Fashion brand BOYARI pays attention to the quality of their clothing and the idea they want to convey to their audience. Each new collection complements the next, which allows the brand to produce pieces on the concept of upcycling. In addition, the brand is moving away from excess production, as now each item is made to order.
The new collection, which was presented at Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week Russia, carried a dark black and white colour pallet. The show began with the slogan “Clothes that help save the planet”. We saw jumpsuits, dresses, leather jackets, vests, shorts and down jackets throughout the collection. Nearly all of the clothing was made of eco-leather and was paired with trendy accessories like rectangular puffy and string bags.
Saint Petersburg fashion designer Lyubov Babitskaya has been designing women’s clothing in the fantasy Romantic style since 2017. Just recently, Babitskaya presented her collection named genius loci at the Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week Russia. The collection conveyed the atmosphere of a mystical forest where divine nymphs in translucent nude dresses with ruffles or long weightless combinations appeared on the catwalk. Transparent materials were combined and alternated with contrasting green fabrics with sequins, silk vests trimmed with faux fur and tight corsets with jewellery harnesses.
As the years went by, the prospect of a follow-up to Superwolf seemed increasingly unlikely – but then again, the album wasn’t poised to become a beloved indie classic, either. A collaboration between Will Oldham, the enigmatic singer-songwriter who since 1998 has been using the moniker Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy, and Matt Sweeney, the in-demand session guitarist who has worked with everyone from Neil Diamond to Adele, the 2005 LP received little press coverage but earned its cult status thanks to a handful of ardent admirers who were drawn by the pair’s mystical bond. Their chemistry was so profound it repeatedly brought out new layers to each of the album’s complex yet oddly comforting songs; even if Superwolf proved to be a one-time thing, it was enough to assure fans their partnership would endure.
Sweeney and Oldham continued to make a lot of music – mostly separately, but occasionally together – and 16 years later, they’ve returned with Superwolves, billed not just as a follow-up but a direct sequel to its predecessor. It’s perhaps no surprise that they’ve managed to recapture that same energy – their nearly 25-year-old friendship has only sharpened their ability to play off each other’s strengths, becoming the sole constant character throughout the album’s loose and ambiguous narratives. If there’s a strange air of unfamiliarity to the project, it’s more to do with the way it can be consumed and perceived: forces outside their control, like the increased visibility from media outlets, or more disconcertingly, the streaming data attached to each of its 14 superb tracks, reducing each listener to a number.
But as a continuation of Superwolf, the new record is also marked by a newfound sense of vitality and purpose. These are crisp, buoyant songs that eschew the introverted, solitary qualities often associated with the singer-songwriter tag without stripping away the unique intimacy that can arise from it. Standout ‘Hall of Death’ is propelled by a driving instrumental courtesy of Tuareg guitar hero Mdou Moctar, while on ‘Shorty’s Ark’, Sweeney guides Oldham’s voice as he gleefully breezes through a list of animals: “Giant squids and honey bears, moles in the ground/ Killer whales, pocket wolves, rhinoceros and hound.” When he arrives at the final “Your best friend and me,” they might as well be in conversation with each other.
“What Will is great at is communicating how close horror is to love,” Sweeney said in a recent interview. In the process of making Superwolves, Oldham’s penchant for juxtaposing seemingly opposing forces has only been amplified. Nowhere is this more evident than on the opening track, ‘Make Worry For Me’, a song whose ominous intensity is both heightened and complicated by their intertwined performances: the guitar melody edges Oldham’s voice just enough to reveal its true, unsettling colours, culminating in a rugged, fiery solo from Sweeney.
‘Good to My Girls’ and ‘God is Waiting’ seem to continue this pattern, but as the album progresses, one can sense the pair settling on gentler, simpler songs that rely on emotional impact rather than ambivalence. As with Superwolf, there’s still a lot to unpack, but the ease with which the two artists exchange ideas is accompanied by songwriting that, at its core, is stronger and more direct than before. ‘Resist the Urge’ is a warm, soothing folk tune steeped in empathy, while the melody on ‘My Body Is My Own’ is enchanting, the lyrics striking in their poignancy. There’s a loneliness here that reverberates throughout the album, but seems to specifically call back to earlier highlight ‘There Must Be Someone’: “Got no friends, got no home/ There must be a someone I can turn to,” Oldham sings. Sweeney steps in for a brief solo halfway through, but his playing remains less an answer than a constant, reassuring presence.
Yulia Dalakian began her theatrical fashion show with a performance of acrobats on balloons. The show consisted of two parts: everyday clothes and going out dresses. Berets for all models became vital elements that were succinctly complemented by everyday looks. The brand’s philosophy of “maximum femininity” was present throughout the collection through fitted silhouettes, flowing skirts, silk combinations, chiffon, fringe and lace. Designer Yulia Dalakian offered gentle romantic and frank daring looks.
Here is the collection which was presented at Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week Russia.
The 65th Eurovision song contest will certainly be different from previous events. Postponed last year due to the coronavirus pandemic, the highly anticipated singing competition is still set to go ahead in Rotterdam this May!
The current Eurovision 2021 odds hold Malta as favourites to win, so fans and artists alike were eager to see if the crème de la crème of the music industry were still able to attend and compete.
Europe then rejoiced as the organisers announced that they had four possible scenarios that they could roll out, to ensure that the contest will go ahead. But as the dates of 18th, 20th and 22nd May are fast approaching, how exactly will the famous annual Eurovision contest take place?
Scenario B
As previously mentioned, the planning of the Eurovision contest took the form of four scenarios – A, B, C and D. Plan A has been completely ruled out, so now organisers are focusing all their efforts on the aptly named plan B.
This means that the competition will be socially distanced for everyone who attends the Ahoy Arena in Rotterdam. But with nine shows in the pipeline, this could mean performances could go ahead with no audiences, or at least a reduced audience, to allow for the space required for social distancing. The final capacity will be decided depending on the local guidelines and restrictions at the time
The buzz that Eurovision brings to the host city will remain though, as there is still expected to be exciting activities in Rotterdam leading up to and on the day of the main event. These, of course, will be held in a safe and responsible way.
The performers
Eurovision is all about the singers, right? So, without them, there would be no show! So, it’s the aim of the brains behind the operation to have all 42 representatives performing live on stage in Rotterdam.
As part of plan B, if there are contestants that cannot travel to Rotterdam, they have the option to perform through a streamed feed or a pre-recorded performance, that they are calling ‘live-on-tape’. Those who do travel to the host city will perform their songs live on stage, but there will be some extra precautions in place.
Every competitor has been advised to quarantine for five days before flying to The Netherlands, as well as testing negatively for the virus before travelling. When they arrive, the performers must stay in their hotel, and can only travel to and from the arena when necessary. Other activities related to the programme are included in the accepted essential journeys that the contestant can attend. There will also be regular testing for all involved, including the cast, crew and the press.
There are six dress rehearsals, two semi-finals and a grand finale scheduled as part of the Eurovision competition this year. The majority of artists who were supposed to represent their country in the cancelled shows of last year, are returning for the postponed event, but some are coming with a packed arsenal of new material.
The competition is set to be as fierce as ever, but Malta’s Destiny Chukunyere, performing the song Je Me Casse, is already proven to be a huge hit and currently rates at the top of those expected to win the competition. She is one of the artists returning to the stage who was due to compete in the postponed 2020 contest. However, Chukunyere’s entry has changed from All My Love to the new song of Je Me Casse.
Eurovision fans are waiting with baited breath to see how each country’s representative fairs in the new style of show. But one thing’s for certain – its sure to be an entertaining night, as ever!
Sustainability is essential if we want the future generations to inherit a fairly healthy planet. The reports we constantly hear and read about are not very optimistic and we have clearly wasted a lot of time. It is time to act, and act fast. In the past few years the footwear company Adidas has been in the frontline to raise awareness on the importance of sustainable growth. Specifically, Adidas has become a partner of the environmental organization Parley for the Oceans, and has started taking valuable steps towards building a better future for the oceans.
The partnership between Adidas and Parley was announced on Earth Day in 2015. That same year they unveiled the Ultra Boost prototype shoe made from reclaimed marine plastic waste. Yarns and filaments recycled from ocean waste and from poachers’ fishing gear and nets were used to produce this amazing concept shoe. It took just six days to make the shoe, which can act as a symbol of oceans protection and conservation. If you are interested in the Ultra Boost Adidas shoe, Foot Locker is usually the online store to keep in mind for footwear. You could buy a pair at a very reasonable price with this fantastic Footlocker discount code.
Adidas and Parley for the Oceans have worked hand in hand to inspire action and raise awareness about marine plastic pollution. In 2017, they jointly launched Run For The Oceans, an initiative that aims to create true change and unite people all over the world. The collaboration between Adidas and Parley for the Oceans has recently reached a new step, as they have just announced a new collection of weather-resistant outerwear. It has been available worldwide since 15th April.
Each item is made with recycled marine waste collected from remote islands, beaches and coastal communities. The collection is crafted with specific outdoor performance functions. The main piece is FreeHiker Parley: it’s a sneaker conceived for long distance hiking on trails with gradual elevation. 75% of the textile is Primeblue yarn (a high-performance recycled material containing 50% of Parley Ocean Plastic) and no virgin polyester is featured. MyShelter Parley is instead a lightweight, breathable and fully waterproof rain jacket that can be used for everyday life. It is made with Primeblue as well. T-shirts, shorts, hoodies and wind jackets are part of the collection too.
Adidas plan in conjunction with Parley for the Oceans is part of what they call the “Three Loop Strategy”. The first step is to make products with recycled materials, such as Primeblue and Primegreen performance fabrics. The second step is to produce articles that can be remade into new ones once they have been worn out. The final step is to put on the market products that are made with renewable resources and natural processes. The ultimate eco-friendly goals are to use only recycled polyester by 2024, to reduce their carbon footprint by 30% by 2030 and to be fully climate neutral by 2050.
Here is a statement by Brian Grevy, Executive Board member, Global Brands at Adidas: “For decades our industry has been part of the problem and contributed to the plastic pollution in the world. Since we have realised our role in this, we have started to implement sustainable solutions with the ultimate goal to end plastic waste”. And again: “Time is against us. We push harder, with more focus, and also work together with like-minded partners to overcome technological and economic challenges to accelerate meaningful progress”.
The proactive stance that Adidas has taken in partnership with Parley for the Oceans is indeed admirable. Eco-innovation is paramount and their actions are necessary to promote sustainable production processes at a time when the ecosystem of our planet is being disrupted. Every year 350 million tons of virgin plastic are produced, which then break down in micro-plastics that scatter across the globe if they are not intercepted. The most remote places on earth – such as the depths of the ocean and the mountains highest peaks – are being polluted at an unacceptable rate.
Plastic pollution is a threat to marine species, which end up ingesting or being entangled by plastic debris. It contributes to climate change, it is a threat to food safety and quality and therefore to human health. Recycling plastic materials is one of the most effective actions that can be taken to reduce the environmental impact caused by plastic pollution. Adidas and Parley for the Oceans are working towards this goal. Research and innovation must be supported. To learn more about the negative effects of marine plastics, an issue brief has been released by the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN).
For a cinephile in the saturated world of podcasting, there is still one programme which towers above the rest: Karina Longworth’s You Must Remember This.
Since 2014, Longworth’s podcast has delved deep into Hollywood’s past, exploring the sordid secrets, tragic tales, and baffling beginnings of filmdom’s classic icons. Each season focuses on a new story or theme, from Dead Blondesdetailing the difficult past of some of film’s biggest bombshells, to Bela and Boris, an affectionate look at the dovetailing lives of Lugosi and Karloff.
A new season is upon us, and Our Culture reached out to Karina to let us in on what’s ahead.
Your podcast, You Must Remember This, has looked at some of the most interesting and obscure details in the lives of film stars. Of the many series you’ve produced, which has been your favourite?
Polly Platt. It was the hardest to make, but the most rewarding, because I was truly unearthing a forgotten piece of Hollywood history.
How do you decide which stories or people to focus on?
I read a lot of books and I try to predict the future. I have to try to predict what story will I still be excited to talk about after I’ve been researching it for nine months.
Bela and Boris is my personal favourite series you’ve done. Lugosi’s life is so often boiled down to two points: the high of Dracula and the perceived low of Ed Wood. Hearing the unabridged, nuanced history was enlightening. How does it feel to shed light on lives and stories so often diminished to single (and often scandalised) sentences?
That’s the whole reason to do the podcast. Most Hollywood stories are truly mostly forgotten.
Tell us about the latest You Must Remember This series.
It’s called Gossip Girls. It’s about the two most famous Hollywood gossip columnists of the 20th century: Louella Parsons and Hedda Hopper. It also deals with a few of their competitors, including Sheila Graham and Mike Connolly — the closeted gay man who pioneered the Hollywood Reporter’s Rambling Reporter column and used it to implicitly speak to a queer audience — and ultimately traces the gossip industry all the way from the 19-teens to the present day, through the eras of Rona Barrett and Entertainment Tonight, to TMZ and Deux Moi.
Hedda Hopper and Louella Parsons.
Without spoiling too much, if there’s one thing you’d like people to take away from your latest series, what would it be?
Initially, I wanted to research Parsons and Hopper because even with all my expertise, I still had a tendency to mix the two of them up. I think there’s a prevalent, general idea that they were both these grandmotherly tyrants who terrorized Hollywood sometime between the 1930s and ’50s, but their individual identities and roles are rarely discussed. What I discovered was that they had very distinct identities from one another. But also, though they were both people who achieved enormous success in a field in which there hadn’t been a lot of women before them — and both did it as single mothers at a time when that was not considered to be a super cool thing to be — both Louella and Hedda also put themselves at the service of powerful men, and this defines each of their careers as much as anything. And both participated in a kind of bait and switch, through which they promised to tell their readers the absolute truth and show them what was really going on “behind the scenes” — but in fact they were obscuring the truth and manipulating their coverage more than they were revealing anything true or real. In this, they were playing into a larger shell game involving Hollywood, the larger cultural and political forces which sought to regulate Hollywood, and the newspapers they worked for — which, as the season reveals, were just as biased, self-interested and personality-driven in their hard news coverage as Louella and Hedda were in their trifling columns about celebrities.
Finally, I’ve been enjoying several films from Columbia’s Noir catalogue recently (thanks, Indicator!) – I just adore The Garment Jungle. What’ve you been watching recently?
I’m so busy right now that in my precious free time, I’m not really interested in watching anything but baseball.
Thank you so much for joining us, Karina!
The latest season of You Must Remember This is available on all major podcasting platforms.
Much of the work of Brooklyn-based, Pakistan-born composer Arooj Aftab relies on reinterpretation, though that is perhaps too technical a term to evoke its emotional impact. A graduate of Berklee College of Music who blends jazz and experimental music with the cultural traditions of her native homeland, Aftab says her new album, Vulture Prince, is about “revisiting places I’ve called mine,” which feels like a more fitting description of her music. Opening with a new rendition of ‘Baghon Main’, a folk song she first tackled on her 2014 debut Bird Under Water, the record employs classic Urdu lyrics dealing in themes of loss and yearning and embellishes them with stripped-back instrumentation that includes harp, acoustic guitar, double bass, and synths. A continuation of her debut and the follow-up to 2018’s ambient project Siren Islands, Vulture Prince is an album of devastating beauty – one whose nature shifted significantly following the passing of the singer’s younger brother Maher in the middle of the writing process. The arrangements are intimate and elegiac, while Aftab’s crystalline, elastic voice carries a depth of feeling that transcends any potential language barriers, transporting the listener into a realm where sorrow can briefly take the form of acceptance. The result is both a stunning artistic achievement and a melancholy lament whose spiritual resonance is amplified in the current moment.
We caught up with Arooj Aftab for this edition of our Artist Spotlight interview series to talk about growing up in Pakistan, her musical journey, Vulture Prince, and more.
What sort of memories come to mind when you think of growing up in Pakistan?
I had nice memories. I guess it’s just being there, having this sort of very distinct crazy magnetism towards music, and just really listening to a lot of music and connecting with music on a level that was more than just a regular listener. I think I felt very connected to it from a very early age – the desire to kind of integrate it into my life was becoming stronger and stronger, and I think I do remember being in school and listening to music and using it as an almost like a friend.
It’s interesting that you say you had a different kind of connection to it. Could you elaborate on what you mean when you say it was like a friend?
I think from a very early age I was experiencing it – and I’m sure a lot of people do – more as a friend or a partner, rather than a commodity, or, you know, not like a consumer. It was more like a lifestyle; it already had started feeling like that for me.
Do you mind sharing some early musical memories that have stuck with you?
I think a lot about, you know, just a young kid listening to music a lot in my room, and listening to different types of music, not just what was popular. And the desire to recreate that music and change its elements. But some of the earlier memories were just – my family and their friends really loved music and they would host musical evenings. They were hanging out with each other, talking about music, talking about different recordings, different versions of live performances that they had seen or heard or wanted to procure – just a lot of music enthusiasm, a lot of music discourse going on. You know, having a music teacher come through and my dad kind of dabbling in it a little bit, learning more of it. And also singing, my mother singing, their friends playing guitar. They were a jolly chill bunch, you know, who loved to celebrate music, and those gatherings that they would have have sat with me quite a bit.
Do you remember forming very strong musical opinions at the time, especially with the discourse that was going on in the house?
I was definitely fascinated by how they would compare the same artists performing the same song live in different shows. I was too young to imagine that, you know, and I hadn’t really gone to any live shows. I didn’t really have a favorite artist, per se, I didn’t really know how to perceive music in that way. But they were talking about it in this other way where they were not only talking about the musician and how the musician performs, but also the variation of each performance from the same musician and the same song, and that was like, “Wow. Mind is blown.” I loved that.
And that obviously forms a large part of the music that you make now, which is based on different interpretations of the same text, so it’s interesting how that kind of started. You said you were starting to feel that you wanted to recreate some of the things that you were listening to, and again, the use of the word “recreate” interests me. What were those first attempts like?
I mean, I started off by writing music that wasn’t a recreation of anything. It was original songs, singer-songwriter kind of pop. And then when I went to study music, I was immersed in this jazz theory situation, and I think jazz theory made my singer-songwriter content a little bit more intelligent [laughs]. But it still felt very stiff, and I didn’t really like the pop-ness of it, and I was trying – I was just really, really searching for a sound that felt unique, that didn’t feel so borrowed. But you know, when you’re younger, you’re just gonna have to try out all the things or some of the things before you get to what can be inherently called yours. So there was definitely a lot of music that I made that I also recorded but like, thank God I never released. Some of that very early stuff is on the internet, unfortunately, but it’s fine, it’s really loved by people, and you can’t censor your own artistic trajectory.
But I think eventually landed into a place of, like, a producer’s mindset, where I had a very sophisticated concept of how I wanted sounds to blend together, how I wanted instruments to blend together, and how I wanted the overall energy of the music to be. And I think, amidst singing and composing as well, imagining this type of vibe that there weren’t many examples of – in fact, I think there were none – to come up with something very fresh. Amidst all of that, I was like, “I’m not going to write – for now, I’m not going to write my own lyrics because that is another entire realm.” There’s such a wealth of beautiful, thoughtful minimal lyricism in the subcontinent, that I was like, “Well, this is all here, so I’m just going to give myself some space and focus much more on the many other intricate moving parts.” And that’s where we are now, where it’s like, a very new sound with very old words.
How would you say your relationship to your voice and singing has evolved over time?
It hasn’t evolved much, I’d say. I don’t really know. I feel like, over time, especially for this album, I wasn’t trying to do anything fancy with my voice. I wasn’t trying to showcase my vocal agility, you know, I wanted to really get the emotion across. On the one hand, it’s like the words don’t really matter because when you hear it, you just feel the emotion anyway. But of course they matter to me because that’s what I’m using to guide my phrasing.
The style is also more minimal compared to your previous releases.
I had a lot of ideas – it’s also because of everything and how things panned out. I had a lot of plans for layers of harmonies or just some brilliant vocal parts that I think needed to be there, but when the energy of the album sort of switched gears, I was like, “I don’t even know if I – I feel so heavy that I don’t even know if I can sing like that.” So, I kind of had to chill it out, but that doesn’t mean that my voice has evolved into this more minimal style. It’s just that I chose to do it.
Did you always feel a strong urge to use your voice as a means of emotional expression?
My whole immediate family, like every single one of them, have incredible – it’s almost like we are somehow a family of singers. Everyone can sing and everyone can sing super well, but they don’t really do it. I’m the only one who actually made it a career. But singing has just been something that we’ve grown up with, you know. You don’t really think twice about it.
How connected do you feel to your hometown now that you’re based in New York?
It’s a little bit of both, where I feel very connected and I feel like there’s a romance that I have with that city that is undeniable and that can never go away. And then I also feel like I have been away for so long – I almost had to leave because it wasn’t offering me what I needed in order to grow and to flourish, so there’s also this weird kind of awkwardness in our relationship. When I go back, because I’ve been away for so long – the world keeps turning so things have changed, the city isn’t how I remember and the faces are different. So it’s just like, I feel like I’m visiting when I go now. But I try to be connected to what I inherited there, what my heritage is, by listening and reading.
How conscious of an effort is it for you to combine the different traditions that you’ve been exposed to throughout your life?
I think it’s actually the opposite. I think it’s very effortless because my music is more of just a statement of who I am. Heritage is basically what you inherit, and it doesn’t have to be only one place where you were born; sometimes it has nothing to do with where you were born. I think the roots and inheritance are more about the timing and the places and the moments you experience over the years, and the genuinity of these experiences. So, I think the music that I’m doing right now is basically just an open book of who I am.
When you say it’s an open book of who you are, do you mean more in terms of your musical influences or are you also talking about personal identity?
I mean more predominantly musical influences, but also, yeah, I’m just such an emo little motherfucker [laughs]. I love the sort of play between, you know, sadness is beautiful, but also hopefulness is more beautiful, and the correlation between departure and lament, and also just the complete pure joy of nostalgia. These are all extremely – you’re playing with fire a little bit, you know, like you really enjoy the dark but you’re also kind of funny.
I love that, I would never have thought the word “emo” would come up but I guess it’s fitting [laughs]. Before we get to Vulture Prince, I was wondering if you could talk a bit about your musical progression up to this point. Because with the new album you’re sort of returning to the sounds of your debut, Bird Under Water, after going in a more ambient direction with your second album.
I learned a lot from doing Bird Under Water. Siren Islands, the second one, was basically – I was writing Vulture Prince and working on it with my collaborators, and we had started doing that in 2016-17. We were gearing up for Vulture Prince to come out as the second album, but my brother passed away in 2018 – I mean, first what was happening was just that I realized that that Vulture Prince will need more time. But I was like, “I don’t want to spend four years with nothing, with no music,” and at the time I was also getting into analog synthesizers and delving into ambient, dreamscape music. I was like, “You know what, I don’t care, I’m just gonna do a four-song electronic, lo-fi ambient album. I’m just gonna do this for me.” So I just made those tracks, and then New Amsterdam, they were like, “We really like this and we want to put it out.” And I was like, “Really? This is not – I wasn’t intending for this, but yeah, okay, great. Let’s do it. Because I need more time for Vulture Prince, and in the interim, it will be really nice if there’s more material for people to listen to.” So Siren Islands was almost like a detour, but now I kind of like it. Now I’m thinking between each real album I will put out a strange, lo-fi synth album. Just something really experimental, something that really breaks all the rules and something that I do without anybody collaborating with me.
And then, Vulture Prince is Vulture Prince now. Some of these songs are brand new, and some of them are very old. Like, ‘Last Night’ was actually – that recording is from the sessions that we did for Bird Under Water, so I had to go and find that session from somewhere and include it now. I think we did that in 2011 or something.
How did your vision of the album change? Especially since you were working with all these collaborators, and then the sound of the album became more minimal – did that affect the collaborative process in any way?
I think mostly what I did was, I removed any drum set or percussion from all of the songs, which made them just inherently more minimal. I had a bigger instrument pool that I wanted to pull from and make a little bit more than it is right now, but I think mainly I stripped the drums and I took away some of those things that I was thinking of recording. I initially wanted it to be just upright bass and harp, but then there was something that I needed to add with the harp, which was acoustic guitar. So the acoustic guitar and the harp parts kind of playing very complimentary but different and blending them together has created a very beautiful, sort of middle ground sound, which is warm and stringy but also fluffy and bright. So I think it didn’t change the nature of the collaboration, it’s just that I collaborated with fewer people. And I had the freedom to kind of arrange stuff and produce stuff in the pandemic because we were on lockdown.
How do you go about selecting which poems and which songs to interpret? From what I understand, most of them use the same poetic form – the ghazal. Is there something in particular that resonates with you about this form?
There really isn’t one thing or the other. I think it’s a mood, you know. I think Vulture Prince has one ghazal, if we would call it that. To me, it’s more about what the poetry is saying and how it makes me feel. It’s not really about the style that the poetry was in. Like, ‘Mohabatt’ is poetry that was in the ghazal form, but now I don’t know if we can still call it ghazal. I think it has to do more with the words or the poems themselves.
There’s a line on ‘Mohabatt’ that translates to, “The sadness of this is equal to the sadness of the world.” And I found that to be such a beautiful and simple yet striking line. I don’t know if the translation does justice to the original, but was that something that stood out to you as well? Do you feel like it relates to what you were saying before about the album and the mood that you wanted it to represent?
Yeah, it definitely does. The album as a whole represents this kind of disdainfulness for the ways of the world, which could be capitalism or the patriarchy or racism; there’s so many atrocious things that we as human beings on this earth are dealing with. And like I said earlier, the world just keeps turning, and it’s not to be upset about – you know, we don’t have that kind of privilege to be like, “I’m so upset about how shitty the whole entire world is.” It’s like, “Come on, you must have something else to do.” But to kind of channel that into personal stories, to channel that kind of feeling of like, “Oh, this unrequited love feels like the sadness of the world,” I think that that type of writing – I don’t know, it obviously wasn’t meant to be interpreted like that, but personally, it was simple enough and beautiful enough for me to read and just feel like this is really resonating with me. And it resonates with other sentiments on other songs of the album, because those lyrics also resonate, so it’s kind of like the poetry comes together in different ways on the album. It’s definitely intentional and extremely connected.
I wanted to touch on another moment, ‘Diya Hai’, which was the last song that you sang to your late brother in person. And that composition wasn’t fully prepared or complete at the time. I was wondering if you could talk about how your interpretation of it changed over time.
As far as my job in the song is concerned, I think I would have liked more time with the words, particularly because those words are very – maybe not to some, but to me they’re in a very formal style of Urdu. And so for me, I would have liked more time to really internalize the poetry in order to be able to sing it without thinking about how to even pronounce it. You know, you have to wait and you have to spend time with certain things so that you feel actually connected to it enough that it feels like it’s yours and it’s just very effortlessly flowing out of you. And so, I would have liked more time, but at the same time, I really wanted it to be in this album to immortalize this moment.
At the end of the day, it’s your game and it’s your rules, so if I’m only singing maybe one and a half couplets from the thing – the story begins and it doesn’t complete itself, but it’s like, it doesn’t have to, you know, it’s okay. I was like, “These four lines are what I feel good about right now. I’m going to go with them and I’m going to compose these and we’re going to make this a beautiful piece. These are the only four lines that I even actually sang to him, so trying to spend more time and figuring out how to express the rest of the song, maybe that’s not – that’s not even in the stars, maybe it’s just meant to be this much. So let’s do it.”
Do you feel like you did immortalize that moment?
Yeah. I think so.
I’m thinking of that line, “the sadness of the world,” and obviously in the context of the song the meaning is different, but grief and loss are such prominent themes on the album, which comes out at a time when we’re all, to some extent, collectively experiencing those emotions. But it’s also been a very personal experience for you. How does it feel to be offering this album to the world right now?
I think it’s coming out at a time where the global pandemic has just dragged everyone into the ground, you know, it’s really been trying and testing everyone’s patience. So many things have come up all over the world, so many things have come up because of this thing that we’ve been in. And I think that this music has come out at a good time where there’s an inkling of, like, returning to normal in some way, or maybe there’s a very tiny sentiment of hope, a very small sliver of it. It’s like a subtle sliding open of a door that has been closed for a while. And I think that’s kind of what the album is also feeling. A lot of people all over the world have also died, so it’s almost like – it wasn’t timed like this, but it is really well-timed, I guess, that we’re kind of trying to slowly slide out of this weird nightmare that we’ve been in, but in a very gentle and very graceful and a very uplifting way. And I think that’s the message, that’s what Vulture Prince is doing, and I think that’s the sentiment that people are looking for right now.
Is there anything that you’d like to add that we haven’t had the chance to talk about?
There’s a perfume oil that goes with the Vulture Prince album that I would recommend everyone to try. It’s on Bandcamp. I collaborated with this Egyptian perfumer [Dana El Masri], she lives in Canada and she’s amazing. She does a lot of work where she captures certain moments in time and makes themed perfumes off them. So I asked her to do this and we kind of had a conversation, and then she listened to the album and came up with this. I’d say the perfume experience acts much like the album, you’re kind of guessing what it might smell like, and then when you open the bottle it surprises you a bit, and over a few minutes of wearing it on your skin, it reveals really nice subtle layers and complexities. It’s a very elegant experience.
This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity and length.
It was a sublime joy when Slowdive, one of England’s great bands, reunited in 2014 after almost two decades away. Their comeback album, 2017’s self-titled effort, was as strong as we could have expected it to be, both familiar yet innovative. Then they went away again, leaving us waiting on the arrival of their fifth album – their second since reuniting – which they’re currently working on. Not content to just focus on that, the band’s guitarist Christian Savill has formed a new project, Beachy Head, recruiting a cavalcade of talent to back him up: Ryan Graveface (Dreamend, The Casket Girls), Steve Clarke (The Soft Cavalry), Slowdive’s own Rachel Goswell, and Matt Duckworth (Flaming Lips) all lend their considerable support.
On Beachy Head’s self-titled debut, Savill has followed the playbook of Slowdive’s last album. Much is familiar about the album, many dreamy shoegaze pieces. But there’s also attempts to innovate, as several outlying tracks see him venture into other genres; some of it works, and some of it doesn’t. Though Savill started writing these songs in 2019 with no set vision in mind, they now mostly sound like realized pieces rather than rough sketches.
His guitar is as superlative as ever, drifting and weaving through tracks like the melancholic ‘Warning Bell’ and the tender yet assured dream-pop track ‘Distraction’. ‘Michael’, mirroring Slowdive’s penchant for songtitles named after a certain person, is sweeping and swirling shoegaze. The haunting and chilly ‘All Gone’ is arguably where he comes closest to capturing that ethereal and untouchable beauty of Slowdive’s best songs, while the slow and ephemeral ‘October’ is similarly imbued with a faint romanticism that is pleasant to observe.
‘Looking for Exits’ is affrontingly fuzzy, recalling the most mediocre 90’s alternative rock with its guitar line. ‘Hiddensee’ (a car-free island in the Baltic Sea) is a fast and frenetic attempt at synthpop that feels too disorientingly energetic considering the atmosphere that surrounds it. ‘Destroy Us’ then aims for bombastic euphoria to close the record. The whole endeavour recalls when Radiohead guitarist Ed O’Brien released his debut solo album, Earth, last year, to middling acclaim; both Earth and Savill’s album are perfectly serviceable and earnest, but lack the mystifying and weighty quality that marks their main band.
For those not from Southern England, there is a helpful bit in the liner notes: “Beachy Head is a chalk cliff in Sussex. It’s one of Britain’s most popular beauty but also a notorious suicide spot.” Such haunting juxtaposition is what the greatest shoegaze music can conjure: a swirling mass of confliction, terrible beauty, gorgeous but depressing. Such a well of emotion, though, Savill struggles to find on his debut.
The proverb “good things come to those who wait” could have been invented for Kučka, otherwise known as Laura Jane Lowther. Her debut album, Wrestling, has been a long time coming: first announced almost two years ago, she had been on the radar as a rising producer of note for many years before even then. Her breakthrough led to collaborations with icons like Flume, SOPHIE, and A$AP Rocky, no mean feat for someone essentially just starting out.
Her debut album arrives just as Lowther might be more settled than she’s ever been, living in Los Angeles with her wife, the visual artist and director Dillon Howl. Her childhood was marked by moving, from Northern England to Perth, Australia. It’s why the songs here are so concerned with transitions: of growing up, of finding one’s sexuality, of falling in and out of love, of moving across the country more than once. She never settles in one genre either, exploring everything from synthwave to glossy R&B to trip-hop. Whatever sounds she’s exploring, though, everything shimmers with a futuristic visionary quality. (While the dense layers on the self-produced Wrestling might overwhelm a casual observer, Lowther started out as a child of Garageband).
Mild euphoria is what Wrestling mainly deals in. 80s-inspired zigging synths power the passionate title and opening track, as she explores her main theme of wrestling with oneself internally, while ‘No Good For Me’, composed of a flashback UK garage beat, boasts hit potential. When the album does erupt a little though, as on the uplifting and enriching ‘Afterparty’, the glitchy texture and twinkling beat make for an enjoyable refresher. She whispers in strange tongues on the bamboozling ‘Joyride’, capturing the intense excitement of undertaking the act from its title.
Perhaps there was genuine worry as to whether Kučka, so often a collaborator of choice, a supporting player, could sustain herself over a solo full-length. And while help is on hand here – Vegyn (who assisted Frank Ocean on Blonde and Endless) lends production support on the eerie and slowed ‘Contemplation’ and Nosaj Thing features on the production for ‘Real’, a moody and introspective track that glistens with possibilities – Lowther is alluring and confident on her own at all times.
Underneath everything, her voice is a flexible thing, often ethereal as one would expect (‘Wrestling’) but also empowering and assured (‘Ascension’). Perhaps it’s because she oscillates so much between believing in herself and doubting, although she usually lands at the former sentiment. The aptly named ‘Drowning’ captures that overwhelming feeling of being in the wrong place and needing to escape (no doubt Perth, the most isolated city in the world). Synthwave piece ‘Sky Brown’ is about being able to stand on your own and make it despite offers of love and help. “Stronger than I knew I could be/ Higher than I knew I could reach,” she asserts on ‘Contemplation’. “Make me feel like the only one who ever existed in your world,” she exults on ‘Your Words’, reflecting her happiness about finding someone after wandering for so long.
The last song, ‘Patience’, is also the album’s slowest. “Something is restless in me,” Lowther sighs; the beat is minimal and hesitant. It’s a good note to end on, as one hopes that Kučka doesn’t rest on her laurels after such a momentous debut. Through ‘Patience’, she seems to want to highlight that she’s restless in every manner; what else would you expect from someone who’s always been in transition?
