- Raising a Glass: 60 YearsWritten by Ben JohnsonIn some ways the Queen’s Diamond’s Jubilee and the jubilant celebrations that have accompanied it, have for me arrived from nowhere. I wasn't excited, I didn't climb on the rooftops and sing God…Be the first to comment! Read more...
- An Interview with the Leeds Roller DollsWritten by Samantha HamesYesterday we reported about the new Roller Derby craze. There are many national teams that are dedicated to increasing the profile of the sport itself. These teams hold local bouts,…18 comments Read more...
- Chicks with DicksWritten by Effy AutunnoYou’re sat on the side of the runway, Gnarles Barkley blaring, your head bobbing to the beat, you cross your legs under your couture gown, the lights fade and out…Be the first to comment! Read more...
- Belieb He's a TwatWritten by Alexandra PollardTwo hours late for your gig, seized monkeys and now wishing Anne Frank was a member of your sect. Welcome to career hell, Justin Bieber; Lindsey Lohan and Katherine Heigl…Be the first to comment! Read more...
- Red faced and shins grazed, and the end of a chance.Written by Jack CowellLet’s get down in writing thoughts on the apology, to all those whom he has wronged during the incumbent coalition, issued by Nick Clegg. The apology itself has been a…Be the first to comment! Read more...
Some people never seem to be satisfied with their sports stars. Not content that they can play their chosen sport to superhuman levels of skill, training relentlessly and gruellingly, day in day out, they also seem angry if they don’t fit the prototype of how a sportsman or woman ‘should be’. Both of Wimbledon’s 2013 Singles Champions succinctly demonstrate this, with Andy Murray whiningly derided as being miserable, grumpy and boring, and Marion Bartoli receiving with a slew of sickening remarks about her appearance.
The summer is a time burgeoning with festivals and their accompanying frivolities, and your facebook newsfeed is most likely cluttered with smugly chipper news bulletins from friends and family, joyously announcing their short departures to meccas of musical celebration. Still valiantly coming to grips with the amusingly misguided new hashtag feature, the average status should resemble something like this:
Just arrived at Glasto!!! #Glasto #Glast2013 #mud #yaaayyyy!! #mumford4life
Second year has come to an end. It may have been a slew of raucous house parties, suicide-inspiring hangovers, and a questionable amount of hours spent in the pursuit of academic excellence. It may also more likely have been a haze of Britain’s Got Talent and Grand Designs reruns, and wildly intense Scrabble marathons. Nevertheless, the time has come for you to pack your bags, take down your edgy movie posters and to battle with the mouldy teacups that have been amassing under your bed for the best part of the year.
Daft Punk’s long-awaited Random Access Memories takes the listener on a late-night cruise through the many weird and wonderful faces of 70s and 80s American disco, funk, jazz and electronica, delving deep into its sea of plodding beats, shining synths and beautifully-arranged orchestration, which hit you in waves of unpredictable creative twists and turns. The French duo manage to blend together their immersion in the past with a clear and distinct salute to the future.
A boxing cage is not a traditional stage for a band, but Fenech-Soler are not a traditional lot. The four piece delivered a scorching set at Leeds Cage on 2nd May as one part of the Nokia Lumia Live Sessions, an innovative five-part instalment collaborating with music film makers La Blogotèque. Storming the stage with their exhilarating brand of electro-pop/rock, Fenech-Solar were truly spectacular and spellbinding from start to finish.
As the summer begins to wake up lazily from its never-ending sleep, stretching its arms to slowly banish the winter’s cold and grey clouds, Fossil Collective’s debut Tell Where I Lie acts as an ideal aid to the challenging and confusing transition period. 'What is this change in temperature?', I hear you say, is this what they call warm? Yes, this is warm, that is the sun, and here is some really lovely chilled-out acoustic music to ease you into this brave new world and help with unwanted withdrawal symptoms.
Most people in the UK will equate sex education with rolling flavoured condoms onto multi-ethnic plastic penises, whilst giggling uncontrollably. If you’re school was sh*t enough, you may have used bananas. My condolences. If you have not since actually seen a penis, I would like to reassure any doubts and confirm that penises are not yellow and pieces of fruit. They are penises. Handle with care.
Decapitations, amputated bodies, bloody shootouts, murders of innocent civilians, kidnappings, gruesome torture, and an ever rising body count. Two children, eight and ten years old, executed and found in a box. By anyone’s standards this would be newsworthy information, yet it failed to make even the back page in Mexico’s newspapers.
Does your music collection consist of dreary, samey monotony? Do you find yourself literally falling asleep while listening to your ‘favourite tunes’? Do you also happen to like all-American emo, pop-punk bands? If you answered yes to all of these questions, or even just the last one, then Transit’s new album Young New England, released on 2nd April, could be your shining light, and I could be your saviour.
R.E.V.O. marks the long-awaited debut album from self-made Canadian superstars, Walk Off The Earth, and serves as a breath of fresh air for anybody tired of monotone shoe-gazing indie bands and the general dreariness of life. Unapologetically optimistic, heartfelt and upbeat, Walk Off The Earth refuse to be constrained or pigeon-holed, and help to banish any glumness brought on by the UK’s currently dismal weather.