My black bitter little heart doesn't like fanzines any more. I no longer find what I once sought. Nuggets of underground culture? People speaking honest and true, unmediated by advertising? That, thankfully, is what the internet is for. And it's wonderful. I'm committed to paper not pixels, and buy more books and comics than ever, but zines? Nah. Not any more. Too many of them are regurgitated, slightly shoddier versions of what you can get in 'proper' magazines in the shops (which I don't read either, unless someone sends me a freebie because I wrote something for them.) I feel like a vile traitor even saying such a thing, but it's the truth. What did I seek in fanzines? An authentic voice? A maverick vision? I sought - and found - Lisa Crystal Carver, Dame Darcy, Baby Sue, Ben is Dead… but now, with the advent of the internet, there's no need for people such as this to pour ink onto paper when there's Blogger, Livejournal, Typepad, Wordpress. But Savage Messiah has kind of restored my hope. It's full of drawings, which legitimizes its paper status, but the writing is also a pleasure to read; these smudgy, impressionistic little vignettes about life on the outskirts of London and fringes of society. I recommend you buy a copy, or join Laura and co on one of their 'Night Drifts' through London - not that my trapped-in-Stockholm ass has ever done such a thing - and, in the meantime, you can visit the new and lovely website for a taste of what's on offer in one of the best fanzines available today.

Labels: zines

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