D&AD held one of the last of their Sharp’ner events on Wednesday and had a chat about the future of Blackberry. Joel Veitch suggested hope lies in the youth marker. “[School age kids] all want Blackberries. They don’t want iPhones or Android phones, they all want Blackberry.” Have a look at the video here.

A few weeks ago I was on a train stuffed with school kids, with a group of boys talking about mobiles. Not known for their ability to talk in hushed and muted voices, I started making some notes. When all but two had left the train, I asked how old they were and we had a chat about mobiles. Apparently, after girls, mobiles are pretty high on the list of things twelve year old boys want to talk about.

Some good things came up:
- These kids don’t have apps. Their next phones might.
- They’re more interested in cost of contract over handset.
- They mentioned wanting Nokia, Samsung and Blackberry models. They rarely mentioned models – just manufacturers.
- The phones they do have can’t hold the number of texts they want: “This phone’s rubbish. After 134 texts it says it’s full.”
- Some kids at school have iPads. Or rather, their parents do. “They have them at home – I’ve seen photos!”
- Kids will mock you for buying an iPad 1 now that the iPad 2′s on the market.
- “He could get a Blackberry tablet but he doesn’t want one. They’re £500 – might as well get an iPad for £600.”
- “My Mum works [for Nokia] so I get Nokias from her. But I hate Nokias. I’m getting a Blackberry Curve.

Obviously this is just a group of five 12 year old boys in South East England. It’s not scientific, but it is interesting. And it’s good to talk to people, rather than just do desk research. Blackberry came up a lot and really backs up the point made in the D&AD video.

The best moment was:
- “What’s 3G?”
- “It’s data transfer like bluetooth.”
- “I could swear the iPhone doesn’t have bluetooth.”
- “That’s because they want you to get all your shit from the iTunes store.”

Well, they’re halfway there.

This post appears over on (untitled) London’s blog.

In Brighton are two of the first playhouses I ever went to. The first had a cast of four and told a brilliant story with a twist on a tiny stage to an audience of fifteen per night. It didn’t need more. The New Venture Theatre shortly after became one of my favourite spots. Utilising actors for multiple parts, the acting is fantastic and versatile, and the simple setup of metal beams and sparse backing – just enough to set a scene – all worked in its favour. In London, The Young Vic has quickly made it onto my list of homely and wonderful playhouses.

Tonight’s performance of Vernon God Little, a book I’ve loved for years with its swearing, New Jack trainers and disdain for not only obese women who hanker over chicken but also for the media, has made it one of the books that always travels with me when I move house.

The play’s been written with the help of DBC Pierre, which thankfully ensures that all lunacy is kept in. The first scene, which involves a Vernon God Little in only his pants and trainers, and a singing Sherif set the mood.

The murder culprit is Jesus (a plot spoiler you can glean from reading the back of the book), who Vernon God Little spends his days BMXing with. Differing from the book, he appears in the play with guitar, singing, and occasionally jumping about on a BMX whilst playing a very good somber ghost-type figure who all ignore. As he strolls about stage with murder-scene blood covering him, he has perhaps one of the best voices adding a very necessary layer of soft mexican lilt. Luckily it’s not a play to sit and compare to the book.

The mad movement as the play whirls from scene to scene – as sofas double up as police cars with lights on the back, back to living room furniture, and again into cars in which the women eat Bar-B-Chew Chicken, is brilliant. There is no dull moment, and I say that far too easily. In every play there is a dull moment, and this genuinely seems to lack it. It plows through plot. (Even creepy, opportunistic Lally becomes an energetic enjoyable character, talking from behind a TV screen in a way as enjoyable as when Romeo+Juliet used it for narration. Perhaps I just like people talking through TV screens.) And Taylor Figuera is every bit the teenage dream as described in the book.

Something I loved that Rosie pointed out was the way that they extended the play out into the theatre. Beyond the odd entrance from audience entrances, the theatre had a lit memorial to the dead school children down strung up to the sides. It was soft and subtle, and good.

Madness, brilliance, and delight. Despite a reliance on stereotypes as a couple of reviews point out, it captures the book, and throws some extra life into it the satire. I went with two people who hadn’t read the book before, and they loved it. It works.

I can see why the Daily Mail would hate it. And I can see why DBC Pierre would be dead chuffed.

Running until 12 March. It’s a tenner and it’s awesome. Go.
Info at http://youngvic.org.
(Another one via lecool)

I am two weeks behind the trend but I very much like Sherlock, the BBC’s new Sherlock Holmes. This runs with a love for the original Holmes, clue-based logic, a secret adoration of the bumbling Jonathan Creek, and rude but witty dialogue. I’d put the trailer up but it takes the good bits out of context and plonks funky music over them, so you’d probably loose all respect for it immediately.

I have written a sterling Bitchbuzz article about it, including the words ‘detective-icity’ and ‘wankerness’. Find it here, and the show is online via the BBC online.

Johnny Flynn and the Sussex Wit are introduced to us as the next folk sensation, so we plod along to Brighton’s Komedia which sees an excited crowd from far-a-field gushing to see him. Some have brought parents.

The focus is hardly on ‘the wit’ though. Watching, you can see why the audience is mostly female, and listening I can hear why they’ve done well. He’s got a teenage heart-throb haircut which doesn’t immediately tell of his grounding; actor, poet, songwriter, and theatre trouper (citing W.B. Yeats and Shakespeare among influences). His look swings between waistcoated artisan, paint smeared jumpers and as tonight brings, and more often to plain checkered shirts when not on a photo-shoot. But when he sings it’s out of the ordinary and barely fits his age.

When he plays it’s incredibly polished, coming across very much as a performance; speaking briefly to the audience and simply getting on and playing to the crowd. The cellist and Johhny hijack the show and whilst they’re all good, the rest of the band disappears into the orifices of our memory. I could vaguely tell you about the keyboardist’s haircut (mop like) and some languishing strokes from the drumer but I could tell you for longer about the cellist. Shining under stage lights by the all-too-loud speaker, he’s playing with thin strings of horsehair broken and floating about under the bow as it slides about. They steal the show together.

Towards the end Flynn’s enthusiasm ventures out from behind the polish. The second that sells him to me is when he falters and a bit of musician focus streams out. A couple of drunk fans bellow “Oh, Johnny!” and he smirks as he changes from guitar to banjo, and tunes it. Everyone stands politely, and he strums a couple of notes.

Stops, retunes. Looks out, unabashed – strums and stops. The crowd shuffles and they launch into song, playing upbeat notes. They stop seconds later. I grin my face off and squeak my enthusiasm to Elliott, whilst a couple of the crowd look vastly unimpressed. He ignores them and concentrates on tuning. He starts up again, and their enthusiasm’s dwindled, but three tunings and a focus on getting the sound right have made me watch a little closer. What follows is the best song, and is like a couple of their tunes is incredibly catchy.

He is good, and touted as “the next poster boy of the nu-folk scene” by the Times. However, whilst this might seem a frivolous complaint I leave feeling that some of the songs are almost too wholesome, and too easily slide by.

My parting thought is with the support.

My favourite band of the night comes in the form of Dry the River; a awkwardly delightful forerunner. The singer is a chap in a grey tshirt and skinny trousers who rotates about the stage in a silly arm-flailing and angular sort of way. They’re incredibly tight as a band, they’ve got a mandolin, and they’re really fucking fun. It’s upbeat, tuneful, clappy chanty sort of stuff and makes you smile outright. They make me feel at home, included in their well-formed music and jolly as hell.

I recommend you investigate them.

Johnny Flynn – Been Listening by cooperativemusic1
Of them all, I recommend Barnacled Warship

Oh hello, lots of shoes hanging infront of a balcony? This sort of arty shit makes me happy. I pottered around Clerkenwell Design Week (by which I mean they lie as it lasts only 3 days) before going to the Pop Up Pirate typography bar thing (Bitchbuzz review here).

I thought a light by Dare Studio was cool, but distracted myself from a lot of things that weren’t that interesting by trying to juggle a camera and a square of pizza. Pepperoni can be a tricky bitch.

It was all pretty interesting apart from the section about floor panels. The band that played from the balcony was pretty good, though I don’t know their name. There was lots of shiny stuff to keep me entertained. And fancy back-lighting of a wall behind a chair. Some of it came in mirrored cubicles. I could have wept. Photos instead of words.

Oh, and a Robot thing that doubled as a bike rack. CAN I HAVE ONE?