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art and things and music and things and

J a n - F e b 2 0 0 9

The Village IdiotsCorinneand

Aisha

Featuring...

ISSUE 1

contentsHello and welcome to Issue 1 of Art And Things magazine!

Firstly, if you picked up a copy of our pilot issue, thank you. We hope you enjoyed it. We’ve had an overwhelmingly positive response to AAT, we were quite taken aback by the amount of e-mails we received from readers. It’s been a busy month getting back to everyone, planning for the future and a doing bit of work here and there for Issue 001.

We were pleased with Issue 000 but we’ve worked hard to make this issue bigger, brighter and better. Once again we’ve had a great time meeting artists, musicians, actors and the like and have had the opportunity to work with some great people. Additionally, we’ve managed to ensnare a new member – welcome to Shiv, who has joined the team as our design lead. Most importantly though, we’ve been able to put out this issue and make our website work. The online branch of AAT now has the magazine itself, additional features and, by the time this goes to print, a forum so everyone can comment on what they’ve seen in AAT. The idea for the website is to make it a meeting place for artists and somewhere to encourage debate about what is in the magazine. From there, who knows?

In this issue you will find more artists, photographers and musicians as well as an Edinburgh Festival Fringe bound theatre group and some creative writing. We’re still very eager for our readers to get in contact; you’re welcome to approach us, be it to ask about a feature, to con-tribute, to advertise or to just generally get in touch. We have a look at everything that we get and will be looking for more stuff to put online as well as in the magazine so if you feel like making friends, don’t hesitate!

For anything under photography, painting or sculpture, Sonny@aatmagazine.co.ukPoems, creative writing, and feature ideas, Jamie or Pete@aatmagazine.co.uk Graphic design or illustration,Shiv@aatmagazine.co.uk

Thank you again for taking the time to read Art and Things,we hope you enjoy it and discover some things that you like.

Love

Sonny, Jamie, Peter and Shiv.

Pick U

p - 0.

1

Want anoth

er one?

Corrinne -

0.2

It’s

still t

he… p

iano.

The Vill

age Idio

ts - 0

.3

Mask

theatre

triu

mphantly

retu

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whereve

r it’s

been.

Maza

kii - 0

.4

I sh

oulda b

een allo

ta th

ings,

Jim. I

should

a been a

lotta

thin

gs.

Daffodils

- 0.5

“I sta

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ile of r

ipped flow-

ers on th

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nd thought th

at they

didn’t l

ook gold

en at a

ll”

Senso

ry D

eprivatio

n - 0.6

See w

ith yo

ur feelin

gs, ye

ah?

Aisha -

0.7

Frizz

y hair

is no p

rice to

pay f

or a sp

iri-

tual r

inse

We st

ill w

ant you -

0.8

And no one else

will

do.

Tim

and Sa

m’s

Tim

and th

e Sam

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with Ti

m a

nd Sam

- 0.9

Also fe

aturin

g Becca.

Sam

Fish

- 1.0

Liste

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ike, I

can

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wear.

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This

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The List

- 1.2

Oh, snap!

contentsPick U

p - 0.

1

Want anoth

er one?

Corrinne -

0.2

It’s

still t

he… p

iano.

The Vill

age Idio

ts - 0

.3

Mask

theatre

triu

mphantly

retu

rns f

rom

whereve

r it’s

been.

Maza

kii - 0

.4

I sh

oulda b

een allo

ta th

ings,

Jim. I

should

a been a

lotta

thin

gs.

Daffodils

- 0.5

“I sta

red a

t the m

essy p

ile of r

ipped flow-

ers on th

e carpet a

nd thought th

at they

didn’t l

ook gold

en at a

ll”

Senso

ry D

eprivatio

n - 0.6

See w

ith yo

ur feelin

gs, ye

ah?

Aisha -

0.7

Frizz

y hair

is no p

rice to

pay f

or a sp

iri-

tual r

inse

We st

ill w

ant you -

0.8

And no one else

will

do.

Tim

and Sa

m’s

Tim

and th

e Sam

Band

with Ti

m a

nd Sam

- 0.9

Also fe

aturin

g Becca.

Sam

Fish

- 1.0

Liste

n, it’s

not what it

looks l

ike, I

can

expla

in I s

wear.

The Duffl

efolk

s - 1.

1

This

one goes o

ut to a

ll the b

roth

ers and

the si

sters

in th

e Hem

pstead.

The List

- 1.2

Oh, snap!

PICKME UP

Borders ColneyBarnet RdAL2 1AB

Borders WatfordWaterfieldsWD17 2EU

Borders Brent CrossNW2 1LJ

Borders CroydenWhitgift CenterCR0 1UZ

Sacred Carnaby StreetW1F 9BL

The Good ShipKilburn HighroadNW6 7JR

The FoundryGreat Eastern StreetEC2A 3JL

Rokit ClothingBrick LaneE1 6SE

The Tate ModernBankside

London SE1 9TG

The Amber RoomsQueens Road,

WD17 2LA

The London Graphic CenterShelton Street

London, WC2H

Watford Palace TheaterClarendon Road

WD17 1JZ

The Kodak ExpressCamden High Street

NW1 7JL

Oh BarCamden High Street

NW1 7JN

The HideawayJunction Road

N19 5LB

Green NoteParkwayNW1 7AN

Sanctuary Art Of SoundWiggenhall Road

WD18 0FN

The Laden ShowroomBrick Lane

E1 6SE

Have a New Years...

ME UPWe don’t just appear in bars, galleries and art shops, we also distrobute at the following Collages, Unis,

Schools and Sixth Forms.Having trouble getting hold of a copy?

You’ve got a few options.

A)Steal a friends copy. It’s like recy-cling but easier.

B)Travel to another one of these drop off points. Maybe give them a call first.

C)Let us know about somewhere near you that we should stock. We’ll let you know if they want us.

D)We are looking to expand our distri-bution nationwide, so if you want to be a regional representative for AAT please let us know. This is a great op-portunity for students wanting to get into the media and arts industries to get involved with AAT Magazine.

E)If you really can’t get hold of a copy anywhere, and can wander round to NW1, Sonny is willing to hand deliver your copy to you. Email him for details.

University of Herts

Royal Holloway

Central St. Martins

University of Herts Art Gallery

Middlesex University

Kingston University

The Courtauld Institute of Art

Chelsea College of Art and Design

Byam Shaw School of Art

King Alfreds School sixth form

Where Else?

Are you concerned the world might be slowly turning you into a joyless cynic? Do you worry that perhaps the rat race has you so jaded that you’ve forgotten how to smile? Here’s a tip - go and watch Corinne next time she’s performing in a bar or café some-where. If you’re not beaming like an idiot by the end of her set you’re cold to the core.

Co

rin

ne

With her piano, twenty three year old singer-songwriter Corinne - one of the brightest prospects on the amateur Lon-

don circuit - creates soulful, bubbly pop that will make you forget how to be grumpy for at least two minutes.

You like it, trust us.

Corinne popped into The Amber Rooms (our Watford local) earlier this month to see us. We had a good chat about her plans for the future, dodgy landlords in Croydon, and what other acts she thinks we should keep an ear out for.

Art And Things - So, Corinne. First from Nottingham, then Southampton, and now North Lon-don, what made you move to the capital in the first place?

Corinne – I moved up to London on my own at sixteen to go to the Brit school, to continue music and do something I loved really. I played classical music before the Brit and was in pretty much every choir and rehearsal at secondary school, I was the proper music geek!

Moving up to London at sixteen? Sounds pretty daunting.

Well, I moved up with my mate Lucy to Croydon so it wasn’t really London but we thought it was! We lived in this really odd bed and breakfast and the landlord was proper weird, he had these two toy dogs and everyday when we were out he would move them into dodgy positions. It wasn’t sexual but it was just odd…

Yeah, that’s pretty odd.

Mmmm, they used to do this fried breakfast everyday too, and they used to make us eat it. I was desperate for cereal; ah it was just so weird looking back!

So what made you want to play gigs and go it alone?

There was a gig at Brit and I sang but I was shitting myself. I was so nervous, I used to be really shy. God, it was terrible. After a while though I grew more confident and played 93feet east and other gigs in London. It’s something I love doing, despite it not paying(!)

You must have made a couple of quid from a gig though?

Ha! I haven’t yet, well not for my own material. I would love to of course, but generally it’s the same old “bring thirty people and you get a pound per person after” and all that shit, which might pay for a pint. Too many promoters run nights to make money and not because they love and believe in new artists, it really winds me up.

Do you think there are too many promoters in London just making money off amateur musi-cians then?

Yeah, I do. If you think about it, the musicians are providing a service for little to no money and generally the promoters are not even nice to them. Musicians bring all their equipment and go through all that hassle. But I guess the promoters just do a service for all the people wanting new music.

So what are the plans for the future, any records or gigs to look forward to?

I’m in the studio most weeks working with as many people as I can and I’m currently restricting myself to only a handful of gigs - maybe some in London. I want to record at the moment. The aim is to make enough money to live as a musician and just continue writing, recording and perform-ing. I need a manager really, so if anyone is reading this and interested, then come and speak to me!

Corinne plays at The Amber Rooms in Watford for the DIY WOMP art and music showcase on Saturday August the 23rd, and can be found at www.myspace.com/corinnesings

Rob Walker

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by

Son

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VillageIdiots

Images by Sonny Malhotra

When someone mentions ‘mask theatre’ what immedi-ately springs to your mind? Slapstick silent comedy? Venetian-masked over act-ing? Or an exciting yet largely unrecognised branch of the theatrical arts?

According to Charles Ash, one of the founding members of Hertfordshire’s Village Idiots mask theatre company, the or-ganisation are one of the only companies in the UK currently performing Full Mask Theatre. In fact, the Village Idiot’s clos-est known contemporaries are based in Berlin. This is surpris-ing given the rampant success Village Idiots have enjoyed at Edinburgh Festival Fringe over the past few years.

The group took their first mask show, “Madame Tellier’s Establishment” to Edinburgh in 2005 - they have been playing to sold-out venues and receiv-ing excellent reviews ever since. (One exception being a particularly uncompliment-ary review from the Scotsman, ending with the word “merde”. Unperturbed, the group en-titled their 2006 show “Hotel De Mer” giving a sly nod to the negative write-up.)

Everything about the Vil-lage Idiots is done in-house, from the making of the masks and writing (or plotting) their shows, to the organisation of the group and booking ven-ues. This year’s show - entitled “Filch & Blunder” is a comedy

about two blundering thieves who end up with more than they bargained for after rob-bing an elderly lady at a bus stop.

Despite these comedic leanings, the genre of mask theatre has far more to of-fer than just laughs. Charles makes the point that “it is far easier to portray tragedy and drama with a mask, as only 53% of all communication towards the audience is vocal, so it leaves a huge margin for body language to influence the audience reaction” fellow actor Jack Read adds that “the masks have to act as the eyes of the character”.

Due to their distinct lack of verbal language, full mask shows can be enjoyed by a global audience. Addition-ally, full mask shows allow the audience to have their own subjective version of the dialogue between charac-ters going on in their heads.

Interpretation of characters is vitally important to mask theatre and the group liken it to reading a book - everyone in the audience sees each character in their own way. As such, the acting is vastly dif-ferent to traditional theatrical performance, each action has to be emphasised in a way that moves the story along.

By the time this issue is in your hands, Village Idiots will already have performed at the Larmer Tree Festival and at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe. This year promises to be a pivotal one for them as they look to take “Filch & Blunder” on tour and host workshops around the country. With mask theatre recently being put onto the national curriculum for drama students, they are keen to exemplify the genre and show that theatre is not all about scripts and dialogue.

By Jamie Fewerywww.villageidiots.org.uk

VillageIdiots

Images by Sonny Malhotra

Jing Zhang is a 23-year-old artist from Southern China, now based in London. A graduate of Guangdong University of Technology with a Bachelors degree in Apparel Design and Engineering, in 2007 she made the move to London - a city she describes as ‘the world’s fashion capital’- to study fashion design.Jing’s work spans multiple mediums - from digital art and illustration, to photography and fashion design. She illustrates under the alias Mazakii; creating rich, dramatic, Oriental influenced images mostly concerned with nature, beautiful women and flowing fabrics. We talked to her about how she reconciles such a vast base of influences and styles and took the opportunity to share with you some of our favorite Mazakii pieces.

Art And Things: Erm, forgive us but what does ‘Mazakii’ mean?Mazakii: I love Japanese art and graphic design, as well as their food. I think it’s mainly the reason for the origin of the name…Well it really doesn’t have any meaning, seriously.

Haha! Okay then. Is fashion an inspiration in your illustration?My inspiration comes from lots of countries and lots of people, varying from Baroque fashion and architecture, to Japanese contemporary art, Chinese traditional painting, and Buddhist pictures. Great fashion legends such as Christian Dior and Vivienne Westwood, Balenciaga, or John Galliano, Viktor & Rolf are also major sources of inspiration. Oh and also Matthew Williamson. I look up to his work a lot. He manages to combine brilliant graphic skills with his clothing design, which is amazing. I’m not going to be another Matthew Williamson, though. I’ve got my own identity.

Mazakii

Mazakii

How is the fashion side of things going for you at the moment?I’m really broke; I can’t afford any fashion work at the moment! I think I need to stick with graphic design and illustration for a couple of years and then I can start my fashion career.

What made you want to come to the UK?I moved to the UK to continue my study in order to balance out my artistic perception, which had always showed a bias towards an Oriental style. It’s always hard to explain what I do actually. I’ve studied fashion design for over 5 years while I’ve developed more in illustrations and graphic design.

Balance? We like your Oriental style!Oh! Thank you. I do have a strong Oriental style in my artwork. Hell yeah! … It seems to be something I can’t get rid of. I’m really trying to be Westernized a bit more because I really want to be a more professional designer too, rather than an artist alone. I remember that a long time ago I applied to Central St. Martins for a Masters program in Illustration and Fashion Design. They turned me down because my style was very narrow. I was upset for a while, but I think that they were right. I started to broaden my style and ability, also challenged myself with lots of new experiments. It’s always hard to make a choice which direction you’re developing in. If you want to be professional, or simply get a job, you have to show your proficiency in many aspects, however, if you want to stand out from the crowd, you have to show your uniqueness. It’s really a dilemma.

Something you’re coming to terms with? Yeah well after a while, I figured out a way to improve my portfolio and my work -multiple mediums, but in one distinct style.

It’s like a fashion collection, made of different fabrics, but one style. The Mazakii’s style, haha!You can e-mail Jing at mazakii@126.comAnd see more of her stuff at www.mazakii.com

When my father was out the house I’d often sit on his office chair and swivel around, pushing myself from his desk with my hands. The desk was made from a solid, dark oak and I was always scared of getting splinters, though I never did. I’d shut my eyes and try extremely hard not to get dizzy, but my head would always spin; I’d feel sick and have to stop. His ivory-handled paper knife sat tothe left of his blotting pad, on his desk. With one hand, I’d hold the smooth, cold handle and pinch the blade between the thumb and index finger of my other hand. I’d turn it over and over so that the smoothness of the handle rubbed against my palm and the blade made red dents in my fingertips. I’d keep looking towards the office door and listen out for his footsteps, even though I knew he wasn’t home. I wanted him to catch me.

My mother caught me once. I heard her feet hurrying along the hallway and knew it wasn’t anyone else. She stood in the doorway.

“Put it down.” she told me. “That’s

your father’s special paper knife, this is your father’s office. He wouldn’t want you in here, he wouldn’t want you touching his things.”

I looked down at the knife in my hands. I wanted to stab it into the ink paper and drag it through, ripping gashes, stabbing the gashes, stabbing it all over. Placing the knife to the left of the paper I wondered if I should feel guilty. I pushed in the chair, shut the door behind me and followed my mother down the hallway to the far end of the house, into the studio.

Mother was a speech and drama teacher, she taught her pupils in the studio. They’d come in and out of the back door separately. She also taught my sister and me. When the studio was empty it held a strange atmosphere. I’d often have to practice there alone. It was a thin sparse room, at the end of a long corridor. When I walked down the long corridor, the strange atmosphere snuck up and around me in the icy air that hung there.In slow motion, in utter silence, I seemed to drift or drag, as the air nipped at my bare arms or legs; until I reached the door. Once inside, you could hear nothing from the rest of the house. It was like Narnia. I expected to see snow falling outside the window.

Today, she’d finished her teaching, and now it was my turn. I was practicing for a speech competition: “Poem, Girls Under 12”.

Mother’s breathy voice blew across the long room, from one end, where she stood, to the other, where I stood, standing tall, shoulders back, chin up and looking straight ahead. We’d been there a good while before I started to lose concentration.

“Again, Adriana”, she breathed. “I wandered lonely as a cloud . . .”

I paused, picturing the gap on the page after “cloud”. The long white space. I gazed across at her, my mind stuck in the whiteness. I forgot the next line. She waited patiently. I began to get lost in the space. She prompted me:

“That floats on . . .” I saw these words and knew I should just continue:

“That floats on high o’er vales and hill, / When all at once I saw a crowd, / A host, of golden daffodils”. She put up her hand, palm flat towards me.

“Stop.” she told me. “Enough.” She left the room and a few moments later she was in the garden. I went up to the window and watched as she lent over a bed of daffodils, under a small flowering cherry tree. She began picking at them and soon held a bunch, squashed to her chest. Some were falling onto the ground as she tore at more, but there were so many it didn’t matter. She left the green stalks behind and came back into the room, arms full. She threw them down in front of me.

“You see them,” she said, then touching the part of her forehead between her eyes, “now see them”. I stared at the messy pile of ripped flowers on the carpet and thought that they didn’t look golden at all. She picked one up and put it in my hand.

“Again, Adriana.” she breathed, as if down my neck. I stood for a long time reciting Wordsworth.

The words repeated themselves as I ate dinner, as I brushed my teeth, as I lay in bed rubbing my sore feet under the duvet, whilst golden daffodils danced through my head.

By the side of the stage were twelve girls, sitting on twelve chairs, waiting to recite “Daffodils”. I was one of them. I’d been to competitions here before. I liked how large the stage was; when I stood in the middle I felt tiny. The first girl spoke too quietly. The judges weren’t impressed. I was next. I smiled at the judges and took a moment to relax. I liked the moment before I’d start; it was when I felt most in control. Alone, above everybody else. I enjoyed the anticipation in their faces and their desire for me to be good. There was a surge just below my ribs and I began. I didn’t rush through, like most of the others. Immersed in the words, I felt their rhythms and, between them, the pauses. It was over. I sat down. I often felt shaky and worried afterwards. They read out the winners before lunch. I won ‘Poem, Girls Under 12’. They gave me a plain gold trophy and said “You can put that on your mantel piece with the others, can’t you dear?”

I didn’t tell them I kept my awards on my bedroom shelves. Walking off the stage I saw Mother, lit up, clapping her hands, shoulders lifted, gasping through her smile. I loved her like this. She wasn’t planning or panicking but reacting to the moment. I hugged her. She gave me a carton of milk and a sandwich and I sat down.

Words:Juliet Cochrane

Illustrations:Molly Maine

Wandered in grease stained cap, scarred arms and ordered water. Talked about his mother’s Soviet childhood. New concrete blocks of icing sugar white purity. A new and dignified way of living. Stalin stole his mother’s youth. Bit into the sugar block the falling crumbs took her sight and so she failed to see the grey dirt aftermath. Back from the toilet his eyes rolled back in his head and slurring. He left after washing the curds of blood from his arms.

// A two hundred mile journey through the heat of the desert, with full air conditioning. The sun baked road sweats tar through the heat haze. Broken down houses by the side of the road. Impulse takes the car into the brilliantly reflective

sand. Into a primordial levee, long deserted by life that weacknowledge. The scorpionsand the sand snakes watchfrom the side.

// When nature 2 comes, around eighty percent of London will be deserted. The Kudzu escapes the botanical gardens and covers the buildings. The overflowing Thames creates a marsh, in this marsh the mosquitoes buzz around like the Pontine marshes in the Middle Ages. Hampstead Heath is the new home of an escaped Kodiak bear who through starvation reclaims its natural instincts. The toxic pollutants, stored oil and diesel taint the ample, but sickly, fish. When drought brings fires, most impermanent remnants of human civilisation are damaged to the extent that they are unrecognisable. Adventure tourism proliferates.

// She pulled her hand off the wheel, looked over her shoulder and

everyone was sleeping. The car was beached in the sand, about a quarter of the wheel was covered just enough to prevent adequate traction without towing from the road or pushing. The orange/purple/deepest blue vistas of the desert evening creeping skywards from the horizon to mitigate the bone dry sun. Soon the only light would be celestial or the nearest conurbation, depending on the dominance of its light pollution. No breeze but silent calm. Peeled a plaster off her hand and threw it out the window. Adhesive goo like maple sap linked her thumb and index finer like a strand of a spider’s web casting fine shadows on her fingers. Two dusty, sticky rings an inch apart were left. She picked at the layer of dusty crud and drank from a half-full bottle of water. The incoming cool - enough to make one look for a jumper - roused her fellow travellers: her brother, friend and a hitchhiker. Her brother and friend quickly fell back to sleep. She sat in silence with the drowsy hitchhiker behind

and looked out to her surroundings. Five minutes passed in silence as the sun fell rapidly. The dark heightened the creaks of contracting metalwork and plastic; along with the light sleep murmurs of the sleeping passengers and static fuzz of movement on the cream material of the car seats. ‘Now it’s time to kill you,’ she said straight-faced to the hitcher. He nervously smiled as if to call her bluff and rubbed his red face. She looked into his eyes, smiled back and then opened the glove compartment. After shuffling round the contents - a newspaper, assorted food packaging and cigarettes - she pulled out a black handgun. The hitcher - a man in his late twenties, bearded and rotund - sweated and stuttered grasping at the child-locked door. ‘Did you ever think this would happen to you? How does it feel? A nice reversal of a supposedly historical trend - a man at the mercy of a woman’s violence you fucker. How do you like that? I’ve been watching you and killing you isn’t my aim, it should be by all means.

I want to feel the process, see your anxiety, experience someone else’s last thoughts and how they contend with death. You presented me with a perfect opportunity. Now tell me, what would you do to get out of this situation?’ This compelled the prostrate passenger to scream, ‘anything fucking anything.’ ‘Really?’ she pushed her black hair out of her eyes with a slim finger. A strand persisted; she flicked it with the gun and then pointed its barrel at his neck. The evening cast soft distorting shadows around her cheekbones and brow, she was grey and out of focus to tired eyes catching up with the confused amphetamine hit of adrenaline. Although, the hitcher had no trouble in focusing upon the barrel of the gun, which bobbed as she breathed and twitched, her image remained elusive. The hitcher gagged internally catatonic in fear holding back vomit, not enough however to prevent the bitter taste of bile in his mouth. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘you must be joking.’ She interrupted, ‘Motherfucker I don’t joke, I saw you look at me - I’m not stupid you want to rape me.’ She laughed cod-psychotically like Dick Dastardly as he spluttered in complete shock. ‘I was asleep, please don’t shoot me I’m only on the way to see my parents.’ ‘I saw you look up my skirt, pig!’ On hearing his sister’s voice raised tone, her brother stirred again only this time to be fully roused. He shuffled agitatedly, ‘Oh fuck not again, I can’t let you do this, why the fuck did I think I could trust you to drive,’ her brother interrupted, ‘it wasn’t funny the first time and you’re going to give this poor bastard a heart attack, we’re not on the road either- what the fuck?’ ‘Sorry I was bored; help me get the car out the sand.’ She lurched and pulled the trigger. The hitchhiker convulsed grabbing out in panic, sweat instantaneously dripped down his back. The empty click of the unloaded gun allayed his fears.

DEPRIVATIONSENSORY

Words:Patrick Glen

Illu

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Illu

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Wandered in grease stained cap, scarred arms and ordered water. Talked about his mother’s Soviet childhood. New concrete blocks of icing sugar white purity. A new and dignified way of living. Stalin stole his mother’s youth. Bit into the sugar block the falling crumbs took her sight and so she failed to see the grey dirt aftermath. Back from the toilet his eyes rolled back in his head and slurring. He left after washing the curds of blood from his arms.

// A two hundred mile journey through the heat of the desert, with full air conditioning. The sun baked road sweats tar through the heat haze. Broken down houses by the side of the road. Impulse takes the car into the brilliantly reflective

sand. Into a primordial levee, long deserted by life that weacknowledge. The scorpionsand the sand snakes watchfrom the side.

// When nature 2 comes, around eighty percent of London will be deserted. The Kudzu escapes the botanical gardens and covers the buildings. The overflowing Thames creates a marsh, in this marsh the mosquitoes buzz around like the Pontine marshes in the Middle Ages. Hampstead Heath is the new home of an escaped Kodiak bear who through starvation reclaims its natural instincts. The toxic pollutants, stored oil and diesel taint the ample, but sickly, fish. When drought brings fires, most impermanent remnants of human civilisation are damaged to the extent that they are unrecognisable. Adventure tourism proliferates.

// She pulled her hand off the wheel, looked over her shoulder and

everyone was sleeping. The car was beached in the sand, about a quarter of the wheel was covered just enough to prevent adequate traction without towing from the road or pushing. The orange/purple/deepest blue vistas of the desert evening creeping skywards from the horizon to mitigate the bone dry sun. Soon the only light would be celestial or the nearest conurbation, depending on the dominance of its light pollution. No breeze but silent calm. Peeled a plaster off her hand and threw it out the window. Adhesive goo like maple sap linked her thumb and index finer like a strand of a spider’s web casting fine shadows on her fingers. Two dusty, sticky rings an inch apart were left. She picked at the layer of dusty crud and drank from a half-full bottle of water. The incoming cool - enough to make one look for a jumper - roused her fellow travellers: her brother, friend and a hitchhiker. Her brother and friend quickly fell back to sleep. She sat in silence with the drowsy hitchhiker behind

and looked out to her surroundings. Five minutes passed in silence as the sun fell rapidly. The dark heightened the creaks of contracting metalwork and plastic; along with the light sleep murmurs of the sleeping passengers and static fuzz of movement on the cream material of the car seats. ‘Now it’s time to kill you,’ she said straight-faced to the hitcher. He nervously smiled as if to call her bluff and rubbed his red face. She looked into his eyes, smiled back and then opened the glove compartment. After shuffling round the contents - a newspaper, assorted food packaging and cigarettes - she pulled out a black handgun. The hitcher - a man in his late twenties, bearded and rotund - sweated and stuttered grasping at the child-locked door. ‘Did you ever think this would happen to you? How does it feel? A nice reversal of a supposedly historical trend - a man at the mercy of a woman’s violence you fucker. How do you like that? I’ve been watching you and killing you isn’t my aim, it should be by all means.

I want to feel the process, see your anxiety, experience someone else’s last thoughts and how they contend with death. You presented me with a perfect opportunity. Now tell me, what would you do to get out of this situation?’ This compelled the prostrate passenger to scream, ‘anything fucking anything.’ ‘Really?’ she pushed her black hair out of her eyes with a slim finger. A strand persisted; she flicked it with the gun and then pointed its barrel at his neck. The evening cast soft distorting shadows around her cheekbones and brow, she was grey and out of focus to tired eyes catching up with the confused amphetamine hit of adrenaline. Although, the hitcher had no trouble in focusing upon the barrel of the gun, which bobbed as she breathed and twitched, her image remained elusive. The hitcher gagged internally catatonic in fear holding back vomit, not enough however to prevent the bitter taste of bile in his mouth. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘you must be joking.’ She interrupted, ‘Motherfucker I don’t joke, I saw you look at me - I’m not stupid you want to rape me.’ She laughed cod-psychotically like Dick Dastardly as he spluttered in complete shock. ‘I was asleep, please don’t shoot me I’m only on the way to see my parents.’ ‘I saw you look up my skirt, pig!’ On hearing his sister’s voice raised tone, her brother stirred again only this time to be fully roused. He shuffled agitatedly, ‘Oh fuck not again, I can’t let you do this, why the fuck did I think I could trust you to drive,’ her brother interrupted, ‘it wasn’t funny the first time and you’re going to give this poor bastard a heart attack, we’re not on the road either- what the fuck?’ ‘Sorry I was bored; help me get the car out the sand.’ She lurched and pulled the trigger. The hitchhiker convulsed grabbing out in panic, sweat instantaneously dripped down his back. The empty click of the unloaded gun allayed his fears.

DEPRIVATIONSENSORY

Words:Patrick Glen

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Art and Things: So how did this partnership come about?

Aisha: We were neighbours up at Uni, Eva started playing in my room in halls, we were meeting up, playing songs. Actually we’re moving in together soon. We’ve done two gigs, we just really click together!

You’re at Uni in Oxford together? Played any good gigs up there?

Erm, we did one in a graveyard, we slept there and everything.

What!? Like a flashmob or something?

Oh no! No, we had backing from the May-or. It was an event for Still Human Still Here , they do work protecting asylum seekers.

Eva: We did that one on the street in Oxford and a truck came and parked in front of us.

Nice.

Yeah..

Aisha, you’re a Scientist aren’t you?

Erm, yeah..? I study Human Science.

Right here’s one for you – Two electrons in a bar - ARGH I’ve f*cked it up already!

Aw! No, no go on!

Okay, two atoms walk into in a bar, one says ‘Shit! I’ve lost an electron!’ the other says ‘Oh no, are you sure?’ and he says ‘Yes, I’m sure! I’m positive!’

Aahhh…. Oh dear.

I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m doing. Let’s get back on topic…What are your immediate plans?

AishaWe’ve known that we were going to do something on Aisha for a while. When we first met her she’d just come off stage at the Good Ship in Kilburn. After we’d told her how good we thought her set was she gave us a big hug. We like Aisha.

She’s been carting her guitar around London and Oxford play-ing her lo-fi, soulful and lyrically impeccable songs on the streets and in bars for around a year now, and has deservedly been steadily winning hearts. With a classically trained violinist in the shape of her friend Eva Lily Tausig now on board, the pair have the makings of something really rather special indeed. We had a chat in the pub and then walked the long way back to Sonny’s place for photos.

We’re doing some recordings at the moment, improving some stuff and adding some new stuff. We’re just really enjoying music at the mo-ment we’re kinda going with it.

Okay, what’s been your best gig so far?

Oh that DIY WOMP one we did at The Foundry!

One of our events? Really?

Yeah, yeah! It was just really good because it had been a year of playing, we had some mates there who had supported us, but loads of new people getting really into it and it felt like things were coming together for us. The crowd were so good.

Hahaha, I’m not sure we can print that…

www.myspace.com/aishaplaysmusichttp://www.stillhuman.org.uk/

WE WANT YOU

Help yourself....

If you picked up Issue 0 of AAT you may have read this once already, but due to the excellent response we received and the amount of great artists we got to meet, it seems worth repeating ourselves.

We are always on the lookout for people to be featured in this magazine and to work on it. If you are an artist, musician, writer, illustrator or photographer (or anything else you think would sit well in AAT) then please do get in touch. We get back to ev-eryone who contacts us and due to our expanded web presence, we are looking for features both in print and online.

Advertise....

We don’t just need readers and writers, we need advertisers. This magazine is dis-tributed freely and relies on advertising to survive. Do you work with a company that would benefit from advertising in 10,000 copies to tens of thousands of artists and art lovers. Do you run a gallery? Have an exhibition coming up? Are you promoting a gig? Selling tickets, art supplies instruments or studio space? Put in an advert! This magazine isn’t for profit, we just want to make enough to cover printing costs, so the advertising costs are cheap and for a little more we’ll even design your advert for you, making sure it fits perfectly into the AAT feel. Full pages available.Contact Jamie@aatmagazine.co.uk for more information

Thanks....A big thank you to the following people:

KKM Architects, Marion Duffin, DIY WOMP, Rob Walker, Darren Luchmun, Lauren Down, David Wenk, our stockists and distribut-ers, Don’t Panic, Rob at John Good and John Good in general, our families, girlfriends, boyfriends, friends, bosses and employees for their eternal patience and support.

A special thanks to Dominic Clifford, Lily Meades and Francis Bentley without whom this magazine would definitely never have gotten off the ground.

And thanks to the massive number of readers who gave us feedback for the test is-sue, and to you, the new reader.

Cheers,Jamie, Sonny, Peter and Shiv

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sculptures fashion designers animators typographers dancers calligraphers novelists creative writers reviewers minimalists surrealists purists ballerinas performance artists advertisers god we need adver-tisers impressionists sculptures painters videographers illustrators photographers painters reviewers impres-sionists sculptures minimalists artists poets designers sculptures actresses surrealist ballerinas stylists actors videographers painters musicians purists writers videographers writers photographers sculptures actors and actresses artists painters videographers illustrators designers musicians stylists poets chocolate and pilchards banana and acorns actors and actresses artists painters videographers designers photographers sculptures fashion designers animators typographers dancers calligraphers novelists creative writers reviewers minimal-ists surrealists purists ballerinas performance artists advertisers god we need advertisers impressionists sculp-tures painters videographers illustrators photographers painters reviewers impressionists sculptures minimal-ists artists poets designers sculptures actresses surrealist ballerinas stylists actors videographers painters musicians purists writers videographers writers photographers sculptures actors and actresses artists painters videographers illustrators designers musicians stylists poets chocolate and pilchards banana and acorns ac-tors and actresses artists painters videographers designers photographers sculptures fashion designers ani-mators typographers dancers calligraphers novelists creative writers reviewers minimalists surrealists purists ballerinas performance artists advertisers god we need advertisers impressionists sculptures painters videog-raphers illustrators photographers painters reviewers impressionists sculptures minimalists artists poets de-signers sculptures actresses surrealist ballerinas stylists actors videographers painters musicians purists writ-ers videographers writers photographers sculptures actors and actresses artists painters videographers illustrators designers musicians stylists poets chocolate and pilchards banana and acorns actors and actress-es artists painters videographers designers photographers sculptures fashion designers animators typogra-phers dancers calligraphers novelists creative writers reviewers minimalists surrealists purists ballerinas per-formance artists advertisers god we need advertisers impressionists sculptures painters videographers illustrators photographers painters reviewers impressionists sculptures minimalists artists poets designers sculptures actresses surrealist ballerinas stylists actors videographers painters musicians purists writers vid-eographers writers photographers sculptures actors and actresses artists painters videographers illustrators designers musicians stylists poets chocolate and pilchards banana and acorns actors and actresses artists painters videographers designers photographers sculptures fashion designers animators typographers danc-ers calligraphers novelists creative writers reviewers minimalists surrealists purists ballerinas performance artists advertisers god we need advertisers impressionists sculptures painters videographers illustrators pho-tographers painters reviewers impressionists sculptures minimalists artists poets designers sculptures actresses surrealist ballerinas stylists actors videographers painters musicians purists writers videographers writers pho-tographers sculptures actors and actresses artists painters videographers illustrators designers musicians styl-ists poets chocolate and pilchards banana and acorns actors and actresses artists painters videographers designers photographers sculptures fashion designers animators typographers dancers calligraphers novel-ists creative writers reviewers minimalists surrealists purists ballerinas performance artists advertisers god we need advertisers impressionists sculptures painters videographers illustrators photographers painters review-ers impressionists sculptures minimalists artists poets designers sculptures actresses surrealist ballerinas styl-ists actors videographers painters musicians purists writers videographers writers photographers sculptures actors and actresses artists painters videographers illustrators designers musicians stylists poets chocolate and pilchards banana and acorns actors and actresses artists painters videographers designers photogra-phers sculptures fashion designers animators typographers dancers calligraphers novelists creative writers reviewers minimalists surrealists purists ballerinas performance artists advertisers god we need advertisers impressionists sculptures painters videographers illustrators photographers painters reviewers impressionists sculptures minimalists artists poets designers sculptures actresses surrealist ballerinas stylists actors videog-raphers painters musicians purists writers videographers writers photographers sculptures actors and actress-es artists painters videographers illustrators designers musicians stylists poets chocolate and pilchards ba-nana and acorns actors and actresses artists painters videographers designers photographers sculptures fashion designers animators typographers dancers calligraphers novelists creative writers reviewers minimal-ists surrealists purists ballerinas performance artists advertisers god we need advertisers impressionists sculp-tures painters videographers illustrators photographers painters reviewers impressionists sculptures minimal-ists artists poets designers sculptures actresses surrealist ballerinas stylists actors videographers painters musicians purists writers videographers writers photographers sculptures actors and actresses artists painters videographers illustrators designers musicians stylists poets chocolate and pilchards banana and acorns ac-tors and actresses artists painters videographers designers photographers sculptures fashion designers ani-mators typographers dancers calligraphers novelists creative writers reviewers minimalists surrealists purists ballerinas performance artists advertisers god we need advertisers impressionists sculptures painters videog-raphers illustrators photographers painters reviewers impressionists sculptures minimalists artists poets de-signers sculptures actresses surrealist ballerinas stylists actors videographers painters musicians purists writ-ers videographers writers photographers sculptures actors and actresses artists painters videographers illustrators designers musicians stylists poets chocolate and pilchards banana and acorns actors and actress-es artists painters videographers designers photographers sculptures fashion designers animators typogra-phers dancers calligraphers novelists creative writers reviewers minimalists surrealists purists ballerinas per-formance artists advertisers god we need advertisers impressionists sculptures painters videographers illustrators photographers painters reviewers impressionists sculptures minimalists artists poets designers

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BOX OFFICE O1923 225671www.watfordpalacetheatre.co.uk

4 TO 27 SEPTEMBER

The DresserBy Ronald Harwood

The Ultimate Backstage Drama

PREVIEWS 4 – 6 SEPT ONLY £15

2 TO 25 OCTOBER

Absent FriendsBy Alan Ayckbourn

Love, death and faded dreams...A grown-up comedy about married life

PREVIEWS 2 – 4 OCT ONLY £15

27 NOV 08 TO 3 JAN 09

Dick Whittington and His CatWritten and Directed by Joyce Branagh

Deliriously daft, peppered with pop and sprinkled with songs that celebrate the theatre’s beginnings a hundred years ago this December!

Just 17 minutes from Euston!

Tim and Sam’s Tim and the Sam Band with Tim and Sam are one of the more unique bands currently out on the UK music circuit. They play instrumental folk music and have a name that while perhaps

slightly impractical, is undeniably fun to say (despite there not actually being a member named Sam anymore). With this in mind, I couldn’t have picked a better place to meet these affable Mancunians than the Suffolk woods around the site for this year’s Latitude Festival.

Latitudes organisers are known for their willingness to put on smaller acts that present something a bit different, and Tim and Sam

Tim and Sam’s

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myspace.com/timandsamstimandthesamband

withtimandsam

Words - Jamie FeweryPhotography - Rich Simmons

(no, I’m not writing out the full name every time) fall right into this category. They have been plying their trade on the UK folk scene for a couple of years now and through relentless gigging have built up a solid fanbase, which includes Radio 1 DJ’s Steve Lamacq and Huw Stephens as well as singer Luke Leighfield, who they appeared alongside at Latitude.

Despite their popularity in the UK folk community, Tim and Sam admit that there are pitfalls when it comes to playing instrumental music. On occasion audiences are unwilling to listen to instrumental bands, on some nights they have to contend with drunk audience members talking loudly over their songs and they have experienced barriers set up by the industry against instrumental bands. Indeed, Tim McIver mentions how often he has heard that with a singer the band would sell thousands of records.

Musical barriers aside, it is the relentless good feeling that Tim and Sam’s music produces that as seen their rise in popularity and recent appearances on the festival circuit. Having formed in Chester and cut their teeth by gigging in Manchester, they were immersed into one of Britain’s most vibrant music scenes from the word go. Alongside the large number of what Tim McIver calls “Oasis bands” there is also a strong folk scene in Manchester and Tim and Sam are right at the core of it. Indeed it was at Manchester’s Inner City musical festival

where they met the aforementioned Luke Leighfield. Luke has since become a huge fan of the band and their friendship has produced tours, collaborations and the release of Tim and Sam’s forthcoming album on Luke’s Got Got Need label.

So far, 2008 has been a very big year for Tim and Sam. There have been festival appearances, an increase in radio play and several tours, but they see no reason to stop there. There is an EP due in

October and plans are being formulated for Tim and Sam to take their unique English folk music onto the continent for a European tour.

Tim & the Samband withTim & Sam

S

Sam Fish is a young photographer mostly and a sculptor sometimes. His interests lie in creating squares, using sunlight through cardboard cut-outs, that are parallel to the picture plane when viewed from the single, specific vantage point offered by a camera. In order to do so, the recent Chelsea College graduate undertook some extensive research into where the picture plane lies. According to Sam it is the ambiguous space between the camera and the object, before which ‘nothing really exists.’

Sam’s interest in ‘perspective correction’ has its origins in geometry and Eratosthenes’ first calculation of the world’s circumference, and although this may sound like an obscure place to begin, it led to his interest in mathematics and the picture plane. Sam constructed a wooden “jig”, as he calls it, for the end of his second year show. It was designed so that a camera could be attached to the circular frame and would always be at a fixed distance from the center, capturing the picture plane from various angles. The resulting photographs were then stuck to various sides of an object, so the picture plane could be physically represented and experienced.

Sam has also become quite the weatherman in recent months, due to plans for his graduate show being foiled by a predicted three weeks of overcast conditions. The lack of sunshine forced a search for a higher plane, a place were clouds could not ruin his efforts. The Alps was the chosen destination, and the mode of transport…well that’s another story.

Sam and Pete drove as far as they could before they decided to ditch the car and set out on foot. After walking to an exhausting, dizzying 2000ft armed with nothing but a suitcase and a packet of peanuts they met a Cambridge professor who informed them that a) it was a miracle they were uninjured and b) there was a cable car that could have saved them the trouble. They had got up early to beat the rising clouds, but now time was against them, so they caught the cable car to be greeted, finally, with sunshine.

With the weather conditions at last under some sort of control came the next problem; man-made objects became harder to find, so there was a limited space for the cardboard cut-out to be suspended. Again control became an important issue, as photography is dictated by what is possible, and aesthetic considerations of the background become secondary. The ‘perspective corrections’ from the Alps came pretty close to achieving the desired effect. For Sam the word illusionism is a “bit too gimmicky, a bit of a non-starter” but essentially that is what he creates, as we lose our grasp of where the square of light actually exists. This sense of uncertainty is of vital importance in gaining a true appreciation of Sam’s photographs.

Sam’s experiments take a lot of patience and preparation. After his and Pete’s epic climb, Sam eventually took a mini plane up around the Alps. He kitted it out with cardboard squares, and had detailed time sheets of where the sun was going to be, at what time so he could attempt to direct the pilot to the right space for a successful photograph.

Sam is currently planning a trip to the Sahara or the Arctic, where once more control, precision and chance will be the ingredients for capturing a ‘perspective correction’ Sometimes Sam’s photographs and experiments are successful, not always, but the pursuit of the perfect ‘perspective correction’ seems to be the real adventure.

Ever wanted to get above the clouds, or even amongst them to see if they are in fact made of marshmallow like you dreamt of as a child? Well that’s what Sam Fish and his friend Peter Caul did, only they would advise that you take more than a packet of peanuts with you!

Words : Lauren Down

The Dufflefolks

by Jamie Fewery

Photographs by Sonny Malhotra

It is often said that to get any-where in music it’s better to innovate than imitate. The Dufflefolks are a band with this philosophy at the core of all that they do.

Louis, Carl, Dan and Simon formed the band in 2002 with the idea of “saying no to nothing” musically. Consequently, they’ve each ended up playing a range of instruments: glockenspiels, auto-harps, cellos and accordions (amongst other things) and have had to transport the lot on the tube for gigs – alas trans-portation is not the only obstacle for The Dufflefolks when gigging, as they frequently come up against soundmen unfamiliar with bands that use such a range of instruments. Nevertheless, it is this experimentation with instruments that ensures that their music is never less than interesting.

Their creative principles as a band are inspired by acts such as Sigur Ros, Bro-ken Social Scene, Sonic Youth etc, with all members looking up to the way that each of these bands has become some-

thing of an entity and created their own world with their music. Accordingly the idea of becoming a self-contained bun-dle of creativity is undoubtedly some-thing that The Dufflefolks would love to achieve. Already they write, record and create their own artwork in house, but they are also looking to extend their arm of friendship to promoters, publica-tions and fellow musicians.

Musically The Dufflefolks’ sound fits in nicely with the ethos of the bands that they look up too, and when in their company it is easy to notice the kinship of the members that, like their peers, ex-tends beyond music. Unfortunately the downside of playing music that differs so wildly from the hordes of sound-alike bands in the South East, is the occa-sional problems they encounter with audiences unwilling to tolerate their leftfield indie. Whilst for some bands these obstacles may be seen as daunt-ing, The Dufflefolks instead relish the chance to gain new fans and openly embrace their tag as “outsiders” in the music world.

Indeed, despite being viewed as some-thing of an oddity the band are gaining increased attention as they gig around the capital and release more music. Several tracks from their brand new EP “Haiku Your Name” have been attract-ing plenty of listeners on myspace and they hope to put more releases out this year. Dufflefolks are a testament to a band dedicated to pushing the bound-aries of their style.by Jamie Fewery

Photographs by Sonny Malhotra

FOR more unseen features, more pictures, more interviews, more info, more art and more things!

This unsigned London band are named after the fact that all of their members have that singularly curious trait – they are left-handed. Formed by brother and sister Jim and Jen Robottom and also comprising drummer Ben Rawlence, multi-instrumentalist Isabel Why and vocalist/guitarist Alex Rennie, they had the tastefulness to invite TLOBF to listen to their demo recordings.That demo comprises four tracks of painstakingly-constructed, energetic populist rock, all jangly guitars and vocal harmonies. The band’s mandate is to create deceptively simple pop tunes whilst incorporating witty, intriguing lyrics and lots of changes in key and time signature. This approach results in songs like “Decisions”, a piece that starts with sunny guitar riffs but quickly evolves into something a driving, pulsing confection laden with up-tempo backing vocals and insistent drums, through which we hear that “we are made up of decisions…”Elsewhere is “The Night Sky”, a more subtle, narrative-driven song with a conversational tone reminiscent of Paul Simon’s work – especially “I Know What I Know” from his classic 1986 album Graceland, which has a similar premise. Depicting two different characters meeting in a bar, the lyrics comprise their wry, cynical discussion. A more upbeat song is their opener to their demo, “A Little Piece of My Brain”,

another perky rocker where the lyrics are at their most witty, in keeping with the fact that the band are, in their own words, believers in “lyrics, harmonies, time signatures and string theory”.It’s hard to believe that The New Southpaw Soviet can possibly remain unsigned for long, so with any luck we can expect to hear much more from this interesting, talented band. In the meantime, their MySpace page contains full versions of their entire demo disc as well as a couple of other songs besides, so that’s the next port of call to hear more from them and find out more – not least a huge list of influences ranging from Dusty Springfield to Sly and the Family Stone. The New Southpaw Soviet think they “might just have something a little special” - they might just be a little right.

The N

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Another issue another list!

Things to do with your copy of AAT Magazine after you’ve read it:

1-Archive it (that’s what we do).

An obvious one to start off with. Keep your copy of AAT magazine in a ring binder for future reference. Maybe one day we’ll do one of those index issues and you’ll have a complete volume of information to look through. You’ll be able to say to people “Yeah? Well I knew about that band/artist/writer years ago” and then you’d look up the interview we did with them as proof. It’ll really irritate all your friends and one day someone will either hit you with the big heavy ring binder or tell you to shut up really loudly.

2-Origami.

AAT is between A4 and A5 size, making it perfect using in origami. Also our nicely weighted matte paper makes for sturdy and fast paper aeroplanes. Please send any pictures of your efforts to one of the editors but not Pete because he says that this idea is ‘stupid’.

3-Recycle it.

Worried about the impending catastrophic environmental crisis? Well wash your hands of any blame for this mess and grab that moral high-ground by recycling your copy of AAT. If those government campaign ads are anything to go by, your copy of AAT could end up as a tabloid newspaper or a Danielle Steele novel! Actually fuck it, just archive it.

4 Message in a bottle.

Roll it up, stick it in a milk bottle, go to the seaside, chuck the milk bottle off the pier. The chances are it’ll wash up on the same beach a few hours later, but it could also travel the globe and be picked up by an art lover from somewhere like Bhutan.

(N.B. AAT does not advocate chucking stuff into the sea.)

(N.N.B. The chances of your message in a bottle ending up in Bhutan are minimal as Bhutan is landlocked.)

5-Pay it forward. We’d love this copy to reach as many people as possible (it saves us cash on printing when you lot share). So when you’re done reading this, pass it on. Give it to a mate, leave it on the bus or tube, or pass it to a stranger. Or just stuff it through someone’s letterbox.

(N.B. Do not go around stuffing things through people’s letterboxes)