This amendment, draped in the language of protection, is in truth a quiet thief: robbing rights once granted, demanding that the soul be proven before it is acknowledged. Imagine Priya, a young woman in a small town, summoned to lay her identity bare before strangers who may not see her humanity. Her journey was one of exposure rather than affirmation, her privacy bartered, her dignity placed at the mercy of indifferent hands. For Priya, whose existence is already a negotiation with prejudice and uncertainty, this ritual is not a safeguard but a gauntlet, denying her the simple grace of being recognised as herself.

In a world that so often withholds its mercy, how is the vulnerable to trust the gatekeepers of their own becoming? What faith can be placed in a system that demands proof, yet offers no sanctuary from humiliation? If the examiner wounds instead of heals, whose voice will be believed? When dignity is weighed against authority, does the testimony of the marginalised ever tip the scales?

Consider this a summons to conscience. What justice is there in wounding a community whose only crime is the pursuit of belonging? The comfort of tradition, when left unexamined, becomes a shroud that suffocates those it refuses to see. By clinging to inherited definitions of family and self, we risk sanctifying exclusion. To stand idle or complicit is to lend strength to the machinery of discrimination, betraying the very promise of equality.

Ask yourself: what justification can there be for assailing those whose only plea is to exist without fear? If the machinery of exclusion is permitted to turn against one, what shield remains for the rest? Discrimination, when cloaked in the language of benefit, is a silent contagion—spreading until it finds you. To remain silent is to become the architect of your own erasure. Stand now, while your voice still carries, for the silencing of one is the prelude to the silencing of all.

India’s beauty is not in its monuments, but in the mosaic of its people—each community a vital thread in the nation’s tapestry. What pride remains if we unravel that fabric, strand by strand? Do not wait for the day when your own voice is rendered powerless, when silence becomes your only inheritance. Resist now, while resistance still has meaning.

You are not powerless. Lend your strength to those who are denied theirs -support, speak, write, refuse to let injustice pass unchallenged. Let your words become shelter, your actions a testament that dignity is indivisible. Every gesture is a stone laid in the foundation of a more just world. Refuse to let anyone be consigned to the margins. In standing for another, you safeguard your own humanity.

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Nicknamed the “King of Soul,” Redding was killed in a plane crash at just 26 years old on December 10, 1967, only 72 hours after he finished the second recording of the track. A departure from Redding’s raw R&B roots, the song represented a gentler, more pop-oriented direction for the artist. A career-defining masterpiece, it solidified his legacy as one of the greatest singers in music history. However, Redding’s success from beyond the grave was only the first in a long line of post-casuality triumphs.

In March 1971, Janis Joplin tragically scored her first number-one single with ‘Me and Bobby McGee’ several months after her death in October 1970. The cover - originally written by Kris Kristofferson and first performed by Roger Miller - became the second posthumous single to top the Billboard Hot 100 and the final statement of Joplin’s short-lived career.

By June 1980, shortly after the suicide of Ian Curtis at just 23 years old, Joy Division’s ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart’ topped the UK Indie Chart and reached number one in New Zealand, becoming the defining statement of the post-punk era. That same year, English compatriot John Lennon’s ‘(Just Like) Starting Over’ quickly climbed to number one on the US singles chart shortly after Mark David Chapman infamously gunned him down outside his New York City apartment.

In the decade that followed, hip-hop would experience its own morbid moment at the top. After the murder of Biggie Smalls in 1997, two singles from the posthumously released Life After Death - ‘Hypnotize’ and ‘Mo Money Mo Problems’ - reached number one on the Billboard Hot 100. The Notorious B.I.G. also holds the unusual honour of being the only artist to have two posthumous number-one records. The next year, Tupac Shakur, also murdered, repeated the pattern of his East Coast rival when ‘Changes’ topped the charts.

It wasn’t until 2002 that Nirvana’s ‘You Know You’re Right’ reached number one on the US Alternative chart. The track, completed eight years earlier, was the last to be recorded by the band before the suicide of their frontman, Kurt Cobain. After Cobain’s widow, Courtney Love, blocked surviving Nirvana members Dave Grohl and Krist Novoselic from using the track on a planned Nirvana box set in 2001 (believing it should instead appear on a more affordable singles compilation), the song was leaked online before eventually appearing on a greatest hits album.

Even in the streaming age, the pattern continues. Thanks to a featured appearance on Eminem’s ‘Godzilla’, Chicago rapper Juice WRLD earned a posthumous number-one spot on the UK Singles Chart. While the track failed to top the Billboard Hot 100, his posthumous album Legends Never Die debuted at number-one on both the Billboard 200 and the UK Albums Chart.

From soul to post-punk, rock to rap, these macabre achievements reveal an unsettling truth: an artist’s most significant, and sometimes finest, moment can often arrive after death, once they have nothing left to offer.

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Released in the aftermath of his universally agreed defeat of Drake in the greatest rap beef since Biggie Smalls versus Tupac Shakur, this surprise drop paid homage to a definitively West Coast sound. It simultaneously looks back to the glossy G-funk instrumentals of the 1990s and 2000s (although framing them within a more modern, sparse sonic aesthetic) and also consolidates and promotes the future of the West Coast scene with features from Lefty Gunplay, AzChike, and HittaJ3.

This idea of lineage and genealogy; the highlighting of the past and present of the continuum, is not just inherent in the sonics of the beats, nor the hometowns of the guest artists. A track that forefronts this thematic thread is ‘reincarnated’, where he discusses the psychological fallout from past-life regression therapy he underwent. The themes and compositional concepts here echo the theoretical writings of Henry Louis Gates Jr. on Signifyin(g). Gates Jr. argues that African American cultural artefacts and practices can be understood as takes on, and deliberate references to, what has come before whilst building on them to evolve artistically and culturally. Kendrick brings into focus this idea of lineage as he raps from the perspective of varying Black musical icons.

The first artist he refers to is Tupac Shakur. Kendrick has never obscured his appreciation for the West Coast’s poster boy, exploring Tupac’s ideas on Black masculinity and the struggles of being an African American icon in ‘Mortal Man’ from To Pimp A Butterfly. But instead of a post-humous stitching together of audio interviews in the former, here he samples the drums, arpeggiated guitar and meandering piano melody of Tupac’s ‘Made Niggaz’.

This sample sticks out amongst the other instrumental timbres on GNX, particularly because of the piano’s plasticity. Contemporary VST is now much more developed than the production apparatus of the 1990s. This is evident here as the sample sounds decidedly synthetic against some of the other instrumentals. Now, it isn’t hard to download a fairly realistic sounding piano plugin, have it play a MIDI line clicked into the piano roll, and, especially when buried in the mix amongst other instrumental lines, happily deceive listeners as to its non-acoustic reality.

The undercurrent of artifice attests to the sample’s function as referential rather than aesthetic. Kendrick spits his first bars with a sixteenth note flow that resembles the rhythmic fashion of Tupac’s opening bars on ‘Made Niggaz’. As we continue looking at the first verse, it becomes quickly apparent that he is not rapping strictly from his own perspective as he “take[s] it back to Michigan in 1947”. Although he does not make it explicit who he is referring to, it is highly likely he is rapping as blues guitarist John Lee Hooker. Hooker ran away from his parents in Mississippi as a young teen, before settling in Detroit where his recording career eventually took off whilst he was working on a factory line. Kendrick (or John) ends the verse with “died with money, gluttony was too attractive, reincarnated”.

Every time Kendrick yells “reincarnated” he then proceeds to embody another musical figure. He starts the second verse with “another life had placed me as a Black woman in the Chitlin’ circuit”. This woman is probably Billie Holiday. He then discusses Holiday’s struggles with substance addiction, ending the verse with “I died with syringes pinched in me, reincarnated.” This is the last time we here the “reincarnated” motif; the third verse is ended with an exclamation of “’carnated!”. Kendrick initiates the final stanza with “My present life is Kendrick Lamar”, implying we have made our way through the past-life genealogy to his current embodiment.

Interestingly, the ‘Made Niggaz’ piano sample drops out here and is replaced by a bright, beautifully arpeggiated guitar alongside some fluid, embellished piano lines, that are decidedly organic; it sounds like a performer actually played these parts as opposed to them being inputted as MIDI. The basic harmonic content prior to the entrance of these two lines had been repeating throughout; the bass implies an Am7 chord for two bars, followed by a Gsus2 chord for the same duration, which then resolves back to the Am7 and repeats. However, at the point Kendrick declares he is rapping as himself, we get a development of the harmonic content and an omission of the Tupac sample. Am7 plays again, but instead of leading to the Gsus2, we get a borrowed chord of Bmin7 that takes us out of the A minor key previously created through the cyclicality between Am7 and Gsus2. As the B minor takes us to another harmonic realm, we enter the Kendrick’s current carnation as himself.

The piano sample then re-enters as he begins a conversation with someone he calls “father”. The themes of lineage here suggest the father figure could be Kendrick’s biological father, but it can also be read as being God, or maybe some sort of unifying amalgam of the lineage he underscores. However, the biblical references that proceed this infer he is talking to his creator as the “father” says:

“I sent you down to earth ‘cause you were broken,

Rehabilitation, not psychosis

But now we here now

Centuries you manipulated man with music

Embodied you as superstars to see how you moving”

The shifting points from which Kendrick outlooks lyrically now here become clearer. Kendrick is imagining the possibility of him being, in essence, the same soul as Holiday, Tupac and Hooker, chosen by God, and reincarnated in a new body each time the dangers of fame compromise one of their earthly bodies. This genealogy of past-lives points at a dark consequence of stardom; the pull of destructive temptations is as strong as the joy you provide to your audience. Whether this be substance abuse, greed, or the attacking of your peers, Kendrick infers this special soul was chosen by God as a messianic but prodigal figure.

What is most masterful here, is Kendrick’s use of the Tupac sample. Although it, admittedly is not played throughout the whole song, the moments where it enters or is removed are of most profundity. The sample is playing when he is lyrically exemplifying Holiday, Hooker, and briefly Tupac at the start. Yet, when he announces his current manifestation as Kendrick Lamar, the sample is removed, and we enter new harmonic territory, granting this sonic sense of forward motion. The sample does re-enter in the third verse, but only when he is having the conversation with his “father”. We can understand the sampling of Tupac as sonically marking this idea of lineage, and this is a powerful tool to do so.

On sampling, Joe Schloss writes “it allows producers to use other people’s music to convey their own compositional ideas”. Sampling is basically a compositional way of overtly underscoring the idea of musical heredity; a song is made and exists within itself, then someone samples it and it becomes, whilst still embodying its origin, something new. This sonic ‘reincarnation’ is the same thing Kendrick explores lyrically. Sampling is a musical manifestation of Henry Louis Gates Jr.’s literary theory of Signifyin[g]. Other examples include the constant re-arrangement of the jazz standard, or the collage work of Jean-Michel Basquiat: the taking of a source material, and repurposing of it into something new. This creates an overt lineage of art, in the same way Kendrick constructs the lineage of African-American excellence and places himself as the most recent expression of it.

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Its political reporting focused on facts rather than openly supporting any party. Instead of officially supporting a single party, the Herald devoted considerable attention to elections, candidate speeches, and policy debates, allowing readers to follow events and form their own judgments. This manner of reporting, which focused on news and details rather than just repeating party messages, demonstrated the paper’s efforts to provide a more independent and broad view of politics.

This focus on independence and detailed reporting helped build public trust in the press. By offering news that appeared more balanced and less closely tied to any single party, the New York Herald helped readers perceive journalism as more trustworthy and helped set new standards for accuracy and fairness. As readers found news they trusted, the press became more important in society, and other newspapers began to pursue similar broad, independent news coverage.

The New York Herald was among the first to transform traditional journalism by incorporating more public voices and real-life details into its reporting. Instead of just using official statements or comments from the rich and powerful, the Herald and other penny papers created a lively, personal style of reporting popular, which made readers feel closer to the people and events in the news. For many working- and middle-class readers, this kind of storytelling offered a rare
opportunity to see lives and experiences that had not been widely covered before.

The Herald also devoted considerable effort to collecting news from outside New York. It built an extensive network of reporters across the United States and in other countries, thereby increasing both international and domestic news coverage in American journalism. This helped readers see the broader picture and connect local issues with developments in the other arts of the country and the world.

The New York Herald was known for its lively coverage of the arts, publishing stories about major events such as the American performances of Jenny Lind, the famous “Swedish Nightingale,” who amazed New York audiences in the mid-1800s with her soprano roles in operas. Covering these popular cultural events also gave the Herald a substantial business boost: the newspaper’s detailed reports on Lind’s concerts generated significant excitement, leading to a substantial increase in sales. Observers reported significant demand for news about Lind, and advertisers sought to reach the growing number of readers interested in these stories. James Bennett also sought to draw attention to aspects of the city’s cultural and economic life that were often overlooked. Publishing stories about art and cultural events remained important for the New York Herald’s success in the newspaper market.

As the audience for news changed, the news itself had to change to match their interests. The New York Herald was among the newspapers that began covering topics that had long been ignored by papers aimed at the wealthy. It regularly reported on topics such as money, sports, cultural events, societal changes, and news from other countries. By covering these topics in a more organised, easy-to-understand way, the Herald helped bring together readers from different backgrounds and helped them feel more connected.

Writing about topics such as sports and local financial matters, which were not usually important to the wealthy, made the news feel easier to understand and more connected to everyday life. This allows people to see their own lives in the news and find a sense of community. Some important stories that demonstrated the Herald’s fresh approach to reporting included its detailed coverage of the Astor Place Riot in 1849, which provided readers with a close look at tensions between social classes in New York City. The Herald also wrote extensively about the California Gold Rush, using reports from its own writers and stories from the West to provide lively, firsthand accounts that excited readers on the East Coast.

The New York Herald’s coverage of these stories underscores its commitment to broadening its news coverage and appealing to a more diverse readership. By doing so, it helped change what people considered “news” in 19th-century America and played a significant role in the growth of modern mass journalism.

Today’s journalism emphasises accuracy, timeliness, evidence-based reporting, fact-checking, and impartiality. The New York Heraldhelped start this way of working by using careful methods, such as including what witnesses said as evidence, giving detailed reports on cultural topics by experiencing them, and publishing stories that the rich often ignored. This helped shape modern journalism, which emphasises facts, accuracy, fairness, effective storytelling, and articles that engage readers of all backgrounds. An approach to journalism that laid the groundwork for modern reporting techniques.

By prioritising diverse perspectives and providing comprehensive coverage, the Herald set a precedent for thorough investigative journalism that continues to influence newsrooms today. Its commitment to accuracy and breadth in reporting has become a cornerstone of contemporary journalistic practices, shaping how news is gathered and delivered in the digital age.

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It’s been almost six years since the release of the Netflix documentary, Filthy Rich, which chronicled the sex-related crimes of the disgraced financier and his accomplice, Ghislaine Maxwell.

Backed by interviews with witnesses, detectives and victims, the four-part series revealed the depth of Epstein’s sex trafficking network, and shone a bright light on a web of abuse and crime, and a social circle consisting of countless public figures, celebrities and politicians. The documentary covered a multitude of evidence, from Epstein’s first conviction in 2008, right up to his final arrest and subsequent death in 2019.

In August, it will be seven years since Epstein committed suicide.

However, despite all that time that has passed, the story hasn’t gone away. Instead, its plot has thickened, and the quantity of evidence we had originally been exposed to is arguably embryonic compared to what we know now.

Despite being one of Donald Trump’s election campaign promises in 2024, the release of the Epstein Files appeared to be a pledge that his administration had attempted to distance themselves from.

After Congress passed the Epstein Files Transparency Act, and initially releasing a minuscule batch of files in December, with over 500 pages completely blacked out, the Department of Justice came under heavy bipartisan criticism, prompting them to release 3 million pages of documents in late January.

Unsurprisingly for anyone who has even lightly followed the Epstein case, Trump’s name appeared in the files a lot.

Whilst there were no new, major bombshells that threaten the President’s political security, there have been some developments in what we know of his well-documented friendship with Epstein and Maxwell - namely the timing of the friendships.

With that in mind, it is striking that these ramifications have landed not on a leading figure in U.S. politics, but on the British establishment instead.

Another person who was frequently mentioned in the files was Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor, formerly known as Prince Andrew, who was stripped of his royal titles in November after bringing shame on the British monarchy.

That, in itself, constitutes a scandal of historic proportions. But it also illustrates something bigger - the sheer depth of Epstein’s network has had unprecedented domino effect-like consequences. Not only did he ruin the lives of his victims when he was alive, but even from the grave he is tarnishing the reputations of several high-profile figures who were associated with him.

This association, in turn, acts as the trigger that sets off the chain reaction of reputational damage - that’s the Epstein effect.

And the latest figure to be caught up in it is Keir Starmer.

In September, Peter Mandelson’s position as Britain’s ambassador to the United States came under intense scrutiny after emails obtained by Bloomberg revealed the extent of his relationship with Jeffrey Epstein.

Among the disclosures were messages in which Mandelson - nicknamed “the Prince of Darkness” within British politics - referred to Epstein as his “best pal”. It also emerged that the former Labour MP for Hartlepool had stayed at Epstein’s New York apartment while Epstein was serving his first prison sentence for soliciting a minor.

As the controversy intensified, Keir Starmer sacked Mandelson, and for a time the issue appeared to have been put to bed.

However, in the January release of the Epstein Files, it was revealed that Mandelson and his husband had received upwards of $75,000 from the sex offender.

In an email sent to Epstein on the day of his release from prison in 2008, Mandelson congratulated him on his “liberation day”.

And as if that wasn’t enough, it also became apparent that Mandelson had been passing sensitive information on to Epstein. Details the 2008 financial crash and the dealings of Gordon Brown’s cabinet, of which Mandelson was a part of at the time, secret tunnels between Downing Street and the Ministry of Defence, and advance notice of a €500bn EU bail-out are just some of the examples.

The Met Police have launched a full investigation as to whether or not Mandelson committed misconduct while in public office, and he has since resigned from the House of Lords.

Naturally, Sir Keir came under heavy fire from opposition MPs, and was interrogated on just how much he actually knew about the relationship between Mandelson and Epstein when he appointed him as ambassador.

“Mandelson betrayed our country, our Parliament and my party. He lied repeatedly to my team when asked about his relationship with Epstein, before and during his tenure as ambassador. I regret appointing him.”

- Starmer during PMQ’s on Wednesday

In response to a relentless and ruthless opposition leader, Kemi Badenoch, the Prime Minister eventually admitted that the official security vetting did in fact mention Mandelson’s ongoing relationship with Epstein.

He then vowed to publicly release documentation of the due diligence process, so that the House of Commons “will see for itself the extent to which, time and time again, Mandelson completely misrepresented the extent of his relationship with Epstein and lied throughout the process.”

Starmer iterated however, that there will be exemptions which could prejudice national security.

Badenoch then moved on to implicate Morgan McSweeney, Starmer’s closest aide and chief of staff, describing him as Mandelson’s “protege”.

“The Prime Minister chose to inject Mandelson’s poison into the heart of his Government on the advice of Morgan McSweeney.”

- Kemi Badenoch during PMQ’s on Wednesday

“Morgan McSweeney is an essential part of my team. He helped me change the Labour party and win an election,” replied the Prime Minister when asked if he still held confidence in his right-hand man. “Of course I have confidence in him.”

McSweeney resigned four days later.

The political strategist, credited with being the mastermind behind Starmer’s 2020 leadership campaign and, more importantly, his 2024 general election win, quit after a mutiny amongst several Labour MPs called for someone to be held accountable for the Mandelson scandal.

In a statement, McSweeney said: “The decision to appoint Peter Mandelson was wrong. He has damaged our party, our country and trust in politics itself. When asked, I advised the prime minister to make that appointment and I take full responsibility for that advice.”

As Labour’s campaign director, McSweeney led the party’s 2024 general election strategy, including a candidate selection process that marginalised left-wing figures.

“I remain fully supportive of the prime minister. He is working every day to rebuild trust, restore standards and serve the country. I will continue to back that mission in whatever way I can. It has been the honour of my life to serve.”

- Morgan McSweeney in his resignation statement

It’s clear that the Prime Minister’s right-hand man has fallen on his sword and taken the blame for the Mandelson appointment. Still, there are questions whether this sacrifice is enough to put the matter to bed once and for all.

For a government that has described itself as being “committed to halving violence against women”, the electorate have had every right to demanding accountability, but some are still unsatisfied.

There have been developed calls for the PM himself to step down, a notion which Starmer would have deemed unthinkable just a couple of weeks ago.

The fact of the matter is, he is now very isolated. Without Morgan McSweeney, who has been described as a “proxy” Prime Minister - the real decision maker in government - Starmer has a real, noticeable lack of allies.

“He has lost all authority to govern,” said Julia Lopez, shadow business secretary, on Thursday night’s Question Time. “Even his own MPs aren’t listening to him.”

While some of his MPs, particularly those on the left, may be baying for blood, it’s unclear who might pose a challenge. And it’s been argued that it’s the lack of alternative options in terms of potential leaders that is the only thing keeping the Prime Minister in power.

Starmerites, meanwhile, are warning Labour to be careful what they wish for.

Quite frankly, they’re saying it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Starmer is famously, or perhaps infamously, considered boring. And that, in turn, was expected to signal the end of the unstable, melodramatic reign of the Conservatives which Britain endured since David Cameron’s resignation in 2016. Channel 4’s Gary Gibbon described the saga as “the final series in the box set of the Tory years.”

However, with the Gorton and Denton by-election in just a couple of weeks, and the local elections coming in May, in which Labour sources have said they are “facing a drubbing”, it’s becoming increasingly unclear how Keir Starmer will withstand the next few months.

What does remain clear, is that the Epstein effect has well and truly arrived in the corridors of Westminster, and its consequences are far from over.

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Eleven members of Myanmar’s Ming family were sentenced to death back in September, for numerous crimes including homicide, fraud, and operating illegal gambling schemes.

They were executed on Friday, as the Prime Minister was wrapping up two days of intense diplomatic talks in Beijing with President Xi Jinping, with hopes of forming stronger ties and thawing the “ice age” in relations between the two countries.

It was the first visit to China of any sitting British Prime Minister since Theresa May back in 2018, something which Starmer alluded to numerous times in the run up to the journey - which he described as “historic”.

However, The Times reported on Friday that Beijing had actually refused to approve the trip until Britain had formally approved the Chinese government’s new London embassy plans, which has been a controversial issue for years.

Starmer had made it clear before he had even got on the plane that this trip was about bolstering trade ties, and the rebuilding of a relationship which is “firmly in our national interest”.

Even still, many hoped that the journey would have positive ramifications on human rights issues, not least Sebastien Lai, the son of imprisoned British citizen Jimmy Lai, who was arrested for sedition in Hong Kong in 2020. Lai’s son spoke to The Times ahead of the PM’s visit, and demanded that his father be freed before Britain agreed any deals.

There have also been concerns over China’s treatment of the Uyghur ethnic group, their attitude towards Taiwan, and their close ties with Russia.

Surveys conducted by YouGov in January found that just 4% of Britons viewed China as a friend or ally, and 25% believing that they were a “major threat”. 24% believed that Britain’s attitude towards China was already “too friendly”, and that was before Starmer and his delegation had even got on the plane.

“Like it or not, China matters for the UK. As one of the world’s biggest economic players, a strategic and consistent relationship with them is firmly in our national interest. That does not mean turning a blind eye to the challenges they pose - but engaging even where we disagree”

- Keir Starmer

It’s easy to see how trade talks could seem trivial within the bigger picture, as the ill-timed visit comes just three months after the MI5 chief alerted the nation to a clandestine spy scandal whereby Chinese intelligence operatives had been using LinkedIn to build relationships with parliamentarians and other influential figures.

Alas, it soon became apparent that the trip was all about trade, and was subsequently successful in the eyes of a jubilant delegation, which also included sixty British business leaders.

The Prime Minister ironically took to TikTok to celebrate the achievements of the talks in a cinematic video: “£2.2 billion in exports, £2.3 billion in market access wins, £100s of million in new investment”. It remains unclear what any of that actually means.

Should any results of the visit become financially tangible, Starmer will see it for, in all fairness, what it is - a huge win.

One concrete outcome announced during the visit is a new visa-free travel arrangement between China and the UK. Under the agreement, British citizens will be able to travel to China for up to thirty days without a visa for tourism, business meetings, family visits or transit. However, the start date for implementation has not been formally confirmed by Chinese authorities.

These promises haven’t had time to materialise yet, and until they do, it’s safe to say the visit was a bit of a mixed bag. Critics will cite the lack of transparency and grit on human rights and spying concerns as a failure, whilst on the contrary, becoming the first PM in eight years to take a seemingly post-Brexit, friendless Britain into uncharted territory will be seen as a success by many.

With the special relationship on the ropes already, it was an interesting and defiant move to disregard Trump’s danger warnings of doing business with China, and the PM has seemed relatively satisfied that the journey was worthwhile - even if he came home with little more than a Labubu doll, no doubt scanned meticulously for surveillance equipment.

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Following the success of Young Americans, Bowie found himself in the rare position of near-total creative freedom. The album was recorded over several months, as, unlike its predecessors, he didn’t feel the need to rush the process. Rather than arriving at the studio with complete songs, he came with fragments, toying around and reshaping them as recordings progressed. Sessions often ran late into the night, aided by a steady supply of stimulants that allowed for 24-hour-plus marathons. At one point, he even moved a bed into the studio. This unfamiliar, haphazard approach, combined with the ‘cut-up’ technique he had recently borrowed from William S. Burroughs, lends the songs a detached quality, some of which feel curiously devoid of spirit in the most fascinating ways.

At over 10 minutes long, the title track begins as a slow, droning march before transforming into a prog-disco, blue-eyed soul groove of celebration, merging the funk of Young Americans with the krautrock, avant-garde stylings of his forthcoming Berlin trilogy. We’re taken on a trip through the Tree of Life in a medley of eerie ideas, peppered with references to Kabbalah and Aleister Crowley, while introducing the Thin White Duke - a figure designed to well and truly kill off Ziggy Stardust. “It’s not the side effects of the cocaine, I’m thinking that it must be love,” Bowie croons during the track’s second half before repeatedly declaring, “It’s too late.” Too late for what? Too late for love or any emotion? This is a character who “throws darts in lovers’ eyes”: an emotionless Aryan superman and deranged aristocrat who, despite his romantic songs, feels nothing. While Station to Station is an album of love songs, its protagonist has no love in his own life - “dry ice masquerading as fire”.

Reportedly written for Elvis, ‘Golden Years’ blends doo-wop influences with lyrics that convey isolation and the protagonist’s promise of a brighter future to his lover. Beneath its initially cheery exterior lie dark undertones and a sense of regret (“Run for the shadows in these golden years”), while musically it again brings a grinding edge to Bowie’s blue-eyed soul fixation with a hint of krautrock in the main riff. A sudden shift in pace, ‘Word on a Wing’ channels a very real, coke-addled spiritual despair. Penned on the set of The Man Who Fell to Earth, the song is an outburst against the factors Bowie felt aggrieved by while starring in the film. It stands as a raw meditation on God and Christ. Given his severely decaying mental state at the time, it’s not hard to see why his mind drifted in this direction. Just look at the Cracked Actor documentary, where a twitching, skeletal Bowie, constantly sniffing, looks lost inside a character. Terrified of elevators, surviving on milk and peppers, weighing just 80 pounds, not sleeping for up to four days at a time, and severing friendships with Keith Moon, John Lennon and Harry Nilsson (addicts themselves) because of his escalating usage, this was a man teetering on the edge of the world.

‘TVC 15’, often considered the album’s odd one out - a judgement I’ve always found puzzling - injects a dose of surreal comedy with its tale of a girlfriend eaten by a TV set, paired with Bowie’s trademark spaciness (think Lou Reed meets disco). Meanwhile, ‘Stay’s stylish production contrasts lyrics that expose the protagonist wracking self-doubt as he begs his lover to stay with him, knowing it might be the last time he sees her. A cover of ‘Wind is the Wind’, made famous by Nina Simone, brings the album to a sweeping, dramatic close with Bowie delivering one of the most impassioned performances of his career. The record incorporates a mishmash of everything great about pop music, providing the genre with perhaps its darkest moment. In embodying pure evil, the Thin White Duke becomes a sinister mouthpiece for Bowie during his most unhinged period.

Controversy arose before the album’s release when Bowie, seemingly swallowed whole by the character, made statements that appeared to sympathise with Hitler and Nazi ideology. Alongside being photographed in London mid-wave in what resembled a Nazi salute, he gave a Playboy interview to Cameron Crowe in which he claimed he “believed very strongly in fascism” and described Adolf Hitler as “one of the first rock stars.” Bowie and the Thin White Duke were consequently met with widespread outrage. As early as 1976, he began disowning these comments, stating they were misunderstood and intended as theatre. That same year, Bowie fled to Berlin in an effort to escape cocaine and LA - a city he later remarked “should be wiped off the face of the earth.” Soon after, the Thin White Duke faded away, perhaps retreating to the shadows he was summoned. Or perhaps he always remained a part of his creator: a dark enigma forced into suppression.

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Any previous quabbles between the UK and the USA have ordinarily been squashed by empty, jargon-filled statements or political silence, in an effort by both Western superpowers to save face, and maintain a healthy, strong, “special” relationship that — as we know it — has been in place since the end of the Second World War.

But times have changed, and so has global strategy. There has been ample talk in the media of a gradual fall of the current “world order”, and that society and global norms are inching ever closer to a state of pre-WW2 instability and uncertainty. The descent into disorder has hidden in plain sight, and only in recent months has sunk to depths that very few saw coming.

And it’s all thanks to one man: Donald Trump.

In 2026 alone, the US President; initiated a military operation on a sovereign state, abducting its president and his wife, caused widespread panic and protest in response to the murders of two US citizens and the abduction of a toddler by ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement), and repeatedly threatened to annex Greenland, by almost any means necessary.

Since the end of the Second World War, covertly staging coups and acting as puppeteers in civil wars is nothing out of the ordinary for the States, but the sheer audacity of Trump to publicly play the part of a tyrannous villain has brought us into unprecedented territory.

Sir Keir won’t yield

Starmer is famously and undoubtedly unpopular. He’s seen as square and boring, socially awkward and embarrassing, not least as a result of previous incidents with Trump. But in a week where he could’ve rolled over and let the US President make those threats about Greenland a reality, Starmer pushed back. He showed him that the notion of the “special relationship” isn’t an umbrella he can shelter beneath whenever his so stereotypical, outrageous comments inevitably spark a shitstorm.

Dubbed by the media as “the week Europe fought back”, NATO members have diplomatically forced the US to back down on their intentions to take Greenland.

For how long is yet to be determined.

“I will not yield. Britain will not yield on our principles and values about the future of Greenland, under threats of tariffs. That is my clear position.”

The Prime Minister repeatedly stated that he “will not yield” to Trump and his demands, and even called out the President on his stereotypical backtracking regarding the Chagos deal.

“President Trump deployed words on Chagos yesterday, that were different to his previous words of welcome and support when I met him in the White House. He deployed those words yesterday for the express purpose of putting pressure on me and Britain, in relation to my values of principles on the future of Greenland. He wants me to yield on my position, and I’m not going to do so.”

In the same session, he described the Green Party as “high on drugs, soft on Putin.” A corker of a line, which came a week after he criticised the Tories intense reshuffling, describing them as having “more positions than the karma sutra.”

His speechwriter needs a pay rise.

Trump’s response

On Friday, Trump indirectly hit back. In an interview with Fox News while discussing NATO, he trivialised the involvement of British troops in Afghanistan, insulting not only Starmer, but the United Kingdom as a whole.

“They’ll say they sent some troops to Afghanistan, which they did. But, they stayed a little back… a little off the front lines.”

The absolute temerity of a five-time Vietnam draft-dodger to undermine the role that Britain played during that particular phase of America’s War on Terror infuriated the nation.

And again, Starmer spoke up. He called the comments “insulting and frankly appalling”.

He was right to do so, given that 457 British troops died in Afghanistan, with many more sustaining injuries, and even more suffering with symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.

Yet, the most striking thing about the interview was the tone. Trump spoke as if the US had won the war in Afghanistan, but it was America’s botched withdrawal in 2021 that subsequently resulted in the Taliban taking control of the nation almost straight after - a withdrawal which put millions of Afghan lives in immediate danger, and left soldiers who had served wondering what they even fought for.

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In typical Trump style, he didn’t quite apologise for his comments, but he did completely backtrack:

We need to talk about Burnham

As if standing up to Trump twice and making the highlight reel for the latest montage of “PMQs Best Moments” wasn’t eventful enough, Sir Keir will have no doubt finished off the week with worrying anticipation regarding his future, as big news broke from a little constituency in Greater Manchester.

Andrew Reddish, the Labour candidate who was sworn in as the member of parliament for Gorton and Denton in 2024, with over 50% of the vote, submitted his resignation.

He had been suspended from the party some eleven months earlier due to some leaked, incriminating WhatsApp messages.

His resignation consequently triggers a by-election, and it didn’t take long for media speculation to become tangible, as Andy Burnham, the Labour mayor for Greater Manchester, announced his desire to stand.

There had been talk of Burnham perhaps attempting to pave the way for a leadership bid back in September last year, after a poll found that 62% of Labour Party members would prefer Burnham to be PM over Starmer.

Burnham, nicknamed “The King of the North”, who has had two unsuccessful leadership campaigns, played down the talk at the time, and in his announcement to stand in the Gorton and Denton by-election, stressed that he would not “undermine” the government.

However, before being able to have his name on the ballot paper, he would need approval from the national executive committee - the Labour Party’s governing body.

Today, his application was rejected.

In an eight-to-one strong vote, the ten members of the NEC voted to block Burnham’s attempts at re-election to the House of Commons, with one abstaining.

The NEC stated that it “believes that causing an unnecessary election for the position of Greater Manchester mayor would have a substantial and disproportionate impact”. They’re right to think so, particularly with the local elections looming in May, and Reform polling higher than ever.

The second to last thing they’d want is to lose the Mayoral election to a Reform candidate, but the last thing they’d want is a Labour leadership election. Alas, one can’t help but wonder if there’s more to their decision that they’re letting on.

One thing’s for sure, though - it’s been a great week for Keir Starmer, who has seemingly had everything go his way.

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He found new momentum writing songs for Diana Ross and the Pointer Sisters, and following his split with Fisher, he relocated to a downtown loft. Friends recall him working nonstop - writing scripts, composing music, chasing ideas. Yet the creative landscape was shifting. Younger artists were passing him by, and the industry itself was transforming. Still, a recent script sale brought both a financial windfall and a renewed sense of direction, and for the first time in years, he felt optimistic.

As Ivers’ interest in New Wave Theatre waned, Jove’s tyrannical behaviour intensified. His mistreatment of practically everyone around him escalated due to an atypical factor: the arrival of John Belushi’s super high-grade cocaine. Before that, Jove was reportedly doing “shitty coke,” but once his nose encountered Belushi’s potent powder, his already volatile behaviour spiralled.

A walking bundle of unpredictable energy, he adopted extreme habits, such as blindfolding his own daughter when she visited and wearing a mask if he was ever required to appear on New Wave Theatre. Ultimately, the project was doomed to failure. Just as success came within reaching distance, it had to be destroyed.

On Ivers’ final day, he stopped by the William Morris Agency to pick up a cheque worth roughly $50,000 in today’s money - one of the largest sums he’d ever received - for a rock-musical script he’d sold to Warner Bros. He took along Peter Rafelson, son of Easy Rider producer Bob Rafelson, who wanted to play Jove his demo en route. At The Cave, as usual, the coke and booze came out. After hearing the demo, Jove erupted, screaming at them that it was shit and ordering them to leave.

After cashing the cheque, having lunch, and meeting with Franny Goldie - a friend of Ivers - he returned to The Cave a few hours later to record a New Wave Theatre monologue. He got it in one take, a rarity given that sessions were often bogged down by Jove’s micromanagement. By this point, the pair had worked relentlessly on the show for 25 episodes, with Ivers lending Jove’s work both credibility and a crucial Hollywood link - one Jove was desperate not to lose. But Ivers was done and needed to break the news.

As always, The Cave was full of partygoers, but Ivers managed to pull Jove aside. The discussion began quietly before breaking into a cacophony of outbursts. Jove was crushed. He needed Peter. Peter shouted back - uncharacteristically for him - then peeled away from the party, offering a casual “ciao” on his way out. He went home, made some calls, and retired to bed - fully clothed and with the light still on. Hours later, he was murdered. His killer was never found.

David Jove died in 2004 at the age of 61. He spent the rest of his life in a fug of paranoia and drugs, denying any involvement in Ivers’ death - even on his own deathbed. Those close to him claimed he kept the bloodied blanket from Ivers’ bed and slept with it until his final breath. Years later, Harold Ramis told Ivers’ biographer Josh Frank, “As I grew to know David a little better, it just accumulated: all the clues and evidence just made me think he was capable of anything. I couldn’t say with certainty that he’d done anything, but of all the people I knew, he was the one person I couldn’t rule out.”

//

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New Wave Theatre was a frenzied collision of music, theatre and comedy - a show where art was elevated above commerce and authenticity reigned over gloss. Hosted by Ivers with manic intensity, it was shot live, then aggressively edited and spliced with video clips, photos and graphics that ranged from an exploding atomic bomb to a woman wringing a chicken’s neck. This “live-taped” method gave many punk bands, including Black Flag, Dead Kennedys and X, their first shot at nationwide exposure.

Ivers’ fearlessness and punky ethos made him perfect for New Wave Theatre, and his eccentricities made more sense by the arrival of the 80s. His 1978 quasi-manifesto, The Ivers Plan, claimed that “The beat, the outrageous imagery and the collaged sense of reality [will] become the new visual vocabulary,” a line that reads like an accurate prediction of the MTV era. Still, not everyone understood his act. Many performers detested his sometimes mocking tone and instinct for pushing buttons. He didn’t intend to be mean-spirited - quite the opposite - but the self-serious guests were often too slow to realise it. John Belushi, however, was an admirer and borrowed cues from the show’s offbeat humour and anarchic, punk-driven chaos. From the outset, New Wave Theatre existed to disrupt, provoke and educate.

While Ivers’ influence was paramount, the story of New Wave Theatre began years earlier with just David Jove and a camera. If Ivers was Jack Crabb, then Jove was a Keyser Söze-esque figure of elusiveness and deception. Jove was born David Sniderman in Toronto in 1942. By the 1960s, he was at the epicentre of Swinging London. With a briefcase full of drugs - weed, LSD, quaaludes, barbiturates, and of course, coke - he drifted between parties, befriended the Rolling Stones’ inner circle and began supplying the band with acid. He was soon dubbed the “Acid-King” due to the strength and quality of his product.

After being busted at Heathrow Airport with his bag of drugs, Jove was offered a deal: help set up the Rolling Stones and avoid jail time and deportation. He agreed, becoming an informant in the infamous Redlands Bust - the raid on Keith Richards’ house that led to the arrests of Richards and Jagger, along with a whole load of myths concerning Mars bars and orgies.

The press became obsessed with the mysterious “man with the briefcase,” dubbed Mr X, who never showed up to court. Richards believed he was a cop, and following a separate bust in Toronto, where Jove was caught waving a pistol, he jumped bail and fled to LA. Once there, he became fixated on freeing his wife and child from a hippie cult known as the Source Family.

Another fixation was Aleister Crowley and the occult. Crowley’s popularity peaked during the sexual revolution - David Bowie was an admirer, and his visage featured on the album cover of The Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. Jove’s interest in magik reflected his personal philosophy: you determine your own definition of good and evil.

In LA, Jove reinvented himself as a multifaceted artist, working across film, music, acting, sculpture, and dabbling in mysticism. His musical career never took off: two solo albums, a studio band called Oxygen with Billboard magazine director Ed Ochs, and work on an independent film score brought little success. His forays into film were equally unremarkable, though they revealed his uncompromising commitment to experimentation and outsider structures - qualities that would later characterise New Wave Theatre‘s approach.

As punk took hold of the city, he took it upon himself to document the action across LA’s clubs. A scrawny guy with intense eyes that bore like a shark’s, he enticed fear in people: it was as if he could see straight through their skulls and into their brains. Jove became both an object of intrigue and fear for many of the city’s scenesters.

He lived in a windowless storefront painted black and red. It was known simply as The Cave. Decorated with doll heads, satanic trinkets - such as a pentagram on the floor - bullet holes, and with insect noises piped through speakers, The Cave was unsettlingly thick with the scent of eucalyptus.

It became a late-night crash-out point; a 24-hour, drug-fuelled haven where guns and piles of cocaine lay openly on the table. Accessible only through a back-alley door, secured with an assortment of chains, bolts and padlocks, visitors were often greeted by Jove’s warning: “Don’t let the flies out!” Some were drawn to the chaos; others stayed far away.

The Cave was also where New Wave Theatre took shape. Jove’s handheld camera never stopped moving; his unique technique was one of constant motion, darting in and out of performances, restless and invasive. Ed Ochs, the show’s original - and short-lived - host, was quickly driven away by Jove’s suffocating intensity.

The first season, produced on public access, suffered from amateur lighting and its DIY aesthetic - sometimes you could barely see Peter or the band. By the second season, performances and Ivers’ ramblings were intercut with subliminal messages and random footage of space launches and atomic explosions. Too raw for prime time, it was relegated to a late-night slot—where it found exactly the audience it was always meant for.

///

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At the beginning of October, an article was published in The Financial Times detailing female involvement in the British ice hockey community and its link to the increasingly popular sports romance novel genre - specifically stories focused on ice hockey, such as Icebreaker by Hannah Grace. The article, which I will discuss in more detail later in this piece, garnered exasperated reactions from female fans online protesting the harmful assumptions it suggested. The article even received a comment from the Elite Ice Hockey League on X coming to the defence of their devoted fanbase.

In a similar vein of exhausting audacity, earlier in November, Sky Sports premiered a new social media channel on TikTok: ‘Halo’, a new page designed specifically for the ‘girlies’ littered with pink text, matcha and ‘hot girl walks’. It lasted all of three days before being taken down. However, not before it received a monumental tirade of furious fans who felt it infantilised and excluded them from the main sports fan community.

It’s an unfortunate truth that the majority of mainstream sport is dominated by male players, drivers or athletes; we literally have no choice but to become fans of these men as a result of this. We don’t often have another option except for those sports which have begun to highlight their female-led counterpart, except that these series don’t get nearly enough coverage in comparison. That’s a topic for another day. However, the notion that women and those who identify as female are only fans based on a physical attraction to the male athletes is consistently spouted by misogynists in the sports fanbase.

So how does this relate to the Financial Times article? Writer Kitty Drake ultimately owed ice hockey’s rise in Britain to a trend populated by a portion of women who so happened to read and enjoy romance novels surrounding ice hockey players. In fact, the original title of the article, ‘How romance readers found British ice hockey’ featured the word ‘rescued’ in the place of ‘found’, a suggestion that the fanship and effort of female fans for years within the British ice hockey scene have contributed nothing towards its success.

The language used within the article bordered on a level of discomfort that made me wince as I was reading. Drake, while attending a game, uses the words ‘gaggle’ to describe the women she was surrounded by in the rink, and that they ‘scream’ and make ‘strange’ sounds for the players. These terms echo too closely to the negative and recycled opinions I have heard over the years about female fans, continuously harking back to the age of ‘Beatlemania’; a misogynistic link which lacks any nuance about how modern women engage in fandom.

Drake makes it seem like ice hockey’s female fans’ enjoyment in the sport depends wholly on the fantasy aspect they can create in their heads based on the novels they read, commenting that if they didn’t, they would “just be watching a bunch of masked men chase a target through an empty space”. She dedicates a large portion of the article to focusing on this notion, and even goes so far as discussing an actual player she meets in this fantastical sense. Nottingham Panthers’ Mitch Fossier is devalued to a character in the piece rather than an actual human, and Drake describes him in the context of romance genre tropes such as ‘cinnamon roll’ and ‘puppy-dog energy’.

Thus, in writing this article, Drake achieves both dismissing female fans by suggesting they have little stake in the sport other than their daydreams about the players, and managing to frame the actual players as fictional objects of women’s fascinations. It’s disappointing to see female writers fail to support other women in areas where they face such high levels of backlash.

The dismissal of female voices in sports was similarly reflected in Sky Sports’ ‘Halo’ channel on TikTok. Doused in pretty pink aesthetics and referencing viral social media trends, the account attempted to become a space specifically for female fans, with Sky Sports (before its release) describing it as the “lil sis” to the main channel, praising it as an “inclusive, dedicated platform for women to enjoy and explore content from all sports, while amplifying female voices and perspectives”. The minimal content posted on the channel before its shutdown featured mainly male athletes, as well as a video including the ‘ship name’ of two tennis players. Within three days, the channel was axed, and the backlash came in hordes.

Where to begin on this one? The idea of a content channel specifically for female fans is not inherently wrong, as it shows that the female viewership of sports in 2025 is significant enough to warrant a public community platform for the discussion of female voices. On the other hand, one questions why efforts cannot be made on the official Sky Sports page to amplify, integrate and support the involvement of female fans. The notion that we must have our own space rather than being integrated with everyone else leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

The approach to the channel was so unbelievably tone-deaf that I’m surprised it passed through any of the meetings about its release. Firstly, the ‘little sister’ notion immediately demotes female fans to being separate and lesser than our male counterparts, requiring content that is dumbed down for our benefit. The pink sparkly font... the reference to popular trends such as matcha and ‘hot girl walks’... It’s almost as if we women cannot understand something unless it is phrased and styled in a way that will key into the ‘female brain’, aka stereotypes and ancient assumptions. The whole saga felt incredibly patronising.

What we deserved from this channel was authenticity. It should have featured women’s sports more heavily, especially given its growing popularity. This is not to say that girls can only be fans of women’s teams; however, the content about men’s teams gave in to sexist tropes similar to those highlighted in Drake’s article: specifically, that female fans view male sports teams and players from a fictional viewpoint so that they can engage in their fantasies. The account should have strayed away from these harmful perspectives and stuck to the same type of content featured on their main channel, with a long-overdue focus on women’s roles in the industry. Thankfully, ‘Halo’ got nipped in the bud before it did more harm than good in representing female sports fans.

Although unintended, both of these cases present opinions about female sports fans that aren’t unique. Even in 2025, we still have to battle with the stereotypes that surround our motivations and intentions for getting involved in sports fandom. From a personal perspective, as a passionate Formula One fan, experiencing the seemingly never-ending drivel spouted by male internet users based on Netflix’s Drive to Survive docuseries knocks years off my life. They refuse to shake their opinion that we’re in it for the pretty boys, drama and expensive fashion looks, and as a result, we don’t care about the performance of the cars or technical specifications. Because obviously, all women are attracted to men, and no woman in the world is smart enough to grasp a concept such as aerodynamics. It’s a shame that this example can be applied to nearly every popular sport, and that mainstream news platforms such as The Financial Times and Sky Sports are adding fuel to the fire.

Ultimately, I put a lot of my faith and hope in the hard work of female sports content creators and influencers, as well as female presenters and sports writers who work to amplify our rightful places in the world of sports. We’re here to stay, and we should be taken just as seriously as everyone else.

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GURRIERS AND KEO @ PROJEKTS SKATEPARK

“This was a fun gig for me, as it was the first time I’d shot in a big, big venue. It was creatively validating to photograph a band with an eager crowd who were clearly loving every moment. Also, the gig was in a skate park, which was both a fun and unique challenge.”

PSYCH FEST

“Psych Fest is always fun, as it’s one of the few moments where many of the venues in the city are all putting on the same event. It feels like an integral part of the music community to have multiple venues showcasing both upcoming artists and established acts. The buzz in the crowd is amazing—probably due to the freedom of being able to walk into nearly any venue in the city and know there will be some class acts playing.”

FAT DOG & WORKING MEN’S CLUB @ AVIVA STUDIOS

“Aviva Studios is probably my favourite venue in Manchester; the sound and lighting are both incredible, and of course, both the bands pictured here are as well. That, paired with the stunning visuals from @innerstrings, made this gig one to remember.”

WESTSIDE COWBOY @ ALBERT HALL

“These photos were chosen partly because of Albert Hall’s iconography in the city, but also because Westside Cowboy are incredible and one of my favourite emerging acts in Manchester.”

LOYLE CARNER @ O2 VICTORIA WAREHOUSE

“I’ve been a huge Loyle Carner fan for years; his early work, specifically his second album Not Waving, but Drowning, was hugely important to me growing up, and getting the opportunity to shoot him was a bit of a pinch-me moment (and ticked off a bucket-list artist for me).”

HOW ABOUT NOW? @ THE LOWRY

“These shots are from How About Now?, a play by Hannes Langolf. I was asked to come down to their tech run for their show at the Lowry, and the shot I’ve chosen is my favourite from that day. I don’t often work in theatres, so doing this was really fun and definitely an interesting challenge. I enjoyed the team feeling of everyone working together on a single creative vision, and the result was truly a work of art from everyone involved.”

OTHER FAVOURITES:

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To confront my indifference, I instructed myself to watch Michelangelo Antonioni’s Blow-Up (1966). I had seen a myriad of screencaps circulating on Tumblr and Pinterest prior to my self-imposed study, alongside its poster that became an eminent visual of the 60s era. I began with the opinion that the storyline was eccentric - I wasn’t sure where I was being driven to and whether its eccentricity was a good thing. It appeared to lack direction. In irony or perhaps in intention, Thomas {the main character, a photographer of aspiring models - mannequins} is himself caught in a lack of direction. Tired of his quotidian affairs that bring no real aim, he finds vivacity through the intrusion of capturing pictures of a couple in a park.

The development of these blown-up images soon appears to reveal a murder. Thomas, still enjoying the sensual pleasures of swinging London, is unable to shake the intrigue as he reads a story that is being told through his own eyes. The initial lack of direction gives way and is replaced with the same resurrected curiosity that Thomas experiences. Yet this excitement reaches an impasse when his studio is ransacked - the suspect leaving only a negative depicting an apparent body. Convincing a friend to seek out the body he had witnessed - they find nothing. His final images for publications are marred and the possibility of adventure is torn away.

The film ends with Thomas watching mimes playing the role of tennis players with a separate group of mimes acting as observers, gesturing towards a ball that is a nullity. The ball eventually escapes the court and falls near him. The mimes stare with apprehensive countenance — will he enact a farce? Will he play along to an act to which there is only imagination? He is alone and there is an impression that he, like the others, believes in the reality of the ball. He chooses to chase it and throws it back, the camera now showing him desolate in a field that appears infinite. He listens to the sound of the imagined ball. He is alone and in search of something outside of himself.

After watching, I got it. Whether it was this particular film that elicited such a response or whether any film could’ve done so, I’m unsure. Regardless, I found myself reviewing it the way a critic may, enjoying it the way a fanatic would - the way one can interpret literature, fine art, music. I didn’t feel intellectual insecurity the way I might’ve if I had read reviews beforehand, revering the film through someone else’s interpretation. Maybe my approach was myopic - and this was the first film to show me so.

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Upon being discovered by a neighbour, a crime scene - one that soon devolved into a farce - was set up. News of Ivers’s death spread fast. Many of his friends and associates arrived at the scene before the police, drifting in and out, disturbing evidence - some even took souvenirs. When officers arrived, their questions soon turned from an attempt to find the killer to an attempt to force the investigation into an open-and-shut case.

Ivers’s friends were pressed to reveal details about his lifestyle, sexuality, and who he spent time with - especially his association with the punk scene, as if its subversive nature explained his death. To the police, Ivers’s death fit the narrative: another casualty of LA’s rocketing crime, another young artist swallowed up and spat out. After all, it was a time when serial killers ran rampant in the city - the Hillside Stranglers, the Freeway Killer, the Night Stalker, the Sunset Strip Killer, the Toolbox Killers. Perhaps Ivers had simply been unlucky.

The prevailing theory became one of a home invasion gone wrong. The missing equipment fit the profile of an opportunist from nearby Skid Row or Ivers’s equally dodgy neighbourhood. A known serial burglar in the area, who fell to his death just weeks later, became suspect no. 1, though nothing was ever proven. Other theories circulated - some plausible, some outrageous.

A known ladies’ man, Ivers was entangled with various married women; one rumour even named the wife of soon-to-be Ghostbusters star Harold Ramis. Could it have been a crime of passion - the ultimate fuck you from a lovesick husband? Others blamed his alleged debts: a $25k drug debt owed to a Samoan gang he was supposedly dealing for, or a Sikh gang he was organising a massive MDMA deal with - though friends claimed he didn’t touch hard drugs. Then there’s the bouncer from the Zero - a punk club that Ivers regularly attended. A violent white supremacist, rapist, and addict who had “keep on sucking” tattooed on his stomach and who openly disliked Ivers doesn’t seem to be an outlandish suspect. Yet he, too, was soon ruled out.

The most haunting suspect, however, was the man Ivers was said to be inseparable from at points: David Jove. “Acid King,” filmmaker, businessman, occultist, a mysterious figure of shifting identities. It was claimed by those close to the pair that he was more than capable of such a crime. The fact that Jove was seen lurking around a hidden stairwell as police arrived on the scene of Ivers’s death and took home the bloodied blanket wrapped around his friend only deepened suspicions.

On paper, Ivers’s life story reads like a pop-folk version of Little Big Man - a wild odyssey through ’80s LA that ended too soon. Born in Brookline, Massachusetts, to a free-spirited mother who picked their last name at random from a phone book after his father passed, Ivers was destined to defy convention. As a student at Harvard, he became known for his intellect - reportedly of genius level - and became best friends with National Lampoonfounder Doug Kenney, who would meet a similarly tragic end three years before Ivers.

After graduation, Ivers and his longtime partner, Lucy Fisher, settled in the counterculture bohemia of Laurel Canyon. Their home soon became a carousel-like drop-in stop for the area’s artists, creatives, and dreamers. Kenney would crash on the sofa when the Lampoon became too much, while David Lynch popped round for coffee.

Before LA, Ivers had built a reputation in Boston as a harmonica virtuoso - Muddy Waters once called him the best alive - and he carried that reputation west. Convinced by his mercurial charisma, Warner Bros. signed him to a $100,000 solo artist contract. However, while he could play the part of the mad genius, jumping on tables and bursting into harmonica solos while gyrating his hips in the faces of bigwig execs, his albums sold poorly. Instead, he turned to film scoring, earning acclaim for his work on Ron Howard’s Grand Theft Auto, and perhaps his best-known contribution to pop culture: creating the ‘In Heaven (Lady in the Radiator Song)’ for Lynch’s seminal debut, Eraserhead.

Another pivotal moment came in 1981. A fixture on the city’s nightlife scene, Ivers could often be seen speeding through LA in his shitty convertible, seeking out the next party. It was at one of these parties that he met Lotus Weinstock, the ex-wife of legendary comedian Lenny Bruce and then-wife of David Jove. Through Lotus came Jove. The two became acquainted, and soon after, Ivers was asked to host Jove’s brand-new late-night talk show, New Wave Theatre, the day before its debut. It would ultimately become the most iconic - and fatal - role of Ivers’s life.

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There’s something thrilling about stepping foot in an abandoned building. Perhaps the wooden planks will break beneath you, or a ghostly figure will pass you by in the dark. I never feel more alive when I’m facing death—in this case, the death of a structure. With so many stories to tell, I wander these properties and imagine them in their most bustling days. I try to capture them in their most deteriorating state knowing it will only become worse in the coming years. I’ll do anything to get the shot I want and I have the scars to prove it.

I once was exploring an abandoned hospital in Indiana and while trying to take a picture, my leg fell right into an uncovered manhole. I actually needed to go to the newer version of that same hospital down the street to get stitches for my knee.
I have a great little travel digital camera I use: FujiX 100V. You can program it to re-create any film-inspired look. So I do basically no editing in post-production. I create filters within the camera itself to achieve the look I want.

The sand house photos are taken in Newberry Springs, CA — a town that was swallowed by sand over time.
The abandoned house is somewhere outside of Portland, OR and I found it on the way to a waterfall nearby. There were a lot of rat droppings upstairs so I stayed downstairs.
The “abandoned asylum” in Downey is the derelict Rancho Los Amigos South Campus, originally the LA County Poor Farm. I tried coming here a second time and was chased by security. Jumping off a ledge, I actually got cut by a rusty nail and had to immediately go get a tetanus shot. Fun times!

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Initially devised as a $30,000 project between Tarantino, a film enthusiast and ex-Video Archives employee with no formal training, and his friends, the Reservoir Dogs script soon found its way to Harvey Keitel. Keitel was so impressed that he not only agreed to star in the film, but also signed on as a co-producer, giving the project the legitimacy it needed to eventually secure a $1.5 million budget. Among a cast teeming with talent, Keitel stands out as the unusually sympathetic career criminal, Mr White. The role came in the same year he delivered a hauntingly raw performance as a corrupt cop splitting at the seams in Abel Ferrara and Zoë Lund’s Bad Lieutenant, one of the grimiest films of the decade.

Despite its modest budget, Reservoir Dogs thrives in its limitations. The use of just a handful of locations allows the spotlight to shine on Tarantino’s now signature conversational dialogue - steeped in pop culture references, humour and wit - and the chemistry of its masterful ensemble cast. Another Tarantino trademark that would be perfected in his 1994 follow-up, Pulp Fiction, was the film’s shifting timeline - a creative solution to avoid depicting the central and potentially costly bank heist (a solution that perhaps owes its dues to Glengarry Glen Ross). By giving the audience a god-like knowledge of the characters’ fates, a sense of inevitability is created, something that heightens the tension of each violent outburst and interaction. Along with its jarring tonal shifts - from dark comedy to senseless brutality in a matter of seconds - Reservoir Dogs is a taut and unpredictable cinematic experience.

Reservoir Dogs, like the majority of Tarantino’s filmography (to varying degrees of success), openly acknowledges its inspirations while still retaining a fresh and original spirit. Along with visual nods to the sharp style of Alan Delon and Jean-Pierre Melville’s crime films, the stylised sadism of spaghetti westerns, and of course, Martin Scorsese’s gangster flicks, film fans will detect elements of Stanley Kubrick’s The Killing, Ringo Lam’s City on Fire, and Kurosawa’s Rashomon. While later Tarantino films can be overpowering in this homage-heavy approach, Reservoir Dogs strikes the perfect balance between representing his encyclopaedic passion with a desire for reinvention.

After earning word-of-mouth success at Sundance, Reservoir Dogs helped pave the way for the wave of independent cinema that prevailed in the 1990s. Along with Pulp Fiction, which returned $200 million on its $8.5 million budget, Reservoir Dogs helped convince producers that original and inexpensive works can be profitable - something that allowed indies such as Go, Trainspotting, and British gangster flicks like Layer Cake and early Guy Ritchie films to succeed. More than 30 years on, Reservoir Dogs remains a bold and electrifying example of how far good writing, a strong vision and keen actors can take you, and continues to influence both filmmakers and lovers alike.

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Originally a dive and biker bar, CBGB opened in 1973 with a reputation for bohemian and intimate shows. Located in lower Manhattan’s Bowery district, the venue quickly became synonymous with the city’s burgeoning punk scene - ironic, since the CBGB name stands for Country, Bluegrass, and Blues, reflecting owner Hilly Kristal’s original vision for the bar. When the Mercer Arts Center - a non-profit, experimental art institution - collapsed, leaving many unsigned bands without a stage, CBGB soon became their new home. Early CBGB acts included electronic pioneers Suicide and the New York Dolls-inspired Ruby and the Rednecks.

Among the most celebrated CBGB regulars - and a band that Blondie supported in their early days - were the Ramones. The band played their first CBGB show in 1973 and went on to play there over 70 times. Famed for their uniform of bowl cuts and leather jackets and blistering three-cord wall of sound, the Ramones’ sets redefined the term “rapid-fire”, with many shows wrapping up after just 15 minutes. Other notable CBGB bands of the 1970s included Television, Misfits, The Heartbreakers, The Cramps, and Richard Hell, while The Dammed made history as the first ever British punk band to play in the States.

As New Wave swept across the city, Talking Heads emerged as pioneers of the movement and became CBGB favourites, playing at the venue 92 times between 1975 and 1977. While the band’s first show at CBGB’s was somewhat unremarkable, drawing a crowd of just 10, they soon garnered acclaim for an experimental sound that incorporated genres such as world music, art rock, funk, and punk.

By the 1980s, CBGB had become known for its hardcore punk shows. It’s Sunday matinee concatenation became an institution in itself, featuring acts like Bad Brains, Youth of Today, Beastie Boys, and Reagan Youth, playing from afternoon till evening. Unfortunately, as violence both inside and outside the club increased, Kristal suspended hardcore bookings. This marked the beginning of the end.

While CBGB retained a distinguished reputation, hosting later acts such as Green Day and Korn, a changing cultural climate and financial woes were too much to overcome. After several fundraisers - including an acoustic set by Blondie - rental disputes forced CBGB to close its doors for good in 2007.

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In our first encounter with protagonist Alex (Lavant), he stumbles through the Parisian twilight, his face a picture of defeat, anguish, and exhaustion. There’s a close-up as he grates his forehead against the tarmac in the middle of the street until he bleeds - an act of horrifying self-mutilation. Moments later, he lies in the road, and his leg is obliterated by a speeding car as Michèle (Binoche) watches on. Taken in by a van of vagrants bound for a flophouse, both the audience and Alex enter Carax’s grim projection of Paris’s underbelly - a feral underworld of forgotten men and women, lost to addiction, poverty, and disregard. Yet despite its visceral bleakness, The Lovers on the Bridge is imbued with moments of magic, wonder, and lyricism amid its squalor.

Fittingly, for a film that defies genre expectations with a huge middle finger to convention, The Lovers on the Bridge endured one of the most chaotic and unorthodox productions in European film history, becoming a tale of artistic obsession and collapse in its own right. What began as a modest black-and-white project shot on Super 8 ballooned into an extravagant epic that reportedly cost between 100 and 200 million francs - making it the most expensive French film ever produced at the time. Carax conceived the idea in 1987, intending a small, personal story. However, his insistence on filming at Paris’s oldest standing bridge, the Pont Neuf, would prove both visionary and disastrous. When the city denied his request to close the bridge for three months of filming, Carax decided to build a full-scale replica for the nighttime scenes. Requiring a bridge in the middle of Paris was always going to be difficult, but it’s unlikely anyone expected it would take almost four years to complete the film.

Set designer Michel Vandestien settled on the suburban town of Lansargues in southern France to build the replica at an estimated cost of 32 million francs. Using forced perspective, he recreated the surrounding Parisian streets and embankments with masterful precision. The set included the equestrian statue of Henri IV, a façade of the La Samaritaine department store, the entrance to a metro station, and even a recreation of the nearby Vert-Galant park - complete with real trees. Another landmark was achieved as it became the largest film set ever built in France.

The boundaries between art and life soon became blurred. In the film’s first quarter, a walking stick–wielding Alex manages to scale the blocked-off bridge and return to his spot. The French police and mayor granted Carax a three-week permit to film at the Pont Neuf in August 1988 - one that couldn’t be extended due to upcoming renovations. Around this time, Denis Lavant was injured while engaging in private carpentry work, leaving him unable to film during the crucial shooting period. Production ground to a halt, and insurance payouts were insufficient to keep the project afloat. By December 1988, filming stopped completely. Only fourteen minutes of footage had been recorded. An interim period ensued during which Carax circulated the videocassettes to rouse interest and potential funding. The footage received praise from Steven Spielberg and Patrice Chéreau and eventually caught the attention of Swiss millionaire Francis von Buren and French film producer Dominique Vignet, who invested 30 million francs.

The story of Alex and Michèle’s anarchic love could finally begin to take shape. Their passion reaches its zenith in the film’s most iconic moment - a breathtaking Bastille Day fireworks scene that explodes in colour, madness, and joy. The sequence, like much of the film, is unforgettable due to its unbridled excess. Carax was no stranger to ambitious filmmaking. His debut feature, Boy Meets Girl, and its follow-up, Bad Blood, had cost 3 and 17 million francs respectively. Both were critical and commercial successes, and while Boy Meets Girl features only Lavant, the latter starred both Lavant and Binoche in leading roles. While Carax’s relationship with Binoche was initially professional, the two entered into a romance - one that ultimately couldn’t withstand the chaos of The Lovers on the Bridge. Binoche praised Carax for his ability to keep her spirits high over the course of the long and uncertain delays, but also called him a “sadist” for the conditions he imposed on cast and crew. She broke up with him when she discovered his intended ending for the film. (In her words: “Me dead and him standing on the bridge thinking, ‘Did she ever love me?’” - something that almost came true when she nearly drowned while filming in the Seine.)

By late 1989, it became obvious that the previous cash injections were insufficient as costs had once again spiralled. It was reported that the budget up until this point was 80–90 million francs, and, as noted by Le Monde, at least another 80 million would be required to finish the film. Von Buren withdrew his funding at an 18-million-franc loss, and for the second time, filming stopped - this time for nearly a year. To make matters worse, storms then ravaged the incomplete set, causing extensive damage. How does one find the motivation to carry on in the face of such Sisyphean setbacks? For all his difficulties, Carax’s determination to finish The Lovers on the Bridge mirrors the very resilience his characters display. Just as Alex and Michèle cling to love amid ruin, Carax clung to his vision. Perhaps the absurdity - and, at times, futility - of it all influenced the film’s darkest moment. As Michèle’s sight deteriorates, she relies on Alex, and he grows increasingly possessive. When her family launches a public search for her, Alex, terrified of losing her love, burns the posters - and, in a tragic accident, kills a man in the process.

In a poetic twist, the production was saved by yet another act of faith. After failing to entice any financing partners, French producer and filmmaker Christian Fechner used money from his own pocket to purchase both the rights and the debts of the film. His contribution was immortalised in cinema folklore when the boat that rescues Alex and Michèle at the end of the film - after the pair fall from the bridge into the Seine - was named after him. Shooting concluded in December 1990. By May 1991, after nearly four years, The Lovers on the Bridge was finally complete. Its massive replica bridge, a triumph of set design, was destroyed soon after by the farmer who owned the land, despite the local mayor’s wish to preserve it as a tourist site. The gesture feels poetically apt: an immense dream erased as soon as it was realised.

While Fechner insisted that the final cost of the film was 100 million francs, Carax himself expressed uncertainty - perhaps simply relieved to have finished the film at all. Upon release, The Lovers on the Bridge received a mixed critical response in France and struggled commercially, yet over time, it has gained certified cult status and stands as a testament to Carax’s artistic integrity. Like the bridge itself - scarred and enduring - the film is one where contradictions coexist: love and decay, romanticism and filth, realism and fantasy. It embraces cinema in its rawest form and erupts with beauty like the fireworks its protagonists dance beneath on Bastille Day.

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It’s understandable. With the impending death of the two-party system getting ever closer, people are confused, worried, and are fearing the inscrutable venture into unfamiliar territory.

It’s not been pretty, and it’s becoming increasingly clear that people on the left are stuck in the first stage of grief: denial.

None more so than the Labour Party (although whether or not they’re on the left is an argument for another day), who have, until last weekend, refused to really accept the Reform surge as anything other than a flash in the pan.

Over the last few days, senior Labour figures have begun directing any offensive tactics towards Reform UK, labelling their immigration policy as “immoral” and “racist”. Even the Prime Minister himself has said that they will “tear this country apart.”

Starmer is coming for Farage now, and the public can expect to see a strong display of partisanship at the Labour conference in Liverpool this week.

On Friday, Sky News were the first to report on what they described as a “mega poll” by YouGov, sampling 13,000 British people (the fourth largest this year). Voters were asked who they would vote for if a general election was held tomorrow.

The poll predicted a hung parliament; that Reform would secure 311 seats, fifteen short of the 326 required to form a majority government.

Labour would lose two thirds of the seats they won in a landslide just 14 months ago, with around 75% of their current seats going to Nigel Farage’s party.

Sky News also reported that “among the big-name casualties would be Yvette Cooper, Wes Streeting, Ed Miliband, Bridget Phillipson, Lisa Nandy and Angela Rayner.”

The public has been divided on the poll.

Since Sky News published the findings, there has been a number of viral tweets condemning and mocking its relevance and accuracy. Some have even described it as right-wing propaganda.

The fact is, it’s not propaganda—it’s news.

The results are staggering. Whether you blame it on the Labour demise or the Reform breakthrough, a poll has indicated that the government will lose two thirds of the seats it has won, after being in power just fourteen months.

And denying this by batting it off as propaganda is not only naive, but also complete delusion.

Farage is projected to gain 306 seats. The question isn’t “why talk about it?”—it’s “why wouldn’t we?”

Not only is it news, but it’s also a worrying, black and white wake-up call for the Prime Minister.

These numbers aren’t what a few political analysts have scribbled down, it’s a genuine sample and a reflection of public opinion. It isn’t negligible.

Admittedly, the media storm might be a little over the top, and the next election might not be for another four years, but in terms of government policy, that really isn’t long.

Starmer knows he only has three years to completely turn things around, and if that isn’t by solving the immigration crisis, he’s going to need an unprecedented distraction to win over the electorate and prevent this poll from becoming a reality.

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Punch-Drunk Love

A bizarre car accident and an abandoned harmonium trigger a strange chain of events in this unnerving, thrilling, and oddly heartfelt film. In a role that proved to the world he could truly act, Adam Sandler plays Barry Egan, a novelty toilet plunger entrepreneur with seven overbearing sisters. When Barry meets Lena Leonard (Emily Watson), the two fall into an unconventional romance that takes them from LA to Hawaii-all while Barry is pursued by a sleazy extortionist (Philip Seymour Hoffman). His crippling social anxiety, which occasionally erupts into fits of uncontrollable anger, produces the film’s most unforgettable moments. Roger Ebert praised it as a movie that “deconstructed the Adam Sandler films and put them back together again in a new way at a different level.” Punch-Drunk Love subverts rom-com tropes and stands as one of the most distinctive films of the early 2000s.

Phantom Thread

Fashion, obsession, and sadism are stitched together in Anderson’s elegantly reticent period drama. His first film shot outside the United States, Phantom Thread follows the meticulous designer Reynolds Woodcock (Daniel Day-Lewis) and his muse, Alma Elson (Vicky Krieps), in 1950s London. As their romance blossoms, Woodcock’s austere, neurotic personality-along with his relentless work ethic and jealous sister-begins to strain the relationship. Their dynamic reaches newfound territory when a deliberately poisoned meal manifests into a ritual of illness and care. Scored masterfully by Radiohead’s Jonny Greenwood, Phantom Thread abandons the absurdist streak of Anderson’s previous stoner flick, Inherent Vice, in favour of a stripped-back meditation on artistic obsession and romantic dependency.

Boogie Nights

At just 27 years old, and with a well-received debut already behind him, Anderson was one of Hollywood’s hottest young directors. Frustrated by the compromises of Hard Eight, his fine but flawed debut, he set out to make his second feature entirely on his own terms. Originally conceived as a short film inspired by adult film star John Holmes, Boogie Nights has Mark Wahlberg in a star-turning role as Dirk Diggler. (Leonardo DiCaprio was the first choice but opted for Titanic instead—a true sliding-doors moment.) Despite its focus on the golden age of pornography, Boogie Nights is ultimately a story about family and community. The first half revels in the glamour of the late ’70s, when disco was all the rage and porn actors were treated like rock stars, while the second half chronicles the industry’s descent into addiction, exploitation, and tragedy in the ’80s. Brimming with colourful characters, it remains one of Anderson’s most audacious and empathetic films.

The Master

A complex meditation on PTSD, masculinity, trauma, and the search for belonging, The Master feels like the closest cinema has ever come to the Great American Novel. Joaquin Phoenix delivers a searing performance as Freddie Quell, an alcoholic drifter and ex-sailor barely tethered to reality and trapped by the strength of his desires. Opposite him, Philip Seymour Hoffman gives one of his finest performances as Lancaster Dodd, a charismatic spiritual leader whose charm veers between theatricality and quiet menace. Rich with nuance and told with a hypnotic sense of empathy, the film explores the intoxicating allure of cults and the uneasy intimacy of father-son relationships. The Master demands multiple viewings, and it’s no surprise Anderson himself has called it his personal favourite.

There Will Be Blood

A film so powerful it forced Quentin Tarantino to raise his game, There Will Be Blood silenced any lingering doubts about Daniel Day-Lewis’s genius and cemented Anderson as one of America’s greatest filmmakers. The story follows Daniel Plainview, a ruthless oilman whose hunger for power consumes everything in his path. Over its 160-minute runtime, Plainview cons landowners, exploits and then abandons his adopted son, and unleashes his cruelty on anyone who dares oppose him. With a haunting score by Jonny Greenwood, the film serves as a stark allegory for the corrosive effects of unchecked capitalism. Plainview’s insatiable ambition leaves him right where he began—alone and emotionally hollow—only now entombed in the isolated grandeur of his mansion. It’s a stunningly tragic portrait of greed and one of the finest achievements of 21st-century cinema.

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