Tango music belongs, for most of us, in a completely different world. It conjures images of dark cafés, hot latin summers and a dance that was construed so fierce and sexual that attempts were made to ban it by US congress and the Vatican early last century. When asked how tango music is supposed to sound, most people will probably end up humming the same tune, accompanied in their head by the common trio of violin, guitar and double bass. The famous side of the genre is strident and strong, managing a sense of musical improvisation within a rigid atmosphere to accommodate dance. It in this style that Tango has featured in so many celluloid dance scenes – Scent of a Woman, Moulin Rouge!, Shall We Dance?, and Chicago, to name but a few. Yet the genre also encompasses a lesser-heard, subtle, overtly romantic style that is driven more by melody than rhythm.What few people know about are the revisions that tango has undergone; those same emotions finding new expressions. The earliest, more famed traditions were musically based around portable instruments – thus the violin, guitar, flute trios, that characterized it in its origins. Eventually, the flute was dropped for a double bass and the bandoneón (squeezebox) introduced; and this then blossomed into the ‘standard’ arrangements of double violins, bandoneóns, and a double bass and piano. It was with this arrangement that the genre found its most world-popular expression in the 1920s, with Carlos Gardel, developing the sung tradition: tango-canción. And so the Golden Age began.But with the 1950s came Ástor Piazzolla, and with him the Tango Nuevo, ‘New Tango’. Tango was, at this point, a very important part of Argentina’s national identity, and Piazzolla messed with it, controversially fusing tango and jazz, sometimes echoing the harmonic sophistication of Bach – one of his early idols. He introduced completely new arrangements to the genre, frequently using the electric guitar but also writing for symphony and string orchestras. His genre-breaking ideas were, I believe the height of Tango’s evolution. And then Neo-Tango has, in the last decade, become very big. It is the lovechild of the Tango Nuevo and the booming age of electronica. If you enjoy the feel of both of these genres, you may love this – coupling subtlety and energy with sophistication and thought, Gotan Project, and their album Lunático, have been very much at the core of this movement. Explore this genre. It’s good. It’s very good.By James Goldspink

by Chris CoolingAir guitar is weird. That is the first thing that you will think on watching this docu-film. All of us are probably guilty of a little air guitar action at some point, whether alone in our rooms or suitably inebriated at a club, but Air Guitar Nation aims to bring us the story of the real pros as they battle first to become American top-dog and eventually world champion. Performances are energetic, genuinely impressive and, above all, highly entertaining. Gimmicks, whether feigning disability only to jump out of their wheel-chair mid-show or performing naked are examples of just how far these virtuoso air guitarists are willing to go to get an edge. Some truly disturbing sights are on offer as men and women who should really know better squeeze into outlandish costumes and rock out on-stage to crowds of up to 5000 cheering people. The effect on the viewer is one of bewildered amazement.

However, at 80 minutes long, film-maker Alexandra Lipsitz correctly concludes that the shows need to be fleshed out with the human side of the story. Chief among this is the rivalry between the eventual champion C-Diddy and perpetual runner-up Björn Türoke. Despite sporting a massive superiority complex, Björn is seemingly beaten by Diddy at every turn, having to try three times to qualify for the world championships-building up sympathy with the viewer in the same vein as Dick Dastardly. After the final the pair shake hands with new-found respect in a way which is actually quite touching. Sadly, not all stories are of such interesting nature. Watching a contestant going to visit his parents is not particularly enthralling and the American qualifying rounds lack excitement, causing the first half-hour to chug somewhat.

When the contestants reach Finland, however, the true nature of air guitar becomes clear. America are new-comers to the competition, which is in its seventh year by the time of 2003 tournament, and are met with some misgivings, partially due to the arrogance both entrants display and partially due to a general mistrust of Americans due to the recent occurrence of the Iraq War. This particular point is emphasised in a montage of war images set to ‘More Than a Feeling’ by Boston, treading a fine line between poignant political comment and cheesy pandering to public opinion.

The film, as a whole, is technically well-put together with title, sub-titles and captions suitably garish and in keeping wit the flamboyant nature of the air guitar genre. Despite the slightly tacked together nature common to most documentaries the viewer builds up an understanding and empathy with the competitors as they let out their inner rock-star personas on stage. However, the fact remains that without the amusing mime which is air guitar the show would not maintain interest for its duration. Insistence by the contest’s founding fathers that air guitar is the only true (read non-commercialised) art form remaining will raise a smile, as will their assertions that said art form can lead to world peace. Is the film worth watching though? If you purely want to marvel at the eccentricity of air guitar performances you’re better trying youtube. If you do watch the film you’ll likely come away with a smile on your face from the amusing performances and sense of sincere hippy-like world peace. As they say in Oulu, ‘Make Air not War’.

‘Flyering’ consists simply of any act which gets a postcard-sized advert into the hands of an unwitting potential customer. However, this simple cross between marketing and causing a public nuisance is so important to a show’s success, at the Edinurgh Fringe in particular, that experienced flyers are required to develop some style to stand out from the crowd, not to mention a thick skin.
 Flyering technique generally lies somewhere between art-form, competitive sport and means of socialising. Often offering more entertainment than the actors they promote, flyerers are a resolute, outgoing bunch. But they still have feelings too, it seems.

Such a character is Miles, the eager public-school student with buckets of enthusiasm, as he picks off members of the public with a flyer, a smile and an unnerving stare. He seems harmless, but in all my time spent on the flyering gauntlet of the Royal Mile I’ve never seen him let a victim escape with less than a written contract that they’ll come and see his show.

Altogether more palatable is Sarah, an optimistic New Zealander I met on the Royal Mile. Whilst we’re working for different venues (and so technically deadly enemies) we’ve been for the occasional drink between shifts, two exhausted souls who have to go out each day and face a public fast becoming unsympathetic to our cause.

It is over a pint, our feet bending back into shape under the table, that Miles springs out of no-where. Two weeks of “Miles, mate. No.” have done little to distinguish me from any other face in the crowd, and it is with glee that he whips a flyer out of his bag and starts reeling off his boiler-plate “no seriously it’s really good it’s literally the best show I’ve seen—”. It is as fanatic as it is unwelcome.

In the mood for some fun, I let him talk for a few seconds before taking out one of my own flyers and blurting out the automatic half-truths and reviews that I have rehearsed three hundred times already that day. He looks worried, but perseveres. Like a flash, Sarah produces her flyer and does her speech. Not knowing where to turn, he looks at me with growing horror as I produce a flyer for my other show and launch into that too. Not one to be out-done, Sarah picks up a flyer from the pile on the table and start to sell that show too. Miles’ voice trails off.

I feel a pang of sympathy as he looks genuinely hurt. I feel moved to apologize for our bit of sport. Shaken, he assures us that it’s really alright, and moves onto the next table. But he didn’t attack me again.

The University goes to the polls on Thursday, and students will decide the future of an organisation that has drawn equal amounts of applause and criticism in the last twelve months. Oxford’s wildest political animals are roaring in the pit, scratching and clawing with all the bitterness and envy that only two years of hard hacking can produce. And in this final battle for the ambitious with a social conscience, the fight to be OUSU President, only one can make it to the top.
Olivia Bailey should, if recent history is anything to go by, be strolling into the President’s office. The last three Presidents had the Labour Club machine of campaign directors and determined activists rolling behind them, and faced ineffectual opposition that never posed any real threat. But Bailey does not look or sound like a future President. Her rhetoric is empty, bland, and refuses to commit itself to any clear political position, with the exception of improving welfare, which no student could possibly object to. Without the excitement or passion necessary to win an election, and with no ideas that diverge from the orthodox Labourite policy line feeding into her ear, she is the young New Labour fogey of her generation.
Dean Robson stands as the antidote to Bailey’s vacuousness. Wearing a superhero’s cape and mask, he pitches himself as the accidental anarchist who will bring down central power and return it to the masses. Whether Robson stands a chance of winning is irrelevant (he doesn’t) but at least his looning will give us something to be merry about. He may go too far in calling for OUSU’s abolition, but his surprisingly pertinent points are likely to strike a chord with isolated voters in more independently minded colleges like Trinity and Oriel. Do not underestimate the grin: this time, Robson has policy, and he will attract more votes than the serious-minded expect.
Tom Lowe is one of the more credible candidates. No-one in the University has done more highlighting and campaigning for students on the complex issues of unfair college financing. He is genuine in his desire to make OUSU  less dominated by individuals or organised groups like the Labour Club, and is right to choose top-up fees as the most important issue facing students in the coming year. Nevertheless, he lacks the spark and media-friendly personality necessary to lead OUSU in what will inevitably be a national student fight. His most admirable political qualities – methodical diligence, a sense of reserved dignity and understanding – may also mean he seems dull and out-of-touch to the majority of students.
Lewis Iwu, however, is a charismatic and independently minded candidate. Never mind that he is regarded by some as one of Oxford’s biggest networking hacks: like Tom Lowe, he stands up for what he believes in and is explicit in what he will and won’t want to do. There is no party line that tries not to offend anyone: he is the only candidate who has strongly called for a sensible end to the no-platform policy, for a central student venue and, like Lowe, to take on increasing top-up fees. He is a figure that most students can unite behind, unlike Bailey who will inevitably grate with the majority. In a time when OUSU suffers from disillusioned criticism, Iwu seems like someone who could make the Student Union credible to the unbeliever.
Perhaps the greatest fear is that a division of votes between Lowe and Iwu will split the vote. Considering this, our staff urge students to support Iwu even though Lowe is also a good candidate, if only to prevent bland New Labour orthodoxy reaching Bonn Square again.
By Editorial Team

Earlier this year New York anti-folkster Jeffrey Lewis recorded a covers album based on the work of the British anarcho-punk band Crass. Incongruous as it sounded, the resulting album turned out to be a superb collection of intriguing re-interpretations. Oxford’s Exeter Hall was lucky enough to see the last night of the resulting UK tour. After Noah and the Whale’s lovely set of folky shuffling answers the question of what Beirut would sound like if Zach Condon had never visited Eastern Europe, we are treated to the arrival of Jeffrey’s uncle. The academically dubious ‘Professor’ Louie is a grizzled Brooklyn street poet who offers us cautionary tales of ‘cock-a-roaches’ and ‘corporate powah’ before it’s time for his nephews. Jeffrey shuffles on with brother Jack and his band the Jitters. Jeffrey cuts an understated, geeky figure on stage. Surprisingly, given his penchant for lyrical wordiness, he doesn’t interact with the crowd much, which creates something of a barrier in such a small venue. His music predominantly engages with the brain rather than the heart, and the combination of these two factors lead to a low-key atmosphere that settles and spreads like an autumn mist, pervading the evening. That doesn’t mean it’s not fun. The band are energetic, though they’d benefit from a violin to round out their sound. The Crass section of the show, including the particularly rousing ‘I Ain’t Thick’, is played in front of video footage sent in by fans of fireworks, war and home-made animations. Lewis makes regular use of multimedia, and the two comedic highlights are his illustrated story of Champion Jim and his salad-based nemesis Celery Sam, and part 4 of an endearingly earnest series ambitiously entitled ‘The Complete History of Communism.’The band then launches into the most crowd-pleasing section of the show, starting with ‘Williamsburg Will Oldham Horror’, Lewis’ masterwork. A literate, witty, hyper-self-aware exploration into the consciousness of alternative art, it’s the greatest song ever written about being violated by an alt.country legend. The band and audience finally coalesce, as ‘Posters’, an anthemic version of ‘No LSD Tonight’  and the ex-girlfriend baiting ‘Another Girl’ give the gig a celebratory finale.By Carl Cullinane

by Sam PritchardThe Duchess of Malfi is a play about unpleasant people. This is something that could quite easily be upstaged by the sheer melodrama of its ending; the merit of Titus Halder’s production is that it doesn’t allow this to happen. He reads Webster’s play as a thrilling character piece, a struggle for power fought out in small chambers with unsettling intimacy. Work on this show has been nourished by bucket loads of creative enthusiasm and a real understanding of the play. It is a shame that all its elements do not quite coalesce.

When the widowed Duchess remarries against the wishes of her brothers, she subjects herself to a catalogue of indignities and persecution. The violation of her private life also deprives her of any political status. Calder’s staging is expert at manipulating the spaces of the court. We move between cabals in public places and tense encounters behind closed doors. The chorus work, lead by Mwenya Kawesha, is well executed and crucial in creating such effects.

Despite these subtle successes, there is really one central reason to pay your money at the Playhouse. Most of the crap written about the quality of acting in Oxford is just that, a product of earnest self-congratulation. Sian Robins-Grace as the Duchess is genuinely something worth fussing about. She is grippingly natural and quietly affecting throughout her character’s humiliation. This is a woman who moves from a sense of poise and grace to a puling heap at the hands of her masculine tormentors. Robins-Grace creates her with such success that it seems almost inappropriate, certainly at times uncomfortable, for an audience to be witness to such a personal collapse.

Those tormentors are a mixed bag. The casting of Brian McMahon damages the central dynamic between the Duchess and her brother Ferdinand. His performance is tight and twitchy to a comic degree. Never sinister, he is almost always irritating. It takes Jack Chedburn a few simple strokes to play his brother, the Cardinal, with impressive precision. He is a man who masks cruelty with modesty. Carelessly unkind in private, he is a model of false piety in public.

Owen Findley, as the brothers’ agent Bosola, is working harder than anyone else on stage. This is not necessarily a good thing. He mixes wonderfully light moments and a humorous touch with occasions when it seems as though he might spontaneously combust with effort. I was also slightly nonplussed by his habit of acting almost entirely while hovering on his tiptoes.

Tom Wilkinson completes the central quintet of characters as the Duchess’ new husband Antonio. He does just the right amount to convince us that he is a decent man in a disgusting world. His tentative love scenes with Robins-Grace make for the most impressive pairing in this production.
A sense of flare or ignition was really what I missed in this show. A really modern production might achieve more as a shorter and more pernicious blast of bloodletting. Halder has engendered a real consistency of pace and a good standard of verse-speaking. Watching a kind of open rehearsal during the preview, I was impressed by his ideas and meticulousness as a director. I can’t entirely wax lyrical, because watching this production I was given great expectations that weren’t quite met.
It is highly unlikely that there is anything more deserving of an audience next week than the central performance in this play. The production is an achievement, but its Duchess is phenomenal.   

I never had the benefit of Sunday school or a remotely adequate religious education, so my understanding of Christian doctrine is somewhat confused. I had particular difficulty grasping the idea of prophets. How did people know whether they were spreading the Word or just having a manna high?

 Obviously, it’s easy to tell, should your visionary have the courtesy of dropping by in a chariot of fire. But I hear mistakes were made and the son of someone influential got nailed to a cross. Not so cool. Anyway, here we are, one curious resurrection later and we’re still as stumped as before.

 It’s the problem we have with the Student Union election. All these promises of what we’ll get in return for our vote, for our confidence. Three of the candidates appear competent. One rules himself out by having a Super Dean outfit. Or does he? Perhaps this little pastiche parable will elucidate:

 ***

 “Yea!” proclaimed the Returning Officer, “for there shall be a great election to decide kingship of this land during the next year of academe, for which nominations are to be brought forth.” And so four persons brought forth their candidacy, and all beheld them, and all saw that they’re not the prettiest bunch, but you probably still would.

 The first candidate was Olivia, daughter of Bailey, saviour of the Buttery, derived from the great line of Hilde. She pledged great gifts of welfare reform for the Oxonites. The naive younger generation were enticed by her words, but those familiar with the campaigns of Martin of Cluskey and Alan of Strickland were wary of unfulfilled covenants. For the Devil and his Labour Club are powerful, but a flick over past manifestos casts light upon their empty rhetoric.

 “We wish not for mere changes of staffing!” protested the Oxonites. “Our capital is in great need of profound structural amelioration.”

 Lewis of Iwu saw the faces of the Oxonites, eager to improve their capital. He brought them promises not only of profound structural amelioration, but of a conglomeration of phat sound systems and celestial drinking fountains. And it was dubbed the Central Oxonite Venue. All were enticed by the charm of the man and the coruscation of the Venue.

 And at that moment, the austere sage Thomas, much-known for his treatises published in popular Oxonite pamphlets, made his presence known. All knew that he would recommend paying off the Eternal Debt incurred in the construction and maintenance of the capital, and all raised a hearty yawn that could be heard seventy leagues away in Cantabrigia.

 “Hark, Oxonites!” spoke the sage, “Do not let the Central Oxonite Venue beguile you, for expenditure is worthless if it is not endeavouring to repay our Eternal (two hundred grand) Debt to the Universal Hood.”

 The Oxonites were fatigued by the Eternal Debt, and thus they clamoured:

 “Verily, we are burdened by the Eternal Debt, but the Domain of Tryl is inadequate for interaction between the Oxonite tribes, and the Venue would bring indubitable profit to the capital. Be gone, boring fart.”

 The otherwise calm sage blew his lid. “Fools! Halfwit ignorami! You will worship at the Venue, but will find it lacking within two moons.”

 The tribe of Gay objected to this, for they find nothing lacking within two moons. But their concerns were set aside at the arrival of Dean, son of Rob, adorned in the bright raiment of a madman.

 “Why have a King decide all this when we might work on improving our own tribes? For then tribe can render visit unto tribe, without paying respect unto an arbitrarily-appointed figurehead.”

 “And how then might we unite against the Universal?” asked Olivia, Thomas and Lewis, each equally discombobulated by the proposal.

 “On a basis that might be known as ad-hoc,” pronounced Dean.

 “That would not be effective.”

 “Because having a different King every year is…?”
 

These are the four candidates vying for the most important student position in Oxford. On Thursday of 6th Week, thousands from across the University will go to the polls to decide which one of them gets it.
As President of Oxford University Student Union, the winner will represent the views of 18,000 undergraduates and postgraduates to the University, the City Council, the National Union of Students, the government and the world.
It is a sabbatical position that brings with it a salary of around £16,000. But it’s not plain sailing.
OUSU Presidents must contend with irreconcilable student factions on the one hand, apathy among its members on the other. They will be expected to win battles with a University that weilds more power than the Student Union. And they have only twelve months in which to make their mark on an institution that is notoriously difficult to change.
Anyone can stand for the position: all that is required is a £50 deposit, which is returned except in the case of extreme electoral malpractice.
The amount of campaign materials that can be produced is strictly limited and monitored by the Returning Officer, who issues barcode stickers for all posters. Each candidate may only have one webpage, usually a Facebook group, and there are complicated rules governing when and how other candidates can be criticised.
Some candidates choose to stand independently, while others form part of a slate, equivalent to a political party in Parliament. These slates might simply be a group who share a particular vision for OUSU, or representatives of a political group such as Oxford University Labour Club. Only a certain number of candidates for sabbatical, officer and delegate positions may stand in any one slate.
The results for this year’s election will be announced on Friday of 6th week, after which the winner will have more than two terms to prepare for their year in charge.

by Sophie DuncanMost of us know the disappointment and irritation felt, when, approaching the final page of a mystery novel, the author produces a deus ex machina which solves the crime and undercuts all our literary sleuthing. The butler who has an identical twin: the housemaid having run off to join her husband whose existence was hitherto unsuspected. The plot twists of Rhys Jones’s latest production are rather more complex, but the eventual disappointment is the same.

By the final scene of Anthony Horowitz’s Mindgame, each of the characters is revealed to be something other than what they seem. Herein lies the problem: is the revelation that the characters themselves are “acting” -just as much as the actors themselves– worth two hours of previously unconvincing performances?

This is not to say that Mindgame is without its highlights: there are two standout performances, in Tom Richards and Joseph Thomas. Unfortunately, both double the same role – another complexity of Jones’s production is its rolling cast. Sadly, the usual pitfalls of uneven ability haven’t been avoided: delicacy prevents me from telling you on what nights to see the play, but certain audiences will fair far better than others.

Richards, unnerving audiences with his dead eyes and whitewashed face, brings a patrician impassiveness to Dr Farquhar that quickly turns to a nightmare. Thomas, meanwhile, is a sad-eyed Crippen in the same role, pinched and melancholy, feeble and frightening. Mindgame mixes the Gothic and the farcical: both actors hit the mark precisely, but in fascinatingly different ways.

Their opposite numbers, Stewart Pringle and Rob Hemmens, are uneven as true crime novelist Styler. Hemmens is unconvincing, substituting breathlessness for fear at what should be moments of terror. Pringle is rather better, spiky unpredictability suggesting what is to come. Neither, however, makes good use of the dialogue: Hemmens in particular holds an emotional monotone, with darkest revelations in the same register as casual observation. Admittedly, some lines are simply dreadful (I’m not surprised that this is Horowitz’s only play): revelatory moments are reduced to melodrama, but without melodrama’s intensity.

Then again, this could be intentional: after all, most character identities in Mindgame collapse not once, but twice. What, then – aside from Richards and Thomas – can recommend this production? One answer is the set. The company boasts several magicians (including Jones himself) and the complex set promises a feast of misdirection, surrealism and sleight of hand.

This attention to design is half the story of Mindgame, the set disintegrating and warping with the perceptions of Styler. For all my reservations, this is one aspect of the show I absolutely loved. Successful and original design is a rarity in Oxford, and I would be delighted to see Jones further hone his talents in this field. This psychological thriller is “not a whodunnit, but a whydunnit” and if “whydunnit?” was a question I occasionally wanted to ask the director, Richards and Thomas nonetheless provide chills and thrills in the central role. My only regret is that Jones was unable to fulfil his original desire of having every actor play every part: that way, Mindgame would have been a much better show.
Dir. Rhys Jones
OFS 7.30 Tues-Sat
2.30pm Sat
6th Week  
                                

OXFORD University has accepted a scholarship endowment from a Japanese corporation that used prisoner-of-war slave labour during the Second World War.
Student groups have attacked the decision, claiming this to be a further example of the University’s willingness to ignore ethical considerations when receiving endowments and donations.
The Aso Group, a Japanese industrial corporation, has never admitted or apologised for the firm’s use of British and Allied prisoners as slave labour.
In 1945, Aso forced 197 Australian, 101 British and 2 Dutch PoWs to work at its mines at a site known as Fukuoka PoW Branch Camp 26, along with 12,000 Korean slaves. The camp was closed later that year, following the surrender of Japanese forces.
In surrender documents given to General MacArthur at the end of the Second World War by Japan, Fukuoka was listed in a list of prison camps which contained Allied PoWs used by private companies.
Japanese authorities ordered records of the company’s mining activities destroyed in 1945, but amateur historians later discovered that prisoners were forced to work underground for 15 hours a day, 7 days a week.
The Aso-funded scholarship will cover University and college fees, fund return air travel to the UK and provide accommodation at New College outside of term-time.
David Amos of Oxford’s People and Planet Group, which campaigns for fair and ethical investment, condemned the University’s decision to accept money from the group.
“Given the University’s investment history, this hardly comes as a surprise,” he said. “It is time that Oxford University took its ethical responsibilities over investments and scholarships seriously.”
The scholarship will be open to Japanese nationals, or individuals who speak Japanese as a first language. It will also be necessary for them to have a link to the Fukuoka Prefacture, a province in Kyushu Island, where the Aso Mining Corporation’s PoW camp was based.
Harold Newman, National Chairman of the Association of Jewish ex-Servicemen and Women, said, “If the Aso group acknowledge that they employed prisoners of war as slave labour, and when they offer compensation to the victims and their families, we would not object to the scholarship.” He added, “We have members of our organisation who were treated harshly.”
The President of Aso Group is Yutaka Aso, a former student of New College who was taught by its current Warden, Professor Alan Ryan. From 1969 to 1971, he studied for a Diploma in Social and Political Studies at New College. In 2005 Yutaka was also awarded the French Légion d’Honneur by the French Ambassador in Tokyo.
Earlier last year Yutaka Aso’s brother Taro Aso, who at the time was Japan’s foreign minister, refused to confirm that PoWs were forced to work for his family’s company. Taro Aso was previously President of what was then called Aso Cement.
Among the war veterans who have demanded compensation is an 87-year-old Australian man who was forced to work at the camp. He sent a personal letter to Taro Aso, requesting an apology and compensation for his unpaid work at Aso Mining Co but received no reply.
A spokesperson for the University said that funding for the scholarship would not come from the part of Aso Group that used PoW labour.
“The Aso Group is an umbrella for a number of companies,” she said. “One is Aso Cement, which was formed from Aso Mining. Aso Cement is separate from the part of the Aso Group that the scholarship funding has come from.”
She added that the ex-Foreign Minister, who is the brother of the benefactor and a previous head of the company, was not involved in the scholarship agreement.
In an official statement, University Vice-Chancellor John Hood said, ‘The University is very grateful for Mr Aso’s generosity, and we hope the scholarship will help to strengthen our ties with Japan, and Japanese students, in particular.”