AN ALMOST INDEPENDENT MONTHLY MAGAZINE /SEPTEMBER 2009

The toughest race in Europe

SLEEP IS FOR WIMPS ON

RED BULL X-ALPS

Banzai BMX SLICK CITY TRICKS ON

TOKYO STREETS

Seb Vettel shadowed

72 HOURS WITH F1’S

WONDERBOY

JamieRoberts

RUGBY’S LION KING TALKS

BRAINS, BIG HITS AND HOW TO

EAT SPRINGBOK TESTICLE

Exclusively with the Belfast Telegraph on the first Tuesday

of every month

Two 22-year-olds who could hardly be more different: one,

a hulking slab of rugby union muscle; the other a baby-faced

driving prodigy who might just win this year’s Formula One

World Championship.

Step forward Jamie Roberts, our cover star, and Sebastian

Vettel. Each has enjoyed a meteoric rise to success: Roberts

with his Cardiff Blues club, then his national team, Wales,

before a starring role on this year’s British and Irish Lions tour

of South Africa. Vettel, meanwhile, has powered through from

junior racing categories to emerge as a leading contender for

victory at every Grand Prix (although things don’t always go to

plan, as you can read in our exclusive reportage on page 68).

So much, so young? Or too much, too soon? Roberts admits

the experience of achieving at such a young age the career-high

that a Lions tour represents, was a little humbling: “It brings

a huge responsibility, but you take it in your stride,” he says.

Vettel, too, has the priceless ability to retain grace and good

humour, despite intense media scrutiny: “He puts on his grin

and gets on with it,” says one of those close to him.

Perhaps, then, we should view these two prodigies through

the filter of another popular sporting maxim: “If you’re

good enough, you’re old enough” – and ‘good enough’ these

two most certainly are.

Away from the sound and fury of race tracks and playing

fields, we turn our attention this month to the more delicate

tones of musical inspiration. Tom Oberheim, our featured

Pioneer, is one of the fathers of the synthesiser, and the

products of his electronic wizardry are almost certainly laced

throughout your MP3 library. And if that gives you pause for

thought as to the content of your digitial sound vault, consider

sparing a few megabytes for the work of Twin Atlantic

(page 40). Yet more talented youth destined for the very top.

Your editorial team

GOLDEN BOYS

AN ALMOST INDEPENDENT MONTHLY MAGAZINE /AUGUST 2009AN ALMOST INDEPENDENT MONTHLY MAGAZINE /AUGUST 2009AN ALMOST INDEPENDENT MONTHLY MAGAZINE /SEPTEMBER 2009

3

B U L L H O R N

03

THE COLA FROM RED BULL.

STRONG NATURAL.

Kola Nut Lemon/Lime Clove

Cardamom Pine Corn Mint

Vanilla Ginger Mace

Coca Leaf

Cinnamon

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Cocoa Liquorice Orange Mustard Seeds

Natural flavours from plant extracts and natural caffeine from coffee beans.

100% PURE COLA.The cola from Red Bull has a

unique blend of ingredients, all from

100% natural sources. In addition,

it’s the only cola that contains both

the original Kola nut and the Coca leaf.

Its naturally refreshing cola

taste comes from using the right blend

of plant extracts.

What’s more, the cola from

Red Bull contains no phosphoric acid,

no preservatives and no artificial

colours or flavourings.

46

40

34

62

WELCOME TO THE WORLD OF RED BULL

Bullevard10 GALLERYAmazing feats to feast your eyes on

14 NOW AND NEXT What’s hot and who’s cool – news

from the worlds of culture and sport

17 ME AND MY BODYMountain bike mentalist Andreu

Lacondeguy talks tattoos and tumbles

19 LUCKY NUMBERSAs LFW ’09 approaches, we bring you

the real figures behind the fashion

20 KIT EVOLUTIONEver heard of a Theremin or a Tenori-On? No? Well you may be shocked to learn where electronic music has

come from and where it’s heading

23 WHERE’S YOUR HEAD AT?Thought you knew everything about

the poutiest half of media machine

Brangelina? Think again…

24 WINNING FORMULA When is an F1 car not an F1 car?

When a pool of water transforms it

into a glorified boogie board. Former-

race-ace David Coulthard introduces

us to the science of aquaplaning

Heroes28 DYNAMOMove over Paul Daniels: there’s a new guy on the scene, and he’s more hoodie than top hat. Meet the magic man who’s swapped a Bradford estate for the Hollywood hills

30 TOM OBERHEIMThis 73-year-old held the keys

to a new sound and gave them to

a generation of stars including

Madonna and Stevie Wonder

34 HERO’S HEROFreestyle football World Champ

Arnaud ‘Séan’ Garnier on why he’s

loved controversial player Maradona

since that match in 1986

36 STEVE FISHERThere’s nothing wet about this

kayaker, who treats battling through

wild waters like taking a turn on a

lake. Watch out for that waterfall…

Inside your fast-paced Bulletin in September…

06

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36 FOR MORE LIKE THIS, VISIT: WWW.REDBULL.COM

Action40 TWIN ATLANTICWe brave the Glaswegian weather to

discover what’s behind the beards and

Ray-Bans of these Scottish rockers

46 JAMIE ROBERTSThe Welsh rugby star faces the daunting

prospect of a Red Bulletin interview, but

says nothing can scare him more than

the crunch of a warm testicle

52 TOKYO BMXWe grab a backie with two peddling pros

as they give a two-wheeled tour through

the neon buzz of Japan’s coolest city

62 X-ALPS It’s the epitome of no-frills flying; racing

from Austria to Monaco using only a

paraglider and a pair of running shoes.

But teams take on the challenge every

year. Sleep? That’s for wimps

68 SEBASTIAN VETTELThe life of an F1 driver isn’t all beautiful

cars and fast women. We follow the

young driver and man-of-the-moment

during a scorching Grand Prix weekend

to see what drives him to break a sweat

More Body & Mind78 THE HANGAR-7 INTERVIEWShaggy has been sadly absent from

the Top 40 of late, but Mr Boombastic

is alive, well and in… Salzburg

80 SLACKLINING IN METEORAA visit to these stunning rock pillars in

Greece for those with a head for heights

84 LISTINGSOur worldwide guide to the best

action-packed days and nights

88 NIGHTLIFEIt all kicks off after dark: Black Box

Revelation rock Bruges; superstar DJ

A-TRAK talks Brooklyn; London graffiti

artist INSA shares paint and a pint; and

Hamburg goes all New York on us

94 BULL’S EYEWe scale new comedic heights

96 SHORT STORYSome philosophical debate down the

pub can lead to anything, even a call

from Barack Obama himself

98 STEPHEN BAYLEYOur design expert ponders the

paradoxical nature of that supersonic

speedster, Concorde

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WORD UP!Wisecracks and wisdom from the world of Red Bull and beyond.

Tell us what you think by emailing letters@redbulletin.com

“I dream about hiking up, flying the whole day and then the next day doing the same. My days

are similar to my dreams!”

Your Letters

“The pain and damage my body took from the thrashing

is going to take weeks of recovery. But the glow of

winning three years in a row will take years to wear off”

“YOU CAN FIND A GOOD GIRL IN EVERY COUNTRY. BUT ESPECIALLY

THE CZECH REPUBLIC. THERE’S A LOT OF BLONDE GIRLS. ALSO

IN AMERICA THERE’S A LOT OF BLONDE GIRLS. BLONDE IS

YELLOW HAIR, RIGHT?”

“YOU KNOW HOW SECURING MUSIC RIGHTS CAN BE. BANDS WANT 50

GRAND OR 100 GRAND MAYBE. BUT I THINK WE GOT MGMT FOR A COUPLE OF COMPLETE SKATEBOARDS. THEY

JUST WANTED TO SKATE, DUDE!”

“It’s a tradition that, after your first kill, you have to cut the springbok’s throat and rub its warm blood on your face. Then, if it’s a male, you eat its testicle, and if it’s female, you gut it and take

a chunk of its liver. Unfortunately, I shot a male and… well…”

“I just get random stuff that I like. I have a moustache tattooed on my finger. Normal

skin is boring”

“I SAW A TV SHOW CALLED

VANDALS ON THE RAMPAGE,

OR SOMETHING, WITH CCTV

FOOTAGE OF SOMEONE SPRAYING

UP A BUILDING… AND IT WAS ME”

“All of my friends from my normal soccer days said to me, ‘No, it’s not

football! Stop that – play on the field!’ But now they find me on Facebook

and know that I’m the world champion for freestyle, they say

‘Oh, wow, that’s great!’”

“THERE’S A FEW DRASTIKS OUT THERE. IF THEY HAVE A PROBLEM

WITH ME STEALING THE GOOGLE THUNDER THEN SO BE IT,

BUT WHEN I WAS GIVEN MY NAME, THERE WAS NO GOOGLE TO SEARCH STUFF LIKE THAT”

08

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09

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BullevardFeed your eyes and soul with some of the world’s best sporting images

ONCE IN A LIFETIME A L P E D’HUEZ , FRANCE

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BOGGED DOWNLOS ANGELES, USA

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EVERY SHOT ON TARGETPICTURES OF THE MONTH

Email your pics with a Red Bull flavour to letters@redbulletin.com. Every one we print wins a pair of Sennheiser PMX 80 Sport II headphones. These sleek, sporty and rugged stereo ’phones feature an ergonomic neckband and vertical transducer system for optimum fit and comfort. Their sweat- and water-resistant construction also makes them ideal for all music-loving sports enthusiasts. www.sennheiser.co.uk

Budapest

YOU REALLY OUGHT TO KNOW SOMETHING ABOUT

CONNER COFFIN

14

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Istanbul NashvilleStandpipe

FALL GUYThe British diver (who isn’t a schoolboy) aiming to win a major title

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Devon London Dorset

Beach volleyball is the most Californian

of sports, and this month it drifts over

to Blackpool in the shape of the English

Masters: West Coast, on the north-west

coast of England, with many of the

world’s leading players taking part.

World sport’s surest thing, after the

England football team losing on penalties,

is the appearance of Brazilians in the

running for world champions. This year

is no different with Talita Antunes and

Maria Antonelli currently leading the

women’s ranking, while Harley Marques

Silva and Alison Cerutti are running

second behind Germany’s Julius Brink

and Jonas Reckermann in the men’s

competition. Familiarity with the

Copacabana should favour the Brazilians

at the undoubtedly similar surroundings

of Blackpool’s St Chad’s Headland.

Beach volleyball players, it seems, swap

partners like Big Brother contestants. Both

Brazilian pairings are new for 2009, as

are the Greek pairing of Vicky Arvaniti

and Maria Tsiartsiani, a good each-way

bet in the women’s draw. If you don’t

want to back Brazilians in the men’s

competition, then the Germans are

a well-fancied duo.

There will be lots of outside eyes, and

not only because of the athletic prowess

of the participants. At the forthcoming

London Olympics, beach volleyball is

expected to be one of the hottest tickets

– a venue will be constructed on Horse

Guards Parade – so this competition

will be a good indication to see if

it’ll be BV GB OK in 2012.

BLACKPOOL ROCKSBeach volleyball decamps to its most unlikely venue

SCREEN PLAYGreat things to watch this month, online and on the sofa

16

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ANDREU LACONDEGUYME AND MY BODY

Crashing like a pro is all part of the routine for Spain’s 20-year-old freeride mountain bike champion. Injuries, he reckons, just make him stronger

IT’S A DIRTY JOB

HANDY BREAK

THE MISSING INK

SHOULDERING THE LOAD

TRIPLE WHAMMY

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Shuffling through his driving

music playlists will not be a

priority for Red Bull Racing

driver Sebastian Vettel during

the Italian Grand Prix. But the

F1 ace will be straight on his

iPhone once he’s crossed the

finish line at Monza, to use an

app that is helping the German

with his winning ways.

F1 Timing App, developed

by Soft Pauer, uses GPS

information from the racetracks

to render the race in real time

on your iPhone – a sort of

Grand Prix radar that shows

cars’ progress in great detail

on a 3D circuit map. Add in

regular info updates, and

you’ve got F1 in your pocket

so good that the drivers

themselves use it for work.

“I like to see where I could

have done things better,” says

Vettel. “The new timing and

track positioning application…

allows me to understand why

certain things are happening.”

Vettel’s team, Red Bull

Racing, has also launched an

app, in the shape of Red Bull

GP. With the Pitter function,

all the team’s pit-lane gossip

is relayed in short and sweet

Twitter style, while the Garage

function allows fans to pore

over every detail of the RB5

car and its predecessors.

Best of all, it’s free.

APPY DAYSSeb Vettel and Red Bull Racing use iPhone for fans and wins

Organisers of the White Air festival,

which this month moves to Brighton from

its former home on the Isle of Wight, are

good people. They save lovers of music

and seekers of thrills a pot of cash by

marrying days filled with extreme sports

to packed evening line-ups of musical

talent. It’s a winning combo.

White Air has evolved into the

largest mixed gathering of its kind in

Europe. From September 18-20, more

than 40 sports will be on show, from

surfing, skateboarding and BMX, to

the lesser-spotted likes of slacklining,

ropeboarding, bocking and extreme

yo-yoing. Out to sea, high-powered

Thundercat boats will cut through the

waves, while five-time world champion

kiteboarder Aaron Hadlow will take

to a sea-based slider, plus the best UK

windsurfers battle it out for the national

freestyle crown. Oh, and an Olympic

medallist will high-dive from a 30m

platform into a shallow pool – on fire.

Seriously. Then, when night falls, the

music starts. Mancunian headliners Doves

join The Cribs, Biffy Clyro, Brighton’s

own British Sea Power and alternative

rock trio Sky Larkin in the evening line-up.

The icing on the cake is White Air’s

‘Have a Go’ programme, which means

any festivalgoer can receive expert

tuition in most of the activities on show.

That even includes the opportunity of

a one-on-one lesson from Jordan’s cage-

fighting beau Alex Reid. There’s almost

too much, but as Luther Vandross said,

that option is better than the alternative.

RAMPS AND AMPSAdventure sports and music festival is no longer all Wight

B U L L E V A R D

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60625LONDON FASHION WEEK

LUCKY NUMBERS

The most fabulous fi ve days in the couture calendar, re-imagined with a striking numerical motif

152

58

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KIT EVOLUTION

BLEEP YEARSFrom its very origin to its latest incarnation, electronic music making that pushes the right buttons

GOOD VIBRATIONSTHEREMIN, 1920

21

LIGHT FANTASTICYAMAHA TENORI-ON, 2005

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HARD & FASTTop performers and winning ways from across the globe

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34 AND COUNTING

LOVE SCENE, TAKE 3

PLAYING CONDIMENTS

MADAM AMBASSADOR

GETTING REJIGGY WITH IT

ANGELINA JOLIEWHERE’S YOUR HEAD AT?

She rules in action movies, and ‘proper’ ones. She’s trying to make the world a nicer place. But did you know about Jolie Airways or the chatline cartoon?

FLY GIRL

SPEAK AND SPELLBINDTHE MIGHTY BOUCHE

MAMA MORE

PROMO SEXUAL

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THE WHEELMAN“Aquaplaning is a driver’s worst nightmare,

no question,” says David Coulthard, Red

Bull Racing team consultant and winner

of 13 Grands Prix. “Driving in the wet

itself is not that big an issue, because you

drive to the level of grip available – there’s

just less of it when the track is wet, in the

same way that there’s more when you

have super-sticky tyres that make you

a couple of seconds per lap faster.

“But what makes wet conditions

hazardous is aquaplaning, and it can

be particularly severe in a modern,

flat-bottomed Formula One car: if you

hit running water, then the underside

of the car, in effect, acts like a rudder.

You’re suddenly on top of the water

and you have this big, flat, rudder-like

device that turns the car in the direction

of the running water. That’s why you will

sometimes see a car suddenly dizzying

around even if it’s travelling in a straight

line. And because of the speed at which

it happens, you have no chance to catch it,

nor do you have any grip to work against,

because the car is on top of water, with

no tyre rubber against the track surface.

“When we had traction control it

was immensely useful, because it would

cut the power as soon as it felt the rear

wheels spin when they lifted on top of

the water. But now we don’t have it

anymore, a driver has no choice but to

get off the power. If you’re dead lucky

you might not spin, but really you’re in

the lap of the gods when it happens.

“To give you some idea of how it feels,

imagine you’re in a road car and you’ve

committed to a high-speed corner.

Suddenly, and without warning, an

invisible hand yanks on the handbrake

and locks up the rear axle, sending you

into a massive spin. That’s what it’s like

– only faster because you’re in an F1 car.

“It only takes a few millimetres of

water to make aquaplaning happen,

because an F1 car is so light that it’s

inclined to lift off the water, like a

boogie board. A bigger, heavier car

would cut through, squashing the

water out of the way.”

SLIPPERY WHEN WET

WINNING FORMULA

It looks spectacular, but you don’t want to be the man behind the wheel when a Formula One car aquaplanes. We find out why it happens and how you deal with it

THE BRAINY SPIEL MAN“An F1 car generally has an output of

750bhp, and it’s a headache to get that

power onto the track,” says Dr Martin

Apolin, physicist and sports scientist.

“Power isn’t everything; friction matters,

too. The friction force (FF) between the

tyres and the road surface is the key

factor in loss of performance and must

never exceed driving force.

“If the car was on sheet ice, because of

the lack of friction, it wouldn’t move off

the spot. Friction force is equal to friction

coefficient times weight, FF = μw.

Weight, on the other hand, is mass times

acceleration due to gravity (g = 9.81m/s2),

w = mg, which means that FF = μmw.

The general correlation between a force

(F) and the resulting acceleration (a)

is laid down in Newton’s second law

of motion as F = ma. If you convert that

equation, you can see why they’re sparing

when filling the tank at Grands Prix,

because acceleration is inversely

proportional to mass, which means the

lower the mass, the greater the acceleration.

“If we compare both formulas for force

(F = FF), maximum acceleration comes

out as a = μg, which means acceleration

is proportional to the friction coefficient.

In extreme cases, this can be 1.1 for tyres

and dry tarmac. So one can calculate

acceleration at 1.1g or a = 10.8m/s2

which means getting from 0 to 100kph

(27.8m/s) in 2.6 seconds. You have to

play around a bit to achieve greater

acceleration. In F1, aerodynamic

downforce is achieved thanks to wings,

which increase weight and thereby friction.

“Water on the track is disadvantageous

because it causes μ to decrease by about

0.8. That means less friction and a loss

of acceleration of about 30 per cent. As

speed in the turns is proportional to the

root of μ, this has to be reduced by about

15 per cent in wet conditions or one ends

up with more downforce. Also, the tyres

need to be changed from smooth slicks

to wets. The tread deflects the water,

helping to avoid aquaplaning.”

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28 DYNAMO 30 TOM OBERHEIM 34 ARNAUD ‘SÉAN’ GARNIER 36 STEVE FISHER

HeroesWorld-class athletes and whizz-kids, past and present

27

“Paul Daniels was a gangsta!” laughs the scrawny

figure clad in chunky Adidas trainers, baggy jeans

and a trackie top. It’s not really the attire you’d

expect of one of the world’s great practitioners of the

dark arts, and nor is the joke part of his usual style.

Dynamo, aka Steven Frayne, or ‘D’, as close friends

refer to him, rarely shifts an indifferent steely gaze.

(Is it part of his act? Should the guy be left alone to

prepare?) But every now and then he cracks the odd

grin and we’re back in the room. On this occasion,

it follows the suggestion that Debbie McGee’s other

half now struggles to retain an air of credibility.

“He’s still a legend,” Dynamo explains, reclining in

a booth in London’s Met Bar, about 30 minutes before

he’s due to perform there. “He just didn’t know when

to retire, that was the problem. He could’ve left on

top, but you get stuck into this and you don’t ever

want to lose it. People like Paul Daniels showed me

what you can achieve by following magic. He was

a national celebrity. So if he can do it, why can’t I?”

Dynamo is being modest. This 26-year-old has

achieved in five years what most magicians struggle

to do their whole careers. Raised on Bradford’s

notorious Delph Hill Estate, he has spent more than

a decade and a half working at his skills, and while

David Blaine seems trapped in a disappearing trick

up his own backside, Dynamo has brought the

spectacular back to street level.

After moving to London and buying a camera and

laptop with a Prince’s Trust loan in 2005, Dynamo

began gatecrashing celebrity parties and wowing the

likes of Chris Martin, Snoop Dogg and Ian Brown

with his close-up magic. All expressed the now

commonplace reaction on seeing his tricks: one that’s

somewhere between “Amazing!” and “SH******”!!!”.

The resulting DVD of his efforts, Underground Magic, led to a Channel 4 TV special, Dynamo’s Estate of Mind, and now his internet show, DynamoTV, takes the no-frills thrills even further, hanging out

with De La Soul in Miami, wowing musicians at

Glastonbury and freaking out Wu-Tang Clan rapper

Raekwon. He’s also worked parties in the Hollywood

Hills with Paris Hilton and made a cameo appearance

on Snoop Dogg’s Father Hood on MTV.

“I call them my uncles,” he says of the hip-hop

elite who queue up to offer him advice on the fame

game. Perhaps they see similarities to their own

stories of coming from hard-fought beginnings, but

it was a blood relative, Dynamo’s grandfather, who

first inspired the 10-year-old Frayne to study magic.

“My grandpa wasn’t a magician, he was a pool

hustler,” he says. “He was in the army, and he did

tricks to keep the rest of the troops entertained.

He got out just after World War II, and everything

was tight back then, so he used tricks to win a few

extra quid. I’ve got ‘Grandpa’ tattooed on my neck.

He’s always looking over my shoulder.

“I’m inspired by pickpockets,” he continues. “People

who genuinely rob you. There’s a guy, Apollo Robbins,

who stole guns from the holsters of the Secret Service

agents guarding ex-President Jimmy Carter. He does

it for entertainment now, but he’s the real deal.”

During tonight’s show Dynamo traps an audience

member’s mobile phone in a glass bottle, turns

lottery tickets into bank notes with the flick of a

wrist, and works the Dynamo-shuffle, a card cut

that’s half breakdance and half mind-mangling feat

of physics. His new takes on old standards means

he’s pushing magic away from its traditional roots.

Does he fear leaving behind some of the mystique?

“I love learning from the old masters, but I have

to be up to date! It’s not like I particularly want

to ruin a classic. My main aim is to make it better.

When I used to read about magicians, I used to

think they were guys who would just create miracles

totally unplanned, you know? Just pick up a phone

and put it inside a bottle because they felt like it.

So that’s how I think magic should be presented.

“If you were really magic, then that’s what you’d

do. And I am really magic, so that’s what I do.”

DYNAMOThe street magician who really is from the streets has the skills to make your head spin and your eyes doubt themselves – and his shoelaces tie themselves unaided. How on earth does he do it?

Words: Tom Hall Portrait: Marius W Hansen

28

H E R O E S

A dozen seconds into Run DMC’s Rock Box after

the introductory vocals and skittering snares

evaporate, a heavily reverbed drum pattern sets

up a groove that to modern ears might sound

hopelessly rudimentary. Matched by a roughly

sampled overdriven guitar riff, it might even feel

slightly cheesy. But with this and a handful of

revolutionary singles, the Hollis group defined

a new music, hip-hop, for a generation.

Rewind just a few years and spool up Canadian

trio Rush’s FM radio staple Tom Sawyer, the first

crunching power chord wrapped in a swooping

synthesised pulse, a single liquid note providing

the soundtrack to a thousand spring-break parties.

On the face of it, the two records have little in

common, one at the cutting edge of a genre that

would radically make over modern pop music, the

other a techno-rock workout signalling the last days

of a 1970s obsession with prog-rock virtuosity. But

behind the two songs lies a technological link that

crosses genres, bridging jazz and fusion, electronica,

rock, hip-hop and modern DJ culture. In short, both

records have a lot to thank Tom Oberheim for.

Inventor of the polyphonic synthesiser, pioneer

of the digital drum machine, Tom helped shape

the sound of modern music, though the now

73-year-old engineer baulks at the suggestion.

“If you’re talking about the first synthesisers,

I don’t think I was a pioneer,” he insists. “That was

done by Robert Moog and a guy called Don Buchla.

For myself, I think I developed some things that

now might be called pioneering. Back then, though,

I wasn’t thinking like that. I was just trying to make

things that would keep my business alive.”

The business was Oberheim Electronics, the

company the young engineer founded after quitting

his Kansas home for Los Angeles, a move based on

nothing more than a desire to see live jazz.

“I read in Down Beat magazine an advertisement

for a place called the Lighthouse Café in Hermosa

Beach where Bud Shank and Bob Cooper, two jazz

musicians, played for free. That was enough for

me. Of course, I didn’t understand the words

‘two-drink minimum’ in those days.”

It was a crucial move. Arriving in Los Angeles

with $10, Tom worked for Lockheed Aircraft

before cycling through a variety of engineering

jobs that trained him not only in electronics, but

in the formative years of digital technology.

He kept in touch with music, though, eventually

becoming involved with a second iteration of

seminal proto-prog-rock outfit The United States of

America, whose sole self-titled album for Columbia

is now regarded as a classic psych-era recording.

“I met (bandleader) Joseph Byrd when

I was studying at UCLA,” recalls Tom. “He was

a teaching assistant in the music department, but

he was also putting on artistic events, happenings,

as the New Music Workshop. When I left I lost

touch with him, but later found out he was part

of The United States of America.

“That band broke up, but in 1968 I started

going to rehearsals for a new version of the band

led by the singer Dorothy Moskowitz. They asked

me to build them a device called a ring modulator

because the original band had used one.”

It was to be the genesis of Oberheim as

a company. Forging an alliance with a large

distributor, Tom began to sell the modulators

steadily, showing products at the vast annual

NAMM musical instruments show, where in a bid

to grow the business, he also became a dealer for

a new brand of synthesiser called ARP.

The machines, though, had limitations. “I’d

been building sequencers (a machine that triggers

the synthesiser to play a pattern of notes), but it left

you with a predicament. If you used it to play the

synth, you couldn’t then play the keyboard.”

Tom’s response was the Synthesiser Expander

Module, a machine that gave the musician an

extra voice so he could play the keyboard while the

sequencer was playing a different pattern. In turn,

TOMOBERHEIMFrom his groundbreaking synthesiser in the 1970s to the DMX drum machine that defined the sound of hip-hop, the American inventor has shaped the sounds of musical generations

Words: Justin Hynes

Pioneer

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it gave birth to Tom’s great breakthrough and

the one he rightly regards as pioneering – the

polyphonic synthesiser. But it was conceived

in a moment of desperation.

“In 1975 I got a call from the distributors who’d

been selling the ring modulators to say that because

of the economy being bad, they were cancelling

their orders. It was a massive blow,” he says.

“It was clear that we were in trouble and we’d

have to try something else. I remembered an

experiment I’d done a couple of years before with

a musician friend, where we’d taken two ARP 2600

synthesisers, connected two SEMs to them and

managed to play two notes on each keyboard, which

was pretty impressive. You have to remember that

up to this point, synthesisers were monophonic –

you could only play one note at a time.”

The result was polyphonic synthesis and the

ability to play chords, a development which would

arguably lead the synthesiser out of the realms of

jazz and progressive rock esoterica and into the

mainstream. The first went to Stevie Wonder.

“We took the first one to Crystal Sound studio in

Hollywood, where Stevie was recording. I think he

was working on the Songs in the Key of Life album.

He was using this monstrous Yamaha keyboard,

the GX1, which weighed about 800lb and cost about

$60,000. Although the prototype I sold to Stevie was

only four voices, it was expandable to eight, weighed

only 80lb and cost under $6000 for eight voices.”

Joe Zawinul of legendary jazz-fusion experts

Weather Report was another enthusiastic buyer.

“In 1976 I got a call from Joe. He had purchased

a four-voice or eight-voice and asked me to help him,

so I went to his house in Pasadena,” recalls Oberheim.

“I explained it in pretty technical terms. Joe understood

most of what I was telling him, but my impression

was that the machine wasn’t right for him.

“Several weeks later, however, Joe called

again and invited me to hear his latest composition.

He said the Oberheim played a big part in it. When

I arrived, Joe played me a rough mix of Birdland. I

was completely blown away. It was a real learning

experience for me, seeing how a great musician

can look beyond the pure technical hardware of

such a device and make great music with it.”

It was the beginning of the key period of Oberheim’s

success. Hundreds of landmark records were made

using the early polyphonic and subsequent machines,

including the ubiquitous OB-X, a keyboard made

unintentionally famous by Eddie Van Halen in the

video for the huge 1984 hit Jump.

“There are two key songs featuring Oberheim.

Birdland is one and the other is Jump by Van Halen.

There’s hundreds of great records with Oberheim

on them, but frankly it’s hard to tell. But with Van

Halen it just is. You can definitely see Eddie Van

Halen playing a very dirty, dusty OB-Xa. That’s great!”

And Tom would shape the next era of electronic

music with a machine that he admits wasn’t initially

his idea. “It was mentioned to me that a guy called

Roger Linn was building a digital drum machine

and, since I’d been involved in digital when I worked

with computers, it seemed like a natural fit,” he

says. “We invited him down and talked about

licensing his technology, but he wanted his own

company, which he did very successfully, so we

went ahead anyway, with the DMX.”

The DMX became a must-have weapon in the

arsenal of every nascent dance and hip-hop star. You

can hear its drums on Madonna’s Holiday, on early

Run DMC singles, on the mid-’80s work of Janet

Jackson and Alexander O’Neal producers Jimmy

Jam and Terry Lewis, and on key albums by Prince.

Thirty years on, Oberheim remains slightly

mystified by the attention he now receives, being

invited to consult for major electronics companies

and to lecture as an industry ‘pioneer’ at globe-

spanning events such as Red Bull Music Academy.

“I get invited to speak as a pioneer, but when

I was doing these things it wasn’t with the view of

being an explorer,” he says. “It was a case of thinking:

‘This is... fun.’ When you build a machine and go to

a concert and hear Joe Zawinul playing a machine

I designed and built... it’s a ‘wow’ moment. It’s not

‘aren’t I great, I’m a pioneer’. It’s the simple process

of sitting in a theatre listening to a great musician

playing my instrument. What could be better.”

And it is a continuing passion. Asked to speak

at the Red Bull Music Academy in Barcelona in

October last year, Tom began to revisit his past.

“I took along some examples of music made with

my machines, a little demo of those records. It was

amazing to hear all that in one shot. Quite emotional.

“Because of that trip I decided to revive the SEM

module, a modern manufactured version of a 1974

Oberheim synth. It’s going back to the source. I still

love it. I just love the sound of these machines.”

As do countless others. Roger Manning Jr’s work

can be heard on albums by Beck and Air, and in the

early ’90s with his band Jellyfish. Touring through

the vintage equipment at his home studio, Manning

runs his hand across the keys of one of Tom’s machines.

“Oberheims have my favourite tones. They’re the

most gutsy, organic, warm, the richest, spikiest,

most aggressive tones. They are wonderful.”

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FRANKLAMPARD

Everyone remembers Argentina’s match

against England in the 1986 World Cup

for the ‘Hand of God’ incident [when

Diego Maradona scored with a ‘header’

that actually came off his hand]. I was

too young to remember it at the time,

although I got to see it on video when

I was about 10 years old. But it was his

second goal in that match that caught

my eye – where he takes the ball in the

middle of the pitch and dribbles through

all the England players. Afterwards, I

was always trying to score like Maradona.

I played normal football when I was

young, training with professional teams

AJ Auxerre and Troyes AC in France.

But I was injury-prone and had to sit

out a couple of seasons, and by the time

I was 19, I’d been let go and couldn’t find

another club. That’s how my interest in

freestyle began. In my free time, I began

to mix football with basketball and dance.

Maradona always looked like he had

a clear head. Before games began, he’d

never run about – he’d just take the ball

and play with it like he was having fun.

I like that kind of football. I’ve learned

to do the same in my life.

When you ask a normal footballer

to do a trick, he takes the ball and starts

from the ground. But a freestyler will

just as likely start from the air. When I

understood this, I thought: “OK, freestyle

is not really football at all. You can do

anything you want.” So, when I first

came to Paris, I’d see all the basketball

players on the public courts and I tried

to learn their tricks with my hands.

In Paris, we don’t have a lot of space

for training, so a lot of the freestyle

players gather at La Défense Métro

station and share space with followers

of other disciplines like breakdancers.

Hip-hop dancing is very fluid and

rhythmic. From La Défense, I’ve learned

to breakdance and I use the ball with my

feet while I spin and turn on my hands.

I’ve not taken any specific moves

from Maradona because he does just

the basics. But I’ve learned style from

him – that easy style. He can juggle with

a football or a tennis ball, and I want

to have the same kind of control and

freedom. He’s also left-footed like me,

so that was always an inspiration.

When you talk about Maradona,

you’ve always got to mention the Hand

of God. For me, you can’t win that way.

It was wrong, but it’s his character that

came through. At that moment, it was

cheating. But afterwards, it became

a part of why we know him.

His later years with the drugs and

the weight gain were obviously a low

point, but that’s life and it’s his choice.

Some of my friends smoke and drink.

I choose not to, but it’s their choice and

they are good guys all the same. I like

Maradona for football and for tricks.

If I met him, I wouldn’t really be

satisfied with just that. I’d actually want

to play against him, one-on-one! I’d like

to try and knock it through his legs.

We call it pana in France, or petit pont,

which means ‘small bridge’. I believe

it’s known as a ‘nutmeg’ in the UK and

Ireland. I’ve managed it against a few

professional players in France like

Karim Benzema and Ben Arfa.

I still follow certain footballing trends,

but like to keep it free. I play and coach

beach soccer, and hope to make it into

the French national side for that soon.

I think Maradona being a coach now is

good for the image of Argentina, because

Maradona is Argentina, you know?

But I think it won’t be good if he loses

games. People will say, “Oh, he can’t

do it because he’s not a properly-trained

coach.” But I think he has the most

beautiful skills in football. So although

it’s going to be difficult for him, I think

he has the natural ability to succeed.

I’m always trying to get more

freestyle tricks into whatever game

I play. When I first started doing it, all

of my friends from my normal football

days said to me, “No, it’s not football!

Stop that – play on the field!” But now

they find me on Facebook and know that

I’m the world champion for freestyle,

they say “Oh, wow, that’s great!”

DIEGOMARADONARed Bull Street Style’s French world champion left mainstream football to indulge his creative urges. He explains how an Argentinian legend was the first player to get him in a spin

Words: Tom Hall

Hero’s Hero: Arnaud ‘Séan’ Garnier on

34

H E R O E S

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We’re standing at the far end of an eerie Swiss

mountain valley and Steve Fisher – considered by

experts to be the world’s best kayaker – has just

plunged over a 17m waterfall three times. Like most

experts, he makes the improbable appear simple.

Fisher had visited this location dozens of times

before hurling body and boat over the edge, having

observed the flow of the water and picked his line.

What he couldn’t dictate, however, was the weather.

After a stormy night, a babbling brook is now a

raging mountain stream. Multiple rapids such as this

are laced with danger because the water is so hard to

predict. A younger Fisher wouldn’t have blinked before

launching into a torrent, but at 33, he looks back with

relief at having survived some of his suicidal antics.

Fisher first squeezed into a canoe at the age of six.

It had been left behind by the Austrian kayak team,

who would train for four months every winter on

the Bushman’s River, which flowed through Fisher’s

parents’ farm in Estcourt, South Africa. Steve would

stretch ropes over the water for the slalom kayakers

and take care of the slalom posts to earn pocket money.

The tricky skill of manoeuvring a boat through

rough water became second nature, but he didn’t

initially become known as a ‘creeker’ – someone

who hurtles down mountain torrents that often

contain more stones than water. Instead, he excelled

as a dead-water sprinter – becoming the best in the

country, but barred from competing in the 1992

Barcelona Olympics, because, at 16, he was still

a junior. Still, he wanted to see the world.

His first foreign trip was to compete in Holland in

1994. It sparked a passion for discovering unknown

places – a passion that sat well with his sport. So in

2000 he set off to Myanmar (formerly Burma) as part

of a five-man team to explore the headwaters of the

Irrawaddy. The trip took six weeks and encompassed

160km of almost-impassable territories. The men

carried equipment and food on a raft through the

jungle and the rapids, between kayaking sessions.

“On short trips, we carried our food in the kayaks,”

Fisher explains. “But you can only do that for 10 days

at most. After that, you start getting really hungry.”

Fisher’s most exciting expedition to date was

a seven-man, two-month epic in 2002 to Tibet, to

explore by boat the source of the Yarlung Tsangpo

in the northern Himalayas. The early preparations

lasted eight years – Google Earth was yet to be

invented and a satellite imaging company had

to first photograph the river for the team.

You might call them modern-day adventurers,

though this kind of undertaking has little in common

with treasure island romance. Permits and fees cost

US$200,000, which included covering 60 men to

carry essential items on foot through the world’s

highest mountain range. Yet, according to Fisher,

the most important thing is that all members of the

team are thinking along the same lines. Which is why

selected kayakers lived and worked together around

the clock for months in California until the final crew

was picked. The correct group number is also vital:

“Five or seven kayakers,” he says. “Not six or eight so

you get a majority if anything ever comes to a vote.”

Fisher also enjoys finding perfect lines for waterways

and waterfalls he knows, and tackling spots even

other experts avoid, such as the 100m long multi-

level rapid in Chutes St Ursule, Canada, with a 46m

vertical difference. “I’m the only one to have given it

a shot,” he says. He has never gone back. “I’d want to

give it another go,” he says. “But the tiniest wobble

and I could capsize, and it would snowball from there.”

Exploits such as this, and his invention of a dozen-

or-so moves, including the airscrew and the helix,

have made him a feted pioneer and cult hero in the

disciplines of Big Water, Steep Creek and Freestyle.

But there’s a new rival for his sporting ambition:

paragliding. “It’s fantastic! Air behaves in much the

same way as water so I know what I’m doing. And

from above I can spot new places to go kayaking.”

STEVE FISHERCareering through wild white water holds no fear for ‘the godfather of kayaking’. The only thing that worries him is that one day he might run out of challenges

Words: Uschi Korda Photography: Gian Paul Lozza

36

H E R O E S

40 TWIN ATLANTIC 46 JAMIE ROBERTS 52 TOKYO BMX 62 RED BULL X-ALPS

68 SEBASTIAN VETTEL

Action

39

SCOTLAND THE RAVEGlasgow band Twin Atlantic played a triumphant homecoming show at T in the Park

this summer. Bear witness to the blood, sweat and copious facial hair of a band making the jump from respected underdogs to conquering heroes

Words: Tom Hall Photography: James Pearson-Howes

40

A C T I O N

The rounded bricks and eroded sandstone

found all over leafy Queen’s Park in

Glasgow’s Southside tell a tale the clouds

already promise to finish. In Glasgow,

it rains. A lot. Four skinny figures in

their early 20s dart across wide streets

under awnings and into doorways.

Hoods and leather jackets go up around

dishevelled hair and full beards that cover two of their number.

Combined with Ray-Bans just cruelly cheated of useful purpose,

Twin Atlantic resemble some kind of indie secret agent squad

under heavy disguise, dodging bullets. Albeit a comically inept

one. It’s not the start to our whistle-stop tour of Glasgow that

we’d planned. But probably the one we should have expected.

“It’s not a style thing. Having a beard keeps you warm in the

Glasgow weather,” says guitarist Barry McKenna half-jokingly.

Surly and bear-like, he’s a foil to languid, stick-thin lead singer

Sam McTrusty – all coiffured hair and thoughtful stares.

Ducking out of the rain and into the local greasy spoon café,

the two are joined by bass player Ross McNae and drummer

Craig Kneale. McNae is quietly spoken, peering out from

straggly locks and that aforementioned beard. Kneale has

a self-deprecating humour that’s at odds with the ferocious

beats he pummelled out of a drum kit at T in the Park.

Rewind 48 hours to that performance. No wait, maybe

57 hours to just before it, and the band are sprawled out on

uncharacteristically dry meadows in Balado, near Kinross.

Framed by looming hills that anyone who spends most of their

time in a city would describe as mountainous (we didn’t bring

a tape measure), the beautiful landscape under fine weather

is a breathtaking setting in which to party ’til you puke.

“T in the Park kind of resembles a refugee camp, but all the

refugees are pissed and spending loads of money,” says a sleepy

McNae. The band have just driven 450 miles from Guildford

in a cramped mini-van in one night. Needless to say not

everyone’s quite awake. But then not everyone’s Craig Kneale.

“They’re giving free haircuts and massages in the artists’ area.

Let’s do it!” he says with enthusiasm. Trappings of rock stardom

are available in teasing glimpses to a band like Twin Atlantic, four

guys on the cusp of mainstream notoriety. They’re not quite there

yet, but on days like today it’s close enough to snatch and run.

Their hardcore-infused, thinking-man’s punk pop achieves

that crucial element for a widespread following, balancing

big choruses with lyrical content that takes a few listens to

crack. Inventive yet familiar, the accessible sound delivered

in a defiantly Scottish drawl means that, as they stroll around

the festival, they’re greeted more like homecoming heroes.

McTrusty is the poster boy that the small groups of fans

get all giggly over. Teenagers in Twin Atlantic T-shirts come

and high-five him over the crowd barriers while he watches

fellow Scots Sucioperro from the side of the stage. Boys want

to know who his all-time favourite Scottish act is.

“Somewhere between Mogwai and Biffy…” he answers.

Girls sing back his own lyrics and make requests for the show.

“Give a shout out to Aberdeen,” they beg back over the fence.

McTrusty humours them politely, but you can tell the adulation

ritual is as depressingly bizarre to him as it is ticklishly novel.

“I hope this never gets normal. I hope I’m always…”

“Shitting yourself?” offers McNae.

“No! I hope I’m always this excited,” he says, in reference to

the band’s 7.45pm slot on the Red Bull Bedroom Jam Futures

Stage this evening. So is tonight a more special gig than most?

“Well, when you’re surrounded by so many Scottish people at

T in the Park, that kind of national gathering rarely happens. That’s

42

A C T I O N

44

why it’s such a party atmosphere and everybody’s so wrecked.

It’s like the one time of year where everyone comes to our turf.”

The artists’ area couldn’t be further away from a home crowd.

Filing into the catering tent is a Who’s Who of pop’s high table.

Veterans The Specials sit circled like an impenetrable gang,

the impression heightened by matching ‘Specials’ embroidered

tracksuit tops. The Killers’ Brandon Flowers shuffles in like

a kid wary of having his lunch money stolen. Katy Perry takes

time out from an alleged onsite ego war with Lady Gaga to grab

some food. Everybody has to eat. Catfights can resume later.

It’s exciting and a novelty, but Twin Atlantic are used to

stepping up a level when the situation requires it. Formed

in March 2007, the band quickly became favourites on the

Glasgow live music scene and released a debut single by

Christmas that year. Tour support slots followed with the

Subways and Biffy Clyro,

resulting in the band being

hand-picked by Smashing

Pumpkins to support them at

Glasgow SECC. In February

2009, the band signed to Red

Bull Records and headed to

LA to record their debut mini-

album, Vivarium, available to

download from September 14.

Sam explains the title refers

to an artificially created yet

natural environment, like

a fish tank or greenhouse.

“We just thought it was

a really cool word, but it also

had some meaning to us as

a band because we’ve sort

of built that environment

ourselves in the sanctuary of

the music. The artwork shows

a vivarium smashed to bits, as

the record is meant to be kind

of a fresh start for us. We’ve

been trying to move away from songs about girlfriends or whatever

and writing more tunes that have a story or a universal theme.”

A look down the album’s tracklisting reveals some heavy

topics and even stranger titles. Human After All is a rant at

the degradation of women, while You’re Turning Into John

Wayne tackles the Americanisation of pop culture. So what’s

Caribbean War Syndrome all about, then?

“Um, well, actually a lot of our songs just grow from jokes

into something more serious. We had a guitar rhythm that Barry

was struggling to remember, and I’d started randomly singing, “If

you like the Caribbean”, which fitted with the rhythm, to remind

him. From that point on, I just found it really funny and wrote

this whole song around it. I was reading that Ernest Hemingway

book A Farewell To Arms at the time, and it’s all about going

to war. I never finished it... I kind of do that with books.”

As show time approaches, the band adopt green facepaint

for the gig, in reference to the greenery of their forthcoming

album cover. “If it looks like we’ve just thrown this idea

together, it’s because we have,” says Barry.

“Why not eh?” quips McNae.

“We’ll soon see why not,” deadpans McTrusty, the whole

band now resembling a psychedelic crew of nerve-shredded

Braveheart extras. By the time they reach the Red Bull stage,

fears of a deserted tent are quickly replaced by the sheer terror

of 3000 raging fans who’ve turned up especially. It’s packed out.

“T in the Park… SCOTLAND!... This is pretty f***ing terrifying,”

bellows McTrusty and they launch into Lightspeed. What follows

is a gloriously messy and triumphant victory lap, with the crowd

seemingly singing along to every word. The band play hard,

with blood splattered from busted fingernails over McTrusty’s

white guitar and jeans, and sweat-dissolved facepaint running

into bloodshot eyes. During the acoustic Crash Land, McKenna

switches to cello, showing they can do more than big, dumb

thrills. The gig ends in chaos as McNae jumps into the crowd

and is mistaken by security for a fan. A scuffle ensues. It’s not

the ending the band would have preferred, but the fans get

a kick out of seeing their heroes standing up to security.

The vibe afterwards is edgy. Different members are self-

critical to extremes. But it’s a debate that five ‘Ts’ out of five

in a national tabloid the next day does a lot to calm down.

On the Monday evening,

back in Glasgow, the band

huddle in a booth at local

musicians’ Mecca Nicensleazy.

Members of fellow Glasgow

band Frightened Rabbit stop

over and catch up on the

weekend. It’s a communal

vibe that’s seen McTrusty

sportingly play an acoustic

spot earlier for some Twin

Atlantic fans attending the

venue’s open-mic night. But

Saturday’s performance is

still a topic of debate.

“Can I be brutally honest?

I thought it went terribly. It’s

the worst gig we’ve ever

played,” laughs Kneale.

“See, I thought it was

the best show we’ve ever

played,” says McTrusty.

McKenna compares their

disagreements to T in the

Park headliners Blur. “Blur stopped being a band for nine years

because they hated each other’s guts to the point of where they

failed at being a band. That’s not what we’re about. It’s not what

being in any band is about. You’ve just got to pick each other up.”

After last orders, the guys once again don hoods and leathers

to resume service against the Glasgow elements. Kneale is

optimistic and concedes he’s always going to pick holes.

“We might disagree, but we always look to the horizon,”

he says on his way out. And then the rain came down.

Making Music

Vivid Vivarium

45

A C T I O N

Not much fazes Welsh rugby’s wünderkind, Jamie Roberts, be it ferocious South African back divisions or fierce medical exams. Nothing, however, could have prepared him to eat raw testicle…

Words: Anthony Rowlinson Photography: David Clerihew

There’s something big in the basement; something

that fills a room with its presence, takes light from

the windows and makes you wonder why everything

else in the vicinity suddenly looks a bit puny.

That something – correction, someone – is

Jamie Roberts, a thumping great lump of a man, who,

although being only 22 and in only his third pro rugby

season, returned from the British and Irish Lions’

summer tour to South Africa as ‘man of the series’.

He has arrived at the The Red Bulletin’s London

offices for the interview you’re reading here, and,

despite his modest years and equally modest

manner, his star quality is immediately apparent.

Tanned and in something like top shape, having

recently jetted home from as hard a tour as he’s ever

likely to encounter (scarcely healed nicks and cuts

across his face speak eloquently of the Springboks’

brutal ‘welcome to South Africa’), he radiates the

kind of easy-smiling, charismatic confidence gifted

only to those who have absolutely nothing to prove.

Since his international debut for Wales against

Scotland in 2008, Roberts has bludgeoned his way

into his national squad’s first 15, making such an

impact – in every way – he has instantly become

a marked man. England paid him the ultimate

compliment earlier this year by briefing flanker

Joe Worsley to do nothing but attempt to tackle

Roberts to a standstill. That game, let it be noted,

was only Jamie’s third Six Nations start.

So, he’s big – 6ft 4in (193cm) and 16st 10lb

(106kg) to be precise – and a hard-hitting midfield

runner with the rare knack of making 70,000 people

simultaneously go, ‘Oooh’, whenever he blasts into

an opponent, either in attack or defence. Should you

ever wish to understand the meaning of the rugby

vernacular ‘making the hard yards’, spend 10

minutes watching young Roberts in a close-quarter

exchange and you’ll never need ask again.

But imposing as he is, Jamie’s no thug. Indeed,

he’s very far from it: he’s about to start his fourth

year at medical school in his home town of Cardiff,

studying part-time around his rugby commitments.

He’s also quietly spoken – with a marked South

Wales rasp – and has a disarmingly soft handshake

(no cheap-machismo bone-crunchers here).

All in all, he’s an intriguing character: a bright-

as-paint rugby prodigy, whose passing skills are as

delicate as his running lines are direct. A worthy

subject, then, for a Red Bulletin grilling.

You’ve had quite a year, from breaking into the Wales squad, to Lions man of the series.Yeah, it’s been meteoric and pretty crazy, really. As

a young player you just hope to establish yourself

for a club and take it from there. But all this has come

so soon. It’s nuts to think there are guys in their late

20s and 30s who are reaching the pinnacle of their

career, which is the Lions Test shirt, and I had it at

22. It brings a huge responsibility, but you take it

in your stride, and prepare to be a marked man!

A bit of a change from being a secret weapon for Wales and Cardiff last year?Definitely. I’ll see how I cope with that, but I’m sure

there will be a few tricks up my sleeve. We’ll see…

What was the season’s highlight: winning the EDF Cup, top games for Wales, or the Lions?Beating [Heineken Cup tournament favourites]

Toulouse in the quarter-finals was pretty special.

And winning the EDF at Twickenham with 50-odd

points was great, too. But it was tough, as well. We

lost the Heineken semis with a heartbreaking kick

[Cardiff lost to Leicester on penalties with the sides

drawn at 26-26 after extra time], then we gave

Ireland the Six Nations Grand Slam the same way

[courtesy of a Ronan O’Gara drop goal, with the

score at 15-14 to Wales], and lost the second Lions

test with a last-minute penalty [from Morne Steyn,

with the score at 25-25]. But that’s how close the

big games are now. It’s all about the inches.

Can you describe the thrill of pulling on a Lions jersey for the first time?You never forget it. I was picked for the first match,

MR BIG

46

A C T I O N

“ PLAYING FOR THE LIONS IS AN HONOUR AND A PRIVILEGE”

against the Royal 15, and I remember the plaque in

the changing room, listing Lions who’d played in my

position before – Jeremy Guscott, Will Greenwood –

real legends. And that’s when it hit home how big it

is, and how much of an honour and a privilege it is.

The first match was strange because the crowd was

tiny, so there was no atmosphere, which was odd

after the intensity of the dressing room. It was

different for the first Test, though. I ran on with

a huge grin on my face. It was pretty crazy.

As first-choice inside centre for the Lions, does that make you the best in that position?

No. You need luck to get on tour in the first place,

and then there’s form. For example, Riki Flutey

was injured early on and maybe didn’t get as good

a chance as he wanted. The big stars make their

name by taking a chance when they get it.

Hopefully I’m one step closer to that.

Are you and [first-choice Lions centre partner] Brian O’Driscoll best buddies now?[Laughs] I must say he’s a top bloke – a real gent.

He’s great to play alongside, and I was outside

Stephen Jones as well, who’s hugely experienced.

To be sandwiched between those two was pretty

special. Brian’s telepathic. One of the best ever.

So will you smash him when Wales play Ireland?Oh, yes. That’s one of the beauties of the Lions tour.

Everyone looks forward to the Six Nations following

it, and playing against guys you made good friends

with. It will add a bit of spice to each match.

What was your most memorable tour moment?

[Roberts grimaces, for reasons which soon become

apparent.] Well… we were invited to go shooting

on a farm owned by Ollie Le Roux, who used to be

a South Africa prop. It’s a tradition that, after your

first springbok kill, you have to cut its throat and

rub warm blood on your face. Then, if it’s male, you

eat a testicle, and if it’s female, you take a chunk of

its liver. Unfortunately, I shot a male and… well…

[Roberts is turning pale] it was the most disgusting

thing I have ever done. I ate raw testicle. It was

beyond a joke. There was so much peer pressure

I couldn’t say no, out of respect for the guys who

took us shooting. But it was disgusting. I was

almost sick as I was eating it. Really pretty horrific.

How did it taste?

The testicle was crunchy, a bit like calamari… and

warm. It must have been funny for everyone else.

What about a rugby moment?Doing a lap after the final Test win, even though

I didn’t play in it. That was pretty special, seeing all

the fans. The third Test really felt like a home game.

Congratulating the boys who had won the match

really brought a tear to my eye. The Lions needed

that one. It had been eight years since the last win.

Who was the biggest tour joker?Besides myself?! Well, put it this way… there’s

another version of the famous Living With Lions

DVD being put out from this tour, and I think it will

all be about Andy Powell, who plays number eight

for Wales. He’s ridiculously stupid and everybody

loves him to bits for his comedy value.

“What did you think of South Africa’s third-Test protest in support of Bakkies Botha [Botha was banned after the second Test; his team-mates wore defiant ‘Justice 4 Bakkies’ armbands]?It was funny. We thought about playing the second

half with headbands saying: “R U having a laugh?”

What was the dressing-room atmosphere like after the series-losing second Test?I’ve never experienced anything like it. For 20

minutes, there was complete silence. Players were

just sitting there, speechless. To come out on the

losing side after playing all the rugby and with four

of us going to hospital… that was tough. Brian

O’Driscoll had knocked himself senseless, Gethin

Jenkins had a fractured cheekbone… That was quite

funny in hospital, actually. I saw Gethin on a bed,

about to have an operation on his face, and he called

me over. “Smell the doctor’s breath,” he said. I didn’t

know what he meant, and he said again: “Just smell

his breath.” So I did, and the guy reeked of alcohol.

He’d obviously been on call for the match, but had

been at home on an absolute bender. At that point,

our team doctor stepped in and got the op put on

hold. Poor old Geth had to wait another four hours.

Do you get mobbed in Cardiff these days?

I haven’t spent much time back in Cardiff since the

Lions tour, but I got more recognition after the Six

Nations. It was pretty manic, but not embarrassing.

I don’t mind chatting to fans. It comes with the job.

Do you speak Welsh?

Yes, I’m fluent.

Go on then…Rwy’n caru Red Bull. [‘I love Red Bull,’ he chortles

and takes a glug.]

So the national anthem – Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau

[Land of My Fathers] – means something to you?Of course. I was brought up as a Welsh-speaker!

What goes through your mind when you sing the national anthem in the Millennium Stadium?It’s very emotional. You look up at the stands and it’s

like nothing you can compare to in life, but it’s what

makes playing for Wales so special. Whether you

have 10 caps or 100, it’s always the same.

What’s the most valuable

rugby lesson you’ve

learned? Just to have

a laugh playing the game. You

only get 10 years at the top if

you’re lucky, so you’d

best make the most of it.

In one word please

describe:

Warren Gatland

(coach of Wales

and the British

and Irish Lions) Crafty.

Shaun Edwards (assistant to

Gatland)

Crazy.

Gavin Henson

(troubled ex-poster

boy of Welsh rugby) Tanned.

Jonny Wilkinson

(England

outside half)

Skilled.

Bakkies Botha

(South Africa

second-row)

Beast.

Brian O’Driscoll (Ireland and

Lions centre)

Legend.

48

A C T I O N

“ MY MOST MEMORABLE RUGBY MOMENT WAS DOING A LAP AFTER THE FINAL TEST WIN – EVEN THOUGH I DIDN’T PLAY IN IT”

“ I SWEAR QUITE A LOT. NOT REALLY OFF IT, BUT ON THE PITCH”

Who sings it better, Charlotte Church [girlfriend of Gavin Henson] or Katherine Jenkins?Katherine… [He pauses, then bursts out laughing.]

How do the old guard view today’s game?In two ways: the old players have huge respect

for the modern game, but in another way, I reckon

they’re quite disappointed. There’s a much bigger

emphasis on strength and power, whereas in the

’70s, it was a totally different, flash style of play.

Rugby quiz: how many international points did former Wales fly-half Neil Jenkins score?

Oh God. One thousand and thirty-two? [Correct

answer: 1090 for Wales and the Lions.]

Would you change anything about rugby?It’s important that skill isn’t lost. Too much bish-

bash-bosh stuff would put the fans off.

Do you remember being caught by Mathieu Bastareaud in the Wales-France game this year?[Roberts pauses to recollect the two-worlds-collide

impact between the two centres during this year’s

Six Nations encounter.] Yeah, the whistle had gone

and he smashed me! [Laughs] So, God, yeah… He’s

a big lump. I was disappointed by that – never really

been sat down on my arse. One of the first times.

I don’t want to talk about it. Nah…

What’s your best gym exercise?As I’ve had a shoulder operation and my other’s on

its way, shoulder stability work. It’s what I do most.

And your worst?Shoulder rehab! And chin-ups… hmm… don’t like

those, as my strength-to-weight ratio is quite rubbish

because I’m 106kg. You see these small, powerful

guys and their strength-to-weight ratio is quite

awesome. Someone like Shane Williams is really

frustrating: he’s strong as an ox but really light.

Who’s your toughest opponent?Jean de Villiers [South Africa centre and wing]. I’ve

never beaten South Africa when he’s played. He’s

a tough opponent. He runs flat out, no holding back,

and defensively he’s very solid. Hugely physical.

What have you got that some of the young talents you came through against didn’t have?Um… that’s a tough one. I think, a bit of intellect.

Yep. Gets you a long way in rugby because it’s

a thinking man’s game – top two inches.

Talking of brains, you sat your A-levels on tour…Yeah, that was weird. I sat them at 6am in a hotel in

Argentina during the Under-21 World Cup. Luckily,

our coach was an invigilator at Cardiff University,

so I was allowed to do them out there.

And you did well enough to get into medical school. Do you still want to be a doctor?

I’ve done three years and I’ll do the last two part-time

over four years in hospital. It’s a balancing act, but

another challenge. Hopefully I’ll be a qualified doc

in four years’ time. It makes a change from training to

put on a shirt and tie and stroll around the wards.

When did you know you were good enough for first-class rugby?When I had my first Wales cap against Scotland

in 2008 on the wing. I’d been playing on the wing

all season for the Blues, but your first cap is a huge

occasion and you realise you’re there for a reason.

I spent the first half running round like an idiot,

then eventually realised I was good enough. That’s

the key, and that’s what experience is all about.

Who were your role models?Jonah Lomu. He was a big man. And Percy

Montgomery, who was a Springbok, but who also

played for Newport – even though he once punched

the ref. [He actually shoved a touch judge, earning

a six-month ban.] Scott Gibbs, too.

Have you ever been scared on a rugby pitch?Yes. When we played Australia last autumn, I had

a big clash of heads with Stirling Mortlock. That

was pretty scary: I thought I might never play again.

It was a pretty big injury: I fractured my skull.

Do you think more about injuries because of your medical training?

Yeah, most definitely. I’m always interested in the

other boys’ injuries. The doctors and physios can’t

short-change me. I want the full explanation.

How many of your five-a-day do you get?I eat a lot of fruit and veg. Diet is a huge part of

the game now. I usually get my five-a-day, mate.

Do you swear much on the pitch?Yes! [Enthusiastically embraces the idea.] I swear

quite a lot. Not really off it, but on the pitch, in the

heat of battle, I get wound up and use words you

wouldn’t hear me say off the pitch.

What’s the worst pair of shoes you’ve ever had?For my 14th birthday, my mum bought me a pair of

the most rubbish trainers. I almost cried… They were

shit, absolute crap. Yellow and white – disgusting.

I wore them once, on holiday, and that was it.

Which Star Wars character would you be?God. Yoda… so wise. The Master.

Small but powerful… that doesn’t really describe you, does it?

No [laughs]. Not really.

Would you ever grow a beard? No, I don’t think so.

I’ve got quite a big jaw,

so, if I grew a beard,

it would look even bigger.

It’s Desperate Dan, mate.

I’ve been called that numerous

times.

…and what about?

Schalk Berger (Springbok cited for

eye-gouging after

second Lions Test) Gouger.

Scott Gibbs (former Wales centre)

Wrecking ball.

Jonah Lomu (All Black icon)

Bigger wrecking

ball!

Cardiff Great place.

Twickenham Good

memories.

Murrayfield. Good

memories.

Stade de France.

Bad memories.

Croke Park. Big.

Max Boyce. Legend!

51

A C T I O N

Tokyo, neon-scorched techno-metropolis,

showcases Japan at its Samurai-sharpest.

Who better to give us the insider tour than

Ryoji ‘Yanmar’ Yamamoto and Yohei ‘Ucchie’ Uchino,

two of the country’s top BMX riders?

Photography: Richie Hopson

BM X

BANZAI

52

A C T I O N

MARKET RESEARCH

54

COOL AS CATS

WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS

CATCHING AIR

58

A C T I O N

59

A C T I O N

STRIKE A POSE

DINNER DATE

ELECTRIC AVENUE

Beautiful, solitary, uniquely demanding, Red Bull X-Alps is an adventure

competition like no other

Words: Christian Seiler

EUROPE’S TOUGHEST

RACE

63

A C T I O N

S W I T Z E R L A N D

G E R M A N Y

I T A L Y

A U S T R I A

F R A N C E

1

2

3

4

56

7

THE ROUTE

THE ARRIVALA strange noise rings out over Monaco’s harbour as a white

speck appears on the rocky outline of Mont Gros. Da-ring, da-

ring, da-da-ring. Sunbathers spending a perfect sunny day

lazing on the sand beneath the Principality cast an irritated

look over the top of oh-so-chic designer shades. They see three

men in shorts who have taken up position on the quay wall and

are watching the white speck from Mont Gros – how it takes

shape and becomes a person hanging onto a white wing. Da-

ring, da-da-ring. The men are brandishing shiny cowbells as big

as fridges and they laugh and jump for joy as well as any man

with a fridge round his neck can. Because their man, Swiss

paragliding champion Christian Maurer, nicknamed Chrigel, is

about to land on the blue float in the dock and win the fourth

leg of Red Bull X-Alps, the world’s toughest adventure race.

But they’re wrong on two counts: (1) the white speck isn’t

Chrigel Maurer, it’s Thomas Theurillat, Chrigel’s supporter;

and (2) Chrigel Maurer, the second speck coming round Mont

Gros, actually misses the target and ends up in the bright blue

waters of the Côte d’Azur, so it’s not just fans who dash out to

greet him, but lifeguards too. But then he gets onto the float,

hugs his equally sodden supporter, Thomas, and beams. What

a winning margin. What a race. What a winner.

THE RACEChrigel Maurer had won a race that couldn’t be more exclusive.

The course goes from downtown Salzburg to Monaco – 818km

as the crow flies – with seven turning points to pass through:

from Gaisberg to Mont Gros, which towers over Monaco. The 30

participants, chosen by the organisers – Red Bull Air Race pilot

Hannes Arch and world paragliding champion Steve Cox – from

an enormous number of applications, had only two means of

conveyance at their disposal: by paraglider, which, the rules

stated, they must always have with them, or on foot.

Maurer dealt with the difficulties – inhospitable terrain,

huge changes in altitude, inclement weather, tricky orientation

– with clockwork precision. He combined his special flying

skills with elaborate preparation to beat the man in second

place, fellow Swiss Alex Hofer, who had already won Red

Bull X-Alps twice, by no less than a day and a half.

64

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“ If you want to be quick, you must make detours”

THE PARTICIPANTSIt’s not enough to be fit, rugged or determined to master the

Red Bull X-Alps adventure. The challenge requires a special

mixture of physical and mental conditioning. If you want to

get from Salzburg to Monaco quickly, you’ve got to have the

intuition, among other skills, of knowing when to wait for the

weather: the next morning’s wind might take you further than

you could run all night. The need for calm decision-making and

cool creativity finds both young-blooded, vigorous athletes and

leather-skinned men in their prime in the starting line-up. The

oldest man in the field was Japan’s Kaoru Ogisawa, 49, known

to his friends as Ogi, who finished the race in 13th place, some

297km from the finish line (the race ending 48 hours after the

victor’s arrival in Monaco). Chrigel Maurer, 26, combined the

energy of youth with the serenity of the experienced flyer.

He covered 72 per cent of the distance in the air.

THE STRATEGYChrigel Maurer started specific fitness training seven months

before the race. He tested foods at the same time. What was the

right time to eat? What should he eat? And how much? Which

power bar is easy to eat when you’re exhausted? What’s the

best thing to eat in the air? Which isotonic drinks calm the

stomach and which ones add to its acidity? He reappraised

every aspect of his equipment. Which clothing was best for

hiking? Which for flying? How does the weight factor relate

to the efficiency factor? Maurer, a test pilot for paraglider

manufacturers Advance, put his most important piece of

equipment, the wing itself, through the same scrutiny. He

had three prototypes developed, but only the fourth was good

enough to meet the demands of the Red Bull X-Alps adventure,

with its special radius and efficient performance at the lowest

possible weight. He’d have to carry his wing with him at all

times, after all. Apart, that is, from when it was carrying him.

Maurer met Thomas Theurillat, a flying-obsessed

mountain guide and sports psychologist, at Switzerland’s

Mürren airfield, in the shadow of the Eiger. Chrigel quickly

won Thomas’ support, as both were motivated by the prospect

of a joint adventure requiring preparation of unprecedented

thoroughness. Together, they thought the race through from

start to finish, explored scenarios and carried out meticulous

preparations, in order that their calm, advanced decision-

making would withstand the duress of extreme race conditions:

stress, exhaustion and inclement weather. They ran tests for

a week and drew up a psychological road map: The Story of the Ideal Race. It didn’t focus on the course stages, but on six

‘chapters’ that Theurillat’s psychological expertise had defined.

The first was to get started and into a rhythm – Zell am See –

the Italian border – Bolzano – Domodossola – Chamonix –

southwards. Theurillat explains: “It was our own movie. We

were able to tick off every target – not just once, but six times.”

Maurer, the 2004 European champion and 2007 Paragliding

World Cup winner, knew that his strengths meant he could

allow himself to spend as much of the course as possible in the

air. He also knew that running through the night wasn’t his cup

of tea. A fundamental strategy was easy, therefore, to establish,

but just how elaborate the psychological support had become

came to light when Maurer made one of his rare mistakes and

got lost. Theurillat’s advice was almost Buddhist, along the

lines of: “If you want to be quick, you must make detours.”

He explains: “It’s important to reinforce motivation by

setting reachable targets, especially in crisis situations. So

I set the day’s target as sitting drinking beer by 10pm. We

were twice as quick the next day.”

HANNES ARCHHannes Arch is standing in the Red Bull X-Alps press centre’s

temporary home in the shade of the dining area of beach club

Le Note Bleu, and shaking his head. The former BASE-jumper,

test-pilot and current Red Bull Air Race World Champion, who

has played an important role in organising the race since the

outset, is wearing camouflage shorts and flip-flops, and making

one phone call after another. Reports from the course, press

enquiries, co-ordinating briefly with the other organisers.

“Happy with how the race went?”“Extremely happy.”

“What do you like most about the winners?”“That they’re not just quick, they’re smart, too. The Swiss team

has taken this race to a new level.”

“What’s been the main change since the race first began?”“That we’ve managed to bring a sport that used to be reserved

for the few, into the mainstream, thanks to modern technology

and professional communications. You only have to look at

how many people followed the live tracking on the internet

this year to see that.”

“What makes this race’s participants stand out?”“They’re the best. After all, we did choose the 30 athletes with

65

THE KITRace rules state that participants must always carry their

equipment with them. An efficient wing becomes dead weight

upon landing, so must be as light as possible. After numerous

development cycles by the manufacturer, the winner’s wing

weighed no more than 4kg and the pod harness with speed-bag

and a simple protector, just 2kg.

On top of that, there’s clothing, GPS, a mobile, detailed

terrain maps, accessories such as sunglasses, sun cream and

a pocket torch, and the most essential foods. The supporter,

the second man in the team, is responsible for keeping the

participant supplied at the start and end of the day, and for

looking after him mentally and physically.

the best abilities out of a huge number of applications. They’re

in it body and soul. Truly passionate sport stars.”

“You’ve been an extreme-sports star for years yourself. What impresses you about these athletes?”

“Their spirit. They’re in a positive frame of mind even when

they’re doing something incredibly strenuous and dangerous.”

“How big are the risks?”“Big. Any day will see at least five critical situations.”

“When can you relax?”“When the race is over and the final participant is on the ground.”

SOLITUDEThe sky over Salzburg’s Mozartplatz is grey. Music pours out

of the escort vehicles’ speakers as the 30 participants set off.

There’s already a carnival atmosphere by the time they reach

the first turning point on the Gaisberg an hour later. Fans

and onlookers have made their way to Salzburg’s landmark

mountain by bus to see the participants on their first flight

south. It’s raining. Helicopters circle overhead. The tourists get

their cameras out as the sportsmen tackle the ascent in their

identikit turquoise shirts. They calmly open their wings. There’s

the in-run, waving, a joke or two. Then the wind directs them

southwards, towards their goal. But it isn’t where the next

turning point is. The Watzmann is to the west of Salzburg,

which from above looks like a dollhouse town with a fortress

growing out of the middle of it like an optical illusion.

The first flight is short and some of the participants are soon

back on the road in a small throng. There’s banter, but everyone

knows the real challenges are yet to begin. By the time the

next ascent comes round on a favourable wind, the better flyers

separate from the better runners and the different strategies

that will accompany the sportsmen on their way become clear.

This is where they will spend the days ahead until the finish

line looms into view. Alone. In intense dialogue with their

own fears and weaknesses. Ahead lie experiences that will be

frustrating and arduous, but incredibly beautiful. Chrigel Maurer

remembers a moment in the Swiss Alps, when the sun was

setting behind the clouds and a perfect peace reigned over the

landscape, that he forgot about the race and just stayed put, until

half an hour later he remembered there was no time to spare.

“ The sportsmen tackle the ascent and calmly open their wings”

66

THE SUPPORTERS They drive the camper vans as the shattered sportsmen get

a couple of hours’ sleep before the crack-of-dawn alarm call

(as long as the participants find the camper vans or the camper

vans can get to where the participants want to spend the night).

They cook spaghetti over an open flame so their partner gets

some warm food inside him; they tend to the blisters on his feet;

they wash his sweat-soaked clothes and make sure there are dry

clothes waiting for him the next morning; and get the coffee

ready on time. They are drivers, cooks, pastors, shrinks and

whipping boys. German participant Michael Gebert, for instance,

explains how, “...when I’m overwrought I can get weirdly

worked up about the fact that the van isn’t waiting where we

arranged for it to be waiting, just 100m away. I can go berserk.”

Thomas Theurillat worked out how to get rid of Chrigel

Maurer’s negative energy by drawing a pretty picture of the

perfect race: a wooden tub made of 14, 15 planks – equipment,

strategy, communication, etc. According to Theurillat, the

tub’s content would be determined by the shortest of them.

He focused on how to act when stressed and tired, and how to

manage aggression. In the van there was a checklist of what

had to be done every evening (“Are all appliances charging?”),

and what mustn’t be forgotten in the morning rush (“maps?

cagoule?”), so snafus just didn’t happen. PH

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THE WINNERChrigel Maurer is sitting barefoot in a chair while Monegasque

waiters clatter around behind him. He shows off his feet. “No

blisters,” he says with some satisfaction. That’s no mean feat

after 380km by foot in nine days – a marathon-equalling 42km

a day. But he never went too far, following his supporter’s

advice of stopping before he got too tired in order to recover

quickly. He was in the lead early on, and that sense of being

up-front motivated him to try daring moves such as his start

at the Weisstor Pass, the Matterhorn already in view. Thomas

Theurillat dragged a rope along behind him, which Chrigel

Maurer hung onto like a dragon. Then he climbed, lifted off

and flew. Up and away. Towards the south.

His face is looking weather-beaten and his eyes are deep-

set. But the effects of the last nine days aren’t what dominate

the victor’s face. That’s his smile, which isn’t yet completely

relaxed, but will be tomorrow morning once he’s had a good

night’s sleep. Chrigel orders pasta – what else? He looks out

over the blue sea, gently shakes his head and says, “Such

a shame it was all over so quickly.”

67

A C T I O N

EYE OF THE STORM

68

Superstardom has its price – just ask Sebastian Vettel, a 22-year-old so in demand he scarcely has time to breathe. This is his Hungarian GP weekend Words: Anthony Rowlinson Photography: Thomas Butler

A C T I O N

e’s in there somewhere. That much we

know. Behind a phalanx of cameramen,

each attached umbilically to a pseudo-

celeb presenter, Sebastian Vettel is

holding court, fielding questions (so

many questions) about tyres, fuel levels,

track temperatures, the drivers’ world

championship, this, that, the other.

It’s the kind of media moment about

which 21st-century Earth dwellers have

become blasé through familiarity, but

still the intensity of the spotlight on

certain individuals retains the power

to dazzle. Vettel, the winner of three

Formula One Grands Prix, as he speaks

at 16.08 on the opening Thursday

afternoon of the 2009 Hungarian GP

weekend, is a choice morsel for an

entertainment-hungry world. So much so

that to those at the rear of this scrum, he

has become invisible. He literally cannot

be seen by anyone more than 5ft away.

“Is he in there?” asks a bemused,

onlooking Giorgio Ascanelli, Vettel’s

former engineering boss at Italian team

Scuderia Toro Rosso. He shakes his

head, smiles. “He really has become

a superstar. Good luck to him. He’s a

great driver and a good human being.”

But such is the demand for this

young man’s thoughts, opinions and

remarkably easy humour, he’s at risk

of being devoured by that which most

desires him. His gift, dare it be suggested,

is also his curse. So young (22) and so

talented (the youngest ever winner of

a Formula One Grand Prix – the 2008

Italian edition – aged 21 years and 74

days) he is also possessed of a native

wit that makes him camera candy.

Faced by a hundred lenses and – count

’em – an equal number of microphones,

and in cruel afternoon heat of more

than 40ºC, he nevertheless remains

calm, gracious and almost sweat-free.

The faintest trace of moisture beads

beneath his cap peak are the only hint

Hthat, yes, right now, Sebastian Vettel

is earning his money. “Sebastian,

Sebastian. Over here, Sebastian…”

Reality check: less than 12 hours

earlier, Swiss-domiciled Seb had

smacked his 5am-chirping alarm, rolled

to the shower, then clothes, juice and out

to the waiting car that would swoosh

him the 50-minute ride to Zurich airport.

These were his last moments of peace

until late Sunday evening.

It’s 07.09 when he arrives at the

airport’s General Aviation Centre. No

entourage, but he is accompanied by his

trainer, Tommi Parmakoski, who helps

Seb with his bags, but who’s by no means

his ‘bag man’. Vettel has a pre-arranged

filming slot for The Red Bulletin and trots

into our makeshift studio looking fresh

as a pill from a blister pack. In a trainers-

shorts-T-shirt-cap combo that’s more

‘hanger-on’ than ‘hero’, it’s hard to equate

this slight, bright figure with the track

tiger who’s fighting for the F1 World

Championship. There’s no trace of grand

superstar swagger – yet – but there is

intensity. We have him for 45 minutes

and he wants to go, now.

“Where do I sit?”

“Here. Anything to drink?”

“No, we can just do it.”

Like any racing driver, he’s in a hurry,

but unlike most, he’s smart and unjaded

enough still to be engaged with what’s

before him. This time he has a 20-word

script to learn, in German and English,

before it can be read to camera. He does

so – fast – and we’re able to wrap up our

slot 10 minutes ahead of time.

And so, with minimum fuss and

maximum effectiveness, he’s gone. In

his wake, he leaves the impression of

a young man still as humorous as when

he turned up in the F1 paddock three

years ago, but who’s not really boyish

anymore. There’s a warrior edge now;

this is an ambitious sportsman who

70

IT’S HARD TO EQUATE THIS

SLIGHT, BRIGHT FIGURE WITH

THE TRACK TIGER

71

“SEB LIKES THE ENVIRONMENT

OF THE CIRCUIT. NOT MANY OF THEM

WANT TO STAY UNTIL 11PM”

72

understands his mission and who wants

nothing to break his stride. Our Zurich

snapshot is a hint of what’s to come.

We next see Seb around seven

hours later. During this time,

he, and we, have flown to

Budapest’s Ferihegy airport,

hired cars (or in Seb’s case, been picked

up by a Red Bull Racing driver) and

found our way across melting motorway

tarmac to the Hungaroring race circuit.

It’s 40km from town, and the neighbouring

waterslide aquapark sits in cool, blue

view of the track, taunting all those

who toil under the furious sun.

For most of the past three hours,

Vettel has been getting maximum

‘brain time’ with his engineers and

team management, Jonathan Wheatley

and Christian Horner. At 11.30 he

walked the track with trainer Tommi,

his race engineer, Guillaume Rocquelin

(‘Rocky’), and a technician from engine

supplier Renault, before heading into

a detailed debrief session. This is the

‘real stuff’ – the talk of engine mapping,

throttle settings, flap angles, balance,

grip and speed – that hones a mechanical

device built from carbon and exotic

metals into a race-winning car. Some

drivers – greats such as Michael

Schumacher and Ayrton Senna – love

this time, as does Seb. Others, even

recent world champions, see their job

as simply to drive the hell out of the car

without so much as a nod or shake of

the head to indicate its effectiveness.

Wheatley, team manager of Red Bull

Racing, spotted early Vettel’s affinity

for technical natter, and, 10 races since

Seb’s first for RBR, he’s still amazed

by this near-addiction: “He likes the

environment at the circuit and I’m not

used to seeing that in a driver. Not many

of them want to stay until 11pm. It makes

him pretty challenging to work with, like

all good drivers, as he won’t just accept

what’s black and what’s white – he wants

to know why. He’s a pro who wants to

learn from his own lessons.”

But there are many demands on

a Formula One driver’s time and one of

them – an engagement with one of RBR’s

partners the Rauch drinks company –

draws Vettel from the debrief. He pops

out from the back of the team garage and

strides 10m of concrete to the Red Bull

Energy Station, the all-purpose mobile

home that serves as diner, hospitality

unit, media hub, management office and

chill-out zone. It also has a secret top

floor where partners can be entertained.

Today it’s reserved for the man from

Rauch, whose products are to be

endorsed by a grip ’n’ grin from Seb.

Vettel’s sharp and bright, shaking hands

quickly with all whose hands need

shaking, but passing by The Bulletin with

a grin, noting, “I did you this morning.”

It’s these giveaway moments that reveal

his superior mental capacity.

Half an hour, then, with Rauch –

a spell which prompts the inevitable:

“This is why you wanted to become a

Formula One driver, isn’t it, Sebastian?”

He responds with a smile-cum-frown.

Within moments of wrapping up,

Vettel’s ever-present media hand and

schedule dominatrix, Britta Roeske, has

whisked him to the next engagement:

the ‘face the press’ open media session

mentioned earlier.

If Vettel is busy, Britta’s busier. She

constantly manages his time, whirling

Seb between engineers, TV, sponsors,

print media, fans, and sundry other

commitments, such as appearances

for F1’s governing body, the FIA.

Last year, before Vettel’s arrival from

sister team Toro Rosso, Britta’s days

were, shall we say, a little less pressured.

“I can’t eat anymore,” she says, on the run

between Energy Station and Media Centre,

breathlessly checking her BlackBerry as

we scurry. “I can’t even drink anymore.

If I leave the media centre with Sebastian,

we’re mobbed.” This is true. Her job

has become gatekeeper as much as

timekeeper, and while she handles

the attention with good-natured

indefatigability, there’s little doubt

that working with Seb is a wild ride.

“The amount of media attention he

gets has gone crazy this year,” she says.

“We have so many interview requests

we have to conduct a lot of them by

email, so that I can ask Sebastian the

questions and send back the replies.

It’s one way of saving time.”

Time: there just ain’t enough. For

the rest of the day, Seb’s schedule runs

something like this: 16.24, mass print

media call in Red Bull Energy Station

(approximately 20 journalists); 16.38,

mini-media session, with three English-

speaking journalists; 16.43, mini media

session with four German-speaking

journalists, during which Roeske leaves

Vettel’s side for the first time that

afternoon, confident that he’s ‘among

friends’; 17.04, Seb takes 90 seconds

to catch a glimpse of stage 18 of the

Tour de France, before being handed

a microphone and asked to speak (in

Italian) to TV channel Mediaset, which

is broadcasting live F1 coverage; 17.17,

73

A C T I O N

he leaves the Energy Station to walk the

length of the paddock (five minutes) to

the track’s main straight, where several

thousand fans are awaiting the chance

to have a ‘fan card’ autographed.

For the first time in his recent

sequence of perpetual movement, Vettel

is still, as he sits on a chair alongside

team-mate Mark Webber and drivers

from the Force India and Williams teams,

all of them behind a desk and beneath

an awning. The brave sextet face a horde

of humanity surely transported from

the front row of a stadium gig, complete

with barriers, heavies and armed police

to keep order. Maybe 100 get an

autographed card; thousands will leave

disappointed, robbed by lack of time. By

17.38 Seb’s done, and he returns to the

Energy Station, unmobbed for the first

time that day (most journalists have

retreated to their desks to file reports

for TV bulletins or tomorrow’s papers).

At 17.43 he has another interview – a

one-to-one – and for the first time looks

a little hot and bothered, and actually

has to lift his cap to wipe his brow.

He isn’t finished, though, no way.

Next up is a massage and download

with Tommi before dinner at the track,

sharing food, time and information

with his engineers. By now it’s around

7pm, paddock witching hour, when

most journalists, photographers, senior

team personnel, drivers and sundry

entourages have left for a flagon of wine

and a gossip. Mr Vettel, however, stays

on and doesn’t, in fact, return to his

hotel, Budapest’s elegant waterfront

Four Seasons, until after 10.30pm.

Note: Sebastian Vettel, Formula One

driver, has yet to sit in his car.

The ferocious hammering of an

air gun is a reminder, as if it

were needed, that the weekend’s

first practice session is about to

start. Car number 15 is up on jacks as

last-second tech checks are made by

meaty-forearmed mechanics. Its driver,

S Vettel, is becalmed, strapped into

its carbon-fibre cockpit.

“It’s his office – he knows where

everything is and it’s just as he wants it.

Like your desk or mine,” says Jonathan

Wheatley. “It’s why he’s so calm in

there. This is what he does.”

Some office: it’ll do more than

200mph, corner and brake at more than

4G, and it’ll self-ignite if left stationary

for too long. Frantic, even violent,

though a ‘live’ F1 car may seem to an

outsider, it is tended by perfectly

“ HOW SEB’S SO FOCUSED WITH ALL

THE ATTENTION HE GETS IS NOTHING

SHORT OF INCREDIBLE”

74

A C T I O N

choreographed garage crews and driven

with the deft but brutal hand of an

expert whose skills are beyond ordinary

comprehension. For the 20 or so elite

individuals deemed fit for the task each

year, piloting a Formula One car at

ludicrous speeds is a day job – a uniquely

demanding one, of course – but a day job

nonetheless. It’s outside the cockpit that

things get complicated.

“He’s very calm during races,” says

Wheatley. “He doesn’t say too much

to us over the radio unless something

goes wrong. He’s very focused and

very mature. He has the qualities and

motivating ability that you need to be

a world champion. He brings people up.”

Over four, timed, on-track sessions

across Friday and Saturday, Vettel

and his crew are in constant dialogue,

constant motion, in and out of the car.

A machine that on Friday is unbalanced

and not able to fulfil its ultimate

performance potential has become, by

the end of Saturday’s qualifying session

to determine race-start positions, second

fastest. “It was clear that we had very,

very good grip on Friday, but we couldn’t

find the balance,” says Wheatley. “As

a driver, he focused on that with the

engineers very hard overnight, and

by Saturday he had a car that was on

fuel-corrected pole position. How he

manages that with the amount of media

attention he gets is nothing short of

incredible. But he’s here to race. He

does the other stuff, but he tolerates it.

He puts on his grin and gets on with it.”

Grinning… Winning. Come Sunday

morning, after another late night at the

track, live media chats for German TV

station RTL, FIA media time, hours

more debriefing, there’s only one thing

left to do: win. On paper, Vettel’s RB5 is

the car to have. It’s second on the grid

with a heavy fuel load, meaning that by

one-third distance it should, if all goes

to plan, be in the lead. No more smiles

now, it’s visor-down time.

But… An imperfect getaway slows

Seb on the run to the first corner; he is

clipped by eventual second-place man,

Kimi Räikkönen of Ferrari. The RB5’s

delicately perfected handling balance

has been destroyed and Seb cannot

match the front-running pace.

On lap 27, car 15 returns to the Red

Bull Racing garage for a safety check. It

has been handling so badly – dragging its

belly on the track surface and wanting to

turn only left – that Vettel is convinced

something is broken. The inspection says

no and he’s sent out again, with new

tyres, more fuel and a new front wing.

But three laps later it’s over; Seb’s car

is skewered and unraceable.

For the first time since his 5am

Thursday alarm call, Sebastian Vettel

has been forced to take a backward step.

Shoulders slumped in the cockpit, this

fierce-burning individual has been

briefly doused by circumstance. The

incalculable amount of personal and

team energy that has gone into making

him a potential race winner has been

sapped, if only briefly.

After a minute, maybe two, Vettel

pops his belts, wriggles, stands up in

the cockpit and steps out to the left (one

of his quirks – he never enters or leaves

from the right). He unclips his helmet,

grabs his fireproof balaclava at the top

of his head, tears it off, and – there –

he shows what all this sound and fury

means. Seb’s face is crimson and wet

with effort. The seams of the padding

inside his helmet have pressed deep

creases into his cotton-soft face. His

short hair is sodden; his eyes burning;

his breath hard; and the back of his

neck steaming. Formula One drivers,

so hidden from view, fight as hard as

any bare-knuckle boxer.

His race weekend is almost over and

unsatisfactorily so. He has slipped to

third place in the drivers’ championship,

and behind Webber, for the first time

since April. Still, he must face the

voracious media corps camped just the

other side of the garage exit, awaiting

an explanation of the obvious. It’s a

brutal, draining coda for a guy who’s

already been kicked, but he faces the

demands with equanimity.

“He won’t be down for long,” notes

team principal Christian Horner.

“Sebastian is a very resilient individual.

I’m sure he’ll take this disappointment

and come back even more strongly

motivated for the next race.”

There’s time, of course, for another

debrief, one more motorhome

meal, a shower, a massage and

a cool down. By 18.10 Sebastian

is finally ready to leave the track. Backpack

slung low over his shoulders, fingers

tapping furiously into his iPhone as he

walks to the team car that will take him

and family (carpenter father Norbert and

younger brother Fabian) to the airport,

Seb is once again the uncomplicated

youngster who just happens to be one of

the fastest, most in-demand racing drivers

on the planet. Belted in to the front seat of

an Audi Q7, he could be your kid brother.

75

A C T I O N

78 HANGAR-7 INTERVIEW 80 TRAVEL 84 LISTINGS 88 NIGHTLIFE 94 BULL’S EYE 96 SHORT STORY 98 MIND’S EYE

Taking you on a cultural world tour.…

More Body & Mind

77 77

So what brings you to Salzburg?We came from Prague. It was a great

concert with maybe 5000 people.

Everyone just wants to hear classics

like Boombastic. Songs that people

just can’t get enough of.

And this is your first time here?I think so. I’ve always gone to Vienna

in the past, when I’ve visited Austria.

So definitely your first time in Hangar-7?It’s my first time in the hangar. Quite

impressive. Let’s see how it works live.

As a musician, you must be on planes all the time. Have you ever thought about getting your own pilot’s licence?It would be very cool to do that. I know

John Travolta does it. But he’s got one

of the big DC-10s or an incredibly huge

747 or some crap like that.

But you don’t own any planes yourself?I only have passions for things that I can

afford! They’re nice to look at, but it’s

a bit like old cars. If you buy an old car,

you’ve got to buy the mechanic too. You

have to keep fixing them. I prefer newer

vehicles. I have a convertible Bentley, so

although I don’t collect them, it’s certainly

not the worst car you could own.

Every rock star seems to have had a horror story in the sky. What’s yours?I have a few actually! OK, the best one…

We had to land with one engine on

a flight from Australia to New Zealand.

We looked out of the window and could

see smoke coming from the engines. It

wasn’t a long trip, but it really freaks you

out when you see those oxygen masks

drop. You suddenly realise this is serious.

You seem to be pretty much constantly on tour. What’s the thing you wouldn’t want missing in your tour bus?I’m a simple guy on the bus. As long

as there’s food and a good movie I’m

great. And I haven’t even watched a

movie since being on the bus this time.

So, what do you do?You can sit around the table in the

lounge area and chill to some music

and laugh. The dancehall fraternity is

a very colourful one. There’s always a

lot happening. You become entangled in

it. It’s not just the music but the drama.

Who’s battling who? Who dissed who?

It becomes this thing that you buy into.

Like watching a soap or something?Yeah. There’s always these trans-global

conversations going on. But I listen to

other styles too. I listen to everything.

It depends what mood I’m in. Although

reggae’s my heart and soul.

Do you feel you can build that authentic Jamaican dancehall vibe when you’re not at home in the Caribbean? It’s pretty universal. Tonight this venue

will be more like a pop show. But we

could go to Vienna and get a hardcore

dancehall crowd easily. They come

out of the woodwork. I love playing in

Jamaica, but I prefer to take it outside

of there because everybody in Jamaica

already knows Shaggy. Taking it outside

– to the world – that’s incredible.

Do you change the set list for each setting and crowd?If I come on to a very urban dancehall

crowd, I’ll just switch it right there.

I don’t even have to tell the band. When

the show starts I just walk on, no rituals

beforehand really. I might try to rest my

vocals because they’re gold. But every

band I’ve toured with, I see them go into

a circle and do a nice prayer. With our

band, we’re such heathens, we just take

this thing for granted. I actually feel bad

Dancehall popstar Shaggy has been bringing Jamaican sunshine to European charts for more than 15 years. Florian Obkircher caught up with the gravel-voiced legend as the European tour rolled into Salzburg’s Hangar-7 for the night

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ShaggyThe Hangar-7 Interview

78

M O R E B O D Y & M I N D

seeing those bands saying their prayers.

Damn, we just go onstage and play…

that sucks. We need to do something!

You just mentioned that voice of yours. I remember hearing it for the first time on Oh Carolina in 1993 and thinking, damn, I’ve never heard a voice like that. How did you get that style? Well the vocal style is certainly unique.

I can sing normally, but then you just sound

like everybody else. When you sing with…

[cuts into the trademark Shaggy snarl]

then you get a signature. On Oh Carolina

I changed the sound and it was out there.

Do you have a rough idea of how often you’ve played it? Oh, thousands of times. I can’t count them.

And do you still like playing it?Absolutely! It amazes me how you can

sit and write a song and it affects people’s

lives. People know where they were

when they first heard it, and it could be

10 or 15 years ago, but they still know

the line. You come up with a catchphrase

like “It wasn’t me”, and somehow it

becomes a part of pop culture.

I must ask this. It’s too obvious not to ask. You’re known as Mr Lover Lover… what do you think of Austrian women?They’re very beautiful. This is a very

beautiful country. I’ve been here so

many times and it’s one of the few places

in Europe that I could live. I like the

mountains. I think it has it all.

Ever been skiing?No. I’m black! Skiing is not for me.

Will you be out in Salzburg later. Are you still a party guy?Truth be told, I just wanna sleep. I’m

a big party guy, but I like doing it when

I’m rested! I’ve been having a sleep

problem, my eyes are burning right now.

How much longer is the tour?I have 25 to 30 shows.

Some days off in between?A few… very few.

79

Famed as the refuge of monks and 007 villains, the stunning Meteora rocks in Greece now draw ardent slackliners. Join them – or watch from a safe distance

Walkingin the Air

80

M O R E B O D Y & M I N D

Few landscapes in Greece are as dramatic

as the monastery-crowned rock pillars

of Meteora – home to a dwindling

number of ecclesiastics but an increasing

quantity of highline daredevils.

These sandstone cliff faces once

deterred invading Ottoman Turks, but,

in a different age, were a mere walk

in the park for one James Bond. Her

Majesty’s favourite secret agent scaled

one of Meteora’s sheer faces in For Your

Eyes Only, stopping at the top to lower

a massive basket to his accomplices –

the same used by the real-life monks

of the Agia Triada monastery from

the 14th century until the 1920s.

Sets of interconnected stairways

have since replaced the rope baskets and

ladders that hoisted the faithful up and

down the cliff faces – which will come

as a relief for modern-day travellers,

because the monks believed it was up

81

to the Almighty to determine when

a basket was to be replaced. Namely, when

the rope snapped or the basket broke.

In recent years, pilgrims of a different

stripe have been seeking precarious

passage to and through the five monasteries

and one convent that still exist atop the

spectacular rocks, hewn in the Tertiary

period. Theirs, however, is not a

circumnavigation for the faint of heart

(or, perhaps, the sound of mind).

The sport of slacklining, begun by

bored Californian rock climbers on

days when the weather prohibited

them from scaling the faces of Yosemite

National Park, counts as one of the most

spectacular pursuits in this vivid area

in Thessaly, central Greece. On a line

of slim, flexible nylon webbing (see

above) strung between gaps using

hoists and fixed into place with safety

ties, the slackliners walk. A rope

attached to the underside of the line

is their only safety measure.

In Meteora, this means walking across

gaps from between 30 and 50m wide, on

‘highlines’ 100-250m above the ground.

German Sebastian Eggler, pictured on

the previous page, is making his way

across a line 41m long and between 150

and 200m in the air on the highest peak.

The monasteries tolerate the new

vocation, and the local bishop allows

slackliners to set up their lines on the

rock faces, some of which reach 550m,

as long as they’re out of the field of vision

of the monasteries. But you can still see

some slackliners, pinpricks in the sky,

from the town of Kalampaka, the region’s

hub, which shoulders the hospitality

demands of guests, along with the

nearby Kastraki. The latter serves as

a popular destination for rock climbers,

who can reach prime spots a few

minutes’ walk from their hotel.

Of the monks and nuns who populated

Megalo Meteoro, Roussanou, Agios

Nikolaos Anapafsas, Varlaam Monastery,

Agia Triada and the Agios Stefanos

convent in their hundreds of years of

existence, only a handful remain. But

the monasteries themselves are open

to the public for a nominal entrance fee,

and the network of paths and stairways

makes it possible to visit all of them

in one day. If you’re lucky, you’ll sneak

peeks at the mad few balancing their

way across the precarious drops.

Ready to rock?

Get the Gear

82

M O R E B O D Y & M I N D

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WORLD MOUNTAIN BIKE AND TRIALS CHAMPIONSHIPS 01 - 06.09.09

WRC AUSTRALIAN RALLY03 - 06.09.09

RED BULL STREET STYLE 05.09.09

RED BULL ELITE YOUTH CUP05 - 06.09.09

RAT RACE ADVENTURE05 - 06.09.09

MOTOGP SAN MARINO06.09.09

EUROPEAN CHAMPIONSHIP TOUR – ENGLISH MASTERS09 - 13.09.09

RED BULL DOLOMITENMANN11 -12.09.09

RED BULL UPSTREAM12 .09.09

RED BULL AIR RACE WORLD CHAMPIONSHIPS

200912 - 13. 09. 09

RED BULLBALINERAS RACE

06. 09. 09

84

M O R E B O D Y & M I N D

DTM BARCELONA 20.09.09

RED BULL MANNY MANIA IRELAND23.09 - 03.10.09

IFSC CLIMBING WORLD CUP25 - 26.09.09

RED BULL STREET STYLE (QUALIFIER)26.09.09

RED BULL FLUGTAG27.09.09

MAXXIS BRITISH CHAMPIONSHIP27.09.09

BRITISH 2 STROKE CHAMPIONSHIP/PRO NATIONALS12 - 13.09.09

ITALIAN FORMULA ONE GRAND PRIX11 - 13.09.09

FIM MOTOCROSS WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP13.09.09

UCI MOUNTAIN BIKE WORLD CUP 19 - 20.09.09

CYCLE MESSENGER WORLD CHAMPIONSHIPS19 - 23.09.09

RED BULL CLIFF DIVING SERIES

20. 9. 09

BRITISH KITESURFING ASSOCIATION EVENT

25 - 27.09.09

85

M O R E B O D Y & M I N D

86

M O R E B O D Y & M I N D

THE BLACK BOX REVELATION

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CARL COX & ADAM FREELAND 01.09.09

THOMAS TRUAX04.09.09

TWO DAYS A WEEK FESTIVAL04 - 05.09.09

DISCO 3000 04 - 06.09.09

ELECTRIC PICNIC 04 - 06.09.09

MJ COLE 05.09.09

BUMBERSHOOT05 - 07.09.09

DJ A-TRAK

NIGHTSPOTSOur pick of the best of art and music festivals around the globe that you won’t want to miss

87

M O R E B O D Y & M I N D

MANHATTAN JAZZ QUINTET10.09.09

CARIBOU VIBRATION ENSEMBLE10.09.09

BURAKA SOM SISTEMA 11.09.09

BESTIVAL 11 - 13.09.09

ATP NEW YORK11 - 13.09.09

DJ HARVEY @ SUNDAY BEST06.09.09

DERRICK MAY06.09.09

GREEN & BLUE07.09.09

NEVERLAND MOVIE TOUR08 – 12.09.09

NUMUSIC FESTIVAL 200909 - 13.09.09

UPPER EAST, HAMBURG

INSA

The street artist with a thing for pins goes into the small hours down the pub and up on the roof. Rebecca Nicholson joined him

Nightcrawler

INSALONDON

Portraitof anArtist

88

OUTLOOK FESTIVAL 11 - 13.09.09

FESTIVAL DE SAINT-NOLFF 12.09.09

WESTWIND FESTIVAL 12.9.09

SCOPITONE FESTIVAL 16 – 20.09.09

JAZZANOVA17.09.09

DAM-FUNK, BENJI B18.09.09

PHO

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PHY:

JA

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OW

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89

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PHO

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THE BLACK BOX

REVELATIONBRUGES

The Green Room

Blues in BrugesMixing a hint of White Stripes with a healthy dose of Jagger, Belgian blues rockers The Black Box Revelation shook up Cactus Festival. Nick Amies was there to chronicle the madness

90

M O R E B O D Y & M I N D

FABRICLIVE – DJ MARKY & FRIENDS18.09.09

LONDON FASHION WEEK18 - 23.09.09

NOMO 19.09.09

MAD PROFESSOR19.09.09

APPLEBLIM22.09.09

ARTHUR’S DAY 24.09.09

91

M O R E B O D Y & M I N D

Hip-hop and electro DJ A-TRAK has played beat-maker to Kanye West and was crowned DMC world DJ champion, aged just 15, back in 1997. So it’s only natural that the Canadian calls ‘hip-hop mecca’ Brooklyn, NYC, his home

Resident Artist

No Sleep Till Brooklyn

A-TRAKBROOKLYN

92

M O R E B O D Y & M I N D

REEPERBAHN FESTIVAL24 - 26.09.09

L’OSOSPHÉRE FESTIVAL 25 - 26.09.09

OSUNLADE26.09.09

FORMULA ONE GRAND PRIX SINGAPORE/F1 ROCKS24 - 27.09.09

PARKLIFE FESTIVAL 26 - 27.09.09 & 3 – 5.10.09

JESSE SAUNDERS3.10.09

UPPER EAST

HAMBURG

Don’t Fear the ReeperbahnUschi Korda visits a new club that’s bringing a flavour of New York glitz to Hamburg

The World’s Best Clubs

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93

Scaling uncharted heights of comic genius, this month’s cartoons have left Ricky Gervais stuck at base camp

Bull’sEye

94

M O R E B O D Y & M I N D

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A story by Mark P Hughes

He sits looking around him

in the bar, a place full of the

strangest people. A man with

a glass eye is telling anyone

who will listen about how he writes all

Ry Cooder’s music and how Ry steals it

off him in his dreams: “F***in’ walks in

at night, bold as brass, uninvited, like

some biblical character, looks me in the

eye from across the room for a while,

intense, then smirks and walks off into

the hills that are hidden behind the wall.

There goes another f***er. I try to get

the song down as soon as I wake, but it’s

too late. F***er’s CD is out the next day

and there it is, exactly as I heard it.”

“Oysters!” shouts another man,

randomly, to no one in particular.

Earlier, he’s explained how he’s cut off

the ear of a jealous love rival, showed

Robert the knife he’s done it with, “to

stop him taking calls from my woman”.

same corner of the room – a young kid,

slimmer, hairier, more optimistic,

excited, wanting to taste everything on

his travels, with no idea yet what was

going to become of him, future limitless.

What was going to become of him?

He still didn’t know. How come he was

back here? A flair for melancholy had

developed, then enveloped him, over

the years. Why hadn’t he amounted

to anything, for all his brilliance? He

thought fondly of his college friend,

Barack, who always had a plan, was

always on his way somewhere. Robert

Two women, available for hire, beautiful

embodiments of ‘the trap’, that part of

the brain that recognises pleasing form

and translates it into desire, are just

catching up with each other for now,

sitting at one of the rickety tables,

drinking and gossiping.

A woman, whose beautiful days are

behind her, glides a serene practised

path between the tables: Madame Rosso.

It’s her bar. It used to be on the fringes

of a jungle, at the end of a mud path,

a few locals and downtime oil workers.

Now, it’s exactly the same bar, same

furnishings, same dark Moroccan feel

inside; but outside, it’s surrounded by

glitzy reflecting glass skyscrapers and

four lanes of traffic. Three decades

between the two scenes, and Robert has

been in both of them, but in none of the

intervening ones. He can almost see

himself as he was then, sitting in the

He thought of his college friend, Barack, who always had a plan

Barack Phones a FriendIf your life is a journey of many stops on a windblown freeway, what happens when you suddenly reach your fate, for so long hidden beyond the distant horizon?

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About the authorMark P Hughes is the Grand Prix editor of Autosport magazine, and assists the BBC TV commentary team behind the scenes at each Formula One race. MPH’s poetic turn of phrase has been likened to the work of Ernest Hemingway by New Zealand journalist Eoin Young.

had known many people like that then,

but Barack was unique among them in

that his journey’s passage didn’t stop

him seeing the scenery on the way.

The others – the ambitious lawyers,

architects, doctors – their paths were

so straight, forming an arrow on the

horizon, they sped down them faster

than a Mach 1 Mustang on the desert

highway. So they never got to ponder,

were never slowed by reflection, doubts

or any of life’s riddles, and never really

came to contemplate why things were

as they were. Barack had always been

intrigued by Robert’s propensity to

dawdle by the roadside, and was

even able to do a little of it himself

in between following the plan.

But Robert had no plan. Oh, he got

into computers, invented software that

kept the money coming in, allowed him

to continue his real pursuits – literature,

be seeing of earth right now, only four-

point-three years ago: if there really is

such a thing as transference – the instant

transfer of information regardless of

the speed of light, with physicists still

arguing whether that’s possible or not –

then maybe we could get in touch with

them and arrange a betting scam.

Music playing into the headphones

the whole time, chiming with the

thoughts, hear how that band’s dynamic

is anchored by the Hammond organ

being used as rhythm – lets the drummer

fly about all over the place, the drum

as a lead instrument, very different. A

slight chill now as we reach the foothills,

engine feeling gutsier as it gets nice

dense air to work with.

So, as he watches the two ladies

in the bar, he ponders again on ‘the

trap’. Seems more finely-developed in

man than woman. Woman can look at

a car and see just a shape in metal. Man

looks at it and sees whether that shape

is proportionally ‘correct’ or not.

Generalisation, but largely true. Man

looks at a woman and sees whether

she looks proportionally correct, alert

to it like a tiger sensing movement in

the distant scrub. Probably to do with

Darwinism, how the male needed to seed

as many different women as possible to

maximise the chances of his lineage

being continued, whereas woman could

only be seeded one pregnancy at a time.

So, today, he’s trapped by something

ancient that’s no longer appropriate. And

women like these two in Madame Rosso’s

bar can profit from it if they choose.

Thoughts interrupted by, “Hey,

Proust!” It’s the loudmouth madman at

the bar he’d talked with earlier, drunker

now. Time to get going, to leave the

nostalgic reverie – step back into today.

And still no clue as to what he wants to

do. And it’s troubling him now, just as

it was when he decided to set off on this

jaunt. Well into the journey – still no

answers, just better questions.

Walking into the sunlight, his mobile

rings. “Hello, is that Robert?” Yes. “Wow,

you took a lot of tracking down. I have

The President on the line.”

ecology, philosophy, physics, psychology,

economics – knowledge for its own sake.

He even formed new understandings,

outside of accepted academia, brilliant

theories – new takes on accepted

wisdom. In between, he liked to meet

new people in new places, tinker with

his cars, ride his motorbike, listen

to his music and undertake voyages

of discovery with no set destination.

No plan. He gorged on life, just

breathe in, breathe out, choose your own

ground. How does that buzzard ‘see’ the

thermals? Feel that slight directional

vagueness: what is it – hub bearing

becoming worn? What material do they

use? Why? A waft of roadside café bacon

– what receptors in the brain electrically

relay that to its pleasure centre? Did that

shaman really go off to some other plane

last night? Does that other plane really

exist? Does the shaman’s perception of

its existence bring it into existence? Does

that apply to everything? What is the

universe expanding into? What if the

expansion isn’t uniform? It will skew the

observations. Does that mean we don’t

need the mysterious dark energy to

explain away the expansion? Look at

that ’67 Camaro. Why were proportions

so much better understood then? Look

what’s left of that industry now. Credit

crunch – whoops – saw that one coming.

Saw it when the financial markets went

punk some time back in the early ’90s,

when ‘credit derivatives’ were invented

by a bunch of drunken bankers around

a Boca Raton swimming pool, taking

advantage of the misguided recent

removal of key state constraints. I

remember it – I was there. Understood

it, too, and – unlike them – understood

its implications, namely that it made

possible a chain reaction of losses that

would surely one day bring the whole

thing tumbling down and make 1929

look like a practice run.

Funny how solving that now seems

the number one priority, as if the

ecological time bomb has just somehow

gone away. Technology will save us,

they say. Nah, that’s a mass delusion.

Technology was only ever going to be

used for the same ends as our race has

ever chased – power over others, wealth,

control… It’s just magnified our flaws by

making them more efficiently expressed.

Progress will have to be about a mass

consciousness shift. How would you go

about it? You’d be up against millions of

years of natural selection that made it

individually advantageous for us to be

short-termist, sexually prolific, tribal and

selfish. Wonder what the inhabitants of

a planet circling the nearest star would

97

M O R E B O D Y & M I N D

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TR

AT

ION

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M P

OIN

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R

About the authorMark P Hughes is the Grand Prix editor of Autosport magazine, and assists the BBC TV commentary team behind the scenes at each Formula One race. MPH’s poetic turn of phrase has been likened to the work of Ernest Hemingway by New Zealand journalist Eoin Young.

had known many people like that then,

but Barack was unique among them in

that his journey’s passage didn’t stop

him seeing the scenery on the way.

The others – the ambitious lawyers,

architects, doctors – their paths were

so straight, forming an arrow on the

horizon, they sped down them faster

than a Mach 1 Mustang on the desert

highway. So they never got to ponder,

were never slowed by reflection, doubts

or any of life’s riddles, and never really

came to contemplate why things were

as they were. Barack had always been

intrigued by Robert’s propensity to

dawdle by the roadside, and was

even able to do a little of it himself

in between following the plan.

But Robert had no plan. Oh, he got

into computers, invented software that

kept the money coming in, allowed him

to continue his real pursuits – literature,

be seeing of earth right now, only four-

point-three years ago: if there really is

such a thing as transference – the instant

transfer of information regardless of

the speed of light, with physicists still

arguing whether that’s possible or not –

then maybe we could get in touch with

them and arrange a betting scam.

Music playing into the headphones

the whole time, chiming with the

thoughts, hear how that band’s dynamic

is anchored by the Hammond organ

being used as rhythm – lets the drummer

fly about all over the place, the drum

as a lead instrument, very different. A

slight chill now as we reach the foothills,

engine feeling gutsier as it gets nice

dense air to work with.

So, as he watches the two ladies

in the bar, he ponders again on ‘the

trap’. Seems more finely-developed in

man than woman. Woman can look at

a car and see just a shape in metal. Man

looks at it and sees whether that shape

is proportionally ‘correct’ or not.

Generalisation, but largely true. Man

looks at a woman and sees whether

she looks proportionally correct, alert

to it like a tiger sensing movement in

the distant scrub. Probably to do with

Darwinism, how the male needed to seed

as many different women as possible to

maximise the chances of his lineage

being continued, whereas woman could

only be seeded one pregnancy at a time.

So, today, he’s trapped by something

ancient that’s no longer appropriate. And

women like these two in Madame Rosso’s

bar can profit from it if they choose.

Thoughts interrupted by, “Hey,

Proust!” It’s the loudmouth madman at

the bar he’d talked with earlier, drunker

now. Time to get going, to leave the

nostalgic reverie – step back into today.

And still no clue as to what he wants to

do. And it’s troubling him now, just as

it was when he decided to set off on this

jaunt. Well into the journey – still no

answers, just better questions.

Walking into the sunlight, his mobile

rings. “Hello, is that Robert?” Yes. “Wow,

you took a lot of tracking down. I have

The President on the line.”

ecology, philosophy, physics, psychology,

economics – knowledge for its own sake.

He even formed new understandings,

outside of accepted academia, brilliant

theories – new takes on accepted

wisdom. In between, he liked to meet

new people in new places, tinker with

his cars, ride his motorbike, listen

to his music and undertake voyages

of discovery with no set destination.

No plan. He gorged on life, just

breathe in, breathe out, choose your own

ground. How does that buzzard ‘see’ the

thermals? Feel that slight directional

vagueness: what is it – hub bearing

becoming worn? What material do they

use? Why? A waft of roadside café bacon

– what receptors in the brain electrically

relay that to its pleasure centre? Did that

shaman really go off to some other plane

last night? Does that other plane really

exist? Does the shaman’s perception of

its existence bring it into existence? Does

that apply to everything? What is the

universe expanding into? What if the

expansion isn’t uniform? It will skew the

observations. Does that mean we don’t

need the mysterious dark energy to

explain away the expansion? Look at

that ’67 Camaro. Why were proportions

so much better understood then? Look

what’s left of that industry now. Credit

crunch – whoops – saw that one coming.

Saw it when the financial markets went

punk some time back in the early ’90s,

when ‘credit derivatives’ were invented

by a bunch of drunken bankers around

a Boca Raton swimming pool, taking

advantage of the misguided recent

removal of key state constraints. I

remember it – I was there. Understood

it, too, and – unlike them – understood

its implications, namely that it made

possible a chain reaction of losses that

would surely one day bring the whole

thing tumbling down and make 1929

look like a practice run.

Funny how solving that now seems

the number one priority, as if the

ecological time bomb has just somehow

gone away. Technology will save us,

they say. Nah, that’s a mass delusion.

Technology was only ever going to be

used for the same ends as our race has

ever chased – power over others, wealth,

control… It’s just magnified our flaws by

making them more efficiently expressed.

Progress will have to be about a mass

consciousness shift. How would you go

about it? You’d be up against millions of

years of natural selection that made it

individually advantageous for us to be

short-termist, sexually prolific, tribal and

selfish. Wonder what the inhabitants of

a planet circling the nearest star would

97

M O R E B O D Y & M I N D

The poetry of the moon landing and

Concorde is this: they were not the

beginning of heroic new adventures in

transport, but the elegiac end. The infinity

of space turned out to be a conceptual

cul-de-sac, while supersonic passenger

travel for a well-dressed, well-heeled elite

turned out to be an idea rooted in tweedy,

rigid baby-boom era futurism, along with

the traffic-free motorways, Telstar, Dr Who

and the excitements of multi-channel TV.

Supersonic flight was one of the great

collective fascinations of the post-war

recovery. Originally the province of

research and the military, by the late

’50s, when fathers still bought boys The

Eagle, its civil applications were being

studied by airframe manufacturers.

These included The Bristol Aeroplane

Company and Sud Aviation of Toulouse.

A collaboration document – a

‘concorde’ – was signed by the two

companies on November 29, 1962. In

a bizarre agreement, the French were

responsible for the wings, rear cabin,

air-con and avionics. The British took

on the forward and rearmost fuselage,

tail-fin, engine nacelles (with ingenious

computer-controlled variable ducts)

and installation. The engines were

Olympus 593 Mark 610 turbojets

jointly manufactured by Rolls-Royce

and the Société Nationale d’Étude et

de Construction de Moteurs d’Aviation.

Say that aloud to sense the seriousness.

Concorde 001 flew on March 2, 1969,

four months before Neil Armstrong’s

small step along his lunar dead-end.

The magic and romance of Concorde

is this: while the confusions, self-interest,

recriminations and positively Napoleonic

bi-partisan political bickering should

have produced an ugly camel of an

aircraft, they produced one of the most

beautiful machines of all time. One

reason was that extreme performance

required extreme design solutions. Taste

had very little to do with the appearance

of a craft designed to operate not just at

the edge of space, but also at the edge of

knowledge. For example, the delta wings

contained an exceptional amount of fuel

because the avgas acted like a heatsink,

reducing the scary surface temperatures

generated in supersonic flight. And with

tragic determinism, this feature caused

the sole Concorde accident, which led

to its removal from service: on July 25,

2000, a Concorde leaving Paris picked

up debris on take-off, which led to a full

wing-tank being destructively penetrated.

This would not have happened with the

fleshy wings of a Boeing 747, a robust

design with its origins in a secular military

contract. The large, ungainly 747 first

flew on February 9, 1969. This was quite

a year for aviation. It was not fuel prices,

environmentalism, nor even the Paris

crash that ruined Concorde – it was what

American literary critic Paul Fussell

called the ‘proletarianisation of culture’.

In the 1980s, someone asked Charles

Saatchi if he used public transport.

He replied: “Yes. I go on Concorde to

New York.” The Anglo-French plane

was a masterpiece but also a sociological

calamity. While much of mankind’s

evolutionary journey has been defined

by speed, by the late 20th century, it was

defined by volume. As they used to say

in the US car industry, at the time when

cast-iron, pushrod V8s displacing 7 litres

of God’s good air were commonplace:

“There ain’t no substitute for cubic inches.”

The 747 ‘jumbo jet’ was that equivalent.

It is an airborne obesity class of Ronald

McDonald’s culture, but it is what

the world wanted. America invented

movies and mass media. Then, it

invented mass subsonic travel.

Never mind that the doleful effects of

shipping hundreds of planeloads of 400

incurious dorks around the planet in a

continuous loop of brainless consumption

has done more damage to culture and

the environment than Concorde’s thirsty

engines – Concorde was an aristocrat in

a republican era. So, it was doomed.

You sensed this when travelling on it.

Not that the pencil-thin cabin resembled

anything ancien régime, but there was

a feeling of being between the crisis and

the catastrophe. Of course, the New York

flights were always busy: one London

journey took under three hours. But

there was an underlying absurdity.

Concorde was so thrilling, you did not

want to get off. You could see the earth’s

curvature from FL55 – 55,000ft on the

altimeter – and the sky was purple. Kindly

stewardesses poured good champagne

and fine claret into crystal-clear glasses.

“Damn. Are we there already?” I found

myself thinking. Meanwhile, on the flight

deck, the captain checked his clockwork

instruments and adjusted his stiff upper

lip. It really was that old-fashioned…

Stephen Bayley is a former director

of the Design Museum in London and

an award-winning freelance writer

Stephen Bayley discusses a brilliant concept too far ahead of its time – yet also behind it

ILL

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THE RED BULLETIN IS PUBLISHED BY RED BULLETIN GmbH. EDITOR-IN-CHIEF ROBERT SPERL EDITORIAL OFFICE ANTHONY ROWLINSON (EXECUTIVE EDITOR), NORMAN HOWELL (GENERAL MANAGER UK), STEFAN WAGNER

ASSOCIATE EDITOR PAUL WILSON CONTRIBUTING EDITOR ANDREAS TZORTZIS CHIEF SUB-EDITOR NANCY JAMES PRODUCTION EDITOR REBECCA ELING PHOTO EDITOR SUSIE FORMAN DEPUTY PHOTO EDITOR CATHERINE SHAW DESIGN MILES ENGLISH, JAMES GREENHOW, MARKUS KIETREIBER, PHIL SLADE, ERIK TUREK STAFF WRITERS TOM HALL, RUTH MORGAN CONTRIBUTORS DR MARTIN APOLIN,

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Plight of the Concordes

Concorde was an aristocrat in

a republican era

Mind’s Eye

M O R E B O D Y & M I N D