The three printed issues of Fire Raisers can be downloaded in PDF format there or here:
In case you’re coming to the conversation late, here are the previous parts:
Here’s the third part of a series of four reflecting on Fire Raisers, the magazine that Alistair and I co-edited in the early nineties. The last part will be appearing over at Unpopular before long.
All three issues are available as PDFs via either of the links below or as paper copies for purchase. Do feel free to comment, whether as a contributor, a reader from back in the day, or on the basis of coming upon the magazines for the first time.
Daniel: Was it a pain having a co-editor? Would you have preferred absolute power?
Alistair: As a self-acknowledged control freak, I suppose I should answer yes to that. But actually no, it was fine. It was good to have someone else make some decisions about content etc, and of course your proof reading skills have always far outshone mine! Looking back though, I don’t actually remember how much real editing was needed. Did we turn down any contributions? Did we actually do any physical editing of other writers’ work?
I think the sense that we were properly collaborating was novel to us both, and exciting, and of course it never lasted long enough for serious issues to arise.
D: I think we took the ‘produced naturally’ approach to editing (analogous to groups recording without direction from an ‘auteur’ producer, leading to an end product whose audio quality is diminished but has greater charm). I’m sure that stemmed (a) from how sensitive we personally would have been at that time to editorial suggestion or interference, and (b) because we were a long way from having the skills you need to be an editor (some might say still are, if they’re wading through this!).
We did however turn down several proposed contributions, including one by a member of a certain pop group of whom we were fans. I meanly decreed in my mind that he should stick to music and leave the writing to us! I’ve always felt bad about that since.
But yes, I totally agree that the experience of working together on something was exciting – and instructive to two habitual loners like ourselves. Our chief obstacle as co-editors was of course one of us being in Scotland and the other in London in the days before email.
D: What reactions do you recall the magazine getting?
A: I don’t remember a huge amount, but then it was so long ago and many things have sunk into the depths of lost memories. I do recall the feedback from Richey, as noted previously. That would have been around the time of the Manic’s first Heavenly singles I think. I also remember doing a phone interview with David Belcher at the Glasgow Herald. Belcher was something of an iconic figure in the Scottish broadsheets at the time, championing lots of music and culture that the English broadsheets wouldn’t have touched with a bargepole. I sent him a copy of Fire Raisers on the off-chance he might like it, and then he phoned wanting to do a short feature. I’m sure I have the cutting somewhere in the vaults… The thing is, I remember thinking at the time that the article was a great coup and that it would surely increase sales. The truth was that it had an almost no impact at all. Except possibly to have the Scottish Library write to me and demand copies of all issues for their collection. They never paid, either.
Some years later, however, I sold a copy of my third Melody Haunts My Reverie fanzine to a bloke in The Cavern in Exeter. He came to be a good friend (even published my book of Pop witterings!) and it turned out he remembered buying copies of Fire Raisers at the local small press outlet and being impressed. So you know, people did take notice.
D: Having been tipped off by you, I made a special trip to King’s Cross early on the morning that particular edition of the Glasgow Herald was published to get hold of a copy – feeling somewhat like a playwright on the morning after press night, or Kerouac buying the New York papers the day On The Road was reviewed when I read: ‘Fire Raisers fits in somewhere between Granta and Sniffin’ Glue’!
That’s quite heartening, that Rupert had encountered Fire Raisers before he’d encountered you. It’s a perennial concern when you’re sending out writing into the world in no matter what form: are your words connecting with people and having an effect? Or are people completely disinterested? How can you know?
Being the hoarding type, I’ve kept a file of letters that first my fanzines and later Fire Raisers generated, and there are a fair few. There’s a great one from a Shaun Johnson of Melton Mowbray, who tried to get his local radical bookshop to stock the second or third issue of Fire Raisers only for them to refuse because ‘it didn’t sell well last time’! Shaun went on to say that Fire Raisers ‘is the best literary magazine on the market’, which may not be that far from the truth, given that the lifetime of literary magazines then as now tended to be brief, leaving plenty of windows where there wasn’t much or even any competition.
Other radical concerns were keener – a publication called the Exeter Flying Post got in touch to ask for ‘a statement of our aims’, which I presume I gave them.
And it was through Fire Raisers that we made contact with folk like Robin Tomens, who would later go on to write for Tangents. He bought the first issue in Rough Trade and wrote recognising Fire Raisers and his Ego were kindred spirits. Balancing up Richey’s verdict, Robin said he loved Carrie’s ‘Snowboots’ story, and Sam Matthew’s piece in the first issue. And that Fire Raisers was ‘beautifully produced’.
A: Although I would say it, I also liked Snowboots. Not sure what Carrie would think of it now, though perhaps she will let us know in the comments.
D: I think the tale of the beach shelter needs to be retold.
A: Oh gosh, the beach shelter… This was for the cover photo for FR 3, for which we wanted to borrow Paul Morley’s infamous ‘boredom or Fire Engines, you can’t have both’ line. I had this idea of painting the slogan (with ‘Raisers’ in place of ‘Engines’ of course!) on a beach shelter in my then hometown of Troon. I did the painting on the wall at around midnight after a night at my friend Stephen’s ‘Subculture’ club (I spent the night with a paintbrush and a small jar of white paint in my pocket) and then we went down the following day to take the photos. The cover star was a Subculture regular called Rozlyn, who I barely remember now. I think we asked her because she had a parka, though you can’t really tell that from the photo. There is also a photo from a few weeks later when you hitched up to Troon, I think. I’m standing beside my artwork, dressed in anorak and desert boots. Height of fashion.
The real interest in the story though is from several years later, when I had left Troon and was living in Devon. My mum mentioned on the phone that there had been a story on the front page of the local paper about an arson attack on a beach shelter in town. Seems the paper thought that the graffiti on what remained of the torched shelter (touched up just a few weeks earlier by our friends Andrea and Suzy) suggested that there were a group of arsonists at work in the town… naturally my mother was anxious about a visit from the local constabulary! I suspect the truth was that a bunch of glue-sniffing casuals got bored and cold on the front one night and decided to warm themselves.
The shelter was rebuilt, and these days the only graffiti you’ll find on it is of the ‘Baz 4 Shaz’ type. No imagination in the young people these days…
Alistair has posted the second of our four-part reflection on Fire Raisers, in which we get our teeth stuck into taking risks, stylistic tics, and graphic design. Part one is here, and part three will appear on this blog next week. All three issues are available as PDFs or paper copies for purchase via either link. Do feel free to comment, whether as a contributor, a reader from back in the day, or on the basis of coming upon the magazines for the first time.
About twenty years ago, having respectively produced a fair quantity of solo publications, Alistair Fitchett and I joined forces to co-edit a new magazine that for many and various reasons we stopped short of calling literary or cultural, though in truth it had aspirations to be both. In the first of four parts which will alternate across this blog and Alistair’s Unpopular, we discuss our motivations and the place in the world of such a magazine back then. We are making all three issues of Fire Raisers available in PDF format, so that you can make sense of the conversation, and perhaps enjoy the magazines in their own right.
We also have a few paper copies of each issue left; click here to purchase these perfect early Christmas presents for the literary fanzine fetishist in your life. Or for yourself, of course.
Oh, and if there do happen to be any Fire Raisers contributors or readers lurking out there, feel free to pitch in your comments as we go along.
Daniel: Was the motivation behind Fire Raisers the same as that which led us to produce our solo fanzines? What do you think we were we aiming to achieve?
Alistair: After so many years it is difficult to recall exactly what motivations might have been driving me personally, yet I suspect they were very much the same as they were when making the solo fanzines in so much as they were about fulfilling a need to communicate and to share enthusiasms. Indeed that motivation is one that has been largely unaltered in what I’ve done myself since, with other solo fanzines, through Tangents and blogs etc. Having said that, I also concede that the motivation for Fire Raisers was probably subtly different, given that it was a shared idea. Perhaps we felt that Fire Raisers was a step up from the solo fanzines, a sense of getting a bit more serious and grown up about things. Certainly looking back at them now there is a sense of that, I think.
That said, I also think in many ways we didn’t raise our sights high enough, didn’t get anywhere serious enough. In retrospect that sense of refusing to compete in the traditional market place and staying resolutely underground held it back, I think. Looking back on the premise of Fire Raisers, I wonder if that had been a pitch for a more mainstream magazine with advertising and so on, it might have worked. Maybe not at the time, but certainly in the later ’90s and early noughties perhaps.
But then, that idea of being a ‘proper’ magazine was not really what we were trying to achieve anyway, so it seems a moot point. And actually it seems telling that we probably defined our aims in terms of what we DIDN’T want as opposed to what we did. And whilst the ‘manifesto’ editorial inserts still seem stirring and passionate, I’m not sure it’s exactly clear where those manifestos intended to lead. In short, I’m not sure we really had the slightest clue about what we intended to achieve! I’m not sure that we particularly cared either…
D: Yes, there was that sense of ‘Oh my god! We’re doing it… we’re fuckin’ doing it’, as the caption we used from a cartoon showing a subverted, rioting version of Tintin had it. It almost didn’t matter what exactly it was that we were doing. My hazy recollection is however that we were actually collectively quite sure about we thought the magazine should be, but I don’t think we were at that point quite able to articulate it with any great subtlety in print, especially when we tried to produce text co-operatively – to my mind it reads as a particularly contrived and diluted Alistair-Dan hybrid.
We were certainly totally clueless about marketing and selling the ‘concept’, as well as antagonistic towards the compromise inherent in giving over time and energy to those practices; it was all about the words and pictures, and putting them together. Still, each issue shows a marked progression in terms of making the magazine more accessible, at least in a superficial sense – the cover got more inviting with each outing. That came about partly because of the dressing down I got from the man in Compendium bookshop in Camden, who took it upon himself to critique the cover and contents in forensic detail one day when I dropped in to see how issue one was selling (not very well). I didn’t fancy that happening again so we took on board his suggestions!
Had we persisted beyond three issues – had desktop publishing been accessible to us then; had I not disappeared off to France – I think the penny might have dropped, and we would have tried to put the magazine on a more professional footing. The notion that it was a step up from our solo efforts suggests that too.
A: Ah, isn’t hindsight a wonderful thing? Really though it’s impossible to consider those ‘what ifs’ and ‘maybes’ isn’t it? Because the needs that drove you to France, and the impending (or eventual) arrival of affordable publishing technologies were very real and, one could argue, equally undeniable. Our collective fiercely held opinions on commercialisation and almost OCD level obsession with not ‘selling out’ would also have inevitably hampered much forward movement for some time too, I fear. Not that that’s a bad thing necessarily, but nevertheless I think it would have been a very real barrier to making progress in terms of creating a product with much of a potential audience.
Interestingly I met with an old colleague from Art school the other week. We had not seen each other in twenty years, but he told me that he sometimes uses my old fanzine experiences as an analogy in business coaching situations. It all hinges on that sense of micro-conflicts between otherwise apparently similar people, or at least people with similar interests and roles. So that whilst as a fanzine writer I might have been arguing openly and heatedly with another fanzine writer about, say, which Talulah Gosh single is the best, to an observer it appears an illogical source of conflict. To the outsider it seems like, ‘hey, both these people love this group I’ve never heard of! Why don’t they use that shared love to make something great happen?’ So the micro-conflicts are damaging and holding back potential growth or positive development. Of course you can argue that those very micro-conflicts are at the heart of obsessive pop-cultural consumption, and that they are indeed desirable in that media and age context, which means that maybe the analogy doesn’t cross-contextual boundaries. Nevertheless I think it’s very useful, and I think helps to explain why I don’t think Fire Raisers could have grown beyond what it was within the context it found itself.
D: I was party back then to more micro-conflicts than I care to think about! Politics is of course also largely about micro-conflicts, with the same resulting positives and negatives.
D: Who or what were our inspirations, and our enemies?
A: I’m struggling to think of inspirations. Didn’t we think we were very much out on a limb, doing something different? I like to think so. And I like to think that we were fairly true to that. Certainly there were lots of dire small press fanzines that were doing fiction and other such things, but were they mixing it up like we intended? I’m not sure. Certainly I suspect things like Debris were a reference point, and to some extent people like i-D and The Face perhaps, at least in terms of those publications’ original ethos. Though by the time of Fire Raisers i-D and The Face were probably seen as much as enemies as anything else. I think perhaps the idea of the ’60s underground press was a reference point. IT and such like. Also, I would guess the more politically minded situationist publications were in your mind Daniel?
But yes, there was a lot of importance put on the idea of enemies in those days, wasn’t there? I am not sure if that was a reflection of the age, or of ours. I am not sure if people of that age now feel the same sense of having to take sides, of being for this and against that. I suspect in reality things are not much different and that the percentage of any given generation that really cares about such things at a given age remains roughly the same. But as for who our enemies were? Is ‘everyone else’ too flippant an answer? Perhaps so, and yet it feels honest and indicative of our glorious naiveté.
D: Oh yes, I don’t think it was until a while after the ashes of Fire Raisers had cooled that I finally got myself out of that situationist straitjacket. It was an unfortunate part of the baggage that stopped us from trying to sell or market the magazine. Situationism’s critique of capitalism was so devastating, and its political aspirations so remote, that for a long time I felt bleakly trapped by it. That came out in what I wrote for Fire Raisers. Having Guy Debord and Mark Eitzel as chief inspirations is not a great combination if you’re after producing happy text, or for that matter, a happy bunny writing it.
The fact that we felt unable to name more than a couple of even vaguely like-minded enterprises in the first issue – both in any case the projects of people who contributed or went on to contribute to the magazine – suggests that what you say is right. We did feel out on a limb. Debris was great, but it was more properly journalistic in its approach than we ever envisaged being. I never really bought into The Face and i-D thing, though later, when I lived in Bristol and started going to clubs , I bought them out of curiosity (and a lack of anything else to go for) in terms of that culture.
I think I was hoping to elicit from you particular individuals who inspired us as well as publications, whether that was personally or in a literary sense. As well as Debord and Eitzel, I was big on Georges Perec at the time; an excellent stylistic corrective to all the Kerouac I’d read. And personally Ross Reid (Cornish fanzine writer and sports journalist) was also a huge inspiration for me – in fact (now it can be told) he was the subject of ‘Spike’, the opening article in issue one. In February 1990 – in a classic example of micro-conflict! – he sent out a circular called ‘Anger the angels’ to certain friends and two of the Esurient groups with one of the classic photos from the May ’68 riots on the front, telling us all to ‘wake up!’ and issuing me with an injunction about getting on with Fire Raisers: ‘don’t fiddle with matchsticks while you can/could blowtorch the fucking lot.’ He demanded – alongside what I now see is an isolated and ever-so-slightly paranoid plea for contact – that we think big. We tried.
And of course we should direct a nod of appreciation in Max Frisch’s direction, for it was his play’s title that we appropriated for the magazine. Likewise a nod to Fiona of our Devonian contingent of friends (and contributors), who originally passed it our way. I haven’t reread the play since, but what I recall is a blend of Brecht, anarchism and something more conservative, the end result being not dissimilar to the recent German film The Edukators.
Anyone else you would add to the list?
A: Well, as you were perhaps moving on from the Kerouac obsession, perhaps I was moving into it. Hence the large photo of the man himself accompanying my new Orleans missive. I think there was something of the stream of consciousness prose in the Big Flame extracts too, although that was tempered with some conscious stylistic editing too. I suspect my Sylvia Plath obsession came slightly later…
Like you, I had never particularly bought into the i-D magazine culture, although as an Art student perhaps I was more inclined to dabble. Certainly I had loved The Face since the early ‘80s, and Blitz (which was run partly by Paul Morley, yes?) was a regular on my desk, although by the time of around ’86 into ’87 I’d had my head turned by things that would shortly coagulate into the dreaded ‘indie’ style, and this was very much seen to be in opposition to the glossy ‘style’ magazines.
I always thought it was funny that several of the images that were in my first (handwritten!) fanzine Delight In The New Wonderland were from fashion spreads in The Face. And I liked that the image we used to accompany the ‘Helsinki’ piece in Fire Raisers 3 about clubs came from i-D.
D: Was there a place in the world at the time for the kind of magazine we were aiming to produce? Is there one now?
A: This is something I’ve thought about often over the years, not specifically in reference to Fire Raisers, but in general. And I must admit that it is with something of a resigned sigh when I conclude that no, there isn’t and no, there wasn’t. Not if one wanted to make a living out of it at least.
I think if you drew a Venn diagram of potential markets for the things that ‘we’ like(d), then you are left with a tiny area that, globally, may never amount to any more than a few thousand people. Which in real terms is less than negligible. Our disinterest in pretty much anything remotely approaching ‘mainstream’ (or that our interest in anything remotely mainstream is placed in unfamiliar contexts) also precludes the potential marketplace for anything we might produce.
That’s not a criticism though, and nor is it a reason for not doing something. It’s just an observation and an acknowledgement.
D: I suppose it depends upon how much ground we might have conceded to the mainstream, or, to put it less grudgingly, how hard we might have worked to bring what we liked in a cultural sense to a readership that might be less familiar with it. Certainly we were never going to make a living from the magazine itself, but it might have led more directly to the chance of making a living from freelancing. But we were actively engaged in the enrichment of our own cultural lives, if no-one else’s. A salary, food and a roof were never going to be enough, with all due admission that we were and are lucky enough to be living in a time and place when we can say that.
If the cultural blend had been suitably varied – and I think it was well on the way to becoming so – we might have generated interest in and – to use your analogy – shaded a fair number of those intersections at the centre of that Venn diagram. If the way the internet has evolved proves anything, it’s that there are an almost infinite number of overlapping or interlinked musical and cultural localities; in our own small way, with our contributors’ collection of varied interests, we anticipated this – and contributed to that evolution itself when it began to happen.
A: There’s a symbiotic relationship, isn’t there, between our understanding of those cultural connections and the media through which we exploit the links. So without the possibilities offered by the Internet, for example, would our sense of connectedness be lessened? Or increased? Does the physical size of those distributed networks impact on that? So for example, is there any less a sense of belonging to a group when the membership is measured in the millions as opposed to the hundreds? And how ‘real’ is the sense of belonging? And how do you measure or judge the ‘reality’ anyway?
Sorry, that’s a lot of questions and thoughts starting to get up their own arses, but I do think it’s interesting. And I don’t think that Fire Raisers could have increased its audience without changing its fundamental form. Which ties in to what we were saying about contexts.
Has Alan McGee ever given us his considered thoughts about his group Biff Bang Pow! from the vantage point of the 21st century? Some essential and usually hidden core of modesty has probably prevented him from ever mentioning them in his Guardian dispatches. My suspicion is that he reckons his own records aren’t up to much when set alongside those multi-million selling Oasis albums, but I still beg to differ. His voice may have lacked the kind of rock’n’roll character he heard in Liam Gallagher’s, but Alan, Dick Green and the group’s rhythm section made up for this by juxtaposing fragility and attack, and by recording some memorably desperate songs. The fierceness of the feeling comes from the commitment to the attitudes of love and hate, a punk rock credo developed out of pulpit sermons from the Clash and the Jam but significantly strengthened by the antagonisms of the Thatcher years. In Alan McGee’s case it gave rise in to a perverse puritanism, or a puritan perversity. He had both the youthful, arrogant chutzpah to declaim ‘there’s no love in this town except for me’ and the self-loathing to sing ‘I don’t matter I don’t matter I don’t matter much’.
Alan was good enough to write me an encouraging note after I sent him a copy of Pot Plant Pantry, nobly overlooking my carping in favour of the positive noises I was making, and signing off ‘Keep the faith’. It got tested a few times over the years, but I like to think that I did.
So here are the opening and closing songs from Oblivion, whose green marble cover remains a favourite; the sweet – ‘In a mourning town’ and the sour – ‘I’m still waiting for my time’. Though I warm to it much more than I used to, the psychedelic – ‘I see the sun’ – will have to wait for another occasion.
In which I came perilously close to disappearing up my own back passage.
Overuse of underlining was a serious fault here and in many other fanzines of the time. We were all straining too hard to be heard.
On the plus side I was beginning to develop something of a design eye. There’s a nice use of space here, and of a patterned paper bag as background.
The poem is Mervyn Peake’s. I read everything of his after the Gormenghast trilogy, even Mr Pye.
The third stage of my journey from fun-loving pop fanatic and tractor boy to misery pop fanatic and psychogeographic depressive, Pot Plant Pantry appeared in late 1987 and saw me retreating from the throwaway stuff. Stung by a rebuke meted out to me in response to Too Much Hanky Pantry that I should ‘fuck off back to [my] brat-pop’, I got serious. As I’ve often said, these were days when arguments with your closest allies were likely to be far more ferocious than those with your most reviled opponents. In this respect it helped that I was embarked on the second year of a degree that paired philosophy and sociology under the laughably erroneous moniker of ‘Modern Studies’; being voluntarily and increasingly under the influence of those now well-known French jokers Debord and Vaneigem hardly held me back in the furrowed brow stakes. I never did develop Raoul Vaneigem’s capacity to consider the revolution of every day life as quite the unbridled joy he would have you believe it to be.
Not that you can work out any of this from the cover, which featured a wonderfully pretty line drawing by my friend Robert Aspland, multiplied Warholistically and ever so slightly wonkily by me. Showing his versatility, Robert (now busy landscape-designing the Olympic park ready for 2012) also produced a caricature of Graeme Souness for the cover of the fourth issue of When Saturday Comes.
On receipt of Pot Plant Pantry, Malcolm Eden of McCarthy sent me a ‘keep your pecker up!’ postcard, saying ‘you seem to have become almost as solemn as I am…’
So that’s something for readers to look forward to as I post pages from Pot Plant over the coming days and weeks.
The latest … your heart out is subtitled The enormity of small things. With the usual emphasis on connections, it intermingles thoughts on soul music made in the UK with memories of nights that Dexys Midnight Runners came to town. I suspect the chapter format intentionally recalls the third Hungry Beat, in which Kevin first wrote about Don’t stand me down and those now mythical Dexys shows of late 1985.
The Jasmine Minks also feature in The enormity of small things, as they did in Hungry Beat #3; in fact Kevin uses the very same photograph of Jim Shepherd, and recalls the day he and Jim met Kevin Rowland at the ‘Doing it for the kids’ Creation all-dayer at the Town and Country Club (as the Forum in Kentish Town was then known). The pre-Oasis bill now reads like a fanzine writer’s dream; in order of appearance, there was Biff Bang Pow!, Pacific, Emily, Jasmine Minks, Jazz Butcher, Felt, House Of Love, and Momus. Four or five of my all-time favourites. I remember seeing Jim and the two Kevins together, and thinking ‘wow!’ But I myself never got close enough to smell Kevin Rowland’s perfume, as Jim did, according to the extensive answers he gives in this undated interview with Caught in the carousel. Mind, you needed to smell sweet that sweltering day in August 1988.
The Caught in the carousel interview also links to an Another age outtake, ‘Running’. Though nothing like the Minks’ best effort, it amply demonstrates the ‘soulful edge’ that the Minks added to their garage punk sound.
Prefab Sprout fans will enjoy ducking out of the way of the rotten fruit thrown – by implication – in their direction during the course of chapter ten of The enormity of small things. Kevin, I can feel a Backed with entry coming on…
Attentive readers with long memories will recall that I had embarked on a series of scans of pages from my 1980s fanzines. The undertaking got derailed by a mixture of an antiquated scanner finally meeting its match in the form of Windows Vista, and my depression at the awfulness of the majority of the contents with which I was faced. Now that I have a twenty-first century scanner, I’m beginning again – keeping in mind this note made by William Empson: ‘Sir Max Beerbohm has a fine reflection on revising one of his early works [Zuleika Dobson]; he said he tried to remember how angry he would have been when he wrote it if an elderly pedant had made corrections, and how certain he would have felt that the man was wrong.’
The back cover star of Too Much Hanky Pantry was Mervyn Peake, a somewhat unfashionable writer in 1987, and hardly any less so now. But it’s still a pleasure to be borne slowly along by his marshalling of the sensitive grotesques that people the three parts of the Gormenghast trilogy; and Peake’s doorstop has the distinct advantage over Tolkien’s of a much greater need to understand the human condition.
Though there were East Anglian folk of whom it might have been formed, the Sugar Beat Collective sadly remained a figment of my imagination. The editor of Gobstopper would have been a member; in this issue, instead of reviewing fanzines, I quoted best lines, and his were: ‘Camp! Everybody get camp!’ and ‘I’ve changed from a miserable sod pretending to be happy to a happy sod pretending to be miserable.’
From the first issue of Caff (editors Bob Stanley and Pete Wiggs) I quoted part of ‘The Vod Duck story’: ‘[Walt Disney’s] version of Vod was called Daffy and – minus the big red star on the neckband – Daffy Duck was a big success.’
Coca Cola Cowboy #2: ‘I never met a banana I didn’t like.’ Within the same issue, Juniper Beri-Beri (Stephen Pastel) wrote: ‘If you prefer your food straight off your girlfriend’s stomach rather than on a plate, then the Vaselines are probably the group you’ve been waiting for.’
When Saturday Comes #6: ‘When you’re bored with Arsenal, you’re bored with life’ – attributed to Bob Wilson!
Are you scared to get happy? #3: ‘WE’RE COMING TO GET YOU who are just far too lost to understand the magic of a pure bright light in a darkened room or like JUST TOO FUCKING OLD in simple terms.’
Frolik # 1 on the Soup Dragons: ‘This music makes me want to pour custard into someone’s underpants.’
Pure Popcorn #4: ‘We, the sweet melodies of youth, invite you suckle our collective breast (figuratively speaking of course) and elevate your tawdry existence (YOU SUCK!) to a higher plane of being.’
I should mention the geographical spread of eighties fanzine production. It was a nationwide phenomenon, with outposts in every town and city, and a fair few of the villages and hamlets too. You could, of course, listen to John Peel anywhere, taking inspiration from the music and making postal connection with the fanzines whose contact details he read out on air. As he used to say, ‘Where do they get these names from?’
The development of the fanzine / magazine in electronic form continues with Manzine, ‘a publication about the male phenomenon’, which is being presented via the intriguing platform of Issuu.
The contents are I suspect a little more diverse than those of your typical men’s magazine (top shelf or lower down): umbrellas, the Royal Artillery Monument, a problematic piece (in my opinion) on the mental health risks of blogging, social mountaineering, Belgian beer as felicitous aid to the imagination, a voyage from Israel to Greece on a cargo ship, high-visibility clothing, Brian Eno, the Tweed Cycling Club, and what appears to be a score by everyone’s favourite anti-artist and musician, Bill Drummond.
On the basis of the first issue, it very roughly approximates a cross between Smoke, the Idler or the Chap, and [insert the name of your favourite style magazine here], but should it continue, Manzine may well settle into genre-defying idiosyncrasies of its own.
Main Ingredient, Motors, Malcolm McLaren and Jeanne Moreau, Milva and Morricone, Marilia Medalha, Letta Mbulu, Mark Murphy, Mixed Nuts, Moonshake, Ella Mae Morse, Marcia Griffiths, all in one long stream that inevitably and necessarily diverts off into most other letters of the alphabet: more than enough reason to get yourself over to the Your heart out blog or MySpace and download issue number 5.
‘With the return of the enforced if constructive loaf in these darkest of days we should celebrate those who seek to enlighten and illuminate. I have, for example, the utmost respect and affection for the online jazz community that has done such a fantastic job in hosting sites and pages dedicated to specific labels: CTI, Muse, Black Jazz, MPS, Strata East, and so on.’
‘Some things just stick in the mind. Like in I think 1978 a friend went to buy the Vibrators’ Automatic Lover single. When he got home, inside the admittedly neat pic sleeve was a copy of Dee D Jackson’s contemporaeneous Eurodisco hit of the same name. I remember thinking: “And the problem with this is?” I didn’t even know then there was an accompanying charmingly conceptual Cosmic Curves LP!’
‘One day I’m going to get my book published. The one I called Ra! Who? – The Art of Bluff. A Studs Terkel type oral history on the theme of when and where people from all walks of life, all over the world, heard Sun Ra for the first time, and what their immediate reaction was, working all the while on the premise there’s a lot of pretending and folks thinking they should react in a certain way.’
‘You know how sometimes it seems a record is tailor made specifically for you? Exactly.’
Those are four of the intros to pieces in the new …your heart out. Kevin has established his new venture as a monthly affair and shows no sign of not maintaining that momentum. Number four is the now customary mix of new, old, borrowed and blue, and once again has me wishing that there were enough hours in the day to pursue all the leads it invites me to follow, in this case Jorge Ben, Georgia Anne Muldrow, Y Records, Alice Clark, Mo-Dettes, Samia Farah, Catherine Ribeiro, Fay Hallam, Chicca & Intrigo, Ahu/Dolly, Bullion, and Paul White.
And news just in: Kevin has (somewhat reluctantly, but reluctant with good reason) added a Blogspot blog to the … your heart out arsenal.
‘Because you know, oh you just know, that the funny thing is the people who are stretching themselves, trying to do that little something a little bit different, are actually better at the basics anyway.’
The third edition of … your heart out is available now and features Phil Ochs, Janelle Monae, Gary McFarland, Frank Sinatra, Mark Perry, Muhsinah, Slumber Party, Brittany Bosco, Tamba Trio, Nancy Harrow, Olga Kouklaki, Marc Collin and the Cup of Tea label.
Following hot on the heels of the first, the second issue of … your heart out is out. This one features Kate Wax, the amazing Tuca, Penny Reel and Dennis Brown, Big Audio Dynamite and Basement 5, the Fiction record label, Stacy Epps, Andrew Hill and choral jazz, Nancy Wilson, Jody Reynolds, and Rob Symmons on how the Fallen Leaves came to be.
These are, of course, just the tips of the icebergs.
The dots are also being joined at www.myspace.com/yrheartout.
A friend of ours is at it again, some twenty years after last venturing out in fanzine format. Click here to download … your heart out, and read thoughts – always entertaining and often preconception-destroying – about the mod revival, Brazilian guitarist Laurindo Almeida, the Fallen Leaves, jazz singers of the fifties and sixties, Charles Stepney, Bacharach and David, travels in MySpace, YouTube gems, Raw Records, Betrand Burgalat and Robert Wyatt, bossa nova, and Marina Van-Rooy and Peter Coyle. And, of course, spinning off at tangents in all directions.