The Thousands

Straya Day. You know what to do. None of this nerd shit. Sort the missus out, load up on eats and can on with the boys. Even get stuck into some harder stuff. Or you could stay at home and read faxes from Odd Future. STRAYa day.

Cover by Damien Bright! Be a tonnes legend like Damien! Send your cover pics to alex@rightanglestudio.com.au

Odd Future get bagged on for being misogynistic or just obnoxious, but, y'know, hip-hop. That's not new. We love them because underneath those artistic flourishes are a bunch of creative, funny, super colorful and original kids blowing up basic hip-hop (it's been sorely in need of a shake up for probably a decade). They rap about fucking dolphins, and they made a video of Tyler eating a cockroach that still made most end of year lists.

In between releasing a million singles and mixtapes, starting a clothing label, releasing a book, Twittering nonstop and running a pretty thorough tumblr, OFWGKTA have been lured down to Australia for BDO 2012. And we convinced BDO to organise a fax interview (thanks guys!) (fax transcript below).

What do you think people would find most surprising about Odd Future?
Odd Future - They all sleep in one bed.

The Odd Future clothing line is rad. Who are some of your influences (designers, labels, style icons)? We know you are big fans of Dill's label Fucking Awesome.
Odd Future - Supreme, vintage.
Tyler - Meth and cats inspire me a lot. And 90s Nick.

What have you learned from skateboarding that has helped you make music?
Mike - There is no way you'll get things perfect on the 1st try.

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That commonplace 'what do you do?' question can be as tedious to answer as job titles can be ill-fitting and unnecessary. Alexander Girard is a perfect example. A renaissance man (or someone with a serious case of attention deficit) throughout the 50s and 60s, Alexander Girard worked in everything from interior design, curation and architecture to designing textiles, radios, kitchenware, graphics, corporate logos and a lot of other stuff. For businesses and individuals, he was a one-stop re-branding shop.

I first saw Girard's work when my boyfriend and I toured the mid-century modern Miller House (AMAZING), for which Girard selected and custom-made a mind-boggling array of items. The Miller House is just one knockout featured in Alexander Girard alongside memorable designs for Braniff Airlines, NYC's La Fonda Del Sol restaurant and many, many more.

As well as a prolific designer, Girard was a passionate collector, and some of his extensive collections (which have been exhibited occasionally) are included herein. My only problem with this book is it's so big that it's kind of hard to carry and to read on your lap. I'd say it weighs as much as a large pumpkin, a small pitbull or a car engine. So, sit at a table. Or better yet, design a special table to put it on. That's what Girard would have done.

There's something fascinating about art like Alan Rose's, that's designed to mess with your head. I don't mean in that important but often riskily-sententious 'makes you think about confronting all the ways in which you are privileged' way, or even the 'LOL that is not how scale works' of Minimalism. Nope, having now spent three visits staring at Between the Darkness and the Stage, I am comparing their effects to those of NMDA receptor antagonists (I totally knew what they were already and did not just Google ketamine).

Rose explains his work - sculptural geometries made of light as well as objects - as provocations to conscious visual attention. This show happens in the dark, with the viewer roped off about a metre away from the surfaces of the works, which are constructed out of regular forms that are confused by projections playing over their surfaces. It's hard to tell if what's changing is what you're seeing or what's there, and thinking about that while watching it happen is majorly recreationally dissociative.

It reads like a Jeopardy challenge only one mum in Brisbane, QLD is likely to ping in for. Q: “A printmaker combining a love of passionfruit, avocados, 1950s soap packaging and toasters…” A: “Who is Erin Lightfoot? (also, honey, CALL ME.)” Bonus points for picking her Klee and Kandinsky influences, the nods to Tahitian textiles and the original power-pellet muncher, Pac-Man.

A love of tangible objects drove Erin from her background in web and graphic design into the arms of jewellery, textiles, and print – and until it’s possible to knead the internet like a stressball, we’re totally onboard. Her delicate, sorbet-hued porcelain bangles, hoop earrings and brooches evince a milk bar charm; sweet, unique, probably bad for your teeth. Each involves hours of painstaking hand labour from the triple firing, application of the print (again, by hand!), and finally sanding, glazing and finishing. Phew!

Luckily it’s much easier to just buy one, and your hand will thank you, and then thank you again. For now you can also get vases, until Erin also corners the wallpaper market. More stuff for you to touch, and probably heart.

Russell sits at work with a blistering hangover, repeatedly revising a text to a guy he picked up the night before: "I feel like shit." Should I add a smiley face? Oh no wait - how about an exclamation point?

Weekend does an excellent job portraying the many modern day complexities of meeting someone you like, letting (or not letting) them know, and starting (or not starting) a relationship. The intimate details of this male / male coupling make the film particularly insightful and funny for homosexuals, especially if you've always felt like outsiders to 'gay culture'. But the pair's predicament will resonate with anyone who has felt their heart flutter or break in the last decade.

Though it's a small film, Weekend grabs at a lot of big ideas that will needle you long after it ends. Writer/director Andrew Haigh crafts characters that are refreshingly imperfect, and so three-dimensional you actually hear them speak, rather than their screenwriter. I hate to harp on the gay thing (and to call this a 'gay film' is reductive) but in comparison to the bulk of gay narratives, where all onscreen action is intended to provoke one of three physical responses (laughs, boners, or tears) having a film that appeals to your head and heart is extremely rare.

Beautifully shot, Haigh's Weekend artfully unpacks the issues surrounding the roles we play in relationships and in life. And, thankfully, it doesn't provide any easy answers.

It's no surprise that Stolen Girlfriends Club have nailed it yet again with their AW12 'Here Lies The Bones' collection. Derek Henderson and Maya Villiger shot the women's and men's ranges respectively (and ingeniously). And now I, personally, want nothing more than to laze about a teenage boy's share house, occasionally pouring cornflakes all over my face while I wear patterned suits and faux raccoon fur and get Russian prison tattoos.

Lace tanks and dresses with flowery human skeletal detail, and silk georgette wrap shorts, shirts and dresses printed with psychedelic, i-just-dropped-3-tabs, sugar skulls and Russian pirate sketches are central in the women's range.

The menswear (Stolen by Stolen Girlfriends Club) is safely monochromatic, with some very welcome sections of leather and deep red and blue cable knit, and an adapted version of the women's russian pirate sketch shirt. The sweats are long and the printed tees (especially the dark green mull leaf made from tiny bones) are hard to fault. The entire collection is.

The people behind Bread and Circus like adjectives. On a menu built around utter respect for the vegetable, Bullet chilli is 'brave', eggplant is 'lazy', granola is 'crunchy', Bircher is 'brilliant' and even more curiously, coconut is 'quiet' and fresh fruit is 'finicky'.

Menu prose aside, this high-ceilinged warehouse (neighbour to Campos coffee) is a temple for vegans/vegetarians, wholefood-enthusiasts, ethical omnivores, or those suffering from a post-indulgence bout of meat guilt. Or maybe you just like to eat your greens.

Who wouldn't, when they take the shape of agave-caramelised brown pears with puy lentils and blue cheese, Wagyu kale (Yes Wagyu kale!) or miso baked eggplant with yuzu and coriander. There is some meat, mostly sandwiched, but their ways with vegetables are the way to go.

A list of teas is curated with the attention to balance and provenance that a sommelier would take with a wine list, a full spectrum is provided between 'an incredibly gentle Oolong with a faint echo of melon' to a 'complex, rich, malty and grounding Yunnan Red'.

It's a mega-friendly operation, that can edge towards chaotic. But those are just some adjectives for you.

My favourite part of Establishment 218 is that it's a meat fridge called Establishment 218 and they treat you like a favourite guest at The Ritz. On entry you are greeted by a merry majordomo, who will ask if it's your first time, and then one of the staff charmers will help you don a giant Siberia-strength jacket, and open the door into a horizonless meat fridge.

There is everything in here, but mostly good things for good prices. Various cuts of fillet, seasoned lambs and sausages, bratwurst, varieties of chipolata, rumps, ribs, racks, rabbit, spatchcock, and goose. Throughout, friendly staff are on hand to walk you through all meat-related life dramas. "I'm vegetarian. What meat should I give my boyfriend if I really need to apologise about something?" was handled with confidence and flair.

Idling barbecue-hosting aspirants will be pleased to hear they've a Beef Baron thing going on: Tuesdays and Fridays they'll deliver to wherever for less than $20. They sell a moderately hearty breakfast platter (it includes 15 porterhouse steaks), the butcher happily offers complimentary slicing, and there are free hams for big spenders. You don't win friends with salad.

What even is this? I've heard Das Racist being described as art-rap, street literature, coreart rapfreak pizza taco folk music, but I think the easiest way to say it is 'THE BEST". Coming from Brooklyn and being permanently big upped by Gavin McInnes, the boys Kool A.D, Heems and Dapwell will finally be deconstructing hip hop and talking about weed and dadaism right in front of your ears.

You may not be able to detect it as you fetch your morning coffee, catch the bus, or answer emails, but Sydney is quietly losing its shit over the DJ Koze and Prins Thomas double bill being put on by Future Classic to finish up this year's program at the Keystone Festival Bar. It's not often you see "heart-warming" and "minimal house" in the same sentence, so, be PSYCHED.

Dear Pluto is one of the prettiest warehouses you'll ever find. The ex-Hibernians can also now offer the aspiring "beautiful loser" room to move and actual changerooms. The last Sunday of every month they host a courtyard market, and this is the first one of the year. If you miss it that would be like your entire family missing your sixteenth birthday, but you AREN'T dressed like Molly Ringwald.

If GIRLS' album Father, Son, Holy Ghost is akin to "a mixtape made by your best friend’s super cool older brother, running from doo wop to hard rock to bubblegum pop to gospel to psych", then boy are you in luck. Your fictional friend's super cool brother is taking you to a gig next Thursday night. The San Franciscans are back in town and being supported by Melbourne's Loon Lake.

It's getting rarer and rare to be able to easily, perfectly encapsulate a band's sound within the confines of a genre. At least the ones worth listening to. Bands, that is. Not genres. The Pains of Being Pure at Heart make indie pop. In dee pop. They make it with considerable aplomb too. Aplomb, My Bloody Valentine-esque walls of guitar and an increasingly confident sound that transcends the sum-of-their-parts '90s influenceathon of their early albums. Peggy even gave us a recipe for Japanese turnips last year. All of this is why we are co-presenting this Laneway Festival sideshow with Mistletone, why Geoffrey O'Connor and Rainbow Chan are doing the support thing and why you should go.

The classic American College movie needs no introduction. Kid leaves home, kid goes to their first mixer, kid returns to their dorm to find their mother boning their roomie, kid becomes valedictorian. And while all this is happening, the kid in question NEVER TAKES THEIR BACKPACK OFF. Maybe we're not the right people to pyschoanalyse the backpack phenomena, after all it never really took off here. But things are about to change, because the traditional, all American-made backpack has just landed in Australia.

Eastpak's newest stockist is Local Store, which means no more international postage fees or stalking FedEx employees waiting for your backpack to arrive. Now the fix is instant. The Returnity is the real deal, divided into a large main compartment and small zippered front pocket, it's the perfect size to comfortably conceal your laptop without becoming crimbait. The back and shoulder straps are both padded, and all Eastpak products come with a 30 year warranty. Now that's a subordinate and subservient, lifelong companion - no wonder the kid never takes it off.

Thanks to Eastpak, we have one black Returnity backpack to give away. (To enter, just answer the following question.)