Pick a card, any card. Now memorise it...don't tell us, don't tell us! Now place it randomly back into the pack. Behold. Watch carefully as we EXPLODE THAT SH^T ALL OVER YOUR ROOM! Didn't expect that did you Pancho? Now clean it up.
Crapping out their own aimless clatter from the country's east coast underworld of lowbrow anti-humour and popular culture inversion, this debut album from the three bearded, ahem, bums, offers a complex sound in an easily digestible package. Pun intended.
Immersed in the chaos of their own musical and philosophical absurdity, the unintelligible gibberish, noise and effects of songs like 'Bollywood' and 'Ew... Icky' call to mind boys with pots, pans and a half-working casio prancing around with towels for capes and clenched fists for trumpets.
If MIA is the mainstream voice of the glitch-y paranoia unleashed on aseriously rattled audience, then Bum Creek are the ones who don't give a shit.
By Steph Kretowicz
You don't get much more iconic than Serge Gainsbourg and Jane Birkin. Putting their sartorial notoriety to one side (please see every fashion blog ever made) there was also always an exciting air of controversy that surrounded the Birkin x Gainsbourg tryst. "What was this pretty young English girl doing with this wrinkly old French perve?" all the press wondered, among other things (*cough* incest *cough*).
Turns out they were making sexy times (both on vinyl and IRL) - but they also made a lot of movies and became a creative super couple, funnelling their own charisma and style as well as the very essence of the '60s sexual revolution into celluloid gold.
If all you know about the Gainsbourg x Birkin family tree is Birkin's penchant for bangs and minis and Gainsbourg's Whitney Houston interview, then this season is necessary viewing. Come prepared to be seduced and leave with the urge to "drink too many cigarettes."
By Lynda Day
George Orwell's Nineteen Eighty Four is considered part of the 'canon'. When studying I thought this related to any book about the First Word War, but have since learnt that it refers to long, boring books written by white dudes who were born before 1914. Like Orwell's classic, Super Sad True Love Story is a dystopian novel, set in an America that is economically and morally bankrupt. The country is at war with Venezuela and books are viewed with disdain by young people who only text scan for information. It's also hilarious.
Lenny Abramov is a sad bastard. He's smitten with the much younger beauty Eunice Park. Both are children of immigrants. His Russian. Hers Korean. Both are neurotic, insecure and unlucky in love.
Unlike most satirists - comics too chicken shit to get on stage so instead write columns in weekend newspaper magazines - Shtenygart is both a great writer and funny. He can also write about love and vulnerability. One of the best scenes finds the hapless Lenny reading a found copy of the The Unbearable Lightness of Being to Eunice in bed. Though the story is light on plot, through Lenny's diary entries we see the manic insecurities of a character who wouldn't be out of place in one of Woody Allen's early New York films.
By Tim Scott
When I was growing up as the eldest of five mouths, my mother taught me to use the meagre ingredients we had in the kitchen to make something edible. Leftover rice? You've got fried rice, f*%kers. Eggs? We're talking omelettes. Bolognese sauce? Booyah, you've got spagbol. Probably for the third night this week. It was a surefire path to reasonable nutrition.
If you replace semi-delicious food with a high-fashion jewellery line, then Lauren Manoogian has taught herself to do the same thing. Except her kitchen is full of office supply cupboards, scrap metal heaps, and electronics surplus warehouses. She takes her cues from native American textiles, landscape art and everything in between, organically translating these references into strangely wearable paper-clip necklaces, engraved leather cuffs and silver pipe adornments you can imagine wearing on the moon.
By Rachel Elliot-Jones
Listen, I need some help. Someone from the nasty side of Oxford Street stole my fixie and I need to get to work. I refuse to buy another Myki card to replace the one I lost on Monday, which mind you, still had eighty bucks on it.
Option 1. I could go and buy another bike made in West Africa, but that's a continent I'm trying to fuck with less as I get older because my Karma balance is unbelievably one sided. Slave labour, not cool.
Option 2. Former graphic designer turned Bicycle Jedi, Mik Efford, has begun selling bikes made from Tonkin bamboo, which he builds from his living room in Brunswick.
His frames are put together with carbon fibre and epoxy resin. To get one, if you can get on the waiting list, you have to meet Mik in his garage where you're measured for a perfect fit. Based onthis flickr set of a brain scientist (no shit) riding the thing around the velodrome, it seems as though the bikes are incredibly strong. The problem is I have a suspicion Mik is only building these things to kill more Pandas. Decisions, decisions...
By Brad Dunn