Issue 113 / April-May 2021

ISSUE 113 / APRIL-MAY 2021
NEW MUSIC + CREATIVE CULTURE
LIVERPOOL
FREE!
PIXEY
Overcoming and arriving
AYSTAR
SARA
WOLFF
DIALECT
BIENNIAL

THE
STAVES
THE GOOD WOMAN TOUR
THE
WENDY JAMES BAND
2021 UK CLUB TOUR
FRIDAY 17TH SEPTEMBER
JIMMY'S
BOLD STREET, LIVERPOOL
Wendy James
'Queen High Straight'
Wednesday 29th September 2021
GRAND CENTRAL HALL
LIVERPOOL
NEW ALBUM
GOOD WOMAN
OUT NOW
7pm doors 18+ show. Tickets £15 Advance
plus booking fees available from Seetickets
is available now from
thewendyjames.com
Tickets £20 standing £21 unreserved seating, Eventim, See, Dice.
Doors 7pm
THEWENDYJAMES.COM/LIVE
SATURDAY 23RD OCTOBER 2021
MOUNTFORD HALL
LIVERPOOL
NEW ALBUM
'THE HOLLOW OF HUMDRUM'
SATURDAY 30TH OCTOBER
O 2 ACADEMY LIVERPOOL
14+ / 7pm doors / £15 + booking fee via Ticketmaster / SEEtickets
OUT NOW
7pm doors 14+ show / Tickets £10 advance plus booking fees.
Seetickets / Ticketmaster / Skiddle
FOLLOW @CLUBEVOL | @THEMYSTERINES | @REDRUMCLUB | @THESTAVES | @THEWENDYJAMES

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FEATURES
REGULARS
13 / PIXEY
Megan Walder tracks the rise and rise again of Pixey’s
effervescent pop evolution.
18 / AYSTAR
Following the release of Scousematic 3, the rapper talks
about finding his flow and staying true to Liverpool.
20 / SARA WOLFF
Exploring the literate, genre-dodging songs of the
Bergen-born singer-songwriter.
24 / DIALECT
Wil Baines delves deep into the respiratory sonics of
Andrew PM Hunt’s latest album.
26 / NORTH WEST IN FOCUS
A photography exhibition led by Tate Collective presents
the social intricacies of the North West in a new light.
30 / AMBER JAY
Peering out from behind the cover, the electro-pop whizz
guides us through the haunting atmospherics of her new EP.
32 / JANE WEAVER
On Flock, Cath Holland finds the ever in control Weaver
swapping the drone zone for shimmering pop.
34 / RECOVERY
Paul Fitzgerald learns how the arts, creativity and
togetherness is being utilised in addiction recovery
programmes at Damien John Kelly House.
38 / DEAD PIGEON GALLERY
If anything can be anywhere, then art can always be
somewhere – maybe where you least expect.
40 / DAVID ZINK YI
Showing at Liverpool Biennial, Remy Greasley speaks to
the filmmaker about a new installation centred on endless
performances of Afro-Cuban music.
10 / NEWS
Rounding up goings-on and developments
as the city region prepares to emerge from
lockdown.
12 / HOT PINK
A refreshing April shower of top-notch tunes
featuring Pizzagirl, The Coral, Borth, Seatbelts,
Spinn and Yammerer.
42 / SPOTLIGHTS
Profiles of fast-rising artists including Sam
Batley, Foxen Cyn, Furry Hug, Felix Mufti-
Wright and Jeztls.
48 / PREVIEWS
Stealing Sheep give us the lowdown on their
LightNight installation, Roger Hill introduces
a new-look PMS and Liverpool Biennial and
Independents Biennial get underway.
52 / REVIEWS
Reports from a virtual photography exhibition
and the latest Liverpool Digital Music Festival.
54 / ARTISTIC LICENCE
Featuring poems from last issue’s spotlight
artist Lyndsay Price.
55 / FINAL SAY
Mary Olive questions the safety of clubs and
music venues for women, transgender and nonbinary
people.

E D I T O R I A L
It’s often said that people from Merseyside are good talkers, but it’s
the buildings that say more than most. In every façade you can track a
running timeline of the city’s fate.
In the neoclassical grandeur you see prosperity through the trade
of human life. Areas like Scotland Road show the remnants of a once
swollen, cramped population moved on through slum clearance and lack
of work. Hollowed out churches serve as a reminder of conflict. Across the
water, Birkenhead’s waterfront wears the bruises of a declining shipping
industry. Facing back on the other side, post-war housing projects, such as
St Andrew’s Garden (The Bullring), reflect a time when municipal dreams
came before individualism.
It’s no different today. In the space of 15 years much of the inner city
stands unrecognisable. The early phases of this regeneration point to the
Capital of Culture makeover. Since then, the trend for developments have
been near uniform. Residential apartments and student accommodation
have pushed their way into any available spaces with the tenacity of
weeds nudging through pavement. Like much of the historical architecture
these buildings cast shadows upon, the socio-economic fate of the city is
contained in their presence.
The government’s council inspection report is undoubtedly a difficult
moment for the city. If whisperings on social media for the past decade
hadn’t already confirmed its findings, then the right-before-our-eyes
evidence was there; the shimmering clad pretence of build-at-any-cost
developments did little to charm a landscape washed out by central
government cuts.
The misdealing within planning, highways and regeneration appear to
be rife. Music venues and other cultural hubs are now in a more unforgiving
landscape due to these practices. Some have been squeezed out
altogether. But the public shaming at the hands of the Tories suggest an
endemic problem with cronyism at local government level, which doesn’t
provide the full picture. Liverpool rightly has to acknowledge the failures
of its council, but it’s important to face up to the actions that led us to
desperation and rampant opportunism.
Where the “awarding of dubious contracts” has seen many areas
of Liverpool change cosmetically, there remains countless skeletal
developments across the city – either failed or exhausted of funds. Their
bare concrete anatomies are the withered bones of austerity, a harsh
financial reality that Liverpool has swallowed for over a decade during
which its central funding
has fallen by almost 40 per
cent. When you push a city
to breaking point and due
diligence frays, opportunists
will find their way into the
cracks. The city had to find a
way of paying its way, but it
has instead been made to pay
the price itself. The imposed
commissioners in certain
areas will now only heighten
public distrust.
Trust is one of the
main issues that now faces Liverpool. Throughout the pandemic we’ve
seen other forms of opportunism through protest and the spreading of
conspiracy. With the added furore around the mayoral selection, politics is
now slipping to its lowest ebb off the back of the council report. Liverpool
deserves better than the hands it has been dealt both internally and
externally. And it’s looking further internally where we’ll find the figures
who’re worthy of our trust. Those who offer an alternative while aspects of
the council soul-searches.
These alternative leaders and decision makers don’t have to be
connected to institutional power. As has been covered in this magazine for
the past years, it’s those at the grassroots level who’ve been able to bring
about the most telling changes, rewriting narratives within communities
in the process. As Liverpool’s political framework is dredged, we should
remain hopeful that there is a new, alternative way to bring us through
the challenges ahead. Community leaders, facilitators, activists, artists,
musicians can and will lead us when we need it most.
Elliot Ryder / @elliot_ryder
Editor
“We should
remain hopeful
that there
is a new,
alternative way”
New Music + Creative Culture
Liverpool
Issue 113 / April-May 2021
bidolito.co.uk
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NEWS
FACT REOPENS
FACT patrons will be treated
to a whole new experience
when the Ropewalks Square
hub reopens in line with the
government’s roadmap on 17th
May. Taking over the ground
floor cafe, The Wild Loaf bakery
will be providing nourishment
for visitors having made the
move during lockdown. Three
new exhibitions will be on
display, with the Biennial taking
over the ground floor and first
floor gallery spaces and a new
display from Kiara Mohammad
and ROOT-ed zine’s Fauziya
Johnson greeting visitors in the
atrium (preview on page 51).
Cinephiles will be jubilant to
welcome back Picturehouse as
their projectors whir into action
again from opening. fact.co.uk
FACT
THE FUTURE IS OUTSIDE
A new outdoor space will be opening in Birkenhead this spring
when Future Yard unveil a garden area for food, drinks and live DJ
sets. Opening in mid-April, ahead of the full opening of the venue’s
bar and cafe, it’ll provide the perfect opportunity to get to know the
venue ahead of a busy live programme which is taking shape for the
summer. Another exciting announcement from Argyle Street comes
in the shape of weekender Future Now, two days of live music across
Future Yard’s indoor and outdoor spaces. A line-up announcement is
expected imminently. futureyard.org
Future Yard
THE DEPOT IS NAMED
Liverpool’s reputation in the film industry has been given a further
boost. The former Littlewoods Building off Edge Lane has reached
a milestone with the topping out of two 20,000 sq ft sound studios
coinciding with the building given the moniker The Depot. Previously
known as a forthcoming ‘Pinewood of the North’, those aspirations
are closer to becoming a reality as the project looks to capitalise on a
period of huge growth for the sector in the region. It is predicted The
Depot will create a £24m economic boost for the regional economy,
creating 360 new jobs and 760 indirect jobs. liverpoolfilmoffice.tv
BYLINES IS BACK
Applications for the second programme of Bido Lito!’s writing
workshops, Bylines, is open now. The 10-week programme takes a
cohort of 16 to 25-year-old aspiring culture writers through various
facets of communicating music and arts through the prism of an
independent publication. Participants will learn how Bido Lito!
comes together, what to think about when pitching ideas to editors,
reviewing techniques and much more. Writers completing the course
will gain an Arts Award qualification and get the opportunity to write
for Bido Lito!. bidolito.co.uk/workshops
THE GIRL BANDS ARE IN KITCHEN STREET
Championing every woman in music, Where Are The Girlbands? are planning to make a triumphant
return to nightlife, as they collaborate with 24 Kitchen Street for a series of socially distanced events
that will take place from 10th June. Local RnB boss IAMKYAMI headlines the first event, with JAZMINE
JOHNSON supporting. The monthly series will focus particularly on women’s inclusion behind the scenes,
with women in the roles of sound engineers, venue staff, photographers, promoters, door staff and
organisation. The event promises to be full of good music, good vibes and a clear sense of community,
where all are welcome. @wherearethegirlbands
Kyami x Where Are The Girlbands?
10

Creative Street
CREATIVE STREET
Photographer Marieke Macklon, whose work adorns the cover of
this very magazine, has opened a new independent photo and video
studio in the Baltic Triangle. Creative Street Studio opens on 12th
April and will welcome creatives of all stripes to come in and book
the affordable facilities to turn their creative ideas into reality. The
studio, situated in the Northern Lights building, can also be used
for workshops, meetings, art showcases and more. To celebrate
the opening a special launch discount is available until 12th May.
creativestreetstudio.co.uk
TOILETS FOR EVERYBODY
Results published from the TDoV (Trans Day of Visibility) have revealed that almost 27 per cent of
respondents had experienced abuse or violence while trying to access a public toilet. Data from the
Great Liverpool City Region Loo Review, part of TDoV Liverpool’s Toilets for Everybody campaign, were
published to coincide with the international event celebrating transgender people which raises awareness
of discrimination faced by transgender people worldwide. 42 per cent of respondents also returned that
they preferred self-contained rooms to traditional cubicles and two thirds of people interviewed said they
were comfortable using a toilet with signage that was not gendered. The campaign is funded by LCR
Pride Foundation Community Fund, which supports a variety of initiatives which benefit the local LGBT+
community. lcrpride.co.uk/bogstandard
BIENNIAL KINSHIP
On p7 you’ll find one of Liverpool Biennial’s Kinship pack stories.
For families with primary age readers, each story connects the
local histories and communities of Liverpool to the Biennial’s three
curatorial entry points – Porosity, Stomach and Kinship - presenting
different ways of thinking about and linking the artworks across the
festival theme of The Stomach and the Port. To read the Stomach
and Kinship stories, discover the Kinship Activity Pack along with
lots of other learning resources and activities for young people aged
between 5-19, visit liverpoolbiennial2021.com/learn.
SAE OPEN DAYS
Aspiring producers, music executives, videographers and animators
have the opportunity to explore the facilities and possibilities on offer
at SAE Institute at two virtual open days in April and May. At the
events, attendees can meet the staff and students at the Pall Mall
campus, check out the industry standard tech they work with and ask
questions about the plethora of creative courses they have starting in
September. SAE Institute is part of a network of campuses across the
world which have launched the careers of famous alumni, including
Grammy Award winner Jabari Tawiah and up and coming RnB star
Jayla Darden. sae.edu/grb
NEWS 11

HOT PINK!
A refreshing April shower of top-notch tunes comes courtesy of our Hot Pink! playlist this
month. As ever, Merseyside artists are at the top of their game as we’re treated to a selection
of bedroom pop, softly spun indie and bookworm grooves to help us bust out of lockdown into
the live rooms and club nights of tomorrow.
Seagoth
Eternity
Riding the clouds after her hypnotic Dreamworld release last year, homegrown
bedroom pop artist SEAGOTH unveils another generous synthscape offering in
Eternity. An altitudinal three-minute delight of trippy, rhythmic percussion and a wideopen
final third that sets everything right with the world – and then some. (MB)
The Coral
Lover Undiscovered
Making a career of bringing Haight-Ashbury to Wirral track-by-track has served THE
CORAL well and it doesn’t seem like they’ll be fixing any unbroken methods on their
forthcoming LP, Coral Island. Lover Undiscovered treads familiar but not unpleasant
territory with some trademark James Skelly turns of phrase and timeless melodies that
would find their way onto radio airwaves in any year since 1965. (ST)
Borth
Peach O.K.
BORTH knows how to write a pop tune. This track opens his EP Nettle Soup and it’s a
sign of the bizarro world therein. A melting pot of odd sounds, polyrhythms and slacker
sentiment, Peach O.K. is as disorientating as it is endearing. There’s enough familiar
melody to keep you grounded, while the mad sonic tangents give licence for repeated
listens. (ST)
Pizzagirl
car freshener aftershave
Nothing dampens PIZZAGIRL. Synths pump an eight-bit backdrop as he eclipses
the embarrassment of a thorny encounter with an ex. He parties on with the latenight
slummy of 40 per cent bottles and cold ready meals, still puckish and pert; he
slips across from sending up the celloholic ex to cadging his rent from another. It’s a
brilliantly manic lap around a Mario Kart map designed by a mind who finds glamour in
the gutters. (SL)
Paz
Ghost
It’s difficult not to raise a smile to PAZ’s track. The synthy groove of Ghost sets
nonsensical rhymes and poppy hooks over 90s gamer effects and laidback beats. It’s
mellow, cheeky and almost as much fun as hours on the SNES. (ST)
Words: Matthew Berks, Sam Turner, Sam Lasley, Lily Blakeney-Edwards.
Follow Hot Pink! on Spotify: bit.ly/bidohotpink
Photography:
Seagoth,
Seatbelts (Michael Kirkham)
Pizzagirl (Kate Davies),
The Let Go
idontknowwhy
THE LET GO take a cruise through San Junipero, emotional conflict and all. Blushing
guitar chords, homespun trap hi-hats and bittersweet synth motifs provide the
soundtrack as a lonesome heart narrates a night, a morning and a walk home that
keeps reoccurring. It sings insecurities into the sky and responds with celestial vocal
support at the chorus. (SL)
SPINN
Billie
We’d be lying if we said we haven’t been itching to hear back from SPINN, but the
mischievous four are more than happy to remind us that good things do come to those
who wait with their first release of 2021. Joining forces with Christie Simpson from
Yumi Zouma, the lyrics’ playful take on modern romantic expectations and embracing
our imperfections is just what the doctor ordered after a miserable old year. Welcome
back. (MB)
Seatbelts
Citylines
SEATBELTS’ latest offering, Citylines, evokes the feeling of a road trip. Maybe it’s
the atmospheric guitar licks, the descriptions of stripped-back cities sung in James
Madden’s gravelly vocals, or the dotted synth elements that motor the track along.
Either way, it is a welcome tonic for lockdown life. (LBE)
Yammerer
The Beachgoer
To say YAMMERER’s The Beachgoer marks a new path for the band is an
understatement. Listening, we find ourselves in the middle of the group’s surrealist
soundscape, that rattles through an array of emotions aided by angular guitars and
unhinged vocals. It’s unexpected and turbulent but relentlessly exciting; we can only
hope the group continue their experimentalist endeavours. (LBE)
12

OVERCOMING
AND ARRIVING
Megan Walder tracks the rise and rise again of Pixey’s effervescent pop evolution.
FEATURE
13

PIXEY
PIXEY’s thoughts are currently circling back to the once sample-happy newbie who fell
feet first into a BBC-backed whirlwind of support and success. “What have I got myself
into?” she laughs, recalling her first impression of launching a career in music four years
ago. There’s a clear a cautionary tone, one which breaks with the usual fervour that
arrives with the first signs of progress and recognition. In this case, the ascent happened so
quickly a feeling of vertigo soon followed.
Drowning in fear and ill-prepared for the reaction of her ever-growing fanbase, to say the
beginnings were overwhelming would be an understatement. A lot quickly unfurled from what
she once regarded as a “haphazard production” in her bedroom studio.
After a short break from music, the 2017 version of Pixey we first met is indistinguishable
through today’s Zoom connection. The figure on the other end of the call is bright and
intriguing. There’s no lingering shadow of nerves or self-doubt. As she puts it herself:
“I’m not just a newbie anymore… not just starting out for the first time.” The sense of
determination is palpable. It’s an energy that has weaved its way through her musical
career and pushed her out of the cocoon where she once sat so comfortably.
You have to look back five years to locate the central source of this drive. In 2016,
Pixey came face to face with her mortality. A sharp shock to the system in the form of
a health scare reset her perspective, seeing her finally make the steps she needed to
begin her journey and pursue a career in music. While dreams of becoming the next
Ed Sheeran had faded, the equipment she had gathered on this failed quest remained.
Blowing off the dust and downloading her trusted Ableton she set up a bedroom
studio – before it was mandatory.
Battling with illness and social anxiety, her innovative thinking saw her use
her talent and determination to not only heal herself, but to lay the foundation for
future her (the one we meet
today) to be able to survive
and thrive, regardless of
the circumstances. And
although she did not foresee
a global pandemic, her home
recording abilities definitely
made the adjustment to the
new normal easier.
Before the significant
social shifts 12 months ago,
Pixey had already shown
people what she was about.
With her early release, Young,
quickly gaining attention,
people had high hopes for
the new star. With her marketable pop sensibilities, combined with an
experimental approach by way of a lack of classical training, Pixey offered
a new voice to young women. Not offering up regurgitated tales of tortured
relationships and imperfect love. She captured what it is to be young and
free in the face of difficulty. BBC Introducing soon cottoned on.
But often success can lead to a feeling of inadequacy, leaving one
to doubt their ability and fear that any consequent project will not
live up to the standard that has been set. We see this internalised
battle constantly within creative fields and, for Pixey, it was one that
paralysed her.
After a recent break, she is back with a renewed motivation and a
backlog of people she feels need to be proved wrong. The fire under
her is regularly fuelled by the memory of being told ‘you’ll never
be as good as me’ by men she once associated with. To them, this
revitalised Pixey simply says “piss off” and carries on. Their words
have pushed her to better herself and become more than they
ever could be.
Apart from the flute, which was an unprecedented disaster,
Pixey has taken to every instrument she has picked up. Her
recent lockdown project saw her become the neighbour from
hell, refusing to rest and instead deciding it was “a good time
to be learning stuff”. Stuff, to the horror of her neighbours,
meaning drums. “I practised three hours a day,” she laughs.
But practise makes perfect and her once favoured choice of
programming drums is no more. Her lockdown release, Just
Move, premiered these talents.
The trend continues with The Mersey Line, as good
a love letter to Liverpool as we’ve ever heard, or more
specifically to Liverpool’s docks. Pixey’s slice of serenity is
by the water, a place that allows her to “reset and take the
next step”.
“If my head’s feeling cloudy or I’m feeling upset or I
feel confused,” she continues, “I’ll go down there for a
14
“It felt like I
was running an
uphill battle”

FEATURE
15

16

walk.” But the dual meaning of the track also follows her on
her journey along the train line when visiting her parents. The
coupling of these two tales left Pixey fearing that her love
letter could come across as “cheesy” and not the “lo-fi 90s
jingle” she was aiming for. In truth, it is actually a fitting label
for the track. Taking me back to first moving to Liverpool and
discovering the powerful, grounding power of the docks, the
track is undeniably a standout of the EP.
The singles she released in 2020 offered a taster of what
was to come on her brand new EP, Free To Live In Colour.
Just Move, the lovechild of The Prodigy, Nile Rodgers and
60s garage definitely scratched the itch while we waited
to see where her music was heading. “I wanted it to be
huge. But now I’m thinking, how am I going to recreate that
live?” Pixey ponders. It’s a new sound for her, but with more
confidence in her ability, the shoe fits. Although she does
admit to needing “some sort of live budget” to get all the
elements of the track covered.
Her formative track, Young has been overshadowed by
that which has followed. And while she refuses to completely
abandon utilising samples and programming her drums, it is
clear that Pixey has found a more personable sound through
her mastery of an ever-growing skill set. It is the armour
that she speaks of on Free To Live In Colour, her ability to be
self-sufficient. “I know it’s not a phase,” she clarifies, adding
weight to the authenticity she has found since following her
ambitions and goals within the music industry.
And yet, with all of the internal work she has done to
develop her trust in herself, she still faces the internalised bias
of those who do not believe that her work is all her own doing.
She is constantly interrogated about who produces her music
and who writes her lyrics. She herself acknowledges that
these questions are “not meant in a patronising way”, instead
they are a manifestation of the sexism that goes unchallenged
within society, of believing women aren’t capable of being
multi-faceted.
In a male-dominated industry, where according to the
USC Annenberg Inclusion Initiative only 2.6 per cent of
music producers and three per cent engineers/mixers in the
industry are women, it’s unsurprising that Pixey is one of
the victims of such narrow-minded thinking. But she is not a
one dimensional being and it’s clear as she sits in her room,
pointing out instrument after instrument around her, that
she could never be restricted by these limitations. Instead,
she is simply Pixey, an ever-evolving creation. She recites
her favourite quote – “don’t assume, it makes an ass out of
u and me” – and I have to laugh. It perfectly sums up how
meaningless these judgements are.
Following the success of Young, she explains that she was
left with the exhausting task of proving she was “consistent
and can constantly reinvent and create”.
“It felt like I was running an uphill battle,” she elaborates,
“to prove that I could do something after that.” Now, thankfully,
this weight seems to have eased. “I can put a middle finger up
to those people who made me feel like I was only a one-trick
pony,” she states. “I want to do this for a long time.”
It is this refusal to be limited and a constant determination
to succeed that has allowed Pixey’s sound to evolve.
Blending baggy 90s sounds with the ever-renewing list of
instrumentation, her style is a personification of graft and
autonomy, of drive and creative control.
“It’s so liberating,” she explains of her self-sufficient
reality, “to be able to play the main, core instruments on your
own songs and also have the choice to programme them
too if you want.” With this drive to rely on no one has come
the challenge of being comfortable with others wishing to
collaborate and critique, to learn from those around her in
order to better her craft.
She admits being able to loosen her grip on the “personal
thing” she creates is a “struggle”, with it taking time to accept
that she wasn’t undermining herself by reaching out to ask
for help. Instead, it has allowed her to grow as a producer,
refining her skills and ear for what she wants in her tracks.
Her bedroom production roots are yet to loosen their grip
on her overall product. The events of the last year have done
little to usher her out. “Now a lot of people produce in their
bedrooms, which is fantastic,” Pixey observes, “a lot of women
as well, which is really cool.” This is something that visibly
brings joy to her. “Maybe people are more vocal about it now,”
she says, “but it’s really cool, it made me feel much better
about the way I was working.” With her previous illness and
anxiety-driven decision to set up in her bedroom becoming
a necessity for others, it’s clear to see how she went from
feeling like an individual to being surrounded by a community
of fellow bedroom producers.
In what has been a difficult 12 months for so many in the
industry, Pixey is humble in noting how it’s been a good year
for the rising star. “I feel privileged to be able to say that,”
she elaborates, crediting her new-found momentum for this
unexpected positivity amid a worldwide pandemic. And it was
a singular decision to ignore those who told her she “wasn’t
going to go anywhere and was wasting [her] time” that led to
her taking up her music career once more and send demos off
to Chess Club Records.
Boasting the likes of Alfie Templeman and responsible
for early releases by Wolf Alice, Chess Club are a force
to be reckoned with, and 2020 saw Pixey added to that
ever-impressive roster. A singular “vulnerable moment” of
sending off those unheard pieces led to one of the biggest
opportunities in her career so far. “It felt like a dream come
true,” she says, recalling sitting down with Will and Peter of
the label and signing on the dotted line.
The rose-tinted glasses of that experience feel slightly
tainted, she admits, by the music industry’s decline at the
hands of the Conservative government. Joy quickly turns to
anger when we progress into the future our community faces.
“The amount of idiocy,” she screams, “I’ve not given nearly
fucking seven years of my life to retrain.” And just like that,
I see what music truly means to her. While the rest of the
conversation showed love for her craft, it was in this moment
that it clicked. The girl in the pixelated image on my screen
is not comfortable simply succeeding as an individual, but
fights for those around her, too. Having shed the skin of the
nervous newcomer we once met, this is someone who owes
everything to music, who fully grasps the power it holds. And
as her anger rises, the jigsaw pieces itself together and the
image of who Pixey truly is feels complete.
Said image is repeated
in the single Free To Live
In Colour, written prior to
her recent signing. She
explains it as a “fever
dream of confusion”,
combined with “telling
“I’m not just a
newbie anymore”
everyone to fuck off”
because the system, well,
sucks. The song mirrors
Pixey’s own fight for
freedom to live as she
sees fit. It channels former
and current battles, like
keeping “a job as well as
writing and having no
money”, being a “conformative non-conformative person”
and being “free to live however and love whoever you want,
regardless of boundaries”. All of this emotion, combined with
a boundary pushing production, left Pixey impatient to release
the track after having sat on it for so long.
This impatience is mirrored in how she perceives the
world at the moment. Angry at the way creatives have been
undervalued and dismissed by the powers that be. “It’s not
just a piece of entertainment, people make their living off of
this and, for some, it’s a form of therapy,” she expresses. She
speaks from experience. Music was her way out of a dark time.
Her crutch. And following statements from Rishi Sunak about
creatives needing to “adapt and adjust to the new reality,” her
anger is more than justified. And as she laughs, recalling her
short-lived and poorly executed time as a waitress, it’s clear
that retraining just isn’t on the cards for Pixey.
But as venues all around us are being forced to close,
relocate and rethink their business plans, this fear for the
creative community is unavoidable. For Pixey, the way the
pandemic is “just chipping away at all the important little
venues” is taken personally. That was where she started. And
without places like “Zanzibar and Sound”, she wouldn’t have
had the chance to be the nervous, sample happy newbie.
Maybe she would never have had the opportunity to annoy
her neighbours while learning the drums, too. But as she says:
“If your music is worth it, it will have its time.” Her time is now. !
Words: Megan Walder / @M_l_Wald
Photography: Marieke Macklon / @mariekemacklon
Free To Live In Colour is available now via Chess Club
Records.
@iampixey
FEATURE
17

AYS TA R
Returning with the third instalment of his mixtape series, the rapper
talks musical growth, finding his flow and staying true to the city.
When AYSTAR used to hear a smart rap, it
left a bittersweet taste. “[I’d be] like, ‘That
was sick, why didn’t I think of that?’” he
says, thinking back to his initial inspiration
to take up the mic over 10 years ago.
Fast-forward to now and it is others within the grime
food chain who’re now looking up at Aystar with a similar
level of inspiration and envy. After the self-scrutinous
start, he’s formed a career that’s seen him go from viral
YouTube star to speaking today as an authority at the
apex of the scene.
Alongside Manchester’s Bugzy Malone, the Toxtethborn
rapper has stood as a provincial outlier since 2015
and helped shift the groundswell away from London to
rightly put eyes on the north. But rather than a quest to
gain recognition in the south, the journey has stemmed
from the innate belief he could match and better what he
was hearing in his youth. “I just fell in love with being able
to just fuck around with words and get your points across
while rhyming,” he says of the moment ambition and
ability started to crystallise. “And I realised, I’m just better
at that than a lot of other people.”
Ten years on, this sure sense of self hasn’t plateaued.
On his latest mixtape, Scousematic 3, he retains a
swaggering bravado that’s as unflinching as his equable
flow. “Look bro, I’ve gotta be top three in England when
it comes to just slappin’ on a rap beat,” he proclaims on
Straight In, with the added boast: “I made so
much dough last year I forgot to rap.”
The mixtape is a confident reassertion of
stature after a short while out of the spotlight,
but it isn’t all self-aggrandising. Aystar’s
unwavering flow and daring architectural
wordplay are baked into the heart of the
record. “She sees me fly past on crosses, now
she thinks I’m a Catholic,” he quips on In And
Out, just one of many razor-sharp lines that
carry the signature wit and self-awareness that
put the rapper on the pedestal he now enjoys.
Starting off as a freestyler operating in
hip-hop territory, his more recent mixtapes
have carried greater drill and grime sensibilities with
their bouncy production and staccato rhyme schemes.
Scousematic 3 follows suit for the most part, but there
are more expansive flourishes that lean into RnB on In
And Out, with weighty features across the record from
Giggs and Digga D marking his ascent to the top. Aystar
puts this down to natural progression. “I’m growing as
an artist,” he says, “so my music is going to reflect that
as well.”
Aystar caught his first break with his Bar Session
back in 2012. The video sees a fresh faced Aystar
freestyling down the back entry of a terraced street. With
bars laced with stories of drugs and violence, it’s his
straight-faced humour and gritty portrait of life coming
up in L8 and L15 that marked him out as a talent in the
making. “Guy got left with a popped eye, no spinach,
that’s what you’ll be getting if you think you’re the illest,”
he delivers, hood up and eyes fixed on the camera – no
hint of irony.
“I started putting freestyles out on MySpace and
they used to get crazy thousands of listens,” he says of
the formative years before the Bar Session. “I thought to
myself, ‘If I’m getting that on MySpace, if I do videos on
YouTube it’s got to get views’.” His instincts were right, with
the Bar Session now well on its way to two million views.
He credits his early inspiration to local collective
YOC for putting a Scouse stamp on a genre that wasn’t
yet known for a vernacular at home in the North West.
But where YOC’s lyrical flow matches that of mid-
2000s grime in its speed, with interspersed Scouse
inflections, Aystar’s own style would eventually bypass
any established norms and fall into the slowed down,
distinctive mould of his own voice.
“How can this Aystar yute have a lazier flow than
mine. This yute’s coooold,” announced Giggs back in
2016. The similarities in style would soon be heard
side by side on The Best taken from Giggs’ 2016 album
Landlord, but it was a deeper retreat into his own
personality that garnered Aystar national attention a few
years earlier.
“I remember years ago I was a bit more energetic,”
he says of his early style, before it switched to something
much slower and akin to a death stare marked by flashes
of unhinged twitchiness. It’s perhaps Scouse Matic
Freestyle, released in 2015, which signals the fullyfledged
arrival of its new form.
With its tantalising Mobb Deep-style beat, the track
becomes more flash fiction than song as Aystar stitches
together scenes lit by street lamps, gunfire and flashing
blue lights coming
into sight. With every
R elongated and C
“I want everyone
to know that
it’s straight
from our city”
crunching down harshly,
Aystar was producing
some of the Scousest
music ever made. The
accent becoming its own
instrument in the mix,
the local vernacular the
grounding flourishes and
authenticity that can’t be
plucked out of thin air by
producers. And with all
this, Aystar’s delivery keeps a straight face, barely moves,
or worries about simple rhyme schemes with words pingponging
between 16 bar arrangements. Nonchalant, lazy,
unfazed, unarsed, call it whatever – it’s a style that faces
its surroundings head on and doesn’t blink.
“I think that’s just a personality trait. Just the way that
I am, you know what I mean?” he says, when asked how
he arrived at the unflinching, slowed down flow he’s now
synonymous with. “I’m kinda’ like that anyway. So that’s
just how it comes out in my music. I never ever thought,
‘I’m gonna’ try and be like this, or like that’. When I rap,
it’s like me speaking to you,” he says, the tone in his voice
beginning to rhythmically shuffle forward like one of his
own bars. “I don’t change my voice. I don’t add a certain
energy. I just give you it the way I am.”
While Aystar now garners attention on a national
level, the lyrical content of his music hasn’t shifted far
from his life growing up around Toxteth and Wavertree.
He says the stories he tells on record aren’t necessarily
autobiographical, some stemming from real life events,
yet they still carry an air of first-person documentation
by way of geographical osmosis through remaining parts
of the areas he raps about. “I feel like you’ve got to live,
you’ve got to live and go through these experiences to
even be able to come up with the music,” he says. “If
I hadn’t experienced [certain things], I wouldn’t have
been able to come with that specific tune. It’s definitely
a mixture of what’s happening in life now. And what’s
happened previously.”
He outlines how Liverpool and his life here will
remain a core part of his music, irrespective of growing
national radio plays and attention from heavyweight stars
in the south. “That’s what brought me in the game. So, for
me to change the recipe now, I wouldn’t really be the guy
that I am.”
With London still an industry base for drill and grime,
the temptation to follow its lead is difficult to resist for
artists coming through. But for Aystar, the parallel reality
for rap artists up north offered its own chance to stand
out. “I’m trying to stay original. For a lot of people, when
they try and tap into the London scene, they forget who
they are,” he says. “I’ve been doing this from Liverpool for
so long that when people do take notice, I want everyone
to know that it’s straight from our city. You’re not mixing
me up with these London cats.”
Wearing the city’s colours so vividly in his music
comes with an apparent sense of pride. In many ways, it
comes across as a duty, an obligation to put his powers to
good use. “Being in the car and listening to the radio and
then hearing someone who’s representing your city, but
is actually good – it’s a good feeling,” he says. “Like, I’m
doing Liverpool justice, if anything,” he laughs. “If I was
making a show, I probably would have stopped a long
time ago.”
The notions of home are strewn across the cover
of Scousematic 3. With a Toxteth street sign partially
in view, a shot-up phone box and Aystar pensively
looking on, it seems to suggest a return to a scene of
social violence as an observer, rather than instigator.
Either way, it projects an image of authority, as if a
figure seeing the scenes shift around them while they
hold their ground. Perhaps a sense of contemplation in
the figure looking in the opposite direction within the
reflection of the broken glass.
It’s this sense of contemplation that marks this
current phase in Aystar’s career; no longer the hot new
talent, but something of a stalwart having made it 10
years in the game. While perspectives change, and the
palette of producers he’s working with, he doesn’t see
much else differently to the teenager who once felt slight
frustration that a clever rhyme wasn’t his own. “I know
who I am. You know what I mean? I know that I am
looked at as that person in Liverpool and in the north,” he
says, with air of consideration. “But at the same time, I
still just try and keep how I’ve been for the past 10 years.
I don’t let that change.” !
Words: Elliot Ryder / @elliot_ryder
Photography: Joe Harper
Scousematic 3 is available now.
@aystar__
18

FEATURE
19

20

SARA
WOLFF
Exploring the literate, genre-dodging songs of the Bergen-born singer-songwriter, scouring
away at the surface of butter-wouldn’t-melt-blokes in the process.
In the video for SARA WOLFF’s recent single Cotton
Socks, filmed by Mimi Šerbedžija, the camera meets
Wolff’s gaze as her eyelids flutter in time. Her head
appears framed, as if on a platter. She then tucks
into a dessert buffet of jellybeans, muffins, doughnuts
and a lovely looking Victoria sponge, Bruce Bogtrotterstyle.
It all ends with Wolff in a sugar coma, face and
hands covered in jam, looking like a cannibal passed out
at a crime scene. For a song that sounds like drowning
in honey, this saccharine display fits her barbed, sicklysweet
lyrics perfectly.
While society buffers, we’ve had ample time to
ponder what we’ve missed, as well as clarity to address
some serious issues surrounding inequality. And,
although it might have been written long before our
current winter of discontent, Wolff’s debut EP When You
Left The Room remarkably still captures the zeitgeist, as
Sara chews over that which she’s willing to stomach and
spits out the rest. Cotton Socks flaunts this in all its glory.
Couplets such as “Oh bless your little toffee heart
/ don’t you let them sting you when you tear their hive
apart” and “’Cause they are little bumblebees without a
single clue / they are bumping into everyone ’cause they
don’t know what to do” find Wolff biting back. Softly
spun melodies and wonky, woozy arrangements might
draw you in, but it’s the cunningly reflective songwriting,
with its pointed humour and carefully crafted narratives,
that’ll keep you hooked.
“Cotton Socks is a song about feeling underestimated
by someone,” she begins, speaking over video call, with
no traces of jam to be seen. “It could be about toxic
masculinity, a person who maybe has a skewed view
on women in general. It comes back to, I guess, the
expectations of women, or your feelings not being taken
seriously, being brushed off as someone who’s all over
the place. It’s a reaction to that by saying: ‘I know exactly
what’s going on and why you’re behaving this way… and
I’ll sting you any day’,” she explains, with an effortless
lyrical charm.
Through addressing men in this sympathetic,
mollycoddling manner, Wolff is able to poke holes in a
privileged sense of security. It could even be seen as
an impression of the belittling tone some do actually
take around the opposite sex. In this way it feels like a
predecessor to the equally eerie Scarf Song. Directed
by Wolff and Andy Martin, Scarf Song’s monochrome
music video has a more Lynchian slant with Sara and
Co. appearing onstage like mannequins. Yet it still serves
as an uneasy commentary about the treatment and
objectification of women. And when Sara dreams of
retaliation in the chorus (in this case, a light garrotting by
knitwear) it’s hard to blame, frankly.
Fiona Apple’s lyrics for Relay from last year’s
groundbreaking Fetch The Bolt Cutters spring to mind: “I
resent you for never getting any opposition at all / I resent
you for having each other / I resent you for being so sure /
I resent you presenting your life like a fucking propaganda
brochure”. It’s a directness
Wolff finds particularly
refreshing.
“We’re so much
stronger if we stand
together and lift
people up, rather
than tearing each
other down”
“My favourite song is
definitely Ladies,” Wolff
responds, “she’s singing
to her ex’s new girlfriend
and it’s all about women
standing together. She
says: ‘There’s a dress in
the closet that you can
have because it will look
way better on you, it
was actually left to me
by another ex who was
there before me’. I feel
like sometimes women can tend to fight each other, or
there can be this culture of competition. Usually you can
see that with any marginalised group, if there is a sense
there’s not space for you somewhere.
“I suppose in a male-dominated music scene,” she
continues, “there’s less space for women to begin with.
You suddenly have women turning against each other
because you’re fighting for those few slots that are
available for you. [Fiona Apple] definitely touches upon
something very important there. We’re just so much
stronger if we stand together and lift people up, rather
than tearing each other down.”
Naturally, we move onto the topic of female artists
being pigeonholed, as we question where her adopted
hometown fits into all of this.
“Being a woman musician isn’t a genre. The amount
of line-ups I’ve been put on billed as ‘Ladies Night’
or times it hasn’t made sense that I’m opening for a
band. The only similarity is our gender identity,” Wolff
explains. However, she is keen to note the supportive
aspects of Liverpool’s scene and the groups looking to
tackle unequal diversity. One of which she highlights is
Where Are The Girlbands, who she commends for their
promotion of female musicians, opening discussions,
covering the scene and connecting creatives.
“Maybe this time is what we all needed, a little reset
and then we can come back with more objectivity,”
Wolff ponders in response to the prolonged pause of
live music. “Knowing that we’ve had some space to think
about what’s important to us and what we really want
the scene to look like: more inclusive, interesting and
accommodating.”
In September 2019, Sara visited Manchester’s Eve
studios to track the EP with her live band and coproducer/engineer
Adam Rothschild. Replete with vintage
synths, analogue outboard gear
and even a cat (also named Adam),
16-hour stints of recording found
the pair entirely submerged in the
project. Since then, she’s swapped
what was “basically an old mansion”
where King Krule, Everything
Everything and The Orielles record,
for the familiar makeshift duvet
vocal booth.
“I was just recording all of my
vocals under my little duvet castle
in my bedroom. There were dogs
barking outside the window, loads
of construction work going on,
plus my interface was really shit,
so whenever I had my computer plugged in it made a
buzzing noise,” she illustrates. “Somehow still, it’s nice, I
always feel most comfortable in my own surroundings.”
Thankfully, persistence and time invested honing
these tracks – the liquefied All We Are feel of Hands
having evolved significantly over the past six years
– means we’re now hearing Wolff at her most selfactualised
as an artist. Her stay at Eve and the room for
experimentation this allowed has only pushed her sound
further as well. A minimalist at heart, in-studio Sara
opted to either extract guitar parts in place of synths,
noise machines and the distinctive 1960s Farfisa organ,
or instead fed them through effects units, such as the
Roland Space Echo used to produce the delay we hear
tripping over itself on off-kilter standout You Like Talking
About Yourself.
Charged with all the manic energy and queasy
cutesiness of a carnival funhouse, in Wolff’s words
You Like Talking About Yourself is “a silly song about
someone who loves themselves too much and sucks all
the attention out a room”. In the chorus the kit actually
breaks down for a bar or two, mimicking the blowhard
losing steam, or rather his victims losing the will to
live. By the time we reach the bridge, it’s looking more
Dismaland than Disney, as Sara sings, “What have you
done? You ate my firstborn son” as raving voices pile up
against a wall of distortion.
Sara’s conscious use of contrast calls to mind Aldous
Harding and Cate Le Bon, but it would seem she’s not as
FEATURE
21

easy to corner on influences as that, as proven when she
elaborates on her process.
“You have to always strive to diversify what you
hear,” she says. “I try to take influence from as many
things as possible because I think it’s easy to go down
the rabbit hole of following trends. If you do that you get
lost in what you think people want to hear, instead of
what you really sound like. The thing is with trends they
always go away.”
She elaborates further, breaking down the concept
into a simplified form: “People might not like my music
now and might not resonate with it now, but sometime
there may be someone who will. That’s enough for me.
I’m just going to do my own thing, listen to as many
different things as I can, then hopefully I won’t steal
something by accident.”
There’s method also in the juxtaposition of creaking
eeriness and wide beaming smile that much of the EP
carries. “I find when I write about a particularly dark
subject I like to wrap it in a nice little soft package
instead,” she says. “Maybe it’s the shock factor?
Sometimes it can relay the message a little easier. [On the
EP] I was definitely playing a lot more with contrasts than
ever before. I was going for more angry and distorted
sounds because I feel as someone who works within
the folk genre and as a woman, sometimes it’s like the
22
‘generals’ just tell us what the desirable traits of being a
woman are: quiet, polite and modest.
“But, on the other side of the spectrum, you have
men who are allowed to express their anger more in
music – shredding, playing heavier – that’s normally a
very desirable trait in a man,” she adds. “It’s considered
sexy, whereas if a woman acts the same way it’s
considered bitchy. So, I guess I’ve been trying to embrace
this anger and stop being so careful all the time.”
For Sara to think of her music as a time capsule that
might someday make an impression is underselling its
charm and relatability. Take Bad Thoughts Compilation,
for example. This deep dive into despondency with its
delicate guitar work and bobbing melody recalling Rozi
Plain, could quite easily soundtrack a clip show of 2020’s
most tedious, thumb-twiddling groundhog days. “Let’s
stay at home, not follow through. Let’s burn the spark
right out of you” she sings, before ending the record
with the refrain, “I think I need to get away for a while”.
They’re sentiments not lost on us.
“Get Away For A While became more a goodbye to
past selves. ‘It happened when you left the room and I
think about it every day’. It’s like when you realise that
something’s changed, that something’s over, that you’re
going to have to adapt. I feel that’s what songwriting
is for me in general: just looking back at things I’ve
experienced with more of an objective view and reflecting
on changes that were maybe quite difficult when they
happened, but they’ve brought me to where I am today
and have offered a new perspective.
“That’s something I’ve felt this year more than ever,
just being by myself. Just feeling feelings very deeply
with nothing to distract you. Really coming to terms
with things and reflecting on who you are as a person.
I lost my job, I got out of a relationship, but lockdown is
the thing that’s taught me the most so far in my life. Just
letting go, allowing things to happen and just accepting
it. I feel like now, more than ever before, I have faith that
things will turn out in the end.”
On a record so fraught with goodbyes it’s comforting
to see Wolff’s found such room for growth. In letting go
she’s gifted a record that could not only help others feel
seen, it has the potential to aid us all in some small way,
as we each weather our own personal shitstorms. !
Words: David Weir / @BetweenSeeds
Photography: Marieke Macklon / @mariekemacklon
When You Left The Room is available now.
@saraw0lff

DIALECT
Breath, reinterpretation, community. Wil Baines pores over
the layers of Andrew PM Hunt’s latest works.
Andrew PM Hunt is a prolific composer and
electronic musician who has been an active
light in the Liverpool community for over
a decade now. His work as DIALECT (one
of his many musical projects) has been an exploration
in mixing his constantly evolving personal production
style with whatever impetus crosses his eye. Sonically,
this latest project Under~Between is an exploration of
electronic and acoustic performances latticed together
into some of the most widely accessible music I’ve had
the pleasure to come across. Exploring motifs of breath,
reinterpretation and community – it is to be consumed
whole.
Beginning our conversation, we talk over a mutual
interest in music, technology and its fringes (or rather
its trendy ‘bangs’). I ask Andrew to explain a little about
where his latest project materialised from, and what
drove the noticeable differences from the previous works
in his canon.
“In about 2017, I was asked to do a concert with Immix
Ensemble, who are a chamber group here in Liverpool who
specialise in collaboration,” he begins. “I did this concert
where I wrote a new piece for them, and they did different
arrangements of older pieces of mine. It went really,
really well, and so the next year I was
asked to be a composer-in-residence
for their concert series. So it’s
kinda like a live electronics
and chamber group thing,
and we did maybe five
concerts together over
the year, and that was
kind of the start of
this whole new
album project.”
Speaking
to Andrew only
briefly, I start
to realise that
maybe he is
starting to say this
record is about
letting people in;
a sentiment that I
believe listeners will
hold even more dear to
themselves after the last
year. He goes on to explain
that, after concluding these
concerts, he immediately had
ideas of dramatically reinterpreting
their contents. “The majority of 2019
I spent in the studio, working with individual
members of the ensemble, plus a whole host of other
people from the Liverpool music community,” he notes.
“Particularly the improvised music community, to reinvent
some of these pieces and also invent new ones.”
Dialect’s music is one of drawing inspiration from the
world around him, changing where he chooses to focus
his gaze. Something that is also evident across whatever
“musical crime fighting identity” he dons in each of his
projects. He mentions the word introspective multiple
24
times during our exchange, but I believe maybe a more
fitting term may be ‘omnispective’ – such are the number
of perspectives within his work.
We go on to talk about the sounds that made up the
record. I drop a technical term for classifying instruments
into my question and it prompts a smile – I think the
atmosphere of our conversation has confidently passed
some kind of litmus test. “Naturally working with a
group like Immix affected the palette of sounds I was
using very considerably, which is part of the reason why
the record sounds, on the surface at least, very different
from Loose Blooms.”
Referring to his previous release from 2018, we
briefly ponder any similarities between the two records
that are important to him, and possibly over his career
in general. He speaks about his keenness, throughout
his work, to reject the idea that sounds considered to
be ‘organic’ are good and preferable and those made by
technology are inferior. This is a moot point for him, and
he goes on to point out that something like a saxophone
at some point was the pinnacle of music technology. I
agree, and he thus underlines what we call his “sonic
thumbprint”. He details how this directly influenced
Under~Between:
“There’s something obviously
inherently natural about the pace
and phrasing of a human
breath,” he says. “On an
almost unconscious
level we recognise a
certain natural-ness
to the length of
human exhalation
– and that was
something I was
trying to work
into the record
over the second
half of 2019.”
It occurs
to me, as he
confirms, that
the process of
collaboration with
the members of
Immix Ensemble, and
his own experience as a
session saxophone player,
have played a huge role in
shaping not only the sound
of this latest record, but also the
way in which Andrew has produced and
arranged the tracks. Expanding on this clear motif
of human respiration and its intricacies he continues: “I
became aware of this tendency towards sounds where
you can really hear air moving in and out; and you really
get a sense of breath, and with that sense of breath a
sense of life and vitality.”
He goes on to pinpoint the track Flame Not Stone
and discusses how he begins the track with what he
calls ‘vocalese’, how that is a fragile and overtly intimate
sound, which goes on to trigger various MIDI events and
creates a web of sounds derived from the human breath.
“When you’re often working with electronics,” he
notes, “the derivation of sound can be quite obscured,
and often that’s the pleasure in it, but I think there’s
something really grounding about hearing a sound that
you can intuitively understand as being from a human
body. I’ve kind of always had that in my music one way or
another, but there’s more of a use of it in this record.”
Andrew continues to expand that this sense of
conversation or dialogue between electronic and ‘live’
instruments – or rather acoustic instruments – is one that
he hopes can be heard across the record. He explains
that he often seeks to have sounds ‘mimic’ other sounds.
I picture a parrot, a mockingbird and a lyrebird sitting
together in the mix; apart from they’re all Andrew and,
although the image begins to slightly disturb me, I
understand what he describes as “referential loops”.
As he goes on to explain, Andrew is somebody that
has a particularly outward perspective in his influences.
This has manifested in many ways. He discusses the idea
that in our society today distinctions between categories
in all forms are blurrier than ever, how that is often a
great thing, but that we are constantly surrounded by
people attempting to organise that chaos for one reason
or another.
I note how I think that his music is certainly a
meditation on that and go on to ask if his art could
be interpreted in a way that is a certain angle on
environmental activism. He says: “I think in many
ways those topics are best served by trying to avoid
being didactic in what you’re doing, you affect people
most deeply when you are able to engage both their
imaginations and inspire their own realisations, their
own epiphanies, and that is often best done in a slightly
more indirect way because it allows a listener more
agency… those conclusions are always going
to be more firm than when somebody
has been told what to think.”
This sentiment is certainly
one to be admired, and
one that he is keen to
reinforce. “Themes of
environmentalism,
or certainly an
obsession with
the natural world,
is very much
baked into the
music that I’m
making,” he
adds. “But
art should

“I’m trying to create
a profound sense
of vagueness”
be more open-ended than that, in my opinion. Personally,
I get more out of art that leaves space for somebody to
explore it in their own head.”
Many creatives, or in fact anybody, can relate to
this idea of gratification and impact. It is something that
we both note as having enjoyed in many records. “The
danger is always in over-composing things or overproducing
things,” he replies. “I have to fight against that
all the time when I’m working – to be like, ‘Oh no, I’ve
spelt it out too much’, or I’ve told people what it is.”
These interpretations are partially aided by the visual
accompaniment for Under~Between, directed by Sara
Ludy. In keeping with the theme of visual accompaniment
to his productions, though his chief medium as an artist
is sound, he outlines the desire to create and integrate
moving images into his music – creating moving images
from the perspective of sound, or vice-versa, what he
calls “essentially sound collage”. He underlines what is
quite a complex notion in a jovial manner: “I’m trying to
create a profound sense of vagueness. As we’ve said
before, in the vagueness is where people find their own
realisations and that’s what I think is important.”
As our conversation draws to a close, we touch
upon how Andrew started to feel almost arbitrary to be
arranging sounds on their own and how, in part, that
sentiment is also where the more collaborative nature of
Under~Between came from. Trying to introduce frictions
and differences, to let that manifest an event otherwise
inaccessible alone. In passing reference to a previous
interview with Bido Lito! I ask if this practice is going to
be a significant feature of his art going forward.
“As the years have gone on, I’m certainly less
interested in constructing any kind of mythos or
anything like this, that type of artifice, not least
because it’s a distraction on a practical level,
but it’s kind of a distraction from doing the
work. Some people are really into that kind
of thing. I don’t inherently have a problem
with that, but over time I’ve become more
interested in getting on with the work,
meeting people, exchanging ideas and the
community that comes from listening to
other people.”
Andrew PM Hunt has become a
perfect example of an artist that is both
extremely malleable and impressively
unique in his practice. He is in a constant
state of influential flux and the results
are fantastic. His latest record is further
evidence of that. !
Words: Wil Baines (They/Them)
Photography: Andrew Ellis / @ellis_samizdat
Illustration: Amy Cummings / @
amycummings_illustration
Under~Between is available now via RVNG
Intl.
dialect-trax.bandcamp.com
FEATURE
25

A new public-facing
exhibition, commissioned and
curated by Tate Collective,
will feature images of
Merseyside and the North
West displayed on billboards
across Liverpool. Featuring
landscape, portrait and
documentary photography
submitted by those aged
16-25, the collection of
images looks to build on
the work of Don McCullin
and highlight the social
intricacies of the region.
Leah Binns takes a closer
look at the works in question.
Isolation - Callum Cole
NORTH W
Since normal life as we know it has been
uprooted and as lockdown rules and statistics
continue to fluctuate, the coronavirus pandemic
has changed how we interpret imagery;
an emptied landscape, or a lone figure, has come to
represent a stronger feeling of solitude than it did before.
Photography taken at this time takes on a certain
quality, and there is a new framework for understanding
the world that reflects this tenuous and difficult period
of collective responsibility. Perhaps fitting for the way
in which we are continually adjusting to shifts in life’s
parameters, a current exhibition at Tate Liverpool
captures moments of social unrest, ranging from the
industrial North to international conflict, by British
photographer Don McCullin.
The images draw on very timely ideas of political
upheaval, as well as smaller moments that reflect the
everyday life of the subjects. Purposefully confrontational
and resistant, McCullin’s images push at the boundaries
of the viewer’s ethics, presenting scenes of poverty and
war with disturbing clarity.
Following a Tate Collective open call, billboards
across Liverpool will be filled with photographs from
young creatives inspired by McCullin’s work. Members
from the Tate Collective scheme, which is free to join
and open to all 16-25-year-olds, were invited to submit
photographs in response to the exhibition. In addition
to gallery discounts and £5 exhibition tickets, the Tate
Collective scheme gives access to free events and
creative opportunities, such as this ‘photographing the
North West’ open call.
From all of the submissions, 30 images have been
selected to appear on billboards throughout the city from
7th April and will be shown in the studio at Tate Liverpool
once the gallery is able to reopen later in May. The open
call was created by Tate Collective Producers, a group of
16-25-year-olds working with Tate to curate events and
opportunities for young people.
The thread that connects the images is the spirit of
the North West, through its communities, culture, and
landscape. While the results were wide-reaching, many
themes are recurrent, showing the persistence of certain
feelings in our collective consciousness; from isolation and
escapism, to community and protest. Some images explore
new understandings of landscape during lockdown, while
others touch on the North West’s playfulness, civic pride,
artistic outlook, or political histories.
Tate Collective Producers, Laura Wiggett and Niamh
Tam, who helped create the project, note how they
prioritised providing a platform for young creatives who are
currently being left stranded by
the lack of opportunities in the art
world. Breaking with the current
tendency for works and events
to move online, Laura highlighted
how the producers wanted
“something physical to have”.
As a public-facing billboard
project, a different understanding
of scale and space that is
disconnected from exhibition
conventions was necessary,
which opened up new challenges
for the producers themselves.
Laura stressed the importance of
making the exhibition “accessible for everyone”, both for
its contributors and in its reception. More sporadic than
a conventional exhibition, and framed by the city itself,
the project has the opportunity to directly exist within the
space it seeks to reflect.
“Looking at themes of protest through McCullin’s war
imagery, looking at landscapes through his images of
Liverpool, the images that we’ve chosen are a really good
reflection of the exhibition itself,” says Niamh.
“These images
follow in McCullin’s
footsteps by
exposing the
histories embedded
in the landscape”
The influence of McCullin’s landscapes is particularly
apparent in some images that are energetic natural
scenes with dynamic compositions. Photographs such as
Safe Travels, Neston and Thurstaston Beach respond to
a shift in our relationship to the local area, whether that
be a sense of absence as implied by our loss of a daily
commute, or a renewed interest in nature through daily
walks in lockdown. Safe Travels, Neston balances a sparse
scenic view with a lively flock of birds. Thurstaston Beach,
on the other hand, is far darker, with a more rocky, textured
feel, almost ghostly in how it is laden with gloom.
“Despite what it suggests,” says George Jones, the
photographer of the image, “the coast is often packed
with locals enjoying the smell
of the salty air, the joyous
atmosphere, or the vastness
of the sea at the mouth of
the Mersey. Hopefully what
Thurstaston Beach does signify
is the intertwining and treasured
relationship our local landscapes
have with their people.”
Discussing the influence
of McCullin, Jones adds: “What
I found exceptional about his
landscapes, having come after
the intense, excruciating images
of conflict, was the space and
expansiveness they possessed. The skies specifically
were so visceral, so epic, almost at times apocalyptic.”
For many, a daily walk in nature has come to
symbolise a way of sustaining normalcy, or routine,
through unusual times. The image of Thurstaston Beach
definitely reflects this; there is a sense of catharsis in its
vigour, in how it draws on expansive space as an antidote
to the confinement of lockdown.
Other images represent urban rather than natural
26

Cranborne - Oisin Askin
Safe Travels Neston - Connor Maxwell
Harry Arthur, homeless in Liverpool - Harry Saundry
EST IN FOCUS
A Flicker of Hope - Sean Tadman
FEATURE
27

28
Barry - Amelia Jones

Thurstaston Beach - George Jones
scenes, complete with new understandings of tranquility
and emptiness. Photographs such as Isolation, which
depicts a Manchester hotel with a single illuminated
room, play with light and a strong composition to
ignite a sense of loneliness, while being deeply
atmospheric in its use of colour. The Past is a Foreign
Country portrays another Manchester scene where
a modern cityscape looms nefariously over an old
industrial street. The image’s patchwork composition
exposes gentrification as something palpable, layered
and always in process, as well as demonstrating the
precarity of history in the landscape.
Expanding on human stories through a point of view
that is often marginalised, Harry Arthur, Homeless in
Liverpool is an image that depicts a man with the word
‘rich’ written across his fingers. Here, the hand replaces
the face as the traditional subject of the portrait, and
the viewer is confronted with a sense of identity from a
sidelined perspective.
Unity Is Strength, which illustrates a mostly
unpopulated Liverpudlian street decked out in flags
during the 2019 Champion’s League final, aims to
address the importance of togetherness during a time of
separation. Underscored by a table decorated in red, this
photograph is visually striking in its celebratory tone, and
its evocative depiction of community spirit.
“I wanted to subtly capture the smaller moments
of bliss and the honest expression of Liverpool’s
communities, says its photographer Oliver O’Callaghan.
“It’s important to daydream and reflect on these special
moments.” For this photographer, escape through
imagination is a crucial theme, and is here interpreted
by reflecting on past celebrations and communal events.
The tenacity of this image is clear, and its outlook is equal
parts nostalgic and forward thinking. When layered with
commemorative flags and banners, the city street starts
to represent something new, speaking to the social unity
of Liverpool’s people.
Cranborne, similarly, emphasises the importance
of community and friendship in the city, showing three
figures playing with a football in a Liverpool street. Its light,
composition and feeling of being in the midst of a game,
gives the image an idyllic sheen. Images like Barry, which
shows a cheerful man on the Albert Dock with pigeons
perching on his head and shoulder, also put an interesting
twist on the traditions of photojournalism, exposing the
unapologetically joyous side to Liverpool life.
Amelia Jones, who describes the photograph as
telling the story of a “Liverpool-born man who still lives
and works in the city, is proud to be a Scouser and is
happy to tell the world.” says that they hoped to show a
“happier side to documentary photography”, subverting
viewer expectations. “It shows that Scousers have a
joyful side, and that even the birds aren’t afraid to say
hello,” adds Jones. There is a familiar warmth and strong
sense of playfulness to this image of the photographer’s
father, which demonstrates the strength of family and
relationships in the local area.
The photographer of A Flicker of Hope, an image
of a Black Lives Matter protest last summer, was also
interested in the social histories of the landscape that
rests behind the image. Some of 2020’s most powerful
and dynamic imagery has come from protest and this,
as a photographic diptych that is almost sculptural in the
strength of its light, is no exception.
Sean Tadman explains that they took the photograph
on the steps of St George’s Hall: “This imposing structure
– a symbol of the fortunes made from the slave trade –
fuelled the notions of injustice felt by the subject as she
spoke about Liverpool’s history and the oppression faced
by black people today.”
The image exposes how the cityscape itself can be
complicit in sustaining dark political conventions: “I found
it shocking when looking into the historical significance of
Liverpool in relation to the slave trade and how little we
in the UK are taught about it, particularly as our colonial
history has so much influence upon the UK’s culture,
architecture, art, and oftentimes, financial relevance on an
international scale.”
According to Tate Collective Producer Niamh, this
image particularly captures “what has been happening
in the past year”: the changes, the protests, the Black
Lives Matter campaign. The photograph’s monochromatic
colour scheme is a deliberate attempt to flatten the
time between the Civil Rights movement of the 50s
and 60s and that of the present day, demonstrating the
contemporary relevance of these issues, and giving a
sense of urgency to the image and its cause.
Many of these images follow in McCullin’s footsteps
FEATURE
by exposing the histories embedded in the landscape,
while demonstrating social change as being an integral
part of our city’s political history. The final project is a
celebration of the imagery that evolves organically from a
time of constraint, as captured by local people. Speaking
on behalf of Tate Producers, Laura’s assertion that the
project “shows a feeling, in Liverpool, of openness”
expresses the success of the project and its stories; while
each image is unique and personal, they are fragments
of a greater whole, contributing to a collaborative
understanding of the North West through engaging with
young local talent. !
Words: Leah Binns
Unity is Strength - Oliver O’Callaghan
The works in the exhibition will be shown across
Liverpool from 7th April. Tate Collective will also run
several day takeovers across their social media channels,
showcasing entries and the artists involved. Locations of
the billboards and further information on the project can
be found via the link below.
tate.org.uk/tate-collective/photographing-north-west
@TateCollective
Tate Collective is supported by Jean and
Melanie Salata with additional support from Garfield
Weston Foundation, The Rothschild Foundation, and Tate
Patrons.
29

30

AMBER JAY
Bravely peering around the corner, Lily Blakeney-Edwards channels the spooky, spine-tingling
atmospherics of the electro-pop star.
AMBER JAY hates scary films, something
she confesses sitting in her family home,
surrounded by her pets and the sounds of
suburban mundanity. It’s a truth that offers its
own jolt of surprise.
Anyone who’s come across the young artist’s
eerie, dark-pop sensibilities would expect her to be a
horror flick fanatic. Eventually, however, there’s a telling
explanation. “I always obsess over the soundtracks,
though,” adding to her earlier statement. “I love it when
songs have a haunting influence on them; it gives them
such an intriguing atmosphere.” She pauses, before
continuing. “You know, that
white noise they play in horror
films sometimes? The kind of
noise where you don’t realise
it’s there, but it creates a really
unnerving atmosphere? It scares
you without you even knowing,
it’s like a subconscious effect.
When you can introduce that in
music, it makes it so much more
interesting.” She struggles to
contain laughter when concluding:
“The darker the better!”
We tail off and natter about
how much we long for pints and
fuzzy nights out. Her warmth is
transfixing, but alongside it resides longing, a glimpse in
her eyes that signals the young artist’s ambition. “To be
honest, I just want to get back into the studio and record,”
she admits, with noticeable drive.
Despite only appearing on the scene a few years
back, Jay has already carved out an artistic persona that
shines among the crowd. Inspired by spooky synth-pop
and modern-day indie darlings, she has quickly built up
a collection of tracks that walk the line of brooding and
bouncy – the ideal recipe for earworms. Her work ethic has
granted impressive results, with the artist releasing her
debut EP Never Too Far From A Dark Thought in March.
“It’s my first real body of work out there,” she tells
me. “I recorded a whole album when I was about 17 and,
as soon as I finished it, I hated it and never put it out. So,
while I’ve been writing and recording and performing
since I was a teenager, I’ve never had anything that really
captured me as an artist. To have a full body of work out
that really demonstrates what I do is amazing; I can’t get
over how happy I am with it.”
While Jay’s appetite has always motivated her to
push her musical abilities, she previously struggled to
match her talents with her identity as an artist. That was
until last year, which marked a dramatic transformation in
the artist’s persona and sound. “Previously, when I was
in this spoken-word band, we always used to write about
“I love it when
songs have
a haunting
influence”
topics like the NHS or homelessness and create a power
anthem around it,” she tells me. “I really miss it, [but] as
fun as it was, I had no idea of the direction I wanted to
go. The artist I was previously was good, but it wasn’t the
sort of music I want to make.”
This soon changed as Jay started working with
Scouse staples Zuzu and Munkey Junkey, who quickly
helped her find her sound. “I think working with different
artists around Liverpool really helped me embrace
different perspectives,” she explains. “I saw a post on
Instagram from Kurran [Karbal, aka Munky Junkey]
saying that he had set up a studio space. I sent him a
message out of the blue asking if
I could record there. He was really
lovely about it. I think they were
expecting me to want to stick to
the sound of my previous work,
but I was ready for my tracks to
have a new energy. I wanted it to
sound playful, to have fun and be
experimental, so I basically told
him there were no rules.”
Jay seems ecstatic now,
thinking about the wide-open
parameters of the recording
process. “I definitely think that
working with them has made such
a positive impact on my sound.
They were so encouraging as well; I’m not someone
who’s mega confident, but they really helped with that
just by telling me to be myself.”
With that, Jay evolved into an artist rooted in what
could be loosely regarded as horror pop. Littered with
looming synths that fester under Jay’s subtle vocals, the
acoustic backbone of the tracks remained, only electrified
by an eerie flair. “I write all my songs on guitar, so that
acoustic element is just there naturally. That’s the nature
of it, it all starts out from my guitar, but then, when I get
into a studio, I can introduce those beats and electronic
elements that make it sound edgier,” she tells me. “I also
take a lot of notes from Billie Eilish and artists who have
softer voices like mine. When they’re put against nontraditional
productions that you would associate with that
type of voice, it sounds amazing.”
The EP consists of five tracks that each present a
different persona within the overarching atmosphere
of the record. The House plays on the panic of being
apart from someone through relentless synth stabs and
distorted vocals. The closing track, Person, is softer and
ballad-like, utilising stripped-back arrangements to detail
the void of heartbreak.
“A lot of the songs are inspired by my own
relationships. Break-ups and heartbreak I felt, all that
lovely stuff of life,” she says with a grin. While Jay’s
FEATURE
own experience forms a large part of the narrative, it’s
not entirely autobiographical. “I’m inspired a lot by TV
and films and I like to write about the stories I see,” she
explains. “With TV, especially, the emotions are all there
for you and it’s so hyper and dramatic that I find myself
getting lost in it.”
The tracks are wildly diverse in intent, yet despite the
range of influences, it becomes apparent how much work
across the project was done single-handedly by Jay. “For
artwork I actually bought an iPad because I was trying
to find an artist who could work with me, but because of
lockdown it proved very hard, so I did it myself. Can you
tell?!” We both laugh. “But really, I loved doing it because
it feels home-made and every bit of the release comes
from me. I love collaboration, but when you’re trying to
communicate what you want to another person, you’re
always afraid it can come off as something different from
your previous vision.”
The dedication shows. From the dramatic vocal
pauses on Stay The Same, to the wall of harmonies on
My Own Way, Jay dissolves her personality into every
aspect of the works to a charming effect. What could
have been likable tracks in raw form are transformed into
playful, electronic stompers.
“I really hope my personality shines out in it. A lot
of the songs, although about dark subjects, are really
playful,” she says, with a smile. “If people can connect to
them, and maybe see a bit of themselves in the songs,
I would love that. When you listen to a song, you write
yourself into the narrative. The best songs are honest,
because people can really connect with them.”
It’s impressive that Jay is able to show so much of her
artistic persona so early in her career, but has an outlook
that surpasses any sense of herself. “By putting things
out and sharing them with people, you can really criticise
it and pick it apart, because then it’s not just your own.
It’s such a strange thing that happens,” she tells me. “As
much as I love the EP, I’m still looking out for ways it
could be different, or what I want to do next time.”
The call to the future may seem surprising
considering how recent her last release was, but Jay’s
ambition shines through once again. “I’ve got so much
stuff I’ve been sitting on for a long time, so I just want to
get back into the studio and record,” she announces with
vigour. “Only by doing can you get the ball rolling.” !
Words: Lily Blakeney-Edwards / @lilyhbee
Illustration: Abigail Smith / @camisado_design
Never Too Far From A Dark Thought is available now.
@iamamberjay
31

32

Following the release of her new album, Flock, Cath Holland speaks to the singer-songwriter
about stepping out of the “drone zone” and into some shimmering pop.
On the cover of Flock, her 11th album, JANE
WEAVER is very much a woman in charge of
all she surveys: bird boxes in shades of mild
but insistent pink, blue and green. The colour
palette corresponds with a piece of Pisces artwork she
has propped up on her fireplace at home. She’s unsure
what the image relates to, maybe trippy 70s star sign
paraphernalia you see in charity shops. That would be
apt; Flock leads out of Jane’s ever-present interests in
the other worldly. It’s the album she’s always wanted to
make, we’re told, which sees her take a different trip from
previous space rock adventures, embracing pop and the
rainbow of styles within.
Jane is in good spirits when we talk,
despite the inevitable circumstancedriven
delay sharing the record
with us. “It’s like giving birth,
just get it out there and
I can have a bit of a sit
down,” she jokes of the
waiting period. Birthing
a child is no easy task
and, as it turns out,
nor was making Flock.
But you’d not suspect
by listening to it that
the gestation until its
arrival late spring, so
perfectly in tune with the
lengthening days and a
slowly emerging sense of
guarded optimism, proved
“uncomfortable” for her.
We’re accustomed to
appreciating the conceptual aspect of
Weaver’s work, revolving around a topic or
person or film. 2017’s Modern Kosmology claimed Hilma
af Klint as a nourishing muse, the Swedish artist and
mystic’s creative process feeding into the record. We did
get the sense there was some soul searching going on in
the lyrics on Flock even before it came out, the single The
Revolution of Super Visions finds Weaver wondering “do
you look at yourself and find nothing?”
“It’s much easier to write about somebody else’s
world and go into that bubble and daydream about the
possibilities of what they did,” she says. “It’s nice and
comfy and the possibilities are endless. But when it comes
to doing something more personal it’s a bit horrible, really.
I don’t enjoy indulging in things about myself.”
Jane headed off to Anglesey before recording Modern
Kosmology, to reflect and write. For Flock she handpicked
the more glamorous surroundings of Brittany in France.
As she drove up the coast she had visions of browsing in
arty shops, buying ice cream, sipping wine in nice bars.
“But the whole town was dead, like a ghost town!”
she admits. “It’s a coastal town where I was staying. I
forgot, it was out of season ’cause it was December. One
restaurant open, on a Wednesday night. No bars open.
Aldi was open, or Lidl, and there were just loads of old
ladies walking around.”
Ultimately, the empty surroundings, deserted
holiday homes of the rich and famous with closed locked
shutters, proved to be a positive.
“I was pretty fed up anyway and miserable, but
I was trying to write these pop songs, so it was a bit
happy-sad, a bittersweet kind of thing. But the isolation,
the fact I wasn’t distracted, was perhaps the best thing
that happened.”
Flock might well be a diversion from her norm – if
there is such a thing for an experimentalist such as
Weaver – but we’ve experienced her pop side before.
Don’t Take My Soul and I Need A Connection from 2014’s
The Silver Globe are essentially pop songs after all.
“There’s still experimental stuff [on Flock] for sure, I
can’t help myself with that, but I just tried to make it fun.
Neater pop songs. So, they weren’t meandering for 10
minutes, the experimental bits in them are shorter and
contained,” she explains. “I love space jam, 10-minute
songs and being onstage and being in a big drone zone
– it’s like a gong bath or something. But I do
appreciate the power of when you’re
doing a pop song live. When I do
them live it’s a kind of arms-intheair
“I don’t enjoy
indulging in
things about
myself”
reaction from the crowd and I
do love that.”
She reflects on the irony of Flock
being designed for live performance. “I was
thinking, ‘This is gonna’ be good onstage, I’m gonna’
be doing this that and the other, wearing this’, and
then there’s no gigs and it’s, like, really upsetting,” she
laughs, making light out of the situation. “I had all these
grand plans and outfits and whatnot, which we’ll get to
eventually. We will get to do it.”
A substantial value of pop music is capturing the time
it’s in, like a time capsule. Does she think she succeeded?
“You’re right, it’s a fashion thing as well. But,
artistically, for me, because I’ve not done that for a long
time, just playing pop stuff is more interesting to do, I
guess. The main thing for me was to just try and push
the boundaries creatively and that meant do as many
kinds of pop as I could find.”
Jane allowed the songs to be themselves, she
reveals, to let them take the lead. Not lending themselves
to any particular genre, but if one went glam (like Stages
of Phases), she went with it. If it got its funk on, as on
Pyramid Schemes, she danced along the same path too.
Heartlow set its heart on wonderful guitar pop, so that’s
what it became.
“Just letting a song be, letting them sort themselves
out, really,” she illustrates.
The songs sprang from unexpected sources, ideas
nurtured from lost albums far away from 21st-century
northern England. Jane dove into Lebanese and Arabic
music, orchestral music from 1960 and 1970s. She fell
down a wormhole of Eastern European 80s pop on
YouTube, entranced by Russian aerobics music.
“And it sounds exactly as you would think it does
– it’s Russian language aerobics music!” she says
excitedly. She cites the power-pop elements of legendary
Australian band The Saints over their more dominant
punk side, leading her to investigate subcultures in 1970s
Australia, and the work of photographer Rennie Ellis.
She enjoyed the films in French director Éric Rohmer’s
Comedies and Proverbs series, the six films seeing the
characters driven by misunderstandings, dissatisfaction
and loneliness.
“I’ve probably watched all of them,” she admits.
“They do a disco scene in the 80s – a very simple party
scene – and it was, ‘What’s that music, that music’s
amazing!’ so I tracked down music from that. Things like
that led me on a journey to styles of pop music and what
I wanted to do.”
Her vocals are gorgeous on Flock. Louder in the
mix and she sings higher, too. She doesn’t seem overly
comfortable accepting compliments
on them, though.
“I don’t consider myself a singer,
I consider myself an artist, a writer. I
concentrate on the song as a whole
and the vocal being a part of that,”
she explains. “Not my singing or
whatever. I concentrate a lot on the
production and instrumentation and
how the mix is, and the song as a
whole.”
“It’s funny, when you’re not
confident as a new artist you’re
‘Turn my voice down’,” she
continues. “It’s hideous hearing your
own voice. It’s hideous now – ‘Oh
god, it’s me’ – but as you get older you think, ‘Sod it, I’ll
just do it’.”
Conversation tails off to chat about the other Weaver
– no relation – who was in the news recently. How it’s
inspirational to see a woman not in her first flush of youth
right up there and, yes, in charge.
“And up against that toxic masculinity as well,
which is hideous, and the way she just keeps her cool,”
Jane says of Jackie Weaver of Handforth Parish Council
meeting fame (Jane herself jokingly received multiple
‘You have no authority here, Jane Weaver’ tweets in the
aftermath). “The determination to take that woman down
was hideous and she just sailed through it all. We’ve all
probably had similar treatment somewhere in our lives.”
It’s interesting that, even now, Jane still gets asked
who produces her albums, with people often assuming
it’s her husband, Andy Votel. “And it’s like, why wouldn’t
you think that was me? It does say my name on it,” she
notes. “There’s just a generalisation. Some people think
there’s a man behind everything, I guess.”
The album reaches number 24 in the Official UK
Albums Chart the week after we talk. Its cover image
seems to be everywhere, Weaver poised on the 1970s
peacock chair on the cover and coolly regarding the
ground below. “Me waiting for my flock to return. Or
sat there like a mother hen,” she joked of her queenly
posture, but it firms up more than ever that, like her
partial namesake, Jane has all the authority here. !
Words: Cath Holland / @Cathholland01
Illustration: Rosa Brown
Flock is available now via Fire Records.
@JanelWeaver
FEATURE
33

34
RECOVERY
When Damien John Kelly House, an
abstinence-led residential recovery centre,
was established in Wavertree in 2019, it was
met with scorn and disapproval from local
residents. Two years on, the house is a core
part of the Wavertree community, offering those
in recovery a chance to reconnect with society
through a programme of arts, creativity and sport.
Paul Fitzgerald speaks to its residents and those
behind the house about its continuing journey.
all fuming here. There’s a school over the road from it, there’s a nursery
round the back of it. You’re going to have druggies robbing and making
more crime for the area.”
“We’re
“We feel like every garbage comes to Wavertree.”
“It’s the last straw that broke the camel’s back.”
In a 2019 article curiously headlined ‘An abandoned pub, a drug rehab row and the long decline
of one of our most famous streets’, the Liverpool Echo spoke to business owners in the Wavertree
area following ferocious local outcry at the suggestion that a residential centre for recovering addicts
could be granted planning permission at the old police station on Wavertree High Street. At one
particularly ill-tempered planning meeting, objectors railed against representatives of what is now
Damien John Kelly House, with shouts of “shame” and “disgrace”. One dissenter going as far as telling
them to “Burn in hell”.
When the Liverpool Watch Committee declared Wavertree to be a safe place for policemen to live
in the late 1800s, the decision was made to close the old lock-up on the village green and build a new
station on the high street. A warm office for the officers and a good amount of hard brick cells for the
regulars. Short-term stays for long-term guests. And on just a two-mile stretch containing more than 30
pubs, regular guests were in plentiful supply. Those who lived in the neat terraced streets of Wavertree
were a community of thousands, the great majority of them railworkers. The work was hard and the living
wasn’t easy, but people supported each other in whatever way they could. Such was, and is, working-class
life in Liverpool.
It’s understandable to see why the Wavertree residents of today were originally in such objection to the
idea of recovering addicts moving into the area. They were right. Their area has declined. Pubs and shops have
closed, there’s very little footfall compared to even recent times, and local businesses were already struggling
long before Coronavirus came to stay. The community felt fractured, lost to the wealth of investment in the city
centre; like so many across the city, they felt abandoned.
On top of this, and as with so many of us, they didn’t understand what happens to addicts in recovery, or
even what the word means in the context of addiction. Through fear, ignorance and the stigma still attached to
addiction (or more likely through a heady combination of all three), they perceived the opening of Damien John
Kelly House to be a further threat to their weakening sense of community. What they didn’t perceive, certainly at
that time, was that it could become a valuable asset, something to help grow the community from within and create
new opportunities for all.
Damien John Kelly House is an abstinence-led residential recovery centre. The residents are there because they
want to be. Some, but not all, have completed a 12-week rehabilitation, but it’s not a condition of acceptance. They’re
not in active addiction, but are seeking the next stage: recovery. If their recovery is robust and reliable, if they’re
familiar with mutual aid groups and the personal work they need to do, they can be welcomed into the programme.
Like the concept of community, recovery is not an end-game or destination, more an ongoing process, fluctuating
and growing at each turn. Recovery is reconnection; with yourself, with family, community and society. It is based on
honesty, on acceptance and willing. Especially willing. Recovery can only begin with willing, just as addiction begins
with trauma. There being no such thing as a ‘gateway drug’; trauma, all too often, is the true gateway to addiction.
Recovery never really ends.
To look at the old police station today, you wouldn’t know its current use. There are no signs, no banners. No visible
celebration of their purpose. But then, we don’t generally put signs on our homes to proclaim who we are and what we
do. And Damien John Kelly House is, first and foremost, a home. People live their lives there in ways they could have never
imagined when in the deepest recesses of addiction and life had left them broken. They thrive and flourish there. (When
I left after one of my visits for this article, I noticed the motto in Latin on the frontage of Wavertree Town Hall: ‘Sub Umba
Floresco’ which translates as ‘I Flourish in The Shade’).
Damien John Kelly, who the house is named after, was a catalyst. He brought people together. As an integral part in
The Brink – Britain’s first dry bar – Damien instilled a sense of hope in people who, like he had done, were turning their lives
around. He was a powerful force for change in people, an example and an inspiration.
PJ Smith, Recovery Lead at the house, was just one of the many people who turned his life around with the support,
guidance, love and encouragement of Damien.
Writing of his friend and mentor in a previous issue of Bido Lito!, he noted how he gave people “the impetus to change their
own lives. Instilling hope in people… He didn’t change his life by magic. He faced himself head-on. Sheer courage and willingness.
He always used to say, ‘If I can do it, anyone can’. He’s right, y’know? Hope rather than despair.”
This community is just a fraction of the huge legacy Damien Kelly left when he died suddenly and tragically in his sleep in
2019. In many ways, he lives on in the lives of those he never met.
The first part of becoming part of a community is to know that community and, with that in mind, the two disparate groups
came together as one at an open-door event when Damien John Kelly House opened. Residents and staff were on-hand to welcome
them, answer any questions, dispel a myth or two and, at the event’s conclusion, even to accept apologies from some of the most
previously vehement objectors. Honesty, acceptance and willing.
“We had over 300 objections when we started this,” Head of Services Jacquie Johnston-Lynch told me. “And now we’re in
demand,” adds PJ.
In more ways than one. The charity Action on Addiction reports an 86 per cent spike in those seeking help compared with this time
last year. As demand for addiction services grows, opportunities for post-rehab recovery support remain depressingly, worryingly and

FEATURE
35

dangerously thin on the ground.
PJ, whose own recovery has previously been
documented in these pink pages, told me: “Rehab is not
what we are and it’s important that people know the
difference. Rehab is a strict regime – you’re in groups, in
therapy all day, no phone. Then there’s recovery houses
where you’re basically just left. A key worker will come
and see you for an hour a week and that’s it. We wanted
to be something in the middle of those two.”
And that means offering more support, a different
kind of support?
“Yeah, so people have got sobriety behind them when
they come to us, they know the landscape of the recovery
world and what it requires of them. They’ve got their own
free time, but we offer a mini programme to open them up
to other things. Saying to people, ‘You’ve worked hard to
get clean and sober, but what for? To do what?’”
Structured around similar elements to those PJ
himself leant on, the programme sees art and culture,
music and sport as an integral part of recovery. For
those who’ve previously felt excluded by their addiction
– or perhaps more honestly, those who used addiction
to exclude themselves – there is an exposure to new
ideas, new thoughts, new ways for growth while also
reconnecting with the familiar. New priorities in life.
The cultural stream of the programme at the house
presents opportunities for residents to engage with
the wider community, through workshops, theatre and
gallery visits, and strong links between Damien John Kelly
House and Liverpool’s cultural sector. Creativity is actively
encouraged in all, in whatever shape or form that might
be. It is a powerful tool in recovery and can bring about
profound changes in the way people see themselves
and their future. It brings hope through expression and
honesty, which is the true keystone of recovery from
addiction. Art heals.
Sam is a photographer, artist, writer and – since he
put addiction behind him and entered Damien John Kelly
House – is now a filmmaker. When we first met, he spoke
of himself as Sam the addict. Sam the drunk. “Fucked
Sam” as he put it.
“Addiction is the death of self, the death of whoever
you thought you were,” he says. “You’ve built this thing
which isn’t you. When I came here I didn’t know who I
was or what I was. Didn’t know who my mates were. I
didn’t know anything. The thing about this house and this
programme is it’s allowed me to find personal meaning.
I’ve heard it before from people, they’ve said the same,
it’s allowed them to find the true them.”
Creativity was always in
him; collage, photography,
writing all coming together as
a single escape route which
he calls his ‘practice’. Each
element inspiring the others.
Even in the depths of his
addiction, he’d still create.
“It were fuckin’ sporadic,
like,” he says with a strong
South Yorkshire inflection. “I
knew I wouldn’t be able to get
where I wanted to be with it
if I kept getting fucked. I used
to joke about it… but I kept
getting fucked.”
Across the room from Sam, another resident, Wayne,
talks through his experiences of the programme at the
house. He’s found a new priority, a new way to the same
personal meaning Sam spoke of.
“I was supposed to be starting rehearsals for a play
at the Epstein Theatre before the first lockdown,” he
begins. “I first came to the house in July [2019] and by
November I’d done two shows, in Edge Hill and The Unity
Theatre, with Truth To Power Café, it was great.”
“People in Liverpool
have some kind of
addiction story in
their family. Our job
here is to create
recovery stories”
From there, with eyes opened anew to the wealth of
creative possibility recovery brings, Wayne paid a visit to
an open night, again at The Unity.
“It’s a new thing, a 20-week course. I had to apply
and do an audition, but I was accepted. There was only
eight of us who were accepted out of two hundred, then
lockdown happened…”
“We were working with directors, actors,” he
continues, “they said they saw something in me. I got
such a lot out of it, though, it was amazing. I’ve started
writing, I’ve got things in mind, get some funding.
Now I just want to grab it with both hands. For me it’s
connection and just not saying
no to these things. That’s what
being here has given me.”
Recovery stories, tales
of creativity, community,
regrowth. A future borne
of honesty, acceptance and
willing at Damien John Kelly
House.
As Jacquie puts it, “We
know that people in Liverpool
have some kind of addiction
story in their family; addiction
is rife in our communities.
We’ve all got addiction stories.
Our job here is to create recovery stories.”
And the people of Wavertree are now proud to be
neighbours. !
Words: Paul Fitzgerald / @NothingvilleM
Photography: Sam Batley / @sambatley
@HomesVitality
36

FEATURE
37

Oakfield Road/Homebaked CLT
DEAD PIGEO
If anything can be anywhere then, with Dead Pigeon Gallery,
art is always somewhere – maybe where you least expect it.
One consequence of the pandemic causing
spaces to close their doors is that it’s forced
visitors and institutions to really think about
what a ‘gallery’ actually is. In one sense
a gallery is still a venue, the spaces so many of us
are missing. But as we’ve all explored how to access
artworks in other ways, it’s become clearer than ever that
the idea of a gallery also has a less tangible meaning.
There are other elements beyond the four walls that
people identify with: community, aesthetic, or attitude.
DEAD PIGEON GALLERY, however, knew this
already. Their name comes from the site of their very
first exhibition – a space in what was to become The
Tapestry but was abandoned before their takeover. It
was, in the words of co-manager Jayne Lawless, “full of
dead pigeons – I mean, full – and alive [ones] and shit.
Everywhere I looked, there were live ones in the beams
and dead ones on the floor.”
It’s to Liverpool’s benefit that the team – a threesome
which includes Catherine Dalton and Josie Jenkins – saw
the potential of the space for that first exhibition. And
when it ended, they came to the realisation that it didn’t
have to mean the end of the project. “We can take it
wherever. We can just ask for people with spaces to host
us, so we became a ‘gallery in residence’,” says Lawless.
To date, the project has been in eight separate venues,
including an abandoned pub, a terraced house and a
Texan fire station.
Their current exhibition, Dockers, is the second
to be held in the office of Liverpool Walton MP Dan
Carden. With the office currently closed to the public,
the exhibition can instead be discovered through a video
interview with photographer Dave Sinclair.
Dockers is an exhibition of Sinclair’s photos
documenting the 1995-98 lockout. Nobody imagined
38
that when dockers refused to cross a picket line set up
by five colleagues it would turn into such a long-running
dispute and would, thanks to the story spreading on the
then-emerging internet, attract global solidarity. Sinclair
became embedded in events as an observer, and the film
works as a complementary piece to the exhibition, giving
Sinclair space to share his experiences and perspective.
With ongoing uncertainty around the post-Covid return
of jobs, rise of zero-hours contracts and British Gas
strikes making headlines, Dockers feels timely.
How the film has come into being typifies two of
DPG’s philosophies. It’s been shot by Harvey Morrison,
a filmmaker whose first experience of having work
exhibited was in DPG’s previous exhibition, High-Vis –
which took place in a former bakery in Kensington.
In High-Vis, Morrison’s film was shown in a sequence
beside work by Gina Tsang and Mark Leckey, a roster
that exemplifies how, while DPG take their art entirely
seriously, they’re far from pretentious about who and
what is featured.
One of DPG’s driving motivations has always been
the lack of space for grassroots artists to show their
work. Liverpool may seem spoiled for galleries, but they
haven’t traditionally been places where emerging artists
are given their first platform. Jenkins explains how, as an
artist, “you’re either doing studio shows – if you’re lucky
to even have a studio where you can have a show – or
you’re working to get an open call. Things are starting to
happen, like Output, but there still isn’t enough.”
DPG are particularly concerned with how this affects
artists from working class-backgrounds. Lawless and
Dalton grew up together around Anfield and Everton
and understand how working-class artists may face
additional barriers to exhibition, something which they
are determined to break down. “It’s not like we ask people
for documentation on what class you come from, explains
Lawless with shades of humour. “It’s just a statement of
intent with regards to people that we know don’t get the
same amount of opportunities.”
Consequently, participation in a DPG show is less
contingent on formal training and more on passion
and execution of a vision. “We put ourselves there as a
platform, where other working class-human beings have
the confidence to approach us. They go, ‘We’ve never had
a show, we’ve never put any work in an exhibition, we
haven’t done a degree, but we’re really, really into this’,”
says Lawless.
“The other thing that DPG does,” adds Jenkins, “is it
puts artists together from very different points in their
career. So, in the very first show, there was a painting by
Adrian Henri.” Such a lack of hierarchy is rarely seen in
group shows and it was certainly an opportunity valued
by Dalton, who had just graduated from Liverpool Hope
University when she exhibited in that first show.
“It’s a thing that you don’t think will ever happen
when you’re just fresh out of uni,” she says. “I went in
and said, ‘This is what I did’ and they were all like, ‘Oh
my God!’” They’ve found that everyone’s happy to be
involved, because even the most established artists
understand the value of having a significant place to
start. “A lot of the time [established] artists are just
really nice,” says Jenkins. “They’re like, ‘Yeah, I was like
that once. I want other people to have the opportunities
I had’.” The idea continues to work because everyone
involved – even Turner Prize winners, such as Leckey –
trusts DPG to curate a great show.
The word ‘trust’ comes up multiple times in our
conversation, in terms of working with both artists and
audiences. DPG want to build a relationship of trust with
their audiences, wherever the gallery is. Wherever you

Original DPG, London Road
Oakfield Road/Homebaked CLT
N GALLERY
visit one of their exhibitions, you’ll find conversation.
Whatever question or opinion you have, whether you’re
visiting as a regular art-goer or popping into the new
space across the road out of curiosity, the team always
take the time to make you feel welcome. This shouldn’t
feel as revolutionary as it does, Jenkins believes. “I’ve
always had a feeling in art galleries,” she says. “You step
in and, more often than not, it’s just silence. Why can’t
someone just say hi and chat?
It should be so obvious!”
In part, this is a result
of DPG’s itinerant nature.
Though borne out of necessity,
one of the advantages of the
approach is that they find
audiences in a very different
way – quite literally wherever
the gallery finds itself. During
my own visits to DPG’s various
sites over the years, I’ve seen
and heard about many of
these different interactions.
Perhaps somebody making
their way down L4’s Oakfield
Road decided to see what’s going on in a previously
abandoned house. Or somebody working across the road
pops in on their lunch break, who wouldn’t have time
to get to a city-centre gallery. Out of such off-the-cuff
interactions in the places where people actually live, and
where art is something of a surprising presence, have
arisen conversations and relationships which Lawless
describes as “literally life-changing”. It means that DPG
can lay down a marker for what it means to have an
artistic experience which might be very different to those
the casual visitor might have had in the past.
“We put
ourselves there
as a platform”
Lawless is aware of the barriers people put up for
themselves. “With the type of schools we went to... you
will literally be bullied for being interested in art or poetry
or music or dance. What I’m always interested in is that
we’re stripping it back. So, yeah, you see these incredible
images. But then you also see that it’s just a human being
who made this. And this human being might inspire you
to do [something] as well.”
This is certainly true of
Dockers, in which many of
the subjects are still living
and connected to the city –
including Dan Carden’s own
father, who was involved in the
strikes. The DPG team were
conscious that the personal
nature of this subject may
have pitfalls, as well as power.
“We were worried because it’s
someone’s nan, or someone’s
mum that you’re putting
photos up of, especially when
you start putting it on social
media,” Lawless says. In fact,
these personal connections ended up starting more
conversations and engaging more people in the show.
Dalton explains how “people are seeing their own fathers
and their uncles and their grandads. And they’ve seen
pictures up that they’ve probably never seen before and
been really quite emotional about it. It’s a nice legacy.”
This summer, DPG will be collaborating with the Fans
Supporting Foodbanks mobile pantry to bring another of
Lawless’ projects, North End Sketch Club, into DPG and
to sites around Liverpool. “For two days a week, I’ll be
with Sketch Club at the pantry. We’ll have guests, people
FEATURE
who can do anything that we can sketch,” Lawless
explains. The seeds of the idea were sown by the Fans
Supporting Foodbanks team, with whom Lawless has
volunteered, when imagining the possibilities of what
the mobile pantry could be. “It’s about breaking down
barriers and stigmas about going to something like a
pantry or food bank,” Lawless continues. “There’s other
things going on at the same time. It’s positive – and it’s
frigging fun as well!”
Having participated in Sketch Club as both artist
and model, I can attest to that. North End Sketch Club
is less about whether you think of yourself as a ‘good’
artist than about the buzz that comes from getting stuck
into creative activity – the positive atmosphere that
generates. And why can’t that atmosphere be created
wherever people go? This, after all, is at the heart of
DPG’s ethos: “anything can be anywhere”. They break
out of ideas about where art ‘should’ happen and who
‘can’ participate. Instead, they’ve gone from strength-tostrength
by being open to all possibilities and participants.
Whether it’s creating films, taking over abandoned spaces
or opening opportunities to art making to whoever wants
to get involved, the example set by DPG of what the art
world can achieve is a breath of fresh air. !
Words: Julia Johnson / @MessyLines_
Photography: Mark Loudon
Dockers can be viewed on YouTube via the link below.
linktr.ee/Deadpigeon
@DeadPigeonG
39

40

DAVID ZINK YI
Remy Greasley talks to filmmaker and artist David Zink Yi about capturing
‘endless’ performances of Afro-Cuban music, a process displayed in a
two-channel film set to be shown at Liverpool Biennial.
DAVID ZINK YI is difficult to pin down, both
in his art and his backstory. Born in 1970s
Peru, Zink Yi spent only a partial childhood
there. A childhood which was further broken
up by a stint in Kenya for his father’s job with the UN
Development Programme. Aged only 16, he relocated
to Germany to study. And it’s his Deutsch that he falls
back on when his English fails him. His native Español
comes in only occasionally, with offerings relevant to the
Hispanic music that colour not just his sculptures and
ceramics, but his films, too.
The circumstances of Zink Yi’s upbringing could suggest
two stories: the first of an ambitious, precocious youth,
eager to get sculpting in the sandbox of the world; the
second something akin to a military childhood, either on the
move or on-base, as those closest to him balance parental
love with their own efforts as part of a greater good.
Wary of crossing a personal boundary
I don’t question him on it, but I get the
impression there’s truth in both. Suggested
in part by the fact he hadn’t even finished
his Masters before being offered a
solo exhibition. And in part by his
conversational, empathetic sensibility,
as if he could fit anywhere, understand
anyone, talk to anybody. He’s both
convoluted and coherent. And there’s
a universal potency in Zink Yi’s words,
which have a profound and plastic
meaning that extends far beyond
that which is immediately relevant.
This is characteristic of his
art, too, to the point you wonder
where he ends and the art begins.
There’s a sense of connectedness
with the world in his films,
performances and sculptures
which are often combined;
a fundamental compassion,
the experience of which (even
by proxy) is so intense and profound that I suspect the
man in the box on the screen of my MacBook is closer to
enlightenment than his chill red Nike sweater and clearlensed
Aviators may want to admit.
Even so, it hasn’t been the easiest of months for
Zink Yi. His Being the Measure, a half-performative,
half-sculptural piece, was initially destined for 2020’s
postponed Liverpool Biennial. But thanks to you-knowwhat,
it became impossible to present the show, which
relies on a live performance by Zink Yi and select Cuban
musicians on playable sculptures and is intended for
a live audience. There’s a spatial element to the work,
with the audience’s own senses receiving the different
sections of the performance in a way that requires it to be
experienced first-hand.
Being the Measure was to be a perfect bulwark piece
for the Biennial’s theme of ‘The Stomach and the Port’.
With its live exploration of Afro-Cuban polyrhythms
(a broad kind of rhythm consisting of two or more
disconnected rhythms in tandem, though this is only
the beginning of a definition), it studies the relation of
individual personality with collective personality. As with
most of Zink Yi’s work, the piece’s true value draws from
deep in the ever pertinent, beautifully contradictory well of
the question of identity. Another work was also pondered
for the Biennial, but it proved too demanding in terms of
budget.
Instead, Zink Yi is bringing Horror Vacui to the Martin
Luther King, Jr. building. The film installation predates
Being the Measure by the length of an early childhood, but
it’s still incomplete. It is the culmination of work beginning
in 2002, when, in Cuba, Zink Yi formed De adentro y
afuera, perhaps the first of his now characteristic artisticmusical
projects. He began to film the band’s endless
performances, all in an attempt to understand what
he calls “this structural thing about Afro-Cuban music
which makes it so hypnotic”. This ‘structural thing’ is so
much more complicated than the polyrhythmic layering
mentioned earlier.
It’s a way of playing as much as it is a way of life, with
each musician given relative freedom in a collective sound,
relying on each other to fulfil their role, but never infringing
on their freedom of expression. It’s a chaotic process of
creation that only comes to an ephemeral completion in
the beholder, as their ear and eye and brain scatter to
locate themselves amidst what
Zink Yi refers to constantly and
so pertinently as a “magical
cosmos”.
“It becomes a
deconstructive moment of
yourself, trying to gain a
larger, a wider voice,” he says,
illustrating what it’s like to take
up a role in these performances.
“Your right arm is doing
something against your left
arm, and your right foot is doing
something following your left
arm, but not necessarily your right arm, and your left foot
is playing the clave, which is keeping everything together.”
Not just the whole performance, but the entire
space which houses it becomes a singular and ever in
flux body. This space, this body, extends to the rooms
of his exhibitions, and the audience within. It’s this
reliance on the audience to receive and amalgamate the
overwhelming pieces of experience that leaves Horror
Vacui incomplete, but by the same token universally
relevant.
The performances and rituals which Horror Vacui
juxtaposes were collected spontaneously over a period of
around five years. The main part of the film takes place in
“It becomes a
deconstructive
moment of yourself,
trying to gain a larger,
a wider voice”
the theatre of a synagogue in Havana, as Zink Yi tells me:
“We rehearsed for three days. I really put them inside and
locked the door, bought a lot of rum and let them play and
rehearse and arrange all our pieces.”
The camera shares its frame between musicians,
performers and instruments. “I was not filming individuals.
I mean, [he gestures to correct himself] I was, but I was
concentrating on the role in this specific context… not
trying to make a personal protagonist, but more a role
protagonist.” The style is minimal but it’s in no way nofrills.
The camera lets its vivacious subject sing.
It’s also influenced by Cuba’s material situation,
standing alone in history as perhaps the only country that
never said yes to the USA. This has impacted the film in
a way that is more than visual. The music owes much to
this isolation: for the virtuosity of the musicians, and the
nationwide popularity of the complex, polyrhythmic music
they play, as well as the eclecticism of that
same music. “My wife is Cuban. She’s a
dancer and when she hears the salsa from
outside Cuba, she cannot dance,” he says.
“The way things are arranged is a totally
different language.”
Not all Zink Yi’s projects have been
musical, however. His work in sculpture and
ceramics is equally as massive as his work in
video, quite literally, featuring egregiously thick
octopi tentacles and spawling Architeuthis
(giant squid) which required a custom-built kiln.
But it seems his latest efforts in ceramics are
moving away from this overwhelming enormity,
and into a place more nuanced. The pieces in last
year’s Rare Earths at the Hauser & Wirth gallery,
Zurich, were minute in comparison to the squid,
and more abstract too, exploring process and
reaction. The show had a great response, he tells
me, but his drive to create something entirely new
was so demanding that the lockdown arriving shortly
after its closing was like a lotion for the soul.
Zink Yi isn’t done with
video, though, or music.
Although he is moving away
from the human subjects
that’ve inspired so many shows.
His new muse? “A bird that’s
supposed to be the bird with
the largest repertoire in the
bird world.” It’s a bird that
is constantly learning and
forgetting to allow itself to learn
more. It’s with this bird that we
realise the sense of identity isn’t
solely a human construction.
In fact, it’s something far more
natural, far more embryonic. And it’s partially this same
understanding, which is in fact intrinsic to all Zink Yi’s
work, that makes it so damn overwhelmingly profound. !
Words: Remy Greasley / @Remygreasley
Photography: David Zink Yi
Horror Vacui will be shown at the Martin Luther King, Jr.
building from 17th May. Liverpool Biennial runs online
and across multiple venues across Liverpool until Sunday
6th June.
biennial.com
FEATURE
41

SPOTLIGHT
“I started seeing
my past as what it
was, and not what I
thought it was”
SAM BATLEY
A poetic storyteller through
word and image, the artist’s
latest project brings stories of
recovery to the film screen.
“It’s not meant to be like this, it’s meant to be
different,” utters SAM BATLEY in the closing line of
forthcoming short film Three Bull-Mastiffs in a Corner
Kitchen. The film, written by Batley in collaboration
with filmmaker Paul Chambers, is informed by Batley’s
continuing journey of recovery from addiction.
In the last year Batley has flourished as a writer and
photographer. This has led to live readings of his poetry at
La Violette Società and being part of a joint photography
exhibition at Love Wavertree Community Hub.
He is an artist who has faced up to his past and turned
his pain into purpose. He is now clearly grounded by his
creative outlets and talks with such passion about his love
of Liverpool, how it inspires him creatively and the energy
it gives him. “Liverpool’s saved my life, and I don’t say that
lightly. Liverpool saved me. I feel like I’ve found somewhere
I’ve started to put roots down,” he happily proclaims.
Although now relocated to Liverpool, Three Bull-
Mastiffs in a Corner Kitchen offers a raw portrayal of
his life as a young man growing up in a South Yorkshire
mining town, focusing on the cycles of addiction that
Batley was experiencing at that time.
The foundation of the film draws its main dialogue
from a poem that was the first thing Batley wrote in
recovery. “As I was getting into recovery, I was starting to
get some clarity over my past. Pieces started to fit together
and I started seeing my past as what it was, and not what
I thought it was,” he admits. “I was becoming more aware
of the feelings attached to the past. The whole thing was
about revisiting that part of myself and seeing it for what
it was.”
What he produced is a brutally honest piece of
writing, a pounding release of consciousness which
confronts old ways and habits. It acts as the heartbeat of
the film and provides a compelling energy through which
the film’s messages are conveyed.
The film’s title, which is the first line of the poem,
draws on Batley’s experiences when picking up drugs
from a dealer. The three dogs were used by the dealer
to go badger-baiting and would frequently be physically
damaged from the activity. “They are a representation of
the chaos and the foreboding of the space I used to go
into,” he recalls, “as the bull-mastiffs would be the first
thing that I’d see.” The dogs are omnipresent throughout
the film and act to highlight the spectre of addiction,
one formed in an isolated and long forgotten pit town
where hope and opportunity were overcast by the bleak
surroundings. “I can’t remember the pits, but I waint [sic]
forget, I’m not allowed to forget,” the poem reads.
The film powerfully captures the boredom of long
empty days, the endless cycle of nothingness which
enhances the attractiveness of substances as a means
for escape. Batley confirms this. “You’re bored as fuck, sat
about. There is an energy about the place, there’s fuck all
to do, the nature of pit villages is that they are isolated.
Just them days when there is fucking nowt to do.”
The theme of masculinity hangs heavy throughout
the film, framed succinctly on the promotional artwork
as “fragile masculinity, fragile ideas of pride” – ideas
and prescribed norms that are passed effortlessly
from generation to generation. The peer pressure that
demands this conformance is cleverly reflected in the
early scenes; the submergence in the everyday routine
of drug taking, the confusion of wanting it to be different
while doing nothing to change that. “No one gives a
fuck as much as me, I’m just willing to do absolutely
fuck all about it,” Batley’s narration poignantly outlines,
highlighting the feelings of entrapment.
By his own admission the whole project has been
a surreal experience; almost ghostlike seeing his life
played out on screen. “It was a roller coaster. It wasn’t
necessarily negative. Some parts were over-powering,
and some were really beautiful,” he says. “Revisiting
them spaces and experiences in a detached way, I’m still
processing it now.”
When the film is released it will be accompanied with
a behind the scenes documentary offering a closer look at
the personalities within the project. The documentary is
likely to be the happy ending the film doesn’t give us. As
well as Sam’s experiences it will draw out the stories of
the other members of the cast who are also in recovery.
Stories of hope, strength and positivity which the team
behind the project will aim to serve as an inspiration to
others in their own early stages of recovery, or even those
still struggling to take them first steps.
Three Bull-Mastiffs in a Corner Kitchen positively
underscores that people can recover from what has gone
before; there is a different way that’s about living and not
merely existing. As the film displays, Batley has found a
way for his life to be different. !
Words: Andrew Stafford
Photography: Sam Batley / @sambatley
Three Bull-Mastiffs in a Corner Kitchen will premiere later
this year. One Day At A Time is currently in production.
@sambatley
42

FOXEN CYN
Finding the self in esoteric
worlds of wonky electronica.
In the lingering haze of the early hours, FOXEN CYN
emerges. Confidently declaring their sound “everything and
the kitchen sink”, the artist, also known as Sean, is a rising
horror-pop hero, mixing brooding synths and experimental
sampling to create tracks oozing with smut and swagger.
“I’m just besotted with punk,” they admit. “I just fell into
all of this. I love it though, it’s so fun and frustrating. You
know like when you’re doing a really hard jigsaw with your
mammy and you start trying to smash cobblestone jigs into
the border?”
Despite their grungy sensibilities, the artist has
classical roots, first getting into music alongside their
brother. “The main thing that inspired me was jealousy,”
they tell me. “The first instrument I learnt to play was
clarinet, and that was purely because my brother was
learning to play guitar. They didn’t have guitar lessons left.
Or French horn. I really wanted to play French horn. I think I
learnt clarinet first in the end, because the embouchure has
left me with a better pout.”
However, the artist soon leaned into electronica, valuing
experimentation above all else. “Ages ago, in an old band,
I played a house party in Manchester on Halloween and
everyone hated us. It was great. All the other bands were
openly saying we were terrible and ruined the night. It was
so horrible and weird. I hope they ask me back as Foxen Cyn
at some point,” they explain. “I’d just say don’t be warded off
by something being out of your comfort zone. Music is an
amazing art form, because you can get into every asset of
creativity. You can’t really do that with am-dram or painting,
I reckon.”
Foxen Cyn’s first EP, Demonstration, was released in
2017 and, after a brief hiatus, the artist has made their
return with new single Cracking Up, a mesmerising, eclectic
offering that documents a personal journey.
“The lyrics are about coming out, my own experience,”
they explain. “A lot of coming out songs are very
empowering, which is good, and they should be. I don’t think
they show how scary it can be, though. My personal coming
out experience was great, and my family and friends have
all been so supportive, but that doesn’t take away from the
initial trepidation.”
Through a blend of distorted vocals and frequent,
pulsing drumbeats, the artist documents the surge of
emotions that comes with admitting queer identity, with
its liberation and exhilaration. However, the artist seems
hesitant to admit to heroism. “I don’t think, personally, I’m
doing anything of importance, I’m just being what I want to
be. I’d say that drag and being openly queer is still a strange
thing in the alternative music scene, though.”
The abstract track feels like a new beginning for Foxen
Cyn, their sound evolving both musically and emotionally. “I
suppose I’m trying to do for closeted kids what My Chemical
Romance did for me as a teenager,” they admit. “Audiences
probably see it as novelty, but as an artist I want to present
myself. I’m not a tall, skinny, cool guy, I’m a chubby little
party animal. If I show other people they can be as well, I’ll
be happy.”
In terms of the future, Foxen Cyn is only looking forward.
“I’m going to keep working on music, get a few more
releases out, but mainly I can’t wait to get back on stage and
get in people’s faces again.” It’s a closing statement that calls
to the dancefloor, and the blurry bliss of town after dark. !
Words: Lily Blakeney Edwards / @Lilyhbee
Cracking Up is available now via Emotion Wave Records.
“I’m a chubby little
party animal. If I
show other people
they can be as well,
I’ll be happy”
SPOTLIGHT
43

“I think
songwriting
is a way of
mythologising
yourself”
FURRY HUG
Confronting social anxieties
with breezy indie and rustling
folk tales.
FURRY HUG is a monster. Well, a Yaksha, a type of
nature-spirit. “I stole the name from an old Buddhist tale,”
says Jack Mee. “As soon as I saw it written down, I thought,
‘That’s the name for me’.” It became the perfect moniker
for what he describes as “playfully confused” music,
something which conveys a warm sensation of strangeness
mirrored in his first release, the On The Line EP.
Black holes, ladybird dots, imaginary friends and
social notions help make up the imagery of the EP’s
songs. Cacophonous swirls of solid rhythms and charmed
melodies peppered with additions of tuned percussion,
kazoo and saxophones.
Stocking a sonic curiosity shop is part of his process.
“It’s a little chaotic to be honest, he admits. “I’m not
very methodical with writing. I’m always working on
something, although I’m often planting more seeds than
seeing anything come to fruition.”
This restlessness surfaces throughout the EP: the
whiling beat of People Skills ticking away the time he has
to befriend the “one in seven billion”, the snare snapping
half a beat early on Ladybird as he ponders “how I missed
the boat” and the stuttering handclaps that crackle before
the closing vocal bursts of Panic Mode. Unconstrained in
his approach, Jack creates surprising and textural mood
boards; small details emerge with repeated listens like
finally seeing hidden mascarons in architecture.
Lockdown lent the necessary space to collate his first
release, the artist admits. “It was about time I released
something. I’ve been lucky enough to keep my job as
a support worker, since the pubs have been shut, I’ve
saved money that’s helped go towards the EP and some
recording equipment.” Working and releasing alone
allows him the autonomy to create these instrumental
playscapes in as much time as feels necessary. “Some of
my songs are written really quickly. Others take months,
or years to fully grow,” he says, using the time to instil
them with whatever theme or idea he likes.
Take Elwood’s Friend, a musical homage to Harvey, a
1950s James Stewart movie itself adapted from the 1944
Mary Chase play of the same name. “I love the film,” he
says, “[the idea] grew into a vague song about how ‘sane’
people address mental illness, which is what I think the
film pokes fun at.” The film’s titular character is a pooka
from Celtic folklore and the companion of the song’s titular
character. This second allusion to things fantastical and the
reworking of an old narrative reveals a wider fascination.
“I think songwriting is a way of mythologising yourself, or
someone or something else,” he explains. “Myths travel
through songs, especially in folk music. There’s something
mysterious about how myths help shape our lives and I
think music is good way of exploring that.”
Having been “raised on Bowie”, the notion of selfmythologising
doesn’t seem so strange. “He’s always
been a fatherly figure to me, musically.” And after
spending “a lot of time watching the Blues Brothers as a
kid”, his break came at the Preston Guild Hall, performing
at a tribute gig. “I was about eight or nine, in the full suit
and shades, and they pulled me on stage to sing with
them,” he recalls
Such encouragements led to playing drums since
the age of 11, a vocation which has shaped much he’s
done musically since. Manifesting in the percussive
consonants of “got to get me some” opening the EP, the
plinking xylophone that brightens every beat it bobs over
and collaborations with others, (drumming for Bye Louis
and Dilettante, based in Manchester) Jack is an artist
whose approach to rhythm feels apt for the beat besotted
customs of current music. Not surprising when he relates
“music is lifeblood for me, a sense of purpose. If I haven’t
written anything in a while, or learnt something new, it
affects my self-esteem. I’d be lost without it.”
Despite enjoying tackling his first release almost
singlehandedly, “recording the majority of [songs] in my
bedroom”, there’s readiness to relax and breathe. “I’ve
probably spent too much time living with my own music
and become too familiar with it. It’s kept me sane, but I’m
ready to go to gigs again and experience other people’s
work,” he confesses.
He’ll still be collecting new ideas, though. “I’ve toyed
with the idea of releasing demos, like a mixtape. You see
it in hip hop; artists release a mixtape to promote a future
‘official’ release, but as far as I know you don’t often see it
in indie or alt rock or whatever genre Furry Hug fits into.”
Stories of myth are difficult to pin down, their
histories often fragmented and obscured. I don’t know
when the next big chapter of the Furry Hug tales will
appear, but when it does, I’m certain it will be worth
passing on. !
Words: Samuel Lasley
Photography: Rob May
On The Line is out now via Haunted Jacuzzi.
soundcloud.com/furryhug
44

“I realised that
I could write my
own scripts, write
my own stories”
FELIX MUFTI-WRIGHT
Poet, actor, activist, writer,
theatre director and producer
– a force to be reckoned with.
FELIX MUFTI-WRIGHT (he/him) is a queer trans man
who is championing Liverpool’s LGBTQ+ community,
breaking boundaries and challenging the mainstream
through theatre, poetry and performance.
His creative endeavours started with youth theatre
when he was 14. He has since gone on to appear in
Cinderella (The Young Vic, R&D); Tin Star (Sky Atlantic);
The Uncomfortability of a Made Up Wor(l)d (Unity
Theatre).
Felix is also an organiser for Trans Pride Liverpool
and Transgender Day of Remembrance. In February he
released a video performance of Memories Burnt, a poem
about trans history, commissioned by the Museum of
Liverpool for LGBTQ+ History Month.
Speaking today, he sits in front of a wall that is as
full as his mind with ideas: a collage of photographs,
drawings, memories and inspiration. While talking he
smiles a lot and underlines the importance of his words
with movements and hand gestures.
For a creative trying to thrive in a capitalist context,
his work experiences read like the dream CV that can
open all doors: Felix is an actor, writer, performer,
facilitator and activist with years of experience under his
belt, despite being only in his early twenties.
He wanted to be an actor since he was little,
but when he came out as trans at the age of 13, he
quickly noticed that it is almost impossible to be an
active and successful part of an industry that does not
overwhelmingly welcome or support trans people. But he
did not let the discriminatory nature of the theatre world
dim his passion. “I realised that I could write my own
scripts, write my own stories,” he says, smiling proudly. “I
enjoyed it and I enjoyed acting and creating roles for the
communities, including myself.”
The wisdom his words carry is compelling, but at
the same time they arrive with a sadness, bearing the
experience of hardships overcome. Felix shares his
experiences and knowledge openly and generously; it
is clear that he wants to give people who belong to the
LGBTQ+ community space and opportunities to grow at
their own pace, making them feel understood and give
them the strength to reach out for help if they need it.
“It’s about the outreach and going into the communities
of people my work affects and make sure they see it,” he
says, “so they feel heard, they feel seen.”
Felix has been tackling inequality through all his work
and was recently able to take a massive step forward
when he co-founded Transcend Theatre company, with
Ailís Lord (she/her) and Ty Mather (they/them) in February
2020. They are a proudly queer-led, queer-focused and
queer-empowering company, pushing the limits of the
theatre industry and exploring underrepresented topics
that affect the LGBTQ+ community.
Felix says that theatre should be about telling real
life stories on stage, but he feels mainstream theatre has
moved away from that. “Everything Transcend does is
about telling queer stories authentically and I don’t really
see many theatre companies that are queer-focused,
especially trans-focused like we are. We don’t want it to
just be on stage either, we want as much of the team as
we can to be queer.”
Last year, Transcend Theatre was part of
“QueerCore”, which is Homotopia’s formal artist
development programme for early-career artists. This
year, they have already received funding from Arts
Council England for their current project How To Kill A
Rose, written and performed by Felix, as well as being
selected as part of Liverpool Unity Theatre’s Open Call
Programme.
Transcend aims to break boundaries between
Northern theatre and the rest of the country, both in
opportunities and perception. Felix describes various
situations where he has been seen as “rough” by others
because of his Scouse accent, the way he dresses
and carries himself. He laughs this off: “I’m the least
threatening person ever, I’m literally like a Build a Bear.”
Felix notes how he has faced regular discrimination
in his life and career, but he is clear in outlining the
supportive atmosphere of Liverpool, which has
contrasted to his experience of other places in the UK. He
points towards a “great supportive network” and makes it
explicitly clear how important it is to make this a common
reality for all trans people.
Moments of hardship have also been equally
significant in artistic growth. He notes how his school
years involved extreme transphobic behaviour from one
of the school’s teachers. This, he says, has shaped him. “I
remember thinking, in that moment, I will never apologise
for being myself again,” he recalls.
He emphasises how he is grateful to have found
acting, writing and creating as healthy ways to talk about
and deal with the things that have happened to him.
And there are no signs of stopping his creativity. He
is currently writing new work, soon to be produced by
Transcend Theatre. Be Gay Do Crime is a rap musical that
will be about gay drug dealers from Birkenhead. Felix
estimates a couple of years until staging. At the same
time, he is working on an all trans self-published poetry
book which he hopes to release by the end of this year.
It is clear that, no matter which topics and
experiences he is challenging and working through, he
will pour his heart in, and create opportunities unseen in
the mainstream. But most importantly, he is and always
will be radically and wonderfully unapologetic. !
Words: Jo Mary Watson / @JoMaryWatson (she/her)
Photography: Sam Vaughan
How To Kill A Rose will be performed later this year.
@transcendtheatre
@felixmufti
SPOTLIGHT 45

“I grew up on
Donk music, like
the Wigan Pier
remixes”
JEZTLS
Unearthing the full range of
emotions in PC Music.
Jamie Staples talks to me from a French suburb,
where he’s spending some time as part of his French
degree. He’s excited about early spring sun, contrasting
it with the wind and rain he associates with Liverpool.
However, the dreary weather doesn’t dispel his love for
the city where he arrived to study, and where his musical
exploits have begun to flourish in recent years. He
speaks enthusiastically about the culture here, excitedly
describing Liverpool’s musicians as “mad!”, but doesn’t
note whether he himself falls into this category.
Jamie’s reverence for his fellow musicians can
be seen in his work under the solo moniker JEZTLS
(pronounced jez-tulls), where he mixes influences from
around the world into his electronic led productions. His
upcoming EP El Paradiso mixes steel drums, trap beats,
dancefloor atmospherics and a variety of guest vocalists.
Taking an improvisational, trial and error approach,
Jamie’s focus is on “sounds that sound nice”, as he puts
it, sincere in its clunkiness. “It doesn’t even have to be in
the same key. It’s a lot more percussion based, and less
melody based,” he adds.
He contrasts this with the classical and jazz training
he received growing up, which he says has “nothing
in common” with his bedroom producing. “I couldn’t
stand being in that chair playing the trumpet or playing
the keyboard anymore with that pressure,” he says. So,
instead, he rebelled from his training out of a teenage
desire to be the “mastermind” behind Katy Perry-esque
chart hits.
It’s this background and his open approach which
makes him such a versatile producer, open to working
with whoever he thinks is making the best music. But, as
Jeztls, Jamie wants to bring the focus back to himself. “I
have a full body of work because I’ve always worked as
a producer for other artists, that’s my main thing. So to
finally find all these tracks coming up that I want to keep,
I wouldn’t want to give them away because they’re more
personal.”
Despite this focus “collaboration [remains] the most
important part of what Jeztls is”, he asserts, with features
from a varied pool of vocalists. There are guest vocals on
almost every track on the EP, including Papa Shiraz on
the dark Night To End and Apollo Kid on the breezy and
kinetic We Belong To The Summer.
The more personal approach is apparent on the
recent single, Tear Me Down (featuring Sintia), a track
Jamie started work on when he was just 14, which
explores ideas around masculinity, family and opening up
about emotions. There has been a lot of discussion about
men’s mental health in the last few years, and Jamie
shared his experience of hearing stock phrases, ‘man up,’
‘boys don’t cry”, from those close to him.
“I think a lot of the time it’s family that won’t let you
be emotional. I grew up with just my mother and I have
so much love for her, but at the same time I always felt
this pressure to be a certain way. But that’s probably the
most hurtful thing, that you’re not allowed to express
yourself emotionally if you identify in a certain way,” he
shares. “It’s crazy. It was always a struggle. Friends and
family would always tell me, ‘You’re way too emotional,
you think too much, you feel too much’.”
Tear Me Down comes from the sense of liberation
Jamie found when he stopped listening to the people
telling him to hide his emotions. “It just hit me, why on
Earth should I not be able to be emotional? Where’s that
rule? There is no rule! It’s a social construct that’s been
placed on people to not be allowed to be emotional. Once
I realised that, so much in my life changed, I cried and I
didn’t feel bad, it was so liberating. I had tears down my
face, but I was feeling good about myself. When you do
that, you get to realise your own self-worth.”
While happy to talk about his background and
identity, as a gay man he’s keenly aware of the boxes
artists can be shoehorned into. There have been some
comparisons between Jeztls and SOPHIE, and while
there are some similarities, that can read like sticking the
two together based on queerness. “It’s like there’s two
options, there’s sexuality, and slight genre, so if you fit
this box, you go over there,” he admits.
While talking about this comparison, it’s clear Jamie
just wants to talk about the music. “I love PC Music and
the whole subgenre that’s come from that. For me, I
grew up on Donk music, like the Wigan Pier remixes,
it was very bouncy and fast BPM.” He says this while
enthusiastically pointing out how the picture of who
listens to PC Music has changed from “Fiat 500s driving
around blasting it out their speakers” to “these LGBTQ+
teenagers sat in their bedrooms, truly vibing”.
It’s his love for a variety of music that animates
him and drives him. From his classical training, through
making tracks on GarageBand with his cousin’s MIDI
keyboard, all the way to his current producer work,
it’s his excitement about finding new sounds that is
constant. Jeztls is his way to explore that, away from the
constraints of classical performance, or producing other
people’s music. As he succinctly puts it: “With Jeztls, I can
just do what I want to do.” !
Words: Ed Haynes / @teddyhaynes (They/Them)
El Paradiso is available from 30th April via Virile Music.
@jeztls
46

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PREVIEWS
“The band
is going to
become a human
instrument”
PERFORMANCE
STEALING SHEEP: SONG MACHINE
LightNight – 21/05
After a one-year hiatus, LightNight returns with a diverse range of events and installations
spread across the city – one of which will involve an open source performance by Stealing Sheep.
After the trudge of lockdown, it’s fitting that the
first festival to be held this year is LightNight.
While a celebrated staple of Liverpool’s
cultural calendar, this year’s festivities arrive
as a shining light at the end of a tunnel, a re-introduction
of in real life culture to our soon-to-be bustling city
centre.
Hosted on the 21st May, the one-night arts festival
will shine a spotlight across the city, with over 100
organisations collaborating to create an inspiring trail of
events with talks, workshops, performance and music –
all of which are following this year’s theme of ‘Play’.
STEALING SHEEP are among those producing an
installation for this year’s festival. The synth-pop trio
need little introduction having been a core pillar of the
local scene for over a decade now.
The group are marking their return to LightNight with
new project Song Machine, an interactive performance
that invites the audience to write words into a website
that will be sung in real time by Stealing Sheep. To learn
more about the proposed installation, Lily Blakeney-
Edwards caught up with Stealing Sheep’s Lucy and Emily
to gain more insight into this year’s events, their own
project and the emotional impact of the festival’s return.
This year’s LightNight is going to be particularly special
for a lot of people. How are you feeling about this
year’s event?
Lucy: A little bit nervous about it, but very excited.
Emily: We’ve not done a performance in a long time. Our
last one was in Manhattan? So, it’s been a whole year. It’s
quite daunting in that respect. It will be nice to entertain
people in real life, rather than virtually.
L: The thought of being in the middle of a crowd, trying
to see over people, it just feels so distant! It’ll be nice to
get back to that.
You’re planning to debut your project Song Machine at
the festival. Can you tell us what it entails?
E: The band is going to become a human instrument!
L: The idea is that the public will use social media to send
in song lyrics, and then we’ll go live and be an instrument!
E: We’re still working on logistics, like how it will look,
but it’s very exciting. We want it to involve the whole
community, so get everyone together to make it a mass
collaboration with Liverpool. We just want as many
people as possible to get involved.
The theme for this year’s festivities is ‘Play’. How does
your piece integrate into that topic?
L: The interactive element of it, with people joining in
and helping us make music really fits into the theme. I’m
hoping the lyrics sent in will be light and playful.
E: I was thinking that the whole idea of a song is quite
playful. Everyone joining in, and making music – it’s just
fun, isn’t it? Everyone’s desperate to play, see people
and interact, so I think it will really bring people together.
Even though we’re at the centre of it, if everyone gets
involved it will feel like a community voice.
How do you want this year’s events to impact audiences,
both within your own piece and further afield?
L: I want people to share a bit of time together.
E: Yeah, no matter how it shapes out, I want people to
come together. I want a celebration and a sense of relief.
A bit of reconnection to the community.
E: And for everyone to go home with a pint!
Stealing Sheep have made regular appearances at
LightNight over the years, in some form or another.
What are some of your highlights from recent years?
E: I did this thing at the Tate inspired by Tony Conrad
in 2019. I was in a group of musicians who did a drone
piece. It was mad, because we played a one-note piece
for an hour without stopping. It felt like such a special
event, that had such a massive impact. George Moore
was doing it as well, playing this really unusual long,
longbow instrument.
L: Oh, I loved that. It was so powerful. We also did a light
up drum performance a few years back, which was great.
And we’ve done some marching band work as well, been
involved in parades and that.
E: Every year there’s so much brilliant stuff on though. I
try and run around and see as much as I can.
L: I always wish I could see it all, but you have to pick
your favourites! But just seeing a few bits is amazing.
How does Liverpool’s culture and community influence
LightNight festival?
E: Liverpool’s a small city, so it really bubbles up with the
amount going on. There are so many pockets of scenery
everywhere, so there’s so much to get stuck into. It links
everyone, all the amazing spaces. It makes it seem like
one big celebration.
L: And all of the destinations are so epic. Like the Cathedral
or the Invisible Wind Factory… Even the small spaces are
decked out completely. So many amazing venues.
E: Yes! We love intimate spaces, because you can really
connect to the audience. The Kazimier, The Bluecoat…
The Stockroom is fantastic as well, one of our favourites.
Finally, how would you sum up the event in three
words?
E: Exciting!
L: Interesting!
E: Buzzing!
L: And bright!
E: That’s definitely more than three! We’re just so excited
to come together as part of LightNight, the three of us. !
Interview: Lily Blakeney-Edwards / @Lilyhbee
LightNight takes place in person and online on 21st May.
The venue for Song Machine will be announced ahead of
the event.
lightnightliverpool.co.uk
48

FESTIVAL
LIVERPOOL
BIENNIAL
until 27/06 – Various venues
Mark McNulty
Having installed sculptures and installations from the likes of Larry
Achiampong, Linder and Rashid Johnson across the city and launched an
online portal showcasing sonic and digital commissions, the Biennial’s ‘Inside’
chapter begins in May.
Flags by artist Larry Achiampong can already be found at 10 locations from
the Cunard Building to St George’s Hall. Other outdoor commissions include Rashid
Johnson’s Stacked Heads at Canning Dock, a piece by Teresa Solar at Exchange Flags
and Linder’s Bower Of Bliss at Liverpool One. Close by, the mural Mauvaise Alphabet by
Jorgge Menna Barreto has been unveiled on the side of Bluecoat.
The theme of this years festival is The Stomach and The Port with the timely aim of
exploring concepts of the body as fluid and being continuously shaped by, and actively
shaping its environment. In May, the Biennial’s partner venues will begin opening
exhibitions interrogating the theme. FACT host an exhibit by Black Obsidian Sound
System (B.O.S.S), a London-based collective who bring together queer, trans and nonbinary
black and people of colour involved in art, sound and radical activism through
projects influenced by sound system culture. Hong Kong based artist Zheng Bo will also
exhibit at the Ropewalks Square venue. The artist creates weedy gardens, living slogans
and eco-queer films.
Tate Liverpool host an expansive exhibition including the work of Jamaican artist
Ebony G. Patterson who works with embellished textiles to explore post colonialism,
working class identity and other disenfranchised communities. In the Bluecoat, mutual
exchange between humans and nature is explored in Laura Huertas Millán’s film, Jíibie,
which examines the cultural importance of the sacred coca leaf for the Muiná-Muruí
community in the Colombian Amazon. The work of photographer Zineb Sedira and
filmmaker Alberta Whittle will explore the meaning and social history of the world’s
oceans and docks in exhibits at Open Eye Gallery. Over in the Lewis’s Building an
eclectic collection of sculpture from artists such as Kathleen Ryan and Reto Pulfer look
at the body and what it means to be human.
FESTIVAL
INDEPENDENTS BIENNIAL
Until 06/06 – Various venues
Independents Biennial, the grassroots celebration of the creative culture that’s
brewing across the length and breadth of the Liverpool City Region will feature a
roster of emerging artists who will develop new and exciting perspectives on how
Merseysiders perceive and create art around them. Through various disciplines, the
artists in this year’s Independents Biennial focus on the art process itself, including how
the artists approach their practice and how that practice might mutate throughout the
duration of the programme.
Working in partnership with the Open Eye Gallery, Montse Mosquera, Feiyi Wen
and Sam Venables will explore themes of reverse culture shock when living in a foreign
country, interpretations of landscapes from different cultural perspectives and the reuse
of closed public houses as McDonald’s restaurants.
More Indy Biennial delights come in the form of a series of poems by quarterly
creative zine ROOT-ed – which promotes and supports creatives of colour in the North
West – and a portrait project by Mark Hobbs aimed at dismantling gendered views of
male parenting.
Meanwhile, Emmer Winder’s St Helens Social Pharmacy invites everyone to
share their own mantras, affirmations and phrases that have helped them through the
pandemic. Advice will be transformed into prescriptions on medicine bottles and shared
on Instagram (@socialprescriptiontracker) to promote wellbeing in the face of adversity.
Also exploring the experiences of 2020, Head of Photography at Carmel College
Kevin Crooks and writer Callan Waldron-Hall are collaborating on a project in the Thatto
Heath area of St Helens, which sees the combination of photography and redrafted
written accounts from locals create a snapshot of the area’s experiences and hopes for
the future.
Multimedia artist Sorrell Kerrison presents work exploring experiences of
motherhood, with a series of self-portraits taken before and after childbirth. SciArtist
Jay Hampton’s intimate exploration of mother nature aims to reappraise our perceptions
of what we consider to be weeds. Hampton’s project assesses UK public spaces left
unattended by councils as a result of lockdown, whose natural developments have
created havens for a host of wildlife species that are re-emerging as symbols of tenacity
and regrowth.
As we experience something of a rupture across our sociocultural zeitgeist – with
Black Lives Matter, #MeToo, the murder of Sarah Everard and Covid-19 all demanding
a rethink of society’s inequalities – Sufea Mohamad Noor’s residence at Independents
Biennial will investigate the evolution of diversity and inclusion terminologies used
to describe racially marginalised groups, using academic research, exploring online
activism and holding discussions with PoC and allies. Using research and her
conversations, Sufea will produce text paintings in the studio as well as using Metal’s
kitchen and garden to create a shared experience in a pandemic.
Sam Venables, Hippo (2021)
PREVIEWS
49

PREVIEWS
RADIO
THE
POPULAR
MUSIC
SHOW
BBC Radio Merseyside
After almost a year off the
airwaves, PMS’s Roger Hill
provides the lowdown on the
show’s new format.
The events of the last year have severely
shaken the metronomic balance of the cultural
calendar. As restrictions have seen live music
reduced to a rare, socially-distanced hum, ghost
lights continue an extended run on theatre stages and
festivals move online, the aftershocks have been felt on
institutional radio, too.
From national to local stations, the BBC was forced
to restructure its programming to meet the limitations
and demands of the new normal. The changes meant
that, from March 2020, certain shows and presenters
covered elongated hours, while others were removed
from the schedule altogether as the Corporation assumed
a more defined role as a public broadcaster.
On BBC Radio Merseyside, one such programme
that was placed on hiatus was THE POPULAR MUSIC
SHOW. Fronted by Roger Hill and a revolving team of
presenters, the programme is lauded for its left turns,
deep digging and connoisseur curation of sounds from
Merseyside to the far reaches of the world. To this day
it remains the longest-running alternative music show
in the UK. However, the 43rd year of its running was far
quieter than the team had expected as it departed its late
Sunday night slot.
After a challenging year, the
programme has returned to BBC
Radio Merseyside, albeit with a few
tweaks and new features to meet
the continuing impacts on scheduling.
Roger Hill fills us in on the set-up of the
new show, the future of late-night radio
and the importance of presenting new,
expansive cultural discoveries on a local
public broadcaster.
PMS spent the best part of a year off air
due to the pandemic and the resulting
changes to schedules. Did you notice the
landscape of radio changing in that period
of time?
It was very easy to notice, because the BBC
completely restructured local radio. There was
no space for pretty much anything that was
individual programmes, so many, like ours, went
off.
I saw that the BBC decided, for the first time in
a long time, what it wanted to use local radio for.
In other words, what this access to local people was
about. People do like to be talked to as though they live
somewhere particular, provide information, raise spirits –
local radio does that. It’s the first time in almost 40 years
of my being involved with it that local radio actually got
its mission back.
With this restructuring, did you think there was a gap
left in terms of the cultural offer and exploration in a
musical sense? How did this affect your planning when
returning to the air in January?
I said to the team, ‘Who listens to us anyway? Who
are the people who either go on iPlayer or listen late at
night and want to hear what we were doing?’ It boiled
down to a combination of the culturally aware and the
independent thinkers, if you like, the doers, the people
who go to gigs, get Bido lito! for example. We framed the
new show around the idea that there was a community
there that, essentially, the rest of Radio Merseyside
wasn’t speaking to.
Do you think there is a new frame around radio itself,
a new way of looking at it? And is this something that
you’ve taken on, or is it a case of repurposing what you
had?
At the moment, monthly at least, we will have an
extension to PMS that can be heard on Melodic
Distraction. The change for us, I think, is in thinking about
what we do as the one-hour show. Just as Bido Lito!
became more than a magazine, similarly PMS becomes
more than a programme; it becomes an information
system, it could become an online platform, regular email
newsletter. It becomes a focus for something. But we
don’t want to do this too much, otherwise we’ll never get
any more time back from the BBC!
Talk me through the reformat a little bit and how the
show might be operating differently.
The first thing that’s important is the new time [9pm]
and I think that is important as we’ll capture people
who wouldn’t necessarily be coming to find us. We’ve
introduced spoken word, too, and we’ve had some
really good features from that so far this year. We’re
still the only programme on the station that plays world
music. Although we can’t do festivals currently, we’re
obviously keeping people abreast of developments in
that area. Every programme has mentions in it, too, as
we call it now. And they’re not always just musical, but
they’re about cultural activities and online activities.
And also, we’ve got a five-minute section, which is five
recommendations, five aspects to look forward to. That is
definitely a nod towards cultural events and happenings.
If the first section is really kind of music and speech, the
second is about what to do during your week, the third is
about the electronic, the digital, the online and everything
else. And then, finally, we have a 15-minute flourish at
the end, where we remind people that we’ve got a very
deep, good archive, and remind people about what’s on
our mixes.
As you know, over the past 40 years or more, latenight
radio slots like John Peel’s were presented as a
particular kind of exploration and cultural navigation.
Do you think that this slot for music programmes still
has merit? And do you think that can come back? Or do
you think we’re moving into an age where everything
has to be a little bit more on demand?
It’s a good question, but a question that’s very hard to
give an answer to at the moment, except to say that
since [last] March late-night radio no longer exists locally.
The BBC has gone through so many revolutions over the
years. It will be past my time, I think, but eventually there
may come a time when the BBC rediscovers the joys of
what we might call ‘free floating navigation late-night
radio at a local level’. I mean, I don’t think it’s completely
out, I think it just happens to be what the BBC is into at
the moment. It knows it’s in a tougher market than it was
10 to 20 years ago. There are far more radio stations
out there, far more niche radio stations. We were very
loose on the old show, but it’s not like that now. But that
doesn’t mean that there isn’t room for that kind of radio.
We are now definitely in the structured programme
market that we weren’t in, originally.
Do you think local radio will be at a loss without the
more freeform late-night music programming?
I think, bearing in mind the bigger picture, we’re just
going to have to embrace it, to be honest. But it’s
one of those things where I often wondered whether
the listeners who joined us at midnight on a Sunday
had actually been listening to anything else on Radio
Merseyside. They may only have parachuted in for us
and then parachuted out again and, therefore, the radio
station didn’t get any huge benefit from the numbers
which transfer out into the rest of the station. So, I think
the BBC probably wouldn’t go back and do it again.
Does it matter to you to remain on a public service
broadcaster? Does that change the essence and the
ethos of the programme?
I took the view, and I’ve always had this, that there was
something about working for the BBC and broadcasting
on the BBC airwaves and being part of the BBC
information system, which was a dignifying – if dignity
is something that we want to attach to our kind of music
– but also empowering. I think I always thought that it
would be best to keep something that was PMS on Radio
Merseyside, even if we had to start thinking outside the
box a bit.
It does matter to be on the BBC for me personally. But
then, of course, I started out that way. I suppose maybe
there’s a real sense of loyalty, sentimentality, a sense of
the BBC is a generally good thing and it’s nice to be part
of a good thing with a kind of international dimension
to it. So, for me, there is a benefit of being there. But we
are, as you can tell, reaching out and putting ourselves
outside the BBC as well as inside. And in a sense, because
we’ve always been a bit of a trailblazer as a programme,
maybe we will be the model of how the developments will
happen in the future. !
Interview: Elliot Ryder / @elliot_ryder
The Popular Music show now runs bi-weekly at 9pm on
BBC Radio Merseyside. The next live broadcasts are on
2nd, 16th, 30th April.
pmsradio.co.uk
bbc.co.uk/programmes/p098fwxp
50

FESTIVAL
Threshold Festival
09-10/04 – Online
Over 100 artists will participate in the rescheduled online iteration of Threshold Festival
this year. The event blends music, performance and visual arts with interviews and panel
discussion which can all be enjoyed virtually. The mammoth line-up announced in March
includes BEIJA FLO, ZEE DAVINE, KINGFAST and many more representing the grassroots
music scene from Liverpool and beyond. As well as the core online activity, Threshold are
displaying public art in their Baltic Triangle home with details still to be announced at the time
of writing. Ticket holders will be treated to the District Sessions live sets while the rest of the
festival will be free to attend.
Beija Flo (Robin Clewley)
GIG
Table Service w/ Positive Vibration
02/05 – Meraki
Reggae festival Positive Vibration are serving up an all-day helping of dub
at Meraki on the May Bank Holiday weekend as guests for the weekend’s
Table Service event. Groups of up to six people will be able to enjoy DJ sets
throughout the Sunday from DUB DEFENDERS, KEITH MARLEY, BEAT
DETECTIVE FT. LION YUTE & MOTORMOUF and the festival’s own selectors.
The gig will serve as a nice taster for what is to come from Positive Vibration
festival when it returns to the Baltic Triangle in September this year.
FESTIVAL
Abandon Normal Devices
27/05-11/07 – Various venues
Exploring the post-industrial landscapes of the River Mersey and the Manchester Ship
Canal, AND Festival returns this year. Described as a “nomadic festival of digital culture,
art and film”, the programme of activity for the 2021 edition will take place online as
well as in and around the waterways which it is looking to interrogate. Visitors will
be able to take in an ambitious programme of in-real-life field trips via augmented
reality seascapes, immersive voyages and floating laboratories, together with an online
programme of radical and disruptive artworks, film screenings, performances, talks and
workshops.
FESTIVAL
Writing On The Wall Festival
Throughout May – Various venues
Celebrating their 21st year in existence WOWFest returns with a programme of literary flavoured events throughout May. With last years online iteration of the festivals bringing
the like of Noam Chomsky and Marlon James, there’ll be high hopes of similar big hitters joining the event for this landmark year. WOW were victorious at the LCR Culture and
Creativity Awards earlier this year bagging the coveted Arts Organisation of the Year gong. Well-deserved for an organisation that delivers a year-long programme of projects,
events and competitions that benefit our community. Details on the festival programme were still to be announced at the time of writing.
GIG
All We Are
09/04 – Future Yard
Genre chameleons ALL WE ARE feature in Future Yard’s latest run of high
production streamed shows in April. Following gigs from Barberos and Lydiah,
the Birkenhead venue will be beaming out a live set from the Domino Records
lovelies as they look to finally showcase 2020 LP Providence in a live setting.
The feel-good hit of last year is much more suited to a world of dancing and
good times so hopefully it’ll get its just deserts in the more liberated landscape
of a vaccinated world. The online gig will deliver an opportunity to limber up in
your living room before hitting the dancefloors in June.
CONCERT
Sheku Kanneh-Mason
01/06 – Philharmonic Hall
Liverpool Philharmonic is once again hosting live music with On Demand concerts taking
place from 6th April and live events with audiences going ahead from 20th May. Superstar
cellist SHEKU KANNEH-MASON visits the hall at the start of June to perform the last concerto
written by Czech legend Antonin Dvořák. Wagner’s Siegfried Idyll will also be performed at
the event which will be available to watch via Zoom accompanied by a pre-concert programme
presented by Radio 3 broadcaster Stephen Johnson. Elsewhere on the Phil’s listings, there’ll
be a world premiere of Dani Howard’s Trombone Concerto and Klezmer-ish perform The
Lockdown Songbook!, a mix of pieces recorded during lockdown for a new album.
EXHIBITION
Soft Boys
17/05-29/08 – FACT
Soft Boys
What does it mean to be a man? Poking fun at gender norms and exploring the ways we live
alongside each other and our environment, Soft Boys, from Liverpool-based multidisciplinary
artist Kiara Mohamad, goes on display at FACT for their reopening in May. The exhibition,
curated by ROOT-ed zine’s Fauziya Johnson, examines what it means to be a man through
various disciplines documenting cooking, dancing and textiles while celebrating queer and
trans joy. Exhibits weave in traditions from Somali culture and address trauma for what will be
a thought provoking and revealing show.
PREVIEWS 51

REVIEWS
“Change is one
of few constants
in Liverpool”
Three lads on bikes, Maud Street and Elaine Street, L8 1979, Ian Clegg, as part of Tell It Like It Is
L—A City Through Its People
Open Eye Gallery – online
There are three images missing from Emma Case’s RED
exhibition at the Open Eye Gallery’s L—A City Through
Its People, each of which can be found three miles away
on the Homebaked terraces of Oakfield Road adjacent
to Anfield stadium. Together with the 93 photographs
on display inside Open Eye, those remaining three bring
Case’s archive total to 96. It’s a number we’re all familiar
with, and it’s a number that will likely never disappear
from conversations about who and what Liverpool is.
As a football fan, an Evertonian in fact, even I see
myself in these photographs taken outside Herr Klopp’s
(now fragile) fortress and in the homes and pubs of his
followers; both as a boy picking out my first scarf, and
later as a teenager speculating who might make the
line-up over an afternoon pint with my dad – each of us
drowned out by a cacophony of ‘same again loves’ and
half-cut tactical suggestions by those who never did
quite manage to leave the Kendall days behind.
Look hard enough and every football fan and their
dog will see themselves in these photographs, too, and
in turn will see so much of what has been taken away
from them by you-know-what. Not just fans, but from
those whose fixture-bound livelihoods depend on the
ecology of what it means to go the game – to the chippy,
the café, the pub, to the memorabilia stalls. But if the
sights, sounds and smells of football matches seem a
distant dream, then these images are, however brief, an
assurance that they haven’t really gone forever.
The 96 images are part of RED’s wider archive
spanning four years on what it means to be a Red, which,
alongside Emma Case’s material, also contains fans’
personal photographs, home interviews and amateur
home-made memorabilia. There are no footballing
celebrities in this collection, only a Crown Paintsclad
collective inheriting the batons of tribal solidarity
and community spirit. The same spirit passed to new
generations and whipped up with each rattle of the
turnstile and again reawakened in homes, streets and
inner ideals.
Tribal solidarity and community spirit – these ideas
flow through the city in abundance, stopping to resurface
once more in the Open Eye’s next collection. This sees
Scottie Press – Britain’s longest-running community
newspaper – present an archive of original photographs
and iconic headlines presented in line with the paper’s
50th anniversary – celebrated in February.
When the paper first printed in February 1971,
entering the decade under Conservative PM Edward
Heath, Scottie Press and those it served in and around
the Scotland Road area would see the city’s social fabric
ripped up with containerisation and a domino decline
in heavy industry. The move would have devastating
repercussions for the city that would endure well into the
80s and 90s. The resulting 50-year record of Liverpool’s
shifting social, political and religious landscape on display
here in Scottie Press’ exhibition is an intimate chronicle of
the city’s enduring activism, its places of work, worship
and what it did in its free time.
If RED and Scottie Press’ archives unveil what
Liverpool is, it’s fitting that, in closing L—A City Through
Its People, the final exhibition examines what Liverpool
once was – how it was perceived, shared and lived by
its people. Tell It Like It Is, an image-text collaboration
between photographer Ian Clegg and writer Laura
Robertson, is a series of prints on silver gelatin with
accompanying creative-contextual writing which
complement the archive’s fragmented moments of
nostalgia.
The 24 prints – shot on a “battered Nikon” with HP5
film and left to foment under Clegg’s bed for several
decades – are loosely grouped by geographical area,
leading you through the neighbourhoods within Toxteth,
the city centre and the docks. From L1 through L8, Tell
It Like It Is shows us equally battered street landscapes
in partial ruin, bordered up premises and giddy, feral-like
childhoods spent roaming through town on your bike
with your mates.
But, if these three exhibitions tell us of a city
confronting hardship, loss and deprivation, then just
as quickly, L— A City Through Its People tells us of
something we’ve no doubt always known about this
place: change is one of few constants in Liverpool, and its
people are what gets it through.
Matthew Berks / @Hewniverse_
Peggy by Emma Case, RED
52

Liverpool Digital Music
Festival Rise
Online – 27-28/02
Predictable playback issues aside and although, like
everyone else, I’ve just about adjusted to living mostly
online, I wasn’t sure what to expect when experiencing a
two-day festival via my laptop. After the aforementioned
streaming issues are ironed out, Liverpool Digital Music
Festival Rise begins with an inviting scene on the screen
courtesy of AMELIA WALLACE.
Sunlight beams into the centre of the room and
refracts into a rainbow splodge for a welcome contrast
to the dark currently outside my window, and the first
song is in progress. The natural light gradually fades
in seemingly perfect sync with the closing phrases of
increasingly sparse piano and softer vocal to finish to the
performer’s enticing, relaxed opening number.
A quick switch to acoustic guitar and brief intro
leads into Where (Do We Go)?. The refreshing change
of accompaniment allows Wallace’s voice to explore
a wider, impressive register and timbre. Beginning
delicately, as though blending out from the previous
song, the dynamics of the performance peak with a
hearty vocal power that successfully expresses a calm,
comfortable performance to listeners. Sticking to guitar,
Wave follows, with more intimate lyrics woven into
agile melody underscored by bluesy chord progressions
delivering an effective ebb and flow in emotional force
again. Along with the calmness and clear enjoyment
coming across in the performance style, listening to a
controlled, skilled voice with accompanying instrument
calibrating together with ease commands attention, even
via a wi-fi connection. The final song encapsulates the
warm essence of the set, but with more pace, keeping
a healthy connect between music and the imagery it
invokes.
On the Sunday night we experience an eccentric
highlight of the festival. Instead of verbally announcing
the band, SWEET BEANS utilise a humorous gimmick
by way of introduction. Their empty living room is
greeted with a clumsy leap into frame by the drummer,
as the guitarist followed by two brass players enter
in sequence. On screen text of name, instrument, or
niche nickname accompanies their entrances like a
modern pastiche of a retro swing band. An interesting
start, though somewhat unstable. The timing in the
opening playing of the trombone and sax’s syncopated
groves aren’t fully together. It reminds me slightly of
The Nightmare Before Christmas when the ghoulish
instrumentalists wonder what’s up with Jack.
Though they are connected as performers, and
clearly having fun, I’m unsure if I am too at this early
stage. But like consuming enticing baked goods that
transpire to be mind-altering edibles, it at first tastes
a bit strange, but you can’t help but keep eating.
The performance becomes moreish and weirdly too
interesting, then the goodness seems to exponentially
kick in. As trombone switches to bass guitar in this
continued chaotic adventure, otherworldly tonality,
rhythm and an ambitious soundscape advances this
eclectic set and quickly traverses from lukewarm and
uncertain, to bizarre and intriguing. Densely packed
ideas make it tricky to decipher where one idea ends and
another begins. The growing sonic kaleidoscope paired
with sprinkles of odd theatrics between band members
has switched me from a tentative listener to happily
bewildered by the end of their act. This band definitely
stands out for a mixture of mostly good reasons.
Sharing a similar sense of authentic and creative
practice to Amelia Wallace, NATALIE AND THE
MONARCHY first greet the festival and mentions being
in New Jersey, thereby introducing the theme of the
first song. We’re given a humble but alluring set-up
with a background of vintage cloth draped like the
dusty curtains of a forgotten theatre hall, with some
delightfully tacky Christmas lights wrapped around the
mic stand. It’s a satisfying aesthetic mixture of burlesque,
steampunk and gothic influences that somehow makes
sense. This self-assured individuality translates to an
engrossing musical flavour. When The Ice Melts Away
exudes this well with nostalgic melancholy in lyricism,
guitar texture, and manipulatively emotive vocals.
Natalie’s accent and chatty demeanour as she announces
(perhaps improvised) set choices feels assuring
between songs. One cover song interjects the set,
giving more variety not just through the keyboardist’s
accompaniment and fun costume change, but with a
more storytelling angle behind the voice that nicely
highlights the theatrical personality of the band. Though
saying that the final song Take Me As I Am is a “lovely
pop song that’s a bit out of character for me”, a strong
sense of artistic direction doesn’t abandon the set.
Through a softer change of pace, the musical forms and
performance retains this artsy, vague sentimentality.
Initial hesitancy diminished; the festival has provided
a fine substitute for the in-venue expeditions for fresh
music we all long for. Lending us hope for what lays
beyond, a well-packaged reminder of surviving creative
activity is uplifting.
RJ Ward
A Lovely Word: Hannah
Swingler
Online - 04/03
As if counting down to the start of tonight’s Zoom
meeting the date shows as 4/3/21 on my laptop screen.
Equally prescient, A Lovely Word presents their regular
evening of poetry on World Book Day this evening. The
event is headlined by Birmingham poetry queen and
esteemed face and voice of 2019 Nationwide building
society ad High Street Romance, HANNAH SWINGLER.
The poet herself is the author of a prepandemic
collection entitled This Dress Has Pockets,
from which some of tonight’s pieces are read. Hannah
speaks openly about the struggles she’s encountered
during the previous months and tells her online audience
how her idea to use lockdown as a writing retreat has
not gone as planned, nevertheless she has started to
work on a new project studying women’s history.
Her first poem, Dance Show, is a delightful insight
into Hannah’s childhood mind, effortlessly captivating
her listeners and inviting them to travel back in time as
she showcases her nine-year-old imagination. The poem
Yet draws attention to the writer’s feelings of uncertainty
and hope associated with the titular word. Hannah
points out the relevance of the piece in these unsettled
times. However, the performer does embrace the
comforts associated with not being venue-bound tonight
as she performs sitting at her table in her slippers.
The rhythmic tones and her Birmingham accent,
teamed with her subtle mannerisms and facial
expressions, make for a compelling performance as
Hannah’s passion for art and history are apparent
from the variety of themes in her work. Hannah, who
is a secondary school teacher by day, addresses the
importance of equality on this noteworthy day, before
reading her final poem of the evening, Dear Mary. It
is written and delivered in the style of a letter and the
poet was inspired to write it after hearing from an old
neighbour that a lady named Mary owned her house
many years ago. After stripping back the layers of
wallpaper from previous tenants, Mary’s personality is
unveiled, enabling Hannah to relate to the faceless name
through the original decor. The poet radiates a sense
of longing for the simplicity of Mary’s life in those times
compared to now.
Although the writer touches on some serious
matters tonight, her positivity naturally shines through
in the performance. She is able to instil her hopeful
insights onto her audience through an enthralling night
of stanzas and storytelling.
Sarah McNee
REVIEWS
53

ARTISTIC
LICENCE
This issue’s selection of creative
writing is by Lyndsay Price, a
collection of works that channel
the discovery in loss.
Lyndsay Price is a co-host of A Lovely Word and curator
of Salt Water Poetry.
@lyndsaywritespoems
lost things
have you ever loved someone so much you let them leave?
let them sidestep out of your life ever so seamlessly?
i wish i could quote emily dickenson and say i wish you a kinder sea
but, like leather and teeth,
some things in this world just aren’t meant to be that sweet
ultimately we’re both worthy of being loved properly
but i’ll tell you this, you could have had all of my poetry
for now i’ll remember you howling with wine in your blood
and a full moon in your heartbeat
in many ways i feel like you saw the woman i could be
but we’re on different pages, books, bookcases
even different libraries
i’m a mile up in the sky and you’re a thousand kisses deep
ultimately we’re just superheroes with a lot of anxiety
so it’s time to move on, take advice from the animal kingdom
and snap the necks of the young who won’t make it
cause our situation is certainly not the time for us to be squeamish
so today i took a breath, today i divorced my ghosts,
today i performed an exorcism on the very depths of my soul
but because of you, i’m learning to leave myself love notes
because of you i no longer see my body as a hand grenade
despite the fire that’s in your eyes, you taught me to feel safe
to move forwards, i’d say to get your hands dirty with life and
consume more of the things that fill you
but to close up wounds that cut this deep,
well that’s not something you can rush through
my mother tells that i need to know this world is tough
now i look both ways when i cross the road because darling,
this was dangerous enough
and does anyone know the exact difference in which two magnets
can no longer feel an attraction?
because i’ve tried trains and hotel rooms and i can still feel you
i’ve tried not talking on the telephone but i can still hear you
i know when you’ve had a bad day
because the sky looks dark and thundery
and i know when you’ve had a good day
because the trees genuinely smile at me
i’m not entirely sure how you’re controlling the weather around me,
but i don’t question it because i know this life is full of mystery
i’ve tried salt baths for days
but my bones won’t stop repeating your name
teaching my body to forget about you is a full time job these days
tell me this:
does your car sometimes circle my house
the way my thoughts trace the outline of your name?
does your finger hover over the bell
the way mine hovers over deleting your name from my phone book?
when you give in and drive back home,
tell me darling, do you feel lonesome?
last night i went to bed with artificial feelings,
woke up with a coca-cola heart
but despite me lying to myself,
the truth is that i love you and i’m sorry if it seemed like i forgot
for now, i want to say goodbye in the sweetest way
because i can be good at staying gone
i wish you a lifetime of butterflies
i’ll forever have a sunshine heart
to quote aa. milne,
how lucky i am to have something
that makes saying goodbye so hard
the search
i overturned stones,
moss side facing up
i shouted your name into the creek
i lit a cigarette
and let the smoke curl into the sky
leaving me to wonder
if you had ever even been
54

THE FINAL
SAY
“When authority
is built on the back
of racism and
misogyny, how can
it keep us safe?”
Music venues and nightclubs are essential arenas for communality and
expression. While we await their reopening, Mary Olive questions the extent
they offer refuge and safe space for women, transgender and non-binary people.
[Trigger Warning] Mention of sexual abuse, assault,
harassment
I’ve written so many new openings for this piece
over the past few weeks. Searching somewhere for
words. It’s been deeper than writer’s block. It’s an
exhaustion I feel deep to my bones.
To be honest, I don’t want to have to keep writing
about these issues. But then, I see the pain of my sisters
and non-binary siblings and I find myself writing even
more. It hurts me because I have lived it too.
A few years ago, I was sexually assaulted. And
afterwards, I cloaked myself in shame. The hurt sank so
deep into my being I found it hard to trust the world. Since
then, I found my voice as a writer and I promised to be a
protector. A one-woman army. I swore I would make it
mean something. To push that fire in my belly to fuel some
change, somehow, somewhere. And so, here we are.
I am telling you this because I need you to know I
understand this pain. Having been groped, grabbed, cat
called and rated out of ten since my school days I need a
moment to push back. If this makes you uncomfortable
you need to keep reading.
To all the beautiful women, transgender and nonbinary
people reading this, I see you. Especially the
women of colour who are still to this day alarmingly
vulnerable. You have always been worth the world and
more and you should not have to fight for your peace. I
am tired too.
To the men reading, I am talking to you directly now.
Pay attention.
The fact is our city is not a safe place for everyone.
One of the most dangerous places for anyone who is not
a man is a nightclub or music venue. I cannot tell you the
amount of times I have experienced sexual harassment
from men in these spaces. It happens in every single
music venue in Liverpool. It happens everywhere.
It will always hurt to watch some promoters spend
all of their time, money and energy into creating their
idea of an ideal event, but actively chose to ignore the
safety of their crowd. It is not good enough. It has never
been good enough.
Liverpool can be a very ugly place sometimes. A “city
of music” which, instead of protecting its women, will
name an airport after a man who beat them up.
If you are waiting for a wake-up call, this is it.
So how do we grow through this? A starting point is
increasing the visibility of women, transgender and nonbinary
people at music events, including all job roles and
the people in the crowd. I always feel more relaxed when
the space I am entering is not male dominated. It’s like a
bloody breath of fresh air.
People who are not male want to feel thought of and
recognised when entering music events. We want to feel
like the space accommodates us rather than having to
accommodate the (often hyper masculine) space. Visible
cues to tell the crowd what the promoter’s/event’s values
are is a really simple way of making people feel safe.
I would love to see femineity and gender nonconformity
celebrated more at music events; for people
to empower one another and for spaces to feel safe
for exploration of gender expression and sexuality.
There are, of course, places that do this (usually ran by
the LGBTQ+ community or women) and I’d love to see
that energy spill out into everything. Maybe I’m just an
optimist, but I still hold hope for that utopia.
For now, we must acknowledge that we do have
a problem with safety at music events. This has to be
addressed and properly confronted by everyone if we
want to move past it.
The first place I go to for comfort when I feel unsafe
at an event is the bathroom.
Here, I find myself surrounded by my sisters and
non-binary siblings who understand. Here, we kiss each
other’s faces, swap lipstick and have a cry if we need to.
And then, once we’ve caught our breath, we head
back out into the arena.
This is because bouncers do not make me feel safe.
I have experienced more harassment than reassurance
from male security guards to feel comforted by their
presence.
We need to see specific staff training for how to
handle sexual harassment. There has to be a complete
zero tolerance policy for this.
GOOD NIGHT OUT is a brilliant organisation offering
workshops and training of this kind. Some venues in
Liverpool have already started working with them and I
urge more promoters, venues owners and music industry
professionals to follow.
The prospect of undercover police circling the
dancefloor does not fill me with hope for when events
do return. It feels like the government are pouring petrol
onto a forest fire.
Police officers have been heavily criticised for
abusing power countless times just this past year, from
racial profiling to sexual violence. Understandably, their
presence does not always make people feel protected.
Our institution is run by people with the exact same
mindset as the people who abuse us in nightclubs. When
authority is built on the back of racism and misogyny,
how can it keep us safe? While the system still protects
the lives of abusers more than the lives of those abused
it cannot serve its people.
Instead, we need to see empowerment at the roots
of our communities. We need to rebuild what we have
made. Education is the real to key to all of this.
I can’t put everything into one piece, it is too big a
conversation. But I will say this. You, now in this very
moment can bring about change. You have the power to
grow and help others to heal as you work to amplify the
voices around you.
It’s the jokes your mates make which you let slide.
It’s the porn you watch. It’s the people you surround
yourself with. It’s the choices you make. The moments
you speak, and the moments you fall silent. It’s what
you chose to see, and what you chose to ignore. It’s an
overwhelmingly complex issue rooted in generations of
pain and confusion, but it all ends with you.
You may not feel like you can take on the world. But
you will impact the lives around you. Whether you like
it or not, we are all connected to one another and how
we act has a direct impact on the people around us. Not
acting is just as harmful as abusing.
No, it is not all men. But in a room full of five silent
men, and one abusive, I am still torn to pieces.
So, let this be the moment of change. Have those
difficult conversations. Educate yourself. Listen to others
when they speak.
Open your heart to the world around you. And
maybe one day, we can all dance together in peace.
Words: Mary Olive / @maryolivepoet (she/her)
Illustration: Ruby Tompkins
@goodnightoutcampaign
55

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