Wonderlust

WonderlustNovembro, 2009 - Número I

E mais: hoje eu vou assim com Cris Guerra; o que a gente acha do novo cd da Rachael Yamagata, muitos dvds novos e o estrondo do 3 na massa.

Agyness Deyn:o estilo street-colorido-desencanado da neotop em

entrevista reveladora da “nova Kate Moss”.

O fim do indieWhy indie music isn’t working anymore?

Mande foto, o local onde foi tirada e seu nome para [email protected] e tenha algumas páginas

só para você.

Quer ter suas fotos publicadas na Wonderlust?

06. Agyness Deyn: saiba mais sobre o estilo street-colorido-desencanado da neotop.

16. Cris Guerra: o blog e a moda do dia-a-dia dessa publicitária mineira.

12. Does the world need another indie band? O indie não está bem das pernas.

LEIA MAIS SOBRE A NEOTOP INGLESA E SEU ESTILO COOL. CRIS GUERRA, A ONDA

DOS BLOGS, MODA E MUITO ESTILO. SERÁ QUE O INDIE ACABA? SERÁ? AINDA

TENHO MINHAS DÚVIDAS. E AINDA TEM MAIS: O NOVO CD DA RACHAEL YAMAGATA.

SHE & HIM E HOT CHIP. 3 NA MASSA E O SEU ESTRONDO SEDUTOR. A COLUNISTA

DO MÊS É MILLY LACOMBE E ELA VAI DIZER O QUE ELA QUER DE VOCÊ.

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Nesse mês algumas as fotos publicadas são da “quase” publicitária Maria Guimarães, 22 anos, Vitória - ES.

Maria Guimarãesw w w . f l i c k r . c o m / h e l l o c h i l d

Penedo - Vitória, ES, Brazil

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Talk to people about Agyness Deyn, learned people, people who know about these things, and they will tell you that she is not like other models. She is kookier, funkier, funnier. They have a point. There are few cheekbones, after all, that can grace both the cover of Time and Grazia, which is why, though she has only been publicly recognisable for a year, a year and a half tops, she is already being talked about in terms of her iconic-ness.

“You won’t find anyone to say a bad word about her,” says Avril Mair, Elle magazine’s fashion features editor. “Everyone loves her, and with good reason. In every era of modelling, you will have one idiosyncratic British girl that stands out, and Agyness is the one for right now. She’s a single name these days. The way Kate is Kate, Agyness is Agyness. That tells you everything you need to know.”

Look at the current crop of models right now, Mair continues, “and many of them are bland and blonde and really tall and really thin and 16, and it’s impossible to tell them apart. Then Agyness comes down the runway and she has all this attitude, all this personality and idiosyncrasy. She’s a breath of fresh air, a real one-off.” “I think she captures the imagination in a broader sense,” says Susannah Frankel, fashion editor of The Independent, “because she is completely off all the usual model credentials. She looks like the kind of girl you could talk to at a bar, and have a really good chat with.”

This is rather apt, actually, because that’s where I am right now – a bar – and here she comes. She is late, of course, but then late is her prerogative. Before arriving here at this East Village, New York City hangout, with its exposed brick walls, Pogues soundtrack and bored-looking barmen, Deyn had worried that she might be denied access. It was an age issue, and she’s had age issues before, as we shall see. So she called through to Anthony Ellis, her friend and frontman of the band Five O’Clock Heroes (with whom she has just collaborated on a single), who is already sitting upstairs here in the bar alongside me, nursing a Scotch. She explained that she’d forgotten her ID, and in a country where even 40-year-olds have to prove they are over 21 in order to gain admittance into a public place where alcohol is sold, an ID-less Deyn, who could

comfortably pass for 16, faces more problems than most. But Ellis countered that it was a slow Tuesday night, no one was manning the door, and she’d likely be fine. He was right, and so a quarter of an hour later, in she strides, all leggy and liquid, across the deserted floor, and beaming in relief. The 25-year-old is wearing a black-and-white checked coat done up to the throat, black leggings and trainers. Her bleached blonde hair is tucked up inside a cloth cap (but posh cloth), and when she sits down and unbuttons, she reveals a T-shirt whose legend reads PEACE IS COURAGEOUS.

Ellis offers her a drink, but the woman the fashion world is calling The New Kate Moss doesn’t drink when she is working, and so instead she has nothing. She simply sits primly in her corner, smiling benignly, hands in lap. She looks impossibly cute up

close, her Asiatic eyes alive with barely contained mischief, while the rest of her is small and compact and flawless. Until she opens her mouth, she exudes the enigmatic serenity of a geisha girl, but when she does start talking, a magnificently thick Rochdale accent comes flowing out, as sticky as Marmite.

“Christ I’m knackered,” she says. “Really long photo shoot. Went on for hours.” But then, presumably, for emergent supermodels they invariably do. This one, she explains, was for an important American magazine she would prefer not to mention right now for reasons of necessary secrecy.

“They’re doing this thing, right?” she confides. “Eight iconic people in the fashion industry right now – stylist, designer, things like that.”

The magazine had chosen her for the iconic model, over and above every other one in the world, an accolade that can only cement her reputation further still. Agyness Deyn is now on the brink of becoming the world’s biggest model, with a daily fee to match.

“Mad, innit?” she says with earthy, Rochdalean disbelief.

A decade ago, Laura Hollins, as she was back then, was a promising student living in

Smells like Deyn spiritSmells like Deyn spiritAgyness Deyn is the supermodel of the moment.

But her stellar career is about to take a very different direction with the release of her first single. In an

exclusive interview, she explains all to Nick Duerden

“You won’t find anyone to say a bad word about her,” says Avril Mair, Elle magazine’s fashion features editor.

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the winningly named little borough of Littleborough, Greater Manchester. The middle child of three, she performed well enough in her GCSEs to go on to study music and drama at A level, her real hopes pinned on a place at Paul McCartney’s Liverpool Institute for Performing Arts (Lipa). She was obsessed with actors and actresses, singers and dancers, “anyone,” she says, “who was creative. I loved the idea of being creative.”

The way she tells it, she only ever got halfway through filling out the Lipa application form when she was spotted by someone from a modelling agency who told her that with her jawline, she’d go far.

“And so I just thought, why not?” she says now, claiming that she’d never had any interest in modelling before.

But a little research into her past suggests that, actually, Hollins had already modelled locally, and with some success. She’d won a teen magazine modelling competition when she was just 13 and, three years later, was honoured as the Face of Rossendale, but subsequently turned down several agency offers in order to finish her exams first. It also transpires that her big break didn’t in fact come while still residing at home, but once she had already relocated to London as “Agyness Deyn”, a photographer spotting her loitering with intent in a hip fashion boutique in Kentish Town. (The name, incidentally, is pronounced straightforwardly as “Agnes Dean”; the bizarre spelling came courtesy of her mother Lorraine, a Reiki master and numerology enthusiast, who was convinced that an exotic pseudonym would spiritually maximise her chances of success.)

It seems clear, then, that Deyn knew precisely her potential early on. Nothing wrong with that, but she evidently likes to smokescreen the truth, perhaps convinced that crude ambition is somehow more unseemly than simple luck and fate. It has also been alleged that she would shave several years off her real age for different jobs, keen to pass herself off as younger.

“Many models start as early as 16, or 18,” explains one fashion insider I speak to. “And if her agency did encourage her to suggest she was younger, then it was very probably to add legs to her career. It is exceptional for a model to be working on the catwalk over 30, and Agyness is already 25 ...”

In her own defence, here in New York, Deyn simply shrugs, and feigns confusion. “A lot of stuff written about me is rubbish. I don’t know where they get it from, sometimes.”

Her first job was for Aveda beauty products, and before long she was snapped up by Burberry, the kind of label with whom models can make a very big splash.

“Burberry love young English boys and girls with attitude and unique styles,” says Elle’s Avril Mair, “and when a model becomes big – and Burberry models often go on to become just that – she effectively becomes a brand herself, and then all the other brands want to buy into her.”

Which is precisely what happened to Deyn. Demand for her snowballed, and over the next three years, she was everywhere: shot by Mario Testino for British Vogue, then Steven Meisel for Italian Vogue. She followed up Burberry with Mulberry and Giorgio

Armani, and she appeared increasingly to court celebrity. A life-long music fan – she had grown up worshipping the Stone Roses and Happy Mondays – she began dating the guitarist of an obscure indie act called The Paddingtons, and went to as many gigs as she could. She became a regular in the pages of Heat; she appeared as a guest on Jonathan Ross’s BBC1 chat show. As a consequence of such ubiquity, she did what the likes of Stella Tennant, Karen Elson and Erin O’Connor never quite managed (perhaps quite happily): she became a star.

“It’s because she is so very social,” says Mair. “She goes out a lot, to parties, to concerts. She enjoys herself, and she epitomises that Hoxton/Camden, music/fashion cool. She

Agyness deyn

Real name: Laura HollinsBirth day: 16 February 1983 Profession: model.

Known for her hair and style, she is currently starring in the Burberry campaign and the Giorgio Armani campaign. She counts Queen Elizabeth II as her idol, saying in an interview with The Sun, “I’d love to have tea and scones with the Queen, she’s my idol”.

Agyness a.k.a. next Kate Moss.

A Vogue a colocou na lista das prováveis novas Top Models. Desfile na Semana de Moda de Milão. Agyness em uma festa e posando na premiação do New Music Express.

“A lot of stuff written about me is rubbish. I don’t know where they get it from, sometimes.”

08

does it terribly well.” Deyn herself seems blissfully unaware of her power, and becomes cowed by the very discussion of it. When her career started to take off a couple of years ago and the paparazzi began showing interest, she immediately decamped to New York.

“Here, nobody pays me any attention at all, and that’s just as I like it,” she says, scratching at her PEACE sign. “Despite what you may read about me, I’m not the kind of person who has a lot of friends, and I’m much happier just mixing in my small circle. I don’t really go to fashion parties; they’re not my scene.” She catches herself, and smiles. “Well, of course they’re precisely that – my scene – but I’d much prefer to go to gigs, or else hang out in the rehearsal room with Anthony. Anthony’s like my big brother out here. He looked after me when I first arrived, he bought me my first guitar, and we hang out a lot in his studio space with the band. I’ve more fun there than I have anywhere else, pretty much.”

Anthony Ellis is another Brit abroad. He settled here in New York a decade ago when he was just 19, and has been trying to make it as a musician ever since, with precious little luck. He has the look of Wham!’s Andrew Ridgeley about him, and for the past five years now has fronted Five O’Clock Heroes, an amiable indie outfit influenced by Joe Jackson and Elvis Costello, but sounding more like Haircut 100’s Nick Heywood thanks to Ellis’s charming, slightly twee vocals. During the writing of his band’s second album, Speak Your Language, he came up with a song called “Who” that required both a male and female lead. Impetuously, he asked Deyn if she fancied giving it a crack. “She did, and she did it wonderfully,” he beams, as well he might, for though he may like to downplay the suggestion that he asked the supermodel to duet simply to ensnare a little limelight for the band, it’s difficult to see it any other way. “To be honest, that never even dawned on me,” he insists. “Aggy’s just a mate, and I asked her because she liked the idea of singing, and she clearly loves her music. I’m just thrilled she’s done such a good job of it.”

The song, which will be the lead single off the album, is a frothy pop confection, Deyn’s voice as light as candyfloss and rather beguiling with it. But that, as she points out herself, is all it is. “I don’t want people to think I’m getting ideas above my station here,” she says, giggling into a cupped hand. “And I don’t want a backlash, either. I know I’m no Whitney Houston. I just had a bit of fun with a mate, that’s all. Doesn’t mean I’m putting my modelling career to one side just yet ...”

Though Ellis might secretly wish Deyn could stick around and help promote the song over the next month, it’s lucky she has found the time to talk about it at all. The woman very rarely stays put in any one city these days. Tomorrow, she is off to Tokyo, then it’s London, and then a succession of European outposts that she says she would probably be able to name for me right now were it not already well past midnight and long after her bedtime. She yawns, and confesses that the constant travelling exhausts her.

“Though I do fly first class, and that’s a luxury I’ve no problem with,” she states sunnily. Other luxuries she insists she can do without. “Agencies always want to send big fat cars to pick me up for appointments, but if it’s in London or New York, I’d much rather just cycle there on my bike. I like my bikes [she keeps one on either side of the Atlantic], but people think I’m, like, eccentric for insisting on pedalling to work. But millions of people do that every day, don’t they?”

Millions of people, I point out, don’t have the kind of perfectly arranged bone structure that one careless taxi could destroy for ever. She is precious goods. “Well, I can’t go around thinking of myself like that, because that would just make me insane,” she says.

The other thing that people most say about Agyness Deyn is that, as the cycling suggests, she remains refreshingly down-to-earth, a normal girl in a world full of Naomi Campbells and diva-like excess. A rare commodity, in other words.

“I do think there is a fine line between being a celebrity and being cool,” says Susannah Frankel. “And as soon as somebody becomes really mainstream, then it can get a little risky for them to retain that cool. The exception to that rule is Kate Moss, but I do think that Agyness also manages it very well right now. And I’m glad, because Agyness is great, a really positive role model in an industry that doesn’t always promote

such positive ideas. The media may well have built her up into something massive, but I do believe that she is savvy enough to avoid falling into any traps. And when you are intelligent about the way you allow your career to progress, then your potential is truly limitless.”

Ask Deyn about her own potential, and she’ll grow self-conscious again and lose herself in one long shrug of the shoulders. Right now, all she can think about are matters closer to home. She says that she hasn’t seen her boyfriend, her Paddington, for some time now. They are currently conducting a long-distance relationship as he lives 4,000 miles away, in Hull.

“It’s tough,” she says, “because do you have any idea how difficult it is to get from New York to Hull? You have to fly from here to Manchester, then take one train, then another. After that, it’s on to the local bus, which always crawls. It’s 15 hours door-to-door, and it’s bloody knackering.”

Presumably, she doesn’t see him often enough? She shrugs her shoulders, and forces a defeated smile.

“What do you think?” she says.

Ela e o namorado Albert Hammond Jr. em um passeio. Pose na campanha colorida da Burberry. Participação na festa da Chandon. Se deliciando com seu prato preferido.

“I like my bikes [she keeps one on either side of the Atlantic], but people think I’m, like, eccentric for insisting on pedalling to work.”

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10

Estrondo SedutorSerge Gainsborg fez suas respectivas Jane Birkin e Brigitte Bardot gemerem e sugerirem as maiores fantasias lúbricas nos clássicos da chanson francesa pro mundo todo. O Two Virgins tem uma faixa que consiste basicamente de John e Yoko dizerem o nome um do outro, entre gemidos e respirações ofegantes. Mick Jagger botou Marianne Faithfull no bom caminho, por assim dizer, e Sister Morphine, encontrou uma voz.A música é pródiga em exemplos bem sucedidos de produção/composição masculina registradas por vocais sensuais femininos.

Rica Amabis, Pupillo e Dengue foram além.Tiraram as mulheres da condição de musa por contingência. Mas sem perder a libido jamais. A formação do 3 na Massa (que conta com os membros da Nação Zumbi na cozinha) consegue ser a melhor novidade em se tratando de bandas paralelas dessa leva interminável de novos projetos pop eletrônicos. Suas influências formam uma colagem sonora e visual tão heterogênea quanto se consegue ser ultimamente na música contemporânea. Metais que lembram em muitos momentos a Orquestra Imperial, ou a excelente Vermute de Recife.

Atinge ao mesmo tempo um clima lúdico e sofisticado. Aqui cabe dizer, todos as formações no estilo “coletivo” atual - vide Moreno, Domenico, Kassin+ tantos!, esbanjam em barulhinhos, texturas, invencionices das mais prazerosas. As parcerias não podiam ter simbiose maior. Nas músicas disponíveis no Myspace, tem desde Thalma de Freitas, sub-aproveitada em novelas da Globo, mostrando sua elegância nada afetada e voz suave na faixa “O seu lugar”, até CéU, revelação de 2006, interpretando uma canção de Junio Barreto, “Doce Guia”. “Tatuí” merece um à parte. A hipnótica faixa escrita por Rodrigo Amarante ganha um ar de lolita na voz de sua namorada, Karine Carvalho. Como se não bastasse isso, pra deixar o ouvinte arfando e louco pra ouvir de uma vez o aguardado cd de estréia, Manara com sua safadeza à moda antiga ilustra a página da banda na internet.

OPINIÃO DE QUEM JÁ OUVIUQuando ouvi falar pela primeira vez deste projeto “3 NA MASSA” desconfiei, franzi o cenho e achei que seria mais uma destas historias que começam, começam e começam sem nunca chegar de fato a lugar algum. Estava redondamente enganado (para a minha própria felicidade e de todos que por ventura venham a conhecer este ousado álbum). A idéia é perfeita: Mulheres; - mulheres falando de suas experiências amorosas com homens (ou não...) que marcaram as suas vidas de algum modo, seduzindo, ou sendo seduzidas, pervertendo ou sendo pervertidas por estes (as). A sensualidade transborda pelas beiradas do disco mundo a fora e enche os ouvidos de belas estórias entremeadas por musicas que podem soar ora picantes, saudosas, alegres, divertidas (quase que circenses) ou como devaneios eróticos em um parque de diversões. As vezes lembra-me algo dos filmes de Fellini, como também podem ser a trilha sonora de uma das imaginativas estórias de Millo Manara ou quem sabe ainda uma nova releitura das coisas produzidas por Serge Gainsbourg nas décadas de sessenta e setenta,

entretanto, com originalidade, brasilidade e estilo pra ninguém botar defeito. Mas o que danado significa “3 NA MASSA”? Ainda não entendi nada! Quem são os três e que raios é massa? Serão donos de padaria, pizzaria? Calma que a explicação vem agora: Formado pelos “metidos a produtores” Rica Amabis (instituto), Pupillo (nação zumbi) e Sucinto Silva (também da nação zumbi), o trio (daí três) conta com a cozinha (baixo e bateria) da supra citada banda de Recife e as hábeis mãos do garoto prodígio da capital paulista pilotando as gravações e incrementando as musicas com muito molho e recheios de dar água na boca. Por esta razão eles estão com a “mão na massa” como se diz nas ruas. Convidados e convidadas especiais (indispensáveis por sinal) dão força e forma necessárias e vitais para a realização da empreitada, revezando-se sem tirar de dentro e sem perder o fôlego. Preparem-se para chegar ao clímax de pura alegria e prazer.

Com a banda 3 Na Massa, cantoras como CéU e Thalma de Freitas se reiventam como musas em projeto inovador

As vozes: Thalma de Freitas, Alice Braga, Pitty e Nina Becker.

"Eu estou quase sempre pronta.Quase sempre.

Tenho certeza que vai ser ainda melhor.Acho que agora eu quero morrer e viver contigo

para sempre.Vem."

Tarde Demais feat. Alice Braga Ramiro Zwetsch - [email protected]

Estrondo Sedutor

Tim Festival - São Paulo, SP, Brazil

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Does the world need another indie band?

Friday night on the Pyramid Stage at Glastonbury. This is the venue Radiohead played a career-defining show 11 years ago. In the past, it has hosted masterful live performances from The White Stripes, Muse and The Who. Tonight’s headliners are the terrific Kings of Leon. Before they can take the stage, however, there’s one more support act to soak up. In the half-dark just after sunset, a tousle-haired man in a promising Pink Floyd T-shirt steps up to the mic, carrying his comforting, classic Gibson Les Paul guitar. But then he opens his mouth. His name is Jon Lawler, and his band are known as The Fratellis.

Festival season is in full swing now. Across the land, stages are being raised in city parks, in country farms and on ancient estates for what promises to be Britain’s biggest ever summer of music. But if they want to book enough acts to justify the inflated ticket prices in these harsh economic times, once-eager festival organisers have a struggle on their hands. How will they fill that gaping hole on Sunday afternoon? Who’s going to warm up the crowd for The Ting Tings? Luckily the current UK music scene has just the thing. Someone has even compounded a helpful term to use when you call the record companies in a line-up emergency; this uninspiring, guitar-gelled Polyfilla – of which The Fratellis are a fine example – is now known by some as “landfill indie”.

As in every musical era, one style dominates the hearts and minds of our nation’s youth; it dictates their fashion sense, their relationship with their parents and, quite possibly, their personal-hygiene regimen. These days, it’s indie that’s the cholesterol in the veins of popular culture, and we need to start thinking about a crash diet.

You know who they are, these smooth-chinned strummers, with their smart-arsed, self-admiring band names almost invariably prefaced by the definite article: The Kooks, The Courteeners, The Holloways, The Rascals, The View,

The Wombats, The Automatic, The Pigeon Detectives, The Hoosiers. Their turgid, tuneless banalities use all the oxygen between ad breaks on XFM; they mop up the soggy midday slot on the main stage. Indie is the 30-year-old genre that gave us The Smiths, The Stone Roses, Blur and Arctic Monkeys. But in that period it has also produced Ocean Colour Scene, Menswear and Joe Lean and The Jing Jang Jong.

John Niven was an indie fan in the 1980s, an A&R man in the Britpopping 1990s, and is now the author of Kill Your Friends, a sadistic satire of the record industry of which he was once an enthusiastic member. “I was in Gap a few weeks ago and there was some sort of generic indie music playing,” he says. “I was with a friend who’s a promoter and a bit younger than me. After about three or four tracks I asked him: ‘Whose LP is this?’ And he said, ‘No, it’s a compilation.’ Every track sounded identical. The guitars, the production; all these bands sound like they’re made in the same studio with the same producer. It’s such a ball-less, soulless, generic whitewashed indie sound. You could probably take a member from each band and throw them together in a new group and no one would be able to tell the difference. They’re completely interchangeable. Scouting for Girls are like the sound of Satan’s scrotum emptying. They’re abysmal.”

Once, indie was a world away from the mainstream. “Originally we talked of ‘independent’ music, meaning music on independent labels, and at that time there was still a shared (if

loose) framework of ideology and sonics that traced back to punk,” explains Simon Reynolds, pop historian and author of Rip it Up and Start Again: Post-Punk 1978-1984. “It was an oppositional term: independent music

opposed itself to the mainstream rock and pop released on major labels. The idea was that on independent labels you would find more experimental or adventurous music, people exploring esoteric and non-

It’s the height of the festival season, and across Britain Identikit groups of tight-trousered, floppy-haired boys with guitars are taking to the stage, to thrash out a homogenous jangle. Critics have dubbed their sound ‘indie landfill’. Is it the death knell of a once-vibrant underground scene? Ramiro Zwetsch - [email protected]

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Does the world need another indie band?

commercial directions, making sounds too abrasive or weird to be on daytime radio. The lyrical content would be radical or challenging, either exploring the dark side of human condition, or being political in various ways, or just very sophisticated, ironic, and so on.

“By about 1984/1985, though, ‘indie’ meant a style of song-oriented, guitar-based music whose opposition to the mainstream took the form of no longer being contemporary – spurning synthesisers and drum machines and sequencers, avoiding the R&B and dance music influences that dominated the pop charts, and instead looking back to rock’s archives, principally the 1960s. ‘Indie’ meant jangly guitar groups. By 1986 ‘indie’ pretty much equated with a refusal of the pop present. Because it now meant a style of music, not a means of production and distribution, it could be uncoupled from the independent label system, and that is what gradually happened.”

Between NME’s seminal C86 compilation tape (which crystallised the 1980s indie sound) and the Britpop revolution a decade later, the genre still had a separate chart ‘ and “indie” really meant independent. It just so happened that most of the bands on indie labels played jangly guitars: baggy bands such as The Charlatans and Inspiral Carpets, T-shirt bands including Ned’s Atomic Dustbin, shoe-gazers such as Ride. Whenever one of them managed to break into the mainstream weekly pop chart, it was a major event.

Britpop changed everything. Overnight, bands from the fringes of pop culture became the country’s biggest acts, their independent sound suddenly the industry standard. Blur and Pulp demonstrated intellect and cultural awareness, Suede were pale, interesting and androgynous, Oasis brought the attitude. But already the indie waters were muddied. Oasis was on the Creation label, whose founder Alan McGee had sold 49 per cent of the company to Sony for £2.5m in 1992. Suede’s label, Nude, was also part of Sony. Blur was signed to Food, which by 1994 was a subsidiary of EMI. Meanwhile, the majors realised the commercial clout of appearing to be indie and started up their own boutique labels in the apparent hope of fooling fans: BMG, for instance, spawned Indolent and Dedicated, and Virgin gave birth to Hut.

“[Britpop] was great fun,” wrote the journalist Andrew Collins in a 2006 piece for Word. “But it wasn’t indie, and it pushed a whole slew of workmanlike guitar bands centre-stage, where they were even expected to represent their rebranded country, giving the quite false impression that Cool Britannia was an Indie Nation. The essence of New Labour, indie was capitalism dressed up as revolutionary socialism.”

These days the term ‘indie’ is little more than a generic sonic description for any band that plays guitars and probably wears skinny ties, skinny jeans, and skinny cardigans. Collins, a former NME writer and ex-editor of Q, says now: “’Indie’ has become a meaningless term. It just covers guitar bands. But it was never meant to be about a type of music, it wasa spirit and an attitude. When I glance around the bands that are supposedly ‘indie’ today, I don’t see any attitude. I don’t see any content in their records, any political interest in the band members. They’re a terrible generation, unfortunately, but they’re becoming famous overnight and selling a lot of records. I’ve heard them called ‘mortgage indie’. It’s a career path – a way of making a lot of money very quickly. The Kooks did so well so quickly. Scouting For Girls, from a standing start, have become a really big band. The Fratellis have become massive in a remarkably short time.”

There are still indie die-hards out there, the pre-eminent example being Arctic Monkeys, who rebuffed all major label interest in favour of signing to the small, principled Domino Records, then ended up shifting 363,735 copies of their debut album, Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not, in a week. Seattle’s Sub Pop label just celebrated its 20th birthday by bringing the wonderful Fleet Foxes to these shores, while XL Recordings maintains an enviable and varied roster that now includes Vampire Weekend, MIA and Devendra Banhart. Tellingly, XL was also chosen by Radiohead to distribute the physical version of their last album, In Rainbows.

But the success of Arctic Monkeys, and the brief blaze of The Libertines, has brought its own Britpop effect. Before the Arctics’ ascendance, guitars and pianos plodded along at a stately pace, Keane and Snow Patrol playing out a parodic imitation of The Verve.

Since Whatever People Say I Am..., rubbish radio filler has become faster and more frantic, but also, arguably, worse. At least Keane have an ear for a tune.

At the same time, the Arctics’ supposed recipe for success – the much-hyped MySpace profile that let them build a fanbase without a budget – has been co-opted by the rest of the industry. Like the establishment of those boutique brands, it’s now just another major label marketing ploy.

Pity any guitar-playing teen from north of Watford. The well-deserved success of the Arctics means record companies are on the hunt for more teenage wunderkinds like their frontman Alex Turner; thus we have a glut of youngsters, such as One Night Only and The Enemy, with underdeveloped ideas that have never been given a chance to mature. By the time they’re grown up enough to learn more than one trick (or three chords), the NME will already have started the backlash, and another young group of guitar plodders will have taken their place. Indie is merely apeing pop’s abiding obsession with youth. Here’s another term for the indie glossary: a “firework band”. It means a widely touted young act whose label has a debut LP to sell. They begin their professional lives by exploding into the top of the charts, shine brightly, then drop out of sight. The turnover of new acts is terrifying. Parklife, lest we forget, was Blur’s third album.

“Everything has accelerated,” says Collins. “I can’t believe Scouting For Girls. I remember hearing that song ‘She’s So Lovely’ and thinking, ‘What’s this shit?’ And the next thing you know, it’s a hit, and they’re a hit, and the next two singles are hits. New bands go massive on their first album, but there’s almost no chance they can follow it up on their second. Record companies are there for the shareholders. If they can make some money quickly off the next big indie band, they will, but it doesn’t mean the band will make any. The band will be left scratching their heads and wondering what happened. Whereas Arctic Monkeys will continue to be supported by Domino, and luckily they’re massively talented – enough to continue making good records. A lot of other bands, I’m afraid, are not in it for the long haul. ‘mortgage indie’ is a nice idea, but I’m not sure it will end up actually paying their mortgages.”

For many acolytes of the original indie scene, the saddest by-product of its decline is the state of the NME, formerly their paper of record. The organ’s journalists were once so passionate about the integrity of the genre that they threatened a schism over the inclusion of too much hip-hop on their pages; now it, too, has become a corporate entity.

“I recently saw an interview with Conor McNicholas where he was talking about

2001: New York hipsters The Strokes release Is This It.

14

‘growing the brand’,” Niven recalls. “The editor of the NME using the expression ‘growing the brand’! It’s hardly Nick Kent sneaking out of the office to run down Carnaby Street and score smack, is it?”

Nowadays, to be an “NME band” is all too often to be a “firework band”. The annual NME Awards at which they’re celebrated are sponsored by Shockwaves from Wella, the very hair gel with which indie kids style their Kook-ish coiffures from Glasgow to Guildford. With such bland uniformity so speedily infecting our nation’s youth, is there any hope left for a flourishing, and truly ‘indie’, scene?

“I’m sure there’s a real indie scene out there somewhere,” says Niven, “with some great bands and kids running really happening club nights. I went to a venue in Glasgow last year called the National Pop League, and it was a room full of 18-year-old kids all dancing to The Weather Prophets, The Loft, Primal Scream, The Jasmine Minks – indie records from the 1980s. It was like when we were going to Splash One in Glasgow in the 1980s and dancing to Velvet Underground, Big Star and things that were from a generation before us.”

Forget the filler, it’s this year’s Glastonbury headliners that should point the way for the next generation. There was Jay-Z, of course, the world’s greatest rapper. There was the Kings of Leon, who manage to make interesting noises with electric guitars. And there was The Verve, who, almost 20 years after their formation, remind us what indie really meant to people in the days when there was no danger of troubling the pop charts, nor of paying the mortgage with music; when the words were about something, anything – politics, perhaps, or at least an original thought about love; when waifish white boys had more to say than simply, “Look Mum, I’m in a band!”; before Britpop and MySpace and landfill indie.

“Once these bands stop having hits every day it will dry up,” argues Collins. “The kids will get bored. You can’t grow up on a diet of The Pigeon Detectives and think you could topple the Government one day. If we end up with 20 years of Tory government, it’ll be The Pigeon Detectives’ fault.”

1977: The Buzzcocks release their Spiral Scratch EP on their DIY label, New Hormones. Pop historians will refer to it as the first indie record;

1986: NME and Rough Trade compile and release C86, the cassette (featuring, among others, Primal Scream, The Soup Dragons and Half Man Half Biscuit) that defines the indie genre;

1987: The Smiths leave independent label Rough Trade after four albums and sign a more lucrative deal with EMI, then split acrimoniously before they record a note;

1990: The Stone Roses, led by singer Ian Brown stage a Woodstock for the baggys generation – a huge gig at Spike Island in Widnes. Among the 27,000 fans is a young Noel Gallagher; 1992: Alan McGee sells half of Creation Records to Sony for £2.5m. Later, Nude is sold to Sony, Factory to London Records, Go!Discs to Phonogram and Food to EMI;

1993: Indie fans Steve Lamacq and Jo Whiley take over Radio One’s high-profile Evening Session slot and make it their own. Blur release their second album, Modern Life is Rubbish. According to John Harris, the author of The Last Party: Britpop, Blair and the Demise of British Rock, this is the first true Britpop album. Alan McGee goes to Glasgow venue King Tut’s Wah Wah Hut to see his label’s act 18 Wheeler play, and discovers a little band called Oasis;

1995: Blur and Oasis release singles in the same week (“Country House” and “Roll With It”) in what NME bills as a “British heavyweight championship”. Blur win the immediate battle to reach number one, but Oasis win the war: their album, (What’s the Story) Morning Glory?, sells 18m copies worldwide; 1997: Oasis’s third album, Be Here Now, is bloated and ugly. Blur by Blur sounds American. Britpop dies a belated death;

2001: New York hipsters The Strokes release Is This It. Everyone forgets about Britain;

2002: The Libertines release their debut, Up The Bracket. Shambling guitars become chic again;

2004: Snow Patrol’s Final Straw and Keane’s Hopes and Fears top the album charts. Indie reaches a low point ;

2006: Arctic Monkeys’ Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not becomes the fastest-selling debut album in chart history. The major labels snap up every 17-year-old guikookstar player in the land;

2008: Scouting For Girls’ debut album reaches Number One. Indie eats itself.

How indie

ate itself?

15

Who’s keeping indie alive?Who’s keeping indie alive?

No tipped-for-2008 list would be complete without Adele Adkins, touched by the soul gods on one of their rare excursions to Tottenham, North London. After a leg-up from her pal Jamie T and a stint at the Brit School performing arts college, Adkins has blossomed into an Ella Fitzgerald/Dusty Springfield for the Noughties. Tender, streetwise, and capable of detecting bullshit at 50 paces, her time is now.

Adele

Peggy Sue and

The Pirates Though the name suggests a decent body count, Brighton’s PSATP are in fact comprised of Rosa Rex, Katy Claw and their “rather impressive

guitar- tuner” Sir Pablo. Their succinct, acoustic guitar-based songs are pleasingly devoid of lyrical cliché, hence “Superman” finds said hero in uncharacteristically despondent mood as he reflects on the varying quality of the actors who have played him. Way to go.

Black Kids“Pop music is all about theft,” say Florida-based quintet Black Kids, but when you pilferfrom The Cure, Arcade Fire and a plethora of old school R&B records, you end up sounding rather unique. “I’m Not Gonna Teach Your

Boyfriend How To Dance With You”, warns the group’s front man Reggie Youngblood on a song inspired by a real-life rug cutting experience. The Beastie Boys’ Mike D is a fan.

“Dance or die!” orders French Euro-crunk chanteuse Yelle, and her squelchy electronic nugget “Tristesse Joie” – arguably the catchiest record to come out of her homeland since Air’s “Sexy Boy”– certainly sounds like a floor-filler. You can catch the sassy, irreverent Breton at Brixton Academy on 26 February when she supports (and most likely blows away) Mika.

Yelle

No tipped-for-2008 list would be complete without Adele Adkins, touched by the soul gods on one of their rare excursions to Tottenham. After a leg-up from her pal Jamie T

and a stint at the Brit School, Adkins has blossomed into an Ella Fitzgerald/Dusty Springfield for the Noughties. Tender, streetwise, and capable of detecting bullshit at 50 paces, her time is now.

Joe Lean &

The Jing Jang Jong

Santogold Great name, great sound. Santogold, AKA Santi White, is a black, Brooklyn-via-Philadelphia- based singer and lawyer’s daughter whose CV documents stints studying Cuban hand drumming and a spell with punk band Stiffed. These days, she’s big on dub-tinged electronica and new wave guitar-infused mash-ups. MIA and Mark Ronson are pals and Björk has invited White to tour with her.

Indie rock is a genre of alternative rock that primarily exists in the independent underground music scene. It primarily refers to rock musicians that are or were unsigned, or have signed to independent record labels, rather than major record labels. Genres or subgenres often associated with indie rock include lo-fi, post-rock, sadcore, C86, and math rock, to list but a few; other related (and sometimes overlapping) categories include shoegazing and indie pop. Indie rock artists place a premium on maintaining complete control of their music and careers, releasing albums on independent record labels (sometimes their own) and relying on touring, word-of-mouth, and airplay on independent or college radio stations for promotion. Some end up moving to major labels, often on favorable terms won by their prior independent success.

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Hoje eu vouassim!

Cristiana Guerra, 38 anos, mãe do Francisco, publitária mineira e blogueira.

Essa é a personagem dessa edição. Há mais de 1 ano a Cris mantém o “Hoje vou assim” (www.hojevouassim.com.br), lá ela posta as roupas que veste todos os dias para ir trabalhar e foi assim que a Wondelust descobriu ela como mulher de estilo. Agora a Cris vai lançar um livro e não é sobre moda, é sim sobre ela, sobre o Francisco, sobre o Gui. O livro “Para Francisco” nasce a partir de um apanhado do que já foi contado no seu blog para o Francisco. A descrição é simples: Um homem tem morte súbita, dois meses antes do nascimento do seu único filho. Assim nasce este blog. Tentando entender e explicar dois sentimentos opostos e simultâneos vividos pela viúva e mãe que, no caso, sou eu. Muitos questionamentos. Muitos raciocínios. Muito aprendizado. E uma pressa em falar para o Francisco sobre seu pai, sobre o mundo e sobre mim mesma (só por garantia).

Tem gente que leva o “Hoje vou assim” muito a sério. Não é o caso da dona dele.

“Hoje vou assim” começou como uma brincadeira, com o simples objetivo de fazer um diário do que visto dia a dia para ir trabalhar. Nenhuma peça está à venda. De vez em quando faço um bazar aqui. As legendas com as marcas das peças estão aí para ajudar a quem quiser encontrar peças parecidas. Mas você também pode se inspirar nas cores, formas, combinações, estampas, estilos e não apenas nas marcas. Ou pode nem se inspirar e entrar aqui só por curiosidade ou diversão. As pessoas que tornam esse blog possível se divertem a cada post. Se você tem bom humor, vai ser fácil entrar no clima. Para quem não tem, é necessário explicar que o blog, definitivamente, não tem como intuito: fazer fofoca, falar mal da vida alheia, competir ou promover competições de qualquer tipo. E nem é arena para troca de ofensas. Acreditando nisso, não modero comentários. Essa parte fica por sua conta. Liberdade, educação e delicadeza são clássicos. Nunca saem de moda.

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Já parou pra pensar que você é sua própria estilista?

Que ao acordar você se prepara para um desfile diário, voluntário ou não, e ao se vestir faz suas escolhas? Já parou pra pensar que, assim como o estilista elege cores, formas, texturas, estampas, você seleciona as suas entre o que está disponível por aí? Que, como os estilistas, você também é influenciada pelo mundo que está à sua volta e pelo seu próprio humor, pelas alegrias e tristezas, dias de tédio ou paixão? Que ao fazer uma simples combinação de cores, texturas, estilos, você está mostrando a sua forma de ver a vida? Já parou pra pensar que a moda pode ser futilidade quando dela somos escravos, mas pode ser arte quando a usamos como forma de expressão? Que a escolha de uma roupa para vestir não precisa se pautar por ela ser ou não tendência, mas por combinar ou não com você? Já parou pra pensar em novas combinações para velhas peças? Já parou pra pensar que tem dias que a gente é criativo e, em outros, alguém já foi criativo por nós, e isso facilita? E que nessas horas você veste a sua admiração por um artista?

Já parou pra pensar que o seu guarda-roupas é a sua coleção? Que a moda pode ter tanta inspiração quanto um quadro, uma escultura, uma música, um filme? Que a moda pode ser arte andando por aí? Já parou pra pensar nisso? Eu já.

Ela é corajosa. Sim, também vaidosa.

Mas com o seu Hoje Vou Assim, esta moça com certeza ajuda muita gente naquela maldita - ou bendita, depende de cada um - hora de escolher a roupa para ir trabalhar. Ela se fotografa diariamente com a roupa que escolheu para o seu dia, com direito a dar os créditos, as marcas de todo o seu visual, sapato, bolsa, acessórios, roupas, tudo, e depois posta em seu blog.

Vale pra gente prestar atenção nas combinações espertas que a moça faz: ela parece não ter medo de combinar cores, o que não é nada habitual na vestimenta do brasileiro, em geral. E, pode conferir, ela normalmente acerta.

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Se o deboche no trabalho anterior recaiu sobre o Pop e o Rock, desta vez recai em cima do R&B, do Soul e até mesmo da música eletrônica, mais precisamente do Techno. Destaques para “Touch Too Much”, “One Pure Thought” e para “In The Privacy Of Your Love”, faixa que encerra o ‘track list’.

Marcelo Camelo dispensa apresentações. O músico ficou nacionalmente conhecido à frente do quarteto Los Hermanos. Após uma década juntos o grupo decide se separar para que cada integrante desse seguimento em outros projetos. “Sou” é o primeiro passo no caminho escolhido por Camelo.

Marcelo Camelo Sou

Hot Chip Made in the dark

As músicas de “Lucky”, ao mesmo tempo que são relativamente calmas, trazem uma energia pulsante mesmo nas partes mais lentas e introspectivas, como em “Here Goes Something”. “Weightless” é a faixa mais Rock n’ Roll do álbum. Mas logo após o clima volta a se acalmar com “Are You Lightning”, uma das melhores canções do álbum.

Nada SurfLucky

She & HimVolume one

Rachael YamagataElephants... Teeth sinking into heart

Both Zooey Deschanel and M. Ward have their own successful careers, but on Volume One - the first offering new collaborative band She & Him - him is less than she. Although Ward produced the record and closet songwriter Deschanel only started sharing her songs at his request, the album succeeds mostly because those songs feel like familiar AM radio classics

and because her voice offers instant emotional empathy. Ward’s tasteful playing and sparse arrangements just serve to make something good that much better.

On the charming “Sentimental Heart”, she’s wrecked, crying on the floor, lonely without him. One song later during “Why Do You Let Me Stay Here?”, she’s sitting on the shelf, playfully waiting for him to come over. During “I Was Made for You”, she’s giddy over the smiling him in the street. The him in question changes throughout Volume One, but she relates to the masculine through a consistently naïve romanticism, whether it’s riding a tandem bicycle alone on the somehow upbeat “Black Hole” or cheerfully telling girlfriends that love is a glorious but interminable conquest on “This Is Not a Test”. Aside from two duets and obscurant backing vocals on one track, Ward serves as him only sonically, servicing the songs from the wings; thematically, Deschanel sings about a him that’s not Ward at all.

Encapsulating the sadness, pain and inevitable questioning of a breakup in nine songs and one hidden gem, “Elephants” debuts with the title track, full of whispered words, dainty piano and moments of soaring orchestral strings. Dark and vulnerable, “Elephants” continues on this emotional trajectory as Yamagata seems to work through the

first few stages of grief--the misery, the anger, the loneliness. Sonically, the album takes a momentary upswing on “Sunday Afternoon,” with her still reflective vocals gaining strength and a wailing electric guitar the perfect accompaniment at points, juxtaposed with more moody strings.

The second portion, “Teeth Sinking Into Heart,” kicks off with the furious “Sidedish Friend,” a short but potent burst of guitar-driven energy in which Yamagata lays down the rules for a part-time lover, while “Faster” tells the ex to get lost rock-star style. It’s in these final songs that the delicate songstress finds her feet again, her sad croon transforming into a sturdy voice full of clarity, personal strength and ownership. “Don’t,” the roller-coaster album’s final track, may still sound oh-woe-is-me with the “Twin Peaks”- esque bassy notes and Yamagata’s slow drawl, but listen to the lyrics and you’ll realize this woman in transition will do just fine on her own, thank you very much.

O novo álbum do Stereolab traz aquilo que a banda faz há quase 20 anos. Se o fato de não haver novidade é algo passível de crítica, por outro lado a banda mantém a louvável capacidade de criar melodias e canções que são quase uma trilha sonora.

StereolabChemical Chords

Listen to this music

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David Rice é um Jumper, alguém capaz de se teletransportar, podendo ir a qualquer lugar, a qualquer momento. Sua vida sofre uma reviravolta quando ele percebe que está sendo perseguido por uma organização secreta com a missão de matar os Jumpers. Ele se alia a outro garoto com o mesmo poder, e embarca em uma guerra que já vem sendo travada há milhares de anos.

Uma fascinante e sensual história de intriga, romance e traição. Duas irmãs, Anne (Natalie Portman) e Mary (Scarlett Johansson) Bolena conduzidas pela ambição da família, na busca pelo poder e status se envolvem em um jogo, onde o amor e a atenção do rei da Inglaterra é o objetivo. Jogadas na perigosa e excitante vida da corte, o que era para ser uma tentativa de ajuda à família, transforma-se em uma cruel rivalidade entre irmãs.

A Outra The Other Boleyn Girl (EUA, 2007)

Jumper Jumper (EUA, 2008)

Carter Page é um homem de meia-idade, filho de político, que vive em Washington jogando cartas com mulheres velhas e ricas, a quem serve de acompanhante. Quando o amante de uma delas é assassinado, ele se torna o suspeito.

O AcompanhanteThe Walker (EUA / Reino Unido, 2007)

Quebrando a banca21

MadonnaThe Confessions Tour

Inspirado em fatos ocorridos na década de 1990 e transformados em uma matéria da revista Wired, o filme mostra jovens inteligentíssimos do famoso MIT invadindo a Cidade do Pecado atrás de dinheiro, aventuras e - por que não? - uma nova vida, falsa como tudo erguido no deserto de Nevada. O personagem principal é Ben Campbell (o inglês Jim Surgess, de Across the Universe), nerd assumido que está terminando seu curso no MIT e espera conseguir uma bolsa para ingressar na faculdade de medicina de Harvard. Seu currículo é exemplar, cheio As,

mas o curso custa 300 mil dólares, muito acima do que ele pode pagar.

Sua sorte começa a mudar quando ele é convidado a fazer parte de um grupo treinado em apostar alto - e ganhar - nas mesas de blackjack, conhecido aqui como “21” - jogo em que há mais chances lógicas de se ganhar dinheiro sem depender da sorte ou outras alternativas ilegais. A regra é simples, você joga contra a banca e quem chegar mais perto de marcar 21 pontos ganha. A banca sempre é obrigada a continuar pegando cartas até somar ao menos 17 pontos e se estourar no meio do caminho, todo mundo que apostou ganha.

The Confessions Tour. The DVD portion is basically an extended version of the special of Thanksgiving Eve, showcasing the Queen of Pop at her heart-pumping best during one of the tour’s London stops (at Wembley Arena). It’s almost exclusively up-tempo, staged within an inch of its life yet more vivacious than anything she’s done in years. Its CD companion is a pared-down 13 tracks taken from the live show, and good God it smokes. To put it another way: even “I Love New York” succeeds in this context.

She opens the proceedings with the “I Feel Love”-sampling “Future Lovers,” which bleeds into a cover of its spiritual parent. While I’m not the biggest fan of “Future Lovers” , it sounds nicely futuristic live and works to set the mood. “I Feel Love” slams into a rearranged version of “Like a Virgin,” a song I’m frankly surprised Madonna’s still performing live; her voice is better than the song itself.

“Jump” is utterly sensational. Sure, it’s not all that different from the version found on Dance Floor, but it’s so damned exciting to begin with, why mess with it? “Sorry” follows, with bits of the Pet Shop Boys’ jaw-dropping remix sprinkled about. Play it loudly.

Carter Page é um homem de meia-idade, filho de político, que vive em Washington jogando cartas com mulheres velhas e ricas, a quem serve de acompanhante. Quando o amante de uma delas é assassinado, ele se torna o suspeito.

FôlegoBreath (Coréia do Sul, 2007)

Listen to this music watch this

Ilha das Coieiras- Vitória, ES, Brazil

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O que eu quero de vocêQuero acordar do seu lado num domingo de manhã e saber que não temos hora para sair da cama. E, depois, ir tomar café na padaria e ler o jornal com você. Quero ouvir você me contar sobre o trabalho e falar detalhadamente de pessoas que eu não conheço, e nem vou conhecer, como se fossem meus velhos amigos. Quero ver você me olhar entre um gole de café e outro, sem nada para dizer, e apenas sorrir antes de voltar a folhear o caderno de cultura. Quero a sua mão no meu cabelo, dentro do carro, no caminho do seu apartamento. Quero deitar no sofá e ver você cuidar das plantas, escolher a playlist no ipod e dobrar, daquele seu jeito metódico e perfeccionista, as roupas esquecidas em cima da cama. E que, sem mais nem menos, você desista da arrumação, me jogue sobre a bagunça, me beije e me abrace como nunca fez antes com outra pessoa. E que pergunte se eu quero ver um DVD mais tarde. Quero tomar uma taça de vinho no fim do dia e deitar do seu lado na rede, olhando a lua e ouvindo você me contar histórias do passado. Quero escutar você falar do futuro e sonhar com minha imagem nele, mesmo sabendo que eu provavelmente não estarei lá. Quero que você ignore a improbabilidade da nossa jornada e fale da casa que teremos no campo. Quero que você a descreva em detalhes, que fale do jardim que construiremos, e dos cachorros que compraremos. E que faça tudo isso enquanto passa a mão nas minhas costas e me beija o rosto. Quero que você nunca perca de vista a música da sua existência, e que me prometa ter entendido que a felicidade não é um destino, mas a viagem. E que, por isso, teremos sido felizes pelos vários domingos na cama e pelos sonhos que compartilhamos enquanto olhávamos a lua. Que você acredite que não me deve nada simplesmente porque os amores mais puros não entendem dívida, nem mágoa, nem arrependimento. Então, que não se arrependa. Da gente. Do que fomos. De tudo o que vivemos. Que você me guarde na memória, mais do que nas fotos. Que termine com a sensação de ter me degustado por completo, mas como quem sai da mesa antes da sobremesa: com a impressão que poderia ter se fartado um pouco mais. E que, até o último dia da sua vida, você espalhe delicadamente a nossa história, para poucos ouvintes, como se ela tivesse sido a mais bela história de amor da sua vida. E que uma parte de você acredite que ela foi, de fato, a mais bela história de amor da sua vida. Que você nunca mais deixe de pensar em mim quando for a Londres, escutar Dream’ Bout Me ou ler Nick Hornby. E, por fim, que você continue a dançar na sala. Para sempre. Mesmo quando eu não estiver mais olhando.

Milly Lacombe

A Wonderlust é:

Editora-chefe: Maria Rita Alonso ([email protected])

Editora de arte: Roberta D’Albuquerque ([email protected])

Editor: Ricardo Moreno ([email protected])

Moda: Fabiana Moritz (coordenação) ([email protected])

Música: Kariny Grativol (repórter) ([email protected])

Cinema: Carolina Machado ([email protected])

Arte: Silvana Martins (designer) ([email protected])

Colaboradores: Bruna Cristina Ferreira (estagiária); Renata Sabariego (online); Vinícius Cardoso (estagiário).

w