2022-08-01 Esquire UK

Flour power (from left): Robert Chambers at work;
the dining space at Luca, leading to its courtyard;
fresh produce in the restaurant's dedicated pasta room













“I was a waiter at 12 years old,” he remem- Before Luca, Chambers worked at Michelin- busier”. Alongside the airy dining room of Luca’s
bers. “I had a little waistcoat, a little tie, and my starred restaurants including The Square and 19th-century building, all low leather banquettes
uncle was quite clever, sending me to all the The Ledbury, and deepened his knowledge and parquet floors, there is now a plant-filled
tables — ‘Aw, little Rob, he’s so cute’ — and of classic pasta-making under Giorgio Locatelli courtyard to accommodate more diners, while
they’d leave me £15, £20 tips, which would go at Locanda Locatelli, though Chambers says the peppy bar, at which food is also available,
into his pocket…” his own pasta-dough recipe, which he has honed will be revamped later this year.
When he was a child, his aunt Pasqualina over the years, “is completely different, like night Still, the restaurant has one dedicated space
taught him some basic techniques — “making and day” to the one he learned there. When that, for Chambers, will always be a refuge.

gnocchi, fusilli, stuff like that” — and, even the offer of heading up Luca came through, “If I’m having a real full-on day, and things are
through his apathetic teenage years, Chambers’ with a food ethos that so closely matched getting to me, I go to the pasta room we have,
dedication to pasta remained strong. “We’d his own, he was ready: “They got in touch, and that’s just beautiful. It’s like a nonna’s kitchen in
go out clubbing, and my friends would have it was all go.” Tuscany.” There, he can get down to the busi-
chicken and chips or whatever, and me and my How does Chambers reflect on the past five ness of doing what he loves most. “I close
best friend Mario would go home at four o’clock years of Luca? “To be honest, I’m not really sure, the door, and it’s basically me and Andreea
in the morning and cook pasta. It could be because sometimes I don’t even know what day [Apostol, Luca’s pasta production chef], and we
aglio e olio: chilli, garlic and parsley, good olive it is, but I treat it like my baby and I pour all just make pasta together. It’s so therapeutic. I can
oil, finished with a little bit of grated pecorino. my energy into it,” he says, adding that the make pasta all day and not even think about what
I’d always make a sauce from scratch. Sometimes restaurant, which has critical acclaim but also time it is. It just captures me.” ○
I would actually leave a club early to go home a low-key elegance that ensures returning cus- Luca, 88 St John Street, London EC1;
and eat pasta.” tomers, is “just getting busier and busier and luca.restaurant



51 Bulletin







Futsol’s jersey range, from £95,
includes Paloma Roja (left and right)
and Aceituna Blanca (centre)



















































Clean sheet





A new clothing brand aims to do for football what Rapha did for cycling




By Charlie Teasdale




Football is in a strange place right now. In the and how it connects people all around the world.” products steer away from club colours and badg-
past year we’ve seen the announcement and swift Futsol’s pitch is to do for football what Rapha ing.” You can play in the jerseys, which are made
rejection of a European Super League, the gov- did for cycling — to create a platform (both from recycled PET plastic, but they’re not as
ernment sanctioning and sale of Chelsea Football digital and physical) where football-minded aes- technical as proper football shirts, sitting some-
Club, the use of extreme force by the French thetes can buy cool kit, come together, watch where between pitch-wear and pub-wear.
police on seemingly innocent fans queuing to football, play football and generally revel in the As with Rapha, the goal is to establish club-
get into the Champions League Final, and the sport without having to adhere to its less attrac- houses that mix retail with experience, allowing
former heads of Fifa and Uefa in court on charges tive traditions. “Futsol is for football lovers who Futsolistas to pop in for a beer, catch the second

of corruption. That’s not to mention the ick of don’t associate with the stereotypes of football half and pick up some new kit — maybe even meet
the imminent winter World Cup in Qatar. culture — terrace culture, hyper-masculinity, a legend of the game. “A place where you can
Football is bigger business than ever. As global aggressive and loutish behaviour,” explains watch a Champions League match with a great
entertainment, it is unmatched. Yet many would Willson. “Our customers embrace more pro- meal in a sophisticated setting and have your
argue that the sport has been forever sullied by gressive values. They are aware of the deeper amateur once-a-week kickabout organised in
such scandals, and the many more besides. Not sensitivities and priorities of a changing world.” a professional way,” says Willson. He likens it
merely that its image has been besmirched, but Currently, the product range extends to just to a high-end gym, where people can chat in the
that something rotten has taken root. four jerseys, inspired by classics of the genre but juice bar after a spin class. Whether the concept
“We believe there’s a side to the beautiful charmingly unaffiliated to club sides or national will be embraced by mid-table diehards and the
Bianca Baker game that has been lost,” says Nico Willson, co- teams. “We want to remain a non-tribal football travelling faithful is yet to be seen, but weirder

things are happening in football, so why not? ○
founder of football-centric British apparel brand
brand,” says Willson, “for fans of the sport in
futsol.co
Futsol. “The beauty of just playing with the ball
general rather than specific clubs or teams. Our



53 Bulletin








Open and shut case





The Swiss Army Knife’s design hasn’t changed much



in its long history. Why mess with perfection?



By Charlie Teasdale






Beyond profit and critical acclaim, surely the a can opener, a punch awl and, crucially, a screw- The wood-fibre sides have been replaced with
truest test of a product’s success is whether its driver — the key selling-point in the late 19th vulcanised fibre, and each knife has a lifetime
name gets assimilated into a collective lexicon century — and although it wasn’t the first pocket guarantee against material and build defects.

or, better yet, transformed into a verb. (If you tool with various natty functions, it was perhaps Victorinox suggests an original 1897 tool was
have a question only the internet can answer, the first to perfect the design. Elsener’s tool was found in a locked time-capsule at the back of an
you don’t use a search engine, you “Google” it.) an instant hit, and while the company has evolved overstuffed shelf at the company HQ in Ibach,
So, aside from the fact we are still using them to offer kitchenware, luggage, watches, apparel Switzerland, which prompted Carl Elsener Jr,
125 years later, that we reach for a “Swiss Army and even fragrances, the Swiss Army Knife, in current CEO and great-grandson of the founder,
Knife” — rather than a “multi-tool”, or some all its myriad iterations, is still the cornerstone to commission a replica. To think that a Swiss
other generic piece of hardware — is testament of the brand. company so renowned for precision wouldn’t
to the peerless design of Victorinox’s original Now, in celebration of the knife’s anniver- have extensive records on every single thing it
“Officer’s and Sports Knife”. sary, Victorinox has released a limited-edition ever made seems a little far-fetched, but it’s good
Designed by the Swiss inventor and Victorinox replica that is faithful to the original design but to know that even such an established brand is
founder Karl Elsener, the knife was first patented bolstered by the technological and material devel- capable of reacting, in fine style, to surprises… ○
in 1897 and featured two blades, a corkscrew, opments the marque has made in the years since. £360; victorinox.com




































The limited-edition
Replica 1897 Swiss
Army Knife

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55 Bulletin







































Sole




survivor






Tod’s breathes


new life into


an icon of


cold-weather


footwear




By Charlie Teasdale
Photograph by Jack Johnstone























Having conquered the summer-shoe market with its iconic Gommino driving
loafer — seen on stylish feet at every good beach club from Bodrum to the
Balearics — Tod’s is wondering if the famous pebble-sole motif can do the same for
foul-weather footwear. The new WG boot is an evolution of the Winter Gommino,
a shoe first launched in the 1980s that looked to offer something for both formal and
more adventurous outdoor settings. And while the new edition features a sturdy,
gommino-studded sole thick enough to frustrate even the most malign puddles,
it is made elegant and sleek by the elongated shape and an upper cast in rich, soft
suede or smooth leather. The WG hits that rarely found sweet spot between dec-
orous and dangerous, so it looks like Tod’s has done it again. ○ £650; tods.com

‘We didn’t want luxury that was cold,
but warm and welcoming’: the BMW i7
has ‘Iconic Glow’ headlights with Swarovski
crystal elements, left, and a backseat
31.3in cinema screen, below right








Inside out







The new all-electric BMW flagship


limo puts the emphasis on an interior


fit for the tycoons of the near-future




By Will Hersey






Since 1929, Villa d’Este, a former palazzo turned picturesque, it can leave your eyes craving some-
grand hotel on the shores of Lake Como, has thing ugly, or at least slightly askew. The closest
played host to the world’s most outlandish car I got was a half-eaten biscotto.
show. Over one weekend in May, the most beau- Somewhere within this frankly ludicrous
tiful cars ever built are tightly and precariously scene — the mosaic garden, to be exact —
parked on every corner of the hotel’s lawns and a brand-new model is given the drum roll
pathways: a greatest-hits compilation of the com- of a world premiere. Which, considering the
bustion engine’s salad days. A 1936 Mercedes status of the cars all around it, doesn’t really seem

540k on the drive; a navy 1956 Ferrari 250 GT fair. In 2022, this honour falls to the BMW i7:
Zagato under a sycamore tree; a jade 1960 Aston the Munich marque’s flagship car, presented for
Martin DB4 GT outside the boiler room. the first time in all-electric form. The clash of
Riva speedboats bounce along in the lake in epochs couldn’t be starker. While the older cars
front; helicopters occasionally rattle overhead. in eyeshot are decidedly analogue, this i7 is
Attendees, their camera phones brandished aloft, a whirr of 1s and 0s; a monument to the arriv-
don their posiest outfits, with wonderfully mixed ing intelligent, digital and electric eras in three
results. The waiting staff, each in immaculate tonnes of aluminium and glass.
white jacket and black tie, can’t open the rosé If more than a few of these historic cars
bottles fast enough. Even the name — Concorso require granite forearms and icy nerves just to
d’Eleganza — sounds like an aria. The whole get them moving, the i7 has more in common
scene is so Italian, it must be made up; so with a first-class air cabin and could drive itself

Bulletin







around all day in silence if these dithering At 6ft-several-inches, he would value that head- was cold, but warm and welcoming,” says Van
humans would only let it. It’s also clear that while room more than most. Hooydonk, a former industrial designer who is
the classics of Villa d’Este celebrate exterior Walking around the car, it’s the i7’s upright plugged in to trends and now thinks and talks
design, with the i7, it’s what inside that counts. stature and giant light-up grille that leave the as much about “new” luxury as he once did about
“We designed this car from the inside out,” biggest impression — literally, if you tried jay- windows and door panels.
admits Adrian van Hooydonk, BMW’s design walking in front of it. The electric powertrain The next thing that’s hard to ignore is the
chief, a thoughtful and well-mannered Dutchman raises the height and presence further. It was 31.3in cinema screen that straddles the width of
who joined the brand in motoring’s late Jur- part of the brief to push this car higher up the the car, has built-in Amazon Fire TV, offers a split-
assic era, or 1992. “Starting with the rear (cabin), luxury ladder, and if stateliness was a Top Trumps screen mode and can be moved forward or back
there’s a lot more space, a lot more comfort. score, this 7 series must be closer to Rolls-Royce on a roofrail for your viewing delectation. It’s
Then creating something akin to a private lounge or Bentley than it’s ever been before. But the i7 no surprise to hear that much work has been
using very natural materials like leather and cash- compels you to get in, not hang around outside. done to prevent motion sickness.
mere.” A sportier silhouette was considered but In the back seat, that is. This is definitely not In normal modern cars, changing drive modes
swiftly rejected. a time to call shotgun. alters the vehicle’s dynamics. It says a lot that,
“Many limos have tried to be sporty, and as The cloth seats are a surprise. “The first time with this 7 series, it changes the interior themes
a designer you shave off headroom and say, ‘It’s in 50 years we have cloth — cashmere — in and settings. “In theatre mode, for example, the

OK’, but it’s not OK for this customer,” he says. a top-of-the-line car. We didn’t want luxury that blinds go up, the lighting gets dimmed down, →

58 Bulletin











































































Above: the fully electric BMW i7 xDrive60 goes from 0 to 62mph in 4.7 seconds and has a range of up to 387 miles




surround-sounds screens come up,” says Van The rear door panels have integrated screens Nearby is a first-gen 7 series, which once
Hooydonk, denying rumours that the front pas- like smart phones, from which passengers can offered heated seats and a car phone. Every car
senger seat transforms into a popcorn kiosk. toggle through all these functions. Given how here was innovative in its own way, and in that
“And each mode has different sounds.” Sounds quickly technology is changing, it will be inter- sense this i7 can more than hold its own. Also
that have been created by the team’s designated esting to see how well these doorpods have aged present at Villa d’Este is the Italian car designer
sound designer under the influence of one in five years’ time. Or even three. It’s a question Giorgetto Giugiaro, now 84: the man who gave
Hans Zimmer. that might keep a car designer up all night. us the Maserati Ghibli, the Delorean DMC,
How involved is the prolific composer? “Right now in our design team, we are design- the Lotus Esprit, the Fiat Panda, the VW Polo

“Well, he needs to collect some Oscars now ing for the years 2025–’26,” says Van Hooydonk. and the BMW M1, which is also on display to
and then, but he is our source of inspiration, “They will then be in the market for the next seven mark the M badge’s 50th anniversary.
let’s say,” says Van Hooydonk. years, but will need to be somewhat in sync with “In the past, it was simple,” he says, through
The crystal bar on the front dash is not just all of the other things our customers can experi- an interpreter. “Today, with regulations, we have
there to look pretty, but offers a new mode of ence. Quite often we do some future-scenario to consider every aspect of society. It’s hard to
ultra-thin ventilation. “In modern architecture, thinking, where we don’t yet know how we will know what to do, there are so many decisions
you don’t see radiators,” he says. If all these solve it. But we have more and more people who and so many options. [Today], there is plenty of
options and functions bring to mind the control are good at imagining future scenarios.” everything,” he adds. “Only the waiter is miss-
deck of the Starship Enterprise, Van Hooydonk With 700 people in his team working on 60 ing to deliver the drinks.”
is keen to convey the principle of “shy tech”: products at one time, it’s fair to say that this is On which note, thoughts turn swiftly to
“Shy tech means that a lot of it has disappeared no longer just car design: “It used to be sketch- a refill. ○ © BMW
as a switch — it’s all in the user interface.” ing big wheels, but it’s become more than that.” bmw.co.uk



THE



POWER




OF



WOMEN ERIK MADIGAN HECK

61 Bulletin


















































Clothing






with a






big sea







A new collection



from Giorgio Armani


offers a blueprint for


holiday dressing



By Charlie Teasdale





The Armani empire is built on a mastery of light- easily see you from foredeck to dinner — linens,
ness, elegance and easy luxury. Unstructured cottons and chenille throughout — and a geo-
tailoring, breezy fabrics and voluminous silhou- metric, jacquard-woven motif gives the
ettes that somehow offer supreme comfort and collection a formality so often missing from
flattering shape, all at once. Perfect, then, for so-called “resort” wear. Accessories are more func-
any time you find yourself in need of chicness tional, with one sturdy, carry-everything beach
on some far-flung riviera or local beach, and bag standing out. A “GA” monogram towel with
especially so now that there is the “Mare” col- tassels completes the look, and makes you realise
lection, which Mr A has specifically designed all beach kit that came before is simply not stylish Making waves: Giorgio Armani’s
‘Mare’ collection features
to be worn on holiday (or to evoke its feeling, enough and must be replaced immediately. ○
stylish holiday staples, designed
at least). The range features pieces that could armani.com to be worn in warmer climes

62







‘Race is an entirely invented thing; we have
created and given meaning to it’: the novelist
Mohsin Hamid, right



































Skin in




the game






Mohsin Hamid’s


new novel explores


racial politics via


a striking conceit




By Miranda Collinge








A few years after the events of 9/11, the Pakistani- checks, then put him back on the waiting plane. — but he was aware during that time that a seis-
British author Mohsin Hamid became aware — “You can imagine how excited the passenger mic shift was happening. “I went from flitting
very aware — that something about him had in the seat next to mine was to have me return!” through immigration at JFK and Heathrow with
changed. It happened at an airport in North he laughs. “There’s this kind of sheepish smile no difficulties, and then, after 9/11, I became

Carolina, when he was sitting in a plane that was you give to everybody as you’re walking down an object of suspicion. Having attended Ivy
ready to depart, and a message came over the the aisle to say, ‘Don’t worry! They didn’t find League schools and worked in New York and
public-address system. “They announced any terrorism-related materials! Everything’s London, I came to understand that I had partic-
a passenger was going to be taken off, and it totally good!’” ipated in a kind of partial whiteness, been part
turned out that passenger was me,” Hamid says Hamid, 51, whose books include The Reluctant of this privileged group. To suddenly be seen as
on the phone from Lahore, where he lives part Fundamentalist, How to Get Filthy Rich in Rising a threat when you didn’t see yourself as one
of the time with his wife and two children (the Asia and Exit West, and who has, among many was obviously strange. But over time I began to
rest they spend in New York). Hamid was accolades, won the LA Times Book Prize, the think, ‘What exactly had I participated in? What
informed that the “enhanced security checks” Betty Trask Award and been shortlisted for was this thing that I had lost?’ I think I’ve been
that he was supposed to have undergone — for the Booker Prize twice, tells it as an anecdote grappling with that ever since.”
reasons unspecified, though he had an idea — now — he has a knack for talking about com- Some of this grappling Hamid did in The Adrian Cook
had not been carried out. The officials did the plex subjects with a kind of breezy equanimity Reluctant Fundamentalist, his acclaimed 2007

Bulletin







novel, later adapted into a film by Mira Nair star- — the initial nod is very much intended.
ring Riz Ahmed, in which a charismatic Pakistani “Whether it was Calvino or Borges or Kafka,
narrator describes his life story and shifting ide- I’ve always drawn from that kind of modernist
ological stances to a twitchy American stranger experimentation,” says Hamid. “My first books
he meets in a Lahore café. But Hamid felt there were playing with form: Moth Smoke is a sort of
was still more of the idea to interrogate, particu- surreal trial, The Reluctant Fundamentalist is a bit
larly in the wake of Trump and Brexit, and has like a dramatic monologue, and How to Get Filthy
done so, to intriguing, provocative effect, in Rich in Rising Asia pretends to be a self-help book
a new novel, The Last White Man. “This book, but is actually something else. I’ve also been
15 years after that one, looks at it from a slightly pulled towards bending consensus reality: in
different standpoint,” he says, “which is: what if Exit West, the idea was that you could move
this is a more widely held feeling? What if many suddenly from place to place [the characters
people feel that they are losing this sort of priv- travel through Narnia-like portals], and in this
ilege of belonging to whatever group it is: book you can change colours, or race. You know,
Englishness, or whiteness, or a particular kind of race is an entirely invented thing. We have cre-

Muslimness or Pakistaniness? And so the idea ated it and given meaning to it. And so when
of this novel, where this guy wakes up one day that meaning begins to slide off, or change,
and he’s no longer white, came out of that.” I think it’s a very interesting place to inhabit.”
In The Last White Man, which takes place in The formal experimentation in The Last White
an unnamed country that smacks very much of Man is less overt, but no less considered. The
America, the protagonist, Anders, does indeed punctuation is limited only to commas and
experience a radical transformation that, for full stops, giving it a simple, folk-story cadence
once, permits a legitimate use of the term “Kafka- (again, he says, not an accident: “We have
esque”. Like Gregor Samsa in The Metamorphosis, plugged into this world wide web, this hive
he wakes up in bed to find he has a new body — mind, but we have not at all adequately replaced
though not that of a giant insect, but of a brown- the ritual and connection and folk stories that
skinned man. After a moment of confusion, then homo sapiens has used to navigate life for the
denial, Anders moves quickly and explosively last 100,000 years”), while the lack of quotation

to “murderous rage”: “He wanted to kill the col- marks means the perspective slips between the
oured man who confronted him here in his different characters and omniscient narratorial
home,” writes Hamid, in sentences that are as voice with frictionless ease. “The book is also
clear-eyed as they are shocking, “to extinguish about the way in which we construct and lose
the life animating the other’s body, to leave noth- ourselves as individuals,” he says, “so I didn’t
ing standing but himself, as he was before.” want it to be written as a first-person, interior
Anders is not the only white person to expe- sort of tale. Nor did I want to take an external
rience this phenomenon. Over the course of the authorial stance, nor a sequence of alternating
slim, efficiently constructed novel, more and points of view. I wanted something weirder
more of the population turns suddenly darker. than that.”
And it is not only Anders’ reaction, which is at Events in Hamid’s own life — raising children;
times chilling, and others sympathetic, that the death of his wife’s father; the recognition
Hamid explores. There is Anders’ father, whose that his own parents, who live next door to them
body is changing too, but through the ravages in Lahore, are getting older — have served as
of illness; and Oona, an old flame with whom further reminders that human beings are
Anders becomes close (in an echo of the book’s changeable and vulnerable. “We can start to lose

main theme, Oona and Anders both have pro- ourselves when we encounter our mortality,”
fessions related to bodily transformations: she he  says. “The constructs of self that we
teaches yoga, he works in a gym); and there is build are shaky.” Like Anders, Hamid knows
Oona’s mother, who — like the armed militants what it feels like to be surprised by your reflec-
starting to patrol the streets — feels the threat- tion. “I look in the mirror and I sometimes don’t
ening loss of her “privilege of belonging” most recognise this 51-year-old guy! In my mind’s
acutely and angrily. It is a book with a fantasti- eye I’m still somebody a little bit younger,” he
cal premise that plays out in ways that are all says, almost cheerfully. “I think that there is
too plausible. more fluidity to our identity than we acknowl-
Though the echoes of The Metamorphosis edge to ourselves.” ○
diminish after the opening pages — Anders, ‘The Last White Man’ by Mohsin Hamid (Hamish
unlike Gregor, makes it out of his bedroom Hamilton) is published on 2 August



65 Bulletin










































































Roar materials






This autumn, menswear channels Bet Lynch



By Charlie Teasdale




At the Dior show in Paris in January, designer You can sling it over your sweats, à la Dior, you could try accessorising with a leopard-
Kim Jones presented a decidedly laid-back col- but you can use it in formalwear too. Recently, print scarf from Saint Laurent, or leopard-print

lection of menswear. Almost every look included there has been a boom in start-up loafer brands socks from Raey, or layer up a leopard-print
sweatpants, and the collection was our first chance with insouciant messaging — see Blackstock cardigan from Wacko Maria.
to see Jones’s collaboration with Birkenstock. & Weber; Vinny’s; Horatio — and all of the It is a dangerous drug, though. Even the
But there was one especially eye-catching punc- above feature leopard-print designs. Worn with merest whisker of animal print can lead to a full-
tuation: leopard print. Specifically, one boxy even the drabbest of suits, a pair of LP penny blown safari overload. If the urge does arise to
overshirt, one rain mac and one beret. So often loafers “elevates” the whole outfit, making peo- go all-out, we would first advise restraint, and
mocked as the favourite animal pattern of blowsy ple think you’re at least twice as stylish as you then point you in the direction of Jil Sander
TV barmaids, in Jones’s clever interpretation really are. (Many fear and respect leopard print, and Dolce & Gabbana, whose AW ’22 collections
leopard print was used to offset the muted greys much like the leopard itself.) featured oversized leopard-print outerwear. If you
Getty Images of the collection, demonstrating something we’ve collection opened with classic tailoring, punched- must go big, go big with one, voluminous ode to
The same goes for shirts: Versace’s AW ’22
thought for a long time: leopard print is not only
the motif and cocoon yourself in the trend. Just
cool, but easy to wear.
up by an LP chemise beneath. And this season,
keep out of sight of poachers. ○



67 Bulletin




‘What you can hear is ambition’





With her majestic new album, Ezra Furman thinks big




By Miranda Collinge











































































On ‘All of Us Flames’, Ezra Furman explores the surprising musical commonality of 1960s girl groups and protest singers






When she was a kid growing up in Chicago, of want to look like her, but really, that exact TV, the teenage girl I never got to be.’ It’s emblem-
Ezra Furman watched John Hughes’ seminal same thing is just in me.” atic of an album that explores aspects of Furman’s
1985 high-school-angst movie The Breakfast Club. On the new record, Ally Sheedy in The identity — she came out as trans last year; she
She watched it a lot. “I’ve probably seen that film Breakfast Club is the subject of a tender, ethereal is also Jewish and the parent of a three-year-old
90 times,” says the 35-year-old singer-songwriter, song — called, helpfully, “Ally Sheedy in The son — alongside wider, connected ideas about
on a video call from a hotel room in Seattle, Breakfast Club” — that articulates just how form- community and togetherness, and finding sol-
where she’s on tour to promote her sublime new ative an influence Sheedy’s secretive outsider, ace therein.
Tonje Thilesen album, All of Us Flames. “Ally Sheedy’s character Allison, was on Furman: ‘The black shit on your Furman — who, now she mentions it, does look
“The songs are still pretty young,” says
eyes, your purse full of junk. I build my world on ver-
was always my favourite. She’s got her claws out
a bit like Allison, “black shit” on her eyes, dark →
in such a cool, outsidery and feminine way. I kind
sions of your VHS visage… I watch her flicker on my

68 Bulletin







brown bobbed hair that she keeps having to togetherness. During that period, Furman’s home overlaps with, ‘A day is coming, burning like
re-tuck behind her ear — of what inspired the in the suburbs of Boston was “crowded, happy, a torch, when the wicked will be judged and the
record. Incredibly, it’s her ninth, since forming but also too full”, so in order to write she would poor will be vindicated.’ They both want to
her first band, Ezra Furman and the Harpoons, get in the car with her guitar and drive to “some- destroy — or remake — the adult world.”
with friends from Tufts University in 2006; she where where I couldn’t see houses or buildings”, Even without hearing All of Us Flames,
also soundtracked the Netflix show Sex Education. such as Walden Pond, where Henry David which was recorded in LA with producer John
“I’m still understanding why in 2020 I started to Thoreau famously found inspiration two centu- Congleton (Angel Olsen, St Vincent), you may
write in the first-person plural about under- ries before. (“I don’t think I even went to the be getting a sense of its scope, from the lush,
ground communities, or organising our lives pond. I just went to the parking lot.” Because escalating anthem “Train Comes Through”,
around love and care. Me personally, I need the cultural legacy was too much? “I think it was which opens the record, to the heartbreaking,
those things: I’m a parent, I’m a queer and trans just closed.”) expansive synths of the single “Forever In
person who’s more vulnerable to attacks than Musically, she was “thinking a lot about Bob Sunset”, to which it might not actually be possi-
I thought. I need to know who I can depend on Dylan and The Shangri-Las. Both have this kind ble to listen without punching the air, Judd
and who depends on me. I didn’t know that con- of majesty to their songs, but from completely Nelson-style, while simultaneously bursting
sciously, but that’s where my heart was headed.” different directions. I was trying to see how these into tears. There is some big American songwrit-

You may have clocked that she started writ- teenage-girl groups from the 1960s and serious ing here, recalling not only Dylan or The
ing in 2020, ie: mid-pandemic, when many of protest singers have something in common. You Shangri-Las, but Lou Reed and Patti Smith and
us were also having frequent — nay, sometimes know, how, ‘Let’s run away together, they’ll never Springsteen. “I guess maybe what you can hear
bad-tempered — thoughts about the nature of understand us, we’re gonna make a new world’, there is ambition,” says Furman, “or trying to
match what I feel are the stakes of life with my
tone as a singer and writer.”
There are quiet moments, too. All of Us Flames
is about finding comfort, but it is also about
Furman performing at the O2 Forum Kentish Town, London, November 2019 acknowledging pain. On the album’s final track,
“Come Close”, a guitar ballad that’s so delicate
it’s almost a lullaby, Furman recounts a time she
gave a stranger a hand job through a car win-
dow, and another time when a trench-coated man

on a street corner asked her for a kiss. “Those
are real, true stories from life,” says Furman.
“I don’t want to be approached in a sexual way
on the street, of course, and yet I have some kind
of fellowship with these people. People who are
truly lost, in a way. That broken feeling that
comes from being a rejected creature.
“I guess queer people are expected to be stri-
dent,” she continues, “and be all, ‘I don’t care
what anyone thinks’, and that’s important, but
there’s the other part of it, where you’re not stri-
dent and proud, and you’re just feeling the
poison and letting it get to you, which is a big
part of my emotional life. The voice of transpho-
bia, the voice in my head that I can’t shut off.
I feel that song is where that kind of feeling lives.”

What, then, does she make of Allison’s trans-
formation at the end of The Breakfast Club, in
which, influenced by the voices around her, she
ditches her big black jumper for baby-pink ruf-
fles and an Alice band? “Come on,” says Furman.
“No one likes that version of her better.” But,
ever alert to nuance, she turns it over. “Then
again, I don’t want to be a snob about it. I think
the moving thing is, I don’t know… She does
seem happier at the end.” Furman laughs drily.
“She’s not as cool, but she seems happier.” ○ Getty Images
‘All of Us Flames’ (Bella Union) is out on 26 August





71 Bulletin









It is, at the time of writing, still possible to find
Russian vodka on supermarket shelves and behind
bars, if you look hard enough. But why would
you? The war in Ukraine and consequent sanc-
tions have made the products of Putin’s Russia
not only difficult to access but problematic to
consume, to put it mildly. In any case, where vodka
is concerned, no sacrifices need be made: chances
are you haven’t swallowed a Russian one in years.
Stoli and Smirnoff both have Russian roots, but
the former is Latvian; the latter is owned by Diageo
and produced all over the world. And superior
spirits from numerous other countries are also
available: Absolut (Sweden), Grey Goose (France),

Belvedere (Poland), Ketel One (Netherlands)…
Today, you can find excellent choices closer
to home, too. Post-Brexit Britain may suffer short-
ages of many, many things, but locally brewed
vodka is not one of them.
“White spirits are experiencing a renaissance
in the UK, which is one of the biggest markets,”
say Vadim Grigoryan and Robert Wilson, the
co-founders of Scottish vodka brand X Muse.
“Gin innovation has been overexploited in the
past few years, and the vodka category was some-
what dormant. We want to awaken it.”
Russian vodka has a heritage going back to

the 14th century. British vodka is less hidebound,
and the new breed of distillers are determined
to differentiate themselves. X Muse, for instance,
has taken its cues not from Moscow but the
Highlands, with a full-bodied barley vodka
inspired by traditional Scottish spiritmaking.
There’s also Chapel Down, from Kent, which
combines the spirit’s traditional ingredient
(cereal grains) with that of wine (grape skins)
for a very untraditional “Chardonnay Vodka”,
which has a complex, almost creamy taste. And

Taking a shot: X Muse is one Masons of Yorkshire has leaned into the left field.
of a number of British vodkas “Experimentation plays a big factor,” says the
competing for shelf space
brand’s head of marketing, James Bell. “Vodka
allows us to try new botanicals and flavours that
won’t work in gin, and we’re taking the learn-

ings of gin producers to make a smoother vodka.”
Which, in Masons’ case, means fruitier and sun-
nier, with an “Oh, go on then, one more” finish.
National spirits ing approach of British brands comes naturally.
X Muse’s co-founders feel that the more dar-


“Britain is associated with luxury, and we take
risks. Our vodka uses water drawn from an ancient
Raise a glass to the burgeoning aquifer in Jupiter Artland [a sculpture park near

Edinburgh], we distill in copper pots and one
British vodka industry ingredient is rested on amethyst crystals.”

All that, and no ethical red flags to leave a bad
By Murray Clark taste in the mouth. ○

THE JOY OF



REINVENTION


























MEINKE KLEIN

73 Bulletin













Go Pro







Tudor’s new tool


watch is Esquire’s


autumn grail



By Charlie Teasdale





The brand was founded in 1926, but the
contemporary iteration of Tudor, the sister com-
pany to Rolex, has only really been around for
a decade or so. That’s not to say Tudor wasn’t
making great watches beforehand, but it has come
to be defined by one brilliant timepiece: the
Black Bay, a 1950s diver that was relaunched to
great acclaim in 2012. The masterstroke was
to continue that success, gradually augmenting
build quality and in-house production, and peri-
odically releasing watches that emanate the brand

style but also say something you didn’t expect.
In Geneva, at this year’s edition of the
Watches and Wonders fair, Tudor presented
a steel-and-gold Black Bay Chronograph with a
bi-colour dial (available on a Bund strap — very
cool), a Black Bay GMT with brown-and-black
“Mars Bar” bezel, and the Black Bay Pro, which
was our pick of the bunch.
Frankly, it was love at first sight. A 39mm
steel GMT (second time-zone function), the
Black Bay Pro is understated, robust and time-
lessly handsome — everything Tudor has come
to represent. The black dial, punctuated with
the yellow GMT hand, and closed caseback give
the watch a hardy, toolish feel, which is the story
with many Tudors, but whereas some you’d be

careful not to damage (or even get wet), the Pro
feels as if it could take a beating. (Please don’t,
obviously.) The defining characteristic is the
fixed bezel, etched with 24-hour markers, which
allows you to read the secondary time with ease
via the GMT hand. It is not unreminiscent of
the “Steve McQueen” Explorer II, Rolex’s iconic
mid-century sports watch. But the Black Bay Pro

is proudly Tudorian, and rightly so. ○




Black Bay Pro, from £2,840, by Tudor; tudorwatch.com



NOTES, ESSAYS AND PROVOCATIONS 75



































































































Andrew D Bernstein/NBAE/Getty Images THE LAST DUNK MY DAD’S BASKETBALL COACH ONCE SAID TO HIM, “Markovits, you may be →





Sport
slow, but you sure are weak.” His big brother, my Uncle Bob, was a giant,
about 6ft 7in and north of 20 stone, but my father was slighter, narrower,
a little stoop-shouldered, and barely scraped six feet. He was also, in his
way, a much better athlete than I would ever be: a scratch golfer in high
Benjamin Markovits
school, a decent first baseman. He once won the section nine New York
State singles bowling championship. But he could never jump much.

76 JOURNAL



When I was six or seven, he built a concrete And then I quit the team. and by the time he got there I had dunked in
half-court in our backyard in Austin, Texas. This There’s nothing really to explain this fact his face.
is where I spent most of my childhood. Shooting except that the gap between how I played at Sometimes, on my increasingly middle-aged
a basketball is like learning to write — it’s some- home, in my backyard, on my father’s court among jogs, I wonder how much money I’d be willing

thing you have to practise on your own. By the friends, and how I played at school had grown to pay for video footage of that play. If only to
time I was 12 or 13, I could reliably knock down too wide. It was like a kind of selective mutism. show my dad. And my kids. A thousand pounds?
20-footers. I was almost as tall as my dad and quick I couldn’t say, in “public”, the things that I wanted Five thousand? Twenty?
enough that he had to work to beat me at one- to say, and my frustration with myself was too Because this is the problem with dunking.
on-one. But it didn’t occur to me that I might hard to bear. So I quit, just before the team made If the guys you play against get older and slower,
someday be able to dunk. I was my father’s son. a run to the semi-finals of the state championships it doesn’t matter that you’re older and slower, too.
Basketball is social and hierarchical, and the and became the toast of the school. But the rim just stays where it is. I wonder if the
problem with learning in your backyard is that For the next six years, I went through the last time I dunk will be any more definitive than
you don’t figure out how to navigate a locker room usual coming-of-age stuff, but part of what the first. One summer ago, in perfect conditions,
full of boys. My dad wanted me to play high-school I had to deal with was not just girls and jobs, riding a wave of the right kind of jet lag, after
basketball, so I played, but I never liked it much. but my failures on the court. I had a whole a little loose pick-up with old friends to get my
On Friday nights, I’d ride the bus after school childhood of frustrations to work out. Two of juices flowing . . . on my childhood court, with
with the rest of my teammates to some game and the three most significant moments of my life a super-grippy basketball, I managed to rattle one
sit on the bench for a few hours while my dad were the births of my children. The third hap- down in front of witnesses. Was that the last time?
watched from the stands; afterwards, he’d drive pened in the Busa National Championships, Because on most days, my legs feel like rented
me home. I didn’t even have to shower. when I was playing for my grad-school basketball legs, and when I run at the rim I get only the old

Nora Ephron once wrote a brilliantly funny team. In a close second half, I cut backdoor comic “boing” of my teenage years as ball bounces
essay (in Esquire, in fact) about what it’s like to be against a tight defence, caught a bounce pass, took off iron. Afterwards, like Blake’s boy staring
a teenage girl whose friends are all getting breasts. a step and rose up. Loughborough had a seven- at the moon, I look up at the hoop and think,
Replace breasts with dunking, for a certain kind footer at the rim, but he was late on his rotation “I want, I want.” ○
of teenage boy. If only I could jam . . . That would
show ’em. In practice, every day after school,
I watched my teammates dunk and felt like that
kid in the William Blake picture, standing at the On the road
bottom of a long imaginary ladder to the moon.
The caption reads, “I want! I want!” The rim of ALWAYS CRASHING IN
a basketball hoop is 10 feet off the ground, but it
seemed to me as unreachable as that moon. A DIFFERENT CAR
The problem with learning to dunk is that you

can only actually practise it once you can already Alex Bilmes
do it. When I was 16, we moved to Berlin for
a year. Michael Jordan won his first NBA cham-
pionship that season; I watched the series on the
local Armed Forces Network. By that point, I was
almost as tall as my uncle, 6ft 6in — Jordan’s THE LATE PJ O’ROURKE once PUBLISHED A MAGA- or checking its mirrors, towards a state of
height. The zeitgeist and my adolescence aligned. ZINE article under the title “How to Drive Fast high-speed delirium. I won’t quote from it
There was a hoop in the school playground that on Drugs While Getting Your Wing-Wang here, for reasons above. But you can find it online
was maybe a little low. I once saw a kid dunking Squeezed and Not Spill Your Drink”. A headline or, better yet, order a copy of O’Rourke’s ram-
on it and thought, “He doesn’t look so different that is either unimprovable, or unforgivable: bunctious collection, Republican Party Reptile,
from me.” delete according to prejudice. and read it there. I double-dare you not to laugh.
There was no Eureka moment. Your first Whatever your position on these matters — Or chuck it on the bonfire. One of the two.
dunks are usually a matter of interpretation — and it’s a free country, until further notice — even Maybe both.
you kind of squeeze it over and afterwards go, those courageous souls who remain determinedly In cautious tribute to the shit-stirring old
“Does that count?” But when we got back to po-faced at PJ’s provocations will concede the rogue-slash-patriarchal-bigot, a few days after
Texas, it became an obsession. I used to spend fact that no better piece will ever be published his death last February, the New York Times

hours in the backyard, just . . . banging on the about motoring, half-cut, across America in pegged O’Rourke as a representative of a “shrink-
rim. All year long, I had little pixels of blood the company of coke-addled groupies. This is ing tradition”. This was an oblique reference
buried under the skin of my fingers. When friends because, given our present predicament, it’s likely to  celebrity magazine journalists, a dying
came over to shoot hoops, suddenly they had to no worse piece will be published on this subject, breed indeed. America was once blessed —
worry about getting dunked on. I felt like Harry either. (Small mercies.) yes, or cursed, if you insist — with a conspiracy
Potter when the letter shows up in the mail, mean- O’Rourke’s story, for my money, starts off of them: Joan Didion, Tom Wolfe, Hunter S
ing: you’re one of them. funny and accelerates wildly, without signalling Thompson, Nora Ephron… Not anymore.

JOURNAL 77



My article, which was no doubt hilarious,
was illustrated by a caricature of me, tie askew,
at the wheel of a topless American guzzler,
careening across a clogged Hollywood intersec-

tion with a mad glint in my eye. The article is
long lost, but I still have the original illustration.
It reminds me of that period during which I was
visiting LA three or four times each year, staying
for a week or more at a time, blowing my own
miniscule mind with the amount of fun I was
having. All this was, needless to say, a long,
long time ago.
Last May, I was invited to a fashion show in
LA. It had been four years since I’d been there,
and I had missed it. At least, I thought I had.
I suppose that somewhere in the recesses of my
smoggy consciousness I was aware that perhaps
I missed the idea of LA more than I missed the
place itself. I missed who I used to be, or per-
haps just the position I used to be in, and what

LA once meant to this younger me: foolish, foot-
loose, fame-adjacent, and fully indemnified for
third-party damage, fire and theft.
Can I shock you? I’m not much of a one for
When I was a kid, dreaming of one day hav- slice of that fabled Gonzo pie: getting twitchy on drink-driving, these days. The thrill has gone.
ing his wing-wang squeezed while drunk at other people’s coin, chucking myself about in The jokes have dried up. I’m no longer a person
the wheel of a high-performance vehicle — or far-off fleshpots, reporting back on said escapades who wants to go especially fast, even while clean
indeed while stone-cold sober, and pretty much for envious readers of prominent periodicals. and serene. Speed scares me. I worry I’ll kill
anywhere doing pretty much anything — so I wanted to trash my hotel room in the company myself, or someone else, or at best be arrested
well-known was O’Rourke, even outside his own of people of whom my elders and betters would and imprisoned, forced to pay an epic fine, and
country, that he fronted TV ad campaigns for have disapproved, and I wanted someone else to in consequence of all this be sacked and lose my
British Airways. This was a man who was famous pick up the bill. And, envious reader, as a young livelihood, and my home and family, and be mis-
for writing humorous-satirical magazine articles, magazine writer and editor at the turn of the erable, and disgraced, and cancelled, and forced

and for that alone. Not that anyone else should century, I got all that and more. Not the whole to beg for work as a curator of branded content.
bother for a fraction of a second to mourn the pizza, like PJ, but a modest slice, which was more I mean, it really could get that bad.
passing of a period that was, undoubtedly, more than enough for me. It was good pizza. I liked it. Show me the man who doesn’t want his wing-
indulgent of my kind, but such a situation is not Less memorably than “How to Drive Fast...”, wang squeezed from time to time and I’ll buy you
merely remarkable today — it’s inconceivable. even to me, and to a somewhat less ecstatic a Lamborghini Urus. But no longer would I, like
O’Rourke’s death, at the age of 74, was much response, in the mid-2000s I published my own PJ O’Rourke, suggest you attempt to engineer
mourned. Respects were paid across the politi- essay on the topic of harum-scarum motoring in that ticklish situation while balancing a margarita
cal spectrum, which is not a phrase you hear too the land of the freeloaders. This story was about on the dashboard of a supercar doing 95mph on
often in 2022. And yet the implications of the many scrapes I got into over the years pilot- the Pacific Coast Highway. That would be taste-
the coverage were clear: such shenanigans as ing prestige vehicles around California in my less. I mean, margaritas? Please.
O’Rourke once indulged in, waggish as they role, at that time, as chief celebrity-frotter for a I’ve changed, but not entirely. In preparation
might have seemed at the time, were better glossy magazine. Throughout that decade, due for this most recent trip, I contacted Mercedes-
off cremated with him. That was then, this is to a dangerous cocktail of carelessness, Benz, a company that has in the past been very
now. Keep your big Ivy League schnoz and your chemicals and inept motor skills, I crashed cars generous to me. (For the record, I have never
unseemly urges and your overpowered passion in LA with almost pathological regularity. And, crashed a Mercedes, nor did I think it germane
wagons to yourself. Check your privilege, frat somehow, impunity. I mounted kerbs in Cadillac to mention to anyone there my previous prangs

boy. As if that hadn’t been O’Rourke’s point, or SUVs, made suicidal late-night handbrake turns in other, lesser marques.) I was given a choice:
one of them, all along. in Lexus convertibles, gouged the sides of a stately S-Class saloon, befitting my age and
Bully for me, I never had pretentions to be Porsche Turbos, took chunks out of BMWs. station, or a G63 AMG. I went for the latter.
The G-Class Mercedes, the boxiest of boxy
famous or feted like PJ O’Rourke — which is I backed a Range Rover into a wall. I wrote off SUVs, was first brought to market in 1979, the
a Lincoln Navigator in a Downtown carpark. If
appropriate, since I lack none of his qualities
Mercedes except for his wit, intelligence, originality and Teslas had been around then, I’d have happily same year O’Rourke’s wing-wang piece appeared
in National Lampoon. Fortysomething years →
talent. But I did, as a younger man, fancy a small
totalled one of those suckers, too.

78 JOURNAL



on, the design is mostly unchanged, at least to The car? Returned without a scratch on it.
the untrained eye, although the formerly spartan For whatever reason, it simply hadn’t occurred
interior is considerably zhuzhed, and numerous to me to crash it into a wall. I don’t know what’s
modifications have been made to the chassis. happened to me.

The G63 AMG, which is the considerably super- The closest I came to vehicular confronta-
charged version, has a 4-litre V8 petrol engine tion, I was on foot. One morning in Santa Monica,
that, despite the car’s bulk, means it can sprint in the driveway outside Shutters on the Beach, a
from 0 to 62mph in a terrifying 4.5 seconds. handsome woman in early middle age, carrying
The G63 AMG is difficult to write about a dog that was smaller than her sunglasses, asked
without recourse to the language known as me, not unreasonably, what the hell I thought
Clarksonian, in tribute to motoring journalism’s I was doing climbing into her Mercedes. As a valet
Apex Predator. The car is a Slavering Beast. It brought mine around behind us, and she real-
has the proportions of a Steroidal Silverback. ised I wasn’t an overdressed carjacker but instead
It accelerates like a Charging Grizzly. It corners the “owner” of a near-identical G63, we com-
like a Frenzied Great White. At the touch of a but- pared trims. She’d ordered the blacked-out
ton, it roars like a Furious Tiger. (Coincidentally license plates, she said. I should do the same.
the name of this magazine’s forthcoming fra- It would look better. Courteously, she allowed
grance launch. Say it in a sexy French whisper: her valet to keep my tip, jumped in — she actu-
“Furious Tiger… by Esquire.”) ally had to jump — and gunned the thing up
In America, you can buy an actual tiger Pico Boulevard. If she’d glanced in the mirror,

for around $2,000. You could buy a hundred she could have watched the ocean receding into
of them for the price of a Mercedes-Benz G63 the past behind her. But she didn’t seem the type
AMG. But if you’ve got the $200,000 burning of person to waste time looking back. ○
a hole in your board shorts, I’d say it’s worth it.
And if you’ve got a tiger, I’d say it’s almost essen-
tial. Try fitting one of those crazy cats in the
trunk of a Kia Picanto. Don’t try it after your Fisticuffs
third martini.
“They cut your hands off for DUI here SHITEBAG
now,” says my friend Sanjiv. Sanjiv is Esquire’s
longstanding US correspondent. He’s been my Andrew O’Hagan
partner in very petty crime on the West Coast
since the turn of the century. We were talking

at Horses, the new Hollywood hotspot, over
cheeseburgers. This was the first time we’d
seen each other since 2018. Ten years prior to FOR THE MALE OF THE SPECIES, THE ONLY REAL TEST
that, our happy reunion would have been an of character, on the average day at school, was
excuse for amateurish — but fully committed whether or not you could stand being punched
— hell-raising. Instead, after a ruminative night- in the face by Sammy Begg. You could send
cap at the Sunset Marquis, for old times’ sake, a sick note in advance, you could feign rabies,
we each headed home. He caught a Lyft. you could hide behind your mates, you could
I ordered an Uber, and was in bed by midnight, claim to be a conscientious objector or an envoy
reading Renata Adler on nothing stronger than of the Dalai Lama, but eventually — at the bus
a melatonin. OK, two melatonin. The G63 AMG stop — your appointment with Sammy would
was safely parked, by someone else, in the arrive. In the lexicon of old Ayrshire, you were
basement garage. about to get a “doing” — a thrashing, a pummel-
LA was still LA, or at least it looked a lot like ling, a pasting, a kicking — and your nascent
it. Same shabby palm trees and sun-bleached wit was mere chaff to the wind as you faced
strip malls, same slow-moving traffic and insane the bull of Kilbirnie.

wealth disparities. Hoping for what I don’t know, Now, my family had form. We weren’t all the
I cruised, soberly, past the scenes of ancient shitebag I was. My grandfather was a spongeman
debauches. A few old haunts had been redevel- for the Glasgow pugilist Benny Lynch, and he
oped into luxury condos, but for the most part packed a fair punch himself, going 12 rounds with
things were pretty much as I’d left them. LA was the roughest guys in the Gorbals. Back in the day,
still LA, but you can’t repeat the past. Old flames my father’s view of any potential disagreement
are better remembered than rekindled. was to punch first and talk later, or rather, to make

JOURNAL 79



all talk irrelevant. He would call out our friends’
dads to settle a game of rounders. My brothers
were handy enough, though peaceniks-in-waiting.
The only genuine shitebag in the family (includ-

ing my mum) was me, who wanted to call in
Acas, the arbitration service, the local priest, or
the United Nations every time somebody asked
me for a square-go.
‘I don’t want to fight, Sammy. I’m a lover, not
a fighter.’
‘Ye’r a wee shitebag prick,’ he reasoned.
The rest is a blur. Or a blank. I can only assume
that my late attempt to refer my assailant to
Hazlitt’s On the Pleasure of Hating quickly failed.
There comes a time in life when you feel con-
fident you will probably make it through the day
without having a fist-fight. My friend Jack goes
to the gym every second day and he’s built like
a brick shithouse. “I’m all about the peace,” he
tells me, “but you have to admit, it’s a bit insult-

ing for a guy to realise that the time is coming
when people would rather give up their seat to
you than punch your lights out.”
“Can’t say I’m devastated by that,” I replied.
“Hmmph,” he said. (I think he’s on steroids.)
Men come in different sizes, of course, but
the shitebag will prevail. Another person who
wouldn’t have agreed with me is the late Norman
Mailer. I suppose he represents a generation of
writers out of step with current notions of wound-
edness, but he took from his hero Hemingway
a willingness to strip down to the waist at a sec-
ond’s notice and spar with anybody who happened

to feel his use of the semi-colon was not all
that. By the time I met Mailer, in Provincetown,
Massachusetts, he was in his late seventies and
a pussycat. He was lovely. But he still believed
that a man must test his passion and his nature via
the fist-fight. He admitted that he’d attended
Truman Capote’s famous Black and White Ball in
New York in 1966, but spent the whole evening
asking politicians and writers to step outside or
else arm-wrestle at the bar.
All silly, of course. But a bit of silliness can be
a remedy in certain circs. I’ve been studying knife
violence for a big project, going all over London
and following huge court cases that lasted years.
My one resulting certainty is that a couple more
fist-fights and a lot fewer machete-weildings might

save a generation of young Britons. One day, we
might even consider the fist-fight to be a crucial
Getty Images element in an orderly society. This is an embed-

ded idea. Look at any British soap, where a bit of
impromptu but quite necessary boxing acts as
a punctuation mark, the natural settlement of
many a storyline. (I can still remember when Ken →

80 JOURNAL



Barlow lamped Mike Baldwin on Coronation Street; rush the stage at once with pitchforks and copies We looked down. Some people were shouting
it seemed, in 1986, as if the spirit of ancient jus- of O Magazine. It was a joke about a haircut. And up at us from a boat. “Dangerous! You’re crazy!”
tice had just visited our living rooms.) This was three, Smith was beating up on a working man They waved us back up the hill. We were heat-
a country in which a person behaving like an arse- with a show to present. For proletarian reasons, addled and not making good choices, too skint,

hole could expect a slap, and I’m not sure that I’m not into off-duty people taking the fight to too fearful, to hire a boat.
wasn’t better, more natural and fundamentally the gainfully employed. Shame on you. There was a hand-drawn map of the island in
more reasonable, than today’s kids tooling up for Still, I’d sooner have a cup of tea. And if Will a frame on the wall of our room, near the gas
warfare over “respect”. Smith (6ft 2in) had come for me like that, I’d ring and the sink. I don’t know why I hadn’t looked
On the other hand, I hate it when good com- instantly have contorted my face into the peace at it before. One evening, I noticed a promising
edy is turned into a brawl just because people symbol and let off four doves. The life of the shite- bay at the very far end of Marettimo, a perfect C
take themselves too seriously. At this year’s Oscars, bag is dependent on quick, imaginative thinking, shape, with the name Cala Bianca. White cove.
there were at least three reasons to dislike the plus epic begging for forgiveness, and I would It had to be. The next morning, we climbed the
very-keen-to-be-liked Will Smith after his famous have known what to do. When in doubt or dan- path out of the village that led north, skirting
incident. One, it wasn’t a punch but a flaccid old ger, I reach again for the inimitable Hazlitt, who below the highest point of the island, Monte
slap, like a wet fish landing on a rubber mat in protects me against all comers. “Reader, have you Falcone, towards an emptiness of faded green
close proximity to a working microphone. If you’re ever seen a fight?” he wrote in his deathless essay and baked rock. We carried some focaccia, with
going to dig somebody up for insulting your wife, on a bout of fisticuffs. “Confidence is half the tomatoes on top, and a bottle of water. Polly wore
clench your fist and knock their teeth out. That battle, but only half.” The other half is made up a grey dress and a sunhat.
shit was lame. Two, the “joke” wasn’t funny. It by a combination of skill and determination. It was obvious very soon that this was a dif-
wasn’t like one of those Ricky Gervais truth-bombs These are matters I have come to know about via ferent kind of walk: each step seemed to carry

that makes you worry that everybody’s going to intimate acquaintance with their opposites. ○ us higher towards the sun. The island had never
been more ravishing or more hot. We could see
from a long way off where Cala Bianca would be,
a secret band of white sand, nestled out of
Personal history sight at the foot of the distant shore. It was too
MY ONE TRUE far to walk; there was no way we were turning
back. When we arrived at the place, in the early

PREMONITION afternoon, picking our steps with care down the
most pericoloso cliff we had yet encountered,
I continued to believe, right up until the last
Sam Knight moment, until we were putting down our towels
on the very sharpest and baking-est rocks that
we had found all week — quite the most volcanic

— next to a sea that was dark and blue, that we
were still about to find the pleasant, perfect cove
WE WERE ON OUR FIRST HOLIDAY TOGETHER, on But there was barely any horizontal ground next of our imagination. But we weren’t and we never
our third attempt to make the relationship to the sea. No shade. Not a lounger to be seen. did. Instead, we were hungry. We had eaten our
work. It was the first week of September, 2009, There was a beach in a cove not far from the vil- food. The water bottle was empty. The sun was
and the sky blazed a permanent blue. The door lage, but it filled up in the afternoons and, as it high and strong. Cala Bianca was a semi-circle of
of the Mediterranean summer was still open; did, the waves seemed to rise, stirred by some cliffs and caves. It was like a gas ring.
heat rolled to every corner. We had come to September shifting in the air, until they pounded Holidays are complicated, especially romantic
Marettimo, the emptiest and most seaward of the the shingle; the sun sloped down, the shore became ones. They put you in places that you have never
Egadi islands, named for tuna that are long gone, crowded, and it became hard to think, let alone been before. I thought we were going to expire
off the north-eastern coast of Sicily. We were talk, in the buffeting of light and bodies and noise. on those rocks. Polly, I noticed, had put her
broke in the way that a freelance writer and a free- So we got into the habit, each day, of walking out towel a little further away from mine than nor-
lance film producer who could get the money from the village with a bag, some water and our mal. Whether that was because the rocks were
together for a Ryanair flight and a cheap Italian books, to find a place to lie and swim — our secret simply too jagged to find a space, or because the
holiday were broke. We had a whitewashed room inlet, where no one would find us — and each expedition to Cala Bianca had been entirely my
with a gas ring and a small balcony that faced the day, we failed. We perched on rocks that were idea, it was impossible to say. I didn’t feel like

sea. Each morning, blinking against the sun, we hotter and more perpendicular than the ones asking. Every now and again, a boat would sidle
turned left and walked a few hundred yards into that we had perched on the day before. The walks into the bay and some more sensible holiday
the island’s only village to buy coffee and a piece were the best part, burning and beautiful. The makers would gaze at the cliffs or jump into the
of focaccia from the bakery and to think about island smelled of sage and pine. One afternoon, sea for a quick swim and a drink from their cool-
how to do nothing for the rest of the day. when we thought we had found the place, we box, before motoring off somewhere else. We
The problem was that there was nowhere to began to skid down a loose, crumbling precipice needed water. I am not a strong swimmer, but the
swim. That’s not right: the sea was everywhere. towards the glittering sea. “Pericoloso! Pericoloso!” next time a boat came round the corner, I dived

JOURNAL 81



off the rocks and swam out, clutching a five-euro a fact, often uncomfortable, and it is something
note in a small plastic bag, and bobbed, embar- that cannot be changed. When I woke up on those Up, up and away
rassingly, near the outboard motor. The skipper rocks, dehydrated and unsure that we would ever
shook his head at me, like I was hustling him in get back to our whitewashed room, I knew that TUNESMITH

some way. “Aqua!” I begged. He threw a bottle Polly was my wife. I didn’t know how. I didn’t
into the sea. He didn’t want the euros. even know if I wanted to be married. I also knew, Dylan Jones
I made it back to the rocks and collapsed, acutely, this hadn’t happened yet: that there would
shaking a little, onto my hot, hard towel. I gave be many more paths, many more bad choices,
Polly the water and fell into what remains to my many people shouting pericoloso from the safety
mind as the deepest sleep of my life. Wherever of their boats, but that this was the future that
I went, it was far, far down. And while I was was there. When you have a premonition, you IT WAS PIERS MORGAN WHO CALLED FIRST. It had
there, I experienced the only premonition that face a choice about what to do. You can tell peo- just been announced that I would be leaving
I have ever had. I have just written a book about ple about it. You can struggle, as John Barker, a job I had successfully done for 22 years, and
premonitions, and the best definition I came a psychiatrist in the 1960s and the subject of Piers was on the phone offering his advice.
across was of an unaccountable feeling of know- my book, did, to prevent warnings of disasters “Mate,” he said, as his virtual arm reached out
ing. You don’t just have an inkling, or a sense, from coming true. Or you can stay still, say across my shoulders.
that something might happen. You know. It is nothing, and hope. ○ “I’ve only got one word of advice for you, and
it’s this: wait. Trust me, I’ve been in this situation
a lot, and I’ve always found it’s best not to make
any rash decisions, not to rush back into the fray,

to take a step back and take a good hard look at
the situation. And wait.”
Which is precisely what I did. Piers’ paternal
thoughts (he is much, much older than me) were
actually exactly the same as mine, and waiting is
what I had already decided to do.
First, I went on a very long family holiday to
somewhere lush and expensive on the other side
of the world. Then when we eventually came
back, we did it again. Just to make sure that we
liked it.
We did. I certainly did. I’d worked bloody
hard for over two decades at this particular job,

really hard, and I deserved the break. A rest cer-
tainly did feel like a change.
Then, when we finally returned to what
turned out to be another lockdown, the phone
rang. Would I be interested in writing 5,000 words
about so-and-so? Wow, an old-fashioned piece
of journalism? Would I? Yes, actually, I think
I would. Thank you very much.
A few weeks later, some consultancy appeared:
I’m helping a household name turn themselves
into a media brand. In the autumn I made half
a dozen programmes for the BBC, and I have
another half a dozen scheduled for the end of
the year. And then, when I figured I probably
had enough on my Alan Partridge-sized plate, I
was commissioned to write another book; so

I’ve spent the last six months asking dozens of
people what it was like working with — and sleep-
ing with — Andy Warhol.
And then I was paid a visit by an old friend of
Getty Images mine (he’s even older than Piers), Guy, a long-

serving musician who had a suggestion that he
thought I might find interesting. Which made →

82 JOURNAL



you design where you want everything to go, you
build the foundations, and then tinker and tinker
until you ended up with hopefully the thing you
want. Wearing hard hats the whole time, of course.

The process is ostensibly quite simple. Guy
comes to my house, and we sit opposite each other
at my large kitchen table. It’s not Putinesque, but
it’s big enough for a heated exchange if we disa-
gree about something. Then I make tea and we
drink it (biscuits tend not to appear until the after-
noon). Then we start. What songs do we need to
include? What songs do we want to include? Are
the ones we chose last week really the ones that
are going to work? How many characters should
we have, apart from the ones we absolutely need,
including Jimmy himself, his mother, father, lov-
ers, colleagues, etc. Where is all this set, in how
many places, and how do we get one from one
place to another? How do you — we! — develop
character, and how do you — we! — move things

along without resorting to exposition?
Working with Guy has been something of
a dream, because he is a stickler for the truth and,
whenever I start on another flight of fancy, sug-
gesting that we conflate events, or alter the chro-
nology of Jimmy’s story, he’ll look carefully down
his nose, gently cross his arms and say, “No, I really
don’t think we want to do that, do we, Dylan?”
And he’s usually right. Although not always,
which is why this is a genuine collaboration.
(I know where the biscuit tin is hidden, so he
has to cut me some slack occasionally.)
The most unnerving part of the process for

me has been putting words into people’s mouths,
creating narration and dialogue for people and
events that occurred over 50 years ago, in places
long since forgotten, even by those who were
there. How should we use character to drive nar-
me immediately intrigued. Guy is one our most (the show’s story), and was this the kind of thing rative, and how do we airdrop this person into
successful songwriters. He has written classics that might interested me? a situation when they might not have actually
for Elvis Presley, Aretha Franklin, Ray Charles, Having established that I had absolutely no been there? (It’s simple, Guy would say: we don’t.)
Cliff Richard, the Hollies and Frankie Valli, expertise in this, nor indeed any experience, both We have worked hard, extremely hard, and
to name a mere smattering. His suggestion was Guy and Jimmy were adamant that I was the have now finished our first draft. It’s pretty good,
certainly a strange one: Would I like to write person for the job; I had previously written an we think, although we might just be pleased
a musical? ode to “Wichita Lineman” for Faber, and it was because we’ve developed something that actually
Guy’s idea was to produce a musical based on obviously this that had made them think I might feels like a musical. Whether or not it’s good enough
the work and life of the great American tunesmith, be appropriate. to attract a promoter, a theatre and an audience
Jimmy Webb, the man whose “Wichita Lineman” Having thought about the idea for longer is another thing altogether. In fact, it’s several
was once called the greatest song ever written by than I might have done (I reckon it took me three things. Indeed, I keep saying that there are a thou-

no less a personage than Bob Dylan. Webb is one minutes), I dived right in. Well, Guy and I did. sand ways to fail before we get anywhere close to
of the most accomplished songwriters in the world, We have been meeting once a week for the last an opening night. But then that’s sort of the point,
responsible for “MacArthur Park”, “By the Time three months to try and wrestle down a first draft I guess, managing the trajectory of this great
I Get to Phoenix”, “Up, Up and Away”, “Didn’t of the show, and I have to say I have rarely been leap into the unknown, holding hands, closing
We”, “All I Know”, “Galveston”, “Still Within the more energised about a project. I compare it a bit our eyes and hoping for a soft landing.
Sound of My Voice” and hundreds of others. to building a house, something else I have no All I’ve got to do now is find a part for Alamy
Both Guy and Jimmy wanted me to write the book experience or expertise in. You find your land, Piers Morgan. ○



84






PHOTOGRAPHER CHRIS FLOYD’S SPECTACULAR FORTHCOMING BOOK OFFERS A TREASURE TROVE
OF PICTURES OF THE GREAT, THE GOOD, THE NOTABLE AND THE NOTORIOUS: MOVIE STARS, MODELS,
ARTISTS, POLITICIANS AND MORE. IN AN EXCLUSIVE PREVIEW FOR ESQUIRE, FLOYD FOCUSES ON THE
LEADING LIGHTS OF THE BRITISH MUSIC SCENE, FROM SIXTIES ICONS AND SEVENTIES ICONOCLASTS,
THROUGH THE STARS OF BRITPOP AND TRIP HOP, TO MORE RECENT HEROES AND HEROINES WHO

HAVE DEFINED OUR NATIONAL POP CULTURE AND REMAIN AMONG OUR GREATEST CULTURAL EXPORTS















SOUND













AND














VISION


















FOR CLOSE TO THREE DECADES, CHRIS FLOYD HAS to his bones — and his book, a  handsome ministers and movie stars and visual artists and
been among our most prominent and arrest- showcase for some of his most thrilling work, sportspeople. For this exclusive preview, we
ing photographers, an heir to Bailey, Donovan, includes anecdotes of his adventures, especially concentrate on his portraits of British musi-
O’Neill and the other greats of British photo- those in the often-fraught world of celebrity cians. Floyd made his name in his twenties,
graphy. His work, both portraiture and reportage, publicity. I can think of many excellent photog- documenting the mid-1990s Britpop explo-
has appeared in the leading broadsheets and raphy books, but none that pulls off this trick sion. He went on to compile a comprehensive

the nation’s more prestigious glossy magazines, so convincingly: showing you the picture, and portfolio of homegrown musical talent. (Most
as well as in this humble organ, and has won then, like a rogue magician, lifting the curtain recently, for Esquire, he photographed the
numerous distinctions. In America, he has taken and taking the reader behind the scenes for superstar DJ, Carl Cox.) We also include one
photos for The New Yorker, Vanity Fair and The a glimpse of the delicate negotiations that went of Floyd’s stories, from the early part of his
New York Times Magazine: the best of the best. into its making. Floyd is as dazzled as anyone career, when he travelled north on a Bank Holi-
He has shot advertising campaigns and made would be to be in a room with Paul McCartney, day Monday to meet a bunch of loudmouthed
films for famous consumer brands. or David Bowie, but he’s also expert at explain- Mancunian hopefuls. Twenty-eight years on,
In October, and not before time, he publish- ing how discombobulating — and occasionally Noel and Liam Gallagher are still legends
es his first major monograph. It’s called Not Just frustrating — such transactions can be, on both in their field. So is Chris. They’re still gobby.
Pictures, and those who know and have worked sides of the lens. So is he. Alex Bilmes
with Chris will understand why. The man can Not Just Pictures showcases Floyd’s work in ‘Not Just Pictures’ is published by Reel Art Press on
talk. And he can write, too. He is a storyteller multiple genres. There are portraits of prime 4 October and is available for preorder online now

DAVID BOWIE,
NEW YORK, 1999

86



















MORE OF A STATEMENT
THAN A QUESTION


EXTRACTED FROM FROM
‘NOT JUST PICTURES’ BY
CHRIS FLOYD




A TRIP TO MANCHESTER ON A MAY BANK HOLIDAY

Monday to photograph a band I’ve never heard
of called Oasis. I’ve been told to ask for a Noel
Gallagher at the reception of a hotel in Fallowfield.
No one has told me who this Noel Gallagher is.
Maybe the band’s manager? Even this early in my
career, I’ve learnt that there’s always a layer of
protection between outsiders and talent.
The cab pulls up outside one of those once-
grand Edwardian houses that now looks down on
its luck, tired and resentful at its diminished
status. The receptionist points me down a hall-
way, towards a room. I knock on the door. This
must be Noel Gallagher. “Alright.” More of a state-

ment than a question.
If you pushed the door as far as the hinges
would allow, it would hit the wall on the other
side of the room. There’s a single bed against
a wall with a strip of carpet beside it. Had it been
grass, you could have cut it with one shove of
a lawn mower. There’s football on the TV, First
Division play-offs. We both stare at it.
Noel rifles through a pocket-sized address
book, calling every number in it. Every time some-
one answers at the other end the conversation
goes like this: “Alright… seen our kid?… [pause]…
Alright, cheers, see ya later.”
Paul McGann, the actor who is one of four
brothers, tells a story about the time someone
approached him in Liverpool city centre and

asked, ‘Alright mate. Are you you, or are you
our kid?’
I’m from suburban Surrey. I have no idea of
the numerous ways that someone can be classi-
fied as “our kid”. It needs a flow chart.
Happily, in this case, Our Kid is finally located
and Noel Gallagher explains that we’re going to
meet him on a street corner nearby. As he puts
his jacket on he looks at me and asks, “What do
you think of Blur?”
“They’re alright. I quite like them.”
“Yeah. Second best band in Britain.” → OASIS, MANCHESTER, 1994



PAUL WELLER, LONDON, 2014

PJ HARVEY, DORSET, 2000


















When we arrive at the corner, I can see a group dium, and as we amble along Liam tells me promises me he’ll swing his leg just short. We do
of four lads bowling towards us. The leader is a tale of an Arsenal fan he’d chased into a back it three or four times and when I get the film back
clear from afar. Red bomber jacket, blue Adidas garden after an Arsenal-City game. after processing the third one is the best.
trackies, Adidas trainers. “Got this geezer, Gooner geezer, right, into As we walk back in the direction of the hotel,
“Alright mate, Liam, whassyername, Chris this garden, and I’m giving a kicking when this Liam promises to put me down on the guest list
yeah? Who d’ya support?” other geezer from the house comes out and stops for the band’s next London gig, the Marquee Club
“Arsenal.” me because he wants to have a go as well, so I said on 8 June.
“Gooner? I can’t talk to ya then. I don’t even fair dos mate, it’s your gaff and I left him to it.” On the train home, I have the clearest mem-
wanna look at ya.” Under his breath I quietly hear Noel: “Twat.” ory of thinking to myself, “I’ve no idea if that guy
And with that we’re off, carried along by the Liam then recreates the moment for my can sing, but if he can then he’s going to be
relentless energy of Liam Gallagher. We end up camera. “You get down on the floor. I’ll run up absolutely massive.” As for the guest-list ticket, he
walking to Maine Road, the Manchester City sta- and boot ya.” I lie down on my stomach and he kept his word on that. ○

90
9 0





























































ARCTIC MONKEYS, PHILADELPHIA, 2006

MASSIVE ATTACK, LONDON, 1998

ROBBIE WILLIAMS, LOS ANGELES, 2003

TRICKY, LONDON, 1998

94

LILY ALLEN,
LONDON, 2006

ELASTICA, LONDON, 1994

PAUL MCCARTNEY,
LONDON, 2003