THE ART OF SEDUCTION

He is never the charmer on the dance floor, so it amazes me how he has managed to charm himself out of a job for so long. This blog is dedicated to a dear friend of mine, one whose name I shall not disclose but instead just call him Mac.
Now Mac is the type of guy who you would expect to need a job. He leads a sociable lifestyle within a group of employed friends who demand the finer and more fun things out of life such as alcohol fuelled nights out, weekend excursions as well as concert and cinema outings. And let me tell you Mac would be damned if he had to miss out on any of these things. Always a dapper gent, he cavorts around bars in the trendiest tresses and commandeers admiring glances from coquettish ladies (obviously before they have entered into a conversation). He’s a movie buff, an art enthusiast and a musical connoisseur. He’s also skint…so just how does Mac manage to live such an affluent lifestyle?
He certainly doesn’t receive generous handouts from mummy or daddy, apart from the collecting of early birthday and Christmas favours and the odd £20 here or there. It could be the ‘loans’ he obtains from friends which he then ‘forgets’ to reimburse! Surely though, the sporadic £10 borrows couldn’t fortify such an existence. A well guarded inheritance? No. Fraudster? Never!
Ladies and gentlemen Mac, of course pays for his lifestyle with his pride. What could be worst for Mac than selling his 26in butt for male or female pleasure…? (Who would pay for it?)
The only money making solution for the man who wont work is to of course, swap his skinny jeans and desert boots for a very scouse ‘trackie’ and ‘trainee’s’, turn in his sing-song accent for a more harsh and very frankly frightening one and head off down to the dole queue. I may have embellished here. However this is his ultimate dole fantasy.
Don’t forget to take your hat Mac and cover up your fabulous mane of indie locks!
Yes the eternal hypocrite who loathes and fears his benefit thriving band of brothers lowers his head and begins the long, shameful walk in their shadowy path to collect his giro. The art of seduction begins.
It must be quite confusing for the advisor behind the desk. Mac is an academic; plus he doesn’t smell of weed, all in all he is quite a polite guy. Instantly his masquerade has worked. Obviously he is another victim of the credit crunch? Meh! If only the career advisor knew, that in front of them sat, a real deal lazy bastard. However, a charming one! Week after week, Mac rolls in with his roll call of jobs he never has or never will apply for. After all, why should he? He’s a creative, an intellectual, a free spirit. He’s everything he needs to be as long as it prevents him from obtaining a job. What’s more is that they believe him. I mean who wouldn’t have pity for the intelligent youth who has fallen with the economy under Labour’s demise?
If anything Mac has developed into a rather resourceful guy. His £51 a week provides him with plenty. He fools not only ‘The Man’ into giving him ‘free’ money but he also fools the unknowing society into perceiving him as normal member of the working, nevertheless, contributing elite.
What is my personal message to Mac you say?........Enjoy my money you slug!

FATBOYSLIM!!!!!

Protruding clavicles, visible vertebrae’s and a prominent jaw line? Yes please!
On a recent trip to the Tate Liverpool, I became enthralled by a piece of art, part of the DLA Piper sculpture series. The works name ‘Ghost’ was the perfect oxymoron in which the colossal statue of a teenage girl seemed to exude every anxiety felt by gauche young girls who can’t accept their bodies and who want to disappear.
With regards to fashion, the art work was the perfect metaphor of the young models we see today encapsulated throughout the fashion industry and the scrutiny in which they are set to face from their mentors and the media alike.
Ron Mueck’s ‘Ghost’, emphasises perfectly that at the epicentre of the storm that is the size zero debate, stands, a lot of the time, young teenage girls harbouring their own insecurities. More importantly, are we as a nation, where the national average dress size of a woman is a size 14, projecting our own insecurities onto these young still developing ladies? Is fashion refusing to give in to our desperate pleas for curvier models because it knows our big secret? We all want to be skinny!
The transparency of these ‘curvy’ pioneers advocating voluptuous this and plus size that throughout the fashion world is all too obvious these days. Why? Well because the very same women are all too quick to gloat on the cover of a tabloid magazine as soon as they deflate. Britain has become the breeder of the ultimate hypocrite. The concerned have now lost sight of health and the battle has become a lot more personal. This is the real deal ‘Battle of the Bulge!’
It is interesting to assess the argument from the other side. The side of the working model! If our prime concern with regard to the size zero debate is health, then really, who has the better well being? The anti size zero campaigner who submits at times to the odd slab of chocolate cake, large glass of wine and a skip of the treadmill or the size zero teen whom eats her greens, drinks her eight glasses of H2O and puts in twenty minutes with the personal trainer? Of course, there is nothing at all wrong with indulging but when the magnifying glass turns and our lifestyles are exposed is it the judge who becomes the object?
There is no denying that in some cases designers must be more accommodating, especially throughout this current climate when one cannot afford to alienate prospective customers and more importantly when these teenage models grow naturally into their womanly breasts and hips. However it is more apparent now than ever that aspects of the fashion world are changing and attitudes with regards to perceived beauty are beginning to alter. Fit is the new sexy. Beauty is represented by all sizes. During London Fashion Week Mark Fast sent a mixture of fashion and plus sized models down the catwalk. More importantly health, rather than size, is now embodying fashion for example Lara Stone, Coco Rocha, Daria Werbowy, Crystal Wren, and Natalia Vodianova.
And so back to Ghost by Ron Mueck: the forever gawky teenager standing awkwardly in her swim suit, mentally dissecting and altering her body. Then over to me: the size twelve plain Jane who’s hips hang over her jeans, pining for the awkward teens bony legs!

Mark Fast Spring/Summer Collection 2010

Crystal Wren: Plus size model

Daria Werbowy: High Fashion Model

WANTED TO BLOG A BAND SO I DID!

Usually an intimate gathering of close family and friends loiter and banter from venue to venue anticipating the stage arrival of The Brows. The puddle of faces is not diminished in size by choice. The size of the gathering is flanked by the continuous grind of ticket touting by the band at the request of the promoters. Paying to see a new local band is something us Scousers are not prepared to do when we have a host of haunts offering the best local produce and cheap pints. However, tonight in Mojo, the room is pulsating. The band have been waiting for this night for quite some months now…a free gig. Friends navigate through the crowd to the stage, eagerly waiting for the band to show, but even more intrigued as to what the crowd will make of yet another Liverpool band.
Un-noticed The Brows enter the stage, heads bowed. They make a bee-line for their instruments. After a few seconds of shuffling and knowing glances between members, Jack Robinson, lead singer and rhythm guitarist presses his mouth on the mic, ‘We’re The Brows’, monotone and unsociable. It’s clear The Brows aren’t here to establish camaraderie, they are here to play.
The low and dirty riff of ‘Electric Charm’ crawls under the crowds skin as Robinsons vocals progressively snarl at each and every crowd member. I feel the corner of my lips wickedly flicker. I want more already. The bass rumbles through the speaker and I feel my heart pumping as Garth, bass player, spies over at the lead guitarist, Gareth, who is yet to brandish his guitar. The tallest member of the band is seemingly unimposing, and Brows fans are yet to encounter the fuss of this mystery man since the sacking of original lead guitarist. Can he live up to the (minute) hype.
Fucking Hell! He doesn’t just play the guitar he beats it. The riff leaves a handprint on your cheek. Every reveller stops, sits up and takes notice. Bar staff can be seen nudging one another and the photographers zoom in. His hands seemingly don’t strum a chord, they move with ferocity and agility whilst he looms over the guitar scratching at the frets. Rodgers, the small fuzzy headed drummer chews on his cheeks whilst thrashing the symbols. The blush emphasizes the frustration of a band desperate to push these gargantuan sounds onto new, yet unassuming people.
‘Drown World’ provides the perfect ambient music for your worst nightmare. Rogers drumming is systematic and continuous as Gareth’s guitar haunts and echoes, but never ceases. The worst of the best is yet to come. Robinson sweetly whines his way through the verse. His range is impressive with the ability to switch from thundering pitches to sugary sinister vocals. Garths bass pounds the floor boards throughout the song, incessantly building the texture of the sound until the crescendo reaches its peak at the chorus and Gareth’s guitar begins to scream. He turns to Rogers and simultaneously they take their victims. The symbols and guitar are played with sultry, sleazy attitude. The whole performance is portrayed via lolling, heads and bodies. The mood is macabre, the music is mystical and the crowd, well the crowd are under a magic spell.
The supporting bands watch silently from the booths. It’s hard not to be intimidated.
The genre of songs and composition vary throughout the set list, but the attitude does not. Although far from arrogant or pretentious these are a group of guys you would approach with caution at the bar. They aren’t too open to praising hand shakes or witty critiques or comparisons. They come across shy, yet humbly certain… they know they are shit hot!
I congratulate them as they sieve through the bustling crowd as to which they politely smile and head to a booth to catch the next band.
Miss out on this band and well you’ll….err miss out. However, with an imminent name change on the horizon, keep your brows raised for this belter band.

Catch their rather shit, but with some good demo’s, MySpace page at http://www.myspace.com/thebrows1