I spent a lot of time being embarrassed about quite how much I loved Gossip Girl. In my mind, the series was a perfectly legitimate blend of society drama, dark humour and incredibly attractive and well-dressed people, but to those unfamiliar with the Manhattan melodrama, it was, put simply, a show for girls. And I’m a guy. 

I face the same sort of naïve prejudice with Girls, a show that has almost as much gender bias in the title. It, as you all ought to know, is the story of four twenty-something-year-old ‘girls’ who have liberal arts degrees and few employment prospects. I might piss standing up, but that’s something I can relate to. Indeed, the whole series focuses much less on gender neuroses than people seem to think, with the primary themes being things like love, friendship and maturity, rather than vaginas, menstruation and cystitis, as its detractors would have you believe. 

Admittedly, I spend less time in the bath with my friends (and, generally, less time unnecessarily naked) but it’s a practical human resonance that makes Girls so accessible. Even though I spent years trying to shoehorn my life problems into the Chuck Bass/Blair Waldorf school of dysfunction, when push came to shove, I’m just not as sexy, rich or evil as the cast of Gossip Girl.

I can, however, relate myself to how uncharmingly charming Girls is. The very basis of the show works under the assumption that the viewer will read their own insecurities in these characters, hence the reason that the central quartet are so flawed, and the scenarios depicted in the show inevitably end in grim sex or burst ear drums. As the show’s clichéd tagline says, they’re ‘living the dream, one mistake at a time’, but it’s the mistakes, rather than the dream, that make Girls what it is.

To that extent, the second series has been an absolute joy. Whilst series one might, optimistically, have been described as ‘bittersweet’, series two and can only be referred to as ‘relentlessly horrible’. Hannah, the character that I find easiest to relate to, has signed a triumphant eBook deal, but also descended into a cesspit of anxiety for which the word ‘griminal’ was coined. Marnie, the Serena van der Woodsen of the show, has become a depressing reminder of the fact that, even if I do well in my degree, my life will turn out shit. Shoshanna continues to bounce from one inconsequential scene stealing appearance to another, this season dragging Ray along with her in television’s most implausible relationship. And Jessa continues to be just as irritating as ever, her marriage to Roy from The IT Crowd lasting about as long as an over-enthusiastic 19-year-old in a thigh crease (see Episode 7 for further details).

But the general darkness of the series is underscored, as always, by being funny, fresh and honest (not to mention the great music, seriously, there’s some Cher Lloyd in this season). Lena Dunham’s wit is moving further away from its earlier role as a Woody Allen imitation, and is finding something closer to its own voice. Yes, this means that there are more sequences on the toilet, arse splinters and a bizarre masturbatory detour featuring Patrick Wilson, but it’s also reassuring to know that the show is finding its own feet. Girls has always been heralded for its originality, but only now, amidst the gloom, is Dunham starting to feel totally free of the shadow of her idols. 

Of course, it’ll be another year before we get to see season three of the show, but if you haven’t yet watched the first season (in which case, why on earth have you read this far?) then you should immediately find a way to rectify this pop cultural failing. Do you want to be part of the zeitgeist? Or are you still planning your own Harlem Shake?

Ignore the femininity of the title; this is as gender neutral as The Great British Bake-Off and, despite my superfluous penis, is a show that tells me more about myself than Match of the Day ever will.

★★★★☆


Four Stars  

 The Strokes are the perfect representation of the current ‘Palma Violets problem’ I discussed in a previous review. At the turn of the century they were being hailed as the next big thing, the saviour’s of rock n’ roll and all those closely associated, and overused, clichés when discussing new bands on the block.

To be honest, I’ve never been a true fan of the Strokes, not because I haven’t liked their music (besides the complete annihilation of ‘Last Nite’ by various novice garage rock bands and overly-intoxicated middle-age men at mid-week karaoke), but because I simply haven’t been cool or indie enough to admit it.

The Strokes have always been, what my parents would describe as, ‘achingly trendy’ and, even if their debut Is This It had been terrible, it would have still been hailed as a huge success due to the tremendous expectations placed on the band once The Modern Age EP had catapulted them into the public consciousness. 

Is This It contains some of the bands early indie anthems, such as ‘Last Nite’, that just refused to go away but the problem with their subsequent releases lay with their initial success in that, musically at least, it was completely overrated. Furthermore, the band did that standard rock n’ roll thing of thinking that they’re all too good for each other (Solo album anyone?) and had a ‘hiatus’ (Codeword: break-up) amongst rumours of the standard inter-band tantrums and tensions. 

The benchmark set by Is This It was humongous and has never quite been met, but is it this time? In short, no. But, quite simply, it just doesn’t matter 

Although 2001, and the release of Is This It, seems historically recent, musically it is definitely not!Twelve years of music is the difference between Cliff Richard’s ‘Summer Holiday’and Queen’s ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’; Live Aid and Radiohead’s Ok Computer. 

In Countdown Machine, this natural passing of time is definitely reflected in a maturity of sound. Long gone are the days of that same ‘indie guitar-band’ beat, now adopted by the Vaccines and the aforementioned Palma Violets, on everything from ‘Last Nite’ and ‘Someday’ to 2011’s ‘Under Cover of Darkness’.    

 Whilst the expectations of the ‘Strokes sound’ are almost reverted to on ‘Partners in Crime’, elsewhere on the album there is a sense of maturity, development and, above all, excitement at the possibilities of a new ‘Strokes sound.’ Whilst other critics have criticized the band for supporting another Casablancas solo project this isn’t fair, and unrepresentative of the album as a whole, bursting with collective energy. Tracks such as ‘80s Comedown Machine’ remain experimental yet strangely accessible whilst the album is littered with poppy ‘feel-good’ bursts of oomph such as ‘Welcome to Japan’ putting aside whatever ‘inter-band disputes’ may have been rumoured to have arisen as a result of the bands meteoric rise to fame.

The stand-out track though, and the best representation of a sense of musical maturity, collective experimentation, and the all-round ‘feel good’ factor being creatively combined within all aspects of the album is within it’s opening track ‘Tap Out’.

The band has recently gained comparisons to Eighties New Wave which can certainly be felt within the understated, yet surprisingly upbeat, chorus of the album’s opener yet I also immediately felt comparisons with more contemporary groups such as Coconut Records and Bombay Bicycle Club through the infectiously repetitive guitar riff and sense of rhythmic tension, and yet simultaneously somehow a sense of rhythmic fluidity, both within the drums, the bass, and, importantly, how they inter-lock. 

The song is also, whether intentionally or not, a reflection of the band’s own reflective state, with lyrics such as ‘‘gotta get my hands on something new’’, ‘‘decide my past, define my life’’ and various repetitions of the word ‘’drifting.’’ A fantastic album opener and testament to, whether the band know it or not, the fact that the Strokes don’t need to meet the ‘benchmark’ set by previous albums such as Is This It. Their new material represents a new level of maturity, a new set of musical ideas and, almost, what feels like an entirely new band.  

All links to artists/songs appear in Spotify, other links are to articles. 

★★★☆☆
Three Stars

Okay, I’ll admit it. I read the words Justin Timberlake and made an oestrogen fuelled leap towards reviewing his newly released album The 20/20 Experience.  As we all know, the 32 year old JT is no longer the curly headed boy of Nsync fame, and is now a sophisticated, hilarious (just check out his most recent stint with The Lonely Island and Beyoncé) and married (if you listen very closely you can hear the soft cries of women everywhere) man.

I have to promise it is not just out of pre-conditioned bias, then, that I say that the album has, for the most part, a pretty awesome sound. Justin’s unmistakable suave falsetto is back after seven years, and it melts into every track. Take the third song of the album ‘Don’t Hold the Wall’; with its slow seductive rhythms and the sounds of cicadas, you can picture yourself in a sultry, seedy Spanish bar.

There’s even something for the men out there. Take a listen to ‘Suit and Tie’, if you haven’t already. If that doesn’t make you feel like a true smooth, polished, lady-killer whilst getting ready for formal, I don’t know what will.

HOWEVER, I have to admit that Justin becomes a little self-indulgent here, and will insist on stretching out an otherwise alright track in an attempt to make it some kind of masterpiece. For example, the first track, ‘Pusher Love Girl’ is 8:02 minutes long, and ends in about 3 minutes of Justin singing ‘I’m just a junkie for your love’ over 6 notes, ad nauseum. I went to make myself a cup of tea, which I’m pretty sure I can’t do in a club.

Also it seems there is no real consistent theme to the whole thing, other than the typical Justin style, even after a whole 1 hour 19 minutes of intense listening and waiting. So, other than the highlight tracks of the album, which are pretty much over by the 4th song, you are somewhat left with a big jumper for Christmas instead of the Xbox you were really secretly hoping to get for the last seven years.

Maybe more exciting stuff will come in the second part of the album which will be released later this year, but I’m not sitting on the edge of my seat.

But if you ask me, even if no adventurous leaps have been made by him now even after such a long hiatus from producing solo work, that’s no different to any other mainstream recording artist I’ve heard recently. And compared to the rest of them, who consistently churn out the same fast, meaningless, lyricless beats that are personally reserved only for pre-drink fuelled Wahoo, it’s nice to have something you won’t be embarrassed to come on shuffle on your iTunes.

And let’s be honest. Even if it’s the same old Christmas jumper, the same old JT sounds and feel, that’s what we’ve always loved, and I wouldn’t change it. I just wish it was a bit shorter that’s all. 

Xu Bing is one of China’s most critically acclaimed contemporary artists. His current exhibition at the Ashmolean Museum, ‘Landscape Landscript’, is the first exhibition devoted to his fascinating landscapes collection.

Previous works by Bing include ‘Book from the Sky’ and ‘Where Does The Dust Collect Itself?’. For the former, 4000 Chinese characters were created, hand carved into wood blocks and subsequently printed onto hanging ceiling scrolls, whilst the latter installation was compiled using dust that Bing collected from the World Trade Centre following 9/11. What is undoubtedly interesting about Bing’s artworks is that not only do they help bridge the gap between ancient Chinese and modern Chinese art, they also transcend the barriers that exist between Eastern and Western cultures.

The exhibition is divided into three rooms, showing various pieces dating from 1974 to 1989. Upon entry, one is met with a quaint selection of Bing’s earlier pencil and crayon drawings that warmly depict the rural Chinese countryside. Primitive villages and pastures are drawn with an intimate touch, the small scale used in the drawings encouraging one to peer more closely at each minute detail.  Several of these drawings use highly simplistic lines, enhanced with minimalistic spots of colour,  lending them a cartoon-like, playful quality. One is reminded of Paul Klee’s abstract drawings composed of simple forms outlined using sparse linework.

It is evident that Bing’s landscapes show heavy influences from Jean-François Millet. Like Millet, Bing wanted to convey the peace that is palpable in rural China, and through careful observations of nature, he was able to capture the rawness of countryside life.

One of the highlights of the exhibition are the displays of large etchings and woodprints; several of these woodland pieces show likeness to David Hockney’s paintings in their organised uniformity. However, many of Bing’s woodprints aptly use asymmetry to create jarring, patterned landscapes, resulting in an unrestrained meshwork of lines, dots, varying in size and shape. This dynamism often injects a sense of liveliness to the scenes depicted which contrasts to the stillness infused in the pencil drawings. Even though Bing does not use oil paints, some of the etchings are evocative of Van Gogh’s bold and brash linework.

The most dominant pieces in the exhibition are the shan shui (山水): traditional Chinese landscape scroll paintings, in which Bing incorporates Chinese characters that have been morphed into shapes of mountains, stones and rivers. It is almost as if Bing is creating a language puzzle for the viewer, making us connect with the image as well as the Chinese text scattered amongst his artworks. Such pictorial works question the idea of communication through hidden words, forcing us to question how words can be manipulated to create new forms and ideologies.

Some say a picture is worth a thousand words. Bing’s art exceeds that number for certain. If you want to catch a glimpse of the beautiful Chinese countryside, this intimate exhibition is not to be missed.

‘Landscape Landscript’ is on at the Ashmolean Museum from 29 February – 19 May 2013.

If you watch one thing on TV this week, make it the last in the series of Gogglebox. The premise of Channel 4’s latest reality show may sound dull – filming families’ reactions as they watch television programmes – but the result is anything but. Gogglebox offers an intriguing insight into human behaviour, and also happens to be very, very funny.

In the UK, on average we watch a staggering four hours per day of television. Often, the most enjoyable part of a show is not what’s on screen, but the comments of your fellow viewers. By pushing the sofa into the spotlight, the creators of Gogglebox give us an insight into the viewing habits of a diverse cross-section of British society.

We meet Stephen and Christopher, a couple from Brighton who make astute, acerbic observations on all aspects of TV culture. And Leon in Liverpool: a retired teacher who constantly pesters his wife for a snack and finds himself bemused with modern life. Then there’s Stephanie and Dominic: middle-aged spouses from Kent with an enormous house and a frightfully well-stocked liquor cabinet. They would awfully like Jeremy Clarkson to be Prime Minister, and they reckon the Queen is ‘top totty’.

In the Michael family, mother Caroline is beside herself at Chummy’s labour on Call the Midwife. Her son, Louis, fetches her a roll of loo paper and loudly despairs of her melodramatic side. His long-suffering father just wishes they’d both be quiet so he can eat his monkey nuts in peace. Meanwhile, Antiques Roadshow inspires best friends Sandy and Sandra to take a break from their incessant munching of junk food in order to painstakingly inspect a Tutankhamun paperweight to ascertain its value.

It is incredibly easy to relate to the personalities in Gogglebox. Who hasn’t become infuriated by their family members talking over the top of a programme? Or watched a show just for the fun of criticising it? The show’s hilarity lies in its humanity: we see the participants wince at One Born, cry at Comic Relief and get mildly aroused by Paul Hollywood’s Bread. The universality of these reactions is comforting.

Gogglebox shows that television is powerful. It can captivate our attention and have us on the edge of our seats. It can make us laugh and cry within the space of half an hour. Although it can be hard to remember when you’re fighting over the remote with a sibling, watching television is a pleasure best shared, as our mutual experience sparks discussion. Far from stifling real human interaction, television encourages it. Gogglebox bears witness to that interaction, as banal or insightful as it may be. I have enjoyed it immensely, and sincerely hope it returns for more than four episodes next time.