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Month: April 2011

Live: Continue @ Sankeys

Anyone who’s been foolish enough to attend Sankeys’ infamous Full Moon party would be shocked to hear that the venue boasts one of “the most comfortable clubbing experiences in the world.” This claim, which accompanies DJ Mag’s Top 100 Clubs list, clearly has its advocates as the Manchester club beat some of the world’s most celebrated haunts to the top spot.

Thank heavens then that there’s not a group of glow-painted lads huddled around a bucket of vodka-Redbull in sight, and instead Sankeys confirm why they were awarded the no.1 spot by booking some of the most influential producers in electronic music.

Manchester based DJ and producer XXXY begins proceedings in the main room, displaying his talents within the future garage realm. As a crowd grows, tastemakers Instra:mental take the stage. Famed for their minimalist drum and bass, Autonomic podcasts and NonPlus record label; they demonstrate why they’ve been hailed two of the best in the business- dropping favourites such as ‘Underground’ and ‘Bodikka’s House’ and a rewound ‘When I Dip’, brings a wave of elation to an already jubilant room. Next to the decks is Hessle Audio co-founder Pangaea. Flattered by merrymakers’ demands for a rewind of his ‘Inna Daze’, he follows this with another of his very own creations, ‘Memories’. Stranger tracks are to follow, as London trio Dark Sky revel in a remix of Gerard Bulter holler “this is Sparta!” yet the crowd appear delighted at their bouncing rework or Timberland’s ‘Promiscuous Girl’.

Headliner Paul Rose, who tonight plays back to back under his aliases Scuba and SCB, has a busy schedule; living in Berlin, producing a new album and managing one of the most diverse labels under the ‘dubstep’ umbrella. “Dubstep’s a tricky one now,” he told The Mancunion, “the genre’s been narrowed down to fit more of a mainstream ethos, which is a shame as the original intentions have been lost. For instance, in 2001 nights like Forward were so exciting and no one had the slightest idea that it would explode as it has, everyone was just plugging away in vein hope that it would take off. But the scene in London is a bit stale now, hence why I moved out to Berlin.”

Playing a techno fuelled set, its clear that Scuba is trying to move away from his previous roots. “There’s a freedom in Berlin to experiment and play what you want. I feel they’ve got the clubbing experience right as well, especially at Berghain. It’s a lot more hedonistic there and never too crowed- they tend to pack out so many British clubs.” The exclusive German club has become notoriously difficult for travelling Brits to gain entry, but Rose is unaware of any hostility: “It’s a special place, we run a predominantly techno night there called Substance and, seeing as we’re a couple of English guys, we’ve had an incredible reception.” This, a reception that seems to have transcended boarders as the gyrating mass remain until the 5am close, to see out the superb set.

Sophie Donovan

Live: The Naked and Famous @ Academy 3

The Naked and Famous
Academy 3
8th March 2011
4 stars

The intimate atmosphere in Academy 3 was the perfect setting for the first appearance of intriguing new sound and beat makers, The Naked and Famous. This New Zealand-originated rock band have fused the ferocious talents of Alisa Xayalith and Thom Powers to create a five-piece band with a style similar to that of MGMT (it’s difficult to not think of the psychedelic pop tones in accordance with anyone else) yet they differentiate with vocals to rival that of Paramore’s Hayley Williams. Xayalith provides the band with a voice of a siren, which when paired with Power’s composition and freakish control skills results in an unstoppable electro duo. 



As they are still to release their album in the UK, titled Passive Me, Aggressive You, the released singles, and therefore the most well known, are ‘Young Blood’ and ‘Punching in a Dream’. The single ‘Young Blood’ has probably familiarised itself with the majority of adolescents as the track on the promo episode of Skins, syncing itself with the particular carefree scene, which is reflected in their music. As the penultimate track on the set list it did not disappoint and left fans on a high, with the preceding part of the set consistently producing electricity among the audience.

Introducing themselves with ‘All of This’, the band set themselves at a fast pace early on, with a high point being the rendition of ‘Girls Like You’. It is difficult to not enjoy this band, especially when seeing them live as they have an energy that reverberates, not only from the speakers but, from their passion. They will be returning to Manchester for the Dot to Dot festival at the end of May, a gig I encourage people not to miss!

Roz Lawson

Live: The Decemberists @ Academy 1

The Decemberists
Academy 1
10th March 2011
4 & 1/2 stars

Their new album, The King Is Dead, went to number one in America and tonight’s show is part of their biggest UK tour to date, but the strongest indication of The Decemberists having ‘made it’ surely comes in the form of a pre-recorded message, played before the band take the stage, from the mayor of their hometown of Portland, Sam Adams.
The tongue-in-cheek introduction, in which Adams claims to be speaking live from a geodesic dome floating above the venue and encourages audience members to introduce themselves to the people around them, sets the tone for an evening that sees the folk-rockers make the cavernous Academy 1 feel very intimate. Opening with the rollicking ‘The Infanta’, the band tear through an impressive setlist, which leans heavily on the Americana of their latest studio effort.

Whilst there’s nothing from the first two records, a slew of classics make the cut tonight, including ‘Sixteen Military Wives’, the murderous ‘The Rake’s Song’ and the set highlight, the sprawling maritime epic ‘The Mariner’s Revenge Song’, during which the crowd are urged “to scream as if you’re being eaten by a whale”. The Decemberists’ main strength, though, has always been in frontman Colin Meloy’s delightfully sharp lyrics; his evocative, highly literate style echoes such contemporaries as The Shins and Belle and Sebastian and tonight paints a hauntingly beautiful picture of the band’s pacific northwest home.

Closing a second encore with the gorgeous ‘June Hymn’ and segueing into a cover of The Smiths’ ‘Ask’ in the process, Meloy tells the crowd that “Manchester was like Narnia to me as a kid” in reference to the city’s rich musical heritage; it won’t be long before Portland, Oregon is held in similarly high regard if it can keep churning out live bands as accomplished as The Decemberists.

Joe Goggins

Album: Elbow – Build A Rocket Boys!

Elbow
Build a Rocket Boys!
Fiction/Polydor
2 & 1/2 stars

Build a Rocket Boys! is Elbow’s fifth album and follow up from their 2008 Mercury award-winning The Seldom Seen Kid. The Brit-Rockers still pedal their guitar-orientated brand of melancholy, but this time have swapped cynicism for nostalgia.

The album is constructed as artfully as Elbow’s previous work.  ‘The Birds’ sounds like mere textural build up but develops into an epic, beat driven, string swathed opener.  ‘Neat Little Rows’ matches the swagger of ‘Grounds for Divorce’, showing that the band can still do catchy. Although the semi-orchestral moments (and there are a lot of them) can get tiring, they never feel gratuitous and it’s easy to appreciate the musical craftsmanship.

Similarly, there is no question of how much care Guy Garvey puts into his lyrics (this is the man who visits Peter Gabriel to “share thoughts” when experiencing writer’s block) and it wouldn’t be unfounded to compare his combination of swirling backing vocals and yearning lines with Sigur Ros’ atmospheric mastery. But tracks like ‘With Love’ give the game away. Garvey croons nakedly over a jerky piano and the listener is bombarded with his lyrics in panoramic view.

This is the anomaly of Elbow. They refuse to sit with Coldplay’s radio-friendly brand of sad guitar rock but can’t quite do it as intelligently as Radiohead. Build a rocket boys! may contain the answer tucked away at track number five: ‘Jesus is a Rochdale Girl’ is a song about first love, sung in Garvey’s damaged Mancunian accent over an unmistakably eighties Casio keyboard and understated acoustic guitar. For a moment, Elbow sound like the band that their overblown compositions and over thought lyrics desperately want them to be.

Phoebe Hurst

Album: Vivian Girls – Share The Joy

 

Vivian Girls
Share the Joy
Polyvinyl Record Co.
2 stars

With their latest effort, this all-female trio from Brooklyn seek to surpass their ordinary, hastily executed kitsch in pursuit of a more exploratory sound.  Emerging from the noise-pop scene of New York that has manufactured the equally derivative Crystal Stilts, the Vivian Girls have reveled in their unpolished and hurried style, stubbornly sticking to their uncompromising, primitive clatter. In Share the Joy these achingly hip darlings of Pitchfork, in some ways succeed in going beyond their familiar C86 like jangles.

The albums opener, ‘The Other Girls’, jerks into life with an uproar of noise, evoking the band’s earlier punk inspired output. Yet clocking in at over six minutes, the maiden track not only lasts longer than any previous effort, it is also uncharacteristic in its faith in the value of repetition, allowing the sweet yet slight musings of singer Cassie Ramone to meander towards a satisfying endpoint. The following track, ‘I Heard You Say’, again appeases the listener, regaling a lovelorn tale that relies upon the muddy melodies and girl-band like vocals that have become customary of the Vivian Girls. The fiery, ‘Sixteen Ways’, is more menacing and snarly, with the vocals of Ramone relapsing back into the barely audible mumblings of earlier recordings.

Yet deliberating the good and the bad of an album with a song by song analysis seems rather pointless when it comes to Share the Joy, as here it is difficult to tell when a song begins and another ends. The album suffers due to the limited lo-fi approach, and at times sounds opaque. A decent enough effort which should be praised for its attempted resurrection of past influences, the Vivian Girls unfortunately fail to live up to the benchmark set by their predecessors.

Nathan Godfrey

Album: Various Artists – Ten

 

Various Artists
Ten
Manchester Aid to Kosovo
4 stars

Ten is the new album from the Manchester Aid to Kosovo organisation, with all proceeds going to community projects and the construction of the Manchester Peace Park in Kosovo. Marking the tenth anniversary of their first compilation, Cohesion, this second release is an assortment of gems from Manchester’s alternative and indie music scene; compiled by The Travelling Band’s Jo Dudderidge.

After anticipating that featured bands such as Doves, Cherry Ghost and Elbow would carry the other, less well-known artists, I have to admit I was pleasantly surprised. Jo Rose, Liz Green and The Beep Seals especially held their own next to the bigger names. With a range of sounds from the folksy Liz Green to the electro-tones of Magic Arm, this compilation is not only in aid of a good cause, it also celebrates the wealth of talent we have here in Manchester. Doves, Cherry Ghost and The Travelling Band all make great contributions and Elbow’s live version of ‘Some Riot’ stands out as a personal favourite; with the accompanying orchestra creating a breathtaking sound on this track from their album The Seldom Seen Kid.

If this is your kind of music, this is a great album to discover new artists and celebrate some old Mancunian favourites. I would encourage new artists to be inspired by the collaboration and thought behind this album as it’s testament to the great things that music can do to raise awareness for important causes.

For more information on the charity’s projects, to see how you can help with MAK’s work or to pre-order your copy of the CD go to www.makonline.org. The album launch night is at Manchester’s Deaf Institute on Monday the 4th of April; tickets are on sale from thedeafinstitute.co.uk

Katie Hodgson

Guilty Pleasure – Ke$ha

Ke$ha has been one of the rising stars of 2010, most notable for her “sing-talk” method and catchy songs, but being seen as a “metalhead”, it seems almost unspeakable that I enjoy listening to her music.

The lyrics may make very little sense whatsoever, yet Ke$ha contributes a large amount to the writing of her songs, as opposed to many other pop stars who rely on professional song-writers to compose their hits. After all, the lyrics are what make the songs so memorable, even if at points it’s grammatically incorrect.

From ‘We R Who We R’ to ‘Blah Blah Blah’ featuring 3OH!3, everybody has to know of or heard one of Ke$ha’s songs at one point. However, the draw is that they are the sort of songs that get stuck in your head, which probably is why people can’t stand it anymore. But, for me anyway, it’s a total change from the music I generally listen to.
Even with me not being an advocate of Auto-Tune, ‘Tik Tok’ still manages to be heavily auto-tuned and remain something I can listen to without wanting to deafen myself.

Above all though, she has a dollar sign in her name. You’ve got to like her.

James Birtles

Live: Mogwai @ Academy 1

Mogwai
Academy 1
26th February 2011
4 stars

Returning to Academy 1 in support of their seventh album, the wonderfully-titled Hardcore Will Never Die, But You Will, post-rock veterans Mogwai deliver a stirring, two-hour set that spans their entire career.
They showcase a whole host of tracks from the new record, opening with the chirpy and upbeat ‘White Noise’, with ‘Mexican Grand Prix’, ‘I’m Lionel Richie’ and new single ‘Rano Pano’ also aired, the latter brilliantly blending grinding guitars with subtle synths. This is a band capable of conveying an incredibly wide range of emotion in their music, which is all the more remarkable when you consider that the vast majority of it is purely instrumental. This is perhaps best demonstrated in ‘Mogwai Fear Satan’, a classic cut from their 1997 debut, Mogwai Young Team, which goes from quiet and introspected to searing and euphoric at the drop of a hat. These Glaswegians are responsible for some of the finest use of the quiet/loud dynamic since Pixies and Nirvana.

Mogwai are well-known on the live circuit for playing some of the loudest shows this side of My Bloody Valentine and tonight they vindicate such a reputation – the bass, particularly, was room-shaking to the extent that I wouldn’t be surprised if the building is no longer structurally sound. As the sprawling feedback outro of ‘My Father My King’ is finally cut short fifteen minutes after the curfew, Mogwai have not only exceeded their advertised set length and (probably) legal decibel levels, they’ve also exceeded themselves. With a dazzling light show, incredibly tight musicianship and a superbly-paced setlist, they might not yet have reached the pinnacle of live performance, but on this evidence they’re certainly approaching it. And fast.

Joseph Goggins

Ciutadella Park

The pigeons in Barça were once angels, landed from the heavens to peck at the ground with Evangelical adoration. These giggling babies have sprouted dank feathers. Lost, silent, strident, host to great lustless love that the fallen always host, shitting white paint immaculate over the undeniable vista that is Barcelona. The symbolic logic is easy to follow. Here, palm fronds explode glory, love, loss, glamour and there, the fountain of pink stone and gold, adorned with moss-chested gargoyles, spits blue water fire into the air. Above, the God Mother, Aphrodite, grows out of a clamshell, surveying Barcelona from points on high. In her hand is a torch that sits under the sun like an ice cream cone.

In the corner, across from the fountain, sits Peter Proma who is casually blowing tobacco incense (poison in England) into the Spanish air. He has come on holiday; the nightlife, he’s heard, is better than Fac251, but he hasn’t yet been out. How can he think of clubs while doves dive over fountains of gold, he wonders. He has seen the sun in the cloudless Catalan skies, and, overwhelmed, sees clues vibrantly in sound and scent. He has walked the stations of Gaudi’s cross, each step a notch in the staircase that rings around the fountain, up to her hand that holds heaven’s winch. He plans to climb it, to swim upriver like a salmon, and grab that Barcelona fire right off those perfect sandstone fingers. His grandfather, a Catalonian expatriate, had told him stories, and, like a visionary, can see through the bright shadows that he is the global enzyme; ready to steal sparks from Aphro’s arm and fly on the backs of her cooing, dirty messengers, ready to spread the burning glow through the corners of England and pierce the clouds like a lance. He sits, he waits, he marvels, until

“Pardon, cerveza?” He is startled out of his revelry by a Pakistani street dealer. “Non, non, gracias,” he replies without looking up. “Tu es bueno?” another asks. They seem to grow here like weeds. He repeats “Non, non gracias.” “Pardon,” from behind, and he wheels around angry, ready to yell, but instead of a street dealer, it is the face of a sunset he sees, trellised in bangs of sandstone. She holds dark glasses in her hand, sheepish and French, and he reels, falls, faints, and realizes he has just blown a wreath of smoke in her face. “Français?” she asks. “Oui,” he replies. “Est-ce qu’on reste la?” she asks, pointing to the other half of his bench, and he sinks from fantasist to foreigner, from dreamer to dullard. The pigeons are once again just dirty rats, Aphrodite is once again just a statue shining in the sunlight and glancing around, he realizes all the benches facing Ciutadella Park’s Fountain are all full. She coughs and waves the smoke he blew away from her face. Peter Proma is embarrassed.

“Personne, personne,” and she sits without smiling. In fact, she is frowning. Peter says bollocks in his head. The fountain stops spewing and all is silent for a moment. The pigeons are trying to rape each other barbarically, gullets swollen and shaking in desire. The girl is swaying in her seat. He doesn’t stare, just tries to look attractive in the corner of her eye. Another vendor, Spanish this time, comes up and asks “Roses for the lady?” in English. Before he can say non, non, gracias, she bursts into hysterical tears and covers her face in her hands, sobbing, sounding harpishly as she shakes. The Spaniard leaves quickly, but Proma does not. The situation is awkward, but he is prone to illusions of grandeur. The water turns back on in the fountain and water comes out of mouths again.

The sounds are of an ocean burial, tossing the dead to sea, loved ones commiserating and moaning the body, but here the waves are manmade jets and the bereaved is just one nymph from France. She is a rip in his favorite shirt, and, clumsily, he takes up the needle and asks “Que mal?” She continues crying. He doesn’t know what to do. Eventually she turns and yells in pigeon ejecting timber “Que mal? Tout les gens du monde sont mal!” She points at him and yells in French that he can’t understand, partly because it is too quick, partly because it is too slurred. Her tears glint in the sunlight as her eyes contort in pointed danger, radiance magnified to burning fire. Peter looks away at the ground, saying “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She pushes him away and tries to stand up. She cannot and falls heavily onto the bench. Another vendor with a patchwork face sneaks up and whispers “Cerveza?” again and Peter yells “No!” but the girl yells “Coka! Coka!” The man puts a finger to his mouth and hisses, but pulls out a gram and slides it to her. She points to her purse, still weeping into her hand, and pauvre Peter sees the man takes twenty Euro too much. He says nothing. At the top of the fountain, two police are giving directions to Korean tourists, and Peter knows he probably shouldn’t be sitting next to this goddess spreading a line over the glass of her cell phone screen, spilling Euro-worth quantities of cocaine onto the ground. Too much medieval reading or too much romance in the Spanish air, who knows, but he stays and watches her suck powder up into her head. She rubs her nose with shaky fingers, and says in the perfect bell accent of middle Europe, that makes the hideous drone of Anglo-Saxon sound rich and creamy, Nutella in a crepe, fireplace crackle in winter, wind chimes by the ocean, calling, calming, and open. “You’re English, oui? I’ve always preferred Australians, but you seem nice enough.” The pigeons are back and cooing. “Cigarette?” he offers.

She accepts readily. They smoke together in silence until Peter tries at his stitching again. “If you’d like to talk, I’d love to listen. There’s not much else to do here anyway.” She smiles and with dignity grasps her thighs and forces herself to stand. “You are very sweet,” she says, and kisses him once on each cheek. She starts to move away. Peter leaps up to his feet, spilling ash all over his clothes. He calls “Can I help you?” but she just says “Non, non, gracias” and walks over the sand, past the statues of dragons and Aphrodite, past the police, and onto a walkway. Peter is worried, nervous for such a pretty girl to be alone in Barcelona, but to follow would seem pigeon-like. He frets, indecisive, but finally runs up to a man from Bali, buys a rose for five euros, and takes off down the walkway. He is sure that by now she is gone, but he runs anyway, desperate and sweaty. There, ahead, as if by magic, he sees the trellis of her hair, radiant, bobbing along. He runs in front of her, falls to one knee, and offers the flower up to her, a token of devotion. She takes it and giggles. He looks up to see a different face, beautiful still, but smaller with heavier make up. The girl smells the rose and says “Cheers, love.” It is wrong, he knows, but he smiles too. Better to hear a Mancunian call in Spain than “Non, non, gracias.”

Zach Fischer

The Storm’s Sonnet

Thunder cracks in dreary stone split skies. Jarred
As the looming clouds, I am drenched in blues
As I scrap the scribbled lines I learnt by heart
For you. Another wasted sonnet fused
By tears and cloudburst with pain. The storm
Of my soul plays an aimless song again,
A cyclone melody trapped by its form.

Fourteen lines rotate like a weather vane
Searching for the direction I can’t find,
While new rain in this constant streaming city
Spirals the memories stuck in my mind.
I’m left with the rhymes of strained self-pity

As I slowly trace the trickle of drops
And wait inside for the storm to stop.

Rachael Clarke

Weathervane

The Ten A.M. Thought

that this pissy and ungourmet coffee undercompensates

for a last night on the tiles and the bourbon

with the boys. But my office on the office-block’s top floor

affords a sight for sore eyes, the city

spreadeagled under my estate-agent feet, squat buildings

settled like dice. Their value depreciates like

ice held while their occupants don’t see that life

is a chip in a casino, or a stack of chips

in a casino, and they miss that it’s worth nothing

except what you can use it to play for. What I’m getting at

is not the money. It’s the chance.

Joey Connolly-Wright

A sight for sore eyes

A Tribute to John Donne (and Stephen Nashef)

Oh visceral sun go bother others
that are yet younger than us instead,
As everything that matters now
is sealed inside this bed.

We are whole countries
caught in cotton,
hip to hip,
with spittle on the pillow.
I just wish that busy old fool,
the cruel winter sun, would piss off
and leave us to it.

We are two stumps of broken teeth
who (sleeping sweetly) both are crowned
the king and queen of our cushioned domain
because nobody else is around.

We are like ammonites coiled in bliss;
we wake with bleary lust.
And late from punched up alarm clocks
rush into the city’s dreary wilderness.

I swear at you sun, through the curtains
and then give him one last kiss.

Jemima Foxtrot

Sun over John Donne's

The symphony of lights

Thinking of studying in Hong Kong? Don’t forget your business card, as Gareth Lewis guides us through the rich student life of the harbour city.

 

Words and photographs by Gareth Lewis

So how well did you eat last week? I enjoyed Hong Kong’s finest Michelin Star Dumplings for the princely sum of £4.70. I bet you couldn’t even buy peanuts for that price at Heston’s Fat Duck. Tim Ho Wan is renowned by food magazines everywhere for its hours long queues, tiny dining area and of course the best Dim Sum this side of Kowloon. It’s something I felt I had to experience whilst here.

My personal bucket list for Hong Kong rates a lot of eating activities near the top, along with drinking the night away in the Lan Kwai Fong district, ‘boosting my Buddha count’ in the city’s many temples, trekking around Hong Kong’s country parks and seeing one of the world’s most iconic skylines lit up by the ‘symphony of lights’ from the romantic setting of the Star Ferry. One might be forgiven for thinking I’d come on holiday. To be fair, having spent my reading week in Laos and Cambodia (yes, Angkor Wat is amazing), it’s hard to remember that I’ve got lectures to attend at the University of Hong Kong. For, in reality, I am not an intrepid traveller, but a humble exchange student. Though it’s difficult to keep focus sometimes.

This, it seems to me, is the classic exchange experience. The first month I arrived in Hong Kong, I had a blast and in this city-like-no-other, it’s easy to see why. From gambling at horse races to drinks at one of the world’s highest ‘skybars’, there is almost nothing you can’t do here. At the back of my mind however, I knew this wasn’t the real Hong Kong. It wasn’t a real student experience either. I wouldn’t do all that stuff back in Manchester. So this has been my mission these past weeks: To find out how an actual Hong Kong University student experiences life in the fast lane. This much I know.

It’s appropriate that I begin writing this article at 2am. It’s very reflective of the work/life balance here. I write to you from the 13th floor of my hall of residence, accompanied by the group screaming of my hall sports teams. The screaming, for the life of me I still don’t understand the purpose of the screaming. Students start their work late, very late. Just last week I came back from a night out, wandered into my hall kitchen to see one of my friends settling down on the sofa to read some article for a tutorial for the next day. It was 5am. But this commitment to work isn’t the respectful obedience Manchester students may expect from a Chinese university. Many local students don’t turn up to lectures and when they do, I can hardly hear the professor through all the chatting and snoring. I asked a friend why Hong Kong students do this, and the answer was surprising. Apparently lecturers at HKU aren’t held in very high esteem, either for their grasp of the English language or expertise in their field. My friend thinks most students trust themselves more than their lecturer – I suggested this might not be a mutually exclusive decision. At HKU the idea that learning can be conducted beyond the textbook is not something students are comfortable with.

In some ways, this can be refreshing, but also stifling. It means that during tutorials, students are generally well prepared and an informed discussion of academic points of view is possible. Exchange students will often find that trying to debate opinions with a local student is like trying to draw blood out of a stone, but this is not my experience. Possibly the most enjoyable tutorial of my university career was a discussion on the merits of a Confucian society. The news is often full of stories about China taking offense to slights against its culture but I didn’t feel at all inhibited from criticizing the central figure of Chinese philosophy. This is perhaps a good example of the difficulty of explaining modern Hong Kong’s role in China.

Certainly when I talk to the local students, there is no love lost for the mainland. They are highly critical both of their own government and of the mainland’s attempts to disenfranchise Hong Kong. At Beijing’s insistence, direct elections for the Chief Executive office of Hong Kong (basically the Prime Minister of Hong Kong but with more executive powers) and for the Legislative Council (Hong Kong’s parliament) are deferred to 2017. HKU Student’s Union voted overwhelmingly in 1998 to house the Pillar of Shame, a monument to the Tiananmen Square massacre, on HKU grounds; candle-lit vigils are held there every year in May.

Beyond this, little can be seen of students’ political activism. You won’t find any ‘Free Palestine’ leaflets shoved in your face and not one copy of the Socialist Worker strewn across campus. Beyond Hong Kong’s own sovereignty, politics is generally a subject kept to oneself. It’s not an impolite subject, just not talked about. Indeed, this privacy about higher ideals can be seen in the University’s approach to its students.

I can’t walk five minutes around campus without coming across at least two different career fairs, business society stands or CV workshops. The point of a degree here is clear – to get a job and get on in life. Private companies sponsor societies and their activities. Financial executives speak at forums where they are fawned over by suited and booted business undergraduates. This career-focused (almost obsessive) education can be confusing to the foreigner. If you ask any HKU student, they will tell you that high academic results are the be all and end all of your career.  This is an educational culture where work experience is held in very low regard. Westerners may ask, in these job-straightened times, how you can get employed without professional experience?

This is where Hong Kong’s rapacious capitalist culture comes into its own, through the form of networking. Both studying at university and working at the heart of European politics in Brussels, I have never experienced networking practiced with such ease and on such a scale as I have here in Hong Kong. A business card is a must for students. Indeed, I was handed one in the University coffee shop earlier today. Had it been given to me in John Rylands, my private prejudices about that person would most likely have involved unprintable expletives, but here it is the norm, expected even. Having to write down my email on a scrap of paper on several occasions has left me more than a little self-conscious of the incredulous stares of my newly made contacts, stunned that I might use such a primitive means of communication. The exchange of contact details is an automatic part of any conversation here. It’s not necessarily as cynical and exploitative as you might expect. People here are genuinely interested to know you, regardless of what use you may be to them professionally.

And of course, Hong Kong University’s position as the best university in Asia gives it a certain star power in attracting speakers like former British Poet Laureate Andrew Motion as well as hosting smaller, career focused events such as the excellent ‘Green Jobs for a Green Economy’ forum. Walking around campus, one gets the sense that the university has been built for a single purpose, and for local students the only escape from this seems to be within the strictures of hall life.

Hall life was a bit of a culture shock for me. Even for a former boarding school boy, sleeping  less than four feet away from your roommate leaves you yearning for a privacy that is impossible to achieve in this city. Each floor of the hall tower block is called a village and your floormates, villagers. We meet for village soup every Tuesday at midnight and have village dinners at a restaurant every month. All this contributes to a sense of family. Indeed, that’s exactly the point, say my fellow villagers.

For exchange students, the family can seem a bit dysfunctional. I know I am not alone in struggling to integrate or make friends with the local students, but I hesitate to distinguish between myself and the locals. For one of my HKU friends recently spoke to me of similar problems he had when moving into halls: whilst immersed in the sound and fury of Hong Kong life, he still found it possible to be lonely, to be removed and isolated from the energy of his hallmates. Given how close at quarters we students are to each other, I found this a confusing and humbling thought.

The students were perfectly welcoming when I arrived in halls, but it’s hard to get beyond this. There isn’t a pub culture among students here to help to break the ice. The only options really are coffee or a meal, neither of which really provide the necessary social lubrication. Besides, it’s not really how Hong Kong’s students like to make friends. It seems that they either decide they like you and spend their time with you, or not. But I don’t want to seem unsympathetic to the culture here. After going out of my way to join in with societies and club activities, I have found firm friends among HKU students.

I know exchange friends who haven’t got that far yet, or wish they had been able to make friends, or tell me they need to make more of an effort to do so. It’s really not an insurmountable difficulty when you get over the idea that it’s the same as making friends in Manchester. Suffice to say, when you make friends, experiencing the city becomes something different and more intense than the extended holiday it can seem like with other exchange students. You get taken to the cheapest dim sum cafes at 3am, calmest barbeque beaches and most bustling markets as if you really do live in Hong Kong. You have to see it to believe it.

Chopping Block: Jessie J – Who You Are

 Jessie J
Who You Are
Island Records

Verdict 1: “An eclectic and diverse mix of pitch perfect pop ballads, club tracks, reggae and rap”
3 stars
Shauna Botrel

Currently, you cannot open a magazine, flick on the radio or open Spotify without seeing style icon, Jessie J’s omnipresent face, hearing an advert for her debut album Who You Are or one of her array of catchy songs.

And why shouldn’t this be the case for the new pop sensation? She has a unique, effortless voice, reflected upon in the acoustic version of her tracks. Trawling through her YouTube channel, an endless bank of videos display an amazing, powerful voice stripped to its bare minimum, away from the energetic dance moves, make up and costumes.

Her album offers an eclectic and diverse mix of pitch perfect pop ballads, club tracks, reggae and rap, displaying the range of her voice and appealing to the masses and collaborations with huge names, such as B.O.B, give the feeling that Jessie J’s success is set to continue. Her vocal ability is technically impressive, which makes up for the sometimes, not so impressive lyrics.

Jessie J has been crowned with a critic’s choice BRIT award, almost proof in itself that she is great and will be huge in 2011 – simply look at the success of previous winners Adele, Florence and the machine and Ellie Goulding.

Verdict 2:  “Littered with guest appearances to prop up a mirage of success and self-importance”
1 star
Joe Smart

There’s no debating Jessie J’s musical talent; she has a voice that, utilised properly and correctly, could be a pleasure to listen to. In reality however, it isn’t. Her breakthrough track, ‘Do it Like a Dude’, is insufferable. Difficult to listen to, with ridiculous lyrics, it left me wondering whether she could do anything at all, never mind ‘it’ like a dude.

The debut album stinks of over production and is littered with guest appearances to prop up a mirage of success and self-importance. BBC’s choice to crown Jessie J ‘Sound of 2011’ has come across as a desperate attempt to pick something ‘hip’; someone who swears in their songs, which to everyone else looks desperate and somewhat patronising.

Unfortunately for Jessie J, it’s effectively painted her as some sort of puppet, now probably resigned to a headline spot at something like Radio One’s Big Weekend, rather than a more respected festival.  Like said earlier, her voice is brilliant, it would however be much more suited wrapped up in a Florence & the Machine style ballad as rapping isn’t for everyone, as she proves on ‘Price Tag’. It all seems to be a vain attempt to separate her from the nice artists, but the way she interjects in most of her songs with annoying ‘uh’s and ‘yeah’s’, leaves songs that sound unerringly similar to the last in their painful attempts to be different. In reality however, she’s no different, and no better, than anything that has come before.

Column: The Day I Learned to Hate

“Steptacular it said. Even an idiot nine-year-old knew this was an awful pun”

Christmas Day 1999 was a day of contrasts for me. On one hand, I finally got a PlayStation and a BMX scooter, which made my nine-year-old head explode. I’d have been happy with these, more than happy in fact, but there was another present to open, which had a distinct, CD shaped look about it. “Great”, I thought to myself. I’d just started getting into music and I was happy to think that my sister had noticed my growing interest in AC/DC, Motörhead and Metallica. Yes, it was about time I got my album collection going, yet as I opened the gaudy, Santa-covered wrapping paper I didn’t see AC/DC’s lightening bolt looking back at me, nor Lemmy and his iconic, warty face. No, I saw five perma-tanned, false-smile-wearing, young, plastic, pop idols staring at me, the presumed leader of which pointing at a word in the middle of this horrible quintet. “Who the fuck are Steps?” I thought; or at least I would have if I weren’t nine and still fairly naive.

As skeptical as I was about this strange present, I thought it might be worth giving them a try, especially after my thirteen year old, Smash Hits reading sister assured me that, far from the reality of Steps being who Butlins turn to as filler for their Friday night disco, they were in fact an amazing band. Yes, she said band, not group. So I went upstairs and threw the CD to the side, I would listen to it later after playing Crash Bandicoot and scaring the pensioners on my street by tearing past them on my aforementioned scooter; I was nine, it was my job.

Eventually, a few hours later, I got around to looking properly at the CD. Steptacular it said in the liner notes. Even my nine-year-old self knew this was an awful pun. But I wasn’t going to judge them on that; I had to listen to the actual music. I wish I hadn’t. The first song was a cover of ‘Tragedy’ by Bee Gees, a song I already hated when sung by the three weird falsetto brothers. At no point did the album get better. It even ended with the horrendous bonus track ‘5,6,7,8’, a quite frankly crap attempt to break into that much overlooked line-dancing market. I can’t pretend this was the worst album I’ve ever heard, (after all, Justin Hawkins from The Darkness released an album with his second band Hot Leg which isn’t for the faint of heart) but it is the worst I’ve ever owned. Worse than that is the knowledge that if I threw it out, I’d offend my sister, which even as an annoying little brother, I wasn’t prepared to do. So for about three years until I had the pocket money to buy other CD’s I had to stare at H from Steps. Christmas day 1999: the day I learned to hate.

Tom Geddes

Live: Plan B @ Manchester Apollo

Plan B
Manchester Apollo
2nd March 2011
4 stars

Musical re-inventions don’t come much more drastic than that of rapper turned crooner Ben Drew (aka Plan B aka Strickland Banks) who tonight plays host to an evening of retro-soul at Manchester’s Apollo.

Liam Bailey prepares the crowd perfectly for the main event with his deep husky tones, performing a short set of bluesy tunes including the raw and beautiful ‘It’s Not the Same’, and soon to be hit single ‘You Better Leave Me’, demonstrating exactly why he’s tipped to be the next big thing in contemporary soul. After an impressive beat boxing introduction by his friend Faith, Drew struts onto the stage dressed in his usual suave style, complete with a full band in sharp suits and two curvaceous backing singers. As he swings into ‘Writing’s on the Wall’ in his angelic falsetto, it’s hard to believe that the man before us is the same extraordinarily foul-mouthed rapper who opened his previous album by addressing us as “cunts” before singing about  “smashing a bottle over some boy’s head.”

Such an extreme alteration of image may seem an impossible feat, but when Drew sings as Strickland Banks tonight, the old Plan B all but evaporates. He controls the stage completely with his quiet charisma and deft moves, resulting in more than one pair of knickers making their way onto the stage. The focus of the show is on Defamation, and only occasionally do we see a glimpse of old material, with the relatively mild 2006 track ‘Charmaine’.

But his encore proves that Drew is still one of the most talented MCs around. A medley of soul classics are broken down in an eerie, reverberating dubstep style, during which there is an abrupt explosion into the razor-sharp lines of Eminem in ‘Forgot About Dre’; Drew’s effortless switch between roles a testament to his talent.

Sarah Pollen

Live: Surfer Blood @ Academy 3


Surfer Blood
Academy 3
2nd March 2011
3 & 1/2 stars

West Palm Beach-based indie rockers Surfer Blood brought with them a little bit of Florida sunshine to Academy 3 on Wednesday night, as they powered through a set that lasted just shy of an hour, but for what it lacked in quantity it more than made up for it in quality.

After an interesting support set from the very My Bloody Valentine-esque female-fronted band No Joy, Surfer Blood got the chance to air most of 2010’s critically acclaimed debut album Astro Coast, their blend of fabulously punchy pop songs and classic lo-fi guitars going down a treat, the crowds reaction even encouraging the band to throw in a couple of new songs, which was sure to please hardcore fans.

Opener ‘Floating Vibes’ set the tone for the rest of the evening, and although, as mentioned, the set was rather on the short side, Surfer Blood managed to throw in crowd favourites such as ‘Harmonix’ and perhaps their most famous song, ‘Swim.’ Interestingly enough though, rapid instrumental number ‘Neighbor Riffs’ was one of the most well received tracks of the night, getting the toes tapping of what was, at times, a fairly timid Academy 3 crowd.

Returning to play a two song encore of new material, by the end of the night it became clear that Surfer Blood had stretched out their set as far as they could, lead singer JP Pitts ending humbly with: “Sorry, that’s all the songs we have right now, goodnight.”

A classic case of getting out whilst your still ahead, Surfer Blood left the stage having firmly underlined just how good their debut album is, and wetting the appetite of their fans who await a follow-up record with baited breath.

Jon Taylor

Reissue: Ocean Colour Scene – Moseley Shoals

Ocean Colour Scene
Moseley Shoals
Universal Records
4 stars

2011 has been a year of Britpop revival. Oasis-esque Brother are set to release a hotly anticipated debut, Liam Gallagher’s new band have just released theirs and a reformed Pulp are about to take this summers festivals by storm. Now, 15 years on from its original release, the too often forgotten Ocean Colour Scene are re-releasing their classic album Moseley Shoals. The new version features the original track list and a second disk of b-sides, demos and live tracks.

The 12 tracks of the original album are a masterful step-by-step guide to making Britpop. Opening tracks The ‘Riverboat Song’ and ‘Day We Caught the Train’ sound as exciting today as they did in the 90’s. The album tracks are also well worth a listen with the epic and varied final track ‘Get Away’ rivalling The Stone Roses ‘Resurrection’ for classic 90’s album closing.. The rarities disk is one for the fans, with some nice live moments and rare tracks such as a cover of the Beatles ‘Day Tripper’.

In true Britpop style, the album pays its tributes to The Beatles and other old masters but not at the expense of originality. ‘Shoals’ manages to capture the still exciting sound of Oasis without descending into the arrogant brashness of ‘Be Here Now’. It’s an album screaming out to be rediscovered by both old fans and newcomers to the genre.

Rob Fuller

Album: Beady Eye – Different Gear, Still Speeding

Beady Eye
Different Gear, Still Speeding
Beady Eye Records
3 stars

For a new Mancunian rock band, bringing out a debut is normally a difficult process; yet one that happens in droves. If, however, that band is actually a successful old band, minus one member, it’s a walk in the park.

Though Different Gear, Still Speeding was set for scrutiny and controversy from the offset, Liam Gallagher and his tribe of merry men have, surprisingly, exceeded themselves. The overall vibe of the album is a mature, guitar based rock, with blues echoing beneath. You’d be forgiven for thinking that they were the remnants of The Beatles rather than Oasis.

Some tracks are reminiscent of Oasis, but they are not simply rehashes. A similar sound was inevitable, after all, the same voice is singing and the same instruments are playing. This is not a downfall; in fact, the similar songs are the strongest on the album.

Lyrically, the album is top, but unfortunately still plays host to some cheesy, unimaginative lines. Certain songs, ‘Three Ring Circus’ included, feel lazy, with the repetition of a line or so throughout the whole song. Overall, they have managed to cope adequately without the presence of talented songwriter, Noel.

‘Bring the Light’ adds a cheerful and upbeat flavour to the album. It is a song to jive to, and one that is likely to be played at Indie discos for years to come. Liam has proved that it doesn’t matter the name of his band, his music will live forever.

Shauna Botrel

The Rain

The rain is an advertising exec
and not content with cold-calling
is at my window
with a thousand glittering eyes the rain
is an advertising exec and
has mastered photoshop and monochromed
the horizon and the slate roofs
closer by the rain is
an advertising exec hustling the public
into shops an advertising exec and his products
glisten insistently his work
is everywhere in this city
gilding in grey every poster
and notice-board and
is covering me inside and out.

Joey Connolly-Wright

Closer by the rain