Saturday 16th August 2025
Blog Page 1178

Top 5 Songs to piss off a finalist

Rachael Griffith
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Top 5 Songs to piss off a finalist

1. ‘Always Look On The Bright Side of Life’ – Monty Python

Play them this, whilst simultaneously telling them, ‘It could be worse, you could be doing mods’.

2. ‘Harlem Shake’ – Baauer

I feel like a harlem shake in the Rad Cam right now might result in a mass murder.

3. ‘Crazy Frog’ – Axel F

To be honest, this will piss off anyone in the vicinity.

4. ‘Lazy Song’ – Bruno Mars

“Today I don’t feel like doing anything.” Because you’re a second year and they’re a finalist; yes, they get it.

5. ‘Zombie’ – The Cranberries

Play this through your headphones so loudly that you remind all the finalists around you how little sleep they’ve had.

Review: Gang Albanii – Królowie życia

Kieran Vaghela
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Review: Gang Albanii – Królowie życia

Tearing up the Spotify Top 50 in Poland with a massive 10 per cent of the slots, this week I’m writing about Królowie zycia by the one and only, Gang Albanii. Haven’t heard of them? Well, neither had I until last Saturday. A quick Google search reveals two things: a) they have no English wiki page and there are no English language reviews of their album (making this a Cherwell exclusive I suppose) and b) that they are defined on rateyourmusic.com as falling under the genre of comedy rap.

Now, I have to confess, my Polish falls between sketchy and non-existent. Okay, so maybe it’s just non-existent. On that basis, I really can’t talk about the lyrics. However, I can safely say there is nothing comic about those filthy basslines. The underlying electro vibes fit well with the husky overtones of what I can only presume are unparalleled wordsmithery. Pushing the barriers of dubstep and grime, Albanii’s subject matter is possibly on the adult side, with songs like ‘Marihuana’ (banger) and ‘Napad na bank’ (Bank Robbery). Popek, one member of the group (who is actually quite famous and has collaborated with Big Narstie, JME, Krept and Konan etc) lives in London so with a bit of luck, maybe we’ll see them being dropped on another huge night at Cellar in the coming weeks. Regardless, get on Spotify and get listening.

The last of the Beat poets

Catherine Kelly
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The last of the Beat poets

What do you do with a poet who has outlived his movement? Kerouac, Cassady and Spicer drank themselves to death; Ginsberg and Burroughs made the rickety leap to poet-celebrity. The San Francisco born poet Gary Snyder has survived in part by lingering in the calmer peripheries of the chaotic Beat Generation. He may have been immortalised in Kerouac’s 1958 novel The Dharma Bums, but he has always seemed separate from that break-neck, self-destructive style of living and writing. One of his most famous poems, 1969’s ‘Riprap’, has none of their frenetic urban energy. It begins, “Lay down these words / Before your mind like rocks.”

Snyder’s latest collection, This Present Moment, carries on that stillness. In a poem entitled ‘Wildfire News’, he writes “I have to slow down my mind / Slow down my mind.” 

Snyder’s poetry has an air of calm accumulation; adjectives, places, elements of the natural world are layered in his thin stanzas. For Snyder, observing and accumulating aspects of the world around him is a way into knowing and understanding them, feeling his way around them in his open, conversational tone. In ‘How to Know Birds’, Snyder compiles deft little lists of identifi- able features, “Size, speed, sorts of flight / Quirks. Tail flicks, wing-shakes, bobbing.” Elsewhere in this collection, terms and tribal names act as a guiding thread, a line to follow “from one end of Kerala to the other”, as he writes in ‘Polyandry’.

The emphasis on the immediate and the ephemeral, the ‘present moment’ of the title, is visible in the slight, fragmentary stanzas of ‘Seven Brief Poems from Italia’. As with much of Snyder’s poetry, these bear the influence of Japan’s haiku form, filtered through the Imagists of the twentieth century. His poems thrive in the pared-back clarity of these images, the brittle rhythms of ‘Gnarly’ and the unobtrusive peaceful moments locked into his scenes of nature.

This Present Moment extends its reach beyond Snyder’s Sierra Nevada home to take in Kyoto, Paris, the Kalahari Desert and the shrine at Delphi. A glance at Snyder’s acknowledgements is enough to gain a sense of his global presence, yet his poetry remains rooted in the intimacy of human connections. A poem entitled, ‘The Earth’s Wild Places’, begins, “Your eyes, your mouth and hands, / the public highways.”

As Snyder reaches the latter part of his life – he turned 85 in May of this year – it was inevitable that he would come to dwell on memory and mortality. ‘Go Now’, the final poem in the collection, details the strange suddenness of even a long-expected death. “She watched the small nesting birds / in the tree just outside. / Then she died.” This Present Moment may be one of Snyder’s final collections. If so, he has left us on a characteristically subtle, skilful and luminous note.

Review: A$AP Rocky – AT.LONG.LAST.A$AP

Tom Barrie
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Review: A$AP Rocky – AT.LONG.LAST.A$AP

A$AP Rocky’s sophomore was always going to be different; the only question was the extent to which A$AP Mob’s star member would switch things up. The psychedelic production of Live.Love.A$AP and Long.Live.A$AP is still around but here it’s married to soulful sung hooks and flourishes of guitar and piano. In opener ‘Holy Ghost’, these complement Rocky’s Southern style; appearances on the record by Juicy J, UGK and Lil Wayne attest to the debt Rocky owes Southern hip-hop. Meanwhile, ‘Everyday’ features a 1970 vocal sample of Rod Stewart, while on ‘L$D’ he surprises by, well, singing.

Happily, Rocky’s irresistible flow remains, both lazy but compelling at once. Mid-album trio ‘JD’, ‘Lord Pretty Flacko Jodye 2’ and ‘Electric Body’ offer trap beats that sound as if Rocky remembered to chuck in some run-of-the-mill gangsta rap as an afterthought – ‘LPFJ2’ has the most menacing beat you’ll hear in 2015 and ScHoolboy Q helps by killing his verse on ‘Electric Body’. As for features, M.I.A. and Future disappoint on ‘Fine Whine’, though Wayne, Kanye and Mos Def are proof, if any was still needed, that Rocky is well and truly part of hip-hop canon. Ultimately, A.L.L.A. offers a fulfilling balance of familiar A$AP Rocky and experimentation. Harlem’s Pretty Flacko has stepped it up and is heading for greatness.

Gogol Bordello: the gypsy-punk band

Eliana Rosenfelder
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Gogol Bordello: the gypsy-punk band

Do you feel that indie music is now too mainstream? Does rap make you want to kill yourself? Well, if you want a new tune for your life, then look no further than Gogol Bordello.

No one could accuse this gypsy punk band of being too mainstream. With excessively colourful videos that look like the best acid trip of your life and such lyrics as, “Caravans are leaving, and her breast is heaving,” the band mixes traditional gypsy folk tunes with punk and dub and enough bohemian spirit to make the Moulin Rouge jealous.

Whilst having started in New York, the endless list of band members come from a shit ton of different places across the globe and you can really hear it in their sound, not least of which through the accent of their lead singer which really brings in that Ukrainian folk vibe you’ve always been pining for. If you’re a language whiz, it also seems that they have made an album entirely in Russian, though given my lack of ability to read Cyrillic, it really could be any language; key point, get on that multi-lingual, multi-cultural hype (oh so PC).

Rolling Stone named them “the World’s most riotous live band” and they aren’t particularly tame in any other format; profane, though witty titles are to be expected – ‘Think Locally, Fuck Globally’. In their artist’s statement, They claim that they plan to achieve their aims (God knows what they are) through “acts of music, theatre, chaos and sorcery”. If that’s not worth a listen, I don’t know what is.

Roommate reactions: “It sounds like the kind of thing they beat animals to death to”; “Music induced headache”; “I quite like it, I don’t really have anything interesting to say about it”; “Pretty jazzy, he’s got some bold looks”; “It’s easy to sing along to cos they don’t sound like real words”; “This is why Russia wants to annex Ukraine” (no idea if this was meant as a positive or negative).

Entirely upbeat, you get hit in the face with music and peculiar lyrics, “start wearing purple” repeated god knows how many times being a particular favourite, and really can’t help but enjoy it, though anyone prejudiced against accordions: this isn’t the band for you. In short, they’re crazy and well worth the listen. Also, their frontman has an out-of-this-world moustache.

Monumental Art: The Chess Game

Anna Zanetti
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Monumental Art: The Chess Game

This week’s artist is Sofonisba Anguissola (1532 – 1625), an Italian painter who set a precedent for women being accepted as students of art. She was born into an aristocratic family of Cremona, and her father made sure that she received a well-rounded education that included the fine arts.

Her most famous work is ‘The Chess Game’, which she painted aged 20. We see, left to right, her sisters Lucia, Minerva, and Europa playing chess, under the supervision of their nurse or servant. The work is most notable for two reasons. First of all, the figures are presented playing chess, a highly intellectual activity requiring logic and strategic skills, which at the time was felt appropriate for men only. However, art historians note that in this period new rules of chess were introduced, whereby the queen became the most powerful piece on the board, now capable of moving an unlimited number of spaces, horizontally, vertically, diagonally. The sisters can thus be considered a statement about the role of women, who can partake in the same intellectual activities as men.

The second aspect that makes this work monumental is that it innovates the genre of family portraits. In the painting, we are presented with a domestic and informal scene. The characters’ gazes intertwine dynamically, going from the servant to cheeky Minerva (second from right) to dumbfounded Europa (right) to confident Lucia (left) to the viewer, whom we can imagine to be Anguissola herself, the culmination of the sequence. The gazes tell us about what’s going on in the game; they make it clear that Minerva is smiling in anticipation of Lucia’s next move, which is going to make her the winner of the game, leaving Europa surprised and almost upset with the result. The intensity of facial expressions gives the painting genuine humanity and conveys a sense of intimacy among the characters. This is an innovation in Italian painting of the period, where works focusing on the aristocracy were generally impersonal. But Anguissola does not fail to acknowledge the status of her family, as she depicts her sisters in exquisite clothes. The painting is the first example of the combination between family portraiture and a quasi-narrative scene.

The repercussions of this work on the history of art are ‘monumental’: it brings women into the picture by portraying them as engaging in masculine activities, innovating artistic genres as no male painter had previously done. 

‘Pretty Girls’ and Pop’s Postmodern Moment

Sam Joyce
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‘Pretty Girls’ and Pop’s Postmodern Moment

Britney Spears suggested in a recent interview that she should head back to school in order to help her kids with their maths homework. She needn’t bother. With the absolute void of original ideas in her latest release, ‘Pretty Girls’, she definitively proves that multiplying anything by zero inevitably produces absolutely nothing.

Repurposing others’ creations is nothing new – it’s a central tenet of postmodern art, which relies on appropriation, reproduction and compilation as its driving creative forces. If postmodernists believe that we’ve reached a historical epoch in which almost everything which can be done has been done, then ‘Pretty Girls’ is a great argument that we’re about to enter an age of humanity’s regression. The song, or rather the spectacle – stalling music sales mean song and video are inseparable as promotional vehicle for an artist’s other ventures – is nothing but diminished returns.

‘Pretty Girls’ is a clusterfuck of other people’s ideas, pasteurised by the moneygrubbing hands of corporate America. If you shoved Gwen Stefani on a toner-deficient photocopier, ‘Pretty Girls’ is what would come out of the printing tray. So what does the song and video steal? The video’s plot replicates that of Geena Davis’ 80s flick Earth Girls Are Easy, whilst its aesthetics lift liberally from the same period’s gaudy styles. Musically, it evokes the aforementioned Stefani, whilst its production team, The Invisible Men, replicate a superior DJ Mustard beat, which in turn is built off of hip hop’s traditional reusing and remixing of samples.

The song then, is a triumph for postmodern pop, a concept which is currently dragging any number of songs along a solid run atop the world’s charts. Last year, ‘Pretty Girls’ co-star Iggy Azalea rode the same formula to career-making success with her hit ‘Fancy,’ which with it’s 90s styled, Clueless-replicating video and familiar Mustard-stealing production, is in many ways ‘Pretty Girls’ high achieving older sibling. Charli XCX built her recent album, Sucker, off of a similarly hollow appropriation of style and sound, borrowing overtly from 90s teen queen flicks and pop punk sounds. But at least her appropriation was born of some wit and sonic adventurousness. Less so, Ariana Grande’s ‘Break Free’ video, stuffed with vintage science fiction iconography, Meghan Trainor’s Motown voice and 60s pastels, Carly Rae Jepsen’s Video Star stylings, Robin Thicke’s Marvin Gaye apeing antics. The list goes on.

Yet perhaps the greatest example is the recent world conquering‘Uptown Funk’, a paper-thin 80s homage in sound and aesthetics that had no other reason to exist than serve bitesized nostalgia up to anyone who missed out the first time around. Even Taylor Swift recently got in on the action, her ‘Bad Blood’ video borrowing concepts and imagery from a plethora of classic genre movies – Sin City, Tron, Kill Bill, Matrix, and even Spear’s own ‘Toxic’ video – cycling through as many cultural touch stones as possible, with nothing to say about any of them.

What unites them? A shared determination to avoid originality at all costs. They’re three minute recaps of ideas someone else previously popularised. Their instant familiarity makes them palatable and reassuring. In this sense, they are perfect pop – instantly digestible, easily remembered, and completely inoffensive.

And now comes ‘Pretty Girls.’ The video even remixes the song itself to ensure nothing escapes its creative black hole. Sure pop has relied on homage for years – an obvious example is Britney’s own sci-fi voyage to Mars for the ‘Oops!… I Did it Again’ video, which even referenced Titanic in its dialogue break. But this trend is different in its refusal to offer anything new. Its appropriation provides no commentary on its references. At its worst, it can barely even muster a knowing wink at the audience. You like that film that time and popularity has bequeathed some pop cultural cache upon? Here’s the best bits. Come see me on tour! But ‘Pretty Girls’ may mark the death of this trend. The public are beginning to demand more – just look at where the song is currently languishing in the charts. And yet that neon nightmare of a video still dances before me every time I shut my eyes.

Oxford’s part in the rise of the Grrrl Zine

Sam Joyce
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Oxford’s part in the rise of the Grrrl Zine

Zines seem to be everywhere recently. They first emerged from the punk scene in the late 1980s as a result of the movement’s DIY ethos, as a means to express and transmit fringe ideologies. The 90s saw the form reach its zenith, as they circulated widely amongst participants in the Riot Grrrl movement, giving a platform to frustrations and personal narratives of experience that couldn’t be found elsewhere. Yet now, with rising internet visibility and a fresh wave of widespread feminist engagement, the vanguards of quasi-underground cool, Dazed and Confused, have declared a ‘second golden age’ for the zine. But what exactly is it? 

A zine is a publication which focuses on subject matter that, whether because it is too niche or too controversial, is excluded from the mainstream print outlets. Born out of Punk’s DIY ethics, zine culture proudly flaunts its amateurish aesthetic, printing – or rather photocopying – in batches of less than a hundred copies. In Oxford, Cuntry Living, Skin Deep, and No HeterOx form a triad of highly visible examples. And in 7th Week, Freud’s will play host to the GRRRL Zine Fair, where a diverse range of feminist, queer and intersectional publications will be put on sale for Oxford students. 

Discussing the importance of zine culture, Ruby Breward, the organiser of the upcoming not-for-profit event, argues, “Zines challenge mainstream media, and allow subcultures and marginalised voices to tell their own stories and create discussion on their own terms.” Co-conspirator Aliya Yule, fresh from a Top 20 appearance on Cherwell’s own BNOC table, elaborates, “At a time when the mainstream media so often ignores issues of liberation, having zines which are particularly designed for those with overlapping identities which are tokenised and/or marginalised allows us to tell and illustrate our stories in ways that don’t necessarily fit in the format of journalistic norms.” 

The fair’s genesis originated from frustrations about the affordability and accessibility of online zines. As anyone without Amazon Prime knows, postage costs can make ostensible bargains prohibitively expensive. And Oxford seems to be crying out for them. Created at their inception to challenge establishment norms and acceptability, zines offer students a great way to engage with movements and theories outside of the confines of academia. In a local culture so dominated by the monolithic institution of Oxford University, subversive expression finds its raison d’eÌ‚tre. Yule agrees, saying, “It is so important that we have access to materials, ideas, and schools of thought that are excluded from our reading lists in Oxford. Whilst there has recently been a push to make curricula more diverse, zines still offer unique perspec- tives expressed in ways which don’t conform to the dogma of academia, and it’s vital that we remain aware of them and recognise their importance and value. 

“I’ve been taught about feminism by male tutors twice – in fact I’m yet to have a single female tutor at all,” says Breward. “I’ve learnt more about feminism from discussions with friends and online groups than I have in tutorials, and zines are a valuable source of this kind of personal knowledge and understanding.” 

Besides offering “radical revolutionary reading”, the free event, beginning at 5pm on Wednesday of 7th Week, will feature girl bands, performers and a panel discussion about the importance of DIY culture. The team behind the event has put together an incredible programme, to be announced soon, with Breward adding, “I think Naomi’s performance should be really great as well. She’s part of the band Bruising who are doing really well at the moment and putting out some amazing music.” Plus there’ll be cocktails. 

But despite this “golden age”, both in Oxford and the wider world, a dangerous transformation lies in the humble zine’s future. With zines and their aesthetic increasingly featured (or co-opted, depending on who you ask) in mainstream publications, a tough road lies ahead for the culture to retain its separatist streak. Dazed and Confused itself began life as an underground London zine, illustrating only too well the allure of corporate investment. Furthermore, with their limited print runs, zines face increasing interest from collectors, dragging the publications away from their subversive, anarchist roots and into the murky waters of the professional art market. 

For the GRRRL Zine Fair Team, the event is just the beginning of their grassroots not-for-profit operations in Oxford – if all goes well at Freud, it’ll likely be just the first influx of avant-garde literature they’ll be spreading amongst the University’s student body. Watch this space.

Degrees of Stupidity – English

Hannah Foxton
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Degrees of Stupidity – English

Having recognised the futility of awarding people degrees for studying other people’s languages, the absurdity of giving someone a degree for studying their own language is impossible to deny. As English students would say with their penchant for using other people’s words to repeat other people’s thoughts (in most subjects, it is called plagiarism), it follows like “an overwhelming question”.

You cannot award degrees for reading novels, any more than you can for walking barefoot on beaches, having drunken sex with strangers or all the other things people look forward to doing on their holidays when the pressures of real work temporarily abate. Now of course English students will point out that the degree is English Language and Literature (“It’s really two degrees you know”).  

If English students did no more than read and repeat what others had written, they would be a mild but bearable irritant. Unfortunately, there is something about the degree itself, or those attracted to study it, which leads them to believe that they are destined to create great literature, as well as to study it. They believe Oxford is a creative food chain, and that just as they have enriched their lives by reading the works of others, so their fellow students can enrich their infinitely poorer lives by suffering their own execrable efforts at poetry, or (if fate is being particularly unkind), their “first” novel.  Who has not endured the utter agony of sitting through some adolescent sonnet, wondering what on earth can be said at the end which isn’t too rude but will firmly close off the prospect of any more readings from their Moleskine exercise book of horrors.

An observer sitting in the lecture hall might notice something rather odd – uncanny, one might say – all the English students look the same. There are broad types of course: our female English students comprising of the long-haired, Keatsian Romantics or alternatively the post-modernist “fuck the canon” look with the piercings and doc-martins to prove it. The male English students are even easier to predict: I’m looking at you slightly-stubbly specs-man, with the ankle boots and leather satchel.

As with all the degrees considered for exclusion, there are entries on the credit side of the ledger as well as debits. No other subject can have contributed so much high quality hair to the Oxford scene. Certainly no other set of students can have committed so much love and care to their own hair. The sight of English finalists walking to Schools shaking their locks in a light breeze is one of nature’s great events, the image of lions in the Serengeti coming irresistibly to mind.

And they would have greeted the original title for these articles – “Six Degrees for Separation” – with a smug nod of recognition rather than the look of blank incomprehension it actually received. But these are mere makeweights in the overall balance. If it makes it any easier, they can be given the satisfaction of choosing their own epitaph from whatever they happen to be studying, but the knell of parting day has tolled for English nonetheless.

Bar Review: Merton

The Bar Review Team
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Bar Review: Merton

★★☆☆☆

Two Stars

Arriving at Merton’s lodge, we were halted by a locked door and a porter who insisted that we needed to be meeting someone in college to get through. We started sheepishly listing off the few Mertonians we knew, only to be told that they had to come and pick us up from the lodge. We sat in the corner and texted them all, but about five minutes into waiting for a response the porter decided we probably weren’t bluffing and let us in anyway. This shocked our Merton friends, who told us we got the nice porter. Despite his directions we ended up lost in a garden that, while very tranquil, did not have any ales on tap.

After doubling back we discovered this was entirely our fault; the bar is right by the lodge and clearly indicated. As we were wandering, my phone buzzed with the belated arrival of my Merton friends’ responses and I realised that I hadn’t had signal in the lodge. When I entered the bar, having found my friends, I immediately lost it again.

Despite being underground and devoid of windows, and the dated wood panelling, the bar was somehow not pubby. The smallroom was depressingly well-lit and cheerily coloured, which confused my body clock’s sense of time immensely, and the lack of signal prevented Facebook notifications functioning as reminders of the outside world. Similar to the Gladstone link, one can spend hours in there only to emerge surprised by the dusk. On your left when entering, you find a dozen or so annual “wacky” JCR photos, reminiscent of the back page of a high school yearbook. I told the Mertonians that I was shocked at how small the JCR was, and they explained that the photo just always had poor turnout. I was less shocked. They identified the star feature of the bar as the free jukebox, but we were unable to take advantage of it due to the crowd of six people watching Eurovision on the one small corner TV. They insisted that the bar is normally buzzing, but as it failed to break double digits (excluding our group) on the biggest televisual night of the year, I remain sceptical.

When we approached the bar, we met a Merton icon: Dave, bartender of 29 years. From speaking to students, I got a mixed review of his patter. Some said he was hilarious and friendly, others identified him as the king of grumpy curmudgeonly banter. I was told he was once witness to a near-assassination attempt on Bill Clinton in Christ Church Meadows. I was sceptical. My conversation with him mostly surrounded the modest drink choice, which had recently upgraded to boast more than one type of fruit cider. I tried one of these on his recommendation, but I’m pretty sure he was just trying to clear stock. Later, I found myself more impressed by the fact that all spirits are equally priced, and deeply enjoyed the bargain sloe gin.

The bar’s cheap, but easily beaten by any of the high street pubs. 

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