flickr/rfduck

Whilst discussing music collections the other day, I casually explained that I was running out of shelf-space for my CDs. There was a look of horror on my friend’s face; “you have CDs?” Yes, I do – a lot in fact. “Why don’t you just download music?” True, I could save myself an expanse of space and probably a nice tidy sum by opting for a download as opposed to a disc in the future. All my music is on a hard drive anyway…I could sell them. But alas, the physical format is just something I cannot let go of yet.

At 22, I’ve seen the demise of the cassette; the failure of the MiniDisc; witnessed Walkmans give way to MP3 players and iPods; the final days of singles sold in Woolworths and then the end of Woolworths itself. The disc should be dead. Where is the need for it? We play music on tiny devices that can store not only every song we own, but also every song you’ve ever heard and enjoyed in your entire lifetime.

A few months ago it was reported that HMV had essentially gone bust and I said I wasn’t surprised; buying music from a shop on a disc is completely out-dated, illogical and ridiculous, so why do it? I pondered and came up with only one reason; tangibility. Owning a disc, or a vinyl, is sentimental. I’m not suggesting that anything in my music collection is worth loads of money, but the physical format has the possibility of becoming collectible, whilst a download cannot. Also, you can’t wrap a download and give it as a birthday present – it just does not work. Holding a CD, reading the booklet, looking at the album artwork – that’s all part of the music experience.

I know the death of the disc is coming and that music sales are increasingly in favour of downloads. However, for now I raise a glass to the CD and thank it for many hours of listening pleasure, which will long continue, at least for me.

The stage is set: we are in an antique bookshop, witnessing an imagined conversation during an actual chance meeting between Alice Liddell Hargreaves and Peter Llewelyn Davies in 1932. Both inspired the materialisation of classic children’s literature icons, Peter Pan and Alice in Wonderland. Initially, the pair are in disbelief at the notion of such an absurd coincidence; equally conducting themselves in a hostile manner. However, it is not long before the sarcastic banter and witty remarks subside and begin to descend into a more serious tone.

As the play unfolds, we are made aware of the lives of the real Peter and Alice; marred by the aftermath of World War One. Consequently, they are left to wander aimlessly with the anticipation of finding their own Neverland/Wonderland. They appear simultaneously sympathetic and critical towards each other, as the shared, harsh reality of having to live in the shadows of their fictitious counterparts is unearthed. It becomes increasingly apparent that the association with these iconic figures is a burden that has resulted in a desolate life; the fantasies and desires of their youthful selves stolen from them.  As Dench confesses, when Alice in Wonderland and Peter Pan were born, ‘a part of them ceases to exist’.

Writer John Logan delicately interweaves childhood memories, narration from the respective children’s stories, letters from J.M. Barrie to Peter’s father, as well as landmarks in Peter and Alice’s adult lives. I personally enjoy the way in which he does this, as it shows just how complex it has been for the real Peter and Alice to deal with the blurring boundaries of their real and fictitious lives. However, it can mean that the script seems somewhat wordy, and at times heavily poetical, as the characters don’t just say what they mean. Instead they speak in simile and hyperbole and with a rhythm and style, much like the narration of a children’s story. Nevertheless, it is delivered seamlessly by an enchanting cast, and as a result, they are rewarded with a standing ovation.

Despite its bleak outlook into their melancholic lives, the play provides us with some hearty truths about reality and illusion.  We appear to be encouraged to realise that it’s imperative to hold on to our own dreams of Wonderland and preserve a childish innocence, in order to fend off fears of a potentially fruitless future: a daunting realisation for those like myself, who are preparing to leave university and take another step towards adulthood.

Peter and Alice runs until 1^st June 2013.

Photograph courtesy of Thomas Hardesty

Absolute Harmony’s Spring Concert: 15^th and 16^th March 2013 – raising money for Marie Curie.

I’ve been lucky enough to see Absolute Harmony perform a few times at university, and they’ve never disappointed. Their Spring Concert was no different.

Set in the less-than-salubrious Arts Lecture Theatre, Absolute Harmony showcased their take on a number of classic pop songs, including ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ and ‘Take Your Mama’; not even ‘Gangnam Style’ escaped a crafty interpretation from Royal Holloway’s one and only a cappella choir.

Beautifully arranged and sincerely performed, the choir’s rendition of ‘Samson’ was one of the highlights of the evening. The finale ‘One Day Like This’- Elbow’s hit arranged by Amy Burrows – also failed to disappoint with some stunning solo contributions from Calum Roy, Charlotte Atterton and Hollie McCarthy.

No music genre was out of bounds as the choir took on DragonForce’s ‘Through the Fire and Flames’. Though notoriously difficult to play on Guitar Hero, Absolute Harmony pulled off Calum Roy’s arrangement with apparent ease. Giving the concert a contemporary feel, one of the final numbers was ‘Icarus’ by Bastille, which was as seamlessly executed as the rest of the concert.

If you haven’t heard Absolute Harmony perform before, I implore you to listen to them! You really are missing out on a good thing. Keep an eye on their Facebook page for news on future performances. And if you missed their Spring Concert, take a look on AbHarm’s YouTube channel.

Find out more about the choir via their website.

I am unsure which frame of mind to adopt when responding  – as someone who identifies as left-wing, do I attack it for being yet another example of how determined right-wing media appears to be to trivialise minority issues? As an avid writer, do I point out how poor quality his ‘journalism’ is? As an NUS Women’s conference delegate who was privy to an exclusive look at the report before it was published, do I highlight how severely lacking his analysis of it is? As a feminist, do I berate the article for normalising rape-culture? And as a woman who needs both hands to count the friends and family members she knows who have been raped/sexually assaulted, how do I find the strength to write a coherent response to this article at all?

I wrote a summary of my experiences at NUS women’s conference that you can read here, and in it I explain how positive I found the presentation of the ‘That’s What She Said’ report (find link below): ‘When presented with specificities within the report such as horror stories about society’s initiations, male students harassing women on nights out and lecturers not calling out sexist comments in classes, nearly every woman present in the room responded in the same way, and a resounding ripple of groans, rolled eyes and shaken heads reverberated throughout the room. Whilst the common knowledge that so many of us have been directly affected by this culture was sickening, it was also inspiring. It made me realise that however isolated incidents seem when a man grabs me or one of my friends when on nights out in Windsor, we are not alone. By attending these type of events, by listening to what NUS Women’s Committee is doing about it, we realise that this pandemic of cultural flaws can be held up as unacceptable, and dealt with accordingly.’

Rivlin has no time for such empathy. Determined to trivialise and mock the report’s content, he slams it as ‘hysteria,’ and ‘poison,’ whilst purporting that it labels anybody who likes drinking and having sex as a rapist. He acknowledges, in a mis-guided attempt to appear reasonable, that he is ‘exaggerating their message, but only slightly.’ He claims that this report is ‘heaping the blame for women’s issues on the rowdy in-crowd,’ and believes that NUS and Sussex University are ‘whingeing about the popular kids.’ So infatuated with the role of popularity within campus life is Rivlin that he believes this is the root of why this report was commissioned. In his eyes, NUS and Sussex University are puritans, out to stop him and his chums from having a good, harmless time. He is deluded.

In an attempt to distract his readership from his blatant misogyny, Rivlin fakes concern for the victims of this culture by dismissing the report as being founded on a ‘moralistic desire to tell people how they ought to live rather than a sincere attempt to combat sexism.’ If the reader cares to know the expert advice Rivlin suggests for dealing with sexism, here it is: ‘The idiot who makes jokes about ‘surprise sex’? He’s just that: an idiot. Tell him.’

Here’s the problem, Jack. I have friends who are popular males, who like having sex, and who like to drink. And by god, if any one of them ever made a joke about “surprise sex,” I wouldn’t simply dismiss them as an idiot. I’d call them out on it. I’d ask them if they know how despicably low our country’s rape conviction rates are, whether they thought it acceptable that I’ve had to punch men in the face in a club to make them stop touching me and my friends. I’d ask how they’d feel if they were watching a guy in our SU bar harass me, only stopping when I told him I had a boyfriend. I’d go further than experiences of sexism on campus. I’d ask them if they’d think it acceptable that, aged 14, I was asked by a man 50 years their senior ‘How many kids’ve you had, slut?’ whilst he stared at my breasts. Whether it was acceptable that I have lost count of the amount of men who have harassed me when walking home alone on nights out. I’d remind them that there are plenty more examples that cut too deeply for me to want to bring up as evidence.

All of these are examples of sexism.  All of these examples are despicable. And all of these examples are part of a culture that continues to normalise the treatment of women as objects, as play-things. They are not unusual – they are the norm. 150 delegates, and the friends they all have who have shared these experiences are not to be sneered at. University is where knowledge is shared, where ideas are challenged, and where personalities can still be influenced. Lad-culture influences, and it isn’t in a positive way.

I’d like Rivlin to pay attention to the issues that affect women like me every single day, rather than dismissing them. I know that’s probably not going to happen, that someone who can write an article that so massively misses the point is unlikely to ever question their behaviour. But I have hope for my friends. Because if they can at least try to understand that attitudes such as Rivlin’s are inherently flawed, if they can understand exactly how much pain and anger and upset his article has caused me and countless other women to feel today, then I have hope that the report he is so determined to denounce was not commissioned in vain.

(Read the full NUS Report ‘That’s What She Said’ at http://www.nus.org.uk/Global/Campaigns/That’s%20what%20she%20said%20full%20report%20Final%20web.pdf)

I find it astounding that, despite having ULU funding, a salary exceeding that of many professional journalists, and no other commitments, Ms. Izaakson has yet found it difficult to publish her minimum obligation of ten issues at a bare minimum of quality. What is she doing with her time? Alongside my studies I am the voluntary Editor-in-Chief of a free student paper, which receives funding solely through advertising. Yet despite our limited resources, we will have published nine issues by the end of the academic year, and have so far managed to avoid ‘accidentally’ reprinting the same sponsored article on two consecutive pages, or, say, contributing to the scrapping of over 2,000 students’ votes.

No-one will deny news is moving online, but perhaps Izaakson should listen to the people reminding her that a newspaper is still not a personal Twitter account. The London Student website is low on her list of priorities, and remains poorly-designed and poorly-maintained. (Check it out!) One of the last articles she published on the site was also published as a personal Facebook note (which she sponsored with her own money). Of the five ‘news’ stories on its front page, three of them are about Ms. Izaakson’s increasingly insecure job, and all are by the same person, a loyal writer named Lauren Miller. Three of the four comment stories featured are also about this farce. Articles from the actual paper (that hefty volume supported by those fifty contributors Izaakson uses as a human shield when she is blamed for the paper’s poor quality) rarely get a look in. Most of the college tabs link to stories over a year old, and the most recent story on the RHUL tab is nearly two years old. The reputation of the Editor is being prioritised over other students’ voices being heard.

How long must London’s student journalism suffer for this one ex-student’s wounded pride? The time for Izaakson to leave gracefully passed some time ago, and in a blaze of ignominy she is now resorting to destructive factionalism, incorrectly accusing random students of being members of organisations that don’t even have an agenda against her. She has bizarrely accused SURHUL President Doug German of being a member of the NCAFC (National Campaign Against Fees and Cuts), a fact which is not only laughably incorrect, but also irrelevant. She also accused another student here, Joe Rayment, of being a ‘leading member’ of the group, when he is not even a member. In defending herself from accusations of inaccuracy, she apparently cannot help but embarrass herself further.

ULU President Michael Chessum, and a so-called ‘clique’ under his sway, have been accused of unfair discrimination by the paper. The article in question cites ‘copy errors’ as the foremost cause for the upcoming vote of no confidence in Izaakson, despite the fact she is dyslexic. This is a serious allegation, but firstly: it is preceded by four allegations of misconduct and bias, clearly ordered in the official motion. Secondly: it shouldn’t be hard in a federal university with a population bigger than Dundee’s to find a proofreader or two. That is unquestionably the Editor’s responsibility.

Accuracy is important, and, ironically – in the article defending Izaakson’s copyreading skills – my college was named as ‘Rolloway Holloway’. Mistakes happen, but if you’re going to pay attention in any article, that one might be top of the list.

Perhaps writing this article will cause me to be lumped in with the rest of this mysterious ‘ULU/NCAFC clique’. I am not a member of NCAFC, but I’ve been to the ULU building a total of two times, so perhaps that makes me guilty. And although I endorsed Oscar Webb in the now-annulled London Student campaign, this was only after being personally contacted by him and preferring his manifesto. I have never met him, and I have nothing against Katie Lathan. I have no vested interest in this election other than wanting the standard of journalism at the paper to improve, drastically. Unfortunately, whatever the March election results, they have been irrevocably voided, largely thanks to what the London Student allowed to be published. It is tantalising but irrelevant to demand their release, and doing so would simply bias any subsequent democratic process.

I won’t lie and say this isn’t funny any more, because it is. But nonetheless, I urge the ULU Senate to submit a vote of ‘no confidence’ in Jen Izaakson on Thursday 4th April. And then I want a second cross-campus ballot.

Thomas Seal is Editor-in-Chief of The Founder, The Independent Student Newspaper of Royal Holloway

A recent poll on The Founder’s Facebook page showed that at the time of writing over 70% of those polled think Jen Izaakson has not done a good job as Editor-in-Chief.

Vote here: https://www.facebook.com/TheFounderNewspaper

By the time I’d reached the gates of the Taj Mahal, feeling rather smug about surviving the street vendors I then had to go through the laborious task of what was basically an outdoors version of airport security. This mission was made considerably more exciting having seen a monkey ride past on a motorbike, although the time being way before 7am it was still all a little more than I could handle.

When I finally made it inside the outer gates I was hungry, tired and hot, so not in the best of moods. And I still hadn’t seen this bloody building! Tentatively walking around the corner and through the archway I got my first peek at the Taj Mahal and although I am slightly ashamed to admit it, my eyes teared up. Now I’m not normally a girl who cries at just anything, let alone a 400-year old building, but there is something about this lump of marble that has the ability to take your breath away. At first, its outline resembled a ghost on the horizon but as time went on the sun began to rise, casting a golden glow onto the dome of the Taj. This made it seem more majestic than I think any photographer could ever capture. After going through the routine touristy activities, including queuing to sit on Diana’s bench and planking in front of the Taj (yes, that happened), I made my way up to the main building. A little concerned when I was approached by two young men who asked me to cover my feet with what looked like plastic bags, I obliged (I’d seen Slumdog Millionaire and was not prepared to give up my shoes any time soon). Standing at the base of the Taj Mahal looking up, there is no description to do its size justice, except maybe that I now know what an ant feel like outside founders building. You would think that decoration on a building that size would lose its detail, but the intricate designs engraved on the entrance are like nothing I’ve ever seen – so complex and elaborate, but also so delicate they look like they belong on your gran’s glassware.

I had been completely transformed from a grumpy, fed up traveler to an inspired and elated explorer, and the reason for this? Simply one glance at this marble phenomenon that goes by the name of the Taj Mahal. So if you ever find yourself wondering, is it really worth the air miles when I can just Google it? The answer is yes, it is totally worth the trip, and I can guarantee you won’t regret it. If you’re lucky, you might even see a monkey riding a motorbike…

The next question I faced, then, was whether this whole ‘Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus’ thing was true. We are certainly brought up to believe it. From the moment we’re born  girls are given a pair of rose coloured spectacles and boys are given a pair of blue, football shaped spectacles and it’s through these we’re told to forever view the world. Men are from Mars, we’re told, and Mars is a planet filled with beer, goal posts, video games and a thousand centuries’ worth of washing up. Meanwhile, across the universe, is Venus, and on Venus women float around in pink clouds riding unicorns, eating Activia yogurts, having pillow fights, plaiting their pony’s hair and trying on shoes. Now, don’t get me wrong, I think me and this Venus place would get on very well, actually, I’ve always fancied riding a unicorn. However, I’m just one woman. The book isn’t called ‘Men are from Mars and Felicity is from Venus’. It’s generalising all men and women and it’s about time we realised how restrictive and even harmful these stereotypes are.

These versions of masculinity and femininity really do belong on different planets because there isn’t any room for them here on Earth. Earth isn’t full of men and women, it’s full of human beings who cover a huge personality spectrum and cannot be generalised or summed up by the equipment they’ve got going on downstairs. It seems silly that we deprive ourselves and our children of 50% of the world’s pleasures, gifts and enjoyments just because we insist on gendering everything. Why must it be football or ballet? Why can’t it be both? All that twirling around on your tip toes in big puffy dresses, I mean, it can only help on the pitch.

I’m going to be controversial here, I’m afraid. Sorry, John Gray, but you’re wrong. This whole, ‘Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus’ thing? Yeah, it’s a lie. Hard as it may be to comprehend, men and women are not on different planets. We’re all down here, on Earth, together. My dad’s in the kitchen right now getting dinner for god’s sake. He’s humming the soundtrack to ‘The Animals of Farthing Wood’ and I would definitely not be able to hear him if he was on Mars. I mean, I’ve never been that good at Physics but I’m pretty sure it’s a given that once you’re on a different planet you’re basically out of ear shot. Whatever people say I’m telling you now that your gender never needs to define what you like or what you choose to do. It’s totally fine if you’re a girl who loves fashion. It’s totally fine if you’re a boy who loves fashion. Anybody can love football (though I personally can’t understand why anybody would) and there is definitely no law that means women can’t play video games. It certainly isn’t innate inside that second X chromosome of ours, and while we’re on that neither is not being able to park cars or always crying at ‘The Notebook’.

A recent report in the Huffington Post only proves my point (in a far more effective way and using actual scientific research, so really, to be honest, stop reading this and go and read that instead.) No one can dispute the real physical differences between men and women, however, what we can dispute is just how much we can gender characteristics, traits or interests. According to this recent psychological study it is almost always impossible to discern whether somebody is male or female simply by looking at their character traits. We might like to assume men are more assertive or women more compassionate, but simply looking at the characteristics of an individual gives us no accurate indication of their gender.  We are all of us, many things. Why must we define ourselves so completely based on whether or not we stand up when we pee? If it really came down to it, I mean, I even tried it once, at a festival, I could stand up to pee as well. If you don’t believe me, I will prove it and trust me it isn’t something you want to witness.

Men and women aren’t different species they’re two ends of the same spectrum. Gender shouldn’t be polarised, it’s not a multiple choice question with only two answers it’s a gradual scale, with male on one end and female on the other. There aren’t light-years of space and stars, scary comets or aliens with seventeen eyeballs floating around in-between them. Gender is a line, we all fall somewhere on that line and wherever we are on it is absolutely fine and absolutely normal. The truth is ‘Men are from Earth and, oh wait, Women are from Earth too, that’s a bit awkward’. However, I do appreciate that doesn’t make for quite such a good book title.

Breaking away from his comfort zone of small sounds, the aggressive ‘Kronus’ adds a dimension unseen on Henson’s debut album. The song, an electric wall of bitterness directed at a former lover, possesses a more obvious feeling than perhaps the other songs on the album, and offers a welcome break from the abundance of slower less vocal songs.

Caught in limbo between ‘Lying to You’ and the far heavier ‘Kronus’ is ‘Sweetheart, what have you done to us?’, undergoing a treatment of gentle guitar riffs and horn accompaniment, but sticking largely to the same subject matter of thwarted love, a track suited to send the album towards its conclusion. It is evident that Henson has developed, either due to the studio quality of his latest album, or the wider variety of tone that is included on it. Regardless, ‘Birthdays’ is a work well worth a listen, even if the music of moping isn’t to your taste.

Whatever it is, last night was punk-rock revival at its best.

The punchy, aggressive and bouncy ‘Rattlesnake Highway’ was the fuel to their 45-minute set, a track that screams, quite literally, The Ramones’ ‘Hey-Ho, Let’s Go’. What made it jump up a notch was the mutual interaction between bassist, Chili Jesson, guitarist, Sam Fryer, and their fans, who were on the verge of hysteria. By the time the first chord of their first single ‘Best of Friends’ escaped, all hell broke loose. The build-up, the tension, and the musical whirlpool that erupted shortly after, was delivered with so much passion and vigour.

There was none of that typical ‘frontman-is-the-centre-of attention’. Both were as involved in the orchestration of this tightly packed and intense session. ‘Tom the Drum’ stirred much agitation, with its Who-like guitar riffs, as did the piercing ‘Johnny Bagga’ Doughnuts’. The music beautifully flowed into every inch of the venue. Both the raggedy, roaring guitar riffs and the surf rock synth chords were merged with ease. ‘We Found Love’, ‘All the Garden Birds’ and their closing track ‘14’ proved the band’s worth.

Definitely a band to check out.

Rough, edgy, violent but still equally exhilarating, this is what punk rock was all about back in the day and Palma Violets have given us that nostalgic taste. You just have to look at the old school punk veterans occupying half of the territory amongst the audience.

To be honest, if someone asked you to sum up the whole of the mid-2000s UK indie scene, you’d only have to give them two names: Artic Monkeys and Bloc Party. On the one hand you had the Monkeys; brash, cheeky, northern and a perfect replacement for fans of the ageing Oasis who still wanted a slice of mouthy rock and roll. Then you had Bloc Party; thoughtful, political, and with an ability to create music that perfectly encapsulated the hazy days and gloomy nights of cosmopolitan London – a feat making them one of the defining bands of this reviewer’s teenage years.

A decade into their career and with a brief hiatus behind them, the latter played their biggest headline show to date, filling Earls Court with a legion of vibrant fans eagerly anticipating a band that had not played its home town since 2009.Opening with several choice cuts from their most recent album Four, the gig didn’t explode into life until the band wheeled out fan favourite ‘Hunting For Witches’ from their second album ‘A Weekend in the City’. From then on it was like spending an evening with one of your oldest and dearest friends, as the band began rolling out such leather-bound hits as ‘Banquet’ and ‘Flux’, thus ensuring the crowd went well and truly ape.

One thing that is undeniable about Bloc Partys of mid-200s s Court 22nd  is their pop sensibilities, which were showcased towards the end of the set as frontman Kele Okereke gave a rousing rendition of Rihanna and Calvin Harris’ hit ‘We Found Love’, before launching into the bona-fide masterpiece ‘Flux’. The crowd were further treated to the unreleased and humorously titled song ‘Ratchet’, a hip-hop tinted track featuring Okereke spitting bars over a crunching Russell Lissack riff, which thankfully did not sound as much like Linkin Park as you’d think. By the time the band played ‘Helicopter’ the mosh-pit in front of the band had reached such catastrophic proportions that a friend of mine lost not one but both of his shoes – a fact I feel is indicative of why Bloc Party have not vanished into the ether as so many of their peers have and why they are the quintessential southern indie band; no wonder Noel Gallagher hates them.