June 14, 2005

SIX WEEKS, SIX WEEKS, SIX WEEKS - HIT IT OR QUIT IT YOU'RE ON

I hope all my hope and half plans get hells right and tight for the mini beast that is the dinosaur'd grave of dun Hit it or Quit it magazine. Julianne in the edit hot seat, me, the ungentle mini going gangbusters on phoners for the suckers that did not show, and then we got folks like Amy Phillips, Phillip "not Phil" Sherburne, JR, Chris Ryan, Adam Gnade, Joan Hiller, Mia Clark, Chris Richards, Miles Raymer, Shayla, Sara Sherr, Keith Harris, Britt Barton Lindsay, Teeter and SB, Tomas Palermo, and Mato's 10,000 word interview with Craig Finn, and Trevor Kelly's exclusive interview with Geoff Rickley from Thursday where Geoff discusses Orientalism, feminism, nu-emo, and comes out as bisexual and a good half dozen more. Tonight I saw Al Burian at the xerox emporium, slaving away on a 5 page memorandom/layout of an article he did about Carolina hardcore - which excludes information about/includes the picture of the Corrosion of Conformity album which features a 15 y.o. Burian IN THE PIT on the cover, front a center. The new issue should paralyze you with loving stimulation and "more" -- and so, inspired by J Sheps link to Chris Ryan's first "real" review ever -- some highlights from issues past, some of my personal faves:

Mark Donahue's I was a teenage Antioch Arrow cover band , which is the only pc on San Diego spaz core that also refs SJ Perelman and olympic divers.

Teeter & I co-conduct Q and Not U's first-ever interview and re-reading this, it is kind of mind breaking that they even still were friends with us after. Also, watch for the coining of the phrase "emotainment".

JR Nelson's essay-devotional on Lester Bangs and building a catherdral in your heart for your heroes to live in. JR, via ebay and public library microfiche, has copies of nearly everything Bangs ever wrote. The following paragraph is one of my favorites we have ever printed:

" The search for truth is a stupid mission to tie up with writing about rock music. Rock is all about lies and illusions; and to an extent it has to be in order to set our emotions free. Manufactured poses, distorted intentions, a million basement dreams brought kicking and screaming to life, lots of sex, money and hoochie to tempt away talent and piss-poor role models trying to walk the thin road with any earnestness. I think that a lot of the people we write about (and for) in this magazine want to cut through all the numbing bullshit that fucks up the world. We just have to be careful where we look. I am often guilty of extreme and ugly hero worship, just like Lester. Some people are equipped to deal with the world, to confront it with some inner reserve the rest of us lack. Others of us are chipped at by everything until there is nothing left. You can be a shell, or you can be a corpse or you can even be an icon, but you are still gone. Something has swallowed you. I need strong people around me because I clam up, am afraid of my feelings. The taste of life is just too rich sometimes, like cake icing. Either I project my desires on somebody else or hide out; behind words or sentences or other people's records or fashion or whatever else I can brew up to defend myself with in the battle versus death or boredom or growing up or whatever lies at the end of this life. Faith is a terrible risk in this digital, ironic age and a record collection is often a paltry cathedral."

The Price of Hardcore my then-neighbor/financial analyst/ frontman of the just startng out Lifter Puller - Craig Finn -- determines the relative value of 88 straight edge hardcore.

A pre-Har Mar/ one year out of highschool Sean Tillmann demanding the world give props to Rainer Maria's first record, for saving emo . Dude. The nineties!

Everyone's an asshole: The Hopper vs. Albini email fued & handy Abini-teasing timeline . This came out about a month after I moved to Chicago, eight years ago, and Shellac was the cover story on the special "Chicago" issue. Confusion, hearsay and speculative mis-atrribution on the Britt Barton Lindsay-penned lyrics to International House of Pussy's "Dead Albini Storage" gave birth to a rumour I still occasionally hear - that I threatened to kill Steve Albini. -- and which may have contributed to the fact that we sold out of 2000 copies of the magazine in three days.

JR's review of Sam Prekop which was the first thing I think he wrote for HIOQI, and is also notable (to me) because I remember going back and forth with JR about whether to edit a sentence that contained a RILL sharp Thrill Jockey directed comment and the phrase "cum on a cracker".

(Maybe) more later.

Posted by Jessica at June 14, 2005 02:47 AM | TrackBack