My words... published on the Esquire website.

Click here to take a look at the short review I have written for Esquire, on Lykke Li's new song 'I Follow Rivers.' 

Bonobo, thank you.

Bonobo and his array of beautiful songs have pretty much become the soundtrack to my life. The musical genius has managed to tantalise my musical ear buds for a very long time, and in gratitude, I thought it appropriate to devote a post to the brilliance that is Bonobo - or more specifically Simon Green – the man behind the music. 

Simon Green has a twelve year career under his belt, a range of songs worth boasting about and has successfully put his distinctive Bonobo stamp on each and every one of these songs. His songs come to life from his recurring use of steady beats, soft jingles, and flutters of a flute, oriental twangs or African guitar. These melodic combinations work well enough on their own - but sometimes, to enhance his songs and offer something else to the music scene - Green incorporates the distinctive voice of Bajka.

In order to identify a couple of songs that were ‘that little bit above the rest’ - I sat down and listened to my vast Bonobo playlist. Although selecting my two favourite songs has proved much harder than initially thought – I have been ruthless and managed to pick the two songs most listened to, by yours truly. The first is the beautiful Noctuary. The amalgamation of effortless baselines with chirpy chimes, mellow beats and lingering oriental twangs, is chill out at its best. Listen to it here.

            Another treasure is the soulful Walk in the sky, which – if listened to - unsurprisingly came up top of my favourite Bonobo tracks. The unique vocals of Bajka grace the Days to Come song. The delicate tinkle, unmistakable thudding and the faint tooting of a saxophone underpin the song and Bajka completes it. She harmonises the song with her intricate and distinctive voice, bringing it to life. Click here to listen.

            Although well-known in the University sphere, those who have either, not heard of, given little attention to or have failed to appreciate the magnificence that is Bonobo, I highly recommend that you sit, listen and love. 

Here are a few more of my favourites

Kong

Nightlife

Ketto

Change Down

Bush and his illegal use of torture

Although a bit out-of-date, this is the article I wrote for The Verse, which never went to print. Thought it may be worth publishing it on my blog. 

Bush and his illegal use of torture

Former US president George W. Bush has recently admitted to permitting the use of the controversial torture technique, water boarding, as a means to obtain so-called vital information, which he has argued has prevented future terrorist attacks on the likes of Heathrow airport, Canary Wharf and a variety of US targets. After years of denying the use of torture to retract information from suspected terrorists, Bush has declared in his newly published book – Decision Points - that water boarding was used during interrogations. With a now published confession that Bush and the US army committed serious war crimes against humanity, could result in Bush facing jail.

Water boarding is considered a form of torture under International Human Rights standards, and has recently been confirmed a form of torture by No. 10 Downing Street. Chief of MI6, Sir John Sawers, commented on the use of water boarding in a recent speech, describing it as ‘illegal and abhorrent.’  It requires the person in question being restrained, their head being tilted backwards, their face being covered with a cloth, and water being poured over the persons face in an attempt to obstruct their breathing passages. This causes the captive to experience the sensation of drowning. As a consequence this often causes an abrupt gag reflex, it can also result in tremendous pain, dry drowning, lung damage and brain damage from oxygen deprivation. It can also have side effects like broken bones from struggling against fetters, psychological damage and if unremitting, death.

Bush swore the notorious Saddam Hussein possessed weapons of mass destruction, ‘No one was more shocked and angry than I was when we didn’t find the weapons,’ declared Bush. There is no doubt Bush shows some signs of remorse on having sent American troops into a country under false pretences, but reiterates the point that the world is a better place without Saddam Hussein. It’s got to be said, it’s almost certainly the case that many Iraqis or Afghans feel the same way about him.

Guantanamo Bay, a US prison located in Cuba, is renowned for the holding of suspected terrorists. Bush describes Guantanamo Bay as a type of heaven in prison terms, and claimed that prisoners were well-fed and kept in ‘clean and safe shelter.’ However from the vast amount of photographs leaked from Guantanamo, one has to question Bush’s honesty. Bush claimed that Geneva conventions were met in the prison regardless of it being located in Cuba rather than on US soil, where the legal requirements under the Geneva Convention are not compulsory. It became evident that 3 known suspected terrorists were interrogated using water boarding. One of these, Khalid Sheikh Mohammed claims to have been water boarded 183 times whilst interrogated by the CIA. "Damn Right! Had I not authorised water boarding on senior al Qaeda leaders, I would have had to accept a greater risk that the country would be attacked." Bush admitted to doing so to Mohammed, but claimed he divulged information of vital importance during his detention. He also stated that he would do it again to save lives. For Bush it wasn’t a question of morality, it was a question of the protection and the upholding of America’s reputation.

            The famous photos from Abu Ghraib prison, formerly the Baghdad Correctional facility, came to public attention in 2004. After photos had been leaked, Bush stated that he was not aware of such goings on under his presidency. Accounts of sexual, physical and psychological abuse occurred in the facility, committed by the military police of the United States Army. The United States Department of Defence removed seventeen soldiers and police officers, resulting in eleven being charged for abuse. President Obama is holding onto some of the more graphic photographs from the prison, of officers supposedly raping and sexual abusing prisoners. His choice not to release the photographs is because of the offence, trauma and unrest the photographs may cause. The response from the then president Bush was that these sort of on goings were of an exceptional case, claiming that these photos were in no way indicative of standard or tolerable practices in the United States Army. Evidently that was a lie.

            Decision Points tries to convey Bush’s’ presidency as one of success and foolishly tries to paint him as a morally just, ahead of his times, tenacious leader. But can one forget how he dragged America - and let’s not forget the UK – kicking and screaming into two catastrophic wars. Or his ongoing condemnation of civil liberties and international law, and of course, how he left the US economy, and along with it many other economies, in dire straights.

                              Me and my best, and the poem he sang/read to me on a pavement floor

 The Highwayman, Alfred Noyles  

The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight looping the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding--
Riding--riding--
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door.

He'd a French cocked hat on his forehead, and a bunch of lace at his chin;
He'd a coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of fine doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to his thigh!
And he rode with a jeweled twinkle--
His rapier hilt a-twinkle--
His pistol butts a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred,
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter--
Bess, the landlord's daughter--
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

Dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim, the ostler listened--his face was white and peaked--
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter--
The landlord's black-eyed daughter;
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say:

"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart; I'm after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light.
Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."

He stood upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair in the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the sweet black waves of perfume came tumbling o'er his breast,
Then he kissed its waves in the moonlight
(O sweet black waves in the moonlight!),
And he tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.

He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon.
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
ribbon over the purple moor,
The redcoat troops came marching--
Marching--marching--
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.

They said no word to the landlord; they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets by their side;
There was Death at every window,
And Hell at one dark window,
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.

They had bound her up at attention, with many a sniggering jest!
They had tied a rifle beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say,
"Look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way."

She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

The tip of one finger touched it, she strove no more for the rest;
Up, she stood up at attention, with the barrel beneath her breast.
She would not risk their hearing, she would not strive again,
For the road lay bare in the moonlight,
Blank and bare in the moonlight,
And the blood in her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love's refrain.

Tlot tlot, tlot tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hooves, ringing clear;
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot, in the distance! Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding--
Riding--riding--
The redcoats looked to their priming! She stood up straight and still.

Tlot tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment, she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight--
Her musket shattered the moonlight--
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him--with her death.

He turned, he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the casement, drenched in her own red blood!
Not till the dawn did he hear it, and his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs in the golden noon, wine-red was his velvet coat
When they shot him down in the highway,
Down like a dog in the highway,
And he lay in his blood in the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.

And still on a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a gypsy's ribbon looping the purple moor,
The highwayman comes riding--
Riding--riding--
The highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred,
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter--
Bess, the landlord's daughter--
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                                                          My loves

Tweeting away...

I have just joined twitter and if I am honest, cannot get enough of it. Now I am following the likes of Nicholas Kristof, the economist, Heidi Montag and Lauren Conrad. Cool eh? Begs the question, are these 'celebs' real? I mean following Spencer Pratt, the devil reincarnate, has resulted in a lot of pointless, unfunny droaning from the supposed Mr Pratt. Yet upsettingly, there has been little mention of Heidi or LC... bummer.

Don't judge me. Please.



hmmm... cute.

Jai Paul-BTSTU

After my first ever blog-praising Alaska in Winter's beautifully haunting song, Berlin-I now have space for a new leader on my itunes playlist (Berlin is still up there, I would say number 2.) Jai Paul's outstanding song BTSTU, is virtually unknown. Available for download on hypem.com, it has fast become one of my favourite songs of the year. Jai Paul is an unsigned artist, who should-and fingers crossed will-be celebrated as a British musical gem.

The song has a slow start and gradually a beat makes its way in. Suddenly the minimal beat progresses, leaving the listener with a delicious mess of electronic excitement. With background sounds, comparable to gun shots from a futuristic saga game, and his gentle, almost feminine voice whispering in the background, he has created-in my eyes-a catchy masterpiece. The combination of pop, hip-hop and electro, has admittedly been done before, but Jai Paul has created something that is entirely unique. Undoubtedly cool-BTSTU and Jai Paul- I'm sure this guy will make his stamp on the quirky music scene.

Click here to hear his song

Summertime

I've had an amazing summer, I went to Berlin (to see the smelly Jamie), Kefalonia with my mum for my 21st, Brittany avec la famille (excluding brother Teo, instead including best pal Charlotte) to see my baby nephew Johan, the south of France with my ENTIRE family (on my mums side) which was er...boozy and interesting, and bestival, good music, good friends, too much mud and too little hygiene. Here are some photos of the best bits…

The beginning of the end...

I’m now going into a new academic year, which is also the end of an era. 2010 is the last year of what will soon be 18 years in education! Shit?! Final year of my degree, a frightening thought most would think, but I am surprisingly nonchalant about it. I have joined the Brighton University newspaper, The Verse, as the (co) news editor. It is exciting and looks pretty good on the old CV. Ben (my co-editor-we are both third year and thought it would take a little pressure off each of us) and I have appointed Soph to write an article (her idea) on which charity is best. We told her what we are looking for, and she is getting it done. Ben and I are then going to focus on our preferred charities and write a brief section about them. I have started writing mine on Amnesty International, summarizing their work and attempting to recruit readers to support their causes.

Gen (features editor and friend) and I have also been put in charge of organising a launch party for the magazine. It will allow us to gain support from local businesses, show that the verse has changed and is back (and better), and recruit writers for the paper-but lets not forget to have loads of fun.

At the same time as this, I am attempting to write my dissertation (on the BIG subject of pornography.) The books and articles I have been reading are brilliant, and completely support the argument I am trying to make.

At uni, we are currently studying Marxisms…notice it is the plural of Marxism, so not just good, fun old Karl Marx, but the different theories emerging from his works. I won’t deny it, but it can be ever so slightly dull, but I am trying to embrace it and feel that the works of Marx are definitely something worth knowing.

It is all go and very interesting, but it is early days….soon I may be crying because I will be swamped with work…or maybe it’s about time I was!