THE LEEDS DEBACLE

LEEDS

issue 8 - ÂŁfree

july - sept 2012

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M u s i c C u l t u r e F i c t i o n

Interviews A r t F o o t b a l l

R e v i e w s P o e t r y W h i s k y

D e s i g n O p i n i o n F e s t i v a l s

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WORDS: JOHN BARRAN PHOTOS: CHRIS TURNER

OverWorlds...

F

rom 18th to 20th May, the world of Leeds was taken over and under by the surreal minds of the brothers Quay. Brought to life by three years, lottery funds and creative talent, the event was a magical, eerie, wondrous fairytale of art, dance, sculpture, music, film and theatre.

The overworld saw joyous brass bands marching through the Headrow, glorious child choirs atop County Arcade, mysterious dance groups disappearing into public, and the emphatic ‘The Boat’ installation dividing opinion on Briggate. The underworld lit up The Dark Arches with a variety of performances in each alcove to wander into, be confused by, and marvel at. Sweat dripped from walls, steam rose from actors, zombies clanked bins, images surrounded, sounds haunted, and people smiled.

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Charlotte Vincent - Artistic Director, Vincent Dance Theatre As a member of the public I didn’t manage to see any other live work over the weekend due to the challenging technical aspects of my own production. I chose to work in the longest, darkest alcove under Leeds Railway station where a number of theatrical proscenium arches seemed to already exist. This project was a new collaboration with 8 performers from Phoenix Dance Theatre. They are accomplished dancers but its true to say have never done anything quite like this before!

Committed to the durational concept of the work from the start, their imaginative and muscular approach was super stimulating for me. We worked extraordinarily quickly and efficiently together, making 2 hours of material in 8 days. I enjoyed the challenge of finding a bold aesthetic that could stand up to the power of the site specific context. The space encouraged me think cinematographically as well as choreographically and I made a conscious choice to link the dark, trapped, otherworldly feel of our work to the Quay’s early films.

We wanted to produce work that could surprise and intrigue members of the general public and draw them in – for 5 minutes or for two hours, the length of our loop of material. I was particularly moved to see most audience members watch for 30 minutes as the pictures we created kept changing. Some people stayed for two hours. Our audience seemed really diverse - men, women and kids that seemed to cut across cultural backgrounds and the work provided strong visual content for the many people who watched the live work through a camera or mobile phone lens. It was very interesting to follow feedback via Twitter over the weekend and see images of our work out there immediately after the event – something that doesn’t happen in a conventional theatre context.

...& UnderWorlds TheLeedsDebacle_3

OverWorlds and UnderWorlds

Lucie Conrad - Producer Having spent two and a half years preparing our event it was incredibly exciting finally to “raise the curtain” on 18th May 2012. Having gone through major ups and downs over the past 30 months I felt mildly confident we had something pretty special to reveal but of course one remains a bit nervous to the very end and it was really only when the public arrived that the whole thing came fully to life and with this a huge sense of achievement and relief!

It is difficult to say which elements of OverWorlds & UnderWorlds I enjoyed best because there are so many of them. Gavin Bryars’ music for the Children’s Chorus made me want to cry each time I heard it and the clashing of Brass Bands made me want to shout with mad joy! The Final Vision of the Cross Arch was a breathtakingly beautiful image, too. I could go on listing many other things. However, in the end the strongest feeling I am left with is the overall experience of the transformed space of the Dark Arches. That powerful combination of Gavin Bryars’ haunting soundscape (something that stayed with me for days after the event), the lights, the River and that generally spooky hussle and bussle atmosphere created through the exhibits and performances in each of the Alcoves with the audience roaming around between them.

Jo Nockles - Projects Manager, Opera North My brief for OverWorlds & UnderWorlds was to create part of the ‘O&U Fringe’: small, strange things appearing in unexpected places around the city centre. Taking inspiration from the Quay Brothers’ theme, we commissioned new work from a clutch of fabulous Yorkshire based artists (Simon Warner, Martin Smith, Becs Andrews and an existing piece from Michael Day) who made watery worlds pop up in the middle of landlocked Leeds in the form of wave machines, video stories and tiny lighthouses.

It was great to be able to include these artists in the programme who live and work in Yorkshire, and whose work somehow connected to the Quay’s Overworlds and Underworlds, while being inimitably their own. It was lovely to see how each piece had something unexpected about it - an automaton that started moving as you walked past it, a video piece that told you a bedtime story if you got up close enough. That sense of the unexpected encounter and seeing people’s reactions to these pop-up pieces was very interesting.

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/ MASON HENRY SUMMERS

I

wake up early to find I’m a semi-detached council house in Surrey. Living room, kitchen with dining room attachment, three bedrooms and two bathrooms. Built circa 1954 in the post-war housing boom. Four children run around me, making a lot of noise, so I decide to go back to sleep. Two hours later I’m awake again as a swimming pool in a California ranch house, up on the ridge overlooking Hollywood. The owner, an aging movie star, takes a few laps in me but he’s getting on now and spends more time lying on a lounger next to me, reading a Herman Wouk novel, waiting for his grandchildren to come visit.

I wake at midday and I am a public school in the south of England, late in its day, its glory waning.

Cold fills my long, empty corridors and the smell of old churches fills the classrooms. In one of my bathrooms children weep, again and again over the decades, frightened and alone, on the cusp of forcing their feelings back down inside themselves where they will remain trapped for the rest of their lives. Arrogance and fear float through me and as a whole I feel a lost, lonely ache. Once again I sleep.

Briefly I am a Victorian tower, a folly to celebrate a life long vanished from the world. I stand exposed and proud, immovable in the freezing winds that blast me through most of the year. My stone is dense and grey and inside I am dark and wet, a place of shadows and dirt, abandoned trinkets and human waste. Even through the thick stone I can feel a million tiny legs walking over me as swarms of ants move over me. I am just an obstacle for them, just another thing in their path.

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home.

By mid-afternoon I am one of those unusual glass walled house that architects build for themselves to prove how smart they are. The sun bakes me, filling the solar panels on my west roof with warm, giving energy which I channel down to the under floor heating in the lounge and study.

The rest of the heat is absorbed into thick layers of warm, heavy insulation in my wall and roof cavities, hugging comfort in on myself. The architect’s lonely wife pads over my toasty wooden floors while he’s away on business and masturbates quietly in the study using one of his paperweights to pleasure herself. Her orgasm is very much like the sunshine when it comes.

Quickly now I am a flash of different places. I am a worn, old tent in a field in New England, I am a log cabin 35 miles outside of Juneau, I am a sun baked hovel in Egypt, a shelter made of branches and leaves somewhere in South America, too fast to tell where. Late afternoon and I am the remains of a Roman villa somewhere in Greece, half buried, forgotten, haunted by vague memories of languages no one ever speaks in me anymore.

I’m a children’s hospital in Fallujah next, weary under the weight of human tissue and hurt.

My walls are shot full of holes, my walls are soaked with blood and sorrow. I quickly go back to sleep.

Awaking again I am a bicycle shed in a factory yard in a small Russian town, my thin walls chill and strong, alive with some small form of life I can’t quite identify, some hardy fungus or spore that clings to me despite the awful shade of brown I have been painted. My wood inhales bitter smoke as a cyclist savours his last cigarette before the ride home.

The next time I am aware I can feel wood-chip wallpaper being coated with soft emulsion, careful long brush strokes against me. My walls are lined and lined with 70 years of wallpaper, never stripped off before the next application and the suffocating papery warmth jars against the tender decoration being done to me now.

I have been bought by a young woman who has worked hard to have her own home and now she carefully gouges new holes in me for central heating and shelving and I can feel the cold dirt of a garden against the damp walls of a cellar which she doesn’t know exists, as the doorway has been covered up years ago.

Now I am an art gallery somewhere near Houston, Texas. I am closed for the night and the only activity is the occasional sweep of a torch beam across the massive canvasses that hang on my walls as the guard makes his rounds. I can feel the soft, warm of the night and its noises pressing against me, lush vegetation hiding me from the world.

Last thing at night I am a treehouse, a unique and intricate design in a massive old oak at the edge of a country estate house.

Bright moonlight soaks the tree and the branches which hold me up and together glow and vibrate with a simple joy. A rope ladder hangs like a dead weight from me, from the gaping hole in my main room’s floor. My wood has been scarred and scratched by children and adults alike, each carving their own piece of their lives into me and each scar is a deep love bite in my happy form. Maybe one day they will return to see the lasting mark they have left in me and feel the distance between themselves now and themselves then and the aching nostalgia for another time. I go to sleep for the final time.

LAURA TAYLOR \

SHOPPING LIST EDIT beans sausage honesty tomatoes chocolate orange eggs bread integrity lentils, red and green spuds love olive oil pizza mushy peas cous cous happiness jasmine rice shampoo faith milk carrot cake veggie country pie butter trust toothpaste washing powder hair dye

WALK TO THE SHOPS Slip into the sprinkle of a drizzlefilled day Plastic bag crisp in hand, aiming for the shops Feet to floor Pavement pound Carry on Past the step yellow tread bearing Bulmers: lippy-stained halfway drained Pavement decorated in a strange shade of sick

takeaway; TANNING; takeaway, takeaway; CHIPPY. Luckily: ‘health advice for conditions’ free inside the pharmacy

J’arrive at ‘The Parade’!

The Mean Street of Thatto Heath Stench of piss and pizza wraps itself around my mouth as I kick along the papers that cradled last night’s chips Pit-shaved grinning princess, billboarded, looks down From within her perma-tan, she oozes anonymity Blinding me with bleachy teeth and peachy poreless face

Feet to floor Pavement pound Homeward bound Past the salon Chip fat alley Tan tat fag bet bus Ministering pharmacist Past the step yellow tread Bulmers gone Small red shoe there now instead … wonder who..?

Tiny tatty lone red shoe Torn too. Wonder if she’s..?

Nearly home Nearly there Rid my mouth of piss and murk Home from hell on earth a walk to the shops and a musing or four And then I recall I forgot what?

I went for

I hope to fuck my DNA does not contain that kind of clean Feet to floor Pavement pound Past the bus stop; betting shop; fag shop; tat shop; takeaway; SALON;

minor

There’s no water in the fridges of the takeaway shops And I didn’t want pop. They looked at me weird.

Social pariah, for wanting water.

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David Bernstein The FA Wembley Stadium Wembley London HA9 OWS 14/O2/12 Dear Mr Bernstein, I write to you to formally tender my application for the vacant England manager’s job. Before I do I must first compliment you on a long and successful career as a conductor and composer. Whilst not a fan of musicals; even I can admit that West Side Story is a very stylish and intelligent modern reworking of Romeo & Juliet.

Anyway, I digress on the subject of Broadway, I would like to put my name in the metaphorical ‘hat’ for the role previously mentioned. Whilst I may not have much experience in the actual physical aspect of managing a football club, I am now a veteran in the field of applying for a football manager’s job. I have applied for various management positions at Leicester City Football Club four times now and, I’ll be honest with you here Dave, I reckon that they have been close to selecting me on at least two occasions. I have enclosed the aforementioned letters for your perusal as they include a full list of my achievements and qualities that mark me out as a prime candidate for the hotseat at any top level football club.

Now, I am aware in the previous paragraph I called you ‘Dave’. Apologies if that is too colloquial or if it reminds you too much ofour insipid and gutless Prime Minister, ifyou’d prefer I can call you David, D~Dog or even the (Bern) Steinmachine. I know the FA has a tough time of it at the moment, with many people calling you directionless, archaic and fundamentally inept so I will make this easy on you. I will provide you with irrefutable evidence that I should be the next manager of England: - a reworking of the John Barnes rap from World In Motion.

You’ve got to bring Wright-Phil/ips on But do it at the right time He can be slow or fast Cos he’s well past his prime They’ll always hit you and hurt you Defend and attack There’s only one way to beat them Bring Heskey back So hire me if you can ’Cause I ’m the England man I don’t need hotel rooms I’ve got a caravan I’m not a hooligan This ain’t a football song This is a job request I can start after giving work a month’s notice As you can see, I’m pretty skilled at reworking song lyrics and I have tactical and strategic awareness. Whilst the last line may not rhyme and I don’t actually own a caravan, I think you can see what I’m getting at here - I’m cheap and available for the European Championships this summer. Below is a rough impression of what I might look like on the touchline. You will note that I have the sartorial style Jose Mourinho mixed with the no-nonsense demeanour of a certain Brian Clough.

I look forward to you receiving my letter and await your response with breathless anticipation.

Yours sincerely, Daniel Clark

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Friday 2nd March 2012 Dear Mr Clark, Thank you for writing to The Football Association.

As I am sure you can appreciate, we have received a large number of queries of this nature since the announcement last month.

We would like to thank you for your letter and for taking the time to get in touch. Please keep an eye on our website for the latest news on this issue - wvvw.thefa.com.

Yours sincerely The Customer Relations Team The Football Association 08/03/12 To whom it may concern, I thank you for your letter dated 02/03/12 in response to my application for the vacant England manager’s position. I would direct this letter to someone specifically, but it seems that whoever wrote it has neglected to sign the letter— almost as if it was just a standard format response sent out to anyone, but I know this wouldn’t be the case.

I am most heartened by your reply. Whilst you haven’t actually confirmed that I have the job, I know that the recruitment process for this position is highly scrutinised and therefore subject to the most stringent security and privacy. I can, however, read between the lines and will most certainly ”keep an eye on the website” To save time and to avoid draining further FA finances, l have attached a picture which you can publish on the website on the day of my appointment; I’ll talk you through it. Firstly, you have me in the middle of the walkway that leads up to Wembley Stadium dressed neatly in an outfit that screams quintessential Englishness — the black tie tuxedo famously associated with 007, James Bond. To the left ofthe picture is the man who I will recall back to the England team as my first action, Emile Ivanhoe Heskey.

You may think the proportions unrealistic as he emerges from below the walkway, but I can assure you this is all to scale. In real life The Hesk is well massive.

Between myself and Emile is Restoration Man — George Clarke. A big hit as presenter of the Channel Four show, I thought he would be a reliable and masculine presence as comp‘ere of the whole occasion. On the other side of the walkway are two of the world’s biggest music stars — Mick Hucknell of Simply Red and Phil Collins of Genesis.

I’ve not spoken to either man yet, but I’m sure that they would both be up for collaborating on an anthem for the upcoming European Championships. I was thinking they could call themselves Simply Badass or something along those lines, maybe they could rework Stars but replace the word ‘stars’ with ‘Hart’? Just a thought.

Anyway, I think you can see from the above that I have planned the whole ceremony out in explicit detail so now all I need is your confirmation. I look forward to your reply and will indeed ”keep an eye on the website.”

Yours faithfully, Daniel Clark TheLeedsDebacle_9

/ NICOLA STEWART

Whitelocks W

hen I was younger, I was always too scared to go into Whitelocks for a drink. I would walk up Briggate and see the sign, notice the ‘ye olde pub’ tucked away from the high street, and imagine that it was full of old men inside, drinking ale and spitting onto a saw dust covered floor. I guess I thought I would be walking into a time warp, the kind of pub you would find in a Dickens novel, complete with Oliver Twist style street urchins, trying to rob my Topshop bag. So I have to confess that before writing this, I had only been in Whitelocks once, eight years ago, believing it just wasn’t aimed at me. So now I’m older and braver, and Whitelocks has new owners, I ventured back in to see if my preconceptions were true.

At the time of writing Ed, Dan and Ash had only taken over 3 weeks ago. It was Ash who I met with to chat more about Whitelocks and what their plans are for it as the new owners. As I had never really been in myself, finding it too intimidating, one of my first questions was, who exactly drinks in Whitelocks? My idea of it, though exaggerated, was definitely that of an old man’s pub, where they all sit around drinking real ale.

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I‘m not totally wrong, some of the regulars have been drinking here for 50 years, and they do love the ale, but I’m not totally right either. The customer mix is diverse. The age range is from those in their 20s right up to their 90s, it includes men and women (who are apparently forgoing the usual glass of wine for a pint of real ale), students, locals, tourists who have heard about it, basically, who doesn’t drink in Whitelocks, apart from me? And this is exactly the mix of customers that Ash is happy with, as he believes a public house should be just that, for everyone. He also believes that Whitelocks should be kept pretty much as it is, reassuring to those who may have been worried what new ownership would bring.

The team want to make sure the pub is family friendly, and everybody feels welcome to come in, but Whitelocks will stay the traditional pub that it is.

One thing that has being changed though, or rather tweaked, is the food menu. It is still traditional, but is more refined than the days when you went in for a pork pie on your lunch break. You’ll still find fish ‘n chips, meat and two veg, and of course Yorkshire puds, but there are also new takes on the classics, such as pork and cider

stew, and veggie options like butternut squash pie. The ethos behind the menu is particularly impressive, even in these home grown, Hugh FearnleyWhittingstall times. Around 90% of the food is from Leeds Market, all of the meat is from Yorkshire and the fish is from Grimsby. The team want everything to taste like it has been made with care, and to do this they work with others who want them same. They want to support local traders by going to the market, support local food and drink by using suppliers in Yorkshire, and then bring it all together in the kitchen with delicious home made food. As well as the food, there are around 10 hand pulled ales on at any one time, with around 90% of those also being from Yorkshire.

Everything is as fresh as it can be, if the beer is brewed at the beginning of the week, chances are you’ve drunk it in your pint by the end of the week, if not before.

And if it’s the ales you love, there is also second pub to Whitelocks, serving craft beer and real ale.

Carry on up the alley and you’ll find it on the left hand side, open on Friday and Saturday nights. It can be hired out for events for free, and being smaller and more intimate is perfect for your own private party.

In what attracted Ash, Dan and Ed to buying Whitelocks, one of the things for Ash was a love of Leeds and it‘s history, in particular the architecture of Leeds. Along with high street stores, pubs are closing down rapidly, left to stand empty, a blot on a city’s landscape. The solution to this seems to be just build more, rather than try to breathe life into the beautiful buildings which are already there.

Ash talked passionately about preserving the architecture of Leeds and keeping it alive, not leaving yet another empty building to be knocked down and replaced with a new shopping mall. So

to Ash buying Whitelocks and keeping it the same, preserving it’s history, is an important issue. Whitelocks is a Grade 2 listed building, and has all of the original features inside, the light fittings, the bar… even the mirrors can’t be removed. The tables and chairs are all heavy duty cast iron and have been there for over 100 years. The façade is exactly the same as it was nearly 300 years ago. The buildings next door to the pub were originally workmen’s cottages, and these workmen would’ve popped in on their break for lunch and a pint, just as they do today. Ash remembers his own

dad popping in on his lunch break when he was a kid. Whitelocks isn’t a copy of what once would’ve been there, it’s not the Dickensian themed pub I had in my head, this is how it has always looked, and always been. And luckily for those who drink there, this is what drew Ash, Ed and Dan to it. Like the loyal regulars, they too love it just the way it is. They want to look after it and preserve what is great about it, and what has drawn people in for nearly 300 years. As Ash puts it, “we want to keep the history so you can retell this story to people”.

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ad here

/ EMILY WARD

Fiona Rae

‘Maybe you can live on the moon in the next century’

O

ne of the exhibitions being held at Leeds City Art Gallery currently is Fiona Rae’s solo show ‘Maybe you can live on the moon in the next century’.

Fiona is a painter who has been involved with Tate Britain as well as being linked with the infamous YBA’s (Young British Artists) movement of the 90’s, of which made Damien Hirst a household name.

What makes Rae unique are her colourful, abstract painting techniques that are instantly recognisable, on large scale canvasses. Even for people who aren’t huge art followers will love her colourful, narrative, expressive creations, which create a nice contrast from the more traditional paintings in the gallery. Paint has been applied using a wide variety of brushes and utensils using an even wider variety of colours, something which can be seen in the video of Rae in her studio accompanying the exhibition. She also incorporates cartoon-like, childhood imagery like rabbits and stars hidden amongst the graphic and painterly layers.

At every glance you notice something new, a word, a hand, she also creates huge ribbons of colour that really draw you into her fantasy worlds. With only the surreal titles of the pieces as clues as to what kind of world you are looking at, your imagination takes over.

But don’t worry if you aren’t a fan of conceptual meaning behind art, Rae explains even if the viewer loves the colours or lines, she is happy, the paintings are so visually exciting you make your own mind up as to what they mean What Rae has done is bring back the joy of contemporary painting.

Some may consider this medium to be ‘old fashioned’, but Rae thrusts it back into the forefront of art and proves it doesn’t have to be figurative or historical, the movement and passion bleeds through every canvas in the exhibition.

A must see exhibition, on from May 11th until August 26th 2012 at Leeds City Art Gallery.

/ JIMMY GREGORY

Stock Image H

ave you ever stumbled across a campaign that you feel like you’ve seen before, somewhere out there, but no matter how hard you try you can’t quite place it?

This is usually because print and web campaigns are often made up of elements which are purchased from stock sites. A graphic from one campaign can be recycled and used again in another. This makes aspects of some campaigns familiar and repetitive.

Shutterstock, iStockPhoto and Getty Images are all major suppliers of these images and graphics and there are countless others out there offering a quick fix for their client base. Their pitch is a low cost alternative to setting up expensive photo shoots for a specific campaign or taking the time to create a detailed illustration from scratch.

A designer can dip into these libraries at will to get the artwork they require for any given project and all for a relatively small subscription fee. I’m not disputing that these online resources have their place in the market. It is often impractical to start from scratch on each and every project and those who steadfastly do so have higher costs and therefore can often price themselves out of smaller campaigns. In fact resource packages have been around long before the internet came along and revolutionised almost everything that we do.

However, the meteoric rise of the internet within the last twenty years has simplified the process, meaning designers can now browse through images and downloaded them in no time at all. The increase in availability, has resulted in an increase in use, and more worryingly, a reliance on these resources from those operating within the creative sectors.

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I’ve witnessed first hand, designers employed by busy studios relying more and more on these stock websites as they churn out design after design on a production line that is happy to forego quality in order to meet their deadlines and move onto the next brief. Their sole aim is to get their artwork over to the client as quickly as possible in order to get that money in and fill their coffers. Studios and designers that used to use these resources in the beginning because of budgetary and practical restraints are now shopping at these sites for convenience. This never sat well with me as a designer, as it seemed to contradict every value that any creative should have.

A designer should thrive in their own imagination and creativity, and whilst not every project will allow them to explore their full potential as a designer, that does not mean that they should just go elsewhere to get what they need just because it isn’t necessarily inspiring. As their dependencies on these resources grow, their creativity and imaginative flair fades and we are now at risk of having a significant creative drain in the UK as a result.

Stock plug.

Now this approach wouldn’t be so bad if these studios amended their prices to reflect their change in approach to the way they create their artwork. Many start ups and smaller businesses cannot afford to create their own fully bespoke campaigns and therefore would benefit from a

service which created a campaign with a blend of their own design and stock imagery to keep costs down for the client. However, most studios are perfectly happy to push the same prices for this type of work as they are for a campaign that they had created solely by themselves. The recent Visit Lincoln rebrand, which was designed to increase tourism in the historic town and elevate it to the same level as other major historic tourist spots such as York, was riddled with imagery sourced from stock websites, despite having a £10,000 budget and it didn’t take long for people to begin to pick up on this. Unfortunately, this is a disturbing trend in the industry which has seen many studios move from thriving on creativity and imaginative flair, to seeking to maximise profits for as little work as possible. Most clients are never made aware by the hired studio that the completed artwork contains stock imagery, especially when vector graphics are involved.

They would only realise this when they stumbled across the same elements in another campaign piece or if, like the previously mentioned campaign, it is brought to their attention on local media message boards.

Of course this doesn’t apply to every creative outlet in the UK. My own Tearaway Studios uses stock image on the odd occasion but only where absolutely necessary. There are other studios and designers out there that have the same ethical approach when it comes to their work and who thrive on the challenge of being as original as possible time and time again. However, in these modern times, it seems this is a dying breed that could very well be placed on the endangered list if the current trend in British design continues. Hopefully we can draw a line in the sand and move forward rather than back.

GAZ JONES \

Frozen Dog Poo, Gerbils & Spicy Nik Naks

A

nimals hate humans so don’t you forget, they only like you when they are your pet. When you go to the pet shop in your tdad’s jeep, all of the animals pretend they’re asleep.

All of the noise, the pointing and toying, they find human beings extremely annoying.

Two gerbils had been captive for nearly a year, the thought of another filled them with fear. Most of their cell mates had already been picked, was that good? Or bad? It was hard to predict. Some homes were good but others were bad, some owners nice but others were mad.

When the store closed and the humans went home, the security dog was left to roam. The German Sheppard would listen out for sounds, and pace all the aisles as part of his rounds. As an ex-police dog he was highly trained, so all of the animals stayed detained.

The kids ran around as teens watched the snakes, adults bought pet food and pots of fish flakes.

The store was busy as it had been all week; the gerbils’ lives were looking bleak. Humans made them all feel nauseous. When people showed up they had to be cautious.

This week the gerbils had thought up a plan, they needed some food from the species of man.

The gerbils needed to steal some snacks, the first thing they got were some spicy Nik Naks. They were dropped on the floor by a chubby young boy, something the guard dog would later enjoy.

At 8pm the shop closed shut, the Gerbils escaped from their hut.

They only had half of a pack, so lay a short trail of the illicit corn snack. The Nik Naks wrapper was left outside, the gerbils stood side by side.

The German Sheppard started to sniff, something smelt nice so his tail went stiff. He followed the crisps and kept on tracks, unaware he was outside with the bag of Nik Naks. The gerbils shut the fire door; locking him out of the big pet store.

The dog scratched the door but to no avail, outside it was cold and blowing a gale. His stomach was churning as the snacks had been spicy, his belly was hot but the path it was icy. He went to the toilet by the back of the shop; out it all came plop, plop, plop!

The gerbils asked the animals if they wanted to leave, something they thought they would never achieve. They all said yes and were ever so happy, as the dog was outside in need of a nappy.

The animals left and said their goodbyes, each taking a bag of pet supplies.

The shop owner arrived early morning, the dog lay shivering which was the first warning.

Frozen dog poo covered the floor, and there was nothing left in the store. The owners face started to scowl, as he greeted the dog who still felt foul...

‘Like’ the page ‘Gaz’s rhyming stories’ on facebook and send in your three things. Fully illustrated book coming soon!

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Gazs-Rhyming-Stories

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/ GLEN PINDER & KATRIONA GILMOUR

KG: Like musical tapas, serving up bands of many different flavours.

Bite size portions of pure musical delight. Live At Leeds brings everything from well-known acts to new, emerging and unknown artists from Leeds and beyond.

GP: It’s a bright Saturday morning, hangover in full flow and an all day festival planned out in front of us.

Approaching the Headrow we see flags waving, crowds of people streaming down the middle of the road, chanting, screaming, fists held aloft in righteous indignation.

Is this it? I wonder. Is the revolution now? Has Live at Leeds gathered the youth to storm the streets and protest at the lack of a future?

Alas, no, just trade unionists doing their thing and fighting the good fight on their own... shame! But hey-ho, the game is afoot, there are bands out there that need our ears, need our eyes and long for our attention, maybe hanker for the love and adulation that, secretly, all bands yearn.

KG: I was very excited to start at newly revived The Well, one of my favourite venues. Still the faint odour of paint, happy and familiar staff greeted to serve the first drink of the day. Red Stripe in hand, we got on the ‘Ghost Train’ (“Awww Oooh”) and China Rats took a chunk out of my Live At Leeds 2012 cherry. They pump out a repetitive chorus that hooks you and reels you in. Infused with 50’s, punk, The Beatles and stage presence, China Rats confidently flow into ‘Take No Prisoners’ and ‘To Be Like I’, songs which could steal an indie throne and are well deserved of the new Radio1 playlist. What a start!

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GP: The Cockpit is my first port of call, I’m in early so, once my eyes adjust to the darkness, I come across a four piece band from Leeds called Richard Parker, an impressive instrumental band dealing in heavy sonic adventures, with two dueling guitarists that weave inbetween each other giving the sound a woozy texture, bass low and steady and a seriously impressive drummer that makes my jeans vibrate every time the snare and bass drum erupt through the venue. A great start to the day, a nice surprise and a good kick off to Live at Leeds.

GP: Staying in the Cockpit I await Black Moth, a heavy rock five piece that hit the stage each looking like an avatar from ‘Guitar Hero’ and expect one of them to levitate when they hit the perfect chord. Beyond the bands rock posturing there are quality songs, though the only mosh pit is the scrum of photographers hustling for pictures of frontwoman Harriet and, hey, I can’t blame them! Her softer vocals over garage-punk sledgehammer songs like ‘Spit Out Your Teeth’ get the gathered crowd a fluster, which, at this time of day, is no bad thing, hangover or no.

KG: Next on to Bastille, playing to a packed out Leeds Met. Dan, the front man, with drumstick in hand, looks surprised at the turn out and keeps checking we are all still there! They get a roaring applause at the end of every song and ‘Overjoyed’, their current single, makes us feel just that. His effortless vocals fill the room and eventually silence the bitches in front of me! If I

see nothing else today, this has satiated my appetite. Their next song ‘Bad Blood’ reverberates and Bastille finish in style with ‘Flaws’, which is absolutely flawless! Dan energetically jumps around the stage, searching the packed floor (still checking he is not seeing things – we are all still there!) banging a synthetic drum and knocking on the keys before scaling the speaker at the side of the stage to finish.

GP: Onwards to iLikeTrains in the Acadamy, and straight away you see the division of people to see the band, and the ones that are gonna stay in this venue to witness the oncoming Enema onslaught. iLikeTrains are a class act in such surroundings. New record ‘The Shallows’ shines through as a step forward into a more structured sound, not losing the intimacy of the first album, only adding layers to an already epic sound. Synth and vocal show an attention to detail for a more concise sound, still the experimental side never drifts too far away. ‘Beacons’ comes on like The National cruising down the autobhan in search of Can, ‘Mnemosyne’ is a shimmering pop song in search of the dark heart of the dance floor while knocking Interpols drinks over and laughing. By the end, iLikeTrains have pulled the pop kids swooning into their doomladen world. Well done boys.

KG: Moving on to a packed out Wardrobe for Sound Of Guns, indie rockers from Liverpool, who “pushed out the Lion and the Witch” to get us all in. Having had the pleasure of seeing these guys before, I was eager to hear

their new tunes.

Despite not understanding a scouse spoken word, Andrew Metcalfe’s vocals are strong as they bang out tune after tune. ‘Collisions’ sees Andrew holding on to the microphone like his life depends on it, shortly before jumping in to the crowd, thriving off the energy and reaction, as we all join in to SOG anthem ‘Architects’, and blow the doors off the wardrobe!

KG: So The Barr Brothers have a tough act to follow! My first thought, as I am one of the first few to grace the floors, is WTF… a harp! When did that arrive?

These guys (and girl) have made it all the way from Montreal and this is old time blues & folk by real musicians with raw talent.

A laid back performance from a guy hidden behind his organ and the sonorous tone from the harp slowly swells the floor as band offer beautiful harmonies in ‘Kisses from Chelsea’. By their own admission, The Barr Brothers have no idea how they got here, but I and the crowd are glad they did. A refreshing change!

GP: Weird Dreams next at the Met back room, I’m here on the back of their fine new album ‘Choreography’. The songs chug along nicely like 90’s Blind Melon or Teenage Fanclub, yet the band look bored and fail to capture any of the fun or resonance of either band or of their own record where it comes off in the production.

Without, they are an indie band just not weird or dreamy enough for me.

KG: Leeds Uni Mine turned up the volume with Random Impulse!

Dude with guitar and attitude starts with a little chat. He asks the crowd to step forward in to the vomit scary space then looks a little stunned by the growing presence and declares “Fuck me”. He asks for a little crowd participation for ‘Put It On My Card’, which rings a familiar sound in all our ears. He raps tunefully, one after another. The girl next to me looks like she should be on stage, as she dances in ‘The Best Party Ever’. Talented, tongue-incheek realism from Jovel Walker to soundtrack many a drunken night.

GP: Nation of Shopkeepers in view, I’m off to see TOY, a new, much hyped band and friends of The Horrors, this London psych 5 piece are far from mere copyist, finding their own pathway through an emerging scene, sounding raw yet confident, with one eye on a broader musical soundscape.

‘Motoring’ is a highlight, motorik pace chugging and growling with force, emerging into the early evening with a bombast and majesty. ‘When I Went Back’ melts guitars and synths into a psych gumbo, plying the crowd mindaltering sonics. Over a relaxing rok & roll cigarette and pint in the courtyard, the band, happy and handshaking, tell me ”The people and the venue are cool. It’s a day filled with joy!” Amen to that brothers and sisters! So far it has been just that.

KG: I was looking forward to girlfronted Brooklyn band Friends at the Met, next on the list. But… disappointing from the start! I can’t concentrate. Too much echo on the microphone. Not really

convinced. Who knows? I think I want to eat!

GP: We Are Augustines up next, this I have been looking forward to, having had the album ‘Rise Ye Sunken Ships’ for a few months, thinking I had found a little known gem. How wrong I am as the Met back room is packed with people in love with this band, knowing every word and guitar lick before they even hit the stage. When the band do hit the stage they hit it hard and hit each one of the gathered throng over the head with a rock master class that sees them take us on a tour of Rock n Roll over the past 30 years.

The rabble rousing party hard intimacy pours over and plunges into our hearts. ‘Chapel Song’ & ‘Headlong Into The Abyss’ carry an emotion and power rarely visited.

The Boss is in the room on ‘Book of James’ and ‘Philadelphia (the city of brotherly love)’, yet with a passion that is wholly their own.

Roadies add guitars on several songs, creating an inclusive atmosphere, love and devotion hang in the air, Cathedrals in our ears, Rum soaked and sweat saturated, we all join in for ‘Juarez’, a climatic version where amps get kicked over, guitars shredded. One of three elated and exhausted troubadors, guitarist Eric Sanderson, grabs me in the sweatiest of bear hugs, soaks me through his woolen checked shirt, telling me how amazed he is by crowd reactions and that Leeds is now top of the list. Neither of us can really talk, just hug and celebrate.

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Live at Leeds KG: Dot Rotten at Leeds Uni Mine is in charge of his space from the first spoken word, he raps with an eloquence and brings the beats in good measure. A good choice for one of the final gigs of the night that I feel I have the capability to write about… feeling a little worse for wear… he brings me back to life! For a moment the silence descends as Dot goes on a lyrical jaunt to a rapturous crowd. ‘Are You Not Entertained?’ Oh yes we are! A phenomenal day!!

GP: Last gig of the night finds me at the Brudenell to see Ghostpoet.

I’m here to do as everyone should do on days like this, see someone you don’t really know, and, my God, am I impressed! Live drums and guitar add meat to the bones of songs like ‘Peanut Butter Blues’ and ‘Melancholy Jam’, tunes start with electro squeaks and squelches, slowly building to huge sonic crescendos. This is British hip hop for the late bus riders and 9-5 drudgery, looking ahead to

weekends of psychic traumas and dark nights of the soul. Tonight is one of those nights, the crowd gets bigger and bigger, all bobbing and swaying at the front of the stage to ‘I Just Don’t Know’ and ‘Survive It’, The final tune has everyone dancing, we are sweaty and elated and most of Brudenell is now on stage in near religious fervour, Pure joy, of life, of music, of each other, sharing this moment together.

/ INTERVIEWS JOE SCRASE & FRASER MORRIS

I LIKE TRAINS (after playing 02 Academy) TLD - How was Live at Leeds for you guys?

ILT - It was good thanks. Simon is involved and I believe he is happy with how it has gone. I think the Unconference and the football tournament add another dimension to the festival. It shows what a strong supportive and creative community there is here in Leeds.

TLD - Did you enjoy your own gig? Is it any different playing Leeds to elsewhere?

ILT - It probably exceeded our expectations. We were coming with a new album and performing songs for the first time, which always adds a little nervous energy. Add to that the fact we were playing at the Academy, which is a pretty big venue for us. We were unsure if we would have a respectable crowd, but Leeds did us proud and the turn out was better than we could ever have hoped for! Of course it is different to be playing in our home town. Lots of familiar faces give us a determination to prove ourselves and to prove that we’re still progressing. That sort of energy is unique to Leeds for us I guess. I have to admit that I didn’t see a great deal of other bands. I did see Sam Airey, who is always great, and it was fun to catch up with lots of people I hadn’t seen in a while.

TLD - Your new album ‘The Shallows’ is impressive and has been well received. Did you go into the studio with specific intentions and are you happy with the result?

ILT - Before we went into the studio I had a pretty strong technological theme for the record and I think that probably influenced the way we wanted the record to sound. We were using synthesiser and drum machines and tried to dehumanise our sound to a certain extent. For this record we went into the studio with a lot of writing and arranging to do. We wanted to keep the loose ends untied and work with a sense of spontaneity.

TLD - Reviews tend to praise you with unusual words like ‘gloom’ ‘weary’ and ‘brooding’. Do you find these complimentary?

ILT - I think those words are pretty apt. I tend to enjoy listening to music that I would describe in the same way.

I tend to avoid having to describe our own music. That is a job for someone else.

TLD – So what’s next for ILT? ILT - I can’t really say too much as its early days, but we’re planning something very exciting for Leeds!

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NINA NESBITT (after playing Millennium Square & The Cockpit)

Live at Leeds

TLD: You really are the girl to be at the moment, you’ve been touring like mad, and rumours have it that you’re currently producing an album?

NN: Yeah I am! It should hopefully be released early next year.

TLD: How would you define your style?

NN: I like to call it ‘orglectric’ which is a blend of organic and electric. So I’ll have a grand piano playing as well as programmed beats and other synthetic sounds TLD: What’s the plan for 2012?

NN: I’ve got a lot of festivals lined up, I’ll probably release a few singles and I’d like to go over to the US. I’d love to make it in the US! TLD: Ed Sheeran?

NN: He was playing a radio gig at Edinburgh. I was about 15 and I had a friend at the radio station so I went along to see him. I asked him whether he had any advice for upcoming singer/songwriters. He asked me whether I played the guitar, I said ‘yes’, and he handed me his guitar and asked me to play something! I was completely on the spot, it was so nerve-wracking. I played him one of my songs and then he put me on tour with him! We became really good friends when touring.

TLD: What would you say to artists wishing to circumvent the traditional ways of breaking into the music industry by going on a show like The X Factor or The Voice?

NN: I personally wouldn’t go on one of those shows as I think it’s better to work for it. I don’t like the idea of being a ‘product’ of one of those shows.

LUCY ROSE (before playing Holy Trinity) TLD: So you’re performing here at Live At Leeds today but you’ve also just got back from touring with Bombay Bicycle Club, what was that like?

LR: I’ve had the best time, it’s been two and a half years playing music with five of my best friends so I’ve loved all of it.

TLD: I read on a Wikipedia entry that at all your festivals you hand out jam and tea to your audience?

LR: Really?! That’s not true! You should never trust Wikipedia… I’ve edited a few Wikipedia pages in my time. Just for fun. I do sell jam and tea though.

TLD: Any page in particular?

LR: I edited Bombay Bicycle Club’s Wikipedia page once, as a joke of course! I don’t know if I can put that on the record, but hey.

TLD: You’ve released three singles and you’ve been recording an album with respected producer Charlie Hugall. Was that daunting?

LR: Not really as he’s in a similar position to myself still in the process of making a name for himself. He’s worked on songs for Florence but he hasn’t produced that many albums yet. Also, he’s the coolest guy ever so any pressure I might have felt went straight out the window. I always had such a strong vision of what I wanted to make for my first album so I really needed someone like Charlie to make me feel comfortable and give me creative control. We’ve been recording in my parents’ house and Charlie’s been sleeping in my sister’s room for two months! He’s just very relaxed and very cool to work with.

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Live at Leeds RUPERT STROUD (about to go on stage at The Wardrobe) TLD: When you told people you wanted to go into music were they sceptical? What was their reaction?

RS: A lot of people say immediately ‘oh it’s really hard’. They also sometimes ask ‘are you going to go on the X Factor?’ A lot of musicians who write songs and take pride in that would say ‘no’ as it’s a platform for those who just mainly want to be a performer. The song writing is something that is really important to me, which I’ve been doing since school. You gain more life experience and you write loads of crap songs then your writing just improves. But yeah, a few people were quite sceptical but my family have always been super supportive which is so important and helpful.

TLD: So you’ve released the album, which has been really well received. It’s down on iTunes as ‘Alternative’, which is quite broad.

RS: I like that it’s ‘alternative’ as that leaves it a little bit open for interpretation as I think there are sprinkles of rock, pop, blues and some have even said they hear a bit of folk influence. That’s probably because I play acoustic guitar for a lot of the tracks.

TLD: What are your musical influences?

RS: When I was younger my parents loved artists like Bob Dylan, The Rolling Stones, The Beatles. Even someone like Simply Red, who people don’t think is cool, I loved listening to them when I was in my parents’ car. It was something I’d sing along to as a kid. My brother also played bands like Aerosmith, The Verve, and Nirvana so they were all very influential as well. When I started learning how to play guitar, I learnt playing Oasis songs and Nirvana songs. Kurt Kobain had been dead for years, but his songs are still so iconic.

TLD: You’ve now released a charity single for Alzheimer’s Research UK. RS: I wanted to do something special. It’s very close to my heart. I wrote it after my grandma passed away. She suffered from Alzheimer’s for many years. They’re so underfunded which is quite upsetting as Alzheimer’s is quite common. People can donate a £2 minimum or as much as they want, and in return they get a track. Some people said they cried! That’s incredible to hear – I mean that in a nice way!

ELLEN & THE ESCAPADES (after playing Holy Trinity) TLD: Last year was great for you guys, you performed at Leeds Festival and a host of other venues. How have you progressed in the last few years?

EE: We’ve done so much more in the way of playing and recording. We’re a lot more confident than we were this time last year. I suppose we’ve stepped up. We had two big UK tours, one 20-day tour and one 10-day tour, which just finished last week.

TLD: You’ve had some odd times as well. Playing in a church is weird enough but you played on a train as well haven’t you?

EE: That was pretty weird. Some guys who were doing the media for Live at Leeds told us that East Coast Trains wanted a band to play as a promo for the event. We were like ‘alright’. It was very weird! We do a lot of odd stuff: we’ve played churches, trains, boats, stations… No planes yet though. If anyone wants a band to perform on a plane, give us a call.

TLD: You’ve just released your album, how would you define its genre?

EE: A lot of people seem to think it’s quite folky, but at the same time I think there’s a bit of pop, rock, blues and country in there. A lot of us grew up listening to The Beatles, Fleetwood Mac, Ray Charles etc. We all have different tastes though. And because of that, we all bring something different to the table, which is great.

TLD: What are you plans for 2012?

EE: We’re doing a few festivals and we’re hoping to tour again in October/November. We’re performing at the Secret Garden Party as well as Fairport Convention’s Cropedy Festival, which will probably be one of the biggest slots we’ve done – there’s only one stage and there’s 15,000 people there.

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Live at Leeds

SEAS OF GREEN (after playing The Wardrobe) TLD: Tell us a bit about the band?

SOG: We are Seas of Green and we’re a band! We make videos every week, that’s our new thing. And we’ve also started a cult! That’s pretty much everything really! Oh, we also record music.

TLD: Tell us a bit about your videos.

SOG: We started with a music video for our song Idols, which we followed with a video about gardening which hope can get mentioned in Gardeners’ World magazine. It’s a good move as gardening is something we feel is going to expand. It’s a growing market. We’ve done another one about starting a cult. We’re going to release some of our music with videos.

TLD: Is this leading up to an album?

SOG: It might be one big album or two EPs as there’s a clear line between different styles.

TLD: As we noticed at The Wardrobe, you performed songs that covered several different genres.

SOG: It was more acoustically themed at The Wardrobe. We love doing heavy electric guitar with all the effects but thought we’d slim it down.

TLD: Who are your musical influences?

SOG: We all have very eclectic tastes in music, which we think is a good thing as we don’t want to be accused of copying another band’s work. For our more contemporary stuff like Balloons, we drew influence from bands like Born Ruffians – a Canadian band who are amazing. We also idolise the classics like The Beatles and Radiohead to more contemporary stuff like The Middle East and James Blake.

TLD: What are the plans for 2012?

SOG: We don’t really want to be in the charts, we’d just rather enjoy our music and chill. And not to die. We hope that the prophecy is all wrong.

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/ JOHN BARRAN

Local Festivals W

e never learn, you and me. Every year, come May, come what may, the sun puts his hat on and we hip-hip-hip-hooray.

Then the sun remembers Brian Harvey and Dappy and vows never again to come out to play.

But by then it is too late for you and me, for you and me have already spent our overdraft on tickets to the Festifest Festival in Nowheremiddle. And so, in July, you put on your earflaps, I balance my cap, and our hair stays relatively dry, whilst, in the sodden distance, a screen shows Axl implode or Reni vanish or Gabriel fiddle with himself.

Except we do learn. For we know that all the trodden mud, all the distant rockstars, all the rotten falafel, all the falling tents will all be worth it. And usually this is not because of the superstar names atop the ads but because of the guy you’d never heard of on the smallest stage at the shittest time and because of the band you’ve just got into playing your favourite new song as the drink takes effect and because your mates are ace and because, despite it all, everyone is having a feckin’ brilliant time. Even you and me.

So, thank festivals we can keep learning and not learning every year. There are rumours of a

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decline in the popularity of festivals. This is untrue. Where many UK festivals are not selling out as immediately as previous years, the majority are still full up by the time, and the reason is more likely increased competition, both here and abroad. It is difficult to find a UK city sans fest, whilst the attraction of Primavera, Benicassim, Sonar, Exit, Coachella, SXSW and hundreds more hot locations with stellar line-ups means more choice. No longer is it Local Fest or nothing.

Indeed, local fest is no longer Leeds Fest or nothing. The past few years have seen the gradual arrival of independent festivals around the area bringing their unique own personality. Beginning with Bingley Music Live in 2007 and its winnable dedication to madchester-esque line-ups, helped by fabulous pricing (originally one day was free) and beautiful surroundings. This year sees The Charlatans return alongside its biggest line-up yet, including Martha Reeves and Pigeon Detectives.

The newest comer is Crooked Ways in Pontefract. A single day event welcomed a beautiful May day yet was still sadly quiet. On this occasion, pricing may have offput, not good for the promoters but damn nice for you and me there. Well, me there. After

recovering from a man vomiting next to me and a drunk standing on my head, a lacklustre paper bill produces a splendid day alternating between sun-bathing to Skint & Demoralised’s political colloquialism, circle dancing to Blood Arm’s bizarrely camp party, tent-raving to Sunshine Underground’s lad love-in, and standing to Razorlight’s mumbling popularity. It’ll be better next year and you should go.

And finally: Beacons: The coolest festival. Three days, nicely and rightly priced, in a stunning Yorkshire Dales setting, the feel is that which festivals should be, that odd mix of hedonism and child-friendly all at once. Where Leeds’ hipsters and families alike frug along to local heroes Wild Beasts and skank along to worldwide legends Toots & The Maytals. The line-up is as eclectic as it is faultless, the lack of big names bettered by the unending list of talent and an inventive amount of other activities and proper food & drink. This is the new breed of festival, supporting the local, supporting the independent and where standing in a field doesn’t mean you can’t have nice things. Nothing can stop us now. Except the sun taking his hat off and causing a massive flood (like last year). You should go.

We never learn, you and me.

Hawk Eyes TLD: You seem to be on quite the tour at the moment! How has it been?

HE: We have just landed from Japan with Exit International and Ginger Wildheart and are currently on our way to play two German Festivals. Japan was amazing and surreal. The people are incredibly kind and welcoming and it was a pleasure to share it with the other bands.

TLD: You return to play Beacons Festival. Are you looking forward to playing more locally?

HE: Yeah it’s great to be playing locally, there’s plenty of bands from in and around Yorkshire. We’ll have just come back from Austria so it’s also a chance to sleep in our own beds!

TLD: How do you find playing festivals compared to your own shows?

HE: Variety is always good. I love the sweaty intimacy of smaller venues and I also love big festivals, I’m not sure I’ve answered the question! As long as we are playing music we are very happy!

TLD: The touring is on the back of your fine album ‘Ideas’. What’s the Hawk Eyes recording process like and how have you found the reaction to the record?

HE: The reaction has been incredible, people have been very kind. As we all contribute the whole process takes a long time, we really do pull a song to pieces and we all want to make ‘our mark’. We all have to be happy with it.

TLD: What next for Hawk Eyes?

HE: We have an insanely busy summer then hopefully start putting together bits and pieces for the next record. Maybe a rest too, maybe.

playing Beacons 17th-19th August.

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/ JOSEPH J. WOOD

‘D

o you want me to tell you about your greatgreat-grandfather one more time?’

My son couldn’t answer.

He was lying underneath a blanket, coughing and weeping softly. The rag we had wrapped around him was doing nothing to stem the bleeding and his blood was moving across the gravel, creeping like an insect, stop-start movement.

Grandfather was sitting in his wheelchair. Its wheels, without tyres, buckled and with broken spokes, had been worn useless by the desert of rubble and debris.

‘He was leaning against a wall,’ my Grandfather continued unprompted, ‘smoking a cigarette and looking out at the city the way people look out at the ocean.

Amazed by its vastness, by its rolling eternity.

Knowing that somewhere on the other side it ends and knowing that even if you squint and look hard enough you’ll never see all the way across.

‘And he heard a noise like your spray paint can in the fire that time. He heard it way off in the distance. It made him jump like you do when something shocks you, made his heart gasp and his ears prick up. So he looked to where he thought the sound had come from.

‘And he saw all the trees shaking and all the leaves, he noticed they were coming towards him.

Like a wave of leaves coming toward him fast. And then he saw the buildings, saw that they were coming apart from the top down, the way sand dunes are deconstructed by the wind.

‘He had to fall to the ground and hold his head in his hands as the bricks smashed into the building behind him. The leaves dragged against him but luckily none of the 24_TheLeedsDebacle

Ruins bricks hit him. It started to rain a thick black rain, dense with ash.

‘When he stood up the building behind him was gone. The city was gone. And he still couldn’t see all the way across but he had seen how the city ended.’

I could hear them despite the distance I was keeping. I couldn’t bear to be close. My father had died protecting me.

Now my son was dying because I couldn’t protect him. I’d returned to him too late. I’d even shot the man who’d got to him, as if that would make a difference now. As if I could cheat something. Like it was some kind of apology.

Now I was thinking of shooting myself. Another apology. But then Grandfather would be left with nothing and they’d get to him as well and then how would I apologise for that?

My father had died saving me from them when they’d got to me. I was twenty-seven years old.

I should have been able to take care of myself, not rely on my father. I’d got him killed. And my son, twenty years younger than I was when they’d got to me, was dying. Because of me. I’d got him killed.

He had heard the story that Grandfather was telling countless times before.

He didn’t understand the references to the ocean or the sand dunes. We had shown him once by piling some of the thinner rubble next to our mess tin, which we filled with water. And we blew on the water to make waves and we blew on the pile of rubble to disrupt it.

I wanted to take him to the beach.

I’d wanted to since Grandfather had started telling him the story.

Or at least, since he’d been old enough to understand the words.

But there was always something more important. Find food for us all, ammunition for the rifle,

medicine for Grandfather. shelter, hide. Protect.

Find

So now I watched the shards of my family. The dying elder, the dying child and between them the space left by a dead man. I was holding the rifle by the barrel, the butt on the ground, like a strut. A support. Help. It hadn’t helped much. Hadn’t supported us. I leaned on it and it took my weight.

When the weather’s clear like today, you can hear the wind coming from miles away. I saw the dust shimmer on the horizon and watched it come towards us like a wave. Stones crackled against my boots and pinged off of the wheelchair.

I noticed that the weeping had stopped. The coughing was less consistent. I didn’t realise I had started walking until I had almost reached them.

Grandfather was asleep, his head resting on his chest, rising and falling slowly. Every breath he took was punctuated with a wet cough before he exhaled. My son wasn’t moving at all.

His eyes were open but not looking. His mouth was open but not breathing. I took a couple of steps away and, leaning on the rifle, threw up. It was disgust that pushed the vomit out; I felt relieved that the waiting was over, that I didn’t have to hope any more. Something moral inside me couldn’t handle that and had to get out.

I left the rifle leaning against Grandfather. He would put it to good use; he’d use it to defend himself one way or the other.

He’d use it to stop them getting to him.

I walked forward. The distance was my destination. Keep that in mind, I decided. Keep heading to the distance and don’t stop.

WITHOUT YOU TIM ROBERTS \ thrash out a few stones, no battery in your phone Dreams of a soft sandy aesthetical beach miles from home I think of you Dirty dishes heap up the already blocked sink I’m left to stand and think just what I’d do without you No money in the meter, no electricity in the house No sugar in the bowl and no cheese for the mouse where are you when I need you how long are you away Can you sub us a tenner I’ve got my phone bill coming out today?

I miss your cheeky grin, endless hours of laughter watching you prance around and sing The house just isn’t the same without you Cigarette stumps erect houses in the ashtray 12” inch pizza boxes fill the bin I’ve been having takeaways for tea Is that such a sin?

But all will be well when you arrive back at home The dishes will be clean and the bathroom mould free Heating full on, I’ll present you with your mug of green tea Proceed up the scented petal staircase and luxuriate in tender kisses and mellowing hugs early morning birds chirping a hymn I pour into two mugs

;-P

WINSTON PLOWES \ Every text you send to me I eat like crème brûlée.

My iphone throbs like a heavy balloon fattened up by love.

Holding your thoughts Like broken birds, shaken from their nest.

Saving your words I watch your light go dim, memory almost full.

And so the vigil begins, until you next awake.

LANGUAGE / TIM CHAPMAN Landscape ripples off like the sea to the far reaches of sight swaying as hypnotised by laughing winds and they meet a man on the plain soft damp hair squeezes a tear from fine black hair into an open mouth that shouts an ancient prayer from deep memory with phrases mimicking the crackle of branches and accents that meander down to the rushing gorge in the East to tinkle and tap into caves and insect ears of pale pointed antenna which process the melody and move the six legged troops encourage their genitals to spawn more workers for the nest that sits in the lap of the far off land that one day will house millions and they will spread and trudge back consuming the bliss that once fed a group off wild beasts that moved onwards and still do like an unstoppable flow of lava or swarm of aforementioned bug but they will rest one day as will the bugs as will the man and the land and the song that sweet sonnet of summer fading to winter and then just stillness.

They may yet join together in dance and jovial embrace, kiss like lovers and forsake their dreams.

ONCE AGAIN I AWAKE / ADAM LITTLEFAIR The fifth time this week An immediate surge of dread and anxiety wave through me without warning Large breaths and yawning helping me through the morning In need of help to take on the day The sound of the coffee machine bubbles away I am filled with joy, a light at the end of the tunnel and something to wash down my medication Lifted I tackle the commute Cars and people buzzing around like bees collecting for their queen A sense of urgency Lights and signs guiding Caffeine and the need for nicotine not helping the anxiety Finally my destination feels near I am here at last Its time to start the daily grind But at least it’s Friday

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/ MATT WILSON

Whisky

After 02 Academy hosted Whisky Lounge’s whisky festival in June, Latitude’s Matt Wilson tells us more…

W

hat is Whisky… or is it Whiskey?

Does it really matter?! The know-it-all will tell you that ‘whisky’ denotes Scotch whilst ‘whiskey’ denotes the stuff made in Ireland and the US. However, there are too many exceptions to make this stick (one, off the top of my head, being George Dickel #12 Tennessee Whisky). So whisky it is then!

So what is it? Broadly speaking it describes an alcoholic beverage distilled from fermented cereal grain – barley, corn, rye, wheat – aged in wooden casks. The method is relatively simple, but the local differences in the way the components are put together leads to huge variations in style and flavour. Whisky may be sweet, salty, peaty, smoky… all this from just grain, yeast and water… and, of course, wood.

Far from a neutral container, the wooden cask is crucial in the development of the finished whisky. Its role is to mellow the spirit, softening any rough edges, adding colour, flavour and unique complexity. These characteristics will be heightened the longer the spirit remains in the cask.

Choosing the grain The choice of grain is possibly the most important factor in determining the character of the finished whisky. Of the grains mentioned above, only barley will be used in isolation, as in Scotch Malt Whisky. The rest – corn, rye and wheat – will generally only form part of a ‘mashbill’, usually alongside barley.

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Barley is the most expensive of the grains, bringing malty, cereal and biscuity notes to the whisky.

Corn, the cheapest grain, brings sweet, spicy and oily notes. Rye brings body and some pepper and spice along with dried fruit on the palate. Wheat brings mellow honeyed notes, balancing the bolder characteristics of the other grains.

Rules designate the particular combinations and percentages of different grains within a whisky, so a Bourbon must be made from no less than 51% corn (usually between 70-90%), a Rye Whiskey from no less than 51% rye etc.

Rules also designate the type of wooden cask to be used for aging – in US styles, barrels must be brand new. No such rule applies with Scotch, so whiskies here will often be aged in used Bourbon or sherry casks.

Rules, rules, rules!

The rules that surround whisky making are strictly adhered to today, and enforced by trade associations – such as the Scottish Whisky Association – as well as global institutions like the World Trade Organisation. Yet for the bulk of its history whisky has taken myriad forms. It has only really been in the last 100-125 years or so that the strict regulations have crept in. Prior to this, going back hundreds of years (to at least 1494 from written record), whisky makers would throw all sorts into the mash – potato, oats, sugar, turnips – and experiment with all manner of barrels for aging.

Whiskies would often be flavoured with things like honey, anise or mint. Tell that to your fingerwagging traditionalist!

The seriousness with which the authorities take violations to regulations is illustrated by the story of Compass Box and their Spice Tree whisky. Pioneering American whisky maker John Glaser faced the wrath of the Scottish Whisky Association when he tried to get a bit too experimental a few years back.

The SWA were perturbed by the use of new oak staves in the barrel during the maturation process used to create the rich, bold, sweet and spicy flavour that characterises this whisky. The Spice Tree was banned, becoming known as the ‘illegal whisky’ for a time. Needless to say it promptly flew off the shelves! But not to worry, the rebel Glaser soon came up with a way to skirt round the rules. He worked out he could use new oak heads on the barrels (perfectly legal), with varying degrees of toasting recreating the same unique flavour profile.

Compass Box’s Spice Tree was saved!

Though tales of pioneering rulebreakers are entertaining, and whilst the rules they break may seem archaic, it is clear there do need to be boundaries in place to push! Some level of regulation is needed to maintain quality standards and to make it so the consumer knows what they’re buying.

Whisky production in 30 seconds Malting – grains are steeped in water and spread onto a concrete floor where the grains begin to sprout. Before germination goes too far, this so-called ‘green malt’ is dried in a hot air kiln. For smoky styles (such as Islay malts), peat

will be added to the kiln. Once dried, the malt is milled into a ‘grist’.

Mashing – the grist is mixed with hot water in a ‘mashtun’ (large circular metal container). Starch within the grains is gradually converted to sugar by enzymes also present in the grains. This sugar turns to a solution in the hot water (forming the ‘wort’) and is drained off through the base of the mashtun and through a heat exchanger.

Fermentation – at this stage a suitable yeast is added, which thrives on sugars converting them alcohol, CO2 and what are called ‘congeners’: a mixed bag of acids and esters. Some congeners can add interesting complexity to a whisky, whilst others will spoil it.

The foamy wort will bubble for a few days until the alcohol reaches 5-10%. This mild brew is known as the distiller’s ‘beer’.

Distillation – the next stage sees the beer transferred to the still for boiling. The choice of still is down to the whisky maker. A ‘pot still’ is the most common form of still used for whisky making. It uses a method that has been around for hundreds of years whereby heat is added to the still, just enough to evaporate the alcohol only. The vapour rises up to a condenser – a length of coiled copper tubing – that cools and condenses the vapour into a distilled spirit. As the spirit flows from the condenser, the whisky maker closely monitors it, making sure only the finest portion of the liquid is diverted to a spirits receiver. The ‘top and tails’ (the initial and concluding portions of the liquid) will always be separated as they contain a number of impurities that would spoil the finished whisky.

Maturation – the whisky arrives in the receiver as clear as water and at around 70 to 80% abv. Usually water will be added at this stage to reduce the abv. An exception will be if the whisky maker wants to make what is called a ‘cask strength’ whisky, in which case it will be left as it is. Next the whisky will be poured into casks for aging.

All of the colour and around 50% of the flavour will come through is barrel maturation. The choice of wood or the prior use of a cask will make a vast difference to the style of finished whisky, as will the length of time the whisky spends in it.

A bluffers guide to buying Scotch Light and Soft - A good place to start for the novice, the Auchentoshan 12 Year Old (£33.90) is triple distilled Lowland malt known as ‘the breakfast whisky’ for its easy going, soft and delicate style. You may find toasted almonds and caramelised toffee on the palate with this one.

Works well served from the fridge on a summer evening!

Sweet and Rich - For those who still fancy staying on the sweeter side, but fancy something with a bit more richness and complexity, then perhaps a Speyside malt such as the Glen Garioch Founders Reserve (£34.50) is worth a look.

Unlike its big brother the 12 year old, which has a whiff of peat smoke to it, this whisky is pure butterscotch, sweet buttercream and citrus with a touch of spice.

Earthy and Spicy - A hallmark of the Highland style is its earthiness and spiciness. The Oban 14 Year Old (£40.00) is a good place to start here. It combines some fruit and roasted caramel on the nose with a whiff of salt. On the palate it provides dried fruit, orange peel and spice, drifting smoke, and that unmistakable salty tang.

Good place to start if you find the Islay malts just the little bit overpowering.

Peaty/Smokey - The peaty style is most associated with Island malts, most famously those from Islay.

Peat in a whisky can manifest itself in different ways, ranging from potent iodine aromas to a deeper smokiness. A decent point of entry to this style is the Single Malts of Scotland Caol Ila 1991 16 Year Old (£65.00), which is rich and earthy, with a good smack of peat. To me, the extended barrel aging is important to balance the peat in Islay whiskies. This 16 year old actually finishes quite soft, whereas younger styles may be a bit harsh to the novice tongue.

Try whisky and more at Latitude’s birthday tasting extravaganza at Piazza by Anthony on Thursday 12th July.

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/ IAN GANT

Old Codgers Commentary

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ack in the 1960’s I joined the Leeds City Police Force, none of this wishywashy Police Service nonsense, we were a serious Force and we knew it. Patterson was Chief Constable and, for a period, Austin Haywood was Deputy. Chalk and Cheese those two but at that time the policing of Leeds worked well and that was because we all knew what we stood for and in the scheme of things we stood for very little.

Leeds could be a tough town and I worked the old and very Victorian Millgarth, the now replaced Gipton Nick and the Ireland Wood station, from which we policed the north end of the town. Good times at Gipton but of course there were days of boredom with those only alleviated by the little pleasures you could bring to an otherwise tedious night duty.

Now it was well known that Chief Patterson was clear on immorality and debauchery, ‘he didn’t like it so we didn’t like it’.

Driving up to Temple Newsam, my partner ‘Benedict’ and I would select a gently rocking and steamed up passion wagon parked invitingly among the trees.

Simultaneously, we would tap on the front windows and invite the occupants, however the state of undress, to accompany us

separately some distance from the car. We would take the basic details from each and then, at a pre-arranged moment, swap over ‘him to me and her to Benedict’.

If appropriate, and unless varied by the discovery of conjoined surprises, then the conversations would go something like this; “now then vicar” (the previously observed missionary position had already been enough to note religious inclinations) “I know you know she is only fifteen but she says you got her far too drunk to say no”. You would see the lifeblood drain away in the torchlight. With the blushing beauty, the badinage would go “all he wants now is to get home to his pregnant wife”.

The best part of all was when, after giving them a warning about the inappropriate nature of alfresco sex, you returned them to their car and listened to them scream and shout for a full and feisty fifteen minutes, before rapidly departing in the general direction of Crossgates.

Fortunately, on the occasions I took Benedict’s wife up to Temple Newsam for a quick tumble, we knew the places not to park and, anyway, my Bobbies Helmet was usually enough to deter even the most determined of peeping toms.

THE SUMMER OF SIXTY-TWO I knew a girl with milk white skin, With chastity like auburn hair, Who I loved so wildly in the days, When I was young and she was fair.

We walked in meadows fresh with dew, To pluck the flowers where we dare, And drag the moonlight from the sky, When I was young and she was fair.

We whispered nothings to the winds, And sang our songs without a care, The spirits rising in our souls, When I was young and she was fair.

And with this passions lust for life, We baited dragons in their lair, And fought to burn the castles down, When I was young and she was fair.

And as we dreamed of myths and mist, While others turned the backward stare, We raised the gods to cuckolds then, When I was young and she was fair.

For I was power and I was might, The knight upon the winged mare, With beaten armour, brightest steel, When I was young and she was fair.

But fine reflections fade like fog, As hopes will tumble to despair, Just memory the wondrous days, When I was young and she was fair.

The full bright hope of youthful dreams, A candle bright, the lanterns glare, The years diminished not at all, When I was young and she was fair.

And now full sixty years and more, I know her old and hard to bare, I think of her and what we were, When I was young and she was fair.

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But consolation, Oh sweet life, A harvest field without a tare, I wish her blessings now as then, When I was young and she was fair.

MIK ARTISTIK \

JUNE 12TH, 2PM It’s half past one, but could be two.

It’s Armley, and the mood is blue.

I can smell the rain a coming, and it’s lush and green and quiet.

I’ve just had toast and two boiled eggs... afternoon deli-eght. the cat has settled in now, two kittens fat upstairs, the smell of cat is every where, the house is full of hair.

Two paintings sold this weekend, I was proud and paid some bills.

Treated myself to some brothel creepers, black, no frills.

No Glastonbury, no future, no fuckin sun this year.

The queen got wet.. and waved.. and went..

Oh dear!

I can hear an ice cream man.

England draw with France.

Game of Thrones was bloody good Charles Dance.

APRIL 27TH, FRIDAY AFTERNOON This fuckin weather is doin my head in, Why is it rainin all the bastard time?

We got a minute of sun then the clouds went dark and we’re back in the black and the grey and the wet.

My girlfriend’s sneeezin, it’s deeply unpleeezin cos we’ve tickets for Oldham at the Hyde Park tonight.

She might have to stay in and there’s nothin on telly, and we’re off to the vet (we’ve adopted a cat) and it’s bound to start rainin when we get out the door. ..and the cat’ll start cryin, it’ll be shitty and awful, But I suppose we need some rain.. just spread out a bit more.

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/ ELLIE GOLDER

TheKiloConundrum

...and the Madonna Whore Complex: How much do you need to weigh to be loved?

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e have heard all the arguments before from those who laud the lithe, those who celebrate curves, those who feel striving for ‘thinness’ is empowering and those who feel it is an unfair oppression we endure due to a male-dominated society.

So fat is and was, apparently, always a feminist issue. No doubt it is predominantly a feminine issue, but allowing all that to monopolise the argument would simplify it unforgivably, in my opinion. No doubt, psychologically women are more predisposed to seeking to improve themselves to achieve their goals rather than trying to change situations around them, mainly because they have only recently come to be able to influence their situations in a considerable way. Women pander to the ideal of beauty the way men seek wealth and power. Just consider what comes to your mind when one talks of a woman’s assets as opposed to a man’s. I bet it does not involve stocks and shares.

As someone who has ranged from slightly overweight to slightly underweight and back, I can safely say that there is no shortage of appreciation for either end of the scale, which if you ask around is a fact not unknown. Allowing for the cachet of personal taste, most men will often gladly affirm it. Even the carb curbers, calorie crazies and fitness fanatics will admit it. So why has has their weight distressed entire generations of women? What deep seated ideology of heteromasculine sexuality has invaded our collective psyche and so fundamentally damaged the way 30_TheLeedsDebacle

women evaluate themselves and each other?

Examining the way women have been represented in art across the ages it’s difficult not to note that Aphrodite and Venus have always been represented as voluptuously curvy temptresses; the Mary Mother of God, however, remains a slender eternal virgin. In Victorian England the puritan morality of the time effectively plunged women into a sexual austerity. This led to a documented epidemic of anorexia sweeping through the upper echelons of society as the women attempted to make themselves look as innocent, child-like and virtuous i.e. asexual as possible.

However, while these paragons of purity may have been snagging themselves husbands in the 1800s, the men of the era were sponsoring an unprecedented boom in prostitution throughout Europe. London police alone registered 70’000 prostitutes in 1850- we could confidently triple the figure when considering how many never came into contact with the ‘beaks’- out of a population between 1-1.5 million.

These women were no infantilised virtuosos. Victorian prostitutes were famously buxom, robust and willing to cater to any fetish.

As women’s roles changed in society and sexual liberation took effect, role models more openly appealed to the latter aspect of the dichotomised sexuality of hetero men. The term ‘ITgirl’ was invented in the 20s for the actresses of the time, particularly Clara Bow, ‘IT’ of course substituting ‘sex’. These public figures were sultry, curvy

and feisty, which by association meant naughty. Wink wink. The view culminated in one of the greatest sex symbols of all time, Marilyn Monroe, the true mistress of the maximised assets. Compare her flaming sex appeal with the dainty, doe eyed beauty of her counterpart, Audrey Hepburn.

It is clear who is the bigger IT-girl (pun not intended).

It seems that a few spare kilos can subconsciously signal the ability to let go, to enjoy yourself and have an appetite for pleasure in life, as opposed to practicing self control and restriction in all things.

So, slender doesn’t always mean stunning and yet you’d be extremely hard pressed to find a female who wouldn’t happily drop at least a few pounds, no matter what her size. It seems to me that, despite male protestations, this is simply another way for women to attempt to pander to their tastes, a taste that, according to Freud, has always contained a duality; the Madonna Whore Complex or, to quote Usher for a pop culture definition, the desire for ‘a lady in the streets and a freak in the bed’.

This may explain the constant dissatisfaction many women experience with their bodies; subconsciously they are conflicted about what they would like others to read in their measurements, whether they should inspire love or lust.

Women, it’s time to remind ourselves that while Freud may have found a dichotomy in heterosexual males’ fantasies, every woman is not only Madonna and Whore, but much more.

That Was The Season That Was As Leeds Utd’s season dribbled like Lloyd Sam to a pathetic anti-climax, rather than our usual ramble through the shamble, here instead are our highlights of the last 12 footballing months.

ROONEY V BALDNESS As jokes about Wayne’s hooker shenanigans and Fergie fall-outs (...tempted to join rivals on 250 grans-a-week deal) began to wear as thin as his locks, nana’s favourite client created a wealth of new material by spending a days wage (£30000) on a barnet transplant.

Rooney’s barnet as sewn by a 5 year old

SEPP V CORRUPTION The infected bladder confirms his genius by not only defending accusations of bungs, lies and corruption by setting up his own celebrity-filled, ill-educated ‘council of wisdom’ to clear him of wrongdoing, but deflecting them onto his presidency rivals, allowing him to reclaim power unchallenged. More idiocy ensues.

RACISTS V SENSE Amongst stiff opposition, Luis Suarez takes a commanding lead in the race for the ‘thickest player of the season’ award by racially abusing Patrice Evra then producing Anfields feeblest defence since Julian Dicks then refusing to shake hands with the abused. Not to be outdone, John Terry reclaimed his crown by joining in the racism, kneeing backs and claiming credit for inventing the wheel.

BLACKBURN V BLACKBURN Forget Manchester v Manchester, the real excitement was a few miles away where folk were marching in funny accents to grumble at owners who promised Ronaldinho and delivered Steve. Armed with a combination of the worst owners, worst manager and worst supporters, Blackburn managed to get themselves relegated. It’s almost enough to make you appreciate Master Bates. Only almost.

HARRY V LITERACY Everyones favourite bassett hound advises the courts that he couldn’t possibly be guilty of tax-evasion because he is too stupid and that he can barely read or write. Happily for Harry, they believe him. Sadly for Redknapp, so do England and Tottenham.

BARTON V TWITTER On the pitch Joey Barton had a pretty quiet season because he’s not that good. Off the pitch Joey Barton had a pretty loud season because he’s not that bright. When the brawling pacifist wasn’t endlessly and boringly quoting Nietzsche and Morrissey to feign intelligence, he was offending a nation through tweets and headbutts. Joint favourite with the holder to take John Terry’s prize next season.

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JULY 1st Waterfront Festival (various) 2nd Scott Rudd (Oporto) 3rd Joie De Vivre (Fox & Newt) 4th September Girls (Shopkeepers) 5th My Darling Clementine (Seven) 6th Wailers (Academy) 7th Cocoon In The Park (Temple Newsam) 8th Jane Tomlinson 10k Run For All (Headrow) 9th Music & The Law Q&A (Victoria) 10th Tony Hawks Q&A (Hyde Park) 11th Great Yorkshire Show (Harrogate) 12th 65daysofstatic (Cockpit) 13th Gerry K (Oceana) 14th Rhys Darby (Town Hall) 15th Farmers Market (Briggate) 16th Metamorphosis (Millennium Square) 17th Centre Stage Final (Academy) 18th Splashh (Shopkeepers) 19th Comedy Of Errors (Kirkstall Abbey) 20th On The Edge Festival (Temple Works) 21st Opera In The Park (Temple Newsam) 22nd Party In The Park (Temple Newsam) 23rd Sarah Lucas (Henry Moore) 24th As Cities Burn (Well) 25th 2.8 Hours Later (Uni) 26th End Of Summer Fashion Networking (Chilli White) 27th Charlotte Church (Brudenell) 28th Chebfest (Empire) 29th Record Fair (Corn Exchange) 30th Deirdre And Me (Carriageworks) 31st Ty Segall (Brudenell)

Travolta has a really big face.

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Errrrrrrrmmmmmm??? This still doesn’t make sense.

AUGUST 1st Susan Carron Clarke & Bungle Brown (Bowery) 2nd England v South Africa (Headingley) 3rd Scritti Politti (Brudenell) 4th Drive In Grease (Temple Newsam) 5th Farmers Market (Kirkgate) 6th Pianos Become Teeth (Cockpit) 7th Fiona Rae (Art Gallery) 8th Phantom Of The Opera (Grand) 9th Manic Shine (Empire) 10th Leeds Rhinos v Widnes Vikings (Headingley) 11th Games In The Park (Harewood House) 12th Yorkshire Carnegie v Unicorns (Headingley) 13th Sully O’Sullivan (Mr Bens) 14th Cattle Decapitation (Well) 15th Damien Jurado (Brudenell) 16th Roundhay By The Sea! (Roundhay Park) 17th Beacons (Funkirk Estate) 18th Mixtapes (Wharf Chambers) 19th Victorian Look Book (Lotherton Hall) 20th Leeds Underground (various) 21st Art In Our Time (Art Gallery) 22nd Tytania & Next Stop Atlanta (Carpe Diem) 23rd Best of British Workshop (Discovery Centre) 24th Leeds Festival (Bramham Park) 25th Deli Market (Kirkstall Abbey) 26th Black Beauty Live (Harewood House) 27th Bank Holiday (UK) 28th Vlassis Caniarsis (Henry Moore) 29th International Piano Competition (Town Hall) 30th Midlake (Brudenell) 31st Bingley Music Live (Myrtle Park)

Something to do every day...

Hawley SEPTEMBER 1st Classical Fantasia (Kirkstall Abbey) 2nd Karma To Burn (Well) 3rd Chas Palmer Williams (Royal Park) 4th Yorkshire v Glamorgan (Headingley) 5th Lesbian (Royal Park) 6th International Beer Festival (Town Hall) 7th Up’n’Under (Carriageworks) 8th Leeds City Style (Queens) 9th Leeds Triathlon (Roundhay Park) 10th Ondine (WYP) 11th Bedtime Stories (Temple Newsam) 12th Beirut (Academy) 13th Off The Wall (Irish Centre) 14th Jenna Leslie & Siobhan Miller (Grove) 15th Steptoe & Son (WYP) 16th Pierce The Veil (Cockpit) 17th Diamond Jubilee City Parade (Woodhouse Moor) 18th Leeds Utd v Hull City (Elland Road) 19th Stewart Francis (Varieties) 20th We Are The Ocean (Cockpit) 21st Beating Berlusconi (Carriageworks) 22nd Vintage Fair (Corn Exchange) 23rd Mark Watson (Varieties) 24th Sturtevant (Henry Moore) 25th Richard Hawley (Academy) 26th Guys & Dolls (WYP) 27th State Of Flux (Stanley & Audrey Burton) 28th Seann Walsh (Varieties) 29th Jenny Éclair (Carriageworks) 30th Ilkley Literature Festival (Ilkley)

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Issue 8 of The Leeds Debacle is: John Barran . Ross Newsome . Glen Pinder . Chris Turner . Nicola Stewart Mik Artistik . Gareth Jones . Dan Clark . Matt Wilson . Laura Taylor . Joseph J Wood . Tim Chapman Joe Scrase . Emily Ward . Ian Gant . Mason Henry Summers . Katriona Gilmour . Adam Littlefair Winston Plowes . Ellie Golder . Tim Roberts . Jimmy Gregory . Fraser Morris

THANK YOU FOR READING THE DEBACLE TO CONTRIBUTE TO ISSUE 9 PLEASE CONTACT: THEDEBACLE@HOTMAIL.CO.UK COVER PHOTO: CHRIS TURNER