Blog Page 902

How to be the edgiest dresser at Cellar

Samuel Juniper
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How to be the edgiest dresser at Cellar

Fashion. It’s a funny thing.

Remember topknots? I used to have one of those. But that was way back in 2015, a much simpler (better) time. These days, new trends are starting off left, right, and centre – it’s borderline impossible to keep up with them all.

One hotbed of fashion is none other than Oxford’s very own Cellar. Do you want to be edgy? Do you want to feel like you’re cool? Do you want to conform to society’s overwhelming consumerist pressures by shelling out exorbitant quantities of cash on a brand-new wardrobe to impress your friends, and far more importantly, strangers?

Well, look no further. I present to you a comprehensive guide of the coolest styles you’ll find in Cellar.

1. ’The Ralph Lauren Roadman’

Trackies, black top, Ralph Lauren polo hat (tragically, we didn’t have one). You got your keys fam?

Model: Teresa Rendell

What better way to hide your privileged start in life than to dress like you’re from an estate which didn’t have a butler, several acres of forests/field, or multiple ponies? Show me a better to way to divert attention from the fact you’re using daddy’s credit card than pretend you didn’t even have one growing up. I mean, how else are you going to fit in at an elite university – beset on all sides by people from wealthy, influential families – if you don’t ruthlessly appropriate working-class culture?

It’s not easy being a Ralph Lauren Roadman – you could be mistaken for a poor person at any time. A true RLR knows all the words to four, precisely four, grime songs: Shut Down, That’s Not Me, Shut Up, and Feed ‘Em To the Lions.

Remember, just because you’re dressing like a plebeian, that doesn’t mean you should be living like one. Why on earth would anyone bother leaving their ends if their hat didn’t boast a fashionable brand’s logo?

(Sidenote: Purists would argue that this outfit is never complete until it’s stained with jagerbombs and/or nondescript white powder.)

2. ’The Lumberjack’

Dungarees, checked shirt, and boots fit for a day of hiking. An axe wouldn’t hurt, too.

Model: Sam Juniper

Are they master woodcutters, ensuring we’ll have firewood aplenty to last this bitter, freezing winter? Or are they just city dwellers kitted out in dungarees and corduroy thinking they look edgy? Yet more of life’s unanswerable questions. No one knows for certain.

This lot are a hardy, friendly people (Once you ignore their infuriating habit of shouting ‘TIIIIIIMBER!’ anytime the bass drops).And, if you’re lucky enough to be heading home with one of them at the end of the night, you can be sure to wake up to a cooked breakfast and a fresh pot of black coffee. Meanwhile, your paramour will gaze out of the window, whistling softly before muttering “It’s yet another beautiful day in the wilderness”.

3. ‘Balliol Indie’

Doc martens? Check. Trousers that aren’t made of denim? Check. A Tumblr account with >10,000 followers? Double check.

They’re not your normal, run-of-the-mill individual. They’re different. They’re alternative. They’re Balliol Indie. It’s a thing.

I believe there comes a point in every impressionable young adult’s life where they realise it’s just not worth putting up with excruciating discomfort in the name of fashion. Somehow, Balliol Indies have no such realisation. I envy them, they’re too Indie even fro nature. Imagine that. How do mere mortals wear such thick (likely homemade) jumpers inside Cellar, the world’s messiest sauna? Are their jumpers magic – does vintage shopping grant special powers in exchange for making you ever so slightly insufferable?

For some reason, this particular breed of Cellarite appears in far greater numbers for Burning Down the House, in an ultimately doomed attempt to fool themselves into thinking they live in another era. Tragic.

4. ‘The Slogan Crew’

A top with a few meaningless words scribbled on the front. ‘Stussy’? ‘Patagonia’? ‘Independent Since 1920’? It all means nothing to normies like me.

Woah, these guys aren’t fucking around. You’re telling me they’re wearing otherwise plain item of clothing with some big important words written on them? AND these words have no contextual meaning? Now that’s cool.

But it’s got to mean something. Why else would they be so keen to show off this word or phrase? Just take the guy on the left in the picture – am I meant to “CHILL”? Are they “CHILL”? What does it mean? I just find it all so confusing. Then again, we all know there’s nothing edgier than blagging about the deeper connotations of your outfit; these lot certainly have a head-start there.

5. ‘The Glitterball’

Shiny top. Warm, puffy coat. Most importantly, glitter. And lots of it.

 

Glitter is awfully popular these days – Christ, it’s the new nose ring, the new vintage Adidas/Nike jacket, the new posting people’s initials on Oxlove instead of their full name, (as if that makes using a public Facebook page to perv on somebody any less creepy).

Glitterballs either go horrifically overboard or put everyone else to shame – I guess it depends on your perspective. Popular (read: basic) patterns include streaks of glitter across one’s cheeks or one curving up around each eye. More hardcore (read: awesome) styles include literally crying glitter (see left), a glitterbeard (see right), or giving zero fucks and getting tons of it in your hair. Expect their outfit to be adorned with shimmering sequins, shiny fabrics and trendy gemstones, or alternatively with relaxed, pastel colours, emphasising the glitter.

However, don’t be lured too close by their pavonine nature. Kissing one of these sparkling creatures would be a grave error indeed. I recently had an abysmal one-night stand made worse – this is after she had deemed the experience “disappointing” – by the vast deposit of glitter left behind on my bedding. Every morning since I’ve woken up looking far more sparkly than I feel inside. My life is a mess.

6. The ‘Did I Tell You I’m Vegan?’

Flamboyant patterns, wavey trousers, charity t-shirts, plant based diet, old fleeces, and – what? Again, a plant based diet! Didn’t I tell you I’m vegan?

I’m sure they’ll receive their Scott Pilgrim vs The World vegan superpowers any day now. Just you wait. Easily spotted by the jewellery they bought as a memento during their gap year (Gap Yah) in Nepal and/or Peru, they don’t eat animal products: this means they’re relatively harmless to approach in their natural habitat – Cellar.

There’s a reasonably high chance that veganism could come up in conversation, so it’d be handy to come equipped with a few talking points. For example, Sainsbury’s basics gin is vegan, oreos are accidentally vegan, there’s that stall at Gloucester Green which does nice looking vegan food (The one you’ve always been meaning to try but haven’t gotten around to yet), and how it’s ironic that despite the impressive moral stand taken by those who never consume animal products, it’s a shame that a subsection of these people won’t apply the same principles to the cocaine industry, which is responsible for thousands of human deaths in South America. Perhaps they’ve got a way of ethically sourcing it? It must be sustainable. I don’t know. They are excellent at ethically sourcing things though, I’ll give them that. Credit where credit is due.

This Old Dog review – ‘Convincing signs of newfound maturity’

Ollie Webb
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This Old Dog review – ‘Convincing signs of newfound maturity’

May 2017 – the month in which Prince Philip announced he was going to retire from royal duties, the dreaded exam season was once again underway, and more importantly, Mac DeMarco gifted us with the release of his long-awaited album This Old Dog, which I now consider one of the best albums of 2017.

With the music scene cluttered with more and more redefinitions of artists’ musical styles, a radical shake-up of his winning soft rock formula would prove unfruitful for DeMarco; in other words, he has mastered his style, and his fans love it.

A common theme that runs through the album is growing up and old age. Debatably his most popular track to date, ‘Salad Days’, scratches the surface of this (“As I’m getting older, chip up on my shoulder / Rolling through life, to roll over and die”), but in this latest record, it seems as if these ideas have consumed him. The first two teaser tracks from the new album were the title track ‘This Old Dog’ and ‘My Old Man’, both of which are much more introspective than usual, so fans could gauge that this record would feature a side of DeMarco that has not yet been explored before at this depth.

‘On the Level’, although often dubbed as the sister track to ‘Chamber of Reflection’ due to the unsteady, synth-heavy plodding they share, delves deeper into his personal life. While ‘Chamber of Reflection’ is centred on seclusion, ‘On the Level’ places his own life under scrutiny, as he is echoing his absent father’s words (“Make an old man proud of you”, “Who’s there left to blame?”). This is starkly contrasted by ‘One Another’ which conveys a light-hearted ‘everybody makes mistakes’ message accompanied by tuneful, syncopated guitar licks.

The penultimate track on the album, ‘Moonlight on the River’, is possibly the most obscure, as perfectly blended, plush chords slowly transform into an abrasive, curdling echo chamber of sounds from effect pedals. While this would be a poignant ending to the album, DeMarco’s most affecting, sincere song to date, ‘Watching Him Fade Away’ serves as the conclusion. The tenderness of the song juxtaposes the rockiness of his relationship with his father, as he lets go of something he never truly had in the first place.

The album tackles heartfelt issues, therefore listeners expecting feel-good tracks like ‘Freaking Out the Neighbourhood’ may be left feeling unfulfilled. However, having seen him in London recently light his nipple hair on fire on stage, it is evident that DeMarco is nowhere near to letting the jocular side of him go, despite his music showing convincing signs of newfound maturity.

The Jungle review- ‘an incredible, heart-wrenching story’

Lucy Miles
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The Jungle review- ‘an incredible, heart-wrenching story’

It is not very often that a play warms your heart and stabs you in the chest in equal measure. The Jungle is a cacophony of human emotion – blistering in its truth and depth. A story that yearns to be heard.

From the moment you walk in, there is a feeling of community: “United people of the Jungle.” More so than any play I have ever been to, the audience are chatting. I was offered a jelly sweet by a stranger sat next to me and, later, a chocolate truffle by another in front. Yet, from the outset, the divisions are there for all to see – on each ticket is a country referring to the seating area allocated. Above them are the flags of the nations represented in the Jungle: Afghanistan, Kurdistan, Egypt, Eritrea, Syria, Iran, Iraq, Palestine and – rather incongruously – Arsenal: a flag that all nations can support.

The Jungle tells the story of the refugee camp in Calais by the same name, through the eyes of twelve refugees from Kurdistan, Iran, Syria, Afghanistan, Ethiopia and Eritrea; five well-meaning but hapless British volunteers and a hated French official. The cast includes three refugees who spent time in the Jungle themselves: Mohamed Sarrar, Bruk Kumelay and Moein Ghobsheh, which lends an authenticity to the project as a whole. We are lead through the realities of the camp by Safi, expertly played by Ammar Haj Ahmad, a Syrian refugee who has a degree in English literature and languages from Aleppo.

We understand the desperation of youth through joker Norullah (Mohammad Amiri), a 15-year old Afghan who becomes like a son to Salar (Ben Turner) the tirelessly stubborn owner of the restaurant in which we sit. Whilst the play feels in some ways like a celebration of the community that was established despite all odds, it constantly reminds us that its building was never intentional, they wanted to create a home across the channel – “We eat for UK, sleep for UK, shit for UK.”

The writers, Joe Robertson and Joe Murphy, who graduated from Oxford in 2011, spent seven months in the camp creating the Good Chance Theatre. Throughout the play they subtly invoke their conscience through the British volunteers – Sam (Alex Lawther) an Eton boy who thinks the housing can be solved by algorithms. He is chastened, to great comic effect, when told that this is not actually an English word but an Arabic one. Boxer (Trevor Fox) an empathetic drunk tell us that he is also a ‘refugee’ – “Fleeing the authoritarian regime of his ex-wife.”

Not only does this allow us to question what volunteers’ roles should be in refugee camps but we are also able to empathise with them. At the most powerful moment of the play, 17 year-old Okot (John Pjumojena) tells 18-year-old Beth (Rachel Redford) the story of his journey. The impact is magnified because we see our responses reflected in her reactions. The only time in the play when Okot smiles is when, in this speech, he tells us of the beauty of the sunrise in Darfur – all he wants is to be at home. The other refugees join him in the telling of the story and it becomes all of their stories – the horror that they have already been through to get to this “hell” is unimaginable.

The set is simply made up of tables and benches which are replicas from one of the restaurants in the camp. Yet Miriam Buether’s attention to detail, from the half-empty ketchup bottles on the tables to the mini naans that the audience are given, is outstanding. Thanks to Paul Arditti’s sound design and the opening of the set, the ultimate bulldozing of the Café feels both very immediate and real.

The Jungle succeeds in telling the story of people, real people who are bound together by hope. This hope is everywhere, from the insistent chants of ‘UK’ to the English lessons where Afghans learn the past tense through telling the story of their planned escape. Yet when a well-meaning Brit suggests that they rename it ‘Hopetown’ early on there is a tangible tension – the hope seems futile. The tension is in the fights that threaten to erupt at any moment, the failure of the British and French governments to follow their own laws – “Theresa darling buds of fucking May doesn’t give a shit.”  At the end of the play we are shown a video of a volunteer from Help Refugees explaining that The Jungle was destroyed in October 2016 and the Police now enact daily clearings to prevent any sense of community, any permanence from re-emerging. Still thousands of refugees lie in Calais, in hope.

At the end of the video Safi says to the audience, “Thank you for your hospitality” with not a hint of irony yet the irony is there for all to see. There is hospitality from Salar letting us into his restaurant, from the characters speaking English so that we can understand, but the UK and France have none to offer. It is comedic when Derek (Michael Gould) first blusters into the camp, apologies tumbling from his mouth on behalf of his country. Yet I can’t help but feel that I would react in exactly the same way. It is shameful how we are treating these people. I am ashamed at our lack of hospitality.

Human beings are incredible creatures: we build and we hope and we resist even when doing so seems entirely futile. The Jungle is a masterpiece which combines humour and grief, singing and shouting, celebration and fighting to tell an incredible, heart-wrenching story of a few thousand people longing to reach the White Cliffs of Dover.

Rightfully receiving a standing-ovation on Press Night, it is playing at the Young Vic until January 7th. You don’t want to miss it.

Ireland and the impossibility of Brexit

Adam John Ellison
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Ireland and the impossibility of Brexit

In religion or politics, the zeal of a convert is hard to match. Theresa May’s overnight conversion from soft-Remain to full blown, patriotic, red-white-and-blue Brexiteer is no exception to this. For months we were told “Brexit means Brexit” and other such vaugeries, underpinned by the constant threat of a “hard Brexit”, a total break from the EU, it’s markets and it’s open borders. May built an alliance with Davis, Johnson, Fox and Gove – four of the Tories’ leading eurosceptics – and set Britain on a path not only out of the European Union, but out of absolutely everything with the word “Europe” attached to it. This caused controversy, to be sure, but for a long time it appeared that dreams of a “soft” Brexit were doomed. That is until Brexiter hopes slammed into the hard reality of Ireland.

The issue of Ireland and it’s border has plagued British politics since the Ulster Covenant of 1912 and the start of the Troubles. A free and open border with the Republic of Ireland has existed in one form or another since 1923, on Irish independence 2 years prior a hard border had been set up, with inspections, tariffs and border checkpoints. It was a disaster. The economies of both Northern and Southern Ireland slowed and communities who had developed across the border were split up – the Common Travel Area was created to allow people and goods free travel between the two countries. It has become an essential part of Anglo-Irish relations and treaties including the Good Friday Agreement, which ended the Troubles in Northern Ireland. If Brexit shuts this border off just as happened 94 years prior, tensions will rise, economies will crash and communities will be destroyed. This time however, we could see a complete breakdown of civil political discourse in Northern Ireland, which has already been bereft of a working government since June.

To shut this border down would have been unthinkable just 2 years ago. However with Ireland a member of the EU, a hard border with Europe would mean a hard border with the Republic of Ireland or a border between Northern Ireland and Great Britain. May, in an abortive and horrendously executed effort, attempted the latter and earned the ire of every single Unionist in Ulster, who see any difference between Northern Ireland and the rest of the UK as the start of a slippery slope towards Irish Unification. With a hard border with the Republic made near impossible by both economic dependency and Irish Republican anger and a hard border between Northern Ireland and Britain made impossible by Unionist anger and DUP opposition, it became clear. There would be no hard border between Europe and Britain. In one fell swoop, May and Davis relented on a myriad of points; suggesting a €50 Billion settlement fee whilst “the United Kingdom will maintain full alignment with those rules of the Internal Market and the Customs Union”.

The implications of this are utterly bizarre; the United Kingdom is paying fifty billion Euros to follow all the same economic rules as before but have no say in making them. Until now, British MEPs voted on every single law, regulation and rule that the EU enacted – now however we will be deprived of our voting rights but forced to accept and abide by rules made by French, German and Irish politicians with zero input. European immigration too would continue as the rules of the Customs Union include the free movement of people. It’s an utter embarrassment and a total surrender, but, deprived of any other workable solution, it is all we have.

There is an argument, and for some a hope, that such “alignment” will be a temporary affair; followed for 2 years or so before Britain really leaves the EU. If this is the case however, then all we have done is kick the issue into the future. When we do “really” leave the EU, what then? Why would a hard border, in contravention of nearly 100 years of tradition, political sense and the wishes of most on either side of the border, be more workable then than now? The answer is simple, it just wouldn’t. The UK and RoI are joined at the hip, despite historical amity, and to separate them would cause massive, unnecessary trauma. It cannot be done sensibly now, it cannot be done sensibly in 2020 or 2025 or 2050.

If we can’t close the door to Europe, we can’t leave it. Respecting the democratic will of the people is important and I don’t think anyone can say that this government haven’t tried but at every turn on every issue, it becomes more and more impossible. Now we’re stuck in limbo; even the government seems unsure of just what post-Brexit relations with Europe will look like. At the moment, all we seem to be doing is paying to give up power, to become a strange economic protectorate of Europe, a passive player in an increasingly high stakes game. Even today, as the EU allows negotiations to move forward into the stage of trade deals, those deals turning into a complete surrender seems almost inevitable.

Ireland makes a successful Brexit impossible and there are now three solutions: a brutish, damaging split with tokenistic attempts to reduce the economic and political toll on Britain; an awkward compromise as “full alignment” continues and Britain loses control of her future; or finally the simplest, easiest solution, one that would maintain our close links and our influence, that would be best for the economy and easiest to implement, the obvious and simple answer – cancel Brexit.

Restaurant Review: Cinnamon Kitchen

Aine Kennedy
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Restaurant Review: Cinnamon Kitchen

In order to reach Cinnamon Kitchen and its much-touted ‘panoramic views of the vistas across Oxford’, one must first navigate the bit of Westgate that still looks like a construction site. This juxtaposition of the polished and the unrefined, the exalted and the humble, is good psychological preparation for a menu that features a £20 kebab.

In fairness, it is a veal kebab, and it isn’t served from a van that operates until 4 am, nor does it have weird grey lumps that you try to pretend you’re too drunk to notice. It did also suggest that this was not a ‘maintenance loan-friendly’ restaurant. But it wasn’t just the strong north-easterly winds making it rain tonight: my friend’s Grandma Barb had put up a generous tab, and so we contented ourselves with blinking rapidly at the prices, instead of ‘going out for a fag’ and never coming back.

A sampling of the ‘cocktail range created with influential mixologist, Tony Conigliaro’ came in the form of two glasses ornamented with what appeared at first glance to be prison shanks. On fifth glance (sticks? chocolate? very stiff leaves?), they proved to be pieces of cinnamon bark reclining in a blushing, ombre bath of peach bellini. It was a perfectly nice bellini, with inflections of the east, or perhaps just fierce multi-level branding, from a brown fog of cinnamon syrup lurking at the bottom of the glass. However it was nothing too refined for our less-exalted tastes, and almost sweet enough to blend into the last traces of blue VK lingering about my palate.

We ordered the Bombay street food trio as a starter: vada pao, tapioca cake and chilli paneer. Much like myself, the vada pao is a dumpling-shaped item consisting mainly of potatoes, with a rough skin that glistens with oil. The similarities end here, as the vada pao has been deep fried and put in a sandwich. The addition of chutney, rather than own-brand ketchup, managed to stop it tasting like an extremely expensive chip butty. The tapioca cake felt a little like a polenta fry that had been through a messy divorce and lost its sense of fun. Its tiny, perfectly square form had the thinnest of oily crusts from a brief, guilty pan-frying, and the rest was an all-too-brief crumble of sad, mildly bland starch. This was perhaps needed to soak up the chilli paneer, a joyfully exuberant tangle of salt, spice, and grease.

A quick scan of the main courses demonstrated Cinnamon Kitchen’s emphasis on regional ingredients. Avoiding the mildly aggressive “Chukka spiced 35 day dry aged LOCAL beef rump steak”, we went for chargrilled sea bass and butter chicken. Costing around £20 each, these dishes were, naturally, hilariously small. “Is this a butter chicken for ants?” asked my friend, in her best Derek Zoolander voice. I found a portion of rice the size of an eraser lurking under a decorative banana leaf. However, the fish and chicken on centre stage were simple but delicious, tender and lightly spiced, melting in the mouth as swiftly as my early dreams of JCR presidency.

We split a lassi panna cotta for dessert – one of several Western-palate-friendly options, including a £9 chocolate mousse that didn’t even pretend to have an Indian twist. As complimentary prosecco arrived at the table (Grandma Barb is quite the charmer), we reflected on an excellent meal: the food, surroundings and service were beyond complaint. But when the maitre d’ handed back our coats from a rattan wardrobe and opened the door onto the dark, wet terrace, dotted with posters apologising for its “unfinished appearance”, it felt like a welcome return to the real world, full of sane people who do not pay £20 for a grilled aubergine.

Is it possible to release too much music?

Maxim Mower
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Is it possible to release too much music?

It’s a question that seems more appropriate than ever, with the streaming boom and the advancement of music software meaning producers can create beats in a matter of hours. On sites such as Soundcloud and Datpiff, artists frequently release tracks directly to their fans, often before they have been mixed and mastered. We now hear about an upcoming album a few days before it is dropped, whereas in other media genres such as film and television, we are already counting down the days until the new Game of Thrones series comes out, even though it is over a year away.

But who has got it right? Music and Film & TV are undoubtedly the two heavyweights of the entertainment industry, but clearly they both operate in starkly different ways. Music is to be gobbled up as soon as possible, then chewed over a couple of times before being quickly spat out as another album arrives on your carefully curated menu. Films and television series are to be savoured, with the build-up just as important as the actual product itself.

Of course, these are generalisations. Many albums still invoke a tremendous amount of anticipation, and are savoured just as much as any revered film. Equally, franchises such as Fast & Furious certainly seem to simply churn out material purely to keep fans satiated and are not created to be considered masterpieces.

But particularly in Hip-Hop, music is being released at an unprecedented rate. Rapper of the moment, Future, has released a startling 8 LPs and mixtapes since 2015, including two full-length albums in the space of just two weeks this year. Fellow Atlanta rapper Young Thug has matched Future’s startling production rate, but it seems this strategy of flooding the market originated from rap mogul Gucci Mane. Since 2014, Gucci has released an astounding 30 projects, a stint which twice saw the release of three mixtapes in one day. Considering he spent a significant portion of this period in prison, as well as the fact that he also somehow found time to write an autobiography, Gucci’s production rate seems bordering on the ridiculous. But is such an incredible output to be admired, or frowned upon?

Surely the quality of music must suffer if apparently so little time is being spent on each record. While technology has undoubtedly sped up the production process; lyrical depth and complex melodies still require time to create, with some of the greatest songs being polished over months and years, not a matter of hours and days. This deficiency arguably shines through in the work of the aforementioned artists, with the concepts covered in their songs rarely stretching beyond the shallow and often crass hedonism that constantly gives rap a bad name. Hooks are frequently repetitive and unimaginative, and sometimes they’re not even seen as necessary. The focus is most definitely on quantity, not quality.

Or is it? Are we being too harsh? Young Thug is renowned for his vocal acrobatics and innovation, and Future is largely credited with inspiring a new wave of rappers with the intensity with which he stretches and pushes his incandescent voice over the usually soft bed of Auto-Tune. Admittedly, Gucci Mane’s flow is largely static and unvaried, but is often embroidered by sparkling, eclectic guest features.

Also, perhaps we are not supposed to view these projects with such a critical eye as we would other works of art. These are much more commercialised, and pride themselves on their repetition, rather than shying away from it. When you want psyching up, you turn to these hard-hitting rappers because you know what to expect, and their often maligned consistency can work in their favour in this sense. Or maybe even this is doing them a disservice. Indeed, Future’s surprise double album release was heralded as revolutionary for the musical landscape, so maybe a high production rate is something to be applauded, either as a sign of their high work ethic or as a pioneering move. Now, in the streaming world, the demand is significantly higher than it used to be, and perhaps rappers such as Future feel they have to match this pressure with their creative supply.

The downside, however, is we can become anaesthetised by too much music from one artist. Many of Gucci Mane and Future’s joint mixtapes – aside from Future’s What A Time To Be Alive, the success of which was largely based on Drake’s star power – slipped under the mainstream, purely because we were only just getting to grips with the previous release as they began publicising the next one. Gucci Mane announced the name of his upcoming album less than two weeks after he dropped Mr. Davis earlier this year. While undoubtedly intended to whet the fans’ appetites, this can actually completely undermine the album currently in circulation, because it makes it seem like a throwaway, as though the artist cares little for it and is already moving onto the next project. Fans want albums to be the culmination of a lot of hard work and attention, because this then proves that the artist actually respects what the fans think of their music. Yes, a lot of mixtapes are released for free, but personally I’d rather pay for a well-constructed, well thought-out project, than receive three free throwaways in one go.

Take Bon Iver’s 2016 revelation 22, A Million, for example, which was praised as album of the year by critics around the world. It arrived after three years spent crafting the piece, during which time he considered scrapping the project altogether because he was worried it wasn’t up to the standard he was striving for. Purely as a fan, this strikes me as an example of an artist who cares more about the quality of his product than the likes of Gucci Mane and Future. But then again, maybe it shouldn’t matter. If it means we get more music, why should we complain?

The recent surge in producer-rapper joint albums has also helped propel this new wave of productivity in Hip-Hop. Future has spearheaded the use of a single producer throughout an entire project, combining with the likes of Zaytoven and DJ Esco. Recently, this has had the effect of moving certain producers more firmly into the limelight, with Atlanta prodigy Metro Boomin’ now releasing tracks as the lead artist and his producer tag, “If young Metro don’t trust you, I’m gon’ shoot you” already establishing him as a household name in the rap world. He too follows the example of Future and Gucci in pumping as many projects into the musical sphere as possible. In the last two years, he has released Savage Mode with 21 Savage, Perfect Timing with Nav, and then Without Warning last month with Migos member Offset and 21 Savage again, an album which dropped out of thin air to a generally positive critical reception. He himself argues that the rise in popularity of producer-rapper albums is only going to benefit the genre, seeing them as being more cohesive and structured than projects with disparate contributors.

So as young Metro, off the back of his Without Warning success, drops yet another joint album Double or Nothing with Big Sean, many may roll their eyes and sigh as they once again scroll quickly past the Hip-Hop page of Apple Music or Spotify. Personally, do I think Metro releases too much music? Probably. Do I think his production is sometimes repetitive as a result of this? Inevitably.

But will I be eagerly devouring this week’s Big Sean collaboration? Most definitely. Perhaps this highlights how more music doesn’t necessarily equal less quality and less hype. Or maybe this just shows that I’m a hypocrite. Go figure.

In conversation with Matt Maltese

Ollie Braddy
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In conversation with Matt Maltese

Matt Maltese is definitely one of the most intriguing and exciting new artists that I’ve come across in a while. At just 21 years of age the South London-based singer-songwriter has got a growing repertoire of crooner-like ballads exploring everything from the usual love interest to taking ketamine at a party, getting with his best mate’s girlfriend and then having to go ice skating with his mum the following morning (which is quite a musical rollercoaster, I can assure you).

There’s a tremendous level of expectation on his shoulders, having been compared to the likes of Leonard Cohen and Jarvis Cocker – NME even referred to him as the UK’s answer to Father John Misty. However, whilst Matt shows all the signs of having the raw talent to become one of the best songwriters of his generation, there are questions that still need to be answered.

Since March he’s released three singles. The first two: ‘No One Won The War’ and ‘As the World Caves In’ (an intriguing number depicting Donald Trump and Theresa May “getting it off” after starting nuclear warfare) are highly political and highlight large scale world problems.

He also did a small UK tour in May with the Rhythm Method to promote voting in the general election. Not to mention his Twitter bio “brexit pop”, Matt’s own take on the regeneration of Britpop. When I asked him about this political engagement he highlighted his move to London as a catalyst. “You see a lot more, you’re in the midst of a lot more, so my social conscience kind of doubled when I moved to London”.

Whilst this metropolitan shock might well be the cause for Matt’s writing, there’s no doubt that South London, in particular, is currently producing a lot of politically raw musicians, with the likes of Dave, King Krule and Loyle Carner.

Matt is very in touch with the music made in his part of town – last year he hosted a residency at the Effra Social in Brixton where he invited fellow new artists to perform alongside him every week. “It was a great way of feeling which songs are shit and obviously listen to loads of musicians that I adore” he explains; and I must say, the commanding performance I witnessed later demonstrated that he must have learnt something.

In the evening Matt performed in the basement space of Modern Art, off Pembroke Street. He jokes that it’s “the most high-art thing I’ve done”, although the performance area seemed to fit his style. There was no raised stage area or other separation between the audience and Matt – he was one with the people. Tickets were also given out for free, something I thought would match his seemingly maximal engagement approach established by his May tour. Although the ticket giveaway strategy was apparently not his own decision, but that of his promoter.

And this perhaps demonstrates nicely the crux of my opinion on Matt Maltese. He seems engaged, exciting, and demonstrates an extremely high level of raw talent, both with his song writing and performing abilities. However, I question his drive and his sincerity. It’s all very well and good writing a song about nuclear warfare, but to make it a rampant love song between two quite volatile world leaders seems almost too satirical – what level of piss-taking is too much?

Perhaps it’s my own expectations that were misplaced. I wanted to find a young man who was trying to change the world with his smartly placed and extremely considered music, not just making flippant general observations and comments. Instead I find someone who seems to be drifting along, making songs because “you can be pretty ridiculous with the lyrics” (Matt’s explanation for ‘As the World Caves In’).

That being said, I reserve complete judgement until his debut record is released, which he hopes will be next May time. There’s a lot riding on it. Will he produce something with purpose and nuance? Will it be a considered effort that seeks to actively alter the status quo? Or will it just be the wilful musings of a young man having a laugh? I hope it’s the former, and there are definitely signs that show it could be as much. But I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.

You can listen to the interview in full here on Oxide radio.

Oxford announces new German research partnerships

Libby Cherry
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Oxford announces new German research partnerships

Oxford University has announced a new research partnership with four German institutions, beginning what Berlin’s Mayor has called “a new era of cooperation for Berlin and Oxford”.

The partnership will span across the sciences, humanities, and social sciences, consolidating existing research links as well as providing opportunities for new projects.

The collaborating institutions — Freie Universität Berlin, Humboldt-Universität zu Berlin, Technische Universität Berlin, and the Charité Universitätsmedizin Berlin — have already begun a programme of academic workshops in several fields.

It is also anticipated that an Oxford-Berlin Research Centre will be built in Berlin and a Berliner Haus in Oxford.

Louise Richardson, vice chancellor of the University, said: “Although the United Kingdom is leaving the European Union, it is not leaving Europe.”

These new collaborative research projects may also be eligible for common funding not only from British, but also from German foundations and funding agencies.

Oxford also hopes to introduce new investment streams to the Berlin institutions through its experience in fundraising and knowledge transfers.

Professor Dr.-Ing Sabine Kunst, President of the Humboldt-Universität zu Berlin, said: “we hope to put together a targeted collective strategy in order to circumvent any possible consequences of Brexit.”

The UK government’s current Brexit negotiating position has caused concern among some academics, who fear it may limit research and funding opportunities.

Dr Rob Davidson, Director and Co-Founder of Scientists for EU and Healthier IN the EU, told Cherwell: “when a PI (principal investigator, or research group leader) applies to participate in an EU program like Horizon 2020, there is a question on the form that asks, ‘do you foresee that your national government would accept the jurisdiction of the ECJ?’ — under current plans, even if we were paying to access EU science, we would be excluding ourselves from completing the forms for participation.”

Whilst Dr Davidson praised the partnership, saying that scientific research in general required such “strong international links”, he expressed reservations about these kind of partnerships becoming the norm for UK and European institutions after Brexit.

Such partnerships, he said: “would likely reduce the chance of close ties with all the other institutions.”

“We also need to remember that while institutions can develop specialisms, even well secured professors move on. Should we not think having special relationships through consortia of mobile researchers, rather than special links between brick buildings?”

“We’ve seen major cuts announced this year from Durham, Heriot Watt, Aberystwyth and several more. They have all cited existing conditions and the certain damage of Brexit as their reasoning. Most of our universities will not have funds to create special partnerships like this one.”

Alastair Buchan, Oxford University’s Head of Brexit strategy, told The Telegraph in January this year how institutional partnerships will not just be limited to European countries in the future.

“One of the things that we did lose [after joining the EU] was that nice and easy flow of clinicians and clinician science from Canada, the US, Australia, New Zealand and South Africa,” he said.

“We had really good collaborations, which hopefully in this Brexit climate might be reinvented, because that movement of English-speaking medicine was actually a casualty of joining Europe.”

Pinocchio review – “a visual and acoustic marvel”

Charles Britton
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Pinocchio review – “a visual and acoustic marvel”

As primarily a reviewer of student drama, it was strange to be reviewing a production with the budget to do whatever the producers wanted, imagination permitting. Fortunately, the National Theatre’s production of Pinocchio is much more than a shallow, flashy pantomime, the likes of which are common during this festive season. It sets itself above the rank and file of Christmas productions through thoughtful alterations to, and expansions of, Walt Disney’s beloved classic.

Upon collecting my ticket, I was promptly handed a programme which doubled as a clever children’s notebook of fun activities – rest assured, mine is completely full of scribblings and I’m very proud of my personally crafted puppet, Amadeo. What immediately became apparent once I had prised myself from my booklet, however, was that Pinocchio himself is, ironically enough, one of the few main characters in the production who is not played by a puppet.

However, the puppets are more than a larger-than-life novelty to catch children’s eyes, as they not only solve the problem of Pinocchio needing to be smaller than the rest of the cast, but they also effectively convey the oppressiveness of the world Pinocchio inhabits and accentuate the grotesque nature of the play’s villains. In motion, the puppets are beautifully animated and emoted, a feat which makes one almost entirely forget the group of people onstage required to operate them. This is especially impressive in the case of Jiminy Cricket (lovingly animated and voiced by Audrey Brisson), considering how small the puppet is compared to the human actor.

Elsewhere, the world of Pinocchio is stunningly staged, and Joe Idris-Roberts navigates it very convincingly as the wooden boy. Stage transitions are used to great effect to depict how the frightening world shifts around Pinocchio as he is exchanged from one evil crook to another: the Pleasure Island scene, in particular, is a ‘pleasure’ to watch.

It is also difficult to express the extent to which Disney soundtrack scores benefit from a full orchestra, although I could sometimes catch glimpses of the conductor’s hand peeping through the floor during certain sequences, which slightly broke the immersion. Disney favourites such as ‘When You Wish Upon a Star’ and ‘An Actor’s Life for Me’ gain immeasurable potency when performed in this way, heightened by the choreography onstage. ‘I’ve Got No Strings’ was even expanded to chart the whole story of Pinocchio’s exploitation at the hand of the gleefully wicked puppet-master, Stromboli (Gershwyn Eustache Jnr.), through to his performance, becoming more dissonant and minor as the mood requires. Such choreography displays creative storytelling and only serves to accentuate the disturbing nature of a scene in which Pinocchio sings about freedom whilst being threatened and imprisoned by his master.

In fact, most of the additions to, and modernisations of, the original script are welcome and help to flesh out character relationships and comic moments. The dynamic between Geppetto and Pinocchio is profound, and Mark Hadfield’s acting prevents the more touching moments from straying into melodrama. The standout star, without a doubt, though, is David Langham’s Honest John the Fox. While he now lacks a companion in Gideon, his enigmatic performance is more than enough to allow the character to stand alone. The modified script transforms the Fox into a charismatically flamboyant and verbose trickster who owns every scene in which he appears. Although he is no longer motivated by money, now just being pure evil, this pantomimic interpretation of the character breathes new life into the role.

Other editorial tweaks fail to connect, however, as some jokes are too complex for most children to understand and not particularly funny for adults. Jiminy Cricket’s obsession with cleanliness is overdone and jokes about bacterial disinfectant come across as nonsensical and do not benefit the depiction of the character. Other changes, such as how Pinocchio, Gepetto and Jiminy escape from Monstro, seem illogical. It was probably done to reuse Pinocchio’s famous quirk of his nose growing when he tells a lie in an attempt to create a more emotional scene; either that, or the producers were worried about lighting a fire onstage, but given the quality of the pyrotechnics and illusory gags elsewhere in the show, this seems like a missed opportunity. The Monstro scene in general marks a downgrade from the Disney film. Although it would be difficult to adapt for the stage a scene which was so ground-breaking in its original animation, the amount of creativity injected into the rest of the adaptation only highlights how disappointing this episode is in comparison. That said, this small blemish on an otherwise near-perfect production does little to detract from the whole.

Pinocchio is a visual and acoustic marvel, and the fact that Dennis Kelly and company have so seamlessly translated a Disney classic into such an effective piece of drama is commendable. Bold creative decisions and additions to the original tease out some of the film’s darker and more intriguing implications and, more often than not, innovate and improve upon the story. The result is a production which, like all the best Disney films, appeals to people of all ages.

The Twilight Zone – ‘dizzyingly strange’

John Livesey
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The Twilight Zone – ‘dizzyingly strange’

“There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man’s fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call the Twilight Zone.”

This, for those who do not know, is Rod Serling’s opening monologue to the iconic sixties TV show, The Twilight Zone, an anthology of unrelated stories, each interrogating one or more of contemporary America’s social anxieties. Taken altogether, the 156 instalments act as a collection of post-modern fables, Serling’s narrator a Hans Christian-Anderson for the age of nuclear war, race-riots and space-travel.

Despite the relevance of these issues in the current period of political mayhem, the new adaptation of the show for the Almeida Theatre may still come as a bit of a surprise. Screen-to-stage transformation are not wholly uncommon, in fact there is a whole range of examples in London this winter what with Network at the National as well as The Exorcist and Young Frankenstein in the West-End.

However, what makes this show such a curiosity is the fact that the source material remains mostly unknown in the UK. Sitting next to me in the theatre was an American fan who described how popular the show is in on the other side of the Atlantic, episodes played non-stop for 24 hours every Christmas. But although it has a huge cultural legacy, making its influence known in shows like Twin Peaks, Black Mirror or in Jordan Peele’s hit film Get Out, it is a product that simply does not command the same prestige over here.

For this theatrical version, Anne Washburn has chosen to weave together 8 popular episodes, dipping and diving across storylines with recurring motifs that seep between them. We are shown the hunt for an Alien among a group of stranded bus-passengers and meet a man who cannot sleep for fear of being killed by a female circus performer. We see a woman invite a little girl into her house only to realise it is a version of her younger self, and two parents who lose their daughter through a worm-hole in her bedroom wall. Each vignette is surreal and disturbing and when melded together as they are here have a collective effect which is dizzyingly strange.

Of course, one of the problems of including so many different stories in one show is that it invites unfavourable comparison between segments as well as potential criticisms of incoherence. Certainly, some of the different sections are more effective at getting under your skin than others. A story about a slowly disappearing crew of pilots requires alot of exposition and is undermined by its necessarily detached characters and inconclusive ending. It is noticeably inferior to another sketch about a family who refuse to share their bunker with their neighbours, triggering a searing argument about race, class and nationality.

Whilst the former feels crammed in, failing to compliment any of the other stories, the latter is clearly chosen to resonate with today’s audience, something the nervous laughter and groans of recognition do something to prove. Similarly, a particularly famous episode from the original series about a woman with a bandaged face is reduced to a tiny side-show during a transition between scenes, barely comprehensible for those not familiar with Serling’s original.

Indeed, the show works best when it treats its material with good faith. For this production, the Almeida has had a proscenium arch built, framing the performance space in a way that replicates a television screen. It has the effect of distancing spectators and morphing the action into a kind of pastiche, patronising the very earnest subject matter through the act of mimicry and exaggeration. Serling’s monologue, for instance, is repeatedly interrupted in a quasi-slapstick way. The scenes that make the biggest impression however are those that break through these mannered, sometimes farcical, stylisations. Although a lovestory between astronaut and mission controller seems a tad unbelievable, for example, the straightness with which it is played renders it more moving than much of the rest.

With a brilliantly evocative sound and lighting design, and several magic-tricks up its sleeves, The Twilight Zone still thrills in the scenes which might not live up to the incisive TV original. Although you are sometimes wondering how much of the action qualifies as filler, you are never close to switching off. This is a good winter-show: something fun, clever and accessible. Whimsical in its worse moments but not without teeth, anyone in possession of a ticket to The Twilight Zone should know they’re holding a passport to another dimension.

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