About Me
WELCOME TO 'ANTI-MATTER' ON MYSPACE
For those who don't know, Anti-Matter was a fanzine published between 1993 and 1996 from a bedroom on the corner of East 10th Street and First Avenue in New York City. Anti-Matter was also a compilation album, released in 1996, that documented sixteen hardcore, post-punk, and indie bands who weaved the fabric of the music that featured prominently in the fanzine. On November 6, 2007, for the first time ever, Anti-Matter will become a book: The Anti-Matter Anthology: A 1990s Post-Punk & Hardcore Reader will be issued by Revelation Publishing, the literary sister of Revelation Records .
On this site, you'll find updates on the book's release schedule, a weblog with practical announcements and random stories from the era, related event schedules, and a safe place to debate the important things — like Split Lip vs. Chamberlain. Or "Can We Win" vs. "Give It Up."
Anti-Matter was conceived and created by Norman Brannon — in 1993, a former guitarist for Ressurection , 108 , and Shelter . Upon its demise, Brannon went on to form Texas Is The Reason and New End Original , in addition to working as a DJ and running an independent dance label called Primal Records . His work has been published in Alternative Press, Punk Planet, Ego Trip, Soma, and VIBE, among others. Brannon is currently working on new music , as well as a second book of short-story nonfiction. He lives in Brooklyn, New York, and online at Nervous Acid . Also, he apologizes to anyone who bought Fuzzy or Inch records at his behest.
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FOREWORD BY AARON BURGESS
One of the first rules you're taught in journalism school is objectivity. One of the first things you learn as a rock writer, and one of the only truths that torments you throughout your career as such, is that objectivity stinks. I mean, who besides the most reactionary, humorless fanatic really wants to read an "objective" record review? (You know: "Band X has been making music for Y years. Band X's new release, Really Important Record, does this and that. It also does this and this and this...") What rock writer with real human emotions — and not the High Fidelity-sort of pseudo-emotions one gets from memorizing album credits — has ever conducted an objective interview?
These are rhetorical questions, of course. You need only look as far as the rock magazines on your shelves, the rock sites in your Web browser, to find page after page of mannered, noncommittal stories about nothing: Puff pieces exalting the "kewl" new sounds of rock's flavor of the minute. Illiterate rants penned by sycophants who think all a critic needs are ears, a press release, and a PC (the music's always secondary, of course). Very rarely today do you find a rock writer whose work tears into the guts of the matter, whose questions get beyond the music's surface to examine the real human issues lying underneath. Not the well-worn issues of personality and decadence, either, but The Big Issue of what it means to be a frightened human being truly living on this big, lonely planet.
I know what you're thinking, and you're right — sort of. Most modern rock bands don’t examine these kinds of issues, so most rock writers don’t have to dig deeply to get the story. But in hardcore and punk rock, the genres on which Norman Brannon's fanzine Anti-Matter was built, thousands of intelligent, motivated musicians have long been examining the kinds of existential issues others have put on the backburner. True, a lot of punk musicians are young, and young people by nature are bound to have stupid existential crises. In this area Norm was no different. But there is one crucial area in which Norm broke from his peers in the punk zine community, an issue around which he lives even now that his tastes have shifted toward pop and electronic music: Norm was, and is, a seeker. He interviewed bands for Anti-Matter not because he liked their music (although he did), but because he found something intangible in their music that described how he was feeling, and he wanted their help in understanding just what that "something" was.
Norm wrote what he did in Anti-Matter because he had to; the fanzine's contents reflected the conflict that was unfolding inside the writer. He often asked questions that were embarrassing to read (many of which are reprinted in this book); but even in his most naïve line of questioning he could articulate the issues that he — and, invariably, his readership — was facing at that point. There's something beautiful and natural about even the most earnest writing in Norm's old interviews. When today's younger punk writers adopt similar styles, their work seems forced. Even at its most amateurish, Norm's writing never had that quality.
Which isn't to say that Norm launched Anti-Matter because he wanted to be regarded as "seminal" in the field of punk fanzine editing. The zine's content flowed naturally, innocently, and it mirrored the direct links between the music, Norm's heart, and Norm's head. The hype about Norm's being "seminal" would come later, much to his dismay, from the author's admirers — most of whom, unfortunately, would continue to miss the point in their own work.
Norm once said of Anti-Matter, "I was basically trying to get [my interview subjects] to say the things I was thinking in my head — partially because I just wanted to know that I wasn't a freak, and partially because I wanted other people to know they weren't freaks, either." With that noted, I think there’s just one reason why Anti-Matter is no longer publishing — and it has nothing to do with music, advertising concerns, or scene politics. Norm found the truth he was seeking, and he learned to take that crucial next step.
