The Thousands

Yep that's our Bottomley you're staring at. No need to put clothes on 'cos we're Gourmet Bathing this week! The international kind that likes to visit Bollywood and Manhattan on a Grand Tour. Why Waste Space with clothes anyway? OoOoOO but these are nice. We're Too Cool to be naked anyway.

This week's covershot comes courtesy of Aimee Catt. Be killer like Aimee and send us your covershots. We'll love you long time.

There is a burgeoning movement in Brisbane to make the most of otherwise underutilised spaces. Store rooms and alleyways have become ground zero for a really exciting shift in the way we approach our city and our endeavours.  The wickedly named A Wasted Space, a new fashion store, clearly thinks similarly and is one of the most recent additions to the list of the clever repurposing of citywide nooks and crannies.

Cannily slotted into the back room of Cabinessence – the old apothecary (or whatever) on Enoggera Terrace in Red Hill – the store is unassuming and its collection simple. Well-made and pretty cheap clothes like Mr Simple, which apes baseball culture and Americana in general, can be picked up while still getting change out of a hundred. Herschel bags, which are killing it at the moment in terms of being an awesome thing that I want, hang on the paint-mottled walls and tempt one with their wily ways. There are also local finds such as Thousands fave, Holly Ryan Jewellery.

This part of town has always been unassuming and casual, and so is A Wasted Space. The décor is open and nonchalant, serving as a pretty nifty place to hang out while you wait for your Spanish toast and coffee.

Karl Shoobridge and Sophie Bottomley both cut their artistic teeth at QCA, and they both have the letter ‘s’ in their names, but that’s about where the similarities between them stop. Nevertheless, they have upcoming simultaneous shows at Spiro Grace Art Rooms.

Sophie’s practice looks at how we experience and perceive space differently with changes in scale (size does matter, okay?). She constructs hybrid art objects – part art sculpture, part model – from pine and paper that explore notions of interior and exterior space. The work embraces a cool, reserved minimalist aesthetic, which isn’t surprising when you consider Sophie’s background in architecture.

Karl’s interested in art and its value systems. His paintings look like what I’d imagine a scratched CD/broken record (depends on your personal weapon of choice, really) would look like – a kind of "visual stutter". The man has a sense of humour too. According to his CV, he’s undertaking an “ongoing factory assistant apprenticeship” with art world royalty Takahashi Murakami, Andy Warhol and Damien Hirst. His paintings riff on the fact that once you’re a big fish in the art pond, you can have all the fame and glory without lifting a finger if you outsource your work. Lucky bastards.

That old chestnut about genius being touched with madness is a dead horse that's been beaten to a pulp. Yet it's hard to watch this gripping documentary about Bobby Fischer's astonishing career without regularly returning to it.

Widely considered to be the best chess player who ever lived, Bobby Fischer is also without question the most famous and most controversial. Fischer picked up chess at age six; asked when he got serious, he laughingly replies "age seven". From seven to twenty-nine he was totally obsessed with the game. Basically every waking minute he was studying chess magazines or playing against himself, even playing with one hand while eating meals. As a teenager he toured Europe, where rooms of paying punters would play him, sometimes 20 at a time; footage shows Fischer casually walking from board to board, making his individual moves.

Bobby Fischer's monumental 1972 match against Russian Boris Spassky is the spectacular centerpiece of this story, and it is the fulcrum on which Fischer's strange life swings. I don't want to give away any of this story's juicy details, of which there are many. It's an amazing document of a moment when a chess player was idolised like a rock star, and a chess game was followed with more fervor then any other sport or world event ("On tonight's news: details of the breaking Watergate scandal. But first, Bobby Fischer!").

More than anything, this documentary is a study of obsession, genius, and their inharmonious relationship to the human condition. Highly recommended.

Goth-pop has come back in a big way over the last few years. With LA Vampires, Zola Jesus, HTRK, Rites Wild and the ol’ 808 popping up all over eBay, pop, in it’s darkest state is well and truly back in vogue. New York via Brisbane’s Happy New Year’s new self titled LP on French label Svn Sns fits tightly into this wave of black-widow-esque vocals, futuristic yet oh-so-retro sound.

There’s a weird reflection of the isolation of living in a big city all the way through this album though there’s no real location in a very antipodean way. It staggers to gain pace or tempo, perhaps from the traffic lights of New York or maybe that's heat of Brisbane? Saying that, the songs on here may just as well have been created or existed anywhere – it would easily fit into Berlin, Paris, Christchurch, Brisbane or the New York scenes. And that’s not a bad thing.

Happy New Year doesn’t really fit into a geographical sound as much as it sits in a place, location and time all of its own. The whole genre reflects this; a little bit worldy and unafraid, a little bit brave, a little bit isolated, but all the same unthreatening and approachable.

Los Angeles. Few cities in modern times are surrounded by so much mythology, and misinformation. One thing I love about Los Angeles is the sheer fruitcake-iness of the place. Religious cults, diet gurus, pet psychologists, auras and fads. Few other places are you so encouraged to indulge your every personal whim. A cultural artefact that perfectly embodies this is WET: The Magazine of Gourmet Bathing.

"What is 'gourmet bathing'?" editor Leonard Koren asks rhetorically. "I didn't really know. And I didn't really care. I supposed it could mean a multitude of things. That was good". From 1976 to 1981 Koren published this weird indie mag (which included contributors Gary Panter and a pre-Life in Hell / Simpsons Matt Groening). It was ahead of its time in terms of design, editorial scope, and artistic vision.

Koren recounts the making of the mag herein. Its concept grew out of 'bath art' Koren had been making wherein friends would bathe according to instructions - in water, mud, hot air, or steam - with their activity documented in photos. After bath art came a party at a local bathhouse (mixed gender). It makes sense Koren would take an interest in water; he was literally surrounded by it living in Venice, L.A., in a former gondola garage that had later been turned into an auto garage - the grease pit of which, Koren's flatmate had turned into a tranquil pool.

Bathing is broadly defined and characterised as personal, celebratory, fun, frivolous, and empowering. If it still doesn't make sense and seems kinda silly to you, well that's the point.

President Jimmy and Lil Wayne have something in common apart from being well-established gentlemen from the Deep South. They’re both Mr. Carters, and so is this Sydney-based menswear label concerned with young misfits, rough-housing and being simultaneously street and polished.

Mr. Carter blends the conflicting elements of luxury and street with designer, Zach Carter’s, distaste for the heritage aesthetic seen in menswear labels. Having worked as a designer for Anglomania by Vivienne Westwood, he, along with co-founder brother Samm, felt the need to make something of his own. The label's AW12 Grand Tour collection is a reference to 18th century young gentlemen’s travels but alludes to modern men, for whom the Grand Tour is surfing, skating, playing music and chasing tail.

The collection is a little bit private school boy who got lost in the woods and is now a lumberjack. The Grand Tour collection includes cords and gentlemanly trousers, blazers, thick knit sweaters, checked shirts and preppy ties. Not entirely suitable for the other Mr. Carters, but pretty sweet for young misfits.

It’s time to invest in a monocle, because we’re about to play grown-ups. The Manhattan Club has delivered a little bit of New York City to Brisbane. The package is addressed to your parents and they’ll be thrilled about it.

This bar slash restaurant is the kind of place childhood-you imagined adult-you would frequent. Go ahead and pretend that cocktails and premium steak are your usual fare, rather than the more accurate toast and Continental side dishes. Chef Josh, perhaps spurred on by the city skyline wall decal, didn’t forget the New York theme when building the menu, which is littered with blue cheese buffalo wings, smoked hotdogs and hunks of meat. The pulled pork bun is a must, but it’s a risky move when perched over a coffee table. It’s a messy sumbitch.

As far as Big Apple in Brisbane goes, The Manhattan Club certainly looks the part. The stage full of jazzy-looking instruments comes alive for sophisticated dinner music and there are red curtains enough for ten Baz Luhrmann movies.

Despite the distractions of food and decoration, the whole point and highlight of this place is the cocktail list, including the Manhattan, the Harvey Wallbanger and the Grasshopper. The drinks are classic and were probably once in the hand and mouth of the original Mad Men. Lucky drinks.

Jai Ho! Don’t just say it. Dance it. It’s easier than you think. Just cross aerobics, yoga and some saucy body language and you’ve pretty much got the ingredients. Andrea and Rachael of Bollyfunk Dance will show you how to cook it.

Classes are held at various locations around town and for various experience levels. I had my baptism of spice at an intermediate class and though I haven’t uncrossed my arms to music nearly enough for the past five years it’s really not that hard to get Bollyfunky. Maybe they were just more forgiving though because I’m a guy? Guys! What are you doing hanging out at the pub outside? The ratio here of women to men is 10:1. Back to the dancing…

Classes start with a warm up and head on to learning the moves of Bollywood songs, so your repertoire and fitness will quickly build after a few classes.  Just so you know what you’re getting groovy to, the instructors decipher the meanings of the songs for you too. You won't believe those sassy Desi girls!

Praised by the likes of William S Burroughs, Genesis P-Orridge's trajectory from noise-punk pioneer with Throbbing Gristle to a pandrogyne, is something straight out of the old man's lunch box. Marie Losier's doco tells the story of P-Orridge and partner Lady Jaye's attempts to literally become one person through their music, art and various operations, up until the death of Jaye. A bit Power Rangers meets Michael Jackson, minus the bad music and cheesy special FX.

Remember when Catcall released 'Swimming Pool' in January of last year? Specifically the Julian Mendelsohn re-edit? We were so young, so gay. The song rang in our ears like a clarion call. Urging us on, to revel in the simple beauty of our youth. The raunchy frankness of the lyric 'goosebumps all over, nipples harden' reddened our cheeks and sent a hand towards our giggling mouths. But we knew. Oh yes, we knew. Pretty sure I didn't dream that. Pretty sure it really happened. The point here is that Catcall has recorded an entire gosh darn album titled The Warmest Place and is touring ahead of its release with a disgustingly accomplished band and support by Palms and Woe & Flutter. Also: The clip for the latest Catcall single 'The World is Ours' is pretty great.

Their nearly nine-month break from headlining points to an illegitimate pregnancy cover-up, but the boys from Dune Rats are back, with no babies in sight. They’re touring for their new single Fuck It, spreading their garage surf sound across the better half of Australia. Sorry Perth. Fuck It is their catchiest tune so far, so be careful when you’ve got the song stuck in your head. It’s hardly office appropriate.

When someone's music is being praised by LA producer/wunderkind Flying Lotus (whose family-tree includes no less than a couple of Coltranes) chances are they'll be pretty alright. Luckily for Lapalux, his intensely layered sounds that cover everything from electro-shoestring goth to Southern-fried dub, live up to those expectations. Joining the recent Brainfeeder signee will be oOoOO (pronounced as a short 'Oh' as opposed to an orgasmic 'Oooohhhhh') for a night of hazy sounds and contact highs.

Anyone directly or indirectly responsible for the death of Kirsten Dunst certainly deserves his Pulitzer Prize. Jeffrey Eugenides, known for writing The Virgin Suicides and loved for writing Middlesex, is discussing his latest book, The Marriage Plot as a Brisbane Writers Festival satellite event. The novel is about three college students facing the dreaded post-university black hole with soap opera-style drama. And shockingly, there’s a love triangle.

Where have we been for the past two weeks? Speeding around in our media truck. And browsing upon the Lee Jeans Facebook Page. In a few weeks we will reveal the connection between these two activities. (Okay, it is a competition that will enable you to transform your brain into prizes via the power of the internet. More on this soon, so keep a tab open.)

Anyway, in our travels around the Lee Facebook Page we could not help but admire the new ladies' high-waisted, stretchy and skinny High Licks ($149-$189) and the gentlemen's drop crutch and tapered leg Swagger Skins ($169). Both are from the Lee Jeans Autumn Winter 2012 collection, and so we asked them to give us a pair to give away to you, depending on your nominated gender identity. To try and win, just answer the following question.