Hiya,
Let me welcome you to the first edition of Microplastics. (I hope you think the name is cool.)
Every month I’ll write about an obsession, either one of mine or other people’s. It will often be a piece of music, but it could also be a YouTube video, or a book that starts an interesting conversation. It may be old or new.
For those who don’t know me: I’m Ray, and I’m a writer. This is me, in Naples last year:
And, if you’ll indulge me, let me tell you a bit about myself.
In a past life, I wrote for a dance music magazine called Resident Advisor, and was an editor there for a few years until 2020. I’ve also had pieces in Pitchfork, GQ Magazine, The Wire, DJ Mag, and a number of publications that no longer exist.
Early in 2022, I got a 9-to-5 outside of music and/or journalism, for reasons that are all too familiar—I simply c.b.a. with the chronic insecurity, and I generally disliked the freelancer lifestyle. For reasons I’ll explore some other time, it wasn’t for me.
Since then, I’ve had some space to reflect on what I’d want to say in a newsletter like this and how I’d share that in a way that is as far removed from the attention economy, and the hot-take tourism of social media, as possible.
So, Microplastics. What’s it actually about?
I’d like to represent a style of writing about culture that is engaged in serious ideas, but doesn’t take itself seriously. I’d like to experiment and see what happens. I’d like to see who’s interested in what emerges and have cool conversations with all three of those people. (Gallows humour! I would be happy with five.)
Now, about money. This newsletter is free. But if you’re feeling generous enough to toss a few pennies in the well in the months that follow then consider my bowler tipped respectfully in your direction.
And if you want to know where that money might be going, the answer is, probably, a nappy on my newborn daughter’s bottom.
And, maybe, a reasonably priced Seigen Ono album on my Discogs wantlist. Here’s a song from The Green Chinese Table that I hope you agree is sick:
Till next month: love you, bye!