Clare Market Review The London School of Economics East Building 203, Houghton Street London, WC2A 2AE su.claremarketreview@lse.ac.uk www.claremarketreview.com
The Journal of the London School of Economics Students’ Union Volume CVI, Issue 2
Editor-in-Chief Alexandra Kane Creative Director Elli Graham Contents Editors Phyllis Lui James Callender Design Editors William Baskin-Gerwitz Ann-Marie Eu Aaron Davis Copy Editors Susannah Hamilton Roshni Rajan Development Manager Alice Pearson Cover Artist Grace Fletcher
Volume CVI, Issue 2
I
II
CLARE MARKET REVIEW
E
d
i
t
o
r
i
a
l
Do not let the macabre cover fool you; this issue is all about the living. Clare spends an awful lot of time observing the steady stream of students, academics and tourists on Houghton Street. They (or you) have, in turn, inspired us to theme this issue as: ‘Human Sciences: Studying You and Me’.
From the opening couplets to sketches on extinct terrestrial vertebrates, to the comics about a certain academic discipline, to a guide to headbanging – this issue is as diverse in medium and content as ever before. We hope this issue of Clare will reinvigorate your senses as we are finally heading into spring and take you on a psychedelic jaunt down the Clare rabbit hole. Happy reading, Clare
Opposite: Bronislaw Malinowski , c1920 Courtesy of the LSE archives.
Volume CVI, Issue 2 III
Contents 01 The Structure of Scientific Revolutions The Sociological Imagination Making Social Science Matter Max Richman 03 An Iranian Life Ali Reza Gooyabadi 07 How Does One Believe? Stanley Ellerby-English 11 On the Cover... An Interview with Grace Fletcher
13 Glory Doing Time JAH 17 Seagulls and Spring Rolls Alexandre Tavin 19 Anthropologists: The Fierce People Kaya Uzel 27 The Botched Essays of J. Alfred Prufrock Neil Hampton
clare IV
CLARE MARKET REVIEW
Contents 31 Of Beauty of Rich and Rare Phyllis Lui 35 Headbanging: A Beginners Guide James Callender 39 I Am Bored of Poetry Jin Li Lim
15 Derrick Hornchurch 30 Sarah Karu 31, 32 Danny Thorpe 33 Alice Leah Fyfe 40 Ceilidh Graham FEATURED ARTISTS
Volume CVI, Issue 2
V
The Structure of Scientific Revolutions Puzzle solving as normal science ‘til the paradigm shifts in defiance. Linear textbooks and progress conflated, Kuhn calls cumulative science overstated.
The Sociological Imagination Abstract empiricism and grand theory, makes C. Wright Mills downright weary. Between social issues and personal troubles, the sociological imagination bubbles.
Poetry By Max Richman
ILLUSTRATIONS BY DERRICK HORNCHURCH
01
CLARE MARKET REVIEW
Making Social Science Matter Social scientists need not despair, use Aristotle’s *phronesis*, says Flyvbjerg. Analysis of practice, values, plus power, case studies help social science to flower.
Volume CVI, Issue 2 02
An Iranian Life Words and photos by Ali Reza Gooyabadi
“What is life like in Iran?”, occasionally followed by “Do you feel oppressed?”, never fail to amuse me. I usually answer with a well-rehearsed list of unexpected facts about Iran and Iranians in the hope of breaking stereotypes and encouraging open-mindedness; which is exactly what I am trying to do here. We’ll start with ‘What is Iran?’ A country of course, with too diverse a geography to fully appreciate within these pages; its Caspian rainforests which can only remind one of Hawaii, snow-covered peaks overlooking Tehran, and its southern deserts where civilization blossomed more than 10,000 years ago. The people living within this massive and wondrous land defy any uniform cliché 03
CLARE MARKET REVIEW
and categorisation. Iranians adhere to Shia and Sunni Islam, Christianity, Judaism and Zoroastrianism – all carrying a representative in the Iranian parliament. Half of the population speaks Persian as their primary language, the other half a colourful mixture of Kurdish, Turkish, Arabic, Balouch, Luri, Bakhtiari, Gilaki and many others as their mother tongue. Throughout their perilous history, Iranians have remained united under a shared Persian literary tradition and culture, exemplified by poets and thinkers such as Avicenna, Hafez, Rhazes, and Rumi. The unavoidable and celebrated diversity in Iran and within Iranians makes for a plethora of diverse and dynamic ideas, relations, behaviors, and temperaments. This multivocality is on full display within
the massive and extravagant city parks of Tehran and other major cities. Packed with Iranians from all walks of life, these parks provide an essential place for the intermingling of sexes, generations, ideas, and behaviours in a vitalizing and refreshing atmosphere. They have a similar function to the salons and coffeehouses of Europe’s Enlightenment; it was from these parks that the 2009 Iranian Green Movement exploded. Beyond parks, urban life in Iran offers many enriching and entertaining open spaces for different moods and tastes. For many Iranians nightfall ushers in the prime time to go out and enjoy the city. My friends and I frequently go to the glim-
mering enclave restaurants of Darband or Farhzad for kebabs, black tea with sugar cubes on the side, and a ghelyan (Iranian hookah). We enjoy the fresh mountain atmosphere, chatter about politics, religion, daily lives, and thoughts as dispersed as the topics, but we remain united under constant laughter from the heavy sarcasm and witty jokes always expected and appreciated in any social gathering. Another popular Iranian activity – public performances of poetry – is always enjoyable. Arasbaran cultural centre’s amphitheatre engulfs everyone in a deeply shared appreciation of the Persian language’s poetic essence with political slogans rhythmically shouted in opposition or support of political figures or issues.
Volume CVI, Issue 2 04
By far the most popular forms of cultural expression and reflection in contemporary Iran are the domestic cinema and underground music industries. After Bollywood and Hollywood, Iran’s cinema industry is ranked third in the volume of films and TV series produced. The real devotion, attraction, entertainment, and connection Iranians make with their domestic cinema isolate and connect them from and to one another and the outside world. Cinema has long provided an arena for dissent in Iranian history where directors masterfully self-censor while still getting across their views, ideas, and dreams. Western style Iranian music is a more direct and blunt form of dissidence, unbounded and thriving in the undergrounds of Tehran. Young Iranians access Barobax,
05
CLARE MARKET REVIEW
Kiosk, and Namjoo music videos through YouTube. These self-recording and selfproducing illegal music bands have redefined music and contemporary culture, and modes of dissent and entertainment for Iranians both domestically and internationally. Life in Iran is more than parks, coffee shops, poetry recitation, world-class cinema and underground music bands; this is an optimistic and idealistic image. Oppression defines the social, political, economic, and psychological existence in Iran; Persians, Shia Islam, political religiosity, isolationism, and recently added militarism reign supreme. Iranians grapple with these power structures on a daily basis, producing cultures of intellectualism, debate, idealism, nihilism,
and relentless nagging. Oppression is counterbalanced by creativity and ingenuity in a tug-of-war resulting in a more united, well-reasoned, and secular society. I would argue that Iranians are amongst the most secular peoples in the world; not secularism as a decline in religiosity, rather as the understanding of religion’s proper place among other forces and structures. While inseparable from the reality of Iran, oppression narratives have robbed the international imagination of much more than accurate policymaking – it has demonized a people as vibrant and evolving as any. The refreshing wave of freedom-demanding protests in North Africa and the Middle East inspires Iranians in their century-long struggle for democrat-
ic governance. Iranians trace back this movement to the 1906 Iranian Constitutional Revolution (backed by merchants, students, Shia clergy, and all sections of society), Mossadegh’s democratic government in the 1950s (toppled by the CIA and British government), and the 1979 Revolution (hijacked by radicals and condemned internationally and besieged by imposed war). With Egypt and Tunisia as symbols for pure and successful peoplepower, Iran’s Green Movement hopes to pour into the streets of Tehran, and other major cities, to reassert the vibrant civil side of Iranian life and to reconnect the experiences of people living in Iran to our greater community of human experience.
Volume CVI, Issue 2 06
Are We Born Believers?
By Stanley Ellerby-English
“The subjects of anthropology, on the face of it, seem meaningless to what the majority of the world calls ‘normal life’...”
07
CLARE MARKET REVIEW
“What sort of questions could be answered by studying shamanic practices?” “The Soviets believe shamanism was a fake an exploitative practice. In the USSR, shamans were pushed out of helicopters and told to fly...”
“Doctors of medicine believed they were simply suffering from mental illnesses...” Volume CVI, Issue 2 08
“Anthropologists believe that studying shamans can disclose embodiments of power relations...” “Shamanism can be loosely described as an outwardly individualistic practise. These performances are a means for shamans to call on spirits or deities and embark on some sort of existential journey...”
“Testing the truth... is this useful?” 09
CLARE MARKET REVIEW
“Chini... a Korean shaman... will only be a shaman to herself and others if she performs as one...”
“How do we, as humans come to ‘believe’? What you believe is not nearly as interesting as how you believe...”
Volume CVI, Issue 2 10
On the Cover
An Interview with Grace Fletcher What do you think of when you look at skeletons?
Spoilt for choice when it came to options for higher education, Grace turned down a place at Camberwell College of Art and came to the LSE to do Social Anthropology. ‘I might have got bored,’ she thinks. After her design for a band t-shirt was printed by Topshop, she thinks that it might be cool to own a company that makes t-shirts. She also makes portraits out of beads, and shoes out of wire. Her drawings of animal skeletons have been featured in the previous issue of Clare. How’s the LSE working out for you? It makes me laugh how much brain power there is in the library. I have never been around so many brains. It is an amazing place to be... I just hope I get through it! 11
CLARE MARKET REVIEW
I don’t know... I guess nothing! I concentrate very hard on making sure everything is straight and in the right place. If I screw up a line, I start again. I also think about the intricacy of the anatomy of things and it blows my mind... how does everything fit and work together in perfect sychronisation? What designed these incredebly complex machines? I am not religious, but it throws me every time. If you could design a t-shirt for the anthropology department, what would it feature? I love Larson’s cartoon “Anthropologist! Anthropologist!” mocking the naive Western gaze on a romanticised view of “prisitine, untouched, primitive” cultures... I think it is clever and funny. I guess my Mr. Chimp and Mr. Charles Darwin having tea together runs along a similar idea, the idea that, who are we to say we are more civilised and more intelligent than others? I think that would be cool as a t-shirt design. However, I have concentrated so heavily on line drawings and prints that I am out of practice with figure drawing. So
perhaps I would design a t-shirt that had the evolution of chimp to man but in skeletons. We’ll see... Is there any link between skeletons and your shoes made out of wire? Nope! My wire shoes are part of a project I created based on my wardrobe as a child. I made about three dresses and three pairs of shoes out of different media, for example I made a pair of papier-mâché shoes from a mold of a pair of my party shoes from when I was two - the paper I used was photocopied from my baby sister’s letter to Santa. So it was a very
childhood oriented piece, which does not apply to the skeletons! The skeletons came about when I became interested in surrealism and especially films like un chien andalou by Salvador Dali and Max Ernst and also surrealist women in the 70s became a massive inspiration. I can’t explain how that transmits into my drawings as it is not obvious in the ones I have submitted to Clare, but with the some of my skeleton drawings I think it is amazing to be able to distort the bone structure so hideously but yet not obviously. God, even I am confused now. Volume CVI, Issue 2 12
Glory Doing Time By JAH
You may have left unsaid, you but chose, the silent refrains, your mother wrote in realist strokes, to your youth she spoke words impressed, you may have left unsaid. I heard no chorus of red and greens, and no less, in the half-day I’ve seen. But did you ask why the caged bird sings? Whose wings have bled, the refrain it said. Perched on iron, dying pantomime; frozen, thawed within the hands of Time. Once untied from Sisyphus’ incline, now wings they bled for these days once led. A refrain long hid from every ear, the metal frames wrought in troubled years, within sees without the veil of fear, So I’ve said, learned on the way I tread. Say it then freed, then leave it, then be; hills made low, promises He will keep. Dismount the mold, cross a path split sea, find it dead, the iron perch unsaid.
13
CLARE MARKET REVIEW
ILLUSTRATION BY ELLI GRAHAM Volume CVI, Issue 2 14
Seagulls and Spring Rolls By Alexandre Tavin
His old jeans rolled up on his legs, barefoot, no t-shirt and a beer belly rolling over his belt. He is sitting down on the floor of the room, looking outside, through the half open window. To the bay. Looking at three seagulls turning again and again through the cotton-like clouds. There’s sand underneath his nails as he lies now on the floor. The sea-breeze stalks along the streets, poses in the park and plays with the pines, hesitates then vanishes, like a memory.
Last night, after leaving the bookstore, he walked three blocks to the Chinese restaurant. Alone. The one between Junction and Pasadena Avenue. A few spring rolls wrapped in salad leaves that seem to always be too long or too short but never wide enough to go around the whole roll. Sat down at a plastic table, looking at the street the way you would look at someone you’ve been living with for too long. He downed his second watery beer and looked at the oily surface of the cup of sauce.
Morning of June. Hungover. Again. He tries to collect and remember the pieces of last night’s drinking bout, like with an old puzzle made out of bread. The sky is foggy pale blue, like the one you discover in California when you open the blinds.
When he left the restaurant, he lit a cigarette – blonde, no filter – unbuttoned his jeans, walked to the other sidewalk, jumped over the gutter, noticed too late that he had stepped into dog shit, rolled up his shirt sleeves and after 30 metres or
17
CLARE MARKET REVIEW
so, entered the ‘Corner’, ordered a coffee, grabbed it, sat down by the window, did not listen to the radio. He was smoking. The evening was falling on a yellow and orange San Francisco, with no sound, smoothly trapping the summer light in the streets. The shadows of the beers were drawing towers, castles, mountains and monsters on the tables. On the sidewalk, the butts of cigarettes were rolling away from their ashes in the rare wind of the bay. He walked on the edge of the sidewalks. He entered the grocery store, he bought a bottle of Porto. As he goes now towards the kitchen to clean a mug for the coffee, he whistles and thinks he would love to know how to play the harmonica. Tonight he’ll take a six-pack of beers too. Then he just can’t recall clearly what happened last night. But he doesn’t have to fill in the blanks. After the ‘Corner’, back home, he had some of the beers that were left from the night before. He listened to the caretaker feeding her dogs and the goldfish. For the goldfish, it’s silent but he knows she always does it at that particular time of the day.
and screaming joyfully once in a while. The radio’s on. He listens to his own silence. If he had anything to say, he’d talk to himself, or to the bottle of Porto. At the beginning, he was sad because she had left. She was turning three the day she died. In the bath. And Sarah believed it was his fault. She never blamed him and because of that, she did. And Sarah knew it was his fault. And he knew it too. They disappeared to each other in their silence, their remorse and their pain long before she left. Then she left because she could not stand living with him anymore if their daughter was dead. Both were gone now. He stands there in front of the window, looking at the three seagulls. He closes his eyes and feels the sunbeams rolling down his face, mixing with his tears. He always cries in the morning. Never at night. He stopped crying in front of their pictures and the bottle of Porto long ago. And that’s why he cries now. Because he’s no longer strong and young enough to cry at night. This afternoon he will go work at the bookstore. Tonight he will have spring rolls. Tonight he will have beer and Porto. Maybe there won’t be sea breeze or seagulls. But tonight they will still be gone.
He hears his neighbour on the other side of the yellow wall. The bed stomping on the wall. The neighbour’s wife laughing Volume CVI, Issue 2 18
The Botched Essays of J Alfred Prufrock By Neil Hampton
No! I am not Eliot, nor am meant to be; Am a piss-poor student, and what I do Is sit beside the bypass- have a fag or twoInconsequential; sad to be no use. But still, down at the LSE, my tutor said ‘you write a good sentence’... but substance abuse is slowly grinding my brain into a kind of pâté (though there are times I can get it going with a latte) or like the economy tuna from a tin, (excuse the last simile but one uses what’s to hand) it’s mainly fish but a fair portion is dolphin. To whit: unappetising; unethical; bland but not half-bad if you want to make a sandwich and have the raw materials add to up less than 75p! My room has mould! My room has mould! I really should go down the shop and buy stuff to get it off... Shall I gel my hair up? There’s not all that much in the tub. I shall wear the jeans from last night and then go down the pub, if I can just scrape together enough change for the bus... I do not think I have enough change for the bus. And this afternoon and evening, I slept quite fitfully but soothed myself with iplayer (archived episodes of the Westminster hour). Asleep, knackered; it droned on: ‘should so and so be reported to the committee for standards in public life?’ and does it matter? 27
CLARE MARKET REVIEW
ILLUSTRATION BY ELLI GRAHAM
Yes, I have known them all already, known them allThe mornings (well, ones where I’m woken by the fire alarm), evenings, afternoons, I’ve measured student life with coffee spoonswhen I was able to find a clean one, more often than not I would just tip it straight from the jar... tip in too much and bounce off the walls for half an hour. Volume CVI, Issue 2 28
And I have known the arms already, known them all – Oh... wait... ... no I haven’t... No one will sleep with me because I’ve been wearing these jeans for days and have mould in my room (or, at least, that is what I tell myself) so how should I presume? In the lecture theatre, the women come and go... invariably talking about something quite difficult to understand And I’ve known the essays already, known them allbut, regrettably, little about what to put in themset texts that stump you with a formulated phrase; if I can’t make much of it when I scrawl upon the thing, well I just copy and paste something in, else how would I begin? And indeed there will be a time to wonder ‘do I dare?’ and ‘do I dare?’ time to turn around and descend the stair and miss that same seminar for the third time in three weeks or forgo meeting the tutor who has been rather troubled by the emails detailing all conditions so far contracted, incubated and so on that make it a physical impossibility to attend classes including the time I said I couldn’t find my glasses when he and I both know... Yes, indeed there will be a time for one more smoke; the stolen traffic cone and dirty joke because I have the sinking feeling that I’m back on academic probation So let us go then, you and I, With the banners spread out across the sky To another university open-day... I want to cry...
29
CLARE MARKET REVIEW
Volume CVI, Issue 2 30
Of Beauty Rich And Rare By Phyllis Lui
The barren landscape was bleak; the emaciated cattle stood stock-still, not even bothering to flick away the masses of flies that were feeding off their hide. Yet it was also achingly beautiful, with the golden yellow hue of dried out grass stretching on and on against the cloudless azure sky.
the cracks ran along the surface of the earth, as the lines have etched themselves deeper into the faces of the young and old. Again and again we were reminded of how cruel nature had been, how many people had given up on any hope of the drought ending, how many of our neighbours had left.
On and on we drove in our ute, along the dirt track lined with fields where
It did end‌ but the joy was short-lived as the floods descended across the land-
31
CLARE MARKET REVIEW
scape with a vengeance. Nature’s reward for our patience was no reward at all. That child, man, woman… whose lives were taken away, we knew each and every one of them because that is how it is in these towns, the old have watched the young grow up, the young have watched as the old grew old. Someone once told me that it might take floodwaters to penetrate through the cracks and make the land bountiful once again. Although how many of us remember what it looked like before? Not many, but when we close our eyes, we can feel the sun’s tender embrace as we lie in the fields which are green and
lush, cows and their calves loitering with their udders full and no longer emaciated. No matter how far we stretch our arms out to try and find the cracks on the ground, they are no longer there. Then night falls, and when we point to the Southern Cross amidst all the other glittering gems, we will not think about the lack of rain, but we will sigh with contentment that all is well again. Until then... we’ll toil with hearts and hands*.
* taken from Australian National Anthem, ‘Advance Australia Fair’
Volume CVI, Issue 1 32
Headbanging: A Beginner’s Guide By James Callender
What is headbanging? It’s the democratisation of dance, an egalitarian choreography, the social enfranchisement of those oppressed and repressed groups of individuals previously excluded from the dance floor space due to sloppy physical appearance, terrible dress-sense and a complete lack of poise and grace.
It’s the only way to dance to metal, the musical channel of the demonic forces constantly bubbling beneath the civilised veneer of the world; less a musical genre than an underground religion, the bands the dark shamans of the blast beat, the fans legions of fanatics ready and willing to lay down their souls to the gods of rock and roll.
It’s a universal phenomenon; social alienation and indefensible musical tastes are amongst the earth’s most abundant natural resources and, on any given night ,in any major conurbation you will find groups of young people gathered in dank basement clubs, in a frenzied madness with their leathers and their spikes, channelling these two primal forces in a primitive ritual of raw energy.
It’s physically punishing and emotionally draining. It’s the emancipatory expression of our most powerful and repressed passions. It makes you look like a fool. It can be quite good fun.
35
CLARE MARKET REVIEW
Is it for me? Well, that depends if you’re a metalhead or not.
If you’re already a follower of the one true musical path comfortable in your identity and willing to endure the constant prejudice of a society that thinks Metallica is a colour of wall paint, then you know headbanging’s for you; it’s what you live for. But most likely you’re just metalcurious; you find yourself occasionally nodding your head approvingly when Guns & Roses come on the radio or you glanced at a Slipknot poster in HMV and thought they looked...kinda good. Perhaps you’ve occasionally fantasised about wearing spiked bracelets or you find yourself making the devil-horns hand-gesture when you’re in the shower, maybe you’ve thought about growing your hair long or just wondered what a tatty, sleeveless Morbid Angel t-shirt would feel like against your skin... You’ve kept these things to yourself and there’s no-one you can talk to about it; none of your friends are in to metal and they often mock it in your presence, you’ve tried to listen to a Slayer album on Spotify, but you keep the volume down because you’re worried about your flat mates hearing and you can only get a couple of tracks in before feelings of guilt and embarrassment force you back to the Pete Doherty playlist, you’ve seen metalheads around of course, standing outside the one indie music shop left in town, but the thought of joining these little groupings fills you with apprehension, what if they asked you
questions; you don’t know whether you prefer black or doom metal, you’re not clear on whether Venom or Celtic Frost were the first death metal group and you don’t have a clue if the pre-Phil Anselmo albums can be considered real Pantera. Besides, someone might see and then it would be out in the open: “Mum, Dad, I’m a metalhead.” If that sounds like you then there’s only one thing for it; you’re going to have to bite the bullet and give headbanging a try to see if it suits. Maybe it will, maybe it won’t; but, whatever happens it’s better going through life that the insidious nagging doubt about what might have been. Besides, metalness, like any identity is less a binary choice than a continuum and bimusicality is perfectly feasible; you don’t have to give up your goals and join the quest of Satan’s bands, you can just go the odd gig here or there and slot Napalm Death in between the MGMT and Norah Jones albums. How do I do it? It’s best to be alone for the first time, in an environment where you’re comfortable and unlikely to be disturbed; inhibitions have no place in the ritual and even the tiniest amount of self-consciousness precludes successful headbanging. You should clear a space of at least two square metres and remove all breakable objects from the vicinity. Wear comfortable clothes that allow for a full range of movement.
Volume CVI, Issue 2 36
For the beginner, the choice of music is all important; too much metal will make you nervous and not enough metal won’t push you over the edge; Dickinson-era Iron Maiden should do just fine, the more ambitious might risk a bit of early-80s Bay Area thrash. Whatever you choose, the music must be played at a volume approximating REALLY FUCKING LOUD. Position yourself in front of the speakers and press ‘play’. Don’t try anything for the first couple of songs, just let the music crash around you; chances are you’ll start tapping your feet and nodding your head without even thinking. After about five minutes you should feel ready to take it up a notch. Move one foot forward and out, bend your knees slightly and put most of your weight on your front foot to create a solid stance. Start bobbing your head up and down in time, slowly at first, building towards full tempo. It sometimes helps to close your eyes, blocking out visual stimuli that detract from the music. As you grow more confident in your movement you should find your headbobbing becomes increasingly vigorous and that you start to pivot from the waist as well as from the neck, each headbang getting closer to a full upper-body movement. You may wish to move around a little in an exaggerated-stomping manner and incorporate the odd arm-flail The sweat pouring down your brow will sting your eyes every time you try to open
37
CLARE MARKET REVIEW
them, rendering you effectively blind; try to be aware of the objects around you so as to avoid injury. After about five minutes you should find yourself in a state of adrenalinefuelled intensity as primordial forces surge through your body, obliterating any awareness of place, time or self. You may find yourself directing your attention to an imaginary altar and emitting a wordless, guttural howl of ferocious pagan devotion to the power of metal. Congratulations... you are now headbanging. Is headbanging dangerous? Imagine a bowl filled with jelly. There are a dozen ball bearings suspended in the jelly. Pretend that the bowl is your skull, the jelly the brain’s grey matter and the ball-bearings the various nodes and cortices that make thought possible. If you move the bowl gently from side to side, the ball bearings will move with it. If you move bowl vigorously back and forth, the ball bearings will acquire their own momentum and will move through the jelly, ripping it as they go. Little wonder that when headbanging first appeared at early AC/DC concerts, the press immediately dubbed it ‘idiot dancing’. Having said that, seriously injuring/killing yourself is quite possibly the most metal thing a person can do; such a sacrifice will accorded the righteous glory it so richly deserves.
What’s next? More of the same. There will always be metal. As a musical genre metal hasn’t changed much in the 40 years or so since it first emerged: it stands apart from the other temporal currents that affect other areas of human endeavour. It is as it is and always will be. There will always be metalheads. As long as some kids are cooler than others, there will always be those seeking that sense of community and joyous oblivion of aiming for self-inflicted whiplash to apocalyptic music. As long as there is metal and there are metalheads, there will be headbanging. And you can bet that when they drop the Big One, when it all comes crashing down the headbangers won’t even notice; they’ll be too busy dancing to music loud enough to drown out the end of the world.
Volume CVI, Issue 2 38
i am bored of poetry By Jin Li Lim
i am bored with poetry and its poverty abundant along the witty lines traced of varying emotion, and in the emptiness apart from and without you. the simple truth (that is, if words aspire to such things) of finishing a sentence, is to realise that i’ve merely stopped, full of more to say to you than i ever could, and left to say less that i should like. how very mindless it is to punctuate these lines of thought with charming rhythms
39
CLARE MARKET REVIEW
when the only strands and flows of affection that matter, are those that are softly whispered close to heart. and isn’t true that a sentence can only be just so long and to some end, and stanzas only go on for so long? that’s not fair or very desirable, and i hardly care that i’d have to turn a pagei suppose the point is to ignore the spaces and lines between us because i’d like to come and see you again.
Contributors James Callender used to think that all the good music in the world was recorded by six thrash bands between 1979 and 1982. These days he’s grudgingly conceded that different idioms might have something to offer, but still headbangs in the privacy of his own home. He is of the opinion that ‘Whiplash’ by Metallica, ‘Domination (Live)’ by Pantera and ‘The Mausoleum’ by Deceased are the finest examples of metal ever produced. Stanley Ellerby-English recently got pushed out of a helicopter and told to fly. He landed in the SU Kingsley Suites. Alice Leah Fyfe So, she’s Alice. She lives in a palace (?), in Bethnal Green; It’s fairly clean. She studies Stats, but apart from that? She likes to draw and paint, you see. So Clare’s the perfect place for she. Fifty words?! She has eight left: She likes brogues and rogues and wheat-free loaves.
41
CLARE MARKET REVIEW
Ceilidh Graham likes cake (baking and eating), cocktails (making and drinking), scrapbooks (collecting and compiling), travelling (to a destination or for its own sake), birthdays (especially her own) and the West Country. She also likes foxes. Ali Reza Gooyabadi hails from Denver, Tehran, Maui, and planet earth with all its international relations. He’s always ecstatic about revolt, dissent, revolution and creative ways of endangering his life; especially through rock climbing and snowboarding or participating in Tehran’s street demonstrations - it’s what makes life worthwhile. Neil Hampton is a former LSE student now studying Pop Lit at Trinity College, Dublin. It’s as fun as it sounds but writing poetry has, consequently, lost some of the illicit allure it had before. He still likes to submit the odd piece to Clare for an occasional thrill though…
Contributors Derrick Hornchurch likes tables, so much so that you might just find him crouching underneath one near you. If you are so fortunate as to think the table is talking to you, think otherwise and check underneath. JAH writes on Adirondack calls that careen past Haystacks high and Gothics hall. Sarah Karu is a photographer from New Jersey. She spends most of her time outside enjoying nature and the world around her but has always been afraid of being out in the darkness of the night. ‘The Glow’ project was something to help her face that fear. Jin Li Lim is 24, and is (only) in his third year of the BA History at the LSE. Phyllis Lui rarely smiles and comes from a land where there are more cows than kangaroos in the backyard.
Max Richman is an American currently pursuing his MSc in Social Research Methods. When not writing poems of seminal social science texts or eating avocados, he enjoys exploring, map-making, and attempting to play squash. Alexandre Tavin Raised ten minutes from the ocean, in the southwest of France, he has lived in Paris, Lyon, Adelaide and Lisbon. Inspired by his morning black coffee, Hemingway, Adam Green, B.Chatwin, CCR, Cannery Row, Matisse, spaghetti, Howl, Stephen Shore’s photos, Sagres, PBR, E. Ionesco and wild camping. He’s a MSc Social Anthropology student at the LSE on land claims in Eastern Cape, South Africa. Danny Thorpe likes to frolic in fields where you can find him patting unicorns. Kaya Uzel is a third year Anthropology and Law student. He spends the rest of his time refurbishing old bicycles and working on an absurd theatre piece about the effects of EU integration for a Romanian Gypsy village.
Volume CVI, Issue 1 42
55378008