fan labour

A Paratextual Art: Music Criticism in the Age of Free Labour

Simon Price A Parasitic But Necessary Art

As an amateur music critic, I read Simon Price’s reaction to both Will Self’s review of Mark Kermode’s book Hatchet Job, and to the related concern of the recent laying off of all of The Independent’s arts critics, “A Parasitic But Necessary Art,” with interest. The gist of Self’s argument is that arts critics have outworn their use in the digital age and that the average person doesn’t need them anyway because s/he doesn’t have the time to engage with their criticism and would rather consult crowdsourced recommendations to help her/him choose the art s/he will consume. Price argues against Self’s conception of the unnecessary critic and presents his profession as an important one of “informed subjectivity,” and I would agree with the value of a good critic who works within Price’s terms. However, the market doesn’t necessarily value, nor reward critics in the same way. And in these neoliberal times, the market rules in every realm, in places it has no business being the gatekeeper, and the so-called “democratizing” Internet has been used as the utopian sop for those unhappy with the state of sanctioned media, often overlooking the fact that most of the contents of the Internet are either just as market-driven, or operating on affective labour of volunteers. Self’s cynical perspective makes more sense in such a context.

What has happened to music criticism in the last couple of decades? I can only answer as a music fan who has been actively reading music criticism for just over a decade. Clearly the music press itself has declined and in many cases shut down, leaving a handful of British publications hanging on by a thread and even fewer in North America. In their place, music websites like Pitchfork, Stereogum, Drowned in Sound, and The Quietus have assembled massive teams of writers to keep the content coming 24/7 rather than weekly or monthly. I assume that remuneration for the writers on these sites is modest if available at all, and so the actual living of music journalists and critics has become a scarcity. In the process, the music critic “stars” have passed into history; I certainly can’t name any music critics who have come along in the last decade that would be as recognizable as Paul Morley, Simon Reynolds, Julie Burchill, or Simon Price himself. Not that I want to romanticize the old guard too much (I have no warm and fuzzy ideas about Nick Kent slinking around commando in his tatty leather trousers), but as Price says, one of the major problems is the lack of personality, style, and voice in most published music criticism these days. Music criticism has fragmented along with the rest of the post-post-modern world, so we all just cling to the names we already know, or to the few anonymous bloggers we manage to trust, who may abandon their blogs within a year or two due to other life pressures.

Though Price generously states that “the amateurs’ freedom from industry pressure means that they’re immune, at least in theory, to the catastrophic loss of nerve which has afflicted the professional music press,” I don’t believe that most amateurs writing about music in blogs and e-zines are serving a terribly critical purpose. On the whole, music blogs read, at best, like fanzines, at worst, like press releases. Many blogs consist of posts that are blurbs taken straight from the news release bumf that floods their inboxes. It’s lazy, but perhaps no less so than many newspapers have traditionally done to fill space. Quantity over quality often wins the day, as the Internet medium itself imposes immediacy and currency as the measure of reputability and significance. The room for thoughtfulness and thoroughness is shrinking beneath the pressures of 24/7 streaming content, and your website ostensibly loses credibility via infrequent updates with new content (at this rate, our blog is at rock bottom of the credibility scale). The webpage format, let alone the blog post, is not conducive to lengthy in-depth discussion (our blog fails on this account, too; we may as well have called it tl;dr).

Speaking from my own experience, which is admittedly limited to the last four years of blogging, bloggers often just don’t have the time to spend on music they don’t like. For many of us, music blogging is not so much affective labour, as it is disaffected labour, or work we do because our “real” work isn’t what we would have chosen for an ideal career. Call it the Kafka life of after-work, unrecognized toil. Even though I consider James Murphy to be my spirit animal, I have a hard time believing that I will kickstart my new dazzling writing career in my thirties. I could very well savage numerous albums on a daily basis (perhaps not as elegantly as someone like Neil Kulkarni), but I feel as though the exercise would eventually bore readers and myself, and the sheer time wasted on mediocrity would outweigh the potential catharsis. Whilst the big music publications may not be able to afford to take risks, the amateur critics cannot afford the time. We must also consider the idealistic, altruistic stance that bloggers and independent music websites take, standing up to challenge the mainstream whilst championing little-known artists, often preaching to the converted. It’s an insular world of happy promotion and obscure discoveries, but it hardly seems substantial or influential, at least not in the way music criticism and journalism often used to operate. It also doesn’t quite seem like a way forward.

It’s not just arts criticism that’s lost its currency, but critical thinking itself. The same arguments levelled against arts criticism are being used in academia. In much the same way as the “death of music criticism” has been circulating in the past decade, so has the “death of the humanities.” Price says the job of good critics is to provide effective analysis and contextualization for the art they’re writing about, and the same could be said about academic scholars, especially those who work in areas outside of the STEM (science/technology/engineering/medicine) disciplines. Sadly, often the defence for the humanities is framed by the very neoliberal terms that are strangling them: they are said to be helpful for those interested in globalized business and politics, or for interpreting the reams of data being generated every second (the connection between the humanities and technology has become further substantiated with the trendy new discipline of digital humanities, of which I’m still quite sceptical). This quantification of the study of what it means to be a human is missing the point. Not everything about the human experience should be justified by how it fares in the marketplace, or how it advances “practical” infrastructure, or how it manages Big Data. Perhaps there’s an issue of semantics here. What would happen if we used “creators” and “experiencers” instead of “producers” and “consumers” in relation to culture? Words matter.

Of course this is not to say that music criticism and academia are often regarded as the best-suited bedfellows. As the NME reader backlash against the esoterica of Paul Morley and Ian Penman shows, there’s always been some trepidation where music criticism and intellectualism meet, and unfortunately, the reaction to challenging, potentially alienating, work can be accusations of “pretension.” Though I can see how semiotic and post-structuralist theory and popular music may sit more easily together in an academic journal, I’d much rather see this kind of challenge in the music press than the underwhelming, soulless detritus found in much of the music criticism today. For all their flaws, Morley and Penman provoked a reaction, which is more exciting than anemic disinterest and acceptance. Music and the music press should ideally be reflective of each other and in dialogue, and I think the post-punk of the late 70s and early 80s did speak intelligently (or argued – see The Cure’s “Desperate Journalist”) in conversation with the likes of Morley and Penman. Sadly, the music being championed by the music press now is equally reflective of the articles and reviews written about them. The lowest common denominator propping up the bottom line.

I suppose it’s needless to say that I’m on the side of the humanities and arts criticism; I just don’t see any effective way to shift the current prevailing attitude towards them. My hope is that as long as there are humans, there are bound to be humans interested in their own meaning and who can’t help but express their ideas in interesting ways. To me, all good arts criticism allows for a second level of engagement and enjoyment of the art itself. Criticism becomes one of the many paratexts, just as important as music videos, album covers, and memorabilia, and often serves as an important piece of the artists’ archives and mythos. Since eighty percent of musicians and songwriters often can’t articulately explain their art or their intentions, critics become very important interpreters and interlocutors, making connections between the seemingly disparate and inspiring you to investigate further art and ideas. Music critics’ subjectivity is their most important quality; it is that personal response that interacts with your own personal response, making criticism a key component of the music fan experience. Admittedly, I appreciate this subjectivity more than a critic’s technical knowledge of music. Often you become a fan of particular critics just as much as a fan of the music being discussed. Is there hope for professional arts criticism, or the humanities in general? Simon Price concludes his essay with the warning that “A world with uncriticised art gets the art it deserves.” Another way of putting the situation would be you get what you pay for. And there’s only so much free labour that music lovers can perform in a world dependent on market logic.

A Billion Balconies Facing the Sun – Manic Street Preachers

Over the Border – Saint Etienne

Kill Yr Idols – Sonic Youth

Mere Pseud Mag. Ed. – The Fall

Desperate Journalist – The Cure

There Is Nothing Wrong With Hating Rock Critics – of Montreal

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Public Service Announcements with Guitars: When Rock ‘n Roll Becomes the Cause

public service announcement

Throughout the neoliberal heyday of the 80s people became accustomed to musicians performing for a cause or endorsing a particular charity ostensibly to raise funds and awareness for “others,” whether they were “thank God it’s them instead of you” Africans, war children, or AIDs victims. Spectaculars like Live Aid, its nostalgic damp squib of a successor Live 8, and numerous charity albums and singles dealt in high emotional appeal to make you feel like you were making a historical difference and that you were a hero. More importantly, just for one day. It’s quite apt to use music as the impetus for feel-good charity since the collective experiences of live music are often already charged with uncanny sensations of solidarity and goodwill. It feels powerful to be gathered with other fans who share your love of a band or musician, belting out anthems, and that feeling can be easily transposed to a belief that you’re fighting for a common righteous cause. The more charismatic the performer, the more the crowd loses themselves in the tide of togetherness. We are the champions if only because Freddie Mercury convinces us that we are.

Though there are still fundraising performances involving musicians for disasters of all kinds (oddly enough, even tracked at Music for Good), and some charity albums and singles still get made on behalf of the “helpless,” passive Other (see cringe-inducing songs like K’naan’s “Wavin’ Flag”), there just doesn’t seem to be the same resources for extravagant ego mash-ups anymore. Perhaps now that the music industry itself is in “crisis,” it doesn’t appear quite so eager to splash out for causes in the same way or with the same regularity. In fact, some artists are now endorsing their own existence as a cause.

I was prompted to think about this context of rock ‘n roll for a cause after observing two crowdfunding campaigns of relatively different scope, but similar rhetorical strategy. Ex-Dresden Doll Amanda Palmer made headlines earlier this year when her Kickstarter campaign raised over one million dollars, smashing through her intended target (see Laura’s review of Palmer’s Theatre is Evil album). Last month former Sneaker Pimp Chris Corner was pleasantly surprised (“fuck me outrageously” were his precise words) when his PledgeMusic campaign to raise funds for his next album as IAMX reached, then exceeded, his goal within an hour. There are many similarities between these artists: they both used to be on major labels; they are multimodal artists, engaging in other art forms like visual art, video, and fashion; they have theatrical, spectacular personas, often hearkening back to a different time of cabaret and burlesque entertainment, erotically using their bodies to imply intimacy and transparency in their relationships with their fanbase; and they are both vocal about their love for their fans, calling a familial, cultish public into being. These aspects may play into their success, or at least partially. Of course, crowdfunding isn’t new, and it’s becoming quite commonplace in the art and technology worlds. I’ve written about crowdfunding platforms and their relationship to digital music files a bit before, so I won’t get into that here, except in reinforcing how crowdfunding platforms enforce an artificial scarcity in order to produce monetary value for musicians’ labour.

I ended up being most drawn to the videos Palmer and Corner made to promote their campaigns:

There are many similarities. They are both handmade by the artists (and the artists’ collaborators) and feature direct appeals from them, meaning you see them quite prominently. They offer you glimpses and samples of what you are being persuaded to support, hopefully enticing you and convincing you that they’ve already begun their labour. By invoking other well-known names–whether the visual artists working for Palmer, or Corner’s use of Jim Abbiss as producer and Danny Drysdale as filmmaker–they associate themselves with quality whilst also demonstrating their collaborative spirit and justification for more money to be used for additional labour. Their rhetoric assumes that we as fans and they as artists have converging needs and goals, and characterizes potential funders/fans as people of distinction and taste, who will become activists by contributing to the future of music and making history simultaneously. Replace “music” with “this starving child” and the message seems more familiar. In previous blog posts, Corner has referred to his music as his child, so perhaps the comparison is apt. Palmer reinforces the thread of potential activism and public agitation to improve the future by using the public space of the street and title cards reminiscent of protest placards. In these videos, there is, in fact, a real focus on futurity, but aware of the demands in the speedy digital world, there is also a balancing of investment with immediacy in the form of updates and exclusives along the way. In both videos, the onus is on fans to determine the level of success and project execution by how much they will give. Palmer and Corner project identities that are bound up in authenticity and autonomy, projecting the same qualities and values on their fans who will presumably agree that their causes are real and meaningful.

In both campaigns, fans are expected to fund dissemination and mobility, specifically allowing the artists to distribute, promote, and tour, in addition to promoting the message of the campaign itself. Their campaigns and rhetorical strategies speak to notions of access, the public, and participation, which are all quite popular topics in the context of the digital economy, which is definitely overlapping with concepts of cognitive and communicative capitalism, immaterial labour, the attention economy, the multitude, and the commons. Amanda Palmer states: “I hope you will join our rock ‘n roll cause. . . . We are the media.” Chris Corner declares: “We need you hand in hand, mouth to mouth intertwined for this survival of art.” The implication is that we are more powerful in numbers and that we are truly participating in their art. In a recent Guardian article, Yancey Strickler, one of the co-founders of Kickstarter, said, “When I’m supporting some band [through the site] I love, I’m not ‘shopping’ in the record store, I’m creating alongside them. I get to see the thing happen and be part of the process and know that I made a contribution. I think the emotional resonance that comes with that is huge.” Though crowdfunding platforms imply that fans are creating in collaboration with their favourite artists, there are differing degrees of actual engagement and reciprocity. Amanda Palmer’s digital music is already free, she crowdsources onstage musical support, and provides multiple venues for feedback, which all seem in line with ideas of the commons and multitudes. In the case of IAMX, a distance between artist and fan still exists despite the repeated invocation of “we.” Corner says in his video, “You can give. I can create,” quite clearly delineating the artist and fan roles. You may pay for engagement, via email or in person as a guest at a soundcheck, but contact is otherwise limited. However, Corner’s campaign isn’t unique in this respect—most of the crowdfunding campaigns I’ve seen for musicians have offered similar constraints on participation. In a way, the supposed voice and participation allowed for fans is wrapped up in communicative capitalism and its pretence of a democracy that it doesn’t actually create. Despite the rhetoric of participation, collaboration, and access, these campaigns are still fundraisers looking for public donations.

The hierarchy of the pledge menu mirrors the structure of typical arts fundraising gift charts and pyramids, anticipating a few gifts at a very high level and many gifts at a minimal level. These campaigns aren’t unlike fundraising for public art projects or institutions like galleries. Can you call Amanda Palmer’s and IAMX’s music public art? There seems to be a bias in thinking of public art as mainly or solely visual, such as the display of street art or museums. Whilst there are forms of music related to public space and access, including busking and audio installations of the Eno kind, they aren’t as readily apparent or discussed. Even musicians are essentially looking for visibility, especially in light of the necessity for an online presence; Amanda Palmer and Chris Corner want you to watch their videos, not just listen to their music to encourage you to pledge. The so-called post-scarcity economy is abundant with information and art, thus attention is often perceived as the scarce commodity in this late form of capitalism, and often, the attention economy is linked to visual “noise” and the public spectacle, which implies visuality. Despite being an ostensible commodity, attention has also become a form of work on the part of those obliged to “pay” attention and to participate. In the words of Jonathan Beller, to look is to labour. Could we also say to listen is to labour? As someone who became exhausted and slightly mad in the face of an endless stream of available music online, feeling compelled to listen to and blog about as much of it as possible, I would say yes. Jonathan Sterne has argued that the MP3 is a format that favours distraction, not attention. I agree, but I also think that the same kind of hyperabundance and hyperavailability that is producing multitasking distraction is demanding ever more cursory attention, and thus, creating a heightened feeling of unsettled agitation linked to the an irrational need to hear everything because you can. To me, SXSW would be as overwhelming as Nuit Blanche.

When I watch Palmer’s and Corner’s campaign videos and look at their reward menus, I’m also reminded of the fund drives for public service broadcasting, where the more you pledge, the more you receive as a “gift,” and where you are repeatedly told that you, the viewers, are responsible for the range and quality of the programming through the level of your monetary generosity. PBS emphasizes the service they are providing: cultural, educational, and independent of commercial advertising and interests. Can you call Palmer’s and Corner’s music a public service? Although they promote themselves as culturally beneficial and independent of the kinds of corporate controls PBS would also eschew, they are still not really acting in the same public venue, nor are they attempting to reach the same kind of broader audience. Perhaps it would be more helpful to view them as a public narrowcasting service. Their art is potentially publically free and accessible via free downloads, sanctioned and otherwise, but access to the material goods and tickets to concerts is still restricted to those who can afford to pay, and concert tickets are often not included in pledges. In a way, they end up involved in the same conflicted situation as publically funded arts institutions like museums and galleries that also have to charge the public for admission. I suppose the most significant contention here is how public and access are defined. In a way, these campaigns appear to be asking for funds from the publics they’re shaping through their rhetoric with the ultimate goal of private consumption, barring the later, paid-for collective experiences of concerts. Though Palmer and Corner utilize many of the same rhetorical strategies as public arts/service fundraising, they are ultimately still selling commodities, referring to their music as a product, and in Palmer’s case, calling her work a business. So, like the causes endorsed by musicians before them, are theirs actually non-profit? It’s a complicated question, including such tangles as Amanda Palmer entertaining the idea of an interest-free loan from wealthier supporters and Chris Corner’s intention to donate a portion of the funds raised to the Richard Dawkins Foundation for Reason and Science. And these aren’t the only concerns and reservations involved in crowdfunding music.

I agree with many of the points in Chris T-T’s recent argument against crowdfunding. There’s definitely a chance for things to get a bit tacky and cynical, and the use of services like Kickstarter and PledgeMusic is similar to creating a new middleman. However, artists still have a choice to use crowdfunding or not, and some artists do flourish on such a platform, especially those who already have a cult following and/or are already creative in arts beyond music. Amanda Palmer and Chris Corner are hardly unknown entities—in fact, they come in with quite a cult following already, and it’s to these established fans that they are appealing. They are also both involved in other forms of art, allowing them to offer items or experiences they would have likely put labour into anyway. Finally, I could dispute Chris T-T’s point regarding the lack of creative freedom in the face of fan investors by saying artists always answer to fans at some level if they’re selling their art; sales and support will depend on the fans’ enjoyment and interest.

Perhaps the traditional exchange of music for money really is no longer enough. What people are asking of musicians is what many already ask of themselves: affective labour. Many people, including myself, labour outside and beyond their regular jobs, especially to create things that are otherwise not financially sustainable. The controversy that came out of Amanda Palmer’s use of fans for unpaid labour on stage points out the affective labour already inherent in the fan experience. Activities such as fan-created zines, sites, fiction, blogs, and record labels, along with participation in street teams or sharing of links through online social networks, are generally unpaid, emotional labours, and in many ways, similar to the types of affective labour that does get paid, such as public relations or advertising.

I, myself, did pledge towards both of these campaigns, among others. I wouldn’t even say the exclusive offers necessarily attracted me – I can’t afford the truly one-of-kind experiences, and am quite satisfied with a good vinyl copy and digital download. My personal reason for pledging is a genuine desire to ensure that my favourite musicians are able to produce their next projects, so I view my pledge as paying for the art up front. Very recently I contributed to of Montreal’s Kickstarter campaign to help pay for the documentary they’re making. The idea of seeing more footage of a band that is so unique live is hugely attractive and important to me. I wouldn’t say I feel like I’m more involved in the musicians’ processes by funding them. I usually don’t even have the time to keep up with the exclusive updates.

Do Amanda Palmer and Chris Corner manage to precipitate the same sort of tide of togetherness and goodwill that used to be the province of fundraising rock ‘n roll spectaculars? I think that there’s a bit of virtual togetherness and celebration when these types of campaigns succeed, but that the gathering in a space in the real world is more persuasive and powerful by being more visceral. These campaigns are also on such a smaller scale, yet across such wider space and time, that they don’t have the impact of a single collective entity, nor a single collective moment. They are diffuse, but also intense in the specific public they are generating and addressing. And that’s not a bad thing. Spectacles for the masses aren’t terribly trustworthy and are becoming more of an anxiety-inducing, screaming demand in a noisy world. If music itself is now in need of aid and CPR for its survival, then it can surely be another cause. Just as long as we recognize the capital and labour behind all of the “love.”

Strength Through Music – Amanda Palmer

Music People – IAMX

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Myxomatosis #5 – Independence Days

Late, late, for an important date…I know, this mix is late.

As a belated tribute to Record Store Day a couple of weeks ago, I want to feature some independence for this mix. Instead of independent record shops, which are hugely important to the indie music fan ecosystem, I will be putting a spotlight on some fantastic independent record labels. During the 70s and 80s there was a boom in independent labels, birthing such legends as Rough Trade, Postcard, Stiff, Sub Pop, Cherry Red, Dischord, Sarah, Mute, Heavenly, Slumberland, and 4AD. Alex Ogg documents the British side of this story in Independence Days: The Story of UK Independent Record Labels (not the most fluidly written book, but a useful resource nonetheless). The freedom and immediacy of DIY allowed for releases that likely would not have been available otherwise. A lack of resources and knowledge can often be the catalyst for intense creativity. Providing an alternative to major label acts was an exhilarating development fraught with the conflict between idealistic art and realistic finances. Sometimes it meant “selling out” more than cashing in. As one Audio Antihero tagline proclaims, independent labels are often “Specialists in Commercial Suicide,” but the key word is “specialists.” Like independent record shops, these small, specific labels, founded by fans and musicians, are carefully created and curated, serving the consummate music lovers who can’t find what they need in the mainstream and who long for a bit of serendipity in their musical experiences.

At this time of global hyper-acceleration, independent bands and their labels can be particularly ephemeral, and ultimately, I suppose quite collectible. They can pop up online for a couple of years only to disappear in a cloud of cache. These days, a music blog can often lead to a sideline in the DIY record industry (17 Seconds and Song, by Toad spring to mind). New business models abound. Swedish indie label Labrador functions as a labour of love whose owners hold day jobs, and The Indelicates-founded Corporate Records is the ultimate DIY model, where the non-profit label is really a facilitator rather than a company. In this age of digital distribution, Soundcloud, and Bandcamp, independent labels have become more available than ever, but have also often become even more innovative about how they present the physical versions of their music. Many twee labels have opted for the cute, crafty, and diminutive aesthetic, selling 3” compact discs or wrapping their discs in soft fabrics and glitter glue. From plush toy ghosts sold by Sways Records in Salford, to werewolf brooches and wooly socks from Antique Beat in London, music has found a home in an ever-expanding universe of tangible contexts. In the case of Fika Recordings, the label plays off its name, the Swedish word for “coffee break,” and includes a tea bag and cake recipe with each purchase. Gerry Loves Records, a Scottish label which releases vinyl and cassettes, pays such close attention to aesthetic detail I’m often afraid to open the handmade record sleeves. These are not so much cynical marketing ploys (with these kinds of negligible profit margins, would you really bother hand-stitching toys and knitting socks if not for other, more creative, purposes?), but instead, as accents to the worlds these labels create. These small, fan-led aesthetics become unique, self-contained ways of being that co-habit with the styles of music being released. Web designers, graphic artists, writers, club promoters, crafters, flash game designers, and filmmakers can all join forces with musicians (or be musicians themselves) to create cultural enclaves where music is just one of their many dimensions. The Indelicates are an outstanding case study. They strike me as highly talented people who cannot stop being creative; whether designing necklaces, making fudge, or writing picture books, they act on ventures as the ideas occur to them: adventure capitalism, perhaps.

Incidentally, Gerry Loves Records also demonstrates another aspect of independent labels that I enjoy so much: the personal interaction. I received a hand-written thank-you letter from Andy Lobban, who co-runs the tiny Edinburgh-based label and who also happens to have been born in my hometown Winnipeg. This genial kind of gesture has become common practice among indie labels; whether a handwritten postcard from Matthew Young at Song, By Toad Records, or a personal message scrawled by Keith TOTP across the outside of the padded envelope, they are gracious acts that make you smile.

Independent labels featured in this mix:

Audio Antihero
Bleeding Gold Records
But is it Art?
Cloudberry Records
Corporate Records
Fika
Filthy Little Angels
Fortuna Pop
Gerry Loves Records
Hello Thor Records
Labrador Records
Odd Box Records
Riot Factory
Stroboscopic Records
Song, By Toad Records

If you like what you hear, support these labels, and reach out to those as-yet-undiscovered, strange, little cul-de-sacs of cyberspace to keep discovering the intriguing stuff. Welcome to the impractical, wonderful domain of split-singles, vinyl EPs, fanzines, and cassette-only releases.

Download Myxomatosis #5 here.

The Same Rules Always Apply – Captain Polaroid
Dinosaur – Sarandon
Pearshaped – Milky Wimpshake
Agnostic Nightmare – Slottet
I Hate Your Band – Keith TOTP
The End of the Affair – Friday Bridge
UR Road – Sameblod
Emitter – Miaoux Miaoux
Wojtek the Bear – Fighting Kites
Like a Bird Pulling Up at a Worm – We Show Up on Radar
Intercity Baby – The Kensingtons
Optimism is Disappointing – Hehfu
Walking on Eggshells – King Post Kitsch
This World – stanleylucasrevolution
What You Don’t Have – Meursault
12 000 Sentinels – Benjamin Shaw
French Magazines – Rock Stone
Towerblock – Trapped in Kansas
Why Do Today What You Can Put Off Until Tomorrow? – Pelle Carlberg
Nothing Much to Say – The Librarians
Feral Fanzine Frenzy – Falling & Laughing

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