The University Times Magazine, Issue 6, Volume 3

21.2.12

The University Times

Magazine

The University Times Magazine

FEATURES.

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EDITORIAL.

SHINING THE DIAMOND

BIRDS DO IT, BEES DO IT, EVEN EDUCATED FLEAS DO IT. SO WHY, WONDERS EMILY CARSON, ARE WOMEN UNCOMFORTABLE TALKING ABOUT IT.

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BUT THEY ALL HAVE LOVELY BOTTOMS

EMMA KEAVNEY DENOUNCES THE ROLE OF THE IRISH MODEL FOR BEING INHERENTLY RIDICULOUS.

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OVER SHOULDER BOULDER HOLDERS...

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TEENAGE KICKS

JEAN SUTTON ON GREY TRAINING BRAS, ORANGE KNICKERS AND RITUAL EMBARRASSMENT

RACHEL LAVIN, DISPATCHED UNDERCOVER, INVESTIGATES WEZZ AND WHAT REALLY GOES ON THERE

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MORALS AND ETHICS AND CARNAL FORBEARANCE

TOMMY GAVIN MEETS BURLESQUE STAR HARLOT DEVILLE

13 I DONT USUALLY JUMP ON BANDWAGONS BUT WHEN I DO

TOM LOWE HEARD YOU LIKE MEMES, SO HE PUT SOME MEMES IN HIS ARTICLE ABOUT MEMES.

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LOOK AT US BEING BRILLIANT DAVID CULLINAN REVIEWS THE BAFTAS AND IFTAS.

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ADAKA DANIEL

WITH SO MANY USERS ON THE INTERNET WE TEND TO FORGET THAT BEHIND EACH SCREEN IS A REAL PERSON. ZACH EUSTACE REMEDIES THIS AND INTERVIEWS @DAKAZI

U

sually I like to fill this editorial space with grand, and often nonsensical, proclamations. This time I thought I’d do something different, because with this issue of the magazine we tried to do something different. It should be obvious that there is something deeply wrong with our national approach to sex and sexuality. We’ve wanted to explore this subject for a while by sending someone to Wezz undercover, as a means of being able to talk about the idea of getting bollocks drunk and hooking up with strangers, and we ended up centering the whole issue around it. It was complete coincidence though that it would happen to coincide with the mass outrage over the blatantly sexist advertising of Alchemy in Temple bar (as documented on the front page of this issue of the University Times broadsheet), and it was extremely reassuring to see that people seemed to be as indignant as we were. Inevitably, the warped Irish attitude towards sexuality has its defenders.

People who have emotionally invested in the idea of the drinking shed, where they stand in a room drinking until they find someone, anyone, to get off with. This isn’t about being against getting off, or even promiscuity. It’s about the damage inherent in the fact that this is the mainstream, and that it is all there is. Consequently as well, Irish men have an international reputation for not knowing how to talk to women, and it’s true. Coppers does not require much thought, nor did Wezz and nor will the new club opening where Tripod and Crawdaddy were. That’s what is missing and that’s what needs to be engaged with. Its offensive that sex and sexuality have been commodified by these places, and its offensive that people argue that nightlife in Dublin is as good as it should be. It and we have so much more potential, and all we have to do to access it is start talking, and thinking about it.

@UTzine

REGULATION. 3

LOITERING WITH INTENT

CULTURE. 16

Robert Silver recalls lessons learned about life, love, and sex.

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IN FOCUS

A photo by George Voronov

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Eoin Hennessy reviews all the latest albums and EP’s.

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CSC Katie Abrahams takes a look at the activities of college societies over the year.

Cover Photo courtesy of: Ana Araceli Lezcano Cadweller

THE END OF AN ERA

The closure of Tripod and Crawdaddy mark a turning point in the Dublin club scene, and not for the better. Shauna Watson discusses

[SIGH] David Geoghegan limbers up and tries out the gym, but ultimately finds it weird and alienating.

REVIEWS

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FASHION

Rachel Slater predicts this Springs upcoming trends.

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CONTRIBUTORS Editor: Tommy Gavin Creative Director: Dargan Crowley-Long

Culture Editor: David Doyle Photographers: Ana Areceli Lezcano Cadweller

Illustrator: Sadhbh Byrne, Sinead Mercier

Contributors: Emily Carson,

Jamie Wright, Shauna Watson, Katie Abrahams, Emma Keavney, Tom Lowe Eoin Hennessy, David Cullinan, Robert Silver Michelle O’Connor, Rachel Lavin, Zach Eustace,.

LOITERING WITH INTENT...

TOLTECA http://protowilson.deviantart.com/

Robert Silver recalls lessons learned about life, love, and sex

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like to consider myself a nice dude, but even nice dudes can slip up. When I first moved out of home I got quite carried away with myself. I moved into an apartment with 4 roommates I had never met before, 3 of whom were female.

I was very lucky as they were all fantastic, interesting and intelligent young women, so naturally I began to become enamoured with one. Spending a lot of time in close proximity with someone you’re into will tend to accelerate the development of strong feelings for one another. By this I mean I started to say some pretty intense and forward things to her while drunk, which I myself would question the verity of in the morning, but I thought nothing of it. I began to convince myself that I really felt the bullshit I was spewing.

So, because of this, the girl, let’s call her Roommate A, began to develop a serious emotional attachment. And then along came Roommate B. But not really, a more accurate description would be that along I came. I began to try to get to know my other roommates and found I had a bit of a thing for Roommate B. I managed to convince myself it was okay to let things begin to happen

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secretly with Roommate B (Roommate B was unaware of the seriousness of the situation with A, and was naturally a very private person) and that it was kinder not to hurt Roommate A’s feelings by telling her this.

Somehow, despite my years of being a perfectly nice dude, I found myself acting like a complete cunt. Looking back on it now I cringe to think of how smug I was in my own mind, and managed to completely convince myself that it was fine to treat these incredibly good and kind human beings in this cruel and decietful way.

I realised something that is a truth for myself at least; when it comes to sex, it is entirely possible to detach yourself from the feelings involved in the situation and treat it like any other out of control vice, hurting myself (though I didn’t know it yet) and hurting those around me (though I convinced myself I wasn’t). Sex is a very dangerous thing, as potent as any drug, and if one is not careful they can become so focused on getting the act done that they forget that there are real feelings involved and real relationships to be ruined.

You can become capable of gross disrespect towards other people and committing acts that degrade oneself (At one

point in the depths of my madness I had sex with a girl I had no interest in, because my friend made a bet with her that I wouldn’t. She was on the losing side.) My personal wakeup call came in a double tap from two unlikely sources. One drunken evening I came in and hurled myself at Roommate C (that’s right, all three...). She went along with it but began to cry as she had a boyfriend and felt guilty. This troubled me but I was well versed in suppressing these concerns at this point. Then I took a bunch of mushrooms, freaked the fuck out, and locked myself in my bedroom for 5 hours weeping over what a terrible person I had become. As soon as the drugs wore off I went round to all of the girls, told them all the truth and apologised. After a couple icy weeks we were all mates again (which goes to show the level of forgiveness good people will offer one after a sincere apology). Look, basically what I’m trying to say is don’t lie to yourselves, and Deirdre probably does remember that handjob she gave you round the back of the shed at Kev’s the other night, maybe you should give her an a call.

Or at least an aknowlegement.

You prick.

T

olteca opened last summer and is one of the latest comers to the great burrito game in Dublin. Located on Baggot Street it is further from town than its competitors, but how you feel about that just depends on where you live. It started out and remains an attempt at being more gourmet than junkfood, which has its good points and its bad points.

The service can’t be faulted in any way though. When we asked what they recommended, they went through the merits of each option, gave a personal preference, and a taste of the chicken. Not only that though, but we were allowed chicken and beef in one burrito at no extra cost, which was above and beyond (multi-meat burritos are the UT Magazine’s shoe-in of the month).

The ingredients too are of an extremely high quality and benefit from the huge kitchen. There are different kinds of rice, which cross the line from stodgy to hearty, and almost taste suspiciously healthy. They also have the best free

Service/Atmosphere -- 5 Ingredients --5 Flavour -- 4.5 Construction -- 5 Value -- 3.5 Overall -- 23/25

sour cream, by a long shot. The meats were lovingly prepared and chargrilled to perfection.

As burrito nerds/ connoisseurs, it was disappointing that the spiciest salsa was not exceptionally hot, and the medium barely registered in terms of spiciness. There are a range of table salsas though and the overall flavour of the burrito can’t be faulted for this minor point. If anything, the understated salsas complement the overall quality, which is always appreciated. The construction surprised us in that it can only be flawless for what it is.

The cleanest burrito eating experience we’ve had. There was no spillage and it held together remarkably well. In fact, the only real criticism we found we could make was on price, and it is definitely one of the more expensive burritos. That said though, they do have a student deal that gets you a free drink, so its not too far off in price from its competitors. In summation, a very strong performance from the newcomer.

Taboo

SHINING THE DIAMOND Birds do it, bees do it, even educated fleas do it. So why, wonders Emily Carson, are women uncomfortable talking about it?

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hen it comes to sex, I think most young women would like to believe that we’re all fairly liberated and yet there will always be some areas that are considered taboo. Growing up in Ireland, I’ve always found the topic of male masturbation and sexuality to dominate our culture far more. From crude penises graffiti-ed on school desks to guys openly discussing porn websites and celebrities they jack off to. But where are all the ladies in this? When was the last time you saw someone drawing a vagina on someone’s back in class, or the girls you know openly discussing what they thought about when they last got off?

It’s not intrinsic to feminine sexuality that we discuss the intimate ins and outs of having an orgasm by yourself, but there seems to be an overwhelming idea that a lot of women either have no big interest in masturbation or simply don’t do it.

The flip side of the coin is the sort of masturbation shaming that many people experience in their teens; there’s nothing that will make a girl blush more than a guy accusing her of ‘flicking her bean’, something that is often followed with the staunch response of ‘Oh my God I do NOT!’ So this leaves us with the question, if many presume we don’t, and we often deny it in reality, do we? And if so, how do we feel about it? I sent out a questionnaire to as many girls between the ages of 21-24 as I could find in the hopes that I would get some frank responses about their attitudes to masturbation.

To begin with I think the most important fact is that all of the respondents admitted that they masturbate, and a large proportion of them weren’t saving it for birthdays and special occasions.

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One of the biggest issues about female masturbation is that women feel uncomfortable talking about it, especially with each other. I was surprised to find that there was a straight divide between people that felt comfortable talking about it and those that felt it really wasn’t appropriate conversation, sometimes with anyone. The responses ranged from finding it “liberating” to discuss with someone else, to feeling as though “there is always a tiny feeling that it’s somehow ‘wrong’ or ‘dirty’.” While some girls were boldly going with the “two fingers to the cynics” approach to discussing their own sexual maintenance, some who felt they should be able to talk about it had the apprehension that “you really bare your true self when you share this kind of stuff - and if it’s badly received, well I guess that’s the equivalent to getting your kit off in front of a disgusted crowd.”

What was of particular interest is that despite the fact that everyone admitted to getting themselves off on a regular basis, there was a large disparity in how important they believed this was in relation to both their own sexual identity and a healthy relationship. Some were adamant that understanding yourself sexually helped develop you as a person and allowed you to be better in tune with a partner. Some believed that masturbation “was what it was” and didn’t necessarily have any bearing on your experiences with a significant other. This seemed striking as some felt that their enjoyment of sex whether alone or with another person was inextricably linked, whereas others believed the two experiences were mutually exclusive.

When it came to buying sex toys, a large proportion had invested whether it was online or

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Firstly, everyone is just trying to get theirs, and even those with boyfriends are finding time to have a couple of extra curricular orgasms.

by paying a visit to everyone’s favourite, Ann Summers. The experiences ranged from happily removed as they clicked ‘Add to Basket’ to feeling comfortable enough to quiz the Ann Summers assistants at length and naturally those that went with friends in the hopes of reduced embarrassment. Nobody was owning up to buying three Rampant Rabbits or some vibrating anal beads but someone made a very astute observation: “I’ve meant to invest in a new, good one for years but never saved up the money - it’s interesting actually that I don’t think it’s important enough to devote a portion of my money to - as opposed to spending it on beer or a dress etc - when really there are probably few things more conducive to happiness then being satisfied sexually.”

So there you have it ladies.

Firstly, everyone is just trying to get theirs, and even those

with boyfriends are finding time to have a couple of extra curricular orgasms. In fact, many of the respondents admitted that they want to get themselves off more when they’re having regular sex. As for frequency, while it varied greatly from woman to woman – as it tends to no matter which gender you are – typically ladies are getting themselves off weekly. So next time you’ve invested in the vibe of your dreams and feel like waxing lyrical, or you’re curious as to whether your own behaviours are normal, don’t worry that you’re an island in a sea of chaste women because I can assure you you’re not. Furthermore, I think it’s important that we can have a dialogue about masturbation without feeling embarrassed or judged be it with female or male peers because at the end of the day, admit it, we’re all just trying to get off.

Rant

BUT THEY ALL HAVE LOVELY BOTTOMS Emma Keaveney denounces the role of the Irish model for being inherently ridiculous.

U

nless you’re in the habit of paying attention to women’s magazines, you probably missed Georgia Salpa’s OK! cover at the beginning of February. Salpa, fresh from a stint on Big Brother and an alleged fling with Callum Best, appeared to be making a further attempt to break the UK market by faking a relationship with Peter Andre.

The headline - “Peter <3 Georgia: ‘Our Big Fat Greek Date” made for bleak reading. “I loved Pete the first time I laid eyes on him” it continued (insinuating, of course, that that wasn’t all she was laying on him). The magazine promised us the “First ever pictures and words from their intimate pent-

house liaison.” Georgia and Peter looked out from under the bright red ‘OK!’, their smiles betraying nothing in the way of love for one another but, rather, a desperation to make the most of their fame while they still had it. Of course, it is not the first time that two people in the public eye have fabricated a relationship to boost their profiles, but this was a whole new level of bizarre absurdity. I suspected that Salpa was trying to make as much money as possible before her looks faded and/or the public got bored of her and moved its collective gaze onto another curvaceous princess.

It made me sad.

I’d love to meet Georgia, talk with

her, have a little chat. I’d love to know if there really is as little to her as interviews would suggest.

I’d love to know whether she feels the indignity of claiming a deep and lasting love for Andre in a PR move that stank of desperation and cheap fake tan. I’d love to know what she loves about her job. I can imagine the answer of course.

“Well, the money’s really good.

And people make comments about my assets all the time! It’s gas!

And strangers take my photo in nightclubs. I’m very lucky, really.”

Salpa, momentarily solemn, would lean towards me - those beautiful Bambi-fied lashes batting wildly - and whisper - “Beauty is power.

It can get you whatever you want.”

But Salpa doesn’t get whatever she wants. She gets fleeting fame and a fake romance with Peter ‘the spirit of grunge’ Andre. I wonder if beauty is really a power or a trap.

We have a special relationship with girls like Salpa in Ireland. By “girls like Salpa”, I mean models who are commonly referred to as “Irish models” - a mostly derogatory term for buxom models whose main source of work is posing right-of-frame with products in their bikinis; in the hope that the photos will make the papers the next day. (If they’re lucky, the girls will be posing with a mobile phone or, say, a giant inflatable banana. But every now and then, it’ll be Eamon Dunphy.)

It’s easy to make fun of these girls.

It’s easy to call them bimbos. It’s so easy, in fact, that most Irish

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Rant

mainstream media outlets manage to do so while simultaneously salivating over them.

The Sunday Independent - particularly their Life magazine - feature these girls in inane interviews that seem to exist solely as an excuse to print titillating photos of the girls in their underwear. Within the same magazine they make fun of the Irish Models with sarky captions under photos of their press promo shots. If the girls are so stupid then why interview them at all?

We know the answer of course - because in certain media outlets an ugly notion persists that the most important thing for a woman to be is beautiful and sexually available while wit, intelligence, or any recognizable achievements are incidental.

The same cruel tendency could be seen when Georgia Salpa was interviewed on The Saturday Night Show by Brendan O Connor. After asking about her typical day, O’ Connor proceeded to show a series of Salpa’s promo shots. Like a smirking smartarse uncle at a first communion, O’ Connor scoffed “Your job is hard, you never know what you could be doing. For example, here you’re a boxer and here you’re a footballer.” One thing was never in doubt, Salpa was the (bountiful) butt of the joke.

Don’t misunderstand me - I don’t think these girls are to be pitied. They are simply responding to a market gap. Rather, I wonder at the mainstream media putting the Irish Models on pedestals as if they were ideal examples of Irish womanhood.

I marvel at the snide, cruel taunting of every “hilarious” photo caption. I question the troubling reality of a culture that uses girls in bikinis to sell products, rather than trying to think of anything fresh, clever or original. All of this serves to create a limiting and limited idea of female sexuality one which is based on performance, rather than sincerity.

Inevitably, anyone who decides to point out the stupidity of Irish models phenomenon will be called “jealous” or “a bloody feminist” and for some reason both of these accusations will end the argument.

Those are the trump cards designed to make you shut up, sit down and stop asking annoying questions. There’s no coming back from that and you’re shamed into submission by people who don’t so much have a problem with your argument as they rage and spit at the idea that there’s an argument to be had in the first place.

But I want to see women get a better deal and I don’t think you need to be an ideologue to see this culture as creatively bankrupt, tacky, boring and ultimately damaging. It’s sad that the most high profile young women in this country are venerated for their luck in a genetic lottery rather than any - any - recognizable achievements. It’s also sad that the very

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Rosanna Davidson endorsing some cheese product.

publications that build them up, seek to tear them down with cheap jokes.

In my nightmares, I’m surrounded by a cartoonish parade of tits and ass. It’s all clownish smiles and twinkling eyes, undulating orange thighs skipping towards a leering camera lens. A crowd gathers beside the Irish Models, hands down trousers and masturbating with feverish intensity. Arrrrr.

Lovely girls. There’s a ten year old girl saying “Mommy, I want to be like them when I grow up!” while a hack journo types up an interview with in which Rozanna Purcell says, well, not very much at all. There’s

a fifteen year old girl spending an hour putting on make-up before school and still convinced she’s not pretty enough, because that’s the most important thing for her to be. And Georgia Salpa is in the middle of it all, smiling for the cameras and wondering when the whistle is going to blow on her fifteen minutes.

If this is what best represents Irish womanhood then squeeze the oestrogen out of me and send me to a hermitage. I’ll keep bees and never be troubled by this bullshit ever again.

Misery

OVER SHOULDER BOULDER HOLDERS....

Jean Sutton on grey training bras, orange knickers and ritual embarrassment.

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haws, almost nationwide, in Roscrea, Co. Tipperary stands at the top of Main Street.

The large shop front is blue and set at a jaunty and distressing angle. This town defies planning theory. Its mass of streets run counter to reason, like the spokes of a crushed wheel. This small department store acts as a lodestone, host to crashing junctions and daredevil jaywalks. Shaws is something of an institution in this midlands town but there was probably another regional monolith in its place decades before. The type of business known as a drapers in the not-at-all-that-distant past. It would have been run by a dead dynasty with a solid reputation and acted as the centre of ritual activity – communions, confirmations, perhaps the odd starchy trousseau. You would put your purchases on the ‘book’. Such drapers are nearly gone now. And while Shaws may now accept cards – even offering cashback - it still retains those vestigial aspects. The staff are recognisable, the clothing sensible, the interior design evocative of the last great recession.

I rarely see the place now, and anytime I return home find excuses not to accompany my mother there. Crossing the threshold, with baby clothes to my left and Newbridge Silverware to my right, is more than just a physical inconvenience. Shaws and I have got issues. The mere sight of the place and my cheeks flame. Should my mother coerce me into the building I hang

out, intently, in giftware, feigning an interest in stainless steel cutlery. It is absolutely necessary I avoid the friendly greeting of a Mary who was working there That Day. A decade later and the memory is still seared into me. I was twelve years old, and mortified. The time had come my first bra. Underwear, not lingerie, never lingerie, was found discreetly on the first floor. It was located between the Simply Be clothing range and peach coloured bed sheets. Most bras were kept in boxes. Some hung limply on hangers awaiting live flesh. It was a sea of post-operative white. Nothing different really, except for an embarrassingly obvious black knickers with boa feather material instead of discrete lace. This hideous scalp was pinned to the buttermilk wall and probably still induces shudders. The day of my fitting I stood by as my mother and Family Friend Mary gathered prospective boxes. I was not asked for an opinion, just herded into the changing room. Both women stood beside me, appraising me. Usually modesty was preserved by a thin curtain nailed to the wall. This time was different. It was an near-public induction. I raised my arms dutifully like a crucifix and let them prod and measure me. I knew what they were going to do. I should have spoken up. I should have protested and been immovable as soon as I saw it.

Have you ever worn a Sloggi? Marketed under the guise of a starter training

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Some hung limply on hangers awaiting live flesh. It was a sea of post operative white.

bra, they were actually invented to keep young women down. I have a theory they are directly responsible for girls out-performing boys in junior state examinations. The Sloggi strips you of confidence. It makes you the most awkward girl in PE class. You insist upon shapeless woolly jumpers in June. My first bra was a Sloggi.

Marlyin Monroe once said, “All little girls should be told they are pretty, even if they aren’t.” Forcing the superficial on young girls is not an especially commendable idea but there is a something to be said for not making an already awkward enough girl’s first bra one that will eventually turn the colour of gruel. I’m not advocating mothers buy their daughters the industrial Marks & Spencer bra that moves the wearer up two sizes. There is a clear line between sexualisation and sexuality, and there is nothing wrong with slightly embracing the latter. The odd bow won’t do anyone any harm.

I remember reading in my final years of school Eavan Boland’s poem The Black Lace Fan My Mother Gave Me. It told the story of one couples early token which became a family heirloom, passed on from mother to daughter. The fan captured the early and heady days of a love affair which played out on the streets of Paris where the “heat was killing”. It was an admission on the part of the mother that yes, she lived. While I don’t think it would have benefited either me or my mother for her to have handed me a bunch of black lace I would have appreciated something beyond cheap cotton.

I eventually escaped the Sloggi in a rather furtive fashion. There were school trips with allocated hours in shopping centres and thus I found refuge with giddy friends in the high-street chain La Senza.

The company’s recent closure of their Irish operations actually hit me quite hard. I was in there just before Christmas and impulsively bought an orange lace knickers, meaning to return for the matching bra in the New Year. So, here’s to you, La Senza, and that bra I never bought. And despite my irretrievable relationship with Shaws, I do genuinely fear that someday I will walk by and the windows will be just as empty as those on Grafton Street. I’ll be sad in a somewhat different way than I was with La Senza. This will be far more cutting. This won’t be a reasonable enough death in the name of business. This will be dead tradition. Where my mother dragged an embarrassed me and started an odd and universal personal history.

Illustration - Sinéad Mercier

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Feature

TEENAGE KICKS After hearing too many horror stories about Wezz, Rachel Lavin was dispatched undercover to investigate the Donnybrook institution and to assess what is really going on.

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umbling a doctored photocopy of my passport and hoping I’ve met the dress code, I adopt an air of cool nonchalance, and mentally reiterate my new date of birth. Approaching the queue, I realize that perhaps this is not the Saturday night I thought it would be.

I find myself outside the infamous Old Wesley Rugby club, one of the most notorious teenage discos in the country, and I’m trying to get in.

The street is abuzz with teenagers, who, not being able to drink inside, have made an opportunity cost assessment in getting as drunk as they can before entering.

Groups of young girls emerge skyscraper heels first, followed by long fake-tanned legs and eventually the thin bit of material that serves to cover just enough.

The offloaded vehicles turn and pass by indifferently, I notice the drivers, presumably parents, turning heads away from the rampant sway they have just contributed a son or daughter to.

The bouncer looks me up and down, and checks my falsified

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piece of paper asks me where I’m from. “Galway’ I announce, cool as a breeze, and noting the unimpressed facial expression, I loudly explain I’m visiting my friend from Blackrock who I went to the Gaeltacht with. He stands aside, letting me pass and I descend down the stairs of the rugby club and into the adolescent abyss.

Stepping into the dated wooden hallway, a crowd of throbbing youths move in unison to the bass thud ejected from the DJ’s box. So this is it, this is Wezz, the adolescent’s paradise. I can’t help feeling a little crestfallen. My teenage disco at home in Leitrim could certainly put this glorified social hall to shame. Ours is a night club designed to match any over-age venue, this run-down hall with tacky valentines decorations streamed across the roof seemed innocent and inconspicuous. But the glory of Wezz is not in its architecture, it’s the social politics, as different schools territorially inhabit different corners of the hall, and attendees size up potential conquests. It’s like Lord of the Flies but with a techno beat.

All through the club I am aware there is a developed systematic understanding of what is expected of one another. Speaking in the smoking area, (a smoking area that the fourteen to sixteen year olds fully avail of under the surveillance of security) one young girl comments, when I ask what is the worst any one has ever gotten thrown out for, that ‘the furthest you can go at Wezz is giving someone head. The bouncers even throw some lads out for fingering’. Does this happen often?’ ‘Oh yeah, everyone gets fingered at Wezz.’

Anne Sexton, sex columnist for Hotpress Magazine, disputes the popular media-justified complaint that ‘parents simply don’t know what’s going on’ in teenage discos.

‘I think there are a lot of parents who are happy to turn a blind eye to what their children are doing. I think people would prefer to turn a blind eye rather than actually discussing it honestly with their children.

They’d choose to think it’s not happening and not discuss it out of fear.’

On the glorification of the concept of the ‘shift’, Anne comments ‘What I do think is quite worrying, is that people are not learning about sexual

relationships, because it’s drunk and anonymous. Irish people seem to have a difficult bearing of the opposite sex and what they have expectations for, but the expectations are often quite low because there’s a lot of selfloathing going on. There’s an expectation that you might get rejected and I feel quite sorry for young people as they have a lot to deal with.’

There is a given code of conduct which everyone seems to unquestioningly abide to.

As Rihanna blares out of the sound system, young girls in bodycon dresses gyrate their hips and throw seductive shapes, puckering their lips and whipping their straightened hair.

They seem to see themselves as sexually empowered by this, as they sing along to lyrics such as ‘suck my cockiness, make my persuasion’. The young men approach the girls with an air of macho-ism, standing prostrate, broadening their shoulders and approaching the girls with an air of confidence and dominance, persistently, sometimes forcefully, grabbing at anonymous hips until their choice gives in.

Gender roles are enforced by the music issuing from the DJ’s speakers, identity is defined by sexuality, and popularity is sexual confidence.

Feature

The whole set up is like a tragic imitation of a pop music video.

But, according to Anne Sexton, this is no coincidence. ‘I think you’ve got a situation where you have young people imitating what they see in mainstream culture from America and the U.K. and obviously in things like pornography and music videos on the one hand and its not backed up by any discussion of sex with their parents. ‘There are very few positive cultural messages, particularly for girls.

On the one hand you’ve got this terribly closed off oppressed catholic attitude towards sex but on the other hand you have this pop cultural attitude where you’re supposed to be Rihanna, and dance like a pole dancer.

There is no sexual information from the parents, so they are selfinformed, but they are self-informed from exterior poor sources.’

From the results of a recent on-campus sample survey of fifty students, for the purpose of this article, there seems to be more of a barrier between Irish parents and their child’s sexuality than a grumpy bouncer and the Old Wesley gates. In a sample survey of fifty students, only 20% reported having learnt about sex directly from their parents, and even within that, only 33% felt sexuality was properly discussed, while 42% expressed parental discourse as mediocre at best. There were indeed several accounts of the cop-out trick of a sex education book strategically placed around the house. 25% admitted that in the home, sex was a topic that simply was not up for discussion.

Sociology Lecturer Craig Considine explains this silence. ‘Now that people are turning away from the Catholic Church, who is the authority on sex? Who has the credibility to advise? There’s a generational gap in sexuality. If the child goes to the parent for advice, all the parent knows is what they learned through the church, and seeing as now the Catholic church are no longer the voice of sexual morality in contemporary Irish culture, parents may not know what to tell their children.

They’re avoiding it as they don’t know how to deal with it’.

Not only does the home environment fail to provide a forum for discussion of sex, but students surveyed on a whole felt that both schools and society were uninvolved.

75% thought their school based sex education was mediocre, with 30% only ever given one class on the subject and another 30% believing it came too late. Only 12% felt they

“

They are videoing her on their mobile phone, as a young man disappears his hand up her skirt from behind as she dances sleepily.

were properly educated while 23% received no sex education in their time in secondary school at all. Overall, 72% of students surveyed felt there was a problem with the social discourse surrounding sex in Ireland.

However, a lack of dialogue and guidance has not prevented teenagers from developing their own sub-culture for engaging with sexuality.

Of course, this is not to say, that teenage discos are alone in their confused sexual expression. As club culture evolved and came to dominate the Irish social scene in the 90’s and media becomes more hyper-sexualized as well as accessible, Irish culture is continually being challenged by the hyper-sexualized global trends, clashing with the conservative culture previously dominated by catholic teaching and sexual oppression. A vacuum has opened up on the ground of sexual ethics and teenage discos are merely an attempt to drain that tension.

Anne Sexton elaborates, ‘I think what the big issue with what is happening in teenage discos isn’t a huge amount different to places visited by older people, where you still have the case of people going out getting very drunk and hooking up with members of the opposite sex. I think there’s something deeply wrong. We have a deep issue in this country where people need to get really drunk before they can approach somebody of the opposite sex.

There is very little discussion about positive sexuality in our culture. As a people, the Irish na-

tion doesn’t seem to have a very healthy positive self-image.’

Naïvely relieved at the relative tameness of the night compared to my memories of personal experiences with teenage disco’s, I go to leave but was fooling myself if I thought I was getting away that easy. Passing through the main dancehall I see a girl standing surrounded by a group of young men in the corner. They are videoing her on their mobile phones, as a young man disappears his hand up her skirt from behind as she dances sleepily.

Leaving the disturbing situation behind I make my exit onto the street..

Outside, I meet up with my investigative associates, who have struck up a conversation with a girl outside. Her friend is with her in tears as they were not able to get in. We talk and console them as we wait for our lift. They tell us about Wezz and reassure us that ‘we are all having a good time’. Her friend is consistently being pestered by a boy who approaches her on whispering in her ear. On one of these occasions she blurts out ‘I’m not going to have sex with you, I was crying only a minute ago’.

Nearby we witness a young boy casually probing another girl without so much as a word or a kiss. She is uneager to resist but after a minute shyly shrugs him off.

At this point we give up on the lift and call a taxi.

As we leave, the gardai are on

the scene and start shepherding groups of drunk youths. Citing section 8 of the criminal act, he merely translates the legislation as “simply get out of my sight, and out of donnybrook. Clear off.’ The defeated stumble away.

Parents are arriving now as the disco closes and groups flow out onto the street to collect their children. For those without parents waiting, groups split off in different directions and newly formed couples head in the direction of Herbert Park.

Eventually the youths are cleared away, collected by parents, shooed away by guards and others simply saunter drunkenly into the night.

Putting Wezz behind us, we stop off at the Burlington and within five minutes have wrangled our way into the BESS Ball. It’s at its peak; music is pumping, everyone is tipsy and the place is buzzing.

Perhaps however it is our sober states, or maybe our cynical attitudes leaving Wezz, but try as we might we can’t ignore the string of paramedics who stream into the back of the ball room and wander through the tables, spoilt for choice and trying to decide which passed out ball attendee they are meant to take to the hospital to get their stomach pumped. Nor can we ignore the puddle of blood on the dancefloor, the couple disappearing under a ballroom table or police removing persistent drunks from the premises.

No no, perhaps we are just being cynical, we quickly take a few drinks and soon realize we are actually all having a good time.

9

10

In Focus

Amsterdam - Photo: George Voronov 11

Interview

MORALS AND ETHICS AND CARNAL FORBEARANCE Tommy Gavin met with International Burlesque broad Harlot DeVille, to talk about the scene and the warped Irish approach to sexuality.

“T

he one word I hate that I always get asked about is whether I find burlesque ‘empowering’. It’s a lazy argument and it’s condescending. My convictions are the same as they would be if I worked in a coffee shop or as a surgeon, but I do try to incorporate them into my performance and hope for the best.”

Though it might not be immediately obvious, Ireland is home to a number of growing peripheral scenes and subcultures, and one of the most engaging and interesting of them is Burlesque revival. Ms Harlott DeVille (aka Sorcha Loughrey) has been involved in burlesque for six years, and in May, she’ll be representing Ireland competing for the World Female Crown at the World Burlesque Games. Though she began by hosting events here, she cut her teeth performing in London after deciding to do it the hard way or not at all; “I used to work for years in a very well paid sensible job and I was miserable. I was 25 and so I said I’ll give myself five years, and if I haven’t performed in these five venues in London by the time I’m thirty, it wasn’t meant to be, and in two years I performed in those five venues and was getting good gigs and good feedback.” On her return to Dublin last year, the burlesque scene in Dublin wasn’t quite the same as she left it. Inevitably, these things progress and evolve, but if the scene she left was burgeoning and “simmering below the surface”, she describes it now as “boiling over”.

Though it has indeed grown over time though, there is still a marked difference between the approach to Burlesque in different countries, and even cities. “In London it’s very much about the aesthetics, and the focus is on the look and the costume. Here, people think more about their act and their research. When I started out, I felt I had to fit a certain category because there was such a big emphasis on cheesecake burlesque which is the cutesy 50’s curls and victory rolls thing, where everyone

12

comes out looking like Dita Von Teese.

Now that I’m more comfortable in my performing, I do much more classic 1920’s & 30’s Weimar Berlin and vaudeville, and there is now an emphasis on noir over cheesecake here.”

The origins of the Burlesque in Dublin are to be found with the Tassel Club, founded by Sara Colohan in 2003, and other events sprang up around it, including the Dublin Burlesque Ball (which was started by Ms DeVille and a business partner), and the Burlesque and Cabaret Social Club, and now there is at least one monthly Burlesque event in Dublin. “A lot of really interesting things are happening, with performers like Lucy Ryanhardt who is blazing her own trail. She’d cite Edgar Allan Poe as her main inspiration and she has an exorcism act where the front rows get covered in ‘green pea soup.’ I love performing with her (but not after because the stage is covered in soup).

But it’s fun showing different perceptions, and I love seeing performers who have worked so hard on their act and their research” It seems pithy to say that scenes like this tend to grow and prosper during times of economic hardship, but that’s not to say that it isn’t true. As Ms DeVille noted; “when you look at art and culture and society, it thrives when the chips are down, and that’s where vaudeville and Weimar and all that stuff came from in the first place.”

It certainly is true that there was a lot of tawdry superficial bullshit going on during the boom time, so perhaps people just have less patience for that during austerity. Beyond just being cool though, burlesque does actually has something to offer Irish society that’s been sorely lacking: not just an idea of sexuality that is at once erotic and emotionally mature, though it has all those things, but it an idea of sexuality that has any degree of forethought whatsoever. The approaches to sexuality in burlesque vary, and Ms DeVille explained; “you get some girls who cover themselves in champagne, and that’s fine too, but I prefer to be a little bit more subtle.” The point though, is that the sexuality is deliberate. That

“

Someone put their hand up my skirt and grabbed my bum, and I turned around and slapped him full on in the face, proper film-noir style.

is not something that we are used to, and we are poorer for it. There is nothing inherently wrong with promiscuity, but it shouldn’t be a zero-sum game, and that the mainstream is Wezz and Coppers isn’t just depressing, it’s unhealthy.

Ms DeVille went to coppers once, but was only there for six minutes exactly. “Someone put their hand up my skirt and grabbed my bum, and I turned around and slapped him full on in the face, proper film-noir style, and said “don’t you fuckin’ touch me.” That people think that they can do that, and that people male or female don’t challenge it is crazy. There’s no respect and no self-respect.

That a girl would think that’s a compliment is mind-boggling, and goes to show how far we are from real equality.” It would be unfair level all the blame at Wezz or Coppers for the warped Irish approach to sexuality (or lack thereof ) though. Part of the problem is that it’s just accepted as the way things are, you stand

in a room and either get really drunk or are already really drunk, and get off with a stranger. The fact that that is the mainstream approach is shows the lack of real dialogue about sex and sexuality. One could speculate that we’ve abandoned religion and its communality, but kept the repressive hang-ups. Ms DeVille recalled her sex education, which consisted entirely of “one nun in 3rd year who showed us sex happening from the inside of the human body, and all we saw was this penis coming towards the screen and she said “seo é a cailíní, seo é!”, and then the man came, and that was it. So there was nothing about healthy relationships, nothing about positive body image, and nothing about intimacy.” Harlot DeVille dismisses the idea of calling burlesque empowering because she believes you should be empowered anyway, but the Irish approach to sexuality is anything but empowered, and we’d all be better off with more burlesque and less coppers.

Memes

I DON’T USUALLY JUMP ON BANDWAGONS BUT WHEN I DO...

Yo Dawg, Tom Lowe heard you like memes, so he put some memes in his article about memes, so you can read memes while you read about memes.

T

he word meme is derived from the Greek word “to imitate” – and the concept has been around for forty years, defined as an imitable unit of culture which spreads through society. Examples range from the sublime (national anthems) to the ridiculous (people saying things are “key”). So even if you’d never heard of memes before Facebook helped them become Trinity’s top means of procrastination, you’ve been using them to identify yourself as part of various groups for years. People communicating online use memes just the same as they do offline.

An internet meme can take pretty much any form, whether a repeated bastardisation of a frequentlyused word (moar, teh), or, as you’ve doubtless seen on Trinity College Memes, a picture of some character or other with a sardonic caption (in all-caps Impact font, if you’re a purist).

It may shock and appal you, but Trinity was not the first college to have its own memes page. The concept first emerged in October of last year, at Florida International University, Miami; whence it spread across the US and Canada, and on to the UK and Ireland, the idea of a university meme page itself a meme in the broad anthropological sense, in an example of circularity that only Xzibit could truly appreciate. Stephen Denham, 4th year MSISS student and founder of Trinity College Memes, says “I got the idea at 5am on Wednesday night when I saw a friend of mine from Boston like Northwestern University Memes. The rate at which [the idea] spread around the world was pretty crazy, but it was nice to be the one who imported it to Ireland.”

Internet memes work the same way as they do offline - they mark you as part of some specific culture, which is why the concept works so well for universities. In the case of Trinity students, the main factors that seem to bring us together are our combined superiority over UCD, the idiosyncrasies of Trinity life and the

rampant ineptitude of IS Services. Denham admits his favourite Trinity meme is co-admin Shane Jackson’s (SS BESS) picture of an exasperated Ronan O’Gara complaining that he “missed the BESS Ball for this shit” after Ireland’s Six Nations game against France was cancelled. “I’m not a huge fan of the intervarsity stuff ” he says, commenting on the various submissions suggesting that UCD is more a creche than an institute of further education, “but what can you do?”

On the Facebook page you might have noticed neckbearded meme police complaining that “THAT’S NOT A MEME”.

This is because internet memes had formerly been the preserve of 4chan- and reddit-dwelling nerds (no pejoro), who collaboratively assigned a set format to each meme character - “Good Guy Greg” will make sure you get last tokes on that spliff in his mouth, whereas “Successful Black Man” will make you feel like a racist for misinterpreting the first half of his sentence. When memes went mainstream with the spread of College Memes pages, the rules went out the window.

All of a sudden Socially Awkward Penguin was complaining about security being too strict, and Bear Grylls had given up drinking his own piss in favour of wondering when the construction work in front square would be finished.

Indeed, a UCD Meme became momentarily famous worldwide after hitting the front page of reddit as an example of an internet meme completely unhinged from the standard format (read: “worst meme ever”).

However, one of the main points in the analysis of memes since they were first described is that they mutate as culture changes Socially Awkward Penguin begets Socially Awesome Penguin. It seems that just like with writing poetry, you need to know the rules before you can break them, so before you start blowing minds with Free Verse Philosoraptor or Sultry Scumbag Steve, you’d better get yourself on memebase and read up on the evolution of this fine internet-oriented art form.

13

Awards

LOOK AT US BEING TOLD WE’RE BRILLIANT.

By David Cullinan

A

s the smiling faces of award winners slowly fade out of the news cycles, a lull emerges between the high of, probably the second most reputable award bodies for cinematic achievements, the Baftas and the anticipation for the ultimate plethora of accolades, the Academy Awards, which take place on Feb 26th. However the fateful weekend did not only feature one awards ceremony of self-congratulatory applause, but three!

Yes, on Saturday the 11th, the National Convention Centre played host to the Iftas (Irish Film & Television Awards). This ceremony hasn’t improved in either quality or its media presence in the years since its inception in 2003 and this year was no exception. Despite brief moments of genuine potential, this ceremony will forever exist as a sidenote during the ‘awards season’.

The Grammys filled the third spot, taking place on Sunday night in Los Angeles, no doubt filled with a melancholic atmosphere following the untimely death of pop-star Whitney Heuston, who was due to perform at the ceremony. Despite this, there were many who had reason to be joyful.

Most notable among them was Adele, who won all of her 6 nominations at the music industry’s premier awards ceremony, usually renouned for its notorious corruption and poor tastes.

But meanwhile, Saturday in Dublin can only have been a dull affair, if the RTE coverage is anything to go by. The fact that, despite creating catagories for ‘International Film, International Actor, and International Actress’, not a single one of the nominees, such as Ryan Gosling and Glenn Close, attended. Even Saiorse Ronan, somewhat of an Ifta darling with her 3 successive wins, was not present on the night. This did not stop her winning streak, however the embarassment ensued when the man designated to accept the award on her behalf, was in the toilets when her name was announced. Returning host, Simon Delaney, made an admirable but ultimately futile attempt to inspire an audience that seemed insultingly indifferent. Even Academy Award® Winner Brenda Fricker had no inten-

14

tion of smiling or even pretending to be interested, as she slouched in her seat, reading glasses firmly rested on top of her head.

For the most part, the Oscar-lite ceremony proceeded with a pace similar to that of a tortoise. The statuettes were handed out to visages filled with shock and excitement while the audience members, save a few like the impossible-to-not-like Brendan Gleeson, maintained their good nature amidst a hall. The number of empty seats grew and grew as the show progressed, leading to fewer cutaway shots of the audience. Best Actor went to Michael Fassbender, for ‘Shame’, over Brendan Gleeson, for ‘The Guard’ which took home Best Script, Director and Film.

Amusing appearances came from Chris O’Dowd, of IT Crowd fame, who pulled a Zoolander during the ‘Rising Star Award’ where the winner, John Michael McDonagh, director of ‘The Guard’, was not present. He later won Best Supporting Actor, and added during his acceptance speech “Turns out, as always, it was premature.” Other highlight included an introductory remark from chairman of the IMF (Neither International Monetary Fund nor Impossible Mission Force, but International Movie Federation) Gunther Grunn, who quipped “I’d like to say what an honour it is to be in Dublin tonight, but I can’t, it’s a kip[…]I’m going to collect some money I’m owed and then head back to Germany.”

The Baftas, on the other hand, proved to be somewhat more enjoyable.

Perhaps it is the greater prestige that is associated with the Baftas that makes them inherently more watchable; they’ve been around much longer than their Irish counterparts and, in all honesty, they’re far less boring to watch. I won’t lie in saying that it does improve your interest in these doodahs if you recognise, or have even heard of, the nominees themselves or the films they’re in.

I am not against awards shows. These ceremonies are on the very short list of televised events I will actually stay up all night to watch, and I am all for the recognition of talent and hard work, but its hard not to lose interest when the influence of external factors influence their decision. I won’t deny

that Bridges played his lead role in ‘Crazy Heart’ rather well, but general consensus is that 2010 was ‘his year’. This dreadful phrase that seems to excuse the bias that voters of these academies exert on their decision. Colin Firth put in a stunning portrayal of a distraught lover in ‘A Single Man’, and was easily just as deserving, but no it was that realisation of the Hollywood elite that they had yet to give Jeff Bridges an Oscar, and felt rather guilty about it. The same can be said for Martin Scorsese and his film, ‘The Departed’, which was far from his best film, but it was after the host of the 2004 Academy Awards, Jon Stewart, remarked ‘Three Six Mafia: 1. Martin Scorsese: 0’ that the ‘hold on a second’ feeling kicked in.

This idea of letting cronyism influence their decision does not simply exist in the realm of patting the backs of friends

and colleagues within Hollywood, and Harvey Weinstein is the living embodiment of that. Notorious as the current head of ‘The Weinstein Company’, an formerly of Miramax with his brother Bob, Harvey is infamous for his overt Oscar campaigns, seeing them as a marketing tool. His shameless ads, publicity screenings and effort to push a film for glory each year has earnt him not only a reputation for backing winners, but because of his remarkable success rate, respect from his peers. However this respect differs from almost any other kind that will be present in the audience on the night of Feb 26th, he has built his respect by bullying people for it.

Most make the best film they can and do an amount of publicity for it, but his campaigns are known to be comparable to a tank rolling through a go-kart track.

He takes it by force.

Feature Internet

ADAKA DANIEL @dakazi_26

Artist, Security Worker Nigeria

HI Daniel, tell us a little bit about yourself Well, I am a Nigerian in my mid thirties, originally from Delta State, WWbut I’ve lived most of my life in Benin, Edo State.

I work in a security company and am also an artist, a painter.

How long have you been painting and what are your inspirations?

I have been into art for as long as I can remember. I used to draw a lot but got into painting fully before I entered university. My inspiration varies a lot.

Some may say family, the landscape, people and stuff.

But mine is dependent on my mood or the situation I may find myself in: for example, if I’m financially low and I need cash, I just paint to get paid.

Other times my inspiration comes from the beauty and figure of women.

I think it’s something that can never be completely understood and holds a whole lot we don’t understand.

And finally, religion and God is another; these are some of my inspirations but it’s not just limited to these.

Do you prefer to paint when it’s not just to get paid?

I definitely do much better when I paint for the love and fun of it. My lecturer at school taught us that, and with my experience I came to the same conclusion Painting for money sort of restricts your creative process.

Out of interest, are you an X Men fan? (Daniel’s picture on Yahoo Messenger is Wolverine) In the comics my favourite

With so many users on internet, we tend to forget that there are real people behind the screennames. To remedy this, Zach Eustace interviewd @dakazi

X Man male is Gambit, female it’s either Rogue or Psylock, but in the movies definitely Wolverine.

Do you prefer the comics or the movies?

I would say the Comics because there is that freedom for the artist and creators to explore and go where the movies won’t be able to go for a while.

But, that don’t take nothing from the brilliance of the movies.

But, the thing is, you don’t get to get comics the way you get them in UK or the US. You may get old ones like a year or six months old but never the new ones, unless you’ve got someone who sends them to you regularly.

I get mine, if I’m lucky, at the supermarket.

But it’s expensive now.

They go for around 500800 Naira ( €2.50-4.00) You can also get old ones in Lagos cheaper but that’s about it.

Are you a football fan?

Yep, Manchester United.

Ouch…I’m a Liverpool fan.

I almost made a joke about racism but thought better of it…

That’s embarrassing….were you watching the African Cup of Nations?

Man City players…

Okocha (the Zidane of Bolton)?

How do you feel about Joey Barton?

Okocha is the best African footballer of all time. After him, Nwanko Kanu, then the rest of Africa.

Wow. Joey Barton. He sure has earned a reputation hasn’t he? I like his fiery nature though I don’t condone the off pitch brawling he used to get into. On the pitch he is one of those guys I notice. On twitter? I love him. He doesn’t give a s#*t about whomever. But as a player…he doesn’t make my top ten.no, my top twenty.

Who would be your top 3 footballers then…?

Hmm, that’s hard….can we make it top 5?

Whatever you want…

Ok: Cristiano Ronaldo.

Dimitar Berbatov. Thierry Henry (he’s still playing technically). Iniesta (he’s a demon), and Wayne Rooney.

Finally, some quickfire questions: favourite meal...?

Fried rice and salad.

One place in the world you’d like to visit…?

Hmm, France or the US, I’ve been to Spain before Best film ever…?

A couple spring to mind: Schindlers List, The Shawshank Redemption, The Ghost and The Darkness.

Finally, if you could meet one person, living or dead, for 30 minutes, who would you choose?

Jesus. If He doesn’t count, then King David.

No Lionel Messi? Heresy!

Cool, thanks for your time, Daniel.

I watched only one or two matches including the final.

Especially since Nigeria didn’t make it, a lot of people didn’t bother watching it because it wasn’t fun since we weren’t there. But I’m glad Zambia won (v Ivory Coast in the final), they deserved it…

And the Touré brothers are

I don’t like him. He may be the best in the world, but I just don’t like him.

Oh and best in the world with a big but.

Let him do what Ronaldo has done, come play in a different league, come to the Premier League, play Stoke or QPR.

Err, what’s all this for again…?

The University Times Magazine…

Ok, hope you don’t really work for the FBI, MI6 or the CIA….

That’s classified information.

On a wet Tuesday evening, no less.

How do you feel about Jay Jay

Lol

15

Culture

Music A

fter their “interesting” performance on Letterman, Cape Town hip-hop group Die Antwoord (“The Answer” in Afrikaans) are back with their sophomore album TEN$ION. If you are familiar with Die Antwoord you will know that they are not renowned for their normality. From their 15 minute film about smoking giant joints and getting spinners attached to their wheelchairs, to their obscure performances in front of Aphex Twin while wearing Pokemmon outfits, Die Antwoord are anything but normal. After straying from their previous label, Interscope, Die Antwoord return on their own label, Zef Recordz.

The result is an interesting yet ultimately disappointing 13 songs.

While tracks like the synth led “Fok Julle Naaiers” (“Fuck You All”) and the bass heavy “U Make A Ninja Wanna Fuck” are hugely original and entertaining, they remain two of the only good songs on the

album. Although, it must be said that “DJ Hi-Tek Rulez” contains a great beat, despite the only lyrics on top of it being “DJ Hi Tek will fuck you in the ass” and “I’ll fuck you till you love me”! Probably the worst feature of the album (and indeed any Die Antwoord record) is the vocals of Yo-landi Vi$$a. While she is a great performer, it sure is hard to listen to her 5-year-oldchild-on-helium voice for a solid 40 minutes. On the track “Fatty Boom Boom” (and no, it is not a cover of Carl Malcolm’s 1975 single of the same name) her screech is particularly grating. “Baby’s on Fire” has a great poppy melody at start but ultimately ends up sounding like a really bad Altern8 cover. Even though Die Antwoord haven’t prevailed this time, there’s still a few gems on the album and when all is said and done I’d much rather have the nut-jobs Die Antwoord over the nut-job that is Lady GaGa.

Eoin Hennessy

Die Antwoord - Ten$ion

esque style which only devalues the song even further. The track “Heavy Light” is the only song on the album that could maybe get one or two more listens as McMicken actually has a good voice on it. If you like your music soulless and empty (and not in a good Metal way), you’re going to love this. If not, I’d stay well away.

Eoin Hennessy

Dr Dog - Be the Void

I

f one could compare Dr. Dog to a food, it would have to be tofu.

They’re both bland, they’re both boring and they both have a very short shelf life. Now on their 6th album, Dr. Dog are still making the same old tasteless music they were releasing back in 2002.

Their new record, entitled Be The Void, is a collection of 12 tracks which if listened to will take away almost 50 minutes of your life. Although Dr. Dog aren’t atrocious, they are still easily one

16

of the most dull, lifeless and unoriginal bands on the scene today. In a recent interview lead guitarist and singer, Scott McMicken, said that for the new album they wanted “the immediacy, looseness, loudness, chaos, fast tempos and dirtier” sound of their live shows captured in the album. If the album is any reflection of what their live performances are like, one would think that there is more “chaos” and “looseness” in watching grass grow. Songs like the “That Old Black Hole” and “Over Here/Over

There” combine lifeless guitar riffs with lyrics that presumably are meant to have some sentiment but end up sounding like a Bob Marley want-to-be (“I don’t rock the boat but it’s always unsteady”). The most frustrating song on the album must be “Warrior Man” on which McMicken croons “I am the ancient warrior man/I hail from the ancient warrior clan/I invented the computer man”. Not only are these bad lyrics but McMicken tries to do them in some sort of David Bowie-

W

Ikal - Hive Mind

ith Releases on 100% Silk and Lovers Rock, Ital (a.k.a. Daniel Martin-McCormack) is no stranger to the world of dance music. For a man who started his career with the alter ego Sex Worker, Ital has really worked his way to become a respected name among the underground culture. With the huge success of his 2011 singe, “Culture Club”, he was swept up by the fantastic label, Plant Mu. Plant Mu is the perfect label for Ital to show off his skills as the label is home to some of the most diverse and out going names in the genre including DJ Rashad, Starkey, Pinch and FaltyDL. On his first full-length album, Ital has gone with the option of making few songs (only 5) but making them very long (most lasting 10 minutes).

The opener for the album “Doesn’t Matter (If You Love Him)” oozes

A

Lambchop - Mr M

THE END OF AN ERA

The closure of Tripod and Crawdaddy mark a turning point in the Dublin club scene, and not for the better

by Shauna Watson

I

lternative Country music has always been a bit of hazy area.

Although it does differ slightly from country music, in reality they’re one and the same. However, one of the key groups in this ultimately meaningless genre, are back with their 11th studio album. It has now been 17 years since Lambchop released their debut album I Hope You’re Sitting Down/Jack’s Tulips and almost nothing has changed. On their newest album, Mr. M, Lambchop are still throwing together that big studio-perfected sound with lots of soft acoustic guitar, violin and piano.

In the run up to the album’s release,

t was announced just over a week ago that the 24,000 sq.ft POD complex on Harcourt Street has closed its doors to the gig-goers, club night attendees and music acts. The close comes after a steady decline in popularity of the three venues, The Pod, Crawdaddy and Tripod, and a struggle to book big names for their music calendar to keep audiences interested. POD follows the string of clubs to close recently including Tramco in Rathmines and the Portobello venue, The Lower Deck.

Tripod was one of Dublin’s bigger music venues with a capacity of 1,300 people and the closure of such a large spot will make it even harder for Dublin to attract the big music names, not yet established enough to play bigger venues such as The Olympia. Darragh Genockey, former Trinity Ents officer and club promoter has announced that Banquet will now be moved to the Button Factory which he feels is an adequate venue for both club events and

originality and texture. A woman’s voice saying the name of the song is repeated and overlapped until it becomes its own instrument. Big kick drums then come in, followed by a very nostalgic eighties’ synth line. The song’s peak is when a clip of Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You” is chopped in, making it sound weird and alien beside the already repetitive vocals. The next two tracks, while being quite enjoyable, lack the power of the first.

“Floridian Void” contains a futuristic pulsing beat that lasts just over ten minutes and leaves listeners feeling as if they missed something. “Privacy Setting” can be deemed as more of an interlude than anything, there’s no discernable beat and its creepy whispering vocals make it more of an experience rather then a song. The track “Israel” follows much the same

format as “Floridian Void” although it has way more direction and even contains quite a dance orientated section about 4 minutes in. The final song on the album, “First Wave”, is a wonderfully crafted piece that deserves to be played loudly on massive speakers. In some parts it’s even reminiscent of Stardust’s “Music Sounds Better With You” (although far more enjoyable) and has one of the funkiest beats heard this year.

However, one can’t help but feel that this album would be better off as an EP as tracks like “Floridian Void” and “Privacy Settings” would be more acceptable then. Despite this, Ital has made an album that is far better than any dance record that is on the shelves today and Hive Mind definitely contains two (if not three) songs that are easy contenders for best songs of the year thus far.

Eoin Hennessy

lead singer and general spear-head of the band, Kurt Wagner said that the album would have a “psycha-Sinatra” sound bound together with a recording process which was “not […] based on band performance”. The music described in Wagner’s statement is echoed throughout the album’s 13 songs (although maybe not the Sinatra part). The album seems very over-produced, which presumably is what Wagner meant when he said that the songs didn’t rely on performance. While tracks like “If Not I’ll Die” and “Gone Tomorrow” are beautifully arranged, there is little or no difference between them. They

live music but is hopeful for the future of these music venues. “It is a very difficult time for live music and club venues, but hopefully with some fresh ideas and hard work people can continue to make a living and we won’t see any more venues closing.

Presumably, The Grand Social, The Button Factory and The Academy will now take the over flow of gigs from the POD venues but the closure will still leave a gap for a music venue on one of the busiest spots in Dublin, Harcourt Street.

The original décor and location of the old Harcourt Street railway station distinguished POD from other music venues as a unique site after its unveiling in 1993.

The venue gradually expanded to include Crawdaddy, which had a capacity of 300 and subsequently the opening of Tripod.

Many music fans are not surprised by the announcement of its, given that it has been years since the venue regularly hosted big name bands like Orbital and

all contain a violin solo, subtle piano accompaniment and odd, yet meaningful lyrics (“And the sky opens up like candy and the wind don’t know my name”). That’s not to say that there aren’t some great moments on the album. “Kind Of” has some of the most emotional lyrics heard in recent days and “Buttons” contains a piano line that will make the heart melt. For diehard Lambchop fans this album will come as a nice treat, however for most first-timers this 54-minute venture may seem mostly dull but with a few moments of perfection.

LCD Soundsystem.

However if rumours are to be believed, the closure of POD will not lead to the disappearance of the complex as a club venue as it is to be let out to the business people behind Flannery’s pub on Camden Street. The group is allegedly planning to convert the site into a single large-scale nightclub to compete with Copper Face Jacks (Ed: May god have mercy).

Aside from the closure of the POD complex, the brand will still remain as owner of the site, John Reynolds, has expanded into many projects including festivals such as Electric Picnic of which is now coowned by Reynolds. He will also continue to promote nights in other clubs and he is one of the co-owners of The Button Factory.

With many gigs planned for the complex in the coming weeks and tickets still being sold online, it is unclear whether the shows will be cancelled or relocated.

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fashion

CSC

FASHION’S FANTASY GIRLS FOR S/S 2012 Rachel Slater goes through her predictions for Spring fashion trends

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F

ashion’s most creative minds are stimulated by fantasies of bygone eras and definitive decades, cultural movements and distinctive people. A cohesive theme is the guiding finger for a new collection, and this season, certain ‘fantasy girls’ encapsulate these visions. Whilst fashions of the past have certainly been dwelt upon, it appears a modern, contemporary twist has been spun on the S/S collections. Here is a guide to the stand-out trends, and a rundown of the newest fashion obsessions that will be filtering down onto the high street this season;

RETRO 50’S AMERICANA; Look no further than Miuccia Prada’s latest offering to understand the appeal of this trend.

‘DazedDigital’ got it right when they asserted that Prada designs typically toe the line between “good and bad taste”. And here is a fine example. The 50s ideal of prim femininity and womanly silhouettes have been adhered to, and Miuccia summed up the collection in one word; “sweetness”.

But immediately, her intended

contradictions are evident. The inspiration is clearly not derived from conservative ladylike attire.

The shoes and accessories are inspired by mid-century automobiles, and those open-top race cars you only now see in the movies.

There are heels with 3D cartoon flames, and Cadillac adorned clutches. Prada has delivered glossy appliquéd high waisted leather skirts, and crop tops in pastel shades (apparently the midriff is back!). With our student purse strings crying out to join in, embody this fantasy girl with a pair of cat’s eye sunglasses that are sure to be in all high-street stores in the coming months.

20’S JAZZ AGE OPULENCE This reckless flapper-style is cast amidst a mass of cultural references, as a knowing hedonist in a silky pyjama suit and dressing gown jacket. It embodies an after-hours allure. There is always a certain mystique surrounding fashions of the past, and the fashion world’s love affair with the festive days of the Roaring 20s has reached a pinnacle. “It’s a return to elegance”, said Etro, the creative

director of the fashion brand’s S/S collection. “I was watching the old films of Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire, and I was completely inspired.” However, Frida Giannini at Gucci is proving to be the master of the glittering era, producing fringed and beaded, black and gold drop-waisted dresses that scream ‘artisan luxury’. Baz Luhrmann’s rendition of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s ‘The Great Gatsby’ is due for release in December and is already attracting serious attention. Carey Mulligan as the iconic Daisy Buchanan is draped in beaded chiffon gowns loaned by Ashley Olsen, Tiffany & Co. diamonds, and feathered headpieces.

Without doubt the most difficult trend to convincingly embody, and one which would perhaps look slightly out of place on the streets on Dublin, this trend will be imitated in a less decadent sense on the high street. Embellishment, beading, and tassels will feature strongly, and feathered accessories allude to 20s glamour. For those daring enough, the most talked about evening wear alternative of the season is the pyjama suit of slouchy silk pants and matching fluid shirts.

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his week offers us many highlights alongside the long-awaited, ever-popular Trinity Ball tickets, which go on sale Wednesday. Law Day is taking place next Wednesday the 22nd of February. This year money will be raised for Aware, a national organisation offering a wide range of services to those who are affected by depression. Given the serious problem with depression especially among young people in Ireland at the moment, this great organisation more than deserves our financial support and generosity. This year Law Soc are going all out and have planned a kissing booth, a scavenger hunt, a cake sale, a sports day, a tug of war, a 5 a-side football tournament, the annual students vs lecturers match, a flashmob, Zorbes, Bungee run, Sumo Wrestler suits, beer pong, blind date, waxing and a night out in The Village to top it all off. Some of the All-Ireland Winning Dublin team will visit Trinity on the day with the Sam Maguire. Fantastic prizes can be won, including jewellery, Captain America’s vouchers, Comedy Club tickets, a signed Leinster rugby ball, a Dublin jersey signed by the All-Ireland champions and 2 tickets to the Six Nations game between Ireland and Italy in the Aviva.

The Inaugural meeting of the Hist will take place on Wednesday 22nd February at 6.30pm on the topic of Feminism. A Paper on A Global Approach to Feminism, delivered by the Auditor Ursula Ní Choill, will be followed by contributions by four guest speakers, and this promises to be one of the highlight of the Hist’s year.

Back for its fourth year, The Trinity Fringe remains one of the highlights of the college calender.

In its second year it won Best

College Event in Ireland at the BICS awards, and this year it will continue to provide what it always has; The very best in amateur and professional comedy, music and entertainment. Acts confirmed at time of going to print included No Pants Thursday, WitTank, Improv, She Wrote, Tom Stade and a Phil comedy debate.

The 10th Annual Trinity Green Week will run from Monday 20th to Friday 24th February. The theme this year Green Campus: Think Global - Act Local is aimed at highlighting the importance of how individual actions impact on our environment to the College Community. This year’s Green Week programme features a variety of talks, displays, walks, and a number of competitions. The schedule includes The 10th Simon Perry Memorial Forum focussing on the theme Think Global – Act Local, a debate on nuclear energy hosted by the College Environmental Society and a talk arranged by the Trinity Centre for Biodiversity Research titled Urban Biodiversity: What does Dublin’s wildlife do for us? by well-known environmental commentator, Éanna Ní Lamhna.

There will also be an ‘Alternative Transport Day’ encouraging staff and students to use more environmentally friendly transport and a number of individual prizes on offer for students and staff as well as special prizes for Student Societies for participating in competitions.

Jazz Soc will also perform in a special event on the evening of Tuesday 21st. . Keep mid-March free, for Fish soc are teaming up with the Phil for a special PHISHTERY Tour- with details to follow on their Facebook page.

Katie Abrahams

WHO THE HELL IS JIM NASEUM?

I

by David Geoghegan

am by no means an archetype of society’s conception of a male: I find disobedient jars difficult to open, I have no preoccupation with anal sex and I think that the ‘2 Fast, 2 Furious’ series could, arguably, be regarded as a frivolous endeavour (further, ‘Adequately Fast, Adequately Furious’ would be a superior title). Accordingly, I figured that these unconventionalities needed to be remedied, and what better place to start than by making myself physically stronger. There seemed to be a place fantastically apt for this purpose: the gymnasium.

As such, the date was circled in my entirely fictitious calendar, and I began to mentally prepare for the numerous faux pas I would commit.

Upon entering the foyer, I felt lost. ‘What is the next step?’ I thought to myself.

Intuitively, I knew that gym protocol requires me to change into appropriate clothing, so I pondered: surely there is a designated room for this activity. A ‘changing room’, as I understand it. I figured that I needed to locate this room in order to continue the expedition. Armed with this information, valuable to any gym frequenter, I sauntered up to the desk and blurted: ‘where do I change my clothes?’

The attendant looked at me quizzically and pointed in the general direction of the lift, disregarding the numerous alternative interpretations of my profoundly strange and ultimately bizarre question.

After successfully navigating the lift (it’s very self-explanatory), I appropriately entered the men’s changing room and positioned myself beside an ursine fellow and his similarly bearlike companion. I began to change my clothes in a manner I can only describe as hesitant.

The two of them didn’t seem to be incredibly well acquainted, but their idle chatter made for pleasant eavesdropping. In fact, often the finest eavesdropping, I find, is that of the banal discourse between acquaintances limping through a conversation. I listened passively to their conversation, initially concerned with inebriation. The slightly larger individual noted that ‘if you’re not licked enough, clubs can be shit’ in what I could only describe as a reflective tone. His companion gave a perfunctory grumble in agreement, but added a condition to the statement. With an injection of prudence he commented: ‘Yes, but if you get too licked, then the club can also be shit.’ He then took the conversation in a new direction by adding, with a hint of gravitas, ‘and you might end up scoring a sick bird’. As the two agreed with their respective points in silence, I had just finished my metamorphosis into gym attire, and so I was ready to exercise. I strolled to the lift and returned to the proper floor.

The many modes of exercise present in the gym almost

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provide too many options. I had no idea which to choose, so I went for what I perceived to be the least technically demanding: the treadmill. It seemed to be intuitive enough, but I was not prepared for the mental trauma that would ensue. It is an absurd device for the very fact that you remain in the same position while running. As the other runners jogged effortlessly, seemingly oblivious to this fact, I was having a crisis.

With every step, my brain told me what I was doing was absurd: ‘you’re running and remaining in the same position’ it said with every stride. As exhaustion set in, this fact became more and more evident, and I had to stop. It’s a truly embarrassing thing to begin running on a treadmill flanked by people on either side, and then to stop running before they even finish. It’s akin to coming on as a sub and then being subsequently subbed off in a football match.

I looked at the rowing machine, but I figured that it would provide the same consternation that the treadmill did, so I disregarded it. The obvious next step appeared to be lifting weights. Weighing in at a commanding 10½ stone and endowed with a slight frame, I was simply not put on this earth to lift heavy things. I approached the rack of weights in a Goldilocksesque fashion: the initial weight was obscenely heavy, the next was embarrassingly light and felt like heavy air in my hands, but the third was just right. To further the analogy I actually have golden locks and bears just happened to surround me, but this is the end of the analogy, as I clambered into no beds. I began to curl my arms with a weight in each arm flexing my bicep (it just about qualifies as a bicep) and looking around with an intense self-consciousness. Once again, though, my brain told me to stop after a stupidly short amount of time. ‘Stop it, stop lifting this thing up and down’ it implored. ‘Why are you lifting this? Why don’t you stop lifting it now?’. I resigned myself to fate, and jettisoned the weights on the ground, leaving abruptly just as Goldilocks did when confronted by three irate anthropomorphic bears.

Red in the face (in both senses), I returned to the realm of homoeroticism that is the men’s changing rooms for a shower. I formed a sarong out of my towel in the most emasculating way possible, and shuffled over towards the showers. I left the towel on a hook and entered the shower naked, as convention demands. I encountered no technical difficulties in using the shower, as I am well versed in its operation. Never one to be comfortable being naked in front of others, I exited the shower and sprinted to my towel, which I quickly used to cover myself. Upon leaving the gym I noted a palpable sense of defeat, but at least I was safe in the knowledge that heavy things are heavy, and that running and remaining stationary is as absurd as it is tiring.

THURSDAY NIGHT— BUTTON FACTORY, TEMPLE BAR 11PM—3AM €8 entry €5 with Concession WITH MUSIC FROM: KANYE WEST MISSY ELLIOT LUDACRIS WU TANG CLAN LIL KIM NOTORIOUS B.I.G. OUTKAST WILL SMITH TUPAC A TRIBE CALLED QUEST XZIBIT SEAN PAUL JAY Z NICKI MINAJ DRAKE AZEALIA BANKS USHER

NAUGHTY BY NATURE RICK ROSS DR DRE R KELLY BEASTIE BOYS N.W.A. N.E.R.D EMINEM DESTINY’S CHILD RUN DMC JA RULE BUSTA RHYMES SNOOP DOGG Q TIP NAS WIZ KHALIFA KID CUDI TINNIE TEMPAH

DRINKS:

BOTTLE 33CL BEER €3 ALCO POPS €2.50 VODKA AND ENERGY €3.50 / DOUBLE €6.50 SELECTED SHOTS €2.50 GLASS OF WINE €3 PINTS €3.50 3 JAGERBOMBS €10

BUTTON FACTORY HIP-HOP THURSDAYS EMAIL NOTORIOUSDUBLIN@GMAIL.COM TO BOOK A TABLE FOR YOUR GROUP