This Comic Is Superior

Superior is a superhero comic. It tells the story of Simon, a 12-year-old boy with cerebral palsy, who is visited in the night by a monkey in a space suit. The monkey's name is Ormon. Ormon grants a magic wish, and Simon is transformed into Superior, a superhero from the comics and movies of Simon's world. Superior is an analogue for Superman - he flies, has lazer and x-ray vision, superhuman strength, lantern-jawed good looks and impeccable moral fortitude. Simon brings Superior's superpowers out of the realm of fiction and into the reality of his world, but of course there is a catch to that magic wish. I won't go any further with the plot synopsis for fear of spoilers.

This comic will not be on the Booker shortlist. It will not be reviewed by Zadie Smith in The Guardian. It is not a graphic novel. It is a comic; more, it's a superhero comic, but it's no less valid a work of art. It is the culmination of an art-form that's been ongoing since Superman was created in 1938, and includes all the tropes we expect from this genre - the genesis story and the explosion of the new hero into the public sphere with the hot newshound on his heels, the hidden identity and confidant, the question of personal sacrifice for the greater good, the climactic battle among shattered inner-city office towers -all these are here, but Millar uses this grammar to tell a fresh story full of pathos, with themes of the nature of evil and faith, friendship and suffering. It is also fun.

I try to read everything by Mark Millar. Kick Ass 2 is being released as a comic book series at the moment (the next issue will be the finale), and it is funny as hell. Red Mist now calls himself The Motherfucker and is backed up by a supervillain team called The Toxic Mega-Cunts. And it's serious. Both Kick Ass and Superior ask questions about superheroism itself. Superheroism is perhaps a silly, preposterous idea, but it seems to resonate so strongly. Whay do we want superheroes? Why do we want to be superheroes? Why is the world divided into people who would choose invisibility and people who would choose the power of flight? What is up with those people who want to be invisible? What the hell? Flying is obviously more awesome.

Millar's plotting and writing is consistently enthralling. He has a freewheeling style that feels improvised and off-the-cuff - every plot turn feels like you're stepping onto an untrodden path. It's exciting, there's something ramshackle about it, which makes it feel all the more satisfying when he pulls everything back into sweet resolution.

Leinil Yu's art is brilliant as well. He's a Filipino fellow, so the comic is a Filo-Scot mashup, a bit like my marriage. And he's also outstanding at drawing tits, which does not hurt at all.

Superior is a miniseries and it is now available collected in a hardcover edition.

Leinil Yu - Master of Norks

The Ron Chatman Experience of Skateboard Decks

I love skateboards, probably because they were so rare when I first started skating. My pre-teenage life in the small Scottish town of Carnoustie didn't offer much opportunity to visit skate shops, but I could get skate magazines and would spend hours intensely scrutinizing the products, particularly the decks. I would ascribe them characteristics relative to my own skateboarding ability, and convince myself that a certain board would help me skate in a certain way. This is true, but in my mind the link between my board and my own capability remains ridiculously exaggerated.

I was obsessed with the boards of other skaters. I was fascinated by the inscrutable griptape graffiti on the decks of the older guys I'd see in Dundee: Factory Sensibles; DEVO; ELVIS LIVES arranged in a Dogtown-style cross. What did it all mean? My 12-year-old mind did not know, but I loved it all anyway.

Cease and Desist (C&D) is a company that reproduces classic skateboard decks from the late 1980s/early 90s in limited runs. They've reissued a lot of the SMA World Industries and Blind decks from around this time, many of which have graphics by Marc McKee. These decks are so evocative of that era and all that was exciting about it: the move towards double-kick boards as street skating started to realise its potential; the unique shape of every professional skateboarder's pro-model deck, redolent of their skating style; the exclusivity of skating, which was then an entirely niche subculture far removed from the sportified athletic activity it has been wrenched into today. Most of all, it reminds me of a time I was completely wrapped up in skating, when I could learn a new trick every day and ollie so high that my knees would smash into my face.

Some of Marc McKee's graphics for Blind and World Industries in the early 90s

* * * 

I recently bought a C&D reissue of the 1990 SMA World Industries Ron Chatman 'Ron Chatman Experience' deck. I will not skate it; it is to hang upon my wall. The graphic is a pastiche of the Jimi Hendrix Experience 'Axis Bold as Love' album art. I remember boards of this era being coated in a heavy gloss lacquer-varnish that is absent here, but it's otherwise an accurate reproduction. Importantly the hue of the woodstain seems authentic to the era. There is something potent in the contrast of the fluorescent screen-printed cartoonish graphic screaming off the stained wood background. I love this effect, and wish it was more prevalent in skateboards today. I hated it when boards went to full-cover graphics - there must be an economic or practical reason for this, as it is aesthetically inferior.

Cease & Desist 2011 Reissue of the 1990 SMA Ron Chatman 'Ron Chatman Experience' deck

Ron Chatman came to Scotland with John Cardiel, Alan Peterson, The Gonz and Salman Agah in 1992. I went to see them skate at Livingston skatepark. I got so hyped watching the skating that I wanted to skate as well, so I left the crowded skatepark to go roll around a nearby carpark. Some of the visiting pros wanted to escape the park as well, because Alan Peterson and Salman Agah showed up and skated with me. I had an H-Street Dan Peterka deck. Salman Agah skated it and said it felt weird, which was a bit of a diss, but I was stoked anyway.

 * * * 

I still love skateboard decks, and have only just gotten over leaning boards against my bedroom wall in sight of my bed so that they are the last thing I see before I go to sleep (sentimental in my middle years, I now prefer to see my wife). I remain very particular about the decks I skate and I bloody love a nice graphic, which is why I bought one of Alien Workshop's recent Andy Warhol series of decks, a Tyler Bledsoe pro model. I sat it by my fireplace until I was ready to set it up and skate it, but when that time came I decided that I like looking at it so much that I'm now loath to skate it. So I bought another board and it remains by my fireplace, unskated, where I think it will stay. It looks nice, yes?

Alien Workshop Tyler Bledsoe from Andy Warhol series

Malvern Star Skidstar Bicycle Restoration Project

A couple of years ago I bought a late 1960s Malvern Star Skidstar bicycle with a view to restoring it. It was my first attempt at rebuilding a bicycle, and I decided to restore it to an appearance of my choosing, rather than strive to recreate the original appearance.

unrestored Skidstar

I stripped and sanded the frame down to the bare metal, laid down a coat of primer spray-paint, then spray-painted with a matte ivory (creamy off-white) finish. The paint has since chipped a little bit; next time I'll use a powder-coating. The mudguards are Velo Orange US imports. These have been a touch problematic too, as I can't achieve enough rigidity in the forward section of the front mudguard to avoid it rattling as I ride. Cottered crankset and bottom bracket have been replaced, pedals are original, new sprung leather saddle, new Schwinn stitched leather handlebar grips. The handelbars themselves were salvaged from another bike, and have a bit of chrome peeling/blistering. 

I fitted a nice leather chain guard, and I kept the original Sturmey Archer 3-speed hub gear, fortunately still in fine working corder, fitting new cables and shifter. Hub-geared 3-speed bikes are just the ticket for commuting - I loved riding my Raleigh around London. They'll allow you to climb a decent hill and steam down the other side, they have no unsightly and greasy derailleur, but none of the restrictions of a single-speed.

The original Altenburger Synchron dual-pivot calipers look great, but they don't work brilliantly. I had to remove some perished plastic pivot bushings from them and bodge replacements. 

The  wheels were heavily rusted - the front wheel is an alloy replacement, rear wheel is a problematic original - the steel rim is indented, I guess the idea being that it would bite into the brake pad and skid (hey, it's a Skidstar!), but the actual effect is that it eats brake pads very quickly, consequently the braking is weak.

 

The restoration was an intense and frustrating process, but I learned a lot from it. I love the bike so much that I named it - I call it Barlow, after Lou from Dinosaur Jr and Sebadoh. But the project also exposed the limitations of an amateur restoration without a dedicated workshop, extensive toolkit, or expansive budget. I've reached the limit of what I can do with it, and the rattling front mudguard and brake/rim issue prevent everyday enjoyment of the bike.

 * * *

I have a road bike with panniers that I use for work and chores most days, so old Barlow has been indoors for the past year, only out for occasional slow cruises. When I do take it out it attracts a lot of jealous glances. It is a beauty.

 

I've decided to sell the bike on Ebay and maybe scratch back some of the money I've thrown at it. I can't afford to have a barely-used bike taking up space, and it's time to say goodbye to Barlow, the gorgeous and frustrating old thing.

Briscoe.

It is a new(ish) year, and I have decided to start a new blog under a new name, which is Big Wow. There were a few other blogs called Terminal Moraine (the name of my previous blog), so I opted to remove myself from that crowded marketplace, and Big Wow reflects the diminished expectations I have about creating and sustaining a readership."Big Wow" was a sarcastic phrase used to shatter enthusiasm in the playgrounds of my youth, and it may articulate the sentiment that forms in the mind of the reader as they alight upon another fucking blog.

***

My friend Bart Denaro has a band. They are called Briscoe, and they are great. They have recorded an album, which is not yet released, but my wife's in the band so I have heard it, and I will let you in on a secret - it's brilliant. I love them so much I wrote their name on the griptape of my new board.

Briscoe played their first gig at the Lansdowne Hotel in January, and they smashed it. I was all a-tingle with goosebumps. My objectivity is out of the window with this band, and I can't help but feel excited about them. Early reviews on Triple J Unearthed and some blogs have been very positive, which reassures me that my critical faculties have not been entirely clouded by the affection I have for these guys.

My impartiality is further compromised by my involvement with the music video clip for Briscoe's debut single, Animal. Bart directed Dee, who is the star, and me, who held the camera, and the result should be playable below:

I think it turned out well, and we had a good time making it. Here is an outtake featuring Briscoe bass boss Dave Anderson and Bonnie, who is a dog and a very good girl.

Briscoe are playing Sydney, Canberra and Newcastle to launch the single - the details are here.

Bike Expedition To Gladesville Skatepark

I work rostered shifts covering various news programmes at the ABC. This week I'm on Lateline (if you live in Britain, you can understand this as Australia's Newsnight). The shift starts at 2pm and ends at 10.36pm. There are of course bad things about this, but one good thing is the big chunk of daytime to play in before work. Sometimes I indulge in lengthy peregrinations on my bicycle, like yesterday, when I rode out to the Gladesville/Henley area of northwest Sydney to visit a skateboard park there. 

The journey was around 13kms, which I extended a kilometer by taking a wrong turn, as you can see on this map:

I strapped my board to my bike and was soon on the peaceful canalside paths of Haberfield, but it wasn't long to busy Lyons Road and the grim multi-lane Victoria Road, where a ute-load of passing bogans leaned from their windows to deliver a doppler-distorted roar of abuse. I crossed the Parramatta River by the Gladesville Bridge, where I tried to follow a presumed bike/foot path on the left-hand side as I rode northwards, but had to stop and lift my bike over the barrier onto the treacherous 4-lane road when the path became too narrow to continue. What the hell, Sydney. A lovely blast of salty harbour air punched through the vehicle fumes as I reached the apex of the bridge, and it was not far from there to the skatepark. 

The small park has a V formation that makes good use of the limited space, you can see that on the plans:

There's a couple of interesting obstacles: a jersey barrier:

 ...and a weird origami-style folded metal flatbank:

Then there's the usual - a transitioned quarterpipe, rails, some manny pads and ledges.

It was the first time I'd skated a jersey barrier, and I managed a few wallridey kickturns on it. The metal flatbank was clangy fun. Here I am doing a pop shove-it body varial (sex change?) on it. Yes, I'm wearing a cycling jersey and jeans. You saw it here first.

Bike Tank

I attended a Bike Tank event last week. It was on from 8-9am on a Tuesday, in a wonderfully shabby ex-industrial warehouse space in Chippendale. I recently read David Byrne's Bicycle Diaries, where he gets involved in all kinds of community forums promoting bicycle use in cities. I want to get involved, too. I visited their website to get a better idea of what it's all about:

The BikeTank is an urban connectivist think-tank that doubles as a bicycle pitstop cafe. 

I don't know what connectivist means, so I check an online dictionary. It's not in the dictionary either. But it's in Wikipedia... what the heck I didn't sign up for a lesson in social learning theory here. At least there's a cafe. Maybe it'll make sense if I read a bit more...

"What do we mean by 'making cities more human'?"

Our view is a granular one.

Design is performative.
It is the act of creating, then sharing, that matters. It's even better if you co-create.

Design is projective.
Design seeds ideas. As Alan Kay famously remarked: "The best way to predict the future is to invent it."

This doesn't clarify things for me; in fact it sounds like something out of Pseud's Corner. But I decided to attend - perhaps I will develop a granular view and learn about the oeuvre of Alan Kay. At least I'll get a coffee.

I got up and went, despite not starting work 'til 12noon. I arrived late at 8.40 to find that everyone had formed groups around tables. They were attaching shapes made of polystyrene foam and pipe cleaners to sheets of thick board with craft glue. I briefly hovered around these tables before making my way to the coffee stall and partook of a free large latte. Then I moved over to where the pastries were, and shoved a raspberry danish, apple danish, and pain au chocolate into my face. I lifted an apple and placed it into my bag for later. Then I had another raspberry danish.

This took me up to the conclusion of the event. The groups disbanded and re-assembled in front of a stage as representative speakers took the floor to deliver the results of their discussion, and display the boards to which they had been gluing stuff. It turns out each group represented a different suburb. They had been spitballing ways to improve cycling in these areas. The results were largely whimsical, such as a car-wash style device that people could ride through to clean their bodies, clothing and bicycles at the same time. 

Some ideas seemed to be the domain of private enterprise rather than local government (Bike Tank is supported by the City of Sydney); a cafe was envisioned on a street corner to maximise ease of access, where cyclists could meet, bicycles could be serviced, and food and drink served. Another such idea was a bike taxi service, where you could ride to a pub, get drunk, then have someone else ride your bike home for you.

The Newtown delegation present their ideas

Not all the ideas were daft. Most of the obvious ways of improving cycling were spoken in the opening minutes - more bike lanes, more bike parking, bike racks on buses, more showers and bike facilities in workplaces. But then each subsequent group had to step forward and continue after the obvious statements had been made, which prompted the silliness. 

Having spent longer analysing their website, I now understand that there were local entrepreneurs and designers in attendance. Hopefully these people can take the ideas raised and develop practical applications. For instance, the bike taxi service demonstrates a need to get your bike home after a drink, but a better solution would be some taxi cabs carrying bike racks.

I'm not convinced of the efficacy of Bike Tank. It seems to me that the key to improving provisions for cyclists is to encourage more bike use by working with people who would cycle but don't, addressing their concerns and removing the obstacles that keep them off their bikes. The people in attendance are already using bikes, and the tendency of these meetings is towards self-congratulation and the reinforcement of an us-and-them attitude. The bike cafe, for instance - I don't want to hang out with other people who ride bikes any more than I want to hang out with other people who drive cars or walk on footpaths. It's just a mode of transport, and treating it like an exclusive subculture is not going to encourage the average Sydney commuter out of their car.

"George Harrison: Living In The Material World" - a film by me and Martin Scorsese

This week sees the premiere of George Harrison: Living In The Material World, a feature-length documentary directed by Martin Scorsese, that I worked on a few years ago.

I was first interviewed by the film's producers while I was working in Belfast in the summer of 2005. I flew over to London for a meeting about a project concerning a then-unnamed musician. I had no idea it was George Harrison - in fact, I thought that it was something to do with The Who. I recall being asked who my favourite Beatle was, and by some good fortune I replied, "George." Another day I might have said something different, but I was in luck. I had been listening to All Things Must Pass around that time.

The meeting went well, and the following day I was introduced to Olivia Harrison, George's widow, and I learned what it was all about. I was sworn to absolute secrecy, though, and I'm probably still bound by the non-disclosure agreements that I signed, so I won't go into too much detail.

It wasn't until October 2006 that I began work on George's archive, which kept me busy until December 2007. I was tasked with archiving his photographic collection: securing their long-term preservation, creating high-res scans of the pictures, and cataloguing them in a database that could be accessed by Scorsese's New York office. It was difficult - I had no experience with stills archiving, so I was learning as I worked. Of course the big names were intimidating, as was the setting - an orchidarium in the grounds of Friar Park, the Harrison family home in Henley-on-Thames. 

The critics have been favourable - some, like Philip French in the Guardian, have even mentioned the family photos. It's very gratifying, and it was nice to be invited to the premiere, even if it's a bit far to go for a night out. It will be screened in Australia towards the end of October; I can't wait to see it, and I'm told that my name is in the credits. Along with Martin Scorsese's. I don't think that will happen again.