Unsung - Issue #1

Unsung Skateboard Magazine - Issue #1

These past couple of weeks we've been working on this project, initiated by my bro Phil. We've been talking about this for a long time, probably more than a year. I finished my studies and came to Korea. We had a few meetings and I was introduced to a number of good people. All utterly different but all of them close friends now, members of the unsung team. 

We've been out to shoot photos with Nak, travelling to many different spots with numerous different skaters. We've had plenty of meetings and countless disputes, we've had readings and renderings, quarrels and fights. We've had beers and pizza, coffee and toast, we've been on trips and saw amazing skating go down. We've become a crew of mistalented but ambitious soldiers. 

Last week we met up with our printer guy and talked over finishes and paper quality. We met up once more to visit the printing factory in Ilsan. He gave us samples fresh from the mashine, huge sheets of pure amazing. Then, today, we received the finished product in boxes. Tomorrow is the launching party and we're all very excited. There will be haters, that's for sure, but I don't care. It's our first issue. 

Stay in Front - Trailer

Down and Out in Paris and London

George Orwell was born in India more than a century ago, in 1903. At age nineteen he joined the Indian Imperial Police in Burma, a time that inspired his first novel Burmese Days. In 1927 he moved to London and lived around Portobello Road. He lived as a tramp and collected material for his first published essay The Spike, which is the second part of the book shown below. The first part was originally called A Scullion's Diary. It was written after Orwell had moved to Paris, the Latin Quarter where also Hemmingway and Fitzgerald had lived, in 1928.

This book is not as much a novel as it is an auto-biography. I enjoyed the first part better than the second, because I think the descriptions were more colourful in the stories about his life as a plangeur. Down and Out in Paris and London was rejected twice. It was finally published with several alterations and a different title. That's when Eric Blair became George Orwell, many years before he wrote Animal Farm and Nineteen Eighty-Four which made him famous. This book right here I liked a lot. I found it interesting to read, with bits and pieces of French in it, and I like the essay character too. 

Almost Happy New Year

The title in this post said Happy New Year before I changed it to what it is now. Why would it say that, you might ask, and that's a legit question. The answer is that I tried to write something on January first, at six oh five in the evening to be exact. I put in the title first, but I didn't finish it. I erased the text and closed the window. The post got auto-saved and what was left was the title. 

Eleven months later I looked at the drafts I had produced and well, this is the one I picked out to edit. Happy New Year. It's been many months since January and there's still a couple of weeks left till people start greating each other with those words again. It's odd though, if you don't dismiss it right away you'll start thinking about it, and that's where the trouble begins. 

Thinking about thinking about this year makes me want to sit down and order coffee. So I decide not to do it yet. I'll wait till the end of the year and try to verbalize my thoughts then. For now I'm fine with acknowledging the fact that the year is almost over and that there's about a month left to realize what I wanted to do in two thousand and twelve. Time to go.

Billy Strayhorn - Lush Life

A Suitable Life

You know, you should be a waiter. The life of a waiter would suit you. That's something I read today in a book that I'm glad to have bought after much consideration. I read it this morning and it followed me around all day. It's interesting to see which sentences I read twice and which ones make me think. I'm sure that to some degree it reflects one's personal state of mind and what it's dealing with. 

The quote shown above probably tells me that I'm thinking a lot about work. Currently I work quite a lot, but I don't have a real income. Therefore I can't really call it an occupation, and that's a problem. The reason why I'm not panicking is that for now I get by with little jobs that keep me above water, but what if I run out of luck before I find something that guarantees me a steady income?

Another reason why I like the sentence is the specific choice of words. The speaker, or the protagonist in the book, is not saying that the job as a waiter would suit his interlocutor but the life of one. He's not talking about the pinstripe pants and the matching shirt, or the little notebook in the pocket and the pencil behind the ear. He's talking about the life behind all that. I enjoy that thought very much.

0047

Listen to Your Thoughts

There are days when writing comes as easy as preparing breakfast. I sit down, put my fingers on the keys and start thinking. On good days my fingers begin to move automatically and the first lines quickly fill with letters. Eager little symbols deploy into words, and words put in the right order become a sentence. One follows the other and there you go, the first paragraph. 

That's when I press space and reread what I've got so far. I read and then I lean back and listen. Usually there's a mellow album accompanying these sessions. Right now it's John Coltrane's Stardust Session, 1963. Prestige released this album with recordings that weren't used before. Only after he became famous and had switched labels they marketed and sold it. Sold him, too.   

On less good days it takes a while to bring my thoughts into order. Sometimes it works and I find something I want to share, and if I need to find the right words it will end up here. But there are days when I don't even think there's appropriate content. I mean, I live and I think and experience, but not everything I can articulate. Then I just sit here, and listen. Today it's the Stardust Session.

David Fleck

Nothing You Can Do

These days it's hard to tell whether it's fall yet or winter already. People outside are wrapped in multi-layered insulation, some even wear ski pants and padded outdoor jackets. The seasons here are not as balanced as I wish they were. Spring is short and over before you know it. Humidity hits you hard and 'nice outside' turns into 'hot out there'. 

And yet, compared to the cold season it's fine, because you can go out and skate whenever you have an hour to spare. A good session makes up for a lot during summer. Then comes the rainy season that brings darkness and depression. It's a dangerous time of year, especially if you don't have a girlfriend or an indoor hobby to persue. 

This year fall arrived like a savior. There was one windy day - they called it Bolaven - after which it was really nice outside; the one chance to leave home in a shirt and pullover combination. It lasted for merely two weeks. Fourteen days of perfect weather conditions and then a sudden drop of temperature. It's cold and it's only November.  

Sound Providers - Autumn Evening Breeze

Sunday Morning at Peace

Six oh eight on a Sunday morning. I could be sleeping, dreaming for another few hours, but for some reason I'm wide awake. I woke up about two hours ago and have been trying to fall back asleep ever since. I'm not sure what it is, but after I heard the first thunder drum I sort of started listening. A lightning struck, another thunder, and soon enough came the rain.

Last night I was drunk, although I didn't realize it until I was on my way home. The taxi ride made me dizzy. It's funny though, because it sure wasn't the amount of alcohol, that much I didn't drink. After that last shot of dark rum mixed with creamy liquor it probably hit me. It was delicious and perhaps that's why it got to me. But then, I was never much of a drinker. 

These past few days have been amazing. I can't believe how lucky I am, because it's such a contrast to how pathetic I felt before. After a streak of little pieces of shit that happened, it seems like I finally flipped the script. It feels like I had been living with a nasty thorn in my foot that is now gone. I can breathe again. At six in the morning on a rainy Sunday I feel strangely at peace.

0046

Thoughts on a Sink

Today I bought a sink. Now that's something I never thought I would say, but here I am. When I moved in this place I knew there were lots of improvements to be made before I'd feel entirely comfortable. Bathroom equipment was one of them. Is one of them, actually, because the toilet and the sink are still all there is and I'd like to have a rack for towels one day, perhaps even a cabinet.

I'm currently reading a book by a writer who spent some years in Paris and London before he became famous. He talks about his life in poverty, about getting by with six francs a day. It made me think about my own monetary situation. I wouldn't say I live in poverty, I have plenty of food to eat and clothes to wear, but I'm not exactly leading a luxurious life, either. Or maybe I am, I don't know.

I guess it depends on the standard you're thinking in. That again makes me think. I recently read an article about a photographer who shot a series called "Children in their Bedrooms". It showed, amongst others, a six year-old girl who lived like a princess, next to a ten year-old boy who had to fight for a spot on the dirt ground. In that respect I think I do live in luxury. I even have my own sink. 

Ricky Oyola - 7 Year Glitch

Change for the Fish

I remember talking about how people's eating habits change every seven years. That's something my brother told me a long time ago. Eating habits. Funny thing, if you think about it. I mean, there's stuff that one likes and other stuff that one doesn't like. For instance, I like sweet potatoes, dumplings and pork barbeque. I don't like mushrooms, fish and chicken feet.

In Korea though, it's kind of a big deal. Eating everything and anything is considered as good manners. So, if I were to meet someone of great importance or hierarchical relevance I'll tell them I'd eat anything. That's a lie, of course, but on certain occasions a necessary one. I could say that I'm allergic against seafood, but that'd be another lie. It's just that I don't like it. 

Well, and now I found out that perhaps I don't have to lie about the fish any longer. Raw fish is another story, but grilled mackerel is something I came across the other day and I didn't hate it. I actually caught myself picking up small pieces with my chopsticks several times. It was quite tasty. So, perhaps it is true. Our perception of food might really change every seven years.

0045

Quiet Albums

There are different tunes for different moods. For instance, when people drive on the Autobahn they often choose relaxing music. Some people listen to Mozart while others prefer Motorhead, but that's really a personal decision. As for me, I like funky beats when I go skate, sometimes mellow rap when I take a walk, and then quiet tunes when I work in the morning or at night. Here's my top five quiet albums that I listen to on repeat. 

1. Gonzales - Solo Piano

2. Jose James & Jef Neve - For All We Know

3. Charles Mingus - Piano

4. Gil Scott Heron - Pieces of a Man

5. Andrea Pozzi - Drop This Thing

Jazz on a Saturday Night

Club Evans in Hongdae, second floor. A small stage, barely elevated and sparsely lit, equipped with a good number of instruments. Most tables in the room have been removed, only chairs are lined up, facing forward. Wooden ones and ones made of metal, some have arm rests and some have back support. They all look different, but they all serve the audience who slowly take their seats.

The lights are dimmed, the glasses refilled. People are bobbing their heads to the rhythm that fills the room. One guy punches the keys of the piano, the eyes behind his thick glasses closed. Another one on the saxophone, his cheeks filling with air like the lungs of a small whale. A guy on the bass, his fingers slapping and grinding the strings of his lady like a thoughtful pimp. Then a break. 

A quiet guy on the drums, his drumsticks busier than traffic outside. In front of him the deejay, wearing sun glasses, chewing gum as if he didn't care. Now the emcee grabs the microphone. He talks fast, mostly about himself. A change of gears and the jazz tune turns into a clean boom bap beat. To my left I see Jeunes and Giwoun. We clink our Imperial glasses and nod along in silent agreement.

Hank Mobley - The Best Things in Life are Free

How Unusual

We met at exit number one, in front of the fast food joint, where everyone meets. She was a little late, but I didn't mind waiting. When she came up to me she smiled, and the world went mute for a second. The cars, the people, the music. It all stopped for a single moment. We went to a restaurant and had burgers and beer. How genuine is that. She could've ordered salad or pasta, but she picked a burger. 

We went to a bar across the street. It's a little hidden, therefore never too crowded. I said hello to the guys who run the place, both friends of mine and friends of friends. I looked around and said hello to another guy who sat in a group. He looked baffled and unsure of what to say. That's when I realized he wasn't who I thought he was. Awkward, but I looked at her and she laughed. Later, we joked about it.

We took a walk through the narrow market streets and back alleys. There was something magical about not knowing the way, every turn showed us where to go next. There was a gallery and we decided to take a look. They were pen drawings on sketch book paper, the kind that I actually like a lot. We admired the attention to detail and navigated towards the exit. Outside, I took her hand and we kept walking. 

Mark Suciu - Cross Continental

Week After Week

When I was in London we had a group of people who played basketball every week on Sunday. I remember writing about it. The growing anticipation, the joy of preparation, the victorious feeling of satisfaction. It was a good routine and I feel like I needed that at that time. It took certain effort, but it was definitely something to look forward to each week.

It felt good to have a certain pattern in my week. Sundays basketball acted as a weekly psychological bookmark. The exhausted train ride back home from Wimbledon to Kings Cross station was an important part of that. When I got back home I knew, alright that's the end of this week. Tomorrow is a new day in a new week, let's go. Sometimes I miss that feeling. 

Every Wednesday evening we meet on the ninth floor of a black office building in Jongno. A group of seven very different guys who have one thing in common, the love for skateboarding. That, and the drive to make something happen with it. It's always great fun to hang out with the guys and plan and present, discuss and deliver. It's a start, and I hope that we will make a difference.

Maria Luisa Isaza

 

Blackout on a Rainy Day

The fifth floor of a grey office building. It's a grey day and with the annoying rain I almost missed the place. Up here it's odd. Very bright and clean, some might call it antiseptic. Imagine a white glossy room with a white clossy service desk, a white leather couch and coffee with too much whitener in it. Everything is arranged in a right angle and all the people in the waiting area look super uncomfortable.

After half an hour one of the clerks comes up to me, his hands folded in front of his stomach. I'm very sorry, he says, there's nothing we could do. We tried everything, but age is a brutal thing, unforgiving. I'm very sorry. He hands me back my phone and explains to me why the display is irreparably lost. And I learn that so is my contact list. I understand, I say. You did everything you could. 

Thursday night is when it happened. It worked fine until I was at dinner, worked fine for eight years. I received a text message, slid the thing open to read it and boom, it went dark. I tried once more and was looking at a colourful Paul Smith stripe pattern. I tried again and it's been black ever since. Sigh. Waiting for the elevator I realize that I'm fucked. The door opens and I walk into the rain.

D'Angelo - When We Get By

Busan - Day 3.

A woman is crying on the phone. She speaks in an apologetic manner. She says she's sorry for having run out of time. I heard her rural voice first, every time the automatic door opened, and saw her later. A fairly aged lady in an inappropriate leather jacket. Her hair was short and reminded me of instant noodles. The snack waggon comes along and I buy crackers. 

Another woman is holding her sleeping child's hand, a boy of about six years. He's wearing an Angry Bird sweater with remnants of a brownie on it. I just thought that the chocolate colour went together well with his navy long-sleeve, but then I noticed how the crumbles looked like the boy was trying to feed the red and yellow bird on his belly. Sleep well, little kid. 

A man snores like a walrus. He snores as if his life depended on the decibel level. The snore of the century, in a train compartment filled with at least fifty other people. I close my eyes and let out a sigh. Today I woke up after a long day's short rest, I saw the dog that bit me four years ago and wished him death for twenty minutes, and I had a burger by the ocean. Now I need some sleep.

Busan - Day 2

The actual reason why I'm in Busan is a video shooting. Talking details would be risky, but I'm sure I can tell you a little bit about it. After meeting Maska for a late coffee last night I went to the designated hotel in Haeundae. The guy at the lobby said that someone had already checked in under my name. I didn't get mad, but I told them how stupid a mistake I thought that was. 

The room was pretty boss, a shame that I had to leave at five in the morning today. I got up a little extra early and took my time getting ready. A bus took us to the first location and I had to change into a funny outfit. They said it was fashionable and I had no right to disagree, my position was merely of secondary, perhaps even tertiary importance. I didn't mind, and I couldn't bother. 

Several shots were taken at the first location, all in all it was a fun experience. Best thing about it was that Giwoun was there with his creative crew, and we could goof around with his wheelchair in between takes. By lunchtime I had about six cups of coffee. Waiting can be exhausting. That's why I was glad that the shot at the second location was done within half an hour. Easy. 

They say Busan is much warmer than Seoul, but I'm not sure I agree. Once the sun goes down it's pretty much the same. I got a new outfit and had to mingle with fifty other extras, most of them nice people. We had to scream in silence, party on command, and sprint towards blinding flood lights. It was cold. I was tired. But it was the end of a great day. I actually had a lot of fun. 

Busan - Day 1

What's the best part about riding a train, about travelling amongst strangers? Is it the view, the snacks, the little naps? Opinions might differ, but for me it's the fact that you're captured in a fairly comfortable seat with a sufficiant-enough plastic table in front of you. All I need is a cup of coffee, a light paperback, a good pen and plenty of paper. That's my favourite part. 

Sometimes it takes something like a trip to Busan to just sit down and scribble. It was a good ride. When I arrived it was almost three. I had called a couple of friends and my first encounter would be Sahuli. We met at a foreign station called Oncheonjang. Foreign, because I don't know my way around Busan yet. She took me to a nice coffee shop with lots of wood, a nice place to catch up.

Next stop was Sajik, an amazing spot to skate. The last time I was there has been at least three years ago. I remember, it was a fantastic tour to the south. What makes Sajik so special is the ground, I would say. It's exceptionally smooth, has its own sound, its own rhythm. The old cracks were still the same, exactly where they used to be. Pushing alone is a great experience.

For dinner we met up with Papa and Yuri. They welcomed us at Sooyoung Station and took us to a barbeque place. We chatted a lot, talked about skateboarding and other important things in life. At one point my phone lost its display functionality and I had no way to text and no way of knowing whose call I just missed. Technology can be so annoying. Never trust a display.