by Helen Macrae

Men in drag. Wearing tutus. Performing Swan Lake. Before I’d even stepped inside the theatre I knew this was going to be a riot. Les Ballets Trockadero de Monte Carlo have been going since 1974 and are a professional ballet company with a twist: an all male ensemble performing both classical ballet and modern dance, dressed in the most fabulous of fabulous costumes and adding their own comic approach to the routines. Ok, ok, the sceptics amongst you are probably thinking this all sounds a bit daft, but the fact that the dancers are all professionally trained and technically perfect turns this rather ridiculous-sounding concept into something that is actually rather beautiful to watch.

Since their beginnings in New York, “The Trocks”, as they are affectionately known, have become a worldwide dance phenomenon, and when I saw them recently at the Teatro Albéniz as part of Madrid’s Festival de Otoño, they didn’t disappoint. I spent half of the performance in sheer awe of their technical ability, and the other half in complete hysterics as they camped it up to the n^th degree, and left the theatre with the sneaking suspicion that I would never be able to watch serious ballet in the same way again. Unfortunately Les Ballets Trockadero have finished their run here in Madrid for the moment, but check out www.trockadero.org for more info and future performance dates. And of course Madrid’s Festival de Otoño is packed with loads more brilliant stuff like this, so take a peek at http://www.madrid.org/fo/2008/en/index.html and catch some of it before the festival ends on 16^th November.

by Tim Anderson

Years on the circuit with Moloko have given this silky queen experience on working the crowd but as a solo performer, Roisin Murphy has sunk her teeth into developing her own club sound, house and beats.

Since the break-up of the mega successful Moloko, which she started in 1994 with ex-partner Mark Brydon, Roisin has been a busy girl. The band had recorded 6 albums together releasing several successful singles such as “The time is now” and “Forever More” and come to the end of their contractual obligations. She then went on to record her debut album “Ruby Blue” which started on setting her apart from Moloko’s distinctive sound. For the recording of her second solo album, Overpowered, Murphy went back to her roots in Englands northern town of Sheffield and last year produced a storming club dance-floor record.

This has complemented her live shows which have always been pretty loved-up affairs anyway. The layered beats of Moloko are still there but there is a heavy house flavour on her latest record, a result of her complete focus in making a record. “I can’t imagine making a record and not being totally consumed by the process, even though that might be nice.” She states.

The Irish born singer was even nominated for an MTV award this year and has been on tour around the world for almost a year, finally coming back to Europe after a break at the end of the festival season. But she hasn’t ruled out a return to Moloko’s smooth sounds sometime in the future as well; her website states, “Murphy has been keen to stress that the group are not necessarily defunct and that she has no interest in “burying” the project”. Great news for all of us then.

But for now she will be storming the stage live at the beginning of November and should heat up the chilly autumn night just perfectly.

Roisin Murphy performs in Madrid on 2 November at La Riviera. Tickets are on sale at www.ticktackticket.com and the FNAC, priced 27 Euros (30 if you want to risk paying on the door). Starts 20:00.

by Matt Johnson

“What are you going to be this year for Halloween?” I recently asked a British friend of mine.

“Nothing,” he replied. “I’ve never celebrated Halloween before. I think it’s more of an American thing – I don’t really get it.”

“Joder.”

It was in that moment that I came to a shocking realization – there really are some poor unfortunate souls out there who don’t have the first clue about the finer points of this spooky celebration. Well, for those of you who remain uninformed and in the dark, let me shine some light on it for you.

Halloween is the best holiday – the BEST. For the youngsters, you get to dress up like your favorite super hero or movie character of the moment, knock on strangers’ doors (the only night of the year that parents encourage their children to go looking for strangers with candy), and receive endless amounts of tasty treats until your pillow case carrying sack is gushing gobstoppers. This phase in the Halloween Stages of Development Theory is known as the “back when everything used to be fun,” or simply, the “treat” stage.

From there, Halloween takes on a different role as we enter into those pimply-faced, squeaky-voiced, punk-rockin’ adolescent years. The candy was always great and everything, but now with your supermarket bag boy minimum wage pay checks, one can afford to gorge one’s self on candy whenever and wherever. The treats have now taken a step away from the focal point of Halloween motivations, and we therefore move into the “trick” phase. I’m talking of course about Halloween pranks. Have you ever done such a thorough toilet papering job that instead of high tailing it afterward, you just stood and marvelled at the majesty of your artistry? Have you ever done a midnight egg-launching air raid on the neighborhood miser’s house? Have you ever plastered a sleeping street with the hollowed out, decorated shells of toothless, grinning pumpkin carcasses? I’m not recommending that you consider wreaking this type of havoc in Madrid, but if you haven’t participated in these acts of typical teenage town tormenting, then I’m sorry but you’ve missed out. You didn’t even have to dress up for this, either.

We now come to the third phase in the Halloween Stages of Development Theory: the party phase. This is the one most of us are currently in at the moment. Who said dressing up was just for kids? There’s nothing like getting tipsy in your finest 80s rocker costume! For some reason people just seem to lose their inhibitions (for those of us who have inhibitions) when they’re dressed in disguise, perhaps because for one night out of the year, it’s like you can technically be another person. Hey, I wasn’t the one who came home last night and ate your chorizo, it was Spidey – I swear!

This then brings us, of course, to the final stage of the Halloween Development Theory: the “over the hill,” or “responsible adult,” phase. Typical symptoms include but are not limited to: staying at home to watch cheesy horror flick marathons, answering the doorbell for hours on end, passing out free candy to ungrateful neighborhood brats, and going to bed before 10. Please, when I reach this phase, shoot me.

Okay, now that we’ve got all phases covered, let’s move on to my list of Halloween Do’s and Don’ts. There are many ways to celebrate this holiday in style, but some are better than others. Take it from a seriously overenthusiastic costume buff like myself – making the wrong wardrobe or accessory selection can be the difference between a good night and an “oh-my-God-that-was-the-best-night-ever-if-only-I-could-remember-it” type of deal. So read ahead, friend, take my advice, and go boldly into the night.

Do’s

- Think outside the box. Creativity counts – if you have to be a superhero, ditch Superman for Mighty Mouse or Quailman. For guys, the possibilities of costumes can range from Cartman to Edward Scissor Hands, or from a dairy cow to a beer can (yes, I have seen both). Girls on the other hand, try to think of something more clever than a slutty (insert noun here). Don’t worry though – if nothing comes to mind, you won’t be hearing any complaints from our side anyway.

- Wear a moustache! Guys, girls, who cares? What’s more fun than shaking the beer foam off your whiskers? The moustache adds a creepy compliment to any of your retro outfits, and is also a perfect punctuation to any of your creatively-lacking costumes as well. If you’re going to be a fireman, why not cap it off with a solid ’stache? Pirate? No biggie. Throw on a moustache and you’ve got the best costume in the bar. Extra points for handlebars!

- Make your own costume. Think outside the readymade Robin Hood suit. The fun is in the hunt – think you can find a pair of green tights or a puffy-sleeved shirt in Madrid? The challenge is on!

- Get into character. If you’re going to look the part, act the part. Working on your accent and mannerisms are key. If you’re going to be a leprechaun for example, maybe consider watching Boondock Saints before heading to the bar. That way the Irish brogue will be fresh in your memory and ready for use.

- Find a sidekick. A good ol’ fashioned partner in crime is always a great way to celebrate the night, whether it’s your drinking buddy or the old ball & chain. Just please, spare us the Sony and Cher routine. It also goes without saying, but Raggedy Anne and Andy – don’t even…Also be sure to explore all available avenues. Video game characters come in great pairs, and are always under-represented. Mario and Luigi, Ken and Ryu, Scorpion and Sub Zero, etc.

Dont’s

- Come as yourself! Sadly, I’ve seen this done way too often. It’s more of a cop-out than a joke. Hey, if all your friends are dressed like fools, shouldn’t you be, too?

- Wear face paint. After a long night out on the town, the last thing you’ll want to do is come home and scrub your face for hours. This is for guys especially! That is, of course, unless you for some reason own a bottle of makeup remover…Another hazard of wearing war paint is that if you somehow forget to remove it before hittin’ the hay, you’ll be sure to wake up with a rainbow of colors smeared across your sheets. Saturday should never be laundry day. Ever.

- Wear a costume without easily accessible/functional pockets. Make sure that you are able to pull out cash, metro tickets, cameras, and flasks when necessary. Getting a drink takes long enough already without digging for five minutes! But most importantly, always make sure your valuables are secure. Poor pocket placement on your costume may make for a quick hit-n-run by the wallet hijackers of Sol. Also keep in mind the funky tunes: if you’re going to be breakin it down on the dance floor til the wee hours of the morning, avoid a costume with shallow pockets – otherwise you might as well just toss your wallet backwards into the crowd like the bouquet at a wedding.

- Rent a costume. I’m not sure if this is even possible in Madrid, but I’m guessing that it probably is. First of all, most rentals are very cheaply made. They usually don’t fit right and the material is often itchy, plus the fact that it’s like the bed spread at a cheap motel – you don’t know who’s been in it or the last time it had a good washing. Other than that, you run the risk of losing your deposit, which is never cheap. I personally don’t want to tip toe around all night trying to avoid mid-bar collisions and worrying over shirt-staining sangrias.

- Finally, and most importantly, don’t stay in one place all night. Madrileños are fun enough to watch on any given day. Imagine what kinds of craziness you’ll see while you’re out and about on Halloween! There will be Halloween parties all over town – it won’t be hard to find yourself a good starting/ending point. And if you can, make it over to the EV party, look for the lad in the lederhosen, buy him a shot, and tell him how much you enjoy reading his blogs!

by Tim Anderson

Cocktail, clever gadgets, beautiful woman, meglomaniacal bad guys, fast cars, exotic locations, gambling and the most cheesy of pick up lines and kill lines around. If you don´t know what I am talking about yet, get your head back in the sand. Male escapists’ paradise, James Bond. What else could an action fan want?

Apparently something else.

Ever since Jason Bourne arrived as the latest big screen action spy, there have been predictions of the demise of the Bond franchise, 45 years of iconic images been finally expelled in a new era of action film heroes. Bourne was faster, smarter, darker and represents a return to the troubled gritty action hero, rather than the smooth, it-all-comes-too-easily high-flying world of Pierce Brosnan’s MI6 agent.

But then re-invented Bond came back,imperfect and impervious, with muscles for action and a dislike for pleasure, troubled by his conscience, a cold hearted killer making good mileage on his Licence to Kill. Although being touted as potentially the worst choice for a Bond ever, Daniel Craig made Casino Royale a huge success.Bond had become just an ordinary spy again, sorting out the extraordinary world around him.

And if Casino Royale re-introduced James Bond to the world again, Quantum of Solace looks likely to cement him as the hardest spy on the block (although whoever came up with that title ought to be killed off in a brutal opening credits scene).

Bourne will have his turn for stealing back his mantle but he’ll be against it. Let’s face it , he’s always running away anyway, so maybe they should send 007 to get him, a sort of spy- off. Here’s the plot…

James Bond is hunting rogue agent Jason Bourne, who after losing his memory somewhere in transit, starts planning the downfall of the world from his secret mountain hideout in Morocco. But this time it´s personal for Bond, because Bourne stole his latin goddess,  Lotti Luvin, from under his nose while he was at the bar collecting martini´s. So Bond is on a mission. Though Haiti, Madagasca and Berlin via India he tracks down the elusive Bourne. First he takes out the cheating girl by tripping her up while she´s carrying the Pina Colada´s to the pool, skewering herself with the cocktail sticks in her eyes leaving her with 2 pineapples for eyeballs. “You don’t want to pin-a- colada to your face darling!” He laughs sarcastically.  Then Bourne is on the run again.

Cue numerous chase scenes in Aston Martins, a fight with gondola paddles and an escape from an aligator pit by running on their long noses (wait, that was done somewhere already..).

Bond will have to win though. He’d been around the longest, has the better female company and the baddest enemies to fight. Oh, and the best introduction line…. “The name’s Bond……”

by Harry Watkinson

In the land where car is king, Harry has finally got a set of wheels. Here in Tampa, taxis are only found at the airport and buses do not exist. Naturally, on picking up my red Honda, I discovered about $100 dollars of hidden costs. I was under the impression that life for a Brit in Florida would be cheap as chips, but having eaten out, been to the shops and now hired a car it seems to me that the prices of things and the final bill are two very different entities. Maybe this is just an indicator of our pound sinking beneath the waves.

Arriving early for a Joe Biden rally, I asked the sheriff what we could do to kill a few hours. His grin disappeared and he advised me not to use such language at an event like this. With all the secret service around I thought a quip was not the best course of action.

The rally was an intimate affair with around 5,000 people in attendance, and I was just a few yards from the shoes of Obama’s number two. My eyebrows were raised when the crowd was asked to bow their heads to say a prayer and then to put their hands on their hearts for a rendition of the Star Spangled Banner. However, things got going when Big Joe bounced onto the stage. Boy does he know how to shout. Most of his noise was directed at spelling out how an Obama presidency would focus on giving a helping hand for the middle classes and would bring the boys back from Iraq. A mob of Republicans gathered outside trying to disrupt the party but their protests seemed pretty pathetic. One woman was demanding that we vote for McCain because he was a hero while another red neck chanted that Obama was not to be trusted. However, their voices were all but drowned out by Biden and his followers sharing the love. They can now smell victory.

by Harry Watkinson

Early voting is very much the name of the game here in Florida. Team Obama are pushing hard to get as many people to the polls as early as possible before election-day to avoid the problems of 2000 and 2004 when tens of thousands of people were shut out of the voting stations. They are working on the basis that the early voters are likely to be Democrat voters. Like in the UK the theory is that those on the right will vote whatever the weather while those on the left are more easily put off participating in the democratic process. At this moment more than 2 million Floridians have cast their vote and going on the basis of what I have seen at the polling stations this is all good for Obama.

Here in Tampa there are eight Obama offices manned by young, aspiring politicos who have traveled from all sides of the States. From what I have seen, there is a lot of talking going on from these guys and not much action. Most clearly have their eye on a job in Washington post-election and as a result seem to take themselves far too seriously. This also leads to them spending a lot of time in the office tapping away on their lap-tops rather than being out in the field leading from the front. I have quickly discovered that the fun lies on the campaigns of those running for local offices. Here you know the candidate and work with his friends. You also get to meet some real characters. Take big Brian. He has a very large belly and a boyfriend called Patrick (to Brian he is only known as Patsy) and is working hard for the election of Kevin Becknor as the local County Commissioner. Kevin is a former state trooper and is also gay and seems to be a top guy. This is a campaign you can get really enthused about.

by Tim Anderson

America is within touching distance of a historic election, with Barack Obama well placed to be the first black man to be president.

But without a doubt Saturday Night Live’s send- ups have stolen the limelight this election. Particularly they have been harsh on Sarah Palin the Republican vice president nominee, Tina Fey’s priceless mimicking making the Wasilla princess out to be a hockey mum totally out of touch with the world outside her freezing state, although with replies like “I can see Russia from my house!” when asked about her foreign policy credentials, comedians will always have plenty of material.

I had a chuckle as well when Mc Cain thanked Hillary Clinton for attending a charity dinner, implying that she was secretly supporting him not Obama because of his underdog status in the polls, like she had been in the primarys against Obama.

This election has been one of the best natured elections in a while though, both candidates being careful not to tread on the other’s shoes too much.

At times we have heard McCain chastising his own rally crowd for booing Obama, while Obama has also been quick to praise the war record of McCain and even resisted launching into Sarah Pallin during the debates when asked whether she was a capable vice- president by referring to her as a “capable politician”.

Obama’s success at this point has been eloquent speaking and an ability to ignore race stereotypes which would be likely to alienate some of the electorate.

Although, with a financial system in a complete mess, an unpopular war and president to succeed, McCain was always going to be battling uphill.

So on 4 November America will decide whether Obama or McCain is the next man they want in the White House. If you believe polls, a Democratic presidency is just around the corner. Shame though, because some more Tina Fey and Saturday night live foolery would be great as well!

by Helen Macrae

I discovered a whole new part of the week recently, called Saturday morning. In case you’re not familiar with it, I’ll let you in on the secret: it’s cleverly hidden away between Friday night and Saturday afternoon. The reason I’d remained oblivious to its existence until now was probably something to do with going out on the lash every Friday, celebrating the end of another working week by drinking far too much and sleeping off my subsequent hangover until well into the following day. A couple of weeks ago, however, a dire lack of funds consigned me to staying in, which meant I awoke early on Saturday feeling fresh and ready to take on the world. Unfortunately, the aforementioned money situation ruled out many normal weekend activities (shopping, day tripping, more shopping) so I was forced to come up with a Plan B. The result? A stroll down to Andén Cero: Chamberí Metro Museum.

Located in Plaza Chamberí on the corner where C/Luchana meets C/Santa Engracia, Chamberí Metro is located on Line 1 between Bilbao and Iglesia. The station was closed in 1966 by the Ministry of Works as passenger volume had increased substantially and Chamberí Metro couldn’t be easily modified to take the new six-carriage trains, thanks to its curved platform and proximity to neighbouring stations. After gathering dust for over 40 years, and previously only visible to the curious commuter as a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it flash past the window whilst travelling along Line 1, Chamberí Metro has now been restored to its former glory and was opened to the public earlier this year.

On my Saturday morning visit I managed to catch a guided tour and found the facts my Spanish guide was spewing out pretty interesting: the white tiles were used to reflect light and make people forget they were underground, the chairs in the ticket office only had one armrest so the clerks could dish out tickets more quickly, the average distance between Metro stations in Madrid is a mere 600m. Down on the platform I was also impressed by the old-skool adverts made up of colourful ceramic tiles, as well as the Line 1 trains thundering past every few minutes, separated from the platform by thick glass barriers to keep the nutcases from trying anything. All in all I was underground for less than an hour, but I’d thoroughly recommend a visit as the station is a genuine time capsule offering a glimpse into Madrid’s past, and best of all it’s completely free.

Chamberí Metro Museum can be found on Plaza de Chamberí s/n. Metro: Iglesia, Bilbao. Buses: 3, 40, 147. Opening hours: Tues-Fri 11am-7pm, Sat, Sun 11am-3pm.

by Matt Johnson

Three weeks a go, in a land far, far way…one man set out on a perilous quest across an unknown land. His mission: lederhosen. What follows is a tale of mystery, suspense, and debauchery. All ye decent souls be warned…

So, where did we leave off? Let’s recap. Munich. Oktoberfest. Beer. Friendly Germans. Bribery. Tents. Adventure. Awesome. Okay, that should wrap it up. We had just finagled our way in to a tent via some good old fashioned bribery, and were now comfortably seated in what can only be described as the Mecca of beerdom on Earth.

As the first round of beers were being thrown down the hatch however, I began to notice that something was wrong. There was an element missing from the equation like a giant hole in my heart. I felt it from the tips of my toes to the pit of my stomach: lederhosen. Before leaving Madrid, I’d managed to blab to everyone who would listen that I was going to buy a pair of these sweet Bavarian suspender-shorts. There was no way I could return to my fellow madrileños, head hanging in shame, in not-so-typically me-type fashion, empty handed in the lederhosen department. The epiphany faded quickly though, and after snapping back into reality I immediately vocalized this concern to my compañeros at the table.

“I really have to go get some lederhosen, guys.”

“Dude we just got in to the tent. You can’t go right now.”

“Yeah but you don’t understand,” I replied, through sips of the golden goodness. “I told everyone I know that I’m getting lederhosen while I’m here.”

“So? Just get some tomorrow before you leave.”

“I can’t. My flight leaves at 11, and I have to leave the hotel by nine. There’s no way I’ll find a store open that early on a Sunday morning.”

“Okay, well get a pair tonight after we leave the tent.”

“Do you honestly think that we’ll be able to do anything by the time we leave this tent? It’s only 2:30 right now – PM. We still have at least twelve hours of drinking left. Let’s get serious.”

“Good point,” they agreed. “Alright, so we’ll get you a pair tomorrow before we leave and send them over to you in Spain.”

“Sorry guys, but I don’t exactly know what size lederhosen I wear. I have to do this. There’s no way I’m coming all the way here without getting a pair. I’ve been planning on this for years… plus I have a reputation to uphold, and Halloween’s right around the corner to boot. I’m gonna be the only fucking dude in Madrid with an authentic pair of those bad boys. Opportunity only knocks once or something like that – I can’t pass up a chance like this!”

“How are you going to get back in the tent? How are you going to find us? None of our phones are working. Where are you going to go to buy them? How are you going to get there? What if they don’t let you back in the tent? How are you going to maintain your buzz?” And on and on they went with the nagging.

“Honestly guys, act like you know me,” I defended defiantly, rising from the table. “I already told you. I know how this works. If worse comes to worse I’ll just bribe my way back into the tent. It’s not going to be a problem. And forget it if you think you’re going to stop me. Try if you dare, but nothing can stand in the way of the lederhosen at this point. I’ll catch you fellas on the flipside, and next time you see me, I’ll be the proud wearer of some brand new lederhosen. Wish me luck!”

There really was just no stopping the lederhosen. They had been eating away at my mind like an unstoppable rebel force – I had to get them. But even still, there were so many obstacles left to overcome – my friends actually did have a valid point: where do I go? How am I supposed to find a lederhosen store? How will I get there? What if I can’t get back in the tent? How will I keep my buzz? The questions kept coming, the answers laid just over the horizon, and the lederhosen were just beyond a fingertip’s touch. So with a spring in my step and a plan in my mind, I was out the door and on my way.

Now back out into the German sunshine, I made a beeline for the park entrance to search for a vacant taxi, and soon found myself in the back seat of my first ever Mercedes Benz cab ride. Yep, I buy my lederhosen in style (actually all the cabs I saw there were either Benzes or Beamers – doesn’t that blow your mind?).
Anyway, before I knew it I was on a crowded, closed off street in the heart of Munich’s shopping district, and just thirty minutes after my departure from the tent, I was standing at the pearly gates of lederhosen heaven. You could smell the suede from the street. Hundreds of those goofy suspender suits of all colors and styles were stacked from floor to ceiling. There were lederhosen in the windows; lederhosen on the mannequins; lederhosen on the hangers, the racks, the shelves; even lederhosen on the German C&A’s employees. It was like Scrooge McDuck diving into his pool of gold.

With each tick of the clock however, I was losing valuable drinking time, so I made a mad dash through the isles, slinging lederhosen, socks, and shirts of various colours and sizes over my shoulder as I went. There was one minor problem though: lederhosen are fucking expensive! The pair that I eventually picked out was among the cheapest in the store, ringing in at a pricy 99 Euro (shirt and socks, not included). Ouch – my wallet hurts. So I did the only sensible thing I could think of: my parents gave me a credit card “for emergency situations only,” and seeing as this certainly was a dilemma of epic proportions, I whipped out the plastic. A hundred forty Euros and one Superman-like wardrobe change later, and I was parading around the Bavarian streets in my fancy new lederhosen, blending in with the locals. Hey, when in Rome, right?

by Katie Chavez

My problem with porn is not that it objectifies women, but that the women never seem to be having a particularly good time. The fake moans, the backs that arch out of rhythm; let’s face it: most porn is just bad sex in interesting positions. We women need a little more than that. And Val, the main character in Diario de una Ninfómana definitely makes sure she gets what she needs.

That’s not to say that El Diario de una Ninfómana is only a movie about sex. Rather thankfully, the sex is secondary to the story, not the story in and of itself. We are first introduced to the main character, Val, as she is visiting her beloved grandmother in France. Val narrates the beginnings of her sexual discovery, and we cut between images of her sitting on a bench eating an apple (could that be the forbidden apple, perhaps?) and her fifteen-year-old self losing her virginity. In that first experience, she says, she discovers her body as an instrument, as a way to communicate with others and with the universe. It is how she makes a divine connection to the world. Consequently, Val develops an insatiable thirst for physical pleasure, and the first section of the movie is in great part dedicated to the detailed exploration of her exploitations.

Fortunately, as the movie continues, we see more and more of the humanity in Val, as a woman on a journey of self-discovery. Sexual objectification unfolds into an exploration as to the why of sex, rather than just the fact of it. In other words, what is Val really looking for in her sexual encounters? We follow Val through the loss, relationship crises, and professional roller coasters (I won’t spoil the surprise). The extreme focus on pure sexual pleasure widens, until it is contextualized within interpersonal relationships and the foibles of day-to-day life.

What I enjoyed about Diario was that it explored what is still too often the taboo subject of women’s sexuality, without over-reaching into preachy or self-righteousness and also avoiding the distancing explicitness of pornography. For once, sex is portrayed as a way to make contact, to connect, a simple truth so rarely communicated in such an honest and forthright manner. We all look for help in our existential development; some find religion, others try drugs, while others might travel the world. There are nearly as many possibilities as there are people. Val uses sex to find herself, but in the end, it’s just an honest movie about a woman learning to live.