(This is the full version of an article I wrote at the end of March for Reveal Magazine. I’ve done a bit more since then )

Tricky feller, Johnny Memory. When asked by Reveal head-honcho Tom to write about my year so far (“Keep it clean, Mishra! And none of your free-form Kerouacian rambling!”), my mind immediately flew to those magical nights swimming with fluorescent sea life off the coast of Antigua. What a wonderful memory!

And then I realised that wasn’t my memory, it was a surfeit of Discovery Channel and mature cheddar. I’ve actually been stuck in Derby all year, squashed under the grey cloud-dome like an ant under the heel of a fat nun.

But I’ve been a busy ant, slipping out to many gigs, one of them the lovely FREE Laura Veirs and Gina Villalobos in-store at Reveal. What a spookily marvellous event! To be able to stand a couple of feet away from Laura Veirs as she crooned ‘Icebound Stream’ was amazing.

I’ve also been busy because there’s so much great new music coming out every week that it’s a struggle to keep up with the new releases. I guess my favourite new rock CD so far this year is Wintersleep’s excellent album (untitled so we’ll have to call it 2005).

Wintersleep are a four-piece from Halifax, Nova Scotia. Their new album is breathtaking: it moves from urgent, thrumming rock to floaty, introspective ballads. At their loudest, they remind me of prime QotSA or perhaps At The Drive-In. It’s the tautness of Wintersleep’s music that hooks the listener, this is unashamedly muscular, powerful rock. It’s far more “traditionally” rocky than most of the post-punk, angular juddering currently coming from Britain. The poppiest track is ‘Jaws of Life’ and I can honestly say every single person I’ve played this tune to has wanted to buy the album. It’s that catchy!

Wintersleep epitomise all that’s great about the modern music scene. They’re a small, independent band making and releasing world-class music on their own label (Dependent Records). The only reason I own a copy of their CD is that I found them via the internet. Without the net, it’d be impossible for me to ever hear bands like this. Why? Because the old media is sewn-up by the majors.

Take a look around, every mass-media outlet is saturated with the anodyne sludge released by the majors. And if you flick through the music magazines, TV channels and radio stations, this is the same aural clag that assaults you. A good way to go completely mental is to flick through the twenty or so MTV-type channels on telly. All those channels, all showing the same ten goddamned videos.

I’m not saying all major-label music is dull and worthless, just 95%. It’s no accident that the most vital and exciting music is all coming out on tiny labels, labels like Dependent :

“Dependent Music is an indie record label/artist collective working hard to promote our talented artists and their music. Started by a couple of bands in Yarmouth, Nova Scotia, in 1994. Dependent Music has grown over the years and now represents musicians throughout Canada at various levels in their careers. Owned and operated by the artists themselves.”

Does that sound familiar? Well, it should do, it’s the same formula behind Dischord, K, Chemikal Underground and so many other beloved indie labels.

Of course, independent labels don’t just release “indie” music (thank god!). Another of the other best records so far this year is released via Planet Mu Records, the electronic madness specialists. It’s Venetian Snares’ ‘Rossz Csillag Allat.’

If you’ve ever searched for something musically startling, if you’ve ever wanted music to be more than karaoke wallpaper, if you’ve ever wanted to kick in the telly when yet-another manufactured pop-punk band gurn their way into your life, this album is for you.

Venetian Snares (real name Aaron Funk) has made an album that veers from shy, bovine beauty to extreme ear-mashing nastiness. This is uneasy listening at its finest. The bloke is a gold-plated fucking genius. Who else could make an album that simultaneously evokes Bela Bartok and Ed 209? ‘Második Galamb’ starts with chuntering about a pigeon and some Herrmann-esque strings before journeying into some wild nether-plane pigeons, and humans, don’t belong. I love it. Admittedly, when I’ve DJed it in the Bless, people have left, wincing, but I count that as a success. They were probably off home to stick some Celine Dion or Killers on.

This is a record that I simply couldn’t imagine a major label issuing. They have no understanding of music like this: it’s not “radio-friendly,” it won’t “shift units.” Without Mike Paradinas and his label Planet Mu, I’d never have this shimmering masterpiece. Planet Mu, surely they must be quite posh and well-off? Ummm…nope!

“Well, the label is run entirely by Mike Paradinas and it doesn’t have an office (just a computer & a telephone in his bedroom) or employees as such; Mike gets no wages for his work in running Planet Mu (YET! I live in hope) but we sometimes hire publicity folk to do the press or radio for a particular release. Attila Schmidt (aka schmee) created & maintains www.planet-mu.com also for no financial reward (I bet he lives in hope too). Gee, we must love the music, either that or we are stupid.”

Have a look at this excellent feature on Planet Mu. What does it tell you?

Well, it’s a label of love. It’s basically one bloke, trying to release music that would otherwise end up…well, where? I can’t imagine EMI releasing Shitmat, can you? It’s these tiny labels that independent shops like Reveal support. When you stick down your tenner+ for Venetian Snare’s new album, it’s going through that independent chain back to Planet Mu. Don’t kid yourself that all record labels are full of cigar-puffing fatcats exploiting their artists. A lot of them are like Planet Mu.

As usual, I’ve rambled too much. My space has gone and I haven’t even covered the hundreds of other great albums that have come out so far in 2005. Suffice it so say, if you haven’t got the plump, new babies from Sage Francis, The Decemberists, Stars, Adam Green, Seven Ark…well, you’re missing out!

I’m off to put on Venetian Snares and stick my head between the speakers.
Ta-ra, ya shitters!

Some DIY enthusiasts

(This is an article I did for Sandman Magazine)

Gather round, my beloved karass, and let me tell of olden times when it was all vinyl and Strawberry Story badges round here, when men were boys and girls used to hold their coats at the back of gigs, simpering like mute toddlers. Okay, perhaps it was a bit rubbish, remembering “the scene” without the honey glaze of nostalgia.

But one thing was better: DIY.

By which I don’t mean shelves, I mean DIY as in music, as in the ethic that was born with punk and then blossomed in the hundreds of tiny post-punk and indie labels.

Here’s how it was: if you’ve got an idea, form a band, hit your guitars a bit, book a gig, play. Hell, if you can’t be arsed to learn the guitar, prod some keyboards. All that counts is the idea, not technique. Technique is for Dire Straits. If you’re not a musician, take pics, write fanzines (yep, PAPER fanzines), become a label. It’s not rocket science, it’s not high commerce, it’s music, it’s art. And it shouldn’t be in the hands of a business or media elite. It’s ours, not theirs.

Here’s how it is now:

How do we get signed? I wanna get signed. I want to be be famous. What for? Dunno. Ummm… what music shall we make? Dunno – what’s on the front cover of the NME this week? We just go to our mates’ gigs, fuck everyone else. How do we get signed? Bands aren’t real bands unless they’re on MegaCorp Records. What do you mean art? Ideas? So…can you get us signed?

Can you spot the subtle difference?

Of course, the above is a poor satire, an eggy exaggeration. But not by much. There seems to be a huge, flummying layer of passivity in a lot of musicians nowadays.

What’s superstring strange about this is that so much is easier now. Bear with me…

I released the first White Town single because no other bugger wanted to. It cost around £800 for a thousand 7”s. I had to sort out the (minimal) artwork, test pressings, liase with the pressing plant. That 7” lead me to other labels, it was a teeny musical virus travelling round the world on my behalf. Making a CD was just a fevered wet dream at that stage, beyond the reach of ordinary indie mortals. CD mastering, glass wotsits, all arcane technomagic to me.

Now, practically every Western musician has access to a computer that can burn a CDR. Even if you’re too skint to have your own computer, schools, Unis and community music courses will let you tinker.

And yet…

Where are the CDR labels? Why aren’t bands selling CDRs at gigs? Why aren’t people releasing CDRs of bands they love, not as one-offs or giveaways but as little labels of love? There seems to be a snobbery against CDRs, that they’re not posh enough to sell. My god, if I could have bought a simple, CD-quality release in 1989, I’d have one less kidney now.

From my grumpy old bloke perspective, it seems a lot musicians are sitting round, waiting for permission to exist, to release music. Instead of gigging and releasing albums, they wait for the glorious big break. Instead of forming their own labels, they want the clout of a major behind them. Imagine if the people behind Dischord, Chemikal Underground and so many other indie labels had thought the same. What bands wouldn’t we have heard?

What I’d love to see is an explosion of DIY. I’d love to see people starting up labels, web/fanzines, bands, art movements for no other reason than PURE FUCKING FUN. Not as a step towards a career as a TV presenter or writing inaccurate reviews for the grown-up papers.

I want people to reclaim music from the corporations who see it as simply a “cool” way to sell more cans of carbonated cack. Technology bludgeons us every day, it’s time we mastered it and used it to our advantage. The possibility for positive musical communities, collaboration and organisation has never been greater.

Maybe you’re thinking, ‘Hey I do all that! With my clubnight, my band, my studio, my zine, my skiffle masterclass, MY HAIR!’ Well, good for you, chubby chops. None of the above is aimed at you.

But if you’re a musician waiting for fame, what are you waiting for? No-one, least of all corporate capital, can validate your art. You either are a musician or you aren’t. Simple. Or, as the little green fella said:

“Do, or do not. There is no ‘try’.”

UPDATE:
Have a look here for a reaction to my article.