analogue Magazine March Edition

Hello All,

We are currently designing the March issue of analogue and we are very excited about it.  Our launch party will be held at the Belfry Theatre on Sunday March 2nd, 2013.  Here is the Facebook Event Page.  We have also started a Facebook Page, a Twitter Account and are starting work on our website.  Hope to keep in touch with you all!




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analogue: Toward a Definition

analogue is an antithetical response to our Twenty First Century’s increasingly digitized cultural climate. Some of us have grown tired of being bombarded by massive amounts of information, most of which focuses upon things trivial and absurd.  We hope to recast our collective gaze onto matters of the heart; matters of life itself.  analogue celebrates art, food and culture; it venerates the tangible and is hyper local in its focus.  analogue is a magazine and much more; it cannot be found online.

Our first issue features writing by Isobel Maher, Scott Lansdowne, local historian John Adams, Nasstasia Yaremchuk, Nick Lyons and many others.  Poetry stands in the place of advertising, and the magazine features a Quiz Section by Benji Duke.  analogue is small in stature and big on content: our magazine contains the most extensive events listing of any Victorian publication.

analogue’s first issue also includes a mix tape.  The analogue mix contains recent works by a few of Victoria’s most compelling musicians.  Some of the material on the mix tape has never been released publicly, and some is set to be released officially at a later date.  All of it is good.  All of it is local.

A few of us will be discussing the magazine on CFUV’s “Doers, Makers and Thinkers” this Friday morning from 11:00-11:30.  Be sure to tune in.

analogue launches on Sunday December 1st at the Copper Owl.  Doors open at 4:00 PM.  The afternoon will feature readings by Isobel Maher and Nasstassia Yaremchuck as well as an intimate solo performance by this month’s feature artist Hank Pine.  We hope to see you there as it promises to be a very special afternoon.


Nick Lyons (Editor in Chief)   


Design: Evan Pine

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Recently, I’ve been enjoying physical objects immensely.  Seems like a strange thing to say.  But, for better or for worse, we are now spending more and more time detached from the physical, the tangible: the real.  We watch a lot of TV.  We break up conversations, drinks and life itself by “checking in” on what’s happening on Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, Google Plus, Instagram, YouTube, WordPress and a wide assortment of other digital mediums while leaves fall from the trees all around us.

A few of us have decided to start a magazine of sorts.  It will be called “analogue” and it will be a celebration of the tangible in Victoria BC.  It will be hyper-local, focusing on the splendor of the sights, sounds and people who inhabit this place: analogue will be a celebration of all that is good in Victoria and in life.  More details about analogue will be released slowly as things continue to develop.  Thank you, so much, for your support.


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I AM NOT A HIPSTER: (Nobody Is…)

Recently it has come to my attention that at least a few of my friends/family think of me as a “hipster”. My friend, we’ll call him “Tall”, has also been referred to as a hipster in certain circles… and both of us find the label (if not downright accusation, given the respective circumstances) humorous. “Tall” and I recently went crabbing together in an overwrought canoe: is crabbing a “hipster activity”? I think not.

The term is almost exclusively derogatory, used to describe anyone whose dress or musical tastes derive from the capitalistic norm. But here’s the thing, my favourite song right now is “Bimbo“, which was recorded well before the term “hipster” was ever uttered. Is Jim Reeves a hipster? I think not; he was a cowboy, as am I.

Let’s get over it, folks. Indeed, the term “hipster” is an effective marketing tool, but that’s about it. Some people don’t want to wear clothes with labels prominently affixed to them. Some people prefer their clothes to be “previously enjoyed” for reasons of comfort and economy. But these people are a multifarious bunch. They don’t fit into any pre-ordained box. Let’s move on and see such peoples as the complicated, beautiful and mystical messes they really are and stop calling them names. It will benefit us all, trust me.


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Jim and Johnny: A Tale of Bikes, Music and Our Shared Imperialistic Past

I’ve spent a lot of time out on the porch this week. It’s been great. I’ve discovered that I love puttering around in the fog, talking to myself and the dog while listening to fifty cent records. I got a few things done too: I finally finished work on my bicycle (pictures coming soon), and I’ve had the opportunity to meet many a neighbor since the bike serves as perfect fodder for small-talk (“Still polishing that old thing, eh? By the time you’re done, there will be nothing left!”).

One of these neighbors calls himself Jim: other people call him that too. Jim’s a good ol’ boy. We hung out at the most recent housing co-operative feast and when the party was over he apologized for “talking my ear off”, even though I loved every minute of his long and detailed monologues. I’d guess Jim’s about eighty years old– he walks with a limp.

One morning, as he walked past with his dog, the sound of Jim Reeves‘ voice from my stereo above stopped him in his tracks.

“You like that old country music, young fella?”

I dropped my wrench.

“Yeah! I’ve been listening it a lot as I’ve come upon some hard luck recently. I love Reeves, especially, his song “Bimbo” inspired my alter ego-DJ handle.”

Jim was confused at first, but he quickly shook it off.

“Well then lad, I’ve got something for you to take a look at. I’ll be back in ten minutes”

He came back, proudly carrying a Johnny Cash album under his arm. I’d never seen before. It’s called “Bitter Tears“.

“I had to confiscate this from some young guy when I was working for the RCMP ’bout fifty years back. Took it home though, and I’ve been listening to it ever since—some good stuff on there, you should give it a spin.”

I’ve been dropping my needle on the album continually since then. I am amazed, not only by the music, but by Cash’s deep and abiding sympathy toward aboriginal peoples. These songs are just as, if not more, relevant now than in 1963, when it was released. Lots of talk about poisoned water, about pillaging, and about destruction toward aboriginal peoples.

I’ve since discovered that Jim agrees that aboriginal peoples were mistreated in the United States. He is quick to emphasize, however, that “Canada is a different story”. I’ve been playing dumb, biting my tongue, a lot. I hope to talk with him about Canada’s own, sordid story one day, when the time is right: I’ll let you know how it turns out. But in the meantime, give the album a listen and lemme know what you think.


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In Troducing In Utero

The following is the introduction to what will eventually be a review of the recent re-issue of Nirvana’s In Utero. The complete review will be published by Beatroute, Alberta.

Remastered albums usually make me angry. At best, as so perfectly demonstrated by the recent Beatles’ career-spanning collection of remastered brilliance, I feel compelled to buy records I already own and cherish again: such obsession gets costly real fast, especially if you’re a fan of bands whose careers span entire decades.

At worst, remasters amount to nothing more than a blatant cash grab, a record company’s desperate attempt to milk an anemic and teet-bleeding cow of her dwindling supply of watered-down cream, much to the delight of so-called “audiophiles” who exalt, and commence bullshitting endlessly over about quantifiable technicalities of something so numinous and so… other, that they effectively manage to subvert and nullify the beauty and power of the album itself.

Fortunately, the remastered edition of Nirvana’s In Utero manages to steer clear of both of these maddening realities. Nirvana’s is obviously a catalogue cut short: while their other releases have been updated and expanded recently, one can purchase the band’s entire discography for under $100: it’s impossible to conceive of a better way to “burn a Borden” (in Canada) or a “Benjamin” (in the States).

In Utero‘s re-release is warranted and very rewarding; it is, in fact, essential not only for “completists” or avid Nirvana fans, but for anyone who claims to enjoy listening to music. In Utero sounds even better now than it did when it first came out twenty years ago. It’s reissue at once offers an opportunity to rediscover the album for us old folk, while hopefully offering a starting point for the youngsters: in either case, In Utero is nothing short of transformative.


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Opening Johari’s Window, or The End of Satire

I wanted to write a satire tonight. I’ve been on a satirical streak as of late: I’ve read a lot The Onion and tons of David Foster Wallace essays too. I like satire and I think I’m good at it— I am debilitatingly sarcastic, and a bit of a smart-ass. I wanted to write a satire tonight, and this morning gave me the perfect opportunity to do just that.

This morning I attended a class called “Self Awareness– Exploring Personal Values and Building Self Esteem”, which was funded by Service Canada. Everything was perfect. As I walked into the Service Canada building, I was greeted by an over-caffeinated receptionist with salt and pepper hair who knew me by name.

“Good morning, Nick! How are ya? Have you ‘fobbed in’ yet? Good! Workshopping it today are we? Good! Good luck”

I walked into the Workshop Room, and was immediately greeted by a bright eyed career counsellor, who started our conversation off with a “hidden job market” joke. I was soon joined by seven or eight other job seekers who were every bit as desperate as I am and slightly less clean.

I started writing notes, not about the content of the class, but about the facilitator’s clothing, the room’s irritating fan and the grooming habits of my fellow students. Everything was perfect, until a single action broke my heart and effectively shattered my ironic distance.

The morning began with an ice-breaking exercise. We went around the circle, each sharing our desired field of work as well as an “interesting, non-job related fact” about ourselves. I learned a lot about my fellow students, and wrote little har-hars in my notes.

One girl revealed that she really loved beads. She showed the class a necklace she made last night, and we all feigned interest accordingly. The discussion then turned to Johari’s Window and its relevance to our respective job searches.

About an hour into the class, we paused for a ten minute coffee/cigarette break. I stayed in the classroom to further evaluate my fellow students. Then, the bead girl got up and took her prized necklace off her neck. She strode across the room and presented the necklace to Laurie, a middle-aged woman whose feigned “wow” was especially loud.

“I’d like you to have this necklace.” She said. “You seemed to like it and I think it suits you. You don’t have to take it, of course, but if you want it… here you go.”

The entire room fell silent. Laurie teared up as she thanked the girl for her humble gift. And tonight, I write a sentimental piece instead of a satire. I’m better for it: I think you are too.


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