The idea of a ‘concept album’ can often send a shiver down the spine of a music fan. It hints of pretension, and trying to turn pop music into something it isn’t meant to be. Here, Future Islands have succeeded in creating a sprawling musical work that invokes the sea throughout. However, what exactly the ‘concept’ is, beyond the allegorical sea, is left to the listener to decide.

One thing that was immediately striking about Future Islands’ debut effort In The Evening Air was the gruff vocal technique used by frontman Samuel Herring. Though always unique, it was occasionally obstructing  and thankfully it seems that he has decided to tone it down a bit for this sophomore attempt. Sometimes. One of the main flaws of this album lies in the inconsistency of sounds, most notably in the vocals and bass. While there’s nothing inherently wrong with singing differently on a different song, Herring’s voice varies massively between his old ‘pirate’ self (in the opening title track) and Stewie from Family Guy in the intro and outro of ‘Give Us the Wind’ (or ‘give us the hWhind’, as he sings it). Given that this album relies on the creation of a visceral and immersive experience, it does generate something of a conflict in associating the songs with one another, and prevents the album from coming together as it otherwise might have. That said, the dense web of synths, effects, and consistent lo-fi production throughout help to counteract the variety caused by Herring, and the sudden thumping, overdubbed bass in the album’s final track ‘Grease’ is one of the highlights of the disc.

Trying to pinpoint the influences at work here is quite a task. Invariably associated with the Baltimore ‘indie’ scene, due in no small part due to their repetitive and narcotically-infused music videos, it would be something of an insult to simply give Future Islands this label. Using a musical language taken from the 80s, most obviously The Cure in ‘Balance’, and a modern sensibility of creating epic sounds from lo-fi means, they create a hypnotic effect similar to the music of the late, trippy 60s, where four minutes seems to last forever. ‘Before the Bridge’, the album’s single, attempts to cocoon the concept of timelessness that is created by this journey across the sea, present throughout the album.

The real question with this album lies in who it is written for. Future Islands have created something unique, definitely, but that will take a lot of time and patience on the part of the listener to appreciate to its fullest, something which may demand too much from those used to synthpop in its more common form. The attempts of so many bands to be ‘epic’ at every available opportunity has become something of a pandemic in modern music, leaving many insincere explosions which have little lasting effect. Like the crest of a wave on the sea, this album moves in a much more forceful way, and at a markedly slower pace. Taking the time to engage with it properly, though, creates a lasting, affecting, and meaningful impression, and immerses you in this ocean of sound.

Francis (Max Reubs Walsh) McPantyliner celebrates his 18th birthday at home with his ex-cage fighter step mum, ‘I bought a shotgun Melvin’ and some kid who’s only there for the ladies. This sitcom galaxy is held beautifully in place by three attractions: one boy wants friends, one friend wants women, one woman wants boy. Reubs gives a relaxed performance as this OCD, fragile kid who just wants some mates. Mummy cougar sharking on baby bad boy is taken to a level rather less restrained than in Mamma Mia’s ‘Does your Mother Know’, with Mandy (Michael Scott) eventually grabbing the pubescent boy’s hand, placing it upon her ample bosom and growling, “cop a feel,” at the gangster clad teenager, at least 20 years her junior.

Scott, the more muscular, manly male of the group is a feminine force of raw sexual magnetism on stage. A hairy thigh is always snuggling its way along the sofa towards the adolescent and refusing to be subservient to its master, a leopard print dress. Scott’s Northern accent lends itself beautifully to the frustrated female whose proliferation of BAH-STUD’s fire rage at the audience at her lot in life and repressed love for her dweeby stepson. Following not so yummy Mummy’s sucker punch, Said (Alex Harvey) eats carpet and she storms off upstairs with her hairy bum grinning at the audience as she goes.

Said (typical teenager) is confused. He wants sex, but not with Mummy. He’s read ‘The Seagull goes to the Beach’, but not Chekov. When asked what IT’s like with him and his gal, his response: MOIST. Harvey is natural, effortlessly cheeky, in fact, even when silent his lips do the acting for him (watch when you go and see it).

Suicidal Melvin (Matthew Dow) does less is more very well. His dry delivery of just a string of numbers; ‘9…9…9…9…9…9…9…9…9…9…9’ makes for a side-splitting utterance. But he was so amusing that he even made himself laugh. Corpsing is always funny though. I don’t know why it’s such a thespian cardinal sin. Actor makes audience laugh, audience makes actor laugh: a win-win situation.

I only saw the start, so in Week 3 I might be saying that the second half did indeed ‘shit all over the ambience’ but if the next part is as LOL as Fortuna Burke’s press preview I’ll be wetting my pants instead.

What do you do if you want to see pirate-local councillor hostage banter, Mr Kipling as a Latino cake-lord and singer/songwriter hill-billies who could have been extras in ‘Deliverance’? Go and see the Oxford Revue, of course.

The premise of the show’s introduction sounds promising (Max Fletcher in just his boxers, oblivious to the audience, until he puts on his glasses) and I can only hope that they get the timing down to a tee and the quality of the various films spot on. This and the general plotlines are what make up the Oxford Revue for me – a seeming attitude of freedom from the reception of the public, almost a take-it-or-leave-it image.

But again, for me, it was this very nature of the sketches that is my biggest criticism of this show. The absurdity of the situation and characters went far beyond the general, if not faint, realms of recognisability found in other, more mainstream, sketch shows. Don’t get me wrong, the show did on many occasions provoke genuine laughter and I would like other people to experience their humour, which to some extent is extreme and hence sidesteps what I have just called the ‘mainstream’ crowd. Yet the problem is that these extremes aren’t capitalised on enough and consequently the scenes aren’t quite bizarre, just not quite ‘standard’.

Though they were thorough in all characters, they weren’t always original: I couldn’t help being reminded of Zapp Brannigan from ‘Futurama’ in the character of the ship captain; elsewhere, I recognised the infamous ‘Family Guy’-style flashbacks. I’m not sure this latter device worked as effectively as it does on TV; the switch from current to extemporaneous scenes was a bit sluggish and it wasn’t initially obvious what they were trying to achieve.

The acting in sketches is generally done well. Nick Davies is absolutely sure of each of his various characters and has, perhaps with his height or American accent, a considerably powerful stage presence. A few of Fletcher’s accents went a bit wayward but his Spanish, at least, was convincing. It was the enthusiasm of both performers that filtered through and really made the timing

The duo work well together and look remarkably comfortable with being on stage. I think the overall comedy, however, could be improved if there were a more striking difference between the two comedians and their personae. I’m not suggesting getting someone else in, but simply creating a starker contrast without coming across as too ridiculous and forced. See what you think.

‘Failure, and how to achieve it’ –  2.5 stars

BT Studio, 21:30, Tues-Sat 3rd Week

   A former collector of football replica shirts, an ex-director of the Oxford Revue and a guy, once described as a ‘massive lemon’, they both knew from school, are all members of what is collectively, and more commonly, known as ‘Rory and Tim’. Using what is essentially a blank canvas of a set, the team act out a series of sketches that are humorously thoughtful and have a certain light and charming poignancy to them.

  They began the set with three characters discussing books submitted for the Manbooker prize and used two idiotic characters to express their opinions, but I wouldn’t want to ruin the brilliance of the scene by revealing the simple premise they play on. One of the other sketches was set in a boxing weigh-in between Mark ‘the Metaphor’ Carlton and Louis ‘the Literal’ Feydou at the Hyperbowl, where the former threatens ‘I’ll punch you in the soul’ and the latter merely states ‘I’ll punch you in the chest’. What you will notice on seeing this production, and I strongly recommend going along, is the sly audacity of the writing; it seems to dare to put into script our own observations of several, perfectly plausible, situations. How many times have you wondered what a situation would be like if you took it completely literally? Or how an awkward situation could be made even more awkward? This is what they do and they do it with real vigour and passion.

   It is difficult to say, however, whether the fact that the characters lack any psychological depth is a problem to the overall idea, considering the nature of sketch comedy. I was trying to work out whether it is the situation making us laugh or the characters they have created. Indeed, the cunning word play and unexpected twists are cleverly done. Yet, from the point of view of their acting or potentially just their character development, there is a bit of a void, despite the precision of their timing. Theirs is certainly a rather intelligent comedy, but maybe the physical performance could be injected with something more to really lift it.

   The team is ultimately based around whatever characters Rory and Tim are playing in the scene, but there is also the third actor, Iain Stewart, who is deployed as both ‘whipping boy’ and handy extra. In his own words ‘I’d rather be the idiot than the guy who is called in to do the housework’; however, I think this takes away from the subtle importance of his role. Without him there, the two others themselves would be overpowering, abrasive and potentially lost. Though they tried to persuade me otherwise, the image of Karl Pilkington in ‘An Idiot Abroad’ repeatedly came to mind.

   From watching them rehearsing before the set, their serious attitude towards their art was obvious; the switch from characters to analytical self-critics was interesting to watch as it really emphasised the work that goes into the performance. Matthew Perkins is their director, apparently a new feature of their rehearsals, and it is perhaps through this extra pair of eyes that every sketch is rigorously polished.

   I had a chance to meet them after their show and to find out a bit about their life and thoughts on comedy. Having all three gone to St Paul’s school, Rory was in the Oxford Revue when Tim was auditioning at the same time as Iain. Contentiously, Tim got in but Iain didn’t make the call-backs. Eventually, Rory decided that he had had enough of directing and decided to join forces with Tim to write sketch shows. They then set up ‘Sketch Club’, a core team of people who accept proposals for sketches from anyone and which rivals the Oxford Revue’s ‘Audrey’. And their reasons for doing it seem altruistic, Rory explains: ‘a couple of years back, if you didn’t get into the Revue, that was your only chance to perform and that’s not very much the case now.’

   They both seem very determined to write and perform the comedy that they want to do, sticking to what could be called a slightly alternative style; “Comedy now is pumped up – ‘How I met your Mother’- t here’s 20 minutes of bright glitz. There’ll be some joke, but it won’t be very funny and it will happen and life will continue.” It seems like the standard ‘backlash’ attitude towards mainstream culture but it’s encouraging to see such fervent individualism. However, they naturally still do harbour thoughts of becoming big on the London circuit and hope to project their brand of ‘Rory and Tim’ to higher levels.

   Despite having had a few disastrous evenings in London and having their show cancelled in Edinburgh, the duo say that this summer has given them the confidence to think about the potential reality of achieving these higher levels. Though Tim described themselves dryly as ‘mostly talentless’, apparently they’ve received some very positive comments from the audience feedback sessions at their Free Fringe slot.

   I was curious as to the reasons they went into comedy and so I asked whether someone had told either of them that they are genuinely funny and suggest that they go into stand-up. Rory replied that it happened all the time, although he did add that, “I don’t think I had, at least in my teenage years, the ego or the arrogance to go ‘You know what? I’m funny’”. As a result, it was this drive from others that made him do stand-up at school and here he is now. Tim has a different story: his childhood was spent relentlessly watching comedy and he eventually felt under the illusion that this was how the real world actually is. Though he was more an actor at school (and in fact still is, performing soon in a play called ‘Posh’), it was not until university that he became interested in this noble art. He explained that it was Rory’s dad who had encouraged him to go specifically to St Anne’s college, citing ‘his [Rory’s] admittance as evidence of lack of standards.’ 

   Such a close relationship was obvious both when performing and during the interview, leaving me to assume that this closeness helps with the dynamic between them. Though Rory still does stand-up by himself, they both confess that better comedy is more often written in groups and when I asked them why they like working together, their response was “because you can’t do sketches on your own. And there’s safety in numbers.”

   The two do apparently get annoyed with people who think that they should be constantly amusing to all, asking them to make them laugh, or assuming that any conversation they have with them is going to make it into their sketch show. “That’s not how it works” is Rory’s usual response. On a more intimate note, they did complain of sometimes not quite recognising their own existence. According to them, there was a period last June when they were doing so many performances that it was sometimes difficult for them to live in the real world.

Overall, I thoroughly enjoyed the time I spent with Rory and Tim (and Iain, I suppose) and my final comment would be to reiterate that their writing puts on stage the ideas that are usually just stuck on the tips of our tongues. And when I asked them what their final comment would be, Tim eagerly replied “I’m single now”.

‘Rory and Tim Will Never Sell Out’ – 4 stars

BT Studio, 21:30 Tues-Sat 2nd week

   The Shakespeare Schools Festival is a project that allows schoolchildren the opportunity to put on half-hour versions of Shakespeare plays in professional theatres around the country. It involves 600 schools and 12,000 young people, so this is no after school drama club but a huge project, and one that brings together pupils from every kind of school. 

   I spoke to recent Oxford grad, Will Hooper from the Festival. He told me how the project allows children to engage with Shakespeare in a totally different way from how they would in the classroom, how it allows the pupils to connect more with Shakespeare and understand the way his plays can be reinvented and found to always be exciting and engaging. Hooper highlights the additional benefits – besides the obvious cultural ones – as better social skills and literacy.

   The problem arises with the question of funding – with whom should the responsibility lie for paying the £700 registration fee for a project like this? The press release rather vaguely says that teachers have ‘fought hard against budget cuts’ to get the registration fee- does this mean that they have been negotiating with those at their various schools who control the budget, or does this mean they have been raising money in other ways? Mr Hooper was unable to answer my question as to where he thought the responsibility for funding this project ought to lie. I would suggest that the responsibility for paying does not and ought not to lie with the individual teachers. Obviously there is no funding from the arts council, since they seem to be pulling funding from theatre projects all over the place, but if more cuts in general look like they are looming, it is going to be the arts in schools that lose out.

   On the website for the Festival, there are testimonials from teachers involved with the project about what it has done for their schools, and what it has done for the pupils in terms of making Shakespeare accessible and, as the press release puts it, ‘[staking] their claim to their cultural heritage’. The list of patrons is impressive and includes Dame Judi Dench, Kevin Spacey and Sir Tom Stoppard. The project is affiliated with the National Theatre. Backed by prominent people and institutions in the world of theatre, and reaching a huge number of children and schools, this is something that could really make a difference by providing an opportunity not just for pupils to get to know Shakespeare better, but to rediscover themselves as performers and get involved with one of the most central part of our country’s cultural history. 

   The Festival project is aimed particularly at disadvantaged schools. The kind of schools, one would imagine, that if there was any more of a budget cut would lose the ability to pay the registration fee, and whose pupils – who are (one would imagine) those least likely to be able to get involved in performing Shakespeare – would be least able to raise the money for it amongst themselves. Reading Shakespeare in the classroom is one thing, but it is far more accessible and exciting when it is performed. As Mr Hooper suggests, when simply read off the page there can be a lack of excitement among the pupils, but when they have a chance to act it out and really get involved with it, there is a hugely positive response. The danger is, I think, when the money gets tight, things that are “non-essential” get cut, but it would be an incredible shame if pupils were to miss out on something like this for the sake of money. 

   Over and over again, it is the generation going through education now that is being told it must cut back and miss out because of the money mistakes the generation before us have made. I sincerely hope that this project is able to continue and money can still be found.

For more information, head to www.ssf.uk.com/registered

Elegantly clad in a cocoa-brown dress, with foxy red hair and subtle make-up, it is clear that Dr Catherine Hakim is a woman ‘bien coiffée’. This is probably necessary for the research fellow, who has just published a book called Honey Money: The Power of Erotic Capital. Hakim claims that her idea of erotic capital is completely new. She defines it as a broad combination of ‘beauty, sex appeal, skills of self-presentation and social skills.’ This weapon is more potent for women because there is a male sex deficit. In plain English, men at all stages of their lives want sex much more than women and value looks more highly when selecting a partner. The fairer sex should scrap any silly ideas that beauty is superficial and worthless, and proudly exploit this valuable bargaining tool in all areas of life, be it the workplace, public life or at home.

The criticism of Hakim’s main theory has fallen into two opposing camps: either, she is stating the bleeding obvious – we all know that looks are important; or, her ideas are worryingly passé, proposing a return to the era of our grandparents, where women were admired for their lustrous hair and hour-glass physique, rather than for their brains. The argument of the latter slightly undermines that of the former. Maybe there is a point to calling a spade a spade.

The predominantly female critics, taking the moral high ground, have missed the point. Clearly beauty has economic and social value. As Hakim tells me over lunch, nonchalantly spearing vegetables with her fork: ‘This is the way the world works. Saying the world should be a different place cannot be a starting point. I want to give women an edge in any way possible to readdress the power balance.’

Hakim seems to have anticipated the two main rebukes when she argues that Feminism splits into two groups, those that value erotic capital and those that value human capital (one’seducation and career). It is true that women are not encouraged to aspire to both in Britain, unlike for instance, our friends across the Channel. ‘Here, the only message you ever get is that beauty is skin-deep, shallow, superficial,’ she says bitterly. This book isn’t a how-to-guide on how to work those womanly wiles. Hakim is calling for an attitude change.

So does she call herself a feminist? ‘Yes, of course.’ This response may surprise some readers, because, in many ways, Honey Money goes to show that Feminism has become a dirty word. In one of many sweeping generalisations, she writes ‘Feminists argue that there is no real distinction between marriage and prostitution.’ The crusade against Feminists makes you wonder for whom Hakim is actually writing. ‘Everyone’, she insists, ‘both men and women.’

Unfortunately, Hakim’s views on the Feminists are frankly conservative compared to those on prostitution, which she showcases as a stellar example where the financial value of erotic capital can reach its full potential. She celebrates the economic and psychological benefits of prostitution for the workers, completely downplaying the problem of security and trafficking. For Hakim, these girls are empowered, not exploited. Anyone who disagrees is brainwashed by a patriarchal society, which stigmatises selling sex.

The book seems to openly encourage young female students to turn to the sex industry to help fund their tuition fees: ‘the preponderance of university students and graduates among these women is strong evidence that beauty and brains are often combined and work together.’ Prostitution is the smart option for the average female student, didn’t you know?

Hakim prefers to refer to call-girls as ‘party girls’, as if to insinuate that girls who do not prostitute themselves are not as adventurous as girls who do. ‘But they are fun girls!’ she gushes breathlessly. She’s piqued my curiosity. Has she spoken to anyone working in the sex industry? ‘No’. Did she not consider that to be an important part of her research? ‘I just relied primarily on the literature – that way someone else has done the work.’ Then how can she know what it is like to work as an escort? ‘I just know,’ she repeats several times. I sincerely hope she isn’t toying with romantic ideas that call-girls are all ‘party girls’ based on Holly Golightly from Breakfast at Tiffany’s, who is presented as an iconic example in her book.

Given Hakim is urging women to adopt a more ruthless, business-like approach to their erotic capital, I ask if she thinks women should behave more like men. ‘Yes, women should be more professional, and professionalism is more like the way men behave. Men are rational and practical. You can always do business with a man. Women treat each other so badly in the workplace. They have no team spirit!” It seems fair to say that we do have something to learn from the other sex.

We move on to a discussion of the reviews published on her book so far. It is clear that this is a sensitive subject, especially owing to one Guardian article. ‘No man would write that kind of article, ever. No matter how much they disagree with you, they wouldn’t bring emotion in. Women find it easier to attack another woman than attack a man.’ In agreement, I point out that in the storm of the Dominique Strauss-Kahn trial, British journalists took greater pleasure in criticising Anne Sinclair’s decision to stand by her man than her husband’s peccadillos.

In Money Honey, Hakim bombards the reader with numerous statistics illustrating how common it is for men to commit adultery. So I ask if this is another instance where we should accept the world as it is. ‘I am a social scientist. I am not concerned with morality.’ I don’t mean in terms of morality, I say, but rather in terms of bringing about the greatest happiness. Eventually, after a hesitant pause, Hakim replies, ‘women should turn a blind eye’.

As I leave the LSE, I find myself unsure what to make of Hakim and her book. I can’t help but wonder if she was merely implementing her erotic capital philosophy when she laughed so excessively at a borderline-funny tale. Her aggressive, bolshie  style of writing undermines the thought-provoking parts. Her theory of erotic capital was first advanced in an article published last year in the European Sociological Review and I found myself wondering how the two would compare. As suspected, everything in the 248-page book can be found in the 20-page article, written in a far more neutral and less irritating manner. I would recommend reading that instead.