in AW(M)E...

I'm in my bed with PFD (post festival depression) even a fancy dinner at Coda tonight wasn't able to revive my dampened demeanor.  Its a serious combination of crashes, excitement, adrenalin, champagne, late nights, early mornings, sugar and fantastically mesmerising loud music. The past four days have been an overload on the senses, its difficult to take stock of everything I've seen, heard and felt. I wandered around freely with my Media pass (Hi, my names Media, whats your name?) booze brimming networking events where the fizzy white and rock oysters appeared about my person, rubbing shoulders with Programme Directors from Glastonbury, Roskilde, Fuji Rocks (to name but a few). Lounging on plush seats in the Arts Centre as the intoxicating sounds of 70s golden age Ethiopia wash over me, Mulatu Astatke working his magic. Skanking away to Mad Professor as Irration Steppas get involved in the DJ booth. Being utterly blown away by the majestic voices of The Congos as they perform Heart of the Congos their seminal album produced by Lee Scratch Perry, this is their first time in Australia and I'm back stage saying hello in a cloud of Jah inspired smoke.  In short my life is wonderful but nothing I can do right now is going to top the last 96 hours of my life. AWME thank you very much indeed, it was a pleasure working with you, working for you, running around, tweeting, blogging, facebooking, editing, uploading and of course schmoozing. I am going to watch a film now, perhaps Wah Do Dem?



Photograph © Tajette O'Halloran - Mornington Island Dancers

Photograph © Tajette O'Halloran - Noriko Tandano

Photograph © Marie Muggivan - Graveyard Train

Photograph © James Henry - Mad Professor

Photograph © James Henry - Public Opinion Afro Orchestra

Photograph © James Henry - Lotek

Photograph © James Henry 

Photograph © Marie Muggivan

From Bristol with Love - Photographer, Kai _ Safe Harbour

Tall, bearded and built like an ox, Kai Murphy’s intimidating silhouette juxtaposes his soft demeanor and philosophical attitude. A photographer in the traditional sense he opts for film over digital on most occasions. Sourcing old, often expired films donated by friends, scavenged from ships, junk shops and car boot sales. When successful this game of film roulette produces a whimsical nostalgia not matched in the apps of the iphone 4s. His subject matter is often linked to very personal associations of romance, people and places. Seeking out the new, his work documents a journey from initial meeting to a more developed perspective as the relationship progresses.

What I liked about Kai was his delicate nature and the energy and passion bursting out of him when he spoke of his work. He really believed in what he was doing, and went about it in a calm, organic way. Originally from he countryside he grew up on the river in a houseboat close to the border of three counties near to where Kate Moss now resides.

 

Martina Randles: You cite yourself as an absorber of cultures, what does this mean?
Kai Murphy: It means I can’t stop thinking about everything that I don’t know. My Granddad told me an amazing thing once “Those who don’t know history are deemed to repeat it”, I think about this all the time.

Martina Randles: What inspires you to take pictures?
Kai Murphy: The same feeling that you get when you hear an amazing piece of music… something just clicks, your gut rolls over and away you go.

Martina Randles: How many cameras do you have?
Kai Murphy: I own about 40 cameras, not all are working. My favorite camera to use is my Adox Sport 6x9. The oldest camera I own is also the biggest a Hunter Penrose process camera from 1893, I’m still looking for a decent wheelbarrow to transport it.

Martina Randles: What's better film or digital?
Kai Murphy: Its not a case of which is better, its more a case of whichever you prefer to use. When I get my hands on a friend’s digital camera I’m like a kid in a sweet shop, I can’t stop pushing the buttons. I’ll take a thousand pictures in one fell swoop. When I use film I am much more aware of the situations I get myself into, and the environment around me. I owned a digital camera once; it cost me about £150 it broke after a couple of months. I bought a 1967 Olympus Trip from a charity shop recently for £5 its still working today. I think it’s whatever floats your boat… film floats mine.

Martina Randles: Why did you decide to go to India, to you find yourself?
Kai Murphy: I have never had any intentions to find myself; I think if I ever did I would end up in a feedback loop of doom. I enjoy finding other people. I ended up in India because I was jealous of my girlfriend who had just bought tickets to go. I had just packed in my editing job and decided to join her - then discovered she was trying to get away from me.



Martina Randles: Have you ever been blown away by a photograph?
Kai Murphy: My friend Tom Mead took a great picture of a goat in China.

Martina Randles: You were a film maker before photography, how was that?
Kai Murphy: The film industry is fucking horrible yet it is utterly addictive chasing a dream, you discover you didn’t really know what the dream entailed - it becomes an endurance test.

Martina Randles: What are the differences?
Kai Murphy: To me photography and filmmaking are the same thing. I love to tell stories and to understand the natural narratives and rhythms that are happening all around us. A photograph is a film but with no exposition.

Martina Randles: What's Bristol saying?
Kai Murphy: Bristol is saying grab me by the balls or I’ll kick you in the ass.

Martina Randles: Where do you plan to take your work? 
Kai Murphy: Well I just took it to the Dollar Street Gallery, but anywhere in the public eye is great. This year my goal is to make a book and have my cameras pay the rent.

The hand that rocks the Tesco...

It was over a year ago since my dalliance with the Bristol Tesco protests. It happened on a rather glorious day in March - back then it was more of a civilised eviction, with horses, police and cranes. Despite the protesters being removed successfully, losing their squat and most probably being booked by the police, the publicity coverage over the plight must have impacted Tesco's PR department. In turn becoming a figurehead for anti-capitalists and activists to throw darts (or more recently petrol bombs and art works) at.


Tesco Value Petrol Bomb, by Banksy, I love the Daily Mails spin, made me laugh out loud

It's a not-so-modern dilemma that beseeches my generation, one of capitalism, monopolisation, aggressive expansion. Its impact is one that could potentially change our urban landscape, replacing communities with retail parks, shopping centres, lining the pockets of a few rather than spreading the wealth more evenly. I grew up in a new town, built over an old town, Telford was born in the 1960s, it's town centre - a giant indoor shopping centre. The old town, Wellington - where fortunately I spent majority of my childhood - a medieval market town. Evolving slowly over time, next to a Roman road, which led from Holyhead (North Wales coast) to the River Thames in London, such history and inspiration. It bore the marks of time, narrow streets, Tudor buildings, town square, however has become more shabby since. Many have closed their doors as the supermarkets moved in, vacant spaces, now home to charity shops and discount frozen food stores. When I think back to the richness of my youth I recount with longing the focaccias hand made daily by the grumpy Italian in the kitchen of Sidolis; Chelsea buns bought with tuck money from the kindly bakers with the dickensian square glass frontage; pic and mix sweets from the market as a Saturday treat, coconut wheels and peanut brittle; saving and savouring every Christmas present bought for my family from Woolworths and little homely shops. Not discounting the joy of a McDonalds happy meal at Telford Town Centre or shoplifting in C&A. I think I learnt more about interaction with adults from the independent shops that knew their customers and were able to impart some of their personality on you. The richness that life provides is never going to be found in endless trips to giant Tesco's. Yet it is our own hand that leads us there, the anti-movement comes from our choices. It is difficult to pay more, make life more laborious, make several trips to different stores, but if we are to support each other, encourage our communities to care then we must.



In New York they have food co-operatives, where customers become members and contribute their time, usually three hours a month - in turn they can to shop in the store buying food with considerably lower mark ups.

Blow the cobwebs away

Our visit to Bath was thwarted by Jane Austin enthusiasts, which had over run the whole town in a once yearly weekend celebration. Poor timing or a subliminal call to visit my second home, after missing our train, purchasing a new single and incurring a hefty taxi charge in the process we finally boarded the train. We sensed the weekend might not necessarily be on the right track, pulling up at a green light, in time for it to turn red. However the moment we hit Temple Meads the sun comes out to greet us, we've left the dreary weather behind. Our first stop St Nick's market, Lucy's flower stall, then over to Arnolfini to catch up with Jess.


I delight myself with the cycle merry go round, easily pleased, all part of Bristol cycle festival.

The beautiful Natalie post pizza, smiles all round

Glen showing us how to roll on a boat, horizontal is good


After polenta chips and delicious pizza in the gallery cafe we began our loop round the harbor, it was a perfect autumn day, we stop off at the Cottage Inn and bask in the sun as we watch the sailing competition. Glen joins us at the Pump House before heading back to the centre via a ferry, being on a boat was the ultimate a holiday vibe, complete with good-looking ticket vendor. Back on the mainland we headed up to Castle Park, stopping off at Boulangerie to stock up on the best vegetarian sausage rolls I know. On a slope near the main walkway we observe a young couple dry humping in plain view, I was confused by chosen the location for said humping, right next to a children's playground, in between a major car park and the centre of town. We sat for a while and observed various reactions of passersby, two elderly ladies, a middle class man, and a family with a little girl, bizarre. Next stop Portland Square for the Bristol Do an excellent little circus themed festival event. Thoroughly entertaining for all ages, we sat on the lawn in St Paul's park as watched two rather talents rope based performances. Heading out of the cozy family festival we hit the frontline of St Paul's, all buzzed up we saw two boys playing with a spade on some common land, we joked, are you doing some gardening? "Nope were burying our pigeon", you couldn't make it up. The Duke was next on the agenda for a cheeky game of pool, alas upstairs had been taken over by a hoe down, a live music session, there were four guitars all going at it, we soaked up some of the sound and headed into the garden for smoking.




Sunday followed on from Saturday night, hung-over, awoken by my phone ringing energetically, we ushered each other into the car and off to Cheddar car boot. Arriving in time to walk to the lake and an take in a sea of stacked up boot tables, we were a tad too late and consoled ourselves with a full english at the Olive Tree. Contented we headed up to the gorge via a steep and rocky path, once at the top my three comrades and I marveled in the view. I miss my walks in the country, it was fantastic to have such a sense of space, with the wind blowing from every direction.


We stood out against the usual walker attire, which isn't necessarily a bad thing

Year Old Crack

Crack magazine becomes one year old tomorrow and to celebrate everything they have achieved in such a short time, they will be throwing an almighty party at the sublime basement venue, Square club, Clifton, Bristol. The publication has not only increased in popularity and circulation since its birth, its done wonders for the Bristol music and arts scene. Bringing well deserved attention to emerging artists from the vibrant city, which bulges with creativity. In a world where PR stunts and record company funding can make or break a creative minds future, it’s encouraging that unbiased reporting based on talent alone remains the very essence of Crack.

Alas I will be supporting (at the bar) Kitty Bang Bang and her travelling stage show (monkey bike, fire, balloons, and Ballet shoes) at Big Chill Festival this weekend; otherwise I would be there in full force. To mark the occasion I would like to draw attention to a modest selection (top three) of my personal favourites, introduced to me by Jake and Tom. Be sure to give them the time they deserve for they were lovingly handpicked by the boys in order that our lives and ears can lead a richer existence. Let the celebration commence.

Trophy Wife - An Oxford Collective who also perform under the name Jonquil, I caught them live at one of Crack's infamous parties. They have a great sound and even better banal/arty promorional photographs, alas minimal youtube presence, you can however see them live instead, check there myspace for dates, as they are currently on tour.




High Renaissance Man - is Bristol Universities answer to Alan Partridge, if you can identify, then you're onto a winner/loser. Altogether thoroughly entertaining.


Francois and the Atlas Mountain - A haunting tale of folk at it's finest, captivating from the first listen, a true gem of Bristol. My ears have yet to experience the live performance, I get excited in anticipation, soon my friend, soon (just don't beat me to it).

My favourite track is Tour de France, however the graphics in this are fantastic

Gainsbourg in seminal glory?

Gainsbourg is showing at the Rio this evening, I’ll be there with my text from orange momentarily on display. Rio is a wonderful community focused cinema located on Kingsland Road, Dalston with a white art deco exterior. I once wound up there surrounded by pensioners on a rainy Wednesday matinee with my friend Emma (we were both unemployed at the time) it was there monthly cinema club. Needless to say a packed house of OAP's is quite a sight, we had the attention/conversation of many grannies and a sparkly 78 year old gentleman who cornered us during the interval - so that's what they used to be for.

The Rio shows a considered selection of art house/world cinema, yet still catering for the masses with crowd pleasers such as Sex & the City 2, the vibe is all encompassing. Available to purchase is beside the usual cinema fare is homemade cake and Samosa's washed down with a fantastic tea selection, which is allowed to accompany you into the auditorium. However, being an old theatre it is limited to one screen, with a multitude of tastes to satisfy I find myself seeking out alternative venues. Wandering down the Kingsland Road to Rich Mix in Shoreditch or even further afield to Curzon Soho, Prince Charles, Ritzy, BFi and on occasion Screen on the Green, Angel. Although notably the last time I indulged in the £11 entrance fee was for September Issue; I sat there alone on a hot August day gorging on Anna Wintour and the mesmerising Grace Coddington (stylist extraordinaire) in action during the build up to American Vogues September issue. Which posthumously is a rehash of the television documentary on Wintour, I watched as a student during my Art Foundation at BIAD, still, just as entertaining.

I would like to also take this opportunity whilst I’m were on the subject of cinema to doth my cap to the Watershed (which has an unrivalled selection of contemporary film, so much so I check it’s listings as a starting point for any new cinema I plan to see) and The Cube, undoubtedly the most bizarre and unique venue, showing an interesting back catalogue of weird movies – I watched Time of the Gypsies there. And once upon a time the Electric Cinema (the oldest working cinema) in Birmingham, I had friends who wouldn’t enter on account of the red gloss toilets and skeletons hanging from the exterior windows - a great venue to watch Irreversible and the only place brave enough to show at the time of release (unfortunately it’s reopened under new management, so I am unable to validate it’s current artistic leanings). I’m also a huge fan of Little White Lies and of course Peter Bradshaw, whose opinion I rarely find discourse with.

Gainsbourg has received mixed reviews; the main crux is the lack of detail into his life, after the week I’ve had I’ll happy if they cover the main points - I can piece together the rest at a later date, most probably a Serge Gainsbourg enthusiast will put me right. I get to lean back with tea in hand on plush red seating and marvel at Birkin/Bardot/Gainsbourg extravaganza. You can also catch up on the music of Gainsbourg as his 1969 seminal album Light in the Attic featuring temptress Jane Birkin and the ground breakingly sexy hit Je T'aime has been re-issued.

Bardot and her hair

Gainsbourg didn't do too badly on the female front.

Carnival Vibes

St Paul's Carnival was the very first time I'd stepped foot on Bristol soil. A year on, after having spent ten months living in a city which had welcomed me with open arms, I returned to celebrate with London friends in tow.


Fueled on homemade Mojito, complete with cock straw we headed into the party, encountering a sea of revelers young and old, carnival queens and entrepreneurs...







Photos taken on Matt Barton's Canon 7D, cheers Matt

Escape from Glasto

I had to escape London at the weekend, I couldn't hang around and listen to the G word (that's Glasto in case you were wondering). Instead I boarded a rather sweaty coach to Bristol, what better way to escape festival fever than to head to England's festival city. Fortunately it paid off, we (my old housemate and I) chucked our stuff in the van, collected a rather wolf like dog from a friends house and embarked into the woods. We mostly encountered sheep, in fact we shared a field with a large number of them and there droppings.

On Sunday we went on a 4.5 hour trek through the forest, we stumbled accross three magnificent waterfalls, perfect for swimming.