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Blog Page 30
Maria – Pablo Larraín’s grab at ‘high art’
Countless documentaries have been made, and even more biographies published on the life of Maria Callas (1923-1977). She has become a mythical woman upon whom anyone can superimpose a new story. The 10th of January marked the UK premiere of Pablo Larraín’s Maria–yet another take on the opera singer’s life. The third in his trilogy of biopics about historic mid-century women, this film focuses more on the curation of visually beautiful pictures than it does on opera and leaves the audience wondering where the real Maria can be found.
At music college, ‘Callas’ felt like a dirty word. Her vocal technique is not one your teachers would want you to copy – it is admired in Callas and only in Callas. To love her publicly would be to divulge a personal secret – that you too, dream of Teatro alla Scala and the tragic diva lifestyle. However, if asked who the greatest soprano of all time was, most would have to answer Maria Callas.
As one of the most iconic and influential opera singers of all time, she became known for her ‘big ugly voice’, which broke operatic conventions. She sang more gutterally and with a vibrato which oscillated much slower than her contemporaries’. Even towards the end of her career, as her voice began to fail her, every note she sang was steeped in visceral and complex human emotion in a way few singers have ever achieved. Callas turned herself inside out before countless audiences, intertwining herself with total strangers as her greatest gift became her life’s burden.
Depicting the end of her career and her final days, the narrative of Pablo Larraín’s film leans heavily on the physical affliction of her voice. Angelina Jolie, as Callas, combined live singing with lip-syncing to original recordings – both were mostly unconvincing despite seven months of vocal training (that’s 5 minutes in opera terms). In the film’s opening moments, she (badly) sings Bellini’s ‘Casta Diva’ to her housekeeper and is relieved to hear her praise. This depiction is inconsistent with what we know of the real Callas. Mezzo-soprano Grace Bumbry reported: “If I followed the musical score when Callas was singing, I would see every tempo marking, every dynamic marking”. Callas herself, in an interview, explained: “I don’t read the criticisms… I know exactly what I do before anybody tells me”. To suggest she would accept false praise is to discredit her intelligence and musicality.
Though Jolie artfully embodied Callas’ poised mannerisms and obscure Transatlantic accent, her performance couldn’t hide the feeling that this was another Hollywood-grab at ‘high art’ status. Much like Tár used a classical music setting as a trojan horse for a drama about cancel culture, this film used Callas to access a world of operatic imagery without developing a meaningful appreciation for the art form. It is as if they pillaged Callas’ life for dramatic visuals: the grandeur and elegance of La Scala, Aristotle Onassis’ opulent party, and Paris landmarks against autumn leaves. Every frame is like a painting – beautiful but static. Despite Callas calling singing on stage “an exaltation and intoxication”, which felt as if “the stage itself would burn”, the flashbacks to her performances lack the suspended atmosphere of opera as the audience appears unresponsive and portrait-like. As a result, the contrasting shots between her prime and decline are less impactful.
To add insult to injury, the filmmakers directly insert themselves into this narrative. Under the guise of her mandrax-fueled hallucination, Callas is joined by a film crew. Her interviewer (also called Mandrax) appears and disappears throughout to evoke poignant declarations from Callas about her life. These scenes feel clunky and are an insistent reminder of the behind-the-scenes creators of this film – a watermark across Callas’ story.
Despite the saccharine imagery on screen (Callas meeting her younger self and the ghost of her past love), the final scene lends some long-awaited focus to the voice of Maria Callas – a glimpse into the rich emotional experience this film could have been.
Flood prevention plan spurred by wettest month on record
After experiencing the wettest month on record in September of last year, Oxfordshire County Council has set into motion a new Local Flood Risk Management Strategy. The council formally approved the plan on the 21st of January, and has commissioned Wallingford Hydrosolutions to develop the plan.
The plan will take place over five years and will also consider the long–term implications of climate change. This follows a public consultation and the formation of an Oxfordshire strategic flood risk group that took place in December of last year. The plan focuses most on “local flood risk resulting from surface water, groundwater and ordinary watercourse flooding.”
The plan outlines five objectives: “improving understanding, greater collaboration, ensuring holistic and sustainable approaches are used, preventing increases in flood risk, and improved communication.” The new strategy responds to an ongoing trend of increasingly frequent and intense floods in the region.
Councillor Dr Pete Sudbury, Deputy Leader with responsibility for Climate Change, Environment and Future Generations, told Cherwell that there has been an “extraordinary number of flooding events in Oxfordshire.” He described multiple months of rainfall as “extreme.”
Dr Sudbury also commented that “tackling flooding is the first really big battle in the war against climate change.” In his opinion, the issue is set to continue, as “there is no IPCC emissions pathway that stops Sea Surface temperatures rising before 2070.”
The impact of the ongoing heavy rainfall has long affected rowers. A Cherwell investigation from last year found that rowers on the Cherwell were only unable to row 61% of the time, whilst rowers on the Godstow were unable to row 85% of the time.
A second year rower from Lincoln College told Cherwell: “River conditions have been remarkably poor, not just recently but over the past few years. We’ve seen more red and black flags, making the river inappropriate for novice outings.”
“Wait and Hope” – The Count of Monte Cristo: Review
The Count of Monte Cristo premiered at the Cannes Film Festival in 2024 to little fanfare. However, it turned out to be a stunning and emotionally-satisfying tale of adventure. While Hollywood continues to focus on blockbusters and the ever-expanding superhero universe, the French have wisely returned to one of their most iconic authors. I would go as far as to suggest that, due to our contemporary lack of imagination, I see no better way to spark a new wave of creativity than by reeducating people with the classics.
Last year, Martin Bourboulon’s The Three Musketeers: D’Artagnan and The Three Musketeers: Milady won over the French box office and grossed nearly 45 million pounds internationally. These two adaptations – old-fashioned swashbuckler adventures – paved the way for Alexandre Dumas’ triumph The Count of Monte Cristo (1846), scripted by the writing duo behind the Musketeers films, Matthieu Delaporte and Alexandre de La Patellière, now in the director chairs.
The plot follows young sailor Edmond Dantès. Soon to be promoted to captain, he is now finally permitted to marry his beloved Mercédès. He is giddy in love, reunited with his father and best friend, and a happily-ever-after seems plausible. But before the couple can say “I do”, Dantès is falsely accused of conspiring with Napoleon, arrested and sent to an island prison where he will remain for the next 14 years. What began as the best of times quickly turns into the worst of times. As Dantès plans a daring escape with fellow prisoner Abbé Faria, he is taught multiple languages and learns of the location of a treasure hidden on the island of Monte Cristo. After successfully breaking free, Dantès uses the riches to reinvent himself as one of the world’s wealthiest men: The Count of Monte Cristo. And thus begins his tale for revenge against all those who wronged him.
What is clear from the start of the film is that, despite the three hour running time, it is fast-paced, scripted by people who know how to compress a 1,300 page novel into a coherent film. It is grand, entertaining and heartwarming, a reminder that the old way of telling stories still works perfectly. The film packs in so much action that one can only watch with amazement and bated breath, immersed in the magic of old-style epic adventures. Dantès’ modus operandi is that: “All human wisdom is contained in these two words: Wait and Hope.” He spends decades planning his revenge, waiting and hoping for the right moment and opportunity to come, and yet the film itself never lingers, constantly moving forward with endless, exhilarating action.
The greatest compliment I can bestow on the film is that it is old-fashioned, executed with golden-era Hollywood panache. With an estimated budget of around €43 million, it is the most expensive French film of 2024 – and rightly so. Each piece of set and costume, every inch of lighting and second of camera placement, is well considered. The attention to detail is a testament to the directors’ dedication, and serves to immerse viewers completely in 19th century France.
Leading the film is the handsome, Ben-Barnes-if-turned-French, Pierre Niney, who plays Edmond Dantès. Niney has a haunted coolness that suits his character’s obsessive persistence, set on a project of retribution against the three men who stole his chance at happiness. Despite often donning various disguises, his hawkish nose and saturnine features are always recognisable. He is outstanding in the role, portraying Dantès with intensity and depth, brilliantly depicting his character’s evolution from a youthful sailor to a vengeful aristocrat on the verge of losing himself.
French cinema has always been a revolutionary force in the world of film. And The Count of Monte Cristo is an example of its greatness. It is a movie that reminds me of how much I love cinema and that there are people out there who love making cinema just as much. In my eyes, The Count of Monte Cristo is one of the best films of this decade, especially for lovers of historical fiction. It is a much welcome return to the epic nature of classic adventure stories, remade with a big budget to match the richness of the author’s imagination. Thus, until this film gains greater global recognition, all I can do is “Wait and Hope” that the world and cinema returns to the wealth of the classics. “Wait and Hope” that quality and heart will surpass publicity and trends. “Wait and Hope” that you watch this film.
To Julian – Ella O’Shea
you’re enwombed within stone, this anchorhold,
wool on your skin, the draught on your feet
ink on your nose, barley in your teeth.
to look at a hazelnut and see everything — how marvellous
to have eyes filled with wonder, fear, love,
to hold a cat close, press into her flesh,
feel her mothering warmth, as in Christ’s side.
it is all that is made: these four walls,
a bed, a pot, the altar through a slice in the brick,
to mumble the soft clothing of prayer
in its comfort-slots every day,
to look up through your small window, and
have your eyes receive the stars,
scattered on the blanket of night,
seeing as God did, in the beginning.
it is very good, it is now
and ever, all shall be
well, in this Word,
this world
without end.
wool on your skin, the draught on your feet
ink on your nose, barley in your teeth.
to look at a hazelnut and see everything — how marvellous
to have eyes filled with wonder, fear, love,
to hold a cat close, press into her flesh,
feel her mothering warmth, as in Christ’s side.
it is all that is made: these four walls,
a bed, a pot, the altar through a slice in the brick,
to mumble the soft clothing of prayer
in its comfort-slots every day,
to look up through your small window, and
have your eyes receive the stars,
scattered on the blanket of night,
seeing as God did, in the beginning.
it is very good, it is now
and ever, all shall be
well, in this Word,
this world
without end.
The Globes and what we’re getting wrong
“Thirty years ago,” Demi Moore told a wildly enthusiastic Golden Globes audience, “I had a producer tell me that I was a ‘popcorn actress’ and, at that time, I made that mean […] that I could do movies that were successful, that made a lot of money, but that I couldn’t be acknowledged…” The antidote, Moore revealed, was the “magical, bold, courageous, out-of-the-box, absolutely bonkers script” – a script which has since transmogrified into The Substance.
The irony is Moore’s reductive pigeonholing is not dissimilar to the Golden Globe’s treatment of The Substance. Whilst the film has garnered critical acclaim, it’s worth noting two categories for which The Substance was in contention: ‘Best Motion Picture – Musical or Comedy’ and ‘Best Performance by an Actress in a Motion Picture – Musical or Comedy.’ Though certain prosthetics donned by Margaret Qualley do indeed defy gravity, I’m guessing The Substance isn’t hitting the ‘Musical’ criteria. So it’s a comedy? Really?
The Substance hits some wickedly comedic beats (one word: shrimp). But what in The Substance bars it from ‘Best Motion Picture – Drama’? Admittedly, the film was nominated for ‘Best Screenplay’, with Coralie Fargeat receiving a nomination for ‘Best Director of a Motion Picture.’ But the damage is done. Horror is not drama. Apparently.
Which is ludicrous, not least because ‘drama’ encompasses any and all dramatic works. The antithesis of ‘drama’ cannot be ‘comedy’ as the binary so often pedalled would have you believe. Though many might have forgotten it, the opposite of ‘comedy’ is in fact ‘tragedy.’ This slippage enforces the common notion of comedy as inferior to tragedy. More concerningly, it implies that comedies and musicals are not drama at all.
Critical snobbery towards horror is rich, varied, and to paraphrase Frankenstein, still very much aliiiiiive. Only six horror films have ever been nominated for ‘Best Picture’ at the Oscars – and only one was victorious (for trivia fans: Silence of the Lambs in 1991). Sure, there’s a recent uptick in horror’s claim to artstry, courtesy of thematically-minded A24 bludgeonings. But where is mainstream adulation for I Saw The TV Glow? Or Robert Morgan’s Stopmotion? Why was AMC’s Interview with the Vampire snubbed in yet another awards season? Not only does Jacob Anderson’s lack of nominations merit a tantrum of Lestat proportions, it is damning proof horror is still overlooked.
Horror isn’t the only dowdy stepsister when it comes to awards season. There is also the tricksy Oscar category of ‘Best Animated Feature Film.’ This was created after more than sixty years, when the rise of Disney’s competitors provided a large enough nominee pool. Product of necessity though the category is, it raises the same question as the no doubt belly-laugh-inducing romp The Substance: why is genre the be-all and end-all of a piece of art?
In the case of animation, the simple answer is: it shouldn’t. 2022 saw the nominations of Guillermo del Toros’ Pinocchio and inventive mockumentary Marcel the Shell With Shoes On. A regular contender in this category is acclaimed co-founder of Studio Ghibli, Hayao Miyazaki. While animation is dimensions away from live-action, the fact remains these exceptional films are excluded from ‘Best Picture.’ That’s ‘Best Picture’, mind you; not ‘Best Live-Action Picture.’ I would never advocate for such a rebranding (least of all because it sounds ridiculous). Yet I cannot help but wonder whether making a sideshow of one medium writes inferiority into its DNA.
Moore’s acceptance speech warns against restrictive, binary approaches to film. Someone is one kind of actor and one kind of actor only. A movie is a “popcorn film” and nothing more. If I can add one more lesson to the countless imparted by The Substance, it’s that such divisions are, at best, irritating, and at worst, obstructive in both the production and consumption of art. In an industry groaning under the weight of tired reboots and 2D that really earns its name, surely strange amorphous films are just what we need? Much like the thing lurking under Elizabeth Sparkle’s skin, “out-of-the-box, absolutely bonkers” masterworks like The Substance must keep pushing against strictures of genre.
My music doesn’t break tradition. It is traditional
When my college denied me permission to perform Chinese music at its Lunar New Year-themed formal dinner last year, I initially accepted the decision. I was a wide-eyed fresher, awestruck by Oxford’s tradition of formals, where fellows strode through our 500-year-old hall to sit at the High Table. Their dark gowns billowed, and their Latin grace sounded impeccable.
Music could not ‘affect’ the High Table, I was told by the college’s email. Who was I to challenge a blanket ban on music?
Days later, my college hosted a Burns Night formal where a bagpipe brightened the hall. A student recited ‘Address to a Haggis’ and stabbed the titular dish at the High Table. It clicked, then, that the ban on music was rather a ban on non-traditional music. Under the hallowed spires of Oxford, that meant non-white music.
It hardly mattered that the instrument I’d played for over a decade, Guzheng, had 2,500 years of history. Its very name meant ‘ancient zither’.
New York City, 1834
Afong Moy was the first known Chinese woman in the US, imported to the East Coast as a teenager in 1834. Traders exhibited her in a box of Chinese artefacts, and curious Americans paid to see the spectacle advertised as ‘The Chinese Lady’. Wearing ethnic garments, she demonstrated speaking Cantonese, using chopsticks, and walking on her four-inch bound feet.
As Afong grew out of her teens, one of her replacements was Pwan Ye-Koo, a 17-year-old girl who played Pipa, the Chinese lute. In a pamphlet advertising her exhibit, Pwan gazed forlornly, hugging her instrument to her chest.
Thus the history of ethnic Chinese instruments in the Western world began as specimens of an exotic race.
In my imagination, Afong and Pwan were fiercely curious about the world. They learned English and devoured books backstage in between shows. When they grew too old for the exhibit, they travelled the country by railroad, making American friends and seeking out their countrymen.
But it is unclear what really became of the Chinese ladies. All I know is history and Hollywood remember their owner, PT Barnum, as ‘The Greatest Showman’.
San Francisco, 2014
When eleven-year-old me stood before the immigration officer at San Francisco International Airport, fresh off a one-way flight from China, I carried a half-size Guzheng on my back. I practiced and performed over my middle school and high school years in the US, everywhere from street corners to theatres that sat thousands.
I learned that being a musician of an ethnic instrument in the Western world means shifting between positionalities: either an echo of the familiar to co-ethnics, or an overture to the unfamiliar for others. To an audience of co-ethnics, I bring the melodies of home – and I will always recall the hunchback Chinese immigrant whose wrinkles stretched into a smile when he heard Guzheng for the first time in decades. But to an audience who never knew of Guzheng’s existence before, I’m an ambassador with only one shot.
In a position to shape their perception of ethnic Chinese music, I wondered whether I was perceived like Afong and Pwan. I’ve been told that every song I play sounds like Disney’s ‘Mulan’ soundtrack, or that Guzheng is cool but not an ‘actual instrument’. I learned it’s pointless to look for an ‘other’ category in prestigious music competitions the way I can find my foodstuff in the ‘world’ aisle of a supermarket.
I suspected that whenever I performed, I was not judged the way piano or violin players are judged for their skills. Rather, my pentatonic tunes were an exotic curiosity for ears acclimatised to Western scales. I was a breathing museum audio guide.
But unlike an artefact in a box, I was learning English, so I began speaking alongside my performance to put my music into context. From delivering a guest lecture at my local university, to national public speaking competitions, to TEDx, I presented the rich heritage of Guzheng and told stories of the Chinese ladies.
Oxford, 2023
At age 19 I carried my Guzheng through the immigration point at Heathrow International Airport en route to Oxford University. Here, I had no intention to stop my multi-year tradition of putting on Lunar New Year performances – until I learned that my music was deemed unsuitable for the High Table I so revered.
I cried in my room when I learned of the differential treatment between white and non-white music, for a formal meant to celebrate my most important holiday. It came as a shock in a college I’d found welcoming in every way.
I’d never felt excluded until then, but I guess that’s because I’d been the perfect image of an assimilated immigrant. I received high marks in PPE, edited the newspaper, rowed, and held office in student democracy. I spoke and thought in English, quadruple-underscoring the American half of my Chinese-American identity.
But I also teach friends to fold dumplings and decorate my room with red paper cuttings, drink hot water and wear slippers at home. I’ve been expressing myself through Guzheng longer than I’ve been expressing myself through the English language.
My college’s decision was one of many instances of institutional inertia in Oxford, where no specific person holds malice, but that the general reverence of tradition implicitly excludes students from non-traditional backgrounds.
Yet when I wanted to give up, my peers rallied behind me. They told me to speak up and supported me along the way. The JCR President met with the college registrar, and I sent emails to the don who represented the High Table – it turned out he was delighted to see a Guzheng performance, contrary to what the college told me.
We won. At last year’s Lunar New Year formal, I performed ‘Ode to Spring Breeze’ – my own solo arrangement of my favourite musician’s composition for a Guzheng and piano duet. Portraits of all the college’s presidents gazed upon the hall that night. In my imagination, Afong and Pwan were watching too – they watch over all the Chinese ladies, the first ones who forge a tradition in a new place.
I’d set a precedent so that another year, for another cultural holiday, another ethnic instrument may grace our 500-year-old hall.
Turning the (high) tables
Now halfway through my time at this historic university, I never cease to be awestruck by all the traditions – the sub fusc, the punting, the academic enquiries. I adore this year’s Burns Night formal, where I cheered for the bagpipe player and the Haggis addressor. I’ve been asked to reprise my Lunar New Year formal performance too, and so I will, in addition to performing at the Oxford Union and the Town Hall.
My music doesn’t destroy tradition. It is traditional. Precisely because I love Oxford’s traditions, I’m inviting my culture to be part of it.
Reply: Tutoring can be a force for good
Oxbridge admissions results have re-alerted many to the problem of access, as Rizina’s article – ‘Admissions tutoring proves that money beats merit’ articulates – and rightly so. Given this, private tuition gets a bad rap, but what is it doing? At times, in the furore one reads about this ‘fault line’, one would think private tuition is some evil magic powder that confers special luck in interviews!
Working in the tutoring sector, I help students improve their knowledge and skills. This raises the general level of education for the good of society as a whole. Those who have greater knowledge and skills will go on to become more productive citizens.
Of course, the problem of access has two components: a) there is the matter that a well-functioning meritocracy ensures that the best talent is fully utilised for the benefit of all, and b) there is the matter of the unfairness that opportunities are tied to one’s background. My point that tutoring raises skills only answers (a) in suggesting that tutoring can develop talent and therefore also improve results for society.
To resolve the problem posed by point (b), we’d need to consider what the biggest obstacles to greater fairness are. In an arms race of tutoring vs access measures, it is unclear what the net effect of these two interventions are – especially since admissions tutors take pains to select on merit. It is also unclear who gets left out, since access measures imperfectly measure disadvantage. However, it is self-evident that knowledge of what interviewers are about will affect a student’s capacity to show their potential.
I was shocked to hear that some teachers offered the advice that a student should shoehorn their reading of War and Peace in the interview to impress the admissions tutors. This shows the extent to which teachers – and therefore applicants – in the country do not understand the format of an Oxbridge interview, nor for which traits admissions tutors look.
Such an information gap means that many go into interviews not in the frame of mind to even show their potential. Targeted tuition to schools is a remedy, contrary to what Rizina’s piece claims. I’ve personally tried to help in this matter. Last October and December, I organised a series of free webinars for state school students, particularly in rural areas which often receive a lower share of access attention. Many students did not know what interviewers wanted, and then they were in a better position following these sessions.
Yes, this does little to address “fundamental ethical questions” – but it does improve people’s ability to showcase their potential to the betterment of themselves and wider society. A refusal to engage with the potential of tutoring more widely applied to equalise the playing field by increasing the level of educational opportunity afforded to all amounts to a focus on an ethical intuition over prioritising improving lives.
However, I agree with Rizina that a yet fairer approach would be the systematic provision of these services in schools across the country. However, it is uncertain that this would be effective if attempted by decree. Many schools in the country do not have any teachers who went to Oxford or Cambridge themselves. The majority are great teachers who deliver a great service to their students and country. Nonetheless, they are not best placed to prepare students for Oxbridge applications.
An approach that avoids this pitfall would provide information to ensure that students know how to prepare. I am drafting documents at present to distribute freely to state schools. These documents will target different ages of students with the sort of thing they should be doing to develop their intellectual skills ready for Oxbridge applications.
If a large part of the problem is gaps in the likes of intellectual discussions around the meal table, then students can take proactive steps earlier on to nurture the same skills that those from more academic backgrounds receive – but only once they know that this is a worthwhile endeavour.
It is through more provision of information, including tutoring, that the lives of people from all walks of life will prosper.
Have an opinion on the points raised in this article? Send us a 150-word letter at [email protected] and see your response in our next print or online.
Even contest in uneven waters: Boat Race trial
On December 18th during the vac, the Oxford University Boat Club took to the Tideway for their one dress rehearsal before the Boat Race (newly sponsored and now the ‘Chanel J12 Boat Race’). It offers rowers who aren’t baptised in the flames of the contest the opportunity to race the course against competitive (albeit internal) opposition. While Oxford sees many Olympic rowers come and go, the experience on the choppier Thames waters is vital for a winning team. With just three months to go until the Boat Race this year, this trial race helps both the coaches and the rowers understand what to work on for the final quarter of the cycle.
Both the men’s and women’s side of the club held two races, with lightweight and openweighted crews battling it out for a seat on the 13th of April. The women’s side was somewhat one-sided, as the ‘Moto Moto’ crew led by Women’s President Annie Anezakis steamed to an eight length victory over ‘King Julien’ in the openweighted boats, while the women’s lightweight was slightly less emphatic (but still convincing) as ‘Maurice’ ended up beating ‘Gloria’ by four and a half lengths. Eagle-eyed readers will note that the 2005 film Madagascar offered inspiration for their boat names. A fun tradition of these trial races is the external references used for names. Oxford women went for Madagascar across the board, while the Oxford men’s openweight chose Aardman’s Wallace and Gromit.
Cambridge women named their crews after A. A. Milne’s Winnie the Pooh; and the Cambridge lightweight men went for ‘Thunder’ and ‘Lightning’ in homage to the great speedster Lightning McQueen. It was only Cambridge’s openweight men who thought they were too cool to represent their childhoods and went for the Greek mythological creatures ‘Scylla’ and ‘Charybdis’ that appear in Book XII of Homer’s Odyssey. Ironically, Cambridge will probably be seeing an eight-headed [rowing] monster devour them on April 13th, and will be left wishing they opted for the whirlpool with teeth.
The men’s openweight race was the most hotly-contested race of the day, as ‘Wallace’ and ‘Gromit’ duked it out exchanging power for discipline to see ‘Gromit’ walk out eventual winners by two lengths. ‘Wallace’ showed aggression both at the start and approaching Hammersmith Bridge all the way to Chiswick Pier, but difficult conditions put a wrench in their plans, and ‘Gromit’ rowed through with composure to take what would eventually be a winning margin.
The two crews on paper were very well-matched, with an impressive engine in ‘Wallace’ consisting of 2024 Olympian Nicholas Kohl, 2023 OUBC President Tass Von Mueller and James Doran, who placed 3rd in the GB trials in April 2024. In the ‘Gromit’ boat, Olympic Bronze medallist Nick Rusher was setting the tone at stroke, backed up by a reliable crew with Boat Race experience including Tom Sharrock who rowed in the Blue Boat in 2023, and in Isis in 2024 and Saxon Stacey who did the opposite, rowing for Isis in 2023 and the Blue Boat in 2024.
Saxon kindly answered some of Cherwell’s questions about the day and gave us an insight into what was going on behind the scenes. “The atmosphere was calm. Calmer than last year,” he said, as despite the potential selection stakes, crews seemed to focus more on their own rhythms, rather than race tactics (the latter of which can make you think too much about what the other crew is going to do). Less emphasis was certainly placed on selection this year as well, as the “coaches have put less emphasis on telemetry” (ergs don’t float) and so rowers could concentrate more on moving together, rather than trying to put out as much wattage as possible.
After falling to Cambridge last year, Cherwell asked Saxon if the squad feels like it has a chip on its shoulder this year, but he responded that it feels more like ushering in a new era, and that there is a general feeling of excitement around the camp instead. Despite still being an undergrad (no gap year either), Saxon has become one of the more experienced OUBC members, having taken to the Tideway twice in his two years at Oxford for both Isis and the Blue boat at the Boat Race. When asked about what responsibilities he feels despite his age, he mentioned that while the Olympians lead the charge technically and athletically, his job is to “help the new guys adjust to the peculiarities of Oxford rowing and to help the coaches avoid making the same mistakes we’ve made before” although apparently this often ends up coming out as “old biased stories”.
Saxon was placed in the 7 seat for the trial race. For those unfamiliar, the stroke seat sets the rhythm of a boat, seated right in front of the cox. The 7 seat behind them is not only following the stroke’s rhythm, but must match it perfectly so that both sides of the boat are rowing evenly. It’s a huge responsibility and is often reserved for reliable and consistent rowers who demonstrate good technique, discipline and determination to stay in time. After asking what that meant to him, knowing the confidence the coaches had in his abilities, he brushed it off, saying: “I like it because there’s more focus on rhythm than in some other seats. To the 3 seat, for example, people often go, ‘you’re the big guy, you’re just there to pull hard’ [but] people don’t really say that to the 7 seat, so I feel like I can focus on rowing a long and consistent stroke with fewer distractions.”
Finally, Cherwell asked about what it took to hold off ‘Wallace’ in its aggression in order to come through victorious. Saxon highlighted the importance of discipline, over the tropes of ‘grittiness’ or ‘toughness’. “This is a level of sport where you can’t assume that the other crew will be any less gritty than you are. It can detract from the rhythmic and technical focus because people feel that the only way they’re going to win is by going deeper than the next man, which often leads to solo efforts and the crew falling apart,’ he rightly points out. Instead, he looked to his stroke as a source of support at the business end of the race: “Personally I found confidence in Nick’s rhythm – I know how determined he is as an athlete and how technically skilled, and I thought ‘he’s not going to let us lose, so I won’t either’. I knew that all I had to do was stay in his rhythm and we’d be fine.”
Five Hip-Hop Gems You Missed in 2024
A year dominated by the Kendrick Lamar-Drake beef, 2024 made it all too easy to let underground hip-hop slip through the cracks into obscurity. Whilst many alumni of the alternative scene – Vince Staples, Denzel Curry – saw their success recognised on a larger scale, some of the year’s best releases missed out on commercial success. Here are five albums not to let pass you by as we enter into 2025:
We Buy Diabetic Test Strips – Armand Hammer (billy woods and ELUCID)
We Buy Diabetic Test Strips is without doubt billy woods and ELUCID’s most impenetrable work to date, with the pair laying their trademark abstract lyricism over beats that are even more fragmentary and collaged than those on their previous albums.
The most impressive cut is the closer, ‘Doves’ (added to the album in 2024 to form a final version), with production that fuses wailing backing vocals with a static fuzz. The nearly nine-minute track’s standout verse is a hopeless woods lamentation on mortality:
“They called like ‘come now he doesn’t have long to live’
I dress slowly
Came back that night and took my baby out the crib so I could hold him”
To attribute the miracle of We Buy Diabetic Test Strips to woods alone would be a disservice to ELUCID, himself instrumental in working together the sonically disparate elements that make up the album. In an interview with Clash, he described the “patchwork of sounds and ears and hands” that led to its creation – recordings from a jam session he had organised between four musicians who had never met before (including flutist Shabaka Hutchings) were sent to producers in what became the backbone of the LP. The result of this ‘patchwork’ is anxious beats that bring with them endless jeopardy and intrigue, and Armand Hammer’s most impressive work so far.
Pinball – MIKE, Tony Selzer
When MIKE burst onto the alternative hip-hop scene with 2017’s ‘May God Bless Your Hustle’, he bore a pen game unmatched in its introspection and a production style that he had helped pioneer, one straight from the school of Navy Blue and Earl Sweatshirt. If 2023’s ‘Burning Desire’ was a stylistic continuation of his previous work, ‘Pinball’ serves almost as an antidote to it – MIKE coming up for air after a slew of cathartic efforts – a breathing-space in a discography of baggage-shedding.
With ‘Pinball’, MIKE abandons his trademark sombre, broken sample-chops in favour of Tony Selzer’s goofy trap and drill-infused beats over which he lays his most lively vocals yet. It’s a sonically fluid effort, with springy 808-driven tracks dripping in 80s-video-game nostalgia side-by-side with laid-back stoner cuts. In tackling less emotionally heavy subject-matter on ‘Pinball’, MIKE’s lyrical wit is able to shine, and the words are as usual all his own: “ain’t off the top but it’s still off the noggin”.
Groovy Steppin Sh*t – Lisha G, Trini Viv
On ‘Groovy Steppin Shit’, South Carolina rapper Lisha G spits comically un-conscious lyrics over production from Philadelphia’s Trini Viv: the resulting sound is a highly addictive substance. The latter – in his own words – crafts: “synthetic, heavy hitting grooves”, psychedelic, phasing beats. In producing something so innovative, Trini Viv pushes Lisha G – who could easily fall back on simple green-eggs-and-ham flows – into new territory. She effortlessly switches from catchy, short flows into finding longer pockets, all without compromising her smugly nonchalant cadence. Lisha G is building an image here, from her trademark ad-lib “‘sgettitman” to her endless stock of punchlines and quotables: “I could take your baby daddy and then send him back.” With the average track clocking in at under two minutes and the full length well below half an hour, Groovy Steppin Sh*t makes for prime earwormy low-stakes cloud-rap, and has surprisingly more to offer sonically than its cover might suggest.
Nobody Planning to Leave – ShrapKnel, Controller 7
PremRock and Curly Castro are ShrapKnel, signed to billy woods’ NY-based Backwoodz Studioz. In many ways, their music is derivative of woods’, with PremRock opening the album with a deliciously abstract verse. In addressing his distorted sense of self as he shoulders the weight of the past, the Pennsylvania native introduces the sky-high stakes of this LP – surviving as an authentic artist in an industry that demands compromise:
“I don’t wanna bury the dead
Pallbearer for the carried dread
Funhouse mirror, stake it to the nearest thread.”
Whilst striving for the same lyrical complexity as woods, ShrapKnel opt to diverge from their label-mate in their delivery, with Curly Castro’s bars bearing a dynamic, almost playful cadence. PremRock speaks with woods’ sincerity and melancholy, but he’s far more inclined to flow with the beat rather than cut across it as woods might. What results is a pair that can deliver songs with endless mutability, loaded with humour (such as Castro’s opening of ‘Dadaism 3’) or solemnity (such as PremRock’s musings on ‘Human Form’). Controller 7’s beats are suitably unpredictable to match the two vocalists – drums that wouldn’t be out of place in traditional boom-bap tracks meet anxiety-inducing industrial production along with genuinely beautiful string samples. It’s a match made in heaven for any fan of New York’s alternative scene.
40 – Jawnino
Faceless London rapper Jawnino’s debut offers the optimal mixtape experience. Not married to a single genre, the rapper lends his words to production that bridges grime, jungle and garage. What ties it together – in his own words – is that it’s a “UK record” – a homage to the many cultures that have come to define the British club and hip-hop scene. Lyrically, Jawnino works on a micro-scale, opting to detail his (often seemingly mundane) day-to-day personal experiences rather than grander narratives. 40 makes for a lyrical and sonic snapshot of London life from the playbook of Jim Legxacy, and an innovative addition to the UK hip-hop canon.