Posted by Lauren Felton on Wednesday 1st September 2010 12.13pm
I'm still recovering from my 7th Reading/Leeds weekend. Once again I had a fantastic time camping, eating noodles and rocking out to some of the hottest bands on earth with my friends - but this year, I felt massively let down by the organisers.
It's common knowledge that Sunday night (particularly at the Leeds site) is chaotic and riddled with fire-hazards. This year, I sat in my campsite with six friends trying to protect our tents. We had no problem with all the fire-starting, but it became worrying when just meters from our camp, our neighbours started putting gas canisters and aerosols on their fire; one member of our camp was just sixteen and this was her first Reading/Leeds experience so she was understandably alarmed. Like I said, it happens every year, but I defend my right to stay on the campsite until Monday morning, having paid the same as these pyromaniacs, and I expect the festival staff's support - something we definitely did not get.
The fourth time the fire was extinguished, we asked the five volunteers present to keep an eye on it as we were all being affected fumes from burning plastic and explosions from aerosols. One said he was “just a volunteer” and could do nothing, wile his fellow volunteer suggested he follow his example and remove his jacket “so we can party”. The original volunteer asked if a nearby tent belonged to any of us. It didn't, but there was a girl inside and we told him that several times. Despite this, he proceeded to urinate on the tent before asking the youngest member of our camp if she was scared and if the gas canisters were “flying everywhere”. His patronising manner, the inactivity of the three female volunteers observing this spectacle, and the second male volunteer’s failure to fulfil his duty was unsettling and irritating, as they had already enjoyed the festival and were doing nothing in return for this privilege (while those of us who had paid upwards of £180 were exposed to gas explosions).
This group of volunteers disappeared and when the fire was relit, a Customer Support Officer and another volunteer returned and had to wait for a series of explosions before they could safely approach the fire to put it out. Once it was out, I went to ask if there was any way to lodge a complaint against how the volunteers had behaved. Upon being told there was nothing they could do, I explained that our youngest group member – who had by that time joined me – was just sixteen. The Customer Support Officer’s unhelpful response was: “Sixteen? I wouldn’t let my daughter come here.” I pointed out it was her first year and was unaware it would be like this. He advised her to go home, but at sixteen she can't drive and was waiting for her dad to collect her Monday morning (the earliest he could come). The rest of our group were driving back the next day, except for one who had booked a coach. We were not prepared to leave our friend travelling by coach and a frightened sixteen-year-old alone and set off home, and both cars were full so we had no option but to stay.
Volunteers receive a handsome reward and should be aware what will be expected of them in their role. I am deeply disappointed by their handling of the fire-safety hazards and our unease and urge festival organisers rectify this by ensuring all staff are willing to take on the difficult task of keeping campfires under control. It's sad to think I - and the six friends I was with - will be reluctant to return next year, but it's a long-established festival and I'm sure something could be done to improve fire-safety standards and to screen volunteers more thoroughly to ensure their capability. None of my friends came back from V or Glasto with complaints of rude staff or gas explosions!
And, to anyone thinking of volunteering: Don't bother unless you're willing to put in the work. If you get to enjoy the festival, you should make sure everyone else gets to, too.
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Posted by Jonathan Nicholson on Sunday 29th August 2010 09.28pm
28/08/2010
Today’s demonstration is quite a lot different from the rest, quite a lot different indeed. The first difference it is static rather than moveable, something decided on quite far in advance. Secondly, there is a festival of like minded artists old and new with styles ranging from hip-hop to brass ensembles in what is called We Are Bradford. Despite there being big changes in approach, there is no change in substance.
Martin Smith, facing trial next month, says “It is not just about today in Bradford, it is about everyday in every city, we must not let these [English Defence League] thugs win”. The power to pull large numbers on regular basis is something they have mastered as many return from Newcastle and elsewhere.
People from all over the United Kingdom have come to celebrate all which is good about cultural diversity, but with the beckoning of police sirens elsewhere in the city centre the performances quickly lose their magnetism and as the rain dripped, so did those supporting the cause away from Exchange Square to Market Street, Kirkgate and Cheapside. Where those roads meet is where the UAF would glance at the English Defence League in between the police dressed in riot gear.
Although this was not about to spark for quite a while as the real trouble is on the green grass where the chanting of “EDL, EDL, EDL, EDL” as if the bellowing as if beckoning the threatening skies from above. This sinister air is finally broken when the police try and compact them in to a smaller area behind the steel barricades of the police cordon. The EDL resist this with more force than is really necessary as there is a regular shower of stones and plastic bottles, and the one smokebomb chucked for good measure.
However, they were not the only ones who see red. After heavy kettling of those who came for the peace festival in Kirkgate there is a sudden turn back up the road, like a whip on a wooden top. They charge around unguarded side streets and through a retail park in an attempt to confront those they would wish to “die of cancer” or the “cowards” who slipped through their lines. This fails, as one member shouts for the sake of order “do you want to be arrested? Stand your ground or you will be arrested” and this is echoed by a single police officer through his megaphone. Most people ad-hear to this but a rump carry on with the determination of raging bull to confront those who they disparage. They are still unsuccessful and quickly make their withdrawal.
29/05/2010
The scene in Newcastle is altogether lighter hearted than was the case in Glasgow and other places. Unite Against Fascism are marching to oppose the various forms of nationalist defence leagues. The UAF gather outside the terraces of the black and white seats of Newcastle United FC who play at the park dedicated to the patron saint of justice. There can be no more emotionally bonding starting point for their rally against those who want to separate the stripes.
From the top of the city centre, we crawl through the streets singing, chanting and with the occasional bout of laughter. However, it should be remembered though, this is not a laughing matter. This laughter mainly came from the younger section of the crowd, those with a historical perspective realise the gravity of the matter. It was not just the young who turned out though. People of all ages and backgrounds were there. Teachers, old punks, young Goths and of course radical students all fused together to form the personification of the song, “Black, White, Asian and a Jew”.
Newcastle and the North East are better known for their former industries of coal mining, steel, railways and an integral part of international trade, shipbuilding. Immigration has been a contentious issue since World War I. It would not be hard for the English Defence League to seize the initiative in these times of trouble. Blaming the problems, the lack of money and the lack of jobs on Muslims and anyone else they do not care for. They are radical themselves and are likely to stop at nothing to get what they want, one placard saying: “Our culture is worth dying to protect”. This, remember is a culture where they drink from Stella Artois cans, support a team managed by an Italian and where the husband to the head of state is Greek. The EDL do not welcome anyone who is not of their ilk, one member of the press said “they are not the friendliest of people”, some members of the press experience this.
By the end of the first half the march there is a dark and murky river of police, dogs with muzzles, vans with cells in case of a violent overspill, but no-one really felt like crossing the divide. Kettleing was the order of the day. Speeches from Trade Unionists and other leaders give the march a meaningful edge “when people ask you ‘where were you when the English Defence League came to Newcastle?’ you can say you were here”. Taking the arguments of the BNP and their use history, invoking memories of “my father [who] did not fight the Second World War so that these bigots could march on the streets of Newcastle”. Clearly this is not about themselves, but about something much bigger.
The confrontation is over now and under orders all start to return to from where they came. Following the route taken down to the meeting point the march goes past the entrance to China Town, past the Tyneside Irish Centre back to St. James’ Park.
14/11/2009
This is a strange day, though it should not be, Glasgow has always been a hot bed of radicalism. The weather was typical piss, pouring from the off. Unite Against Fascism march on this occasion and they were marching with against the Scottish Defence League under the umbrella cause of ‘Scotland Unite’. The SDL class themselves as ‘football casuals’ even though the only football match involving the St. Andrews flag was in fact being held in Wales.
It was remarkable to see how the left of Scotland unites around common cause. However, it was left to various grass roots or the more radical organisations to mobilise. The only time the mainstream political figures are seen is at the protest lunch break. They offered the unknown figures, although true to Glasgow and Scotland, if you did not follow politics closely then you probably would not know them. Even the trade unionist is unknown. Very few members of the mainstream were there, no Liberal Democrats, Labour or Conservative party members there in the throng mixing with others, or if they were, they are not seen.
It would be a little inappropriate to call this Scotland United, for it is not just Scotland united, it is more. Many people from Europe, further a field and others from closer to home. Many sing songs of known tunes and well rehearsed words. “We have Black, White, Asian and Jew”, “There are very many more of us than you” (sang to the same tune) as well as the usual anti-chants. At Glasgow Green, there are even drummers trying to turn the sodden into a carnival of people in some far and warm land. It could be they were defining nationality in a welcoming way, a nationalism based on residency not the accident of birth. Although it is more true to call it more a choice between tolerance and exclusivity.
Many people look on as they go through their daily lives. They decided that shopping is a higher priority than marching, even if they did agree with the cause. It would be hard to criticise their decision as many of the protesters are young, radical and probably pissed off with their situation. It is not hard to imagine some of the protesters will one day, be the onlookers shopping for must have electricals, shoes and other desirable products.
From Glasgow Green, people drip slowly away. Hearing news the SDL are in the city centre, people who want to confront them go in the cliques they came in. It is tense as support and patience is dissipating and being allowed to dissipate from the lectures of the speakers of wool rather than politics. Perhaps fitting given the coldness of the atmosphere.
By the time hungry stomachs and rain give way to just a general mull of friendly banter the march finally culminates in George’s Square beneath Nelson’s column. As with all protest locations, they are deliberately chosen for reasons of tactics and poignancy. However, people still have their factious arguments about what the march is about, what they should or should not do. Some let go and did not rise to the fight whilst others just want to continue with divisive reasoning.
Declaring a victory, the defiant mood turned to one of sober thought.
It becomes clear right at the end, with the minute silence, that what the march is really about. It is about some of the placards, “Remember Firsat Dag murdered by racists NEVER AGAIN”.
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Posted by Glen Byford on Monday 23rd August 2010 12.53pm
once again the mindless majority have every saturday from now until christmas all mapped out.
x-factor has started and yet again it will be near inescapable, with inevitable facebook statuses and tweets about it clogging up social networking, voiced opinions in every pub, school and workplace and any upset or utterance concerning contestants or judges preposterously passing for 'news'.
i would usually avoid it like the plague but i made a decision that as a music journalist i should actually sit myself down and at least watch the first episode in the name of research and report my findings.
i was hoping to be completely and utterly repulsed by it, i thought this would make a great article if it was full of bile for Simon Cowell's unstoppable cash-machine, but to be honest i couldn't even muster the passion to despise it.
it just bored me.
of course i have no kind words to say about it and sternly remain anti X-factor but i at least wanted to feel some sort of reaction to the programme other than indifference.
and of course it was a vapid showing of 'entertaining' individuals and groups as they embarrass themselves in front of a nation just for their fifteen seconds of fame (or a lifetime on youtube) but do we ourselves believe that they believe they have any talent, they are there purely for their brief moment in the spotlight knowing that this is the type of dross that gets on the telly.
and it is now that i realise that i don't hate a television programme that lets people chase their dreams, that gives them a chance to reach a wider audience and even allows a select few to achieve the status of celebrity that they so desire.
any sense of disdain i have is for those people that actually choose to watch it and can't see through the blatantly orchestrated cranial numbing drivel that they are being drip-fed by the show's puppetmasters, and whose only attempt at validating their viewing habits is proclaiming that 'some of the auditions are really funny'!
i'm disgusted by the way society seems to converge on sofas every week to expose themselves to such drivel and that it has somehow become a national obsession, with some people even going as far as making their plans revolve around watching the X-factor at all costs.
and i know more than afew people that were vocal of their support to get Rage Against The Machine to number one ahead of last year's X-factor winner but were still guilty of flocking to their idiot boxes every saturday night and seemingly enjoying it.
i just can't accept how people that i know that consider themselves 'music fans' will still tune in week after week to possibly the world's biggest marketing tool and subscribe to this heightened state of consumerism gone mad.
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Posted by Jonathan Nicholson on Monday 16th August 2010 04.56pm
It is something we all have to face up to; those long evening walks in the park are coming to an end. With winter around the corner too it is easy to get depressed with the thought of nothing more than cold nights in watching the television. However, between now and then there is some good news; autumn is the season which provides the break from the picnic to party season. This will be the time when a little sprinkle of magic can be given to a wardrobe, despite being full of bright colour and flowering gems from the summer.
What does one buy though? It depends on your budget as there is a whole range of newness bursting at the seams, ready to come out of the closet. Clearly there is enough to make you look sensational whatever you decide to don for that special occasion only a matter of weeks away now. It is an important time too for gatherings with the majority of social occasions happening in this season which will justify that fabulous dress you have been wanting, but put it off because saving for a summer holiday took priority. You will now have a choice to be practical or theatrical.
Karl Lagerfeld, designing for Coco Chanel, brings back the roaring twenties with the power of an express train with an open throttle though, with a few subtle tweaks for “today’s modern flapper girl”. This is not because he wants the clock to turn back, but is because he feels that there has not been enough movement and so taking that ethic, he has decided to offer up some shorter garments than the usual “belle époque” look of long evening dresses.
The colours you will see this season are a staggering kaleidoscopic array from deep dark reds, blues and browns to sleek metallic silvers with flecked blacks and greys, the icing on the cake is the creamy whites. There is no surprise these warmer colours are chosen, as temperatures drop, to reflect the floors of deciduous forests and other classic autumn scenes.
This is just half the story though with a mixture of materials and styles to tickle the senses. The most prominent material is wool with its versatile and comforting aura contrasting well with the smooth silks blending with delicate lace is to be the maxim of a collection which is adding a great sense of sophistication over anything else. Some garments even have fur trims giving a very eastern European regal look to coats and dresses.
Although the colours and materials appeal to an old fashioned feel, the designs themselves are deliberately modernist in nature. Combining the old and the new can be done with success very rarely, but Lagerfeld and the dress makers have pulled out every needle and thread to make it work. You will not find one piece dresses with ease; instead you will have a range of cut-off blouse and skirt effect all of which will be ¾ in length with their shorter sleeves allowing the femininity to ooze out of an elegance which can be barely contained.
This collection will not only set precedence for the new season with its chic of minimal effort, it is going to set the autumn and winter ablaze.
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Posted by Glen on Sunday 15th August 2010 01.45pm
'hi james, this is glen from glasswerk. i'm meant to be reviewing Mr Fogg but i'm at the venue now and they don't have me on any guestlists. if you could get back in touch i'd appreciate it'
twenty five minutes past seven and i'm stood outside Bar Academy Islington cursing the PR guy that was meant to be sorting tonight out, i've just hung up after leaving a message on his mobile and the only sense of relief is that i actually had the foresight to print out the email he'd sent earlier which thankfully had a phone number on, for all the good it did me.
and this isn't even the start of my grievances, it was only by chance that i thought to check out who the other support acts would be, only to find that Mr Fogg actually was the support, the first support on, which was not mentioned in any of the mail-outs or correspondence, not even when i checked that i was definitely down to review it that morning, so i reckon that since doors opened at 7, that Mr Fogg will likely be on in about five minutes.
i fire off a quick text incase he's one of those people that doesn't answer calls from numbers they don't recognise and hope that i hear back soon as we retreat to the kooky homeware shop downstairs that i had already dragged my girlfriend away from once, partly because the sale on the house hasn't gone through just yet and i insist on not buying anything for it too soon, but mostly because i didn't want to be late for the artist i was supposed to be reviewing.
she nonchalantly looks at teapots and tea cups and fluffy wall mounted animal heads while i continue brooding and cursing the PR guy, i apologise for having dragged her out, spending money on travel and a subway each unnecessarily when we really should be saving our money for the mortgage and for the house instead of making wasted trips to Islington, she hardly seems too bothered, and i wish the salt and pepper grinders she is looking at had the same calming effect on me as it seems to for her.
after a once around the shop, a little more brooding and cursing and a little more apologising i decide that i might as well give the old, 'i'm on the guestlist' routine one last futile attempt before we go, perhaps they had misspelt my surname or something, clutching at straws before we called it a night.
lo and behold, did the guy on the desk recognise me from earlier and mutter something about having the guestlist arrive now, printing off my tickets and handing them over, i didn't ask for a full explanation of events as Mr Fogg had already started and i had to call over to my girlfriend to get her over here and in the venue before she got distracted by any other shops.
so i'm in, Mr Fogg is pretty much exactly what i expected him to be, it's a shame there aren't more people to witness his one man fiddly little electronics show, it is uplifting and engaging, but it is still early and only barely more than a handfull of people mingle about, not daring to cross the invisible barrier and get too close to the stage, and i think how there would have been two less people here enjoying it if i hadn't decided to give it another go on the door, it was only pure chance considering that i hadn't heard back from anybody at all.
it would be an hour and a half later when i get a text proclaiming 'fucks sake, sorry mate, here's james number.......', not only an hour and a half later but an hour after the guy i was meant to be reviewing had left the stage, but i was in somehow, and that was what mattered, but the irony was not lost on me when Mr Fogg played his last song, 'this is called Answerphone'.....
'give me a call, you will not get my answerphone'
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