Expecting Spector

We sat on benches in the courtyard of The Dome, somewhere too far north in London for me to recognise it as London anymore. The tube station name sounded like a football team I've never heard of, rather than a destination for a gig. The occasional drum beat from inside the venue echoed out to remind us to consider going inside soon. We spoke about the importance of complimenting women in bathrooms, as there is no compliment more valued. We videoed pigeons attempting to break-through nets and laughed whilst trying to blow smoke rings.

We went inside, bought expensive ciders and stood at the side of the crowd so I felt like I could breathe for a while and laughed some more, about pigeons. Then we stopped laughing, in awe of the energy Spector brought to the stage. A good band will do that; take a complicated moment and make it entirely simple.

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Seeing a band on the cusp of potential fame is always an excitingly rare moment. The band are often still grateful, like an insecure lover, pandering to every bit of affection they're not sure they actually deserve. Before the gig Fred, the lead singer of Spector, wandered over to the march stand at the back of the venue, followed by a small trickle of excited teen girls. He seemed genuinely happy to pose for selfies and sign an array of things, that shining bit of gratitude undimmed. I'm not sure most band members would or could genuinely smile about these days and it's genuinely refreshing to watch the band in their prime, before the wildness nature of popularity.

This in-between time, in-between rugby club gigs and arenas, gives the band space to still be excited by their own music, perhaps just as excited as the crowd in front of them. Which, in my gig experience, often fades a bit too quickly. But Spector performed with rugby-club approachability and stadium quality songs, making them and their London gig an absolute winner.

There's a definite age gap between their debut and soon-to-be-sophomore instalments, despite them only being three years apart. The guitar-heavy tracks and fan-favourites from the first album and the synth-rinsed slow jams they keep practising at shows strike a nice balance. (If nothing else, it gives you time to run to the bar during the songs you can't sing along to yet.) It's also sad to come into the game when the band are already one album down. Some of my favourite tunes, like No Adventure and Upset Boulevard are now strangers to the stage and are left for me to sing along to in showers only.

What redeems this, somehow, are the equally lyrically intriguing songs that the band keep hitting us with. All The Sad Young Men, Bad Boyfriend and Kyoto Garden all lend great lines to indirectly tweet at people and turn into Instagram quotes for ex-lovers, ex-friends and lost people to see. Standing in a crowd of people chanting with such conviction -I don't wanna make love, I don't wanna make plans, I don't want anyone to want to hold my hand- I found it difficult to remember whether I meant the words, or not.

I shall wait with great anticipation for Spector to birth their metaphorical baby into the music world, as it's expected to appear sometime this year. If it's the heartbreak album that leaves you confused about whether you want to dance or cry that I suspect is it, I can't be expecting Spector too much longer. 

Grab your wellies and waddle through the mud to catch the band (and a potentially drunk me) at Glastonbury this year! They'll also be at Reading Festival and so many more places across the summer, so check them out before that youthful gratitude is swallowed up by the ego of sold out shows and screaming teen girls, because I said so. Although, I have a feeling they're way too cool for that. I hope so, anyway. 

(Also, shout out for the band trying to make Southend look way more cool than it actually is in the All The Sad Young Men vid. Bravo.)

The Opposite of Loneliness

This week I finished a book. Something I rarely managed throughout my entire three years studying Literature. Pats self on the back. Better late than never, I guess. From the title I'm assuming, you assumed this might have been an overly personal rant about feelings. That's where you're mistaken -I have no feelings. I'm kidding, of course, because the book I've just finished, The Opposite of Loneliness, hit me right in the feels. This proving true the well documented rumour of my hectic emotions.

This article is me, telling you (fellow post-uni creative types and uncreative types alike) to read this book. The Opposite of Loneliness is a posthumously published, collection of short stories and essays from Yale graduate, Marina Keegan. I speak directly to those wandering the post-studies maze because this book was born from the same excitement and anxiety that we are currently trying to departmentalise in our young and wild minds.

The collection opens with Marina's final essay, one which was published in The New Yorker and turned viral, synonymously titled The Opposite of Loneliness. She articulates the essence of being a student, far better than any definition I could string together in words. The bizarre cocktail of post-university emotions are defined and wrapped up in the succinct bow of Marina Keegan's words. It's a relief to know that someone else gets it.

Marina's language reminds me of the classmates I critiqued in writing workshops. It reminds me of my own writing. It's a language that felt simple and immature in my own stories, but somehow seems fresh in published print. Marina's writing is honest and unafraid and sometimes cliche -it's youthful. A far cry from the thesaurus-driven, high-register attempts at sounding adult I had to pretend I'd fully read in writing workshops.

The stories, as cliche would dictate, made me both laugh and cry in the waiting rooms of hospitals, on train journeys between my London-home and my home-home and in many well-needed baths. Above all emotional reactions, this book inspired me to write. Actually it kept me up at night, worried that I hadn't written stories that were good enough or even just enough. It made me question my future and what I wanted out of a career and, of course, it highlighted the delicacy of life.

Read The Opposite of Loneliness, because I said so. Read Marina's famous essay or read it all. Whether that's for guidance, comfort or just genuinely witty writing, is up to you.

(Photo of Marina Keegan politely borrowed from The Guardian)

White Light and Witches

If synth pop and 80s beats don't excite you, then you may not have a soul. To test this theory, I share with you the new (sort of) single from Shura. 'White Lies' is seven minutes in musical heaven -enjoy! It's fast becoming the soft-pop, slow-jam of the summer. (Try saying that after a few pitchers of Pimms.)

Maybe she'll sink, maybe she'll fly, maybe she'll listen to the song and promote it on her blog. Gengahr, who I had the fortune of catching live once upon a time, have been releasing singles all over the place, ready for the launch of their debut album. I predict all good things for this band and you can hear all good things from them by listening to 'She's A Witch' below.

All round lovely lady Florence Welsh released another album quite recently. It features a myriad of enchanting chants and howls from the songstress and lyrics that are all indirect-tweet-to-your-ex-worthy. Florence's deluxe albums come with a few demos tacked on. It's always interesting to see the starting line of the race to make an entire body of music. Below is a demo for 'Which Witch', a song that didn't make the final cut, but is entirely worth a listen (and very usefully fits with the theme of this post). 

Accidentally Anarchic

(Painting by Ant Carver, live at GFW)

During the Friday night briefing before GFW, my manager mentioned Erin O'Connor. The name found itself scribbled down in my trusty, yet difficult, notepad (always listen to the flatmate when they tell you to pick the practical one, not the pretty one) with 'google her' written right next to it. The name felt familiar but, with so many things to remember and to think about, my mind was already working overdrive. My knowledge of models unfortunately wasn't a priority. So I googled her. Erin O'Connor; British model and writer and television personality and everything in between. Oh, that Erin O'Connor? Erin O'Connor the icon. Cue the freaking out.

As it turns out, not too many people my age recognise the name either. (That's not to say they don't know who she is.) When I mentioned to my flatmates that I'd be attending a conversation between her and Hilary Alexander I received only a few nods with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. The same lack of enthusiasm they threw at me when I excitedly shoved my phone towards them because she'd favourited one of my tweets. (The only thing they truly get excited about these days is pizza so I don't feel too offended.)

I am officially in love with @Erin_O_Connor! Witty, brilliant and has eyebrows to die for, I could listen to her for days! #gfw2015

— Alexandra Craft (@AlexandraSaidSo) June 2, 2015

Thank you for coming Alexandra! :) https://t.co/Q0ZO7p3oUq

— Erin O'Connor (@Erin_O_Connor) June 2, 2015

I'll pick up that name I just dropped.

____

Erin's eyes rolled within seconds of the dreaded 'who are you wearing?' Hilary called it 'The Forensic Investigation' but without the red carpet beneath them the question felt irrelevant and trivial. However, curiosity quelled, she was wearing a mixture of Dior, Topshop and Marc Jacobs. Obviously. (As a poor student of a size that none of the brands will ever stock, it was nice to know my wardrobe housed two of those brands regardless. I own two thirds of a model's outfit, darlin'.)

(Photo Credit: @rosemarypitts www.gfw.org.uk/blog)

Erin quickly urged the conversation into new, more appropriate territory; the start of her career. There was something endlessly comforting in her beginning. After being scouted at The Clothes Show in the 90s, she moved to 'the big smog' that is London. The agency only paid her £40 a week and she used over half to travel to jobs, leaving her eating tinned beans for the most part. I now feel much less horrific and much more fab eating beans from the tin. The times in university I spent wondering if this is the rest of my life can now be defined as my beginning too -danke Erin!

With the high-street championing the return of all things 90s recently, chokers and all that jazz, it was interesting to hear an account of actually living through it. (Fully aware I lived through the 90s as well, but a six year old's account of their dungarees is much less interesting, I promise.) Despite the alternative grunge trends that have transcended the decade, the 90s was much more about achieving 'perfection' or what the fashion industry deemed perfect. That was what allowed her to start out, not being the idea of perfection, being the tall lanky girl with the room-commanding nose. 'I guess I was accidentally anarchic' she said. Joking that she 'had the undercut before undercuts were cool.' So, to all those rocking the 90s throwback, you have this woman to look up to.

(Photo Credit: Stefania Porcu www.gfw.org.uk)

Self-Acceptance was, and still is, a big part of her journey, Erin confessed. The nose that makes her instantly recognisable was something she so desperately wanted rid of as a teenager. The nose would command the room and she admitted it was something she wasn't ready for. 'I wasn't ready to be powerful and dominant.'

Erin thanked all the haters who pushed her to be defiant about her nose. She 'wasn't going to change because someone was uncomfortable.' It was the criticism she faced that forced her to realise it. Self-acceptance isn't easy and definitely isn't definite and Erin knows this all too well. The supermodel, who had spent her life relying on her body, felt challenged by the changes that came with pregnancy. However, her baby boy gave her the chance to view life differently, from a new perspective and she soon learnt to love her body in a new way.

The crowd and I fell in love with Erin as she spoke about openly and candidly about motherhood, her favourite designers to work with and gave advice on getting into the fashion industry and making sure you bloomin' well stay there. All these things I will eventually divulge with you, darling reader, but for now I must go and feebly attempt to braid my hair like Erin, because she's my new idol.

Fashion Hangover

Once upon a time I blagged my way through a textiles course. After so many tears, one horrific pink dress and a semi-decent grade I turned my back on the fashion industry. It clearly wasn't for me. Five years and thousands of outfits later, I returned to the scene to write about Graduate Fashion Week and somehow found myself a sense of purpose. Pats self on the back.

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I'm writing to you in yesterday's make up, slumped and surrounded by ice-cream wrappers. It very much looks like like I'm nursing heart-break and I guess I am. When the opportunity to freelance for GFW came about I didn't think much of it. We joked that it would probably be a few proud mums pouring jugs of squash in a community hall, talking about their 'baby's first collection.' I was unemployed, broke and bloody bored (and still am, for the most part) and it was a writing job that looked interesting. Now, ready to sing All By Myself into an empty bottle of wine, I'm gutted it's over. What went down at #GFW2015 was completely unexpected and completely brilliant.

I didn't really sleep too much or ever properly wake up and I guess I accidentally dieted on fake chocolate bars and tiny salads. My brain is still trying to think of new ways to say 'collection' or 'designer' without sounding repetitive. Everything aches and I can't really function or articulate or look at a sentence without wondering if I've actually spelt the words right or put them in the right order or whether I should just delete it altogether. I'm exhausted -but I loved it. I loved every frantic and fabulous moment.

Right now, I'm finding it rather difficult to make sense, so I'll leave you with this rambling introduction and an entirely vague promise that I'll post more about it all. My notepad is filled with scribbles from all the shows and interviews I managed to attend so I think I can offer up a unique perspective of the fashion outsider, inside. Maybe. Probably not. But I'll write it anyway.

Have a picture of the media team, more than a little tired and drunk. Come back soon, because I said so.

@CnnrYng / @rosemary_pitts / @odabeide / @DarcieTF / @fifinicholls / @lilybethgee / @pjoebe

Quiet and Loud

It's been incredibly quiet here on the Alexandra Said So blog, but that's because it's been super loud in Alexandra Said So's life! (Remind me to never again refer to myself in third person, please!)

At the risk of sounding entirely too cliche, it's been a whirlwind couple of weeks. My last exam feels like it may have been years ago, but in fact it's only been a few short weeks since I finished my degree. Sad face! I've spent most of it pondering (and breaking down over) the inevitable unemployment, writing a whole load of fiction pieces and blagging and bagging myself a couple of freelance writing roles. Whilst this blog remains mostly the same, I have been contributing for a couple of other places, so I wanna have a little chat about them.

Firstly, if you follow me on any kind of social media, and/or you are the Sherlock of your time, you've probably guessed that I'm working hard this weekend for #GFW2015 (Graduate Fashion Week for all those who haven't seen my obsessive tweeting) ((It's okay, I didn't know what it stood for either!))

It's been a crazy busy couple of days but I've really taken to the scene. My fabulous access all areas pass let's me see pretty much anything I want to! So I've been channeling my inner-Anna Wintour and sitting nose-up, watching catwalks. I'm kidding, of course! I've really been getting into the show experience, all smiles and no statement sunnies in sight!

If you want to check my reporting on the events hop on over to www.gfw.org.uk (no opinions allowed I'm afraid so I'll save all that for another post on here.)

Secondly, I've managed to get a feature in my pal's online magazine, Bored! I could be super unoriginal and tell you to read if you are indeed bored, but I think you should go over there no matter how you're feeling.

I'm publishing a monthly feature about women in the music industry, only a lot less formal and a lot more hormonal. The first post of Alex's Time of the Month is available by clicking the hyperlink! It's about the wonderful Alabama Shakes! Do it, do it, do it!! Yes I've written about them on here, but the extra curricular is always worth it, right?

For now, that's all but I really hope it doesn't stay that way. I'll be back in a big way up on here so keep coming back, because I said so.

Alabama Shakes & Alexandra Drinks.

You know when you’re shouting at your best friend in a cinema to get a torch out so you can see your card number that something big is going down. Something big went the heck down. 

It happened on Friday; after a spontaneous decision to be ‘proper girly’ and go see a chick flick for a Friday-night-friend-date, we sat down in the cinema to get a notification. Alabama Shakes, in East London, with a four hundred person crowd- I’m all in! I could not give them my money fast enough. Torches were held, card numbers were read, cinema goers around us were well and truly pissed. Somehow, my pal and I managed to get exclusive tickets to see one of our all time favourite bands in an intimate space to celebrate the release of their new album Sound & Color.

We appeared, twenty four hours, a fair bit of procrastination and two red wines later in a little room above a bar in Hackney. Little is no word of a lie. Alabama Shakes, this massively talented, huge presence performing on this stage which seemed in no way deserving. 

To say that Brittany Howard’s vocals were haunting would be a little too cliche of me and to be quite honest an understatement. They were possessed, possessive, out of this world and frankly too good to put into words. The whole band; amazing. They seemed excited to play their music and the crowd were equally excited to sing along and hear what they had to say. 

At this point I’m gushing, I have no bad words to say. The set list was consistent; the perfect blend of new and old material played in a way which allowed me to hear the songs that maybe I’d not been overly keen on and instantly love them. Take ‘Over My Head’ and ‘I Found You’ as examples. What seemed stagnant on the album was brought to life on stage.

The gig was filled with moments that felt poignant; moments that I kept saying we would remember for years, even when our music tastes have changed and our lives are new. (Maybe it was more than just two glasses of red wine). I was nostalgic for the moments that hadn’t even passed yet and that’s the mark of something special. My pal and I’s ability to sing along with all the guitar riffs is certainly a memory and a half. It was bloomin’ marvellous. 

Perhaps this is all meaningless to the average person. It is just some hungover girl reminiscing about her night out and exhausting her list of positive adjectives. Take from this that you have to check these guys out, listen to their two albums: Boys & Girls and Sound & Color and if you can, please god, see them live. They’re high on the bill at Glastonbury and have London and UK tour dates in the winter-time. Honestly, I cannot wait that long to experience them again. That’s just it, they’re an experience, not just a gig. 

   Also, shout out to the 'Dice' app for organising the event and constantly introducing me to awesome live music. Download to check out who's playing in your areas and have a bloody awesome time!!