A man marches across a bridge. Behind him lies a life centred around popularity, status, and fleeting pleasures—pursuits born of envy and insecurity. Ahead waits a life anchored in purpose, productivity, and genuine connection. He pauses, watching the sky bleed crimson over the yellow-tinged waters of the Brisbane River. He recalls the months he spent wandering aimlessly, losing his hobbies and losing his friends along the way. The waning winter wind beckons him towards a new future as his legs inch closer and closer to his destination. With each small, steady step, he ponders the actions—the metaphorical bricks he must lay to build the foundations for a fulfilling life.
That man is me. For the last few months, I haven't felt like myself. As Viktor Frankl states in his book Man's Search for Meaning, without purpose, your life feels meaningless and you just feel wrong. I used to have a vision for my future. I would go to this music school, find some friends, write songs, be in a band. I used to think that all it took was just one small thing—such as summitting that application, playing my first gig, writing an EP—was all it took for me to reach my full potential. I really did.
That dream slowly died out as I realised how impractical a music pathway would be in life, academic responsibilities started piling up, and all the friends I once had either moved away, found larger circles, or were just circumstantial to begin with. Soon all that hope slowly disappeared, making way for an apathetic state of averageness.
I got straight-A's. I started pursuing a law pathway. I stuck to a routine and smashed through work like a machine. But I felt empty. I did have one close friend, but it became clear that I had to branch out and form other connections. But how do you do that when everyone already has their own tight-knit friend groups, the community halls have banned gigs, and you want a lot of friends fast when you only have some acquaintances?
My idea was to host a party. Pretty stupid, I know, and it backfired miserably. It didn't even happen. Through talking to people in the chaotic groupchat, I realised how I treated people who treated me nicely in a rude, argumentative manner. I realised how much I let rumination, insecurity and an egotistic desire for popularity and status take hold. I lost many connections simply due to not appreciating what I have, not fostering connections with people who actually care about me, and just wasting my time on social media time sinks instead of perhaps creating shit—like writing a magazine, playing guitar, or thinking of new ideas. Now that I think about it, it's pretty insane what I accomplish when I put my mind to it. Like who else is able to make a music magazine from scratch that looks pretty damn professional?
This zine started as a way for me to connect with others and share my voice during a time where I didn't know how to. It was also a way for me to express how captivated I was about the music scene when I first became involved with it. However, as many people will come to understand, the scene is a pretty savage, rude, and unrelenting place if you don't know how to properly navigate and position yourself within it. Through over a year of involvement with it, I've honestly become traumatised by it, but in the spirit of The Rolling Stones' song Jumpin' Jack Flash, that hardship has built strength within me, and I am not going to let people project their own pain and insecurity onto me. During the six-month hiatus, I honestly thought to myself: 'what's the purpose of writing this zine? I pour my time and work into it and what I've gotten is harassment and pain'.
The purpose of this zine is to share the spirit of rock and roll—that is, a little something called not giving a fuck and living life your own way on your own terms. The purpose is to share the stories of musicians and be a voice for the true rock and roll enthusiasts of the Brisbane music scene. We were born to be wild and we live to be free. In this issue, we have an interview with one such band born out of hardship and who have turned it into something beautiful—My Daydreams. We also have a gig review of one of the last Gormless Records gigs to have ever happened before the community halls shut them down.
I would like to thank Arran McKenzie and Johnnie Campbell of Piss Off for their continued support of my creative endeavours and their advice regarding how to handle the utterly ridiculous nature of the Brisbane music scene. I would like to sincerely apologise for how I've acted with my complaints and unjustified criticism towards them and would like to express my gratitude for having known them as they are responsible for introducing me to rock and roll and making this zine possible through their continued support and them being the first band I've ever interviewed, and for their assistance in recording my EP with my former band. They are utter legends who are carrying the entire rock and roll scene and you should all listen to their new song LA Alley and their new album when it comes out.
I would like to thank Tasmiya for sharing thoughts which have formed the basis for how I deal with problems and for providing sociopolitical insights which have shaped my own political views. I would like to sincerely apologise for acting as if I am better than her and also for making an offhanded, statement regarding her family that was really hurtful and offensive considering her upbringing and background. If it wasn't for her mentorship, I may've never gotten out of my crippling depressive rut.
I would like to thank my best friend Alicia for always supporting me, for being the most genuine friend I've ever had, and for being a part of so many memorable moments. She's an example of how despite a tumultuous start you can always make life into what you want it to be. Without her I would've never made the progress that I've made regarding socialising, having something to look forward to everyday, and knowing how to have fun and sometimes break the rules instead of having the rules break you.
I would also like to thank Guy Di Mattina of Findaway, Jackson Moore of Pimp, and Otto To for their continued kindness towards me and for putting on awesome gigs. Support Findaway and Pimp, they're really good bands led by authentic people who understand the spirit of rock and roll and the alternative scene.
I apologise if there's anyone I've forgot to thank and also would like to extend my apologies for anyone I've hurt or been rude to. With what I want to say having been said, I hope you enjoy the zine.
From the archive. Editorial · September 2025 · phone notes carried verbatim.