045

Quite unexpectedly shocked, and saddened, by the end of Plan B. My first boarding of the Everett True juggernaut was through the magazine's predecessor, Careless Talk Costs Lives, after Stephen Pastel suggested ET get me on board. My relationship with both magazines was always at a slight remove - sympathetic to their general approach, I often had a hard time reconciling my aesthetics with their choices for cover artists, features, etc. Nonetheless I admired their doggedness, their preparedness to take chances on groups or collectives whose art was still in process, which works as a keen analogy for Plan B's general editorial focus, its 'ideology'.

I also have some very fond memories of working with the CTCL/Plan B editorial team, whether unsuccessfully arguing the case for Roisin Murphy with Frances Morgan and Everett (which eventually came round full circle when Louis Pattison kindly invited me to interview my favourite pop star for The Revenge Of... column), writing columns on free jazz and improvised music (the lovely Stew Beard even dates his interest in Brotzmann to my writing, which is frankly a thought I can't really get my head around), and fulfilling one dream - to essay my take on the early history of Flying Nun in print form, something which is now 'mootedly' taking on the shape of a post-PhD book.

Towards the end of last year I bowed out of writing for Plan B as a slightly political unilateral disarmament with the English press, but I made sure to call Frances Morgan to talk to her - for the first time in the several years we'd been working together. I guess that says something about how bad I am at maintaining communication. But Frances was as warm and generous across phone lines as she was via e-mail, and reassured me I was welcome back at any time. It's sad to think there'll be no 'any time' anymore.

Truth be known, I'd been having a few ideological problems with the content of the magazine in the latter part of 2008, which also motivated me to take an extended break, but recently I've been enjoying Plan B again, feeling it was really getting 'somewhere', re-forming its character. Certainly, its warmth and generosity made for a nice change from some of its peers, and if some of the writing still felt a bit 'undergraduate', I appreciated that Plan B left some of its pages open for writing that was developing from word to word, exploring, searching - people finding and formulating their voices.

So, words of kindness to the people I worked with there - Everett True, Louis Pattison, kicking_k, Lauren Strain, Stevie Chick, and of course to Frances Morgan, who was the beating heart of the outfit. Thanks for offering me, and a lot of other great writers (word to Ned Raggett, Doug Mosurock, and Daniel Barrow in particular), a platform from which to speak.

044

I HATE DAVID LYNCH. And maybe the Coen Brothers.

043

Good to see mates in the fray, particularly when it's David Keenan and his Hidden Reverse.

042

Me, elsewhere:

Dieter Roth at The Narrows, and an introduction to the (recently finished) Melbourne International Jazz Festival, at Realtime. I'm reviewing MIJF for Realtime too.

Loren Chasse and Michael Northam, Harmonic 313, and the handsome Ben Klock, for Dusted.

On the stereo:

St Helens Heavy Profession, DotDash.
Sonic Youth The Eternal, Matador.
Condofucks Fuckbook, Matador.
Mum Smokes Easy/House Music, Sensory Projects.
Lakes Cloven, R.I.P. Society.
Losoul Care, Playhouse.
The Skaters Dispersed Royalty Ornaments, Wabana.
Arthur Russell The Sleeping Bag Sessions, Sleeping Bag.
Camera Obscura My Maudlin Career, 4AD.
PJ Harvey & John Parish, A Woman A Man Walked By, Island.
The World Is Shaking: Cubanismo From The Congo, 1954-55, Honest Jons.

041

Nice to see a great, incisive response to this pile of crud*. My only bone of contention:

doesn’t hauntology threaten to become an exercise in good taste, in the right kind of nostalgia?

About six months too late, mate.

* Addendum: having said that, he's completely right about the cover of "Superstar".

040

All this talk about Animal Collective is making me a bit antsy. Not because I don't enjoy Merriweather Post Pavillion; it's a very good record, though like Simon, I feel gorged after listening, sweet tooth at its sickliest. I'm more frustrated at the dichotomous nature of everyone's listening experience: that Dissensus conversation where the lack of 'ferociousness/violence' is argued down by 'basking in happiness'. Indulging in Animal Collective as pure pleasure, the Appolonian/positivity vibe, conveniently forgets the anxiety that's key to Animal Collective's music, something Mike Powell articulates when discussing how they 'fret over whether their capacity for youthful abandon is waning', how they are 'a band that focuses on the murk and trauma of firsts'.

So I can't really get with this idea of Merriweather Post Pavillion as blissed-out idyll. Similarly, if music's about due to reflect the wave of post-Obama 'Appolonian principles', I'll be intrigued to see where it lands when 'The New Austerity' that's promised sinks its teeth in - I daresay things like Animal Collective are going to seem indulgent...teeth-rottingly sugary. If anything, austerity is going to lead us down a path of worthiness that many are going to find quite wearing. Thinking about the hard graft, aesthetic/economic stability/durability, belt-tightening that people are expecting, I ended up thinking of... oh, Lucinda Williams? The notion should make both Reynolds and Greil Marcus shudder, but for different reasons. (Lucinda Williams has always fascinated me as someone who draws ire from two different camps for two fundamentally different reasons: way too dull and worthy for the popists, she nonetheless cops the inauthenticity rap from Marcusians.)

Personally I'd be happy if the coming years were soundtracked by The Ex, The Mekons, etc. But I might be in the minority there. When I interviewed Kristin Hersh earlier today, we discussed folk models of existence and the idea of community responsibility through music, something that the po-mo haze of much music crit of the last twenty years would absolutely decry. Seeing Throwing Muses last week in Melbourne and Sydney was a reminder of constancy, that certain things remain fundamental to your life as others flit past and disappear into history's dust. The thing with Animal Collective is, appreciate them as much as I do, I can't see them enduring. And I don't know exactly how I feel about that...

039

Reasons to Live:



Returning soon...

038

It's end-of-year list time, and I've produced five that differ at least slightly from each other for various magazines. However, this one for Dusted is maybe the only list that really begins to sum up my 2008.

(As an aside, don't trust people who put the following records high in their lists: Deerhunter's Microcastle; The Bug's London Zoo; Gang Gang Dance's Saint Dymphia; Portishead's Third. None of these are inherently bad records [though Deerhunter comes pretty close to terrible] but they're none of them worthy of the ex-post-facto attention they've been receiving. But I suppose hipsters united will never be divided.)

037

While I'm on this YouTube jag, here's the Goddess in one of her most astonishing manifestations:

036

This rates ridiculously high on the list of things I never thought I'd see: