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ISSUE NO. 1

HI! THIS IS OUR FIRST ISSUE OF HERO HALCYON. THIS ISN’T JUST MERELY A FANZINE OF ANY KIND. OUR LOOK IS MORE SOPHISTICATED THAN MOST FANZINES. WE ALSO PRODUCE WORK THAT IS VERY PERSONAL AND PROMOTES RADICAL HONESTY AS WELL AS A GUILT-FREE ENVIROMENT FOR THOSE OBSESSING OVER THEIR MUSICAL HEROES. YOU CAN SUBMIT ENTRIES TO US AT HEROHALCYON@GMAIL.COM. WE ARE OPEN TO POEMS, STORIES, PHOTOS, AND MORE DEALING WITH YOUR FAVORITE BANDS AND BAND MEMBERS.

WE HOPE YOU ENJOY HERO HALCYON.

EVA MARIE SOLANGONA.K.A. “SUNSET CHANDELIER”CREATOR OF HERO HALCYON

*All original articles and photographs by Eva Marie Solangon

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Captivating lovesick girls in the room with an acoustic

guitar and a smile.

From the beginning of time, people all over the world have written songs about all of the makings of a complicated human being who just wants to be reminded he or she is loved, needed, and wanted.

Love is probably the biggest motivator, whether positively or negatively, of people’s lives. You heard it all before. “Love hurts. Love stinks. Love is beautiful. Love is the best thing in the world.” If we’ve heard it all before, why do love songs still resonate with us over time? Why do musicians like Christopher Owens (of San Francisco band Girls) make us tear up at the accuracy of romantic situations being reflected back at us through his songs? Or make us giggle at how we’re not really all alone after all?

We aren’t really alone after all. The proof of it? Just ask all of the people who were packed inside the tiny, but elegant Le Poisson Rouge on a cold November night who were lucky enough to see Christopher perform songs from his upcoming release “Lysandre” (after disbanding Girls last summer). I was lucky enough to be one of these people, and as I made my way into the venue I grinned to myself of that notion. I never got to see Girls when they were together, and I was finally getting my first taste of what it might have been

like to see them live. Within only a few minutes the venue was full, and the lights dimmed as the band and Christopher went on the stage.

Christopher strummed and sang along carrying us through a personal story of his life as his group of back-up musicians added layers of elegance to his already poignant stories of stage fright, falling in love at music festivals, and more. I listened and watched him pour his heart onto the ears of all who were present. Especially, captivating lovesick girls in the room with an acoustic guitar and a smile. He even surprised us with Bob Dylan, Simon and Garfunkel, and Cat Stevens covers. There was a special moment during his song “Love is in the Ear of the Listener,” where he mentioned funny jibes at critics of his music and everyone could laugh a little with him. It was definitely a breather after all the songs about difficult situations with romance. It’s always nice to be reminded the musician is aware of his audience, and can share a good laugh with them.

In fact, after the show I had shared a moment to hug Christoher and thank him. Much to my enjoyment, he thanked me back with a smile and open arms as I thought “I’m never washing this coat again.”

”“

CHRISTOPHER OWENS

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BRADFORD COX

It’s not often that one day you wake up and one of your favorite musicians is performing a surprise show at an art gallery show opening. Thank God for Twitter, and thank God for Cole Alexander of the Black Lips for blabbing about

Atlas Sound (a.k.a Bradford Cox of Deerhunter) would be playing at the opening. The night before I was bombarded with tweets from Christopher Owens of Girls and Cullen Omori from Smith Westerns about a so-called Ryan McGinley having a gallery show opening the next day. Being a lover of art and especially photography, I had thought about going but wasn’t too sure. It’s funny how things work out.

I had just finished my first year of art school a few days ago, and I could hardly wait to spend my free time doing exciting things. Going to enjoy good music and art would start the vacation off in a beautiful note, especially that Bradford was playing. He was arguably the most important person to me that year as an artist and person. I would get inspired by his art and music and it would push me in really weird and exciting places. Now he’d be pushing me to the lower reaches of downtown Soho on a rainy day. The sidewalks near the gallery became packed with so many people.

“The whole hipster population of New York is here,” I joked to my brother who accompanied me there. To my surprise and excitement, Bradford was set to play on top the roof of the gallery. I knew then that we were in for a treat. These are the kinds of shows you tell your kids about when you’re old and aren’t as punk as you used to be. So after a few hours of waiting, the afternoon sun had set and it grew dark. Many gazed as Ryan McGinley introduced Bradford from atop the rooftop...cops trembled.

My ears welcomed the familiar sound of beautiful layers of electronic echoes, noises, and reverb, while many in the audience seemed to be new to the experience. The police however were not keen on the sound. In fact, they were not keen at all about the idea of a loud avant garde rooftop show happening. After a few minutes in the middle of the performance, the sound mysteriously cut off. The show was over or so it seemed. My brother and I had sadly left by the time Bradford continued the show inside gallery. Regardless of missing the rest of the mayhem, I was glad to have seen a hero of mine. Even flashbacking for a second to remember it all makes me sick with nostalgia and longing for exciting days to come again.

From atop the roof, many gazed...cops trembled. ”“

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W ho would you consider your biggest musical hero of all time? What if you had the chance to see them in concert two nights in a row? Would you take the chance? Even if it meant possibly losing your mind in multiple ways (meaning school stress plus huh…hello! I’m seeing

the one and only Noel Gallagher two nights in a row!)? I knew the pros and cons of going to see Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds two nights in a row on a weekday. Though, as Noel was my biggest musical hero of all time, I would naturally ignore any cons. Even somehow misplacing my USB filled with class projects wouldn’t get me down (thank God for back-ups)! I had waited years for this! Oasis (Gallagher’s claim to fame) fans had waited for his return for two years since the band’s demise.

Excitement and jitters filled the air on the first night. I waited on line and found myself sitting next to a very kind woman to the left of me in my balcony seating. She told me she was the fiancé of a big Oasis fan who sat beside her. He had invited her to come along. She offered me some pretzels she was munching down on before the show. For some reason I saw this as some kind of good omen. The Hour was the support act for the two nights, and they were alright to me but nothing special. On the second night, I would decide to come late and skip on seeing them. Noel and the band gave it their all on both nights. Everyone went crazy for the old Oasis tunes naturally. The new songs were performed just as beautiful and were complimented with different lighting settings (i.e. - a spotlight shining on Noel during intimate and acoustic performances of “Wonderwall” and “Talk Tonight”). If anyone had actually felt uneasy, he’d reassure us in the form of a guitar solo or an amusing joke that have landed somewhere divine.

NOEL GALLAGHER

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The second night in particular stood out for me personally though for various reasons: 1. I got to sit closer to the front. 2. I almost got kicked out for being caught by a guard

photographing with a DSLR camera (something I kind of like to brag about for some reason). 3. Noel let us sing the chorus of “Don’t Look Back in Anger” out loud which was

a joy for me and him as well. Noel was so touched by our loud singing he smirked big time. The image of that moment would be planted in my mind and remembered

forever.

He’d reassure us in the form of a guitar solo or amusing joke that we

have landed somewhere divine.

“”

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W here have the good ‘ole 1960s gone? They are hidden inside the mind of Anton Newcombe, the mastermind behind the neo-psychedelia

band The Brian Jonestown Massacre. Anton and the band were known for their on-stage fights and crazy drug-fueled antics during tours in the 90s. This ranged from being busted for possession of marijuana in their tour bus to Anton’s violent and almost dictorial influence upon the other band members. Though, by the 2000s they would change their line-up multiple times and most of the band members were sober by then. I wouldn’t see any of the madness of their early days, but when I got to see them in August recently, I witnessed such a flawless performance of genuine psychedelic rock as if the 1960s never died. Anton seemed to convince everyone that it was as if the 1960s were injected into his veins, and somehow we truly were all back in 1968 or something.

Jokes aside, the support act The Magic Castles, who were very reminiscent of some of BJM’s music, did much justice to getting us ready for

the band. Then, as the lights were set on BJM, we would suddenly be transported through a musical time machine. You could close your eyes, move to the music, and feel as if everyone was on LSD and had their bellbottom jeans on. My best friend and I grooved along to the sweet 60s sounds until we were somehow pushed all the way to the side where Anton was by the end of the show.

I was very happy they played many of my favorites such as “Oh Lord” and “Servo.” Of course, the drug habit was way gone by now but Anton wouldn’t let the night end until he made an insult or mocking joke, which he was known to have a big habit of doing. He amusingly made fun of bands nowadays who released and shared all of their material on Bandcamp (a music sharing site that has recently become increasingly popular amongst young indie bands). He also told (okay, more like threatened) everyone to buy the latest album of The Magic Castles. Later on, after the show my best friend would point out to me that she saw two people on the far side of the stage making love. Perhaps we really did travel to the 60s for a good two hours after all.

ANTON NEWCOMBE

As if the 1960s were injected into his veins...”“

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