This past week has been about...

wondering if people still read...

music...

music...

music....

music....

www.soundcloud.com/drumzofthesouth

www.mixcloud.com/drumzofthesouth

(we listen at least)

paper work

Breaking Bad

re-designing websites

picnics

rain after the sun

Festivaaaaaal!!

Just back from a ridiculously good Glastonbury this weekend and haven't even managed to blog about the ridiculously massive Sonar yet (last weekend); Feel like I'm flying by the seat of my pants which oughta be Orange & White and emblazoned with the name Ryan as an homage to my pilots. The music in the head is undeniably Ravey; 90s resurgance? Yes please.

Little time to breathe in this unusually humid June weather; I think I have a June bug...I JUST WANNA DANCE. So until my heart stops beating so fast and I find time to update more thoroughly; I am leaving you with these photo galleries from Sonar via FACT magazine:

http://www.factmag.com/2010/06/22/photo-gallery-sonar-part-1/

http://www.factmag.com/2010/06/23/photo-gallery-sonar-part-2/

and point those of you who don't blink too often towards my Twitter; Soundcloud and Facebook pages which track my recent movements and memories and currently feelin's through smaller byte-sized Tapas innit.

In Flight

First thing in the morning, last thing at night I drink tea. It must be...love. Nightmare's are diminished by hot drinks and doodling, with the Lights in the distance; the stars beyond the velux shining dots which i try to join up on paper.

It's raining dogs and cats in my mind; where Revenge is never sweet unless drawn because the pen is mightier than the sword.

Below the surface of pen marks are feelings. Trading forever; their skinny, whispy selves with meaning and clarity. I'm a scavenger of Happy thoughts which often appear on the page, and make me fly. The view from up here is of a dazzling web.

This is not a sketchbook, it is a Face in the crowd of thoughts; of Things that changed other things when opened and read.

Dirigibles and submersibles; artists and writers

An extract from my entry into the Faucethead / Sketchbook Project competition.

http://www.faucethead.com/blog/?p=771

History is Made At Night

Thanks to History is Made at Night for a sweet mention within a post on his excellent blog about the amazing photographer Chris Steele Perkins . Also take a peek at this Dancing questionnaire that I did for the blog a while back.

Photography, you are lost until you are HOME

Does the bird ring for you in the ears?

I am Princess Here-Again-On-A-Rock. and the sounds lull me to peace. Hear my own silence. back to the rumbling of the buses.

Photography, you are lost until you are HOME.

Poetry be my voice; sing to the setting sun in the corner of the pillow

The line in the middle - cross it. One needs nothing but eyes and ears.

The Ivy House

The weekend just gone I was back in LDN again and my eyes were 21 again. I stay at my parents and try to catch up with everyone; Franck and I went to the relaunch of The Ivy House. It's gonna be South London's sikkest venue this summer; I can feel it. I had the pleasure of being serenaded by a very drunk Dave from Rum Shebeen (formerly The Ludes). He stood right in front of me with his leg on a chair; and told me that Jesus gets all the pussy.

Here he is with the magnectic Leo who makes all of me want to be 21 again:

The night after DMZ 5TH BIRTHDAY

I was back in London for the weekend. I barely slept. I used my analogue camera with expired film. Sky & Liam and the Harpers Crew had an awesome house party cos Liam is off to dance naked with blonde ladies in Sweden for a year or so. Sky was like... "Georgie can you sort out a DJ?" "Well Sky, you're in luck," I replied... It's DMZ weekend; there are hundreds of them buzzing around South London. So DQ stepped up; and Orson and Isabella and Delphine and Pavel and Pokes came along; and of course all my hippy friends were there already. I like it when my various little worlds collide; bringing people together is what I'm good at, it makes me feel happy. The pix aren't that strong but warm at least.

Pretty Lady

Boris woke up in China, went on Skype and partied with us in Norwood

DQ in the House with a mind-blowing Hip Hop selection.

SAVE PLASTIC PEOPLE

One of the first bits of very important and bad news from home that hit me when I reached these Franco shores was that Plastic People; THE BEST CLUB IN THE WORLD (in not just my own humble opinion); is at risk of being closed down;

I can't be arsed to go into why right now but thankfully Melissa has written this superb article about why it's at risk and why it MUST BE SAVED.

Sign the Keep Plastic People Alive Petition: http://www.PetitionOnline.com/PP2010/

Join the Keep Plastic People Alive Campaign on Facebook

"Adjust the mood to see blog, but also to continue to work, we Come "

Translating my Chinese comments:

Less Jing said ...Adjust the mood to see blog, but also to continue to work, we Come

Do not tell me said ... ^ ^ Thank you for sharing, I wish you a colorful life forever!

touch said ... Toward our goal to go, they will not get lost. ..............................

Mao said ... You can from the outside of the United States to comment on a flower or a butterfly, but you can not to comment on a person ........................... .............

Good-hearted boy said ...One youth died not return, and cause a loss of hard contribution has.

Simple you said ...One youth died not return, and cause a loss of hard contribution has.......

Mum's Birthday yesterday

I posted these videos on her facebook page cos they reminded me of driving around South London in her little VW listening to Kiss FM when I was little

Nah What I Mean

2 months in Paris

2 MONTHS IN PARIS

HERE I AM WRITING IN THE MARKET SQUARE with a pot of green tea; BATHED IN SUNLIGHT, 2 DAYS INTO SPRING.

I'VE BEEN FORTUNATE TO EXPERIENCE PARIS ALL WEATHERS SINCE ARRIVING- ALL EXCEPT THE Blazing heat of the summer still to come.

Every day in a foreign country brings challenges, missions, daily acheievments and failures.



The clichéd grumpy french shop assistant is only too true- yet gets better with every new French word that I learn and every new bout of energy and smile which springs up, defiantly from being scowled at or ripped off.

The words FOR FUCK SAKE which permeated my mind in the first few weeks most times I crossed a green manned road and nearly got run over are slowly fading away as I come to terms with being more patient and looking thoroughly before making the epic journey across to the other side.



France, Paris, is of course, the other side to the biggest thing that makes me who I am- Britain- across or underneath a strip of water here it is- in all its beret wearing, cheese loving, baguette carrying, dog walking glory.

What amazes me constantly is how 2 places so near to each other can be so different. The style, the culture, the history, the pace, the buildings.

I have always thought that the mind-set of urban dwellers is reflected in the architecture and planning of the town or city which they inhabit. A short return to London a few weeks ago confirmed this. There, back in the sprawling, spaghetti soup that is the often non-sensical roads and the higgledy-piggledy mash of its architecure, I felt my heart beat speed up instantly; coupled with the 4 days of family catch ups and parties (most notably DMZ's 5th birthday); I had all of 15 hours sleep during my whole time. Whilst Paris is far less organised then for example New York with it's grid system; thanks to the rather daunting sounding Baron Haussmann who flattened large parts of Paris to make way for his own vision; the streets in Paris are by far straight and neater than London.

That's not to say they're better- au contraire; until I discovered Le Marais, Oberkampf and Belleville: I found the streets to be somewhat boring and samey. It could be argued that this is also true of the style and fashion of the majority of Parisians that I encounter. It seems that one can spot easily a non-French person in Paris, simply because they are wearing bright colours.



Music in Paris is a funny one. One the one-hand- there are an abundance of street musicians; good ones, bad ones, unbelievably ugly ones. There's rarely a journey on the Metro where one is not entertained by an accordian, violin, or in most cases, a truly terrible singer with a keyboard. On the other hand; there's little in the way of innovative music and relatively speaking, rave culture is seemingly non-existent in the shadow of the cafe and bar culture.

My 29th birthday was spent in La Perle in Le Marais; a place of cobbled streets, galleries and quirky shops and bars illuminated by the quintessential red and pink lights. Here, whilst sitting outside sipping a demi (a half pint); I was privy to the shocking sight of a mans scrotum in front of my face, which was scrunched up and peeking outside of his tracksuit pants.

Today, walking through my local High Street, I saw the bum of a drunk (or Clochard as they're known here); who was laying on the pavement surrounded by beer bottles and urine.

Whilst there's something amusing about seeing a full on moon in broad day light; in this instance, the initial feeling was one of sadness. Unfortunately, homelessness ("sans-abri") is a huge issue in Paris. I'm not sure if the number of homeless in Paris is more than London, but, seemingly here there is less provision and shelter for them. As well as the street musicians, rarely an hour walking around happens without encountering a beggar or tramp; the saddest thing I've seen thus far was a man sewing is trousers up by the River where many homeless people (such as the Romanians in the above photo-story) live in self-made dwellings or tents. These days I always carry loose change in my pocket.

As far as my photography is concerned- I have been less inspired to take photos whilst out and about than in previous time spent in other cities. This is largely due to a shift in motivations, energies and attitudes. I remember reading an interview with a photographer in which he spoke of prefering to let the eye be the camera; having a direct experience with the world; a desire which led to him making cameraless photos. This is undoubtedly something I have been choosing to do more often these days then in previous ones where I almost felt like the world and my memories of it would disappear altogether if I didn't photograph it. Whilst writing an essay about music photography as I am currently in the process of; I find myself thinking that we photographers can be so arrogant in believing that we can capture a world so abundant to the senses and so dependent on individual perception.



I do take some photos still, but largely, my time outside is spent looking up at the shadows of chimney-pots on white washed walls whilst simultaneously listening to the new sounds, new language and intonations; smelling the fresh baguettes and feeling the subtle differences in the temperature and humidity of the air.
Funnily enough, my most favourite of photos taken in Paris thus far have been taken with a broken-camera phone in Belleville.




tbc...

"A Habit of You Would be Hard to Give up"

Courtesy of http://theluckycharm.wordpress.com and Weegee

"We're all hung up on someone..."

...I said to my friend Sky last weekend in Tulse Hill's lovely Portuguese Cafe following an amazing night at Plan B in Brixton (hear these related Roska and Subeena mixes) where I spent a portion of the evening, tapping my phone wildly in a drunken declaration of love to the one that i'm hung up on (forever teenage). The sending of the text was halted by a nice man from up North called Lee; he encouraged me to send it but I didn't because by the time we'd finished talking, the club was closing and I was half way sober again. Unfortunately, I lost Lee, my new agony uncle; much to the annoyance of the residents of Brixton who had to endure mine and Sky and Liam and Isa's futile shouts of 'LEEEEEEEEEEEEEE" into the dark winter night lingering over the high street.

Today, I feel like i've been punched in the stomach...maybe it's the rum; maybe it's the lack of food due to the intense packing and organising that has coloured my week, maybe it's Laura Marling... (I just has to turn her off cos I can't take anymore heart wrenching!), probably it's the goodbyes...

L'amour. L'amour... *Le sigh.*

I have no images for you right now. only words.

Sunday, I move to Paris to live! Woop woop it's exciting stuff!

Drumz de Paris coming soon...

Currently Feelin'

Pantha Du Prince, Actress, Flying Lotus,


- Laura Marling

Nervous.

Excited.

Alive.

Grateful.

Melting Heart

"Eye looked out of the window and saw this. I told eye to ignore it because it would soon vanish into the air from where it came. But it couldn't. "Here today, gone tomorrow" I said. "Enjoy it whilst it lasts.""

Melly Poppins

I am very proud of my favourite Animaux friend Melissa who is relaunching her brilliant Decks & The City blog under the wings of the equally brilliant Pop Magazine, the last issue of which I very much enjoyed (particularly the Tavi Photos and JG Ballard feature!).

Catch her blog here:

http://decksandthecity.thepop.com/

Rightfully so, Melli is there first music writer proper... she's Poppin.

The Hedgehog

I was walking up my street on my way home from work when I kicked something hard on the pavement. THUD.

I looked down and thought it was a football (who'd left one in the middle of the pavement?), only to realise that upon further inspection it was a rather plump hedgehog. I can't recall seeing one before, certainly not one in the wild.

The hedgehog, curled up into its ball, stayed still for a while. Bending down to inspect it closer in the darkness, my bag made a shuffling noise and the hedgehog stirred; I watched it mesmerised for a while; praying that I hadn't hurt it and simultaneously wishing I had my camera. A minute later, it scuttled further down the street into the light of a street lamp where I had opportunity to study it further.

What a beautiful and extraordinary creature. It looked just like the ones I'd seen in cartoons and books, on TV and immortalised in porcelain or wool. Except, this one was all the more special because it was real and right in front of me and I had walked into it (I'm so sorry).

Spending a little more time with it, I then raced inside and got my camera, raced back outside, went back to the spot. It had vanished.

Picture Palace

Right now I'm like something that knows that the disapperance of something is imminent- I can't remember what that feeling or phenomenon is called but it's like a moth with a final burst of energy flapping aggressively around the light-bulb
The disappearance is of myself from my home
Hence all of the photos of the area and my flat and friends in my flat. I'm hoarding memories
I need a change of scenery so badly
So I'm looking for a new home (still in London for now) but not having much luck
And my mind sways from...Maybe I should just stay here because... here are friends, and down the road is family, and everywhere round here is community and there's a tube line being built so I won't feel quite so cut off from the buzz of the darker, dirtier areas like Peckham, Brixton and Shoreditch;
To... I need to get out of this annoying village-esque place of thirty-somethings AND LIVE IT UP whilst I'm still in my twenties...

And there's a Cinema Campaign and it's big and on Sunday I went to the NIMBY's-are-us meeting to be met by over a 1000 people. And I didn't even know that a thousand people live in Crystal Palace never mind the 60,000 (eh?!) which somebody else suggested.

The deal with the Cinema Campaign? It's Simple:

Who wants a business orientated church in the art-deco building that used to house the Bingo Hall (once originally a cinema)?
And who wants an independent art-house cinema?

Hmmm......hmmmmmmmmm

No Brainer?

I'm a creative type, I oughta want a cinema; and I do... BUT I worry that it will yuppify this area even more that it's already yuppified over the past few years and that I should I decide to stay in the area (largely because my family are near) or should I decide to leave and then come back when I'm older and should be living somewhere like here, will property be even more costly partially as a result of a cinema?

A philosophical quagmire. I wonder if life is easier in Barnet.

http://www.campaign.picture-palace.org/

Savage

Laura

Essential reading / looking: Savage Messiah Zine by Laura Oldfield Ford, especially if you love Psychogeography / Drawing / London / Passion / Romance / Local Politics (they do go together I promise!)

savagemessiahzine.com/

A Caged Bird...

A caged bird in spring knows perfectly well that there is some way in which he should be able to serve. He is well aware that there is something to be done, but he is unable to do it. What is it? He cannot quite remember, but then he gets a vague inkling and he says to himself, “The others are building their nests and hatching their young and bringing them up,” and then he bangs his head against the bars of the cage. But the cage does not give way and the bird is maddened by pain. “What a idler,” says another bird passing by - what an idler. Yet the prisoner lives and does not die. There are no outward signs of what is going on inside him; he is doing well, he is quite cheerful in the sunshine.

But then the season of the great migration arrives, an attack of melancholy. He has everything he needs, say the children who tend him in his cage - but he looks out, at the heavy thundery sky, and in his heart of hearts he rebels against his fate. I am caged, I am caged and you say I need nothing, you idiots! I have everything I need, indeed! Oh! please give me the freedom to be a bird like other birds!

A kind of idler of a person resembles that kind of idler of a bird. And people are often unable to do anything, imprisoned as they are in I don't know what kind of terrible, terrible, oh such terrible cage.

I do know that there is a release, the belated release. A justly or unjustly ruined reputation, poverty, disastrous circumstances, misfortune, they all turn you into a prisoner. You cannot always tell what keeps you confined, what immures you, what seems to bury you, and yet you can feel those elusive bars, railings, walls. Is all this illusion, imagination? I don't think so. And then one asks: My God! will it be for long, will it be for ever, will it be for eternity?

- A letter from Vincent Van Gogh to his brother Theo

More Bird Photos from Flickr Commons here