used the looped tape phasing technique, although he was keen not to be rude about laptop music in a room full of predominantly electronic musicians. “My live ideas came from a machine because all divisions are permeable.” Yet he felt trapped by gadgetry. “I felt like ‘I can’t leave this thing and I can’t do it live!’ I didn’t want to be a little tape maker.” The fact remains that he sees synthesisers and their ilk primarily as a means to an end. “I like the analogue sound so I was excited when the sampler was invented.” He felt liberated and exhilarated once he was able to say “look ma, no tape!” and started teaching ensembles to play his compositions live without the aid of traditional musical notation. Since then his music has got progressively more complex and he has always toured with a close clique of live musicians that he’s worked with for many years. “We’re the gold standard but other generations have picked it up. For instance the musicians in Riga in Latvia burnt Music for 18 Musicians right down into the ground.” Nowadays he uses midi mockups of live compositions to send out for performers to learn across the world.

Emma asked if there was some benefit in musicians learning his compositions without the benefit of written musical scores. “When music began we can speculate that there was no notation. Even early notation is in question. Notation as we know it started during the 10th and 11th centuries in the West – to save music for posterity. There were little pockets where people wrote things down, such as some isolated forms in Indonesia, but it was a marginal thing.” He concluded that notated music has only ever formed a very small part of all the music created worldwide and wonders if it even has a future. “Nowadays the normal position for walking down the street is like this,” he says, standing, head down, arm up, as if his mobile is in his hand. “It won’t be without it’s consequences…”

Steve believes that folk music can be used to describe whatever we interact with that’s around us, and can spontaneously arise in any culture. “Pop music is the folk music of our culture so in some sense electronics are the folk instrument of our time.” We’d come to the end of the guided lecture time, and sat in awed silence as Steve Reich played arguably his most famous piece, Music for 18 Musicians, through the huge lecture PA system… that is until an abrupt technical glitch snapped us all out of our reverie. “Anyone know how this thing works?!” asked Steve, frustratedly betraying his technophobery.

Find out how Steve answered a series of very well thought out questions from the floor in the next blog…

Since the Red Bull Music Academy rolled into town just over a month ago I have been pursued by their PR to blog about the whole shebang. Unfortunately timings could not have been worse and whilst I have been concentrating on London Fashion Week the great and good of the electronic music world have been gathering in force to take part in this most singular of events. It therefore seems strangely fitting that I should finally publish my edit of the Steve Reich lecture that I attended on Tuesday 16th February on the very same day that it finally finishes.

If you live in London you cannot have escaped the presence of the Red Bull Music Academy, mainly in the form of their lovingly produced daily newspaper, the Daily Note, which has been handed out at tube and train stations across London with the same zeal as the Evening Standard every single day since it started. I absolutely cannot begin to imagine how much it must have cost to assemble the staff to put together such a fast turnaround daily paper, let alone pay the folk that stand around in the street to hand it out.

Inside a recording studio in the Red Bull Music Academy. I’ve got that G-Plan coffee table in my living room. Cost a tenner at a car boot sale.
All interior photos courtesy of Red Bull.

The amount spent on producing the Daily Note must pale into insignificance when compared with how much money has been poured into the actual Red Bull Music Academy itself – which is a mammoth venture that rolls into a different country every year. This isn’t just a fancy name for a bunch of club nights that the general public can attend (though it is that too), but does exactly what it says on the tin and is an actual academy where actual students can learn from the maestros of electronic music. Sixty carefully selected students from across the world have been whisked into central London, where they’ve been given free accommodation and food for the duration of their stay. At the academy, which is located in the Red Bull headquarters a stone’s throw from the London Dungeon in Bermondsey, they are treated to an amazing roster of talks and tutorials laid on by eminent musicians, producers, DJs and composers, all apparently giving their time for free to further the education of this talented bunch. The emphasis is on electronic and urban music, and on genres which are not usually championed by the establishment, so most of the names featured in the bulging programme will not be familiar to anyone but the geekiest music bod within that particular musical subcategory.

The amount of effort, let alone the money, that has been put into this venture is literally staggering. In the designer-decorated headquarters the skeletal office staff have been shunted into the top floors and the bottom few have been converted into something that would not look out of place on a reality show – featuring trendy young things lounging on plush sofas next to speccy music impresarios, a sparkling free cafe, pristine recording suites and buzzing glass walled rooms full of earnest Red Bull Music Academy staff. It is hard to fathom why such a big brand would so entirely align themselves with such a niche sub genre of music, but then this has got to be the most epic “anti-marketing” campaign I’ve ever known. Because no matter how lovingly those Daily Notes are put together I can’t believe many are actually more than skim read by some knackered commuter, and the vast majority will no doubt have been tossed straight into the bin by the mass public who just doesn’t care about this event or the music it champions. Will the Red Bull Music Academy, the busy events schedule or the Daily Note increase sales of Red Bull? Who knows, but for those lucky enough to be taking part as academy students it is surely a life changing opportunity.

bRUNA creating live music with a laptop.

It has to be said that the vast catalogue of acts involved aren’t really my cup of tea – I veer somewhat more on the indie side of life – but I decided to go along to the Sonar Pt 1 taster at the Roundhouse on Friday 5th March, where I then struggled to find something suited to my decidedly more indie/dance tastes. Upstairs what I heard as boos for the headline act were actually calls for hip hop legend Doom. DOOM! Downstairs I discovered something much more to my liking in the form of Red Bull Academy graduate bRUNA, a former lawyer from Spain. Unfortunately he wasn’t exactly what the earnest hip-hop heads had came for and the small room soon emptied. When I stayed on with my male partner bRUNA’s concerned girlfriend came over to check whether we really were there because we liked bRUNA’s cute Euro electro (we did). Or I should say: she came over and checked in with Tim. How funny that sexism should rear it’s ugly head in such a setting. Such was my ire that I did say to her pointedly – actually it’s me you want to be talking to.

I have only recently been inducted into the wonders of Steve Reich, but the event that looked most up my street was a lecture by this influential composer. And so it was that I found myself in the lecture theatre of the Red Bull Music Academy on a very rainy Tuesday afternoon. Read on to find out what Steve Reich revealed to his students…

Sometimes I can imagine a Laura Marling height chart on my wall. I’ve seen her as just a girl, the fresh-faced ponytailed pinnacle of the human pyramid she posed in for her first feature in Amelia’s Magazine way back in Issue 5 (always the first to spot them, right?). And I can still see her later, when she cut it to the blonde elfin crop that accompanied the release of debut album ‘Alas I Cannot Swim’ and her relentless touring of festivals across the country. Now my height chart is nearing completion as Marling stands proud, and newly brunette, one foot firmly in womanhood with the release of ‘I Speak Because I Can’.

She’s come far in a short time but in a seemingly alternative parallel to a Disney teen queen (though with much less terrifying results), matured with a spotlight fixed on her. God forbid anyone should see the diary of my seventeen year-old self, let alone find it encapsulated on record forever. Was Marling’s choice to leave a song as popular as “New Romantic” off her debut, with its naturally youthful realism but occasionally awkward heartbreak over the guy that was ‘really fit’, her own attempt to leave the past behind? Despite audience calls for a live rendition, Marling has seldom appeased them. A stoic and determined diminutive figure would instead pick up her guitar and let silence fall as she let the charms of ‘Alas I Cannot Swim’ wash over eager spectators. Standout efforts such as “Ghosts” and “Cross Your Fingers” showcased Marling’s capacity for creating songs that proved that a soft combination of pop and folk were a winning formula. Their galloping rhythms and sweet melodies were the perfect accompaniment for Marling’s now more abstract musings on matters of the heart, whilst her earthy, mesmerising voice drew comparisons to a younger Joni Mitchell and her ability to knit together the rhyme of her lyrics with such ease had you drawn in in a matter of minutes.

The accompanying success for such achievements could have easily short circuited the minds of most eighteen-year-olds. But Marling seems to be cut from a different cloth. The interim between releases saw Marling retreat from the so-called nu-folk scene dominated by artists such as Emmy the Great, Johnny Flynn and Noah & the Whale (her former band fronted by former boyfriend Charlie Fink) and begin work on a record that would mark her out among her contemporaries. ‘I Speak Because I Can’ does not necessarily have the same bouncy singalong charm of its predecessor but is a darker offering that shows Marling’s growth into an assured and headstrong artist.

Seemingly rising from the ground in a chatter of instruments tuning themselves to a perfect pitch, and faraway, fleeting glimpses of swelling calls, shouts and whispers are the heady introduction to “Devil’s Spoke”, the album opener. The stamping, hearty rhythm thunders with the power of Marling’s guitar, banjo and a booming devilish voice that proves Marling is truly the new powerhouse of her folk scene. “Devil’s Spoke” is a thundering overture that whips you into its whirlwind and is a perfect preamble to Marling’s adventures in her riveting world rich with images of lush English countryside and folklore tales. She hasn’t lost her touch for soaring vocals even amongst the rattle and hum grittiness, but as she advocates the curious joy of, “ripping off each other’s clothes in a most peculiar way,” we come to realise that the Marling on ‘I Speak Because I Can’ has learnt a few new things at the University of Life.

Marling doesn’t necessarily ever make it easy to work out what she’s saying; her imagery floats among a menagerie of characters, times and places all inextricably bound by the eternal dilemma of the feminine. With a transcendental quality akin to the writings of Virginia Woolf, Marling leads us from the damaged but resilient daughters (“Hope in the Air”) to the recovering lovelorn (“Rambling Man”). Her stories seem timeless in the context of her wholesome, charming melodies and bewitching lyricism. The strength of her strumming guitar beats out her message that, “I was who I am,” throughout “Rambling Man”, a song which seems to be the next evolution of Marling, the same strapping echoes of riffs, tumbling banjos and female vocals but with a more robust outlook that doesn’t seem to wallow in the helpless naivety that ‘Alas I Cannot Swim’ tended towards. Plucked strings and tiptoe basslines give way to a ritualistic waltzing on “Alpha Shallows” and a woman who lets her words fly out in the pronouncement that she, “wants to be held by those arms”. Meanwhile, “Hope in the Air” presents Marling as our very own Sister Grimm, her song rising from a murky water of booming piano and plump ominous notes spilling from her guitar: “There is a man that I know/Seventeen years he never spoke/Guess he had nothing to say.” Marling’s voice rises in a battle cry for the losing battle of female emancipation, “There’s hope in the air/There’s hope in the water/But no hope for me, your last serving daughter”, that presents a dramatic urgency to her troubles. It can all seem a tad too much but if you let yourself become susceptible to the hypnotic and transportive quality of Laura Marling then you are, for a few minutes, taken somewhere else.

“Made by Maid” is a fine canvas for Marling to spread her art upon; a simple guitar that twists and turns on itself and her own silky but deceptively deep voice are the only tools she needs to showcase a talent that has come so far in the little time we have known her. A track that will undoubtedly become a cornerstone of Marling’s gorgeous live performances, “Made by Maid” is a touching postcard from the heart, floating through woods, river and from birth in a sweeping ride through the pastoral imagination. “Goodbye England (Covered in Snow)” takes us on the same trajectory in proud display of strong violins, gentle and delicately placed piano and bass that seems to melt the chill of the picture Marling paints. More hopeful and a nod to the fast-paced lyricism of the girl of the past, she lets her voice dip and soar over chipping riffs like a springtime bird. Similarly, “Blackberry Stone” is a chance for Marling to take centre stage to scorn those who, “never let her be.” A fluttering guitar and long warble of the violin back her add a delicacy and gentle hum to a story of sadness but smouldering, eternal strength.

Don’t worry though, Marling hasn’t entirely turned her back on the shimmering and catchy melodies that earned her a significant fan base; penultimate track “Darkness Descends” is a bouncy summer bike ride that you can ‘ohh’ and ‘ahh’ to in all the right places. Perhaps not entirely letting her hair down, Marling keeps a rein on things as, “the sun comes up…too bright for me,” but lets the pace slip back and forth at a rate that can only invite your toes to start tapping.

The title itself, ‘I Speak Because I Can’ is a statement of Marling’s headstrong autonomy and independence. Solitary reflection is the impetus of her new music rather than any kind of inflated sense of self associated with the kind of appraise Marling has received in recent years. Mercury Prize-nominated and a darling of the music press, Marling had every opportunity to produce an album that capitalised on the expectant audience clutching at the straws of ‘Alas I Cannot Swim’. Marling is brave for releasing a darker, reflective and at some points polemic album such as ‘I Speak Because I Can’, but this move can only help cement her reputation as a stalwart of English folk. Her delicate birdlike nature has bolstered itself to a heady mix of feminine charm and attack; she still has the gentle appeal but there’s suddenly a lot more substance. In her final incarnation and title track of the album Marling becomes the author of the retelling of the Greek tale of Odysseus and his wife, her imagination and ability to traverse time and space allows her to maintain a perceptive and warm comment on the most eternal of situations: heartbreak. Whilst ‘I Speak Because I Can’ showcases the same beguiling markings of her previous effort, Marling presents a record to be proud of because of its differences, its refusal to play to formula and its explosive creative expression. Perhaps part of me will miss the breathless rhymes and skippy beats but Marling was always going to grow up. Never giving too much away and trying on a variety of different personas, ‘I Speak Because I Can’ is proof that despite the long, sometimes painful and sadly always public journey, Marling has found a place in her powerfully evocative imagination to let us sit comfortably for a while and listen to what she has found.

I was running late for this show due to the evil evil cocktails at the Laden Showrooms website launch party in the concrete house at the end of my street. (It’s on sale for £2.2 million. Nuts. I’ve been in there and it ain’t all that: it’s like the interior of a multi-storey carpark.)

The rooftop view from the house on Bacon Street, complete with poncey rainbow fibre optic light display.

As I hurtled into the courtyard of Somerset House I passed a girl I haven’t seen since I left the University of Brighton back in the mid 90s, so I sort of waved, aghast, at her. Inside I sat down next to a sniffy man who I once knew vaguely long ago, and who literally turned his nose up at me, and then turned his back. I don’t think I did smell but I probably was a little dishevelled. Cycling has a tendency to do that. I only spotted one other cyclist at the shows over the entire week. Funny that. But I tell you, it’s by far the quickest way to get between venues. Addison Lee eat your heart out.

I turned to the man on the other side of me, recognising in him a fellow twittering fiend as we tapped at our iphones (everyone in fashion has a blackberry), although god knows it was very hard to twitter from the official BFC tents because there was apparently very little 3G coverage. C’mon folks, sort it out! We formed an instant bond and swapped twitter addresses and I found out he runs the website Not Just a Label, bigging up young designers. Now that’s what I like, a spirit of camaraderie! And then I looked over and saw that beardy glam man was sat opposite me (last spotted over at Charlie Le Mindu) and that alone would have made my day. I’d love to know who he was – does anyone know? He even smiled at me during the show when he caught me looking at him rather than the clothes, and it made me tingle it did! He had the most elegant poise which I do so love. A couple of paps came strolling past me muttering about how they couldn’t be arsed to snap photos of the only sleb in the front row, the girl from the Noisettes, who is clearly not famous enough to earn a decent paycheck.

Basso & Brooke by Katie Harnett.

Basso & Brooke. All photography by Amelia Gregory.

On our seats were long elegant cardboard bottle carriers decorated in an exclusive Basso & Brooke print for the Turning Leaf wine company. These will no doubt make collector’s items in years to come so it’s a pity I have so much crap in my house already – where the hell would I display a wine bottle? Perhaps I could stick a candle in it and come over all studenty/70s? Or maybe not. But it did slip down easy, even if I had to lug it around for the rest of the day.

Basso & Brooke by Katie Harnett.

The Basso & Brooke show was as fabulous as it always is – but there you go, give me a riot of clashing prints and colour and I’ll swoon at your feet. Slinky body-hugging dresses, over equally slim clashing or matching leggings were covered in their signature digital prints – once unique but now used by many a designer – made the models lizard-like yet glamourous. A tough call that one but it worked. What didn’t work so well was the way they all moved, arms splayed and hands held awkwardly out. I can only conclude that they were all chosen for their singularly inelegant walks, or that they were all told to stride this way. Why?!

On leaving the show I bumped into my old college mate again, who was totally bemused by my presence at the shows. She was there purely in her capacity as senior designer at Monsoon “though I spend most of my time looking after my two kids these days.” She expressed surprise that I actually run Amelia’s Magazine, until she found out that I a childless. “Oh well that would explain it then. We used to keep those in the office for inspiration, I didn’t realise it was you.” What, not even with the prominent picture of me next to the introduction in every issue?

Basso & Brooke by Katie Harnett.

Isn’t it funny how people perceive you? (or don’t, as the case may be)

Yes yes, we get it. We all know that Gorillaz is an ‘imaginary’ band made up of four Jamie Hewlett-created cartoon characters who ‘play’ the instruments and ‘give’ interviews (read: the label offers out pre written interview answers for journalists to do with them what they will, or occasionally, in some hideous PR-created postmodern nightmare scenario, well-known character actors pretend to be the band members and give phone interviews. Seriously). Oh, and they all live together on a big floating island made up of the planet’s rubbish. Very clever, boys, but can we drop it now please?  Three albums in, this schtick is getting rather tiresome – the joke has been dragged out waaay too long. What are you hiding from, Damon Albarn?  Come forward, don’t be shy and stop playing silly buggers with your hairy mate with the felt tips, because ‘Plastic Beach’ is yet another work of brilliance from the prolifically creative brain of Colchester’s prodigal son.

What is instantly clear, in comparison to previous Gorillaz output, is the lack of any chart-smashing singles a la “Clint Eastwood” or “DARE” on this, their third album.  Contrary to Albarn’s recent claims, this is probably the least commercial output the ‘band’ has produced, yet in my opinion this works in the album’s favour. Instead of pop hooks and catchy beats, we get Indian bhangra, classical strings, grimey electro hip-hop, marching bands and Bobby Womack. BOBBY WOMACK, people! Awesome. It is a far from faultless, but this lack of commerciality makes it a more interesting, challenging and an ultimately more intelligent album.

Albarn seems to have been very busy making friends and influencing people of late. With a role call of collaborators so impressively credible you can only imagine the howls of jealousy emanating from Mark ‘bloody’ Ronson’s house, we have the improbable joy of hearing the likes of Snoop Dogg, Lou Reed, Mos Def and half of The Clash on the same album.

“White Flag”, featuring the unlikely collaboration of Bashy, Kano, and the Lebanese National Orchestra for Oriental and Arabic Music, opens with sub-continental bhangra beats and classical strings which then transform into a backing track from Super Mario Land with Kano and Bashy MC’ing away over the top.  Next comes a flute solo (of course!), some more Indian strings and then it’s over.  It’s weird but it works.

After the two distinctly average singles, “Stylo” (feat. Mos Def and Bobby Womack), and “Super Fast Jelly Fish”, comes the good stuff.  ‘Empire Ants’ opens as a spacious and trippy ballad with Albarn’s familiarly languid vocals floating sleepily over a charmingly basic Casio beat track, but which then transforms into a huge dazzling disco epic with the help of Swedish electro darlings Little Dragon.

Next up is the snarling glamrock electronic stomp of “Glitter Freeze” and it is effing brilliant.  Predominantly instrumental with the odd spoken word and demonic laugh emanating from the eternally downturned mouth of Mark E Smith, this is where you realise just how damn good Albarn is. He is adept at creating these huge musical soundscapes which build and build to almost orgasmic levels with seemingly effortless abandon. Kasabian, take note.

Delightful ditty and title track “Plastic Beach” is proof again that Albarn produces some of his best work when paired up with ex-Clash bassist and habitual Albarn collaborator, Paul Simonon – on this occasion being joined by old chum, fellow Clash guitarist Mick Jones. This track is an irresistibly bouncy pop record with enough quirk and edge to keep you tapping your feet and bobbing your head without getting irritated by its obviousness or its saccharine aftertaste.

Womack’s second appearance comes on “Cloud of Unknowing”, a simply extraordinary and stunning piece of vocal-led classical music.  With the help of Sinfonia ViVA, Womack’s vocal is epic, touching and goose-bumps good. We mustn’t forget that Albarn is a bone fide opera composer and is as adept at classical composition as he is at pop, hip hop, disco, rock and pretty much any other genre you can think of.

Not all tracks hit the mark, however. Snoop’s track, “Welcome to the World of the Plastic Beach”, is disappointingly average, and second single “Super Fast Jelly Fish”, featuring Gruff Rhys and De La Soul, is thin, soulless and intrinsically irritating.  However, on listening to ‘Plastic Beach’, you are left with a resounding sense of satisfaction and joy that you have just witnessed Bobby Womack singing with a full orchestra; The Clash featuring on a track about Casio keyboards and stylophones; Mos Def singing over a marching band; Lou Reed’s vocals spread comfortably over an unapologetically jaunty pop record.

Albarn constantly nudges the boundaries of genre and somehow persuades legendary artists to step out of their comfort zones for just a moment in order to create something unexpected and wonderful. Due to this, I am prepared to forgive the tedious cartoon smoke screen for now, but I think next time do away with the false modesty and claim the glory for your creation, Mr Albarn, since you truly deserve it.

Pam Hogg can pull in an all star rocker crowd and she knows it. I wondered if this begat the complex star sticker system on our invites, which involved double gold stars for rock royalty (or just quite crap celebs), single gold stars (presumably for those not destined to make the next day’s paper but still quite important) and any number of other coloured stars for lesser mortals. The mere presence of a star was in itself no assurance of speedy entry, so it was lucky that I and a few of my contributors were already in Victoria House, drinking cups of tea on funny shaped chairs next to an abandoned display.

Yup, looking happy there girls. That’s me with contributors Satu Fox and Sally Mumby-Croft. Who don’t like posing clearly.

Jodie Marsh at Pam Hogg. This is what you look like if you make an effort, for a bit of contrast like…

This meant that we got to the front of the queue where we were able to get a perfect view of all the celebs as they came prancing in. Jodie Harsh looked every bit as wonderful in the flesh as she does in photos, but much less false (she puts natural born women to shame) and was more than happy to pose for me. Then came Tim Noble and Sue Webster, scowling as usual… Nick Cave swept through like a gothic prince, then came Pearl Lowe (dreadful biography, don’t do it) the execrable Jaime Winstone, Peaches Geldof (shoot me now) and apparently Mika in drag, though I didn’t see him at the time (bonus of leaving your write up awhile and being able to trawl the internet)

Jaime Winstone in the front row. She kept hoiking up her dress.

Peaches Geldof in the limelight. Again. With a man who looked like the mascot for KFC. Great look.

We were also unceremoniously shoved aside by lots of arch looking people who I am sure were very rock ‘n’ roll but I have absolutely no idea who they actually were. Behind the barrage of hapless PRs – “Don’t worry, you’ll all be able to come in soon” – we could see people sloshing back free booze from a makeshift bar. How convenient that it should run out by the time us plebs were hastily shepherded in, just moments before the show started. Named Valley of the Shadow of Darkness, our noncommittal grey invites all had a tribute to Alexander McQueen at the bottom of the invitation, reading Lee RIP 1969-2010. Were they good friends? Or was she just showing fashionable solidarity?

Siouxie Soux at Pam Hogg. All photography by Amelia Gregory.

Cult 80s singer Siouxie Sioux opened the show, looking extremely dramatic in barely there lace topped with a netting puffball. Unfortunately I don’t think the look did her many favours – she looked so severe that not only did I have no idea who she was, but I actually thought she was a middle-aged man in drag. Woops. She is 52 years old at the time of writing but she looks a helluva lot better in recent pictures found on google, so yes, Siouxie, I know you and Pammie have been bessie mates for, like, forever, but next time you might want to but your foot down before stepping out in something so unflattering. Here in an incongruous shot of the pair of them with Dame Shirley Bassey: surely not a bessie too?

Of course it’s well known that no one does glitzy catsuits and sexed-up bodycon quite like Pam Hogg, and so it was that we were treated to starry model after starry model attired in all manner of skin tight mesh pants suits, mini-dresses, many more netting hair bombs, and lots of bum-bouncing tulle with a bit of well placed ribbon or fluff. Panels of rubberised fabric, lace and shiny lame gave a futuristic feel which was emphasised in the bold black eyebrows, and splashes of silver, gold and bright red punctuated the otherwise steely palette of black, dark grey and white. One of the most striking red outfits was modelled by Alice Dellal, she of the asymmetric (currently) blonde hair and sulky pout, and has since been modelled by no less than Lady Gaga (on the short trip from the O2 Arena to her hotel, if reports are to be believed), though I’m not sure she really pulled it off with those ripped fishnets. I think Pam Hogg is worn most successfully when all around is sleek.

Sophie Willing & Jethro Cave, by Etiene Del Monte.

When the lone male model stopped for a mannered snog with one of the girls halfway down the runway to whoops and cheers, I knew they must be well known. A google search further revealed the real reason for Nick Cave’s attendance: the beautiful skinny boy was none other than his son Jethro Cave, and he was kissing Sophie Willing, a fellow Ozzie model and also his girlfriend. Together they appear in a tacky bondage inspired photoshoot called Boys Will Be Toys. Tasteful. Apparently daddy was very proud. Also in attendance was model du jour, Ben Grimes. That’s a girl in case you were wondering.

Sophie Willing plays the sexy angel, by Etiene Del Monte.

Siouxie Soux and Pam Hogg.

At the end Pam came right down along the catwalk in a hug with Siouxie Soux towering over her – she looked very much like a cartoon character in skintight shiny black, sporting fake bright yellow hair. She has always catered well to rock royalty but I can suddenly see why she might appeal to Lady Gaga’s pop sensibility as well. But I’m left with the pressing question: who dyed their hair that vicious shade of Ed the Duck yellow first?

Oxford, for the most part, is an academic, civilised city, but last night it was very much in store for some monkey business. Yes, GAFI (The Great Apes Film Initiative), SOS (Sumatran Orangutan Society) and the Ape Alliance were in town at Oxford Brookes University holding a screening of a primate-driven conservation film, powered, not by dirty old carbon, but by pedal energy.

We’ve covered the subject of pedal-powered cinema in the earth section recently, of course, but this event partnered the unusual film viewing experience with an interesting initiative – namely, using it to help raise awareness of and finance for pedal-powered cinema opportunities in the remotest parts of the world. GAFI, under the wind of its c-founder and filmmaker Madelaine Westwood, has committed itself to showing conservation films to the public in remote areas that highlight the damage they and their society are doing to their own environment.

Madelaine, present at last night’s event, said that GAFI took up pedal-powered cinema as a resource after children in Cameroon had to walk 20 miles to a GAFI screening, only for a priest who had agreed his church could be used as the venue for the screening called it off, leaving the children to walk all the way back home without even having seen the documentary. A pedal-powered cinema kit, made up merely of a bicycle, a car battery, a DVD player and several different cables and coming in at a top price of just £2,000, was the answer. Thanks to this technology, GAFI can now screen films anywhere; on the side of a building’s wall or even a blanket.

Clever piece of kit: all you need is a bicycle, car battery, DVD player and lots of cables

Admittedly, last night’s screening may not have raised much towards this project – admission price was only £3 – but it was certainly well attended by an audience of up to 50 people, and not all of them obvious students either. And, in my opinion, the major feature shown, ‘Losing Tomorrow’ (directed by Patrick Rouxel), was certainly a success. Unlike the disappointment that was ‘Ice Bears Of The Beaufort’ I sat through at the Artivist Film Festival last weekend, this documentary successfully highlighted the problems – complex as they are – that blight both Sumatra’s primates, most of them orangutans, and the people who are involved in the logging industry that is depriving the monkeys of their habitat and the island of its rainforest.

Over the course of the last century, 50 percent of Sumatra’s rainforest has been cleared for logging, so dominant is the industry there – indeed, it’s estimated that just each day an area of rainforest the size of Manhattan is wiped out. However, suddenly to curtail the logging would rob a large number of people their livelihood – impoverished as they are – while, on the flip side, if the logging continues the country’s rainforest will be entirely wiped out and the logging employees without an industry to employ them anyway. It’s a fine Catch-22 with no easy answers. All the same, the audience was informed there is something they can do – contact their local MP or MEP to put pressure on the British government and the European parliament not to allow the import of timber furniture and wood pulp-produced paper that comes out of Sumatra – 75 percent of which is illegal anyway, so widespread is the logging industry there. The British government has so far made no move in this direction, but the European parliament has been looking into it, so there is some optimism, at least.

And we’re off! The cyclist pedals and the audience watches on

But what, specifically, of the pedal-powered cinema experience? Well, I must say, on a personal level, it’s rather an invigorating thing to be part of – or at least watch. On this occasion, as something of a gimmick, British cyclist and 2012 Olympic hopeful David Smith took to the pedals and, to give him his due, kept up an impressive tempo for about 45 minutes, before – a bit pooped – he handed over the reigns to another volunteer. There is certainly something agreeable about watching something worthy and well-crafted, while you’re aware the power that’s generating it is carbon free and directly man-produced – either that, or it’s just proof of the old maxim that it’s always enjoyable to watch someone working while you’re lazing about doing nothing. Either way, the pedal-powered cinema kit worked perfectly well and was a great advert for GAFI’s aspirations.

‘Losing Tomorrow’ was followed by the short documentary ‘Dear Mr President’. Filmed by Madeline Westwood herself, it showed reactions of Sumatran locals while watching the first documentary and then featured one or two of the viewers addressing, direct to camera, the Sumatran president at the time, asking him to do something about the primate/ logging problems in the country. ‘Dear Mr President’, we were subsequently informed, was indeed shown to the president, but just how much that act has achieved, of course, remains to be seen.

And how much can be done, in general, about Sumatra’s rainforest debacle remains to be seen too – but, as mentioned, we can all do something. For those interested, the MSc 10th anniversary conference on primate conservation will also be held at Oxford Brookes University on the April 23 and 24 – it’s open to everyone; the public as well as students and academics.

Kate Jenkins

As a daughter of a zany artist, my home was usually filled with my mum’s artwork, which from the pivotal ages of seven to eleven, went through a phase of being a bit shocking. Not to me mind, I was used to it, but one particular instant sticks out in my memory. Upon picking up a school friend, a yuppie mother freaked out upon seeing a rather illicit canvas. “You want wallpaper? Go to Laura Ashley. Art is provocative.” My mum snapped from the kitchen, “Bloody yuppie philistine.” And that was the end of those playdates. Anyhoo, that line has always stayed with me. What makes art, and what is merely wallpaper?
Attending an Affordable Art Fair is a double edged sword, depending on your perspective on what defines ‘art.’ At the Affordable Art Fair in Battersea Park this weekend, the place is ram packed with every type of artwork you could wish for. From oil paintings of Wine and Cheese (I can’t fathom why anybody would pay a grand for a painting of a block of Stilton) to rock n roll photographs of Johnny Cash, it’s well worth a visit although at least 99.9% of the artwork, I would probably label as wallpaper. Nice wallpaper, for sure, but wallpaper none the less.

Billy Childish

However, hidden in a little nook was a selection of artwork for sale by our old chum, Billy Childish, recently reviewed by yours truly for his ICA exhibition. If you haven’t got a grand to splash out on some artwork, a selection of his poetry books are for sale.

By the front entrance, Andrew Curtis has some lovely black and white canvases which make standard trees and shrubs look a bit like something from War of The Worlds.

Andrew Curtis

Upon perusing down another aisle stacked with artwork, Amelia and I came grinding to a halt, jaws slack when beholding this…this…

Angela Lizon

this canvas. ‘Possibly the best thing so far’ tweeted Amelia, as I continued to stare up into the big feline face like a monkey who had found a Rubik’s cube.

Susila Bailey-Bond

Working with paper was a big theme this year, successfully executed by Susila Bailey-Bond whose 3D butterfly collections were beautiful. If visiting The Woolff Gallery stall at the AAF (where Bailey-Bond’s butterflies are) please check out AnneMarie Wright’s ‘written series’, modern icons drawn by using words from books or speeches. Very impressive stuff.

Simon Larbalestier Courtesy of Snap Gallery

One of my favourite stalls at the Affordable Art Fair was courtesy of Snap Gallery, who specialise in rock n’ roll photography. Original Pixies cover art (like the above photograph for Surfer Rosa) sits next to truly beautiful portraits of Johnny Cash and Bob Dylan. Definitely a stop off point for the music lover.

The Affordable Arts Fair is on from Thursday 11th March to Sunday 14th. For infomation, please check our listings or the website.

]]> http://www.ameliasmagazine.com/5003/review-the-2010-affordable-art-fair/2010/03/11/feed/ 2 http://www.ameliasmagazine.com/fashion/london-fashion-week-aw-2010-catwalk-review-hermione-de-paula/2010/03/11/ http://www.ameliasmagazine.com/fashion/london-fashion-week-aw-2010-catwalk-review-hermione-de-paula/2010/03/11/#comments Thu, 11 Mar 2010 13:30:06 +0000 Amelia http://www.ameliasmagazine.com/?p=14597
Hermione de Paula by June Chanpoomidole.

Waiting in the crush outside the venue for the Hermione De Paula show I bumped into my old friend Xerxes (well, he’s not old, he’s very young actually, but I met him when he was a lot younger) nonchalantly lounging his tall willowy self against a pillar. I haven’t really spoken to him in many years; I guess our paths must have diverged at some point. We had time for a few moments catch up before his attention was diverted by some other trendy young things and it turns out he’s engaged! Yet another young ‘un getting married, a fact which makes me very happy. So many people of my age and older seem to have skipped this stage of life and then discovered it’s too late to have some of those things they really wanted, like a family. Maybe those a decade younger have seen how miserable some of their older single friends are and gone “uh-uh, I ain’t fallin’ into that trap, life sure looks easier with someone at my side. Maybe I will get settled in my twenties.”

This isn’t Xerxes, this is fashion editor Matt Bramford in the crush with me outside the show.

Of course, Xerxes is not on facebook, so like a few other refusniks I have no idea what he is up to. One thing you can’t fault facebook for is the way that it allows you to easily keep up with what out-of-date friends are up to, or even what up-to-date-but-I-never-get-a-chance-to-see friends are up to. But Xerxes knew what I do because he reads all my Amelia’s Magazine emailouts (subscribe on the left hand side of any page on my website). I forget that so many people follow my life, either via twitter, or my emailout, or facebook. Xerxes is now a consultant to lifestyle brands, that fancy well paid job that I always thought I’d do given that I have, ooh, six years of running a cult magazine with an impeccable pedigree in a wide range of cultural niches under my belt, but hey I’m still waiting for those phonecalls. He’s helping Gucci to make more money out of being sustainable. Nice work if you can get it, though I’m not sure how entirely ethical that could be in reality.

I then got pulled into a small booth hastily set up in an alcove by the All Walks Beyond the Catwalk Campaign to get more curvy women into fashion. A large cutout letter was planted in my hand and a photograph taken before I had so much as a chance to check me lippy. Apparently the pics will go up on the website but I have no idea when or where. Ironically enough, posing right next to a crush of skinny young fashion things, I felt too exposed to take my coat off and flaunt my definitely curvy figure with any amount of glee. But I do admire Mark Fast and all those fashion designers who have chosen to make clothes for larger models (i.e. normal sized women) for whilst I may love some of the looks presented on rake thin lasses, I think that curvy ladies are waaaaaay sexier – and well clothed sexy ladies are to be encouraged at every turn.

Hermione de Paula by June Chanpoomidole.

Hermione De Paula. All photography by Amelia Gregory.

This was Hermione de Paula’s fourth show at London Fashion Week. Apparently her first was inspired by a character from that saucy mid 90s film, Showgirls: I remember going to see that in a Swindon cinema complex with my dad (my parents lived nearby for awhile when I was at college, okay?) and being highly embarrassed by all the graphic sex scenes. For this show, entitled Polly Crystalline, Hermione explored the idea of trapped femininity, using extreme shapes to emphasise “tits and hips” together with beautiful prints inspired by the forms of ice crystals, and the girls took to the catwalk at a fair old lick as you’ll see from my photos.

Hermione de Paula by June Chanpoomidole.

Hermione De Paula. All photography by Amelia Gregory.

This confident collection was a radical break in style from most other shows I saw during fashion week, the resulting outfits presenting a kind of babydoll meets goth rocker look, all wonderfully styled with severely bobbed wigs in pastel shades of grey, pink, baby blue and yellow, and large handheld lock and keys. The plastic corsets and apron dresses may not have been practical for everyday wear but there was plenty here to lust over, including the flouncy tailored tops and jackets in both Hermione’s signature black and white crystalline print and a more traditional rose design. Even the lizard like shoulder-frilled dresses were very obviously wearable.

When Hermione popped out to take her bow at the end she looked utterly adorable, if far less glamourous than in the press shot on her website. (I want one of those. Make me look glamourous someone!) I think this lady will go far.