Huck Issue 69 - Spring/Summer Issue

Huck is inspired by DIY culture, featuring people who make you think, who challenge the system, who strike out on their own. Packed with intelligent journalism and stunning photography, it covers the people and the places that are shaping culture all over the world.

Mehr lesen
United Kingdom
The Church of London
CHF 30.06
6 Ausgaben

in dieser ausgabe

14 Min.
blue boy

Next to the front door of Mac DeMarco’s home in Los Angeles hangs two sets of keys with matching lanyards. One says, “SASSY.” The other, “STRESSED OUT.” It’s safe to assume the former belongs to Kiera McNally, the Canadian songwriter’s long-term girlfriend. The latter seems a better fit for Mac. It’s the day after his fourth album Here Comes the Cowboy (featuring lead single ‘Nobody’) was announced, sparking outrage among fans of Mitski, whose album Be the Cowboy (also featuring lead single ‘Nobody’) topped numerous best-of-2018 lists. The online furore grew until Mitski felt compelled to clarify that, as grateful as she is for the support, it feels terrifying to have lots of strangers acting on her behalf in ways she’d never act herself. So perhaps unsurprisingly, Mac doesn’t seem keen…

5 Min.
body language

Studying to become a filmmaker made Bronwen Parker-Rhodes go broke. To support herself financially, she began moonlighting as a DJ in strip clubs around London, playing six-hour sets that dancers would choreograph routines to as she watched on in fascination. One evening, two years into the job, Bronwen decided to get on stage herself. The buzz from performing proved so great that she started dancing regularly. It opened up a new way of seeing things. “I was surrounded by confident, amazing women,” says the 38-year-old, speaking over Skype from a cluttered bedroom, boxes full of files stacked in towers behind her. “It was a real celebration of being an exhibitionist. I just fell in love with that world.” For her final project at UCL’s Slade School of Fine Art, Bronwen decided to…

6 Min.

Ever since trainers evolved from being purely functional to a fixture of mainstream fashion, no other item of clothing has played a bigger role in the history of youth culture. In the mid-1980s, after Nike launched its Air Jordan line and Adidas signed an endorsement deal with Run–DMC (the first of its kind), the art of collecting kicks quickly became a subculture of its own. There would be legendary rarities and deadstock, custom alterations and secret cleaning techniques, shrewd swaps and out-of-control auctions. It’s an addiction that has spread through all classes and ethnicities, signifying meaning in everything from social status to gender politics. But true sneakerheads don’t believe in keeping their stash stored away in immaculate condition. They’re to be worn and lived in, accompanying the ups and downs, only…

6 Min.
the art of intimacy

The working-class city of Warabi is just a short train trip from Tokyo, though it feels like a world away. As the neon-lit streets of the latter make way for low-slung houses and densely packed apartment buildings, the metropolitan abundance of Japan’s capital seems a distant memory. Down one of its numerous narrow streets – past a bakery, a series of bars and restaurants as well as an ancient strip club – lies a relatively nondescript house, only distinguished from its neighbours by a Maori-inspired mural on one wall and a banner hung over a second-floor balcony. Inside lives one of the most sought-after tattoo artists in the world: Horiren 1st, a modern master in the ancient method of Tebori. Horiren’s studio is compact and well-kept. The walls are covered with art;…

12 Min.
24hr party people

It’s just after midnight at the University of Athens, where its student halls are packed with people. Hand-printed posters by protest groups hang alongside flyers for punk shows, their shades of red, black and white plastered across a well-worn foyer. The crowd is waiting for a drag show to kick off – the first to ever take place here – when the music grinds to a halt, grabbing everyone’s attention. That’s when Kangela Tromokratisch, Space Manifesto and Gingerella – three drag performers breathing radical energy into Athens’ queer arts scene – emerge to take over a makeshift stage. Wearing a yellow wig made from glued-together mop brushes and a bra composed of boxing gloves, Space Manifesto starts sweeping the floor in exaggerated circles, herding people back to free up space. Kangela…

8 Min.
growing paints

Jonah Hill is running late. An Arctic blizzard has been tearing New York City apart, halting his taxi and wreaking havoc with his phone signal. Somehow, he remains calm and collected. “I heard it’s colder than the Antarctic in Chicago at the moment,” he says, sounding more awed than inconvenienced. “Crazy, right?” There’s something disarming about starting an interview with Jonah Hill this way. With no trace of Hollywood bravado, he’s just a guy with shitty mobile phone service who cannot believe the weather out there. As it happens, this moment comes at a pivotal point in Jonah’s career: the release of his directorial debut, Mid90s. It centres on the daily lives of laconic teenage skaters, chiefly 13-year-old Stevie (Sunny Suljic), who takes up a board as a reaction to his…