Thursday, 25 October 2012

wigwambam: thank you ma'am

there's no point in pretending anymore: summer's over. i mean, seriously, autumn is basically over. it's time to get out heads down and prepare for the long, painful, torturous winter (well, i'll be spending three weeks of it in sydney, but still: you know what i mean).

so what is going to get us through the aforementioned long, painful, torturous winter? The ever-delightful queen of hoxton's wigwambam, that's what. a charming combination of school camp, girl guides and that wigwam that i stayed in when i was at that hostel in byron bay that time, poxymash spent most of the latter half of last year lurking in its dark corners (well, obviously no corners in a wigwam, but the sort of curved edgy bits, if you get my drift), lamenting the distinct lack of sun, but mollified by the presence of hot drinks, a fire pit and - of course - fairy lights. and guess what? i feel that this winter will be no different.

it opens to the public on friday 26th october (which is my friend mim's birthday, fyi) and runs allllllll the way to the end of march. so rug up and hightail it to the queen of hoxton to get your camp on (wait, that came out wrong...).

Friday 26th October 2012 - end of March 2013
5pm - 10pm (Tuesdays - Saturdays)


Tuesday, 25 September 2012

a word exchange with stealing sheep.

stealing sheep are a three piece liverpudlian outfit who boast a curious pagan-y, folky feel. their enchanting medieval drones, bells and harmonies, conjure up images of roald dahl’s three witches dancing around a cauldron, chanting and transfixing. while not exactly synonymous with demons in human form threatening to kill foul children, their slightly haunting, sinister sound may just do for harmonies what david lynch did for eye patches everywhere. we caught up with liv and said “please give us the low down on your life, before you make a frothy broth out of us?” she obliged…

listening to: eden ahbez (eden's isle)

reading: day of the triffids

watching: twin peaks

eating: beans on toast

loving: batman (our cat)'s all about the loving

inspired by: fantastic planet

bored of: not getting ideas made

fearful of:  sharks

dreaming of:  sharks

your personal mantra: happiness is the way to happiness

this much i know: at the end of the day it gets dark

[aine herlihy]

Wednesday, 19 September 2012

what's the big deal yo?

the mind boggles. the media continues to whip the world into frenzy over breasts; who saw whose breasts and where and how and why.  that each human being, man, woman and child is born with breasts, albeit more flatter, inverted variations, makes the mind boggle further. if the bosom was only particular to the rarest breed of species, i might better understand a photographers aggressive inquiry and their desire to steal a glance at this, the most elusive of all natures’ creations. but no. 

as i type, i’m sat opposite a well-known musician in a shoreditch coffee quarters. a pitcher of elderflower between us,  this weedy fellow, i observe, has breasts. skinny and flat chested as he is, i can see the soft tip of his nipples, gently pressing against his white wife beater vest. when he bends to feed his even hipper animal-creature-friend, chorizo, i catch a glimpse of his pink breasts. now is my chance i tell myself! if i just hover over him ever so discreetly, with my phone and simply click..!

i don’t though. because i don’t care. because, i have breasts and you have breasts and really, your breasts are altogether no different from mine mr. bass player with your second album selling sensationally on i-tunes. but mostly i’d get very little for your bosom, as the media haven’t successfully sexualised and objectified you beyond what is evolutionary possible.  yet.

when he lifts his head, he catches my gaze, staring blankly at his man chest as i mull over ethics, accessibility and the i-phone.

he closes his denim shirt a little. i turn pink. like a right tit. 

[hunter m. wilde]

Tuesday, 18 September 2012

the daily poxy soundsystem: a dark horse - these butterflies are here.

who: a dark horse

sounds like: paragliding over your past and recognising all the beauty, magic and mystery that escaped you, while you waited impatiently for 'real life' to happen. 

why we love them: with just the help of a few trusted friends, they record and produce their own music, music videos and design their own art work. wait, that amount of talent is abhorrent in any individual...

most likely to say: something tantric in thought. slow and subtle, building, building and then boom. you have something infinitely profound in your inner ear to process. 

something to ponder: why are a beautiful species such as butterflies associated with abdominal anxiety? should it not be rather  "when you said that, you gave me moths in my stomach. big, furry moths, that tried to eat my aran cardigan, from the inside". 

[aine herlihy]

Thursday, 30 August 2012

hey- donal dineen! our brains fell out. what are you doing, so we can do it too?

donal dineen is an irish radio presenter, film-maker and former television presenter. up until recently his late night radio show 'small hours' showcased an eclectic mix of electronica and world music on today fm. while his live dj sets have set him apart as a notorious facilitator of sweat therapy. like, oh my god, i'm dying and stuff like that. now we just need to get him back on our airways again - to get all franz mesner up on our asses and provide a soundtrack to our insomnia. we caught up with him after his gig at skibbereen arts festival and said "tell me tings?". not to be confused with "tell me things.". crazily enough, he did...

listening to: katie kim, sean mac erlaine, patrick kelleher, gang colours, how to dress well, four tet & burial, dauwd, dntel, phosphorescent and polonaise. 

reading: kevin barry

watching: old arena documentaries, the stuff youtube is great for. i saw a magnificent one of francis bacon recently. it was a great insight into his extraordinary world.

eating: loads as usual

loving: the kerry football team and kerry in general to be honest.


inspired by:the heroes on the ground.

bored of: hearing bad News with a capital N.

fearful of: everything turning out the same. 

dreaming of: going back. 

your personal mantra: no mantra no cry. 

[aine herlihy] 

Thursday, 23 February 2012

war journalism, and why it matters.

                                                             [jessica dowling reporting from the balkans] 

yesterday’s death of sunday times journalist marie colvin highlights the incredible danger journalists and photographers place themselves in to achieve a story. but it also shows the dedication of these people to show the truth to the world.

marie colvin was an experienced journalist who had reported from several war torn countries, including the former yugoslavia, sri lanka, east timor, and from various locations in the middle east. her work was admired by both her contemporaries and the public, and along with other awards she was named foreign correspondent of the year on two separate occasions by the british press awards. her death in the city of homs in syria ended a life that was spent chasing the truth and bringing it to the masses, despite the threats she invariably faced in these situations.

the dangers facing journalists like marie colvin, and photographer rĂ©mi ochlik, who was also killed in the same attack at the age of 28, should not be taken lightly. the importance of war journalism is sometimes forgotten by people; some believe journalists who put themselves in these kinds of situations do so more for the adrenaline and fame factors rather than for the search of truth. but in reality, without these kinds of individuals the stories of so many innocent victims of regimes’ such as assad’s would not be brought to the attention of the west. in the past, reports from war zones showed people the truth about what was happening in places like bosnia and rwanda, spurring foreign governments into taking action and stirring public pressure.

if any good can come of these deaths, the increasing force the international community is putting on the syrian regime as a direct result of them may help alleviate the suffering of the syrian people. french president nicolas sarkozy has already said “this is enough now, this regime must go”, and other world leaders agree. british prime minister david cameron told the house of commons: "this is a desperately sad reminder of the risks that journalists take to inform the world of what is happening and the dreadful events in syria”.

the deaths of journalists in war zones are sadly not new, and remain a terrible reminder that these kinds of regimes have no care for human life. not only does assad have no respect for his own people, who he is picking off in slow mode genocide, but he also seemingly has no concern in angering the international community. people can only hope that these deaths will spur governments into action, to help the innocent people of syria.

[jessica dowling is currently interning in sarajevo for balkan investigative reporting network (BIRN), working as a court reporter for several genocide trials in the court of bosnia and herzegovina and also assisting on research and writings on balkan transitional justice] 

Wednesday, 11 January 2012

the daily poxy soundsystem: tiny victories - lost weekend.

who: tiny victories.

sounds like: an array of gadgets, samplers and live drums all jostling together like oddly attractive, irregular shaped molars in your mouth.

why we love them: some kids lose their keys over the weekend. they lose their flunking minds.

most likely to say: your mind’s not a prison - it’s a prism. like a pellin broca prism, with four sides, 'cause you can be so god damn square sometimes.

something to ponder: they don’t have ‘breakdowns’ in brooklyn, dummy, they have ‘serious shakedowns’ and everyone gets an invite.

[aine herlihy]