Issue 110 / October 2022

ISSUE 110 / OCTOBER 2020
NEW MUSIC + CREATIVE CULTURE
LIVERPOOL
AMINA ATIQ / BYE LOUIS
JACQUES MALCHANCE / DON MCCULLIN

NEAR NORMAL
FUTURE YARD
PRESENTS
A SERIES OF LIMITED CAPACITY,
SOCIALLY-DISTANCED SHOWS
+ INCLUDING DIGITAL TICKET FOR LIVE STREAMED BROADCAST
SEATBELTS
EYESORE
& THE JINX
FUTURE YARD
BIRKENHEAD
BY THE SEA
75 ARGYLE STREET, BIRKENHEAD
VISIT FUTUREYARD.ORG

SUPPORT BIDO LITO!
WELCOME
TO OUR WORLD
BECOME A MEMBER!
Signing up to a Bido Lito! membership means
you are supporting the future of the magazine.
In these uncertain times this means a lot.
For £7 a month (less than half a coffee a week!)
you’ll be contributing to the future of Bido
Lito! and, if you sign up now you’ll get a FREE
limited edition illustration t-shirt, plus all this...
SIGN UP NOW
AND GET AN
ILLUSTRATION TEE!
BIDO LITO! MAGAZINE
DELIVERED EVERY MONTH
THE BIDO LITO! JOURNAL
EVERY DECEMBER
EXCLUSIVE
RECOMMENDATIONS
AND CONTENT
FREE ENTRY TO
BIDO LITO! EVENTS
JOIN THE COMMUNITY! BIDOLITO.CO.UK/MEMBERSHIP
Illustration by Hannah Blackman-Kurz

DIX
GOYA
BARLACH
PECHSTEIN
KOLLWITZ
SCHIELE
KOKOSCHKA
FELIXMÜLLER
PICASSO
MUELLER
DÜRER
MUNCH
BECKMANN
GERMAN
REVOLUTION
Expressionist prints
2 October 2020 to
28 February 2021
liverpoolmuseums.org.uk

40 SLATER STREET, LIVERPOOL. L1 4BX
THEMERCHANTLIVERPOOL.CO.UK

In Liverpool
2-year degrees
and 1-year diplomas
Last
places
available for
September
2020
Study in January, May or September
SAE Liverpool
38 Pall Mall
Liverpool
L3 6AL
03330 112 315
enquiries@sae.edu
sae.edu/gbr

New Music + Creative Culture
Liverpool
Issue 110 / October 2020
bidolito.co.uk
Second Floor
The Merchant
40-42 Slater Street
Liverpool L1 4BX
Founding Editor
Craig G Pennington - info@bidolito.co.uk
Founding Editor
Christopher Torpey - chris@bidolito.co.uk
Executive Publisher
Sam Turner - sam@bidolito.co.uk
Editor
Elliot Ryder - elliot@bidolito.co.uk
Intern
Danni King
Design
Mark McKellier - mark@andmark.co.uk
Branding
Thom Isom - hello@thomisom.com
Proofreader
Nathaniel Cramp
Cover Photography
Robin Clewley
Words
Elliot Ryder, Danni King, Sam Turner, Marnie Holleron-
Silk, Lily Blakeney-Edwards, Laura Brown, Will Whitby,
Mike Stanton, Mary Olive, Charly Reed, Paul Fitzgerald,
Leah Binns, Remy Greasley, Sam Batley, Emma Murray.
Photography, Illustration and Layout
Mark McKellier, Robin Clewley, Esmée Finlay, Michael
Driffill, Connor O’Mara, Eimear Kavanagh, Michael
Kirkham, Natalie Lissenden, Billy Vitch, Jacob
Davenport, Daniel De La Bastide, Chloe Brover, nil00,
Rob Battersby, Sam Batley, Sophie Green.
Distribution
Our magazine is distributed as far as possible through
pedal power, courtesy of our Bido Bikes. If you would
like to find out more, please email sam@bidolito.co.uk.
EDITORIAL
Back in March I was starting to worry about my hearing.
A couple of weeks before lockdown, following on from
a Friday night watching south London post-punks
Dry Cleaning at The Shipping Forecast, I was at the
Invisible Wind Factory to watch emo shoegazers DIIV. From
the moment the band’s two guitarists stomped down on their
plethora of pedals, I knew it was going to be a tough night on
my ears.
It’s hard to pinpoint when I first started to suffer from
tinnitus. It was perhaps watching post-hardcore outfit Title Fight
at Manchester’s Star & Garter in 2011. It was there where I got
my first taste of ringing ears that lasted days after the event.
Since then, the level it’s affected me has fluctuated. Often,
it’s dictated by where I stand on the night, the type of music,
whether I remembered to wear ear plugs and also my levels of
stress. These days, it continually plays as the dull soundtrack to
silence – until further provoked.
Of those back-to-back gigs just before lockdown, I was
pretty untroubled by the angular riffs of Dry Cleaning. The ceiling
in The Shipping Forecast is low. If you stand to the back, there’s
a healthy meat blanket of audience packed between two pillars
which help soak up the noise. For DIIV it was the polar opposite.
Stood midway towards the front, wave after wave of distortion
barrelled from the stage into the cavernous space, which
was healthily populated, but far from tightly packed. Opener
Horsehead was transfixing, with its lugubrious, clench-fisted
angst lurching forward from each guitar, but I could already hear
the raised tinnitus that I was going to wake up to. I watched on
for the rest of the set knowing most of the damage was already
done.
That show was the last I went to. Perhaps out of fear over
hearing damage, it may have been wise to take a break from
watching live music for a little while. But there was never an
intention to sit out for what has now been seven months. What’s
FEATURES
transpired in that time has sadly removed the option of watching
live music, as we know it, from everyone’s lives. Not just those in
need of a short break.
The ringing in my ears is still there. It rarely subsides beyond
a monotonous hum, as though my ears are clinging to memories
of the drones swirling around the Invisible Wind Factory. But
that memory is being stretched out far longer than was expected
of it. It remains difficult to know when it’ll be replaced, which
gig can then be to blame for a new incessant ringing days after.
Right now, I’d take pretty much anything. That’s if it meant being
able to watch live music with a healthy blanket of audience to
soak up the noise, the memories. But that incarnation of live
music is still some way off. I’ll take solace, for now, in resting my
ears and investing in a better pair of earplugs.
Now that it’s up and running, Future Yard might very well be
where I can put those very earplugs through their paces. Massive
congratulations to Craig, Chris, Cath and Hoggy for getting it up
and off the ground in the middle of a global pandemic. Judging
by the fullness of Craig’s stupendous perm currently, it hasn’t
been too stressful.
But with this good news comes an all too familiar tale.
At the time of going to print the sad news came through that
Constellations will be closing permanently. From hosting our
Liverpool Music City? event to Christmas quizzes and last year’s
Bido100 celebrations, the Baltic Triangle hub has been a vital
venue to Bido Lito! and Liverpool’s wider creative community.
Becky and the team have been passionate activists in protecting
the city’s creative nightlight culture in the face of accelerating
development. The venue will be a sad loss, but we wish the team
all the best for future endeavours.
Elliot Ryder / @elliot_ryder
Editor
She Drew The Gun at Future Yard / Robin Clewley
Advertise
If you are interested in adverting in Bido Lito!, or finding
out about how we can work together, please email
sam@bidolito.co.uk.
Bido Lito! is a living wage employer. All our staff are
paid at least the living wage.
All contributions to Bido Lito! come from our city’s
amazing creative community. If you would like to join
the fold visit bidolito.co.uk/contribute.
We are contributing one per cent of our advertising
revenue to WeForest.org to fund afforestation
projects around the world. This more than offsets our
carbon footprint and ensures there is less CO2 in the
atmosphere as a result of our existence.
11 / AMINA ATIQ
Through her poetry, performance and activism, Amina Atiq has
emerged as one of the most essential voices in Liverpool.
16 / PLAYING IN
In our second report with The University of Liverpool, we look at
responses relating to the alternative platforms for live music and
the effects of lockdown on levels of creativity.
18 / JACQUES MALCHANCE
Mike Stanton goes stargazing with the producer, DJ and promoter
to journey through the cosmos of his most recent release.
22 / DANCING IN THE DISTANCE
Mary Olive explores the essence of dancing and communality, an
integral aspect of our lives which is yet to return.
24 / BYE LOUIS
Just before lockdown, the multi-instrumentalist relinquished
control of his 2019 EP The Same Boy in order for it to take on a
new life.
26 / MAKING THE CASE FOR
SMALL SPACES
Following the recent closures of Sound and The Zanzibar, Charly
Reed underscores the importance of protecting and developing
more small venues.
30 / DON MCCULLIN
Ahead of a new retrospective at Tate Liverpool, Elliot Ryder
spoke to the photojournalist about his experiences of the city, his
depictions of conflict and his role as a chronicler.
REGULARS
The views expressed in Bido Lito! are those of the
respective contributors and do not necessarily
reflect the opinions of the magazine, its staff or the
publishers. All rights reserved.
8 / NEWS
10 / HOT PINK
28 / SPOTLIGHT
32 / PREVIEWS
34 / REVIEWS
38 / ARTISTIC LICENCE
39 / FINAL SAY

NEWS
’Harmonic Generator
Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra
As live music begins a slow return, Liverpool Philharmonic Hall
has announced it is reopening its doors in October. The iconic
venue is hosting a series of one-hour concerts by the ROYAL
PHILHARMONIC ORCHESTRA, with smaller orchestral forces
to accommodate for social distancing measures. The orchestra
kick things off on 1st October with a show featuring the music of
Beethoven, Arvo Pärt and Mozart. 12th October sees Roderick
Williams baritone and Christopher Glynn piano take centre-stage,
followed by Ensemble 10/10 on 22nd October. The Liverpool Wind
Collective feature on 24th October, with Liverpool Philharmonic
brass and percussion ensemble the following day, and the Royal
Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra wrap things up at the end of the
month. Tickets are available now with each show limited to 240
seats. For those wanting to experience live classical from their living
room, Royal Liverpool Philharmonic On Demand provides a package
of performances with exclusive extra including behind the scenes
interviews.
Birkenhead of the game
it’s all happening on Argyle Street. Not only has brand
new music hub Future Yard announced three more
socially distanced gigs in October (see Previews section)
but applications are open for a special skills programme
for local young people ran by the FY team. Those looking
to pursue a career creating live events can gain valuable
experience, skills and a qualification courtesy of the
SOUND CHECK programme. It consists of workshops
focusing on technical production and live music event
management, alongside opportunities to gain handson
experience and skills at live events, finishing with an
independent group project create a live music event.
Applications close on 28th September. futureyard.org/
soundcheck
Future Yard
How Bazaar
Open Door Centre charity have launched a new mental health initiative BAZAAR
to help people improve their wellbeing in what are straining times for minds across
the world. The CBT and mindfulness programme offers a new, dynamic approach
to tackling mental health issues in the format of eight weeks of hour-long sessions.
Each session looks to develop skills that disrupt negative thinking practices, which will
improve symptoms of both anxiety and depression. Bazaar is open to organisations
and businesses looking to support their staff and members, with tailored packages
available to suit all groups. All proceeds from the Bazaar programme will be going
directly to the Open Door Centre, in order to support their continuing work.
Angus And Us Only
Last month’s feature artist JAMIE WEBSTER is amongst
the guitar slingers performing at the newest addition to
Dale Street’s food and drink offer as The Angus Tap & Grind
announce a growing musical menu to accompany their
impressive range of beers and coffees. Webster and a host
of other artists will be playing the intimate venue after a
residency from Cast man JOHN POWER earlier this month
sold out in twenty seconds. Fine time. theangus.co
Avant Gardener
Andrea Ku
Bluecoat have announced L8 gardener and artist ANDREA KU as
their gardener in residence for Autumn 2020. The announcement
comes after Ku’s recent collaboration with Bluecoat, which saw her
develop a series of nature-related blogs during lockdown against
the background of Frances Disley’s Pattern Buffer exhibition. Many
projects have already been announced to take place during Ku’s
residency, but most notably the creation of a map of accessible
and less-visited green spaces in Liverpool, which will be in print
and online. Ku will also be filming online tutorials from Bluecoat
garden where she’ll be based, as well as holding in-person
distanced tutorials to give support and advice.
Calling Future Film Makers
Storyhouse in Chester have announced the details of this
year’s BFI Academy course. Each year the British Film
Institute lead the course, aimed at young people who are
passionate about a career in the film industry. The intensive
short course spans just one week and explores the entire
industry, from filmmaking to the commercial and cultural
knowledge of film. The BFI Academy scheme offers an
opportunity to gain valuable work experience from industry
leaders and professionals in a competitive field, which
will enable candidates to increase their chances of being
recognised in the industry. The course is open to anyone
aged 16-19 who isn’t studying at university, with no
immediate level of experience needed. storyhouse.com
BFI Academy course
8

A Keychange Is Gonna Come
Bido Lito! is among a number of local organisations
that have taken the KEYCHANGE PLEDGE to improve
gender representation in the music industry. The latest
round of inductees into the Keychange network join
300 festivals and organisations around the world
actively taking steps towards achieving gender balance
in the sector. Bido Lito! has pledged to ring fence 50
per cent of places on our Bylines writer workshops
programmes for female participants, as well as other
underrepresented groups. We have also vowed to
maintain our efforts to platform more female artists
and female-led projects in the pink pages and continue
to provide more opportunities to female contributors.
keychange.eu
Keychange Ambassador Corinne Bailey Rae
Now Open
With World Museum, Museum of Liverpool and the Maritime
Museum already open to the public, the remaining National
Museums Liverpool venues LADY LEVER ART GALLERY,
SUDLEY HOUSE and SEIZED! complete the set of galleries
open to visitors. From Wednesday 30th September Port
Sunlight’s gallery, Lady Lever, will display a new exhibition of
German Revolution expressionist prints featuring pieces by
Picasso, Kollwitz and Munch. Home and Away, a show of oil
paintings from the collection of former Sudley House resident
George Holt opens on the same date in the Aigburth venue.
The Seized! gallery in the basement of the Maritime Museum
will also be back in action telling the story of smugglers and
contraband in partnership with HM Revenue & Customs.
liverpoolmuseums.org.uk
Edward Munch
Test Your Metal
Culture hub Metal, located at Edge Hill train station, has an illustrious recent
history of helping develop the craft of a wide gamut of local artists as well as
showcasing a fabulous array of national and international talent. As of October
they are focussing on developing a programme of support for early career
artists. The team specifically want to help those who have deferred studying
for their arts degree due to Covid or generally not looking to take a university
placement. The programme will be led by professional artists who will pass
on their practical skills and facilitate stimulating creative challenges along with
group sharings. Find out more information on Metal’s New Artist Network
online. metalculture.com
Metal
Market Forces
Community asset GRANBY STREET MARKET is looking for
donations after a fire in September destroyed nearly all of their
equipment. The team are in need of £30,000 to replace the market’s
infrastructure - including gazebos, tables, chairs and sound system
- in order to get the initiative going again. At the time of writing, the
GoFund me page had achieved almost 50% of the goal but need
help to hit the total before an early October deadline. Since growing
from a handful of tables in 2010 to a multifaceted community
enterprise, the market has become an important fixture to the L8
community and beyond. gofundme.com/f/granbymarket
Granby Street Market
Music Community Consultation
Event
Following a survey of Merseyside’s musician community
in August, Bido Lito! and University of Liverpool’s
PLAYING IN research project will continue with an online
consultation on Tuesday 27th October. Representatives
from all areas of Liverpool City Region’s music industry
are invited to the Zoom event which aims to take a health
check of the sector. Focus group conversations looking at
how areas such as live music, education, tourism and artist
development will produce qualitative data to contribute
to a report which will inform LCR Music Board’s path to
recovery. Interested parties can register for the event at
bidolito.co.uk/consultation.
Music Consulatation
NEWS 9

HOT PINK!
Our Hot Pink! playlist is your one-stop shop to find the newest, brightest and piping hot music pushing up
the mercury on Merseyside. Featuring the latest drops from artists in the region, the mix is regularly updated
with a smorgasbord of bangers from a plethora of genres reflecting the plurality of sounds emanating from
the recording studios across the area. Here’s a selection of this month’s additions to give you a taste.
Hannah’s Little Sister
Bin Mouth
Heist Or Hit
Nearly two years after the release of their debut 20, it’s a pleasure to welcome back raucous indie
poppers HANNAH’S LITTLE SISTER with this short stab of puerile exhortation. This wonky poppunk
riot features a cathartic crash of brash vocals that bring to mind early-00s chart botherers
The Ting Tings, but with much more to delve into and enjoy. Don’t leave it so long next time,
please. (MHS)
Crapsons
Clotheslined by A Nun
Society Of Losers
With a genuine claim to most peculiar track of the month, Wirral punks CRAPSONS bring a real
adrenaline shot in this ecumenical hammer. The track stands up to flavours of the month Shame
and Life, but comes peppered with Leisure Peninsula humour and aided and abetted by The
Wildcard of labelmates Salt The Snail. This one will be a real crowd-pleaser when the duo (plus
one) get to perform live once again. (MHS)
Sara Wolff
Cotton Socks
Is SARA WOLFF carving out her own niche of ‘knit-pop’? This moody and melancholy indie-folk
track follows her equally lovely ode Scarf Song in using woollen wear to derive love life analogies
with surrealism, poetic lyrics and dulcet tones. The sparing and simplistic instrumentation combine
to make this track a listening experience to keep you as warm as luxuriant autumnal undergarms.
(ST)
Novelty Island
Suddenly On Sea
Abbey House
This is an EP that doesn’t concern itself with reality. Bouncing between influences from The Beach
Boys and Frank Sinatra ballads, the collection of tracks paints a picture of a surreal English seaside
town. Through absurd synth melodies and creator Tom McConnell’s hypnotic vocals Suddenly On
Sea invites the listener to escape to a summer holiday that never was. Definitely one to check out.
(LBE)
François
Young N Dumb
Big beats and Auto-Tune aplenty with pop auteur Francois’ latest offering. Young N Dumb is a
bedroom composition which deceptively meanders via lyrics lamenting lost youth while an arsenal
of processed beats keeps up the energy and has us yearning for ill-conceived nights on sticky
dancefloors. (ST)
Pixey
Just Move
Chess Club
One-woman pop hurricane Pixey continues her triumphant return with an expertly executed
exercise in synthesizing the best indie hooks of the last 30 years into a three-minute baggy banger.
Just Move could have had the Haçienda dancefloor bouncing in 1991 as it no doubt will for a
muddy Somerset field crowd in the not-to-distant future. (ST)
Yammerer
Boa Constrictor
Restless Bear
Those who are looking for Leonard Cohen-esque revelatory lyrics about life, love and the universe
should not look to this serpentine post-punk slab from the ever-electric YAMMERER. However,
those wanting a cathartic tonic of rollicking feedback squalls and wirey guitar licks building over a
pummelling rhythm section and JC’s skeletal howls will be more than satisfied. (ST)
Terry Venomous
Sentient
Eggy Records
Slurring a croon like a lobotomised Mark E Smith over de rigueur lounge guitar lines, this debut
from the newest Eggy Records signee is a fine tone-setter for EP Video Game Dog Barking. 8 Bit
flourishes surface above a laid-back bedroom beat which will reanimate disenchanted fans of Mac
DeMarco. (ST)
Red Rum Club
Ballerino
Modern Sky UK
“It’s time to move your feet,” according to Red Rum Club in their newest catchy, feel-good single.
Complete with trademark trumpet flourishes and ear-worm chorus, Ballerino implores hands to
hold proseccos in the air and forget about any Covid cares. Let’s hope it’s prophetic. (ST)
Words: Marnie Holleron-Silk, Lily Blakeney-Edwards, Sam Turner
Follow Hot Pink! on Spotify: bit.ly/bidohotpink
Photography (from left to right): HLS (Beebo Boobin), Crapsons, Sara Wolff, Pixey (Zac Mahrouche)
10

ARE YOU
LISTENING?
Through her poetry, performance and activism, Amina Atiq has emerged as one of
the most essential voices in Liverpool. With a stature continuing to grow through a
range of ongoing commissions and projects, Laura Brown speaks to the artist/activist
about the expectations of identity and the radicalness of using your own voice.
FEATURE
11

AMINA
ATI Q
“I’m writing for
myself, for my
ancestors, my
sisters and my
children to say
‘We do exist’”
AMINA ATIQ is in a reflective mood. On a Friday
morning, in this strange waiting room between life
being open and closed, she pauses and takes a
moment before she speaks.
“This is the battle,” she says, her voice calm, measured, the lilt
of Scouse in her glottal stop.
“We are a generation born or emigrated to the UK with a
strong attachment to our home countries,” she explains. “I’m
writing for myself, for my ancestors, my sisters and my children to
say, ‘We do exist’.”
To be Arab in Britain in 2020 is complicated. Loving Mohamed
Salah doesn’t prove anyone knows a lot about modern Arab
culture as much as assuming every woman in the Middle East is
oppressed. As a female, Muslim, Yemeni Scouse poet, Amina is an
artist, but we also ask her to be a trailblazer. It’s a lot to expect a
25-year-old to be.
As well as being a writer and performance artist, Amina is
also a facilitator and an activist. Award-winning for her work
on community engagement, she has featured on BBC Radio 5
Live, BBC Radio 6 Music, BBC Radio 4, Bitesize, Arab News, The
Independent and many more. She has campaigned with Change.
org, the Campaign Against the Arms Trade (CAAT) and Oxfam
since the war began in Yemen when she was 19. Over the past
six years, she has collaborated with artists and writers to connect
directly with Yemeni youth creatives to build a global community
outside Yemen and on the ground. In 2018 she was involved in
a project curated by local Yemeni American social entrepreneur
Hanan Ali Yahya in partnership with Arab American National
Museum. The project, Stories Never Told was of 24 Yemeni artists
across the world sharing their work as part of Yemen’s crises and
renaissance.
Her recent work involves a poem commissioned for the
Yemen in Conflict project, part of a multimedia exhibition at the
Liverpool Arab Arts Festival, and a series of newly commissioned
‘poemfilms’ connecting Yemeni poets with filmmakers exploring
how the country’s rich tradition of poetry and language can
be preserved and passed onto younger generations. Amina is
currently developing a spoken word monologue with DadaFest,
inviting the audience to a 1970s Yemeni-British household,
untangling what it means to belong.
If you have never heard Amina perform, she has the power
to spellbind an audience. Personal, honest, unapologetic, she can
connect with those listening to her like few can. She is unafraid
of speaking her truth. A poem, Shamin’ on the Train, comes from
the incident on a train between Liverpool and London when she
was abused for speaking Arabic. The video she shared on social
media had thousands of likes and made national headlines, but it is
through her own poetry that she regains control of the story.
“You will hear a voice right behind you and it is muttering
hate/…when she practices her freedom of speech she is told to
leave this country/…why choose hate if you are unsure/ And if you
are unsure why don’t you ask?” the poem recalls.
There is a responsibility that comes with being a trailblazer of
using one’s voice and it can be challenging, she says.
“You’re trying to tell the community, ‘It’s OK, I’ll be the first to
do it’, while [asking] the other side, ‘Are you OK to accept me?’
12

FEATURE
13

14

It’s a lot, and I think it’s not just as Arab women, but as Arab artists and creatives,” says Amina. We
don’t want to have conversations about identity any more. It’s so apparent that we have very clear
identities, we don’t blend in with the crowd, we stick out. Our identity walks with us. We don’t have
to claim it, we don’t have to state it, it’s there. Those who are very, very exposed or it’s very apparent
where they come from, they’re the ones who have to convince people they belong and that they’re
British enough.”
It’s strange, Amina thinks, that, as an Arab woman wearing a hijab, for some audiences it was
putting on the Scouse accent in her performances that made her acceptable.
“How much do we have to integrate until we’re accepted?” she replies. “Acceptance isn’t an issue.
In human life you don’t have to accept everything, but it’s the idea of trying to convince people that
you exist, that your country exists.”
Her accent itself has been shifted in her performance and work. Amina was through to the final
of the BBC Words First development scheme and she describes how, during a workshop, she began
to perform how she usually did, with an American accent. “What are you doing?” the facilitator asked,
“what’s that voice?” When you search for spoken word poetry you’ll often hear this mid-Atlantic,
slightly American style performance (let us not forget, plenty of bands have done the same thing,
singing in an American accent because they think that’s what the audience wants). Why, he asked,
was she writing about Liverpool but not speaking in her own voice? Who was she trying to convince?
She was, as you’d imagine, mortified. But it was a turning point. In came her own voice, complete with
Scouse accent. Using your own voice can feel like a radical act.
There is a long line and tradition of radical female Arab poets and writers; from Iraq’s Nazik
al-Malaika to Egypt’s Nawal El Saadawi, women have a unique role in using their voices to articulate
societal change, whether it is happening or whether it is needed. When Amina meets other modern
Arab women poets, there is something that binds them to each other and their heritage. “We are
constantly convincing our readers that we exist,” she outlines.
Poetry is well placed to do this. It conveys the language of protest, activism, emotion, charting
change as easily as the artist steps up to speak to a crowd. It demands a vulnerability that has to be
embedded with honesty. And proving that you exist, that you have to be seen, means you have to, at
some stage, recognise the way you’re seen by others.
Let’s not pretend honesty is anything other than hard. The perception loop of being an Arab in the
21st century is that you can find yourself fulfilling an outside expectation, of being the construct that
people expect you to be before you even show up, before you open your
mouth, and then that construct begins to inform how you see yourself.
Lockdown has had another huge impact on Amina for how she
sees herself and reflecting on her work. Explore the pictures of her
Culture Liverpool project, Lockdown, where she takes a series of pictures
capturing different aspects of her life during lockdown. She talks about
how it made her reconnect with her faith, her wellbeing and her health.
Like those of us who celebrated a birthday in the months of semiisolation,
she captures the sweet melancholy of being apart from people
you love – knowing that not marking the occasion feels like surrender. “I
wore my birthday outfit and painted my face,” she tells me. “We danced,
FaceTiming my mother who is currently stuck in Yemen. A birthday I will
not forget.”
Development is all part of being an artist as much as our identity. In
Amina’s one woman show, Broken Biscuits, she talks about how, as an
immigrant writer, the words themselves that she is using are changing.
“It’s interesting how subconsciously you come to believe the image
or perspective of those who tell you who you are, who you look like and
where you come from,” she begins. “In my old work there’s so many western clichés in there: ‘I carry
my suitcase on my back’. I didn’t carry my suitcase on my back, I came [to Britain] on a first-class
plane ticket.”
The title, Broken Biscuits, comes from how she talks about her grandad who came to the UK in
the 1960s and set up his corner shop “selling broken biscuits, meat and bread” in the post-war era.
“When my grandad came, people were travelling from the UK to other places, especially after
the war, to grow their businesses. That’s celebrated and seen as a good move. When I speak about
my grandad,” she continues, “I’ve started to say I’m the granddaughter of an economic migrant and
businessman. My grandad was an economic immigrant, he wanted to make more money. If I were to
travel to France, to study French to start a business, I’m making certain choices to be successful. But
yet, if you’re brown or black, or don’t fit into the white majority, you’re seen as…”
She tails off. Many see the Middle East from the outside. They see it as a red apple, but it isn’t a
red apple, Amina says, it’s an onion. It has layers and layers to be unpicked. So many of us are here
because of something violent, something unexplainable, something out of our hands that happened in
our homelands. Our Arab heritage, our communities are as layered as how we see ourselves.
“What confuses people of Arab identity is very, very complex. I don’t even think the Arab
community even knows it yet. I don’t think the Arab community has yet understood the confusion, the
trauma, in the 80s, things were transitioning in the Middle East,” says Amina.
The history of Yemen, like the history of many countries, is complicated. It changes generation
by generation, so in a single household you can have three generations who were born at a time of
revolution. From a Yemen Arab Republic in the 60s, the Yemenite War in the 70s, and unification talks,
civil war in the 90s and revolution in the 00s. Even this removes depth, discussion, reflection. History
is never a single timeline. In Amina’s family, her mum encountered one political upheaval, different
from that of her own mother, Amina’s grandmother. Her father was born in Britain.
“My teenage life was born in the Arab spring and my sisters don’t speak Arabic. Then you’ve got
Scouseness. It’s this bowl of Scouse,” she illustrates.
When she recognised those different generations in her British Yemeni household it became
a significant shift in the way she writes. Amina writes a lot about her mother and grandmother.
She sees herself documenting the small conversations at home that are then reflected in her work.
Amina’s A Letter to my Mother encapsulates both the tension of the mother daughter relationship.
“For I do not want to live in regret
and when a thousand voices cheer me on
from the audience, perhaps the only
Voice
I really want to hear, is always you.
‘You’ll never understand me,’ I slam the door
breaking your heart over and over again,
but my mother, she waits up all night waiting for the key to turn through the door
for our bones are made from Yemeni mould and when we fight, I sneak back into her chest
when she is not looking”
“What does home look like in a Yemeni household in Britain?” Amina asks. “I’m trying to
acknowledge that in different layers. My dad being born here provides a different layer with a strong
British identity, but I always look at him and think how surprising it is, how connected he is to Arab
culture. It’s taught me about the strength of Yemen and Arab identity. My sisters, I recognise they
should speak Arabic so they can connect. I teach them out of love for Yemeni culture, in case they
forget it. That’s why we should celebrate it. I strongly believe in Arab culture, with its different dialects,
different types of history, whether you speak French, broken Arabic.”
Arab communities, the one I am in, the one Amina is in, struggle frequently to talk about their
British identities. I have never described myself as Arab British. My father, who was born in Palestine
and came to Britain in 1956, certainly didn’t. Yet our identities were a blend. And in denying this
“My poetry should do
something, it should
move something,
it should change
minds, it should
challenge people”
aspect of ourselves, our British side, have we allowed others to step in and define what Britishness is?
Crucially, what our Britishness is?
“If you ask Yemeni people, ‘How do you identify?’ they say Yemeni. If you’re Palestinian, it’s
Palestinian. Would you ever say Yemeni British? No. But you live here, and you pay taxes here. The
Asian Britains I know are much more connected with their British identity. What does your Britishness
mean?”
We have a right to talk about our own identities and heritage, allowing them to be fluid and
figuring out how we want to talk about them. It is something that many on the left struggle with,
especially in Liverpool. How many of us say Scouse not English, for example? We are determined to
have the right to define what our identity is, perhaps rejecting one side of it because we don’t like it,
or we don’t feel it’s ours. The risk there is that leaves our other identity, the one we don’t like, getting
further and further away from us. Our identities are pulled into two different directions. Why can’t we
be patriotic too, in our own complicated, mixed heritage, broken Arabic ways?
There’s a poem of Amina’s called Backbencher that was commissioned by Speaking Volumes.
“I saw my father cry for the first time
he cradled this city
in his arms
waiting to be loved
but all he knew this glory
does not belong
to people like him.”
Patriotism is complicated when you feel like you might not be allowed to belong. And yet it feels
as though, if not everything is changing, then the grounds are shifting significantly. And with that it
feels like things might be up for grabs. Sometimes, it feels like everything we said 20 years ago has
been thrown in the air and we’re waiting for it to fall to the ground. Amina herself is like someone who
is plucking those words out of the atmosphere around her and fitting them in a new shape, and a new
place. It’s a process and it’s having a profound impact on the work she is writing.
“I am the first person to put my hand up and say the work I used to write in the first five years
[were] the most clichéd things,” she admits. “My western perspective sometimes hijacks my identity
and the one I want to connect with. I think it’s a process of healing, of
getting to know yourself a little bit better every single day.”
This is, she believes, part of the artistic process.
“You need to be reflective in poetry,” she adds, “you need to be
in transition all the time. I see poetry as a moment, it’s like taking a
photograph. It’s very, very rare you’ll ever get the same photograph. It’s
got a different mood, tone, it’s a moment. Tomorrow it’ll be something
different. I’ve changed, it’s not drastic but from that poem I wrote
yesterday my mood is different today. Writers and artists should do that.
Contradicting yourself is about the writer in you, there’s some change
going on in your work. Any type of transition can sometimes overwhelm
you, you start to ask questions you’ve never asked before and you start to
answer them in a way you’ve never done before, so what you try to do is
put yourself all together. We’re constantly renewing those questions.”
And we return to activism and identity, of the expectation that we
have to be something, representing something, somewhere, someone.
“I used to separate Amina the activist and Amina the poet. What’s
happening now is they’re becoming intact. I thought poetry should heal,
sing a song, but I’m recognising my poetry should do something, it should move something, it should
change minds, it should challenge people,” she asserts. “To do that I should bring topics to people and
shouldn’t lie.”
There is a phrase Amina uses frequently: “You can’t separate the writer from the writing”. Writing
about your heritage and exploring this battle of who you and where you come from is imperative and
there is more interest in it. Yet no battle comes without risk.
“A lot of brown/black activists talk about this, you’re always going to be paranoid, you’re thinking
I want to live as a normal human being, but when you confront a situation because you want it to be
better and they treat you differently you don’t know whether it’s because they don’t like you or is it
because I challenged something? It’s daunting.”
The balance is always how you see yourself, how others perceive you, and in the arts this comes
with an added frisson. You want to control how you’re seen, but any whiff of marketing or – shock!
– a business plan comes with it the question of authenticity. Artists have to make a living, have to
balance the books as much as the next self-employed creative. Artists always used to hide this side
of their work – better to be seen as the struggling artist than be accused of being a Tory – but no
more, says Amina.
“You are the business, you’re self-employed,” she explains. “I don’t understand why someone
who has a shop can call themselves a business, but an artist can’t see themselves as a business.
I think people are scared to start seeing themselves as a business because they think it will take
away from their authenticity. That work will take over your life. You can still create and do the admin
work.”
Enthusiastically, as an 18-year-old, Amina would go to business networking meetings, figuring
out how she would have to make being an artist pay. Once, she sat in a workshop listening to a
writer who kept apologising for her writing. Why, she asked herself, do we keep apologising for
not just what we write, but the fact that we can? It needs to stop, she thought. We can’t keep
constantly justifying this. Any artform, writing included, has its part in the world and art seeps into
commercial corners all the time. Why should it only be the artist that’s apologising for that?
As a Young Associate for Curious Minds, taking a 12-month intensive training programme,
specialising in delivering Arts Awards, strategic development and supporting young artists find
their voice has deepened her interest. We need to inspire young people and young artists to think
that a career in the arts doesn’t mean apologising for making money or, crucially, asking for it.
“It’s allowed me to think more logically about my two-year goal, five-year goal. The idea is
not about giving up on your art, I’ve understood what I want to do with my art and what I want
to head towards,” she replies. “The business mind has given me the freedom to do that. I always
championed this idea of leadership. The goal is to be an advocate for the creative world, but to do
that I have to have experienced the creative world in all formats, why people need it and what its
effective to build social cohesion.”
Change is a constant. Amina sees herself as a changemaker. Probably the first Yemeni Muslim
woman in the city’s art scene, she knows that many relate to her as a Scouser first and are
increasingly curious about her Yemeni heritage. She’s forcing change and a shift. It takes courage
to both embrace change and to write about it. It is perhaps easy in the West to look to the East and
question how and why things are done from a perceived lofty position, but perhaps it is those who
have a foot in both camps to be able to plot a course to the future. Amina Atiq isn’t waiting for you
to liberate her; she’s already done it herself. !
Words: Laura Brown / @MsLaura_Brown
Photography: Robin Clewley / robinclewley.co.uk – shot at @vesselstudios
@AminaAtiqpoetry
Amina Atiq is a young associate at Curious Minds and currently a resident artist at Metal Culture
UK. Amina continues to work with activists and organisations calling for an end to the war in Yemen
and further global conflicts.
FEATURE
15

16
PLAYING IN

In this second report, detailing the findings of our musicians’ survey carried out in partnership with The
University of Liverpool, we look at responses relating to the alternative platforms for live music and the
effects of lockdown on levels of creativity. The findings illustrate a willingness to adapt to new digitised
parameters, but a landscape where streaming is a financially viable rival to live shows is yet to materialise.
As lockdown shut the doors of music venues across
the city region, musicians turned to online streaming
as the new way of broadcasting their gigs to
audiences also confined to their homes. What
used to be packed out rooms cathartically singing along, with
crowdsurfers and pints of beer flying overhead, turned into
sitting at home watching all the action on a screen in the hope of
replicating some of the former experiences.
Bands and artists setting up intimately in their own homes
became the norm. Virtual promoters pushed the boundaries of
live possibilities with digital events to help curb the impact of a
festival summer that never happened.
As always, musicians soldiered on learning new skills and
innovating themselves to stream their artistic visions online.
Of the 175 respondents to this study’s survey, 48 per cent of
those were involved in some type of live-streamed performance
during lockdown. The reaction from those involved was widely
positive, with 68 per cent of them seeing lockdown live streams
as beneficial to their development as a musician both creatively
and connecting to fans.
From our results (of which data ends at the start of August),
the artists asked took part in 506 virtual shows involving 402
performers and reached a collective 203,445 people online.
One major positive we saw was that the potential reach of an
online performance can often go far beyond the capacities of
conventional venues.
With the majority stuck at home, millions of people turned
to music to reconnect with the life they had before. Streaming
became a positive means for artists to build up fan numbers and
increase awareness of their music. Where once bands could
gain new fans from enthusiastic live slots and playlists to attach
themselves to keen ears, now the great wall of noise on social
media was a further incentivised platform.
The temporary transition to streaming gigs split opinion, as
some saw it as a crucial medium of connection with fans and
increasing listeners. One responded saying: “While not being
able to play in real life, it still gives people who are interested in
my music a chance to hear it in a live format. The internet offers
a much larger audience than a venue, so it’s an opportunity for
more people to discover you.”
For many, lockdown will have been characterised by learning
new skills in between Zoom pub quizzes, banana bread baking
and daily binges of Tiger King. For others, lockdown forced
people into being creative. Yet this wasn’t a consistent feeling;
as always, the creative block can be hard to beat with around
a third (34 per cent) of respondents feeling uninspired during
lockdown. Alternatively, nearly half (46 per cent) of musicians
surveyed felt an increased inspiration as there was more time to
spend being creative.
These bursts and drives of motivation were seen to
fluctuate across the lockdown period. Some musicians were
initially impacted negatively as the sudden change to lifestyle
halted creativity with around 12 per cent finding the setback
hard to deal with. “I need a positive headspace to write, and
with so much negativity in the world right now, it damaged
my motivation to write new songs,” one respondent said, with
another more optimistically adding: “I went out of my way to find
ways to be creative and to encourage those around me to do the
same.”
The closure of practice spaces affected the ability for
musicians to work together as over half (53 per cent) were
completely locked out of practicing with their bandmates during
lockdown with an unfortunate sense of regression apparent in
those asked.
For musicians, live streaming offered a unique opportunity
to develop digital skills as 36 per cent of our respondents
learnt how to stream a live show, 12 per cent gained new
understanding of video production and, finally, 10 per cent went
deeper into their creativity focusing on painting and creative
writing.
To delve into the methods and digital platforms used, 76
per cent of respondents used Facebook, 40 per cent broadcast
on YouTube and 36 per cent streamed over Instagram Live.
The popularity and ease of working with these platforms was
highlighted by the musicians. Endlessly scrolling through memes
and corona hot takes from your uncles could be interrupted by a
band eager to connect with fans again.
With disruption comes innovation, but also collaboration.
With musicians having more free time due to furlough and
lack of real-life gig opportunities, 61 per cent of those asked
worked and collaborated with other musicians during lockdown.
But these collaborations didn’t come without their drawbacks
as many preferred working in person. Large portions of the
musicians (88 per cent) preferred face to face discussions as it
was easier to gain instant feedback and bounce ideas between
people. They found a certain disconnectedness and loss from the
shared experience of practicing that isn’t obtained with people
working online; 20 per cent described that the lack of direct reallife
collaboration completely inhibited their activities.
Ben Roberts was an organiser of Liverpool Digital Music
Festival which saw two live-stream events take place in
recent months. The first event took place in May and saw 100
Merseyside based artists performing from home. The second
took place over the August bank holiday weekend and saw
venues like the M&S Bank Arena open their doors to host artists
like Zuzu in a cavernous, empty auditorium to an audience in its
thousands watching from home.
“It’s a pale stop-gap for
live performance which
is socially and culturally
important and cannot be
replicated online”
The project was born out of the lack of gigs taking place,
says Roberts, and an appetite from both fans and performers for
the return of live music in some capacity. Creating the second
event saw the production take place in venues across the city
which brought in new health and safety concerns as around
50 people working across four venues required its own robust
Covid-19 measures. Venue mapping, one-way systems, cleaning
down areas in between sets, PPE for staff and a track and trace
system were all in place – even without any fans in the building.
This level of organisation stresses the logistical difficulties that
Covid-19 has brought to the live music industry. “Live streaming
is so new and not a lot people were doing it last year,” says
Roberts, “but people and venues are now seeing the value in
streaming. There is tremendous potential.”
But as the sun came out, lockdown loosened and society
wanted to get back to the beer garden, the live streaming
revolution gained renewed competition from people wanting to
go outdoors.
For some fans, however, a live stream, although is nice to
watch and support, does not equate to the live experience. The
collective unison of a packed room brought together by a love
of music struggles to be replicated sitting on your sofa with
some cans looking at a screen. Although the innovation and new
fanbase gains were a positive, the overriding feeling from artists
towards online gigs was one of frustration. Performing in front of
people and playing live was seen as a fundamental need for both
fans and performers.
“It’s a pale stop-gap for live performance which is socially
and culturally important and cannot be replicated online,” one
respondent put simply. Another added: “While they can be OK
to watch, they don’t have the atmosphere and magic of real live
performances.” Another responded outlined how it felt like they
were just “providing content rather than me giving people an
experience”.
More damningly, the financial viability of live streaming
becoming the new normal, for touring bands especially, is more
doubtful. Of all the live-streamed shows that the musicians in
the survey were involved in, only 16 of these musicians actually
got paid and they contributed to 118 of the 506 shows recorded.
Of these 16 musicians, only five of them got paid over £100 for
their performance as they took part in 24 shows. This means
that 81 per cent of musicians did not get paid for performing
a streamed set. These statistics reflect that only select and
established musicians have been benefitting from live streaming
shows, suggesting that the emerging acts are not getting paid
enough and are being left behind.
Drawing on findings from the last article in the series, we
saw that £1.75million was lost in performance revenue for
cancelled shows up to the beginning of August amongst the
artists asked. With very few gigs to the end of September and
onwards looking to go ahead, we estimate that figure to grow to
with a further £700,000 potentially being lost.
The live streams that our respondents were involved in as a
replacement for the lost shows brought total projected earnings
of only £68,000. The figure has potential to drop to a grim
£21,000 if you remove free gigs from the calculations and just
focus on the performers who actually got paid. This remains a
drop in the ocean compared to the money lost due to lack of live
opportunities with streaming shows only recouping 1.2-3.6 per
cent of the money lost.
“They are great for pushing monetised things like merch,
accepting donations in lieu of gig performance fees,” one
respondent shared, “however there is no way to directly
monetise the live streams within the platforms themselves,
making income very uncertain.”
Where the processes of a band or artist getting paid for
a live show vary from via agents or direct from promoters, the
payment systems for online performances are yet to be ironed
out and proven. Where the purchase of a gig ticket grants you
access into the room and a knowledge that the artists you’re
seeing will be getting a portion of that fee, there is no one
“watching the door” for most live streams.
Pay-for-view live streams are a much harder sell in an age
of getting media online for free; the concept of paying to watch
a performance on a screen without leaving your house is a
tough sell. Even well-established artists are already proving
the hardship. Mercury Prize-nominated Laura Marling saw her
professionally produced live stream show at London’s Union
Chapel garner 4,000 viewers from across the globe at £12 a
ticket. However, the show still failed to make financial returns
that would make this type of performance a viable solution going
forward.
There isn’t one rule that fits all in the industry as with
different demographics and audiences comes different attitudes
to. Some smaller artists may see the greater potential reach of
streaming as enough to warrant not getting paid as much. In the
long run, however, that could have negative effects as it grants
the audience an expectation to get live music for free and for
artists to lose out.
As the lockdown hit, Sound City set up Guest House Live
which saw emerging and established artists perform streamed
gigs on a pay-for-view platform. Fans were able to buy tickets,
donate money to the artists directly, engage in a Q&A and
purchase unique merchandise created specifically for that show.
“We saw that streaming was going to be integral for artists,
but there had to be a way to monetise it. We felt it was really
important to us as a festival and an organisation that works
with so many artists that we address that,” said Sound City MD,
Becky Ayres.
“The emerging artists who don’t have a big profile but do
interact and have some dedicated fans have done really well
from it. We’re trying to learn from those emerging artists that
have done well on the platform to see where and how we can
make that a level playing field for other artists,” she added.
“We do believe that streaming performances are something
that fans should be paying for, whatever that amount might be.
Streamed gigs will never be the same as a real show, but it’s
about giving the fan an experience that will engage them with
artists and ultimately create more of a relationship with them
which in turn will generate more income.”
As the industry continues to adapt, the structuring and
potential of live stream events will no doubt flourish in the
coming months. Musicians will further evolve with limitations
leading to new, beneficial opportunities. For now, though,
Liverpool and the international music communities have to wait
for a potential vaccine to be created and distributed before the
doors of venues can reopen. It sadly remains a continually bleak
outlook for the future of live music, but it is reassuring to find
that the city region and its musicians are evolving and finding
ways to adapt to these enforced changes. !
Words: Will Whitby / @WillyWhitby
Lead researchers and data analysis: Richard Anderson and Dr
Mathew Flynn, University of Liverpool
Illustration: Esmée Finlay / @efinlayillustration
The next stage of this research will take place via a consultation
event led by Bido Lito!, University of Liverpool and other
musician support organisations on Tuesday 27th October via
Zoom. The event will consider the wider impacts across the
sector with venues, promoters, educators and other industry
professionals encouraged to take part.
To register head to bidolito.co.uk/consultation
FEATURE
17

18

JACQUES
MALCHANCE
Mike Stanton goes stargazing with the producer, DJ and promoter to journey through the cosmos of his
most recent release, joining the dots between constellations of influences along the way.
I’ve been aware of JACQUES MALCHANCE and Upitup
Records for a few years now. It’s nearly impossible to be
part of the fabric of the electronic music scene in Liverpool
without crossing paths with the Upitup boys, Jacques and
Paolo Elmo. I, like many others, have enjoyed nights as guests of
these chaps and their merry band.
Jacques Malchance is a musical polymath; adept in so many
different disciplines it seems almost unfair. He is a classically
trained pianist, an electronic producer, a DJ, a radio show host,
label owner, promoter. He’s an all-round lovely guy, too.
Having relocated from his home city of Rome to a pre-capital
of culture Liverpool in 2005, the intention was to stay a year and
take a music diploma at the Liverpool Institute for Performing
Arts. Fifteen years later and he is still here, has settled down and
is the proud father of two children
In that time Jacques’ musical pedigree has risen, having
performed with amazing artists such as Broadcast, James Taylor
Quartet, Manu Delago, Luke Vibert and Mark Pritchard. Having
co-founded Upitup back in Italy in 2003 with fellow electronic
producer Isocore (Paolo), he has been recording and releasing
music steadily while hosting events, DJing and broadcasting on
Liverpool’s independent radio station, Melodic Distraction.
As the current environment dictates, we meet virtually
through Zoom to talk about his latest haul of creative projects.
After a brief round of hellos, how you doings and messing with
settings, we’re ready.
Jacques is very demonstrative, he talks quickly and
enthusiastically, gesticulating and punctuating his answers with
airy flourishes. His huge mane of hair has been chopped back,
but the beard and his twinkling eyes are still in evidence. There
are tangents and asides throughout the interview punctuated by
Jacques’ infectious laugh and hugely
engaging character. It is impossible
not to be charmed by this most
companionable of men. The hour we
chat for flies by.
Jacques has fully integrated into
the Liverpool culture and is now a bone
fide adopted Scouser, very much one
of our own; transitioning from the man
who arrived on these shores as a green
20-year-old looking for adventure.
“My mum actually encouraged me [to
come to Liverpool],” he says, thinking
back to his days in Italy over 15 years
ago. “She found this course [at LIPA]. I
didn’t know anything about Liverpool,
you know, like no contact whatsoever
and my mum thought this might be an exciting thing.”
Jacques is honest in outlining that he didn’t see himself
sticking around on the Mersey shores for the length of time he
has. But there was a subtle magnetism that drew him and so
many adopted Scousers to the city: “It’s one of those places,”
he points out, “I’m not the only one because I’ve met so many
people that come for what they think is a short amount of time. I
don’t know,” he pauses and ponders with an abstract expression,
“It has got that weird time bubble, kind of warp thing. [Time]
flies. It doesn’t stop. That’s the thing, it actually speeds up.”
In Liverpool, the majority of Jacques’ projects gravitate
towards the electronic, club scene. But there is a subtle
underlayer of classical composition that forms the basis of his
musical exploration. Growing up, Jacques absorbed the music
his parents listened to. “Erik Satie, for sure, was one of the best
ones because I remember hearing Trois Gymnopédies like, really
young,” he recalls. “Still today, it’s an incredible piece of music,
pioneering in so many ways. I went on to do recitals of Satie and
similar stuff.”
Along with a solid basis of passion and poise delivered
“Hearing Squarepusher
changed everything.
It was an instant
moment of ‘whoa’”
by Jimi Hendrix and Pink Floyd’s The Dark Side Of The Moon,
it was as a teenager where the most discernible influences of
Jacques productions took root. It was hearing Squarepusher
that flicked on a light in Jacques’ head. “A brother of a friend of
mine played us it,” he explains. “Before I even heard Come To
Daddy by Aphex Twin, I heard Tundra on Feed Me Weird Things
by Squarepusher. This changed everything. It was an instant
[moment] of ‘whoa’.”
As Jacques eludes to, Aphex Twin’s Come To Daddy was an
essential record and made a strong impression. “I saw the video
late at night on MTV. Again, massively mind blown, like instantly.”
Expanding his horizons followed. Having been grounded
in rock it was only natural he would seek out harder and
harder music, getting into bands like Korn and Slipknot and
exploring the early 2000s phenomenon nu metal. However,
through Squarepusher and Aphex Twin, beats held a particular
fascination, something Jacques would carry with him throughout
his musical career. “[On Come To Daddy] the beats were just
more than a nu metal band could do. It felt like the sound was
massive,” Jacques recounts. “I’ve always been in bands, I’ve
always liked bands, you know, but there was definitely this kind
of love for electronic music that was so different. That was my
first introduction to it.”
His musical tastes took time to flourish, firstly absorbing,
as Jacques puts it, “golden-era” (mid 90s) Warp Records and
Rephlex Records, discovering Autechre, Boards of Canada, Cylob
and Bogdan Raczynski. “I wasn’t into house and techno at all
growing up, so yeah, that type of electronic music,” he adds.
The urge to move beyond standard 120 bpm-like rhythms was
obviously strong. “It kind of felt like four-four at the time to me
was cheating,” he considers. “Now, I tend to do mostly, well not
four-four, but you know, straight
beat kind of stuff.” As time went
on, he discovered the joys of late
80s techno, electro and acid house.
“It still blows my mind,” he says
passionately. “Most acid stuff I like is
from around 1988. It still seems like I
can’t really beat that kind of rawness
and mad riffs.”
As a DJ Jacques, is a true musical
democrat, playing a wide range of
genres including techno, electro,
acid, disco, funk, jungle and music
from beyond westernised genres; he
recently performed a set for Liverpool
Arab Arts Festival. Experience of
putting on the now famous Upitup
nights around the city has honed Jacques’ instincts for what
works, which combinations engage and how artists and DJs can
create a night. “Upitup nights, you know, have always been quite
varied, I think in terms of line-up, there’s always been room for
quite experimental, kind of odd, really non-danceable stuff,” he
explains. “But that’s also part of what we’ve always really loved. If
I have a really long DJ set it will never be the same type of music,”
he continues “My favourite type of night will start with ambient
and downtempo chill and then it picks up a bit and becomes
banging electro, techno and acid working its way up to jungle
and then end with a bang, sort of really heavy like gabber and
breakcore. I mean that, for me, is the ideal club night. That’s what
keeps me interested and on the dancefloor all the time.”
His latest release is Arpeologie, a beautiful and melodic trip
through ambient techno. Think Aphex Twin’s Selected Ambient
Works 85-92 and you get the idea. The music spirals throughout
cascading waves of deep-groove-filled journeys. I had a brilliant
theory that it was titled Arpeologie because ARP synths were
used throughout, but it turns out I was wrong. “It was mainly
because there are a lot of arpeggiators in it, no ARPs were used,”
he says, bringing an end to my assumptions. “All of the sounds
are hardware with sequencers, but kind of limited in a way, that’s
the thing with hardware, it’s like a limitation that you set yourself
[to work with].”
Recorded and mastered in his home studio, Arpeologie
sounds lush with enough movement, patterns, textures and
depth to fill your head with all those lovely endorphin-lit pulses.
However, despite its release in May, the recordings are as much
as 10 years old. So how has it only just been released? Jacques
takes up the story.
“I was supporting Legowelt and he came up after me
afterwards to say how much he liked the set,” he outlines.
Legowelt asked Jacques to record an album for his label at the
time, Strange Life Records, a small independent. “It was cool, he
was putting out amazing stuff, especially at that time. There was
Polysick, and DMX Krew. It was a really nice label.”
After being set the task and deadline, the label then sadly
folded. “That was obviously a bit of a blow,” Jacques concedes.
“He was cool about it, saying, ‘I’m really sorry. I really love the
album. I really like it. Please send it to other labels and, you know,
good luck.’ And that’s how it became this wait.”
Labels were showing the love but nothing came of it. “They
were always like, ‘I really like it, but I’m not sure if it fits the
label’, so that’s been the story of it for years. It became this long
journey. Finally, I was like, ‘No, fuck it’, I’m going to put it out on
vinyl under Upitup later in the autumn.”
The advent of Bandcamp Friday in May prompted Jacques to
release Arpeologie as a digital-only download with the intention
of a proper vinyl release later in the year. The reaction so far
has taken him by surprise, both in its number of plays and the
generosity of those purchasing it for higher than normal fees via
pay-what-you-feel. It’s well worth the adulation it’s receiving in
pockets of the internet.
Along with the release of the record, things remain busy
and exciting for Jacques. Juggling so many different projects and
interests must be exhausting but he seems happy and focused.
His and Paolo’s Melodic Distraction show broadcasts every
month featuring Upitup acts plus a selection of the best music
in the area. These guys really know their stuff and the love just
pours out of the speakers.
Once the current crisis has passed and we all return to
some form of normality, live performance can return and these
nights can once again grace Liverpool. It’s with great hope that
I’ll bump into Jacques or Paolo and experience another one of
their magical nights. Maybe, somewhere down the line he’ll even
achieve his dream of bringing Aphex Twin to Liverpool to play
at Upitup. It’s a dream he views as “complicated”, not to mention
finically challenging. “But you never know,” he teasingly adds,
leaving us with a slither of hope – the kind that would pull us
through the long months ahead with no events on the horizon.
Yet, even without the events, Jacques and his productions
continue to embody the spirit and drive of Liverpool, contributing
to the rich cultural heritage of this great city. It’s fair to say
Jacques Malchance and Upitup will be remembered for years to
come. And those nights with him behind the decks will resonate
with ageing ravers and keep us all warm in our twilight years. !
Words: Mike Stanton / @DepartmentEss
Photography: Michael Driffill / @Driffysphotos
Arpeologie is available now via Upitup records.
Special thanks to Bidston Observatory Artistic
Research Centre for providing access for photography.
For information on the centre’s work and rates for
day visits and overnight stays for artistic projects
and development please visit bidstonobservatory.
org or email enquiries@bidstonobservatory.org
FEATURE
19

LIVERPOOL’S MOST FABULOUS LGBTQIA FESTIVAL RETURNS,
WITH AN ECLECTIC SELECTION OF DIGITAL AND LIVE EVENTS
UP
UP
’
EFOR
PEOPLE
FOR
’
E
PEOPLE
PUBLIC ART
SCREEN-PRINTING
FILM SCREENINGS
PODCASTS
DISCUSSIONS
AND CABARET
FEATURING:
Cheryl Martin, Ashleigh Owen,
Mooncup Theatre, EAT ME,
Queer Bodies, Transcend Theatre,
ROOT-ed Zine, Sophie Green
and many more.
FOR
CHANGE
FOR
CHANGE
WITH ARTIST
IN RESIDENCE
FOX FISHER
ART . ACTIVISM . ALLYSHIP
29 October - 15 November 2020
@LGBT.festival.liverpool
@HomotopiaFest
homotopia.net

Box office:
theatkinson.co.uk
01704 533 333
(Booking fees apply)
The Atkinson
Lord Street
Southport
PR8 1DB
Cats on
the Page
Free
Entry
12 September — 9 January 2021
Reacquaint yourself with the captivating
cats who come to life in books, manuscripts
and artworks. Featuring music by The Stray
Cats, The Cure and deadmau5.
Exhibition partner:

This year’s August bank holiday carnival weekend was stripped of its usual freedom, colour and movement.
With a handful of live events filling the void in Liverpool, Mary Olive explores the essence of dancing and
communality, an integral aspect of our lives which is yet to return.
Fairy lights dance along wooden beams hanging
overhead. Green plants and hand gel fill tables as
bar staff begin to vogue while they serve drinks.
Laughter bubbles as friends rekindle, catching up after
quarantine in the fading summer sun. On the decks, current
selector PapuRaf plays a euphoric mix of afrobeat and dancehall
for the early birds bouncing steadily to the beat. All sat socially
distanced and six to a table, we are all so close yet so far from
the separation that’s punctuated much of 2020.
24 Kitchen Street has changed since I was last here back
in February. The days of strangers’ sweaty bodies dancing
together, packed beneath an enormous disco ball, feel a lifetime
ago. And yet, the sparkling excitement of a Kitchen Street gig
feels as bright as ever. Maybe even more so now, given the long
separation between live audience and live music. Anticipation
crackles in the spaces between separated people and bottles of
anti-bac. Tonight, the outdoor garden terrace at the Baltic Tringle
venue is hosting dancehall and hip-hop collective Nutribe, back
for their first live performance since March.
The love and joy within the audience is palpable. It feels like
remembering something I’d forgotten to miss. The feeling is not
easily defined. It lies somewhere between grounding and flying.
Strangers smiling, sharing singing, slightly swaying. Live music
feels sacred. The performance from Nutribe is rooted in collective
harmony. It is a work of art; an explosion of energy and light.
Speaking to one third of Nutribe, Sticky Dub, just after he steps
off stage, he reflects on the humbling satisfaction of performing
again. “The view from up [on stage],” he says, beaming with
happiness, “it was beautiful, man.”
A room filled with people dancing together is a special
thing to be a part of. Impossible to replicate, each music event
is distinctly unique. It is a collision of causes and effects which
lead every single person to that exact moment. Decisions both
unconscious and conscious bring a collection of strangers
together to share in the healing that is experiencing live music
together. Tonight may have seen more controlled loss of
inhibitions, people keeping their distance and retaining space,
but it was an alluring refraction of
spirit raising compulsion we’re drawn
to. But what exactly is it about music,
particularly sharing music with people,
that makes us crave shared movement
so intensely? Is it simply the social
pleasure of seeing friends and moving
to melodies, or do we share a deeper
connection to it?
Music and dance is embedded
within us, laced within our DNA,
no less than breathing or smiling.
We just feel music, and there is no
training or education needed to simply
understand it. People have been
dancing in groups since humanity
began, and still to this day music and
dance remain spiritually healing. Perhaps this is why we have
been missing it so intensely, and why we will continue to crave it
until it is safe once again to freely dance together.
Live music crystallises so much of this feeling for people.
It’s the instigator, the dynamic force. The energy that exists
between performer and audience makes the music shared attain
“We are universally
bonded through
our need to love,
to be free and to
connect. Music
and dance is our
vehicle to do this”
a new level of power. It’s living. Tonight’s performers are well
versed in both roles as dancer and orchestrators of the dance.
“Whatever you’re feeling, whatever you’re thinking, you just
have to surrender to it in that moment in time,” Nutribe’s Onyx
shares. “I feel like freestyling [rapping] is very healing because
of that.” When freestyling, all three members are at one with
the music, allowing lyrics and movement to flow out of them
as they perform. This is a spiritually
healing process for not only them
performing, but for the audience,
too, who are sharing this moment
of vulnerability and openness with
them.
While in conversation with the
trio, they bounce off one another yet
remain grounded in their originality
as individuals. “What we are in
the moment is what we reflect
in our music,” Doopsman shares.
Remaining in constant motion means
that Nutribe are ever-changing,
flowing and growing as musicians
and as people. As a result, every
performance is a new experience for
both performer and audience member.
Influenced by Caribbean dancehall, throughout their
performance Nutribe celebrate sharing culture, music and art
with an entire room, something their manager Tekla tells me
about. “The interactions [they] have on stage, and the content of
the music, is all Caribbean.”
22

Dancehall was born in Jamaica during the late 70s, famous
for its reggae influence, the genre is built upon fast rhythms and
regarded as one of the most versatile genres today. “You can’t
understand [dancehall] just through observation. You have to
engage in it and feel the energy of it,” says Tekla. Dance is an
incredibly important aspect of dancehall, and it is through the
celebration of dance where this music comes to life.
Nutribe not only have a flow to their words, but also their
bodies. Movement and dance is threaded within their music. All
three members of Nutribe, are trained contemporary and ballet
dancers and use dance as a means to express themselves. “It’s
a slice of freedom,” Stickydub says talking about performing
on stage. “You share that with the crowd. All the experiences
are just slices of freedom that you all feel together.” Onyx adds:
“When you’re in that dance with just those people, you’re locked
in. You’re not thinking about anything else.”
Sharing music and dancing with others helps us to understand
ourselves deeply, passionately and openly. Music physically
stimulates our brain’s reward centres creating a euphoric feeling.
Dance improves our intuition with our bodies, it reduces our
dementia risk and improves self-esteem and sexual health.
The relationship between bodily understanding and music is
shared by Go Off, Sis podcast host and model, Rachel Duncan.
She explains her relationship between the self and dancing,
specifically celebrating dancehall music. “Because I grew up in
Trinidad, dancehall and owning your sexuality has always been
something quite close to my heart,” she tells me. “But beyond
sexuality and feeling sexual, listening to music makes me feel
in charge and empowered. Especially when I’m listening to a
woman playing dancehall.”
Duncan is an ambassador for self-love, self-care and
self-expression. She lifts others through her example of lifting
herself. “It’s like being in a euphoric state,” she illustrates.
Duncan outlines how so much of her confidence stems from her
experiences with Caribbean carnival. “I feel like I’m in an out of
body experience. The music makes me feel like I can do whatever
I want. I just don’t care. Everybody is just having so much fun
dancing together,” she says. Dancing places us in a state of
transcendence, as we let go of control and let our bodies just
flow with a rhythm.
There is no such thing as a bad dancer, only people too
in control to let go. Dancing is for us all, it is pure, and it is
instinctual. “I love dancing in front of the mirror,” Duncan laughs
freely, “that is my vibe!” Duncan shares how self-loving dancing
can be, as well as a shared experience, something we can
practice as a means to care for ourselves. Although we crave
collectively sharing music, perhaps there are other ways we can
access this feeling of euphoria. Perhaps dancing on our own, for
ourselves, for the enjoyment, is the balm for this itch.
A few days prior to Nutribe’s performance, a slice of Carnival
arrived in Liverpool over August bank holiday weekend in a sea of
colours and music with LIME scheduling two consecutive parties
in two local venues. The promoters and party starters of LIME
collective bring dancehall and afrobeat to the city, quite literally
handing out fresh limes and tropical rhythms in unison. Although
the crowd are wrapped in jackets and hoodies, LIME brings the
Caribbean sunshine to the north. Here, a celebration of music,
dance and people takes place. A place where all bodies and
beings are accepted and welcomed.
Catching up with radio host and co-founder of LIME, Babylon
Fox, she reinforces the value of dance and self-expression through
the carnival and dancehall events. “[Lime] is about sharing a part
of me with other people,” she explains. “I like to give a bit of myself
to the space.” There is a specific beauty in creating a space where
in which people come together and dance. “Dancehall is never
aggressive,” Babylon tells me. “[LIME] brings in such a nice mix of
people. It takes us back to that primal movement and rhythm; it
engages all of your senses.”
LIME empowers, celebrating sexuality, self-expression and
connection to others. It is a space where in which everyone has
room to move freely, with respect and community woven into its
foundations. “I like looking after people,” Babylon smiles, “I like
making sure everyone has a good time when they come to our
events.”
As people, we are universally bonded through our need
to love, to be free and to connect. Music and dance is our
vehicle to do this. Whether it’s accessed through organising
events, performing or simply just being a part of the dance,
music is a magic within humanity. Dancing reminds us we’re
here to enjoy life, reconnecting us to our inner child and living
presently. We are born understanding music, and when we
dance, our bodies, spirit and self align in a way which can
never be exactly replicated. It is a fleeting, swelling moment of
complete joy to fully allow us to let go of ego and surrender to
the music.
The craving for live music and dancing is understandably
deep in the current moment. We have a primal need to share
music and to physically express our relationship with it. It is
written within us. The impact on our mental health can be
detrimental without it. Currently, we are living during a time
where we are told to fear strangers, to keep distance and
reduce human connection as much as possible. Ironically,
now is when we emotionally need each other the most. How
do we ensure we are connecting as people, sharing love and
engaging in a shared understanding of one existence, while
simultaneously abiding by strict social distancing regulations?
Perhaps music is the answer. We must embrace our
instinctual want for music, whether that be supporting local
artists at socially distanced events, dancing in our bedrooms
or filling our days with uplifting, euphoric symphonies.
Tonight’s performance at Kitchen Street, as well as LIME’s
colourful festival of rhythms and dancehall, gives us hope. It
gives us something to hold on to, while we continue to reach
out for one another. Hope that we will dance together again
one day. That we will experience those “slices of freedom”
again. And in the meantime, although the world may feel
unfair, unstable and even painful some days, we still have so
much to smile about. Listen to the musicians. Listen to the
events organisers, the radio hosts, and live-streaming DJs. Let
their music soothe you. Let it uplift you. For now, just let the
music play. !
Words: Mary Olive / @maryolivepoet
Photography: (Nutribe) Michael Kirkham / @MrKirks
FEATURE 23

24

BYE
LOUIS
Just before the months of lockdown, the multi-instrumentalist relinquished control of his 2019 EP The Same
Boy for it to take on a new life through a series of open source remixes. With the remix EP now released, Kieran
Callaghan considers the importance of ownership and the unique characteristics of every piece of music.
The Same Boy started its life as an idea straight after
my first gig, back in early 2018. I had sent Neil Grant
(Lo Five) some songs a few months earlier, and he
kindly gave me my first opportunity to perform them
at a really welcoming and friendly Emotion Wave night at 81
Renshaw Street.
Some of the songs I played that night were really old, as
was some of the equipment I was using. One song in particular
I wrote when I first got my sampler
in about 2006. It’s developed a little
over time, but that song is basically
just a looped piano phrase with me
chanting about friendship over the top.
I still triggered that same loop I made
12 years before, and still chanted the
same words I came up with all those
years ago.
After the show, a then very new
friend, Sean Fearon (Foxen Cyn), asked
if I’d like to record some songs and
release them on what would become
the Emotion Wave label. Eighteen
months later, The Same Boy came out.
The record reflects the story of
that aforementioned old song. Regardless of which song I’m
thinking about, it’s the journey that song has taken that feels
consistent. The songs more or less just appeared in my head at
some point in time, and if they made it to the record it means
that they didn’t disappear. They transitioned into the physical
world through the recording process, I guess.
The Same Boy is personal on as many levels as I could make
it. I played every recorded part you can hear (except for one bit
on a balalaika that Sean insisted he had to play). I was there a
lot when Sean was mixing the record and then another friend,
Charlie Foy (produces as Lack – Cong Burn, Blank Mind, Livity
Sound), mastered it all.
I burned all 50 of the CDs in my then living room. My rabbit
friend ate one of the disc burners I used. I wrote on all of the
CD cases. Each CD case had a photo print and a negative of me
inside. I cut and pasted all the little bits you can find inside the
CD packs. I hand painted the posters for the launch event at the
Kazimier Stockroom with my partner Natalie.
The promotional work for the The Same Boy was like a form
of self-parody – I usually hate drawing attention to myself or
sharing pictures. I guess the whole thing is supposed to be a
piece of or a reflection of me – that was the only way any of this
could feel normal. I felt I should have the music wear its deep
personal feelings on its sleeve. To me, back then, it would feel
inauthentic any other way.
A year on from its release, The Same Boy took on a new,
“The remixes
represent a
comfortable loss
of ownership”
open source form, allowing producers to remould and remix the
recordings in whatever way they wanted to. The idea actually
came about through a discussion with Chris (of Bido Lito!
superfame). He mentioned a collection of remixes of Goat songs
(Run To Your Mama Remixes), and I started thinking about what
having my music remixed would feel like. Would I hate hearing
my music repurposed and mixed up and moved around? What
would it all mean to me?
I think, in a lot of ways, all songs
never really exist in their truest form
in the physical world, or beyond
the confines of the songwriter’s (or
songwriters’) head(s). All songs exist
as an idea that will never actually
come into physical existence. This
perfect rendition of the song is never
attainable. Whenever a song is
performed or recorded, it’s always
just a version.
This idea really clicked in my
head a few years ago. The language
I find that I use to describe it kind of
comes from dub music, where there
are lots of different versions of songs
that are mixed by different producers. The songs are titled that
way. So you have stuff like ‘King Tubby & Prince Jammy – Living
Version’ and things like that. And so basically, to me, every song
you’ve ever heard is a version.
I also latched onto the idea of trying to let the songs go
completely, as an attempt to let the feelings that I have whenever
I perform them or think about them change into something else.
It’s a strange experience revisiting the emotions that you attach to
a certain song every time you perform it, because you might have
moved away from that part of your life or whatever it was that
you were trying to better understand through writing the song.
With all of this in mind, I made it all as open as possible and
decided to put every part of every song from The Same Boy
into a publicly accessible Google Drive, and posted a link to it in
messages to friends, and my Instagram and Twitter feeds. I really
liked the idea that you could have a chain of reinterpretations
as well, so you could get more distance between the original
idea and a new piece of work. To get further than one stage
removed from my idea as part of this project, I asked my friend
Alice Lapworth (Wives’ Tales) if she’d be interested in creating
something in response to one of the remixes.
When I asked her the question for the first time, I actually
didn’t know what any of the remixes were going to sound like.
In the end, Alice was really into Steve Amadeo’s strings-heavy
re-imagining of Between The Hedges and she came up with
this really singular, beautiful piece of visual work, Between
The Walls. I stayed away from every element of it as it came
together. It’s wholly the work of Alice, Jack Ehlen (filming and
editing) and all of the performers on the day.
In many ways the remixes represent a comfortable loss of
ownership. I think the most important idea sparks either come
fully formed in one’s own head, or fully unexpectedly as part of
a communal experience. I don’t think music should be ‘owned’ in
a lot of ways, although I recognise the importance of ownership
when it comes to trying to make a living from music. But really,
these concepts aren’t where the beauty of and interest in music
lie for me. I think it’s all about the joy of the idea, and then where
that initial idea goes and how it changes and impacts differently
on different people. In quite a literal way, the same song sounds
different to different people. The idea of ownership seems so far
from what makes all of this so special.
The strangest thing about this process was hearing Steve
Amadeo’s remix of Between The Hedges, which ended up being
the piece that was responded to by Alice. Every remix was
totally unguided, and beyond asking people if they would like
to be a part of this, I have had no hand in any of the production.
But Steve’s version of Between The Hedges sounds closer to
the idea of this song that I have in my head than the version
that ended up on The Same Boy. It was initially written while
on a very long cycle through the countryside. I realised I was
surrounded by fields full of animals whose existence was
predicated on their slaughter for meat. Almost as a way of
working through how I felt about this fact that should be obvious
to me more often, I started repeating phrases and thoughts in
my head.
I heard very organic sounds in my head as well, and the words
and tune felt like they should be bellowed out, in a very raw way.
I kind of heard this idea as if it were in the style of The Incredible
String Band. And so Steve’s reworking of the song for strings
– even though it isn’t in the style of The Incredible String Band –
gets much closer to this original idea than my own version.
The whole project, truly, is not my work. And that’s the point
of it, really. It’s about what new things can be made from the old.
Personally, I can’t imagine making work that isn’t personal. But
this project has taught me a lot about the possibilities of new
things appearing in unexpected ways. With the current situation
where we can’t be physically present together in most settings,
this way of working could become a lot more important. !
Words: Kieran Callaghan / @bye_louis
Photography: Connor O’Mara (left) & Natalie Lissenden (right)
Illustration: Eimear Kavanagh / eimear-art.co.uk
The Same Boy and A Different Boy are available now via
Emotion Wave
FEATURE
25

MAKING THE CASE
Following the recent closures of Sound, The Zanzibar, and now
Constelations, Charly Reed underscores the importance of protecting
and developing more small venues and their artistic communities.
Small venues across the UK have been struggling for many years. With the effects of the
current pandemic, this has become a crisis. In Liverpool alone, The Zanzibar, Sound and
Studio 2 have all closed in recent months, with Constelations recently added to the list.
Many others nationally, and locally, are in need of saving.
These venues were essential to my personal development as an artist, promoter and creative.
I played my first ever gig at The Zanzibar and regularly played Eggy Records’ events at Sound
and promoted my own gigs there with Samurai Kip. What ties these venues together are the
communities that surround them and the social function these spaces provide. This can be
recognised by anyone entering a well-run small space; the palpable energy, the near tangible
creativity being manifested.
Small music venues form a sometimes forgotten section of our music ecosystem, yet they’re
arguably the most important aspect. Without these spaces there would be no major acts to
headline large venues and festivals. Too often it’s only the main stages and legendary venues that
seem to be highlighted in an artist’s journey, but their first is just as important as their biggest.
Small venues are vital for new and upcoming acts to cut their teeth and organically build their
audience. They are the lifeblood of most music scenes and act as social spaces for the development
of artists, fellow creatives, events and communities. This social and cultural importance can often be
overlooked, but in the long term it is vital for a healthy and creative UK music industry.
Many people who use these spaces do value their social power and sense of community.
However, in the wider context of the UK music industry, local governance and financial issues
cannot be ignored. Venues such as 24 Kitchen Street remain under threat from overzealous
development. In many cases, such development has been approved by Liverpool City Council. But
it’s not just the small venues feeling the strain. Even well-established venues are struggling for
money as funding for the arts is funnelled off and the economic climate worsens.
According to the Music Venue Trust, even though 140 grassroots music venues have been
taken off their critical list, over 400 are still at imminent risk of being closed permanently. The
government support package during the pandemic has proven insufficient to stop a number of
small venues going out of business. Manchester’s Gorilla and Deaf Institute were saved when on
the brink, but the fate isn’t the same for The Welly and Polar Bear in Hull. The pandemic was the
writing on the wall for the integral hub that Sound had become here in Liverpool.
Although Liverpool’s music tourism industry brings in millions of pounds every year, very little
comes into grass roots music venues. In ‘Developing a Liverpool City of Music Stratergy’, Culture
Liverpool estimated that £200 million is gained by the Liverpool economy each year from music
related spending. However, only £3 million actually relates to grassroots shows. This squeeze
points to the vital issue of how our society is structured and how it views the arts. Monetary value is
promoted over social cohesion, community and creative output. Even though organisations like the
Music Venue Trust and Liverpool City Region Music Board are doing good work for small venues,
major players in the music industry often give too little support. The millions of pounds at the top
end of the industry remains with the biggest companies with little reinvestment in grassroots
venues.
Small venues are the foundation of UK music, and they’re also integral to local scenes. Eggy
Records fostered a new phase of DIY music community from the tight confines of Sound Basement,
with the label’s artists and extended bands playing their regular showcases – including an event
for the BBC Radio 6 Music Festival fringe. Sam Warren, co-founder of Eggy Records, says that
“without small music venues, the wider music industry as a whole would be in danger of collapsing.
Artists do not start off playing shows in larger venues, with larger bands, this just does not
happen”.
Small venues provide performance and social spaces for acts to develop and are important
in defining the local cultural character. Liverpool is perhaps stuck in its 60s cultural character, not
appreciating the musical progression the city has made and the current scenes and movements that
are happening. This is hindering positive progression in the present and future for Liverpool and the
wider UK.
The performers and the audience are obviously the lifeblood of any venue. For a venue to work
these two groups have to be attracted to a venue and invest in it over time. This is what builds a
community around these spaces. It is not just the band up on stage or the sounds that come out of
the speakers that is important, it is everyone involved – from the audience to the photographers,
writers, bar staff, promoters and the cleaners afterwards. In small venues the performers enter and
leave through the same doors as everyone else and there is often no backstage. This makes the
performer feel part of the audience and vice versa. It also means the performers can be found in
the crowd watching other bands and sticking around after the show, leading to a greater sense of
connection and community.
In a previous article in Bido Lito!, Rebecca Frankland talked about the community that has
been created around the Wavertree Worldwide events held at Smithdown Social Club. This DIY
community brings lots of different people together to enjoy themselves and dance. Inspired by other
communities and spaces, such as London’s Total Refreshment Centre, they have sought to create
their own south Liverpool version of a democratised party community. Audiences and performers
connect with the authenticity that they see in promoters and venues that care about what they’re
doing, that care about the community they are creating. International DJs who have played at the
26

Wavertree Worldwide events have praised the no frills space and how they feel connected to the
audience. Even small things like security can make a difference to how people feel and perceive the
venue. At venues such as Sound and Smithdown Social Club, there was little security other than
the venue staff. These spaces are safe and open places to visit, which enhances their community
vibe.
Sound Basement was a good example of a venue which hosted a community of people who
came together to create something that people really cared about. This was a community of people
who hadn’t come to listen to any one genre; there was an emphasis on creativity, good times and
dancing. Music genres are a hard thing to define and can mean different things to different people.
More important are the social groups that we create along with our listening. This means that the
social and community spaces these venues provide are invaluable. It is not just about what music
we like; it’s the associated groups that can define us as people.
Emma Warren, music journalist and DJ, notes in her book Make Some
Space that “nightclubs are vastly underestimated as motors of social
change because of the social mixing that happens within them… we
underestimate them as places of personal transformation or even as a
coping mechanism to deal with the struggles of life. Dancing in the dark
is a human need”. So much is covered in these three sentences. These
places give such a strong social connection between people that they
can affect social change. The power of being in a room and listening and
moving to music with others can change society and yourself. It breeds
tolerance, openness and communal values. This personal development
is also important as in these spaces people can gain comfort within their
identities. The last line of Warren’s quote is a powerful statement. This
need and desire to listen to music, socialise and dance is an innate human
characteristic.
Some people feel the need to take matters into their own hands.
The promoters at Sound and Smithdown Social Club have often been
musicians and DJs who started off promoting to get the music they wanted to hear played, but
have progressed to running regular nights. This unseen hand guiding an event is underappreciated.
Without this planning, problem-solving and pushing, nights would be shaky, error prone, and
never even get off the ground. Promoters can have a big part in shaping what a venue is about.
Sound was known as the home of Eggy Records, and the Eggy showcase nights were often sold
out and filled with local and touring talent. Smithdown Social Club and Wavertree Worldwide have
become so synonymous that some people refer to them interchangeably. This power to craft the
creative image of the venue is a powerful tool and a role that needs more acknowledgment at the
grassroots level.
Another group of people who are important to venues but who rarely get mentioned are
wider creatives, those not in the binary on stage and audience roles. Lee Fleming, co-founder
“What is important
is not the physical
space itself, but
the people and
culture that are
occupying it”
of Wavertree Worldwide and Anti Social Jazz Club says that “small music venues are often
underestimated in their contribution to the community. Whether it’s a purpose-built space or a back
room of the local pub, hosting underground and emerging popular culture is both necessary and
influential. Beyond the musicians who play there, these small venues also play host to communities
of fans, employees, volunteers, promoters and other enthusiasts”.
These other creatives can play important functions in venues and scenes, and Liverpool’s small
venues give as much support to these creatives as to the musicians and promoters. Photographers,
who are often at the heart of developing scenes, can hone their talents in these often challenging
spaces. Other artists will also be involved in designing posters, decorations, artwork and
merchandise, linking the music more closely with the wider arts. Without this wider community,
these very pages of Bido Lito! would not exist.
While Liverpool is home to so many interesting musicians,
creatives, promoters and audiences, there are lots of performance
spaces in bars, clubs and pubs which are not promoting original
music or trying to develop a sense of community. This weakness of
programming can be infuriating to musicians looking to develop their
own original sound, stifling creativity and damaging the progression
of the wider music scene. However, there are also venues positively
pushing music forward, with owners seeing the social and cultural
importance of their venue. These spaces are important for audiences
to come and have new cultural experiences and to nurture first time
performers and up and coming talent. The idea that putting on music is
an important public service can be overlooked by local government and
developers. Bringing people together and having the funding to do so
and engage local communities is vital for the health of our society.
As we lose more and more small venues, the damage to the
musical ecosystem is evident. Small venues provide a space for young,
new and leftfield artists to grow, express themselves and build their
musical culture. They provide safe spaces for audiences to experience new culture and connect
with like-minded fellow audience members and performers. These social spaces create something
unique and important. The venues are more than just the performers and audience; they are a
network of groups and individuals, who work together both in the limelight and behind the scenes
to make space for people to be themselves. We can make this community and social interaction
happen anywhere. What is important is not the physical space itself, but the people and culture
that are occupying it. This is where the future of Liverpool’s musical heritage lies and it needs
protecting. !
Words: Charly Reed
Photography: Billy Vitch / @billy_vitch_rock_photography
FOR SMALL SPACES
FEATURE
27

SPOTLIGHT
“I’m challenging
gender equality
in today’s music
industry by
entering into a
male-dominated
genre of drill”
QUEEN YUE
Embodying an historical Chinese
empress and recontextualising the
Silk Road, Queen Yue is here to
turn heads in UK drill.
QUEEN YUE has a clear goal: to make her mark on the UK
drill scene, and be the first scouse female to do so.
Yue’s inspirations lean heavily on Chinese history and
philosophy, referencing an age and dynasty where equality was
at the forefront of culture. “Through my music I’m going back
in time to explore the characters on the Silk Roads during the
reign of the Wu Zetian, China’s first female ruler and empress in
700AD,” she explains. “Wu Zetian [presided over] a time in China
where females were equal to men,” she adds. Drawing on this
inspiration, Yue is attempting to embody this historical context in
her own journey into drill, challenging the societal norms of the
male-dominated genre.
Extending these themes further in her music, an upcoming
EP centres on the Silk Road initiative from China and Europe,
and how the historical circumstances remain relevant today. Her
debut single, Silky Robes, explores how it would feel to be a
merchant on the Silk Road “and how this is alludes to the selling
of drugs and tales of violence that we experience through drill
personas in today’s music”. Silky Robes zeros in on those working
as contemporary ‘merchants’, while still remaining focused on
her fight for gender equality. The single mixes drill sensibilities
with Sino instrumentation, topped with a defining Scouse vocal
delivery.
While the influences of Chinese history and culture play a
pivotal role in her music, Queen Yue’s influences don’t stop there.
She cites Sean Paul and Talk Talk as early influences, being
some of the first singles and albums she ever owned. However,
Gwen Stefani is marked out as the significant driving force in
her early years. While Stefani remained a musical influence, she
also influenced Yue in terms of visual identity. Gwen Stefani’s
Love. Angel. Music. Baby. was named after her Japanese back-up
dancers, chosen due to her own love of Harajuku and fashion.
Yue recognises the influence this had on her own identity, now
reflected in her chosen stage persona – an ode to her love of
Chinese culture and fashion. It’s an alluring combination, both
in the historical context that props up the persona and how Yue
executes it as an artist.
Her love of music was apparent from an early age, and her
determination to succeed in the industry remains paramount. She
acknowledges how creating music enables her to further explore
identity. “It allows you to access experiences to act out your
desired identity and it’s a great cathartic release when you’re
actively creating music,” she notes. Yue’s admiration for music
looks past the usual reasonings, however, explaining how it
enables her to practice self-love, while enhancing confidence and
self-esteem, allowing us to see how music isn’t just a getaway to
success and attention. Yet, just like every other artist she has her
individual dreams for her career. She notes desires to eventually
support local hip-hop artists such as Lee Scott or Tony Broke, but
“on a worldwide scale I’d just love to support Slime Dollaz, Yung
Nudy or Young Thug”, she adds.
As she continues to make waves in the drill scene, unfazed
by any mainstream expectations, Queen Yue has her eyes set on
making it big, all the while knocking down any gender barriers
that stand in her way. With her unique identity, determined
attitude and signature sound – “a slimey mix of UK drill, trap,
trillwave and cloud rap” – it appears Queen Yue’s found her forte.
Words: Danni King / @dannikingg
Photography: Jacob Davenport / @jacobdavs
Artwork design: Elliott Harosh / @leftyvisuals
@queenyue_
Silky Robes and Dojo are available now.
28

OSTRICH
Dipping into wonky, head nodding
pop, the five-piece strut out ready
to test neck muscles with their
charming groove.
“Music gives us a
creative outlet and
gets us away from
the day to day grind”
If you had to describe your music/style in a sentence, what
would you say?
Will M (vocals): ‘Synth-easy speak-pop’, but obviously that’s
ludicrous. So it’ll have to be a Pulp/Nick Cave/B-52’s love child.
Have you always wanted to create music? How did you get into it?
Will M: I was a bit of a late bloomer. I only started writing music
from about 20. Before that I was quite happy being the rhythm
guitar man creeping about at the back of the stage
Leo (guitar): I used to make little demos and recordings in my
bedroom as a teenager, which taught me about production and
overall sound. I had a performance lecturer at uni who told me to
write parts to serve the song rather than to serve yourself.
Can you pinpoint a live gig or a piece of music that initially
inspired you?
Stuart (drums): Seeing Metronomy in 2015 set a high benchmark
for how tight and energetic a band can be live. It was a special
gig and they’re a big influence on our music.
Do you have a favourite song or piece of music to perform?
What does it say about you?
Leo: I love playing Perfect Family. That was our first tune to come
out of nothing in a practice, almost by accident. It was amazing to
be in that room where a single note developed into a whole song.
What do you think is the overriding influence on your
songwriting: other art, emotions, current affairs – or a mixture
of all of these?
Will M: A lot of the songs have a sentimental quality about them,
I like to write about things that we all experience. They can be
quite abstract, though, and sometimes I don’t really know what
the song’s about until it’s finished.
If you could support any artist in the future, who would it be?
Will B (bass): Yoko Ono. We’d probably get a decent crowd.
Lydia (sax/keys): Big Thief would be amazing. Adrianne Lenker’s
voice does things to me.
Do you have a favourite venue you’ve performed in? If so, what
makes it special?
Stuart: Our last gig before lockdown was at Quarry. Great space,
amazing sound and really nice people running it.
Lydia: We went to Germany last year to play at a beer festival.
Not our best performance, but probably the coolest venue.
Will M: A special mention to The Zanzibar, too. We were
saddened to hear the news that it’s closing down. It was vital for
new artists in the city.
Why is music important to you?
Will M: Music brought us all together as a group – we’ve been to
some lovely places and met lovely people. It gives us a creative
outlet and gets us away from the day to day grind, especially
when we gig. It gives you that freedom to express yourself and
let loose a little, and that’s pretty special.
Photography: Danny De La Bastide / @danieldelabastide
facebook.com/ostrichband
Inside Out (Got No Doubt) and One Man Band are available now.
TORTURE AND THE
DESERT SPIDERS
Shaped by the sounds emitting from the Big Apple, Anna Kunz’s
creative vessel is carving a fresh edge into Liverpool’s DIY punk scene.
If you had to describe your music/style in a sentence, what
would you say?
Punk/garage rock ’n’ roll deeply rooted in traditional melodic
songwriting.
Have you always wanted to create music? How did you get
into it?
I grew up surrounded by the New York rock scene, my mom
being one of the fundamental characters there in the 80s/90s
as a talent buyer/venue booker. Making music came out of a
necessity to express myself and then grew into something more
identifiable (by art/sound, etc) as I worked on different mediums
of art (be it graphic design, live performance, theatre, etc).
Can you pinpoint a live gig or a piece of music that initially
inspired you?
Paolo Nutini at the Troc in Philly – somewhere falling on the edge
of soul and gritty rock ’n’ roll with a pop melodic twist, all while
holding the audience hostage in a ‘moment’. It was something to
aspire to with certainty.
Do you have a favourite song or piece of music to perform?
What does it say about you?
When The Horse Will Run. The track was one of the first I wrote
without a band in mind, so it really can be played with just me
and a kick drum and people will still dance, which I like. The track
is derived from a poem I wrote about some past trauma and I
think it is really incredible to see people dance/fight in a mosh pit/
sing along to words that kinda haunted me for a while. It is a bit
beyond catharsis – I’d say it’s some weird artistic release that I
can’t quite describe.
What do you think is the overriding influence on your
songwriting: other art, emotions, current affairs – or a mixture
of all of these?
I just pull from whatever is around me. I like to spin stories
based on titbits of information or things I’ve heard. I think if I try
to write a song about what is happening in the world it will be
disingenuous, so instead I try to speak my own truth and write
using other peoples’ words when necessary. I don’t really write
to perform, or perform at all really; I just get onstage and am a
bit more present than usual. Stylistically, I am really influenced by
blues musicians because I’ve always had a fondness for honest
poetry and a good hook.
Do you have a favourite venue you’ve performed in? If so, what
makes it special?
Probably 24 Kitchen Street. Playing there was kinda my first
experience with something that felt like a DIY community in
Liverpool, but it was still really well put together. Great sound,
amazing space and it is so conducive to having a boogie or
throwing yer mates to the ground.
Why is music important to you?
For me, music has always been more of a necessity. I need it to
function. I used to say that some people feel natural speaking
and I felt natural singing – it is my first language. I consider
music to be the common ground between most people and
to be a fundamental medium for expression. With it, I can be
articulate and multi-dimensional in my responses. Without
it, I feel disadvantaged in conversation. I consider the writing
process to be somewhere between sacred and communal; it is
the point between sublime art-making and absolutely ridiculous
collaborative work.
Photography: Chloe Brover
tortureandthedesertspiders.bandcamp.com
Money is available from 26th September with the band’s debut
EP, Field Recordings Of A Social Athlete, released in November.
SPOTLIGHT
29

PREVIEWS
Liverpool © Don McCullin
EXHIBITION
DON McCULLIN
Tate Liverpool – until 09/05
The North West of England has long been a point
of fascination. This isn’t solely the case for its own
inhabitants, stirred in the dense melting pot of
cultures stretching across an Orion’s belt of Liverpool,
Manchester and, eventually, Leeds. Many eyes looking in have
been equally attracted to its charming realism.
Of these outsiders, it’s perhaps George Orwell’s The Road
To Wigan Pier that pressed its nose closest to the glass in an
attempt to underpin a sense of ‘northernness’. His account does
its best to paint a fair picture, with the Etonian slumming his
way from mill town to mill town in the mid 30s. But it’s difficult
not feel a cold, thick layer of dirt on your hands as you turn
through pages punctuated by sooty skylines and slag heaps.
The landscape would appear uninhabitable if it wasn’t for the
warmth of the people depicted.
30 years on from Orwell’s account, the scene had begun
to change. It’s one captured and displayed in acclaimed
photojournalist DON MCCULLIN’s new retrospective showing at
Tate Liverpool.
In frequent trips up north, McCullin turned his camera
on a landscape no longer bearing a thick layer of soot, but
one covered ever more so in the darker colours of poverty. A
landscape where industry departed but its people remained. In a
career defined by pictures of war, his attention to social conflict
is no less compelling.
With the retrospective featuring a newly added collection
of images taken in Liverpool in the 60s and 70s, Elliot Ryder
spoke to the photojournalist about his experiences of the city, his
depictions of conflicts and his role as a chronicler.
As your retrospective heads north, there’ll be specially
added section of photographs depicting industrial northern
locations, such as Liverpool and surrounding mill towns and
cities. A lot of your career has been a built on war reportage,
but what was your initial draw to documenting this side of
Britain in the 60s and 70s?
I’ve always had an interest in Liverpool. I went there many
years ago with Jonathan Miller, the playwright, and met the poet
Adrian Henri who was the key to so much of what we’d see
across the city. But I’d been coming to Liverpool long before the
60s and 70s.
When I was a 15-year-old boy
I worked on a train that would set
off from Euston Station and head to
Liverpool. I worked in the dining car,
washing up dishes. I’d sleep in Edge
Hill, where they had a dormitory. I’d
do the journey three or four times a
week.
The city has therefore always
been familiar to me. I felt I knew it.
I loved it there, really. Then, when I
returned in the 1960s with Jonathan
Miller, I never stopped coming back.
I met Adrian and he became a friend.
I really loved Adrian. He was the life
and soul of Huskisson Street, and
around that area, the Ye Cracke Pub and the Philharmonic. I was
amazed by the culture, so I returned frequently.
What were your first impressions of the city in an era
when the industry had declined and its former shipping wealth
had departed to the south? What was the main draw for what
you were wanting to capture?
I wanted to show Liverpool that it was once a great city. It
still is, of course, but it was once a great city based on its docks;
“I’ve learnt my way
through this life by
walking amongst the
truth of things, the
poverty, the pain of
people’s unhappiness”
the liners that took people across the Atlantic. It was a very
important place. I wanted to show in a way, without disrespect,
the slight decline when those ships stopped departing from
Liverpool.
It was a very proud city, Liverpool. I found Liverpool people
to be challenging and uplifting, full of laughter and wit. It was
a city that was compelling, really. What drew me to it most of
all was how little it had changed.
You expect cities to grow, but there’s
always been a divide between the
north and the south of England. The
lion’s share of wealth and growth is
in the south. Liverpool in a way was a
backwater place, yet it had all of these
amazing people that were trying to
make the city go in a future direction. It
wasn’t totally working, I don’t think.
The thing that interested me was
the slum clearance programme, which
was a huge mistake. They flattened
them all, when they could have served
as the first houses young people
bought. It created a wilderness in the
Toxteth area, which looked more like I
was in Berlin after the war. It was a compelling image to see this
tragic landscape. And it wasn’t helping Liverpool, because that
landscape stayed there for quite a while until it was redeveloped.
I haven’t even seen that part of Liverpool ever since I took those
pictures.
Much of Liverpool’s centre has had a capitalist makeover,
but in many ways Liverpool back then characterised the social
aspect of the conflicts you’ve become renowned for. A lot of
30

the poverty you captured in the north will have been echoed
in your own upbringing in Finsbury Park in north London, a
part of your life you regarded as an embarrassment given the
nature of your situation. When training your lens on scenes
further up north, was it somewhat easier to pick out these
subjects as you had a sense of solidarity with their situation?
I think what you’re saying is quite interesting, really,
because when you come from a poorer background it doesn’t
take you five seconds to recognise a group of people who
are living in that background. Even though I was learning my
photojournalistic photography, I didn’t have to learn about life
and poverty – I grew up in it. In a way, I wasn’t one of those
snotty-nosed southerners looking into the birdcage; I was fully
aware of the social differences in the country, and the class
levels which I detest. As I walked amongst Liverpool and felt
the warmth and the friendliness of the people, I slightly took
advantage of it, really. As a photographer, not everybody likes
you photographing them.
Do you think it’s important for the documenter and social
narrator to have a sense of solidarity and shared experience
with their subject? Does it affect the authenticity of the
photograph in any way? For instance, The Last Resort, shot
in Merseyside by Martin Parr in the early 90s, was accused by
some of fetishization of the working class. Do you think the
level of agency is important for a photojournalist?
I’m very honest in what I do. I wouldn’t want to do anything
dishonest that I would have to account for later on in life. My
work is in black and white. Martin does colour, which can take
away poverty in some respects. I don’t want to cover anything
up. I work in black and white and I’m there to tell the truth.
There are no lies involved in the things I’ve shown, not only in
Liverpool. Some of the most wicked pictures in my exhibition
are pictures I’ve taken in Bradford, which [was] one of the most
impoverished cities in England. I don’t pull my punches when I
photograph poverty. Mainly because I understand it.
To what extent do you think the photojournalist plays a
part in the shaping of a narrative? Would you regard yourself
as a mirror, or more of a narrator when shooting?
I saw myself as a chronicler. I chronicle the injustice of what
I see through my eyes and what I know through my personal
experience. I’ve learnt my way through this life by walking
amongst the truth of things, the poverty, the pain of people’s
unhappiness. I see it and I recognise it. Not everybody does. A
lot of people would close their eyes to it and want to walk past
it. I will press the button on my camera and say, “This is not
right. This is not the way people should be living their lives, in
this squalor and poverty.” I am no Sir Galahad, by the way. I’m no
knight in shining armour speaking up for the people, I’m not that
kind of person. I’m a person who journeys through life and sees
with his eyes and presses the button on the camera. That’s what
I do. I’m not a hero.
It’s important, nonetheless, to capture and show these
moments?
I’ve been doing it for years, and I’ll tell you something, I’ve
only made the slightest bit of difference. I could probably come
up to the north and you will still find millions of people living
in unfair, unjust, deep and dark poverty. All those pictures I’ve
taken in the past haven’t made much of a difference, if any at all.
Much of your iconic work focuses on military conflicts
and intra-state wars, and you’ve stated you’re still affected by
some of the images you captured. How do the scenes of social
conflict compare to the stark realities of militarised violence in,
say, Vietnam?
In Vietnam and Cambodia, many were
farming people. People who had part of the
Cold War dumped on them. One million North
Vietnamese soldiers paid with their lives, and
another one million down in the South. War
had nothing to do with their culture. It was
dumped on them by the Americans, Russians
and Chinese. Sometimes, if you live a simple
life in the country, with a thatched house,
in the darkness of night and brightness
of dawn and you go out and exercise
your rice growing, it’s a lot purer and a
simpler life than somebody trapped in a
city with thousands of other people, and
the squalor that goes with it. The two
cultures don’t match up. At one moment
you have this paradise situation in
Vietnam and Cambodia, next thing
they know they’ve got people bombing
them, killing them, burning them and
their children. There’s no comparison.
It’s totally different environment. And
yet, as a photographer, I managed to
harness both of those situations and
funnel them through the lens of my
camera. And it can only be done
with a person behind that camera
who is emotionally tuned in to
these two wrongs.
Looking towards the
retrospective moving up north,
is it strange to see your work
in a gallery rather than in a
newspaper? Is it stranger to think of yourself as an artist, too?
It’s always at the back of my mind: is it right to have these
photographs in an art gallery? Who are you, a photographer
or are you an artist? I totally disclaim myself as an artist. I am a
photographer and very happy with that title. But at the same
time, since I cannot get my work published to the degree it used
to be in The Sunday Times, there’s no outlet for people like me
anymore. I’d put the pictures on the underground subways in
London if I had to, rather than let them rot away in their boxes
in my house. It’s better to get the voice out there, even if it
means intruding into an art gallery.
How does the context of the photographs change
once on gallery walls? Is there then a greater emphasis
on aesthetic rather their socio-political content?
At Tate Britain, they had 180,000 people go through
my exhibition. Some of my friends went to see it and
they said you could have heard a pin drop in the most
crowded of spaces [pre-Covid]. One noted how the
silence in there said a lot about the exhibition and its
power; people were so moved by the awful things
they were seeing that they shouldn’t be seeing. It’s a
strange place to have that feeling, in famous gallery
like Tate Britain. I must have done something right.
As for more contemporary photojournalism,
what are your hopes for the medium? Is it able to
compete with the instantaneous live feeds and
videos on social media? For example, after the
explosion in Beirut, many people across the
world had already seen a multitude of images.
The word photojournalism is dead in a way.
Newspapers don’t want that kind of image
in their newspapers anymore. Newspapers
aren’t interested in the photographs that I did,
and other photographers like me. It’s about
celebrity, it’s about footballers. When [Harry
Maguire] did something wrong in Greece, it
got total saturation, because here’s a guy
who earns £190,000 a week. [Apparently],
he’s much more important than the poor
starving on the other side of the world,
being bombed at the same time.
Finally, Don, do you have any
concerns about the truth and
authenticity of photojournalism as
we move deeper into a digital era?
As media becomes less institutional
and more open source, does it open
the door to a world of post-truth
imagery?
I’ve done my best to tell the
truth and to go to places which
I know not many people want
to look at. But now ‘fake news’
has upset the balance. It’s made
people reconsider what they’re
looking at, what they’re reading in a newspaper. Is it true or
false? There are people who would say they believe nothing
they read in newspapers, and it would be wise to not believe
everything in newspapers, but a lot of it will be quite truthful.
It’s a personal choice. It’s a personal responsibility. It’s up to you
to make that decision. I’m a photographer and not an orator. My
opinions don’t count for much. My photography is my voice.
Words: Elliot Ryder / @elliot_ryder
Photography: © Don McCullin
Liverpool in the seventies © Don McCullin
Don McCullin retrospective is showing at Tate Liverpool until
21st May 2021. Visit tate.org.uk/whats-on/tate-liverpool for
tickets.
Liverpool 8, 1961 © Don McCullin
PREVIEWS
31

PREVIEWS
FESTIVAL
LIVERPOOL
IRISH FESTIVAL
Various venues + online – 15/10-25/10
Patrick Kielty
October sees the return of the annual LIVERPOOL IRISH FESTIVAL,
celebrating the connections between Liverpool and Ireland
through art, conversation, music, and history. This year the 10-day
festival will run a virtual programme headlined by Irish comedian
and TV presenter PATRICK KIELTY, who kicks things off by hosting the
discursive event Hard Histories, Positive Futures, in which he will interview
representatives from Northern Ireland’s Commission for Victims and
Survivors.
Following on from this, award-winning CNN correspondent MIKE CHINOY
is discussing his new biography Are You With Me? Kevin Boyle and the Rise of
the Human Rights Movement. Focused upon co-founder of the Northern Ireland
Civil Rights Association Kevin Boyle, the biography explores Kevin’s role in the
curation of the Good Friday Agreement, while delving into Northern Ireland’s
Troubles and the legacies.
As always, music plays a large role in the make-up of the festival, and this
year sees independent Cork-based label Unemployable Promotions present a
showcase of their roster of artists. The event will provide a taster of the music
scene over in the Munster city and instigate a future exchange for talent in the
respective ports.
Despite the novel delivery of the majority of this years’s festival programme,
exploring the city’s Irish heritage continues to be a key aspect of the event, and
this year is no different. A walking tour of Scotland Road will take place, as well
as the South Liverpool Walk. A third tour, City of Hunger, City of Gold marks the
Irish Famine and will lead from the Irish Famine memorial at St Luke’s Gardens
and finish at Central Library. These tour routes see walkers learn about Irish
history through churches, pubs, statues and architecture across the city.
Also original for the festival’s 2020 edition, the Meet the Maker series seeks
to introduce online audiences to artists, creators and crafters of both Liverpool
and Irish heritage. The one-off online events are set to explore and celebrate
their art, through knowledge exchanges and Q&A sessions. The series will
feature the likes of biographer CARMEN CULLEN, musician TERRY CLARKE-
COYNE and historian GREG QUIERY, among others. liverpoolirishfestival.com
Unemployable Records
32

FESTIVAL
Homotopia
Various – 29/10-15/11
FILM
October Cinema Events
Picturehouse at FACT
Fox Fisher
The UK’s longest running LGBTQIA arts and culture fest returns
at the end of October with a typically vibrant programme of
activity. Homotopia’s artist in residence for the 2020 event is
polymath FOX FISHER. Fisher rose to fame via the C4 series My
Transexual Summer and played a huge role in making the trans
conversation mainstream. A key part of this year’s Homotopia
will be assessing how that conversation is playing out and
progressing. Fisher will be coordinating and hosting a range of
activity throughout the two-week festival, including discursive
events, screen printing get togethers and more. There will also
be cabaret and much more to be announced.
Riz Ahmed’s Mogul Mowgli is among the top choices for cinemagoers
this month now we’re re-accustomed to attending the
big screen. The film, hailed by critics, tells the story of a British-
Pakistani rapper struck down by disease and is directed by the
highly-regarded Bassam Tariq. Also coming to Picturehouse
in October is the Jordan Peele-penned ‘spiritual sequel’ to the
original, Candyman, based on Liverpool author Clive Barker’s
chilling novel. And if that’s not enough to tickle your popcorn, the
studio responsible for fright fests Midsommar and Hereditary are
back for Halloween with St Maude.
GIG
A Lovely Word
Online – 01/10
The Singh Twins (2008)
Everyman Theatre are kicking off October with the return
of their monthly instalments of A Lovely Word, this time
showcased online. The poetry night will be presented in the
same format as the usual in-person version, but available to
stream via Zoom, Facebook Live and YouTube. This month sees
poet DEAN ATTA take the headline slot, alongside 20 open mic
performers. Atta is known for his prose on race, gender and
sexuality, alongside his regular column in Attitude magazine.
Open mic performers are allocated four-minute performance
slots, and sign-ups are available from 21st-25th September.
Dean Atta
EXHIBITION
The Making Of Liverpool
OUTPUT Gallery – 1/10-25/10
EXHIBITION
The Triumph of Art
The Atkinson, Southport – 09/10-12/12
OUTPUT Gallery is welcoming the work of local legends THE SINGH TWINS this October. The artists
are well-known for their extremely detailed work, centred around political and cultural issues in the
format of paintings, illustration and film. Their exhibition The Making Of Liverpool (2008) explores
800 years of the city’s achievements and history. The 13-minute animation also explores one of
the duo’s paintings, Liverpool 800: The Changing Face of Liverpool, which was originally unveiled
for Liverpool’s 800th anniversary in 2007. The works feature narration by Mark McGann, animation
by Andy Cooper and track written and performed by Wirral artist Steve Mason. The exhibit can be
enjoyed during the gallery’s new post-lockdown opening hours of Thurs-Sun 11-5pm.
New exhibition THE TRIUMPH OF ART is coming to The Atkinson in October. The showcase
celebrates the restoration of the painting The Triumph Of Art, which hasn’t been exhibited
in over a century due to its poor condition. Artist Nicolas Pierre Loir painted the piece in the
1600s, which features classical figures of the visual arts paying homage to Jean-Baptiste
Colbert, a major patron of the arts. Highlights from The Atkinson’s collection are also featured
throughout the exhibition, such as portraiture, sculpture, music and paintings which all reflect
the art forms presented in The Triumph of Art. The painting was able to be restored through
funding from the Chateau de Sceaux and The Art Society Southport.
GIGS
Near Normal
Future Yard, Birkenhead – 15-17/10
After raising the curtain with She Drew The Gun in September, the team at Future Yard have announced a run of
three more socially distanced live shows for October. Piping hot locals SEATBELTS (15th October), and EYESORE &
THE JINX (16th October) get things started at the Argyle Street venue before BY THE SEA make their triumphant
return on 17th October to give more cause for optimism amongst music fans either side of the water. With a
thoroughly specced out safe space, complete with 20 changes of clean air per hour and distanced pods for bubbled
groups and individuals, as well as host of other special measures, the shows are designed for the gig goer to relax in
the knowledge that the utmost is being done for their safety. So all that’s left is to enjoy some of the cream of local
crop doing what they do best.
Seatbelts (@MrKirks)
GIG
Liverpool Disco Festival 8
Camp and Furnace – 31/10
FESTIVAL
Southport Comedy Festival
Victoria Park – 08/10-18/10
Liverpool Disco Festival are doing all in their funky powers to ensure the show
goes on having rescheduled and repurposed their Easter weekend event to this, a
huge Halloween jamboree featuring NYC disco deliverers ODYSSEY. With Covid
measures in place, a 3000 cap room is taking 1000 people and outdoor contingency
plans are ready to go. Odyssey will be playing a one hour set with a seven piece
band and ably supporting will be DJs MR SCRUFF, JOHN MORALES and more. If for
any reason this event cannot go ahead ticket holder are entitled to refund or rolling
over for admittance to LDF’s Boxing Day event where the majority of the line-up
will be performing.
There’s an all-star bill for this comedy extravaganza taking place in Southport’s
Victoria Park. All taking place under a big top marquee, TV faces including
REGINALD D HUNTER, PAUL SINHA and RUSSELL KANE will be performing to
Sefton crowds ready for some belly laughs after what’s been a largely unfunny
year. Organisers are doing their utmost to follow Covid-safe guidelines to protect
ticket holders and have thanked sponsors for ensuring this years event can go
ahead against pretty strong odds. Elsewhere on the bill there is ANDY PARSONS,
CARL HUTCHINSON and JO CAULFIELD for 10 days of big name comedy.
PREVIEWS
33

REVIEWS
Linda McCartney Retrospective
Walker Art Gallery – until 01/11
Paul McCartney often joked that he ruined the photographic career of his first
wife, Linda. OK, it wasn’t his greatest joke – that disreputable honour must surely go
to The Frog Chorus – but that’s mainly because it was true. Her marriage to the Beatle
certainly curtailed her time as a working music photographer.
In the few years leading up to meeting her husband in 1967, she’d attracted much
acclaim for her intimate, intuitive and personal images of the US rock scene. Images
characterised by their candidness, off the cuff moments, icons in their glittering ascent.
Dylan, Joplin, Zappa, the Stones and Aretha Franklin, to name but a few that were the
subjects of her lens.
She was the first woman to photograph a cover for Rolling Stone magazine, with a
portrait of Eric Clapton. Musicians fascinated her. She was house photographer for Bill
Graham’s legendary Fillmore East venue in New York, stalking the musicians in their private
moments for a shot nobody else could get, a moment nobody else had noticed, with two
Nikons strapped across her shoulders like pistols. Ready.
What she might not have been ready for, certainly artistically, was the difference
marrying someone at the very epicentre of the 60s cultural bubble would bring. Within a
short time as their family grew, her work became more personal and she moved towards
capturing the beautiful mundanity of the things she loved. Family life, nature, animals and a
Beatle. She worked instinctively, revelling in passing moments and different perspectives, from
a car window on the inside of the Beatle bubble, or the freedom of exposed isolation, life away
from it all in the wiry mists and standing stones of their remote Scottish farm. Many of the finer
moments of this LINDA McCARTNEY Retrospective come from those perspectives.
The exhibition has received minor criticism in some quarters for being a little Paul-heavy, and
yes, it is. Let’s face it, even Paul McCartney can be a bit Paul-heavy at times. He was her husband,
though. She loved him. She left all her belongings and archives to him, and so it’s hardly surprising
that he does feature so prominently. The show is curated by the thumbs-up king together with their
daughters Mary and Stella. Some of the most interesting images feature them all.
In My Love, from 1978, we see an anonymous, everyday London street scene taken from the
back seat of a car, dated only by the London bus and the cars in view. As your gaze moves upwards
through the pink-blue sky in front, in the rear-view mirror we see an eye. The unmistakable eye of
the artist’s husband. He seems to glow from the mirror, lit by some unseen light source, a reflection
perhaps of the setting sun. It is these moments, and her ability to play with the light through different
perspectives that bring such a perfect stillness to so much of her work.
An image of celebrity 60s model Twiggy strikes with the same sense of stillness. She sits alone,
staring at the floor, her arm draped across herself; she’s introverted and defensive. She seems posed,
almost Renaissance-looking in a green top, the light falling across her head and shoulders casting
a shadow across her vacant stare. While she may seem lonely and sorry, she could just be drifting,
wondering. It is such a simply observed quiet moment, and the simplicity is just beautiful.
Linda McCartney enjoyed playing with colour and form, seeking new perspectives on the most mundane
daily life occurrences. Her ‘sun printing’ images, or cyanotypes, are a real highlight of this collection. Using
a technique developed in the 1840s in which the paper is brushed with a mineral solution, the image is
then developed by natural daylight rather than in a darkroom. This is some of the most striking work in the
exhibition. The process giving a textured, etched feel such as with Stella, taken in Arizona in 1994, where her
daughter’s face is held in such intimate detail, the rich cyan colour enhancing the image, simultaneously stark
and graceful.
The photos of rock stars mingle with images of wild Scottish horses in the snow. Jimi Hendrix yawns.
Lennon looks mightily pissed off during the Abbey Road sessions. Janis Joplin celebrates another empty bottle
of Southern Comfort. Allen Ginsberg hypothesises at the kitchen table. Gilbert and George pose in a Victorian
backyard. A man on a Portuguese train in 1968 looks back from his seat, staring intently at the photographer. He
carries a fearful look, but seems attracted to the camera, or maybe to the artist. Maybe he just knows she’s married
to a Beatle. These worlds were all part of Linda McCartney’s world, and they represent the dichotomy both of her
subjects and every aspect of her life.
The shame of this exhibition is, of course, that our world today allows us such limited access to culture, and
while it is obviously no less a show because of smaller audiences, it’s nonetheless a pity that this wonderful exhibition
won’t attract anywhere near the numbers of something like Tate’s Keith Haring show last summer. These images
could’ve been bringing that magical sense of stillness to far more people.
(Paul and Mary, Scotland 1969. © Paul McCartney)
Paul Fitzgerald / @NothingvilleM
“McCartney worked
instinctively, revelling in
passing moments and
different perspectives”
(Paul, Stella and James. Scotland, 1982. © Paul McCartney)
34

The Magic Tree
Online, FACT Liverpool
The Magic Tree, nil00
Commissioned by FACT as part of their online
programme The Living Planet, and designed by visual
artist NIL00, The Magic Tree is a digital artwork that aligns
the nebulousness of online space with the specificity
of memory grown from Liverpudlian soil. An image of a
widely-known and revered tree in Sefton Park is the work’s
starting point, and visitors to the website are encouraged
to intervene in its outcome, uploading images that
permanently shift the work in a different direction. Each
image is analysed by an algorithm and its style is adapted
to the artwork; from this first interaction, and as the work
evolves, the tree itself is distorted beyond recognition yet
its presence scaffolds the images to come. Its significance
lies not in the outcome, but in the unpredictability of the
process and, for the visitor, the work equally satisfies a
desire for anonymity as it does for connection.
With galleries closed but parks open during lockdown,
nature became a predominant space of respite and,
similarly, digital art became a more significant connective
tool than ever before. On The Magic Tree’s website, nil00
writes that they were compelled by the idea that the tree’s
role as a meeting point, or a communicatory touchstone,
goes back generations. For local people, it is enmeshed
in a network of formed memories. In their description of
how the tree accommodates visitors by having branches
arranged like a staircase that then twist into seats at the
top, nil00 considers how the tree is emblematic of the
hospitality of the natural world. The work’s interactive
qualities replicate this way in which nature yields to human
touch, signifying the tension between the natural world’s
abundance and its human-induced scarcity. As much as
the tree is the foundation of the work, our engagement
with it is too; it prompts us to reflect inwards on our
own understanding of sustainability and conservation in
the digital era. During the Covid-19 lockdown, this has
acquired a certain sentimental edge, as the work feels
resonant with the coexistence of our connectivity and our
solitude in recent months. It also extends further back than
that, working with ideas of collective as well as personal
memory, to reveal nostalgia as something malleable and
distortive, that functions both communally and individually.
Although, as much as the work speaks to our
relationship with a dwindling natural world, The Magic
Tree feels in dialogue with contemporary debates around
the monuments in our city. The work’s consideration of
the tree as a respected, almost statuesque, form allows
us to question the ideologies we are embedding into our
cityscape. It is overly simplistic to think of Liverpool as a
bubble of progressive thought; standing outside the Sefton
Park palm house is a statue of Christopher Columbus, with
an inscription labelling him as the discoverer of America
and the maker of Liverpool. The legacies of colonial Britain
are still heralded and given power in the form of these
monuments, and Liverpool’s significant role in slavery
remains ingrained in street names and buildings. It is here
that the work’s significance extends from the personal
to the political, and through The Magic Tree, we are
encouraged to think more intricately about our relationship
to the city itself.
Leah Binns
www.fact.co.uk/artwork/the-magic-tree
The Magic Tree, nil00
And Say The Animal Responded?
FACT, until 13/12
If there’s a word to take away from this exhibition, it’s
‘biomimetic’. It means, according to FACT, “the imitation of
systems used in nature”. It’s fitting, as I could think of no word
closer to the common thread that runs through the work on
display at And Say The Animal Responded?
The artists, to integrate their animal muses into the exhibition
space, seem to have first integrated themselves into the space
of the animal. ARIEL GUZIK’s Nereida is a prime example of this.
The object, Nereida, an instrument of sorts, is so clearly humanmade
that its function (to mimic the sound vibrations of whales
in an effort to communicate) is both so far-fetched and yet so
obvious. An animal couldn’t have created this object, and it’s
remarkable how we, using an object so alien to the animal, can
capture something so close to its true being.
Guzik’s instrument is not the only machine in the room.
Sitting beside it is KAUI SHEN’s Oh!m1gas, a piece I could
best visually describe as an intricacy of clear plastic tubes, tubs
and cameras, connected to two turntables. Inside, a colony of
leaf cutter ants reside, whose activities control the scratching
of the records on the turntables. In a way, the piece replicates
the scratching of ants, a method they use to communicate, but
translates it into a medium which we can receive, giving them a
form of musical expression, albeit an odd one.
The exhibition utilises audio and video masterfully. In the first
gallery, recordings from Nereida serve as the backdrop to three
video pieces, including a short film charting an expedition of
Nereida’s younger brother, Holoturian.
Pan troglodytes ellioti and cousins, by AMALIA PICA and
RAFAEL ORETEGA, features a family of chimpanzees. It is a
short, looping clip, but it captures something dignified, almost
human, in the interaction of the chimps and the camera whose
sensors they have triggered.
DEMELZA KOOIJ’s film, Wolves From Above, sits on the
floor in the corner of the room. The camera hovers above a pack
of wolves, whose curiosity and attention towards the drone
capturing them from above is sporadic, broken by bursts of
energy directed at each other. They are more animal, more hostile
than the chimps, sitting further down the spectrum which we
seem to place ourselves on top of.
Upstairs is dedicated to the digital work of ALEXANDRA
DAISY GINSBERG. The Substitute resurrects the extinct northern
white rhino. It spawns in an enclosure on screen, boxy and
pixelated, becoming more real as it understands the space it is
in. It exists for only a short period of time, before it disappears
once more. Machine Augeries resides in an adjacent room. The
10-minute sound installation is a sad conversation between the
birds increasingly estranged from our urban spaces, and a chorus
of artificial ‘birds’, who threaten to make the disappearance
of their natural counterparts all too easy, and perhaps even
unnoticed. It’s certainly a piece that chimes with the quietness of
the early weeks of lockdown.
My worry was that FACT’s commissioned artists would
answer the exhibition’s titular question themselves. To my
enjoyment this was not the case. The exhibition is a metaexhibition
of sorts, with two levels of commission: first, the
mandate by FACT for the artist’s to present a piece of work, and
then the artist’s ‘commissioning’ of the animals, who answer the
question ‘And Say The Animal Responded?’ in their own way, via
the work of these artists.
Through biomimicry, the artists could provide the conditions
to allow the animals to do this: in none of the pieces did I feel that
the animals were spoken for, this exhibition is not a zoo, yet in all
they speak for themselves, in languages closest to their own.
Remy Greasley / @remygreasley
Alexandra Daisy Ginsberg, The Substitute (2019) / Rob Battersby)
REVIEWS
35

OUR
GLORIOUS
ROOFTOP
BAR
SHUFFLE
BOARD &
SHUFFLE
COURT!
ENGLISH
& AMERICAN
POOL TABLES
3 FULLY
STOCKED
BARS. AND
FOOD!
12 FULL
LENGTH
BOWLING
LANES
PING-PONG
AND BEER
PONG!
ALL THE
FOOTBALL,
ALWAYS
LIVE!
KARAOKE
BOOTHS &
WEEKLY LIVE
MUSIC!
@PINSSOCIALCLUB 0151 370 0000
DUKE STREET, LIVERPOOL

@bazaarmind
ADVERTISE
IN BIDO LITO!
! promote your brand, venue or
event to an engaged culturecentric
readership
! support an independent
publication
! get full support from a
dedicated team of
friendly staff
Go to bidolito.co.uk/advertise and get in touch today!

ARTISTIC
LICENCE
This month’s selection of creative writing is by Sam Batley, a collection
of work characterised by self-inquisition and honesty.
My first experiences of poetry
were in school, although I paid
no attention to it. I felt pretty
detached and was shit at
concentrating. By year 10/11 I was quite cocky,
disruptive; a bit of a dickhead, basically. Poetry
and writing never felt like something that was
meant for me – something that only happened
in that class. Inside books. It was snobbish and
posh. Nothing landed. It was difficult to read,
and never seemed to make sense. None of it
was relatable. I grew up in a pit village in the
middle of Barnsley and Doncaster, it wasn’t a
place inclusive of creative expression. I was a
product of my surroundings and the toxicity
of the masculine norm that surrounded me.
Poetry wasn’t on the agenda.
The positive of my schooling was Mrs
Beevers, my English teacher in year 11.
She spoke to me about music an art and, in
hindsight, tried to make feel comfortable with
who I was, not what I was pretending to be.
She could see through the mask. She put me
on to A Certain Romance by Arctic Monkeys
who had only just come about. Sheffield was
close and their voices were like mine at the
time. I fuckin’ loved it. She said that it were
poetry with music. An I suppose seed was
planted. It didn’t have to be what I thought it
was.
Though the seed was planted at 16 it
didn’t germinate ’til I was 23/24. My sister
Hannah was and is an amazing poet, an had
started sharing the stuff she had written with
me. It felt different, I could feel what she were
saying, and it landed in a completely different
way. Our Hannah said it always helped her to
get it out of her head and on to the page and
that I should have a go.
At this point I was in a real dark place.
My addiction was all over me, oblivious to
why I felt like I did. I’d worked myself into a
particularly bad spot and needed to get out
of what was surrounding me. Hannah took
me in for a while. One day before she went to
work she gave us a pad. So a had a go. I don’t
really know where it came from. It was like
a mad release, all this anger and frustration
come flowing out. When she got back a read it
her, and cried for first time in years. I’d not felt
anything like it. So I carried on doing it.
Since coming to Liverpool for recovery
last year, I’d had a massive gap in writing,
punctuated by sporadic bursts of coke-fuelled
shite. Previous to the admittance I was fucked,
my writing served its purpose for where I was
at, but was full was of blame, anger, frustration
and second-hand self-hatred. I couldn’t look at
myself. It was all pointing out. No one gave a
fuck as much as me, but I wasn’t willing to do
fuck all about it.
Today I feel at ease with me, a care much
less about what I think and what folk think.
No one’s arsed, really. Most of the angst has
dissipated through the internal work I’ve done
this year. Living in Damien John Kelly House, a
recovery living centre in Wavertree, has given
me an immense opportunity to reflect on why
all that angst was there in first place. To hone
in on who I am, drop the masks and say what I
want to say.
We’re all a bit fucked whether ya like it or
not. So have a go, have fun with writing. We’ve
all got tales to tell – they won’t tell themselves.
Words & Photography:
Sam Batley / @sambatley
NUMBER 15
Green lighter fluid and indigestion,
Too much sprayed weed,
Brings about lethargy.
Headaches for the walk home,
Eat all you can in the twilight.
Piss while you walk.
No one cares for the apathetic beside the pathetic.
Pull out the mattress from behind the 3 seater,
Set it down by the fire.
Wake up and put it back again.
Set it down,
Wake up,
Put it back again.
Set it down,
Wake up,
Put it back again.
Set it down,
Wake up,
Put.
It.
Back.
A-gain.
Weird arrangement,
Too fearful to move on.
Don’t wana stay in.
Don’t wana go out.
The tea tastes fucking shite,
You know I don’t have sugar.
Three beds too small for 4 heads,
Adolescent pangs often turn red,
In the unfinished kitchen.
It’s shit init…
Ye it is…
Time’s a mystery how it drags like it does,
And speed up when it doesn’t.
Too much time on young hands.
Too much.
The football’s lost its leather.
The milk bottle’s fed the cat.
The neighbour’s not best pleased.
Fuck off back ya Dads.
CONVALESCENCE
Roast dinner for the chess champion in the burgundy corner.
No eggs for me, I’ve had enough.
Dog talk in the window sill.
Chicken wing decorated pavement.
Blasphemy,
Horrendous.
Were all phone bag heads.
Blue thumbed click bait.
The adverts lie all the time,
It’s not your fault you feel insecure.
Wrist watch time piece,
Unaffordable in the pipe dream.
2 minutes full power,
Stir.
1 minute full power,
Serve.
Cheap.
Gaviscon.
Acid Bastard.
Licked lips,
Coldsaw complex,
Artex complexion.
Long sighted twat.
Shut the blinds or else they’ll see,
How bad it really is.
Bare walls, bare chested.
Leave it all or take the fall,
Wet eyes in crushed velvet.
DUNGA
It sunk in like a frog down the throat of realisation.
Can’t be me.
it is.
You seemed so much better last week,
Things change.
I woke up with my head still in bed,
An at end of day it were gone.
Whose coming pity party?
Me and I.
Orchestrate the pieces into place,
Manipulating hands unseen.
Pleasantries of a forgotten tongue.
Lap the finger and thumb.
Puppet master pulling the lines up, up, up.
Dangling in the tangle,
I’m not autonomous,
I’m not in control of the proper setting,
Behind the console of beaded eyes.
Smoke drifts in then out.
Breathing lungs,
Diaphragm split,
Bloody nosed.
Who me, who’s me?
You’ve as much as him in the distant rear view,
All back slouched,
Glass eyed.
Purgatory’s waiting room,
White plastic chair table arrangement.
Mannequin-esque.
Magnolia,
Motionless.
Carpets tired from countless feet,
Sat in front of ownerless bodies.
Black chuddy circles,
Rotten eggs from the paper mix,
Pull the lost colour together.
Who’s he? He’s you too.
Blind to my own deficiencies.
A malign witch.
Beg off Peter to pay Paul.
Hands in pockets,
Absolutely fuck all.
Living in the bit no one else sees.
38

SAY
THE FINAL
Ahead of International Pronouns Day, Emma Stewart from LCR Pride Foundation outlines the importance of
using the correct pronouns – a simple act key to self-determination and validation.
Has anyone ever got your name even just a little
bit wrong? Maybe your name is Stephen with
a ‘ph’ and someone emails you and calls you
Steven with a ‘v’? Or you’re mistakenly called
Anna by someone who misheard your name, Hannah,
in conversation. So, you correct them, and they correct
themselves and apologise – life goes on. No one asks why
it’s so important to you that someone says your name
right. But you know the people going around calling you
Anna, especially within your hearing, makes you feel a
little bit uncomfortable because that name isn’t your name.
Now apply the same logic to pronouns. It doesn’t
sound hard does it? But why are pronouns so important?
Let’s continue the example above. Every day you
must interact with someone who insists on calling you
the wrong name. They say, “But you look like an Anna to
me, and I don’t really like to use the name Hannah, so I’m
going to continue to call you Anna.”
Every day you’re erased a little by that one person
who does not respect the way you choose to identify
yourself. Only pronouns hold so much more about a
person’s identity within them. You can inadvertently out
someone, erase part of their history or make them feel
uncomfortable, unheard. That is the power of a single
word when we are talking about pronouns.
Before I go any further, I guess I should introduce
myself properly. My name is Emma, I identify as nonbinary
and my pronouns are they/ them.
My ‘story’ does not have a definite beginning. I didn’t
wake up one day and realise the people calling me ‘she’
made my skin feel too tight around my identity. I just knew
that it didn’t fit any more. Like a T-shirt with a hole or a
worn pair of shoes, ‘she’ was not fit for purpose. So, at the
ripe old age of 33 (and a half) I found myself coming out
again.
The first time I came out of the closet it was to let my
family, friends and the world at large know I was a lesbian,
a part of me I had kept hidden for a long time. This time it
was to let people in my world see a new part of me, a part
I was just learning about as well.
I’ll be honest, I was terrified.
Changing my pronouns publicly came with a lot of
internal and external challenges for me. If I’m non-binary,
can I still be a lesbian? Will I have to explain that to
people? What will my wife say? What about my family?
Does it really matter what people call me? Am I just
making a big fuss about nothing?
For me, it was pretty anticlimactic. I live in a privileged
place in society and have surrounded myself with
friends and family who are willing to learn new ways of
describing the world around them to make sure I have a
place in it. But it really is not that easy for so many people.
Official governmental data on non-binary and
trans people’s lives in the UK is a disheartening read.
Non-binary and trans people come out at the bottom
in almost every category including life satisfaction,
safety, educational experience and health, according to
the national LGBT survey summary report. It’s worth
mentioning as well that these statistics are from 2017 and since
then the reported levels of crime against trans and non-binary
people has risen by an estimated 81 per cent. People from
this community are also more likely to be kicked out of their
childhood homes, experience transphobia, violence and abuse. If
you throw race into the mix these statistics get infinitely worse.
And these are just the reported cases, the people we can count.
The coronavirus pandemic has seen people forced back into
the closet, into dangerous situations and places where their
identity is being further erased every day. But, Emma, what has
this got to do with pronouns? Surely calling someone the wrong
word has nothing to do with that? Except it does. Follow me
once more into the hypothetical land where someone refuses to
call you the right name.
Now, imagine it is not one person, but every person in
your life. You’ve asked them to change, to correct themselves,
but they stay firmly and vocally resolute that you might ‘feel’
like a Hannah, but you look like an Anna and your body is
that of an Anna. This is where this world falls apart. Because
this isn’t about a first name any more. It’s about a word that
creates a space in the world for people. It’s about respect, about
boundaries and about acknowledging that in this changing world
we have some solidarity and pride. It is about self-determination
and validation. Using the pronouns someone asks you to can be
“Using the
pronouns
someone asks
you to can be
life-changing”
life-changing, for them and for you.
In this world, the one I live in, I spend my life
correcting people, because it is important for me to use
my privilege to normalise my difference. And some days
you meet people who refuse, who tell me that there
are men, and there are women and that is all there is.
On days like that it is difficult, but I will always have
the argument, because if I do not then it could fall to
my trans and non-binary siblings with less privilege to
wield. On the good days, which can outnumber the bad,
I meet someone and tell them my
pronoun is ‘they’, and this person
doesn’t look at me like I’m strange,
or insist that ‘they is a plural and
not a singular’, or ask why. They
just say, “OK. Sounds good. Thanks
for telling me. If I mess up, feel free
to correct me.” The weight of all
those people misgendering and
mis-pronouning me is eased in that
moment. It will come back; it never
really disappears.
There is work being done to
normalise pronouns and avoid
this misgendering. In 2019,
activist Imogen Christie (she/her), of Liverpool Trans
Day of Visibility (TDoV), organised a campaign for
International Pronouns Day, which takes place this year
on Wednesday 21st October. Around 20 organisations
across the city region, including Merseyside Police,
LCR Pride Foundation and the Museum of Liverpool,
participated in working groups and utilised slides and
badges in their workplaces to allow people to clearly and
openly communicate their preferred pronouns. A film by
Thinking Film, commissioned to mark the day, received
70,000 hits in the first 24 hours it was published. All of
these small steps help trans and non-binary people to
feel safer and seen as people, supporting their right to
identify as they wish.
There are also some structural changes being made
to the way data is collected about gender by national
agencies. The Census, which is due to be conducted for
the whole of the UK in 2021, will for the first time have
open-ended questions regarding sex and gender.
But every person I correct and who uses the right
pronoun, every person that learns that gender isn’t sex,
doesn’t rely on the flesh on your chest or between your
legs, every person that learns about pronouns and their
power is another person that makes space in the world
for us and another person who will stand in solidarity. !
Respecting and normalising pronouns in five easy
steps:
1. Introduce yourself by your name and pronoun to
normalise the use of pronouns
2. If you’re not sure of someone’s pronouns, ask them
3. If you accidentally misgender someone, apologise and
continue using their correct pronoun
4. Don’t use gendered language when speaking to
groups, replace “ladies and gentlemen” with “everyone”, for
example
5. Put your pronouns on your email signature, social media
profiles and business cards
Words: Emma Stewart
Illustration: Sophie Green / sophie-green.com
lcrpride.co.uk/pronounsday
Emma Stewart is Finance and Administration Director for LCR
Pride Foundation and Administrator for Social Value UK.
THE FINAL SAY
39

CREAM & CIRCUS PRESENT
SAT 20TH MARCH 2021
LIVERPOOL
BRAMLEY MOORE DOCK
TICKETS ON SALE NOW