3:AM Magazine

» Bending Ourselves in Leisurely Ways: An Interview With Joe Stretch

The age of angst and leisure is certainly upon us. It hurts and soothes in equal measure. Sex has escaped from our underwear. I am, for example, offended if a passing person of whatever age of gender, fails to titillate me. We do not stare at the market. The market stares at us. But I think rather than wasting time worrying about becoming a brand or whatever, just get on with the job, follow your obsessions and hope that the work is understood. I am really, really good looking. Sometimes I squat naked over mirrors. And just stare.

Andrew Gallix interviews Joe Stretch, author of Friction.

» Donkey Alley Estate: An Interview With Ben Borek

Metre, but also the strict rhymes, mean that, as much as you might like to, you can’t really produce a story written in the vernacular that might be more fitting to the setting. I think these things aren’t necessarily too deliberate, and I tend to write everything very formally anyway, despite myself. But the central character is a self-consciously ‘cultured’ chap who really couldn’t talk in any other way. I think I like generally the idea of things being ‘inappropriate’ in terms of style vs. situation — it makes things more fun. And, besides, why should one perpetuate the idea of grotty South London in fiction?

Lander Hawes interviews Ben Borek.

» Warped And Amplified: An Interview With Joe Dunthorne

I read Adrian Mole when I was really young. I enjoyed it but it wasn’t one of my influences for Submarine. In my book, the main character, Oliver, gets teased and called Adrian, because he writes a diary. I don’t think Adrian and Oliver are similar characters though. I think my influences were probably people like Kurt Vonnegut, Dave Eggers and Don De Lillo. They are the writers I was reading, anyway.

Lander Hawes talks to Joe Dunthorne about Submarine, his acclaimed debut novel.

» stick ‘em up punks, it’s the fun lovin’ criminals

While Hewlett went on to consort with Brit-pop royalty—a strip for Pulp’s ‘Common People’—writer Alan Martin beat a retreat to the Scottish Borders via a hippie commune, and Tank Girl’s reigns were handed over first to Peter Milligan, then to Alan Grant. But the C86-ers had moved on: a female “Mad Max designed by Vivienne Westwood” didn’t cut it anymore, Tank Girl was no longer a wet-dream for the “start-rite teenagers / spotty greebos / cardigan clad Smiths fans / psychedilic shoegazers / and tiny bowl-cut angels”, instead they were besotted with another gun-totten, big-titted girl.

Susan Tomaselli ponders the return of Tank Girl as novel.

» The Age of Dreaming

Revoyr writes well. Look at the hummingbird passage. Delicious. I think most novel readers will delight in this work. If one doesn’t know the history of Hollywood her book may send one to the library in search of the important works of one of her sources, Kevin Brownlow, who has done so much to preserve the history of the silent era.

Alex Gildzen on Nina Revoyr’s The Age of Dreaming.

» Everyday He Writes the Book

Everyday, Lee Rourke’s first story collection, is populated entirely by avatars of boredom and morbidity. The 20-odd pieces found here pound away with short but unwavering blows, addressing from every possible angle what Rourke sees as the paralysis of late Modern society. Failure is inbuilt in Everyday; Rourke’s writing is just as loaded with desperate futility as the office drones and lovelorn loners found throughout.

Andrew Fleming reviews Lee Rourke’s Everyday.

» The Boab Sentinels

The Sunset Bar has possibly the best aspect of any watering hole in the world: huge open terraces look out on the ocean and this eternal beach. Pity its sunny disposition isn’t quite shared by the bar staff: there seems to be a sliding scale of antipathy, from indifference, through surliness, to open hostility, all depending on the prettiness of the bar-thing in question. When we try and sit outside with our drinks to watch the sunset we’re surrounded by barmaids, seagulls round fish: “you can’t sit here! Wrong! 20,000 bucks!”

By Mark Piggott.

» Sohoitis V: Hovering For Sweet Goodbyes

He lived his life almost exclusively in London amongst the “dark satanic mills” (there never was a hymn so misconstrued as “Jerusalem”), rejected the establishment’s authority at every turn, from Church, politics to social conventions, and worked doggedly hard for little reward. Blake lived his life in poverty, his work never celebrated except near the end by a coterie of young artists including Samuel Palmer. Seeing this exhibition it seems unbelievable, but maybe the establishment’s acceptance means being reasonable, and he was never a reasonable man, Blake wrote “Reason constrains creativity and passion” and this exhibition is joyously full of both of these things.

By Sophie Parkin.

» Sohoitis IV: Happy Birthday The Colony Room

Some might disagree with the rare beauty of the scummy entrance in Dean Street, but then they’d go to the Soho House, and quite frankly, they are the type of person you wouldn’t want or expect to meet there. I would be surprised to meet Paris Hilton there, but not surprised to bump into Amy Winehouse, I could imagine Britney Spears in her current state, like Princess Margaret or Sarah Lucas, collapsed drunkenly on the floor.

Sophie Parkin pays tribute to legendary Soho artist dive The Colony Room.

» Bad Faith IX

Freberg’s story is among the film’s more disturbing revelations, in that it shows how the most innocuous of details can identify someone as incompatible with orthodoxy and a target for punishment. Freberg explains how despite her excellent performance she was labelled a “problem” by her colleagues and subjected to a campaign of harassment until finally, and successfully, she sought legal remedy. Freberg’s students later admitted they’d known she was a “closet Republican” precisely because she didn’t use the classroom to air her political views.

David Thompson’s regular column for 3:AM returns.

» A Sad, Sad Day

Because of the rather cruel nature of his TV shows, he had a rather love-hate relationship with the public. It’s strange, not only did he have a baby hand to contend with but he looked liked the kind of guy who would steal your grandma and sell her for camels or something. But it is said that he raised over 100m pounds for leukaemia and other charities and that, in person, he was a top bloke.

James Daly pays tribute to the late Jeremy Beadle.

» Stuck Inn IV: Stuckists’ Turner Prize Protest Apology

For the first time since 2000 there will not be a Stuckist demonstration at the Turner Prize. This is due to industrial action: the Stuckists are coming out on strike in protest at the lameness of this year’s show, which does not merit the accolade of the traditional demo. We apologise for any disappointment this may cause.

Charles Thomson tells 3:AM why the Turner Prize isn’t even worth protesting against this year.

» Are You Ready For U.S. Ghost Punk Psych Jams?

Such is my obsession with music, a trip to NYC simply would not have been even half complete or as much fun without seeking out some live underground sounds, and this I found at local promoter Todd P’s Death by Audio night in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. In contrast to the kind-of-in-a-similar-vein Hoxton scene in London, there are less skinny jeans but more checked shirts and beards, the outfit that is almost tradition for the learned and serious underground music fan. This is totally DIY and a far cry from the usual mainstream venues.

Kate Picard pays a visit to Williamsburg’s Death By Audio.

» Sex and Drugs and Rock and Roll

Whereas contemporaries were revelling in punk angst and rebellion, Dury told stories from his life and East End/Essex life with both a gentle wit and a filthy sense of humour, all suffused by jazz and impregnated and low down dirty funk that probably meant he got away with an awful lot more than the angry young men of bands like The Clash and The Buzzcocks. In a way Ian Dury and the Blockheads were perhaps, a more true representation of Britain in the late 70s and running in sharp contrast with edgier bands of the time that were coming out of the north like Joy Division.

Elizia Volkmann says “Das ist gut! C’est fantastique!” about the 30th anniversary reissue of Ian Dury’s classic album.

» Softcore You Know The Score

As tour names go, ‘Softcore’ is something of a misnomer. The styling of this twenty-seven date UK jaunt, starring four ‘hardcore singers gone soft’, breaks down under close scrutiny. I can’t comment on Joshua English or Jacob Golden, having never heard their clearly elusive ‘hardcore’ material, but Jonah Matranga was always soft even when he played post-hardcore; and as for Frank Turner, despite parting ways with the brutal British At The Drive-In, Million Dead – Frank is about as far from soft as one man with an acoustic guitar can get.

Richard O’Brien files from the Frank Turner tour.

» Necrophilia

So I shuffled my feet and nodded my head and he let me go with a slap on the wrist. Andrei was pissed that the Dean confronted me on this matter rather than him, but after that, we did all our scanning ourselves. I did give the Scanning Dept. a final image to consider, however, by scratching a swastika onto their door——which apparently nobody objected to, because it’s still there to this day.

By Mark Spitzer.

» A Poet’s Farewell

If one thing had kept him going, it was his poetry. This hobby he had negotiated all his life. Benjamin was pleased with his own recent work, but the thing about writing is that the most enjoyment comes through sharing. His mom liked what he wrote. Sandra, the manageress at the funeral parlour, thought it was okay too. It’s surprising how fast such support will form the basis of a man’s self-esteem. But Benjamin sought a wider audience. His Mom was his mom, and Sandra, well… he suspected she just wanted to jump his bones. Benjamin made a few enquiries and was soon invited to bring his collected works around to an English lit professor who managed a small university printing press.

By Nelson L. Eshleman.

» Senseless Nights in Williamsburg

A woman wants to be honest, a man wants to be good. Let’s face it, a woman’s concerned with things as they are and a man is concerned with things as they should be. This romantic attachment to what should be is the cause of all my trouble. I can’t bear the truth of the pain I’ve caused. So I make it about myself. Flailing around back here, I’ve turned my guilt into an opera to drown out Flo’s simple song of distress.

By Michael DeCapite.

» Broken, Borrowed Time, and Some Women Like to Travel

“I had already broken and defeated two men. It wasn’t as hard as I’d thought. It was easier than it looked. It was harder breaking the first man than the second, though at the time I thought it was harder breaking the second than the first. Sometimes you have to step away from the trees to see the forest. Or is it the other way around? It doesn’t matter. The point is I needed someone to break me. I felt whole. I wanted to feel split in two. I wanted to be brought to my knees with an unstoppable force. I wanted to be struck in awe and then just as forcefully awestruck. I had been once. I knew I could be again. I just needed to step away from the trees. I needed to get a glimpse of the forest.”

By Elizabeth Ellen.

» From This is Not a Love Story

I sleep until four in the afternoon and write bullshit on napkins at 4am in the little dive bar with pool players who bend over so I can check out their ass but I pretend not to notice. My only real income comes from random modeling gigs I do for artists. The models aren’t supposed to interact with the artists but I wrap my kimono around me and make the tour of the easels. I like to see how these strangers see me. A simple form of exhibition. I’m better looking on paper. But my ass looks better in person. Henry Miller would love my ass.

By Jennifer Best.

» Mother

Goldie gave, 24/7, elegiac meaning to herself, myself, Laugh-In, Kurt Russell, Nipsey Russell, and the world outside, delighting in Fatty Arbuckle, Sally Rand, and Steve McQueen, admiring Hinduism, men’s perfumes, chauffeur-controlled limousines, sunbirds. Her diligence in diet obvious, her optimism in New Orleans out of touch, her contribution to society overwhelming, she is a prostitute, panderer, pimp, and pig. Her father was a mystic who committed suicide before he was born.

By Mike Topp.

» New Poems

black winged maniac rang 4th floor buzzer / i spit blood whilst dark creams flood senses / memories of no one no thing no light / falcons, earthworms, sad tigers, wondering humans /
all like blinking shadows of aether world / time is in the repetition of meditation / of investigations into intimate sorrow, / passion and grace

New poems from Jack Brewer, Thurston Moore and Matthew Wascovich.

» the world would be happier with me dead in it

i keep seeing myself talking to my dad

about like, jesus or something

or being uncomfortable of mr. sheikh

and acting all civilised

to avoid discomfort

By Victoria Trott.

» JOE SWANBERG HAH

he made a movie called ‘hannah takes the stairs.’

he made a movie called ‘LOL.’

he made other movies.

everyone who watched the movies thought about other things.

they thought about going to sleep.

they thought about getting in an argument.

By Colin Bassett.