poster post – a word about the 26 Words project.

poster post – a word about the 26 Words project.

To the letter... publicity poster for the fictitious 'Dig It Festival', calligraphy by Ann Bowen

It’s been a while since I took part in a collaborative project with 26, the writer’s group I co-founded with seven others ten years ago. ‘26 Words’, was a kind of reprise of ‘26 Posters’, one of our very first efforts, which randomly paired writers with designers, gave them a letter of the alphabet and asked them to go off and produce a poster together. Back then I got editorial design legend Derek Birdsall and the letter I. Both wonderful.

This time round 26 writers were paired with 26 lettering artists from the crafts-based lettering association Letter Exchange. I was teamed with the hugely talented calligrapher Ann Bowen and given the letter D, but there was also a twist this time. In a slightly shamanistic ceremony held in the basement of the Betsy Trotwood pub in Clerkenwell, we were asked to stick a knife into a dictionary to pick out a word starting with our given letter. In our case, the tip of knife pointed to ‘dig’.

Read on...

Bowie, Barnbrook and fingerless gloves on the pulse.

Bowie, Barnbrook and fingerless gloves on the pulse.

I held off from listening to the new David Bowie single for as long as I could. I wanted the media noise to die down and to make up my own mind. But I was also worried about being disappointed. Like the retired boxer’s ill-judged comeback, or the faded matinee idol who can’t resist another movie, there was a distinct possibility that Bowie had lost it, or was finally a man out of time. The longer I kept away from ‘Where Are We Now?’, the longer Bowie’s spell would remain intact.

Digitised... Bowie and friend reminisce about the old Berlin days.

But when I finally took the plunge, I was relieved. The song itself had a haunting, elegiac quality, an evocation of lost love and lost times. Where once Bowie cut up random phrases to create an overblown world of sci-fi fantasy and psychodrama, here we had low-key fragments of memory — faraway places and faraway people, faded and muffled. The man’s many masks had been removed at last… he was seemingly speaking from the heart rather than through some artfully constructed character. All rather beautiful and touching.

Read on...

word of the week – ‘ding-dong’ (dɪ́ŋ- dɒ́ŋ).

word of the week – ‘ding-dong’ (dɪ́ŋ- dɒ́ŋ).

As Englebert Humperdink gets cosy with the throat gargle on the eve of tomorrow’s Eurovision Song Contest, I thought I’d take a quick delve into the Netherlands’ fortunes over the years.

Like the UK, the Dutch glory days were the 1970s, notably when Teach-In scooped the top prize in 1975 with the quintessential Eurovision ditty ‘Ding-A-Dong’, and various other patriotic crooners snaffled second and third places. There have been another three Dutch winners all told, but you have to go right back to the 1950s and 1960s to sniff those out.

Some of the more curious names to represent the Netherlands include Frizzle Sizzle (1986), Mrs Einstein (1997), Mouth & MacNeal (1974), Hind (2008) and the curiously British-sounding Humphrey Campbell (1992). In latter years entries have tended to be sung in English, though personally I feel ‘Een speeldoos’ (‘A Musical’), ‘De mallemolen’ (‘The Whirligig’) and ‘Blijf zoals je bent’ (‘Stay As You Are’) have a certain authentic ring to them.

However, Teach-In’s strategy of using catchy but meaningless words clearly doesn’t always pay off… in 1967, Thérèse Steinmetz came last and managed only two points with ‘Ring-dinge-ding’.

The 2012 entry ‘You and Me’ by Joan Franka didn’t make the cut, which means the Netherlands have failed to make the Saturday night final for eight years on the trot. Still, so long as the boys in orange make it to the other Euro final, who cares?

word of the week – ‘glam’ (glǽm).

word of the week – ‘glam’ (glǽm).

Size matters... The Sweet touted the more obvious side of Glam

Last year ‘Electric Warrior’, T-Rex’s seminal sixth album turned 40. This year ‘Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars’, Bowie’s breakthrough record hit the same milestone. So I thought I’d quickly doff my spandex cap to Glam Rock, the genre that made it OK for boys to deviate musically and sartorially… and make the odd foray into their girlfriends’ make-up bags.

Of course, not all the lads were comfortable with the Glam look. Word magazine ran a picture last month of Trevor Bolder and Woody Woodmansey from Bowie’s original backing band, looking more like Men from C&A than Spiders from Mars. They revealed that Bowie’s sideman Mick Ronson hated the clothes so much, “he packed and left for Beckenham Station”. ‘The Great’ Paul Thompson, drummer with Roxy Music, former apprentice welder at the Palmers shipyard in Jarrow, was another who had something of an allergic reaction to glitter and platforms.

While Bowie, Bolan and Roxy have stood the test of time and remain hugely credible artists, I’d like to put a quiet word in for The Sweet. Unashamedly poppy, with brazenly catchy songs written by the prolific Nicky Chinn and Mike Chapman, they scored an amazing 13 top 20 hits during the 1970s, with ‘Blockbuster’ topping the charts in 1973. Though the title of highly successful 2006 BBC time-warp series ‘Life on Mars’ nods to a Bowie song, its 1970s soundtrack, tellingly enough, was dominated by The Sweet.

With it’s rejection of hippie mores and free licence to experiment, Glam paved the way for its spiky younger sibling Punk… and for that, we a have a lot to be grateful for.

word of the week – ‘higson’ (hɪ́gsə́n).

word of the week – ‘higson’ (hɪ́gsə́n).

Remember the Higsons, spiky purveyors of ‘funk-punk’? Back in the 1980s, studying publishing at the London College of Printing, I was a huge fan, avidly following their progress in the NME and buying every single the day it came out.

And then this great silk-screen poster appeared on the LCP refectory wall. I was too law-abiding to pinch it myself, but luckily a friend of mine was more than happy to do the deed on my behalf. Just call me ‘the Don’.

Ever since then, frontman Charlie Higson has been something of a hero. He just kept popping up everywhere — producer, performer, comedy writer, Vic and Bob, Fast Show, Have I Got News For You, QI, and many more. And now my boys are huge fans of his Young James Bond and vampire books. A prolific and versatile talent.

Some 30 years later, it turns out we have a mutual friend — Andy Altmann of Why Not Associates. Earlier this week, I told Andy about my coveted poster, and he forwarded this pic on to Charlie. His response… “Wow. that’s a lovely poster – wish I had one!”

Probably the only time Charlie Higson will be envious of me.

a real draw.

a real draw.

Damon Albarn clearly has his hands full collecting lifetime achievement BRIT awards and preparing for Blur’s Hyde Park show to mark the closing of the Olympics this year. (Or maybe he’s hastily booking some singing lessons.)

Anyway, it’s good to see Gorillaz collaborator and comic-book artist Jamie Hewlett is keeping the wolf from the door too. We particularly loved his quirky, inimitable London-thru-the-ages Absolut Vodka bottle design (available exclusively from Selfridges). And you can be sure my eldest will be saving his pennies for a pair of these limited-edition Gorillaz Converse All Stars. The business, if we may be so bold.

word of the week ‘restraint’ (rɪˈstreɪnt).

word of the week ‘restraint’ (rɪˈstreɪnt).

I don’t know how Mark Farrow does it. Year after year, he produces standout graphic design, sweeping young pretenders aside in his majestic wake. If anyone wants a lesson in immaculate modernism, they should look no further than ‘Format’, his latest collaboration with pop stalwarts Pet Shop Boys.

Strip off the old block... Farrow pulls another rabbit out of the hat

A collection of obscure B-sides and rarities spanning 1996 to 2009, Mark has used the coloured spines of the original release formats to inform the stripy illustration on the cover. A graphic device, of course, that harks back to previous PSB releases, notably 1998’s ‘Introspective’ and 2008’s ‘Yes’.

(By the way, there are some great song titles on ‘Format’ — ‘The Truck Driver and his Mate’, ‘Sexy Northerner’, ‘We’re All Criminals Now’, ‘I Didn’t Get Where I Am Today’, and ‘Gin and Jag’.)

Like Peter Saville at Factory Records or Vaughan Oliver at 4AD, a long-standing, hugely productive relationship has helped Mark develop a formidable house style for PSB. But it’s his perfectly judged graphic restraint and ferocious attention to detail that always sets the work apart. Design critic Adrian Shaughnessy believes Farrow was “the first record sleeve designer to master the art of designing for CD”, a bold but justifiable claim.

I was lucky enough to get to know Mark in the 1980s, just after he’d come down from Manchester and was working in a small studio above a shop in Neal Street, Covent Garden. At the time, he was working closely with restauranteur/entrepreneur Oliver Peyton (still a client) on press ads for Sapporo Japanese lager. It struck me that Mark’s work is like sushi – delicate, dextrous and extremely tasty.

back to black.

back to black.

After a 20 year hiatus, I’ve invested in a new needle and some cleaning fluid, and started buying vinyl again. The first thing you notice is the sky-high price — around £20 for a new album, as opposed to £9 for a CD or £7 for a download. But you forget how much richer and more satisfying the whole experience is.

The vast expanse and beauty of the sleeve; the ritual of undressing the black stuff and placing it in the turntable; the indulgence of listening to a whole side as opposed to the usual fickle flicking from song to song. You actually listen to the music rather than consume it. You give it more attention, approach it with far more generosity of spirit.

And I’m lucky that there’s a half decent Oxfam Books and Music store near me. Last week, seemingly waiting for me, were two of my favourite-ever albums — Stevie Wonder’s ‘Songs in the Key of Life’ and ‘Innervisions’. I’ve never owned them on vinyl before, as I didn’t have much opportunity or cash to buy records when I was at school.

Written discreetly in biro inside the gatefold of ‘Innervisions’ is a date — ‘3 March 1975’. There’s something terribly touching to know that this physical artefact meant something to someone out there, that there’s a story attached to it. It’s been very well looked after, I can tell you that much.

Have a think about that next time you download 89p’s worth of soulless music data from iTunes.

Wonderwall... what goes around comes around

ace in the hole.

ace in the hole.

Looking for the perfect Valentine’s Day gift for the designer man in your life? Something with a bit of sauce but not too much cheese? Never mind the bollocks, here’s the ‘Sex Pistol’ stretch boxer trunk from Bjorn Börg. You don’t have to mind your Ps and Qs in these beauties. Just the job for well heeled-punks and anyone who’s read Simon Garfield’s ‘Just My Type’. And available until stocks last with 40% off at www.underu.com. New balls please.

Keef is the word.

Keef is the word.

More than a glimmer: a memory like an elephant

I confess to being a sucker for a rock biography — the excess and schadenfruede are irresistible. Every year I take one on summer holiday, and 2011 was no exception. Shunning the anticipatory delights of Michael Bracewell’s ‘Roxy: the Band That Invented An Era’, and Chris Salewicz’s ‘BobMarley: The Untold Story’, I was drawn the hottest new bio on the block. That’s right… Keith Richards’ ‘Life’.

At 600-plus pages, it’s a bit of a doorstop, but it certainly didn’t disappoint. On the back cover, Keef archly informs us “Believe it or not, I haven’t forgotten any of it”, and to be fair, he’s very sharp on the early years, though fuzzier as time wears on. The book splits roughly into three: childhood, forming the band and success; the lost, drugged-out years; settling down, family life and Rolling Stones the brand.

The writing is credited to the man himself (with James Fox), and clearly there’s a lot of transcripted material in here, because you can really hear Keef speaking. What comes across is someone who’s hugely dedicated to what he does (at times the book gets deeply technical about guitar playing), and always wears his heart on his piratical sleeve. He’s surprisingly funny, open, self-deprecating and intelligent. And although he runs out of steam at the end (and starts dishing out recipes for bangers and mash), this is right up there with the best in genre. Actually, you’d expect nothing less.

papa was a rolling Stone Foundation.

papa was a rolling Stone Foundation.

Stone Foundation have been plying their tight Mod/Soul sound around the Midlands for around 10 years now, building a loyal following. And they may well be about to move up to the next level, with a confirmed date at Wayne Hemingway’s Vintage Festival next week and a coveted support slot on the upcoming Specials tour.

Joe ‘Pep’ Harris: who are these guys?

But last Friday night at Cox’s Yard in Stratford was all about Joe ‘Pep’ Harris, flown in from Detroit to front the band for a mind-blowing set of soul standards and floor stompers. Stone Foundation — supporting themselves, so to speak — warmed the place up nicely, but when Joe sauntered on in his immaculate, all-white safari suit, the temperature soared.

Even at 70, there’s an extraordinary raw power to his voice. From the moment he hit the first notes of ‘Papa Was a Rolling Stone’ (which he’d cut with the Undisputed Truth before the Temptations), you knew you were in for a rare treat. Looking slightly constrained on a tiny stage, Joe effortlessly moved from sweet-sweet soul to deep-down funk, clearly impressing the band as much as the audience. Highlights were the dramatic ‘Smiling Faces Sometimes’ and the full-on ‘Hole in the Wall’.

The Undisputed Truth: I’ll have to wear a bit of make-up, you say? 

A bit of background on the mighty Joe… after singing with The Preps and The Ohio Players in the 1960s, he moved to Motown to become the voice of the Undisputed Truth in the 1970s. This was producer/songwriter Norman Whitfield’s so-called ‘psychedelic soul’ experiment, which lasted eight years and 10 albums.

Catch him while you can, he’s a true talent.

the first take.

the first take.

And here’s the album cover that started the whole jokey self-conscious craze off (see ‘heard that one before?’, a few posts down). This was originally released in 1969, so Howlin’ Wolf almost certainly gets the gong. Looking enviously at Jimi Hendrix’s success, ‘The Howlin’ Wolf Album’ was a doomed attempt by Chess Records to give Mr Wolf a psychedelic makeover. The craggy bluesman wasn’t impressed, rather colourfully describing the effort as “horse shit”. With all the negative vibe surrounding it, the record peaked at a paltry #69 in the Billboard Black Albums Chart. Thanks to Fraser Southey for alerting us to this slice of phonographic history.

the thrill of it all.

the thrill of it all.

Ever since my younger sister warbled ‘This is Tomorrow Colin’ back in the 1970s, I’ve had a huge soft spot for Roxy Music. Glamorous, unpredictable, suave, tacky, arty, tongue in cheek... they have it all. I sported the Ferry fringe for as long as my follicles could carry it off, and for many years held the great man up as a role model and style icon.

And last night I finally got my chance to see them take to the boards at the Nottingham Arena — part of their 40th anniversary tour, their first outing in six years. They didn’t disappoint. This was a real show show, with all-action backing dancers and singers, and a nine-strong band of impeccable musicians who took it in turn to blow the audience away with impossible solos. Roxy powered through a mix classics old and new... though they went surprising easy on the laid-back middle period (Avalon/Flesh and Blood) which saw them at their most successful, though perhaps least inventive.

Savile Row-suited Bryan Ferry cut a slightly reticent figure, cooly detached from the audience, often retreating behind keyboards — perhaps some sort of attempt at being a member of the band than a front man. His voice wasn’t what it used to be, but still, a pleasing enough part of the multi-layered production, and buoyed by highly accomplished backing singers, particularly the astonishing tonsils of Sewuese Abwa. The real stars were stalwarts Andy McKay and Phil Manzanera — live, you can immediately see how McKay’s alto sax informs the distinctive Roxy sound, while Manzanera’s guitar sings out like a sizzling siren.

Plaudits too to the VJ, his kaleidoscopic backdrops interweaving graphics, animation and film clips with live close-ups of the ensemble. The mesmeric montage perfectly captured Roxy’s art-school roots, touching their key visual reference points — from Hollywood glamour, to sleek typography, neon signage, show girls, and of course, outtakes from the iconic LP covers.

Past their prime? Maybe. But I’m happy to be able to say I’ve seen the band who came 98th in Rolling Stone’s ‘100 Greatest Artists of All Time’. And I beg to differ... Roxy Music — who started breaking the rules way before punk — are still doing the Strand in my top 10.

a Vintage occasion.

a Vintage occasion.

A quick word about last week’s wonderful Vintage at Goodwood, before it becomes a passing footnote. Set in spectacular grounds on the South Downs, Wayne Hemingway’s first stab at curating a multi-dimensional summer festival (incorporating music, fashion, film, design and art) was hugely ambitious, but all-in-all, it really worked. For me, the only problem was there was just too much going on… I wanted to be several places at once and occasionally rued my choices.

My musical highlights were: Noisettes (who really know how to put on a show); I’ve never been convinced about The Feeling, but they managed to win me over (their four Squeeze songs with Glen Tilbrook were note perfect); Craig Charles spinning tunes and Noel McKoy singing his heart out on the Soul Stage; and it was great to catch Heaven 17 doing a special remix of Temptation. Shame to have missed the Damned and the Pole Cats, but you can’t have everything.

Deborah insists on putting a word in for the Puppini Sisters – her pick of the festival.



But it was all the other stuff that really made the difference.

Like the choice of food and drink from the organic farmer’s market, to the 50s style American diner, to the Routemaster bus dispensing Pimms. There aren’t many festivals where you can get a cup of Earl Grey from a Fortnum & Mason pop-up shop.

Wayne promised that even the toilets would be an experience, but I wouldn’t go quite that far. They were certainly a step up from the usual stinky hellholes, but there was no uniformed lackey to pass you a towel or Molton Brown hand cream.

You could have just spent the day people watching… there were Hippies, Mods, Skins and plenty of Rockabilly types. But also folk dressed as Rear Admirals, tweedy country gents, Land Girls, usherettes – all eras and styles got a look in. And if you didn’t have the gear, you could always visit one of the 60-odd vintage stalls for inspiration.

Everyone made Vintage something special. There was a real sense of camaraderie and being part of something. You ended up chatting to to all sorts of people from different walks of life – the vibe was incredibly welcoming and friendly.

Thanks in particular to Paul the affable barber from Brighton who gave me the best haircut I’ve had in years, and my youngest his first quiff and DA. And to the very thin American man in the cowboy hat who showed us round Mick Jones’ curious collection of ephemera on a Peter Blake-decorated double-decker bus.

Can’t wait to see what’s in store for next year...

heard that one before?

heard that one before?

Picked up this CD by the Black Keys the other week, and the rather self-conscious cover art seemed curiously familiar. That’s probably because the much fêted record sleeve design company Hipgnosis had come up with the idea some 30 years earlier. It was said to have been rejected by regular clients Pink Floyd, but XTC (remember them?) were more than happy with the crumbs from the table for their second album ‘Go’ (released October 1978).

While the Black Keys’ effort has a certain laconic charm – I particularly like the deadpan line on the back cover “These are the names of the songs on this album/These are the guys in the band” – XTC’s takes the idea much further in the copy, the voice becoming increasingly involved, and almost getting into an argument with itself.

“This writing is trying to pull you in, much like an eye-catching picture. It is designed to get you to READ IT. This is called luring the VICTIM, and you are the VICTIM. But if you had a free mind you should STOP READING NOW! Because all we are attempting to do is trying to get you to read on. Yet this is a DOUBLE BIND because if you indeed stop you’ll be doing what we tell you, and if you read on you’ll be doing what we wanted all along.”

Anticipating post-modernism, it debunks the whole notion of the record sleeve as a sales tool, the music industry, and capitalism in a deliciously tongue-in-cheek way. When you consider that the Bee Gees’ ‘Saturday Night Fever’, Springsteen’s ‘Darkness on the Edge of Town’ and the eponymous ‘Dire Straits’ were the big sellers back then, you realise quite how far ahead of its time Hipgnosis’ design idea was. And actually, it happens to fit perfectly with XTC’s witty, English, self-deprecating style. They were a super-talented band who never quite fulfilled their potential, mainly because of front man Andy Partridge’s paralysing stage fright.

Which brings me neatly on to Hard Fi’s ‘Once Upon A Time In The West’, designed by London graphics house Intro, whose output is generally far more original. Another self-referential piece, once again this pokes fun at the consumerist machine, though this time in a more brutally Modernist typographic style. Actually, it bears a striking resemblance to Intro’s own monograph ‘Display Copy Only’, with its pared-down, black on yellow colour scheme.

What does all this tell us? That there’s nothing new under the sun. That plagiarism abounds. That some ideas are worth revisiting (with a twist). That talent borrows, genius steals. Perhaps a bit of each. Certainly appropriation is routine in the design industry, as the amusing Dopplegänger Design blog so eloquently proves. Click through for several revealing hours of spot the difference.

memories of Malcolm.

memories of Malcolm.

Back in 1991, I spent an afternoon with Malcolm McLaren. I was working for a design and advertising magazine, and he’d decided to try his hand at directing commercials. Naturally, we gave him the front page.

It was a curious encounter. I have to admit that I felt slightly uncomfortable, not only because of what he stood for, but because I half thought he might pull some kind of devilish prank on me. He didn’t. In fact, he was terribly charming and grown up. He wore a green tweed suit, checked country shirt and floral tie, a picture of respectability. We met at Hazlitt’s, his hotel in Soho, and took a black cab to the disused Rainbow Theatre in Finsbury Park, where he was shooting his ad which, unlikely as it sounds, was for Cadbury’s Twirl. The last time he’d been there apparently was with Bow Wow Wow.

The spot featured a troupe of dancers taking a break for a Twirl (geddit?). The music, which was particularly important to MMc, was his own reworking of Brubeck’s ‘Take Five’, and the man himself made a cameo appearance sitting at a piano at the end.

Even then, the whole notion of McLaren moving into advertising was a bit puzzling, and looking back on the article, I’m pleased to report that I quizzed him about it at length. His rationale was that he’d always been and arch-marketeer and ads were a natural extension, he also said he found the speed of turning around a commercial exhilarating compared to the slow burn of making music or nurturing a band’s image.

For someone who’d flunked out of countless art colleges, he was remarkably erudite – constantly dropping names and asking if I’d read any of this or that author or philosopher. He seemed restless, inquisitive, easily bored, his conversation jumping around like an itchy bird on a tree.

Occasionally he’d get a glint of amusement in his eye… he was particularly taken with the typographer’s name, Len Cheeseman. “Cheeeseman, Cheese Man… I wonder if his ancestors made cheese or just ate a lot of it,” he pondered. I also distinctly remember him describing the closing shot of a vat of swirling chocolate as resembling “the very bowels of hell”, in that unmistakable whiny voice of his.

Despite my misgivings, he was extremely good company – he gave me an afternoon I’ll never forget. Not to mention the Sex Pistols.

RIP Malcolm. Rest in Punk.

keeping up with the jones.

keeping up with the jones.

This CD cover design for ‘Dap Dippin’ with… Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings’ definitely falls into the category so bad it’s good. The type looks like its been done by someone who’s found some dodgy old Letraset and had to make do. They layout is all over the place, with a huge patch of black space taking up most of the front section. Sharon is slightly out of focus, and the only other member of the band in shot has been half cropped out. On the back, the black-and-white cut-out is truly awful and you can see the screen on the photograph. And, yet… the whole thing is utterly brilliant. A perfectly realized pastiche. Unfortunately, no-one owns up to it in the credits.

New Yorker Sharon Jones is a class purveyor of retro 1960s and 1970s soul – although that description doesn’t really do her justice. I caught some of her scintillating grooves on the excellent Craig Charles Funk & Soul Show on BBC 6Music, and immediately fell in love with her tonsils. But when I ordered the CD from Amazon, I had no idea I’d be in for such a fine graphic treat too.

a great lick.

a great lick.

I don’t want to come over as some sad old stamp geek, but thanks to a long association with Royal Mail Design, I’ve learned a thing or two about this minuscule art form. Strict rules about what you can and can’t do with the look and form of a stamp are gradually being loosened in an effort to attract younger collectors, and the January 2010 stamp issue by Studio Dempsey continues to push the boundaries.

The set features classic British record sleeves, including the seminal London Calling by The Clash, Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust, Blur’s Parklife and Led Zeppelin II. I was among of a group of designers and music journalists to help draw up a shortlist for Royal Mail, and I’m glad to see that several of my suggestions made the cut. Mike Dempsey has cleverly played with the form of both the stamp and the sleeve, with a small crescent of record poking out of the right-hand side. Let’s hope the younger audience appreciate what this curious black stuff is.

Personally, I’ll be buying as many Clash stamps as I can get my hands on. The iconic Pennie Smith photo of Paul Simenon smashing his bass still has immense power, and the type design by Ray Lowry – a homage to an earlier Elvis album – creates the perfect frame. Along with his many other achievements – bassist, artist, coolest man on Earth – Simenon becomes one of the first recognisable living people to appear on a British stamp. Until recently, only members of the Royal Family were accorded that honour. To see all the other classic British album sleeve stamps, check the Creative Review blog. God Save the Queen.

white man in helsinki art gallery.

white man in helsinki art gallery.

With a couple of hours to kill in Helsinki, I wandered into the Museum of Contemporary Art Kiasma, an intriguingly shaped glass-and-zinc building designed by the US architect Steven Holl. The exhibits were a mix of Finnish and international modern art, which were beautifully set off by the gentle, organic shapes of the rooms. Of course, you can always judge an art gallery by its gift shop, and Kiasma’s was packed with curious gems. Though I was sorely tempted to trade my Euros for various arty, esoteric books, I held back to retain my hand-luggage only status on the flight back. I did, however, pick up this card designed by a pair of English illustrators – Bob and Roberta Smith. Of course I agree entirely with the sentiment, but I’m also busy trawling through Chris Salewicz’s mighty biography of Joe Strummer, so I just had to have it.

In case you’re interested, Bob and Roberta's cards are available – along with efforts by David Shrigley, Magda Archer and Vic Reeves – at www.politecards.com.

living dolls.

living dolls.

It was one of those surreal moments. This afternoon, there I was standing outside Marylebone station minding my own business, when I noticed a rather portly photographer giving it some ‘exude’. I couldn’t make out what he was shooting as the subject was hidden from my eye-line in an alcove. By the time he wrapped, I’d more or less lost interest and was looking the other way, as one by one, the New York Dolls shuffled straight past me and into M&S food hall. And the thing was, they really looked like dolls… they were tiny gnarled things, who seemed like miniature caricatures of themselves. Still, it was a thrill to be inches away from the seminal proto-punk crew, and I’m sure they too will be dining on the encounter for years to come.