1. The birth of Satan

    from Rosemary’s Baby (1968)

Based on the novel of the same name, Rosemary’sBaby is a genuinely terrifying horror film from Roman Polanski, in which a sickly looking Mia Farrow becomes paranoid that she is the victim of a hellish conspiracy. It is a psychological thriller, toying with the viewer’s sympathy, emotions and sanity. Featuring marital betrayal of epic proportions and an unforgettably chilling final shot, this is a horror film so subtle that at times the viewer is unsure whether or not it is a horror at all.

2. The Birth of Venus

    by Sandro Boticelli (1486)

The sea-shell has long been a metaphor for a woman’s vulva. This Renaissance painting depicts the goddess Venus arriving naked at the sea-shore in a giant shell. The iconography of the painting is much debated, with mythological, political and religious readings all equally plausible. Pagan readings suggest that the painting is an attempt to replicate ancient depictions of the Goddess, while Christian ones see Venus as Eve before the Fall, the Madonna, or both.

3. This Woman’s Work

    by Kate Bush (1989)

Kate Bush likes writing about women and wombs (see also ‘Room for the Life’ and ‘The Kick Inside’). This song, from 1989’s The Sensual World, was written for the film She’s Having a Baby. It deals with childbirth from the perspective of the father, sat outside the waiting room and also metaphorically “outside / this woman’s work… now his part is over”. Opening with the heartbreaking “pray God you can cope”, ‘This Woman’s Work’ is a moving picture of the anguish of a complicated birth.

Way back in the misty annals of time that was my first term at Oxford, I went to play ice hockey. I forget why exactly, but I do remember that every time I tried to hit the puck I forgot that I was on skates, attempted to sprint, and landed flat on my face – or at least, my hands.

Somewhere around fall no. 7 I injured my right hand and had to go home, where I had terrible, terrible nightmares about what would become of me in Oxford, trying to do an English degree without the use of my writing hand.

Writing is lifeblood here. For Humanities students, it’s like breathing. We study the written word, pick it apart, analyze every inch of its possible meanings.

Mathematicians and Scientists have their own universal writing system made up of numbers and symbols and equations, and Computer Scientists can write in a code that tells computers what to do.

Among all the creations of man, writing is the supreme intellectual achievement. It was invented as many as six separate times, in places as distinct from one another as Central America, Africa and China.

In historical linguistics, monogenesis refers to the idea that all human languages are descended from a single ancestral language.

Whether we accept this or not, the earliest efforts began with simple pictures, strokes and dots to record objects and numbers. When it came to recording the innermost workings of our brains and hearts, a more complex system was required.

The first known ‘script’ came about in the 4th Millennium BC, with the development of ‘proto-cuneiform’ and later ‘cuneiform’ writing – wedge-shaped marks made on clay tablets with a blunt reed stylus.

The inventors of this form of writing were the Sumerians in Mesopotamia, the area of the Middle East which also gave birth to the earliest cities, farms and technology.

The Cuneiform writing system was in use in various forms for more than three millennia. Meanwhile, the Egyptians were developing hieroglyphs – the combination of pictures and signs which is still one of the most complex and beautiful writing systems ever devised.

The 2nd Millenium BC saw the climax of writing’s developmental stage, with the emergence of the Phoenician alphabet. This was spread across the Mediterranean by merchants, where it evolved and was assimilated by many other cultures, ‘birthing’ the earliest forms of alphabets that are still used today, such as Arabic and Greek script – and by extension Latin, Cryllic and Coptic.

The oldest form of writing that is still in use is the Chinese script, which dates back to around 1200 BC, and is still in use in a fairly similar form.

Even today, the story of the beginnings of writing is far from complete. Extensive study led to the eventual decipherment of cuneiform; the Rosetta stone helped us to understand hieroglyphic text -yet there are still ancient writing systems that have been discovered in places such as Crete, Mexico, Iran and Pakistan that remain mysterious.

It is because of writing that we can see inside the mind of people dead millions of years, enabling us to pass down stories upon which whole cultures – and whole degrees – are based. 

There’s nothing better than good, honest crackpots. Eccentric Lives and Peculiar Notions, by John Michell, is a collection of just that – people who, for whatever reasons and in whatever field, have found themselves at odds with the world. The New York Times neatly summed it up as ‘some of the most outrageous and beguiling oddballs who have ever walked through history’.

For example, in the 19^th Century an ongoing battle raged between science and the ‘flat-earthers’, those who were convinced that the world was in fact a flat disk. The battle was centred upon a mile long stretch of canal in Cambridgeshire, the Old Bedford Level. A number of experiments were carried out, scientifically sound and mediated by an impartial judge. And yet both sides got exactly the results they wanted! A similar group were active in America, only they were not flat-earthers, but hollow-earthers, believing us to be living on the inside of a globe. Likewise, their own experiments proved conclusively that the earth does in fact curve upwards.

Michell never derides or laughs; he is, though, brilliantly funny. And these stories allow him to be so. John Rutter Carden, a dreadfully persistent lover, who kidnapped his unfortunate beguiler, was known as ‘Woodcock’ Carden, because he seemed impervious to gunshot, fired at him by his Irish tenants, who were none too keen on his modern idea that rent should be paid. After his failed attempt at kidnap, though, he became a local hero; a ballad was even composed for him.

The book, through its wit, offers a deep insight into human nature; we can recognise a little of Henry Lee Warner, of Walsingham Abbey, in all of us; he was so excessively kind that he couldn’t bear to reprimand the local villagers, who therefore freely made use of his estate, stealing timber and horses, using his land, and generally treating his property as their own.

All the characters in this book have one thing in common – they were completely obsessed with their various causes and notions, obsessions which took over their lives, in some cases destroying them entirely. Quite often, as in the case of the Irish priest who opposed loans with interest, they are in fact more sane than the people who derided them. The book is a standing testament to humanity’s obsessive, credulous and courageous nature.

To say the internet has changed everything is to state the obvious. It is also obvious to say that it has changed the book. But perhaps less obvious is just how. This is no mere superficial change, a transfer of mediums and a slight adjustment of the financial structure of the publishing world. This is a radical change in content.

To the publisher, e-books are scary, but have to be embraced – publishers have to roll with the times. They are well aware of the dangers of illegal downloads, and of simply being bypassed by self publishing authors. To the author, e-books are also pretty terrifying, but there seems to be hope. The authors themselves takes a much larger cut of the royalties – a self published work selling on Amazon for a reasonable price will win back 70%! It’s also a chance for those yet unpublished to simply get their work in the pubic eye.

But with e-books priced so incredibly cheaply, many buyers purchase books based purely on price. The testimony to this stands in the onslaught of the 99p book, and the fortunes it has made; Fifty Shades of Grey is just one example of a hit which was rocketed to fame first as an e-book.

This works very well for popular, populist books. But it’s useless for someone expecting to sell even such a large number as 40,000 copies. More serious books take considerably longer to write, and, by their less populist nature, sell fewer copies. This is simply bad economy – as Dr Johnson observed, ‘no man but a blockhead ever wrote, except for money’.

The result? The world of authorship will divide: those who write for money will have to churn out populist reads. Anyone else will be forced to rely on day jobs, or more likely private income. Instead of making the world of books more democratic, by allowing anyone to publish, e-books will actually relegate the serious author to the realms of the extremely well-off.

This is of course an overly gloomy picture – hopefully people will always be prepared to spend more on a book they want to read. Hopefully, enough people will favour the hard-copy ink and paper. Maybe, the rather dryer authors will be forced to spice it up a bit, perhaps no bad thing in itself. But there is a danger worth noting, that in a world where many buy books based on price, the smaller selling, but professional author, could become a thing of the past.

You know the names, the moves, and every word to Reach. There’s probably even video evidence of you belting every word of it on the cheese floor whilst spilling tropical VK over the poor bugger next to you. It’s fair to say that S Club 7 are a band close to the hearts and minds of many students, which is why they brought it all back to the fans by hitting student unions and clubs for a reunion. Unfortunately not all the original line up was at the S Club Party, but Jo, Bradley and Paul just Don’t Stop Movin under the new more grown up name S Club, or sometimes S Club 3.

On their reunion tour, they went everywhere from the bright lights of Bradford to the Bognor Regis Butlins. When performing at the former, someone threw a bottle at Jo, following accusations of racism during her Celebrity Big Brother performance. Youch. Unfortunately, the band have no plans to visit Oxford anytime soon, but they did recently play Bournemouth, where Jo debuted some bright pink hair, and Paul his beer belly. Jeez, the boys really have let themselves go.

★★★★☆

Four Stars

Deliciously concocted like a soul buffet from space, Kelis’ otherworldly R&B drawl protrudes over retro beats producing something that simultaneously ticks the ultimate chill-out/party starter boxes, a great feat indeed. “This is the real thing”, she an- nounces on opening track Breakfast – rebuking those who know her for “bringing all the boys to the yard” with her tasty Milkshake in 2003. She went on to train as a saucier at Le Cordon Bleu academy in 2008, apparently as the result of disputes with her label, and she’s now hit them back with Jerk Ribs, Friday Fish Fry and Biscuits n’ Gravy on this latest offering – an odd culinary combo.

Much more refined than her previous pop-y hits, her husky purr constantly croons over a warm backbeat and vintage riffs that never seem forcibly contrived but evolve naturally out of her voice. The whole album is teeming with warm brass and chunky riffs, with heap- ing hunks of vintage soul and salty slabs of funk. Jerk Ribs begins with a mouth-watering bass riff which descends into the depths of your stomach where it’s supported by a swung shuffle that simply suggests that ‘everything’s fine, you’ll be alright’. The cynics should be quick to jump on Kelis’ eternal optimism but this is counteracted by a voice of experience, and disguised amongst the otherworldly char- acter of the groove.

The influence of the Neptunes, with whom she collaborated on Tasty, is still felt in the rhythm tracks – the cowbell on Jerk Ribs could’ve come straight from Blurred Lines, but it all still seems entirely original. A Space Odyssey, an odd sounding mix but one that nevertheless blends perfectly with Kelis’ voice which is often pushed back in the mix to become instrumental and to reinforce the fact that Food is almost biographical – the story of Kelis, and not what some random big shot producer has told her to do.

The singer’s comeback could have so easily descended into a musical blancmange, over-produced, filled with poptastic hits but ultimately a bit beige. Luckily, the 34 year-old has emerged unscathed and, in the process, offered something with a slightly longer shelf life.

★★★★☆

Four Stars

Damon Albarn marks with Everyday Robots his departure from the legendary ventures of Blur and Gorrilaz, and the album hails a long-anticipated solo effort from a figure regarded as one of music’s modern day geniuses.

The album’s eponymous opening ballad is a reflective lament at modern life, and its melancholic strings set the tone of album until the upbeat, soulful croon of Mr Tembo. Some tracks such as Parakeet touch upon the downright experimental, while the influences of jazz and world music can be heard in others. Albarn himself has mentioned the positive effects of narcotics on his music in the past, and tracks such as Photographs (featuring recordings of late recreational drugs advocate Timothy Leary) might well be an honest homage to that period.

All in all, the debut is lyrically crafted near to perfection and peppered with personal nostalgia, while the passing of time is conveyed through the synthesised, minimalist drum beats that wearily characterises many of the songs. It’s a shame that the former britpop frontman doesn’t revisit his eclectic influences more, and express them overtly throughout the album, essentially leaving them as a collection of unfulfilled loose ends. But if this debut is anything to go by, they will soon be tied up in an unexpected but brilliant manner.

★☆☆☆☆  

One Star

Last weekend brought the rebirth of Jesus. Now comes the rebirth of Sheezus. Lily Allen’s new LP comes after a five year hiatus, an onslaught of promotion and one of the most entertaining videos of 2013. However, those who giggled at the singer’s reveal of a “baggy pussy” and ironic echo of Kanye West will not get the clever satirical shit storm that was promised. Instead, Allen has made quite pos- sibly the most mind numbingly boring record of the year.

Bubblegum pop, autotune and lyrics so uninspired they’re comical; it’s all there on Sheezus. “Bring some fags and bring some Rizlas, we’re gonna party like it’s nobody’s business,” sings Allen on ‘Our Time’, an anthem to careless partying and being young. The kind of thing a 12 year old would post on Facebook accompanied by the text “lUv u GUUYss <3”. ‘URL Badman’ shows some lyrical merit, and the ‘Somewhere Only We Know’ cover that closes the record is the musical highlight; but of course, she nicked it from Keane. From the country backing on ‘As Long As I Got You’ to the bedroom beats of ‘Close Your Eyes’, this record is so exceedingly unoriginal it’s like she’s trying (and failing) to be meta ironic. She’ll probably go write a “F**K DA H8RS” song because of this review. An honour, I’m sure.

Roskilde, Denmark 29th June-6th July

You may know it as the epicentre of bacon, woolly jumpers and cycling, but Denmark also plays host to Northern Europe’s largest annual music festival in Roskilde, just 35km from Copenhagen. The festival prides itself on its huge variety of acts, and this year’s lineup looks sure to please Park End and Babylove fans alike, with everyone from Drake and Bastille to Chance the Rapper and Warpaint. A word of warning though; the English like to joke about festival toilets. Danes like to ignore them. Eight days of beery piss can be pungent.

Confirmed: Arctic Monkeys, The Rolling Stones

Main Square, Arras, France 3rd-6th July

Main Square a dix ans! This is the festival for culture nuts. Now in its tenth year, Main Square festival is located in a UNESCO World Heritage site, the Citadel of Arras, France. With only two stages it’s on the small side, but don’t let that fool you; this is no baby. Iron Maiden, Foals and The Black Keys are all performing. And if you so desire, you can watch 2012’s X Factor #fail James Arthur perform ‘Impossible’ and stare into your soul through those big eyelashes. Though let’s be honest, you’d probably rather be dancing to Skrillex, and that’s saying something.

Confirmed: Bombay Bicycle Club, David Guetta, Black Keys

Sonar Barcelona, Spain, 12th-14th June

The party capital of Europe plays host to many Summer festivals, but Sonar stands out as a particular favourite. It labels itself as the International festival of Advanced Music and National Media Art, and the line-up including Chic feat. Nile Rodgers, Caribou and MØ can easily justify both the hype and the ambitious (if slightly pretentious) title.

Confirmed: Massive Attack, Rudimental

Sziget Budapest, Hungary, 11th-18th August

Pronounced like “cigarette” without the grr in the middle, this festival is certainly no drag, as it takes place over 7 days on The Island of Freedom in Budapest and typically hosts over 1000 musical performances of attended by over 300,000 campers. Confirmed acts for this year include the likes of Placebo, Macklemore & Ryan Lewis, Lilly Allen and Jagwar Ma. And if

those names don’t excite you there’s also a giant blackboard where you write about the things you want to do before you die. Let this be one of them. 

Confirmed: Outkast, Skrillex

Electric Elephant, Tisno, Croatia

10th-14th July

What’s better than mates, vodka, and a long weekend of lazing by the beautiful Adriatic sea? All that and an electronic music festival to top it off. Set in The Garden Tisno, Electric Elephant is a non-stop party of sun, sea and dance. With boat parties and outdoor clubbing, it’s the perfect solution for those wanting a boozy holiday, but who can’t quite bring themselves to book Magaluf.

Confirmed: Tom Findlay (Groove Armada) DJ set, Awesome Tapes from Africa

Festival Mundial, The Netherlands, 27th-29th July

Now for something completely different: a festival that draws some of the world’s most eclectic acts to northern Europe. If you’re particularly disheartened by the Reading/ Leeds line-up and can’t be bothered to blow your student loan on Glastonbury or Bestival, why not delve into the likes of Belgian electroswinger Tim Arisu, Danish rustic punk-rockers The Sexican, or my personal favourites Korean avant-garde/post-rock band Jambinai. You heard it here first. All for under 60 quid.

Confirmed: The Skints, Asian Dub Foundation

Few words are as damning or worrying for a film’s prospects as ‘redundant’. ‘Terrible’ can be reframed so it seems like critics are just being critics, ‘dull’ can be spun to mean ‘fun for a target audience’. But redundant? That is a cross no film wants to bear, because redundant does not sell. Variety magazine’s review of The Amazing Spiderman 2 began by saying, ‘Redundancy remains a problem.’ And what’s really amazing is that no one has pointed that out sooner.

Do you remember the original Spiderman movies? Of course you do, because Spider-Man 3 only came out five years prior to this reboot. The hysterical rapidity with which this latest cashcow for Marvel was churned out is doubly deplorable. One, I entirely refuse to believe that anyone, anyone, grieved the end of the previous incarnation of the franchise. Second, and far more importantly, is that this is only one example of the ‘rebooting’ frenzy that has swept cinema; a relentless cull of original content in favour of established and done-to-death concepts that are easy sells. Redundant to say the least

Hollywood is a devious critter though. Reboots are rarely brazenly advertised as such, instead being masqueraded past audiences otherwise oblivious to the regurgitated content being sluiced into their eyes. Take the last outing for that adventuring rogue from the 80’s, Indiana Jones. 2008’s Kingdom of the Crystal Skull was unremittingly awful, yet cunningly branded as the long-gestated fourth part of the older Indiana Jones trilogy. But Crystal Skull was not a sequel. It was an abortive attempt to introduce young viewers, too young to have seen the originals in cinemas or even to have heard of them, to the franchise, and posit Shia LaBoeuf as the successor to Ford’s legacy. Thank goodness George Lucas couldn’t find a plot in a graveyard, as it left the film roundly condemned as the latest peal in the creative death-knell of cinema.

Looking at a list of releases from recent years, it reads like a cinema programme from a time capsule. This year’s revival of Robocop confirms Hollywood’s rabid fetish for 80’s memorabilia. 2012’s Dredd was a reboot of the one from 1995. 2011’s Rise of the Planet of the Apes was a remake of Tim Burton’s version from 2001 that was itself a reboot of the Charlton Heston 60’s classics. Versions of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Nightmare on Elm Street and Friday the 13^th from within the last decade are all bootlegged mutilations of their esteemed horror progenitors. And lest we forget, Godzilla is released on May 16^th, a remake of the 1998 version, itself an Americanised botch of the Japanese original from 1954. I think you’ll agree, it’s a sad, sad situation.

The problem is self-evident. By rebooting content, something new is inevitably pushed aside, delayed or outright destroyed. Pixar’s recent history demonstrates this perfectly. The Good Dinosaur, an original story about life in the prehistoric, was originally slated for a 2013 release, only to be side-lined for the unwarranted second helping that was Monsters University. A disquieting move, made even more galling for a film studio otherwise as lauded for its creativity and constant stream of originality as Pixar.  

It’s scarcely imaginable how many innovative original scripts have been mercilessly crammed into the shredder by thoughtless film and television executives. Yet, the idiocy of canning new ideas for dust-laden relics from by-gone eras is so overwhelming that it is almost self-defeating. To rephrase my first point, how many new franchises, that themselves could be rebooted, maybe within five years or less, have equally been eviscerated? We shall, mercifully, never know. 

I know cinema is a business, not a rescue home for creativity. I know not all reboots are terrible, as Christopher Nolan’s vanquishing of the pantomime drag-queen legacy attached to Batman from its multitude of embarrassing predecessors attests. But most reboots are appalling. And injudicious. And leaden. And dribble-inducing. And creatively cancerous. And they really need to stop.