Venue 374

Ellie Robson Venue Editor

ellie.robson@uea.ac.uk Hello, and welcome back to issue 374! I hope your eye was caught by our fantastic cover, done by Maia Brown. We’ve had digital art, photography, and watercolours, but this is the first time someone’s created a print for us, and I think it looks brilliant. Summative season is well and truly upon us, so I’ll be struggling with deadlines until March 5th. Between essays, seminar work, and our SPA submissions, it feels like everyday is packed. The last fun thing I remember doing is watching Cheer on Netflix, and even that was stress inducing. I’ve recently been enjoying doing our radio show (A Week in Concrete, Tuesday @ 5). I’ve been on the past couple of episodes and I’m finding radio a lot less intimidating than I did in my earlier years at uni. It’s never too late to learn something new! I hope everyone’s had a successful Do Something Different week, whatever that means for you. If it was trying a new skill, working on essays, getting up early, or having a well deserved lie in. Do whatever you need to to make it through the final stretch before Easter.

Amelia Rentell Venue Deputy Editor

concrete.venuedeputy@uea.ac.uk Surprise - it’s me again. Can you BELIEVE there’s only one issue (not including this one, you lucky things) before Easter? Time really does go quick when you count it in bi-weekly chunks. This issue brings with it a new milestone, I’m out of sudoku jail. I have graciously been allowed to fill this one in so I do apologise in advance if I do it wrong again. However, I still think it’s a ridiculous game and it’s not just because I can’t do it. Anyway, I still haven’t calmed down from my renewed love of the LCR, and nights out in general. I am hoping to be at the tail end of it as I really must get going on my dissertation if I don’t want to be a disappointment. Ha - get it. As always, some excellent content in this weeks issue. Our editors and writers have been working so hard alongside all their academic commitments and Ellie and I are really pleased with how this issue has turned out. Happy reading and I’ll see you just before Easter with my top recommendations of shaped chocolate goods.

Featured Articles:

Check out Gabriel Ward’s article about Andrej Sapkowski’s work on The Witcher series, which has recently been made into a successful Netflix show.

Take a gander at our Creative Writing long read, “The Collar” by Madeline Donnelly and find the rest online at concrete-online.co.uk.

SECTION EDITORS ARTS - Leia Butler

concrete.arts@uea.ac.uk

FASHION - Maya Coomarasamy concrete.fashion@uea.ac.uk

CREATIVE WRITING - Oliver Shrouder concrete.creativewriting@uea.ac.uk

02 Cover art: Maia Brown @_maiajoy

MUSIC - Lewis Oxley

concrete.music@uea.ac.uk

GAMING - Martha Griffiths concrete.gamingtech@uea.ac.uk

FILM & TV - Fin Aitken

concrete.film@uea.ac.uk

Favourites... When it comes to the title of a piece of work, the most simple ones often prove most effective and apt for what is beJoseph Beuys’ ‘I Like ing depicted, rather than the use America and Amerof grand titles that alluded to philoica Likes Me’, is a sophical oblique themes. One such extitle imbued with ample of this is L.S Lowry’s ‘Going to the tongue-in-cheek Match’ (1928). It simply reflects what it deconfidence and picts: the joys of attending a football match cynicism. The in the football capital of the Northwest, while German artist flew reflecting the spectacle of anticipato New York and ention that the event brings. tered a room containing The title reflects a coyote for three days. Initially, it tried to atthe simple pleastack him, but by the end of the three days, ures of working it had become relatively friendly. The title classes at play. reflects fabricated amiability towards It doesn’t preforeigners in its naïve simplicity, tend to be a but it later presents a mutual title with a hidacceptance, just as Beuys exden meaning, perienced with the coyote. but a sign of the ordinariness of life.

Art

Lewis Oxley As the title of one of the greatest depictions of consciousness in European literature, Dostoyevsky’s ‘Notes from Underground’ gave me great intrigue in the effects of bitterness and isolation within our stream of consciousness. Implying that there was something hidden Underground, for me, it became something of an enigma. The title ‘Notes from Underground’ is an apt description of the philosophical enquiry that the narrator takes on: nihilism in the form of the Underground man.

Literature Is Frankenstein or his creature the monster? The title ‘Frankenstein’ explicitly excludes the fact that the creature exists at all; forgotten entirely behind the scientist’s ego. But it also makes Victor the titular hero. Conversely, the book’s subtitle, ‘The Modern Prometheus’, makes him a giver of fire and life, punished by the gods for a rebellious act: a Romantic hero. While Frankenstein gets two names, his creature is left with none. The genius title of Mary Shelley’s novel contributes to and epitomises some of the book’s biggest questions.

Molly Phillips, Nerisse Appleby

Ally Fowler Who titles their books with a question? Especially an answerless question. It tells a reader “this will all come together after you’ve read the book” and “you’ll be one of the few readers to understand.” But when it comes to Philip K Dick’s sci-fi novel, the question just keeps flying around my mind. Like the book, it could be answered with philosophy, civil rights, technology, spirituality, but at the same time it can’t be answered at all. Do we focus on androids or dreams or electric sheep?

Lewis Oxley, Fin Little My favourite blurb is the one belonging to ‘The Book Thief’. It’s written in a peculiar and unique way: as a message to the reader, starting with ‘here is a small fact – you are going to die.’ For a novel narrated by death itself, this is the perfect way to entice people to pick up the book, which promises us much action surrounding a girl, fantastical Germans and a lot of thievery. The blurb stays true to the story and encapsulates the tone perfectly. After all: ‘Death will visit the Book Thief three times.’ Intriguing. Photo: Good Free Photos

Deep, Deepen, Deepening Laura Wilson’s ‘Deep, Deepen, Deepening’ is a performance about forging connections over centuries. On display at Norwich Castle Museum until 29 March, it is a piece about the intimacies of human communication, presented within the cohesive routine of labour. ‘Must Farm’ is an excavation site that is often labelled as the “UK’s Pompeii” due to its rich abundance of preserved artefacts, and is the location of Wilson’s piece. ‘Deepening’ features performers in identical jumpsuits interacting with their landscape and each other; twelve excavated pots are framed in a hollow in the wall perpendicular to the video screen. They rest on neon green plinths, a colour that is echoed in the jumpsuits of the performers, a direct assertion of the link between past and present. The performance is displayed within the Museum’s Boudica Gallery, a section of the building dedicated to artefacts from the Bronze Age. As you make your way from the permanent collection to the exhibition, you cannot help but contemplate the relationship between old ways of living and Wilson’s contemporary performance. When talking about what drew her to Must Farm, Wilson said, “Over the last two years, I have been researching the prehistoric site of Must Farm, an exceptionally well-preserved settlement dating to the Late Bronze Age [1000 – 800BC]. “The site itself sits on the edge

Images: Wikimedia Commons

of a working quarry at Whittlesey, just outside of Peterborough. Excavated in 2016 by the Cambridge Architectural Unit, discoveries include a large selection of metalwork, quern stones, textiles, loom weights and spindle whirls – through my New Geographies commission, I proposed to work with these objects to open up questions around labour, trade and everyday life. ‘Deepening’ builds on my work made over the last few years, investigating how the body learns, adapts, responds to and performs manual work. I see this as a counterpoint to the increasing pace of mechanical production and the invisible, outsourced labour of today’s new technologies”. Wilson went on to say that the performance was presented, “three times (11 am, 1 pm and 3 pm) within Must Farm Quarry on Saturday 19 October”. I asked her what her connection to the people featured in the performance was, and if she was searching for a specific sort of person. Wilson said, “It was performed by twelve independent dance artists, I have worked with about half of them before in previous performances, and the rest were recommended to me by the other performers who have experience working with me”.

you can quite visibly see this in the layers of clay and sediment built up over time - from the sediments deposited just a week ago, through to the bronze-age and to the Jurassic period at its very foot”. There is a selection of talks coinciding with the exhibition, all taking place at the Town Close Auditorium at Norwich Castle Museum. On 28 February, Wilson herself will be there in conversation with Dr Rosy Gray. Two more talks follow; ‘Symbols of Power: Prehistoric People and Everyday Objects’ (6 March), and ‘Layering the Landscape: Geology and Must Farm’ (13 March). ‘Deepening’ offers content for all to enjoy, not only as contemporary art, but also as a work imbued with archaeology, geology, and history. It is well worth a visit and allows us a small pocket of time to reconnect with our past, and ourselves.

In regards to forging connections with the past, Wilson said, “Our past isn’t something we can ignore, it’s always there left within the fabric of our surroundings. In the quarry,

Ally Fowler

Andrej Sapkowski and The Witcher Picture him. A man in heavy, slightly austere, roundrimmed spectacles. He has a thick bushy moustache. A cat rests on his lap. He is sitting at a desk. A blue monitor flickers in front of him. Books litter the rest of the desk. It is dark outside. The year is 1985. The man is Andrej Sapkowski. And he is working on a story. The story must be short. Fantastyka, the Polish fantasy magazine he is writing for, has only given him 30 pages. He knows certain things, as he sits there. Sapkowski knows that the traditional fairytale is an intellectual swindle. That, as he eloquently puts it: “Poor cobblers make good shoes, they don’t kill monsters. Soldiers and knights? They are idiots generally. And priests want only the money and fucking adolescents. So who’s killing monsters?” ‘The Witcher’ series might be best summarised as an answer to that question. Sapkowski is of a naturally pessimistic disposition, and knows that life is – at bottom – a losing struggle. And – perhaps most importantly – he knows, like Hemingway of whom he is a disciple, that it is the writer’s job to write truly.

It is his reverence for – and understanding of – the essential contradictions of truth, which make his work worth reading. Sapkowski understands the folly of the noble cause, the lie of ‘true love’; and all the beastly, depraved aspects of humanity. But he also understands that it is all worth it. That there are some things worth dying for, that some sort of love – however hard and difficult – is better than none at all, and that, despite it all, the great mass of men are decent. Sapkowski’s truth is a redemptive one. Geralt begins his journey with extreme scepticism. He is lost, abandoned by his love, silently self-loathing, and alone. He ends the journey found. With a place in the destiny of the universe, a broad heart, and with the realisation that he was, all along, just as human, and just as noble, as anybody else. Sapkowski’s truth, like Hemingway’s, is forged in a crucible of pain and irony; and it is present in every silence, in every gap between the words. In everything not said. A consistent thread of humour runs through ‘The Witcher’. The plot and all of its subsequent nobility is set in motion – by chance, or destiny – in the second book, when Geralt goes out to take a piss, and is subsequently thrust, bleary-eyed

and ignorant, into a rather complex coup. Were it not for the Witcher’s foolish scruples, if not for his impractical rules, many of the later events would have had a completely different course. Many events would probably never even have taken place, and then the history of the world would be different. But the world’s history unfolded as it unfolded, and the sole reason for this was that the Witcher had scruples. When he awoke at dawn and felt the need, he did what anyone would have done. He walked onto the balcony and peed in the pot of nasturtiums. Sapkowski’s long self-conscious explanation is unusual – and it is a testament to his skill that it does not seem tedious, when read in its context. But, the point is that the description is ironically-humorous. On the one hand, Sapkowski is correct. The events of the plot do happen because Geralt – despite his own blindness to it – is unusually scrupulous. On the other hand, they are set in motion because Geralt needs to piss at this most unlucky time. Not since Hemingway has a writer done so much with so little. On that note, go and buy the fucking books.

Gabriel Ward

Image: Public Domain Vectors

Unconventional sexiness: dressing for me

For years I yearned for a fuller figure. I wasn’t satisfied with just a bit of a bum but wanted an arse that looked good in clothes. My chest did not require any kind of support until well into my teenage years, but I continually hoped that one day I’d awake to find my small boobs replaced by real knockers. I wanted cleavage, I wanted curves, I wanted to make clothes work in the way I thought they should. It took longer than anticipated, but in my late teens, undoubtedly aided by a love for potatoes in every form available to me, I started to develop a shape. My upper thighs started to show pale, rippled, meandering stretch marks, and my bum began to suggest signs of cellulite. My hips edged outwards, forming a smooth dip in my torso. My boobs never ballooned to the size my younger self had lusted after, but they now moved - perky things that even oversized clothing could not disguise.

Image: Imogen Carter de Jong

But as my body changed, my idea of sexiness changed too. I had previously equated shapeliness with womanliness, and what my body lacked, I lacked in sex appeal too. I fell short of an ideal and therefore, in my mind, could not feasibly be considered sexy as a young woman. At the rite of passage of the school disco, I felt disappointed at the lack of shape I provided in my, then-fashionable, bodycon dress in comparison to the jutting out of hips and bums my friends seemed to display. Dresses slipped off my shoulders, or needed to be fastened to sit high up on my chest, for there was no flesh beneath to provide a teasing flash of neat cleavage. When my body eventually ‘worked’ in such dresses however, I had already begun to understand that how a dress supposedly worked was something I got to decide. How I felt sexy was not something that existed only in how conventionally idealistic my body was in dresses that were designed to fit and show off only conventionally idealistic bodies. The womanliness I so needed to feel worthy could be found elsewhere, in the overtly feminine dresses that proudly proclaimed my femininity, but did not require that I have a certain type of body. My current wardrobe now only features one item of figure-hugging clothing amongst a sea of sweeping maxi dresses in bold floral prints; tea dresses in modest cuts with highnecks and peter-pan collars; blouses with dramatic sleeves and button-down cardigans in an array of suitably granny-ish shades. The figure-hugging garment in question is a pair of high-waisted jeans, as skinny as can be and not something one would recommend as attire for a slap-up Sunday lunch. I wear them now and again, often with one of the aforementioned granny knits. And I admit I feel sexy in them, my

Unconventional sexiness: dressing for me bum looks great, so how could I not keep them? But as my relationship with my body has changed, I do not derive my self-worth from how much I can fulfil a conventional notion of ‘sexy femininity’ in fashionable garments. I feel sexy when I put myself and my body on display, when it looks good, but when I decide it looks good: when fabric floats off me, or poofy sleeves puff up as I walk, rather than how my assets are able to fill and pull off dresses others prescribe as sexy when worn by the ‘right woman’. My long-suffering boyfriend has only ever known me to dress this way, and he recognises the effects it has had on my self-esteem. It is power and confidence and pride in a beautiful frock or carefully curated vintage piece that translates into sexiness when worn. From Molly Goddard’s tulle-creations, so saccharine they are almost rebelliously feminine, to the conservative, prairie

inspired vision at Batsheva, clothing for women can be irrepressibly sexy when it makes the wearer feel utter power in their brute presence. I recently invested in my first Batsheva frock. It was eye-wateringly expensive, even in the hugely discounted sales, but seeing the fabric sit perfectly on my frame, the ruffles and the outlandish sleeves distending out in a mass of skirt surrounding me, it felt so worth it in being able to own such a special piece that is such a joy to wear. I am obtrusively present when I don this dress: there’s no missing the red and pink florals complete with frilly collar and impractical sleeves. But, this power, this ownership, this lack of anxiety about wearing something that doesn’t suit my particular body shape, is what makes me feel so sexy. It is not about my body, it is about me, and how I move and own the beautiful dress hanging off me.

Imogen Carter de Jong

Image: Imogen Carter de Jong

Mother knows best Growing up, I was blessed to be brought up by a fashion expert and art graduate. Whilst other kids were picked up by parents in athletic-wear, my Mom would arrive at school in chic white jeans, patterned loafers and a striped top. I was always taught to express my identity through fashion, and was encouraged to make mistakes. Despite attending American public schools with no uniform, students often followed conformed rigidly to trends. In many ways, I broke this expectation. On most weekends, my peers would go to the mall and spend their pocket money on name-brand clothing. Contrastingly, my family would spend our free time flicking through the racks of charity shops and flea markets. For these experiences, I am extremely grateful. My mom attended Harrow University for fashion in the mid-1980s. She always had a knack for styling clothes, and found that she was good at it. Studying fashion in London in the 80’s was, as expected, a unique time to be in the field. She found it to be ‘experimental’ in comparison to the sleepy village she came from. In school, she was well known for her daring taste, but with little cash to spare, she often looked to charity shops for cheap alternatives. This is a tactic she still employs today, and recommends to any university student looking to revamp their style. “Stay away from fads and trends. Shop the thrift stores to death, and buy the best you can with the money you have without going into debt. Get the gaudy jewellery from charity shops as a statement piece.” She notes that it is especially worth investing in one fabulous jacket that could be worn with jeans or a dress. At that point in time, London was incredibly popular for fashion and everyone looked to it for the latest trends. However, it was still quite possible to be ‘noticed’ despite the number of other fashionable young people. She found it relatively easy to make an impression, and seeking work

Image: Morgan Burdick

with high end designers was an attainable goal. Soon after she graduated Harrow in the 90’s, she moved to Washington DC. Compared to the grandeur of London, DC was boring. Her avant-garde style was perceived quite differently across the pond. Professionals in Washington displayed preppy, uniformed pieces like khakis and button downs. Even as DC has become trendier, and my mother’s style develops into something more polished and professional, she still faces judgement from colleagues donned in athleisure. I asked whether she appreciated the comeback of the 80’s and 90’s styles she experienced so vividly. To this, she said she remains ‘ambivalent’. As my Mom frequented charity shops at my age, she often wore the 50’s and 60’s fashion that her Mom would have lived through. My Granny disliked this, saying that she had already worn it and didn’t feel the need to relive it. In some ways, my Mom can relate to this with the reawakening of late 20th century fashion. It seems that this is a trend in my family, in that I am now reliving my Mother’s trends through my own thrifted finds. In the thirty-five years since her fashion degree, her love of clothing has never wavered. When she was my age, my Mom notes, she was very aware of the way that clothes made you feel; if she wore the wrong clothes, she felt like a complete idiot, but when she found the right clothes, an incredible feeling rushed over her. She was untouchable. The confidence boost that fashion gave her was exhilarating. I am so grateful to have been brought up in a household where I was encouraged to take risks and find the clothes that worked for me. Over time, I have found my own clothing-induced adrenaline rush. While I don’t see myself pursuing a career in fashion, I appreciate it as a hobby that has allowed me to express myself.

Morgan Burdick

Sweet Plum Truth means many things to different people. For Mr Prakash Shah, resident of Flat 7, Edgefield Gardens, the truth was that he had been duped, betrayed, stabbed in the back. He had been destined for the upper echelons of power, a seat on the Harrow Town Council. This truth led to other truths: the new owner of said seat, one Mrs Janet Pembleton, was not only undeserving of her position but also a cunning woman of Machiavellian proportions. He was yet to find anyone who agreed with his truth, but a truth it remained nonetheless. For Prakash’s wife, the quiet and timid Mrs Jyotiben Shah, her truth extended beyond the cut-throat machinations of municipal politics. Her truth danced on long-distance phone calls arcing over whole continents. It nestled into late-night messages and whispered conversations. It raged behind plastic smiles and deference. It floated on a distant voice, in a distant land. Jyoti still remembered when she had first her, years before Prakash and her journey to England. She was a precocious teenager, a whirlwind of furious energy and anger at the dullness of idyllic Indian village life. She had taken to poetry, submitting bitter limericks and blasphemous bhajans for the local newspaper. It was as she sat under the shade of a tree, wrestling with her verses, that she saw her. The indigo blue of the sari had long faded, leaving a light greyish hue at the seams. Jetblack hair crowned the clean nape of her neck. Jyoti wiped her brow and stared. The young woman ambled past, basket in hand. A small plum fell out of the basket and rolled towards Jyoti, settling by her bare feet. Pulled from her feverish reverie, she called out. “Hey, you dropped something!” The woman stopped, tilting her head towards the tree. Her eyes slowly swung up to meet Jyoti’s, and her rose-petal lips curled into a small smile. She shook her head and continued walking. The next day, it was an apricot. Then, a papaya. It took Jyoti a week to realise that the fruit was not just the kind gesture of a beautiful and clumsy stranger. By the fleeting light of a small paraffin lamp, they would sit and eat the fruit, eyes locked in enraptured desire. Only when the flame went out and the moon hid behind the clouds would they part. Her name was Pushpa. She was a fruit-seller, the daughter of a local merchant who spent his days chewing betelnut and playing cards. She had never completed her education; her father lied about her age to get her back on the orchards as soon as possible. Sometimes, on those evenings together, Jyoti would help her read her poems. When Pushpa finally could read on her own, Jyoti penned her first proper ghazal, on the pain of forbidden love. She kissed the tears as they collected, like dew drops, on Pushpa’s soft cheeks. Three months after that fateful plum grazed her bare feet, Prakash arrived in the village with a new car and an ill-fitting suit. In a blur of opulent celebrations and family arguments, she was wed and taken to Delhi, to be paraded in front of sneering aunties. She never had a chance to say goodbye to Pushpa. When she received a message from an unknown number, years later, she thought Fate was mocking her once more. “Hello Jyoti, it’s Pushpa. Do you remember me?” Of course, she remembered her! When she spent evenings before a flickering TV screen with Prakash snoring in the corner, she imagined she was bathing in the light of that paraffin lamp. When she slept, she dreamed of sweet plums. When the asphalt-grey sky met her every morning, she thought of that faded blue sari. Pushpa once asked semi-jokingly if Jyoti would ever visit her. “Only once Prakash dies”, Jyoti replied. Pushpa thought it was a joke and scolded her gently for suggesting such a thing. For Jyoti, it was more than a joke. It was a truth. Her truth.

Rahul Mehta Image: Unsplash, Cakerawala Jingga

The Monkey Two men and a monkey sat between them, blinking up but never making noise, both there and not there, never seen (by others) until it leaps out screeching when their hands or their lips touch screeching when they cross each sreet corner screeching in every public night screeching when a row of men saunter, ten beers down, count lost to all but the bank guffawing with idle glee at any and all difference to pin down and remove, like a dog against a limp foot. Two men (and a monkey locked up in sheets, roped to the bed with shoelaces and gagged with a used sock, stiff, dry, wrapped around its ears, teeth stuffed with fibres but safe) safe, friends, close but never too close, sharing a smile and a vodka coke, hands pressed on their own knees hearing the screeching of other monkeys celebrating their freedom as two men sit under a pub table dipping fists in alcohol and licking it like a wound.

We Prayed Again

we prayed again on my living room floor, knees cushioned by a duvet spread sideways, outwards from sleep; you kicked it when you leaned forward, pressed your forehead to my pillow with the same clenched devotion as the ball of a hand against the ball of an eye, rubbing. i thought you were long asleep before you pressed your mouth to mine, sweet with old toothpaste, teeth clinking like spoons to cocoa mugs,

Image: Cecilie Johnsen, Unsplash

Oliver Shrouder

and you explode outwards, rocking back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, saying “i’m not – i’m not –“ you say it and say it with my spit wrapped around your lips; like an atheist singing hymns cross-legged in the school hall you are not quite able to conjure up the meaning in those words.

Dylan Davies

The Collar The first person he told when they told him he’d been assigned the living of Wynborough Cathedral was his dog, Clara. The second was his wife. ‘Darling, I’m so proud of you,’ she said to him. He did his best to smile, but the look in her eyes made him blush scarlet, the contortion of her lips knotted his stomach. Hair like a melted woodland, a ready smile, ever so steady and reassuring. Why did you marry me, Isla? What did you see in me? ‘You’d be proud of me if I stumbled through my sermons and spilt wine on the mayor.’ In his mind, he asked her, your pride is obligatory, do you respect me? He received a telephone call that evening from the Headmistress of the local Church of England school that he supported in his role as Reverend. ‘We shall miss you, of course, but we’re all over the moon for you!’ ‘When do you have to leave?’ ‘Wynborough – beautiful – what a blessing!’ ‘… A blessing?’ he replied weakly. The verger beamed at him, squeezing his hand like it’d been touched by God. When his old friend had departed he sank against the cold stone of the pulpit and felt tears prick the backs of his eyes. The Abbey, his Abbey, hung before him in the semi-darkness, its stone floors, names and graves, carved woods and fabrics gagging his mouth until he felt he couldn’t breath. Just visible at the head of the Abbey, painted and preening, the Baby Jesus scrutinised his movements. The cool air trembled and made him feel like the baby’s fat fists were cleaving his ears apart to peer into his brain. Standing up as if stung, he hurried from the Abbey, only pausing to collect his coat, for the air outside was chilling. At the vicarage, Isla was waiting for him. ‘Where have you been? I had half a mind to come looking for you.’ Clara bounded up to claim his attention, her tongue lolling, her paws dull against the carpeted floor. He stroked her head. ‘Is Olly in bed?’ As Isla stared at him he realised that Olly didn’t live at home anymore. ‘Sorry, I’m tired.’ Taking his coat from him, Isla walked away to hang it up. He had a moment to compose himself before she came back into the hall. The light was dim enough to hide his red eyes, but not enough to mask the worried creases lining her forehead. ‘Dean…’ She moved towards him, and to hide his anguish he shut his eyes as she pressed her lips against his forehead – he hadn’t realised his forehead was burning up until he felt the coolness of her body, her lips against his fiery skin. His head yawned dizzyingly, a sure sign of a migraine soon to come. ‘You have a visitor,’ she told him, ‘– in the kitchen – he came around nine. He says he’s an old friend. I’ve never seen him before.’ There was a cadence in her voice that he couldn’t place. Bemused, Dean opened his eyes. It was now twenty to midnight. Reproachfully Clara was head-butting his knees, demanding attention, but Dean barely noticed. ‘A visitor…’ ‘In the kitchen, yes.’ Isla smiled, her teeth like shards of milky ice. ‘I’m going to pack.’ She turned to leave, letting her hand trail on his arm as she turned away. ‘Isla…’ Something large was plugging his throat, making it hard to get the words out. ‘You’re packing… for the move to Wynborough?’

Find the full story on our website, concrete-online.co.uk. Madeline Donnelly

Blossoms Foolish Loving Spaces: The Verdict It’s been four years since Blossoms broke through and provided us with hit singles like ‘Charlemagne’ and ‘I Can’t Stand It’. The music they released in 2018 had a range of influences, such as New Wave. I particularly liked it because it was recorded whilst they were touring for their first album. Their latest LP ‘Foolish Loving Spaces’ had a lot to live up to, following amazing singles like ‘I Can’t Stand It’ and ‘There’s a Reason Why (I never returned your calls)’. The band provides an aesthetic heavily influenced by the ‘70s. Although they are clearly also heavily influenced by bands like The Arctic Monkeys and Talking Heads. They make music that reflects their Manchester roots. So,

‘Foolish

Loving

Spaces’,

what’s the crack? I needed a little time to warm up to their new sound, particularly because I like the first track ‘If You Think This Is Real Life’ the least. However, once you get past the first track, it’s a lovely, well crafted album. It gives off quite a laid-back vibe, perfect for listening to whilst doing my university work.

heartbreak, and confusion. I felt my head bopping along once I knew my way around the tracks, particularly to ‘Sunday Was a Friend of Mine’, but ‘The Keeper’ is by far my favourite song on the album as it’s the most upbeat track and makes me want to get on my feet and hop along to the piano within it.

I’m very glad the band seems to have gone back to their roots, making their latest LP familiar to those who have followed the band since their earlier years. By far, the best tracks are ‘The Keeper’ and ‘Oh No (I Think I’m in Love)’. Tom Ogden is clearly a very talented songwriter: his songs are full of fun and zing. Ogden’s songs are full of straight-up feelings, nothing complicated or difficult to relate to. Blossoms are providing us with stories of love,

I’m very excited to see them perform in the LCR on 7 March. Blossoms, I’m foolishly loving you.

Jess Barrett

Music Mavericks: Tyler, the Creator When discussing personality in pop music, it’s impossible to disregard Tyler, the Creator. The loudmouthed ‘rapper’ is a symbol of self-confidence, progressive HipHop, and acting like a nutter on stage. His progression from controversial misfit to genre-bending maverick is one of the most interesting career arcs in modern music. The self-titled ‘Flower Boy’ conveyed himself as a satanic ‘Goblin’, and led to him being banned from performing in both New Zealand and the UK, his intentionally inciteful lyrics officially considered a ‘threat to public order.’ His career was built on shock factor. His breakthrough song ‘Yonkers,’ touches on suicide, wearing women’s underwear, and killing Bruno Mars, his success largely riding on the image of him eating a live cockroach in its accompa-

Images: Wikimedia Commons

nying music video. Tyler was polarizing, his early work described as ‘violently anti-gay and misogynistic’ by LGBTQ+ organization GLAAD, music critics simultaneously praising its provocative lyrics and non-conforming messages. Today, this image of a homophobic hellraiser is unrecognizable, the now openly bisexual artist exploring sexuality and love in his latest album IGOR. The self-produced blend of soul, jazz and hiphop won ‘Best Rap Album’ at the 2020 Grammys. He’s traded Satan for sunflowers, but continues to push boundaries; his anti-establishment ideals explored through experimental fashion design and music production, the polarizing figure now universally respected, his rejection of boundaries meeting critical acclaim.

Dan Clark

Music Snobs of the World: Disunite!

A common but complex problem existing in many music communities is the sheer levels of elitist snobbery some people display. As somebody who has been writing about music in-depth for a few years now, I have, on many occasions, been labelled as such (it’s part of the job). However, something that I’ve been compelled to learn, is that just because someone knows little or nothing of Japanese avant-garde noise pop, or 70s krautrock, and instead prefers mainstream pop or FM radio rock than so be it, leave them be! Whether it’s those who try to show off at house parties with their playlists, those who claim to know band members “very well” just by having 5 minutes with them, or the “too cool for Spotify” crew, chances are, we’ve encountered these insufferable troglodytes. After all, I confess, I used to be one and to some extent, I still am. In recent news the multi-Grammy award winning teenager, Billie Eilish received criticism for appearing to not know who Van Halen were. At the end of the day, is it much of a big deal? It’s not like she’s supposed to. Thanks to various Youtube music channels, and the algorithmic Spotify playlists,

Image: Pixabay

the ease of helping people to broaden their musical horizons is like never before. However, what some of these channels can be guilty of, is their nature to preach to the converted, those who want to truly expand into various genres and artists. Both in contemporary and older music, people are often shunned out by fellow “musos” for some of the smallest inaccuracies like not knowing the name of another record other than the one everyone knows, or who collaborated with this artist. The cliquey music brigade always pop up from around the corner, and it seems that those who aren’t in it are always a target.

everything in between), is a much better and more authentic way to experience different genres of music. These people often are the best to learn from in terms of finding a common ground to bond over music, not always the ones who claim to know everything. The latter I refer to, if anything, to discourage people to be put off by different genres, enshrining themselves in an exclusivity of taste. With the depth and breadth of musical genres available (some music styles classing themselves as genreless), some offer an unlimited range of possibilities, albeit some are harder to access at a first listen.

A way of combating this level of music snobbery is to simply attend smaller gigs alone or with friends. Going alone, for me, is a chance to filter out the echoes of the music elitists opinions. It is often the most simple and effective way to take a break from the online hype around the social media aspect of music.

Music like this should be shared and not shielded in a facade that preserves “edginess”. Music, unlike the perceptions of other mediums in the arts, has the pleasure of being one of, if not the most accessible medium, and if certain communities within musical genres persist to encroach upon its accessibility, by undermining those who want to uncover music out of their comfort, we undermine the purpose it serves. To quote an article for I News, by Sarah Carson: Van Halen who?

Meeting real people who are also fed up with the snobbery in genres and musical communities (be that alternative post-punk to ambient electronic and

Lewis Oxley

Online Poll Is chart music

Yes

in decline

- 20%

No -

80%

The music charts are such an important part of the music industry. It is how artists can measure success against each other, determined by who sells the most and in turns tells listeners which music is most popular. Ultimately, money and sales are a big part of music in terms of the career element, and for most artists, topping the charts is a dream. As a listener, I do tend to gravitate towards those who are at the top of the charts because I am always intrigued on why it is so popular and I tend to go from there to judge whether I like it or not.

From a student perspective, the only relevance that chart music has is the impact that it might have on the tracks that your favourite nightclub plays on a Friday night (I’m looking at you, Waterfront). Other than the songs that break through to the dancefloor, I couldn’t have told you what was in the charts at any point during my degree. Students rarely listen to radio, and the music that is recommended to me by friends is likely to come from an obscure or indie Spotify artist who is unlikely to break into the Top 40.

Ellie Robson

Leia Butler

Best Film Soundtracks James Ward My favourite film soundtrack is for ‘The Lord of the Rings’ trilogy, composed by Howard Shore. The symbiotic relationship between the visuals and sounds has never been so true as in this series. The initial idyll of the Shire is beautiful and really sets the peaceful tone, only being made more powerful a contrast by the intense symphonies seen at moments like the Mines of Moria, and the siege of Helms Deep. Alex Grenfell Nothing quite captures the mechanical bleakness of cyberpunk like Hans Zimmer’s masterful score for Blade Runner 2049. Zimmer reimagines Vangelis’s original score, including the infamous Tears in the Rain, using a 1980’s Yamaha CS-80 synthesizer for additional authenticity. Every song corresponds perfectly with Villeneuve’s images of barren wastelands to evoke the dystopian atmosphere.

Molly Bernardin ‘Ladybird’ opens with Alanis Morrisette’s ‘Hand in My Pocket’ - an anthem of contradictions which thematically reflects Ladybird’s character. The song not only reflects character to audiences, but also reminds her of her own identity. The music Ladybird loves separates her from other characters and draws attention to the differences between her and those around her. Dave Matthews Band’s ‘Crash into Me’ serves as a catalyst for Ladybird to reaffirm her identity and leave unfulfilling relationships. The soundtrack to ‘Ladybird’ is so iconic not only because of the songs themselves, but the way they further character development. The music is not ‘an extra’ in an incredible film - but a foundation on which the film depends.

Image: Wikimedia Commons

Do you think that violence in games has become too realistic or graphic?

NO - 81%

I think this is quite a complex issue. I would argue that violence is games is extremely graphic, and fairly realistic, but the response of the gamer to these scenes is more important than deciding whether they’re graphic or not. If the gamer is comfortable with the content, and it isn’t having a negative impact on them beyond the game, I’m not sure that it’s “too” anything.

YES - 19%

While I don’t think violence in video games causes violence, I think becoming accustomed to that level of graphic violence/ gore, especially underage, is detrimental to the development of empathy, and I think that contributes to ‘toxic gamer culture’. Dylan Davies

Ellie Robson

Image: Pettycon, OpenClipart-Vectors, Pixabay

How to fight mobile gaming decline? Animal Crossing: Pocket Camp In Venue 372, Concrete Deputy Editor Jess Barrett wrote a piece about the decline of mobile gaming and argued that social media has taken over the odd gaps of time which mobile games used to fill. In the article, Jess mentions that she only has one game on her phone, as do I. I’ve never been much of a mobile gamer. I’ve turned to consoles at the times when I’ve wanted to game, and, when I was younger, waits at the bus stop were more likely to be filled with texting friends or reading – whether that was novels or questionable Wattpad stories, I’ll leave up to you. ‘So, what’s the game?’ I hear you ask, as though it isn’t emblazoned across the top of this article. It is, and could only be, ‘Animal Crossing: Pocket Camp’. Whether or not you’re familiar with the 2017 app, you’ve probably heard of the game, whose first incarnation was released by Nintendo for the DS in 2001. I’m better acquainted with 2005’s

Image: TeroVesalainen, Pixabay

‘Animal Crossing: Wild World’, which I’m pretty sure I bought in the late 2000s with some carefully

s a v e d Christmas money. In the DS game, your character is the only human in a small town inhabited by anthropomorphic animals. The towns are randomised,

but all focus on nature, including beaches and plenty of greenery. There is no overall goal in the game, your character merely exists in the town, interacting with the quirky but endearing residents, and completing tasks such as fishing, catching bugs, and selling items to pay off your everincreasing mortgage. Yes, capitalism exists even in this calming and serene virtual world. ‘Animal Crossing: Pocket Camp’ is similar to this concept. Your character, and your campsite, are located in the middle of a collection of islands, each of which has something slightly different to offer. The app is more task-focused than the original DS game, with users being rewarded for reaching a certain number of interactions, or collecting a certain number of items. In many ways, I prefer this system to the original game – the overall world feels a lot bigger and provides more opportunities to progress and level up. The only thing I’m not keen on is the reliance upon your

friendships with different animals to further your overall level in the game. More features in the game can be unlocked as you level up, and I really value that the app favours this system rather than presenting paywalls for the user, as many mobile games do. However, to continue levelling up your friendships, you have to keep the animals’ content with the furniture and vibe that your campsite offers, and maintaining the interior decoration isn’t something I’m very

interested in. Sometimes I question why I’ve redownloaded this game in my third, and arguably busiest, year of university, but at times I feel that it has had a positive impact on my mental health. That seems like a big claim, and of course the change isn’t long term, but I find that at particularly anxious or stressful moments, the process of completing small, easy, and menial tasks to be incredibly relaxing. All of the

‘Animal Crossing’ games have calm soundtracks, and the focus on natural environments, and creating positive atmospheres can provide short term mental relief. I definitely need to be stopped from buying a Nintendo Switch just to get to explore the newest version of this game, which is set to be released to the console in March. Ellie Robson

Factorio: a mini review ‘Factorio’ is a game about automating things. It has been in development since 2012 and was released to early access in 2016. It will be released later this year and honestly, it’s a work of art (and a complete game). Each playthrough starts easily enough. A basic narrative sees you crash landing on a planet with nothing but a few supplies. You will have to automate your way to freedom. There are three main resources at the beginning: coal, iron, and copper, and you start with a manual way of extracting these. This soon develops into electric power once steam engines are setup. Soon enough, this basic gameplay loop becomes very addicting. There is always something that can be made more efficient, and you might just find that three hours have passed and you are still continuing on this loop. I Images: Mizter_X94, Pixabay

certainly did. Past energy and smelting, you also have science to create using intricate factory designs that are yours to perfect. Oil refining next introduces fluid production and transportation for more advanced items. Trains can be created to transport final products to other areas of your base, which is by the way on an infinite map. Eventually, robots can be used to speed up construction. At some point, you might be forced to take action against the native biters – pretty tough monsters who will stop at nothing to make your life hell and destroy you and your base. Walls will need building, as well as turrets. I would whole-heartedly recommend this game. It’s £21.99 and the price is stagnant, so there’s no excuse. Unless you like going outside. James Ward

Uncut Gems: “A Stomach-Churning Ride” ‘Uncut Gems’ is a film which never stops, never quite lets you sit still. Every seeming relief or stop turns into a different rollercoaster. Everyone talking about this film uses the same word - anxiety. It is a consistently anxiety-producing, stomachchurning ride, which never relents in making you feel uncomfortable, but which simultaneously also engages you completely. The Safdie Brothers, the directors and writers of this project, said they wouldn’t do this movie with any star other than Adam Sandler, and you can see why. It’s a film that uses not just his incredible acting ability (which we all admit he could have used

more throughout his career), but also uniquely uses his persona to enhance the character he plays. Howard is a bit annoying, but not entirely without charm. He is childish and stupid, but he has a great energy to him, he’s always making mistakes, but he’s got that potential for one more big score. This film is Sandler’s big score. His best since 2002’s ‘Punch-Drunk Love’. Leaning into Sandler’s comedy persona lets your preconceived notions increase your appreciation of the film because you almost don’t need to meet the character, you already know who he is. The other genius is in the filmmaking, the camera is right up in people’s

faces, claustrophobic. There is a clear Altman-influence in the way the characters talk over each other, and it really helps that anxiety building and rising. The film looks amazing too, it’s energetic and vibrant, plus the world built is so interesting without it being obvious. All in all, it’s a film that knows what it wants to be, and which uses the tools available to make it exactly that. The Safdie Brothers may be the best young directors out there right now, especially if you enjoy films where you won’t be able to sit still for an hour afterwards.

Matt Branston

Hollywood and Racial Pigeonholing Daniel Kaluuya is said to be “tired of being asked about race”, and that he never asked for his status as a successful black actor to define him. Within the film industry, there is a vast underrepresentation of the community, not to mention the striking inequality. I do believe that to an extent the media has a problem for its racial pigeonholing of Hollywood actors. This is due to the fact that there is a particular representation of black actors in the industry. Kaluuya rose to fame with Get Out, a mystery/thriller which follows the character Chris Washington, a young African American man who uncovers a disturbing secret when he meets the family of his white girlfriend, Rose Armitage. It can be argued that the movie uses typical horror conventions to reveal the truth about how

pernicious racism is in the world. It doesn’t walk back any of its condemnations by inserting a “white savior” or making overtures to pacifism and tolerance. No: in this film, white society is a conscious purveyor of evil, and Chris must remain alert to its benevolent racism. He has to in order to survive. This year’s Oscars and BAFTAs shortlisting did receive some criticism for the lack of diversity, but Kaluuya said, as quoted by the Guardian, that he did not want to be pushed into becoming a spokesperson for black actors. “The Fades ain’t about race, Psychoville ain’t about race. But that almost gets erased. There’s a narrative that is pushed,” he added. Kaluuya’s

‘Black

Panther’

co-

star Michael B Jordan has introduced an “inclusion rider” to his production company to ensure a more diverse cast and crew. It is a clause that an actor can insist be inserted in their contract which stipulates that cast and crew on a film to meet a certain level of diversity. Jordan’s film, ‘Just Mercy’, is an example of the rider being put in place, but it has just missed out on an Oscar nomination. Ultimately, the topic remains difficult to discuss as long as there is a problem with how the media treats Hollywood stars for their race. So therefore, while Hollywood stars will always be pigeonholed, I feel that as we move forward that this can, and should, eventually come to an end.

Caitlin Telford

My First Academy Awards Watch-Along This is the first year I have ever watched the Oscars live, opting to neglect sleep for the evening in order to watch some films I am yet to see win some awards. The big winner, as most are aware by now, was ‘Parasite’, directed by Bong Joon Ho, who I am sure is now incredibly sought after by almost every film studio in the world. I was rooting for Parasite to win Best Picture, eagerly hoping for waves to be made in the film industry by an up-and-coming international director. With my housemate expecting ‘1917 to take the award and being very surprised when it did not, the result definitely satisfied me. Also sweeping Best Director, International Feature Film and Original Screenplay, it is at the top of my list of films to watch at the earliest opportunity. Bong Joon Ho also seems like the sweetest and most innocent person on the planet, making his big wins even more amazing to witness. Joaquin Phoenix winning Actor in a Leading Role comes as a surprise to no one, and Brad Pitt picking

Image: Wikmedia Commons, BDS2006

up the Actor in a Supporting Role was also an expected result from my perspective, with ‘Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood’ being the only film in the mix that I had seen prior to the ceremony. The laughs and lost-for-words moments were definitely worthy of lifting the golden statue in my eyes. The other big winner, despite not winning the Best Picture or Best Director awards was ‘1917’, which everyone and their dog has been raving about. Although, it is evident that the awards it did win were well deserved, most being related to the production and visuals side of the film, notably the Cinematography award. My absolute favourite aspect of the evening however, was the performances of the nominees for Best Original Song, and my obsession for Cynthia Erivo was reignited. It was, in contrast, great to see ‘(I’m Gonna) Love Me Again’ by Elton John for ‘Rocketman’ win the award, and in my opinion, ‘Rocketman’ should have had a greater presence amongst these awards. Taron Egerton should

have received a nomination for Actor in a Leading Role, because his performance was phenomenal. Renee Zellweger’s win for Actress in a Leading Role was a personal disappointment, as I have never been a massive fan of her work, and having recently watching ‘Ladybird’, I am experiencing a bit of a Saorise Ronan kick currently, so watching her win for ‘Little Women’ would have made me happier. Also, after watching the BAFTAs, my housemates and I were expecting a long speech from Zellweger in which she thanks every living thing under the sun. We were right. All in all, the evening did not disappoint. I am very interested to watch the industry shift following the Best Picture award going to ‘Parasite’, and I hope this leads to better representation in the film awards industry. Now, time to play catch up and watch all of the nominated films.

Sam Hewitson

The Questionable Philosophy of The Good Place ‘The Good Place’ has been a welcome presence every time that it’s returned. And while it’s had peaks and troughs like any long-running show, I always have time for something as positive and well-meaning as ‘The Good Place’. The show has consistently combined its noble intent to teach philosophy and make us all better people, with its instantly engaging characters and storylines that make you want to watch ‘one more episode’. It has in many ways redefined what a sitcom can do, thriving on longform storytelling in a plot that has deepened and widened in the most unexpected ways over its four seasons. It’s just a shame that it betrayed itself at the very end. I’ve enjoyed this latest run of episodes, but there reached a point when the show should have ended, but instead continued for that bit longer to its own detriment. Crucially, it undermined the two things that made it so enjoyable the rest of the time: it’s engaging plot and its philosophical objectives. For all the times I’ve been desperate to see more of the show, the last two ‘cliff-hangers’ left me desperate for the exact opposite. I was willing the show to end. The finale was the most tedious of all. It was longer than every prior episode, and it felt it. Having been with these characters for so long, amidst many transformations and resets

Image: Pixabay

and moments of closure, it was always going to be a difficult task to create a final end for them which felt satisfying. So perhaps it’s no surprise that their endings in this episode felt superficial. Having watched them all grow and change at different rates in the past, there was something a little too contrived about watching each of them one by one finding a moment of closure and choosing to walk through the door. But, perhaps more damaging than this, I’d very much lost track of what the show was trying to say at this point. The door going out of the afterlife appeared to be a way to parallel the ambiguity of what happens after death on Earth (in the real world), as even Janet admits that she doesn’t know what happens when it’s walked through. And yet we watched that door being created and thus the attempted parallel doesn’t quite ring true when the characters ponder about what’s on the other side like it’s some great mystery. On the contrary, I believe the show should have created that same sense of ambiguity a couple of episodes earlier and ended with the characters heading off to the Good Place. Instead, we got two episodes attempting to show us what eternity looks like, and falling terribly short. For a show about the afterlife, ‘The Good Place’ has always been impressively responsible in its

attitude to religions (as a show about philosophy should), but this I think was a step too far. The final two episodes tried to show us that an eternal afterlife isn’t all that great and would be better off having some kind of end. This seems like a very odd final message for this show to go out on. If the afterlife here is actually just a parallel for ‘life’ (with the door as death) then the final episode starts to look dangerously like its advocating people choosing when they want to die and taking their own lives (and abandoning loved ones in the process). If, rather, this is a genuine comment on eternity, then it feels ridiculously short-sighted. ‘The Good Place’s’ depiction of eternity just looks a lot like life on Earth, but with magic… forever! As such, it isn’t a fair parallel for religious notions of afterlife and eternity. What would have been more in keeping with the show’s commitment to open-minded philosophy, would have been to steer clear of this altogether, and leave viewers with a more genuine sense of ambiguity. It’s a shame to feel let-down at the end by a show that I’ve otherwise thoroughly enjoyed. But it seems that, while the finale depicted the characters waiting for the right moment to end their existence, the show itself failed to notice when its own moment should have been.

Sam Savelli

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