Sunday, May 11, 2025
Blog Page 596

Lady Margaret Hall JCR plans ambitious constitutional reforms

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Lady Margaret Hall has put forward proposals branded “the most wide-ranging restructure of the JCR in modern JCR history” by its president Josh Tulloch.

Lady Margaret Hall’s JCR are set to put an ambitious set of reforms to a vote at a general meeting on Sunday, following a wide-ranging review conducted by the LMH “Constitutional Reform Committee”. The reforms have been presented to JCR members by its President Josh Tulloch, a third-year PPE student.

Reforms include the introduction of subcommittees to replace the current singletier officer system, as well as the expansion of the specific legal duties of the College Trustees. The JCR is also hoping to create a new role, that of an independent Chair. The Chair would run elections, provide constitutional interpretations and relieve the President of neutrality obligations.

The constitutional reforms will require approval by a majority of attendees at the General Meeting on Sunday, before the new constitution is introduced. President Josh Tulloch commented: “We are confident that these changes will better equip our officers to serve the needs of the JCR far more effectively.

“Comprehensive reform was promised to the JCR, and this document delivers!”

Chair of the LMH JCR’s Constitutional Reform Committee and co-author of the constitutional reform proposals, Matthew Judson, a second-year PPE student at the college, said: “I’m delighted that we have managed to pull together some really robust reforms which I believe will strengthen governance, clarify grey areas, and help the JCR operate more smoothly.

He continued: “I’m optimistic that the proposals will gain the confidence of both the JCR membership and the College, and I look forward to leaving our JCR in the best possible shape for future generations of LMH students.”

The new constitution will replace the existing committee with a senior committee comprised only of the current trustees (the President, Treasurer and Secretary), along with the chairs of the four new subcommittees: welfare, equalities, internal, and social.

The consultation document argues that the new system will allow decisions to “be made by manageable-sized groups of Officers who are all directly concerned with the issues at hand.”

The new position of an independent Chair is intended to ensure impartiality in enforcement of JCR rules, thereby releiving the trustees of their neutrality obligations and providing a check on the President’s power. The document acknowledges that the Chair will hold a large amount of power, but argues that this will be constrained by their ease of removal.

The changes also includes the creation of Honourary Memberships of the JCR, and a provision allowing the Trustees to veto general meetings in the event of legal issues.

Interview: Lucy Worsley

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I meet Lucy in her office, set in the beautiful Tudor part of Hampton Court Palace, where she spends most of her time when not making television programmes in her day job as Chief Curator at Historic Royal Places. She invites me in, wonderfully dressed as always with her trademark bright lipstick, and I notice that her office is full of amazing memorabilia from previous programmes that she has made over the years, including several pairs of what appear to be historic dancing shoes. There are also shelves and shelves of books lining her walls, including her recently released work Queen Victoria: Daughter, Wife, Mother, Widow, which she kindly gifts me a copy of. We get talking firstly about her recent projects, especially regarding her focus on including women in the narrative.

Why do you enjoy writing about women in history?

I don’t like to ram it down peoples’ throats – I don’t have a lot of power in life, but I do have some influence and I like to be the sugar-coated face of feminism. It’s my secret mission that if we do a programme about the history of women it doesn’t say “women” all over it – it’s just entertaining and people hopefully may find it relevant and they may just imbibe from that the underlying feminist agenda. Although we have just been nominated for a BAFTA for our programme about the Suffragettes. I consider myself to be the sort of historian who’s work isn’t for other historians – it’s for people who don’t necessarily even like history or who don’t think that they like history. I am always looking for ways to make it entertaining as well as educational or serious or heavy – the flip side of that is that I could be accused of being frivolous – but I don’t mind that! I don’t think that’s a bad thing.

When you’re making a programme how do you decide on the educational value? How do you strike a balance between entertainment and so-called serious history?

I know that a lot of people get fed up with topics that appear to be obvious like Henry VIII for example – he does get a lot of programmes made about him. The reason is that he’s “box office” – the commissioners know that people will tune in – so I’ve got to find a sweet spot between topics that people will have heard of and find some connection to and yet where there is something fresh and new to say about them. Celebrity culture even applies to history! I hope what we did when we covered Henry VIII for BBC1 was to do it through the means of his wives and to put them at the centre of the story. That was considered to be slightly left field –that’s the sort of degree of radicalness that you can afford in a television environment.

You have recently written a book and made a programme about Queen Victoria, and you’re coming to the Oxford Playhouse later this month to give a talk. Why does she interest you?

On the 24th May she is 200 years old – it’s a big birthday that’s been in my diary for the last 10 years or so. Not only have I been working on this book but also on some new exhibitions at Kensington palace about her life – opening on the 24th of May. She was born in Kensington Palace and lived there until she was 18 years and 3 weeks old which is when she became the queen – an amazing joyful moment in her life and then at that point she leaves Kensington palace (our property) and then moved to Buckingham palace. One exhibition is in in the rooms where she grew up and that’s permanent – then we also have for this summer only a temporary exhibition which tells the story from 18 to death – the whole of the rest of her life when she wasn’t at Kensington Palace.

As a historian, what do you think about TV dramatisations that sometimes lack historical accuracy?

They’re brilliant! I will take them because they are gateway drugs if you like. I have a friend who teaches French 17th century history at Trinity College Oxford and she found that people were applying to do her subject because they had seen a crazy drama called Versailles. That’s very much entertainment but there was a nugget at the core of it that made people want to know more about this subject and that can be the first step on the ladder of involvement. I did genuinely get a letter from somebody who said “I came to Hampton Court Palace and saw an exhibition – I then watched a documentary about the same topic and then I read book, then an evening class, and then an Open University degree and now I want to come get a job as a curator here.” That was such a “yes” moment for me. You’ve got to start somewhere.

I got into it through historical fiction – I used to love reading historical novels and that was perhaps what drew me to it first of all. I’m not too proud to say that! I didn’t start by reading the Calendar of State Papers Domestic – I started by reading Jean Plaidy!

What do you think of Queen Victoria as a female monarch?

What interests me about her is that she had to meet or break the rules of being female that existed in the 19th century. Of course she had power and privilege so in a sense there are other women from the 19th century whose stories deserve to be told more but she is so well documented that there’s loads there to work with. The British edition of my book has a subtitle “daughter, wife, mother, widow” because she was those four things as well as being the Queen – the fact that she was the monarch was second choice to everybody – everyone wanted it to be a man. She was breaking the rules before she even started. The Victorians had such expectations of what daughters and wives and widows were supposed to do that she had to work within that and actually it was a really clever way of being a queen in the 19th century by presenting yourself as a wife, a daughter, a mother, I think, because these were the highest values of the Victorian age. They loved the idea of having the woman as the homemaker and Queen Victoria just went with that – she said I may be the queen but I’m also a lovely humble retiring home maker and I’m sure that’s part of the reason she survived while other countries were having revolutions. It’s like Queen Victoria was so unthreatening that she was so appealing to Victorian sensibilities that she wasn’t worth overthrowing – that is I think the secret of her success. That she presented herself as a little old lady is like the Miss Marple school of leadership!

Has life got better for women in society as time has gone on?

I don’t think history always “gets better” – you assume it does but if you have women being more economically active in the 18th century then less economically active in the 19th century because of changing social norms then let’s not take what we’ve got for granted in some areas of life – in America at the moment I would say we do see a reversing status of women in society.

How did you get interested in curation?

When I was 18 I visited a National Trust property – about the age when I had started my history degree – and I was thinking about what to do next and it suddenly struck me that this was a job! I know I’m quite lucky that it happened to me when I was 18 because for some people that light never goes off in their head, but I knew immediately what I was going to do so I did my degree and started searching for a job in this field. I did my PhD whilst working for English heritage, and the research that I did became an exhibition.

Do you have any advice for your university-age self?

Take yourself less seriously! I did a lot of things; I was involved with the RAG parade, I worked quite hard, I rowed [queue a loud exclamation from me].  I was so uptight and stressed and tense the whole time! This is advice that I would still give myself that I should chill out and relax a bit more. This is the problem us swots have!

How did you get into writing?

It had always been my goal to write a book – after I finished my PhD I could have turned it into a scholarly monograph but I wanted to turn it into a trade book instead, a book for the general reader. I like to think my genre is called non-fiction bodice ripper! When I published my PhD thesis with Faber and Faber they sexed up the title and called it “Cavalier: The story of a 17th century playboy”! The job of a historian is to do a piece of research work, but the job of the public historian is to do a piece of research work and then to make sure it is used in different ways. My PhD has been used in the form of an exhibition and an audio guide through that book and then later I made a BBC4 programme.

I noticed that sitting in the fireplace of Lucy’s office were three pairs of beautiful historical shoes, and we got onto the topic of historical fashion.

Sometimes I appear in a costume in my programmes which is partly because it’s cheaper than hiring actors, but also because of my love of dressing up! And it’s partly because one of our collections here at Hampton Court is a dress collection. It’s the royal ceremonial dress collection, and I think that historic costumes are a worthy topic of scholarly enquiry – they’re an excellent way into social history through material culture. I believe that clothes are important in the construction of an image, as we see queen Victoria doing, so I don’t mind putting some effort into wearing an outfit for the camera; it seems to be part of the job. Another part of me thinks that it doesn’t matter what we look like surely, but that messes with my head a bit; art historian thinks that it does but feminist thinks that it doesn’t. clothing from the past is all about hierarchy; that’s the big difference between the class structure of the 18th century – it is very clear, very delineated through clothing, and a lot of that is to do with the restriction of the movement of the women; she doesn’t need to move because she has servants to do that, that’s the signature of her high status. It doesn’t matter that she can’t hurry, pick anything up, labour; she’s not supposed to which is a sign of high status but a sign of entrapment I suppose.

[Lucy goes over to the mantlepiece and brings three pairs of shoes over to the table]

I did a programme about the history of dancing and we learned historical dances: these are the shoes of the 18th century minuet, a formal dance, these are the shoes of the 19th century polka, which is freer, and these are the shoes of the 1920s, which was my favourite dance because I was no longer wearing a corset, my potential husband had died in World War One, I had a vote, I had a job; I was liberated in my dress and my attitudes and my wild jazz inspired Charleston. I loved this project; the reason it happened was that when I got married my husband made me sign a pre-nuptial contract that I would never appear on Strictly!

Like you say, the personal is the political; it comes into everything; personally, I like the nitty gritty dirty detail of daily life; I know our visitors like it. They often come in thinking they should ask about the aesthetics of the Baroque or the reformation but what they really want to know is how did Tudor people go to the loo! They want to know how different their lives were to ours, and the answer to that is in some ways familiar, which is your way in, but the next job I have to do is to make them seem strange; they’re not just like us dressed in historic costumes; they had different language, different world view, different views on religion.

What I learn from history is that nothing stays the same, that change is possible. You can look at the world today and think that there is the possibility of me changing this. That’s what I think is ultimately the point of learning about history. Finally and most importantly it gives you the sense that political change is possible; whether that’s to do with underpants or Brexit!

Lucy’s show Queen Victoria: Daughter, Wife Mother and Widow comes to the Oxford Playhouse on the 27th May.

One van to rule them all?

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Many of you will already have a favourite kebab truck, and I bet you hold your opinion with conviction. An e-coli outbreak wouldn’t change your mind, let alone a review by some puny undergrad. Nevertheless, let me tell you who I think is the best in the business.

If you’re looking for love, forget the Taylorian – try the kebab truck parked out front. In the frigid air of an Oxford night, Hussain’s lights have an almost candle-like quality. The soft glow of the sign that adorns the van beckons visitors like a lighthouse to an island of deliciousness.

As you arrive, in an instant, the cold and darkness melt away and you find yourself bathed in the warmth of the van’s open façade. A golden rectangle illuminates the patch of pavement you stand on. It’s as if the van has achieved enlightenment, and has invited you to share in it.

Take a moment to stare in wonder at the menu. If you have ever craved food after a night of hedonism, Hussain’s will supply it. Pizza, kebabs, curry, falafel, hot dogs, you name it. How do they cook up such marvels in that small truck? Is there a secret underground kitchen? If so, does it connect to the Gladstone Link? I digress.

A wise man once said “ judge the character of a kebab truck by the character of its chips”, and Hussain’s passes this test with frying colours. The chips are hot, crunchy, and, most importantly, appropriately salted (it’s not sexy, but it matters). All of your standard toppings are on offer, but I tend to stick with just cheese. Anything more seems decadent.

If the universally loved chip symbolises the sharedness of human nature, then the mains represent joyful expression of self. Two in particular are worthy of note. The doner kebab is tender, and the flavours engage the sauces in a subtle dance of consistency and contrast across the palate. The popcorn chicken has a deliciously crunchy exterior, but, like your favourite tutor, is delightfully soft inside. You can get your meat in a wrap too, but try to avoid the (worryingly crunchy) rice. Whatever you choose, it’s unlikely to exceed a fiver.

One item, however, steals the show. The Special Chicken Burger is as exquisite as it is unique. While a sizeable piece of chicken sizzles in preparation, an egg is fried on the hot plate. In a few graceful sweeps of the boss’s dexterous hands, both nestle cosily together between soft white buns, alongside salads and sauces of your choosing.

The egg in burger move seems deliciously simple, right? But only with the benefit of hindsight. Lesser innovators try to break from the obvious, but the true visionaries redefine it.

So, next time you need a late-night meal, don’t be a tourist. Venture beyond Broad Street. Who knows, you might just like it.

In Search of a Poet

As far as the British literary landscape is concerned, few public appointments provoke such interest as that to be the next Oxford Professor of Poetry. Established thanks to a bequest of a Berkshire landowner more than three hundred years ago, the role has grown to become internationally important, with the Nobel Prize laureates Wole Soyinka and Derek Walcott, from Nigeria and St Lucia respectively, being past contenders.

The Professor’s responsibilities are relatively straightforward: give one public lecture per term throughout their appointment, help to judgesome of the University’s writing awards, including the Newdigate Prize and Jon Stallworthy Prize, and, in the University’s own words, ‘encourage the art of poetry’.

Winner of last year’s Queen’s Gold Medal for Poetry, Simon Armitage, is due to deliver his final lecture as Professor of Poetry, entitled ‘When I Heard the Learn’d Astronomer’, in 3rd Week. Alongside devoting lectures to individual figures including Elizabeth Bishop and Bob Dylan, Armitage has dealt with medieval literature and questions of literary form.

Every four years, as the Professor’s time in office draws to a close, Oxford University opens nominations for the next election. To become a candidate in the election, an individual must receive at least fifty nominations from members of Convocation, defined as ‘all the former student members of the University who have been admitted to a degree (other than an honorary degree) of the University, and of any other persons who are members of Congregation or who have retired having been members of Congregation on the date of their retirement’. Once nominations have closed, the final list of candidates is published, alongside the names of all those who nominated them, and an online election held. Shortly afterwards, at a meeting of Convocation, the result is announced. This year, the result will come on the last day of term – the 21st of June – making for an exciting end to the academic year.

If media speculation is to be believed, the search for the forty-sixth Professor is nearing its end. With five candidates in the race, Alice Oswald is tipped as the favourite, backed to beat Aaron Kent, Todd Swift, John Leonard, and Andrew Mcmillan. Were she to receive the most votes, she would be the first woman to be appointed to the position. Awarded the Geoffrey Faber Memorial Prize for her 2005 collection Woods, etc, Oswald studied Classics at New College, so Oxford is hardly unfamiliar to her. Her work synthesises this knowledge of classical literature with her experience of the natural world. Dart (2002) mixes Greek legend with folk myth to tell the story of the Devonshire river.

Renewed interest in who will be the next Professor of Poetry is almost certainly attributable to two developments: more scrutiny than ever before about appointments to senior positions in prestigious public institutions, and a surge in the reading and purchasing of poetry (in 2018, sales of poetry books rose by more than 12%). Nominations having closed at 4pm yesterday, we now know who is definitely in the running. Let the voting commence.

‘In Search of Equillibrium’

Reading In Search of Equilibrium is unquestionably difficult. The poems are shocking, not because they trigger something alien, but because they are unsettlingly familiar. Their intense identification with the basic points of humanity activates an equally intense process of introspection; Lola, the current Young People’s Laureate for London, forces us to look at ourselves with precision in those moments when we are at our most vulnerable.

The entire collection can be summarised, in one sense, by the verb ‘process’. We are alert to the processing of a devastating loss, which the speaker achieves through her cathartic act of writing. At the same time, the reader is challenged to process these emotions at a heightened level of intimacy and empathy. The poems are uncomfortable to read, and I found the level of intensity demanding at times. Any hope of reading a gentle, relaxed poetry collection is quickly dispelled in the face of the realities of age, life, and disease. The vulnerability we are expected to emulate as readers is exhausting. If there is anywhere that Lola is less successful, it is these moments that lack reprieve.

The intensity of the poems could easily lead to their integral message being lost, and the collection does teeter on the brink of saturation with despondency. However, I felt that we are not meant immediately to understand the poems, but take our time in processing them, however painful. The poet Anthony Anaxagorou has said that ‘Theresa Lola will soon become one of the most important writers in the UK’, and his emphasis on the need for her poems, not necessarily their easiness to read, stands out. Reading the collection is a draining experience, but ultimately a rewarding one.

‘Process’ embodies a further meaning in Lola’s deliberate inclusion of the language of technology. She transforms the human brain into a computer, processing the indeterminable data of loss and love. My favourite poem from the collection, ‘<h> Cutting Back on Work Shifts </h1>’, is framed by computer- coding language, the angled brackets imploring us to ‘let the computer rest for a minute, exhale, today let silence be your search engine for peace’. I found an ultimately overwhelming sense of closure amidst the collection’s frequently- exhibited grieving: a reassurance that it is alright to cry, to rest, and to feel happy again. At the point where the poems become most painful and tender, Lola, as poet and griever, is able to take a step back and clarify the process with a striking precision. These are elegiac poems for a technological world.

The collection as a whole asks us, with a gentle but unescapable force, to re-examine our comprehension of faith, love, and grief. The title is active – she has not completed her quest, but is still searching for equilibrium and for closure. We are invited to join her in this pursuit, making the reading of her poems a shared experience, as we reflect on what it is to feel love, pain, and grief. This is a collection for those disillusioned by our often-impersonal modern world, and well worth buying if you are looking to question what it is to be human at an essential level.

The Power of Telling Tales in Ali Smith’s ‘Spring’

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The third instalment in Ali Smith’s seasonal quartet is a triumph. An uplifting and generous read, it utilises the formula established by the previous two novels of the series expertly, the result being a work that stands alongside its predecessors, but firmly on its own two feet. A novel concerned first and foremost with storytelling, it’s narrative weaves together art and modernity with all the ease and flair readers have come to expect of Smith. Yet where Autumn was striking for establishing the formula, and Winter for taking it further, Spring seems to stand apart as a distinctively complete work, a cut above in the sophistication of the ideas it explores. 

Just as Autumn began with an invocation our greatest writer of social commentary, Charles Dickens, so Spring opens with a wry nod to his 1854 novel, Hard Times: ‘Now what we don’t want is facts.’ This subversion of the mantra of Dickens’ arch-capitalist Gradgrind (‘Now, what I want is, Facts’) forms a part of a series of monologues distributed throughout the text which seem to represent the ‘story’ as the establishment would have us read it. Throughout the text these passages attempt a piercing deconstruction of the narratives so prevalent in contemporary media, an attempt to get at the truth in a post-truth world. Yet Smith’s invocation of Dickens points to a wider sense of the novel itself as bound up in questions of storytelling, of truth and misrepresentation.

The opening chapter of the novel finds Richard, a small time TV director, at a station platform busy resisting the urge to write his life into story, disillusioned as he has become. He observes himself ‘storying his own absence’ until his becomes a ‘story of myself avoiding stories’; 

‘He was a man on a railway platform. There was no story.’ 

His is a disillusionment fed by a script he is working on, with its hyper-sexualised, near-ludicrous account of the lives of poet Rainer Maria Rilke and writer Katherine Mansfield, veering about as far from the truth as is possible. Richard’s existence (as an artist) is thrown into chaos. His despair (he is also mourning his friend, lover and long-time collaborator Paddy) is such that he attempts suicide. The idea of killing the story becomes, for Smith, akin to suicide. Yet what to do when those stories become corrupted, seem under threat and ineffectual? It is in typical Smithian fashion that, before he manages to kill himself, a chance encounter throws Richard’s life off course, and ultimately reunites him with the power of the story and its truth. 

Across the quartet so far, Smith seems dedicated to the power of these chance encounters, of the magic when two strangers of opposing world views meet and interact. The notion is evocative of E. M. Forster’s ‘only connect’, and it is surely in such a condition-of-England tradition that Smith writes. She is the Forster or the Gaskell for our time, the novelist-as-national-healer made post-modern.  

Later on in the novel Smith relates the passion with which Rilke, at the end of his life, read the novels of D. H. Lawrence, giving him new creative energy – which for an artist means hope. More broadly than the power of storytelling, however, Smith is concerned with the power of art. As with the last two instalments, the novel also serves as a showcase for the work of a British artist, this time Tacita Dean. Richard attends an exhibition of her work ‘hung with pictures of clouds’ and is instantly struck by its power as art;

‘As he stood there what he was looking at stopped being chalk on a slate, stopped being a picture of a mountain. It became something terrible, seen.’ 

Smith’s use of ‘terrible’ is ambiguous here, yet the experience enriches Richard, making ‘the real clouds above London look[-] different’, as if ‘they were something you could read as breathing space.’ Art thus becomes a means of reading the world around oneself, but also of bringing people together, as Richard exchanges a ‘look[-]’ and ‘laugh[-]’ with a fellow exhibition attendee. Later, describing another of Dean’s works, Smith’s narrator observes its effect; ‘what’s left is the story of human beings and air.’ The power of art comes full circle and becomes the power of storytelling itself; the story Richard reads in the cloud’s after seeing Dean’s clouds, the story of his interaction with another at the exhibition. Stories are revealed to be essential to our comprehension of the world around us, the one irrefutable.

Smith does more than her bit to fight back against the mis-telling of stories in the mainstream media. Her acknowledgements reveal the research that went into her portrayal of the experiences of detainees in UK Immigration Removal Centres, and the appalling conditions they are forced to endure. In this way the novel functions as a necessary and powerful response to Windrush. 

The ending of the novel is ambiguous in its treatment of story. It’s final chapters are staged dramatically, teasing narrative detail piece by piece for maximum effect. The denouement is perfectly choreographed into something beautifully tragic. Here, Smith drops her self-reflexive stance to allow the power of the story, the very thing the novel has attempted defended from misuse, to take full hold over the reader. Story, then, becomes rapture as well as site of interrogation, and while Smith’s conclusion offers no easy solution, the lasting impression of the novel is one of hope.  The story is allowed its time to act as a force for good, returned to its proper position, reclaimed from the careless story-tellers that dominate the media today. Smith’s is a call for the truth of the story.

A necessary and tender novel, it is this spring’s must-read. This third instalment in Smith’s quartet is perhaps the best yet; a novel for our times that asks all the right questions of the current climate, but also of itself. With Smith at the helm we are never in danger of entering the realm of propaganda; always there is ambiguity and rumination, self-awareness and humility, allowing the reader the chance to fit the pieces together for themselves rather than be told what to think. With one more novel to come, Smith’s four-year project is shaping-up to be a stunning achievement in contemporary literary fiction, and a necessary remedy to the mis-use of story-telling in our time.

Professor of Poetry Simon Armitage named next Poet Laureate

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Simon Armitage, the current Oxford Professor of Poetry, has been named the next UK Poet Laureate.

Succeeding the incumbent Carol Ann Duffy, the poet’s tenure as Laureate will last ten years.

His final lecture in his current position will take place on Wednesday of 3rd Week, entitled “When I heard the Learn’d Astronomer”.

The decision to award the post, made by the Queen on advice from the government, comes days after Imtiaz Dharker publicly declined the position amongst unconfirmed rumours of her impending appointment.

In line with the theme of his latest collection The Unaccompanied, Armitage has said he wishes to create some form of climate change themed initiative and to set up a National Centre for Poetry.

Described by the Culture Secretary as having a “witty and profound take on modern life…known and respected across the world”,  Armitage has published 28 collections of poetry, received a CBE and won the Queen’s Gold Medal for Poetry 2018.

Carol Ann Duffy remarked at his appointment that Armitage has “touched the matter of our lives with characters and subject matter that lived among us: teachers and council tenants, chip shops and television shows, figures who drank in the local pub and shopped in the nearby supermarket”.

Singing to Say No to Cinematic Fantasies

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Titanic Rising is a record to drown in. The fourth studio album by Weyes Blood is massive in scope, filled with layered string arrangements and synths that sound like an alien playing the organ.

Natalie Mering, the woman behind Weyes Blood, partially credits her Californian roots and relatives in creative industries with inspiring an early interest in film. Titanic Rising is all about the fantasies peddled by cinema, the way the films we watch and the media we consume populate our minds and impact our relationships, to each other, to ourselves, to the planet. The album cover is a snapshot of this idea; Natalie Mering stands in a completely submerged bedroom, curtains billowing behind a desk bearing an old-fashioned laptop. Posters for various bands and films hang on the walls. Mering, with slightly bent knees and one arm half-raised, looks caught in the act, making the image seem candid despite its strange subject matter. According to Mering, the submerged room represents the subconscious mind, the careful clutter symbolizing the pop-culture altars teens arrange to neatly express and summarize their personalities and their worlds.

This callback to teenage attempts at cosmology is evident on the first song on Titanic Rising, “A Lot’s Gonna Change”. The album opens with a dramatic synth melody, something that sounds like it should accompany a summer blockbuster’s title credits appearing on screen in the biggest possible letters. You know you’re in for a treat. The synths cut out abruptly, and over soft piano, Mering sings about going back to a time when she had “the whole world gently wrapped around” herself. She has a voice like a roll of film unspooling, operatic and almost old-fashioned in its lushness, as she sings to her younger self about all the things that will change in her lifetime – rising water levels, dying trees, friends and family lost. The threats of climate change, natural disaster, and floods in particular, are omnipresent on the album, and yet, it manages not to be depressing. This is in part due to the instrumentation on the record. The strings nearly bowl you over in their vastness, and the synths and organs are a whole space opera in their own right.

At the same time, Natalie Mering’s penchant for internal and slant rhymes give her lyrics an unexpectedly close, off-kilter feel. Her absurdist sense of humour comes through in the music video for “Everyday”, a song about momentary romantic connections that can be meaningful even in how brief they are. The upbeat, plodding piano chords lend the music video its inexorable tempo, as a group of friends partying in a cabin find themselves in a slasher flick while Mering sways idly in the foreground and sings about the hang-ups of modern dating.

Similarly, she offsets cathartic moments like the harpsichord- and guitar-driven build on the song “Something to Believe” with self-effacing lines like “by some strange design, I got a case of the empties”, or an explanation that she has tried to cure her sadness by “staying away from the quicksand”, an obstacle famously only encountered in films. Mering’s conflicted relationship with cinema – as a teenager, deeply disappointed with the illusions she had grown up consuming, she abstained from watching films for three years – comes through most vividly on the sixth track on the album, unsurprisingly titled “Movies”. Monotonously, the first verse declares that “This is how it feels to be in love/This is life from above”. Over looping, space-age electronic beeps, the singer declares that she is “bound to that summer big box office hit, making love to a counterfeit”, yearning for nothing but to be the star of her own movie. In the music video for the song, a rapt audience watches a film in which Mering plays an ingénue with her blonde wig and white dress swirling underwater. When the song builds, and finally breaks, spiraling out into giddy string arpeggios, one by one, the audience members rise from their seats and run at the screen. They enter the world of the film, splashing around onscreen with Mering herself, swallowed up by the movie. Listening to that crescendo, you really can’t blame them.

The ominous, detached tone of “Movies”’ first verse, however, carries over into other tracks on the album, such as “Mirror Forever” or “Picture Me Better”. These songs outline the fact that moving pictures and projections might be enticing, but that they cannot substitute the reality of another person in a relationship. Both songs are full of misdirected or lost gazes – the speaker’s partner on “Mirror Forever” is “looking right through her”. “I see it so clearly/That we play a part”, she sings, while fingers snap out an almost resigned rhythm in the background. This sense of roles we must play continues in “Picture Me Better”, a ballad that blends acoustic guitar with swelling strings, written about a friend of Mering’s who died of suicide. The title is both an indictment of having to perform a better version of oneself at all times, and a plea for any reality in which her friend might still be alive – two impossible fantasies, played out against each other. The lines “And you’re making me act funny/Can’t help to smile with those eyes that shine/Only, if only you could see” turn the intimacy of friendship into a grand spectacle. The implication that a friend might be putting on a face even with those closest to them lends a sinister dimension to the “eyes that shine”, which serve as a reminder of the popular etymology that movie stars are so named because of the otherworldly glint in their eyes, reflections of the set lighting.

Finally, the nods to Titanic, the ultimate embodiment of cinematic bombast, thread themselves throughout the entire record. 1990s movie magic is superimposed over references to the very real disaster of 1912. “Andromeda”, an entire galaxy of a song about attempting to connect with someone while feeling adrift in an endless void, features the line “Lift the heart from the depths it’s fallen to”, a reference to the Heart of the Ocean diamond Kate Winslet’s character drops into the sea at the end of the film. At the same time, the final, instrumental track “Nearer to Thee” motions to the hymn reportedly played by the RMS Titanic’s string ensemble as the ship sank. The song’s string section reimagines the synths which open the album on “A Lot’s Gonna Change”, fitting the prosody of the line “you’re gonna be just fine”. If we’re going to be rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic, we might at least try to shift ours a bit nearer to Natalie Mering playing onstage. This constant awareness of doomed theatricality continues into Weyes Blood’s live performances. On her first show of the Titanic Rising tour, at the Haunt in Brighton, Mering wore an all-white suit under the wavering blue and yellow stage lights. She looked like an underwater cinema screen. A surface so overt about inviting projection that you’re almost embarrassed to try. 

Fantasy Music’s Apex – Djwadi’s Score for ‘Game of Thrones’

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Warning: this article contains spoilers for the latest episode of ‘Game of Thrones’.

HBO masterpiece ‘Game of Thrones’ is lucky enough to possess one of the most iconic title themes in television today. Even those who don’t watch the show will recognise its majestic opening number which perfectly captures the heroics and darkness that drive the plot through its bombastic, melancholy cello melody. 

Ramin Djwadi’ impresses with a distinct tone in the fantasy market. Historical fantasy is a hard genre to score. Communicating a non-existent medieval world through the sounds of the modern world poses challenges. Pre-existing associations with certain instruments or melodies risk confusing our perception. The organ, whilst a powerful instrument, has religious roots. Saxophone rarely feature in fantasy music due to its strong link to jazz and thus distinctly modern tone. 

This challenge is exacerbated by the show’s character-driven narrative. ‘Game of Thrones’ is known for its complex but realistic heroes. Individuals like Jon Snow and Jaime Lannister undergo significant authentic development. The juxtaposition of a medieval fantasy world with the modern conceptions of humanity the audience would understand makes ‘Game of Thrones’ an even greater challenge.

Excellent choice of instrumentation allows Djawadi to tackle this challenge. Series creators Benioff and Weiss specifically gave Djawadi a ‘No flutes. No violins.’ policy, stating this timbre was overused in fantasy music.

As a result, the cello plays a central role in the soundtrack, be it in the main title or in the more emotional House Stark theme. The cello’s low melancholy sound combined with its history dating back to the fifteenth-century provides an amalgamation of emotive sounds and a distinctive fantasy tone. 

Other instruments are used precisely because of their modern-day connotations and the way this intuitively informs the audience about the universe by playing on our preconceptions. The didgeridoo is used to represent the Wildlings, projecting the tribal image we possess of Australian aborigines onto the societies found Beyond the Wall.

Similarly, the Dothraki, a nomadic-horse-warrior people inspired by the central Asian steeps, are portrayed using an Armenian duduk. This instrument is essentially an ancient and ethnic version of an oboe, helping to reinforce the basic, arid nature of the Dothraki people.

The melodies also used to represent both peoples are typically minimalistic with heavy use of percussion in the accompaniment, creating a shared similarity of toughness between the two tribes.

On a more suspenseful note, the White-Walkers, ice-zombie-like monsters who are the main antagonist of the show, are represented by the glass harmonica in the earlier seasons due to its high, eerie and icy sound, playing on our understanding of horror music.

Arya Stark, an energetic and fiery young girl, is expressed by the hammered dulcimer. Djawadi ascribes this to the instrument’s “fun, plucky sound” which matches Arya’s personality. Djawadi utilises unique instruments and uses their timbre to create his own tone in the score by playing with our associations of them in the modern world. 

This changed in the grand finale of Season 6 when a grand piano was used in the famous ‘Light of the Seven’ score. The piano is modern, invented during the eighteenth-century and noticeably detached from the medieval world Djawadi had previously aimed to portray.

An obvious reason exists: Djawadi wanted to signal to the audience that something is not quite right and build suspense. During the track’s airtime, we witness one of the most shocking events of the whole series: Cersei Lannister explodes the Sept of Baelor and murders all her political opponents, including many main characters, before crowning herself Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

Djwadi emphasises the emotional gravity of the event and the new reality our cast must face. Similarly, during the finale of the Battle of Winterfell in last week’s episode, the piano took centre stage in ‘The Night King’. The audience’s experience with the piano two seasons ago alerts us that a major event will take place: the Night King and his White Walker army are defeated for good. A new age dawns with the piano as its carrier.

Djwadi’s score is an integral part of the universe of ‘Game of Thrones’. Through music, he conveys the unspoken and the unseen elements of the show. The fantasy world becomes more vivid and believable.


LOVE/SICK – ‘Your trip to Tesco’s will never seem the same again’

“That sex was the most fun I’ve ever had without laughing.”  When seeing John Cariani’s one-act, nine-play cycle LOVE/SICK, think more of quick-witted lines such as this from Annie Hall rather than twee romcoms. Overflowing with life and energy, Matter of Act brings John Cariani’s play to life in an engaging, fun and memorable experience. Although often categorised as a writer of quirky romcoms, Cariani aptly describes LOVE/SICK as a “very funny tragedy”, dealing more with the problems of love than the ‘happily ever after.’

Set on a Friday night in “an alternate suburban reality” each idiosyncratic ten-minute play tells the story of a different couple at cross-roads in their relationship, these vignettes operating under the overarching themes of love and loss. Co-directors Olivia Marshall and Luke Dunne navigate the comedy, cliché, and melancholy of the sharply written script with skill and verve, highlighting the universal experiences of love, attraction and affection with unconventional delight.  

A strong four-person cast of Sabrina Brewer, Eddie Chapman, Noah Seltzer and Olivia Marshall form a cohesive ensemble, with each playing multiple endearing characters over the course of the nine stories. This combination proves highly effective due to the energy and seamless ability of each to shift across the wildly varying ages, sexualities and personalities of each of the characters that they portray. All have a keen sense of timing and exhilarating, sparky delivery.

From the fearless opening ‘IMPULSE DISORDER’ – set in a large Target supermarket –  it is clear that the wild, messy and complicated nature of love will run wild. Brewer and Marshall inject this scene with forceful excitement, high passion and a sense of intimate urgency. This is fitting for characters suffering from a rarely diagnosed impulse disorder, whose symptoms make them act impulsively: hence, this sizzling make-out scene between strongly attracted strangers in the supermarket. Forget simple eye contact and a shy smile – your trip to Tesco’s will never seem the same again!

These offbeat sketches include a man physically incapable of hearing the words “I love you” from his boyfriend – a phrase that “dazzles” his nervous system into submission. In ‘WHAT?!?’ Seltzer and Chapman heartwarmingly show the bravery needed in the midst of falling in love, and their coy displays and declarations of love are thoroughly charming.

Echoing Simone de Beauvoir’s 1968 novel The Woman Destroyed, ‘WHERE WAS I?’ poignantly examines the female condition, portraying a wife who searches her garage for the self she has lost since marriage and children consumed her existence. In ‘LUNCH AND DINNER’, a Freudian slip (“I had sex for lunch”) results in honest interrogation of intimacy issues for one married couple; in ‘UH-OH’ Marshall, displaying a huge emotional range exudes playful psychopathy – with enigmatic knowing glances and sarcastic tones – as she tries to find the shocking fun in the post-honeymoon period of her marriage.

Each of these stories offers a fast-moving and unique insight into the minefield of modern love, emotional vulnerability, intense attraction, the rules of dating, intimacy issues, breakups, parenthood and problematic marriages. Cariani litters the play with reminders of our 21st century idiosyncrasies.  A married couple tell each other “I’ll send you the link”; a morally conflicted ‘SINGING TELEGRAM’ man (Seltzer) ends a painful breakup by asking a hysterical now-former-girlfriend (Brewer) to “rate my performance”. Then, in an attempt to comfort her, he reminds her: “this is just temporary. Everything is”.

Matter of Act exploit these poignant moments of comedy and, despite the play’s more melancholic moments, the BT Studio was still full of laughter. Love is found and lost in supermarkets and suburban living rooms, but the banal settings are contrasted with the overload of emotion and passion which permeates even the most clinically bright supermarket aisle. LOVE/SICK is full of highs and lows – emotions and passions rise, soar, crash and repeat.

Between the stories, tracks such as Britney Spears’ ‘Oops I Did it Again’ and Talking Heads’ ‘Psycho Killer’ are wittily used as transitions to each new scenario. They tease out themes and gently mock the scene that has just finished, bringing a sense of conclusion to an otherwise abrupt end of scene.

Whether you’re going through an essay crisis, manically revising for Prelims or Finals, or just enjoying Oxford life unencumbered by Trinity Term’s exam season sting, LOVE/SICK provides a captivating, thought provoking and sardonically humorous exploration of complex, imperfect love – the passion and joy of finding it, the pain of losing it, and monotony once the excitement has waned. Yet still as a society we are obsessed with love: just look at the popularity of Oxlove!

In LOVE/SICK love is blind, it was love at first sight, love comes and disappears when you least expect it. Despite these clichéd ideas that all romantic comedies navigate, LOVE/SICK avoids being schmaltzy and is bittersweet rather than over-sweet. It is intelligent and insightful, tender and at times surreal, mocking ideas of conventional love involving passion, honesty and excitement.