01_Cov0909_UK_Jamie Roberts.indd

NNN%I<;9LCC<K@E%:FD
AN ALMOST INDEPENDENT MONTHLY MAGAZINE /SEPTEMBER 2009
Jamie
Roberts
RUGBY’S LION KING TALKS
BRAINS, BIG HITS AND HOW TO
EAT SPRINGBOK TESTICLE
Exclusively with
The Independent
on the first Tuesday
of every month
The toughest
race in Europe
SLEEP IS FOR WIMPS ON
RED BULL X-ALPS
Banzai BMX
SLICK CITY TRICKS ON
TOKYO STREETS
Seb Vettel
shadowed
72 HOURS WITH F1’S
WONDERBOY
BULLHORN
GOLDEN BOYS
Two 22-year-olds who could hardly be more different: one,
a hulking slab of rugby union muscle; the other a baby-faced
driving prodigy who might just win this year’s Formula One
World Championship.
Step forward Jamie Roberts, our cover star, and Sebastian
Vettel. Each has enjoyed a meteoric rise to success: Roberts
with his Cardiff Blues club, then his national team, Wales,
before a starring role on this year’s British and Irish Lions tour
of South Africa. Vettel, meanwhile, has powered through from
junior racing categories to emerge as a leading contender for
victory at every Grand Prix (although things don’t always go to
plan, as you can read in our exclusive reportage on page 68).
So much, so young? Or too much, too soon? Roberts admits
the experience of achieving at such a young age the career-high
that a Lions tour represents, was a little humbling: “It brings
a huge responsibility, but you take it in your stride,” he says.
Vettel, too, has the priceless ability to retain grace and good
humour, despite intense media scrutiny: “He puts on his grin
and gets on with it,” says one of those close to him.
Perhaps, then, we should view these two prodigies through
the filter of another popular sporting maxim: “If you’re
good enough, you’re old enough” – and ‘good enough’ these
two most certainly are.
Away from the sound and fury of race tracks and playing
fields, we turn our attention this month to the more delicate
tones of musical inspiration. Tom Oberheim, our featured
Pioneer, is one of the fathers of the synthesiser, and the
products of his electronic wizardry are almost certainly laced
throughout your MP3 library. And if that gives you pause for
thought as to the content of your digitial sound vault, consider
sparing a few megabytes for the work of Twin Atlantic
(page 40). Yet more talented youth destined for the very top.
NNN%I<;9LCC<K@E%:FD
AN ALMOST INDEPENDENT MONTHLY MAGAZINE /AUGUST
/SEPTEMBER
2009
2009
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Your editorial team
03
3
THE COLA
FROM RED BULL.
STRONG NATURAL.
100% PURE COLA.
The cola from Red Bull has a
unique blend of ingredients, all from
the original Kola nut and the Coca leaf.
Its naturally refreshing cola
What’s more, the cola from
Red Bull contains no phosphoric acid,
100% natural sources. In addition,
taste comes from using the right blend
no preservatives and no artificial
it’s the only cola that contains both
of plant extracts.
colours or flavourings.
Coca Leaf
Kola Nut
Lemon/Lime
Clove
Cinnamon
Cardamom
Pine
Corn Mint
Galangal
Vanilla
Ginger
Mace
Cocoa
Liquorice
Orange
Mustard Seeds
Natural flavours from plant extracts and
natural caffeine from coffee beans.
CONTENTS
WELCOME TO THE
WORLD OF RED BULL
Inside your fast-paced Bulletin in September…
Bullevard
10 GALLERY
Amazing feats to feast your eyes on
14 NOW AND NEXT
What’s hot and who’s cool – news
from the worlds of culture and sport
17 ME AND MY BODY
Mountain bike mentalist Andreu
Lacondeguy talks tattoos and tumbles
62
19 LUCKY NUMBERS
As LFW ’09 approaches, we bring you
the real figures behind the fashion
20 KIT EVOLUTION
Ever heard of a Theremin or a TenoriOn? No? Well you may be shocked
to learn where electronic music has
come from and where it’s heading
23 WHERE’S YOUR HEAD AT?
Thought you knew everything about
the poutiest half of media machine
Brangelina? Think again…
24 WINNING FORMULA
When is an F1 car not an F1 car?
When a pool of water transforms it
into a glorified boogie board. Formerrace-ace David Coulthard introduces
us to the science of aquaplaning
46
Heroes
28 DYNAMO
Move over Paul Daniels: there’s
a new guy on the scene, and he’s
more hoodie than top hat. Meet the
magic man who’s swapped a Bradford
estate for the Hollywood hills
30 TOM OBERHEIM
This 73-year-old held the keys
to a new sound and gave them to
a generation of stars including
Madonna and Stevie Wonder
34 HERO’S HERO
Freestyle football World Champ
Arnaud ‘Séan’ Garnier on why he’s
loved controversial player Maradona
since that match in 1986
36 STEVE FISHER
There’s nothing wet about this
kayaker, who treats battling through
wild waters like taking a turn on a
lake. Watch out for that waterfall…
06
40
34
CONTENTS
Action
28
40 TWIN ATLANTIC
We brave the Glaswegian weather to
discover what’s behind the beards and
Ray-Bans of these Scottish rockers
46 JAMIE ROBERTS
The Welsh rugby star faces the daunting
prospect of a Red Bulletin interview, but
says nothing can scare him more than
the crunch of a warm testicle
52 TOKYO BMX
We grab a backie with two peddling pros
as they give a two-wheeled tour through
the neon buzz of Japan’s coolest city
62 X-ALPS
It’s the epitome of no-frills flying; racing
from Austria to Monaco using only a
paraglider and a pair of running shoes.
But teams take on the challenge every
year. Sleep? That’s for wimps
68
23
36
PHOTOGRAPHY: JAMES-PEARSON-HOWES (1), DAVID CLERIHEW (1), REX FEATURES (1), RED BULL PHOTOFILES (1), CORBIS (1), GIAN PAUL LOZZA (1)
68 SEBASTIAN VETTEL
The life of an F1 driver isn’t all beautiful
cars and fast women. We follow the
young driver and man-of-the-moment
during a scorching Grand Prix weekend
to see what drives him to break a sweat
More Body
& Mind
78 THE HANGAR-7 INTERVIEW
Shaggy has been sadly absent from
the Top 40 of late, but Mr Boombastic
is alive, well and in… Salzburg
80 SLACKLINING IN METEORA
A visit to these stunning rock pillars in
Greece for those with a head for heights
84 LISTINGS
Our worldwide guide to the best
action-packed days and nights
88 NIGHTLIFE
It all kicks off after dark: Black Box
Revelation rock Bruges; superstar DJ
A-TRAK talks Brooklyn; London graffiti
artist INSA shares paint and a pint; and
Hamburg goes all New York on us
94 BULL’S EYE
We scale new comedic heights
96 SHORT STORY
Some philosophical debate down the
pub can lead to anything, even a call
from Barack Obama himself
98 STEPHEN BAYLEY
Our design expert ponders the
paradoxical nature of that supersonic
speedster, Concorde
FOR MORE LIKE THIS, VISIT:
WWW.REDBULL.COM
07
LETTERS
WORD UP!
Wisecracks and wisdom from the world of Red Bull and beyond.
Tell us what you think by emailing [email protected]
“YOU CAN FIND A GOOD GIRL IN
EVERY COUNTRY. BUT ESPECIALLY
THE CZECH REPUBLIC. THERE’S
A LOT OF BLONDE GIRLS. ALSO
IN AMERICA THERE’S A LOT
OF BLONDE GIRLS. BLONDE IS
YELLOW HAIR, RIGHT?”
“The pain and damage my
body took from the thrashing
is going to take weeks of
recovery. But the glow of
winning three years in a row
will take years to wear off”
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“THERE’S A FEW DRASTIKS OUT
THERE. IF THEY HAVE A PROBLEM
WITH ME STEALING THE
GOOGLE THUNDER THEN SO BE IT,
BUT WHEN I WAS GIVEN MY
NAME, THERE WAS NO GOOGLE
TO SEARCH STUFF LIKE THAT”
“It’s a tradition that, after your first kill,
you have to cut the springbok’s throat
and rub its warm blood on your face.
Then, if it’s a male, you eat its testicle,
and if it’s female, you gut it and take
a chunk of its liver. Unfortunately,
I shot a male and… well…”
I\[9lcc*jkpc\;AZfdg\k`k`feal[^\;A;iXjk`b
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8]i`ZXgifgFcc`\C\IfloËj]XidfegX^\+/
“I dream about hiking up,
flying the whole day and then the
next day doing the same. My days
are similar to my dreams!”
N`ee\if]I\[9lccO$8cgj)''0:_i`jk`XeDXli\i_Xj_`j_\X[`ek_\Zcfl[jdfjk[Xpj
“YOU KNOW HOW SECURING MUSIC
RIGHTS CAN BE. BANDS WANT 50
GRAND OR 100 GRAND MAYBE. BUT
I THINK WE GOT MGMT FOR A COUPLE
OF COMPLETE SKATEBOARDS. THEY
JUST WANTED TO SKATE, DUDE!”
“I SAW A TV SHOW CALLED
VANDALS ON THE RAMPAGE,
OR SOMETHING, WITH CCTV
FOOTAGE OF SOMEONE SPRAYING
UP A BUILDING… AND IT WAS ME”
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“All of my friends from my normal
soccer days said to me, ‘No, it’s not
football! Stop that – play on the field!’
But now they find me on Facebook
and know that I’m the world
champion for freestyle, they say
‘Oh, wow, that’s great!’”
“I just get random
stuff that I like. I have
a moustache tattooed
on my finger. Normal
skin is boring”
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08
Your Letters
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ILLUSTRATION: DIETMAR KAINRATH
K A I N R AT H
09
A L P E D’HUEZ, FRANCE
ONCE IN A LIFETIME
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Bullevard
Feed your eyes and soul with some of the world’s best sporting images
11
LOS ANGELES, USA
BOGGED DOWN
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13
B U L L E VA R D
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YOU REALLY
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TO KNOW
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CONNER
COFFIN
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PICTURES OF THE MONTH
EVERY SHOT ON TARGET
Email your pics with a Red Bull flavour to
[email protected]. Every one we print wins
a pair of Sennheiser PMX 80 Sport II headphones.
These sleek, sporty and rugged stereo ’phones
feature an ergonomic neckband and vertical
transducer system for optimum fit and comfort.
Their sweat- and water-resistant construction
also makes them ideal for all music-loving
sports enthusiasts. www.sennheiser.co.uk
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B U L L E VA R D
FALL GUY
The British diver (who isn’t
a schoolboy) aiming to
win a major title
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15
B U L L E VA R D
SCREEN
PLAY
BLACKPOOL ROCKS
Beach volleyball decamps to its most unlikely venue
Beach volleyball is the most Californian
of sports, and this month it drifts over
to Blackpool in the shape of the English
Masters: West Coast, on the north-west
coast of England, with many of the
world’s leading players taking part.
World sport’s surest thing, after the
England football team losing on penalties,
is the appearance of Brazilians in the
running for world champions. This year
is no different with Talita Antunes and
Maria Antonelli currently leading the
women’s ranking, while Harley Marques
Silva and Alison Cerutti are running
second behind Germany’s Julius Brink
and Jonas Reckermann in the men’s
competition. Familiarity with the
Copacabana should favour the Brazilians
at the undoubtedly similar surroundings
of Blackpool’s St Chad’s Headland.
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16
Beach volleyball players, it seems, swap
partners like Big Brother contestants. Both
Brazilian pairings are new for 2009, as
are the Greek pairing of Vicky Arvaniti
and Maria Tsiartsiani, a good each-way
bet in the women’s draw. If you don’t
want to back Brazilians in the men’s
competition, then the Germans are
a well-fancied duo.
There will be lots of outside eyes, and
not only because of the athletic prowess
of the participants. At the forthcoming
London Olympics, beach volleyball is
expected to be one of the hottest tickets
– a venue will be constructed on Horse
Guards Parade – so this competition
will be a good indication to see if
it’ll be BV GB OK in 2012.
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WORDS: PAUL WILSON. PHOTOGRAPHY: RAY DEMSKI/RED BULL PHOTOFILES
Great things to watch this
month, online and on the sofa
B U L L E VA R D
ME AND MY BODY
ANDREU LACONDEGUY
Crashing like a pro is all part of the routine for Spain’s 20-year-old freeride
mountain bike champion. Injuries, he reckons, just make him stronger
HANDY BREAK
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WORDS: RUTH MORGAN. PHOTOGRAPHY: JOHN GIBSON
THE MISSING INK
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B U L L E VA R D
APPY
DAYS
RAMPS AND AMPS
Adventure sports and music festival is no longer all Wight
Organisers of the White Air festival,
which this month moves to Brighton from
its former home on the Isle of Wight, are
good people. They save lovers of music
and seekers of thrills a pot of cash by
marrying days filled with extreme sports
to packed evening line-ups of musical
talent. It’s a winning combo.
White Air has evolved into the
largest mixed gathering of its kind in
Europe. From September 18-20, more
than 40 sports will be on show, from
surfing, skateboarding and BMX, to
the lesser-spotted likes of slacklining,
ropeboarding, bocking and extreme
yo-yoing. Out to sea, high-powered
Thundercat boats will cut through the
waves, while five-time world champion
kiteboarder Aaron Hadlow will take
to a sea-based slider, plus the best UK
18
windsurfers battle it out for the national
freestyle crown. Oh, and an Olympic
medallist will high-dive from a 30m
platform into a shallow pool – on fire.
Seriously. Then, when night falls, the
music starts. Mancunian headliners Doves
join The Cribs, Biffy Clyro, Brighton’s
own British Sea Power and alternative
rock trio Sky Larkin in the evening line-up.
The icing on the cake is White Air’s
‘Have a Go’ programme, which means
any festivalgoer can receive expert
tuition in most of the activities on show.
That even includes the opportunity of
a one-on-one lesson from Jordan’s cagefighting beau Alex Reid. There’s almost
too much, but as Luther Vandross said,
that option is better than the alternative.
J`^elgkfÊ?Xm\8>fË#Xe[Ylpk`Zb\kj#Xk
nnn%n_`k\X`i%Zf%lb
Shuffling through his driving
music playlists will not be a
priority for Red Bull Racing
driver Sebastian Vettel during
the Italian Grand Prix. But the
F1 ace will be straight on his
iPhone once he’s crossed the
finish line at Monza, to use an
app that is helping the German
with his winning ways.
F1 Timing App, developed
by Soft Pauer, uses GPS
information from the racetracks
to render the race in real time
on your iPhone – a sort of
Grand Prix radar that shows
cars’ progress in great detail
on a 3D circuit map. Add in
regular info updates, and
you’ve got F1 in your pocket
so good that the drivers
themselves use it for work.
“I like to see where I could
have done things better,” says
Vettel. “The new timing and
track positioning application…
allows me to understand why
certain things are happening.”
Vettel’s team, Red Bull
Racing, has also launched an
app, in the shape of Red Bull
GP. With the Pitter function,
all the team’s pit-lane gossip
is relayed in short and sweet
Twitter style, while the Garage
function allows fans to pore
over every detail of the RB5
car and its predecessors.
Best of all, it’s free.
;fnecfX[I\[9lcc>GXe[=(K`d`e^
8gg]ifd`Kle\j#Xknnn%`kle\j%Zfd
WORDS: RUTH MORGAN, TOM HALL. PHOTOGRAPHY: WHITE AIR (8)
Seb Vettel and Red
Bull Racing use iPhone
for fans and wins
B U L L E VA R D
LUCKY NUMBERS
LONDON FASHION WEEK
The most fabulous five days in the couture calendar,
re-imagined with a striking numerical motif
25
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_`^_c`^_kj[\j`^e\ijËXlklde&n`ek\iiXe^\j%>fkk_Xk6
WORDS: PAUL WILSON. PHOTOGRAPHY: GETTY IMAGES (3), REX FEATURES (2)
40
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19
KIT EVOLUTION
BLEEP YEARS
From its very origin to its latest
incarnation, electronic music making
that pushes the right buttons
GOOD VIBRATIONS
THEREMIN, 1920
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jZ`$]`jfle[kiXZbjXe[(0-'jgjpZ_\[\c`Zgfgdlj`Z%
LIGHT FANTASTIC
YAMAHA TENORI-ON, 2005
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21
WORDS: PAUL WILSON. PHOTOGRAPHY: LUKE KIRWAN. GET YOUR OWN LED SOUNDSYSTEM FROM WWW.KMRAUDIO.COM
B U L L E VA R D
B U L L E VA R D
Top performers and winning ways from across the globe
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WORDS: RUTH MORGAN. PHOTOGRAPHY: GETTY IMAGES (1), CHRISTIAN PONDELLA/RED BULL PHOTOFILES (1), GRANT ROBINSON (1). ILLUSTRATION: DIETMAR KAINRATH
HARD & FAST
B U L L E VA R D
WHERE’S YOUR HEAD AT?
ANGELINA JOLIE
She rules in action movies, and ‘proper’ ones. She’s trying to make the world
a nicer place. But did you know about Jolie Airways or the chatline cartoon?
LOVE SCENE, TAKE 3
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ADOR
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23
B U L L E VA R D
WINNING FORMULA
SLIPPERY
WHEN WET
WORDS: ANTHONY ROWLINSON, DR MARTIN APOLIN. PHOTOGRAPHY: GETTY IMAGES/RED BULL PHOTOFILES. ILLUSTRATION: MANDY FISCHER
It looks spectacular, but you don’t want to be the man
behind the wheel when a Formula One car aquaplanes.
We find out why it happens and how you deal with it
THE WHEELMAN
“Aquaplaning is a driver’s worst nightmare,
no question,” says David Coulthard, Red
Bull Racing team consultant and winner
of 13 Grands Prix. “Driving in the wet
itself is not that big an issue, because you
drive to the level of grip available – there’s
just less of it when the track is wet, in the
same way that there’s more when you
have super-sticky tyres that make you
a couple of seconds per lap faster.
“But what makes wet conditions
hazardous is aquaplaning, and it can
be particularly severe in a modern,
flat-bottomed Formula One car: if you
hit running water, then the underside
of the car, in effect, acts like a rudder.
You’re suddenly on top of the water
and you have this big, flat, rudder-like
device that turns the car in the direction
of the running water. That’s why you will
sometimes see a car suddenly dizzying
around even if it’s travelling in a straight
line. And because of the speed at which
it happens, you have no chance to catch it,
nor do you have any grip to work against,
because the car is on top of water, with
no tyre rubber against the track surface.
“When we had traction control it
was immensely useful, because it would
cut the power as soon as it felt the rear
wheels spin when they lifted on top of
the water. But now we don’t have it
anymore, a driver has no choice but to
get off the power. If you’re dead lucky
you might not spin, but really you’re in
the lap of the gods when it happens.
“To give you some idea of how it feels,
imagine you’re in a road car and you’ve
committed to a high-speed corner.
Suddenly, and without warning, an
invisible hand yanks on the handbrake
and locks up the rear axle, sending you
into a massive spin. That’s what it’s like
– only faster because you’re in an F1 car.
“It only takes a few millimetres of
water to make aquaplaning happen,
because an F1 car is so light that it’s
inclined to lift off the water, like a
boogie board. A bigger, heavier car
would cut through, squashing the
water out of the way.”
THE BRAINY SPIEL MAN
“An F1 car generally has an output of
750bhp, and it’s a headache to get that
power onto the track,” says Dr Martin
Apolin, physicist and sports scientist.
“Power isn’t everything; friction matters,
too. The friction force (FF) between the
tyres and the road surface is the key
factor in loss of performance and must
never exceed driving force.
“If the car was on sheet ice, because of
the lack of friction, it wouldn’t move off
the spot. Friction force is equal to friction
coefficient times weight, FF = μw.
Weight, on the other hand, is mass times
acceleration due to gravity (g = 9.81m/s2),
w = mg, which means that FF = μmw.
The general correlation between a force
(F) and the resulting acceleration (a)
is laid down in Newton’s second law
of motion as F = ma. If you convert that
equation, you can see why they’re sparing
when filling the tank at Grands Prix,
because acceleration is inversely
proportional to mass, which means the
lower the mass, the greater the acceleration.
“If we compare both formulas for force
(F = FF), maximum acceleration comes
out as a = μg, which means acceleration
is proportional to the friction coefficient.
In extreme cases, this can be 1.1 for tyres
and dry tarmac. So one can calculate
acceleration at 1.1g or a = 10.8m/s2
which means getting from 0 to 100kph
(27.8m/s) in 2.6 seconds. You have to
play around a bit to achieve greater
acceleration. In F1, aerodynamic
downforce is achieved thanks to wings,
which increase weight and thereby friction.
“Water on the track is disadvantageous
because it causes μ to decrease by about
0.8. That means less friction and a loss
of acceleration of about 30 per cent. As
speed in the turns is proportional to the
root of μ, this has to be reduced by about
15 per cent in wet conditions or one ends
up with more downforce. Also, the tyres
need to be changed from smooth slicks
to wets. The tread deflects the water,
helping to avoid aquaplaning.”
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Heroes
World-class athletes and whizz-kids, past and present
28 DYNAMO 30 TOM OBERHEIM
34 ARNAUD ‘SÉAN’ GARNIER 36 STEVE FISHER
27
HEROES
DYNAMO
The street magician who really is from the streets has the skills to
make your head spin and your eyes doubt themselves – and his
shoelaces tie themselves unaided. How on earth does he do it?
Words: Tom Hall Portrait: Marius W Hansen
“Paul Daniels was a gangsta!” laughs the scrawny
figure clad in chunky Adidas trainers, baggy jeans
and a trackie top. It’s not really the attire you’d
expect of one of the world’s great practitioners of the
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dark arts, and nor is the joke part of his usual style.
Dynamo, aka Steven Frayne, or ‘D’, as close friends
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refer to him, rarely shifts an indifferent steely gaze.
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(Is it part of his act? Should the guy be left alone to
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prepare?) But every now and then he cracks the odd
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grin and we’re back in the room. On this occasion,
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it follows the suggestion that Debbie McGee’s other
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half now struggles to retain an air of credibility.
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“He’s still a legend,” Dynamo explains, reclining in
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a booth in London’s Met Bar, about 30 minutes before
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he’s due to perform there. “He just didn’t know when
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to retire, that was the problem. He could’ve left on
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top, but you get stuck into this and you don’t ever
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want to lose it. People like Paul Daniels showed me
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what you can achieve by following magic. He was
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a national celebrity. So if he can do it, why can’t I?”
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Dynamo is being modest. This 26-year-old has
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achieved in five years what most magicians struggle
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a decade and a half working at his skills, and while
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David Blaine seems trapped in a disappearing trick
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up his own backside, Dynamo has brought the
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spectacular back to street level.
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After moving to London and buying a camera and
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laptop with a Prince’s Trust loan in 2005, Dynamo
began gatecrashing celebrity parties and wowing the
likes of Chris Martin, Snoop Dogg and Ian Brown
with his close-up magic. All expressed the now
commonplace reaction on seeing his tricks: one that’s
somewhere between “Amazing!” and “SH******”!!!”.
The resulting DVD of his efforts, Underground
Magic, led to a Channel 4 TV special, Dynamo’s
Estate of Mind, and now his internet show, DynamoTV,
takes the no-frills thrills even further, hanging out
with De La Soul in Miami, wowing musicians at
Glastonbury and freaking out Wu-Tang Clan rapper
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28
Raekwon. He’s also worked parties in the Hollywood
Hills with Paris Hilton and made a cameo appearance
on Snoop Dogg’s Father Hood on MTV.
“I call them my uncles,” he says of the hip-hop
elite who queue up to offer him advice on the fame
game. Perhaps they see similarities to their own
stories of coming from hard-fought beginnings, but
it was a blood relative, Dynamo’s grandfather, who
first inspired the 10-year-old Frayne to study magic.
“My grandpa wasn’t a magician, he was a pool
hustler,” he says. “He was in the army, and he did
tricks to keep the rest of the troops entertained.
He got out just after World War II, and everything
was tight back then, so he used tricks to win a few
extra quid. I’ve got ‘Grandpa’ tattooed on my neck.
He’s always looking over my shoulder.
“I’m inspired by pickpockets,” he continues. “People
who genuinely rob you. There’s a guy, Apollo Robbins,
who stole guns from the holsters of the Secret Service
agents guarding ex-President Jimmy Carter. He does
it for entertainment now, but he’s the real deal.”
During tonight’s show Dynamo traps an audience
member’s mobile phone in a glass bottle, turns
lottery tickets into bank notes with the flick of a
wrist, and works the Dynamo-shuffle, a card cut
that’s half breakdance and half mind-mangling feat
of physics. His new takes on old standards means
he’s pushing magic away from its traditional roots.
Does he fear leaving behind some of the mystique?
“I love learning from the old masters, but I have
to be up to date! It’s not like I particularly want
to ruin a classic. My main aim is to make it better.
When I used to read about magicians, I used to
think they were guys who would just create miracles
totally unplanned, you know? Just pick up a phone
and put it inside a bottle because they felt like it.
So that’s how I think magic should be presented.
“If you were really magic, then that’s what you’d
do. And I am really magic, so that’s what I do.”
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HEROES
Pioneer
TOM
OBERHEIM
From his groundbreaking synthesiser in the 1970s to the DMX
drum machine that defined the sound of hip-hop, the American
inventor has shaped the sounds of musical generations
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30
A dozen seconds into Run DMC’s Rock Box after
the introductory vocals and skittering snares
evaporate, a heavily reverbed drum pattern sets
up a groove that to modern ears might sound
hopelessly rudimentary. Matched by a roughly
sampled overdriven guitar riff, it might even feel
slightly cheesy. But with this and a handful of
revolutionary singles, the Hollis group defined
a new music, hip-hop, for a generation.
Rewind just a few years and spool up Canadian
trio Rush’s FM radio staple Tom Sawyer, the first
crunching power chord wrapped in a swooping
synthesised pulse, a single liquid note providing
the soundtrack to a thousand spring-break parties.
On the face of it, the two records have little in
common, one at the cutting edge of a genre that
would radically make over modern pop music, the
other a techno-rock workout signalling the last days
of a 1970s obsession with prog-rock virtuosity. But
behind the two songs lies a technological link that
crosses genres, bridging jazz and fusion, electronica,
rock, hip-hop and modern DJ culture. In short, both
records have a lot to thank Tom Oberheim for.
Inventor of the polyphonic synthesiser, pioneer
of the digital drum machine, Tom helped shape
the sound of modern music, though the now
73-year-old engineer baulks at the suggestion.
“If you’re talking about the first synthesisers,
I don’t think I was a pioneer,” he insists. “That was
done by Robert Moog and a guy called Don Buchla.
For myself, I think I developed some things that
now might be called pioneering. Back then, though,
I wasn’t thinking like that. I was just trying to make
things that would keep my business alive.”
The business was Oberheim Electronics, the
company the young engineer founded after quitting
his Kansas home for Los Angeles, a move based on
nothing more than a desire to see live jazz.
“I read in Down Beat magazine an advertisement
for a place called the Lighthouse Café in Hermosa
Beach where Bud Shank and Bob Cooper, two jazz
musicians, played for free. That was enough for
me. Of course, I didn’t understand the words
‘two-drink minimum’ in those days.”
It was a crucial move. Arriving in Los Angeles
with $10, Tom worked for Lockheed Aircraft
before cycling through a variety of engineering
jobs that trained him not only in electronics, but
in the formative years of digital technology.
He kept in touch with music, though, eventually
becoming involved with a second iteration of
seminal proto-prog-rock outfit The United States of
America, whose sole self-titled album for Columbia
is now regarded as a classic psych-era recording.
“I met (bandleader) Joseph Byrd when
I was studying at UCLA,” recalls Tom. “He was
a teaching assistant in the music department, but
he was also putting on artistic events, happenings,
as the New Music Workshop. When I left I lost
touch with him, but later found out he was part
of The United States of America.
“That band broke up, but in 1968 I started
going to rehearsals for a new version of the band
led by the singer Dorothy Moskowitz. They asked
me to build them a device called a ring modulator
because the original band had used one.”
It was to be the genesis of Oberheim as
a company. Forging an alliance with a large
distributor, Tom began to sell the modulators
steadily, showing products at the vast annual
NAMM musical instruments show, where in a bid
to grow the business, he also became a dealer for
a new brand of synthesiser called ARP.
The machines, though, had limitations. “I’d
been building sequencers (a machine that triggers
the synthesiser to play a pattern of notes), but it left
you with a predicament. If you used it to play the
synth, you couldn’t then play the keyboard.”
Tom’s response was the Synthesiser Expander
Module, a machine that gave the musician an
extra voice so he could play the keyboard while the
sequencer was playing a different pattern. In turn,
PHOTOGRAPHY: RUTGER PAUW/RED BULL PHOTOFILES
Words: Justin Hynes
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it gave birth to Tom’s great breakthrough and
the one he rightly regards as pioneering – the
polyphonic synthesiser. But it was conceived
in a moment of desperation.
“In 1975 I got a call from the distributors who’d
been selling the ring modulators to say that because
of the economy being bad, they were cancelling
their orders. It was a massive blow,” he says.
“It was clear that we were in trouble and we’d
have to try something else. I remembered an
experiment I’d done a couple of years before with
a musician friend, where we’d taken two ARP 2600
synthesisers, connected two SEMs to them and
managed to play two notes on each keyboard, which
was pretty impressive. You have to remember that
up to this point, synthesisers were monophonic –
you could only play one note at a time.”
The result was polyphonic synthesis and the
ability to play chords, a development which would
arguably lead the synthesiser out of the realms of
jazz and progressive rock esoterica and into the
mainstream. The first went to Stevie Wonder.
“We took the first one to Crystal Sound studio in
Hollywood, where Stevie was recording. I think he
was working on the Songs in the Key of Life album.
He was using this monstrous Yamaha keyboard,
the GX1, which weighed about 800lb and cost about
$60,000. Although the prototype I sold to Stevie was
only four voices, it was expandable to eight, weighed
only 80lb and cost under $6000 for eight voices.”
Joe Zawinul of legendary jazz-fusion experts
Weather Report was another enthusiastic buyer.
“In 1976 I got a call from Joe. He had purchased
a four-voice or eight-voice and asked me to help him,
so I went to his house in Pasadena,” recalls Oberheim.
“I explained it in pretty technical terms. Joe understood
most of what I was telling him, but my impression
was that the machine wasn’t right for him.
“Several weeks later, however, Joe called
again and invited me to hear his latest composition.
He said the Oberheim played a big part in it. When
I arrived, Joe played me a rough mix of Birdland. I
was completely blown away. It was a real learning
experience for me, seeing how a great musician
32
can look beyond the pure technical hardware of
such a device and make great music with it.”
It was the beginning of the key period of Oberheim’s
success. Hundreds of landmark records were made
using the early polyphonic and subsequent machines,
including the ubiquitous OB-X, a keyboard made
unintentionally famous by Eddie Van Halen in the
video for the huge 1984 hit Jump.
“There are two key songs featuring Oberheim.
Birdland is one and the other is Jump by Van Halen.
There’s hundreds of great records with Oberheim
on them, but frankly it’s hard to tell. But with Van
Halen it just is. You can definitely see Eddie Van
Halen playing a very dirty, dusty OB-Xa. That’s great!”
And Tom would shape the next era of electronic
music with a machine that he admits wasn’t initially
his idea. “It was mentioned to me that a guy called
Roger Linn was building a digital drum machine
and, since I’d been involved in digital when I worked
with computers, it seemed like a natural fit,” he
says. “We invited him down and talked about
licensing his technology, but he wanted his own
company, which he did very successfully, so we
went ahead anyway, with the DMX.”
The DMX became a must-have weapon in the
arsenal of every nascent dance and hip-hop star. You
can hear its drums on Madonna’s Holiday, on early
Run DMC singles, on the mid-’80s work of Janet
Jackson and Alexander O’Neal producers Jimmy
Jam and Terry Lewis, and on key albums by Prince.
Thirty years on, Oberheim remains slightly
mystified by the attention he now receives, being
invited to consult for major electronics companies
and to lecture as an industry ‘pioneer’ at globespanning events such as Red Bull Music Academy.
“I get invited to speak as a pioneer, but when
I was doing these things it wasn’t with the view of
being an explorer,” he says. “It was a case of thinking:
‘This is... fun.’ When you build a machine and go to
a concert and hear Joe Zawinul playing a machine
I designed and built... it’s a ‘wow’ moment. It’s not
‘aren’t I great, I’m a pioneer’. It’s the simple process
of sitting in a theatre listening to a great musician
playing my instrument. What could be better.”
And it is a continuing passion. Asked to speak
at the Red Bull Music Academy in Barcelona in
October last year, Tom began to revisit his past.
“I took along some examples of music made with
my machines, a little demo of those records. It was
amazing to hear all that in one shot. Quite emotional.
“Because of that trip I decided to revive the SEM
module, a modern manufactured version of a 1974
Oberheim synth. It’s going back to the source. I still
love it. I just love the sound of these machines.”
As do countless others. Roger Manning Jr’s work
can be heard on albums by Beck and Air, and in the
early ’90s with his band Jellyfish. Touring through
the vintage equipment at his home studio, Manning
runs his hand across the keys of one of Tom’s machines.
“Oberheims have my favourite tones. They’re the
most gutsy, organic, warm, the richest, spikiest,
most aggressive tones. They are wonderful.”
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PHOTOGRAPHY: GETTY IMAGES (1)
HEROES
FRANK
LAMPARD
HEROES
Hero’s Hero: Arnaud ‘Séan’ Garnier on
DIEGO
MARADONA
Red Bull Street Style’s French world champion left mainstream
football to indulge his creative urges. He explains how an
Argentinian legend was the first player to get him in a spin
Everyone remembers Argentina’s match
against England in the 1986 World Cup
for the ‘Hand of God’ incident [when
Diego Maradona scored with a ‘header’
that actually came off his hand]. I was
too young to remember it at the time,
although I got to see it on video when
I was about 10 years old. But it was his
second goal in that match that caught
my eye – where he takes the ball in the
middle of the pitch and dribbles through
all the England players. Afterwards, I
was always trying to score like Maradona.
I played normal football when I was
young, training with professional teams
AJ Auxerre and Troyes AC in France.
But I was injury-prone and had to sit
out a couple of seasons, and by the time
I was 19, I’d been let go and couldn’t find
another club. That’s how my interest in
freestyle began. In my free time, I began
to mix football with basketball and dance.
Maradona always looked like he had
a clear head. Before games began, he’d
never run about – he’d just take the ball
and play with it like he was having fun.
I like that kind of football. I’ve learned
to do the same in my life.
When you ask a normal footballer
to do a trick, he takes the ball and starts
from the ground. But a freestyler will
just as likely start from the air. When I
understood this, I thought: “OK, freestyle
is not really football at all. You can do
anything you want.” So, when I first
came to Paris, I’d see all the basketball
players on the public courts and I tried
to learn their tricks with my hands.
In Paris, we don’t have a lot of space
for training, so a lot of the freestyle
players gather at La Défense Métro
34
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station and share space with followers
of other disciplines like breakdancers.
Hip-hop dancing is very fluid and
rhythmic. From La Défense, I’ve learned
to breakdance and I use the ball with my
feet while I spin and turn on my hands.
I’ve not taken any specific moves
from Maradona because he does just
the basics. But I’ve learned style from
him – that easy style. He can juggle with
a football or a tennis ball, and I want
to have the same kind of control and
freedom. He’s also left-footed like me,
so that was always an inspiration.
When you talk about Maradona,
you’ve always got to mention the Hand
of God. For me, you can’t win that way.
It was wrong, but it’s his character that
came through. At that moment, it was
cheating. But afterwards, it became
a part of why we know him.
His later years with the drugs and
the weight gain were obviously a low
point, but that’s life and it’s his choice.
Some of my friends smoke and drink.
I choose not to, but it’s their choice and
they are good guys all the same. I like
Maradona for football and for tricks.
If I met him, I wouldn’t really be
satisfied with just that. I’d actually want
to play against him, one-on-one! I’d like
to try and knock it through his legs.
We call it pana in France, or petit pont,
which means ‘small bridge’. I believe
it’s known as a ‘nutmeg’ in the UK and
Ireland. I’ve managed it against a few
professional players in France like
Karim Benzema and Ben Arfa.
I still follow certain footballing trends,
but like to keep it free. I play and coach
beach soccer, and hope to make it into
the French national side for that soon.
I think Maradona being a coach now is
good for the image of Argentina, because
Maradona is Argentina, you know?
But I think it won’t be good if he loses
games. People will say, “Oh, he can’t
do it because he’s not a properly-trained
coach.” But I think he has the most
beautiful skills in football. So although
it’s going to be difficult for him, I think
he has the natural ability to succeed.
I’m always trying to get more
freestyle tricks into whatever game
I play. When I first started doing it, all
of my friends from my normal football
days said to me, “No, it’s not football!
Stop that – play on the field!” But now
they find me on Facebook and know that
I’m the world champion for freestyle,
they say “Oh, wow, that’s great!”
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PHOTOGRAPHY: DOM DAHER/RED BULL PHOTOFILES, GETTY IMAGES
Words: Tom Hall
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HEROES
STEVE
FISHER
Careering through wild white water holds no fear for
‘the godfather of kayaking’. The only thing that worries
him is that one day he might run out of challenges
Words: Uschi Korda Photography: Gian Paul Lozza
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36
We’re standing at the far end of an eerie Swiss
mountain valley and Steve Fisher – considered by
experts to be the world’s best kayaker – has just
plunged over a 17m waterfall three times. Like most
experts, he makes the improbable appear simple.
Fisher had visited this location dozens of times
before hurling body and boat over the edge, having
observed the flow of the water and picked his line.
What he couldn’t dictate, however, was the weather.
After a stormy night, a babbling brook is now a
raging mountain stream. Multiple rapids such as this
are laced with danger because the water is so hard to
predict. A younger Fisher wouldn’t have blinked before
launching into a torrent, but at 33, he looks back with
relief at having survived some of his suicidal antics.
Fisher first squeezed into a canoe at the age of six.
It had been left behind by the Austrian kayak team,
who would train for four months every winter on
the Bushman’s River, which flowed through Fisher’s
parents’ farm in Estcourt, South Africa. Steve would
stretch ropes over the water for the slalom kayakers
and take care of the slalom posts to earn pocket money.
The tricky skill of manoeuvring a boat through
rough water became second nature, but he didn’t
initially become known as a ‘creeker’ – someone
who hurtles down mountain torrents that often
contain more stones than water. Instead, he excelled
as a dead-water sprinter – becoming the best in the
country, but barred from competing in the 1992
Barcelona Olympics, because, at 16, he was still
a junior. Still, he wanted to see the world.
His first foreign trip was to compete in Holland in
1994. It sparked a passion for discovering unknown
places – a passion that sat well with his sport. So in
2000 he set off to Myanmar (formerly Burma) as part
of a five-man team to explore the headwaters of the
Irrawaddy. The trip took six weeks and encompassed
160km of almost-impassable territories. The men
carried equipment and food on a raft through the
jungle and the rapids, between kayaking sessions.
“On short trips, we carried our food in the kayaks,”
Fisher explains. “But you can only do that for 10 days
at most. After that, you start getting really hungry.”
Fisher’s most exciting expedition to date was
a seven-man, two-month epic in 2002 to Tibet, to
explore by boat the source of the Yarlung Tsangpo
in the northern Himalayas. The early preparations
lasted eight years – Google Earth was yet to be
invented and a satellite imaging company had
to first photograph the river for the team.
You might call them modern-day adventurers,
though this kind of undertaking has little in common
with treasure island romance. Permits and fees cost
US$200,000, which included covering 60 men to
carry essential items on foot through the world’s
highest mountain range. Yet, according to Fisher,
the most important thing is that all members of the
team are thinking along the same lines. Which is why
selected kayakers lived and worked together around
the clock for months in California until the final crew
was picked. The correct group number is also vital:
“Five or seven kayakers,” he says. “Not six or eight so
you get a majority if anything ever comes to a vote.”
Fisher also enjoys finding perfect lines for waterways
and waterfalls he knows, and tackling spots even
other experts avoid, such as the 100m long multilevel rapid in Chutes St Ursule, Canada, with a 46m
vertical difference. “I’m the only one to have given it
a shot,” he says. He has never gone back. “I’d want to
give it another go,” he says. “But the tiniest wobble
and I could capsize, and it would snowball from there.”
Exploits such as this, and his invention of a dozenor-so moves, including the airscrew and the helix,
have made him a feted pioneer and cult hero in the
disciplines of Big Water, Steep Creek and Freestyle.
But there’s a new rival for his sporting ambition:
paragliding. “It’s fantastic! Air behaves in much the
same way as water so I know what I’m doing. And
from above I can spot new places to go kayaking.”
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Action
40 TWIN ATLANTIC 46 JAMIE ROBERTS
52 TOKYO BMX 62 RED BULL X-ALPS
68 SEBASTIAN VETTEL
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39
ACTION
SCOTLAND THE RAVE
Glasgow band Twin Atlantic played a triumphant homecoming show at T in the Park
this summer. Bear witness to the blood, sweat and copious facial hair
of a band making the jump from respected underdogs to conquering heroes
Words: Tom Hall Photography: James Pearson-Howes
40
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ACTION
T
he rounded bricks and eroded sandstone
found all over leafy Queen’s Park in
Glasgow’s Southside tell a tale the clouds
already promise to finish. In Glasgow,
it rains. A lot. Four skinny figures in
their early 20s dart across wide streets
under awnings and into doorways.
Hoods and leather jackets go up around
dishevelled hair and full beards that cover two of their number.
Combined with Ray-Bans just cruelly cheated of useful purpose,
Twin Atlantic resemble some kind of indie secret agent squad
under heavy disguise, dodging bullets. Albeit a comically inept
one. It’s not the start to our whistle-stop tour of Glasgow that
we’d planned. But probably the one we should have expected.
“It’s not a style thing. Having a beard keeps you warm in the
Glasgow weather,” says guitarist Barry McKenna half-jokingly.
Surly and bear-like, he’s a foil to languid, stick-thin lead singer
Sam McTrusty – all coiffured hair and thoughtful stares.
Ducking out of the rain and into the local greasy spoon café,
the two are joined by bass player Ross McNae and drummer
Craig Kneale. McNae is quietly spoken, peering out from
straggly locks and that aforementioned beard. Kneale has
a self-deprecating humour that’s at odds with the ferocious
beats he pummelled out of a drum kit at T in the Park.
Rewind 48 hours to that performance. No wait, maybe
57 hours to just before it, and the band are sprawled out on
uncharacteristically dry meadows in Balado, near Kinross.
Framed by looming hills that anyone who spends most of their
time in a city would describe as mountainous (we didn’t bring
a tape measure), the beautiful landscape under fine weather
is a breathtaking setting in which to party ’til you puke.
“T in the Park kind of resembles a refugee camp, but all the
refugees are pissed and spending loads of money,” says a sleepy
McNae. The band have just driven 450 miles from Guildford
in a cramped mini-van in one night. Needless to say not
everyone’s quite awake. But then not everyone’s Craig Kneale.
“They’re giving free haircuts and massages in the artists’ area.
Let’s do it!” he says with enthusiasm. Trappings of rock stardom
are available in teasing glimpses to a band like Twin Atlantic, four
guys on the cusp of mainstream notoriety. They’re not quite there
yet, but on days like today it’s close enough to snatch and run.
Their hardcore-infused, thinking-man’s punk pop achieves
that crucial element for a widespread following, balancing
big choruses with lyrical content that takes a few listens to
crack. Inventive yet familiar, the accessible sound delivered
in a defiantly Scottish drawl means that, as they stroll around
the festival, they’re greeted more like homecoming heroes.
McTrusty is the poster boy that the small groups of fans
get all giggly over. Teenagers in Twin Atlantic T-shirts come
and high-five him over the crowd barriers while he watches
fellow Scots Sucioperro from the side of the stage. Boys want
to know who his all-time favourite Scottish act is.
“Somewhere between Mogwai and Biffy…” he answers.
Girls sing back his own lyrics and make requests for the show.
“Give a shout out to Aberdeen,” they beg back over the fence.
McTrusty humours them politely, but you can tell the adulation
ritual is as depressingly bizarre to him as it is ticklishly novel.
“I hope this never gets normal. I hope I’m always…”
“Shitting yourself?” offers McNae.
“No! I hope I’m always this excited,” he says, in reference to
the band’s 7.45pm slot on the Red Bull Bedroom Jam Futures
Stage this evening. So is tonight a more special gig than most?
“Well, when you’re surrounded by so many Scottish people at
T in the Park, that kind of national gathering rarely happens. That’s
42
J\Xf]]Xej1Kn`e8kcXek`ZgcXp
kfXgXZb\[k\ekfek_\I\[9lcc
9\[iffdAXd=lkli\jJkX^\Xk
K`ek_\GXib
44
ACTION
him. From that point on, I just found it really funny and wrote
this whole song around it. I was reading that Ernest Hemingway
book A Farewell To Arms at the time, and it’s all about going
K_\Z`kpk_Xk^Xm\ljDkc\p
Dfe`ZXn`k_KfYpNi`^_k#n_f
:i•\#9cXZb=cX^Xe[k_\I\[?fk
_XjXcjfgif[lZ\[i\Zfi[j]fi
to war. I never finished it... I kind of do that with books.”
:_`c`G\gg\ij_XjY`ik_\[Xe\n
8c`Z\`e:_X`ejXe[JcXp\i%K_\
As show time approaches, the band adopt green facepaint
cXY\cj\kfec\Xm`e^`kjdXib
jkl[`fcXleZ_\[`kjfnecXY\c#
for the gig, in reference to the greenery of their forthcoming
fek_\dlj`Z`e[ljkip%>\Xi\[
I\[9lccI\Zfi[j#`e\Xicp)''/%
album cover. “If it looks like we’ve just thrown this idea
kfnXi[jpfle^Xik`jkjYi\Xb`e^
@kj]`ijki\c\Xj\#;\kif`k#YpE\n
together, it’s because we have,” says Barry.
`ekfk_\Ylj`e\jj#k_\I\[9lcc
Pfib`e[`\$[lf9cXZb>fc[#nXj
“Why not eh?” quips McNae.
Jkl[`ffg\e\[`eCfj8e^\c\j
Xe`Kle\jj`e^c\f]k_\n\\b
`e)''.%9Xe[jc`b\DJKIBI=K#
Xe[k_\`iXcYld#Ilj_#nXj
“We’ll soon see why not,” deadpans McTrusty, the whole
9Xpj`[\Xe[K_\?ldXe8YjkiXZk
X_`kn`k_Zi`k`Zj`ek_\LJ%
band now resembling a psychedelic crew of nerve-shredded
_Xm\Xcci\Zfi[\[XcYldj`ek_\
Kn`e8kcXek`ZXi\k_\j\Zfe[
Braveheart extras. By the time they reach the Red Bull stage,
kfg$f]$k_\$c`e\[`^j`eJXekX
YXe[j`^e\[kfk_\cXY\c%
fears of a deserted tent are quickly replaced by the sheer terror
of 3000 raging fans who’ve turned up especially. It’s packed out.
why it’s such a party atmosphere and everybody’s so wrecked.
“T in the Park… SCOTLAND!... This is pretty f***ing terrifying,”
It’s like the one time of year where everyone comes to our turf.”
bellows McTrusty and they launch into Lightspeed. What follows
The artists’ area couldn’t be further away from a home crowd.
is a gloriously messy and triumphant victory lap, with the crowd
Filing into the catering tent is a Who’s Who of pop’s high table.
seemingly singing along to every word. The band play hard,
Veterans The Specials sit circled like an impenetrable gang,
with blood splattered from busted fingernails over McTrusty’s
the impression heightened by matching ‘Specials’ embroidered
white guitar and jeans, and sweat-dissolved facepaint running
tracksuit tops. The Killers’ Brandon Flowers shuffles in like
into bloodshot eyes. During the acoustic Crash Land, McKenna
a kid wary of having his lunch money stolen. Katy Perry takes
switches to cello, showing they can do more than big, dumb
time out from an alleged onsite ego war with Lady Gaga to grab
thrills. The gig ends in chaos as McNae jumps into the crowd
some food. Everybody has to eat. Catfights can resume later.
and is mistaken by security for a fan. A scuffle ensues. It’s not
It’s exciting and a novelty, but Twin Atlantic are used to
the ending the band would have preferred, but the fans get
stepping up a level when the situation requires it. Formed
a kick out of seeing their heroes standing up to security.
in March 2007, the band quickly became favourites on the
The vibe afterwards is edgy. Different members are selfGlasgow live music scene and released a debut single by
critical to extremes. But it’s a debate that five ‘Ts’ out of five
Christmas that year. Tour support slots followed with the
in a national tabloid the next day does a lot to calm down.
Subways and Biffy Clyro,
On the Monday evening,
resulting in the band being
back in Glasgow, the band
Vivid Vivarium
hand-picked by Smashing
huddle in a booth at local
f]LJglebifZbn`k_X[`jk`eZkcp
Pumpkins to support them at
musicians’ Mecca Nicensleazy.
JZfkk`j_kfe\%K_fj\kn`e`[\ek`k`\j
Glasgow SECC. In February
Members of fellow Glasgow
Zfcc`[`e^fm\ik_\fZ\XekfZi\Xk\
2009, the band signed to Red
band Frightened Rabbit stop
XY`^jgcXj_%Jfpfl^\kk_\
gifglcj`m\]fiZ\f]8kK_\;i`m\$
Bull Records and headed to
over and catch up on the
`eXkk_\`igfgg`\jkfejfe^jc`b\
LA to record their debut miniweekend. It’s a communal
fg\e\iC`^_kjg\\[#YfleZ`e^f]]
album, Vivarium, available to
vibe that’s seen McTrusty
JZfkcXe[Ëjdfi\`ekifjg\Zk`m\
download from September 14.
sportingly play an acoustic
d`j\iXYc`jkjc`b\;\c^X[fjfik_\
Sam explains the title refers
spot earlier for some Twin
Kn`c`^_kJX[fejfe^jjlZ_Xj
to an artificially created yet
Atlantic fans attending the
8jbKn`e8kcXek`Zn_Xkk_XkeXd\
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f]k_\`ijXZklXccpd\XejXe[pflËcc k_XkËjefkkf`dgcpk_\YXe[[feËk
natural environment, like
venue’s open-mic night. But
^\kXj_il^#dXpY\Xj`^_#]fccfn\[ ]`idcp_Xm\\p\jfek_\dX`ejki\Xd
a fish tank or greenhouse.
Saturday’s performance is
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gi`q\%K_\i\Ëj\efl^_\efidflj
“We just thought it was
still a topic of debate.
i\XccpÉ%EXd`e^pfliYXe[`jfe\
_ffbj_\i\kf_Xm\gf^f`e^
a really cool word, but it also
“Can I be brutally honest?
f]k_\Xcc$k`d\kfgZfele[ildj
(*$p\Xi$fc[jjl`e^]fiIJ@Ypk_\
had some meaning to us as
I thought it went terribly. It’s
Xe[k_\^lpjaljkn\ekn`k_
k`d\XcYldknfZfd\jXifle[%Pfl
a band because we’ve sort
the worst gig we’ve ever
knfnfi[jk_\pZflc[c`m\n`k_
ZXecffb[\\g`ekfk_\M`mXi`ldfi
i\g\Xk`e^[Xp`e[Xpflk%9lk
aljkYfleZ\Xcfe^kfk_\]ifekf]
of built that environment
played,” laughs Kneale.
k_\[\Ylki\Zfi[jl^^\jkjXjlY$
k_\Zifn[#j_flk`e^Xcfe^n`k_k_\
ourselves in the sanctuary of
“See, I thought it was
ZfejZ`fljcf^`ZdXp_Xm\Y\\e
dXjj\j%8jbk_\dn_Xk`kd\Xej
the music. The artwork shows
the best show we’ve ever
Xknfibk_\i\%M`mXi`lddXii`\j
Xe[pflËccgifYXYcp^\kXjn\Xkp
a vivarium smashed to bits, as
played,” says McTrusty.
Xcck_\dfjkgfglcXi\c\d\ekj
Xe[[\c`^_k\[È[leefi\Xccp%É
the record is meant to be kind
McKenna compares their
of a fresh start for us. We’ve
disagreements to T in the
been trying to move away from songs about girlfriends or whatever
Park headliners Blur. “Blur stopped being a band for nine years
and writing more tunes that have a story or a universal theme.”
because they hated each other’s guts to the point of where they
A look down the album’s tracklisting reveals some heavy
failed at being a band. That’s not what we’re about. It’s not what
topics and even stranger titles. Human After All is a rant at
being in any band is about. You’ve just got to pick each other up.”
the degradation of women, while You’re Turning Into John
After last orders, the guys once again don hoods and leathers
Wayne tackles the Americanisation of pop culture. So what’s
to resume service against the Glasgow elements. Kneale is
Caribbean War Syndrome all about, then?
optimistic and concedes he’s always going to pick holes.
“Um, well, actually a lot of our songs just grow from jokes
“We might disagree, but we always look to the horizon,”
into something more serious. We had a guitar rhythm that Barry
he says on his way out. And then the rain came down.
was struggling to remember, and I’d started randomly singing, “If
M`mXi`ldn`ccY\XmX`cXYc\kf[fnecfX[]ifdJ\gk\dY\i(+%>fkfnnn%
kn`eXkcXek`Z%Zfd%=fidfi\XYflkI\[9lccJkl[`fm`j`knnn%i\[Ylccjkl[`f%Zfd
you like the Caribbean”, which fitted with the rhythm, to remind
Making Music
45
ACTION
MR BIG
Not much fazes Welsh rugby’s wünderkind, Jamie Roberts, be it
ferocious South African back divisions or fierce medical exams.
Nothing, however, could have prepared him to eat raw testicle…
Words: Anthony Rowlinson Photography: David Clerihew
There’s something big in the basement; something
that fills a room with its presence, takes light from
the windows and makes you wonder why everything
else in the vicinity suddenly looks a bit puny.
That something – correction, someone – is
Jamie Roberts, a thumping great lump of a man, who,
although being only 22 and in only his third pro rugby
season, returned from the British and Irish Lions’
summer tour to South Africa as ‘man of the series’.
He has arrived at the The Red Bulletin’s London
offices for the interview you’re reading here, and,
despite his modest years and equally modest
manner, his star quality is immediately apparent.
Tanned and in something like top shape, having
recently jetted home from as hard a tour as he’s ever
likely to encounter (scarcely healed nicks and cuts
across his face speak eloquently of the Springboks’
brutal ‘welcome to South Africa’), he radiates the
kind of easy-smiling, charismatic confidence gifted
only to those who have absolutely nothing to prove.
Since his international debut for Wales against
Scotland in 2008, Roberts has bludgeoned his way
into his national squad’s first 15, making such an
impact – in every way – he has instantly become
a marked man. England paid him the ultimate
compliment earlier this year by briefing flanker
Joe Worsley to do nothing but attempt to tackle
Roberts to a standstill. That game, let it be noted,
was only Jamie’s third Six Nations start.
So, he’s big – 6ft 4in (193cm) and 16st 10lb
(106kg) to be precise – and a hard-hitting midfield
runner with the rare knack of making 70,000 people
simultaneously go, ‘Oooh’, whenever he blasts into
an opponent, either in attack or defence. Should you
ever wish to understand the meaning of the rugby
vernacular ‘making the hard yards’, spend 10
minutes watching young Roberts in a close-quarter
exchange and you’ll never need ask again.
But imposing as he is, Jamie’s no thug. Indeed,
he’s very far from it: he’s about to start his fourth
year at medical school in his home town of Cardiff,
46
studying part-time around his rugby commitments.
He’s also quietly spoken – with a marked South
Wales rasp – and has a disarmingly soft handshake
(no cheap-machismo bone-crunchers here).
All in all, he’s an intriguing character: a brightas-paint rugby prodigy, whose passing skills are as
delicate as his running lines are direct. A worthy
subject, then, for a Red Bulletin grilling.
You’ve had quite a year, from breaking into
the Wales squad, to Lions man of the series.
Yeah, it’s been meteoric and pretty crazy, really. As
a young player you just hope to establish yourself
for a club and take it from there. But all this has come
so soon. It’s nuts to think there are guys in their late
20s and 30s who are reaching the pinnacle of their
career, which is the Lions Test shirt, and I had it at
22. It brings a huge responsibility, but you take it
in your stride, and prepare to be a marked man!
A bit of a change from being a secret weapon
for Wales and Cardiff last year?
Definitely. I’ll see how I cope with that, but I’m sure
there will be a few tricks up my sleeve. We’ll see…
What was the season’s highlight: winning the
EDF Cup, top games for Wales, or the Lions?
Beating [Heineken Cup tournament favourites]
Toulouse in the quarter-finals was pretty special.
And winning the EDF at Twickenham with 50-odd
points was great, too. But it was tough, as well. We
lost the Heineken semis with a heartbreaking kick
[Cardiff lost to Leicester on penalties with the sides
drawn at 26-26 after extra time], then we gave
Ireland the Six Nations Grand Slam the same way
[courtesy of a Ronan O’Gara drop goal, with the
score at 15-14 to Wales], and lost the second Lions
test with a last-minute penalty [from Morne Steyn,
with the score at 25-25]. But that’s how close the
big games are now. It’s all about the inches.
Can you describe the thrill of pulling on a Lions
jersey for the first time?
You never forget it. I was picked for the first match,
“PLAYING
FOR THE
LIONS IS AN
HONOUR
AND A
PRIVILEGE”
ACTION
In one
word please
describe:
Warren
Gatland
(coach of Wales
and the British
and Irish Lions)
Crafty.
Shaun
Edwards
(assistant to
Gatland)
Crazy.
Gavin
Henson
(troubled ex-poster
boy of Welsh rugby)
Tanned.
Jonny
Wilkinson
(England
outside half)
Skilled.
Bakkies
Botha
(South Africa
second-row)
Beast.
Brian
O’Driscoll
(Ireland and
Lions centre)
Legend.
against the Royal 15, and I remember the plaque in
the changing room, listing Lions who’d played in my
position before – Jeremy Guscott, Will Greenwood –
real legends. And that’s when it hit home how big it
is, and how much of an honour and a privilege it is.
The first match was strange because the crowd was
tiny, so there was no atmosphere, which was odd
after the intensity of the dressing room. It was
different for the first Test, though. I ran on with
a huge grin on my face. It was pretty crazy.
As first-choice inside centre for the Lions,
does that make you the best in that position?
No. You need luck to get on tour in the first place,
and then there’s form. For example, Riki Flutey
was injured early on and maybe didn’t get as good
a chance as he wanted. The big stars make their
name by taking a chance when they get it.
Hopefully I’m one step closer to that.
Are you and [first-choice Lions centre partner]
Brian O’Driscoll best buddies now?
[Laughs] I must say he’s a top bloke – a real gent.
He’s great to play alongside, and I was outside
Stephen Jones as well, who’s hugely experienced.
To be sandwiched between those two was pretty
special. Brian’s telepathic. One of the best ever.
So will you smash him when Wales play Ireland?
Oh, yes. That’s one of the beauties of the Lions tour.
Everyone looks forward to the Six Nations following
it, and playing against guys you made good friends
with. It will add a bit of spice to each match.
What was your most memorable tour moment?
[Roberts grimaces, for reasons which soon become
apparent.] Well… we were invited to go shooting
on a farm owned by Ollie Le Roux, who used to be
a South Africa prop. It’s a tradition that, after your
first springbok kill, you have to cut its throat and
rub warm blood on your face. Then, if it’s male, you
eat a testicle, and if it’s female, you take a chunk of
its liver. Unfortunately, I shot a male and… well…
[Roberts is turning pale] it was the most disgusting
thing I have ever done. I ate raw testicle. It was
What’s
the most
valuable
rugby lesson
you’ve
learned?
Just to have
a laugh
playing the
game. You
only get
10 years at
the top if
you’re lucky,
so you’d
best make
the most of it.
48
beyond a joke. There was so much peer pressure
I couldn’t say no, out of respect for the guys who
took us shooting. But it was disgusting. I was
almost sick as I was eating it. Really pretty horrific.
How did it taste?
The testicle was crunchy, a bit like calamari… and
warm. It must have been funny for everyone else.
What about a rugby moment?
Doing a lap after the final Test win, even though
I didn’t play in it. That was pretty special, seeing all
the fans. The third Test really felt like a home game.
Congratulating the boys who had won the match
really brought a tear to my eye. The Lions needed
that one. It had been eight years since the last win.
Who was the biggest tour joker?
Besides myself?! Well, put it this way… there’s
another version of the famous Living With Lions
DVD being put out from this tour, and I think it will
all be about Andy Powell, who plays number eight
for Wales. He’s ridiculously stupid and everybody
loves him to bits for his comedy value.
“What did you think of South Africa’s third-Test
protest in support of Bakkies Botha [Botha was
banned after the second Test; his team-mates
wore defiant ‘Justice 4 Bakkies’ armbands]?
It was funny. We thought about playing the second
half with headbands saying: “R U having a laugh?”
What was the dressing-room atmosphere
like after the series-losing second Test?
I’ve never experienced anything like it. For 20
minutes, there was complete silence. Players were
just sitting there, speechless. To come out on the
losing side after playing all the rugby and with four
of us going to hospital… that was tough. Brian
O’Driscoll had knocked himself senseless, Gethin
Jenkins had a fractured cheekbone… That was quite
funny in hospital, actually. I saw Gethin on a bed,
about to have an operation on his face, and he called
me over. “Smell the doctor’s breath,” he said. I didn’t
know what he meant, and he said again: “Just smell
his breath.” So I did, and the guy reeked of alcohol.
He’d obviously been on call for the match, but had
been at home on an absolute bender. At that point,
our team doctor stepped in and got the op put on
hold. Poor old Geth had to wait another four hours.
Do you get mobbed in Cardiff these days?
I haven’t spent much time back in Cardiff since the
Lions tour, but I got more recognition after the Six
Nations. It was pretty manic, but not embarrassing.
I don’t mind chatting to fans. It comes with the job.
Do you speak Welsh?
Yes, I’m fluent.
Go on then…
Rwy’n caru Red Bull. [‘I love Red Bull,’ he chortles
and takes a glug.]
So the national anthem – Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau
[Land of My Fathers] – means something to you?
Of course. I was brought up as a Welsh-speaker!
What goes through your mind when you sing the
national anthem in the Millennium Stadium?
It’s very emotional. You look up at the stands and it’s
like nothing you can compare to in life, but it’s what
makes playing for Wales so special. Whether you
have 10 caps or 100, it’s always the same.
“MY MOST
MEMORABLE
RUGBY MOMENT
WAS DOING A LAP
AFTER THE FINAL
TEST WIN – EVEN
THOUGH I DIDN’T
PLAY IN IT”
“I SWEAR QUITE
A LOT. NOT
REALLY OFF
IT, BUT ON
THE PITCH”
ACTION
Would you
ever grow
a beard?
No, I don’t
think so.
I’ve got quite
a big jaw,
so, if I grew
a beard,
it would look
even bigger.
It’s Desperate
Dan, mate.
I’ve been
called that
numerous
times.
…and what
about?
Schalk Berger
(Springbok cited for
eye-gouging after
second Lions Test)
Gouger.
Scott Gibbs
(former Wales centre)
Wrecking
ball.
Jonah Lomu
(All Black icon)
Bigger
wrecking
ball!
Cardiff
Great place.
Twickenham
Good
memories.
Murrayfield.
Good
memories.
Stade
de France.
Bad
memories.
Croke Park.
Big.
Max Boyce.
Legend!
Who sings it better, Charlotte Church [girlfriend
of Gavin Henson] or Katherine Jenkins?
Katherine… [He pauses, then bursts out laughing.]
How do the old guard view today’s game?
In two ways: the old players have huge respect
for the modern game, but in another way, I reckon
they’re quite disappointed. There’s a much bigger
emphasis on strength and power, whereas in the
’70s, it was a totally different, flash style of play.
Rugby quiz: how many international points
did former Wales fly-half Neil Jenkins score?
Oh God. One thousand and thirty-two? [Correct
answer: 1090 for Wales and the Lions.]
Would you change anything about rugby?
It’s important that skill isn’t lost. Too much bishbash-bosh stuff would put the fans off.
Do you remember being caught by Mathieu
Bastareaud in the Wales-France game this year?
[Roberts pauses to recollect the two-worlds-collide
impact between the two centres during this year’s
Six Nations encounter.] Yeah, the whistle had gone
and he smashed me! [Laughs] So, God, yeah… He’s
a big lump. I was disappointed by that – never really
been sat down on my arse. One of the first times.
I don’t want to talk about it. Nah…
What’s your best gym exercise?
As I’ve had a shoulder operation and my other’s on
its way, shoulder stability work. It’s what I do most.
And your worst?
Shoulder rehab! And chin-ups… hmm… don’t like
those, as my strength-to-weight ratio is quite rubbish
because I’m 106kg. You see these small, powerful
guys and their strength-to-weight ratio is quite
awesome. Someone like Shane Williams is really
frustrating: he’s strong as an ox but really light.
Who’s your toughest opponent?
Jean de Villiers [South Africa centre and wing]. I’ve
never beaten South Africa when he’s played. He’s
a tough opponent. He runs flat out, no holding back,
and defensively he’s very solid. Hugely physical.
What have you got that some of the young talents
you came through against didn’t have?
Um… that’s a tough one. I think, a bit of intellect.
Yep. Gets you a long way in rugby because it’s
a thinking man’s game – top two inches.
Talking of brains, you sat your A-levels on tour…
Yeah, that was weird. I sat them at 6am in a hotel in
Argentina during the Under-21 World Cup. Luckily,
our coach was an invigilator at Cardiff University,
so I was allowed to do them out there.
And you did well enough to get into medical
school. Do you still want to be a doctor?
I’ve done three years and I’ll do the last two part-time
over four years in hospital. It’s a balancing act, but
another challenge. Hopefully I’ll be a qualified doc
in four years’ time. It makes a change from training to
put on a shirt and tie and stroll around the wards.
When did you know you were good enough
for first-class rugby?
When I had my first Wales cap against Scotland
in 2008 on the wing. I’d been playing on the wing
all season for the Blues, but your first cap is a huge
occasion and you realise you’re there for a reason.
I spent the first half running round like an idiot,
then eventually realised I was good enough. That’s
the key, and that’s what experience is all about.
Who were your role models?
Jonah Lomu. He was a big man. And Percy
Montgomery, who was a Springbok, but who also
played for Newport – even though he once punched
the ref. [He actually shoved a touch judge, earning
a six-month ban.] Scott Gibbs, too.
Have you ever been scared on a rugby pitch?
Yes. When we played Australia last autumn, I had
a big clash of heads with Stirling Mortlock. That
was pretty scary: I thought I might never play again.
It was a pretty big injury: I fractured my skull.
Do you think more about injuries because
of your medical training?
Yeah, most definitely. I’m always interested in the
other boys’ injuries. The doctors and physios can’t
short-change me. I want the full explanation.
How many of your five-a-day do you get?
I eat a lot of fruit and veg. Diet is a huge part of
the game now. I usually get my five-a-day, mate.
Do you swear much on the pitch?
Yes! [Enthusiastically embraces the idea.] I swear
quite a lot. Not really off it, but on the pitch, in the
heat of battle, I get wound up and use words you
wouldn’t hear me say off the pitch.
What’s the worst pair of shoes you’ve ever had?
For my 14th birthday, my mum bought me a pair of
the most rubbish trainers. I almost cried… They were
shit, absolute crap. Yellow and white – disgusting.
I wore them once, on holiday, and that was it.
Which Star Wars character would you be?
God. Yoda… so wise. The Master.
Small but powerful… that doesn’t really
describe you, does it?
No [laughs]. Not really.
I\X[n_Xk_Xgg\e\[n_\eI\[9lccI\gfik\iAXd\j9Xjj
d\kAXd`\IfY\ikjXknnn%i\[Ylcci\gfik\i%Zfd&)''0&'.&
aXd`\$ifY\ikj$\oZclj`m\&#gclj]`e[flk_fnpflkffZflc[
Y\Zfd\XI\[9lccI\gfik\i
51
ACTION
B
M
X
BANZAI
Tokyo, neon-scorched
techno-metropolis,
showcases Japan at its
Samurai-sharpest.
Who better to give us
the insider tour than
Ryoji ‘Yanmar’ Yamamoto
and Yohei ‘Ucchie’ Uchino,
two of the country’s
top BMX riders?
Photography: Richie Hopson
52
MARKET RESEARCH
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54
WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS
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58
ACTION
STRIKE A POSE
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59
DINNER DATE
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ACTION
EUROPE’S
TOUGHEST
RACE
Beautiful, solitary, uniquely demanding,
Red Bull X-Alps is an adventure
competition like no other
Words: Christian Seiler
63
GERMANY
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AUSTRIA
1
THE ROUTE
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SWITZERLAND
3
4
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THE ARRIVAL
A strange noise rings out over Monaco’s harbour as a white
speck appears on the rocky outline of Mont Gros. Da-ring, daring, da-da-ring. Sunbathers spending a perfect sunny day
lazing on the sand beneath the Principality cast an irritated
look over the top of oh-so-chic designer shades. They see three
men in shorts who have taken up position on the quay wall and
are watching the white speck from Mont Gros – how it takes
shape and becomes a person hanging onto a white wing. Daring, da-da-ring. The men are brandishing shiny cowbells as big
as fridges and they laugh and jump for joy as well as any man
with a fridge round his neck can. Because their man, Swiss
paragliding champion Christian Maurer, nicknamed Chrigel, is
about to land on the blue float in the dock and win the fourth
leg of Red Bull X-Alps, the world’s toughest adventure race.
But they’re wrong on two counts: (1) the white speck isn’t
Chrigel Maurer, it’s Thomas Theurillat, Chrigel’s supporter;
and (2) Chrigel Maurer, the second speck coming round Mont
Gros, actually misses the target and ends up in the bright blue
waters of the Côte d’Azur, so it’s not just fans who dash out to
greet him, but lifeguards too. But then he gets onto the float,
I\klie`e^Z_Xdg`fe8c\o?f]\i]`e`j_\[j\Zfe[#
fe\f]fecpknfXk_c\k\jkfZfdgc\k\k_\[`jkXeZ\
64
hugs his equally sodden supporter, Thomas, and beams. What
a winning margin. What a race. What a winner.
THE RACE
Chrigel Maurer had won a race that couldn’t be more exclusive.
The course goes from downtown Salzburg to Monaco – 818km
as the crow flies – with seven turning points to pass through:
from Gaisberg to Mont Gros, which towers over Monaco. The 30
participants, chosen by the organisers – Red Bull Air Race pilot
Hannes Arch and world paragliding champion Steve Cox – from
an enormous number of applications, had only two means of
conveyance at their disposal: by paraglider, which, the rules
stated, they must always have with them, or on foot.
Maurer dealt with the difficulties – inhospitable terrain,
huge changes in altitude, inclement weather, tricky orientation
– with clockwork precision. He combined his special flying
skills with elaborate preparation to beat the man in second
place, fellow Swiss Alex Hofer, who had already won Red
Bull X-Alps twice, by no less than a day and a half.
BXfilF^`jXnX`jXd`of]\e[liXeZ\#
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“If you want to be
quick, you must
make detours”
It’s not enough to be fit, rugged or determined to master the
Red Bull X-Alps adventure. The challenge requires a special
mixture of physical and mental conditioning. If you want to
get from Salzburg to Monaco quickly, you’ve got to have the
intuition, among other skills, of knowing when to wait for the
weather: the next morning’s wind might take you further than
you could run all night. The need for calm decision-making and
cool creativity finds both young-blooded, vigorous athletes and
leather-skinned men in their prime in the starting line-up. The
oldest man in the field was Japan’s Kaoru Ogisawa, 49, known
to his friends as Ogi, who finished the race in 13th place, some
297km from the finish line (the race ending 48 hours after the
victor’s arrival in Monaco). Chrigel Maurer, 26, combined the
energy of youth with the serenity of the experienced flyer.
He covered 72 per cent of the distance in the air.
start to finish, explored scenarios and carried out meticulous
preparations, in order that their calm, advanced decisionmaking would withstand the duress of extreme race conditions:
stress, exhaustion and inclement weather. They ran tests for
a week and drew up a psychological road map: The Story of
the Ideal Race. It didn’t focus on the course stages, but on six
‘chapters’ that Theurillat’s psychological expertise had defined.
The first was to get started and into a rhythm – Zell am See –
the Italian border – Bolzano – Domodossola – Chamonix –
southwards. Theurillat explains: “It was our own movie. We
were able to tick off every target – not just once, but six times.”
Maurer, the 2004 European champion and 2007 Paragliding
World Cup winner, knew that his strengths meant he could
allow himself to spend as much of the course as possible in the
air. He also knew that running through the night wasn’t his cup
of tea. A fundamental strategy was easy, therefore, to establish,
but just how elaborate the psychological support had become
came to light when Maurer made one of his rare mistakes and
got lost. Theurillat’s advice was almost Buddhist, along the
lines of: “If you want to be quick, you must make detours.”
He explains: “It’s important to reinforce motivation by
setting reachable targets, especially in crisis situations. So
I set the day’s target as sitting drinking beer by 10pm. We
were twice as quick the next day.”
THE STRATEGY
HANNES ARCH
Chrigel Maurer started specific fitness training seven months
before the race. He tested foods at the same time. What was the
right time to eat? What should he eat? And how much? Which
power bar is easy to eat when you’re exhausted? What’s the
best thing to eat in the air? Which isotonic drinks calm the
stomach and which ones add to its acidity? He reappraised
every aspect of his equipment. Which clothing was best for
hiking? Which for flying? How does the weight factor relate
to the efficiency factor? Maurer, a test pilot for paraglider
manufacturers Advance, put his most important piece of
equipment, the wing itself, through the same scrutiny. He
had three prototypes developed, but only the fourth was good
enough to meet the demands of the Red Bull X-Alps adventure,
with its special radius and efficient performance at the lowest
possible weight. He’d have to carry his wing with him at all
times, after all. Apart, that is, from when it was carrying him.
Maurer met Thomas Theurillat, a flying-obsessed
mountain guide and sports psychologist, at Switzerland’s
Mürren airfield, in the shadow of the Eiger. Chrigel quickly
won Thomas’ support, as both were motivated by the prospect
of a joint adventure requiring preparation of unprecedented
thoroughness. Together, they thought the race through from
Hannes Arch is standing in the Red Bull X-Alps press centre’s
temporary home in the shade of the dining area of beach club
Le Note Bleu, and shaking his head. The former BASE-jumper,
test-pilot and current Red Bull Air Race World Champion, who
has played an important role in organising the race since the
outset, is wearing camouflage shorts and flip-flops, and making
one phone call after another. Reports from the course, press
enquiries, co-ordinating briefly with the other organisers.
PHOTOGRAPHY: (PREVIOUS PAGE) OLIVIER LAUGERO/RED BULL PHOTFILES, (THIS PAGE) FELIX WOELK/RED BULL PHOTOFILES (1),
DEAN TREML/RED BULL PHOTOFILES (2), BERNHARD SPÖTTEL/RED BULL PHOTOFILES (1). ILLUSTRATION: SASCHA BIERL
THE PARTICIPANTS
“Happy with how the race went?”
“Extremely happy.”
“What do you like most about the winners?”
“That they’re not just quick, they’re smart, too. The Swiss team
has taken this race to a new level.”
“What’s been the main change since the race first began?”
“That we’ve managed to bring a sport that used to be reserved
for the few, into the mainstream, thanks to modern technology
and professional communications. You only have to look at
how many people followed the live tracking on the internet
this year to see that.”
“What makes this race’s participants stand out?”
“They’re the best. After all, we did choose the 30 athletes with
65
“The sportsmen
tackle the ascent
and calmly open
their wings”
the best abilities out of a huge number of applications. They’re
in it body and soul. Truly passionate sport stars.”
“You’ve been an extreme-sports star for years yourself.
What impresses you about these athletes?”
“Their spirit. They’re in a positive frame of mind even when
they’re doing something incredibly strenuous and dangerous.”
“How big are the risks?”
“Big. Any day will see at least five critical situations.”
“When can you relax?”
“When the race is over and the final participant is on the ground.”
SOLITUDE
The sky over Salzburg’s Mozartplatz is grey. Music pours out
of the escort vehicles’ speakers as the 30 participants set off.
There’s already a carnival atmosphere by the time they reach
the first turning point on the Gaisberg an hour later. Fans
and onlookers have made their way to Salzburg’s landmark
mountain by bus to see the participants on their first flight
south. It’s raining. Helicopters circle overhead. The tourists get
their cameras out as the sportsmen tackle the ascent in their
identikit turquoise shirts. They calmly open their wings. There’s
the in-run, waving, a joke or two. Then the wind directs them
southwards, towards their goal. But it isn’t where the next
turning point is. The Watzmann is to the west of Salzburg,
which from above looks like a dollhouse town with a fortress
growing out of the middle of it like an optical illusion.
The first flight is short and some of the participants are soon
back on the road in a small throng. There’s banter, but everyone
knows the real challenges are yet to begin. By the time the
next ascent comes round on a favourable wind, the better flyers
separate from the better runners and the different strategies
that will accompany the sportsmen on their way become clear.
This is where they will spend the days ahead until the finish
line looms into view. Alone. In intense dialogue with their
own fears and weaknesses. Ahead lie experiences that will be
frustrating and arduous, but incredibly beautiful. Chrigel Maurer
remembers a moment in the Swiss Alps, when the sun was
setting behind the clouds and a perfect peace reigned over the
landscape, that he forgot about the race and just stayed put, until
half an hour later he remembered there was no time to spare.
66
THE KIT
Race rules state that participants must always carry their
equipment with them. An efficient wing becomes dead weight
upon landing, so must be as light as possible. After numerous
development cycles by the manufacturer, the winner’s wing
weighed no more than 4kg and the pod harness with speed-bag
and a simple protector, just 2kg.
On top of that, there’s clothing, GPS, a mobile, detailed
terrain maps, accessories such as sunglasses, sun cream and
a pocket torch, and the most essential foods. The supporter,
the second man in the team, is responsible for keeping the
participant supplied at the start and end of the day, and for
looking after him mentally and physically.
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ACTION
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PHOTOGRAPHY: VITEK LUDVIK /RED BULL PHOTOFILES (3), OLIVIER LAUGERO/RED BULL PHOTFILES (1),
DEAN TREML/RED BULL PHOTOFILES (1)
THE WINNER
THE SUPPORTERS
They drive the camper vans as the shattered sportsmen get
a couple of hours’ sleep before the crack-of-dawn alarm call
(as long as the participants find the camper vans or the camper
vans can get to where the participants want to spend the night).
They cook spaghetti over an open flame so their partner gets
some warm food inside him; they tend to the blisters on his feet;
they wash his sweat-soaked clothes and make sure there are dry
clothes waiting for him the next morning; and get the coffee
ready on time. They are drivers, cooks, pastors, shrinks and
whipping boys. German participant Michael Gebert, for instance,
explains how, “...when I’m overwrought I can get weirdly
worked up about the fact that the van isn’t waiting where we
arranged for it to be waiting, just 100m away. I can go berserk.”
Thomas Theurillat worked out how to get rid of Chrigel
Maurer’s negative energy by drawing a pretty picture of the
perfect race: a wooden tub made of 14, 15 planks – equipment,
strategy, communication, etc. According to Theurillat, the
tub’s content would be determined by the shortest of them.
He focused on how to act when stressed and tired, and how to
manage aggression. In the van there was a checklist of what
had to be done every evening (“Are all appliances charging?”),
and what mustn’t be forgotten in the morning rush (“maps?
cagoule?”), so snafus just didn’t happen.
Chrigel Maurer is sitting barefoot in a chair while Monegasque
waiters clatter around behind him. He shows off his feet. “No
blisters,” he says with some satisfaction. That’s no mean feat
after 380km by foot in nine days – a marathon-equalling 42km
a day. But he never went too far, following his supporter’s
advice of stopping before he got too tired in order to recover
quickly. He was in the lead early on, and that sense of being
up-front motivated him to try daring moves such as his start
at the Weisstor Pass, the Matterhorn already in view. Thomas
Theurillat dragged a rope along behind him, which Chrigel
Maurer hung onto like a dragon. Then he climbed, lifted off
and flew. Up and away. Towards the south.
His face is looking weather-beaten and his eyes are deepset. But the effects of the last nine days aren’t what dominate
the victor’s face. That’s his smile, which isn’t yet completely
relaxed, but will be tomorrow morning once he’s had a good
night’s sleep. Chrigel orders pasta – what else? He looks out
over the blue sea, gently shakes his head and says, “Such
a shame it was all over so quickly.”
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67
EYE OF THE STORM
68
ACTION
Superstardom has its price – just ask Sebastian Vettel, a 22-year-old so in demand he scarcely has
time to breathe. This is his Hungarian GP weekend Words: Anthony Rowlinson Photography: Thomas Butler
H
e’s in there somewhere. That much we
know. Behind a phalanx of cameramen,
each attached umbilically to a pseudoceleb presenter, Sebastian Vettel is
holding court, fielding questions (so
many questions) about tyres, fuel levels,
track temperatures, the drivers’ world
championship, this, that, the other.
It’s the kind of media moment about
which 21st-century Earth dwellers have
become blasé through familiarity, but
still the intensity of the spotlight on
certain individuals retains the power
to dazzle. Vettel, the winner of three
Formula One Grands Prix, as he speaks
at 16.08 on the opening Thursday
afternoon of the 2009 Hungarian GP
weekend, is a choice morsel for an
entertainment-hungry world. So much so
that to those at the rear of this scrum, he
has become invisible. He literally cannot
be seen by anyone more than 5ft away.
“Is he in there?” asks a bemused,
onlooking Giorgio Ascanelli, Vettel’s
former engineering boss at Italian team
Scuderia Toro Rosso. He shakes his
head, smiles. “He really has become
a superstar. Good luck to him. He’s a
great driver and a good human being.”
But such is the demand for this
young man’s thoughts, opinions and
remarkably easy humour, he’s at risk
of being devoured by that which most
desires him. His gift, dare it be suggested,
is also his curse. So young (22) and so
talented (the youngest ever winner of
a Formula One Grand Prix – the 2008
Italian edition – aged 21 years and 74
days) he is also possessed of a native
wit that makes him camera candy.
Faced by a hundred lenses and – count
’em – an equal number of microphones,
and in cruel afternoon heat of more
than 40ºC, he nevertheless remains
calm, gracious and almost sweat-free.
The faintest trace of moisture beads
beneath his cap peak are the only hint
70
that, yes, right now, Sebastian Vettel
is earning his money. “Sebastian,
Sebastian. Over here, Sebastian…”
Reality check: less than 12 hours
earlier, Swiss-domiciled Seb had
smacked his 5am-chirping alarm, rolled
to the shower, then clothes, juice and out
to the waiting car that would swoosh
him the 50-minute ride to Zurich airport.
These were his last moments of peace
until late Sunday evening.
It’s 07.09 when he arrives at the
airport’s General Aviation Centre. No
entourage, but he is accompanied by his
trainer, Tommi Parmakoski, who helps
Seb with his bags, but who’s by no means
his ‘bag man’. Vettel has a pre-arranged
filming slot for The Red Bulletin and trots
into our makeshift studio looking fresh
as a pill from a blister pack. In a trainersshorts-T-shirt-cap combo that’s more
‘hanger-on’ than ‘hero’, it’s hard to equate
this slight, bright figure with the track
tiger who’s fighting for the F1 World
Championship. There’s no trace of grand
superstar swagger – yet – but there is
intensity. We have him for 45 minutes
and he wants to go, now.
“Where do I sit?”
“Here. Anything to drink?”
“No, we can just do it.”
Like any racing driver, he’s in a hurry,
but unlike most, he’s smart and unjaded
enough still to be engaged with what’s
before him. This time he has a 20-word
script to learn, in German and English,
before it can be read to camera. He does
so – fast – and we’re able to wrap up our
slot 10 minutes ahead of time.
And so, with minimum fuss and
maximum effectiveness, he’s gone. In
his wake, he leaves the impression of
a young man still as humorous as when
he turned up in the F1 paddock three
years ago, but who’s not really boyish
anymore. There’s a warrior edge now;
this is an ambitious sportsman who
IT’S HARD TO EQUATE THIS
SLIGHT, BRIGHT FIGURE WITH
THE TRACK TIGER
71
“SEB LIKES THE ENVIRONMENT
OF THE CIRCUIT. NOT MANY OF THEM
WANT TO STAY UNTIL 11PM”
72
ACTION
understands his mission and who wants
nothing to break his stride. Our Zurich
snapshot is a hint of what’s to come.
W
e next see Seb around seven
hours later. During this time,
he, and we, have flown to
Budapest’s Ferihegy airport,
hired cars (or in Seb’s case, been picked
up by a Red Bull Racing driver) and
found our way across melting motorway
tarmac to the Hungaroring race circuit.
It’s 40km from town, and the neighbouring
waterslide aquapark sits in cool, blue
view of the track, taunting all those
who toil under the furious sun.
For most of the past three hours,
Vettel has been getting maximum
‘brain time’ with his engineers and
team management, Jonathan Wheatley
and Christian Horner. At 11.30 he
walked the track with trainer Tommi,
his race engineer, Guillaume Rocquelin
(‘Rocky’), and a technician from engine
supplier Renault, before heading into
a detailed debrief session. This is the
‘real stuff’ – the talk of engine mapping,
throttle settings, flap angles, balance,
grip and speed – that hones a mechanical
device built from carbon and exotic
metals into a race-winning car. Some
drivers – greats such as Michael
Schumacher and Ayrton Senna – love
this time, as does Seb. Others, even
recent world champions, see their job
as simply to drive the hell out of the car
without so much as a nod or shake of
the head to indicate its effectiveness.
Wheatley, team manager of Red Bull
Racing, spotted early Vettel’s affinity
for technical natter, and, 10 races since
Seb’s first for RBR, he’s still amazed
by this near-addiction: “He likes the
environment at the circuit and I’m not
used to seeing that in a driver. Not many
of them want to stay until 11pm. It makes
him pretty challenging to work with, like
all good drivers, as he won’t just accept
what’s black and what’s white – he wants
to know why. He’s a pro who wants to
learn from his own lessons.”
But there are many demands on
a Formula One driver’s time and one of
them – an engagement with one of RBR’s
partners the Rauch drinks company –
draws Vettel from the debrief. He pops
out from the back of the team garage and
strides 10m of concrete to the Red Bull
Energy Station, the all-purpose mobile
home that serves as diner, hospitality
unit, media hub, management office and
chill-out zone. It also has a secret top
floor where partners can be entertained.
Today it’s reserved for the man from
Rauch, whose products are to be
endorsed by a grip ’n’ grin from Seb.
Vettel’s sharp and bright, shaking hands
quickly with all whose hands need
shaking, but passing by The Bulletin with
a grin, noting, “I did you this morning.”
It’s these giveaway moments that reveal
his superior mental capacity.
Half an hour, then, with Rauch –
a spell which prompts the inevitable:
“This is why you wanted to become a
Formula One driver, isn’t it, Sebastian?”
He responds with a smile-cum-frown.
Within moments of wrapping up,
Vettel’s ever-present media hand and
schedule dominatrix, Britta Roeske, has
whisked him to the next engagement:
the ‘face the press’ open media session
mentioned earlier.
If Vettel is busy, Britta’s busier. She
constantly manages his time, whirling
Seb between engineers, TV, sponsors,
print media, fans, and sundry other
commitments, such as appearances
for F1’s governing body, the FIA.
Last year, before Vettel’s arrival from
sister team Toro Rosso, Britta’s days
were, shall we say, a little less pressured.
“I can’t eat anymore,” she says, on the run
between Energy Station and Media Centre,
breathlessly checking her BlackBerry as
we scurry. “I can’t even drink anymore.
If I leave the media centre with Sebastian,
we’re mobbed.” This is true. Her job
has become gatekeeper as much as
timekeeper, and while she handles
the attention with good-natured
indefatigability, there’s little doubt
that working with Seb is a wild ride.
“The amount of media attention he
gets has gone crazy this year,” she says.
“We have so many interview requests
we have to conduct a lot of them by
email, so that I can ask Sebastian the
questions and send back the replies.
It’s one way of saving time.”
Time: there just ain’t enough. For
the rest of the day, Seb’s schedule runs
something like this: 16.24, mass print
media call in Red Bull Energy Station
(approximately 20 journalists); 16.38,
mini-media session, with three Englishspeaking journalists; 16.43, mini media
session with four German-speaking
journalists, during which Roeske leaves
Vettel’s side for the first time that
afternoon, confident that he’s ‘among
friends’; 17.04, Seb takes 90 seconds
to catch a glimpse of stage 18 of the
Tour de France, before being handed
a microphone and asked to speak (in
Italian) to TV channel Mediaset, which
is broadcasting live F1 coverage; 17.17,
73
ACTION
he leaves the Energy Station to walk the
length of the paddock (five minutes) to
the track’s main straight, where several
thousand fans are awaiting the chance
to have a ‘fan card’ autographed.
For the first time in his recent
sequence of perpetual movement, Vettel
is still, as he sits on a chair alongside
team-mate Mark Webber and drivers
from the Force India and Williams teams,
all of them behind a desk and beneath
an awning. The brave sextet face a horde
of humanity surely transported from
the front row of a stadium gig, complete
with barriers, heavies and armed police
to keep order. Maybe 100 get an
autographed card; thousands will leave
disappointed, robbed by lack of time. By
17.38 Seb’s done, and he returns to the
Energy Station, unmobbed for the first
time that day (most journalists have
retreated to their desks to file reports
for TV bulletins or tomorrow’s papers).
At 17.43 he has another interview – a
one-to-one – and for the first time looks
a little hot and bothered, and actually
has to lift his cap to wipe his brow.
He isn’t finished, though, no way.
Next up is a massage and download
with Tommi before dinner at the track,
sharing food, time and information
with his engineers. By now it’s around
7pm, paddock witching hour, when
most journalists, photographers, senior
team personnel, drivers and sundry
entourages have left for a flagon of wine
and a gossip. Mr Vettel, however, stays
on and doesn’t, in fact, return to his
hotel, Budapest’s elegant waterfront
Four Seasons, until after 10.30pm.
Note: Sebastian Vettel, Formula One
driver, has yet to sit in his car.
T
he ferocious hammering of an
air gun is a reminder, as if it
were needed, that the weekend’s
first practice session is about to
start. Car number 15 is up on jacks as
last-second tech checks are made by
meaty-forearmed mechanics. Its driver,
S Vettel, is becalmed, strapped into
its carbon-fibre cockpit.
“It’s his office – he knows where
everything is and it’s just as he wants it.
Like your desk or mine,” says Jonathan
Wheatley. “It’s why he’s so calm in
there. This is what he does.”
Some office: it’ll do more than
200mph, corner and brake at more than
4G, and it’ll self-ignite if left stationary
for too long. Frantic, even violent,
though a ‘live’ F1 car may seem to an
outsider, it is tended by perfectly
74
“ HOW SEB’S SO FOCUSED WITH ALL
THE ATTENTION HE GETS IS NOTHING
SHORT OF INCREDIBLE”
ACTION
choreographed garage crews and driven
with the deft but brutal hand of an
expert whose skills are beyond ordinary
comprehension. For the 20 or so elite
individuals deemed fit for the task each
year, piloting a Formula One car at
ludicrous speeds is a day job – a uniquely
demanding one, of course – but a day job
nonetheless. It’s outside the cockpit that
things get complicated.
“He’s very calm during races,” says
Wheatley. “He doesn’t say too much
to us over the radio unless something
goes wrong. He’s very focused and
very mature. He has the qualities and
motivating ability that you need to be
a world champion. He brings people up.”
Over four, timed, on-track sessions
across Friday and Saturday, Vettel
and his crew are in constant dialogue,
constant motion, in and out of the car.
A machine that on Friday is unbalanced
and not able to fulfil its ultimate
performance potential has become, by
the end of Saturday’s qualifying session
to determine race-start positions, second
fastest. “It was clear that we had very,
very good grip on Friday, but we couldn’t
find the balance,” says Wheatley. “As
a driver, he focused on that with the
engineers very hard overnight, and
by Saturday he had a car that was on
fuel-corrected pole position. How he
manages that with the amount of media
attention he gets is nothing short of
incredible. But he’s here to race. He
does the other stuff, but he tolerates it.
He puts on his grin and gets on with it.”
Grinning… Winning. Come Sunday
morning, after another late night at the
track, live media chats for German TV
station RTL, FIA media time, hours
more debriefing, there’s only one thing
left to do: win. On paper, Vettel’s RB5 is
the car to have. It’s second on the grid
with a heavy fuel load, meaning that by
one-third distance it should, if all goes
to plan, be in the lead. No more smiles
now, it’s visor-down time.
But… An imperfect getaway slows
Seb on the run to the first corner; he is
clipped by eventual second-place man,
Kimi Räikkönen of Ferrari. The RB5’s
delicately perfected handling balance
has been destroyed and Seb cannot
match the front-running pace.
On lap 27, car 15 returns to the Red
Bull Racing garage for a safety check. It
has been handling so badly – dragging its
belly on the track surface and wanting to
turn only left – that Vettel is convinced
something is broken. The inspection says
no and he’s sent out again, with new
tyres, more fuel and a new front wing.
But three laps later it’s over; Seb’s car
is skewered and unraceable.
For the first time since his 5am
Thursday alarm call, Sebastian Vettel
has been forced to take a backward step.
Shoulders slumped in the cockpit, this
fierce-burning individual has been
briefly doused by circumstance. The
incalculable amount of personal and
team energy that has gone into making
him a potential race winner has been
sapped, if only briefly.
After a minute, maybe two, Vettel
pops his belts, wriggles, stands up in
the cockpit and steps out to the left (one
of his quirks – he never enters or leaves
from the right). He unclips his helmet,
grabs his fireproof balaclava at the top
of his head, tears it off, and – there –
he shows what all this sound and fury
means. Seb’s face is crimson and wet
with effort. The seams of the padding
inside his helmet have pressed deep
creases into his cotton-soft face. His
short hair is sodden; his eyes burning;
his breath hard; and the back of his
neck steaming. Formula One drivers,
so hidden from view, fight as hard as
any bare-knuckle boxer.
His race weekend is almost over and
unsatisfactorily so. He has slipped to
third place in the drivers’ championship,
and behind Webber, for the first time
since April. Still, he must face the
voracious media corps camped just the
other side of the garage exit, awaiting
an explanation of the obvious. It’s a
brutal, draining coda for a guy who’s
already been kicked, but he faces the
demands with equanimity.
“He won’t be down for long,” notes
team principal Christian Horner.
“Sebastian is a very resilient individual.
I’m sure he’ll take this disappointment
and come back even more strongly
motivated for the next race.”
T
here’s time, of course, for another
debrief, one more motorhome
meal, a shower, a massage and
a cool down. By 18.10 Sebastian
is finally ready to leave the track. Backpack
slung low over his shoulders, fingers
tapping furiously into his iPhone as he
walks to the team car that will take him
and family (carpenter father Norbert and
younger brother Fabian) to the airport,
Seb is once again the uncomplicated
youngster who just happens to be one of
the fastest, most in-demand racing drivers
on the planet. Belted in to the front seat of
an Audi Q7, he could be your kid brother.
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75
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More Body
& Mind
Taking you on a cultural world tour.…
78 HANGAR-7 INTERVIEW 80 TRAVEL 84 LISTINGS
88 NIGHTLIFE 94 BULL’S EYE 96 SHORT STORY 98 MIND’S EYE
77
77
MORE BODY & MIND
The Hangar-7 Interview
Shaggy
So what brings you to Salzburg?
We came from Prague. It was a great
concert with maybe 5000 people.
Everyone just wants to hear classics
like Boombastic. Songs that people
just can’t get enough of.
And this is your first time here?
I think so. I’ve always gone to Vienna
in the past, when I’ve visited Austria.
So definitely your first time in
Hangar-7?
It’s my first time in the hangar. Quite
impressive. Let’s see how it works live.
As a musician, you must be on planes
all the time. Have you ever thought
about getting your own pilot’s licence?
It would be very cool to do that. I know
John Travolta does it. But he’s got one
of the big DC-10s or an incredibly huge
747 or some crap like that.
But you don’t own any planes yourself?
I only have passions for things that I can
afford! They’re nice to look at, but it’s
a bit like old cars. If you buy an old car,
you’ve got to buy the mechanic too. You
have to keep fixing them. I prefer newer
vehicles. I have a convertible Bentley, so
although I don’t collect them, it’s certainly
not the worst car you could own.
Every rock star seems to have had a
horror story in the sky. What’s yours?
I have a few actually! OK, the best one…
We had to land with one engine on
a flight from Australia to New Zealand.
We looked out of the window and could
see smoke coming from the engines. It
78
wasn’t a long trip, but it really freaks you
out when you see those oxygen masks
drop. You suddenly realise this is serious.
You seem to be pretty much constantly
on tour. What’s the thing you wouldn’t
want missing in your tour bus?
I’m a simple guy on the bus. As long
as there’s food and a good movie I’m
great. And I haven’t even watched a
movie since being on the bus this time.
So, what do you do?
You can sit around the table in the
lounge area and chill to some music
and laugh. The dancehall fraternity is
a very colourful one. There’s always a
lot happening. You become entangled in
it. It’s not just the music but the drama.
Who’s battling who? Who dissed who?
It becomes this thing that you buy into.
Like watching a soap or something?
Yeah. There’s always these trans-global
conversations going on. But I listen to
other styles too. I listen to everything.
It depends what mood I’m in. Although
reggae’s my heart and soul.
Do you feel you can build that authentic
Jamaican dancehall vibe when you’re
not at home in the Caribbean?
It’s pretty universal. Tonight this venue
will be more like a pop show. But we
could go to Vienna and get a hardcore
dancehall crowd easily. They come
out of the woodwork. I love playing in
Jamaica, but I prefer to take it outside
of there because everybody in Jamaica
already knows Shaggy. Taking it outside
– to the world – that’s incredible.
Do you change the set list for each
setting and crowd?
If I come on to a very urban dancehall
crowd, I’ll just switch it right there.
I don’t even have to tell the band. When
the show starts I just walk on, no rituals
beforehand really. I might try to rest my
vocals because they’re gold. But every
band I’ve toured with, I see them go into
a circle and do a nice prayer. With our
band, we’re such heathens, we just take
this thing for granted. I actually feel bad
PHOTOGRAPHY: REGINE HENDRICH(2), HELGE KIRCHBERGER (1)
Dancehall popstar Shaggy has been bringing Jamaican
sunshine to European charts for more than 15 years. Florian
Obkircher caught up with the gravel-voiced legend as the
European tour rolled into Salzburg’s Hangar-7 for the night
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seeing those bands saying their prayers.
Damn, we just go onstage and play…
that sucks. We need to do something!
You just mentioned that voice of yours.
I remember hearing it for the first time
on Oh Carolina in 1993 and thinking,
damn, I’ve never heard a voice like
that. How did you get that style?
Well the vocal style is certainly unique.
I can sing normally, but then you just sound
like everybody else. When you sing with…
[cuts into the trademark Shaggy snarl]
then you get a signature. On Oh Carolina
I changed the sound and it was out there.
Do you have a rough idea of how
often you’ve played it?
Oh, thousands of times. I can’t count them.
And do you still like playing it?
Absolutely! It amazes me how you can
sit and write a song and it affects people’s
lives. People know where they were
when they first heard it, and it could be
10 or 15 years ago, but they still know
the line. You come up with a catchphrase
like “It wasn’t me”, and somehow it
becomes a part of pop culture.
I must ask this. It’s too obvious not to
ask. You’re known as Mr Lover Lover…
what do you think of Austrian women?
They’re very beautiful. This is a very
beautiful country. I’ve been here so
many times and it’s one of the few places
in Europe that I could live. I like the
mountains. I think it has it all.
Ever been skiing?
No. I’m black! Skiing is not for me.
Will you be out in Salzburg later.
Are you still a party guy?
Truth be told, I just wanna sleep. I’m
a big party guy, but I like doing it when
I’m rested! I’ve been having a sleep
problem, my eyes are burning right now.
How much longer is the tour?
I have 25 to 30 shows.
Some days off in between?
A few… very few.
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79
MORE BODY & MIND
Walking
in the Air
Famed as the refuge of monks and 007
villains, the stunning Meteora rocks in
Greece now draw ardent slackliners. Join
them – or watch from a safe distance
80
Few landscapes in Greece are as dramatic
as the monastery-crowned rock pillars
of Meteora – home to a dwindling
number of ecclesiastics but an increasing
quantity of highline daredevils.
These sandstone cliff faces once
deterred invading Ottoman Turks, but,
in a different age, were a mere walk
in the park for one James Bond. Her
Majesty’s favourite secret agent scaled
one of Meteora’s sheer faces in For Your
Eyes Only, stopping at the top to lower
a massive basket to his accomplices –
the same used by the real-life monks
of the Agia Triada monastery from
the 14th century until the 1920s.
Sets of interconnected stairways
have since replaced the rope baskets and
ladders that hoisted the faithful up and
down the cliff faces – which will come
as a relief for modern-day travellers,
because the monks believed it was up
81
MORE BODY & MIND
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Get the Gear
to the Almighty to determine when
a basket was to be replaced. Namely, when
the rope snapped or the basket broke.
In recent years, pilgrims of a different
stripe have been seeking precarious
passage to and through the five monasteries
and one convent that still exist atop the
spectacular rocks, hewn in the Tertiary
period. Theirs, however, is not a
circumnavigation for the faint of heart
(or, perhaps, the sound of mind).
The sport of slacklining, begun by
bored Californian rock climbers on
days when the weather prohibited
them from scaling the faces of Yosemite
National Park, counts as one of the most
spectacular pursuits in this vivid area
in Thessaly, central Greece. On a line
of slim, flexible nylon webbing (see
above) strung between gaps using
hoists and fixed into place with safety
ties, the slackliners walk. A rope
attached to the underside of the line
is their only safety measure.
In Meteora, this means walking across
gaps from between 30 and 50m wide, on
‘highlines’ 100-250m above the ground.
German Sebastian Eggler, pictured on
the previous page, is making his way
82
Ready to rock?
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across a line 41m long and between 150
and 200m in the air on the highest peak.
The monasteries tolerate the new
vocation, and the local bishop allows
slackliners to set up their lines on the
rock faces, some of which reach 550m,
as long as they’re out of the field of vision
of the monasteries. But you can still see
some slackliners, pinpricks in the sky,
from the town of Kalampaka, the region’s
hub, which shoulders the hospitality
demands of guests, along with the
nearby Kastraki. The latter serves as
a popular destination for rock climbers,
who can reach prime spots a few
minutes’ walk from their hotel.
Of the monks and nuns who populated
Megalo Meteoro, Roussanou, Agios
Nikolaos Anapafsas, Varlaam Monastery,
Agia Triada and the Agios Stefanos
convent in their hundreds of years of
existence, only a handful remain. But
the monasteries themselves are open
to the public for a nominal entrance fee,
and the network of paths and stairways
makes it possible to visit all of them
in one day. If you’re lucky, you’ll sneak
peeks at the mad few balancing their
way across the precarious drops.
WORDS: ANDREAS MORGAN-HALL. PHOTOGRAPHY: WWW.MAIER-JANTZEN.DE (4), SIMON VINAL (1)
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MORE BODY & MIND
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All the best daytime action
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ENGLAND VS
AUSTRALIA TWENTY20
01.09.09
PHOTOGRAPHY: CHRISTIAN PONDELLA/RED BULL PHOTOFILES (1). DAMIANO LEVATI/RED BULL PHOTOFILES (1). KOLESKY/SANDISK/REDBULL PHOTOFILES (1)
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WORLD MOUNTAIN
BIKE AND TRIALS
CHAMPIONSHIPS
01 - 06.09.09
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WRC AUSTRALIAN
RALLY
03 - 06.09.09
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RED BULL STREET STYLE
05.09.09
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RED BULL ELITE
YOUTH CUP
05 - 06.09.09
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RAT RACE ADVENTURE
05 - 06.09.09
RED BULL AIR RACE
WORLD CHAMPIONSHIPS
2009
12 - 13. 09. 09
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MOTOGP SAN MARINO
06.09.09
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EUROPEAN
CHAMPIONSHIP TOUR –
ENGLISH MASTERS
09 - 13.09.09
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RED BULL
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11 -12.09.09
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RED BULL UPSTREAM
12 .09.09
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RED BULL
BALINERAS RACE
06. 09. 09
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MORE BODY & MIND
BRITISH 2 STROKE
CHAMPIONSHIP/PRO
NATIONALS
12 - 13.09.09
BRITISH KITESURFING
ASSOCIATION EVENT
25 - 27.09.09
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ITALIAN FORMULA ONE
GRAND PRIX
11 - 13.09.09
RED BULL MANNY
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23.09 - 03.10.09
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FIM MOTOCROSS
WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP
13.09.09
IFSC CLIMBING
WORLD CUP
25 - 26.09.09
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UCI MOUNTAIN BIKE
WORLD CUP
19 - 20.09.09
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CYCLE MESSENGER
WORLD
CHAMPIONSHIPS
19 - 23.09.09
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RED BULL CLIFF
DIVING SERIES
20. 9. 09
DTM BARCELONA
20.09.09
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RED BULL STREET
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26.09.09
RED BULL FLUGTAG
27.09.09
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MAXXIS BRITISH
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27.09.09
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85
MORE BODY & MIND
NIGHT
SPOTS
Our pick of the best of
art and music festivals
around the globe that
you won’t want to miss
CARLCOX & ADAM
FREELAND
01.09.09
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THOMAS TRUAX
04.09.09
PHOTOGRAPHY: JAMES PEARSON-HOWES (1), BEN RAYNER (1), GETTY IMAGES (1), EAST (1)
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TWO DAYS A WEEK
FESTIVAL
04 - 05.09.09
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04 - 06.09.09
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DJ A-TRAK
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ELECTRIC PICNIC
04 - 06.09.09
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MJ COLE
05.09.09
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BUMBERSHOOT
05 - 07.09.09
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THE BLACK BOX
REVELATION
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MORE BODY & MIND
INSA
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DJ HARVEY @
SUNDAY BEST
06.09.09
MANHATTAN
JAZZ QUINTET
10.09.09
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DERRICK MAY
06.09.09
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GREEN & BLUE
07.09.09 K_\j\Xjfe$Zcfj`e^gXikp]fi
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NEVERLAND MOVIE
TOUR
08 – 12.09.09
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NUMUSIC FESTIVAL
2009
09 - 13.09.09
UPPER EAST, HAMBURG
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CARIBOU VIBRATION
ENSEMBLE
10.09.09
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BURAKA SOM SISTEMA
11.09.09
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BESTIVAL
11 - 13.09.09
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ATP NEW YORK
11 - 13.09.09
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87
Nightcrawler
Portrait
of an
Artist
The street artist with a thing for
pins goes into the small hours
down the pub and up on the roof.
Rebecca Nicholson joined him
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88
INSA
LONDON
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OUTLOOK FESTIVAL
11 - 13.09.09
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WESTWIND FESTIVAL
12.9.09
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SCOPITONE FESTIVAL
16 – 20.09.09
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PHOTOGRAPHY: JAMES PEARSON-HOWES
JAZZANOVA
17.09.09
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DAM-FUNK, BENJI B
18.09.09
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THE
BLACK BOX
REVELATION
BRUGES
The Green Room
Blues in Bruges
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PHOTOGRAPHY: BEN RAYNER
Mixing a hint of White Stripes with a healthy dose of Jagger,
Belgian blues rockers The Black Box Revelation shook up
Cactus Festival. Nick Amies was there to chronicle the madness
MORE BODY & MIND
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FABRICLIVE – DJ MARKY
& FRIENDS
18.09.09
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LONDON FASHION WEEK
18 - 23.09.09
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NOMO
19.09.09
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MAD PROFESSOR
19.09.09
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22.09.09
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ARTHUR’S DAY
24.09.09
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91
MORE BODY & MIND
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Resident Artist
No Sleep Till
Brooklyn
Hip-hop and electro DJ A-TRAK has played beat-maker
to Kanye West and was crowned DMC world DJ champion,
aged just 15, back in 1997. So it’s only natural that the
Canadian calls ‘hip-hop mecca’ Brooklyn, NYC, his home
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REEPERBAHN FESTIVAL
24 - 26.09.09
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L’OSOSPHÉRE FESTIVAL
25 - 26.09.09
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UPPER
EAST
HAMBURG
OSUNLADE
26.09.09
The World’s Best Clubs
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Don’t Fear the
Reeperbahn
PHOTOGRAPHY: GETTY IMAGES (1), TRESPASSERS WILL (1), SENARI (1), EAST (3). ILLUSTRATION: ANDREAS POSSELT
Uschi Korda visits a new club
that’s bringing a flavour of
New York glitz to Hamburg
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FORMULA ONE GRAND PRIX
SINGAPORE/F1 ROCKS
24 - 27.09.09
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PARKLIFE FESTIVAL
26 - 27.09.09 & 3 – 5.10.09
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JESSE SAUNDERS
3.10.09
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93
MORE BODY & MIND
Bull’s
Eye
ILLUSTRATIONS: WWW.CARTOONSTOCK.COM (6), DIETMAR KAINRATH (1)
Scaling uncharted heights of
comic genius, this month’s
cartoons have left Ricky
Gervais stuck at base camp
94
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MORE BODY & MIND
A story by Mark P Hughes
Barack Phones
a Friend
If your life is a journey of many stops on
a windblown freeway, what happens when
you suddenly reach your fate, for so
long hidden beyond the distant horizon?
H
e sits looking around him
in the bar, a place full of the
strangest people. A man with
a glass eye is telling anyone
who will listen about how he writes all
Ry Cooder’s music and how Ry steals it
off him in his dreams: “F***in’ walks in
at night, bold as brass, uninvited, like
some biblical character, looks me in the
eye from across the room for a while,
intense, then smirks and walks off into
the hills that are hidden behind the wall.
There goes another f***er. I try to get
the song down as soon as I wake, but it’s
too late. F***er’s CD is out the next day
and there it is, exactly as I heard it.”
“Oysters!” shouts another man,
randomly, to no one in particular.
Earlier, he’s explained how he’s cut off
the ear of a jealous love rival, showed
Robert the knife he’s done it with, “to
stop him taking calls from my woman”.
96
Two women, available for hire, beautiful
embodiments of ‘the trap’, that part of
the brain that recognises pleasing form
and translates it into desire, are just
catching up with each other for now,
sitting at one of the rickety tables,
drinking and gossiping.
A woman, whose beautiful days are
behind her, glides a serene practised
path between the tables: Madame Rosso.
It’s her bar. It used to be on the fringes
of a jungle, at the end of a mud path,
a few locals and downtime oil workers.
Now, it’s exactly the same bar, same
furnishings, same dark Moroccan feel
inside; but outside, it’s surrounded by
glitzy reflecting glass skyscrapers and
four lanes of traffic. Three decades
between the two scenes, and Robert has
been in both of them, but in none of the
intervening ones. He can almost see
himself as he was then, sitting in the
same corner of the room – a young kid,
slimmer, hairier, more optimistic,
excited, wanting to taste everything on
his travels, with no idea yet what was
going to become of him, future limitless.
What was going to become of him?
He still didn’t know. How come he was
back here? A flair for melancholy had
developed, then enveloped him, over
the years. Why hadn’t he amounted
to anything, for all his brilliance? He
thought fondly of his college friend,
Barack, who always had a plan, was
always on his way somewhere. Robert
He thought of
his college friend,
Barack, who
always had a plan
ILLUSTRATION: ADAM POINTER
MORE BODY & MIND
had known many people like that then,
but Barack was unique among them in
that his journey’s passage didn’t stop
him seeing the scenery on the way.
The others – the ambitious lawyers,
architects, doctors – their paths were
so straight, forming an arrow on the
horizon, they sped down them faster
than a Mach 1 Mustang on the desert
highway. So they never got to ponder,
were never slowed by reflection, doubts
or any of life’s riddles, and never really
came to contemplate why things were
as they were. Barack had always been
intrigued by Robert’s propensity to
dawdle by the roadside, and was
even able to do a little of it himself
in between following the plan.
But Robert had no plan. Oh, he got
into computers, invented software that
kept the money coming in, allowed him
to continue his real pursuits – literature,
ecology, philosophy, physics, psychology,
economics – knowledge for its own sake.
He even formed new understandings,
outside of accepted academia, brilliant
theories – new takes on accepted
wisdom. In between, he liked to meet
new people in new places, tinker with
his cars, ride his motorbike, listen
to his music and undertake voyages
of discovery with no set destination.
No plan. He gorged on life, just
breathe in, breathe out, choose your own
ground. How does that buzzard ‘see’ the
thermals? Feel that slight directional
vagueness: what is it – hub bearing
becoming worn? What material do they
use? Why? A waft of roadside café bacon
– what receptors in the brain electrically
relay that to its pleasure centre? Did that
shaman really go off to some other plane
last night? Does that other plane really
exist? Does the shaman’s perception of
its existence bring it into existence? Does
that apply to everything? What is the
universe expanding into? What if the
expansion isn’t uniform? It will skew the
observations. Does that mean we don’t
need the mysterious dark energy to
explain away the expansion? Look at
that ’67 Camaro. Why were proportions
so much better understood then? Look
what’s left of that industry now. Credit
crunch – whoops – saw that one coming.
Saw it when the financial markets went
punk some time back in the early ’90s,
when ‘credit derivatives’ were invented
by a bunch of drunken bankers around
a Boca Raton swimming pool, taking
advantage of the misguided recent
removal of key state constraints. I
remember it – I was there. Understood
it, too, and – unlike them – understood
its implications, namely that it made
possible a chain reaction of losses that
would surely one day bring the whole
thing tumbling down and make 1929
look like a practice run.
Funny how solving that now seems
the number one priority, as if the
ecological time bomb has just somehow
gone away. Technology will save us,
they say. Nah, that’s a mass delusion.
Technology was only ever going to be
used for the same ends as our race has
ever chased – power over others, wealth,
control… It’s just magnified our flaws by
making them more efficiently expressed.
Progress will have to be about a mass
consciousness shift. How would you go
about it? You’d be up against millions of
years of natural selection that made it
individually advantageous for us to be
short-termist, sexually prolific, tribal and
selfish. Wonder what the inhabitants of
a planet circling the nearest star would
be seeing of earth right now, only fourpoint-three years ago: if there really is
such a thing as transference – the instant
transfer of information regardless of
the speed of light, with physicists still
arguing whether that’s possible or not –
then maybe we could get in touch with
them and arrange a betting scam.
Music playing into the headphones
the whole time, chiming with the
thoughts, hear how that band’s dynamic
is anchored by the Hammond organ
being used as rhythm – lets the drummer
fly about all over the place, the drum
as a lead instrument, very different. A
slight chill now as we reach the foothills,
engine feeling gutsier as it gets nice
dense air to work with.
So, as he watches the two ladies
in the bar, he ponders again on ‘the
trap’. Seems more finely-developed in
man than woman. Woman can look at
a car and see just a shape in metal. Man
looks at it and sees whether that shape
is proportionally ‘correct’ or not.
Generalisation, but largely true. Man
looks at a woman and sees whether
she looks proportionally correct, alert
to it like a tiger sensing movement in
the distant scrub. Probably to do with
Darwinism, how the male needed to seed
as many different women as possible to
maximise the chances of his lineage
being continued, whereas woman could
only be seeded one pregnancy at a time.
So, today, he’s trapped by something
ancient that’s no longer appropriate. And
women like these two in Madame Rosso’s
bar can profit from it if they choose.
Thoughts interrupted by, “Hey,
Proust!” It’s the loudmouth madman at
the bar he’d talked with earlier, drunker
now. Time to get going, to leave the
nostalgic reverie – step back into today.
And still no clue as to what he wants to
do. And it’s troubling him now, just as
it was when he decided to set off on this
jaunt. Well into the journey – still no
answers, just better questions.
Walking into the sunlight, his mobile
rings. “Hello, is that Robert?” Yes. “Wow,
you took a lot of tracking down. I have
The President on the line.”
About the author
Mark P Hughes is the Grand Prix editor
of Autosport magazine, and assists the
BBC TV commentary team behind the
scenes at each Formula One race. MPH’s
poetic turn of phrase has been likened
to the work of Ernest Hemingway by
New Zealand journalist Eoin Young.
97
ILLUSTRATION: ADAM POINTER
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had known many people like that then,
but Barack was unique among them in
that his journey’s passage didn’t stop
him seeing the scenery on the way.
The others – the ambitious lawyers,
architects, doctors – their paths were
so straight, forming an arrow on the
horizon, they sped down them faster
than a Mach 1 Mustang on the desert
highway. So they never got to ponder,
were never slowed by reflection, doubts
or any of life’s riddles, and never really
came to contemplate why things were
as they were. Barack had always been
intrigued by Robert’s propensity to
dawdle by the roadside, and was
even able to do a little of it himself
in between following the plan.
But Robert had no plan. Oh, he got
into computers, invented software that
kept the money coming in, allowed him
to continue his real pursuits – literature,
ecology, philosophy, physics, psychology,
economics – knowledge for its own sake.
He even formed new understandings,
outside of accepted academia, brilliant
theories – new takes on accepted
wisdom. In between, he liked to meet
new people in new places, tinker with
his cars, ride his motorbike, listen
to his music and undertake voyages
of discovery with no set destination.
No plan. He gorged on life, just
breathe in, breathe out, choose your own
ground. How does that buzzard ‘see’ the
thermals? Feel that slight directional
vagueness: what is it – hub bearing
becoming worn? What material do they
use? Why? A waft of roadside café bacon
– what receptors in the brain electrically
relay that to its pleasure centre? Did that
shaman really go off to some other plane
last night? Does that other plane really
exist? Does the shaman’s perception of
its existence bring it into existence? Does
that apply to everything? What is the
universe expanding into? What if the
expansion isn’t uniform? It will skew the
observations. Does that mean we don’t
need the mysterious dark energy to
explain away the expansion? Look at
that ’67 Camaro. Why were proportions
so much better understood then? Look
what’s left of that industry now. Credit
crunch – whoops – saw that one coming.
Saw it when the financial markets went
punk some time back in the early ’90s,
when ‘credit derivatives’ were invented
by a bunch of drunken bankers around
a Boca Raton swimming pool, taking
advantage of the misguided recent
removal of key state constraints. I
remember it – I was there. Understood
it, too, and – unlike them – understood
its implications, namely that it made
possible a chain reaction of losses that
would surely one day bring the whole
thing tumbling down and make 1929
look like a practice run.
Funny how solving that now seems
the number one priority, as if the
ecological time bomb has just somehow
gone away. Technology will save us,
they say. Nah, that’s a mass delusion.
Technology was only ever going to be
used for the same ends as our race has
ever chased – power over others, wealth,
control… It’s just magnified our flaws by
making them more efficiently expressed.
Progress will have to be about a mass
consciousness shift. How would you go
about it? You’d be up against millions of
years of natural selection that made it
individually advantageous for us to be
short-termist, sexually prolific, tribal and
selfish. Wonder what the inhabitants of
a planet circling the nearest star would
be seeing of earth right now, only fourpoint-three years ago: if there really is
such a thing as transference – the instant
transfer of information regardless of
the speed of light, with physicists still
arguing whether that’s possible or not –
then maybe we could get in touch with
them and arrange a betting scam.
Music playing into the headphones
the whole time, chiming with the
thoughts, hear how that band’s dynamic
is anchored by the Hammond organ
being used as rhythm – lets the drummer
fly about all over the place, the drum
as a lead instrument, very different. A
slight chill now as we reach the foothills,
engine feeling gutsier as it gets nice
dense air to work with.
So, as he watches the two ladies
in the bar, he ponders again on ‘the
trap’. Seems more finely-developed in
man than woman. Woman can look at
a car and see just a shape in metal. Man
looks at it and sees whether that shape
is proportionally ‘correct’ or not.
Generalisation, but largely true. Man
looks at a woman and sees whether
she looks proportionally correct, alert
to it like a tiger sensing movement in
the distant scrub. Probably to do with
Darwinism, how the male needed to seed
as many different women as possible to
maximise the chances of his lineage
being continued, whereas woman could
only be seeded one pregnancy at a time.
So, today, he’s trapped by something
ancient that’s no longer appropriate. And
women like these two in Madame Rosso’s
bar can profit from it if they choose.
Thoughts interrupted by, “Hey,
Proust!” It’s the loudmouth madman at
the bar he’d talked with earlier, drunker
now. Time to get going, to leave the
nostalgic reverie – step back into today.
And still no clue as to what he wants to
do. And it’s troubling him now, just as
it was when he decided to set off on this
jaunt. Well into the journey – still no
answers, just better questions.
Walking into the sunlight, his mobile
rings. “Hello, is that Robert?” Yes. “Wow,
you took a lot of tracking down. I have
The President on the line.”
About the author
Mark P Hughes is the Grand Prix editor
of Autosport magazine, and assists the
BBC TV commentary team behind the
scenes at each Formula One race. MPH’s
poetic turn of phrase has been likened
to the work of Ernest Hemingway by
New Zealand journalist Eoin Young.
97
Mind’s Eye
Plight of the Concordes
Stephen Bayley discusses a brilliant concept too
far ahead of its time – yet also behind it
The poetry of the moon landing and
Concorde is this: they were not the
beginning of heroic new adventures in
transport, but the elegiac end. The infinity
of space turned out to be a conceptual
cul-de-sac, while supersonic passenger
travel for a well-dressed, well-heeled elite
turned out to be an idea rooted in tweedy,
rigid baby-boom era futurism, along with
the traffic-free motorways, Telstar, Dr Who
and the excitements of multi-channel TV.
Supersonic flight was one of the great
collective fascinations of the post-war
recovery. Originally the province of
research and the military, by the late
’50s, when fathers still bought boys The
Eagle, its civil applications were being
studied by airframe manufacturers.
These included The Bristol Aeroplane
Company and Sud Aviation of Toulouse.
A collaboration document – a
‘concorde’ – was signed by the two
companies on November 29, 1962. In
a bizarre agreement, the French were
responsible for the wings, rear cabin,
air-con and avionics. The British took
on the forward and rearmost fuselage,
tail-fin, engine nacelles (with ingenious
computer-controlled variable ducts)
and installation. The engines were
Olympus 593 Mark 610 turbojets
jointly manufactured by Rolls-Royce
and the Société Nationale d’Étude et
de Construction de Moteurs d’Aviation.
Say that aloud to sense the seriousness.
Concorde 001 flew on March 2, 1969,
four months before Neil Armstrong’s
small step along his lunar dead-end.
The magic and romance of Concorde
is this: while the confusions, self-interest,
recriminations and positively Napoleonic
bi-partisan political bickering should
have produced an ugly camel of an
aircraft, they produced one of the most
beautiful machines of all time. One
reason was that extreme performance
required extreme design solutions. Taste
had very little to do with the appearance
of a craft designed to operate not just at
the edge of space, but also at the edge of
knowledge. For example, the delta wings
contained an exceptional amount of fuel
because the avgas acted like a heatsink,
reducing the scary surface temperatures
generated in supersonic flight. And with
tragic determinism, this feature caused
the sole Concorde accident, which led
to its removal from service: on July 25,
2000, a Concorde leaving Paris picked
up debris on take-off, which led to a full
Concorde was an
aristocrat in
a republican era
wing-tank being destructively penetrated.
This would not have happened with the
fleshy wings of a Boeing 747, a robust
design with its origins in a secular military
contract. The large, ungainly 747 first
flew on February 9, 1969. This was quite
a year for aviation. It was not fuel prices,
environmentalism, nor even the Paris
crash that ruined Concorde – it was what
American literary critic Paul Fussell
called the ‘proletarianisation of culture’.
In the 1980s, someone asked Charles
Saatchi if he used public transport.
He replied: “Yes. I go on Concorde to
New York.” The Anglo-French plane
was a masterpiece but also a sociological
calamity. While much of mankind’s
evolutionary journey has been defined
by speed, by the late 20th century, it was
defined by volume. As they used to say
in the US car industry, at the time when
cast-iron, pushrod V8s displacing 7 litres
of God’s good air were commonplace:
“There ain’t no substitute for cubic inches.”
The 747 ‘jumbo jet’ was that equivalent.
It is an airborne obesity class of Ronald
McDonald’s culture, but it is what
the world wanted. America invented
movies and mass media. Then, it
invented mass subsonic travel.
Never mind that the doleful effects of
shipping hundreds of planeloads of 400
incurious dorks around the planet in a
continuous loop of brainless consumption
has done more damage to culture and
the environment than Concorde’s thirsty
engines – Concorde was an aristocrat in
a republican era. So, it was doomed.
You sensed this when travelling on it.
Not that the pencil-thin cabin resembled
anything ancien régime, but there was
a feeling of being between the crisis and
the catastrophe. Of course, the New York
flights were always busy: one London
journey took under three hours. But
there was an underlying absurdity.
Concorde was so thrilling, you did not
want to get off. You could see the earth’s
curvature from FL55 – 55,000ft on the
altimeter – and the sky was purple. Kindly
stewardesses poured good champagne
and fine claret into crystal-clear glasses.
“Damn. Are we there already?” I found
myself thinking. Meanwhile, on the flight
deck, the captain checked his clockwork
instruments and adjusted his stiff upper
lip. It really was that old-fashioned…
Stephen Bayley is a former director
of the Design Museum in London and
an award-winning freelance writer
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