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WE'RE SUPPORTING

Alex Passapera’s dizzying pen and ink drawings are cascades of images melting into one another, often looking like contorting, mutating creatures spewing blood-like ink splatters. Read more

WE'RE TRAVELLING TO

Paintings from Nicholas Aoki’s new solo exhibition, Goodnight; Sweet, Hearts blur two worlds — one of mortals and one of Gods, skeletons and creature spirits. The Toronto-based Aoki uses watercolors and acrylics to create rich landscapes that he layers with the characters in this journey to death. And while the paintings contain a dark subject matter, they also contain flashes of light — a glowing full moon, say, or lamp posts helping guide the way.

WE'RE WEARING

Put simply, Sydney fashion label Andrea and Joen create the hottest shoes around. You’ll find a combination of pure sophistication and rock and roll attitude in every pair from their range. Their sexy style has become a must for contemporary women, including Gwen Stefani, Katy Steele and Pink, all of whom have been seen proudly flaunting them around town.

WE'RE THINKING

In late 80s and early 90s, the Illustrated Laser Ray and futuristic grids aesthetic was a sensation, years before it began to diminish abruptly. But just like every fashion, it became mainstream and mutated into portrait backgrounds. A large amount of these pictures are documented on the Laser Portraits websites. Read more

WE'RE READING

When I first heard about The Eight Principles of Fun, I thought it sounded frighteningly close to being a self-help service ad. Read more

Back in the day, when I was a skinny teenager on the great pedestal of life, I had a real obsession for the understated, low-fi, deliciously melodic and somewhat blurry sounds of the New Zealand Flying Nun bands. I would pool my meagre savings and canvas the local record shops, scouring the racks for the latest cassettes from The Bats, The Chills, The Clean, and, later, The Straitjacket Fits. Read more

WE'RE LISTENING TO

I’ve heard whispers that Kings Of Convenience, the Norwegian duo of folkloric proportions, have split. I hope they’re unfounded, but like all good rumours, where there’s smoke, there’s fire. Perhaps Erland Oye is enjoying the unlimited scope of his solo career too much? And then there’s his new submorphic guitar pop project, The Whitest Boy Alive, to keep him occupied. The whitest boy alive? Indeed he is. But damn the guy can sing.