My last Artrocker column…
For the last six years or so, I’ve written a column for the splendid music magazine Artrocker. But I decided to stop doing it after issue 100… it’s nice to finish on a round number, I think.
Anyway, I thought I’d post it up here, as I felt it needed an online home for posterity, and also because it’s interesting to reflect on what’s happened to the music industry in those years.
News from the Back<o:p></o:p>
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I’m leafing through the first printed edition of Artrocker.
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I’ve kept every edition since the first was published, and despite living in the electronic age it is the only place where I’ve got a copy of every word of this here column. Computer viruses and user carelessness has seen to that.
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October 4th, 2004. Kaito on the front. Remember Kaito? Yeah.
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With each turn of the delicately yellowing pages, names from the past ring out. Sounds and times are recalled, and the mind plays tricks.
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Each song rocks clearer, harder, the vitriol freshly brewed and canned. At each show, we are closer to the front, with a better view. The band is amazing, and the set list is perfect. There are two encores. The beer is cheaper.
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(Actually, the beer probably was cheaper. Keynes’ fourth economic principle; alcohol inflation rises in direct correlation with the fondness of memories).
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“The next Futureheads single will be a remixed version of live favourite ‘Hounds of Love’…”<o:p></o:p>
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TV On The Radio play their fourth UK show, Giant Drag support Trouble Everyday down at the Buffalo Bar. 80s Matchbox are still together, The Delgados are still together.
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About twenty-seven people have ever seen the Arctic Monkeys play live, and Myspace is as likely to get a mention on the BBC One Six O’Clock news as what Alex Turner ate for dinner last night.
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Lily Allen has only ever been mentioned in the newspaper in articles about her dad, Lady Gaga is still a Williamsburg waiter called Kevin.
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“Out now on Domino… Archie Bronson Outfit – Fur, Franz Ferdinand – Franz Ferdinand…”<o:p></o:p>
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The Long Blondes release singles on obscure Sheffield indie labels, Battles release EPs on obscure New York labels. Pete Doherty is still turning up for shows, Selfish Cunt is still a funny name for a band, Elliot Smith is still alive, John Peel is still alive.
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Youtube has not been invented, Spotify has not been imagined, Doctor Who is an old TV series with wobbly sets that they cancelled in the eighties.
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Interpol review: “This is a band on the brink of huge success… this sold-out show is part of a perfectly co-ordinated assault supporting imminent second album ‘Antics’…”<o:p></o:p>
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And then, finally, I turn to the last page; the back page. News From The Back.
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See, it’s like ‘news from the front’? Except it’s from the back. The back of the magazine, the back of the venue, the cynic who won’t join in, the kid who gets sent to the corner at parties. I was the man who was professionally tired by it all.
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In my time, I’ve railed against, well, everything. For example, in the first issue people who sing along at gigs; “seemingly unaware that whilst the singer on stage is hitting (most of) the notes, they are merely braying like a tuneless Wookie”.
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Then singers, generally. Second albums about ‘the music industry’. Bono (often). The death of Fopp, the over supply of music, DRM, The Camden Crawl, lazy musicians, record labels and their fuckwittedness (often). The list goes on.
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But now, nearly six years on, the time has come to write the last back page. I’m tired of being tired. Withering sarcasm takes it out of you after a while.
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I’d like to thank you, the reader, for the occasional eye you cast this way. I’d like to thank Tom, Paul, Marc and Rich at Artrocker. Rich especially, who would always turn around an unerringly arch illustration for the column despite copy arriving usually a week after it was due.
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And I’d like to thank the music industry in general, for attracting the lowest of the species, the dregs of humanity. You made it impossible to be short of material. Thank you one, thank you all.
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Don’t get me wrong, there’s plenty still to hate. But for me, my hating days are done.
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I’m not Danny Glover. It’s not that I’m too old for this shit.
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I’m just too young for it to be the only shit I ever do.
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