I am writing this on Sunday 15h May, GMT 14:54, whilst listening to broadcasts from Rinse FM on Mixcloud and just after listening to Organalogue, the drum n bass orgasmatron put together by Tarlock Rai.  The other night I went to see a free show at 93 Feet East, Brick Lane, London.  The highlights were Kit Henderson and Delfino Square on the one hand and Tim Troubladour and the Electric Riot on the other hand.  Both acts had to work on an overdrive, hyperdrive, warpspeed and hyperbolic superforce basis to overcome a sound system that was below their capabilities, capacities and abilities – but then it was a free gig at 93 Feet East so such is life, even if it is life in a London that is increasingly looking like it may be a live music dolce vita over the forthcoming years as the genre melanges, crystallisations, inteconnections, lattices and nexuses provided by the great information spaghetti junction of the internet flow through into real space.

My little story today is very simple.  It is about maps and territories and the problem of assuming that your map is an accurate representation of reality when all our maps are, at best, reductions of reality to certain simplified forms that, at most and at best, help us to negotiate a reality which is always much more complex.  When I went to the show at 93 Feet East I got very lost.  This was because I haven’t been to that part of east London for several years and in my head I had a cognitive map where 93 Feet East was actually located on the site of a venue called Cargo which is quite a few streets round the corner, just off Curtain Road.  At one stage of my journey I actually walked straight past 93 Feet East and read about five signs saying “93 FEET EAST” and “WELCOME TO 93 FEET EAST” and “IF YOU’RE LOOKING FOR 93 FEET EAST, THEN LOOK NO FURTHER BECAUSE THIS IS 93 FEET EAST” in massive, gargantuan, leviathan letters.  And I read them and walked on because in my head I stuck with the false picture I had made prior to going out, the false ‘a priori’ map, and managed to do this by saying to myself “well it can’t be the real 93 Feet East because the real 93 Feet East is just off Curtain Road so maybe the people running 93 Feet East have set up a new 93 Feet East subsidiary on Brick Lane instead and this is it”.  So I managed to keep myself convinced of a false and illusory picture I had created because I couldn’t let go of the false picture and look at the reality staring me right in the face in as close to neon lights as the signs on the front of 93 Feet East ever get.  People more intelligent than me call this process ‘cognitive dissonance’: what I was doing in reality was walking past a very clearly signposted 93 Feet East but what I thought I was doing was walking pst some sort of marshmallow on my way to something that I thought was 93 Feet East but which might as well have been a marshmallow because it was Cargo.  We all do this kind of thing on a daily basis but this particular example of it struck me retrospectively as particularly absurd.  It was truly of the Don Quixote level.

This process not only leads to blunders on a personal basis so that a buffoon like me nearly misses two great bands but also prevents a country from moving forward by changing and reshaping its organisations and institutions and structures.  A country stuck in the past, in illusions, in phantasms, in delusions, and navigating by false and antiquated maps that it believes are somehow sacrosanct cannot move forward.  This is particularly the case when the very nature of the maps themselves is predicated on a philosophy of life that life is static and not flowing and in constant flux where with each second the whole world is born anew.

In Britain in the 1990s as a teenager disaffected by alienation, anomie and ennui I read “The Melody Maker” regularly because it was brilliantly written and it opened the door to a whole new world of live and recorded music which was kinetic and dynamic.  “Melody Maker”, which was founded in 1926 originally, went out of business in 2000.  Nothing, in my personal opinion, has been as consistently first-class since.  I want it back.  If hundreds or thousands of people put in small amounts of initial money such as £10 each, then the financing for the revamped publication becomes not only possible but easy.  What holds back such easy developments is often false cognitive processes like my 93 Feet East/Cargo mix-up – the false belief that something easy is difficult which then leads, through a curious reflexive process, to something easy being turned into something difficult just because people are thinking it is difficult and therefore making it so.  Picking up a thimble and putting it on a mantelpiece is easy.  If you approach it thinking it is the equivalent in terms of difficulty of climbing Everest in nothing but a feather boa without an oxygen pack, then it is.  If you don’t, it isn’t.  It’s as simple as that.

For legal reasons, since MM was ushered into the fold of the rival “New Musical Express” in 2000, a revamped and truly independent version of it might need to be called something like “Milady Maker” or something silly like that.  I don’t understand the law and so cannot say anything with any authority whatsoever on the matter.

The best news of all is that Kate Wellham told me she’s up for having the door marked WELLHAM – EDITOR in the office and having the bijoux desk made out of a nice teak with the gorgeous little pot-plants on it.  Or however she would fix up her bureau.  As long as I’m not organising it, it would work just fine.   So – why not, eh?!  The only reason why not that I can see is that on the map there’s a bit over the sea called the island of Moeladdy Mikker and on that island there be dragons that eat you or where it “cannot be made to happen commercially” or some similar junk.   And that’s just a map from the 9th century drawn by an 11 year old with a broken crayon who projected his 11 year old fears on to the map in the form of silly pictures of dragons that don’t really exist in the real world outside the window.

In reality, the island of ME-LOADER MAC-ER is a nice island with happy people with mega-lo-talent getting paid to write about music and take photographs of musicians and an ever expanding circulation figure.  Nothing to fear.  Everything to enjoy.  With an office that buzzes harder than a beehive and is more crazy and fun that the TV show “Press Gang” with Sawahla and Fletcher from the 1980s.

Simple dimple.  Fun factor?  99.9%.  Problemo factor?  0.1%.  Game on.  There are already two small ‘Bring back MM’ groups at Facebook with about 250 people in them, which is merely the tip of the iceberg of all those who would like it back.  If those 250 put in £10 straight away, which is roughly the cost of a lemonade in a London bar these days, that would be £2500 into a kitty straight away.  It’s as easy as eating easy pie on the island of Easy whilst watching “Easy Rider” and then later on deciding to take it easy by watching “The Big Easy”.  That’s how easy it is.