All posts by hamishcraig

Film/TV

Thoughts on – Notebook on Cities and Clothes (1989) by Wim Wenders

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I was recently listening to the MUBI podcast when I came across an interesting name, Wim Wenders. Little did I know, I had saved his “Paris, Texas” (1984) on my MUBI watchlist. During the podcast, the interviewer referenced a documentary that Wenders had made on Yohji Yamamoto which I immediately made note of. I knew little of Yohji Yamamoto’s work bar his adidas sub-label, Y-3. Wanting to learn more about the fashion designer, I found his documentary available on YouTube (although you can watch it for free via Vimeo).

The documentary was unlike any other I’d seen before, with a small digital screen playing while Wenders would simultaneously travel whichever City he was in. Two scenes stood out to me; 1 – the scene in which Yohji is adding his signature to the store sign outside his first shop, and two – the part where he is flicking through a book full of images of people from what seems like the 40s.  This quote also stood out to me:

“Form and material, same old dilemma, same ritual as any other craft. Stand back, look, approach again, grasp, feel, hesitate, then sudden activity and then another long pause. After a while I began to see a certain paradox in Yohji’s work, what he creates is necessarily ephemeral. Victim to the immediate and voracious consumption which is the rule of his game. After all, fashion is about here and now. It only deals with today, never yesterday. By the same token, Yohji was inspired by the photographs of another time and by the work clothes of an era when people lived by a different rhythm and when work had a different sense of dignity. So it seemed to me Yohji expressed himself in two languages simultaneously; he played two instruments at the same time. The fluid and the solid. The fleeting and the permanent. The fugitive and the stable.” – Wim Wenders narration [20:15-21:15].

The scene at around 105 minutes also echoes this idea, as Yohji is fascinated by the people captured in the book. The quote taps into many themes, such as authenticity and ever-increasing cycles of fashion, both of which are more relevant than ever today. Given the documentary was recorded and released in 1989, it acts as another reminder of the power of nostalgia. As part of the Zillenial tribe who laments the simpler childhood days of the ‘90s, I didn’t realise it was the same for every other generation who were stuck romancing the past.

The people in the photos were born in a time when people were more present. People played less of a character as their circle of inspiration was smaller, the world felt smaller. Labour and goods wasn’t as frequently exported so the clothes of people reflected the hands-on nature of their role. The digital world was yet to exist so reality was very much in the here and now, playing out right in front of you, therefore you had to be dressed accordingly.

Clothing and textiles were nation or even state/county-based, therefore quality and function were that much better. These were clothes that would be lived in for years, also had to put up with the climate and ongoing hardships. Yohji understands this much better than most. This intimate level of knowledge can be seen throughout the entirety of his work.

Yohji eloquently summarises this when flicking through the book, “Men Of The Twentieth Century” by August Sander, “I’m especially curious about their faces, because of their career, life, business. They have exactly the right faces for that I think. I’m admiring their faces and clothing. For example, when I look at people on the street in a modern city, sometimes I can’t understand which profession they join in, they all look the same for me. But in this time, people looked like their profession and their background, their faces are their name card. Their clothes are very representative of their business and lives, so firstly I look at their faces and then imagine their profession.”

For perhaps the first time in centuries,there exists a gap between our identity and our work. This gap has only gotten wider since the documentary first aired, with the likelihood of it only expanding further. I recommend giving the documentary a watch, which you can do so here.

Fiction

Random Writings: The Big Red Balloon

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The balloon was beginning to frustrate him. Its pull grew increasingly larger as the wind picked up. His coat had seen better days as well, drenched by the westerly showers that this particular region was known for. It had often protected him from the brash environment of the underground, not that it ever rained there. If it did, it would have truly been the most miserable place on earth, but luckily for him, British transport had the tendency of being waterproof. The balloon overhead wavered while he remained fixed in his position, eager to prove the naysayers wrong. He could feel the blood slowly start to fall away from his hand, the lack of dexterity pointed out by the marching of ants down one side of his arm. He’d always hated pin and needles, early childhood memories filled with the ongoing fear of sitting still for too long. Clinging onto this great red floating object in the sky had begun to become more than a physical nuisance.

Shoes

Skepta Wearing the Oakley Factory Team Flesh

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Back in February, Skepta was sent to Japan on a PR campaign to explore his relationship with PUMA. Sabukaru did a great piece on this titled “24 Hours in Tokyo with Sabukaru, Skepta and PUMA”. It’s definitely worth checking out as it gives you an interesting look behind the scenes. Apart from the trip being a marketing piece for the newly created Velophasis silhouette, the multi-hyphenated artist managed to visit the PUMA archive in Germany, where he no doubt kept an eye open for a silhouette for his next collab.

A few days later, Skepta took to JME’s BadmanOnline Twitch channel during a late-night studio session, proceeding to show off a pair of creps he’d picked up on his trip. “You lot seen these? Mad tings, make sure to take an extra suitcase cause they’ve got some serious stuff out there”, he said while showing off a pair of the Brain Dead x Oakley Factory Team Flesh in the “Iron Brown” colourway to the people on the stream.

Oakley has been trickling back into the functional wear scene as Instagram accounts such as @inside.tag put people on game. As the hype for Nike’s ACG division slowly moved into Arcteryx between 2019-2021, other authentic brands such as 66 Degrees North and Oakley are now the focus for people who are tuned into the scene. While Oakley is far from breaking out onto the mainstream stage, people with an actual interest in outdoor wear are happily gathering up all the early 2000s and ‘90s pieces knowing the brand’s existing reputation as authentic functional wear.

The Oakley Factory Team Flesh is an interesting silhouette to say the least, created in June of 2000 and like other footwear that was released at the time, was way ahead of the curve. The neoprene booty entry foregoes the need for laces, while the upper’s water-wicking abilities and Open-cell Aeroprene ensure your feet don’t get wet or sweaty. The most interesting component is definitely the sole unit, with its wavering midsole and Traction Pod system underfoot that enhanced “tactile awareness”. This was perhaps Oakley’s attempt to dip its toe into the world of minimal footwear, a field that adidas was exploring with its Feet You Wear range from the ‘90s and ACG’s experimental pieces that ex-Nike designer Steve McDonald previews on his Instagram account.

Surprisingly, the Factory Team Flesh doesn’t stand out like a sore thumb among Oakley’s back catalogue of footwear, with the brand often leaning into the theme of unconventional design. It’ll be interesting to find out who was the creative lead for Oakley during that era, especially as we see archival models make a comeback through collaborations with Brain Dead. As Skepta’s track record has proven time and time again, the artist has an eye for good taste, so let’s hope we get more tasty revivals from Oakley.

Poetry

March Poetry: Last Bus Ride In Manchester

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I found a ticket in my
coat pocket the other
day. 
It was a bus ticket 
from Manchester. 
I’d paid cash. 
"Piccadilly,
where dreams go to die". 
Lots of things happen there 
some good 
some bad 
all rad? 
My bad 
Hey dad … 
I’ll stop now. 
I don’t exactly miss that bus, 
its shuddering presence, 
the questionably warm back seats of the lower deck. 
They'd always smell like a years-worth of engine fumes,
stored away into the
hard wearing abstract pattern. 
That 
or an ill-kept Henry Hoover, 
which I suppose is a small price to pay for comfort, 
especially when considering the chilly temperatures of Manchester's winter. 
The bus ticket was probably one of 
the last things I bought in that city. 
Although I’ll no doubt buy more in future, 
chugging up and down the surprisingly straight 
Oxford Road,
with it's mixture of grandiose and less-than-grand architecture plotted along
somewhat randomly. 
	Buses are an interesting place, 
Reminds you how slow life can be 
when you’re stuck in a traffic jam with 
everyone. 
All suspended in thought … well 
not all, but most. 
Some would rather shout about it, 
announcing their thoughts out loud 
hoping someone will join in, 
which they seldom do 
if they have any sense. 
Let bygones be bygones. 
and let people who shout on 
buses do their thing. 
Good rules to go by in life. 
Here’s to the next bus journey I inevitably take in Manchester because of an unsurprisingly 'sudden' downpour.
Film/TV

I Wish (2011) – A Film Review

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This film took me back to my childhood in a massive way. The carefree attitudes, the swimming lessons, discussing how the leftover crisp packet crumbs are the best bits. Luckily, that’s not all my childhood consisted of, had it been I’d probably be an Olympic-level swimmer with a Walkers deal … which upon reflection doesn’t sound all that bad.

I am currently making more of an effort to watch Japanese and South Korean cinema. To be honest, I’m trying to watch more films in general. My best year for Film was 2017 when I was in my second year of University. I’d often receive and be given recommendations from a friend at film school, discussing genre-bending pieces like Ben Wheatley’s A Field in England thanks to a recommendation from the king of film criticism, Mark Kermode.

Of course with Japanese and Korean cinema, the settings are based in places I know little of, which was part of the charm surrounding I Wish (2011),a film directed by Kore-eda Hirokazu. There was something tangible captured in its 128-minute runtime, I myself felt part of this group of friends, feeling somewhat exhausted after watching them traipse up the long and winding hill to school. My journey was slightly easier, consisting of an hour-long bus journey where the sweltering Indonesian weather was only made bearable by the occasional gust of wind from the bus window.

Swimming was an enjoyable part of twelve-year-old Koichi’s day, a subject he’d discuss over the phone with his brother Ryunosuke in great detail. The film was so brimming with a childhood innocence that even when Koichi’s friend revealed his recently dead pet dog was in his backpack, it was endearing and not completely horrifying. There’s obviously more context, yet it proves how focused Hirokazu’s direction was throughout the process, flipping this horror-esque trope on its head. I was totally invested in this journey, eager to watch these brothers reunite amidst the complications of their parent’s divorce.

As a backdrop, Japan plays a huge role in the film, with its many cultural colloquialisms seeping onto the screen. A huge volcano would linger in the background as Koichi would walk to school, its towering presence over Kagoshima a factor that the residents would simply have to put up with. One can only imagine how terrifying that would be as a child, a cultural separation that the director was tasked with communicating to the Western audience.

One of the mothers works behind a bar, serving drinks to elderly gentlemen while reflecting on her failed dream of becoming an actor. Consequently, she projects this onto her daughter, doubting her drive and ability to shine against the blinding lights of Tokyo. As with many of the character arcs, Hirokazu amends this by giving her a real moment in the spotlight, when the consequences are high and the group of friends trailing behind need her to pull through. Even as a child, these little wins go on to have big effects.

There was another scene in which the boys are trying to raise money for what appears to be a cross-country train journey, yet could easily have been a normal commute for your city worker. Events are exaggerated in our youth and the director manages to translate this successfully through his writing. Each of the toys sells for 5000 Yen, with the game shop worker observing them with his intricate figurine-based knowledge. This reminded me of many trades that took place in my childhood, and one in particular which involved me swapping a set of Pokémon cards for a three-headed Japanese dragon. I’d later go on to find out that the dragon was called Ghidorah, a monster of cultural significance in Japanese lore and frequently referred to by the late rapper, MF DOOM. Even the snacks they would eat and drink would take me back to the days of sipping Pocari Sweat in the humidity of the Indonesian summer.

I enjoyed this film a lot. With buckets of heart and spoonful’s of charm, this should definitely be a watch for anyone who has lost their inner child along the way. If you’ve got MUBI then I highly recommend giving it a watch!

Fiction

The Garden Wall

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The garden wall had seen better days. Vines clung to the ageing brickwork, the most obvious sign of its unkempt nature. His father had often enjoyed tidying, not the finished product but the process itself. It “kept him busy”, a way to stop his mind from delving off into the intrepid memories of the war. That was one thing the older generation had never gotten right, at least to his understanding, they could never truly enjoy free time. Leisure time as it was eventually called. Even a friendly meeting of faces over afternoon tea could only idle on for so long before the weather turned bad or even worse, the tea went cold. The English summer was the only time people would see the sun and bask in its warmth. Although people would remember how nice the sun actually felt and flee to the tropics to experience it in all its unfiltered glory. At least that was the case for the ones with cash to spare. The rest would visit their nearest seaside town, much to the distaste of all the locals, all of whom had already dealt with the miserable rain and coastal winds for most of the year. Striped beach towels on ice cream in vast quantities would flood the beaches of England, with remote radios tuned into whatever station could match the mood of the town on that particular day.

His father wasn’t one for sand, he hated the thing. Scarred by the endless feeling of grains stuck in his shoes as a boy, he vowed to steer clear of anything related to the substance. Instead, summers meant the recognisable patch of grass behind your house or the predictable shadow cast by the sycamore tree that meant a trusty break from the sun’s heat. He never understood why people were so keen on change, maybe it was his time in the military that had put him off the idea. His service had given him enough change to last him a lifetime (not that he’d had more than a couple tupence to his name now), years spent not knowing if he’d catch a good night’s sleep had left him eager for structure. The odd day or two spent lying on his own patch of land in the English sun was just about enough change for him. As another June would roll around, a weekend full of pruning and watering the plants was back on the cards. His friend at the farm across the way had been perfecting his cider recipe for the last few years, with each summer causing much anticipation among the pub dwellers in the nearby villages. The garden wall and pub were two places that could consistently provide his father with joy, failsafe options that would keep his already busy mind from over-working. Sometimes he had thought that the flagon of Millerdowns cider was the only thing going, it was certainly enough to put hairs on your chest, that was for sure.

The sun had been circling the local village for some weeks now, warming the cobbles and limestone rooftops that had seldom transformed the silhouette of that quaint English town over the decades. Every time he’d find himself sorting out the pantry or washing up the dishes in the kitchen, he’d catch his gaze wandering over to the end of the garden. His mind was trying to play tricks on him, convincing him that his father was somehow still there, patiently trimming away the collection of vines. Of course, that was not the case, his father having passed away almost 7 years ago meant that the garden wall had remained entirely undisturbed. Nature had run its course since his passing, clawing away at the red brick that formed the barrier between himself and the neighbours. Perhaps it was time. His wife had all but gotten sick of asking and bought him a pair of secateurs for his birthday, disregarding the fact that over the 9 years that they were married, he had not once brought up the subject of gardening. He knew she was doing him a favour but hiding his reaction to the present was not easy for him. Lucky for him, she’d always had a good sense of humour.

It was settled. He knew where the secateurs were and more importantly, where the garden wall was.

Poetry

February Poetry: what happened to the uncertain?

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What happened to the what’s?
	the why’s
		the where’s
	the wear and tear
the “are those grey hairs?”
that long empty stare
as you slump up the stairs
underground 
	moving sound
		another screech
lacking speech
the please do not stare
the “please mind the 	gap”
the brief open air 
	the scurry
the grind
	a fresh cup of coffee
that rush
	of caffeine
in that static chair
as you stare
	into a moving screen
full of mice
	that are off for the cheese
in tall towering traps
suspended in the air 
soaring above 
	for those
soaring past underground 
tired but sound.
Poetry

Janurary Poetry: W.I.P

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He’d often stare back at himself in the mirror,
wondering who he was that day.
He knew where,
but as he grew older
he found out that
mattered less.
	The sun gleamed in through the 
frosted glass,
	warming his skin,
reminding him of the
human necessity for warmth.
That first sip of coffee
was also something he routinely
enjoyed,
	almost as if anything
birthed from the earth’s soil
had an integral consistency.
Even if,	humans seemed to be
doing their best to interfere.
For now,
	the coffee remained good
and as for him,
things were a work in progress.
Music Explored

10 Sneaker-Based Songs You Have Never Heard Before

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We all know about that time the Game threatened to kill you if you tried him for his Air Max 95s, but what about all the sneaker references in the world of music? Don’t they deserve some shine? I headed to streaming platforms to see what all the other crop of trainer-related songs were like and more importantly if they were any good.

In no particular order, here are a list of songs that stood out for one reason or another:

1 – New Balance – Dijah SB

Starting off the list is this upbeat track from Dijah SB. The instrumental and vocals speak of a solid level of production with a chorus that will sure to have you singing along.

2 – Reebok Classic – Chimpo

Big Manc DnB energy on this track from Chimpo, along with a nice reference to the more under-appreciated part of the sneaker world. Salo smashes the chorus with her vocals so its a nice pairing once again.

3 – LA Trainer – Johno37

This German cloud rap song has a fun instrumental and catchy chorus which will have you rapping along even if you don’t have a clue what they’re saying. I picked up some LA Trainers for £20 from the local JD the other day and found the track, was pleasantly suprised so you know it had to make the list.

4 – 95 Air Max – Cavalli Rich, Chuck Swagg

Channeling that OG Atlanta Trap rap energy is this track from Cavalli Rich where he talks about the exploits of being a hustler. “We don’t wear Air Max but we Air Max” – yes, you heard right.

5 – Asics – DrippieL

Another German track, this one’s just got a fun instrumental and the lyrics are the most chilled. Got a – lets make a song about this pair of ASICS I love from my home studio vibe, but I’m here for it.

6 – AIR FORCES 3 – Da BP, Yodha

This one is chock full of references, even sampling a bunch of the more popular sneaker related bars from the US Rap songs. Plus the instrumental is pretty good so this one’s a solid addition to the line-up.

7- Air Max – Pika

One of the few songs with an actual music video – which is actually fairly decent. Got a nice Reggaeton feel to it and is pretty catchy, even if you don’t really wear the exposed bubbles on your feet.

8 – Adidas – Peach Pit

One of the few Indie tracks on the list but with good vocals and solid song writing, there’s a lot to like here. The chorus that mentions adidas is also worth checking out.

9 – Swoosh – JONNY5

A German artist that I found myself listening to a fair bit during my lockdown runs, this track takes notes from French Plug music and early Playboi Carti era stuff, so right down your lane if that’s your thing.

10. OG Max’s – Pre Dolla

Probably the most typical song when compared to the classic sneaker-based American Rap songs. Has a hint of The Madd Rapper in the Pre-Dolla’s voice, which along with the instrumental, makes for a good listen. Fair few direct references to the shoe game too so the most on the nose out of the list too.

Film/TV

Park Chan-wook – Time means nothing

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Last night I watched Park Chan-wook’s The Handmaiden (2016), a film packed with the Director’s narrative style. My thirst (pun intended) for Korean storytelling still lingered, remembering I’d seen his short film crop up on MUBI, I swiftly hit play. Park Chan-wook’s short film, titled Judgement (1999), was based on the 1995 collapse of the Sampoong Department store, a catastrophe that saw many people swoop in to claim Government pay-outs. The film was perfectly named and explored the theme of judgment from almost every angle imaginable. The Morgue worker’s character was so fully developed within the 26-minute run time, proving the director does not need a 2-hour-plus in order to tell a story. Even characters who had only been referred to through memories seemed to roam the physical space of the morgue’s back room, a further implication of the brilliant script. As the cameramen are shoved out of the room, Chan-wook shows us the behind-the-scenes results of the Sampoong Department store, where family secrets are no longer buried. Judgement is more than worth your time and goes to show exactly how much the short film medium can achieve.

Luckily for you, it’s available to watch on YouTube, so if you’ve got a spare 30 minutes or need some thought-provoking material, this should be on your list.