Category: CULTURE (2022)

Words by Jimmy Dougan

On 8 October, the week Birmingham cinephiles had been counting down to finally got underway at the Midlands Arts Centre (MAC). For the first time, the British Film Institute has gone national with the London Film Festival, screening films in several partner venues across the UK – including Birmingham.

Seeing as tickets for the London screenings were gold dust, I’d pounced at the chance to catch new films from some of the world’s best directors, weeks, even months, before general release. As I hurried downhill from Moseley towards MAC, I felt like a child on Christmas morning.

Over the next week I would be seeing five critically acclaimed, provocative works that promised to be anything but boring. It was raining over MAC so the stars weren’t exactly out, but the excitement in the air was palpable for Noah Baumbach’s long awaited White Noise.

White Noise is an absurd, blackly funny film. As a fan of Don DeLillo’s famously weird 1985 novel, rightly seen as unfilmable, I’d worried that director Noah Baumbach may have bitten off more than he could chew. My apprehension was dispelled immediately – this is a hilarious and deeply frightening film. Baumbach’s editorial flourishes are small but impactful; we trust him, and the unwieldy source material never feels beyond his control.

It is a stellar pick to kick off the week, and I loved it. Next up? Ruben Östlund’s Triangle of Sadness, one of the hottest tickets of the festival.

I was immediately struck by just how young the crowd was, with only a scattering of free seats and a buzzing energy in the cinema. While MAC generally attracts a more reserved clientele, this crowd was much more Custard Factory via Hurst Street, if you catch my drift.

With the opening moments of the film drily lambasting Balenciaga before blasting M.I.A’s ‘Born Free’, we settled in for a wild ride. And, Östlund certainly gave us one. The film is a brutal takedown of post #MeToo gender roles, and a savage critique of the uber-rich, holidaying aboard a luxurious yacht.

A centrepiece dinner scene shows one of the most shocking sequences from any film in my recent memory.

As the guests gorge themselves on caviar, the ship itself goes haywire, buckling under the weight of the gluttons aboard. It’s a shit-soaked, vomit-drenched farce; excrement explodes from toilets, half-digested oysters coat the walls. I’ve never heard an audience react so viscerally, so vocally, to a film before – they applaud, then wretch, then cheer.

Shit flowed as bodies tumbled down marble staircases. This is hell as rendered by Picasso, a headlong stumble into a Buñuelian abyss. Subtle? No. Some of the most fun you’ll have in a cinema this year? Absolutely.

13 October saw a sell-out screening of Martin McDonagh’s The Banshees of Inisherin – a tale of a friendship abruptly halted. To give any more away would do this film a disservice. McDonagh is a master, and he mines a rich vein of distinctly Irish strangeness here, one that Beckett exposed but has since gone untouched.

There were plenty of Irish accents in the crowd – as a proud member of Brum’s Irish community, I found it moving to watch the new film from one of Ireland’s biggest Hollywood exports surrounded by its diaspora.

We were also treated to a short film from Midlands-based director Theo James Krekis, called Pram Snatcher. The crowd clearly enjoyed it, and whilst Krekis has only done short films before, describing Pram Snatcher as a proof of concept for a full feature length film, he also lectures in directing at the Screen and Film School Birmingham.

I hope the wait isn’t too long for Kerkis’ next because Pram Snatcher establishes him as a director to watch.

Over the final weekend, we were shown two films which subverted the detective genre in canny and ingenious ways. An acolyte of South Korean cinema, my friend Mat was giddy with excitement before Park Chan-wook’s Decision to Leave, a film about a detective becoming dangerously entangled with a woman accused of killing her husband. It’s a sleek Hitchcockian thriller that’s also, oddly, one of the most romantic films of the year.

It is gorgeously composed and framed, with a puzzle box complexity. Watch this one twice to catch all the clues.

Puzzle boxes also feature in Glass Onion, the bigger but not necessarily better follow-up to 2019’s hit Knives Out. Before the sold-out screening, a pre-recorded intro from director Rian Johnson begged us not to share any spoilers whatsoever before the film’s Christmas release, and I have no desire to incur the wrath of Netflix so I’m remaining tight-lipped.

I will say that Daniel Craig is on great form as detective Benoit Blanc. But the film is Janelle Monáe’s; a performance of quiet fury, I couldn’t take my eyes off her. The crowd went wild for this one – what an end to a brilliant week.

Covid-19 had a catastrophic effect on the UK cinema industry. If the multiplexes were limping, the indies were practically crawling. According to David Baldwin – MAC’s cinema and screen producer – September 2022 was their busiest month since reopening post-pandemic. There is clearly still work to be done in rebuilding audiences, but hopefully this heralds better days ahead.

MAC had the most consistently busy cinema I’ve seen in a very long time, and I feel truly lucky to have been given the opportunity to preview, and write about these films.

See them, love them, even hate them. Just don’t watch them on a laptop, because every single film screened made an urgent and powerful case for the vitality and importance of the collective, cinematic experience.

You can watch White Noise on Netflix on the 30 December. You can also see Triangle of Sadness released in UK cinemas on the 28 October, and The Banshees of Inisherin is in UK cinemas now – so is Decision To Leave. Glass Onion releases on Netflix on the 23 December, with screenings in selected cinemas from the 23 November.

Pram Snatcher – official trailer

For more from London Film Festival go to: www.whatson.bfi.org.uk/lff

For more from the Midlands Art Centre go to: www.macbirmingham.co.uk

For more from Birmingham based writer and filmmaker Theo James Krekis go to: www.theojameskrekis.com

Writer & photographer Pooyan Kimiyaee

Resistance had a new sound across Birmingham, as the song ‘For Iran’ was heard in a demonstration on Saturday 8 October – as residents marched through town protesting Mahsa (Zhina) Amini’s devastating death. It follows a string of protests in Birmingham, and globally, against the treatment of women (and men) within the Islamic Republic of Iran.

Birmingham Review spoke to Damoon Marzban, one of the organisers of the 8 October demonstration here in Birmingham.

He said: “Since 2002 we officially created a group named the Iranian Political Association. It was made for Iranians to be able to share their political views of any kind, and so anyone who wants to act politically for Iran has the space to do so.”

When asked what forms of actions the organisation had taken, Marzban spoke of an anti-war demonstration organised as a walk from Birmingham to London.

He recalled: “There’s plenty of political associations in London and we’ve been there with them. When there were whispers that the United States wanted to attack Iran, we walked from the trade union meeting here in Birmingham all the way to London.

“Our demands were for them not to attack Iran but to help the fight for democracy in our country.”

Iran’s population of immigrants or refugees outside their homeland have been described by Princeton researchers as transient, to the point it “…may contribute to the shaping of a migratory diplomacy that would, directly or indirectly, influence bilateral relations between Iran and countries where Iranians have settled.”

Meaning, the community inside Iran has not been alone in their efforts to make their voices heard. As seen in Birmingham’s Bullring market, and over 150 other cities around the world, thousands of Iranians have progressed the conversation, as their brothers and sisters persist throughout Internet blackouts in Iran.

Whilst Iranians can share a multitude of political views with the Iranian Political Association, the 8 October demonstration focused specifically on the 22 year old Mahsa Amini’s death. Part of the Kurdish minority, she was arrested due to the fact her hijab was put on loosely and as such, according to Iran’s morality police, was ‘improperly’ worn.

After Amini was arrested, she was transported to a ‘Re-education Centre’. Then, according to the Iranian authorities, Masha Amini was taken to hospital after sudden heart failure and subsequently died. However, witnesses report seeing her beaten in the van as she was taken away – an accusation the Iranian police deny.

A source from Kasra Hospital told Iran international that Mahsa Amini arrived at the clinic unresponsive and brain dead. In addition, the same source said Amini’s brain tissue was crushed following “multiple blows” to the head. As a result, the Iranian people accused the regime of having murdered her.

Subsequent protests broke out in Iran and across the world demanding the world to shine a light on Iran and question its treatment of Iranian people, specifically women. Iranians are calling this current protest – the Woman, Life, Freedom movement – a revolution. Even Iranian schoolgirls are reportedly removing their hijabs, cutting their hair, and hanging signs in their school demanding changes to the way women are treated in the Republic.

Historically in Iran, protests can come with a heavy loss of life. As seen in Zahedan, a city in the Sistan and Baluchestan province, authorities allegedly shot live ammunition into protestors on 30 September 2022.

The reports on the dead differ, but according to Human Rights Watch the global humanitarian watchdog ‘compiled the names of 47 individuals whom human rights groups or media outlets documented as having been killed, mostly by bullets.

‘These included at least nine children – two of them girls – and six women. Meanwhile the Iranian state television reported 60 civilians, as well as 10 security force dead. Reports have appeared on social media that portray that number even higher, upwards of 90 people dead and hundreds injured.’

Furthermore, since protests following Masha Amini’s death began the Norway-based Iran Human Rights organisation reports the civilian death toll had increased to at least 201, including 23 minors.

Internally, the Islamic Republic of Iran has repeatedly been accused of having a history of police violence typical to an authoritarian state. But where Iran and other countries in the Middle East, such as Syria or Egypt, differ from other protest movements in the likes of Hong-Kong or the United States, is that within these regimes the abuse of Islam allows the authoritarian state to limit, if not forbid, music as haram using Salafi and Deobandi denomination interpretations.

Which, amongst other factors, impacts the people’s ability to organise and protest.

Iran’s ‘morality police’ play a major role in making sure mediums of expression, such as film and music, are up to ‘moral’ standards according to Sharia, as well as laws outlined by the Islamic Republic itself.

Intimate acts, such as kissing, are forbidden strictly in Iranian cinema and are edited out of foreign films. Within music as well, lyrics related to intimate concepts are construed as erotic and as such banned. Even drawing a portrait of a woman without a headscarf is technically heresy.

The Islamic Republic goes a step further and bans lyrics or films that contain political ideas contrary to the regime’s preferred narrative. People who disobey this specific part of the limitations – in any poem, film, book, or article – can be charged with ‘advertisement against the regime’ and typically imprisoned.

The current Woman, Life, Freedom uprising, specifically, has taken the cumulative strife of several generations of Iranians, their loss of life and liberty over the past four  decades, and united the entirety of a nation’s spite in one song/poem – which, even though it contradicts Iranian moral standards, can be heard at every protest.

And in this rebellion, penned by Shervin Hajipour, the people of Iran are discussing a distillation of the horror carried onwards.

It is simply titled ‘For Iran’ and is the encapsulation of thousands of tweets with the same hashtag, as well as the origin for the name of the Woman, Life, Freedom revolution.

The presence of music, or rather more specifically protest music, has a history in Iran preceding the 1979 revolution itself. And the fact this music has now been found in Birmingham and across the world is by virtue of that same transient mass of Iranians wandering the desert for the past 40 odd years.

Today, people within the country have fought against the regime’s forces night after night, with advents of new techniques in protesting. In the meantime, protestors outside of Iran have made themselves clear in support of their homeland, with one collective demand in and outside the country – the end of the Islamic Republic.

A movement that first began with professor Homa Darabi’s self-immolation in Tajrish Square on 21 February 1994, was spurred on by Shervin’s song – even though he was imprisoned, released on bail, and later added to the list of the disappeared.

‘For Iran’ is now written on high school chalkboards, heard in New York, Washington D.C, Los Angeles, Berlin, Stockholm, London, and now Birmingham – sung in hundreds and thousands of voices across the globe, all collectively saying:

For dancing in the streets
For the fear of kissing
For my sister, your sister, our sisters
For trying to change rotten brains
For shame of not having money
For yearning of just a normal life
For the garbage boy and his dreams
For this enforced economy
For this polluted air
For Valiasr and it’s worn-out trees
For Piruz and his possible extinction
For dogs, innocent but banned
For tears with no end
For this moment will never happen again
For smiling faces
For students, for future
For this enforced paradise
For the national elite imprisoned
For Afghan children
For all these “for”s with no repeat
For all these empty chants
For houses, collapsing like they’re made of cards
For the feeling of peace
For the sun after long nights
For pills, nerves, and insomnia
For men, homeland, development
For girls who wish to be boys
For women, life, freedom
For freedom
For freedom
For freedom 

For more information about the Women, Life, Free movement go to: www.women.ncr-iran.org

Writer Jasmine Khan / Photographer Connor Pope

 
Before I’m greeted at the door of House of Allure’s Tower of Terrors by two haunted concierges and a glass of prosecco, photographer Connor and I endure some rather distasteful homophobia outside of Missing Bar, cowardly flung from a licence plate I didn’t manage to catch.

If you don’t like ‘the gays’, maybe don’t drive down Hurst Street on a Friday night!?

The state of the world aside, House of Allure is hitting all the energies I’d hoped to feel in the moments leading up to halloween-burlesque-cabaret-drag. The loud, staticky 20’s music, dim lighting, and intimate seating hides me away from the world. It’s a bit, but not overly sexy, with a majority fem audience rocking everything from jeans to lingerie.

I’ve got time to take in all the decorations which includes a shimmering burlesque curtain, spiderwebs galore, and a sinister service elevator sign, as well as a chandelier that might be House of Allure’s, or Missing Bar’s. Either way it’s doing bits for the haunted hotel atmosphere.

Although the vibes are top notch, it’s not until 8:15pm that there’s a hint things are about to get going. This is my first time at a burlesque show, and maybe I’m being shady because I rushed my look to make doors at 7:30pm, but I’ve been on the edge of my seat for a while now.

Flash, and the lights are off. I’m back in Disney and shitting myself just like the last time, as the Tower of Terror voice over rings loud and clear over the speakers.

 
Then, disco music, an elevator ding and they enter. Miss Dominus Von Vexo themselves, dressed straight out of American Horror Story Season 3, but pink.

It’s worth the wait. Their lip sync is to the letter and the choreography is seamless and hilarious. Dominus is not getting enough applause in my opinion, but the crowd seems a little shy and needs some warming up.

“Please don’t touch our performers tonight,” Dominus says, “we have an axe behind the bar.”

I love a queen with firm boundaries. Dominus explains how they’re going to lubricate us before the evening’s fearful thrills – how exciting.

“Are we ready for our first hotel resident?” The audience’s response is a resounding yes.

Kitty Ribbons is up first, after some brief ghouls in the sound system, and she’s dressed as an army officer. This doesn’t usually tickle my fancy, however, it’s getting stuffy in here already as Kitty fans her blushing face, marching around, saluting and starting her tease.

Oh dear, she’s whipped an American Flag out of her bra and I’ve gone all Sahara Desert.

 
Dominus berates us for being too quiet as they host between the next act. It’s true, maybe we’re worried about screaming too much and coming across as perverts.

This next performer is much slower, sultry. Jada Love is donning a sequin, midnight blue ball gown and matching feather bower. A bluesed up version of ‘Seven Nation Army’ with extra bass plays as she commands the stage, directing us to appreciate every curv before throwing her bower callously to the floor.

Jada bends over daintily and slaps her arse firmly looking into my eyes (I swear). She’s not giving us too much just yet, with their final spotlight leaving Jada playing demure centre stage.

 
Mama Mamba has a filthy introduction from Dominus, so I can’t wait to see what she’s about. Dripping in jewels and basically nothing else, Mama Mamba sashays her way onto the stage winding her hips and waist slowly like a belly dancer. Facing away from the audience she takes off her bra and drops it by her side.

Turning around for the big reveal, she vigorously shakes her sparkly nipple tassels in circles. Then, starts stapling (yes stapling) tarot cards to her body. Not her costume, her body and specifically, Mama Mamba’s left breast.

Que the first 15 minute interval.

After the break, it’s the Salem Swingers featuring our stunning host with support, and yet against no one’s missing a beat.

 
Then, it’s Lolita Lash, and they are not what I expect to see when I hear the word Lolita. Whenever I hear the word Lolita, my gag reflex is triggered. Dressed as a sexy-scary baby-clown, Lolita Lash makes me very uncomfortable in a totally different way to standard interpretations of Lolita.

Their costume is detailed, and their paint is perfectly erratic. Their teasing is even stranger than the look, and some lady in the front row is screaming and jumping out of her chair.

Fuck, now there’s balloons and Lolita Lash is popping them with their nail. Will this nightmare never end?

At times Lolita Lash’s lip sync is a bit out, but it’s a tricky track and I must say the experience is exceptionally creative, as well as traumatic. Which is clearly the aim of the game with tonight’s theme. Bravo.

Dominus introduces the next act, scolding and scowling, “this is my understudy Lioness” and they roll their eyes before exiting the stage. Lioness enters dressed as a sexy French maid; an experienced dancer, she moves across the stage deliberately, popping her limps at weird yet somehow graceful angles.

Lioness is power, she’s raw energy, and she’s fluttering her grey feather duster all over my photographer Connor. Bless, I’ve never seen them, or perhaps anyone, look so pink and flustered.

All of sudden, Lioness has dragged a chair centre stage. Perching on it, she proceeds to slide down on her belly, leaving her bare bum exposed at the top wiggling it in the air.

As Lioness sulks off, finger in her mouth, dragging the chair with her, I see… is that Velma from Scooby Doo on stage?

 
No is Locques La Roux. I’m trying not to fall off my chair as Velma nervously bites his nails, running around, before slipping and spreading eagle. As he strips down to his deliberately bulging speedos, the crowd turns into puddles of giggles.

Another break!? Maybe it’s to make room for all the extravagant costume changes.

Three ghosts in sheets and suspenders appear to welcome us into the next part of the show, bopping around in sync to an old Louis Armstrong track – ‘Spooks’. Finally, they reveal themselves to be Dominus and the concierges, yet again.

Our little soldier Kitty is back after the break as well, but she’s much more pussycat than before, with silk white gloves and a simmering pink ball gown. After a brief zipper problem that she plays off perfectly, Kitty’s down to a diamante encrusted corsets – how babydoll.

The stockings come off one by one, and we get peaks of soft skin behind the stunning (and I hope faux) fur shawl. Whilst all the acts are indeed thrilling, Kitty gets my award for the most classic and you’ve got to appreciate her attention to detail, and drama.

 
The crowd becomes privy to a secret announcement from the House of Allure. That being, on Friday 12 May 2023, House of Allure will be taking over Nightingales’ bottom floor.

“No expense has been spared, it will be our biggest show to date,” cries Dominus.

Just as I think it’s over, Lioness dressed as Alice is back for a stomper, embodying all the emotions and weird frills of Wonderland. Her dancing is better than before and I’m bending my neck around everyone trying to make sure I see every move.

Her facial expressions shift and quickly as her movements and Lioness ruffles her skirt petticoats up around her shoulders one by one. Throwing them into the crowd, and stropping, stomping her feet, she mounts a chair once more, removing her bodice, revealing white silk and lace lingerie.

With one act left according to our host, I’m not sure what’s left for House of Allure to throw at us.

Jade Love closes the show as Voodoo Queen. This time, there is nothing demure about her performance, quickly stripping down to just her thong, with plastic skeleton hands hugging her breasts.

Jada Love falls to her knees, staring up at the ceiling and pours hot candle wax all over herself with the candle still aflame, then hot oil, before dropping into a full split and pumping up and down with her thighs at just the most suggestive amount.

You killed me House of Allure, tell my mother I died happy as a clam.

 
For more from Missing Bar go to: www.missingbar.co.uk

For more House of Allure visit www.linktr.ee/_houseofallure_ or check out @_houseofallure_ on Instagram

Writer Zenisha Peterkin / Photographer TQ Archive

 
I stopped drinking in excess earlier this year, partly due to the feeling of regret and the crushing headache I would wake up to in the morning, but mostly because I still have the most amazing experiences without alcohol. That isn’t to say that I’ve stopped drinking completely – I can enjoy a double gin and cranberry – but I have to make sure I’m surrounded by people I trust.

I think trust is the reason why the idea of a Sober Pride appealed to me when I first saw it advertised.

In its second year, Polls (they/them) and “a group of independent creators” called Fruit Punch, helped to create Sober Pride to welcome: “Other communities and queer folk who can’t relate to mainstream LGBTQIA+ scene.”

 
Traditionally, the idea of Queer celebration is one of finally embracing ourselves as we are and releasing the persona we adopt around people we don’t feel comfortable with. For some, alcohol and drugs enable that escape. But for others – like me – it can cause anxiety, giving us another kind of pressure to fit in.

For 25 years of Birmingham Pride, Sober Pride successfully fused the link between community and celebration, inviting Birmingham-based Queer creatives to showcase their work and perform their art over the course of two days. I danced to Q Sermon on decks, as she mixed drum and bass.

I saw Miss Sundi embrace their inner diva. I even made a mould of my fingers at Yazmin Fay’s workshop (yes, it is now a centrepiece in my bedroom).

 
The main event space was the garden of the Warehouse Café, with a makeshift stage, using sustainable materials, surrounded by growing plants, flowers and vegetables – a subtle nod to our ever-changing characters. The non-alcoholic bar took up a space to the side of the stage, with wooden chairs and benches laid out in front.

Inside the venue, whilst people tucked into vegan meals, Owain from Temporary Cruising Zone was selling zines and magazines made by Queer creatives and speaking to people about the lack of inclusive sex parties in Birmingham. We spoke about the misconceptions people have about Queer play parties and the way that Queer people tend to make others feel more comfortable in a space.

 
I was working at the event, so I missed some performances, but everyone looked like they were having a good time and a lot of people returned for the second day. The best part of the event for me is simply meeting so many people in the Queer community in Birmingham. I have lived here for two years, because of my university studies, but I have not experienced such a welcoming atmosphere anywhere else.

Initially, I had planned to just attend the event, but a week before, Polls sent out a message calling for LGBTQIA+ people of colour to work at the event. I encouraged my friend to apply with me, and on the day, she worked as a bartender, serving mocktails and different non-alcoholic drinks, whilst I welcomed people and checked tickets.

 
Unfortunately, in the first five minutes of opening the event, a man started to antagonise the staff, trying to take photos of people without their permission and using people’s incorrect pronouns. After the founders asserted that he was not welcome in the space, he left, and the rest of the event was so peaceful and incident-free, everyone forgot about it.

As irritating as the incident was, I would say that it really is moments like those that remind you why Pride is still being highlighted. Pride is still a protest as well as a celebration – the idea is bittersweet, but it helps us to remember to cherish the safe spaces where we feel loved and accepted as we are.

 
For more from Sober Pride go to their Instagram @soberpridebrum
For more from The Warehouse Cafe go to: www.thewarehousecafe.com/

Writer Jasmine Khan / Photographer Maddie Cottam-Allan

 
It’s 7:30pm on a Monday evening in the Custard Factory and there’s just a few punters chatting outside Auto-Brew. Apart from their gentle murmurs, poet, public speaker, and all round creative Adjei Sun and I have the quiet, subtly lit space to ourselves. Which is important because Adjei’s not one to raise his voice.

Adjei’s been creating space for discussions around mental health since he was 18 years old. Now 22, his audience has grown in accordance with the topics he’s brave enough to tackle in a public setting. By focusing on the relationship between masculinity and mental health, as well as discussing mental health in POC and specifically Black communities, Adjei addresses complex social factors which often result in stigma.

“To me, it didn’t feel like ‘I’m someone who’s coming to speak about mental health’,” explains Adjei. “It more started with me telling my story, my journey with anxiety and bullying, and writing was always my way to express that.”

Adjei began his mental health journey by sharing poetry and music, he says, “it was me helping myself by expressing myself, then it turned into helping other people, because people would come over and be like ‘this really helped me’.”

 
Adjei’s experience is textbook in the mental health space. Giving yourself permission to be honest and share in turn gives other people the same opportunity.

“Having conversations with my peers (men), around these important topics, that say years ago in school or college I wasn’t having with my peers, even though it’s probably something that a lot of us were dealing with, I feel more full from being able to show all of myself.

“I’m not trying to come into conversations with a man and be like ‘am I able to say this as a man’, rather I just go into those conversations and be like, ‘we’re human’.”

Adjei’s upcoming project Gifted and Black, which he confirms takes inspiration for its namesake from Nina Simone’s ‘Young, Gifted and Black’, will be held at the Moseley Exchange on 8 October. It’s clear Adjei is keen to continue his work holding space for communities who might not have easy access to conversations around mental wellbeing.

 
“The feeling in that Nina Simone song gives me a feeling I want to put into the event,” says Adjei.

“In terms of Gifted and Black, I think I was having a conversation with my mum about Black History Month, and I really wanted to create a black history-present-future month event.

“I want to have this intergenerational conversation between different Black men from different Black backgrounds to get their perspectives on giving. When I say giving, talking about how do we give to communities and how do we give to ourselves.”

What are healthy exchanges and how do we appropriately balance giving and receiving? Although neither me nor Adjei will come to any concrete conclusions in this conversation, Adjei explains the intent behind his intergenerational approach.

 
“The more mature people that I’m speaking to, one works within the mental health service, and the other does lots of work with young people and the community. I really wanted to have people who work with young people as part of it, because the whole idea of giving and giving back to the community, they’ve lived it.

“There’s an African proverb that says: ‘when an elder dies a whole library is burned’.

“We need to have conversations with older peoples because there is knowledge we can take from that will be lost otherwise.”

As the title suggests, all of the speakers at Gifted & Black will be Black (and gifted), but Adjei wants to stress the universality of the event.

“I really wanted to create something that speaks about generosity and again those themes of giving and receiving, so everyone who comes to the event can take something away from that.”

The emphasis Adjei’s places on giving and receiving throughout the project, and our interview, makes me think he’s considering the balance of these energies in his own life. People who work in mental health, at least those that I’ve spoken to, always seem to fall victim to giving a lot and I wonder if this trend will continue with Adjei.

 
I ask Adjei what giving and receiving mean to him and he’s quick to answer: “Love. How do we give love and how do we receive love.

“It’s about love as more than a word or noun, it’s love in action, and what does that look like?”

Adjei reflects on the accessibility of the project and ensuring that he’s provided a safe, comfortable space for people “to have uncomfortable conversations.”

Not everyone will be able to make it on 8 October, so Adjei’s ensuring there will be a condensed online discussion available after the event.

When Adjei talks about receiving love, he’s quick to talk about the ways he gives love to himself, making sure he sleeps well and eats. As much as I’m happy to hear that he’s making room for self-care, I remind Adjei that what he’s telling me doesn’t count as receiving love.

He smiles, and pauses: “I was having an interesting conversation at one of the events with a man who spoke about it being easier to give love than to receive it.”

So, how do you make room to receive love Adjei!? It’s important when you dedicate so much of your energy to other people.

 
“It’s a real journey that I’ll continue going through, one thing that’s helped in terms of receiving compliments and things like that is, there was a teaching from a particular discipline who said, when he received a compliment he would think about the person who inspired or helped him develop that trait.

“So now when I get compliments, I think about that.”

Adjei’s calm manner, gentle poignant tone, and clear love of love should not be mistaken for poetic whimsy. He’s got a firm, practical eye on the future and Adjei wants to make sure he is not just starting conversations but continuing to develop them, and sharing their findings with the wider community through workshops with young people.

It’s a genuine pleasure chatting to Adjei Sun, and I expect you’d agree if you manage to make it down to Moseley Exchange on 8 October.

 
Adjei Sun’s Gifted and Black comes to Moseley Exchange on Saturday, 8 October – priced at £10 including complimentary Caribbean food. Click here for online ticket sales.

For more from Adjei Sun check out his Instagram @adjeisun

For more from Moseley Exchange go to: www.moseleyexchange.com