#MYGLSTO’15 – Pt II

Me and my camera on the festival circuit, my adult playground, my glastonbury

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There are about 200,000 people on site at Glastonbury including punters, performers and crew and a huge chunk of them dress up in outlandish outfits. It feels that most are just doing it whilst they are in a safe haven where anything goes, an opportunity to release the more flamboyant aspects of their personality which remain largely hidden in their normal lives. At Glasto no-one is going to bat an eyelid. Pirate, cross-dresser, giant banana, no-one gives a shit. Its quite funny to watch as the days go on and as the Glastonians (is that what they’re called? they are now) feel more and more liberated how their outfits get more and more outrageous and provocative. As the grip of the real world loosens so does their inhibitions.

A smaller minority of revellers look like they have come as themselves, vaudevillian circusy travelling tinker types and aren’t in costume, they are like that all year round. There used to be many more in this category but as the festival has become more mainstream and more expensive the representatives of an alternate society has decreased dramatically.  The organisers of Glasto used to give out thousands of tickets to performers, circus folk etc to add to the atmosphere but at £250 a pop someone got out a calculator one day and worked out how much money they were losing to potential purchasing and that was the end of that.

But regardless of whether you are a libertine tourist or a 365 festival freak Glastonbury encourages this freedom of expression. It is an opportunity to rid yourself of the shackles of normality and to express yourself as you see fit, without fear of recrimination or judgement. This is always a good thing. It is in fact a beautiful thing and should always be celebrated, even if you will shortly be back in your office, in your work suit, trying to scrape off a bit of glitter that escaped first inspection.

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Me and my camera on the festival circuit, my adult playground, my Glastonbury

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Me and my camera in my home town, my capital city, my london

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The original residents of Notting Hill which still remains amongst its new  posh inhabitants still have a  very tight community where most people seem to know each other. Portobello Road is the road everyone strolls down to do their bits and bobs and to interact, mostly during the week as its full of thousands of tourists at the weekend.

The “Stop & chat” is the dominant form of socialising in the hood and you can see it happening every day throughout the day. It is very rare in London to have this sense of community where you actually know your neighbours. It is quite unique in this day and age, especially in a city as large and anonymous as the one we live in. Personally I am a fan of the “stop and chat”. Its socialising without planning or eating and lasts just long enough to have a  bit of conversation without running out of things to say.

It is apparently this type of interactive social cohesion which brings wellbeing and happiness to people’s lives. Next time you avoid eye contact with your neighbour or don’t speak to the person who works in the shop you see every day maybe don’t. It just might make your day. ..and even theirs.

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Me and my camera in my home town, my capital city, my london

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the subject’s of this week’s photographs are similar only in their differences. Or are they? Despite their varied external appearance do they maybe all share a commonality underneath? A sadness that breaks through, that makes them human, that makes them the same? Discuss.

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Me and my camera in my home town, my capital city, my london

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Me and my camera in my home town, my capital city, my london

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If you want to see full gallery “Street Wall” please click here

This week features a collection of street art from New London, as it is now officially known, well, it isn’t, apart from by me that is…yes, I am trying to make “New London” happen. I just feel  the wealthy & prohibitively expensive modern metropolis it now is needs a new name as it has transformed quite so extensively from what it once was…

New London appropriately houses a very new type of graffiti. You are more likely to find corporate sponsored murals than anything generated by illegal sprayers. You can mosey around Shoreditch these days and see great examples of aerosol applied art but its reactionary street edge has been transformed into standard advertising. The only difference is it is on a wall not a billboard. Even their biggest enemies, rebellious youths & anti-establishment anarchists, are eventually adopted by big business…does everyone cave into cash in the end? Is it always that inevitable? Does capitalism always win?

Graffiti art used to be done under the cover of night. Stencils were invented so that spraying could be done quicker to avoid potential capture and arrest. Nowadays it is done in broad daylight as they are hired for their services and no longer need to remain anonymous. In fact, graffiti artists are now actively trying to get noticed so they can hopefully cash in. Gone is the desire to remain a mystery. They actually now leave their website address, as in the one above, so they can get potential work. A friend of mine is a graffiti artist and he now gets paid handsomely by corporate companies to give lessons in street art to their staff.

There is even an estate agent in Notting Hill that has commissioned a huge street art mural on the side of its building (in gallery-see link above), Given the nature of its covert illegal origins this is the equivalent of drug dealers selling their contraband goods in Boots the chemist….umm, I’m looking for the coke dealer. Oh, he’s right there in the corner, over by the deodorants. Its part of the meal deal if you get a wrap of Ketamine and a sandwich with it. Cool, thanks.

Having said all that you do still see some remarkable works of graffiti art in the city. The skills remain, just the intention & context has somewhat changed. I rarely take photographs of street art as always presume someone else has got it covered but this selection caught my eye and reflected this new paradoxical wave of street legal illegal street art.

 

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Me and my camera on a 60s weekender, my jolly up, my Hipsville

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To see full gallery please click here

Hipsville is a great festival, although when I told that to Ade, one of the guys who runs it, he said “its not a festival, its a party!” and he’s right. Its actually just one big jolly up. There is never more than one thing going on at any one time which makes those difficult decisions of who to go and see much simpler. Each event of the weekend is announced verbally by Ade who just shouts out to the crowd in a very raspy voice, “Alright folks, in about ten minutes the band is on, so go and get your drinks and get settled” – no programme, no board, no problem. Its beautifully sweet and simple.

The slightly odd thing about it is that takes place on a NRA base which is the oddest location for a 1960s weekender, the decade that championed peace and love is celebrated in a haven for weapon fanatics. So its basically a site full of guys with guns on one hand and go go girls on the other. At night you watch scantily clad girls shake their thing on the podium and in the morning you are woken to the sound of gunfire. Its a metaphor for something, I just wish I knew what.

The crowd themselves are a brilliant band of musos, car freaks, vintage scenesters, wasters and misfits as are all the acts on the line-up.  Fav acts of the weekend were The Tikiheads, the Deep Space Deviants and their alter egos The Deadly Stab ups, who were proper mental in quite a superb way. There was also a horror theme (in case you hadn’t noticed from the photographs) which only added to the bizarre experience as everyone wandered around in classic 60s b-movie horror outfits. There were also some killer cars there from the era, all beautifully decked out and you would kill at least a granny or two to get one. It got pretty messy throughout the weekend which was a great antidote to the usual clean & serene squeakiness of the vintage scene..hipsville 2015 we salute you and hope to see you in 2016!

 

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Me and my camera on a 60s weekender, my jolly up, my Hipsville

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Me and my camera on a 60s weekender, my jolly up, my Hipsville

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Me and my camera on a 60s weekender, my jolly up, my Hipsville

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Me and my camera on a 60s weekender, my jolly up, my Hipsville

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Me and my camera in my home town, my capital city, my london

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This week’s dedicated followers of fashion are a celebration of one of the great British traditions: The Eccentric Dressed Gent. They also champion the fact that you can pretty much get away looking any which way you wish in London. One of the joys of a melting pot metropolis is that you can really be who you want to be and wear what the fuck you like and no-one will really give a shit.

The irony is that all these flamboyant dressers move to the big cities, not so they can stand out, but so they can blend in. Much as their outfits would imply the need to be noticed I feel its actually the opposite. When you live in a small town you stand out like a sore thumb if you break from the norm in the slightest of ways but amongst the millions you barely get a look in.  And maybe that’s just what they want.

All the freaks, weirdos, crazy dressers and extroverts flock to places all over the world where they can be themselves. In London we are tolerant of everyone. We don’t judge. Not because we are necessarily enlightened, we just can’t be bothered. We’re too busy getting worked up about other shit. People’s chosen attires are the least of our problems. So if you want to release your “inner peacock” London might just be the place for you…

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Me and my camera in my home town, my capital city, my london

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