Slash Magazine was one of the cornerstones of LA punk scene. If you wanted to know a thing or two about what is going on there - you need to read that thing. It is a treasure trove of gems - starting from clumsy record reviews and gig reports and ending with messy interviews where everyone tried to be more thoughtful than they really are resulting in some cognitive dissonance macabre. Then there adverts which show the american punk aesthetic in all its DIY glory. Just looking at them makes you feel better and brighter - they are so vibrant, so standoffish.
So, the story goes. I have stumbled upon a big selection of Slash Magazine issues. And since I'm a kind of person who can't just skim over stuff like that - i've spend a good couple of hours devouring the thing as if it was the most important finding in the world.
During that time, nothing in the world mattered more for me. It was as if I've encountered a Holy Grail. The one with mediocre writing, nonexistent journalism standards, shameless plug-ins and pointless meandering between the lines. But that's part of Slash's charm - it wasn't made by cynical pro's - it was made by the folks who cared about all this and wanted to make difference - not just spectate the developments of the scene as some pro's would do.
While reading it - i've noticed how many interesting typographic choices there is in the layout. It brimmed with creativity. Every now and then there was a thing i wanted to cut-out because it was jumping out of the page like a Jack Kirby superhero - it was radiating with energy.
And so - i started to cut-out those things with a screen grabbing tool (my tool of choice is Jing, I endorse it). After a while i had a pile of bits and pieces from different issues. However, on its own - those cool bits and pieces does not seemed to be that great. They were just a bunch of stuff and that was really frustrating. Imagine that - you've spent like seven hours dissecting page by page looking for that kind of stuff and in the end - it is basically a whole bunch of nil. I had a long, dubious stare into nowhere after realizing what i have done.
And that it came to me - i'm gonna bury them all in one place.
That's how this piece came to be:
While the original intention of this thing was nothing more but a morbid relief - in the end it turned out to be the complete opposite. While i was thoughtlessly slapping bits and pieces onto the canvas it seemed to me like i was trying to justify an immense waste of time i was clearly guilty of. After a while it felt like pinning butterflies with the needles - some savage stuff. Cue Jack the Ripper from Doom Patrol.
And then I was distracted by the phone call. Since my ring tone is Merzbow's "Pulse Demon" i was subjected to the blast of harsh noise augmented by substandard phone speaker. But it was enough to snap me out of frustration and let me look at the thing with the clear eyes. And for some reason - it wasn't just a dumping ground for the aftermath of the waste of time - it was an accidental impressionistic collage narrative.
The resulting piece is a blast of barely eligible elements thrown together seeming at random. But the more you look at it - the more it comes together in the fluid non-committal manner. It suggests certain notions but never really goes anywhere. It is like glimpses of glimmer that comes from the deep to the surface as borderline abstract entities.
It was very unexpected and satisfying conclusion to my encounter with Slash magazine.
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