Sommaire pour Issue 63 de Huck

A t what point in our lives do we stop talking about ‘dreams’ and instead fixate on ‘fantasies’? Dreamland is a pure and freeing space where anything is possible. Fantasyland, we’re told, is quite the opposite. It’s a no-man’s-land of disbelief. A place to be relegated when your hopes are too big, your imagination too wild, your visions unfit for reality. It’s a hostile purgatory soundtracked by sniggers and jeers, inhabited by torsos with ‘their head in the clouds’ who float around aimlessly with no direction or purpose – while the real pragmatists, ‘two feet firmly on the ground’, get on with the hard job of living. But where’s the fun in that? Where would we be without sky-high dreams and transcendental desires? What’s the point in a ‘reality check’ when…

It’s lunchtime at a bustling café in London’s Somerset House when Stefani Nurding rocks up carrying two skateboards. She’s dressed down in a green fleece and dark trousers, though the dyed hair, winged eyeliner and black acrylic nails make her hard to miss. Stef is a pro skater and model known for a distinctive style that mixes traditional skatewear with a pink, ’90s-influenced aesthetic: she can often be seen shredding in pink fur and tulle skirts. But in a sport dominated by men, it’s about more than just self-expression. Sometimes she’ll deliberately use that hyper-feminine side to silence “misogynistic wankers” as she skates in front of them. Most of the time, however, Stef is refreshingly diplomatic about shaking up the skate industry’s outdated preconceptions – encouraging more women to try…

On 3 June, 2017, 27-year-old Alex Honnold climbed one of the trickiest routes on El Capitan, the 3,000-foot wall of rock that towers above Yosemite National Park. He also did it in under four hours using nothing but a bag of chalk and a pair of rock shoes. No rope, no equipment, no other aids of any kind. “I always thought it’d be the raddest thing ever done,” says the unassuming Californian. “It hits the sweet spot between ‘epic challenge’ and ‘vaguely doable’. It’s something to give you purpose in life. The whole fun is to take something that seems impossible, then realise it’s possible, then to actually achieve it. Why does anyone do anything? Because they think they can, because it’s inspiring.” Soloing El Cap is not only one…

Radiohead fans like to debate exactly what the song ‘Videotape’ is about. Its wistful, trembling sound concludes 2007’s In Rainbows, slowly peeling apart until all that’s really left is a series of indelible piano chords and Thom Yorke’s near-isolated falsetto. It’s one of their finest moments, even if its meaning is somewhat opaque. Some argue that it’s written from the perspective of a dying man saying goodbye to his family. Others believe that it’s a lover contemplating the end of a relationship. But one of the more intriguing takes on the song is that it’s about a memory; a brief section of time so inexpressibly perfect that the speaker, whoever they may be, wants to capture it forever: a ‘videotape moment’. For Yasuko Otani, these kind of moments happen a…

Rebecca Sugar has been building new worlds for as long as she can remember. As a kid growing up in Baltimore, Maryland, she and her younger brother Steven would draw out fantasy stories. Inspired by Zelda games and Yoshi’s Island, as well as hours spent on the household Nintendo 64, the two nascent artists drew “fairies and forest adventures and glowing ethereal beings”. For Rebecca, it felt like an escape from normality. “I think, back then, I did feel like that was all more interesting and exciting than my regular life,” she says over the phone from her studio in Los Angeles, lingering on every vowel, sounding awe-struck by the sentence as it forms. “Fantasy worlds seemed so exciting to me when I was younger. But as I’ve gotten older,…

Twin Peaks isn’t just a TV show; it’s a place you visit. Every time the opening sequence begins, it has a way of drawing you into a spellbinding world that feels far-off yet familiar. Back in 1990, what began as a two-hour pilot about the murder of a homecoming queen blossomed into something so unconventional that it redefined television. Over the course of two seasons, filmmaker David Lynch and writerproducer Mark Frost managed to dig beneath the wholesome facade of small-town America through a mix of postmodern soap-opera and supernatural mystery. Although that alchemy pioneered the ‘water-cooler effect’, where people couldn’t resist discussing clues and theories after each episode, it wasn’t enough to stop Twin Peaks from its eventual cancellation in 1991. But the show’s quirky characters and cryptic iconography…

In a candle-lit basement in central Athens, artist Tabita Rezaire is surrounded by a circle of slightly perplexed faces. Near an open laptop screen and a large bronze gong, she stands still and focused in the centre of a cosmogram drawn with grains of rice and lavender, wearing a flowing dress patterned with screenshots of her videos. A projector bathes her in light as she stares into the distance and lightly plucks a mbira (finger piano) that echoes eerily around the room. Tabita is a French artist of Guyanese and Danish descent who grew up in the Parisian suburb of Vincennes, but is now based in Johannesburg. Her videos and virtual reality installations use things like CGI animation and GIFs to explore the politics of technology, to critique negative representation…

AT A HAUNTED HOTEL in Dudley, an old industrial town 10 miles west of Birmingham, members of the Pro Wrestling Subjective crew are busy setting up for a show. It’s in the same hall occasionally used for seances – a decaying sense of grandeur reflected in its sweeping red curtains, paisley carpet and budget chandeliers. There’s an endearing, homespun innocence to the whole set-up that feels far removed from the glamour of the professional ranks. Anyone who’s reserved a ticket (£7 per person, £10 for a spot at the front) has their name taped to the red-and-gold chairs that have been set out by volunteers. As organiser Steve Hannah finalises the music for each wrestler’s entrance, his mum decks out a stall with merchandise themed around his pirate alter-ego Steve…

LATE ONE BALMY August night in 2016, Owen Harvey stood outside Manhattan’s Bryant Park, nervously awaiting an encounter that would determine the next three months. Back in England, the photographer had spent the previous five years documenting two stylish subcultures – mods and skinheads – that exist outside of time. It had taken countless hours of developing contacts, earning trust and spending all his money on film. Now he was trying to pull off something similar in America via the Lunatic Lowriders: a heavily tattooed community built around cruising vintage cars. But after saving up to fly over – the 26-yearold’s first major trip abroad – they hadn’t returned his calls until two weeks in, when he was directed towards midtown Manhattan at the last minute. An hour of waiting…

It’s 1am in New York City when Vitaliy Raskalov hops over a wall and slinks into the construction site of a skyscraper. Along with two friends, the 24-year-old scuttles past piles of iron and wood covered in tarp, keeping his shadow low to the ground as they dash towards a concrete stairwell. The 290m-high building won’t officially open until 2018, making this the perfect opportunity for what Vitaliy does best: sneaking his way to the most commanding views in the world. “Security is always the hardest part,” he says. “There’ll only be a few guards on a construction site in the US, but they have a lot of motion-sensor cameras and you have to be smart to cheat that system.” In this case, avoiding surveillance means climbing out onto the…

CABARET GUANIMAR, AN open-air night-club on the outskirts of Havana, is heaving with bodies, lights and sound. A low cement wall separates the kinetic energy inside from this otherwise mundane thoroughfare in Guanabo, a small coastal town on the eastern shore. The drive here from the city centre is long and dark; our 1950s diesel car the only light on a dusty road. But there’s a reason so many have made the pilgrimage. Tonight, Cuba’s most infamous reggaeton duo, Chacal y Yakarta, will grace the stage. Beyond security guards and the long line outside, the club pulses with flashing neon, smoke machines and the muffled uno dos tres of sound-checks as a DJ plays innocuous reggaeton beats barely audible from the street. Chacal, Yakarta and the band sneak in through…