Prelude to a Lick
by Scott Hefflon
illustration by Kevin Banks
October. I hate October. Pet Shop Boys write symphonies about it and Steven King describes it in bloated essays. October gets cold, the leaves change color and fall off trees. It’s a contemplative time of change. And death, but let’s not get into that. Let’s focus on life in the fast lane: Illegible scribblings, abstract witticisms, bad poetry, and descriptions of the landscape at breakneck speed. Theoretically, I’m supposed to be summarizing “what’s going on” in this issue. Well, it’s hard for me to tell what’s going on because I’m too busy going on…
We’ve got some new people on staff and the late night philosophizing is getting pretty thick. While Kerry Joyce, now our Production Manager, and I talk revolution, we can hear the screams of Liz Starbuck, chained in the basement, being flogged for her past misconduct. Joe Amicangelo, our Local Music Editor, is racing all over catching the latest hot scoop and making up for the fact that I fumbled the ball. Bands and clubs – trust Joey. He’s got the integrity to tell your stories and cover the scene the way it should be covered. My Assistant/National Music Editor, Autumn Ober, is talking even faster than I am and pulling almost as many caffeine-soaked all-nighters to do the dirty work that most people are afraid to do. We’ve got new, psychotic writers, twisted artists, and more productive alterna-freaks than you could shake a really big stick at. I am proud to give printed voice to such diligent, creative individuals. I just organize it, they make it. I invite any and all producers of original oddities to drop us a line.
As time goes on and more, ahem, financial freedoms are made available, we’ll be expanding our coverage of existing topics and pushing it further! Further! It’s not just about music and writing and art; it’s about being a part of what others call our “Alternative Youth Culture.” It involves sex, drugs, rock ‘n roll, romance, rage, regrets, aspirations and then some. We don’t have to stagnate in Slackerville or slowly mutate into adults; it’s not over ’til you’re dead (literally or prematurely) so read it, live it, make it, and enjoy it while you’ve got it. Send contributions and be a part of “the voice.” Write letters of praise or damnation if something moves you. But please, leave my mother out of it.
