The past month has been fun. Ever since the last issue “hit” the “streets” I have lost count of the number of random people that have approached me with nice things to say. Obviously the vast majority want to know when I’m going to be working with Rik Mayall again, what it’s like to be married to Jennifer Saunders, and does it really hurt to be hit over the head with an enormous frying pan? (I regularly ask if they’d like to find out…)

However it also appears that some of you read the magazine as well. And for that you have my eternal gratitude. Please do keep the comments coming. Whilst it’s always nice to know that people enjoy what we do, it’s also surprisingly refreshing to hear people’s thoughts on what we could do better. Even though in 90% of cases that does tend to involve featuring their band more.

Normally I just smile politely at the suggestion, but the real reason we don’t has nothing to do with agendas, egos, cliques or pre-defined strategies passed down from some mythical management company. It is quite the opposite. Strip away the lovely design (Tim), the beautiful photography (Tom and team) and the tireless efforts of the unsung heroes who keep us funded (Tony, Jack, Nelson etc) and what you’re left with is essentially a fanzine.

The whole point of fanzine is passion. And no amount of selling, promoting or coercing is ever going to change what you feel passionate about. Passion requires a personal connection, and this is usually born out of context.

But context is something that an artist can only partially influence. They cannot dictate the personal circumstances that their audience arrives with.

Over the past few weeks I have seen a band do more or less the same set twice:

The first was Eels leader Mark Oliver Everett solo at St. James’ Church in London. I was right at the front of the balcony, hovering about 8 feet above his head as he played guitar and piano. The church was beautiful, lit only with candles whilst the audience remained respectfully silent during the songs. The vibe was relaxed, warm and intimate. It was stunning.

The second time I was at the back of The Sage in Newcastle. A lovely venue, but this time the 2-man band billed as Eels failed to make a connection through 1649 other people to me. The songs were great, but lacked the scale of arrangement suitable for the room, whilst the light of around 500 camera phones was just irritating.

But how much of either of my responses could have been anticipated by Everett? And yet these very factors are what could leave me deciding whether I like an artist or not.

And so it works in microcosm in our very own scene. What you’ll read in these pages are things that we’ve been moved to write about because something has connected. I was blown away by Eureka Machines’ debut gig at the Brudenell. Partly because the set was very good, but also because it was just before Christmas, a fantastic atmosphere, and I was in a good mood. I cannot tangibly demonstrate how much, if any, an affect this had, but you cannot account for it.

Ironically, Everett’s Quantum Physicist father (Hugh Everett III) is the originator of the parallel worlds theory (pay attention Shatner fans). To summarise decades of work into a pithy sentence it states that every possible outcome of an event exists in parallel somewhere.

Ergo in some parallel existence I think The Twang are marvellous. On the flip side, The Beatles failed to chart and Elvis is still alive. The next time you find yourself saying “in an ideal world”; it is probably out there somewhere. In mine The Scaramanga Six have been number 1 in the album chart since November.

So if you’re in a band, consider that wildly different outcomes might be entirely dependent on the mood of someone in the audience. If they hadn’t taken that phone call just before they arrived, how might that have changed their perception of your band? In China a butterfly flaps its wings, in England The Butterfly sell 1 million records.

I hope you enjoy this issue. And most importantly, I hope it finds you in the right context.

ATB, RPC.

Rob Paul Chapman