Monday 13th April 2026
Blog Page 628

Metamorphosis, Money, and Moldovan ice cream

Cora MacGregor
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Metamorphosis, Money, and Moldovan ice cream

It’s probably unsurprising that while The Guardian hails Ian McEwan’s latest novella as a “comic triumph”, it is dismissed by The Telegraph as “an over-stretched dinner-party joke”.

Consisting of just under a hundred pages of embittered, Kafka-esque allegory, in which the Brexit mania of the current Tory leadership is transformed into the pheromonal impulses of a cabinet of metamorphosed insects, it is near impossible to read The Cockroach apolitically.

The satirical bite gluts itself on the current theatre of Westminster and Europe, but at times it seems at risk of being poisoned by its subject. The evident urgency to publish the novella while still relevant is reflected in an occasional clumsiness of style – it lacks the easy eloquence which normally characterises McEwan’s writing. It hasn’t escaped the risks of such swift composition (references to events of the past month suggest the editing process was severely truncated) and the suspicion is that McEwan’s personal resentment at times displaces his control over the prose. A propensity for paragraphs constructed almost exclusively of short, tautologous exclamatives gives it the flavour of an angry and sometimes tedious tirade.

Beyond superficial lapses in style, however, the satire is impeccably managed. Cleverly rendered, yet imprecise parallels ensure there is sufficient distance for the humour to be effective: Brexit is replaced by a bizarre economic policy, Reversalism, the implementation of which will mean money flows backwards; the character correspondent with Boris Johnson is more a metamorphic amalgamation of the past three Conservative leaders. No doubt any allegory closer to the reality of the situation would be too depressing to be comic. Its lack of ambition is also refreshing: this satire isn’t trying to direct or change anybody’s attitude towards Brexit; it’s simply a sympathetic expression of the fury and frustration shared by many in the country.

It is shrewdly observant of all elements of the situation: one of its funniest moments is the “fierce debate on Moldovan ice cream”, an example of the many highly pressing concerns which the EU is kept from by the insolubility of the British problem. As in Nutshell, McEwan balances the apparent absurdity of the fictional conceit with piercingly accurate and often hilarious cultural references and insights: from the manipulation of the Me Too movement to mockery of politicians’ post-truth rhetoric. The Cockroach is limited, but it’s fully aware of that fact.

If you’re going to read it, do so soon, although frankly, unless you share McEwan’s sentiments on the matter, you’re unlikely to enjoy it. McEwan is derisive, if not unsympathetic towards his supposed detractors and he leaves little room in the text for an alternative viewpoint. The Cockroach doesn’t offer the sort of commentary or insight that allows some satires to endure. However, it is comic relief in the darkest sense. McEwan seems to recognise the futility of his satirical weapon, but uses it nonetheless, not so much wounding Brexiteers, but taking a stab at populism and comforting Remainers, with a sense of solidarity and a pantomime of resistance. To appropriate a comment from Atonement, written of a political climate almost unrecognisable today, The Cockroach’s subject is “the failure to grasp the simple truth that other people are as real as you.”

The Unscheduled Life of a History Student

Sofia Henderson
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The Unscheduled Life of a History Student

I round the corner. The door is in sight. I make awkward eye contact with the person coming the other way down the path and it takes approximately three tries for me to get through the barrier with my Bod card. It’s another day in my life as a History student: I’m in the Rad Cam.

Taking yourself on a study date to the library every single day is a staple in the life of a historian at Oxford. In fact, it might be the only staple. I’m a second year and this term I have two contact hours. One lecture, one tute. And they’re on the same day. It may seem like a dream, but the lack of contact hours we get as History students can make our degrees more difficult.

I can lay in until 10:30 if I want to, but starting the day off with literally nothing to do except read for the same essay you’ll be doing every day for the entire week is both daunting and demoralising.

Oxford is always intense, and balanced with hours upon hours of time spent by yourself reading books at a limited revolving selection of study spaces, the term is over before you know it and all you can remember from it is all the time you spent staring at the same pages over and over, hoping the words would just enter your brain.

Having this little contact time takes a toll on your mental health. Many students are already anxiety-ridden; this makes being left entirely to your own devices for eight weeks particularly difficult. There’s a reason why History students are often found panic-writing their essay after having an entire week to do it, and it’s not because we’re lazy.

It becomes easier than ever to isolate yourself. Your non-historian friends are out for most of the day getting the most out of the £9,250 a year they spend on their degree. Your day isn’t neatly arranged; there’s nothing to fit your lunch or snack breaks around and there’s nobody to encourage you to keep reading a little longer.

I knew before I came to Oxford that I’d be doing an essay or maybe two a week, and that, as History is more of an independent degree, most of my time would be spent reading. Still, I thought I’d have things to go to. Nobody tells you that you’ll only get one hour of academic interaction a week.

Of course, the tutorial system is unparalleled. In Trinity, I was lucky enough to be given one and a half hour long tutes, one-to-one. It was amazing to be able to focus so much on my individual work and I got so much out of such a personalised and focused approach. History, though, is about discussion, and I missed out on interacting with my peers in an academic setting.

History at Oxford is great because of just how much choice there is available to you from the beginning. An individualised approach can be greatly beneficial, especially when studying for more in-depth ‘optional’ or ‘further’ subject papers. Still, there must be a way to balance this.

Perhaps the History Faculty is struggling, but there is no doubt that Oxford has enough money to be able to provide their students with more contact time. We do already help fund STEM. Only recently has studying world history become a course requirement, and undergraduates still have to study one British history paper in first year and another in second year.

In comparison to other top universities, the selection is dismal. Sometimes, even European history papers fail to venture further than France. I love History and becoming a historian is constantly rewarding and fulfilling. However, I can’t help thinking History as an undergraduate degree has become an afterthought.

It may be what Oxford historians have done for centuries, but I can’t help but feel I could be doing a lot more academically with my time than spending hours freezing in the Rad Cam.

Novelty Music is Real Music

Megan Whitlock
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Novelty Music is Real Music

To call the summer of 2018 memorable would probably be an understatement: there was the heatwave, the subsequent hours spent in beer gardens, and, perhaps most significantly, the World Cup. For a couple of weeks, to venture out and not hear some rendition of ‘Three Lions’ was a rarity. The whole country appeared to have briefly suspended all anxieties about Brexit and climate change to group together and sing “football’s coming home.” It didn’t matter about your background (or even if you cared about football that much…), if ‘Three Lions’ cropped up on a night out, chances were that you were singing along. So, what is it about unconventional ‘novelty’ music that creates such a community spirit?

For chart-targeted music to be successful, it must resonate with a mass audience. It must be both palatable and marketable to consumers without losing any of its illusions of ‘raw’ and ‘real’ authenticity. The pressure to create a catchy song that encompasses all these qualities is exacerbated further by the motivations of the music industry. It may be cynical, but there is an undeniable expectation that big artists signed by big labels must make big money. The result is that much chart music runs the risk of losing its originality in its quest to follow the money-making formula. A generic love song is more likely to appeal to a wider audience than a song, for example, about being a “working man from Lancashire” and wanting a chippy tea.

The latter is, of course, the focus of popular Lancashire band The Lancashire Hotpots’ leading hit, ‘Chippy Tea.’ Sing the lyrics to anyone in Oxford and be braced to receive a few blank stares, yet in the Northern county the song graces festivals and football matches alike. So, what do ‘Three Lions’ and ‘Chippy Tea’ have in common? My guess would be less people’s predisposition to write these songs off as ‘novelty’ music, and more to do with the way they make us feel when we sing them.

The initial reaction when people discuss ‘novelty’ music is often, as Dickie from the Hotpots explained when I got in touch about this topic, to think of the negative connotations – “mention novelty music and you can already see people curling their noses.” There is an assumption that it is inherently less serious than chart songs and valued less than music we more commonly associate with ‘art.’ Yet, by definition, ‘novelty’ is not restricted to comedic connotations. Specifically, it is defined as something ‘new, original and unusual,’ all qualities that are perceived as valuable by wider society. If the music is new, original and unusual, then it also must be affecting listeners in new, original and unusual ways. There are hundreds upon thousands of famous love songs in the world, but only one that proudly describes the definition of a Lancashire ‘barmcake’; the Hotpots’ creation is both unique and clearly targeted at a more specific audience. Consequently, the effect of such local novelty music replicates the summer 2018 feeling of singing along to ‘Three Lions’ with a bunch of strangers in a pub (albeit on a much smaller scale). It creates a respite from generic chart hits and an original sense of identity for those who resonate with the song, allowing these people who understand to unite together, have a laugh and sing along.

The Lancashire Hotpots can be described as more of a folk band than anything, “documenting the lives and stories of people in a specific locale”. Though their songs have a comedic undertone to them, they are cleverly pieced together in such a way that provides those in-the-know with a specific local identity. It is this local identity and that songs trying to reach a wider consumer market just cannot manage to give. However, in times where people are experiencing increasing anxiety about the state of the world and political divisions threaten to isolate us, simple things such as having a communal identity to relate to and the ability to have a laugh have become increasingly important. We are a nation of storytellers, and telling the stories of real people in real places in a way people can understand – similar, as Dickie pointed out, to grime artists telling stories about life in the inner cities – is infinitely valuable in developing our personal culture and uniting our communities.

Whilst nobody is ever going to argue that the likes of ‘Three Lions’ and ‘Chippy Tea’ are in the same class as the masterpieces of Mozart or ballads of Beyoncé, this certainly isn’t because they are less valuable. Instead, they are incomparable; their value comes from them serving an entirely different purpose and, if the summer of 2018 is anything to go by, serving that purpose well. As for Lancashire lads and lasses, local bands such as The Lancashire Hotpots represent a piece of home and lift your spirits no matter where you are listening from. It may be sentimental, but nothing can quite top that.

Boyfriend vs. Genghis Khan

William McCathie
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Boyfriend vs. Genghis Khan

Back in February of this year, Ariana Grande seemed on top of the world, or at least the music industry. With the release of an album carrying two back-to-back Billboard number one singles that were followed by another that reached number two, it seemed as if no other star in the music industry could possibly shine brighter. A critical as well as commercial success, Thank U, Next managed to significantly evolve her musical style towards more hip-hop influenced production, all less than a year after the release of Sweetener. And yet Grande hasn’t been able to touch those heights since. The two singles after the album, both collaborations, went nowhere, the third, ‘boyfriend’, barely cracked the Billboard Hot 100, and the mess that was ‘Don’t Call Me Angel’ was rightly panned and shunned from the top 10. For an artist who seemed so utterly dominant, these have been very poor commercial responses.

So, what happened? The answer, I think, can best be seen in her most successful post-Thank U, Next song, ‘boyfriend’.  Listening to the song I was immediately reminded of another song, not of Grande’s but of the trio Miike Snow, more specifically their 2015 single ‘Genghis Khan’. Like ‘boyfriend’, the song deals with a speaker whose jealousy makes them want to stop a lover from seeing other people, despite their relationship still being non-committal. I will admit that perhaps my love of ‘Genghis Khan’ has led me to draw a link where others would see only wisps, but I still think we can learn a great deal about the underperformance of ‘boyfriend’ by comparison of which song does what better, if only as part of a transparent exercise to get you to add ‘Genghis Khan’ to your music library.

Certainly, on the visual style of things, ‘Genghis Khan’ has ‘boyfriend’ beat. That’s not to say ‘boyfriend’ has poor quality in its music video and cover art – in fact, the over-the-top ‘imagination’ sequences to show off the jealousy of both partners is quite entertaining and original, but it is all pulled off in the same old Hannah Lux Davis-style tongue-in-cheek shiny and somewhat silly production. It’s the same colour palette we were treated to with Thank U, Next’s videos, the same abundance of slow motion, the whole thing ends up appearing quickly prepared, and treats us to only a single location for the whole video that serves little purpose other than looking mildly interesting. Grande’ style evolved into Thank U, Next, but now appears to stagnate. Genghis Khan, on the other hand, gives us a brilliant homage to classic bond films, complete with massive laser, armies of henchmen and an extremely well-matched visual aesthetic. The video is so good, in fact, I would urge you to watch it purely on its own merits, even if you are not sold on the song.

The modern music industry may be dominated by visual style, but it certainly isn’t everything – and on the topic of the music itself ‘Genghis Khan’ has a few more things to offer as exemplary practices. In terms of vocal skill, Wyatt is nowhere near Grande, which becomes painfully obvious when watching any of Miike Snow’s live performances. Despite this, he manages to inject significant energy and feeling into ‘Genghis Khan’, which are two elements sadly lacking from ‘boyfriend’. Grande sounds a little too comfortable, a little too bored, and Social House add very little from their feature. Defenders of ‘boyfriend’ may have some recourse in the lyrical domain, however. Whilst the line “I get a little bit Genghis Khan” may be interesting and catching, the metaphor is tenuous at best and downright confusing at worst, and I must admit seems a little like shoehorning in order to give the song a more memorable hook line and title. Grande’s song may be repetitive, but uses its lyrics well to fit in with the mood and vibe of the song, and conjures up some fairly decent imagery at times. It may be a little vague to enable listeners to easily slot themselves into the narrative of the song, but such an accusation can easily be levelled at both songs as much as each other. On the production side of things, the drums roll ‘Genghis Khan’ forward with infectious energy, and though the tuned elements may be limited to a piano and bass, the whole production fits together rather excellently. ‘boyfriend’ seems to more subscribe to a modern trend of ‘chill’ music, but admittedly does this rather well. The production elements are altogether not a departure from Thank U, Next in any way, but are nicely refined and provide for a satisfying experience, especially in the chorus.

I think it inevitable that Grande will return to the top 10 of the Billboard charts. She may not have had her usual level of success from her post-Thank U, Next singles, but the album is not even a year old, and she remains an enormous presence in the industry, backed up by extremely competent producers and writers. So, whilst her most recent efforts may not have been par with her best work, at least you can enjoy the top-notch production of ‘Genghis Khan’, which may be four years old, but likely new to many. After all, it may have one to two exemplary elements to be learnt from.

Philip Glass Ensemble – satisfying constancy

Clare Tierney and Ben Beese
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Philip Glass Ensemble – satisfying constancy

Clare:

On the 30th October, Philip Glass and the Philip Glass Ensemble performed Music with Changing Parts. Due to illness, Glass himself was unable to perform. Instead Ensemble member, conductor and director Michael Riesman took the helm. Never having heard Philip Glass other than via Spotify, I am not able to comment on any negative impact his absence may have had. Reassuringly however, Music with Changing Parts – one of Glass’ earliest works which premiered in 1970 – had all the trademarks of his music. I consider myself incredibly privileged to have been there – and all the more so because I had tried to get tickets at the general release and not succeeded. (Oh, those sweet, sweet press seats.)

Music with Changing Parts underwent a rejuvenating makeover in 2018 with the addition of brass and voices. The voices on this occasion were those of the Tiffin Chorus whose buoyant youth kept up with 90 minutes of tireless keyboard (five keyboards to be precise). Their cyclical melodies, syncopated among themselves, were subject to minor changes throughout the course of each movement. I found myself swaddled, encircled, in the mesmeric repetition of harpsichord and organ-esque keyboard, multi-layered sound enriched further by the haunting flute, resounding bass of the trombone and the occasional staccato, almost kazoo-like, of the trumpet and saxophone.

The choir, so seamlessly a part of the whole, despite being such a recent addition to the 49-year-old work, embellished the contributions of all sections at different points during the performance. For several bars at a time, the harmonies would meld with the spritely flute, before switching to reinforce the Baroque-influenced keyboard parts.

Conductor Valérie Sainte-Agathe was dressed as if for a Halloween ball in ruffles of black, floor-length gauze and as my ears were enraptured, so were my eyes by her intricate gesticulations that successfully kept the polyphonic chaos in an oxymoronic state of calm. Sensorially immersive, with barely a moment for audience members and musicians alike to pause for breathe, the Barbican became a perfectly contained microcosm for the duration of the performance. I felt my brain adjust to the consistencies in the keyboard so well that I was able block them out in order to tune in to the eponymous ‘changes’ that led the work’s evolution over that hour and a half.

Structurally and rhythmically challenge, Glass’ music did not fail to enchant and surprise; the climax at the end of Music with Changing Parts just as deliciously refreshing as the opening bars.

This 2018 re-rendering is, in Glass’ eyes, “a richer version of the music and a more satisfying completion of the original idea”. The engulfing polyphony of voices, woodwind, keys and brass was, indeed, richly satisfying to experience live.

Ben:

On Wednesday, 30 October, Philip Glass’s Music with Changing Parts returned to the UK for the first time in 48 years. London’s Barbican Hall hosted the Philip Glass ensemble and the Tiffin School Choirs to perform this new rendition of Glass’s 1970 piece. The hall was packed for the transcendental 90 minute performance which even Glass once judged “a little too spacey for my tastes.” Due to sudden illness, Glass himself was not present, replaced by Michael Riesman, director of the Phillip Glass Ensemble.

Music with Changing Parts is largely seen as a transitional piece for Glass. It was first performed in New York in November 1970 on the heels of his 1969 pieces Music in Similar Motion, Music in Fifths, and Music in Contrary Motion. While rehearsing Music in Similar Motion, Glass discovered long overtones that seemed to stem naturally from the performance. He explored this more intentionally with Music in Changing Parts by creating extended drones in the wind, brass, and choral parts. Changing Parts prompted Glass to write even more extended pieces, including operas such as his famous 1975 opera Einstein on the Beach.

Music in Changing Parts was performed across the United States and Europe in the 70’s and 80’s, including a performance attended by David Bowie and Brian Eno which later led to a series of Bowie-Glass collaborations. In the proceeding decades, the Philip Glass Ensemble focused their performances on his other works until recently when Glass heard several younger ensembles revisit Music with Changing Parts. “I was so impressed,” he says, “that I went back to the work myself.”

The revised work, with enlarged brass and vocal ensembles, premiered in 2018 at Carnegie Hall in New York and David Hall in San Francisco. Last week’s Barbican performance was attended by a full house. The piece itself, as with much of Glass’s work, defies normal concert expectations. The uninterrupted hour and a half performance starts with a steady pulse echoed and elaborated across the several keyboards. Gradually the other parts fade in: a saxophone gently wails, a flute blends in. With Glass, texture, not melody, is the key. The ensemble performs more like a single, multi-faceted instrument rather than a coordinated body of musicians. Each part is nearly inseparable from the woven whole. Periodically, cued by the raised hands of conductor Valérie Saint-Agathe, the ensemble would suddenly drop away from the constant keyboarders’ rhythm and a new texture would develop again.

The titular changes were not always so clear. Contrary to the piece’s title, the overwhelming sense of Changing Parts was its constancy which veiled a slow, imperceptible development. It took nearly an hour to notice the gradually increasing pace of the underlying beat. Parts flowed into each other river-like so that the harmony was continuously, yet passively, engaging. The exception to this rule was the occasional shout of either the children’s choir or the brass. These outburst seemed to serve as mile markers against the stream of decadent consonance that was the rest of the piece. Changing Parts is unusually improvisational for Glass but the musicians are specifically discouraged from ‘soloing’ improvised melodies.

At its core, Changing Parts is natural. One could describe the piece in the words of French writer Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr: plus ça change, plus c’est le même chose. Changes, whether we see them happen or only notice in hindsight, are the one constant in life. Glass’s piece reflects this succinctly.

Review: Stranger, Baby

Verity Stuart
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Review: Stranger, Baby

‘I wanted to put my body into these words’ 

Emily Berry’s 2017 Stranger, Baby, is one of the most adored contemporary poetry collections to emerge in recent years. There is thus something quite remarkable in Maya Little’s restaging of the collection as a play, a devoted love letter to Emily Berry’s meditations on loss, mourning, and the sea. 

Stranger, Baby, opens with the line ‘I stood at the dangerous shore’, and it is from the very first word that Little’s adaptation complicates the original text. Three actors stand on stage, another yet to enter. Exactly who represents this poetic ‘I’, is dissected throughout the adaptation, questioning how we stage the poet’s voice alongside alternate influences. In Berry’s poetry, these influences include her mother, Sigmund Freud, as well as disparate versions of the self, but no actor clearly represents one singular voice. What was one voice becomes four, with the language of the collection brutally dislocated and lines being torn away from actors who rarely get to finish words without interruption. 

While the acting and use of lighting are impressive throughout the show, it is sometimes the use of objects on stage that cannily articulates Berry’s collection most movingly. The mirror, for example, is one of the craftiest props of the show. Even though the poetic voice has already been strained through the presence of four actors on stage, we see each character doubled through the mirror. Not only that but the audience can see their own reflections staring back at them as if they are included in this image of the self. After months of rehearsal, the mirror is blemished with fingerprints, highlighted by harsh stage lights, but it serves a metaphorical purpose, too: ‘Never look at yourself in the mirror when you’re crying / I did not follow her advice.’ We can see how many times the poetic voice has failed her mother’s instruction. What we see in the mirror is the reflection of how many impossible selves it takes to grieve. 

Another notable object onstage is the wooden boat. The text of Stranger, Baby is distinguished for its continual references to water, with Berry’s poems drenched with tears and brimmed with memories of mermaids, tidal-waves, and rivers. One of the most affecting moments of the performance is when Abigail Casson, potentially the stand-out member of an admirable ensemble, is doused with a cup of water, but while the characters repeatedly speak of the sea, we see such a small presence of water on stage. A boat without water figures as a coffin and a bed, but never really as a boat. Little finds new ways of reading absence and presence into Stranger, Baby, and such clever staging is striking.

For audience members who are unfamiliar with the poetry collection, the play potentially dangers on being too abstract, too conceptual, too niche. Yet for someone who has read Stranger, Baby, or someone who has been touched by the story of grief, this adaptation is a poignant revision of a modern classic. It might even encourage an audience unfamiliar with Berry to pick up her work. The text is no less rich and eerie when performed on stage, as the dramatic adaptation of Stranger, Baby is a veneration of the gorgeous polyphony of Berry’s poetics, and a most heartfelt invitation to pick up more poetry. 

Review: Spring Awakening

Chloe Jacobs
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Review: Spring Awakening

Having had the chance to see the dress rehearsal of Spring Awakening at the Oxford Playhouse ahead of the crowds I’m sure will be descending to see this ambitious, moving, and pitch-perfect production. 

I was immediately struck by the set design. Emily Stevenhagen’s garish neon stained-glass window was a constant in the flexible space, immediately and concisely introducing the conflicts between organised religion, civilised society, and rebellious youth about to unfold. The moving staircases and thin metal balcony also worked very well and all the complex set transitions were handled excellently by the ensemble. I only wish that the set’s least creative moments, when two white walls connected to simulate Wendla’s living room, had been given the same thought as their most innovative and affecting, when orderly lines of ensemble in school uniform march across the stage and drop bouquets of flowers to simulate a graveyard. 

As the cast entered in boxer shorts and silk slips, they stand in pairs and dress each other, a touching and subtle show of the intimacy that will be denied them throughout the musical. The initial dialogue was a little rushed and garbled, but the cast soon settled into the show and the stage, which made it clear it was likely just dress-rehearsal nerves. From the first song, I was sold. The acting was strong, but the musical talent of this cast is worth attending for on its own. 

Hannah Andrusier’s, delicate voice as Wendla was a delight to listen to, perfectly evoking the innocence of her character, though occasionally its subtleties were disappointingly no match for the volume of the orchestra behind her. Melchior, played by Henry Waddon, was full of roguish, rebellious energy and easy charm. The chemistry of these two actors was undeniably one of the most compelling parts of this production, and they slowly unfolded their love affair with all of the tenderness and electricity of repressed teenagers. It was only occasionally that this beautiful give-and-take slipped, with one seemingly forgetting to react to a passionate kiss because of the pressure of remembering a choreographed pull-away, but this was only disappointing because of the earnest tenderness of what had come before. I commend these actors and their director, Issy Paul, for building this genuine, growing intimacy into the centre of the musical. It made all the difference.

Special note must be taken of Gavin Fleming and Ella Tournes who played, with incredible fluidity, every adult figure in the musical. The sheer number of costume changes alone must have been a task, but almost every adult represented on stage was a distinctive presence with a clearly defined voice. I only wish some of their characters, like Wendla’s mother whose disapproval is so key to the plot, had been a little less frantic and more three-dimensional. They were particularly enjoyable as the schoolmaster and mistress, though, and the voices they adopted for these characters were utterly perfect. Joe Winter as Moritz also deserves recognition for capturing the awkward charm of Melchior’s struggling best friend, and Martha’s duet with Ilse, performed by Ruby Nicholson and Maddy Page, was beautifully sung and very moving. Some characters, however, like Ernst (Tom Foster) and Hanschen (Emilio Campa) were well acted but fleeting and limited in depth, leaving the audience with the distinct sense that they had missed something.

The music was frequently the star of the show, occasionally to the detriment of the singers who provided less volume or enunciation, and occasionally highlighting that the musicality was more fully realised than the drama. If I did not know the plot already, I may have struggled to keep up with some of the more exposition-heavy songs and plot beats overwhelmed by music. Having the orchestra constantly visible to the audience and even occasionally brought out onto the stage made the production dynamic and undeniably musical, though. The lively group numbers particularly punctuated the divide between the characters’ orderly public personas and their internal desires and frustrations expressed through song. 

This is not a perfect production, but it is a great one. Every aspect is ambitious, from the lighting, to the staging, to the musical arrangements and the emotional performances. The cast and crew have clearly pushed themselves to the creative limit and it has certainly paid off – this production is vibrant, exciting, a bit messy and unfinished (as adolescence tends to be), and very touching. I highly recommend you see it while you have the chance. 

Review: Things I Know to be True

Francesca Butt
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Review: Things I Know to be True

Andrew Bovell’s play concerning the vicissitudes of quitting a conventional home for the outside world leaves both its characters and audience with a shaky view of home-life. One thing’s for sure: watching Things I Know to be True at the Michael Pilch Studio is one and a half hours well-spent.  

A telephone upon a side-table and two plastic troughs filled with fake flowers provide the opening scene for a play feared to be another cosy, domestic set-up writ large on stage. However, despite the naturalistic, homeliness of arguments over new-fangled coffee machines conducted at a table laid with biscuits and hot beverages, this play, paradoxically, captures the impermanence of a stable conception of home. 

Bob and Fran’s family-of-six is introduced as a close-knit, if squabbling, community gathered for the early return of their youngest from Europe. However, the wooden chair, placed roughly centre-stage, becomes a place of monologic revelation for the four children: Rosie, Pip, Mark/Mia, and Ben; from my seat left-of-stage I watched as familiar moments of family-life, such as the coveting of the youngest, or the taunting of a young girl’s vanity, were rendered sinister in light of individual confessions. 

The consistency of Harry Berry’s characterisation of Bob was genius. His stuttering, gaping jaw, unexplained stage-exits, outbursts, and awkward embraces conveyed shock and dread, just as well as they gave the impression of a retired father struggling with modern existence in some of the most humorous moments of the play. I didn’t believe Bob could look any more devastated by the disintegration of his black-and-white picture of life, until his face was firmly pressed into the freshly-strewn soil of his upturned roses mid-stage.

Indeed, all characters adopted mannerisms and tics which impressed: William Ridd Foxton perfectly captured the jittery toe-tapping of telling one’s parents what you think they never want to hear in the character of Mark. Bailey Finchie’s striding across stage as Ben with freshly washed shirts in tow and the assertion that he ‘Must go, really can’t stay’, only to be tempted by the prospect of lasagne in tupperware, was a stand-out, comic moment. Elise Busset’s portrayal of falling in and out of love as Rosie, the whimsical teen, was faultless, if slightly marred by the use of physical theatre in a lift to represent her swooning. Finally, Imogen Honey Strachen as Pip sung delightfully and produced, what I felt to be, the most modern and uncontrived character of the piece. 

Maya Jasinska had a hard role to master as Fran, the formidable mother of the clan. Just as Ibsen struggled to invoke empathy for the wayward mother of Nora in A Doll’s House because of her lack of affection for her children, Fran’s overwhelming bitterness detracted somewhat from the true relatability of her story as a model mother who feels tired and trapped by expectation. Yet, her abrupt attacks in response to her children’s confidences seemed more a matter of scripting, rather than an acting choice. However, I would have liked to have seen more evidence of tenderness, in smiling moments spent with Rosie, filter into her relationship with other characters, to justify the fond response of her children at the end. Nevertheless, this was a moving performance by an actress capable of shedding true tears on stage, as was remarked by another audience member. 

Tears were also shed in the audience as the cast donned black for the funereal conclusion. This close-quarters experience of a treasured-home turned suffocating-chamber is well worth a watch this week!

Keble reverses ball accommodation decision following student pressure

Jeevan Ravindran
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Keble reverses ball accommodation decision following student pressure

 Keble College has reversed its decision to refuse students onsite accommodation during the commemoration ball on June 27, 2020. The move comes after students put substantial pressure on the organisational committee to secure rooms in college, citing access and welfare concerns which would particularly affect low-income students.

In an email to college members, ball executive Sam Edwards said 200 rooms would be initially made available on November 7, but that this was “the maximum number which can be confirmed at this stage,” as the college is yet to finalise academic requirements for students staying on for work in 9th week. 

Third-year student Hannah Al-Qaryooti, who was instrumental in proposing the motion and highlighting the accessibility concerns involved, said, “I am extremely happy that Keble have reversed their decision. It shows that they have listened to student concerns about accessibility.” 

Initial concerns revolved around the cost of rooms outside college, the cheapest of which was priced at £50 – thus making it difficult for low-income students to attend. As the majority of the accommodation was located at Oxford Brookes, students also expressed worry that drunk students might be forced to walk to the site alone in a vulnerable state. 

Rooms in college were originally priced at £43, but the ball committee has decided to subsidise the cost, reducing the price to £33. They will be allocated on a first-come-first-serve basis, although full bursary students will have their rooms automatically reserved.

The college has also committed to offering heavily subsidised tickets to Moritz-Heyman scholars, meaning that they will be able to attend the ball at a cost of £50, which Al-Qaryooti lauded as an “extraordinary commitment to accessibility from Keble and should be followed by other ball committees.”

Social Backgrounds Rep Adam Ferguson told Cherwell: “It is very encouraging to see that Keble is both aware of, and open to our suggestions as to how best support low-income students. Given a short amount of time and a tight schedule, the college acted remarkably quickly and have introduced an element of accessibility to the ball which will hopefully remain indefinitely into the future.”

Despite the success of student action, Al-Qaryooti expressed she was “disappointed that it took such pressure from the student body to actually make accessibility provisions and that such concerns from the student part of the committee were ignored when these decisions were initially made.” 

She added that future balls outside term time should include an access officer, due to fears that “with such a quick turnover of students, it can be quite difficult to create long-lasting change, as when students leave, the accountability does so with them and instead we go back to square one with the new cohort.”

The organisational committee is split into a student section and a college working party, the latter of which was initially responsible for the decision to refuse onsite accommodation to students “for various logistical and safety reasons,” according to Edwin Peel, the chair of the working party. 

24 hours of rowing at University College Boat Club in aid of Mind

Alice Evans
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24 hours of rowing at University College Boat Club in aid of Mind

Rowers from University College Boat Club will be rowing continuously for 24 hours to raise money for Oxfordshire Mind at the college on 16-17 November.

The rowers will power two rowing machines overnight to raise money for the charity, and part of the rowing marathon will take place on the college quad and will be open to the public.

Supporters will be able to cheer the club on in the quad from 11am- 5pm on the 16th and 9am-11am on November 17. The overnight section will be held in the college gym.

Kathryn Pickup from Oxfordshire Mind said: “We know that physical activity can make significant improvements to people’s mental health, so it’s great that the UCBC have chosen to raise awareness of this, as well as making mental wellbeing a priority for their own club. At Oxfordshire Mind, we firmly believe that everyone who experiences mental health difficulties should have somewhere to turn to for advice and support. By supporting us in this way, UCBC will ensure that we can continue to make that happen.”

The club chose to support Ox- fordshire Mind because it runs local workshops and provides support for those suffering with mental health conditions which are especially prevalent in young people. The event is also supporting the Rowing Together for Healthy Minds initiative, which was set up in specifically to raise awareness about mental health in the rowing community. Aiming to raise £2,000 forthe charity, the college has set up a JustGiving page.

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