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Although the following article only tangentially refers to film, or film writing, I hope that the reader nonetheless recognizes the universality of whatever is discussed here. This piece intends to be a celebration of either authors, artists or filmmakers who toil on the fringe, because they are all monochromatic stripes belonging to the same big picture. The very fact that you have picked up this magazine, or that you bought some little-known album or saw a no-budget experimental film, is because the reader, the listener or the viewer shares that same need as the creator. We are all responding to some voice, or to a creative need, that is not properly expressed in mainstream culture. Arguably, that voice is as valuable to the audience as to the artist who owns it. Who has created it is only peripheral-- the fact that it now exists for all to experience and to share, is all that matters. However, what happens when that unique voice becomes monopolized? That is the puzzling question. Once upon a time it was still innovative to be an "Independent". In the past, making a zine on a letterpress before the days of desktop publishing, or making a movie on a Bolex before the convenience of video, was a statement. Prior to "Do It Yourself" culture, a lot of time and effort was spent to make these little projects that few or no people would see, let alone care about. Therefore, if one spent a lot of time on such a thing, it was because that project was such a part of them, that they spared nothing to get it done. This is the spirit of the true independent creator-- making something for oneself, without any regard to financial reward or critical reaction. But now in this highly convenienced age, when someone can knock off a zine on their computer in one afternoon, or can make a mini-DV movie in their backyard, there is really no such thing as "Independence" anymore. This crystallized back in the fall of 2002 when ESR made its annual appearance at Canzine, "Canada's largest zine fair", run by the self-styled Indie Guru, Broken Pencil. It was without a doubt the worst venue we attended. In typically self-satisfied, disorganized fashion, the fair was oversold to the point that vendors only got half the space they paid for. It isn't that vendors plunked down a fee akin to their firstborn for a space, but the place was swollen to the point that it was easy for people's wares to get lost in the shuffle. Not only was it hard for the vendors and the potential customers to move around, but it is also damaging that those who have the patience to withstand the crowds and peruse really only have a few bucks to spend. In other words, 149 out of 150 vendors at Canzine get shrifted because the potential customer's dollar goes only so far. And it doesn't help either that most of the clientele was a bunch of 12 year-old fanboys who weren't even born when a lot of the material ESR covers came out the first time. If not by them, the fair was attended by over-the-hill yuppies who were too cheap to buy anything yet nonetheless showed up in their Spandex and with their Starbucks lattés in an effort to look "still hip". Which begs the question.. is "indie culture" still hip anymore? In the electronic age, anyone can do a zine or make a movie. But just because they can, does that mean they should? I'm not here to point fingers at anyone or anything, because beauty is always in the eye of the beholder, and it's totally cool that not everything is meant for everybody. I am not going to say just exactly whose zines are worth reading (let alone doing) and whose are a waste of trees. It is true that 90% of everything is total crap, but no one has the final say as to where the 10% lies. Perhaps a hidden truth is that in this oversaturated market of self-produced movies, zines and chapbooks, each of us who create some of these things are threatened by the fact that a whole lot of other people are doing it. In a rude awakening, we realize that suddenly we are not unique or individual anymore. The thoughts that we feel are ours alone are also felt and acted upon by those same people who also scramble for those trade show tables. The greater problem is that because we live in an age of convenience, it is no longer unique to make a zine or a chapbook, it is no longer innovative to make a movie. In other words, how can indie culture be indie if everybody's doing it? The market is oversaturated. In addition, independent culture has been all about creating trends or breaking rules. From John Cage to Ornette Coleman, from William Burroughs to Stan Brakhage, the most unique works of art which changed the twentieth century evolved as a reaction to an existing form. But as a colleague of mine once said (I am paraphrasing), that even though the means are more available, people still need training. To this I add, by all means, break the rules. But learn them first. One need look no further than the overbooking of Canzine to realize that everyone has a story to sell (this fall's Small Press Fair also had a record number of vendors too, but they had the good graces to say when enough was enough). Therefore, once independent culture has become a com-modity, the independent scene is dead. But is the market oversaturated because it is so easy to make a chapbook and it looks like a fun thing to do, or because the creator genuinely has a burning passion to put their thoughts on paper and share them with the world? There still is alot that is worthwhile in the indie world, one just has to look harder to find it. For example, I really have to hand it to somebody like Grant Wilkins. Grant is the editor of a literary zine anthology called Murderous Signs. For those submissions which make the cut, not only do the contributors retain copyright, he also pays the authors for their works (not a grandoise amount by any means, but it is rare and delightful to see contributors to the indie world get paid at all). Plus, he further extracts money from his own pocket to print them, and also, God bless him, to travel from his native Ottawa to Toronto's Small Press Fair... to give issues of Murderous Signs away for free! Take too, the pop culture zine Low Hug. The creators of this unique publication came from Illinois to show their wares at Canzine this fall. I cannot answer if they sold enough copies to warrant coming up here, but I really have to admire this. People think enough of their wares to shop it around abroad, and financially, the gains are little to none. It is publications like this that really makes indie culture worth embracing (by the way, you should check out these zines... the writing is really sharp). People are virtually making these wares exist primarily out of their own pockets, and in the small press world, vendors steadily lose money (ESR included). At Christmas 2001, my father asked me, regarding my publication, "Are that many people going to care about who directed some Charlie Chan movie from 1934?" (Well, when I do an article on Charlie Chan, I'll let you know) But what he's really asking me is, "Why do it?" This is the most asked question of those who don't see the advantages beyond the monetary risks. The point is, these are our babies. The blood, sweat and lost hours of sleep that we put into these little mags are inversely proportional to the financial rewards for doing so. But no sane person in the arts, and certainly not in Canada, should ever enter the field with the prospect of making money. Personally, I could care less if 2 people or 200 buy an issue of ESR. People who do respond to the publication do so wholeheartedly. Because zine culture speaks to things subterranean as well as those intensely personal, usually a strong chord is struck with those who do plunk down a couple of dollars for my wares. This isn't a read-and-heave rag like those free newspapers in the subway. And besides, no amount of money in the world can buy that feeling when some guy is struck that I did an article on THERE'S ALWAYS VANILLA, or when someone utters "Oh, WILD GUITAR rocks" upon seeing my Arch Hall piece. Our little works of art may be equally about expressing ourselves as much as means to connect to others with the same passions that we have. André Breton said it best (again I paraphrase): "I write to find comrades." Within two years of existence, this little backroom project has reached out to people in New York, New Jersey, Connecticut, Florida, and -I'm told- Finland. Can you put a dollar value on this? I am very happy with the positive feedback that this magazine has generated. Those who feel the same way I do about pop culture, or who are as nostalgic as I am about certain aspects of the viewing experience have been nice enough to write and tell me that. However, people ask me why I don't put my magazine in specialty shops like Suspect. Truthfully, I'd like to. But honestly, I just never seem to find the time. As with every other artistic vocation (unless you're Farley Mowat or Michael Snow), this magazine for now exists solely as a hobby, as it is not my day job. And in the past year, my otherwise dead-end day job has taken up more of my time -and for the same money- that I barely find time to research and write each issue, much less have time to shop it around. Plus, I feel bad enough that I cannot afford to pay my contributors with anything more than free copies of my magazine. How could I pay someone to be my sales manager? Perhaps it is also the superego in me that doesn't want me to be disappointed by showing my wares around in stores. I've seen those three-year old zines that sit there and turn yellow in Towers, and whose pages curl due to contact with people's arms reaching for something above them, and I don't relish my little baby turning into one of those. Secondly, putting it in stores would subtract from those precious moments of interaction which do occur, like the "Wild Guitar" guy, for instance. This is also why I have not completely given up the print edition and devoted ESR exclusively to the much cheaper and potentially wider exposure on the Net. The Web still lacks that connectivity which can only be found across a table at a trade show. But by the same token, there is a lot in indie culture which is equally obscure. Sometimes it is by circumstance (being lost in a deluge of information at the swelling Canzine fair), sometimes it is by design. Some still subscribe to the theory that they'd much rather distribute their materials in small quantities rather than have their work be dictated by the corporate world. I can kind of see that, because I sure don't want some 25 year-old anorexic telling me how to run my publication (I get enough of that in real life). But this belief can also teeter on that cringe-inducing realm of "Indie Snobbism". "Indie Snobbism" is another dichotomous facet of that strange world of independent culture, which hit its zenith in the mid-1990's. In the decade where it became hip to like, or at least profess a knowledge of, obscure artifacts of pop culture, this obtuse realm of indie culture became a kind of commodity, or if you will, keeping the better of the Joneses. It suddenly became a sport to seek out and brag knowledge of an obscure band or movie that no one else has heard of; and if anyone else has, it was no longer worth anything. That's like saying Nirvana sucked after they cut an album. But still this choice to be anonymous persists in the small worlds of independent press or film. Sure, once the creator finishes the work, it is their business how much they make it known. For some, just the act of creating the work is enough-- everything after is anticlimactic. But then there are still these strange groups who on one hand complain because they lack recognition (or moan that they have no funding for future projects), and on the other, maintain to have their projects exist in nothing bigger than some little social cliquism. Why? Is this a shallow bid for elitism by being exclusionist? You can't have it both ways. However, this strange world of independent culture seems to be a rainbow, bursting into different colours. But still the problem remains-- independent culture is fast turning into Isaac Asimov's Foundation- it will soon collapse under itself. Whether a new Phoenix of fringe expressionism will rise from its ashes is uncertain, or at least, it is unknown what the new form will be. The key to the future of independent culture will be based on one word: persistence. I'm sure in every independent creator's life, once their work is ignored, they wonder why they do this in the first place. Myself included. But as waves pass, the water always remains. Those who get tired of the fad will soon find something else to do. And those who write or shoot or whatever because they need to, will still find some way of getting their work out there. Independent culture can only exist with the simple act of sharing. It thrives on word of mouth: "Hey look what I found", and thereby passing that information on. Indie snobbism (of the "Look what I found and you didn't") is deconstructive. But the independent world is co-dependent. It is up to everyone who professes to support indie culture to put their money where their mouth is. There is an equal responsibility of the creator and the buyer to support the fringe. Why shouldn't one promote their own work as much as one wants to? And why shouldn't we push to get people out there who would be genuinely interested in checking out the scene, thereby keeping it alive? Fret not, indie snobs. It isn't the same as selling out. (Originally published in ESR #8; Text Copyright Greg Woods (2003 -2010) |