Author: Kenn Taylor

LET’S GO SEE: FREE RUNNING

Kenn Taylor

It’s a bright weekday afternoon in Liverpool’s St. John’s Gardens. In one corner of the gardens a group of young men in loose clothing limber up on the grass, their presence eliciting little response from those taking a lunch break in the sunshine. This is Team O.R.B., and when one of the group leaps between two gateposts and over the head of a surprised old man however, heads begin to turn.

As Team O.R.B. then go on to pull off other moves, flipping back in synchronicity, running up walls and twisting in mid-air, passers-by look on with a mixture of shock, surprise and intrigue. Camera phones are brought out.

“What the hell are they doing?” seems to be the question all the onlookers are asking.

Pausing for breath, one of the guys, 21-year-old Aaron (or ‘Graftin’), explains their nonchalance. “A lot of people worry about what other people think of them. When you’re Free Running that just goes.”

The group’s activities, though thought crazy by some, are all in day’s work for Free Running devotees. Coupled with the similar discipline of Parkour, it’s been gathering an underground following across the UK and in the rest of the world for a number of years. Put simply, Parkour is a physical discipline in which the participant (called a traceur) attempts to pass obstacles, be they a fence or an office block, in the fastest and most direct manner possible. They do this by jumping, vaulting, climbing and through a variety of other moves. Free Running is similar to Parkour, but with Free Running total freedom of movement is allowed.

This art of movement first came to the attention of the British public back in 2002, when one of the creators of Parkour, Frenchman David Belle, leapt across the rooftops in the BBC trailer Rush Hour. A year later it reached many more when one of the other originators, and the main exponent of Free Running, Sebastian Foucan, appeared with others in the astounding Mike Christie film Jump London, and its follow-up Jump Britain, displaying some of the more extreme potential of the discipline.

Since then Free Running and Parkour have become a media phenomenon, with appearances in Top Gear and Madonna’s Hung Up music video, while Parkour scenes also feature in next James Bond film Casino Royale.

Beyond the media interest, Parkour and Free Running have also begun to seep into the British underground, prompting the emergence of a whole subculture. The lack of any formal organisations to regulate, govern or promote the disciplines has seen growth come largely through the internet and word of mouth. A cursory search on Google will show participants in Belfast and Jersey, in New York and Angola, of all ages and sexes, eagerly trying to find out how to get involved.

Practising in St. John’s Gardens, Team O.R.B is one of the best groups in Liverpool to explain exactly why so many people are spending their free time jumping off buildings. They sit relaxed on the grass, quietly considered and mainly still, giving no clues as to what they will soon be doing.

Aaron James is the team’s founder. Having left the army in opposition to the Iraq war, he trained as a fitness instructor and is now pursuing further qualifications in the performing arts. Like many, he was first exposed to Free Running by the Mike Christie film. “The way I found out was seeing Jump London on TV, and I just thought ‘this is absolutely amazing. ’But I didn’t think I’d ever be able to do anything like that. Then I was just trawling around on the internet and I saw a video of a bunch of average lads like me doing it and I thought, ‘well if they can do it, then so can I’.”

Team O.R.B currently has four other members, the group having formed after meeting at one of the big ‘jam’ training sessions organised over the internet. Sean Stanhope, 16, is the youngest and perhaps the most enthusiastic. Like Aaron he had no previous athletic experience before joining Team O.R.B. after seeing a team perform on TV. Louie McGee, 17, moved into Free Running after trying to expand his moves in break dancing, while Andy Devlin, 24, and the oldest Team O.R.B. member qualified as an architect and has been involved in gymnastics for years.

Final member, 20-year-old Matt Pickering, recently left the nursing course he was on, again to pursue a career in performing arts. “There was nothing like this around a few years ago. There were just individual people around the country and it was kind of picking up more and more. Like a lot of people I got involved from meeting on the internet.”

Parkour and Free Running have a variety of influences, from break dancing to Jackie Chan movies, though most trace their origins to David Belle and Sebastian Foucan, who began practicing what would become Parkour in the Parisian suburb of Lisses, where they lived. A modernist development of tower blocks, walkways and dividing walls Lisses quickly became their playground.

Over the years Belle and Foucan have honed their skills around Lisses into basic Parkour, reaching the point where building to building jumps and massive drops are possible. Others soon followed. In 2001 Belle and Foucan would split over what Belle called the ‘Prostitution of the art’ arguing that Parkour should always be about the most efficient way of getting from one place to another. In contrast, Foucan believes that style and aesthetics could also play a part, and that total freedom of movement should be allowed. So he developed the Free Running ideas shown in Jump London. Despite the division, both disciplines today retain concepts of ‘escape,’ ‘reach’ and ‘go anywhere’ at their core.

Where does Team O.R.B stand on the break between Free Running and Parkour?

“We’re free runners, but if Parkour traceurs want to train with us, we don’t discriminate,” says Aaron. “We understand both philosophies and the difference, but the best thing to be is open to people’s opinions. Everyone should follow their own path.”

Unlike some of the more ‘extreme’ activities that Free Running is often compared to, there is a lot more going on underneath the surface than pure derring-do. As with the martial arts that they sometimes resemble, there is theory and philosophy behind both disciplines, talk of Yin and Yang, and being ‘fluid like water.’ Foucan compares it to the activities of ancient man: “To run, to chase or to move around they had to practice to Free Run.”

Aaron has his own views as to what Free Running is about.

“For some it’s just something to do, for others it’s about the fitness, to others it’s a discipline. Breaking down the fears of these jumps teaches you how to overcome your fears, and with the strength you build up you can use it in other aspects of your life. If you’re afraid to do something in your everyday life you can use the principle you use in free running in everything. It makes you a more confident person over all.”

Many exponents of the art say it has become a way of life.

“Whatever mood you’re in,” Sean continues, “you’ll be walking down the street and you’ll look at a wall and think, ‘I could vault that,’ or ‘I could do some flips there.’ It does become the main thing in your life.”

Aaron enthuses about how the art has transformed his life. “It changes the way you see your city. Before I started I thought it was boring. But now, I go around thinking, ‘I could do a move off that.’ Before I started Free Running, all I did was play computer games and stuff, but now every day I’m looking for ways to make myself stronger or faster.”

For Andy, Free Running gives a sense of freedom. “It’s also like an escape. I’ve got an office job. I work nine till five. But when I get out of work all I want to do is free run and find a way of getting around, a different style; jump up a wall, off a wall, or just find another way of getting around without walking.”

As Matt explains, Andy’s enthusiasm even extends to his commuting. “He has done a few things in a business suit, so people just see this guy with a briefcase pulling off all these flips and stuff.”

Free Running has its dangers, however. Even if you practice all the time, jumping off high walls retains an element of risk. Not that it bothers Aaron. “There are risks, but when you’ve got a passion you don’t see them because that’s part of the sport. I’ve seen people doing BMXing. You know when they do somersaults on their bike? To me that’s crazy because I couldn’t trust myself on a machine. But when I do a flip some people say I’m crazy, but to me it’s not, because I’ve got a passion for it.”

Aaron emphasises the democratic nature of Free Running. “You’d be surprised what the average person could do if they put their mind to it. You don’t actually need to be that flexible, or that strong, to do what we do. Some people have an ability to overcome fears quite easily, but haven’t got the physical strength. Other people have the strength, but need to overcome things mentally. So you just try and develop both.”

This is backed-up by Sean. “When everyone starts, they think, ‘I’ll never be able to do that,’ and within half a year they’re doing exactly what they thought they wouldn’t be able to do.”

But for all the talk of diversity, Team O.R.B. are still five lads from Liverpool. What about the women?

“There’s got to be more girls doing it,” Matt argues carefully. “Because they might think that there’s so many lads doing it and they don’t know how to start. But I’ve seen more girls starting recently, which is good, it’s the way it should be.”

With more connections with music, film and television, Free Running is increasingly penetrating into popular culture. The team have mixed feelings on this, as Sean explains. “The more people who see it, the more will want to start doing it. But it can also be bad as you get random people who know nothing trying flips and landing on their heads and necks.”

So, what advice, would they give then to someone who wanted to be a Free Runner starting from zero?

“You need to condition the body first!” Aaron exclaims. “You just can’t decide one day to go jumping off something six-foot high you need to start small, warm up, stretch properly, and then practice the basics till you’ve got them to an acceptable level. You need to go at your own pace n’all, but don’t try and keep up with you mates.”

Of course not everyone is keen to see people jumping off their roofs.

Matt agrees. “The security tends to dislike us at times. They’re never abusive or hostile; they just don’t want us getting hurt on their property, which is fair enough. So we tend to go to places and see how long we can stay there. There are not many places you can do stuff like this. You can’t go to a gym or set up a building where we could do our vaults or something. It’s just impossible. Some people are nasty and some people are okay. It just depends where you go.”

Andy reflects on the frustration of having to move within boundaries, the opposite of what Free Running is about. “You’re restricted in your ambition. Ideally you want to be on top of a building, going up or down the details, jumping gaps. But no buildings around here are going to let you, so you have to make do with the walls and any little objects you can find. Your ambition’s often going to get the better of you, but you just don’t have the chance to exploit it.”

What then does the future hold for Team O.R.B?

“Basically we aim to train together much more, because at the moment we are sectioned off a bit in Merseyside,” Aaron says. “During the next six months we aim to gel together much more, maybe choreograph some moves and maybe get some shows together; just taking small steps, but making sure we take those steps every day.”

One last thing – What exactly does ‘O.R.B’ stand for?

“It means,” Aaron laughs, “Original Rude Boys. Everyone thinks it’s something serious, but it’s really a bit of fun. People were coming out with things like Team Manchester or Team Liverpool, so I just wanted to do something a bit different.”

Chat over; it’s time for Original Rude Boys to show their stuff. They hop over the wall surrounding the garden. To see the body pushed to the peak of its abilities and the potential for human co-ordination is at times breathtaking and watching the conquering of the constricted urban environment is both fascinating and exhilarating. Louie, doing a handstand on the edge of a precipice asks, “How is this for you?”

After a long session a security guard, inevitably, emerges from a nearby library and tells them to move on. There is a quick debate, but little resentment, just talk of rules and risk assessments, and of fears of compensation claims. There is acceptance that this is the way things are, and time to move on.

The security guard attempts a passing shot, “And don’t try and come back at 3am because there are CCTV cameras on here all the time.”

But Sean betters him, “I don’t suppose we could have the video, could we?” And the Original Rude Boys are gone in an explosion of wall jumping. And laughter.

Words by Kenn Taylor

Photography by Sakura Henderson

Sifting the Wreckage – Niall Griffiths

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Liverpool, often noted as a city of poets, songwriters and playwrights, has produced surprisingly few novelists. One man too go against the grain of this is Niall Griffiths. His intense and often brutally dark novels, punctuated with an absurdist sense of humour, tell the story of those existing, often forgotten, on the edge of society. They’re written mostly in dialect, and are set against the mixed background of the Welsh landscape and Liverpool cityscape – in all their glory and all their horror. Despite having written five novels, selling thousands of books and having had his work translated into five languages, he has received little recognition in the city he was born – perhaps because of a mixture of the controversial subject matter of his books and the fact that he now calls Aberystwyth his main home. He returns to the city often, however, and imminently is back in Liverpool for a significant period, having been commissioned to write a non-fiction book about the ‘real Liverpool’.

I met Niall in Aberystwth for a chat and a few drinks in the pubs of the seaside town.

Griffiths was born in Liverpool’s Toxteth district, later moving to a new council estate in Netherly on the outskirts of the city. He began writing “basically since I had the motor function to pick up a pen”. He says he was influenced early on by the oral tradition passed down from his Welsh speaking grandparents: “There were not many books in the house but it was full of stories.” In a household lacking literature his early creations were often of a strange fantasy nature involving, amongst other things, giant crabs. “Where it came from I have no idea, it’s just always been there and it needs to come out, if I don’t write for a day I feel like an absolute wretch, it’s almost like kind of having to justify my existence.” An early, and profound, influence was Welsh writer Ron Berry: “I think when I started to read books they gave me a way of dealing with a terribly confusing world. When you read, say, for an hour, you’re away from the world -but you’re also very much here, especially when you are reading very worthwhile literature because it should be telling you about the world outside your window.”

At the age of twelve his family emigrated to Australia, one of the ‘£10 Poms’ that left the UK in their thousands; but due to the homesickness of his mum they returned 3 years later. With little money – having had to pay a full return fare – they were helped to find a house to rent by a relative in West Kirkby, Wirral, where Niall attended the local Grammar School. Often singled out and treated differently by some teachers because of his Liverpool background. He left school at 15 and went through a series of menial jobs – including cleaning muck spreaders. Recalling: “I did a bit of work in any kind of job and all that taught me was I didn’t’t want to do any kind of proper job, that’s one of the reasons I returned to study” He studied for A-Levels in Birkenhead, Later moving back to Liverpool, living in Hope Street in the city centre and various other spots. “I was just bumming around the city till I was twenty-two and left to study, I’ve traveled around Britain ever since, I’ve always come back though and it always feels like home like.”

He finally settled in Aberystwyth, returning to his Welsh roots. He first fell in love with the Wales when as a teenager he was sent to Snowdonia on an outward bound course by a judge after a series of petty crimes. This much maligned policy actually seems to have had the desired effect on Niall: “It showed me how silly I had been and it gave me a creative outlet for my energies.” And it instilled a love in him which remains to this day: “I love climbing – well, walking up. On top of a mountain is such an amazing place to be; it’s almost like being close to God in a way, especially if you are on your own. Incredible. That said it’s fucking brutal as well, nature, birds of prey, full of death. Living in the country isn’t very nice. You leave your house and walk down to the shops and it’s all very pretty looking around but you look down and there is an animal torn apart, I wanted to capture that side of nature in my books too.”

He originally moved to Aberystwyth to study for a Phd. Having to work as a building labourer to support himself, he became annoyed at wealthier students entirely supported by their families – yet less interested than he was – and Griffiths drifted away from his course into a world of week-long parties and binges on drink and drugs. It was then he began to write what would become his first novel, Grits. Published in 2000, it was a book about the flotsam and jetsam of the UK washing up at the end of the railway line in Aberystwyth, trying to escape their problems but only taking them with them. It was well received both critically and commercially: “I got all kinds of people at my readings from people in cravats to people with facial tattoos”.

His next book, the provocatively-titled Sheepshagger, dealt with its disturbed Welsh anti-hero Ianto’s struggle to deal with his identity after his family home is bought by incomers-with murderous consequences. Perhaps his most ‘Welsh’ book, this one was ironically written – for the most part – whilst he stayed in his girlfriend’s flat on the edge of Toxteth. His last three books have either been set in Liverpool or covered characters that, like Niall and many others, have made the journey between the city and Wales. Kelly + Victor is an intense tale of the extremes of love and life in Liverpool at the turn of the millennium, whilst Stump and his latest Wreckage dealt with a wide cast of characters living and dying at the lower end of society’s ladder in both the city and the countryside. .. Griffiths is currently working on two non-fiction books. One of these deals with the ‘£10 Poms’ system of Aussie immigration that he and his family went through, and the other – about ‘the real Liverpool’ – is published by an independent Welsh press for whom he wrote of ‘the real Aberystwyth’. Because of this he is planning to move back to the city for a period of time this year to get to know the city once more and look at the massive changes that are currently taking place. He says: “Writing a book about the real Aberystwyth was one thing – it’s a town of 20,000 people – but with Liverpool where the fuck do you start?”

There are many links between Liverpool and Wales, an issue examined extensively in his novel, Wreckage. “I’ve started to explore those connections. Liverpool has always been called ‘the capital of North Wales’. For a lot of people there Cardiff is a foreign city, it was Liverpool that was their city”. In the light of the Capital Of Culture win, Liverpool bid to host some of the events of the national Eisteddfod, being one of the few places the festival has taken place in outside of Wales in the past. But this was met with fierce opposition by some. “I think that is ignoring the Welsh heritage in the city and also the Welsh influence on the way the city is today. You did have one of what they call the arch druids coming on the local news going ‘No it’s a Saesneg city’ which to me is just fucking bigoted.”

And the Capital of Culture win? “Well, it’s a double-edged sword isn’t it? It will bring money into the city but only if it will make money back for those who invest.” He recalls a conversation with the Glaswegian writer James Kelman about that city’s win of 1990: “He said it brought in a load of money but since then the social problems in the city have only got worse because the so-called scummy people got pushed out to the estates which never got cleaned up.” He continues, “Culture of course is not just art galleries and restaurants, it’s also graffiti and terrace chants and a lot of people forget the grassroots bands, independent publishing presses and everything. They want to focus on culture that is acceptable and saleable, the kind of stuff they talk about on the fucking Late Review”. But he doesn’t think it’s all bad: “I don’t think it will make this kind of hidden culture die down though. It should become stronger to react against it. You just want this sort of stuff to be recognised sometimes you know, but we would be foolish to expect anything more from this sort of scheme.”

Niall has been noted and praised for writing against the perceived wisdom that a pared down, economical writing style is best. He instead mixes the dialogue of different dialects with classical techniques and often highly-charged, poetic prose. “In terms of dialect, and this is something that I have got from the Welsh, is that their politics and identity is all bound up in their voice, in the Welsh language and accent. So I have kinda taken that and looked at all the politics bound up in language and how you speak. In terms of using classical devices I want to cite the stories of local, often poor people, voices that are often not heard. I wanted to give it an epic quality, and one way of doing that is to look back at epic writing.”

I ask if by portraying in his novels life at the lower end of society, he is trying to highlight social problems. “Yeah definitely – both in Liverpool and here as well. For a small town it has a big drink problem, drug problem, homeless problem. It’s often forgotten that these kind of problems don’t just exist in cities. Aberystwyth has all the problems of a city, but also the different the different areas and cultures that make cities interesting places to live.”

His characters often seem to be searching, desiring and fighting for something that they can never quite grasp. Why is that? “I think we live in extreme times, certainly extreme psychological times. People are absolutely aching for things which are not there, for some kind of spiritual fulfilment. If society does not offer any outlet for that, then it will come out in violence, it will come out in any form of extreme experience. So that’s partly it, but I suppose in another more powerful way people are just yearning for some sort of recognition.” I ask him if this is why he, like his characters, has spent so much time travelling: “If you have kind of artistic ideas that is often linked with dissatisfaction and you can think that it is because of where you are that you are dissatisfied and want to move out though that is often misguided. When you reach it it’s never there of course but it’s the journey that counts, that’s how you find yourself.”

In addition to the ‘real Liverpool’ and ‘£10 Poms’ books Niall is working on a series of short stories, a novella and is planning his next novel. A busy man, he must have favorite moments in his work he’s proud of regardless? “Grits is very personal so in some way that’s my favourite; it terms of pure structure, Kelly + Victor. I like Stump too, and Wreckage – that its so barley controlled” He laughs. “That’s all my fuckin’ books isn’t it?” “In terms of favourites I suppose I hope I’m never happy, never write a master piece and keep writing. If I did I think I would probably wither away and die.”

By Kenn Taylor

Daniel Ilabaca

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Daniel Ilabaca

18, Parkour Traceur, Merseyside.

“I’ve been involved in Parkour from an early age, since before I had a name for it. I’ve always been into doing extreme things like jumping about and climbing trees though I thought I was alone in what I did. Then I saw a film which involved the martial art Capoeira, I started doing that and I did really well at it.

Then about five years ago I saw a television programme called Ripley’s Believe It Or Not which had a crew doing what was essentially Parkour and I became aware of it as an actual discipline – essentially a way of passing obstacles in the quickest and most direct manner possible. I began to train myself and it’s become a way of life and kept me from basically hanging around on corner smoking and drinking.

I worked with my brother-in-law as a roof tiler for year and a half, but I always knew I didn’t want a normal job and I spent all my spare time training and making videos of my action and putting them on the web.

The Parkour resource group WorldwideJAM saw my videos and asked me if I wanted to join there team, which is great as they’ve helped me show off my skills to a wider audience and allowed me to help others to become involved in Parkour. Now my job is travelling the world doing my thing. A typical day involves lots of training, getting as much footage done as possible and editing it together.

My first commercial work was appearing in he first ever Parkour TV commercial for the mobile phone company Rogers Wireless in Canada which was directed by Mike Christie who did the ‘Jump London’ film. I’ve since done everything from appear on Top Gear racing a Peugeot 207 to the Liver building in Liverpool, perform at the Bahrain Grand Prix and visit Lisses in France where Parkour originated.

I want to get more involved in film and television. Jackie Chan is a big influence on me and eventually I’d like to make my own films and be an action co-ordinator like he does. I’m currently auditioning to appear as a stunt man in the film Prince of Persia with Angelina Jolie – which is something I’ve wanted to do for years – and I’m hoping to go to Mexico in January to work on a film there. I’ve got a lot more auditions coming up and so I’m moving to London soon as that’s where most of my work is.

The best thing about being a full-time Parkour Traceur is being able to live off doing what I really want to do and the freedom that gives you.

I’d like to encourage anyone who’s interested in taking Parkour up to do it. You just have to start small and build up your mental and physical strength; it’s not something that can be taught.”

Interviewed by Kenn Taylor.

Jamie Reid

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Jamie Reid’s artwork visually defined an era, frightened a government and changed the face of design – 30 years on he is just as influential and controversial.

Few people have ever faced imprisonment in the name of graphic design. Jamie Reid is a notable exception. Creator of all the artwork for the Sex Pistols, Reid’s work with them visually defined an era by trashing sacred cows and reviling in DIY invention. Leaving a legacy on art and design remains today in everything from trainer adverts to TV shows.

But beyond that short period in his creative life, Jamie has produced a varied body of work that has embraced everything from radical newsletters to interior design, though he has not mellowed with age. Reid still produces artwork for protests about everything from legalise Cannabis to No on Clause 28 and his recent participation in a major anti-Iraq war art exhibition in London’s Aquarium gallery shows he is as anti-establishment as ever. But over the years other sides of his work and personality have become more visible.

His latest project is a joint exhibition with his wife Maria of photographs they’ve taken on their travels in the Welsh and Scottish countryside. “This is a beautiful country we live in,” he says to me in the café were the show is to be held, “and we’re doing our best to fuck it up.”

The café in question is the Egg, a vegan establishment on a side street in Liverpool, the city Reid has called home for nearly 25 years, though perhaps not for much longer: “I think I might move out in 2008.” He remarks in relation to the city’s European Capital of Culture celebrations, the forest of cranes building the new city poking out behind him through the window.

Reid was born in Croydon in 1947, the son of a pair of Socialist Druids he was heavily influenced by his family’s beliefs, recalling: “I was dragged along to every protest there was”. His father was the City editor of the Daily Sketch, though he never invested a penny in his life, his mother had a firm belief in fairies and his grandfather was killed gun running during the boxer rebellion in China. His brother meanwhile was part of an Anarchist group which worked towards non-violent resistance to nuclear war. “He was one of six who were tried for treason,” Jamie says of his brother with a wry smile. “Which I found out later, when M15 released the files, is what they were trying to do with us and the Pistols.”

His work has often been seen in the vein of the Situationist International, a small group of artists and intellectuals whose ideas of subverting the ‘spectacle’ of popular culture had a great influence on counter-culture.  He even did the graphics for the cover of the Situationist text Leaving the Twentieth Century by Christopher Grey – the first anthology of writings by the Situationists ever published in English. Jamie says: “Yes that was an influence and pre-dating that, going further back to movements like Dadaism. It was all an influence, as was everything that was happening in the 60s.”

What was his biggest influence then? “William Blake, and that whole period in the 18th and 19th centuries with the likes of Thomas Paine and the French Revolution. It’s part of a pattern of underground movements throughout history, we were part of it in the 70s and you can still see it today”. So does he think art can really change things? “Absolutely, as it always has done, going back to cave paintings. Real art, music too, has a magical and spiritual effect.”

With no clear direction in mind, he signed up to Croydon Art College at the age of 16. It was here that Reid was to first meet Malcolm McLaren and it wasn’t long before both were thrown out of the school for occupying it in a protest. After working a while in demolition he joined the Suburban Press back in Croyden and once more turned his attention to attacking the system rather than buildings.

What began as a community newsletter became a hotbed of subversive artistic statements. Working with a tiny budget, they produced posters to stick up around town with slogans like ‘Save Petrol, Burn Cars’ and ‘Keep Warm This Winter – Make Trouble’. It was here that Reid pioneered the cut and paste ethic that he would later use in his work with the Sex Pistols. They used rough collages, ransom-note lettering and all the lurid colour that the photocopier could produce. Was he trying to celebrate, rather than be ashamed, of their limited resources? “Necessity really was the mother of invention. It was a case of use what was at hand to make things cheap and fast but make them look as good as possible. Use what you’ve got, don’t sit around moaning about what you haven’t.”

Disillusioned with city life, Reid decamped to the Outer Hebrides in 1975. That was till he received a telegram from Malcolm McLaren about this band he was managing. The rest is punk history. From the safety pin through the Queen’s lip to the Never Mind the Bollocks sleeve that landed them all in the dock, Reid was responsible for it all. He was one of the figures who pushed the Pistols in a political direction – even co-writing the lyrics to ‘Anarchy in the UK’.

Beyond the artistic treason there is another side of Jamie’s work that is less well known though just as important to him. Much more earthy and harmonious than the images he is famous for, he paints astrological and magical symbols and serene landscapes. He’s produced a massive series of paintings based around the celebrations of the Eight-Fold Year – the eight druid festivals which divide the ‘Wheel of the Year’. Reid is also heavily involved in producing visuals for the world music outfit Afro-Celt Soundsystem in a similar vein.

As a Druid then, does he believe in the power of magic? “Magic is nothing to be frightened of. It’s there to be used, but for the common good. Very dark people like Bush and that, they use magic too you know, for their own evil purposes.” He continues, “It’s not a matter of going back to the past, it’s about bringing it into the modern world.”

I put it to him that his work seems to have two streams, the spiritual and the political. Is there ever any conflict? “Not for me, there seems to be for other people but I have always done differing work since I began to paint. It’s just that at different times the different sides of me come to the fore.” Does is bother him then, that no matter what else he does in his life he will always be associated with the Sex Pistols? “Well it’s a pain in the arse to be honest and I mean it something that is very English; pigeon-holing you for doing the one thing.”

Of all his work, one of Jamie’s proudest achievements are his interiors in Strongroom – a massive recording studio in London which he is progressively decorating in its entirety. Silk-screened canvasses, marble, etched bronze, and slate carry Reid’s imagery across the 20 room complex. But the project is more than mere pretty interior design: “The sound engineers told me a studio could only be fitted out in one way and we’ve proved them wrong. It’s created a really revolutionary sound.” He goes on: “It’s a 15-20 year project, using esoteric ideas to create an ideal environment for the creation of music. You could easily apply that to say, a hospital. But most 20th century architecture is about enslavement.”

He is also pleased with the effects of his ‘Peace is Tough’ exhibition in Derry: “We really got a dialogue going with people coming in to discuss the work from all sides of the conflict.” The star exhibit of the show was a painting of John Wayne featuring lipstick.

I mention to Jamie that I have always seen a sense of humour in his work, especially his more political art. “I’m glad you said that,” he says. “I’ve always tried to have that in. I think often the best way of attacking things is to take the piss out of them.”

A scan through any magazine shows the style that Jamie pioneered in 1970s can still be seen, endlessly ripped-off for commercial purposes, becoming ‘rebel chic’. Is he bothered? “It’s the way of the world isn’t it, unless you actually overthrow the prevailing system things are always going to be taken from below and exploited. But it’s always alive underneath. You just have to keep on moving forward, generating new stuff.”

Punk had a profound effect on culture and many people’s lives, yet the likes of Malcolm McLaren and Vivienne Westwood have since largely written it off as nothing more than a way to earn some filthy lucre and moved on to more commercial work once their names were made. Jamie however refuses to denounce them: “I say good luck to them. I think Malcolm also suffers with having the Pistols around his neck. I think he is a great artist in his own right and has done some good work.”

Reid himself was recently accused by some of ‘selling out’ after holding a recent exhibition in Microzine, a high-fashion men’s store in Liverpool. What does he say to that? “It’s funny because that exhibition reminded me of one that I did in Japan which was held in a department store. In Japan you can go into a shop like that and buy artwork like any piece of furniture. I think it’s more honest to do things like that than hanging them up and in a gallery and pretending they’re all precious.” He continues: “I’m glad I did the show in Microzine because it got a lot of kids in to see it that wouldn’t normally go into an art gallery and I don’t blame them.”

Despite this, he remains critical of perhaps the UK’s most successful group of modern artists – the Young British Artists: “It leaves me cold,” he says. “I associate them with Thatcherism. It’s just empty gestures – the nouvelle cuisine of the art world.”

The style he created may now be used to flog what it was intended to attack, but with the likes of prankster graffiti artist Banksy and anti-image mag Adbusters, his legacy of genuine artistic subversion carries on – and we perhaps need it now more than ever. Reid’s own work is today as much influenced by beauty and magic as revolution, but by continuing to supply the visuals to every modern protest movement, is he trying to keep the fires of unrest burning? “Yes, if there is a cause I believe in I will do all I can to support it…I’ll always keep on painting, it keeps me off the streets.”

By Kenn Taylor

Tommy McHugh

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The graceful Georgian exterior of 48 Rodney Street in Liverpool masks the fact that its top-floor flat resembles an explosion in a curiosity shop. Artist Adam Nankervis converted his digs into an independent gallery in 2004 and now every available inch of space, including the toilet, is utilised for display purposes. Its latest exhibition is a selection of works by Birkenhead-born Tommy McHugh.

McHugh spent most of his life working as a builder and had a history of drug abuse and violence. His only previous attempts at art were scratching tattoos into his arms while serving time in prison. Then, in 2001, he suffered a severe stroke. Surgeons saved his life but when he awoke he was severely disabled, common in the aftermath of a stroke. Less common was Tommy’s sudden and unrelenting desire to create art. This is a phenomenon Doctors call ‘sudden artistic output’ and it is extremely rare.

Since the stroke Tommy has created a vast body of work in a great variety of forms, though his main focus has been painting and sculpture. He says, “There is the constant popping of ideas in my head, even if I had two pairs of hands I would still not be able to create all the things that I think of.”

His art seems to focus on the violence that has gone on in his head and in particular the split that it caused in his personality, “I like to explore that” he says. “We all unconsciously portray 100 personas automatically everyday. You act differently in different situations and with different people, in a way we all have a split personality.”

Tommy is greatly concerned with how his experience may aid others, “There is a lot going on in my head besides art, there is information and maybe help for other people who have been labelled disabled or damaged, they may have this hidden in them too.”

His work also helps him on a personal level, to cope with what he has gone through and the massive changes that it has brought in his life. “The art is a lifesaving therapy, without that I could have continued to put my energy into the negativity of the world.” He adds, “I’ve got nothing to lose, every day that coil in my head that keeps me alive is contracting, I have no idea how long I have got and I need to get it all out.”

By Kenn Taylor

Trick and the Heartstrings

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A sure fire way to propel yourself into the musical spotlight, is to do an astoundingly different cover version of an existing tune, ‘All Along the Watchtower’, ‘Comfortably Numb’, ‘Hounds of Love’ et al, a feat being followed by Brooklyn trio Trick and the Heartstrings.

Equipped with a knack for making stylish R ‘n’B with the swagger of rock, they turned Bjork’s ‘Joga’ from a swish ice Ballard into twanging falsetto soulfunk, a change that’ll stop you in your tracks. That it’s a mere flipside to their own dirty slick driver ‘We’re the Hardest’, shows they’re no one trick ponies

They’re influenced by the likes of Talking Heads and Kate Bush, but equally by Chic and Prince. Does frontman Alex Gideon think that sort of R ‘n’ B is due for a comeback then? “I use a car analogy. When a car’s like 15 years old it’s just out of date, but then something happens about 10 years after that, it becomes good again and is seen as a classic. So yeah, maybe it’s time we looked again at The Whispers.”

They’re currently working with über producer Paul Epworth (Bloc Party, The Rapture, Mystery Jets) who put out their first 7″ on his own label Good and Evil. Alex describes Epworth as “something of a boy genius.”

Live they’re known for their high energy and choreographed moves. Choreographed? “It’s something unusual in rock but not at all in R ‘n’ B and even with rock, if you go back to the 60s and 70s it was common. Since Nirvana the fashion has been to do shows as if you don’t care. Well I do care; I want to make it the best possible show you can imagine.” They plan to hit the UK in October. We best get ready.

By Kenn Taylor

PMS

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I wander in to the deserted studios of BBC Radio Merseyside at midnight on a Sunday to witness the broadcast of a show called PMS. A silver-haired security-guard lets me in “it’s an acquired taste this one” he says.

Beginning as a punk show in 1977 and now approaching its thirtieth year, the sounds played have changed much over the years but it’s managed to retain that punk spirit-pushing boundaries and playing good music with little pretension.

Presenter Roger Hill took over the show in 1982 and in his time has overseen many timeslot and name changes-the meaning of its current moniker depends on who you ask-but it has survived and achieved the accolade of being the longest running alternative show on local radio.

They play list has moved from its origins through all the musical styles of the last couple of decades to today’s diverse selection which Roger explains varies from “Welsh Rap to Tibetan folk”.

Now through the magic of internet streaming PMS has moved out from the local arena and developed a committed international audience, drawn by its constantly challenging play list. Co-presenter Joe Shooman explains: “We have become an unusual breakfast show for a few in L.A.”

Continuing to push boundaries, sonic artist Alexandre Decoupigny recently recorded the first half hour of the show live, remixed it and sent it back to be played at the end of the programme-a radio first

Joe sums up PMS: “Two hours a week we do our best to offer up the most exciting and varied sounds that the world has to offer”.

By Kenn Taylor

The Seal Cub Clubbing Club

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That’s either the best or worst band name for years. But putting that aside, The Seal Cub Clubbing Club are still an exciting prospect. The strained yet alluring vocals and unique lyrics of frontman Nik Glover form a centre around which the rest of the group wrap a tightly woven net of intense prog-pop that slowly penetrates you and takes over, prompting critics to mention Beck, Radiohead and Sparklehorse in favourable terms.

Forming through groups of friends in Wirral, their first gig was a drunken party on a local beach, but they soon became noted across the UK for their powerful live shows. The key aim for Nik is to try and create moods and atmospheres rather than just songs, “Tom Waits, whose one of my biggest influences of these days, does the same thing, he just gets across, in his later stuff, how to tell a story just by the tone of his voice. It doesn’t necessarily matter what he says, it’s about the way he says it.”

Their album, recorded in France, is due out this summer. But for Nik, this is just the beginning, “I think everyone aims for uniqueness, but the test of it is if you ever get to a certain stage in life were you’re completely happy with what you’re doing in terms of being a musician, then you’re probably in a really shit band. If we can keep on being energetic and we can keep on constantly changing our music, then I’d be really happy to do it for ever.”  Amen

By Kenn Taylor

Patrick Wolf

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Patrick Wolf has been skirting around the edges the music scene since 2003, gathering committed fans and receiving critical praise, yet never really moving beyond the periphery.

But his latest record, The Magic Position – an exhilarating celebration of life set against mesmerising Mac rhythms and classical swishes – has been warmly received in all quarters and it may well be the one that finally sees him recognised as one of Britain’s most important artists.

The 23 year old is largely unmoved by the sudden acceptance.

“It’s kind of funny. I guess I would have cared about four years ago and now it’s happening part of me is just like ‘Oh well, thanks for joining in now’ you know. Now that they are good reviews I feel like I’ve kind of gone through that already.”

The early life of Wolf reads like a rock fairytale. Born into a creative family in London, he began his musical education singing in choirs and playing viola and violin from age 6. By the age of 11 he had begun to experiment with synthesizers and four-tracks and at 14 joined the pop-art collective Minty as a theramin player, while he began to write music obsessively as an escape from school troubles.

He left home at 16 and spent some years wild and free around London, busking in a string quartet and forming Maison Crimineaux – a noisy act built around a combination of white noise and pop music. Patrick went on to study one year of a degree in composition at Trinity College of Music, during which time he recorded his debut album.

Lycanthropy, a tragic and sassy folktronica chronicle of his turbulent life so far, was released in the summer of 2003 to both critical acclaim and intrigue – who was this crazily dressed, bleach-blond young man with the amazing vocal range playing ukuleles and laptops?

His 2005 follow up, Wind in the Wires, was a darker and more expansive affair, and perhaps reflecting his mood, his hair returned to its natural black. The album generated more praise and increased his cult following, but he remained on the fringes.

Patrick shocked a few when he returned to public view at the end of 2006 with a beat heavy and joyous single Accident and Emergency, not to mention new glittery stylings and burnt orange locks. Comments were made as to whether he’d lost his way, but when the album was released it became clear that he had pulled it off once more, and perhaps now the world was ready for him.

The Magic Position not only showcased new sounds and styles but a new side to Patrick, a loved up, perhaps even contented one. He sees the album as him moving on from being influenced by his turbulent youth.

“It came out of the need to document like six years in my life and just kind of draw a line underneath a time. It was strange, it was almost like bottling a ship, you know, suddenly it’s in this bottle and you can’t access it anymore. I think Wind in the Wires was about trying to capture a solitary mode, Lycanthropy was about a struggle and this one was about love.”

The bliss that Patrick conveys on record came from a specific relationship that ended as the album was being finished, something that made it hard to continue.

“The mixing of the record came at a time I was moving house, out of a very domestic, blissful period of my life, so it was defiantly hard to feel any inspiration for the record at all, or any love for it. Luckily I found some and finished the record.”

Wolf is greatly concerned that people listen to his music before they take account of what he’s wearing, he loathes being referred to as a ‘Dandy’, but he still feels the clothes are an extension of the sounds.

“I find in England it’s strange because people look at you first and then decide whether they’re going to listen or not, and in other countries they listen to your music and then they see the whole story behind it you know. So I realize the visual is very important, I use it almost as a figurehead of the work. I don’t know, I just try and take the song and see what it needs visually, and often it’s not jeans and t-shirt”, he says with a small laugh.

We’ve seen three sides of Wolf so far, but he’s keeping tight lipped on what musical mood he’ll be moving into next. “There’s lots of ideas and I’m writing the fourth album at the moment, but I’m keeping very quiet about it because I tend to give the game away about a year and a half before and I really shouldn’t.” Oh well, we shall eagerly await the next stage in Patrick’s career. And the next hair colour.

By Kenn Taylor

Voo

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A Liverpool trio who go by the moniker of Voo, have been gathering some signifcant attnetion for their gripping live performances of late. With lo-fi melodies that glide easily from tender and fragile dittys to joyous pop powerhouses, they bring to mind comparisons with The Postal Service and Smashing Pumpkins and sound unlike anything that has come out of their native city in the last thousand years.

Formed in the family home (singer/guitarist Graham and bass player Paul are brothers) over a mutual love of alternative Americana, like Hüsker Dü, the line up was completed a year ago when they met drummer John at a festival, got him drunk  and “asked him out”. Though their name harks back to an earlier sticksman, Paul says: “It was the first word said by our first drummer, it’s our permanent tribute to him.”

Graham reveals that the age old theme of lost love is what inspires him most musically: “It sounds terrible, and I hate saying it, but most of them are about girls. When I was going out with my girlfriend I wrote about two songs, we spilt up two weeks ago and I have written dozens.” Paul interjects: “We didn’t engineer the break up mind you.”

Visual image is an important factor for the band too, with a lot of thought going into both sleeve art and videos, Paul says: “We are lucky to have loads of friends who are really talented people who do us massive favours in that respect…we will have to start paying them at some point.”

With a album ‘Dates, Facts and Figures’ out soon on Spank Records, their melodies will soon be able to touch a wider audience. I ask them their goal for the future. Graham says: “They keep changing, it was to get the album finished and now it’s to get on tour and just hope the car doesn’t break down.”

By Kenn Taylor