Autumn - Geeek Magazine

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CONTENTS
ART & WORDS
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popculture art+ words music web society
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Contents
Inside this issue... click on the article to visit...
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a guide to all things www
THE LEGACIES OF
MAY 1968
Philosphy &
Lost
C is for Cycle
THE
F E+ M E N I S T
PAGES
Shoegaze
welcome to the autumn issue of geeek magazine.
POPPOP
O
P
P
POP PO
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Pop Making Sense
based in manchester. this issue we explore the riots of
may 1968, the woes of cycling in manchester, a riot grrrl
photo project, the confused definition of pop music, an
ode to shoegaze, plus an extended and eclectic mix of
art & words.
clic k her e to join
we are now on facebook so join the group and feel free to
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ART & WORDS
discuss and debate anything in this issue.
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a snippet of stuff from the www...
for films/music/fun
here
to vi
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God is in the TV
Self described as an “online
cultural fanzine” that covers all music
bases from the independants to the major
players. Features reviews, interviews and more
recently its own free download singles club.
A very unpretentious music community worth
looking into.
www.horrorflix.ws
Horror fanatics unite and find solace in an evergrowing database of pure macabre. Whether
your after a cheap low budget thrill (Porno Holocaust), a fondly remembered TV classic (Tales
from the Crypt) or a different insight altogether
(Out of Mind: The Stories of H.P.Lovecraft), horror fans shouldn’t miss out.
www.surrealmoviez.info
A terrific site that has a huge database of rare cult and surreal films.
If you’re a fan of Herzog, Lynch,
Cronenburg and Kurosawa – this site
is a MUST.
www.onebigtorrent.org
Keep up to date with world events
with this torrent site. Has a massive
collection of socio-political documentaries, speeches, debates, ebooks
and audiobooks. A goldmine for leftist, radical politics.
http://awesometapesfromafrica.
blogspot.com
Seeking to showcase the vast, untapped musical legacy of the African
continent, this blog contains rare
albums from artists, that although
may be unknown, deserve a wider
audience. Genius.
CONTENTS
www.southparkstudios.com
Whilst we await the 12th season of South Park
this October, this community provides enough
distraction to stop from resorting to re-runs.
Features games, “crap” and plenty of well put
together clip compilations. Plus the site will
soon offer every South Park episode as a free
download for all UK viewers.
for films/music/docu
ART & WORDS
click
Illustration: Jenn Alexandra Anderson
geeek
MAY 1968 MAY 1968 MAY 1968 MAY 1968 MAY 1968 MAY 1968 MAY 1968 MAY 1968 MAY 1968 MAY 1968 MAY 1968 MAY 1968
Apart from a scattering of articles and a
short radios series by Radio 4, the anniversary
of 1968 has meekly passed by the British
media. This is despite the year being one of
the most historically important years in
modern history. It was a year that crystallised
many wider conflicts and debates all over the
world. The ‘baby boomers’ versus the new
‘hippie’ generation, rich versus poor, capitalist
versus communist, imperialist versus
nationalist resistance. Furthermore, it was a
vital year in the civil rights era and for
revolutionary tactics. This was a year of heavy
American escalation in the war in Vietnam.
The spirited resistance of the Vietnamese
provided inspiration for resistance groups all
over the world. The Civil Rights movement
and, in particular, the Student Non-Violent Coordinating Committee had shown the power
of non-violent protest from its freedom
rides, sit-ins and peace marches. 1968 was
the year of the revolution that nearly
happened, that drove fear into the hearts of
half of Europe’s ruling elites as millions
marched, protested and fought for
democratic change. Philosophy, poetry,
art and music fought on the streets,
students fought alongside workers; a
disparate and sporadic movement was
whiskers away from bringing down President
De Gaulle in France and it had massive
repercussions to how resistance to
capitalism is formulated today.
The younger generations, particularly
France and Germany, were sick of the failed
promises of the older generations. It seemed
that both countries were unable to properly
address the Second World War, in Germany
geeek
ART & WORDS
MAY 1968
poetry. The words of the black poet LeRoi
Jones resonated across the country: “Up
against the wall, motherfucker, this is a
stick-up.”
Power knows how to defend itself. The
action of the Nanterre students met with
repression as the perceived leader of the
Nanterre seizure, Daniel Cohn-Bendit, was
sent to a disciplinary board in Paris. On May
2, the University of Paris was hit with similar
student direct action, again, oblivious to the
potential impact of their repressive actions,
called for the arrest of the Parisian student
leaders. Tensions within France were rising
and it was the police who would ignite the
powder keg. On May 14, six hundred
students were arrested by police in the
historic Sorbonne and for the first time in its
seven hundred-year history. In response,
Alain Geismar called for a nation-wide
teachers strike. The French Communist
Party dismissed the student movement,
because, as power-hungry as their capitalist
foes, they wanted to play a leadership role in
society. The 1968 movement did not wait
for out-of-touch groups to play ideological
and intellectual catch-up, it refused to abide
by Communist tactics; there were no plans,
any leadership of the movement would be
downplayed and the movement was to be
truly participatory.
The Situationists, an art and poetrybased collective that used both for political
ends, played an important role in the May
1968 movement. Three books by Situationist
writers, Guy Debord’s ‘Society of the
Spectacle’, Mustapha Khayati’s ‘On the
Poverty of Student Life’ and Raoul Vaneigem’s
‘Revolution of Everyday Life’ were abundant
in universities in the years leading up to
CONTENTS
THE LEGACIES OF
to recognise and accept its Nazi past. Stuck
between imperialist America and the nearby
might of Soviet Russia, the younger
generation increasingly sought new ways of
expressing their identity. In France, the
recent history of the imperialist war against
Algeria loomed large over the political
landscape. The war in Algeria sparked a reenergisation of political protest and heavyhanded police action in an attempt to break
it up. The years leading up to 1968 had seen
an economic downturn with many workers
feeling the force of a recession, meanwhile,
university places had exploded. In 1958
there were 175,000 university students; in
1968 there were 568,000. Moreover, the
explosion in numbers occurred in an archaic
educational system, in which women
suffered great inequalities compared to
men. Women were only allowed in men’s
rooms with parental permission and were
forbidden to socialise with men. Rights to
protest, meet and discuss political questions
were curtailed by the Dean of Nanterre, who
like President De Gaulle himself, was a relic
of the past. Unsatisfied by French Communist
Party-supported student groups who were
busy seeking political influence through the
‘proper’ democratic channels, on March 22
1968, 500 students alongside a small
number of leftist groups and musicians
seized the administration building at
Nanterre University seeking the redress of
student grievances. The direct action was
inspired by events in America in which
students seized buildings at Columbia
University. Mark Rudd and his fellow students
in America were in turn inspired by the
fervour of anti-war protests, the legacy of
early Civil Rights measures and revolutionary
Y 1968 MAY 1968 MAY 1968
MAY 1968 MAY 1968 MAY 1968 MA
to ten million, or over 2/3s of all French
workers by the week after. It was the largest
spontaneous strike action in the history of
industrial relations. France was heading
towards revolution. Leadership of the striking workers was
non-existent and called into question the
continued
efficacy
of
communist
leadership. Eric Hobsbawm notes the PCF:
“…consistently trailed behind the masses,
failing to recognise the seriousness of the
student movement until the barricades
were up, the readiness of the workers for
an unlimited general strike until the
spontaneous sit-is forced the hands of the
union leaders, taken by surprise once again
when the workers rejected the terms of the
strike agreement.” Striking workers who abandoned work in
solidarity with the students and for their
own grievances fought alongside them in
the streets, waves of riot police with tear
gas, batons, shields and armour were
defeated by students hurling paving cobbles.
The same paving cobbles used as weapons
in the first revolution of France in 1789.
President De Gaulle announced the cobbled
streets of Paris’ ‘Latin Quarter’, the scene of
many of the street battles, to be covered in
asphalt. A measure akin to putting a plaster
on a severed limb. Jean-Paul Sartre, the
leading philosopher in France, supported
the workers and urged them forward. Asked
why De Gaulle didn’t arrest Sartre, De Gaulle
responded: “One doesn’t arrest Voltaire.”
What happened? Why was there no
revolution? Well, in a way there was. It was
revolutionary to see student and worker tied
together in solidarity; nevertheless, these
ties needed to be stronger. Workers were
left to their own devices in factories,
students managed their own committees
and although there was some discussion
between both, their goals and values needed
to be so intermingled that it was impossible
to separate the grievances and desires of
one without the other. The French
government, on the brink of disaster, was
able to isolate worker demands and CGT
agreed to big pay increases to empty the
trade union’s members of much of their
revolutionary thirst. The movement failed
precisely because of the classic state tactic
of ‘divide and rule’. It was a specific tactic of
De Gaulle and Pompinou to fragment the
movement by pinpointing demands and its
leaders and accommodating them into
acceptable social structures. The movement
was at its most potent when its demands
went far beyond the voting platforms of any
French political party.
After students had been dissociated from
strikers each group would settle back into
the confines of their ‘sociological identity’
identity, and both would lose: the strike would
be contained as a purely salary – bread and
butter – issue; the student demands would
be rechanneled and redefined as ‘education’
issues. And ‘violence’ as a quality would
come to pertain only to students and not to
the peaceful law-abiding students.” geeek
ART & WORDS
CHOOSE THEM’, added to growing number
of student-police street battles: “In place of
the society of the spectacle, the Situationists
proposed a communistic society bereft of
money, commodity production, wage
labour, classes, private property and the
State… The division of labour and the
antagonism between work and play would
be overcome. It would be a society founded
of the love of free play, characterised by the
refusal to be led, to make sacrifices and
perform roles. Above all, they insisted that
every individual should actively and
consciously participate in the reconstruction
of every moment of life.”
However, even idealistic and noble goals
like this require the support and solidarity of
French workers if it was truly going to impact
on the political system. The state’s
repressive response to moderate demands
meant workers began to see striking
students in a new light – as victims. On May
13, The Parti Communiste Français (PCF)
reluctantly supported the students alongside
the major left union federations, the
Confédération Générale du Travail (CGT) and
the Force Ouvrière (CGT-FO). They called for
a one-day general strike and demonstration.
The French Prime Minister, Georges
Pompinou, scared by the sudden escalation
released student prisoners and re-opened
the Sorbonne. By this time, it was too late.
Hundreds of student and worker committees
sprang into existence taking over education
and industry institutions. Factory workers in
Renault plants began their own strikes, by
May 16, workers had occupied roughly fifty
factories, and by 17 May, 200,000 were on
strike. A further two million workers went on
strike the following day, this figure swelled
CONTENTS
1968. In co-operation with students from
Nanterre and Paris in they established the
‘Occupations Committee of the Sorbonne’
which aimed to take over the running of the
historic institution. On May 17, it sent the
Communist Party in Moscow the following
message: SHAKE IN YOUR SHOES
BUREAUCRATS. THE INTERNATIONAL
POWER OF THE WORKERS COUNCILS WILL
SOON WIPE YOU OUT. HUMANITY WON’T
BE HAPPY TILL THE LAST BUREAUCRAT IS
HUNG WITH THE GUTS OF THE LAST
CAPITALIST. LONG LIVE THE STRUGGLE OF
THE KRONSTADT SAILORS AND OF THE
MAKHNOVSHCHINA AGAINST TROTSKY
AND LENIN. LONG LIVE THE 1956
COUNCILIST INSURRECTION OF BUDAPEST.
DOWN WITH THE STATE. LONG LIVE
REVOLUTIONARY MARXISM. OCCUPATION
COMMITTEE OF THE PEOPLE’S FREE
SORBONNE.
Situationist-inspired graffiti sprang all
over France, especially Paris, which added
to the revolutionary fervour gripping the
country. Slogans such as ‘WE DON’T WANT
A WORLD WHERE THE GUARANTEE OF NOT
DYING OF STARVATION BRINGS THE RISK
OF DYING OF BOREDOM’, ‘LIVE WITHOUT
DEAD TIME’, ‘BE REALISTIC; DEMAND THE
IMPOSSIBLE’, ‘IT’S PAINFUL TO SUBMIT TO
OUR BOSSES; IT’S EVEN MORE STUPID TO
Y 1968 MAY 1968 MAY 1968
MAY 1968 MAY 1968 MAY 1968 MA
10
fighting for change across the United States,
South America, the Far East, Africa and
Eastern Europe. Christopher Hitchens recalls:
“the black ghettos of America aflame; the
mighty American army baffled in the Mekong
Delta; the Portuguese empire shrinking under
the pressure of guerrillas in Mozambique and
Angola; the streets of Madrid and Barcelona
filled again with anti-Franco protests; the
students of Mexico City cut down outside the
Olympic stadium. There were just not enough
hours in the day.” Nonetheless, there is enough in just the
situation in France to warrant its nondiscussion. A small number of students
seeking to address gender inequalities in
one location sparked a chain of events that
drew in millions to fight nation-wide
inequalities. We live in a world where the
communication and organisational abilities
of people to build ties, solidarities and unify
with particular resistances all over the
world, have massively exploded. Nationstates have learnt their lesson to not rely on
state-violence to provoke individuals.
Instead, it is control through consumption,
surveillance and ideology that wins. 1968
teaches that if similar events hit our streets,
the state could not use violence as it would
spark solidarity and it could not use ideology
and consumption to break up any
revolutionary movement because they are
preventative not cures. Lastly, 1968 taught
us that a revolution could break out in postindustrial society, even during a time of
‘peace, prosperity and apparent political
stability.’ We could learn a lot about how to
fight injustices and inequalities with just a
brief reading of the events of May 1968.
geeek
ART & WORDS
speak to sports fans or the Mathematics
department to speak to students different
from themselves. The legacy of 1968 is to
build ties with people different to yourself,
to make yourself or your group feel
connected to local issues and not seek to
lead protests or direct the course of
resistance. Some groups are more
concerned about placing their student
society banners in protest crowds than
actually building solidarity with others.
People need to declassify themselves.
Kristin Ross says May 1968 was a movement
of declassification. It was not lead by any
individual or group. It called into question the
assignment of social roles and the ordering
of society. The French system of governance
was shook to its core when students ceased
to act like students, workers ceased to be
workers and farmers ceased to be farmers.
1968 built up a thematics of equality:
“Overcoming the separation between manual
and intellectual work, refusing professional
or cultural qualification as a justification for
social hierarchies and systems of political
representation, refusing all delegation,
undermining specialisation – in short, the
violent disruption of assigned roles, places
and functions.” A participant of 1968, Alain Touraine,
noted the changing environment for
resistance. Indeed, “the enemy is by
definition faceless, not even a thing or an
institution, but a programme of human
relations, a process of depersonalisation;
not exploitation which implies exploiters,
but alienation.” This has continued to this
day where people feel alienated from
political and power structures around them.
Individuals are make to feel that politics is
for certain types of people and not for
others. Objectification dominates in which
people are made to feel like objects in a giant
machine, strict social roles departmentalise
individuals in social roles which in turn
prevents people from seeing the overlying
structure of society. 1968 was a process of
subjectification where individuals became
more aware of the alienating and suppressive
elements in society and their effects.
Subjectification has a circular impact on
solidarity, those who see similar alienating
patterns affecting other individuals will be
more likely to find common grievances to
attack in unison. The more solidarity builds,
the more power it has to dismantle unequal
structures of control.
‘People, not structures, make history.’
The May 1968 movement is just one of the
many resistances that were abundant across
the globe at the time. Similar groups were
CONTENTS
Students and workers occupied facilities
and institutions and then congratulated
themselves. Further work need to be done
to increase the power of these committees
and communicate with other committees,
however, with such a rapid rise and
emergence of a revolutionary force you can
understand mistakes. The grievances of
workers, students and farmers needed to
be unified, though it is vital to remember
this was the first time a revolutionary
movement had created tentative ties.
Although it is dangerous to sketch out a
precise model of what goals need to be
won, a movement should have some idea of
where it is headed and how to get there.
Despite these flaws, a sporadic,
participatory, bottom-up movement with
indefinite goals, no real leadership with no
experience was close to bringing down a
nation-state, nevertheless, 1968 is
remembered, if remembered at all, as a
failure. It was not; it should be celebrated.
People, especially the young, are
apathetic about the possibilities of changing
the political environment around them. It is
not helped that 1968 is rarely discussed
that it takes a lesser role in student debates
than 1917 or 1789 in universities. Radical
student groups in the UK are largely selfabsorbed, preaching to the choir, happy to
maintain small numbers of Lenin-obsessed
theoreticians unable to countenance the
idea that maybe anarchists, or local
community leaders or non-Marxists are able
to provide ammunition in their enclosed
resistances. Student groups of the Socialist
Worker’s Party (SWP) would never dream of
actually appealing to proper workers in their
locale, or maybe, going down to the gym to
11
THE
F E+ M E N I S T
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THE
F E+ M E N I S T
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A RETURN TO DOMESTICITY
“There never will be complete equality
until women themselves help to make
laws and elect lawmakers.”
Susan B. Anthony
12
”
A grass-roots photographic study of
riot grrrl and its identity for modern day
feminists. Jade French is on a mission to
collect as many portraits through voluntary submissions via the internet and various photo booths set up over England, of
people who feel they have been inspired
or moved by Riot Grrrl.
In Jade’s own words… “I always have
felt that Riot Grrrl is a movement that
offers a platform for women to express
themselves in any way they felt necessary. The idea of the Riot Grrrl Portrait
collection isn’t so much to do with the images themselves, but rather the process
in getting them. By this I refer back to ‘art
is doing’. I wanted to talk to like-minded
women and men, to get people taking
photographs and in turn listening and
encouraging other people’s ideas around
them, as well as their own.
The final product will include a collaboration with other photographers to put on
an exhibition, and an online potrait gallery.
If you live in Britain, support the nearest Riot Grrrl event to you! Jade French
is found at many Riot Grrrl based events
to take portraits. Alternatively visit the
myspace and get involved...
www.myspace.com/portraitcollection
ART & WORDS
“
THE RIOT GRRRL COLLECTION
CONTENTS
Embracing what was once shunned as
degrading by old-school feminists, many
young and resourceful nu-school feminists are getting their hands dirty in the
kitchen. Webpages dedicated to how
making cupcakes is an ironic statement
and the many knitting clubs proves this
is a movement that is uniting feminists in
the city… Female Trouble is a group of
like-minded Manchester based feminists
who hold ‘crafternoons’. Here you can
chat and partake in various crafty activities, including knitting and baking.
It seems that feminists now are
beginning to appreciate the satisfaction
of creating something, be it a cake or a
scarf. They feel comfortable enough to
embrace feminity in a way that previous feminist movements have warned
against. It’s a stand against mass-produced, homogenous products which have
little individuality stamped on them.
Its refreshing to see feminist movements that recognise perhaps
a womans biological and innate
desire to be creative, ingenious
and to provide for herself.
geeek
13
Pop Making Sense
If the western music media is anything to
go by, ‘pop’ is once again dead, on death’s
door and in need of salvation… Ever unsure of what to make of such a
sweeping statement, I felt that this time is always upon us. We apparently grow sick and
tired of the same old hits that we consistently
manage to put a top of our charts…
“Will these boys save pop music?”
Alexis Petridis… “Britney And Justin Won’t
Save Pop, But Christina Could” Pop Dirt
… “Will the Brits save pop music? It appears we have another musical British invasion: Amy Winehouse, Duffy, and now the
Ting-Tings.” The Edwards Report
Such recent Internet and TV procrastinations have perhaps ill advised me of but a few
of these touted pop saviours… Kanye West
seems to be one (if not a tad self-professed),
Danish retro-pop group Alphabeat are understandably another. Salford duo ‘The Ting
Tings’ seem to be the UK’s current frontrunner who appear to have been marketed on
this notion alongside a like minded plethora
of hyperbolic UK media sound bites… “Well
The Ting Tings sound like Beth Ditto slipping into an elasticated polka-dot number
and bumping one of The Pipettes off stage
mid-handclap. And as ungodly as this might
sound, it actually works...” Pop Justice’s
Song of the Day. …This referring to a song
(“That’s Not My Name” - Ting Tings) that depicts sexism in the music industry first hand
14
– a band who’s refusal to sex up their act
both terminated their last record contract
(as Dear Eskiimo) about as fast as it helped
to campaign their recent popularity...
Maybe pop music does require some
sort of rebirth or salvation, but why and
from what exactly? Must pop music continually rise and fall from grace in order to
stay fresh and innovative? Perhaps this is
no more than an ever-perpetual marketing
illusion, but where able to exist both inside
and out of any genre at any given time, pop
music maintains the illusion of surprise, so
can it ever truly die?
Inception
Whether an industrious marketing ploy or
not, I’d always envisioned pop music as a
flexible music format incapable of and immune to such a finite death… Has it not
always been pop’s prerogative to jump
the latest scene in spite of lesser profitable aspirations like artistic credibility?
Thankfully, my inherent ignorance of the
UK’s terrestrial music media has led me
to discover that this has not always been
and is still not the definitive pop conclusion.
The 1950s saw the birthplace of music
as a corporate industry. Before this the
term ‘pop music’ was simply known as an
abbreviation of ‘popular music’, a phrase
broad enough to neither threaten nor entice allusions of music designed for the
aurally uneducated. Even since the 50’s,
although confined to an industrious and
demographical outlook the pop chart has
always served as a major influence on
popular culture, placing musicians as culturally diverse as Radiohead, Slipknot and
Daphne and Celeste side by side. However
as of 2008 and amidst a digital revolution in
music distribution, the pop single appears
to be much less of a potent force. The 00’s
have already seen the penultimate end of
Top of the Pops, the UKs long-standing musical institution that had once aimed to deliver to us the new and exciting pop music
the UK record labels had to offer. In todays
modern age we can clearly see a new era
of music distribution taking precedence online, disrupting the record industry’s sales
figures into submission. Can we still trust in
the UK pop chart to tell us what is going
on in the world of pop music?
“The pop charts used to be where
everything happened… Now the most
interesting stuff is happening outside in the independent music sector.”
Jarvis Cocker
Somewhere along the way connotations of western pop music have all but
veered towards the cult of celebrity, acting as refuge for the latest Big Brother
runner up’s karaoke dream. For me this
only highlights an aspect of pop that is
in desperate need of salvation, its credibility amongst the serious music fan.
It is not just pop that has taken a fall,
the repercussions of the record industry’s
fickle attitudes towards the pop charts
aren’t exclusive to the pop music industry.
The 00’s have marked some unlikely alterations in musical categorisation. I look back
to a defining era where to be dubbed ‘indie’
was widely understood as an artist’s refusal
of the pop present. Today’s interpretation,
where the genre ‘indie-pop’ has become a
major force in the music industry (in being
broad enough to encompass almost any
guitar or ‘attitude’ wielding band) confirms
that indie music’s credibility as an alternative culture has suffered a tragic and similar
fate to pop. Case in point – Orson. A progressive evolution or a tame dilution of alternative culture?
Parasite
Trace pop music from its commercial inception and take note of the many guises and
genres it has potentially showcased and hijacked. You could quite easily accuse a major
record label of using their manufactured pop
format to exploit and kill off many a developing musical scene or movement. And when
a pop format has seemingly met its maker it
need look no further than the latest passing
trend to reinvent itself. Take the sluggish decline of the early 90’s driven boy/girl group
format... Where another genre or movement
may have been recycled or forgotten, all the
pop music industry needed was another
marketable scene to jump aboard (as seen
in Emo or Indie Rock).
Pop music will always benefit from the
rise and fall of each music scene. The industrious forces at play will inevitably allow for
and fuel the hype machine that is necessary
to market and champion the ‘new’ and ‘exciting’ music. There will always be another moving trend to hijack, but rarely does such spotlighting transition without ill consequence to
the source. Some unfortunate musical happenings have suffered in the wake of pop
geeek
ART & WORDS
O
POP PO
P
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POPPO–
O
P
P
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15
16
A Corporate Ghost
Internet distribution in the 00’s has increasingly enabled artists to become more and
more removed from the corporate business
model, but how will the much-anticipated
death of the record industry pan out for pop
music, their flagship creation? At the end
of 2007 many publications and sales reports had already set the record industry’s
demise in statistics. Variety reported that
“overall music sales during the Christmas
shopping season were down an astounding 21% from last year.” From a business
perspective it would be hard to imagine any
industry recovering from such a drop, but
Forever Changes
In approximating this industry decline I
wondered if the rules of ‘pop music’ could
change. What could happen if the driving
force behind a ‘pop’ artist was not to ultimately reach the top of a sales chart, to
sing covers and be branded as the next pop
saviour? Perhaps a new market opposition
could quell the record industry’s thirst to
profiteer through watered down recording
trends and music void of fresh imagination,
honest critique or live show credibility. If major record labels could see other successful
means of marketing and promotion in action
then maybe we can restore some much-
needed excitement back into popular music. Negative Internet Journalism has given
a voice to disgruntled pop music fans and is
already proving to be a big threat for record
companies in becoming a key influence on
consumer purchasing, a force already feeding back into the way some of today’s bands
operate (see Pitchforkmedia).
If the record industry does fold or finally
sucumb to the ever encompassing force of
the Internet, I wonder if its pop format in its
current reality TV soddened mould would
sink with the ship or outlive the record industry and continue to metamorphosise
independently with the times? Evidence suggests there is hope still…
Ariel Pink One such artist that typifies such a split
pop notion is the L.A born, Ariel Pink (www.
myspace.com/arielpink), a recording artist
described as an “AM radio dial on auto spin”.
Ariel makes for an interesting study in pop
music, an artist inspired by the format in its
industrious constraints but who may come
across as almost the complete antithesis of
what it is to be a pop artist. Seen as a lo-fi
experimental artist, he is more affiliated with
and embraced by the indie and alternative
music communities underground, staying
much truer to the essence of ‘indie’ or ‘alternative rock’ than most bands dubbed with
those labels today. Further indebted, Ariel’s
‘Haunted Graffiti’ series of albums looks to
pop’s industrious past as a zeitgeist, channelling the nostalgia of past moments in pop
culture – adhering to production techniques
indebted to specific popular styles, jingles
that typify certain eras of popular advertising - an indie pop amalgamation far removed
SAVI OURS
Ariel Pink – The anti-industrious pop savior… Ariel
puts out lo-fi pop gems that cover everything from
80’s synth pop, Forgotten TV theme songs to 60’s
rubble infused psych pop bliss. In today’s age of home
recording, myspace profiles etc..Ariel rules the roost.
Late of The Pier – Proper good UK indie pop…This
Castle Donnington 4-piece may sound remarkably
80’s via Tears for Fears/ Human League, but they
sure know how to work an original and inventive modern pop song. Taking cues from all over the place
(Gary Numan/Talking Heads/Nu-Rave) their Fantasy
Black Channel debut LP is packed full of classic pop
weirdness to keep you coming back until you puke
like a great pic a mix. Leave it a week and go back for
more, great stuff...Also check out ‘Friendly Fires’.
Radiohead – Although not categorically pop and
fans of underground music may argue that their influence does more harm than good, they prove that being ‘popular’ does not mean to comply to a specific
formula. You can try new things and you can still top
the charts… Helps if you can write songs like Thom
Yorke though.
ART & WORDS
the record industry is no typical business
model. Is there any other industry in the
world that makes a loss on approximately
9 out of its 10 major products per year that
still remains a profitable success? As the end of 2008 nears, the record
industry still stands in finally succumbing
its attentions to online sales and new methods of distribution. One such technique as
typified by Radiohead’s recent ‘In Rainbows’
release sees the recorded format becoming something of a promotional freebie,
distributed online and even in newspapers
(Prince). Revenue may be weakening for
record sales but this methodology can succeed in increasing concert and merchandise sales – a more dependable revenue
stream. The cultural impact of an artist essentially giving their music away for free is
a complex debate, but it certainly has given
the consumer more power and control over
the music commercially fed, laying foundation for a fully blown pop democracy to rise
from the ashes of the record industry.
CONTENTS
music’s quest to be number 1…
I can be said that many emerging genres
past have been severely punked by corporate industry…Punk rock particularly (New
Found Glory/Bowling for Soup), Emo of late
(Yellowcard/30 Seconds to Mars)… Even
Indie Rock has seen some serious murking
(Scouting for Girls). I’m all for a DIY musical movement to rise to global success and
recognition but when a commercial infiltration affects the quality of the music, who is
to blame the artist or the industry? Some
musicians have been known to embrace the
lucrative commercial challenge lay before
them, indie rock fans must have seen at
least one promising band take a bad pop
u-turn whether justified or unacknowledged.
It is a frustrating thing and easy to dub a
band as ‘sell-outs’, but it is also difficult to
criticise a hard working musician for wanting to make a living out of making music.
It is understandable that a road to stardom
may appeal in spite of the sacrifices the industry may deem necessary.
P
O
P POPPOP
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18
ART & WORDS
Pop Advocate
As restrictive and one dimensional as the
music media can be, when it comes down
to it there are just too many weird and
wonderful songs that still break into the
limelight to ignore. Whether democratically elected or corporately pushed, a good
song is all that should matter. The vast appreciation of music in a place as cultural as
England is highly subjective where our differences in taste should only serve to make
for a more diverse and unpredictable pop
chart. The music industry may be able to
uniform this subjectivity through the chart
system, through mass marketing and advertising but for all of their pre-emptive hits
they will also always accept a non-conformist addition, as long as they can smell the
incoming trail of marketability (see emo).
A profitable ploy perhaps but this almost
inevitably leads to the taming and commercialism of an otherwise new and exciting
sound. For all of the well-promoted, generic
pop music thrusted upon the general public it always seemed like there used to be
a bigger platform awaiting the self made,
exciting pop music out there. The advertising media may always offer a dictatated form of pop music, they
may encourage us to buy the latest Big
Brother winner’s lame cover of an 80’s hit
once referenced in passing but it is also
this same campaigning that can turn the
general public on to a worthy new sound
or self-made community. Where the advertisement lure only entices something possibly substantial (like the pop charts), the
album could be a further lead into a new
genre, perhaps even a different era/culture of music. If you are curious enough,
the music industry can provide the confines and the stepping-stones for a journey
of much deeper musical insight than the
current pop chart may suggest. The music industry may have put the
shackles on the development of a freewandering popular music destiny, but
enough cannot be said to equate its colossal influence on musical development
over the past 60 years. These applied
boundaries have helped to channel the development of pop music into one substantial genre of its own like any other, most
notably epitomised by ‘the 3-minute pop
song’. This exists as a piece of history and
has shown many generations the notion or
loose formula of what a pop song is. Just
how many genres disassociated from pop
music are indebted to this pop format?
For me, great pop music exists both
inside and out of industry but most importantly can never be held down as any one
thing. Paradoxically, pop music is such an
open ended formula that it seems like complete madness to announce the death of a
title that ranks artists like the Beatles or
The Smiths next to Boyzone or The Pussy
Cat Dolls.
CONTENTS
from the commercially accepted term the
UK music media have spun. Listening to Ariel puts pop music and all of its industrious
history into a genre of its own, removed
from its corporate restraints and accepted
into other music communities respectably. How and where else can pop music
live on if no longer under the wing of major
record companies?
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19
Geeks Current
Listening
Me
The Walkmen - You and
The Associates - Sulk
y
Late of the Pier - Fantas
Black Channel
cl
le
Deerhunter - Microcast
Decent, Semi-Recent
music videos
Truckasaurus - Fak !!
ALTH
Crystal Castles vs HE
Alias - Resurgam
beat
Late of the Pier - Heart
Portishead - The Rip
Atlas Sound - Logos
e
Look forward to...
se
2
Buck 65 - Dir tbike 1 and
to
GZ A - Protools
ch
Volcano! - Paperwork
ea
Ratat at - LP3
on
Holiday
Grails - Doomsdayer’s
ld
Indian Jewelr y - Free Go
k
fitt i
Ariel Pink’s Haunted Gra
ic
Dungen - 4
Ratat at - Mirando
Ariel Pink - Kate I Wait
w Year
The Walkmen - In the Ne
Vignette
Evangelicals - Midnight
Excepter - Kill People
Hella - Try Dis
Mash
Radiohead - Bangers and
d Assassin
Why? - Song of the Sa
ART & WORDS
Deerhoof - Offend Maggie
Deerhunter - Weird Era Cont
The Cure - 4:13
Crystal Antlers - LP
CONTENTS
Intronaut - Prehistoricisms
20
By Federica Ubaldo
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21
In 1998 I was so out of touch with
guitar music that when a friend loaned
me a copy of the Cocteau Twins Milk &
Kisses, I thought it was quite a ‘normal’
Indie record. It took a while to see what
the fuss was about - and even then, I
would naively put the record on at parties,
expecting people to get excited about it. I had grown up listening to things like
Talking Heads, Peter Gabriel, and Brian
Eno, and I had been making pulseless,
guitar-less ambient music for five years,
so I was not well versed in guitar music
at all. I suppose I also found the guitar
itself somewhat suspect, redolent of too
much posturing and a kind of machismo
I couldn’t identify with. I liked music that
floated; the Cocteau Twins’ Robin Guthrie
was the first person I ever heard who
could make a guitar float, and his guitar
sound was such a revelation to me that I
listened to almost nothing but the Cocteau
Twins for the next three years.
Shoegaze was (and is) a genre of alternative rock that grew out of the sounds
of the Cocteau Twins, as well as drawing
upon the sound of several other bands
that were working in a similar area in the
1980’s, such as Jesus and Mary Chain and
Spacemen 3. ‘Classic’ shoegaze peaked
in the early nineties with bands like Ride,
Slowdive, and Chapterhouse – bands who
came predominantly from the Thames
22
Valley, and who were termed “The scene
that celebrates itself” in honour of their
tendency to frequent each other’s gigs.
Like the Cocteau Twins, the sound of
these bands comprised indistinguishable
vocal melodies and a guitar sound that
made extensive use of guitar effects,
leading the British music press (notably
NME and Melody Maker) to term the
genre “shoegaze” in honour of the musician’s pedal-staring stance.
I didn’t hear of any of these bands
until around 2001, by which time shoegaze was deeply, deeply unfashionable
– something of a dirty word in the United
Kingdom. As a 2007 Guardian article
said, the term “shoegazey” itself was “A
byword for naffness and overindulgence”
and a kind of music that Richey Edwards
of the Manic Street Preachers said he
“Hated more than Hitler”. I wasn’t aware
of that, but even so it took me a long
time to warm to it. But I was in a long
distance relationship with someone who
was the biggest shoegaze nut, and he
gradually hooked me on it via a series
of (yes, it was that long ago) compilation cassettes. I can’t remember what I
heard, and I thought a lot of it was shite,
to be honest – but my ears pricked up
when I heard Slowdive. I’m so glad that
they did, because if I hadn’t heard them I
probably wouldn’t be making music now.
Few albums have caused me to reassess my views as much as Slowdive’s
Just for a Day. Don’t get me wrong, I
By Daniel Land – www.myspace.com/danielland
elf
would never argue that it is a classic
album. In fact, I’m not even sure that it’s
a very good album – but what it showed
me was that it was possible to fit that ultra-ambient, floaty, Guthrie-esque guitar
within the confines of “real” song – i.e. a
song with a melody, English words, and a
pretty normal male voice. That’s the very
reason why many Slowdive purists hate
that album; but for me, it was the biggest
revelation. And, like most revelations, it
was the most blindingly obvious thing to
do – I had just never thought of it.
Of course in the background of this
discovery I was unaware that, from the
turn of the century or so, starting in the
states and filtering over to the UK, there
was the biggest new shoegaze scene
emerging. And it wasn’t clear to me quite
how big this movement was until I heard
Ulrich Schnauss’s DJ set at The Big Chill
last year. He played probably twenty of
the best shoegaze tracks I’d never heard
- and I couldn’t believe that there was so
much good, new shoegaze music in the
world; bands that I’d never even heard of.
What’s good about this new, flourishing shoegaze scene is that it seems to
have escaped the “dirty word” status of
old. Even though it still bemuses some
critics, there is undoubtedly a much
more receptive climate to shoegaze now,
something that I am sure My Bloody
Valentine (probably the most improbable reunion of recent times) are savvy
enough to realise (a reunion in the late
90’s would have been unthinkable). And it
is a testament to how far the genre has
come that the term “shoegaze” is applied
to acts as varied as (to pick two random
examples) Auburn Lull and Amusement
Parks on Fire, bands who to all intents
and purposes are polar opposites of
each other. I suspect that this is because
the term “shoegaze” has passed out its
original, specific, meaning.
The early shoegaze records of the
1990’s were seeds that took a decade and a
half to grow. And whilst recent film soundtracks (Lost in Translation for example)
and creditable artists (Ulrich Schnauss)
might have speeded shoegaze’s return,
history points out that people connect more
with dreamy music at times of word crisis
– note for instance how psychedelic music
flourished during the Vietnam War. There are
many similarities between that time and this,
actually, as we enter the sixth year in what
becomes increasingly evident is an unwinnable, unpopular war in Iraq. Under these
conditions (as Ulrich Schnauss pointed out
in the same Guardian article mentioned earlier) psychedelic escapism is a major part of
shoegaze’s appeal; or as James Chapman,
leader of Mercury prize nominated Maps,
says, “It offers a much more profound way
of trying to cope with a bad world… offering
hope rather than breaking your guitar and
shouting ‘fuck you!’”
Daniel’s Shoegaze
Sway: “Fall”
ART & WORDS
The Sheen That Celebrates Its
Playlist
Cocteau Tw ins:
“Seekers W ho
Are Lovers”
Auburn Lull: “B
roken Heroes”
Orange Yellow
Red: “Into Your
Arms”
Ulrich Schnauss
: “Monday – Pa
racetamol ”
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CONTENTS
Shoegaze:
23
24
they are still treated as a hinderance and
annoyance by motorists and pedestrians
alike. Infact, recent olympic gold medalist
Victoria Pendleton complains, “Drivers
make my life hell”. She is not the only
olympic victim of Manchester’s irate drivers, Emma Davies‑Jones, was debiliated
with a broken back after being knocked
off her bike on the way to the Velodrome
in 2005.
Pedestrians are equally as un‑compromising when cyclists take to the pavements to avoid the accident prone roads.
Although cycling on the pavement is infact
illegal, many cyclists around Manchester
have no other option, just think of the
maze of one-way streets, disappearing
cycle lanes and drivers with tunnel vision;
Find some bike-friendly routes: www.manchesterfoe.org.uk
Get involved: www.gmcc.org.uk
ART & WORDS
C
ycling in a progressive, independent
thinking city such as Manchester
should be stress-free and widely encouraged. So why are cyclists pushed into bus
lanes, off pavements and banned from
Market Street? And, if the C-Charge goes
ahead, will cyclists see any big
improvements?
The hotly debated ‘Congestion Charge’
promises improvements to the city’s cycle
environment, drawing inspiration from the
Parisian cycling climate. The promises
range from a one day hire scheme to
an expansive inner‑city cycle network.
How concrete these proposals remains a
debated topic.
Although cyclists are now a regular feature of the Manchester urban landscape,
deterrent seems to discourage scallies
from stealing the city’s bikes. Although
the council has installed designated bike
parks, they could do alot more to discourage the thieves. Bike Lockers would be
a much better option and not have your
heart racing every time you return to
check if your two wheels are still there.
There are some positives – there is a
great cycle route on a disused railroute
from Fallowfied, through Gorton, Chorlton
and onto Picadilly. And the Ashton Canal
brings cyclist from Sportcity, Ancoats and
beyond right into the city centre.
It shouldnt take a Congestion charge to
improve the citys cycle routes, the demand
is there, infact the Fallowfield to Oxford
Road route is said to be the most used
cycle route in Europe, yet cyclists share
this with buses who pull in and out every
few minutes. SImple measures could be
taken now, such as legalising cycling on
pavements and encouraging people to take
responsibility for their actions. Providing
cycle routes down both ways of the oneway streets and a cycle track down Market
Street would certainly encourage more
cyclists to abandon their cars.
If the Government wants us to get
greener then they need to make cycling
more attractive and safer. They need to
make commuting to work relaxing as opposed to a daily minefield of pedestrians,
buses, cars and one-way streets. Fewer
rules = more freedom on the roads.
CONTENTS
C is for Cycle
its enough to push the most fearless
cyclist onto the pavements. And let’s face
it, Manchester’s pavements are often
wide and uncongested. Apparently cycling
down Market Street is also prohibited
which seems ludicrous as this is the main
commuter route from Picaddily Station to
Deansgate and the surrounding Business
Districts. Thankfully cyclists flout these
stupid laws but do so under the disapproving gazes and tut-tuts from pedestrians
who seem overly protective of their precious pavements.
Granted there are some cyclists who
ignore pedestrian crossings, zoom down
Market Street and use their bikes as bulldozers through crowds, but the majority
of Manchesters cyslists are respectful
of pedestrians.
If only Manchester could follow in the
footsteps of forward thinking countries
such as Holland and allow pedestrians and
cyclists to commute in harmony. We all
know that cycle tracks belong on the pavements, not on bus lanes or next to cars
whose blind spots could knock you off at
any second.
If a cyclist followed the laws then the
freedom associated with cycling would be
diminished. Instead of free-wheeling down
Market Street in a few minutes, one would
have to detour down Oldham Road, round
the back of the Northern Quarter (avoiding countless one-way streets) then cycle
down the busy and bus-ridden Shudehill.
Thats certainly an encouragement to get
lazy Britiain cycling.
Of course there is one other major issue that hinders Manchester bike enthusiasts... the common thief. No amount of
If you’ve got any thoughts or experiences
about cycling in Manchester then discuss
it on our Facebook discussion
board here...
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25
26
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CONTENTS
ART & WORDS
28
Illustration by Murray Somerville
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ART & WORDS
The history of the Slovakian is not interrogated in British secondary schools. The break up
of Czechoslovakia is occasionally murmured out in a pub quiz or in a history of football. I
am barely a Slovakian myself, my work at North Sea Oil places me too far from home and
leaves me with a north sea accent that is crispier than most, but still blurry.
I lost my job at NSO during the recent slump. The pumps and the machinery that I
cleaned and continually enabled ran smoothly. But the oil was spoilt.
Killer whales had persistently butted the supports of the platform; the deepness did not
put them off. The seals broke and the supply was tainted. The dinner jacket appearance of
the whales kept them smart in all occasions but their hooch fuelled, supposedly charitable
antics had wasted the company away.
The weight of the whales was the first problem. Revenge in the name of employment
quickly became fuelled by my fist pumping Slovakian cousins. An improving country ignored
in British schools and viewed as a minor to its double barrelled ex. There was no true salmonella in Slovakia; it was in its surroundings.
I left for the cake sale ready to speak and donate a chocolate log. The WI meeting was
CONTENTS
Nice Jacket, Whale Man. By Jack Burston
a practical earner for those from adventurous lines of work. I nestled in to a friendly speech
and introduced my line of work and my experiences on the rigs. The room was spread with
late aged icing hair. A blue rinse covered their WI badges and price tags. As my brow was
soggy with perspiration I ended with my speediest anecdote and left the podium. I desperately needed the toilet. As I emptied my bladder, the earnings from the cakes bloomed.
I used the blue soap to rinse my hands and the patterned laminate flooring returned me to
the room.
A quiet lady began to speak with subtly endearing tongue and lip movements, her WI
badge burned a whole in my forehead. The sun bouncing from the pin badge crinkled up like
my North Sea accent and I shuffled over to the side of the room after excusing myself and
shut the curtains. Each window gradually closed in as I drew the drapes. As a little bit of
dusk covered the confectionaries at the opposite end of the country hall, I drew my harpoon
from my umbrella and pointed it at the nearest bystander.
The shaking women emptied out the earnings from the cake sale and removed jewellery and cash from themselves. The customers of the cake sale were equally elderly and
removed everything in to the big bucket that I had presented. The umbrella held the harpoon
again and I left the hall. My car drove through the burgeoning housing estates that circled
the small village. The red brick paving of the new communities cupped my wheels until they
revolted, gripped and speeded me up all the way to the supermarket for my weekly shop.
The bow tie that had completed my dinner jacket for this Virgil Tescin Foundation party
flew across the room as I dove through the penguin whales that surrounded the dance floor.
There he was the whale of them all, I carried my slipping shoes up the swirling flight of stairs
that led to the landing where a few more gorillas sat talking. The umbrella was tucked under
my arm. It prodded a few people incidentally and then fell down but I apologised in Slovak
and proceeded to the very top of the stairs, the landing. I slipped on the carpet, its adhesive
seal was defunct and my legs flew higher than my waist. Regaining my posture I proceeded
to the conversation and interrupted the black, white shiny king.
“You killed the company, wail all you like; you’re stuck on the surety Virgil.” My speech
struck dead the party. But in the black and white uniformity, blue rinse emerged and the
softly spoken WI member rolled up to the bottom of the stairs in a turquoise wheelchair. She
spoke to me carefully in a Slovak tongue completely devoid of the Czech mistakes that had
seeped in to the modern form. Her calm tone waved up the stairs, but I could not hear words
through the awkward calls of Virgil Tescin and turned and fired the harpoon in to his white
breast. The collapse of his chest cavity appalled the surrounding crew, and I was thrust
down the stairs and ended up broken armed in the lap of the blue rinse Slovakian.
The Virgil Tescin Foundation had a mascot, and as he passed in to the ambulance, my
Police flankers allowed me to see the mallard so poignantly placed on his now red broach. Instantly, I could see my ex workmates picking up the paper and staring at the Prime Minister
holding the commemorative Virgil Tescin Foundation mallard mug in his hands, saluting the
now dead chairman of NSO and the creator of the charity. I hoped that they would cheer.
29
Rough and thick crust and hide swells, bulging, cracked, burst; rock-face broken out all
over in eruptive tree-bark knot-holes.
E.S.P-ioanrkage
by Douglas P
Rigid, coarse and parched outer scar-tissue opened up. Clean wounds, gaping orifices,
fresh blossom and vulnerable shellfish become unearthed and shown off. Wares put out
on display for inspection glow brightly. Ever-watchful and wide-awake eyes spring into
action; none falter, blink, grow tired, sore or needing rest.
Armoured fortress closes tight shut again, although not healing over or sealed;
hairline‑fractures allow each sleepless inmate scope to watch, unhindered, enjoying
panoramic sight range afforded.
Witnesses and jury track every monitored case-study subject’s slightest expression,
pose, gesture, mannerism, movement, activity, encounter and exchange; never
knowingly out-stared or missing anything.
Once noticed (or rather, caught) by them, any escape-bid to freedom or attempt at
shaking off these invincible clutches and binding proves futile.
Sheer path and impact of their merest idle glance or focussed gaze is actually felt;
intense sensations malinger, surviving far into advanced longevity; marks made and
change caused, wherever they touch and rest.
Ability and right is exercised to see straight through surface, interior, contents and
surroundings of even the most opaque substances; before passing beyond and over that
towards great distances.
The very same applies when looking sideways, around corners–and for rear-view behind.
ART & WORDS
Sometimes, other’s vision and this considerable force meet, overlapped, adhering.
30
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CONTENTS
Swallowed intelligence gleaned travels, conducted along veins and wiring, headed for
hidden secret depths within; as well as exhaled, shone, blown and flung outwards; both
channels eventually reach ultimate destinations, where findings await and undergo
consideration, processing and usage. Accumulative intake multi-layered laminate
compresses; firm, hardening, solidified, unshiftable; cavities blocked, full up; gains
stuck, irretrievably lodged. Knowledge databank mineral resources sought and won in
vain–unless somehow possible to unravel apart or melt together. Until then, acquisition
exceeds storage facilities, while surplus extract overflows.
31
Summer
came to me
by Stuart Hampton
CONTENTS
ART & WORDS
This painting is a portrait of
Howlin’ Wolf as I am a great
fan of his music. I’ve tried
to express what i believe to
be Howlin’ Wolf’s personality
in the autum forest background. Its supposed to
represent how Howlin Wolf
lived in a warm sphere of
creativity and music- Impervious to influence and change.
This picture is also supposed
to evoke feelings of calm in
those who view it and make
them imagine the warmth
of the gentle autum forest
and the sound of music and
leaves blowing in the wind.
32
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33
In a world of
my own
by Stuart Hampton
CONTENTS
ART & WORDS
This painting for me
represents one mans moment of escapism from the
noisy and chaotic city– the
colours of the sky show
all thecolours the sky can
be during one day– this
represents the diluted
time boundaries during his
meditation and how time
can travel in random order.
The music coming from the
subject replaces the noise
of the carsand city and
summons the flowers and
their colourful energy. It’s
also about the power of nature and how this power can
be enjoyed during moments
of reflection.
34
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35
The Ladybird Trail by Lindsay Kernahan
I
t was upon waking that it became apparent I was living in my dreams,
36
clic k her e to vis it
Illustration: Jenn Alexandra Anderson
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CONTENTS
ART & WORDS
and the place I found myself in I had been there before but the reason for this
were unknown to me. Above the sky was a mixture of light and dark purples, the
colour of a fresh bruise. The stars were bright red like warning lights telling me not
to be here, perhaps, but there was no choice. Trees surrounded me, trees that were
an orange colour reaching far up into the sky hurting my eyes to look at them for a
long time. Feeling misplaced but at the same time oddly feeling as though it was here
that I belonged I decided that my only choice was to start walking. When walking into
the trees there branches began opening up to let me through then closing behind me
viciously with loud snaps. The trees looked as though they had faces in them but it
might have just been owls, there must have been some creature there as I could hear
rustling and strange noises while walking.
It felt as though I had been walking for miles when I met her. When meeting her it
became clear that she was expecting me, for she did not flinch or look surprised when
she saw me. She was sat on a wooden table outside a small hut; this presumably was
her house. I began walking slowly and carefully towards her feeling unsure of what it
was she wanted with me.
‘Come closer,’ were the first words she spoke.
I walked over and sat down next to her. She was much older than I had first thought.
She had orange hair which flowed into the trees, entwining them together. Her eyes
were an amber colour rooted deep inside her head and when she looked at me they
made me feel alive. My heart gave a thump, then again, then again. Then a feeling of
nothingness fell over me, just a feeling of peace.
‘I cannot tell you much’ she stopped and breathed in and out slowly, she looked
distressed and turned away from me to look towards the trees. ‘All that can be said to
you is, you must keep walking. You will know what to do when you get to where your
heart takes you.’ At this she turned back to me and stared straight into my eyes. Again
something changed inside of me; it felt as though my heart was trying to escape my
body. It pounded against my chest, but just as quickly as it had started it stopped and
remained still. She then pointed into the trees to a small path ‘follow that’ she said and
then she walked away from me into her hut. I watched as her hair became untangled
with the trees, leaving long vines dragging across the ground as she walked.
I got up and started towards the trees and as I did I’m sure I heard her say ‘I hope
she makes the right choice.’ But I could not be sure, not much was certain in my mind
at that time. I began to follow the path which the old woman had pointed to even when
it kept changing direction making me think that I was walking around in circles but I
stayed on it, trusting her words. Then I came to a dead end. Quickly turning around and
37
It
cleawas
m nsi
cleae and ng
my nsin
sou g
l.
38
the weather began to
change behind me
e open arms
th
to
in
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at
p
e
th
n
w
I ran do
behind me
at
th
g
in
w
o
n
k
s
ee
tr
of the
sing securing one
o
cl
e
er
w
es
ch
n
ra
b
the
.
world from another
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ART & WORDS
s
he
c
n
ra ed it o
b
t
Itseachfromt in
r ut igh
o tra sky
s e
th
world. They were unsuccessful though as the tree was far too heavily rooted to this one.
The weather began to change behind me; no longer did it rain and no longer did my
tears fall. I had not even realised that they were my own tears until I stopped crying.
Although they did not feel like my own they felt like someone else’s tears falling down
my face. It felt as though someone was there with me but I could not figure out who it
was. Searching around me but still
no one appeared in fact there was
nothing there once more. Everything
else had disappeared except the
tree that was straight in front of me.
Hoping to wake up at any time for
this was the strangest dream I had
ever had. It felt as though this dream
world was becoming more real than reality itself, even reality’s memory was falling away
from me.
Turning towards the tree I instinctively wanted to touch it, it felt as though it willed
me to and it worked for when I did the tree began to open up revealing a dark misty
colour pouring from it. The mist then began to subside so I kneeled down to see where
it had been coming from. As my eyes adjusted to the dark colours an image appeared,
an image of my bedroom at home. There it was before my eyes and at that moment
realising I could go back there, back to my bed with the blue quilt on it, pick up my book
that lay on my desk unfinished, go back to normality. I began to take steps away from
the tree all the time my eyes still rested on the image of my room. The mist appeared
to be fading from the tree showing me that there were only seconds left to decide my
fate. At that moment footsteps echoed in the distance in my mind growing closer and
closer to me and when I turned around Mary, the girl from the swamp, appeared from
an opening in the trees.
‘Chloe.’ She shouted. ‘There is something you must come and see. Something
amazing has just happened!’ At that she turned and ran back into the trees leaving
me gazing at the path she had just stood on, wondering if she had been there at all.
As I stared I noticed one small leaf fall down from the tree, it looked as though it was
dancing in the wind. Following its journey to the ground for what seemed like minutes
but could only have been seconds I made my choice. I ran down the path into the open
arms of the trees knowing that behind me the branches were closing securing one world
from another.
CONTENTS
realising the path had disappeared, the trees had gone, even the bright red stars now
had faded away; I was left facing nothing. There was nothing at all around me. I stood in
darkness listening to my own breath, breathing in and out. Then as if out of nowhere a
young girl suddenly appeared in front of me.
‘Hello,’ she said and smiled ‘My name is Mary. I was only born yesterday, although I
look much older now’
‘My name is Chloe,’ came my reply.
‘I know it is,’ she laughed and ran off towards a lake, a lake that seemed to be
suddenly there and which I assumed had always been there. I followed her noticing that
the lake was not a lake at all but more of a swamp with dead bugs and
leaves floating on top of it.
‘Fancy a swim?’ She asked innocently. Her eyes seemed to light up at
this suggestion turning a light green colour, shining right on to me.
‘No’ I said and shook my head. ‘The water doesn’t seem very inviting’
‘It’s a lot nicer than you would think,’ she shouted as she dived
under the water.
When she came back up she tried to grab my hand and pull me in
but I managed to step back just in time.
‘Come down and help me.’ As she spoke her voice began to quiver.
She then made one last attempt to grab my legs and pull me into
the water.
‘I don’t want to go in there with you.’ I screamed, unsure to what
she wanted with me; it was then that she began to cry.
‘You could have helped me.’ She shouted. She then dived back into
the water and did not come back up again. I waited though; I waited
for what seemed like an eternity.
Sitting by the swamp watching day become night or night become
day it was hard to tell here as the colours seemed to change from one
extreme to the next. The sky was olive with the stars now a bright
pink. As this transaction occurred the path became visible once more,
it was bright and inviting. I stood up and started to walk, walk to where
I still had no idea at all.
While walking it started to rain, small green drops from the sky
landed on my skin and took longer to evaporate than normal rain but
maybe this was normal rain to me now. My old life disappearing as each drop poured
over my skin, it was cleansing me and cleansing my soul. It was making me become a
new person, washing away my old self and all my sins.
Being so caught up in my thoughts I did not notice that I had arrived in front of the
biggest tree I had ever seen in all my life. Its branches reached out from it straight into
the sky, as though they were reaching up to heaven, pulling themselves up out of this
39
Illustration: Federica Ubaldo
geeek
41
Lizard Men
CONTENTS
tion of
and evolu
structions
transmit in
rison
d en
s ha d ow p
eathes hid
ntience br
sinister se
solid skin
ptile skin
fizzling re
crackling
king
s nest loc
n parasite e
chameleo
ch
to the psy
deactimanacles
n species
e in huma
frontal- lob
vated
40
Written by A.D.Hitchin, 2008.
ART & WORDS
breed psychic.
they enter ether and
burning in sun
lizard random mutations deviations
lizard people
parasites hatch in flickering vision
gs
d e t a ch e d
y play-thin
placated b
sex sated
n
tails hidde
they exist
ision
ickering v
hatch in fl
parasites
ple
tions
lizard peo
ions devia
om mu t at
lizard rand n
su
burning in
et h er a nd
they enter
chic.
breed psy
n of
nd evolutio .
ructions a
, 20 0 8
nsmit inst
.D.H it ch in
rWisriottnen by A
d en
s ha d ow p
eathes hid
ntience br
sinister se
solid skin
ptile skin
fizzling re
crackling
king
s nest loc
n parasite
chameleo
ch e
to the psy
actimanacles
pecies de
n h u ma n s
they exist
tails hidden
sex sated placated by play-things
detached
frontal-lobe in human species deactivated
manacles to the psyche
chameleon parasites nest locking
crackling fizzling reptile skin
solid skin
sinister sentience breathes hidden
shadow prison
transmit instructions and evolution of
Lizard Men
2
about twenty-odd boarded the train and sat on the opposite side of the aisle to where I
was. She had a skirt suit on and sensible walking brogues, her legs were bare, golden,
well shaped, her hair was black and glided over her shoulders and down her back, her
curves were marvellous, like the Pennines. I never spoke to the girl on the train, I didn’t
feel confident enough, I was too tired, however her beauty kept me from nodding off. I
never slept, but instead divided my time betwixt staring out at the rolling hills, the awe
inspiring vales, where with my blunt and blood shocked peepers I fondled the mammary
glands of this well shaped rural landscape whilst intermittently looking the girl up and
down, and I’ll admit it, I imagined allsorts, like what she looked like stripped down to
her tight stockings and rigging. Fifty five minutes later we arrived into Sheffield, the girl
slowly made her way off the train. I never saw her again. Though there was something
magical about that. It felt magical because it was to always remain unblemished and
uncorrupted, it felt divine in the sense of the girl’s surroundings, what accompanied the
spectacle of this person before me being an evergreen beauty and the untarnished,
42
rather than say a rowdy dance floor, a grimy street or my filthy headboard. It felt pure. I
boarded the second train and waited for near enough fifteen minutes for it to pull out of
the stone and steel of Sheffield. The countryside beyond approaching Chesterfield is a
bit of a non entity, fairly flat, like a woman’s stomach, though compared to North Derbyshire; near enough anything’s svelte, particularly between Sheffield and Leicester.
About two rows in front of me was a boy of about ten, with his mum. He was a
proper smart arse, he was filling out a Friends quiz by the sounds of it, all I heard was
Chandler this, Phoebe that and Central Perk the other. It got on my nerves. His squeaky
voice went straight through me, I needed some sleep bad, but I couldn’t get comfortable
because his soppy tone made me feel like I was rubbing my fingers down a blackboard.
That aside I also realised they were heading for
3
London St Pancras, which was a ball ache because it meant the little bastard was on the
train all the way through to Leicester and beyond. So many times I clenched my fists,
I was tired and restless and sexually frustrated. I just wanted to tell him to shut it. The
Trans-Pennine express takes you through the heart of the wonderful English countryside,
the pert breasts of this eligible female. The Midland mainline network between Sheffield
and London hurtles you through Derby, dog shit and blackened power station cooling
towers. Christ what a contrast! We persisted, ducking and diving through Loughborough,
going down, down, stiffening, becoming taught. And then on, permeating the Northern
fringes of Leicester, I sat back and smiled, I could almost hear the accent calling me,
and the thought of Gallowtree Gate, London Road, Granby Street and Blaby warmed my
tired ticker. I was nearly back. I was approaching home, this semi-erotic encounter nearing its final climax, its inevitable apogee. The narrow shoulder of Leicester’s skyline got
closer and closer. I was smiling, but boy was I ratted, boy was I tired. The train arrived,
slipping smoothly, penetrating slowly the moist, quivering insides of Leicester’s London
road station. I quickly shot up and shuffled along the aisle to the door, making sure I
gave that kid a disdainful look, one that would hopefully make him stop and consider his
actions, one that would make him aware that I thought he was an arse. The rabble of
Cockney’s on the crowded platform waiting to board the train annoyed me further and
made me increase my pace. I began barging through until I felt a slightly more powerful
thud on my arm. I stopped and looked round; it was David Blunkett, flanked by guide
dogs and a two man security installation. The tiredness effected my perception, my
judgement and my intelligence; I stood there and muttered, ‘Look where you’re going
you prick.’ I was tired, no sleep till Leicester. No sleep till finishing this encounter. I felt
euphoria, I wanted to lie back and have a cigarette.
4
ART & WORDS
NO SLEEP TILL LEICESTER The glass jaw of Manchester’s Piccadilly Station opened,
allowing me to probe and circulate around its insides as I staggered towards the elevated
information point. So many places, Aberdeen, Crewe, Darlington, Elsmere, Huddersfield,
Kensal Green, Luton, all the classics, my gaze finally arrived upon the pot of gold at the
end of the rainbow, Sheffield. A quick flit to the right confirmed it all, platform 5, 12.18,
on time. Virgin trains had stopped running its direct line to Leicester over a year ago,
so since then there was always a changing point. I always went for Sheffield because it
took you through the never tiring wonderment of the Pennines, its configurations and the
womanly curves of its landscape. I had carried out the journey so many times that I could
easily close my eyes and still give a running commentary, but I had to look, its curves
were too enchanting. I approached platform 5 and stood, surrounded by hesitation and
studiousness, the random people adding self importance to their existence through
travelling, a form of self gratification that suggests ability to network successfully from
identical town to identical town...Bollocks to any of that, I just wanted to get home, and
sharpish. I needed some sleep, I felt tired, I had been up since half five that morning
working. The train arrived and I hastily got on to get a good seat, you know one where
you’re facing the direction of the train’s motion. I did. I sat down and hoisted my bag on
the rack, craning my neck upwards again and again to check I’d brought my bag with me
and didn’t leave it on the platform. I settled down; checking, double checking, then triple
checking I had my wallet and phone in my pockets. I did.
The train pulled out right on the tick and increased in speed, the ease of its movement slicing, cutting through Gorton, Levenshulme and Heaton Chapel like a knife
through butter. Ten minutes later we staggered into Stockport and a girl of
CONTENTS
1
By Philip Clark
geeek
43
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