Wednesday, April 30, 2025
Blog Page 564

Does the new Lion King roar?

Kirsten Grant
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Does the new Lion King roar?

It was only a matter of time before Disney’s 1994 animated film The Lion King fell victim to the ‘live-action’ remake and it should come as no surprise. In recent years Disney have cleverly worked around the problem of inventing new plots for their films by churning out an endless string of remakes of films from the so-called ‘Disney Renaissance’.  Critics have cynically seen this as mercenary — but why change a formula that has already had so much success? Hotly anticipated as the film of the summer, The Lion King reportedly accrued $595.1 million worldwide within the first five days.  Besides, the innovative technology which created this film’s breathtaking hyperrealism marks Jon Favreau’s version as a turning-point in cinema.

It was always going to be a risky business making this beast of a film.  A beloved and cherished classic, director Favreau had a mammoth task ahead of him to live up to the original.  And it is not illogical to draw comparisons between the two; the remake invites such comparisons with its identical frame-by-frame opening and its near-replicated dialogue.  To be fair, with a reported budget of $260 million and such stars as Donald Glover (alias Childish Gambino) and Beyoncé Knowles-Carter available for the picking, Favreau certainly made the best of a good opportunity.  

It has been argued that the script is uninventive as it has been largely reproduced from the original with a few added scenes, for example expanding the role of Nala (voiced by Beyonce).  However, this was a wise decision in my opinion as dramatically changing an already first-rate script would rightly have resulted in uproar.  Those added scenes are tasteful and enhance the story.  Additional lines come most notably from Seth Rogen as Pumbaa and Billy Eichner as Timon as a result of improvisation rather than script-writing.  The actors play off each other and this paid off in authentic exchanges which really heightened the comedy. 

The film is, paradoxically, not a ‘live-action’ remake – but it might as well be.  Building on those techniques used in the 2016 The Jungle Book, Favreau’s vision of naturalism is certainly one which he achieves with the ever-evolving technology of CGI.  The special effects are ridiculously good so that you are almost tricked into thinking the animals are real – that is until they burst into speech and song.  The bright vivid colours of the 1994 animation are no more.  Instead, the rolling savannahs and animals are created using duller, more realistic colours so that you feel as though you are watching a David Attenborough documentary.   It is almost unbelievable that, excepting one shot, everything we see has been crafted from scratch by artists using virtual reality technology.

I did have one considerable quibble when it came to this remake. In his bid for naturalism, Favreau felt the need to alter the characterisation of the hyenas, and Chiwetel Ejiofor puts his own more Shakespearean spin on the role of Scar.  Gone is the original slapstick of the dim-witted hyenas who hilariously roll around with laughter and Jeremy Irons’s archly wicked delivery of Scar which matched the animation’s delightful facial expressions.  The anthropomorphic features in the animation do not fit with the photorealism of the remake and so the hyenas become more menacing.  This is a massive shame as these points of comic relief are some of the best highlights from the original.   Elton John and Tim Rice’s thrilling number for Scar, ‘Be Prepared’, required major cutting to fulfil the requirements of the new characterisations which was somewhat disappointing.

From the cutting-edge technology to Beyonce and Donald Glover’s impressive rendition of ‘Can You Feel the Love Tonight?’, this updated version of The Lion King certainly leaves you with an overriding sense of awe.  It is a pity, however, that we have to sacrifice such iconic comic moments for the cause of photorealism. 

The Rose Theatre Pop-Up: Shakespeare Goes Portable

Arabella Vickers
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The Rose Theatre Pop-Up: Shakespeare Goes Portable

Until early September, Shakespeare’s Rose Theatre is putting on an array of Shakespeare’s finest plays. York and Blenheim Palace are now home to Europe’s first ever pop-up Shakespearean theatres. The thirteen-sided structures and open tops, made from dismantlable state-of-the-art scaffolding technology and timber, directly echo the 1587 London Rose Playhouse, as well as The Globe in London.

The immersive experience allows you to step back into Elizabethan England. Beyond the theatre walls, the company have built a whole village, complete with a sophisticated Elizabethan garden, numerous drinks, food and souvenir stalls, as well as minstrels in 16th century dress. In York, there is even a pot-bellied pig and a woman in the stocks to complete the scene. Far from being cheesy, it feels authentic. Shakespeare himself would have recognised the raucous laughter, the groups of people huddled together in conversation in the interval, and especially the loud comments about the cost of the beer.

Artistic impression of the Rose Theatre pop-up in York, courtesy of Shakespeare’s Rose Theatre

Henry V is one of the four Shakespeare plays currently being staged at the York theatre, in the shadow of Clifford’s Tower. The uplifting sense of patriotism is palpable throughout, with giant English flags being the focal point of the otherwise sparse set. During the play they become increasingly tattered and bloodied, symbolising the exhaustion of the battle-worn English troops. Moments of relief from the battle, often take the form of hearty singing. The rendition of Swing Low Sweet Chariot was both poignant and rousing, particularly when supported by a slick choreography.

There’s an innovative employment of stage setting and space throughout. A particularly impressive scene involves Henry V climbing up and down ladders, trying to get to grips with the location of the French enemy, whilst being spun in the air by the chorus, with impressive acrobatics that suggest the chaos of a battle. Meanwhile some of the cast even appear unexpectedly amongst the audience on the tiered seating, adding more elements of interaction and pantomime to the performance.   

 Nevertheless, since this troupe is simultaneously performing The Tempest, it is only to be expected that some of the casting is less than perfect. Maggie Bain, playing Henry V, often swallowed and rushed her lines. Due to Bain’s insufficient voice projection and lack of zeal, the infamous St Crispin’s Day speech seemed lacklustre. She was not the only member of the cast who disappointed. Several of the French nobles’ accents were ridiculous, verging on farcical, making them seem like mere caricatures. Again, this added to the pantomime element. Their contemporary tennis costumes and sunglasses increased further the general ridiculousness, but also hilarity.

Though the groundlings appeared to enjoy their proximity to the action, it might be best to opt for the covered seating. During the performance the heavens opened, leaving many of the groundlings damp and dejected by the end.

If you are looking for a fun evening out and enjoy the idea of travelling back in time, then head straight for the Rose theatre without delay. The acting may not be up to the standard of Kenneth Branagh’s movie, but it is thoroughly enjoyable evening, nevertheless. 

Shakespeare’s Rose Theatre are performing various Shakespeare plays in Blenheim Palace, Oxfordshire and York until September.

Culture Under Attack

Ramani Chandramohan
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Culture Under Attack

The Imperial War Museum. Think cannons, guns and fighter aircraft. Think Teenage Kicks being blasted out at full volume?

The new Culture under Attack season at the Imperial War Museum brings together sometimes unlikely connections between art and conflict. The bright red posters dotted on the route from Lambeth North Tube station to the museum feature a photo of a church dome, half of which has been blown up, whilst the other half remains intact. This is an apt image for a series of exhibitions that seek to show the interactions between destruction, creation and preservation of art in times of war.   

One of the key exhibitions, ‘Art in Exile’, looks at the museum’s own attempts to preserve ‘Culture Under Attack’. During the Second World War, under attack from German bombing campaigns, many galleries and museums in London moved their collections to Wales and Wiltshire for safe storage. However, as the exhibition explains, in the face of imminent war in 1939, the IWM took a risky strategy of preserving the equivalent of just 1% of their entire collection (281 works of art and 305 photo albums).

  • © IWM Visitors respond to questions posed in Art in Exile
  • © IWM (MH 127), Air raid damage to the Naval Gallery at the Imperial War Museum, London, 31 January 1941.

Visitors are confronted with the concrete realities of the usually abstract idea of cultural preservation. Confidential documents on display reveal the day and night rotations undertaken by diligent staff during the war. An information panel also explains how staff divided artworks at the IWM into four classes, a bit like degree classifications, with Class I being the most highly prized exhibits that had priority for evacuation.

The exhibition further highlights the role of the public in this effort to safeguard London – and the UK’s – cultural heritage during the war. One of the photos on display shows the popular pianist Myra Hess giving a lunchtime concert to a packed audience in the National Gallery, which she did regularly from 1939 to 1946. The willingness of the people in the photo to defy the threat of air raids for the sake of a concert might seem unconceivable today but it also brings home for me humankind’s enduring need for culture, even if debates on the ‘usefulness’ of the arts might claim otherwise.

A quote from the museum’s Head of Art, Rebecca Newell, is printed starkly on one of the walls: “when deciding how to develop and maintain the collection today, we have a responsibility to include diverse, multiple and under-represented perspectives”. The IWM thus takes on a rarely seen self-critical angle, analysing the limitations of its own selections during the war. As is openly admitted in the exhibition, 70% of the artworks evacuated during the war came from two artists – John Lavery and William Orpen – whose notable reputations at the time meant that less precedence was given to others, like the young Paul Nash, who is now arguably more famous than either Lavery or Orpen.

The exhibition also engages with the timely question of diversity, as museum staff did not prioritise the works of female artists like Norah Nellson-Gray for evacuation, nor any ethnically diverse portraits of Commonwealth soldiers, despite both existing in the IWM’s collections at the time. The juxtaposition of Nellson-Gray’s painting of the pioneering female doctor Dr Elsie Inglis with a bust of Dr Inglis made by the well-known artist Ivan Mestrovic brings to life the choices museum staff had to make. Mestrovic’s work was chosen over Nellson-Gray’s for preservation, leading visitors to consider whether one piece of art has intrinsically any more value than another. The exhibition raises important questions about the extent to which museums can control the content of their collections and how these sometimes problematic selections become the basis of public understanding of artists, movements, periods and even countries.

  • African desert blues band Songhoy Blues featured in Rebel Sounds at IWM London © Andy Morgan

Less traditional in content, the ‘Rebel Sounds’ exhibition focuses on how, historically, music has been used as a tool for defiance in the face of political oppression, in Nazi Germany, Northern Ireland, Serbia and Mali. The Frankfurt Hot Club refused to give up playing jazz music which was banned by the Nazis due to its African American and Jewish roots; Teri Hooley’s record label Good Vibrations supported artists during the Troubles in Northern Ireland; the Serbian radio station B92 promoted human rights and free access to the news despite state control of the media under Milošević’s in the 1990s and the band members of Songhoy Blues came together after they were exiled from their homes in northern Mali by Islamist militants.

The exhibition combines the visual and the auditory, featuring propaganda posters and physical copies of records, as well as interviews and recordings of songs related to the four groups (Sweet Song, Teenage Kicks, Fight the Power and Bamako). Sitting with a pair of headphones on as these songs, ranging in genre from punk rock to desert blues, are played confirms the veracity of a quote from Touré, emblazoned on a back-lit cube at the start of the exhibition: ‘A world without music is a body without a soul’. 

Both the ‘Rebel Sounds’ and ‘Art in Exile’ exhibitions are interactive in the sense that they seek to gain our opinions, as visitors, on the preservation of culture during times of conflict. Visitors are given the chance to agree or disagree with statements such as “contemporary art is not as valuable as traditional art” and “it is worth risking prison in order to protect the music” and each answer is then compared to the average response.

More is to come from this season at the IWM, including an exhibition entitled ‘What Remains’, ‘Rebel Sounds Live’ concerts and a discussion on the Syrian Stonemasonry Programme, in the wake of the death of Khaled al-Asaad who was killed in his attempt to Palmyra from destruction by IS. Given the precarious status of art during times of conflict, ‘Culture under Attack’ is quite clearly an exhibition for our times and one that demands more self-reflexion from visitors than most.

The Culture under Attack season at the IWM runs until January 5th 2020.

Featured Image: © IWM “Rebel Sounds forms part of IWM’s free Culture Under Attack season“

Last Supper in Pompeii

Olivia Hicks
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Last Supper in Pompeii

A fresco from the House of the Centenary in Pompeii shows the god of wine, Bacchus, standing at the foot of Mount Vesuvius. Bacchus is covered, neck to ankles, in bunches of red grapes: he embodies the richness of the region’s wines. The delicate and cheerful fresco – decorated with snakes, plants, and songbirds – is a tribute to Vesuvius’ prosperous vineyards, nourished by volcanic soil. It’s really beautiful: soft brushstrokes and plenty of colour, a noble and youthful deity, a hazy, dreamy landscape. There is no sense in the fresco that Mount Vesuvius would one day lead to the city’s complete destruction and the death of thousands of its townspeople in 79 AD.

The fresco is part of the Ashmolean’s new exhibition, Last Supper in Pompeii, curated by Paul Roberts. The enticing title doesn’t do justice, however, to the breadth of the collection: 400 objects from around the Roman world and beyond, covering centuries, showcasing the Romans’ relationship to food and drink. There are artefacts from Etruria and Ancient Greece, exploring the origin of Roman dining culture, and a significant amount of the exhibition is dedicated to Roman Britain, that far-flung corner of the empire. The collection includes the UK’s largest ever display of carbonised foodstuffs, including figs, dates, almonds, and pine nuts from the funeral of a young woman in Southwark, and cockroach eggs from a baker’s oven in London (these preserved thanks to the fires that Queen Boudicca set upon the capital).

Mosaic panel of a Skeleton holding two wine jugs – Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli

The exhibition’s main attractions, however, are obviously the wonders of Pompeii, some on display in the UK for the first time ever. Last Supper in Pompeii displays several iconic artefacts – classics students at Oxford will recognise a few frescos from Mods, including ‘Europa and the Bull’’ from the House of Jason and the ‘Bread Dole’ from the House of the Baker. Food was far from a chore for the Romans, and perfectly preserved pieces speak to the skill and whimsy of Roman art inspired by food: a mosaic bursting with sea-life, from the House of the Geometric Mosaics; a life-size fresco of an abundant garden, from the House of the Golden Bracelet; a painting of a cockerel pecking at pomegranates; a mosaic of a skeleton, with a jug of wine in each hand.

The artefacts speak not just for themselves, but also give an insight into the life and characters of their owners: take the House of Aulus Umbiricus Scaurus, for example. Scaurus had made his fortune in garum, a fermented fish sauce that was the go-to condiment for Roman dishes. Scaurus is proud of his fortune and of its origins, and had commissioned a mosaic showing bottles of garum, and his name in large letters. The contents of Pompeii’s latrines and drains are preserved and displayed, showing that it’s not just artwork and décor that gives an insight into the private lives and diets of Pompeii’s inhabitants. Surprisingly, these contents speak to the rich and nutritious diet enjoyed by Pompeiians of all social classes: fish bones, fig seeds, cherry stones, apple pips, blackbird bones, and bones of dormice, a Roman delicacy. It’s always fun to know what people ate and drank, and Last Supper in Pompeii delivers.

The body of a woman in her early 30s, preserved in transparent epoxy resin – Parco Archeologico di Pompeii

It’s pleasing to see an exhibition that celebrates the life and joy of Pompeii. The destruction of the city is not ignored: visitors can see the plaster cast of a pig killed in the eruption, as well as the Lady of Oplontis, who met the same end. Unlike most Pompeiian victims, whose final moments are forever frozen in plaster, the Lady of Oplontis was captured in resin. The translucent quality of the resin shows her in greater detail, with her teeth and expression visible, and also means that she is tougher and less susceptible to breakage – a perfect candidate for the thousand-mile trip to Oxford. There’s pathos too in the small details of quotidian life: a loaf of bread, baked one morning two thousand years ago, never to be eaten. But the focus of Last Supper in Pompeii is decidedly jubilant, and more than a little decadent. The curators have included video reconstructions of a Roman triclinium (dining room) and a garden, which spark envy for the Pompeiians, not pity. Last Supper in Pompeii shows us that we needn’t be torn over which way to view Pompeii, as either a tragedy, or a feast: they are one and the same.

Last Supper in Pompeii is at the Ashmolean until the 12th of January. Entry is free with a bod card.

Flagrant Exhibitionism: The Royal Academy’s Summer Exhibition

William Atkinson
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Flagrant Exhibitionism: The Royal Academy’s Summer Exhibition

There’s something particularly depressing about London in the rain.

Stood drenched outside the Royal Academy, soaked, miserable and clad in a tweed jacket and shirt my Mum made, I looked “suitably artsy”. Or half like I should be running after Andie MacDowell to declare that I’d like to spend the rest of my life unmarried with her. Though maybe I looked more like a lost Geography teacher than Hugh Grant. Arriving inside, I flashed my soggy ticket at the lady on the door and squelched my way into the Royal Academy’s 251st Summer Exhibition. Fortunately, it was more than enough to distract from my encroaching trench foot.

Running since 1769, the Summer Exhibition is the world’s largest open-submission art show. From film to photography and prints to paintings (and everything in between) the show brings together the world’s leading artists of all mediums, both household names and total unknowns. Painter Jock McFadeyen RA curated this year’s exhibition, with over 1,500 works, mostly previously unseen. The result is unsurprisingly eclectic; to quote Mum, ‘a hoot’, and she wasn’t far wrong.

This year the exhibition is nominally linked by a theme of borders; the term ‘theme’ loosely applied as is to Pierce Brosnan’s crooning of S.O.S in Mamma Mia. This is immediately realised (the loose theme, not Pierce’s singing) when entering the exhibition into a room labelled the Menagerie. Dedicated to our national love of animals, it features a brilliantly bonkers mix of colourful paintings, sculptures and photographs of all shapes, sizes and genus. I loved it: a tedious Banksy aside, it was replete with quality, including a gloriously weird two bottomed dog sculpture from Charles Avery. Rather oddly, however, were the wall-spanning photos of Nelson Mandela’s hometown. An inspiration of course, and the photos were good, but amongst the Zoo its prescence felt a little out of place. However, this is quickly forgiven in light of Jim Naughten’s suitably grumpy King Kong, which stole the show and justified the theme alone.

Moving into the main hall, the exhibition broadens out; the room is McFadeyen’s personal focus, and he’s done himself proud. Each wall centres on a huge painting addressing a topical theme. Stand outs include Marcus Harvey’s The Victory – a frenetic mash up of Turner, a nude and what appeared to be an England flag nicked from a down-at-heel pub – and Ben Johnson’s transfixing, perspective-confounding The Space Between Revisited, yours for as little as £108,000. But the main attraction was a huge work by Anselm Kiefer (with a very long name in German) which continued his life’s work of exploring what it means to be European, with a piece that captured perfectly the tension and fractiousness of our contemporary continent. All in all, a room of colour, variety, and serious quality.

Schlepping into the side rooms (my shoes still hadn’t dried), the quality continued. A room devoted to architecture was stoutly bonkers, with cities sprawling into the sky and houses made of rubbish washed up on beaches. But the art really came to life in the rooms with more explicit (and explicitly topical) themes. One room for example, focused on migration and statelessness, including a powerful bronze of a man without a face by Thomas Schulter. Coupled with the film piece, Miss DMZ,  focusing on the Korean peninsula, it captured an enduring sense of isolation and helplessness. Another favourite room centred on climate change, with Thaw, a sculpture of a polar bear and its iceberg home melting. Its flaky texture, though similar to shredded wheat, powerfully delivered a resonate message. The room also held a tiger made entirely out of Tunnock’s Tea Cake wrappers from Scottish sculptor David Mach, justifying the entrance price alone.

Some more standouts still lie ahead. Inventiveness abounds; Tim Shaw’s sculpture of crows bickering entitled Parliament, though not very subtle, was suitably imposing, and Claire Douglass’ The Garden of Earthly Delights, which somehow combines Gok Wan, Trump and all manner of 12+ content in one deliciously naughty whole. Overall, this is an exhibition packed full of gloriously varied and interesting pieces.

Of course, not all agree. One particularly nasty review from The Guardian’s Jonathan Jones decided anything good in the exhibition was European, with the British artwork being uniformly awful, , commenting that this “pitiful array of the overpromoted and the underthought makes you wonder what will become of the British, left to ourselves” after Brexit. What a load of twaddle. Not only does this exhibition show British art in rude health, it shows how wonderfully internationalist British art always has been and will remain. After all, British art can’t be in such bad repute if the world’s best are still desperate to have work displayed in the Royal Academy.

But I would strike one note of caution. This exhibition rightly embraces major global-minded themes, like climate change, the environment or statelessness. But I found the most powerful piece to be David Hepher’s Hey Wayne on the Meath Estate. This contrasted Turner’s classic with a stark example of inner-city poverty. It is a powerful reminder that as much as we privileged art-lovers can enjoy losing ourselves in an expensive exhibition, or recline in armchairs pondering big universal themes, or hope that we look like a soggy Hugh Grant, there’s real poverty that needs addressing in Britain today. It’s almost ironic; this year, unintentionally, the Royal Academy’s best message is a little less art, a little more action, please.

June 10 – August 12th at the Royal Academy (royalacademy.org.uk)

Image Rights: David Parry / Royal Academy of Arts

First black head of an Oxford college appointed

Rachel Cordery
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First black head of an Oxford college appointed

Baroness Valerie Amos is set to become the first black head of an Oxford college, following her appointment as Master of University College.

The former cabinet minister and diplomat is taking over from Sir Ivor Crewe, who is retiring after twelve years in the role.

A Labour Life Peer since 1997, Baroness Amos served in the Cabinet from 2003 to 2007 as Secretary of State for International Development and was subsequently Leader of the House of Lords.

The Undersecretary General for Humanitarian Affairs and Emergency Relief Coordinator at the United Nations from 2010-2015, she became a Companion of Honour in the Queen’s Birthday Honours list in 2016 for her services to the UN.

Baroness Amos said: “I am honoured to have been appointed as Master of University College Oxford. I look forward to taking up my role next year and joining a community which prides itself on providing an outstanding scholarly environment, excellent teaching and world-class research.”

“Univ has been engaged in opening up access and opportunity through its Opportunity Programme and I also look forward to making a contribution to that work.”

Currently the Director of SOAS University of London, Baroness Amos will take up the post on 1st August 2020 as the first woman Master of the college.

The Vice-Master of University College, Professor Peter Jezzard, said: “The College was fortunate in attracting a number of outstanding applicants to become its next Master to follow Sir Ivor Crewe in his distinguished tenure in the role.”

“The Governing Body is excited that Baroness Amos agreed to accept our invitation to take on the role from next summer, and we very much look forward to welcoming her to the College and to working with her in the future.”

“She brings a wealth and diversity of experience to the role, including a deep knowledge of the higher education sector, and will help us continue Univ’s outstanding reputation for excellence, access and innovation in Oxford.”

How to Read: the Long Vac

Emily Parker
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How to Read: the Long Vac


‘Once the vac starts…’: a common phrase heard amongst many Oxford students. Whatever their subject, year or lifestyle, Oxford terms can, on occasions, feel like a constant battle for time against an overwhelming current of work, responsibilities and commitments. Essay deadlines, problem sheets, societies, sport: all of these combine to eat into the precious and inevitably limited free time which the typical Oxford student enjoys during term, and it is thus perhaps not entirely surprising that pleasure reading often falls by the wayside between first and eighth week.

As an activity intrinsically associated with leisure and arguably requiring some degree of time commitment to be enjoyable, carving out hours to read with no other aim than enjoying that book can seem nigh on impossible. Indeed, pleasure reading is often (relatively) very time consuming; opposed to the instant gratification offered by a standalone one-hour episode of Black Mirror on Netflix, many novels require several hours at least to fully appreciate and enjoy. Moreover, this enjoyment is not guaranteed; there is always the risk that the book will not be enjoyable, making the idea of spending previous hours on reading it even less appealing. In a world free of time pressures, this mystery is exciting – could this novel be entirely different from what I expect? Will it be a hidden gem, and totally contradict my expectations? But in reality, it simply makes it far easier to veer towards the reliable pleasure offered by other sources.

These ideas tie into wider contradiction between leisure reading and what could be called an ‘efficiency’ mindset. I (and many of my friends) find myself constantly trying to streamline my time commitments and make the most of the hours in the day; we strive to work and use our time efficiently, to constantly maximise the outcome of a time investment. Yet again, it can feel like reading for pleasure goes against this in many ways; beyond requiring a large time investment for only possible pleasure as a result, it also provides very little in the way of other, measurable returns. Spending some free time playing football (for example) not only provides pleasure, but can also be very social and help someone keep fit; by contrast, reading is generally a solo activity, best enjoyed sitting comfortably alone in one’s room.

And yet, the value of pleasure reading cannot be underestimated. After all, there is something which still draws people back to novels again and again, something which means that many of even the busiest Oxford students still have a half-finished novel sitting on their bedside table. The immersive escapism reading offers is in many ways unparalleled, it is not without reason that reading is not simply abandoned, but postponed to the holidays, for the ‘one day’ when we will hopefully have more time and be able to fully savour that new book.

Yet it is easy to always think about the ‘one day’ and forget about the days that are passing in the moment. For scientists spending hundreds of hours in the lab and on problem sheets, and humanities students reading literally thousands if not millions of words through the course of a normal term of academic work, reading for leisure can seem like an impossibly inefficient use of time in the mania of term, and it is fair to say that for many, there will be periods (whether a week, a month, or even a whole term) when other activities and work will force reading into the background. But it would be a great shame for the pleasures and value of regular reading to be neglected. Besides the classic value of literature in allowing us to understand perspectives and experiences beyond our own, reading in some ways reminds us of the bigger picture. Time spent reading is a longer term investment in ourselves; while it may not immediately benefit us in terms of our work, social life or CV, spending time on an activity with the sole aim of personal enjoyment (and possibly eventual appreciation) also reminds us that life is about more than the here and now.

So while I will be spending this vac on catching up with at least some of the books I intended to read in Trinity, but never quite seemed to get round to, I hope to spend next term enjoying not only the busyness of life in Oxford, but also savouring moments to read for and by myself.

In the Spotlight, at Last

William Atkinson
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In the Spotlight, at Last

When Theresa May solemnly made her resignation speech at Downing Street, I couldn’t help be reminded of Malcolm Tucker’s description of the hapless Nicola Murray’s resignation as party leader in The Thick of It: the ending of a chapter that nobody enjoyed reading. It’s a cruel insult to a lady who worked tirelessly in pursuit of what she thought were her country’s best interests. But it also rings true. May’s short and turbulent premiership has left Britain bitterly divided and politically dysfunctional. She hands her successor the most poisonous political chalice in recent history, mostly of her own making. However, in spite her faults and failures, many would consider that successor to be even worse. 

Boris Johnson needs no introduction. For committed critics, Johnson’s sins are legion: he is a reactionary, philandering, incompetent oaf. By contrast, ardent supporters portray him as a second Winston Churchill: a bullish Tory providentially arriving at his nation’s darkest hour. Either way, Johnson enters office with unprecedented challenges on multiple fronts. In the last few days, we’ve seen an insight into how Johnson might cope with such issues, in the position he has coveted for so long.

For many, whatever Johnson does won’t be enough to tackle their natural apathy. Through his long and eventful political career editing The Spectator, leading the Leave campaign and proving himself to be an undiplomatic Foreign Secretary, he has accumulated an endless list of enemies and detractors. I have had many doubts about Johnson; with a distaste for some of his foolish behaviour, his appointment caused me some severe trepidation. Yet, I’m cautiously optimistic. To the dismay of many, it cannot be denied that his first week has seen him get off to a flying start. He’s marked a decisive and welcome change from the incompetent technocracy of Theresa May. His cabinet appointments, policy announcements and rhetoric herald a government ready and willing to tackle some of our major national problems. Most importantly, he has outlined a hopeful, confident and outward-looking future for a Britain that has so often seemed narrow-minded and demoralised under his predecessor.

However, it’s still the case that Boris has become PM in what even an optimist might call less than ideal circumstances. Politically, he finds his position under attack from every side. His parliamentary majority is paper thin, and dangerously reliant on hostile MPs. Outside the Commons, Johnson competes in a new world of four-party politics, with Jeremy Corbyn, Nigel Farage and now even Jo Swinson breathing down his neck. In Scotland and Northern Ireland, Brexit tensions are being used to advance nationalist arguments, pushing the Union to breaking point. Paradoxically, Boris’ accession is both the beneficiary and victim of a UK steeped in unprecedented political turbulence. No wonder bookies are taking bets on whether he’ll beat George Canning’s 112 days as our shortest-serving Prime Minister.

Coupled with its outstandingly weak political position, his government faces daunting challenges both home and abroad. His domestic in-tray is stuffed. Crises abound over knife crime, affordable housing and, of a particular focus to Johnson, how to successfully approach the so-called Northern Powerhouse. Overseas, issues such as the Gulf tanker incident simply cannot wait, whilst the forces of China and Russia simultaneously push the post-Cold War international order to breaking point. 

Yet, these aren’t even the Prime Minister’s biggest tasks. His victory came primarily as the Tory party trusted him more than his rivals to do in 90 days what May didn’t manage over three years: to successfully take our country out of the European Union. The auspices don’t seem favourable. May’s withdrawal agreement failed to pass through the Commons three times. Brussels has rebuffed any renegotiation, and views Boris with distrust and disdain. A large number of MPs have publicly condemned Boris’ willingness to leave without a deal, and there’s speculation that this distrust could shatter the current government. The man who led the Leave campaign to victory, against all odds, faces an even harder task in leaving itself.

Few predict success. It’s easy to see why the Queen reportedly wondered aloud why anyone would want the job, as Boris kissed her hand and took up his burden.

Prime Minister Johnson has thus entered Number 10 having been dealt a very bad hand indeed. Those who so often dismiss him as a scruffy charlatan must relish their expectation that he’s finally bitten off more than he can chew. The commentariat’s perceived wisdom is that his premiership will fizzle out before it can even leave the launch pad.

But as ever, I’m thriving on being a contrarian. Yes, Boris has been dealt a very bad hand – but in the last few days he has shown himself adept at playing it well. His government has hit the ground running with a confidence and brio that has been sorely lacking for the last three years. Boris has seized the moment and sought to transform the political situation, with greater vivacity than any alternative leader possibly could. Churchill said of becoming PM that he felt “as if I were walking with destiny…that all my past life had been but a preparation for this hour and for this trial… I was sure I should not fail.” Something tells me that this quotation wasn’t far from Johnson’s mind as he crossed the threshold into Number 10. If he can conquer this moment, not only will he go down as our most successful PM since his hero, but as the transformative author of a new age and a dynamic future for Britain.

But where does this transformation come from, and how much is down to Bojo himself? After all, many fundamentals are out of his control, from a hung parliament to an antipathetic EU. But he’s approached the areas under his control with verve, and its paying off. His Cabinet appointments featured the largest political reorganization outside a change of party since the war. Stern-faced and uninventive May loyalists, such as Greg Clarke and Karen Bradley, and implacable opponents of No Deal, like Philip Hammond, were summarily removed. Your opinion of figures like Priti Patel, Sajid Javid or even Jacob Rees-Mogg may vary, but they represent a dynamic and purposeful shift after three years of tepid managerialism.

Behind the scenes, Boris has assembled a formidable team. His backroom staff have mainly come from his time as London Mayor or at Vote Leave. From the former, he has selected policy adviser Munira Mirza and Chief of Staff Sir Edward Lister: experienced operators proven to be more than capable to take on such tasks. Most importantly, however, was the shock appointment of Dominic Cummings as his chief adviser. This more than anything else showed me this government was going to be far from business as usual. Cummings is a Marmite maverick, and anyone who saw Benedict Cumberbatch’s portrayal of him for Channel 4 can attest that he combines a unique mind with an approach that takes no prisoners. Yet, he successfully drove reform through an intractable education department, and pulled off one of the greatest upsets in British political history when heading up Vote Leave. He’s the perfect man to shake things up in Whitehall after Theresa May’s years of sterile stagnation.

Moreover, in the last week Boris has used his unique talent for cutting through to the wider public to bolster his apparently precarious position. He’s announced popular policies for areas within the public’s priorities, whether that’s 20,000 more police on the streets, more frontline funding for hospitals or long overdue investment in the North. You may loathe the man, but it can’t be said his agenda isn’t one that much of the public is crying out for. Whether these promises can be realised remains to be seen, but the immediate public response seems favourable. The Tories have rocketed back to their largest polling lead in months, including in Wales for only the third time in living memory. The Bojo bounce is real; it simply remains to be seen how quickly the ball comes back down to Earth.

For the time being, however, Boris can be satisfied with the reaction. Johnson’s initial public support is essential for addressing the two places that will decide his fate in the next few weeks: Brussels and the House of Commons. By bolstering his support nationally, the Prime Minister hopes to pressure both the EU and his backbenchers to come to terms. The current opinion in Brussels is that Boris won’t be able to pull off a No Deal Brexit, with the government either being brought down before October 31st, or the British outcry against the situation forcing the government back to the negotiating table almost immediately. By convincing them he’d win a general election on his platform, Boris can push MPs into supporting his government, demonstrating to Brussels that he is serious about No Deal.  By appointing Cummings and preconditioning the recommencement of negotiations on the removal of the Irish backstop, the Prime Minister is showing a newfound stubbornness, which May’s government lacked. Whether Johnson’s gamble pays off is yet to be seen, but it certainly makes a change from May’s series of capitulations.

But perhaps the biggest change of the Boris era has not been of personnel or policies, but of tone. Soon after entering Downing Street, Theresa May was the most popular post-war Prime Minister according to polling. This was primarily because of her message: not only was she seen as tough and patriotic, but her claim to want a country that works for everyone and to tackle various burning injustices struck a deep chord with a public so desperate for change that they would vote to Leave the European Union. Via a terrible general election campaign, she became a demoralised Prime Minister, who was pigeonholed by the civil service into a style of bland technocratic managerialism with a tone of hollow platitudes. This has led to a deeply disappointing legacy.

May failed to understand that the Brexit result was a vote of confidence in the United Kingdom and its future. Her Home Office tunnel vision transformed it from a push for national renewal into an attempt to simply clamp down on immigration. As such, we had her appalling tone deafness with the Windrush Scandal or that appalling policy of getting employers to register the number of foreign nationals they employed. By the time that Prime Ministerial Jaguar left Downing Street, the optimism of the transformative agenda she initially outlined was entered long gone, and she left the country in a state of disillusion and despair.

Boris has struck an instant and positive contrast, with his opening speech outside Number 10 affirming his confidence in Britain’s future and its potential. But it was at the Despatch Box where he proved revelatory. Boris has had less Parliamentary experience than any other Prime Minister since the war. Traditionally, his strengths lie in speeches to public crowds, or newspaper columns, or meet and greets in packed shopping centres, not in the pompous verbal jousting of the Commons. Expectations were thus low for his House debut as Prime Minister. He entered to jeers from the Labour bench and a muted silence from his fellow Tories. His speech was received with some support, but it was in his response to Corbyn that he really found his voice. In less than seven minutes, he had the Tory benches clamouring for more and the Opposition looking shell-shocked as he hammered into the Opposition leader. Many Conservative MPs with serious doubts about whether Boris was up to the job would have left with those fears well assuaged. 

So what does all this enthusiasm add up to? I’d argue it gives good grounds for optimism. Of course, a new face (and haircut) in Downing Street, some high flights of rhetoric and a few good announcements don’t instantly overcome the many obstacles that Boris, his government and our country face. But they can help. Theresa May promised change but delivered precious little. But if Boris can pull of all he promises, history may well consider her premiership an embarrassing interlude, an accidental aberration before the installation of the Vote Leave government needed since June 24th 2016. Boris’ government could prove just as hollow as May’s ultimately did, but at least he’s already backing his rhetoric with action.

So I’m optimistic for future under Prime Minister Bojo. I got into politics because I care about tackling the social injustices like poverty and prejudice than blight our society. My vision of Britain is a fundamentally optimistic one. Opportunities should be open to anyone and everyone, no matter their class, race or sexuality. With the most diverse Cabinet in history, a liberal Prime Minister and an agenda in place to tackle the country’s inequalities and deliver Brexit, I believe Britain’s best years can lie ahead. I’m sure I’ll have to eat humble pie sooner rather than later. But hopeless optimism isn’t always too bad a quality; after all, it got Boris Johnson all the way to Number 10.

Review: Arkells at ULU

Simone Fraser
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Review: Arkells at ULU

I have to admit, there was a part of me that considered staying home on 25th July and not going to the Arkells gig at ULU, London. It was the hottest day in 150 years, I was going solo, and I’d spend far too much time day drinking, and far too little time sleeping over the past week. Even though gigs are my favourite places to be, I knew it would be a sweaty one, and I could only pray that the venue had air conditioning. But at 6pm I dragged myself onto the Oxford Tube (complete with Tesco meal deal) and headed on down to London. My god am I glad I did.

A bit about Arkells. They’re an alt rock band from Ontario: lots of energy, charisma and sound, and a phenomenal stage presence characterize them. Fairly big in Canada, they only really broke onto the UK scene last year supporting Frank Turner as he toured around the country. I first saw them at Oxford O2, 5th May, and once they started playing, I didn’t want them to stop – and considering that Turner is my favourite artist this is pretty high praise. The entire band quite clearly adore performing, especially front-man Max Kerman who really captures the attention of the crowd with a combination of startling magnetism and smooth dancing. I spent the whole of Trinity that year listening to their latest two albums, High Noon (2014) and Morning Report (2016) on repeat, and by the time they dropped their latest, Rally Cry in October 2018, I was a solid fan.

But back to the gig. It was, as anticipated, incredibly sweaty (although they did have air con), but I have to say that I don’t think anybody cared. For the entirety of their nearly two hour set the crowd was having a brilliant time, dancing, as Kerman instructed us to, like nobody was watching. Arkells are unusual in that they have no stand-out hit, but many equally well-loved tracks: my person favourites are ‘Leather Jacket’, ‘And Then Some’ and “Private School Kids’, but there are just too many to pick. Their old pal Frank Turner was enjoying the gig with the rest of the crowd, and everyone there, many of whom know of the Arkells for the same reason that I do, went wild when he came onto the stage at the end to do a duet of Proud Mary, along with Jess Guise, his fiancé and the support act, amongst others.

Yet there are a lot of really good rock bands out there, so what is it that makes Arkells so special? Part of it is the aforementioned charisma, but the also the commitment to being genuinely good people, and using their platform and music to help other people. The band has thrown their support behind Rainbow Railroad, a charity dedicated to helping LGBTQ youth who are forced to leave home, by auctioning off signed Doc Martens, and raising awareness across their social media platforms. Indeed, the most special part of the gig was when Kerman jumped into the crowd to serenade two women who were getting married the week after and were planning on having their first dance to an Arkells song. This kind of personal support and care make them stand out from the usual indie bands that can be found across the world. It’s easy to see how the band have slotted into the same music community that artists like Turner, Felix Hagan and the Family, Laura Marling and others are part of. Their fans aren’t just encouraged to support their music, but to look out for other people at the gigs and beyond. 

Indeed, if you were planning on going to a gig solo, Arkells would be one that I definitely recommend. I ended up running into two people I knew from previous gigs and making several new friends just from the people who were standing around me. I’ve been to a hell of a lot of gigs, but this was perhaps the one with the strongest sense of community, and feeling safe and relaxed makes every experience so much better. Overall, this was one of the best gigs of my life, and I don’t say that lightly. Although Arkells tour primarily in North America, they’ll certainly be back in the UK in 2020, and I would encourage you all to listen to them. All I can say is that none of the friends I’ve persuaded to check them out have regretted it yet…

Let’s talk about… Diner Days

Becky Harrington
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Let’s talk about… Diner Days

Find Becky’s playlist here

During my A Levels, I worked as a waitress in an American 50s-themed diner not far from my house. Part of the reason I applied for it over other waitressing jobs in the area was my love for 50s and 60s music, which had developed from when I was young. It began through a love of girl bands like The Supremes to a wide-ranging interest in blues from the 30s and 40s that had inspired the Rock’n’Roll, Soul and Motown movements that followed. This playlist is a (very limited) selection of sentimental songs from my time working in the diner, as well as other fond memories and discoveries from the 20 years I’ve been around so far. Enjoy!

Long Tall Sally – Little Richard (1956)

When the diner was really busy, this song was so fitting. The loud chatter, the sizzle of the fryers in the kitchen, the rumble of the milkshake blenders. Waitresses weaving between tables on the checkered floor with trays of drinks. The arms of those more skilled than I were often lined with 3 or 4 plates of burgers, hotdogs, fries, pancakes, and waffles. Long Tall Sally’s driving 12-bar-blues rhythm accompanied the fast pace of a packed restaurant perfectly, punctuated by the chef’s frantic ringing of the bell, which signaled to us to collect food from his cramped kitchen. 

The First Cut Is The Deepest – P.P. Arnold (1967)

I could listen to this song every day until I died. The unusual instrumentation of this record, apparently inspired by similar choices made by The Beach Boys, is what really makes it stand out to me. The intro, plucked out on the harp rather than guitar (most common at the time), opens the song with a vulnerability which is carried through by the lyrics. There are some great interviews with the producer, Mike Hurst, and Pat Arnold herself on the episode of Radio 4’s Soul Music, which you can – and should – listen to as a podcast.

Rubber Biscuit – The Chips (1956) 

This song is featured in all its chaotic glory in Mean Streets, a 1973 Scorsese film starring Harvey Keitel and Robert De Niro which is one of, if not my favourite film. The song fits the scene perfectly, providing the soundtrack for the characters’ drunken stumblings shown via some brilliant but quite nauseating shots. Some other musical gems featured in Mean Streets are Be My Baby by The Ronettes and I Love You So by The Chantels, along with some amazing Italian pieces.

Stormy Weather – Etta James (1960)

I loved listening to this when the diner was quiet and we’d be busying ourselves with sweeping and cleaning tables. It is lusciously mopey and always put me in a certain mood, one that I’ve only really experienced working that job. There was the resentment that I’d feel while scooping a mixture of condiments and pieces of napkin out of a pint glass left kindly for me by a customer, but that would be combined with a strange enjoyment and pride in it all. I think that enjoyment came from feeling as though maybe if someone peered through the blind-slatted windows at me working away, I’d look as though I could be in The Waitress, or an Edward Hopper painting, rather than in 2017, working in an imitation diner in a London suburb, next to a Pizza Express.

Runaround Sue – Dion (1961)

There’s not much to say about this song other than that it’s great and, although I don’t condone the breaking of hearts, Sue sounds like she’s having a great time.

Why Do Fools Fall in Love – Frankie Lymon & The Teenagers (1956)

As you can probably tell from the pitch of Frankie Lymon’s voice, this group really was made up of teenagers. In fact, Frankie was only 14 when the song was released in 1956. The lyrics of this song were apparently inspired by a line from a love letter given to a member of the band: “Why do birds sing so gay?” It was a smash hit in both the US and the UK, and played a vital part in earning the band and their mishmash doo-wop / rock’n’roll style lasting fame in the years to come.

Is That All There Is? – Peggy Lee (1969)

This song is a relatively recent discovery for me. The anecdotal style of it may not be to everyone’s liking, and I can imagine that there’s a certain type of person who would get pretty riled up by the song’s overall message. They might find the song cynical, the sense of resignation that comes across in the lyrics obnoxious, or maybe simply an unhelpful perspective to have on life. Maybe I’d agree with the obnoxious element of that. I don’t think of the tone as pessimistic as such, but rather kind of… satisfied, and equally satisfying to listen to. It seems to me that people spend far too much time searching for significance in every event and interaction. This song’s acceptance and even embracing of the fact that life is often underwhelming and inconsequential is refreshing. Perhaps the more important message from the song is just that life happens and then it’s over, so making yourself and others happy is all you need to concern yourself with. Sounds alright to me. 

Smokestack Lightnin’ – Howlin’ Wolf (1956)

Our most popular burger at the diner! This one was cheese, bacon and a smoky BBQ sauce. 

Shake, Rattle and Roll – Big Joe Turner (1954)

Another song that gave its name to one of our dishes at the diner. I’ve built such an odd sensory connection between these songs and the meals they represented. Whenever I hear Shake, Rattle and Roll, I think of chicken nuggets. Perhaps nobody else will get quite that level of enjoyment out of the song, but it’s catchy anyway. 

Come See About Me – The Supremes (1964)

It was really hard to limit my Supremes hits to just this one. Motown is a favourite genre of my mum’s, so I grew up loving 60s girl groups like The Supremes and The Shirelles. The Supremes might be more famous for ‘Baby Love’ and ‘Where Did Our Love Go’, but ‘Come See About Me’ still managed to top the charts twice and the backing singers really make the record for me.

I Am In Love – Ella Fitzgerald (1956)

This gorgeous song was written by Cole Porter in 1953. It became a classic, and was covered and re-covered by a multitude of artists, like the majority of popular songs in the 50s. I’m particularly keen on the Ella Fitzgerald version, since her impressive vocal range gives her the ability to portray superbly the conflicting emotions of a person in love. Do I order cyanide or order champagne?

I Put A Spell On You – Nina Simone (1965)

Though this was originally written and performed by Jalacy “Screamin’ Jay” Hawkins, I had to choose the Nina Simone version for this playlist. Her voice is truly enchanting, making it ideal for this particular song. And really absolutely anything else.

Mack the Knife – Bobby Darin (1959)

Did you know that this song is the English version of Die Moritat von Mackie Messer, from Brecht’s 1928 Threepenny Opera? I didn’t until a couple of months ago when I was reading about Brecht’s drama for my degree. I’d always liked this song regardless, and when it came on in the diner it always gave my menial tasks a sense of glamour that they really didn’t deserve. It tells the story of an infamous killer, lurking around every corner for his next victim. The delivery of the song is almost smug, and it really plays into the idolisation of famous criminals that can be seen from the gangsters of the 20s and 30s all the way up to the present day and our generation’s sick fascination with Ted Bundy and the like. 

Unchained Melody – The Fleetwoods (1959)

I love this song. Yes, it is hard to listen to The Righteous Brothers’ version without picturing Patrick Swayze and a pottery wheel. Although I’m not especially opposed to that image, it puts some people off. There is, however, an earlier version of the song, recorded by The Fleetwoods in 1959, which is of a quite different style. It’s completely stripped back instrumentally, leaving only simple, gentle vocals that swell with harmonies every now and then, before sinking back to a low, solitary voice. 

Crimson and Clover – Tommy James & The Shondells (1968)

A regular in the diner would groan at me when I’d put this one on. “Really? This one? Bit of a downer isn’t it?” I didn’t really see what he meant, as to me the song seemed like a pretty upbeat love song. It’s chord progression is as simple as they come, but it’s so pleasing to listen to. What makes this song unique (on this list at least) is the use of the tremolo effect on the vocals at around 2:30, a technique usually reserved for guitar. It’s ridiculous, but I like seeing people’s faces when they first hear it. 

Take Five – The Dave Brubeck Quartet (1959)

The title of this song comes from its unusual 5/4 time signature. It wouldn’t be a shock if you recognised this one, given that it soon became one of the best selling jazz singles of all time. It’s been used in a plethora of films and adverts too, for good reason. 

Sh-Boom – The Chords (1954)

One of the vegetarian dishes in the diner, which were few and far between. This one was a mushroom burger. Sh-Boom. Mushroom. Get it? A bit tenuous, I know. 

The majority of my favourite songs are impossibly sad, which makes sense because I guess there’s a lot more to say about heartbreak than when things are actually going quite well. This song, though, is pure happy-go-lucky doo-wop gold and is definitely still a favourite.

The Leader of the Pack – The Shangri-Las (1964)

Another one that I’ve known since, well, since I’ve known music. The dialogue at the beginning of this song and the “he’s so totally dreamy” stereotypes of wearing Jimmy’s class ring and ‘getting a ride to school’ from a sweetheart slot this song firmly into the 60s girl group scene. What makes it fall into the smaller, even more ridiculous category of ‘teen tragedy’ or ‘splatter platter’ is Jimmy’s sudden and gruesome death. The lyrics are so melodramatic and the rhymes so obvious, it isn’t that surprising to hear George Morton claim that he wrote the song in one sitting, in crayon and on a bit of cardboard.

Rockin Pneumonia And The Boogie Woogie Flu – 

Huey ‘Piano’ Smith (1957)

This song is mostly on here for its name. There were many times where I wished I could call in sick to work with a rockin pneumonia and a boogie woogie flu, but I’m not sure my boss would’ve appreciated that joke. 

You Go to My Head – Billie Holiday (1938)

This one is a lot older than 50s, but I’d always put it on in the diner when I got the chance to choose the music. Billie Holiday has an amazing voice and often I listen to her and only her, but on this occasion I’ve whittled my long list of favourites down to this one due to its beguiling lyrics. “You go to my head and you linger like a haunting refrain…”

If you haven’t listened to much of her before, definitely try some other hits like ‘I’ll Be Seeing You’ and ‘April In Paris’, and listen to the Soul Music episode on the song ‘Strange Fruit’, which tells its history and goes into detail about her rendition.

Louie Louie – The Kingsmen (1963)

I discovered this song when I was 9 or 10 via the game Donkey Konga, which we had on Nintendo GameCube. The point of the game is basically to drum along to songs on some bongos that you plug into the console, and you’d get points for hitting the beats just right. I loved this game, and only partially because it was the only game where I had a chance at beating my brother. Listening to the song now, I realise that the rhythm can’t exactly have been hard to follow, but I love it nonetheless. 

Layla – Derek & The Dominos (1970)

If this song doesn’t make you want to shriek “WHAT’LL YOU DO WHEN YOU GET LONELY?” then quite frankly there’s no help for you. It’s probably a bit too intense to be playing in the diner while people are trying to enjoy a pleasant meal, and it’s just outside the time period, but when the diner was really empty I’d sit in a booth and blast it loud on my headphones while I folded hundreds and hundreds of napkins. Its contrastive piano interlude makes this song an amazing, if sensorily exhausting 7-minute journey. 

My Guy – Mary Wells (1964)

Yet another one of my mum’s favourites, written by Smokey Robinson. A sweet love song, but as my mum points out, not actually that complementary: “She’s basically saying ‘he’s a bit ugly, not that successful and a bit of a weed but I like him anyways’ which isn’t the height of flattery is it?” Faint praise aside, this song is pretty cute, and Wells gets just a little bit sultry around 2:25, which always reminds me of ‘Fever,’ a great Peggy Lee record that didn’t quite make it onto this list. 

Piano Man – Billy Joel (1973)

This isn’t a 50s song, it isn’t even a 60s song, but it’s got to be on here. When I came to uni, I missed my job a whole lot more than I thought I would. Piano Man would occasionally come on at a pre drinks and everybody would sing along, but I’d often stay quiet to save myself from getting too lost in the nostalgia it caused. I missed the people who worked at the diner and the regulars, the routine, the music, even my garish polka dot dress. For me this song really sums up my experience there, and I think that it’ll always bring me back to that place. It’s bittersweet – there’s the feeling of a community and comfort of familiar characters, but also the memory of a place filled with people who felt like they could be doing something better. 

The people working there were at such different stages in their lives. Me, working out of a longing for a place where I felt that I was welcome, capable and successful, studying hard for my A Levels alongside my shifts so that I could get far, far away from a miserable school life. A young mum who needed flexible shifts so that she could get back to work as well as being around for her son. A glamorous sous chef with a little boy back in Romania and a Hungarian chef working himself to the bone every week, both of them learning English on the job. Though it would be wrong to say that the diner was a bad job, or that working in the service industry in general can’t be fulfilling, it did feel like what we had in common was that we were a team of people who all dreamed of something or somewhere else. 

Well, that’s it! These songs really do represent a chapter in my life, as well as mark some of the milestones in the development of my love for 50s/60s music – and music in general. So, this whole playlist-making process has been quite self-absorbed really, but I hope you were able to gain something from it if you got this far! 

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