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I’ve never come to know how the dense 1988 Chicago one-and-done fanzine Travellin’ Fist came to be free upon its publication. My working theory is that, given its lack of advertisements and its esoteric, wordy and (at the time) somewhat outré content, charging for it might have been a tough proposition to begin with, so it became a “let’s give it to friends” proposition. Lord knows I had to search hell’s half acre to get my own copy thirty-eight years later, after seeing references to it over the years. 

Travellin’ Fist #1 was birthed and sired by both Dan Koretzky, who’d very soon come to found Drag City Records with Dan Osborne, and Rian Murphy, who’d himself also come to be highly involved in the label. I knew that there would be some “Beach Boys content” in this one, and indeed, there is. That would not have been much of a draw for me in 1988, lemme tell ya, but as I wrote about in my own fanzine and have also published here, that changed in a big way later – and not all that long ago, either. But I didn’t know precisely where it’d take me until I spent some quality time with it this week, and now I think I have a much better idea about it all.

It starts with Chris Stigliano producing one of his patented and rather self-referential rants about his inability to be published in publications with statures bigger than, say, Travellin’ Fist, as well as his struggles getting his fanzine Phfudd! effectively distributed. At the same time, “Don’t Get Into Rock Writing!” hits out – in a highly flailing but satisfyingly rabid manner – at many highly worthy late 80s targets that range from Chuck Eddy to BravEar to Creem to Ben Fong-Torres to the folks running the Village Voice music section at the time. No question that becoming a “rock writer” was always both a poor career and life choice. I never for even a moment considered it, despite once making a fat $60 for three record reviews at the San Francisco Bay Guardian in 1993. I therefore second and third Stig’s celebration of publishing a money-losing and yet life-affirming fanzine in its stead. 

This is followed by a long piece by Rian Murphy about Game Theory, postulating on why they’re not more revered. I mean, among a certain set of folks, some of whom I knew well, they certainly were, but I do take the point. The author says “Maybe it has to do with the soft aura of light ringed around the early 70s, which is often where Scott Miller, the brain child behind the name, is coming from”. Yes, I am sure that’s true. To me, Game Theory were Big Star minus the great songwriting, + the addition of some strange, abstract chord & tonal changes. Big Star sold terribly enough without strange, abstract chord & tonal changes. Also, in 1988 the quasi-effeminate vocals were not in keeping with the pigfuck times, or at least with what au courant fanzines of the era were frothing on and on about. 

This same piece then morphs into an excellent dissection of Grace Slick and the Jefferson Airplane, and it’s none too complementary, choosing to elevate the few things that were great about said band, and calling onto the carpet the many things that weren’t (“Marty Balin squealing like a pig – anything but soothing”). This is a band about whom I’d actually welcome a locked room debate over, and/or a nude fistfight over hot coals. I’m not totally sure which side I’d be taking. 

The first Beach Boys piece is also by Rian Murphy, the one person who probably gets about 75% of the page count in Travellin’ Fist #1. Why not? This piece has a bit of why use one word for something when you can use two?, stoned sort of Beat generation patter going, but it’s a warts-and-all exegesis about all & sundry aspects of the band, by way of discussing recent books about them. This is followed by a second piece by Murphy about the band’s Sunflower, which is interesting enough that I think maybe it’s time for me to listen to the record for the first time. 

But what else is in here, you ask? Lots. An incongruous God Bullies interview, a personal diary masquerading as a Chicago scene report, a John Hughes movie overview, a sex/drugs/poor writing-filled “West Coast Scene Report” by Phil Jenks that’s such an awful Forced Exposure parody that I’m thinking it probably was a parody; an Astral Weeks article; and even some Raymond Pettibon cartoons. There’s a defence of Chemical Imbalance fanzine, albeit with a rewritten Camper Van Beethoven review from said fanzine, now done “better and more accurately” by Murphy.

Murphy again pops off on California bands in another piece, and how they’re so awful and yet how so many of them are so great (??). Again, it’s a complete stream of consciousness thing almost certainly written with a big bag of weed by his side. I don’t fully condone then-illegal marijuana cigarettes, but given the guy’s extreme music knowledge and mania, him letting his freak flag fly in order to “paint pictures with words” is quite entertaining when held against the usual low fanzine standard, and he held my attention in ways that I’m not used to it being held when skimming & scanning a fanzine. This California love/hate session eventually and predictably becomes a long discussion of, that’s right…..The Beach Boys. 

The closest music fanzines I’ve ever seen to Travellin’ Fist #1 – literate, exploratory, musically omnivorous, a little tough to follow at times – were Brian Doherty’s Surrender, which I talked about here, and Tim Ellison’s Rock Mag, discussed here. Perhaps the Brian Berger fanzines. You can even perhaps intuit, in hindsight, the direct line from this fuzzy, different-plane way of thinking and writing to the musical output of the Drag City label, which continues to this day.