My imaginary friends

There's a reason why I love Seattle, you know.


Fresh from the news that one of my former Nirvana book interns has been heavily involved with organising Seattle's Rock Camp for Girls, comes an email from another chum sending me a link to the following. Now, I'm probably one of a dozen people in existence who own copies of these albums, and two points strike me. Imaginary, the record label might have been - but what real difference was there between this and Robert Pollard releasing half-a-dozen Guided By Voices LPs on his own miniscule label to an uncaring world? Also: the music (if memory serves) was not imaginary. It was sweet, psychedelic, trippy. I reviewed at least one of these "non" albums for Plan B. It was certainly real in any non-philosophical sense of the word.

Several years back, I sat down in a NYC loft with Don Fleming and a friend, and together we invented a musical movement loosely based round the works of Amon Duul II: nemocore. One of the main ideas being, drummers fuck everything up so don't have any. Another main idea being, to be rhythmic without any rhythm. This genre too was entirely illusionary, imaginary - but it didn't stop me from writing a column about it for Melody Maker, and Don engaging in a lively argument over its musical merits with our very own Alistair Fitchett.

Later, of course, Don and friend (and very probably Thurston Moore as well) went and recorded several nemocore tapes under a variety of names and - if Don was to be believed (that is, rarely) - sold a number of copies, though not of the original tape involving the three of us, Turbulence (the 'e' was deliberate).

What I'm really saying is, who knows? I reckon there's a considerable cult waiting to spring up around "The Art Of The Imaginary Record"... (the following is drawn from the Picture, J.W.E. blogspot)

During the summer of 2001 something strange happened in Seattle that very few have ever known about, and for good reason, as it was primarily an imaginary exercise. A music label sprang up, literally overnight, an enterprise that, to date, has released more than 50 full-length records, platters of murky origin, and even murkier musical pedigree.

This covert, make-believe concern, aptly named A Very Limited Recording Company, was born in response to five young men, each already an integral part of the city’s cultural landscape (such lofty positions best left unspoken), who saw fit to dispense with traditional song-making concerns and forge ahead, blindly, into their own, uncharted madness, churning out wholly improvised “songs” at the touch of a recording button, like some secret dada wing of the famous Brill Building. Calling themselves Our Musical Situation, they produced some 11 full-lengths, plus numerous re-packagings and side-project recordings (all of which shall be featured in further installments of this pictorial history). The only rule was “record it all and edit later”, a credo that gave rise to such chestnuts as Cheers To The Creepers, Daddy’s Hole, and the entirely inscrutable Teabag Joe, songs that still warm the hearts of imaginary music listeners everywhere...

Someone really ought to start up something similar in Brisbane, for this. If anything, there's already even more music - not illusionary - available.