Sprawl #3 176 x 246 mm, 48 pages Sprawl is a new Nottingham-based indie mag dedicated to DIY subcultures, music and art. Available both online and in print, and taking inspiration from the scrappy punk fanzines of the late 70s and early 80s, inside you’ll primarily find conversations with scenesters old and new. After hours photographer Mischa Haller sets the tone of this third issue, which features a shot from his recently published photobook ‘Not Going Home’—an ode to 90s club culture—on the cover. Inside, he reflects on his early career, the evolution of the dance floor following seismic shocks such as the collapse of communism and 9/11, as well as what remains once the lights go up. Also featured: Sonic Youth guitarist and vocalist Lee Ranaldo, English rock band Ulrika Spacek, graphic artists Steph Dutton and Imarni Boyer-Nugent, Canadian collective Crack Cloud, and more. Words: MagCulture
PEACE URPOS
AND Both of you come from families shaped by non- Western cultural traditions. When you were younger and finding yourselves through music, did you feel you had to prove yourselves that little bit more?
Zach: I think I was probably misunderstood in the way the next person with a similar family dynamic might be. Certainly misunderstood, but my family's always been really supportive. I sort of fell into music.
Honestly, the real catalyst for me getting into music had more to do with late-stage sobriety more than anything, that was the thing that pushed me into writing songs through intuition.
I don't really have a musical background, so it wasn't like, 'Hey uncle, I know you want me to be a doctor, but I'm choosing music.' It wasn't like that. It was more that I was already off-grid, struggling with addiction, and when I got sober I needed something. I needed an outlet.
I played with all sorts of different mediums, and music was one of many, but it just started taking up more and more of my energy. The next thing we all knew, we were travelling the world and sharing songs, and it just perpetuated itself for the better part of a decade.
So it wasn't so much a conflict over whether I should stay in school or start a band. The conflict was deeper than that. By the time I got into music, it was actually a relief for my family. They could see it provided an anchoring point for me.
Aleem: Growing up in a Pakistani household, my mum had been raised by a single mother in a village, bringing up three kids after their dad left in 1950. I was born in the States while my dad was there on a student visa from Pakistan. By then they already had four kids, so there were all these little babies, and my mum was working her arse off at a Coca-Cola factory, in plastic plants, cutting hair supporting the family while my dad was going to school.
My family is just fundamentally super-Pakistani, you know? And me being the little black sheep - I'm the youngest of five — I got handed down the game from everyone, and I was like, 'I'm not gonna do that, I'm not gonna do that, I am gonna do that.'
My first instrument was drums, and then, because they were too loud, I got a guitar. And they were like, 'Yeah, you are going to be a doctor. You are going to be employed. You are going to make money.' A lot of Asians can relate to that. There are these goals way out in front of us that we're just banging our heads against the wall trying to achieve.
But there's another side to music peace, fulfilment, creativity, not being a bad kid, staying inside and doing something different. My parents could see it was good for me, especially with the history of all the siblings.
I've always been involved in music. I played every talent show in primary school. I taught myself guitar. Zach and I don't have a formal musical background. I'm self-taught on every instrument I play, and that's why he and I related on a more spiritual level. It can get very convoluted, especially for young people naive to the reality of the industry and its false hopes. But when you relate to music on a spiritual level, it eliminates the need for capital.
Zach: There's such a beautiful pragmatism embedded in the first-generation immigrant family dynamic, and I think that gets complicated when you become the first one to deviate from that path of: 'Listen, we need to work seven days a week, we need to lay low, and a couple of generations from now there'll be space to breathe a little more.'
There is that consciousness when you go into art and music. I look at the elders in my family and the sacrifice they made and continue to make - and I'm so impressed. As I get older, I admire more and more the amount of work that went into establishing a foundation for us here in Canada. It shapes how I think about everything.
When you're young, and we go back to punk music, it can feel like the antithesis of all that. But from an immigrant point of view, it's remarkable the will, the resolve, the bravery required to go somewhere foreign and carve out a life for generations to come. It deserves reverence and respect. It's on my mind all the time.
I'm an electrician, and I come from a family of electricians. So as I get older, I value that more than I did when I was younger. And as they've got older, they've eased up on their expectations of me. They see the real value in the art we make, and they've made a real effort to understand where we're coming from and how our experience is different from theirs.
It's strange for parents who didn't fully know the old country, then to watch their kids grow up in a completely foreign environment and engage with things they themselves are still figuring out. I think about it all the time.