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364 / FAMILY ISSUE
Dear readers! What is family? Mom, dad, sister, and brother? Your gang? Your friends? That pillow you cuddle up to every night? The microscopic mites and bugs that roam the surface of your skin like herds of bison of the old West? This issue of PMZ will investigate the concept of the family unit. You unknowingly picked up a copy of this fanzine. Maybe at a coffee shop, record store, tattoo parlor. Maybe you met one of the Antagonists at an art event or found it on the back of a toilet. We hope you are hooked. But where can you get your next x? We make digital copies of each issue. Here is a list of places you can nd new issues: http://antagovision.com/psycho -moto-zine-archive facebook.com search for our fan page theantagonistblog.blogspot.co m Subscribe to our blog.
Ethan Minsker Marissa Bea &Kristin Brzoznowski Eric Wallin Al Benkin
& ART DIRECTOR
STATEMENT OF PURPOSE
THE ANTAGONIST MOVEMENT encourages new works of art and challenges the art world to do something different. We are not based on any one style or form of art, but believe that the piece should provoke. To this end, the Movement hosts the following events. PSYCHO.MOTO ZINE - is a branch of the Antagonist Art Movement’s press and has been in existence since 1988 under the original title East Coast Exchange. It acts as a venue for our writers, artists and editors. In an attempt to create new forms of art and writing, we highlight the obscure and unknown artists, draw focus to subjects passed over by the mainstream media. This is a not-for-pro t publication. Artists/writers donate their time to create this. The content is a mixture of ction and non ction. We also cover news of the art world, from street to gallery. Back issues can be found at “Psycho Moto Zine archives” at Antagovision.com To learn more
about the Antagonist Movement, look us up on Wikipedia. So, if you enjoy what you have read, please take a moment and look up our lms and books. Find our catalog listed at the end of this issue. There are digital copies of each for $1.99 on Amazon. We believe the price shouldn’t hinder you, so we do our best to have a cheap alternative to the hard copies. We are passionate about each project, mixing love and attention to detail to create a unique work of art. Our goal is to make something the large entertainment companies fail to do, which is create inspired works that cater to like-minded individuals. All the money we generate goes back to creating new art projects and supports a large community of struggling artists. Questions? Comments? Stories? Suggestions? Contact us at Antagovision.com, email us at email@example.com or follow/message us at facebook.com/pages/PsychoMoto-Zine CURRENT PROJECTS - The Antagonist Movement is currently working on an art project scheduled to take place in Ecuador, from October 26th to November 6th 2013. This is part of our art exchange with our South American colleagues. See more at www.antagovision.com The Antagonist - A novel about all of our projects for the last ten years and more. There is a back-story to everything we do, including this fanzine. Want to know how we
operate? This is the book for you. Release date - 2014? FARENHEIT - Open mic the rst Sunday of every month, features new writers. Sign-up starts at 8pm and the readings start at 9pm at Black & White 86 East 10th Street between 3rd and 4th Ave. Five minutes to tell your best story. Comics and abstract comedy welcome. Must be 21 years of age. PUBLIC ACCESS SHOW - MNN channel 67, Tuesday nights at 11 p.m. “Antagovision.” This 30-minute show covers events, artists’ studio tours and more. With over 70 episodes, you can see what we have been up to for the past ten years. To nd out about lm screenings and art shows visit us at Antagovision.com
The Good, The Dad, and The Ugly
by Timothy Danger
dad came home with two comic books in his hands, insisting that my brother and I spend the night reading, rather than watching Jack Tripper’s inappropriate misadventures on Three’s Company. It wasn’t really weird growing up in a strict Catholic home; it was a little like being on probation, for kids though. That night, as I thumbed through The Avengers, I was caught up in cosmic tales I
When I was nine years old, my
never knew existed, and for two kids already crazy about a little indie movie called Star Wars, we were hooked. My dad didn’t know it, but he had changed our lives forever.
like that, with my father trying his best to mold us one way, only to have it back re and let the rebellious nature take control. I remember vividly the one day he took my brother and me outside to teach us how to throw a baseball, only to give up after an afternoon of unmotivated movement and interest. My brother and I had it gured out; team sports were only for people who needed to prove themselves, and we were in competition with nobody.
My childhood continued much
and I am still saying “no”. By high school, my father was not shoving new things in my face to mold me, but rather staying silent and watching us grow independently. There were quite a few nights, when I would come home after causing some damage to his car. The next morning when I showed him what happened to his vehicle, he would say something like, “There is a lot of noise when you crash right?” My dad, would drive me to a junkyard, where we would nd a replacement light or xture (help me pay for some of it), and then assemble it and help me buff out any scrapes or minor dents.
When punk rock came into my life, it was like the light switch that nally turned on. My brother and I found our paths, him with rockabilly and illustration, and me with punk rock and writing. I was in love with being brash, con dent, and above all, saying “no” to people who expected me to accept things as they were—decades later,
Artist: Daniele Murtas
I was never grounded, but he would often hand me the broken lens or piece to keep as a souvenir.
It was hard to live up to my dad’s character. He married his high school sweetheart and never divorced (I can’t claim either of those things). He raised two smart, college-educated kids (my brother and sister) and one screw up (me). His unwavering belief in his Catholic faith has always remained a source of awe to me, as I have wandered the earth just trying to gure out why the man upstairs lets me wake up another day. I have fought him every step of the way, and I just can’t put into words how much I sometimes feel I am not worthy of being his son.
twenty ve, as my band was taking the stage in a local venue, I scanned the crowd of scantily dressed girls, tall gangly hipsters, punks and hardcore kids…and saw my dad at the edge of the crowd, watching us. The place was packed, the air
was stale, and smelled like beer and cigarette smoke, and as we kicked on the rst song my dad watched the crowd come alive as kids stormed the stage to sing along into the microphone. He stayed for the whole set, as we played anthem after anthem of songs I had written, about my life and thoughts. When it was over, I came down from the stage, and he bought me a beer.
Artist: Vera Primavera
It wasn’t until I was about
It was probably one of the most validating moments as a musician I have ever had: he told me he liked our set. The next day, he put my band’s sticker on his truck.
wondering what my dad thought of me, until one day, rehashing old family memories my mom told me stories about him. She said he used to cut class and drive to her school in his Mus
I have spent a lot of time
tang Fastback, doing donuts in the parking lot, trying to impress her. She spilled the beans on his own car wrecks as a kid, and I realized that my father and I weren’t too different. While my brother and sister may have gotten the successful gene, inheriting the bad seed isn’t that much of a loss. At least I’ll be the memorable one.
to tell bedtime stories to my sister and me. He was quite the eloquent storyteller, creating beautiful visions in our minds of far away lands, mystical creatures with golden hair, and demure damsels turned heroines. And he never forgot a detail, even when we asked him to tell the same story again and again.
The Grimm Truth
by Marissa Bea
Whenever one of us asked where he had heard such fantastical epics, he always told us:
“The Story Fairy told it to me.”
As a young girl, my father used
Of course, being less than 10 years old, we were still hiding our teeth under pillows in hopes of a dollar bill the next morn, and staying up all night Christmas Eve to catch any glimpse we could of the Big Red Guy. So, the Story Fairy made complete and total sense. One day—I might have been 10 or 11 years old, perhaps—I was digging through one of our basement closets. What I was originally looking for will be forever lost to history, because
Artist: Al Benkin
After a few minutes of
blind rage directed towards this Grimm character, who obviously didn’t realize he had committed serious plagiarism, the light bulb went off. “DAAAAAAAAA AAADDDD!”
Artist: Frédérique Lanquetin
what I found blew my world apart.
Opening the front cover, I was
intrigued. “Oooo, fairy tales, fuuuuun.”
My father came running down the stairs, guring I had either seen The Thing, or was trapped under some fallen debris that had collapsed under the house. He turned the corner and found me, standing there with the book in both hands, holding it like I was Oliver Twist, begging for more.
everything. He looked at my face, then at the book. Tears came to his eyes. But not sad ones. Oh no. Not my father. He was holding back the biggest laugh he had ever laughed in his entire life. We stared at each other for a minute. Finally, once he couldn’t hold it in any longer, he let out a sti ed byproduct of that laugh, and said to me:
I’m sure my expression told him
As I read the table of contents,
however, I became confused. “The White Snake? Snow White and Rose Red? THE BREMEN TOWN MUSICIANS???”
tales and put them in a book!?!?! Does he know this?!?
Who hath STOLEN my father’s
“Oh honey, the Tooth Fairy isn’t real either you know.”
The Seed Vault
by Patrick Craig (Writer of the Issue)
or when I’m taking a piss in a church bathroom. Lynne was pretty, they say, Lynne was quite a gal, sweet as butterscotch, abbergasting, aloof, voluptuous, knew a thing or two about a thing or two.
age of 8, and years later you recall the trauma of that incident, you don’t actually recall the trauma you felt at the moment you broke your leg, you recall the last time you remembered the incident. So, over time your recollection becomes like this: a memory of a memory of a memory, a layer cake of remembrance and revision.
If you break your leg, say at the
Lynne, my mystery mom, on a
warm January evening in Los Angeles, her auburn hair illuminated by rays of hazy orange sunset, paused to savor the aroma of fried chicken and cooked vegetables simmering on the stove. The call from her doct or
I’ve been told that my mother, whom I never met, was a hopeless romantic. She fell in love too easily, too quickly and she always fell for the wrong man. That’s how I came into being, evidently; I am the bastard son of the wrong man. At least that’s the story I’ve pieced together from bits of innuendo, usually whispered to me in conspiratorial tones by adopted cousins (one of whom dated her) at totally inappropriate moments—like at funerals
earlier in the day had been a shock, so much so that she allowed herself a bit of whiskey. She shouldn’t be drinking but the doctor’s verdict made her thirsty in a way that only a stiff drink could quench.
Artist: Al Benkin
Artist: Daniele Murtas
What would Lee say when he heard the news? She hoped his reaction wouldn’t be too awful. Her mother said most men, no matter how much they try to hide it, always have a moment of abject terror when informed of impending fatherhood. There was the chance that he would surprise her but she wasn’t counting on it. She would be relieved to nally get married—they’d been living together for a year and she was tired of the neighbors’ scrutiny and being the subject of church gossip. Maybe now Lee could get a transfer to a different division at work, one that didn’t require him to travel so much. Without warning he would call from the
road and say he was urgently needed at another of ce in Omaha, Tehachapi, Tucumcari. She chided herself for fretting over his absences; after all, he paid the bills for their nice little bungalow, had a good job and was a good lover…when he was in the mood.
Lee’s car pulled into the drive-
way, headlights visible through the new lace curtains. Lynne kissed him on the cheek as he walked through the door. He smiled, called her his little lily, said he was sorry for being late, that his boss, Tony, was really riding his ass about his expense reports.
Over dinner they made small
talk and Lee didn’t complain about the dry chicken or the mushy vegetables. After Lynne cleared the table she brought out a special treat. She’d baked the only cake she knew how to make: a six-layer chocolate cake with chocolate frosting. “You baked a cake, what’s wrong,” he asked. Lynne cut them both a slice and topped off
Artist: Frédérique Lanquetin
their coffee. “Nothing’s wrong, but I do have news,” she said. “Let’s here it, and don’t tell me you’re pregnant.” “I’m pregnant.” Lee put down his fork and began scratching his right eyebrow.
She said it again, “I’m pregnant.” “I heard you.”Lee picked up his fork and took a bite of cake. Followed by another and then another. Silently, Lynn counted to ten, got to ten, started again and sipped her coffee slowly. “Good cake?,” she asked. “The best,” he said. “Are you ready to stop being a bastard and tell me what you think?” “So I’m a bastard now?” A sinking sense welled up inside her; she wished she wasn’t out of cigarettes. “Well, how would you describe how you’re acting?” “Like a bastard I guess.” He came around to her side of the table, knelt down next to her and kissed her softly, his lips felt sticky against her cheek. “I’m sorry, it’s great news honey, really...great.”
That night as they lay together
in tangled sheets, Lynne imagined a simple wedding and fantasized about a honeymoon in Rio and buying a nice house by the beach. She drifted off to
sleep and dreamt about babies and blood.
The next morning Lynne slept
through the alarm. She hoped Lee wouldn’t work late again tonight. Last night had been rough but they got through it and in the end he had actually been very sweet. That’s what she told herself, he had been very sweet. She sat on the edge of the bed and placed her hand over her stomach. Maybe she felt different, she couldn’t tell. The phone rang as she was brushing out her hair.
nkin t: Artis Al Be
having morning sickness?” “Do you need me to spell it out for you? I’m married.” “What are you saying…you can’t be married…I’m pregnant. We’re going to have a baby.” “Look, I have a baby, I mean, I have a family. This all went much further than I ever thought it would. I’m sorry. I’ll try to send you some money. I paid the rent for the next two months, good-bye Lynne.” “Lee wait, you can’t do this! I don’t understand.” “My name is not Lee.”
“Hello?” “It’s me.” “You never call during the day, don’t tell me they’re sending you out of town.” “No, I have something to tell you,” Lee’s voice sounded like steel wool. “OK.” “I’m not coming home.” “What do you mean you’re not coming home?” Lynn asked. “I’m...married.” “I’m starting to feel really nauseous. Is it too soon to be
There was a click as he hung up. Lynn held the receiver against her ear, pressing it harder and harder against her skull. She wanted to push the phone right through her skull into her brain. She dialed Lee’s number at the of ce and realized she’d never called his work number before.
“Procter & Gamble,” said the operator on the other end of the line.
Artist: Vera Primavera
“Yes, could you please connect me to Lee Ratzinger,” Lynn asked. “One moment please,” Lynn twirled the phone cord as she held the line, certain suspicions that she’d denied started to feel real in a terrible new way. “We have no one here by that name. Can I connect you to someone else?” Lynne hung up the phone. She went into the kitchen and sat down at the table. She wanted to cry but no tears came. Her skin felt hot, sweaty, she found it hard to breathe. She desperately wanted to talk to her mother but she wouldn’t be home from her shift at the factory for a few more hours. Her mother never liked Lee, which evidently wasn’t his real name. She needed time to think but there was no time. A baby was growing inside her stomach. The eyes of the Kit-Cat Clock above the doorway lolled back and forth, the sweep of the tail tick-tocked the minutes; she felt small, so small.
Of course I have no way of
knowing if any of this actually occurred. This is just one scenario of many I’ve been told. But in the only picture I have of Lynne she’s smiling, holding a chocolate cake, her beautiful auburn hair cascading over her summer dress shoulders. She looks happy. That’s what I tell myself, she looks happy. My own layer cake of recollection and revision, like a memory of a memory of a memory.
The Notorious Throat Spray Conspiracy of 1998
by Megan 4IBNford
onto his wang, which would theoretically numb it long enough for him to insert and remove it from my vagina multiple times.
The boy with whom I lost my
virginity was quite handsome and much more popular than I, on the football team and active in school plays. (In my liberal school these two activities did not in any way contradict.) We dated for six months during my sophomore year, and all-in-all he was everything a high school boyfriend should be—courteous, polite, horny, etc. The only problem with our sex life was that he was what one might call a twopump-chump. He never once managed to bring me to orgasm, or even to get me turned on enough to realistically fake an orgasm.
His parents were out of town,
and he had decked out his room with candles, incense, roses, condoms, and cherry avored throat spray. By all appearances, we had the bases covered. After the obligatory making out/clothing removal, Matt sprayed a few spritzes of the stuff onto his manhood, then covered it with a condom and
Matt tried all sorts of solutions, such as double-bagging it, Artist: Al Benkin drinking before sex, poised to enter me. Then he thinking about…I don’t jumped out of bed, ripped off know…farts? None of it the condom and proceeded to worked. Then one night he run around his bedroom in announced that he had heard of circles screaming, “My dick’s a great solution from a on re!” “friend.” He would simply spray chloraseptic throat spray
room and we both splashed water onto his suffering member until his screams turned to whimpers. Obviously out romantic evening was over. I called my dad to pick me up and promised Matt to never, ever share the story with anyone. (Apparently, don’t believe me if I promise you that.)
I dragged him into the bath-
away the next week, and decided to stock the car with the exact same brand of throat spray, wait for Matt to inevitably cough, and then offer it to him, with some comment like, “I hear it’s quite useful.” Wink wink.
My dad always acted more like a geeky teenage brother than a father, and pestered me on the way home as to why the date got cut short. I wanted to make him laugh, so I told him. (My having lost my virginity was no secret, as I had proudly made the announcement in front of my entire family, as if I was coming out as gay or something.) My dad thought that this was the funniest story he had ever heard, and came up with a plan to humiliate Matt even further. Dad was scheduled to drive us both to a concert an hour
I thought the plan was a bust when we were almost to the destination and Matt hadn’t even so much as cleared his throat. So my dad raised and lowered the windows a few times, claiming the button had been sticky. Matt coughed. My dad whipped out
that throat spray as quickly as if it was a gun and Matt had just threatened to behead us. He proffered it to Matt with the agreed upon line, smirking like a complete creepster. Matt declined, looking at me as if to gauge whether or not it was actually possible that I had shared the x-rated story with my father,
Artist: Al Benkin
who now was openly mocking him about it. I shrugged, and Matt, presumably chiding himself for being so ridiculously paranoid, promptly dropped it.
work. Don’t get me wrong, I thought their stencil techniques and lines were awless, but I wanted to see something more, something deeper.
the concert. And Matt never got good at sex.
We had a really good time at
And I did. After doing more
ICY AND SOT: FROM TABRIZ WITH LOVE
by Kim De Los Angeles
About a month ago, while
crossing the Williamsburg Bridge on the J train, I noticed a mural of 25 or so faces looking up at me through a rainbow of paint drips. A sudden rush of excitement came over me as I immediately realized that this was the skillful work of my dear friends, artists and brothers: ICY AND SOT
research on the brothers, I realized how proli c their work was. They had produced more work in the span of four years than most artists I know have, or will, in a decade. I was astonished to realize the paramount accomplishments they had made in Iranian urban art, in a society where graf ti artists are accused of being Satanists. And in that instance, I got it. In that moment of clarity I knew why they had to come to New York and I wanted to help make that happen.
After months of speculative
I rst learned of ICY AND SOT about a year and a half ago through my friend, the great Arturo Vega. His art representation in Amsterdam, The Klerx Art Agency, was looking for help in organizing ICY AND SOT’s rst U.S. exhibition in New York. Initially, I was a bit hesitant to fully embrace the
dreaming and scheming with their manager Ali Salehzadah (also manager of the Iranian punk band The Yellow Dogs), ICY AND SOT left Iran for the very rst time in July of 2012, with no turning back. (I’ll save the story of how they got here for another issue. Let’s just say, it wasn’t easy.) MADE IN IRAN, their debut exhibition in New York, opened a month later with over a thousand people in attendance, numerous sales
and an obscene amount of attention from street art blogs and international media at large.
I&S: Comparing it with Iran we would say, yes. But it’s just as hard to paint legally in the U.S. KDLA: A lot of people say that it's a struggle living as an artist in New York. Do you feel that way at times? What were the biggest struggles living as artists in Iran? I&S: Yes we feel it [is a struggle] in our daily life. But in Iran it was totally different; it was mostly about the things that were compulsory like passing a year and a half of military service to get the passport. KDLA: Has it been a hard process applying for political asylum? I&S: It's always hard to do so much paper work, but we both
Almost nine months later, ICY
AND SOT have ourished above and beyond my expectations. Recently, just off the road from their East Middle West Tour with The Yellow Dogs—a string of pop-up exhibitions/concerts in Chicago, Houston, San Francisco and Los Angeles—I sat down with ICY AND SOT on the rooftop of their Bushwick warehouse to drink a few PBRs
Photo By: Lori Zimmer, Art Nerd New York
and catch up. KDLA: It has been almost a year since you left Iran. Would you say that the U.S. has provided all of the liberties here that you imagined it would?
KDLA: That’s awesome. Congratulations! So how many spaces have you guys painted so far since you’ve been here?
I&S: Twenty- ve pieces all over the U.S. KDLA: What is your favorite project you've worked on so far? I&S: Our favorite was the Welling Court Mural Project (Astoria, Queens). We had a good time painting there. There were 102 street artists participating. KDLA: Tell me more about the Middle East West Tour. I&S: We drove from New York to San Francisco to L.A. to Austin to New Orleans to Chicago. Eight of us traveled across the country in one van with U-Haul in tow. KDLA: How was the show in L.A.? I&S: It was at the Vortex, it was non-pro t space. We did everything on our own for it. We couldn’t get a liquor license so the police came and con scated everything. They knew that there was going to be alcohol at
the opening so they came half an hour after we opened the doors. KDLA: What does the future hold for ICY AND SOT….
Photo By: Kim De Los Angeles
What can we expect to see? I&S: We will do more stuff on the streets of New York, as it's the season to hit the streets. The next step is the European tour.
ICY, 27, and SOT, 22, are stencil artists, skaters, best friends and brothers. Hailing from the city of Tabriz in northwest Iran, ICY AND SOT continue on their creative crusade to traverse preconceived perceptions of traditional Iranian art’s brevity through their highly intricate and striking stencil artworks.
Despite Iran’s cultural ourishing since the 2009 uprisings in Tehran, creative visual expression is still a constant struggle for its artists and society today. It is an oppressive force that provokes the Iranian art scene to uctuate between inhibited elegance and raw underground energy. This ambiguity is re ected in the vulnerable yet hopeful deep-set imagery of ICY AND SOT’s street art.
Their proli c stencil work can
be seen on the streets of Paris, Turin, Sao Paolo, New York and many other international cities. The brothers have been featured in numerous exhibitions and publications throughout Iran, South America and the U.S. They are currently working on exhibitions in Amsterdam, Berlin and Milan.
FANZINES IN REVIEW
By: Ethan Minsker
These are not really reviews. I am selecting fanzines I love. Fanzines
have been relegated to the back seat now that blogs have taken over. However, there is something special about holding a zine in your hands, and knowing that the publishers more than likely put them together themselves. I like to make fanzines because I can leave them anywhere, like on the back of a toilet, and someone might pick it up and read it (someone who, if they were in front of their computer, would be looking up porn instead). Death to the blogs! Yes, I know we also have a blog. Find it here: http://theantagonistblog.blogspot.com You can nd our public access show, video pro les, and our fanzines there. Death to the blogs!
news print 8.5” x 11” # of pages: a lot PO Box 460760 San Francisco, CA 94146-0760 I have been reading this fanzine since I was a little kid. It’s the best place to know about punk rock, from scene reports, to fanzines, to new music releases. They cover it all. Use them as a resource to nd punk rock distribution and stores across the globe.
SUPPORTING OUR copy NEXT PROJECT 5.5” x 8.5” COLIN! # of pages: 28 Marv/Gadgie Fanzine PO Box 93 Boston Lincolnshire PE21 7JW England firstname.lastname@example.org The subject matter centers on the punk rock world of Boston, a small town in England. Marv covers his corner in a way that makes me want to visit. It’s not just stories of the bands, it’s the people that make the punk rock scene. He writes in a conversational tone, so you feel like you are sitting at a pub with good friends over a pint. Give Gadgie a try, it’s good for your guts.
printed 5.5” x 8.5” # of pages: 32 Covers art, music, and more in Victoria, Texas. They interview bands, and publish local poets and artists. This is an off-shoot of their podcast, Old Man Bitter Girl, also known as OMBG.com. This fanzine gives me that warm feeling you have after watching a Wes Anderson lm. Give it a try.
Come and Take it
copy/digest 5.5” x 8.5” # of pages: 30 A Flood of the House Fanzine A Flood is an art fanzine based on the concept of matching visual artists with writers who describe their dreams. My favorite piece in this issue is the center illustrated comic about a new miniature head found on the subway by Alana Carlson. Jerry White Jr. has a long history of working on fanzines and public access shows, and I'm sure that he will produce many more great issues of A Flood. Look up his public access show called 30 Minutes of Madness.
By: Ethan Minsker Newspaper print magazine 6 issues each year; 10,000 print run Dimensions: 231x324 mm. Self-distributed throughout Germany, in coffee shops, restaurants, bars, clubs, skate shops, fashion stores etc. Free but you can subscribe, 4 for € 10 Email: email@example.com http://alloverhellshalfacre.wordpress.com/ “READ covers All Over Hell´s Half Acre. Always an animal on the cover, so that we can’t be put into a category, like music, art, politics etc. We cover what we think needs to be printed, regardless. English articles will be printed in original language, all other languages get translated into German.” –Boris from READ.
I would like to pretend I can read and understand German, but I
can’t. The few articles I have seen in English I have enjoyed. If you have a chance check it out, you will thank me later. You know what? Thank me now! You are welcome. See how easy it is to be polite? ****** 6 out of 5 Stars Release date: 05.21.13 Dischord/Hell re Favorite songs: “Fuck Your Career,” “Be Half,” and “Snap” Singer: Shawn Brown Guitar: Jason Farrell Bass: Dave Eight Drummer: Joe Gorelick Mixing: J. Robbins
I have to disclose that Jason Farrell used to work on this fanzine and
the one we did before PMZ called East Coast Exchange.
A fact about myself: I only buy records that give me that shiver
when I play them; it’s the only way to build a collection. From the
list above I expected something that would resurrect the emotions I had as a teenager, standing in the audience watching Jason looking up at the ceiling as he strummed his guitar—too shy to embrace the crowd directly—and Shawn in command of the stage, stalking back and forth as his eyes burned through you. Swiz was one of those bands I wouldn’t forget as I grew into a 44-year-old man. Placing the new Red Hare on red vinyl on my turntable, and listening to the sounds bursting out of my one speaker, I knew they had captured that same feeling. If you are a fan of D.C. hardcore, punk, or emo, pick up Nites of Midnite.
THIS ISSUE’S ARTIST CONTACTs:
Al Benkin http://www.etsy.com/shop/ BeautifulMutants Frédérique Lanquetin facebook.com/pages/FrédériqueLanquetin/114844755200387 Daniele Murtas http://dmurtas.blogspot.com/ Vera Primavera http://www.misiybandido.com/ Kelly Forsyth firstname.lastname@example.org
Al Benkin is a one armed,
ARTIST OF THE ISSUE:
queer, assemblage artist, painter, curator & stuffed animal maker/enthusiast. She likes to manipulate and paint on found objects. Nationally and internationally shown, Al’s paintings re ect her observations about life being a comedy of the absurd. For more info visit www.AlBenkin.com.
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Shop at the Antagonist shop! Get a shirt, matter of fact, get all the Antagonist shirts and know that the little money we make will support new issues of this fanzine. We have over 30 designs made especially for the Antagonist Movement by selected up-and-coming artists. You won't find these shirts anywhere else. Be the only kid on your block with one! Do you like punk rock, Washington, D.C. and the ‘80s? Well we have a book for you! Rich Boy Cries For Momma. A rst-hand account of Washington, D.C.’s punk rock scene in the ‘80s and ‘90s as told by a dyslexic punk. Available anywhere e-books and paperbacks are sold. Also available at St. Marks Book Shop on 9th St & 3rd Ave. and Generation Records at 210 Thompson St. between w. 3rd and Bleecker St. Money goes to publishing new books. The Dolls Of Lisbon, a movie about struggling artists making work on the other side of the world. A DIY eyeball-busting bonanza. Find it on Amazon, iTunes and on DVD. Also available at St. Marks Book Shop on 9th St & 3rd Ave. Money goes to making new overseas art projects. Barstool Prophets, a book about the dirty secrets every bartender in the Lower East Side knows. Before you date a bartender, read this book. Available anywhere e-books and paperbacks are sold. Also available at St. Marks Book Shop on 9th St & 3rd Ave. Money goes to publishing new books. antagovision.com
This is Berlin, Not New York, DVD and Amazon instant download. See what trouble the Antagonists can get into when you make art in abandoned buildings in Berlin.
Anything Boys Can Do, DVD and Amazon instant download. Female musicians are all too often regarded as novelty acts, regularly shrugged off as militant feminist or cutely entertaining. Overwhelmed by the numbers of male bands, female bands of the scene are lumped together in one category, "girl group", regardless of their vastly different styles. The Soft Hustle, available on Amazon instant download. The story of a Lower East Side lowlife who makes a bet for $1,000, which he promptly loses. After getting kicked out of the apartment by his girlfriend, he nds himself having sex with cheap bar ies, robbing East Village stores, and pathetically pretending he is gay just to have a place to sleep.
Tell 'em Nerd for life, Trekkie till I die When 'em stupid ass critics ask why Tell 'em Nerd for life, Marvel till I die When 'em stupid ass critics ask why Tell 'em Nerd for life, Chess till I die When 'em stupid ass critics ask why, tell 'em I really like Psycho Moto Zine and want some of my own artwork to be published. That’s why. NERD LIFE. Send your submissions. email us at email@example.com or follow/message us at facebook.com/pages/Psycho-Moto-Zine
Artist: Kelly Forsyth
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