Error Magazine - Issue 02 by diecast

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rror Two EContributors Chris Beaumont Boomstation Luke Edwards Graham Fraser Lewis Heriz Inspirebox Itchy Bum Peter King Little Battles Lowercase Industry Gilda Maurice Wm. B. Mclure Martyn Norman Andrew Pinaire Paul Ryding Robert Shepherd Tom Smith David Wierzbicki

Welcome

to error issue two

This issue’s loose theme: “Fool” So yes, a new mag, a new format. Hopefully this new pdf malarkey will mean it’s a little better for everyone involved.

Record Label

Sincere thanks to all contributors (and their patience and understanding), and to Seed records and 2econd class citizen for this issue’s wicked mp3s.

Seed Records

Design/ Editor

James

Boomstation

Legal

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Seed Records album is more mature and cohesive than their previous outings.

Cousins Rich Bevan & Josh Doherty, aka Posthuman, are a very difficult duo to define. With their roots in dubby electronics - as heard on their debut release with Skam Records back in 1999, their musical journey has been eclectic, unpredictable, and impulsive: Each release showing a different facet of their tastes from hip-hop tinged experimental electronica to satirical pop, thrash metal, blissful ambience and full on acid breaks. Now - with their third album ‘The People’s Republic’, the Scottish pair turn their attention towards postrock melancholics. Their signature strong rhythms and thick, dense soundscapes are still there, heavy on melody and classic retro sounds, but the overall concept of the

Recorded in Edinburgh, Scotland, the album features collaborations with Maximo Park keyboardist Lukas Wooller, blues guitarist Tom Brady, and spoken word excerpts from the mysterious Jane XI. Posthuman reveal a new approach to their writing process: “We wrote simple songs, just singing with guitars” explains Josh, “then we took each song, deconstructed them piece by piece, and spent the next few months remixing the parts - putting them back together again until most of them had become entirely new songs.” The result is a distinctive and original album, yet, as ever with Posthuman - indefinable. Check the mp3’s and make up your own mind… The People’s Republic is out now on Seed Records.

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auberginetix ping (live) - MP3

one of these days - MP3

seedrecords.co.uk

d e n g i s n U Artist 2econd Class Citizen’s 2005 debut EP “Divided Reality” was rated as the month’s recommended release in International IDJ magazine. In his own typically modest words, ‘not bad for a first release’... He began producing, djing and touring with Huddersfield based collective Tour de Force in 2001. Since then, his open-minded attitude has taken him through diverse influences including hip hop, drum n bass, jazz, psych, 70s acid folk and pretty much anything that appeals to his varied tastes. Regular morning car boot sales and flea markets, a true bargain-hunter’s approach to crate digging and the desire to unearth forgotten albums give his music originality and

depth based on soulful samples from unusual sources. Citizen’s atypical approach to melodic structure shows his musical understanding and absorbed influences, but he sees himself more as arranger than musician. Currently working on his debut album (described loosely as “an excursion through folkoddity”) he is also seeking a label deal. Alongside the current album, a live set is under development that aims to recreate the complexity and depth of orchestration he has become known for whilst bringing in live musicians and using live sound editing software to keep a strong improvisational aspect. Wishing Well - MP3

2CC myspace

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Issue artwork - david wierzbicki

artwork - martyn norman

Issue artwork - chris beaumont

Empty shell existence Hollow heart Losing patience With myself Amongst other things, Read this line Do not cross

waiting in line for a circular existence trees that seldom shed leaves learning to breathe now release

Forefinger rubbing Sore eyes My elbows Up upon the table Excuse my manners Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m having difficulty Being

scorching seconds hours burn away ice cream interval exit stage left with nothing please spare me your change.

And whats the time At that place Where never never Meets forever past appointments forgotten please understand your patience

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words - tom smith / artwork - graham fraser

Very old words

Categorical mayhem, thats what she said. yesterday. on my way home, it was certainty. absolute. I was positive of this if nothing else, it was a way of life. The only way Ive known.. the carefully plotted. not once, never. this was all. this was it. complete. infinite. Words are disastrous. Flying the pigeon wheel. it wasn’t like the day before, he seemed, I don’t know, off-key maybe, just a bit. he was talking to himself in a manner that I never would have expected, it sounded all too serious. I think he actually believed himself. caught up on the windmills, right on the way. red cataclysm. Many days have passed since that last time we met. I don’t think we need to spend so much time together anymore, occasional meetings are probably more suiting. We’ve managed to gather as much information as can be heard for a long while, more than most people can take. yet still, im afflicted with the same intoxicating thought patterns that plagued me so long ago. Naive. Forgetful. 16 percent should do. Thats all I need. Just enough to break away. Former habits crept up like the steel holding us on this planet, it was my structure, its hard to rebuild these things. a nice afternoon was all it would take, or maybe a few years of bending moments to fit. it wouldn’t really matter in the end, considering all the time we wasted on forgotten ideals and temporary satisfaction. This is the character we saw that day, this is the reason of my sobriety, this carries much weight in our strange democracy... yet, still. I cannot see past my own devices, my own pride of locking mechanisms, the whole fabric of conversation... a trained pattern of thought can carry much further than a simple idea, so I dropped the mannerisms and moved onto a new set of signs.

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deceitful, treacherous, vile, despicable. stagnant. still echoes. even if time stood still for one hundred years I could never truly catch up and stop this ever-forward freight train of ideas, fragmented visions of memory. surrounded asphyxiated. I’ve no room to breathe anymore. the day that approached us so slowly has long since passed and we’ve left behind a mass of thoughts which never truly existed according to the astrologist. but what is existence, and what is the point? “for love” he says. for love, he doesn’t understand or maybe it is me that doesn’t understand. An understatement of magnitude left for the bitterness of his heart to make any sense of. the bitterness he meant to leave behind, behind the box in the back room where no one has looked for seven months, its still there. we haven’t left this place nor have our cold unwavering minds continued to strive any further. It’s all sarcasm right? i mean, it’s all logical right? I mean, I mean whats the point if the point is skewed, and whats the reasoning, if your point isn’t there, and whats there if we aren’t able to see it, and Ive left it in the box for none to see, not even me, i will just leave it until it comes back, as it always does, forever existing in this mindset of madness that hinders me. The brevity of relaxation brings the worst of all creations. =--= ‘ = ‘===-=-=---__---

words - andrew pinaire artwork

Something of a Phage (Part 2)

Untitled” (the stranger hit the nail

right on the head)

it’s almost painful to be (couldn’t help a man to buy a slice of bread if he needed it)

“feeling left out?” was all he said...

artwork - itchy bum

(and you better believe it)

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words - little battles / artwork - lewis heriz

this transparent...

Issue artwork - lowercase industry

Issue artwork - boomstation

Issue artwork - lewis heriz

Issue artwork - chris beaumont

artwork - paul ryding

Issue artwork - graham fraser

Lift Shaft By the time this lift reaches the ground floor you’ll be dead,

3rd floor

5th floor

At snail’s pace you decay, Little by little, Day by day, One by one, The ashes fall away. Leaving some fine morsels, On which the hounds of hell can chew, Some juicy femurs one and two, Your teeth and jaw reminders of a life gorged.

Luck would gratefully have you pass away, naturally, By the side of a lover under the stars, Boxed in mahogany and laid to rest, In the cemetery with the rest, Your skins disrobed layer by layer, By a battalion of bugs, altered tailors, Hungry for a piece of you, 4th floor

2nd floor

Misconduct and contamination aside, Their urgency noted as they send their sonics through the earth, With hundreds and thousands of feelers and legs, Inviting other species along for the ride, Wood is broken down through the ages, Generations of insects, these famished and insatiable seas, Breaking down your hull In their innate quest, To make you null, As esoteric as that may seem, Better a creature feeds than starves, just mean

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artwork

Alas, things will not be quite as slow and natural, In the art of your death, A meeting with a demon is bequeathed. You all entered the lift with me, Not the most prudish decision unfortunately, Going about your day to day business, Mindless chit chat rattling about your communal coffin Each second marking your descent, Men checking their watches, sure not to be late, Women making sure there are dressed unwittingly for the abominable appointment, At the devil’s quarters. In her mirror she checks her hair, Only to realise I’m not there.

1st floor

I am so very hungry now, I too have a need for survival, It is just my taste for meat differs somewhat. With each second that ticks, I hear your heartbeat and I crave my fix Earth crawlers are fulfilled banqueting when the flesh is dead, as are you. I prefer to enjoy life when I eat, Rare, but, true Male, aged forty, one hundred and eighty pounds, bald, brown eyes. Female, aged twenty three, ninety nine pounds, long blonde hair, blue eyes Male, aged, thirty two, one hundred and twelve pounds, curly ginger hair, hazel eyes Female, aged fifty two, one hundred and twenty pounds, shot grey hair, green eyes Male, aged eighteen, one hundred and sixty pounds, straight black hair, blue eyes Bing.

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artwork - paul ryding

words - Wm. B. Mclure

The doors open and I walk upon a tide of blood.

Issue artwork - peter king

artwork - boomstation

Let me introduce you to pickles. He’s got a less conventional headment than most, but he’s here, and you’re here and well... we might as well sit down and snap a few words in two over a cup of biscuits in these plastic chairs, in this sterilised, echoing room with the big toughened windows and frequent glances. He’ll empathise over the sirens, a fixed knowing gaze throughout the screeches, a few nods of encouragement, and you’d know there you were collectively scuffing around on more than the average common ground, chipping the same squashed cans and cigarette butts out of the soil. But what of Pickles’ own monologue? What of his stringy words and jolts? Different story then… It’s all too slow, you see, all too sliced staccato for you to return the favour, and after a while even the most grateful amble away, letting these blurted gobbets fade in the air behind them as he watches a familiar scene play out minus credits, minus song, minus conclusion. So I‘ll leave him here with you, and you can leave him behind this time because it’s breaking my heart.

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words - boomstation / artwork - chris beaumont

Pickles

I’m gonna die young

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artwork - lowercase industry

I can’t stop coughing it’s got my hands jerking stopping me from rolling my next cigarette

Animal Spirit

Somewhere, a goat falls.

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words - gilda maurice

So this sheep was there at the foot of the office building, its leg folded at a strange angle, and it seemed, well, it seemed as if it had jumped. This was an unusual case, obviously, but forensics did theirjob and found the hoof marks on the window. There little bits of wool on the broken glass. Witnesses said the animal had seemed determined. It had run straight at the double-glazing while the other officeworkers watched frozen, cups and bagels still halfway to their mouths, fingers poised above the keyboard. Obviously motive was difficult to determine, you know, it was a sheep. And as to what it was doing there, nobody knew. Most of the workers had assumed it was a motivational aid brought in by management. So, we didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t think of it much until the found the penguin, a week later, at the foot of this other office block. That was the start of the epidemic. All these animals plummeting through the morning air, silently hurtling down. Sidewalks littered with feathers and claws and fur. Managers fearfully scanning the skies from under their briefcases before they rush towards the revolving doors. The wind rushes suddenly through air-conditioned corridors, and paperweighted printouts whisper and tremble. And still, nobody knows where the animals come from. They seem to crawl out of the walls. The Elders say that the animal world is giving up on us. I watch open beaks oozing blood.

‘I was ‘ere?’ daubed on the wall outside my house: once bright yellow lettered question now faded rain-worn acceptence

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words - tom smith / artwork - chris beaumont

Still here

Issue artwork - paul ryding

artwork - luke edwards

Slipping The world somersaulted three-hundred-and-sixty degrees. I could no longer feel the tiled floor beneath my bare feet. Instead I breathed in the chlorine saturated air and looked up at the wooden ceiling, taking it all in. It was studded at regular intervals with lights. Each had its own rainbow patina.

The surface of the swimming pool, its surface punctured in various place by a variety of heads and bodies, slid away out of view.

words -/ artwork robert shepherd / artwork - inspirebox

The murky background noise of the swimming pool – whoops, screams and splashes – echoed against the walls and the surface of the water and collapsed into a low roar. A clock sponsored by Speedo showed the time as being 3.15. Roughly. I watched passively as my left-leg flew upwards to a position normally occupied by my head. For a moment I hung motionless and inverted. I had the time and space to think about things, about whether this was going to hurt or not, about whether the wet semi-naked people in the pool were going to turn and look at me with shocked faces, indeed whether anyone would notice at all – aside from angry-faced lifeguards. Not that I had any expectations either way.

As my skull made a thwacking sound on the same damp surface that my feet had been in contact with less than a second before I merely felt indifferent. There was a sharp pain above my left eye, but this was almost immediately blotted out by a dull, hot sensation that crawled across all my nerve-endings. It felt like my head was surrounded by static electricity. Something warm and viscous slowly mixed with the chlorinated water that still clung to my hair. I wondered how these different chemicals reacted to each other on a molecular level. Blood, water and chlorine. The world started to turn a darkening maroon. I imagined a bloody grid forming in the grouting between the tiles. It turned pink at the edges as it diluted with the water. At some point on my trajectory I remembered catching sight of a sign written in stark black letters. No Running’ it said.

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I’ve friends in high places (and that’s why I can’t reach them)

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words - tom smith / artwork - itchy bum

It’s been a long time coming.

Error Issue Three Autumn / Winter 2006. Theme

Next issue’s theme is “I’m sorry, what?”.

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Ta ta...

artwork

artwork - martyn norman

This is a loose concept to work with, so feel free to submit work to do with whatever you see fit.

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Contributors & Information Contents Submit Mp3 Information Legal List of contributors

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Submit

Information

Spread sizes: Single – 375 x 500px Double – 750 x 500px (please submit images at 100+ dpi)

Error is published online on an as and when enough suitable material is received.

Written content should be around 450 words, although longer stories can be accommodated for over 2 issues. Submissions are not proof read. Please contact error before sending huge files.

Money Error is not a commercial venture – it is a privately funded enterprise and as such can offer no payment for the inclusion of work. Error relies exclusively on the support of its contributors.

Mp3 The mp3 section is a temporary download for the negotiated period, after which the download terminates. It combines both an unsigned and signed artist/label.

Contributors Low resolution examples of their featured work is sent out aprx. 2 weeks before the magazine is published. published to allow for any mistakes can be rectified.

If you’re a representative of a label, or would like your tracks considered for inclusion, please send an email. In the interests of practicality, please don’t add unsolicited attachments as these will be deleted without review.

email: error@errormagazine.com IMPORTANT Please have ‘submission’ in the subject field.

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Legal

In the interest of establishing concrete dates and times, each magazine is copied before publishing and sent to error’s legal representative. Should any copyright breaches arise, these copies are admissible in court.

All featured work (“featured work” in this context meaning submitted work presented on the magazine “pages”, including but not limited to artist’s photography, illustrations, design, written work, music, relevant company/individual logos) remains strictly under each separate artist’s copyright.

Error relies on the integrity of the contributors to avoid publishing uncleared work, and as such is not to be held responsible for contributor’s submissions. Any copyright disputes must be addressed directly to the contributor. Should any breach of applicable copyright laws arise from an individual/company submitting uncleared work, the offending content will be removed instantly and the contributor barred from submitting further material.

Material submitted by the record label (including but not limited to music, corporate identity material, photography, and written material) submitted to error remains strictly under the copyright of the record label. All other design work (including but not limited to logos, magazine layout and other visual elements/artwork) remains strictly under copyright of boomstation 2006.

For individual credits, please refer to the contributor profile pages.

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Chris Beaumont

Boomstation

Site

Contact

uptothehilt.com

boomstation.com

chris.beaumont@gmail.com

error@errormagazine.com

Information

I does freelance graphic design, musicalation, art direction, illustration, web, photography and various twisted writings, as well as editing/designing error magazine.

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Graeme Fraser

Luke Edwards

Contemporary Fine Artist

Contact

Site

abes_oddysey@hotmail.com

Information

Luke Edwardsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; work challenges an on-going obsessivecompulsive disorder. It is based around a pattern of behaviour that is acquired through frequent repetition from an early age. His work helped him understand his actions in an attempt to cut it down or stop it all together. This work does not depict clearly the habit involved but cleverly conceals it so the viewer can develop their own interpretations. The materials within the work do not convey specific meaning, but it is through their use we get to see into a deeper meaning. Luke produces his work

flickr.com/photos/ackermilk as a distraction from the habit and it clearly shows repetition throughout the work which then becomes a habit itself.

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Contact

ackermilk@gmail.com

Information

No particular style, just the everyday. That said I am more interested in buildings, the inanimate and on the flipside the doing, than I am in humans and animals. McCullin, Weegee, Brassai and Robert Frank are my main sources of inspiration. To be fair they were all largely human focussed, however, it is the composition and the immediacy that gets me everytime. In fact, it is the black and white medium that unites all of these, and in turn, is my preferred medium.

Lewis Heriz

InspireBox

Contact

Site

Information

Contact

inspirebox.com

lewis.heriz@gmail.com

richardmonk@inspirebox.com

In the perpetual process of building a circus around himself in Nottingham, UK, out of nothing but ink and sounds.

Information

Richard Monk creates innovative photographic, design and multimedia oriented work which is released under the InspireBox brand. Clients include a number of software houses and musicians. Please visit his site for more information

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Itchy Bum

Peter King

Site

Contact

itchy-bum.co.uk

phattdesigns.co.uk pete@phattdesigns.co.uk

braiden24@hotmail.com

Information

a 24year old grapholic from wolverhampton. uk

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Lowercase Industry

Little Battles Site

Site

Contact

littlebattles.modblog.com/

lowercaseindustry.com

QAngelBoyQ@aol.com

info@lowercaseindustry.com

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Wm.B.McClure

Gilda Maurice Contact

Site

www.myspace.com/lecouteaujaune

gmaurice@gmail.com

Information

Gilda comes from Paris but now lives in London, in a floating garden surrounded by swans.

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Martyn Norman

Andrew Pinaire

Site

Contact

martyn-norman.co.uk

abstractology.com

m_norm_007@yahoo.com

Information

Oscar Wilde once said “try everything once, except incest and Morris dancing”. Well, by the age of ten, Martyn Norman was the third best Morris dancer in Britain. Educated and raised by L.S.Lowry’s nanny, Martyn spent his youth living beneath Stockport Viaduct, catching rats with his web-like hands and selling customised Ipod Nanos to history supply teachers. He had numerous encounters with the law, culminating in an incident at age 15 that involved hacking Stephen

abstractology@gmail.com

Hawking’s voice emulator during a lecture on dark holes. His hobbies include golf, MC Hammer throwing and finding hidden codes in Mein Kampf.

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Robert Shepard

Paul Ryding Site

Contact

paulryding.com

st29107k@hotmail.com

Contact

info@paulryding.com

Information

Paul Ryding is an illustrator and artist based in Glasgow, Scotland. Inspired by everyday media - song lyrics, web searches, newspapers - he seeks to question the role of mainstream culture.

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David Wierzbicki

Tom Smith Site

Site

missingthumbs.blogs.friendster.com/ a_whole_bunch_of_wrongnes/ myspace.com/missingthumbs myspace.com/carbootdisco

davidwierzbicki.com

Contact

wierzbickid@gmail.com

Contact

Information

Missingthumbs@gmail.com

Illustrator, Graphic Artist Toronto, Canada.

Information

Writing as a diversion activity, engaging brain when attempting to detach. It’s nice when people read the words and then we can use more words to talk about the words. I’ve never written professionaly, I try to find biro’s or sometimes steal those little blue ones from Argus. Forvever spilling forth from the heart, that’s why it ends up such a mess.

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Fin

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