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Red Bulletin 2009 January Issue (English)
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AN ALMOST INDEPENDENT MONTHLY MAGAZINE /JANUARY 2009
SHAUNWHITEOUT ON HIS OWN... THE US BOARD ACE
WHO’S BIGGER THAN BECKHAM
THE COLA FROM RED BULL.
STRONG NATURAL.
Kola Nut Lemon/Lime Clove
Cardamom Pine Corn Mint
Vanilla Ginger Mace
Coca Leaf
Cinnamon
Galangal
Cocoa Liquorice Orange Mustard Seeds
Natural flavours from plant extracts and natural caffeine from coffee beans.
100% PURE COLA.The cola from Red Bull has a
unique blend of ingredients, all from
100% natural sources. In addition,
it’s the only cola that contains both
the original Kola nut and the Coca leaf.
Its naturally refreshing cola
taste comes from using the right blend
of plant extracts.
What’s more, the cola from
Red Bull contains no phosphoric acid,
no preservatives and no artificial
colours or flavourings.
THE COLA FROM RED BULL.
STRONG NATURAL.
Kola Nut Lemon/Lime Clove
Cardamom Pine Corn Mint
Vanilla Ginger Mace
Coca Leaf
Cinnamon
Galangal
Cocoa Liquorice Orange Mustard Seeds
Natural flavours from plant extracts and natural caffeine from coffee beans.
100% PURE COLA.The cola from Red Bull has a
unique blend of ingredients, all from
100% natural sources. In addition,
it’s the only cola that contains both
the original Kola nut and the Coca leaf.
Its naturally refreshing cola
taste comes from using the right blend
of plant extracts.
What’s more, the cola from
Red Bull contains no phosphoric acid,
no preservatives and no artificial
colours or flavourings.
05
B U L L H O R N
BASE jumpers and neurologists, hip-hop artists and top chefs, classic planes and triathletes, visual artists and Formula One drivers: the world of Red Bull is shaped by creativity and adventure, by courage and a lust for life, and is populated with an inimitable group of heroes. The mission of this magazine, the first English-language issue of which you hold in your hands, is to feature stories about this world and its inhabitants, their ideas and their projects.
The idea for The Red Bulletin was conceived at 2.30 in the morning in a mountain hut in the Austrian Alps near Salzburg. It attempts to convey that spark of excitement that rushes through the unique people who manage to transform their crazy ideas into reality, thanks to the energy in their bodies and minds.
Viewed another way, this magazine is part of our logical development to become a content provider, thus enabling us to find a way to really tell the world about the incredible stories we create. These stories must be told by the best writers and best photographers, explored in real depth, with our obsessive attention to detail, but all with a wink of the eye.
There is no shortage of stories for us to draw from. Felix Baumgartner would have never skydived across the Channel without “wiiings”. Sebastian Vettel would never have made it to Formula One without Red Bull’s youth training programme. Freestyle motocross wouldn’t have gained worldwide recognition without the Red Bull X-Fighters. I remember the first reactions to our idea of creating a race for the best pilots in the world – no one could foresee that, a few years down the line, the Red Bull Air Race World Championships would attract millions of fans across the globe.
The Red Bulletin considers itself to be a global monthly publication, adapted to reflect different local cultures. The magazine first appeared in Austria, Red Bull’s home, at the end of 2007. The positive reaction to the concept left us with no other option but to expand internationally. The UK is our second country. More will follow.
The Red Bulletin will be published on the first Tuesday of each month, and will be distributed with The Independent, a newspaper that shares our vision, and which we are proud to have as a partner.
Welcome to the world of Red Bull.
Fondly,Dietrich Mateschitz
DEAR READER,
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WELCOME TO THE WORLD OF RED BULLWhat’s inside this month’s issue
10 GALLERY Jaw-dropping snapshots of our world16 NOW AND NEXT News and previews from cliff diving to World Rally to music festivals18 HARD & FAST Who’s won what where, and how19 LUCKY NUMBERS Breaking down the New York Red Bulls21 ME AND MY BODY Freeskier Tanner Hall on breaking both ankles and then winning X Games gold 22 WINNING FORMULA The perfect golf swing25 WHERE’S YOUR HEAD AT? Inside the mind of Quentin Tarantino 26 KIT BAG If you want to get ahead, get a helmet
30 THE INTERROGATOR England’s all-round cricket colossus Andrew Flintoff unleashes a barrage of As in response to our man with the Qs34 HERO’S HERO Ice-climbing champion Will Gadd on the man he looks up to, New Zealand beekeeper and mountaineering legend Sir Edmund Hillary36 SHAUN WHITE The red-maned Californian who graces our first launch cover is a snowboard and skateboarding sensation, as well as the face of a new video game. But it’s his marketing and brand savvy that’s enabling him to reach Beckham levels of brand recognition around the world 46 PIONEER American aviatrix Amelia Earhart’s groundbreaking flights across the Atlantic and the Pacific cemented her reputation as first lady of flight. But who was the man who backed her, and just what happened on her doomed final flight?
Heroes
Bullevard
EDITOR’S LETTER“If someone did it already, then what’s the point?”
So says X Games gold medallist and ice-climbing champion Will Gadd, whose tribute to his hero, Sir Edmund Hillary, sums up his motivation for tackling the world’s most challenging ice and mountain faces.
His philosophy is one that could easily serve as a guiding mantra for this magazine, for we, too, like to think we’re doing things a little differently.
For starters, there’s our pioneering partnership with The Independent, another publication noted for its refusal to follow the herd. Then there’s the unique relationship The Red Bulletin enjoys with athletes, opinion-leaders and creative talents from music, art, film and design: from our cover star snow’n’skate icon Shaun White to guru of the zeitgeist Stephen Bayley.
It’s a mixture you won’t find in any other magazine.
By day, our world is populated by the likes of Messrs White and Gadd, pioneering aviatrix Amelia Earhart and freestyle soccer stars; by night it embraces the Red Bull Music Academy, graffiti artists such as Remi/Rough, top clubs and fine dining. Enough to whet your appetite for a month? We hope so. There’ll be more again in February. Watch this space…
THE RED BULLETIN
IS PUBLISHED
IN THE UK AND
AUSTRIA ON THE
FIRST TUESDAY OF
EACH MONTH. THE
NEXT ISSUE IS OUT
ON FEBRUARY 326
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C O N T E N T S
50 SÉBASTIEN LOEB Rally champion Sébastien Loeb tries his hand at Formula One, and realises that nothing, truly, prepares you for a Formula One race car56 RED BULL STREET STYLE The world’s best freestyle footballers descend on Brazilian megacity São Paulo for a few days of friendly competition, and a brief brush with the law64 ADVENTURES IN MUSIC Established stars and industry bigwigs descend on the warehouse district of Barcelona for the Red Bull Music Academy to advise and jam with the next generation of musical talent – among them Croydon’s nascent grime queen GoldieLocks 72 STREIF LIFE Mapping out the world’s most treacherous downhill ski race and catching up with the most unlikely conqueror of the Hahnenkamm mountain’s surprise drops and icy turns – Britain’s Konrad Bartelski
78 HANGAR-7 INTERVIEW Dinner for two with David Coulthard81 TRAVEL GUIDE Where to drink, lunch, dine, be seen and drink some more in Kitzbühel82 GET THE LOOK Slope-style snowboard fashion84 LISTINGS The Red Bull guide to events and happenings around the world88 NIGHTLIFE A night out with graffiti artist Remi/Rough; backstage with soul man Jamie Woon; Buraka Som Sistema take Lisbon; and São Paulo’s hottest club94 A STORY BY TIM PARKS The author writes about his accidental Italian wife and Italian life96 SATIRE Putting a smile on the face of adversity98 MIND’S EYE Stephen Bayley’s wisdom of the years
More Body & Mind
Action
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WORD UP!Drop us a line about anything to [email protected]. We’ll print the best
comments from next issue, but firstly, here are some from our famous friends
Good luck with the first edition – I’m looking forward
to reading it... and receiving the crates of Red Bull that
you’ll be sending
I’m honoured to be on the cover of
the first Red Bulletin. You guys got to keep
kicking it. I’ve done my part, now it’s
up to you
From one member of the Red Bull family to another, good
luck with the launch. Looking forward to getting stuck into my copy
HI EVERYONE, WELL DONE ON THE LAUNCH. IT
WILL BE GREAT TO KEEP UP WITH EVERYTHING RED
BULL HAS GOING ON
Good luck Red Bulletin! It’s going to be great,
I’m really looking forward to reading all that you
get up to! XX
BEST OF LUCK GUYS. I’M SURE THE RED BULLETIN
WILL BE A FUN READ. I’M LOOKING FORWARD TO
GETTING TO KNOW ABOUT MANY SPORTS AND BEING
ENTERTAINED. IT WILL BE GREAT
To all at The Red Bulletin: congrats on the new magazine.
I’m waiting for the call to get me on the cover!
Congratulations on the UK version of
Red Bulletin. Now every time I get a
win I’ll be straight on the phone to
let you know!
BIG UP TO THE RED BULLETIN, KNOW IT’S GOING TO BE FRESH!
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BullevardBreathtaking pictures and amazing tales from the world of sport, endeavour and adventure
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H A M B U RG, G E R M A N Y
FUN IS IN THE AIR
B U L L E VA R D
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S C H E V E N I N G E N, T H E H AGU E , N E T H E R L A N D S
LIFE’S A BEACH
B U L L E VA R D
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SY LT, G E R M A N Y
WATER WORLDS
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COLD FUSION Rollerball meets downhill: it’s Red Bull Crashed Ice
Leogang
EVERY SHOT ON TARGETSend in your snaps of anything to do with Red Bull – and every one we print will win a prize. Email your digital works of art to:
Washington, DC
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PICTURES OF THE MONTH
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B U L L E VA R DB U L L E VA R D
HEATH FRISBY
YOU REALLY OUGHT TO KNOW SOMETHING ABOUT. . .
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HARD & FASTA round-up of winners on two wheels and
four, plus one very special award presentation for a British world champ
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LUCKY NUMBERS
NEW YORK RED BULLSFresh from their most successful season, the New York Red Bulls are the ones to watch this year in US Major League Soccer. From the influence of Michael Jackson to goal-scoring firsts, here are the crucial team facts
78,913
21 3 33
2008
380
20,67535,249
21 3 33
2008
380
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SUMMER STARTS EARLYBanish post-festive blues with a dose of festival fun
São Paulo LondonScheveningen
RALLY’S NEW EIREWorld Rally Championship 2009 begins in earnest, and Ireland, this month
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HEAD
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TRAINING ANKLES
NUTRITION
TANNER HALLME AND MY BODY
The freeskier has snared X Games gold a record seven times and made skiing sexy for a new generation. He talks about
surviving broken ankles, gnarly knees and a lot of wheatgrass
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#1: GOLF SWINGWINNING FORMULA
Professor Thomas Schrefl explains how to
get your technique down to a tee
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THE ‘EXTREME OLYMPICS’Winter X Games celebrate the cream of snow and ice sport
Lake Harmony Carson Hallwang
TAKE THE PLUNGEOne small step over the edge, one giant leap for cliffdiving and its bravest exponent
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WHERE’S YOUR HEAD AT
QUENTIN TARANTINOInside the mind of cinema’s coolest director: why Dahl is his darling, why Bond
bombs him out and the real reason he’s got the best name in the world ever
HE DON’T NEED NO EDUCATION
MUMMY’S BOY
TELL ME LIES
MUSICAL MASTERY
CHAIRMAN OF THE BOARD
SHAKEN AND STIRRED
RACE DIRECTOR
MONEY, MONEY, MONEY
THE JOKER
LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACTION
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How three decades of R&D turned James Hunt’s low-tech lid into Sebastian Vettel’s high-tech helmet
HEAD GEARKIT EVOLUTION
FREDDIE HUNT SHELL
VISOR
INTERIOR
WEIGHT
COOLING/AIRFLOW
AERODYNAMICS
STRENGTH
JAMES HUNTBELL STAR II SW, 1976
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AERODYNAMICS
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SEBASTIAN VETTELARAI GP!5 RC CARBON, 2008
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David Coulthard.Ex Formula One driver.
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HeroesInspired to excel, to lead, to dare, to innovate
Freddie Flinto! page 30 Will Gadd page 34 Shaun White page 36 Amelia Earhart page 46
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RAre you a national treasure?I’ve got no idea what that actually means. I just like playing for England and I’ve been lucky enough to do so for a while now.
What made you different from all the other lads you played junior cricket with who didn’t make it?Desire, I would think. Being a cricketer is all I’ve wanted to do since I was six. And anyway, a lot of people who play cricket are just frustrated footballers. Even some pros. And no, I won’t mention any names…
What does a Test match actually test? Your all-round game, your technique and your character. It’s probably my favourite version of the game, but I also do like Twenty20 and one-dayers. I like going in at number five in one-dayers, it gives me the chance to bat how I like to.
Do you actually say “howzat” when you appeal, or something else?It starts off as “howizee” and ends up as just a noise. If it’s a plumb leg-before, it’s more of a celebration straight away, anyway. If it’s not, then it’s an appeal.
Which Star Wars character are you?(In a flash) Chewbacca. Big fan of Chewy. He’s a big lad.
Do you like having stubble or hate shaving? You are a former winner of Beard of the Year, after all…I’m proud of that. I actually can’t remember the last time I shaved. I don’t like being clean-shaven. I didn’t even shave for my wedding. Monty [Panesar, England spinner] must have the award sewn up this year, though.
Are you any good at barbecues?Not really, no. Last time I had one a mate of mine ended up in charge. I’d rather let someone else do it while I have a beer, to be honest.
Most painful: childbirth (you’ve seen this, not felt it) or one that stays low and strikes you in the private zone?The one that keeps low. Can’t have an epidural for that.
FREDDIEFLINTOFFA true English sporting hero, known as Andrew to his wife (Freddie comes from his surname’s similarity to that of another famous Fred, Flintstone),
talks to The Red Bulletin about sixes, shoes and Star WarsWords Paul Wilson Photography David Clerihew
What do you drive? A Volkswagen Touareg. I can get three kids’ car seats in it and all my gear. Plus I’ve got a couple of bikes: a Harley-Davidson Road King Classic, and a Bourget Fatso, which is like a chopper. My missus got it for my 30th.
There’s something about Andrew Flintoff that puts him high on the list of English sporting figureheads. He seems like the kind of man you’d like to have a round of golf with (all 19 holes). He gives his all every time he plays cricket for England and his county team, Lancashire. He’s ever so slightly fallible – body and mind have got the better of him on occasion – which in the eyes of fans makes him One Of Us. And he’s one of those rare sportsmen who generate real excitement every time they take the field; his name alone on the team sheet is worth the ticket price.
He’s been playing for England for more than a decade, and now 31, is the team’s most experienced member. He is expected to deliver with both bat and ball, but he has evolved such that just by being fit and raring to go on the morning of a game, he lifts his teammates and makes the opposition rethink tactics. A worthy subject for The Interrogator... What’s the best shot you’ve played?
It was a fluke. A hook against Brett Lee at Edgbaston [in England’s first innings of the Ashes Test in 2005]. I was trying to get out of the way and I managed to hit a six. I really don’t know how.
What does Ian Botham mean to you?He was my hero growing up, and now he’s a mate, which is a bit strange. We go fishing together and play golf.
What goes through your head when you’re bowled out?Embarrassment, but it depends how many runs I’ve got. If I’ve not got many, it really is embarrassing.
Do you like cheese? Yes, I do. Soft stuff, like Camembert. Dairylea’s nice.
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What is the worst pair of shoes that you’ve ever worn?I’ve got some spats. Worn once, felt like a prawn all night.
Where is the best place on Earth?Preston.
Who do you miss playing cricket with?Robert Key [Kent and England batsman]. We played schoolboy cricket together, and have been on other tours. He’s a really good friend.
one where I’m timed out when I go out to bat. Or I’m batting with a pad.
How many of your five a day do you manage to have?A glass of wine’s not grapes, is it? Most days I’ll manage the five. I have lots of fruit for breakfast, and that helps.
How hard is it to return after injury?I’ve had four ankle operations, but the incentive at the end is huge. When you have that England shirt taken away, the big carrot dangling is there. I get down a bit, of course, but it’s wanting to come back and play that keeps me going. It also helps that my physio of eight years, Dave Roberts, is a really good mate – a friendship I never really wanted!
Do you stop for autographs?I’d love to say I do. The one thing I don’t like is pros with merchandise they are looking to sell on. You see the same faces at the same grounds. If it’s kids, though, I’ll stop, sign and talk whenever I can.
Cricket quiz: where are you in the ICC player rankings right now?I have no idea about any of them. Good in the all-rounder’s category, I would say. [Test: bowling 16, batting 43, all-round 3; one-day: bowling 8, batting 39.]
Football quiz: where are Manchester City in the league right now?Thirteenth. [Correct]
Will you be having any more tattoos?[Flintoff has his wife’s and their three children’s names on his left shoulder; on his right, a version of the three lions incorporating his England player numbers.] Possibly, if I get bored.
someone else. Off it, I just want to go home and sit around and relax, really.
Who do you wish you’d have played cricket with?Botham, Richards and Sachin Tendulkar. When the World XI played Australia in 2005, the thing I was most looking forward to was playing with Sachin, but he pulled out at the last minute. Gutted.
James Bond or Jason Bourne?Neither. I’m not a Bond fan, and I haven’t seen the Bourne films.
If you weren’t a cricketer, what would you like to be instead?A musician. Playing guitar and singing. I can’t do either. Tim Ambrose [England wicket-keeper] is fantastic; I’m going to get lessons off him while we’re on tour.
If you weren’t a cricketer, what do you think you would be instead?A plumber, or something like that. I’d have got myself a trade.
What song would you play if you strode out to bat with your iPod on?Elvis. A Little Less Conversation. Not the remix, the original version.
Who is, or was, your hardest opponent?Muttiah Muralitharan. I played with him a lot at Lancashire. And in international cricket, I’ve played him well, but he’s got better. First year he got 66 wickets in six games for Lancashire, then next year people knew him a bit, so he worked harder to change things up. Sometimes you don’t know where the ball is going to go. I reckon he does most of the time though! He just smiles at you when he bowls. He’s a great bloke.
Tell us one thing about you that would surprise people reading this?I am scared of the dark.
What was the last dream you had?All cricketers have strange dreams. I get
Do you ever think you would rather have excelled in either batting or bowling, so your body would be under less stress?No. It wouldn’t be enough for me. I’d get bored. And anyway, I think of myself as a batsman who bowls – which I know puts me in a minority of one. It’s because I didn’t bowl when I was young; that came after I was a batsman.
How do you prepare for a match?Warm up before play starts, of course. Then, in the dressing room, some people really pump themselves. I sit in the corner, and wait until it’s time to walk out. When I know I’m going to go in, I have can of Red Bull. If I’m flagging for some reason at any point, I’ll have another one.
Do you think that the public knows what you’re really like?I’m more shy than people think. On the pitch it’s like a stage, you can be
Have you ever worn your MBE medal, say, on Christmas Day when you’re sitting at the head of the table? (Laughing) No. No I haven’t.
What’s the worst piece of Flinto!-branded merchandise you’ve seen?There are one or two in the club shop at Old Trafford [Lancashire’s ground], like coasters with my face on them.
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What have you got left to achieve in cricket?Oh, plenty. Win a Test and one-day series in India. I’ve been to three World Cups and not got near winning, so I’d like to win one of those. And a Championship with Lancashire.
Who would star as you in the film of your life?John Candy for when I was 20-23, then (laughing) Harrison Ford.
If all regular dads try to make their sons into sportsmen in a vain attempt to live vicariously through them, does that mean you’ll do the opposite?I’d like the kids to play sport, because it teaches you a lot about life and it’s good for your health. But I won’t force them into anything. I want them to try their hand at everything.
Your wife is out, you’re at home looking after the children, you have to get your own dinner: what’s cooking?Nothing: I’m sitting there waiting for the takeaway delivery man.
Where in cricket do you come up against the toughest crowds?Australia, for sheer abuse. And the South Africa fans aren’t too far behind – the Wanderers ground at Johannesburg is tough going.
What advice would you give to a man who is trying to win back a girl after being an idiot?Stay strong.
Have you still got somewhere where you can just go have a couple of pints and a chat without everyone offering to buy you a drink?Yes, a couple of places, which will remain anonymous, for obvious reasons.
How much are you looking forward to playing Australia next summer in the home Ashes rematch?Massively. I always look forward to touring India too, because the crowds we get to play in front of are massive. Plus, I love the food over there. I think I might be the only cricketer who puts on weight in India! You have to be careful with things like brushing your teeth with the tap water, but I’ve never had any problems with the food like some of the lads have. And, hopefully, we’ll be on a winning streak by the time the Aussies are here in summer, and we’ll be ready.
What’s the one question you hate being asked?How’s your ankle?
Not the one about which England player allegedly relieved himself in the garden of 10 Downing Street at the team’s Ashes-winning reception?All I can say about that is I know it wasn’t me.
Have you ever gutted and cooked a fish you’ve caught?Yes. Well, someone showed me how to gut it, so I couldn’t gut it again, really, could I? Then I took it home and cooked it. Well, Rachael [Mrs Flintoff] cooked it.
And on that score, what’s the biggest fish you’ve ever caught?A 12-pound trout, at Littleborough near Rochdale. (Laughing) In a stock farm.
What’s your favourite picture of you?There’s one that was after we won the Ashes, in the dressing room at the Oval, with Steve Harmison. I don’t like having pictures of me in the house, but that one’s good.
Who was your first famous crush?Debbie Greenwood [former Miss Great Britain]. She did a TV quiz show [First Class] when I was a lad.
What song did you pick for the first dance at your wedding?Frank Sinatra, Fly Me To The Moon.
Have you got an attic full of your cricket stuff or do you have it out around the house?Most of it’s at Old Trafford. I want to go home and forget about cricket, really.
As a famous person, you can blag stuff. What is the cheekiest thing you’ve done on that score?Getting tables in restaurants, and I’ve not done that very often, honestly.
What game do you think is your most match-winning performance?I don’t want to sound big-headed here… possibly the Ashes Test at Edgbaston. [Flintoff scored 68 and 73, and had match bowling figures of 7-131.]
Do you read about yourself in match reports? Sportsmen say they don’t, but they really do, right?I have done from time to time. I tend not to, because I wouldn’t read a paper anyway. Never have done.
What’s your favourite bit of your favourite film?I do like Star Wars. Has to be when Darth Vader’s fighting Obi Wan Kenobi and tells him, “Your powers are weak, old man,” and then does him in.
Who were your heroes when you were a lad, cricketing and otherwise?Botham and Viv Richards from cricket. And when I was 16, I worked in Woolworths on the record counter, and the Elvis Essential Collection came out. So Elvis became one of my heroes. Some of my mates have been to Graceland; I’ll go one day.
What kids TV show or film that you watch with your children do you secretly really like?The Jungle Book is brilliant. Then there’s Wonder Pets, a TV show that the kids used to like.
Do you play as yourself in cricket video games to check if they’ve got you right?No. (Laughing) I know a lot of lads who do though.
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SIR EDMUND HILLARY
Hero’s Hero
I look up to anyone who does something that they find interesting and rewarding. That’s the main challenge in life. So I truly respect anybody, from my car mechanic, who’s the best mechanic I know, through to someone like mountain-climbing legend Sir Edmund Hillary. Making life rewarding is what I find heroic. Hillary was doing interesting things even before he climbed Everest, but then he discovered he loved climbing. And that’s a very good reason to do something.
Most people in the Western world would have heard Hillary’s name when they were a kid: ‘Who climbed Everest first?’ Edmund Hillary. The first time I learned more about him was when I was writing a piece for a climbing magazine years ago. I realised that very few people know who climbed Everest with Hillary, so I’d also add Tenzing Norgay as one of my heroes, as he also got to the top that day. He was from Nepal, a Sherpa, and Hillary always gave him credit for being his climbing partner, not an assistant in the background.
In an age when climbing Everest has become seen as a ticket to the lecture circuit or becoming a motivational speaker, Hillary’s reasons to climb just seemed far more honest.
I think the trick to remember about climbing, whether it’s the type of climbing I do or expeditions like Hillary’s, is that for most of us the problem is not getting over our fear, it’s overcoming the desire to do something so much that you don’t think it through. It’s not about overcoming fear, it’s about listening to it.
I’m interested in things that are new and different, and generally in things that haven’t been done before. If someone has already done something, then what’s the point? I’ve never been any good at sports where the idea is to make a small leap forward. Roger
world’s biggest vertical frozen waterfall this year, which should be amazing – although we’re keeping its location secret for the moment. Ice climbing is just so unusual. I find that the more unlikely something is, the more interesting it gets.
Hillary never really slowed down. He was an inspiration to me as he made life better for the Sherpas and mountain people around the world, helping to found schools and hospitals. Not only did he succeed at climbing the highest mountain on the planet, he turned it into something meaningful beyond that, which is the mark of a great person. He had a completely different attitude to so many other climbers: another reason why he’s one of my heroes.
I was lucky enough to meet Hillary 10 years ago. I was taking part in this big climbing celebration and there were a hundred or so of the world’s top climbers there. It was interesting to see the relative lack of ego in everyone, but Hillary, in particular, was a very warm individual. I mean, he was a beekeeper from New Zealand – we’re not talking about someone who was ready to be thrust so fully into the public eye.
He was knighted and appears on the New Zealand $5 bill, but I think I would have felt more in awe of meeting him if he hadn’t looked so approachable. To put it in perspective, imagine if you met the Queen in her gardening outfit with a corgi nipping at her heels – you wouldn’t feel so intimidated.
Hillary was unique in the way he handled his fame and what he did with it. He was internationally known, but he bore that recognition very well. He always seemed very much like a beekeeper who’d found himself on top of the world and was just enjoying the view.
WILL GADD The X Games triple gold medallist and ice-climbing champion finds more than mountaineering to admire in the first man to conquer Mount Everest
Bannister ran a four-minute mile, and after that it was like, ‘What’s next?’ You run 3.49? It’s great, I admire people who can do that, but I want to do something new. I’m always looking for new terrain in a geographical and mental sense.
I’ve helped reinvent the sport of ice climbing. I’ve helped develop a new style that involves climbing ice and rock. Hanging off huge, dangling icicles is just great. Imagine a small, picturesque icicle on a Christmas card and multiply its size until it’s 30m long and at the lip of a giant cave. You climb up the cave and onto the icicle, and that’s mixed climbing. I’m also going to be climbing the W
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SHAUNWHITE
Jordan, Woods, Beckham... White? Don’t bet against it. Meet sport’s likely next global superstar: a 22-year-old snow’n’skate savant with the guile to match his genius
Words Andreas Tzortzis Portraits Magnus Unnar
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WNrelease of a video game with his name on the cover
has been accompanied by a $10m global advertising campaign, guaranteeing his presence in living rooms from San Diego to Manchester to Tokyo.
It’s difficult to reconcile the image of the rising two-sport megabrand with the borderline hyperactive young man zipping around the studio, the fading splashes of acne on his face partly covered by a head of hair worn like the ’80s rock musicians he idolises. White is, as expected, affable and friendly, and his penchant for ending sentences in a question mark and peppering them with healthy helpings of “bro”s and “like”s confirm his southern California roots.
But the nonchalance deceives. A dominant force on the world snowboarding circuit since his late teens, and a rising power on skateboarding’s halfpipe, White’s excellence at board sports stems from a talent recognised early by his family, and honed over the years thanks to a fierce competitive streak.
Christmas never really came to the White household. Instead of spending money on gifts for their three kids, father Roger, a water department worker who the family affectionately dubs ‘The Rog’, and mother Kathy, who worked as a banquet waitress, would pile them into the car and head from Carlsbad, California to the mountains on the Nevada border. The trips became character-forming excursions for White.
The classic rock CDs they listened to on the long drives would leave their mark on his musical taste. The time spent together formed bonds that would later become the support network that has enabled White’s catapult to stardom. The five of them would tear down the mountain together, with six-year-old Shaun channelling his hyperactive energy into
imi Hendrix and Led Zeppelin are playing on the stereo, providing the soundtrack to the flurry of activity in a studio space in New York’s SoHo district that’s clean and white and looks like the outside of an iPod. The musical backdrop is punctuated every once in a while by the click and clack and roll of skateboard wheels on polished concrete. Shaun White glides from a full-length mirror near where racks of clothes and a red rolling suitcase have been set up for his perusal, to another corner of the studio where he ollies and kickflips and laughs in front of the camera.
It’s White’s second photo shoot of the day and, as in the first, he’s clashed with the stylist.
“I don’t know what my image is, but I know what it’s not,” says White, and brushes aside a lock of the reddish-brown mane that has, as much as anything, contributed to his dual-sport fame. “And it’s nice to be able to speak my mind. And that’s what’s cool: a lot of people don’t have that.”
The snowboarder and skateboarder’s stratospheric ascent from niche sports star to Olympic gold medal winner and mainstream action sports hero, is as much the story of an immensely talented and marketing-savvy young man as it is the rise, from the fringe, of a multi-billion dollar sports industry. At 22, White has two clothing lines, nationally televised commercials in the US for American Express and Hewlett Packard, and has reached David Beckham and Tiger Woods levels of name recognition around the world. The November
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snowboard Windell’s carefully groomed halfpipes under the watchful eyes of pro snowboarders and skiers, who would correct for technique and style. At night, the family slept in their travelling van, a massive Ford E-Series Econoline model once used by the US border patrol to stake out illegal immigrants crossing the Mexican border. This being the White family, the van had a nickname as well: ‘The Mo’, for reasons both Shaun and Kerri can’t recall. When the family stayed in a motel, they would fit themselves into one room. Kathy would cook quesadillas on a portable stove with a shower cap strategically placed over the fire alarm in order to avoid unnecessary attention from motel staff.
“I blame snowboarding for being tight with my parents,” says White. “How rad is that?”
His development on the snow was impressive. “Gravity never seemed to hold him back,” said Windell. He proved especially good at breaking down the tricks of the snowboarders who came before him, and then doing them better. Pat Bridges, the editor of Snowboarder magazine, who first saw White perform at a halfpipe event when White was eight, calls the red-head a “snowboard savant”.
“Somewhere in there the maths adds up,” he says. “He doesn’t have to test, he doesn’t have to do anything. He just knows, inherently, how fast to go down the pipe.”
bombing runs that would make his mother sick with worry. In an effort to slow him down, Kathy made him ride switch, with his weak foot forward. The fit of motherly concern paid dividends later when White began landing his multi-rotation jumps comfortably, regardless of which foot was leading.
Both his brother Jesse and sister Kerri proved naturals on snowboards, but the energy with which the six-year-old White threw himself into jumps and 360-degree spins was astounding. It was Jesse who inspired White’s start in snowboarding, but his comfort in the air can be traced back to the family’s trampoline in the backyard of their San Diego County home. The family also had a six-foot skateboard ramp and White made full use of both, often in combination. “I’d run and jump a gainer off of the vert ramp, and then I’d land on my stomach on the trampoline and flip out of it,” he says, and pauses. “I got really comfortable upside down.”
In 1992, his mother contacted the respected ski and snowboarding camp run by Tim Windell during the summer months on the glacial reserves of snow on Mount Hood in Oregon. Windell, impressed by White’s skills, modified his eight-day overnight ski and snowboarding camp to accommodate the family’s financial situation. Rather than paying the full price at the overnight camp, the Whites paid a reduced day rate. By day, the White children would
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The young White, pint-sized with a helmet covering his hair, dominated the halfpipe events he entered, eventually turning pro at the age of 13. Faced with more serious competition, White became diligent in his preparation.
“I wasn’t afraid to go to practise,” says White. “I would go to that mountain and say ‘What’s the least favourite trick that I have? What’s the hardest one for me?’ and I’d just do it all day and it became my favourite trick.”
White was coming of age at just the right time in snowboarding. If ski resorts spent most of the ’80s and the first half of the ’90s kicking snowboarders off their mountains, they spent the latter part of the ’90s desperately building halfpipes and opening up new mountains in an effort to grab a piece of the exploding snowboard market. Pro snowboarders enjoyed a financial windfall, commanding lucrative endorsement deals that had them earning six-figures in their late teens and early 20s. Videos of the sport’s stars, chief among them Norwegian Terje Håkonsen, were studied feverishly by young fans, and snowboarding’s mainstream popularity was eventually acknowledged by its inclusion as an Olympic sport in Nagano in 1998.
But it was the X Games, the alternative summer and winter games backed by the national US sports network ESPN, that gave snowboarding and skateboarding stars the most consistent platform – and the resulting lucrative endorsement deals. White won his first two X Games golds in 2003, at the age of 16, in both the superpipe (a large halfpipe) and slopestyle, a freestyle event that draws on the virtuosity of riders in creating their own big-air runs down a mountain dotted with bumps, jumps and rails. That began a run of gold medals in at least one of the two events each year until 2006.
If his life up until the X Games was a whirlwind, it became a gale-force storm afterwards. He competed in events around the world, from Canada to Alaska, Japan to New Zealand. He’d catch up on sleep on planes, and practise strumming and guitar hand positions, trying to get better at the guitar, an instrument he started playing after winning one at a competition.
“He can do tricks other people do, and they can do the tricks he can do,” says Bridges. “But he can do it when it counts.”
So when he stood at the lip of the halfpipe in the picturesque Italian town of Bardonecchia during the 2006 Winter Olympics in Torino after a sub-par first qualifying run, those who knew White could predict what would come next. With a Stars and Stripes bandana covering his mouth, and the ever-present helmet covering his trademark hair, White laid down a run of back-to-back 1080-degree spins that scored so high it effectively put him beyond the reach of the other competitors. Overnight, America had a new hero and companies desperate for credibility with young consumers, a new pitchman.
Strangers applauded him as he walked through airports and White’s irrepressible personality charmed late night talk show hosts. American Express and Hewlett Packard came calling.
The Shaun White brand, which had until then included deals with the snowboard manufacturer Burton (who signed him when he was seven), Oakley sunglasses, Red Bull and the department store chain Target, swept into the consciousness of mainstream America.
“To say they’re mainstream endorsements is to belittle what they are,” says Bridges. “Tiger Woods, he’s done American Express. Nobody is doing Amex that’s not... A-list.”
His success has rubbed up many of the sport’s core practitioners the wrong way. For those who continue to see snowboarding as a subculture far removed from the old-world elitism of skiing, White is criticised for his mainstream sponsors and resented for being snowboarding’s public face. Bridges is aware of those complaints, and would like to see snowboarding evolve beyond its mainstream image, but adds that White’s presence has ultimately helped the entire industry. “Everybody in snowboarding is doing better for having a guy like Shaun White,” he says. “If there wasn’t a Shaun White, there would be less people involved in snowboarding.”
Following the post-Olympic hype, White was well aware of the pitfalls his new role as snowboarding’s ambassador carried with it. “Every single interview I did was a chance to embarrass
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our sport,” he says. “I could have gone to [David] Letterman and all those shows and been like ‘Yeah, bro. What’s up dude! I’m just here to shred, eat granola and party!’” Instead, White gave a modest, if typically exuberant, performance in his public appearances, playing the awestruck Olympic athlete surprised when he was recognised and the humble snowboarder just happy for the opportunity to promote his sport.
“The original message that’s in it, people getting together and having fun, is still there,” he says. “But the whole ‘We do this because we don’t like you’ is gone. Look at music, it’s the same thing. There’s not many rebels on American Idol.”
Parents now go to Windell’s camp and ask if their children can be turned into the next Shaun White. Given White’s balance and control in the air and his competitive record over the past six years, it’s an ambitious task. But add to that White’s nascent presence on the skateboarding tour, and it might just be impossible.
A skater as long as he’s been a snowboarder, White turned pro at 16, signing with Birdhouse, the skate company run by his role model, the skateboarding sensation Tony Hawk. If there is a point of reference for the emergence of the White brand, it’s Hawk. Now 40 and a senior ambassador of skating, he was the first skater to spin gold out of his fearlessness in the vertical halfpipe – as well as being the first to land a 900, a two-and-a-half rotation turn. The public face of skateboarding, Hawk’s polished family man and good-guy image goes over well. And his video game, now in its tenth edition, set the precedent for success in action sports gaming.
White has yet to realise his marketing potential in skateboarding. He’s only recently started competing in earnest, devoting himself full time to skating after the snowboarding season ends in April. His snowboarding remains a strong influence. “I do bigger airs, because I’m comfortable going bigger,” he says. The intital resentment shown to him by the skateboarding community when he showed up to compete on the ramps in 2006 has dissipated, but not before fuelling his competitive streak. “I messed up the whole order of things,” says White of his entry into the tight-knit, and small, group of top vertical skaters. “And it was great!” He lets out a laugh.
“The angrier I got, I learned so many new tricks,” he goes on. “I wish there was still that beef, because it motivated me.” He won X Games gold in 2007 and followed it up last year with a bronze. He says he’s ready to dedicate himself full time to skating if it becomes an Olympic event, something currently in discussion. If that happens, expect to see a shock of red hair dropping down a vertical ramp somewhere in Hackney in 2012.
Until then, White is set to make an impact on a smaller stage. His video game is mightily addictive, even for those who never go near snow. Against a backdrop of beautiful mountain vistas, gamers can drop into pipes and pick their way down mountains littered with jumps, rails, even trees, off which to catch air. White was heavily involved in the design and creation of the game, helping out on voiceovers when he felt that the original voices were too over the top and suggesting music tracks.
“It’s tripping me out that we’re playing my game right now,” he says, glancing back, as he has throughout the interview, at the video project screen hooked up to a PlayStation. “I like my life because I have no idea what the next thing is going to be. We could sit here and say that I’ve reached the top of whatever planet I’m on, but there could be a whole other level in a couple of years that we don’t know about.”
And so we’ll stick around to find out.
WHITE SPACE IN YOUR LIVING ROOM SHAUN’S VIDEO GAME
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The scene was the guest bedroom in a mansion in Honolulu; the year, 1935. As she had done every other morning for the previous six days, Amelia Earhart woke up and went to the window to check the weather. On this particular morning, Friday, January 11, she had something to smile about. The rain had at long last stopped and there were signs that the clouds were starting to clear.
The world’s best-known pioneering aviatrix, who in May 1932 had become the first woman to fly solo across the Atlantic, had another record in her sights. She had come by ship to Honolulu with the aim of flying back to the American mainland. If successful, she would become the first pilot, man or woman, to cross the Pacific Ocean alone.
Amelia’s husband, George Putnam, was also in Honolulu. For the past seven years, in his role as his wife’s publicist and publisher, he had single-handedly ensured that Amelia Earhart was one of the most famous women alive.
Amelia Earhart’s single-engine Lockheed Vega aircraft had been ferried to Honolulu on the deck of a cruise liner. For the best part of a week it had been sitting at a US army airfield, Wheeler Field, ready for the record-attempting flight to California. But until this Friday morning, the low cloud and persistent rain had kept the Vega on the ground.
The challenge that Amelia had taken up required skill, courage and a strong nerve. United States Navy aircraft had been the first to fly from mainland America to Hawaii only one year earlier. No fewer than 10 civilian pilots had tried to cross the Pacific and failed, paying for it with their lives.
Amelia kept up a brave face as she waited for the weather to clear, but privately she confessed that she felt nervous. As she said once, with careful understatement, “Anticipation, I suppose, sometimes exceeds realisation.”
The risks that Amelia faced were immense. Aircraft engines in the 1930s were far less reliable than those of today, and the Vega had only one. The same was true of aircraft instruments. During her famous solo flight across the Atlantic in 1932, the altimeter in Amelia’s plane broke, leaving the aircraft seconds away from disaster over the
ocean. Then there was the challenge of navigating successfully over 2,408 miles (3,875km) of open sea. This was a flight undertaken years before the introduction of sophisticated radio navigation aids, let alone the satellite and computer technology that takes today’s airliners around the world. Nevertheless, in her attempt to be the first solo pilot to cross the Pacific, Amelia had one advantage over all previous pioneering air ventures: her Lockheed Vega was the first civilian aircraft to be fitted with a two-way radio.
Early that Friday afternoon, the sun had broken through the clouds. At Wheeler Field, Amelia’s technical advisor, Paul Mantz, made final checks on the Vega and pronounced it ready for flight.
But there were still challenges to be overcome. The plane had been loaded with 500 gallons of fuel for the journey. Then there was the extra weight of the radio equipment to be taken into account. The Vega was much heavier than normal, and the rain of the previous week had made the grass airstrip soggy. Getting the aircraft into the air would be difficult and dangerous.
After donning her flying suit and starting the engine, Amelia lined up the Vega into the wind. Troops had marked the specially mowed take-off strip with small flags. Fire engines and ambulances stood by. Amelia applied full power and the Vega gradually began to gather speed. Paul Mantz, who was visibly tense, willed the aircraft to leave the ground, shouting, “Get that tail up.” Halfway down the take-off strip the Vega finally became airborne. Amelia Earhart set course for California.
This particular flight passed without mishap, and is remembered more for the pioneering use of her two-way radio. At a quarter to and a quarter past every hour she broadcast a brief message to say “everything is OK”. A few hours into the flight a commercial radio station in Honolulu interrupted a musical programme to allow George to talk to his wife, live on air. Amelia said she heard her husband’s voice “as though he were in the next room,” and when she spoke into her little cup microphone he could hear her, too. As the Vega approached California, commercial stations there broadcast Amelia’s radio messages live, and heard
AMELIA EARHARTThis month is the anniversary of the first solo flight across the Pacific Ocean by the world’s most famous woman pilot. A true pioneer, she was instrumental in the development of aviation. This is the story of her remarkable careerWords Gerald Butt
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her say that she aimed to land at Oakland. By the time the plane landed, just under 18 hours after leaving Honolulu, a crowd of between 5,000 and 10,000 people was at the airstrip to greet her.
As he had done when Amelia became the first woman to cross the Atlantic as a passenger in 1928 and four years later as a solo pilot, George had meticulously prepared for press coverage and arranged the lecture tours that followed his wife’s record-breaking trans-Pacific flight.
The professional partnership between Amelia and George began with the first of the two trans-Atlantic flights. The bright orange-red, three-engine Fokker F.VII, named Friendship, was flown by Bill Stultz, with Lou Gordon as mechanic. But when, after landing at Burry Port in Wales, the trio reached London, all the focus was on Amelia. She received the kind of welcome that only a famous film star could have expected in the late 1920s.
“To me,” Amelia wrote later, “it was genuinely surprising what a disproportion of attention was given to the woman member of the Friendship crew at the expense of the men, who were really responsible for the flight.” But George was quick to spot the business potential in a female heroine of the air who could catch public attention in this way. Through his connections with US newspapers and his family’s publishing business, he saw to it that Amelia’s story was splashed around the world. Some say that he coined the nickname ‘Lady Lindy’ for her, an allusion to Charles Lindbergh who in 1927 had become the first person to fly solo across the Atlantic.
Amelia was determined that she should be recognised as a record-breaking pilot in her own right. In order to have the money and resources to enable her to do so, she needed a shrewd manager. George Putnam fitted the bill exactly.
The partnership was immensely successful. Between 1928 and the Honolulu-Oakland flight in 1935, Amelia not only flew solo across the Atlantic, but she also set the women’s flying speed record several times and became the first woman to fly solo non-stop from one coast of America to the other. In 1931, Amelia and George were married. But it was no ordinary marriage. Amelia sent her new husband what amounted to a contract asserting her independence within the union. “I want you to understand I shall not hold you to any medieval code of faithfulness to me, nor shall I consider myself bound to you similarly,” she wrote.
Amelia’s independent spirit emerged when she was a child, determinedly joining in sports that were
supposed, in those days, to be for boys only. When she was a young woman in the 1920s, she shrugged off the sneers of her male companions and learned to fly. As an adult, Amelia had two driving ambitions: to fly and help spread the popularity of aviation; and to show through her flying that women, when educated and independent, were equal to men.
In order to have a platform to promote these two causes, she needed George’s public-relations skills. In the words of one biographer, “George maximised every opportunity and exploited every possibility of obtaining publicity for her.” With his careful direction, the image of Amelia Earhart became known around the world, and is still instantly recognisable today.
George ensured that she became not only a pioneering pilot, but also a writer, clothes designer, icon of fashion, and friend of the American president and his wife. A poll conducted in America in 1935 found that of world figures, the best known men were President Roosevelt and Hitler, while the best-known women were Eleanor Roosevelt and Amelia Earhart.
Despite her film-star status, Amelia’s passion for aviation remained paramount, and she had the prescience to realise that for air travel to succeed commercially, then the emphasis would have to be more on safety and reliability than the joys of flying. “By making the trappings of aviation as familiar as possible,” she wrote, commenting on the luxury fittings onboard the earliest airliners, “timid souls were the more easily persuaded to climb aboard.” Amelia knew, too, that aviation would become more popular if the public could see that even the longest distances could be covered by plane. So in 1937, at the age of 39, she prepared for a flight around the world, after which she promised George that she would “give up long-distance ‘stunt’ flying”.
On June 1, 1937, with navigator Fred Noonan onboard, her twin-engined Lockheed Electra took off from Miami for the first leg to San Juan. Amelia flew successfully through Latin America, across to West Africa and eastwards to the Red Sea. She then proceeded across northern India and down through the Far East to Port Darwin in northern Australia. On July 1, the Electra took off from Lae, in Papua New Guinea, en route for Howland Island, a tiny outcrop in the South Pacific. The plane never arrived and to this day, the mystery of Amelia Earhart’s disappearance remains unresolved.
When, in 1935, she was preparing for the first trans-Pacific flight, she was asked why she planned to fly from Honolulu to California, and not the other way around. Because, she replied, there is an awful lot more land in America than in Honolulu to aim for. So it was that on that day in July 1937, finding the pinprick of Howland Island was ultimately beyond even the skill and determination of Amelia Earhart.
Speculation about her disappearance has turned into an industry, fuelled by many conspiracy theories. But Amelia’s standing as one of the greatest pioneers of aviation is ultimately more important than the circumstances of her death. Maybe we should be content with songwriter Joni Mitchell’s conclusion that she was “swallowed by the stars, or by the sea”.
ActionEpic tales, amazing destinations. Feats of courage, sounds of music
Sébastien Loeb page 50 Freestyle soccer page 56 Red Bull Music Academy page 64 Skiing the Streif page 72
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CHANGING LANESThe man in the car is Sébastien Loeb, the world’s best rally driver. He stepped out of his comfort zone, into Formula One’s fast lane. This is what happened next...
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Wednesday, November 12, Milton Keynes (UK)He turns up not, as you might expect, in a blaze of glory after winning his fifth consecutive World Rally Championship, but in an ordinary silver estate car. Ironically, the vehicle in which he is conveyed to the Red Bull Racing Formula One team’s factory boasts a sticker on the back that asks: ‘How’s my driving?’ followed by a phone number.
For someone who breaks world rallying records seemingly at will, Sébastien Loeb is famously low-profile. The diminutive Frenchman seems somewhat taken aback at the welcoming committee, complete with a few TV cameras, waiting for him at reception.
His arrival is a big deal, obviously. While Loeb has tested a Formula One car before, it was just 15 laps at the Paul Ricard High Tech Test Track near Marseille (former home of the French Grand Prix), running on his own as part of a promotional event at the end of last year. This time he will be at an official F1 test at the Circuit de Catalunya in Barcelona, with enough of the regular drivers around to give him a good taste of the gladiatorial combat that takes place every other weekend on the racing circuits of the world.
“It’s more serious now,” he says, sipping an espresso, which is something he does at the start of every day. “At my last test it was a bit of fun: I didn’t even have my own seat. This time, it’s all made to measure.”
Getting comfortable in an Formula One car isn’t just a question of sliding in and checking the mirrors. Instead, each driver benefits from a bespoke moulded seat, created by pouring expanding foam into a plastic bag on which the driver sits during the seat fitting. The whole process may resemble a particularly deviant sexual perversion, but it is undeniably effective. Once the foam sets, the seat is trimmed, covered and slotted into the car.
Loeb finds that the seat perfectly hugs the contours of his body, but there’s a problem. The Red Bull RB4 F1 car was designed to fit the six-feet-plus frames of Red Bull’s 2008 F1 men Mark Webber and David Coulthard, and as such is less suited to the 34-year-old Frenchman’s not-quite-six-feet build.
Some judicious padding solves the problem. The steering wheel and pedals are also adjusted to within his reach. It’s a world away from his regular environment, sliding his Citroën C4 rally car over gravel, asphalt and ice on courses from Argentina to Japan. But he’s no stranger to circuit racing: he was in contention in the Le Mans 24 Hours at his first attempt in 2005 – something else he did ‘for fun’ – before his team-mate demolished the car; he then finished second the following year. He’s also got a few high-powered toys at home in Switzerland, such as a Lamborghini
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Gallardo, a road car that can top 200mph. “The experience of driving any fast car helps, but nothing really prepares you for F1,” he points out. Apart from possibly his recent outing with the Patrouille de France: the French Air Force’s aerobatic team. “In terms of physical forces on your body, that’s the only thing that’s vaguely similar.”
Thursday, November 13, Silverstone (UK)The World Rally Championship tour, Loeb’s day job, takes in 15 different rallies on five continents – including the Rally Sweden, where temperatures sometimes drop to as low as -27°C. Silverstone on a raw November morning feels barely warmer. To showcase British weather at its best, a light drizzle is falling These are hardly the ideal circumstances to learn to drive a new Formula One car, particularly as the latest regulations no longer allow the use of traction control, a computer-aided system that prevents the wheels spinning under harsh acceleration. But it’s an important moment for Loeb: the time spent behind the wheel of the Red Bull Racing RB4 today will ensure that he does not begin the test at Barcelona from an entirely standing start.
Not that he’s playing himself in. On his first lap out of the pits – an installation run just to check that everything is working properly – he hits 162mph on the main straight. And that’s without even trying. “I accelerated normally,” he grins, despite the Siberian temperatures. “The car was already sideways as I left the pitlane!” That would be the lack of traction control, not to mention a track surface that would not have looked out of place in Dancing On Ice. Nonetheless, the engineers are impressed: he completes 37 laps of Silverstone’s national circuit (around 60 miles) without putting a foot wrong or visiting any gravel traps.
“If it’s five degrees and raining in Barcelona, then that was good practice,” comments Loeb laconically, stepping out of the car. “But actually it was a bit too wet and cold to get a real impression of what the car was like. Of course it was very useful to get some time in the car and to work with the Red Bull engineers. Barcelona, though, will be completely different. I still don’t know how I’ll get on, but if I’m not too far behind the others, then I will be happy.”
With no running scheduled for the afternoon, everyone heads off to the Paddock Cafe for lunch. Loeb chooses sausages and mashed potato – a British classic – but leaves most of it. As he looks disconsolately from his plate, to the rain-lashed window, to the engineers, there can only be one unspoken question on his mind: how can any of you live in this country?
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THE BESPOKE SEAT
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Monday, November 17, Barcelona (Spain)The 2009 Formula One season starts not with the Australian Grand Prix in March, but months beforehand, with a series of tests as teams develop their new cars. Not only have the technical rules changed this year, but slick tyres are allowed again after a 10-year break. All these things are tried out for the first time at F1’s group winter testing in Barcelona, with all of the teams there apart from Toyota. So there’s a buzz, as well as an unexpected chill, in the air as Loeb steps into the Barcelona paddock. He may have been wrong about the rain at Silverstone being good practice, but he is not far off when it came to the five degrees.
The posse of TV cameras waiting at Red Bull Racing five days ago – although it already seems an age away – is nothing compared to the pack of media lions that descends on him as he attempts to make his way to the pits at the Circuit de Catalunya. They sense fresh meat in the arena.
No, he isn’t contemplating a full-time switch to F1. Yes, he still has plenty of motivation left in rallying, despite his five World Championships and 46 wins. Possibly, he could be quick in an F1 car – let’s just wait and see. It’s a relief to finally get into the garage where his RB4 – as raced by Mark Webber from Valencia onwards in 2008, and the last of its type ever made – is waiting for him. The pedal set-up and other preferences on the car, though, are more similar to those of Red Bull Racing’s new driver Sebastian Vettel, who is of a similar shape and size to his rallying namesake.
Although it is a 2008 car, Loeb is using 2009-specification tyres and an aerodynamic package designed to simulate this year’s levels of downforce. Webber’s performance engineer Daniele Casanova, who is looking after Loeb during the test, points out: “We’re learning as much as he is. It’s the very first time we’ve run a car like this.”
Loeb completes another installation lap – which is considerably less sideways than his first one at Silverstone – and then he’s off. After his first flying lap, Casanova writes something down on his clipboard, smiles and nods. “I expected to be pleasantly surprised, and I was right,” is how he describes Loeb’s lap afterwards.
During the morning session, Loeb completes 44 laps. Vettel, who has been keeping a close eye on Loeb’s times, is impressed that he is managing to drive the car at all. Barcelona’s high-speed corners are particularly punishing on a driver’s neck and shoulders because of the massive G forces generated (see sidebar, right). As Loeb was only given his golden ticket to the test three weeks ago – a gift from Red Bull, which also
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sponsors the Citroën in which Loeb won the 2008 World Rally Championship – he has had no time to prepare his body for the ordeal.
“Actually it feels OK – but ask me again tomorrow!” says Loeb as he grabs some lunch. (It’s tuna this time, not bangers and mash.) “I surprised myself a bit this morning: it wasn’t a problem to find a good pace quite quickly, but afterwards I couldn’t improve it. So then I tried something different with the set-up, but it was wrong, because the times got slower. Now, in the afternoon, I’ll go back to what we had earlier and see if we can get better.”
One of Loeb’s favourite hobbies is understatement. He does, as promised, get better. In fact, by the end of the first day he is a remarkable eighth-fastest overall, with a time of 1m 22.503s. That’s quicker than a number of the regular F1 drivers and quicker than the much-hyped Bruno Senna, who in Barcelona was making his public F1 test debut. Bruno is the nephew of F1 legend Ayrton Senna, who said at the end of 1993: “If you think I’m good, wait until you see my nephew.” But Ayrton never met Loeb.
“He’s a Michael Schumacher isn’t he?” says a delighted Casanova afterwards, as the ex-Webber and now ex-Loeb RB4 is wheeled back into the truck with not so much as a scratch on its lustrous blue paintwork. “He could turn his hand to anything. Of course he could be a regular F1 driver if he wanted to, but he could also be a gymnast or any other type of athlete: he’s just got the right mental approach.”
‘Gymnast’ is not a random example, as this was how the young Loeb started his sporting career back in his native Alsace. The long, solitary hours spent at the parallel bars taught him single-minded discipline from an early age, as well as the innate sense of control to balance any machine – from a World Rally car in the mountains of Corsica to a Formula One challenger on the asphalt of Barcelona – on the precipice between triumph and disaster.
“I’m happy,” concludes Loeb. “By the end I was beginning to have real confidence with the car, but I was still braking too early: that’s the hardest thing to get used to.” Assuming that he could knock a second off his lap time just through later braking alone – which the engineers say is entirely possible – then that would have put him in the top six at the Barcelona test. As it was, Loeb could only stay for the first day of testing, and so he had to settle for eighth. After the third day, Vettel was in top spot, with two more Sébastiens, Bourdais and Buemi, in second and third respectively for Scuderia Toro Rosso.
So if you’re ever in Milton Keynes and you happen to notice a silver estate car with a ‘How’s my driving?’ sticker, dial the number and reassure the person on the line that Sébastien Loeb’s driving was absolutely fine.
Sébastien Loeb
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When one of the modern era’s greatest footballers went to Brazil to judge what is effectively the World Cup of freestyle football, he could only look on in wonder: “I’ve never seen anything like it... I’ve got plenty to learn.” This is the story of the spectacular Red Bull Street Style 2008 finalsWords Alex Lisetz Photography Ray Demski/Red Bull Photofiles
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riday afternoon, and Daniel from Holland is on the kerb of São Paulo’s busiest city motorway and remembers Freestyle Soccer Rule No. 1: You can play freestyle soccer anywhere. But you shouldn’t play street soccer everywhere. Because now he’s got a pistol held against his temple. It belongs to an officer from the Polícia Civil de Estado, or Civil Police, who’s in a black uniform, bulletproof vest and an apocalyptic mood and underlines very eloquently the urgency of complying politely with whatever it is he wants. Daniel’s Jamaican friend Aquel already has his hands on the roof of the police car and is being frisked by another officer. And so it becomes clear that although football may be Brazil’s official religion, it should not be played on a Red Bull Hummer parked next to an arterial road, because commuters brake to walking pace out of curiosity, rubberneck and create traffic chaos even greater than is usual in the city of 11 million people that is São Paulo.
It takes the accompanying crew a good deal of charm and great powers of persuasion to defuse the situation with a couple of explanations: that they only wanted to take a couple of photos; that Daniel and Aquel are taking part in the first unofficial freestyle soccer world cup; that, no, it isn’t about scoring goals but doing tricks with the ball as artfully as possible; that athletes from 42 countries have come to São Paulo to take part in the world finals of Red Bull Street Style; that it – there was a bit of bluffing at this point – could lead to awkward diplomatic disgruntlement if two countries went unrepresented; and that, therefore, please, please, please let them both... Ten minutes later, Daniel and Aquel were on their way back to the hotel.
Football brings people together. “Do caralho!” exclaims 17-year-old Murilo Pitol. Translated into pre-watershed vernacular it’s along the lines of “bravo!”, and in Brazil is considered
F an expression of the greatest respect. You hear it here whenever freestylers do their tricks. The most impassioned bravos actually come from the freestylers themselves, which brings us directly to Freestyle Soccer Rule No. 2: Try to be the best. But enjoy another’s success if he’s better than you. Murilo, the competition’s Brazilian entrant, is standing in the ballroom of the Maksoud Plaza hotel cheering on the other contestants. It’s three days until the grand final and the participants who have already arrived are training here. “It’s fun to watch the others,” explains Ned!ad Brajic, who lives in Düsseldorf but is representing Bosnia and Herzegovina. Does it make him envious when he sees someone else play better than him? “No. I want to keep on improving. I want to be better than me.”
The players form a circle with Ned!ad in the middle. He starts his routine, suddenly has the ball trapped between his ankle and shin, then turns quickly, shoots his leg backwards, and the ball flies in a high arc behind his back and over his head and lands perfectly back on the tip of his toes. Everyone cheers and Ned!ad hands over coolly to the next player. “Of course we’re all here to win,” says 28-year-old Irishman Nam ‘The Man’ Nguyen, a tournament favourite, “but this event is like a huge party. We all have completely different backgrounds, but I’ve never seen so many people in one place who have the same passion as I do.” That’s Freestyle Soccer Rule No. 3: It doesn’t matter where you come from. It’s how you play,
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favourites hits the stage, preferring instead to check out what the others will probably be showing in tomorrow’s routines. Freestyle Soccer Rule No. 4: Don’t show your hand too soon.
Victory by mobile. Holding your cards to your chest is not an option during competition. The 42 participants, who won the right to be here through live or online national qualifying events, battle it out for the 16 final places in an arena within the Estádio do Pacaembu complex. Groups are drawn by lots, and players go one-on-one against all others in their group for three minutes, with no player allowed more than 20 seconds on the ball at any one time. Marks are awarded for creativity, style and control. “Doing tricks perfectly is not enough,” Dominik Kaiser explains. “You have to respond to your opponent, the spectators and the DJ.” Which the 22-year-old German can; his routine is athletic and acrobatic, with timing and rhythm. He communicates with spectators, building tension before a particularly complicated move and encourages people to clap. He progresses to the next round as his group’s winner.
The spectators are annoyed when 28-year-old South African Christopher Njokwana, known as Juggles, comes on stage. As his opponent shows off his moves, Juggles chats away on his mobile, and when he gets the ball from his opponent, doesn’t stop talking. Only then does the crowd realise that a fictitious phone call is part of the routine and there is jubilation every time a trick comes off: when Juggles finally hangs up three minutes later, he’s won the round. (He scores enough points more conventionally in the other rounds to qualify for the final.) By the end of the day, all the favourites have made it through to the final: Yosuke, Brajic, Nam ‘The Man’ and Séan, whose real name is Arnaud Garnier, are seen by many as in with the best chance. Gustavo Tello surprisingly fails to make it through; his playful mastery of the ball in the training sessions was dazzling, but his nerves showed in the competition proper and he made too many mistakes. Freestyle Soccer Rule No. 5: Whatever happens, keep your nerves under control.
Gentlemen of the jury. The 26 eliminated competitors only get their breath back the following day. Only then can they process what they’ve been through: remembering the half-time show they put on at the stadium of Brazilian league champions São Paulo,
and it’s utterly appropriate; the much-evoked ability of football to bring people together is so apparent here you can feel it. Players wink at each other, pat each other on the shoulder; whenever two players’ paths cross they say their few common words of broken English, high-five after every trick that comes off.
Although they share a passion, these men could not be more different. Ecuadorian Gustavo Tello, always ready to joke around, won Red Bull Reacción (the forerunner of Red Bull Street Style) in 2007 and didn’t receive his prize for four months as he lacked a fixed address; extrovert Séan, who also tours France with his Black Blanc Beur acrobatic group; shy Finn Daniel Antman and Colombian womaniser Christian Mayorga; the deeply religious 14-year-old Honduran Jonathan Tejade Matute, whose football team played barefoot until recently; or Japanese student Yosuke Yokata, who sums up the atmosphere thus: “We don’t need translators. Our common language is the ball.”
The second-best place to freestyle is online. “We’d be nowhere without YouTube,” says 18-year-old Austrian Faruk Onmaz, who started freestyling four years ago and before São Paulo only knew his fellow competitors virtually. “You post a video of a trick and the others leave comments or answer with a clip of their own and they’ve developed a new detail for the move.”
Networking via the web is one of the main reasons there has been a boom in freestyle soccer in the past few years. And no one is more pleased about that than Hee Young Woo, aka Mr Woo, a juror in the preliminary round and freestyle soccer’s living legend. The 45-year-old South Korean has been freestyling for 20 years, and has an entry in the Guinness Book of Records for bouncing a ball on his head for five hours, six minutes and 30 seconds. Ronaldinho got his autograph after they appeared together in the Nike advert ‘Stickman’ – the only time the Brazilian has asked for a signature – because he was so impressed. “It’s incredibly gratifying for me that freestyle soccer has finally had its breakthrough worldwide,” he explains. “You learn to concentrate and exercise patience, to accept setbacks and work on yourself for a long time before you really achieve success. On the eve of the qualifying event, he does tricks with the competitors on the dancefloor of the nightclub Pacha. The atmosphere is relaxed, but you can see that some of the participants are nervous ahead of the big day. Other than Séan, none of the
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during their game against Figueirense, where they were cheered on by 60,000 football-mad fans; their impressions of a city where you can get sunburned in November, where it can smell of smog one minute and fresh pineapple the next, where cabs speed through red lights because drivers think the chances of being robbed are greater than those of being hit by cross traffic.
In the meantime, the remaining 16 players are pumped up, and not just because of the approaching finals, the camera crews and the bustle, but also due to the arrival of sporting soulmates: Edgar Davids, former Dutch international
and Champions League winner; Brazilian football hero Bebeto; and Falcão – not the star of the Brazilian national team of the ’80s, but his younger namesake who was voted the most valuable player at the 2008 FIFA Futsal World Cup (futsal is the ‘official’ football five-a-side variant, played with a small ball). These three and legendary break-dancer Crazy Legs are the final’s judges. Falcão is called upon to sign the most autographs.
“The guys here are really on the ball, just like I used to be,” Bebeto, now 44, says. “They don’t care about money and fame. They have nothing on their minds apart from football.” Davids, 35, agrees:
“I started playing football by freestyling. You have to completely master your technique first if you want to get on. But none of us is as good as these guys here.”
The eight final pairings are drawn by lots. Points now count for nothing; three minutes make the difference between defeat or victory, progress or elimination. Things are particularly dramatic in one pairing: Nam ‘The Man’, who stormed his national qualifying competition in Dublin, against the virtuoso Yosuke of Japan, the world’s most freestyle-mad country. Nam shows off his full range of tricks, air moves and sit-downs; his break-dance elements are breathtaking.
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But Yosuke takes every trick a little bit further, works the crowd, somersaults with the ball wedged between his legs and kicks Nam out of the competition.
Murilo Pitol, the local hero, is urged on by the crowd from round to round, and perhaps progresses a little further than he deserves to based on pure talent. He beats Brajic in the quarter-finals, only to meet his match in the semi-finals. Séan, one-time star pupil of Auxerre’s football academy before injury prevented him turning pro, blasts his opponent off the stage by charisma alone. He pushes the ball this way and that, at one point kicks it under his vest
with an invisible backwards move, pops it back out of the neck, pulls his baseball cap on and off while the ball stays balanced on his head, wedges the ball between his heel and his calf and does a handstand flip – all so easily that he makes it look like no big deal.
The final is Séan against Yosuke – the only two who are perfect in every aspect, brimming with ideas and interacting with the crowd and the DJ. Once again the 20-year-old from Tokyo sets the crowd alight with his best tricks, his somersaults and break-dancing. He spins the ball on his knee, does a handstand. But Séan gives the show
of the evening; it’s funny, acrobatic and fast. In answer to Yosuke’s knee-spin, he wedges a pen between his teeth and spins the ball on it. The auditorium goes wild and the jury is convinced it’s found a worthy winner. “You have to use your personality,” says Séan, establishing the secret of his success. “You’ve got to find your own style in freestyle, just as you do in day-to-day life. Be creative, come up with new things, entertain the crowd, not always do the same thing.
“Because that’s the beautiful thing about freestyle; there aren’t any rules.”
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BEATS IN 24/ 7!TIME
Red Bull Music Academy pairs new talent with industry giants for days and nights of work and play. And it rocked Barcelona, its most recent home, to the core
Words Florian Obkircher Photography Ewen Spencer
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oldieLocks grabs the microphone. She seems relaxed, considering that one of her musical idols has just sat down on the sofa opposite her to be interviewed. “What I’d like to know,” she asks, “is how you went from being a bedroom
amateur to producing Jay-Z and Nas?” DJ Toomp leans forward, and thinks briefly before replying. Like many of his counterparts, he started out by working long and hard on his tracks, but there is one simple reason why he has managed to break through into the big time. GoldieLocks and the 29 other young musicians in the room listen riveted. “The most important thing as a newcomer is to learn the business.”
It’s a tip GoldieLocks can put to good use, since the young Londoner is just starting out on what promises to be a very successful career. Her bass-heavy grime beats, garnished with witty rap sequences about everyday life in Croydon, have made her a MySpace star. She was recently on the cover of British dance music magazine Mixmag, and DJ magazine nominated her as the Best British Breakthrough Producer of 2008. And all this before the 23-year-old has released an album. She’s just one of the 60 young talents living out her passion here in Barcelona, as a participant at the Red Bull Music Academy.
A travelling musical learning zone, it is celebrating its 10th anniversary this year. Ever since starting out in 1998 in Berlin, the Red Bull Music Academy has set up shop for a month every year in cities such as New York, Cape Town and São Paulo. Two sets of young producers, DJs and musicians from all over the world, representing different genres of music, are invited to be part of a parallel musical universe for two weeks each. During that time, they share sound studios, decks and the dining table with the greats of their craft. Whether it be techno visionary Carl Craig, dub-step wunderkind Skream or Afrobeat drum legend Tony Allen, most of these heroes don’t just pop in to give one talk, but tend to stay for longer. It’s not unusual for
them to stay for days. From breakfast to midnight snack, from lecture to studio session, the stars work with the young musicians and answer their questions.
“At first I thought it was a violin class that wanted to know something about electronic music. But the São Paulo Academy session showed me otherwise. The energy, the fire that raged there during those weeks completely blew me away. I’ve been coming almost every year since,” says Londoner DJ Zinc, a founding father of drum & bass. He’s one of the studio tutors who give the participants tips and lay down tracks with them.
It’s 11am and the October sun casts its gentle light through the huge windows of a disused textiles factory in Barcelona’s Sant Andreu district. This is where the Red Bull Music Academy has set up shop, turning the four-storey brick building into a creative melting-pot with a radio studio and eight sound studios, a lecture hall decked out with sofas, and a luxurious lounge.
Zinc gets himself a coffee. He seems tired. “Four out of 10,” he says when asked how he’s doing. And the reason is that yesterday’s recording session was another long one. He was tweaking a piece with rising Irish electronica star Rory D until five in the morning. But the results are there to be heard: an energetic minimalist track, six minutes of deep dancefloor magic, topped off with vocals from US synth pioneer Tom Oberheim. The 72-year-old had given a talk here just the day before and was persuaded to make a spontaneous recording. “I actually just wanted to show Rory a couple of Cubase software tricks but we got completely carried away.” Zinc takes a huge gulp as he has to be fit again by 1pm. Star guests have promised to come to the first lecture of the day.
And sure enough, just a little later, one of the most important duos in popular music history, Sly & Robbie, arrive. “Amazing,” DJ Babao, the Brazilian participant, whispers respectfully. “It’s because of these two guys that I started making music.” The list of artists the two Jamaicans have been in a studio with is long:
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The Rolling Stones; Talking Heads; Bob Dylan; The Fugees; Grace Jones; and many others. They are said to have contributed in some way to an incredible 200,000 recordings, including tracks on which they’ve been sampled. So they’ve definitely got something to say for themselves. The two of them give tips and treat everyone to wonderful stories in the lecture hall for nigh on two hours. One story they tell is about a recording session in 1980 for which James Brown had his hair done specially beforehand – by future US presidential candidate Al Sharpton, at the time Brown’s tour manager. “As if he had an important performance ahead of him, whereas we were just a couple of kids in a studio! But that’s what James was like,” says Robbie with a smile in his broad, Jamaican accent, and he slaps the unamplified bass guitar in front of him. But when it’s time for a new trick he plugs in and Sly grabs the sticks. All in keeping with the motto: why play canned when you can do it live?
Sly & Robbie had already set Barcelona alight the night before. Live, and for free. On Plaça del Rei in the middle of the city’s Gothic quarter. Normally it only plays host to theatre, but yesterday the Red Bull Music Academy pitched its tent there so that the whole city could feel the magic of the two dub heroes.
Robbie penetrates the four sides of the square and it shakes from the strength of the bass. Sly pummels his drums, wraps his snare beats in echo loops, which the keyboard player then hacks up in a staccato upstroke. The atmosphere is electric, helped in no small part by the warm Spanish evening air. There are a lot of reggae fans here; many dreadlocked men and women helping to fill the square to its capacity.
The show goes on till 11.30 and then the crowd moves on. And only now, in keeping with the Catalan sense of time, does the night really get going. The route from here to the Harlem Jazz Club, where tonight Academy participants will take over (as they do in the city’s late-night venues for the duration of their stay), snakes through and beyond the bright lights of the
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city’s garish Las Ramblas area, down narrow streets and past countless bars. DJ Babao is on the decks. The gangly Brazilian’s dreadlocks shake as he scratches vinyl. Hip-hop-meets-favela-funk is tonight’s vibe. He turns down the bass, waits, grins, then unleashes the drums hard. The crowd goes wild.
“It was crazy,” Babao explains over breakfast the next morning. “The speakers were already bouncing when the crowd asked for more: ‘louder, louder!’” The hip-hop producer is in Europe for the first time; the Red Bull Music Academy met him at a workshop session in his hometown of Rio de Janeiro. He felt the desire to apply at one of the one-day, public mini-Academy events that take place around the world every year in spring. Babao quickly got a mixtape together, but found the application tough. “I brooded over my answers for two whole nights. Good practice, as there’s so little sleep time at the Academy.”
Dorian Concept, from Austria, can back him up on that. “It’s the best stress I can imagine,” he says. “Get up, get the bus to the Academy, have breakfast, two lectures, lunch, studio, dinner and then clubbing or a night in the studio, and I tend towards the latter.” He has already contributed to seven of the tracks to have been recorded here. The 23-year-old keyboard wizard is in great demand. And not merely because his manic broken beat pearls, somewhere between jazz and hip-hop, are currently the beating heart of international electronica; no, the man from Vienna is funky to the core. And watching him as he twists buttons and brushes over the keys in fast motion on his mini-synthesiser, you see a breathtaking display of finger acrobatics. “Often people from the studio next door will say, ‘Hey, Dorian, you couldn’t just play a quick line over our disco track, could you?’ And so I come into contact with styles of music that I’d never produce myself.” Which is a challenge all Red Bull Music Academy participants have to face. This is no place for shirkers; from down-beat amateurs to techno-heads, everyone works together here. “Everyone’s got his preferences, but we’re all open to and interested in other things.”
Just at that moment someone taps Dorian Concept on the shoulder; his services are required again, this time by Natalia Lafourcade from Mexico City. The two of them gave a joint concert in a club here a few days earlier – spontaneously, which was no problem for such thoroughbred musicians. “Her voice is amazing,” Dorian raves. “She can transfix people with just a guitar and a song. A bit like Björk; you could have heard a pin drop at the concert. Even though the electricity went four times!” The 24-year-old is a superstar back home. Both her albums, full of melancholic laments among experimental electronica and heart-rending lyrics, topped the Mexican charts, earning her four Latin Grammy nominations in 2003, and a win proper in 2006. “Oh, but that was already three years ago,” says Natalia with a shy smile, letting a strand of brown hair fall over her face. She’s affable and open, super-keen to work with and learn from people she meets – from beyond the Academy too. She explains she would like some of them to donate sounds for the remix version of her new album.
Natalia checks the time. Damn, it’s 8pm and the Sagrada Família has closed. “I’ve wanted to visit the church for days now. Gaudí is my favourite artist,” she says. “But then I think to myself, ‘The church has been there for over a hundred years whereas the Red Bull Music Academy is only here and now.”
A C T I O N
The Streif in Austria is the world’s most daunting downhill ski run: if the hill doesn’t get you, then your nerves will. Konrad Bartelski, Britain’s best-ever downhill racer, tells The Red Bulletin how to get down it in one piece Words Norman Howell
FEARMOUNTAIN
“It’s not possible – it’s an Englishman!” was the stunned response from the French commentator when Konrad Bartelski stormed into second place at the Val Gardena downhill World Cup event in 1981. The then 27-year-old blew apart the myth that you had to be born in the snow to crack skiing’s top tier, and today he remains the only Briton ever to have made the downhill podium. But however much the British love an underdog, his result wasn’t just a lucky day on the slopes. Bartelski’s form was the result of years of training, and the pinnacle of a successful competitive career. Quite simply, you cannot reach that level without committing your entire life to the sport. So if the mountain wouldn’t come to Bartelski, then Bartelski would have to go to the mountain.
For him, that mountain has been the Hahnenkamm, and his life unfolded around the nearby town of Kitzbühel, in Austria. As a boy he learned to ski on the resort’s nursery slopes, and as a man he went on to compete in the most dangerous and thrilling event on the skiing calendar – the Kitzbühel downhill. The event takes place every January on the Streif ski run, widely regarded as the most challenging and unforgiving course in the world. In Bartelski’s own words, “the day after Kitzbühel, you know you’ve got another year to live.” Competitors regularly reach speeds of over 90mph, charging into blind corners and over icy drops, and if you don’t get to the bottom on skis, there’s a good chance you’ll cross the line on your face.
Bartelski has had his fair share of crashes, the most memorable when he was helicoptered out of Megève, in France, in 1975, when a shocked crowd thought he had been killed. Luckily, he escaped with just concussion and a broken nose. “The frustrating thing,” he says, “was that people said, ‘You don’t come back from crashes like that.’” But come back he did, and in record-breaking style. Since the end of his skiing career he has become a familiar face in sports broadcasting, and an inspiration to anybody wishing to test the parameters of what is possible in sport. The Red Bulletin asked Bartelski to talk through the 10 most dangerous sections of the Streif, and give an insight into one of the world’s truly great sporting challenges.
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KONRAD BARTELSKI’S 10 STREIF STRIFE ZONES
CRASH COURSE
1. FIRST LEFT!HANDER, INTO THE MAUSEFALLE (MOUSETRAP)
2. THE MAUSEFALLE JUMP
3. THE COMPRESSION AT THE BOTTOM OF THE MAUSEFALLE
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DOWNFORCE TO DOWNHILLF1 drivers love the danger of the Streif – and the nightlife of Kitzbühel, says BartelskiWhen I’ve skied with drivers, it’s clear the racing line translates to the slopes. Both disciplines require a dynamic mindset. When Damon Hill (below) came to Kitzbühel and Gerhard Berger took him down the Streif, he stayed up all the way down. The next day we went powder skiing with Craig Pollock, Jacques Villeneuve’s former manager, and Patrick Ortlieb and Ken Read, both of whom are ex-World Cup skiers. Damon was out there with us, and loving it as much as we were.
I also remember Gilles Villeneuve being in Kitzbühel. He never just hung around posing in Ray-Bans and Dolce & Gabbana; he would always talk to the technicians and look at what they were doing to the ski edges. His son Jacques is the same. I was night skiing with him at the Villars 24-Hour Race annual charity event, of which he is a patron, and you really get to see the real guy in that environment.
I took up skiing because I couldn’t afford to race cars – it was the cheapest way to go fast. When I was 10 or 11, I got to the top of the Horn gondola lift and saw Jochen Rindt strapping on his skis to tackle the moguls. He was a great skier.
Of course it’s not just about seeing the mountains, but also being seen on the mountain that draws in the F1 crowd. Keke Rosberg used to rock up in a one-piece suit and cool shades; he ended up buying a house nearby.
Everyone knows The Londoner pub in Kitzbühel; it’s hosted Ron Dennis, Nelson Piquet, Max Mosley, James Hunt, Bernie Ecclestone and Joachim Winkelhock. It’s great to escape the obligations and the chaos once in a while. The F1 boys enjoy it, because the attention will be on somebody else for a change. They can actually go out and let their hair down.
4. THE CAROUSEL’S RIGHT!HAND TURN BEFORE THE STEILHANG
6. ALTE SCHNEISE TO THE SEIDLALM
5. STEILHANG EXIT
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7. THE HAUSBERG JUMP (AND COMPRESSION)
10. AND THE BIGGEST CRASH OF ALL: THE PARTY AFTER THE RACE
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More Body & MindMore Body & MindMore Body & MindMore Body A place to breathe. The space to think. A time to party
David Coulthard page 78 Kitzbühel page 81 Get the Gear page 82 Listings page 84
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David Coulthard is going through a period of great change. He drove the last of his 247 Grands Prix last November, and everyone’s interested to know how he sees his future panning out. “The precise role I’ll play as an advisor to Red Bull has yet to be defined,” he says. “But I’ll probably still fly from race to race in 2009, especially as the BBC have asked me to commentate.”
Coulthard lives in Monaco while his fiancée, Karen, lives in Brussels, and that’s not set to change as Karen’s daughter goes to school there. And as for his coming to terms with retirement, the times to come – including becoming a father for the first time – sound far too involving for that to be an issue.
Coulthard is greeted by the kitchen staff; the backdrop of Hangar-7 is spread out below. The planes, cars, bikes, subdued lighting and live music create a great ambience for our dinner. DC, who’s seen countless spectacular venues in his time, is genuinely impressed. “The closer you look at the detail, the more you’re struck by how unique the place is,” he says.
Forget you’re with us for a second, and pretend your dinner is with whoever you want: will you choose a mate or a lady to dine with?“I’m going to be best man at a friend’s wedding and after organising the stag party, I’ve had quite enough man talk of late. So I’ll go for the dinner-with-a-lady option. As long as it is just dinner.”
You’re on. So what’s the perfect setting for dinner with a lady?“If we’re assuming that it’s something serious, then I’d be interested in the woman with my heart and my soul. The first time I took Karen for dinner was in Paris, in Saint Germain; it was very romantic. The restaurant wasn’t too big or too hip, because the problem with super-chic places is that they often
disappoint or the place overawes you. On our the first date I babbled and blabbered the whole time, and I didn’t notice that she could hardly get a word in edgeways.”
I imagine it must be pretty tough dating a woman on the quiet when you’re famous. Do you automatically choose a venue based on how discreet it is and how discreet its clients are?“I’ve got a story about that. I went out with an American girl for four years. She lived in the US and I was in Europe; things weren’t really going that well and I flew over there one last time intending to sort things out once and for all. While I was there, I went out for dinner with one of her friends and she sold the whole story to the press. When you race as a kid, you don’t think of becoming famous. You want to drive in races and win them. But you don’t think at the time of all that goes with it.”
When is your private life private as far as you’re concerned?“If I’m sitting at a table eating. You don’t have to be a genius to realise that you’re disturbing someone if you want something from them. At lunchtime I might be willing to make an exception, but if Karen and I are at dinner and someone wants to take a photo or asks for an autograph, I politely send them packing.”
The starter arrives: langoustines with spinach, Burrata espuma and Alba truffle.
You’ve created the perfect playboy image for yourself“Hang on a second. I haven’t had that many girlfriends...”
...but you probably still haven’t been able to avoid the odd boys’ night in. What’s on the menu on those occasions, chez Coulthard? “Pasta with ready-made sugo sauce and tuna on top, with an easy salad that you
Fantastic food, wonderful atmosphere, unique guests: every month a member of the great and the good is invited to Red Bull’s unofficial HQ, Hangar-7 in Salzburg. The first guest joining us for dinner is the Formula One ace known as DCWords Werner Jessner Photography Philipp Horak
David CoulthardHangar-7 Interview
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shake out of the packet washed and ready to go. I’ve realised it’s the standard bachelor menu par excellence.”
Is that all you have in your cooking repertoire to fall back on?“Yes, pretty much. Oddly, I like watching cooking programmes on TV with people like Jamie Oliver, because they make it all look so easy. I always accept if I’m invited on a cooking programme.”
And what do you do in the studio? Peel the potatoes?“Yes. And I’m really good at clearing things away afterwards. I always do that at home. Karen cooks and I clean up. And I must admit, I’m really impressed by the job top chefs do. The way all the cogs fit together, that 60 customers get food of the same quality, at the same time and at the perfect temperature, reminds me of the co-operation within a racing team.”
The main course arrives: fillet of bison with dumplings, black salsify and ceps.
Are you afraid of putting on weight now that your driving career is over?“No, not at all. I do know that some racing drivers got oddly fat as soon as they stopped having to fit inside a cockpit, but I enjoy eating healthily too much for that to happen. I can’t remember the last time I bought a hamburger in a fast-food restaurant. To tell the truth, I just don’t think they taste of anything! When I was young, I suffered from bulimia and maybe I developed a particular attitude to food at the time. It’s important for me to put good things into my body.”
Is there anything you don’t eat?“I’m not much of a meat-eater. But when it’s as succulent as this meat here (pointing to his plate), I can put away huge portions of the stuff. Recently I was in Argentina for Red Bull, and the steaks I had there were marvellous. No, if I’m honest, I can’t say I like meat less than I like vegetables. If it’s good meat that is.”
Are you a good passenger?“I’m happy to let others drive. If Karen and I are on the road, I automatically go to the passenger door and she drives. To tell the truth, driving in traffic gets on my nerves. It’s too slow and I find it boring. And I don’t really like road cars. A lot of people think, ‘Aah, a Formula One driver. He must buy the snazziest sportscar there is every year.’ But actually, in Monaco, I pootle around half the time in a Smart car. I’ve also got an old M-class Mercedes at my chalet in Switzerland, and I’ve got no intention of upgrading either of them.”
Now that you’ve retired from F1, are you interested in other motorsports?“To perform in them myself, no, but I still think that purely from a talent point of view – I’m not talking about the whole package here – rally drivers should be placed at the top. You can learn to drive in F1; the road surface is even and flat, and
apart from the fact that the tyres change during a race and you lose downforce from the front axle if you turn too sharply from stalling, nothing changes. Rally drivers constantly have to make decisions. ‘That dark patch, is that ice or water? Are my notes right? Is the weather changing?’ Michael Schumacher was a good racing driver, there’s no denying it, but what Sébastien Loeb has done in the last five years is at least one level higher.”
And this is a former Formula One driver speaking?“It’s what I’ve always said.”
Dessert arrives. David should by now have been at an evening event, but the charming service means he couldn’t miss dessert, so he’s changed his plans. Would he have been missing something special? Yes, he would: mascarpone with cherries, yoghurt and Amaretto ice-cream and yuzu gelée.
Well, you’ve come to the end of your ‘dinner with a lady’.“The next time I come to Hangar-7, I’ll bring Karen with me. Then we can catch up on the men’s part.”
Well, we did talk about cars...“Yeah, but only in minor roles. Family’s the most important thing now.”
What is Hangar-7?
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1. BREAKFAST
2. DOING LUNCH
3. BEST PLACE FOR A PINT AND AN OGLE
4. DINNER
5. HOTEL
6. FOR THE VIBE
7. INTO THE NIGHT...
8. LAST CALL
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Kitzbühel is to skiing what Monaco is to F1. When the World Cup hits town, being in the right place at the right time is essential: here’s how you do it
Mountain Highs
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Want to make like Shaun White on the slopes? Some of his moves might be beyond you, but you can certainly get the look. Here’s our pick of the best kit available
Get The Gear:Snowboarding
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DAY SPOTSMust-see happenings for January and February
TOYO TIRES 24HRS 08.01.09 ! 10.01.09
BEO SKI CROSS10.01.09 ! 13.01.09
RED BULL UNCHARTED10.01.09"28.01.09
IBU BIATHLON WORLD CUP13.01.09 ! 18.01.09
TRAVIS AND FRIENDS14.01.09 ! 21.01.09
FIS SKI JUMPING WORLD TOUR15.01.09 ! 17.01.09
SIMPEL SESSIONS 0916.01.09 ! 18.01.09
RED BULL TOW AT17.01.09
CHILL & DESTROY TOUR17.10.09
FIS WORLD CUP RD. 917.01.09 ! 18.01.09
FIS WORLD CUP RD. 1017.01.09 ! 18.01.09
WORLD ROOKIE FEST 17.01.09 ! 21.01.09
FREERIDE WORLD TOUR RUSSIAN CHALLENGE20.01.09 ! 25.01.09
SALALAH"MUSCAT DESERT CRESCENT MOON20.01.09 ! 30.01.09
WINTER X GAMES22.01.09 ! 25.01.09
HAHNENKAMM RACE 23.01.09 " 25.01.09
MAGRAO SKATE CAMP09.01.09 ! 25.01.09
BURTON EUROPEAN OPEN 2009
09.01.09"16.01.09
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KITZ ICE GRAND PRIX23.01.09 ! 25.01.09
FIS WORLD CUP RD. 1223.01.09 " 25.01.09
NATURELLE FREERIDE23.01.09 " 01.02.09
RED BULL CRASHED ICE23.01.09 ! 24.01.09
FORMULA SAE PRACTICE24.01.09
IXTREME CAMBORIU24.01.09 ! 25.01.09
IRONMAN 70.3 PUCON24.01.09 ! 26.01.09
QATAR INTERNATIONAL RALLY 24.01.09 " 26.01.09
TEAM ICE SPEEDWAY WORLD CUP FINAL29.01.09 ! 03.02.09
RALLY IRELAND30.01.09 ! 01.02.09
FIS SNOWBOARD WORLD CUP RD. 531.01.09
BILLABONG AIR AND STYLE31.01.09
RED BULL SNOW MANIA31.01.09
ISPO WINTER 200901.02.09 ! 04.02.09
CHALLENGE THE WALL TOUR 200906.02.09 ! 14.02.09
RED BULL SNOWSCRAPERS06.02.09
GRAZ 99ERS VS RED BULL SALZBURG 15.02.2009
AL AIN AEROBATIC SHOW
28.01.09
NISSAN WHITE STYLE31.01.09
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NIGHT SPOTSAround the world of gigs, clubs, events and late-night parties: this is where you come to life
BURAKA SOM SISTEMA15.01.09
EUROSONIC NOORDERSLAG 200915.01.09 ! 16.01.09
THE STREETS16.01.09 D!EDGE
MX BEAT SOUNDFEST
ANIMAL COLLECTIVE
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PLANETA ATLANTIDA16.01.09 ! 07.02.09
KIDS R PEOPLE TOO17.01.09
CLUESO & BAND18.01.09
SHOCKWAVES NME AWARDS SHOW20.01.09
ANIMAL COLLECTIVE20.01.09
THE STREETS
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Prepare to be dazzled by a Brazilian electro club’s sound-and-light super-show
WORLD’STOP CLUBS
D-EDGE, SAO PAULO
Night visions
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CORNELIA PRESENTS…21.01.09
WHITE SAUSAGE PARTY23.01.09
KITZ’N’GLAMOUR23.01.09
THE END CLOSING PARTY23 ! 24.01.09
GOLDIELOCKS24.01.09
GILES PETERSON WORLDWIDE WINNERS24.01.09
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RUSSIAN STANDARD AFTER"RACE24.01.09
FIS WORLD CUP MEN’S SLALOM27.01.09
RED BULL MUSIC ACADEMY & BROAD CASTING PRESENT: TONY ALLEN & THE HYPNOTIC BRASS ENSEMBLE29.01.09
WIRE31.01.09
IKARUS RESTAURANTJANUARY 2009
The street artist and rapper takes in brain candy and Chinese eats across late-night London
NIGHT CRAWLER
REMI/ROUGH
Food for thought
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JAMIE WOON
Backstage and up front with a genre-mashing and entirely captivating singer-songwriter
Bright in Brighton
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Lil’ John, leader of the ‘African dance music’ band, shows us the sights and sounds of his Lisbon
On tour at home
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FIS SKI JUMPING WORLD CUP30.01.09 ! 01.02.09
ST JEROME’S LANEWAY FESTIVAL31.01.09 ! 08.02.09
LAURA DAWSON SHOW12.02.09
MX BEAT SOUNDFEST 2009 14.02.09
GOOD VIBRATIONS14 ! 22.02.09
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Life offers short adventures and long: the one-minute blast of shooting a tricky rapid in your kayak, a frenzy of white water and rocks and adrenaline; the two hours I once spent on an icy mountain ledge waiting for the sound of the rescue helicopter; the three dreamy, seaside weeks of the average holiday romance; the nine months between routine and miracle waiting for a child; and, of course, the life-sentence adventure that is marriage, something it’s never wise to speak about in too much detail.
I’ve been lucky that one of my longest adventures has also been one of the most intense and productive. In 1981, aged 26, I packed everything I had into a second-hand VW Passat, drove from London to Italy and have never lived anywhere else since.
Given that I was proudly monolingual at the time and very, very English, with English ambitions, English scruples and an English superiority complex, how did this madness come about, and why didn’t I flee on one of the endless occasions when this country has driven me crazy?
It began, like so many adventures, with a smile over a table. I didn’t know the girl was Italian. I had no idea she brought with her a different language, different mindset and, for me, a different destiny. You exchange a few words and kisses with a person and without really thinking you suppose you understand her. How could I have imagined the oceans of foreignness behind those dark eyes?
But it was not a problem; because she wouldn’t marry me, Rita told me six months later, if I wanted to go to Italy. She wanted to live in London. “That’s fine,” I said. “I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.” The deal was done. But Rita knew nothing at the time about English weather, English rain, and I was
La Dolce Rita
A Story by Tim Parks
& The Tale of The Bribed Englishman
only slowly realising how embarrassing it can be with literary London friends when your first novel, then second, then third are all rejected by every publisher in town. It was a gloomy year. My father died and we couldn’t find good jobs. Come summer, we were packing the car. Just to see what it was like in Verona...
Every adventure means risk. I still remember the first evening. We were enjoying the pleasures Italy is famous for: prosecco and bruschetta on a terrace under a pergola beside the river. As twilight deepened, the swoop and dive of the swallows over the Adige was replaced by the nervous flitting of the bats. Eager to learn I asked: “How do you say ‘bats’ in Italian?” One of Rita’s friend looked at me slyly: “Battone,” he said. And he got me to repeat: “Guarda le battone che volano!” They all burst out laughing. As battone is slang for whores. Look at the whores flying about. And my accent, Dio santo!
At once I realised that southern pleasures would be paid for by social vulnerability. Linguistically incompetent, if I chose to live and work in Italy I would be in constant danger of being laughed at. And I hate that! I hate not being able to take part in a conversation and show how witty (and modest) I am.
The following afternoon I was already in the public library with a pile of books. For months, years even, I noted down every word I didn’t know. I asked how each should be pronounced. I practised putting them together in conversation in every possible way. I would learn the language, I decided, so well that Italians wouldn’t know I wasn’t one of them. Or rather, they would realise I was English, but only because of my name, and then they’d be amazed by my achievement.
Fortunately, I had no idea at the time of the magnitude of the task I had set myself: it was like climbing a mountain where every supposed summit reveals itself as false; there is another peak behind; no, there is a whole range of peaks, climbing ever higher and higher. A level that’s admirable after a month, is barely acceptable after six and downright pathetic after a year. The bar gets higher and higher. The years go by and you feel you’re still only halfway there, only a quarter, a tenth. This is impossible. It’s as if you were trying to learn, not just to swim, but to swim like a fish! You would need to be another animal.
And I was rapidly becoming another animal. Or at least someone else. It was inevitable.
I remember a phone call, perhaps a year into my stay. The director of IL
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About the AuthorBorn in Manchester in 1954, Tim Parks grew up in London. In 1981 he moved to Italy and the country has since had a huge influence on his writing, inspiring three non-fiction accounts of his life there. His latest novel, Dreams of Rivers and Seas, was published this year. www.timparks.com
the private school where I worked was explaining why I’d been paid less money than I expected. Much less.
“Ladri,” I yelled. “Siete dei ladri!” Thieves! And I slammed the phone down.
My wife was wide-eyed. “Hey, that was really Italian,” she said. “Not you at all.” She seemed at once impressed and perplexed. Her husband had changed.
“It just came out. Now I guess I’ve lost my job.”
“Not at all. They respect a guy who can shout ladri.”
Sure enough, five minutes later the director called back. There had been a misunderstanding, he said, no doubt due to my imperfect Italian. He had in fact been trying to tell me about a higher offer that he hoped I would find satisfactory.
Italy is a country for initiates, of tight-knit groups who know what they know, of unexpected enmities and complicities; in short, a country where the rules never begin to explain how things are really done. So learning the language, however well, is not enough. You can still be made a fool of. You go to the bank for a mortgage and the manager asks you how much you’re paying for the flat. You mention a sum. The banker laughs. “Oh not what you’ve agreed with the builder to declare to the taxman. I need to know what you’re really paying. Don’t worry, we don’t tell anyone.”
You receive an enquiry from the tax authorities about the teaching you are doing at the university and, with all candour, you hurry to them and explain. Two dusty men read out an extremely complex article of fiscal law that you can’t even begin to understand. “You should have been paying VAT on this income,” they tell you solemnly. “For years, Signore. You owe 18 million lire.” (About £9,000, but this was 1993.)
Appalled, you ask an accountant to negotiate. He tells you these men just want a bribe, otherwise they would have sent official notification of offence. You haven’t done anything wrong. The reason you didn’t understand that law is because it is in fact utterly confusing and ambiguous.
“I’ll negotiate with them,” he offers.When he comes back he tells you they
want 800,000 lire (£400) in cash. By the end of the month. Now you go through agonies of conscience. God, this is corruption! This is paying a bribe! And what if they want another next year?
“Just pay, Timino!” all your Italian friends tell you. “Per l’amor di Dio, £400 is not very much.”
So you pay. And afterwards you feel fantastic. What a wonderful loss
of uptight, protestant identity this has been. You’ve really learned something about life, about yourself. And quite a few useful new words.
The following year this accountant disappeared without trace right around the time of year when you have to make your tax declaration. And I wondered: did the man really pay them the 800,000 or did he keep half for himself? Or maybe not pay anything at all?
But the real question now was: how can a foreigner get out of the ghetto of language teaching and into a real university career, together with the Italians? Here was a procedure as obscure as anything in Kafka. It took 12 years.
Yet curiously, the obstacles became part of what held me in Italy. I had invested so much. My whole personality was now geared to overcoming the handicap of my foreignness. No doubt there was an easy self-esteem to be had in feeling you had forced your way in despite everything.
And there was reading... In those early days I read
contemporary novelists: Tabucchi, Fallaci. Then the postwar novelists, Moravia, Calvino, Morante, Pavese; then the prewar novelists, Buzzati, then Svevo, then Verga...
Here was quite another adventure. A huge rich culture slowly deposited itself around me; it was a picture that grew both clearer and more complex, as it appeared. Publishers started asking me to translate novels, even classics. And the more I read, of course, the more I began to understand what was going on in the practical side of my life; words written centuries before gave me clues to the mentality behind my tax problems,
“Italy is a country of unexpected enmities and complicities; a country where the rules never begin to explain how things are really done”
suggested that the cloak-and-dagger world of the university was as old as... Manzoni, then Leopardi, then Foscolo, and right, right back as far as Boccaccio, Petrarca, even Dante, whom I finally tackled in the original after almost 20 years in the country, discovering as I did so that the diabolic bureaucracy of the Inferno was something with which I was already entirely familiar.
And in the meantime my three children were growing up Italian and I worry that they too may find me ridiculous. My accent slips after a drink or two and they burst out laughing. “Papà che figura!”
But what could be more useful to a writer than to be kept constantly sensitive to language and how it works, constantly challenged?
And what could be more salutary for a man as vain as myself than to be frequently laughed at, frequently reminded that you haven’t achieved your goal yet?
I talk to someone on the train and after a few minutes he says: “You’re not from this region, are you? Are you from the South Tyrol?”
Horror!It’s at moments like this that you have
to remind yourself that you never really wanted to be entirely Italian. The adventure was always to get yourself accepted, respected, while deep down remaining quite different, absolutely yourself, not one of the group at all.
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Bull’s eyeWho said there’s nothing funny about the credit crunch? Not the cartoonists, that’s for certain...
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There is a lurking prejudice in our culture that creativity is linked to the irreverent vitality and uncomplicated energy of youth. But like most prejudices, that’s no more than a half-truth. Perhaps only a quarter of one. For every dazzling and precocious invention by an innocent youngster, there is a measured, thoughtful act of creation by an experienced oldie.
Creativity is one of those things easier to detect than to define. It’s impossible to measure it, but you certainly recognise it. But tests do exist to measure certain aspects of brain activity. One such was recently conducted by Dr George Bartzokis of the Semel Institute for Neuroscience and Human Behaviour at UCLA. Bartzokis wanted to find the peak of efficiency of the human brain so he devised an experiment.
A group of men aged 23-80 were asked to tap their fingers as fast as they could in 10 seconds. The results showed that the optimum rate of tapping occurred at the age of 39. The reason? Deterioration of the myelin sheath that covers nerve endings.
Obviously, this experiment is only a crude measure of motor activity and no measure of creativity. Tapping fingers quickly does not (necessarily) suppose the ability to write, compose or invent. But it does ask questions about age. And if you ask questions about age you must also ask questions about speed as well.
Is the best work always done quickly in that legendary Eureka moment of inspiration? Not according to Carlo Petrini, founder of The Slow Food Movement. Only two things are necessary for the future of civilization, Petrini says. They are food and sex. Each is best done slowly. So the less rapid old may take comfort.
The statistical connections between precocity and genius are mixed. True, Orson Welles made Citizen Kane at 25 and he never made a better movie.
Mozart was performing aged three and TS Eliot finished The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock, perhaps his best poem, when 23. The Elizabethan playwright Christopher Marlowe, author of the great tragedy Dr Faustus, was dead at 29. They say, had he lived, he would be more celebrated than Shakespeare.
On the other hand, Shakespeare wrote his best stuff long after the age when Marlowe was killed in a drunken brawl. Tolstoy was writing in his 70s. Alfred Hitchcock’s astonishing run of films that began with Dial M for Murder and ended with Psycho started when he was 54.
Mathematicians burn-out early, but architects do their best work late. Why? No one is quite certain, but maybe the sheer abstract cerebral effort of maths might exhaust the chemistry of the brain.
But architecture needs practical skills which take time to acquire. It’s almost
impossible for an architect to do anything substantial before he is 40. It is the same with civil engineers.
In art, the best work is often based on a lifetime’s experience. Picasso and Matisse were both doing astonishing new work at the very ends of their long lives. The relationship between youth and creativity is not clear, still less actually proven. Newton and Einstein we now universally consider geniuses, men who formulated the mightiest intellectual theories of all time. Yet they did not appear remarkable to their teachers.
Neither youth nor age is a necessary stimulus to creativity. Instead, the roots of genius are elsewhere. Psychologists say they lie in phantasy, which is to say an emotional need to create other worlds. Great artists and great scientists usually have punishing super-egos and are often sceptical of authority. The one drives them on and the other encourages subversion.
In addition, Newton and Einstein suffered from positively Kafkaesque levels of anxiety that required them to invent worlds of their own with rules of which they were the authors. In this way, they achieved control of their circumstances. This control may have been an illusion, but what is art if not illusory?
Some would say it’s dispiriting to believe that the real sources of creativity are anxiety, sadness and dissatisfaction. Certainly, the opposite holds true. Michel de Montaigne grew so tired of the world he went to live in a tower in Gascony. Here he discovered a haunting human truth: happiness is a great incentive to mediocrity.
Well-adjusted people do not need to make things anew!
Maybe creativity is actually unhealthy. Puccini, for example, believed that “art is disease”. What a strange footnote to human endeavour: the creativity that inspires us in art, science and even sport may be rooted in unhappiness.
On the other hand, since we are in the world of half-truths, maybe creativity is good for you. Creativity means change. And things that don’t change are dead.
Being creative proves you are alive. It’s nothing to do with youth, age, fast or slow. It’s the defeat of habit by originality. Which is surely a good thing. Stephen Bayley is a former director of the Design Museum, an award-winning writer and design correspondent of The Observer.
Stephen Bayley, in his first column, asks what’s really better for creativity: youth and vigour, or maturity and experience?
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