This song is what I always think of when I think of Plan B Magazine.
I know that's sort of obvious, but it's true. When I realised that, following the planned final issue of Careless Talk Costs Lives, I wouldn't be going to Australia like I expected (at least, not that year), I needed to rethink my strategy towards life. There was no way I wanted to go back to being a freelancer for someone else. This was too important to me.
It also seemed that there was this whole community - that I didn't even dream had existed - that had loosely congregated around the magazine, and it seemed a shame (and churlish) to throw that all away. So I regrouped with some allies from the CTCL days and started discussing the possibility of a magazine set up along similar lines, but way more egalitarian and - primarily - with the stated purpose of actually being able to pay key staff for their contribution. (CTCL never made anything over its two year lifespan - but there again, that wasn't one of our goals.) The magazine clearly needed a name. Plan B suggested itself. It was appropriate for several reasons and the title of one of my key favourite Dexys Midnight Runners songs. And everything comes back to Dexys (for me).
It's impossible for me to think of Plan B without thinking of the music that helped define the magazine in the way we interacted with it. And I think of Afrirampo, because this duo have been responsible for some of my favourite live shows of the past five years. I've stated this several times already, and I don't mind stating it again: INSPIRATION! ENERGY! ENTHUSIASM! VIRTUOSITY! FUN! IMAGINATION! CRAZY SHIT! We reached the decision to put them on the cover because after seeing them play at a Brighton Ladyfest-style show it seemed like there was nothing on the planet that could match them, live.
And I think of Smoosh, because it was at this point (very early on) that Frances Morgan proved herself eminently able of looking after the title without any outside interference. It was around the fourth issue. I was in Seattle for two months researching a Nirvana book. I wasn't able to communicate or commission or even particularly help proof-read. No matter. No matter at all. Frances was easily able to do all that, and more. (It's always a wrench to find yourself prematurely redundant, particularly at a title you helped start up - but no matter.)
And I think of Harmonia, because I was so happy to have my conceptions of what comprises 70s music re-aligned once more. Before Plan B it was almost off my radar. There again, I've always loved Kraftwerk and Neu! I finally caught Harmonia live in Brisbane earlier this year - at the inspirational Powerhouse - and, man, they did not disappoint. I'm not cerebral. I cannot explain or deconstruct, only occasionally describe. All I know is all I hear is all I feel is the tremors pulsing along my leg hairs.
Interesting, that (by supplying links to songs and performances that far better give colour to the collision of emotions pulsating through my head than my always-clumsy words can) I'm attempting to reverse the flow of music criticism - but, as the man says, what's so wrong with architecting about dance? What's so wrong with music about writing? It happens all the time. Think about it.
There's a link to one of my former Guardian blogs that I'd like to share with you, as well. OK?
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