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Review: One Life Stand by Hot Chip

Hot Chip’s fourth album opens with a pounding four-to-the-floor kick drum; listeners could be fooled into thinking the follow up to 2008’s acclaimed Made In The Dark is a beat-driven techno record conceived in the underground clubs frequented by the band members as they hone their formidable DJ skills.

In typical Hot Chip fashion however, this opener, ‘Thieves in the Night’, suddenly twists and turns, introducing you to what is actually a more soulful sound – akin to Detroit’s famed soul (not techno) tradition.

Hot Chip have clearly made an effort to shape things up since their last offering: the abundance of live instruments, opposed to the normal ‘softsynth’ sound, is audible from the start. It gives the songs a refreshing jam session feel, worlds away from the more clinical sound fans are used to. This is best heard in ‘Hand Me Down Your Love’ whose acoustic rhythm track and piano stabs sound like a product of The Temptations.

‘Alley Cats’, with its melancholy vocal melody and understated accompaniment, suggests the band has focused on creating heartfelt pop songs, rather than experimental masterpieces. This is seen again in the title track, a number whose quirkiness is utterly infectious; it displays the band at its best, combining raw emotion with danceability.

However, the record is not without its flaws. More attention to concision would have helped the record keep focus. There are a couple of tracks that could have been cut without too many tears. ‘I Feel Better’ goes for the retro 80s throwback vibe, with synthetic strings and auto-tuned vocals, yet it ends up feeling dated, and dare I say, tacky?

Overall, the album’s well worth a listen – it’s undeniably toe-tapping, and the choruses will stay in your head all day, whether you want them to or not!

Four Stars 

Review: Odd Blood by Yeasayer

Brooklyn boys Yeasayer’s latest effort is an unashamed adventure into the much-explored land of pop. However, the kind of pop the record offers is less clear. Whether this is art-pop, synth-pop or electro-pop is open to debate; I could continue listing unnecessary and slightly pretentious labels for sub genres without finding a suitable home for Odd Blood and it’s this unorthodoxy that gives the album its charm.

The record, the band’s second, offers a dense wall of sound from the outset, utilising the most unlikely instrumental combinations throughout. The opener, ‘The Children’, is a mix of pianos and synths and trumpets and drums and guitars and vocals, creating a patchwork of sonic tapestries without sounding messy or overdone. The eccentricity of the ditty is exacerbated by the warped vocals that sound like Thom Yorke’s voice sped up and slowed down and then superimposed on top of each other. Wonderful stuff. ‘Madder Red’ exemplifies the record’s penchant for catchy hooks, with an ‘ooooh ooooh’ vocal sounding intermittently, before reverberating round your head for the following week.  The sonically epic sounding drums are straight out of a Tears For Fears song with their unimaginable amount of reverb and synthy sound.

This 80s influence is a feature throughout the record that frequently borrows from the past. Yet it never falls into pastiche, and it instead it achieves the rare feat of sounding both retro and fresh simultaneously as shown in ‘ONE’, which is a contender for song of the decade so far (granted we’re only a few weeks in). African, tribal sounding drum rhythms oscillate throughout, uniting with eccentric synths and Eurhythmics style vocal lines to produce a track that’ll make you dance. A lot.

To me, the most attractive feature of Odd Blood is its optimistic feel (which delves into euphoria on the odd occasion). It’s unapologetically uplifting, and despite it occasionally being so hyper you feel you may have a seizure, it never fails to disappoint.

Interview: Dev Heynes

It’s fair to say that Devonte Hynes’ latest musical project came as a surprise to fans of his first. From bad-ass teen dance-punk in Test Icicles to cat-hugging folkie in Lightspeed Champion, you couldn’t get further removed. Now, as Lightspeed Champion, he is making a follow-up, Life Is Sweet! Nice to Mee You – has he found his calling? Especially given that he said of Test Icicles ‘We were never that keen on the music. I understand that people liked it, but we personally, er, didn’t,’ it seems plausible.

Or so I thought. ‘The only reason I said that was to shut up the person I was talking to’ he laughs. ‘People haven’t noticed that I meant the complete opposite. Everyone over-analysed us. Even when we said we weren’t gonna do it any more, people kept trying to analyse why.’ It became quickly apparent to me tha talking to this man about his ‘calling’ was entirely misplaced. Nor was it correct to place any emphasis on the decision to continue with the name Lightspeed Champion: ‘People sholdn’t pay attention to the names they’re released under – it’s distracting. A lot of people who liked the last one, won’t like this one… I don’t progress’. If lead single ‘Marlene’ is anything to go by, then you can’t say it follows on from his debut, Falling Off Lavender Bridge. A stomping riff, angular strings, anthemic chorus, Killers-style organ breakdown then an electrifying solo, with no defining genre in the song; there’s little hope of genre consistency across albums.

That’s no bad thing, but might fans get alienated? Hynes frankly isn’t too concerned about this. ‘I’m selfish’ he laughs. ‘The only reason I make music is for myself to listen to… I wanted something which was kinda ridiculous, I wanted it to be over the top’. Talking to him is certainly refreshing, and he isn’t afraid of the ridicule that may accompany being ridiculous. ‘I remember when I was really young I was reading a Beach Boys book, and Brian Wilson said that he thought laughter in music was the best thing – such a pure form of emotion’. As a former member of a band named Test Icicles, that he doesn’t take himself all that seriously shouldn’t come as a major surprise.

But along with a sense of humour, Test Icicles always had edge. As a fan, I was fascinated to hear about the events surrounding the cult band’s brief career – their live shows (‘people hated us so much… we used to end the show freestyle rapping for twenty minutes. And the feedback!’), the parties (‘it was so fucking awful – I got in a fight and got thrown down a staircase’) and the demos (it seemed I was the only person he met who had heard early demo ‘Semen On The Stepladder’, or at least, had even the slightest bit of time for it.)

But as Hynes observes, ‘I never really changed’, and his lyrics especially still have bite. See ‘pop’ song ‘Galaxy Of The Lost’, and lines like ‘When we kiss and I’m sick in your mouth’. Okay so there isn’t the threat of violence and resultant loss of limbs like ‘Dancing on Pegs’ (youtube it for a genuinely terrifying experience, and then look up the lyrics and never sleep again).

However, it seemed reasonable to ask whether this retained edge was a conscious decision, to make the transition from scary-as-hell dude to folk popster (or otherwise) more palatable. He gave two answers, and, predictably, both were unexpected. On the one hand it didn’t matter, because ‘we thought Test Icicles was like the poppiest thing in the world… It just turns out I’m wrong, all the time.’ Not that I was going to tell him he was ‘wrong’, just a band whose name is a pun on testicles is unlikely to be a chart-topper. On the other, the lyrics weren’t consciously anything in particular: ‘I spend ten minutes on lyrics. If I spent any time on it, it would come out worse.’ His compact method of songwriting has resulted in a number of EPs and official bootlegs, such as I Wrote And Recorded This In Less Than Five Hours. ‘I don’t overthink. I’m never stuck musically. It’s a curse in a way, because I produce quantity rather than quality. If I spent time on stuff it might turn out better…’ Whatever he’s doing has certainly worked to this point .

This individual style has led to conflict when people try to interfere. Animal Collective producer Ben Allen worked on the new record, and for the first time Hynes experienced this tension first hand: ‘it was pretty intense. He’s someone that’s very in to being a producer: ‘Maybe lets try it with this sound, I kinda like this part,’ and I was always ‘well, we COULD do that, or we could do what I wrote.’ It was like that every day.’

The strange thing was, Hynes didn’t come across as a the control-freak he seemed to present himself as. In fact, he came across as incredibly chilled. He summed it up himself, saying ‘I very strategically write songs, it’s all mapped out… but at the same time, I’m very easy going.’ I’ll say. And at the end of the day, he is tolerant, even of his meddlesome producer: ‘I see it as all such an experiment that I’m willing to go for a ride – even if it ends up kinda wrong.’ For not only is Hynes a music maker, he’s a music fan. And any route which might produce something totally original, he’s happy to explore. 

Interview: Tom Stoppard

What would you give Tom Stoppard for Christmas? A previously undiscovered Shakespeare manuscript? Unlikely. A time machine? Obscure. Jumpers, perhaps? He’s probably got enough of these.

In fact, this year it may have been futile to search high and low for the world’s greatest present for, perhaps, the greatest contemporary British playwright. Because while you were searching for an alternative to socks and a random assortment of jellied fruits, the cast and crew of The Invention of Love trumped the most valiant of efforts.

‘It was my best Christmas present,’ says Stoppard, regarding the news that his ‘favourite play’, the play Stoppard ‘enjoyed writing more than any other’, would be coming to its place of origin, Oxford. Possibly too hard to beat, then.
Stoppard is a charming man, and incredibly modest. Our conversation begins with his mistaking me for a journalist from the Oxford Mail. He seems slightly perturbed, if not flustered. I quickly reassure him that I am not a hack fresh out of the City Journalism course, and, in fact, an amateur posing as a journalist, a writer from Cherwell. This settles him: he has, after all, interviewed for this very paper, not two years ago. That it was the only interview he granted whilst in Oxford speaks a thousand words.

Stoppard is passionate about undergraduate life; as much comes out of the play itself. Stoppard has already met the director of The Invention of Love, Roger Granville, for coffee. One might think that directing Stoppard’s favourite play, a play that is so literarily rich, so steeped in its place of origin, in the history of its characters, would be a daunting task. The Invention of Love has been described as Stoppard’s most literary play, even his most difficult play. Stoppard has only the best things to say about Granville: ‘I think what one wants most of all is that the director is somebody who just loves the play and has responded to it, and so I’m very pleased about that…. it’s not a play which is widely done, [so] I’m really thrilled that somebody’s doing it’. This is as good a write up as I’ve ever heard for a play.

The Invention of Love is a play for Oxford today. Set in 1880s Oxford, the Oxford of Wilde, an ‘Oxford in the Golden Age’, as it is referred to in the last lines of the play, The Invention of Love centres around the life and loves of A.E. Housman, a scholar and a poet, who, whilst at St. John’s, falls in love with his friend and must suffer the silence of the ‘love that has no name’ – namely, his latent homosexuality.

The play becomes part discussion of the place homosexuality had to play in the later nineteenth century, part a beautiful insight into fin-de-siècle Oxford, with characters such as Ruskin, Pater, and even Oscar Wilde forming a rich historical backdrop to what is, in Stoppard’s words, a story ‘about a man who falls in love when he’s an undergraduate, and essentially remains enthralled by an impossible unrequited love for the rest of his life’.

Why would The Invention of Love be Stoppard’s favourite play? Due to its numerous classical allusions, some reviewers have called the play ‘esoteric’; the New York Magazine rather caustically noted that ‘Stoppard has lately managed to be too clever by three quarters’. In fact, to demystify the play’s many historical and academic references, the New York production team provided the audiences with a thirty-page booklet on the political and artistic history of the late-Victorian period. In both cases, the play seems to have been misunderstood.

Stoppard picks up on this; he ‘would be sorry to think of it, or…be sorry if people thought it was a difficult play, because part of the fun is to take something which sounds difficult like Latin scholarship, and make it intelligible and interesting…I think theatre is a recreation’. The Invention of Love is first and foremost a play about the emotions, rather than the intellect: this is to suggest, as Stoppard notes, that ‘the play was widely liked not just in London, but in New York, and that wouldn’t have been so had it not been the case that the play was working as a love story, in the broadest sense’.

Oxford is the best place for a play about both Latin and love. It is also extremely pertinent that the play be put in modern Oxford; a play set over one hundred years ago still speaks great truths about the Oxford experience today. What I took from the play was an essential dichotomy between Oxford as a place of great scholarship, and a place threatened by modernization.

At the beginning of the play, one of the characters notes ‘Great reform made us into a cramming shop. The railway brings in the fools and takes them away with their tickets punched for the world outside’. Is this not precisely the experience of Oxford today? For many, it’s less about Oxford students as Classics scholars, more a question of Oxford students as potential management consultants.

If this is Tom Stoppard’s ‘most esoteric play’, this need not be taken disparagingly; on the contrary, it proposes an enjoyment of the moment we are presently occupying. It is for this reason that perhaps the best line of the play is the last one: ‘How lucky to find myself standing on this empty shore, with the indifferent waters at my feet’. Surely this is the most pertinent perspective one could possibly have about an Oxford education?

In the play, it is precisely Oxford which is the centrepiece of the action. Stoppard reflects, ‘Housman expresses sympathy for Wilde when he says you’ve lived at the wrong time, you should have lived in Megara when one could publish poetry to the boy one loved, and so on…Wilde rejects this attempt to sympathize with him; he says…on the contrary, this world, this England, at this time, where he, as it were, exhibited his values and people paid attention to him.’

The Invention of Love promises great things. That Stoppard is ‘really thrilled that somebody’s doing it’, that it made his Christmas, is but one reason. Stoppard’s favourite play, perhaps his most personal play, must be met with an embrace for the current moment – for this Oxford, at this time. From this perspective, the ‘indifferent waters’ of The Invention of Love look inviting indeed.

 

The Invention of Love is at the Oxford Playhouse, February 17-20.

First Night Review: Equus

They fuck you up, your mum and dad. You might say that, but did they make you go and stab a load of horses in the eye?

I know what you’re thinking, great premise for a play. Been done I’m afraid. And bloody brilliantly. There’s always a great risk when students take on a play as well-known as Equus, let alone one so challenging both technically and emotionally. But there’s little if no disappointment at the OFS this week, for this production revels in the opportunity for experiment in the script and pulls it off with great maturity.

As always, we’ve got to allow for certain restrictions in student theatre, and the set and props are basic. But this doesn’t really hold them back, and in some ways what it asks you to imagine can be much more effective than what it might have explicitly shown you. And in the end those horses heads are freaking disturbing.

Director Anna Hextall uses the space well, moving between scenes seamlessly by making simple but clever use of just a few chairs, and some tactical movement; in seconds a psychiatrist’s office becomes a beach, a stable or a cinema of disrepute. The horses in particular were very unsettling, whose actions had clearly been given a lot of thought. The discordant humming noise they emmitted and the ritual ‘placing on of heads’ each time they appeared became a little farcical towards the end, but on the whole it was fantastically creepy.

The acting was generally excellent. Edward Fortes and Joe Murphy, as child psyhiatrist Dysart and eye-stabber Alan respectively, were outstanding. It’s rare that you see performances which go so far beyond your expectations, and these two stood out as being near-professional on the night. Fortes was perfectly charming and engaged well with

the audience – his various monologues were particular highlights, coming across as both natural and genuinely heartfelt. Murphy was equally enjoyable in a role which demanded serious commitment. He moved well from agression to vulnerability, and his expressive face and voice were so watchable I only once asked myself how Harry Potter might have done it. All the other performances were also very commendable, but I couldn’t help but praise these two extensively.

After such a protruding eulogy, I feel duty-bound to add that this wasn’t a perfect production. Of course not. But to pick apart any possible faults would be to contaminate the immediate impact this play can have on its audience. It’s not all serious, mind, and is also importantly very entertaining; full of witty dialogue, black humour and diverse characters. But there’s certainly a lot more to it than that. Words like ‘powerful’ and ‘profound’ are all too easily bandied around with theatre like this, but what else can you say? It’s really…good.

And I haven’t even mentioned the nudity yet. How mature of me. Really, I don’t see what the fuss is about… It’s no skin off my penis.

But how did the audience cope? Aside from a smattering of stifled giggles, they remained surprisingly calm, even if a notable stillness took over the room. Then there was the obligatory scandalous texting and exclamations of surprise in the interval, but it ran far short of hysteria. And I heard the words ‘Daniel Radcliffe’ mentioned only three times. So all in all a good performance. Well done audience!

‘Equus ice cream’, on the other hand: horse shit.

Play: 5 Stars
Audience: 3 Stars

Equus is on at the OFS, 2-6 February

Performance Review: Someone Who’ll Watch Over Me

A vast stallion of an Irishman is acting out a horse race. He’s wearing shorts. He could use a shave. You can almost smell him sweating. He’s not going anywhere – one of his legs is fettered – but in his mind, he’s free, riding triumphantly. He believes it. And just for a second, so does the audience, swept along by his swirling tide of commitment.

Someone Who’ll Watch Over Me is superb. It tells the tale of three hostages confined in a Lebanese prison cell: an Irishman (David Egan) an American (Jacob Lloyd) and an Englishman (Sam Smith). Wrestling with their sanity, they cycle through childish games, gruelling physical exercise and heartrending self-revelation in a desperate battle to stay human.

The horseracing scene made a daring opening gambit. It is quite a surprise to be confronted in the first scene of a play by a towering Irishman bellowing his lungs out. I feared the performance might continue over the precipice into a constant shouting match. It didn’t. Like a great Mozart sonata, the production was a masterpiece of beautifully tempered dynamic variation.

The play’s many comic moments were flawlessly portrayed. The actors were listening to each other rather than anticipating their next line – something so many student actors fail to do – and so dialogue became rapid-fire, realistic, and extremely funny.

The contrasting emotional climaxes were almost universally well-handled. Many of them had the audience in tears. When the actors were prepared to risk everything on grief-laden understatement, they were most successful.

David Egan was spellbinding. Fascinating to watch, he created powerful tension, was extremely moving at times, and also revealed great comic delivery. He embodied his character so completely that I was left wondering whether he was a brilliant actor, or simply happened to be a proud Irishman himself – until it became clear he was playing a man many years older than he was, with a wife and children, completely convincingly.

Sam Smith displayed great sympathy for character in his portrayal of a young academic, bringing a quiet gravity to the role. He did justice to some of the play’s most heavily-charged moments.

Jacob Lloyd’s stage presence was impressive, although his American accent did threaten to sabotage him at the start of the play; his role was also the smallest and perhaps the least forgiving of the three. Nonetheless, his performance developed as the action progressed, with some unforgettable moments such as his reading of the Koran.

Of course there are flaws. Professional productions have them too – McKellen’s trumpeted Godot was full of them – in fact, barring a few brief failings, Someone Who’ll Watch Over Me could pass for a solid professional production.

Director Roland Singer-Kingsmith tells the story extremely well. The audience were hooked from beginning to end. As the action of the play consists essentially of three men in a room, this is especially laudable. Also worthy of praise are the clear and defined character choices, the decision to avoid over-politicising the script, and the intelligent and simple staging. In fact, at almost every point, one notices that considered, exciting and extremely entertaining directorial choices have been made. I could continue singing its praises, but I prefer simply to encourage you to go and see it. If there are any tickets left, that is.

Five Stars

Someone Who’ll Watch Over Me is on at the BT, 2-6 February

Here’s What You’ve Missed: 3rd Week

Hear what paying audiences thought of Peter Schaffer’s ‘Equus’ at the OFS and Frank McGuinness’ ‘Someone Who’ll Watch Over Me’ at the BT.

Editorial: Making Mistakes

When, other than while we’re at University, are we supposed make mistakes? Learning from our mistakes is supposed to be a fundamental part of ‘growing up’, and yet, when exactly are we supposed to do this? Throughout school we’re constantly told that everything matters, particularly if we want to end up somewhere as estimable as Oxford, but when we arrive here everything is then taken far more seriously.

Recently the Oxford University Officer Training Corps (OTC) decided that it would be a excellent idea to host a ‘Zulu’ themed party, prompting various members of the public to write to us highlighting their disgust at this poor judgement. While in rather poor taste, and arguably with minimal tact, is this really newsworthy? No one blacked up (finally understood to be offensive), there was no unexpectedly bad behaviour and yet this lack of consideration and tact, at one point in our week, was thought to deserve the front page of this newspaper. Should people not be able to host private parties with whatever theme they choose, as long as they are prepared to accept the consequences, whatever they may be?

Of all the times in life, when is better than our University years to make the mistakes we need to? Who hasn’t woken up in the morning thinking ‘Oh no’, or just as frequently ‘I definitely don’t remember that…’?

Undoubtedly Oxford offers students fabulous opportunities, both academically and extra-curricularly, but are these not taken far too seriously by some? Maybe what we need is a little more lighthearted fun today, rather than an unhealthy obsession with tomorrow and where we’re all climbing to next. The Union is just the Union, student plays are just student plays; will another coffee with that one ‘genuinely important’ person really make or break your future? Unlikely.

The same goes for the media; it seems to be increasingly revelling in other people’s misfortune, rarely for anything that resembles a ‘public interest’ argument. Everyone is waiting on tenderhooks hoping that someone, hopefully ‘The Next Big Thing’ will make a truly awful mistake that can be villified and publicised. And not because its a fundamentally awful thing, but purely because ‘They’ve messed up, and I haven’t’, rather than a more serious concern with the other’s actions. The OTC party is just one example of this – poor taste or questionable judgement doesn’t always equal fundamentally wrong.

Considering these mistakes we will all undoubtedly make; if every action we do can be publicised through the media or facebook, leaving a permanent mark that can forever be googled, what are we, as the bright young things of tomorrow, supposed to do?

Perhaps we need to become a little more forgiving; to accept that everyone makes mistakes, especially when at University. (No one’s going to forget Clinton’s ‘I did not inhale’ for a while yet.) Embrace it, laugh about it, and learn from them. And shouldn’t we make some mistakes?
If we aren’t making mistakes, if things don’t go wrong every once in a while, we’re not really pushing boundaries, trying new things, and hopefully, just occasionally, learning from them.

Smelling red

‘The number four is a bright acid-yellow and five is crayola-blue. Together they should make eight, which is a bright green, but instead they really make nine, which is wet-dirt-brown. It has never made sense to me. Algebra is what makes x turn brown, too. Letters least of all should be brought into that mess.’

If you are like me, this will undoubtedly not make any sense to you. However, to approximately one in twenty people it may, at least to a certain degree, seem familiar, even if they may disagree vehemently on the exact pairings of colours and numbers. The above quotation is the writing of a sixteen-year-old girl with synaesthesia. Synaesthesia (syn meaning ‘together’ and aisthesis, ‘sensation’) is a neurological condition in which an instant, involuntary co-occurrence of one sensation takes place as a result of the occurrence of another type. This can happen between any of the senses–days of the week may have their own particular colours, G-major a particular smell, and a triangle a specific taste.

While the concept of synaesthesia is not new–ancient Greek philosophers already investigated the link between colour and music, and Newton suggestedthat colours and sounds may have similar frequencies–it was not until the 1980s that scientists started investigating synaesthesia in earnest.

Those without synaesthesia may wonder whether it is simply a set of made-up or delusional associations. However, one of the characteristics of synaesthesia is that pairings between sensations remain stable over time (life-long). Moreover, these sensations seem to arise from an organic basis: patterns of activity in a synaethetes’ brain reflect both the appropriate andthe paired sensation as if it ‘really’ perceives both types of stimulation. For example, while anyone’s auditory cortex will be activated when listening to music, a sound-colour synaesthetewill also activate the visual cortex to reflect the colours simultaneously experienced in their mind. Further investigation into synaesthetes’ brainshas led to the discovery of ‘hyperconnectivity’, namely the existence of many more pathways between the cortical regions that process different sortsof sensory information as compared to a normal brain, maybe allowing more possibility for crossing-over of different sorts of sensory information.

Behavioural studies in babies have shown that our brain is hyperconnected at birth and that, as part of the maturation process, we lose this hyperconnectivity in the first few months to years of our life. Although a specific gene has not yet been discovered, synaesthesia tends to run in the family, and this has led researchers to believe that a genetic abnormality prevents the brain from complete cortical maturation, thus leaving the brain hyperconnected.

Even though synaesthesia is a neurological condition, it is difficult to claim that that people suffer from it. Many highly creative people such as Nabokov, Kandinsky, and Messiaen were synaesthetes, and for most it is just as innate as the colour of their eyes and the size of their feet. This ‘normalness’ of the condition may well be the reason why prevalence in the general population has been estimated from anywhere between 1 in 20000 to 1 in 20 people (the latter being a more likely estimate).

Although this may still leave the majority of us without such abilities, it is often overlooked how much we all possess some synaesthetic traits. For instance, Professor Charles Spence of the University of Oxford showed in an experiment conducted at Heston Blumenthal’s award-winning restaurant that sounds play a particularly important role in our perception of food: a bacon and egg ice-cream was perceived as tasting more strongly of bacon when it was accompanied by the sizzling sound of bacon being fried compared to when there was no such sound present, the result of sensations crossing-over. Similarly, many of us automatically associate shapes and sounds (does “Kiki” sound sharp or “Bouba” rounded?) or even perceive certain names as being sexier than others. For fun exploring your own synaesthesic tendencies test yourself here.

As someone who does not have the slightest hint of a synaesthesic mind, I can only wish I could, if only for one day, return to my infant state and re-see the days of the week in vivid colour, let Kandinsky’s paintings make music in my mind, and finally find out what circles really taste like…

peerreviewscience.blogspot.com

Thirst Lodge goes Go-Go

Popular night club Thirst Lodge has received a new license allowing the performance of pole dancing and lap dancing on the premises.
A motion condemning the lap dancing plans was passed at OUSU Council on Wednesday.

The motion was put forward by Yuan Yang and Lizzie Bauer, who told Cherwell, “When clubs are granted lap dancing licenses, studies in London, Nottingham and Scotland have shown that it comes with an increase in violence, harassment, sexual assault and rape in the surrounding area. Because of this, passersby, especially women, may feel threatened walking past the area at night, and OUSU should fight to ensure that all the students it represents feel safe in Oxford.”

OUSU will now join the Women’s Campaign in urging students to refrain from visiting Thirst Lodge and holding University events at the bar while it is registered as a sex encounter establishment.

Thirst Lodge originally applied for the lap dancing license in January last year, but withdrew the application following local outcry. The second application was approved in December 2009.

The application provoked anger amongst local residents and students, especially members of St. Ebbe’s Church, which is opposite the lodge.
Church manager, Mark Abraham, said: “To have a pub right on our doorstep promoting lap- dancing would only serve to harm the Gospel at St Ebbe’s and Oxford at large.”

Residents were also angered as they felt Greene King, the brewery that owns Thirst Lodge, kept them in the dark about their intentions and did not leave them enough time to protest the decision.

Abraham said, “Once again, Greene King did not tell us of their intentions, leaving us with very little time to object.”

Elaine Beckett, a spokesperson for Greene King, commented, “We believe the operators of Thirst Lodge are experienced and as such will ensure the premises are operated in a professional manner at all times.”

In response to fears about the welfare of students and residents, Oxford City Council said, “The licence has conditions appended to it which, amongst other things, cover public safety. Licensing Officers will monitor the premises as part of our inspection programme and we will of course follow up any matters referred to us by the public.”

Some JCRs have supported OUSU’s opposition of the lap dancing license. St. Hilda’s passed an identical motion in their JCR meeting last Sunday.

St. Hilda’s JCR President Jesse Harber said, “We felt that if the statistics cited in the motion were true, then there was a clear and present danger to the women of Oxford in the granting of this license. Strip clubs use women as objects of sexual gratification, and contribute to a culture where women are regarded as such even outside of ‘sex encounters’ venues.

The danger isn’t that women will be snatched from the streets outside the club – it’s that men will leave the club believing slightly more that women are there for nothing but their own pleasure.”

However, not all students have expressed such concern. One third-year Christ Church student said, “I could not be more thrilled to hear that such refinements are now coming to Thirst Lodge. We have been starved for too long of such fine establishments in Oxford. I know where I’ll be having every one of my nights out.”

During OUSU Council, concerns were raised that it appeared to be a motion passing judgement on women working who may work at the club. Yang assured the meeting that the focus of the campaign was student safety and supporting the residential community around Thirst Lodge.

A third-year St. Hilda’s student said, “Oxford has always been a safe and fun place to go out and I think by introducing something that could be seen as derogatory then it could encourage unacceptable behaviour.”

Thirst Lodge were unavailable for comment.