JAN ‘13.

ARAF COLLECTIVE LONDON is a not-for profi t organisation which attempts to generate awareness and publicity for art-ists, musicians, performers and writers who require a public platform. We operate a system of nil returns and actively opt out of any commercial interests: the interests of Araf Collective are personal and reactionary; a creative site of resistance against ‘arts cuts’ culture. We are a means for you to get seen, a means of showing in a venue for free and a means of keeping creativity breathing.And before you ask... ‘ARAF’ is Welsh for ‘SLOW’.So Take your time and enjoy.

This Zine is intended as a parallel printed platform - YOU MAKE THIS! Creative contributions on a postcard to:

arafcollective@live.co.uk

This month, ARAF COLLECTIVE LONDON are proud to present : ‘LIGHTHOUSE’ at THE WRECK, Camberwell, 17.01.2013

featuring

WOLFLUNG, YOSSARIAN & THE CAULFIELD BEATSFOR YOUR LISTENING PLEASURE!

ARAF COLLECTIVE LONDON are proud to present : ‘LIGHTHOUSE’ at THE WRECK Camberwell, 17.01.2013

WOLFLUNG, YOSSARIAN & THE CAULFIELD BEATS

‘LIGHTHOUSE’ at THE WRECK,

WOLFLUNG, YOSSARIAN & THE CAULFIELD BEATSFOR YOUR LISTENING PLEASURE!

And the First Edition of Free Zine...SMELLIN’ SALTS

featuring

THE BANDS, ED LEA, ERICA PAYET, OLIVER ZARANDI, and more! FOR PERUSAL AT YOUR LEISURE!

THE BANDS, ED LEA, ERICA PAYET, OLIVER ZARANDI, and more!

ARAF COLLECTIVE LONDON WOULD LIKE TO THANK: THE WRECK, especially Rob Shuttleworth, WOLFLUNG, YOSSARIAN & THE CAULFIELD BEATS, Claire Pettifer, Our Lovely Soundman.... All contributers to this issue: Ed, Oliver, Erica, J.P., O.P.G., T.W., H.A., And you, our Salt Sni� ers and Lighthouse Keepers.

PROFUSELY!

For this issue, we have strategi-cally ripped o� legendary Punk Zine SNIFFIN’GLUE...(1976-7 ) by Mark Perry et. al... Famed for its raw hand-� nished aesthetic, punk re-views and colourful language, its energy attracted a large circulation during its’ fourteen issue run.Our toungue in cheek re-incarna-tion, for Araf Collective, ‘SMELLIN’ SALTS... ‘ , is intended as a reviving whi� for the modern nose. It desperately wishes it was con-structed from sellotape and Xerox dust.

3

YOSSARIAN:It all started with the Falklands. Twenty years after the end of the war, an Argentine and an Englishman found them-selves in a Madrid tapas bar surrounded by empty glasses of cañas and discussing the symbolism of the Hand of God, the worth-lessness of a cheat, and sovereignty over a jutting piece of frozen rock lost in the south-ern waters of the Atlantic. In spite of their e� orts, they were unable to solve neither the enigma of Maradona nor Las Malvinas. The pair did however strike up a steadfast friendship united by their passion for music.After a few years on the road Ash returned to his hometown of Brighton to join up with friends Sam and Morgan to form The Vanderpols. The band needed a lead guitar-ist, and after many unsuccessful trials, Ash decided to call in his old Argentine friend. By then, Joaquin had got himself lost Down Under. A sailing trip from Christchurch to Suva in Fiji met with disaster- lashed with torrential rain and battered with gale-force winds, Joaquin’s boat veered o� course and he was forced to seek refuge in Port Vila in Vanuatu. Joaquin’s belongings were lost at sea and the boat was written o� . When he read his friend’s message, he had little choice but to � y to England.The moment Joaquin set foot on English soil, he fostered a guitar driven approach. The band was renamed ‘Yossarian’ after Hel-ler’s Catch 22 protagonist, as the essence of insanity, absurdity, and lunacy of bureauc-racy and war rang true with all four mem-bers.Yossarian have come a long way since their Brighton music scene debut, moving to London and recording a debut EP ‘Three Songs’, which won them appreciation in the UK and Europe, several festival dates, and kudos from SupaJam and Gibson, who dubbed them one of the ‘Bands of the Sum-mer 2012’. Yossarian’s loyal fanbase have crowd-funded their debut album, which is set for release in Spring 2013.

Like Rosie and Jim with live-sequencers, the Caul� eld Beats can be found � oating upon Lon-don’s canals and their unique performances have been mak-ing a sonic splash across the capital. The melding of beats, melodies and imagery results in an intoxicating show of sounds sights and intrigue. With songs such as ‘Heading South’ and ‘Two of Swords’, the Caul� eld Beats bring their totally immer-sive experience to Lighthouse at the Wreck .

THE

CAULFIELDBEATS

WOLF LUNGLet’s Get Lucid. Jake Gillespie a.k.a ‘Wolf Lung’ produces sounds lost in what he deems ‘ridiculously intense day-dreams’. These � ights of carnival fancy recently echoed up from Brighton and in tracks such as ‘Who Killed Cupid’ and ‘Let’s Get Lucid’, Wol� ung explores the surreal wanderings of an un-chained subconscious. Hold on to your nightcaps…

ARAF COLLECTIVE PRESENTS...

5

Two fi gures appear at the door-way, shadows lined by the bright

light of the corridor. A fat man resem-bling a large dough ball stands with his arm around the waist of a tall, slender blonde lady, who nearly doubles his height. As he walks through the room to the far corner of the bar, every head turns to see the woman he is with; her beauty a source of fascination equalled only by the evident wealth of the man paying her. As they walk past the piano and I see her from close up, I too am slightly stunned, and for a moment I forget the words of the song. Fortu-nately, nobody had been listening, and the little stumble goes unnoticed.

I take a break, and whisper with the bar staff to learn a little more about

this gloriously mismatched couple. The lady is, of course, one of the most ex-pensive excorts around, and he is one of the hotel’s most wealthy guests, ru-moured to have once tipped a pian-ist here with a one thousand pound cheque. My ears prick up, and I return to the piano, armed with a new incen-tive to play my best.

The short, plump man and his es-cort sit side by side on the sofa

next to the piano. Over the curve of her tactically and precarious propped up breast, I see him bending over the table, munching on a chicken wing. She sits back and stares straight ahead, expressionless. I can fathom little from

the look on her face. It is not boredom, not sadness, but something else, some-thing rehearsed and deliberate that be-trays nothing to the man paying her so well.

I continue to work through my Beatles songbook, practicing dif-

ferent ways of playing familiar songs; Hey Jude with a swing, Come Together in a bossa nova, Lady Madonna as an old-fashioned boogie-woogie... Not impartial to the idea of a tip from the legendary wealthy tycoon, I try to give a worthy performance. But after some time, they get up to leave, without say-ing a word. They look a embarrassed and a little angry. Then I realise the im-plications of the song I’m singing:

I don’t care too much for moneyMoney can’t buy me love...Can’t buy me loveEverybody tells me soCan’t buy me loveNo, no, no!

I hadn’t really been thinking about how inappropriate the song was. But in a room full of couples who cared a great deal for money and were well aware that it would not buy them love, it was an unwise choice.

Not surprisingly, I didn’t get a penny in tips that night.

Read more at: www.jukeboxwithaconscience.

blogspot.com

Excerpt from:

A Jukebox With A Conscience: Confessions Of A Hotel Pianist

by Edward Leawo fi gures

A Jukebox With A Conscience: Confessions Of A Hotel Pianist

7

The Rare Occurrence of Bliss and Happiness in a 21st Century Male’s Brain by O. ZARANDIHis name: of no significance. His appearance: a white, pinkish human male. Some have hair, some have all limbs intact, some have larger organs than others. This one: all limbs intact. Bald. Average organ.

He lives in a mansion. Upper West Side, Manhattan. A brownstone. Fact: he lost money on the gee gee’s and stock market - namely, on Egyptian Wheat - and was forced to rent his basement level. He now lives above a laundrette.

He is what people call ‘mentally ill’. Other pejorative terms for his affliction: cuckoo; retard; coconut (crazy as a - ); crackers; goober; fruit loop.

He’s lived in that damned house near twenty years. Thirty eight rooms, including a larder with urns filled with salt flakes, bowls shaped like lion paws stuffed with peppercorns.

Over time: the rooms he used, dwindled. He is frightened of certain rooms. They contain their own superstitions. Ghouls. So now he lives and eats and excretes and sleeps in the billiards room. One day, he says out loud, I hope to die here.

He isn’t married. He loved a woman once upon a time, but never twice upon a time. So he lives by himself and lives by the words of a young French rapscallion: La vie est la farce à mener par tous. 1

His life isn’t satisfactory. So he climbs atop his billiards table, clears the balls away with his fist (clack clack clack) and retreats into his dreams.

In his dreams, he is Pal Joey. Pal Joey is a yellow bird puppet. Pal Joey always wakes up on a lumber schooner called ‘Nellie’. The ship sets off from the French Riviera. Destination: Morocco.

On board is an eye patched grease ball called Alfredo. He deals the cards. Around the poker table, a woman called Ma Baker smokes like an incinerator. Belching out smoke. Next to her, a portly Italian gentleman. We don’t know his name.

And there he was, Pal Joey, the yellow bird puppet, playing cards on this yawling schooner, sailing off to Morocco. His friends, they were con men, con women, murderers, rapists, fraudsters, artists. Not a suit in sight. Not a damned suit in sight.

But his dream was always the same. The schooner runs out of steam somewhere in the middle of the ocean. Pal Joey stares at the moon. A ghostly cheese wheel. He thinks to himself: One day, I hope to die here. A smile breaks across his beak. 1. Don’t worry.

The Rare Occurrence of Bliss and Happiness in a 21st Century Male’s Brain The Rare Occurrence of Bliss and Happiness in a 21st Century Male’s Brain The Rare Occurrence of Bliss and Happiness by O. ZARANDIin a 21st Century Male’s Brain by O. ZARANDIin a 21st Century Male’s Brain His name: of no significance. His appearance: a white, pinkish human male. Some have hair, some have all limbs intact, some have larger organs than others. This one: all limbs intact. Bald. Average organ.